Hi!

Chapter 15, eh?

Not much to say, but I hope you enjoy!

Oh, except I finally got around to making a cover that isn't just a random photo I found on public domain! Now it has words!

Here goes nothing!

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"On your knees!"

Carol complied, dryly noting that she was already beyond that, bent over in a fetal position as she tried to no avail to quell the flashbang's incessant, painful aftershock.

"Hands on your head!" The sergeant- he was a sergeant, she could tell now from his helmet stripe- had slung his rifle across his back in favor of a single-fire incendiary pistol. Carol eyed the weapon wearily- she'd heard of them before, heard about how they punched through your body and disintegrated organs from the inside out. Needless to say, she had already made it a life goal never to get hit by one.

She would have to play this carefully. As if she could hope to take any of these men on in direct combat- they were special forces, more likely than not. She was a pilot. The extent of her hand-to-hand combat training amounted to a three-day course on what to do if you found yourself grounded on an enemy vessel- essentially, the end of the class involved the instructor telling her to forget everything and just look for an escape pod.

Nonetheless, pilot training had given her the useful ability to assess her situation very quickly.

Carol considered her options in the few short seconds she had. Her rifle was a dozen feet away, kicked down the corridor by one of the sergeant's men. She could run for it- that would end poorly.

Her eyes flashed to the sergeant's utility belt. A trio of fragmentation grenades was clipped on the left side. Those would obliterate everything within a fifteen-meter radius.

The right side, however, played host to a small, thin cylinder, capped on either end with a glowing yellow diode.

A shock grenade.

It could stun her as well, but shock grenades were designed to target armor, something Carol had a distinct lack of. As long as she put enough distance in between...

Mentally, she berated herself. It was insanity. The chances of this working were slim to none- there was no chance she could reach that grenade before the sergeant or his men turned her body into a partially-vaporized mess.

Although, Carol thought as she was prodded in the general direction of an airlock, she was beginning to like the alternative just as poorly.

It was unfortunate that she had neglected to wear an environmental suit. Escape would be easy then, she thought, glancing at a gaping hole in the Axion's armor plating, still glowing white hot. Atmospheric shields didn't kill people, generally.

She briefly what had happened to... the captain. Whatever his name was. After the railgun round cracked the reactor casing the cruiser's computer lost all telemetry on the crew.

He probably wasn't dead. Boarding parties weren't usually dispatched to execute people.

A dull rumble suddenly filled her ears.

She froze mid-step.

The thick muzzle of an incendiary pistol pressed firmly into her nape. It seared into her skin, filling the corridor with the smell of burning flesh, but at this point, she didn't notice.

Well.

At least her ears weren't ringing, she thought idly.

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As far as influential people went in the Union, Baron Carson was certainly not the worst.

June noted that he actually treated her like a human being, rather than a tool for his own gains. Although his Shock Trooper guards made her feel entirely insignificant anyways, staring down the barrels of what, to her, were cannons, not rifles.

She hadn't considered that the Union would've poured so much into one man's personal security. It made sense, the more she thought about it- the Union's military would find a use for superimposed space, but, more importantly, having it fall into enemy hands would throttle any advantage the Caroki had. Secrecy was of utmost importance, although with the sheer quantity of scientists, soldiers and just general civilians involved in this project it seemed next to impossible nothing had leaked.

Carson had assured her the Union's only intention was peaceful, but she knew that was bullshit even without Carson's own doubt bleeding into his words. It would be comically easy to install a superimposed drive on a dreadnought and send it straight into the heart of the Republic, throwing nuclear warheads left, right and center until the entire Solaris system was ash. Such a level of power... it terrified June, to consider that she might have a role to play in the extinction of an entire nation.

There were other options as well. Ones June didn't want to think about.

Mark was nearby, fiddling with a dozen dials and levers. Over the months they had developed, if tentative at first, a friendship. It was a feeling June hadn't experienced in a long time, if only because her other assistants were unfortunately liquefied to quickly for anything to arise.

It wasn't a good feeling.

She once had a family. Three beautiful, young children and a loving husband. God knows where they were now, or if they were even still alive. It had taken several years for June to lock the memories behind a wall, but Mark had unwittingly melted that barrier to the ground. He served as a constant reminder now, a reminder of everything the Union had stripped away.

She didn't hold it against him. It wasn't his fault. So she had tried her damnedest to see him as a friend, and so far it seemed to be working.

A little too well, perhaps.

June glanced at Mark, leaned back in his chair, reading data off the primary displays and rattling off the critical points to a poised Carson standing a few meters away. She couldn't deny her feelings- however, she reminded herself, now was not the time or the place for that. The time dilation in the Tares Cluster meant that every day in the greater multiverse was almost two and a half weeks in S15. Just another one of Carok's quirks, a new unsolvable issue to infuriate scientists for decades much like the discovery of the galaxy-spanning Bubblegum Nebula once had.

She had plenty of time.

"Five light-seconds." Carson mused. He sounded genuinely impressed, although a measure of annoyance leaked through his praise.

Mark noticed it as well. "Yep. Uh..." he spun his chair around to a control node and met June's gaze. "We have another test prepped, right?"

June nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. As long as you checked the fuses."

"I did check them!" Mark complained, flicking a series of switches, handing Carson a pair of heavy-duty safety goggles.

She couldn't help but grin.

"El'saas can't handle light, right?" June asked as Carson slid the goggles over his red-tinted eyes.

"Anything above 250 lux."

Mark glanced over with a raised eyebrow. "What happens?"

June stifled a laugh at her co-worker's morbid curiosity.

Carson, however, did not appear amused.

"My eyes will disintegrate."

"I see," Mark replied lamely. "Interesting how El'saas can live in a vacuum but can't use light bulbs."

Carson neglected to respond. He watched silently as a small metal prism positioned itself a few dozen meters away, firing bursts of compressed air to maintain a steady position. It was unimpressive, haphazardly spot-welded together, constructed to the same degree of precision as one would expect from a flatpack crate. Yet simultaneously it was easily the most incredible thing Carson had seen in ages- that this pathetic container was- supposedly- going to survive superimposed space where fully-fledged warships had not.

"Power levels holding at 100%," June reported, running through a digital checklist. "Call it, Mark."

The viewscreen dimmed significantly as black lighting drowned S15's command module.

"Initiation in 3... 2... 1..."

An infinitesimally small point erupted into a swirling disc of negative mass, defiantly resisting collapse as huge tendrils of energy lashed out from the wormhole's core. A million kilometers away the exit disc ruptured open, punching a hole through the fabric of space and time.

The test prism jolted forwards with incredible speed, slipping through the wormhole as easily as if it were in warp. As easily as if it were hundreds of kilometers in diameter, churning with the constant hum of a Nygev-Ash matrix as it spun up drive trains and preset Altzmann converters.

A prism, no larger than a refrigerator.

Carson's face was a mask of his true emotions. As the wormhole collapsed unremarkably, he abruptly felt the burden of what he was helping to create.

He had been in denial- an idiot. Perhaps it was because he never thought anyone would actually succeed. That by the time anyone actually figured out superimposed space, there wouldn't be a Union around to exploit it.

Whatever the reason was, Carson thought dryly, it hardly mattered anymore.

Isa had been right the entire time.

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It was almost ironic, Lyctove thought, watching the puddlejumper Orius lazily orbit Endura. The Republic was, for all intents and purposes, still recovering from the Resource Wars almost three centuries ago. Nevertheless, it still fell on the Council's shoulders to restore peace to Carok.

The president scolded himself silently. Pessimism was too widespread these days. They were recovering- slowly, yes, but the worst of the hardship and famine had been suppressed.

A blast shook the Capitol. Allos City thundered with heavy machinery, stripping the metropolis of resources to facilitate the reconstruction of the Republic's navy. Smoke rose from the foundation of a small apartment complex as operators blew the concrete anchors apart, wrenching huge steel beams from the walls and strapping them down onto waiting hovercars. Far in the distance, the shipyards of Allos City sparkled with life, bearing the superstructure of a great warship- the Resonance, sister to the Alexandra.

Kuznetsov stood silently a few meters away. Lyctove knew the grizzled admiral disapproved of his daughter's assignment- it was only natural. She was accomplished, to say the least- the youngest Rear Admiral in several centuries, and she would've been the youngest Grand Admiral in history had she been nominated. But, as much as Kuznetsov wished his daughter to serve alongside him, Buren had proven herself to be among the best captains in Republic Naval history. She had begrudgingly given up her captaincy to appease her father, but it was clear from day one as a Rear Admiral that the young officer had lost much of her enthusiasm.

When Lyctove had offered her the captaincy of the Alexandra, she had jumped on the offer so quickly it had proved impossible to contact her father before Buren was already running her crew through drills.

The president walked until he was shoulder to shoulder with Kuznetsov. The admiral registered his presence but made little action, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his uniform.

"I wouldn't be so nervous, Joseph." Lyctove said softly. "Your daughter is an exceptional woman, and she is in command of an exceptional crew."

"On an exceptional ship." Kuznetsov added, his optimism betrayed by undertones of concern and anxiety.

"Do you doubt Buren's abilities?"'

"Of course not. Her husband doesn't, either. That doesn't mean we're not worried."

Kuznetsov rounded on the president, "She's in the middle of a hostile galaxy, Jackson, and we're powerless. I'm powerless."

"High Command-"

"Is too busy trying to cover up the Alexandra's mission to bother with anything else. Reinforcements are out of the question if we want to pretend we aren't at war."

Lyctove fell silent. He was right, of course. Republic naval vessels streaming into Carok would undoubtedly raise some questions.

"Trust, my friend," Lyctove said, placing a hand of Kuznetsov's shoulder. "If not in the ship or her crew then in your daughter's ability to lead them."

Kuznetsov glanced away, turning to stare up at the speck of light that was the Alexandra in high orbit.

"If only it were that simple."

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Being back in the chair was strange. After years in the admiralty, Buren had grown used to the black and gold uniforms. Looking in the mirror- she hardly recognized herself in the captain's gray.

There were other downsides as well. The food was worse- although it wasn't as bad as she remembered. Her quarters felt like a closet compared to the suite she had shared with her husband on Endura.

Of course, an obvious downside was living in a pressurized metal tube for five years.

Yet there was very little she wouldn't have traded for that demotion.

Not that the admiralty was necessarily bad. It just felt so... disconnected. She couldn't help people from the war room of the Capitol building- or, at least, it didn't feel like she could.

"We're green across the board."

Buren glanced at the status holoscreen to her right.

"Thank you, Martyn. Mr. Allan, we are in the correct system, yes?"

"Damalt. Aye, captain."

"Incoming communique from the Damalt Starship Registrar, captain."

"Put it through."

The communications suite sputtered for a few seconds before a scratchy, automated voice broke through.

"Identification," was all the computer said.

"Captain Jessica Buren of the Alexandra."

"Processing."

Five minutes passed. Something was off- even old Caroki computers were faster than this. The Alexandra still drifted a million kilometers outside of Damalt's defense perimeter.

"Tactical," Buren ordered. "Megan. Put all the guns on standby."

"Roger," Megan replied. "All guns on standby."

"Thomas?"

"Negative reply. Damalt Starship Registrar- their primary station has plenty of power, but the only guns hot are the PD-"

"Contact, starboard bow." Megan suddenly reported. "Confidiance-class heavy frigate, bearing 144.123.12, weapons hot."

Buren stood from her chair. "Sound battlestations. Get Cobalt squad in the air."

"Contact, starboard bow." Megan said again. "A Mori'as-class ship-of-the-line, first rate. Bearing 103.134.01."

"Defensive formation. Cents in the front, cover the flanks- you guys know the drill. Get me in direct with the fleet."

"Roger... communications established."

Buren briefly studied the tactical map. The Confidiance was not a huge threat, but the Mori'as was. Those big railguns it had could be a problem.

"Captain Arren. Do you copy?"

Captain Michel Arren. An extremely accomplished commander and tactician in his own right. "I copy, admiral."

"Bring the Halifax around to my port. Get those coilguns online."

"Understood."

"Sensor report, captain," Allan reported. "Both ships have skeleton crews and running on emergency power. The Confidiance has suffered catastrophic hull damage, and both are broadcasting an INAS... they're not threats, ma'am."

"Their weapons are online, no?"

"They are, captain. But from extrapolated internal damage it's likely their reactors have lost control over power output."

The young captain narrowed her eyes. "Likely?"

Allan hesitated, glancing down at his sensors report. If he got this wrong, it was possible the Mori'as could strike a fatal blow before the Alexandra could adequately retaliate.

On the other hand, firing on peaceful starships was decidedly not the job of the Republic Navy.

"Certain," he replied.

Buren sighed. Shooting ships and winning battles was easy. Anyone could do it, really. Seeing through all the deception, what was fake and what wasn't- that was the true challenge of captaincy.

But she knew better than to second-guess her crew. She had to trust them completely, without hesitation. Even if they were wrong occasionally.

Her crew trusted her, and it was her duty to return that sentiment.

"Order the fleet to stand down."

"Aye."

"Open a channel."

'I can't connect to... well, I can't connect to anything. They don't seem to have functioning comms."

Of course. No functioning comms was a great excuse to get in close, where the bulk of Buren's command would lose their long range advantage.

"Get a c-scan of both vessels."

"Aye, captain."

Buren glanced again at the tactical map. The Confidiance was in the lead, with the slower Mori'as taking up a rearguard position.

Before she let either get anywhere near her command, she needed options.

The Halifax was a Centurion-class. It could absorb damage that Buren's smaller craft couldn't. "Are you still with us, Captain Arren?"

"I am, Admiral."

"Get the Halifax on my bow and set your armor."

"Are we expecting combat?"

"Not particularly. But I'm not letting anything come near the fleet without the option to vaporize it."

The old captain chuckled slightly. "Good thinking, ma'am."

"Track the Confidiance with GMs. If it tries anything funny, crack the damn thing in half."

"It would be my pleasure, Admiral."

The primary engine cluster of the Halifax flared to life, burning a dull blue as bursts of compressed air and monopropellant maneuvered the battlecruiser a kilometer off the Alexandra's nose.

Buren checked the tactical display one last time. The Halifax was on point, with the Alexandra right behind it. The Obsidian Ridge- Buren's other Centurion- was covering the starboard flank, a few kilometers aft- not quite a rearguard. An irregular formation- if the Naval Academy preached anything, however, it was the ability to invent on the spot.

"Cut the burn, Martyn," Buren ordered, returning to her command chair. "Our new friends can come to us."