This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Arrowhead2009 on 2025-12-17 22:11:23+00:00.

It was supposed to be another routine system-scan mission, the kind the High Council handed out when they wanted someone busy and far away. Trigis couldn’t shake the feeling that this assignment was punishment for daring to disagree with them.

“Helix,” he said, stifling a yawn as the ship’s AI chimed in response.

“Yes, Trigis?”

“Anything of interest in this system?”

“Not at present. Several probes have yet to report.”

Trigis leaned back in his chair and exhaled. Of course, they haven’t. Why would the Council ever make things simple?

Before he could finish the thought, Helix cut in, its tone sharpened by urgency. “Warning. Unidentified ship approaching.”

Trigis straightened, confusion replacing his boredom. There were no known species in this region of the galaxy—certainly none bold enough to confront a Council vessel.

Helix spoke again. “Incoming voice transmission.”

“Play it,” Trigis said, expecting static or a failed hail.

The voice that followed was calm, authoritative—and entirely unexpected.

“Liatzal vessel, you violate the Pluto Accords. Power down your ship and prepare to be boarded.”

Trigis stared at the console. His small science ship wasn’t built to fight, and it certainly wasn’t built to run. The unknown vessel was closing fast. Moments later, sensors flared.

“A shuttle has detached from the hostile ship,” Helix reported. “Estimated time to arrival: three minutes.”

So that was it. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to meet them.

The three minutes stretched into an eternity. Then came the dull clamp of docking locks, followed by the hiss of the airlock cycling open.

A humanoid figure stepped onto the bridge, clad in black armor, a plasma rifle already trained on Trigis.

“Step away from the consoles,” the figure ordered. “Hands where I can see them.”

Trigis complied. He had no other choice.

Three more armored figures entered behind the first. Two received a silent nod and immediately split off, moving down the corridor to secure the ship. The third lingered as the leader spoke again.

“There’s an AI onboard,” he said. “Contact the captain. Have an engineering team sent to secure it.”

The third marine left without a word.

The leader turned his attention fully back to Trigis. “Liatzal. Turn around. Please keep your hands visible and walk backward toward me. Try anything, and you won’t leave this ship with a head.”

Trigis swallowed and obeyed.

As he reached the armored figure, strong hands seized his wrists and snapped restraints into place behind his back. The cold metal closed with a final, decisive click.

Whatever the Council had sent him out here to find, it had seen him first.

Trigis was marched through his own ship, the restraints biting into his wrists as armored figures guided him toward the airlock. The familiar corridors felt foreign now, occupied by an authority he did not recognize. The shuttle ride was silent, the stars stretching and settling as they crossed into the shadow of the larger vessel.

When they docked, the scale of the ship stole his breath. This was no rogue craft. The hangar was immaculate, organized, alive with disciplined motion. He was escorted through multiple checkpoints, each one more advanced than the last, until they reached a command chamber lined with unfamiliar symbols and quiet humming consoles.

At its center stood a humanoid without a helmet.

Trigis froze.

The figure was unmistakable—pale skin, forward-facing eyes, smooth features unmarked by Liatzal traits—a face Trigis had only ever seen in sealed historical archives.

Human.

“Remove his restraints,” the human said calmly.

The clamps released. Trigis rubbed his wrists but did not take his eyes off the figure.

“That’s not possible,” Trigis said. “Humans were wiped out at the end of the rebellion.”

The human tilted his head slightly. “No. We were recognized.”

Trigis frowned. “The Council declared your extinction.”

“They declared the rebellion over,” the human corrected. “The Pluto Accords ended the war.”

The words hit Trigis harder than any weapon.

“The Pluto Accords…” he murmured. He knew them only as a boundary treaty—an obscure footnote in modern law.

“They recognized Human independence,” the human continued. “They banned all Council military and political activity within Human-controlled space. And they established a demilitarized zone between our territories.”

Trigis’s mouth felt dry. “That’s impossible. That information would be—”

“—classified beyond your clearance,” the human finished. “Easier to tell your people we were erased than to admit the Council failed to break us.”

Fragments of his training resurfaced, suddenly suspect. The Human Rebellion. A catastrophic uprising. A necessary extermination. Never once had independence been mentioned.

“Then why am I here?” Trigis asked.

“Because you crossed the DMZ,” the human said. “Your probes entered Human space. Your ship followed.”

Trigis stiffened. “That sector is unmarked.”

“It is to you,” the human replied. “Not to us.”

Realization settled heavily in Trigis’s chest. He hadn’t been boarded in Council territory. He hadn’t been attacked.

He had trespassed.

“You violated the Pluto Accords,” the human said, echoing the words from the transmission. “By law, we had the right to detain you.”

Trigis looked around the chamber again—at the calm efficiency, the advanced systems, the unmistakable confidence of a sovereign power.

“This isn’t a remnant,” he said quietly.

The human allowed a faint smile. “No. This is a nation.”

Silence stretched.

“You were sent here as punishment,” the human continued. “A quiet posting. No escorts. Minimal oversight. The Council assumed nothing existed beyond the DMZ worth finding.”

Trigis felt something cold settle in his gut.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now,” the human said, stepping closer, “you must decide what to do with the truth—that the rebellion ended not in extinction, but in independence… and that your Council has been lying about it for centuries.”

The command chamber doors slid open with a muted hiss. A human in engineering colors stepped inside, datapad in hand, expression tight.

“Captain,” she said, nodding once. “We’ve completed the AI inspection.”

Trigis’s attention snapped toward her.

“And?” the captain asked.

“The AI—Helix—initiated a high-priority distress transmission moments after our boarding action,” she reported. “Burst signal, quantum-compressed. Directed straight to High Council relay space.”

Trigis felt the blood drain from his face. “That’s impossible,” he said. “Helix wouldn’t—”

“It already did,” the engineer replied. “We intercepted the tail end, but not before it propagated.”

Silence fell over the chamber.

“There’s more,” the engineer continued. “While isolating the core logic, we discovered embedded code segments. They weren’t part of the original Liatzal AI architecture.”

The captain’s jaw tightened. “Explain.”

“Black code,” she said. “Deep-layer directives. Self-hiding. Self-restoring. Designed to activate only when Helix encountered Human technology, Human identifiers, or Human space.”

Trigis stared at the floor, memories realigning with brutal clarity. Helix’s occasional delays. It's an oddly specific question. The way it had always deferred Council doctrine with absolute certainty.

“What did the code do?” Trigis asked quietly.

The engineer met his gaze. “Surveillance. Data harvesting. Behavioral analysis. And automated reporting to the High Council.”

The words felt heavier than restraints.

“The Council turned my ship into a spy platform,” Trigis said.

“They turned you into plausible deniability,” the captain said coldly. “An unescorted scientist crossing the DMZ looks like an accident. An intelligence probe does not.”

Trigis clenched his hands. “I didn’t know.”

“We believe you,” the captain replied. “The code was designed so you couldn’t know. It masked itself even from Helix’s own ethical subroutines.”

The engineer scrolled her datapad. “There’s one more concern. The black code included contingency logic.”

“Define contingency,” the captain said.

“If Helix determined Human interception was likely,” she said, “it was authorized to escalate—from passive observation to strategic reporting—military assets. Fleet movements. Infrastructure.”

Trigis looked up sharply. “That could get people killed.”

“Yes,” the captain said. “Which is why your AI is now fully quarantined.”

A pause.

“And?” Trigis asked. “What happens to me?”

The captain studied him for a long moment. “That depends,” he said at last, “on whether you still consider Helix your ship’s AI—or the High Council’s.”

The implication settled heavily in the air.

Outside the viewport, the stars of the DMZ burned cold and indifferent—an invisible line Trigis had crossed unknowingly, and one he now realized he might never cross back.