MM Racing Chapter 83 Long Voyage
Chapter 83 Long Voyage
Chapter 83 Long Voyage
938.M41, the Galos spaceport Amigidoton is in the Solar Region, Lucis is in the Misty Region, and Galos is also in the Misty Region, but northeast of Lucis. Extending for thousands of light-years, the three stars are arranged in an almost straight line on the star map of the northeast quadrant of the Milky Way.
The distance from Armageddon to Lucis is roughly equivalent to the distance from Lucis to Garros. This means that the direct route from Armageddon to Garros is twice as long. It's not a geometrically precise equidistance—there's no such coincidence in interstellar space—but the distribution of subspace routes and the direction of star currents just happen to make this straight line the most economical route choice.
The operational plan for the immigrant transport fleet was thus determined.
Eleven regular transport ships—One Resolute and ten others—adopted a segmented transport model. They loaded themselves at the Helsard Spaceport in Armageddon, fully laden with immigrants, and sailed to Lucis. They resupplyed and rested for several days at a transit station in Lucis before continuing to Garros. Segmented transport was less risky than direct flight; the subspace journey was divided into two shorter hops, each within a predictable stellar flow.
The Unyielding and the Valiant—two Odysseus-class combat transport ships—one operates on a direct route. They are larger, possess powerful void shields, and are equipped with their own weaponry. Each ship can carry over a million people, sailing directly from Amegiddon to Garros.
The Truth was responsible for escorting the ships. Its route covered the entire transport route—from Garros to Lucis, from Lucis to Amegidon, and back from Amegidon. The speed and firepower of the Luna-class cruisers were enough to deter most pirates, and their crimson hulls cruised back and forth along the route.
The entire route is currently basically safe, and dispersed operation is more efficient. Immigration gathering takes time, and loading takes time; it's impossible to wait for every ship to be fully loaded before departing together—that would mean a long wait and a serious waste of berth resources. Whoever is fully loaded departs first; there's no need to wait. The eleven transport ships and two Odysseus-class ships are evenly distributed along the route, each operating at its own pace.
The departure date of the Aletheia was set at dawn on Garros time.
Vera stood at the gangway, her deep red robe pressed tightly against her back by the circulating wind. Her ponytail was neatly tied, and she clutched a data tablet, making a final check before departure. Behind her, the hangar of the Aletheon was brightly lit, and service crew members were loading the last batch of supplies into the cargo hold.
Cohen walked over from the other end of the gangway. He was wearing the crimson robes of a fifth-order sage, with the hood up. He paused at the gangway entrance and glanced at the row of large cannon turrets on the Truth.
"Has the weapon system completed its self-check?"
"Twice." Vera flipped through the data panel without looking up. "The artillery officer said the aiming line has been depth-calibrated, adjusted overnight, and is now within the standard range."
"Are ammunition and supplies sufficient?"
"The spaceport warehouse has a large number of backups." Vera's lips twitched, and she finally looked up. Her gaze lingered on Cohen's face for a moment, then fell, then rose again. Gone was the usual undisguised, almost laughing expression on his face; instead, there was something more serious and direct.
"Cohen".
"Um."
When will the Black Pearl depart?
"Soon."
Vera stared at him for two seconds, her lips moving slightly as if she were choosing her words carefully. Then she took a deep breath, tucked the data pad under her armpit, and put her hands on her hips.
"I have something to tell you."
"explain."
"You're a good person in every way, except you're too boring." Vera's lips finally curled up when she said this, but she wasn't joking. "Everyone says I don't seem like a technical priest. But I think this is what living is all about. Garros is a place where you don't feel like you're filling holes for the Empire. It's a place where you can work in the sun. You've done a good job."
She paused, pulled the data panel from under her arm, and twirled it in her hand.
"And another thing. The place the Black Pearl went to this time is so obscure that hardly anyone knows its name. It's marked on the star map as 'sealed by Imperial records.' You know I grew up in Lucis, and I'm quite familiar with the Temple Archives. I've seen a lot of things there—those markings are the work of the Inquisition. Places that would allow them to erase an entire planet from the star map—"
She didn't finish her sentence, but her meaning was clear.
Cohen leaned against the railing of the covered bridge, silent, without interrupting her.
"I'm not asking what you're going to do." Vera tucked the data pad back under her arm, took a half-step forward, and lowered her voice. "I'm saying—be careful."
Cohen looked into her eyes. There were no tears, no sentimentality, only a very serious, direct, and undisguised concern in those eyes.
"Nothing will happen," he said.
Vera stared at him for two seconds. Then the corner of her mouth twitched, first the right, then the left. It wasn't a laugh, but the kind of laugh that had been held back for a long time and finally couldn't be held back anymore. She lowered her head and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but a very short, very soft laugh still escaped through her fingers.
"You..." She lowered her hand, a slight smile still playing on her lips, her eyes a little red. "People say I don't seem like a technical priest, but you're even more outrageous than me."
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying behind her.
"Alright, that's enough." She put away the data panel, turned, and walked towards the gangway. She took two steps, then paused, without turning back. "Cohen. Wait for me to come back."
Cohen said, "Blessed by the Emperor."
Vera waved without turning her head and walked through the airlock. Her ponytail swayed behind her as she disappeared into the corridor.
The thrusters ignited. The crimson hull slid slowly out of its berth, the beams of the guide lights leaving long streaks on the armor plating. The Aletheia turned, its bow aligned with Mandeville.
The deep red tail flame burned steadily in the darkness, growing farther and farther away until it finally blended into the background of starlight.
Cohen stood at the gangway, watching the dark red mass disappear into the distance. He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked back to the Black Pearl.
The Black Pearl's refitting and training has entered its final stage.
The newly recruited crew members have been working together on board for over a month. The new recruits in the engine room are familiar with every instrument panel in the reactor, the communications team's signal clerks can establish a data link with the spaceport in a minute, and the damage control team's exercises have gone from initial chaos to methodical execution. Tens of thousands of new crew members are distributed throughout the five-kilometer-long ship; the corridors are no longer empty and silent, but instead filled with the sounds of footsteps, conversations, and the echoing of tools striking metal panels.
Cohen walked down the corridor. The veteran on duty from the garrison saluted at the corner, and he nodded. When he reached the door of the reception room, the door was open, and people were already sitting inside.
Marcus sat at one side of the long table, a data panel spread out in front of him displaying the ship's final training report. The blue halo of his right mechanical eye swelled and contracted between the screen and the ceiling.
Kara sat opposite him, arms crossed. She wore power armor, her helmet tucked under her armpits.
The new logistics officer sat next to Marcus. Her name was Maggie, in her early thirties, with short hair, soft features but sharp eyes. She was Phyllis's second-in-command, and had worked in the Black Pearl's logistics office for two years. At that moment, she held a data panel in her hand, the screen displaying a long list of supplies.
Navigator Sera wasn't in the meeting room—she was in the navigation cabin making final route adjustments. The communication channel was on, and her voice came through the cabin, steady and normal.
"Mandeville point coordinates locked. Flight path entered into navigation system. Subspace engine self-check complete. Geller position system online."
Awaiting departure instructions.
Cohen took his seat at the head of the table. Marcus brought up the holographic projector, and a star map unfolded above the table. Garros, Lucis, and Amegiddon were marked as three points of light on the star map, arranged in a nearly straight line. But this time, their target was not on that line.
Marcus traced a few lines on the projection table with his finger. The star map scrolled towards the extreme star field, passing through several gray areas marked "Unexplored," finally settling on a dim point of light. Next to the point of light was a line of small text: "Istvan IIII. Imperial records are blocked. No entry without a pass."
The star chart contained no flight path data, no navigation warnings, and no basic information about star types, planet numbers, or atmospheric composition. Only coordinates and a line of cold, red markings bearing the inquisition's seal.
Everyone present saw the words. No one spoke.
Marcus spoke first. His right mechanical eye locked onto the line of red text, the blue circle shrinking and expanding. "Captain, Ishtarfunk III-I—I have served in the Navy for twenty-three years and have never seen this name in any navigation log, mission briefing, or operational map. This is no ordinary blockade. The Inquisition's seal—it's not low-level. A place that can erase an entire planet from the star map—"
He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.
Cohen leaned back in his chair. "That's why we're going."
Kara lowered her arm and tapped her fingers on the edge of the table. "A planet sealed off by the Imperial Records, we're going there—won't the Ministry of Justice cause trouble?"
“There’s no Department of Justice there,” Cohen said flatly. “No one’s been there for thousands of years. The court’s blockade is on paper—they seal the files, but not the coordinates. Whoever has the coordinates can go. We went, and nobody knows.”
Marcus was silent for a few seconds. "Captain, does the data mention the level of danger in that area?"
"No," Cohen said. "The data only includes coordinates."
Marcus glanced at him but didn't ask any further questions. If the captain said to go, he would go. Twenty-three years of naval service had taught him that some questions didn't need answers, and some files didn't need to be consulted.
"What about Garros?" Kara asked. "Who's keeping an eye on the defense forces once we leave?"
Cohen glanced at her. "Do you have anyone you'd recommend?"
Kara straightened up. "Deputy Commander Cole. One of the first veterans to come from Lucis, he led a company on the wrecked ship. He's no less capable than me, and was originally a key member of the Lucis Church's Guard. Leaving him in Garros to oversee the Guard's training is fine."
"Is he reliable?" Marcus asked.
Kara glanced at him. "No problem. I've known this guy for many years. He used to have a much higher rank than me, but he was distrusted, which is why he retired." She paused, then continued, "He's very versatile. He knows more about armored warfare and corps operations than I do. I specialize in special operations. This is his chance to shine."
Cohen nodded. "Make it clear—go over the current training progress of the Defense Forces, the equipment distribution, and the defense scheduling of each dome. While the capital ships are away, the defense of Garros will be entirely the responsibility of the Planetary Defense Forces. The security of the domes, the guarding of the spaceports, and the quarantine and resettlement of immigrants will all continue as normal. The Computational Hub will take over all scheduling; Cohen doesn't need to worry about anything outside of military affairs. He only needs to keep an eye on the training and make sure that those tens of thousands of people—or even hundreds of thousands when we return—are not idle."
Kara responded.
Cohen turned to Maggie. "Supplies list."
Maggie opened the data panel, her speech slow but clear. "The Black Pearl has completed resupply according to long-range standards. Ammunition reserves—explosive shells, laser gun charging packs, and molten metal bombs—have all been doubled. Food and water are enough for the entire ship for nine full months. The spare parts depot has been replenished with two complete sets of reactor cooling piping and one set of Void Shield generator spare parts. The medical bay has ample stock; Dr. Liss said it's enough for a medium-intensity battle." She paused. "At the Garros production line, spare stock of CMC-100 power armor and various weapons has been loaded onto the ship, enough to replace the entire crew's equipment twice."
She paused for a moment.
"Everything is ready."
Cohen glanced at her and nodded in approval. "Well done."
Maggie's lips twitched slightly as she lowered her head and continued flipping through the data panel.
"However, we need to double the preparation of water and food," Cohen paused and then added.
Maggie replied immediately, "Yes, Captain."
After speaking, Cohen stood up. "Training is over. The Black Pearl will depart in three days. Destination: Istvan I."
He scanned the area.
"We'll talk about it when we get there. It's no use talking about it now; nobody knows what the place is like. The only thing we're sure of is that they need us there, they need me."
Marcus stood up. "Yes."
Kara stood up and picked up her helmet. "I'll give instructions to Cole. The Black Pearl will depart on time in three days."
She turned and walked out of the reception room. The soles of her power armor boots tapped a steady rhythm on the terrazzo floor, fading into the distance.
Maggie walked to the door, paused, glanced back at Cohen, her lips moved slightly, but she ultimately said nothing and walked out.
Cohen turned off the holographic projector and sat alone in the reception room. The cauldron at the foot of the imperial statue burned with frankincense, smoke rising slowly beneath the dome. He picked up the long-cold cup of coffee, took a sip, and put it down.
Outside the window, the stars of Garros burned brightly in the distance of their orbits. The Pravda's tail flames were no longer visible. Beside the Black Pearl's berth, service crew members were making final preparations for departure. The transparent armor of the dome shimmered under the starlight, and the city beneath it lit up with countless lights in the twilight.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
CMC-200 is basically finalized, but it's not enough. He needs a better reference point—the remains of Space Marine power armor, the remains of Titans. That place contains the remains of weaponry from the Great Crusade. If he can find the Geneseed, the genetic blueprint for the nineteen modification surgeries—not to create Astartes, but to make mortals stronger. To have better mortal power armor. To rival Astartes, or even potentially surpass them.
He opened his eyes, placed the empty cup on the table, stood up, and walked out of the living room.
The corridor lights shone a cool white light in daytime mode. An administrative sergeant stood silently at the intersection of the passageways. He walked past the cargo hold area where supplies were piled up, past the busy transfer corridor for service sergeants, and past the public workshop where weapons were being repaired.
Three days later, the Black Pearl slid off its berth and headed for Mandeville. Several hours into the routine voyage, Sierra's voice came through the bridge's communications channel.
"Mandeville Point Arrived. Warp Engines Warming Up, Geller Field Charging. Countdown: Sixty Seconds."
The ship shuddered violently. The porthole armor panels fell, and purple chaos surged into the boundary of the Geller Field. The Black Pearl leaped into subspace, heading towards the Istvan I.