Federation Calendar, Year 58
Admiral Marcus Sterling sat rigid behind his desk, the office's stark bulkheads reflecting the sterile glow of Mars' orbital lights filtering through the viewport. The hum of the Martian Garrison's life-support systems was a constant undertone, a reminder of the thin barrier between this command hub and the vacuum beyond. His cragged features, etched by decades of voidborne campaigns, betrayed a rare flicker of disbelief as he processed the comm from Dr. Harold Bennett. Adrian Vale had caused trouble? The lad had barely set boots on Starport 27, his 101st Combined Squadron still warming its berths. What sort of chaos could he have unleashed in mere hours?
"Harold, slow down—what's the situation?" Sterling's voice was gravel, steady but laced with urgency, his fingers drumming the obsidian surface of his desk.
"Situation?" Dr. Bennett's holo-projection snapped back, the scientist's silver mane practically bristling with indignation. "Your wunderkind handed me a data shard. Guess what's on it?"
"Enlighten me."
"Complete warp drive schematics—every nut, bolt, and exotic alloy formula. We're not talking theory, Marcus; it's ready to build. You grasp what this means?"
Sterling shot to his feet, the chair skidding back with a screech that echoed in the confined space. His bellow of "What?!" rattled the reinforced panels, loud enough to draw a startled glance from his adjutant in the adjacent chamber. The shock was seismic, a rare breach of the admiral's ironclad composure.
Warp drive. Adrian had mentioned "new ideas" in their earlier talk, but this? This was no mere upgrade; it was a paradigm-shatterer. Sterling's mind, honed by years of strategic gambits, raced through the implications. Faster-than-light travel, unshackled from the Stellar Paths' rigid lattice—a cosmic railway humanity had relied on since its first faltering steps beyond Sol. The Paths, threading the Milky Way like veins, allowed three-times-light transit but bound ships to fixed routes, hopping from system to system like freight trains on ancient tracks. From Sol, two paths branched: one to Proxima Centauri, another to Barnard's Star. No deviations, no shortcuts.
The Paths' origins remained a galactic enigma. The prevailing theory—etched in every academy holo-text—pegged them as relics of some long-dead civilisation, a transport grid woven through the stars. Humanity hadn't cracked their making; they merely rode the currents, grateful for the speed but chained to the tracks.
Warp, though? It laughed at those chains. Fold space, punch through to any point within range—no stations, no prescribed lanes. Faster, freer, a straight vector through the void. And in-system? Where Paths were useless, warp offered micro-jumps—tactical blinks that could turn a skirmish into a rout. Sterling's strategist brain spun up scenarios: phantom strikes on Orcus's 120,000-strong armada at Jupiter, supply lines severed before they could react, entire fleets outflanked in a heartbeat. A single warp-capable squadron could reduce that hulking force to slag, rewriting the war's calculus.
No wonder Bennett demanded a legion. A hundred techs couldn't hope to wrestle this beast to reality.
"You bellowing, Marcus?" Bennett's voice cut through, sharp as a plasma torch. "Trying to blow my eardrums to the Kuiper Belt?"
"Apologies, Harold—lost my orbit for a second." Sterling sank back into his seat, forcing calm. "Personnel are en route. Whatever else you need—gear, bays, power—name it. Full backing."
"Good. We're burning cycles to prototype this thing yesterday. Expect my call if I hit a snag." The scientist's holo winked out with his usual abruptness, leaving Sterling staring at the empty air.
The admiral exhaled, steadying himself. Bennett's brusqueness was old news—decades of it—but Adrian's gambit was a shockwave. Warp drive from a nineteen-year-old? Sterling had bet big on the lad, but this was beyond even his boldest projections.
Without hesitation, he jabbed the crimson emergency stud on his desk, a direct line to the Federation's apex. The holo shimmered, resolving into Solomon Vale's stern visage, the President's office a stark contrast of Earthside opulence against Sterling's spartan command post.
"President Vale, Marcus Sterling. We've got a development." The admiral's report was concise, every word weighed for impact, outlining Adrian's warp breakthrough and its potential to tilt the scales against Orcus.
Minutes later, the call ended, and Sterling summoned his adjutant with a crisp order. "Redirect all propulsion and materials specialists on-base to Starport 27. Priority one—move now."
"Aye, sir!" The adjutant snapped a salute and bolted, boots echoing down the corridor.
Sterling patched through to Bennett again, undeterred by the inevitable growl. "Harold, one more thing."
"Busy here, Marcus!" The scientist's holo flickered, his hands buried in a virtual schematic, equations swirling like nebulae.
"Presidential directive," Sterling cut in, voice flat as hull plating. "All data tied to Adrian Vale—identity, contributions, everything—now classified triple-S. Full gag order. No one breathes a word about the warp tech's origin."
"What?" Bennett's face purpled, his voice a near-roar. "You're stripping the lad of his due? The Federation's greatest mind, and you bury him in shadows?"
"Direct from President Vale. Tell Adrian himself—he'll get it."
Bennett's scowl could have melted bulkheads, but he severed the link without another word. Sterling leaned back, a wry twist to his lips. He knew the scientist's temper, but he also knew Adrian's roots ran deeper than most suspected. The gag order wasn't malice—it was armour.
At Starport 27's research core, Dr. Harold Bennett was a stormfront, his silver beard practically crackling with outrage as he paced the lab's central dais. Around him, techs scurried, unpacking cryosealed fabricators and calibrating holotanks that pulsed with warp drive schematics—Adrian's gift, now a classified spectre. The air buzzed with the whine of active servos and the sharp tang of overheating circuits, the lab alive with the frenetic energy of a project that could redefine humanity's reach.
Bennett's hands clenched, his mutterings a low growl. "Robbing the lad of his stars—by what right? President's decree? Bah!"
Adrian, catching the scientist's thunderous expression from across the bay, wove through the chaos to intercept. Lena trailed a step behind, her icy composure a silent counterpoint to the lab's fever. "Dr. Bennett, what's got you spitting plasma?"
Bennett wheeled on him, eyes blazing like twin reactors. "You, Vale! That fossil Sterling just relayed a presidential edict—gag order, top-tier. No one can name you as the warp drive's architect. Your glory, your legacy—snuffed out! I won't stand for it!"
Adrian blinked, then let out a low chuckle, warmth softening his features. The scientist's fury was touching, a rare loyalty in a galaxy of cold calculations. He felt a pang of gratitude—Bennett was a gruff old comet, but his heart burned true.
"It's alright, Doctor," Adrian said, his tone steady and knowing. "The President's got my back on this one. It's protection, not theft."
Bennett froze, his scowl morphing into a squint as gears turned behind his weathered eyes. "Protection? You and... Solomon Vale?" The names clicked, a circuit closing. His gaze sharpened, probing Adrian's wry nod for confirmation. "Well, damn. No wonder."
"Exactly. Let it ride—issue the gag order, keep the team locked down." Adrian's voice was firm, the unspoken weight of his lineage anchoring his calm.
Bennett exhaled, deflating like a spent thruster. "Fine, lad. I'll seal the vault—President's will be done. But mark me, this burns."
"Appreciated, Doctor. Oh, one more thing." Adrian reached into his secure pouch, producing another data shard, its fractal etchings glinting under the lab's sterile glow. "Industrial automation protocols—full stack, ready to roll. Figured you'd want a crack at it."
Bennett's eyes lit up, the earlier sting forgotten as he snatched the chip with greedy fingers. "Robots now? You're a one-man arsenal, Vale." He slotted the shard, holograms blooming with intricate assembly schematics—autonomous fabricators, self-regulating foundries, a revolution in production to match the warp's leap.
Adrian gave a lopsided grin, watching the scientist dive back into his element. Lena, still at his shoulder, tilted her head fractionally, her frost showing the faintest hairline crack. Curiosity stirred again, her gaze lingering on the commander who seemed to conjure miracles from thin air.
The lab surged around them, a crucible of ambition and secrets. Beyond the starport's hull, the asteroid belt loomed, Orcus's shadow creeping ever closer. But with warp and automation in their arsenal, the 101st was no longer just a squadron—it was a spearhead, poised to pierce the galaxy's heart.