The Black Tower was in chaos. Slaves and overseers clashed in brutal, desperate combat, fighting to the death for every room and corridor.
The slaves, oppressed for generations, no longer feared death. The overseers, knowing that their atrocities would be answered for at dawn, resisted with suicidal determination, their only chance at survival.
Corax could not personally lead every battle. With time running short, he was forced to make choices. He had to focus all his energy on seizing the key facilities that could turn the tide, the armories, warehouses, hangars, and control rooms.
This long-brewing rebellion reached its bloody finale in the sixteenth standard hour after it began.
When the last bastion held by the third company fell, and the final desperate scream faded into the smoke, the slaughter came to a temporary halt.
"This is not the end of the war; it is only the beginning," Corax said quietly.
He gazed into the dark void, where the crimson world hung suspended.
Lycaeus' horizon was crowded with mining stations; cranes and cables tangled like spider webs, and the gantries trembled from their ceaseless labor.
Kiavahr, in contrast, was ruled by rust. Its skies churned with a perpetual red storm, the accumulated poison of millennia of industry.
Billions lived on Kiavahr, just as countless slave-workers toiled on Lycaeus. Both worlds were strangled by the same guilds that exploited them.
Tragically, their shared suffering hadn't birthed solidarity but contempt.
Even in rags and hunger, the poorest Kiavahrans still looked down upon the slaves of Lycaeus, as if scorn were the last shred of dignity they could cling to.
They weren't evil, but Corax never sought their sympathy.
They weren't yet at the very bottom, so they would side with whoever was winning.
That was the universal law of the galaxy.
"Corax!"
Ephrenia staggered forward, clutching a gleaming metal cylinder that pulsed with cold light. Each step was hesitant, as though she were walking a tightrope over an abyss.
Corax glanced at her. "No need to be that careful, it's not that fragile."
She shook her head frantically. If the cylinder in her arms exploded, everyone here would die.
Corax grasped the cylinder's pull-ring and traced his other hand along its surface. A red countdown appeared on the metal, ticking down at an unnerving pace.
Ephrenia bit her lip. Her whole body trembled like a weed in the wind.
Corax pushed the device back into her arms. "We're on the clock. In thirty minutes, the gravity well will reverse. When that happens, toss it straight into the cargo bay of the transport."
Atomic mining charges were rarely used on Lycaeus, for good reason.
Each was equivalent to a multi-megaton nuclear bomb; a single detonation could flatten everything for kilometers.
There were five gravity wells linking Kiavahr and Lycaeus, located near Kiavahr's five largest cities.
If those wells weren't destroyed, Kiavahr could keep sending suppression forces to Lycaeus indefinitely.
Though the wells were far from population centers, the workers stationed there were doomed to die in the blasts.
It was another trolley problem, but Corax was certain his brothers would make the same choice.
At the Black Tower's summit, eight hangars opened like iron petals. Dozens of shuttles and transports waited silently within.
Three thousand rebels disguised in overseer uniforms queued to board one of the freighters.
Corax asked, "Do you remember the message?"
Ephrenia recited word for word:
"Two hours from now, send an encrypted transmission to Kiavahr: Lycaeus has suffered a slave uprising, but the situation is fully under control."
Corax nodded. "Perfect. Down to the second."
The transport's engines ignited, slicing through the night with blue-white plasma trails.
Their target: Kiavahr's orbital fleet. Nuclear strikes and boarding assaults would begin simultaneously.
Thirty minutes later, the fleet came into view through the portholes.
Three immense warships hung in the gravity anchorage like floating mountains, each painted with dark red stripes and bristling with laser turrets and missile ports.
Repair drones buzzed across their hulls while mechanical arms maintained the plasma batteries, routine work in a peace they didn't know was ending.
These were only a fraction of Kiavahr's total military power; most ships were scattered across twelve trade routes, endlessly patrolling against pirates.
Those "pirates" were often cover for political conflicts, defectors, mercenaries, or privateers funded by rival worlds.
Kiavahr's advanced goods were priceless; even its trade partners sometimes couldn't resist the temptation to sponsor raiders.
Thus, a silent economic war raged beneath the surface, an endless struggle of escorts versus ambushers.
"Freighter K-742, this is Orbital Traffic Control. Your IFF has been verified. State purpose and cargo."
Static crackled in the comms. Corax calmly replied:
"Control, K-742 on a temporary cargo mission. Standard industrial parts, manifest KT-88542, destination: Dock 3."
"Copy that… verifying manifest… verified. K-742, you are cleared for approach. Maintain 0.3 knots along Alpha-3 corridor. Dock E-5 assigned, docking window opens in three minutes."
"Confirmed. Alpha-3 corridor, 0.3 knots, E-5 berth."
Corax closed the channel with a single gesture.
"Where'd you learn all that?" Caelan asked.
"The Cogitator database had manuals," Corax replied simply.
His mastery was astonishing; within minutes, he'd not only learned how to fly but could imitate the formal tone of port control flawlessly.
No one else in the rebellion could even start the ship, let alone pass for a trained pilot.
The ship docked with a metallic clang. Green lights flickered, but the hatch remained sealed.
Three thousand armed rebels packed shoulder to shoulder in darkness, their breathing and heartbeats the only sounds.
Then, a worker outside screamed, "Look at Kiavahr!"
Through the viewport, the crimson planet bloomed with five monstrous fireballs.
Five nuclear suns tore the sky apart, turning red storms into blinding white light.
And at that moment-
Clang!
The freighter's hatch dropped like a guillotine.
Corax leapt from the cockpit, twin blades flashing. Two guards died before they even realized it, skulls shattering against the wall.
In seconds, three thousand rebels surged out, flooding the hangar like a human tide.
"Shalokin, Agapito, on me! Don't stop for anything!"
"Erin, Branni, secure the landing pads, keep comms open!"
The army split into two. Corax led two thousand men straight for the command tower; Erin took a thousand to seize the docks.
The spaceport had only two thousand scattered defenders, more than enough for labor control, but useless against a surprise attack.
Meanwhile, the nuclear shockwaves still ravaged Kiavahr's surface.
The guilds fell into chaos. Reinforcements wouldn't arrive for at least two standard hours.
This was their one chance, crush resistance now, or be annihilated when the fleet arrived.
No one here was a soldier. Months ago, they were miners and slaves. Few could even aim a gun properly.
But this was their gamble, their one shot at freedom.
"Win, or die trying."
Shalokin peered through his scope. Breath aligned with trigger. A single shot.
The enemy commander's skull vaporized, leaving a smoking hole where his forehead used to be.
"Perfect hit," he murmured. His first time with a laser rifle, and it felt natural.
"Well done!" Agapito's voice crackled through comms. "That'll shake them!"
"Less talk, more shooting," Shalokin snapped. "Corax needs cover."
"Cover?" Agapito scoffed. "I doubt he even needs us."
He wasn't wrong. Corax moved faster than anyone could follow, leaving corpses as their only trail markers.
But no one complained. They knew who and what they fought for.
Their ancestors had slaved for generations in the dark veins of Lycaeus, swallowing blood and humiliation.
Now they would fight, or fall, together.
The control hub of the spaceport resembled the Black Tower's command room, only grander.
Hundreds of cogitators stood in orderly ranks like iron monks. Servitors were fused into the steel walls, their pale faces lit by sickly green light.
Even with corpses at their feet, they worked unflinchingly, obedient to programming, not emotion.
Corax pushed aside a twitching overseer. Caelan stared at the machine-slaves for a moment longer.
"First time seeing them?" Corax asked.
"Didn't have the chance before," he replied.
On Terra, Nostramo, Colchis, and Fenris, such technology didn't exist. Even Nuceria had little need for them.
Many believed servitors were a Mechanicum invention.
In truth, after the Iron rebellion, human civilizations had turned from true AI in fear, and servitors were the compromise. The Mechanicum merely perfected the practice.
Compared to most worlds, Mars' servitors were even humane.
Elsewhere, "criminals" became raw material for production lines. Efficiency trumped morality.
"Got you," Corax muttered.
His fingers danced across the panel. The orbital elevator cables groaned as he locked the system tight; no ship could ascend or descend without his command.
Alarms flared red across every dock. Hydraulic clamps gripped every berthed vessel like giant iron hands.
No one was leaving.
Caelan tilted his head. "You don't seem happy."
"It was too easy," Corax admitted. "Easier than the Tower."
The defense had been feeble, almost apathetic. Some soldiers had never even realized a battle was happening.
It was all too smooth. Too quiet.
Caelan chuckled. "You still underestimate politics. The guilds stationed their private armies here not for pirates, but for each other."
"The spaceport's loose balance keeps everyone content. If one guild took full control, the rest would attack it. So they keep things… relaxed."
"As long as no invasion came, two thousand guards were enough to control workers. If an invasion did come, deep-space sensors would warn them early, plenty of time for reinforcements."
Corax nodded. "But they never expected the attack to come from Lycaeus."
Who would guard against ants?
Through the viewport, engines blazed. Two warships, freed from their clamps, tore through the void, hesitating to fire back.
They didn't dare. The spaceport was guild property.
Unsure who the enemy was, they tried to contact the tower, unaware that Corax had already seized control.
It didn't matter.
Corax's hand hovered over the console. The command went out silently.
The port's defense batteries roared. Beams of pure light engulfed the escaping ships, ripping them apart in brilliant silence.
Two flaming carcasses spun away, scattering in the black like petals of a burning flower.
"Lord Corax! We're here!"
Shalokin and Agapito stumbled into the command chamber, panting.
Corax didn't look back. "Agapito, leave a thousand here to hold the hub. Shalokin, you're with me."
He strode past them without another word.
The two men exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing.
They'd missed something extraordinary again.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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