An extract from Chapter XX of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
Navy
The Sola Galaxy boasts a diverse array of naval doctrines and strategies, meticulously crafted by its myriad nations. The ability to control space and defend critical systems is vital for both national security and trade. As such, nations invest substantial resources, including money, manpower, and cutting-edge technology, to develop and maintain robust and capable navies.
In the absence of sufficient prusers, some nations compensate by building larger and more formidable fleets. Although vessels are often described by traditional naval categories such as Behemoth Ships, Capital Ships, Heavy Ships, Escort Ships, Support Ships, and Fighter Craft, most modern militaries classify their vessels by class rating. These ratings are determined by size, shield strength, engine durability, hyperlane access, weapon capacity, range, and strategic role.
A standard navy is typically composed of five broad classes of vessels:
Class 1 Vessels: The largest and most powerful ships in the galaxy, usually ranging from twenty to sixty kilometers in length, with the greatest examples reaching two hundred kilometers or even the size of small planets. These vessels are protected by 30-40 Caliber Shields or Hyper Shields and are equipped with the strongest lane-stabilized engines available. They can travel through Control, Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary Hyperlanes, allowing them to project power across the most important routes in the galaxy. Class 1 vessels include Super Dreadnoughts, Dreadnoughts, Titans, Battlestations, City Ships, Control Transport Ships, and Luxury Liners. In military service, they serve as instruments of strategic domination, flagship command, planetary siege, fleet annihilation, mass transport, political projection, and long-term independent operations.
Class 2 Vessels: Major fleet assets usually ranging from five to twenty kilometers in length. These ships generally carry 20-30 Caliber Shields and possess reinforced lane-spines capable of surviving major hyperlane pressure, though not as comfortably as Class 1 vessels. Class 2 vessels can travel through Control, Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary Hyperlanes and often form the command and support core of major battlegroups. They include Battleships, SuperCarriers, Heavy Cruisers, Heavy Field Ships, Surveillance Ships, Battle Repair Ships, Prison Ships, and Orbital Defense Platforms. Their roles include capital ship warfare, battlegroup command, carrier operations, major field projection, strategic surveillance, fleet support, and high-value prisoner transport.
Class 3 Ships: The backbone of fleet warfare and interstellar commerce, usually ranging from one hundred meters to five kilometers in length. These ships typically carry 10-20 Caliber Shields, with destroyers, warmongers, field ships, and elite cruisers sitting at the higher end of the scale. Class 3 ships possess proper fleet-grade engines and lane-hardened hulls, allowing them to travel through Control, Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary Hyperlanes. They include Destroyers, Warmongers, Cruisers, Light Cruisers, Mobile Batteries, Siege Ships, Frigates, Field Ships, Fuel Vessels, Transport Ships, Logistics Ships, Repair Ships, Aid Ships, Missionary Ships, Morale Ships, Merchant Vessels, Freighters, Exploration Ships, Science Vessels, Habitat Ships, and Pilgrim Ships. They are used for patrols, escorts, raids, sieges, convoy duty, logistics, transport, exploration, and regional security.
Class 4 Ships: Smaller local and regional vessels, usually ranging from fifty meters to one kilometer in length. These ships usually carry 0-15 Caliber Shields and are far weaker than true fleet-grade vessels, though elite military models may reach the higher end of their class. Most Class 4 ships are limited to Secondary, Tertiary, and local system routes, lacking the reinforced lane-spines needed to survive Primary or Control Hyperlanes unless carried by a larger ship. They include Corvettes, Interceptor Ships, Gunships, Patrol Ships, Mining Ships, and Salvage Ships. Their primary roles include local defense, system policing, mining, salvage, customs patrol, anti-piracy work, station defense, and short-range military response.
Class 5 Craft: The smallest operational craft, usually ranging from ten to two hundred meters in length. These vessels may carry 0-10 Caliber Shields, though many civilian craft have no shields at all. They are built for speed, agility, atmospheric flight, orbital movement, or short-range space combat, but they are not designed for independent major hyperlane travel. To move through major routes, they must usually be carried by larger vessels such as SuperCarriers, Dreadnoughts, Battleships, Transports, or City Ships. Class 5 craft include Fighters, Heavy Fighters, Bombers, Heavy Bombers, Assault Fighters, Recon Fighters, Shuttles, and Tams. They are used for fighter screens, bombing runs, interception, scouting, atmospheric assault, ship-to-ship transport, civilian commuting, docking, and local movement.
Within these classes, navies still use traditional functional categories. Behemoth Ships and many Capital Ships usually fall under Class 1 or Class 2. Heavy Ships and Escort Ships are most commonly Class 2 or Class 3. Support Ships may range from Class 1 to Class 4, depending on their purpose. Fighters and small transport craft are almost always Class 5.
Some rare vessels, such as Super Dreadnoughts and so-called Denshaki Killers, are in production, but are not numerous enough to warrant a separate class of their own. Instead, they are generally treated as specialized Class 1 vessels.
Officers and admirals in the navy bear the responsibility of directing battles and devising overall strategies for both their ships and prusers. A skilled admiral can seamlessly coordinate these forces, ensuring decisive victory even against numerically superior opponents.
Naval officer training is conducted at various esteemed institutions across the galaxy, with a notable concentration in Revos. Many nations send their most promising talents to Revos for advanced training, recognizing its reputation for excellence.
Ultimately, the strength of a nation is highly dependent on the number of its ships, the quality of its commanders, and the strategic classes of vessels it can field. A formidable navy guarantees trade and shipping rights, serves as both a bulwark against and enabler for prusers, and solidifies a nation’s standing and influence in the Sola Galaxy.
Near the Revos Control system Pantar 15, on an isolated moon orbiting one of the inner planets, around one hundred thousand elite students from across the galaxy were gathered at Gihimna Upper School.
As the cream of the crop of naval talent, the entire moon was their campus. They had access to a plethora of resources, talented teachers, former officers, training facilities, simulation chambers, and everything else required to guide them forward.
In one specific building on that moon was the Advanced Senior Naval Command class of 4847 RE.
Of the one hundred thousand individuals enrolled in Gihimna Upper School, only six had qualified for this prestigious class.
Tiberius Kael Norek sat with his feet up on the desk, his book open, his pen abandoned beside it. He was not taking notes.
His white hair fell messily around his face, framing tired blue eyes. His uniform was scruffy, his boots unpolished, his fingers thin and nimble, and his slim frame looked half folded into the chair. He practically dozed in and out of sleep as Ms Hill rattled on at the front of the room.
Ms Hill was by no means a poor teacher. She had served as chief of staff in Elter Vim’s fleet and had been pretty good at her job. She was tan-skinned, brown-haired, and carried herself with the posture of someone who had once stood on command decks instead of in front of students. But she also looked tired. Very tired.
Teaching this class would do that to anyone.
What Ms Hill had to say was by no means rudimentary. She was talking about a strategy employed by the great Sydney Wang during his defense of Mentiria against the armies of the Sola Principality. A triple feint into a tactical withdrawal and counterattack was not exactly beginner material.
It was the kind of strategy Tiberius might have been interested in at one time.
Unfortunately, that time had passed.
Tiberius considered Ms Hill an exceptional teacher, at least when compared to the others he had suffered through, but he still saw no reason to listen to her.
Why did he have to listen?
He already knew this strategy inside and out. He had broken it down into its core components, examined its structure, understood its value, and deemed it unworthy of him.
Ms Hill looked up from her lecture and glanced at him, not losing a step in her explanation. She already knew it was pointless trying to argue with him. There was no reason to lose the class another hour to a back and forth where Tiberius would yet again emerge victorious, if victory could be defined as the surrender of his opponent through exhaustion and exasperation.
Next to him sat Dala Makoren.
Her gold and black uniform was clean and crisp. Her blonde hair was neat, her blue eyes focused, and her posture was everything Tiberius’ was not. She took notes diligently, her writing neat and organized, her eyes carefully recording everything her teacher said.
After another ten minutes, Ms Hill stopped her lecture and changed the display.
“Now, Mr Norek, you may want to return to the land of the living. This one concerns you.”
Tiberius made a show of yawning and stretching before leaning forward in his chair. He gave her a half-hearted salute.
Ms Hill sighed.
“As you all know, your final exams begin today.”
She looked over the six of them individually.
“I’d offer you good luck, but I’m quite confident none of you will need it. You’ve each surpassed the metric to graduate long ago.”
Tiberius smirked to himself and looked at Dala.
She smiled back at him.
“The exams will follow as such. Maia and Dala, you will participate as chiefs of staff for the final exam to those who make it through to the final round. Maia, as you have the higher scores overall, you will choose who you work with.”
Ms Hill directed her words toward Maia Danbar, a girl Tiberius’ age, with dark hair and cold green eyes.
Maia nodded.
“Yes, Ms Hill.”
Tiberius chuckled a little.
It did not matter who chose first. Maia would never pick Tiberius over Vae Lor.
The Amani student sat at the front of the class, back straight, polished uniform immaculate, red-skinned neck visible above his collar. Vae Lor was everything Tiberius was not. Nephew of High Councilor Shun Lor. Calm, controlled and a charismatic commander. Annoyingly charismatic to the point even Tiberius could not bring himself to dislike him.
“As for the four of you,” Ms Hill said, gesturing toward Tiberius, Boran Jensu, Jessica Benel, and Vae Lor, “you will each face off in a bracket. Vae Lor, as the highest ranked student in the entire school, you will have first choice of third or fourth seed. I’m sure you will have prepared your decision.”
“Yes, Ms Hill,” Vae Lor responded. “I choose Jessica Benel.”
“Ha!” Tiberius said.
Everyone in the class looked at him.
Ms Hill did not even bother to interact. She only shook her head in silence and carried on. All eyes moved back to her, save for Boran Jensu’s, which lingered on Tiberius.
Tiberius stared back at his opponent.
He had hoped it would turn out like this, though it did not matter too much. He would have thrashed either one of them.
Boran finally turned forward again.
“The exams will commence in four hours, give or take,” Ms Hill said. “Don’t be late. And remember, various important individuals from high command and public staffing have come to watch. They will be the ones to assign you to command units or recommend you to their friends.”
She paused.
“I also hear this time there is a very high-ranking pruser among the watchers.”
All six of them sat up in their seats.
“Who is it?” asked Tiberius.
“That is a matter of national security, Mr Norek.”
Ms Hill grinned as she said it, practically telling him the answer.
“Damn,” Tiberius said. “So a Colonel. Or maybe even a Marshal.”
Whoever it was, Tiberius would give them a good show.
Ms Hill began packing up her things and closing down her displays.
“Whoever it is, make sure to show your best.” She gave Tiberius one final, concerned look over her glasses. “And just remember that winning isn’t everything in these exams.”
As she walked out, Tiberius turned to Boran.
“Looks like we’re finally going against each other, Boran.”
Boran Jensu sighed as he began packing up his things.
He was tall, broad, and built like someone who had never once needed to fear another person in his life. Dark hair, a powerful frame, and slight, intricate gold markings across his face denoting him as a Jensu. Even in a naval command class, where strength was secondary to intellect, Boran looked like he belonged on a battlefield.
“Yup,” Boran said.
Tiberius walked over to him and continued.
“You remember the last time we went head to head? Didn’t go very well for you.”
“No. It didn’t.” Boran put another book into his bag. “But I’m still gonna do my best against you this time.”
“Haha! Yeah, I mean, not like it’s really gonna make a difference though.”
Boran slammed his bag down on the desk and began towering over Tiberius.
“Is there something wrong with my fucking face? Is there a reason you continue to piss me off for no fucking reason?”
Tiberius stood his ground, but his heart rate spiked as the accomplished pruser loomed over him.
“Yeah,” Tiberius said. “Yeah there is. I want to prove it to you. I want to show you I’m better. That even though you were born with a golden spoon in your mouth, you don’t have shit on me.”
Boran raised a hand, not aggressively, but almost out of confusion.
“Dude, I never said I did. You’re just…”
He stopped himself.
“Whatever, man.”
Boran put his bag over his shoulder and pushed past the desks in his way.
But for Tiberius, this was not good enough.
As he watched Boran go, he felt something was missing.
He could not just berate Boran and have him be the bigger man. He could not let him leave looking like some kind of messiah.
Jessica Benel stared at Tiberius with open disgust. Maia Danbar watched with cold, silent judgment. Vae Lor looked more exhausted than surprised. Dala’s eyes had narrowed, not at Boran, but at him.
No.
That would not do at all.
Tiberius needed an enemy. He needed a mountain to climb. And this Jensu brat was exactly that.
Who the fuck did he think he was?
Walking away like that.
“Jensu pig,” Tiberius said as Boran left.
In one instant, Boran dropped his bag and crossed the distance between them.
He grabbed Tiberius by the throat and lifted him into the fucking sky.
“Fuck did you say?” Boran snarled. “Huh? How does that feel? You weakling little shit. I’ll snuff you out of existence. Keep talking that shit.”
Everyone else rose from their seats.
“Boran!” Vae Lor snapped.
Maia did not move.
Jessica laid a hand on Boran’s wide bicep, trying to calm him down.
Dala walked over as well.
Tiberius coughed as he gripped Boran’s wrist with both hands, struggling to get the words out.
“What’s the matter, Boran?” Tiberius choked. “Why you so worked up? It’s just a weakling little shit talking back to you.”
“You don’t think I will, do you?” Boran said.
His eyes began to burn.
Although Tiberius could not see it clearly, Boran must have been leaking out his presence to enhance himself, because Tiberius noticed the familiar drop in his stomach.
“Boran,” Dala said calmly. “Using presence against a blighted individual is a criminal offence. I don’t think you have the public credibility to get away with it with five other witnesses.”
Boran stopped, breathing heavily as Tiberius struggled against him.
“Besides…”
Dala assumed her own fighting stance, letting her presence leak out a little.
“You’re hurting my commander.”
Boran held Tiberius for a few more moments, then powered down and dropped him to the ground.
Not exactly safely, but not with enough force to do damage.
Tiberius clutched at his throat and coughed profusely on the floor.
Boran looked back at Dala before leaving.
“Dala, I swear I don’t get why you’re friends with this asshole. He’s just holding you back.”
“That’s for me to decide, Boran.”
Boran shook his head in disbelief, then left in a huff.
Vae Lor, who had watched the whole incident with exasperation, left as well. Maia and Jessica followed behind him.
Tiberius remained on the ground, one hand at his throat, still coughing.
Dala stood over him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“You’re a piece of work, Commander,” Dala said, offering him her hand.
Tiberius swatted it aside and got up himself, a little groggily.
“I had that, Dala.”
Dala laughed out loud in his face.
“Hahaha! Yeah, had your ass getting beat.”
Tiberius brushed past her and began packing up his things.
“Hey.”
Dala grabbed him by the arm, her expression more stern.
“I don’t mind your antics, but I expect a thank you after bailing you out.”
Tiberius let his nerves calm a little, then spoke softly.
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Dala. And thank you for bailing me out again.”
Dala let go of his arm and smiled.
“That’s better.”
The pair gathered their things and walked out of the classroom together.
“Why do you even do that shit?” Dala asked, rolling a piece of candy around her mouth.
Tiberius looked ahead intently.
“How can I get worked up if I don’t give myself a reason to fight, you know? I can’t just win. I need to destroy my enemy. Make sure they understand I’m better.”
Dala stared at him as she fiddled with the candy in her mouth.
“Uh huh. For sure, chief. Whatever you say.”
“I mean… I don’t know. It just pisses me off. All these entitled pricks. They’re born with everything. It’s easy for them to just coast through life. This guy Boran, this guy Vae Lor, they just don’t give a shit. And they don’t have to. They’re perfectly capable of just trying hard enough, not putting it all on the line and everything will turn out all right food them. It’s like this is a game for them.”
Tiberius and Dala turned a corner toward the building for their quarters. Outside on the left, they could see the terraformed surface of the moon, long grass rolling beneath an artificial miniature sun that hovered a few dozen miles away.
“Well, you certainly do care a lot,” Dala said.
Tiberius looked at her intently.
“Don’t you care? I mean, why even be in this class if you don’t care?”
Dala finished her candy and put another in her mouth.
“Brother, I just wanna get paid. As Ms Hill said, I’m already graduating with a 385 SOFIAC rating. I’m set for life with a cushy job on Bigg administrating troop deployments.”
Tiberius’ face sank, though this time it was more of a joke.
“Dala… Come on, don’t do me like that, man. Who else is going to tolerate my bullshit and translate my verbal diarrhea?”
Dala smirked as well.
“Three years of this shitty ass academy. I’ve studied every day, aced every exam, been nice to everyone, including your dumbass. Hell no, I’m not enlisting under your command. I’m enjoying a nice pencil pusher lifestyle as I have so well earned.”
Tiberius and Dala laughed as they entered their dorm building.
“That’s fair enough, Dala. To be honest, I guess I should thank you for sticking by me for so long.”
Dala popped a third candy in her mouth as she walked away to her room.
“And I would like to thank you for allowing me to ride on your coattails for three years.” Dala waved at him. “See you at the exam. You better not lose. I’ll kill myself if I have to serve under a Jensu.”
“Haha. Don’t worry, Dala. I’ll see you tomorrow for our final exam.”
Tiberius retired to his room and immediately began preparing.
The exam would consist of a simulation of two commanders in charge of evenly sized fleets. It was meant to highlight certain skills of the SOFIAC Doctrine, primarily Acumen, an officer’s tactical decision-making ability during battle, and Organization, an officer’s ability to manage logistics, maintain knowledge of the battlefield, and delegate personnel to where they would be most effective.
The simulations functioned like board games, save for the fact that Tiberius did legitimately have other students as the pieces, and they could fuck up his commands.
As a result, Tiberius did everything in his power to limit the amount of work his subordinates did and control everything on the battlefield, giving as little autonomy to his soldiers as possible.
Except when Dala was there.
She was the only one he trusted with his often nonsensical commands. She might not understand why he made a decision, but she trusted that he would get the job done. More importantly, she could make sense of the commands he gave, which often came across as criticism, insult, or something equally unhelpful.
Tiberius began reviewing Boran’s previous simulation results, ingesting and compiling his tendencies, his strategic weaknesses, his dependencies.
Boran relied heavily on his Command, on his ability to inspire his troops into battle and have them perform at higher levels than they were normally capable of.
Even Tiberius had to admit Boran was exceptional at that.
With Tiberius, it was often the opposite effect. His own soldiers became confused, hesitant, or sometimes even refused his orders entirely.
But today that wouldn’t matter.
He would do everything himself.
After three hours of studying, Tiberius left his room, put on his command uniform, and made his way toward the exam hall on the other side of the moon.
He entered a transport ship and emerged thirty minutes later, waiting in the hall.
As he waited, a dozen or so other students appeared. Tiberius did not recognize any of them, but they were likely his teammates or subordinates.
For them, this was also their final exam, but one look at them and Tiberius rolled his eyes.
He walked over to the group as one of them started talking.
“Sir, Commander Norek-”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Here’s the deal. You do as you are told, and hopefully I won’t rely on any of you for anything.”
The lead student’s eyes sank. He had clearly heard the rumors about Tiberius and was dismayed to discover their accuracy.
“I’ll make sure you all pass the exam, so don’t worry about it.”
“Yes, sir,” the lead student said, his voice laced with ice.
Tiberius nodded and led them into the exam room. As he entered, he caught a glimpse of Boran who just stared straight ahead without looking at Tiberius.
The exam room modeled the inside of a ship. For this exam, it had been configured into the bridge of a dreadnought.
Tiberius sat down in the Admiral’s chair, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline course through him.
Around him, the display lit up in a hexagonal pattern, revealing a system Tiberius had studied very well.
Zogen 30. A Control system of Revos.
His fleet comprised one dreadnought, ten battleships, five supercarriers, a few dozen other capital ships, two hundred thousand standard ships, and forty thousand support ships. He had one Master of War, a Striker, five first grade Anan Kari of mixed talents, and fifty other Anan Kari. Then came the one hundred thousand prusers of Shari level and below.
For the sake of ease, the prusers under his command were based on real people, with accurate modeling of their abilities that simulated the statistical likelihood of them winning certain engagements. It was far from perfect, but it did a decent job of simulating real combat.
Boran’s forces were identical.
When Tiberius had finished moving his battlegroups into position the exam started.
Tiberius directed his troops to form small, isolated battlegroups and spread out. He said nothing as he moved his forces to different corners of the system, keeping all of their trajectories, orientations, and locations relative to the enemy in his head.
Boran, perhaps still pissed off at Tiberius for his antics, surged forward, desperate to find a decisive encounter.
Tiberius denied him that.
He split off his forces and kept just out of Boran’s range, taking various rearguard actions so that Boran could just taste what he wanted.
Tiberius’ subordinates did nothing.
Nor did he ask them to do anything.
They all just sat back as his hands flew over the dashboard, directing his forces as he saw fit. He had split his army into twenty smaller groups and was expertly managing all of them.
Then began his strategy.
Boran’s fleet had been slowly enveloped on all sides in his attempt to force a decisive battle. Tiberius sent six of his battlegroups in at once from different directions, then backed them out. They did just enough damage, then quickly retreated.
As they did, Boran’s forces were dragged apart, trying to fight an enemy on multiple sides.
Then, as the first battlegroups retreated, Tiberius sent the other half in from different directions, keeping their range and chipping away at Boran’s forces.
Soon Boran’s force had been reduced to thirty percent of its original size.
One of Tiberius’ subordinates spoke up.
“Sir, should we engage? The enemy is weak.”
Tiberius raised a hand in annoyance.
“Just… shut up, ok. Let me work.”
It was a logical assumption. Since they were graded on time until victory, Tiberius did have an incentive to finish the battle quickly.
However, Boran was not as weak as he let on.
That Jensu oaf was doing his best to appear weak right now by cycling his damaged ships to the frontline and feigning sluggish movements. If Tiberius engaged with his whole force right now, he could still lose. Boran’s leadership and determination meant that, in a pitched battle, he had the undeniable advantage.
Tiberius smirked to himself.
Clever little nepotistic brat.
He continued to slowly chip away at Boran. At this rate, his victory was almost assured.
At fifty percent losses, Tiberius had only lost barely five percent of his force.
Victory was close.
“Man, fuck this. I’m going in!” said one of the students in the room.
“No! Stop! What are you doing?”
A battlegroup of Tiberius’ forces began surging forward, straight toward a weak point in Boran’s line. Tiberius tried to direct his soldiers to turn back, but they ignored his orders, prioritizing the commands of the student directly controlling them.
As if he had been waiting for exactly this, Boran’s army immediately straightened into formation and raced toward the first enemy they could finally fight in a straightforward engagement.
Outnumbered and outclassed, Tiberius’ battlegroup was annihilated, losing almost eight percent of his force in less than a minute.
“Oh shit…” the student said.
“Get out!” shouted Tiberius.
The student left in a hurry.
Tiberius immediately set about trying to regain control of his army, but Boran had already engaged another battlegroup and was ripping it to pieces.
“Nobody touch anything! Is it so hard to just do nothing?!”
Tiberius shook his head and salvaged what he could of his remaining battlegroup. In the confusion, Boran had left behind some stragglers who could not keep up with his assault, and Tiberius mopped them up.
Still, in that last engagement, Tiberius had lost eleven percent of his army, bringing him to around seventy-five percent total force.
Boran, meanwhile, was at around forty-five.
Tiberius estimated he needed at least a two to one advantage to win decisively.
For the remainder of the exam, Tiberius methodically cut Boran to shreds, refusing straightforward engagements and only moving in decisively when he outnumbered Boran three to one.
It took three hours.
Likely an hour more than would have been necessary without that incident.
Before the victory screen could even display, Tiberius left the room and stepped into the hall to see a few hundred people watching.
Despite his victory, there was no applause from the audience.
He walked through the crowd and went back to his room in a hurry.
He could not believe it had been that close.
His total victory had been lost because of some idiot.
Boran had gotten the better of him.mAlbeit briefly.
That was unacceptable.
Tiberius cleaned himself up and got into bed, though he stayed up for many hours, thinking about how the battle could have gone better.
Exam
An Extract from Chapter IV of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
Navy
The Six Command Metrics
Within the Sola Galaxy, the SOFIAC Doctrine is the basis by which strategic officers are rated. Ratings are renewed and published on a yearly basis by the Revos Naval Command Research Institute. They are also used internally in schools and training to assess the abilities of up and coming officers.
Subterfuge - The officer’s ability to manipulate information to their advantage and skew the odds in their favor through deceit, misinformation, concealment, and calculated misdirection. It reflects a talent for obscuring true intentions, feeding the enemy false conclusions, and shaping the battlefield before open conflict has even begun. Subterfuge is the art of information warfare, the precarious shaping and control of how the enemy perceives the situation at hand.
Organization - The officer’s ability to manage the logistics and supply of their army, maintain knowledge of the battlefield and the state of an operation as a whole while keeping in mind their primary objectives, and delegate the necessary officers, prusers, and personnel to the positions where they will be most effective. Organization is the backbone of any army. It keeps an army fed, places its most talented officers where their abilities are best suited, and ensures the force is properly prepared for the engagement it needs to win.
Foresight - The officer’s ability to see the bigger picture and plan accordingly. It is the capacity to anticipate a variety of possible outcomes, prepare for them in advance, and prioritize long-term objectives over short-term gains. Foresight is an officer’s ability to think beyond the immediate engagement at hand, and consider how present decisions will shape future operations, campaigns, and victories.
Initiative - The ability to understand the flow of battle and act at the decisive moment. Initiative reflects an officer’s capacity to translate the instinctive, unquantifiable rhythm of war into real battlefield decisions that alter the course of an engagement. It is the skill of recognizing the crucial turning points, seizing the critical opportunity at exactly the right time, and transforming that fleeting opening into a crushing victory.
Acumen - The officer’s tactical decision-making ability during battle. It covers troop deployment, the ability to assess the advantages and disadvantages of an engagement with precision, and the judgment to select the most effective response. While this ability is strengthened through experience and the study of prior tactics, it also includes the capacity to make rational and beneficial decisions in unfamiliar situations where not all variables are fully known.
Command - The officer’s ability to exert authority over their troops, train them to follow orders, project personal charisma, and shape the morale of the force under their leadership. A strong officer is able to inspire their troops to fight with greater effectiveness, communicate information and orders with clarity, lead their forces decisively under pressure, and ensure that discipline is maintained even in the chaos of battle. Command also reflects the degree to which soldiers trust in their leader’s judgment and remain willing to follow that leader through hardship, fear, and uncertainty.
For practical interpretation, most militaries use an informal scale from 0 to 100. Scores from 0 to 20 indicate unreliability or fundamental incompetence. 30 to 40 is considered passable. 40 to 60 denotes a reliable officer capable of sustained command with decent experience. 60 to 80 reflects great competence and excellent performance under high-stakes combat scenarios. 80 to 90 is considered excellent and typically associated with major Fleet Admirals or distinguished leaders of long campaigns. Scores from 90 to 100 are regarded as exceptional and are rarely attributed outside of the most exceptional figures in recorded history.
Tiberius Kael Norek sat with his arms crossed, his foot tapping incessantly against the metallic floor of the exam hall. His uniform had been ironed–albeit hurriedly and some of the edges of his sleeves were still crumpled.
Beside him was Dala Makoren, her blonde hair tied back in a bun, her gold and black uniform immaculately pressed as she popped another piece of candy into her mouth.
On the other side of the hall stood Vae Lor, red-skinned, yellow-eyed, and wearing a bright smile as he shook hands and greeted all those around him. Around twenty or so high-ranking Revos officials, Amani officials, and even one or two representatives from the Mercenary Guild had gathered near him. Beside him, Maia Danbar conservatively greeted those who came up to her, her expression calm and proper as always.
Tiberius shook his head in disbelief.
“You all right there, boss?” Dala asked as she organized some papers.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Tiberius said, in a tone that indicated anything but.
As he watched Vae Lor, a gnawing sensation pulled at Tiberius’ stomach. Why were they talking to him? Why were they gathered around Vae Lor like he had already won something? Tiberius had crushed Boran Jensu yesterday. He had demonstrated superior tactical ability, superior control, superior everything.
And yet Vae Lor was the one they wanted to speak to. His tapping grew louder and louder as his face smoldered.
“You watch the news last night?” Dala asked absentmindedly. “The Denshaki arrived on Star’s End.”
“No. I was studying,” Tiberius said, his eyes still fixed across the hall.
Dala glanced down at his tapping foot.
“Don’t work yourself up before the exam. I need you in top form.”
Tiberius slammed his foot on the floor.
“Shut the-”
Dala stopped chewing on her candy and looked at him as if daring him to keep speaking.
Tiberius closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.
“Sorry. I am fine. Don’t worry about our chances of victory. If anything I’m only getting more fired up.”
Dala eyed him up a bit longer, then looked over to Vae Lor and his gaggle of minglers.
“Damn. We’re not very popular, are we?”
“Maybe I should dye my skin red. Might have more luck,” Tiberius said sardonically.
“I’m not sure that would make a big difference, chief.”
Their conversation was cut short as a plain-looking man in a Revos Navy middle commodore uniform walked toward them.
Tiberius and Dala stood up and saluted as he approached.
“Hi. Middle Commodore Joseph Brice, serving in the 7th Fleet. Sorry to bother you before the exam.” He turned to Dala. “Would I be correct in saying you’re Dala Makoren?”
The man reached out a hand toward her.
Dala swallowed her candy and shook it.
“You’d be correct. To what do I owe the pleasure, Commodore?”
“I just wanted to say I read your thesis on the distribution and supply of Vesta patches in tertiary and secondary systems in active combat sectors. I was very impressed, as were my colleagues.”
“Oh,” Dala said, her eyes sparkling to life. “Well… thank you. It took me quite a long time.”
“I’m sure it did. It was immensely detailed.” The man slid forward a personal cube ID. “After your exam, make sure to reach out to me. I’m sure we could use someone of your talents.”
“Of course. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Joseph Brice gave her a polite nod and began to turn away.
Tiberius stepped forward.
“Commodore Brice,” he said.
The man paused.
“Yes?”
Tiberius straightened his uniform slightly.
“Tiberius Kael Norek. Second highest-ranked student at Gihimna Upper School.”
There was a brief, awkward silence.
Commodore Brice looked at him, then smiled politely.
“Yes. Of course. I have heard of you.”
Tiberius waited for him to continue, but found silence.
“I’m also interested in serving with the 7th Fleet,” Tiberius said. “If there’s an opening.”
The corner of Joseph’s mouth twitched just a little, just enough that Tiberius caught it.
“Ahem. Yes, I’m sorry however I don’t think we’ll be needing someone of your… Talents.”
Tiberius bit his bottom lip as Dala tried to hide her wince.
“Of course, sir.”
"Best of luck in the exam," said Commodore Brice, turning away to rejoin Vae Lor’s group.
Tiberius watched the man go, a clawing sensation gripping at his stomach.
Dala’s eyes sunk a bit as she watched him go, silence emanating between the two of them.
“Tiberius…” She said finally.
Tiberius glared at the back of the man’s head as he went over to Vae Lor and introduced himself. Time slowed for Tiberius as he watched the two exchanged words, smile at each other, laugh at their pathetic attempts at formal banter.
Blood oozed inside Tiberius’ mouth as he bit through his gum. His breathing became heavy as tensed his hand. He took a step towards the group.
Dala grabbed him by the upper arm.
“Hey! I know what you’re thinking. Don’t you fucking dare. Not right now. If you want to get expelled for being an asshole don’t bring me down with you. I don’t care how badly your ego is hurt.”
Tiberius relaxed himself under her grip. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to let him move from this spot.
He looked at her earnest face, the lines in her forehead were creased.
His expression softened and he took a deep breath.
“Only because… I want to visit you in your penthouse when you’ve made it.” Tiberius said, slumping back down in his chair.
Dala plopped down next to him and threw another candy in her mouth.
“Chief, if we win today, I will buy you a feast every time you come to visit me on Bigg.”
After a few more minutes of Tiberius staring daggers at his opponent from the other side of the room, a collection of underclassmen trepidatiously approached the two of them.
“Sir? Commander Norek? We’re your lieutenants for the exam today. Please instruct us on what we should do.”
Tiberius glanced at them, looked at their faces, then nodded at Dala to deal with them.
Without missing a beat, Dala got up, swallowing her candy and addressed the group.
“Commander Norek is readying himself for the event, please allow me to direct you on how we should proceed.”
While Dala smoothed over the concerns of Tiberius’ subordinates, all Tiberius could think of was how he was going to rip Vae Lor’s dignity apart.
The two parties lined up outside the exam hall, Tiberius in front, next to Vae Lor, Dala and Maia behind both of them.
“Best of luck, Tiberius.” Vae Lor smiled at him and held out a hand.
Tiberius’ eyes widened and his face soured as he turned to face Vae.
“Luck is a symptom of bad planning Vae. I won’t be needing it to dismantle you.” Tiberius made no attempt to shake his hand.
Vae Lor scoffed slightly and shook his head.
“Well, best of dismantling to you Mr Norek.”
On their signal both parties entered their rooms, Tiberius taking his usual seat in the middle of the simulated battleship.
As he peered over his forces he saw a standard set up of a classic Revotian fleet, modelling a Marshal, two Colonels, a wide array of prusers and a sizable fleet.
The rest of Tiberius’ colleagues sat down, awaiting his deployment orders.
Inside Tiberius’ head, a thousand thoughts raced. He knew Vae Lor was exceptional, even though he loathed to admit it. A standard strategy would leave him with his britches down and humiliated in front of everyone.
Tiberius’ face darkened as he hovered his hand over the deployment screen.
No mercy.
“Dala… I’m trusting you with our flagship and rearguard. All you have to do is hold my flank and rear.”
Dala glanced up at him.
“You sure about that boss?” She said intently. “You’re going to handle the whole frontline yourself against Vae Lor and Maia Danbar?”
The other lieutenants looked up from their monitors at Tiberius.
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” said Tiberius, his adrenaline rising.
Dala sighed as though to calm her nerves then addressed the rest of the group.
“All of you listen to me. I need absolute focus on this. Our priority is to hold the line and give our Commander space. Is that clear?”
“Yes Sir!”
Tiberius began laying out his forces, evenly spaced throughout the system, integrating their capabilities and memorizing their specific conditions relative to the battlefield.
When the battle began Tiberius surged into action, moving three of his battlegroups forward without hesitation.
What followed would go down in history as the most obscene performance of individual tactical ability in the history of Gihimna Upper School.
As though possessed by a seer, Tiberius anticipated, predicted and mitigated every action Vae Lor made with ruthless efficiency.
He maximized each asset he had, using their relative position to amplify their battle potential.
And Vae Lor made few errors. He responded with near equal speed, near equal efficiency and near equal positioning. And yet, in every action each commander took there was a noticeable difference. Whether it was a mismatch in each battlegroup’s specific strengths, or a decisive move made a second too slow, it added up.
Tiberius advanced through the system, outflanking Vae Lor's dreadnought near the third moon in a move that, for a brief moment, looked like a catastrophic overextension. Then he turned the tables, directing his Marshal into the engagement and collapsing Vae Lor's battlegroup before his opponent could even respond. Simultaneously, on the far side of the battlefield, Vae Lor had left one of his supercarriers slightly too far forward–a mistake Tiberius caught instantly, breaking a squadron of fighters from formation to cut through the gap and blow the supercarrier apart before Vae Lor could pull it back.
And throughout the battlefield for every defensive step Vae Lor made, Tiberius responded with two, three then more, ripping apart Vae Lor’s near perfect defensive structure.
Without missing a moment, Tiberius pressed his advantage across the entire battlefield, singlehandedly micromanaging each battlegroup, each asset with such precision he left no autonomy to any frontline unit.
In a desperate attempt, Vae Lor sent a battlegroup to strike at his rear, but Tiberius paid it no mind. Dala would hold.
If the beginning of their match had been a duel with each party holding a sword and shield, Tiberius would’ve been attacking with Vae Lor slowly giving ground. Now Vae Lor had no sword and his shield was but a scrap of wood as Tiberius hacked away at it relentlessly. From Tiberius’ perspective this was exactly the humiliation ritual he was looking for.
Even as he closed in for the finishing blow, Tiberius finished it while only using a fraction of his force. He could have played it safe and committed his whole force, yet he chose to deploy a smaller, more specialized battlegroup to destroy the remnants of Vae Lor’s force.
Vae Lor made one last pitiful attempt to come back, but Tiberius swatted it away and directed his Colonel to destroy Vae Lor’s flagship.
The simulation ended with a victory message displayed on Tiberius’ screen. The final casualty rate was 1:3 in Tiberius’ favor, not his best, but the battle had lasted no more than fourteen minutes from start to finish.
Tiberius relieved his hand from the console and took a deep breath. As he took a breath he noticed his hand was shaking and he’d broken out into a sweat.
There was no cheer in Tiberius’ command room. Tiberius looked around and found his lieutenants staring at him not with awe, but confusion and concern.
Dala walked over to him as she stared at him, then at the victory screen, then back.
“Yo?!” She exclaimed. “Did I miss something?”
Tiberius said nothing, just taking deep breaths in and out.
“Congrats chief. You just committed murder.” She said, patting him on the back. Dala took a look at his face, and saw he was still breathing heavily. She snapped her fingers at one of the students. “Kid! Get some water for him. Maybe a towel too.”
As if snapping out of a daze, the student got up and gave Tiberius some water, but in his attempt to grab the cup, Tiberius knocked it out of the student’s hand.
As he went to pick it up, Tiberius got up and stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
Dala looked at him with skepticism.
“Yeah man.” She responded with pursed lips.
The door to the exam hall opened to reveal an equally stunned gaggle of onlookers.
Tiberius took in their faces and smirked. He strode outside, still slightly wobbly and looked down on all the people who’d previously disregarded him.
“That was incredible!?" Said a familiar voice.
Tiberius didn’t register who had said that at first, because the thought was ridiculous to him.
Vae Lor strode over to him, grinning from ear to ear, his hands clutching his head.
“There was nothing I could do? Wow! You were unbelievable!”
Tiberius’ smirk faded, his mood shifting as Vae Lor continued to heap praise on him.
“That feint on the far side of the fourth planet? How did you know I was there?” Vae Lor wasn’t even looking at Tiberius, just grinning as he seemed to replay the battle in his head. Dala and Maia followed up, looking at Tiberius with growing concern.
There was no smile on Tiberius’ face.
Why was Vae Lor smiling? Why wasn’t he crushed? Why was he acting like this was all a GAME!
Tiberius clenched his fist.
Why?! WHY?! Why was it that Vae Lor could be so carefree even after losing in such humiliating fashion?
It’s not fair.
Tiberius’ eyes flickered.
“I mean that was the best thing I’ve ever-”
Vae Lor looked up just in time to see Tiberius’ fist flying towards him. If Tiberius had any ability to perceive time at supernatural levels, he would’ve seen a look of shock and perplexion on Vae Lor’s face. He would have then seen a thin barrier of presence erect itself around Vae Lor. He would have seen Dala reach out, but react a millisecond too late.
Tiberius’ fist stopped three inches from Vae Lor’s face, and his wrist split in two. There was a flurry of motion that followed.
Tiberius fell to the floor, clutching his shattered arm, crying out in pain. Vae Lor cursed and moved forward to catch Tiberius but missed. Dala failed to intercept Tiberius’ fist then took a step back and took a sharp breath as she clutched her forehead. Maia stepped back and assumed a half hearted combat stance, the look on her face half stern, half confused.
Most of the onlookers responded instinctively to the use of presence and struck up their own barriers, but quickly saw there was nothing to be concerned about.
A special agent in black and gold armor walked over and pushed Vae Lor aside, kneeling down at Tiberius’ shattered arm. The agent flicked his hands and made a makeshift brace, then sent out a psychic ping.
If Tiberius could tune into it he would’ve heard:
This is Collins, I’ve got one of these kids down with a pretty severe bone fracture in his left arm. I’ll need a healer up by the exam room.
Tiberius felt the presence of the agent seep into him, soothing his pain and hardening his resolve. With the pain subsiding, Tiberius came back to his senses and tried to get up, but the agent stopped him.
“Sidown kid. I’ve just upped your mental resolve, you’re still injured You’re probably gonna pass out from the exertion soon. Just relax and don’t do anything stupid.”
Tiberius tried to answer, but his world began to spin. The lights above him blurred into one long white line until he collapsed into the agent’s arms.
Comments
Lower Commodore
An Extract from Chapter XXIII of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
The Federal Security Republic of Revos
Colonels
As established in many nations, the role of Master of War represents the pinnacle of martial strength. However, prusers of this caliber are not exclusive to that title. In the Mercenary Guild, Thorium-ranked Mercenaries are often as strong as, if not stronger than, Masters of War. In the Solas Principality, these individuals are known as Legatus (Legati). Similarly, heads of elite pruser units or clan leaders can possess the same level of power but may lack the prestige associated with a Master of War title.
In the Federal Security Republic of Revos, prusers of this caliber are referred to as Colonels. While most nations struggle to field more than a handful of Masters of War, Revos boasts an impressive 24 Colonels, a staggering number that highlights the nation’s military depth.
Many of these Colonels gain battlefield experience through assignments abroad or within the Mercenary Guild. A prominent example is Komero Meraki, current head of the Meraki Family, Warden of the Flame, and Thorium-ranked Mercenary. He commands the 3rd Division and is expected to return to Revos to enlist as a Colonel.
While the Commander in Chief and the Marshals represent the absolute pinnacle of Revos' might, it is the Colonels who enforce that power across the galaxy. They are regularly deployed for high-stakes missions, such as conducting investigations, aiding in post-conflict reconstruction, mediating truces, and, in some cases, enforcing Revos law.
In line with broader galactic trends, many Colonels today would have been considered Marshals in ages past. The average strength of a Revos Colonel has significantly increased over time, making them an even more formidable force within the Republic’s military structure.
“So you’re not coming home?”
Tiberius’ father stared at him through the cube’s 3D display. His thick, branded arms were crossed and his finely manicured mustache twitched with disapproval. He was still in his engineer’s uniform and from the looks of his tanned skin had just finished a shift outside the bounds of an atmosphere.
Titus Kael Norek, was not a man of great emotion, or sympathy. Throughout TIbeirus’ life, the man was cold and had never shown any great interest in Tiberius’ passion for command. Yet, he had always been reliable in his own way, when he and Tiberius weren’t butting heads over politics.
“I can’t dad. This is my opportunity. The Marshal says I can go on leave in six months. I’ll be back then,” said Tiberius, trying to keep his calm. His father always did have a way of pushing Tiberius’ nerves.
Titus’ frown deepened.
“Some Marshal… You couldn’t have gone for one of the sensible ones?”
“Well I didn’t really have much of a choice, dad,” Tiberius said, his frustration building.
“Oh leave him be-”
Farsa Kael Norek tapped her husband's massive frame. One a gravitational engineer for primary systems, the other a lower school teacher, the pair were quite the contrast in body types. However, Farsa Norek was the dominant force of the household, even while her husband grumbled.
“Well, despite what he says we are sad you won’t be coming home for a while, Tiberius.”
A small smile crossed Tiberius’ face as his mother spoke. Where with his father it was a constant clash of wills, his mother was a voice of reassurance to him. Though, he did often find himself disagreeing with her on more technical subjects.
He found it difficult to summon the words to respond to her. He was grateful to his parents. They had put him through school after all. Was it really his place to tell them he was just going to go his own way now?
After a few moments of silence, Titus spoke up cautiously.
“Are you happy with this opportunity… son?”
Tiberius did a double take and saw his father looking off to the side.
“Yeah… Yeah I am dad. I think I lucked out. I want to devote myself to this. I want to excel and show the Marshal she made the right choice by taking a chance on me.”
Emotion swelled within him. He remembered all those late nights studying, all the times he’d been told he would have no chance in the military and even his own father telling him it was hopeless.
Titus furrowed his brow.
“Well I’m not going to say I’m happy about it, but if it’s what you want and you’re happy with it… Then good luck, son.”
Tiberius’ eyes began to water.
“Fuck me, dad-”
“Langauge son, remember. You’re an officer now. Best act like one.” Titus stared at him sternly. Perhaps it was Tiberius' imagination, but behind that obdurated exterior he saw a tender few cracks of pride leaking through his father’s granitic expression.
“Ohhh…” Farsa Norek beamed out enough positive energy to waver her husband's exterior. “We are so happy for you, Tiberius. We know you have to go soon… Just remember to be safe and… We’re right behind you. And if you need to come back home for whatever reason, we’ll be here for you.”
Tiberius’ resolve ebbed ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Thank you, parents. I’ll make sure to message you when I can.”
Titus scoffed.
“Yeah… sometime in the next century.”
Tiberius chuckled.
“Bye, dad. Bye mum.”
“We love you!!!” Tiberius ended the call as his mother’s words landed on him.
After taking a moment to gather his thoughts from that, Tiberius looked over to his suitcase. He’d packed what he could, in all honesty, he didn’t have much. His personal cube had information that could be transferred anywhere in the galaxy and he had no real attachment to his clothes or any belongings.
Tiberius had just packed a standard week’s worth of clothing, some basic personal utilities and he was ready.
For his last day on campus he wore his usual uniform, though this one he’d tried to iron himself and straighten out some of the rougher patches.
He was probably not at his most presentable, but he was confident that, in the near future, he would naturally gravitate toward an acceptable baseline of decorousness.
Tiberius grabbed his suitcase, bade his accommodation of the last year farewell and walked down to the hangar where he’d been told to await pickup.
When he arrived he found the other five members of the command squad there, all talking to each other, surrounded by a few dozen other people to see them off. Vae Lor and Boran Jensu were in the middle of everyone, their viscous charisma bringing easy smiles to all around. Maia, Jessica and Dala were there, chatting away, all of them looking unusually–though it made sense for the occasion–warm and amiable with each other.
Vae Lor noticed Tiberius first and noticeably trailed off in the conversation, his yellow eyes narrowing.
The rest followed his gaze and the mood visibly deflated, Maia and Boran glaring at him. Dala looked at Tiberius, then at the others, then back at Tiberius and shrugged, then jogged over to him lightly.
Tiberius could not help but feel gratitude towards his friend.
“Because you are…” She said as she approached him. “Without redemption, the scourge of this world.”
“Beyond reproach and salvation.” Tiberius added, grinning.
Dala smirked as well, before a slight solemnity fell across her face.
“This is it chief… We made it.”
Tiberius thought back to the first time they had met, when he tried to insult her and she threw a piece of candy at his eye. Then to the first exam they had taken together and somehow won despite a series of disastrous miscommunications. Then to the time they spent an hour insulting Gihimna Upper School until they were both nearly breathless with laughter.
His only regret was that he had not tried harder to be her friend.
“We made it Dala. I’m rooting for you, I hope we can get food sometime when I come visit Bigg.”
“That sounds good. You’re paying though fatass,” said Dala, popping another candy in her mouth. “Mr big shot. Mr ‘The Marshal wants to see you’. Ok. Nah I get it ya know. Soon I’ll be Renga Jensu’s personal chief of staff, how ‘bout that?”
Tiberius laughed heartily.
“You’re ok with abetting the slaughter of innocent civilians?”
“They call me Money Bags Makoren, chief. I’m taking the pay check, even at the cost of my morals.”
The two continued to banter as another unexpected figure walked over to them.
Tiberius drifted off as he saw Vae Lor walking imperiously towards him.
When he got close, he raised out a red-skinned hand to Tiberius that Tiberius tentatively accepted.
“Ummm… I’m sorry… ya know for…” Tiberius began.
“I uhh. I don’t care,” said Vae Lor, matter of factly. He was dismissive of TIberius’ attempts at an apology, but Tiberius did not take it as an insult. Nor did he really have the social capital to do so at the moment.
“I think you have a good opportunity in front of you. I always thought you were brilliant, and the stunts you pulled were just really immature. You were holding yourself back for literally no reason,” Vae Lor said. “I hope we can have a professional relationship in the future.”
The very finite reserve of Tiberius’ patience fell past half-empty in one phrase. But that was okay. That was okay and fine and great. Because. Because Tiberius was a new man. A new officer in the army of the esteemed Third Marshal of Revos and Hero of the galaxy, Shareen Maxamillian. And an officer in the army of Her Excellency, would not act immaturely, as Vae Lor so righteously and generously pointed out, in the face of this motherfucking-
Tiberius summoned his reserves of graciousness and good behaviour and without even an outward presentation of contemptuousness, responded to his most esteemed colleague.
“Thank you, Vae Lor. I also hope to have a professional relationship with you.”
Vae Lor nodded and walked back to the group.
“Ooh. Ooh… oh my,” Dala said, pain in her voice. “That was like watching… a super-heavy cruiser ram through ten million crying babies.”
Tiberius looked back at Dala, with the tiniest sliver of charisma and control that he could exude.
“It’s ok Dala. Because, I’m an officer in the army of The Third Marshal of Revos, Shareen Maxamillian. And, an officer in the army of Her Excellency is a model of professionalism and politeness.”
“Oh… I see. You little bitch. And you are grotesque, malformed, undesirable and unseemly to behold in every capacity.”
“Thanks Dala.”
“No problem, chief.” Dala said, munching on her candy.
Perhaps seeing the benefits of his newfound attitude, Tiberius walked across the hangar bay to Boran Jensu, an increasing number of eyes following him as he did so.
Boran deliberately ignored him and carried on his conversation with Jessica.
“Sorry, Boran, would you mind if I had a word.”
Without breaking the flow of his speech Boran turned to Tiberius and responded.
“Nope. Go fuck yourself. A shitty officer for a shitty Marshal. I hope you fail and I hate you.”
Boran turned back to his conversation with Jessica. Jessica herself did not seem to be listening anymore as looked at Tiberius’ expression of growing animosity.
But Boran did not care. Boran did not have to care. In the unlikely event Tiberius lashed out at him physically, Boran would likely take it upon himself to break Tiberius’ arm again, and then get him fired.
There was nothing Tiberius could do without ruining his future.
But, that hadn’t stopped him before.
Just as the stars aligned on Tiberius' next course of action, a commanding voice reverberated through the room.
“Commodore Norek, Commodore Danbar. Make your last goodbyes. We are leaving.”
Standing on the ramp of a personal shuttle, with her usual overwhelming majesty and immanence, was Shareen Maxamillian, her silver braid blowing out behind her. She wore a black and gold piece of light armor, as opposed to the ceremonial set she had worn at graduation.
With a final glance at Boran, Tiberius ran over to Dala, paused for a moment, not knowing how to express the gratitude for her comradery, and gave her the best salute he could muster.
Dala crunched her candy and snapped to attention, somewhat putting his salute to shame.
“Good luck, chief.”
“And to you, Dala.”
With his last goodbye, Tiberius grabbed his suitcase and wheeled around, jogging to Shareen, Maia falling in beside him.
The duo boarded the shuttle, Maia helping Tiberius lift his suitcase up the ramparts after he held them up for longer than two seconds.
Soon they were in the air, flying away from Gihimna Upper School. The inside of the shuttle was far wider than anything Tiberius had seen before and clearly made for one person and their small party.
Shareen sat down at a table, gesturing for the two of them to do the same.
“I’ve heard that the two of you don’t get along particularly well,” said Shareen.
Tiberius glanced at Maia, her black hair slicked back. She made no acknowledgement of his existence, just looking forward towards her commanding officer.
“Your Excellency, no we do not, but we are amicable when we need to be,” Maia responded.
Shareen nodded to herself as she seemed to ponder to herself.
“That is permissible. I do not expect the two of you to suddenly blossom into beloved comrades. However, I do expect trust and absolute co-operation to a degree that goes above what would normally be expected of officers of your position.”
“Yes, sir.” Responded both Tiberius and Maia, Tiberius’ voice coming just a split second out of time.
If Maia was upset about Shareen’s words, she made no outward expression of that.
Shareen tilted her head and looked up at the sky.
“I’ve asked the pilot to fly us around the Dreadnought for a few minutes so I can lay upon you my expectations. This will be a rare opportunity for us to converse, before I must dutifully slip back into my responsibilities.”
Two lines appeared in Shareen’s forehead as she hardened her expression slightly.
“We are in the middle of a cascade. I understand you are well-educated, that you have already both served in limited capacities. However, while you may be aware on a theoretical level the precarity of our morass, you haven’t yet experienced it firsthand. As such, I must stress upon you the need for both of you to improve meteorically.”
While Tiberius was certain Shareen could never look uncomposed or fraught, he did notice a faint hint of uneasiness in her demeanor.
“It is my opinion and that of the Commander in Chief, that we are surging towards another galactic conflict. I assume you have both heard the news?”
“Yes, sir.” Maia said.
“Sorry, no sir.” Tiberius said after a second.
Shareen glanced at him.
“As an officer in my fleet, you will need a complete and implementable knowledge of current galactic affairs. See that the next time we meet, this is the case.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shareen nodded.
“From the few legitimate reports we can salvage, it seems as though our 2nd Marshal, Maki Hanala is either dead or has disappeared alongside the Denshaki.”
Tiberius’ eyes widened. He knew vaguely that there had been some drama around Mentirian space, but hadn't bothered to tune into it.
“From the early news that has trickled down to our camp, the strike force was decimated with only a few survivors when Maki Hanala ordered a general retreat. Neither she nor the Denshai have been seen since.”
Shareen sighed and grimaced.
“This places the Commander in Chief in a difficult position, already exacerbated by that idiot swordsman breaking the Denshaki Protocol, not to mention the Solaren going missing as well. Since the council of Shibai won’t allow the Denshaki to come into conflict with each other, I will likely be the one to lead the new task force to apprehend him.”
She glanced at the two of them.
“I need both of you to gain experience from this deployment and distinguish yourselves. Elter Vim is a reliable man… But, he is also a relic of an age that does not reflect the perniciousness of the modern day.”
Shareen raised her voice a little.
“One day I expect you both, if you are able to, rise to be capable admirals in my navy, capable of taking over from Vim. But, due to some unavoidable factionalism, I cannot make that too overt, so I will assign you to a man you will both find reprehensible and monotonous. I do this to ensure that you,” she stared directly at Tiberius, “can burgeon into a respectable and tempered young officer.”
“And you,” she turned her head at Maia, “can integrate yourself to your comrade’s ways. I’ll try and set aside a thirty minute block each month so I can keep tabs on your progress, however, it may not always be possible.”
The shuttle steadied as they landed, presumably inside Shareen’s Dreadnought. Shareen stood up, sizing them up one last time.
“Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” They both saluted.
Shareen nodded and walked past them, the duo following after her.
As the ramparts began to descend, an ear rending cheer blasted through Tiberius’ ears. Putting a hand in front of him in a half-hearted attempt to shield himself from the noise Tiberius caught a glimpse of the source of the noise.
They were in a hangar, a hangar of the Dreadnought, almost 2 miles long and a mile wide, the entire thing packed with star-fighters, war-vehicles and Revos soldiers, all of whom were cheering in full force.
Tiberius did a quick mental assessment of the rows of people… There must’ve been at least a few million people shouting.
As his ears adapted to the sound, he could vaguely make out what they were saying.
“Alahar! Kotami! Alahar! Kotami!”
In front of him, Shareen held her fist out above her head and the energy of the room soared to new heights. Her cape billowing out behind her, the air warping around her from the sheer weight of her presence. It was a close call that Tiberius did not himself pump his fist into the air and join in the roaring.
Barely able to hear himself think, Tiberius felt himself getting pushed back by the sheer force of the sounds being created.
An attendant beckoned for them to follow her, and the duo slipped away from Shareen in the middle of her performance. Tiberius took one last glance at her mighty form before disappearing down a corridor.
“What were they shouting?” Tiberius asked Maia.
In the past Maia might’ve ignored him or been disappointed by his lack of knowledge, but here she made no reaction, negative or positive
“It comes from the Vishtuk and Kirini branches of the sacred language. ‘Alahar’ means ‘forward with strength’. ‘Kotami’ means ‘capable commander’ or ‘respected leader’. It is often used synonymously with the Marshals.”
“You mean like Hanesa?” Clarified Tiberius.
Maia’s dark brown eyes jotted over to him for a second.
“Yes, though Hanesa is an exclusive term and more venerated.”
“I see.”
Tiberius and Dala were assigned quarters for the next few days. Sharing a room was not so bad for him, but he could tell Maia was not too pleased with his habits, though he could not figure out exactly which ones.
They spent time together, studying and exploring the vessel, not exchanging many words as they waited for their official assignment.
After a few days, the RSS ‘Protocol’ arrived on a military installation near Bigg. The rest of the 34th and 19th Fleets were gathered there as well as Divisions 100, 101 and 102.
Tiberius and Maia were re-assigned to a Battleship, called the RSS Brilliant, commanded by Vice Admiral Calaphriti and a medium sized battle-group of fifteen thousand ships.
Before they boarded the ship, they were both formally sworn in as Lower Commodores, indicated by a new dark navy blue uniform and a red stripe on their shoulder guards.
Tiberius and Maia boarded a shuttle, transferred to their new ship and were escorted to the bridge to meet their new officer.
While Shareen had been a model of everything proper and respectable about the Revotian military, Vice Admiral Denaz Caliphriti was everything Tiberius had previously criticized.
The command deck they arrived at was no bustle of organized activity. Officers were relaxed at their posts, with no sense of urgency. Strewn across the various cubes and interfaces were messes of papers, leftover foods and the occasional sleeping servicemen.
In the middle of the command deck, four officers were huddled over a game of Baali. On one of them, Tiberius could clearly make out the insignia on his shoulder guard: a single gold star at the top, two gold command lines beneath it, and a red fist set below the lines.
Tiberius glanced over at Maia who seemed non-plussed.
The duo walked over to the Vice Admiral.
“Vice Admiral Calaphriti, Maia Danbar and Tiberius Kael Norek reporting for duty, sir.”
Tiberius and Maia both saluted his back.
Denaz Calaphriti, with all the urgency of a nearly retired bureaucrat, rolled his head behind him to look at them.
Tiberius visibly saw curse under his breath as he got up and saluted them, his arm barely reaching his forehead.
“Pleasure to meet you both. Welcome to the RSS Brilliant. Ummm… There’s no urgent tasks at the moment to complete, so just make yourselves comfortable.”
Denaz said every word slowly, massaging his temples as he spoke.
“Uhhh… Links? Do you mind if we… ”
For Tiberius he saw nothing, but he'd grown accustomed to other people linking their minds to each other.
Denaz nodded at Maia, then concentrated at Tiberius again and seemed confused. Maia must’ve told him something as Denaz’ eyes widened and his mouth went slightly agape.
“Oh! Oh. Wow!” Denaz said, his voice a mixture between astonishment and confusion. “Well… This will be something. Wow! Dismissed. Uhhh, talk to High Commodore Uluhar, he’ll sort you guys out.”
As the pair left, Tiberius heard laughter from Denaz and the other senior officers.
Tiberius left Maia as he was assigned his quarters.
He unpacked his things and sat on his bed, contemplating.
Only two weeks ago this deployment would’ve been unthinkable and now he was here. Floating through space on a 14km long hunk of metal and guns, far away from school, far away from his family.
Tiberius opened and closed his hand, reflecting on everything new he’d seen.
He’d defeated the best minds of his generation through undeniable tactical superiority… And now when faced with a man so lethargic and complacent he brought new meaning to the words, he seemed to be faced with his most difficult challenge yet.
Comments
Middle Commodore
An extract from Chapter XXIII of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
The Marshal of Revos
The Marshals of Revos are the third-highest military operatives of the Federal Security Republic of Revos. Chosen from among the most capable and trusted prusers in the republic, they serve as Revos’ foremost agents of enforcement, crisis response, and galactic security.
A Marshal serves a ten-year term. At the end of each term, their performance, conduct, loyalty, and effectiveness are assessed. They may be renewed, replaced, or challenged by a qualified Colonel. In rare cases, a Marshal’s tenure may end early through death, resignation, removal, or successful challenge.
The Marshals hold significant political authority as well as military power. In groups of five, they may exercise a veto against the Council of Shibai. In groups of three, they may bring matters directly before the Council of Shibai. This allows them to exercise limited political power, though it is rare for five Marshals to be in agreement on any major issue.
Marshals traditionally wear the black, navy, and gold armor of Revos, though each is permitted personal variation. Their capes often denote their colors, affiliations, or personal symbols. They are addressed formally as “Your Excellency.”
As of 4847 RE, the seven Marshals are:
1st Marshal Renga Jensu 2nd Marshal Maki Hanala 3rd Marshal Shareen Maxamillian 4th Marshal Asher Huxley 5th Marshal Lio Argan 6th Marshal Kara Korato 7th Marshal Kanzi
Toama Jensu serves as Vice Commander in Chief.
This generation of Marshals is widely considered one of, if not the strongest, in Revos history. Usually, only the Commander in Chief, and perhaps the Vice Commander in Chief, would be considered Hero-class prusers. However, each Marshal of Revos as of 4847 RE is considered a hero in their own right, having reached heights of power usually seen only once a century.
For three months, Tiberius had served as the dutiful Deputy Chief of Staff to Vice Admiral Denaz Calaphriti. And for three months, his patience and restraint had been tested to their limit.
It wasn’t that Calaphriti was especially rude or incompetent. He possessed those qualities only in middling measure. Nor was it merely his blatant lack of understanding for Tiberius’s condition. What grated on Tiberius most was his flippancy. His lack of care.
Calaphriti stood among the senior command staff of one of the most prestigious navies in Revos, serving directly under Shareen Maxamillian. Yet he showed not even the barest standard of rigor. Of course, whenever another senior officer arrived, Denaz would appear at his post, and the RSS *Brilliant* would seem, for a time, a model of Revotian discipline.
Then, as soon as the officer left, the pretense vanished, and whatever order had briefly existed vanished with it.
On the inside, as Tiberius saluted Denaz–who rarely returned the courtesy–Tiberius manifested all manner of insults and criticisms.
It may have just been her general attitude, but Tiberius was sure Maia was doing the same behind her apathetic expressions.
However, that hadn’t stopped the two of them from getting on with work.
The 34th Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Elter Vim, was composed of 4 Behemoth-class ships, 113 capital ships, 100,009 heavy ships, 126,463 escort ships, 21,378 support vessels and millions of smaller Class 4 and 5 craft.
Of that, the 5th Battlegroup of the 34th Fleet, commanded by Vice-Admiral Denaz, consisted of no Behemoth-class ships, 26 capital ships, 22,472 heavy ships, 18,195 escort ships, 811,834 fighter craft, and 3,751 support vessels.
Their purpose was undoubtedly to follow up any decisive action from the Fleet Admiral and operate as a main combat force.
And after spending two months performing a detailed inventory, Tiberius and Maia were left with the only valid conclusion that Battlegroup 5 was woefully underprepared for active combat.
Munitions were low, discipline was merely an afterthought, shields were depleted and engines were falling apart.
In the past month, Tiberius and Maia had worked tirelessly to fix many of these problems, visiting over a hundred individual ships and issuing orders to hundreds more. It was tedious work, but 5th Battlegroup was finally beginning to see some improvement.
For all his faults, Denaz Calaphriti was someone who simply did not care what his subordinates were doing at any moment.
After a few weeks on board, Tiberius quickly came to the conclusion that the only reason Battlegroup 5 could even somewhat function was due to the subtle hand of High Commodore Reshin Uluhar, the second-in-command.
While not immensely talented, he did enforce a bare minimum standard upon the troops. Most importantly, he had recommended Tiberius and Maia for promotion, and Shareen had rapidly taken the opportunity to fast-track her proteges. Thus, Tiberius became Middle Commodore Norek, Deputy Chief of Logistics and Strategy of Battlegroup 5.
With his shiny new insignia on his shoulder, Tiberius readjusted himself in his seat, poring over the display in front of him. The shields of two battleships needed to be recalibrated, but before that, they likely needed to be tested to see if they even worked.
He was just in the middle of drafting up a letter to the ships’ commanding officers, when Maia tapped him on the shoulder.
He looked up and saw just a faint smile. While Tiberius would still not consider them friends, it seemed Maia had taken Shareen’s instructions to heart and found it within her to look past his more colorful personality traits.
She pointed out at the screen that showed their immediate surroundings.
Tiberius looked where she was pointing and saw a man floating nearby.
He wore ornate red and white Saishen armor, with a helmet covering his face. At his side were two long katanas, one red and one white. His long black hair trailed out behind him on either side.
Tiberius had yet to lay eyes on Shareen’s most renowned subordinate: Colonel Chima Tanabe, legendary Saishen warrior.
Following Maia’s lead, Tiberius got up and stood at attention, noticing everyone else on the command deck was doing the same.
Chima returned their salute then drifted away.
“Damn… he had pretty nice style,” Tiberius said.
“It’s part of the job description. The stronger prusers try to look good so that us lowly foot soldiers can derive motivation from them,” Maia responded.
“I’d rather follow him into battle than…” Tiberius glanced knowingly at Denaz.
Maia sighed exasperatedly.
“I’m sure there must be some valid reason our dear Vice Admiral was promoted to his position. I find it hard to believe this is the extent of his abilities.”
“I hate to disagree with you, but I find it very easy to believe.” Tiberius said sardonically, then paused a few moments, remembering his promises. “But, you’re right. Maybe there is something we can learn from him.”
Maia seemed to take his last response well.
“I agree. Let’s give our best effort.” She saluted Tiberius. “Commodore Norek.”
“Commodore Danbar.” He said, returning her salute.
As Maia walked away, Tiberius recalled Chima’s drifting form. He’d been so majestic, so in control of his person. It was like watching a moving painting.
The other Colonel under Shareen’s command, Basena Molenzki also seemed–from the pictures Tiberius had seen–quite supernal. As Tiberius’ mind drifted back to his task at hand, he vaguely considered the combat capabilities of Shareen’s prusers. They were an impressive bunch, but for now he was focused on his specific task. There would be time in the future for him to worry about more important things.
The next few weeks passed without much change in the day-to-day, until one day, in a rare show of authority, Denaz Calaphriti ordered all senior officers to attend a meeting on the command deck.
When Tiberius and Maia arrived, most of the others were already there, since all they did anyway was lie around all day and had nowhere important to be.
Denaz already seemed to be concentrating, but no words were coming out of his mouth.
Tiberius quickly realized what was going on and glanced at Maia, who already seemed on top of it.
A second later Denaz–seemingly confused–looked around, then spotted Tiberius and closed his eyes in surrender.
Sighing very deeply, Denaz spoke out loud.
“Fuck… AAuuuhh… So!” Denaz clapped his hands together. “Official, Official orders from the top. We have been formally appointed to the new Denshaki strike force.”
Most of the servicemen groaned at those words.
“I know, I know. It’s horrible, it’s miserable, it’s unfortunate. But orders are orders. We’ll be joining with Marshals Argan and Korato, and… we’ll be under the direct command of the High Fleet Admiral.”
That brought cheers and a few fists in the air.
“So! All we have to do is make sure the good people at the top can do their job. Aside from that, we’re gonna stay in our lane and not cause any problems. I know that you’ve all enjoyed a nice couple of months of relaxation. I’d kindly ask you all to just step it up a notch for these next few weeks. Is that okay?”
The servicemen didn’t salute or show signs of formal respect, but they did stand a little straighter and seemed to nod in understanding.
“Alright. Reshin will handle most of the assignments. I’ll be focused on making nice with the other battlegroup commanders and coordinating that stuff. Come to me if you need anything specific or permission for something. Questions?”
Denaz scanned the crowd as a hand was raised.
“Yeah. Jenny, what’s up?”
“Hi, sir. I just want to clarify, this means we’ll be taking on the Denshaki?” Her voice seemed stern, but slightly concerned.
Denaz took a little breath before answering.
“Yeah. We probably won’t be doing any of the interesting stuff, but yeah. There’s a chance we come into contact with him. Though, I must say, we’re probably the ones least at risk and we’ve got some pretty big guns backing us up. That’s the last I want to hear about concerns like that, okay?”
Jenny nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Great. I’ll let Reshin distribute orders.”
Reshin Uluhar, an Amani with red skin and calm yellow eyes, stepped forward.
“Thank you all for your co-operation…”
Tiberius listened as Reshin for once began actually assigning a reasonable amount of work to people.
“And Commodores Norek and Danbar, you will serve me directly as deputy chief’s of staff. ”
“Yes, sir.” Tiberius and Maia saluted.
As the pair walked away, Maia seemed to be smirking to herself.
“I didn’t think you’d be looking forward to this so much,” Tiberius said.
“What? Oh. No. It’s not that.” Maia said. “I think I understand more about Calaphriti. He is hopeless in some aspects, but I can see he’s reliable in situations like these. It seems the others really trust him, and he’s done enough to earn that trust.”
To Tiberius, it was hard to agree with what Maia was saying. There was no excuse for someone so hebetudinous. However, Tiberius was rated a 23 in command. Perhaps he should shut up and try to learn something, a small voice within him said.
Maia glanced at him as they walked.
“How do you feel about where we’re going?”
“Ummm…” Tiberius recollected what he could about the state of the galaxy. At Shareen’s behest, he had started following the news. Though he did not understand everything at play, he had a firm grasp of the broader current events.
“I mean… I have a lot of questions, I think.”
“Mhm. That’s good. Perhaps I can help you with that.” Nodded Maia.
“Thanks. Well, firstly, we still don’t know the state of Maki-Marshal Maki Hanala?” Asked Tiberius.
“No. There are a few circulating theories. Most believe she’s dead. Some think she’s alive and recovering, and a scant few conspiracy theorists think she’s joined forces with the Denshaki.” Maia shook her head. “But that would be ridiculous. Someone as accomplished and dignified as her would have no reason to throw in her lot with scum like him.”
“That’s pretty harsh criticism,” Tiberius said.
“He is scum.” Maia said firmly.
“Didn’t he save the galaxy?” Tiberius asked.
“Oh my god!” Maia said in annoyance. “Why does everyone say that? No! He didn’t. He rode on the coattails of the Commander in Chief and the Nobelium and barely defeated an opponent and would’ve died if Marshal Korato hadn’t saved him. He’s a worthless troublemaker, and now he’s plunged the galaxy into war… again… for the third time.”
Maia finished her rant, practically seething by the end. And Tiberius thought he was prone to emotional outbursts.
“Damn. Remind me to never break the Hyper Limit.” Tiberius said with a smirk.
Maia smiled gently and rolled her eyes at him.
“Sorry. It’s a touchy subject.”
In his infinite wisdom, Tiberius saw a road ahead where he could ask about that further, perhaps even make more jokes.
And in his infinite and peerless wisdom, Tiberius chose not to say anything.
“Right. Umm, another thing… Our force is pretty big… Probably a little over a million and a half ships and five-hundred trillion servicemen by my counting. How exactly are we justifying that to the other major nations? It does seem like a bit of an imposition on them.”
“Well, that one is covered in the Denshaki Protocols. Under the law that they too have signed, Revos has total jurisdiction until the Denshaki is brought to justice. Whether that will actually happen, and how long that will last, is a different story. I’d suggest we probably have two years tops to bring him in before the nations start grumbling loud enough.”
“Hmmm. Makes sense.” Tiberius nodded, turning the corner to his quarters. “Looks like we're in for quite an adventure.”
“Well, I hope everything just works out as intended. We’ve got big expectations on us after all.”
Tiberius saluted Maia.
“See you soon, Commodore Danbar.”
“And you, Commodore Norek.”
Tiberius would spend the next few weeks once again working tenaciously to bring Battlegroup 5 up to standard, though this time with some support from his coworkers.
By the time Fleet 34 had joined the main task force at an outpost near Bigg, Tiberius could confidently say Battlegroup 5 was a functional combat unit.
“Yes, sir.”
Shareen’s display closed as she steadied herself.
It took someone of impeccable integrity and unparalleled brilliance to sway her emotions like that. But, Befuma Rosana was that person.
Still, it had been surprising, to say the least, to hear her mentor speak like that. She had assumed that the Commander in Chief would have at least shown some remorse for her old comrade. Instead, Befuma had just lectured Shareen on the most effective ways of taking him out.
Shareen strode out of her personal conference room and through the halls of the Dreadnought, greeting those she passed with her habitual magnetism. Her mind raced as she contemplated different scenarios.
It was highly unlikely they would run into Maki Hanala… But, if they did… Shareen was competent enough to realize and mature enough to admit that Maki was her superior in combat, if only slightly.
Shareen could only curse Toama Jensu again and again for this. If failing to the top had a poster child, it would be him.
If only you’d done your job, like you were supposed to…
Shareen batted aside those concerns. It would do no good to agonize over her frustrations with that man. She’d spent most of her life doing that already.
Now, she just had to focus on the task at hand.
With Oxelia Rior in command, it was almost impossible for things to go wrong, barring circumstances beyond their control. While Lio Argan was a Marshal of Revos, in a rare sense of Jensu appreciation, she would’ve preferred if Renga had come. His ‘might of Reesha’ or whatever nonsense he called that absurdly potent ability of his would come in very useful in a situation like that.
But, they had Kara as well.
Shareen reminisced on her beloved comrade with mostly affection, but some exasperation. With Oxelia they had a very high chance of success, but with Kara they had almost no chance of dying, which for Shareen was an almost equally important factor. She could hardly put it past Toama Jensu to orchestrate this entire scenario just so he could deprive Befuma of her most talented subordinates.
Yet, Kara was also lacking in some areas. Her supremacy on the battlefield was something Shareen held in nearly the highest regard, but her idiosyncrasies could be borderline unbearable sometimes.
Shareen stepped out into the hangar, floating through the air and pumping her fist as her soldiers cheered at her.
She directed the hangar to open and floated out into space.
A few miles away, she spotted her comrade floating nearby.
A completely shaved head, dragon-like tattoos tracing all over his perfectly sculpted body and wearing baggy combat trousers. The 5th Marshal of Revos wore his own uniform, in accordance with Revos regulation allowing certain servicemen to wear unique armor or clothing in order to enhance combat ability. Lio had partially compromised and wore two gold and black gauntlets at his side, but had no Marshal’s cape.
Shareen reached out to him with her mind, feeling his familiar signature: Disciplined, eccentric and deeply spiritual, Lio Argan was in many ways a breath of fresh air among Revos’ elite prusers. His moral antics were harmless, and he generally seemed indifferent on many topics.
Though he was not part of Shareen’s closest circle, she had fought alongside him for years and considered him a true comrade.
Marshal Argan, it’s good to see you. Shareen floated closer to him.
And you, Marshal Maxamillian. It’s a shame we meet under circumstances like this… Though not unexpected. Lio smiled gently. She knew he was a true powerhouse, but his demeanor made him come across like a gentle old man.
Ha. No, not unexpected, unfortunately.
Though, I must ask… I am quite perturbed by the disappearance of our fellow Marshal. It is most unlike the former Vice Commander in Chief to make an error of that magnitude. May I ask if you’ve heard anything about it?
Shareen could only agree with him.
Unfortunately not. Though, I am perhaps less perplexed than you. My opinions on the inadequacies of the Jensu dynasty are no secret.
Even so… I must stress my surprise. Have you genuinely heard nothing?
Shareen glanced at Argan. He did seem visibly upset by this. Shareen hadn’t heard of any special connection between Hanala and Argan, but perhaps there was something there.
I’m sorry comrade. If I knew I would tell you. I have nothing but baseless rumors.
Lio’s head sank a bit. This attitude did not befit the supreme god-chosen warrior of the Zaiki monks and master of the divine Dragon Fist technique.. Shareen grinned a bit at the sight of this revered, immensely muscular and imposing warrior sulk.
A moment later, Lio was back to his supernal self.
Sorry to impose. It’s just that we were in the process of me teaching her some of my people’s history. We had only just begun, when the Protocols were enacted.
How the fuck did Maki Hanala have time for that? Shareen thought to herself.
I see. Well, my condolences to you. But, rest assured we will bring the Denshaki to justice. He will pay for his crimes.
Lio’s resolve strengthened and his tattoos burned a bit.
Of course, Marshal Maxamillian. Let us perform our duty with alacrity and devotion.
I’m with you on the first one, Marshal Argan.
Shareen bade her comrade goodbye, then after talking to Chima Tanabe about troop distributions, retired to her quarters.
In all her preparations, she hadn’t had any time to check on Tiberius and Maia. But, that was fine. She had faith they would perform well and besides she couldn’t babysit them more than she already had.
As she lay on her bed, she pushed everything else out of her mind, save for her Commander’s words earlier in the day. While she drifted off to sleep, she played through hundreds of different potential scenarios and fights with the Denshaki.
She would wake up the next day and spend the entire day preparing her body for what would be a grueling task for her.
Oxelia Rior would arrive in a few days with the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Fleets. Lio Argan had already brought the 24th and 26th, bringing their total number to well over a million ships. Marshal Kara was assembling her forces near Colofire 2 and would join them in Mentire space when she was ready.
The 2nd Denshaki Strike Force was on the move.
Comments
Randolph 5
An Extract from Chapter XXXVII of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
The Meshunate of Nashima
Nashima is a hereditary monarchy known as the Meshunate, ruled by the Meshu. The Meshu is supported by an 18-seat ruling council, the Morihara, which functions as the state’s administrative core.
Despite the existence of a monarch and council, Nashima is defined most clearly by its warrior order: the Saishen. They are the pride of Nashiman identity, the enforcement arm of the state, and the primary source of the nation’s doctrine and prestige. In practice, the Saishen function as a warrior cult with strict beliefs, formalized training paths, and a monopoly on the highest levels of military authority. Their influence reaches into governance, culture, and education, and Nashiman power abroad is strongly influenced by the perception of the Saishen. The Saishen are often hired abroad as bodyguards, advisers, personal dueling champions and military assets. It is also common for the Saishen to fall into service of those they find honorable or deserving of loyalty.
Culturally, tradition and Saishen pride dominate daily life. Their religious system is a pantheon of four gods representing fundamental aspects of reality: Yobe (Life), Kato (Death), Naka (Creation), and Toro (Destruction). These deities appear on the Nashiman flag and are woven into Saishen ritual language and vows. Certain techniques are treated as devotional acts and can only be achieved through decades of strict piety.
The Saishen maintain a rigid internal hierarchy and distinct material culture. Their armor is known as Madate, and their traditional sword is the Shizano. It takes years to become a Saishen warrior and many often fail out or die during the examination process. However, those who do pass are venerated as the prusers of unquestioned discipline, integrity and aptitude. To be a Saishen is not just to be powerful. It is to embody self restraint, it is to provide security for those around you and defend the principles of law.
Military scholarship is highly pursued by the Saishen. The Saishen specialization standard is used widely around the galaxy to define the eight primary categories of prusers. The Saishen keeps a detailed database of every known presence ability, its uses, its limitations and its weaknesses. Every Saishen warrior is expected to have full knowledge of this database and be able to apply it in combat.
The highest military position is the Raitsuken, a role outside ordinary promotion reserved for a single warrior who exhibits the traits of patience, devotion and leadership. The Raitsuken functions as Nashima’s functional Warmaster, expected to meet threats that would overpower all others. The title can only be earned through single combat. Any certified Saishen warrior may challenge the Raitsuken, and the Raitsuken must either accept the duel or forfeit the title.
All these factors culminate to make the Meshunate of Nashima a powerful and respected nation, especially for its relatively small size.
Middle Commodore Tiberius Kael Norek woke up feeling less-energized than usual. Not out of a lack of sleep or physical exhaustion, but out of mental fatigue. The newly minted Naval officer wasn’t sure how many more days he could take of Denaz Caliphriti mislabeling reports or messing up administrative orders. If that moron could make it to Vice-Admiral, then Tiberius should be made Supreme Fleet Admiral of the whole damn galaxy.
Rolling out of bed and cleaning himself, Tiberius slipped on his uniform.
Making his way to the command deck, he saw High Commodore Reshin Uluhar who was standing giving orders as Denaz slumped in his chair.
Tiberius sat down at his desk and was soon joined by Maia whose desk was next to his.
“All right, Maia?” He said, absent mindedly opening his cube and beginning his work.
“Not bad, Tiberius.” Maia said, spinning up her own cube.
Tiberius took stock of the display.
Normally it would just show the hundreds of thousands of ships floating in open space, but now it showed the full control system of Randolph 5. A sun, nine planets and near two-hundred moons scattered across the usually empty vastness of space, serving as supply hubs for the thousands of ships moving between them.
Tiberius’ position as deputy chief of staff of Battlegroup 5 meant it was his responsibility–and Maia’s–to ensure the effective co-ordination of the fifteen thousand ships in their small fleet. A task made doubly harder by their lack of support from other staff officers and the complex interlay of the five other fleets that were also passing through the system.
“How are you today?” Maia asked as her hands flicked over her display. Tiberius glanced to his right to admire her work. Since he’d never worked with her when they were students, he hadn’t realized how impressive she actually was. Maia hardly ever made a logistical error and was able to store the specific quirks, personalities and requirements of thousands of servicemen. Tiberius struggled with more than five.
“Stressed, I hope this all goes well.” Tiberius began directing their support ships to fall in line.
“There’s no reason to be stressed. It’s not like we’re fighting anyone right now. Let’s save that for when we’re fighting the Denshaki.”
“Heh. Yeah. Good point.”
The pair worked in silence for a few minutes. Around them the external display on the command deck showed them drifting past a planet in the distance.
Maia took a moment to look up from her work, smiled then waved at the celestial body.
“You friends with the planets?” Tiberius asked, still engrossed in his work.
Perhaps growing used to his unique brand of conversation, Maia replied without indulging his sarcasm.
“My parents live in the Randolph system. I told them I’d be flying through. Hopefully they’re waving back at me.”
“Ha. You must’ve had a comfortable life,” Tiberius snarked.
Maia closed her eyes and took a calming breath before she responded, much to Tiberius’ obliviousness.
“It was nice. I mean, you know, parents are tough sometimes, but I’m luckier than most.” The slightest hint of frustration crept into her voice on those last few words. “Where are you from?”
“We lived in a secondary system in the Tyndan sector. But, a few years ago my family moved to a primary system for my dad’s job. He’s a gravitational engineer.”
“Do you get along well with them?” Maia asked.
“Yeah. It’s alright. As you said, I’m probably luckier than most.”
Just as Tiberius finished what he was saying, a proximity alert appeared on his screen. It was from a long range surveillance ship.
Tiberius expanded the alert and chuckled. It was obviously an error. The scan showed a gravitational disturbance akin to that of a large planet entering the system.
Tiberius flicked it aside, but was hit with another alert, this one showing elevated radiation levels.
As more reports began to flood in, Tiberius snapped into focus.
“Maia… Are you seeing this?” Tiberius said, urgency leaking into his voice.
“Seeing what?” Maia said, unconcerned.
“This!” He pointed at his display. On it was a counter of incoming unidentified objects. The number was at one trillion and rising rapidly.
“What the…” Maia pulled up the alerts for herself, her face going gaunt. “Tiberius… They’re Daraki.”
“Sir!” Tiberius sprang out of his seat and addressed Reshin and Denaz. “There’s a Daraki horde incoming from sectors 3 and 4.”
“What?!” Denaz said, leaning up in his seat.
Reshin meanwhile drew up the report Tiberius was looking at.
“That’s not possible…” Reshin said under his breath.
A moment later an announcement came through on the ship’s speakers. The voice belonged to Fleet Admiral Elter Vim.
“Attention, all hands! This is Fleet Admiral Elter Vim. A Daraki horde has entered the system, alongside multiple Daraki chieftains and a Daraki champion.”
Tiberius’ heart was beating so loudly he thought he would burst open. Inside the command deck no one moved for a few seconds, until Denaz Calaphriti stood up.
“Everyone, keep calm. We have our Marshal with us. Let’s prepare for battle and support her as best we can.”
On the mention of Shareen it was like Tiberius’ body started working again.
Shareen.
That’s right, he couldn’t let her down. What was the point of him even enlisting if he couldn’t keep his shit together two seconds into combat?
Tiberius and Maia began directing their forces towards the Daraki horde, preparing for an onslaught.
Shareen Maxamillian floated through space, her shimmering silver hair branching out in all directions behind her. Clad in her full black and gold Marshal’s armor, her silver cape oscillating out behind her, she leisurely observed the mass of ships below passing through the Randolph 5 system.
Most of the strike force had already passed through. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd fleets under Oxellia Rior were already well on their way to Dacian space and Lio Argan had almost fully moved his force out of the system as well, leaving only the 34th and 19th Fleets.
3 Dreadnoughts, 3 Titans, 225 Capital ships and nearly half a million other ships floated through the system. Alongside them were, two Colonels, fifteen Senior Special Agents and thousands more talented prusers.
It was rare to see her whole army move out at once, but when it did, it was a sight to behold. While the quantity wasn’t bad, Shareen wasn’t sure she could say the same for the quality of those in command of her forces.
Not all were bad, Fleet Admiral Elter Vim was a solid commander, as was Admiral Felicia Auntona, but aside from that, there was no one else she really trusted to lead her forces. That was why she had assigned Tiberius to Caliphriti. If all went well, Tiberius would soon be Vice-Admiral and cleanly succeed his ‘mentor’. She was only sorry she had to put him through being in his service. Hopefully if anything he had learned some patience.
A dreadnought drifted past her, its massive assortment of railguns and missiles, making her admire the engineers who had constructed it.
When taking into consideration that her forces only comprised a quarter of the entire Strike Force, Shareen couldn’t help but feel confidence in their odds of success. Taking her thoughts back to their task at hand, Shareen tensed up a bit. It was just infuriating that all this was happening because one swordsman couldn’t do as he was told.
Shareen turned around and bathed in the sunlight of Randolph 5. It seemed as though everyone was proceeding as planned.
Then, as though the thin veil of complacency had been drawn aside, Shareen felt a dreadful tremor run through her. She spun around and squinted into the dark abyss of space noticing to her growing unease, that the stars in the distance were starting to blend into the darkness. Something was coming at them and expanding rapidly.
Flying towards the edge of the system, Shareen began mentally preparing herself for combat.
Focusing her presence on her eyes, she strained her vision to its furthest range to see a grotesque figure stepping out of a portal. There was no mistaking that vile combination of teeth and tentacles.
Four Daraki chieftains–each the size of a small moon–their tentacles flailing around, exited the portal, surrounded by tens of billions of smaller Daraki underlings.
But that wasn’t what unsettled Shareen.
A massive creature, the size of a large planet slowly made its way through the portal, bearing eight thick, long appendages and the unmistakable sensation of death: A Daraki champion. Shareen was counted among the few throughout history that had singlehandedly defeated one. That encounter had earned her the title of ‘Almighty’. It was time to show the galaxy she lived up to her name.
Taking a second to make sure she was seeing correctly, Shareen sought out Elter Vim mentally.
Admiral, do you see this?
We see it, Your Excellency. We’ve already received a request for support from Lio Argan, he seems to have engaged the enemy. We will send two dreadnoughts, Three titans and you, with a small escort of ships. We will end this fast, so there will be no damage to the system.
That was a fine plan. If Shareen could link up with another Marshal, they would have much better odds at containing the horde.
Shareen steeled herself, then drew her shortsword. Reaching out her mind to forces she linked to them, feeding them her courage and fortitude. In return she felt their unease, their need for a beacon of leadership to face the coming battle. Her voice eased into the minds of her troops, sharpening them into the valiant warriors that would fight beside her.
Soldiers of Revos, stand firm. Perform your duty and protect the inhabitants of the system. Remember, The fist of Revos does not yield.
A flood of affirmation washed over her; Her troops were responding well. This was enough. Now she needed to face the enemy in front of her.
Springing forward from her advanced position, Shareen wrapped herself with barriers, shedded her limiters and flew to the front of Elter Vim’s small force that had assembled at the edge of the system.
Shareen levelled her sword at the enemy and shouted to her troops.
Forward!
Shareen flung herself forward, pulling far ahead of the lumbering dreadnoughts behind her and connected with the horde in a blinding flash of light. With every swing of her sword she sent a shockwave of energy, killing or batting aside hundreds of millions of Daraki at a time. On either side of her, railgun fire and missiles assisted her, ripping apart the fodder. Through the mass of daraki underlings, she caught a glimpse of flashing light in the distance, no doubt Lio Argan and his forces engaging the enemy.
Shareen doubled her efforts. If the daraki had already reached this far, it couldn’t be looking good for Lio.
It was tedious, but straightforward combat. Most of the Daraki–the underlings–were nothing more than trash, but every now and again there would come a daraki bruiser–slightly stronger than a 3rd Grade Anan Kari–that required her to use slightly more force. However, her shortsword had more than enough power to deal with the likes of them.
With meticulous brutality, Shareen carved a path through the horde. The brands on her skin burned as she reached out a hand, creating a gravitational vortex with the mass of a million-kilometer-wide black hole a few billion miles away. Its pull caught at least a few hundred billion Daraki, dragging them writhing forms into the vortex.
Shareen closed her fist and the vortex imploded, obliterating all the daraki caught in its pull.
Shareen exhaled heavily to catch her breath, but focused again quickly. After that exertion she could just barely feel Lio Argan’s presence struggling fiercely.
Lio! Where are you?
She could tell from Lio’s mental state that he was immensely fatigued already.
Shareen! We need you right now! My forces are getting overrun!
Hold on! We’re coming now.
Shareen transmitted Lio’s message to Elter Vim and the strike force surged forward.
The Daraki onslaught continued, Shareen battling her way through the remnants of the horde trying to block her path.
Soon Elter Vim’s flagship caught up to her, blasting apart the final stragglers.
Shareen, two dreadnoughts, two titans and almost fifty capital ships had fought through at least a trillion daraki to arrive at the position of Lio’s forces. But, when they got there, only Lio was left standing. The rest of his ships had all been destroyed.
Lio himself was barely moving, with numerous cuts and burns on his body. Burns?
She immediately flew over to his side and drew her broadsword as she sized up the Daraki Chieftains.
Elter Vim immediately ordered his ships to open fire, keeping the horde at bay as Shareen assessed Lio’s injuries. He seemed to be able to fight, but was mentally distraught. Odd for a Marshal of Revos.
Lio! Are you ok? We need to attack!
She observed his battered armor, it looked as though he had been fired upon by his own ships. Revos' navy was in a worse state than she thought if dreadnoughts were accidently shooting at their own Marshals.
She didn’t have time to think about it. Right now, the only thing that mattered was stopping the Daraki champion before it reached the system.
Lio! I need you!
As if snapping out of a daydream Lio turned his bald head to her and focused.
I’m here Shareen, let’s go.
Shareen’s forces surged forward, unleashing a barrage of railgun fire and missiles that ripped through the outer layers of the chieftains’ protective skin.
Shareen summoned her reserves of energy, a searing silver light of presence enveloping her. The brands on her arm began to burn and her eyes blazed fiercely as her broadsword was shrouded in gravitational energy. With this she had enough power to defeat the champion, with her forces they could destroy the chieftains and with Lio, their chances of success were certain.
Beside her, Lio concentrated his energy into his fist, preparing his strongest attack. His ability would send even the strongest pruser flying, and could decimate entire fleets…
Shareen paused, just before she engaged, her mind racing.
Lio Argan was a diver… He specialized in close combat and had no long range abilities. His unique skill could only be used at close range, the only person he would hit at this range was…
Lio’s energy spiked, far higher than she’d have thought possible from him.
Shareen turned around, just in time to see his flame covered fist inches from her face.
While her mind was unable to understand what was going on, her body reacted first.
In the instant before Lio’s fist would’ve struck her, Shareen struck up a few half-formed barriers to protect herself. It wasn’t enough.
Lio’s fist shattered her outer barriers and connected with her cheek, causing her to stumble back. Shareen’s vision rattled as tried to stabilize herself. What was going on? Was Lio being controlled? Was this some new Daraki ability?
Lio! What are you-
Unrelenting, the 5th Marshal of Revos unleashed a devastating volley of attacks on her.
Most connected with her body, breaking her outer barriers. Shareen, still reeling from his first attack and her heart not in the fight, struggled to counter his blows meaningfully.
Lio! Stop!
Lio ignored her, his expression blank as he continued laying into her.
As she endured his assault, a startling realization hit her–Lio was trying to kill her.
Shareen had been confident she was considerably stronger than what Lio had shown in training or in combat exercises, but this was something else. Lio’s attacks were far beyond even what she’d seen him display in real combat; he’d been holding back that whole time. He finished his barrage with a roundhouse kick to her ribs.
Shareen had only a moment to catch her breath, her head shook, she was likely concussed. Lio’s attacks weren’t causing debilitating damage to her, but it was still almost impossible for her to find a moment to retaliate.
Concentrating his energy again, the dragon tattoos on Lio’s body churned a crimson red.
Knowing what was coming, Shareen erected two strong new barriers and raised her forearms out in front of her.
Spinning twice Lio delivered a roundhouse kick, shattering her barriers and sending out a crushing shockwave.
Shareen was sent flying away from the battle, crashing through barriers she erected behind herself to try and keep her in the battle.
The momentum was too great, Shareen kept propelling away from Lio, away from the Daraki, away from her fleet…
Shareen had been stunned by Lio’s actions, but still held some hope that it was due to extenuating circumstances. Yet, as she watched him fly towards her ships, she resolved herself that there would be no forgiveness for the atrocity that followed.
Shareen watched in horror as Lio began to rip apart Shareen’s fleet. Elter Vim had been solely focused on holding back the Daraki and was far too pre-occupied to do anything about the threat to his rear. With their formation compromised, the Daraki slowly enveloped their forces.
Shareen tried desperately to rejoin the fight, but the force from Lio’s kick was still pushing her back. Unable to do anything, Shareen witnessed four Daraki chieftains slash through her titans. She witnessed the Daraki champion crush Felicia Auntona’s flagship, the RSS ‘Vengeance’. Shareen witnessed as Lio Argan personally dealt the finishing blow to the RSS Protocol, killing all on board.
As the mass of Daraki closed around Lio, she faintly saw Lio fly towards the portal, towards the daraki champion. A moment later his presence was gone as well.
Shareen crashed through the outer field of Randolph 5, its inhibiting rules clamping down around her and slowing her movements just enough for her to regain control. She landed on an uninhabited moon at the edge of the system, kicking up a cloud of dust as she drove her broadsword into the ground and using the friction to create enough resistance to stop herself from sliding further back.
Shareen took some stabilizing breaths, her brain coming to terms with what had just happened.
Elter Vim and Felicia Auntona as well as most of the rest of her naval high command were dead. Her entire advanced force had been annihilated, Lio Argan was most likely dead and so were his subordinates.
Is that traitorous bastard dead?
Shareen thought to herself, concerned. Most likely yes. Lio had taken on at least half a dozen behemoth class ships, defeating even one of them required a relatively high energy output. If Shareen did something like that, she would have no chance against a champion.
Shareen concluded he was dead, at least within reasonable doubt. And, even if he was alive… Even if he somehow managed to escape he would be in no condition to fight.
Though, as she deliberated with herself, a more important factor came across her. If they planned to win this, there was no way she could let her troops know of Lio’s betrayal. The effect that would have on morale… If the troops realized a Marshal of Revos… Another! Marshal of Revos had turned against them, the less experienced ones would lose their will to fight and even the veterans would be rattled.
Shareen’s ribs ached from Lio’s kick. They weren’t broken, but they were likely severely bruised. His other attacks hadn’t been as damaging, but each one had left a dull pain lingering beneath her armor.
Shareen spit out some blood to her side. It fell to her side, then drifted away and froze once it left her personal field.
She’d been betrayed, she’d lost allies, she’d been given a thorough beating… but Shareen Maxamilian was nowhere near finished.
If anything, Lio’s treachery had only ignited within her an ever greater passion for victory. She needed to save this system, then travel to whatever afterlife the Zaiki monks worshiped and kill the traitor herself.
Shareen looked up at the Daraki horde, now regrouped and heading towards the system again.
Steady… You’ll deal with him later… For now you need to address the matter at hand.
Instinctively, she reached out her mind to Elter Vim, but found nothing.
Shareen cursed unintelligibly. Only when the man was gone did she realize how much she’d relied on him.
Shareen had studied tactics, her SOFIAC score was nothing to scoff at, but commanding a wider battle while engaging an enemy that required all her power and concentration would only lead to disaster.
She needed a clear analysis of the situation. More than that, she needed a plan. Orders she could follow. Orders from someone she could trust to win the battle.
But, there was no one.
Just as the faintest hint of panic began to set in, Shareen took a revitalizing breath, and pictured the image of her mentor, the warrior who stood above all others, the leader of the free worlds.
Her radiant raven-black hair flowed down to her proud shoulders; her sturdy armor rang with the voices of the multitude of souls who would follow her into any battle; her cape billowed behind her, stirring unwavering courage in even the greatest of cowards, the triumphant golden fist of Revos roaring across its surface. In one hand, she held the staff that had subdued the most venerated warriors of her age and slain the god of storms. In the other, she raised her fist high above her head, clutching the fate of the galaxy.
Shareen recalled those words she’d heard a thousand times before, this time in the voice of Befuma Rosana.
Rally! Rally to the Fist of Revos!
Shareen was a Marshal of Revos. She was trusted with the safety and protection of her people and galaxy as a whole. To bear that weight required the strength of will to see any conflict through to the end. To her men, to the people of Randolph 5 and to trillions more, she was their fist.
Reaching out her mind to Chima Tanabe, Shareen began sifting through potential commanders in her head. Upon connecting to him she instantly felt his stoic and disciplined presence press against hers. In the swirling torrent of betrayal and crisis, his thoughts were like the calm waves on an empty beach.
Colonel Tanabe, are you here?
Your Excellency, what happened? We sensed a surge of energy and lost contact.
It doesn’t matter right now, who is the highest ranking naval officer we have left?
Understanding the implications of her words, she felt Chima Tanabe reach out to other parts of the fleet he was linked to. After a few moments, Chima responded.
Vice-Admiral Denaz Caliphriti. There is also High Commodore Mendi who commands the only Dreadnought left behind, the RSS “Dreaming”.
Shareen winced. If only one of her other admirals had survived, the situation would not be so dire. But, as she began to take stock of their current forces and compare them against what was coming, it looked grim.
They’d lost most of their heavy firepower with the titans, and the loss of Elter Vim was devastating for command structure. Shareen glanced at the approaching horde. They would be here soon.
Relax Shareen, there is a way out of this.
Mendi… Mendi like many of her officers was a walking bastion of mediocrity. Neither, capable nor hopeless.
Shareen looked up again at the Daraki horde closing in. Probably less than ten minutes before the first ones hit the outer system. Chima Tanabe’s voice spoke in her head again.
Our forces are scattered, Shareen. They are uncertain and growing weary. They need clear orders soon, or we risk a general route.
I know Chima. Give me some moments…
Elter Vim was gone… Felicia Auntona was gone… The half dozen or so other aides around them were gone… Denaz Calaphriti… Not enough… Mendi… No, not him either…
There was no one here who could instantly grasp a complex situation like this and form a reasonable plan… No one except…
Shareen let a wicked chuckle escape her. A truly absurd idea crossed her mind.
Was this really what she had to do? Was there no one else? Was the situation that bad? She looked again at the incoming horde; they would need a miracle to survive this.
There was no other option.
Stretching out her presence over the system, Shareen broadcasted her orders over the entire fleet.
“Under the authority granted by me under Article Three of the Wartime Decisions Act, I name Tiberius Kael Norek as Fleet Admiral of the 19th and 34th Fleets and Maia Danbar as Chief of Staff. They are to report to the RSS ‘Dreaming’ and assume command of all forces in the system.”
All eyes turned to Tiberius on the bridge as the words of Shareen froze him in place. His already wracked nervous system didn’t process the words for a few seconds.
Had he heard that right? Fleet Admiral? What had happened to Elter Vim? What about the few hundred people above him in the chain of command?
A flurry of orders were issued but Tiberius heard nothing but his ears ringing. Walking down from the command deck, Reshin grabbed a hold of his arm and jolted him.
“Tiberius, are you here?! Sir!”
“Yes!” Tiberius said, jolting back to reality.
“Good. Come with me! Sir.”
Reshin practically dragged him to the command deck, the eyes of his former superiors scrutinizing him. With none of the enthusiasm or deference they gave Calaphriti, his new subordinates saluted him one by one. Even Calaphriti, who seemed, for once, to be focused on the task at hand. Maia followed close behind, though she needed no extra help from Reshin. Her eyes were focused, she seemed deep in concentration.
Reshin barked at the room.
“We need a blinker! Get me a fucking blinker right now! And get me a presence translator… Whatever the fuck! Earpiece! Now!”
A few moments later an ensign ran up to Tiberius and began hooking up his translator. The next moment a warrior clad in Saishen armor blinked right next to him, causing him to jump in surprise. At his side he carried a shizano, his eyes looking down on Tiberius like a master did a failing student.
The warrior glanced at Reshin who nodded.
The warrior saluted, then calmly placed a hand on Tiberius and Maia’s shoulders.
“Sirs, please close your eyes and keep your arms at your side. This will only take a moment.”
Tiberius closed his eyes, then felt a great rush and his stomach jump.
“You may open your eyes, sir.” The warrior said, then took a step back.
They were on the command deck of… Of a Dreadnought, likely the RSS ‘Dreaming’ Tiberius guessed. All the officers stopped what they were doing and promptly saluted Tiberius; they didn’t have the misfortune of knowing the context of how ridiculous this situation was.
Still in shock, Tiberius slowly regained the functioning of his brain. Rather, his brain hadn’t stopped, he was only just now tuning in to how fast his brain was working to make sense of what had happened.
For him to be in command, things must truly be dire. At the very least, the Fleet Admiral was either dead or incapacitated, as were all other Admirals and Vice-Admirals aside from Caliphriti. That meant something had gone catastrophically wrong in the battle at the edge of the system. What could it have been? It was practically impossible for two marshals and three dreadnoughts to go down so quickly.
As Tiberius’ mind overheated, a light-skinned officer walked up to him.
“Fleet Admiral Norek, Chief of Staff Danbar, my name is High Commodore Mendi. We’ve prepared your positions on the command deck. Please follow me.”
Tiberius and Maia followed Mendi, as an ensign came over to him, took his singular red star off his chest and replaced it with an insignia of three golden stars, three red lines and a golden fist; The insignia of the Fleet Admiral.
Tiberius barely even registered the fact that he had just now essentially achieved his life-long dream.
As he walked, everyone stood up and saluted him, their faces not betraying any signs of mistrust or hesitation. Even though he was only a Middle Commodore. Even though he was only twenty two years old. Even though he had no experience in live combat.
Tiberius and Maia took center stage on the command deck of the RSS Dreaming. All eyes were on him.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
Tiberius’ heart began to race. He wasn’t prepared for this. What was going on? Were they all going to die?
As his hysteria reached its breaking point, a rallying voice spoke in his ear, soothing tones of dependability and absolute confidence washing away his petty fears.
Norek… I need you. I asked if you would follow me into the abyss. Right here, right now, I need you to do that. Our forces need a coherent, linear plan to defend the system. Our chain of command has been strained, so I will relay orders and inspire the troops. You don’t have to do anything other than use that mephistophelian mind of yours to move the pieces we have into a winning position. You may deploy me and all of our assets as you see fit.
Tiberius’ heart slowed to a normal rate. His mind, previously disordered and muddled, eased back into its usual analytical rhythm.
Shareen was asking for him. Shareen needed his help. Shareen… needed his help.
With the fate of trillions of souls on the line… Tiberius Kael Norek gave his first military order.
“Chief of Staff Danbar, please organize our remaining forces into operational battlegroups. The Marshal has ordered us to assemble a defense of the system with the assets we have left. I’ll assess the situation first, then give my commands.”
Maia pulled up a cube and began sifting through information.
“Yes, sir, Fleet Admiral Norek.”
Comments
Fleet Admiral
An Extract from Chapter XI of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
Fields and Shields
Fields
Fields and shields make up an essential part of life, travel, and warfare in the Sola Galaxy. While shields are used to block, absorb, or redirect force, fields are broader areas of Presence that impose soft rules on the space around them. They can inhibit movement, weaken hostile Presence, regulate FTL travel, and make certain actions more difficult within their range.
Fields are not absolute barriers. A powerful enough pruser, fleet, or vessel can overcome them, but doing so requires time and energy. For this reason, fields are often used to delay enemies, disrupt their formations, and create favorable conditions for defenders.
The largest fields are system fields, which regulate entire star systems. Control Fields are the strongest of these and are used in Control Systems. They usually extend about 3 AU from the designated Control Planet and are designed to prevent unauthorized FTL entry, inhibit rapid FTL movement inside the system, and penalize hostile or unverified Presence signatures. They are generated by prusers and nodes of Isalin, modified by authorized Axiomizers, and maintained by field-prusers.
Primary Fields serve similar purposes in Primary Systems, though with less strength and range. Secondary Fields protect important inhabited regions or military zones. Tertiary Fields are uncommon and usually limited to basic regulation or local defense.
Planetary fields are denser and more focused. They are classified from Class 1 to Class 5. Class 1 fields protect advanced Control Planets and can heavily inhibit even Shari-caliber prusers, especially those without verified signatures. Class 2 fields defend lesser Control Planets, Class 3 fields are common on Primary Worlds, Class 4 fields protect Secondary Worlds, and Class 5 fields appear on some Tertiary Worlds.
Ship fields are carried by most Class 1 to Class 3 vessels. Larger ships use them to support shields, resist hostile fields, and stabilize travel through dangerous hyperlanes. Smaller ships possess weaker, simpler fields.
He almost had it.
For one hundred and three seconds, Tiberius had been silent as he stared at the information Maia had prepared for him.
A system like Randolph 5 had a dedicated control field that emitted a base level of protection around the system. It would take the Daraki underlings a few minutes to get through it, but the bruisers, chieftains and champion could easily break past it.
Class 1 planetary shields would protect from most things, even taking at least a few hits from the champion before they went down–though it was already a worst-case scenario if the Daraki were near civilian areas.
The total forces under Tiberius’ command extended to:
1 Dreadnought,
103 Capital Ships,
105,912 Heavy Ships,
133,481 Escort Ships,
Millions of smaller class 4 and 5 craft,
A couple hundred million Shari,
934 Anan Kari,
3 Colonels:
Chima Tanabe, the revered Saishen warrior.
Basena Molenzki, a Colonel under Shareen’s command who specialized as a combat enhancer.
And Mr 343, a Colonel under Lio’s command who specialized as a trickster and expert blinker. Tiberius did not even want to think what had happened to Lio Argan.
And by far the greatest asset under his command,
3rd Marshal of Revos, The Argent Horizon, Shareen Maxamillian.
These forces had been assembled into 11 battlegroups of similar size and capability.
An impressive force to be sure. Tiberius felt the seconds trickle by agonizingly. Even with this impressive force, Tiberius was struggling to piece together a winning position.
Against them were:
4 trillion Daraki underlings,
4800 Daraki bruisers,
4 Daraki chieftains,
And their greatest challenge,
1 Daraki champion.
Even with the numerous orbital defense cannons, fields, and shields, they were at a significant disadvantage in terms of total combat potential. Shareen was a match for the champion, but those chieftains… if even one of them made it through to a populated area…
Tiberius renewed his focus.
One hundred and four seconds had passed since he’d last opened his mouth. All eyes on the command deck were focused on him. If any of these senior command officers were concerned or agitated, they were all doing a fantastic job of keeping those emotions under control. Mostly.
Despite his almost statue-like stillness, the gears in Tiberius’ head were turning at a furious pace. Every scenario he envisioned, he discarded almost immediately for one reason or another. Each alteration opened a new branch of possibility, and whenever he noticed a critical flaw in one plan, he cut it away and moved to the next.
What if they engaged at the edge of the field to minimize civilian exposure? No, the field advantage was too great, dropping it was suicide. What were Mr 343’s exact abilities? Something about four consecutive blinks in under an hour? What was the most effective way to minimize civilian casualties?
Tiberius grappled with these questions, with the monumental scale of the troops under his command, and with the reality that the lives of trillions of citizens across 10 planets of Randolph 5 now rested squarely on his shoulders.
One hundred and five seconds.
He was certain that in a simulation, he would’ve already issued orders by now. However, the nerves were starting to get to him. Though, just as it looked like it might impact his flow, Shareen’s Presence flowed through him, steadying him.
He was almost ready.
One hundred and six seconds.
There was no more time to waste.
“Maia! Battlegroups one through seven will hold sectors three and four, and the immediate contact points. Their job is to hold the line at all costs. Do not let a single Daraki through. But do not extend into other sectors; they are to hold positions!”
At his words, Maia’s hands whipped into motion, manually implementing his orders. He could only assume she was also issuing dozens of mental commands he was not privy to, because one by one, the officers and aides on the command deck sprang into action.
“Battlegroup eight will form a dispersed perimeter around the system. They are to catch stragglers, prioritizing bruiser class Daraki. Let the underlings exhaust themselves against our shields.”
A further cohort of aides went into motion, scurrying to see his orders through. A slight part of him basked in the immediate and total adherence to his authority. Then he remembered why this was the case and dismissed those emotions.
“Battlegroups nine, ten and eleven will exit the field and encircle the enemy from three sides. They are to pull away two Daraki chieftains and as many other Daraki as they can. Use interceptors and fighters to catch their attention. Mr 343 and ten squadrons of fighters will circle around the horde and draw the champion away from the system.”
Tiberius wasn’t sure exactly what Mr 343 did, but he assumed he hadn’t been made a Colonel of Revos for nothing. A Colonel-level trickster could surely delay a champion for longer than a few minutes… If Tiberius was wrong it was only trillions of innocent lives at stake.
Tiberius now spoke to his Colonels directly, knowing they were now linked to him.
“Chima Tanabe and Basena Molenzki, you will join battlegroups one through seven and slaughter as many Daraki as you can. You are the grinder. Give up space if you have to, your priority is to kill the Daraki chieftain that will come through. If all goes to plan we can slowly rotate each chieftain through the grinder one by one and finish the champion off last.”
On his screen Tiberius saw his forces begin to move into position.
He turned his attention to the final asset he had left to play.
“Your Excellency,” he said, addressing Shareen directly. “I will deploy a squadron of fighters to lead a Daraki chieftain your way. I need you to destroy it fast. I will give you further orders after that.”
“Yes, Mr Norek. Excellent work, as always.”
Although Tiberius couldn’t link to Shareen’s Presence directly, he could feel his spirits lift from just those simple words.
Tiberius turned to High Commodore Mendi.
“Commodore, we will join battlegroups one through seven. As the only Behemoth-class ship left in the system, we must pull our weight as well.”
By the time he’d finished talking, the command deck was frantic with movement, displays and orders being relayed.
Tiberius for the first time took a moment to breathe and almost smiled.
Even if the situation was horrible, he was in command now.
At the edge of the system, on the moon she’d crashed into, Shareen Maxamillian registered Tiberius’ commands and grasped the essence of his strategy.
She grinned to herself a little.
Those broad encirclement tactics were similar to the ones he’d employed against Boran Jensu. Though, as she’d asked, it wasn’t as elaborate. Tiberius had implemented a coherent, relatively linear strategy for victory.
Exhaling slowly, Shareen let the tension in her shoulders ease.
Relying on Tiberius had been a gamble. A gamble she had been mostly sure would pay off, but given the circumstances, it was the best option available to her.
And it had paid off.
Now it was time for Shareen to do her job.
The Marshal of Revos breathed in deeply, gathering her emotions: the trust of her comrades, the faith of her soldiers, the fears of the citizens she was protecting and her broiling rage at Lio’s betrayal.
Thick, condensed Presence rolled over her armor, combining her previous barriers into three hardened layers that would protect her and allow for cleaner movement.
The chieftain would arrive soon, but she still had time to prepare herself for combat.
She used those seconds to stretch out her muscles, refine her Presence, and gather every scrap of power she could muster.
She would need every bit.
In the distance she saw a few thousand fighters swooping in and around a Daraki chieftain. She noticed a dozen or so fighters getting swatted away as others were chased down by bruisers or underlings. Those were brave pilots who dared venture that close.
Your Excellency! We’re here! Daraki chieftain headed your way!
Thank you, soldier. I’ll take it from here.
The fighters peeled off as Shareen sent her Presence blazing outward, impossible for the Daraki to ignore.
At once the small horde rounded on her position.
Shareen drew her shortsword and started jogging. As she moved forward she picked up the pace, covering kilometers then tens of kilometers with each step, extending the small platform under her to create an opposing force to propel her forward. With every step, her power pulsated with her, and her brands flared.
The light barrier shattered, plunging everything into an instant of darkness. Her body surged forward, overcoming the limitations of the control field.
With indomitable force, travelling at millions of times the speed of light, Shareen crashed into the chieftain, sending out a silver shockwave of Presence and opening a deep gash, hundreds of kilometers deep.
She followed up with a furious torrent of secondary attacks, cleaving apart tentacles and paralyzing the chieftain.
Dashing aside while the chieftain was briefly incapacitated, Shareen saw the smaller Daraki rush towards her.
Shareen reached out a hand, the brands on her body burning once more, and opened a gravitational vortex only a few feet away from her. This one was barely more than a millimeter wide, but extended out hundreds of miles in front of her.
With her other hand, she made a ripping motion and the vortex sliced through the Daraki formation, drawing in hundreds of billions of them. The vortex made it far enough to slice off a chunk of the chieftain’s body.
A few Daraki bruisers either evaded or withstood her attack and rushed towards her.
Shareen took one step forward, and in three clean motions bisected her attackers.
Her muscles were fine, but her chest was beginning to ache slightly with that exertion. Shareen took a few calming breaths then drew her broadsword.
With two hands, she created a platform beneath herself and jumped away from the chieftain. On the other side of the chieftain, her vortex morphed into a black hole, with only one gravitational link: herself.
Shareen felt the pull of the vortex stop her momentum and carry her back towards the chieftain. As she changed trajectory she twirled and rotated, her waist pulling her forward as her broadsword and legs lagged behind.
She accelerated with many times the force of her first attack, containing the ripple effects of her abilities so as to not affect other areas of the battlefield.
At the last moment, as Shareen was less than a kilometer away from the chieftain, she flexed her core and brought her broadsword thundering down.
The Daraki’s movements were slow as it tried to get some tentacles in the way, but Shareen ground them apart with the gravitational energy emitting from her sword before they even reached her.
The attack ripped the chieftain in two, black ooze spraying everywhere.
Its weight restricting her movements, Shareen let go of her sword and dashed towards the chieftain’s core, crushing it with her fist.
Shareen retrieved her sword and observed her battlefield. There were no Daraki survivors in her sector.
Reaching out with her mind, Shareen connected to Maia Danbar.
Danbar, I’ve subdued my sector. Where am I headed next?
Tiberius was holding four fronts simultaneously, each carefully balanced to maximize offensive impact, without getting close enough to be enveloped. It was an immensely delicate needle Tiberius had to thread and for now he had done so admirably. The champion had been led away, battlegroups nine, ten and eleven were drawing away masses of Daraki and battlegroups one through seven were exterminating the main Daraki host at a reasonable rate.
Around 20% of the Daraki force had been destroyed.
Fortunately for Tiberius, his battlegroups were responding quickly, even enthusiastically to his orders.
This must be Basena.Tiberius thought to himself.
Basena Molenzki’s music had started just before they engaged the Daraki and Tiberius had felt even greater confidence than he had with Shareen. His mind was clear and all hesitation had vanished from him. He could only assume this effect was largely consistent across all their forces.
That said, their forces had sustained 7% casualties so far. Not disastrous, but not ideal either. Unfortunately, with Daraki it did inevitably just become a battle of attrition at some point.
“Battlegroup ten, pursue the enemy at a range of five light seconds. Battlegroup eleven, press your advantage! Their forces are weak!”
Tiberius barked orders almost instinctively as he observed the flow of battle.
“Tiberius, five Daraki bruisers have broken the line in sector 7,” said Maia, her comment timely.
“Send strike force three under battlegroup two to intercept. They must not be allowed to reach a populated area!”
Although Tiberius was in charge of the battle, Maia had executed his orders to near perfection. It wasn’t seamless like with Dala, and she sometimes didn’t grasp his full ideas, but she was also managing many dozens of strike forces under each battlegroup manually, while communicating with hundreds of different commanders and prusers simultaneously.
Tiberius glanced at the display that showed their immediate surroundings. The major heavy railguns at the head of their dreadnought fired relentlessly, tearing through Daraki, joining together with the millions of other projectiles flying forward to make an impressive light show.
“Sir, we are dangerously close to the front. I’d recommend we retreat slightly,” said High Commodore Mendi.
“Of course. Do what you think is best.”
For a time the battle entered a lull, with each front performing their task effectively. Then, news arrived from Maia.
“Tiberius, Mr 343 has lost control of the Daraki champion. It is headed towards the system again. He states he cannot re-enter the battle and has exhausted his strength.”
Tiberius clenched his teeth. The only reason the battle was even close to holding was because that champion hadn’t joined the battle.
“And Shareen?” asked Tiberius.
“She’s finishing off her chieftain. Not available.”
They would need to hold for now. Just as he was about to issue orders, a searing flash of red light illuminated their displays.
Holding a hand up to cover his eyes, the light slowly dissipated. The display zoomed in on Chima Tanabe, red energy glowing all around him as he emerged from the carcass of the Daraki chieftain he’d just slain.
A euphoric cheer erupted on the command deck. Even Tiberius allowed himself to get swept away in Chima’s success. Just three more and the chieftains would all be dead.
But, Maia’s voice once again brought him back to the matter at hand.
“Tiberius, Chima needs to recover and the champion is closing in fast. Battlegroup ten can’t hold much longer. We will soon have a chieftain and champion heading our way.”
That was right. One small isolated victory wasn’t enough to win this.
“All forces pull back slightly, twenty light seconds. Thin your lines and allow smaller Daraki to get through. Concentrate fire on the chieftain. Ignore the champion for now.”
For the first time since the start of the battle, Maia questioned his orders.
“The champion will hit the 7th planet in the system in three minutes at current pace.”
“We can’t take them both out at once. We’ll have to defeat the chieftain first. We are forced to cede some ground.”
A different commander might have put the information together, but Tiberius had already moved on to a different task. Maia’s movements lagged just a slight second as she contemplated her family’s fate.
In that moment, battlegroup one received its orders an instant behind schedule and, without allies to guard its flank, was mauled by the Daraki host.
“MAIA! GET THEM OUT OF THERE! Battlegroup two- no battlegroup three, cover them!”
“Sorry?! Two or three?!” An aide asked him.
“THREE!” Tiberius practically screamed at him.
It was too late.
Battlegroup one was getting overrun. Tiberius’ formation slowly began to roll up as battlegroups two and three struggled to contain the breach.
“Retreat! Reform lines around sectors five and seven. Recall battlegroups nine and ten.”
“Sir! Battlegroup ten has suffered 70% casualties, they are out of the battle.”
Tiberius frantically began devising a backup plan. This decision would decrease their screening efficacy against straggler Daraki, but a full collapse of the line was a much greater problem.
“Concentrate half of battlegroup eight on sector three, to relieve battlegroup one.”
Tiberius now became fully conscious of his voice, wavering and strained. The eyes of those on the command deck looked at him with uncertainty. The flow of battle was slipping from his grasp. Tiberius’ heart beat furiously as anxiety gnawed through him.
Were they going to lose?
Would Tiberius’ first command end in failure?
Just as Tiberius began drafting new orders, a silver comet raced past their bridge and collided with the Daraki overrunning battlegroup one. Another flash of light saw most of the Daraki in sector four be incinerated or thrown back.
On his display Tiberius saw the Argent Horizon of Revos, her silver hair trailing out behind her, her shortsword in hand. A moment later her voice rang through the system.
“Soldiers of Revos! Rally! Rally to me! Rally to the Fist of Revos!” Shareen pumped her fist above her head.
As though waiting for this moment, Basena shifted his music into a triumphant crescendo.
Without orders, Tiberius’ forces charged forward as Shareen flew forward towards the new chieftain drifting into the edge of the system.
Having already sustained significant damage, Shareen burst through the chieftain in one attack, killing it.
With Chima the cheers had been hearty, but now the command deck was full of deafening cries of devotion to their glorious commander.
Through the chaos, Maia whispered in his ear.
“Tiberius, battlegroups one, ten and eleven are out of commission. Battlegroups two, three and five are greatly depleted. Battlegroup eight has reported dozens of Daraki bruisers breaking through their lines. The last chieftain is about to reach planet six in sector two. We need to regroup and stop it before it gets further.”
Tiberius watched as Shareen raced forward towards the champion, taking with her the forces required to hold the system. The battle was going well, their momentum was immense, but Shareen wasn’t seeing the whole battle. Tiberius then glanced at the approaching champion. Even if they defeated the champion here, the chieftain would tear the system apart.
The optimal course of action presented itself to Tiberius in a horrible twist of fate.
“Maia, order all forces to pull back, except Shareen. She is to hold the line by herself, while we defeat the last chieftain and stabilize the system.”
Maia looked at him with concern, but nodded. It was the right call. The life of one Marshal was nothing compared to even one citizen of Revos. But, there was no mistaking the danger that this posed to Shareen. Tiberius remembered the last reckoning that had killed Marshal Hera Meraki. He hoped desperately to avoid a repetition of that outcome.
Tiberius connected to Shareen through his translator.
“Your Excellency, I need you to face the rest of the horde alone. A Daraki chieftain has broken through in sector two. We need all available forces to bring it down. A thin line behind you will stop stragglers, but Daraki cannot ignore you on the battlefield. I need you to hold them here until we can reinforce.”
A few seconds passed with no response.
“If that’s not possible, we can forfeit the outer planet and regrou-”
“Mr Norek,” her voice echoed in his head. “History does not reward the meek. Victory does not favor the mediocre. I will crush this enemy, seize this victory and make history remember it. I leave the battle in your hands.”
On the display, Shareen paused her advance, her voice ringing throughout the command deck.
“All forces follow Chima Tanabe to sector two and defeat the chieftain ravaging our system. Do not assist me. Victory is within our grasp! One final push! Rally my soldiers!”
Shareen watched as her forces drifted away from her position. Tiberius was in command, but it was likely too much to ask for her soldiers to follow him into battle. She was sure Chima would understand her intention and rise to the occasion.
When her forces were out of view, Shareen buckled at the knees. Killing two Daraki chieftains in one day had greatly depleted her strength. She promised big things to her soldiers, but the truth was her body was near its limit. She’d been reduced to one barrier and her muscles ached from the constant exertion.
Befuma’s voice drifted through her again.
The fist of Revos does not yield.
Shareen got up and turned to face her final enemy.
Only a few thousand miles away, the twisted, demented frame of the Daraki champion lumbered towards her. Its eight thick tentacles writhed around it as hundreds of billions of smaller Daraki swirled nearby.
Even if she was at full strength, with all those bruisers, she would likely be on the back foot. In her current state, and without room to maneuver, there was little chance she could bring it down. But, she did not need to. Her goal was to weaken and delay it until Tiberius and Chima arrived.
Not yet, monster.
Shareen sheathed her sword and stretched out her arms. Her brands began to burn furiously as her hands shook violently. Although the many fields in place limited the effects of her abilities, the system still shook as she exerted her power.
A few dozen miles behind the champion, Shareen summoned another gravitational vortex, pulling the champion back.
The Daraki advance had been stopped.
However, a small number of Daraki bruisers broke through her pull and began hacking away at her final barrier.
As more and more Daraki surrounded her, Shareen lost herself in a trance, solely focused on maintaining her vortex and holding back the champion. She could feel its massive frame pushing against her hold. Even against the strength of a black hole millions of kilometers wide, the champion slowly inched forward.
Closing her eyes, Shareen felt the dozens of bruisers slowly wearing her down. She was lucky the Daraki couldn’t ignore her. If they chose to ignore her and target the system, there would be nothing she could do.
Minutes passed as Shareen held firm. Two of the champion's tentacles were engulfed by her vortex, and she could slowly feel it losing strength.
But, in this battle of attrition she would lose first. A Daraki bruiser pierced her barrier and stabbed her in the gut.
Shareen stumbled back, her concentration breaking, her vortex dissipating.
Agonizingly, Shareen drew her shortsword and cut apart the bruisers around her in an instant. However, now the champion was moving again.
Shareen sheathed her shortsword, drew her broadsword and gathered what remaining Presence she had.
Bracing herself, Shareen met the champion’s blows equally, matching its force, even slicing off two more tentacles. Only four left. But it could not last; bruisers circled her, dealing superficial wounds, but distracting her enough for the champion to land a clean blow on her left side, shattering her final barrier and breaking many of her ribs.
Shareen flew back, crashing through stabilizing platforms she created to break her flight. Blood poured out from her mouth and leaked through the left side of her armor.
Her left arm was broken. She lacked the strength to raise her broadsword. Leaving it to float in space, Shareen drew her shortsword and met the champion again. Each blow they exchanged forced her back just a slight amount. The champion’s strength was unrelenting. In an ideal world she would give more ground, but they were within striking distance of a planet nearby.
She could not give any more ground. She had to hold!
A tentacle collided with her shortsword, but Shareen took the hit head-on, creating a platform behind her to hold her ground. A second tentacle wrapped around to hit her left side, and she raised her broken arm to catch it, screaming in pain as the impact rippled through her fractured body.
She resisted with all her strength, but the champion began to squeeze. Shareen felt her internal barriers shatter, forcing her to direct all her reserve Presence to the edges of her hands, just to keep from getting crushed.
Looking up, she saw a third tentacle coming down on her. There was no evading. She had no Presence to spare. The tentacle closed in with increasing speed.
A flash of red light and the tentacle was split in two, flailing back.
Railgun fire rained down on the tentacles assaulting her, forcing the champion to pull back. Shareen took a few seconds to stabilize her body with Presence, then looked up and saw the dreadnought ‘RSS Dreaming’ and a dozen capital ships unleash their payload on the champion, driving it back briefly.
Colonel Basena floated toward her, his dark blue robes flowing out behind him and his harp gliding alongside him.
Shareen collapsed to her platform, but Basena reached out a hand to her. She took it and stood, feeling his Presence flow through her. With far greater efficacy than she could have managed herself, he fully healed her superficial wounds and greatly improved the state of her more serious injuries. The bleeding in her side stopped, and some of her bones mended back together.
Basena was then the one to falter, steadying himself on his harp.
That’s all I have for you, Your Excellency.
It’s more than enough.
Chima Tanabe floated next to her. His Presence remained steady, betraying no hint of strain.
Your Excellency, all other Daraki have been annihilated. Only those in front of us are left.
And we’ll finish it here.
With her vision slightly blurred and other matters at the front of her mind, Shareen did not fully take in the state of his wounds.
Instead she sought out Tiberius, ready to finish this battle with one decisive assault.
Tiberius, I’m weakened, but I can kill it if you give me an opening. It only has three tentacles left. Take care of them and I will finish this.
Shareen waited, watching the champion slowly float towards them.
Tanabe, we don’t have the firepower to neutralize so many tentacles, but you do. If you can use your skill again to take out two of them, we’ll handle the other one. Shareen, when you see your shot, take it.
Shareen looked over to where her most trusted subordinate was. Just this once, she wished she hadn’t put Tiberius in command.
Blood dripped from his mouth, and raw patches of flesh marked the places where his skin had been torn away. His two swords were cracked, as if barely hanging on. Thin streams of red Presence leaked from his eyes.
He’d already used it.
Kato’s Homage.
Saishen warriors prayed to the god of death, and with their faith they could call upon his power, at a great cost. Only the most accomplished warriors could channel his power, and few could do so without dying themselves. Shareen had seen him use it once before, and had watched the after-effects leave him debilitated for weeks afterward. Even now in this state, he was well beyond his limit. He’d probably used it at least three times already. If he went further, he would not survive.
And of course, the significance of the flaked skin and the Presence leaking from the eyes was not knowledge the Saishen made widely known in their textbooks, for obvious reasons. It was something you could only learn through experiencing it firsthand. Tiberius had no idea what he was asking and Chima wasn’t the sort of soldier to tell him.
Is there no other way? Tanabe asked, his voice raspy with exhaustion.
Not without giving up the nearby planet and waiting for reinforcements. Most of our forces are out of commission. Tiberius responded.
Chima ducked his head and closed his eyes.
Shareen reached out a solemn hand to him.
Chima had been her first trusted comrade. Since the battle of Filon 11 and every battle since, he’d been by her side. She remembered meeting his Nashiman family for dinner, the stern words of his father and seeing the respect his people had for him.
Chima… she said to him directly.
Lifting his head up, Chima flew over to her and placed his fist on Shareen’s chest.
My friend, do not miss the chance I give you.
Shareen placed her fist on his chest, her eyes burning, her heart wavering.
I promise. Thank you for your service, my friend.
Giving her one final salute, Chima flew forward, drawing his swords on either side of him. His Presence surged outward, brilliant white and red energy spiraling in wild currents around his radiant form.
Shareen braced behind him, readying her shortsword. She would not miss this.
Ahead of her, Tanabe’s image froze for a single frame of reality.
A frame later, a razor-thin crimson plane was painted across the battlefield, pristine and smooth amidst the writhing rabble of Daraki. Everything in his path had been severed without resistance, including two of the champion’s main tentacles and billions of smaller Daraki.
A moment later, Tanabe’s lifeless body evaporated into dust, and from it, Shareen burst forth, flying furiously towards the champion.
Forward, my soldiers! Finish this!
Momentum carried her toward her absolute limit, with Tiberius’ forces pinning down the final tentacle under a torrent of railgun fire.
Twisting as she flew, Shareen pierced the champion’s skin and flew straight for its core. Almost every reserve of her Presence was gone, her outer barrier reduced to a thin, trembling veil.
Shareen waited until she was within a few hundred miles of the champion’s core and reached out her hand.
Muscles screaming, her brands flaring, she flipped its gravitational value, curled her wrist, and yanked the core toward herself, the muscle strands in her bicep and forearm tearing under the strain.
Perhaps realizing its impending death, Shareen sensed the final tentacle pierce the Daraki’s outer body and strike straight at her.
Without stopping her task of pulling the core towards her, Shareen reached out her other arm and stopped the tentacle before it reached her, bones cracking under the pressure. Even after that, a smaller Daraki bruiser surprised her from behind and impaled her abdomen. Letting out a primal cry of pain, Shareen looked at the bruiser and eviscerated him from existence with her Presence.
With the wound in her side and the effort of dividing her strength between the tentacle and the core, she could no longer pull it toward her. But, Tiberius was there.
Above her, she felt that tentacle be severed by a final blast of railgun fire.
Freeing up her hand and her Presence, Shareen pulled the core within range of her sword and brought down her blade, slicing it in half.
It was over.
The strength left Shareen’s body almost immediately, but Senior Special Agents were close behind her, catching her and closing her wounds as her consciousness faded.
Drifting in and out of sleep, she caught glimpses of being brought aboard the ‘RSS Dreaming’, her subordinates assuring her that everything had turned out okay.
She kept trying to tell them the same thing, but her words were caught in her throat and her mind was too weak to form a link.
Marshal Lio Argan was a traitor.
That message did not make it to anyone else by the time she had slipped into a coma.
Comments
Victorious
An Extract from Chapter XXXVII of the Encyclopedia of the Grand Conquest of the Sola Galaxy
The Confederacy of Aman
The Confederacy of Aman is home to the Amanian people, a distinct population commonly identified by red skin and yellow or green eyes. Amanians possess unusually weak Presence by galactic standards, a limitation that has shaped their entire national character. Rather than competing through pruser dominance, Aman invested heavily into naval engineering and strategic doctrine, developing into a thalassocratic power whose survival and influence rest on absolute excellence at sea.
Aman operates under a centralized communist system in which the state controls production and resource distribution. Governance is efficient and highly organized, led by a council of elected representatives from each controlled planet who convene in the capital, Ash Kama, to establish policy and long-term strategy. Amanian political culture is intensely patriotic and improvement-driven. Laziness and decadence are treated as social failures, and personal worth is often measured by contribution and discipline.
Amanian society places exceptional value on intellect. Scholarly achievement, dedication, and technical competence are among the most desirable traits in both social standing and institutional advancement. The state provides high-standard education, healthcare, and housing, with particular emphasis on science and engineering disciplines that strengthen their technological and military edge. National mathematics and logic competitions are treated as major public events, both as entertainment and as a method of identifying talent.
The Amanian navy is the cornerstone of confederate power. The Tempic Armada, commanded by a tradition of highly respected admirals, is regarded across the galaxy as one of the most tactically refined naval forces in existence. Amanian ships are sought after for superior engineering, reliability, and performance in hyperlane maneuvering. The nation’s most guarded industrial asset is the Shipyards of the Tempic Armada, a state secret whose location is undisclosed. These shipyards are believed to produce the highest-quality vessels in the galaxy and form a major pillar of Aman’s economy. It is commonly claimed that a substantial portion of Behemoth-class vessels originate from Amanian construction.
Aman participates in diplomacy and trade primarily through technology exchange and naval construction. While protective and self-reliant by instinct, the confederacy’s value as a shipbuilding partner makes it a desirable ally and a dangerous adversary. Amanian influence is also visible within Revos itself, including figures such as Shun Lor, who represents Amanian interests and holds the position of High Councilor. The reputation of Amanian command is further reinforced by the fact that Revos High Fleet Admiral Oxelia Rior is Amani by origin, widely regarded as a legendary naval commander.
The Battle of Randolph 5 had been a costly victory for Revos. Total civilian casualties were extremely limited, barely over a thousand, and mostly confined to stragglers who had failed to find cover within the planet’s shields. For a system of two and a half trillion inhabitants, that was a near-perfect result.
Furthermore, no Daraki had made it to the Primary Hyperlanes connecting the system to the rest of the sector. As of now, no new Daraki had been reported.
However, the cost to the Revotian fleet had been brutal.
Shareen’s force had reported 46% casualties, mostly concentrated across Battlegroups One, Two, and Ten. Tens of millions of servicemen had lost their lives in the defense of the system, and tens of thousands of ships had been destroyed. The total number was still being counted, but at least three hundred and fifty million lives had been lost so far, with another two billion wounded.
But by far, their greatest losses were the death of Colonel Chima Tanabe and Shareen’s comatose state. Both of them had been the core of this army. Without them and Fleet Admiral Vim, their strike force had essentially ceased to exist.
It also left Tiberius in an immensely precarious position.
News of Tiberius, his temperament, and his unique circumstances had spread rapidly. He was no great admiral whom Shareen had kept hidden for a time like this. He was barely six months into his position and had never held real command.
However, perhaps sensing that this issue could cause problems, Colonel Basena Molenzki, their highest-ranking pruser still active, had openly lent Tiberius his support and deferred to him for orders. The other naval officers had fallen in line, but their contemptuous glances were hard to miss. He could tell they blamed him for the deaths of their comrades, for the death of Chima Tanabe. Everyone on the command deck had heard Tiberius’ last command.
At his side, Maia still relayed orders with her usual efficiency, but she seemed to have lost some of her flair. Her movements across the dashboard were slow, her expression glum. He could hardly blame her. Tiberius himself was just about ready to pass out on the spot.
Not yet, though. Military protocol stated that Tiberius would remain in command until an officer of higher rank came to relieve him. That officer, the only one in all of Revos who currently outranked him, was already on her way.
Tiberius directed his forces to search for survivors and make use of civilian infrastructure for treating wounds and repairing ships. It wasn’t much, but it would speed up the process.
For the next hour, Tiberius relayed orders, but there wasn’t much to say. The attitude of the fleet was sullen. Their Marshal’s life hung in the balance. How could they get on with their work as usual?
It wasn’t long before High Fleet Admiral Oxelia Rior’s flagship entered the system through a control hyperlane.
Tiberius watched her vessel appear on the display: the RSS Radiant, a super dreadnought, the only one of its kind.
The ship was monstrous, stretching nearly two hundred kilometers from bow to stern, its vast black hull marked by streaks of red and silver. Octagonal turrets lined its rounded-square frame, each one built to carry weapons capable of tearing through planets. Protected by a Hyper Shield and armed with mass drivers, railguns, missile launchers, and a complement of hundreds of thousands of fighters, the Radiant was less a warship than a Marshal itself.
Oxelia Rior’s shuttle landed on the RSS Dreaming, her delegation arriving on the bridge a few minutes later.
Tiberius straightened himself and saluted as Oxelia Rior walked onto the bridge of the Dreaming.
This was the first time he’d seen one of the six unparalleled talents in person… and it did not disappoint.
The High Fleet Admiral of Revos towered over him at eight feet one. In contrast to the usual navy uniforms, hers was silver and red. Most high-ranking admirals of Amani descent had this non-standard pattern as a sign of respect to their unique heritage.
Her crimson skin made her stand out among her group of retainers, her green eyes sizing Tiberius up. Although she radiated confidence and authority, the clench in her jaw made Tiberius think she was disappointed in something.
“Fleet Admiral Norek… you have acquitted yourself well. Admiral Rex Tener will assume command of the remaining forces of Marshal Maxamillian. Under my authority, I relieve you and Maia Danbar of your special command and appoint you both to the rank of High Commodore as aides to Admiral Tener. I expect you to make yourselves useful. Until we arrive on Bigg, make sure to recollect all you can from today’s events. There will be many questions for you when we arrive.”
Tiberius took off the Fleet Admiral badge and gave it to an ensign.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she nodded and turned back to head to her ship.
Admiral Tener arrived a few minutes later. He was neither friendly nor cold toward Tiberius, simply doing his job of organizing the fleet and preparing to depart for Bigg. Quite a good job of it as well, Tiberius noted. The fleet was collapsed into 5 battlegroups and began their exodus from Randolph 5.
Maia and Tiberius worked diligently, slipping back into their previous organizational roles. An ensign came over to Tiberius and relieved him of his Fleet Admiral insignia. By this point, he was more than happy to be rid of it.
Getting on with their work, Maia and Tiberius exchanged no words. In the heat of battle, they had made it work, even if they had come dangerously close to botching the entire thing. Now, it was like neither of them could comprehend what had just happened. Tiberius zoned out as his brain autopiloted his tasks and his mind wandered elsewhere.
Had he done enough?
The casualty numbers rippled through his head. Three hundred and fifty million… If he’d been a little faster… a little more decisive… maybe he could’ve saved more lives.
But was that not the job of soldiers? Had Tiberius done anything wrong? Shareen had asked him to follow her into the abyss.
Tiberius had most certainly done that, but it wasn’t the abyss he had imagined.
And Chima Tanabe…
How could he have known!?
Tiberius slammed his fist on his display, startling Maia.
“Sorry,” he said, restraining his emotions.
“It’s fine,” said Maid, returning back to her display.
After four more hours of working, Admiral Tener dismissed them from the bridge. They’d been working non-stop for fifteen hours.
A shuttle picked them up and flew them back to the RSS Brilliant.
The two walked to their quarters, but when they turned the final corner, Maia stopped.
Tiberius paused to look back and saw her mouth quivering.
Her expression had been controlled the entire day. She’d performed her duties exceptionally well. Tiberius hadn’t fully realized it, but just watching her stay calm through the entire ordeal had given him an example to follow.
“Maia… are you… okay?” he said slowly. Tiberius started forward but stopped himself. What was he doing? What was there to do?
Maia slumped against the wall, then slid to the ground, her head in her hands. Her breath became shallow and fraught.
“Maia…” Tiberius said again, slowly sitting down next to her.
For thirty minutes, Tiberius sat beside her, still unsure of how to act, unsure if she even wanted him there, but feeling as if leaving at this moment would somehow break the sanctity of her grief.
Maia never broke down into tears, but her dark hair, usually pristine and professional, clung to the sides of her cheeks in damp clumps.
Tiberius felt the urge to ask questions, to understand the situation fully, to solve the problem. He resisted it.
Brushing her hair aside, Maia slowly pushed herself up and wiped the moisture from her eyes. Tiberius had never seen her like this. Her eyes were bloodshot, her expression dazed. All he had ever known was the stoic, unflappable, brilliant chief of staff she had always been.
Maia held out her arms, as if asking him for something.
“Could you… I just need…” she said, her voice choked.
“Oh. Yeah… yeah, of course,” Tiberius said, taken aback.
He wrapped his arms around her gently, carefully. Maia’s fingers crept around his back and gripped his uniform tightly. Her silent tears seeped into his undershirt.
After some time, she slowly pulled away. Tiberius looked at her uncertainly.
“I’m fine… I’m fine… Thanks,” she said, folding her arms. There was something ashamed in the way she looked at him, as if she hated that he had seen her like this.
“No worries.”
“I’ll… see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah. You too.”
It was only many hours later, as Tiberius tossed and turned in his bed unable to sleep, that he remembered Maia’s parents had lived in Randolph 5. He sprang up from his bed and smacked his forehead.
How could he have been so shortsighted? Her parents were most certainly alive, but going through that battle knowing that if you lose your family would die? He wondered how she’d managed to keep her calm for so long.
After a near-sleepless night, with the weight of his decisions keeping him awake, Tiberius greeted Maia, ready for the next day.
There was no mention of what had happened the previous night, no discussion of tactics, no attempt to explain what either of them had felt. Tiberius did not ask about her parents, and Maia did not elaborate.
Yet, as he sat down beside her at their desks, Tiberius could not help but feel as though he had grown closer to Maia. Not a friend, to be sure. But perhaps a trusted comrade.
The next few days were difficult for Tiberius to fall asleep. At this point he had taken to ingesting pills that knocked him out for a few hours. Not the best long term strategy, but necessary at this point for him to remain functional.
The fleet licked its wounds and trudged along, finally making it back to their starting point: A military outpost a few trillion kilometers near Bigg, called Retrim.
With Shareen out of commission and their fleet in tatters, Tiberius was allowed a few desperately needed days off. He bade Maia a heartfelt farewell and officially signed his status as off-duty.
Tiberius left his quarters with his belongings, made his way to his new accommodation, threw his stuff on the floor and collapsed on his new bed.
Finally being out of the RSS Brilliant actually allowed him to really reset his mind.
Knowing he had nowhere to be, Tiberius slept for a good twenty hours straight.
When he woke up, he checked his personal cube and found hundreds of messages from his parents, dozens of Revos officials and even some news outlets wishing to interview him.
He ignored the latter two and while he would want to talk to his parents at some point, he did not have the emotional capacity for that at the moment. Now he needed to talk to the one person who could genuinely analyze his performance, the one friend he had.
Dala Makoren’s message read:
Message me when you’re free. I’ll make the time.
Tiberius sent her a ping and a few minutes later her face was displayed on his screen, crunching on a candy.
He stared at Dala’s sapphire eyes. For a few moments they said nothing. He wished he could be next to her in person, but this would have to do.
“Well Boss, you’re famous now.” She said, with a hint of cheerfulness.
Tiberius did not laugh at her attempt to cheer him up. Her words hit a little too blunt for him.
“It’s not exactly the way I would’ve liked it to happen.” He said, glumly.
“Sorry… Yeah, that wasn’t the right thing to say.” Dala swallowed her candy and did not put another one in her mouth. Usually, this would be the part where she’d think of another retort to his previous jibe. So much had changed since the times when they pretended to fight real battles.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
That was a question Tiberius did not fully know the answer to. He tried to scrounge together the words that he thought could somewhat reasonably and accurately be assigned to his incongruent emotions.
“I feel… I guess lost?” Tiberius said slowly. “We had a purpose. I had a goal and a leader to follow. To help Shareen defeat the Denshaki, not at the head of an army, but learning from behind, perhaps offering a suggestion or two. And instead…”
Tiberius shook his head slowly.
“I feel like I did not do enough. The decisions I made were imperfect. I guess I thought that performing well in a simulation somehow meant I was ready for this. I could not have been more wrong.”
Tears welled in Tiberius’ eyes.
“I feel like I did not earn the right to make those important decisions. To decide the fate of people, to watch glowing lights get snuffed out on a screen, knowing that each one of them contained thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, if not millions of real lives. Of real people that I…” Tiberius’ voice cracked. “That I ordered into death.”
With tears streaming down Tiberius’ face, he shouted his next words.
“I feel like I let her down! Shareen… she trusted me! She gave me a road to follow. A purpose. Meaning. When I was at my lowest! And I… I ordered her men to lay down their lives for my strategy. I ordered her closest companion to sacrifice himself because I thought it was the best move. I ordered her to fight an entire Daraki horde and a Daraki champion by herself, knowing she was already exhausted, because… because I was so… because I couldn’t find a different way to win.”
Tiberius put trembling hands to his forehead and let out a shrill wail of frustration at his own ineptitude.
“If I had just…”
“Tiberius!” Maia said, her voice also strained. “Regardles off the decisions you made, this was not your fault.”
“How can you say that?!” Tiberius said imploringly. “The orders came from my mouth. Those were my decisions they implemented.”
Clearly rattled by his words, but still speaking sternly, Maia pressed on.
“I can see you are upset. I can see… what you’ve been through is not normal. But you know very well military protocol exists to keep something like this from happening. And… just so there is no mistaking it, the fact that a junior officer ended up commanding an entire strike force while trillions of lives were at stake is not your fault, and is a disgraceful reflection of Revos’ military preparedness."
Dala spoke up more firmly as Tiberius averted her gaze.
“Tiberius, look at me. You… are difficult to deal with. You are sometimes really insensitive, and many people struggle to get along with you. But even if you had blundered the entire fleet, it would still not have been your fault. I don’t know what you’re expecting from yourself, but you are twenty-three years old. You’ve served for less than a year. You had just recently been promoted to Middle Commodore. You were not someone who was supposed to make those decisions. You are not a messiah. You are not a god. You are a flawed man. And a very, very talented naval officer who, when called upon in a moment of crisis, did what he was asked to do, rose to the occasion and saved trillions of innocent lives.”
Tiberius breathed heavily, letting her words sink in. Some of his tension and frustration ebbed away. While he couldn’t bring himself to accept everything Dala had said, he could see the essence of her perspective. After a few minutes, Dala spoke up again.
“It might not help, but perhaps going over the battle would help you come to terms with what happened.”
“Yeah. I do want your perspective. I want to see if there’s anything I missed.” Tiberius said slowly.
Tiberius had uploaded his perspective of the battle from the bridge on to his personal cube.
He pulled up the reply and sent an invitation for her to observe.
A 3D model of Randolph 5 was reenacted before them, imitating the exact situation Tiberius had been in.
“You can see our total assets and theirs… It’s a bleak situation.”
“Yeah… I’m sorry What? How did it even end up this bad? You guys had more than enough forces to defeat that horde. What happened to Lio Argan?”
“Yeah I see. God that’s so horrible… How did it even end up like this? You guys had more than enough forces to defeat that horde. What happened to Lio Argan?”
Tiberius had thought about that. Lio Argan had been presumed dead after his forces had been annihilated by the Daraki Champion. Shareen hadn’t mentioned anything, but to be fair there were other forces at play.
“He’s presumed dead as of now I think. I don’t know what happened to our vanguard, but it seems like something went really wrong. Shareen fell into a coma before we were able to get information.”
Dala pondered the display, lines in her forehead deepening.
“Lio Argan is a Marshal of Revos and while he’s at the lower end of that ladder, he’s still quite strong. Definitely strong enough to not die to a Daraki Champion.”
That was true.
“Yeah, even his subordinate, Mr 343 was able to survive and evade the champion.” Tiberius chimed in.
Dala continued on.
“Not to mention, they had two dreadnoughts and three titans backing them up. It seems very unlikely Shareen’s admirals would blunder a force like that. What was it, three Chieftains and a Champion? They win that no? Comfortably. They’ve got more than double the horde’s strength.”
Tiberius hadn’t looked at it from that angle. It was odd, extremely odd that two Marsalls of Revos had managed to lose such an advantage.
“Maybe… No, the Daraki that we observed at the beginning of the battle accounted for their total force. Yeah that is kind of crazy actually.”
Dala shook her head.
“Something about this looks so off to me. I mean, I’m not a commander yet, but surely there must be more to this right?”
“Let’s find out.” Tiberius thought of himself as perhaps the most adept individual of all time at reviewing footage. The live 3D reenactments the military provided were quite high quality as well, giving him ample tools for his investigation.
He’d only really reviewed his portion of the fight up until now.
Tiberius loaded back to when Shareen’s forces had disappeared from their scanners to back up Lio Argan’s forces.
“Have you checked the comms?” Asked Dala.
“Yup.”
“Extrapolated their likely positions?”
“Yup!”
“What about-”
“Got it.”
Tiberius loaded heat signatures and light refractions from Lio Argan’s fleet. High quality sensors could pick up details that could help them understand the state of the battlefield, even if they couldn’t see it.
“When the battle starts it looks like he has a whole fleet, but…”
Tiberius moved the timestamp forward and backward.
“Heat signature drops off a cliff almost really soon into the fight… Almost as if his fleet is getting annihilated before the Daraki even arrive…”
Tiberius narrowed his eyes even further.
“He calls for help now, but at this point his fleet is already gone right? He should know the best move is to regroup, maintain numbers.”
“Isn’t Lio Argan’s skill the Dragon Fist whatever? It’s not a wave ability. Isn’t that registered on presence fluctuation levels? We can see when he uses it.” Dala chimed in.
Good point.
Tiberius brought up that statistic, seeing the number spike twice. He overlaid it with the heat signatures. The presence spiked twice, once at the start of the fight, followed by a massive drop in heat signatures, and once again, where right after Shareen was catapulted back into Randolph 5.
“Oh my god.” Said Dala.
That couldn’t be right.
Tiberius checked again.
“Holy fucking shit.” Dala’s eyes widened. “Tiberius…”
Tiberius’ mind raced now. It would make sense, but that would be impossible right? Friendly fire? Had something happened to make Lio Argan use his skill in proximity to his allies? No. Daraki weren’t complicated opponents, they were dangerous but straightforward to fight. Perhaps Lio had used his ability to save Shareen from disaster? But with their forces, they should’ve been able to hold their ground comfortably.
“I’m going to see if the presence signatures match on Shareen getting pushed back and the initial spike.”
Tiberius’ fingers deftly manipulated his cube, analyzing the small residues of presence that had sent Shareen flying backward.
It was a perfect match to that detected at the start of the fight.
Neither of them said anything as Tiberius triple then quadruple checked the logic.
Tiberius’ world began to spin. Lio Argan had annihilated his own fleet, then had turned on Shareen’s. That was the logical conclusion. Else, it made no sense how they had lost such an advantage.
But, Lio Argan was a marshal of Revos, one of the most important, most revered and dependable people alive. That didn’t happen… Then again, marshals going rogue wasn’t exactly new. There had been Eralin Joruki and after him Graven Daga.
Still, this was groundbreaking news. He had to tell someone, show them this.
“Dala!”
Dala stared at the display, mouth agape, clearly still digesting what they had just discovered.
“Yes!”
“Do you have any other reasonable conclusion as to those numbers look the way they do, other than Lio Argan turning on his own allies?”
She paused, thought for a few moments, then spoke.
“I don’t see another reasonable explanation.”
“I’m going to go now. I’m going to bring this to Admiral Tener. I’ll call you back.”
She nodded.
“Good luck, be careful.” “I will. Thanks.” Tiberius closed the display and got on his uniform, when he heard a knock at the door. Who would be seeing him right now? He was on leave. Tiberius got to the door, but paused when he noticed multiple shadows outside. “This is Special Agent Fergus Malib of the special investigations unit. Open up!” Tiberius opened the door to find multiple special agents looking back at him. Without pausing, they surged forward, turning him around and forcing him to his knees. “Tiberius Kael Norek, you are under arrest.”
Tiberius nodded. That would help, explaining his logic to another would gratify his feelings.
He pulled up the file and sent an invitation for her to observe.
A 3D model of Randolph 5 was reenacted before them, imitating the exact situation Tiberius had been in.
“You can see our numbers. I already stretched us thing protecting-”
“Yeah I see. God that’s so horrible… How did it even end up like this? You guys had more than enough forces to defeat that horde. What happened to Lio Argan?”
Tiberius had thought about that. Lio Argan had been presumed dead after his forces had been annihilated by the Daraki Champion. Shareen hadn’t mentioned anything, but to be fair there were other forces at play.
“He’s presumed dead as of now I think. I don’t know what happened to our vanguard, but it seems like something went really wrong. Shareen fell into a coma before we were able to get information.”
Dala pondered the display, lines in her forehead deepening.
“Lio Argan is a Marshal of Revos and while he’s at the lower end of that ladder, he’s still quite strong. Definitely strong enough to not die to a Daraki Champion.”
That was true.
“Yeah, even his subordinate, Mr 343 was able to survive and evade the champion.” Tiberius chimed in.
Dala continued on.
“Not to mention, they had two dreadnoughts and three titans backing them up. It seems very unlikely Shareen’s admirals would blunder a force like that. What was it, three Chieftains and a Champion? They win that no? Comfortably. They’ve got more than double the horde’s strength.”
Tiberius hadn’t looked at it from that angle. It was odd, extremely odd that two Marsalls of Revos had managed to lose such an advantage.
“Maybe… No, the Daraki that we observed at the beginning of the battle accounted for their total force. Yeah that is kind of crazy actually.”
Dala shook her head.
“Something about this looks so off to me. I mean, I’m not a commander yet, but surely there must be more to this right?”
“Let’s find out.”
Tiberius thought of himself as perhaps the most adept individual of all time at reviewing footage. The live 3D reenactments the military provided were quite high quality as well, giving him ample tools for his investigation.
He’d only really reviewed his portion of the fight up until now.
Tiberius loaded back to when Shareen’s forces had disappeared from their scanners to back up Lio Argan’s forces.
“Have you checked the comms?” Asked Dala.
“Yup.”
“Extrapolated their likely positions?”
“Yup!”
“What about-”
“Got it.”
Tiberius loaded heat signatures and light refractions from Lio Argan’s fleet. High quality sensors could pick up details that could help them understand the state of the battlefield, even if they couldn’t see it.
“When the battle starts it looks like he has a whole fleet, but…”
Tiberius moved the timestamp forward and backward.
“Heat signature drops off a cliff almost really soon into the fight… Almost as if his fleet is getting annihilated before the Daraki even arrive…”
Tiberius narrowed his eyes even further.
“He calls for help now, but at this point his fleet is already gone right? He should know the best move is to regroup, maintain numbers.”
“Isn’t Lio Argan’s skill the Dragon Fist whatever? It’s not a wave ability. Isn’t that registered on presence fluctuation levels? We can see when he uses it.” Dala chimed in.
Good point.
Tiberius brought up that statistic, seeing the number spike twice. He overlaid it with the heat signatures. The presence spiked twice, once at the start of the fight, followed by a massive drop in heat signatures, and once again, where right after Shareen was catapulted back into Randolph 5.
“Oh my god.” Said Dala.
That couldn’t be right.
Tiberius checked again.
“Holy fucking shit.” Dala’s eyes widened. “Tiberius…”
Tiberius’ mind raced now. It would make sense, but that would be impossible right? Friendly fire? Had something happened to make Lio Argan use his skill in proximity to his allies? No. Daraki weren’t complicated opponents, they were dangerous but straightforward to fight
“I’m going to see if the presence signatures match on Shareen getting pushed back and the initial spike.”
Tiberius’ fingers deftly manipulated his cube, analyzing the small residues of presence that had sent Shareen flying backward.
It was a perfect match to that detected at the start of the fight.
Neither of them said anything as Tiberius triple then quadruple checked the logic.
Tiberius’ world began to spin. Lio Argan had annihilated his own fleet, then had turned on Shareen’s. That was the logical conclusion. Else, it made no sense how they had lost such an advantage.
But, Lio Argan was a marshal of Revos, one of the most important, most revered and dependable people alive. That didn’t happen… Then again, marshals going rogue wasn’t exactly new. There had been Eralin Joruki and after him Graven Daga.
Still, this was groundbreaking news. He had to tell someone, show them this.
“Dala!”
Dala snapped to attention, clearly still digesting what they had just discovered.
“Yes!”
“Do you have any other reasonable conclusion as to those numbers look the way they do, other than Lio Argan turning on his own allies?”
She paused, thought for a few moments, then spoke.
“I don’t see another reasonable explanation.”
“I’m going to go now. I’m going to bring this to Admiral Tener. I’ll call you back.”
She nodded.
“Good luck, be careful.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Tiberius closed the display and got on his uniform, when he heard a knock at the door. Who would be seeing him right now? He was on break.
Tiberius got to the door, but paused when he noticed multiple shadows outside.
“This is Special Agent Fergus Malib of the special investigations unit. Open up!”
Tiberius opened the door to find multiple special agents looking back at him.
Without pausing, they surged forward, turning him around and forcing him to his knees.
“Tiberius Kael Norek, you are under arrest.”
Comments