Overlapping voices were incoherent over comms inside of the mobile command center. The ground beneath them shook as strings of large explosions lined the horizon, painting the landscape scarlet red.

  "General, our tanks from the 103rd and 87th automated regiment are closing in," reported an officer.

  "That's almost a thousand tanks," Coran muttered.

  He pivoted his head toward the officer. He was sitting to his left.

  "What have the engineers said?“ Coran asked. “Have they found a way to shut them down?"

  The officer looked up at Coran.

  "No, sir," he answered. "Whatever took over has absolute control."

  Coran exited the command center—positioned just outside of the city.

  A formation of bomber drones roared past the command center, heading deep into the city. They released their payload, skyscapers dissolving into the bath of successive flashes brought forth by the ordinance.

  Coran sighed, turning around to walk back into the command center.

  "Did the team get the ministers out?" Coran asked.

  The officer shook his head while scanning his notes.

  "Sir, we haven't heard from the unit,” he said. "All attempts to reach them have failed."

  Coran's head sank. He grasped his chin.

  "They were our only shot," Coran whispered to himself.

  A bomb detonated outside of the mobile command center, hurling Coran against the wall as it flipped. He slowly stood up, surrounded by sparks and smoke—coughing, choking on the odor of burnt cable insulation.

  The officers who were previously relaying orders now lay in silence.

  Several infantrymen entered the command center through a hole. They grabbed Coran, who was still dazed by the explosion. He felt something on his head. Warm, but painless. He placed his hand over it.

  The infantrymen pulled him out—sitting him down on the grass. Soldiers were running back and forth through the camp, carrying wounded and supplies. Screams and commands were coming from every direction.

  Another explosion sent shockwaves through the soil. Coran shielded his face from the plume of dirt and debris as a nearby formation was shredded by the blast.

  "Sir, what are your orders?" a soldier asked.

  Coran scanned his uniform, looking for any symbol of the soldier's rating.

  "What's the situation in the city?" Coran asked.

  The corporal looked toward the city, then snapped his gaze back to Coran.

  "General, the situation is fucked," he answered. "They are all dead."

  Coran looked back at the city. It appeared completely ablaze. Seemingly ceaseless airstrikes continued to light up the night sky—colorful flashing that would otherwise have been beautiful, if the city belonged to an enemy.

  "We need to evacuate," Coran ordered. "We can regroup what's left of our forces at Val 'Dara."

  The corporal frowned.

  "Sir, shouldn't we keep fighting?" he asked.

  Coran nodded while sweeping the camp with his eyes.

  "We will, corporal," he said. "We'll take back our planet. We can't do that dead.“

  The corporal hesitated briefly.

  "We will get you to the shuttle," he said. "After that, my team will stay. We have families here."

  Coran looked into the corporal's eyes. There was no convincing him otherwise. The weight of rank didn't matter.

  Not here.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Not now.

  "I understand, corporal. Just know, I will come back for you. You have my word," he said.

  As Coran was escorted to his ship, soldiers scrambled to load the wounded on transports. The armored regiments were closing in on the camp, their formations moving in perfect unison. Boarding the shuttle, he watched as the corporal and his team took up defensive positions—returning fire at the encroaching tanks.

  He observed the devastation from the air. The once-thriving capital city was an inferno, consumed by fire and smoke. Automated units swarmed the streets—distant explosions rippling across the horizon.

  "It won't be in vain," he said quietly, gripping the chair's armrest tightly.

  >>>>>***********************<<<<<

  The command center was lit up by the red flashing of emergency lights. The sound of alarms wailed throughout Horizon's flagship, Praetor.

  "Captain! Our starboard hangar deck has been breached!" called out an officer.

  "We're losing thrust! Our engines have been compromised," another reported.

  Captain Arros was kneeling next to the body of Admiral Hanz, the commander of Horizon's planetary defense fleet.

  The medic looked toward Arros.

  "He's dead. There's nothing we can do," he said.

  Another explosion rocked the ship, a cascade of sparks rained from overhead panels. Smoke seeped into the command center, stinging Arros’s eyes. He slowly stood up, making his way to the tactical displays.

  He glanced back at Admiral Hanz’s lifeless body.

  "A leader to the end.“

  He looked down at the charts displayed on the central console.

  "Lieutenant, what's the status of our fleet?" he asked.

  The tactical officer looked at Arros, who was still focused on the charts.

  "The fleet is gone, Captain," he answered. "There are scattered squadrons, but most of their ships have been unresponsive."

  Another large explosion quaked through the ship, its hull groaning as it struggled to remain intact.

  "We lost our secondary reactor!" an officer called out.

  "What do we do, Captain?" the tactical officer asked.

  Arros refocused his eyes on the lieutenant.

  "Has there been any response from Epsilon? Why are their ships attacking us?" he asked.

  The lieutenant shook his head quickly.

  "No, sir," he replied. "They've been silent. We can't hail their ships, either. They automated their fleets years ago."

  Arros picked up the comms, preparing for a ship-wide transmission. "All hands, prepare to jump."

  "Plot a course," he ordered. "We need to pull back to Val 'Dara."

  The tactical officer looked at Arros with wide eyes.

  "But sir, what about the civilians down there?" the lieutenant asked.

  Another officer’s voice cracked as he spoke.

  “Captain, we can’t just leave them. There are children down there—families!”

  Arros hesitated a moment.

  "May God be with them,” he whispered.

  The helm officer began the countdown.

  Three. Two. One.

  The ship lurched violently as the jump reactor engaged, the stars outside stretching into streaks of light. Arros gripped the railing as the Praetor was hurled into the void, leaving behind the planet—and billions of lives.

  "We'll come back," he whispered to himself.

  >>>>>***********************<<<<<

  The starport on Val 'Dara was overwhelmed with refugees from the Core sector as Castle stepped off his shuttle, entering the port's gates.

  He squinted a moment, adjusting to the bright lights inside of the port.

  Families were huddled with scattered belongings, their children crying. Medics were treating the wounded in a designated triage area. They were wearing tattered clothing—all different styles from throughout the Core planets. Security at the port's gates were confiscating weapons and screening new arrivals as possible saboteurs.

  Castle watched as refugees fought for space as ships landed and departed in rapid succession. Overworked port officials barked orders trying to maintain order. Looking up through the glass dome, he could see dozens of ships in a holding pattern. They were waiting for clearance to land. Overhead announcements repeated the same evacuation instructions, drowned out by the roar of incoming shuttles.

  "Colonel, you need to follow us," port security ordered, gesturing for Castle to follow.

  He nodded and began following security. They escorted him to a cramped room with tactical displays hanging from the ceiling. Conduits of cabling were taped together—running across the floor.

  Castle entered—the only representative of Valeria left. General Coran and Captain Arros were already there, talking with the leaders and representatives of the Outer Rim.

  Arros was in the middle of an argument.

  "We need to stop pointing fingers and start working together. The Nexus doesn't care about who failed or who ran. It's coming for all of us."

  Coran scoffed as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  "Easy for you to say, Arros," he said. "Did you fight at all? Or did you cut and run at the first sign of trouble?"

  Arros looked at Coran, gritting his teeth.

  "Cut and run? Your fleets fired on us!“ Arros shouted. “Our commander was dead and our fleet was gone. We had no other choice than to retreat."

  "Enough!" Castle interjected. "We've all made hard decisions. How do we strike back? The survivors are not the only ones who need hope."

  He tugged at his crisp blue uniform shirt, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

  Coran stood up, walking to the tactical displays.

  "If we're going to mount any kind of offense, we need to secure the Rim," he said, pointing at the ring of planets around the Core.

  "Val 'Dara is holding for now, but the Nexus will come here next."

  Castle began pacing the room, his arms resting behind his back.

  "It's going to take everything we have between the Rim and the Frontier to hold the Nexus back," he said. "The same reason the Nexus has not already taken over here is the same reason it will be hard to stop it."

  "No automation and few interconnected networks," Coran said.

  Castle stopped, glancing at Coran.

  "That's correct, general," Castle said. "As soon as it finds a way in, it will spread like wildfire. We need more than just firepower."

  An explosion shook the room. Small cracks formed on the walls while dust and debris rained from the ceiling.

  Castle stumbled, bracing himself against the table.

  Muffled screams and fast-paced footsteps bled through the doorway.

  Soldiers rushed in.

  "A bomb was detonated in the refugee terminal."

  "We'll hold another meeting with the free worlds," Castle said. "Right now, we need to help these people."