Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

The air in Kumakar’s private stateroom was thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the ghost of shattered crystal. What had moments ago been a chamber of opulent authority was now a landscape of wreckage. A gilded chair, its legs snapped, lay splintered against a bulkhead. Shards of what was once an ornate decanter glittered like malevolent stars across the plush carpeting. On the far wall, a data-slate was embedded deep into the paneling, the spiderweb of cracks around it a testament to the force of its impact.

Kumakar stood in the center of the devastation, his chest heaving. The veins on his temples pulsed, a rare and startling sight on a member of his species, whose physiology typically concealed such tells. The carefully maintained composure of a sovereign leader had fractured, leaving behind only the raw, unbridled rage of a cornered predator.

His plan, so perfect in its conception, so elegant in its intended execution, was unraveling. It had been nearly two days since the Empire had retaliated, and the Conclave—this grand alliance that was supposed to be entering a new era of efficiency—was dragging its feet. He had expected outrage. He had expected a call to arms. He had expected them to see the Empire’s sanctions for what they were: a declaration of economic war, an act of aggression that demanded a unified response.

He had handed them the perfect pretext. The fleets were already supposed to be mobilizing for the campaign against the mysterious invader, the one Dreznor now fought. All they had to do was change the target. The Empire, caught off guard by such a swift, coordinated counter-attack, would have been forced to the negotiating table. He would have had his leverage, his chance to probe their weaknesses, to find proof of their involvement, to find his son.

But they did nothing. They waited. And in their waiting, they were sacrificing him.

“Rumaksa,” Kumakar’s voice was a low pant, ragged with exertion.

The door slid open, and his aide entered, his movements a careful dance around the debris. Rumaksa’s head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor as he navigated the wreckage, his body trembling slightly. He knew his master’s moods. He knew what it meant to be summoned into the heart of the storm.

“Your Excellency,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Kumakar did not look at him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in the polished metal. “Call everyone,” he commanded, his voice suddenly calm, the quiet that comes after a tempest. “The liaisons. The operational commanders. All of them. I want them in a virtual conference in thirty minutes. Inform them that attendance is not optional. Anyone who is late can say goodbye to their position… and their willed children.”

He walked back to his desk, which had somehow survived the onslaught, and sat down. The threat was not idle. In his civilization, the line of succession was absolute, a sacred and metaphysical bond. To threaten it was to threaten a person’s very soul.

“Yes, Your Excellency.” Rumaksa bowed again and backed out of the room, his steps still careful, his relief palpable. He closed the door with a soft click and then scrambled to carry out the order, his mind racing to decipher the exact scope of “everyone.” A mistake now would not be forgiven.

………………………

Holographic projections flickered to life around Kumakar’s desk, forming a circle of grim-faced leaders. The liaison for inter-civilization communication spoke first, his voice carefully modulated to convey respect while delivering bad news. He knew better than to be blunt, but the truth was unavoidable.

To mention that the lower-ranked civilizations were simply too weak to challenge the Empire would be an insult to Kumakar himself, whose own people were now counted among them.

“Your Excellency,” the liaison began, “we have conveyed your position to the other members. The top fifty civilizations… they have expressed a certain reluctance to proceed. The current agreements with the Empire are proving highly beneficial to their economies. They see no immediate incentive to risk that stability, especially when the Empire’s actions were directed solely at your territories.”

“And the others?” Kumakar’s voice was dangerously quiet.

“They are… hesitant, Your Excellency. They lack the strategic capability for a direct confrontation without the full, unified support of the top fifty. Their wormhole access is, as you know, entirely dependent on the Empire’s infrastructure. They fear being cut off, isolated.”

Kumakar’s fist clenched under the table. Willess cowards.

His attention snapped to the military liaison. “The joint operation,” he demanded, cutting through the silence. “The fleets we gathered to liberate the lost territories. The pirate attacks were a convenient excuse to halt them, but that excuse has expired. Why are they not resuming their advance? The citizens of those lost systems are suffering. Or has their plight been forgotten in the face of this new, more convenient enemy?”

The military liaison, a veteran of a dozen campaigns, chose his words with the precision of a surgeon. “Your Excellency, that operation was momentarily halted after the pirate attacks. Many of those fleets were the primary security details for their respective wormholes. In the wake of the attacks, they have been ordered back to their defensive posts. To recall them again for an offensive campaign… it would take time. At least another month to re-mobilize the necessary forces from less critical positions.”

“A month?” Kumakar’s voice cracked, the mask of control finally shattering. He shot to his feet, his voice a roar that echoed through his stateroom. “A month? The sanctions are already in effect! The economy will enter a freefall by the end of the week! Do you think we have the luxury of waiting a month?”

A heavy, terrified silence fell over the holographic conference. Every person present knew the obvious solution. They knew that a simple apology, a diplomatic concession to the Empire, could reverse all of this. But they also knew Kumakar. They saw the fury in his eyes, the pride that would rather see his own world burn than bow to another. And so, they said nothing. No one had the courage to test if, in his rage, Kumakar might find a new and terrible inspiration for how to torture a person who dared to speak the truth.

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