CHAPTER 9

While the Grey Order of The Concord is plotting how to take down the Yhemlen with a new planet-killer weapon, the vagabond humans below low orbit in the Old World are more unsettled than ever. Rumors are spreading of a new group spearheading an attack on the Grey Order. The Syndicate is a crime ring of vagabonds from internment camps on Earth. They communicate through a sophisticated system of misconduct and symbolic language across districts led by those who control the production and trade of goods to the low orbit station.

The Syndicate is considered the mafia of the Old World by the Greys in power. And they use this power to keep control of the populace on Earth. Grand visual demonstrations of power in low orbit by the Greys spurred a desire for vengeance in the humans. It has been a long time since any lasting rebellion came to fruition, but distractions have caused the Mirai and their Grey Order to mostly ignore the vagabonds. Now, a few brave friends are conspiring to take down the genetically mutated Greys.

Panopticon holding zones are designated throughout the world where vagabonds idle in poverty. Most countries have long been abolished. In their place, people congregate according to class rankings in labor camps that are leftover internment camps. Dilapidated arenas hold unique sporting events where they field games between tribes for money laundering, gambling, and even bartering popular items. Trade within these holding zones is unregulated. From the vagabonds' point of view, the Grey Order has primarily one need up there, and that's food. Despite their ability to artificially process sustenance, menial labor is still necessary to keep costs down. In return for their crop yield farmers are only given a meager allowance.

Recently, the vagabonds and Syndicate have been lacing the food supply chain with drugs and medicinal additives, disguised as spices and herbs. They want to ease the burden of the stratosphere and low orbit, human workers who are in pain. The business model is clever since they have an excuse ready for when they are caught by Greys. And since the Syndicate uses the same trade routes as standard business traders, the Grey Order has underestimated the Syndicate's acumen for capital gain in the black market. Captain Gereon of the Heinemann clan has had his interactions with a few smugglers on Earth to quiet aches and fevers himself.

To the Grey Order's dismay, most of the vagabonds on Earth still cling to their religious mysticism. "It is the time of prophecy," certain vagabonds say. If only the Syndicate could get to the main loading hub orbiting in the upper atmosphere, they would have a way to reach the Grey Order's living spaces. The dirty gypsies in labor camps need to be educated too, but the Mirai have no desire to educate them at these distances. When the Sun moves into Sector 10 it causes a stir every year, starting around January of the western calendar, cosmic web interference can be detected strongly in leftover teleportation communications, like radio transmitters. It's Capricorn, they say.

Across parallel universes, the Yhemlen Overseers' astral stones are expected to transfer their viral radiation to a new set of bodies during the zodiac sign of Capricorn. The Syndicate does not realize they are not the rightful successors to it, but instead humans in another timeline. The Yhemlen's successors are Delphi Corp. scientists, to be exact if they can successfully return home and end the reptilian lineage. The Overseers' cosmic power remains in the consciousness, and bodies, of those with the closest contact to the original hybrid mutants.

The Syndicate's leader Alon Blane has been obsessed with ancient texts to prove that revelations are coming true. He has been able to evade authorities acting as a delivery driver across districts to leave internment camps. It is teleportation modules, he believes, that will rapture the few rebels left and help to take down the Mirai. The teleportation modules will give them the ability to move undetected by the Grey Order and even transport people instead of just crops.

Alon Blane's Jewish heritage is pure, unlike the Mirai that abandoned their humanity in search of perfection. Even he had a chance to join the Grey Order once, but with extermination laws still active, Alon decided to not risk being placed in a ward for experimentation by some fanatical, high-ranking officer. Alon's heritage has left him in the internment camps, probably for good. With the survival of the fittest as a ploy, The Concord rationalizes the misfortune of leftover internment camps still functioning on Earth. Disorganization of various regions around the world would make it difficult to monitor all the world's population if it were not for the help of its privileged Grey aristocracy.

The most immediate step for Alon is changing his image. To him, the Grey Order are the real criminals, not the Syndicate. With that in mind, the Syndicate is not a crime ring, but a plea to save true humanity from destruction. His town lies on the outskirts of an abandoned town, where a mill was its mainstay, but most people want to avoid eroding hazards. Earth's natural reserves have been mostly depleted, but many locations are sure to harbor remnants of crude oil. An abrupt ceasing of drilling activities once interests changed solidified sustainability practices in low orbit stations.

A nearby alcohol dispensary is run by a major figure in vagabond circles. Remold is the name, and his home is a distillery. He has been lacing crops with enough whiskey and rum to alleviate pains for laborers in orbit. This speakeasy operation has been years in the making, though, there's something else. An abandoned oil derrick is lying dormant not far from his property. Alon Blane needs his help to do something that has never been done before.

Ramshackle observatories in several cities of eastern Europe hold a collection of old telescopes. By Concord standards, these are nothing but ancient relics, yet by the ingenuity of a few handymen, they can get its electrical components working in a few. The code-name for a special observatory the Syndicate uses for all its main celestial observations is "Galileo."

If only they had a way to reach low orbit, more stealthily than hiring recruits from the laborers who work in low orbit? Stealing a teleportation apparatus isn't enough knowing that the cosmic web will detect them immediately. Most days are rainy here from global warming, after the use of fossil fuels in the atmosphere that wreaked havoc on Earth's ecosystem. Alon leaves his mill town for Remold's distillery. A two-wheeled hovercraft with fans in the front and rear rises from the concrete and gravel. Speedily, he races through vineyards and dirty, rickety land plots. Finally, he reaches a more livable spot, a home with fine wood that's less tarnished than others, but that's only because Remold had the pieces sent back to him by menial laborers.

Remold opens the door in a short time. "Aren't you from the next zone over?" he asks. Alon, wet and disheveled from the rain, shivers at his doorstep.

"Can I come in? It's important," Alon requests.

"Only if you make it worth my while." There's no time for trivial conversation, Remold's objective is turning a profit, however minuscule it may be these days.

Alon seats himself on a wooden block, a thin cushion is worn and tattered from many others who have seated here before him. Once settled, he chooses his words carefully.

"There may be no need for it now, but I can make things happen," Alon says.

Remold hasn't been privy to the Syndicate's latest activities. After months of watching the Mirai and the Grey Order's activities in orbit, Alon and the others believe they have at least something, and that's the benefit of working with someone like Remold who wants to make a profit any way he can. Alon thinks he can convince him.

"At the observatory Galileo, we've been watching their moves closely. We think we can do something that's never been done before. We may be able to send new rebels."

"I think you've been drinking," Remold appropriately figures. "The Grey Order hasn't been challenged in years, what makes you think you're any different?"

Unable to rest his back in a relaxing lean, Alon stays upright in thought. "There's also something else that's been forgotten, strikers."

Alon's and Remold's minds collide in the realization of how they're similar in more ways than one. Not only is Alon resourceful, but he can also harken back to the past, of the back lot of Remold's distillery, an abandoned drill waiting in isolation. No one has any need for oil, not these days with the population in internment camps. Alon is going to change that.

"What are you up to, kid?" Remold asks.

"Me, I play a small part in a larger rebellion. I want you, Remold, to provide fuel for the old striker fleets also abandoned in airfields nearby," Alon declares.

"I've heard enough to know there's no convincing you otherwise. You've got a hard head."

"Your oil derrick should still work," Alon says. "All we ask is that you provide fuel for an old striker our mechanics can fix."

The Grey Order does not need these outdated technologies. But for Alon, with some old blueprints, they can repair the dilapidated striker fleets to restore maximum propulsion capability.

Alon is confident. "We're going on a night raid."

"That's a large proposition. But you're only halfway to making this worth my while," Remold reminds Alon.

Remold wants compensation, and rightfully so. Alon concedes. "I can't make promises, though I can make you a tentative offer."

"We judge a person by their promises," Remold says. His leery grin speaks to a sinister vengeance taken once too often.

"Look, if you help us get to the Grey Order's station, we can open the teleportation module with a hack. That'll allow you to smuggle your opioids to more laborers in orbit without detection. We already know the cosmic internet has identification matching. We'll pass you through the web without an identity accelerator."

"Hmm, I do need a few repairs of things around here myself."

For Remold, the exchange is necessary, that way laborers can teleport drop panels and metal sheets from space structures. That is worth more than anything they can grow at ground level. This will allow Remold to do more than repair old structures, he can build new ones. The Syndicate promises to increase trade profits, that much if successful. The Mirai pay little attention to the laborers, it's menial to them, but if Remold has codes to old teleportation module satellites, the entire cosmic internet might be finally vulnerable, at least for The Concord's wavelengths. Beyond transporting items back and forth, Remold is more for Alon's success than he grasps.

"And what about you in all of this? I hope you have a backup in case something goes wrong."

"I know my worth. Without us, the Grey Order would be nothing." Alon says. With long, dirty blonde hair in scruffy clothes, faded from being washed in chemically diluted water, he wants to intrude on the party of low orbit bandits, Greys, with a surprise. "They are corrupted by a lust for power. Until there's nothing left, I'm afraid. They won't just kill me, but torture me the way they've mangled themselves."

"You have your brother, at least," Remold says.

Ozzie Blane is Alon's younger brother and is soon to be taken to the group of Syndicate outlaws. He's only 13 years old but is longing for adventure.

"I never wanted him to be involved in my antics, but I inevitably suppose. I've got other help. We're doing all we can to stop this, the striker fleet and teleportation module codes will be up and running in no time. Just worry about getting that oil from the derrick."

🌌

On the return home from capturing the Martian colonists, Heinemann and the Nemesis crew are happy to recapture interdimensional travel. Going from one home to the next, fleet starships like the Nemesis take pride in traversing the galaxy. Image spectrometry that allows them to teleport with interstellar accuracy to any place within the universe has made their light bridge portals the envy of Yhemlen fleets. Yet, after his many travels, Captain Gereon realizes that he's becoming exhausted by the effects of time travel.

The fact that he's constantly working to circumvent it with some other exciting venture means his warped view of reality is shaping a life of constant turns and echoes in other worlds that fog his memory. He wants to think about something else. Jasper and Madame Ria are his last vestige of hope to feel youthful again if he is unsuccessful in the effort to create a new planet-killer to rid the universe of the Yhemlen. Proxy wars in interstellar space, mixed with frequent kidnappings such as these Martian excavators have been the hallmark of a culture at war for resources, information, and power over cosmic radiation.

The routine mission also afforded the opportunity to make multiple stops in outposts of nearby star systems. Habitable zones lie dormant in pit stops light-years from Earth. Recently, the Heinemann have been considering seeding these lifeless planets for more minions to siphon off, but they are more concerned that self-replicating lifeforms would threaten their genetic mutation program.

Safe havens in space during times of crisis give dignitaries of the Grey Order places to hide. Some of their eldest members have managed to survive by crossing into cold, dark, distant galaxies away from the dangers at home. These new crises cannot be avoided, however, as the subsequent onslaught of power will ricochet loudly, shepherding in a mass exodus or retaliation by vagabonds who want to overthrow the low orbit station. The Grey Order has reinforcements and seems ready, but Alon wants to test their mettle. To Gereon Heinemann, those are just the consequences of war. The Yhemlen, on the other hand, have a starship of their own and do not plan on being taken out easily. But their striker fleet is depleted.

In the access strip of the Nemesis landing station in orbit for the Greys, they finally can convene an important meeting to discuss the next steps. The first duty – Gereon must receive permission from an important figure at their central capital, Grandmaster Frost.

The Yhemlen have something for sure. A single spacecraft of massive proportions that remains idle beneath deep ocean waters. If only they unleashed the monstrosity, the hundreds of Concord strikers that plan to attack while they're distracted may not survive. It's the only way to contend with the behemoth. Though the Yhemlen have something else to consider, like upholding prophecy. If they can get the humans back to their timeline safely, the raid won't put an end to their battle, only extend it. A plan of invasion must be bolstered with other options. That massive starship submerged in water belongs to humans for the taking, so long as they find their way back home through the cosmic web.

The initial goal for Gereon is to avoid being driven away quickly by the Yhemlen's first defenses of sonic vibrations that will jam their communications. Something else that will be hard to circumvent is the Yhemlen's biosphere dome fortification. Its electromagnetic barrier makes it difficult to reach the Yhemlen inside. In a rush to get back up forces, Heinemann and his Nemesis crew want to lay waste until there's only barren sand in the alternate timeline before they need to call for help. If Gereon can successfully acquire the services of a prized bounty hunter, the Nemesis will be able to track another rupture in time where human volunteers accidentally traveled back to the Yhemlen timeline.

Finding the coordinates for tracking these researchers will be up to the Yhemlen's satellite signal in the cosmic web. Much like when the Martian colonists were discovered in an alternate timeline, the bounty hunter will help find and destroy the three volunteers before they can save humanity, with a tracking device. The software programs are intertwining at a rapid rate to cause massive interference.

The Grey Order insists on continuing their raids from across parallel universes. This next ambush is expected to be the final blow. Especially with the Earth situated in the ideal habitable location, it makes it difficult to find places to successfully settle if Earth had to be abandoned. Venus' thick atmosphere has a plush cushion in the upper atmosphere for leftover cities of the Yhemlen to proliferate for the time being.

There is an exoplanet of interest for the Yhemlen, about 40 light-years away in the constellation Capricornus. The solar system Delta Capricorni contains a habitable planet with a prolonged orbit that's hidden behind a white giant, something hard to see. Whatever planet is there is in its early stages of development. And its large orbit making it difficult to track also makes it a target as a second home for the Yhemlen who want to survive. Recently, Yhemlen have been visiting Delta Capricorni, or Deneb Algedi, more often to scout its livability.

The rocky core is small given its gaseous atmosphere, which shines in frigid space, though their Class-A starship has been able to touch down on the surface more than once. It's a planet of ice where polar caps melt when nearer to the Sun. There are less fortunate planets that have been ricocheted off orbit by captured stars of the white giant, and a few locked in orbit too. Lately, it is beginning to seem more like a binary star system. For the Yhemlen, Deneb Algedi is a reminder that this Sector 10's quantum field is a force of strength which will allow them to flee danger, as well as fight it.

The vendetta the Heinemann holds against the Yhemlen is growing more personal for Captain Gereon, he is exhibiting signs of human emotion. It is difficult for The Concord to track planets in Delta Capricorni. Its location will require lots of energy to maintain habitable living conditions. In the meantime, the Grey Order must displace their emotions, and rely solely on reason in a quest for supremacy. The mission to debilitate Yhemlen Earth and remove their presence begins now. Jasper and Madame Ria notice the peculiarity of their father's emotional outbursts and are working fast to correct them. They cannot afford mindless wars based on a deviation from logic. The Grey Order's complex bio-network across the cosmic web will be strangled by their constant bickering of war and superiority that lowers themselves to constant rage. Anger and hatred underly their troublesome past.

To dampen Gereon's flare-ups, Madame Ria makes plans to visit a special section of vagabond tenants on Earth to acquire life extension packets for her father's strength. These small molecular transistors make the Grey Order suits more powerful. It's the private enterprises in the Old World that help buoy The Concord's low orbit stations. Nanoscale electronics uses polymers to enhance the synthesis of organic matter within its electromagnetic field, the same stuff that synthesizes their radiation contamination. Graphite is molded into graphene and other suitable compositions to enhance cell replication. Made from a rare extract, the distributor by the name of Plebeian is equivalent to a mob boss. Unlike the Syndicate and their spearhead Alon Blane, Plebeian's criminal activity is less visually criminal, and more politically charged to appear legitimate, especially after acquiring glowing endorsements to trade with the Mirai. He is making a killing by using factory workers to endorse his products. Luckily for Madame Ria, the Syndicate and their new uprising are conspiring in a location far from where she plans to descend. She is making a stop in South America near French Guyana, long removed from the Syndicate's European squalors.

There aren't many people Plebeian despises more than Old World vagabonds, but the absurdity of human sentiment is making it hard to abandon them while he makes a profit off of them, ironically. Plebeian is a fourth-generation iteration of a drug lord on his father's side. This medicine man makes his living by sedating the aches and pains of workers that have been doing construction in low orbit for the past few hundred years, human laborers, mostly.

Madame Ria's long had a fondness for the workers in low orbit. The vagabonds intrigue her, and their flaws and dirty image give her something else to long for aside from pristine beauty. She was always compelled to placate to her father's wishes, but she could also find refuge in the workers' struggle. The Mirai are not born that way. Appearances are mutable, and the dramatic transformation is a result of selective targeting procedures that look for specific physical characteristics in human subjects. There's one thing she can't change though, and that's being the daughter of Gereon. Often, Madame Ria catches herself slipping back to the sentimental mind-frame of a preteen, before she was forced to become part of the Grey Order for good. The starship Nemesis directs its course back to the Yhemlen coordinates on the light bridge portal, just waiting for the go-ahead to attack.

Coming to a vital junction at the access strip, the Nemesis's large Q-thrusters are latched onto a magnetic pole hanging in a place where it protrudes from a hangar dock. Madame Ria goes to the exit panel, where a hydraulic door opens while letting out generous smoke, allowing her thin frame to walk out. The lack of light accentuates her pale skin, glowing through the darkness that surrounds her while workers congregate inside.

Jasper is idle, standing at the front cockpit where the pilot seat and his father's are empty. Captain Gereon is determined to make sure humans do not get any further than they've already gone. In a back lodge of the Nemesis, a band of armored troopers waits for a call to engage the mission. These genetically engineered combatants were selected for an augmented treatment of radioactive hormones that enhanced their full fighting potential. Opening the door to their hub, Captain Gereon's aged, misshapen figure catches the muscled brutes chugging large, profuse gulps of alcohol, still pale as ever – their skin that is.

Gereon's presence causes tension when they all stop to stare in anticipation of a dictator's command. They know that he is liable to kill any of them at a moment's notice, but he has never had to shapeshift into a move against a fellow Concord crewmember. Dramatic mutations like Gereon's would dwarf even these Mirai combatants. That is why the Grey Order must restrain the power granted from the astral stones concealed in their uniform. A special subunit of warriors waits in another back lodge should he need help.

As Captain Gereon walks straight toward the back, the slum warriors from the warrior caste know who he's after. A bounty hunter by the name of Xavier Moth is on the Nemesis network. Xavier's seated in a solitary corner, examining old wounds from battles. One by one, he counts them like examining an old heirloom. His hair is starting to fall out from age. Xavier has all the experience needed to take down their latest target. Gereon has a plan, and it is to lace Xavier's teleportation tool with ransomware that will force the humans' location to be divulged, like GPS, and Xavier Moth's invisibility cloak takes over.

"If I'm not careful, I'll be a bald gremlin, like you, in no time," Xavier says.

Gereon raises an arm in salute, causing a force field around Mr. Moth. The hunter straightens up, but he isn't afraid of Gereon's power.

"The Heinemann, I guess you're all still the same jackasses."

"I need you to do a job for me," Gereon says.

"What now?" Xavier pulls a metal sheath with a specially designed propellant that reacts to oppose Mirai force shields. He cuts right through Heinemann's defensive bubble. "I work on a rate. You haven't forgotten."

Gereon is not pleased. He's convinced that no one is willing to turn on him anyway since they're all dependent on the fate of the little leadership that's left of the Grey Order. Xavier Moth takes a liking to vagabond women anyway, most of which are easy for him to dispose of if they give him problems. That is something to satisfy Xavier.

"I've had enough with the vagabond women, you know. They can give you headaches." Xavier stands up with a hand to one temple, half Mirai, and the other half-human. Gereon suppresses his loathing. To test out his latent skills, he throws the same dagger to a target across the room. "Bullseye," he says.

"You never did let me have at any; you know."

"My daughter is off-limits." Gereon raises his hand in warning.

Xavier looks from the corner of his eye. "Yeah, whatever. We can get things going, but I want my share," he demands.

Gereon is willing. "Sure," he says in German. "This is a tracking mission, follow the signal for human interference across the cosmic web. The Yhemlen, a sort of benign species, has its network. We will need to seize the signal and follow the footsteps of the humans from another timeline."

"Sure," Mr. Moth says, hugging a woman next to him. The two share an intense make-out session that reminds Gereon of his past when he used to kiss those he loved, but not now. "No problem, I'm on it." He is relieved to just have another outlet for his rage.

🌌

It's a tendency of women on Earth to use sex however they please, but this bargaining tool is mostly for baiting customers. Old World women of The Concord aren't unlike Madame Ria who was one of them before undergoing her genderless surgery. Even after being afforded the best in genetic compensation, so far as their powers are concerned, biological enhancements seem to only dull the primal instincts. Madame Ria is familiar with the new planet-killer being developed and has not been asked to attend the meetings. Resentment does not crop up as it used to, logic is too strong. The Concord's Grey Order may have some pushback for Captain Gereon's plan of annihilation. This cost of which is funded mostly with money from the dapper gangster Plebeian who's funding the Grey Order's supply chain. The ringleader is hard to miss and researchers in the low orbit station may be afraid of the consequences this will have on their trading embargos.

The Old World ringleader is usually in a citadel lodge away from crowded towns, but this time he's on the surface in an open club for important Earth dwellers. Plebeian is large, a grim figure that is of a South American ancestry. His double chin shows the gluttony that he is used to. A crowd of guards keeps him protected from the other minions that attend to the girls dancing in the club. The whistling air of the open woods swirls magnificently before reaching a sandy beachfront and gives Madame Ria reason to head there herself on a mission. She takes a personal hovercraft through the atmosphere where she glides down to the Atlantic Ocean and speeds to the beach sand, and lands at the extravagant beach house.

Plebeian taps a guard near himself to notify them of her presence.

"A perfect is here," he says. "Move out the way. This full-blooded Grey is mine. And just in Mirai fashion, it shows up on a golden chariot ride." He keeps a hand on a guided laser at his waist just in case. He moves the plate of food at his table aside while Madame Ria walks carefully up creaky steps. Perfect refers to any Mirai that lives in low orbit, giving them supposed purity. Plebeian claims that, in an alternate reality, he ruled Earth himself, but it was destroyed by Heinemann. His dreams of cataclysms are no longer humorous, but a reminder of the Grey Order's mission to control The Concord from space.

"Greetings, Plebeian—my father, Captain Gereon, has a request for you."

"Let me guess, the old man is back on his meds," Plebeian says. "Cómo estás?" His Spanish accent is not shaken.

Madame Ria settles down, avoiding speaking on too many details. With so many naked women, naturally uninhibited by the male gaze and lustful hollering, it makes her uncomfortable, but she finds humor in it. Most of the vagabond women have never seen another female Mirai. Gender in the Earth camps is not like their superiors in orbit. There are only male laborers in low orbit.

The Grey Order is genderless, at least physically. And sex, is non-existent in the space settlements, except for reproductive purposes. Attributes of female degradation and traditional gender roles have gone unchanged. Though there are exceptions to the rule, and Ria is one of them. Most babies are the result of cloning specific genes. Gereon's daughter was chosen for synthetic biological mutations before the exchange of sex traders ensnared her. She could have ended up like one of these women.

"Put your hands up!" a guard says to Madame Ria. Just then, a wayward patron decides he wants to try and rob her.

As an Overseer in the Grey Order, she has extra latent abilities. Because of that, she is unfazed, turning around in a split second to accost the attacker herself. "Cease!" Ria screams. Everyone in the club waits for the inevitable. Ria's force field constricts the would-be thief's lungs and heart, slowing his heartbeat before he loses consciousness.

Ria returns her attention to Plebeian. "Give me the prescriptions, the extension packets are in your back pocket."

Plebeian grins from his seat. "I've got one request: please tell Gereon that I want a new studio lodge."

"You already know he'll only allow less than ideal living quarters. Don't get any ideas," she says. "Concord policy."

Concord policy seems irrelevant now, especially when Plebeian's relationship with Gereon is operated through illicit means. Plebeian does not heckle her much after this, and he is mentally sharp, getting her the medicines she's after. After getting the pills, the patrons in the beach club give vengeful stares as she goes to her hovercraft pod. Madame Ria's incited their anger. The act of flying off into the wide-open ocean dramatically reaches toward the sky in an upward thrust that's coordinated like a gymnast would. And before she's spent the little exotic matter left in store to vector her thrust away and out of Earth's atmosphere, she has already gotten everyone's attention from miles away.

"I can't stand Mirai, really," Plebeian says. The unsettled smirk lying on his face speaks to his discomfort. Though he is content with the transaction.

Madame Ria's hovercraft pod doesn't take long to transform into the bubble of light vagabonds are used to seeing. The ultra-bright mirage in the sky can't be missed as the anti-gravity inertia of the hovercraft rises back to orbit.

Concord's leadership council is in a precarious position within the Grey Order now that war is inevitable. Maintaining power also means maintaining respect from everyone else. Image spectrometry on a large screen can pinpoint most locations accurately, but they need to hold back on teleportation across the cosmic web for the time being so that Yhemlen can't track their whereabouts.

Gereon attends a meeting at a floating citadel near low orbit construction. The darkness of space contrasts with light that brightens the meeting hall. Its pointed bottom keeps it anchored to the Earth's atmosphere in orbit, without worry for weightlessness as its spin creates a gravitational pull. The magnificence of their technological prowess contrasts dramatically with the muddy Earth dwellers living in scarcity beneath the hazy atmosphere. They are advanced, yet still, cling to the darkness of antiquity.

At a roundtable discussion, the leaders of the Grey Order finally convene. "What of these Martian colonists?" Frost, the Supreme Grandmaster asks the general proceedings. Frost has been heading the Grey Order ever since he acquired rare radioactive contamination in the 1930s, he's the longest surviving of the leadership council. Though his days are nearing their end after nearly two thousand years strong, into the 40th century C.E.

Inside the meeting room, old ties of The Concord spanning multiple generations are joined to discuss the coming raid on Pangaea. The Grandmaster knows that his Armada has been debilitated for a long while, finally turning around with brand new strikers that will help pick up the pace. Despite their purpose, he doesn't want to have them all obliterated in a single mission due to the speculation of some prophetic drivel. They're using a full-force attack. Nonetheless, The Concord doesn't believe in such ancient mysticism. Along with a new planet-killer in development, all facets of the Yhemlen civilization need to be accounted for before they strike, and fortunately for them, Pangaea is a self-contained ecosystem that is not easy to target.

Captain Gereon stands up. "Xavier Moth, the hunter. I've hired him for concealment. He can track the others who have crossed over to lower our detection signature. He'll be a lone fighter. As for the Martians, they were snooping at a telecommunication's edge, near the outskirts of a Martian valley. Our black box was awakened after some digging by human settlers on the planet. When we were notified, we automatically rerouted our starship. All the wreckage was in the same place, with no outstanding differences aside from decay. Million-year-old fossils from Yhemlen snooping were also uncovered."

Grandmaster Frost maintains control of the roundtable. "And what do you make of the new threat the humans pose on the other side? Planning against the council's cease-fire would mean a lot of energy expended to destroy the Yhemlen and humans both. There are only a few convoys left, we'll have to build more storage units for the engagement."

"We can avert the humans' threat!" Captain Gereon pronounces. "With my plan for a kugel blitz on the perimeter of Pangaea, we can contain them before they have time to react. We could consume the entire solar system before they escape their city."

The immediate plan is to drop a payload of nanobots onto the city's outer covering. The Concord's nanotechnology is an untested grey goo that consumes all organic matter in its path with microscopic bots.

Grandmaster Frost does not mind Captain Gereon's plan, even his cronies agree. It was Frost himself who created the grey goo in the first place. A scientist for the National Socialist German Workers' Party during their rise to prominence, Otto Frost proposed the intriguing possibility for nanotechnology to rival divine creation. Back then, he envisioned a future where tiny machines build matter molecule-by-molecule. If only he could make billions of these tiny machines, then someone could practically make any material you could imagine with guidance. The nanobots would put each molecule together to produce anything.

Then, he had his first success in the lab. These new machine builders began building more machines in turn, one after the other. When the manufacturing rate becomes exponential, the nanobots consume anything they encounter. Captain Gereon's new planet-killer isn't as industrious. Much like the discovery of nuclear power, the thirst for destruction is averting any of those positive benefits and instead turned toward ruin. If left to themselves, the nanobots reproduce out of control.

Captain Gereon and Frost's new planet-killer is a grey goo scenario that will consume all matter with nanobots. The grey goo will convert all organic matter into assemblers, consuming everything in the process. The Earth, followed by the solar system, and beyond that the galaxy. The entire universe will be reduced to a pseudo-organic mass teeming with nanomachines in a black and grey haze, even the light emitted from the scorching core of suns will be put out.

For this grey goo scenario to come true, Gereon needs the nanomachines to be able to survive past Pangaea's transparent covering. This is the perfect excuse to teleport to the inside of the Pangaea city and risking being captured, or worse, killed. An unmitigated instinct to fight tells Captain Gereon that it may be in his best interest to attack alone. For the first time in a long while, Gereon will put his Grey powers to the test.

Rising to the challenge may be a death wish, however. Releasing only a small strain of the nanomachines will induce the ability to consume all organic matter. And the Yhemlen would be defenseless against them.

Frost fears something far worse may happen, like disrupting the cosmic web signal. Too much interference will damage their ability to travel. "Gereon! The plan is to leave this war in the past, where we've left everything else. You're growing too old, has the pace gotten to you?" A keen observation tells Frost that Gereon is potentially killing himself to reign supreme. "We are in a race for time, precious time you are attempting to ignore for fast success. Our watersheds may be of some benefit to you, to rest and get a clear mind." Frost tells him.

"Each unit follows the same program to consume and multiply. We should live as the vagabonds do—be fruitful and multiply as their shamans tell them to. It's in our destiny after all to conquer the universe. The strike will be swift, wasting no time." The rest of the roundtable recognizes that if nanomachine manufacturing becomes exponential, greater numbers of builders could compromise their cosmic internet.

Another member of the Grey Order proposes a concern. "This has never been done, what if your proposition has consequences you haven't accounted for? I agree that you may need to attend the watershed for much-needed contemplation."

The watershed is a special image spectrometer that takes precise scans of the body and reconstructs its cells from inside the pool with lasers, giving a youthful look. The Concord enjoys indulging themselves in soaking sessions that lead to intense dreams of vivid times past in a mental delirium while unconscious. Some wonderful highs help dampen the teleportation side-effects that plague the Grey Order, where water remains contained in large, hundred square feet barrels. When Captain Gereon takes a splash, it returns him to that youthful spawning of life, where the fetus lay dormant in a woman's womb. Before they knew power, it was helplessness, and he will not abort this mission.

If there's anything that the Grey Order knows, it's the fickle nature of human design, and that is why they've mutated their bodies anyhow. The Concord has done everything in its power to give themselves an advantage over their Yhemlen neighbors who haven't done the same. Outside the Grey Order's meeting hall, Madame Ria is rushing to meet her father Gereon, but it's much too late. She's familiar with this already. As she trots through the cold walkways, the faint twinkle of adjacent worlds from outside the low orbit station keeps her company. She's carrying the flimsy packets wrapped in silicon that Plebeian gave her in Guyana, now she is only steps away from reaching the door of the Grey Order's hall and saving Captain Gereon's life.

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