Three months. Three months of methodical expansion in the Nemesis Sector. Claim beacons and automated outposts now dotted half a dozen systems on Julius's stellar map. Routine had set in: reconnaissance, analysis, deployment.
Then, they came across Nemesis-7.
Upon approach, the sensors screamed their distress. The atmosphere was a toxic soup of industrial pollutants and radioactive dust. The continents, seen from space, were nothing but expanses of rust, sand, and intermingled metallic waste. Storms of scrap metal swept across plains littered with machine carcasses and the skeletons of ruined cities.
"Environmental analysis," ordered Julius, his face set.
"Radiation levels: Lethal on the surface without heavy protection," reported Data. "Atmosphere: Unbreathable, high concentration of industrial toxins. Energy signatures: Primitive fossil and nuclear. Life signatures:... multiple. Human."
Humans. On this stellar dung heap.
The high-resolution images confirmed the worst. It was a waking nightmare, a world that resembled the worst tales of Mad Max from old Earth. Tribes of degenerate humans, their skins covered in scars and rusty metal, fought for control of toxic mud pits or scrap metal dumps. Their vehicles were monstrous contraptions, belching black smoke, armed with spears and makeshift machine guns. The violence was palpable, even from orbit.
"By the Emperor..." murmured Caleb, horrified. "What happened here?"
"Total societal collapse," diagnosed Data. "Limited nuclear war followed by degeneration over several generations. They have reverted to a pre-industrial tribal state, but with the debris of their former civilization as their only resources."
"No coherent structure," added Nova. "Just clans waging perpetual war over the scraps. They are not a society. They are a cancer."
Julius observed the chaos in silence for a long minute, his stomach tightening. This was not Aethelgard. There was nothing to save here, no one to talk to. Just a human infection on a planetary scale.
"Mark this world, Nemesis-7, as 'Sterile' and 'Hostile'," he ordered finally, his voice neutral. "No colonization. No contact."
He turned to Data.
"We will establish an automated extraction station there. Scans show veins of heavy minerals under the southern polar ice cap, relatively spared by radiation. Only Automatons. SCVs and combat drones for security."
Data inclined his head. "A logical decision. The resources justify exploitation, but the risk of contamination and loss of human life is unacceptable. May I ask the strategic reason for this distinction, Commander? Why automata here, and not on Aethelgard?"
Julius looked at him, his eyes reflecting the image of the rotten world on the screen.
"Because, Data, on Aethelgard, we found humans. Here, we have found only beasts wearing a human form. Helping them would not make them better. It would only give them better weapons to kill each other. And one day, their madness could spill over and threaten what we are building. Here, we do not extend a hand. We take what we need, and we leave the vermin to their endless struggle."
It was cold. It was cruel. But around him, no one protested. Raynor himself, though usually quick to defend the little guy, nodded slowly, his face dark. He had seen this kind of world before. Some wounds were too infected to be healed. Sometimes, the only option was to cauterize them with fire and iron, or to avoid them.
Lesson learned: not all human worlds were jewels to be polished. Some were just death traps, and the only help they deserved was to be ignored, exploited from afar, and contained. The galaxy was a monstrous place, and to build something lasting in it, one sometimes had to be monstrously pragmatic