Port Berth Area.
Brooks walked briskly toward the berth where his mining ship was docked.
His heart was pounding fast.
But he kept reassuring himself in his mind.
It's fine. Once I board the ship, start the engines, and leave this godforsaken place, everything will be alright.
He turned a corner.
The berth was just ahead.
His starship sat quietly there, the lights on its hull still glowing, looking perfectly normal.
But the next second, his footsteps halted.
At the entrance to the berth stood several star police officers holding guns.
Their gun barrels were lowered, but their eyes were fixed on anyone approaching.
Brooks' breath caught.
He lowered his head, trying not to look at them, pretending as if nothing was wrong, and continued walking forward.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Just as he was about to pass by them—
"Halt."
A voice came from behind.
Brooks' foot paused for a moment.
But he didn't stop.
He pretended not to hear and kept walking.
"Sizzle!"
A searing laser shot past his side, landing on the metal floor less than two meters ahead of him.
The metal surface instantly burned a hole the size of a thumb, its edges glowing with a dull red molten light.
Brooks' body froze.
He slowly raised his hands.
Then turned around gradually.
A smile uglier than crying twisted onto his face.
"S-Star Police Officer, were you calling me?"
The star police officer stared at him, his gun barrel slightly raised, pointing toward the mining ship behind Brooks.
"Is this starship yours?"
Brooks' pupils contracted slightly.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't even think.
His mouth reacted before his brain could.
"No!"
His voice was loud, carrying an eagerness to distance himself.
"This isn't my starship!"
The star police officer's lips curled slightly.
That smile sent a chill down Brooks' spine.
"No starship, yet wandering around the berth…"
The star police officer dragged out his words, enunciating each syllable.
"Must be a Federation spy."
He tilted his chin toward his companion beside him.
"Arrest him."
Brooks' face instantly turned deathly pale.
"No, no, no!"
He waved his hands frantically, his voice tinged with desperate urgency.
"Star Police Officer! I remembered wrong!"
He pointed at the mining ship.
"This is my starship! I'm the captain!"
The star police officer stopped.
He turned his head, looked at Brooks, and his smile deepened.
"Oh?"
He took a step closer.
"So, you admit this is your starship?"
Brooks nodded vigorously.
The star police officer laughed.
The laughter wasn't loud, but it was piercingly sharp in the quiet berth area.
"Even better."
He waved to his companion beside him.
"Come with us."
Brooks' heart sank completely.
At that moment, he finally understood.
This was clearly aimed at him.
Crew Lounge.
The door was pushed open.
When Brooks was escorted inside, the first thing he saw was his subordinates crouching on the floor.
They were huddled in the corner, hands clasped behind their heads, faces pale, not daring to look up.
Then he saw the person standing nearby.
Arnold.
His first mate.
The person he trusted the most.
Now standing beside a star police officer, the expression on his face…
Smug.
Brooks' mind went blank for a second.
Then, all the pieces fell into place.
The sudden appearance of the star police.
Arnold's unusual behavior in the communication.
That "Captain, you should hurry back too."
Everything became clear.
His body began to tremble.
Not from fear.
But from rage.
He struggled violently, breaking free from the star police restraining him from behind, and lunged at Arnold.
"I'm your brother-in-law!"
His voice exploded in the lounge, carrying a heart-wrenching despair.
"You fucking set me up!"
But before his fist could reach Arnold, the back of his head was struck heavily.
Thud!
The rifle butt came down.
Brooks's face slammed into the ground, a metallic taste flooding his mouth.
He lay on the floor, lifting his head to glare fixedly at Arnold.
Arnold took a step back.
A flicker of unease crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that smug expression.
He glanced at the star police beside him, cleared his throat, and explained.
"Cousin-in-law."
He paused, emphasizing the word.
"Cousin."
Across the Savannah Star System, at every port and shipyard.
Similar scenes were playing out on every planet, every fortress, and every stellar ring.
Armed star police stormed into crew lounges at the ports, rounding up captains, first mates, chief engineers, and crew members.
Civilian cargo ships were forcibly requisitioned and towed into the shipyards.
Workers toiled around the clock, welding close-in defense laser cannons onto ships originally meant for hauling ore, grain, or machinery, and installing hastily manufactured torpedo launch tubes.
Long lines formed outside conscription stations.
But these weren't volunteers—they were all being marched in.
Each face bore some degree of swelling or red marks.
Veterans long discharged, middle-aged men who had only piloted civilian vessels, young graduates fresh out of technical schools—all were crammed into temporarily refitted starships.
They were issued a military uniform, handed a tube of energy paste, and told:
"You are now honorable Imperial soldiers."
In just a few days.
Two hundred thousand starships were forcibly assembled.
Their hulls were a motley assortment.
cargo ships, small passenger vessels, mining ships, tugboats, and even a few decommissioned, aging patrol boats.
Their armaments were uneven at best.
Some had freshly welded laser cannons, others had old torpedo tubes salvaged from scrapped warships, and some were equipped only with long-obsolete close-in defense machine guns mounted in hastily cut firing ports.
Combat effectiveness?
They likely couldn't match even a three-thousand-ship Duke-class Fleet.
But the numbers were there.
Two hundred thousand ships.
From a distance, they looked dense and overwhelming.
At the very least, it was enough to intimidate.
Bridge of the Eternal Night Battleship.
The adjutant stood before Rockwell, finishing the last set of figures.
"…Total requisitioned and refitted starships: over two hundred and three thousand seven hundred."
He closed the data pad and looked up.
"Report complete."
Rockwell nodded.
A faint, almost imperceptible trace of satisfaction finally appeared on his weary face.
"Pull fifty thousand ships from that number."
His voice was hoarse but still clear.
"Deploy them to replace the fleets and patrol teams in areas like Z-78, the S-22 Jump Point, and the military fortresses."
The adjutant quickly noted it down.
Rockwell continued.
"The fleets being replaced…"
He paused.
"Rapidly reinforce the L-7 and N-12 Jump Points."
The adjutant looked up, momentarily stunned.
The fleet being replaced was not like those civilian-converted military ships just making up the numbers.
While they couldn't compare in combat capability and equipment to those fully-staffed joint fleets, compared to those civilian-converted starships that had just welded a few cannons onto them,
they were more than a grade stronger.
He quickly calculated in his mind.
The original forty thousand frontline warships, plus those being replaced...
would amount to about ten thousand starships.
The true combat strength had reached fifty thousand starships.