Hellloooooooooooo!

It's spring break! Well, it was spring break. I actually hoped to write a lot more than I actually did, but life calls.

I don't like this chapter a lot because it jumps between a lot of characters and the segments are all pretty short, but I hope you enjoy anywho!

Don't worry! Things will get less confusing as the characters consolidate!

Here goes nothing!

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Five Years Ago

Kuznetsov found the Union's lack of technological sophistication oddly refreshing. Republic vessels were nicer, without a doubt, but probing through hundreds of systems and subsystems to determine the cause of a minute failure was certainly more complicated than tearing a cover panel off and swapping out a gearbox.

The more shocking aspect was how drastically different the Union's design philosophy was to the Republic's. While Republic naval vessels certainly weren't linear, it seemed as if every function in the Tempest was spread out across the entire ship, from torpedo bays to air conditioning. No single system was concentrated in any one part of the cruiser's frame. Even the living quarters were spaced out, linked through a network of small, surprisingly efficient trams.

But perhaps the most bewildering feature was the bridge. It was divided among multiple decks, with critical functions spread throughout multiple compartments connected via a central, bridge-only communications network. An elegant, if simplistic, method of isolating the bridge. Perhaps not as effective as the dead-space style employed by the Republic, but ingenious none-the-less.

"You need a Nygev-Ash matrix," Kuznetsov said bluntly.

Carson simply nodded.

"I'm not at liberty to just throw those around, you know. They're expensive."

"How many puddlejumpers does the Republic have?"

"Not enough."

"Enough to fight the Coalition and control Carok."

Kuznetsov flinched slightly. "We are not technically at war with the Coalition," he said, quickly regaining his composure.

"A Cold War does not count?" Carson questioned innocently.

"Depends on your definition of Cold War," the Grand Admiral retorted. "You could say the Republic and the Coalition have always been in a state of cold war."

"Indeed you could."

Kuznetsov sighed and placed his hands on Carson's desk. "Puddlejumpers are crucial to the Republic's defenses. I'm afraid I don't have one that I can just throw away, and my colleagues don't either."

"I am not asking you to weaken your Sector Fleets."

"Then-"

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but the Republic has more than enough conventional warships in Carok to obliterate the Union's fleets and fight the Prythian Federal Navy simultaneously."

"Depends on the day."

Carson glanced at Kuznetsov skeptically. "Depends... Why, then, is the Republic forced to maintain puddlejumpers in Carok?"

"Carok would turn into a clusterfuck the minute we pull a single ship."

"Of course it would. But whether or not Carok revolts is ultimately irrelevant."

Kuznetsov glanced at the El'saas uncomfortably. "Potentially."

"We've reached the end of the line, Mr. Kuznetsov. There's nowhere else to run, nothing left to exploit. You know that."

Thirty years ago, Kuznetsov would have called Carson insane. He- most of the Republic populace, really- everyone was innocent back then, oblivious to how bad the situation had actually become.

It had become impossible to ignore.

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Present Day

The Demilitarized Zone stretched for seven thousand lightyears between the Prythian Assembly and the Caroki Star Union, a two-thousand-kilometer-thick barrier between the warfleets of the two Caroki superpowers. It was common knowledge that the DMZ did little to demilitarize anything- both nations blatantly violated it, flooding sectors of the zone with battlegroups whenever Paragonian forces weren't around to respond.

In the end, the Republic's Carok Sector Fleets did more to prevent war than the DMZ ever did. The mere presence of a Republic naval group was more than enough to silence the Assembly and the Union. Even combined, the two Caroki powers couldn't hope to dislodge the Republic from their galaxy in conventional warfare.

The Asine-class was in the DMZ. That was already a violation of interstellar law and gave Buren a handy excuse to disable the cruiser's propulsion. The electromagnetic torpedo struck the Asine's engine cluster and exploded in a flash of blue light as the engines sputtered out and the heat radiators automatically receded into the hull.

"Scans complete," Allan reported. "Axion has forty life signs and has sustained major damage. The Asine-class is only showing a skeleton crew, although there is a large number of marines onboard, in full gear. She's only taken minor hits, ma'am."

Major damage was an understatement. The Axion had been split into two distinct parts, three if one counted the spherical reactor which had ejected but failed to self-destruct and now sat inert several thousand kilometers away. Her frame had been mangled beyond recognition, a mess of melted armor plates and shattered hull panels all orbited by a dense cloud of shrapnel and debris.

"Open a wide-band channel," Buren ordered, glancing at the Asine. It had escaped any substantial damage but the sheer age of the vessel was painfully obvious. The Asine- class was a design over three centuries old- older than even the Centurion- class.

"Understood, captain."

The communications console whirred to life and a green light flashed on the holoscreen.

"Attention Union star cruiser," Buren began. "Please power down your weapons and submit to an inspection."

The Asine's bow-mounted maneuvering thrusters blazed to full strength, pivoting the huge cruiser around her thruster block.

"No response, captain," Allan reported after a few moments. "They've blocked two-way communications."

"Force a connection."

"Aye, ma'am."

"Your ship has been disabled. You have no propulsion. Stand down and submit to an inspection." She hesitated slightly before continuing slowly, emphasizing every word. "Any resistance will be met with lethal force."

"...No response, captain."

Buren furrowed her brow. "Stand by."

"Aye."

If they wouldn't respond, it was technically in Buren's rights to board the ship. She hated boarding actions- so many things could go wrong just during the pods' transit period. They were unpredictable and dangerous, and Buren had unfortunately taken the time to get to know all of her crew personally. Her father had advised her against it, but it had become a tradition for her- how was she supposed to run the ship if she didn't know her crew?

You're the captain, Kuznetsov had said. They have to listen to you. It's their job.

Whatever. If I don't know them, I can't trust them.

You'll regret it when push comes to shove.

He had been right, of course.

"Uh... ma'am?"

Buren snapped back to reality, blinking several times to clear her mind. "Yes, Allan."

"Axion matches magnetic and drive signatures of the cruiser which recused Ortaan R"sota."

Buren's eyes widened as she glanced at Allan in surprise.

"Confirm."

"Without a doubt, ma'am."

"What is it doing out here?"

"I... I don't know. It doesn't have any logs, any... anything. It's been wiped clean."

"W-wiped?" Buren asked in shock.

"Yes, ma'am."

They're hiding something.

The Union had boarded the Axion to wipe her logs.

Damn.

Now I don't have a choice.

"Major Archer," Buren said, keying her intercom.

"Aye, captain."

"Stand by. We have to board that cruiser."

"Understood, ma'am."

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Guess who's back (finally)!

Filion glanced at the guard standing outside his cell. He- or she, it was impossible to tell- was clearly not interested in him, and barely seemed interested in his post, leaning against the wall with his rifle slung around his arm and a book in his left hand.

Not that it mattered. Filion's cell had no stereotypically glaring design flaw that a potential escapee could exploit. It was a steel cube, thirty square meters and five meters tall, with a door that was completely solid save for a small, barred window. There was a bed, a toilet, a sink, and a small shower. Filion found it mildly amusing that the toilet was partitioned off from the rest of the cell where the shower wasn't, but he had to give credit where it was due- it was a nice, if questionably out-of-place, gesture.

Filion had determined that his captors didn't really care about him. They just needed to remove the Axion from the equation. As to why they didn't just shoot him... well, he was still figuring that part out.

The guard dropped his book and cursed.

Filion chuckled slightly and instantly doubled over, collapsing to the ground in pain. It felt like every single bone in his body had been ground into dust and glued back together. Empty autoinjectors littered the far corner, evidently the result of a successful attempt to save his life. They were probably Corbiyal injectors- which would explain the pain he was in. Corbiyal worked great as a regenerative drug, but it came with the excruciatingly unfortunate side effect of obliterating one's DNA. The effects were reversible, of course, but of the two ways to cancel Corbiyal's fatal consequences, one was inordinately expensive and the other was equally as painful as the drug it was designed to counter. Normally, stasis made the pain from either drug irrelevant.

Normally was a long time ago, it seemed.

Even if there was a way to escape, Filion thought grimly, he'd black out before he got out of the cell block.

He had come to the conclusion that the soldier who had destroyed his arm was a Union Shock Trooper. Several more had been part of his "escort detail"- that they considered him a threat at all was ironic to the highest order. They could tear a man in half if they wanted to. It was rumored that Shock Troopers could punch through bulkheads- Filion wasn't sure he believed that, but they were certainly strong enough to punch through his chest.

The guard outside his cell was just a marine. Just a marine. He could effortlessly kill Filion without looking- perhaps not as gruesomely as the Shock Trooper would, but that was a question that Filion didn't want to answer.

He'd already seen the incendiary pistol on the marine's belt, and he knew how they worked. Only one person had ever directly survived a chest shot, although he had died not an hour later. The Republic had excellent medical equipment, but they still didn't have the technology to de-liquify organs.

Somewhere in the depths of the cruiser, a proximity klaxon exploded.

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Carol stumbled across the scorched bridge to Jarik's limp body, tossing the now-empty Corbiyal autoinjector aside and stabbing a fresh one into his chest. He had likely already surpassed Corbiyal's safety threshold, but if anything major was broken he would die without it.

"Why am I doing this," she muttered, heaving Jarik's body over her shoulder and staggering under his weight. "I don't know you."

The pilot racked her memories, searching the depths of the medical training she had received in flight school. "Corbiyal," she muttered. "Antidote... fuck."

It began with the letter 'v'. She would have to start there.

The bridge had its own small medbay, but one glance at the bullet-ridden machinery and Carol deduced it wouldn't be saving any lives anytime soon. But she had dealt with Corbiyal before, and it didn't take a professional to see that Jarik would be dead in minutes if the effects weren't reversed. His entire body was starting to be consumed by convulsions.

There was a medical supply locker in the corner of the medbay. The front had been devastated by a fragmentation grenade, but she had no other choice.

Carol tore off the locker's door.

"V... what the shit..."

A bewildering display of autoinjectors and capsules were arranged in front of her. She only recognized the radiant, neon green of Corbiyal, but that wasn't the issue.

It wasn't in galactic basic. None of it was.

"Fucking brilliant."

Jarik's convulsions had stopped. That was bad, if Carol remembered her meager medical training correctly.

It was too late for the antidote. She'd never find it in time, and even if she did it wouldn't have enough time to work.

Time for plan B.

Carol grabbed a smaller container out from the medical locker and threw the lid off. A dozen autoinjectors were stacked horizontally, full of a translucent, unnervingly viscous fluid.

She had no idea what they were actually filled with. But if the locker followed any medical protocol whatsoever, there was only one thing it could be.

Stasis medications had their own host of horrible side effects. Most were incredibly addictive, for reasons that continued to baffle the medical community. There was a possibility that Jarik would wake up entirely dependent on whatever Carol had just filled his veins with. But stasoids were lifesavers. Stasis tanks weren't always available, and regenerative medications could only do so much in the end.

It was a chance she would have to take.

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"What do you mean we have no contact?"

Lyctove sighed, resting his forehead in his hand as he glanced up at his livid comrade.

"The separatists destroyed the AMP network. We have no stable inter-universe communications."

"That's not the point, Jack," Kuznetsov seethed. "The Assembly lost the war. My daughter is surrounded by the entire fucking Prythian navy! Don't you see a problem with that?"

"They haven't lost, Joseph. Calm down. The Alexandra can handle herself."

"I know that."

"Then why are you so worried?"

Kuznetsov glared at the president. "How were we not aware of this?"

"We were. It just took us five minutes to tell you."

Before Kuznetsov could respond, the doorbell buzzed.

Lyctove groaned wearily, burying his head in his hands. "Enter."

The door slid open and a woman handed Lyctove a datapad.

"The Union has cut off communications, sir," she said.

Lyctove glanced at the datapad before setting it aside and rubbing his eyes. "Thank you."

He glanced up at Kuznetsov and smiled grimly. "Now we have a bigger problem."

"You can't have expected the Union to negotiate."

"Of course I didn't. But I'd rather avoid another war."

"Too late for that, I guess."

Lyctove didn't respond.

"If the Prythians are losing the war, we have to deploy."

"I know."

"And we need to do it soon."

"I know."

Kuznetsov glanced out across Allos City. The Resonance was more than just a skeletal frame- her hull was mostly complete, glimmering in the floodlights of the shipyard constructing her.

"The Resonance could lead a strike force."

Lyctove scoffed, joining the Grand Admiral and looking out across Endura's sole city, trying to ignore the sharp line between the vibrant city center and the destitution which prevailed everywhere else. Distributing the wealth amongst the Republic population had proven to be the biggest failure of his presidency.

"The Resonance won't be ready for half a year."

Kuznetsov fell silent.

"We have one-way comms with the Alexandra."

"For now," Lyctove confirmed.

"Jessica needs to know what she's getting into."

"I agree."

The main engine block of the Resonance flared to life, blasting out enormous cones of blue flame. Magnetic restraints struggled to lock the battlecruiser down as the vectored nozzles of her primary thrusters pivoted sharply, running through dozens of simulated combat maneuvers.

"We can wait half a year," Kuznetsov said softly.

Lyctove sighed deeply, slumping back into his chair and snatching the datapad.

Half a year.

Half a year was a long time.

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June shielded her eyes as the pyr melted through the door.

"If you shoot, we will all die."

She glanced at Carson but held her fire as a detachment of Caroki marines stormed the command module, weapons raised and humming dangerously.

"On the ground!" the lead marine shouted. His rifle jumped slightly and a sliver of pulsed plasma flashed on the floor beneath June's feet. "Now!"

June's pistol clattered to the deck. She fell to her knees, hands raised.

"Excuse me, Sergeant, but that will not be necessary."

The marine glanced at Carson, whatever reaction he had obscured by the faceplate of his helmet. "I'm sorry, sir, but we are under orders to protect you."

"I was not in any danger."

"Evidently you were, sir." He pointed the muzzle of his rifle in June's vague direction. "She had a weapon."

"A security pistol."

"The bulkhead was hardsealed."

"That was me."

"Y-your transponder-"

"That was me as well."

The marine paused. If he wasn't confused before, he certainly was now. He glanced down at June's discarded pistol.

"That was-"

"Everything can be explained, sergeant."

At least the bastard's not only cryptic to me, June thought.

Carson met June's eyes. He showed no emotion as he glanced slightly towards the emergency console, his face a blank mask as the El'saas turned abruptly and stepped over the melted mess of a bulkhead.

"These two will need a new door."