"Oooh, those diced steak pieces look good! Can I try a bite?"

"Sure! I'll trade you for half of that hard-boiled egg!"

Inside the Bloodbearer's Mess Hall, hundreds of Kessu and Kraktol mill together, their moods all but completely harmonious, especially compared to when the Kraktol first strode aboard the Bloodbearer five years before. With only twenty-four hours left before the ship exits Inverted Space, a certain level of anticipation fills the crew with excitement.

Admiral Rodriguez wanders over to a random table, one with a small group of Kessu and Kraktol yammering at each other. He plops down in the middle, drawing dozens of eyeballs toward him.

"Oh, Great Precursor! Tomorrow's the big day!" One Kessu lady exclaims. "Are you excited? Nervous?"

José spoons a big bite of mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, savoring the texture. After swallowing, he shrugs. "Not particularly. The operation will be a little troublesome, but otherwise, I doubt anything that happens will surprise me."

"That's the Admiral for you!" A male Kraktol roars. "Guy's made of steel! Not a shred of fear in his eyes! Did I tell you about the S-Rank simulation he joined last week? It was crazy! Three thousand orcs, goblins, and all kinds of other crazy monsters came running at him! He didn't even blink!"

The Kraktol continues regaling everyone with the story of José's incredible bravery, but the Admiral tunes him out. His eyes flick back and forth as Umi streams refresher information to his iris module.

Enchillon. A typical Type-M rock-world suitable for habitation. A formidable 21st Era battlestation orbits it, while two other low-tech stations orbit its nearest moon.

Estimated population: Three Hundred and Fourteen Billion sentients. More than fifty thousand sentient species roam its landmasses. It only has one small ocean of around eight hundred miles in circumference.

A three-dimensional map appears in the Admiral's vision, one which details the geography of the entire planet. Having obtained it from Orgon's computers several years earlier, its actual age is some twentyish years out of date, but that doesn't bother the Admiral.

Fascinating. The world's topography has certainly changed since I last visited. One hundred million years of tectonic shifting has given birth to several minor mountain ranges, while also compressing and deepening Enchillon's lone ocean. Some of the structures in its major cities even appear vaguely familiar to me. The Mallali must have built their capitol right on top of the old Terran ruins.

Admiral Rodriguez takes another bite of mashed potatoes, mixing up the flavor with some green beans, corn, and a rather exotic fish-like plant from an outer-rim world.

This 'Leshu' is quite tasty, but a bit too spongey for my liking... The Admiral thinks. He chews the salty seafood contemplatively before returning to his previous thoughts. Given the number of Sentients in the galaxy, I won't stick out on Enchillon. At least, that's what Soren and Sapphire claimed. There are so many minor species with two or three thousand living members that a random oddball like me will probably only turn a few curious heads. If anything, my tall stature will make me stand out. I'll have to bring Grundle along, since he'll surely draw all the attention to himself.

As the Admiral thinks, a pittering of paws catches his attention. He turns his head just in time for a tiny feline to poke his back.

"Boo! Scared you!"

José lowers his eyes and smiles. "Lulu! How are you doing, kiddo?"

The Admiral leans backward and scoops up a tiny three-year-old kitten, much smaller than Lele when he first met her. This ball of white fluff claws onto his coat excitedly. "I'm learning my ACD's! Big sis teaching me real good!"

The Admiral pets her head gently. "Haha! You'll have to work hard if you want to become as smart as your big sister! Speaking of which, where is that little cutie, anyway?"

José glances around the Cafeteria. He easily spots Lele mixed within a horde of other furry Kessu, her distinctive orange Science Officer uniform standing out from the rest.

Lele, as if sensing José's gaze, turns to look at the Admiral. She climbs off her bench and walks over to greet him.

"Hello, Admiral. I'm sorry, I didn't realize my sister ran off to bug you again."

"It's fine!" José declares, while handing Lulu over to Lele. "She's just as cute as you! Say, why have you started calling me 'Admiral' lately, eh? It's fine! Just keep calling me Big Baldy."

Lele lowers her head, clearly embarrassed. "I'm not a kitten anymore, Admiral. I'm all grown up now, you know."

"Nah, you're still a cute little kitty to me," José says, as he reaches over to pet her head. "You always will be!"

Just before José can touch Lele's hair, she shyly ducks away. "Um, I still need to finish my food. I'll... talk to you later!"

Lele turns and walks away, her pace a bit faster than before. She holds Lulu in her arms, bringing her little sister back to the table with the rest of the family, including Ruuki and his wife.

Several seconds pass. A strange look appears in the Admiral's eye before he turns back to his food.

"...The heck was that all about? Lele's been acting strange for months, now."

José only murmurs those words, but an adjacent Kessu still overhears his mumbling.

"Hehe. Oh, Great Precursor. Don't you know? Lele is already eleven years old! She's almost reached her mating age. She'll probably start going into heat soon, once the right season hits. It's like that for all the Kessu girls."

José's expression turns glum. "Mating, huh? Right. You Kessu have fairly rapid biological cycles. I completely forgot."

The Admiral pokes at his potatoes, but most of his appetite disappears. After forcing himself to swallow a few more bites, he sighs.

"Kids sure grow up fast. It wasn't all that long ago Lele was just a cute little kitten meowing at me for attention. Now she's already one of the Bloodbearer's senior technology researchers, along with her aunt Lorrie."

The old Kessu nods. He tears off a piece of Codfish and swallows it down, then chuckles.

"That's what happens! Kids grow up, they mate and have more kids, and then they grow old and die. Nothin' weird about it if you ask me-ow!"

José shrugs. "Still feels strange. I'm not used to living among people who all... age so fast. Most of my fellow Terrans lived for thousands of years."

"From what I hear," the Kessu replies, "there are some age-extending magic-spells the Mallali and Rodak elites use. Like Miss Lorrie. She's thousands of years old, too. The rest of us won't live anywhere as long as her. Same is true of the Kraktol leader-lady too. The Tool-pick."

"Well, it's not quite 'magic,'" José starts to explain, then immediately gives up. "But I suppose you can call it that. Anyway, nice chat. I've got to head back to the Bridge and prep for arrival."

Seeing the Admiral stand up, the whole table turns lively.

"Bye, Great Precursor!"

"Here's to hoping your big mission works out!"

"Maybe we can all take a holiday on that Mallali world, eh?"

José politely waves at the table of crew, then wanders over and dumps his leftover food in a nutrient deconstructor.

"Only twenty-four hours left," the Admiral murmurs.

.......................................

The next day.

José plops down on the Admiral's chair, while Soren sits in the First Officer's chair to his right, and Grundle in the Second Officer's chair on his left.

Despite Grundle's relatively low knowledge-base, he still makes for a decent backup pilot. He pays attention to the Bloodbearer's gravimetric readings as the Bridge's arrival timer counts down to zero.

"All readings nominal, graugh!" Grundle declares. "No issues reported in the Engineering Bay!"

"We're exiting Inverted Space in three seconds," Soren adds.

Moments later, the Bloodbearer's forward displays shift, winking tens of millions of tiny stars into existence from the previously pitch-black void outside. The Bloodbearer doesn't even momentarily vibrate from the exit sequence.

"Impressive work," José says, directing his words at Soren. "You and Lorrie solved that longstanding engine shudder when transitioning from FTL-space."

"Lele helped us," Soren replies, still fixing her eyes on the various readings before her. "We've arrived half a lightyear out from Enchillon's star. That should keep us plenty far away from any casual or directed scans."

José nods. His eyes flicker rapidly as he peruses the incoming scan-data.

"Hm? What's this? No way!"

José's shout of surprise catches Soren off-guard. She quickly turns her head to look at him. "What's the matter, Admiral? Did you detect a hidden enemy?"

"No, no, nothing like that," José says. "I just... I discovered a blip in P-space. Does Enchillon possess a Quantum Entanglement Node?"

Soren stares at him for three full seconds before replying. "...Of course. Does that surprise you?"

"Does it surprise me?" José repeats. "Naturally! I... well, I sort of assumed they'd all have decayed after humanity went extinct."

Soren nods in realization. "Ah, I see. Yes, Quantum Entanglement Nodes still exist inside the Galactic Core, and a few species, such as the Kraktol, also have one orbiting their homeworld. Nobody knows how to actually build a QEN, so any planet with one protects it with a substantial military force."

As José and Soren talk, Grundle turns to them in confusion. "Graugh? What is a Quantum Entanglement Node?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," Soren answers. "It's basically a giant satellite that can transmits streams of data instantaneously to any point in space. Any QEN can connect to any other one. It's how distant frontier worlds like Dragua can always stay up to date on the happenings in the Core."

"Back in Terran times," José says, "QEN's weren't anything special. Most planets had one, sometimes even two, if only for backup. I didn't see one around Tarus II, so I assumed they all fell apart. QENs aren't exactly durable. They require a lot of maintenance and fine-tuning to keep their frequencies aligned."

"During the Sentient Expansion Era," Soren explains, "the Kessu often found and rebuilt any nodes wherever they found them. Most of the galaxy's current nodes got put up by the Kessu thousands of years ago."

"Sounds like they've become quite the important strategic resource," José mutters. "If one of them breaks, that planet can say goodbye to their galactic trading capabilities."

...

Many minutes later, José and Soren finish performing several long-range scans.

"We've stopped beyond the reach of any typical shipping lanes," Soren says. "I doubt anyone will pass through this section of space for the next few days."

José rises from his chair. "Good. Grundle, Soren, you two will come with me. We'll have Sapphire join us on this journey. The Slipstream can fly us the rest of the way to Enchillon, undetected."

As the Admiral starts to leave, his First and Second Officers fall into position behind him. Their formidable appearance and domineering stature turns the three of them into the mightiest beings on the ship.

"You're sure we can't bring any Kessu with us?" José asks.

Soren shakes her head. "Not even one. Especially not Lorrie. Kessu barely exist outside of Tarus II. All the remnant stragglers barely amount to a couple thousand across dozens of planets. They're all slaves to powerful warlords, including the Thülvik."

"Mmm. Slaves..." Admiral Rodriguez mutters, his gaze hardening. "Of all the horrific practices one can engage in, I detest few more than slavery. It is among the most foul and heretical acts one can foist upon a fellow man. Not even one's worst enemy deserves such demeaning treatment."

Soren appears less convinced. "It's a punishment like any other."

Grundle, too, doesn't seem to mind. "If you win a war, you enslave the losers, make 'em work for you. I don't see the problem."

José clicks his tongue, but doesn't retort. "My reasons for detesting slavery are both boundless and infinite. If I ever catch anyone calling themselves my ally while performing such a barbaric practice, I will unleash the fires of creation upon them."

Noticing the severity in his voice, both Officers merely nod.

"Yes, Admiral."

...

A bit later, Soren and Grundle take up the Slipstream's controls, while half a dozen other Kraktol staff the other essential parts of the ship's processes, if only to serve as emergency backup personnel in case of an emergency. Among them is Sapphire, who keeps uncharacteristically silent while tending to her duties.

"Greetings, Admiral Rodriguez. I have reconfigured the Slipstream to its most effective stealth profile and input the designated coordinates for your destination." Synthmind 4131 chirps cheerfully above. "Do you have any further orders?"

"No," José says. "Take us away. I'm somewhat eager to see the core of Mallali space."

"As you command."

José settles into the Captain's Chair. He watches silently as the Slipstream lifts off the hangar deck and flies out of the airlock, passing through the oxygen-shield membrane without a hitch. Seconds later, it activates its FTL drive for a quick burst into the inner system, then decelerates after a few minutes, arriving within ten million kilometers of Enchillon itself.

The moment the Slipstream exits FTL-space, it becomes undetectable to all pre-50th Era sensors. Its surface shimmers and liquefies, making it invisible to the naked eye as well, while its heat signature diminishes to nothing.

"This vessel never fails to amaze me..." José murmurs. "Just who in the hell had the ability to craft such an advanced ship?"

The Slipstream materializes several images of Enchillon in the Bridge's center while also feeding images directly to the Admiral's neo-cortex implants. Within seconds, José gets a much better picture of the planet's current status.

Hundreds of thousands of spaceships pass to and from Enchillon. The planet's musky grey surface, mostly composed of rock and deliberately-constructed buildings, doesn't appear anywhere as lush and lively as Tarus II. Its atmosphere is one choked with fumes and smog capable of sucking the life out of its inhabitants.

José manipulates a holographic image of Enchillon's capital city, New Pongi, a sprawling megapolis with over twenty billion inhabitants spread across three hundred square miles of infrastructure.

"Mmm. Interesting."

Soren follows the Admiral's movements, watching as he manipulates the holograms, rotating, spinning, and zooming as he pleases.

"Is something on your mind?" Soren asks.

José sighs. "Remember what I told you a few years ago? About the Volgrim, and the First Founder's magnum opus?"

"Order to Chaos?" Soren replies. "I do."

"Well, now's a good time to practice," José says. "Look at this city. What do you see?"

Soren falls silent. She gazes at the city for over a minute while the Slipstream hovers idly in orbit, not moving in until the Admiral gives his order.

"I... don't know. I've forgotten most of what you said. Something about the city's configuration revealing its inhabitants culture... but beyond that, I don't remember."

"That's too bad..." José mutters. "When I look at New Pongi, I see..."

He pauses for a moment, as if to search for the right word.

"...Arrogance. Not just any arrogance, but foolish, deluded arrogance. The entire way this city was constructed reeks of some poor delusional fool imagining himself a god among ants."

José points at a random group of two hundred buildings on the eastern side of the city.

"Look here. This appears to be an industrial sector. See those pipes pumping smoke into the sky? Arrogant. Look at the city's foundations. Someone constructed those facilities right over a residential neighborhood. A ghetto, by the looks of the underlying buildings. They didn't build there out of necessity, but because they didn't give one iota of a damn about the poor sods trapped underneath. For all these industrialists cared, even if the 'poors' never again bore witness to the sun shining upon their homes, it wouldn't matter. They're lower class citizens, and thus, their lives never mattered in the slightest."

The Admiral motions toward a huge facility to the north. "And just look at this monstrosity. It fancies itself a museum, a place where statues of the old Mallali Founders can stand for all eternity. But someone built it next door to another ghetto! Why? All so they could crush the impoverished peoples with despair, knowing their betters would never allow them to set foot inside a place so extravagant."

Clearly growing angrier by the minute, the Admiral gnashes his teeth. "Enchillon always was a bastard of a planet. My brother escaped a life of enslavement, yet it has only grown worse since Terrankind's fall. How sad. How repulsive. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think Enchillon's former debauchery might have been an improvement over its modern failings."

Soren nods along neutrally. "You seem fairly worked up about this, José. I hope you'll keep your rationality intact once we land. The situation is much worse on the surface compared to what we see from space."

Admiral Rodriguez nods. "Yes, I'll be fine. I've seen plenty of shitholes in my day. It's just that Enchillon has grown markedly worse compared to my era... it took me by surprise."

Everyone falls silent. They return their attention to the Slipstream's descent, making sure nothing goes wrong during their planetary approach. Several crew members hold their breaths as Synthmind 4131 reports multiple wide-area scanning beams flickering past them, but not even the Core's advanced technology manages to detect the Slipstream.

"Enchillon doesn't have a Planetary Shield anymore..." José murmurs. "During the Terran Era, practically all planets did. It was the most effective way to guarantee a band of marauders wouldn't irradiate worlds from space. Especially the Children of Ghül. They would do anything to exterminate sentient life."

"Why were they such extremists?" Soren asks.

"I'm not entirely sure. From what Command let on, the Children of Ghül believed humanity was a vile species, one in need of extermination. They sought to 'improve' us by removing our 'negative emotions,' such as fear and greed. Ironically, the abominations they created all ended up carrying humanity's worst traits ten times over, with none of our redeeming qualities."

"Maybe your Command lied to you?" Soren offers. "The Children of Ghül might have had completely different goals. Ramma's leadership simply didn't keep you and the other rank-and-file in the know."

José waves her suggestion away. "Nonsense. Command trained us all to be elite warriors who protected humanity's purity. Ghül's monsters were impure heretics. Their destruction was in everyone's best interests."

The Admiral's confident tone leaves no room for doubting his words, so Soren merely shrugs. "If you insist."

"What, you don't believe me?" José asks. "I have no reason to lie."

"Of course not. But that doesn't mean your former leaders didn't. Look, José, do you really think such a powerful militaristic faction would tell their grunts all the details? You once told me you found implants belonging to the Third Hand inside the Bloodbearer's medical facilities. Those weren't stolen; they were created in partnership with one of your worst enemies. Why would an organization dedicated to protecting humanity's 'purity' join claws with such evil heretics if that were the case?"

The Admiral falters. "I... I don't know. They must have had good reasons."

Soren glances at José, her eyes glinting with insight. "Good reasons? Or simple greed? No power structure stays in perfect condition forever. Perhaps someone corrupted your faction's once-noble ideals for their own benefit."

Admiral Rodriguez lowers his eyes. "Mmm. Maybe..."

They fall silent once again as the Slipstream descends through Enchillon's atmosphere, directly over the city's center. Immediately, hundreds of vehicles begin flying past them, whooshing by at dangerous speeds.

Synthmind 4131 beeps in alarm. "Warning. Maintaining total stealth at this altitude will raise the likelihood of a collision to unacceptable levels. With other craft unable to detect the Slipstream's presence, they will not be able to avert their course in time."

José nods. "I expected as much. Gather enough data from nearby vessels to craft a dummy profile, then beam it out so others can detect and avoid us. Make sure our identity is somewhat benign. We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves."

"Orders acknowledged, Admiral Rodriguez. Altering stealth profile now."

The Slipstream doesn't visibly change, but as it descends, the number of hover vehicles flying within fifty feet of it diminish significantly, their autopiloting systems automatically rerouting to avoid the Slipstream's huge, bulky mass.

Enchillon proves to be a powerhouse of industry, a world filled to the brim with factories spitting out fumes, political structures towering over the masses, and countless ghettos built at the bottom layer of the city, the most poor and impoverished people barely scraping by.

Countless vehicles fly through the air, most of them substandard 5th to 25th-Era luxury or transport craft. Not only hover-taxis, but ritzy limousines and bulky hauling vehicles for garbage and goods fly through the air.

José carefully examines the level of technology, then nods to himself.

Enchillon is certainly far more advanced than Tarus II; there's no debate. But compared to its Terran days, this planet has become a total dump.

As the Slipstream flies across the planet's skies, its massive presence draws little attention. While the Slipstream appears ten or even twenty times larger than any of the other craft flying through the air, its bullet-shaped body makes it look much slimmer than it actually is. Additionally, its stealth profile makes its presence hazy, as if obscured by mist.

It flies past numerous towering spires, factories, and other such buildings, traveling toward the city's outskirts.

"Put us down half a mile from any nearby structure," José says. "We'll walk toward the city's center."

"Walk?" Soren repeats. "Admiral, we'll have to travel tens of miles to reach the Mallali leaders' bases. Not to mention getting past their security, we'll have to cross dozens of security checkpoints along the way. I don't have any identification that can allow us inside the high-security zones."

The Admiral waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I installed several augments just for our trip. We'll make it inside just fine. Trust me, I've done this a million times."

Soren appears unenthusiastic, despite her Admiral's confidence. "If you insist."

Once the Slipstream reaches a surprisingly barren, open area, it climbs toward a small, rocky hill. Dangerous predators snarl at the descending 'sky monster,' only to whimper and run away as it hovers overhead.

"Put us down behind those rocks," José says.

"Yes, Admiral."

Synthmind 4131 expertly guides the Slipstream to a small, narrow canyon, and places down. It easily navigates the confined space, then beeps in affirmation.

"The Slipstream has made landfall, Admiral."

José sucks in a long breath.

"Finally. Now the fun can begin."