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SCL Chapter 97: The Last Peaceful Morning
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 01:58:21 +0000 UTC“Senator Pasteur, my apologies, but you must be escorted into the restricted zone. This is classified at the highest level. The Terrans still have no idea where this missing battlecruiser ended up,” the Umojan general said sternly, his gaze lingering on Augustus.
“I understand. One misstep, and this could trigger a war,” Ailin replied with a nod. “It could very well become the Confederacy’s next excuse to declare war on Umoja. But the crash site lies outside their communications coverage—both the Confederate Parliament and Fleet Command are completely in the dark. By the time they figure it out, we’ll have already cracked the ship’s construction tech.”
With the help of Augustus and the guards, Ailin climbed into the vehicle and took a seat in the back. Once everyone was settled, a light combat shield rose around the vehicle, sealing out the wind and sand while offering clear visibility.
“General, your soldiers are incredibly brave. I heard you seized the ship in under two hours,” he remarked as the vehicle began to move.
“In truth, it’s more accurate to say that the Confederate soldiers aboard the cruiser surrendered quickly,” the general replied, unmoved by the praise. “At first, one of our fleets intercepted their distress signal. So rather than escalating into a border skirmish or a forced expulsion, this unexpected encounter turned into a humanitarian rescue mission.”
“As our rescue teams entered the ship to search for the wounded and deliver food and medical supplies to the stranded crew, many welcomed us with open arms…”
“That’s the best possible outcome,” Ailin said cheerfully. “I rushed back as soon as I received the good news.”
“Even better news,” the general added, walking beside him, “is that the ship’s cargo hold contained several spacefaring construction vehicles and Arc Tanks. There’s also a full squadron of CF/A17G Banshees in the launch bay. All of it—ready for deployment.”
Augustus remained silent, simply listening. As the Umojan vehicle sped toward the fallen battlecruiser, his excitement grew. Even though much of the ship’s armor had been damaged during its unsynchronized orbital crash, and terrifying cracks and ruptures scarred its hull, the flickering lights of welding torches held by workers and robotic units glimmered in the dust—faint but persistent.
As Augustus drew closer to the battlecruiser, he became increasingly aware of its sheer grandeur. It was nearly half a kilometer long and stood as tall as a twenty-story building—an iron city standing tall amid the wind and sand. Umojan engineers were preparing to transport it to the nearest National Defense Force shipyard.
The combat vehicle came to a stop at the drydock entrance near the ship’s lower hull. Several Umojan National Defense Force soldiers, armed with electromagnetic rifles, stood guard.
Their powered armor was clearly modeled after the CMC suits used by the Terran Confederacy, but the craftsmanship far surpassed the plate-linked armor worn by the Kel-Morian Combine. In Augustus’s eyes, their performance was even superior to the CMC-300 model.
Passing through the dim corridors inside the ship, Augustus and the others reached the lower deck where the vessel connected to the drydock. Roughly a hundred Umojan workers were repairing the deck, replacing wiring, and installing new electronic systems.
“We removed all tracking and locator devices,” the general explained, watching the crew at work. “Nearly all the original personnel aboard the cruiser—its captain, engineers, tech crew, and jump drive specialists—have been rehired. We brought them back as technical advisors or instructors, offering salaries several times, even dozens of times higher than before.”
“Umoja is about to have its own Behemoth-class battlecruiser…” Ailin said with excitement as he looked over the busy workers and the now-restored control consoles.
“And Augustus,” he added, turning to him, “you happen to be in need of a flagship for your fleet.”
“I thought you’d be incorporating this battlecruiser into the Umojan fleet,” Augustus said, his eyes lighting up.
“Korhal needs a Behemoth-class ship far more urgently than we do,” the general responded. “The National Defense Force isn’t in immediate need. We’re on the verge of solving every major technical hurdle in constructing this class of vessel. Once that’s done, we’ll deliver this fully restored and upgraded Behemoth—with improved weapons systems and Umojan tech enhancements—to Korhal.”
“This is a joint decision by the Assembly and the Defense Force—a demonstration of Umoja’s unwavering support for the Korhal revolution.”
“I swear I’ll never forget this kindness,” Augustus said solemnly. “This battlecruiser will become a symbol of friendship between the people of Korhal and Umoja.”
“The old serial number and name can’t be used anymore,” Ailin said with a smile. “Before we haul her back to the docks, you’ll need to give her a new name. Take your time to think it over and let me know.”
“I think… I’ve known the answer all along.” A smile appeared on Augustus’s face.
“I shall name her: Hyperion.”
...
The cities of Umoja were built amidst lush, leafy forests. Electrically powered high-speed railways cut through the trees and rivers, connecting various independent white-steel buildings. Rural homes and grassland pastures sprawled across a sea of green—within this vast world, humans, nature, and rare flora coexisted in harmony.
It was a morning in mid-February. As the sun rose over Umoja’s verdant cities and countryside, people spontaneously poured into the streets from their homes. Upper-grade students, led by their teachers, left their classrooms. Workers in factories set down their tools. Office workers turned their broadcast speakers up to maximum volume.
In open plazas and parks between skyscrapers, the crowds grew—first in the dozens, then in the hundreds, then by the thousands—shoulder to shoulder. Many waved the flag of Umoja: a blue and white banner adorned with a symbol of two triangles and a circle painted across their cheeks.
“To all citizens of Umoja and our fellow allies under the same banner of unity:
The Kel-Morian Combine has been defeated.
And now, the only force left capable of standing against the Terran Dominion and its hegemony is Umoja.”
Inside a room at the Pasteur family estate, Augustus held the young Valerian in his arms, surrounded by family. Projected on a massive wall-mounted holo-screen was Jorgensen—Umoja’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and member of the Tribunal—delivering a speech.
Every Umoja citizen, across both the homeworld and its relatively autonomous colony planets, was tuned in to the same broadcast. It was the first full-scale wartime mobilization in the history of this independent nation.
The wise members of the democratically elected Umojan Parliament all understood: once the Terran Dominion annexed the Kel-Morian Combine and all its mining unions, Umoja would be the next target.
Almost everyone believed that war was now inevitable.
“From the very founding of our elected Parliament, our forebears were determined to govern humanity’s new world with fairness and freedom, to root out corruption, and to care for our people,” said Jorgensen solemnly.
“For centuries, ever since our shared ancestors boarded the colony ships, our pursuit of liberty has never wavered. Umoja has never sought conflict. We never desired respect born from fear, nor did we seek to dominate or enslave others to gain a tyrant’s twisted pleasure.”
“Yet from the very first time the Old Families of the Dominion proposed a unified government encompassing Tarsonis, Moria, and Umoja, their ambition toward us became crystal clear.”
“Everyone knows Umoja abhors war. We have done everything possible to avoid letting the flames of conflict reach our soil. We prefer to act as arbiters of justice, not as participants in fratricidal strife. But no matter how far we try to flee... there is nowhere left to run.”
“Umoja is not vast. Behind us lies our home.”
“This is a directive from the Umojan Parliament:
For the first time in one hundred and twenty years, conscription and the reserve system will be reinstated.
To defend the hard-won freedom and independence we cherish, the Umoja Homeland Defense Force is hereby officially established—starting today.”
At that moment, the broadcast cut to a series of rapidly changing shots. The people of Umoja began shouting loudly, their voices rising in unison. Many were moved to tears by a mix of despair and patriotic fervor as lines began to form at newly opened enlistment stations for the Homeland Defense Force.
“Is Umoja really going to war?” Juliana’s eyes glistened.
“No,” Augustus replied. “The war won’t reach Umoja—because we’ll fight on Korhal.”
He gently set Valerian down, looking into his bright, beautiful eyes.
“Valerian, there’s so much I want to tell you. When I’m not by your side, you must stay strong. And when your father returns—no matter how harshly he judges you or how strict his demands may be—do not hold it against him.”
“Because war, hatred, the desires buried deep in our hearts, and the complexity of human nature… all of these will eventually bind us in the illusory web we call fate."
"And in the end, it will twist us into the very person we once despised most.”
“You’re leaving, aren’t you, Uncle?” Valerian fought back his tears. “Mama said you’re going back to Korhal…”
“We’ll meet again—after we’ve overthrown the tyrant of Tarsonis,” Augustus said gently.
“I hope to see you grow into a true man someday, Little Val. You're a part of House Mengsk, and one day, you’ll return to Korhal.”
He then embraced his mother and sister one last time. Though Augustus did not believe in God, nor saw any value in piety, he still offered a silent prayer for his family.
Valerian watched his uncle’s figure grow smaller and smaller as he walked away, a firm resolve taking root in his heart—to one day follow in Augustus’s footsteps.
That moment etched itself deeply into his memory.
When Augustus stepped out of the Pasteur estate and looked up at the gray APOD transport shuttle hovering in the air, he suddenly chuckled.
Eleven members of the Heaven’s Devils were waiting for him on the ground, while others watched from behind the opened side ramp of the ship.
These soldiers no longer belonged to the Terran Dominion’s Marine Corps. They now wore the signature ash-black long coats of Heaven’s Devils, each hood marked with a winged skull. The hems of their coats flapped wildly in the wind stirred up by the shuttle's thrusters.
“We’re here,” said medic Lisa Cassidy.
“I’ll follow you anywhere, like always—because you’re Augustus Mengsk,” said Aland Lundstein, deputy squad leader of First Squad.
“I fight for freedom!” shouted Zander Max, the grenadier.
“Same here,” said Amy Brandon.
“Sure, we can’t slaughter Kel-Morian troops anymore—and yeah, stacking their heads like mountains was fun—but in the end, it doesn’t really matter who we’re killing,” said rocket trooper Connor Ward.
“I’m down for anything, just don’t make me drive a Vulture,” muttered Kulovsky.
“Boss, don’t look at me. I’ve got nothing to say,” said Josephine, shrugging. “I’m just here to earn some formula money.”
“Augustus, I think this place would make a great retirement spot,” said sniper Ryk Kydd, slinging a naval sniper rifle as tall as he was across his back—a weapon he had bought at five times the market price. “When I’m too tired to fight, I’ll buy myself an estate right here.”
“I’m not doing this for you, Mengsk,” grumbled Tychus Findlay. “I’m doing it to pay off my damn debt!”
“Boss, I brought a few good decks. Feel like playing cards?” asked Harnack, his face full of hopeful anticipation.
“Word is the revolutionaries are getting a flagship soon. They’re naming her Hyperion. Not a bad name,” said Raynor, carrying only an electromagnetic pistol. “I like that ship.”
“I plan to snag the captain’s seat—don’t even think about saying no. I already got my light patrol skiff license. Fast hands, steady controls!”
