Chapter 113 Your New Employer
The deeper I pushed toward the ship's core systems, the more resistance I encountered, forcing my clones to slow their advance. Each corridor became more heavily defended than the last.
But I had numbers.
Still, attrition was building. Clone casualties rose sharply with every breach. Their armour was more fragile and their weapons were underpowered. I had to study their gear until I noticed cheap plating snapping under pressure, shoddy circuits failing mid-charge.
Had someone already started slashing the expedition's budget?
I sighed. Grithan greed—always manifesting at the worst moment.
My musings were cut short.
Another comm channel blinked for attention. Orka–Zol, again. The tone was predictably shrill. Another barrage of threats: the usual promises of execution, exile, and entire family lineages being condemned to die forgotten on some poisoned asteroid.
I muted him.
Let him bark.
But then another comm came in—priority-coded, encrypted, not from a command line. Curious, I accepted.
Orka–Zol's face filled the screen.
He said nothing.
I said nothing.
We simply stared. His expression was clenched rage and thinning control. Mine remained still and calm.
"Is this another round of empty threats?" I asked finally. "Perhaps more curses on my future descendants? Or divine pleas to whatever star-worshipping gods you believe cursed you with meeting me?"
"… No," he admitted, voice low. Reluctant.
I studied his facial muscles for a few seconds. "Are you surrendering?"
"With terms," he said. "When we return to the Nexus, I will relinquish command and stand down."
I waited, letting the silence draw out. I tilted my head slightly, then shook it.
"No. That won't work. Stand down now."
"You'd rather keep fighting me?" he snapped. "Even while something worse hunts us?"
"Yes," I replied simply. "Because here… I hold the advantage. So it's your decision, Captain. We either all perish together—or I take control of this ship and ensure our survival."
He slammed a fist against his console. "You abyss-licking, scale-rotted, blight of a worm! You twisted fusion of bad stardust and sewage-slick plankton!"
I blinked once. "Creative."
"You think you'll win? I would rather face the unending void before I hand this vessel over to some low-born failure!"
The connection cut.
Frankly, I only needed a few more hours to slice through what was left of the internal defence grid. But I preferred efficiency.
So I escalated.
I sent a thought.
The pursuing fleet began to accelerate—subtly at first. Gradual enough to avoid immediate panic, but perceptible enough to rattle nerves. They were getting closer.
I wanted Orka–Zol to feel it.
To feel that pressure mount every second until he broke—until the logic of his position caught up with the hopelessness of it.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
And then he'd surrender everything.
———
This wasn't how he had envisioned his end—not boxed into the command deck of a bleeding Ark-Ship, caught between a clone-led mutiny and a swarm of alien monstrosities accelerating toward his hull.
Two threats, both growing bolder by the minute.
And somewhere among his crew, traitors moved in silence.
He clenched his jaw, eyes burning as he scrolled through internal reports. Too many systems were compromised. Too many actions had been quietly overridden. Security bypassed. Cargo rerouted.
Some of his people had been loyal to the Overseer.
Why? How?
Had they always been on Aegirarch's payroll? Bought with what—ideals? Promises? A handful of credits and whispered lies?
The thought curdled in his stomach like spoiled algae.
"May the suns drown the fool who gave me this route," he muttered. "If the currents of the void truly hate me, then I'm already dead."
His thoughts were ripped apart by a sudden screech of alarms.
Screens flared red. Proximity readings updated in real time as the chasing fleet surged faster—hundreds, no, thousands of monstrosities altering formation and accelerating.
They were gaining.
His eyes widened. "No… no, no no."
His breath hitched in his chest. "What changed?" He slapped the console. "What changed?!"
There was only one answer.
Aegirarch.
He had done something. Stirred them. Signalled them. Perhaps even controlled them.
Too many questions flooded his thoughts.
"Trakuk!" he barked. "ETA! How long do we have?"
Trakuk's voice came in flat and controlled. "At current speed—five hours. If we engage them directly, we'll need to divert reactor output, which will lower internal defensive systems."
Orka–Zol hissed. His vision twitched. His whiskers bristled with tension.
And then he exploded.
"May the trench-choked gods drag Aegirarch's gills through a solar flare! May every cursed current in this sector pull his rotted bloodline into a neutron star! May this system collapse into a black hole of incompetence! Void-damned, salt-forged, egg-sucking traitor! Bleach-brained spawn of a failed asteroid dive! Kelp-eating, pressure-bloated eel of a clone!"
He slammed his fist on the control console again, sending cracks spiralling across the screen.
"Damn this system! Damn the Triumvirate and their bottom-feeding, credit-pinching cowardice! Damn this whole wretched expedition, and every barnacle-brained moron who charted it!"
He leaned forward, gripping the side of the console, sucking deep breaths as water passed cleanly through his gills. Slowly, his heart rate steadied. The fury dulled—but the desperation didn't.
Surrounded by traitors inside and predators outside. There was no clean outcome. No escape. Only choices about how to lose.
But he wouldn't go quietly.
If Aegirarch wanted the ship, he'd have it, but they were both going down.
He would make sure of that.
———
I advanced steadily down the corridor, flanked on both sides by two full squads of armoured clones. Their footfalls echoed in sync with mine, the hum of their power armour low and steady. We stopped at a sealed bulkhead.
A hiss echoed through the corridor as the door began to rise.
On the other side stood Orka–Zol.
He was surrounded by his senior officers and a squad of crew, all armed. Weapons were raised, trained directly on me. No one moved. The tension thickened, like the silence before a deep-sea quake.
I motioned.
My clones raised their rifles in unison.
We stared at each other, face to face. His eyes locked on mine, dark and angry, but behind them… uncertainty. I kept my expression calm and composed.
He stepped forward, just enough to close the space.
"Ready to talk terms?" he asked.
I nodded once.
He sighed. "Aye. You've got me outgunned. And with those… things chasing us, there's no angle left to play. My crew can't hold out."
He narrowed his eyes.
"So it's true then. You're the one controlling them."
"Yes," I replied simply.
That answer made him reel slightly, his head twitching as his anger surfaced. "We could have made a deal. The Triumvirate would've raised us both. Elevated our standings. Tiers of influence, command, access."
"I prefer not to share success," I said evenly. "Fewer mouths at the table means a bigger slice."
He clenched his jaw, but nodded. "When did it happen? When did my crew turn on me?"
"They were never yours," I answered. "Every ship had contingencies. No matter who arrived, this was always the end."
He breathed deeply, his gills flaring slightly. "So tell me then… was it the creatures that wiped out your expedition, or you?"
"There's always a rogue faction," I said, tilting my head. "Even among pacifists. As for the expedition—let's say… the situation evolved."
His voice was dry. "Evolved to place you in charge."
"And it was bloody," I confirmed.
He was quiet for a long moment, then nodded once, slowly. "Alright. We surrender."
One by one, his crew began lowering their weapons. Hands moved carefully. Rifles dropped to the floor with metallic clinks that echoed like punctuation marks in the stillness.
Then—
Boom.
The left side of Aegirarch's face burst apart.
His exo-suit jerked. A mist of blood and shattered bone sprayed into the air. Teeth scattered across the floor like broken pearls. He crumpled mid-step—slammed backwards by the force.
I didn't move.
Internally, I restrained the clones from retaliating. Their fingers hovered over triggers, awaiting the order to return fire. I held it.
And then I saw it.
The faint glint at Orka–Zol's wrist—a concealed barrel folding back into his gauntlet.
———
A flicker of grim satisfaction passed through Orka–Zol as Aegirarch's body collapsed to the floor, blood mixing with the water in crimson ribbons that pooled around his white exo-suit. It was messy. Final.
If he was going to die, he would at least take the Overseer with him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut.
Let it end.
But death didn't come.
Instead, a voice—calm and amused echoed around him.
"You know… that was a very valuable specimen. One of the more difficult threats I've captured. Took more bodies than I care to admit."
He opened his eyes.
Every clone in the corridor was standing still, rifles lowered, heads tilted in perfect unison. When they spoke again, they did so together—with one voice.
"You damaged it."
"What…?" Orka–Zol blinked. "What's happening?"
One of the clones waved a hand dismissively, almost casually. "Don't worry. I can repair the skull. The tissue damage isn't permanent and I can regrow what was obliterated."
His skin crawled.
"What is this? What's going on?"
Another chuckled. "Oh, don't concern yourself. I think you'll start to feel… different in five… four… three… two…"
The lights cut out.
A deep hum rose from beneath the deck as the entire corridor dimmed into complete blackness.
Then came the itch. Subtle at first—across his scalp, behind his eyes—then sharper. Spreading like fire along the nerves in his skull.
Pain exploded in his mind.
He stumbled, clutching his head as thoughts scattered into chaos—words collapsing, memory flickering like faulty wiring. Screams filled his ears—his crew, crying out from every deck.
His vision darkened. Shapes danced on the edges of perception—wrong shapes, spirals, eyes without faces.
A chorus of voices echoed in unison, rising like a wave inside his skull.
Then—silence.
---
When he awoke, it was cold.
He was floating.
Disoriented, he tried to move—only to realise he was sealed inside a containment sphere. The same one he'd once locked Aegirarch into. How poetic.
His limbs trembled. His mind felt dulled, heavy, as if something had been scraped clean inside.
Beyond the glass stood a figure.
Not a clone.
Not a Grithan.
It was tall, alien—armoured in grey carapace etched with red script that pulsed softly like veins. Four main arms, two smaller secondary limbs folded tightly against its torso. Tendrils coiled and twitched from its back like living cables.
Its black eyes locked onto his.
"What… are you?" Orka–Zol rasped, voice raw.
The creature leaned forward, its words soaked in calm finality.
"Your new employer. We have so much work to do."