Femil broke free of the Dyson bubble in a rush of light and vacuum. The ship shuddered, then steadied. For a long, weightless second he laughed — a raw, unmoored sound.
"Wahahahaha — that was fun," he said to the empty cockpit, fingers still trembling from the jump. The humor died quickly; curiosity took its place. He laid a hand on his forearm where the silver fluid still glimmered beneath his skin.
"Hey, Sarah," he said, voice low. "Run a full assay on this—on me. Tell me what the commander injected into my veins."
The ship's AI, soft-voiced and patient, hummed as it interfaced with the pilot seat's diagnostic suite. Small robotic arms extended from the console and took a neat sample of his blood—microcapillary draws, nothing crude. The pinch of the needle made him grunt.
"Hey—hey, that hurts," Femil complained, clutching the armrest until his knuckles whitened.
"Sample acquired," SARAH replied. "Performing analysis." A thin column of light tracked across the instrument panel; processors spun in quiet whirs.
A chime: ding.
SARAH's voice switched from neutral to something like gravity. "Analysis complete. Designation: Project Pis Aller."
At the name, Femil's grin collapsed. He felt the air leave him in a shallow, sudden breath.
SARAH continued. "Project Pis Aller — emergency biotechnical protocol developed during the Empire's final campaign. Intended as a failsafe when all other options had failed."
Femil's hands tightened around the armrests. "That's all?" His throat worked. "Why was it created? How does it—"
SARAH's display scrolled through fragments of corrupted logs and redacted schematics. Lines of code dissolved into locked blocks. "Access to primary documentation is restricted," the AI said. "Holder nickname: Elpis—'The Hope.' Full contents require biometric clearance keyed to the Great Commander's bloodline. Below-command ranks are denied."
"Impossible," Femil said, stunned. "I—there's nobody left. I am the last. There's no way I can access that."
SARAH paused for the barest instant, the system whirring as it ran cross-references. "Correction: sensors detect signatures consistent with other human-derived bioforms on Planet designated 'Earth-Prime.' Local population is not the original cognate, but genetic echoes remain. I can detect low-density clusters of human DNA markers—isolated pockets. They are masked, dispersed, and partially integrated with alien gene-pools—likely the result of Aegis memory-wipe protocols."
Femil's head snapped up. "What? Earth? That's—" Fury, then laughter, then a dry, terrible joy. "Those bastards thought they'd buried us forever. Hah. They thought they'd won. Foolish."
"Sir," SARAH said. "There is an immediate problem. The Aegis field that maintained quarantined zones has experienced progressive breach activity. Signature patterns indicate infiltration by Moryxil operatives — specialized shapeshifters and ship-shifters optimized for stealth and mimicry. We are not safe in-system."
Femil's fingers curled into a fist. A hot, animal rage rolled through him. "Take me there. Plot the fastest intercept course. I will crush these bastards."
SARAH's tone was even, clinical. "Current spacecraft capability versus predicted enemy presence: estimated win probability—fifty percent."
Femil's laugh was a snarl. "Only fifty? For a single craft? That can't be right."
"It is the best estimate using available parameters," SARAH answered. "The current vessel lacks fleet-scale shielding, heavy ordinance, and the coordinated support necessary to engage sustained ship-to-ship combat against an organized Moryxil strike force. And there is a broader threat: a Gropian expeditionary armada has registered on long-range arrays and is redirecting toward the affected coordinates. Their engagement would drastically reduce survival odds."
Femil's jaw dropped, then hardened. He paced the small cabin. "Any ways to improve the odds?"
SARAH projected a list into the air — blunt, prioritized, and computationally cold:
• Obtain Great Commander's genetic key. Unlocks full Project Pis Aller data: weapon protocols, countermeasures, chronometric overrides. Access restricted; bloodline required.• Recover Aegis nodes. Reactivate localized defense nodes hidden across old strongholds; these can amplify a single vessel's defensive envelope. Requires coordinated retrieval missions.• Scavenge prewar armory caches. Hidden depots hold anti-transdimensional munitions. High payoff; high risk.• Recruit allied bioforms. Locate human-echo clusters on Earth-Prime for rapid augmentation and manpower. Time-sensitive.• Enhance host physiology. Project Pis Aller yields emergent abilities in some carriers — unpredictable but potentially decisive. Unmeasurable; error-prone.
SARAH's last line blinked red: "Note: Project Pis Aller activation presents stochastic outcomes. Physiological changes can be irreversible. Predictive models contain significant uncertainty."
Femil watched the list flicker, then exhaled slowly. Each solution demanded time or allies he did not have; every shortcut risked becoming a trap.
He clenched his fists and smiled — a small, dangerous thing. "Then we do it all," he said. "We get the key, we find the caches, we wake the Aegis nodes, and we take Earth back. If I have to tear the stars down to do it, I will."
SARAH's sensors ticked like a heartbeat. "Course laid in. Estimated transit time: sixteen hours at maximum safe FTL burn. Tactical considerations: approach vector should avoid primary orbital surveillance and the Moryxil infiltration grids. Flag: Gropian fleet ETA: unknown but accelerating."
Femil strapped in, the weight of centuries pressing behind his eyes. He had a name for the hunger in his chest now — not merely survival, but restitution. The universe had forgotten them. It would not forget again.
"Set a course, Sarah," he said. "Take us home."
The warp tunnel tore open like a wound across space. Blue–white fire washed through the cockpit as Femil's ship screamed out of the fold. For the first time in a thousand years, the planet once called Earth filled his view.
But it was not the blue jewel he remembered.
Below him stretched a world veiled in shimmering auroras — remnants of the Aegis Field, still alive after a millennium. Across his sensors, faint threads of light spanned the stars like cobwebs. The readings stuttered, trying to comprehend it.
SARAH: "Chronometric lattice detected. Confirmation: full-scale Aegis deployment across Milky Way sector. Field integrity compromised—multiple nodes collapsing."
Femil's eyes widened. "The Aegis… covers the entire galaxy?"
SARAH: "Affirmative. Evidence suggests the Great Human Empire extended it as a last measure of concealment. The lattice functioned as both shield and amnesia field — sustaining life while erasing memory."
He leaned back, stunned. "Then… humanity's been under this cage the whole time."
The AI's tone softened, almost human. "A sanctuary built from fear, now eroding from within."
Before he could respond, a sudden flash streaked across his viewport. Alarms screamed.
SARAH: "Incoming object—small mass, stealth-optimized, energy signature: Moryxil patrol unit."
Femil's hand flew to the controls. The patrol ship, a dark, liquid shape, darted toward him, its hull rippling like oil in sunlight. He pulled the ship into a hard roll, firing thrusters to evade, but the old vessel jolted violently. Sparks burst from the console.
Femil: "Hold together, you relic—!"
The energy core surged. For one terrible instant, a feedback loop formed, feeding power from the warp drive straight into the weapon system.
The cannon fired.
A beam of molten silver light ripped through the void, striking the Moryxil ship dead center. The creature-ship convulsed, its hull splitting like flesh and metal screaming together, before erupting in silence — nothing left but fragments drifting in the cosmic wind.
SARAH: "Target annihilated. Energy surge detected on subspace frequencies. Alert cascade propagating."
Femil froze, his breath catching. "Wait—that was an accident—"
Moryxil Command Vessel — Sector Theta-9
Far from the wreckage, inside a black, living vessel pulsing like a heart, the Moryxil fleet received the signal.The bridge was dim, its walls alive with motion — shifting veins, breathing steel. Commanders of gelatinous form stood over organic consoles, their forms rippling with anxiety.
Drone Overseer: "Signal confirmed. Patrol unit Echo-Seven — offline. Termination code detected."
A silence spread. No one moved. The room vibrated with a low, nervous hum.
Second Overseer: "It was… human in origin."
A hundred eyes turned toward him, their bodies flickering shades of violet and green — the Moryxil equivalent of fear.
Third Overseer: "That's impossible. The humans are dust."
Second Overseer: "And yet their weapon signature exists. Shall we respond?"
The lead commander, taller than the rest, slowly uncoiled from his seat. His voice slithered through the chamber, calm yet trembling beneath its weight.
Moryxil High-Commander Tza'lor: "No. Not without the word of the Brood Council."
The silence deepened. Even among predators, there was fear — not of the humans, but of their own masters.
Tza'lor: "You know the law. None engage the remnants of the First Empire without sanction. Those who did… never returned."
He turned toward the great viewing membrane, where Femil's fading energy trail glowed faintly in the dark.
Tza'lor: "Send observation drones. Track his path, but do not provoke. The Council will decide if this ghost is myth or threat."
The lesser officers hissed in unison. Their shapes rippled, bowing low as they obeyed.
Outside, swarms of bio-mechanical drones slithered into the void, silent as shadows. They would follow Femil's path, unseen — waiting for permission to strike.
Back in Orbit — Femil's Ship
Femil watched the data scroll, jaw tight.
SARAH: "Enemy response: delayed. Multiple reconnaissance signals detected, no direct pursuit."
Femil: "They're hesitating. Why?"
SARAH: "Cultural inference: the Moryxils operate under rigid command hierarchy. They will not act without permission from their Brood Council. However… their hesitation is temporary."
Femil allowed himself a brief smirk. "Then I still have time."
He adjusted the navigation matrix, setting a direct course for Earth. "They'll learn what it means to fear again."
SARAH: "Warning: re-entry into planetary atmosphere will breach remaining Aegis veil. Consequences unpredictable."
"Then let it break," Femil said, eyes burning. "It's about time humanity woke up."
The engines flared. The old ship dove toward the planet like a falling star, cutting through the fading light of the Aegis.
And far behind him, in the cold dark of space, the Moryxil fleets waited — silent, watching, afraid to make the first move.