Humanity Endures

Part 8 - Preparations | Chapter 5

As the Ruthless, lagging a bit behind the rest of the Loyalist armada, prepared to breach into the Remnant, Quenthal, deftly dealing with whatever came up, remembered something critical that had gone unchecked for the longest time — his family. The last time he had been over Retharxia, where his family was, he had stripped the world of some of its defensive ships under Xertaza's order before departing for Tehkria; he was now about to fly to the Traitors' capital to fight in the largest battle there had been in thousands of years, risking his life in the process, and he hadn't even said goodbye. Quickly pulling out his personal quantum communicator from within one of his uniform's pockets, Quenthal hastily compiled a heartfelt message and sent it to his significant other, though just as the message had gotten through to her, a textcomm with dire tidings reached him: a fleet of alien warships, a one hundred seventy thousand strong, had teleported into the Retharxia system, and only a few minutes after this, they had made it past the planet's defensive navy. While Quenthal watched on in abject horror, millions of alien horrors made planetfall in a shower of blackened landing pods, all while the defensive navy that he had ordered reduced was powerless to stop the invasion. The only thing that stood between Retharxia, his family, and the alien scourge were the desperate armies of the planet, and though these were the envy of much of the galaxy, the sheer number of alien monstrosities that had successfully made it to the planet's surface negated any ease Quenthal might have felt. The next instant, just as the first tactical reports were coming in — tactical reports of mixed outcomes — he was instructed to relay the dreaded order to the rest of Xertaza's fleet: the command to breach into the Remnant, rejoin Lassarha's armada, and head for Nahmatiix, during which time Quenthal would be completely cut-off from the rest of the galaxy, and from any news of his family on the surface of their besieged world.

Quickly wishing them luck with his quantum communicator and explaining what he had been told to do, Quenthal did as he was ordered, and a minute later, he found himself cruising towards the golden void, condemning him to be ignorant of what mattered most while he fought for the future of the human race. Quenthal tried to reassure himself that the Retharxian army was powerful, and that only a few million aliens wouldn't stand a chance against such a numerically superior foe — to no small extent, he even succeeded at this self-deception, though lingering, justified doubt remained lodged deep in his strained heart and tense mind. Mightier worlds had fallen to less, and a few million aliens never stayed just a few million for long. As the Ruthless and the armada it accompanied hurtled towards what could very well have been their final destination, Quenthal began to wish that he had spent more time with those he cared about, before the alien invasion, so that now when he was on the cusp of losing them to these aliens he wouldn't feel as guilty, as much of a failure, as he did. As it was, he knew the face of his commanding officer better than those of his own children.

Whilst in the Remnant, Quenthal was helpless to do anything to save them, besides hope that the Retharxian army triumphed. He decided to act as he normally did, to do his job as well as he possibly could, and deal with whatever awaited him after Nahmatiix had been won — or lost: he owed that much to the crew of his ship. As much as it pained him, he could do nothing more for his family, to whom he owed so much more.

***

Elthinar, unfettered from such emotional trappings, instead found himself doing something he had often resorted to when a particularly difficult question or problem confronted him: pacing around his chamber, muttering incessantly to himself. The entire act would have made him look insane to any observers — and, in all honesty, this assessment would not have been entirely incorrect — but it mattered little to the mechanical man, for not only had he rarely cared about his own image, but the affairs of the galaxy, military and otherwise, mattered more to him than his perceived sanity ever could. As it was, the affairs of the galaxy could be summed up with a single word: dire. Elthinar, as a brilliant scientist, was one of the few positioned to reverse things, or at least, provide an alternative — that was to put it kindly — to a drawn-out defeat.