The sixth week saw the armed workers, under Corax's command, successfully complete the clearing and fortification of the entire mining moon.
Enemy armed vehicles and weapons became your spoils of war, vast stockpiles of military hardware now serving the revolution instead of suppressing it. Transport trucks, light armor, heavy weapons emplacements, all meticulously cataloged and redistributed to units that needed them most.
Furthermore, the foundry operations overseen by Comrade Aloni, codenamed 'Rook,' achieved a significant breakthrough.
He'd managed to activate a standard STC laser weapon construction template, seized during the capture of a major enemy base. The discovery was monumental. With functioning STC technology, production could be scaled rapidly and reliably.
Within days, the bulky, unreliable solid-round firearms carried by most armed workers were replaced with simple but durable laser weapons. The new armaments were lighter, more accurate, required less maintenance, and their ammunition situation became dramatically simpler with standardized power cells.
The revolution had teeth now. Real teeth.
But good news rarely arrived alone.
Comrade Arendi, codenamed 'Pawn,' brought exceptionally heavy tidings that cast a pall over the recent victories.
The uprising forces on Kiavahr's surface were being systematically slaughtered. They'd borne the full brunt of the Tech-guilds' fury over the failed assault on Lycaeus. With the mining moon now impregnable, the enemy had redirected their rage toward softer targets: the scattered rebel cells fighting on the planet below.
Without support from Lycaeus, which now served as the revolution's secure base, those uprising forces faced only one inevitable fate: complete annihilation.
The command meeting fell silent. Even Corax, his deep eyes narrowing slightly, said nothing for long minutes. The weight of the decision pressed down on everyone present.
Finally, Corax rose slowly to his feet. His expression was grave as he addressed the assembled commanders and representatives.
The armed workers on Lycaeus had won several battles, yes, but those victories came with significant advantages: the enemy's reluctance to destroy valuable mineral resources, favorable terrain, chokepoint defenses at the gravity wells. If revolutionary forces rashly descended to Kiavahr's surface to engage in open warfare, casualties would likely far exceed everyone's estimates. The enemy controlled cities, industrial complexes, vast open spaces perfect for their mechanized forces.
It would be a slaughter, just in the opposite direction.
The Nev brothers spoke up immediately, their voices firm. Several representatives from the armed worker ranks echoed their sentiments. They weren't afraid of sacrifice for the revolution's success. They would obey any order Corax gave, follow him into the fires of hell itself if necessary.
Their courage was admirable, their dedication absolute.
But Corax, exercising the caution and long-term strategic vision that made him an effective leader, explicitly rejected their requests to launch an immediate offensive.
He laid out his reasoning with brutal honesty. Based on calculations derived from historical mineral production data, if the mining moon's output ceased completely, the Tech-guilds' large-scale industrial production would grind to a halt within months.
If the Tech-guilds were willing to sacrifice profits and redirect benefits to their citizen workforce, they could potentially sustain operations for years through alternative supply chains and stockpiles.
But they wouldn't. Greed was a constant among the powerful. Rather than share wealth with ordinary citizens, the Tech-guilds would increase exploitation, squeeze existing workers harder, redirect blame downward to protect their own positions. They'd cannibalize their own society to maintain profits.
Time, Corax explained, was actually on the base's side.
As long as the revolutionary forces proceeded methodically with defensive preparations, the enemies on Kiavahr would soon turn on each other over profit distribution, potentially triggering another wave of popular uprisings that would sweep across the entire planet.
The plan was sound. Strategically flawless. Measured in six-month or even yearly increments, it virtually guaranteed ultimate victory at minimal cost to the revolution's core strength.
But it was hardly fair to the uprising forces currently being hunted and killed on Kiavahr's surface. Hardly fair to the ordinary people suffering under intensified oppression as the Tech-guilds lashed out in frustrated rage.
Strategy required cold calculation. Revolution demanded warm blood. The tension between those truths hung heavy in the room.
You and everyone else listening fell silent again, each person wrestling with their own thoughts. Your reason told you revolution always required sacrifice. People died, whether they were sitting in this room or fighting in distant cities. That was the nature of war, the price of freedom.
But knowing that intellectually didn't make the choice easier.
The meeting ended without clear resolution, everyone dispersing with heavy thoughts weighing on their shoulders.
You and Corax walked together to the communal canteen, a large facility where food was prepared in massive pots and distributed equally. The smell of boiling grains filled the air, simple but nourishing.
You suddenly noticed something troubling. The portion each armed worker received had decreased by more than a third compared to previous weeks. Your own bowl held barely enough to sustain someone through a day of hard labor.
Corax, holding only half a bowl of noodles, explained with calm acceptance in his voice.
Although the revolutionary forces had captured substantial enemy supplies, Lycaeus itself produced very little food. Most agricultural efforts were experimental, conducted in abandoned mine shafts converted to hydroponics facilities. The yields were promising but insufficient for the swelling population of fighters and support personnel.
Therefore, to ensure healthy development of the revolutionary base and maintain readiness for the long campaign to liberate Kiavahr, the armed workers had voluntarily reduced their daily rations. Preparing for the hardships to come with characteristic stoicism.
You stared at the half-bowl of noodles in your palm, the portions barely adequate even for someone not engaged in heavy combat. You couldn't help but sigh, feeling the weight of responsibility settle deeper.
The seventh week unfolded largely as Corax had predicted.
The planetary Tech-guilds didn't even last two weeks before internal tensions exploded. Major factions erupted into fierce civil war over profit distribution, their greed overcoming any sense of common cause. Fighting spread across countless cities, infrastructure burning as former allies turned weapons on each other.
This dramatically reduced their capacity to encircle and suppress the rebel forces. Resources previously allocated to counter-insurgency operations were redirected toward the civil conflict. Attention shifted away from scattered resistance fighters and toward more immediate threats to power.
However, according to intelligence relayed by Arendi, the true situation of the rebel forces remained far from optimistic.
Originally numbering over ten thousand fighters, they'd been whittled down through brutal attrition. Desperate escapes from overwhelming enemy forces, endless defensive battles against better-equipped opponents, and even betrayals from within their own ranks as desperation eroded trust. Now only about fifteen hundred remained, wounded and exhausted, their supplies nearly depleted.
Fifteen hundred from ten thousand. The mathematics of survival were harsh.
After reviewing the intelligence reports, you immediately sought out Corax. You found him in the command center, surrounded by maps and supply manifests, pondering the revolution's next moves.
But before you could articulate your question, before you could propose your half-formed plan, Corax looked up and met your eyes.
His expression was solemn, his deep eyes penetrating. He spoke before you could, laying out an important decision he'd reached.
He planned to prematurely deploy the atomic mining charges. Target several key industrial cities on Kiavahr, centers of Tech-guild power and production capacity. The destruction would force the warring factions, currently embroiled in their self-destructive civil conflict, to surrender completely and accept revolutionary terms.
It was a brutal calculus. Cities destroyed, civilians killed, industrial capacity annihilated. But continued civil war would cause even greater casualties. And the famine resulting from complete cessation of industrial food production would create chaos affecting the entire planetary system, killing millions through starvation and disease.
While such chaos would certainly benefit the revolutionary cause, attracting desperate people to any banner promising stability and food, Corax refused to pursue victory through such methods. If the revolutionaries only focused on personal gains and losses, exploiting suffering rather than alleviating it, what difference existed between them and the domineering Tech-guilds they sought to overthrow?
Revolution meant building something better, not merely swapping one set of oppressors for another.
You nodded slowly, agreeing with Corax's reasoning. The plan was sound, if horrific in its implications.
At the same time, you lowered your head and thought for a long moment, considering the difficulties at hand from multiple angles, before offering an alternative suggestion.
You wanted to travel to Kiavahr alone, to link up with the surviving uprising forces and attempt to ignite a larger revolutionary storm through unconventional means.
If your plan succeeded, it might obviate the need for atomic bombardment entirely. If it failed, then Corax's operation to deploy the mining charges could proceed as originally conceived, with full moral justification.
Moreover, if things went catastrophically wrong, the losses would be limited to you and the portion of the uprising force already facing annihilation. The revolutionary base's core strength would remain intact, able to continue the struggle.
Corax stared at you intently, his brow furrowing. He remained silent for what felt like an eternity, those deep eyes seeming to read every thought in your head.
Finally, he nodded, agreeing to your request.
You immediately turned and went to find Comrade Aloni, the forging supervisor codenamed 'Rook.'
The master craftsman led you to a secure storage area and presented you with a suit of heavy metal armor, newly forged by the most skilled workers in his foundry. It fit perfectly, the plates adjusted specifically for your frame. Not powered armor, but the best protection available short of that.
You acquired two brand-new laser rifles, their power cells fully charged, along with several spares. A refurbished double-edged axe, reforged and balanced. A large quantity of fragmentation grenades, each one carefully assembled and tested.
You obtained seven intact personal shield generators from Comrade Nia, codenamed 'Queen.'
Expensive technology captured from fallen enemy officers, each unit worth more than most workers would earn in a lifetime. Nia pressed them into your hands personally, her expression conveying the value of what she was entrusting to you.
Just as you'd completed all preparations and begun walking toward the gravity well transit point, ready to descend to Kiavahr's surface...
The elusive Corax suddenly appeared before you, materializing from shadows as if he'd been waiting.
He slowly extended his hands, offering you his personal weapons. A sharp scythe, its blade gleaming with careful maintenance. A heavy hammer, its head scarred from countless impacts. These were the tools with which he'd fought and bled, symbols of his leadership.
"These are the only tokens of trust I have from the rebel forces," Corax said quietly. "They'll recognize these weapons. They'll know I sent you." He paused, his expression softening. "Consider them a special gift, brother."
Then his tone shifted, becoming more formal. "Brother... no, I should say 'Comrade Foreman,' I wish you success on your journey." A slight smile crossed his pale face. "As a revolutionary comrade, I hope your plan achieves complete victory. As a brother, I'll be waiting for you to return so we can share noodles again."
Corax gazed at you steadily, and slowly, his face transformed with a radiant smile as bright as sunshine breaking through storm clouds.
You gripped the scythe and hammer, feeling their weight, their balance. These weapons had tasted freedom. You'd make sure they tasted it again.
"I'll be back," you promised. "Save some of those noodles for me."
Then you turned toward the gravity well, toward Kiavahr, toward war.