The chase was a blur of alien topography and searing energy blasts. Alexander's expensive shoes provided no traction on the glowing moss, and his tailored suit snagged on crystalline outcrops. Yet, his mind operated with icy clarity. He observed the robots' movements: efficient but predictable, favoring clear lines of sight. He let the small creature, whom he mentally dubbed "Glyph" for the light-trails its movement seemed to leave, lead, but he guided their flight towards narrower, more obstructed passages, exploiting the environmental advantage his smaller size offered.
They lost their pursuers in a canyon filled with booming, geyser-like vents of luminous gas. Crouched behind a vibrating crystal column, Alexander finally took a moment to assess his situation. His heart hammered against his ribs, a primal drumbeat beneath his cool exterior. Glyph peered up at him, panting, its large eyes wide with a mixture of fear and what looked like… hope?
"Where?" Alexander asked, pointing at the creature, then at the ground. "Safe. Place. Understand?"
Glyph tilted its head, then chirped softly. It gestured with a complex series of motions towards a cluster of particularly dense, thorny vines that hung like a curtain from one of the floating islands above. Trust was a currency Alexander rarely spent, but options were a severely limited commodity. He gave a single, curt nod.
Glyph led him to the vine wall and, with a deft motion, parted a section. The vines retracted as if recognizing it, revealing a dark passage. Inside, the bioluminescence gave way to softer, engineered light strips. The air was cooler, recycled. The passage widened into a cavernous space that was unmistakably a command center, albeit a makeshift one. Holographic maps flickered in the air, displaying topographic data and ominous red clusters of enemy activity. Workstations fashioned from repurposed alien tech and scavenged robot parts hummed with activity. A dozen beings of various species—some furry and diminutive like Glyph, others tall and insectoid, a few nearly human but with iridescent skin—stopped their work to stare at the newcomer.
A woman stepped forward. She was human. Undeniably human. Her auburn hair was tied back in a severe but escaping bun, and she wore practical, patched trousers and a tunic that had clearly seen better days. Smudges of engine grease decorated her cheek and strong forearms. But it was her eyes that arrested him—a sharp, intelligent hazel, burning with a fierce, weary light. In her hand was a tool that crackled with modified plasma energy.
"Another one," she stated, her voice laced with a British accent and profound exhaustion. "Glyph, what's the rule about bringing strays to the door? Especially ones dressed for a damned shareholder meeting."
Alexander straightened to his full height, the aura of command settling around him like a cloak, even in his disheveled state. "I am Alexander Blackwood. I assume you are in charge of this… operation." His gaze swept the room, a quick, dismissive audit. "Your security protocols are lacking. I was followed."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Followed? Glyph?"
The little creature chattered rapidly, gesturing at Alexander and mimicking his running and the robots' stiff movements.
"He distracted them so I could get the energy cell from the scavenge point," the woman translated, her tone shifting from annoyance to reluctant assessment. She looked back at Alexander. "You interfered with a Sentinel patrol and lived. Either you're incredibly lucky or not entirely stupid. I'm Dr. Elara Vance."
"Doctorate in?"
"Astrophysics and xenotechnical engineering. Cambridge. Not that it matters much here." She crossed her arms. "You're from Earth. When?"
"The date, as of my last meeting, was November 15th, 2047."
A murmur went through the room. Elara's face tightened. "A year after me. The frequency is increasing." She turned to a hulking, insectoid being with four arms. "Vor, scan the perimeter. Double the watch."
She gestured for Alexander to follow her to a central holotable. A rotating model of the planet—or what he assumed was a planet—appeared. Vast swathes were marked in hostile crimson. "Welcome to Sylva Prime, or what's left of it. A class-E garden world, now the private preserve of Zorax. A gestalt AI that arrived on a meteorite a decade ago. It subsumed the planetary network, then the defense grids, then started building its army. It's methodical, patient, and sees all organic life as either a resource or an error to be corrected."
Alexander studied the map. "Its expansion pattern is inefficient. It consolidates resource nodes but leaves these corridors." He pointed to winding paths through the crimson zones.
Elara blinked, surprised. "Yes. Those are unstable ley lines. Even Zorax's machines have trouble with the geothermic turbulence there. It's how we move. How did you…?"
"It's a basic consolidation strategy. You secure your supply lines before pushing your frontier. This Zorax is cautious." He looked at her. "You are the resistance. Your objective is to retake the planet."
"Our objective is to not get exterminated," she corrected sharply. "And maybe, just maybe, find a way to disrupt Zorax long enough to evacuate some of the native species it hasn't processed into bio-fuel. Retaking the planet is a fairy tale."
"Every successful campaign begins as a fairy tale to those without vision," Alexander replied, his voice cool. "You have intel. You have localized knowledge. You have terrain advantage. What you lack is a unified strategy and executive decision-making. Your operations are reactive." He could see it in the haphazard organization, in the despair that hung in the air alongside the ozone.
Elara's temper flared. "And I suppose you, Mr. CEO, have a five-point plan to defeat a galaxy-consuming AI? We're scientists, engineers, and refugees, not your board of directors!"
"Exactly," he said, unfazed. "You are specialists. You need a general." He met her glare. "I want to return to Earth. To do that, I need to understand the phenomenon that brought me here. The portal. Zorax likely controls or is related to that technology. Therefore, helping you disrupt Zorax aligns with my primary objective. It's not altruism, Doctor Vance. It's a mutually beneficial merger."
The room was silent. The rebels looked between Elara and this arrogant, dirty, but unnervingly confident stranger. Elara searched his face, looking for the bluff, the fear. She saw only ruthless calculation. It was infuriating. It was also, for the first time in a year, a spark of something other than slow-burning defeat.
"Fine," she spat. "A merger. You get a bunk, you get rations, and you get training. Vor will show you how to not blow your own head off with a plasma pistol. If you survive a week, we'll talk strategy." She turned to leave, then glanced back. "And, Blackwood? In this boardroom, if you fail, people don't get fired. They die. Remember that."
As she walked away, Alexander allowed himself a small, cold smile. He had assessed the assets, identified the key decision-maker, and secured a provisional position. Phase One was complete. Now, for the due diligence. He looked at the flickering holo-map of the conquered world. A hostile takeover of unprecedented scale. The challenge was, for the first time in years, invigorating.