Chapter 1
The General's Antics
August 27, Year 14,567 A.E.
A hush fell over the main lobby of the SCS. Coriannis, though whispers still slithered through the crowd.
"Is… he really that hard to deal with?" someone murmured.
Hard to deal with? That was putting it lightly.
Because at the end of the northwest corridor, 7th Fleet Commander General Mondo "Mondjee" Jakurai appeared. Seven-foot shadows seemed to bend around him as he strode in, each bootstep shaking the metal floor like a distant drumbeat of doom.
They said he'd killed an Antleon with one hand. They said he'd killed a Sandshaker with his eyes closed.
And now, every freshman cadet in the lobby was about to find out exactly what fear looked like.
The lobby—also home to the ship's main control unit—was the largest and most central area of the massive metal vessel drifting through the depths of Sector 37 Galaxy.
Second in size were the East and West Wings, which housed living quarters and two combat arenas designed for separate sexes.
The smallest area, the Hovering Jungle in the south, was a specially designed ecosystem used to train what one officer liked to call the frail and downright filthy cadets for real-world exploration.
Still, it was the sheer size and versatility of the main lobby that made it the highlight of the ship—almost like a tourist attraction.
Not that there were any tourists aboard.
Because if there were, one of two things would happen:
Either they wouldn't leave alive—
—or they wouldn't leave until they had licked his shock-absorbent boots, issued by the 37th Federal Galactic Infantry for military personnel.
As far as Mondjee was concerned, it was fair treatment.
The buzzing whispers died instantly as he strode onto a raised platform overlooking the crowd.
"Listen up, you filth-born maggots!" he barked, stomping one boot against the metal floor. The sound echoed across the lobby. "Most of you already know who's standing in front of you. And if you don't—good. Ignorance makes disappointment much funnier."
He leaned forward. "I didn't come here to babysit a bunch of pain-in-the-ass high schoolers. So do yourselves a favor and jump out the nearest airlock now. Saves me the paperwork when you inevitably die during training."
Silence fell. Many cadets looked confused. Some avoided his laser-sharp stare. A few wished they were anywhere else.
"YOU!"
His finger shot forward, landing on a thin, sickly-looking cadet wearing low-ridge glasses and a compact IEVA spacesuit.
Even beneath the padded suit, his fragile frame was obvious. His Adam's apple jutted from his thin neck like it could pop out at any moment. Short charcoal hair framed a narrow triangular face with a high-bridged nose.
But what truly annoyed Mondjee was the boy's pitiful posture.
"Step forward, cadet!"
"O-Opo si—"
The boy's voice trembled and cracked as he bit his tongue. A few cadets snickered.
Mondjee's eye twitched. "Did I say it was time for a comedy routine?" The laughter died instantly. A vein throbbed in his temple.
"What's your name, shrimp?"
"W-William Jenny Bucker… s-sir…"
The boy looked like he might collapse just saying his name.
"Jenny?" Mondjee repeated, letting out a rough laugh. "Jenny! Ain't no man on this hell of a ship named Jenny!"
"M-my foster mom gave me that name, sir… I never met my real parents… they died outside the ship while volunteering to fix a broken rotor…"
William's voice trailed off as the general's expression soured.
"Get back in line, boy. Didn't ask for your damn life story."
He watched William return to the line, then clapped his hands. "Right then. Tell me something. Why are we conducting these special training exercises?"
Several cadets knew the answer. None dared speak.
Getting aboard the ISS Coriannis wasn't easy. Most cadets survived brutal physical training just to be here. Those who couldn't had to prove something else entirely—an intelligence score of no less than 232, high enough to convince the Board of Directors they were worth the trouble. The rare few who possessed both brains and strength climbed the ranks frighteningly fast. But bravery? That was another matter.
At that moment, a muscular cadet stepped forward. He looked like the type every high school would pick as their basketball captain. Well-defined physique, Apollo-like face, complete opposite of William.
The name TRACY ANTONI MADDEN gleamed from his stainless nameplate.
"Sir! The training prepares us for the upcoming Space-Age Exploration Games, sir!"
He saluted sharply. A fatal mistake.
"Correct answer," Mondjee said flatly. "But I don't recall calling on you, cadet."
"Sir! I will reread the rules, sir!"
The general ignored him.
"Despite his insolence, Mr. Tracy is correct! You're here to prepare for the 137th Space-Age Exploration Tournament," Mondjee continued, eyes sweeping the crowd. "This isn't a game. And it certainly isn't for the weak."
Suddenly—
TE-NO! TE-NO! TE-NO!
The emergency alarm blared from the northeast hallway.
Chaos erupted instantly.
For a brief moment, one figure in the crowd did not panic. They simply watched.
A female officer forced her way toward the general.
"Sir! An unconscious security officer has been discovered near the main airlock entrance!"
A megaphone was handed to Mondjee, who smacked it once. "ATTENTION!"
The amplified roar silenced the lobby.
"ALL CADETS AND PERSONNEL—CALM DOWN! The 37th Galactic Investigation Bureau will arrive shortly. We will resolve this matter without harm. In the meantime, I need three intelligent volunteers to assist in investigating this incident."
The crowd froze.
Then a voice spoke.
"Are you seriously asking a crowd of barely trained freshmen to assist in an investigation?"
A cadet with long greenish hair stepped forward.
"That's quite literally a fascinating example of poor decision-making."
Their nameplate read: HORACIO CASPIAN ALEUTIO EVANGENELLE.
Their posture, mannerisms, and features made it nearly impossible to determine their gender at first glance.
"And who are you to speak to me like that?" Mondjee growled.
"May I remind you I'm still the general? I could kick you out of the nearest airlock without breaking a sweat."
"The IGB has announced that any volunteer will receive an automatic spot in the semi-finals of the tournament."
"And?" Horacio replied lazily. "That's the reward? Quite literally disappointing."
Mondjee's teeth ground audibly.
"I forgot to mention," he said through a forced smile, "that volunteers will also receive one month of interstellar pastries from the Intergalactic Gourmet Federation."
Horacio's expression brightened. "Now that," they said, raising a finger thoughtfully, "is quite literally the most persuasive argument you've made all day."
Their hand rose. "I'll do it."
Mondjee sighed. "Two more volunteers." Silence.
Then—
"I'll volunteer… sir."
It was William Jenny Bucker, climbing the platform slowly.
Horacio whispered, "Well that's quite literally unexpected. I assumed you'd faint again before volunteering."
"Y-yeah…"
Mondjee glanced at him. "Are you sure about this, shrimp?" A flicker of concern, quickly masked.
"Whatever. One more volunteer!"
"M-Me! Please allow me to participate, sir!"
It was Tracy. "I want to prove my bravery to everyone here—and to you, General!"
"Then come up here, Mr. Tracy," Mondjee said. "A man proves bravery with actions. Not words."
Tracy rushed up to join the other two.
From somewhere behind the crowd, unseen eyes lingered on the three volunteers.
"Why don't you let me in on the fu—"
"No." Mondjee cut the voice off instantly.
"This one isn't for you."
His tone had changed.
Behind the dense crowd, a malignant figure quietly moved closer.
And unlike the others in the room—
they already knew what had happened near the airlock.
END OF CHAPTER 1