Chapter 134: Mutual Distrust

“…Is there any way we can achieve the best of both worlds?”

Austin, Evan, Dr. Arthur Lambert, and the other section heads standing by the command console were at a complete loss. While brilliant in their respective scientific fields, none of them were seasoned politicians. The Noah was a unified vessel with very few internal conflicts of interest, meaning the dark art of political maneuvering had largely withered away among the crew.

Jason frowned, his mind racing as he stared at the main screen. He had never been one for cloak-and-dagger diplomacy. Right now, he desperately wished he had a cabinet of Old Earth’s most cunning political strategists standing behind him.

Back on Earth, nation-states constantly clashed over resources and borders, but outright war was rare when the opposing factions were evenly matched. During the Cold War, the global superpowers didn’t launch nuclear strikes over a few harsh words. They engaged in shadow wars, testing each other’s boundaries, playing diplomatic cards, and reaching uneasy truces. Most importantly, both sides always made sure the other could save face.

The situation now, however, was fundamentally different. The Federation had already painted itself as a ruthless, highly advanced galactic empire. They couldn’t walk that back. Their diplomatic posture had to mirror that of an apex predator, projecting absolute strength to mask their critical vulnerabilities.

Furthermore, humanity was completely out of options. Hesitation wouldn’t increase their odds of survival; it would only bleed away precious time.

“To hell with it,” Jason thought fiercely, casting his doubts aside. He pulled up a digital drafting pad and began composing the broadcast. “This will have to do.”

Meanwhile, the Viridians possessed an abundance of patience.

Evolved from sentient flora, their natural lifespans stretched for thousands of years even in their primitive era. Once they achieved interstellar travel, breakthroughs in genetics and medical technology pushed their life expectancy into the tens of thousands. Because of this, the current crew was considered incredibly young by their species’ standards.

Such extreme longevity naturally cultivated a mild, unhurried temperament. A typical Viridian enjoyed basking in direct starlight for forty to eighty hours at a time, followed by dozens of hours of continuous work. During these cycles, they required no solid food or waste excretion, subsisting entirely on a few liters of water, ambient light, and carbon dioxide. It was an incredibly efficient and tranquil existence.

Lately, however, the mood aboard the dreadnought was anything but tranquil. The crew’s morale had plummeted, and the usually stoic high-ranking officers were on the verge of emotional combustion.

Inside the primary astronomical observatory, a large gathering of Viridian commanders stood in tense silence. A thin veil of white vapor seeped from their foliage, a glaring biological indicator of their collective, escalating stress.

Based on the distance, their initial transmission should have reached the alien vessel several days prior. They were now agonizingly waiting for a response.

The dreadnought’s command hierarchy had fractured into two distinct camps: the hawks and the doves. The hawks pushed for a more aggressive posture, even advocating for the threat of war to secure resources. The doves argued for conciliation, begging for diplomatic negotiations.

The fact that this unknown empire had fired relativistic warning shots, deliberately missing instead of going for the kill suggested they were rational, not mindless conquerors. This left a narrow window open for dialogue.

“No matter the cost, we must secure access to this star… hell, even a barren planet will suffice!”

This was the one point both factions agreed upon. They were desperate for raw materials and a safe harbor to recharge. Their crippled dreadnought would tear itself apart before reaching the next star system; it was an undeniable mathematical certainty.

Yet, war remained the absolute worst-case scenario. The Viridians knew they were heavily outgunned in their current state. But if the alternative was slowly dying in the cold void, a suicidal final stand would become their only choice.

“Commander Fario, I must protest. Your phrasing in the broadcast was far too aggressive. In our weakened state, how can we possibly attempt to strong-arm them?” an elder dove argued, his leaves rustling with agitation. Ever since the message was dispatched, a pit of dread had settled in his core. Viridian society was built upon a rigid foundation of etiquette and mutual respect; issuing ultimatums felt abhorrent to him.

Fario’s drafted message roughly translated to: We are a vanguard fleet of the Viridian Empire. Due to our current operational requirements, we require temporary refueling rights within this star system. We value peace and interstellar cooperation, and request that you temporarily cede access to this star. We urge you to exercise restraint to avoid a full-scale galactic conflict… In truth, the tone was relatively standard for interstellar diplomacy.

After all, the Noah was only fifteen kilometers in diameter, a microscopic spec compared to the Viridian dreadnought. Fario naturally assumed it was merely a scout ship or a minor patrol craft belonging to the alien empire. And a minor patrol craft lacked the authority to unilaterally declare war. It was like a border patrol cutter encountering a foreign armada; the captain wouldn’t pull the trigger without direct orders from high command.

In this regard, their strategic logic mirrored humanity’s perfectly.

Of course, the Viridians were bluffing just as hard. This dreadnought wasn’t part of a larger “vanguard fleet”; it was the very heart of their civilization! Constructing these colossal generation ships required astronomical resources, and their entire empire only possessed three of them. One had already been completely vaporized in the ambush.

They had puffed up their chests solely to make the Federation overestimate their military strength and hesitate to attack. Given their critical damage, a grand bluff was their only shield. After all, in a dark universe where two unknown empires cross paths, mutual paranoia was the default state of existence.

Ironically, all of these complex bluffs and subtle diplomatic threats were completely lost on the Federation, because humanity’s archaic translation software had completely butchered the syntax.

In a twisted way, humanity’s grand deception was holding together remarkably well!

The elder dove remained anxious, convinced that the Commander’s ultimatum was fundamentally flawed and frankly, incredibly rude. This was someone else’s sovereign territory! Warping into a foreign system and demanding they step aside was madness.

“…Elder, this system is not an established colony,” Mal interjected from the side, attempting to calm down the senior official, whose rank demanded respect. “We scanned the habitable zones. There are no sprawling planetary settlements or orbital infrastructure. This implies they are merely passing through, or perhaps conducting a temporary survey mission.”

“If this star holds no strategic value to them, we must project strength to secure our access. If our bluff forces them to retreat entirely, all the better!” Commander Fario nodded; Mal’s logic aligned perfectly with his own.

As the dreadnought coasted closer, their optical sensors gained a sharper view of the Noah. Fario studied the image intently. If negotiations broke down into a firefight, he needed to gauge the enemy’s technical capabilities.

It was a deeply unorthodox vessel. A perfect sphere, boasting external design principles that seemed utterly contradictory to the Viridians.

The optical scans revealed that some of the weapon batteries appeared to be forged from incredibly primitive, low-grade alloys materials indicative of a planetary-bound, early industrial civilization, not the flawless zero-gravity metallurgy expected of a interstellar empire. Even stranger, the hull was coated in a primitive, paint-like substance. Was it purely decoration? A crude form of thermal dissipation? The Viridian science team was thoroughly baffled.

But the metallurgical anomalies were secondary. What truly terrified the Viridians was the Noah’s location: it was casually floating within the upper atmosphere of this system’s red planet!

It was simply hovering, completely defying the laws of gravity!

The alien fortress emitted virtually zero thruster wash or thermal radiation to maintain its orbit. If the Noah hadn’t actively broadcasted a radio signal earlier, the Viridian sensors would have completely missed it, even at this proximity.

There was only one logical conclusion: the alien fortress utilized true anti-gravity technology! The realization made Fario’s wooden heart skip a beat.

“By the roots, they’ve mastered anti-gravity propulsion! They have to!” a senior Viridian officer gasped in terror. A fifteen-kilometer mass of steel could not possibly generate enough aerodynamic lift in such a thin atmosphere. It had to be gravity manipulation!

A paralyzing wave of dread washed over Fario and Mal. Mastering anti-gravity technology implied a scientific foundation at least two magnitude ahead of their own. Two magnitude !! If a shooting war erupted, the Viridians wouldn’t just be defeated; they would be swatted like insects!

“Transmission incoming! We’re receiving a direct radio burst from the sphere!” a sensor tech suddenly shrieked, shattering the tense silence.

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