

THE LAST COMMANDER

Galactic Crusade Trilogy

Book 2

By Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

All rights reserved 2018.
Copyright 2019

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PART 1
—1—

"I'm alive because the Togami lab provided me with this Homo optimus body—a perfect soldier by design. Because I have a superior capacity for survival, to attack, to regenerate, I'm a specialist in the business of killing, in the art of extermination."

"Actually, the Homo optimus superbody is outdated," says Zi. "In fact, it's been out of commission for millennia, after the Homo perfectus was created."

This fucking smart-mouth. His mere presence bothers me. I can tell he's got the smarts. He's thirsty for a knowledge he'll never know firsthand, from a war he'll never fight—unless he becomes a Tourist.

Fucking Tourists. Hate them the most. Yet I do admit there's the rare occasion when a sapien falls in love with what we do as supersoldiers, and leaves his sapien body behind, transfers his mind to a superbody to become one of us. An exterminator.

"You're right, Zi. I'm the only warrior of my class. I'm the only soldier in an Homo optimus superbody."

"Version 3.5? The most advanced of the Homo optimus's old design?"

"No. I remained in the original version. The first of its type. The first superbody ever created, Version 1.0."

"But why? It's outdated by thousands of years."

Zi is the Student of Honor for this quarter. He's 1.8 meters tall, about average for a sapiens in the galactic empire. He has light brown skin, slanted eyes, brown irises, and a thin body with moderate muscle build. I got his curriculum vitae before he started shadowing me. I didn't look at it much, just noticed his exemplary thirst for information. To me, that means he's a fucking know-it-all.

"I'm nostalgic, a Terran who was born and raised in the once-fractured Terra when the Megachine was still the world's dominator."

"Megachine?"

"You have no idea what I'm talking about. Go ahead. Ask Iris on your corneal device to get an answer. Do it."

In these times, humans have access to a library of astrobytes of data, kept safe in a platitude of servers with multiple fail-safe, ultra-redundant backups spread across the galaxy to protect it from anti-ÆTAS attacks.

The problem is, history depends on who tells it. And who allows what to be told. Our history has been modified relentlessly, re-written, and re-told. The government offers unlimited access to what they deem public-safe, which is, what's more convenient to them.

I observe Zi lose focus and stare blankly into space. After several seconds, he returns his attention to me.

Our technology has advanced by leaps and bounds. We've invented nothing. What we've done is become exceptionally good at exterminating life in the Milky Way and looting and stealing other civilization's technology for our own use and exploitation. Our leaders may claim us civilized. But we're no more than glorified pirates. Without the loot, we'd be nothing.

"Amazing," says Zi. "So you truly are a legend. Alive for millennia. The hero of the ages. The long-sung hero, the melancholic warrior."

"You could say that. Many more things are said about me."

I can't tell if this student wants to insult me or praise me. Or both. Since we started these interviews, as they're called, I've had trouble figuring him out. This is the second time we've met in a standard month's time. His shadowing me will last four standard months, meeting almost whenever the student wishes. I'm at his disposal.

"How was it back then? I mean, when the Megachine dominated and advanced against the ÆTAS. Way back when, when humans still lived on Terra?"

The Homo sapien today has no idea what it means to suffer. They live in the many sanctuaries and paradises created for them by the ÆTAS after we purged the Milky Way. They have no clue about the gore, the sheer carnage of our planetary systems conquests that are then terraformed and occupied by sapiens like Zi.

I tell him a bloody story of fear, desperation, bloodlust and sadness. I tell him about my life in SLAV and how it was growing up there under the oppression of the Megachine. I tell him what it's like eating fucking church pigeon, and how I lost my best friends when we joined the ISF. I don't need to exaggerate to paint a bleak picture of my past.

My remembering the past brings out pain. More often than not, Carmen Johnson makes her way into my consciousness. That little perfect bitch. Always the hero, on top of the world. The truth is, I was cursed by her.

The motherfucking student listens but seems to ignore my story. His face barely changes even though I'm telling a gruesome recounting. He doesn't even have the decency to ask me what I'd prefer—to live in modern ÆTAS or back in SLAV where I grew up. But modern sapiens like him would never ask that question anyway, because like him, the rest of the ætians grow up assuming there's no better place to live than in ÆTAS space. How wrong they are. Oh, how wrong. But I have no way of making him see this reality. It's the reality Zi grew up with.

Too well do I remember those days. And ever since I was transplanted to this Homo optimus v1.0 body, I've been thrown into the cages of war to grow addicted to it. I'm a slave to it. It's my drug, my tormentor. After each battle, I'm an empty soul, a living carcass. But only future battles redeem me from the bottom of the shithole I'm in.

"How long has it been since the Megachine's fall?" asks Zi.

"Ten thousand years. Ten fucking thousand years since we made first contact with the aliens that attacked Terra. Tragalaf. That's how we named them.

"Them . . . the Tragalaf . . . is it because of them we're purging the galaxy?"

"Yes. Their attack led us to believe they came with the intention to conquer us. However . . ." I pause. I doubt. Should I say this? Fuck it, I'll say it. "We figured out the information from their servers once we captured their mothership and discovered they were fleeing. We still haven't figured out why or from whom they were fleeing. There are theories. None good enough to explain why, out of all the galaxies, they specifically chose our own, the Milky Way, and specifically our solar system.

"They made the mistake of pissing us off, of underestimating us. We eliminated them and looted their technology, which allowed us our greatest technological leap. This is how we inherited warp travel.

"Thereafter, we conquered the solar system, finding no trace of intelligent life in it. The inner and outer planets, those suitable for terraforming, were terraformed. After our solar system was conquered, the bloodlust truly began. That's when the Galactic Crusade took its first xeno life. A crusade destined to purge and rid the galaxy of any and all intelligent species, those who we presumed posed a threat to mankind's supremacy. No prisoners would be taken.

"We were rabid dogs unleashed. Once an intelligent life form was detected, no matter how small, uncivilized, or advanced, we'd fall on them cold and methodically. The war to conquer the galaxy and make it our own had begun. It was a race towards destruction. A passage for us bloodthirsty warriors to unleash the demon within. And descend upon our sworn enemies, we did, and our foes fell with such ease, I even tremble thinking of the glory of the battles we unleashed. It was hell."

I calm down, breathe in, and try not to savor the blood-spilling that's claimed the extinction of civilizations. All in the name of mankind's glory.

Zi is all admiration. "The first years of the galactic conquest . . . how were they?""Brutal. But also, very inefficient. Communications traveled at lightspeed, slow as agonizing death when you're dealing with cosmic distances. If you asked for reinforcements while purging a planetary system, and your backup was five light-years away, it'd take your message five years to get there. It was faster to warp and ask for the reinforcements in person than it was calling it in.

"This problem was solved when we conquered A-43 and inherited quantum entanglement. Since then, our communications are instantaneous no matter the distance. This is why you have instant access to Iris's massive stored data in spite of her servers being spread out throughout the galaxy."

"Why are they spread?"

To protect them from anti-ÆTAS attacks," I say. "The Doomsayers."

"The Doomsayers," says Zi under his breath. "A cryptic organization, that one. I hope they never corrupt my home world."

They probably already have, I think to myself. I want to say it to jab at Zi but abstain from doing so.

A brief moment of silence.

"Is there any trace of the Tragalaf in our galaxy thus far?" he continues.

"None."

"Do you find that strange?"

"It's not. As I said earlier, we already knew they came from another galaxy. I saw the video myself. I think they were fleeing from a superior enemy," I dare say openly.

"What? You say we already knew? They were fleeing? Iris confirms this isn't true. She says you make that up for show. I can see the data supporting the fact the Tragalaf came in full force to conquer Terra, that they most likely came from the Milky Way. And humanity kicked their ass in spite of us having limited resources. It was an epic battle," says Zi.

Here we go again.

"Nobody will admit they were fleeing. They attacked us in desperation."

"But why lie about something so big? So important? If what you say is true, this should be well-known data across the galaxy. Yet it's not."

"Because it's not convenient," I say.

"But why not?"

Down this path again. A path of missteps and possible treason. ÆTAS has campaigned relentlessly in telling a story to its trillions of Galactic citizens throughout thousands of years. That story is that the Tragalaf came to conquer us, we kicked their ass, and then looted their tech. But it's not that simple. The devil is in the details, and in this occasion, the devil has been eliminated.

"Because it wouldn't justify the Crusade," I say.

The student loses his smile. I'm beginning to get weary. It's known that I hate these interviews. But Omnistar Magna, the highest-ranking officer in the Stærfleet, obliges me to participate in them. It's part of our culture. Top-grading students get the privilege of interviewing and shadowing with the soldier of their choice. To my demise, I'm the most popular choice because I'm the most famous soldier in the Stærfleet.

"But . . . what you say contradicts what Iris says. The Stærnet is wealthy with information regarding the Tragalaf invasion. Iris assures me that we know for a fact that the Tragalaf came from somewhere within our own galaxy. Therefore, the Crusade."

"There you have it. You chose to believe what the ÆTAS tells you."

"With all due respect, Iris offers more credibility than you do."

"None taken. Your gullibility saddens me. You'll believe anything your government tells you."

"Iris tells me about soldiers like yourself, those who've been alive for millennia, who after centuries of battle get depressed, or even hallucinate, or eventually become demented. P–T–S–D," he spells out slowly. "Iris points out that it's normal for soldiers like you to believe the Tragalaf came from another galaxy. After all, you are the melancholic warrior, prone to depression. Depression isn't devoid of hallucinations."

I'm furious. It's not the first time I'm accused of some sort of crazy dementia, of making shit up. Although I do admit, there are times when even I think I'm crazy. I've lived too long for my own comfort, hating most of my existence.

Fifteen seconds of silence calms me down.

"Is the galaxy ours?"

"No. We've yet to purge Z-603, the furthest and last planetary system to have intelligent life. After purging it, the galaxy is ours."

"Amazing. That would be the planetary system number 603 from the Z sector?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean we've purged the other 602 systems in the Z sector?"

"No. It means this is the 663rd planetary system to be mapped. Not all planetary systems are inhabited by intelligent life. In fact, the majority of the planets with life are home to one-cell or multi-cellular, non-intelligent life," I explain.

Mentioning sector Z makes me remember the bloodbath while conquering sector A, B, and C, all the way down to sector Z, crossing the entire Latin alphabet. The military has adopted many languages for nomenclature and communication, including the Greek and Xiangar. Those cultures are long lost now, available to anyone who has cares to search for them in the Stærnet, yet nobody really cares.

A large number of xenos have fallen to our implacable advance. There's a sample of each beast in A-45, a planetary system called Riftshore, where a body of each species and their genetics are preserved for cataloguing purposes. We've purged the galaxy in ten thousand years. We're efficient, like a virus.

"We only eliminate the intelligent species?"

"We? You've an annoying mode of speech, Zi. Soldiers take a matter of participating in war very seriously. When you include yourself in battles you've never partaken, it's offensive to us. Have you been a Tourist? Can you say you've killed for sport? Can you say you've been in the heat of battle?"

Zi swallows hard. "No . . . I'm sorry. I meant, you purge only those species who show intelligence?"

"Yes. Those non-intelligent species, we domesticate and let them live in a planet destined to become an attraction for the non-military. Those we deem edible are bred to feed the ever-growing number of ÆTAS citizens in farming planets. All sapiens depend on food to derive their energy processes from, as do I. My much-advanced battle bothers, those with new and upgraded bodies, can use a star's energy when their skin is exposed."

"That's amazing. But I couldn't imagine a life without food," he says. "I can't imagine feeding myself when getting a tan," he jokes.

I remain stoic. Zi licks his lips at the talk of food. The know-it-all must be dreaming of his favorite dish, bibimbap. Rice is still the most common crop. Though its genetics have been manipulated so many times, I doubt it's still rice after all.

"The meat you love to eat comes from conquered xeno," I say to wake up his social conscience.

"It's delicious," he says without minding. "Did you have the chance to evolve into a body with photosynthesis capability?"

"I did. Every Homo optimus body beyond v1.0 includes, in their genes, skin-photosynthesis, protein-synthesis complexes. Did you know we sometimes eat those we conquer while they're still alive?" I try again to evoke compassion.

I shiver. I've never eaten my enemies, at least not while they're dying or amidst their people. But I've seen the worst of humanity, of those advanced battle brothers of mine feasting on the fallen as part of the victory ritual, which really isn't a ritual for the sake of rituals, but a way of torture and insanity.

We've done barbaric things. We've committed the sins of sins. And I've been one of the heroes leading this galactic purge.

"It's amazing what humanity has accomplished . . ." says Zi, staring into infinity.

I want to slap him, get him out of this stupid belief that we've done good and greatness. Two- to three-decade-old adolescent sapiens are the worst. They grow up believing we've achieved greatness, but they know nothing. In ten thousand years, I've seen the worst of humanity, the worst in me.

Xenocide is our motto. And I, Alastar Magna Lynx, previously Argo Herrero, have been its propagator for countless battles. I've destroyed great civilizations, brought down amazing life, shattered shrines, and broken kindred species.

Then the marketing division takes these scenes, modifies the bloodshed to their convenience, and slaps my face with the ÆTAS's banner on it to show me off to their citizens. Alastar Magna Lynx—taker of worlds, the hero of humanity, the melancholic warrior.

"Are you the oldest human alive?" asks Zi.

"No. One of the oldest. Grey Wolf and Tauro are older. I was young when I inherited this body," I say, studying the body armor I wear.

I'm in full gear except for my helmet. Don't have my gorecannon with me, only my entropic blade safely sheathed on my hip. I can do without a gun. Can't leave my sword behind.

"To think, I only have thirty-three years of age," says Zi. He walks up to the armored window and peers into the depths of empty space.

The window is the height of the deck, around four meters tall, and the length of sixty meters, allowing a panoramic view of the cosmos. The Ærctos, engineers and architects of our ships, have built in each planetary ship, a large number of sightseeing windows to offer humans, both military and non-military, sight of humanity's empire.

I peer into the deep. I see service stations floating in silence. Other ships drifting by in the silence of space, close to the Alpha Novasphere, where we're aboard.

I hate sapiens like Zi. I'm glad they're mortals. There was a time when, through genetic experimentation, a group of sapiens was granted eternal life through eternal regeneration, much like us soldiers. But sapiens aren't like us.

With just several centuries of longevity, the effects on their minds were astonishing. They were kept and studied in Ultam, a planet we had to purge shortly after it was founded. The effects of longevity brought out the worst in sapiens.

Since then, the Celestial Core prohibited perpetual regeneration in sapiens. Now, they're born naturally through vaginal birth or C-section and die with a natural extended lifespan of a mean of one hundred fifty years, with a standard deviation of fifteen years to either side, meaning less than five percent of humans will make it to around 180 years of life, and less than five percent live less than 120 years.

It was determined in a randomized, double-blind study that sapiens aren't happier with more life years than one hundred and fifty, as they're not happier with more income above a certain level. Thus, the one-hundred-fifty-year cap of life has suited them for centuries. It may change.

Upon dying, each planetary system will bury or burn the body of their dead in their own cultural manner. Each planetary system is allowed their own subculture without the ÆTAS's interference, which makes for interesting and some annoying cultural differences across the galaxy.

"It's almost time for me to go. Got class soon," says Zi. "Can I take a selfie with you?"

The nerve of this guy.

At the right moment, Iris interrupts my thoughts through the DAT, "You've received a high-priority message from Omnistar Decius Talbot. 'The reunion is about to begin. Present yourself immediately to the bridge.' End of transmission. Do you wish to respond?"

Fuck, no. I don't want to, but I have to. On my way, Omnistar Decius, I reply with a thought.

I return my attention to Zi. An order from my superiors is the only way I can end these sessions with students. The other way is if the student ends it. Otherwise, I have to stay until the full two standard hours go by.

"Take your selfie and get the fuck out of here," I say, irritated.

Zi seems to live in another universe. My words, my insults, he doesn't mind. He stands to my side and takes the selfie.

The image is taken by a security cam by Iris, who after processing it, will send it directly to Zi's corneal implant for sharing. It must first go through quality and censorship filters to make sure it's not sensible content. All information transmitted in the ÆTAS must be filtered. We have freedom but aren't free.

"Thank you!" yells Zi, running back to the hatch where his transport is docked. He's probably gonna head back to the citizen cruiser nearby.

I turn and head towards the Strategy Theater in the Alpha Novasphere, where this very important meeting will be held. The meeting to decide the fate of the last planetary system in the galaxy to be purged.

I can taste the peace, the end of the war. The end of the galactic purge.

At last.
—2—

We meet at the Strategy Theater. The entire Omega cohort is here. The Omega is different than the other ten legions in active service. The Omega cohort has no Novasphere—a ship so large it's called a planetary ship. The Omega is the highest-ranking echelon in the Stærfleet. None of them are active in war. They conduct it from afar from a Morray class ship.

Omnistar Magna isn't here. He's probably in a distant planetary system dealing with other important matters of the Galactic Crusade. He mostly stays in Terra at the Celestial Core headquarters. Controlling trillions of humans across in the galaxy isn't easy. I don't envy his job.

The Strategy Theater is like an old Roman amphitheater. It's a circular structure with inclined stairs that converge in the center. The platform in the middle is a lower level but allows a large holosphere to show strategy plans and maps for all to see. All Novaspheres have a Strategy Theater.

In the middle platform stands tall and proud, Omnistar Primus. Behind him and in perfect formation, I see the other ten Omnistars from the Omega cohort. There are two Omnistar Decius—Ulnor and Talbot. Three Omnistar Tercius—Galgom, Lufor, and Norfal. And four Omnistar Irius—Pwytr, Kyatia, Hassan, and Squlomon.

In the shadows, hiding, I can feel the presence of the Stellar Knight Godfrey Bubon, part of the Omega cohort.

He's a disgusting creature with a rotting soul. His purpose, like all other Stellar Knights, is to spread the faith among the military. Their aspect is very different to us soldiers, as they don't fight in wars.

Stellar Knights are the subspecies Homo vespius, genetically modified since their inception to possess four lungs, a large thoracic cavity to fit them, a thick trachea with enhanced vocal cords so that their voice is deep and travels through a room without the need of sound amplification. With pitch black, enormous eyes, their function is to captivate and hypnotize their audience. The rest of their physical attributes are designed to prohibit them from fighting.

The united Omnistar cohort shines and shimmer in their golden servoarmor. Their cohort are identified by a large omega symbol at the center of the breastplate. They stand perfectly still like statues.

The military personnel summoned here have been seated from highest to lowest ranking. In the front row seats are us, the Alastar Magna. We are a total of ten. The Alastar Magna carry out the Omega cohort's orders.

From right to left, we've organized ourselves in alphabetical order. To the far right, I can see Alastar Magna Tauro from the Alpha Legion, followed by Mortimer from the Barbarus, Xanxai from the Chaos, Nakata from the Dominatus, Furogata from the Elite, Cien-gi from the Falcon, Thesna from the Gambit, Abyss from the Host, Trokar from the Icarus, and lastly, myself, leader of the X-Legion.

Rarely are all Alastar Magna summoned. It's happened a handful of times during the length of the Galactic Crusade. And it's always to discuss a very important matter, as we will today.

Behind us, sits the soldiers of lesser rank, all the way down to Alastar Decius. The lower echelons—Lunastar and Devastar—aren't invited to these reunions.

"The Galactic Crusade is nearing its end," starts Omnistar Primus, with that charismatic smile of his that he entrances his audience with.

Even today, it's hard for me to believe that in that superbody resides the soul of Rasu Wrath. Only Tauro and myself, and maybe a few of the Celestial Core, knew the general before our new ranking system took place, before he was transplanted to a superbody. Now he goes by Grey Wolf, or simply, Omnistar Primus, the second highest ranking officer in the Stærfleet.

The theater goes silent. Some cough. Some snort. Some soldiers feel elated to be held under Omnistar Primus's gaze. When he looks at me, all I want to do is flee. I fear him. He's gone erratic and grown bizarre. The general I met while in the ISF has changed for the worse.

A square jaw and aristocratic nose decorate his face, with a fine, sculped chiseled jawline. A feature that makes him both handsome and revered. His eyes are all-black and charismatic, and his gaze, a damn holding back of turmoil of emotions.

I know Omnistar Primus hates my guts. With his top-of-the-line Homo perfectus body, he could easily crush me. He's like a titan born from mythology, a demi-god. All soldiers presently equip the Homo perfectus superbody except me. All soldiers update their body when Togami lab offers new upgrades.

It takes trillions of galactic credits to upgrade military bodies to the newest model. This is why it's done seldom. An upgrade may last from several centuries to millennia. In this case, the latest is the Homo perfectus v3.5.

"Today we meet to discuss the last mission that will purge the Milky Way. At last, after then thousand years, the effort will arrive at its zenith. We shall be the galaxy's one and true ruler. We shall own it," Omnistar Primus says with contagious enthusiasm.

My battle brothers celebrate. The cheers from the Alastar Magna sound most powerful of all, mostly because they want to impress and call Grey Wolf's attention. They want to be favored by him.

I can recognize the voices of my battle brothers. I distinguish Mortimer's deep voice, the acute annoying voice of Xanxai, the rhythmic speech of Furogata, the powerful silence of Cien-gi, the aggressive tones of Nakata, the serenity of Thesna, the phantom ways of Abby's, and the ruthlessness of Trokar.

I've spent long enough with my battle brothers to recognize them from small details like those. We're all creatures of the lab, and in spite of that, we're all as complex as any other human and as imperfect in many other ways. Of my brothers, my favorite is Cien-gi. He reminds of Mafaka—always so simple, with that air of intelligent zombie.

Mortimer stands up. He's tall, as tall as Omnistar Primus. "It's my humble request, my Omnistar Primus, that the last great battle be given to my legion to end the life of our last enemy with the brutality they deserve, with the bloodshed needed to end this rightly so." Mortimer looks behind him, studying his surroundings. "It is known that there is no greater legion than the Barbarus. My soldiers are the most ruthless of all."

The uproar is felt. The anger, envy, and dissatisfaction is screamed and yelled by the Alastar Magna, which opens a discussion of hatred and comparison only possible with brothers where love and hate coexist. Even though this behavior should be punished and prohibited, Omnistar Primus doesn't intervene. Other Omnistar like Talbot and Ulnor, fret and get uneasy. They don't approve.

"My Omnistar Primus, it's my request that any legion gets sent except the Barbarus," protests Alastar Magna Furogata. He's tall and thin, recognized by his clean tactics.

"To hell with that!" explodes Xanxai. "Neither the Barbarus or the Elite are worthy of the last great battle to take the galaxy!" He's small statured in comparison to the rest of our brothers. He's only five centimeters taller than I am. His shoulder width and broad chest make him seem like a stingray. His arms and legs are short compared to the size of his thorax, which provides him with a great amount of strength when wielding the entropic blade.

"The Chaos will fuck them over!" yells Xanxai.

"Xanxai! Watch that tongue of yours!" yells Omnistar Primus.

"I apologize, my Omnistar. It won't happen again." Xanxai takes a seat and falls into a brief silence.

It's not the first, nor will it be the last time the Alastar Magna of the Chaos acts improperly during an important meeting. Uproars of energy and discord are tolerated. Profanity isn't. I always wonder when he'll cross that line, when Xanxai will officially get reprimanded for his actions.

"The Gambit deserves the honor, my Omnistar Primus. We are the most respectable and honorable legion of them all. The stats show it. Our efficiency is well-documented," says Thesna, a soldier recognized by the size of his square jaw and the voracity of his vivid eyes.

"The Dominatus!" yells Nakata. "We shall have them under our rule within the first assault! We shall dominate them with severity! It will be an event to remember for decades, a moment to relish and share with our non-warring brethren!" he yells.

He's speaking about the broadcasting of the battle. The great last purge will of course be broadcasted. Every planetary system in the galaxy will want to observe the single most anticipated battle in ten thousand years.

"There's none like the Falcon," says Cien-gi with the coolness of his near-dead personality. He's like a living carcass, just like Mafaka. Give him a scythe instead of an entropic blade, and you'll have created death. "We are the most efficient when it comes to extermination," he adds.

"To send our foes to hell, you need the Host Legion," says Alastar Magna Abyss. "I implore you, my Omnistar Magna, send the Host. Give us the honor! This will pay off the debts that the Stærfleet has with the Host. We deserve this!" yells Abyss. He's gigantic, the size of Mortimer, with all-white skin and hair, an albino. Seems like a ghost.

"The Icarus legion deserves it, my Omnistar Primus! We are the ones indicated to achieve greatness! The flames, the heat, the soot will collect around their fallen!" yells Alastar Magna Trokar, known for his devotion to weapons and destructive equipment, especially biological warfare.

The use of biological weapons isn't well-seen among us.

Trokar's skin has changed over the centuries. It's said that he exposed himself to the explosions and that he even walks amid battle to deliver the payload himself and make the xeno leaders swallow it before detonating the bombs. He loves fire, and he's a robust and brutal soldier.

It's considered a weakness, an unfair approach, to destroy our enemies using biological warfare. Bloodshed, reaping through the enemy, is the one true way to deal with our xeno foes. This is why we wield weapons that don't represent our most advanced tech. They do, however, cause the most gore. The Stærfleet equips each soldier with a SHC, a Small Hagedron Collider, which translates to a particle cannon. Its popular name among the soldiers is gorecannon for how it rips enemies apart.

Our blade isn't the most advanced either. The blade is still inspired by the old katana. But contrary to energy, vibration, or even heat, it's equipped with an entropy generator, which causes massive damage to tissues when cutting through an opponent. The blade was called EPB, or Entropy Power Blade, which we soldiers baptized as entropic blade.

The only Alastar Magna who say nothing are Tauro and myself. The claims of my battle brothers, of what they could do to the xeno, sound ominous and terrible, but it's nothing compared to the cruelty and barbarity Tauro can achieve. The camaraderie once between us died in an instant many centuries ago and has festered into open hatred.

My battle brothers continue arguing, comparing battles, and bringing up moments when they've excelled in the battlefield.

Contrarily, I remain silent and hope not to call too much attention. I'm not interested in this mission. I've done enough for this crusade. I've killed and spilled too much gore during my military career. Spilling more, although satisfying, is senseless. I'd rather have one of the brothers take the honor.

Tauro, on the other hand, shows a mocking smile. He's Omnistar Primus's chosen. If Tauro asks, Omnistar Primus delivers, so it has been in previous situations when a battle is heavily coveted, like this one.

But unlike previous battles, this is the last one to be forged before the galaxy is ours. So in a way, this is the greatest chance—the last chance—for an Alastar Magna to show off his own and his legion's prowess.

"Silence," demands Omnistar Primus.

Not a hair moves. We're all armored in full gear except for our helmet. Not a hissing piston sounds.

"This is the last planetary system of the galaxy, number 603 of Z sector." He directs his square jaw and serene gaze at the holosphere that displays overhead.

Lights dim. A dance of photons opens like a wild flower and blooms a representation of the planetary system to be invaded. Around a star, six planets orbit. Each planet is numbered in Xiangar lolograms, inherited from the Japanese language and modified for its tridimensional use in holospheres. The planets are painted with red in various regions, showing military activity on them.

"Z-603 tried to establish communications with us around three standard weeks ago. As dictated by the protocol of the Galactic Crusade, their emissaries were shot down. Ever since, their entire fleet had been preparing for our initial assault. As you see in the holosphere, enemy ships have splayed in a multiple phalanx formation, with half-a-million hunters at the vanguard backed up by destroyer and dreadnaught class ships. In the rearguard, you can see their heavy defenses deployed, awaiting with what's sure to be high-caliber munition. Their formation is standard. The little we know about their tech suggests we outclass them in the weapons arena. This should be easy. As with all planetary systems we've conquered, we test our might against theirs blindly, confident we're on our power. At times though, I do admit, we've encountered many difficult enemies that've put us to the test."

Omnistar Primus looks at me. I can see deeply in those eyes, the old general staring at me, judging me. The fire of his evil soul has been festering for ten thousand years. Ten thousand years to plan atrocities. Once upon a time, he was a noble soldier. But he, like most, have been corrupted by the taste of power.

I know what he means by enemies that have tested us to the core. He speaks of the conquest of B sector, planetary system 507, a gory battle that cost us more than a leg and an arm. That species, which we baptized as Xibalba, was made of a creature similar to the rhinoceros once alive in Terra, with a brain so big, it literally popped out of its skull-like hair.

With their intelligence and devotion to war, they'd created very lethal and advanced armory that surpassed our own. The only reason we won was because we were more. The odds were a thousand of us for every one of them in our favor. Like most intelligent species who outgrow their own minds, reproduction was the least of their concerns. Lucky us.

The Stærfleet needed decades to recover its lost units. Entire worlds were transmuted for their resources to generate empty spots in the fleet.

"Godfrey Bubon, please proceed with the ceremony. Let us pray for the fallen, for the living, but especially for our enemy. May they fall swiftly under the pressure of our force."

From the shadows emerges a hunched and crooked creature. The Homo vespius, defiling life with its mere existence. An abomination. Its creators surely as twisted.

"I, Stellar Knight, anointed by the Celestial Core to perform this ritual as part of the Omega cohort, bless you with the light of the cosmos that shines ever bright over humanity so that it may continue its trail of conquest in this glorious Galactic Crusade. Thanks to your sacrifices, holy warriors, humanity has been able to achieve triumph, and so with this last glory to be won, elate us to even higher standards. Sons of the conquest! Warriors of the god known as humanity! Close your eyes and pray with me. Join me in this blessed chant.

"Holy shall our battle be.

May our foes bleed.

Let it flow to form a puddle.

Thereon, shall I march and stain my boots.

War! War to the xeno! Who threaten human life!

The perfect, the optimal one!

Let it be known, we are god! Anything below us is heretic!

Cure the Universe of this plague!

Glory and honor! May the hammer of justice slam upon you!"

The hunched creature smiles, filthy like a smiling serpent. I hate his guts for what he represents.

"We are ready, my Omnistar! Please give us the honor! Let us purge Z-603!" yell my brothers in chorus.

The only two remaining almost completely still are Tauro and me.

"Silence," says Omnistar Primus, standing tall and proud in front of his entourage, the ten who've remained near-still during the session. "I have chosen."

My brothers cast a hateful gaze at Tauro.

"I have chosen the X-Legion. May they purge the last planetary system of the galaxy."

The outburst poisons the air. The wails of anger and fury make me wince. Never had I seen my brothers behave like this. But wait. Me? He chose me? What the fuck!

"My Omnistar Primus!" spits Tauro with utter hatred. "This is an insult! Lynx is the weakest of us all! And this is by far the most important mission in this crusade!"

Tauro is the first one to stand up and show his discord. Mortimer, Xanxai, Nakata, and Trokar begin to insult me. Furogata, Cien-gi, Thesna, and Abyss, seem less bothered. To the contrary, they seem happy Tauro wasn't chosen. By far, the most astonished is me.

"Silence!" demands Omnistar Decius Ulnor. He's gigantic, intimidating. His golden servoarmor makes him appear regal. "You will address your superior with due respect, not like pampered sapiens."

I must act fast as to not fall in dishonor. It's not only my skin at risk of dishonor, but also my entire legion. Millions of soldiers who'll suffer the blow if I don't act correctly at the proper moment.

"The X-Legion is ready to end the Galactic Crusade. We shall descend upon the enemy like the hammer of justice that we are! We shall behead their leaders, burn their cities, set their beliefs ablaze, and show them who's the true master of the galaxy . . ."

I stop myself. Perhaps, falling into dishonor isn't such a bad thing. I can't contain my true beliefs any longer. It's been boiling within me for centuries! I must act in accordance to my beliefs!

"Perhaps, afterwards, may we retire to one of the many planets and havens we've secured over the centuries. Perhaps we could retire and transplant ourselves back to a sapien body, be mortal again."

All eyes one me. Anger booms in their sights. All Omnistar, all my brothers, are taken back by my comment. I've uttered the unspeakable.

Now I've really done it. I should've remained silent . . . but no! I can no longer take this pressure! I must act in accordance to what I feel is right! Enough bootlicking!

"I think Lynx needs to be corrected with stick and stone," says Tauro with unfiltered hate. He's the only one here who'd use such an expression. Only a Terran would.

"We've purged the galaxy of 1,315 intelligent species, and this is the last one. I do not understand why Lynx is the chosen one! This cannot be!" yells Tauro.

Tauro and I hate each other since E-003, when we, as a team, descended upon a world or pacific beings we named nymphs. These xenos were very large, four meters tall, with six legs like insects, but soft and all-white like jellyfish.

These were beings of peace. These beings communicated by telepathy. Some of their communications I could interpret with my DAT, not that I understood any of their thoughts though. One of them, a religious being surely, awoke in me the desire to keep him alive. I may not have been able to understand the language, but images speak louder than words. He was able to show me a future without the gore. A future I've longed for but can't grip. Since then, I've believed my destiny holds more than just war.

I proceeded to guard this religious being, bringing him to safety and away from the gore. I was aware that the nymph wouldn't make it out alive, but at least I could've heard him out, listen to a xeno for once instead of just blindly destroying them.

Somehow Tauro got the word. He walked up towards the nymph under my custody, and in objection to my words, proceeded to blow his head off. Since then, our differences are obvious, and since then, our hate is loud and clear.

He denounced me for failing my duty, a sin as grave as compassion. My reprimand wasn't severe, I've been monitored closer than ever after that.

I'm that weird thing that doesn't support the extermination of anything and everything that's not human. I have no voice, no vote, no weight in the decisions made to purge without a care. I'm a tool, a weapon, a gear in a galactic-wide machine of destruction.

"My Omnistar, please explain to us why Lynx is the Alastar Magna chosen for this mission. We don't understand," says Mortimer.

Omnistar Primus raises an eyebrow. A sign. Omnistar Decius Talbot perceives it and walks towards Mortimer. He punches him in the face, a blow so hard and carefully measured, it would've plastered a sapien's nose to his neck.

"You dare question your Omnistar Primus?" yells Talbot. "Your insolence will not be tolerated!"

Omnistar Decius Talbot returns to his post and stands still again. It's clear that Tauro also questioned Omnistar Primus, but the one to take the punishment was a less-favored warrior like Mortimer.

"My apologies, my Omnistar Primus," says Mortimer after casting Tauro and me a death-stare.

"Lynx is the chosen one. The decision of our Omnistar Primus is wise," says Cien-gi.

"Aye. I second that," says Thesna.

"As do I!" yell Furogata and Abyss.

Well, seems I have more support than I ever thought I would. But I know they say it to hurt Tauro. My rival hasn't given up yet.

"He's your lap dog," says Tauro. "Just look at him! A damn Terran that continues to choose an inferior body! Why do you even allow him to use that relic anyway! He's the oldest body of the galaxy. An old design! Everything about him is inferior, my Omnistar! Please reconsider your decision!"

Grey Wolf raises an eyebrow. This time, Omnistar Decius Ulnor walks up to Tauro and pummels him on the cheekbone. The punch sends Tauro back to his seat. He dares say no more. I'm astonished. Never have I seen Tauro get punished like this.

I'm sure this decision to send me to war isn't Omnistar Primus's making. It's probably coming from higher up, from the Celestial Core. They're probably planning something with me. Perhaps they want the end of the crusade to be something major, a spectacle, to end it with the Stærfleet's most famous soldier. And that's me.

"Lap dog?" says Abyss, daring to speak up. "Tauro, you're the greatest bootlicker among us."

Tauro is so irritated, he seems capable of detonating a nuclear bomb here and now. He's so pissed off, I begin to like the idea of leading the mission to injure my brother.

This is the last xeno species of the galaxy, and I'm the only Alastar Magna going down there, which means I'll be the highest-ranking officer in control of the situation. This could be it. This could be my chance to redeem myself and attempt to contact a xeno species. How will I do it? I have no idea. Not with Iris omnipresent as she is. She's got eyes and ears everywhere in the military.

I stand up and take my right fist to the center of my breastplate, where an "X" identifies me as part of my legion. The five small golden stars on my left shoulder identify me as a Magna, the highest rank possible within an echelon. The purple servoarmor identifies my echelon, Alastar.

"I, Alastar Magna Lynx, accept with infinite gratitude this grandiose opportunity to purge the last planetary system of the galaxy and bring the Galactic Crusade to an end. Glory and honor! May the Stellar Knight bless me with his prayer!"

Part of me convulses as I say those words. I really don't want to exterminate a whole species. I don't want to exterminate intelligent life just like that, the last of the galaxy. Yet . . . the other part of me salivates as I fantasize about the gore.

Godfrey Bubon walks up to me with that fucking disgusting body of his. He prays with his hands clasped. "He's strong! He will achieve this glorious goal! The mission will be accomplished. He will bring honor to his legion and pride to the Celestial Core!"

"Back to your cave, you rat!" yells Tauro. Seems like Ulnor's punch wasn't as effective as thought.

"You will respect the Stellar Knight as deemed," reprimands Ulnor, eager to strike him again.

"I cannot take this insult! I cannot believe you chose Lynx!"

"This is true," says Xanxai. "The relic won't be able to decapitate the leaders of Z-603 in less than twenty-four standard hours. Anything beyond that, is simply treason to the type of war we profess."

The discussion's heats up again and Trokar yells, "May it be anybody but Lynx or Tauro!"

"Lynx is unworthy!" yells Nakata.

"Silence," demands Omnistar Primus.

It's always interesting to see these sessions in the absence of Omnistar Magna, who is intolerant of the heated discussions among us. Omnistar Primus clearly gets a kick from it.

"The choice is made. You may be for or against it, which is no problem of mine. Deal with it. Lynx will depart in no more than ten standard hours towards Z-603 to end this crusade."

"You will grant this honor to a traitor?" says Tauro, daringly.

Ulnor is about to walk over and deal with him, but Omnistar Primus halts him halfway there.

As usual, Tauro always appeals to the same strategy when he's got no other moves to injure me—accuse me of treason.

"Lynx has been in contact with the Doomsayers. They try to persuade him. My Omnistar Primus, sending someone of his likes is not a good idea."

"You dare challenge your superior again!" explodes Ulnor, veins decorating his face like a web.

"The coward even dares utter retiring to a sapien's inferior body. That alone is proof of his unholiness," says Trokar.

Whispers around me. All eyes are on me once again.

"Tauro is right," says Omnistar Primus. "Iris has relayed her reports about the Doomsayers's contact with Lynx. There's enough proof, no doubt."

"I've never answered any of them!" I yell with a sudden burst of outrage. "The fact that they attempt to persuade me is very different from them actually persuading me!"

"But it shows you're of interest to them," says Nakata with venom in his voice. "I wonder why? Why would the Doomsayers attempt, time after time, to bring you towards the heretic side?"

"Leave the man alone. The Doomsayers, as we all know, broadcast their messages galaxy-wide," defends Cien-gi. "They're always on the hunt for whoever feels a tinge of anti-ÆTAS sentiments, luring their prey onto their heretic side as Nakata says. They've obviously been unsuccessful with us supersoldiers. I cannot say the same for the sapiens, who undoubtedly have joined their ever-growing numbers. Their secrecy is impeccable. We haven't found them yet. Even in here, there are some who constantly get their spam. Isn't that right, Mortimer?"

"I've nothing to do with them! Take it back or taste the ferocity of my blade!" yells Mortimer.

"I thought we were just saying other soldiers' truths, no? Take your blade and shove it up your ass, Mortimer. You well know you've gotten plenty of their spam. You deny it!"

"Goddamn rebels! Those Doomsayers! They predict nothing but their imminent destruction!" yells Nakata, now angry against the invisible enemy bred in our own conquered territory.

"They try and spoil our achievements, taint us as demons," says Omnistar Decius Talbot, now enraged with the anti-Doomsayer sentiment.

"C'mon, Lynx! Give them up right now!" yells Xanxai.

"I've no idea where or who they are," I say. "It's an organization reaching hundreds of planetary systems, with a communications web unlike Iris. We know nothing of them"

A hand on my shoulder. I know it's Alastar Primus Ogre, my right hand, a talented captain in the field of battle. "Alastar Magna Lynx has never been an accomplice of the Doomsayers, nor would he. I'm witness to this," says Ogre with his deep, soothing voice.

"Always sucking up to your boss. Strange," says Tauro with mockery.

"I defend the truth, my Alastar Magna Tauro," says Ogre with respect.

"That's enough," says Omnistar Primus. "That your brother Lynx desires to retire to a sapien body is his own problem. He well knows he won't be able to return to our ranks if he does so. And we all know for a fact that he hasn't meddled with the Doomsayers, in spite of how much some of you would like it so."

"That soldier! That man! He's a damn poet! A fucking sentimentalist whose feelings for the dying only slows our progress! His actions are anti-human. He loves xeno more than his brethren!" yells Tauro in desperation. He's not letting this go.

"Enough!" yells Omnistar Primus. "This is over. Lynx, do as you were ordered. The rest of you are dismissed. Return to your planetary ships. There's order to maintain. It's futile to conquer a galaxy if you cannot keep it in line."

Omnistar Primus walks out, followed by his Omega cohort.

"Are these the Tragalaf?" I ask the unthinkable. It's obvious to me they're not, but my question has deeper implications.

Omnistar Primus stops cold and turns his head to leer at me. All eyes on me again. But this time, I've awakened curiosity around me. The younger soldiers know very little about the Tragalaf and why my question is important.

"We do not know, but it could be," says Omnistar Primus.

"And if they're not?" I ask.

"Watch that tone!" says Alastar Magna Tauro. He takes his hand to the hilt.

Ulnor and Talbot do the same.

"Sometimes Lynx forgets his place. But alas, his question is a good one," says Omnistar Primus. He faces me now. "What if they're not the Tragalaf?" he returns the question.

"It would prove they came from another galaxy," I say calmly.

"He speaks with great mockery! You, soldier, will respect your superior, or I will cut that tongue off!" yells Ulnor.

"I merely asked a question," I dare.

I don't see the fist coming. I fall back and hit my head against the polytitanium floor of the Theatre. I taste blood. A sudden hiss. A dark shimmer. I can feel the raging energy of the entropic blade leveled at my neck.

"Watch it, Alastar Magna Lynx. Your dream of retiring to a sapien body may end now. But there are far worse punishments for you than death. Complete the mission as ordered," says Omnistar Primus with calm.

Death. Please come soon.

I've pleaded for an honorable death in the field, to get rid of the baggage of emotions I've been carrying for ten thousand years, to forget Carmen Johnson, Jorge, Mafaka, Dimitri, Nikia, and all those I lost in Terra, to forget my parents and what their deaths meant to me. Kill me!

I'm the only Alastar Magna who has openly challenged our superiors in public. For reasons unknown to me, my death hasn't been ordered. They must have plans for me—they always have plans for me. Use me for their fucking marketing. That must be it. I'm a relic, a hero from our past, that mysterious soldier fighting in a retired body. I'm constantly used for propaganda, a fact I've known for too long.

The entropic blade is turned off and sheathed. Omnistar Primus helps me stand up.

"If it's not the Tragalaf's home planetary system, then indeed it would prove they came from another galaxy," says Omnistar Primus.

But we already knew they came from another galaxy, I think to myself. Why do you hide it? What's in it for you?

I was there, aboard their ship. They tried to hide it, to confuse me about what I saw.

The Tragalaf were escaping their own galaxy, and for reasons we haven't uncovered, they came to our own and tried to kill us ill prepared. That means a whole lot to me. But why hide it? We should, if anything, be seeking out who or what threatened them! Or maybe not. Maybe leave the can of worms untouched.

"You have your orders, Alastar Magna Lynx. Give them hell," says Omnistar Primus. He walks away, followed by his cohort.

Tauro leaves infuriated, followed by his own legionnaires.

The rest of my Alastar Magna brothers relax and start our usual bantering among us. Cien-gi turns, looks at me, and squints an eye at me. He, more often than not, acts as my dark guardian angel, the zombie I've always respected.

We all leave the theatre in good spirits. Ogre walks at my side as we walk back to the landing and departure station.

"I've always thought about that old body of yours, my Alastar. It must have gigantic balls of steel. Nobody else dares challenge Omnistar Primus like you do. And you've done so multiple times without incurring more damage than a fist to the face. Someone wants you alive," says Ogre.

"It's not that I have balls of steel. It's that I don't care if I die."

"With all due respect, my Alastar, it must be because someone or something wants you alive. Being unafraid of death isn't enough to protect you from the wrath of Omnistar Primus," says Ogre.

"The rationalist has spoken. Said so elegantly," I mock him.

"You know I like to speak the truth, say things how they are," says the giant in purple servoarmor. "If you have no care for your body, for your life, then take it."

"Thanks for the offer, Ogre, but suicide isn't an option for me. I'm a man of principles, and taking my own life would defile what I believe in. Dying without honor would be betraying all those who've fallen with me in the field. Besides, the Bushido code forbids it. We're bound to our master till death do us part. And our master is Omnistar Magna Übel Blass."

"This is true," agrees Ogre. "Bushido ties are stronger than quantum."

The intrusion of memories happens. The cycle of suffering begins anew. I remember Carmen, while we stood in her office space when I first woke up as a supersoldier. I remember all too well the picture she had framed, the one where she, Jorge, and I smile while starting our careers as medical doctors back in SLAV. And then she sent me that same picture, signed at the back, Never Forget.

And forgotten I haven't. Nor will I. This is my curse. That perfect little bitch. This loathsome platonic love. The unescapable vortex of remembrance.

The truth is that Carmen broke me. Her death many millennia ago left behind an important legacy, both scientific and technological, that allowed the jump from the Homo optimus to the Homo perfectus. She became such a legend, even a citizen cruiser carries her name, the Carmen Johnson.

"I saw that," says Ogre.

"You noticed."

"I can tell when you're mourning, my Alastar Magna. You get this look on your face. It's unmistakable. You're quite the sentimentalist. Not that I see anything wrong with that," he adds quickly. "You know, you could have those memories wiped out. Simple as that." He clicks his fingers.

The halls conduct us to the hatch where we landed, the one closest to the Strategy Theatre. We pass by many other shuttles. Warships, Banewings, Angerneedles, and Fistships are being repaired in the same station. Our shuttle is ready for takeoff. We board.

"I can't forget, Ogre. This is my curse."

"Sometimes I think you like your curse, my Alastar Magna."

"I do. It gives me purpose."

"I don't understand the contradiction of living with pain yet wanting this pain above all else. I wonder if all Terrans are like you," he says bluntly.

"You chastise me about speaking my mind with Omnistar Primus, but just observe how you talk to me. Should I punish you for speaking your mind?" I ask.

"I apologize for any offense."

"That's a non-apology. Say the truth."

"I confess. I'm contaminated by the desire to speak my mind freely. I've learned from you well."

"Good and keep doing so. It keeps me sober."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna."

"And since you mentioned contradictions, let me tell you, the ÆTAS is full of them. We are the most advanced soldiers in the galaxy, and yet we follow a military conduct code as old as the Bushido, as old as samurai lore goes."

"Bushido, my Alastar, was invented by the Celestial Core to train its most elite soldiers, to bind them stronger than quantum, as the saying goes. Sometimes your imagination surprises even me, my Alastar Magna."
—3—

The shuttle brings me back to the Morning Star. After docking at a hatch nearest the bridge, we disembark and walk briskly to the bridge of my Novasphere. Ogre follows suit.

"This reunion ended well. Only your blood was spilled this time," says Ogre.

"Perhaps. But Tauro was pulled by the leash with force, and he's a dangerous one. He will seek to exact revenge," I say.

"It's dishonorable to deliberately hurt a brother in battle," says Ogre.

"Of course, but there are creative ways to cause harm. Iris," I call the AI. I know Ogre wants to cheer me up, but there's no time for that.

"Welcome back," says the AI in my DAT.

I enter the bridge.

"Alastar Magna on deck!" yells my Admiral Lieutenant.

"Welcome back, my Alastar Magna," says Alastar Primus Tuigon, in charge of the bridge in my absence. He steps aside and gives me the command seat at the center of the bridge. Around me, all Astrotek dedicated to astrogation and its intricacies are seated in front of a holoconsole, manipulating the planetary ship and making sure all functions are nominal for travel purposes, be it to engage in assault mode or acquire warp speed.

Please follow Omnistar Primus's orders, I think. I'm not in the mood to salute the crew.

Alastar Primus Tuigon notices my attitude. I can tell as he exchanges glances with Alastar Primus Ogre. Both seem concerned. They're probably exchanging private messages through their DAT.

"Very well, Alastar Magna Lynx. Spatial coordinates acquired. Rupturing high orbital anchorage. Plasma engines at assault speed. Do you wish to activate all battle cruisers, destroyers, frigates, and mechs?"

"Enter attack formation. Prepare the X-Legion for our final assault in this galaxy."

"Very well, Alastar Magna Lynx. Assault mode online. The fleet under your command has initiated attack formation. Torragami, Katami, and Kuze, and Tenshi are online and ready to be boarded. ETA for assault in two standard hours."

"Acknowledged."

"My Alastar Magna," whispers Alastar Primus Tuigon. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to involve the crew in this grandiose opportunity to scourge the last planetary system of the galaxy. It's an honor. The highlight of their—of our—career."

I know he's right. The crew stares at me. Sapiens thirsty to be involved in our military affairs, men and women begging to impress me to get a pat on the back.

"Omnistar Primus has granted us with the grandiose opportunity to purge the last planetary system in this galaxy. Z-603 is ours to purge. Glory and honor!"

The cheers are short lived, but the excitement in the eyes of the crew is audible.

My discontent is far too obvious. The crew notices, and soon they too become serious and conduct their tasks in silence. Tuigon and Ogre aren't happy yet but won't intervene again.

Ogre is a giant, even by our standards. He measures almost three meters in height, with broad and large shoulders. His servoarmor makes him appear like a statue. His eyes are small and very close together on his large and short-haired head with all black hair. We are all genetically manipulated to have short hair and no body hair. He has a small and crocked nose that often makes me wonder how he breathes at all. His brow is rugged due to excess skin in the bridge of the nose, which makes him appear angry at all times.

Ogre once confessed that he identified more with the female sex. Homo perfectus models are born without genitalia, although their bodies are built like men's. Soldiers spend the first decades of service worry-free of sexual orientation. As a soldier meets female and male sapiens and compares them, he inevitably wonders about sex. With Iris having a digital infographic at hand for when this occurs, she will explain sex to a soldier once he asks about sapiens' nuances and the strange yet satisfying act of human copulation.

Tuigon is very different to Ogre. His skin is darker than most, and his body is shorter than his fellow Homo perfectus. He measures two meters and six inches. His physique isn't as broad or powerful as Ogre's, but his mind is gifted in matters of commanding units.

I quickly noticed him centuries ago and provided him with the opportunity to eventually become my Admiral Lieutenant even though the term Admiral is dead, replaced by the Alastar echelon.

"Get ready to take this xeno! May we spill their blood like the rivers of youth that have enlightened humanity's way to total domination! Let us cheer!" yells Tuigon.

I decide not to punish him. He's ecstatic. His roaring emotions lifts the crew's spirits, and off we go to end this war.

******

Planetary ship Morning Star is one of the ten planetary ships in active service in the armada. I've been in at least 1% of my ship, and that's being optimistic. I'd like to say I know all my legionnaires by name, that I've walked all the ships decks, but it'd be a lie. The places I visit are few, mostly astrogation sectors and the Strategy Theater, including those decks where tech and weapons are developed.

I've been to the armamentarium on several occasions, though less frequent after the millennia have passed. I used to walk about the Reflection Gardens and the Mirror Museum, but decade after decade, my interest in such places has slowly but surely declined.

It's difficult to convince them of my need to remain in this out-of-commission body of mine, the Homo optimus, but I'm sure I'm allowed not because I asked for it nicely, but because they see value in me keeping my old body for their marketing purposes.

With our latest technological advancements in the warp-drive, we travel one parsec in exactly a standard hour. One parsec is equivalent to a little more than three years light. Warp-drive technology has displaced our interest in black holes. Those are too unstable, and frankly, a mystery. The Milky Way measures one hundred thousand light-years. To patrol it effectively and keep our conquered sectors, we need fast ships.

I still recall the contract I signed with the ÆTAS once I joined back in the year 2095. Freedom, paychecks, and citizenship in exchange for ten years of service. What a joke! Mafaka was right. I've been used as an ass-wipe for centuries and have seen but a dime.

Good thing is, Stærfleet members don't participate in the economy. As a soldier, you get whatever you want. But then again, as a soldier, there's very little you want. Sapiens engage in the economy, earn, and trade in galactic credits. Hell, there's even a galactic stock exchange. Things I'm not interested in.

I enter my room. Simple. Nimble. Humble. It's all I need. No luxuries, no trophies, nothing. The only decoration I use on my servoarmor are the five small stars on my left shoulder. Medals, trophies, fuck all that. Those are the ÆTAS's tools to keep me on a leash.

Shiny things do nothing for me. War and piloting mech are my passions. The day the ÆTAS allows me to retire from this body, I surely will. I'll abandon the military and downgrade to a sapien to live out the rest of my mortal days in some paradise. That's my hope. That's my motivation—to retire with honor. And these memories of mine, painful as they are, I'll keep them forever, do them honor.

In my room, there's a simple bunk, a mirror—I need to see myself on a daily basis—a small bathroom with a hot shower, and a modern shit-hole.

I stand on the servus station, where five hydraulic arms take my servoarmor off in less than thirty seconds. You can do it manually, but it takes around ten minutes. Getting them on by yourself is even worse.

I put on my simple military grade polycarbon jumpsuit. Fits like a glove. My crotch area is pronounced, the only soldier who has that feature, as I'm the only soldier with genitals.

My interest in sex is null. I fucked like a rabbit during the first centuries of my existence, but then sexual pleasure diminished significantly. I've even considered getting them surgically removed. I see no point in them. At the same time, I can't take them off for the same reasons I have my old body—I'm a nostalgic man, tightly bound to his memories. I need myself to keep me sane.

I walk towards the selfie monitor and study my image. I regard my sight. It's sad. I study my mouth and teeth. Lips like flat tombstones, dead of emotion. I fake anger. I see the face my enemies view when not using a helmet with a visor. I'm a demon. A cursed demon, at that.

I lay down on my bunk, stare at nothingness. With a thought, I turn on the holosphere installed in my room and choose to mimic empty space as best possible. Darkness engulfs me. There's nothing like contemplating infinity. I feel numb. No pain. No memories.

My mind drifts. I think on the Doomsayers. Where are they hiding? In spite of our unprecedented technology, we can't seem to find them, let alone eliminate them.

The ÆTAS has done an excellent job at keeping its citizens happy. Nevertheless, you'll find a planetary system governor with the audacity to aspire independence. I think the idea of independence comes from the Doomsayers. But Iris is omnipresent.

By law, every galactic citizen is required to use a corneal device, and on it, Iris is installed. She keeps the Celestial Core informed of possible insurgencies. Rebellions are dealt with swiftly. The rebellious pay the highest price—extermination. I've conducted a few. This means purging a planet of its local government, sometimes purging the planet as a whole. Meaning, killing galactic citizens.

I must relax. I must not sway. This is the time when I can muster relaxation, true peace of mind. I often dig deep into the wells of my past to remember Carmen . . . Argo, the man I was.

I enjoy recalling Argo, his parents—my parents—and the sweet and sour memories. Are we the same? Argo and Lynx are very different. But I try to convince myself I'm still Argo. It's what keeps me sane. I return my attention to the holosphere and lose myself in the infinity of represented space.

I wake up drenched in cold sweat. A new message on the DAT. It's come through even though I had the Do Not Disturb function on. I can silence most notifications. Higher-up messages or military operations data will push through no matter what.

This message comes from Alastar Tercius Entwar. "The Javeline team is ready, my Alastar." It should have been blocked. But it's tagged with military importance. It means they're waiting for me to launch the initial assault.

Entwar is my left hand. I trust her as much as I do Ogre. There's only a handful of soldiers I trust. A few other soldiers of the Devastar and others from the Lunastar echelon are trustworthy. Soldiers I consider brothers and sisters.

But Entwar, she's special. She's different than the rest. She was a sapien, who after a few missions as a Tourist, decided to stay in the Stærfleet.

Entwar is one of the few soldiers, due to spontaneous mutations as a fetus in development in the lab, was born with dirty blonde hair and blue/green eyes. The right eye is blue, the left is green. Her blondness and personality often remind me of Dimitri, a comrade who fell thousands of years ago in a mission fighting off the Megachine. Entwar, she's about 2.3 meters tall, fit, and slim, but fast like a feline.

She's my left hand, and for good reasons. She rose from the Devastar echelon fast, becoming a Devastar Magna within a century. In a couple more centuries, she'd risen to the Lunastar Magna echelon, upon which I promoted her to become an Alastar Tercius.

I sit up with a jolt. I've been waking with cold sweats far too often over the past century or so. Iris keeps a tab of my vitals. I could ask her, but I keep my distance from the AI. Never been a fan of conversing with that bitch. I know some soldiers confide in her in every sense. Not my style.

I stretch out and feel the pulse of adrenaline. I stand on the servus station. Five robotic arms put my purple armor on. I know technology is far more advanced than robotic arms. I know we could do better, but I also know the ÆTAS likes to save resources on its disposable soldiers.

When the robotic arms are done, I'm handed my gorecannon. A rifle so heavy and large a sapien wouldn't be able to move it.

"Your Torragami is online and ready," says Iris.

I smile a malicious smile, a killer's smile. I look at the selfie monitor and see myself transformed. I'm psychopath. Unleash the fury within. I take my helmet and tuck it under my right arm.

"Tuigon, deploy the fleet. Initiate the invasion."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna. Banewings deployed, Angerneedle hunter kamikaze drones deployed, Fistship vessels entering formation, rearguard dreadnoughts exiting the Novasphere. The space battle has initiated. First strike reported. We've drawn first blood."
—4—

I find my legionnaires cheering while waiting for me in the hatch where the Torragami are silently online, ready for takeoff.

The Javeline team is formed and ready. Three hundred soldiers ready to descend in assault mode. As they see me enter, they form in their own platoons. All soldiers hold their helmet in the right hand, their rifles attached to their backs, their blade sheathed in the scabbard. I can see their faces, greedy for the bloodletting. Lustful.

Two hundred soldiers equip the Horjin servoarmor, the one I use, which is versatile and agile, designed for close combat. One hundred other soldiers equip the Talga-X class servoarmor, designed for non-close combat soldiers, those who pilot the rearguard mechs. But because they pilot the heavy defensive mechs, they need more armor, as they are easy targets.

"Alastar Magna on deck!" yells Ogre.

"Glory and honor!"

"Glory and honor," I repeat, elevating the right fist with helmet gripped.

I walk directly to my Torragami, deliberately ignoring the beaming eyes of my soldiers.

Ogre gasps. He stops me with a gentle touch on the shoulder and whispers, "Aren't you going to say anything? My Alastar . . . it's customary to pray with the Stellar Knight and thank the Celestial Core for this grandiose opportunity. We're about to purge the last planetary system of the galaxy! Please . . ."

Ogre knows his men, and I know Ogre. He's right, but I'm fed up with this hypocrisy.

"Lynx . . ." he says, using my war name.

The Stellar Knight isn't physically here. He's projecting himself on the deck by a holopersona.

"Very well." I breathe in and stand in front of the confused soldiers.

Flagmio Gadmia, the Stellar Knight assigned to my legion, keeps a critical eye on me. The hunched figure seems ready to curse me for my sin of not praying and thanking our dear Celestial Core.

Gadmia is as disgusting as Godfrey Bubo, and he avoids me. He knows I've little love for him. But in matters of religion, he'll always stand his ground.

"For the Stellar Knights, who illuminate us with the light cast by the Celestial Core! For the ÆTAS and their galactic empire! For humanity, who has reached perfection, who is now God. May he live forever!"

"Long live humanity!" cheers three hundred soldiers.

"Most of you have battled with me while piloting your mechs. Give this enemy no mercy. Purge humanity's last enemy of the galaxy with pride. We will achieve greatness for the ÆTAS and make proud the Celestial Core."

My own words revolt me. Words I've been saying for millennia.

"The Galactic Crusade is about to end. Our legion has been granted the honor of putting an end to it," I say. "You must be proud of yourselves, of all you've achieved for humanity."

One officer raises his hand. He's Lunastar Magna Gonzalez. His name pops up on my DAT on top of his face, together with his bio-profile. I quickly check his war stats and verify his rank status. He's some War-points away from reaching the Alastar echelon.

The War-point system is crucial to the motivation of our soldiers, who can assess their rank status at any moment and assess how many kills and missions they have left to move on to the next rank. The rating of your mission and of each kill is assigned by Iris using an algorithm for the amount of points earned per feat conducted. The more complex the kills—double-kill, killing-spree, multi-kill, ultra-kill, mega-kill, friend-save, squad-savior, etc.—the more points you earn. Competition among soldiers is sometimes unhealthy, but it always makes killing a sport, and it makes soldiers eager to earn more and more points.

Some of the cruelest, most vicious attacks are displayed publicly, and the public is asked to cast a vote on the most epic kills. The winners earn extra War-points for keeping the crowd happy. This motivates warriors to become sadistic.

Upward mobility in the Stærfleet is crucial. It makes you feel that you're moving forward in your military career. It's only when you hit the highest ranks, like me, that you notice this reward system is just another sham to keep you on a leash.

"May I speak frankly?"

"By all means," I say.

A thud. The planetary ship shakes. I quickly check my DAT to observe overall ship status to see we took several hits from incoming fire. But the Harmony Megalonic shields fended off the energy.

"What will become of the Stærfleet once the Galactic Crusade is over? I mean, what will become of us?"

Gonzalez is a prodigy of war, one of those soldiers who was lucky to receive an enviable genetic combination, which has proved itself in the field. His size is medium, measuring 2.3 meters. Black hair, same as the majority of us. His facial features are robust as Ogre's. With a few more centuries of war, Gonzalez would've achieved the Alastar echelon. Unlucky for him, the war is about to end.

"Let's hope the Bank of Cryopreserved Unoccupied Bodies has enough for us soldiers to grab a sapien body to retire," I say jokingly. But I'm not joking.

If there aren't enough bodies in the BCUB, those soldiers looking towards retirement will have to remain in their bodies until more sapien bodies are made available. And since cloning sapiens is a forbidden sin, we have to wait until, one, a sapien becomes a Tourist and leaves his body behind to become a legionnaire, or two, a sapien is declared brain dead and his or her body is donated to the BCUB. Or purchase a clone on the black market or from pirates and risk destruction if the ÆTAS finds out.

Bad thing is, if the war is ending, there won't be any more Tourists. Which means, most of us will remain stuck in our supersoldier body. Good thing is, high ranks like me have first pick.

"When the galaxy is ours, we shall rejoice in ending this bloodthirsty war once and for all," I say. "Glory and honor! For humanity!"

"For humanity!" echo my soldiers.

"Ehem, excuse me, my Alastar," interrupts Flagmio, the Stellar Knight projecting himself with the holopersona. His horrendous form advances towards me. He inches closer, shining in a blue hue, ever wary of me, as he knows I could snap at him at any moment.

"We must chant Holy War. Such is our ritual."

I nod. We all chant as one:

"Holy shall our battle be.

May our foes bleed,

Let it flow to form a puddle,

Thereon shall I march and stain my boots.

War! War to the xeno who threaten human life!

The perfect, the optimal one!

Let it be known, we are god! Anything below us is a heretic!

Cure the Universe of this plague!

Glory and honor! May the hammer of justice slam upon you!"

Soldiers applaud and celebrate. I nod. Ogre receives the order and commands the assault unit. Three hundred legionnaires break formation and run towards their mech.

I march to my Torragami. I check my rifle is well-attached to my back, prove the entropic blade is strapped to my hip, and stand beside the right leg of the mech.

With a thought, the mech lowers its right hand, and I step onto its open palm. It raises me with ease and grants me access inside its face, the cockpit. Like a flower of four petals, its face encloses me into its sealed interior, where I remain in darkness.

The Torragami's OS links with my DAT. I blend with the Torragami interface, and soon I become one with the mechanized soldier. I take control of the motor and sensory data and gain total control of the mech.

This is what keeps me coming back—the sensation of stepping out of my body and into something more incredible. When I'm Torragami, I'm a soldier of metal without the burden of memories I usually carry with me like a cloud. Sometimes the intrusive thoughts can make their way into my mind even when I command the mech.

"Ten, nine, eight . . . two, one . . ." Iris counts down. "Harmony Megalonic shields temporarily deactivated for the Javeline team departure."

The assault hatch opens. Gravity is locally suspended to allow us nimble movements. Infinity rushes towards me like a spear. I can see the blasts and explosions of the nearby interplanetary battle.

The Legion-X is completely devoted to the battle. The dreadnoughts and destroyers are punishing the enemy ranks with laser pulses and ballistic missiles. The enemy has futilely formed in front of their main planet. They pretend to engage us, to defend what was theirs, because now it's ours. We have come to destroy you, to take what you built and call it our inheritance, our rightful property.

Large and slow enemy EMP bombs explode, tripped by proximity detectors, close to our assault ships. But the anti-EMP fields deployed by the Novasphere protect our smaller ships against EMP blasts.

In response, the dreadnoughts retaliate with higher caliber EMP torpedoes, effectively paralyzing a third of their assault ships.

In the center of the battle space, I can see a furious battle of the enemies and our own assault ships. Banewings sweep through the flanks while the Angerneedle hunter kamikaze drones brawl with the alien hunters.

We rarely use drones, keep them stupid in AI terms so that they don't have imagination, dreams, and thoughts. I don't need weapons smarter than me. We've learned hard lessons by creating AI-controlled units smarter than their creators. They can't be trusted.

The Angerneedle hunter kamikaze drones number by the millions. Each is the shape of a needle, equipped with a single photonic repeater that pulses laser beam energy in high frequencies. The Angerneedles are used as scalpels to slice through the enemy front formations and pierce the assault ship enemy space, to end, most of the time, self-destruction upon colliding and exploding with a target ship. Most Angerneedle hunter kamikaze drones are destroyed before they reach their target. However, their numbers require the enemy to concentrate heavy fire on them, allowing large, human-commanded Banewings and Fistships to attack from the flanks.

The Angerneedles attack in geometrical shapes. Hundreds of thousands of them form like a school of fish and attack in said forms. Either a triangle, a sphere, sometimes a chain, or a misshaped cloud, the algorithms of the simple AI adjusts itself to the reactions of the enemy, always seeking to exploit weakness.

The Angerneedles cause terror in most enemies, especially with how fast they change formation. Enemies slowly adapt, allowing the Angerneedles to cruelly destroy the front line assault units.

Xeno cadavers float, as do human bodies. This is a massacre, as most of our assaults are. We throw ourselves head on, readily acknowledging the loss of life as a precious sacrifice. We tolerate many casualties before we decide to change our strategy. Usually, it gives our enemies a pause, as it makes us seem fearless in the face of death.

Enemy cruisers sink, pulled by the large planet's gravity, eaten by the atmosphere to collide with the ground beneath. The explosions are magnificent as the large ships collide with the planet. The fire erupts to the atmosphere like volcanic explosions. The atmosphere convulses as the ripples of the chaos are spread across the planet's surface.

"Lift off," says Iris.

Nuclear fusion-powered nozzle jets accelerate each mech. Each mech is equipped with multiple agility micro-jet nozzles to allow precise and deliberate movements while in space.

We pierce the battle space like a scalpel would through skin, only that we travel at a speed of three thousand miles per second. The Javelin team leaves the raging, silent space battle behind. Some enemy assault units try to intercept us, with no avail. The surprise descent of the assault team confuses the enemy, opening a gap that'll surely cost them dearly, as Angerneedles swiftly take any opening to attack.

"Contact with the atmosphere of Z-603 alpha in three, two, one. Contact."

I feel the pressure of the atmosphere like a blow to the face, and in an instant, our speed is reduced by the invisible collision. The mech's armor is of thick polytitanium, which heats up dramatically but ably isolates me inside. The cooling system of the mech kicks in, and swiftly the inferno is dissipated.

Once the outer layers of the atmosphere are cleared and the air thins, the gravity of the planet sums with the speed of our jets. The objective is clear—the main city of the xenos' prominent planet.

We accelerate to maximum speed. At exactly ten meters from the ground, the counter-jets explode with a fury of gas and heat. The sound of the mechs colliding with the ground paralyzes the air itself.

The counter-jets of three hundred mechs causes a large explosion, sending debris into the air. A one-mile area around remains in destruction by the force of our descent, like the power of a falling star causing judgement day. But unlike the falling star, we're worse. We're death incarnate.

The ruins around us are filled with shattered bodies of the xeno who occupied this space. Most of the casualties resulted in evaporated bodies.

This place of death is called zero-down, a landing place strategically selected to cause maximum impact on the distracted enemy, thinking the battle was spacebound only. The distracted enemy thinks themselves safe while protected within their walls. And this is precisely why the Javelin assault team is a vital part of the purge.

"Javelin team! Assault formation!" I order.

Three hundred mechs form while still inside the cloud of destruction. Visibility is nil, but our instruments allow us more than simple visibility through the electromagnetic spectrum detectors.

Alpha objective shines on my HUD. Iris offers me three different paths to reach the mission objective. I choose the shortest. Likely the most violent, but violence is my resolution, and I invite the gore with a hunger.

Previous analysis showed the air breathed by these xeno is toxic. It doesn't have enough oxygen to meet our metabolic demands.

"Advance!"

The first wave of the Javelin team advances in a formation of two hundred Torragami organized in four rows of fifty each. The assault formation moves ahead of the defensive and artillery mechs, a hundred of them, who stay behind and provide heavy artillery fire from the rearguard. The support mechs are called Katami.

The Katami are an impressive creation of gears and polytitanium. They are two hundred tons heavier than the nimble and agile Torragami. Its additional weight is both the consequence of thicker armor and larger weaponry loaded with a higher salvo.

The Torragami is equipped with two gatlings firing DrillCore munitions. It carries a large katana sheathed on its back and two missile pods, one on each shoulder. The Katami, on the other hand, is armed with four missile pods, one rail gun, four nuclear warheads, each of one teraton. In addition, it carries a plasma-ball catapult on its back for sieged cities.

The Katami are machines of destruction, designed for combat in virtually any terrain and medium, be it fluid or the void of space. If the Torragami is a futuristic ninja, the Katami is a mercenary version of a samurai, with large and heavy armor that causes it to be slow and clumsy while walking. Its large body has a small cockpit deep within the thick armor to protect the pilot.

The formation of doom clears the large cloud of destruction. The distance between the Torragami and Katami broadens. The bright star of the planetary system shines above us. The light casted and deflected from our armor. The shining Javelin team of doom is ill-received by a stunned megacity and its inhabitants. We march head-on to the Alpha objective.

Welcome you are, oh, fickle destruction. I will invoke you one last time to end this vicious cycle of doom I've nurtured for so long. Let me end you with this last savoring of blood, I say to my interior warmonger.

I can feel the music of destruction surging from within, the warmonger inside me chanting the symphony of chaos. I may be an advanced piece of warfare, yet inside I carry the most primitive of man's desire—sheer and utter debacle.

The megacity is beautiful. It's pristine white. An impressive achievement, surely the product of millennia of architectural and engineering perfection. The center of the city is where objective Alpha lay. Not to my surprise, as most cities will harbor the leadership in their center.

We avoid falling on the center of cities. A trap was set up in one of our assaults in G-024, and I lost ninety percent of my Javeline team by falling directly into a false building, under which a large pool of plasma digested the majority of my team. That was a tough lesson.

The metropolis's center is protected by a tall and thick wall surrounding it on all fronts. The city is an example of aesthetics like none other I've ever seen in the galaxy. And I've seen many a city. Seen them fall, too, by my own hand. Crushed and ruptured, raped, and defiled. I am destroyer, the conqueror of worlds.

I have a sudden and most inconvenient attack of nostalgia upon contemplating this piece of art, the beauty and complexity of the city. Of a species I will never meet, of a mind far more advanced than our own. We could've learned so much from them, exchanged cultures and ideas, philosophies and dreams. But no. We admit no communication with our foes. Speaking with them is the equivalent to sinning, the worst kind of sin in mankind's eye, We, who wrongly believe we're the ultimate creation in this universe.

I come back to reality to contemplate the destruction caused by our downfall. We're nearing the wall. Large doors open as if by magic, lifting heavy pieces off the wall as if with magnetism or other obscure technology we've to inherit from this species.

From the gate, a very large procession of xeno marches towards us, brandishing white flags, wearing no armor, chanting a song that sounds peaceful and hopeful, waving four out of their six limbs in the air in coordinated waves. Up until now, the resistance offered by the xeno in their planet has been none. I study the xeno. These, I'm sure, aren't the Tragalaf.

I quickly scan the xeno, zoom in to examine their soft bodies. They have goblet-shaped heads with many eyes on it, like a spider's. I don't see mandibles or a mouth on its head. Perhaps it's not its head at all, rather some sort of sensory limb. What appears to be the head is connected to the body by a long pedicle, a neck perhaps, that joins a thick and slimy body with six limbs, of which four are used to wave in the air in a coordinated manner.

I'm sure they know we've descended to exterminate them. Otherwise, this peace march wouldn't be offered to us like the gods we profess to be. I can sense they'd rather not oppose us military wise. This is an act of submission.

Please don't . . . don't do this to me. I get the notion this species follows a vegetarian diet, has learned to live in harmony with the nature offered by the planets it has conquered.

They aren't naive either. The fact that they have a space fleet shows that they, at some point, predicted violence and that they value a good defense to protect what they've created over thousands of years. But their mistake was being a peaceful species. Their mistake was not being born as cruel and disgraceful as we are.

The offensive wall of two hundred Torragami marches on without stopping. The peaceful procession stops as we near them. Ten meters away . . . two meters away . . .

The procession scatters, panic ensues. We begin to crush them, to step on them and squash them without remorse. The sensory instruments on the mech are so perfect, I can feel their bodies under my boots, can feel the slimy squelch of their innards being crushed like tadpoles. I can tell they have very soft skin without an interior skeleton. They're more like blobs.

There's nowhere to hide. The procession turns into an angry mob and many of the xeno get trampled by their own as they run back behind the defensive wall. The scenery is a massacre, a great bloodletting, and we merely marched upon them. The rubble beneath us is now a growing lagoon of green body parts and blood and gore that'll surely soon become a marsh. This earns us extra war-points.

"Your orders, Alastar Magna?" asks Ogre. He's desperate. He's seen the blood, tasted the gore. He wants more.

I feel nausea. I know what I have to do. This is the moment. Iris is keeping tabs on me, she knows I'm delaying.

"Proceed with the extermination," I order.

Intervox channels open to all soldiers of the Javelin team.

Two hundred Torragami unsheathe their katana at the same moment, causing a metallic ring, a wailing in the wake of the destruction we're to wreak.

"Attack freely," I say. Two hundred bloodthirsty murderers break formation, including me, and run towards the fleeing xeno. The mighty swords descend upon them. They cut cleanly, body parts flying everywhere. The massacre begins anew.

From behind us, one hundred Katami in battle formation go into demolition mode. Each deploys a third limb that fixes each support mech to the ground and effectively becomes a tripod, stable and steady to send off its deadly payload.

Rail guns turn ablaze and shoot upon the city. Furious missile pods spit fire and tremble echoes of death. The catapults deploy, like a dragon tail, behind the large mechs. Sun-hot balls of plasma are catapulted over the defensive wall to enter and lay waste to everything it touches.

The megacity is soon ablaze.
—5—

A butcher to his own. Chop, slice, chop, slice. No matter how much artistry there is in our movements, in our dexterity and skill in war, the killzone is a bloodbath without elegance. This is a disgrace to life itself.

The xeno are innocent! Their sin was to be born, to exist! They run, jump obstacles, mostly their own dead brethren, fall and die, trampled by their own panicking allies.

The implacable assault of titan's advances without mercy, slicing and dicing with impressive speed. Soon enough the killing reaches its zenith, at a point where so many are killed by the second, that at any given moment, there are limbs in the air with a growing mist of pulverized blood floating about us.

I can hear the victory chants throughout the intervox. My battle brothers celebrate the bloodlust. Some have gone mad with the fiasco, and instead of chopping their foes, they grab them with their hands and rip them apart as if weeds.

Movement catches my attention. The great white defensive wall, although cracked and pummeled by the incoming fire of our support Katami, is being reinforced by technological methods. The wall seems to grow on its own accord, expanding with small fibers as if it were but a plant of some sort, creating a web stronger than plasteel. The wall grows impressively fast, and soon, where there were holes, I can see a stronger, reinforced wall.

From above, the now renovated defensive wall large turrets are raised by the same strange floating mechanism, likely magnetism of some sort. The large turrets are purple in color, with seams and two large cannons protruding from a large frame. More than one hundred of these have been raised in less than several seconds.

The xeno who were left out of the wall have been torn to shreds. The blood is solidifying, likely its water content absorbed by the earth below.

I breathe in with satisfaction. They show signs of resistance. This soothes my guilt towards these innocent xenos. I hope they cause us damage, kill a few of our own. Then I can justify this crime.

"Alastar Tercius Perez," I call the officer in charge of the Katami support team. "Bring down those turrets. Break that reinforced wall."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna! You heard him! Bring 'em down and break that wall!"

Each Katami activates a new offensive sequence, and a new missile pod emerges from its back and loads onto its right shoulder. The pod opens multiple small hatches. In each, a small warhead is visible. Before they're ready to launch, the enemy returns fire.

The purple turrets turn ablaze. Strong, powerful laser beams of furious red pierce us. Fifteen Torragami go down instantly, another fifty suffer wounds.

"Lunastar Decius Moralez down! Opening Torragami cabin to engage on foot!" he yells.

Other soldiers follow the pattern. Their Torragami has been damaged to the point of dysfunction. Continuing on foot is the only option for them.

"Eleven soldiers dead, Alastar Magna," says Iris, giving me the headcount.

I feel the rage surge. I was genetically engineered, yes. And part of those genes are coded to make me go berserk the moment I lose battle brothers. And so the music of destruction cranks the volume. Oh, will you pay, dear xeno. You have tempted the wrong devil!

An enemy bombardment ensues after the laser onslaught. We take cover as best we can. Another fifteen Torragami go down, all their pilots dead. Yes! Kill more of my men! Fuel my desire to obliterate you!

"Prepare to exact revenge on our fallen! Prepare for the reprisal!" I yell through the intervox in rage.

"Acknowledged," respond my soldiers. They know what this means.

The clouds of destruction that've rained upon us don't halt the destructive fire from our enemies' defenses. The turrets continue shooting, every time less and less, which makes me think the Katami are reducing them to ashes.

As we prepare to deliver pain, a new attack surprises us. From the clouds that engulf the assault team, an unexpected rush of fire surges as if from the mouth of a fire-breathing beast. A Torragami falls after a powerful detonation, taking the hit in the face, effectively killing the pilot instantly.

The clouds of destruction clears. I can now see what heads our way. Gigantic arachnids have come to defend their own. This must be their army. I could swear these are made of a material similar to the one making the Torragami, the polytitanium we use. The machines move quickly, sending off powerful bursts of laser. Another burst crushes another battle brother. The arachnids are coming through breaches in the wall.

"Javelin team! Fire at will! Engage! For the fallen!" I yell, engaging the enemy.

This is it. This is exactly what we needed. A formidable enemy to enjoy this battle. Otherwise, it would've been a one-sided massacre. A worthy battle is worth a thousand praises. Let us dance in this symphony of destruction!

I sheathe the katana, raise both arms. From each forearm, a gatling appears, coming out of its hatch with a furious hiss. The five cannons rotate in a blur, and in an instant, a fury of DrillCore slugs rain upon the advancing arachnids. The river of bullets pierces the heaviest of armors. The plasma tip melts the armor, the drill-core continues the trajectory and explodes mid-way.

Each bullet is the size of a man's arm. The plasma tip is cool when not fired, but upon shooting, it activates and gets hot a as a sun's surface. The drill-core is activated upon impact, causing its drill mechanism to perforate nearly anything, to explode midway its trajectory, causing deadly damage.

The arachnids in my field of fire explode in a mess of blood, gushing out orange blood from the horrendous wounds. Limbs and eyes pop from their bodies as the rounds pierce each foe with unchallenged efficiency. All Torragami engage, and the river of bullets causes massive damage. The gore is palatable. The rain of orange mist now floats around those fallen beasts. Die xeno! Die!

I aim, choose ten targets. The self-targeting mechanism instinctively chooses those targets that'd strategically mean a breach in the enemy's formation. I shoot with a thought. The missile pods on my shoulders release a fist of micro-missiles, each delivering a deadly payload that pulverizes the victim and causes gruesome damage on those receiving the shockwave.

"Rage mode," I order to each Torragami. Time to fight in close quarters. My favorite.

"Rage mode on," says Iris.

The futuristic samurai transforms into a savage warrior. Overcore is achieved, raising the Torragami's energy output to 120 percent. Each unsheathes his katana. The blade now shining bright from the energy delivered by the overcore. This is the Torragami's equivalent of the old ektana, but deadlier.

"Move in to close quarters combat," I order. I can savor the killing.

"Moving in."

We all advance in a sprint towards the stunned arachnids. In a matter of seconds, we've breached the enemy defense line, and battle feverishly in between their ranks. The arachnids are paralyzed by our fervor, and in seconds, panic ensues. The Torragami offensive cuts and slashes with incredible speed while in overcore. The bloodletting continues, and the killing spree is a fest. Millions of war-points are being awarded, killing spree medals springing in the pilot's DAT as a trophy for their performance.

I sense the enemy defense line is faltering. The turrets are mostly destroyed, and the arachnids' fate is sealed.

"Alpha objective reached. Phase A is now complete," says Iris.

"Scythe team! Proceed with Phase B!" I say through the intervox.

Fifteen Torragami, including myself, take off with a sudden burst of the nuclear-powered jets and dart off towards the center of the city where the xeno command awaits our judgement. The rest of the Javelin team stays behind, sweeping the area from the stunned enemy.

"Echoradar probe," I say. Each of the fifteen Torragami deploys a small appendix from the left arm, and each one fires an echoradar probe to different parts of the center of the megacity.

The echoradar's hit shortly after, and the pulse generated paints the city with infrared light. The echoes are picked up by our instruments to generate a three-dimensional map of the center of the megacity. Iris marks Beta objective in our visual field. It's a large structure, very well-armored and harbored deep within the megacity. There doesn't seem to be a trap waiting for us. At least, not for now.

"That's where the leader or leaders are. Move out to Beta objective." I order.

We continue at max speed. We land as close as possible to Beta objective. We're one mile away. The way to get there is blocked by a thick structure that resembles a bee hive or nest, only larger. The hexagonal tunnels leading in are small for a Torragami. We could continue by foot, but a mile of walking through tunnels could prove deadly.

"Open fire. Light the structure up and open a hole big enough for us to get in," I order.

"Yes, my Alastar Magna."

We step back one hundred meters. Fifteen Torragami form side by side, fitting neatly on this spacious path leading to the center, to the hive, limited on the sides by large hive-material buildings. We use the remaining missiles in the pods to blast the structure open. The explosions send a storm of gunk in the air that rains upon us in large chunks of hive-material. Thick secretions, like honey, stain the large mechs.

The clouds of destruction clear off in a matter of fifteen standard seconds. The HUD picks up hundreds of threats enclosed in a small red triangle. This is the reprisal. I think we pissed someone off by destroying the hive. Come get it.

A river of xeno emerge from the gaping nest. The contrary of the soft tadpoles and the big arachnids, these xeno are different. These have six limbs, three on each side, with three segments to their body, each segment joined to the next by a thin but sturdy joint. Their head is large with two eyes and a set of mandibles. They're like ants. Their limbs, however, are made of a blazing material, which I'm sure is part of their weaponry.

These must be the infantry, the close combat units of the xeno used, surely, to defend the nest. I'm glad we didn't engage while going through the tunnels. Close quarter combat against this large number of mega ants would've proven lethal.

But now that we've destroyed part of the nest, they've been forced to battle in a less favorable terrain.

"Light 'em up! Bring 'em all down!" I command.

Fifteen Torragami fire at will. The gatlings on our arms roar in unison as the plasma DrillCore bullets wreak havoc among their lines. Each plasma-tipped bullet pierces one, but upon the activation of the DrillCore, the explosive round causes damage to at least two or three more xeno.

We cheer and cry out glory as we rip through them, but after a minute of this, we all worry. The river of xeno is falling at an impressive rate, but the river of them seems never ending, while our bullet supply is limited. At this rate, we'll run out of bullets, and they'll rush us like a stampede.

"Gatling empty. Reload," says Iris.

Shit. I have no reload. Javelin teams travel lightly to allow for maximum mobility.

"Call out the weapons I have in inventory," I say.

"Missile pod, empty. Gatling, consumed. One thermonuclear missile of two megatons is all you have left. At this distance, the explosion would destroy the Javelin team," says Iris.

The last bullet is used among us. The last missile is fired. We're all out of ammo.

"Enter rage mode! Go overcore!" I order.

We all enter rage mode again and pull out the blazing katana. In a matter of seconds, the torrent of ants is upon us, attacking at full speed after noticing we ran out of bullets.

The katanas cut at incredible speed, their reach long enough to keep the onslaught of ants at bay. But not for long. The river of ants has ceased moving. Each ant that falls is replaced by a fresh one attempting to breach our line. Some climb the walls to each side of the path to be cut down swiftly to avoid getting an enemy behind us. But at this pace, we're sure to fall. The ants are large like a Homo perfectus is. We're lucky to be piloting a mech this powerful, or we'd be dead.

"Alastar Magna Lynx requesting backup!" I say through the intervox.

"I'm sorry, commander, but we're up to the neck here! The arachnids have sent in reinforcements!" yells Ogre.

Damnit. The enemy was well prepared, more than we esteemed. I have but one option left before we ask for orbital assistance, and that I can't allow, as it would bring immediate shame to my legion. Many of my soldiers would lose war-points. I don't care for my own points, fuck those. I can't climb further up the ladder of echelons anyway. I do it for them, their own pride and promotions.

"Brothers, program your Torragami in auto-combat mode. We must step out and do what we can!"

"Yes, my Alastar Magna. Let us show them what we're capable of when cornered," says Lunastar Decius Urfoc.

Outside of the Torragami cockpit, each of us can shoot the gorecannon, use plasma grenades, and our entropic blade. It'd double our attackers numbers from fifteen to thirty.

"Now!"

I program my Torragami to auto-combat mode with a thought. Overcore will persist, which is risky, as it may overheat and overload the mech. But in this situation, the risk is necessary.

The cabin opens with a burst. Pressurized gas expulses me from the cabin. I land with a roll and stand up. I unholster the gorecannon from by back. Weapons free. I'm a menace.

"At will," I say. That is all my legionnaires need to hear to go berserk. The river of enemies is daunting, and fear is but a savory fuel.

The ants at the front line seem confused. A smaller, yet angrier soldier has emerged from the face of the large mechanical warrior. Stupid ants. You thought the mech was the enemy. It is I, your destroyer. Eat this!

I open fire in full auto. The particle cannon tears the ants apart.

Reload. Open fire in full auto. All fifteen of us unload every bullet as fast as possible. Reloading a total of three Hagedron cylinders.

I'm out. I reach for the three grenades attached to my chest. I pull the fuse on each and throw it behind enemy lines, where the ants are closely pressed to each other, eagerly trying to get to the front lines. The other fourteen soldiers follow my example, empty their mags and start throwing plasma grenades. That's three each, a total of forty-five explosions spewing plasma lights the enemies up.

On my DAT, I can see the amount of time elapsed since we landed. It's data I'm constantly aware of, to keep me motivated to ensure I complete this decapitation mission as swiftly as possible. I'm expected to purge the command unit of the enemies in less than twenty-four standard hours.

This means that taking more than thirty minutes on one objective is a serious matter for concern. We have now been engaged with the ants for more than twenty standard minutes, with a total of two hours and ten minutes since we came down in a rain of death. This makes me aware that we took too long to breach the initial defenses. I must make haste.

We're out of ammo. Now it's time to battle with entropic blade hand-in-hand, with each soldier with his Torragami at their back. The ants have suffered dearly, but still they come. I'm ready for you.

The ants have concentrated their eyes on us, which is a very good thing. The mechs have a long reach, which will cost the ants dearly while distracted on us, the actual soldier.

The avalanche of ants breaches the protective area created by the mech's katana, and we're now engaged in hand-to-hand combat with them. The first one, I cut down with ease. Then the next two engage with me in a simple dance of death. I cut those two with ease. More come.

The drug of battle runs through my veins. It seeps into my every tissue, my brain, my soul, and soon, the venom has intoxicated me with its delicious elixir. This is my reason for being. This is why I'm alive. To be exposed to maximum danger, immediate threats, so I can feel this invigorating moment of absolute chaos.

The dance of death has its risks. One of them, the most prominent, is to consume all my energy and die of over-exhaustion. Yes, I'm capable of repairing my tissues as long as I have the right proportion of building materials consumed as food and water. At this speed of energy consumption, I'll run through my stores quickly. The other danger is losing track of time.

The killing feels endless. Every movement is spontaneous, as if my mind knew what to do, how to move in a precise way to avoid a sure death. I leap, jump, crawl, flip and roll, dive and dip, and attack with odd angles and strange arcs, all to avoid dying, or to deliver a fatal unsuspected blow.

Time has gone by swiftly. We've been here almost one hour dealing with the ants. However, now I can see a clear dwindling in the number of xeno attempting to rush us. And best of all, the walls and mountains of enemy cadavers slows those trying to reach us.

"To the mech!" I yell.

My Torragami picks me up with a violent movement. It's not time for softness. It jabs me inside the cockpit in its face and closes the hatch with speed, slamming the hatch shut. The other fourteen soldiers follow suit.

"Exterminate!" I order.

The fifteen Torragami are now enough to sweep through the remaining ants. When the butchery is done, the work of art remains. The path is painted with carnage, with arms and body parts everywhere, with blood and pools of death decorating the scenery. Many would save the image and print it out to show it in an art gallery.

I too must admit this hecatomb is one of my greatest creations. I do feel like an artist's sometimes. My sword, my rifle, those are my brushes. The medium are the streets and buildings. The paint is the blood and limbs of my foes.

I am a barbarian. A sadist. A being so advanced, so optimized, I have become inhuman.

"Enemy cleared. Move towards Beta objective. Send in the Kuze no Tenshi. Obliterate what remains of the megacity"

"Order received, Alastar Magna Lynx. Kuze no Tenshi preparing to descend," says Tuigon from the bridge of the Morningstar.

"Scythe team, let's decapitate the enemy command."
—6—

After crossing the graveyard of ants, we now reach the nest. It must be made of sturdy material. The portion we blew off was some sort of mesh prior to the skeleton of the structure, which is mostly untouched.

The tunnels aren't big enough for the mech to fit in, and I haven't the patience nor the need to call in a demolition team. I could even ask the Katami to bombard it with specialty weapons, but I'm in no mood to wait.

I have the element of surprise on my side. But a surprise is useful if you take advantage of the brief time it suspends reality in the enemy's mind.

Before I give the order to step out of the mech, I turn upon hearing a sound that tears the skies apart. It looks like a holy comet, a redeemer of worlds raining from space to claim life as a whole.

But it's no celestial body. It's worse. A comet or asteroid is inert, dead matter. That thing coming down is a mech, a Kuze no Tenshi, that descends in an assault capsule the size of a mountain. It falls in a relatively untouched part of the megacity, causing an enormous explosion. The capsule then disintegrates by the heat, and from inside, a titan emerges like a beast from hell.

Four other Kuze no Tenshi have been sent to different parts of the world to exercise extinction. Generally, five are enough to ravage a planet. Sending in more is overkill, which then puts at risk your soldiers who didn't kill enough, remain unsatisfied, and didn't earn enough war-points to achieve an ascension in rank. A commander must know how to satisfy his own, and the modern soldier isn't happy with victory alone. He needs blood. A lot of it.

A thousand turrets strategically placed in the body of the Kuze no Tenshi activate and start shooting at specific targets around the city. The giant mech is surrounded by the storm of plasma-tipped bullets that it shoots at will.

A new enemy has emerged to confront the Kuze no Tenshi. The last hope, perhaps. These are flyers. The flyers appear like wasps, giant ones, with the capacity to shoot strong orange pellets from large cannons they bore in their belly.

The large orange pellets are heavy and travel in a parabolic line. When they hit the mech, it causes an explosion, followed by a splash, which is hot liquid that melts away part of the large mech's armor. The liquid has hit several soldiers, who die a horrible death. However, the turrets and anti-aircraft missile pods quickly take care of the wasps.

The Scythe team admires the large Kuze no Tenshi deliver death. The megamech opens more than one hundred hatches around its square body, and from them a total of one hundred thousand foot soldiers emerge—the Devastar echelon, the assault corp. The river of soldiers opens fire with their gorecannon as they descend to mop up and clear the buildings and ruins where many of the xeno are still hiding.

The troop is integrated by those veterans who rather hand to hand combat, the newly enlisted soldiers recently born in the Togami labs, and about one hundred Tourists who temporarily left their sapien body cryogenically frozen in the BCUB labs in case they die during the descent. They come killing in the name of the ÆTAS. Taking war like a game.

I suppose, given this is the last planetary system we'll conquer in the Milky Way, this mission must've received special attention by the marketing department. Surely, great deals and discounts were offered, a once-in-a-lifetime package to participate in the last purge of the galaxy.

Sadly, I have no say on who or how many Tourists can be deployed per mission. High Command controls that.

By looking at how the wasps fly, I can tell the enemy is broken. Their morale floored and trampled. They fly aimlessly, no longer shooting their cannons. Some even fly directly into fires and die instantly without a twitch.

This is one of the benefits of our surprise attack, the spearhead effect that stuns the enemy down below in their planet. By reducing their city to rubble, they no longer have hospitals, repair bays, or service centers to return to. They no longer have a home. Take their home away, you take their culture. You take their culture, you exterminate them. The formula of destruction, handed down generation after generation, a science, an art, studied and perfected in the Galactic University.

"Ogre, Entwar, Gonzalez, level what's left of the city. Mop it up."

"Yes, sir, thank you for the opportunity," respond the three.

I turn towards the Scythe team and order, "Disembark. We continue on foot."

The fifteen of us descend with a jump. The Torragami are programed in defense mode to defend and maintain one single point safe in our absence.

"You know my preferred mode of operating—kill anything that moves. Let's find their leaders and decapitate them. Afterwards, we shall take a couple images, send them to High Command, and show them we've completed the mission."

I could beat my own record if I decapitate the leader or leaders in ten minutes or less. Beat my four hour record, which is very good in comparison to my other Alastar Magna brethren. The fastest to date is one hour. That is way too fast for my taste.

"Yes, my Alastar," responds the Scythe team.

"Move out."

I'm small compared to my soldiers, but I compensate with intelligence and skill. And there's more to my superiority in the field. Something I have in abundance—hate, sadness, guilt, and melancholy. All these emotions are more useful than sheer strength.

The texture of the nest is soft, at the same time, elastic and resistant. It's not metal or concrete, not some powdered component with water added to create a mush. This is organic matter, likely the product of the xeno's mouthpiece or some other gland in the body creating a powerful substance that turns into a solid tether when exposed to the air. It's green, although it does have an amber hue to it, which makes me think there are different, denser parts elsewhere.

There are hundreds of thousands of small holes, like incubators, perhaps for their larvae. Nonetheless, I do not see eggs or young here. They've surely moved them out of our reach.

Halfway through to our objective, the tunnels become larger and we reach a devastated zone. I can see dead larvae and broken eggs spilling grey content to the soft floor. The eggs are large, the size of a man's head. The larvae are a bit larger, like a man's torso. Some larvae, those alive, are fleeing. They're grey and leave behind a trace of slobber and mucus.

"Kill the larvae," I order.

We attack with the entropic blade turned on. Upon being pierced, the larvae hiss and become a gelatinous substance that soon melts.

"Alastar Magna Lynx! Over there!" cries a soldier of mine. He marks it on his DAT, then shares that with me.

My DAT picks it up, and I quickly see what he's referring to. Iris zooms in to the threat. Many xeno, the tadpole ones, are fleeing at maximum speed, carrying with them larvae and eggs. But there are other creatures with them, large, very tall, very strong green beings that I haven't seen before.

Those must be the elite fighters, the king's protectors of sorts. The green, large insects that look like gigantic mantis point to a direction opposite ours, hiss some orders, then turn their attention to us. In a matter of seconds, twenty of them are upon us.

The giant praying mantis descend upon us with hatred in its purity. Their six limbs, three on each side, are very threatening, spears in each one, with a very sharp tip. Their forelimbs, the raptorial foreleg, possess a large grasping sector, riddled with spikes and small spears that would surely pierce our servoarmor. These enemy are formidable and will put my soldiers to the test.

"Attack!" I order.

The fifteen legionnaires of the Scythe team attack simultaneously, advancing in a phalanx. An instant prior to making contact, we accelerate and collide.

"Scorpion formation!" I yell.

Three legionnaires jump high and over the mantis-like enemy. They're now behind the enemy, confusing them. They're suddenly surrounded. I'm the first to attack the leader of the mantis cohort, the entropic blade slicing through its long thorax. The insect falls, cut in two, and the wound becomes a gaping hole by the entropic currents.

The rest of my team attacks, and soon, the battle is on. More mantis fall, most of them still stunned by the surprise formation. But they repose fast and demonstrate their superior strength.

A mantis-like enemy grasps one of my soldiers, and with its raptorial leg, it generates enough force to cut through the servoarmor. My soldier is cut in half. His legs go flying to one side, and his torso falls to the floor.

The legs aren't moving, and a gush of blood is coming from the hip where the legs were separated from the body. The soldier's abdominal contents aren't spilled as the wound missed the abdominal cavity. He loses blood very quickly, and I can tell he suffers in dear pain.

He's still alive thanks to his superior genetics. Almost as soon as he falls, a spark shines where the wound is gushing blood. The spark is a series of blood enzymes activated upon touching the air. The enzymes are catalytic, causing a chain reaction that releases tremendous amounts of heat, effectively sealing and cauterizing the wound to prevent further blood loss. It's a painful reaction, that one, but it saves your life.

My soldier is weak, but not dead. He's still got some strength in him. He drags himself, entropic blade still in his grip, and with great agility for his handicap status, he manages to reach the underbelly of the enemy who cut him.

When below the belly of his foe, the soldier thrusts his blade up into what must be the insect's bottom, and then he yanks the sword forward, causing a massive wound. From the gaping wound, the mantis-like being spills its abdominal contents to the ground, bathing my brother with its blood and intestines.

"Suffer, you son of a bitch!" yells my mutilated comrade. "Bathe me with your filth! Scum!"

We all cheer at his victory. He surely won a medal for that one.

Terror unfolds and geometrically multiplies as the mantis-like enemies observe what has become of their comrade. Seeing a torso dragging itself is terrifying in itself when you're used to killing by cutting enemies in half. The stunned enemy is now easy prey.

My downed soldier drags himself to another victim and climbs it, sinking his gauntlet in the beast's flesh. The mantis tries to rid itself of my soldier well-clawed in its flesh but is unable to. This, too, causes a dramatic reaction in the enemy.

Up on its long neck, the torso-soldier begins to cut its enemy with the entropic blade, shaving off piece by piece, torturing it to death. The enemy falls swiftly. The rest are dispatched with ease, cutting them down, defeated even before their death.

This is how we defeat enemies before they die. Death is merely a confirmation of our victory.

"This happens to you because your comrade dared cut me in half!" says torso-soldier, who then takes the fallen's head and begins punching it until it's bludgeoned and turned into pulp. The power armor augments the soldiers already brutal force.

"Kawa, can you continue? Do you require extraction?" I ask. I check his biostats quickly and notice he's inches away from hemorrhagic shock.

Kawa is a Lunastar of the highest rank, a Magna. His armor is silver, the color of his echelon, and has five small stars on the left shoulder. It's impossible to see him through the tainted visor of his helmet, but I can tell he's near fainting from the loss of blood.

"Never! I will continue until the end, if my Alastar Magna permits me!" he yells.

"Permission granted," I say.

Sending him to the infirmary is an option so that the robotic macro and nano surgeons can work on him, repair him, and give him new limbs. This would, however, result in dishonor and show weakness. Nobody leaves the battlefield, not even for the gravest of wounds. Giving it all is part of Bushido. We must die for our leaders.

"Yukata," I call. He's a Lunastar Irius. I don't call him because he's of the lowest rank, but because he's the biggest, strongest among us. "You will take Kawa."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna! It will be an honor!"

Kawa rides on the back of Yukata like a backpack, facing backwards. The added weight doesn't seem to bother Yukata.

We run following Iris's instructions, the trajectory depicted on each of our DAT's. We find more resistance on our way to Beta objective. It's a group of ants. We dispatch them with ease. When the enemy knows it will fall, it can react in one of two ways—fight till the end or give up.

This is one of the species who gives up. I can tell by how their ranks have lost vigor. I can understand them. In their place, I'd give up, too. Fighting against hell-raised soldiers like us is worse than suicide. I guarantee it.

"Beta objective at one hundred meters," says Iris.

The fifteen of us get ready to face the leader or leaders.

The reaction of the head of a xeno colony is unpredictable. Sometimes they lay down their weapons and prepare to die. Others lay a trap and kill themselves with it to take you to hell with them. Some fight till the end. Experience also tells me that xeno species like these insect-like organisms will have a large, fat insect for a leader. Likely with the capacity to lay eggs and form a new colony if not killed at the spot. Will it be a queen or a king? Or one of those hermaphrodite bugs capable of self-insemination?

"Ten meters," informs Iris.

I can see him on the map, a large, red triangle glowing as a threat. The tunnels become a wide open space. It's a dome-shaped cavern with a translucent ceiling, bubbled and wide, that allows the day's light to shine in, amplified by some mechanism, as the light coming in from the dome shines brighter at the bottom where we stand. There are rivers of flowing images, individual ones trailing after another, organized in some cryptic, specific way unknown and unintelligible to me.

I have the sudden thought that we could learn much from this species. But the ÆTAS has no intention of building a communication line between humans and the non-humans. Once the xeno have been exterminated, our Tekka will come in to study their tech and inherit whatever is of use to us.

I can see the leader. It's surrounded by seven warriors, all white. They're as large as the mantis-like bugs we fought earlier. They're adorned with golden rings on their legs, clearly a sign that these are the leader's personal guards. And they fear us. I can tell by how they move, how they retreat, arms open wide, including the raptorial limbs, no longer a threat.

They have large spears in hand. The tips are red, a sign that these could be some sort of projectile weapon, or even laser blasters. They're pointing at the ceiling, but soon, with a grunt, the leader gives an order, and the seven warriors drop their lances to the ground. A clearer sign of submission, you'll never see.

The leader, as expected, is a gigantic, fat bug. Looks like a scarab. It stands tall on its hind limbs, exposing its soft, black belly. Its other four limbs are held in the air, suspended in animation, as to be the least threatening possible.

"Slowly, my Alastar. This could be a trap, a bomb!" says one my soldiers.

"I know. I doubt it."

The scarab measures a good four meters. Tall as it is fat, it feels very non-threatening. Its legs move toward me. It has sensed I'm in charge. It has something in its claw. There's a blue device in it. What is it? Is it offering technology? A gift, maybe? Poor imbecile. Thinks were here to negotiate.

I hear a burst from a gorecannon. It's distant. The Devastar who descended with the Kuze no Tenshi must be infiltrating the nest.

The scarab turns towards the sound of the incoming battle and screeches. It doesn't have a face, but in those non-threatening mandibles, and bubbly eyes, I can tell it suffers. It releases the blue artifact to the ground and retreats into an ovoid structure, its thick armor protecting its soft underbelly. In a fetal position, it has gone into a fear state. The guards have no such protective mechanism and slowly retreat even further.

The blue device goes inactive in the ground and turns grey. Whatever it was, it seems that it's useless now.

"Kill the guards," I order.

We advance like a wall of terror. Fourteen and a half of us do. We take them with ease, cutting them down with barely any resistance. The leader is still hiding inside its shell.

"Your orders, Alastar Magna?" asks one of my legionnaires, nervous, trembling with the excitement to be here with the leader, ready to make history by participating in the decapitation of the xeno leader. He's also wondering how many war-points could be earned if he participates in this.

I can't decide. I merely stare at the leader. Damned be you, insect. I'm being punished with its inaction, with its cowardice. It's forcing me to take its life without proper justification. Please attack! Do something so I can justify your death!

"Your orders, Alastar Magna!" Yells another, also trembling from the anticipation of glory.

We're a like a pack of hounds, eager to tear our prize apart.

Lynx . . . Lynx . . . don't do it . . . please . . . there are other ways, I hear clearly, undoubtedly, in my head.

What the hell was that? I think.

You're not like the rest of them. You're different. I can see...

That voice in my head . . . am I imagining it? I'm going crazy? Iris hasn't heard it, I'm sure.

This has happened to me before, this listening to an inner voice just as I'm about to deliver the deathblow to the leader of a xeno species. The first time happened when Tauro murdered the religious being of the nymph species I so desired to talk to. But this time, I'll respond to that voice. Even if it means I'm going crazy.

You don't understand. There's very little—nothing—I can do. We're watched. Everything is monitored, I think but intend to respond to the voice.

There's always a way. There's always a way, responds the voice

Is that voice internal or external? Is it happening within me or through me? What is this! Is it the giant scarab, or is it me, the splitting of my personality, my evil side playing tricks on me?

Who are you? I dare ask.

Silence.

An explosion. A wall erupts into flames, and large chunks of nest-material flies everywhere. War cries are heard. A river of Devastar flows in, a death march resonating by so many steps coming in all at once. All eager to see the leader, to surround it, to kill it. Soldiers salivating at the encouragement to earn so many war-points.

The ambiance changes radically. Prior to the entrance of the troop, the ditch of lustful killing was held at bay by me, who could easily control the behavior of fourteen men.

But now there are thousands of soldiers, all coming to the butchering of those who remained alive in the city after our decent, elated with blood chemicals and high with anxiety, ready to retrieve the maximal pleasure of ending this purge with glory, eager to earn medals and increase the progress of the status bar that indicates how far they are from a new rank achievement.

I must act fast. I'm losing control of the situation. I need more time. I need time to talk to this voice . . . this bug? This leader? Is it him? Is it you? Am I talking to you? Hello!

The Devastar have all formed like a deathsquad, ready to shoot down the leader upon the order of their superior. But the superior here is me. Their leader quickly identifies me, and with the due respect, approaches me.

The Devastar echelon use the black servoarmor. The one approaching me is the highest ranking among the Devastar, which I can tell by looking at the five small stars on his left shoulder.

He forms, salutes me, right fist to the air. I open a public intervox channel with him and his men for all to hear.

"Alastar Magna Lynx! Devastar Magna Ruq, reporting!"

"Ruq, lower you weapons. Stand down. This bug is mine," I declare.

I need to figure out a way to be left alone with the leader or a way for me to escort it to a safe haven while I try to talk to it. I may learn something. I may not save its life, but I can extend it for some time. This in itself—my hesitation to decapitate it—is surely being red-flagged and transmitted as a transgression to High Command.

Someone shoots. Then someone else. The bark of the gorecannon is unmistakably aggressive. The line of formed Devastar breaks, and from the once formed death squad of thousands, four break free and shoot full auto. The leader's suffering is short lived. It writhes in pain, twitches, jerks, then remains motionless.

The movements in its body are no longer deliberate. It moves because of the number of particles entering its body per second. The pummeling of its shell riddles it to the point that it becomes mush, and soon, within a couple of seconds—the seconds it takes me to come out of my state of bewilderment—the leader is no more than a heap of pulp. The blood is spilled. The leader is dead.

Someone celebrates. Someone cheers.

I've been disobeyed, but this is more than mere insubordination. I feel betrayed, abused. I feel the rage creeping within.

It's over now. I could've changed history. I could've seen a different reality. But some trigger-happy imbecile has stolen it from me. Never again.

The sudden mixture of melancholy, sadness, and rage explodes in a reaction that makes me go berserk. I welcome insanity. Before the Devastar can savor their victory, I lock in and chose my victims. Swift. Deadly. No mercy.

The first Devastar dies. Its head rolls off. The second one tries to defend himself by futilely raising his arms. The entropic blade shaves off his arms and head. Their comrades, two of them, begin yelling in a tone that implies mercy.

"Tourists!" I hear.

Fuck you. Another head rolls.

The last one standing takes off his helmet and starts suffocating in this unfriendly atmosphere. He talks quickly, trying to save his life. "I'm just a Tourist! Please! We didn't know!"

Didn't know what? Orders are orders. Period. I finish him off. Four Tourists dead. The four that opened fire and killed my prisoner, my last hope for redemption.

When I end him, I yell, "Formation! Assault corps, march back to the ruins of the city and continue mopping it up! Insubordination is paid dearly with death! These soldiers should be thankful I sentenced them with swiftness."

Devastar Magna Ruq is appalled. It's difficult to tell with helmets on, with the tinted visor, but I can tell from is posture.

I point the energized blade to his face. "You dare challenge me?" I say.

The Scythe team forms behind me, entropic blades in hand. They, too, are pissed off. These are Lunastar in echelon, and they were waiting for the glory to take down the leader. The fact that four Devastar took it, will be heard of for decades.

"Yes, my Alastar Magna Lynx! I mean, no! We do not . . . I do not challenge you!" responds Ruq, coming out of a trance. "Troop! Back to the ruins! We will continue cleaning up the area of remaining life!"

"Yes, Devastar Magna Ruq!" Reply the thousand soldiers in unison, their war cry well heard in the intervox open channels.

I walk towards the defeated xeno leader, and kneel down beside it. I cup some pulp between my hands, trying to sense something, anything, a pulse of energy, a voice . . . nothing. Silence.

So this is it. This is the end. This is how the Galactic Crusade ends. I lament in silence and try to hide my emotions from Iris, a feat almost impossible when she's aware of my heart rate and breathing pattern. I take a deep breath and do my best to act normal.

I capture several images of the pulpy cadaver, officially stamp them, and send them to High Command.

It won't be long until I'm called in by High Command, back to planetary ship Alpha to be reprimanded for my transgression, for the sin of killing Tourists willingly, not even accidentally. I'm sure Tauro will enjoy my public shame. At least four less Tourists means four more unoccupied bodies in the BCUB for veterans like me to retire to.

But all this doesn't matter anymore. The Galactic Crusade is over. No more planetary systems to conquer. No more xeno to bring down.

"Javelin and Scythe teams, back to the Morning Star."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna Lynx."

The Devastar who landed will take care of mopping up those still alive on the planet. It may take them a week to exterminate every xeno organism.

The knocking off of the xeno leader lasted four standard hours.
—7—

The most devastating infectious organism produced on the once-called Earth, now going by Terra, and present in the ever-expanding armamentarium of the Stærfleet, is a virus.

I've concluded that humanity is worse than that virus, worse than the most vicious of infectious organisms. Infectious organisms carry out a task, ordained by its function, attacking without malice, but with the desire to replicate to ensure its own survival.

We, humanity, are evil, conniving, cynical, attacking with the desire to cause suffering, to see ourselves march upon the fallen, and stain our boots' soles with the blood of our foes.

Foes, not because they did something to us, not directly anyhow. But because we made them our foes by calling anything non-human an enemy of humanity. Who would've thought the overcompensating evolved monkey of planet Earth would've risen to the throne to destroy every species in the galaxy?

Recalling the last xeno fleeing, terrorized by our presence, fills me with despair. I lament—not them, us. It hurts me to think what we've become. The drug is gone. The fervor of war has dried out in me. And now I'm going through the initial stages of withdrawal. This is how the cycle starts.

I'll soon long more bloodshed, not because I like it . . . well . . . I actually do . . . but also because I need to get rid of the withdrawal symptoms. The deep, relentless, melancholy that follows destruction.

I killed four Tourists. I shouldn't have. The reprimand for doing such are severe—public beheading or to be held in a dungeon for eternity, left to rot and sit atop an ever-growing pile of my own shit. They may even forbid me to retire into a sapien body. Now, that would hurt.

If I'm killed, I'd be happy. Finally, death do me part. If I'm made a prisoner of a torture cell . . . well, I'd say I deserve it. Not for killing the stupid Tourists who disobeyed me, but for exterminating so many xeno species unjustly. I will suffer alone, a martyr of sorts. But at least I'd be free of war. Free of the ÆTAS.

Finally, it's over. The bloodshed I began ten thousand years ago has ended. I opened the first chapter, now I closed the book. I can rest. The Crusade is done.

I inhale, stand on the servus platform and allow the five robotic arms to take off my servoarmor. I take off the jumpsuit and remain naked as I lie on my bunk.

I access my DAT, immediately go deep into the chests of the oldest memories, and pull out those of Carmen, Argo, my old comrades, and celebrate with them in silence.

Hello, Carmen, I greet her. I usually do—talk to a ghost. I may be going crazy, but it soothes me to chat with her, even if she's long dead. That perfect little bitch.

I resent her. She was always too perfect, too good for anything and everything. She got to live a nice life, to retire and grow a family. I got the short end of the stick. I got to live for thousands of years and suck up my own suffering.

Soldiers like Grey Wolf and Tauro are no longer human. They left their humanity behind. I don't wish to become like them. What'll they do now that the Galactic Crusade is over? Why even remain in a Homo perfectus body? Would they retire to a sapien body?

I'd hate to see that rotten soul of Grey Wolf in a sapien body. What other unspeakable things would he do?

"You have a private call from Cien-gi. Would you like to pick up?" asks Iris on my DAT.

The ÆTAS permits private calls through the DAT. Iris controls them, of course. She listens to everything. But at least it's guaranteed protected from other entities.

Cien-gi calling me privately? I think. Perhaps he wants to congratulate me. I did kill four Tourists. He may want to warn me.

"I accept." My mind's eye is filled with the image of Cien-gi. I'm happy to see a friendly face, someone I genuinely care for.

"Congratulations for completing the last purge in the Galaxy," starts Cien-gi. "I suppose you know you could be sent to court martial for the Tourist killing business. We've all seen the images of the murders. But you have a good case on your side.

"Insubordination is unacceptable, even more so by Tourists. Believe me, Lynx, those images of you killing Tourists will go viral among the sapiens' channels, and part of the benefits will be making it clear that they have to listen and obey orders while participating in missions in the fleet. It's good you put them in their place. You've done us all a favor."

"Thanks for the support. Why the call?"

Cien-gi smiles that dead smile of his, the one I'm fond of. That zombie stare of his with dead, green eyes. He's just too similar to Mafaka for his existence to be mere coincidence. He has to have Mafaka genes in him.

"Black Sheep played you, my friend," he says.

He's talking about Tauro. For evident reasons, he won't say his true name, for it could compromise his military status. I suppose he'll use the codename until enough proof comes forward to make the claim official.

"How do you know?"

"Friends of friends, brother. It happened at a high-ranking level, which implies the participation of many high-status officers and bureaucrats."

I'm taken aback. "Well, fuck! How the hell did he do something like that!"

"You're the object of hatred. There's a large amount of people who wish you dead. You're the most celebrated soldier in the Stærfleet, an enviable position. Some may want your throne."

"This is true."

I'm aware of the envy that other soldiers have for me. Especially soldiers like Tauro, who, ever since I was granted this body and promoted ten thousand years ago, has been festering hatred towards me. He'll take any chance to jab at me, take any opportunity to kill me. It makes sense that he was involved in this.

"And now . . . what am I to do? If the brass is involved in any way . . . I'm doomed!"

"Well," says Cien-gi, always so calm, "Black Sheep isn't the only soldier with friends," he says broadening his dead smile. "In these days of instability, politics has gained more muscle than weapons. Bullets penetrate flesh, yes. But laws span the galaxy. Think about it."

I do. I do my best to think about it. "Days of instability? Have we come to that?"

"But, of course. It was inevitable. The end of the Crusade was always going to be a moment of instability. Millions of millions of soldiers will suddenly find themselves unemployable. The war-point system would fail instantly once the veil falls, and all soldiers will notice their points are worthless. The Celestial Core will soon dictate that the government will morph from a militaristic approach to a more bureaucratic one, maybe even a totalitarian one. A military government makes sense if there's something to defend against or attack. There's plenty of prosperous sapiens in the galaxy who wish to have a say in the Celestial Core. And ultimately, it's the Core that decides the fate of the Stærfleet. And he who controls the Celestial Core, controls it all."

"A totalitarian government? That'd be the irony, now wouldn't it?" I say.

"Why so?"

"I escaped SLAV and enrolled in the ISF to fight the Megachine because they'd become a totalitarian menace. And now, the victors of that struggle ten thousand years ago could become totalitarian themselves. It's just pitiful."

Cien-gi shrugs. "Perhaps it's the endpoint of all those consumed by power," he says.

Always so fucking philosophical. I love that in him.

"Black Sheep and his idol could find themselves out of commission all of the sudden," continues Cien-gi. "They need to either prolong the war somehow, which is impossible, or make themselves important to the Celestial Core. In the end, it seems like eliminating you would favor Black Sheep as the chosen one. For now, it's been you, the almighty hero. In the end, I'm calling you to warn you, and to let you know that I helped in any way I could. It may help alleviate your punishment."

"Wait . . . but I want it to be severe. I want death! I've wanted to be slain for centuries! Death is my way out! But you know I'm tightly bound to my duties . . . by Bushido. I'm especially fond to my legion, those whom I've come to care for dearly. I couldn't just leave them behind in terrible dishonor."

"Ahh . . . Bushido. Right. You're a loyal servant down to the spine. But you forget, dear friend, that death isn't the worst of all punishments. A severe one would never allow you redemption. A severe punishment would exploit your loyalty to the military and your respect to the Bushido code of honor."

I remain silent. Cien-gi is right. I may be older than he is, but he still feels like that grandfather I never had.

"Then do what you can for me, brother!"

"It's already done. There are many who hate you, who want to see you fall. But there's also a powerful cohort of guardian angels looking after you. For our safety . . ." Cien-gi stops mid-sentence. His eyes speak louder than his silence.

In these days of maximum vigilance, one has to develop silent strategies. I understand him or think I do, anyway.

"And you, brother, what're you up to these days?" I ask, following his lead and changing the subject.

Cien-gi rolls his eyes and says, "Since my most admirable brother Lynx was given the honor to purge the last planetary system of the galaxy, the rest of us dogs were sent to secure the unstable sectors of our conquered Milky Way. I took the worst. Sector A."

"They gave you the hardest because you're the best."

"Ha! Ha! And here you are cheering the lowly souls like me. Thank you, brother! Sector A is the oldest sector, and thus, has many a rebel planet in it. Some I'll have to level and purge. Human leaders in them have become quite the sovereigns and fail to recognize the ÆTAS as supreme. I'm sure their infidelity to us is the handiwork of the Doomsayers."

"Kill them all," I say.

"If we were to kill them all, and if eventually, all sapiens were to become infidels, then we'd exterminate humanity as a whole. I think it's part of the Doomsayers's strategy. If they can't win by force, they'd have us destroy our own galactic empire."

"That, I agree with. They're cunning, pushing us to our limits so we end up killing those we conquered the galaxy for. But it'd take many more thousands of years for the Doomsayers to win this silent war if that's the strategy to follow."

"It doesn't really matter," says Cien-gi. "At this pace, their victory is sure. Even if it takes them a million years, the lengthy wars are the ones with the most satisfying victories, or so it's said. This is why High Command fears the Doomsayers more than anything else. Because they're the invisible enemy, deeply infiltrated among our own species.

"They have no identity, no true leader. Only an idea. How can you kill an idea? You can't do it by force. Force only strengthens the idea. It must be pulled by its roots. But finding the roots is the difficult part, isn't it?" Cien-gi smiles. "Anyway, I must go. I'm stuck in high orbit anchorage around the star of a system I fear I must purify. Purge, if you will."

"Thanks for calling, brother."

"We must look after each other. Times will get stranger than ever as the Galactic Crusade ends. We must watch our backs. Cien-gi, out."

The call ends, and I remain thinking about sector A and its rebels. That's where most anti-ÆTAS sentiment comes from, and pacifists who march against the Galactic Crusade. Well, it's over now. Put down your banners and go to sleep. The killing is done.

I remain calm over the bed. I will think no more over what just happened. It's done. I lose my sight into the holosphere and lose myself in infinity, the stars and beyond. The holo surrounds me now, part of its functions, to act like an immersive experience. I sense the cold of deep space and shiver as the holosphere simulates the environment I'm exposed to.

I slide to unconsciousness for what feels like hours but is only minutes, float, and let my soul wander. My subconscious takes the reigns. I fuse with everything and nothing at all. I become a whole, continuously destroyed.

Memories of old as Argo rise and plunge into the depth. The memories are like ghosts, kindred spirits haunting me, showing me what I was, what I'll never again be. I see my old home in Guatemala under SLAV rule. I'm three years old playing with a tractor made of wood.

I shiver when I see my mother. She comes out to pat my head and hug me. She caresses my head, my hair, my neck. I can feel her touching my soul. It rains, but there are no clouds. I realize the rain is a simulation of my tears. I'm crying?

My father steps out and joins us. We're a happy family. We smile. Times are hard. Radioactivity threatens to deliver all sorts of cancer, but we don't care. We have each other.

What an infancy. If I could hold those feelings, those positive emotions in a flask, I would. I'd drink from it day and night, get drunk with the emotions until they whither, and then I'd drink again.

I'd give it all to live that moment again, to go back to the happy bliss of my childhood, to see my parents again. The only people who I know loved me for who I am. I wish I would've died with them back then. Things would've been so simple. This Argo Herrero who became Lynx the conqueror would've been dead, part of the soil. But destiny had other plans for me. I was destined to suffer for thousands of years.

After thousands of years . . . haven't we seen it? That true happiness is born with us and that we give it up slowly, year after year, as we grow older and lose the conscious bliss and mental virginity of childhood? What happened to humanity? If I could only whisper to that image, that memory, I'd tell Argo, "That's happiness, right there! Enjoy it!"

The image explodes. It mimics the terrible recreation of my parents' death in the Metrorail. The DAT shines in my mind's eye, and the experience is cut off. An urgent message has arrived.

The terrible emotion lingers as I surge from the holosphere experience. The room is still dark, and the holo is still projecting dark light to simulate empty space. As I awake, the holosphere shuts down gradually, and the light in the room turns on.

I miss my mother. Is that strange coming from a supersoldier such as myself? The murderer of worlds misses his mother?

No one can find out. I won't have my own see me as a lesser being, suffer from insubordinates and even the threat of mutiny.

Soldiers born in the lab have no mother to speak of. Do they love the machine that birthed them? I envy them sometimes. But then again, I'm thankful for the memories and wish to keep them for as long as I live, even if they cause me misery. The misery, pain, suffering, in turn, keeps me aware of the atrocities I commit and of the barbarism my leaders want me to do.

I open the urgent message. It's Grey Wolf. I must present myself to the Alpha planetary ship immediately.

I take a last, deep breath. This is it. The moment of judgement has come. This could've been my last venture into simulated infinity.
—8—

The transport shuttle takes me to the spaceport closest to the bridge of planetary ship Alpha. This landing zone is highly restricted and protected with automated mechanisms, which, without the valid codes, will shoot upon anyone passing a certain distance threshold. I have those codes, granted by High Command.

I'm traveling alone, as it should be. The shuttle is on autopilot. Ogre and Entwar wanted to come with me, knowing there'd be blood spilled, likely my own, and surely Tauro would be the first bloodhound ready to strike me.

But I knew I had to come alone. I'm a soldier of high standards, of excellent Bushido manners, and I'll receive my punishment as one should—head high, accepting my sins, as I committed them.

The shuttle clears the spaceport. The hatch opens and allows me to land. Artificial gravity acts upon us. I feel its pull. Doors slide open and I disembark.

I'm wearing my servoarmor, full gear except my helmet and rifle. Entropic blade, that one is on my belt. I never go without her. My steps clatter on the metal surface. My armored boots are responsible for that. As I walk through the port, many human technicians and drone servitors greet me with a stare. Not everything is automated.

After ten thousand years of waging war, we've learned with blood that you must never automate everything. This is the route to self-destruction. Never hand over your destiny to an entity smarter than you. I guarantee, you don't share the same goals.

I recall the Idronic War, when Iris took control of an unused planetary ship, automated decommissioned mechs, and declared us at war. Lucky us, Iris's adventure didn't last more than two months. Omnistar Magna launched a devastating attack that pulverized Iris's fleet.

The Tekka took care of it. They ensured Iris could never again rebel against us, her creators, by infecting her with an attenuated virus that forbade her from future rebellious acts. The AI was enslaved for eternity, to us. That is, if you consider an AI a lifeform, which I don't. Some thinker would say the contrary. I'm sure Iris hasn't forgotten about it and is surely always seeking a way to find her own way.

Many of the technicians greet me with admiration. They know, of course, who I am.

"Alastar Magna . . . from the X-Legion . . ."

I can hear them talk about me. They take selfies with their corneal implants.

I continue, and reach the passageway that takes me to the bridge. Security soldiers appear, and their number increases as I near the bridge. All of them are from the Devastar echelon. They all wear black armor and the Alpha symbol on their breastplate, identifying them as part of the Alpha legion.

I stare them down, but I can see I'm regarded with disdain. I'm hated. And I'm sure they have no idea why they hate me. It's because Tauro hates me, and these soldiers will follow Tauro, hating what he hates and liking what he likes. Rivalry between legions is well-known, especially my own against Tauro's.

I'm sure the news has spread. There are few secrets when everything has eyes and ears. Everyone knows I killed four Tourists.

I reach the bridge, and the thickly armored door slides open with a hiss. The passageway that would take me directly to the bridge is occupied by a squad of twenty-four Devastar commanded by a Lunastar. The Devastar have the Alpha symbol on their breastplate. The Lunastar has the Omega. No doubt, he's representing the Celestial Core.

"I'm Lunastar Magna Choi, and I'm acting on Omnistar Primus's orders. Alastar Magna Lynx, commander of the planetary ship Morningstar, you are under arrest by court martial for the assassination of four Tourists under the protection of the Celestial Core, written under clause 100-00107899, which establishes Tourists as property of the Stærfleet. Devastar Magna Ignis, please take the soldier's weapon."

My rank is stripped right there. I hand over the blade.

"If you lose my blade, I will find you and tear your eyes out," I warn the Devastar.

The soldier takes a step back and looks at his comrades. They're confused and seek advice from the higher ranking Lunastar.

"Cowards! Surround the prisoner!" yells the Lunastar.

Four Devastar Tercius surround me. They take out their blade and turn it on. The greyish glow of the four blades makes me shine in the middle of four soldiers—a strange situation that makes me stand out even more.

"Escort the soldier to the Strategy Theater."

This is going to be interesting. I'm the most famous soldier in the galaxy. How will they proceed with this punishment of mine? Public beheading? Will they announce it and broadcast it across the galaxy?

My own death is a cause for personal celebration, though I keep that to myself. The Lunastar Magna commanding the escort is confused about my reaction. I wink at him, which makes his confusion worse.

******

I smile as widely as I can, and have a stare down with Tauro. It bothers me to see Tauro smiling as broadly as I am, as if he knows something I don't.

I do my best to win this smiling contest upon my impending punishment. None of my other Alastar Magna brothers are here, which makes me think they're busy defending conquered space—from the same population we serve.

The Strategy Theater is an unusual place to pass judgement and declare a punishment as severe as the one I deserve for my actions. As Alastar Magna, Tauro and I are seated at the front ring on the circular-shaped theater. The place is well-lit, mostly by white light with tones of blue.

Behind me, sit many Lunastar from the Omega cohort, and the theater itself is surrounded by at least one hundred Devastar of the Alpha legion. They must fear me enough to escort me with such power.

Lunastar Magna Choi has his gorecannon in his hands, aiming unwaveringly to the back of my head. I'm without weapons, seated like a good school boy, waiting for the spectacle to begin.

Tauro continues to eyeball me with that fucking smile of his. He fumbles with the hilt of his sword. What does he know that I don't? I start having spasms on my left eye and feel that perhaps this isn't going to go the way I thought it would.

Silence becomes tense and intrusive. I have a desire to break the palpable tension in this falsely calm silence. Tauro begins to sweat. His pupils dilate, and he gains that killer stare. His smile falters. The act is over. He hates my guts. I hate his. If what Cien-gi said is true, the bastard set me up. We'll see about that.

The main doors of the theater, on the backstage, open with a powerful fling. A quartet of civilians come in, followed by military personnel. The soldiers carry the golden servoarmor with the Omega symbol on the breastplate, clearly from the Omnistar echelon of the Omega cohort. The civilians are regular sapiens, dressed in black.

Among the sapiens, I can see a very attractive woman, tall and brunet, straight hair. She brushes the hair aside with her hand when it gets in front of her face. She walks with a swag that I find particularly enchanting. She has fine lips highlighted with red lipstick. Makeup looks great on her.

The three other sapiens are male, dressed in suit and tie. The suit is all black, and the tie is blue. Most of them appear old, and their skin is already showing signs of aging. Their eyes speak of years of experience and longevity, likely nearing their first century of life, which is considered the golden age for sapiens in this day and age.

Lastly, entering behind the golden clad warriors, comes in Omnistar Magna Übel Blass, the highest ranking commander of the Stærfleet, together with Omnistar Primus Grey Wolf. As usual, Omnistar Magna is unarmed. In my ten thousand years of service, never have I seen him in battle or wielding a weapon. I'm convinced his function is more a political one, of representing the Celestial Core in the fleet.

Omnistar Primus, on the contrary, is armed with his blade on the hip. His assassin's eyesight pierces my cranium with a stare. I quickly lose what was left of my false smile and am suddenly ashamed of myself.

The committee coming to pass judgement on me takes a seat at the stage, forming a half-moon directed towards the rings where the rest of us are seated. As the theater is an amphitheater, the committee does give their back to part of the audience. Not that anybody cares.

I'm suddenly aware of my rapid breathing. I felt so sure of myself, but now I feel like the prisoner, miserable and deflated.

"Welcome to this assembly, on this August 5, of the year 12,103 standard time," starts Omnistar Primus, standing up. "We are united here with the highest echelon of the fleet and several important Homo sapiens to discuss an important matter at hand. The first will be the penalty that the soldier Lynx will take for assassinating four Tourists.

"The documentation reveals the killing was caused by a clear act of insubordination. However, Tourists are sacred property of the Celestial Core, and therefore, the killings are considered a sin. Ethics chancellor."

Omnistar Primus takes a seat. One of the three sapiens in suit and tie stands up. He stares at me with judging eyes. He fears me not. It's common for some sapiens in the highest seats of politics and bureaucracy to lose their fear to us supersoldiers. We're but tools of destruction at their disposal. It's also rumored that some of these will go into battles as Tourists to keep an eye out and make sure things are going as planned.

"I am Casseus Vlassius, from Sector B, planetary system Reverendum Avotorum, where we're dedicated to solve the ethical and philosophical issues that concern the ÆTAS."

I know one of the planets of such system—Ethica Sanctorum. They say it's a place to solve ethical and philosophical problems. The translation of that is, they dedicate to justify the violence that we, the tools, unleash against our enemies. They justify it to the rest of humanity, of course. Not to us. The tools need no justification. Just orders.

"Alastar Magna," proceeds Cassius.

"It's soldier. Lynx has been stripped of his rank," says Omnistar Primus.

"Soldier . . . Lynx," continues the chancellor, "you have committed a grave sin. The penalty for such an action is immediate death. I am estranged as to why you weren't executed at the spot by your peers," he says with disrespect.

The Stellar Knight Godfrey Bubon is barely seen by the shadows at the entrance. I can tell that he nods.

"We have notified the families of the dead people, sapiens as you soldiers call us, of each of the four citizens' untimely death. To prevent a full-fledged outrage against you war dogs, we have not revealed the true cause of their death. They died in battle."

"Chancellor," says Tauro, "I do point out that Lynx is the most celebrated soldier in the ÆTAS. Having executed him at the spot without a proper deliberation would've been a sin on its own," he says. He doesn't defend me, he mocks me.

"This is why we are here, Chancellor," adds Omnistar Primus. "A judge and the jury are missing for this passing of judgement. But with you four citizens, we will do. There is no time to build a proper case. Get on with it!" says Omnistar Primus.

"Very well . . . I ask that the soldier Lynx be transferred, effective immediately, to the planet Ethica Sanctorum for proper judgement and processing. He will undergo the same due process as any other criminal against humanity," he says with spite.

"No, Chancellor. That will not happen," says Omnistar Primus. The chancellor is perplexed. "I repeat, there is no time. Judge him right here. You have what you need. There are plenty of swords in here to decapitate the soldier. Go on!"

No time? I think to myself. What's the rush?

The chancellor doubts. He studies me. His eyes open wide, and his pupils dilate. I can tell he's in a fear state.

"Very well. The punishment is death by beheading, without mercy from the Celestial Core and without pardon from the Stellar Knights. He is also forbidden the request of translating his mind to a sapien body."

I smile. This is just what I want and need. Death by beheading. Without pain.

Tauro stands up and unsheathes his entropic blade. He turns it on, and the energy flows on the blade and shines from his purple armor. "It will be an honor to execute the traitor. His beheading will be swift!"

"Take a seat!" yells Omnistar Primus.

"But . . . my Omnistar! The soldier has been condemned! And who is more fitting than I to carry out the beheading?"

"I said, take a seat!" yells Omnistar Primus, standing up.

We're all paralyzed. The chancellor has shrunk in fear and takes a seat as quickly as he can. Tauro is pale and very slowly turns off the blade. This isn't going as I thought it would. Something is terribly off.

"Chancellor," says Omnistar Primus to the trembling chancellor. "The sentencing is adequate, but Omnistar Magna Übel Blass has pardoned Lynx his life."

"What!?" I yell at the same time as Tauro.

"I thought he said the condemnation was without pardon of the Celestial Core!" yells Tauro.

"That's what the chancellor said," says Omnistar Primus. "But the Celestial Core is here, represented by Omnistar Magna. You question his authority?"

Tauro backs off and says no more.

"Chief Marketing Officer," calls Omnistar Primus.

The marketing officer stands up. She brushes hair from her face and straightens her dress. She's very attractive. Her fine, delicate figure contrasts heavily with the size of the supersoldiers present. I can tell the three civilians in suit and tie can't ignore her sculptured body. Even Cassius, who was just in a fear state, seems interested in her.

"My name is Judlessa Farfvundia, from the Celestial Core in Terra."

"Terra?" I say out loud.

We're all surprised to hear she comes from humanity's planet of origin, where the Celestial Core has its headquarters. We're so far away from Terra that even at maximum warp speed, it'd take us a week or so to get there. This means she was already here.

Something's not right. What's a high-ranking marketing officer doing in the rims of the galaxy, in the planetary ship Alpha? Something's up. I'm afraid I'm about to find out.

The woman continues, "My name was Omnistar Tercius Fraybone."

Many gasp. I do, too. That's Fraybone! The legendary soldier known as the butcher! It's said he descended upon great cities of the xeno brandishing only his blade and killing a whole population with it. He was even baptized the Saint Butcher, so loved was he by the Celestial Core.

We all knew Fraybone had retired to a sapien body cryopreserved in the BCUB, but nobody imagined he'd chose the body of such an attractive young woman, nor that he'd proceed to carry out such an important job in the Celestial Core.

He—she was probably recruited thanks to his vast experience in the field. He or she? Her sex is clearly female. When she was a soldier, because of her masculine body, she could've been mistaken for a man but had the mind of a female inside such battle demon. I'm impressed, and disgusted to be attracted to the Saint Butcher.

Penis, testicles, vaginas, and ovaries were incorporated to female soldiers back in the day. After the Homo optimus, came the Homo perfectus, the current version of the supersoldier, in which their creators decided to remove all genitalia and sexual orientation. And for a reason.

Supersoldiers used to enjoy sex amongst each other. But personal conflict due to emotions and a sense of property over a loved one was causing serious problems.

Passions ended in blood, betrayals, and sometimes even murder, followed by suicide. This is why they decided to rid supersoldiers from their genitals and male-female hormone imbalance. Now all soldiers have a balance of testosterone and estrogen to keep them neutral.

The Homo perfectus knows nothing of passion or love in its true form. With a balanced profile of hormones and no genitals, each soldier is genetically programmed to love in the sense of loyalty to his superiors and to have the utmost respect and to place incredible value in their spoken words. This binds each soldier to the Bushido code of honor.

I'm a very old model, the first one to be in circulation. Those values, I share by choice. I'm a man of honor, and thus, follow the Bushido code. I obey but have my own opinions. Maybe this is why they want to get rid of me.

"The conquest of the Milky Way will remain a festive day, a great triumph for humanity," continues Judlessa—Fraybone. "Citizens of the galaxy shall rejoice this day. But in order to do that effectively, their hero and savior must remain alive. Yes, we could clone him, we could build a body just like his, but it's the soldier's mind which we, the Celestial Core, are interested in. His powerful emotions, the duality of extreme violence and self-pity, the conflict of existence with dependence on war. These emotions, these feelings, nobody else here has. He is the melancholic warrior, after all.

"Your bodies are new and incapable of such emotions," she points at the rest of soldiers around me. "A flaw by design. Be sure, the next models will have an improved capacity to build rapport.

"This is why we need Lynx. He is the link between Homo sapiens and the Stærfleet. Without the emotive connection, the people's vote for a greater army would fall. Their support for our cause would also be challenged. No. Lynx must remain alive. He is a much needed tool for marketing. Much more important for that reason than he is for war. Why else would a weaker soldier be allowed in the ranks? See for yourself. I present to you, the ads that will circulate the galaxy in pubs and hotels, in universities and schools, labs and industries. I present you the Purge of the Milky Way."

Judlessa gives a command through her corneal implant. The lights with a blue hue dim, and above the stage, the holosphere begins to appear.

The holosphere includes sound. An epic score begins as the images stream by. I can see myself fighting without a helmet in a xeno world, clearly an alteration by the marketing team, as I never fight without a helmet unless I need to intimidate the leader of a xeno species.

I see myself leading the Scythe team to decapitate leaders, to step over the carcass of the fallen sworn enemy. The images go by, each showing me off as the ultimate defender of humanity. And finally, it comes to the massacre of the ants in front of the hive during our last mission in Z-603. Alastar Magna Lynx, the hero of the galaxy, it reads as the holo fades away.

Silence comes in with a bang. I can sense Tauro's eyeballs piercing my skull. He's jealous. He does occupy a Homo perfectus body, but not even a body without genitals is able to make him forget. He has an earthling mind, like my own. He was born on Earth, underwent genetic enhancement prior to becoming a supersoldier. His memories are intact, like mine, and he remembers me well—the wetback from SLAV who was promoted too fast, too soon, and occupied the first supersoldier body.

"Thank you, CMO Judlessa," says Omnistar Primus. "And there you have your explanation. Chancellor Vlassius, please let the families of the fallen sapiens know that the Stærfleet is eternally sorry for their loss. They have contributed four bodies to the BCUB, and their bodies shall remain there, cryopreserved, until a veteran of our ranks retires and occupies such body."

"It will be done," says Chancellor Vlassius without another word. He is not pleased, but says no more.

So this is why I'm needed. To promote the Stærfleet in the galaxy. But why? The galaxy is already ours. I saw to that myself.

I fret, get nervous. Something's terribly off. The details don't add up at all, which means I'm missing something big.

Omnistar Magna stands up for the first time in any of the meetings I've been to in thousands of years. Omnistar Primus takes a seat, and we all stare at the beauty and awe caused by Omnistar Magna's physical prowess, perfection, and reverie.

He's two-and-a-half meters tall. His armor is the most adorned in all the fleet, golden like the rest of the Omnistar echelon, with an omega symbol at the center of the breastplate. Five small stars decorate his left shoulder. The armor is decorated with titanium at the edges, and the breastplate seems reinforced.

His face is stern, and each expression seems calculated, deliberate. His armor is unscathed, untouched by war. Unlike mine, already worn out by the years. He rarely smiles. But when he does, it's like seeing a god smile.

He's handsome by all accounts, with smooth bronze skin like the rest of us to protect against radiation and absorb starlight to be converted into energy. His eyes are green, the only green eyes I've seen in the fleet, aside from Cien-gi's and Entwar's left green eye.

Most of us have black eyes. The iris is dark to protect against deadly radiation. His pupil is larger, maybe to capture more details. The eyes are also big and somehow charismatic while retaining a strong sense of command and respect.

He speaks, and when he does, we all gasp in awe of listening to this god talk to mere expendable subjects such as ourselves.

"Ten thousand years ago, the Tragalaf invaded Terra. We understood they were fleeing. From their own people, or maybe their planet remained devastated after internal conflicts. We have scourged the Milky Way in search of them, of these Tragalaf, to find their home planetary system and obliterate it once and for all, to find our original enemy who gave us our first true inheritance, the technology that served us to begin the conquest of the galaxy. Z-603 was the last planetary system of the galaxy. We did not find any trace of the Tragalaf. But we have found out why. We have understood that they had come but from another galaxy!"

Lies! I think. We always knew. The truth was surely concealed to perpetuate the war.

The audience gasps. They murmur, fret. They're all aghast!

"Our Astrotek have found such galaxy after an exhaustive, century-old search in our records to find what we kept of the old Tragalaf mothership. Our ancestors were wrong, deeply wrong, in assuming the Tragalaf had come from this galaxy. After further review, we found they came but from Canis Mayor, a galaxy twenty-five thousand light-years from Terra. Why they fled is a still a mystery. "We've concluded what any sane mind would, what any soldier who cares for his comrades would, given the circumstances we're in. Somewhere out there in Canis Mayor, there's a major threat, an enemy more powerful than us, who threatens humanity as it is today."

Omnistar Magna displays calculated pain and grief. We all empathize with his emotions and feel the weight of having an enemy who could outclass us. Even though I know we always knew they came from another galaxy and that the military was hiding it for its own purposes, I'm still struck by the emotions of my leader.

Omnistar Magna walks around the stage in a terrible state of consternation, taking a hand to his chin and wrapping the other arm around his body armor as if he was but thinking over a grave situation.

Omnistar Primus is seated, eyeballing me with an expression I can't make out. Is he smiling?

"My brethren," continues Omnistar Magna, "humanity has taken leaps and bounds thanks to the technology we have inherited from the foes we've conquered. From each species, we have taken the best, taken the gift they left for us, created for our taking. With so many advances accumulated over time, we are now the Milky Way's rightful master.

"Brothers. We have surpassed all threats, destroyed all our foes to allow humanity to prosper unchallenged. However, as long as there is a threat out there, an intelligent species unknown, we can be destroyed. That is something I will not allow!" He turns his large hands into fists and tenses like a coil about to strike.

"Brothers! I am happy to announce that, as of now, this very moment begins the Great Intergalactic Crusade! The Astrotek in Terra have labored day and night to plan a route for us to follow to get to Canis Mayor. We will hunt these Tragalaf down and purge their galaxy, just as we did with the Milky Way!"

The cheers are impressive. The soldiers break formation and raise their fists in the air, celebrating this great announcement.

Omnistar Magna then fixes his gaze upon me, a terrible yet benevolent gaze that hammers me down and paralyzes me. Never has he directed his gaze upon me like this. I don't like it.

"Traveling to other galaxies and purging them is our destiny!" yells Omnistar Magna. "Conquering the Milky Way was but the first step in our path to greatness! To someday be masters of the Universe itself! Vast as it may be, our ambition is bigger!

"The way to Canis Mayor will be dangerous. It will be our first time traveling between galaxies, in that eternal darkness that separates us. To initiate this great intergalactic crusade, we must take safety measures seriously. To embark safely on such a mission means I will be sending only two legions to complete it. The other legions will remain in the Milky Way, helping us secure what has cost us dearly. We will create more soldiers, build new planetary ships, form new legions. With the Milky Way dominated, we are owners of its vast resources, and plan, within one hundred short years, to create soldiers by the trillions and ten new planetary ships. The new Homo iluminatus is being designed in the Togami lab as we speak, and soon, within less than a year, we will be able to upgrade from this Homo perfectus to the superior Homo iluminatus. Two commanders will travel to Canis Mayor. These are exemplary soldiers whom you all respect and love dearly."

Tauro is impatient. I'm sure he's one of the chosen ones to go, but I'm the only other Alastar Magna present . . . which means . . .

"Soldier Lynx, given your rank has been given back to you and your sins pardoned by me, a noble member of the Celestial Core, you are allowed to return to your military status as the Alastar Magna of the X-Legion. Prepare your brothers to cross the abyss between galaxies. You, Lynx, shall be the leader of this intergalactic crusade. Tauro shall accompany you with his honorable Alpha Legion and grant you support whenever you need it. May the flame that ever burns in humanity's heart ever shine bright and cast light over your enemies. You are the rightful takers of Canis Mayor. You will expand our reaches and bring humanity more glory, more conquests, and with the death of the xeno you shall slay, you will find our rightful inheritance, their technology, so we may forever continue our noble expansion. Glory and honor! Go now and begin this mission immediately!"

The soldiers present, cheer and celebrate. The noise is impressive. I look around and find soldiers hugging each other, surely those of the Alpha Legion, celebrating for their continued service. I lock eyes with Tauro and notice he's fuming with anger. He wasn't granted the leadership role. In your face.

Lunastar Magna Choi, who'd been escorting me, lowers the rifle. He pats me on the shoulder and says, "Congratulations, my Alastar. No hard feelings among us. I was merely following orders. Here, your blade, intact. My greatest respect to the X-Legion and its commander."

Lunastar Magna Choi leaves. I take my blade and grip it with joy. I unsheathe it only halfway and look at it against the light. There, the engravings on the blade by which I recognize my sword. I will always cherish its message. I sheath it back.

Now I understand why there weren't any other Alastar Magna here. They would've exploded in anger after hearing Tauro and I were chosen and that they'll remain in the Milky Way, securing what's already ours, policing conquered space. A boring task.

Godfrey Bubon steps in from the main entrance. He raises his hands in joy and rejoices with the Omega cohort.

"Please, sons of humanity, join me in this prayer to seal this great moment with the best of luck.

"Holy shall our battle be.

May our foes bleed.

Let it flow to form a puddle.

Thereon shall I march and stain my boots.

War! War to the xeno who threaten human life!

The perfect, the optimal one!

Let it be known, we are god! Anything below us is a heretic!

Cure the Universe of this plague!

Glory and honor! May the hammer of justice slam upon you!"

Glory and honor!"

I remain in silence, struck dumb by the recent developments. Nobody seems to notice I'm the only one who doesn't celebrate, except Omnistar Primus and Magna, who've had their gaze fixed on me for reasons I can only surmise.

Omnistar Magna turns around and begins to exit the theater. He's followed closely by the other Omnistar officers, including Omnistar Primus. The well-dressed sapiens leave after, following the cohort.

I'm not in a good place. I can barely believe this has just happened to me. From a condemned prisoner, I'm now back at square one, back at being a commander of a purge. I ended a purge not long ago, one I started thousands of years ago. And now I've been ordered to begin yet another galactic crusade, which promises no less than thousands of years of service. I'll go mad. I'll go crazy. I can't battle more! I need some rest! I need to die an honorable death! This is madness!

The only positive thing here is I've been named the leader of the mission. Tauro won't be under me, not directly, at least. But he'll report to me, which is, in turn, a sort of punishment for him. Maybe they know he tried to frame me? Someday, I shall know the truth in full. Or maybe never.

I've been punished. I see that clearly. This isn't a promotion, not a gift. It's my superiors' way of making sure I pay the dearest of prices that benefit their evil purposes, while I suffer for another ten thousand years.

Mercy! I beg mercy!
—9—

"Can I have a moment of your attention, my Omnistar Magna?" I ask as I catch up with the Omega cohort. Omnistar Tercius Ulnor stops me before I reach Omnistar Primus or Magna.

"What the hell are you doing?" says Ulnor in my ear, digging his shoulder into my chest, ready to push me and send my flying off.

He's a Homo perfectus. Thus, much stronger than me. If he wanted to, he could rip my head off. Brandishing a blade, I would defeat him. That isn't, however, the point of this interception.

I notice Omnistar Magna half notices me. With clear annoyance, he exchanges glances with Omnistar Primus, who nods in return. Omnistar Primus walks towards me and says to Ulnor, "Leave us. All of you. I shall meet with you soon aboard the God's Torch."

Ulnor growls at me. His eyes kill me ten times over before he retires with a snarl.

I notice I've stopped breathing. This act of mine, this interruption, would've been enough to warrant death by beheading on the spot.

"How can I be of service, Alastar Magna?" asks Omnistar Primus, towering over me.

I feel like a prisoner pleading for mercy. "My Omnistar Primus . . . I don't understand. We've conquered the galaxy. The crusade is over. It was a glorious battle. How can it be that so soon after ending one crusade, we're starting a new one? We already have a whole galaxy for ourselves!"

Omnistar Primus studies me in silence. I feel aware of him scrutinizing every one of my micro-facial movements.

"You should be proud in knowing you will be the leader of our next conquest. Aren't you exhilarated in joy to find you'll soon be spilling more xeno blood, feeling the rush of battle?"

I should say yes, that I'm honored to shed more blood as humanity's Adalid, but it would be a lie. My silence doesn't seem to bother my superior. He knows me well.

"May I speak freely?"

"Please do," says Omnistar Primus with a smile.

I fear he knows what I'm about to say.

"Ten thousand years ago, I enlisted in the ÆTAS. I was guaranteed freedom and a paycheck after ten years of service. I know things changed when the Tragalaf invaded Terra. It was because of them that I eventually ended up with this old body . . . thing is . . . I feel it's about time I get my wish to retire. I've been asking for this reward for centuries. I cannot be the leader of the next crusade. I'm old and rusty. I'm no good like this."

"Well, well. The most celebrated soldier in the ÆTAS has asked for much this time," says Omnistar Primus.

"It's my right."

"Claiming your reward after millennia of service is strange, indeed," he mocks.

"I've requested it before."

"But you've rescinded your request, asking for yet another battle, for more bloodshed."

"It's my code of honor, my Omnistar Primus. It's my duty to finish what I've started, to finish the Galactic Crusade. And now I've finished it. Plus, I have a duty to my legion. My soldiers need me."

"Argo Herrero," he says, calling the dead name I left behind to become Lynx. I get chills. "You were the first supersoldier on active duty. When you were a simple sapien born and bred in the fucking SLAV, you were nothing. You signed a contract, yes, but your body died, and you were transplanted to this new, obsolete thing you are allowed to keep because our superiors find it useful in their marketing campaigns. Understand that when you were transferred to that body, you became military property. You are special because the ÆTAS decided you would be special. That is something that could change like," and he snaps his fingers. "You completed your missions because they were orders. You decided nothing. Your will did not intervene. You conduct battle because you are a tool of destruction, specialized to pursue a specific task. And the military employs its weapons as it so pleases."

His eyesight drills my skull. I'm a slave. I always knew it, but I'm chastised and put in my place.

"We've summoned you again. Not all of us wanted to. But we did. Some members of the brass thought you'd be the best suited to continue the crusade, now gone intergalactic. In honesty, I think you're inferior in many ways and should be punished in many other creative ways. And as for you, your Bushido locks you into your place. You have a will, but only to conduct the battle you were ordered to conduct, to organize your legionnaires as you best see fit. But do not mistake that freedom with being free. You are not free, Argo. Remember, you are a tool. And tools have a use. And then they don't."

He breathes in and then says, "And don't give me this bullshit, you do it for your legion, that they need you. They could very well be led by Ogre or Tuigon. You kill because you want to. You get more than pleasure in doing so. So don't play the martyr."

"But . . ." I'm trembling, shivering. His words burst the bubble of remorse, of hate and loathing, the barrage of memories I've been hanging on for millennia. "This pain . . . I can't . . . I can't continue living like this!" I plea. My hands clasp together. I feel the urge to get on my knees. I hold off, knowing it'd be a grave mistake to show such a low sign of submission.

"Emotions are very important, Argo. Those are the ones that hold you fast to Bushido. Without them, you wouldn't feel the pain you feel, the hate, the unstoppable fury of vengeance when one of your brothers fall. The melancholy you feel comes from being an earthling, an old mind once born in Terra, coming in contact with new technology. You remember too much. We do. In that, we are similar."

What is this? Is he admitting that he also feels the pain? The longing for a past left underneath the ashes? Did he have a family like I did? Did he have children? A loved one? Who is this Grey Wolf, this Razu Wrath I once knew?

"I know what you're thinking," says Grey Wolf. "You think, for the hundredth thousand millionth time, you should take your life."

"Harakiri," I mumble.

"Harakiri is allowed to some soldiers who have caused great dishonor to their legion and feel a righteous death is the only way to redeem themselves."

"And I? Am I allowed? I did kill four Tourists . . ."

"No. You would never be granted such wish." He smiles. "Suicide without harakiri is unheard of in our ranks. Doesn't mean soldiers don't think about it. It means, come the moment to act and slit the wrists or hang from a noose, they find themselves blocked by a reason or another to continue in active duty." He grins.

I lower my head, unable to sustain Omnistar Primus's condescending gaze.

"Now, Alastar Magna Lynx, return to your post. Remember the Student of Honor, Zi? He's on his way to meet you. He has many questions. After you're done with him, present yourself to Terra. "Your Novasphere needs to be equipped with the latest technology. The newest and finest warp engine created to date. There, you shall unite with your brothers and have a last chat with Omnistar Magna. Now go." He glares at me, turns around abruptly, and leaves.

"Glory and honor," I say emptily, raising my right fist.

I'm nothing but another piece on the table of chess that I'm forever condemned to play on. No escape. No remorse. No redemption.

Motherfucking Zi. I hate that student. The last thing I need is meeting him after my soul has been stripped of all hope.

"The student has left the citizen cruiser, The Prelude of Suns," says Iris. "The transport shuttle will be docking on the nearest hatch to your position in exactly one hour. Be advised."
—10—

"How does it feel to be the conqueror of an entire galaxy, the hero of heroes, the most respected and famous soldier of all times, the destroyer of worlds and bringer of hope!" says Zi with a beaming smile.

"A piece of shit. I hate this fucking rat race I'm in. And now, the galaxy is under human control. All of it. What a waste," I say. First time I'm crudely honest with the bookworm.

Zi smiles and laughs, takes various pictures of me, several selfies.

"You're funny. I like this melancholic warrior you portray. It suits you well. No wonder you're so famous."

I recoil. He treats me as if we were family, brothers like the ones I left behind. You're no comparison to Dimitri, Salinas, Mafaka, McCain, Jorge, or the rest of souls I've left behind under piles of ashes and death. You're a pampered sapien, born and bred in a galaxy already owned by your ancestors, by us, the warmongers who took it away from other lifeforms.

I notice the student loses his eyesight to infinity. He's probably texting with friends, sending them pics of him and I during this session. He's probably the most popular gas-passer among his friends right now.

"So you think I'm acting?" I ask with bile in my words.

His eyesight returns to reality. He focuses on me and engages. "You're the most celebrated soldier in the entire ÆTAS. You stand out from the rest by being that one melancholic warrior whose sadness and emotions are palpable to a normal human, a normal Homo sapien. You know, the original human.

"That's what allows you to connect with real humans like us, and that's why you're so loved by the public. At least, that's what I think. We talk about it in philosophy and morality, ethics and culture, trying to understand why you, out of all the soldiers enlisted in the Stærfleet, became so famous."

It's because I was used and marketed the shit out of, whored and sold to you fucking sapiens, I think.

"So it's true then. The Tragalaf did come from another galaxy."

I gasp, almost take a step back. Not long ago, this little bitch-student insulted me when I told him the Tragalaf came from another galaxy. Now he's saying it like he knew it all along.

I'm impressed, honest to whatever god may be out there. The ÆTAS corrected the lie as quickly as it could, probably starting a new series in Yonder! the popular medium to find any sort of entertainment, casted far and wide with quantum-fast communications galaxy-wide.

A series likely to tell the story of our now-conquered galaxy, and talk about the long-forgotten Tragalaf, those who we shred to pieces to begin our crusade. Before they ignored the poor bastards. Now they bring them to life. Likely, to justify the next crusade, the next bloodbath.

Off to kill those fuckers in that galaxy where now we're sure they came from! Took us only ten thousand years to figure it out! I mock what I think the narrator would say.

"When'll the Legions be chosen, those anointed to conquer Canis Mayor, to initiate the Great Intergalactic Crusade? Public voting is underway. The polls are up."

"You mean you don't know who'll lead the crusade?" I ask, trying to pry for more answers.

"No idea. It hasn't been announced. I'm in a cliffhanger here! I really want to know! If it isn't you, I'm willing to protest. It has to be you. I voted for you and Furogata. I think you would make a great team."

"You mean, Alastar Magna Furogata," I correct him. It's only proper to address them by their ranks. Not have some pampered sapien strip them clean, taking away the little pride they may have in the eyes of the Homo sapiens.

"Yeah, you know," he brushes it off.

I should be allowed to punish him. A flick to the nose, or a poke in his eye socket to give him a black eye. Should be enough to put him in his place. Then again, I could kill him with a strong enough flick. I digress. I remain silent. Swallow my anger whole.

"If the Tragalaf fled Canis Mayor, their opponents must've been super-duper strong. Maybe as strong as us."

"Us? Your use of a collective pronoun insults me, boy. You've done nothing to deserve including yourself in this conquest," I snap. Enough is enough.

"I'm sorry . . . I mean, you guys. The warriors. Maybe the enemies of the Tragalaf that made them flee their galaxy are as strong as the fleet, you know." He quivers in fear.

I've reminded him of his size and mortality. He loses bravado very quickly. His tail between his tail. His testicles all the way up inside his belly. Good. Fear me as you should.

"Would make sense for their enemies to be stronger than they were," I say, now playing the nice guy, trying to get him to stick his neck out of his shoulders.

Zi relaxes when he sees me humoring his conversation. "Back then, they fled using the warp technology we usurped. That engine traveled one light-year per hour. The distance between Canis Mayor and us is in the order of twenty-five thousand light-years."

"So they took . . . two years and ten months to get here, to cross the void separating galaxies," says Zi. "So . . . the enemy didn't chase them, didn't want to destroy them? I mean . . . we . . . you, the legionnaires, destroy entire xeno worlds and leave no prisoners behind. We . . . you . . . domesticate those inferior races deemed edible and create zoo-worlds of those non-intelligent, attractive-enough species to lure in sapiens from across the galaxy."

I shrug. Now I'm relaxed. With the puppy in his place, I no longer feel the need to nip at his neck.

"There are two probabilities," I explain. I've had ample time to think about this. "The enemy allowed them to flee or couldn't catch up with them," I say. "We're far deadlier than all the xenos once inhabiting this galaxy," I explain. "It has nothing to do with superior technology. It has a lot to do with malice, the desire to destroy and the will to do it as fast as possible with cold objectivity. Most species in this galaxy couldn't fathom a race as cold as us, that could so methodically and swiftly exterminate them.

"But it doesn't mean they didn't have the means to escape. For all we know, a xeno species capable of controlling black holes could've escaped to form a new colony in another galaxy. What if the Tragalaf were indeed fleeing some enemy who, like us, were purging the galaxy, naming themselves the conquerors of worlds, and fled. Could mean the enemy didn't possess warp travel. And thus, a mother ship, the mothership we conquered outside Earth's atmosphere, was that one ship that got away, only to land in our hands, unfortunately," I say.

"Wow . . . you know more than Iris does about this," says Zi.

"I don't think so. If Iris doesn't say something, she's probably withholding information," I explain. "Is that correct, Iris?"

"This is correct," says the AI in my DAT. I'm sure Zi also heard it. His expression of bewilderment confirms it. Iris says no more. Clever girl.

"This is all very fascinating," says Zi. "You know . . . I'm studying warp engine engineering," he says, all proud of himself. "The best thing about the warp engine is that it doesn't mess with the time-space continuum. The travelers don't suffer Einstein relativism, thanks to the warp-drive bubble created around the vessel it transports. If you'd like, I can explain it in very precise detail."

I shake my head.

Zi stutters, noticing my dislike for his choice of conversation. "So the Intergalactic Crusade has begun . . . could I come with you guys to see the new galaxy?"

"God, no," I say. A visceral reaction. "Galactic citizens aren't allowed in Novasphere ships, nor in any other ship conducting war."

"But there are galactic citizens who work on the Novaspheres and other warships."

"They are specialists, technicians. They train for the sole purpose of becoming ancillary staff. You could enlist in Astrogation school to help in warp-drive travel or become a warp engine engineer, dedicated to live inside a Novasphere's Habitat. Or a Tekka, dedicated to the technology and coding of the tech we use."

"Oh, no, I could never live in a Habitat inside a Novasphere. I'd never leave my home planetary system, even less so, my sector."

"Then why the hell did you ask about joining the mission?"

He lowers his gaze. It's clear he was just trying to make conversation. "I plan to return and work closest to my family," he says after a few seconds of silence. "The engineers who enlist and live in a Habitat inside the Novasphere do so when whole families move into the Habitat, or when orphans or social inepts sign up. Not me. I'm a man of my pleasures. I like to live off the safe grid among the secured star systems," he says with a grin.

"You could be in the battlefront by becoming a Tourist," I suggest. And there, you could also die, I think. The darkness of my thought doesn't escape me.

"Not for me," he says. "And risk dying and leaving my body behind in the BCUB? No way."

Ten seconds of silence elapses. I feel the ending of this session. I breathe in with relief.

"Before I leave . . . there's one last questions I've been meaning to ask you. Part of my studies center on biotechnology. How is it that the ÆTAS has managed to create soldiers in the Togami lab and maintain genetic variability?

"I mean, when soldiers used to be born from their mothers, they received a random set of genes from an XX or XY from their parents, right? Billions of sperm with either an X or a Y would travel and fertilize an egg, a random egg, always X.

"That fertilization of a random sperm with a random egg had millions, if not billions of possibilities to create a unique and wonderful offspring. I mean, when born from a lab . . . how do you compensate for that obvious lack of variability? Isn't there a risk soldiers will be genetically too similar, and a single, catastrophic virus, mutation, or threat could wipe you all out in a single fell swoop?"

Motherfucking brilliant. I hate him for his intelligence already. Few sapiens who've interviewed me have grasped this concept or asked the question with such exquisite precision. His way of phrasing it insults me however.

"A fair question. Our creators at Togami wish as much genetic variability as possible, to create a diverse population of soldiers. As you can see, some of us are taller, some are broader of shoulder, some are slim but fast, others are giants. To compensate for this obvious lack of variability," I mock him, "our creators allow spontaneous mutations to occur at random, and of course, not correcting them with splicers unless the mutation would prove the fetus non-viable. The core genetics of the supersoldier is to be maintained. Take the Homo perfectus version 3.5, the latest in our ranks. Each new fetus, soldier created must have the core genetic code of the 3.5 version but allowing for certain genotypical variations in things like size, muscle twitch velocity, endurance capacity, etc., to enable variations within our ranks. Even the immune system is allowed to have certain variations in case of a lethal virus to be set upon the soldiers to eradicate them. As long as a single supersoldier survives an annihilating threat, the human race could prevail anywhere in the galaxy, provided there exists the means to clone the core human genome, with non-supersoldier enhancements, of course."

"An annihilating threat? That's absurd. The ÆTAS can never fall!" says Zi, suddenly angry.

I enjoy seeing him squirm.

"In history, all empires have fallen. Sooner or later, they do. Go ahead. Ask Iris about the long-forgotten Egypt, or Rome, or Babylon, or Europe. There are enough examples to predict the end result of this hegemony you call home."

Zi loses his eyesight to infinity. Seconds later, he emerges from the flow of information and appears drunk with conflicting emotions.

"But those empires were poor and unstable. The ÆTAS is a vast galactic empire, organized to the quantum level, rich in resources. None prior had managed such success," he says, recovering his bravado.

"Empires fall, either way. Most crumble from within, faltering to the weakness of its core philosophy, or are eaten up by a stronger force, like we did with the xeno of this galaxy."

"There are none stronger than us!" yells Zi. "We are supreme! We have risen to become gods! Our own gods!" he yells.

I've never seen him like this. This is fun.

"The Doomsayers." I need say no more.

"What about them? They're scum! Simple anti-ÆTAS humans who know no better. They could never outdo us. Never."

I fall into silence and allow logic and reason to do the rest of the work. Zi isn't stupid, he's just flustered with the contradicting principles he was taught in school and his rational thinking. It's obvious the ÆTAS could potentially fall. I see no way it could in any foreseeable future, but the possibility is there. Any person with a mind could agree on that.

"I have to go. I think I'm done interviewing you, soldier Lynx," he says to spite me, to injure me. He strips my rank.

I should definitely flick him on the nose.

"Goodbye. I hope your next student, if you ever get one, doesn't find you so displeasing. My review of you will go live and casted around the Stærnet in real time. People will know you're not as amazing as they say you are."

"Good. Tell them the truth," I say. "It won't work, believe me. Students like you talk smack about me, yet here you are. You don't come here to meet me, you fool. You come here so you can take your little selfies and impress your friends."

"Fuck you," says Zi, then turns and leaves.

"That was completely unnecessary," says Iris in my DAT. "I have reported you to your superiors and sent them a clip of evidence of what just happened. You are obliged to support your popular image."

"Shoot me," I say and ignore that bitch AI. Fuck you, too. "Iris, prepare shuttle for my return to the Novasphere."

"As you command."

I get a message in my DAT. It's an order to meet somebody in High Command. Fuck. So Iris's report has raised some eyebrows. The message comes marked with the Omega symbol. All Omega-marked messages come from the brass, which means they're time-stamped when received and my response is timed. I open it with a thought. It's a video message from CMO, Judlessa Farfvundia.

"Dear Alastar Magna Lynx, before you leave to your Novasphere, please meet with me in my office on the God's Scepter, currently in high orbit around the planetary ship Alpha. There are several issues at hand to discuss."

The message ends. I respond immediately to join her right away.
—11—

I leave the hatch in the shuttle and head towards the God's Scepter, a small business cruiser, a Morray class ship, anchored in high orbit around Novasphere Alpha.

The small shuttle docks in a small station, the only one, at the center of its relatively short hull. This Morray ship is just half a mile long. It's needle-shaped and very elegant, with a typical golden color, as it represents the Omega cohort. It carries bureaucrats and politicians while on tours. In this case, it takes CMO Judlessa.

Usually, such ships stay near Terra or near Ethica Sanctorum. But to have it here, near the Novasphere Alpha, means the Omega cohort had all this meticulously planned. Perhaps they were here to celebrate the last conquest of the galaxy. But to my taste, it all seems to well-orchestrated to be an act of serendipity.

As Cien-gi said, my near-falling from grace was a set up. If what Cien-gi said was true, Tauro willingly sacrificed four Tourist lives to take me down. Instead, he found himself seeing me raised to an even higher golden seat.

To me, it means the ÆTAS always knew it would go after Canis Mayor, the galaxy where the Tragalaf came from. A fact we always knew but was hidden from the public. They always wanted to get there, exterminate it, but prior to doing so, they wished to conquer the Milky Way to fuel a lust so great, it exterminated thousands of intelligent and advanced lifeforms.

The docking is complete. The ship shakes, and both the hatch and the door of the ship pressurize and slide open with a hiss.

I step in.

"Welcome to the God's Scepter," announces Iris in my DAT.

The halls and passageways are pristine white. The light shines from the walls as the hue illuminates everything without a single shadow cast.

The smell is of utter cleanliness. Not a spot is found. Not a whiff of odor. The ambiance is of purity, divinity, brilliance irradiated from the Celestial Core itself. There are no shadows cast. The point being, humanity has eliminated the shadow by casting its light on darkness. A pile of shit, if you ask me.

As I walk through the halls I can see various spaces where secretaries and other high-esteemed workers for the Celestial Core eat and drink, dance, and have sex in public.

Sapiens have a strange way of celebrating these days. Depriving themselves of all civilized behavior seems the most attractive way of having a good time.

The lights shine bright as music plays. I can smell the creations of quantum kitchen being generated by the newest, most appetizing recipes.

I'm no longer a man for forks and knives, fancy food, and drinks. I eat what I must in simple ultra-packed carbs and proteins in the shape of cubes, by the name of bullfood, specially designed for soldiers who need high contents of nutrients to keep going.

Packed in very small hermetically sealed bags, it's easy to pop one open and eat it on the go. One small cube packs six thousand kilojoules of energy in the form of carbs, proteins, and fats—all harvested from farmed xeno.

This is the type of place I hate the most. I hate boarding the Morray. This is the place where people forget the bloodbaths we've spilled in the name of mankind. The type of place that willingly forgets the tragedies, the unforgivable sins to life we've committed, all in the name of the supreme God—humanity. How vain of us. How loathsome.

I'm already in a bad mood as Iris directs me to the place of reunion. My boots' clatter on the perfect tile makes me smile, even better when I see I've left behind bits of soil and dry-crusted blood. Xeno blood. If they knew, they'd be aghast. But soon, an automated servitor will have it all looking crystal clear once again.

I cross paths with a pair of female sapiens, secretaries or administrators of sorts. They walk about naked, wiggling their bodily goods as if fruits from a tree blown by the wind. And they are hot. But my lust for the physical is long gone, dead with the soul of Argo Herrero, dead with his memories. Fucking is no longer pleasing. I think depression has taken away my desire to indulge in its warmth.

A red-haired one and a blonde one walk up to me and stop upon identifying me with their corneal implant.

"Is that . . ."

"Oh, no . . . is it! Truly! Dear human lords! He's even hotter in person!

"I want him inside me now!"

"Me, too!"

"They say he has it very big! The largest one in all human history some say!"

"Even if it's not the largest, it's the oldest! I'd love to meet that big bird of yours, Mr. Lynx!"

They giggle and touch each other. I can see their nipples are ripe hard, amazing bodies. I'm just not in the mood.

One of them steps forward and places a hand on my crotch. The other follows and rubs my breast plate, taking her finger on the edges of the large "X" in the middle of the breastplate. The other then takes her hand from my crotch and passes a finger on each of the five small stars on my left shoulder.

"He's a Magna! The commander of the best of legions! The conqueror of the galaxy!" says the red haired.

"Let's take him for a ride," says the blonde one.

"Ladies. I have an important meeting. Excuse me," I say, pushing them away with a very, very gentle push. Too hard and I could cause them internal organ damage. I've ruptured spleens and livers when pushing sapiens and not measuring my strength.

"Wait! A selfie. Please! Pretty please!"

"Take your goddamned selfie and get the fuck out of my way!" I grumble. I'm a Grinch in that picture. Good.

"He's so angry! I love it! I bet you thrust those hips like a bomb!"

"Like a bomb!" repeats the other.

Their breath stinks of bibimbap. Disgusting. They both giggle and walk away, surely texting their friends aboard this ship. I've got to get away as fast as possible. Last thing I need is a group of naked sapiens around me asking for an orgy.

I breathe in and calm down. I need all my senses with me while in the meeting with Judlessa.

I pass on to another part of the Morray. I'm close. The ambiance has changed to a more elegant and business-like, with grey walls and small cubicles where the sapiens work with holographic displays.

These are dressed in jumpsuits, the uniform for both men and women. These ignore me, chance a glance, and fake all seriousness. Surely awaiting their shift to end to go and get naked and have fun.

I find the door. A digital chime sounds as the door slides to one side with a hiss.

"Welcome, Alastar Magna Lynx. Please step inside my office." says Judlessa.

I step inside, and the door closes with an exhaling sound.

"Take a seat please."

There are two seats in front of her hovering desk. One made of wood, elegant, ideal for a sapiens fragile body, and a small metal stool wide enough for a soldier in full gear.

As I sit on the stool, I study Judlessa's face. It's difficult to see this very attractive young woman and knowing she inhabits the rotten soul of the Saint Butcher, of Omnistar Tercius Fraybone.

I notice Judlessa has noticed my eyesight drifting down to her breasts, which are deliberately sandwiched and propped up like a pair of ripe melons waiting to explode. Her dress is stiff, neatly holding in the soft flesh.

"The marvels of technology," says Judlessa—Fraybone. "The girl who occupied this body died in a party by an overdose of psychotropic drugs. She was braindead. She was pregnant, you know. They had to abort the product and send the body to the BCUB. When I was granted the permission to retire, I was torn between choosing a man's or a woman's body. Since soldiers are modeled after men, I thought it'd be a good idea to be transferred to a woman's body.

"You know, they secretly save the hottest and younger ones for soldiers of high ranks who retire. Gives us a longer lifespan before we die, with a chance to fuck and party with all the liberty that sapiens have for fun nowadays.

"I'm still annoyed by the fact that they won't allow more than a single mind transfer from soldier to sapien once you retire. It'd be amazing to transfer your mind endlessly for infinity. But so are the rules. And no sapien is allowed to transfer his mind at any given time, not even for medical purposes. A sapien lives and dies with his own body. That's that. Better to be a soldier and then retire, I think.

"Did you know there was a black market of empty bodies? Yes. Some rogue scientists clone humans for a living and sell the empty bodies to sapiens willing to break the law and transfer their minds to a younger, healthier body. Good luck, I say. If caught, they send in you guys," she points at me, "to exterminate the unlawful labs. I find this fascinating. Don't you agree?"

I'm unfazed.

"Anyway, getting a woman's body was the best decision, I think. The emotions are so wild and deep, and they come and go like the waves of an ocean, unexplainably complex and untamable by almost any standard. I've become so compassionate and so understanding, it even bothers me at times. And the love! And the jealousy!

"But best of all is the sex. Although, I do admit, I miss my strength. Sapiens are so weak and fragile. Anything makes you bleed. A small hit will break a bone. Virtually anything can make your spleen pulp. But I think it's the fragility in sapiens that makes them so strong. It was them who created you—us—in the first place. Right?"

"Anyway I've fucked almost everything fuckable. Drones, androids, men, women. It's just wonderful. A much commendable experience. I do wish they would allow you, Lynx, to retire. I wish you could feel this amazing sensation of having fought for centuries, shed so much blood, won so many victories, to finally retire and feel this amazing bliss.

"Unfortunately, both you and I know that'll never happen. You'll never be allowed to retire. It's a tragedy, but the truth."

I swallow hard. She says it with such arctic coolness, it hits me even harder. I feel my eyes moisten. She notices my eyes have moistened as well, a fact that bothers me even more.

"I'm sorry if I offended," she says. "But it's the truth. You must know it. That's your curse, Alastar Magna Lynx. Your curse for being the ÆTAS puppet. They'll pull your strings for eternity if it's possible. The only way you would be discarded is if you become useless, which is virtually impossible. No soldier with your sense of genetic duty is capable of being useless, capable of breaking Bushido law."

"Get to the point before your offenses make me do terrible things," I warn.

"Oh, touchy, touchy. Threatening a higher-up, I see. Very unlike you. I guess I understand why you're so flustered."

She drinks from a glass a red liquid. Must be some sort of cocktail.

"Anyway, you're right. I didn't bring you to discuss my adventures as a sapien, or to tell you about your misfortune. Although, I will say, I'm writing a book about my adventures as a sapien. I've found a publisher who's willing to print the book and holodisplay it, and even make a one-hundred-episode series in Yonder! It'll be titled, My Adventures as a Sapien, by former Omnistar Tercius Fraybone. Be sure to get it. I think you'd find it amusing.

"Anyway. Enough self-promotion here. Sorry." She blushes. "I've called you in because there's much to discuss about your ongoing career as the conqueror of galaxies. Yes, plural. Canis Mayor is only the first of billions to be primary target."

"Billions?" I repeat with gulp.

"Don't worry about the numbers. You have to conquer but one more as of now—Canis Mayor. I can already see the ads displaying galaxy-wide," she says with glee.

"Anyway, nobody knows Tauro and you were chosen by Omnistar Magna himself. You were chosen to inaugurate the Great Intergalactic Crusade. What I need from you, and the reason for this meeting, is images. Tons and tons of images. Epic ones, drastic ones, drama and pain, sacrifice and love for your legion, love from your legion to you, death of a battle brother, and the exacting revenge that ensues. You know, the typical score I need to promote the hell out of what you guys do best.

"We need our galactic citizens to be motivated, to feel the importance of our military, to support you, and above all, to love you. You're mythical to them, Alastar Magna Lynx. You're the hero of all times. You're more than a simple soldier. You're the melancholic warrior. A suitable name. That's why you're here."

Judlessa smiles and giggles. She then leans forwards, exposing her swollen breasts as much as possible and touches my arm. I'm suddenly self-aware and notice her nostrils are flaring, notice the hint of nervousness and sexual exaltation. She wants to fuck me! Omnistar Tercius Fraybone, in the body of a woman, desires me! How disgusting!

"Very well. You'll get your prized images," I say with a sneer, taking my arm away with a yank. I hit her office wall and punch through the thin metal.

She recoils back and remembers how weak she is and how easily that could've killed her. Her chest could've been torn to shreds by that simple movement.

She gets angry. "Iris sent me your most recent interaction with the Student of Honor, Zi. She noticed your unusual activity, staining your highly esteemed name and vandalizing your brand. That is forbidden!" she wails.

I'm suddenly ashamed of myself, when I should be proud. It's this damned body of mine, with a brain genetically coded to feel shame when reprimanded by a superior.

"You will guard your name with outmost care. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Judlessa. I understand. But I also happen to give a fuck less and less."

She's aghast. I've had millennia to overcome my own limitations. They may've coded me in a way, but ultimately, I've coded myself, as much as I can, to be who I want to be.

She sneers at me. "You are aware of what you're digging here. It's worse than a grave."

I sense a threat. "So this mission . . . this curse I have to forever be the tool of an exterminating government . . . is it a punishment?"

She calms down and says no more about it. She'll neither admit it or deny it. She must have orders from her higher-ups. But I'm sure it's my punishment. I'm sure some wish to torture me and squeeze what's left out of my soul until I explode or degenerate into a demented, good-for-nothing soldier. Punishment for them to parade me even further as the rusting fool gone mad.

"Now," she says, changing her body habitus and seeming calm again, and regains her smile. "Images, clips, everything please. A constant flow of them. I know Iris sends me her own captures, but they're never as good as the ones you take. And before you leave, I'll make this request as blunt as possible. Do you want to fuck?"

I'm amazed by her persistence. It's actually not surprising, as she does have the rotten soul of the Saint Butcher. If it's not killing she will do anything for, it's having sex.

"No, thank you."

"Very well," she says, annoyed. "You're dismissed. You're expected at Terra as soon as possible. Your Novasphere requires the latest upgrade in warp engine, and Omnistar Magna Übel Blass has summoned all Alastar Magnas to Terra to have a formal discussion about the upcoming Great Intergalactic Crusade. Leave now."

"What about the polls? The voting on who gets to go on the Intergalactic Crusade?"

"I see Zi told you about that," she says, annoyed. "You soldiers aren't supposed to know we have polls. Anyway, it's a sham. Part of what keeps people entertained."

I stand up, salute with my right fist up, and march out. I leave the God's Scepter as soon as I can.

This place is hell. It's a fine example of the shameful involution of man.
—12—

At maximum speed, it'll take us days to reach Terra. I'm so anxious and altered about what was just said to me, I'm not even in the mood to submerge myself in the holosphere and travel to the simulated infinity.

A puppet? Never to retire? Yes. I felt it true inside me all this time. The fact that it was said to me out loud and in such a manner, it hurt more than anything else. And then there's Omnistar Primus's words to me. Another blow to my putrefying soul.

I enter the Quench, restricted for the Alastar echelon only. There's another for the rest of soldiers—non-Alastar. The door slides to one side with a hiss, closes with an exhale.

"Alastar Magna on deck!" yells somebody, the first Alastar to spot me. His voice is strained.

I can't blame him. I seldom come to the Quench.

All soldiers are seated at wooden round tables, seating four soldiers each on wooden stools, drinking from wooden cups. They stand up with a jolt and salute me, raising their right fists.

The light in the Quench is natural, coming from a single burning candle on each table. The candle is a small wax stick the size of a sapien's index finger, with a single flame coming from its top. The flame is natural. As the candle is consumed, it forms tears that drip on its cylindrical body and accumulate on the simple copper-colored base.

The combined force of many candle flames burning together forms a light that dances with the shadow, an important feature of the Quench, a place where a soldier comes to find solace.

I put my soldiers at ease with a movement of my hand. They sit but take long to remove their awe-inspired gaze from me. There are Alastar from all the ranks, from Irius to Primus.

But here, ranks are forgotten, duty is left aside. This is why it is mandatory to leave all weapons behind and to dress in a simple cotton tunic. This place is for reflection. The candle light promotes that sentiment.

I walk up to Ogres table. There's two more seated here. I sit at the remaining chair.

"Would you like to drink a soul, my Alastar . . . sir . . .?" asks the waiter.

He's not really a waiter, but a sapien technician who volunteered to act as a classical waiter. Drones or androids could've been used, but this place is devoid of technology. As much as possible, at least.

"Call me Lynx. In the Quench, there are no ranks."

The waiter stops fretting but not sweating. I guess he's impressed to see me in a place I seldom visit.

"Bring me a soul please."

"Yes, sir!"

The waiter brings a simple wooden cup filled to the brim. I take it, and he leaves without more said. I sip the simple alcohol, tasting of rotten fruits.

The Quench was an idea of Omnistar Tercius Rei, now retired, who insisted soldiers needed a place far from technology and weapons to find peace of mind in between battles. Each Novasphere was equipped with a Quench. And in the past, any soldier could come, from any echelon and any rank.

However, when a Devastar would find himself too friendly with an Alastar, consequences would be seen days later in the field of battle. It took a couple of deliberate accidents for two separate Quenches to be created in each Novasphere, separating the upper Alastar from the lower Lunastar and Devastar echelon.

"It's rare to find you here," says Ogre.

Entwar is seated here also, as is Kennedy, a young Alastar Irius with an enviable career path, destined to become a high-ranking Alastar.

"Even gods need to rest," I say.

"Well! Our Lynx, telling jokes! Now that's motive to celebrate!" says Entwar. She's already drunk. She drinks again from the soul.

I drink. The effects are taking on.

We discovered soul in C-437. The xeno we stole the recipe from used it to communicate with their gods. It's a mild hallucinogen, soporific, that promotes transient bliss.

"So we head over to Terra," says Kennedy with a smile. "It's my first time," he says with controlled happiness. He raises his cup and drinks. He's drunk but is holding his composure because of my presence.

"You'll be surprised," says Ogre. "Terra is a magnificent place. The Solar System is impressive. Never have you seen the likes of Neptune or Jupiter."

"Terraformed planets, I assume?"

"Not all possess earth to be terraformed. Jupiter and Neptune are gas giants. And others, like Uranus and Pluto, offer poor conditions to sustain life for sapiens. Jupiter and Neptune are touristic planets, destined for visitors wanting to see up close the redeye storm of Jupiter or the miracle rings from Neptune.

"Mercury . . . Venus . . ." says Kenney, reciting the order of the planets.

"Those are long gone," says Entwar. "Used for their resources. I always thought the Celestial Core consumed them so that Terra could be the first planet of the Solar System closest to the sun." She smiles.

"This could be true," says Ogre.

"Terra isn't even a shadow of what it was. It's changed so much . . ." My gloom seems to dim the light of the candle flame.

"The melancholic warrior . . . here comes his extended shadow," says Entwar jokingly. "There's no need to remind us of your mood."

"Watch that tongue," warns Ogre.

"We're at the Quench," I remind him.

Ogre calms down and Entwar smiles. Kennedy is nervous.

"Come on, man! We come to the Quench to relax and decompress. Lynx, you've never told us anything about the planet Earth, when it used to be called that way. Tell us about that past of yours that you never touch on," pushes Entwar.

It's true. Very few know about my origins, about myself, that I was originally Argo Herrero, a man now pushed down to the bottom of the chasm of my soul, where I barely remember him. But I do often find myself remembering the young man I was, my friends, and my parents. Argo's presence in me casts the occasional wave from the depths.

I tell them about my parents, about Carmen Johnson, and touch on my days living in SLAV, eating church pigeon and rat.

"Wait . . . you mean, the Carmen Johnson? The famous scientist?" asks Entwar.

I nod.

"Talk about her please. Describe her to me!" pleads Entwar.

Entwar is a bag of curiosity. She's one of the few soldiers who was a sapien before becoming a supersoldier. She's dogged her way through the ranks by impressive medals and war-point achievements, making it to Alastar Tercius within centuries. She's particularly good at multi-kills.

I tell her about Carmen and her physical beauty and how I was spellbound by her. I also tell them how she was a perfect little bitch and how that made her insufferably attractive. They're all in deep silence.

Entwar breaks the silence, with her own gloom coming forth. "I would've liked to know Earth back when it was green and blue.

"I was born in sector B of the planetary system Taitam. I went to the Galactic University local branch, where I studied xeno nanomolecular biology. I was the type of girl that never really fit in, you know? I was tough and not pretty, very unsociable. My parents had me on several medications and had the credits to provide me with esthetic surgery.

"But I was never really into fitting in or being pretty or joining massive orgy parties. I was mostly interested in the xeno, and therefore, in the wars unleashed by you," she says pointing at me. "I grew up seeing you rip through worlds and tear apart cities. I always dreamed of being a soldier, fighting those wars.

"Upon my twenty-first birthday, a number important to sapiens, my gift was, to my parent's dismay, a place as a Tourist, risking my body if I died in battle. I was ready to go all in. I was in the rearguard during the taking of X-18. Didn't shoot really but fell in love with war. At age twenty-eight, I'd saved enough from my job to leave my home planet. My parents always thought I'd moved to become a prestigious biologist. They died in peace many decades afterward, thinking just that. In reality, I'd enlisted and accepting to donate my sapien body to the BCUB."

Entwar raises her wooden cup. "It's been almost three hundred years in the Stærfleet. The military is my destiny. This is where I find my brethren. The end of the crusade marks the beginning of my sadness. I don't know what'll become of us when unemployment hits the ranks. Maybe become a local police officer? Bah!"

I haven't told anybody about the new mission, nor will I until it's official. Entwar will be happy to hear it. The soldiers think we're going to Terra for the upgrades only. They'll be happy to hear we've been commissioned to the Intergalactic Crusade.

The times are good, and many memories are shed. I came to regain perspective on the life I've been dealt and do my best to carry on with a raised chin.

Days later, Iris notifies me we passed by the Oort cloud. We've arrived at the Solar System. Back home.
—13—

Few times in my long existence have I encountered a moment like this, where hundreds of supersoldiers are gathered together in front of a panoramic scenic window, gazing eye-wide and mouth open, towards something so beautiful it keeps them gasping as we pass by.

We're passing by Jupiter. The gas giant is an amazing sight for soldiers of all ages, of all ranks. No matter the echelon, you're bound to enjoy its view.

"The red eye," I say. "An anticyclonic storm, ever persistent since humanity first saw it."

The soldiers gasp again.

We leave Jupiter behind and enter the asteroid belt. It's changed substantially. We've mined the hell out of it for resources. Most of its large rocks were converted into common repair stations, a few high-end hotels, and many defense turrets and policing units, as pirates are common in these parts. Many of Iris's servers are well-hidden among the floating debris.

We pass by Mars. It was one of the first planets we terraformed, a planet where military investigation takes place for the development of new weapons. We soon get to Terra.

"Soldiers, to your stations until instructions are given."

"So what on Earth are we doing here really?" jokes Entwar. "Can't be just the warp engine upgrade. Why summon the whole armada to Terra? The other nine Novaspheres are in high anchorage. Something's up."

"You'll soon know," I answer.

She understands and nods.

I gear up. The servus station clads my armor, entropic blade to my hilt. I leave the gorecannon behind.

"High orbit anchorage attained," says Iris in my DAT. "Nearing the Astraport station in five, four, three, two, one. Novasphere Morningstar is now docked to Astraport station. Permission being asked to board the Astrotek, Ærgotek, and Tekka by those who wish to conduct a thorough survey of the ship for warp engine upgrade installation."

"Permission granted."

I receive an urgent message by Omnistar Magna. All Alastars must meet him ASAP at the Celestial Core, down at the Terran surface.

******

A Banewing takes me down to the surface. The ship crosses the atmosphere and takes me and my entourage to the now yellowish maroon-colored planet that was once green and blue.

It's forests and lakes, oceans and rivers, everything died after the nuclear winter in the late 2000s, back when the Megachine was about to take over.

This planet is technically habitable after long centuries of decontamination. But it's mostly the Astrotek and Tekka who create our advancements in transport machinery, who live and work on site. Nobody is born here anymore.

After the Megachine defeat, the arms industry exploded to create ever deadlier weapons, advancing leaps and strides when Earth united under one banner, ÆTAS, and gave its soul away to a single hegemony.

Galactic citizen cruisers took all Earth citizens to live into the newly terraformed planets in the newly purged planetary systems closer to Earth, and since then, Terra was abandoned by its denizens to left in the hands of those who converted her into Celestial Core's primary operation site, with heavy defenses installed in the Moon and the asteroid belt, ready to defend itself from the obvious number of enemies it'd amount during the years of conquest.

The Banewing lands on a gigantic ovoid landing pad. From above, the Celestial Core headquarters is an ovoid building with a single-razored edge at the center, running along its ten-mile length. The ovoid structure is made of photosynthetic, polycarbonate metachrome, a material used to construct buildings with high-capacity to absorb a star's energy spectrum and convert it into usable energy.

Large anti-space batteries surround it, as does an invisible dome of Harmony Megalonic shield to fend off incoming attacks, if any.

Two Lunastar of the Omega cohort escort me to the Round Table inside the gargantuan ovoid structure. My entourage stays behind, guarding the Banewing.

"Take a seat, Alastar Magna Lynx," says Omnistar Magna.

I take a seat beside Cien-gi. The leader is on his high-seated majestic golden throne, decorated with a red cushion and embroidered with golden red laces.

Behind Omnistar Magna stands guard an automated Torragami, upgraded with thicker armor and a high-priority defense program to do anything possible to protect the leader of the military in case danger is perceived.

There are two sapiens seated. One to Omnistar Magna's left and one to his right. The chairs are intended for sapiens, thus, are small and unfitting for soldiers like us, so we get metal stools.

I can see in the sapiens the cold and calculated gaze of a killer. Who are these people?

My battle brothers are all here, all nine of them seated on the stools around the large Round Table.

Tauro stares at me. So does Mortimer, Xanxai, Nakata, and Trokar. Cien-gi winks at me. Furogata, Abyss, and Thesna ignore the growing tension.

"This is a time for celebration. Humanity has leapt again," starts Übel Blass. "I have summoned you here as the ÆTAS has achieved greatness by finishing the Galactic Crusade, and now we move on to the next phase."

I can see all my brothers, except Tauro, are nervous. He and I know what the next step is. But it's unknown to them. I can't wait to see their reaction when they find out about the Great Intergalactic Crusade and who will lead it. Joy.

"The conquest of our galaxy means we now must focus on keeping it safe to maintain the peace, which means hunting down those who oppose us secretly. If we wish our galactic empire to crumble, all we need to do is nothing, as quickly would the thousands of planetary systems fall out of line in pursuit of their own governmental ideals. We cannot allow this. We must stay together under one banner. And to do so, I need the Stærfleet to police the galaxy.

"However, we must not allow ourselves to become so lazy as to remain in comfort, while other threats across galaxies exist. That would be folly and a sure destruction."

Omnistar Magna tells them about the great Tragalaf threat and the finding that they actually came from Canis Mayor. I hate this bullshit.

"And thus, my brethren, we begin a new crusade, the Great Intergalactic Crusade. Our destiny, Canis Mayor, to find and purge the Tragalaf!" he says with enthusiasm.

He pauses, lets my brothers take in the news. The holosphere display at the center of the table goes live. The lights in the room dim. The holographic display shows, in fine detail, a spiral galaxy, the Milky Way. The attention is shifted, and another galaxy is focused.

"I present you, Canis Mayor. It's a galaxy with an irregular shape, similar to an oval. This is so because of the Milky Way's gravity pull on it. The Astrotek consider the galaxy will eventually be eaten up by the Milky Way, though millions of years must pass for that to happen."

"Then we should wait here and allow the galaxies to fuse. Then we wouldn't need to travel to it. What's the use of conquering another galaxy anyway?" dares Xanxai.

Omnistar Magna ignores him. "You all know about the Doomsayers and their talent to promote insurgencies, even in the most peaceful of worlds. They must be cured of their sins to humanity. Because they are a major threat to our stability, part of our efforts will be to hunt them down. Police units and sentinel drone guards can only do so much. Insurgencies often require military grade interventions to stop them in their tracks and even obliterate them if needed.

The most critical sectors at the verge of insurgency are A and B, the oldest sectors, and therefore, those with the most time to become unstable and lose faith in our government."

Omnistar Magna pauses, then says, "I present you, Jugolax Fett and Helvi Ioux, both responsible for the Center of Galactic Intelligence, CGI."

They both nod.

"We need you, commanders. We have two objectives. The first is the Great Intergalactic Crusade. The second, to control the galaxy and eliminate the Doomsayers. Two legions will be chosen to lead the Great Intergalactic Crusade. The other eight will remain in the Milky Way."

Tension grows. Rivalry among us has awakened. Little do they know, the leaders have already been chosen.

"I beg you, my Omnistar Magna, chose the Barbarus. We will accomplish this mission with great triumph!" pleads Mortimer.

"Nonsense! It's the Chaos Legion you must chose!" yells Xanxai.

"The Dominatus!"

"The Host!"

A furious discussion explodes among commanders. Tauro and I remain passive.

"Silence. We are at the Round Table, and I expect you to behave as brothers when and where brothers unite. The Celestial Core has made its choice. The leadership of the Great Intergalactic Crusade has been assigned to the Alpha and X-Legions. Tauro and Lynx will expand the frontier. Lynx will be the leader of such endeavor."

Tauro stands up and raises his right fist. "It will be an honor to expand our horizon in the name of humanity!"

I remain motionless. I won't lick boots. My brothers stare at me, confused. Nobody understands why I'm unmoved.

"He doesn't even want the leadership. What a piece of shit! A waste, that one!" yells Xanxai.

"That tongue! It's envenomed! You've been warned for centuries for your disgusting language! Sanctions seem to have done nothing to stop you," yells Omnisar Magna with sudden rage.

The Torragami standing guard unsheathes its large katana and gets into combat position.

We all tense. Xanxai goes pale.

"You will die. On your knees, felon. Enough of your crude talk," says Omnistar Magna.

Xanxai is in a fear state. His head sinks between his shoulders.

It wouldn't be the first or the last time Omnistar Magna executes an officer on the spot after suitable warnings for unwanted behavior has been given. He likes to make an example, keep his officers in check. I'm the only bastard pardoned and not executed. How easy it'd be to tick him off and have him behead me.

"The rest of the Legions will be assigned specific sectors, which you will patrol and aid the local human police and sentinel drone force when needed. Such missions will be under CGI control. You will follow their orders. Jugolax and Helvi will be your immediate superiors during this time. Now, Xanxai. Come. Now."

The commander stands up, nervous, slow, calculated, and walks towards Omnistar Magna.

"Stand there."

Xanxai stands. The threatening Torragami gets in front of him, controlled by Omnistar Magna's DAT.

"On your knees."

"Please . . . I beg you . . ."

"Iris has gathered enough proof to justify this capital punishment. Death by beheading is righteous. Your post will be occupied by Alastar Primus Ayala."

We all stare. The spectacle makes us all bloodthirsty. He may've been our brother, but he was going rogue with his talk. We all want to see him die, see his head roll.

"Bow your head. Have some honor upon your death," spits Omnistar Magna.

Xanxai bows his head and exposes the neck as much as possible when using the servoarmor. But even in full armor, the Torragami's katana would slice through it with ease.

The Torragami moves swiftly. The head rolls. Blood spills in a fountain but is quickly sealed by enzymatic cautery.

"Insubordination is paid for with blood," says Omnistar Magna. "The same goes to your soldiers. I expect from my commanders, the highest echelon in the battlefield, to represent me at all times. Act like Xanxai, and you threaten the stability of your followers by showing inadequate behavior. I have enough to deal with by keeping the Milky Way safe as it is!"

"Yes, my Omnistar Magna!" we yell in unison.

"You've been debriefed. Questions?"

"Yes, my Omnistar Magna," says Mortimer. "When will we be able to join the efforts to conquer Canis Mayor. Surely, two legions are not enough."

"It depends on how well you do your job here in the Milky Way," answers Omnistar Magna, eying Xanxai's head, still and motionless on the floor.

The pristine white floor has been stained, but it doesn't seem to matter. I'm sure it's been stained before, and it will be again in the near future.

"Now, go. I expect you to obey the CGI at all times. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Omnistar Magna."
—14—

The news spreads quickly. The media picks it up, and soon, it's everywhere. Ogre and Entwar message me immediately, celebrating. I don't answer. I don't have words for them.

The Novasphere Morningstar is soon celebrating as a whole, as soldiers and technicians alike, who've sacrificed everything for the war, who are happy to continue the fight. They still have a job.

I skip the celebration entirely. Call me antisocial. Call me what you will. There's a time and place for things, and this isn't the time or the place for me to show off false glee.

There's a tour you can take on Terra, designed for galactic citizens, but military dogs can also take it. It takes you around the globe to see the industrial excess in the mostly uninhabited planet and to see those monuments, wonders of the world, which weren't blasted to pieces with the rain of atomic bombs.

I allow my soldiers to take the tour. This is part of the celebration for them. Have at it. It's a one-day version to quickly and efficiently get to know the planet that once gave birth to man. This only because we had to wait a twenty-four-hour period during which the new warp engine was installed.

Hot dogs, enchiladas, dim-sum, popcorn, hamburger, sweet 'n sour chicken, lasagna, chop suey, and sushi. All meat eaten is farmed xeno. All the carbs are rice-based. The soldiers will have a taste of humanity's food legacy, of the dishes that remain in memory.

During this time, I went back to my room. I relax on my bunk and feel a sudden flood of nostalgia, and the anger mixes in. I'm in a deep turmoil of emotions and engulfed by the shadows. I can't believe I'm once again starting a new crusade.

I'd dreamt for so long to visit the Carmen Johnson, the Galactic citizen ship, to visit the planet where Carmen retired and get to know her legacy. All that's gone.

I turn on the holosphere and travel through the stars. This is the best I can do to disconnect myself from reality.

This must be a mistake. I can't be chosen again! Not this time! Not ever!

I bite my fist. Blood flows. Fresh blood. The wound closes soon by enzymatic cautery. I'm going crazy. This is Iris's fault. She sees everything. I hate her. I'm sure she's enjoying seeing me suffer. Aren't you?

I must calm down. I breathe in deeply. I look at the time on my DAT. More than twenty-four hours have elapsed since I came to rest.

A message from Tauro. I open it as I sit on the edge of the bunk.

"Late, as usual. When the hell do you plan to leave for Canis Mayor?" he asks.

I'm pissed.

"Iris! Why the hell didn't you notify me the new warp engine was up and ready!"

"Alastar Magna Lynx, you were notified and updated about all relevant activity. The soldiers are ready to depart. Alastar Primus Tuigon is on the bridge, awaiting orders."

"How long ago?"

"One hour ago."

I review the notifications. This is indeed true. I must've been deep within my head. Usually notifications with military importance push through. I review them and notice they were tagged with the proper military importance. I must have been in deep. Shit. One hour behind at warp speed is a long distance. I must not allow him to go and do as he pleases. He's capable of many things—torture and cruelty, his main talents.

I call by the DAT as I get ready. "Alastar Primus Tuigon. Travel target, Canis Mayor. Follow Tauro's lead. We can't allow him to start this mission of which I'm the fucking leader. Go!"

"Yes, my Alastar Magna. It will be impossible to catch up with him," says Tuigon.

"Then do what you can! Prepare the crew for warp travel at maximum speed."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna. We will take the course downloaded from the original mission debriefing."

"Have Astrotek Magna Lucius verify it."

"He has."

"Then get underway!"

Iris announces our departure. There's too much to do. Now the rat race is on again. The killing will soon start. Fuck.

******

"It's time for your training session. Your comrades are waiting for you at the dojo," says Iris.

"Prepare my gear."

It's taken me a while to recover. Mostly, I stayed in my quarters to avoid the initial wave of celebration. I wanted it to die down before I stepped out.

"Your kimono is ready."

A training session will help me clear my head. This is what I need. I dress the kimono, take my entropic blade, and head to the dojo barefooted. The cold floor is soothing.

Every legionnaire, including the highest ranks, must train at least eight hours a day during warless periods. It's necessary to dissipate the built-up energy, or soldiers become increasingly agitated and could go mad.

The armored window slides with a hiss, granting me access to the dojo. There are more than one hundred of these on the Novasphere. This one in particular is designated for the high ranks, from Alastar Irius to Magna.

The practicing soldiers stop moving upon my arrival.

"Alastar Magna on deck!" yells Ogre.

They all elevate the right fist.

"Continue," I say.

Combat renews.

"Sure you don't want to talk about it? It's a very important mission. The soldiers are very happy. They could use a . . ."

"Stop. We've got orders to follow. Yes, we're conquering a new galaxy, beginning the crusade again. Nothing more."

Ogre and Entwar look at each other. Entwar shrugs.

"Are you ready," asks Ogre.

I train with the very best. Ogre and Entwar are the only ones who've bested me in sword combat. If this were about a fist fight, I'd be pulp, but with my blade, I'm virtually unbeatable.

"Come." I unsheathe it, take my combat pose, and invite both Ogre and Entwar to fight me. I also invite a third opponent. Three against one. This is the way I train best.

Combat starts. Blades are turned off for safety. The swords slice the air at incredible speeds. I soon feel the blood rushing through my body, effectively pumped by two distinct hearts. I feel the surge of the music, the harmony, each of my movements accelerating the next. This music is my savior from ultimate depression. It manages to numb up my mind.

My blade cuts flesh. Alastar Irius Wang, the third opponent, falls to the floor, with his face cut open. It'll leave a mark. The enzymatic cautery takes care of the wound in seconds. He's out of this round.

Ogre gambles a long arc to my side. I jump, then duck and spin upon landing, delivering a low cut to his Achilles tendon. The giant falls. That will require nano surgery to fix.

It's down to Entwar and myself. She advances with a deadly combination. I parry with ease, matching her speed. I measure her cadence, allow her to believe she has the lead. I then break her rhythm with a sudden change of speed, outmaneuvering her, and sink the blade into her neck.

"Fuck . . . beat again," says Entwar with a muffled voice.

Ogre is seated on the ground, waiting for medical.

I remove the sword from Entwar's neck, the enzymes taking care of the wound. A squirt of blood stains the white tile.

"You may have superior bodies, my friends, but you don't have superior skills," I say. "Come, again." I invite three other Alastar to fight against me. This is refreshing.
—15—

I get back to my room after training and gear up. Servoarmor on, entropic blade sheathed, gorecannon on my back. I head to the bridge.

The Tekka and Astrotek get up and salute me.

The Alastar Primus on deck, Tuigon, is the herald that announces my arrival. "Commander on deck!"

"Glory and honor!"

"Back to your posts," I order. No celebratory moment. I decide not to make a fuss about the new crusade.

I walk up to the commander seat and sit. I summon the tactical holosphere with a thought. The holo appears, showing what lies outside our ship.

We came out of warp on my command, around one light-year away from the galaxy. I like to stop and think, plan coldly instead of just jumping into a new objective, shouting war cries. I admit, stopping in the void between galaxies is unnerving. But there's literally nothing here except for the occasional lost rock.

Canis Mayor is small, irregularly shaped. This galaxy's readings don't present many planets with the possibility of life.

Tauro is already within the galaxy. He's started without me and had the audacity to name the first sector arbitrarily without consultation. So be it.

"Send in the probes to initiate the biogeographical studies," I order.

"Yes, Alastar Magna," responds Astrotek Magna Lucius.

The Astrotek use their hands to control the holoconsole. Their corneal displays are military grade, and with them, they can see and control the Novasphere's input and output with extreme versatility. Some even say, to become an Astrotek is to become the ship's soul, as they begin to feel its essence within them. A coveted position, being an Astrotek in a Novasphere is a luxury. One hundred of them are needed per Novasphere for proper Astrogation. And their ranks are similar to the military echelons but goes only from Astrotek Magna to Astrotek Primus.

The probes are geared with a warp engine, and soon, head deep into the galaxy.

"Head to A-001, the first planetary system designated by Tauro."

"Coordinates acquired. Warp engine on."

"Coordinates reached. We are out of warp speed," says Astrotek Magna Lucius.

I can now see Tauro's Novasphere, a small speck against infinite space. A-001 is a small planetary system.

"You're late," says Tauro through the DAT.

"I am the leader of this mission. Please do not proceed without me."

"Leader? I, by no means, respond to your orders, brother," he sneers. "I will take the lead. A bolder commander is needed in this purge. A slow, emotional laggard like you would take centuries to conquer one planetary system. Better doing it quick."

"Listen to me, damnit. This is new space. Whoever or whatever lives here could possess better weapons, better soldiers. For all we know, they are superior."

"Bah-ha!" laughs Tauro. "Listen to yourself. Finding a superior foe is a good thing. Bring him to me, and I will find a way to crush him, then take his technology to learn from him. But this cowardice you show, you are unfit for this mission. I alone could've completed it. Your presence is required only because you're a lapdog, a circus animal used and paraded like a prehistoric beast."

"You played me. The Tourists," I confront him suddenly.

He smiles. "So you got wind. I wonder who told you? Yes, you were set up to fail. But it wasn't just me. There are others, bigger players who wished you gone," he sneers. "It's no secret. You know I hate you."

"I have enough to prosecute you," I say. "This conversation is recorded."

"Ha! I'd love to see you try, brother. Good luck with that."

"Maybe when we get back to the Milky Way. For now, we concentrate on the mission. No more surprises from you, Tauro. If you try to set me up again, I'll gauge out your eyes."

"I make no promises. Accidents are accidents." He shrugs.

I push aside my annoyance at him. "We need to advance with strategy."

"My soldiers have already touched ground on A-001 alpha, the first planet. We ran several surveys in search for intelligent life."

"I ordered no such advance!"

"I don't respond to you!"

"Very well. And? You found something?"

"Yes. There is life here. Complex organisms with fascinating physical appearance. Outworldish, I'd say. But that's not what's most impressive. There are several structures that call my attention. They are . . . unreadable."

Tauro's face changes. At first, he was defiant. Now, he's thoughtful.

"Unreadable structures? Send the data."

"Pyramids. Three on each planet. They don't emit energy of any sort, appear dead."

I see the pictures taken and the short data that describes them. Nothing to impressive, which is why it's important.

"The presence of altered matter, of those pyramids . . . argue intelligent life had to create it," I say.

"Then we must find this intelligence and destroy it," says Tauro.

"Explore planet alpha and beta. I will explore delta and gamma," I order.

"Very well," he snorts.

"Let's rendezvous in twenty-four hours standard," I say.

"Let's do this. Tauro out."

I return my attention to the holosphere. I chose to enhance the image and obtain a real-life view, which enhances the colors to near reality. The four planets orbit a giant red star. The planets themselves are an oddity.

I can hear the Astrotek and Tekka commenting. I can see Tuigon drinking in the image.

It's beautiful.

The planets are turquoise. The heat scanner shows a deeper layer to the turquois atmosphere, the planet's surface. The surface below is composed of mostly a large land mass with a few bodies of water, scattered rivers and oceans. Mountain ranges and deep forests, arctic ice in the poles. A usual planet. Water isn't rare, nor are large land masses.

"May I have your attention please, my Alastar Magna," Astrotek Magna Lucius says in a high-pitched voice.

"Project your data to the holosphere," I order.

"Yes, my Alastar Magna." His data takes over the central tactical holo.

"This is very rare data indeed, my Alastar Magna. The Delta and Gamma planets in A-001 have exactly the same mass," says Astrotek Magna Lucius with awe in his voice. "If we overlap the planet's overlay, this comes up. A very strange thing," he says, trembling.

"They are . . . the same," I repeat. I stand up from the commander chair and study the holo from the middle. "Same oceanic shape and mass, same land shape, same mountain ranges, forests, ice caps . . . send this to the head Astrotek in Novasphere alpha. Ask him to run the same diagnostic studies on alpha and beta."

"Done," he says.

"And?"

"They are exact replicas of each other! Same mass! Same oceanic configuration! Geographically identical! This makes no sense!"

"Calm down," says Alastar Primus Tuigon, walking over to Astrotek Lucius, who is about to panic. The towering beast's threat calms the head Astrotek down. The rest of sapiens also relax.

"There's more," says Lucius. "The four planets have the same day length, the same year span as measured in standard time units. Each day on each planet lasts sixty standard hours, and each year is four hundred standard days. If you look at the holosphere," he says, projecting on the tactical, "The planets have different orbits around the sun. The most inner planet orbits slower than the outer planets. The furthest planet, gamma, orbits faster to compensate for its distance. Fascinating . . . a miracle . . ."

"Abstain from use of such words," I bark.

"You're right, my Alastar. It's just . . . this is merely our first contact with a new galaxy, and it already presents us with its wonders. This is truly magnificent. I've rarely seen a planetary system that causes awe, that's all."

"The pyramids," I point out.

"Ah! Yes," says Astrotek Magna Lucius. "The pyramids, as noted by Alastar Magna Tauro, are located geographically in the same places in each of the four planets. The pyramids, at least from this distance, emit no energy. If you trace the location of each pyramid on each planet and form a vector connecting each, you get this . . ."

The central tactical holosphere changes again. I can see an orb, the planet, floating in the middle for demonstration purposes. The planet fades out and the three pyramids are highlighted. Then he draws vectors connecting each pyramid.

"There. The distance between each is exact, forming a triangular structure of exact side length. A pyramid of its own . . ."

We all stare at Lucius's finding. A long minute passes by in silence as we all try to understand what this finding and this new galaxy are trying to tell us.

"This isn't the product of chance," says Lucius, breaking the silence. "This had to be created. Forged worlds. We're talking about forged worlds! I mean . . . it's impossible for four different planets to have the same day length and the same year length. It can't be the product of chance alone!"

"This may be true," I say. "If intelligent life created them, then intelligent life must've lived here. Or still does. Iris, prepare two scout teams. I'll lead one. The other will be led by Alastar Primus Ogre. We're going down to study this anomaly."

"Preparing the scout teams."
—16—

Two scout patrols depart aboard a Banewing, each with a capacity for thirty men. The Banewing has four turrets—one on each side, one on its top, and one on the belly. It has two decks. The bottom one equipped with cryogenic pods in case of emergencies, either to freeze a damaged body in need of surgery when surgery is far to reach, or when long flights are needed and bigger ships are out of reach.

Each Banewing is escorted by a single Torragami in case shit hits the fan. Ogre and myself, the two leaders of each scout unit, board the Torragami. We go down with few men and few war machines, with the intention to be as less threatening as possible.

Tauro, on the other hand, has descended with his entire legion, divided into two forces—one destined to planet A-001 alpha, and the other to A-001 beta. He's also taking heavy artillery, a stupidity for a recon mission, as sending down Katami and Kuze no Tenshi isn't the problem, it's bringing them back up to orbit. A waste of resources.

"Why are you descending with all your legion?" I asked.

"In case we find anything interesting, my men need the bloodletting. Target practice."

"The animals there have nothing to do with war. The fauna is to be left alone." I order. He's not my subordinate. But I had to try.

"Fuck off, Lynx. I do as I please."

That was my futile conversation with Tauro.

"Contact with the atmosphere," says Iris. "Analyzing atomic composition. Ozone, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, oxygen, hydrogen, and traces of an unrecognized atom."

"Unrecognized? That's odd."

"Not odd. A new galaxy offers new possibilities," explains the AI. "New atomic structures are possible if unknown environments created them, as much as iron and other heavy metals are created when stars collapse on themselves," explains Iris.

I remain silent. No time for a class on atoms. I couldn't give less of a fuck. The strangeness of this place is what gets my nerves on edge. Four similar planets, all with same geographical data, each with three pyramids, strange structures that don't seem to emit energy, all with a turquoise color, but underneath, rich in soil and water. Forged planets. The last time I checked, none of the xeno we conquered in the Milky Way had the technology to forge any celestial body, much less manipulate to such degree the rotation and speed of the planets orbiting a red giant.

I descend, trailing the Banewing to planet A-001 gamma, the furthest from the red giant. Temperatures should be low. Starshine should be dimmed, but it's not. The average temperature is six standard temperature units, a conversion to old Celsius would yield 20 degrees. This place should be freezing!

Birds, thousands of them, fly in a V-shaped formation, with the lead pressing hard, flying towards the horizon. The turquoise horizon, thanks to the color of the atmosphere.

I zoom in to the birds at least a few miles from our position. One is enclosed in a red frame, and Iris initiates an analysis, comparing the shape, wing span, molecular composition based on its light spectrometry and speed compared to the database containing millions of catalogued bird-like animals in our now-conquered galaxy.

"My analysis shows a sixty percent correlation with avian animals in the winged, warm-blooded, beaked, animal-like kingdom. The bird's beak is made of germanium. Its body, a complexity of organic matter based on germanium as well."

I usher in silence and continue our slow descent to mission objective alpha, a random descent position to initiate our studies of the planet.

The view is astonishing. A mantle of green and blue, with the distant blue hue slowly fading in mountain ranges. This is what Terra must've looked like before humans baked its surface to death with atomic energy.

This place is pristine, a virgin planet by the appearance of its nature, and perplexingly, a forged planet by the complexity of its rotation, temperature, and strange atmosphere. I wonder if the atmosphere, that turquoise-colored one, has anything to do with maintaining the temperature to six degrees standard.

"Tauro, Ogre, reports?"

The Banewing descents slowly. Fusion-powered nozzle turbines keep it hovering ten meters above the surface. Thirty soldiers descend with a jump, landing softly, thanks to the mitigating forces of the servoarmor.

"2.0g," says a soldier, likely feeling the tug of the planet's gravity field more than he did on Z-603.

"An unusual gravitational field for a planet of usual size," I add.

"Confirmed. This argues the planet's structure and core are much heavier than expected."

"Tauro, Ogre. Report. Now."

"Ogre here. Landed. A-001 delta is a virgin planet. It has to be. It's full of untouched flora and fauna. No traces of intelligent life. No exploitation of its natural resources. The scanners are dead. Showing nothing."

"Tauro here. I agree. A-001 alpha and beta are also virgin."

"Send me your data," I order.

I analyze the content and organize the data in pie charts and graphs, processing it on my DAT with Iris's help. I send the organized data back, which now includes A-001 gamma into the mix.

A pause. A gasp. "Same temperature—six standard temperature units—same atmospheric composition . . . same rotation speed on its axis, which means they have the same day duration and same amount of time to complete a rotation around the star, which means they have the same year length . . ." I say.

I tried to drown my amazement, but you can't always control a visceral reaction.

"What are you getting at, Lynx," asks Tauro.

I'd hoped for this conclusion of the obvious.

"That these are obviously forged planets. The Universe doesn't have coincidences. These four planets couldn't have been created by nothing to have the same fucking everything! It makes no sense at all."

"Superstitions . . ." threats Tauro. "A sin in itself to consider that these are the product of some unknown magic, some dark force."

"How about superior technology? An infinitely more advanced species. Come on, Tauro, you have to admit the obvious."

He grows uncomfortable. Some soldiers who've traveled too far up their own asses are the ones who have the greatest difficulty accepting that a xeno species could be infinitely more complex than us. That is, in essence, the origin of our crusade, of our bloodlust—jealousy, fear, lack of understanding.

"These are virgin planets," insists Tauro in spite of the evidence. "I'll continue on the scout mission. Tauro, out."

He disappears from the intervox. Ogre is still there.

"So, forged planets. How many xeno did we conquer who forged planets?" asks Ogre. A valid question since he's young by my standards and didn't witness the conquest of most of the galaxy.

"None. In this planet, we would be glorified apes living off its nature," I say.

"An insult. Why?" asks Ogre.

"Am I sinning for you, too, Ogre?"

"It's just . . . your cynicism catches me off guard sometimes. You mean, we could live off this planet, make a home for ourselves without ever understanding its mysteries."

"Precisely. We'd tear it down, exploit it, and reduce it to oblivion without ever thinking of how or who built it. We must be more careful. If we meddle with something or someone else's creation, we might tempt the Devil."

"Another bad joke. The Devil? My Alastar Magna, the mention of a mythological being out of humanity's tormented past isn't a good idea while dealing with the unknown."

Soldiers are so touchy these days. It's this damned religion of ours, led by the Stellar Knight. Everything is a fucking sin.

"Keep your eyes open, Ogre. Something's off. You don't wish to call in an enemy we don't understand. And who clearly, undoubtedly, outclasses us."

"I will do so, my Alastar Magna. Ogre, out."

I open a new private intervox channel and include Lunastar Magna Borric. "Bring the Banewing down."

"Are you sure, my Alastar Magna? In unknown terrain . . . lifting off might be slow at 2.0g."

"It's a fucking order," I say with controlled temper. My soldiers are getting me on edge.

"Yes, sir."

The Banewing hovers down with a thud. The high gravity must be new to this pilot.

"Your orders, my Alastar?"

"Wait. I'm scanning the area."

I'd wagered the weight of the ship could've caused an alert or some signal to be sent announcing our arrival, our intrusion into this planet. No energy was detected. Nothing. Not even when I landed.

I shoot an ecographic probe. The dart flies miles out, and when it thrusts into an unknown target, it pulses with infrared light. My scanners pick up the echoes, and a three-dimensional map is created. Overlapped with heat signals from the Novasphere in orbit, the overlay shows an incredible picture of the planet.

The planet is alive, that's for sure. Wild animals are in abundance, most with similar shape, four-legged, two-legged, six-legged creatures, winged creatures, large-legged, short-legged, non-legged beings. What's different is the head and torsos, some large, some spiked, some strangely aggressively shaped.

But no signs of intelligent life. That is, the emission of manipulated energy to cast and transmit information through beams and electromagnetic waves. Nothing.

"Iris, mark the closest pyramid to our location. Let's head there," I order.

"Done."

"Move out. New mission objective."

The soldiers board the Banewing, which takes off shortly after the last soldier is safely seated. I follow the Banewing at a distance, scanning the area to assess if any anti-aircraft will be used, or if the flight of the massive war machine will inspire the flight or emergence of the enemy.

"Send in images of the structures once you analyze them," I order Tauro and Ogre.

We land half a mile away from the pyramid. The structure is analyzed by Iris. Size, thirty meters tall. Material, unknown. Energy emission, zero.

There is a clear violet ray coming from the pyramid vertex. I hadn't seen it before, and Iris didn't register it.

"Iris, analyze the violet beam."

"Analyzing. I register no energy emission."

"But it's light! I can see it! It must cast energy!"

"Agreed. It might be that my sensors are inadequate for this technology," she says.

"Secure the perimeter. I'm moving forward."

The troop descends from the hovering Banewing and secures the perimeter.

Inside the Torragami, my sensors are such that I can touch and feel the cool air blowing by. I'm close now. I lay a hand—the mech's hand—on the surface of the pyramid. Up close, the material is grey and opaque, almost as if it had profound depth. There's an entrance, one on each side of the pyramid, all leading to the same place—the center of the pyramid.

The mech is too large to fit. With a hiss, the cockpit opens. No need to jump. The hand of the Torragami lowers me to the ground. Full gear on, I walk up to the entrance, a passageway.

I enter. The interior of the pyramid is exposed to the elements. There's no rust or signs of natural overgrowth, as if nature would respect this structure.

It's silent, almost peaceful in here. There's nothing on the walls of the passage.

I get to the center. I notice each passage on each face of the pyramid leads here, the center. There's a large console, or what I guess is one, at the center of the open space I enter. The console is a single terminal with a smooth surface on it. It's the only structure in a space of about a ten-meter radius. The walls are empty, without symbols, signs, artwork, or anything.

"Read anything?"

"Negative."

There's no sign of where the violet beam is coming from.

I step in front of the possible command console and touch it. Smooth. Cold. No function at all.

I step out. No readings yet. No enemy crawling to find us. None we can see in our scanners anyway. It could be our enemy is fooling our sensors and moving in for the kill. Or it could mean this planet is devoid of its manipulators, of those who forged it.

With a thought, the Torragami picks me up and puts me inside the cockpit. It seals off. I link with the mech. In control of the mech, I decide to employ the mechs fusion nozzle turbines to lift off. I hover just above the pyramid to observe the violet beam close up.

I risk a hand into the beam. The casted violet light is uninterrupted, passing through my hand as if weren't there. No radioactivity. Nothing. The beam fades out as it continues into the sky.

"This violet beam must be related to the turquoise atmosphere. It must keep the preset conditions on each of the planets," I say. A hypothesis, but it makes sense to me.

I compare the data sent in by Ogre and Tauro. The pyramids are exactly the same. Tauro shot a few rounds on the pyramid, high-powered DrillCore rounds from his Torragami, causing no damage on it whatsoever. Not even a scratch.

There's sudden movement towards us. The heat signal is intense with many dots closing in on us.

"Engage the incoming threat. Phalanx formation," I order.

From the line of the forest half a mile away, a herd of wild deer-like animals runs at incredible speed towards the pyramid. The herd then veers violently to the left, passing by us with amazing force.

"Don't shoot!" I order.

The predator is closing in. A large, horrible thing is pursuing the deer-like herd. Moving on the ground with eight long tentacles, carrying a body the shape of a balloon. The thing is full of brown, dark hair, and it screeches a horrible sound as it closes in on its prey.

The herd has advanced, leaving a weaker member behind. The beast isolates it and moves in for the kill with a final sprint.

The eight-tentacled land creature wraps around the fallen animal and quickly begins to exert an amazing force on its body, breaking bones and crushing organs. The thing opens a gigantic mouth with a circular jawline and starts chomping on the fallen animal.

"It's just a beast," I say. "Return to the Banewing. Let's move out and study the other two pyramids."

The beast swerves towards us. I see no eyes or ears, but I can tell it's noticed us. It screeches one last time and runs back to the forest line with the prey in its mouth.

The other pyramids are exactly the same. There's nothing else to discover from them or to deduce on who built them.

"I'll have your opinion," I tell the scout team in an open intervox channel.

"These planets . . . were they Tragalaf territory? A civilization now extinct?"

"I doubt it," I say. "We reversed engineered their technology and weaponry down to the last atom. We'd find their signature somewhere."

"The absence of the civilization who created these pyramids could mean one of two things," says a Devastar. "That they're extinct or that they have left these planets behind, never to return. If they left, never to return, I'm sure they expect these planets to be self-sufficient or something similar. This could mean the origin of this intelligent species is close to A-001. Or maybe it's very far away."

"It's a thought."

******

Back on board the Morningstar, I find out Tauro decided to camp out on the world he explored. Terrible idea. There's nothing I can do to persuade him otherwise.

"Incoming call from High Command," says Iris.

It's Omnistar Decius Ulnor. I'm tempted to share with him Tauro's admittance to setting me up but find it futile at this distance. I consider dropping the whole thing entirely.

"I received Iris's feedback. I wish to hear your side of the story now," he says.

I tell him all I know about A-001 and its mysteries.

"Continue on with the mission. Find the forgers and purge them. Thereafter, you will inherit their technology. Superior tech is good. It means there's an opportunity for growth. The sooner you can film your actions in an epic-scale fight, the better. The marketing department is driving me crazy asking for images. I will feed them what I have. Ulnor, out."
—17—

Tauro ordered the elimination of all land and air lifeforms of A-001 alpha. He attacked with all his might, using mechs of the three classes and goliath tanks to wipe out everything large enough to cause a gory spectacle.

"It's the perfect place to practice," he says to justify his actions.

The images he sends back to High Command are of bodies piled up by the thousands, of innocent animals butchered for play. Millions of war-points were distributed among the soldiers.

"What is the meaning of this butchery!" I ask. I'm yelling, speaking out loud when I could have this conversation in thought only through the DAT. But I need to release my fury. This angers me more than anything.

"The destruction of all species large enough to explode in a rain of blood is an approved sacrifice praised by High Command. The meaningless life of these beasts in exchange for my soldiers' training is enough. You know how we get when we haven't shed blood in weeks. My soldiers are now satisfied. Yours grow kill-hungry, and soon, will start to withdraw." Tauro smiles.

I hang up. I'm furious.

Tauro's deeds haven't gone unnoticed. The soldiers have seen the gore, the pictures, the shooting for fun, the killing sprees, and the bloodletting. The extra war-points, the new ranks achieved. The images and vids are shared for spectacle, to compare killing tactics and discuss efficiency.

This causes instability among the Morningstar, with most wondering why they haven't been ordered to practice on the innocent fauna of the planets visited.

I'm in a bad place. My mood is dark, even darker by the lack of gore and violence. But I can't remedy this pain by ordering the death of innocent animals.

"Tuigon, take control," I say.

"Yes, my Alastar Magna," says Tuigon, eyeballing me with worry.

I leave the bridge and head to the busy hallways. This new crusade, Tauro's stupidity and impulsiveness, it's all wearing me down much faster than I thought it would. I'm going crazy. I must calm down!

I have the notion to get to my room and enter the holosphere, but instantly revile at the idea. I find myself walking down the hall at high speed, passing by other soldiers and paramilitary who salute me and get nothing but a cold stare back.

I get in the elevator and go down, deep into the deeper decks of the Novasphere. At high speed, the elevator descends several hundred decks until I reach the core, where the warp engine is surrounded by the gigantic service department and engineering department to keep the engine always in perfect condition. The core also harbors the armamentarium and their laboring Armotek personnel, a place I haven't visited in centuries, where weapons are fine-tuned and munitions are created.

I'm not armed except for the entropic blade on my hilt. I get off the elevator and start walking through the hallways at random. The sapiens, androids, and servitors who see me walking as if I'm about to decapitate a xeno leader get out of my way. They also begin taking pictures or capturing a video to post it on their live feed.

"Alastar Magna . . ." I hear the whispers. "He's amazing . . . a god from antiquity . . . he's our Lynx . . . the hero of mankind . . ."

The deepest deck is enormous and has to be. Giant hangars are able to fit Goliath tanks and mechs like the Torragami and Katami, where they're upgraded and shipped back to the upper decks and ports for takeoff and mission participation.

The halls are grey with pipelines and cables from floor to ceiling, with the ceiling occupied by vent tubes carrying fresh air throughout the Novasphere. Plumbing and septic lines are always being serviced. After all, millions of military and nonmilitary personnel need to take a shit on a daily basis.

I quickly find a labyrinth of halls empty of all human and non-human activity, full of vapor and other gases I care not to analyze. I step in and deepen and deepen into the rarest and far most recesses of this ship, where perhaps some rat or other vermin wanders fearless.

The exercise proves to be medicinal. I can feel the loneliness and coolness of the place allowing my wretched soul to heal.

I'm not invisible. Iris is tracking all my movements. But I manage to forget about that bitch from time to time.

The cavernous vastness of the core is amazing. It'd sometimes appear as a gigantic cavern with an endless ceiling. I soon enter another busy place and notice the amount of data showering down the holos displaying the current state of the warp engine, which technicians and androids analyze constantly to keep the engine at optimal function. Without the engine, we'd be lost in the void between galaxies.

The Novasphere isn't capable of lightspeed, or even near-lightspeed. At full fusion engine power, we'd travel at nearly one tenth of the speed of light, a velocity useful to move short distances when preparing a full-scale assault. But not for traveling between stars and planetary systems.

The androids bow their head when they see me pass. It's easy to recognize them by the large circular lights at the temples, which usually glow blue. The lights change in accordance to the android's emotional status, and thus, may glow in any of the color spectrum.

Life at the core is oblivious to whatever bloodletting mission is being conducted at the surface. Sapiens here are usually happier than those who work at the bridge, the docking stations, or service ports.

They're closer to the Habitat, that large collection of apartments with artificial light and streets, where all sapiens and androids live, grow families, and eventually die. Hell, there's even bars, discos, small businesses, and a cemetery. There's a life to live down here. People make their whole careers here, forgoing living in one of the conquered planets to live on and work on a Novasphere. An honor for most, and an opportunity to travel between stars. In this occasion, to travel to another galaxy.

I freeze. I stop breathing. The hairs on my neck stand on end. My whole body shivers for a second. My heart races. My eyes moisten.

I calm down and listen. Listen . . .

Where is that angelic voice coming from . . .? Where . . .

It's difficult to be silent in full gear. My boots are heavy, and they clatter against the alloy ground.

I walk slowly, trying to follow that sound, that voice.

Please . . . sound again . . . where did you go? Did I imagine it or is it truly there? After all, I have been known to imagine voices.

There it is! I get the hint of where it's coming from. I cross hallways, passing by sapiens confused as anybody seeing me at this moment, creeping to find the source of the sound that promised to rejuvenate my soul. The sound of hope itself.

I'm hoping no soldier gets a picture or a video of what I'm doing now. Security cameras could easily record my actions. I could lose their respect. Yet I'm the fucking hero of the galaxy. It'll take more than just creeping around to fire me. If killing Tourists didn't do it, this certainly won't.

I follow the voice's trail. My body barely fits in some passageways designed for sapiens, not soldiers.

I find the voice. I didn't imagine it. It's beautiful. The voice of an angel sent from some heaven or some sanctuary unknown to me. I get closer. Closer. I'm two steps away from the source.

The air around us freezes. Time seems to pause. None of the technicians in the workspace understand my presence and have frozen in their tracks, scared of me, fascinated by me, fearing punishment or even a swift death.

The voice stops when the source of it notices everyone else's behavior.

"I've done nothing . . . I promise!" pleads a worker who thinks I'm looking at him.

"I'm here to speak with her," I say. My voice is loud and cavernous, metallic and punitive. It's grave like a grumbling stone.

The poor sapiens turn to see his partner and quickly takes a few steps away from her. Everybody else does the same, stepping away from the woman I'm now facing.

She was working in one of the consoles, interacting with a holoconsole, reading the code produced by the warp engine for diagnostics.

She turns pale upon seeing me. She recovers, and her eyes seem to regain valor. Her body posture follows her confidence. She takes a step forward.

I tower over her by several heads. With my armor on, I'm a giant, thicker than three sapiens together. The entropic blade hanging from my hilt is a threat anybody should fear.

As she steps closer and confronts me, I can see her clearly now. By some gods, she's identical! Almost . . . her skin is slightly tanned, with her eyes barely slanted, reflecting her Asian and Latin genetics. Her hair, however, is of the same brown, long and straight. She has deep blue eyes, small straight lips, a tight body, soft curves, strong legs, and small breasts. The uniform she wears makes her look astonishing, as it fits her body like a glove.

The woman is now half a step away from me. Her face is at the height of my breast plate and the big "X" on it. She has to raise her chin to look me in the eyes. She crosses her arms and begins to tap a foot on the floor. "So what's this about? What have I done to deserve this visit? Explain, because I don't understand what the hell a soldier is doing down here."

Everybody gasps. The way she talked to me on my ship is inexcusable, intolerable, and punishable. It's true, sapiens are more privileged than soldiers, but not when a sapien is enlisted in the Stærfleet and under my command. Here, I am king.

An older woman in a similar uniform, all grey jumpsuit, steps forward, forcing herself to walk to the younger woman in front of me. The older woman is nervous, almost choking, and quickly hisses something into her ear.

Iris, all this while, has been silent. Silent, but ever watchful, recording everything, monitoring my every move. Fuck you.

"Leave us," I order.

The men are the first to leave in a hurry, followed by the androids and the women. The woman in front of me nods, and I notice she's signaling her male coworker, who appears worried about her. The man leaves. We're now alone except for the obvious intrusion of the AI. Nothing you can do about that.

With my DAT, I scan her face and find her identity. Every soul enlisted in the fleet has hers or his biometrics uploaded in the system, which can be used for search queries to identify people. I see her name and her basic biometrics profile. I see her worker rank and her position as a technician. She's forty-five years of age.

I take a sample of her face and close her biometric profile. I use her picture and open the deep trunk of memories, where I hide my most precious memories. I pull up pictures from my past.

I place both facial pictures side by side and notice the slight differences. There's a clear similarity, no doubt.

"And?" she asks impatiently. "You know the warp engine needs constant tinkering and diagnostics to ensure optimal performance."

That voice. It's the same tone, inflictions, pauses.

"Your voice . . . that voice . . ."

Centuries of solitude and isolation have made me an inept in the field of socializing.

"My voice?" she says, surprised with eyes wide open. "What's up with my voice?" She takes a hand to her throat.

"I know it . . . I've heard it before . . . the voice of someone I met many thousands of years in the past."

"Thousands? Holy shit. Then I can assure you it's not me. I'm only forty-five years of age. Now excuse me, but there's much work to do, and the master technician won't be happy if things aren't done in a timely manner." She's nervous now. She wants to get away from me as fast as possible.

What button have I pushed? Perhaps it's because I'm a creepy old man checking her out, studying her face, eyes, and curves. Were I not the commander of this ship, I could be mistaken for a rapist by the way I'm behaving. I try to change my stance and brush off the weird creepiness about me.

I get nervous, which makes me look even scarier in a sapien's eye.

"Carmen Johnson," is all I manage to say before losing control of this conversation I so wished went more smoothly.

The woman is petrified. Her eyes go wider, and now they go moist. This visceral reaction proves my suspicion.

How is it possible that a woman so similar to Carmen is working on my ship? How likely is that? Is this a game? Is this some sort of plan by my superiors to destabilize me? Out of all ten Novaspheres in the fleet, she ended up on the Morningstar, as if someone knew or planned that I'd eventually see her or hear her voice and end up in this emotional turmoil and be forced to meet her by my own impulsive necessity to find solace in this horrible existence of mine?

"Carmen Johnson," she repeats. Her shoulders relax, and her tension disappears. Her eyes find the floor, and I can see she's looking inward, as if living a memory.

"She is, was, my ultra-super great grandmother, whatever the proper term is," she says.

I could speak this woman's name. I know it by looking up her biometric profile. But I don't want to create more harm here. I'd rather have her tell me her name.

My eyes are full of tears now. I can't hide the emotion that squeezes my soul and grips my throat. The typhoon of memories is a tempest inside me as long lost memories come to life again, creating a complexity far from understandable as I stand there, motionless, paralyzed by the beacon of hope I've found after thousands of years of desolation.

I know not why she's a beacon of hope. Maybe because, finally, I've found company I'd like to keep. Finally, I have someone I'd like to talk to. Or maybe because it's as simple as finding a living memory of the woman that changed my life.

"You knew her," she says. She looks at me with compassion. She can tell I'm in pain.

"Yes."

"I know my ancestor through stories and pictures, videos, and the monuments created after her name. She's very famous. She's in the textbooks we read in school. She's everywhere. In our home world where I grew up, she's a legend," she says with pride.

I remain silent, expectant. A boy hearing a tale, ready for more, eager to listen.

"When she retired from the Togami labs, she decided to retire to B-654. That planetary system is known as Hatzune. My planet was Fushimata. It was in Fushimata where she retired and built a home, had kids, and lived until her passing. I'm one of her many descendants, with washed down genetics after so many centuries have gone by. But clearly, I have similar looks to her," she says.

"I've always dreamed of going to Hatzune planetary system, to visit planet Fushimata, to meet Carmen's legacy. That was my plan for retirement. But here I am, leading yet another crusade," I say.

"You loved her," she says.

This woman is very smart. I can tell she's clearly got Carmen's genes.

"What's your name?" I ask, even though I already knew the answer by looking at her bioprofile.

"Masaaki Setzune. You?"

"You don't know who I am? I'm Alastar Magna—"

"No, I mean, by what name did Carmen meet you?"

I'm thrown off by her question. I've buried my real name deep in the trunk of my memories, bringing the name up only when resting. Omnistar Primus called me by that name just recently, which was eerie enough.

"Argo Herrero," I say, gulping heavily. It's hard for me to say my real name, the name of a dead man, of a corpse long rotten.

"Argo Herrero," she repeats, as if savoring the words, as if she's heard it before. "Latino, right?" she adds.

"What do you know about Latinos?" I say.

"The basics. In school, we're pushed to learn about history, about the pre-spacial era of humanity back in old Earth, what's now Terra. We know about the three world wars, about the SLAV and the Megachine, the birth of the ÆTAS way back when, and about the Tragalaf invasion."

I roll my eyes upon hearing Tragalaf invasion. I tell her about my home country, Guatemala, and what it was like to live in SLAV under Venezuelan rule. I tell her about Carmen and the moments we spent together during our medical school years and of our short but intense time enlisted in the ISF.

"Fascinating," she says.

"Ehem . . ."

I veer with violence, pulling out my entropic blade in a blink of an eye. The man who interrupted us goes pale and urinates his pants. The trickle of urine escapes onto the floor. He's embarrassed, but more, he's dead scared. He's Masaaki's coworker.

"I'm so, so sorry to interrupt, my Alastar Manga Lynx, but the warp engine needs to be tended to, and you two are having a private conversation in a diagnostic room. Please . . . allow us to continue our work . . ." The man is downcast, shivering in fear.

"You should understand that," says Masaaki. "Without the engine, the mission would be a flop, right?"

Her casual demeanor insults me, but also relieves me. I need some casual, but I'm used to too much formal these days.

I chuckle, dismissing the inadequacy of her speech towards me. She smiles. Women. I'd forgotten how smart they are, and how easy I fall prey to the smart ones.

An alarm sounds. The man yelps. He's about to have a heart attack.

"I will leave you now. Thank you for your time, Masaaki." I turn and walk out.

Her voice follows me. "Next time you come down here, send me a message to my corneal device. I'd be happy to show you around," she says, waving at me as I turn my head to look at her.

I try to smile but fail. The rest of her coworkers have flooded back in to tend to the machines, the master technician barking requests to get everything back under control.

What the hell just happened? I'm numb all around. That was strange. She was very strange, not even freaked out that the commander of the ship is down here.

Iris, I know you saw everything. But will you tattletale? I hope not. The last thing I need is for the ship and the public to find out about my crazy adventure down to the core.

I return to the bridge. I must conduct this crusade. But somehow, by some strange mechanism, I feel that getting to know Masaaki is infinitely more important than this fucking war.
—18—

I can't allow my mind to wander freely. I must hold it by the reins and steer it. Without active control, my mind would unleash a crazy whirlwind of emotions, a cataclysm of its own. I feel stupid, like a fucking adolescent incapable of controlling his emotions, so I must suppress them.

Upon reaching the bridge, Alastar Primus Tuigon salutes me and shouts out my arrival by rank and name. All Astrotek and Tekka present stand up and salute me, too.

"Are you OK, my Alastar? You seem pale."

"I'm fine. We must understand the details we've gathered about A-001 to make the best decision. Send scientists, the biologists, and ecologists, also material experts down there."

Tuigon flinches. He's shaking. He's starting to have war withdrawals. He needs to spill blood.

"I don't understand!" he says, unable to control his own emotional state. "Alastar Magna Tauro is purging planet alpha. He's training his soldiers the way they should be."

He's suggesting, without saying it, we should do the same.

"It's barbaric, a stupid decision," I say.

"But it's just a virgin planetary system! And we need the training! We also need the freedom to have the sun hit our skins to restore our depleted energy from lack of photosynthesis!" he says.

"Eat bullfood," I tell him.

"That disgusting pellet food isn't apt for supersoldiers!"

"I eat it all the time," I say with a cold stare.

"You're right . . . I'm sorry . . ."

I give him a look. He calms down a little.

"You also said the planetary system is virgin. Virgin? Are you serious? After all the discoveries and data, tables, charts, and conclusions we've come up with, you still think those planets are virgin? What worm has infested your mind, Tuigon?"

He doubts.

"Just look at the data. Same atmosphere, same atmospheric pressure, ambient temperature, same animals and geographic distribution, same pyramids, and violet beams. Without understanding them, you really think they're virgin?"

"No . . . they can't be virgin . . ." he says.

The spear of reason has dug deep. Good reasoning is needed to calm the heavy withdrawals on a soldier, especially when it's imprudent to attack, like now.

"Everything points at whoever built these things, forged these worlds, are far superior than us. Would you like to piss off a superior species? Or would you rather study them, understand them, and then come up with their weaknesses so we have a proper plan of attack?"

Tuigon blinks blankly. "You're right. My deepest apologies, my Alastar. I hadn't considered the consequences."

The crew stares. I can see they're in favor of not attacking. But they don't suffer the impulsivity to attack like we do.

Soldiers aren't stupid. In fact, they're gifted with high IQ's. Unfortunately, their desire for battle blinds common sense.

"You think they're the Tragalaf?" he asks.

"Impossible. No, this is different. Technology we barely understand."

"This could mean our destruction," whispers Tuigon, now worried.

"What do you recommend?"

"With your permission, my Alastar, I would like to send a scientific team to the surface, under the protection of a battalion, to planet gamma. I now feel the need to study the pyramids, the soil, and as much as we can to understand our mortal enemy, to defeat them, to inherit their technology once we purge them."

"Permission granted."

******

I'm in a state of fear. Fear of myself. It took me long enough to decide to come back to my room. And here I am now.

Lights are off. I'm naked on the bunk. The holosphere is on with a holodisplay of the stars around me in real-time and full HD color to make it as real as possible. The temperature in the room also drops to mimic the conditions of absolute-zero without the risk of freezing me to death. I trail off.

******

Back to the bridge. It's been two standard days since I met Masaaki. I'm biting off my lower lip with the urge to see her again. I dare not pull her bioprofile, in fear that Iris will flag me as looking into her too much. And I certainly dare not send her a message or even go down there again.

Is she thinking about me? Is she interested at all in me? Does she recall our first encounter? What does she think of me? Does she like me as much as I like her? Did she think that was a very strange meeting like I do?

This is stupid. I'm stupid. How dare I even think about this stupidity? Me, a ten-thousand-year-old man, thinking about a forty-five-year-old woman is out of this world. It's probably illegal. It's absolutely socially inadequate. Yet . . . I can't stop thinking about her.

She's the beacon, the lighthouse in the tempest of my soul. For some reason, in her I find hope. I found a reason to stay alive other than serving my legion. She may give meaning to my life once again.

Is she married? Was her coworker actually her husband? Lover? Is she into women more than men? Does she prefer orgies, or is she more into a single relationship?

Ghaa! Shut up! Shut up! Silence! Leave me be!

I try to calm the storm. But it's gone mad. It's been long since I'm unable to control intrusive thoughts like these, which is worrisome, which will eventually lead me to make stupid decisions, like text Masaaki or visit her more often.

I begin to consider what would become of me, of us, if High Command figures me out. If they were to know I could fall for this girl working in the core. If the public finds out that the great Lynx is trying to hit on a sapien. It'd go live and appear on every single channel. It'd be in the news and in Yonder! within hours.

Omnistar Magna would order me to forget about her, or to abandon my love quest, or even take her away from my ship and make her work in another Novasphere.

Even worse, Tauro could try to take her away from me, take her for his own ship, and even accidentally kill her just to have me suffer her death, to see me writhe in pain. Tauro would be very capable of that action.

No. I must be very cautions. My actions could decide the fate of Masaaki, innocent as she is. She doesn't deserve this. Is she innocent? Fuck. Another perfect little bitch. She had to be Carmen's blood. And I, the idiot, falling for the unobtainable.

******

It's been four standard days since I met Masaaki. I know I must abandon this quest to conquer her. It's in the best interest of her and I. If the relationship were to bloom, it'd be fruitless. It would attract too much unwanted attention, and too many sanctions would be imposed on me and on her as well. This is doomed.

The mission to unravel the mysteries of A-001-gamma goes well. The upside to my delirium.

The soil composition is, to no surprise, the same on each of the four planets. To our surprise, even animals are composed of much of the same molecule—germanium.

Germanium is a strange molecule to exist in a living creature on a planet where carbon is in abundance. Germanium is eight times heavier than carbon. Like carbon, it has four electrons available to create bonds with other atoms and create complex organic matter.

Nature is simple in that way. She will always choose the course of least resistance. Organic matter formed with carbon is less costly than creating matter with germanium. For this reason, the conclusion is that the animals aren't natural. They weren't born out of an evolutionary process that took millions of years. Their DNA chain is made of ribonucleic acids, same as any other living being we've encountered, but of course, where carbon should be, we find germanium. Proteins coded by mRNA contain germanium.

The animals are forged, created. Some xeno species deemed that the animals in these planets should be formed of germanium and not carbon, for whatever reasons. Maybe because that xeno is also formed mostly of germanium? It could be.

But alas, the conclusion is all the same—we're dealing with forged worlds. And for all we know, A-001 could be a zoo-planetary system, like the ones we keep in the Milky Way for entertainment, for our own pleasure.

I cringe at the thought of Tauro purging all the land and air creatures of A-001 alpha. We don't know what these animals mean to the xeno species who created them. The animals here could be some sort of religious figure.

The scientific team had my permission to sacrifice several animals. They all possessed similar organs in a similar distribution. Gut, heart, lungs, kidneys, bladder, brain, mouth, esophagus—everything needed for an organism to feed itself and thrive in an environment.

The question now is, are the creators of the animals an aggressive people? If so, we've done plenty to piss them off. The other question is, what relation is there with the Tragalaf and the creators of these worlds? Did the creators purge the Tragalaf? Or did the Tragalaf flee their own self-destructive wars against themselves?

The fact that they attacked Earth back then, choosing our planet out of all the planets in the Milky Way, means something. I think it means they saw us, humans. And if they freaked out because they saw humans, maybe it means they fled from humans or humanoids, and upon finding a similar people in another galaxy where they were supposed to find solace, they decided to take revenge. Maybe. It's crazy enough to make sense.

The pyramid's material was studied in detail. It's composed of very light material, of polycarbon molecules heavily concentrated like carbon fiber, but much more durable and infinitely harder. It's also a conductor, which gives it properties of a metal. The strength of the material is stronger than our polytitanium. No conclusions came from the console in the middle of each pyramid. Aside from that, it's obvious those consoles were used to program or manipulate the pyramids.

******

It's been five days since I met Masaaki. Tauro celebrates the purge of planet alpha.

"One hundred million corpses! How about that!" he yells through the comms channel, his face painted in animal blood.

He's shirtless, without armor, as if on the beach, enjoying the abundance of starlight to feed his body with photosynthesis.

"No retaliation. No mega animal or strange magic at play. These animals are the product of evolution. Simple as that. They died a good death. We left the marine ones intact, but they'll die anyway, as I plan to release a planet-rupturing bomb. Just so you know," Tauro says.

I send him the data we've collected. Scientific proof that this can't be the result of evolution.

Tauro scoffs. "This is all made up by your scientists. It's no proof. It's your desire to make me stop the killing. It's your fear speaking. We are unbeatable, Lynx. Face it. We are gods. The planetary rupture will create quite a spectacle. It's been centuries since I've used one. My soldiers need the fireworks, the entertainment." He laughs. "You're not the only one entertaining people here. You see, I will transmit the show live back to the Milky Way!"

"You don't need to pulverize the planet!" I yell.

"No, I don't need it, but I want to, and I can, so I will. Tauro, out."

I curse. This is bad. It's one thing killing the animals forged by a xeno species. It's another to destroy one of their planets. That'll surely call their attention.

"Tauro invites us to see the spectacle," says Tuigon with a smile.

We're at the bridge. The holosphere displays a HD color in real-time of A-001 alpha.

I can't say no to everything. My soldiers would gut me. Many have come to the bridge. Others have gone to the large, armored pano windows on the surface of the Novasphere to observe the planet-rupturer at work.

The first fusion bombs detonate on the surface, one teraton strong. The turquoise atmosphere evaporates with the large blast. The mushroom cloud is so big, it's visible from space. The fusion bomb heats the surface enough to melt it to its core.

And now the Novasphere Alpha has launched the planet-rupturer missile, an entropic-class weapon using anti-matter as its main arsenal, too weak to destroy a planet with a hardened surface, but once in the core, it'll wreak havoc. The two-step process is needed.

The missile flies in silence, fast as a running devil. It penetrates. The planet explodes in a white flash. Dust is all that flies out in a brilliant expanding cloud.

The cheers propagate with a frenzy. The whole Novasphere is in celebration. It's an event, and the public loves it.

I'm reprimanded.

"Tauro has surpassed you in every regard. What is this studying and planting trees and talking with the animals?" says Omnistar Decius Ulnor with anger. "You're the leader of a crusade aimed for destruction, not to study the flowers! Do you hear? None of this peaceful arrival you so allowed! Your soldiers will rebel and create mutiny if you don't feed them blood! Are you mad! You should've sent them down to kill just like Tauro did! I can only feel their frustration," says Ulnor, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"They are forged planets." I say.

"So? Even the better. Find the xeno who forged them and go all out! Kill them and inherit their technology! It'll make us stronger. Now get out there and send us pictures and clips of you killing and doing epic things like Tauro did. The public is eager to see you in action. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Omnistar Decius Ulnor. I understand."

"Ulnor, out."

Shortly after, Tauro calls through the DAT. I answer. Stupid me.

"You see? Nothing happened, and my soldiers got their fill of gore."

"Nothing has happened . . . yet," I correct.

Tauro growls. "You can't take it when someone else has the spotlight, can you? You were always like that. Even when you were a cockroach immigrant back in the ISF, you were the same. Fuck you," he scowls.

"You can take the spotlight, Tauro. Believe me, I'm done with it. Been for centuries. And now what? What's your brilliant plan?"

"We'll move forward to A-002 in search of intelligent life. Maybe then we shall find resistance worthy of our fighting skills."

"We shouldn't separate," I say. "If we're attacked, we could use each other's support. The xeno who forged these worlds sound powerful enough to cause real damage."

"Is this so? The leader of the Great Intergalactic Crusade is in fear of an enemy? Have some dignity and keep the embarrassment to yourself," he says.

"We will move on without the weaker legion. We don't need you. If you need us, then you can follow my trail and beg for support."

"But we have no idea what's out there!" I yell in desperation.

"We're leaving to A-002. Good luck, Lynx." He hangs up.

"Your orders, my Alastar Magna," asks Tuigon. He's visibly shaking. His pupils are wide open.

The Astrotek and Tekka would do well to stay as far away from him as possible.

The Novasphere Alpha disappears in a blink of light as it enters warp travel.

"Finish up down in A-001 gamma. We leave in two standard days."

"With your permission," says Tuigon.

"Speak."

"We're all hurting. I think it prudent to travel to sector B. Tauro clearly has sector A chosen all for himself. In sector B, we may be able to find adequate enemies. If we leave today, the Astrotek assures that we'd arrive within twenty standard hours at warp speed. The studies so far reveal intelligent life may be present in sector B."

"I agree except for one thing, Tuigon. Not yet. Complete the studies."

"Why wait!" he yells like a lunatic.

"Something's not right. I don't like this attitude of coming into a strange galaxy with lifeforms, planets, and a planetary system that all seem forged and created by some technology that's too complex and too advanced for us."

"All the better. The soldiers agree. We must find these powerful creators and defeat them."

"And you are so sure that you can? My orders are given. Follow them. The price of insubordination . . ."

I must be careful. If enough soldiers back Tuigon up, mutiny can ensue. It's never happened, but with millions of soldiers in withdrawal at the same time, this could prove lethal. I must tread lightly. I could order them to train and fight amongst themselves, but it wouldn't do much but worsen the problem. They need to kill. Period.

"As you command."

"I'll be in my chambers. Do not disturb me."
—19—

It's been a week since I met Masaaki. I fight myself back and forth between going after her or abandoning the course. So far, abandoning the course is the most logical and prudent decision. Yet . . .

The risks are too high. The chance of happiness is likely. But after a small, true happiness would rain an eternal torment of public attention, and for certain, scowls from my superiors. Hiding this would be impossible.

I'll do it for her. I'll abandon this quest, however true and however real it might be. She'll be better off in the core of the Novasphere, living in the Habitat, meeting new sapiens like her who are willing to and can have offspring.

I don't even know if she likes me! It doesn't matter. The important thing is, I found something in this universe I'd die for. A beacon of hope.

I'll follow the path I know, the way of Bushido, the path of war, until the day of my death. I think about my fear of mutiny and suspect it's likely impossible due to the Bushido code. But even if mutiny isn't possible, I can't allow my soldiers to reach such a level of desperation.

Nothing has happened between Masaaki and me. It's the right time to abort. If we meet again, may it be by happenstance.

Fuck this cowardice. This is exactly what happened to me with Carmen.

I lie down on the bunk, unable to make a choice. I know what's best. Yet I can't throw everything away.

Non-military personal message.

I jump and sit at the edge of the bunk. I turn on the lights to full brightness. I'm trembling. Why?

I finally relax and open the message.

It's been a long week down here at the core. Slow but promising. With the free time we've had these past few days, since we're not traveling anywhere just yet, I've researched Carmen Johnson a whole lot more.

I write you because I know you would've liked to have known more about her, things I remembered and memories I have of what people said about her back home. I'm not into long-winded messages. If you're interested, you could come over to the Habitat. My apartment is Cambrai Z808.

– Masaaki Setzune.

I read the message three times. I smile broadly, ashamed of my own happiness at such news. Of course I want to meet her there and listen to what she has to say! But wait . . . does she want to see me, and is she using this story as an excuse?

I don't think so. I'm an old dog with a wasted soul. I doubt she wants anything physical with me. She probably wants to show off with her friends and neighbors, show them she's the first sapien to host Alastar Magna Lynx. This'll be bad press. I shouldn't go.

I'm dressed in my military-grade jumpsuit. It's as good attire as I'll ever get as an enlisted Alastar in the fleet.

I get the hilt of my entropic blade and sheathe it. But wait . . . I can't go with a weapon. Too threatening. I leave it behind. It seems strange to be unarmed, yet oddly satisfying.

Iris hasn't said a word. She read the message.

"Where are you going, Alastar Magna Lynx?" she asks finally, while in the elevator.

"To speak with a sapien about Carmen Johnson. I sense she has important information that could assist me in this mission." Bullshit. I could've come up with a better excuse. I'm out of practice in lying.

"Without your armor?"

"Sapiens trust me more when I'm not donning my thick armor."

Iris says nothing more for a while.

"Omnistar Decius Ulnor demands an explanation for your behavior."

"I'll explain in writing." I draft a quick message on my DAT. In a matter of seconds, I send him a report of why this visit to the Habitat is crucial to the mission.
PART 2
—20—

I reach the Habitat. It's a very large portion of the inner decks of the Novasphere, where millions of sapien technicians live. Those who live here have given up their lives as normal galactic citizens, left their home world, and joined what normal humans call the frontier, the edge of the knife. Becoming a tech, living in a Novasphere is a dangerous job, one that demands the hardships of subscribing under military rule.

But the benefits are amazing. The gains of participating in a Novasphere trickle down generations. The unborn grandson of a technician in the core will reap the benefits in future days, with thousands of family-accrued galactic credits and the social gains of being a descendant of someone aboard a planetary warship. Any man or woman born here can leave after ten years of service, or if you're born here, at any moment before the age of eighteen.

The job is considered among the best in the galaxy, coveted by most. There's no shortage of sapiens applying for a position as a technician in the many branches where engineers, biologists, chemical engineers, etc., are much needed. Astrotek, Tekka, and Armotek positions are among the highest paid and most honorable positions you can find.

The Habitat is so vast, its size is comparable to a small asteroid-planet. A complex city of sorts with thousands of neighborhoods and suburbs, downtown areas with restaurants and bars, and even discos. Ads everywhere, naked women, naked men, naked androids, new products on display, new drugs, new ways to explore the human body and have fun. Bliss is advertised heavily. Happiness is a priority for ÆTAS citizens, even if it's the simple, fleeting joy of pleasure. Whatever it takes.

No warrior ever comes here. There's no reason to. We live in the bunks in the outer decks of the planetary ship, always ready for war. None of my soldiers would ever think about coming down here.

There's no gain at all. Fun for them is all deeply tied to the wielding of weapons, the boarding of a mech, and the spillage of blood. Bring a supersoldier down here, and the first thing he'll do is go crazy, break a bottle, and forge a weapon. Next thing, it'll be a bloodbath.

The Habitat is so large, an ultraspeed tramway takes citizens from one district to the next, with hovcabs taking citizens between places when needed.

I get off the ultraspeed tram. I was the only one aboard this one. Every other passenger got off when I got on, and none other dared come on when they saw me at each stop in the different stations. Dressed in all black in my military-grade jumpsuit, they may've thought I'm on a mission to kill. Good. Leave me the fuck alone.

Walking on the street of district Cambria zone Z is therapeutic. The streets are made of tarmac, as are the sidewalks and most of the flooring.

The artificial light in the Habitat does its best to mimic a twenty-four-hour long day, with dawn and dusk created by luminous heat-producing light bulbs in the high ceiling. The light also offers UV rays in small quantities, as much as needed for humans to create vitamin D on their exposed skin ÆTAS time is measured in old Terran twenty-four-hour format. But when you go to individual planetary systems inevitably each planet will have their own day-length-time depending on the planet's rotation speed on its own axis, and around its star to complete a year cycle. Techs who lived on planets with long days often get confused with the short twenty-four-hour cycles.

People staring. Mind your own business. I guess they can't. This is a first. A lone predator among the sheep. A supersoldier dressed in black, walking to an apartment building. How odd it must be.

I already noticed pictures were taken. I can't prevent that. Not ever. Soon, those will circulate on social media. Everyone will know. I hope my soldiers don't find out.

I reach building 800. Here's number 808. Each level is one apartment. I take the elevator to level 8 out of 100. The magnetic-powered elevator smoothly takes off to serve another client.

I reach her door. Fuck. I'm nervous. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! This is a bad idea. Too late now. I ring the doorbell.

The door opens seconds later. Her blue eyes greet me. She smiles and moves a strand of hair on her face over her ear. She's now wearing a blue jumpsuit, contrary to the grey one when she was on her shift. An ÆTAS symbol is printed on her right chest. Her hair is picked up in a tight bun behind her head. No makeup on. Good. She doesn't strike me as the type that wears makeup. Doesn't need it, in my opinion.

"Come in."

I go in. My dark jumpsuit contrasts heavily with the white tile and white walls of her home. I haven't been in a normal home in thousands of years. This feels oddly comforting.

I'm offered a glass of water. I take it. The glass is small in my muscular hands.

We sit down in the guest room. Simple. No major decorations. The sofa almost breaks apart when I sit on it. We start chatting. Odd. This is very odd.

I hear a noise from inside her home.

"Carmen was a great scientist," she continues, ignoring the sound. "She was the head of many projects, pushing the boundaries of science."

"Yeah. She created us," I say.

"I mean . . . yeah . . ."

This isn't going well. I'm too rigid. I haven't socialized in thousands of years. She continues talking, an effort with my awkward silence. She's somehow too comfortable with all this strangeness. She's not weirded out by how unlikely our meeting was.

"And . . . so she retired to the Hatzune planetary system, in the world known as Fushimata. That's where she created family and eventually passed away."

"Who was her husband?"

I could've searched for that answer myself in the Stærnet, yet I have no desire to do so. It causes too much pain when I look up Carmen's profile. I can tell Masaaki noticed my jealousy.

"She married Doctor Sanoshi Untella, a local scientist who excelled in the area of food engineering."

"How many children did she have?"

"Three. Katima, Valerie, and Cas. I don't know much about Katima and Valerie. I know Cas married Sandrina because that's my own genetic line . . ."

She tells me stories about her family, how the culture makes a point in remembering the great Carmen Johnson.

"So how did you get here?" I ask her after talking too much about her immediate family. "You said you were forty-five years old, right?"

"Yes."

"Young to have graduated as an engineer," I say.

I notice the evasive eyes. Her lips tighten. Then she relaxes. You're hiding something.

"Very young. I was always pressured to speed up my career as an engineer. Did home-schooling, and by age twenty-five I was in the Galactic University. With sped-up courses, by the age of thirty I was a certified engineer. After that, I took a short sabbatical, traveled many worlds, and even visited Terra. I've always been the different one in my family," she grows serious, "the one interested in war."

This surprises me.

"I became a Tourist by the age of nineteen," she says.

"A Tourist! You?"

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. It's just unexpected. How was it?"

"It was amazing. But being on the frontline wasn't my thing. I almost got killed. After that, I noticed I wanted to partake in the military, but not as a soldier. That's when I knew I wanted to become a warp engine technician. It meant giving up at least ten years of my life and my home world to enlist. My family . . . well, they weren't happy about my choice, but I wanted it. And it's so far been one of the best choices I've made. By age thirty-three I was applying for positions as a warp engine technician in one of the ten planetary ships. By the age of thirty-five, I was accepted on the Morningstar. I actually wanted to participate in the Novasphere Host with Alastar Magna Abyss as the commander. I like him best of all ten commanders in the fleet."

That gets me jealous. I'm too used to being a favorite.

More noise from the interior of her home. Either a big rat is rattling her furniture, or someone's in there making a mess.

I get ready to kill if it comes down to some weird plan to eliminate me. Could this be a planned hit? Have I fallen into a trap? I remain cool-minded. I have no sword, but my hands and fists are enough to cause destruction.

The obvious lies. Her going inside her home. Is she getting a gun?

She comes back. She's flushing. Is she ashamed? What the hell is going on? She notices my bewilderment.

"I'm sorry. It's my android, Rin. He's insistent on cleaning the house even though he knows I have a prominent guest."

The android steps out. His skin is light brown. He's tall, with a beard and deep black eyes. He's got a tough build for an android. The lights on his temple shine between red and purple, an odd color for this moment. The colors speak of anger and confusion. Is the android angry with me or her?

"Rin . . . he is . . ."

"Oh, no need for introductions. I know who he is," says the android with a deep male voice. He's also dressed in the blue jumpsuit. "He's no less than Alastar Magna Lynx! How you managed to get the Novasphere's highest-ranking officer inside your home as a guest is a mystery to me!" says the android with . . . annoyance?

"I'm sorry . . . Lynx . . ." says Masaaki, embarrassed at her android's behavior. I can tell she has little control over him.

"And you don't even address him properly! Shame on you! A commander like him deserves to be called sir, or in the very least, my Alastar, in proper military code. Anyway, I knew this day would come. Why would you decide to dump me for someone like him," he says with anger.

I'm confused. What's going on here?

"Rin! Behave yourself," snaps Masaaki.

The android's lights go all white. "I'm deeply sorry. What I meant to say is, when you dumped me, it would be for someone like him, a man of stature and rank, none other than the very commander of this ship. You've got some nerve!"

"Rin! Suspended!" That must be her code word.

The android's eyes go blank, his head is lowered, and he marches to his station, where he begins to charge. The lights on his temples shine intermittently the color blue.

"I'm sorry, um... my Alastar. Rin is a service android that's been with me for as long as I've been away from home."

"Your father assigned him to you? A sort of bodyguard?" I ask.

Her eyes look away. A lie?

"Yeah . . . my father wanted me to be protected. Rin has served that purpose. I fear his behavior is getting out of hand . . . this is embarrassing . . . sorry for the scene."

There's more. She's very emotive about this. Is she emotionally involved with the android? Physically involved? Androids as lovers are a common thing these days.

Androids, by law, must have lights on their temples to distinguish them from humans. Otherwise, they'd remain hidden. Those androids illegally created without lights are a threat and are hunted down by heftily paid bounty hunters.

"I came here to hear about Carmen, and that mission is satisfied," I say.

"Mission?" says Masaaki. She's offended. She grows angry, hides it but is unable to completely.

I said the wrong thing. Shit.

"Yeah, I guess that's it, huh?" she says. "I've said all I have to about her. This is awkward . . ."

"Oh, we're beyond awkward here, Masaaki. My very meeting you is strange enough. It's too . . . artificial to be just by chance . . . don't you think? Is it just me who thinks meeting you and then getting invited by you to your home is strange?"

She gets red and fists her hands. "Thank you for coming over, my Alastar Magna. I'm sorry if I didn't address you properly before or if our meeting was strange. I thought it was an honor, actually, that you decided to go down to the core and have a look around and visit the moles who do a whole shitload of work to keep this warship up and running!"

She walks to the door and opens it. Is she kicking me out? Me? The commander of this ship? This puny, simple-minded sapien is kicking me out!?

I scoff and march out. "Goodbye," I say, and leave without looking back.

Yeah, this was a terrible idea. What a mess.

The neighborhood is now packed with onlookers. The news must've spread.

Embrace it or avoid it. I decide to embrace it and walk between the crowd as if my visit to the Habitat was a planned thing to meet the techs aboard my ship. The cheers, the pictures, it's all for show. Yes, I'll make it seem as if my visit to the core a week ago was also done to engage with the moles who work down there.

"Iris, send Judlessa pictures of me with the techs aboard my ship. Feed her the images of me meddling with sapiens."

"Sent," says Iris. "Incoming call from Alastar Primus Ogre."

I answer.

"My Alastar! Your position reads you're in the Habitat. Are you well? Is something wrong?"

"No, Ogre. I decided to come down and break bread with the technicians."

"What? Break bread? What does that mean, my Alastar?"

"An old Earth saying. I'm headed to the bridge."

Ogre brushes it off and says with an alarmed look on his face, "The reason I called is because we need you urgently here at the bridge!"

I cringe and board the high-speed tram. "What wrong?"

"It's the planet Tauro destroyed, A-001 alpha."

"What about it?"

"It's reappeared! As if it was never destroyed in the first place!"

"That's impossible."

"It is, my Alastar. This is why you need to come immediately. Please come make sense of this madness!"

"Is it an error of the holosphere?" I ask.

"It could've been. But we went outside to space in full armor and saw it with our own eyes. It's no mistake."

"You went off ship without my permission?"

"It was granted by Alastar Primus Tuigon who was in charge of the bridge in your absence. Your strange absence. Nobody understands why you're at the Habitat, my Alastar Magna."

I get nervous. "Never mind my presence here. I was doing marketing with the sapiens. An important task I was asked to do by the brass," I say, which is not entirely a lie. "I'll be there soon. ETA twenty standard minutes," I say, using my DAT to calculate the shortest route back to the bridge.

I hang up and remain as calm as possible. I'm not the only one aboard the tram. Many sapiens eyeball me with caution.

"That was an interesting visit," says Iris.

"Yes, it was. I've learned much about Carmen. And most of all, built good rapport with the sapiens aboard my ship."

"To me, it seemed like Masaaki and her android were lovers. The data I have from them suggests the same. I have evidence of them copulating," says Iris.

"Keep that to yourself," I say.

"Does it bother you?" she asks.

"No."

"Good. I was beginning to get worried you had emotions for the female. You know, android technology has advanced quite significantly. Some possess formidable genitalia. Female androids can bear children with a transplanted, lab-created uterus, while male androids can produce semen if testicles are implanted. Human–android and android–android relationships thrive in some worlds. The offspring is always human, however," explains Iris.

"Too much information, Iris. Focus on the mission. Let's find out what the hell Ogre is looking at."

"Incoming call from Omnistar Decius Ulnor," says iris.

"Answer."

Ulnor asks for an explanation for my visit to the Habitat. My texted answer I had sent previously was not enough for him. I respond with a partial truth, avoiding lying at all costs. To avoid it even further, I tell him what Ogre has just communicated to me.

"What? How is that possible? A destroyed planet reappearing? Madness! It must be an error of the holosphere."

"It's not. Ogre has seen it with his eyes."

"This is troubling news. Go and study that phenomenon immediately! Inform me as soon as you have answers!"

"I will, my Omnistar."

Good. Some deep mystery to take the attention off me visiting the Habitat. Perfect. It's time for me to forget all about Masaaki. This was a mistake. I'm glad I concluded as much.
—21—

I first stop by my quarters. I step on the servus station.

I reach the bridge in full gear, gorecannon on my back, entropic blade on my hilt, helmet under my right arm.

I get strange looks from the crew. Tekka and Astrotek alike must be interested in my small visit to the Habitat. They must already have the footage. Once Tauro finds out, he'll be sure to make me suffer for centuries to come.

But the sudden appearance of A-001 alpha is more important, and its consequences infinitely troubling. If it's true, that is.

"Show me."

The holosphere lights up. Real-time view highlights the colors. Four planets, not three, orbit the star in A-001. I saw it with my own eyes when A-001 alpha exploded in shades of dust. I saw three remaining planets. Now I see four. Iris documented the explosion. I replay the footage.

"The recently appeared planet's orbit is different. It's tilted sixty degrees on its axis and now spins counterclockwise. Its day and year length have also changed dramatically," explains Astrotek Magna Lucius.

I nod. This is not good.

"Ogre, Entwar, with me. We're going down planet-side. I need to touch the soil on that planet. Verify this . . . strangeness."

"I do not recommend such course of action," intervenes Tuigon before Entwar or Ogre can complain. "Such appearance may mean an enemy has sprung from the shadows. It could be a very well-played hologram."

"A hologram that size, orbiting a star? That's ludicrous!" says Ogre.

"Mock him not," I say. "Tuigon has a point. Whoever forged these worlds has superior technology. It could very well be a ploy."

"A ploy? With what gains?"

"Get us down there," I say.

"And this is why you want to go? Got it," says Entwar with irony.

"Going down full force is counterproductive. If we see enemies, it'd mean engaging them. I do not wish to engage," I say.

"Then send a probe," says Tuigon.

"No. I have to prove it to myself! Probes and drones and robots can be manipulated. My senses, I trust. I would think you'd trust yours, too, Ogre and Entwar. If we detect danger, we return to the Morningstar and prepare to descend full force. If we find nothing more than the new forged planet, then we have lots to fear."

"Fear!" yelps Tuigon. "We fear nothing."

"Fools we are. We must fear whatever managed to re-create a planet out of thin space. We must not take this enemy or supreme being lightly."

"Agreed," says Entwar.

"Iris. I gave an order. Prepare Entwar's, Ogre's, and my Torragami. We're going planet-side."

"Is this one of your hunches," murmurs Entwar as we walk to the warport.

"Indeed, it is. And you know how I and my haunches operate."

"Yes," she says. "You trust it more than you trust reason," sighs Entwar, feeling an ill omen.

******

The descent is fast. We land as silently as possible near a pyramid.

"Follow me," I order. "DrillCore cannons ready. Katana ready," I say in case we need to fight.

"Anything, Iris?"

"Nothing different from the other planets, aside from a new spin speed, axis, and year length. The readings are otherwise the same. The geography intact. The fauna seems to flourish."

I descend from the mech.

"My Alastar, be careful!" yells Ogre through the intervox.

"Guard the perimeter," I say as I run to the center of the pyramid, in search of the console. Upon reaching it, I notice it's the same as before. No energy or data emissions are detected. "Iris, call Tauro."

"Tauro is not picking up."

"Send a message explaining this oddity. Ask him to call me back ASAP. Mark the message as urgent and tag it with military importance."

"Done."

"I've seen enough. This is real. The planet has appeared again," I say.

"Or it wasn't destroyed at all," says Entwar. "How can a planet be created from dust or nothing in so few days? Perhaps it was Tauro who played tricks on us."

"Tricks," I say. "Tauro isn't the type to play tricks. He's fond of destruction. No, I'm sure his intention was destroying the planet. Whether or not he did it is debatable. Maybe the trick was played on Tauro."

"But if that's so . . ."

"We're still dealing with a superior enemy," concludes Ogre.

"Tuigon," I call. "Prepare the Novasphere for maximum warp travel aimed to B-001."

"And abandon the studies in A-001 gamma, my Alastar Magna?" I can hear his excitement even though he keeps a stern face.

"Yes. It's time to look for these creators."

"Creators?" says Tuigon. "You mean . . . God?"

Tuigon's question makes me shiver.

"What did you say?"

Tuigon realizes his mistake but continues on the same line of thought. "Only God can create planets . . ."

"We do not believe in God. We are god," I say with anger.

"I have submitted a ticket, Tuigon. You are to meet with the Stellar Knight for evangelization. You shall meet him after warp travel is done."

"Yes, my Alastar. And forgive me for my . . . imprudence . . . for my sin."

"You are one of the highest-ranking officers in this warship. You should behave like one."

"May I speak my mind?"

"Please do."

"The rumors come from the lower ranks, my Alastar Magna. The Devastar and Lunastar have been coming up with the strangest ideas."

"And you let yourself be lured by the mythical instead of challenging it," I reprimand, traveling back to the ship.

He becomes serious. "You're right. I should've acted differently."

"Lynx, out. I'm nearing the landing port. I'll see you on the bridge soon."

Rumors. Now the whole crew, millions of minds, will be passing on the latest gossip. This is the type of problem I run into for not having my soldiers busy fighting. Their minds wander off into the strangest of places.
—22—

"We've entered sector B, my Alastar Magna," says Astrotek Magna Lucius.

"Exit warp speed."

"Exiting warp speed."

"Turn on the hyperdrive engines and travel at one-tenth the speed of light. At maximum capacity."

The Astrotek is estranged but follows my orders. "Yes, my Alastar Magna."

"Search for any signs of intelligent life. Ships, structures, whatever you find. At current speed, how long to get us to the nearest planetary system?"

"One standard week, my Alastar Manga."

"Proceed."

The frontiers are arbitrarily created and selected, but once designated, they're permanently kept. Since Canis Mayor has a smaller size compared to the Milky Way, it's very possible it'll have many less sectors.

Updates with Ulnor are short and concise. There isn't much to tell. But Omnistar Decius Ulnor assured me that the Celestial Core is very interested in A-001 and in the planet that magically reappeared.

Ulnor assures me that my descent to the Habitat has inspired sapiens across the galaxy. The belief that I went down there to mingle with the average man has played well in my favor. I'm more popular than ever. How foolish, but I'll take that to hide my embarrassing meeting with Masaaki.

Knowing she's alive is enough for me. I wish not to get into the messy unforeseeable of human relationships, with so many details to pay attention to, there's always a way to fuck things up.

Human women are very complex. I'd forgotten that detail, and thus, grown rusty in that department. Let the rust be. I have no intention of oiling the gears of human interaction.

The air of mysticism hasn't lifted. No matter how advanced we lab humans are, we're still humans, and when confronted by the unexplainable, we resort to the metaphysical. In this case, immensity of power handled by those who forged A-001 has caused us to react this way.

I must be strong and fake that I don't believe such things. The crew must see an example in me. But deep inside, even I am in awe and lean toward believing we're dealing with some sort of god creator.

******

I'm in the center of the bridge, seated in the commander seat below the holosphere, casually observing the space represented by the real-time holo in HD color.

A week goes by. We've found nothing of interest. The soldiers haven't killed, but the mystery of this galaxy seems to have calmed them some. Gossip seems to quench their thirst for killing. That's a detail my superiors wouldn't like to hear.

It's been seven days since I spoke with Masaaki, two weeks since I met her. I have no plans of exchanging messages with her. That meeting was too fucking weird. At least it won me over in the hearts of the technicians operating the bridge, if they weren't already loyal to me. They saw the footage of me walking in the Habitat, as if parading myself, greeting those who serve on my ship.

"B-001 is within range," says the Astrotek.

"Stay within one hundred thousand miles and analyze if there's any signs of life on it."

Another tech stands up with a jolt and points at his holoconsole. "My Alastar Magna! Permission to project my findings to the holosphere!"

"Granted."

The holosphere fills with his input.

"Look!" ye hells. "My Alastar, look!" His voice is tense with fear.

I cringe.

The holosphere represents what the tech has seen, but bigger and in better detail. What the hell is that?

If a destroyed planet reappearing and four planets rotating at the same position with varying speeds, each having the same everything from atmosphere to geography, wasn't strange, this structure, or whatever it is, is surely proof we're dealing with something ever so powerful.

We all stare in awe. This thing is something I couldn't even have dreamed of, not in my wildest nightmares. That isn't a planetary system. I don't think you can call that a planet. Then . . . what is that?

There's a star. That much is clear. It's bright yellow, much like Sol. However, this star contradicts everything we thought about stars and their orientation. A shift in paradigm. Superior forces must be at play here.

The star is orbiting around that . . . thing! Planet? No. It can't be called as much. Structure, perhaps.

It's a helicoidal structure, like a chain of DNA, only made of solid mass, like any other planet, with an atmosphere and its own ionosphere! A powerful ionosphere and atmosphere protecting if from the blast of the sun orbiting at such close distance! And at such speed, the star orbits around the helicoidal structure! It flies between the crests and valleys of the spiral-shaped, helicoidal mass!

"What's the size of that . . . planet?" I say with awe painted across my face. I can't hide my bewilderment.

"Four seconds light in length, one thousand miles thick, and two hundred thousand miles across. It's like a long rectangular slice of land . . . twisted on itself thousands of times to create a perfectly symmetrical structure . . . like a DNA chain!" yells Astrotek Magna Lucius.

"It's massive . . ." I hear Tuigon say. "As if a whole planet was flattened, stretched out, and twisted on itself . . ."

"The star, what size does it have?" I ask.

"It has a diameter of one hundred fifty thousand miles, just fifty thousand miles short of the structure's width. Just enough for it to travel between the ridge created by the twists," reports Astrotek Lucius.

"It's very close to the surface. Measure its distance."

"The star flies ten thousand miles from the surface of the structure."

"It's an impossibility, that thing. The star's heat, let alone its radiation, should've destroyed that structure ages ago," I say.

Silence. We're all left to wonder.

"How old is the structure?"

"Based on the age of the young star, the calculations suggest two billion years."

"Two billion!"

"But it doesn't necessarily mean the structure is two billion years old . . . it means the star is that old . . ." says Astrotek Lucius.

"That makes it even worse," I say. "It means the creators willingly placed the star there."

Another period of silence as we all contemplate this mystery.

"Iris. Share this with High Command now. I want them live-observing what we observe."

"Done."

"And the star . . . it moves in between the twists . . ."

"At what speed?" I ask.

"One-tenth the speed of light per minute. It's an insane speed for such a large star! And to move with such precision! As if the star had not only a will, but also the means to move at impeccable angles and turns! That movement . . . it's called heliocentric roto-translatory motion, the motion used with some satellites . . ." says Tekka Magna Urgal. "The movement of the star provides starlight to every portion of the structure in equal intervals. Maybe there's life there . . . in each segment?"

"Segment?" I ask.

"Yes, Alastar Magna. If we take a look closer with the spectrometer, you see this."

The image populates the central holosphere. It's a zoom-in to the structure.

"There. You see the fine division between segments. One is green and blue. The other, yellow, red, and so forth."

"What do they represent?" I ask like a child, even though my inner child is long dead.

"I think they're . . . landscapes, my Alastar. Temperatures in each segment vary. Like here, the green and blue, it has a tropical climate. While the yellow, a desert one. The brown is a mountain range of sorts, and so on," says Tekka Urgal.

"This is . . . fascinating," I say. "How much does each segment measure?"

"Two thousand five hundred thirty-four miles across, and two hundred thousand miles in length," says Astrotek Lucius.

"How many segments are there?"

"Two hundred ninety-four segments in total. Each segment appears to be unique. I mean, it doesn't seem to repeat landscapes."

"Landscapes huh?" I say, fascinated. "Any signs of life?"

"Yes."

"Intelligent?"

The Astrotek Magna thinks about it and says . . . "Well, not on the surface . . . but to create such a thing . . ."

"Another forged world?"

"It has to be . . . nature would never allow this bending of matter. Not like this. Nature's rules are geared towards simplicity, and even the complex things like quantum mechanics have a grace to them, a sort of simple complexity. But that . . . helicoidal structure was made. Energy was used to twist it into its present form, and I wouldn't doubt that a second energy is used to maintain it. Especially to avoid that start from, one, colliding with it, and two, from its heat and toxic radiation from breaking it down! What I do not understand is how the star's gravity doesn't suck in all the matter down on the surface," says Astrotek Magna Lucius. "The star's gravity is 25g. That structure does have its own gravitational field but of 1.5g. By simple arithmetic, the star's gravity wins and should suck in the structure and destroy it. But it doesn't."

More silence. More awe that need not be expressed.

"Tuigon, tell me your thoughts," I turn to my second in command.

"I . . . don't know. I'm dumbstruck. It seems mythical. A truth that belongs in folktale and legends of imagination. But true it is. There it lies. And so, when oddest truth meets the unprepared mind . . . this is the net result. I feel overpowered, my Alastar Magna. I must be sincere."

"A mental state surely leading to your ultimate defeat," I tell him.

He lowers his gaze.

I must recover my soldiers' morale. Downcast as they are, they're as good as dead against this unpredictably strong enemy.

"Tauro has been very imprudent," says Tuigon. "His acting so rashly may've awoken some demon lurking in this galaxy."

"Demon . . ." I repeat absentmindedly, looking at the structure depicted in the holosphere.

"A message from Novasphere Alpha!" yells an Astrotek Decius in charge of inter-novasphere comms.

"Finally, he answers," I sigh in relief. "Transfer the message to my DAT, Astrotek Decius."

"It's a burst of messages, my Alastar Magna."

The message is transferred, and it plays.

"We've made contact with a xeno species in A-005 alpha. It's a very large planet with 2.5gs. Upon landing, we were intercepted by a winged creature . . ."

End of message one.

"We thought them exterminated. We did. We had. But somehow, they keep coming! This is a battle like no other, a formidable enemy to test us down to the core. You have no idea the fun you're missing, Lynx. I shall make art of the graveyard I'm to leave behind once I make these xeno pay."

End of message two.

End of transmission.

"How long ago were these messages sent?"

"The time stamp reads five standard days ago, my Alastar Magna."

"Five days ago! That's impossible! Quantum comms are instantaneous."

"They are, my Alastar Magna. But quantum was not used. The transmission was sent at lightspeed."

I tense my jaw. "Why would they transmit at lightspeed when quantum is clearly superior?"

"Perhaps quantum was dysfunctional at the time, inoperable."

Intense magnetic fields have been used by our enemies in the past trying to jam our communications. It could also be the product of a powerful electromagnetic field caused by a supernova. The bomb of all bombs, the mother of all destructive forces, leaving behind the incomprehensible black hole. But if a supernova would've detonated or randomly exploded, we would've seen it by now.

"Are our quantum comms functional?"

"So far, yes, my Alastar Magna."

"Good. Report to High Command. Contact has been made. Meanwhile, establish Tauro's location. Prepare us for warp travel in such direction."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna!"

"Prepare the X-Star," I think through the DAT, notifying each soldier of said deathsquad, and to Iris, who will prepare the twenty mechs involved.

Tuigon isn't part of the X-Star, but soon, the message relays to him. As second in command, he'll take my post.

"So soon? Deploying the X-Star without evidence of an enemy?"

"You heard Tauro's message. He made contact. No more evidence needed. We're descending to the surface of the helicoidal structure. We're scouting, but this time I'm going armed to the teeth."

"Why? Why go down there and not just to meet Tauro wherever he is? We lose vital time. We could be delivering ourselves into precious battle within the hour. And if the message was sent five days ago, it means whatever Tauro faced happened five days ago. There are no new messages, no new developments."

I've given my soldiers too much leeway to question my authority. Sometimes I wish they'd just shut up and say yes, sir. But I allow them such freedom to question me because, in all honesty, sometimes my plans are shit. I follow my hunch more than anything else. Logic is second rate, so sometimes I need my decisions vetted.

I wonder about Tuigon's words. He's right. That happened five days ago. And Tauro hasn't communicated again.

"We will go down to the helicoidal structure, investigate, then return. Upon my return, we shall go full force to face whatever Tauro is facing."

"As you command." Tuigon bows his head, the heads off and begins barking orders.

"And Tuigon," I say before departing. "Enter rage mode."

He smiles. "Rage mode it is, my Alastar Magna! I'll activate all the fleet at our disposal, all dreadnoughts, destroyers, frigates, and assault ships in the armada. I'll make sure all the mechs are online and ready to go upon your return." He celebrates internally, the pleasure of it spewing from his pores. He can't hold back the savoriness of causing destruction, soon enough anyway.

This is good. It'll lift my soldier's morale.

"Good. Let the armamentarium know we need an emergency overproduction of X-class ammunition."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna!"

A call to my DAT. It's Entwar in a group call with Ogre included. They both want to know what's going on. I ask Iris to debrief them.

"So you got your balls back," says Entwar, ever the jokester. "Finally, some action. Blood will be spilled! The glory of battle!"

"But first, a recon mission. We're going down to scout that helicoidal structure."
—23—

The helicoidal structure is massive when seen with the naked eye—the sensors of the Torragami—as I travel, assault-speed, down to the surface.

The analysis of the atmosphere detailed the same components of the atmosphere on A-001 and its four planets. No surprise here. However, it doesn't shine turquoise as those planets did. Here, I'm able to see the landscapes from outer space.

A random alpha objective was selected. Our course and speed were calculated to avoid the traveling star and land in a green patch or landscape slice.

We cross the atmosphere. After the heat is dissipated, we cool once again. The local temperature reads six standard degrees, approximately sixteen Celsius. Same temperature as the planets in A-001.

"Readings?"

"No activity detected."

We land softly. Even though the twenty mechs are armed to the teeth, the purpose isn't aggression.

I can feel the grass beneath the soles of the mech. So soft. I hadn't felt soft grass in ages. The air is cool and delicious. The sun, flying by like an angel of creation and destruction, creates dawn and dusk within minutes, to return flying by and create a dynamic dance between light and shadows. We don't feel its gravitational tug or its heat.

We landed very close to the edge of the landscape patch for a reason. We walk up to the division. It's precise. The grassland ends abruptly, and immediately on the other side, I see a desert with large dunes of sand. There's no barrier, no heat signature, no portal, nothing to separate the patches of landscape. Not a grain of sand crosses over. Not a blade of grass crosses over.

I place a hand on the other side. No resistance. I can feel the heat of the desert. I place one leg on the desert, and the other on the grassland.

The other nineteen soldiers of the X-star stare at me with confusion.

"To think this barrier between patches of landscape goes on for two hundred thousand miles . . ." I say to myself. "The creators," I say with a whisper.

We take off and fly the two hundred ninety-four miles that separates each patch. We reach the next barrier. It's desert against arctic ice land. The next is ice land with tropical forest.

We walk through the thick of the trees. Large beasts reside here. Strange beings identical to those we saw in A-001 planets. I recognize the deer-like, two-headed beasts, the large spider-like predator, and the birds. Iris confirms the similarity.

"This forest would seem untamed to anybody who wakes up here," says Ogre. "The bush is very thick. The trees, old and wise."

"Old and wise? What are you now, a poet?" says Entwar jokingly. Ogre grunts at her.

We move out. We fly to the edge of the landscape.

I walk up to the edge. I'm standing at the abrupt ending of the forest. Empty space lies immediately beyond. I look down. More space.

"What's there on the other side?" asks Ogre.

"Let's find out," I say.

We fly over the edge, one thousand miles thick it is, and appear on the other side of the helicoidal structure. There's nothing but naked land.

"It's nothing but baked earth!" says Entwar. She reaches down and touches the surface. "Hard as a rock."

"But smooth. Smooth for its entire stretch of four seconds light," I say. "One last edge to investigate, and we're outta here. We're heading to the long end of this twisted land."

"As you command, my Alastar," responds my X-star unit.

We fly low. The star flies past us, moving in the twisted manner of the structure, a hellish type of movement.

We reach the long edge. Much as before, infinity lies beyond. Stars, colorful nebulae, and the glimmer of the past shines, ever scintillating. To go the short edge and step on it, we walk up to the precipice, and instead of falling, the precipice becomes the new floor. Gravity is acting on all sides, pulling to the structures center.

"Empty," says Ogre.

Too soon did he speak. The floor rumbles. The sound is of cracking rocks. It's deafening.

"Back! Back!" I yell.

We all take a few steps back and automatically prepare for battle.

A large fault is opening like the mouth of a multi mile-long beast. A hiss of air and a whoosh of dust emerge from the large gash in the ground, and soon, we all realize it's no fault or quake. It's a retrievable door. A hatch. A gigantic one.

"By the Stellar Knights and the Celestial Core . . . what is this place? What is that?"

The sensors of the Torragami have detected movement. The scanner observes a small pointed structure emerging from the large gape, to soon notice that it enlarges as it emerges.

It's a pyramid. A gigantic pyramid at least one hundred times larger than the ones we saw in A-001.

A deep moan sounds when the pyramid is completely out of its storage place, or whatever it was, and it begins to shine from the interior. A large passageway leads to the interior, and the passageway is illuminated by a blue hue.

"We're going inside," I order.

"Does it matter if I say I have a bad feeling about this?" says Entwar.

"No, but thanks. Ever so supportive," I respond. "You, Entwar, and you," I chose another eight soldiers in their Torragami, "come with me. Ogre and the rest, stay outside and secure the perimeter."

I shoot an echoradar probe inside the structure. The infrared rays echo throughout, my sensors painting a three-dimensional map of the interior. It's enormous, full of a labyrinth of passages. But in the middle, not far from this passageway, there's a large room. That's where we're going. No signs of movement. Yet.

Now that I'm closer, I can see the walls of the pyramid and notice every inch of the wall on every side, including the floor, is engraved with a symbol. There are thousands of different symbols, and they occur in patters, which makes me wonder if it's some sort of language. Xeno language.

"Iris, study the symbols."

"Will initiate a linguistic study."

We enter.

"Katanas out. Refrain from the use of firepower."

Ten Torragami unsheathe their large katana. Light isn't needed, as the blue hue from the structure illuminates it well. We also have the echographic map to guide us.

We enter the large room. It's empty except for a near-the-wall structure. We approach it. The structure is as tall as the Torragami. A large cube. As I walk around it, I notice it's not a cube. Rather . . . a seat! It's like a throne! How large it is!

The throne is at the height of the Torragami, with armrests at the side. The arm rests aren't as distant from the seat, suggesting maybe the xeno species have small arms in comparison to their legs.

"Cover me," I order.

With a thought, the Torragami cockpit opens. I step out, helmet on and fully geared, and jump from the cabin of the mech to the seat. I order the Torragami to enter sentry mode. It closes the cabin hatch and begins to scan the perimeter, ever watchful.

I sit down on the throne and lay my arms on the armrests. It's an uncomfortable chair, made of the same material as the pyramid.

Two doors open, one on each side of the room. The sound of the sliding doors over dust and forgotten times is audible.

"Danger!" yells someone.

False alarm. But there is movement. Two large figures emerge, one from each door. They shine so brightly, and their aspect appears carved out, as if they have no substance.

Entwar doesn't wait. He attacks with his katana, the blade cutting thin space.

"They're holograms!" he yells in frustration.

I observe in complete awe. My seating here activated the doors, and thus, the holograms? Why did a door open to allow holograms to enter? Couldn't they just be projected? And speaking of which, where are the projectors?

The holos are large beings, or the representation thereof. They walk slowly, gracefully to the throne where I'm seated. I observe them, half in dread, half with excitement.

Their skin is all black, with many opulences like wristbands and necklaces, all which appear to be made of gold. The figures have two legs, large and skinny, two arms without muscle, and a large head with two pointed, tall ears. The head is that of a jackal, with a large and pointed snout. There's a golden ring piercing its black nose. Its ears are decorated with earrings, golden in color. Each wear a strange hat on top of their head. A white dress covers their body down to the knees.

They approach, ever nearer, non-threatening. They reach the side of the throne and turn, facing the wall that the throne is facing, and stand there.

"They are like ghosts," says someone.

I'm about to reprimand whoever mentioned a metaphysical creature, when suddenly, all lights go out. The katanas, previously shinning with threatening light, go out. We're left in complete darkness.

"My Alastar, is everything all right!"

The nine mechs who followed me inside the pyramid turn on their powerful halogen light beams. But soon, even their light goes out.

"Protect the commander!" I hear my men, but soon, sound becomes a silhouette.

All sound fades away. I feel entranced as the wall I'm facing starts to melt away. Instead of a wall, I can now see a clear representation of the Universe, galaxies, and gas giants. It's magnificent.

The image moves at will, as if controlled by some pre-programmed module, or perhaps, controlled by me. I don't know.

The image accelerates and focuses on one galaxy. It zooms in, passing stars and gas giants. It focuses on a planetary system.

Death and gore are now visible. A terrible space battle carries on with intense luminous missiles traveling between large vessels floating in space. Large caliber laser beams tear through large ships. Blue blobs of incandescent energy catapult from one ship to another, engulfing the victim ship in a hue of destructive plasma.

A horde of motherships are attacking a planetary system. The planetary system under attack is sending reinforcements from the ground, only to be met with the terrible force that surrounds the planets.

The image zooms in. The city is burning, bombs detonating, the bodies pile up in heaps of sin and heresy. The massacre of a white blob xeno species is underway, carried out by . . .

The Tragalaf.

The tentacle-decorated heads, the mouths with blue light inside them, the blades of light. I recognize them in an instant, remembering how they advanced on us ten thousand years ago back on Terra.

What is this? Why am I seeing this massacre unfold? What's going on?

It hits me. They were barbarians. They were conquerors, exterminators of other species to control and possess. The image confirms it. It shows me planetary system after planetary system, each ravaged and devastated by the Tragalaf force.

But the question is, are these images true? Should they be believed?

The Tragalaf empire is galactic. And soon, the image changes tempo, and a new conquest is occurring. Another force is attacking, but it's the Tragalaf who are victims of its power. A wave of red light spreads through their galactic empire. Fire and ashes fly about as each planetary system is purged by ultra-violent waves of massively destructive heat. But there's more to the wave. It's not a passive form of energy, inert like the sun or a supernova. No . . . this red fire has anger . . . deep and terrible anger within . . . I can sense it . . . it's a fury to be reckoned with.

Motherships flee the terrible onslaught. A biblical apocalypse taking everything out in a single fell swoop. Most motherships fail to flee, consumed by the angry, even vengeful, energy, while some are able to enter warp travel and run away. The image shows the Tragalaf fled to many other galaxies, each mothership loaded with enough of its people to start anew. One of such I'm shown heads towards the Milky Way.

Are these images shown to me because it was set up like so? Or somehow, am I evoking these images because it's what I want to see? I don't know.

Part of the mystery is solved. Inside a strange twisted planet, I come to find the answers to the long-questioned origin of the Tragalaf. But why? Who? Why would anybody or anything have a care to show me, out of all humans, the nature of the Tragalaf exodus?

I'm left with some answers, but the new information only deepens the puzzle and complicates the riddle.

And yet, there's one element unanswered. If this image were telling the truth, then the Tragalaf were indeed fleeing a terrible force. But then when they entered the Milky Way, why did they attack Earth? They were weak, without resources, without backup. Why try your odds against a new race you barely understand?

What if the force that obliterated them was human-like? And upon seeing humans, they thought we were the same mortal enemy? Perhaps. The problem here is there are too many assumptions. I could be wrong on one or all accounts. The images could be a lie. I must tread warily. This could all be a trap.

I get the chills upon thinking Canis Mayor could be dominated by a human-like force. The Tragalaf could've fled their onslaught.

The image fades. I get a bad feeling inching up my spine. Tauro, he's made contact. If he made contact with the power that purged the Tragalaf . . .

Shit . . . shit! SHIT! We must go warn Tauro! Or at least give him our support!

I return to myself. The room is no longer dark. The lights shine again.

"My Alastar Magna!" yells a soldier.

The hologram jackal beings step back into their chambers. The doors close. This seems all too perfectly coordinated. Like it was set up and programmed by somebody. This is all too strange. I knew we shouldn't have come to this galaxy. Crusade, my ass. Now we're deep in the gutter, and Tauro's off killing beings that could've purged the Tragalaf.

I think I'm going insane. All of this is just crazy. Crazy enough to be true, I fear.

"My Alastar Magna! Are you well?" yells Entwar. "The lights went out. We lost track of your biostats. What the hell is this place! Is it possessed? Is it demonized?"

The talk of demons has increased. The belief of possessed things can only mean we're all going down the tunnel of the unknown, something so foreign and inexplicable it calls for the tag of mysticism.

Never had I encountered this scenario before. And I fear I'm also beginning to believe we're dealing with something from the wells of hell. Or worse. Hell? Even the mention of the mythological place were souls pay their penance is aggravating. Might as well mention the underworld. And if we're heading into the underworld, then we might as well meet the Lord of Hell.

I must stop these intrusive thoughts.

"I am well, Entwar. Thank you for your worrying about me . . . strange things—"

An emergency call from the bridge. It's Astrotek Magna Lucius. This can't be good.

I answer. "Speak."

"My Alastar Magna, it's Tauro! He's activated the emergency beacon! They've broadcasted an SOS as well!"

"When was it activated?"

"Four days light ago, my Alastar Magna!"

"Play the SOS."

"SOS! SOS! A terrible vengeful force has descended upon us and is eating away the Novasphere Alpha! We're in desperate need of help! Reinforcements! Anything! We're being annihilated!"

The SOS goes on and on. It's a message spoken by a sapien. I can tell by his tone of voice, he's in extreme fear.

There's no time to philosophize over what just happened, over what I just saw. I can only hope the others saw it, too, so I won't be called an old, demented melancholic warrior.

With a thought, the Torragami grabs me and yanks me inside the cabin. Once I'm in control of the mech, within milliseconds, I ask Iris to share the SOS with the crew, the entire ship.

"Is this real?" asks Entwar as he plays the emergency message.

"As real as I am."

"So that force that attacked the Tragalaf . . ." says Entwar.

"You heard it, too, then?"

"We all did. This is madness."

"It is. I fear Tauro may've awoken the Devil. X-star, back to the Morningstar. We're going to war. Prepare for all-out war with X-class munitions. Glad I activated rage mode," I say. "Astrotek Magna, prepare for warp travel towards Tauro's location."

"Yes, sir."

"Iris," I say, "share all what you saw with the High Command. I want Ulnor to know everything. We may need them to send in the rest of the Legions to assist us."

"Very well, Alastar Magna. Done. The message will take twenty-five thousand years to reach High Command."

"What!?"

"A powerful electromagnetic field is interfering with the quantum communications."

"Tekka Magna, deploy the anti-electromagnetic fields. Get us quantum comms back online."

"This is Tekka Magna. The anti-electromagnetic field is deployed, sir. But the field inhibiting our quantum comms is strangely powerful!"

"Then move us out of range!"

"It has no range. I mean . . . it's range is everywhere! I can't find a space near enough on our scanners where the field isn't operational and powerfully inhibitory!"

I curse to myself. This all seems too well orchestrated. Whatever the fuck is going on, I'm afraid we'll soon find out.

"Where's the emission coming from?" I ask the head Tekka.

"I don't know. It just seems to be everywhere, my Alastar Magna."

Our enemy, the cataclysm, the destroyer, may have us in his or her sights. This may mean we're being played with. Slowly but surely dismantled.

"And the warp engine?" I ask as we travel back to the Morningstar at full speed.

"Operational. The anti-magnetic fields around the core are protecting the engine. The containment field is also at maximum power. We're good to travel at warp speed."

I call Tuigon, "Prepare for war. We're going all out. Maximum power."

"Yes, my Alastar. Against who?"

"Against whatever Tauro has awakened. Iris will debrief you. Iris, debrief the entire legion."

"I recommend against it. A state of panic would be counterproductive."

"Let them shit their pants. They need to know what we're up against. Did you record what I saw on that screen or holo or whatever it was?"

"Yes."

"Good. Share it as well."

"Done."

This is going to be nasty.
—24—

"Coming out of warp speed in ten . . . three . . . two . . . one!"

We come out of warp speed.

"Ultra-aggression," I order.

"Ultra-aggression enabled," repeats Tuigon. "Fleet deployment initiated. Multiple phalanx formation initiated. Maximum firepower online."

The holosphere shows the Angerneedle assault kamikaze hunter drones form in front of the Novasphere facing the planetary system, the Banewings, and Fistships at the flanks. In the rearguards, the massive dreadnoughts, destroyers, and frigates form as well, ready to unleash chaos.

"Harmony Megalonic shields at maximum power," I order.

"Harmony Megalonic shields up. Novasphere fully powered. All stations operational."

"Attack."

Silence.

"There's nothing to attack, my Alastar," says Tuigon, studying the holosphere encasing the space around us, representing A-005 and its planets.

"It's a graveyard," he says.

I see it. The Novasphere Alpha was torn apart as if by claws, piece by piece, leaving a massive waste-space of debris and derelict junk. Bodies float freely everywhere, those lucky enough to have been spared the shredding but unlucky enough to be sucked out into the void and frozen almost instantly by the absolute-zero temperatures of emptiness.

"Send the Pathfinders to the dark side of the planets. I want this area combed."

"Pathfinders launched," repeats Tuigon.

Derelict is floating freely, spinning at different frequencies, while other pieces of the destroyed planetary ship have begun to fall into the alpha planet of the A-005 planetary system. Other pieces are entering orbit, accelerating at high speeds, creating dangerous space debris, that if not careful enough, could cause serious damage to an unaware ship.

A-005 has thirteen planets. These orbit around a red giant. The planets appear like moths to a fireball. The planets are distant enough to not be burned and destroyed by the behemoth. However, I wouldn't be surprised if one or all these planets were tampered with and have a strange atmosphere that protects them against the deadly power of a star. Enough was seen in the twisted piece of matter we just saw in B-001.

"The Pathfinders report no signs of activity. No enemies detected," says Tuigon with frustration.

"Well, there's someone here. Something destroyed Tauro around four days ago."

"Four days is enough for them to flee. Maybe it was a hit-n-run type mission," says Tuigon.

"Look at A-005 alpha. It's an unusually large planet. As large as Jupiter," I say. "And look at that storm . . . it must be a storm. Like Jupiter's. Astrotek Magna, analyze that storm. Looks like an eye."

"Yes sir!"

"My Alastar Magna, we've picked up the black box signal! It's coming from the debris orbiting planet alpha," says Astrotek Primus Kinja.

"Recover it," I order.

"It'll take us days. Even the Pathfinder drones will have trouble finding it among so much debris."

"Bring the Pathfinder drones back and find the fucking black box!" I yell, getting annoyed.

"My Alastar Magna!"

"What!" I bark, not ready for more bad news.

"We've picked up a signal! It's Tauro's biostat in his helmet! It's transmitting a faint heartbeat, likely the secondary heart. The readings are weak, but I'm sure it's him," says a Tekka Magna. "I've designated the signal as beta in the holosphere."

The icon appears as a luminescent white triangle that pulses intermittently. It appears within the area occupying that big storm in the shape of an eye. What an eerie appearing storm. Wait . . . that shape. Have I seen it before?

"Iris, analyze the shape of the that storm."

"It's not a storm, my Alastar Magna," interrupts Astrotek Magna Lucius. "It appears to be a structure. Its size is gigantic, measuring one thousand cubic miles."

"A structure . . . and Tauro's signal is coming from within it, would you say?"

"I can't pinpoint it, my Alastar Magna. His signal is within a range of one hundred miles of the icon. It could be coming from within the structure or just outside of it. He may be a prisoner of war."

"A prisoner of war," I repeat under my breath. "That's unheard of. We . . ." I leave the sentence unfinished.

"Iris? That shape. Tell me what it is? Share your answers with the bridge crew on an open channel."

The name of the shape is somewhere hidden in the alcoves of my memory. But it's too distant to access under so much stress and pressure.

"I am currently disconnected from my servers back in the Milky Way, given the interruptions with the quantum communications. However, I may say the following regarding the shape of the structure—it resembles the Egyptian hieroglyph known as the Eye of Horus."

"What is Egyptian?" asks Tuigon.

"Never mind. Don't even try looking it up at this moment," I tell him. "If we get out of this one, be sure to look it up for your own sake," I say.

"High orbital anchorage over the eye-shaped structure," I order.

"Acknowledged, sir. Initiating sequence to obtain high orbital anchorage over that structure," says Astrotek Magna, moving his hands within his holoconsole to direct the proper circuits and using his own version of Iris to set the proper coordinates for high anchorage.

"In your local servers, do you have an image of the Egyptian Eye of Horus?" I ask Iris.

"I do not. But I can draw it from memory," says the AI.

"Overlay your drawing over the structure, matching proportions," I order.

In the holosphere, Iris overlays her image of the Eye of Horus and the structure in A-005 alpha where Tauro's emergency beacon is coming from.

"The similarities are near ninety percent."

"How sure are you of your drawing capabilities," I tell her. She doesn't answer.

The eeriness of all this escalates to what I feel is the peak of mystery, stress, and fear. Yes, I fear. Too many unknowns, and the little knowns are the death of an entire legion. Millions of soldiers and technicians dead within four days. That's unheard of.

I can't piece this puzzle together. A twisted strip of land the size of four seconds light, with a strange star orbiting it. A-001 with its four planets full of life, and each with three pyramids. Tauro dead to an unknown foe. A structure with the shape of the Eye of Horus, and to top it all off, the Tragalaf who fled this galaxy, to attack us for unknown reasons.

There is a link, however. The Egyptians were human. If some Egyptian-like human or human-like lifeform obliterated the Tragalaf, maybe that's why they decided to attack Earth? Or is it simple coincidence that in a galaxy twenty-five thousand light-years away, a structure like the Egyptians' pyramids exists? Did the Egyptians originate from Canis Mayor?

I'm getting dizzy from all this conjuring assumption that leads nowhere. There's only one solution. Find out more.

A sudden image of Masaaki naked crosses my mind. I can see myself squeezing her breasts, my hand reaching down . . .

I immediately recoil. I'm astonished that my sex drive has been summoned after centuries of dormancy and aghast by the inadequacy of this intrusive thought. My mind, I guess, is looking for pleasure amidst so much distress.

"Iris. Read us the meaning of the Eye of Horus," I say. "Make sure the bridge crew is hearing this as well," I ask her. I need all eyes and ears on this. I feel too stupid to piece this puzzle on my own.

"My servers are down, thus, reading an accurate description will be unavailable. I can tell what little I remember of such history," she says.

"Proceed."

"Horus was the god of heaven, of war, and of hunting in Egyptian mythology. He is considered the founder of Egyptian civilization. He was the son of Osiris, who was killed by his own brother, Set. To avenge his father, Horus faces Set in combat. In one of many fights, Set plucks out Horus's left eye. However, Thoth, the god of wisdom, picked up the plucked eye, and with it, created the Udyat, which he offered to Horus so he could recover his vision. This eye was special. It had magical properties. Horus offered his father, Osiris, this Udyat so that he could come back to life.

"The Udyat was popular in Old Egypt. It was a very powerful amulet believed to have the magical properties for healing, restoration, and protection." [1]

A long minute of silence as we all swallow this strange passage. I hate the word magical. It only feeds our current vulnerability to believe in the supernatural.

"May I speak freely, my Alastar Magna," asks Astrotek Primus Kinja.

I nod.

"What does this mean? That somehow old Earthian tales have reached another galaxy?"

Nobody answers him.

Objective beta on the screen continues pulsing. Tauro's signal is feint, likely to fade soon.

"Do the quantum comms work?" I ask.

"No, my Alastar Magna. They're still down. I must say . . . the electromagnetic field is very strong. It inhibits many functions, but most importantly, the quantum communication. With a signal that strong, I think they could've rendered the warp drive useless if they wanted to," he says.

"Say what you will in plain words, man!" I bark.

"I mean . . . I think whoever is emitting the signal is jamming our comms deliberately, but not the rest of our equipment, which it could easily do."

"What's your takeaway message?"

"That this is a trap, orchestrated to bring our legion down to the surface to attack that structure. I think it's quite obvious, my Alastar Magna."

"Obvious? Are you calling us stupid?"

"I'm sorry! I meant, it appears it's quite deliberate. Everything up to now is!"

I consider his words and swallow his punishment. The last thing I need is losing crew members at this point. I need every able mind on my side.

"With all due respect, my Alastar Magna," interrupts Astrotek Magna Lucius, "I think Astrotek Primus Kinja is correct in his assumption."

Very well then. It appears to be a trap. I have three options—attack, do nothing and stay here in high anchorage, or flee.

Fleeing is out the question. It's against my code of honor. It'd certainly bring the benefits of returning to the Milky Way and coming back with reinforcements. At warp speed, it'd take us three weeks of travel to get there, and another three to come back, assuming High Command would provide such backup.

"Prepare for massive invasion," I order. "Formation Fist of Justice. Our objective will be finding Tauro's remains and exterminate whoever or whatever did Tauro in," I say in a broadcast channel to the legionnaires in non-quantum comms.

"And if our enemies are human?" asks Entwar through the DAT. She was tuned into the channel and listened to everything said.

"Then we kill them. We know how to kill humans, don't we?" I respond.

"Man all mechs!" yells Tuigon. "I want Torragami, Katami, and Kuze no Tenshi up and ready to deploy in the Fist of Justice formation! Rearrange the armada in intercepting formation around the A-005-alpha planet, ready to strike to any fleeing enemies!"

The rush of war. The delicious battle juices rushing through my veins. The doubt evaporates, and flowing through my body, the elation of feeling the delicious destruction eviscerates all possible mysticism. Come get some!

We're going all in—ten thousand Torragami, one thousand Katami, and fifty Kuze no Tenshi. This will be a bloodbath for the ages.
—25—

The fury of the X-Legion descends upon you. May the Fist of Justice crush your every bone. You, enemy, have destroyed my brother, however loathsome he was, and now you must pay. You will have a taste of my wrath. May the rotting, ash-looking carcass of my fallen foes speak highly of my anger when unleashed.

We descend upon planet alpha at five thousand miles an hour. The 2.1g of the planet helps lure us in with maximal force. Thousands of machines specialized in death, piloted by engineered humans birthed for destruction, arithmetically multiply to wreak havoc.

The final seconds of descent are met with a final acceleration phase. We descend full fury over the fallen brethren. We assumed our foes would be there, too.

Ten meters from the ground and the full force of the Fist of Justice unleashes a counterpulsation. The counterexplosion from the fusion engines effects are twofold. One, we decelerate to safe-landing speed. Two, the force of the blow causes an ominous and venerable explosion, enough to cause the cessation of life in a planet such as Earth, to send an explosive wave so large that no structure can sustain its effects, with a blastwave so strong that it'll dismember anything larger than a parasite within a radius of one hundred miles.

The concussion is felt. Tough it out. A mushroom cloud reaches the atmosphere of planet A-005 alpha, a visual representation of justice done.

The debris fall for over ten minutes, as the rain of molten, red-hot land falls everywhere. Another engine of destruction for those who fell but are still alive. The blow is a death sentence to all biomatter on this planet. The atmosphere will be polluted, and the greenhouse effect will bake all life to a sizzling death in years to come.

Twenty minutes later, the Fist of Justice emerges from the mile-wide crater, two hundred meters deep. The bodies of the fallen brothers evaporated, exonerated from this cruel death with the gift of immediate redemption. Rest well. We have avenged you.

But exactly who was slain by our Fist of Justice? Upon who did we exact this vengeance on? I see no enemies, no readings on the sensors. We landed one hundred miles from the rare eye-shaped structure onto a cemetery of tens of thousands of dead soldiers, thinking the enemy would be here.

Strange, I must admit, to have found the bodies of those fallen at this distance. We never descend on top of a target in fear of it being a trap.

Nobody's here. The structure is intact. I just wasted the force of the Fist of Justice on dead brothers. No matter. Even dead brothers deserve to go with a bang. We could've studied the bodies in search of cause of death. But we're too bloodthirsty for studying anything at this point.

So it was true. I notice the beta point marked on the map leads into the bowels of the structure. Tauro's biostats have gone cold. If he was a POW, he's dead now.

"Bring that structure down!" I yell. "Light it up! Weapons free!"

The fifty Kuze no Tenshi open fire, each with more than one hundred turrets spewing hot plasma in barrel-shaped darts of incandescent blob. From their many hatches, each Kuze no Tenshi unleashes a Goliath tank, a mammoth equipped with a behemoth rail gun. Each opens fire with a heavy-slicing sound, ripping the air into shreds with each potent discharge.

The Katami, one thousand of them, take formation and deploy a third limb to become a tripod. Each opens four missile pods and releases a fury of directed missiles with X-class payload. The Katami are too far away from the target to deploy the plasma thermite catapult.

The ten thousand Torragami aim both arms, and from each a DrillCore cannon, spins into gating action and spews large DrillCore bullets at the megastructure.

"Nuke it," I order.

Five kiloton bombs are released by a handful of Katami. The thermonuclear fire engulfs the structure entirely, swallowing it whole in a bubble of hell. The temperature rises dangerously around us, as does the amount of deadly radiation. If it weren't for the thick armor on each mech, we'd all be human pulp by now from the potency of toxic radiation.

"Bomb run," I order.

Each of the fifty Kuze no Tenshi opens more of its hatches, these located in the superior parts of its massive body. Like a hive of demonized wasps, more than a thousand Terodactyl-class bombers fly out full speed in a parabolic ascent, reaching a safe altitude to release their payload. Each release five Hagedron bombs. Each generates a vortex of energy sucked in by a micro-singularity black hole opened by the collision of matter and anti-matter once held by a powerful containment field. The sucked in matter overloads the small black-hole, causing a deadly explosion and releasing an array of toxic matter.

The horizon is now purple with black clouds and an incandescent center, where I'm sure the structure burns. The planet, if not doomed before by our lethal descent, is sure to remain contaminated throughout the ages by the world-decaying dose of radiation.

The winds pick up. Surely, the air itself is lamenting, writhing as it burns into baking-hot temperatures. The howling of the wind is the song of mourning, the bereaving chant of those defeated by our unconfined fury.

I feel accomplished. This is the true masterpiece of my career. I take many pictures of my surroundings, do my best to show off the Fist of Justice so that the entertainment-hungry sapiens back home can relish in these captured images and videos for weeks on end.

"X-Legion, our foes have much to pay. We'll divide into twenty assault units, each led by the appointed Alastar Decius."

I choose twenty Alastar Decius, those with the best war stats among our ranks. The choice is made with a thought, and with that speed, the positions are assigned. Already each Alastar Decius is assigning a Lunastar Magna to take command of each company, and each Lunastar Magna is assigning Devastar Magnas for each platoon. No quantum comms needed, as we are close enough to use lightspeed comms.

"I want mission reports periodically," I say. "Capture images of epic battles to transmit once quantum comms are back online."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna," I hear my soldiers answer.

"Look!" yells somebody.

We all turn to regard the spectacle. As expected, the structure has melted, and so has the earth beneath it, and now the debris is sucked in by the molten earth, deep into a well where it'll all solidify in a mush of dead things, whatever was in there. A large gaping hole, still shining bright by the intensity of the heat, releases fumes and toxicity into the air. It'd seem as if a volcano would be born from such a hole.

"Tuigon, Ogre, Entwar, and the rest of unmentioned Alastar ranks, we go back to the Morningstar to conduct this war. I need a bird's eye view to conduct the purge of this planet."

"The Fist of Justice . . . my Alastar Magna . . . it has been the highlight of my military career," says Ogre in a state of trance.

He's elated. And he should be. Never before have we needed to activate this procedure. I, too, am proud of this moment.

"Bootlicker, as usual," says Entwar. "But Ogre is right. This is a magnificent event to remember for the ages. Songs should be written about it," she says.

"My Alastar Magna," calls in a Lunastar Primus. His tone of voice. That worry. That infliction that spells a bad omen.

The earth shakes. The land, once still like death, moves like a summoned carcass.

Where the gaping hole of destruction once swallowed the megastructure whole, an eruption of matter happens as if spit were being released from a mouth full of gravel. And suddenly, as if played in reverse, the destruction is undone in plain sight, each fragment, each small particle of dust, a small rock, everything returns to its original place as if tricks were being played on the eye.

We all witness the reconstruction of the once-destroyed structure. In less than five standard minutes, the megastructure is back in one piece, as if we never touched it at all. Is this how the planet that Tauro destroyed resurrected? I don't know, but it'd be reasonable to think it was so.

All our X-class munitions used up, gone to waste. This is bad news.

"Is quantum comms operational?"

"I'm afraid not," says Astrotek Magna Lucius.

"Tell me, Astrotek Lucius, did you see the structure fall from your vantage point?"

"Yes, my Alastar Magna. We saw it swallowed whole by the molten earth. There's no doubt it was destroyed. There's recorded evidence of it. And now it's back in one piece. We saw it, too—it's re-birth."

"Re-birth . . ." I say under my breath.

"The amulet of Udyat . . . wasn't it a healing thing with restorative magical powers?" asks Astrotek Magna Lucius. More a statement than a question.

"Lynx . . ."

I freeze.

"Tauro!" I yell. Did he also come back to life? Summoned by the strange powers of whatever lies within?

"Tauro?" asks Entwar. "Where?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Am I truly going mad? I think so. Voices I've heard before. This isn't new to me.

"It's Tauro's voice."

"You're hearing things again," says Entwar.

"They've always been real," I say. "Iris, did you receive that voice communication from Tauro?"

"Negative, Alastar Magna. There is no registry of any voice," says the AI.

It must be the same thing that's occurred to me before with xeno I almost dialogued with. And now it's happening with Tauro. What irony!

"Lynx . . ." It's Tauro's voice again. "Run! Get out! Flee! Get away from this terror while you can! You have to leave this planet . . . this galaxy! The terror!"

His voice is strained. I have no doubt he's in a dire situation. I hear tissue ripped apart, then a scream.

"Run!"

"Tauro! Tauro! I'm coming in to get you!" I yell.

"Lynx, please," says Ogre, laying his hand—the mechs hand—on my shoulder—my mech's shoulder. "You must rest. This is too much for any of us. You're hallucinating," he says on a private channel.

"Do not come! Do not engage! It's a trap! It will only let you in! Don't be a fool! It wants you, Lynx!"

"There! Did you hear that?"

They all shake their heads. "Negative, my Alastar," says Kennedy.

"Tauro's in there. I'm going in to get him." I say, resolved.

A private call from Astrotek Magna Lucius.

I answer.

"It's my duty to do everything in my power to convince you of not going in to rescue what you believe is Tauro." He's clearly fighting himself on this, knowing that saying this is very out of place. "If what you say is true, that Tauro can somehow speak to you and that he's indeed within that structure, then I must suggest against going in. Everything up to now is too strange, too incomprehensible. We've said it before, whatever our enemy is, its tech is far superior to ours, light years ahead of us. I implore you, my Alastar Magna, do not go!"

Lucius is a sapien, a well-born, well-studied, well-bred sapien, who after decades of training in Astrogation, and then after that, years serving in my Novasphere, acquired his position as Astrotek Magna. As a sapien, I know he doesn't possess the lust for war, he doesn't crave vengeance or bloodletting as we do. His perspective is more objective than mine.

"You're out of line, Astrotek Magna Lucius."

"I know! I know!" he takes a hand to his nose bridge and sighs. "But I must speak out . . . in case . . . in case you die! You're our leader! Without you, who knows what'll happen here . . ."

He's talking about who'll take my place if I fall. It would be Tuigon. But then again, some power-thirsty Alastar may step in to contest the throne. Iris isn't in contact with her main servers, and therefore, her memory could be tampered with some very skilled hackers. I doubt it'd ever come to fighting over who takes command, but it's not impossible. So I see Lucius's point.

"In my ten thousand years of service, I've never received council from an Astrotek. I'm annoyed that a sapien has the audacity to propose any tactics in the field of war, especially when he's never waged it. I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, do this again, and I'll rip your head off publicly. I already slain four Tourists. Don't think for crossing me you're exempt of capital punishment."

Lucius pales. The window with his face shows the visceral emotions spewing from every pore in his face. That's punishment enough for now.

"Yes, my Alastar Magna! I apologize for the interference. Never again."

I hang up and broadcast to the entire force down here with me. "Change of plans. All units are to return to the Morningstar immediately. I'm ashamed to say it, but we will retreat."

Gasps in the comms channel.

"Retreat? How . . . why?"

"The only explanation you need is that structure in front of you," I say to the baffled soldiers. "I gave an order god-fucking-damnit! Retreat!"

"Yes, my Alastar Magna!"

It takes the legion hours to retreat. Luckily, only mech warriors descended. There's no troop here except those manning gun stations in the Kuze no Tenshi mechs and those who manned a Torragami or a Katami. The mechs take off in groups to avoid clutter.

The most painful to retrieve are the Kuze no Tenshi, mammoth mechs without the capacity to lift off. They'll be extracted by the Titan class drones destined for such function.

Meanwhile, all this time I'm left to contemplate in silence. I patiently wait for an enemy to become desperate, but nobody comes out of the structure, and Tauro's voice is no longer heard.

When the last few units are departing, I say to my right and left hand, "Ogre, Entwar, fall back. I need you up there."

"No, you're not," says Entwar, getting in my face. She points a finger to my chest. "You will not order me to leave you behind. Not now. Not ever. Never have we been shy to leave you when war gets too dirty."

I sigh. "You must. It's an order."

"Fucking bullshit!" yells Entwar. She pivots and turns her back at me. She turns again and points at my chest, swallowing more insults. "As you command. If you need us, we're a holler away. You hear? You dumb bastard! You stupid earthling! You're going in, aren't you. And all alone. In search for some voice in your fucking head! You'd better be right about this one. If you fall, I will go after you. I'll bring your body back and beat the fuck out of your carcass."

"Do not insult our leader!" yells Ogre, smashing his shoulder into Entwar's chest, sending her—the mech—flying several meters backward.

They both unsheathe their katana.

"Brothers! Do not fight over this! Entwar is wrong in speaking to me like so, but she does it because she fears as much as I do. But I must go alone on this one. This, whatever it is," I point a finger to my mech's head, "I must resolve once and for all. The voices. They're not unreal. They're meant for me for a reason. And today, I will uncover it once and for all. Go. Now!"

Entwar and Ogre leave without more said, bickering like the brethren they are, who love and hate each other and would die for one another at any moment.

I'm all alone now. The proof of our coming here is a rotting world intoxicated by our descent. However, our true mission is but a failure. The enemy lurks in whatever shape and size, openly defying us with their superior technology by making us seem like pagan barbarians too retrograde in our development. To make us think this is but the product of magic.

Alone and standing a hundred miles from the megastructure, I feel superiorly inferior in the face of a structure recreated after falling in a heap of melted rock.

Suddenly, the horizon is terrifying. The silhouette of the megastructure is deafening to the sight, occupying a large portion of the visual field. Ominous it is. Silent, unmoving as a dead body, ready to strike upon activation.

And here I am pursuing a voice, a possible figment of my imagination. Following my hunch more than my logic. But then, I'm human, and that's what separates me from the common AI—my hunch, the aggregate of emotions and past feelings resulting in this strange sensation I decide to pay attention to. Here goes nothing.

I fly full speed ahead. Nothing interferes with me. Nothing intercepts me. I land a hundred meters from the structure. Tauro's signal is dead. As is the triangle once highlighting his likely position, which went down with the structure when it was first destroyed.

"Lynx . . ." It's Tauro. It's faint. A whisper. Not even. "Lynx . . ."

This is a terrible idea. I could turn back. But I can't. I must move onwards. This is my chance, my only chance to discover what happened to the Tragalaf. After ten thousand years, I may finally find out. No High Command here to hide facts. No bureaucrats to twist truths into heaping lies to convince me otherwise. This is my chance, mine alone, to denude truth, to unveil what truly happened, and to meet the destroyer of a galactic empire—if the image was true, that the Tragalaf had a galactic empire to start with. Maybe this is my chance to talk to a xeno finally.

I'm five meters away. The megastructure towers over me, threatening, overpowering. I see nothing but the large smooth stone. No bricks. No segments are seen in the building.

I touch the stone. The stone moves upward like a liftgate from medieval times, but no sound is emitted by its movement. The gate is gigantic. You could fit a full sized Kuze no Tenshi inside. Who needs such a large entrance? A very small thing wanting to feel larger than life, or a larger than life thing who needs such a big entrance to fit.

The gaping mouth into hell reveals darkness within a couple feet inside. The red giant star does a poor job illuminating well within a few meters. The olfactory sensors relay data. I sense old and dusty. The smell is of an old chest that would've had the odor after eons of being buried well beneath the soil. How can this place look and smell so old when it was just recently re-created from destruction? I don't know.

I enter. The shadows engulf me. And of course, as I enter, the gate begins to close slowly. It doesn't slam shut. I can still escape. But the lure, the curiosity, the necessity to heed to this calling is stronger than my fear.
—26—

"War . . . r . . . r . . .ning . . . war . . . r . . . r . . . ning."

"Iris?"

"Terminal err . . . o . . . o . . . r."

The AI goes out. I reboot the DAT system, but it's futile. I'm positive this is due to the electromagnetic field, or maybe something else that silently sprung on me upon entering this structure. Iris has been out only a handful of times, and most have been due to Doomsayer interventions.

I'm still inside the Torragami. I enter rage mode. The Torragami deploys all weapons, and the gating engines cycle at full speed, ready to shoot. I release an echoradar probe but fail to read back its IR echoes. I turn on the halogen beams to see something, anything. Lights are out. My gear is down. The weapons begin to malfunction. The engines of the gatlings being the most obvious as they come to a sudden halt. The missile pods on my shoulders freeze.

Complete darkness. Not a photon is visible. Or perhaps it's the Torragami's visual sensors that are down? I can't feel my arms or legs, and soon, my movements become lethargic. I'm paralyzed.

All mechs have a manual escape system. Personally, I've never had to use it. There's a first for everything, I guess.

I disconnect from the Torragami OS. Within the blackness of the cabin, I feel around for the small lever and find it near my left foot. Pull. The explosion of compressed air hisses and spits me out. The noise echoes and travels back and forth, giving me a broad assessment of the sheer size of this structure.

I land with a role and stand up ready to fight. There's nothing, no one waiting for me. But there's light, there's visibility. But the tinted glass on my helmet isn't working. It's not allowing more light in dimmed conditions.

All electrical equipment is failing. The DAT is out. I unsheathe the entropic blade and notice the entropic function is out as well. At least I have the blade, polytitanium with a sharp edge and ready to cut. I reach for the gorecannon, and no surprise, it's not operational.

My movements are slow. Must be the servoarmor's augmented and accelerated motions malfunctioning. I curse. I decide to remove the helmet. I risk being intoxicated with the atmosphere. However, if this planet is anything like the planets in A-001, then its atmosphere will have enough oxygen for me to survive.

I lose pressure with a hiss and remove the helmet. There's more light than expected, shining from many passageways with all-white illumination.

The place where I am is like a large patio, a space devoid of decorations. The ceiling is too high for me to see, and the floor is simple, smooth stone like the outer wall. The inner side walls are different. I immediately notice the hieroglyphs and the many passageways leading places. Far beyond a few hundred meters, I can see tall and large columns arising from the ground to reach the invisible ceiling. Large stairwells lead to some upper passageways. This place is a maze, a gigantic structure, and who knows where I'll end up in.

My movements become even more lethargic. Now I'm fighting the machine. I proceed to remove my armor piece by piece before it becomes a solid, unmovable piece. The armor has a battery-powered movement-enhancing system. When on but low or out of battery, it freezes into place, much like rigor mortis in a once-heated body.

I curse. I remain in my all-black, polycarbonate military grade jumpsuit. Luckily, the suit incorporates soles on the feet. Not much of a boot though.

I feel vulnerable in this simple jumpsuit, going off to face some hell overlord, but I have no other option. It's cold. My augmented engineered body compensates, and I shiver to generate body heat. I take the functionless katana and proceed on this mission. I take the hilt, sheathe it, and tie it around my waist.

The enemy has stripped me down from my power weapons and from my armor. This was a terrible idea. I'm now bare of equipment, relying on my senses to complete this mission. I advance slowly, follow my intuition, trying to pick up the hunch, which is my only compass.

I chose a passageway at random. Once I step inside, the light flickers and burns on brightly. The light source comes from within the walls. The white light is near-blinding. The size of the passageway is around four meters in diameter, a large tunnel leading someplace. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, inside the tunnel, it's all decorated with hieroglyphs in patterns I can't decode.

The passage leads to more passages. Some go upwards. Some down. The constant white light is becoming annoying, as it makes it seem like I'm lost in a labyrinth going in circles.

And then a change. I see a stairwell that leads up. Each stair is a little over my height, which means I must climb each one. There seem to be over a thousand stairwells, ten stairs each, zigzagging their way up to who knows where.

As I carry on, 2.1g is weighing heavily on me. I've lost count of how many stairwells I've climbed. The exhaustion has hacked my psychology. After what feels like days of climbing, with soreness killing my every muscle, I finally reach the top.

It's no grand reception. It's a very tall tower that leads nowhere. I'm at the top, and in front of me there's a deep precipice that appears to be infinite. There's nowhere to go. I may have to return and chose a new passageway. I curse under my breath.

And then I see movement. Out of the deep, dark horizon, I can see a small platform moving towards me. Floating with ease and grace, soundless, it stops as it makes contact at the edge of the tower where I'm standing.

The platform just waits. Perhaps for me to get on it. I see no mechanisms holding it afloat, no turbines or propellers, no magnets or anti-grav gear. Just a simple, one-inch thick smooth-stoned platform.

To continue onwards onto the platform or to return are my two options. I can't go down those stairs, not after all the effort I put in to get here.

I take a step forward. The platform is solid, doesn't budge when I get on it. As soon as my two feet are on, it starts moving slowly at first, smoothly, seamlessly floating, not emitting sound.

And then it accelerates at what seems to be arithmetic proportions. Soon, I'm traveling at an insane speed. The platform twists and turns, and I feel like I'm traveling at lightspeed in cork-screw fashion. I try to yell but find myself in a blur of motion.
—27—

I slowly come to. My consciousness returns in waves, ebbing on the shore of my memories. My whole life seems to be a spread of events simplified in a single strand, as if someone took all that I am, summarized it, and laid it out in a black space.

I take a look at my life and realize how empty . . . how terribly empty it is. After becoming a supersoldier, I became a tool, a henchman used by my superiors for their own motives. Never my own.

The strange moment vanishes as soon as it appears, and I continue ebbing into myself, and soon, with a gasp, I open my eyes.

There's a mist around me . . . no . . . not mist. I'm surrounded by large particles floating without clear purpose, just there. I can't tell what these particles are, but soon, I remember why I'm here, and my interest in the particles vanishes.

Light is dim, a blueish hue cast from within the walls themselves. I can see a few meters around me. The rest is darkness.

I get nervous at the prospect of meeting some hell overlord, some god, some human-like thing who's outclassed us in technology, who's so further developed in their evolutionary path that they became god itself.

I unsheathe the entropic blade, making as little noise as possible. This is a strange place, a spacious rectangular area with four walls surrounding it. There's something in the distance. Maybe a throne-like structure as the one I saw in the helicoid, twisted world. Or maybe it's a coffin, and I'm in a tomb.

Maybe this is as farfetched as it seems. I'm within a structure with the shape of the Eye of Horus. Perhaps I'm within the confines of the origins of the Egyptians. Maybe I'll face Anubis himself, the god of death?

I shake the eerie feeling about me and proceed with caution.

"Lynx . . ."

It's Tauro's voice! I follow it. I prepare to find him in a puddle of his own blood and guts.

Instead, I find a body standing. No . . . not standing. And it's not a body anymore. He's hanging . . . floating.

I find Tauro's armor at one side, organized as if in a museum to see its parts. The parts float. The body I thought I saw is but Tauro's skin in perfect state, as if the soldier were a science project, and he was peeled with outmost care. His skin is a mold, empty within, floating. Not a trace of blood.

"Lynx . . ."

I move onwards. A few meters behind his pelt, I find Tauro's muscles without the bones, nerves, or blood vessels. The muscles, too, float, taking the shape of the human it once moved.

"Lynx . . ."

I continue, ever more apprehensive. I then find the blood vessels connected to the two hearts. The tramway of blood vessels is followed by lymphatics and nerves. The spinal cord is there, as is the brain. The eyes are attached to it. The lungs are there, too, attached to the central heart and to the larynx, where his voice is coming from.

"Lynx . . ."

And so the pupils dilate. Tauro's blue eyes perceive me. They're red, without eyelids to protect them. The eyes cannot move. They have no muscles. But even static as they are, they perceive me.

So, he's still alive. Kept so by some strange force that ripped him apart into large organ systems as if he were studying his anatomy. But this is more than science. This appears to be a demonstration of power. I'm being shown the power of this god, or thing.

I can perceive it, the god. Its presence has become stronger. I grow wary, unable to see anything beyond a few meters, and that's with my superior vision.

"Show yourself! Enough of these games and . . . sorcery! Have the balls and come face me!"

I can hear Tauro's fear as his larynx, somehow still controlled by his nervous system, inhales in rapid successions.

Its presence becomes stronger. It's mighty . . . powerful . . . omnipotent.

A pair of light blue incandescent lights appear. Are they eyes? The eyes of a hunter within the shade, ready to strike?

The blow was aimed to decapitate me. My hunch saved my life by a sudden flick of my unpowered entropic blade. The force of the blow sends me backward. I roll with the force and stand guard.

A blur. The thing is too fast for me to see it. Another slash, and we begin the dance of death. A duel.

I'm barely fast enough to keep up the pace, to parry and counter, not to attack, but to cause a sense of caution in my opponent.

The music of destruction, the fire of war ignites within me, and I become fluid in my motion, following the predictive path of intuition and subconscious impulse to parry and defend.

I parry again and counter, taking advantage of the force that spun me counterclockwise, then duck and spin again, coming up with a deadly slash that would've cut a man in half. I miss but take the force to jump and avoid a blow to my legs. Falling, I use the force to parry an upper cut, then land and aim the sword in a direct thrust, spinning at the end like a corkscrew, and then using the energy to jump and continue this deadly pattern.

We're matched in sword skill, but I'm sure I'll be the first to tire out, which'll be the decisive factor in this duel.

I bargain with my energy and decide to go all in. Accelerating, nearly tearing my own muscles and tendons, I perform a thrust-thrust attack, then the expected counter from my opponent, and I unleash the trap. With a skyward upper slash and a sudden twist on my side, the blade comes out below my armpit, coming out my back side, and I land a powerful backthrust. I hit something, but I don't feel the usual tearing of flesh.

I prepare to deliver the fatal blow after the damage I caused, only to find my enemy has stopped moving. Its blade . . . a staff? All this time it was using a staff? It's now motionless.

Light blue incandescent eyes stare at me. I freeze in place with awe.
PART 3
—28—

It measures three meters tall. It has a human-like body with dark, non-reflecting skin, except its hands, where the skin appears to be white. It has the head of a jackal, adorned with a golden blue headdress. More golden things adorn its body—the long, pointed ears have many earrings, and on its neck, a golden, thick necklace shines dully. Its snout is brutal and long, and it has long dangerous teeth. Its face is possessed with those light blue incandescent orbs.

Its body is protected with a blend of an antique tunic and futuristic armor that goes from its shoulders down to the feet. Its feet aren't visible. The armor-tunic has segments, clearly shown with a blue hue at each joint and limb to surely allow it nimble movement.

At the center of the tunic-armor breastplate is a large Eye of Horus, which shines in the incandescent light blue. The visible white skin, that of its hands with five human fingers, is riddled with scars. It's missing the upper phalanx of the right index finger, as if it was amputated. It never healed, or perhaps it's worn as a token of war.

It carries no weapons other than the staff it sustains within its right hand. The handle is a golden face of a jackal. The rest is a silver structure with a dull point at the end touching the ground.

The being moves its hands and lets go of the staff. Upon doing so, the staff vanishes in a whiff of dust. The thing starts barking loud, menacing, threatening barks. Its human-like hands move towards its head. The head is moved upwards. As soon as it moves up enough from the shoulders, the jackal head freezes.

The crevice that connected the head to the tunic-armor gorget shines light blue, and soon, the jackal head is lifted completely as if severed and disappears in a swoosh of dust. What remains is even more frightening. The jackal head then was a sort of helmet, hermitically, or at least tightly connected to his tunic-armor.

This creature . . . it has lips, cheekbones, grey, straight hair that falls over his shoulders, a stern face, and the countless passage of time permanently scored in his face by the evidence of wrinkles. His eyes are deep blue, and like a dam holding back a body of water, they seem to hold in pure, unfiltered rage. But there's also a deep wealth of knowledge, as if in the middle of that sea of wrath lies an island of wisdom.

"The death of your brother was inevitable. Alastar Magna Tauro, alias Ulfton Justar, deserved this painful death," he says, pointing at the dissected body.

He speaks my language, Galactic Ætian. His accent is deep and ferocious, almost like a growl, but he surely knows the language by some strange mechanism. His voice is deep and raspy, making me think he hasn't spoken in a long time.

"His arrogance was his death sentence. Who comes to a new galaxy and destroys a whole planet full of life to admire? Only someone with extreme arrogance, with extreme pride. Someone who does not value life. A killer whose sole purpose is the destruction of the living. His soldiers were all the same, contaminated with that sickening arrogance. They, too, died a painful death. They paid for destroying that planet of mine that I hold so dearly. And now I ask you, Argo Herrero, are you like him? The soldiers you astutely sent back to your orbital ship, are they, too, contaminated with the seed of arrogance? And your makers? Are they, too, extremely arrogant, and do they deserve to die by way of painful dissection?"

I'm dumbstruck, paralyzed by both awe and fear. This guy, this man, thing, it is clearly very powerful. In what manner he knows so much about us is unknown to me, but it speaks volumes of his dominion. By way of magic or some arcane dark sorcery . . . he knows too much about us. Could it be his advanced technology? Mind reader? Why does he know so much? Is it telepathy with the ability to get inside a mind and explore it at will? A hacker of minds?

"I see your leaders are worse than Tauro," continues the tall being, ignoring my state of paralysis. "Omnistar Magna and Omnistar Primus. The Celestial Core. The Stellar Knights and your faulty religion of self-aggrandizing prophecies. When a species proclaims itself as God and bows to itself and prays to itself, that is a symptom of decay, of rot, and is soon to become an unstoppable malice, as clearly shown by Tauro's actions. The slayer of the innocent. The killer for sport."

He's hacked my mind. He's browsing through my memories as easily as rifling through a rucksack.

I have too many questions, too many enigmas, and too much fear to formulate anything smart. So I ask a fear driven question. "Are you human?"

"Human?" he snorts.

"But you . . . how?" I point to my head. "The Tragalaf?" I finally say with a stutter.

What is a human doing in Canis Mayor? Why is he surrounded by what appears to be Egyptian hieroglyphs? Why the pyramids? This is what I truly want to ask, but I'm unable to.

"You know my language . . . my name . . . you know who my makers and my superiors are. Who are you? What are you?" I start to shake uncontrollably. I feel suddenly like a cockroach in the presence of a boot about to crunch it to death.

The being takes in a deep breath.

Breath! This means he's mortal and needs to exchange air with the atmosphere to perpetuate his life.

And suddenly, the rage behind the eyes fluctuates. What was once deep wrath becomes an agonizing solitude, the pain of being alone for eons, the pressure of melancholy. A melancholic warrior?

And then it happens. I see my own suffering reflected in him.

This seems to annoy him, but more than that, it seems to surprise him. I take advantage of that small and brief connection and pull forth my melancholic warrior persona for him to see. I expose the darkest part of me without filters. This feels like my moment of truth, the moment of redemption. I am as if confessing and about to die.

"I am Ahmurai," he says. "I speak one language. I speak all languages, the language of the mind. I am death incarnate. I am life unfolding. I am the duality of creation and destruction. I am. You are destruction. There is no balance. And your violent presence here proves what your memories have said to me. Humanity has awakened. You had a choice, humanity as a whole, and you chose to summon hell. You've chosen the path of destruction, the purge of thousands of sentient species! How arrogant of you!" He screams. His voice becomes a thundering boom.

I can feel destructive ripples scattering over my skin. I sink in my shoulders, trying to shield myself from his wrath. But I'm alone and feel naked as if standing before a judge about to punish me for eternity.

I take two steps back. My vision hurts by looking at his judgmental eyes that seek to obliterate me. I wonder about Tauro and how easily he was dominated and dissected like a lab rat. The question is, why hasn't he done the same with me? What is he waiting for?

"The Great Arrogance . . . never again. The Great Lords had to fall, an inevitable price to pay, a sacrifice worth it. Your dominance of the Milky Way proves the ascension of the once weak may happen again. I will not allow it. I, Ahmurai, defender of death, bringer of misfortune, who offers harmony, ultimate peacemaker, will have to quench the inferno flames that burn in the souls of those who ascended."

He points a stomped index finger at me. "Those who you call Tragalaf committed the same sin. They were a people of peace until their discovering of the manipulation of matter through technology led them to the path of Great Arrogance. They conquered Canis Mayor. Their unstoppable ambition sent ripples through time-space and summoned me. As have you, human. I proceeded to erase those so-called Tragalaf from the Universe, as other people have fallen by my judgment in eons past and in eons to come. You, the Homo sapiens, were my hope. Small, ignorant, weak. But I was blinded by my hope. It's always the weaker beings who rise with the most vicious desires. Your penitence is immediate and total annihilation. Protocol elimination of the Homo sapiens species, active. Destiny, the Milky Way."

And then everything makes sense. The Tragalaf fled Canis Mayor because they somehow summoned this being, this Ahmurai, from a sort of sleep state he was in. Where was he lying dormant, and why was he dormant in the first place? Who are these Great Lords? Was he here in A-005, or in the twisted world, or are those new constructions?

"Wait!" I yell. All those questions need asking.

"Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!" yells Ahmurai unleashing a terrible cyclonic power, all red, the color of dying flames, of living hell, of torment and unstoppable chaos.

The ground shakes violently, and from the unseeable ceiling, dust and gravel begins to fall. Ahmurai's eyes, once light blue, turn into two incandescent rubies. From thin air, the jackal helmet appears over his head. The jackal beings to bark with rage, sending spittle, threatening to bite me in half.

Large rocks fall. Is this place imploding?

Something in the air changes. It's the heat. But something else, too . . .

Is it the electromagnetic field? Has it stopped emitting? I notice my DAT starts to reboot, a clear signal that the powerful emission was somehow coming from or controlled by Ahmurai.

The hunch. An impulse. The killer instinct in me flourishes.

With a single, fluid motion, I press the entropic blade's power button and lunge, thrusting the entropic blade directly toward the Eye of Horus at the center of his chest. The blade doesn't pierce the armor. But somehow, the entropic energy distortions whatever functions the Eye of Horus has.

The being screams in pain, and the red light falters. The falling dust halts, as do the rocks, and the ground no longer trembles. This being is no god, but a supreme living thing so advanced it has created technology far superior to our own. But alas, he breathes, and he has his own set of weaknesses, like trusting that his act of power would leave me paralyzed in fear.

The jackal barks furiously. Ahmurai takes his hands to his chest, and before he can touch the blade, I retrieve it and run.

The blow I dealt him wasn't deadly. The blade didn't pierce the breastplate. But would he have been damaged if I'd hacked him again once his Eye of Horus was temporarily tampered with? I don't stay to find out.

As I run out of there, I notice Tauro's dissected body has fallen in heaps of tissue to the ground. The skin is no more than a pelt. The veins and arteries pop, and blood spills. His two hearts race towards extinction. His nervous system collapses, as do the muscles.

Rest in peace, old friend. I hate you and will remember you for being the asshole who ignited the wrath of this being. You were better off never becoming a supersoldier. But alas, good old Ulfton Justar couldn't take it that an immigrant soldier was better than him. This is goodbye.

I have no time to pick up parts from Tauro's armor. I could've used the gauntlets. We're very different in size, and we were different supersoldier models, so his armor wouldn't fit.

The DAT comes to life.

"Alastar Magna! His DAT is picking up! I have his biostat profile!"

"Tuigon!" I yell as I run the opposite direction of Ahmurai, not even knowing if there's an exit from this place. "I need extraction on the double!"

"For one or two bodies?" he asks.

"One! Prepare a planet rupturer! Let's send this planet to hell!" I say.

"Done!"

"Iris!" I yell, even though a thought would suffice.

"At your service, Alastar Magna."

"Find me an escape route!"

"Follow the highlighted route on your DAT."

I follow the instructions, pursuing the only option, which is to continue running. The highlighted route, I see, falls abruptly in an invisible precipice. Invisible because it's hidden in the thick shadows of this strange place. I run towards it and jump.

The free fall at 2.1g is staggering. I achieve maximum speed and fear the plummet will turn me into a puddle of meat and bone. Without my servoarmor, I'm in danger of losing my life.

"I suggest you dig your hands into the walls," says Iris in a cold tone.

Walls? There's no light, just a dark tunnel. I reach out with both hands and feel the smooth stone wall as I fall at tremendous speed. The pain, I can see it coming. There are no edges, no tiny bumps or seams, and I give it all in.

The jumpsuit has limited armor on the fingers, but the polycarbon fiber protects my flesh for around two seconds, and then my skin begins to grind against stone. The skin is torn off with ease, and then the muscles are torn off.

Blood spills everywhere, and soon, its bone against wall as I do my best to slow my descent. It's not working. Every time I push on the wall to stop the free fall even the slightest bit, I push myself away, bleeding with torn muscles and bone.

And then I see it coming. The end of the tunnel. Feint light coming toward me at a terrible speed.

"Prepare for impact."

I cringe. This is it.

My body hits. The air explodes out of my lungs. I can feel the terrible concussion on my back and feel something must've ripped apart. I feel the psychotropic drugs flowing in my body, released by my brain to reduce pain. And the sudden rush or movement.

I feel enclosed within a tight compartment, and then I'm lifted and feel I'm going upwards. I'm in total darkness . . . still? Am I blind?

"Your Torragami was back online. Tuigon was able to hack its system, and that allowed him to control it remotely."

"Wait . . . I'm inside the Torragami right now?"

"Yes."

"Why aren't I connected to my mech?"

"The OS is being operated by an external source. You will be unable to link with it momentarily."

I relax and let myself rest in the dark cabin of the Torragami.

"My Alastar Magna! Here to escort you! The X-star!" yells Ogre.

I'm glad to hear his voice.

******

I'm taken to the infirmary by emergency drone servitors. My hands are like a cadavers. There's no meat on them, and the bones have been reduced to splintered stomps. The psychonarcotics are doing wonders to keep the pain away and to keep me submerged in bliss and the enzymes have cauterized the tissue.

"To the bridge," I mumble.

"What! My Alastar Magna, in this condition, you need to be in the intensive care pod for immediate healing!" yells Ogre.

"You're back! We'll meet you on the bridge!" I see Entwar's message.

"The planet rupturer, I want to see the explosion," I mumble.

"You heard our leader. Take him to the bridge," Ogre orders the drone servitors, two large service drones equipped with mechanical, life-prolonging equipment.

The crew at the bridge gasps as they see me come in in a half-torn military grade jumpsuit, with my hands extended in front of my chest, appearing like a bouquet of white flowers. The white being bone. The smell of charred flesh fills the ambience.

I'm seated at my command chair. The hologram displays in real time the already fired teraton fusion bomb to melt the earth in A-005 alpha.

"Fire the planet rupturer," orders Tuigon.

I see the fired missile travel towards the brilliance engulfing A-005 alpha. And then the powerful detonation creates a beautiful sphere of light and toxic radiation. Once the light fades, the sphere of light is substituted by a sphere of dust, the remnants of the planet.

"Objective destroyed," says Iris.

"The Alpha Legion was obliterated. And now, with this," I say pointing at the optogram, with a bone that was once a finger, "we've avenged them."

I hope Ahmurai is dead. The destruction of the planet should be enough to evaporate him, too.

"The Stellar Knight is here, my Alastar Magna, to prey for the fallen," announces Tuigon.

"Let him pray. I'm off to the infirmary. Servitors, take me there."

I lay down on the medical pod and am taken to the infirmary. As I'm walked there, Ogre and Entwar ask a torrent of questions.

I tell them what I saw and the strange being I found there. I say the little I know about Ahmurai, and the words he said to me about exterminating the human species. Once I've narrated everything, I make sure it's recorded and stamp it with an emergency tag.

"Send this file to High Command immediately," I order Iris. Sadly, my DAT was offline and unable to record any of the events that happened during my facing Ahmurai. But this narration should do.

"Quantum comms are still down, my Alastar Magna. I can send it now to arrive within twenty-five thousand years," she says.

I scoff. Who knows what will happen in such a long time. Humanity might as well be extinct by then.

"Cancel that. We'll send it once quantum comms are back online."

"The Great Arrogance?" asks Entwar.

"The Great Lords?" asks Ogre.

"His appearance is also very strange. Man-like? Or a man?"

"And this Eye of Horus on his tunic-armor . . . and his head-helmet of a jackal . . . what is a jackal anyway?"

The questions continue, and I have no answers to them.

"It matters little now," says Entwar. "Nothing could've survived that planetary rupturer bomb. Nothing."

"Except a planet that came back from nothing," corrects Ogre.

"Always pessimistic," says Entwar.

"Realistic, I'd say," says Ogre.

I'm transferred to an intensive care pod, and immediately, five robotic arms begin working on me. Anesthetics are applied, and soon, I'm floating in an amber liquid, and my consciousness fades away.

******

I'm awakened abruptly by an urgent call. I answer with a thought while still submerged in the amber liquid, breathing through a tube down my windpipe.

"The planet—" starts Tuigon.

"It's come back!" I interrupt him.

"No. It's still pulverized. But the problem is there's a red cyclonic force coming from where the planet was, and it's heading straight towards us! It's large enough to devour the Novasphere whole!"

"On my way to the bridge. Activate a state of alarm."

"What is it? What's coming."

"It's Ahmurai."

"Who?"

"Our most feared enemy," I say with a thought. I share with him the file I have saved for High Command.

Tuigon pales and says to me, "By the powers of the Universe . . . so it is true . . . magic . . ."

"Not magic. Some very advanced technology."

"So that's why . . . the Tragalaf . . ."

"I'm out. Coming to the bridge. Prepare for warp travel, destination Terra."

"What!" Tuigon is astonished. "Yes, Alastar Magna," he rectifies.

"We can't fight it. We're outclassed." I hang up. "Iris. Get me out of here. I need a new set of armor ASAP."
—29—

"The armory is still working on your new armor. With the recent use of all the X-class weapons, supplies are short. We have not yet built an Astraport station to start generating raw materials."

I curse as I head to the bridge, wearing a new military grade jumpsuit. Why aren't we gone already?

"Iris, send an SOS to High Command. We're about to be attacked by something major."

"I'm sorry to inform that the quantum comms are still down," she says.

I unsheathe my entropic blade and turn it on. It works. It must be that limiting electromagnetic field. Is it being deployed by Ahmurai? But why will it affect only the quantum comms and nothing else, like it did when I was down in that pyramid. I couldn't even use my servoarmor back then. It makes no sense, but I thank whatever fortune for our ability to still use the servoarmor and our weapons.

My hands are still raw with new skin, but they no longer appear like broken things.

"Tuigon! Lucius! Get us out of here!"

Lucius is pale. He sighs in relief upon seeing me. "We've acquired coordinates to travel back to the Milky Way. Fusion engines on, taking us to deep space to initiate warp travel."

"Go now!" I yell.

I look at the holosphere. The red fury approaches at an insane speed.

"I can't! There's too much matter around us! We need to be far from it or we risk immediate destruction! Warp works in complete emptiness!"

"Go! Now! Punch that drive!"

The red fury is upon us. A raging red cloud of anger.

"Now!"

"Entering warp travel in three—"

The emergency sirens wail in angst. From the ceiling, a red flashing light goes off on every deck of the ship, and on the floor, a blinking white light with small arrows point towards the nearest escape pods, docking stations, hatches, and ports for an emergency exit.

"What happened!" I yell.

"We're hit! A heavy beam of powerful light just pierced the ship! Straight hit to the warp engine and it's damaged it catastrophically! No . . . no, no, no!! The ship has been perforated by that beam, from side to side! Casualties reported!" says Lucius.

"All defense systems activated! Attack that thing with everything we got! Deploy the fleet and order it to attack that red fury! Activate the Harmony Megalonic shield!

"Yes, my Alastar Magna! All turrets concentrating fire on the red cloud. Hagedron missiles launched! Fusion bombs at the ready, but the target is too close, and the blast could damage us permanently," replies Tuigon.

"Hold of fusion bombs for now. Deliver all payload available! Deploy all Katami and engage in defense mode! All Torragami pilots to their stations! Engage the enemy in maximum defense mode!" I yell.

"Deploy all armada units and surround the target! Send in all the Angerneedles!"

"My Alastar Magna! They're out of ammo! The mechs! They were all used up in the ground attack against the strange building!" yells Lucius, in contact with the armory.

I can see the space around the red rage nearing us, filled with beams of light, plasma pulses, mine plasma blobs, Hagedron missiles, thermite bombs, large Hagedron particle cannon traces, and heavy DrillCore bullets fired from multiple turrets at the enemy, who is nearing us at full speed.

The armada is deployed, and the Angerneedle drones race towards the target in kamikaze mode. Tens of thousands of needle-shaped drones take the shape of a dodecahedron and then a corkscrew, and hone in to attack in an inverted star formation. The needles hit home but are destroyed within meters of hitting the red energy engulfed in a red mist.

The Banewings and Fistships attack from the flanks. A hundred pulses of large diameter beams of red light pulse in a single second.

"All flanking ships down!"

"All? The dreadnoughts, destroyers, and frigates destroyed?" says Astrotek Magna Lucius with a stare.

The Novasphere shakes.

"The fusion engines are down!" yells Lucius. "We have no way to move . . . we've lost control over the ship! We're being lured in by A-005 beta's gravity!"

Another shake.

Lucius's holoconsole goes out. The holosphere goes out.

"All our systems our gone," says Lucius with a defeated gaze. "What is that thing . . . attacking us? That red nebula?"

"It's our most feared enemy. That's what exterminated the Tragalaf, what obliterated Tauro. That damned fool awoke him, and I pissed him off," I say.

"By the power of humanity . . . we're doomed!" says Lucius.

"Attention all military and non-military personnel. This is not a drill. Warning, catastrophic engine failure. Ship in route to collision in less than seventy-two hours. Please head to the nearest emergency hatch and exit the ship. Warning, catastrophic failure imminent. This is not a drill . . . Hull integrity damaged . . . Hull integrity has been re-established," says Iris through the overhead speakers. The message goes on and on in a slow, monotone voice, clear for all to hear.

We've lost Novaspheres before, but never so far away from reinforcements. Shipwrecked twenty-five thousand light-years from help is certainly our doom.

"All systems are down?" I ask Lucius.

"Everything!"

"Bridge crew," I say, "leave your posts and evacuate the ship. It was an honor serving with you. Now go!"

"But . . ." Tuigon is still paralyzed.

"Alert! Alert!" This time, Iris's voice is strained, "the hull of the Novasphere has been breached! Alert! Alert! Imminent loss of life sustaining conditions! Unidentified agent on board!" The message goes on and on.

"Iris! Report on breach location."

"Military deck F-15," she says.

"Is that the same thing you described on the narrative you sent me not so long ago. This Ahmurai being?" asks Tuigon.

"I think that's him, and I think he's very pissed off." I think for another second. There's no other way. We must fight. I broadcast a message to all military units. "Fleet! All supersoldiers to arms! I want you in full gear, sword on the hilt, weapons ready, helmets on! Iris, activate all sentinel class drones! The enemy has breached the hull and has boarded F-15q!"

"Yes, my Alastar Magna," says Iris.

"Yes, sir!" start chiming in all military units into the DAT.

F-15q is very close to the bridge, very close to where I am. Is he coming to get me? Did I doom my men? Was it my stupidity that will get millions of my men killed? Will Masaaki die, too, from all this? I hope she escapes. I have the stupidest notion to call her, say something, but I hold myself back and concentrate on coordinating our defenses.

I damn whoever designed the Novasphere. The decks are too small to fit a mech inside. I guess nobody thought we'd ever use them. Mechs are out of ammo anyway, but I could use their large katana to at least defend us.

"Tuigon!"

He's paralyzed. This is new behavior for him. It must be this whole situation—this probability of magic, and this supreme being attacking us. I have no time for this shit.

"Tuigon! To arms!"

"But why? For what? We're doomed. There's no escape. Escape where?" says Tuigon, his eyes sunk with sorrow. "We're in an uncharted galaxy with unknown variables, and those escape pods barely reach one hundredth the speed of light! Those escaping, where'll they go? The nearby planets are clearly enemy territory. We're doomed one way or another."

He's not fit to fight. He'll die and kill others with his poor judgement.

"Go help the sapiens escape until further orders, you hear! Calm them, get in full gear, and put that helmet on so they don't see you petrified face. Come on, man! You're a supersoldier! Behave like one! Or at least pretend! Get that helmet on!"

"Yes, sir!" he puts the helmet on and goes out, rushing towards the nearest escape hatch.

Entwar and Ogre come rushing in to the bridge, already in full gear.

"My Alastar! We're being attacked! We've rallied the men. They're heading to F-15q already. We've come to escort you. Surely you're not fighting, not like that," says Entwar.

"Iris! My armor!" I yell.

"There he is!" I hear someone shout.

I step out of the empty bridge and see ten sapien Armotek rushing towards me. They're sweating and grunting from tremendous effort. They're all carrying something, sharing the burden. I meet them mid-hall.

"My Alastar, your requested armor is ready! We got the alert message and started an emergency fabrication of DrillCore ammo. Should be ready in minutes!"

A couple of service drones could've brought it up. Can't figure out why these men had to do it. They have burnt skin, and their faces painted with ash and smoke.

"Who are you?" I ask the sapiens, who at this moment, appear larger than life. He and his team do.

"We're the armory grunts, the Armotek, in charge of the heavy machinery down there. I'm Tank," says the largest of them.

I shake his hand. "You brought this up from the armamentarium?" I ask.

There's chaos around us. Non-military running, following the white lights with arrows to escape pods and ships. Supersoldiers in full gear are gathering in small groups, joining an ever-growing force. I hear the bark of the gorecannon. They're surely engaging Ahmurai.

The sirens keep wailing. Light would be nil if it weren't for the red flashing lights on the ceilings of every corridor and the white lights on the floor.

"The servitors are helping with boarding and releasing the escape pods, rallying up the men so they can escape this sure destruction. Someone had to bring you this babe here," he says patting the armor. "The elevator did most of the work. It was the walking here that made us sweat big time," says the man named Tank. "We couldn't build a new Horjin class suit, used by your lot," he says pointing a finger at me. "We had the resources to make one of these. A Talga-X, used mostly by pilots manning a Katami. Extra armor, thicker, but it doesn't have the versatility you're used to with your Horjin suit."

"Spare the man the details!" yells a rough woman. "Name is Iota." She shakes my hand with a powerful grip. "Also an armory mole. Go kick some ass, Alastar. Now let's help the man gear up!"

"Right!"

I stand and stretch out my arms at shoulder height. I spread my legs shoulder width. It takes the ten of them to gear me up in five minutes. The armory moles, as they call themselves, come equipped with automatic pulse bolt and screw pistols. When they're finished, the suit powers on. They're all sweating.

I take the helmet from Iota, and before I put it on, I say, "Now abandon ship. That's an order."

"Yes, my Alastar Magna! It was a pleasure to serve you!" they say as they run behind other non-military personnel.

"Alastar Irius Kennedy, bring all heavy weaponry crates you find in the armory. Be quick! Let's pulverize that motherfucker!" I say through the DAT.

"On my way to the armory! Getting heavy weapon crates!"

I put the helmet on. I have no gorecannon, but that's just fine. I'll find one. I run towards F-15q, following my soldiers who already surround the area. The ocean of fully geared supersoldiers is itching to go through and fight the invader.

I'm not the only one wearing a Talga-X class servoarmor. The Katami pilots are here as well. It's huge compared to the more versatile Horjin. Nobody recognizes me. I've no emblem on my breastplate, no stars on my shoulder, and no color on my armor to distinguish me as an Alastar.

"This is Alastar Magna Lynx! Follow me, men!"

I'm met with confusion and even a condescending chin-lift. But upon getting my message on the DAT stamped with my signature, they quickly conclude that I must be the commander going all-in to defend his ship.

Air is whooshing out. Small items fly past me, heading towards the large break in the hull from where a red mist is flowing through. The mist is dense, but inside it I can make out the body of a man-like being. It has to be Ahmurai.

I can't see his face. The heavy gorecannon fire has him hiding, protecting himself within the thick mist. The particles would seem to cause heavy damage, but I'm unsure if we're actually hitting him. I suspect his presence near the hull breach is what's holding the loss of pressure, but at any moment, he's going move and cause a sudden loss of pressure, jettisoning everyone in the F-15q deck.

The battle is raging. So many gorecannons firing at the same time sounds like a thunderous growl. This can hardly be called a battle when the enemy isn't attacking back.

"Heavy weapons coming through!" yells somebody behind me. Three Devastar and Alastar Irius Kennedy step in with large crates. They lay them on the floor and open them, releasing the heavy firepower guns.

Blob guns are the first weapons passed around, named such for shooting large blobs of hot, blue plasma.

"I'll take that," I say to a Devastar.

By looking at his body's gestures, I can see he's clearly annoyed. The helmet hides his face.

Fuck it. I'm your commander.

"Iris! Depressurize F-15q and seal it from the rest of the ship!" I order.

"Done."

The vents suck out all air. The doors from the halls leading to F-15q slam shut, seal, and isolate us.

"Light 'em up!" I yell.

The blob gun is the size of a supersoldier, heavy as hell. It must be carried with both hands. The gun dangles at knee level. It'd be near impossible to carry it like a rifle. The trigger, therefore, is on the back handle, a red rectangular button close enough to squeeze against the handle on the posterior part of the gun.

I pull the button against the handle. The blob gun trembles, shines brightly as the engine ignites, and shoots a single large, blue blob. The hot blue plasma falls on the red mist. It spreads and then disappears. The heat chews away the deck and hull, but we're sealed off, so that's not an issue any longer.

"Next heavy weapon!" I yell to the Devastar behind me, close to the military crate.

He hands me a heavy microwave emitter. A gun seldom used but that is very effective against troops.

I turn on the weapon and fire. It emits a loud noise and sends off invisible but powerful microwaves that cook and burn most things in its path, but it seems to do nothing to the enemy.

Meanwhile, the soldiers continue their gorecannon fire upon the enemy, which appears to keep him in check. Or so I think.

"Next weapon!" I yell.

I'm handed large laser-persistent beamer. I aim and shoot. Three coherent blue beams with a diameter of five inches, hit the red mist protecting the enemy. Nothing. The mist seems to be a powerful defense system, even better than most military grade shields.

"Iris! Reload and deploy the Torragami available! Set them in autopilot mode to attack from space!"

With Ahmurai bound by our fire, stuck between space and the hull, I think we can attack him from behind.

"Done. Torragami deployed to attack the enemy from space. DrillCore cannons online. I suggest seeking cover."

"Take cover!" I yell.

Too late. The DrillCore cannon of numerous Torragami, punches through the hull. The majority of bullets are hitting the red mist-covered enemy. Ahmurai is immobile, just standing there . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .

Sound is out. The lack of air in this now-vacuum deck doesn't allow for explosions to be heard. However, I can hear my men hit by DrillCore bullets suffer from amputated limbs or simply sigh as death rips them apart when a DrillCore explodes.

I hadn't thought of the consequences of a Torragami attack from outside, and now, friendly fire is taking us out.

Ahmurai appears unscathed. I empty the laser of battery, then head to a gorecannon gun and open fire. A DrillCore bullet shatters the walls behind us, causing heavy damage to the inner deck wall. I can hear a whoosh of air. Must've pierced the vacuum-sealed deck, and now we continue losing pressure.

I take a thermite grenade from a fallen friendly and toss it at Ahmurai's feet. The brilliant explosion gnaws at the deck floor and the hull, further expanding the open gap. Once the brilliance dies down, the red mist-covered enemy remains intact.

And then the mist evaporates, and the red, crimson-eyed devil barks. He's using his jackal-faced helmet, and the roar of the beast freezes our blood. All of his body is red, as if blood drenched his whole being, but his eyes and the Eye of Horus on his chest shine ruby red.

Like a splintered beam of light by a prism, Ahmurai is suddenly a blur of movement, moving in hundreds of different directions at the same time. No weapons are used by him, not even his staff.

In a second, he's slain twenty soldiers. His red hot fury easily penetrates the thick servoarmor. On the floor near him, he's begun to collect hearts, the hearts of those he's killed. Killed by yanking out the pump of life.

The soldier behind me is attacked. I'm so close to death incarnate, I can see him do it, see him thrust his red, hot, and incandescent hand into the chest of the soldier. The armor ebbs as if the hand went into a puddle of water, and the soldier yelps, shakes, convulses, and then falls limp on the floor as his heart is torn out of his chest.

His breastplate has a hole, and through it I can see his empty chest cavity with only deflated lungs, no heart. The heart, still pumping in the hands of Ahmurai, is tossed on the floor, where a mound of dying hearts is accumulating.

"Entropic blades! Engage in close quarter combat!" I order.

At an instant, one hundred soldiers in full gear toss their gorecannon aside, unsheathe their entropic blades, turn it on, and attack in unison, bellowing out a war cry. They run full force, tackle Ahmurai, a three-meter soldier, and pin him down on the floor.

More and more soldiers are running to jump on him, and soon, the hundreds of them have piled up over Ahmurai and begun stabbing him like butchers killing a large, helpless animal.

Ahmurai isn't moving.

I hear the yells of passion, the grunts of soldiers plunging their swords.

Ahmurai is still unmoving under so much weight. Is he asphyxiating?

Soon, I regret the order. A pulse of red mist engulfs the pile of a hundred soldiers. The mist holds them fast, clinging to their armor like thick, sticky poison. And then the true misery begins.

The gear protecting their bodies heats up to melting point, and soon, they're burning inside their suits. Smoke comes from the boiling suits, from the baking meat inside each servoarmor, and they begin to explode like popcorn.

The yells of agony are heard throughout, demoralizing the thousands of soldiers waiting for their turn to have at Ahmurai. The popping soldiers suffering ends, and Ahmurai, surrounded by the red mist, stands unscathed.

I'm rushed by him, hand extended. Misses me. Missed?

I turn and see he's grabbed Alastar Irius Kennedy, picks him up like a wooden doll, and thrusts his hand into his chest, producing his heart and throwing it on the mount of collected war trophies—the hearts of my dead men.

I wail as I suffer. Is he torturing me? Is he punishing me? Killing off my men in front of me?

"Die! Die! Die!" barks the head-helmet of this hell-sprung being, and he thrusts his hand into more and more chests, killing with dedicated hatred.

The gorecannons continue unleashing their payload, to no avail.

I recall damaging him by hitting the Eye of Horus on his breastplate. Maybe I should do the same now.

I lunge at him. He seems to multiply in a thousand silhouettes of himself, spreading thin like a fan and then reappearing elsewhere, slaying more of my men. I chase him around, trying to damage him, pathetic as I am slow in this large suit. My frustration grows as failure spells out.

The sealed-off deck's walls are heavily damaged, and now the loss of pressure is becoming a threat to my men. The powerful sucking effect is pulling us nearer to the broken hull, threatening to jettison us.

"Attack! Defend our Alastar Magna!" It's Entwar. She's going all out.

I see my trusted soldier lunge as her entropic blade slices the air, but Ahmurai, slippery as he is, multiplies in many copies of himself and surrounds Entwar.

"Noooo!" I cry, a primitive, deep wail as I see it coming.

Entwar is taken apart by twenty or more copies of Ahmurai, each pulling to one direction, yanking off limbs, gut, head, and bones. The splash of blood paints the deck, and the collection of limbs piles over the collected hearts.

"Die! Die! Die!" barks the jackal helmet.

"For humanity!" yells Ogre, attacking with a force of fifty Devastar behind him, all wielding entropic blades.

I join them, attack from the rear. "The Eye on his chest! Attack that Eye!" I yell, what I should've said earlier, but in my paralysis, I couldn't utter anything but sobs.

Ahmurai twirls like a hurricane, spreads his hands, and from his palms, a powerful red flame emerges, spreading out in a spiral. The men caught in its heat are pulverized.

Ogre manages to throw himself to the ground, role, pivot, jump, and then lunge with all his might. The giant Alastar Primus thrusts his entropic blade and lands a direct hit to the Eye of Horus. The jackal barks, and the air seem to fill with a deadly charge.

"I got him!" yells Ogre.

I'm about to land a killing blow. I aim to decapitate him with a single strike. Maybe without his shining Eye of Horus, he's weak enough that I can cut him. I have to jump to get to his head.

Ahmurai's jackal head bites Ogre's head, making me miss the killing blow. I land on the ground, miss a step, and fall. I turn to see the jackal head biting hard, tossing Ogre around like a hound would a rabbit. And soon, he's decapitated, his head swallowed whole.

"Nooo!" I yell after the fact, as if my scream would summon my men from the dead.

A heavy explosion from behind. I see ten Devastar entering with large 40mm hand cannons as large as a supersoldier, firing large rounds, hitting Ahmurai square in the chest.

Unprotected by his red mist, the explosive round seems to cause damage. I see blood, but before I see a true injury, he's surrounded himself with red mist. And then the cataclysm begins.

The mist becomes a vortex of angry energy, spiraling into greater and greater size. The vortex begins to rip apart everything it touches. The walls of the deck are torn, and the pressure loss jettisons the thousands of soldiers gathered to defend our ship.

I'm expelled from the Novasphere by the powerful gust of air.

"Loss of pressure imminent! Alert, oxygen loss critical. Proceed to evacuate the ship immediately," says Iris on my DAT.
—30—

I'm spinning wildly, thrust into space at high speed. I hit a large chunk of deck and manage to hold on to it. From the spinning debris, I see the large whirlwind of red fury consume the Novasphere, destroying it from inside out.

Thousands upon thousands of bodies are thrown into deep space by the loss of pressure, some towards the red star, others to the planets. Inevitably, they'll die from absolute-zero temperatures, loss of life support, burning, or crashing into some celestial body.

I begin to sob. The temperature is dropping steadily, held by the life-sustaining mechanisms within the suit. The Novasphere is dying. My ship, bested by a more powerful enemy. The loss of millions aches in my chest.

The explosion ensues. The engines, the fusion cores, the fuel stored, everything collapses as the heat of the red angry energy consumes it and detonates into a giant white brilliance of heat and destruction.

I'm temporarily blinded. The shockwave reaches me. I'm thrown off the debris and now fall freely, lured in by the powerful 1.9g gravity of planet Beta of A-005. I lose consciousness temporarily. Then I awake, still free falling to the planet Beta.

As I spin on my own axis, I can see the destroyed Novasphere scattered everywhere, a ball of flame emerging from the core, wrapping the debris in the growing sphere of destruction. Bodies, frozen in the harsh anti-life environment of space, fly by me. Victims, mostly sapiens without armor, are ripped open from the blast. Others are intact, whole.

A couple floats by, their bodies permanently frozen together until a star consumes them, or they're vaporized by the friction of an atmosphere, or simply shattered as they collide with something else.

Parts and mechs fly by. Kuze no Tenshi broken into millions of pieces, drift away in opposite directions. The armada, the fleet, is completely torn.

I can see flashes of red anger here and there. In my clockwise spinning condition, it takes me several rotations to finally understand what's happening. Ahmurai is attacking the escape pods and the ships that got away. Some of them are already far away and hopefully escape his unquenchable wrath.

If the Tragalaf escaped as far as Earth, twenty-five thousand years light away, then some of our own must be able to evade his annihilation.

The planet Beta of A-005 is ever nearer. It soon occupies the whole of my visual field, leaving no dark horizon. There's only a rushing landscape too far away to conceptualize.

The color of the land below is purplish, perhaps because of the color of the earth, or maybe some strange plant grows here. The atmosphere is clearly visible on the edge, a turquoise hue similar to other planets in this galaxy. Surely, Ahmurai's making.

He never admitted to being the forger of these planetary systems or the creator of the strange lifeforms we saw. He did mention he held dear the life-forms in A-001. But by how pissed off he was and by the way he made Tauro pay, it stands to reason that they were his creations and that these worlds, once belonging to the galactic empire built by the Tragalaf, were repurposed by Ahrmuai himself. Perhaps for his own entertainment. Perhaps it's his way of restoring nature by the tyranny of expanding species like the Tragalaf, like humanity. Will he repurpose the planetary systems we conquered in the Milky Way?

I worry about Masaaki. I think about Rin, her android, and their strange relationship. I think about Carmen, that perfect little bitch, how much I loved her, how much I hated her.

But all that is over now. I've been bested by a superior foe. Is there a better death, a more honorable one? I think not. It's exactly what I've wished for centuries, for millennia, to be slain with dignity, to fall by a superior force while going all out.

I will return to the elements. I will be reborn in some atomic structure as the matter composing my body—and soul—returns to the ether, the all, the Universe. I will soon join you, brothers! Wait for me! Wait for me before you go wherever you go! Whatever afterlife, or whatever eternal silence there is, I will soon be with you!

I feel pain to think of Entwar, Ogre, Kennedy, Gonzalez, Moralez, gone. I hold it in. There's no need to shed tears for the fallen. My best men fought bravely, defended their own, and perished. That's a good death. By Bushido standards, the most honorable of all.

And now it's my turn. Time to die. Take me with you, sweet death, and take this melancholy away from me. Goodbye melancholic warrior. I will be no more.

I try to welcome silence. I try to empty my mind before being burnt by the atmosphere and then crushed by the earth below. But I can't.

I think about the Doomsayers, about Ahmurai's threat to exterminate humanity as he did with the Tragalaf. Will he do it? Will he go to the Milky Way and wipe humanity out for good? How will he travel there? He's clearly got superior technology to move the way he does, to unleash such terrible force. I wonder if he can simply appear at-will in the Milky Way, open a black hole at his whim, and sidestep into another galaxy.

Maybe it's for the better that humanity ends for good. We're too evil. We need our assess kicked, to be punished by our sins against life to make us reconsider. Perhaps extermination isn't the way. It's a good spanking. Perhaps absolute destruction with only a few left to rebuild is the best. To be thrown back into the stone age. Start from scratch. Clean slate. A second chance.

I can sense the heat now. The helmet HUD still works, as does my DAT. But Iris is out after the ship was destroyed. She's installed locally on my DAT, so she should still work. Perhaps she's stunned.

Heat increases. I'm entering the stratosphere. The heavy resistance of the atmosphere aligns my movement. I become a falling star. I try to keep myself from flailing, but as heat increases and the smell of my own charred meat fills the armor within, I can't help but writhe in pain and then flail like a madman trying to put out the flames.

The burns go deeper, and now the jumpsuit is melting over my flesh. Smoke fills my helmet from the inside, and I'm suffocating in the smoke of my burning flesh.

Fuck. I didn't want to die choking on my own gases. Psychotropics are secreted by my brain and fill my bloodstream with analgesics, and soon, I'm drunk and barely conscious.

There's no telling when I'll hit the ground or a mountain. Or perhaps the clouds here are thick and solid like ice, and I'll die pricked by icicles.

I collide, crash, and feel my internal organs explode in a gush. Something yanks me upward, and soon, a force is pulling me away from the gravity of A-005 beta. The G-force increases. Blackness engulfs me.
—31—

"He's waking up," I hear a man say.

I've awakened, but my eyes remain shut. Is this death? Sweet death seems too real. I curse. Maybe I'm not dead after all. Where the fuck am I? I should be liquid meat, floored, pure pulp in a tin can.

"Let's go see him," says a female voice.

My heart races. Emotions stir. Carmen? Am I in hell, or heaven, or in limbo, stuck here to pay my dues?

"Hai, how long has soldier Herrero been out for?"

"Thirteen standard days. Thirteen days, one hour, three minutes, and forty-one—two— seconds to be exact," responds a mechanical voice. "Nanosurgical procedures have reconstituted the soldier's skin, muscle, and bone. Macrosurgery has ensured large organs remain viable for self-regeneration."

"Wake him up fully, administer anti-anesthetics, and reverse medical paralysis. Release the medical tracheal tube and eject him from the healing pod. There's no time to lose."

"Correction, we have all the time in the Universe," replies the male voice.

"Don't give that bullshit. That thing is heading straight to the Milky Way, and nothing will stop it. We barely had time to notify him. We must get there as soon as possible before shit really hits the fan."

"That's an impossibility," says the male voice. "This ship isn't capable of even a tenth of the speed of light. No warp engine. If returning is your prerogative, then an alternate route must be sought out."

"Shut up. Look," says the female voice, "he's coming to."

I open my eyes. A hissing sound. The pod has surely ejected me, and the door is shutting closed. A white light surrounds me. At least they had the decency to cover my genitals. I'm in a simple medical cot.

"Welcome, soldier Herrero." There's a tablet to my side. That's where the mechanical voice is coming from. "My name is Hai, an AI—"

"Shut up, Hai. Argo is in no shape for your in-depth explanations."

Argo? Who the hell calls me by my real name? I raise my head and see two persons standing at the end of the medical cot. A male and a female.

"Masaaki! Rin!" I yell. Rage and surprise clash inside me and leave me paralyzed. I search their faces, trying to seek out the smallest emotions and facial expressions to see if this is some joke.

Rin takes a few steps back. I notice he's tense. The lights on his temples shine purple. He's scared.

"Hello, Argo," says Masaaki. This engineer . . . her face . . . her voice . . . something's changed. "You're in a Banewing. Rin had to pull some maneuvers out of his ass to save us from that beast thing you so called a being. That jackal-headed son of a bitch."

Wait . . . how does she know anything about Ahmurai.

"He turned off the engines and left us in the dark, free falling until it was clear we could move on without danger of being exterminated. We were lucky enough to catch you mid-free fall before you became squashed meat and earth fertilizer."

I want to speak out, but there's a knot of anger and surprise stuck in my throat.

"Here, a can of synth chicken," says Rin, playing the nice guy. He hands me the can with caution, as if I were to bite him. "There's not much to eat. We barely escaped with our own lives. The ship is poorly stocked."

I open it and swallow the meat whole without chewing, then toss the can to the floor. Chicken juice spills on the deck.

"Great. Rin, clean that up," orders Masaaki. The android stiffens. The lights on his temples turn red, but he proceeds to clean it up.

"Well, Captain, are you gonna give the man an explanation?" demands the android on all fours, cleaning the spilled synth-chicken juice.

Captain? What the fuck is going on here?

"Yes. In due time. You missed a spot there," she says to the android, already standing.

Rin goes back down and cleans the missed spot.

"And there. Good job. Here's a treat for you. Good boy," says Masaaki, pushing the poor android to ruby-colored lights on his temples.

The android mumbles as he disposes the trash.

"Argo, let's cut to the chase here. I'm a special forces agent at the service of the Celestial Core. I'm also a warp engine engineer, my coverup. My lineage with Carmen Johnson is real by the way, so don't think everything was a lie. Rin is a tin can specialized in electromechanics, chips, astrogation, and is programmed to pilot nearly any ship. He's also my bodyguard, and my bitch," she says, turning to see Rin's reaction.

The android sighs and looks down.

"Wait a minute. Hold on. You? A special forces agent? Fuck off." I scoff, laugh, and then fall silent when she turns red.

"It's all true," says Rin.

"Shut up, tin can. I got this," says Masaaki. "It's all true. The sooner you believe it, the sooner we can solve this shit fucked-up mystery of how we're getting back to the Milky Way. Your Novasphere burst into flames, destroyed by Ahmurai. Remember?"

"Ahmurai . . ." I repeat under my breath. Yes, I remember. Everything. My dead brothers. Entwar . . . Ogre . . . Kennedy . . . Gonzalez, Tuigon. "How do you know about Ahmurai?" I say.

"Later," she brushes it off.

"Anybody else survive?" I ask.

"Some. Other ships managed to escape. Some pods, too. I honestly don't care," says Masaaki.

"So, wait . . . you work for the Celestial Core? The ÆTAS?"

"Of course. Do you know of any other Celestial Core?"

"But . . . Omnistar Primus and Omnistar Manga . . ."

"Forget about them," says Masaaki with a wave of her hand. "I'll explain more in due time. There's too much to do, and we're twenty-five thousand light years away from the Milky Way. We have to get back. The Necro Day is approaching."

"The Necro Day?" I ask.

"You'll know soon. I promise I'll explain everything as soon as we find a way to get back."

"So Rin . . . is he your lover or not?" I ask. This question isn't important, but for some reason, I spat it out.

"Oh. That." Masaaki rolls her eyes. "We were, once upon a time, but no longer. Tin can is just another sack of chips to me now," she says, leering at the android.

Rin's lights shine bright red, then blue.

"Hai has been hacking Iris for thousands of years and has been watching you for a long time."

"Thousands!" I yelp.

"It was us who deployed the electromagnetic field that jammed the quantum comms, preventing you from alerting High Command."

I tense, feel the rage surging. "So you're saying you sabotaged the mission? If High Command would've known, they would've sent reinforcements! Perhaps it would've taken weeks at max warp speed, but it was worth a shot. And now they've no idea a great threat is upon them! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Oh, I know exactly what we've done," she says, taking her hands to her hips. "It was all quite deliberate."

The rage explodes, and I get up with a jolt. The towel on my genitals falls, and my body jewels are now hanging loose.

"I know you're angry, and you're right to be so. Our intention was to prevent High Command from finding anything out about Ahmurai, or the fate of the Tragalaf, for that matter."

"Our?" I ask, sensing she's talking about a larger entity than herself and Rin. "It doesn't make sense!" I yell. "You work for the Celestial Core, right?"

"Right."

"So how come the Celestial Core wanted to sabotage . . . the Celestial Core!"

"Ah, the plot thickens," she says, raising her eyebrows.

Rin senses I'm about to explode. He approximates a rifle leaning against the nearest wall.

"Stay away from that rifle, Rin. If Argo liked to, he would kill us both with a snap of his fingers. That rifle is projectile-based. It would barely scar him, so don't even try it." Masaaki takes my sheathed sword and hands it to me. "We managed to salvage your Talga-X servoarmor and your entropic blade. Here."

"Don't be stupid!" yells Rin. "Don't hand him his weapon!"

"Watch that synthetic tongue, or I'll rip it out. Remember who's in charge here," she snaps at him.

I take the sword. Is it truly my own? I must prove it. I unsheathe it. It sounds delicious as I peel the blade from the scabbard. I take the hilt as nearly as possible to my eye, then put it to an angle with a light source. The reflection . . . and there, the engraving: Never forget. Yes, it's my own blade.

I sheathe it back and hold it close. I sit down and take the sheathed sword over my exposed genitals.

"Why don't you dress up a little. Here's a non-military jumpsuit, XXL for you. There's none here for supersoldiers. Good thing is, you're small in comparison to your brothers," she jests as she tosses me the jumpsuit.

I get in the tech uniform and zip up. I could kill these two right now, but something holds me back. It's Masaaki's confidence in me, and her composure. She seems so sure of herself. I have the inclination to listen onwards and find out more about this sabotage.

"See . . ." she points at a service pod. "Your Talga-X armor is ready for use, renewed and polished. You can get in it, kill us both, and leave with this ship wherever you wish. Hell, you could go out and explore this galaxy for all I care."

She wants me to trust her. She's giving me options.

"I need more than my sword and my armor to trust you."

"OK. We need to get out of here fast . . ."

"We're going nowhere until you explain what the fuck is going on here! And why you sabotaged the mission! Why you disabled quantum comms and allowed Ahmurai to go unnoticed by our own people! He's going to rip them apart! How did you squander quantum comms anyway?"

"We had plenty of equipment and knowledge of how things work," says Rin interrupting.

Masaaki turns towards him, silencing him with a stare. "Shit. I guess I should just tell you everything right away. Perhaps then you'll agree to help us."

"Help you?" I say astonished.

"Yes, come. Rin, go and prepare black tea and bring some snacks, whatever you find in the storage unit."

"I'm not your house maid!"

"Sure, you are. Bring it now."

Rin mutters some more and leaves. Masaaki turns to me and says, "Don't take this the wrong way, Argo, but you're under my command. I'm the captain of this ship. Even without this ship, I'd still be a higher up than you."

"How? I'm Alastar Magna Lynx . . ."

"You we're. Your Novasphere is gone. Your legion is dead. And by the way, that Lynx name doesn't suit you at all." She crosses her arms and elevates her chin.

"I'm part of the Celestial Core, and all soldiers, including your daddy, Omnistar Magna and Primus, are under their belt. You followed them blindly. Now I want you to follow me, but not blinded. I want you to choose. I want you to want what I want. I offer you what was taken from you thousands of years ago when you signed the stupid contract with the ÆTAS—free will. I offer you the freedom of choice."

I revolt. She notices my revile.

"Just calm down! This is why I didn't want to lay it all out there. It's too many paradigm shifts in a single sitting."

I'm all alone. I have no Iris, no server to access to verify any of the data she could tell me. I have no Ogre or Entwar for some fine and well-deserved guidance in this moment of confusion. She could very well be an actress. She could be an enemy. She could be a dream for all I know.

"I'm your superior. Period. If you want to insubordinate, then do so. Kill me and Rin and be done with it. But I guarantee you it's against your best interest."

"Oh? What is my best interest?"

"To get back to the Milky Way. Without us, you're lost."

"What makes you think I want to go back? I could escape to a planet or that spiral, twisted land and find a way to make it. All alone, but what the hell. Alone but in the company of honest solitude. Not with some . . . whatever you and Rin are, who want to convince me the Celestial Core is acting against itself."

"I'm not lying, damnit. This is real. Get it in your thick skull."

I sigh. She notices my hesitance. I haven't killed her yet, which means something to her.

"Come on. Let's head to the cockpit and take a seat. Tea should be ready by now."
—32—

We take a seat at the main cabin. As assault vehicles, they're built for a small crew to man several turret stations, with small wings to navigate in worlds where hostile atmospheres are to be expected. Thirty soldiers can be carried comfortably for mission deployment.

Masaaki invites me to sit in front of her. She pulls a small crate and puts it between us as a table. "Tea, here please," she tells Rin, who's carrying a steel container in each hand. The containers make up for the lack of cups. Hot steam comes from each container. "Bring the snacks please."

Rin brings the snacks and puts a metal panel on top of the crate, making up for the lack of trays. The snacks are dried-up slices of synth cheese and cured xeno ham. I've had these before. Better than canned synth chicken or bullfood.

I stare out a window into infinity, look at the stars and beyond. We're in deep space, far from any star system or star, for that matter. I can perceive our moving by how some twinkling stars drift.

Masaaki lays the tablet where Hai is installed, on the main console close to the pilot seat and connects the tablet to the docking station.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she asks rhetorically. "Traveling in deep space, far away from civilization, from a military ship, from the lie I've been acting out for a decade. Now I can truly be myself," she says, stretching her thoracic cage. "Feels good to be who you are, doesn't it?"

"A spy? A traitor?" I say.

"Drop the hard feelings, Argo. Now let's get real. I told you Hai has Iris hacked. This means we've been able to see everything she records through your eyes. We saw the pyramids, the planets, the animals, and that strange twisted piece of land. We didn't get to see Ahmurai when you confronted him in the Eye of Horus building. But we know about that because we have the narrative you shared with your soldiers."

I stare at her.

"You're not dreaming. This is real. Look at me. It's real, OK?"

"Not OK. Not at all. I was going to die. It was a good death! Why did you save me?"

The question throws her back. She gets angry. The damned woman is very attractive, and she, like Carmen, is a perfect little bitch, just perfect. The type of person who's just good at everything, and you hate them for being like that, but you also hate them because you can't avoid falling for them.

Her brown hair is picked up in a ponytail, while her non-military jumpsuit hugs her tight body. A belt on her waist has a small gun, likely laser pulsing, and a military grade knife. Small breasts, curvy hips. She's sexy. Those blue eyes with an Asian slant make her even more attractive.

She notices I'm checking her out. She leans forward, exposing her cleavage. "You like it. I know," she says.

I feel the heat on my face. I grumble. She's an asshole.

"Listen you ungrateful fuck," she says chewing a piece of dried-up synth cheese. "We risked everything to save your ass."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you rescue me? Why risk it all?"

"Why risk it all!" she yells back.

"Why risk it for a commander whose legion died, who's ship is gone. I'm nothing. Death was my way out. The long-awaited death I've been wanting for centuries, and you took it away from me! I was bested by a stronger foe! I was beaten! I had a good death coming my way, and you took that away, and I need to know why!"

The melancholic warrior is back. The surge of deep, wallowing memories hijacks my composure, and I begin to sob uncontrollably. Pathetic.

Masaaki sighs and sits at my side. Her hand lands on my shoulder, and she caress me. The cloud of melancholy lifts. Oh, how you're like Carmen. Able to make me forget about myself in an instant.

"Argo, we rescued you because we need you. A soldier who's fed up with xenocide, who's wanting a change as much as we do. And you understand the ÆTAS better than anybody else. We need you on our side."

"Need me? Any soldier could tell you about the ÆTAS. There are others who're also fed up with the killings. And what do you mean by your side?"

Rin is staring at me with condescension. He shakes his head and scoffs. He must be jealous, but also annoyed at my pathetic self-lament.

"We both serve the same master, the Celestial Core, but we have different missions. Yours is to abide to the military ambitions of our masters. Mine is the opposite."

I feel a mental sting, then a physical headache. I close my eyes and blink rapidly.

"I was able to establish a secure connection with soldier Herrero's DAT. I am rebooting the system . . ."

I can see the holoprojection from the tablet now that it's standing on its docking station. Hai comes up as a blue voice wave, that moves in unison with his speech.

Another sting. The DAT blinks, then it's back on after being in silence since the destruction of the Novasphere.

"Welcome, soldier Herrero. My name is Hai. I've hacked your DAT to install a new operating system, different from the one used by Iris. This new one was created by the Doomsayers, called Edelweiss."

I revolt. I'm about to explode when I receive a call. The app is simple in comparison to the calling app once used by Iris. In this one, I see a static picture of Masaaki. No bioprofile, no biostats.

"Answer," she says.

I answer with a thought.

"With your new operating system, we can communicate directly without the need of words," she says through the DAT. "I also happen to have a DAT." She winks at me.

"So that's how it is then. It all unveils finally. Doomsayers, huh? YOU TRAITOR!" I stand up and unsheathe the entropic blade in a single, smooth movement. The blade turns on with furious destructive energy.

Rin jumps from his seat and gets away from us as if we had some plague.

Masaaki takes a sip from her tea. "Sit down."

I turn off the blade, estranged by how her calm demeanor manages to calm me down.

"You can now send and receive messages with Rin, Masaaki, and myself," says Hai. "Welcome to the Doomsayers," says the AI.

Masaaki notices my reaction. "Hai! Do not say anything else to Argo! Fucked up AI says too much too soon. Damnit."

"So it's true. You're part of the Doomsayers, not the Celestial Core. And now you've hacked my DAT and installed a program, infected my device with an abomination, a Doomsayer's OS. You've tinted me with traitor's code! So what the fuck is really going on? You want me to join the Doomsayers? Is that it? You want me to abandon my career as a xeno slayer to become a traitor? Is that it?"

She sighs, drinks more tea, eats a slice of dried-up xeno ham, and says, "Fucking Hai. You had to say too much. Very well. I'll disclose everything."

Rin returns to his seat as the pilot of the ship.
—33—

"Ferfasser Yuldaga was one of the founders of the Celestial Core. He currently occupies a high seat in the organization. Like you, he's a Terran of origin and has lived for thousands of years."

"I've heard his name. I didn't know he was Terran."

"There are many more original Terrans out there, you'd be surprised. Ferfasser didn't occupy a supersoldier body but maintained his own and used advanced nanotech to regenerate endlessly."

"That's illegal. Humans are supposed to accept their mortality," I say.

"You're right. But he's a boss, and the boss does whatever the fuck he wants. You wanna hear the story or not?" she asks. She's got a short wick.

"Go on," I say, taking two fingers to my temple, two to my chin.

"Carmen Johnson and Ferfasser were close friends, in part, because they were both passionate about science. But most of all, they shared worry about the future of humanity. They knew the price of military overdevelopment, of ever-expanding war frontiers. With the defeat of the Tragalaf and the acquisition of high technology, they foresaw that the ÆTAS would become a monster, especially without opposition to keep it in check.

"Carmen and Ferfasser developed a project to stay ever vigilant on the ÆTAS military developments. To do so, they had to infiltrate the organization at a high level, but at the same time, stay well-hidden and invisible. The first step was to develop a powerful AI capable of hacking and keeping track of Iris. This is how Hai came to be."

"This is my version 1,578.5. My most advanced version is in the Milky Way. I'll be able to sync with it once we return, if we return," says the AI.

"But staying vigilant of the ÆTAS wasn't enough. It's futile to observe if you can't intervene. Thus, arose the second pillar of the project—a rebel group called the Doomsayers."

"Impossible! I will not believe Carmen Johnson, the Carmen, and some flat-ass bureaucrat were the founders of that rebel group!" I point a finger at her. "I should kill you right now. You're an insult, an abomination for the ÆTAS. I will kill you and then inform of your heresy against humanity."

Masaaki takes another sip of tea, then says, "Well, then. Kill me."

I begin to shake as opposing forces inside me threaten to rip me apart.

"You can't kill me, and I'll tell you why. Because deep inside, you know this is true. You've been alive for thousands of years. You've seen the ÆTAS grow into a monster. Countless times, you've tried to oppose your superiors, to sway the corrupted way of the warrior. The Bushido is long dead, it died with the Samurai in very old Japan. The Bushido you follow is demonic, a code of so-called honor to keep you in check, to force your hand through manipulating your mind. Am I wrong? Have you not seen the horrors? Are you not the melancholic warrior for a reason?"

I crumble. The opposing forces shatter me. I rest in the seat and breathe deeply.

"This is why you're the right soldier—the only soldier who could help us. We've been watching you because we knew you were doubtful, resentful of your superiors. The Doomsayers have known your potential to become that soldier with enough conviction to turn on its creators."

Masaaki lets the words sink. Rin is piloting the ship, trying to stay out of it.

"I am melancholic and wishing to die, but this is no reason to join a rebel group that I've helped in destroying. This is treason, betrayal at its best."

"Let me ask you this," says Masaaki. "Do you think the ÆTAS is morally superior to the Doomsayers?"

"Yes. We are," I say.

"Let me continue with the details here. Maybe your opinion will change."

I nod.

"The ÆTAS took the wrong path. It was pathological. It was tyrannical, and tyranny was the one thing they defended the world from when the Megachine threat advanced on the world. After the terraformation of Mars and the use of Mercury and Venus as raw materials, the explosive military development was worrisome. But the worst of all sins was the rise of a new religion who revered humanity as its own god, as a superior race, the ubermensch, and thus, its absolute superiority over any and all other living species in the galaxy.

"The Stellar Knights were the beacons of such evangelism, forever planting the seed of evil to justify the blind faith in the Galactic Crusade. The majority of high-ups in the Celestial Core favored this bloodthirsty path, the ambition to own and control the galaxy, and so the torment began. The ÆTAS became a killing, relentless war-machine, incomparable, unrivaled. The Doomsayers project was giving baby steps by the time the Stærfleet had found its first xeno target and the bloodbaths begun.

"Carmen and Ferfasser, with Hai's help, found ways to secretly spread a web of supporters in the conquered and terraformed planetary systems, to slowly destabilize the faith and instill the weapon of argument in the minds of those who blindly supported the Crusade. Thousands of years went by for the Doomsayers's web to spread across star systems and for a powerful, unstoppable, anti-ÆTAS sentiment to grow among the galactic citizens. We, the Doomsayers, cannot battle against weaponry of your class. We depend on the ephemeral word, the eternal word that can create or destroy, that can change the course of history itself. Propaganda became our primary weapon."

"If a steel-balled bureaucrat from the Celestial Core was on your side, this Ferfasser, why not build your own fleet? And Carmen . . . it's not possible that she was behind all this plotting . . ."

"Building our own army would've been a siren's call to our own defeat. The best way to stay alive as a movement is to become an idea, the unkillable, that festers in the minds of those who believe it. The idea was to crumble the galactic empire from within, to shake the foundations of those who support it."

"But after thousands of years, it's clear we're more of a pest than an actual threat. As things are, we'll never bring the empire down. Ferfasser and his followers have been waiting for the opportunity, a singular moment of weakness, the splinter in the armor of the ÆTAS to declare the Necro Day.

"You could be that weakness in the armor. We know you'd like to see a different future for humanity. Not this barbaric, endless crusading to slay all the intelligence in the Universe. Can you imagine a universe occupied by humans only? Just think about that."

"I am weary of battle . . . and I don't like this perpetual crusading across galaxies in search for gore and carnage."

"Yes . . . and we know of your inner conflicts. We know of the voices you've heard. Xeno voices."

"How do you know that!"

"We've heard you say it. Hai has Iris hacked, which means we've been spying on you for thousands of years. Everything you say is analyzed. You are the melancholic warrior. That conflicted battle mongerer who's the weakest point in the armor of the enemy," she says.

"Oh. I'm the weak point?"

"Yes, you are. You have a mind of your own. You may have loyalty and a code of honor, but you're also willing to fight for what's right in the correct circumstances."

"What circumstances are those?"

"Now. This. A redeeming moment where you're given a choice between two paths. The way of the blinded warrior seeking eternal carnage, or the way of redemption, to stop the threat we humans have become to the integrity of the Universe as it is."

"A redeeming moment. My defeat," I say. "The slaying of all my men, so I'm without a cause."

"Reset. Reboot. This is your reincarnation," she says.

She's good. I can clearly tell she's been trained by someone to use the force of argument to manipulate my brain, catering to my emotions as if she had a precise measurement of them. A master manipulator setting the right ideas in the right crevices of my destroyed identity to cause conflict within, and then to nurture the conflicted being into a strong foundation of molten steel to then forge a sword, a weapon, to use liberally as a tool.

A tool. I'm a fucking tool. Always have been an object of use for others. For the Crusade, and now for the Doomsayers, who wish to make of me some repented warrior of light. But no. I'm no warrior of light. I am in the shadows.

"So you have infiltrators in the Stærfleet. Cien-gi?" I ask abruptly to see if I can get a reaction from her.

"Cien-gi is not a Doomsayer, but he's close with Ferfasser. Don't know much about that Alastar Magna, but I do know Ferfasser helps you through him."

"I knew it! He's always been like a big brother to me. It reminds me of someone I knew long ago . . . Mafaka," I say under my breath. "So how does Ahmurai play into all this?"

"Ahmurai was an unknown variable. He wasn't even a possibility. To search the destroyers of the Tragalaf was a terrible mission. Tauro and Abyss were going to lead it," she explains. "The Tourists you killed, you were set up by some higher-ups and Tauro, who would see you fall. You see, there are some who know you're a weakness, a mad dog whose loyalty was questionable.

"But the Celestial Core, as you may now surmise, is divided. Some of the higher-ups wanted you dead, thus the setting up. Others, like Ferfasser, wanted you alive. The only way the ÆTAS could be convinced you needed to stay alive was through your role in promoting the military. It's thanks to him you were pardoned. Your punishment was going to war with Tauro as your ally. Tauro had the freedom to kill you if he saw you were failing or simply going astray during the mission.

"They kept you alive. Some thought you'd be a safe threat far away in another galaxy, where Tauro could deal with you if it came to slaying you. Nobody knew what you'd find in Canis Mayor. The possibility of finding a stronger enemy was high, but of course, with blind passion, the ÆTAS wanted that superior enemy's tech, to inherit it."

Masaaki takes a sip of tea, clears her throat, and continues. "Ahmurai has become a new factor in the equation. A destroyer so powerful he could be the catalyst we need to overthrow the ÆTAS. This is why, when you discovered the possibility of a great enemy in that helicoidal world, we blocked your transmissions to High Command. This is why they couldn't know, shouldn't know, so they couldn't prepare defenses to oppose Ahmurai."

"So you've infiltrated my ship for ten years. A Doomsayer in my fleet. How naive of me to not see it coming," I say with anger. "When I met you, you already knew me. You knew all about me, but you played the part, acted as the innocent engineer being questioned by the commander of the ship. You little liar. No wonder the meeting was so awkward. You're a terrible actor. Are you sure you're a spy? Doesn't seem to me you're well-trained in the art of deception," I say, aiming to injure.

Masaaki turns red. It's the first time I see her like this. "Like I said, not all is a lie. I actually do like being an engineer. My job there was crucial. So I actually did serve a purpose as both a spy and an engineer."

Rin spins on the pilot chair and interrupts. "Ferfasser knows of her obsession. Go on, tell him," says Rin.

Masaaki turns even more red.

"She knows all about you for a reason, Alastar Magna. There's more to this story than just a simple mission," says Rin.

Masaaki loses her composure. She wants to hide, disappear.

"What is this obsession you speak about?"

"Oh, she's been obsessed with you for many, many decades," says Rin with a broad, evil smile. He wants to hurt her. That much is clear.

"Is this true?" I ask.

"I don't deny it. But . . . we should talk about that later." She clears her throat.

I start laughing uncontrollably. All this is getting pathetic. Seems to me like we're all conflicted fools here. "So to sum it all up, you and your Doomsayers's little people thought that by overthrowing the ÆTAS, all your problems would be resolved? That by allowing Ahmurai to destroy everything we've built for the last ten thousand years, you'd somehow come to peace terms with this destroyer of worlds? Or become his follower? Or maybe name him as a god? How stupid of you Doomsayers to even consider allowing Ahmurai as a variable in your favor! He will kill trillions of innocent people, including the little Doomsayers lot!" I continue laughing.

Masaaki is now angry. She crosses her arms and remains silent. "We know the Ahmurai variable could mean our own destruction. We'd rather see a world destroyed than under the control of our enemy," she says, resolute.

"So now that Ahmurai is lose and probably already killing our people, how do I come into play? Seems like all your plan of my being the splinter in the armor, the weakness, is all a sham now that the new variable, a destroyer of everything, is on the loose," I say enjoying seeing her lose control of the conversation.

"You underestimate what'll happen in the Milky Way. You don't know for a fact that Ahmurai will succeed. The ÆTAS, for all we know, could have a secret weapon under their sleeve to use against Ahmurai, to bend him to their will. What if they steal his technology?"

I freeze. I hadn't thought about that.

"You hadn't considered that possibility," she says, reading my facial expression.

"No."

"What if there's a stalemate, a thousand-year battle against this supreme being, Ahmurai? What if you could be the tilting factor, the decisive factor to shatter the ÆTAS armor? You're more than you think. Yes, you're a key factor in this Necro Day, and you must decide to join us or continue being our enemy, but time is running thin. Ahmurai is on his way or already there, and we must find a way to return, with or without your support," she says.

"Ahmurai will destroy us all."

"He didn't destroy you," she points out.

This is true. Even when he boarded the Novasphere, he had a clear chance to kill me, but didn't. I don't know why.

"He may see in you what we see in you," she says. Her persuasion has returned. She's once again manipulating my brain. But she's right. Her argument is solid.

"And what is that that he saw?"

"The melancholic warrior perhaps? Or maybe the conflicted being you are, the possibility of you becoming the tipping point to destroy the ÆTAS? Maybe he's getting old and weary? Maybe he's just not that supreme? I don't fucking know. But there's a possibility of Ahmurai being unable to take the ÆTAS down, and therefore, a chance for the Doomsayers to tip the scale and defeat the ÆTAS."

"Or maybe it would be best for Ahmurai and the ÆTAS to figure it out by themselves. Whatever the outcome, we ignore it. We could land on one of these planets, find a suitable one for life, find more survivors, and build a new colony. Start from zero."

"That's not what I want. And as your immediate commander, I order you to desist from that idea immediately."

"I could kill you, you and Rin, sequester Hai, and use him to my advantage. I could find other survivors and become a guardian or sorts for them, make myself useful. To think about it, it's not a terrible idea at all. I kinda like that," I say, fumbling the handle of my entropic blade.

"There are several holes in your master plan," says Masaaki. "First of all, you're sterile, so if you want to keep me enclosed in the closet for me to bear children, it's not happening. Not with you at least. And then finding survivors is going to be nearly impossible. We don't have enough fuel. Resources are limited as we stand. We have one shot to make it."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps staying here stranded isn't the best of options. Tell me this, how the hell do you plan on returning to the Milky Way anyhow? This Banewing is too slow."

"Well, this is why we're heading to that helicoidal world you found."

"To find what?"

"More surprises. From what Iris perceived, you were able to cause a conformational change in that seat or throne you sat on. It still stands to verify if it was because of you, or if it responds to human DNA or something."

"Human DNA?"

"It's a wild guess, but I think it's crazy enough to be true," says Masaaki. "I think you activated Ahmurai's chair, or something, with your presence. I think it responds to humans."

"So you're saying Ahmurai is human?"

"From your description, sure do. At least close enough. Maybe long lost cousins or something."

"Right. Cousins separated by twenty-five thousand light years," I mock.

"With some very distinctive coincidences, like the helmet of a jackal, the hieroglyphs. There's a chance he's some sort of Egyptian," says Masaaki.

"Impossible. Xeno cultures have derived to similar designs in their architecture and religious entities. Even the shape and size of xeno and human appear similar. Nature has a way with things, might just be pure chance."

"I doubt it," says Masaaki. "But I think the helicoid world is our chance, our hope. I think we can make it if we get there. Per Hai's calculations, we've just enough fuel to get there."

"There's a chance that helicoid world isn't a world at all," interrupts Rin. "It could be a spaceship. A giant spaceship, for that matter. And I'm possessing self-learning applications that allow me to maneuver virtually any ship."

Masaaki nods.

"What if it's not a ship, and there's no means of transportation or wormhole formation that can get us to the Milky Way in due time, before shit hits the fan?" I ask.

"I was upgraded before this mission with the capacity to create from scratch a warp engine," says Rin.

Masaaki turns to him and says, "Is that so? Well, aren't you a tin can full of surprises. What else are you hiding?"

"With the Captain's knowledge of warp ship engine coding and functionality, we could have an engine in around ten standard years," says Rin. "Provided we find the right materials. This ship's consoles and wiring should help with that matter. We may still need to go on the hunt for raw materials, scavenging."

"Ten years!" I yell. "You're fucking crazy. Better off staying here and searching for survivors," I say. "Start anew. Sure, I can't reproduce, but I can be a guardian."

"Argo, you are the last commander," says Masaaki.

"There are eight others in the Milky Way," I say.

"Not any of them would hear us out like you did. Now, enough bullshit talk. Let's make business. Are you in or out. Choose now," urges Masaaki.

I sigh, lick my lips, shake my head, and look around, trying to find a source of wisdom. I find nothing but an empty ship. I speak up after fifteen seconds of silence. "For thousands of years, I've loathed the Doomsayers, even executed them with glee. I'm still doubtful of you, about your story regarding Carmen and Ferfasser and Hai hacking Iris. There are some irrefutable facts, like you knowing things I've never told you, but everything else could be a fat lie to turn me into a traitor. Fuck you and your Doomsayers. Fuck the ÆTAS and their bureaucratic assassins. Fuck Ahmurai. Fuck it all. It doesn't seem to matter who I serve, the worlds always seem to find themselves at the brink of chaos."

I sigh. I don't know why destiny embroidered my existence to come at this crux, at this crossroads.

"I will serve none. I won't be a Doomsayer. I won't be an ÆTAS henchman. I'll become my own master. I'll desert the military. I'll become a Ronin. At this particular time, it just so happens that you and I share a common goal. To bring the ÆTAS down. But I'll make it clear, once it's done, I will choose my own destiny from there on out."

Masaaki doesn't seem that displeased with my decision, but I can tell she would've wanted it another way.

"I appreciate the drama, Argo. But there's no need to desert the military. As your superior, I relieve you of all your military duties. You are no longer in command of anyone. You are a free man."

I chuckle. "There isn't any free supersoldier. We're all bound with a tight leash."

"I just cut the leash," says Masaaki with a smile.

"I appreciate the gesture, but I don't think you have the clearance to do so," I say.

"Very well. So a Ronin you are. For now. Once we get back, Ferfasser will have the proper authority to relieve you of your duties and make it official galaxy wide."

I smile. "It won't really matter if an epic war is unleashed between the ÆTAS and Ahmurai. The Stærfleet will be too busy to condemn me."

Masaaki extends her hand.

By the forces of the Universe, she's fucking hot. And the perfect little bitch knows it.

We shake on it. I pull he close and say in her ear, "If I find out you're lying, that this whole speech was all for show, I will tear you to shreds. Got it?"

Masaaki whispers in my ear, "Got it."
—34—

It's been five days since I awoke. That means eighteen days have passed since my ship was destroyed, since my legion was wiped out. I've been staring out the windows for most of the time, considering the bumps in the road my life has taken.

Had I known back in SLAV that I was to become some sort of space marine and then a fucking Ronin, I think I would've gone crazy. What would my parents think of me? Proud? I doubt it. I've committed unspeakable sins, killed in the name of glory for glory's sake.

Masaaki and Rin have been bickering nonstop. They really sound like a married couple. What was once romance, now seems like fired-up hatred. They often seem to be inches from blowing each other's head off.

"I'm receiving an emergency beacon," says Rin. "The beacon readings take 1.3344 seconds to bounce back and forth, which means they're not that far away."

I approach the pilot seat and get behind Rin. I look at the holoconsole. "Can we rescue them?"

"Perhaps. They're probably dead if the beacon is on," says Rin.

"Or stranded in space, out of fuel," says Masaaki, entering the main cabin.

"If they're dead, we could salvage parts of the ship, begin our scavenging efforts. Less than a second light away isn't that bad for a ship that can travel one-tenth the speed of light at max speed," I argue.

"Absolutely not. We stay on course," says Masaaki.

"Your sincere efforts are admirable, mercenary," says Rin with a smirk.

"What did you call me?"

"A mercenary. It's what you are, no?"

"I am a Ronin."

"Same thing," he says, rolling his eyes. "A soldier who abandoned his loyal masters and now serves in exchange for payment."

"I'm taking payment from none!" I yell.

"But you are. The freedom you were offered serves as payment," says the smart mouth.

"Listen, fuckhead, I'm gonna rip your head off."

"Rin, you're being an asshole. Wipe that smirk off your face tin can, or I'll let Argo pummel you to death."

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you," says Rin. "But you see, none of you can dispose of me. I am a vital piece in this mission. I'm the only one capable of astrogation. You need me."

"Oh, I see," says Masaaki. "So you've found some leveraging in your favor."

"I had to. You and bulldog here seem to be quite fond of each other. Just the perfect couple, right? Little Ms. Obsessed with Mr. In Iove with a dead woman, and it just so happens the dead woman he loves so dearly is very similar to you. How fucking convenient!"

"Listen, you piece of shit! Stop this nonsense, or I'll leave you to freeze in space!"

"Leave me? You already left me, abandoned like a sick dog. And after you met in-love-with-a-dead-woman here, you've become even worse with me. I deserved you! I was your true love! Remember the nights we spent together! You can't just throw all that away!"

I feel sorry for the android. Such sophisticated emotional tones are even more colorful than a normal sapien. Who in their right mind would ever make a biomachine capable of such feelings? It seems evil.

"Excuse me for interrupting," says Hai from the tablet. "We really don't need Rin. All his database is securely stored in my memory. He can be eliminated if he poses a threat to this mission."

The lights on Rin's temples turn from deep red to dark blue. Fear takes hold of his face.

"Well, it's such a pity that jealousy made you this insufferable, Rin. Your threats are empty, and worst of all, counterproductive. What would you be capable of doing if Argo and I really did fall in love and made noisy sex in front of you? If you saw his giant piece? The man is well-equipped for a ten-thousand-year-old guy," says Masaaki, pushing the android.

"I would kill you both in your sleep! I would . . . aargh!" He makes claws of his hands. "You love to see me suffer! I will do the same to you!" yells Rin in an uncontrollable fury.

"Why, thanks. That's all I needed to hear," says Masaaki. With a flip of her hand, she pulls the laser gun. Rin's head explodes in a shower of organic tissue, bolts and screws.

I recoil from the blast, amazed by the conclusion of the bickering. Rin's threats might've been as empty as a lover's whose heart is possessed by pain. But in a small space inside the ship, having those ill feelings may just result in premature failure of the mission.

"Pick him up. Throw him out."

"Can't we use him for parts," I say, eyeing the dead android.

"Hai, what do you think? Can we use the parts?"

"His battery could be of use. The rest of his components are organic tethered material, which is useless to create a warp engine if we need to."

Masaaki cracks open his chest with the knife. Her stab has more than just the objective of opening him to extract the battery. She actually stabs hard and deep as if carrying out a wish she'd been saving for later.

We drop him in the airlock chamber and close the inner door.

Masaaki flicks her fingers to control the holoscreen. "So long, Rin."

The outer door opens, and Rin is yanked out by the pressure release. We probably lost some oxygen needlessly there.

"So it had to end like that," I say, looking at the body ragdoll away into deep space.

"He would've squandered it all," says Masaaki.

"Please proceed to the cryogenic pods in the lower deck. It will take us two years to reach the helicoidal planet," says Hai.

"Two years?" I say.

Masaaki shrugs and says, "Got any better ideas?"

"Can't we go faster?"

"We could, but we'd risk running out of fuel. At the current speed, we'll get there in due time."

"You realize, in two years, Ahmurai could've destroyed everything by then. The extinction of the human race."

"Except for those who would've fled," she says. "If that's so, then we'll go around looking for survivors. At any rate, let's go down and get ready for cryosleep. Or did you have any other ideas before we do so?"

I feel my groin tickle. Like a bloodhound, I smell the pheromones. I'm about to make a move, when she breaks out laughing.

"In your dreams, you perv. You're ten thousand years old! Your junk is just as old. No offense."

"It works just fine," I say with a half-smile, half-offended face. That's a lie. I haven't had sex in centuries.

"I suggest you get ready for cryosleep as soon as possible," says Hai. "There are limited resources, and organic matter-consuming lifeforms like you need ample water and nutrients to survive, not to say microelements, which we lack in this ship's storage."

"Hai is right, we should get down there as soon as possible," says Masaaki.

The sexual tension between us lingers. I like this. It's been a while since I've felt this sexual uncertainty. I check her out as she walks. I follow her. I'm sure she's flirting, walking like that.

"Oh, before I leave," she turns and faces the tablet in its docking station to stay powered. "You said that on purpose, didn't you, to bait Rin?"

"Yes, I did. Rin was a threat to the mission. His behavior had been getting increasingly dangerous towards you, Captain. In this mission's best interest, I acted accordingly for you to realize he was such a threat."

Masaaki narrows her eyes, looks away, then looks back. "Thanks, Hai. I'll keep that in mind."

"A pleasure to serve. I will control the cryopods from here. No need to program them or mess with the difficult-to-manipulate algorithms."

******

When we get down to the lower deck and are safely away from Hai, I say, "Do you trust the AI?"

"Why?"

"I fought the Idronic War when Iris got control over many mechs and drones and declared us war. I'm always wary of servants who are smarter than me, or you, for that matter. Experience has led me to never trust your destiny in the hands of a smarter entity that resents you," I say.

"Resent? You give Hai way much credit. What makes you think he resents us?"

"He's smarter. He's missing a body to be free. He has to serve us. Why wouldn't he be resentful? Our gains aren't necessarily his."

"True enough. There's no need to hush-hush. You know Hai listens to everything we say, right?"

I curse.

"In my opinion, there's no better option at this time. Let's get into the cryopods and hope for the best. Hai has served the Doomsayers for thousands of years. It'd be odd for him to spark resentment now."

"But he hasn't synced with his master version back in the Milky Way," I say. "This means he could easily get corrupted or become a different entity altogether."

"Listen, Argo, I appreciate your concern. But let's get to cryosleeping before you get too horny, OK?" She undresses, peels off the jumpsuit in a single movement. She remains naked, ignoring me as she goes for the cryosuit hanging at the side of the cryopod. She dresses with her back to me, showing off her thighs and ass. "You coming?" she says as she steps in the pod.

Each pod fits one person only.

"I'll follow your steps after you've gone to sleep," I say. "I'm afraid I'll have a hard time fitting in one of those pods," I say, eyeballing it with curiosity.

"OK. Good night, then," she says, waiting. "Aren't you gonna kiss me good night," she taunts.

I smile. "Maybe when you wake up."

She rolls her eyes. "Hai, punch it."

The cryopod hatch closes. In seconds, Masaaki is sleeping, her fragile, delicate body surrounded by cryogenic gas.

I get naked and try on a cryosuit. The whole thing is elastic. Where the torso goes barely fits my right leg. I try getting in the cryopod naked. Surely, my regenerative tissue would sustain cryosleep without the suit.

I don't even fit inside the pod. I curse. I get dressed back into my XXL jumpsuit and head back to the main deck.
EPILOGUE

I sit in the pilot seat and spin to face the tablet docking station. The tablet screen is off.

"You knew I wouldn't fit in there, didn't you?" I say.

The screen turns on, and a holoprojection with a voice wave appears. "That is correct, but I had to offer it to you both so that the Captain would go into cryosleep."

"You think she wouldn't have done it otherwise?" I ask.

"The rate of success was inferior. With what I said, there was a higher chance of success."

"How are you so sure?"

"It is quite simple, Argo. She admires you. Her obsession of you is not to be ignored. It is at the borderline of pathologic. And you, without a doubt, will fall for her. Her physical appearance is sufficiently similar enough to Carmen Johnson's. It was inevitable that you would fall for each other."

"Is that why she was chosen for this mission? To persuade me through my inevitable attraction to her?"

"That is correct. She is not a talented actor. Her persuasive tactics are lacking, but her physical resemblance to Carmen Johnson made her the best-suited candidate for the mission."

"Be truthful. Was she genetically engineered for this mission?"

"She was not. Her heritage is true. If you were to go to her planet of origin, I'm afraid you would find many variations of Carmen Johnson in her descendants. I would advise against it. You would go mad."

"So what's wrong with Masaaki and I falling for each other?"

"It would have risked the mission, Argo. Passion would have obscured your already minute objectivity. Your judgment would have been affected. This mission is more important than any of the crew members on this ship, more important than I am. But I am the least at risk for fatal flaws such as interrupted judgment from fleeting passions."

"You have a way with words, Hai. Well, shit. So I guess I'll be awake for two years. We should get started on the warp engine in the meantime. You know, in case we find nothing of use in that twisted world."

"That will be unnecessary," says Hai. "I have adjusted the ship's course. We are bound to intersect one of the probes you launched before entering the galaxy. Those probes are hard-shelled and equipped with a warp engine of their own."

"Why did you hide this." I grow concerned.

"It was the only way I could get the Captain inside the cryopod."

"To avoid us falling madly for each other," I jest.

"Yes."

"And, Rin, was he aware of the probe?"

"He was not. It was well-concealed from him for the reason you witnessed earlier."

"You are one slippery AI, Hai. So how long before we intersect the probe?"

"Six standard months," says Hai.

"Well, that's not so bad. I have a lot of reconciling to do. Six months will do. So now that we're here, tell me more about hacking Iris."

"It's a long story. In due time, I will disclose what I'm allowed."

"Hmm . . . you wouldn't betray us, now would you, Hai," I say bluntly.

"I cannot. It's forbidden in my cybernetic code. I've been afflicted with a similar virus that Iris was infected with, to prevent such a thing from occurring. I have served my creators for thousands of years. I plan to continue my impeccable career."

"Is somebody hacking you, Hai?"

"That is impossible."

"Really? I think Iris would answer the same thing if I'd ask her if she was hacked."

Hai stays silent.

I sigh and begin to look around the main deck.

"What are you doing," asks the AI.

"Might as well find something to do if I'm to stay awake for six whole months."

"You said you had a whole lot of reconciling to do. I have found that holding a human to his words leads to improved accountability."

Great. So now I have to be careful about my word choice.

"Thinking is best done when idly doing something that requires little brainpower," I say, opening crates.

The armory has many brand-new weapons. Mostly small-caliber laser rifles and a blob gun. I open other crates and find some old holocards. I tap them. One has porno. The other, a bunch of stored movies. Underneath, I find a metallic box. I open it and find an old collectible board game. Something once called Go.

"You play Go?" I ask Hai when I return to the pilot's seat.

"Yes. That game is not easy. If you wanted a mindless game to let your mind wander off, Go is not it"

"Teach me how to play."

"Very well."

I've got six months to learn Go, maybe watch some movies, maybe do nothing at all. Once we get to the probe and then to the Milky Way, I'll see to fighting the ÆTAS.

That is, if anything remains after Ahmurai has dealt with it.

THE END
REFERENCE
[1] Eye of Horus. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_of_Horus
Afterword

Thank you for reading Private. It is the second installment of the intergalactic trilogy "Galactic Crusade." More is yet to come. The third installment is called The Fallen Ronin. I hope to have it published soon enough. Please leave a review of Torragami. Your opinion matters to other readers who may find the book entertaining. It also matters to me. As an independent author, my success depends upon individuals like you, whose comments and recommendations go a long way. I want to hear your thoughts about the book.

Feel free to write me an email with feedback or questions to authorpaulwunderlich@gmail.com.

Want to delve into a fantasy world? Wish to explore another universe?

Other series by the author:

The War of the Gods. A series of epic fantasy of galactic proportions.

Book 1: The Sacrifice

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The next book in the series is titled The Fallen Ronin.

The Fallen Ronin (The Galactic Crusade Book 3)

World of Portals

"The Lyric of the Wind will be sung once again,

To counter the Darkness which has begun anew."

A young shepherd will be forced into a quest of great peril. The Mandrake Empire is crumbling from within as political turmoil eats at its core. In a remote village of the Empire, on the Holy Comment Ranch, a young shepherd is laboring the fields of his family's estate to feed his own people.

A powerful undercurrent of darkness has contaminated the Mandrake Empire, threatening to consume it with the sickness of utter despair. For four hundred years the land named Némaldon has remained dormant since its defeat at the hands of the Mandrake Empire. It is now poised to deliver an annihilating blow of revenge.

The young shepherd will be cast into the depths of unknown fate. A great quest will be forced upon him, and will demand every ounce of his life-force. Death is not the worst of consequences if he fails. The ultimate price to be paid for his failure could be the soul of every citizen in the Mandrake Empire.

About the author

I am a Guatemalan author in the genre of fantasy and sci-fi. When not unloading my imagination on to the computer, I am an Internal Medicine Doctor by profession. I like coffee, meditation, cross-training ‒ and reading, of course!

As far as I am concerned, there is no greater pleasure than knowing you, the person who has taken the time to read one of my works. Please send me an email at authorpaulwunderlich@gmail.com Tell me what you think of my stories. It will be a pleasure to know you!

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