Fleet Battle (1)

Hmm.

I combed through every one of the recent records stored in the computer built into the worker ship, leaving nothing unexamined. A brief report on a massive organism not registered in the database. The collection of nest debris scattered throughout the ship and its subsequent entry into the information network. The cyborg I had captured had sent a considerable volume of communications in a very short span of time.

None of those signals should have gotten out, though.

Even now, the psychic power radiating periodically from No. 26's body was scrambling communications. It was all but impossible for the data the worker ship had transmitted to reach Jax-01, the Star Union's capital planet — and even if it did, it would arrive so badly corrupted that no one could make sense of it.

That wasn't the problem, however.

The labor supply ship.

The issue was that the ship might have registered information about me in Starlink before it ever encountered me. In fact, the supply ship had detected my existence before I noticed it and approached on its own — which meant there was a high probability it had already reported to the Star Union that it had met me beforehand.

That's going to be a headache.

The situation had become a nuisance. Even if I left this place, the Star Union's pursuit teams would be on my trail before long.

Escaping via faster-than-light travel was out of the question, at least for now. The elite fleets of every major power — the Star Union, the Cult, Mega Corp — all carried systems capable of tracking FTL jumps. A lot would depend on how dangerous they judged me to be, but if an elite fleet came hunting, flight was simply not an option.

Even changing the ship's silhouette wouldn't let me hide.

A vessel under the sway of Nightmare Horizon existed somewhere between living flesh and metal. If the supply ship had reported my defining trait as a "bioship," then no matter what shape I took, they would see through it in an instant.

"Khekhekhek, to dare lay hands on a ship of the Star Union. You will never know a peaceful dea—agk?!"

"Quiet."

Having squeezed his body tight with my Erosion Tentacles until he fell silent, I took stock of the cards in my hand.

A month has passed since I left the Holy Land. Most of the tools I can use are available.

Nightmare Horizon to seize control of a starship. Organic Evolution, letting me grow massive or shrink my body down. God's Whip, the long-range attack ability gained through the Plunderer's Amorphous Polyhedron. And Paragon of the Hunt, which reshapes my body into a form built for combat. As things stood, I was more than equipped to fight a powerful enemy.

And yet I shook my head.

Open warfare is still too risky.

The situation was nothing like my battle against the Imperial Carrier. What had mattered then was that the planet I'd occupied was the Holy Land — a political powder keg. If it hadn't been, my escape this smooth would have been impossible. Even if I'd managed it somehow, I would have ended up fleeing for my life from the Cult's hunters.

The Star Union, however, labored under no such constraints.

In the Star Union, a dictatorship ruled by the Machine Council — the highest seat of power — concepts like "politics," "competition," and "internal conflict" simply did not exist.

Nominally, opinions were coordinated between the Council and the various departments, but in practice this meant nothing. When the Council gave an order, every cyborg was bound to obey.

Excluding the Great Leader — the Highest Dignity himself — every member of the Machine Council was a high-intelligence android. If they recognized me as an enemy, they would throw every trick they had into killing me.

Androids never let their guard down. That's what makes them so irritating.

Without a doubt, they would dispatch an elite fleet with firepower sufficient to kill me in a single blow.

Space combat is still beyond me.

With a substantial portion of my body-related traits sealed away, I would be fighting with a handicap. The newly unlocked traits tied to my Type, gained from devouring the labor supply ship, were useless in my current state, synced to this vessel. I possessed several attack abilities capable of shattering enemy ships outright, but each came with a time limit or a cap on uses. And I couldn't exactly claim an advantage in defense or evasion, either.

Against a small handful of ships, I would overwhelm them. Against a fleet of hundreds, it was another matter entirely.

The one bright spot was that the ship I now controlled had been modified. The weapons torn from Cult vessels were bolted onto this hull, so unlike last time, I wouldn't be helplessly crushed when facing superior numbers.

The bad news is that my time isn't infinite.

This was Cult territory. If the Cult caught wind of a battle raging here? From that point on, I would be hammered from both sides without question. To the Cult, I was a bioship — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no different from an Outspacer's flying monstrosity.

Wait. The Cult?

At the very thought of them, I froze.

This JP-99 star system belonged to the Cult's domain. A backwater border system with no worthwhile resources, about as useful as a spare nut — but no empire on earth tolerated strangers parading through its territory. If the Cult discovered the Star Union's elite fleet trespassing here, the two sides would collide. It was inevitable.

I just have to slip out while they're busy with each other.

The key question was how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to summon the Cult — and as it happened, I had exactly the means to do so.

This is going to be fun.

With my thoughts in order, I drew up a plan for escaping this crisis. A few elements were dangerously tight, but I resolved to force it through anyway. Deception aimed at the Cult and the cyborgs alike — that was the thing I did best.

That's enough planning for now.

There was something I had to deal with before explaining everything to the kids aboard the ship. I turned my gaze on the captured cyborg.

"Wh-what? What is it?"

Meeting my gaze, the cyborg began to tremble, gripped by some uneasy premonition. He was about to be cast in a starring role on the stage I had built — and not merely as food to top off my energy reserves.

It's been a while since it was your turn.

At my will, the small ones sleeping within my body began to stir. A tiny hole opened in the ceiling of the ship fused with my flesh, and something dropped from it onto the tentacles. Thin and elongated, like strips of rubber, they scurried busily along the tendrils binding the cyborg.

"W-wait a second! What the hell are those things— no. Stop it! Stop!"

Only then did the cyborg grasp what was about to happen to him, and he went berserk.

I pinned him down firmly to help the parasites as they climbed their way up, diligently carrying out their mission.

"Mmmph! Mmmph!"

The cyborg thrashed in furious resistance. But no matter how thoroughly the body had been remade with machinery, limits existed. Breaking the bonds of my Erosion Tentacles — strong enough to crumple an entire starship — was beyond him.

Either way, he would come to accept it soon enough. Once everything was over.

The reality of having become a monster's servant.

The Nemea Fleet, stationed in the ESS-22 star system, received an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠emergency directive.

It was a message handed down from Nemea Five — High Commissioner of the Machine Council and supreme commander of the Nemea Fleet.

"Upon confirmation of these contents, deploy immediately to annihilate the new lifeform that has appeared in JP-99. The entity is extremely dangerous; ensure its incineration through long-range interdiction— what kind of order is this... The Great Leader Jubaka issued it personally?!"

Sanada-F, acting fleet commander who had been delegated operational control of the fleet by Nemea Five, was floored.

The Machine Council communicated only matters of grave importance through official bulletins; issuing direct orders to a single rank-and-file cyborg, as had just happened, was exceedingly rare. The Council that ran the entirety of the Star Union was hardly an organization with time to spare.

Moreover, for the Great Leader — chairman of the Machine Council and the Highest Dignity — to take personal interest was, quite literally, unprecedented in all of history. Since the day his body had been converted to machinery, this was the first time Sanada-F had nearly lost his grip on his senses.

"F. This isn't some kind of joke, is it?"

At the ship computer F's words, he scratched his jaw.

"JP-99 is Cult territory. Does the Machine Council want a war?"

Of all the Star Union's administered regions, ESS-22 sat closest to JP-99. The presence of the Nemea Fleet — an elite Star Union force — in this system was a contingency measure and nothing more.

Surely not.

Sanada-F re-examined the Machine Council's directive. He read it over and over, and nowhere did it say to invade the Cult.

The Machine Council, staffed entirely by machines save for the Great Leader, had no habit of speaking in circles or veiled metaphors. Judging by that, the catastrophe he feared was apparently not in motion.

"What's the current garrison strength over there?"

"It really is a backwater. Thin pickings. No orbital fortress, no Imperial Carrier, either."

Reviewing the data screen F projected, he made his decision: finish the mission fast and get out before the Cult came swarming.

"So what kind of creature is worth this much fuss from the Machine Council?"

Roughly a month ago, a bulletin had gone out to every ship in the Union.

Two instructions: upon discovering a new lifeform, register its data in Starlink immediately. And implant every ship with a signal chip fabricated by the Machine Council. At the time, no one had known why the orders were given.

"Is this thing really that dangerous?"

"Pipe it straight into my head."

The biological data promptly streamed into Sanada-F's mind through the cables jacked into the ship. A faint headache bloomed as he pressed his temple and sifted through the information.

"Hm. A colossal monstrosity with the ability to disguise itself as a ship."

"The Zama-class? You mean that new frigate model? Hmmm."

His first thought was that it might be some secret Cult weapon, but he swiftly rejected the idea. Manufacturing artificial life to serve as one's master-slaves was the sort of thing only Mega Corp did.

Then again, it could be an Outspacer.

As far as he knew, the massive organisms operated by the Outspacer swarms looked nothing like this. Those were grotesque brutes festooned with organic launch platforms that spewed biochemical agents. Anyone who looked at one of those and called it a dead ringer for a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Cult frigate either had severely degraded eyesight or a deeply warped sense of aesthetics.

That said, he conceded the point: a starship built of biometal did bring Outspacers to mind first. Perhaps the creature was some newly evolved breed of space-assault monstrosity the swarm had cultivated.

Sanada-F pored over the intelligence the Machine Council had provided. The volume of actual data was smaller than expected — annotations and hypotheses appended by the Council made up the lion's share of the file instead.

Do not approach under any circumstances, due to risk of contamination. Boarding is likewise forbidden. The entity is capable of psychic attacks; prepare anti-psi defensive measures. And on and on.

That alone made it abundantly clear just how seriously the Machine Council regarded this thing.

Doesn't sound like an easy mark.

Having reviewed every scrap of the material, Sanada-F contacted all ships belonging to the Nemea Fleet and ordered them to prepare the measures the Machine Council had specified.

Two hours later, all 101 ships of the Nemea Fleet began charging for FTL travel.

A wash of blue light so immense it could be seen from the surfaces of the system's planets enveloped the fleet, and moments later they departed ESS-22.

Thanks to FTL speeds that left lightspeed languishing far behind, the Nemea Fleet under Sanada-F's command reached JP-99 in the blink of an eye.

"Good. Let's wrap this up before the Cult catches on. Launch the survey drones and the carrier craft."

From the Star Union warships — boxy-hulled vessels bristling with spine-like, elongated cannon batteries — drones and fighter craft came pouring out. The drones were so numerous they looked like sand cascading from a burst bag.

"Sweep the surrounding area first, methodically. Anything unusual gets reported immediately."

Drones governed by the ship computers and fighter craft flown by android pilots picked methodically through the floating debris and rubble drifting through space.

Before long, several fighters discovered artificially synthesized metal fragments and relayed them to Sanada-F aboard the flagship.

He recognized at once which ship the fragments had come from. And he knew, too, the source of the data the Machine Council had sent him.

"F. Is the FTL trail analysis finished?"

"Good. It's still in the vicinity, so everyone stay alert—"

"What?"

Before the words had fully left his mouth, the ship's cameras swung forward. Out of the utter emptiness of space, blue energy gathered and swirled — and in an instant, it transmuted into colossal structures.

"...Oh, hell."

With every flicker of blue light, Cult warships great and small emerged in stately succession before the Nemea Fleet. Sanada-F murmured under his breath at the sight of them.

"Ah, damn it. We're finished."

Ordinary Cult warships would not have been a serious problem. The Nemea Fleet was equipped with anti-psionic defenses; it could more than hold its own against them.

The problem was the colossal structure standing sentinel behind those warships.

A diamond-shaped structure — no, a ship — adorned in ivory and ornamented with gold.

The colossal vessel that had materialized before the Nemea Fleet was the pride of the Cult: an Imperial Carrier.