Alpha Strike: [An interstellar Weapon Platform’s Guide to being a Dungeon Core] (Book 2 title)

General Uriel "Vurod" Haldorðr, General of the Third Federation Expeditionary Force and commander-in-charge of the Galactic Unification project sat at the end of the long table, his back straight and hands folded neatly in front of him. Even for a Vidaasi, the warrior-like race jokingly referred to by much of the Federation as the "Dragonkin," General Haldorðr was a large man, both physically and more… metaphorically. His presence filled the room with a heavy air that made most sit a little straighter and speak a bit more… politely.

After all, there wasn't a single person in the room who hadn't grown up on tales of the "Dragon King," a man so feared during the Unification Wars that an entire battalion of Armored Mech had retreated when he stepped onto the battlefield with nothing but a basic exosuit and his bare claws.

Now that same man waited patiently as the two fools who seemed totally immune to his glare yelled at each other from their seats.

"And YOU don't seem to understand, Mr. Johns, that the situation is being handled! This is an internal matter for the Expeditionary Force, NOT the Senate. We have the full authority to disclose what we know when we know it."

Councilman Harris slammed his chubby hands onto the table. His voice boomed, and his face flushed red as he pointed toward the small, weasel-like man across from him. Senator Johns stood and pointed back at the large man, his voice not losing out in volume or gusto.

"Now we are repeating ourselves, Mr. Harris! This is NOT just an Expeditionary Force matter any longer! The damage Alpha caused is astronomical! The reimbursement for lost homes and businesses is already estimated in the billions of credits! That's saying nothing of the weeks it will take to fix the infrastructure and rebuild! Now you have the audacity to tell us that not only is the prime culprit missing, but that you don't have the slightest clue where or with whom? And you still insist that everything is 'fine?!' Don't think just because your—"

Councilman Harris roared back, cutting the senator off.

"Because it IS fine! The Expeditionary Force has everything under control! We don't need some bullheaded ballot pusher sticking their nose in a place that—"

Senator Johns scoffed,

"Ha! That's rich coming for you, the glorified stage manager!"

Councilman Harris's face flushed a deeper red as he yelled back.

"Stage manager?! I'll show you, stage manager, you pencil-thin piece of—"

"ENOUGH!"

General Haldorðr's voice filled the room with enough force to scatter the papers on the table and send the aids scrambling to collect everything.

Councilman Harris and Senator Johns jumped, but slowly slid back into their seats.

General Haldorðr continued, his voice softer, though still naturally loud enough to rattle the still-standing glasses.

"I'd like to remind both of you that this is an official meeting, and everything you say here will be of public record. So please, refrain from behaving like children until after we're dismissed."

The general glared at both men, but neither broke eye contact with the other.

After a moment of silence, General Haldorðr continued.

"Now, Senator, I understand your concerns, but I assure you that the Expeditionary Force has everything under control. There are procedures for events like this, and things are proceeding as smoothly as possible."

Senator Johns broke his glaring contest with the councilman and turned to General Haldorðr, but the general cut him off before he could speak.

"AND… I'll inform the Senate of any future updates on our investigation myself. The Expeditionary Force takes this matter seriously, and we're well aware of the Senate's stance on the matter. All I ask is that you trust the process."

The senator slid back into his seat and turned away. Of course, he wasn't happy with the general's answer, but he said nothing more. You didn't become a senator of a galactic-spanning Federation without knowing when to shut your mouth, after all.

Silently, General Haldorðr wondered to himself if that was really true.

—————

General Haldorðr and Si'dia walked out of the confidence room several hours later. The politicians and officers would still argue and push for this or that agenda for days still, but his job was done for now. The general was just glad to get out of there. He hated politics, but what else could he do? Uriel Haldorðr had learned centuries ago that sometimes a strong hand wasn't enough.

It wasn't powerful warriors or powerful weapons that turned the galaxy, even if they helped to grease the wheels.

People did. People of all types and backgrounds, big and small. Many things could be said about the Federation, and not all were good. Yet, one thing Uriel had always been proud of was the fact that, at the end of the day, the Federation stood as an institution for the people.

Its purpose wasn't to control or govern. It ensured that everyone, regardless of their backing or origin, could rise above their station and become more.

Of course, the reality wasn't always that simple, but they did their best. Nepotism wasn't dead by a long shot, but in the vast majority of the Federation, it wasn't inaccurate to say even a random street rat without a credit to his name could one day become a general and powerful warrior, feared and respected across the galaxy.

Even those places where that might not be true were endlessly being hunted down and uplifted until it was.

That didn't stop some… cancer from trying to worm its way into the system every so often, though… The resistance they'd faced recently was a perfect example of this. The Expeditionary Force, and the Unification program, had always been transparent with their every action. When your goal was conquest, Uriel found the general populous was far more forgiving of what needed to be done when you didn't hide it from them. Some called it foolish, and it had caused some issues before, but it had worked for millennia so far, and the general didn't see a need for change.

Yet, recently, more and more, popular opinions had turned against them. Some said they were expanding too fast, that it wasn't sustainable and would cause issues down the road. Others argued they needed to be more selective. Only those deemed "worthy" should be uplifted, and the rest should be left for the "lesser" factions to pick up. More still questioned why they were even doing what they were doing?

That third voice had grown even stronger in the last few centuries, especially among the younger generation. Sure, Galactic Unification was a great ideal, but what was the point? The Third Federation was already the strongest force in the galaxy. What threat could there be that warranted such exponential preparation and development?

Fools, every one of them.

They didn't know the terror that lurked beyond the galaxy's edges. The danger that slept in the darkness between galaxies, just waiting for the right time to sink its claws back into an unprepared prey.

Not that he'd seen it himself, of course, but the Vidaasi were a long-lived people, even before all the augmentations and medical miracles. His great-grandfather had lived through the end of the Second Great Collapse. Uriel had grown up on stories of the Breaking and the horrors of the nano-plague. His great-grandfather had been a whaler. He'd fought creatures of deep space that even Uriel wasn't confident in fighting without some serious equipment.

Yet when the man had spoken of his youth and the horrors he experienced, it was like he was seeing a different man entirely. Not the strong, vibrant hunter Uriel had grown up admiring, but a man broken by something he could barely fathom.

Uriel stopped in the middle of the hallway, thinking about all the time and lives wasted by these little men and their petty agendas. His fist slowly clinching until its scales, hard enough to stop a bullet, cracked. Then, with a roar, he swung his fist toward the hallway wall. Instantly, a barrier of green energy appeared between his fist and the wall, stopping the blow with a deep "thump" that rippled through space itself.

Yet the hard, reinforced wall, capable of taking prolonged bombardment by an orbiting battleship, slowly sank inward a few inches. Si'dia sighed from behind the general and lowered her hand, its green glow winking out. She narrowed her eyes and spoke, her voice smooth as silk but flat.

"Uriel, I understand you're worried about Alpha, but please try not to destroy the building. Our budget is already stretched thin this quarter, and we don't need another incident to fan the flames."

Uriel turned away and scoffed, shaking his fist as he spoke.

"Bah! Who's worried about that idiot?! He probably got himself lost in another Fold Crack… again! A one in a million chance, and that bloody fool manages to fall into one, what, four times now?!"

Si'dia raised a brow as she stared at the general's back but only shook her head.

The two continued down the hallway. After a moment of silence, Uriel spoke.

"No… Alpha's not the one who worries me. I'm sure that fool's off causing trouble for someone else right now. Surely you noticed it too, Si'dia? You're better at this kind of thing than I am."

Si'dia spoke up after a brief pause.

"You mean the Brightwood faction?"

Uriel nodded.

"Yes. This was only supposed to be a small quarterly debriefing before next month's Senate meeting. So why did they come in such force? Why did they keep trying to redirect the issues to the Expeditionary Force?"

Suddenly, Uriel stopped and slowly turned around. He stared down at his assistant, eyes hard.

"Si'dia… how exactly did Alpha hear about the Lab?"

Si'dia's eyes narrowed,

"Hmmm,"

She swiped up on her tablet and quickly brought up the full report. In only a moment, she'd reviewed the report fully, her eyes widening as she spoke.

"I… see. This could be an issue."

Uriel's frown deepened, and he gave her an order,

"I want to see all the data we recovered from the Lab and any other relevant reports. Crack the database if you have to. I'll write up a cover. I don't know what those fools are trying to accomplish, but if it's what I think it is, we need to squash this in the cradle. Now."

Si'dia nodded, her hand blurring across the tablet's surface as she got to work.

The pair continued down the hallway, their steps quicker than before.

On the ceiling, a small housefly observed the pair speed away. It twitched, then suddenly dissolved into black motes, which quickly vanished into nothingness.

—————

In a place that wasn't a place, [SEAU-03], or Infiltrate as he was known to the public, leaned back in his chair that wasn't really a chair. He pinched the bridge of a nose that wasn't there and closed the video screen that had never really existed.

He gave a deep sigh and stood.

On the one hand, he could always leave it to those two to see something he hadn't. It was part of the reason he liked them so much and why they had come as far as they had.

Conversely, he sometimes wished they'd stop making so much work for him.

Sometimes he wondered if his more… eccentric kin had it right. Maybe biological life was too unstable, unpredictable, and chaotic to be viable for this long. Maybe it wiping itself out was simply the natural progression of things.

… Na. That would be boring.

It was that chaotic and unpredictable nature that made life worth living. It's what gave biological life value. The ability to think, grow, and change was far rarer in the universe than one might think.

That said, he wondered how he should deal with this new problem. If left alone, it could cause more work than even he might handle.

But then, that's why he had brought together the fractured remnants of the Second Federation into this new iteration. Why do all the work yourself when there is so much potential out there?

Infiltrate pulled up the same report Si'dia had, making some quick edits with the information he'd gathered himself in that brief span. No doubt his changes wouldn't go unnoticed, at least by Si'dia, but she was a smart enough woman to understand.

That work done, Infiltrate turned his attention to his other ongoing project. A large, galactic map sprang into existence, billions of tiny red dots sprinkling its surface, each representing a signal-boosting, deep space drone.

The dots slowly spread through the galaxy from various points, even into the "dark" regions where no space-faring people had been since the Great Collapse.

Infiltrate watched each point, running calculations and simulations that would put even the greatest of the Third Federation's supercomputers to shame.

Still, he couldn't help but grumble to himself.

"Alpha… What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?"