Space stretched before them, traversed by swirls of gas and diffuse lights. The nebula that extended as far as the eye could see resembled a chaotic tapestry, woven with iridescent filaments where deep blues, spectral pinks, and luminous golds intertwined. In some places, the matter seemed to form tormented draperies, subtle ripples as if stirred by an invisible breath.

  Opaque pockets of dust obscured certain regions, hiding whatever might be lurking within. The starlight filtering through this veil distorted perspectives, giving the whole scene a shifting, elusive quality. Here and there, bursts of radiation flickered, reminding them that this cosmic sea was very much alive, charged with energy.

  The ships slid silently through this vastness, surrounded by the hum of invisible forces, their sensors scanning the abyss of colors.

  A few hours earlier, Bubble had approached Alan to brief him on the next mission for his group.

  He explained that the Arwiens were massing ships on the edges of a nebula, preparing to attack the flank of the Gull defenses. However, they had been deprived of reliable intelligence since the successful assault on the asteroid field.

  Alan frowned. "What is their strength?"

  "Likely two squadrons," Bulle replied.

  Alan quickly did the math. "That makes 160 ships."

  "You will attack these forces alongside the Zirkis," Bubble added in his usual neutral tone.

  Alan recalculated swiftly. "Which gives us 141 ships."

  Jennel, irritated by this prospect, shot back:

  "Are we supposed to kill them all to the last?"

  Bubble remained unfazed. "That optimal outcome is unlikely to be achieved."

  Jennel scowled while Alan pondered. Suddenly, he turned toward Bubble.

  "Mark an 'S' on every side of my ships."

  "Why?"

  Alan smirked. "It’s part of my implicit strategy."

  Bubble remained silent for a moment, then left without further comment.

  Jennel watched him go and muttered,

  "You might have offended him."

  Alan shrugged, an amused glint in his eye.

  "I think I just presented an interesting problem to the thinking machines."

  The approach to the nebula was spectacular, but the journey had been long. The two groups, Terran and Zirkis, had converged after navigating through intricate trajectories and distant transfer points to avoid detection.

  One aspect of the preparation troubled Alan: the independent behaviors of the groups, which would inevitably reduce their effectiveness. But how could one negotiate with a Zirkis who refused to speak to you?

  The Zirkis’ strategy was well known: think as little as possible and charge at the enemy with unrelenting fury. This had the advantage of being simple and predictable… especially for the opponent. Stopping them, however, was an entirely different challenge.

  The AIs, at least, had fewer issues with ego. They communicated directly, overlaying the strategic plans of both groups on holographic displays, merging trajectories and formations.

  Alan studied these projections carefully, knowing that the battle ahead would be a test of their ability to adapt to these fearsome yet predictable warriors.

  The nebula appeared cylindrical, with a lower concentration of gas and dust in its center. Their sensors quickly detected the Arwien formation, which was already beginning to maneuver. The Zirkis charged at full power, while the Terrans advanced more cautiously, their shields already under heavy strain.

  Alan turned to A?ssatou. "The shields will lose much of their effectiveness."

  She confirmed this without seeming particularly concerned.

  Then, the idea struck Alan like lightning.

  He pulled up the dust cloud map surrounding the battlefield and adjusted his fleet’s attack angle so that they no longer followed the Zirkis.

  His squadron accelerated at full power, simulating a massive flanking assault on the enemy. The Arwien fleet redeployed to counter the threat, shifting their units alongside a dense cloud of cosmic matter.

  Before even making contact, the Terran ships fired a massive volley of quantum fragmentation missiles at the rear of the cloud, then veered 90 degrees toward the center of the cylindrical nebula.

  The silent explosion of the quantum fragmentation missiles struck with relentless precision. The resulting gravitational shockwave sent tremors rippling through the nebula, triggering a slingshot effect of staggering force. The dust clouds, once motionless, were swept away in a raging stellar tempest.

  The Arwien ships, trapped, were suddenly engulfed by a swirling tide of cosmic matter. The smaller vessels were instantly slammed against massive rocks, their shields overloading under the strain. The larger ships struggled to stabilize their trajectories, their engines straining against the gravitational surge that inexorably pulled them toward destruction.

  Red alerts flashed across the tactical screens: the enemy was collapsing under the pressure of the phenomenon.

  Alan and A?ssatou watched the holograms in silence as the Arwien ships were torn apart, one by one, by the chaos they never saw coming.

  The gravitational wave continued to spread, losing intensity but remaining dangerously unpredictable. Alan’s fleet skirted its outer edges, their shields pushed to the limit. Yet, one of his ships was overwhelmed. Its protective field failed abruptly, unable to compensate for the increasing distortions.

  In less than a minute, it disintegrated in a flash of light, swallowed by the gravitational storm.

  Jennel stood frozen, pale as death. Her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at the spot where the ship had vanished. Beside her, A?ssatou clenched her fists, her jaw tight, but her gaze remained firmly fixed on the tactical displays.

  Alan said nothing. He absorbed the loss without showing any emotion, focused entirely on what came next. There was no room for anger or grief. Not now.

  The Zirkis, however, had understood the maneuver perfectly and were already exploiting the chaos created by the gravitational explosion. They had plunged deep into the enemy ranks, tearing through the Arwien formation with ruthless efficiency. The battle raged on, but both friend and foe were now caught in the wake of destruction spreading relentlessly through the nebula.

  The Zirkis had the advantage of inertia and speed, their reckless charge allowing them to escape the worst of the disaster. But the Arwiens had to first reverse their course before accelerating. Every second spent maneuvering was a second too long.

  Many of their ships were caught in the gravitational vortex, crushed by forces beyond their control. Others, damaged by the storm, scattered in a desperate attempt to regroup.

  Alan studied the tactical hologram with cold determination. It was over.

  The trap had snapped shut.

  The Zirkis had lost five ships, but that did nothing to slow their predatory instinct. Relentless, they hunted down the last surviving Arwiens: those who had failed to activate their quantum transfers and were now desperately trying to flee the shattered battlefield. There would be no mercy, no escape.

  Alan, meanwhile, had pulled his fleet back from the engagement zone, restoring order to his ranks. They had lost one ship to the gravitational storm, and six others had suffered severe energy system failures. Their shields had been pushed to their limits, and the damage to their regulatory systems would take time to repair.

  A communication alert blinked on the command interface. Alan activated the channel, and the guttural voice of Ak-Or, the Zirkis’ commander, resonated through the speakers.

  "Commander Alan. Effective maneuver. Interesting battle."

  A compliment, in their own way. Short, direct, devoid of embellishment.

  Alan knew that, for a Zirkis, those few words were high praise. He responded accordingly. Not as a human strategist, but as a warrior.

  "Ak-Or. Terrain secured. Battle concluded. The hunt is yours."

  A brief silence followed. Then a response, almost satisfied.

  "Acknowledged. May the hunt bring us honor."

  The communication ended.

  Jennel, who had followed the exchange, looked at Alan in surprise.

  "You’re talking like them now?"

  Alan smirked as he stared at the display before him.

  "Sometimes, you have to speak the language of your allies."

  The battle was over. But this forced war was far from finished.

  The return was far from cheerful. The atmosphere aboard was heavy, almost oppressive. Silence weighed on the crew like a funeral shroud. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, grappling with the harsh reality of the loss they had just suffered. Their fragile existence in this merciless universe had been laid bare. No one dared to break the oppressive quiet. Even the usual hum of the ship's systems seemed muffled. Some lowered their gaze when meeting a comrade's eyes, while others stared blankly at the holographic displays, pretending to concentrate to mask their turmoil.

  Jennel, usually quick to exchange a few words, remained still and pale, as if trying to suppress a shiver. A?ssatou, typically so confident, had her jaw clenched, her fists gripping the armrests of her seat. Even Alan, who prided himself on self-control, felt the weight of grief and doubt creeping into his mind.

  Upon arrival, Alan didn’t give Bubble the chance to comment on the battle. He raised his hand to cut off any remark and declared firmly:

  "I want an immediate meeting with the Gulls."

  Bubble seemed to process his request for a moment before responding simply:

  "Granted."

  Alan raised an eyebrow, surprised at the lack of resistance. He had expected an objection, a discussion, but none came. With a simple gesture, Bubble motioned for him to follow.

  Without further discussion, Bubble led him to a holographic chamber, where the grotesque image of a Gull materialized.

  "Why request meeting?" the Gull asked.

  "Two critical flaws reduce effectiveness," Alan responded, adapting to his interlocutor’s concise speech.

  "Flaws?"

  "Lack of coordination. Lack of modularity."

  "Clarify?"

  "Unified command necessary for distinct combat groups.

  Differentiated strategies possible for mixed formations."

  "Why modify?"

  "To avoid loss."

  "Loss unacceptable."

  "Loss has already occurred once. Could occur twice."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Loss unacceptable." the Gull repeated mechanically.

  "Danger in excluding possible outcomes. Logical flaw." Alan pressed.

  "Thinking machines infallible."

  "Programming incomplete."

  A long silence followed. The Gull’s hologram flickered slightly, then abruptly vanished.

  Alan left the chamber, perplexed. He had felt, if only for a moment, that he had shaken the rigidity of their thinking.

  It turned out to be surprisingly easy to acquire a mini-space bubble and move freely through the complex. Onboard were Jennel, A?ssatou, Thabo, and Alan. The bubble was simple to pilot, weaving effortlessly between the towering structures. Alan controlled their course with clear intent.

  Their first destination was the Gull-exclusive arsenal spaceport.

  The immense structure loomed before them: a massive sphere encircled by disc-shaped docking platforms, interconnected by reinforced corridors. The station's surface faintly reflected the distant starlight, giving it a majestic yet menacing aura.

  Colossal warships lined the exterior platforms, some undergoing maintenance, others seemingly ready to launch at a moment’s notice. Automated drones and mechanical arms moved efficiently across the surface, adjusting, repairing, and optimizing the weaponry of these metallic behemoths.

  As the bubble glided closer, Alan maneuvered with precision. Every detail of the arsenal revealed an unparalleled level of technological perfection; cold, calculated efficiency that left no room for excess.

  Jennel watched in silence, her expression shifting between awe and unease.

  "Impressive, but unsettling," she murmured.

  A?ssatou nodded.

  "An arsenal beyond anything we ever imagined. And no shield."

  The bubble continued its seemingly random course toward their second target: the hyper-emitter capable of disabling the nanites— the ultimate weapon holding every mercenary in check.

  The massive structure dominated the void, resembling a vast, suspended parabolic antenna. Its wide, segmented disk was covered in an intricate network of sensors and emitters. At its center, a more substantial core housed unimaginable transmission systems, linked to a colossal technical base where countless cables and stabilizing modules intertwined.

  The bubble approached cautiously, drifting into the structure’s shadow. At this distance, flickers of energy crackled along its surface, deep blue pulses coursing across the metallic shell: evidence of the immense power contained within.

  "So this is the Gulls’ true whip," Jennel murmured.

  A?ssatou crossed her arms. "A technology of absolute control… It’s worse than I imagined."

  Thabo narrowed his eyes. "And it’s protected by an insanely powerful defense shield. I doubt anything could damage it."

  Alan tightened his grip on the controls, studying the structure in silence. He knew that this was the heart of the Gulls' power over them. He also knew that one day, this structure would have to cease to exist.

  JENNEL

  I’m not sure this journal is safe. So I’m going to stop writing until...

  Until the end of something. Or the end, period.

  Soon, I will go out and kill those who are, in truth, my brothers and sisters. And I will watch my friends die. What is there to write?

  Alan is chasing a goal that I can easily guess, but he seems to be walking a dark path.

  At any cost. And that terrifies me.

  At times, he is the man I love.

  Other times, he has that implacable look. The one that… kills.

  Bubble burst in during what was supposed to be the "night" cycle, waking Jennel and Alan abruptly. His apologies came rapid-fire, an unusual hint of distress lacing his synthetic voice. His agitation betrayed the gravity of the situation.

  "There is an emergency!" he announced, almost frantic.

  The Xi combat group was under a massive frontal assault by an Arwien penetration force, numerically and militarily superior.

  The Xi were fighting fiercely, but despite the deployment of several dozen reinforcements, their defensive line was crumbling rapidly.

  "They will not hold much longer before total collapse," Bubble warned.

  Alan and Jennel exchanged a quick glance before rushing out of their bunk, slipping into their uniforms in record time.

  "Battle details, now!" Alan ordered as he buttoned his collar.

  Bubble instantly transmitted the latest tactical data, projecting a real-time hologram into the room.

  While dressing hastily, Alan fired off additional questions:

  "Status of forces, enemy strength?"

  Bubble responded immediately:

  "Approximately 170 Arwien ships remaining. Mercenary ships left at last update: 61 Xi (11 lost), 37 others (24 lost)."

  Less than thirty minutes later, 56 combat-ready Terran ships performed a hyper-quantum transfer. The duration was relatively short compared to previous missions, a sign that the Arwien force had launched a deep strike.

  Alan assessed the deep-space battle zone. No planets, nothing. A direct engagement. No strategy could be defined until they arrived.

  As the Terran fleet exited hyper-space, the battlefield unfolded in all its brutal reality.

  A myriad of explosion flashes tore through the void, illuminating the shattered carcasses of drifting ships. Beams of light streaked in all directions, energy blasts cutting through the darkness in scorching arcs, while torpedoes erupted in silent bursts of blue and red fire.

  The mercenary ships had formed a spherical defense, a last bastion against the storm of destruction crashing upon them. The Xi, despite suffering heavy losses, maneuvered with agility, their ships executing precise evasions while retaliating at full power. The reinforcements, hastily deployed, tried to establish a more cohesive defensive line.

  Alan took a deep breath and activated a direct inter-nanite transmission to all mercenary vessels, breaking the traditional engagement protocols enforced by the Gulls.

  "This is Alan, commander of the Terran fleet. We are coordinating the attack. Stop scattering."

  The channel opened to the Xi forces and other mercenaries.

  On the tactical hologram, Alan observed their positions.

  The Xi ships were rotating in a circular formation around the spherical core held by the reinforcements, sweeping their fire in a continuous motion. A survival tactic, but not enough to win.

  "Commander Xi, stop the rotation. Focus your attack on the right flank identified on screen."

  A calm yet tense voice responded: Commander Xi Mano.

  "Stop the rotation? We’ll be too exposed."

  "Not if we concentrate the threat on a single front. Do it immediately. I’ll take responsibility."

  A tense silence, then on the hologram, Alan saw the Xi fleet slowing their movement, adjusting their formation.

  "Reinforcement groups, attack the left flank identified on screen. Flank them, isolate their units."

  Confirmations poured in. Alan turned to Jennel and A?ssatou. Then, he commanded the AI:

  "Spearhead assault from above. Torpedo barrage below."

  The AI and tactical operators translated the orders into precise trajectories, executing the deployment in seconds. The Terran fleet surged forward in a brutal charge, their ships accelerating at full power toward their targets.

  The Xi, following orders, focused their fire, piercing through enemy lines with deadly precision. The Arwiens, destabilized by the sudden halt of the rotation strategy and the simultaneous flank assault, tried to reorganize, but it was already too late.

  The Terran spearhead penetrated deep into enemy ranks, shattering their formation. The battle was turning.

  The Terran fleet maintained a staggered formation, keeping the largest number of units in the rear, creating a firepower corridor that struck with precision while limiting direct exposure to close combat.

  Alan analyzed the tactical hologram and ordered firmly:

  "Two fragmentation missile salvos on the enemy’s north and south formations."

  The launchers activated instantly, unleashing a rain of destructive projectiles toward the enemy lines. Despite Arwien countermeasures, several enemy ships were hit.

  Silent explosions flared in the void, some ships shattering into fragments, while others, severely damaged, lost maneuverability.

  On the Xi’s front, the situation rapidly shifted. The Arwiens, under overwhelming pressure, began to retreat, attempting to escape via hyper-quantum transfer.

  On the holographic display, Alan watched their energy signatures surge before they suddenly vanished into hyperspace.

  Then, the retreat spread across the entire enemy fleet. In a matter of moments, the battlefield fell silent, leaving only floating wreckage and the last fading sparks of dying ships.

  Alan scanned the bridge and locked eyes with A?ssatou. She raised three fingers.

  Three Terran ships destroyed.

  He acknowledged the loss in silence, his gaze shifting to the hologram, where the positions of the lost vessels still lingered like ghostly echoes.

  Then, he turned to Jennel.

  She seemed frozen, her eyes distant, lost in an unfathomable inner reflection.

  A slight furrow of his brow betrayed his concern.

  He called her softly: "Jennel?"

  She blinked, as if waking from a trance, and murmured in a troubled voice:

  "That was the first dream."

  Alan grasped the weight of her words— and what they implied.

  He nodded, then shifted his focus back to the tactical hologram.

  The three lost ships had held their ground until the end, enduring the full force of enemy fire before being annihilated.

  A heavy silence hung over the bridge.

  Everyone had witnessed those ships explode. Everyone knew what it meant.

  A?ssatou, still tense, spoke gravely:

  "They fought until the end. We could have lost far more."

  Alan nodded, but his gaze remained dark.

  "And we will lose more."

  A?ssatou lifted her head.

  "This was a test."

  Alan turned sharply toward her.

  "A test?"

  A?ssatou nodded, her jaw tight.

  "The Gulls wanted to see what we were truly capable of. Until now, we’ve only been hitting secondary targets—scouts, ambushes. We could manipulate the terrain.

  This? This was a direct engagement. A full battle. And we won."

  "At what cost?" Jennel murmured.

  Alan’s attention snapped to a series of flashing points on the holographic display.

  He observed for a moment, then turned to A?ssatou.

  "You see that?"

  A?ssatou ran a quick analysis.

  "Our allies. They're finishing off the Arwien ships that couldn’t escape."

  Alan clenched his jaw. It was a common mercenary practice, but it didn’t sit right with him.

  He opened a general channel.

  "This is Alan of Sol. Prohibited, I repeat, prohibited to execute remaining Arwien ships. Immediate return to base for repairs and resupply."

  A brief silence followed. This was an order he wasn’t supposed to give.

  Officially, he had no authority over other mercenary groups.

  Yet, slowly but surely, the allied units ceased their slaughter and reformed into a departure formation.

  "Sol?" Jennel said with a small smile.

  "That’s what they say in sci-fi novels, right?" Alan replied.

  "Such culture!"

  The AI interrupted them.

  "Incoming holographic communication from Commander Xi Mano for Commander Alan."

  Alan expected this.

  The holographic image of Xi Mano appeared, as composed and elegant as ever.

  With measured calm, she declared:

  "Commander Alan of Sol, your swift intervention was effective. Your strategy reversed a difficult situation and secured our victory. However, I must note that you have disregarded two engagement protocols imposed by our… common hosts."

  She let a brief silence hang in the air before continuing, with the diplomatic finesse characteristic of the Xi:

  “The first point concerns the coordination of units outside your direct command. The second, the prohibition of leaving adversaries in retreat. These rules were established with a clear intent, and yet, you have chosen a different path. Should I infer a new interpretation of our operational framework?”

  Alan allowed himself a faint smile. Xi Mano was testing his intentions. He chose to respond in the same measured tone:

  “Let’s just say that the protocols imposed by the Gulls are beginning to lack flexibility. Sometimes, they need a bit of fresh air.”

  A flicker of amusement crossed Xi Mano’s gaze before she inclined her head slightly.

  “An interesting perspective. I will take note of it.”

  The communication cut off.

  Alan leaned against the edge of his command station and gave his next order:

  “Defensive formation—we’re crossing the battlefield.”

  A?ssatou raised an eyebrow.

  “Why not a direct transfer?”

  Alan turned his head toward her, a determined glint in his eyes.

  “Look closely at our ships, A?ssatou. Each unit has two ‘S’ marks engraved on its hull.”

  She glanced at the external surveillance screen, where the emblem was clearly visible on each ship’s plating.

  “The Arwiens need to see this. They need to understand that a group is distinguishing itself by its actions.”

  A?ssatou slowly nodded, grasping the intent behind this maneuver. Alan wanted to send a message not just to the Arwiens, but to all forces involved.

  The Terran fleet slowly advanced across the silent battlefield. Dislocated wrecks drifted in the dark abyss, their hulls blackened by battle, some still flickering with faint energy remnants. Fields of metallic debris shimmered in the starlight, the remnants of a battle that had altered far more than tactical positions on a display.

  Silence dominated the bridge, punctuated only by technical transmissions and brief exchanges between crew members. Everyone knew this passage was not just routine. Each wreckage told the story of those who would never return.

  In the shifting shadows of space, several Arwien survival pods blinked faintly, some spinning slowly, others motionless, their hulls frozen by the void. A?ssatou marked them on the tactical hologram.

  “Many are still alive.”

  Alan simply nodded.

  “We are not here to finish them off. But we are not here to save them either.”

  The ships continued their slow advance.

  Beyond the ashes of battle, something had changed.

  This was no longer just a war between mercenaries and enemies.

  This was a struggle for a different way of fighting.

  A different way of surviving.

  And everyone was watching.