I stuck around St. Petersburg

When I saw it was a time for a change

Killed the Czar and his ministers

Anastasia screamed in vain

I rode a tank

Held a general's rank

When the Blitzkrieg raged

And the bodies stank

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guess my name

The Rolling Stones - “Sympathy for the Devil”

By the time Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz and what was left of his fleet limped into the Zhis system, the freighters promised by Chikkij Kowzhach were already frantically loading the refugees for transport.

If ever there was a sign of just how much times had changed, this was it. Twenty years before he had stood aboard a Tetrarchy ship and attempted to negotiate the surrender of its inhabitants. They refused...and the pacifist Saurotaur Nassat had ordered its bombardment. Hundreds of millions had died that day, but since then the old Triumvirate worlds had used their technologies to return the planet to life. They had been achieving remarkable success, so much so that many of his people were choosing to resettle the planet...until this.

Two decades ago they had chosen death over surrender. Today...they were sending their children off to Human space to protect them. As he fingered the ubiquitous blade at his waist, Jiyazh was still undecided whether this constituted Progress.

“Do we have eyes on the enemy fleet?” he asked his tactical officer.

“Estimates only,” he replied, shaking his head. “Assuming they continue their travel at their last observed speed, they will arrive in system within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

The Dhyaksh tried not to wince. “Will the children have finished loading the freighters by then?” he asked.

His officer ran the numbers and then ran them again. “It will be...close, Dhyaksh,” he said at last.

Jiyazh sighed. “So be it. The fleet will set up a defensive perimeter around the freighters, and guard against any enemy incursions.” He wished he could do more but given what was left of his once proud fleet, he was lucky to even accomplish that much.

“Another launch detected!” Commander Xeemvois shouted as he threw the plot onto the main screen.

Nassat swiveled in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he recognized what they were doing. “Who is able to intercept?” he demanded.

The Ophipteran checked the data. “The patrol boat Qoumair is the closest,” he answered, “but they will not be in weapons range until the vessel has cleared the ionosphere.”

“Tell them to hurry,” Nassat ordered. “We dare not let even a single vessel escape, or we will lose control of the situation entirely.”

Things had grown steadily worse over Θ18, as the machine plague swept across the planet. It had become obvious that buried within the virus’ instructions were to infect as many Ronin as possible, by any means necessary. Those directives had led the vessel Triton to the planet, and now that created billions of new recruits to the Master’s infernal cause, those same commands had the Ronin doing everything in their power to break the quarantine.

A planet filled with machines, all working to a common purpose, are capable of almost anything.

They immediately got to work building ships to escape, stripped-down affairs that were little more than engines and a rough framework. Not requiring life support they could simply attach themselves to a girder, and blast away. Chiron and the other vessels scrambled to knock them out of the sky but considering they could be built anywhere their already meager forces were being stretched dangerously thin. Nassat had ordered all launch facilities to be obliterated from orbit, but it had barely slowed them down. The inventive Ronin simply dragged the materials they required to some remote location, assembled the ship, and took off. They would bombard the area after destroying the escaping craft, but more and more there was nothing there to blow up.

The crews were being worn to a frazzle as they struggled to keep up with the ever-increasing number of ships. Nassat had begged and pleaded for more ships, and to her credit, Hélène Fujimoto had promised to do what she could. But considering all her other requirements, the cupboard was looking bare. Once Admiral Matevosian’s task force returned to Tetrarchy space that would ease the problem somewhat, but they were still dangerously short of warships. The only other place they could have drawn reinforcements was from Earth Force, but the Prime Minister had sent them to reinforce Jiyazh Ghuuyaz, who was in even worse shape than he was.

Everywhere he looked, the situation was...not good.

Xeemvois acknowledged the order and passed it on, as Nassat watched the plot. Qoumair changed course and moved to intercept, but the escaping vessel had an impressive head start and could generate more thrust. It forced the patrol boat to redline its engines to catch them in time, a situation that was growing increasingly common. The Saurotaur general tried not to think what the continuing pace was doing to the ships and their crews, but what other choice did he have?

Well...there was one other option available to him, one that he had been doing everything within his power to avoid. If he ordered his forces to turn their antimatter weapons towards the planet, they could render it uninhabitable even by the Ronin in a matter of hours.

It would simplify the situation…if one overlooked the fact he would be committing genocide.

Nassat had not even considered that option...not yet, at least. There was still the possibility they could cure the Ronin somehow, but that would not be possible if they had reduced them to nothingness with an antimatter bomb. So they fought on, holding the quarantine by the skin of their teeth as they prayed for reinforcements.

As he watched the plot even he could see that Qoumair was struggling to get within firing range, and Nassat sent a questioning look to his Naval counterpart. Xeemvois shook his head. “Qoumair’s commander has made several requests to be taken off the line, to address maintenance issues, but so far…” He spread his hands helplessly.

The Saurotaur general nodded and turned away. They could spare none of the vessels, which meant the maintenance problems would only get worse with time. But they had to hold the line, to keep the infection penned up here on Θ18. The problem they faced was simple; to keep the Ronin from escaping they had to win every single engagement.

The Ronin only had to win once.

Qoumair closed the range, and opened fire, destroying the target, but there were no sighs of relief to be seen anywhere. Another Ronin ship would launch soon...and it would start all over again.

With everyone’s attention on the struggle of Θ18, most of the Tetrarchy had forgotten one minor detail; that two ships had escaped the battle at Gzuj. Triton had been destroyed...but that still left Phoenix.

Field Marshal Fujimoto had scrambled to cover the Ronin worlds, guessing they would be priority targets for the Ronin Masters. Θ18 had been proof of that, but that still left the question of the missing Phoenix. As the days and weeks dragged on, that question grew more and more important, though some believed the ship had been lost.

They were wrong. Phoenix hadn’t been lost...it was merely taking a more circumspect route to its target.

The Xairac system had no habitable worlds, not even with the advanced technology the Tetrarchy had at its disposal. There was only one reason that it held any infrastructure at all, and that was because it was rich in raw materials. Trillions of asteroids filled the space surrounding its star, making it the ideal location to assemble ships. They had constructed a massive spacedock to house the vessels being built, many of which would be destined for the Tetrarchy Navy. It was also one of the main suppliers of various metals and elements, and freighters plied their trade in the system nonstop.

Shipbuilding is an ancient and specialized field, where the workers are constantly forced to work in adverse conditions. The strain of working in microgravity, sealed up in suits, often limits how long an individual can labor at the task. They could have increased the size of the workforce to compensate, but the old Triumvirate had decided upon a simpler solution...handing it over to the Ronin.

Just like the Giayaam Microquasar that supplied the Tetrarchy with the bulk of its antimatter, the Ronin that toiled at the Xairac Shipyards needed no air to work and adapted easily to Zero-g. Over the years more and more of the machine folk had drifted into the system until it had become a rare sight for any non-Ronin to be used there.

They sounded warning alarms when Phoenix entered the system. The Prime Minister and Field Marshal were notified immediately, and a Task Force detached to deal with the problem.

But while Xairac held several weapons systems, all under the command of military forces, Phoenix...like its sister-ship Triton...ignored the incoming fire, and like at Θ18 it did not try to maneuver. Instead, it smashed into the main docking area, its rent fuselage spilling out hundreds of Ronin, all with one purpose in mind.

By the time the relief force arrived, it was all over. The newly infected Ronin had taken every ship capable of flight and scattered to the four winds.

The Quarantine had failed.