JENNEL

  Impossible to grasp where I am.

  Yes, I’m on a ship.

  But where is the ground? The one you walk on, where rain falls or where you sink into the earth. You always know it’s never far. In a shuttle, you see it constantly. Even in this ship, the blue sphere once filled the entire screen.

  My mind refuses to accept that it has disappeared, perhaps forever.

  That it’s empty everywhere.

  Worse, since our hyper-quantum transfer, it’s nothing everywhere. Or it’s everything nowhere.

  I don’t even understand what I’m writing.

  I would have to become some kind of Space woman.

  Not looking good.

  The crew members from Earth had gathered in the tiered hall, designed to simulate the central square of their former Base. A massive wall had transformed into a three-dimensional screen,

  displaying the image of space in front of the ship. The transition from hyper-quantum translation to standard antimatter propulsion had occurred seamlessly thanks to the stasis field. Just a brief mental blur lasting less than a second.

  Alan stood among these men and women, all awaiting their fate with apprehension. Jennel had told him that his presence was reassuring. He wanted to believe her, though she didn’t seem reassured herself.

  After a few minutes, the Gull complex appeared, growing larger and taking on increasingly staggering proportions. Countless stations and space bases dotted the vast expanse, forming an immense network of infrastructures stretching beyond sight. Some bases were so vast they seemed to rival entire planets, their colossal structures illuminated by thousands of glowing points.

  Around these stations, a multitude of ships moved in a perfectly orchestrated ballet. Some were massive, their size defying human logic, while others appeared minuscule in comparison. The largest of them bore a striking resemblance to the ship transporting them, sharing similar structures and proportions, suggesting a standard model used by the Gulls for long interstellar journeys and, most likely, for the Selections.

  The others were smaller vessels (relatively speaking) standardized, moving in groups, their elongated and angular silhouettes betraying an industrial design optimized for synchronized maneuvers.

  Yet among them, other exotic forms stood out: slowly rotating ring structures, reflective spherical ships, and even strange fragmented constructions seemingly suspended in place without any apparent logic.

  Every second brought them closer to this enormous nerve center.

  Ahead, a colossal station gradually emerged from the rest of the structures. Its titanic architecture dominated the void—an immense spherical core, studded with lights, suspended at the heart of a network of massive rings.

  As the ship neared, the sheer scale of the station became overwhelming. It was not just a platform. It was a city suspended in the void. Around the rings, rectangular modules floated in perfect equilibrium, connected by corridors with metallic reflections. Intermittent blue beams pulsed from connectors, suggesting intense activity.

  The density of space traffic increased as they approached. The smaller ships weaved with pinpoint precision between the structures, while the larger vessels, similar to their own, docked within immense bays embedded in the outer rings.

  Alan felt the collective tension in the room. Even though they had traveled through space, this proximity to a massive extraterrestrial megastructure stirred a mixture of awe and dread among the crew. Jennel herself folded her arms slightly. A nervous tic Alan had come to recognize.

  Their ship gradually slowed, aligning with one of the enormous docking bays beneath the station’s central sphere. They were finally about to discover what awaited them at the heart of the Gull complex.

  Achille informed Alan that his mission was complete, and that they needed to exit the ship through the main hall, where a transport would take them to their designated accommodations.

  The transport was waiting when they arrived: a massive shuttle. Its imposing design evoked both military functionality and high-capacity logistics, a testament to the Gulls’ rigorous organization.

  They boarded an immense cargo hold, no seats, no view of the outside. Only a dim, diffuse light illuminated the vast compartment. Ten minutes of transit, Alan estimated, checking his watch. He held Jennel’s arm, sensing the tension in her posture.

  When the shuttle finally stopped, a metallic hiss accompanied the opening of the doors. They stepped out into an astonishing sight: a colossal structure with intricate geometric patterns rose before them.

  The building seemed engineered to maximize both space and resistance to extreme conditions in the void. Its facade was composed of interwoven translucent hexagonal modules, reinforced by a metallic mesh that gave it a hybrid appearance, both organic and industrial. Each module was protected by a taut white tension structure, stretched like a protective membrane, forming a repetitive pattern covering the entire surface of the edifice.

  Far from being a blind enclosure, the building featured circular openings with transparent walls overlooking the vastness of space. Below, the station’s intricate ring network was visible, along with countless ships in motion, reduced to flickering points in the abyss. The massive shuttle itself was connected to the structure by an invisible force field, maintaining a breathable atmosphere while allowing a seamless transition between the pressurized interior and the hostile vacuum of space.

  The new arrivals immediately felt the strangeness of the place: everything was too precise, too calculated, an unsettling blend of cold efficiency and a design dictated by a logic foreign to their own.

  They hesitated as they crossed the force field, feeling as though they were stepping into nothingness, before finally entering the edifice.

  Inside, they discovered a vast central atrium bathed in soft light filtering through the walls. The space was expansive, designed to accommodate large numbers of individuals while maintaining a methodical organization. Each module forming the outer facade appeared to be an individual living quarter, connected to the atrium by a network of anti-gravity shafts, arranged with an almost unsettling symmetry.

  At the center of the hall, a massive holographic projection hovered in suspension, dominating the room. The image displayed a ship: one of the standardized smaller vessels they had seen earlier. Its sleek, functional design suggested a mass-produced model optimized for maximum efficiency. Though significantly less massive than their own transport vessel, its presence at the heart of the atrium hinted at its central role in the system they were about to enter.

  Alan exchanged a glance with Jennel. He realized that she, too, understood this was not just an accommodation center. This was a transition, a step toward something even greater.

  Suddenly, a voice resonated inside their heads. There was no surprise. They were all accustomed to inter-nanite communications. However, the tone was different, solemn, imbued with an overwhelming authority.

  The central hologram flickered before dissolving completely, replaced by a vision that left them paralyzed.

  Floating before them was a creature of absolute strangeness. Its body was dominated by an immense white, smooth sphere, almost translucent under certain lights. Beneath this structure extended a dark, sinuous appendage resembling an elongated spine, ending in a thin outgrowth covered in shifting filaments.

  Several small, piercing red eyes were arranged beneath the sphere, silently observing the assembly. On either side, membranous extensions undulated slowly, evoking both wings and fins.

  The impression of power and otherness was absolute. The being floated in an iridescent aura, as if it were moving through an invisible fluid, and every detail of its appearance defied all familiar concepts of biology.

  A suffocating silence filled the atrium. Each human felt an overwhelming weight crash upon their mind. A crushing reality revealing itself: they were now face to face with a Gull.

  "You are now both the servants and mercenaries of the Gull people. You will pilot our ships to victory or to death, depending on your effectiveness. If you refuse this task or act against our people, you will die instantly, wherever you are, by nanite deactivation."

  A wave of unspeakable shock spread through the crews. Some fainted, others collapsed to their knees, their eyes vacant, unable to process the gravity of what had just been declared. A woman began violently gasping, while a man tried to stand but found his legs refused to obey him.

  Jennel trembled uncontrollably, her gaze locked into the void, as if her mind sought refuge outside this relentless reality.

  Alan’s eyes darkened with silent fury. Two words burned in his mind, whispered once by the woman from the desert: "Your task."

  The Gulls were not just his masters. They were his targets.

  He caressed Jennel’s back gently, feeling her spasms gradually ease under his touch. Holding her close, he let their heartbeats sync, willing his strength into her. He whispered softly against her ear:

  "We’ll be together, Jennel. Always."

  She clung to him like an anchor, shutting her eyes to grasp onto the only certainty left in the chaos.

  Then, lifting his head, in a voice that needed no force, he called out:

  "Do you even have the means to match your ambitions?"

  The Earthlings were stunned, and the Gull fell silent for long seconds before responding, in a different tone from before:

  "Delivered when ready."

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the Gull vanished, replaced by the now-familiar image of the ship projected in the atrium.

  The crew members struggled to regain their composure, each in their own way.

  Thabo, who had decided to follow them after reorganizing his Bases, busied himself shaking his neighbors, throwing out encouraging words with his usual energy. "On your feet, now’s not the time to falter!" he called, trying to spark resilience in them.

  Some clung to trivial gestures: checking their pockets, running a hand nervously through their hair. Others murmured among themselves, attempting to rationalize what they had just heard. A woman, still trembling, took her neighbor’s hand, as if to assure herself she was not alone. A man, his face set, clenched his fists, refusing to let fear take hold.

  Jennel was recovering. She took a deep breath and sought Alan’s gaze before whispering to him:

  "Go on, you have to."

  Alan nodded and, without hesitation, pushed his way through the frozen crowd. He stopped in front of the central hologram, scrutinizing the projected ship for a moment before slowly circling it. When he spoke, his voice carried naturally throughout the atrium:

  "I understand what you’re feeling. We’ve just suffered a brutal shock: not only in discovering the immensity of this complex but also in witnessing the Gull’s display. That was their goal: to crush us, to make us feel insignificant. And we reacted exactly as they expected."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He paused, sweeping his gaze across the assembly.

  "But this is a mindset we must reject from now on. We were chosen for our composure, our ability to adapt. We must prove we were the right choice."

  Some in the crowd straightened slightly at his words. Alan continued, his voice gaining in intensity:

  "Their speech, one they must recite to every race, tells us nothing truly new. Obey their orders? We’ve been doing that since the Wave. Risk our lives? We’ve done that since the day we realized our world was lost. Become fighters? That was always obvious. Look at our specializations: they don’t match those of a tourist shuttle crew."

  He took a deep breath, then declared with even greater force:

  "Have you forgotten the horror of the Wave? The one buried deep in your mind, the one that wakes you at night, that haunts you in every silence? That horror, you know it. This one, this pathetic demonstration today, is nothing but a bad joke in comparison. Nothing more."

  A silence followed, heavy but different. Less fear, more attention.

  Alan crossed his arms and finished with an ironic smile:

  "And let’s be honest… You might find the Gull particularly ugly. That’s a fact. But don’t forget, they sent their best-looking specimen, and from their point of view, we’re the ones who are abominable. Trust me, you’re going to see a lot more aliens, so a little humility… You might not be as good-looking as you think."

  A few nervous laughs broke the oppressive atmosphere at last. A tension had lifted. Some dared to smile, others exhaled as if a weight had been removed from their shoulders.

  Alan shrugged slightly and concluded:

  "Go find your accommodations. We’ll need rest."

  As they were about to disperse, a sudden movement in the crowd caught their attention. An intruder was making its way through the hall at an almost unreal slowness.

  A milky-white sphere, about the size of a football, floated above the ground. It moved in a perfectly straight line, effortlessly avoiding obstacles, until it stopped in front of Alan.

  Without a sound, a voice resonated in everyone’s mind:

  "I am a Tool. The Tool of Commander Alan."

  Alan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

  "What use is a Tool to a Commander?"

  "I serve every purpose."

  Johnny, who had moved closer with Maria-Luisa, raised an eyebrow and quipped:

  "Oh yeah? Can you get me a cup of hot chocolate?"

  To everyone’s surprise, the Tool responded immediately:

  "The synthesizers in the rooms will be able to produce one."

  Johnny stood speechless for a second before bursting into laughter.

  Alan, however, took on a more serious expression.

  "Have you connected to Achille?"

  "I have absorbed all of Achille’s knowledge, and by extension, that of Léa regarding you."

  "Why are you here?"

  "I have come to inform you that one-seventh of a cycle, one of your days, will pass before the start of the complementary training through hypno-teaching."

  Jennel frowned.

  "What will the subjects be?"

  "The overall functioning of the complex and its different sections, followed by the mercenary races."

  Jennel nodded, then turned to Maria-Luisa.

  "What should we name our Tool?"

  Maria-Luisa didn’t hesitate: "Bubble."

  A moment later, Alan nodded.

  "Bubble it is."

  Alan pondered for a moment before asking:

  "What is the population of the Gull people?"

  "2,127."

  Maria-Luisa and Johnny exchanged a bewildered look.

  "That’s all?" Maria-Luisa asked.

  Alan continued:

  "How many mercenaries?"

  "5,751 one cycle ago, but this number does not yet include the Earthlings or the recent battle casualties."

  Jennel frowned and looked around at the immense atrium.

  "Then why is this complex so large?"

  "Because of the enormous technological structures: spaceport, arsenals, hyper-transmitters, and other logistical facilities."

  Maria-Luisa raised an eyebrow.

  "And who runs all this?"

  "About a million Tools."

  A shiver ran through the crew members.

  Alan let a silence linger before asking the final question:

  "Who is the enemy?"

  The Tool seemed to pause.

  "The Arwiens."

  Johnny made a skeptical face.

  "And what are these Arwiens like?"

  "Like you," Bubble answered without hesitation.

  The silence that followed was even heavier than the one that had filled the room after the Gull’s appearance.

  JENNEL

  I’m in our small room with a frozen view of space. Alan watches me write. He says nothing but encourages me with a smile.

  We’re here to serve the "sperm in jars," as Johnny puts it, and to kill beings like us.

  There is no solution to avoid this horror.

  Well, there is one. Saying no and dying. Given the situation, it doesn’t even seem unreasonable, and others must be thinking about it, too.

  But not Alan. He didn’t come here to die; he’s here to destroy the Gulls. I know it. I can see it in his eyes.

  I’m starting to wonder if this thought is just a thought or some kind of mission. I think he hasn’t told me everything about his encounter in the desert.

  Or maybe I’m losing my mind.

  And if I’m not, then it means he truly believes in it. But how can he believe in it?

  Apparently, he has no chance.

  But I did write "apparently."

  In truth, no, I don’t want to die.

  I want to see how he plans to do it.

  The allocation of apartments went smoothly, as the hexagonal structures were countless. The layout was so methodical that it almost felt like a living, evolving architecture, as if the walls themselves anticipated the needs of the newcomers.

  There was no scheduled day-night cycle in this place. Each person had to establish their own rhythm by deciding when to turn off the room’s lighting.

  When the light disappeared, it was like being sucked into the void, floating in total darkness, reinforcing the illusion of being lost in space. The immense glass surfaces overlooking the complex offered no real point of reference, except for the distant glows of the surrounding structures, deepening the feeling of absolute isolation.

  Many struggled to adjust to this strange sensation, and the "night" proved difficult. Few found restful sleep.

  The next day (or whatever passed for it) Bubble awakened the fortunate sleepers at the agreed time. The hypno-teaching session began shortly after and lasted more than three hours. When they emerged from it, they were struck by intense migraines, requiring a long moment for the nanites to alleviate the pain.

  Then Alan ordered Bubble to cease all communications directed at the entire human group and to contact only Jennel or himself.

  "In other words," he specified, "the Commander and his official aide-de-camp."

  Any other communication would now require his authorization. Bubble raised no objection.

  That "afternoon," the humans were permitted to enter, in small groups, their Secondary Hall. This area, designed to facilitate interspecies interactions, was accessible using a portable respirator. It could accommodate two other alien species that breathed similar atmospheres.

  Following Alan’s instructions as best as they could, they met the Xi, an intelligent and refined species, which still possessed 72 ships out of their original 95.

  Bubble introduced them to Commander Xi Mano, a striking figure despite her evident grace. Her appearance was both fascinating and disconcerting: her shimmering skin seemed woven from light and metal, reflecting the changing hues of the Secondary Hall. Her elongated head, with its fluid contours, exuded an almost sculptural elegance, and her large, deep black eyes captured even the subtlest nuances of her surroundings. Every movement was precise, measured, imbued with natural confidence.

  She stepped forward with undeniable presence and stopped a few steps from Alan. Without a word, she conveyed her greeting via nanite communication.

  "Commander Alan, I bring you the greetings of the Xi people."

  Alan immediately responded in kind, sensing the depth of meaning embedded within the mental exchange.

  "Commander Xi Mano, your greetings are received with respect. May our meeting foster mutual understanding."

  The Xi were clearly a species accustomed to protocol and diplomatic nuance. Alan immediately sensed the precision and discipline with which Xi Mano assessed his demeanor, carefully evaluating who he truly was among the new human mercenaries under the Gulls.

  Alan then remarked to Bubble that the hall only contained beings with relatively humanoid forms. The Tool responded that this was often the case: similar shapes in similar atmospheres.

  Curious to discover species further removed from their own biology, Alan and his group moved toward a secluded corner of the Hall where a small group of different-looking creatures stood apart.

  "Those are the Rok," explained Bubble. "There are only ten of them left. Their race is doomed to extinction."

  The Rok had wrinkled, parchment-like skin, dark with subtle marbled patterns. Their angular heads, framed by two bony protrusions, gave them a severe, impassive look. Their milky eyes, devoid of visible pupils, seemed to pierce through darkness with an almost supernatural intensity. Draped in heavy fabrics with intricate patterns, they exuded an aura of ancient wisdom and an almost mystical detachment.

  "They are very reserved and distant. They will simply acknowledge you from a distance," Bubble clarified.

  Indeed, the Rok merely inclined their heads slightly, their expressionless eyes fixed on the humans. No words, no nanite transmissions. Just a silent, solemn recognition.

  Alan then instructed Thabo, who was part of this first group, to return to their Hall and provide a detailed report on the aliens to prevent any missteps from the next groups.

  Then he turned to Bubble and asked:

  "Which race is the most strongly represented among the mercenaries?"

  "The Zirkis," Bubble replied. "They are proud and sometimes reckless warriors. They are fierce fighters and possess 81 ships."

  Alan nodded and declared:

  "I want to meet the Zirkis."

  "That is not scheduled," Bubble responded.

  "It is now," Alan retorted without hesitation.

  Bubble did not argue further and led Alan and Jennel through the corridors of the complex. Jennel seemed completely absorbed by what she saw, her eyes shining with excitement. Alan could read barely concealed satisfaction on her face. When she met his gaze, she smiled and murmured:

  "This is extraordinary. Their Specters are as strange as their appearances."

  They passed through an airlock and donned lightweight but sophisticated pressurized suits. Their destination: the Main Hall, a sprawling space where a multitude of creatures of all kinds, each protected by suits adapted to their respective morphologies, moved about in an almost organic choreography.

  Alan and Jennel stopped short, speechless with astonishment at the sheer diversity of species.

  "Here is a Zirkis," announced Bubble.

  The creature moving with mechanical grace before them was both terrifying and mesmerizing. Its silhouette resembled that of a massive spider, with eight articulated limbs moving in perfect coordination. Its central body, concealed beneath a suit with dark metallic reflections, seemed to house a complex biomechanical organism. A chitinous exoskeleton was faintly visible beneath the protective material, and its multiple glowing eyes, emanating a cold light, gave the impression of analyzing every detail of its environment with unnerving precision.

  "But it will ignore you," Bubble added, "because you are not yet warriors."

  Alan and Jennel observed the creature with apparent composure, though they both felt an instinctive shiver of unease in the presence of a life form so radically different from their own.

  Retracing their steps back to their own Hall, Jennel was still in a state of excitement, her eyes sparkling like a child’s. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, sometimes interrupting herself to catch her breath, so overflowing was her enthusiasm.

  She kept turning to Alan, her words pouring out in a constant stream: about all these races, these morphologies, these ways of thinking, these different planets… it was unimaginable! She would pause at times, casting a sweeping glance around her, as if trying to absorb every detail to reassure herself that this was not a dream.

  "Do you realize? This is more than science fiction! This is a new reality!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her fascination.

  Alan reminded her in a more measured tone:

  "These planets are dead or dying. Their races will soon be extinct."

  Jennel stopped abruptly and repeated, her voice trembling with emotion:

  "You have to stop this… You have to stop this!"

  Alan looked at her with a mixture of determination and caution. He took a deep breath before answering, without hesitation:

  "We’ll do what we can!"