The Gull base stood in the emptiness of space, an unfinished monolith, a remnant of an aborted expansion project. Its purpose had been to widen the front and stretch the Arwian defense lines, but fate had decided otherwise.

  Its defenses, though present, were not designed for a large-scale assault. The armored walls housed incomplete defense batteries, underpowered energy turrets, and half-filled hangars of loyalist fighters whose systems were still being calibrated. This was not a fortress. It was a target.

  Around the base, a motley fleet clustered in a chaotic dance. Ships of all origins, relics of vanished or subjugated civilizations, formed a fragile curtain around the structure. Only the Gull ships, few in number, retained any real uniformity, their smooth, dark hulls standing in stark contrast to the clumsy diversity of the loyalists.

  But they all knew their chances were slim. They were no longer a true fighting force, just survivors. Yet they would fight to the end. Because they had no other choice. Because they still hoped for a miracle, a stroke of providential luck that could turn the tide of battle.

  A miracle that never came.

  Alan’s fleet emerged from hyper-quantum transfer like a spatial hurricane, materializing as a wall of steel and energy at close range to the base.

  Enemy sensors went wild, loyalist communications plunged into absolute chaos. Nearly six hundred ships deployed their massive structures in a compact formation, immediately locking down half the battlefield.

  The surprise was total.

  Panic spread through the enemy ranks. Some loyalists spun their ships frantically, searching for an escape route. Others, more disciplined, attempted to regroup around the base, hoping to turn it into a stronghold.

  Alan observed the tactical hologram. He gave only one order:

  "Slow advance. Push them back."

  The fleet moved forward.

  The loyalists tried to contain the advance, unleashing a barrage of fire, but their shots were like raindrops against an approaching storm.

  The Terran cruisers flanked the front line, deploying their shields at full power and structuring the attack groups, while the Xi, precise and ruthless, eliminated priority targets with clinical efficiency.

  The Zirkis, for their part, dove straight into the chaos, forcing brutal close-quarters combat, leaving no escape for the unfortunate adversaries caught in their wake.

  The loyalists fell back.

  They attempted to take refuge behind the base’s weak defenses.

  But the defenses were not ready.

  They had never been designed for an immediate siege, let alone against a force as disciplined and ferocious as this.

  The base’s heavy batteries opened fire. But their shots were sporadic, poorly calibrated, their projectiles shattering harmlessly against the optimized shields of the attackers.

  It was a methodical execution. A slaughter.

  Alan stared at his screen, his eyes reflecting the cold glow of the tactical hologram. He knew the battle was won in advance, but he wanted to finish it unequivocally.

  Suddenly, an alert appeared.

  A new player was entering the game.

  A massive hyper-quantum jump inbound.

  Alan narrowed his eyes.

  Hundreds of energy signatures stabilized in the other half of the battlefield.

  "New contacts!" the tactical operator announced. "Arwian fleet!"

  Jennel flinched.

  A?ssatou checked the identification codes. These were not loyalist reinforcements.

  Alan inhaled slowly.

  The situation had just shifted from an offensive to an extermination.

  The central screen projected a hologram of Admiral Arin Tar.

  Her expression was hard, unreadable.

  "Admiral Alan, may we join you?"

  A heavy silence settled over the bridge.

  Alan slowly straightened, staring at the image of the Arwian admiral, whose language he now understood. He sensed a silent tension in the room.

  Then, in a clear, unwavering voice:

  "It will be an honor to have you by our side."

  The communications between the two fleets synchronized.

  A storm of fire fell upon the base and its defenders.

  The Arwian fleet locked down the other half of the battlefield, forming an impenetrable vise with Alan’s forces. The loyalists and the Gulls were trapped.

  A deadly snare that would leave no survivors.

  The fighting was brief and merciless, but careful not to hit the new allies.

  The Gull ships, unable to adapt to this new reality, were methodically hunted down and destroyed.

  The loyalists, seeing the inevitable, attempted to surrender… but no one accepted. No one wished to spare them.

  The Gull base, gutted by crossfire, lost all control. Its structures collapsed, its overloaded reactors went into meltdown. A cataclysmic explosion illuminated the battlefield, sealing the fate of its occupants.

  Then, silence.

  It was over.

  Alan let himself sink back into his chair. He stared at the black screen where, just moments ago, the last vestiges of Gull domination had still existed.

  There was nothing left.

  Jennel exhaled slowly.

  They had won. Definitively.

  The incandescent debris of the Gull base still floated in the void as the two victorious fleets regrouped. Yet, despite the tactical cooperation that had led to this triumph, no immediate rapprochement took place.

  The Terran and Xi units gathered in a defensive arc, consolidating their positions.

  The Arwian ships, however, positioned themselves at a cautious distance, forming a barrier between their own lines and Alan’s forces. A subtle separation, but one that revealed a lingering mistrust.

  Alan took a deep breath. He observed the hologram where the ships still watched each other as if they were potential adversaries. This had to end.

  He opened a direct communication with the Arwian fleet.

  "Admiral Arin Tar, I propose a meeting. We need to talk."

  The wait was short. Arin Tar’s holographic image appeared in the central display of the bridge. Her expression was closed, hard, calculating.

  "What would be the nature of this meeting?" she asked directly.

  Alan let a second pass.

  "It is very important for the future."

  He knew he didn’t need to say more. The admiral would understand the stakes.

  Arin Tar studied him carefully.

  "Very well. I will come to your ship. After all, we are in your space."

  Alan inclined his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

  "You honor me, Admiral."

  "Very well. We are coming."

  The Arwian escort docked with Alan’s flagship twenty minutes later. The atmosphere aboard was tense as the hatches opened to admit the new guests.

  Arin Tar and Ran Dal advanced through the central corridor, straight-backed and composed, their uniforms immaculate, their gazes scrutinizing every detail of the Terran vessel.

  Alan’s crew stood at attention, forming a silent honor guard.

  Jennel and Alan waited at the entrance to the bridge, maintaining a neutral, calculated posture.

  Their eyes met.

  Arin Tar analyzed every detail of Alan, seeking to decipher the man who had disrupted the established order.

  Alan, in turn, sensed the admiral’s wariness and curiosity.

  "So this is Alan…" Arin Tar and Ran Dal thought, finally measuring the man who had shaped their defeat… and perhaps their future.

  "Admiral. Colonel." Alan greeted with measured respect.

  "Admiral." Arin Tar responded, hesitating for the briefest moment over the title.

  Jennel gestured toward a side door. "We’ve prepared a more private space for discussion."

  No further words were exchanged.

  They walked in charged silence, crossing a final corridor before entering a sober, functional room.

  A small space, without embellishments. Just a table. Four chairs. Nothing to encourage power plays.

  They took their seats.

  Arin Tar placed her hands on the table, her gaze locked onto Alan’s.

  The moment was suspended.

  The silence in the room was heavy. Alan had prepared for this meeting, had assessed the risks, but now that they were here, gathered around this austere table, he realized just how difficult it was to step into a new era.

  He swept his gaze across the room. Arin Tar was on the defensive, as if expecting a hidden maneuver. Ran Dal, on the other hand, remained impassive, but her eyes caught every nuance.

  Alan took a deep breath and spoke first:

  "We are here because the world has just shifted."

  He let his words linger, watching them resonate on the tense faces of his interlocutors.

  "A few days ago, we were enemies, forced to face each other in a war that had long surpassed us all. But we have changed the equation."

  He paused, gauging their reactions. Arin Tar had yet to respond, but he could see the rapid analysis happening behind her piercing gaze.

  "And yet, I can see that mistrust is still omnipresent. I do not blame you. I am certain that, sooner or later, it will fade. We have good reasons to believe that we can build something new."

  Arin Tar studied him intensely.

  "I can only admire your optimism, Admiral. But history has taught us that dreams are often cut down before they can become reality."

  Alan allowed a faint smile before turning to Jennel.

  "Commander Jennel de Sol, I leave it to you to justify this vision of the future."

  Jennel froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t given her time to prepare. Her gaze briefly met Alan’s, searching for his intent. He wanted her to be the one to make this announcement.

  So, she collected herself, leaned slightly on the table, and chose to start from the beginning.

  "We avoided a total massacre at the Gull complex."

  A simple, direct statement, without embellishment.

  "Of course, the battle caused massive destruction. But we preserved something essential."

  She paused, assessing the impact of her words.

  "We secured the central core of the Gull thinking machines."

  A ripple passed through the room.

  Arin Tar tensed ever so slightly.

  But it was Ran Dal who reacted first.

  She froze.

  Her gaze darkened, and for a fraction of a second, she seemed to lose her breath.

  Alan and Jennel noticed immediately.

  "We managed to reconnect with its memory banks."

  Ran Dal’s lips parted slightly. Her analytical instincts had just hit her like a shockwave.

  She understood before they even needed to say it.

  Jennel met her eyes directly and delivered the truth that would change everything:

  "We know how to deactivate the nanites."

  A crushing silence fell over the room.

  Arin Tar and Ran Dal were utterly stunned.

  They were no longer on a Terran ship. They were no longer facing former enemies.

  They were standing before the solution that their people had been waiting for, for decades.

  The weight of the revelation shattered Arin Tar’s certainties.

  Ran Dal took several seconds before she could even form a sound.

  "You… you’re sure?" she whispered.

  Jennel slowly nodded.

  "Yes."

  "You… you know how…?" Ran Dal couldn’t finish her sentences. She was still processing.

  Arin Tar, quicker to recover, clenched her fists.

  "And what do you expect from us in return?"

  Jennel placed both hands flat on the table and replied with absolute calm:

  "Nothing. We are going to share it. No conditions."

  The shock was twofold.

  The information itself was a bombshell. But it was the lack of any demand that ultimately destabilized the Arwians.

  Ran Dal cast a look at Arin Tar.

  The Admiral was frozen.

  Jennel could feel the tension in the air, but she no longer saw it as an insurmountable barrier. It was no longer distrust, it was disbelief.

  She met the two Arwian women’s eyes directly, without the slightest hesitation.

  Then, she smiled.

  "You may rejoice, my sisters, as I do."

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  The words resonated through the room.

  Arin Tar flinched slightly. Ran Dal narrowed her eyes.

  Sisters.

  The silence was as brutal as the impact of torpedoes on a cruiser’s hull.

  Jennel had just understood why Alan had let her make the announcement.

  The Arwians were a matriarchal society.

  It had to be her who spoke.

  It had to be her who opened the door.

  She straightened her shoulders, fully embracing the role that had just been placed upon her.

  "I am honored to be able to save your people. I am honored to be able to give you the freedom you deserve. But know this: we are not so different."

  She placed a hand on her chest, over the emblem of her uniform.

  "We, too, have a world to save. Sol is still there, waiting for those who have never forgotten it. And we are not the only ones. All the ex-mercenaries carried this dream in their hearts, afraid to believe in it. Today, it has become reality."

  Arin Tar and Ran Dal exchanged a glance.

  It was too much. Too many emotions. Too much of the unimaginable.

  Then Alan stood up slowly, his gaze as piercing as ever.

  "There is no enemy out there."

  Arin Tar looked up at him.

  "There is not even a fleet. There are only beings… who want to go home."

  Silence fell again.

  But this time, it was different.

  There was no more disbelief. Only the vast weight of realization.

  Arin Tar parted her lips slightly, then closed them again, searching for words.

  Finally, her voice was almost timid as she asked:

  "These… these data. Can they be transmitted to our world?"

  Alan met her gaze, honest, almost warm.

  "They will be. Before you even return to your ship."

  Ran Dal took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.

  Arin Tar stood up, her movement slightly hesitant, as if her own body had yet to realize what it was doing.

  She looked at Alan, then at Jennel, then finally at Ran Dal.

  Then she straightened fully, inhaling deeply.

  And in a low, rough voice, still marked by the shock, she murmured a single word of thanks.

  A simple word.

  A simple breath.

  But it carried the full weight of history.

  Ran Dal said nothing.

  She merely placed a friendly hand on Jennel’s shoulder.

  And in that gesture, without another word, Jennel understood.

  Everything had just changed.

  Events unfolded without haste, yet with undeniable determination.

  Alan’s fleet, now strengthened by a newfound legitimacy, moved to the Gull complex. It was no longer an enemy stronghold but a future nerve center for post-war organization.

  The Tools, tireless and servile machines, worked relentlessly. Their tasks were manifold: restoring damaged structures, reorganizing living quarters, and most importantly, creating new command sectors.

  Alan was determined to keep the complex operational.

  Not only because it represented a significant strategic advantage, but also because it had now become a rallying point for liberated forces.

  The Arwians, however, showed little interest in the sector. They gradually withdrew their squadrons, dispersing them to bases further back within the Imperium.

  Arin Tar herself had insisted on this point:

  "We have won the war, Alan de Sol. But now, our people must learn to live without it."

  A simple statement, yet heavy with meaning.

  Meanwhile, the first nanite deactivators were being developed.

  This effort was overseen by joint Arwian teams, working for both sides: proof that distrust was beginning to fade.

  Alan could have entrusted the task to the Tools. Their precision and speed suggested they could have mass-produced the deactivators in record time.

  But he chose not to.

  He played a different card.

  The card of trust.

  The card of reconstruction.

  And within the shifting shadows of the former Gull complex, between floating walkways and repurposed halls, a new galactic order was being born.

  Not everyone followed the same path.

  Some groups, few but resolute, deserted the fleet. They had no illusions about the future of their devastated and contaminated worlds, and simply lost beyond any hope of recovery. They chose instead to vanish into the depths of space, seeking a destiny no longer tied to this war.

  The others waited.

  They waited for the deactivators, of course. But they also waited for direction, for purpose, for something that would give meaning to this newfound freedom.

  And the idea came from the Xi.

  They were not alone. Other, more discreet races had also proposed an interplanetary union, an alliance among those who had survived, those who had fought, those who had suffered.

  They had one thing in common: they had seen their worlds reduced to dust.

  Alan observed this emerging movement with satisfaction.

  He had not sought to involve himself directly, cautious about his own role in this reconstruction. But he knew it was inevitable.

  A Confederation of Planets was being born.

  Now remained the most delicate issue:

  How should it be structured?

  How could they reconcile traditions, cultures, and mindsets that were sometimes diametrically opposed?

  Discussions dragged on. Some civilizations clung to tribal systems, others to councils of elders, and others still to ancient monarchies.

  But one point quickly reached consensus.

  A leader was needed.

  A guide, a unifier, a pillar, someone who could embody the Confederation without overpowering it.

  Each race had a slightly different vision of this role.

  The Terrans, accustomed to democratic systems, spoke of a President.

  The Xi proposed a First Mediator, responsible for maintaining balance and facilitating collective decisions.

  The Zirkis, loyal to their warrior culture, suggested a Grand Strategist. One who had proven their worth in battle and who would lead the Confederation to lasting strength.

  And when the time came to nominate a candidate, there was no surprise.

  The same name came up again and again: Alan de Sol.

  But Alan had never pursued such a destiny.

  Since the day he had met Jennel, his only goal and perhaps his only reason for fighting and surviving was to save the woman he loved.

  And to do that, he had to save Earth.

  To restore it. To free it.

  He no longer wanted to be a war leader, nor an interplanetary ruler.

  He wanted to go home.

  But could he refuse?

  The eyes fixed on him were full of expectation.

  The Xi, with their ancient wisdom, watched him gravely.

  The Zirkis, impatient and ambitious, saw in him the spearhead of a new power.

  The Terrans waited for a guide, a beacon of hope. Someone to lead them back to their lost world.

  And Jennel.

  Jennel watched him silently, but he knew that look.

  She already knew what he was going to do.

  A few days earlier.

  Jennel crossed her arms, leaning against the back of the couch, watching Alan pace restlessly around their apartment. He prowled like a caged predator.

  "You’re making me dizzy, love."

  Alan stopped for half a second to shoot her an exasperated look, then resumed his relentless pacing.

  "Do you have any idea what’s about to land on me?" he growled.

  Jennel raised an amused eyebrow.

  "Poor Alan, victim of his own popularity."

  He came to a halt, throwing his arms in the air.

  "A little compassion, Jennel! I have a real dilemma here!"

  She tilted her head playfully.

  "And what is this terrible dilemma?"

  Alan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

  "I want to go back to Earth, to help rebuild it, to see it come back to life… but at the same time, everyone is pressuring me to take this damn role as leader of the Confederation."

  Jennel smiled gently and stood up, stepping toward him.

  "You can do both, Alan. As long as you surround yourself with the right people."

  He stared at her intently.

  "With you?" he asked.

  She tapped his cheek with a mock-serious look.

  "Me? I’m going into gardening and cooking. And I’m very serious about it."

  Alan burst into laughter, but Jennel didn’t break eye contact. He saw that she was sincere. She wanted a simple life, after all this.

  He gazed at her for a long moment, then took a deep breath.

  "Alright. I’ll accept. But not forever. Just long enough to set the Confederation on its course."

  Jennel smirked mischievously.

  "It took you all this time just to say what you had already decided."

  Alan stared at her, stunned… then laughed again.

  "Jennel de Sol, you are diabolical."

  "I know." she replied with a shrug.

  The first nanite deactivators had finally been successfully tested: a historic event observed closely by representatives of both the Confederation and the Imperium. Months of observation confirmed their effectiveness. The planets once devastated by the nanite infestation now seemed ready to begin their healing.

  Meanwhile, a provisional government was established at the Complex. A sophisticated hyperspatial communication link now connected the command center to the Imperium’s planets, ensuring fluid and constant coordination.

  A fundamental question quickly arose:

  Which planets would actually join the Confederation?

  Each world had to decide whether it wished to rebuild its infrastructure, revive its biosphere, and reclaim sovereignty.

  Restoration was now possible, but with what resources?

  The nanites were no longer an active threat, but the challenge of reconstructing what had been lost was immense. Especially for the most ravaged worlds.

  And for now, the question of population recovery had to be set aside.

  Facing this complexity, the leaders of both the Confederation and the Imperium agreed to hold a grand interstellar conference to address these foundational issues.

  The chosen location was symbolic: Drea.

  A planet undergoing terraformation, Drea perfectly embodied the hope of renewal. It was an opportunity to demonstrate that even lost worlds could be reborn.

  The Confederation’s delegation was led by Jennel de Sol, now the Confederation’s Chief Diplomat.

  Her presence embodied the will for peaceful dialogue and constructive cooperation between former enemies and new allies.

  Jennel de Sol had become much more than just a representative of the Confederation. In Arwian matriarchal society, she had gained an almost legendary status, seen as the First Contact: the one who had extended her hand, broken the cycle of war, and paved the way for a new future.

  Her image circulated throughout the Imperium, immortalized in holograms and stories that portrayed her as almost an Arwian herself. Her slightly different appearance (her dark hair and Terran features) gave her an exotic allure that only added to her prestige.

  Alan, always reluctant to accept honors, couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. He knew Jennel had never sought this recognition, but to him, she was the true architect of peace.

  Every admiring glance, every tribute paid by the Arwians, was well deserved. Over the months, she had come to understand their values, built relationships effortlessly, and become an unexpected beacon of hope for millions.

  But Jennel, for her part, experienced this sudden glory as a burden.

  "I’m not a legend, I’m just a woman who tried to do the right thing," she confided to Alan one evening, her voice weary, her eyes glistening with uncertainty.

  "You’ve done more than that," Alan replied, gently taking her hand. "You’ve given many people the will to believe again."

  Yet, her doubts persisted. She felt overwhelmed by the image others projected onto her: a visionary diplomat, a political heroine. Her human qualities (and perhaps, at this point, her Arwian ones), her natural subtlety, her quiet charm, didn’t seem to her to be enough to justify such a role.

  She forgot her gift.

  Her ability to read the intentions of others was an incredible advantage.

  Stepping onto Drea, Jennel felt a profound emotion.

  The warm, dust-laden wind carried with it the echoes of war’s scars, but also the promise of a fertile future.

  From the beginning, Jennel knew what she was asking of the Arwians was monumental. Restoring biological life on more than twenty sterilized worlds was a titanic logistical, scientific, and economic effort.

  These planets, once flourishing, had been reduced to lifeless spheres, stripped of their essence by the devastating effects of destructive nanites.

  Bringing them back to life would give the last remnants of the Confederation’s peoples a chance to return home, rebuild, and erase the scars of an endless war.

  But her requests didn’t stop there.

  She sought immediate material assistance to stabilize the Confederation’s infrastructure, supply the fleets, and support displaced populations.

  Even among newly acquired allies, the Arwians had first met these demands with reluctance.

  Jennel, however, had come prepared.

  If the Arwians hesitated to provide such aid, she had counteroffers that were impossible to ignore:

  1. The nanite deactivator, freely given. The Arwian people were indebted for this technology.

  2. Breakthroughs extracted from the Gull memory banks, including:

  ·  Advancements in bioengineering that could accelerate terraformation.

  ·  New defensive weapons to protect restored worlds and Imperium territories from future threats.

  ·  Stasis energy improvements, significantly reducing planetary energy exploitation costs.

  3. The ultimate bargaining piece: a modification to the static field that allowed hyper-quantum travel across previously unimaginable distances.

  ·  It would connect star systems separated by vast interstellar voids, even bridging the great divide between galactic arms.

  ·  It would open new regions of the galaxy for exploration, fostering peaceful expansion.

  Jennel had orchestrated her negotiation strategy with precision.

  First, she had laid out the full extent of what she expected from the Arwians, fostering initial hesitation.

  Then, step by step, she had unveiled the overwhelming advantages of the deal. Not just for the Confederation, but for the Imperium itself, presenting it as an opportunity for economic and political stability.

  Finally, almost as an afterthought, she revealed the hyper-quantum travel technology.

  Admiral Arin Tar’s expression hardened, not in skepticism, but in awe at the potential of this discovery.

  The deal was sealed with enthusiasm on both sides.

  The Arwians would provide full support for the restoration of sterilized worlds, offering resources and technology, while in return, they would gain access to priceless knowledge.

  This unprecedented success cemented Jennel de Sol as one of the most influential figures in the Confederation.

  She was now seen as the architect of rebirth.

  JENNEL

  Alright, I admit I’m a decent woman, and I can hold my own in social situations.

  But to be turned into some kind of diplomatic genius, a legend? Absolutely not!

  I just want to tend to my garden—one the size of a planet, actually.

  I want to do it with Alan, who wouldn’t have to worry about the fate of the universe. Just me.

  And maybe...