Doctor Ernst Hopewell took a measured breath, scanning the tense faces around the room. The weight of what they were up against was crushing—an enemy that had torn through entire civilizations, a force that had already turned planets to dust. Fear, uncertainty, even despair hung thick in the air. And yet, they weren’t without hope.

  “I know what you’re all feeling,” Hopewell began, their voice steady but firm. “We are standing on the edge of something that could end us. The enemy we face is brutal, relentless, and has spent centuries perfecting the art of conquest. But I need you all to understand something—we are not powerless. There is hope.

  "We have knowledge. And knowledge, as history has shown us, is power.”

  Hopewell leaned forward slightly. “We now understand how the people of Fomalhaut Six not only resisted the Veihran but defeated them—twice.”

  A murmur rippled through the room. Hopewell continued, unwavering.

  “Before coming to Deneb Four, where ADAM was constructed, the Shapers attempted to conquer an insectoid race on Fomalhaut Six. This race did what so many others could not. It survived. It crushed two separate invasion armies across two thousand years.

  “The sphere that attacked Deneb Four—Hathon—and is now threatening our system is a survivor of that failed campaign. It was exiled from Vega until it completes its objective. But if ADAM’s observations are correct, the Veihran’s technology—space travel, communications, and time displacement—is all stolen knowledge. They rely on equipment they cannot truly understand. If it is destroyed, they have no way of repairing it.”

  Hopewell let that sink in for a moment before continuing.

  “Vega Four itself is the heart of their empire—a prison world where enslaved races are exploited for their masters' benefit. The Denebians aboard this sphere are an anomaly, as this particular vessel has lost contact with Vega and is operating independently. However, that does not make it any less dangerous. It is gathering strength, provisioning itself for another attack on Fomalhaut Six. It is searching for new genetic material, food, and weapons.

  "In short, gentlemen, it wants us.

  "It is counting on us to do exactly what it expects—to throw everything we have at it and lose. It believes that if we fight and fail, it will have all the firepower and resources it needs to return to Fomalhaut, destroy the planet, and return to Vega Four in triumph. The Panome in charge of this ship is a direct descendant of Suleg himself and continues to experiment with genetic engineering on any race he captures.”

  A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the occasional shifting of chairs.

  "However," Hopewell pressed on, "there is a weakness. ADAM has determined that on Vega itself, the enslaved races outnumber the Shapers five to one. If freed, they could rise up and overthrow their oppressors. The problem, of course, is the fleet. The Veihran still have a hundred ships capable of mobilizing millions of warriors. But there is good news—Fomalhaut Six has already cost them dearly. They’ve lost eighty ships. And they can build no more.”

  The tension in the room shifted. People weren’t just listening anymore. They were absorbing. Thinking.

  “The race from whom the Shapers originally stole these ships saw its last descendant die on Vega in a subject race revolt. Since then, nearly every species the Veihran have conquered has been peaceful—good, moral civilizations that were easy to subjugate. That pattern suggests that the human race, as a similarly peace-loving society, could fall just as easily.

  “But,” Hopewell’s eyes swept across the room, “if we can reclaim the fighting spirit of our forefathers, we may not be doomed at all.”

  They let the weight of that statement settle before continuing.

  "ADAM has their numbers aboard the sphere: three thousand Panits, four hundred Panors, and three Panomes—all under the command of Grand Panome Klana Suleg. Leadership is their weak link. With so few Panors to guide them, the Panits will be easily distracted or misdirected in combat. And we have one additional advantage—thanks to Russ Carlin’s attack earlier, the Photon Cannon has been destroyed. They have no remaining energy weapons.”

  Carlin, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “So why haven’t they attacked Mars yet?” His voice was calm, but his fingers tapped absently against the table.

  Hopewell exhaled. “After a time shift, their ship must absorb energy to replenish itself. And your attack rattled them. They don’t understand how you did it. Your ship and lasers were invisible to them. To them, your projectiles appeared from nowhere.”

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  Carlin let out a short, dry laugh. “So they’re scared?”

  Hopewell shook their head. “I wouldn’t say fear. It’s more… uncertainty. They don’t like fighting blind.”

  A Venusian delegate leaned forward. “What do you think they’ll do next, Dr. Hopewell?”

  “ADAM is certain they will attempt a raid on Mars for men, arms, and food.”

  ADAM’s voice cut in then—mechanical, but unsettlingly human. “Rationing was already in effect when I left the sphere. If food is not acquired soon, the Denebians will be processed.”

  The room fell into silence. The meaning behind ADAM’s words hung thick in the air.

  Carlin muttered, “Processed. Christ.”

  A delegate swallowed hard. “Then we don’t have much time.”

  Hopewell nodded gravely. “No, we don’t.”

  “The damage to the sphere during Captain Carlin’s attack was severe,” Dr. Hopewell stated. “To maintain structural integrity, it was forced to shrink by a factor of twelve. Life support would have entered stasis while the ship executed its first time shift, traveled the two-week course to Mars, and then shifted back into our time.” He paused before continuing. “Currently, the sphere is likely buried on Mars, with only one-tenth of its surface exposed to absorb energy. We can expect them to emerge anytime after twenty-eight days. If they follow their traditional battle strategy, the first to exit will be the enslaved Denebians, commanded by Panits, with one or two Panor overseeing them.”

  ADAM, the artificial intelligence, added, “The Denebians have been altered, but I have compiled their known forms. I will assist in breaking Veihran control over them. We must fight and capture them—denying the enemy their genetic material is crucial. Under no circumstances can we afford to be taken, either. That is why Fomalhaut remains free.”

  “They rigged self-destructive devices on their soldiers,” ADAM continued, his tone neutral. “After their last battle, they detonated them immediately. You may find this disturbing, but it is preferable to becoming a Veihran experiment subject.”

  Hopewell turned to ADAM. “How much time has Captain Carlin bought us? Can you estimate?”

  “Yes. Roughly four weeks to prepare.”

  Commander Jeff Calan cut in. “How many of them are there, ADAM?”

  “There were 1,800 when I left the sphere, Commander,” ADAM replied. “Unless some have been processed. In that case, there will be fewer.”

  Ted Harmand, ever the strategist, leaned forward. “What weapons or tactics can stop and capture them, ADAM?”

  “Your stunners will be effective in one-on-one encounters, Sergeant Major. However, against massed forces, older weapons—grenades and claymore mines—will be necessary. I have already informed the Production Council, and stockpiling has begun.”

  Russell, who had been reviewing early Earth warfare, spoke up. “Gas might be our best option.”

  Professor Sackett frowned. “Mars’ atmosphere is thin enough as it is. Dare we poison it?”

  “Not poison—sedate,” Russell clarified. As a spacefaring man, he knew Mars’ colonists had spent years heating the ice caps and melting asteroids to create an atmosphere. The planet now had a fragile mix of 20% oxygen, 80% nitrogen, and carbon dioxide, but it was only about two-thirds of a mile thick. Any disruption could be catastrophic.

  Hughes considered this. “You’re proposing a knockout gas?”

  “Yes, but mixed with smoke to obscure our movements from the Veihrans.”

  ADAM processed the idea. “By their own records, no gas weapon has ever been used against the Veihran or their slaves. This approach has a high probability of success.”

  Walter Chambers, the newcomer, spoke up. “What projectile weapons did the mass drivers defending Mars use, ADAM?”

  “Similar to your mass cannons, sir, but propelled by gas pressure rather than electromagnetic force.”

  Chambers nodded. “If we succeed in freeing the Denebian slaves, will they be able to rebuild their civilization?”

  “The genetic alterations are reversible,” ADAM replied. “Yes, they could return home.”

  Chambers straightened. “Then I have a proposition. If ADAM releases all Veihran genetic data and cloning procedures to us, I believe we could restore and re-educate their race—while also ensuring the safety of our own. We could prevent future Shaper invasions entirely.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room. His words carried a weight beyond strategy and survival—they implied something far greater, a reshaping of fate itself. What Chambers was suggesting was not just a military countermeasure; it was genetic intervention on a scale that bordered on playing god. The ability to reverse-engineer a species, to undo centuries—perhaps millennia—of Veihran evolution and manipulation, would be a power with consequences far beyond the immediate war.

  Linette Hughes scoffed, breaking the silence. “That’s a noble speech, Doctor Chambers, but isn’t it overpromising? Our people haven’t fought a war in sixteen hundred years. Our weapons are outdated, and our enemy has been bred for war for twenty-five thousand. We must be cautious.”

  Chambers didn’t hesitate. “And what would you prefer, Madam Chairman? Defeat and enslavement?” His gaze swept the room. “I understand the gravity of what I’m proposing. If we go through with this, we take responsibility for an entire race’s future. We decide whether they live as free people or remain tools of war. But if we have the means to undo the Veihran’s work, how can we justify doing nothing?”

  Some shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the risk—it was the moral dilemma. Was it right to reshape a species, even in the name of liberation? Was it ethical to intervene so deeply, even if it meant breaking the cycle of violence?

  “If I’m right about what ADAM knows, and if I’m allowed to use it,” Chambers pressed on, “we can not only win this war—we can free every conquered race. And I’m not boasting.”

  The room remained silent, but the weight of his words had settled. This was no longer just about defense. It was about the future of entire civilizations—and whether they had the right to decide it.