In ancient history, it’s often called ‘crossing the Rubicon’ when one takes a step beyond the point of no return. In future, perhaps they will look back at our guiding him to Hellas as Graecia’s Rubicon—perhaps even humanity’s Rubicon. They would be wrong. The point of no return was not taking him to Graecia, it was failing to end him the moment we had an inkling of what he might have been, as implausible or improbable as it was. I was the one who declared he was no threat. I was the one who vouchsafed his stay. In the end, I will be the one solely responsible for the end of mankind as we knew it.

  The journey toward Hellas proved far less eventful after the sight of the King Alexander and its escort fleet, and it was only when the shuttle was truly closing in toward the planet over an hour later that Arthur realized something had been bothering him since the pass over the Ascendancy’s flagship.

  “Atreus, I have a question.” Arthur said while turning to look where the black-amored Myrmidón maintained his vigil over the two Kidemónes occupying the cockpit.

  “Go ahead.” the spartan responded with a helmeted glance back.

  “It skirted past my immediate attention earlier, but now that I’ve had time to reflect, I need to know… how did the shuttle slow without contravening thrust?” It had been bothering him since he’d noticed it, though he’d only just fully realized what it was that had been nagging at his mind.

  While quite far ahead of ancient technology like chemical or even ion thrusters, Plasma-based propulsion was still relatively constricted by the laws of physics in that—to the best of Arthur’s knowledge—they could not properly create an inverse thrust strong enough to bleed momentum in a vacuum. With no air resistance to speak of in space, it was thereby required that all ships equipped with such technology make a ‘turnover’.

  In essence, they pivoted 180 degrees in space to face their thrusters toward their destination at the halfway mark, and used the same thrust that had accelerated them to instead slow them down gradually, reaching ‘zero relative thrust’ upon reaching their destination.

  The shuttle had not done any such manoeuvre when slowing to give him a view of the King Alexander.

  It was utterly perplexing.

  “I had wondered if you’d even noticed.” Atreus admitted without an immediate answer, though he did turn to regard Arthur properly. “In truth I was worried you weren’t nearly as skilled an engineer as we’d hoped. I am pleased to see my assumption was incorrect.”

  “Thanks for the faith.” Arthur said dryly. “Though that isn’t an answer, Atreus.”

  “I suppose it is not.” Atreus said with a hint of amusement. “Very well. I am not familiar with the scientific principles behind the technology, but the essence of it is a form of spatial manipulation. Special additions to the drives create an intangible ‘mass anchor’ at the rear of the ship, and force a rapid—by the standards of space flight—deceleration.”

  “A mass anchor? Huh…”

  Arthur’s mind puzzled over the concept after Atreus’ explanation, and he found himself genuinely surprised. He had expected something far more rudimentary like forward-facing thrust cones, but not something he’d never even heard of. Even the Grand Imperium hadn’t invented a means to decelerate a vessel at speed reliably until they’d started breaching the realms of Graviton technology.

  The more Arthur thought about it, though, the more it made sense.

  Much like the wet navy vessels of old Terra, the Graecians had in essence recreated the idea of a deployed ‘anchor’ to slow or even hold in place a starship. The fact it was both intangible and only affected the vessel from which it was spawned only served to confuse Arthur further.

  He had the knowledge needed to create a suitably powerful Eidolon, but the idea of a ‘mass anchor’ was not part of his own scientific understanding. The advantages of a gene-enhanced memory made it so that ‘forgetting’ was an impossibility, other than cases where external influence—like the Inquisitor’s—forced a lapse. He may not have immediate recollection, but he knew that he could access anything he’d learned, experienced, or otherwise with enough focus.

  The fact he had no recollection of a ‘mass anchor’ led him to an interesting thought.

  It might actually have been a genuine first in terms of galactic innovation throughout the known nations of the humanosphere, and that alone was worthy of immense praise.

  It also put the sheer might of the Ascendancy into better perspective, when viewed from the lens of their preferred style of stellar warfare within their sector of space. They never needed to expose their vessels to danger with ‘turnover’, and as such could fearlessly engage any foe with neither hesitation nor concern for their entirely forward-and-broadside vessel designs.

  It also held the potential for an entirely new lane of technological development outside of the usual path of Plasma, Impulse, Antimatter, Dark Matter and Graviton technologies.

  Not that he actually remembered the specifics of the latter three.

  Arthur immediately had to wonder if the Ascendancy even realized that they’d innovated something completely outside the scope of expected development or not, and couldn’t help but to shake his head in disbelief.

  The idea of mass manipulation brought up incredible possibilities.

  “I can see that you have an appreciation for the technology.” Atreus said suddenly. “That is good. If we can garner that much surprise from a Fringe-trained engineer, then perhaps the technology truly is worth exploring.”

  “It absolutely is.” Arthur said with a partially distracted amount of excitement. “The possibilities that mass manipulating technology opens are… Well, they’re multitudinous! You could invalidate the usual constraints of shipbuilding! You could actually make use of Neutronium!”

  That alone would be a victory outside the scope. The manner of creating Neutronium had been understood for centuries, but its density, weight, and incredible mass made it impossible to work with as more than the body of a Warp Anchor, or the rare piece of redundant hull on a star fortress—and even then, it required extensive thinning and a minimum station mass in the megatonnes to be even feasible.

  If the Ascendancy managed to find a way to reduce the effective mass of the neutron star material, they could create ships that even outer Verge powers would have to take seriously. Ships that would let them completely outclass everyone and everything their peer powers anywhere in the Rim could field.

  They wouldn’t be enough to do more than slightly even the playing field against the Mantle and major Verge powers, or the Grand Imperium whose technology had already surpassed the need for things like super-alloys; but against Rim or Fringe nations?

  Neutronium warships would be a complete upending of the galactic power dynamic.

  Arthur couldn’t help but whistle in disbelief at the prospect.

  The Coreblood in him knew that the Imperium would almost certainly be investigating such a development with critical assessment, especially if the Imperator’s intelligence network wasn’t already aware of the Graecian innovation—but another part of him, the newer blend of both Arthurs, wondered at the what he’d learned from his conversations with Endymion and Perseus.

  Would the Imperator even care, given how far the Rim was?

  Terra certainly seemed content to let the usual enforcement of peace lapse considerably across the Rim and Frontier, even with their intercession against the Kariston Confederacy—which Arthur had later learned had more to do with the fact they were actively trying to raise resistance to Terran supremacy.

  The Imperator would not tolerate overt challenge. Mass Manipulation technology, though… Well, that was more ambivalent.

  “We’re approaching the Iris, Arthur.”

  Arthur’s attention snapped back to Atreus while the spartan continued.

  “Come and see, if you wish for a better view.”

  Curiosity and interest as to why the Myrmidón would make the offer warred with patented disinterest over seeing yet another Docking Iris within Arthur, until finally curiosity won out. Arthur let his straps retract a moment later, and stood to make his way to the unsealed access hatch leading to the shuttle’s cockpit.

  Atreus stepped aside to let him pass, and Arthur came to a halt with his hands on the back of Endymion’s chair.

  What he saw dashed his thoughts of ‘yet another Iris’ almost entirely.

  It wasn’t just the Iris he’d been invited to see. It was Hellas itself.

  The superhabitable world was a colossal ball of life that seemed to shine with vitality. Its seas were a beautiful shade of sapphire in some places, and a radiant type of emerald in others; clear and free of even the hints of industrial pollutants that obfuscated the skies of some other heavily developed worlds.

  Its three landmasses were a mix of greens, browns, whites and even reds from orbit; with the greenery being the predominant shade of color across nearly seventy percent of their visible surface. This close to the planet, only a third of the total landmass of the planet was visible at all—with only the lower fifth of the topmost one discernible.

  Hellas, due to its size, had a forty-eight hour day cycle from what Arthur had read—one that was accounted for by simple creature comforts to simulate night time within dwellings, and artificial sunlight to light up cities even through the long nights. It was that same cycle that allowed Arthur to take in a barely-moving view of the majestic world that the Ascendancy had claimed as its capital.

  “Even living here all my life, it still never ceases to amaze me when I see it.” Perseus said conversationally from his right.

  “It’s beautiful.” Arthur admitted genuinely. “I expected to see more ice up north, though.”

  “It’s much more visible from closer to the poles.” Perseus explained. “We’re toward the lower part of the equator at present. We may be able to take you to visit one of the ski resorts at a later date.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “That would be pretty nice.” Arthur said with a laugh. “Though I might embarrass myself.”

  “Unlikely, with those Eidolon reflexes.” Endymion snorted in disbelief.

  Perseus laughed, and even Atreus grunted in amusement.

  “How harsh is the gravity?” Arthur asked with another smile.

  “Roughly twice Terran-standard. We usually keep off-worlders in the tourist areas with gravitational equalizers, but the locals have mostly adapted to the change.”

  “What about where we’re going?”

  “House Leos sits on an island off the southernmost peninsula of Laconia.” Endymion explained gruffly. “They very specifically don’t have one because they believe in authentic experiences.”

  “No need to pretend you are concerned, Arthur.” Atreus said while stepping up behind Perseus and resting a hand on the younger Kidemónes seatback. “Your gene-tailoring probably allows you to move freely in up to three times Earth’s gravity, does it not?”

  Arthur’s mind filled with knowledge the moment Atreus said it, and he nodded automatically.

  “It does.”

  In truth, Zacaris’ memories told him even six times gravity wouldn’t be too much.

  “Then you will be fine.” Atreus said simply.

  “And Graecians are born for it!” Perseus added in with a laugh. “We were adapted early.”

  “Higher muscle mass and bone density, right?” Arthur asked conversationally. “I’ve read about initial colonization. The geneticists that came with the Olympus colony ship didn’t want to give up on Hellas despite the force of gravity, so they engineered micro-tailoring as soon as they could.”

  Perseus laughed. “Very true. The first decade was miserable for the colonists, though. The VidLogs are pretty damn clear about that.”

  “Our people are stronger than the average human in the cluster, but do not grow very tall.” Atreus added in calmly. “You will need to remember that and be polite in how you interact with others, Arthur. If you are seen to be lording your height over the common people, it will create problems for your sponsors in House Leos.”

  Arthur’s mind worked at that problem calmly before he responded. “Keep a step back, lower my center of gravity, talk to them side-on and try to avoid looming?”

  “Now you’re thinking!” Perseus said with an approving chuckle. “Gotta account for us short stacks, Arthur!”

  “You’re not that short.” Arthur said with a glance at the Kidemónas.

  “Not that short, he says.” Endymion grunted in amusement.

  “Arthur.” Perseus said jovially. “It isn’t as if none of us have noticed you have half a foot on even Atreus, and he’s considered quite tall by Graecian standards.”

  “Oh.”

  “The average Graecian height is 5’9 for men, and 5’3 for women.” Atreus said simply. “You will need to remember that during your time with the Ascendancy. As your volunteer guide to our culture, your failure to understand these things will reflect on me poorly if you fail to understand.”

  “That explains why you’re being so forthcoming.” Arthur said with an appraising look at the taciturn Myrmidón.

  “I take my obligations seriously.” Atreus stated firmly.

  To that, Arthur could only smile. It was strange, but he had a feeling that the Spartan's words were as close to ‘I do not disdain you’ as Arthur was probably going to directly hear.

  “Are you enjoying the flight so far, Arthur?” Perseus asked a short time later while they began to more sharply vector through thickening traffic.

  “Very much.” Arthur said with a grin. “You’re a good pilot, Perseus.”

  “Ha! I know. That’s why Endymion makes me do all the flying. He claims it’s because of seniority, but he really just hates to fly.”

  The only response from the older Kidemónas was a shake of his helmeted head and a disapproving click of his tongue, though it lacked the same bite as earlier reprimands. Perhaps Perseus had hit the proverbial nail on the head.

  Outside of the projected viewscreen of the cockpit the spaceborne traffic had become a dizzying spectacle of thruster lights and patrolling stellar ships as the Ascendancy Royal Navy’s orbital patrols organized the hundreds of starships seeking entry to the system capital and settled many into safe holding patterns.

  This close to the planet, it was primarily Corvettes and Frigates that did the proverbial heavy lifting, accompanied by fighter patrols acting as direct-contact and eyes-on security for any potential threats or unwanted visitors within the milling tide of arriving vessels.

  That was only half the picture, though.

  While the incoming traffic was organized to their right, the outgoing traffic was organized to their left, and though it was only half as populated; it was clear that such an event was largely due to how smoothly the planetary controllers were coordinating the movements.

  That was largely thanks to the intricate network of tachyon relays spread throughout the system and linked into a central receiver array built on the surface of Hellas itself, Arthur knew. The array, if it were anything like those on other planets, would have an entire city’s worth of power generation dedicated solely to its operation—and a literal city of staff, defenders, and maintainers whose singular purpose was the immense structure’s continued operation.

  Every planet had a SYSCOM—System Communications Array—somewhere within the heart, which allowed it to transmit in real-time to everything up to and slightly beyond a star system’s Calypso points, outside of the Heliosphere.

  Without such technology, even the most rudimentary communications between in-system planets and starships would take hours.

  Arthur knew better than to ask where the Ascendancy’s SYSCOM was located, however. That information was hardly relevant to him, and more than that was considered a faux pas in most civilized star systems. It was like asking someone where their vital weak points were.

  “Incoming transmission from the docking authority.” Perseus said abruptly. “They’re hailing us.”

  “So late?” Arthur asked.

  “We sent the flight path ahead, but there’s too much traffic to worry about us until we’re in range.” Perseus explained without missing a beat. “Besides, Kidemónes vessels sometimes like to take random detours. The Iris authority won’t bother with most ships until they’re close enough to bother with. The Navy handles the ones outside that scope.”

  “Put it on screen.” Atreus commanded.

  “Yes, sir.” Perseus replied dutifully while reaching out to flick one of a multitude of switches on his console.

  The image of a professional brunette woman with a uniform very similar to that of the Asfalís police officers appeared in the center of the screen, and she swept the four of them with alert eyes. Her gaze settled briefly on Arthur in what he registered as genuine surprise before moving to instead focus on Atreus, at which point he saw her visibly stiffen when the Myrmidón’s presence fully registered.

  “Αρχοντα? Μυρμ?δ?νε?! Δεν ενημερωθ?καμε ?τι θα ?σουν—”

  “Per design, Anthypoploiarchós—” a rank which Arthur mentally translated as ‘First Lieutenant’ in English “—and as was necessary. Your lack of information on my travel plans should be as expected, given the necessities of my station. Are we clear to proceed into the Iris?”

  Another look of surprise stole over the woman at what Arthur assumed was Atreus’ very intentional use of English, and she glanced at Arthur again in clear wonder before turning back to the Myrmidón. “Yes, my lord.” She responded in kind. “There are three vessels currently making the transition, but the restricted lane is free of traffic per your request. The Navy didn’t like it, but—”

  “I’m sure you handled them admirably.” Atreus said coldly. “That will be all, Anthypoploiarchós.”

  The woman snapped a salute at Atreus’ clear dismissal. “My lord.”

  The line terminated a moment later, and Arthur glanced at the tall Spartan thoughtfully.

  “You’re pretty terrifying, aren’t you?”

  “When I need to be.” Atreus responded in a tone that was almost amused.

  “I’m going to need to brush up on my Greek.” Arthur said half to himself.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have a proper translator device yet.” Perseus said from nearby while manoeuvring the shuttle.

  The knowledge hit him this time like a freight train, and Arthur knew that he didn’t have one because he’d never needed it in the Core—where English and Terran were mandatory tongues—and had not had time to correct the lack during his journey to Aurelia, and subsequent linking up with the Enterprising Fortune. That was partially thanks to Aurelia’s own language preferences, of course.

  “It was never necessary in Aurelia.” Arthur said a moment after the memory crash settled. “The mother tongue there is English, and the only other thing spoken nearly as much is French. Both languages are similar enough that I never needed to worry about it.”

  “Greek is absolutely not similar to English.” Perseus laughed.

  “It definitely isn’t.” Arthur agreed.

  “A translator device will be waiting for us when we land.” Atreus said simply. “I’ve sent the message ahead. It was an oversight none of us caught.”

  “I see.” Arthur said with a glance at the Myrmidón, and a nod. “Thanks, Atreus.”

  The tall Myrmidón simply grunted in response and Arthur turned his attention back to the viewscreen while their destination drew closer.

  The Iris.

  Focusing on it for the first time, Arthur had to admit that the Graecians had built their version of the universal construct with style. Two massive steel renditions of both Leonidas and Pericles—the namesakes of both the Kings of Hellas—lay on either side of the Iris’ ‘space-side’ ring, and ‘atop’ the Iris relative to Hellas’ northern pole lay a beautiful rendition of the ancient goddess Hestia, the lady of the hearth and home.

  It was a beautiful example of culture married to form.

  The Iris itself was a colossal ring structure that lay in permanent fixed position above a planet, held in place by the immense power of the world’s protective shield. The diameter of the circle was close to ten kilometers, and the thickness of the metal was such that even the King Alexander would have trouble damaging it in a meaningful way without considerable time and focused effort.

  Its outer layer sat ‘atop’ the shield by way of frequency-plating that allowed the alloy it was built from to ‘match’ the unique signature of a planet’s shield, thereby allowing it to make contact without being summarily detonated by the raw energy.

  For the purpose of security, there were quadrillions of different frequencies for a planetary shield’s energy signature, and even within those quadrillions lay pentillions of different combinations one might use to make it further unique.

  For that reason, deciphering the frequency of a planet’s shield—and thereby making it useless—was essentially impossible, even with the most powerful military-grade AI in the humanosphere working at it for a hundred years straight.

  While the top of the Iris, a circular structure not unlike a massive gate with three shielded ‘prongs’ extended into the void sat atop the shield, its lower half was partially submerged inside the shield—which was an energy barrier several dozen meters thick. This lower half of Iris formed an accessible ‘gate’ around its interior, which was safe from the effects of the planetary shield and could allow traffic to move freely in and out of the planet’s protective blanket.

  That was not to say that the Iris itself was lacking in defenses.

  Enough plasma turrets, point-defense batteries, and electromagnetic rail cannons were built into the ‘prongs’ and outer circle of the entrance point. At a moment’s notice, the Iris could unleash a fusillade of fire strong enough to kill capital ships in moments—and that was to say nothing of the two lunar fortresses orbiting protectively around the shielded planet even then.

  All told, the Iris was both the single most vulnerable point to a planet’s defenses, and its single most vital point of control. If the Iris were destroyed or rendered inoperable, the only conceivable way to escape from Hellas would be to disable the shield from the planet’s surface, which would open the entire world not simply to the possibility of mass invasion and bombardment; but potential catastrophe in the form of forgotten kinetic munitions or random spaceborne debris.

  Even starships accelerating too fast toward its surface.

  The planetary shields had been a crucial necessity for interstellar colonization, especially after more than one human world had been killed by each of the aforementioned cataclysmic occurrences several times in their species’ history.

  The age of interstellar madness, during the Transhumanist-Geneticist wars of the 22nd Century, had taken lives in the tens of billions before the end.

  “We’re being guided into the priority access line at the top of the Iris, my lord.” Perseus reported while the shuttle soared toward the only accessible entrance to Hellas.

  “Take us in, Andino.”