The amber and red lights of the control console gleamed against Nareth's polished black armor. The tactical holoscreen that spanned an entire wall emitted a bright plasma glow.
He looked at the holographic projection of the Vostroya System and asked Rosicky:
"I need intelligence from the Cult Mechanicum."
"King Nareth, I have received the latest war report. The xeno fleet plundering the Vostroya System consists of two battlecruiser-class warships and twelve destroyer-class—seven of which have already been destroyed."
As Rosicky spoke, he operated the cogitator, connecting with other allied ships and marking enemy vessels in red on the projection.
Nareth stared at the two large xenos ships. Their hulls were harpoon-shaped, with pointed bows and sawtooth-like wings, exactly matching the Vraksian battlecruisers in his memory.
The number of ships also aligned with Vraksian tactics. When defending planets from orbital strikes, they sent ships solo. But when launching attacks, they came in pairs, one reason they were known as space nomads.
"The enemy's large ships possess strange cannons. A single hit causes shield overload. The smaller ships don't carry such powerful weapons."
"In addition, the xenos have landed on many islands of the Symphony of the Sea, looting extensively and completely cutting off food supplies to Vostroya."
"Our forces consist of 51 ships: one Ark Mechanicum, Glory of Fire, three cruisers, fifteen frigates, and thirty-two destroyers."
Rosicky marked allied ships in green on the projection.
"Despite our numerical advantage, most frigates and destroyers come from Vostroya's major families. Coordinated action is difficult."
Rosicky didn't elaborate, but Nareth understood: the commanders from the Cult Mechanicum lacked space warfare experience. War wasn't just calculation, it was also the art of coordination.
Of course, calculation was still crucial. Nareth's eyes scanned the flashing parameters of every ship on nearby screens:
*Enemy vessel A-I: Distance 271,503 km, azimuth 4-9-2, Inclination 6°...*
*Enemy vessel A-II: Distance 196,024 km, azimuth 7-5-8, Inclination 3°...*
Though this was Nareth's first time aboard a ship, he quickly absorbed knowledge from genetic memory and understood everything at an incredible pace.
In orbital mechanics, azimuth indicates the relative position of two spacecraft on the same orbit or plane, usually measured by the angle between lines drawn from the Earth's center (or a focal point of an elliptical orbit) to each object.
Nareth knew the Piszczek couldn't survive even a single volley from the aether cannons. If he wanted to seize a Vraksian battlecruiser, brute force wouldn't work.
He scanned the projection, inputting speed, position, and other data into his mental calculations, grasping both sides' strategies:
The friendly commander was trying to use numbers to encircle and destroy the enemy.
The Vraksian ships were maneuvering to avoid encirclement while delivering precision aether cannon strikes.
Nareth's mind raced. Five minutes later, a confident smile appeared on his face as he issued orders:
"Change course. Heading 6-9-4, inclination 8°."
Szczesny immediately relayed the order, eyes locked on the holoscreen, trying to understand Nareth's command.
Rosicky, deep in thought, drew a blue trajectory on the projection:
"You intend to launch a surprise attack on the enemy ships in the Vistula Asteroid Belt?"
"Exactly."
Rosicky checked his dataslate.
"The Vistula Belt lies between Vostroya and the Symphony of the Sea, composed of 362 asteroids."
He then pulled up the Ark Mechanicum's battle plan:
"According to calculations from Magos Kivior-9, enemy vessel A-I has a 65.13% chance of passing through the Vistula Belt in 56 solar hours."
"Enemy vessel A-II has a 79.26% chance of entering the belt in 27 solar hours."
"No. A-II will enter the Vistula Belt in exactly 26 solar hours."
Nareth said this with certainty. Rosicky frowned:
"Why are you so sure?"
"Calculation and deduction."
"Magos Kivior-9 is Vostroya's foremost logis. He was famous even before becoming an Info-Executioner. Yet not even he could be this precise."
Szczesny scowled, and Wojciech was also displeased by Rosicky's tone, though he too doubted Nareth's prediction was more accurate than a logis magos.
"You'll see soon enough. Rosicky, your task now is to adjust the boarding torpedo to fit my body size."
"Szczesny, lead the 4th Regiment in training cogitators with the assault boat."
"Wojciech, continue upgrading waterproof weapons."
Rosicky remained silent. He decided to wait for the results before challenging the assertive Nareth.
The three ships approached the Vistula Belt
...............
Meanwhile, Temple No. 9 of the Sacz Sandacz Hive.
Clad in crimson robes, Tech-Priest Zhelinski exited the altar and entered Factory I-9, which he oversaw.
After dismissing the flattering, chubby overseer, he arrived at his lab and removed his robe, revealing dense blue feathers growing from his upper thighs.
Donning a blue hooded robe, Zhelinski stood before a complex blue mechanical dial divided into nine sections. Eight surrounding segments were bird-shaped: starting from the top, a parrot, then a kite, and so on…
At the center was a silver-crafted sea eagle, vivid and lifelike, its diamond eyes gleaming under lumen-lights.
This device was not made by tech-workers or servitors—it was his own creation.
Zhelinski extended a mechanical tentacle from his right shoulder and inserted it into the crow's beak at the center.
The dial spun. The nine "birds" floated and sank randomly, as if alive.
After nine rotations, the dial stopped. With a gear-clicking sound, the door before him opened.
He stepped through and inserted his mechadendrite into the mouth of a silver sea eagle on the wall. The door closed behind him.
Descending 9,999 steps, his human eyes, untouched by augmentation, gradually turned yellow, like a sea eagle's.
At the bottom, a shifting circular platform came into view. Every nine seconds, it changed shape: circle, oval, rectangle…
Like him, seven others emerged from different corridors. All wore blue robes and approached the center, where stood a hunched elderly man gripping a crystal staff with clawed hands.
The old man looked even less human than a slum mutant. Hunched like an ostrich, his body was feathered, his beak hooked, his neck covered in multicolored feathers, and his clawed feet matched his sea eagle-like hands.