The Orbitons rained fire on what remained of the Baraken fleet, their weapons cutting through the void like streams of molten light, and within minutes the proud ships that had guarded Baraka's skies were nothing but glowing wreckage adrift in orbit. The fleet that had once inspired fear across a thousand worlds burned silently above its own home. Its end was swift and absolute.
In the Tartarusios' control room, the crew stood and watched it happen. No one cheered or smiled. Victory had lost its thrill a long time ago. The question on everyone's mind was no longer whether they could win, but how long until it was over. The truth had become painfully clear: the Empire of Baraka, the empire that would one day conquer the stars, was no match for a ship ten thousand years ahead of it.
Bjorn folded his arms and stared at the flickering images of collapsing ships. "To think this is the mighty empire that once ruled the known universe," he muttered.
Zoma, standing beside him, smiled faintly. "The empire you're talking about hasn't reached those heights yet. But if any good comes out of today, it belongs to them. There is no greater lesson than one learned in defeat — especially defeat against something like us."
Before Bjorn could answer, Tom's voice came over the comm. "Captain, the remaining ships are retreating toward the planet. Should we pursue?"
Oscar leaned forward in his chair with his eyes still on the screen. He had been waiting for an answer from Kaiser to his offer of a truce, and none had come. The silence from the Empire was total. He let out a slow, heavy breath. "No response," he murmured. "Then it's over."
The way out was open now. The Titans had done their work. All that was left were debris and a handful of ships limping back toward Baraka. Oscar turned away from the display. "Alright, Zoma, tell me something. When we first appeared here, you said we could leave this place. How?"
Zoma's eyes glinted faintly blue. "This ship can travel through the corridors without the help of the rings. You've already proven that — or rather, your friend has."
Every head in the room turned toward the corner, where Youri was lounging in the captain's chair, fast asleep, his legs propped up on the console and a cap tipped down over his face as if nothing in the world could bother him. Oscar sighed, walked over and snatched the cap away. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up."
Youri groaned and stretched. "Are we home yet?"
"Not yet," Oscar said with a smirk. "Our lovely mechanical oracle says you know how to get us there. You wouldn't happen to have any idea what she's talking about?"
Youri yawned and rubbed his eyes. Then, after a moment, he answered. "Well, there is a way. But to power up the Daitron drive, we need a special energy source called Tarcl. It's made of ultra-fine particles that usually show up near black holes. Sometimes they appear in open space too, but when and where is impossible to predict. Not with the technology we have."
The room fell silent while the crew exchanged confused glances. None of them had ever heard of such a thing, and not even the ship's archives mentioned Tarcl or a Daitron drive. Travel between dimensions was still the stuff of myth.
"So what?" Oscar said, folding his arms. "We dive into a black hole and hope for the best?"
Zoma's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Fortunately for you, I may be able to help. My creator left me the final instructions for my mission, and within that data is a set of coordinates — a point in time and space where Tarcl particles will appear." She glanced at the ship's clock. "That moment is today. The eighth of May, 4832. But I can't access the location until I've completed my directive and created the next version of myself."
Oscar studied her for a long moment. There had always been something about Zoma, an air of mystery and of inevitability. Ever since she had appeared, the crew had followed her lead from one impossible situation into the next, and somehow they had survived every one of them. "Well," he said at last, steady, "then let's finish your mission and get you home."
A few minutes later, the Tartarusios turned her bow toward the planet below, where the capital, Basen, was burning faintly under clouded skies. A handful of last defenders stood between them and the surface — loyal soldiers who refused to surrender even as their Empire collapsed. They fought bravely and died quickly. It was senseless bloodshed, but honor demanded it. They would not let their Emperor fall without a fight.
By the time Kaiser had reached his throne room, the Tartarusios had already come down through the atmosphere and landed in the grassy fields just beyond the Consul. Smoke rose in the distance and the air shimmered with the heat of battle. This time there was no grand strategy and no order of war. The fighting was over.
The ramp lowered. Oscar walked down it with Halley, Bjorn and Zoma — and for once, Youri. He almost never left the ship, but even he wanted to look at the man whose pride had nearly destroyed an empire. Behind them came three more: Kaiser the First, Mahin and Tarko, living relics of another age walking side by side with the people who had ended it.
They made their way through the Consul's broken corridors, across cracked marble floors smeared with ash, past golden walls blackened by fire. The once-great halls of the Baraken Empire echoed with silence, and even in ruin they carried a haunting majesty, the memory of a power that refused to die. No guards came to stop them or escort them. Every soldier still able to stand had gone to the throne room to be with their Emperor in his final hour.
When they reached the great doors, Mahin pushed them open, and the sound of metal against marble echoed through the vast chamber. Inside, on the steps of the throne, stood Kaiser the Second. He rose slowly, with his injured arm wrapped in a bloodstained bandage and his uniform torn, and still his posture was regal. As the smoke drifted in around them, he looked at the newcomers — the travelers, the outlaws, the destroyers of his fleet — and then at the one familiar face among them: the father he had banished to the Labyrinth.
For a long moment the Emperor said nothing. Then, with a faint and bitter smile, he spoke. His voice echoed through the ruined hall.
"Welcome, travelers. Once again, to the mighty Consul of the Baraken Empire."