December 14, 2203 – UNS Armstrong

  "If history has taught us anything, it's that great power rarely comes without a steep price."

  I

  never expected to see anything like this with my own eyes. We were in

  the midst of analyzing the wreckage of a crashed spaceship in the

  Procyon system when our decoders stumbled upon an exceedingly strange

  entry—a reference to a mysterious object the alien crew called the

  "Rubricator." At first, it sounded like a fairy tale: an artifact said

  to grant wishes or shape reality according to its owner's will. I was

  highly skeptical, yet at the same time, I could barely contain my

  fascination.

  Our

  translators worked tirelessly to decipher the alien language—it was like

  trying to decode ancient hieroglyphics. The excitement in the team was

  palpable as we began piecing together the symbols. With considerable

  effort, we managed to gather enough fragments to understand that this

  unknown species had been desperately searching for the Rubricator. They

  spoke of "Rattenb?lge," or, according to their log entries, some sort of

  gang of thieves—"Diebesratten"—who were hot on their heels and

  determined to get their hands on the artifact at any cost.

  My

  thoughts whirled. While ancient legends in our own history reference

  powerful artifacts, we had never encountered anything quite like this

  before. A surge of curiosity stirred inside me: What if the Rubricator

  was more than a mere myth? Maybe this artifact held a secret that could

  shatter our preconceived notions and offer us unimaginable insights—yet

  until we uncovered more, it remained a riddle that fascinated and warned

  us in equal measure.

  "We're

  facing a decision," the chief technician said, looking worried. His

  voice cut through the tense hush. "Do we focus on further exploration of

  these systems, or do we devote all our resources to retrieving this

  relic?" All eyes turned to him.

  "Think

  of the historical parallels!" one colleague interjected, her eyes

  gleaming with excitement. "Just as the ancient Egyptians deciphered

  their hieroglyphics, we might be on the verge of discovering something

  that challenges our very imagination. If it truly is an immensely

  valuable artifact, we have a chance to learn something entirely new

  about alien cultures!"

  The

  security officer, arms crossed, shook his head. "It carries unforeseen

  risks," he said quietly yet firmly. "An artifact that promises power

  always attracts greed. We can't forget how we ended up here. What if we

  find it—and it falls into the wrong hands? We might unleash a

  catastrophe we can no longer control."

  An

  oppressive silence fell over the gathering. Then a young researcher,

  who had been standing quietly in a corner, cleared his throat and

  stepped forward. "What if we discover more than just a relic?" he asked,

  glancing around the room. "What if we encounter a living species with

  technology and culture far more advanced than our own? Their way of

  thinking, their science—it could eclipse our best theories. That

  wouldn't just be a scientific breakthrough; it could change our entire

  perspective on the universe. We might have to learn from them, adapt, or

  even reinvent our own civilization."

  Those

  present looked at one another—some electrified, some worried. A

  palpable tension filled the air as each person organized their thoughts.

  The young researcher's words had opened a door to possibilities that

  inspired both awe and fear.

  His

  words echoed in the ensuing silence as everyone slowly returned to

  their seats. You could almost feel the tension in the room. This was

  about more than research or security—it was about what would happen if

  humanity encountered something that could forever alter its existence.

  "We'll

  follow the clues. If the Rubricator exists, we have to find it before

  it falls into the wrong hands. Even if it turns out to be a figment of

  someone's imagination, the search will yield valuable data on alien

  cultures."

  And so we

  embarked on yet another mission whose outcome was uncertain. From the

  final log fragments, we had a rough set of coordinates leading to a

  distant system—barely charted, lying somewhere at the fringe of our star

  maps. Supposedly, there were ruins where we might find clues about the

  Rubricator's whereabouts. Whether it was a myth or a tangible miracle,

  our journey would shed light on the truth.

  January 12, 2204 – UNS Gagarin

  We've finally deciphered the mysterious Efoll system—despite its

  central pulsar, which emits intense radiation like a merciless

  conductor, creating an environment nearly hostile to life. Four long

  years in space lie behind us, each minute a battle against the infinite

  void. Now, just before the next leap into the unknown, I look back on

  all those hours filled with the spirit of research and an unwavering

  hope.

  As I write this

  log entry, I sense a subtle inkling of a turning point welling up

  inside me. Next year, I'll turn thirty—a milestone that fills me with

  gratitude and a touch of melancholy. Thoughts of our imminent jump to

  new, uncharted systems make me pause to reflect on the countless moments

  that have brought me this far."

  We

  closed the chapter on Efoll as though we had just unlocked an ancient

  secret—yet the cosmos always calls for more. The sensor data already

  revealed our next destination. I went to see Xiu, who by now was a good

  friend, and asked, "What can we expect in the new system?" She smiled

  knowingly and explained that the system was named Ofeoglia. Although it

  probably contained only a few rocky planets, we set a course there—and

  thus our next mission began.

  We

  completed the jump—the first sensor readings came pouring in. But what

  we saw made us freeze in place. Three ships belonging to the Grey

  Disciples appeared at the outer rim of the system. For a moment, the

  bridge of the UNS Gagarin went utterly still as the displays flared with

  urgent red alerts.

  "Grey

  Disciples!" Xiu Wan exclaimed when she recognized the familiar symbols

  on their hulls—the same ones we had seen on the cultist ship. My heart

  pounded, and I felt a surge of both fear and overwhelming curiosity rush

  through the room.

  We

  had no time to react before the alien ships barreled toward us,

  unstoppable. Their weapons were powered up, and a distorted, hostile

  transmission broke through:

  "Intruders! You will not disrupt our mission!"

  Xiu

  Wan acted instantly, calling for reinforcements—but we were far from a

  friendly base. The Gagarin was a research vessel, not built for combat.

  She gave the order:

  "All systems to maximum escape velocity!"

  The

  bridge shook as we fired the thrusters. A deafening roar merged with

  the high-pitched whine of energy blasts grazing our hull, while our

  shields flickered dangerously. My breath caught in my throat as the main

  display lit up in glaring red.

  "Keep the maneuvering thrusters at 120%—we need to get out of here!" Xiu Wan's voice cut through the din.

  We

  narrowly dodged the enemy salvoes and opened a hyperlane corridor. The

  Gagarin shuddered as we leapt into faster-than-light travel. For one

  agonizing moment, I feared our engines wouldn't withstand the

  damage—then, after one final brilliant flicker, we were gone.

  Seconds

  later, we emerged at a safe distance. Our systems went haywire: sparks

  flew from an overloaded console, and the pungent smell of scorched

  electronics filled the air. But we had made it—we were alive.

  Xiu

  Wan was breathing heavily, relief flickering across her face mixed with

  deep concern. "We have to report this immediately. The Grey Disciples

  are more dangerous than we thought," she said.

  I nodded, my heart still pounding. I quickly jotted down a note on my data pad:

  "2204-01-12

  – The Grey Disciples attacked us in Ofeoglia. We barely escaped.

  Whatever their 'mission' is, it's driven by fanaticism and ruthless

  force. We must warn humanity—this enemy shows no mercy."

  While

  the engineers assessed the damage and the crew recovered from the

  shock, I leaned wearily against a wall. The memory of those dazzling

  energy blasts, still burning in my mind's eye, melded with the resonant

  hum of the reactors. "We were lucky," I thought, but at the same time I

  knew: the Grey Disciples wouldn't stop at just one attack.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Xiu

  Wan immediately contacted Defense Minister Skobelewa to alert the fleet

  and request backup. In that moment, I was reminded once more of how

  small we are compared to the boundless cosmos—and how vulnerable our

  safety is when we venture into unknown territories.

  That

  day reminded us that the quest for knowledge and the fight for survival

  are never-ending. I, Elena Makarov, will continue to document every

  step of this journey—as a reminder that even in the darkest moments, a

  spark of hope endures. But..." her voice trailed off softly, "...what if

  that spark dies out? What if the darkness overwhelms us?" She looked

  down at her hands, gripping the data pad tightly. "We were fortunate

  this time, that's true. But for how much longer? The Grey Disciples...

  they're different. They know no mercy, no reason. Only that fanatic

  fervor that drives them. I'm afraid. Afraid of what's coming. Afraid

  we're not strong enough to defend ourselves." She blinked rapidly,

  holding back tears. "But I will keep writing."

  January 12, 2204 – Sol System

  I was in my control room when suddenly Xiu Wan opened the communication

  channel. Her tense, urgent voice broke the cool silence:

  "Minister

  Skobelewa, this is Xiu. The UNS Gagarin is under attack—the Grey

  Disciples are in formation and opening fire. We need backup

  immediately!"

  My gaze

  sharpened as I took in the flickering holo-displays showing alarm data

  in glowing red. The cool, almost metallic air around me seemed to

  underscore the gravity of the situation.

  "Xiu, message received," I replied firmly, my voice clear.

  She hesitated briefly, then continued:

  "Our

  shields are wavering, and the protective systems are overloaded. We're

  too far from any base—please deploy the fleet at once so we can repel

  this threat."

  I

  leaned back and scanned the data on the holo-displays. Memories of my

  early days as a chief pilot and the grueling battles in orbit mingled

  with the stark reality of the moment.

  "Xiu,

  we know we're just tiny sparks in the vastness of space," I said, the

  low hum of the reactors echoing in my ears. "But I promise you this: I'm

  giving the order to deploy the fleet immediately. Stay vigilant—every

  second counts."

  A

  flicker of determination underpinned my words as I keyed the command

  into the system. For a moment, there was silence on the line; then my

  confirmation rang out:

  "The fleet is on alert. Reinforcements are inbound. Report any developments right away."

  "Xiu,

  hold on," I concluded, keeping an eye on the final data streams. "We'll

  fend off this attack—and if the Grey Disciples return, we'll be ready."

  The

  channel closed, and in my control room, a moment of focused quiet

  settled in, broken only by the faint beeping of alarm sensors and the

  continuous drone of the reactors.

  Shortly thereafter, Xiu Wan's voice echoed again—relieved, yet still taut with tension:

  "We

  made the hyperjump. We're now at a safe distance—and able to evade the

  hostile ships. I'll keep you updated on any further developments."

  I let out a long breath as her words sank in.

  In

  the dim glow of the holo-displays, which cast long, ghostly shadows

  across the control room, the communication channel lit up once more.

  President Kaita's silhouette appeared—clear yet fleeting—overlapped by

  crimson data symbols. Even before she spoke, I sensed the weight of her

  question.

  "Ljudmila, I

  received your report. How serious is the situation in the Ofeoglia

  system? I've heard the Gagarin's distress signals."

  I

  inhaled deeply, momentarily feeling my usual composure waver. A faint

  unease told me this was more than just a tactical problem—it was about

  safeguarding all those we had pledged to protect.

  "Madam

  President, the Grey Disciples are more organized than we anticipated.

  They're putting massive pressure on our research vessels. The Gagarin

  isn't outfitted for combat, and their distress calls have reached us.

  Our fleet must act if we are to protect our mission objectives and our

  people."

  Silence

  followed. I saw concern in Kaita's eyes, along with an unwavering belief

  in what we had built together. Memories of the days when piracy and

  unrest in orbit were everyday occurrences—and of how we strove to unite

  humanity and reach for the stars—rose to the forefront of my mind.

  "So

  it's inevitable," she said quietly, tension evident in her voice. "The

  Grey Disciples won't back down. What's your plan, Ljudmila?"

  My

  heart pounded faster as I glanced at the tactical map. For a moment, I

  recalled how people once called me the "Butcher"—yet I knew we had grown

  beyond mere military might.

  "Our

  corvettes are at battle stations," I answered. "The Yangwei, Tell,

  Sturmvogel, Asimov, Yeager, and Falcata—ships specialized in defending

  our trade routes and research missions. They're on their way to the

  Ofeoglia system to neutralize the Grey Disciples. We'll cut off their

  escape and aim to minimize casualties. But..."

  I paused. Duty warred with the knowledge that genuine peace can only endure if we hold on to our humanity.

  "You hesitate, Ljudmila. What troubles you?" she asked, and I heard a hint of concern in her voice.

  A

  cool breeze from the climate systems brushed my face like a wordless

  reproach—a silent reminder that in the depths of space, every mistake

  can prove fatal.

  "I'm

  not hesitating, Madam President," I said quietly after a moment. "But I

  do want to make sure we don't forget our values. This isn't a victory

  parade; it's a defensive measure to protect lives. I will strike if

  necessary—but only to safeguard the ideals we've fought so hard to

  uphold."

  President

  Kaita nodded slowly, her hologram flickering. The lines of her face

  betrayed determination, tinged with sadness, as she replied:

  "Then

  do what must be done, Ljudmila. Keep me updated. We've come too far to

  have a fanatical cult destroy it all. Together, we are strong—united,

  we're unstoppable."

  The

  feed grew faint, her image dissolving until it vanished. For a moment, I

  breathed more freely, experiencing an odd mix of relief and rising

  responsibility. I knew that every decision I made would determine the

  fate of countless soldiers, scientists, and civilians across the stars.

  I

  ran a hand across my forehead and pressed my lips together, the faint

  beeps of the alarm sensors merging with the constant hum of the ship's

  systems.

  "Yes, Madam

  President," I murmured, even though she could no longer hear me. "We'll

  stop the Grey Disciples and protect our people. No band of fanatics will

  destroy what we've built. In a galaxy so infinitely vast and full of

  possibilities, no one stands above our humanity."

  Then

  I straightened and summoned my officer corps. The tactical map already

  showed our ships departing. In the focused hush of the control room, I

  felt that familiar tingle—the moment when you know history is being

  written, and you yourself are on the front lines. I was ready. We were

  all ready.

  February 23, 2204 – Ofeoglia System

  The subdued hum of the systems and the glaring lights of the tactical

  readouts filled the bridge of the UNS Yangwei as the Ofeoglia system

  finally came into view. The last known coordinates of the Grey Disciples

  glowed ominously red on the holo-display, and there was no turning

  back. This conflict would prove whether our defense was strong enough to

  protect our fledgling spacefaring nation.

  No

  sooner had we completed our hyperjump than the scanners picked up three

  hostile ships. Their symbols glowed blood-red on the holo-displays—the

  same emblems we knew from earlier reports: the Grey Disciples. A quiet

  murmur spread through the command center as the officers reviewed the

  data.

  "Three ships, no additional contacts," a lieutenant confirmed.

  "Confirmed," another echoed. "No further enemy signatures within range."

  All

  eyes stayed glued to the tactical map, where the six corvettes—Yangwei,

  Tell, Sturmvogel, Asimov, Yeager, and Falcata—formed up in battle

  formation. Only the muted hum of the ship's systems and the nervous

  clicking of keyboards punctuated the tense hush. Simultaneously, the

  weapon systems powered up, accompanied by a barely audible thrum.

  Suddenly,

  the Grey Disciples' ships made a move. On the holo-display, their

  energy levels spiked—clear signs that they were about to fire. My

  stomach fluttered briefly, but the orders came in crisp and controlled:

  "Concentrated fire, Formation A3!"

  The

  command resonated through the room. A heartbeat of hesitation—then

  energy beams lanced through the darkness. The Grey Disciples tried to

  scatter their formation and spread out, but they were outnumbered.

  The

  Tell and the Yeager moved in to flank them from the rear, while the

  Asimov and the Falcata pinned down those vessels that were still

  returning fire. A short yet intense exchange erupted—blinding energy

  salvos, shimmering shields, showers of sparks radiating from the enemy.

  Within minutes, the balance of power became apparent: The Grey

  Disciples' ships stood no chance against our concentrated force.

  "They're

  trying to flee!" an officer shouted, but the escape routes were cut

  off. One final, desperate attempt ended in an explosion that lit up the

  orbit. In that final flash of light, the three vessels shattered—and

  silence fell.

  Instead

  of cheers, there was only a murmur of relief. A quick glance at the

  damage reports: only superficial hits on our hulls, shields largely

  intact. While the crew began system checks, a link to President Kaita

  was established.

  A

  faint crackle filled the air as the feed opened. President Kaita's face

  appeared on the holo-display, solemn, her eyes searching mine.

  "Ljudmila? Is everything all right out there? The fleet..." Her voice faltered.

  I

  took a deep breath, feeling the tension of the past few minutes

  coalescing inside me. "Madam President, the Ofeoglia system is secure.

  Three Grey Disciples ships destroyed. Our losses are... minor—we haven't

  lost any vessels."

  A

  flicker of relief crossed Kaita's face—a fleeting smile, soon replaced

  by her usual composure. "Good. Any sign of additional ships? Or of their

  plans?"

  My gaze

  drifted to the tactical monitor, where fresh data was streaming in.

  "We're picking up trails. They indicate more hostile units operating

  elsewhere. Our research ships have identified potential coordinates. We

  have to investigate. This enemy... they're not beaten yet."

  Kaita

  nodded slightly, the connection flickering before disappearing.

  Silence. Exhausted yet focused faces around me on the bridge. A victory,

  yes. But...

  "If you

  want peace..." I thought as I eyed the flickering readouts,

  determination welling up within. We had proven ourselves, but it was

  only one step. The Grey Disciples... their fanaticism gave us little

  reason to expect a surrender.

  I

  left the bridge, the resolve burning in my mind. Every clue, every

  threat—though our stars may be strange, we were committed to defending

  ourselves.