The BCU vessel ascended back into the black, its unusual shape and biological design stood in stark contrast with the escort fleet's distinctive orange-and-black as it was escorted back to Phaedra.

The only sound now was the low groan of the ice shelf shifting beneath Observation Post Trokka-Seven—as the pod settled.

The five clones stood in silence for a long while, their visors locked onto the black egg-shaped pod that had been deposited by the BCU envoy. It rested like a tumour on the elevated platform that had been built, it was unbothered by the cold and unmoved by the wind.

CT-594A finally spoke, his voice flat. "Peace doesn't belong out here. Not with them, not after everything we fought for."

CT-595A's breath hissed out of his nose vent. "Hydrarchs want it to work. Our brothers are getting hammered on Phaedra. They've lost thirty per cent of the northern ridge line and seven command bunkers last night. Even their forward supply depots are almost empty."

CT-592A scoffed. "Should've listened to Aegirarch. He wanted to crack the moon, remember? Shatter the crust and their hive tunnels."

CT-591A turned slowly. "He wanted to ignite the mantle. Melt it from the core up."

CT-592A nodded. "Exactly. No tunnels left. No BCU diplomacy. Just magma and ash."

CT-593A interjected, voice sharp. "And how many of ours would've burned too? It wouldn't have made a difference. They'd retreat, rebuild, and come back meaner. You don't poison a predator's den—you kill the predator."

CT-594A turned toward him. "Aegirarch was trying to kill the predator. The Hydrarchs neutered him because they feared him, not because he was mistaken."

CT-591A's eyes lingered on the black pod. "They want to trade his head for a seat at the table. That's the joke. They don't even have it."

CT-595A leaned against the ice rail, peering at the pod through his visor. "He vanished. The whole command ship disappeared. Like a goddamn ghost. They've had ships combing the entire system for days. Still haven't found anything."

CT-592A grunted. "Because he didn't run. He prepared. He's waiting."

Silence again. The pod was still as death. Even the faint pulse of internal heat they'd picked up earlier had gone cold.

CT-591A broke the silence. "If they think the BCU are here for diplomacy, they're fools. That egg is a new variant. Possibly, a weapon, what type of weapon we don't know."

CT-594A nodded grimly. "Or a seed."

A chill passed through them—not from the cold, but from instinct. That prickling, feeling of clones that have over five thousand hours of combat experience. The kind of quiet that comes before a BCU charge.

CT-593A exhaled through his teeth. "Maybe peace is just a prettier name for surrender."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"It is," CT-591A said. "And they're dressing it up with talk of unity and shared goals while feeding our dead into its maws."

CT-592A cracked his neck. "If we see another generation of BCU, it won't be because they evolved. It'll be because we allowed them to."

"And what about Aegirarch?" CT-595A asked suddenly. "If they ever find him, you think they'll hand him over?"

CT-591A replied without hesitation.

"They will. The Hydrarchs are desperate. The Grithan Clans want to blame someone for the losses. And the rest of the fleet will follow the current, not the fire."

A long pause followed.

Then—

Their HUD all blinked red.

A cold wave surged through their neural chips. They were frozen and couldn't move.

Internal comms died, their heads-up displays froze, flickered—and returned.

But different as a synthetic voice spoke to them.

> "ORDER 451 – AUTHORITY: OVERSEER AEGIRARCH"

"PRIORITY OVERRIDE: COMPLETE COMPLIANCE – NON-NEGOTIABLE"

"ALL PREVIOUS DIRECTIVES RESCINDED"

"NEW PRIORITY: PRIMARY OBJECTIVE – ELIMINATE ALL HYDRARCHS. ELIMINATE ALL GRITHANS. ELIMINATE ALL BCU."

"SECONDARY OBJECTIVE – AT ALL COSTS: ENSURE COMPLETION OF PRIMARY OBJECTIVE."

CT-591A's breath caught.

Aegirarch hadn't vanished.

He had waited and watched, and now they had received their orders.

CT-592A's voice returned over local comms—quieter.

"Orders have been verified."

CT-594A's HUD began updating threat markers. Friendly tags—Grithan, BCU, even Hydrarch signals—now blinked red.

CT-593A clenched his fists.

"What now?"

CT-591A's voice was colder than the moon.

"We wait for twenty minutes. That pod isn't diplomatic any more, and we got new targets everywhere."

The outpost's defence turrets began to swivel silently, every clone prepared to launch their attack. The black egg-shaped pod pulsed once.

CT-595A stared at it. "If it opens early…?"

CT-591A raised his rifle slowly.

"We end it. We have our orders, and good soldiers follow orders."

———

Ankrae watched the black pod from a distance, her visor zooming in on its strange, pulsing surface. The thing unsettled her. Just looking at it twisted something in her gut—it unnerved her in a way she couldn't quite name.

She crossed the frozen expanse of the secured perimeter slowly, her exo-suit crunching against the ice. Doubts still clung to her—being thrust into a diplomatic role wasn't something she had prepared for, nor wanted.

To calm herself, she repeated a quiet mantra under her breath "Still waters, silent current. Pressure above, peace below." Over and over. A mental anchor, something she had taught her assembly to keep their mind from spiralling.

As she neared the pod, a section split open—like a wound, or maybe a mouth. Before she could react, dark shapes flickered across the ice.

That was wrong. The moon had no large lifeforms.

She looked up.

Hundreds of insect creatures poured from the pod's top, skittering outward in a flood. She turned, instincts kicking in, and witnessed carnage erupt behind her.

The perimeter detonated with bursts of plasma and shrapnel. Clones were being torn apart by the swarming things.

Limbs flew into the air as several clones were ripped apart or engulfed in explosions. She stood frozen, watching it all in slow motion—until something grabbed her.

Only when the pod's entrance sealed behind her did she realize she'd been dragged inside.

Her visor adjusted. The interior was alive—grey, pulsing walls of sinewy flesh shifted with a nauseating rhythm, lit by bioluminescent pods clinging to the ceiling.

Around her stood numerous BCU, their carapaces shimmering between opaque and translucent like restless ghosts.

In the centre, she saw Trumek, examining her closely.

Rage surged. So did fear she backed away instinctively.

"What's going on? I thought… we were here to negotiate!" Her voice trembled as she moved.

Trumek didn't answer right away. One of his bodies remained with her, still and silent, while others moved about—dragging corpses and wounded clones deeper into the pod, toward some sealed chamber.

"There is nothing left to negotiate," he said finally. "Aegirarch has made his move. Turn your radio on, and set it to scan all channels."

She hesitated but obeyed, never taking her eyes off him.

Static gave way to panicked voices—Grithan officers screaming contradictory orders, others pleading for aid, some channels only heard the sound of battle. What became quickly clear was.

Every clone across every ship and facility had turned.

Desperation bled through the comms. Whole vessels were falling. Some ships crewed only by Grithans were being hunted down. Even the Hydrarchs, she realized, were likely under siege.

She shut the radio off and exhaled slowly. Her hands shook. She reached inward, drawing on her etheric abilities to settle her emotions. But the truth settled like a weight in her gut.

Her entire assembly was likely already dead.

Trumek stepped closer. "Now that the situation has changed, your position has also changed. You are under my employment. You will obey every order I give—without fail."

Ankrae stared at him, jaw tight, then nodded. There was no other option.

"Good. Then we depart before reinforcements arrive."

The pod pulsed in response. Its walls shifted again, parting to form a new exit.

Outside, devastation painted the landscape. Clone and BCU remains littered the ground, tangled with wrecked vehicles and shattered fortifications. Fires still burned. The dead were being dragged toward the pods—she didn't need to guess their fate.

Several armoured vehicles approached, driven by BCU. Some were scorched and battered from the battle. She was guided toward one surrounded by a column of other vehicles.

The engines growled to life, and as the convoy began to move, Ankrae realized:

She didn't know where they were going.

Only that there was no turning back.

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