UGT: 5th Ruan 280 a.G.A. / 04:02 a.m.

  Location: ASF Aurora, outer edges of the Karesh-Ti’Varn system(yellow dwarf), Inner-Noran sector, Ruidan Raider Association, Milky Way

  The Stealthfighter of the ASF Aurora exited from hyperspace with no fanfare and no warning flare of displaced energy. The gravitational waves it sent out were nearly impossible to detect. The Stealthfighter wasn't just cloaked in normal space. The Aetherian Empire had hyperspace cloaking devices as well, after all. That had allowed the Stealthfighter to slip past the detection fields of the relay towers as well. After all, no one in the galaxy knew a technology like that even existed. And without knowing what to look for, how was one supposed to detect it?

  The Stealthfighter carried no onboard AI, it lacked computing capacity for one sophisticated enough for this kind of mission. Instead, Fen and I were aboard in person, the only ones who could guarantee success. The ASF Aurora and the rest of the fleet still lingered at least a day behind in hyperspace, deliberately out of range of the Association’s detection range, as to not spoil the surprise. If even a single signal spike had been detected, the whole illusion would’ve fractured. That couldn’t be risked. So, we went alone. Just Fen and I in a silent blade, slipping past the edge of Karesh-Ti’Varn like a whisper too soft to hear.

  Who was aboard the ASF Aurora if both Fen and I were on the Stealthfighter? Currently, no one. Fen had once more set up multiple lesser AIs to manage the spaceship in our absence and even have it fly into Karesh-Ti’Varn at the with Admiral Thorrison agreed-upon time. Once it reached the system, Fen would be able to directly take over again.

  "Fen, give me a passive system scan. Everything we can get without risking detection," I ordered. He complied instantly and a new holographic display featuring the system appeared before me. As we already knew from Federation data, the system held seven planets in total, five rocky, two gas giants, each with their own moons, stations and orbital infrastructure.

  First came the inner rock world Vorthak-Zul, a scorched and pitted planet pressed far too close to its star. No moons circled it and no light shone from its shadowed side. It was bare, cracked open in countless places by long-abandoned mining drills. The Association hadn’t maintained it, only stripped it. It was entirely useless now, forgotten by purpose and time.

  Then the first gas giant. Jarrat-Ghol, a bruised titan with clouds like ink storms and pressure bands writhing across its surface. Its orbit was filled with hundreds of structures. Spindly stations blinking with dim light, refinery hubs turning the gases into fuel and feedstock, modular rig tethers spanning between them like stretched nerves. The Association had turned the whole moon-clustered orbit into an industrial web.

  Next came Surnax-Nor, another rock world, this one shrouded in a thick, sulfuric atmosphere. The planet itself was deemed worthless, untouched since initial colonization attempts had failed. But its single moon, Surnax-III, bore the flickers of military habitation. At least two small outposts nestled beneath fortified shells. No doubt they’d serve as fallback points if things went very wrong.

  Then came Karesh-Ti, the first of the habitable planets. A sapphire and emerald disc wrapped in cloudstreams, hugged by twin moons that shimmered faintly with artificial structuring. The moons were both staging platforms, crowded with defensive architecture and atmospheric reflectors. Below, the planet bloomed with sprawling agricultural zones and filtration fields. They were building longevity here. Not just military presence but settlement. Civilians, food security, governance. It was clear why this was the capital planet of the entire Association enclave.

  Farther still, Karesh-Varn, colder and less forgiving, but no less viable. Harsh terrain curled along its northern hemisphere, while the southern expanse showed clusters of habitation arcs, likely mining or processing settlements. A single moon orbited overhead, unmistakably heavy with infrastructure. That was their production hub. Even from this distance, the surface pulsed with coordinated activity from mechworks, shipyard cores and armor-plating stacks. That was where their warships were being assembled, repaired, and readied.

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  The sixth planet Garnuk-Tel was another gas giant, its vast rings glinting with distant salvage arrays and the lazy drift of cargo trains. It was quieter, less active than Jarrat-Ghol. Meant for pass-through commerce or deep space refueling. Not meant to hold a battlefront, clearly.

  And finally, there was Tarnis-Vekk, the outermost rock world. Cold. Isolated. Guarded. Four moons encircled it, each one patched with static defense systems and angular bulkhead arrays. Between them hovered a sparse but precise net of orbital weapon platforms, slow, but well-placed. And beneath them all, anchored just off the orbital plane, blinked one of the three key relay towers I needed to destroy. It was by far the most heavily defended and therefore most likely our first target, while we still held the factor of surprise.

  Around the system, a scattering of stations drifted in carefully maintained orbits, some of them commercial, others unmistakably military. A few clung tightly to the inner planets, while others drifted in elliptical patterns around the star itself. One platform even maintained an almost inertial lock in the void between orbits, held steady by massive thrusters and artificial gravitic anchors. As stationary as anything could ever be in a system that never stopped moving. But the real threat weren’t the stations. It were the fleets.

  Karesh-Ti’Varn was far stronger protected than even in our worst predictions. And it dawned on me this mission... might have been a failure before it had even started. Six distinct fleets were spread across the system, coordinated but compartmentalized, each defending a critical corridor or strategic anchor. The smallest fleet and the one closest to my current position consisted of a single Battlecruiser, flanked by two Cruisers, three Destroyers and four Frigates that patrolled the inner rim of the hyperlane exit like wolves waiting to tear into anything that emerged. Not enough to stop a full assault on its own, perhaps, but enough to stall long enough for the other fleets to respond.

  The "western" hyperlane, the direction they expected us to attack from, held an even bigger fleet. Two Battlecruisers, three Cruisers and a wall of four Destroyers and five Frigates. The "eastern" hyperlane, bordering on other Association-aligned starnations, was somewhat weaker defended with two Battlecruisers, two Cruisers, three Destroyers and six Frigates. Slightly more mobile than the western group, but no less dangerous.

  But it was Karesh-Ti that carried the weight of their local defense. A single Battlecruiser led their planetary defense fleet, followed by three Cruisers, five Destroyers, seven Frigates, eight Corvettes, ten Cutters, and fourteen Patrolboats, all woven into a tight net of defensive lanes and kill-zones. Orbital artillery platforms ringed both moons like claws, and the planet’s surface held a fully integrated ground-based defense grid. Any serious engagement here would become a quagmire. A siege, not a battle.

  Worse still, the reserve fleet stationed near the massive gas giant Garnuk-tel and the industrial moon Surnax-III floated in deep orbit, ready to respond. Smaller than the others, but mobile and heavily armed. A Battlecruiser, a Cruiser, two Destroyers, four Frigates and a support web of six Corvettes and ten Cutters. An emergency response hammer waiting to be hurled into any breach.

  And on Tarnis-Vekk, one of the three relay towers, defended by a Cruiser, a Destroyer, two Frigates, two Corvettes and three defense platforms. Across the system, the other two relay towers were defended with a fleet of that size as well, though without the defense platforms. And somewhere in that tangle of satellites, automated mines and guided missile silos lay dormant, waiting to wake.

  We had chosen the least reinforced entry. And it was still a knife’s edge if we would even achieve a breakthrough. The Stealthfighter drifted in silence, scanning. Mapping not just the ships, but the gaps between them. The unswept corridors. The blind angles. Because if we were going to crack this system, it wouldn't be with brute force. It would need a very fucking good strategy on my part.

  [ May, maybe we should just retreat. This system is way to defended for any kind of offensive action on our part. I’ve counted a total of 21 Warships, 72 Escortships and 34 Gunboats. Our entire fleet consists of ten ships. This is not winnable. ]

  I remained silent for a moment. "I disagree. We may be outnumbered heavily, but we have the ASF Aurora and their fleets are dispersed across the entire system. They'll be unable to mount a sole strong defense, instead we'll most likely meet them in multiple close battles. By the time they fall back deeper into the system, it might very well be too late. At least, that's the plan. We'll commence with it."

  [ ...Very well. Admiral Thorrison will kill you, should you by some miracle survive this battle, but so be it. What are your orders, Captain? ]

  "We need to get rid of the relay towers, starting with the one on Tarnis-Vekk and we have to do so without being detected. Go ahead and prepare a course," I ordered.

  [ Order confirmed, course charted. ]

  And like that, the last battle for control over the Inncer-Noran sector started, without the Ruidan Raider Association even realizing it did.