Chapter 145: The Fall of the Old Order 1

The cold vastness of space outside Ashen Prime was soon overshadowed by the unmistakable presence of a Federation battle group.

The fleet did not rush into position. It moved with methodical precision, a display of power as much as a tactical maneuver. Like an iron net tightening around its prey, the Federation warships assumed formation around the orbital perimeter, their dark silhouettes blocking out the stars beyond.

At the vanguard was the ISS Resolute, a battlecruiser of daunting size and firepower. Its sleek, gunmetal-gray hull gleamed against the distant glow of a dying sun, a stark contrast to the darkness settling over Ashen Prime.

In the command center, Governor Renn Valcor stood motionless, his hands gripping the edges of his console as he stared at the tactical display before him. The sensor feeds painted a grim picture, dozens of red indicators flashing in an encirclement pattern. It was the unmistakable signature of a blockade.

A coordinated maneuver. A statement.

His officers hovered nervously around their stations, speaking in hushed tones, exchanging anxious glances. The realization had begun to sink in:

They were surrounded.

Then came the official transmission. A sharp tone echoed through the command center, followed by the stark white lettering on his console:

 INCOMING COMMUNICATION—ADMIRAL DORAN KANE, ISS RESOLUTE

 PRIORITY LEVEL: HIGH

 SUBJECT: OFFICIAL FEDERATION OVERSIGHT PROTOCOLS—IMMEDIATE COMPLIANCE REQUIRED

The words burned into Valcor's mind.

Official oversight.

He let out a slow, controlled breath, but his fingers curled into a tight fist. The Federation didn't send war fleets for routine audits. He had spent enough years navigating its political machinery to recognize a power play when he saw one.

This wasn't an inspection. This was a move to depose him.

Valcor glanced around the room, studying the expressions of those around him. Some of his officers still looked to him for guidance, for orders. But others...

He could see it already, the seeds of doubt in their eyes. The Federation's mere presence had already started to fracture his command. That realization only fueled his anger.

Still, he had no choice but to play the game.

"Open the channel," he muttered, his voice low and measured.

The central viewscreen flickered to life, and the holographic figure of Admiral Doran Kane materialized before him.

Even through the digital display, Kane's presence carried authority. His military-cut uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid and unwavering. He had the hardened look of a veteran. Gray-streaked hair cropped short, sharp eyes that had seen too many battles to be intimidated by another politician.

"Governor Valcor," Kane began, his voice clipped and formal, with no room for pleasantries. "Per standard Federation command protocols, you are required to submit to an immediate oversight review."

His tone remained steady, but then came the real blow:

"Given the severity of the charges against you, I advise full cooperation."

The moment hung in the air like a drawn blade.

Behind him, Valcor heard his officers shift, murmuring to one another.

Charges.

Valcor's jaw tightened, but he forced a smirk, masking the fury bubbling beneath the surface.

"Charges?" he echoed, feigning amusement. "I don't recall committing any crimes, Admiral."

Kane didn't so much as blink. He wasn't here for games.

"Then you won't mind if we take a closer look."

A cold silence stretched between them.

For a brief moment, Valcor considered his options.

He could reject the demand outright, but doing so would give Kane the justification he needed to escalate. The Federation fleet was already in place, they wouldn't hesitate to take Ashen Prime by force if given the opportunity.

And yet, to accept Kane's oversight without resistance? It would signal weakness.

His grip on the station was already slipping, he could feel it. His officers, his security forces, even the political figures he had once manipulated with ease—they were watching. Waiting.

If he hesitated now, if he showed any sign of uncertainty, they would turn on him.

So, he played his hand carefully.

A slow chuckle left his lips as he leaned back in his chair, adopting an air of mocking confidence.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "My station is always open to Federation inspection."

His tone was light, but the tension in the room was palpable.

His officers knew it was a lie.

Kane knew it was a lie.

But Valcor needed time. Time to assess the situation. Time to counter this attack.

Kane studied him for a long moment, then gave a single, curt nod.

"We'll be docking shortly," he said. "I expect your full cooperation."

The transmission cut off.

For a moment, the command center was deathly silent. Then, one of his senior officers, Lieutenant Brax, stepped forward cautiously.

"Governor," he said, voice low, "what are your orders?"

Valcor didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he stood, slowly pacing toward the central viewport. Outside, the Federation fleet remained unmoving, a silent predator looming over Ashen Prime.

His mind raced.

This wasn't just oversight. This was the beginning of the end, unless he did something fast.

His gaze flicked to the security feed monitors, tracking movements across the station. He could already see unusual activity. Key personnel being shifted, control nodes being accessed. It was subtle, but it was there.

They were tightening the noose.

And deep in his gut, Valcor knew: Someone on his station was already working against him. Someone had set this up.

His fingers curled into a fist.

"Krell," he muttered under his breath.

It had to be.

His most trusted second-in-command, the one man who had stood beside him for years, was the only one capable of orchestrating something like this from the inside.

Valcor's rage simmered beneath the surface, but he forced himself to think clearly.

If Krell had betrayed him, then this wasn't just about Federation oversight.

It was a coup and he quickly needed a way to deal with it, or everything will be over for him.

As Valcor maintained his forced composure, attempting to wrest back control of the station, Krell moved swiftly.

For years, the Vice-Governor had played the long game, not as a brash opportunist but as a patient architect of betrayal. He had embedded himself deep within Valcor's administration, earning trust, whispering advice, positioning himself as the right hand of power.

All the while, he had been pulling threads in the shadows, turning Valcor's closest allies against him, forging unseen alliances with the Federation, and laying the groundwork for this very moment.

Now, the noose tightened.

Across Ashen Prime, Krell's hidden operatives executed the final stage of the coup. The moves were precise, efficient. Not an invasion, but an internal collapse.

Federation security officers, secretly loyal to Krell, activated pre-planned lockdown sequences, cutting off key sectors of the station. Airlocks leading to Valcor's private docks were sealed, isolating his means of escape. His tactical command posts were similarly trapped behind security barriers.

Automated defense systems, once a last line of resistance, fell silent. Firewalls that should have protected Valcor's critical assets had already been compromised. Not by brute force, but by months of careful infiltration.

The station's internal surveillance feeds, which should have given Valcor oversight over the entire installation, were now under Krell's control. He was watching everything.

A small-scale mutiny erupted within the command structure. Valcor's most loyal officers scrambled to rally a defense, but they quickly realized the horrifying truth that they were outnumbered.

Some fought, refusing to accept the reality of the betrayal. Gunfire rang out in the corridors of Ashen Prime as security teams clashed. Brother against brother, former comrades now divided by unseen loyalties.

The resistance was fierce but brief. Valcor's loyalists were cut down, subdued, or forced to surrender.

Ashen Prime wasn't just falling. It was collapsing from within.

Valcor stood at the center of the storm, his face contorted with rage as he tried to make sense of the unraveling disaster.

"Override the lockdown," he barked, his voice sharp, commanding.

A tense silence followed.

The chief technician hesitated before speaking. His hands hovered over his console, his fingers twitching with uncertainty.

"Sir… the system has been… rerouted."

Valcor's blood ran cold.

He turned, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, rerouted?"

The technician swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Vice-Governor Krell. He… he's already cut us off from manual control."

For a long, suffocating moment, Valcor did not move.

Then, the rage hit. His vision blurred with fury.

"Krell," he spat, the name leaving his lips like poison.

It had been him all along.

The man who had stood beside him for years. The one he had trusted with command decisions, the one who had always spoken of loyalty, of unity. He had been the knife waiting to strike.

Valcor's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. But he wasn't finished yet.

"Get my personal guard," he snapped, his voice hard as iron. "We're seizing the war room."

The few elite guards who had remained loyal to him snapped to attention. Their armor was battered, their ranks diminished, but their eyes burned with the resolve of men who would rather die than betray their leader.

They stepped forward, ready to fight.

But before they could even move... The doors to the command center slid open.

And they walked in. Federation Peacekeepers

At first, the only sound was the quiet click of boots against the metal floor.

Then came the whirr of energy weapons being raised, the cold hum of containment fields activating.

The Federation peacekeepers entered in perfect formation, a column of armored enforcers, their movements precise, disciplined, inevitable. Their rifles were leveled, their helmets revealing no emotion, no hesitation.

They were already in control. The lead officer stepped forward, his stance firm, his visor reflecting the cold glow of the command center's displays. His voice was calm, measured, absolute.

"Governor Valcor."

The moment hung in the air, suffocating in its finality. Valcor's guards tensed, their hands twitching toward their weapons. One wrong move, and the room would erupt into chaos.

For the first time in his career, Valcor felt truly cornered.

Not by rebels. Not by rival politicians. But by the very system he had once thought he controlled.

His mind raced through possibilities, but there was no easy escape, no path forward that did not lead to defeat or death.

The sensor feeds flickered before him, but Valcor barely needed to look.

He already knew what he would see.

Beyond the towering windows of the command center, the full might of Admiral Kane's fleet was descending upon Ashen Prime.

One by one, warships maneuvered into docking positions, their sleek hulls gleaming under the artificial station lights. Shuttles detached from the larger cruisers, gliding toward the station like predators closing in on wounded prey.

Federation docking clamps latched onto the station's ports, securing the fleet's physical presence within Ashen Prime's infrastructure.

Valcor stood rigid, his hands balled into fists, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

His empire, his seat of power, was being absorbed into the very system he had defied.

The grim realization settled over him like a heavy weight.

For years, he had ruled this station with absolute authority, untouchable, unquestioned. He had built his power through calculated decisions, strategic alliances, and the ruthless elimination of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, in a matter of months, everything had crumbled. Drakor had lost and now he has been outmaneuvered by his own men.

His jaw tightened as he watched the last few warships dock, sealing his fate.