;-p finally we have anew chapter, I have been 🙏 for one.
This is a superb novel with a fantastic new direction for the Odyssey/Odysseus series. I am thoroughly enjoying reading this new arc. I am really liking the new characters that have been added plus the return of some old friends that have taken a few books off (probably resting up for these new books).
Thanks Evan,I think this just might be your best work.
Kept us waiting for this one.
Yes sir, I think we’re looking at s resource system
"a"?
The radiation damage along was enough to scour the hull of a ship an
alone?
The cruiser their were now tailing had seen its best days a long time before he was born,
they?
This series is absolutely fantastic!! I truly cannot wait for the next chapter.
I can't wait to read more!! This is the best sci-fi series I've ever read!!!!
Evan, a few minor edits high-lighted in red for you to review. hope they help.
Chapter 1 Earth, North American Confederation
Nations of Sol Building, New York City
“Order! I will have Order!”
The speaker of the council room yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to be heard over the general clamour of the room. People from almost every single nation had been gathered, and the majority of them were distinctly unhappy with what they were being told.
“Mr Speaker, the Confederation has clearly been operating with loose disregard for the security of this planet! We all saw that when those… monsters landed here and attempted to kill us all! How many more lives are we to throw upon the flames of their foolish hubris!?”
Dozens of voices shouted in response, some angrily refuting the accusations but most screaming down the first group as the speaker continued to demand order among the chaos that had completely filled the room.
Commodore Eric Stanton Weston silently observed it all, standing at parade rest as he waited any legitimate demands on his attention. He was trying to ignore the anger, though he personally understood it. None of them were saying anything he hadn’t personally torn himself up over from time to time, all things considered.
It was even possible that they were right, at least some degree.
He didn’t believe that his actions had been incorrect with what he knew at the time he took each one, but in hindsight? There were certainly some that could have been handled more… suitably, with regard to world security.
The Diplomatic Attaché to the NoS from the Confederation was standing quietly at his side, a restraining hand occasionally resting on Eric’s arm whenever the lady in question thought that Eric might be about to lose his patience and snap at the representatives himself.
She needn’t have concerned herself with that, he’d seen this whole mess before and while it was on a slightly bigger level now, Eric wasn’t about to start screaming at diplomats no matter how much of an arrogant ass they might be.
If I can stare down a mass murderer across a screen and not give in to the temptation to annihilate his entire command and a good chunk of his worlds, I can deal with these fools.
And fools he did consider them to be, because while he might agree with their points to varying degrees… there was one salient aspect that they were all ignoring.
The decisions had already been undertaken, the actions made. There was no retracting them, and seeking retribution or censure had no practical relevance at this juncture.
The Empire was out there, and they had a grudge against Earth.
That had to be dealt with.
Anything else?
Well, they can fire me if I live.
The issues had to be dealt with, otherwise there wouldn’t be anything for them to squabble over. He only hoped that he’d managed to get that much across to his superiors within the NAC military. Admiral Gracen appeared to understand, if nothing else, but she’d long been one of the more reasonable officers he’d had to deal with. Her job was what mattered to her, not her position.
Too many had forgotten the difference.
His tensions must have been noticeable under the calm he was trying to exude, however, since the representative beside him once more gave him a concerned look.
“Easy Commodore,” She said softly, “This isn’t unusual, they’re just jockeying for position once negotiations start.”
“I know,” He said with gritted teeth, “but we just don’t have the time for this.”
Sandrine Demault shook her head slightly, “We have the time to do what we must do. This is the way forward, Commodore. If we try to work around all of these other nations, it will cost us far more time and resources than we gain.”
Eric knew that too.
It didn’t make it any easier to deal with what felt like a colossal waste of precious seconds, however, seconds that he knew the Empire were putting to good use.
“Squabbling amongst ourselves while there’s an existential threat looking is…” He mumbled, grasping at, and failing to find the appropriate word to finish the comment.
“Very human,” Sandrine said simply, having no issue finding the word she felt fit the comment best.
Eric sourly tipped his head in acknowledgement of that point. She certainly wasn’t wrong; he knew for a fact. People had a tendency to deal with stress in… some wildly counterproductive ways.
Arguing amongst one another was actually one of the better of many bad options, in his experience at least. They could be literally fighting, he supposed, declaring war on one another in an effort to gain some sort of control or resources that they believed would allow them to come to grips with the situation in an ultimately positive way.
Humanity and Sanity might rhyme, but rarely did they share the centre spot in a Venn diagram.
“How much longer?” He asked, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t travel even if someone had a directional mic aimed at him… which, he was quite certain, many did.
“For me? Weeks, I expect,” Sandrine smiled ironically, “but you should be done after today.”
Thank God, Eric sighed audibly and could feel himself relax.
Earlier in his life, he’d never wanted anything more than to get back into the skies. Forget the military, forget whoever was paying his salary, just…fly.
He still felt that, but it had morphed over the years into a desire to get back into the black.
Out there, past the frontier, where the universe was at least honest in its hatred of he and his people. Sure, everything wanted them dead, but at least in space there wasn’t any illusions otherwise. Not like in the room he was currently standing, where half the people screaming about his decisions had come up to him the night before and shook his hand, smiling and chatting like old friends.
Eric had been a Marine most of his life, and he’d known enemies that he cheerfully would have strangled with his bare hands… and vice versa… who he respected more.
He did know, however, that as much as he hated it… the truth was, the damn fools in front of him really were Humanity’s best hope for getting their shit in order.
God help us.
*****
Space Station Liberty
Admiral Gracen stood at the overlook that was set off from one of the corridors that led to her office. The Earth looked… serene from where she stood, and she could almost fool herself into thinking that it really was.
Unfortunately, she was fully aware of the events going on both on the surface, and out there beyond the edge of the solar system.
With enemies baying for our blood, we have damned fools arguing over whether it was better to fight them or try to appease them. It’s like we’ve learned nothing from history.
Weston’s reports on the actions of the Empire dovetailed perfectly with the interrogations she’d overseen since. She didn’t entirely understand how a multi-planet empire could be so tied to what really constituted as little more than pure bigotry boiled down to its core, but there it was.
Technically, the Xeno concerns of the Empire at least made more sense than the imbecilic radial tensions that still existed on Earth. Skin colour was no different than hair colour in terms of telling one person from another, after all. The Empire had focused their bigotry on a much larger portion of the genome, which… she guessed was an improvement?
That was offset, of course, by the fact that the sections of the genome in question were largely atrophied genetic lines that did little, if anything, when it came to the elements that made a person… human.
Bigotry is bigotry, I suppose, Gracen thought tiredly. There’s no point in ascribing logic to it because there is none from the start. Any logical framework the bigots build over it is constructed to reach the conclusions they want to reach, not the truth.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Even if they had some actual concrete support for their idiocy, her job would remain the same.
Gracen just wished that everyone would get out of the way and let her be about it.
Luckily, the resources at her command were not entirely dependent on the good will of nations that were not always friendly with the Confederation.
She had been working nonstop since the Empire’s original incursion into Solar space, expanding the Kardashev Net. Study of the few captured specimens of Drasin were invaluable for that, their self-replication capability was intensely fascinating when it wasn’t powering a wave of planet-eating monsters bearing down on you.
However, there were limits. Time, material resources, and political will were the big three she was fighting with every step forward she managed to take.
But, worst of all, was that Amanda didn’t truly know if it mattered.
Even if the entire world suddenly opted to work together, as ludicrous a concept as that was, she didn’t know if it would be enough.
The Empire was too big, had too many worlds, and far too many resources at their command.
So far, they’d managed to stand off Goliath with the threat of a slingshot… but she could see the big bastard calculating the risk with every ship movement reported back. Eventually, Amanda was certain that the Empire would decide that the calculations fell in their favour, and they’d just take their lumps and move on Earth with determination.
When that happened…
Gracen didn’t know, she just… didn’t know.
*****
Nations of Sol Building, New York City
Silma Venn, a representative of the Priminae people, watched the discussions with academic interest more than anything else. As an off-worlder, Silma had limited influence and no actual say in the outcome, which neatly relieved at least some of the tensions he could see the people here dealing with.
Not all of them, of course, because there was no doubt now that the Priminae had become deeply tied to the fate of the people of this world, so seeing them in chaos like this made him deeply question the actions of the Priminae leadership that had led them to this point.
The Priminae leadership would never fight openly like this, even the most vociferous disagreements were conducted with a great deal more decorum so as to avoid inflaming those that followed. Leaders might disagree, but it was their followers who most often caused the true damages… and often did so against the wishes of those who led.
The sorts of public fighting he was seeing here, being pushed out to everyone who cared to observe it, was essentially guaranteed to create strife amongst the people.
Rael is a strange man, to be able to so easily deal with people like these.
*****
Eric listened as the arguing wound down, most because the people involved were getting tired than that they’d actually made any progress.
He couldn’t seem to get across to them the seriousness of the threat, that they were dealing with a potentially existential threat. Most of them had barely even seen the Drasin when they were on Earth, he suspected, having ran for bunkers and shelters when that attack came… but they had seen the evidence of the attack, at least.
The Empire, however, had been dealt with entirely out beyond the Moon’s orbit.
To most of those here, on Earth, it just as well might not have happened. Literally, in fact, for many. Eric had already seen a growing conspiracy movement that argued that the attack had been invented by the Confederation as means to secure more funding and power.
As if the Bloc would allow us to get away with that sort of bullshit.
Which, of course, had led right into a theory that the Confederation and the Bloc were in on it together.
The lunacy of that theory, to a man who’d fought through many of the bloodiest battles of the Bloc War, actually stung deep under his thick skin. Still, it was nothing new. He’d grown up with the same foolishness coming at him from all sides. The nature of a global communications system made it ideal for connecting people who desired connection.
No matter what they intended to do with it.
Eric just wished that the leadership would stop taking advantage of those idiots. Just let them live in their dark hole. Stop bringing them out into the light.
Power, though, was power… whether it was derived from genius, or idiocy… and politicians were always loath to give up on power.
*****Chapter 2
Deep Space, Archangel Lead
Steph swung over a knee knocker as he slipped into the command deck of the small fighter/gunboat and nodded briefly to where Tyke was camped out in the pilot’s section. Unlike most of the ships he’d served on to that point, the Archangel Class Gunboat had a strange relationship with the pilot.
Most ships, the pilot had one job. Fly the ship and that was all she wrote. On an Archangel Fighter, well it was a little more involved of course. Flying, gunning, missiles, RADAR intercept… the list of jobs just went on and on.
On the Archangel F/GB vessels, the division of tasks was a little more balanced, but still strongly leaned on the pilot to handle the ship and weapons while in combat. The rest of the crew were there, for the most part, to take some of the stress off the pilot’s shoulders, rather than completely take over any given task.
The stress of the job wasn’t quite as high as it would be in a one man fighter over the same duration but, of course, one man fighters weren’t expected to operate away from a base for months or longer at a time.
“Go grab some grub and a nap,” He ordered as Tyke let himself emerge from the augmented display of the pilot’s section.
“Thanks, boss.”
Tyke was tired and it was obvious, but Steph didn’t say anything about it. They were all tired. Even the Marines who didn’t have a lot to do most of the time were getting worn down by the long hours with nothing to even look at besides the walls of the somewhat small ship.
Since their last contact with the Confederation, mostly just to fill them in on the new mission profile the squadron had picked up from the Empire of all groups, they’d been running mock recon flights of Priminae space and reporting back to their Imperial contact with accurate but largely useless intelligence.
Building their legend was an important part of the job, but it was little more than long hours of drudgery followed by even longer hours of the same. While the Priminae, and most Solar vessels, hadn’t been informed of their identity, evading the big cruisers that made up the bulk of both groups combat capable vessels was child’s play for the Archangel F/GB platforms.
The only real threat to them were the smaller and nearly infinitely stealthier Destroyers like the Rogue Class ships, which could basically become a black hole in space and wait until you practically ran into the damn things before revealing themselves.
Thankfully, barring insane bad luck, they were unlikely to wind up in that situation.
Tyke trudged off the deck, heading for his bunk if there were any brain cells still firing in his weary skull, as Steph secured his flight suit and stepped into the flight station, turning on the augmented controls.
Unlike the earlier versions of the NICS neural interface, the modern one had a hot plug capable port as well as short range high speed wireless connections. He’d had to have the needles permanently installed along his spinal cord, of course, which had a certain pucker factor Steph was loath to remember, but it had a hell of a lot of advantages over the old ‘stick the needles in every time you want to use them’ system.
As soon as he was in position, the augmented HUD lit up around him. Parts of the interface were actually projected around him using holographic hard light field tech, based in part on Priminae devices, while the highest priority information was directly ported either to his eyes through small dedicated projectors that were part of his suit, or through his nerves to his brain through the NICS system itself.
The bi-directional nature of the new system had taken a lot of getting used to, but it was now second nature.
A gesture deactivated the gravity control in the section, putting him into a microgravity state that was controlled by several external tractors so that he didn’t accidentally float clear of the section during manoeuvres. It wound up giving Steph a pure sensation of flight like nothing he’d ever felt, particularly once the feeling of cosmic wind and dust were transmitted from the hull sensors to his nerves via the NICS system.
“Archangels, Lead.” He said as he was fully integrated into the network.
One by one the others in the squadron checked in, letting him know they were listening.
“We’re due a rendezvous with our Imperial friends shortly,” He said, “police all transmissions accordingly. Move to standby status until further notice, but no need to heighten alerts beyond that.”
Steph knew a few of his Captains would be more than happy to go straight to General Quarters every time any hint of Imperial contact was expected… and he rather agreed with them, but their current task profile made that a bit monotonous and likely to erode discipline more than enforce it.
If he had to order his men to General Quarters he wanted them to know, beyond any question, that he was serious about the situation. Having them get used to sitting through that time and time again while all he was doing was chatting with the Empire would just as likely come back to bite him on the ass at the worst possible time… eventually.
Steph secured Archangel Lead, making sure that the transponder was turned off while the Imperial version was on, broadcasting the ID “Gaia’s Revenge” in Imperial code before he took direct control and leaned into the controls.
The ship responded smoothly to his motion, arcing through space as the rest of the squadron joined up behind him.
They were far enough from Priminae and Terran space not to have to worry about getting caught by any allies not in the know, and as far as he could determine the Empire had no interest in the system they’d camped out in either. It made for a safe place to take a couple of days to process and try and relax, missing only a Steel Beach outing to be like old times to his mind.
Oddly enough, no one seemed to think that extravehicular space walks made for a good way to relax.
“Archangels, Lead. Standby to warp space.”
Steph powered the drives, both missing and not missing the Transition Drive as he did every time, he started mapping out a route through warp travel. A thousand times lightspeed sounded fast, until you realized that the Galaxy was damn near a hundred thousand lightyears across.
Maybe, when this war is over, we can get back to real exploration. The Transition drive places the universe at our fingertips. Fuck the Empire for making us fight over this tiny part of one Galaxy.
*****
Imperial World Kraike
Her Majesty, Empress of the most powerful polity in the known Galaxy, had a weariness to her as she sat upon the throne and dealt with the many high ranked fools who came to impress her with whatever needs they wished her to address. None of it mattered, of course. Minor bickering, tax relief, foolish short sighted goals, and of course the incessant petty ambitions.
Her father had long coached her on this task, however, and as much as she despised it, Emilia was well aware that it was one of the most important tools available to her for maintaining control of the various worlds and minor political affiliations within the Empire.
Troubles came to her here, politely worded and veiled in subtlety, before they visited their wrath on the citizens elsewhere. Her duty, as Empress, was to spot the real problems when they were hiding among the invented ones that also came to her throne.
Her mind, this time however, was not on that aspect of the job.
Her friend, one of very few she claimed in her life, had been killed during a conflict with the latest threat to the Empire. A group of likely Xeno threats in the guise of humanity had managed to ally with the traitors who’d betrayed the Empire a long time earlier. When her forces had discovered the location the treasonous fools had fled to, Emilia had believed that fate have smiled on her.
Their discovery of a slumbering Drasin core some time earlier all came together and the plan was set.
The Oather traitors would fall to another ancient enemy, leaving the Empire avenged and the greatest foe they’d ever known reduced to the role of a loyal attack dog.
All would have been as it should.
Until the anomaly species. The Xeno culture.
They were unlike anything in Imperial records, and that ignorance on the part of the Empire had proven costly.
They’d lost dozens, if not hundreds of ships by this point. Infrastructure destroyed during their ‘lesson’ to the Fleet Commander who had led the assault on their world alone counted its cost in the gross product of several Imperial worlds.
For all that, however, it was clear that they could not stand face to face with the Empire if she gave that final order.
The probing efforts they made, while costly, had shown quite clearly that the enemy simply didn’t have nearly as many ships as it had initially appeared. Emilia was far from certain just how they were managing to move about the systems they patrolled as quickly as they did, but once the notes returned with the survivors of the Intelligence Fleet, they’d found enough corroborating data to show that a very few specific ships continually showed up at battles.
They’d managed to gain enough understanding of the Xeno protocols to crack their basic transmissions, which included the name of the lead vessel.
Odysseus, the Warrior King.
A presumptuous name, but one she had to admit she rather liked. Emilia assumed that there was a cultural reference there that she was missing, but it wasn’t difficult to make some obvious guesses as to the origins. A legendary warrior king, perhaps one that was real, perhaps not. The origin didn’t matter, not truly, but she might make an effort to learn it anyway before the end.
It would make for an interesting distraction from the fools, and a neat addendum to this particular era of Imperial growth.
*****
Archangel Lead, Gaia’s Revenge
The squadron dropped from warp far out of the target system, curving about to bleed off the high energy particles they’d swept up during their passage through interstellar space. Safely dispensing with the radiation and dust particulates the warp field gathered during even short FTL transits were a significant safety procedure that warp vessels had to follow, lest they accidentally irradiate a planet or two.
Thankfully the Priminae drives that the Confederation used were pretty rough and ready setups and had safety protocols designed right into the hardware. Steph knew that the Rogues, which used technology more pulled from the Bloc warp field research, were a lot more finnicky and dangerous in those regards.
A warning buzz got his attention as they hit the Heliosphere of the local primary, and he killed the alarm a moment later when he recognized the source.
“Archangels, Lead,” He signalled, “Imperial task group has contacted us and given directions to rendezvous. Two, you’re with me. Everyone else, hold back.”
The team responded quickly as the formation split up, leaving the Revenge and Archangel Two (which had yet to pick up an informal moniker of its own) moving deeper in system toward the Imperial warships that awaited them.
*****
Imperial Third Fleet Flagship
Jesan Mich watched as the mercenary’s ships approached as scheduled, once more wondering about the origins of the oddly designed vessels. He’d run them through every database he had without finding a match, they just didn’t fit any of the currently fielded designs from the Empire, the Free Stars, nor even the Priminae or the Anomaly species.
He’d run those last comparisons multiple times, in fact, just to be certain. However, there wasn’t anything that really stood out as having similarities of any significance there. Certainly, some design elements were there on both, but there were more commonalities with the Imperial designs and those of the Free Stars.
Certain practical limits existed when you were designing for a humanoid form, all things considered.
“The Revenge has signalled for permission to approach, Fleet Commander.”
“Signal them in,” Jesan said casually as he rose to his feet. “I will meet with their Captain in the conference room.”
“Yes Fleet Commander, I will have them escorted up.”
*****
Steph once again found himself walking through the corridors of an Imperial ship, the same ship in fact. Oddly it felt more familiar to him than Priminae designs. The Empire liked to use metals, steel and titanium alloys had a way of reminding him of home compared to the Ceramics that the Priminae favoured.
He always felt like he was walking on glass in a Priminae ship, even though the ceramic armour was considerably tougher than steel, though certainly less ductile.
Imperial ships felt colder, though, than he was used to. He wasn’t certain how much of that was the actual atmospheric settings and how much was purely psychological, though. Steph was pretty certain that both were in play to some degree.
The Imperial Marines, or whatever they called themselves, came to a stop outside a large armoured door that slid open on cue.
“Captain Teach, Welcome.”
Steph heard his non-de-guerre and looked in to spot the Fleet Commander there, standing at the far side of a conference table, and had an short but powerful urge to go for a sidearm he wasn’t carrying… mostly just to see if the dark clad man could block bullets with his hand.
The urge passed swiftly, thankfully, and he stepped over the ridge that separated the room from the corridor, and nodded to the Fleet Commander as he was directed to a seat across the table.
“Good to be aboard again,” Steph said politely, eyes not leaving the face of the man who’d actually invaded Sol space and did a damn good attempt at finishing the job the Drasin had started.
“I have been maintaining an eye on your actions and reports,” Jesan said conversationally. “You’ve been oddly cautious, concerning some of your actions in the Free Stars.”
Steph snorted softly, “There is a reason we included an ‘Empire Clause’ in our contacts with any of the Free Star’s polities. The same holds true with the level of game you want us to play. You have enemies who know their business, I’ll give you that much.”
“They do indeed,” Jesan confirmed. “However, we were already aware of that.”
“No doubt,” Steph replied. “They move fast, disguise their numbers well, and they’re rapidly becoming harder to tell apart from the… what did you call them? Oathers?”
Jesan nodded, but leaned in, “What do you mean, disguise their numbers?”
Steph hesitated, he knew that the Empire had to have noticed this by now, but was still wary about giving away the wrong piece of intelligence. He needed to give them enough to be a valued asset, but not enough for them to actually do anything significant with it.
“We’ve seen the same ships, many times over,” he said slowly. “Often seemingly lightyears apart from where they might be expected to be…”
Jesan nodded, “indeed. And your thoughts on this?”
“Well, either they’re a lot faster than any drive I know of,” Steph tried to insert a bit of scoffing tone to that statement, “or they’re intentionally masking their ships, making them look like a single group.”
Jesan leaned back, hands folding in front of him as he stared at the Pirate Captain across from him.
Imperial Intelligence was beginning to believe that the former was true, he knew well, that the Anomalous species had some means of considerably faster FTL transit. However, he could appreciate how someone could easily take the same evidence and come up with Teach’s conclusion.
Certainly, even knowing what he did about Imperial Intelligence’s conclusions, he still couldn’t help but think that the second idea seemed more likely.
“And your conclusions?” Jesan asked neutrally.
“Realistically? The Empire can take them,” Steph hid a wince as he said that, trying to coach his next statement to caution against his first, “but it’ll be costly. Likely extremely costly.”
Jesan nodded, unsurprised by the statement. It certainly paralleled his own thoughts on the matter, though he was of the opinion now that the Empress was rapidly reaching the end of their patience and when that happened… well, concerns about the costs involved would fall by the wayside.
“Very well,” He opted not to mention that, since the Pirate Captain hardly had any need to know that information. “Let us speak of your next assignment for the Empire.”
*****Chapter 3
NACS Odysseus
Miriam Heath quietly oversaw the dark shift, the staff on hand down to the bare bones as most of the crew were cycling through leave or getting new assignments from Command. The task group had been recalled back to Earth after the incident with the Empire at the Priminae mining system, severe enough damages to the ships that some time in a secure dock was essentially mandated.
The Forge on the Priminae side, and the Terran equivalent, had no available spaces at the moment. Both were turning out new ships as quickly as they could faster, in fact, than they could train people to man them.
Heath had a full third of the crew now being brought up to minimum readiness levels because they were fresh out of the academy, and the Odysseus wasn’t the only one in the group, or the fleet, in a similar boat by any measure.
Despite that massive influx of newly trained sailors, marines, pilots, you name it… they still had empty hulls waiting for trained crews to take over.
In part this was due to a huge press from both the Bloc and the Confederation, along with their allies, but also the increased interest from private groups.
Private corporations, cooperative groups, and such were buying up any slip time they could manage… even building new slips on Earth for their projects… and getting large exploration and Colonial ships through the design and into the construction phase.
The net result of that was a massive demand for anyone with training in space. Since arriving back in Sol after their last visit, Heath herself had received no less than eight head-hunter messages offering her up to ten times her yearly salary, as a bonus for signing on. She’d been advised by several people, including Commodore Weston, that if she were inclined to transfer to a civilian role… she should hold out for more.
A lot more.
She knew of many who’d already taken up those offers, and several ships had even managed to break ground and launch over the past year.
For herself, well she didn’t see that as her future.
The threat was too strong, too definite. Had the Empire not been a threat, and things were in a similar situation, she’d have probably jumped ship. A few years with pay like that and Miram was pretty certain that she’d be able to afford her own ship, and wouldn’t that be a dream?
Sadly, she didn’t think it was to be.
The Empire was an existential threat to humanity, and that meant that people would have to hold the line if anyone was to survive.
There were too few of them standing on that line as it was.
*****
Space Station Liberty
Admiral Gracen made her way through the station, heading for the overlook deck that had a view of the new medium construction slips that had been recently brought fully into operation. Not strictly military funded, the slips were nevertheless running out Rogue Class destroyers for half their production capacity, while building out Civilian hulls built to similar specifications with the other half.
At the moment there were two civilian hulls and a single Rogue nearing completion, all three floating largely in the clear just off from the station with men and women in hard suits crawling all over the surface of each.
The two civilians ships had already been sold, cooperatives from North America and Australia having outbid their competitors for the purpose built colonial ships.
Capable of housing Twenty thousand people apiece, using a hibernation system the Priminae had floating around their archive, a single Destroyer hull was all that was needed to put together a stable off world population. Each of them would take twenty thousand colonists, a hundred man crew, and the basics needed to put together a functioning agrarian society.
Anything more advanced they’d have to ship separately, or build on site, but such was the way of things she supposed.
Part of her was frustrated by the fact that civilian constructions were taking away from much needed military projects, but for all the fighting she and others had put forward on the issue, the governments of Earth were far too split… even internally… to institute proper war time rules.
The military still had the biggest budget, though, and a monopoly on the majority of hull slips within and without of the Sol System, so ultimately she didn’t think it was a critical problem. Not a hill worth dying on, at least.
“Ma’am.”
Gracen glanced over and nodded as the Superintendent of the Slips approached.
“Patrick, good day.”
“It’s a decent one,” Patrick Shannon said easily. “We’ll have those slips free for the next construction contracts by the end of week. Two more Rogues and a corporate scout ship are next in the queue.”
Gracen nodded politely, not letting her expression slip as he mentioned the third vessel, but Shannon was well versed with her opinions on the matter and shrugged half apologetically.
“Sorry, Grand International Mining won the bid,” He said.
“It’s fine, I get it. We need the money anyway, and short of going to a full, world-wide, wartime economy… which isn’t happening anytime soon,” Gracen said wearily, “this is the best way to do it.”
Shannon nodded, “Too bad you can’t get your fancy replication systems working for this.”
Gracen nodded, schooling her expression to a neutral one, “Indeed. Sadly, there are limits to what we’ve been able to do with those.”
She hadn’t lied, there certainly were limits to the replication technology, but what those limits were had been heavily classified. The Kardashev network that was one of Earth’s primary lines of defence was well known by this point, even amateur astronomers had incredibly detailed imagery of the weapons built into those as they sliced through the Imperial Task Group that had pushed the battle deep into Sol’s gravity well.
What fewer people knew was the true source of that technology, and with good reason.
Deep in some lab, somewhere, even Gracen wasn’t certain as to the location aside from that it was not on Earth… but in that lab, the remains of captured active Drasin had been systematically disassembled and studied. The Kardashev Network was not remotely as capable as the Drasin, for other quite obvious reasons, but the tech was more capable than most realized.
“Well,” She said, “I just came down to see the Valley Forge.”
“Is that her Name?” Shannon asked curiously, “They hadn’t informed me.”
“It’s the shortlist,” She said with a shrug, “Almost certainly to be christened as such, but nothing official has been made yet. Politics might intervene, I suppose.”
“Hope not, I like it.”
Gracen nodded, “As do I.”
*****
Nations of Sol Building, New York
Eric sighed as he walked out of the building, worn out more than tired from the day of listening to people bicker.
Thus far they’d denied him the option to speak, but really, he understands why. He was, as always, an incredibly divisive figure on the world stage. Even with the NAC, in fact, there were plenty who questioned his actions.
After the Bloc War, he’d been something of a darling to the NAC public. The Archangels were among the brightest stars of a war that created a great number of legendary figures. The Bloc hated them, but the NAC and their allies loved them to a man… too much so, to his mind.
Since the Odyssey mission, though, his star had faded in the local as well as international theatre.
Eric didn’t blame them, not really. He was the harbinger, the one who brought the Drasin. His actions had led directly to the invasion in many eyes, and to the Imperial follow up that came later.
To his mind, the Drasin were working their way in Earth’s direction anyway, but most of those people didn’t see it that way. They argued that he should have left the Priminae to deal with the threat and washed his hands of the whole situation.
Maybe they were right.
He pulled his uniform overcoat in closer as the cool wind with a spatter of rain hit him out in the street as he got to the sidewalk and turned left, heading for his hotel.
Certainly none of his critics were saying anything he’d hadn’t tortured himself with over the years since his first mission. He’d torn through the data himself, afterwards, wondering if he’d done the right thing. In the moment, with the knowledge he had, Eric had no regrets. However, the more he’d looked at the intelligence they had continued to gather, the more certain he was that, ultimately, his actions had been both necessary and right.
Not for saving the Priminae, though that had certainly been right to do, but for Earth’s future.
The Drasin had been moving steadily in the direction of Earth. It was possible that they’d have stopped with the destruction of the Priminae, but his limited understanding of them told him that was… a highly dubious conclusion to come to. And, even more so to believe that the Empire wouldn’t have continued to move in the Earth’s direction after eliminating their targets among the Oathers.
At best, they’d have encountered them sometime later… without access to the Priminae technology that had made the Odysseus possible.
As much as he loved his first command, the Odyssey was not a ship that could go toe to toe with the forces that the Empire brought to the table… and, sadly, there were limits to how long you could play shadow games with an enemy that powerful. At some point, they lose their patience and just bull through, be damned with the damages they take.
Which was exactly what he was worried about now, and why he wanted to speak to the gathering.
*****
Eric stopped at the front desk as he walked in, smiling to the receptionist automatically as she nodded back.
“We have a message for you sir,” She said before he could ask, reaching for a hand written note from the looks of it.
Eric accepted it curiously, thanking her as he started to walk off while opening the note. Reading it caused him to pause in his walking, however, and glance in the direction of the hotel bar. Hesitantly, he turned and started in that direction instead.
There was a man sitting at the table indicated in the note, eyes looking up as Eric entered. He didn’t wave, thankfully. Eric had learned the hard way that his profile was still high enough to attract more attention than he’d prefer. The man did gesture to the seat across from him, however, so Eric took him up on the invitation.
“Commodore.”
“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr…?”
“Connors, Burt Connors. You might have heard of me…?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr Connors,” Eric said apologetically. “I don’t get much time to brush up on happenings here on Earth.”
“Understandable, from what I’ve read of your missions,” Burt shrugged, not seeming put out by the lack of recognition. “I run a few rather large business ventures, as well as a capital funding group.”
Eric nodded, a little confused but not overly concerned, “Alright?”
“We’ve recently taken possession of three home-built colony ship hulls, finishing construction is being handled as we speak,” Burt said. “We’re looking for a mission commander.”
“And you’d like recommendations?” Eric asked, openly puzzled.
“As a consolation prize, I suppose I would make do with that, but I was hoping to hire you.”
Eric chuckled openly at that, “I have a job, Mr Connors.”
“Yes you do, and you’ve done it well,” Connors told him, “but a great many people of influence aren’t happy with the messages you’ve brought back, and these are the sort to shoot the messenger, Commodore.”
Eric frowned, “You think I’ve made enough enemies to get my position cut?”
“I think it’s very curious that you were awarded the rank of ‘Commodore’ rather than Rear Admiral,” Burt told him bluntly. “Which would be more in keeping with tradition…”
“American tradition,” Eric corrected. “The NAC adopted some from the other militaries involved, and even then, the American tradition in question was always more of a peacetime convention. During wartime, the rank of Commodore has traditionally been reinstated.”
Burt smiled ruefully, “I suppose I shouldn’t trade semantics about military history with someone like yourself. Still, quite a few people in certain circles believe that your current rank was something of a back handed compliment at best, and an outright slap in the face at worst.”
“People who haven’t asked me my opinion of it,” Eric said flatly. “While the service and I have more than our fair share of disagreements, I’m not currently looking for alternative employment…”
He sighed, falling silent for a moment before going on.
“I still have a job to do, Mr Connors,” Eric told him firmly. “The line must be held.”
Connors nodded, rising to his feet just ahead of Eric.
“I can’t say that I disagree, Commodore,” he said, extending his hand. “I intend to make certain that, if the line isn’t held, we are not tied to a solitary world.”
Eric shook the hand, “While I will do my damndest to ensure that isn’t needed.”
“A pleasure, sir. I hope we have a chance to speak another time, but please keep in mind,” Connors said earnestly. “The offer remains open. I assure you, the remuneration for the position is very generous.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, thank you Mr Connors.”
*****
Back in his room, Eric tossed his coat on the bench across from the bed as he pondered the meeting with Mr Burt Connors.
While he hadn’t recognized the name right off, Eric wasn’t so disconnected that he was unable to link it with the additional information the man had provided. Connors was the CEO of multiple tech firms, and one of the richest men on the planet. More of a quiet sort, by all accounts from what he could remember at least.
Not the sort of man he’d ever expected to meet, especially not in some hotel bar with a job offer, but far stranger things had happened to him over the past few years.
He slumped down in the bed, calling for the TV to turn on and switch over to a news platform to see if there was anything there about the meetings with the Nations of Sol. The discussion with Burt Connors had left him wondering even more about the general thoughts of the populace.
At the level the decisions were, and had to be, made Eric was well aware that military practicality would give way easily to political necessity. Everything they had worked so hard for would easily be destroyed in the blink of an eye by something as simple as a negative story that just caught the imagination of the public at the wrong time.
It didn’t matter how powerful a military you had, the war was won and lost at home… usually before the first shot was fired.
On the losing side, all more power did was stretch out the suffering.
Victory wasn’t determine until one side gave up… or were wiped out to a man.
He prayed deep inside that the people of Earth weren’t at the limits of which they would back the ongoing war… because he didn’t think the Empire was looking for a surrender and they were not bound by little things like rules of war or avoiding war crimes.
Giving up in the face of an existential threat was…
Stupid.
*****Chapter 4
Imperial World Kraike
Emilia Starsbane had seen a great many things on her life, relatively short through it might have been thus far. She’d seen wars come and go, Lords and Lady rise and fall, good people die while bad ones thrived. Most of these things had somehow become the norm for her.
Her position was such that she often got to see all these, and more, as close as it was possible to without being directly involved… and sometimes just as close as it was possible to be at all.
This, however, was a new experience for her.
The anomaly species was now essentially confirmed as a Human Xenoform Species, the greatest of all threats the Empire had ever encountered. She only even knew of such things due to the stories her father had shared with her as a child, talks of the great actions of her ancestors when faced with such dire threats.
The last time it had happened was so long ago that records were of… limited value, at least to her appreciation of such things. Mostly they focused on the military actions taken to eliminate the Xeno species, with very little basic data on the species itself.
It was… vexing… to be missing so much critical data that she could use to make better decisions, but often that was the case.
“Indeed.”
She didn’t startle, long used to her Father’s way of announcing himself, merely restricting herself to a mild glare tossed over her shoulder in his direction as he made his way over to her.
“Why, though?” She asked, gesturing to everything. “What happened to the reports? They must have been made. The Empire was fully developed by this point, was it not?”
“It was, and I have no doubts that such records were made,” The Emperor said with a shrug, “as to what happened to them, I honestly could not tell you.”
Emilia sighed, but she’d expected such an answer.
“You are planning something.”
“I am,” She nodded, tired but satisfied with the work nonetheless.
“It will be… costly.”
That was something she also knew, but there seemed to be no other reasonable option available now. The Xeno species had begun to integrate with the Oathers, and that could not be permitted.
“So be it,” Her father said when she merely sent a command out through the system.
“Death to the Xeno.”
*****
Imperial Quarter Fleet, Flagship
Lady Misrem had come a long way since her assignment with Third Fleet, having avoided the disgrace that had been heaped upon the former Lord Mich after the debacle that had resulted from the invasion of the anomalous species. She now had her own fleet command, albeit not one of the big Imperial fleets, and duties that tested her skills appropriately.
When new orders came through, however, she stopped herself and stared for a moment. Not at the orders, precisely, but at the authorization.
Her Majesty’s personal signet?
That didn’t happen. The Imperial hierarchy was such that order never came directly from the highest levels. She hadn’t, in fact, even been aware that it was possible for such to happen.
So it was with trepidation that she took a moment to authenticate the orders, finding that they did indeed show as correct and authoritative, before she opened them.
Reading through entirely without pausing, then returning to the start to reread slowly, Misrem wondered at the shift in the Imperial stance.
This is a motion for war, unless I’ve missed my guess, I highly doubt that I have been the only Fleet Commander to receive these orders.
It was… both shocking and not.
She, better than most, was fully aware of what her Majesty was demanding here, and the cost it would extract from the Empire.
At best, we’re looking at a complete decimation of our war fighting capacity, She thought darkly as she began to issue orders through her private system. At worst…
She’d seen the enemy super weapon in action, and she did not want to think about what the worst might entail.
Still, marching orders were clear.
She reached forward and keyed open a comm to the bridge of the ship.
“Yes, Fleet Commander?”
“New tasking,” she said simply. “Recall all personnel, all previous taskings have been cancelled. I will issue orders shortly. Be ready.”
“Yes, Fleet Commander.”
*****
Imperial FTL communiques moved through the Empire quickly, particularly when backed by the Empress’ authority, and within hours of the order going out multiple fleets were already in motion while many others were securing supplies and recalling personnel in order to be so.
Her Majesty’s command rang through the fleet even as the House of Lords and other levels of civilian government barely woke to the fact that something was happening.
Most who checked, felt it was a joke made in poor humour, or they did until they ran the authority or noticed that the fleets normally tasked to cover their worlds were now missing. The outrage that began to build died a quick death, however, when her Majesty’s Armies swiftly moved into position to… ‘keep the peace’.
Increasingly desperate requests for ‘clarification’ concerning the new orders were all ignored.
******
Imperial Third Fleet Flagship
“Fleet Commander, Priority Communique with her Majesty’s personal seal!”
Jesan looked over sharply, surprised by that last bit. He’d been expecting orders in the near future, that much was certain, but directly from her Majesty?
Highly unusual.
In fact, he’d only had it happen once before, when he’d been commanding one of the minor quarterly fleets in a particularly problematic sector of the Empire at the time. His orders then, and his execution of them, had been what earned him his Lordship.
He walked over and cleared the station, glaring at the curious until they backed off with alacrity. The odds were that he’d have to inform them of the contents anyway, but it was entirely possible… even likely… that at least some aspects would be secret.
Jesan read them quickly, then frowned and looked them back over with more care.
I hope her Majesty understands what she’s setting in motion here, He thought with grim certainty.
This enemy would not go out quietly, especially once they worked out that surrender would not gain them anything. They were skilled, talented, and equipped with tools that the Empire had yet to fully work out.
He looked up, “Is Captain Teach’s squadron still in range?”
“No, Fleet Commander.”
Jesan nodded, looking back down, “Pity. Well, they’ll find out what’s going on shortly, I suppose. Orders from her Majesty, signal the fleet to order.”
“Yes Fleet Commander!”
*****
Archangel One, Gaia’s Revenge
“Milla!”
Lieutenant Commander Milla Chans made her way through the tight confines of the ship’s corridors, swinging into the command deck as she looked around curiously.
“Yes?”
Steph was there, staring at something that likely only he could see through the augmented display afforded to the pilot of the Fighter/GB platform.
“Sending something to the diagnostic console, can you tell me what the hell I’m looking at?”
Milla frowned, but nodded and checked in at the console as it lit up with a mirrored display from the augmented systems. She frowned, leaning in closer, then cocked her head to one side.
“When did this show?” She asked.
“Just a few minutes ago. I almost missed it entirely,” Steph admitted, “but the system poked me when I skipped past… What is it?”
“FTL communications,” She said, shaking her head, “but it’s not on any frequency we’ve monitored thus far.”
“So not from a known source?”
“No, it is Imperial, no question.” She answered, tapping out a series of commands. “It’s a secure coded transit system. We shouldn’t even have detected it, it was a tight beam.”
Steph disengaged the augments and landed easily on the deck, immediately making his way over to her. “Tight beam? This far out?”
Milla nodded, “Likely the only reason we did detect it. At this range from the Empire, they would have to widen the transmission. Likely targeted the entire star system we were in, so we were still within the affected region.”
“Can you crack it?” Steph asked, his stomach tightening.
“I do not know.”
“Try.”
*****
NACS Jesse James
“Captain! We’ve got something odd.”
Captain Waters kicked off the wall and drifted across the command deck of the Rogue Class Destroyer, catching himself as he got to the comm station.
“What is it, Adrian?” Waters asked easily, glancing down at the console.
“Not sure, sir, but something is going on. I’m reading spikes across Imperial frequencies we don’t usually see in use, and we’re monitoring fleet actions in immediate response as a spike hits.”
That was enough to get his attention, “What kind of action?”
“Mobilization, Sir.”
That one word was a cold sheet of water run right down his back, and Waters pushed back from the station.
“Crack the codes,” He ordered, “but for now, we’re pulling back.”
“Aye skipper!”
“Get us out of here, far enough clear for me to open a line back home without anyone being the wiser,” Waters ordered. “And better get Prometheus in on the call.”
“Sir?”, he asked quizzically.
“Just do it.”
“Yes sir.”
Waters watched as his team got to work, hoping that his gut was wrong this time, but somehow he didn’t think it was.
Is this what Captain Weston felt when we first understood what we were dealing with back then?
*****
Prometheus Facility
Vice Admiral Benoit was still properly setting the fit of his jacket as he stepped into the control centre of the ancient facility.
“Who hit the alarms?” He grumbled, not angry… yet… but ready to become so if this were anything short of an actual emergency.
“I did, Sir.”
“Commander Daniels,” Benoit nodded, “Explain then.”
“Multiple communications from our Rogues, sir. The Empire is moving.” Daniels said firmly. “No confirmation yet, but there’s really only one target likely to get this many ships in motion.”
Benoit froze for a moment, “Earth. Fuck.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well it’s a damn good thing we’ve had the Rogues watching for just this moment, then,” he said through a grimace. “Have you informed Command?”
“Yes sir. They’re gathering what intel they can, but they want more.”
“Of course they do. Ok, give me what you’ve got,” Benoit ordered. “I’ll escalate it personally, and make sure they’re listening.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Daniels?”
“Sir?”
“Good work.”
*****
Imperial World Kraike
“Your Majesty, there are more calls from the Nobility…”
“Inform them that if they do not cease to take up the time of people with more important tasks, then I will arrange for them to have tasks of their own,” Emilia said coldly.
The secretary nodded fearfully and back out of the room.
Emilia knew that the Nobles would recognize that threat for what it was. The Nobility were tasked with maintaining the peace within their damascene. If they were incapable of doing so, their titles could be removed and they would then be vulnerable to the military draft.
She would prefer not to make such a decree for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being that the idiots in question would likely reduce the effectiveness of any ship or unit they were assigned to. Beyond that, however, there would be dissent in their areas and their work to maintain the peace was about to become rather important… for a time.
All of this from an operation to teach those foolish Oathers their place in the Galaxy… Unbelievable.
In her darkest dreams, Emilia had never expected to be forced to deal with a Xenoform race… let alone one in human skin.
That was the sort of story intended to frighten children, not to be taken seriously by any sane minded adult. Yet here she was, faced with the same situation that had plagued her ancestors so long ago.
How many more of these… things are there in the Galaxy? The Empire must know.
Emilia took a seat at her personal console and began to write out a plan, directing funds from the Royal accounts out to the farthest stars from the coming war. New shipyards would have to be built, and new ships put into the void.
Many times the number they had now, since they would likely have to replace a great many ships before this was ended… but also because it was time that the Empire cease its stagnant languishing and grow once more.
They would find every single Xeno species out there, no matter how far or how well they hid.
And the Empire would burn them to cinders.
*****Chapter 5
Hotel, New York
The call woke him up sharply, and Eric stared for a long moment before he recognized the sound of the civilian phone. He grabbed for it by the third ring, rolling out of bed and looking out at the night lights of the city beyond his window.
“Weston.” He growled into the receiver, trying to shake the sleep from his body.
“Commodore, you’re being recalled.”
“I’ll be downstairs in five.”
“A car will be waiting.”
Eric acknowledged that and killed the call, not bothering to ask for details. He doubted the on-call officer would have any if he’d bothered, and he would find out soon enough anyway.
Not that he needed them.
Only one reason anyone is calling me in the middle of the night right now.
Well, only one likely reason. The unlikely ones were worse, though, so as bad as he was expecting it to be… Eric really hoped he was right about the reasoning. The last thing any of them needed were one of the less likely options like, oh perhaps a new Drasin invasion, added onto their ongoing issues with the Empire.
He threw on his uniform, not bothering with neatness. He’d have time to get everything lined up and in the right order during the drive. His go bag was mostly still packed, so he tossed in a couple crumpled shirts and toiletries on top of the rest of it, zipped it up, and was out the door.
The car was waiting when he hit the lobby, the uniformed officer standing at the door as Eric tossed his key to the clerk.
“Checking out.”
“Sir? Sir! We need to process…”
“Send the bill to the Navy,” he said as he stepped out the door and right into the back of the waiting sedan.
In less than a minute the driver shut the back door, ran around to jump into the front, and had pulled out into traffic, cutting off a cab in the process. Eric smirked slightly at the intense honking behind him, but quickly settled back as he started checking his uniform.
“Any idea what this is about, Marine?” He asked while the man drove.
“No sir, I was just told to pick you up ASAP.”
“Understood. Well, get me where we’re going fast and in one piece. Something tells me that I’m about to become a very busy man.”
“Yes sir, Commodore.”
*****
The driver took him directly to a Naval Yard, but that was just a relay as Eric found himself quickly hustling over to a small personal shuttle-jet with NAC markings on the side.
“I don’t suppose I get to fly?” He asked as he slipped in and was immediately pointed to one of the VIP seats.
“Not this flight, Commodore,” A Colonel in a Marine Corps uniform said, leaning over from the stick seat. “Honour to have you aboard, Sir.”
“Pleasure’s mine, I’m sure, Marine. Where are we heading?”
“I’ve got orders to get you to the Odysseus, by way of the Pentagon, Sir.”
“That’s a hell of a detour, Colonel. Get us in the there.”
“Yes sir.” The Colonel said, turning back for a second before he again twisted to check on Eric, “Door open or closed, Sir?”
“Leave it open,” Eric said, “I’ll fly vicariously through you.”
“You’ve got it sir,” The Colonel chuckled as
I am enjoying this thoroughly, from the suspense of when the next post will be to the drama between these almost godlike beings in the corridors of the ships.
Tell me you're going to publish this one completed as well? I have had no issue paying for what you publish for years and I never like the idea of working for free.
Hey, I know this isn't your favorite series, but thanks for responding to us fans and working to bring it to a conclusion. We appreciate it!
Great addition to Odssesy Series. Love where you started and have woven it all in. Look forward to seeing how the story unflods
Ranquil
Rael Tanner was looking forward to the arrival of the Terran fleet, it would be good to see the Captain… No, the Admiral, I must remember that, He corrected himself. It would be good to Weston again, at any rate.It would be good to see Weston again, at any rate.
The young man at the console flushed, double checking the data he had one hand before he winced.
on hand
“This better be good, Burt. I had a special data scheduled tonight,” One of the men sent him a look that was annoyance crossed with braggadocio.
date
The Empire was a threat to humanity’s existence
he option to speak, but really, he understood why.
Giving up in the face of threatened annihilation
was… Stupid.
Leaving this enemy to fester out of fear of what they might do now would almost certainly result in them becoming a forces that could, and would, cause far greater damage to the Empire at a later time.
force not forces
Emilia had believed that fate had smiled on her.
For all that, however, it was clear that they could not stand face to face with the Empire if she gave that final order.
Rogues, which used technology pulled more from the Bloc warp
and had a short but powerful urge
“You’ve been oddly cautious, considering some
Imperial Intelligence’s conclusions, he still couldn’t help but think
“Yes sir.” The Colonel said, turning backf or a second before he again twisted to check on Eric, “Door open or closed, Sir?”
back
People had been gathered //demand order amid the chaos parade rest as he awaitedSquabbling amongst ourselves while there’s an extinction level threatthe imbecilic racial tensions
a few more minor things:
Emilia knew that the Nobles would recognize that threat for what it was. The Nobility were tasked with maintaining the peace within their damascene
Did you mean to use the word damascene?
Jesan looked over sharply, surprised by that last bit. He’d been expecting orders in the near future, that much was certain, but directly from her Majesty?
t missing off the that
Besides interest in O's & B's weapons potential, there might be something done with that speed boost O did in an early battle with the Empire.
"He tended to bring his personal issues to higher." I'm not sure exactly what you meant, there.
Fabulous!! This is beyond cool.
Oh, that's too funny, lol. I really like this chapter.
You never engage with heavy weapons inside a soft target, to say nothing of one that might just blow up in your face if your shoot it wrong.
you?
best judgement’. You act with your best judgement, and you get judged by mine.”
mine?
then you were not a governing body. You were merely waiting for the truth governing body to properly assume their duties.
true?
well, no one in the us group cried to hard when a few of them get clipped.
too hard?