All moving in eerie silence, five small vessels and an accompanying gunship escort floated through the open void. Compact as they already are, additional measures and onboard generators obscured all heat, light, and life signatures altogether. With their transponders shut off, the five vessels are invisible specks against the empty darkness, like miniscule grains of rice as they soon approach the city-wide gateway in orbit above the planet. The four moons of World Pliua shone in the distance, each twinkling with the lights of their own urban megastructures.

  No outsiders would hear the nervous chatter between them within the confines of their secured private comms.

  Once the right time and schedule arrived, following the colossal gateway’s self reconfiguration for the next destination, they all moved forwards through the massive structure, and soon, World Pliua pulls away from behind them as they are transported to Gateyard Olmona, a few thousand light years away.

  And so for now, undetectable in the midst of superliminal travel, they are safe.

  Meanwhile, back on World Pliua, after a lengthy and torturous interrogation and extortion, information was obtained, and a particular General’s warship was patched up with repairs, which soon followed them in pursuit after spending much time being stalled.

  In retaliation and punishment for his collusion and protection of Zviedal and the Subject, the general manager named Bertii was summarily executed in gruesome fashion, leaving behind a widowed wife and fatherless children.

  In his last moments, he grieved for his family as much as he hoped his actions would one day bring back a better future for them. He had figured it was Zviedal, and smiled knowing they all got away.

  *****

  Resentment would be a weak word, inappropriate for what Gahn truly felt at the moment.

  After the close call back on World Pliua that day, it seemed foolishly irresponsible for him now to keep giving excuses to Zviedal that these were coincidences of extraordinary cases.

  Gahn was this close, this close, to reaching an agreement through his negotiations to resolve the conflict peacefully, when suddenly all hell broke loose.

  Of course it had to happen. He found himself resentful of the Subject as well. He knew that for the gunship to have assumed control like that, she had to have consciously maneuvered it somehow. He didn’t need to know or care how she did it, just enough to know that she did.

  He knows that Vertan would argue that they had all gotten out relatively unscathed to continue their journey, but at this point, Gahn felt himself to be less interested in the original mission. He wanted to give himself, and his men and women their safe and guaranteed leave home, no matter how they might feel about either side of this issue. There’s already more than enough losses, so to continue pushing forwards with this stupid thing and to keep living out their existences as fugitives on the run seems so abominably delusional that only those two individuals could possibly tolerate.

  Whatever Vertan is doing, he feels like he’s been held hostage to his mission now, the original narrative having been hijacked. What is the point in the effort of doing all of this if public safety has been more and more disrupted and jeopardized, let alone further secured? Could he not see that in his vain selfishness to prioritize the Subject, he is thereby endangering trillions of others? The journey has been so far nothing but a wake of destruction.

  Looking through a window of his new ship, Gahn could see the Happian gunship trailing behind them in the distance, shrouded in surrounding darkness as they continued to exceed the speed limits that light and physics imposed. Whatever point Vertan tried to make earlier over comms, Gahn no longer wanted to listen to it. He didn’t even want to see the man’s face right now. The frustration failed to fade off even with his efforts.

  Unlike Vertan, Gahn found himself with so much to lose. Already, Gahn barely knows how to handle the devastating losses already incurred previously in World Ritus. His and his family’s titles, honor, prestige, and status are all at stake, as are their hard-earned wealth and positions. This conspiratorial lunatic is about to take that away, and for what? A stranger from some undefined planet?

  Elsewhere across the convoy, tensions continued to be tested between two primary factions. One side has sided with and since expressed their grievances to Gahn, pressuring him to do something about their situation. They in particular wanted to cut losses, go home, and have Zviedal prosecuted, and the Subject off of their hands. They are the loudest and most vocal of the bunch.

  On the other, surprisingly, there is a very substantial amount of people that sided with Vertan and Lym. They sensed that there were much larger things at stake and at play, even if they might not fully understand the wider context yet. Having seen and paid attention to current events for themselves, they all figured that they must see the successful conclusion of this mission to its end, lest their own moral compasses forever condemn them. This faction on the other hand is more quiet, hushed in tone, and whispered behind backs and closed doors. Sometimes, individuals may loudly express agreement with the other side, and then admit their true thoughts in secret.

  Another small portion of individuals either indecisive of or deliberately abstained from the ongoing discourse existed, but nonetheless holds little influence over the current matters. They are less a “third group” and more so a scattering of individuals, all generally believing themselves to be morally superior in their choice of non-intervention.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  *****

  Within the confines of the Happian gunship, Vertan curiously explored the rather alien vehicle.

  There is an open space, likely where Lym’s suit would have been housed, if it were still around. Upon closer inspection, the ammunition stocks of the gunship appeared surprisingly small, yet indescribably heavy. It appeared to be like an elongated canister smaller than most water bottles. These are not akin to shells and bullets, but rather contain an enormous amount of energy, released every time it was “punched”, which is then refined and focused for any number of purposes and modes by the time it leaves the barrel. A single canister could be punched about a million times before it is spent, and there were dozens of these still in storage onboard. The numbers swam through Vertan’s head, trying to comprehend the potency he was standing in the middle of.

  The gunship also felt alive, somehow. There seemed to be a pattern to its breathing, if one could call it that. He felt like he was being watched and observed whilst in the vessel, but not in a malevolent manner. Somehow, he felt the sense that the vehicle itself felt protective of Lym, and even if it understood Vertan is to be prioritized and protected, it was curious in all manners of him, as though to poke and probe at whether it likes him or not.

  It felt genuinely different from any form of standardized artificial intelligence elsewhere, nor did it compare with the Machine People, who are considered evolved beings as opposed to manufactured tools. It seemed to exist somewhere in between. The way Lym treats it seemed to suggest it was another extension of herself, even if functionally independent enough to be considered like a trained beast.

  Though he had stepped in here once before when he and Lym checked for Happia’s coordinates, it was his first time getting to absorb the entire thing in full. Ironically, its strangest trait seemed to be that it existed on a thin thread away from just being too strange. There was a subtle aura of familiarity, just enough for him to very vaguely recognize that it wasn’t completely alien and otherworldly.

  It struck him as distinctly odd in noticing this pattern. It was the first Happian-made thing he ever got to see and observe, aside from Lym herself, and her suit. Perhaps he had expected of all the extraordinary and hypernatural feats that Lym and her late brother Aru had very nonchalantly pulled off, that whoever, or whatever the Happians are, they and their world would be spectacularly different, bordering on incomprehensibility to him and everyone else.

  But once again, just like Lym, even if it may appear different from what he was used to, there was that sense of normality to the gunship. It made Vertan wonder that perhaps an indescribably long time ago, maybe the Happians shared the same common ancestor somewhere with humanoids like him. Only then would it be a logical conclusion to assume why such technical, biological, and evolutionary vestiges still survive and show up to this day. Why else would such an extraordinary being like Lym still appear to possess a physical body so similar to his?

  In that question, he wondered if there was a reason the Happians have only been discovered until now. Were they deemed as dangerous weapons, or as valuable resources back then as they are in the present? His guess is as good as anyone else’s.

  Aside from this initial front, everything else is indeed very strange. Vertan couldn’t understand any symbol, word, inscription, or really any other thing across the vessel that might be standardized to the Happians. It was fascinating to take in, witnessing the marks of an entire people and culture that have persevered and evolved in isolation away from everyone else, even with the current war now.

  Vertan looked back towards the cockpit, where Lym continued standing. He knows the ship could fly itself without her being there. Not wanting his presence to be too smothering, he had since allowed her room to process, though couldn’t help but find himself hoping that eventually, she would walk over.

  Looking back to where he is, a sudden thought struck him, and he sighed with a tired frustration.

  Shit, he thought to himself. I left my suitcase.

  *****

  Given that their new ships are much smaller, so are their overall ranges. As such, the farthest they could travel at a time, even through an extrastellar gateway is to nearby World Amrita, before making the final jump to Gateyard Olmona.

  A series of highly illegal preparations played out, both at the approval and protest of those onboard. New and extensive vessel history, commercial flight plan, and a multitude of other forms of identification are fabricated, allowing the convoy to appear legitimate once they entered Amritan orbital space. It will be enough to restock and refuel before continuing the trip without drawing too much notice, and their stay will be short, kept to within a few hours.

  The Happian gunship on the other hand will have to remain invisible and out of the way, lest they risk its detection and blow their cover. Trailing further and further behind them, its visual signature across all light spectrums faded from existence, any detectable trace of it becoming nothing more distinguishable than another stray particle in the vast emptiness.

  Still maintaining their secure communications, they all soon arrived through the massive gateway of World Amrita, and the planet comes into view before them, even larger and more dense than World Pliua. What is more popularly known as “World” Amrita however is simply the most populated and developed moon orbiting its respective gas planet, looming as a gargantuan figure next to it.

  In the far distance, they could visibly make out fields upon fields of different arrays of industrial farming mechanisms, all harvesting the gas planet for Amrita and its surrounding neighbors’ uses. Each of these arrays must be so large that a smaller planet could fit within its boundaries.

  Entering Amrita’s artificial atmosphere, the convoy is introduced to a thick, dense, and decaying urban scene as it passes underneath them. Many of them wondered if the smog had to do with the preexisting pollution there, or came from the sheer number of rallies occurring beneath them.

  Almost everywhere, the physical manifestation of shared public resentment seemed to completely dwarf what could be more easily ignored and avoided on World Pliua.

  From behind the cockpit of her concealed gunship, Lym watched as her face and likeness was paraded through the streets.