Heeeeeeelllooooooo!

I'm back!

Longest chapter yet!

Ready for this?

Cause here goes nothing...

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Five Years Ago

"Puddlejumpers work by creating a point of negative mass to punch a hole in space-time. The Nygev matrix stabilizes the ingress portal for a few seconds and through this, we gain access to this interdimensional zone between universes - we call it the "antitemporal layer" because time doesn't exist inside it. From there, supercomputers can plot a course through the layer using the Ash Equation, use the matrix to establish a "tunnel" using cosmic strings and shoot negative mass through the tunnel at the egress portal, completing a wormhole."

Carson glanced briefly at Kuznetsov to ensure he was still paying attention.

"Superimposed space is another dimension that's... ah, it's more or less overlayed over the antitemporal layer," he continued, content with Kuznetsov's concentration. "But it violates basically everything we thought we knew about cross-universe mechanics. You see, with the antitemporal layer the wormhole has to be completed before the puddlejumper can make the journey. With superimposed space, the wormhole can be more of a bubble that surrounds a puddlejumper and carries it between an ingress portal - which would have collapsed by now - and a set egress point using cosmic strings as a guideline. This means we don't need insane amounts of power to keep a wormhole open as the Nygev-Ash matrix does its business. We also don't have to deal with the Alzmann Effect, which is why Nygev-Ash wormholes can only be opened on points of gravitational neutrality."

"Why do you need a Nygev-Ash if the two are fundamentally different?" Kuznetsov eventually asked, glancing up as he scrawled notes down on the back of a napkin.

"I don't," Carson replied bluntly. "I just need a wormhole matrix. The best way to get one is a Nygev-Ash."

"And the best way to get one of those is a puddlejumper."

"Indeed."

"So."

Carson raised an eyebrow.

"If you need a Republic puddlejumper, why can't you give superimposed space to me?"

"I can," Carson replied simply.

"It's a risk assessment," the businessman continued. "Currently, it's a coin flip on whether or not we can actually make the damn thing. With the Republic in control it becomes a question of if the Union will start a multiversal war and kill trillions of people." Carson glanced at Kuznetsov sarcastically. "Your choice, Admiral."

Kuznetsov waved the comment off. He had already figured that out - he just wanted to make sure Carson was on the same page.

"Great." Kuznetsov stood, stuffing the napkin into his shirt pocket. "I leave in 36 hours. We'll talk tomorrow."

The Grand Admiral trudged off to his quarters.

<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>

"Aurora Flare."

It felt strangely obvious now that Kuznetsov found some time to sleep.

"What?"

Kuznetsov blinked furiously. "The Aurora Flare. It makes sense."

"Isn't that... your old ship?"

"Y-yes, but that isn't the point," Kuznetsov said quickly, brushing off Carson's comment. "Listen. Aurora Flare is responsible for Alru's destruction. Caroki hate her. Losing her in Carok might actually... make sense."

"Also, isn't she a Nebulous?" Carson continued, only marginally paying attention.

Kuznetsov shot a glare at the El'saas but ultimately the question caught him off guard. "Uh... yeah."

"An armed, actively serving Nebulous."

"...yes."

"So you want me to attack a Nebulous."

"Well-"

"The most heavily armed starship ever?" Carson asked, his incredulity bleeding heavily into his words.

Kuznetsov averted his eyes, gritting his teeth.

"I... know how to beat it."

"<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>

"Puddlejumpers are weaker than they look. They were never designed to fight." Kuznetsov glanced up for a second. "They're powerful just because they're big. They look scary."

A rough draft of a Nebulous had been sketched onto a small piece of paper. "The Nebulous has a complement of 2,102. Even though it's 400 kilometers in diameter. A tiny fraction of the hull is used for the crew."

"You want me to board it."

"Yes."

Carson looked at the Grand Admiral skeptically. "With what?"

"Union marines. Shock troopers. Anything."

Kuznetsov sketched an arrow in pen pointing towards the northern pole of the puddlejumper. "The Nebulous has no back-up bridge. If you take the bridge, you have control over every system of the ship except for the reactors and wormhole matrix, which can be overridden from engineering."

"What about PDCs?"

"The Aurora Flare has 39,920 point-defense cannons."

Carson snorted, throwing his hands into the air. "Great. How do I get past that?"

"She has eighty fire control computers. Anything friendly is constantly broadcasting an identification code for every computer that the guns won't fire on. They're randomized every day."

"You can get me the codes?" Carson inquired, understanding slowly dawning.

Kuznetsov nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

"Unfortunately," Kuznetsov continued, "There's a catch."

Carson blinked.

"There are backups. If the computers don't do their jobs, operators can highlight targets manually. They paint them and the guns open fire regardless of any identification code."

"So I need a distraction."

Kuznetsov nodded. "A big one."

Carson raised an eyebrow. A big distraction?

That, he thought, playing with the holoprojector in his pocket - that, he could do.

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Present Day

"We can't stay here."

June glanced up briefly, her eyes flickering across Mark as he leaned against the command station's new door. The Union had replaced it with uncharacteristic speed- must have been Carson's doing.

Mark grunted in affirmation. "As you've said."

"Well, what's your bright idea?"

"I've already told you," Mark replied, smirking.

"We're not."

"Is it the part where we stun the medics or the part where you pretend to be pregnant?"

June groaned, whipping around and momentarily forgetting about the emergency console she was scrolling through. "First of all, why do I have to be pregnant?"

"Well, I can't be-"

"Not the question, Mark."

Mark grinned, jabbing a hand at the small medical room just down the hall. "Medical bay. We have a stasis tank. Name an emergency that we can't treat."

"Stroke," June immediately retorted.

"If you have a stroke, they're gonna lock you in stasis."

June glared daggers at her partner, trying to find a flaw in his logic and failing to see one.

"I-I have a better idea," she finally sputtered out, trying to convince herself that her own plan was feasible. "We take over the resupply ship instead, so I don't have to get pregnant."

"With what," Mark replied dryly. He raised his half-melted security pistol. "This?" he asked, pointing at it.

After a moment, June grimaced. "Fine. We'll do it your way. But-" she added before Mark could say anything, "I'm not pregnant."

"Then-"

"I had a heart attack. You put me in a low stasis, stun the medics and the guards before they figure out I'm fine, and wake me up."

"B-but if I don't... they'll kill you!" Mark stammered.

"They'll kill you too, sweetheart."

Mark crossed his arms. "Yeah? And what if they don't kill either of us? What if I fuck up and we're thrown in state prison to rot?"

"Don't fuck up," June said, grinning. "And hey, at least we'll rot together."

<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>

The medic glanced down at June's limp body. "Stabilize!" he ordered.

June's body rested on a hovering medical gantry- at the medic's command, an intravenous syringe plunged into her forearm, pumping a concoction of regenerative antibiotics and stasoids into her bloodstream. Mark grimaced as June's body convulsed, fighting the enormous strain on her body garnered from such an invasive operation.

She was already in delayed animation, but the medics rightfully deduced it wouldn't be enough. The reason for why a medical ship had to be summoned so quickly was already dubious - luckily, it wasn't the medic's place to question, nor was it the place of his assistants.

A Union marine stood at a respectable distance with a pulse rifle slung under her arm. She would be Mark's most daunting obstacle - one of a series of things that could go wrong as Mark realized how little he knew about most of the things he was about to attempt.

As the stasis tank sealed around June's body, Mark made his move.

His arm lashed out, makeshift stunstick in hand, swinging at the marine.

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The Tempest slid neatly into a set of docking clamps mounted the hull of the Symbos III research station. Repair drones automatically deployed, scouring the entire vessel of any superficial damage as a pressurized gantry locked with the Tempest's starboard airlock.

"Lock down the entire station," Carson said to the first guard he could see. "Cut all communications. Summon Isa to conference hall one."

"Yes, sir."

A second cruiser spiraled out of warp. Carson saw the warp tunnel collapse in the corner of his periphery, glowing blue briefly as the cruiser's sublight engines flared.

"The Rockefeller is requesting permission to dock," came the voice over the intercom.

"Granted."

"Mr. Carson!"

The businessman glanced over his shoulder.

"Saj'ish," he said emotionlessly.

Saj'ish shouldered his way through a pair of motionless Shock Troopers, sprinting to catch his superior.

"Shit's going down," he breathed. "The Naval Board declared the Civilis illegitimate."

Carson now gave Saj'ish his full attention, his eyes wide. "What? When?"

"I - five minutes ago. The Board has recalled the fleet and it's mustering over Urashi V."

"How many ships?"

"At least a half-thousand capital ships. More are arriving every minute."

"What the fuck happened?" Carson questioned as the door to conference hall one swung open.

"Superimposed space happened."

"...and?"

"The Board - they got working drives, and they're pissed that the Civilis tried to hide it from them."

Carson froze. A wave of apprehension washed over him. "...working drives."

"Well-"

"Working drives," Carson repeated tightly.

"Yes."

The door swung open. Isa stepped through, looking thoroughly petrified. Her shaking hands held a PDA. Wordlessly, she handed it to Carson.

A proximity alarm erupted as a battleship burst into realspace, streaking away from the scintillating collapse of a wormhole.

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"Hello, Jessica."

Buren's fists were balled up, grasping the arms of her chair till her knuckles turned white. She hardly registered the four Prions that followed the Coalition dignitary in, notwithstanding their gleaming armor and ceremonial greatswords.

"Speechless?" the dignitary asked.

I don't know this man.

Buren forced herself to swallow that lie. She straightened in her seat and looked across the table with a purposefully detached gaze. "I..."

Fuck.

The dignitary grinned- that lopsided, condescending grin that rang so many warning bells in Buren's subconscious.

Memories.

A flood of memories overwhelmed Buren's conscious defenses against them. Memories of an admittedly simpler time.

They were all tainted.

"...fuck you," she choked out, briefly wiping her moist eyes with her sleeve.

The Coalition dignitary didn't even flinch- he smiled sadly, dropping his own eyes to the ground.

"What do you want?" Buren asked aggressively, purposely allowing anger to sweep away heartache and shedding any pretense of neutral diplomacy.

The dignitary sighed deeply, placing his hands lightly on the table. "Look, I... I'm sorry-"

"Don't start, Noah."

"I just-"

"No!" She stood, raising her voice to a shout. "Just get to business!"

Noah's face hardened. He raised a hand and a Prion stepped forward, giving the Coalition dignitary a small holoscreen.

"Your ship is currently in a Coalition-administered portion of the DMZ," he asserted, utterly devoid of any previous sentiment. "This is a violation of the Third Citania Accords."

"We responded to an emergency transponder," Buren retorted immediately, trying to match his professionalism and only partially succeeding. "Which automatically exonerates my ship and my crew."

Noah flinched. He placed the holoscreen down on the table, taking a deep breath. "That doesn't apply anymore. It was invalidated as soon as your battlegroup arrived. You know this, Jessica."

Buren cursed under her breath. Of course, she knew that - she was hoping he didn't.

"I called my command in after your own dropped out of warp a thousand kilometers off my bow," she argued back, knowing she was in the wrong but defending her actions nonetheless. "At engagement speeds, I might add."

"That's irrelevant."

"Not if I can prove I felt my crew was sufficiently threatened. Which in this case, I can, because Walton had a railgun pointed at my bridge."

Noah didn't respond.

"I will appeal to the ISAC," he eventually said.

"Go ahead," June replied condescendingly.

A Prion abruptly stepped forward before Noah could respond, hand raised to his ear. "Sir," he said, glancing down at Noah before looking at Buren and saluting briefly. "Ma'am."

"We have Union contacts outside," the Prion informed. "A Clonn-class battleship and fourteen smaller vessels. The Taryian duke has requested an immediate recall."

An orbital insertion trooper similarly saluted and strode up, momentarily hesitating as he listened intently to Alexandra's sensor operators. "I can confirm."

Noah stood curtly. "We're done here anyway," he said, without a hint of emotion. He wheeled around and signaled for his Prions to fall in, which they did with perfect technique.

Buren rose slowly. She mentally reprimanded herself for her conduct- it was not his fault for being here.

Just a stroke of incredibly bad luck.

What a fucking joke.

She bowed to the Taryian Honor Guard and strode out of the conference hall.

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Jarik's eyes flew open. His arms lashed out instinctively, restrained by tie-downs. He couldn't feel his back, or his arms, or his legs. A massive life support system was intravenously attached to his body with dozens of plastic tubes, some glowing with Corbyial and others pumping blood to replenish his undoubtedly low supply. One thin pipe contained a trickle of clear, viscous liquid, releasing a diminutive measure every few seconds.

"You're awake."

Jarik glanced across his shoulder.

"You."

"Me," Lyise responded, void of any emotion. Her eyes were bloodshot and glossy, her face still dusted with pulse residue.

"Where's Carol?" Jarik asked tentatively, testing the restraints on his extremities.

Lyise didn't respond.

"Not dead," she finally said. "In stasis. For god knows how long. Most of her internal organs were destroyed."

Jarik's eyes widened. "Incendiary pistol?"

Lyise nodded slowly. "She should be dead. No human could survive that."

Not... human?

"Your spine was shattered," Lyise muttered bluntly. "You've got an exoskeleton for now. It's why you can't feel anything. You'll get senses back in a few hours."

Jarik's mind took a second to fully grasp what she had said.

"...exoskeleton?"

"Yeah."

A few moments of uncomfortable silence followed before Jarik asked the obvious.

"Where the fuck are we?"

"A Republic battlecruiser. Alexandra."

"Republic?"

"Someone heard your emergency transponder. We're dead in the middle of the DMZ right now."

Jarik snorted derisively. "Right. Cause of Filion's righteous bullshit."

"He had good intentions."

"He was an idiot!"

"...and he blames himself for it."

Jarik opened his mouth but ultimately didn't respond, furrowing his eyebrows.

"He thinks he broke everything and that it's his job to fix it. It's not true, of course... but no matter how much I used to tell him that, he wouldn't listen."

"You... used to know him?"

"I almost married him."

Jarik froze. His eyes widened.

"I don't remember much, but I remember I was in love with him." She lifted her synthetic arm. "I got this from a terrorist attack. Brain damage... it took most of my memories. At least, that's all Sam will tell me."

"He's even more closed off now. After we lost Lexian... well, whatever it did, it isn't good." She met Jarik's gaze, her eyes glistening with tears. "That crew was his family, you know. He feels like he... abandoned them."

"...he kind of did, you know."

"The chance we could've taken her back was zero. He made the right call."

Jarik didn't respond.

He found himself studiously inspecting the medbay. It was more advanced than anything Jarik had seen in Carok, reminiscent of his years in the Coalition core. Four full-body stasis tanks lined the far wall - a luxury many Caroki medical facilities could only dream of procuring. Several small surgery units were recessed into one wall, shielded by opaque holoscreens. Suites of displays and computers were arranged in a semicircle outside of each one. Fifteen medical beds were laid out in a single row, each with life support assemblies and various pieces of diagnostic equipment.

"Why did we get dragged into this?" Lyise muttered suddenly.

Jarik glanced over.

"What did we do to deserve this?"

Lyise looked up now. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving trails through the dust.

"I was trying to start over. The Indigo Spring was attacked six years ago. I've tried, and tried, and tried! But I- I... I can't."

Her face fell. Jarik remained silent but felt a pang of sympathy - Indigo Spring was well known, even to Caroki.

"I... was close. And then whatever the fuck this is happened. And... well, here we are."

...

Jarik remained uncomfortably silent. He could sympathize - somewhat.

His story wasn't entirely different.

"I miss Sam. I miss six years ago. I want to go back."

"There's nothing stopping you," Jarik began cautiously.

Lyise smiled sadly. Her tears continued to fall, even as she met Jarik's gaze evenly. "Well, I just told you my story." She grinned slightly, a more mischievous look that, if only for a moment, shone through her grief. "What's yours?"

Jarik's eyes widened. "M-mine?"

"Yours."

"...not much to say, really. I'm - or, at least I used to be a detective on the Isilon fuel dump. I got assigned the Aurora Flare case because the Republic couldn't intervene - which is bullshit, by the way. They hired the Lexian - you know the rest."

"How'd you end up on Isilon?"

"..."

A proximity alarm wailed before Jarik could respond. He grinned slyly, glancing apologetically at Lyise. "Next time," he said, listening senselessly to Alexandra's dull roar.

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...

The Track.

If there was anywhere in the Republic more forgotten than the Rim, it was the Track. The Dresidius Reef. A thin, three-lightyear wide strip of space which cut the nation in two, home to nine filthy, poverty-stricken systems with more orphaned children than educated adults. Home to the dregs, the scum of the Republic, the bottom of the galactic barrel.

It was home.

Filion stared blankly out of a grime-covered window, watching the slums of Racnius VIII sprawl out before him. It was a chaotic mess off wood, corrugated steel, and autocrete, with ramshackle structures built in haphazard stacks, linked together through a convoluted network of catwalks and ladders. Hundreds of people milled about- mostly children, as they played tag on the fragile balconies or crowded around the job lottery with blue-armored police officers standing distinct from the masses, shock lances in hand and slugthrowers only a flick of the wrist away. Far in the distance, a thin strip of steel lanced into orbit- the Racnius Space Elevator.

He barely remembered his parents. Not that they died when he was particularly young. Just that they were almost never home. They had always been more interested in sex and money than raising a child.

He hadn't gone to their funeral. He wasn't mentioned in their will. He didn't even know where they were buried.

His house was built into the wall of the main canal, cantilevering out over a torrent of brown, vile water. Four huge beams of Racnius ciracedar ran through the discolored floorboards, supporting four timber-frame and autocrete walls and 1100 square feet of floor space.

The door clicked. A key turned. Two deadbolts disengaged and the door swung open.

Lyise stumbled into the house, drenched in sweat and blood. A duffle bag hung loosely off her arm, also plastered with blood. An auscultascope was draped around her neck, connected to a bulky waist-mounted power block. Two pressurized tanks were strapped onto her back, still pumping oxygen to a full-face rebreather discarded at her hip.

She fell to her knees in exhaustion, struggling to stay awake as the duffle bag fell limply to the floor.

Filion lept from his seat and rushed over, simultaneously embracing his best friend and half-carrying her over to the tattered couch in the corner. The duffle bag lay discarded on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

He knew better than to question her. He let her lean against him - she fell asleep within seconds, the auscultascope sliding off her neck and clattering onto the wooden floor.

Filion grinned fondly, gingerly reaching over and switching off the power block, resting his head against Lyise and drifting off to sleep.

<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>

It had been a plasma warhead.

Nine were killed instantly. Four were caught in the depressurization and flung into space. Fifty-three were burned beyond recognition, the horrors of plasma weapons melting skin, muscle, and bone.

Filion didn't have the luxury to remember. He didn't have the right. Lyise didn't.

It was sickening.

He was suspended in a stasis tank. Again. A thick emulsification of various liquids enveloped his naked body. He didn't know where he was, or what he was even doing anymore.

The human race was failing, and he was but a bystander, forced to watch it happen alongside trillions of others without any power to change anything. Jarik was right. What could he do? He had no influence. He had no ship - now that the Axion was gone. He didn't even have a crew anymore. All he had was Lyise - Lyise and Jarik, he supposed. Carol as well, and even R"sota to an extent.

He hoped they were all still alive.

A proximity alarm exploded in the distance. The dull rumble of sublight thrusters slowly grew in strength, steadily until the entire tank was shaking under the full power of Alexandra's thruster block.

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"It is important to emphasize that the navy did not fire first. The Republic Bureau of Naval Intelligence have recorded footage and raw sensor data showing the Citan Starscraper firing on the Marston with torpedoes that tripped all four radiology alarms - please remember that, with the current state of the Rim, Republic captains have been authorized to use lethal force when fired upon by nuclear ordinance."

Lyctove glanced down at his notes, clearing his throat.

"I would like to inform the press, however, that the BNI is conducting a thorough investigation of the incident. Misconduct on behalf of any Republic naval personnel will be met with due punishment."

The president paused for a second, stacking his notes neatly.

"...any questions?"

A hundred hands shot up.

Lyctove stifled a groan, raised an exhausted arm and pointed at the nearest reporter.

<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>

"Recent polls show that 56% of people strongly support a war with the Union."

"Recent polls show that too many people think we blew up a starliner," Lyctove grumbled, rolling a pencil across his hand.

Kuznetsov flinched, glancing down at his feet. "Too many people still think we have control over Carok."

"And we're not going to change that."

"It's all over media already. Alexandra disappeared less than a day after she left drydock. People have their suspicions."

"They can keep them."

Kuznetsov sighed, reclining in his chair. "When are we going to tell people?"

"When they're ready."

"When is that?"

"I don't know!" Lyctove abruptly shouted, slamming an open palm down hard on the crystal conference table.

Kuznetsov fell silent.

"I...I don't know," Lyctove finished weakly, resting his head against the back of his seat.

"I guess none of us do," Kuznetsov mumbled after a few moments.

"It's like some shitty prophecy coming to life," Lyctove said, snorting at his own comment. He glanced at the Grand Admiral. "Where do we go from here?"

"Good question."

"We can't tell the public. We've deployed against the Prythians and we don't even know what the fuck is going on in Carok anymore." The President buried his head into his hands, taking a deep breath. "If we tell the public, everything falls apart."

Before Kuznetsov could respond, a flash of blue light overwhelmed the war room's reactive glass, streaking up into the night sky. A dozen more blazed a trail behind it, bursting through the placid surface of Lake Allos. Then a dozen more - again, and again, and again.

An alarm erupted throughout the capitol building. Sirens wailed in the streets of Allos City. Point-defense railguns resonated throughout the halls, blasting self-guided slugs into space.

A planetbuster plunged through Endura's atmosphere, splintering into a dozen warheads as the planet's defenses answered its summons.

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So it begins.