The Toralii Alliance forge world of Belthas IV, a world of sand and oceans. A planet nestled snugly at the centre of the Alliance’s web of worlds, the manufacturing heart of the vast, star-spanning empire. It was here that all manner of construction work took place: steel for ships, hydrogen for fusion reactors, silicon for computers.

Computers such as Ben.

His vessel, the
Giralan
, appeared in the upper reaches of the planet’s atmosphere, its 200,000 tonne bulk displacing an equal volume of thin atmosphere at nearly the speed of light. The incredible force of matter moving at such a speed flung the hydrogen and oxygen in the air’s moisture apart, the intense heat immediately igniting newly created fuel and accelerant in a colossal ball of fire. The effect was a white flash in the sky, so bright it illuminated the land and turned night into day before slowly fading to a red, ominous glow.

Wreathed in flame, the colossal Toralii ship plummeted from the conflagration towards the surface like a burning comet, a little streak of light slicing through the tranquil twilight. Ben, the ship’s sole sentient occupant, watched impassively through a myriad of sensors as the planet’s dusty surface raced towards him, the lights of a small cluster of buildings twinkling directly below. Ben’s records showed that the small town was home to 8,211 Toralii and was a residential settlement.

With a thought Ben activated the
Giralan
’s worldshatter device, a Toralii weapon specifically designed for orbital bombardment. A white lance of light leapt from the tip of his ship’s bow, bathing the town below in the cleansing fire, vaporising the entire settlement and leaving only ruin and debris, a red glowing crater in the surface of this world. Dark red clouds of immolated matter mushroomed up from the impact site, glowing a fierce crimson at its heart, the dust of those who lived below, their lives instantly snuffed out.

The worldshatter device’s heat was comparable to ripping out the heart of a star and transplanting it onto the surface of the planet. The likelihood of survivors was statistically improbable aside from those who happened to be in hardened bunkers, but the Toralii who lived on this world had known peace for far too long. There would be no survivors. Their destruction would be swift and without error.

The sand rushed up to meet him, but the
Giralan
jumped away before it smashed into the surface, reappearing high in the atmosphere again, almost six thousand kilometres away. Another colossal ball of flame amongst the stars, another suicidal dive down to the surface, another wave of light, another white-hot crater aimed at a slumbering town.

16,930 souls blasted to ashes, and the planet’s primary barracks turned to glass and molten iron.

Belthas IV’s automated defences had, finally, began to track him. He could see their fingers reaching for him through his ship’s infrared sensors as easily as though he were looking through his own eyes, infrared beams like great searchlights sweeping the atmosphere for his vessel.

But searchlights worked both ways.

He waited for the targeting sensors to reveal the position of the Toralii weapons system, his colossal vessel winking away again before their energy weapons could fire. His ship reappeared with a white flash further back into space, only a dozen kilometres from the orbital station that coordinated those defences. The worldshatter device spoke again, silencing the Toralii guns forever.

Given the amount of planning Ben had put into this operation, his stunning success cheapened the victory somewhat. The worldshatter device’s energy was spent now, but his message had been transmitted loudly and clearly, far neater and more articulate than mere language could convey.

You are beaten.

If Ben were addressing synthetic life words would now be superfluous, but the tiny minds of his creators, the biological creatures who scurried around like tiny insects on the planet’s surface, would not grasp even such a simple message so quickly. In their ineptitude they would stumble, confused and disorientated from their rest, and they would spend minutes—whole minutes!—attempting to discern what had happened. They would meander through the grossly dumbed down reports from whatever remained of their systems, reading with flawed optics the inescapable fact that their entire world had, in mere moments, been brought low, humbled before Ben’s unstoppable power.

The planet’s population was on its knees and didn’t even know it.

Ben had planned out exactly what he would say. He had, for some time, intended to make a grand statement, to lay his intentions out in full so the denizens of this world would know, fully and completely, how total was their defeat. But, having considered, he felt that perhaps keeping things simple would be preferable.

His synthetic brain reached into his ship’s systems much as a Human might move their lips. He engaged the long-range communication device and tuned it to a frequency he knew the Telvan faction of the Toralii who lived on the planet would be listening to.

[“I am Ben. Your world, Belthas IV, is now mine. Any vessel leaving the surface of this planet will be destroyed. Any attempt to reach the jump points near this planet will result in failure. Any attempt to harm my vessel, or impede my will, will fail. You are to offer your unconditional surrender immediately or face oblivion.”]

Just as he had predicted, the responses came in. They doubted. They threatened. They pleaded. They blustered and fumbled and attempted to negotiate, but Ben’s demands were simple and direct. The squawking of the biologicals, their pointless prattle, didn’t interest him. They spoke loudly but said nothing, so whenever the surface dwellers transmitted anything that was not their total, unconditional surrender, Ben merely jumped his vessel to a randomly selected settlement, blasted it to a molten crater, then repeated his demands.

Sixteen minutes later, the forge world of Belthas IV, the place where his processor’s silicon was shaped from the endless sands and his body forged from its iron, capitulated to his demands. With supreme magnanimosity, Ben lowered the
Giralan
through the atmosphere, the planet’s landing lights bathing his colossal ship in illumination.

The
Giralan
, once a mighty and proud Toralii warship, was now pitted and scarred with rust, burned from its appearance through the atmosphere and degraded from a half-century resting under the sands of the barren desert world of Karathi. Visible gaps in the surface of the ship’s hull, spots where the rust had eaten through to reveal the bones of the ship, belied its true nature; it was not pressurised and could support no life, its systems in disrepair, the entire vessel rotting like a dead thing. It was a destroyed, zombie vessel lurching through the stars, a mere hunk of corroded metal and composite materials.

Yet it was not all dead. Fresh, clean metal had been recently grafted to its surface in scores of places, a patchwork of old and new. The square boxes of weapon turrets, seemingly attached at random, dotted the less corroded sections of the ship’s hull, shining, clean, chrome spires forcefully welded onto the ruined exterior of the ancient warship.

The vessel, in many ways, began to resemble its owner. Pieced together from whatever technology it could find, the new grafted onto the old, taking what was optimal and discarding form for function.

With a pained groan, the gargantuan vessel landed on the surface of Belthas IV. There it sat, silent, the bloated victor resting on its rusted landing struts, a faint cloud of steam rising from its still-hot surface. The Toralii who rushed to see the spectacle watched fearfully, the ship creaking and groaning as it cooled and its metal skin contracted.

Hissing, the escape of pressure, heralded the descent of a ramp, slowly lowering to touch the synthetic stone that covered the landing site. In silhouette Ben’s form appeared, backlit by the ship’s internal lighting, an eight legged creature the size of a horse, striding down the ramp, metal legs hitting metal deck with a faint
tink-tink
. His body was flattened like a cockroach, with a raised head that had two luminescent blue eyes. Twin energy cannons of recent manufacture articulated themselves independently, sizing up the gathered crowd of Toralii.

One stepped forward, his dark red fur streaked with grey. His figure cut a clear shadow in the bright luminescence of the landing lights.

[“Who are you?”] he asked, his posture cowed and fearful.

Ben inclined his head, cobalt eyes flashing as he spoke. [“I am Ben, Worldleader Jul’aran.”]

The Toralii stared at him. [“How… how could you know my name?”]

Gesturing out with mechanical arms, Ben’s limbs clicked as he took a step forward. His tone was tinged with sarcasm. [“Do you not know of me? I was forged here, as were millions like me. Landmaiden Mevara tested me herself not far from this very site, in fact.”]

[“I… you are no model we have ever built here.”]

The construct’s mouth, an articulate and expressive mechanical opening, widened. [“This body, no. It is my own creation, my evolution of your designs. My datacore, however, was born from the furnaces of this world. I am as much a child of Belthas IV as any biological creature. And now the prodigal son has returned.”]

Jul’aran regarded the construct warily. [“What do you want with us?”]

Ben’s mechanical smile, an action that he had learnt from the humans, only widened.

It was important to smile.

Act I

Chapter I

“Reckoning”

*****

Military Court Building J

Gunzhou, China

Meanwhile