[Oliver’s PoV]

  Oliver leaned forward in the central chair. His eyes shone with triumph as he watched the holograms.

  “Great work!” Oliver boomed, clenching his fists. On the screens, their fighters came home. They slipped through the planet’s blue sky, hulls scarred by lasers but still alive. The squadron regrouped and dove toward hidden hangars.

  “They’re buying the 'failed' attack,” Hermes?2 reported in a clear, even voice. His hands moved over the controls as the map updated. Republic fighters pulling back into a formation. The blockade ring tightened again.

  “Keep up the act,” Oliver ordered as he stood. “Stretch this out. Swap pilots in and out. This fight will harden everyone. Experience like this will be essential.”

  --

  For the next two weeks, the sky above Aquarius turned into a nonstop battleground. Skirmishes flared and faded every day. At moments, Aquarius fighters slipped out from hidden spots, struck at supply haulers on the blockade’s edges, then vanished back into the planet. Republic scouts tested the defenses, only to be chased off by drone swarms. Supply lines frayed under hit?and?run raids. Both sides kept pushing, testing the other’s nerve.

  For Oliver, every hour was a win. Time was his most valuable resource

  “Another raid complete. Two fighters down, but pilots stable, no critical injuries,” Hermes?1 reported. The holos replayed the fight, fighters threading through orbital debris.

  Oliver sank into the command chair, tired lines on his brow. Around him, the base settled into a steady hum. The Hermes team traded quiet cheers and nods. They had found a rhythm inside the siege. Aquarius was cut off from the galaxy, but they had stockpiles underground. Food grown in hydroponic vaults, crystal cells from mines, and weapons from automated factories that ran day and night.

  The Republic still wasn’t bombing the cities, and that caution helped Oliver. His plan stayed the same. Fast fighter strikes to hit supply ships, grab what they could, and disappear before the enemy could hit back. Hit, run, endure. The words echoed through every pilot’s link. The blockade became a grind, a test of patience and will, with Aquarius’s underdogs fighting for every hour they could buy.

  “Amazing!” Oliver spoke.

  Hermes?2 cut in, “Pilots inbound to hangars. Thalos has landed in the Main Bay.”

  “I’m heading there,” Oliver said.

  “Affirmative, sir. If the enemy twitches, we’ll send an alert,” Hermes?1 replied.

  Oliver gave a short nod and walked out.

  'Five years. Who would have guessed that was enough to build all this?' He replayed the journey in his mind. He hadn’t done it alone. Still, the scale seemed almost crazy.

  He called a lift and dropped toward the Main Bay.

  Oliver stepped into the elevator. The doors closed with a soft chime, and it dropped smoothly through layers of rock.

  'All I need now is to find a way to weaken the Sovereign further. With a single move, I will bring an end to the Grand Game and find a solution for the Nameless,' he thought. 'Then I can step back into the open; no more living in the shadows.

  He moved through the base’s main corridors. Operatives in mismatched suits hurried past, focused and tired. Some paused to nod or say, “Governor.” A few raised casual salutes, nothing stiff or formal. They weren’t a polished army. What held them together wasn’t ceremony. It was shared risk and the promise of a future.

  The Main Hangar sat beside the tech research labs, on purpose. Engineers could sprint between work bays and flight decks in seconds. Out on the flight side, crews kept ships ready to launch and quick to repair.

  Oliver reached the Main Hangar as trouble hit. The massive doors groaned open, and two fighters landed with their wings on fire. Their hulls were scarred by laser, metal glowing cherry?red in the hangar lights. Alarms blared in sharp bursts. Engineers in hazard suits rushed in with extinguisher drones that hummed to life and sprayed freezing foam. Pilots popped their canopies and climbed out.

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  “Clear the way!”

  “Start fire suppression!”

  Drones swept in from side bays. Nozzles unfolded and poured thick white foam over the burning metal. The blaze hissed and crackled as the foam smothered it, cooling the red?hot hulls.

  The pilots watched from a safe distance, a loose group in flight suits patched with the Aquarius insignia. Some leaned against the reinforced wall, helmets tucked under their arms. Others sat cross?legged on the floor with helmets between their knees. They were sweaty and worn out after the adrenaline crash of combat.

  Oliver’s boots echoed as he crossed the deck. A few pilots tried to stand when they saw him, even though their legs were shaky.

  “No need, stay put,” Oliver said, “I’m just trying to find Thalos.”

  “He’s still in his ship,” one pilot said, pointing at the second fighter.

  Oliver nodded and walked toward the ship. Heat shimmered off its hull like a mirage. The cockpit canopy hissed open, and a puff of air escaped.

  Thalos climbed down the ladder with machine?precise steps. He was unharmed and still wearing his plain white T?shirt and bright floral shorts. He held a pilot’s helmet in one hand, its visor catching the red strobe lights.

  “What did you think?” Oliver asked, glancing at Thalos’s fighter as engineers crowded around it to check for damage.

  “Good mission, but they’re adapting,” Thalos said in his smooth, even voice. His sensors whirred softly as he studied the ship. “Early on, we could hold them off for hours before they landed a hit. This time, two of ours went down almost right away, clean shots.”

  “They’re learning our playbook?” Oliver asked, folding his arms. The hangar noise faded in his mind as he took in the information.

  “Our pilots are improving fast, but our real edge was the fighters' upgrades. Overclocked engines and Z Crystal?laced lasers,” Thalos said, steady and precise. “They’ve probably figured that out. They'll try to alter their own fighters to face us.” He adjusted the helmet under his arm. “I couldn’t scan their ships with that much speed, but it’s the logical next move.”

  “No problem,” Oliver said with a small, wry smile. His mind was already on the bigger picture. “Holding an admiral and a whole fleet here for weeks, with no breakthrough? That’s got to be grinding them down. Their commanders will feel the pressure.” Time was on his side. Every failed push chipped away at the Republic’s patience.

  “Why haven’t they started bombing us?” Thalos asked. His voice cut cleanly through the noise. He tilted his head, puzzled. “It would be the fastest way. Turn the Refuge to slag and force us to yield.”

  “They can’t. At least not yet,” Oliver said. His tone was careful. He crossed his arms and glanced over the hangar. “Any other Great House would’ve started by bombarding us. But Lot is different. Think about their hybrid armor. Those things chew through crystals like nothing else.”

  “They even have good enterprises in the Republic that know how to mine, but none of them are as specialized as the reputation of Atlas Blackwell. They want more than to increase their numbers; they want this knowledge and skill.” Oliver completed his explanation.

  Thalos’s lenses whirred softly. He gave a slight nod as the logic clicked. “But this pause won’t last. Their attacks are getting harder and tighter. We’re losing three or four fighters each skirmish, and repairs are pushing our forges to the limit. Soon we’ll be grounded and exposed.”

  Oliver’s face tightened. He scanned the hangar: welders flashing, engineers pushing hard, but supplies running thin. The blockade had cut off parts and rare minerals they usually brought in from off?world. Their local forges still ran, turning what they could from nearby ore, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Any chance Comando could teleport materials or parts?” Oliver asked, yet he already knew the answer.

  “He could manage a few,” Thalos said. “His Boon isn’t limited by tech, so it can slip past their jammers. But not often, and not in the numbers we need.”

  Oliver opened his mouth to push for options, but Thalos’s eyes suddenly turned stark white. He went still, as if listening to something only he could hear.

  “Alert,” Thalos said, snapping back. “They need you in comms.”

  “Assault?” Oliver asked, already running.

  “No. If it were, pilots would be scrambling,” Thalos said, keeping pace with smooth, machine ease. Operatives stepped aside as they rushed through the corridors.

  They burst into the communications chamber. Holograms swirled across the room, but one image dominated. There was a large red timer floating over the central display, counting down.

  [05:59]