A week. A week sailing the starry silence of the Nemesis Sector, on the edge of known territories. The Conqueror's Star floated like a patient predator, its scars from the first battle already repaired by its internal swarms of SCVs.
On the bridge, the atmosphere was different. The euphoria of victory had given way to a professional routine, tinged with the sharp vigilance that the first bloody contact had instilled.
Julius, his dark blue helmet beside him on the command throne, studied the reports. Three systems visited, mapped, analyzed. No trace of the shell-like xenos, nor any other form of intelligent life. Just the void, the cold, and resources for the taking.
"Final report on the Nemesis-4 system, Commander," announced Data, standing at his side. "The third class M world is sterile, but geological analyses confirm deposits of exotic minerals in its mantle. Claim beacons and long-range detection buoys have been deployed in orbit."
A hologram displayed, showing three solar systems, each marked with the luminous seal of Julius's empire – the clenched fist over the galaxy.
"Automated drones are en route from Bastion to establish prefabricated mining outposts," added Raynor, leaning against a console, an unlit cigar between his teeth. "They should be operational in a month."
"And the defenses?" asked Julius, looking up.
"Each outpost will have a basic psychic minefield and a missile turret," Nova replied without looking up from her surveillance screen. "Enough to deter raiders or a small scout fleet. Not enough to stop a war fleet."
Julius nodded, satisfied. He stood up and walked to the large viewport, contemplating the star-studded nothingness.
"Three worlds. Three new pebbles in our garden. That's good."
His voice was pensive. It seemed so simple now. Locate, map, claim. A silent and methodical expansion. But the memory of the viscous green beam and the suicide fighters was still fresh.
"We are advancing," commented Caleb Valerius, who observed the stars with the melancholy of one who had known a much vaster and emptier universe. "Every secured system is one more rampart. But every step also makes us more visible."
"Visibility is inevitable," Julius retorted. "But we can control the narrative. We are not conquerors who enslave. We are... gardeners. We take fallow lands and make them bloom."
"'Bloom' with mines, lasers, and psychic shields," grumbled Tychus Findlay with a hoarse laugh from the cockpit of a simulated Vulture. "A funny way to garden, boss."
"The only way that works in this neighborhood, Tychus," Julius replied with a half-smile. "Data, set course for the next system. Nemesis-5. Let's keep planting our flags."
As the Conqueror's Star oriented itself and its engines began to rumble, Julius felt a strange serenity. The battle had been a brutal reminder of this universe's rules. But this week of peaceful prospecting had shown him the way. He didn't need to challenge the Imperium or provoke gods. He could simply grow, discreetly, patiently, building his kingdom star by star, one system at a time.
It was good, indeed