Dark Fate, Chapter 121 (Patreon)

Chapter 121 – Shore Leave

(Classified Secrets Bar and Lounge, Military Quarter, Ceres)

Classified Secrets was the oldest, and therefore premiere, club catering to the military forces of Ceres. Not that age was all that big an indicator, when the entire kingdom was less than a year old, of course. In this case, ‘oldest’ meant by a couple of months.

Still, between the growing military, and their dependents, the Military Quarter was starting to fill out. Naturally, with the increase in people living there, the businesses and facilities to support them had to grow, as well. Classified Secrets was the first of those businesses, but it wasn’t the only one, not anymore.

Looking around the room as he nursed his drink, Captain Hagen Presxalim of the Commonwealth Navy shook his head slowly. He was only out of place here due to the color of his uniform. Ceres was still mostly ‘human’, but there were other races, as well, some of which looked like species in the Commonwealth, or beyond. For instance, the only way to tell between a knelfi like himself and an ’elf’ from Earth was that the elf had longer ears.

That was just the least of the insane differences between Earth and the rest of the galaxy, as far as he knew. Without the System as a guiding influence, the myths and legends of Earth had grown wild. So, when the System was reintroduced, and magic with it, the records of all those things became part of the System, and people were transformed into races out of fantasy. Though the System apparently used existing races as templates, where it could, if not actually substituting existing races, where appropriate. That was how the King of Ceres became a Greater Incubus, like all the other Greater Incubi in the galaxy.

Well, not just like. Every individual was different, after all. But the truth was that the ‘planar’ creatures, ones hailing from different dimensions or layers of reality, were the ones most likely to have little to no ‘local alterations’. Of course, some of that could be put down as leakage from having multiple large-scale timestrikes in the system.

That had been another shock, once the data was fully analyzed by his people. Timestrikes themselves were not as rare as most people hoped. There were entire classes, after all, that dealt with time on a local level. However, those timestrikes were all small in size, and rarely affected more than the last minute or two. The impact on the flow of time was like tossing a pebble in a lake. For all the violence it might have in the immediate area, the impact outside that area was so minimal that it could barely be measured, even with dedicated instruments.

There were no less than three SYSTEM-WIDE timestrike events in Sol, according to the instruments, and the shortest of those timestrikes went back five Standard YEARS, or ten local years! The longest one was MILLIONS of Standard Years long! That kind of massive interference in a system’s timeline was all but unheard of!

In fact, other than the whispered rumors of the Time Lords of the galactic core, he couldn’t find a single reference to something like this in the Commonwealth database. An inquiry through the System Shop revealed that there had only been three hundred and seventy timestrike events on this scale, and three hundred and thirty-six of them were related to a war the Time Lords fought against some unnamed foe. One of them was even the cause of the Eye of Fear, a rift into a chaotic dimension of torment, death, and despair.

Even more shocking was the fact that the King, or his family, were at the center of all three timestrikes. The first was an accidental timestrike by the King, as part of one last spiteful attempt to wound those who had betrayed him. He had spent years tormenting his betrayers in the second loop, until one of them managed to cause a second timestrike. The third strike, then, came after the two groups fought so much that they became warlords, and it took a Great Horde expeditionary fleet to stop them, so the King’s daughter somehow tricked the Great Horde into sending her back, before the System was knocked offline, and planting temporal seeds that guided key events.

Fucking Seers.

Still, the important thing was that this loop had found a better way forward. Not only were the King and his rival safely on different celestial bodies, but the King’s advanced knowledge had allowed him to create this kingdom, and get the resources needed to beat back several pirate assaults. And while humanity was too fractured to join the Commonwealth, as it stood, the Kingdom of Ceres was more than welcoming of diplomatic relations.

Of course, he had looked up the history of the name attached to the ‘diplomatic vessel’ the King promised to send with part of his fleet when he returned to Ulora to ensure that the Incux there would no longer be a threat. Si vis pacem. It was part of a longer phrase in one of the dead languages that had been used by one of the great empires in Earth’s history. It meant ‘if you want peace, prepare for war’.

That the King had made such an ominous saying the motto of his kingdom said much. He would not be easily pushed around, and anyone who tried would likely be made to bleed. His kingdom, like his military, was still small, but growing rapidly. They were preparing for war, if it came to them, which meant that they had the security to offer peace, if people wanted it.

As a military man, Presxalim couldn’t fault the logic of it. The stronger your position, the more capable you are of finding other ways to deal with situations. If you’re pressed to the point where everything is a life-or-death situation, then there is only one acceptable outcome, and that is not the peaceful way.

Considering the state of things, having another ally who was willing and able to ‘kick ass’ as the humans put it was far from the worst possible outcome. He and his crew had been expecting to die when they left Ulora three months ago. No one had been under any illusions that they’d survive against the hiveship in open space, not with how much damage they’d suffered.

Now, however, he was drinking to celebrate the report that the last repairs were finished. He couldn’t do anything about the crew he’d lost, but all those who were still alive when they reached Sol were back in perfect health, though a couple had needed to have limbs regrown with magic. But healing and shore leave had ensured that they were ready to return to the fight. The Neverending Duty would once more stand between the enemies of the Commonwealth and her people.

The presence of a shipyard capable of repairing military vessels to full power so close to the front lines was a potential turning point in the war. Of course, they couldn’t expect future repairs to happen, free of charge, like this time. That was political grandstanding, and everyone knew it. But, if an agreement could be reached, then having a repair yard so close would dramatically reduce the time needed to bring ships back to fighting strength, and reduce the pressure on the yards that had to take time away from producing new ships to fix the old ones. They might finally be able to go on an offensive, and push back the Incux.

“Ah, Captain!” Presxalim smiled as he saw the newly promoted Second Lieutenant Conall Miafir walking his way. The former ensign had stepped up to be his chief communications officer after his senior was killed, and the new promotion reflected that.

“Yes, Lieutenant? Is there anything wrong?”

“No, sir, though I was approached by Gunny Aelnos from the Marine detachment. The crew knows that the Neverending Duty is about to come out of the repair yard. Which means we’re going to be heading back to Commonwealth space. There have been some questions about bringing souvenirs home?”

Presxalim chuckled. “In other words, the Gunny is informing me that there is going to be a great deal of ‘nonstandard equipment’ and ‘personal effects’ coming on board the Duty as we head back home, and is less asking for clarification on whether or not they can be brought aboard, but on how well they need to be hidden.” He smiled at the Lieutenant’s expression. “Oh, don’t be like that. Anyone who thought that, after what happened over Ulora, the crew wouldn’t be spending a good portion of their recent pay on ‘souvenirs’ should be heading down to medical for a psych evaluation, because they are clearly unwell.”

He took a sip of his drink, as he considered the situation. Blatantly allowing contraband onto his ship, even in extraordinary circumstances, was not exactly the mark of a stellar captain. Sure, no captain could completely stamp out contraband on board a ship, and only the foolish would try, but that was different from tacit or explicit permission. That could land him in front of a court martial, if things went bad, for negligence, if nothing else.

Still, with everything that had happened, he could afford to be a bit more lenient than normal. Not to the point of being completely hands off, of course, but a loose grip? Certainly. After all, they’d just spent two months on shore leave while the ship was being repaired, in the middle of a First Contact scenario. Expecting his crew not to bring anything back was just absurd.

He just had to make sure no one got stupid. Especially since anyone being stupid would likely cause problems with the souvenirs of his own that he planned to bring back. The crew weren’t the only ones who wished to celebrate not only surviving what was thought to be a suicide mission but engaging in a friendly First Contact mission by bringing home gifts for those back home, after all.

“I don’t suppose that the Gunny gave you any idea what kind of souvenirs to expect, Lieutenant?”

“Not officially, sir, but there are a couple threads on the ship’s crew forums about it that he pointed me to. Most of it is food, alcohol, and small trinkets of different sorts, along with some, um, exotic viewing materials.”

“You mean that a bunch of sailors and marines, after escaping certain death to land themselves in a certain place in the history books, decided to load up on alien food, alcohol, consumer goods, and porn, with the likely goal of making a healthy profit once we get back to a proper fleet base? I would be absolutely shocked if that wasn’t the case. And I would be disappointed in you, too, Lieutenant, if you didn’t have some of those kinds of souvenirs to bring home.”

He chuckled, and shook his head. “I just want to make sure that no one got stupid with things like capture balls or the like, trying to snag themselves an exotic pet that might try and eat the entire crew, or worse. We don’t want a repeat of the Duernar Incident, do we?”

The lieutenant blanched, thinking of the incident that nearly ruined First Contact between the Commonwealth and the Duernar Republic. “No, Sir! I’ll talk with the gunny, and make sure that everyone gets the word. There won’t be any alien princesses taken as slaves aboard this ship!”

“No slaves at all, if it can be helped, Lieutenant. And any that are brought aboard will not only have to stay in capture balls until we get back to a Commonwealth Naval Port, but if they aren’t legally obtained by both Commonwealth and local laws, I’ll see to it that whoever is responsible gets the maximum penalties under both systems. Make sure the gunny is clear on that.”

“Not that I disagree, Captain, but if the gunny asks me why?”

“Listen, Lieutenant. You saw how it was at Ulora. The war against the Incux is not going well. They can replace their losses far faster than we can. Getting the Kingdom of Ceres on our side, even if all they do once they help burn out the infection on Ulora is provide a logistics and repair base close to the front? That could potentially change the course of this war, and push the bugs back, perhaps allowing us to reclaim some of the worlds we lost.”

The lieutenant’s eyes went wide, causing Presxalim to smile. “Needless to say, Lieutenant, I do NOT want any idiot crewmen thinking with their little head causing an incident that will jeopardize this potential new alliance. We can’t afford to let this opportunity pass us by. So, make sure the gunny goes and gets his boys to make double sure that nothing of the sort happens because someone wanted a new bedwarmer and picked the wrong person.”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll go find him now.”

“Good man.”