Welcome!

To the next part of the story! Chapter 11!

I submitted a story to the Planet Or Plastic National Geographic challenge! I'd really appreciate it if you checked it out, and it'd be even better if you submitted your own. Plastic pollution is a big problem, and even if you're just doing it to raise awareness, it's for a great cause!

Also, I don't think I've ever just straight up thanked everyone who's read my stuff yet. I didn't really expect to break 50 reads on anything, ever. And now we're approaching 300. I know it's not very impressive on the greater scale, but it blows my mind that so many people would even consider reading the random story of a junior in high school who started writing because he had free time over summer break.

Thanks, everybody!

And here goes nothing!

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Compression Industries was a relatively small, specialized company- nothing close to the size of the megacorporations which dominated almost every aspect of life in the Caroki Star Union. Their main facilities were located underneath the surface of the ash-choked landscape of Carok Prime, outside of the beautifully maintained business district which headquartered the majority of corporations and built in among the destitute residential and commercial zones. Thrice, the headquarters of Compression Industries was raided by Union state police, thrice they were forced into bankruptcy, and thrice they managed to claw out with some outside and often questionable assistance. 

Which made the corporation's sudden leap into the spotlight even more unprecedented. 

Superimposed space was not discovered on purpose. In stumbling across it, Compression Industries lost an entire research outpost and the world it was orbiting. Needless to say, the Caroki Star Union quickly considered the loss of an entire planet to be an unfortunate yet largely unimportant roadblock towards the full realization of what superimposed space could achieve. 

Baron Carson operated as the manager of Compression Industries, his true name being unpronounceable in galactic basic. His office was surprisingly tidy, although it was utterly blackened, which proved detrimental towards his human coworkers. A miniaturized replica of a Nygev-Ash Wormhole Matrix rested on his desk, constructed to an incredible degree of detail and lined in gold trim. 

Carson was not seated in his office- rather, he was magnetically locked to the exterior observation deck of a small station in orbit of Symbos III, which, aside from having an unobstructed view of Symbos III's parent star and the magnificent gas giant which orbited it, overviewed an orbital research facility, recently constructed and equipped with a full Union security flotilla. And as much as Carson desired to see his new station with the respect it deserved, it was truly dwarfed by the enormous puddlejumper to which it was docked. The research facility, which cost billions of chips and an obscene quantity of unnecessary paperwork to satisfy the Union's relentless thirst for bureaucracy, was totally overshadowed by a massive warship which wasn't even of Caroki design. 

A small frigate was hovering near to Carson, spinning lazily as it awaited further instructions.

A man's voice was piped through Carson's headset. "Prep is complete, initiate pre-launch checklist." 

"Checklist is go." a second voice said. 

"Roger. Prepare for launch."

The frigate jolted forwards in a burst of speed. A wormhole flickered to life just ahead, sparkling with some form of energy which was incomprehensible to the naked eye. It was unstable- that much was made remarkably clear as the wormhole collapsed prematurely, slicing the frigate into halves of which only the aft section remained.

"Test failed. Terminate procedure, code delta-2."

Carson sighed and turned around. A woman stood behind him, only distinguishable from the four other figures beside her because of the lack of armor plating on her environmental suit. Carson wore only a tuxedo and bowler hat- his species could survive in space without technological assistance. 

"Why does this have to be so difficult?" he said with exasperation. 

"New technology always is." the woman responded.

"We've poured billions of chips into this, and gotten nowhere."

"The Union wasted 300 trillion on their black hole reactor. What's your point?" 

"My point is," Carson replied, "We have fifteen research stations with the best minds the Union could scrounge up. And all we have to show for it is a thousand half-frigates and a planet's worth of dead people."

"Again. Stuff like this takes time. You think the Nygev-Ash matrix was perfected in five years?" 

"We're not perfecting. We're just trying to get the damn thing to work. The Committee doesn't have unlimited patience, Isa. They'll pull funding eventually." 

The woman didn't respond.

A refitted civilian tug slowly pulled in next to what remained of the test frigate, locking the vessel into a gravity tractor and towing it into the orbital facility's shadow. 

"Do you really want to get this to work?" Isa suddenly asked.

"Why wouldn't I? This could be the greatest invention in human history."

"Could be? It is."

Carson glanced at her.  "So what's the issue?"

"What do you actually think the Union would use this technology for?"

"Exploration. We should have breached past Carok by this point. A whole multiverse-"

"Cut the bullshit. They're not going to use it to explore."

Carson fell silent.

One of the four guards stepped forward.

"Sir." he said, lifting his tertiary faceplate. "The Rockefeller is five seconds out."

"We'll continue this later." Carson said, brushing past his assistant as a destroyer dropped out of a short-range jump, discharging warp particles in a spiral and sliding laterally into a berth.

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"Aj'Sus hio'A'ix jaIs'sa."

R"sota stared with his eyes furrowed at the holographic chess board in front of him. He would have cursed louder, but, to his dismay, the AI controlling the holographic board turned out not to be intelligent enough to understand Toreian. 

It quickly became apparent that the AI was also far better than he was at chess.

His door buzzer sounded. 

"Enter." he said, moving a knight on the chess board and cursing again as a white bishop immediately took it.

"I suppose I should be glad I don't understand Toreian." Filion said, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the dismal situation R"sota was in.

"You wouldn't know what it meant even if you did. Most of our profanity doesn't have a definition."

"Watch that rook."

R"sota glanced down at the chess board. A white rook had placed his king in check, and the second was moving to finish the job.

"Why are you here?" he replied bluntly as he sacrificed his second and last knight in an attempt to delay the inevitable. 

"You know by now that the Assembly's in civil war."

"Yes."

"You don't seem to care."

"There's nothing I can do about it. The entire fleet collapsed."

"The Republic didn't help."

R"sota snorted in derision. "Of course not."

"I suppose that was to be expected."

"Get to the point." 

"This cruiser is going back to where the Lexian was attacked. My ship." Filion continued quickly, seeing the confusion in R"sota's eyes. "And we have a shuttle which can't hold atmo and a fighter which has a burnt reactor. Take your pick."

"So," R"sota said after a few moments of silence, rising from his seat. "I can't leave." 

"Unless you want to sleep in an escape pod for a week." 

"Do you understand who you're talking to?" R"sota snapped, taking a threatening step towards Filion. To his surprise, the younger man held his ground.

"I do." Filion said, meeting R"sota's gaze even as his mind screamed at him to back off. "You're a Toreas of equal cosmic importance to the rest of us. That is, none."

"I am the official ambassador-" 

"Of a nation which doesn't exist."

"I demand, as an official ambassador of the Prythian Assembly, that you hand this vessel over to my control!" the Toreas shouted, placing himself a few centimeters in front of Filion. 

Filion's voice dropped in pitch considerably, acquiring a hostile undertone. "I am the captain of this ship. If you don't get the hell out of my face, I'll personally make sure you go back to Prythia in a body bag."

R"sota hesitated before backing up slightly. 

"If you're going to be a pain in the ass, stay out of my way." Filion said.

He left the small room, leaving R"sota alone with his chess match. 

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"How can you not find him?" Lyctove exclaimed. 

"Again," Kuznetsov insisted, "The Prythians destroyed the relay network for most of the Watchtowers. Don't get data dumps from them. We need ships, Jackson, not decade-old satellites."

"We can't spare any ships."

"The Alexandra-"

"She is not combat ready."

"She's the first of her class. She'll never be combat ready until she sees combat."

"I will not send a multi-billion dollar warship on a fetch quest for a Prythian ambassador." Lyctove maintained.

"Then you're not in a position where you can complain."

Unfortunately, Kuznetsov was correct.

"Finding R"sota can be a secondary goal." Kuznetsov continued, pressing his advantage. "We need intelligence on Carok if we're going to do anything about the civil war. The Alexandra has room for a shit load of relays. Enough for 86% of the Watchtower network. Unless you can pull something else out of your ass, we've got no better option."

"If I authorize the launch of the Alexandra," Lyctove began hesitantly, "She needs a battlegroup."

"I can dig something up," Kuznetsov replied, projecting an aura of confidence which he didn't truly have. The Republic fleet was in ruins. Forget an entire battlegroup- he'd struggle to locate a fleet carrier which hadn't sustained critical damage.

"Get me a battlegroup. Then I sign the order."

The admiral saluted quickly before stepping out of the conference room.