Hello everybody!

I hope you had a happy holiday season! Also, happy (slightly belated *ahem*) 2019! And holy cow we broke 400!

Well, I do actually have a semi-explanation for the like month-long absence. I was with family over break, and couldn't find time to write... and then finals. Actually, I really shouldn't be writing right now cause I have a calc final in like 4 days but...

Meh. I've been gone long enough already.

Edit: What the 980th place in Sci-Fi? Out of 62.5 k?

Edit 2: Finals are over! Yay!  

This is an unusually long chapter though! I hope you enjoy!

Here goes nothing!

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The Alexandra.

So many touted her as the pinnacle of Republic engineering. And there was little reason to doubt this claim- the vessel was truly beautiful, contrasting sharply against the industrial, utilitarian spaceframes of the two Centurion-class battlecruisers on her flanks. 

Yet Lyctove couldn't appreciate her as the marvel of technology and design that she was. To him, she represented the very thing he had worked so hard to eliminate. For the Alexandra's primary mission was to stabilize Carok, specifically the Prythian Assembly. She was there to drag a failing nation out of the furnace of civil war.

Of course, that was all just a facade. 

Carok maintained only a symbolic level of independence. Isilon Station, the Aurora Flare, even Alru all those years ago- they all tied back to a single, deceptively simple truth. 

Paragon dominated Carok- oppressed it, under threat of war. 

And as much as Lyctove hated to admit it, there seemed to be no other option. Carok was the lifeline of the Republic. Eight out of the twenty Caroki protectorates fed material and food directly into the Republic's heartland. It had dragged a destroyed nation out of the depths of the Great Famine, and rebuilt it from the ground up.

Lyctove had spent the majority of his first term trying to repair the damage that had already been done. To the outside observer, it would appear as if he had been at least partially successful- the Prythian Assembly did maintain open and friendly relations with the Republic. 

Evidently, its people disagreed with that decision. 

The Assembly was in a civil war because of the Republic. Because of the oppression and the militarism. Just that thought alone made Lyctove nauseously sick.

It was getting worse. Half of the Assembly would technically fall under the purvue of the Republic protectorate system- therefore, its defense would be the responsibility of the UPRN.

Which meant war.

War with a nation that was at war with itself. 

As of now, Republic bases had remained untouched. The relays had been taken down, but that hardly warranted a full-scale war. UPRN forces may be understrength due to issues at home, but there still were enough ships to punch back.  

He glanced at the holopad he held in his hands. It was blinking furiously, awaiting Lyctove's fingerprint. The full detail of Alexandra's battlegroup and her mission were arrayed in dizzying detail. 

Alexandra would operate as the command ship. Two Centurion-class battlecruisers comprised the next heaviest hitters in her flotilla, closely followed by an Augustus-class light cruiser and a trio of Terminus-class assault destroyers. Three Marathon-class frigates each operated as an independent fast attack wing, all supported by a single Hyrosis-class multi-role corvette. 

No carrier. Interesting. From what little Lyctove remembered from his naval strategy courses back in the Academy, carriers were invaluable. 

Her mission sounded simple. Reestablish contact with the Watchtower network, recover R"sota, and engage all Separatist forces along the way. 

Look any deeper, however, and one would find Alexandra's true objective. She was on a mission driven by desperation if anything. A traitorous Carok would utterly flatten the Republic's already flagging economy. Barring anything short of an agricultural miracle there would be shortages and famine on a staggering, galaxy-wide scale. Lyctove would be faced with the greatest crisis the multiverse had ever seen, and there would be no way out of it without leaving billions behind in the process.

That could simply not be allowed to happen.

The Alexandra was there, in essence, to secure Republic assets. A mission of imperialism. To ensure that the Republic maintained its tap in Carok's reservoir. 

In six hours, Republic High Command would convene in an emergency meeting. He couldn't waste time on this forever. 

Sighing, he pressed his finger to the pad and watched the holographic screen flash green three times. 

Mission authorized. 

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The Axion's shields bore the brunt of the initial attack, flickering into a total collapse as the magnetic field generator belched thick smoke and the plasma field dissipated.

Armor paneling automatically shifted to face the attacking vessel, instantly put to use as a railgun round slammed into the upper right-hand corner of a titanium-cobalt plate at an extreme angle, violently sparking off the armor and careening off into deep space.

"Computer, evasive maneuvers!" Filion shouted as he slid onto the bridge, stumbling slightly as the Axion's ventral maneuvering jets suddenly flared to full strength. "Target lock!"

"Target lock acquired." the computer responded immediately. "Railgun online."

A soft thud reverberated throughout the Axion as its railgun discharged a round.

"Torpedo launch alert." the computer reported, tracking a cluster of blue targets on the Axion's tactical map. "20 seconds till impact." 

A second alarm, not as shrill as the proximity klaxon but still distinct above the dull drone of the Axion's background functions, burst throughout the bridge.

"Radiology alert!" Jarik reported, only glancing at the tactical console as the blue targets flashed red. "We've got nukes inbound!"

Eighteen thermonuclear warheads slipped through the Axion's defense perimeter, weaving through bursts of long-range point-defense fire.

"Interception trajectories calculated." 

Twenty interception rods jettisoned from deployment slits, orienting themselves and accelerating rapidly as the Axion's computer uploaded a flurry of calculations into their small computers. Inelegant weapons, little more than a titanium pole with a computer core and a chemical thruster.

"We've got a ship reading!" Jarik shouted. "As...Asine-class? We... oh, shit!" 

The second stage of the Axion's defensive systems kicked in as a dozen minigun-style rotary cannons extended from underneath hull plating, spitting bright streams of tracer fire, tracking the remaining torpedoes as they closed within a dozen kilometers. 

"Sam! They have a railgun!" 

"I know that!" Filion responded.

"No! They have a big-"

"Warning-," the computer started suddenly, cutting off Jarik, "the Asine-class comes equipped with an axial railgun."

And the entire hull buckled like a wet piece of paper.

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Kuznetsov's office was deceptively tidy. 

After the chaos that had ensued following the Coalition's peace treaty, he had found time to organize the worst of the mess. At the very least, he thought to himself as he stepped through the sliding metal doors, there weren't old bottles and discarded food packaging covering his floor anymore.

In truth, the small room was a disaster, in ways even more so than it had been prior. His desk had been hastily jammed with so many Caroki reports and starship construction logs that an automated sorter now sat by his window, flipping through stacks upon stacks of yellow-tinted official document paper. Detailed evaluations on the condition of all seven Sector Fleets were layered on top of each other- crew details, weapons inspections, squadron simulations and a hundred other things crammed into fifty pages of tedious reading. The Aurora Flare was still missing, the Alexandra was leaving in four hours, strange readouts from Watchtowers and the collapse of Caroki protectorate system and a-

"Admiral?"

Kuznetsov whipped around, grateful for the distraction. 

He quickly masked his shock at who slipped through his door.  

"Vice Admiral Buren." he said, nodding in acknowledgment as Buren snapped a quick salute and noting the Vice Admiral's grey captain's uniform with a hint of surprise. "Demotion?"

Buren grinned, a half-crooked smile that lit up the young woman's face. "More like a promotion." 

Kuznetsov arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Buren's grin widened. "They put me in charge of Alexandra." 

The Grand Admiral's eyes gave away his astonishment.

"Don't be so surprised, old man," Buren said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just because I'm your daughter doesn't mean I can't fly a ship."

"Adopted. Clearly my excellent ability to fly failed to rub off on you." Kuznetsov retorted, to which his daughter laughed.

An uncomfortable silence followed. 

Kuznetsov was well aware of what his daughter was capable of. She had graduated top of her class in everything except Higher Fleet Strategy- the only reason she had been denied promotion to Grand Admiral. He'd kept her out of the Republic-Coalition war with more than a few behind-the-scenes string pulling, but he had a suspicion that wouldn't be possible this time. Yet he still felt a strong urge to keep her behind the front. Things were evolving in Carok faster than Republic Naval Intelligence could keep up.

"I'm going to be fine, dad." Buren said with a noticeably softer voice. 

Kuznetsov was convinced she could read his mind.

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Filion's eyes flew open to the piercing shriek of another klaxon.

"...imminent. Critical damage- reactor breach imminent. Critic-"

A pulse blast abruptly cut the computer off.

"Jesus." a voice mumbled. "How the fuck do they hear anything?"

"He's conscious!" shouted a second voice. 

...Jarik? His voice sounded... deeper-

Filion screamed in pain as an armored gauntlet crushed his arm and dragged him to his feet.

Not Jarik.

A huge armored man, towering over Filion's limp body by a full meter. He didn't seem to have a weapon- not that he would need one. He could crush Filion into a pulp if he wanted to. 

"Get him onboard." another voice said. A separate species- not human.

Filion's eyes snapped to the left-most corner of the bridge. A huge rectangular contraption, scorched with pulse blasts but still visible and still intact, lay against the corner. He just needed to touch it-

A syringe plunged into Filion's neck and everything flashed to black.

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High Command's meeting room was now a hauntingly familiar place. A clear crystal table, outlined in gold trim with fourteen simple leather seats and a holoprojector mounted on a short steel rod.

Kuznetsov stared down at his feet, idly listening to Lyctove speak in the background. He'd heard it all once already. 

For nearly forty years he had led the Republic's naval forces into battle from behind the front lines. Only recently had he realized how much it had worn him down. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen- not on a holopad, but physically seen- his family in the past year. And now his daughter was on a mission to support the loyalist Prythians in their civil war as a "diplomatic military adviser." 

That was all official bureaucratic nonsense. Alexandra was there to fight. She just couldn't do it publicly- that would require a declaration of war from the Council. And she would be out of his strategic control. A level of autonomy would have to be granted, less High Command got involved in a war that didn't exist.

He had poured over the technical specifications of the Alexandra-class time and time again. There was, realistically, little that could pose a substantial threat to her. The Prythian Federal Navy had yet to modernize past their antiquated Expeditor-class heavy cruisers- they were powerful, granted, but lacked any serious firepower beyond their nuclear arsenal. 

"Admiral?"

Kuznetsov took a moment to realize they were talking to him. 

"I... no, I don't." he replied, vaguely recalling a question regarding the Alexandra's battlegroup. 

"Well then, ladies and gentlemen," Lyctove said, rising from his seat at the head of the table, "I believe we are now at war with the Prythian Assembly."

"Unofficially." Hasan added.

Lyctove glanced over, to which Hasan didn't react. "Indeed."

As High Command adjourned, Kuznetsov caught Buren standing a few dozen meters away, hands clasped behind her back. She was staring up at the Alexandra, drifting in Endura's atmosphere, sparkling in the colorful nightlife of Allos City below. A Hyrosis-class corvette, the Waker, hugged the larger cruiser's hull, its point-defense turrets rapidly tracking imaginary targets during an unannounced combat drill. 

Kuznetsov slowly made his way over to his daughter, watching as the Alexandra battled a phantom Prythian flotilla. Her own defense turrets ran on double time, shifting on rails at incredible speeds, using computers to maintain near-perfect positioning as she spat non-existent streams of high caliber rounds at holographically projected fighter wings and torpedo clusters.

"Impressive, isn't it?" his daughter suddenly said, flinching slightly as a burst of light erupted from the bow of the battlecruiser, her main axial railgun discharging a round that didn't exist at an enemy that wasn't there. 

"It is," Kuznetsov responded despondently, taking a seat a few feet behind Buren and watching the Alexandra discharge another round. 

She turned around inquisitively, raising an eyebrow. "You don't sound very happy."

The Grand Admiral waved a hand in response. "It's nothing." 

"Don't give me that." Buren replied as she sunk down beside her father, tenderly laying a hand on his shoulder. "Mother wouldn't want you lying to me." 

Kuznetsov sighed. Sometimes, he wished his daughter wasn't so curious.

Or maybe it was intelligent. 

"Do you know why you weren't deployed during the Republic-Coalition war?" he asked suddenly.

Buren seemed surprised by the question. "N-no? I wasn't told..." she trailed off and narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Kuznetsov hesitated. 

He didn't know how his daughter would react to this. She'd always resented his desire to keep her out of danger, back in the relative safety behind the guns of the Endura Defense Flotilla- that he had made that decision for her was bad enough, but doing it behind her back made it that much worse.

"I... pulled some strings. I kept you out of deployment." 

To her credit, Kuznetsov noted, Buren didn't so much as flinch. She merely glanced back out to the Alexandra, watching it run through the last of its simulations. 

"I think I already knew that." she suddenly said, her voice barely audible above the ambient noise of Central Command. 

She rose from her seat and walked off into the crowded corridors.

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Carol clutched the rifle against her chest, oscillating between a high-pitched hum and a deeper drone as she idly fiddled with the weapon's power settings. The sharp tungsten point of a breaching pod provided her with some measure of cover, dangerously glinting in the hue of the Axion's deep red battle lighting.

Armored boots thudded against the floor paneling. They were close now. She had been trained as a pilot, not a soldier- luckily, basic training was identical for both professions. 

She glanced down at her rifle. The barrel was glowing neon with blue energy, dangerously overloaded as the weapon's dischargers released as much excess power as they could. 

It was somewhat ironic, she dryly thought, that her rescuers were now in need of a rescue. 

The flickering blue of atmospheric shielding consumed her peripheral vision, glowing in that distinct hexagonal pattern, holding back the vacuum of space in the absence of... well, in absence of most of the hull. Something had literally torn the Axion in half, with just enough structural integrity remaining for shielding to glue what was left back together. 

Automated protocols had ejected the reactor to prevent a meltdown. Which meant the Axion was running on aux power only- barely enough to keep battle lighting on, much less power the cruiser's transponder. No doubt the borders had already fried the distress beacon, which left one option.

The emergency transponder was required by half a dozen regulations to be on every vessel with a license to fly. Self-sufficient nuclear power sources, several redundant layers of energy shielding, generally an obscene quantity of military-grade armor- they were built to be essentially indestructible.

That being said, they weren't exactly built to be hidden. Carol had already seen the monstrous contraption built into the bridge wall. It didn't even have a console- it had a small metal tab which acted as a safety. After it was pulled, or, more accurately, bent, one solid hit to any surface would send the transponder online, releasing a flurry of distress calls on an open channel to inundate any station or starship unfortunate enough to be caught in the 50 lightyear radius.

They weren't very technologically sophisticated, at least from the outside. The easiest way to activate one was with a hammer, which Carol was noticeably missing. Thankfully, the butt of a rifle worked just as well in emergencies.

Apart from not getting caught, activating the emergency transponder was now Carol's top priority.

A small orb bounced off of the breaching pod and rolled to a stop a few feet away. 

Carol barely had time to open her mouth before the flashbang erupted in an ear-shattering racket.

Her ears rung uncontrollably. Vaguely she noticed several figures stepping into the light, weapons raised. Her own rifle slipped out of her hands as she fell to her knees, desperately trying to retain consciousness and blocking out the pain as best she could as the figures approached with caution. 

One of them shouted an order. His armor marked him as a non-commissioned officer of some rank- a corporal, perhaps, or maybe a sergeant. A solid black facemask obscured any facial features.

Her confused brain still managed to make out one tiny detail. Something so insignificant that she doubted many others would notice it, ever.

The men- their facemasks had a clear plastic trim. That, almost certainly, meant that the masks weren't ionized.

There was only one nation so technologically backward they didn't have ionized faceplates.

The Caroki Star Union.