To the Dragon's Nest (2)

Officially, the Mega Corp and the Star Union were at war.

It could hardly have been otherwise, given that the Star Union had begun as an uprising aboard a Mega Corp colonial ship. The relationship between the two powers had been poisoned from the very start.

In recent years the violence had cooled to the level of localized provocations, but before that, the two factions had fought with genuine ferocity. The Mega Corp hurled staggering numbers of human soldiers and Hulk Mutants at their enemy in waves of pure attrition, while the Star Union favored terror tactics — androids strapped with nanomachine bombs like Gremlin Torpedoes and sent in to self-destruct.

Humans versus machines — and yet somehow the roles seemed reversed. There was a reason for that.

The backbone of the Star Union had always been its cyborgs. And making a cyborg required a healthy, living human.

Other species could serve as cyborg raw material in principle, but each came with problems. The Cult's frail bodies couldn't withstand the conversion procedure. Humanoid races like the Wolf were far too few in number to mass-produce, and their genetics were so under-studied that the success rate of the surgery plummeted.

Why not simply grow clones, then? That solution carried a fatal flaw of its own: clones were riddled with psychological instabilities that made them poor candidates for cybernetic conversion.

In the end, no species existed that matched the quality of a healthy human while remaining cost-effective to convert. And so the Star Union committed itself to a strategy of a small cadre of cyborg commanders directing vast swarms of drones.

In the war's early days, that strategy worked. Right up until the Mega Corp deployed EMP weaponry, that is.

EMP weapons were devastating to either side in open space, but with an army that was mostly machine, the Star Union inevitably bled harder. The Mega Corp, by contrast, fielded Hulk Mutants capable of surviving the vacuum, and kept its losses comparatively low.

With EMPs and mutant shock troops in play, it looked as though the war would grind to a decisive end.

Reality proved otherwise.

The general public never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knew, but a secret understanding existed between the leaderships of the Mega Corp and the Star Union. Both sides understood perfectly well that a managed war could yield enormous profit.

The Star Union needed to capture large numbers of sentient beings to grow its population. The Mega Corp knew it could rake in colossal credits through the human trade. Each leadership knew exactly what the other wanted — and so they turned their mutual war into a business.

Since neither could be seen doing it openly, they kept brokers in the middle. The Spacedogs, syndicates living off plunder and crime, and the slave-holding Cult Empire served as the intermediaries.

Centuries have passed since ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the great powers first entered into this 'business' together.

And today, too, cargo ships laden with 'human resources' ply the lanes without rest.

The JP-99 star system, on the fringe of Cult territory.

A cyborg-manned cargo vessel, having just concluded its trade with Cult merchants, was making for home.

"Is the cargo check finished?"

｢V100 checked through container 50. All clear.｣

"Phew. Fifty, huh."

Konjay, a cyborg of the Star Union, unplugged the link cable jacked into her skull.

With more than eighty percent of her body replaced by machinery, she could interface directly with the ship's computers as she was doing now. The auxiliary modules supporting her brain weren't powerful enough to pilot a starship, but managing the cargo in the hold was well within their limits.

And inside this freighter's refrigerated containers slept the involuntary 'consenters' who would soon become cyborgs. Their species varied wildly, but under the Star Union's banner they would all soon be made one.

"We're not going to hit the quota this time. That's a problem."

Konjay scratched at the corner of her eye, staring at the data graphs projected into her artificial vision.

The plan had been to fill seventy containers. That had failed — the Cult merchants had brought far fewer slaves than usual.

"'Internal circumstances make it difficult'? They're spouting Providence-damned excuses. Since when did they ever give a shit about their internal circumstances?"

If things kept going this way, she would fall short of the quota set by the Population Management Department and eat a heavy disciplinary action. That, above all, had to be avoided.

Konjay plugged the link cable back into her skull.

"MacF. Any slaving cartels operating around here?"

｢This is Cult space. What lunatic would do business out here?｣

"Tch. Figured as much."

｢There might be Spacedogs in the neighboring systems. Go there and hunt some up.｣

"Yeah, fine. Just in case we end up trading, have the drones armed and ready."

｢Yep.｣

Cutting the comm, Konjay pulled up data on Spacedog cartels likely to be operating in the surrounding systems and began reviewing it entry by entry. That was when the fleet computer, V, sent her a notification message.

"A biosignature?"

Ships did not travel this route.

The Star Union never tired of insisting that its citizens became cyborgs through 'voluntary choice.' A vessel trailing a string of would-be cyborgs in its hold was something that must never, ever be spotted.

And precisely for that reason, this ship carried a high-performance detection system specially funded by the Machine Council. The idea was simple: acquire information on any other vessel first, and steer clear of it on your own.

"Can you confirm what it is?"

｢Configuration estimated as a Jama-class frigate, produced on Jasbil 02. Armament level: undetermined.｣

"It's not an Outspacer, is it?"

｢Cross-referenced against the Starlink database. No match.｣

"Whew. Good. A ship with special coating, then? Upload its configuration and biosignature just in case."

｢Confirmed.｣

While V uploaded the data on the mystery vessel to the Star Union's database, Konjay examined a virtual rendering of the enemy ship.

"What's the biosignature bleed like from the outside?"

｢Estimated complement: more than seven hundred.｣

"Seven hundred?! Insane. Why is it packed that full?"

Hearing that number, Konjay's thoughts drifted down a different track entirely.

Look at it any way you like, that thing is a slave ship too.

The freighter Konjay crewed was roughly one and a half times the size of the unknown vessel, yet carried fewer souls aboard. Three hundred in cargo, thirty cyborgs, and seventy combat drones — that was everything.

Something's off.

That was no ordinary slaver. Konjay contacted MacF again.

｢Why do you keep comms-ing me? I'm working.｣

"Hey. Get all the drones prepped."

｢What? Why?｣

"Because if this goes well, we're about to make a killing."

If the other ship's armament turned out to be serious, she intended to break off without attacking.

But if it didn't—

"V. Activate the jamming systems and the stealth systems."

｢Systems active.｣

Seven hundred souls would be more than enough to fill her quota.

Sustaining faster-than-light travel over and over had proven harder than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expected. He had hijacked Mega Corp vessels and jumped before, but never for anything like this duration.

Holding an FTL course for weeks on end was an ordeal. The concentration required during transit never let up.

It's not that my energy is running short.

For various reasons, his reserves were generous enough to keep the domination going. It was simply that maintaining focus through the tedium of the voyage was the hard part.

Imagine driving down a night road for over a month, never sleeping, never resting, never knowing when something might come bounding out of the dark. Even for Amorph, with his Super Sense and the support of his auxiliary organs, it was a grind.

He had no choice but to break off the FTL jumps at intervals and rest.

And now, after a month, he was finally taking a break.

Well, we're halfway there, at least.

Another month of travel and he would reach the planet where the Dragon's Nest lay.

Using his Erosion Tentacles, he swallowed down a chunk of stored meat in one gulp.

The tentacle, sheathed in its thick, hardened carapace, digested the prey in an instant and fed the energy straight into his body. Vitality flooded his flesh; fatigue drained away, and his mood lifted a touch.

Still, I'll need more meat before long, won't I?

Every system aboard this ship answered solely to his will, which was why he had been taking care that the stored food didn't spoil.

Stopping the rot entirely is beyond me, though.

And the remaining stock wasn't much. There was, of course, himself with his monstrous appetite, but No. 26, now nearly grown to her adult form, was consuming far more prey than before as well. Adhai, who fed on blood and bodily fluids, wasn't suited to meat that had been in long-term storage either.

The Mother of the Sky eats her fair share too.

It seemed he would have no choice but to resupply somewhere along the way.

He knew that ships rarely passed through the JP-99 system where they now found themselves. It was Cult territory, yes, but he hadn't seen so much as another vessel on the way here.

Once we cross into the next system, there should be plenty of traffic around, hm?

He was in the middle of drafting a supply plan when something brushed against his senses.

It wasn't No. 26 or Adhai chasing the spores he'd seeded through the ship. The wavelength he had detected originated outside the hull — out in open space.

He stopped eating and threw every sense he had toward the source of the signal.

Like grains of rice spilled across black paper, starlight was the only illumination out there. And within that expanse that looked as empty as space could be, something was present.

He could feel it — layers of exotic energy radiating off the vessel, wrapped around it again and again to hide it from sight.

A warship?

By the looks of it, the other side had detected him first. No wonder it was running with stealth, signal jamming, and every other toy it had switched on all at once.

Hostile... or not? Hard to say.

It didn't appear to be a Cult warship. This was Cult space — an unauthorized vessel prowling these lanes would have taken warning fire long before now.

Rather than attack, the unknown was creeping toward him at a crawl.

If it's not a Cult warship, that's fine by me.

Whether they turned out to be Spacedogs or something entirely unidentifiable didn't matter. Either way, it meant he could eat them without consequences.

He moved as though he had noticed nothing at all.

The mystery frigate crept closer, entirely unaware of the web strung across its path. Then, as the distance shrank, it suddenly went still.

Trying to scan him, most likely. He, in turn, strained his senses toward the lifeforms aboard the other ship.

Hm.

Several hundred faintly stirring lifeforms. Thirty humanoid beings radiating a powerful scent of metal. And beyond those, seventy machines pulsing with strong electrical signals.

Ah. I know what this is.

A Star Union personnel supply ship.

The Star Union — a commonwealth of machines built from cyborgs, humanoids, androids, and drones. Because of its nature as a lineage that could barely reproduce, the Star Union bought slaves from other powers to grow its citizenry.

Most of them destined for cybernetic conversion. A select few for live human experimentation.

The Star Union was the faction that preached that flesh was weak and must be replaced by machine. Few things could be more ironic than such an outfit quietly buying up humans to keep its community running.

Which was why personnel supply ships of this kind operated only in absolute secrecy — and conducted their trades covertly, through third parties like the Cult or the Spacedogs.

Seeing this, I'd say the Mega Corp and the Star Union are cut from the same cloth.

Space Survival had classified the Star Union as a neutral faction, but that didn't mean it was clean. It was a place steeped in its own distinctive contempt for human life and pitch-black humor — merely a different flavor than the Mega Corp's.

At that moment, the other ship began launching its fighter craft.

Setting aside the fact that the frigate's outer hull was painted the same deep violet as his own camouflage, and that its weapons were concealed rather than exposed, its configuration matched the standard model exactly.

He had already confirmed during the scan that no plasma batteries or psychic power cannons were visible on the hull. Clearly, they had judged him easy prey.

They mean to take me, then.

He could roughly guess why. They'd failed to meet their quota, or they were stockpiling a cushion against falling short next time.

But what am I to do about this? This ship isn't one the Cult is operating, after all.

Just as they had chosen violence, so had he — and prey walking into his mouth of its own accord was not something he had the slightest intention of letting go.

How should I play it this time?

He could swap ships with Nightmare Horizon as he had before, but his current frigate was too valuable to abandon. Refitted under the guidance of the Human-Faced Beasts, it was far faster than an ordinary vessel, and its energy consumption rate for FTL jumps was on the low side.

Enough with plain robbery. Time to get creative.

Until now, he had used Nightmare Horizon in only the most one-dimensional ways — ambushing enemy crews as they boarded their own ship, or adding weapons to the hull to fight things like the Metallic Gremlins.

Before, I had no choice.

While dominating a ship through Nightmare Horizon, every body-related trait had been locked away.

But now that he had entered Transcendence Stage 2, that was no longer true.

From now on, I can use my body-related traits even while dominating a ship.

The lifting of the restrictions that had come with Transcendence Stage 1 had changed Nightmare Horizon's effects as well.

The clause forbidding body-series traits was gone. In its place, a new entry had appeared: usable body traits.

In other words, he could now graft physical organs — Pincer, jaws, and the like — onto this ship as well.

I used to watch the Outspacers swallow entire starships whole and envy them.

Now he, too, could devour everything inside a vessel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in a single bite.

But first — let me prepare to receive my guests.

The carrier craft that had been circling him were latching onto the hull now, attempting to board.

Remarkable prey, volunteering to be devoured first.

He would have to welcome them with open arms.