Xhollin (The Season of Sustenance)

  Day 348

  1 A.E.

  527 days since my arrival

  I reviewed the latest modifications, adjusting the biological makeup of my newest acquisition. A mind this distinct and stubborn in its will would serve me well. I found it both surprising and amusing how far he went to survive.

  Desperation, after all, is the greatest motivator.

  As for Ankrae and her assembly… they may still prove useful. Vast though my mind may be, I lack the delicate precision required to manipulate sentient consciousness without shattering it.

  Every attempt to mould a drone capable of mimicking a standard etheric user’s abilities ends in madness.

  Except for the pods. Or my “face hugger,” as I whimsically dubbed it. The name still makes me chuckle, there is no better term. Direct physical contact remains the only limitation I must someday resolve.

  For now, I focused on Kraklak, keeping him alive while reconstructing his internal systems. Organ after organ, replaced with advanced substitutes, tailored to endure the void, starvation, and the biggest disadvantage peculiar to his species—life without water.

  That his kind even reached space, let alone rose to regional power, is nothing short of astounding. Greed must’ve been the prime vector for their ascent.

  Still, I embedded control mechanisms. His mind is open to me, yet I’ve woven in restraints and safeguards to prevent any collapse or rebellion.

  I will apply the same enhancements to any clone who proves useful enough to outlive their short, predetermined lives.

  Maybe I could push Seer into making that decision, he can't be a farmer forever.

  What remains of the enemy fleet will aid my next step: observing civilized space and humanity. When I eventually integrate myself, it will begin with a slow infiltration of thousands, perhaps millions of drones—each seeded throughout civilized space.

  Some will be created to join several unique occupations, but the majority will be mostly mundane. Each will be adapted for their roles and purpose—some purely biological, others laced with cybernetic frameworks. All hopefully going unnoticed as another face in the crowd.

  The first wave must land on highly populated worlds—regions with minimal government oversight. Their first primary objective?

  Acquire coffee.

  My recent creations have reproduced the effects of caffeine, but not its flavour. It eludes me. A flaw that gnaws at my efforts, perhaps it's the multiple memories or different brands affecting the flavour.

  My musings were cut short as the implant timer ticked down—thirty minutes remaining. I exhaled, absorbing incoming reports from my intelligence sub-mind. The moment had arrived. The enemy’s last advantage was about to crumble.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  With a single thought, I dispatched the final command and attack plans cascaded into motion across a million minds as the enemies hold on asteroid belts the Ebon Ring and Shattered Veil would end today.

  Checkmate.

  ———

  The refinery complex clung to the asteroid like a metallic parasite, its docking arms extended wide to embrace incoming freighters and hauliers.

  Heat vented in from the asteroid’s exposed iron veins, turned red-hot by laser drills and nuclear furnaces.

  Conveyor arms moved with mechanical precision, unloading tons of material that was being melted down and processed for the war front.

  Inside her sphere, Administrator Vhol'Kar felt the water was colder—unnaturally so, as if the war itself had seeped into the walls. Streams of projection reports and priority alerts flooded in, overwhelming her interface.

  She’d already pushed her platforms past safe thresholds, straining production to meet impossible quotas.

  The war effort was unravelling—no one dared admit it aloud, but she saw the signs. In her numbers, it could have ended early, decisively, if they had listened to Aegirarch and cracked open that moon when they had the chance.

  But Grithan's greed was insatiable and short-sighted it always demanded more.

  The rest of the fleet clung to illusions of stability. She didn’t. She had seen the enemy's numbers and calculated their trajectory. This would be a long, bitter campaign.

  What she hadn’t anticipated… was how fast the enemy evolved.

  She moved slowly in the water, clawed hands flicking lazily across the holographic interface. Eyes focused on the status feeds and monitoring the live drone footage from nearby asteroids.

  Massive ship-to-ship logs scrolled by in her mind’s eye, transports entering others leaving, deals brokered by V. I. or other members of her clan, and shipments logged for Phaedra’s front lines.

  “Node- 81 reports fifteen thousand metric tons of ironbound slag processed,” she murmured, her voice modulated through the fluidic speaker system.

  “Node- 34 reports zero signal return. Again.”

  One of the clone communication officers turned to her from his console, his voice flat and calm.

  “Possible lag in relay tower.”

  “Or laziness,” she said with mild disdain. “The last shift reported signal drift. I suggested replacing the relay processor four standard galactic days ago. And yet no response.”

  “Other possibilities exist electromagnetic interference, asteroid drift, or sabotage,” the clone added.

  Vhol'Kar’s mandibles tensed, twitching slightly. “Sabotage is possible but slim. This far out, we mostly suffer from incompetence.”

  She flicked a mental command across her interface, bringing up the full cluster display showing dozens of glowing refinery dots spread across the belt, all connected in a web of iron, flame, and profit.

  “Status on incoming transports?”

  “One expected. Seventh—Carrier-994137206—Rust Widow—has entered approach vector.”

  Vhol'Kar’s eyes narrowed.

  “That ship is obsolete and breaking apart, tell damage crews to stand by”

  “Yes, administrator. But was reactivated to haul the last Nullite load before the Phaedra collapse. Assigned to Clone Crew Korrn -3.”

  “Let me see it.”

  The Rust Widow slowly crawled into view on the central display. Its bulk was familiar, a blocky dark blue leviathan shaped like a derelict coffin. But something was wrong.

  Vhol'Kar leaned closer, having the feed zoom in.

  Hull burns. Scorch marks. Half-melted armour plating. Gaping fractures where its defensive turrets once sat.

  The ship was damaged. Badly.

  “Transmit inquiry. Ask what happened. Why no damage or battle report was sent.”

  A long pause.

  “No response,” the clone said.

  “Send it again.”

  Nothing.

  Vhol'Kar watched, unease blooming in her chest.

  Then it happened.

  From the port side fuselage, a detonation ripped through the ship’s side. Debris fountained outward—followed by a swarm of missiles streaking toward the refinery.

  “DEFENCE SYSTEMS ONLINE NOW!”

  Alarms screamed across the asteroid complex as defence turrets spun to life. Lasers lit up the void, shredding missiles mid-flight.

  The Rust Widow, once sluggish and limping, suddenly surged forward on overdriven thrusters, sacrificing control for raw speed.

  “She’s on a collision vector!”

  “Brace for impact”

  Before the ship could reach the main dock, rail guns and plasma from the defence turrets carved across its spine, splitting its hull in sections. Explosions rippled across its body like blooming ulcers.

  Then the BCUs emerged.

  Dozens.

  Hundreds.

  Tearing free from breach points, crawling out of melted cargo holds and blasted-open engine decks—acid-spitting horrors surged toward the refinery in drop-pods or clung to debris as they crash-landed on the outer platforms.

  “BREACH ON SECTOR 7—SECTOR 3 UNDER ATTACK—THEY’RE INSIDE THE DRILL HUB—”

  Vhol'Kar’s calm cracked for the first time in a decade. “Send distress. Full-spectrum. All frequencies. Now.”

  The clone complied, tapping furiously into the comms console. Static filled the chamber.

  Then, fractured replies, distorted by distance and chaos came in her mind froze as reports came in:

  “This is Node-78—we’re under attack—captured freighter full of BCUs—”

  “Node-21 lost contact! Hull breach!—”

  “They’re everywhere! They’ve hit six major nodes—!”

  “—Multiple minor facilities overrun requesting immediate reinforcement—”

  “BCU fleets spotted—estimated numbers—”

  The comms died in a burst of shrieking static.

  Outside her sphere, Vhol'Kar watched through the water, her expression grim.

  On the asteroid's surface, fires raged. BCUs tore through her facility, acid cutting through steel like cloth. Clone defenders fought and died, holding lines as long as they could. Explosions danced along the refinery edges.

  The Rust Widow floated overhead, half-destroyed and bleeding molten metal.