As fresh data streamed into the system, Donagan opened the log files. Though they might not be critical, they could still shed light on the fuss surrounding these power-cells. Phoenix had always written off IRG cells as mere derivatives of the Leviathan’s core, and he was keen to see what truth lay behind the veil McCool had thrown over his “research.”
A soft beep warned him that Derius was about to draw most of the mainframe’s power.
“I’ll let ye crack on wi’ that index—looks like ye’ve got it in hand. I’ll reroute the juice tae suit ye, an’ meanwhile I’ll sift through this log file ye dug up, see what all the noise is about that core.”
He resumed reading. Once again the power curves and thresholds mirrored the Leviathan’s, though the operating principles diverged slightly. Still, the overall description matched the Zoner core. Moments later, while studying the component theories, an audible gasp escaped his normally stoic demeanor.
“They did what?! That alloy’s pure nonsense!” he muttered.
Turning to Derius as soon as he caught his eye, Donagan blurted, “That theory they’re toutin’—can ye confirm they paired a Nomad power cell wi’ a Leviathan core? If that’s true, they’re far more deranged than the rumours ever let on!”
"I highly doubt they would put a Nomad cell into the Leviathan, but..."
Derius' voice trailed off briefly as he paced slowly around the console, his heavy boots making soft thuds against the metal floor. "...I'm quite sure the IRG cell was made using Nomad cells as a template of sorts."
He stopped, arms crossed, his cybernetic fingers drumming restlessly against his plated forearm as he watched the lines of data scroll down the screen. The low hum of the annex buzzed faintly in the background, the only sound accompanying the sluggish progress bar creeping forward.
"The whole thing allowed the IRG cells to replicate tasks that were only possible for true Nomad biotech—like infinite cloaking, for example."
He turned slightly, his profile lit in the dim blue glow of the monitor. "Still... the IRG cell was a crude imitation compared to the real thing. An impressive achievement, yes, but it required a complete re-routing of a ship’s entire power grid just to attempt cloaking operations. Nothing clean. Nothing sustainable. It was more... brute force science, really."
Derius sighed, leaning one elbow casually against the console, his eyes catching Donagan's for a brief moment across the room.
"If you ask me," he said with a dry smirk, "the Leviathan should stay buried. It’s a relic. A tomb. Whatever was great about it belongs to another time."
His voice was steady, but there was a strange sadness to it too—like someone mourning an old friend long lost to time.
The room fell quiet for a moment, only the hum of cooling fans and the occasional beep of the data terminal filling the stillness.
Derius pushed off the console with a small grunt and stepped closer to the main terminal. His gaze sharpened as he checked the latest readout. "Nearly there," he murmured, noting the progress bar finally passing 92%. Lines of heavily encrypted data danced across the screen as the systems strained to keep up.
Without turning, he addressed Donagan again, his voice calm but with a thin edge of tension behind it.
"You sure this’ll hold up?"
He arched an eyebrow, not because he doubted Donagan’s work—but because he knew too well what would happen if it didn’t. All it would take was one misstep, one triggered failsafe, and the security protocols IRG buried deep inside the files would erase the data—or worse, fry half the systems on the annex.
Derius stood there, still as a statue, his cybernetic arms crossed again, watching. Waiting.
This was it. The final stretch. Either they walked away with the keys to rebuilding the future... or they walked away with ashes.
Donagan smirked at the revelation. “So they were ticklin’ the dragon’s tail wi’ Nomad tech, were they? Aye—that might explain why most o’ the group—and their toys—vanished without a trace.”
When Derius voiced doubts about the mainframe’s ability to cope with the torrent of incoming data, Donagan waved the concern aside. “Ach, she’ll manage fine. She’s no prototype anymore, an’ she’s isolated—only our inputs an’ scripts can nudge the process. I’ve only had tae make a few wee adjustments so far.”
He slid aside a panel on the console, revealing a chunky push-button and an auxiliary display. “Here’s our latest bit o’ wizardry. Should a catastrophe strike, I can freeze the entire rig—or just slow the cycle speed—then thaw specific sections to tweak whatever needs fixin’. Gives us time tae act, ye ken.”
With a few keystrokes, he brought up a schematic of the container holding Derius’s data: a strange cylinder surrounded by intricate mechanisms that rotated in measured silence. “I’ll spare ye the details, but that’s our second fail-safe. Let’s hope we never need it.”
He dismissed the hologram and turned back to the console. “Right—back tae work. These last few percent are critical, so keep yer focus sharp!”
"If all of this goes well," Derius began, voice heavy with resolve, "we just might get the chance to make Zoner bases a safer place for everyone." He leaned back slightly, arms folding across his chest as the weight of his thoughts lingered. "With the Deterance knocking on your doors, we don't have much time to sit around and hope it goes away."
He paused, his tone sharpening. "We rely too much on outside forces. The Order, the Houses, even the occasional favors from mercenaries. That’s no longer sustainable. I think it’s time we take matters into our own hands."
With a subtle flick of his wrist, a soft hum filled the room as a holographic projection sprang to life from his left palm. Rotating slowly above the console was the blueprint of a warship - sleek, imposing, and distinctly modernized. Derius stepped forward, gesturing toward the model.
"This is Alexandria. Not the original... not the Osiris knock-off from two decades ago. This is the rebuilt version. A next-generation dreadnought, designed not just for survival - but for control."
The ship model hovered in the air, revealing its complex framework. The central hull was reinforced with layered composite armor, curved slightly with Zoner aesthetic minimalism, while its underside showed the distinct presence of an internalized jump drive coil. Twin nacelles housed retractable cloaking emitters, and a heavily shielded command core rested in the central spinal ridge of the vessel. Six broad engine arrays flanked the rear, angled for superior mobility even at its size. Along the dorsal section, high-energy turrets and point defense grids were positioned strategically to create a 360-degree fire curtain.
"The design was rebuilt from the original files of the Alexandria-class battleship that once sailed under the Order. This version? She's equipped with modular railgun emplacements, radiation shielding to withstand deep Nomad systems, a full stealth package, and automated drone support bays for real-time defense and recon. And yes," he added with a small smirk, "a proper cloaking device that won’t fry the ship if someone sneezes too hard near the control panel."
He let the model rotate once more, giving Donagan a full view of the ship’s profile. “The jumpdrive’s compact, thanks to Zoner tech, and the shield arrays were based on a Core prototype I... borrowed. It won’t win every war alone, but it will keep a Freeport from turning into a smoking crater while help is still lightyears away.”
Derius looked Donagan square in the eyes now, tone quieting. "I want to do this for the sake of mankind. What sane part is left of it, anyway." He tapped the projection gently. "If we build this, we don’t just survive - we remind Sirius that Zoners aren't just drifters in patched-up freighters. We endure."
Donagan studied the holographic schematics hovering before him. A fine‑looking vessel, no doubt, yet its role baffled him. For defense, Zoners already fielded the mighty Nephilim; how would another dreadnought improve matters? Even with fancy tech for area control or hit‑and‑run tactics, a well‑equipped Aquillon—backed by its own squadrons of fighters and bombers—already filled that niche.
“A bonnie ship, right enough. I see why ye need those IRG power‑cells. But so far our craft are built for defense. Our enemies ken that full well, stayin’ largely unpunished because they know our ships follow strict defensive doctrine.”
He paused, thinking of another project Grey had in the works.
“This hull could work alongside one o’ our own undertakings. See, the Zoners lack a solid front‑liner. The age o’ battlecruisers is upon us, an’ we’re laggin’. Yer vessel, wi’ a stout escort and a brace o’ battlecruisers, would tell Sirius the Zoners still have backbone.”
Eyeing the blueprint again, he noted features that might feed into the battlecruiser design.
“Mind sharin’ this file? Some o’ its ideas could spark new notions for Livadia’s engineers—our fleet’s startin’ tae fall behind.”
He returned to the logs, loading fresh calculations into a spare module. Right after the result appeared he sighed. As impressive as IRG’s reactor was, it wouldn’t suit the battlecruiser project; Grey would need to finish that decades‑old dark‑matter reactor for the job.
“So, tell me—does the data we’re decryptin’ hold the final piece for this ‘Alexandria’ ship?”
Derius stood motionless for a moment, brow furrowed in thought, quietly processing Donagan’s remarks. The idea of Alexandria as a battlecruiser wasn’t part of the original vision—no, the ship was never meant to merely contend. It was designed to pierce, to strike deep into the unknown and hostile corners of Sirius and return. But now, the suggestion sparked something else. A branching concept. A parallel.
He slowly turned toward Donagan, eyes settling with renewed focus. “The primary function of Alexandria has always been that of a battle carrier,” he began, tapping a few keys on his interface. “It's built to deploy drone wings, support ground teams, and carry out long-range recon and strike missions without relying on outside resupply. Cloaking, jump capability, AI integration... the works.”
He glanced back to the slowly spinning hologram of the Alexandria blueprint still hovering over the main console. The sleek, heavily armored hull shimmered under the soft blue hue of the projection. His mind was still anchored in its technical intricacies—but now, it split, forming a new thread.
“A battlecruiser, though... it’s actually not a bad idea,” he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else. There was a pause as he patted his suit, muttering under his breath. "Come on, where the hell did I... ah."
From an inner pocket, Derius retrieved a slightly worn but functional datapad. He exhaled through his nose, the sound laced with both fatigue and anticipation. With a few swipes, another hologram blinked to life. This one was different—more aggressive in design, all sharp angles and compact, brutal lines.
“Say hello to the Memphis,” he said, a hint of pride bleeding through his voice. “An older variant of the Liberty Interdictor-class Assault Battlecruiser. Don’t ask how I got my hands on this—just know that it took years, blackmail, and probably a felony or two.”
He rotated the projection for Donagan, exposing the hull’s thick plating, twin prow cannons, and recessed turret mounts designed to protect critical systems from flanking fire. The ship practically radiated firepower.
“Liberty got it right the first time,” Derius continued. “The Memphis was built for precision strikes and survivability in direct engagements. With the right structural changes and new tech, we could redesign something with similar strengths but built on Zoner or Phoenix engineering principles. Lighter internal mass, better energy routing, redundant shielding—hell, even more autonomy for crew-light ops.”
He let the image linger for a moment longer before flicking his hand to dismiss it.
“I’m not giving this blueprint away, not yet. But I can reverse-engineer the framework into something new. Something better.”
Derius leaned forward again, placing his black-plated cybernetic hands against the console as he shifted focus.
“There’s a deeper reason I’m chasing down IRG tech again,” he said, quieter now. “The IRG cell was modular. Brilliant. But not flexible. It served a single function—unstoppable, but singular. What I’m planning... is a complete redesign. A new generation of power cells that can adapt on the fly—tune output across ship systems, route energy to cloaks or weapons or jumpdrives as needed. Even reshape hardpoint loadouts through AI-controlled flux modulation.”
He tapped the table slowly, then looked directly at Donagan.
“I’ll keep these blueprints for now—until I get the first prototype working. When it’s ready, you’ll have everything I promised. But I need your patience... and your trust. This tech—if it leaks before it’s complete—would turn Freeports into warzones.”
And just as he finished, the low chime echoed through the chamber. One that he’d been waiting hours for. Derius looked to the console.
Transfer Complete.
The words blinked back at him like a quiet triumph. He exhaled. All the IRG data, the encryption trees, the buried schematics... it was finally his.
He straightened up, a rare smile crawling onto his otherwise worn face. “Good news, Donagan. We’re in. And now... the real work begins.”
“I think ye’ve missed the point there, Derius. I dinnae want the Alexandria as a battlecruiser—we’ve already something brewin’ for that role. She might serve as a stand-in for the Aquillon, aye, but I only want the schematics tae pinch a few ideas an’ spark debate about our own project.”
He was about to continue when a notice flashed up. The words “Transfer Complete” bathed the dim room in a soft green glow. Daniel swiftly keyed in commands to sever the mainframe’s links and cut power to the peripheral devices.
“Right, let’s hope all yer IRG dreams are safely penned up in the data we’ve got—an’ in a controlled environment at that. The cluster’s isolated yer databank, an’ the storage module’s sealed off as well.”
Donagan rose and strode toward the side-room exit, heading for the cacophonous data centre beyond.
“I’m off tae yank the databank out o’ the cluster by hand. Who knows what mad fail-safes those wannabe scientists might’ve baked in.”
Derius' expression shifted almost instantly—eyes widening ever so slightly, the kind of look that accompanied the click of a puzzle piece snapping into place. That subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, followed by a small nod as if confirming something to himself.
"Ahh... so that’s what you meant." His tone carried a faint trace of amusement, tempered by a deeper undercurrent of contemplation. "Sure, I don’t mind. Was already thinking of rebuilding Alexandria again, once I find a good spot to get the job done. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere secure. But it’ll have to wait until I finish what I’m working on now."
His fingers tapped along the display, flicking through the final diagnostics as the last strands of data settled into their designated storage blocks. The influx had gone smoother than expected, and that fact alone felt like a rare luxury.
He closed the holo projection with a gentle swipe, the light fading as the projection dimmed and folded back into the emitter embedded in his left arm. He stood there for a moment, gazing at nothing in particular - just the hum of the server bank around him and the faint hum of circulating power.
Then he chuckled, casually lowering his arms.
"That reminds me..." His voice trailed off into a dry tone, laced with a joking edge. "What’s Grey like? Do I need to wear armor to meet her, or is it just a mild risk of spontaneous combustion?"
The sarcasm was obvious, but there was more to the question than he let on. He was genuinely curious. After all, the name Grey Kalish wasn’t unknown to him. Their threads of knowledge and circles of influence had almost touched before - but this would be their first direct collaboration.
As he turned toward the exit, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room one last time. Everything was accounted for - his toolkit, his datapad, the encrypted copies, the hardware stashed in sealed crates ready to be loaded. He could leave. He should leave.
And yet, something small made him linger. A pull of interest.
"She's brilliant, isn't she?" he added more softly this time, half to himself, half to Donagan. "Sharp minds always carry sharp edges. I just hope we’re cutting in the same direction."
With that, Derius made his way toward the corridor, the light from the hallway casting angled shadows across his coat - though even as he left the room, his mind was still very much on the woman he was about to meet… and the future they might unlock together.
As Derius packed up, Donagan gently set the original databank he’d extracted on the desk.
“Looks like it survived the surge—nothin’ triggered, thankfully. Just… dinnae forget it, will ye?”
After a quick rummage through his many pockets, he produced a slim datapad with a holographic projector. The moment it touched the table, a shimmering Kepler star-chart flickered into view.
“Ye’ll need this tae find Grey. Should be up-ta-date, but keep yer eyes peeled—the storms out there are capricious beasts.”
He returned to the console, keying in commands while offering last-minute advice.
“I reckon ye can find yer way back tae the ship. I’ve already pinged the staff—they’ll load the extra modules ye might need at Ames. And as for her, aye, I do recommend an armour fit-out.”
Meeting Derius’s gaze, his voice dropped to a stern hush.
“The dark-matter storm’s deadly—we lost good men there, includin’ her faither. Kappa radiation looks tame beside what Kepler’s sufferin’.”
He paused, remembering the battered hulls that had limped home.
“So dinnae expect pleasantries—she’s up to her neck in work, an’ her mind’s pulled across half a dozen projects. Just keep clear o’ the airlocks: when she’s focused, her tongue could slice reinforced steel.”
Another keystroke set the cluster humming more loudly.
“While ye’re en-route to Kepler, I’ll begin the decryption an’ send updates. If ye uncover anything, she’ll relay it back, an’ I’ll upload it—best tae harness every bit o’ compute we’ve got. Besides, it serves as a tidy backup.”
Donagan glanced at him one last time as he reached the doorway, muttering a burst of near-incomprehensible Gaelic well-wishes—something between good luck and safe travels. The journey to Kepler was neither short nor gentle, and the man would need every scrap of fortune he could muster.
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler