2.3 - Jerome

  The Parvus — one hour after landing

  “Captain De Chevelle.”

  The somber voice dragged Jerome out of shock.

  He was alive. The ship had landed in one piece.

  —The joy lasted a minute.

  Things were about to go from bad to worse. Maybe his luck had finally run dry.

  He raised his head and scanned the bridge.

  Controlled chaos: voices cutting through static, hands moving fast, data streams flickering across the consoles. The storm hadn’t eased yet.

  “We’ve lost sixty percent of onboard aircraft, sir.”

  “Located several drop pods, but over ninety percent still missing.”

  “Comms down.”

  “Fusion Engine 2 critical — fire teams deployed.”

  “Scipio offline — reboot in progress, estimated one hour.”

  The reports came rapid and relentless.

  Jerome listened to them without really hearing.

  He sat quietly, his composure alien amid the noise.

  Another calmer presence was the man beside him — the one who had just addressed him.

  “Vice-captain Williams,” Jerome murmured. “Apologies. I was... distracted.”

  “The comms are damaged — but the Mater Patriae should be able to reach us from orbit,” Williams said, without turning from his holoscreen. “Yet no word from the flagship. What do you make of it, Captain?”

  “I don’t know,” Jerome replied. “The Tabula Picta — we witnessed it breaking apart. But we never saw the flagship beyond the wormhole. It never even appeared on the radars.”

  Williams nodded.

  “We’re receiving dozens of SOS pings from the Tabula’s pods, but not a single one from the Mater Patriae’s. Could it be… that it never made it to the other side of the wormhole?” the officer wondered, worry clear in his voice now.

  The Mater Patriae’s disappearance wasn’t distant to Jerome.

  His family was on board.

  Jerome could barely put up with their social pressure — but he surely didn’t want them gone.

  And besides the pain of realizing they might’ve vanished, it also meant they couldn’t help him now.

  “We still don’t understand what that gate is,” he said, forcing his tone level. “It doesn’t follow time or space. So yes, I’d call it possible. But two ships came through — enough reason for hope.”

  “Let’s hope the future of the species doesn’t rest on our shoulders then,” Williams gave a dry, humorless chuckle.

  Jerome didn’t answer.

  Walter Williams: dependable, detached, terminally dull. The ideal UN.SY. officer, perhaps.

  He also despised Jerome.

  Williams would have been the perfect captain — if he weren’t a nobody. But he should’ve blamed the system that rewarded bloodlines over merit, not the Jerome who merely took advantage of it.

  If Williams wanted some sort of competition about who was the better officer, Jerome would gladly welcome his efforts — as long as that mindset lifted annoying work off his shoulders.

  “You surprise me, Captain De Chevelle. You look… composed,” Williams smirked lightly.

  “I’ve got too much on my mind to panic,” Jerome replied. Then added: “And congratulations for not breaking character while everything else is falling apart, Williams. The whole UN.SY. Navy relies on men as dependable as you.”

  “As they should. Officers who show fear inspire it in others,” the vice-captain replied.

  Williams didn’t catch the sarcasm in Jerome’s words.

  As expected.

  Jerome let his gaze drift over the bridge. The place buzzed like a hive — but two figures stood apart.

  No uniforms, no duties to carry out.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, standing.

  “Worry not, Captain, I’ll handle the reports,” Williams replied flatly. “Enjoy the break.”

  Unbothered by the remark, Jerome climbed to the top rows of the bridge’s seats.

  Two civilians stood awkwardly near the wall: Akane Taira, blank-faced, and her younger brother Hiro, holding her hand tightly.

  “Let’s go back to our quarters, Sis… We’ll just be a nuisance here.”

  “No, Hiro. Something’s wrong,” he heard Akane say to her brother. “Galeria would’ve sent a thousand messages by now. This silence means something happened...”

  Jerome stood in front of them, bowing slightly.

  “Miss Taira. Mister Taira. I hope you’re unharmed?”

  “We are, Captain,” Hiro answered quickly.

  “I understand you’re concerned about—”

  “Are we the only survivors, Jerome?” Akane cut him off sharply.

  The woman who had enjoyed tormenting him was gone. An exhausted girl stood before him now.

  “No,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Distress signals are still coming in. Recovery will take time; we sacrificed part of our aircraft capacity to land safely. But rest assured, we’ll rescue everyone we can. No citizen will be abandoned.”

  “Any signals from the Mater Patriae?” she pressed.

  “I’m afraid not. Not yet.”

  “Then they’re gone. My family...” She lowered her eyes, grip tightening on her brother’s hand.

  “It’s too soon to tell,” Jerome said, straightening. “It’s only been an hour. Communications could simply be down. Besides, the flagship isn’t fragile. Your great-grandfather helped fund its construction, didn’t he? The Tairas never invested in weakness.”

  “He’s right, sis. We should wait. And stop thinking about the worst.”

  Akane gave Hiro a faint smile, barely masking the despair behind her eyes.

  The boy’s composure surprised him. He had seemed more moved by the music he’d played during departure than by what came after.

  “I should speak to Cornelius,” she said.

  “That’s not… advisable right now.” Jerome’s eyes flicked toward the center of the bridge, where Caius loomed unshaken, a white pillar amid the noise.

  “But feel free to stay here. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thank you, Jerome.”

  “Don’t mention it, Miss Taira. You’re still in my care.” He took his leave and returned to his seat.

  Maybe rekindling their old bond might have been his only chance.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But there wasn’t time to see that play out.

  Someone detached the prison blocks.

  The words echoed in his head.

  Technician Fauster Alba.

  Only she could have done it.

  And Cornelius had said he had an idea who was responsible. The admiral probably knew more than Jerome imagined.

  Why would Fauster sabotage everything remained the question.

  Panic? Possible.

  Her Alter-human sympathies? She’d be insane. But… Jerome had enough hints the girl was kind of mental.

  Yet she wasn’t incompetent. She had pretended to be.

  If she’d managed to eject the prison blocks, Fauster knew exactly what she was doing.

  Maybe she’d found something in that prison. Something she didn’t tell him — and hid behind those obnoxious looping thumbs-up she flooded their channel with.

  Either way, Fauster had marked the end of his career. Or worse.

  Someone would investigate the prison blocks’ detachment. Investigate her. And when they found Jerome had placed Fauster as the only technician in the sector, there’d be consequences.

  And he still wouldn’t understand why the Science Bureau had turned him into a killer.

  He sat, then leaned back and pretended to study his holoscreen.

  He only needed a plan — and time.

  Time to erase the records, to cut every tie to her. Leave no proof.

  There had to be a way.

  “Officers. I don't yet have a full understanding of the situation, but we’ll begin operations regardless.”

  The thunderous voice silenced the bridge.

  Cornelius Caius had turned toward the crew.

  The H.O.Pe. human tapped his omni-com. The viewports dimmed, and a holographic projection flickered to life — the Parvus in ghostly white and red, a full structural model. The projection glowed crimson, the lower half and the thrusters especially.

  “First — the crew. Of 9,960 aboard, roughly five-thousand escaped using the drop pods. We have no precise count of survivors; Scipio will update us after it reboots. Their locations remain unknown due to planetary comms failure.”

  Cornelius’ expression shifted into what Jerome judged as textbook sorrow.

  “I’ll be blunt. The death toll already nears a thousand. Many more are injured. Fortunately, the medical wing is operational. Critical cases are being treated as we speak.”

  The pained face vanished without a trace.

  “About twelve-hundred crew members are confirmed unharmed. Each one will be assigned to duty.”

  Caius’s gaze swept the bridge. Then, rapid-fire:

  “Lieutenant Commander Boudi — form a recovery team. Extract life-support supplies from the lower hull. That sector is outside Scipio’s control. Proceed with caution.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Williams — coordinate with maintenance. Keep the power grid and water system stable. Organize fire-suppression teams. This ship won’t fly again — but it is our headquarters now.”

  “Understood, admiral.”

  “Tarja — survey viable aircraft. Begin rescue ops. Prioritize distress signals. Yun — assign storm sailors to assist.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Polul — deploy scouts. Full perimeter map. Report by tomorrow.”

  Cornelius paused, as if searching for one last order.

  Jerome knew — he was just pretending to think. The admiral knew exactly what he wanted.

  “One last thing.” Caius added, in a casual tone.

  “Arrest Captain De Chevelle.”

  The bridge froze. Every head turned toward Jerome.

  He didn’t move. His eyes, expressionless, stayed locked on Cornelius.

  No plan. No time left.

  —Two officers approached.

  Jerome stood and offered his hands without resistance.

  “Williams, you’ll assume the rank of captain,” Caius said calmly.

  The cuffs locked with a hum of magnets around his wrists.

  “Now escort him to my quarters. I need a chat with the former captain.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Akane stepped forward, descending the stairs toward the command dais.

  Cornelius curved his lips in an almost imperceptible smile.

  “Ah, Miss Taira. I forgot you were here. With the Mater Patriae missing, you’ve become irrelevant. That’s why you slipped my mind.”

  Her face twisted in anger.

  “You don’t need to know the meaning of anything,” continued the admiral.

  “Nor do I need to explain. Just stay quiet, Princess. And out of my way.”

  Caius lifted his eyes from her, as if she wasn’t even there.

  “Escort Miss and Mister Taira to their quarters. Make sure they remain there.”

  “What are you doing, Cornelius? Arresting me?! Have you lost your mind?!”

  Her composure shattered. Jerome had never seen her like that — not even as a child. That furious.

  As he was taken away, Jerome saw Kosciuszko approaching Hiro Taira.

  —

  The cuffs were already off his wrists.

  They’d taken his pistol too — not that it would have made a difference. If he needed to defend himself here, it would already be too late.

  Jerome sat alone on a plain metal chair.

  Cornelius’s quarters were large but bare.

  They had once been his, before the command transfer — now they were stripped of any trace of personality.

  It could have been anyone’s room. Or no one’s.

  No holoscreens projecting scenery. No wall ornaments. Just cold polished steel.

  On the desk before him — steel as well — a few objects lay: a portable holoprojector; a data drive; a display stand where three rows of medals floated in slow rotation; A magazine from a weapon he didn’t recognize.

  Some firearm from the War, Jerome guessed — and from the size of the ammo, something that packed way more punch than modern, peacetime armaments.

  His eyes moved to the medals.

  Watching them vanish to the back of the stand, then return in a quiet, pointless orbit, gave him a sense of calm.

  “Welcome, Admiral Cornelius Caius.”

  Scipio’s voice broke the silence.

  The doors slid open. Heavy footsteps entered. Then the room sealed again.

  No one else. Just the two of them — the admiral wanted privacy, it seemed.

  The H.O.Pe. human sat without a word and drew a small sphere from his pocket.

  “Scipio, by my order disable all monitoring and alerts related to this room until further notice,” Cornelius said.

  “Level-three request: accepted.”

  He pressed the sphere and set it between them.

  A green blink — signal jam active.

  Even Scipio couldn’t hear them now. And even if the AI detected interference, its orders forbade warning anyone.

  “De Chevelle. Explain what you and Fauster were planning.”

  Straight to it.

  “So you already knew about my arrangement with Alba Fauster, sir,” Jerome replied evenly.

  There was nothing left to lose — but his life. Yet he wouldn’t give the admiral the pleasure of watching him cower under his pressure.

  “I told you, didn’t I? I’m aware of everything that happens aboard this ship.” Caius’s voice stayed smooth, deep. “I know you planted her here to investigate the Alter-humans — and I allowed it.”

  “Then you probably know more than I do, sir.” Jerome replied. “I placed her in the prison blocks to gather intel — true — but I never saw the results of her work.”

  Jerome managed a dry smile. “She left me with more questions than answers.”

  “She betrayed you.” Cornelius’s tone didn’t waver. “No reason to cover a traitor, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t cover for her even if I could, Admiral.”

  “Why did you pick her?” Cornelius pressed.

  “Fauster knows things. Intel about Alter-humans the Bureau kept buried. In truth, she even told me stories about you, sir,” Jerome shrugged. “And she was competent enough to cause the largest Alter-human escape in recorded history, it seems.”

  “Although the foolish girl has stolen something from me, I don’t dislike how things turned out,” Cornelius admitted after a pause. “Her actions were unpredictable. The enemy will fall into chaos once the news spreads.”

  “Enemy, sir?”

  The admiral finally shifted his gaze.

  “You see, De Chevelle, I’ve had... disagreements with certain people connected to the Science Bureau.”

  “Disagreements?” Jerome raised an eyebrow. “Who would ever disagree with you, sir?”

  “The ones who placed the Alter-humans on the Parvus — especially that Bureau executive who visited you two years ago.”

  Jerome’s surprise deepened.

  “You mean Dr. Brooke, sir? How’s she doing?”

  “How do you think she is after disagreeing with me, De Chevelle?”

  “Displeased,” Jerome said flatly.

  Cornelius didn’t react. He simply drew something else from his pocket — a small white square.

  With one large finger, he slid it across the desk toward Jerome.

  Jerome picked it up. Coarse to the touch, flexible.

  “Is this paper?” he asked, brows rising. “I had some at home, but I didn’t know Navy pay could buy expensive nostalgia—”

  “Open it, De Chevelle.” Cornelius’s voice was a threat rather than an order.

  Jerome unfolded it.

  Inside, drawn in exact black lines, was a symbol:

  the nine-rayed UN.SY. sun encircling a single eye.

  Two snakes devoured each other’s tails framing the lid, their heads being the eye corners. Three concentric rings formed the iris, a single vertical slit shaped like an “I” the pupil.

  “I don’t know what to say, Admiral,” Jerome said lightly. “The detail is impressive — I just think it lacks a little... emotion.”

  The admiral’s frown deepened.

  “But I’m surprised you’re sharing your artistic side with me, Admi—”

  “Already tired of your pitiful human life, De Chevelle?”

  The tone alone froze him.

  Jerome lifted his gaze from the page. The Admiral’s eyes were bright with cold disgust.

  “No, sir.” Jerome steadied his breath. “We just arrived. I’d like to see if the destination was worth the trip before dying.”

  “Then spare me your humor,” Cornelius’s voice cut like steel. “Brooke confessed certain things before she met her demise — this symbol among them. A word came with it.”

  He paused.

  “Hephaistos.”

  “Have you or Fauster ever heard that name?”

  Jerome shook his head.

  There was clearly far more at play than he’d imagined. Whatever the game was, he’d never been a real player.

  Cornelius had gone deeper into the Bureau’s secrets — interrogated and killed the one who’d placed the Alters on the Parvus — and still managed to keep his post.

  Jerome began to understand why he had been spared.

  The Admiral had known everything, allowed everything, because their goals had aligned until now.

  If things went wrong — as they did — no proof tied them together.

  The best pawn is the one who never realizes he’s on the board.

  The H.O.Pe. human’s mind was as imposing as his stature.

  “Have you discovered why the Alters are here, Admiral?” Jerome asked after a long pause.

  “This is an interrogation, not a conversation, De Chevelle,” Cornelius spat.

  “But no — I hoped Fauster would do that for me.”

  “Maybe she did,” Jerome replied. “That’s why she escaped.”

  “I plan to recover her soon enough — assuming she hasn’t already awakened more prisoners than my current forces can handle.”

  “You think she’d do that?”

  “Why else gather all that data on Alters? Why escape while freeing them?” Cornelius said.

  “The foolish girl has her own agenda. Maybe she’s an Eclipse sympathizer — or even an Alter-human herself.”

  The admiral stood as Jerome processed those conjectures.

  “Enough. There are other matters I must attend to.”

  “Will I be executed?” Jerome asked plainly, his voice not carrying the weight of the question.

  “No. Not yet.” Caius’s tone dipped into something that almost resembled reassurance.

  “Even before your little investigation proved useful, I approved your presence here for one reason — your last name. A De Chevelle makes an excellent hostage to pressure even the Bureau.”

  Cornelius’s lips curved into one of his practiced smiles.

  “I’ll keep you alive. You and the Tairas still serve that purpose — should the Mater Patriae return.”

  Jerome lifted his gaze to the ceiling, already preparing himself for a long imprisonment.

  Cornelius seemed to notice — unsettlingly perceptive for something so devoid of empathy.

  “Do not despair, De Chevelle. Perhaps I’ll find further uses for you,” the admiral said while moving toward the door.

  “You’ve shown a brave heart for a spoiled brat. The chance to see daylight again might come — but that is for me alone to decide.”

  The door opened; two officers entered to escort Jerome.

  “I am the highest-ranking officer remaining in UN.SY. With the Mater Patriae gone, I am the United System’s voice itself now.”

  He was taken to an emptied storage room in the bridge tower — his cell.

  As the door sealed behind him, Jerome’s mind drifted elsewhere.

  He pictured vast forests alive with strange creatures, oceans stretching endless under alien skies.

  He knew they were real — he had glimpsed, if only briefly.

  They were just a few reinforced blast doors away.