Allegiance

1





July 3, 2331

Gadre System

Inner Zone



“Microjump in three, two, one, mark!” the helmsman of the Chimaera announced to the bridge crew of the warship-class jumpship before it pushed off from Gadre’s central star with limited power enroute to one of the planets in the system.

Liam sat a few stations behind him in the Admiral’s chair studying their position on a system-wide holographic map that encircled him. The dot that was the Chimaera accelerated up to speed within a pair of seconds then drifted along a straight line trajectory towards the planet tagged as Iracet. A second dot that had been coexistent with the Chimaera’s remained behind near the star, glossing over as realtime sensor tracking of its location became impossible at the speed the warship was traveling.

Within a minute the Chimaera arrived at Iracet, braking hard against the planet’s gravity well but not completely overcoming its forward momentum, exiting the jump well above low orbit and coasting inwards at a comparatively low speed, but one that would bring the massive ship down into low orbit within half an hour and slam into the planet’s surface a few minutes later if unchecked.

Five minutes after arrival the Chimaera’s sister ship jumped in behind them at a stagger. The Sebacean followed their approach vector with a slightly higher speed so that the pair of warships would rendezvous with one another again before reaching their target in low orbit.

That target appeared on Liam’s holographic map as another dot orbiting about 400 miles above the surface of the brown, grass-covered planet. Less than a minute after the Sebacean’s arrival he received updated coordinates which his map adjusted for, moving the point slightly to the right from where it had been as the Hycre transmitted the data to the Human ships.

Another hologram appeared on Liam’s right, this one of the Hycre symbol that they used in lieu of a flag. Along with it came a vocal transmission that the ship’s computer transcribed into Hycre text, then underneath which it translated the message into English as closely as it could. The program usually did well, but on occasion the Archons who could read the alien language would spot an inconsistency, which is why they’d deemed it necessary to display both the original and the translation in order to give the receiver the ability to troubleshoot any breakdowns in the translation.

Liam read the message and hit the reply button on the arm of his Admiral’s chair. “Target confirmed. We stand ready to engage and will do so upon arrival unless you have a reason for us to delay?”

A screeching reply came back in the negative, along with a promise that they’d be in position to attack prior to the Humans.

“Be aware, there will be some delay while we unload.”

The Hycre responded that they understood and would hold off their assault until they were in position.

Liam nodded satisfactorily as the dot that was the lizard orbital occupation station began breaking apart as it deployed cruisers and two larger battleships upon seeing Star Force’s arrival. The beehive grew on the hologram but stayed close to the station, waiting for the enemy to come to them.

Also on Liam’s map was the dot that marked the position of the Hycre warship in system. It was Destroyer-class, and accelerating out of its parking orbit at a rate no Star Force ship could match. The Hycre navy was far more powerful than the Humans’ and even more powerful than the lizards, but what they lacked was any type of effective ground troops, given that they lived in gas giants and were wholly incapable of surviving in a ‘normal’ environment. They did have some limited mining exoskeletons for use on rocky worlds, but nothing even remotely military.

That hadn’t been a weakness with regards to their self-defense, for the lizards were equally unable to assault the Hycre in their gas giants, and with their rival’s naval superiority the lizards got few chances to try. However, as time passed the lizards were growing more and more powerful, and while the Hycre could dominate them in space they couldn’t assault any of the lizard worlds. Yes, they had some orbital bombardment capability, but once the lizards established a suitably sized based on the ground it was next to impossible for the Hycre to root them out.

The other races that fought the lizards didn’t have much success in that department either, meaning that if they were to penetrate your orbital defenses and land on your world in sufficient numbers, then your planet was as good as doomed.

Iracet was one such instance, home to a race known as the Darlestik. 12 years ago the lizards had conquered their planet along with their inhabited moon, Kitla. Rather than annihilating the stocky bipeds they’d enslaved them in exchange for limited independence. There was speculation that this was due to the lizards not having enough available resources at the time to hunt down and destroy all of the 15 billion Darlestik on the pair of planetoids while others suggested that using them as a source of slave labor had always been their intention.

As it was, 2/3rds of Iracet was under the control of the lizards, while the other third was in contention by rebellious factions. The ‘pacified’ regions were working to supply the lizards with a massive amount of raw materials, most of which were being shipped outside the system as exports. Over the past 2 years the Hycre had been harassing those shipments and dropping aid packets to the rebels…but they hadn’t been able to dispatch a fleet large enough to take control of the system, only a ship or two at best and often only for a limited amount of time before it was needed elsewhere.

Unlike most other races the Hycre warships had gravity drives capable of jumping them from system to system without the need of a jumpship. This gave their fleet much greater deployment capability, but at the cost of speed. Though still faster than Star Force’s jumpships, the Hycre warships were slower than the lizard jumpships for the most part, with only a few specially equipped courier ships capable of outrunning the enemy.

The destroyer they had insystem had been on station for 8 months harassing the lizards in orbit as much as it could, but given their fleet strength it couldn’t assault the occupation station, which was a battle station in and of itself. The lizards had numerous bases on both Iracet and Kitla, as they had set up on Corneria, but this invasion had grown past what Star Force had seen there and the occupation station in orbit was apparently another step up the playbook as far as how they took control and subjugated one of their target worlds.

Their battleships were another addition that they hadn’t encountered at Corneria. They were considerably larger and more powerful than their cruisers and had no kirby docking points. They were also not sensor stealthed, nor was the station, suggesting that these were defensive/regular line forces rather than their expeditionary ones. About half of the cruisers weren’t stealthed either, probably because they’d been built on site after the planet had been subjugated.

There were similar occurrences happening across multiple star systems as the lizards continued to push their borders. The difference with this one was that the Darlestik rebels were fielding a legitimate counter-insurgency. They weren’t in a position to overthrow the lizards as of yet, but the lizards hadn’t been able to wipe them out despite their stronghold over the planet’s infrastructure and the developed state of their own.

The Darlestik were stronger than the lizards, hand to hand, and they also favored subterranean structures. This made them great miners, a fact which the lizards were gladly exploiting, but it also made it difficult for the Darlestik to be found and killed when they were constantly digging new tunnels. Far underground the lizards’ airpower couldn’t be brought into to play, nor could their vehicular army, meaning the only way to get at them was to go in and fight hand to hand…and the lizards had been expending millions of troops in order to do so, but after a few initial gains the ground war had morphed into a very active stalemate.

The Hycre were convinced that if they could weaken the lizards’ forces from space then the Darlestik might have a chance of mounting an effective counteroffensive…which is why they had asked Star Force for assistance, not only because they could spare only one ship to the system, but because the Humans had proven time and again how effective they were at orbital bombardment.

The Gadre System was 48 light years from Sol, located in quadrant three and well beyond the perimeter of Star Force’s territory, but with the upgraded gravity drives that they’d recently put into service it’d taken them no more than 2 months to zigzag their way across the stars from Epsilon Eridani out further rimward to the target system. This marked the furthest expedition by Star Force out into the galaxy, including their scouting expeditions. If something were to go wrong they would be getting no help from Star Force, and probably none from the Hycre either, which was one reason why Liam had insisted on sending two warships rather than one.

Both warships were about half the size of one of their cargo or carrier jumpships, designed for the soul purpose of delivering a fleet from point to point as well as acting as a control ship. Aside from the crew compartments and limited storage, the entire spine between nose cone and engine bank was made up of egg carton-like slots that held the rectangular cubes that were their drone warships.

They were stacked together tightly, maximizing their basic design to fit as many as possible within the volume dictated by the size of the nose cone and the inertial dampening field that kept them all snugly stable within the larger ship. The slots they fit into were actually docking arms that could reconfigure to hold whatever set of the giant ‘legos’ they wanted to squeeze aboard, but with these two jumpships they held mostly cruisers stacked in four rows around the thick central spine.

“Captain, take us in,” Liam said calmly, watching his displays.

“Begin braking maneuver,” Captain Leslie said from her own command chair just ahead of Liam’s. “Begin power up on all drones. Helm, coordinate with the Sebacean to keep us as close together as possible.”

To either side of the command platform in the center of the huge bridge were rows of stations containing 226 seats for an army of remote pilots. The Chimaera didn’t have them all filled, nor did they have 226 warships to control, but it had become common practice to assign more than one pilot to a warship, given the various weapon systems they contained. Computer controlled firing was useful if you were shorthanded, but Liam preferred to have each weapons battery manned by a live person, meaning that each cruiser had several pilots working as a group to fly and fight it. Some had more than others that would reposition to other ships when theirs was damaged or destroyed, meaning that the longer the battle continued the more operational control each ship would likely gain.

On the hologram Liam noticed that the lizard ships were beginning to drift out away from the station in the direction that they were incoming…as well as in the direction of the Hycre ship. All of their ally’s impressive warships took on the persona of sea creatures for some odd reason, especially given that there was no water on their gas giants. Whether or not they intended to copy the marine aesthetic Liam didn’t know, but the destroyer headed in to engage the lizard fleet definitely looked like a flat shark.

It even had fins coming out from three angles, plus two more that formed a sort of tail off the elongated aft end. The body of the ship was taller than it was wide, giving it a flat and narrow motif when viewed from the top or bottom. At the front of the ship, however, it jutted out considerably to either side, giving the ‘shark’ a bulbous head that increased the intimidation factor.

Then again, maybe Liam only thought it looked fearsome because he’d seen one of the ships in action before.

The Hycre destroyer was approaching the station at a good pace…with some fluctuations. Apparently they were trying to time their arrival to coincide with the Humans and had succeeded in dividing the guardian fleet into two groups, though the lizards didn’t let themselves get very far from the station.

The dots on Liam’s screen kept getting closer and closer until they suddenly stopped moving altogether as the Chimaera finished its deceleration in one final lurch that left it 8,000 kilometers away from the station. The Sebacean joined it a minute later, slowing to a stop some 60 kilometers away.

The Hycre destroyer did not slow down, however, until the last possible moment. Using both the planet and the moon’s gravity wells like giant tethers it yanked hard on both and ground to an almost stop 120 kilometers out from the rightmost defense fleet and drifted directly into their lines on an insanely fast strafing run. It activated its engines only twice for small course corrections as it passed into and through the lizard lines, blasting away at one of the battleships as it passed, gouging large portions of its shield matrix in the process with its white plasma streaks.

It took down the shields on two cruisers before it passed outside of weapons range, then took a solid hit to its own shields as one of the more massive plasma cannons on the station fired a well-timed shot at the shark-shaped ship. Its green plasma orb was caught and collapsed on impact, with a great deal of the plasma being diverted along the length of the ship rather than soaking it all up on the forward shields. Somehow they had the technology to choose how much to deflect and how much to absorb, but that was one secret they hadn’t included in the introductionary probe’s database…and it wasn’t something they’d shared since either.

As forthcoming as they’d been about many technological matters, the Hycre had been mum on their more impressive naval technology. That was to be expected, despite the close working relationship they had established with Star Force, given that their naval power was their sole point of power. That said, while the Humans’ tech was inferior in comparison the Hycre had noted on several occasions how impressed they were with Star Force’s rate of advancement.

When Paul had then let them in on the creation of a new weapon that could penetrate even the Hycre shields they began to forcefully inquire where they had obtained such technology, but the Archon had quietly and politely refused all such attempts to ferret out their source, citing that they also had secrets to keep.

If there had initially been a few ruffled mohawks over the revelation they passed after Paul had let them participate in a weapons testing exercise, during which both races exchanged data and defensive technology. They gave Paul the specs on a stronger physical shield than Star Force currently had, though nowhere near as powerful as those used by their warships, while Paul showed them the basics of how to create an energy shield, also more primitive than those deployed on Star Force’s warships in conjunction with their physical shields.

With that gifting the Hycre then had the ability to block Star Force’s new weapon…or at least dampen it somewhat, making both fleets stronger for the exchange. Lizard ships, they knew, only operated with physical shields, which was why their heavy lachar technology had been able to partially penetrate them. The new energy weapon, designated as the ‘Cleansing Beam’ in yet another homage to Halo, was a pure energy weapon and thus impervious to the blocking power of physical shields.

They were extremely expensive to make, power hungry, and didn’t like to be jostled…which meant the smallest ship on which the smallest version of the weapon was currently fielded was a heavy cruiser.

That said, those heavy cruisers were more than a match for the lizard cruisers. The trailblazers had been right in predicting that if they could survive against the lizards long enough that their rate of technological advancement, thanks to the V’kit’no’sat database, would close the gap. While it was true the lizards still held many advantages over Star Force they were no longer as great, and in some areas there had been a reversal of fortunes, with the Humans now the stronger. Overall the lizards still had a technological edge, but it was dwindling with every decade that passed…yet their territory was continuing to expand and the more systems they occupied/annexed the stronger they became.

Which was why the Hycre had been so animated about the need for this counterstrike. The Humans had been the only race in recent memory to have thrown the lizards off a world where they had successfully grounded and established a surface base. Word of this, spread to other enemies of the lizards by the Hycre, had instigated a more determined resistance to their previously indomitable advance and now they wanted to use the Humans’ skills for more than just defensive applications.

Because of Star Force’s ability to effectively resist the lizards, and their newfound popularity amongst usually disparate races on the lizards’ hit list, the Hycre had virtually adopted the Humans as an apprentice race, protecting and teaching them in the hopes that they would grow into a powerful ally capable of one day pushing back against their common enemy.

This mission was the first piece of that extremely complicated puzzle…and the first time the Hycre had ever asked for their assistance.

“We’re in position,” Captain Leslie said, waiting for the final go order.

“Detach,” Liam said without hesitation, glancing to the side to catch the attention of the Chimaera’s comm officer. “Inform the Sebacean to do likewise.”





2





Up and down along the central 4 kilometer stretch of the Chimaera’s hull drone cruisers began undocking in staggered sets, pulling away from the spine and filling the space around the jumpship. In the rearmost portion destroyers and heavy cruisers followed until all 64 warships had detached, leaving the Chimaera looking like the skeleton of a dead fish with nothing but thin ribs sticking out along its central spine connecting the nose cone to the engine compartment.

Likewise the Sebacean was disgorging its 72 warships, which included smaller cutters, frigates, and corvettes in some cases. Both ships had equal hauling space, it was just a matter of stuffing the slots full with as many of the cube-like ships as they could. It had jokingly been said amongst the fleet that in order to gain command of a warship-class jumpship a Captain had to have a high proficiency in Tetris.

“All ships are away,” Leslie confirmed from her bridge station. “Ship’s weapons on standby.”

“Let’s hope we don’t need them,” Liam commented as he stood up and hit a button on his command chair’s armrest. The seat broke apart into segments and disappeared into compartments underneath the floor while a podium rose up in front of him, converting his Admiral’s chair into a command nexus from which he assumed control of both fleets from the pair of Captains.

Along with the icons for their 136 drone ships he also had larger ones for both jumpships, which were armed to the teeth for defensive purposes. They also had some long range weaponry up front for use in limited offensive operations but for the most part the huge ships were designed to be mobile command and repair posts that doubled as a control ship in lieu of a battleship that they hadn’t brought with them. The triangular design of those ships made them volume hogs for transport, which was why the drone ‘bricks’ were the only warship designs incorporated into this attack fleet.

The two lizard fleets combined had 2 battleships and 18 cruisers…numbers that heavily favored Star Force even if they didn’t have Hycre support. That said, the lizards weren’t coming out after them, preferring to stay within weapons range of their station.

That was a smart play, because the station had a considerable amount of weaponry and if they intended to do as much damage to the attackers as possible they needed it involved in the battle…which is exactly why Liam held his fleet back outside of its plasma range.

With a flurry of key strokes he sent out orders to the pilots of the various ships, reforming them into a large, flat plane that stood vertically facing the station. Along the center he had the 8 heavy cruisers clustered together with the mass of cruisers surrounding them, then the smaller support ships scattered around the edges. When they were all in position he ordered the heavy cruisers to open fire.

8 dull white streaks shot out from the Human fleet and hit three separate lizard cruisers at the front of their lines, penetrating their shields with minimal disruption and burning into their hull plates with a violent white light. The beams lasted nearly a full second, with the relative motion between the ships causing the cleansing beams to drift on the lizard cruisers’ hulls tearing deep gashes into them, one of which crossed over an anti-air battery, destroying it immediately on contact.

Liam gave the heavy cruisers orders to hold position and fire at will, with more beams shooting out, but looking far less intense than they really were. The original design they’d pulled from the obsolete tech in the V’kit’no’sat database was for an invisible beam, given that it was pure energy and not energized particles that would glow on transit. Like a laser, the cleansing beam technology would only appear visually when it hit something. Paul had insisted on a minor design alteration to add the ‘tracer’ glow to the weapon discharge so one could visually track the weapons fire…as well as making it look more like the Halo version.

Liam agreed that invisible energy weapons didn’t set well with him either. There were ways to detect them, but that technology was so far beyond Star Force’s current understanding that it could take well over a millennia before they even scratched the surface of being able to replicate the designs. For the time being they were going to stick with tracer elements for their own weapons and make do against their opponents. Nearly all of the neighboring races happened to favor bright plasma weapons, with only a few utilizing lasers or laser variants, like their own lachars.

Though he knew they’d run up against one someday, the idea of a sensor stealthed ship firing off untraceable energy weapons was a recurring nightmare for the Archons, because energy weapon impacts didn’t behave ballistically and therefore their line of attack couldn’t be traced back to its source like, say, a rail gun slug could. Analyze the impact data, regardless of whether you detected it upon approach or not, and you could guestimate the route it came in by…but with energy weapons, they just heated a point on the hull to destruction, making it impossible to know where they were coming from within a given hemisphere.

Liam knew that attack technique could be turned around and used in Star Force’s favor, but for the time being they didn’t have any stealth assault ships and didn’t plan to. Paul, Roger, and Liam had mutually agreed that their fleet design was going to be open contact…meaning all offenses and defenses would be based around the enemy being able to track your position.

See, be heard, and ready to throw down at a moment’s notice…much as Star Force’s political strategy had been back in Sol from the beginning when they made their military program public knowledge.

Liam preferred it that way, knowing that they’d earn more respect, trust, and fear by being bold rather than sneaking around in the shadows. That was best left to reconnaissance ships, not line warships who needed to tailor every aspect of their hull design to maximize combat efficiency rather than minimize signal traces.

The lizards didn’t wait long to respond. As soon as the second salvo fired off they began to retreat back towards the station while the Hycre destroyer continued to make strafing runs in and out of the second fleet formation, frustrating the other lizard ships by its superior maneuverability and speed. Already three of their cruisers were damaged and the battleship was showing significant shield loss.

Liam typed out an order for all their attack ships to begin creeping forward in formation while the heavy cruisers continued to fire. As the lizards moved out of effective targeting range some of the beams missed while others scorched their hull having become slightly more diffuse, but the main problem was keeping the dot on their hulls in the same place in order to burn all the way through. That said, they continued to rack up at least some damage until all the lizard ships in the nearer fleet turned and ran back over to join the other, hoping to ambush the destroyer and knock it out of the battle before the Humans got any closer.

Easy, Liam thought to himself. They know what they’re doing.

He kept their formation moving forward, eventually drawing some extremely long range plasma fire from the station. The defense cannons on it were more powerful than those they’d encountered on the lizard jumpship, but no matter how well their plasma held together after leaving their weapons batteries it still diffused over distance, sucking the energy out of it before it hit the first cruiser.

More cloud than orb at this point, the first of the station’s shots to hit washed over one of the blocky warships, partially draining its shields but not penetrating or collapsing them. Liam pulled a sensor focus on the incoming plasma, which was coming in repetitive waves from at least 3 batteries, maybe 4, Liam couldn’t be sure at this range. Based off of visuals alone he guessed and drew a line across his map where it appeared the plasma was losing the bulk of its cohesiveness, then confirmed his estimates with sensor data being reflected back by the orbs…which actually suggested they were weaker than they looked.

Liam moved the line up a bit, then transmitted it out to his fleet for them to move up to. His own ships would be well outside of their plasma range, but the heavy cruisers would be able to tear into the station with their cleansing beams along with the heavy lachars scattered throughout the rest of the fleet. They weren’t nearly as powerful, but had far greater range than any of the plasma weapons in play, including those of the Hycre.

“Your move,” he whispered as his ships got into position and began hammering away at the station. More plasma started coming in from another pair of batteries, but most of it wasn’t strong enough to penetrate any of their shields, even with repetitive hits…and a great deal of it was going by their formation in clean misses.

Meanwhile the two lizard fleets merged into one awaiting the return of the destroyer which wisely slowed down its approach and angled off to the right, pulling a lazy curve that even the lizards could follow and headed off towards the Human fleet, pulling its pursuit with it.

Liam smiled, wondering if the lizards were being uncharacteristically stupid or if they didn’t yet comprehend how strong the Star Force fleet was. Either way they were coming straight at them, and about to get owned.

As he watched them accelerate to try and catch up with the destroyer, which was only going as fast as it needed to stay ahead of them, Liam suddenly got a sinking feeling in his stomach, which was confirmed by the speed indicators on the lizards which were gradually ticking up higher and higher.

“They’re going for an overshoot,” he warned the bridge crew as he typed out new orders to the fleet. “Prime defenses and fire as soon as they come within range…just make sure you don’t accidentally hit any of our own ships in the backdrop.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie acknowledged, then started barking out orders to the Chimaera’s crew.

All of the Human ships in formation began reversing course, but thanks to their unique design they didn’t have to turn around to do it. Using their forward facing engines they accelerated to negate part of the lizards’ already accumulated momentum as they opened fire, first with the cleansing beams and lachars, then with their plasma as the lizard cruisers shot through the gaps in their formation.

A hail of blue spheres shot out from the Star Force ships, blanketing the lizards and knocking down half of the ships’ shields and doing some light hull damage before they blew past. The pair of battleships, curiously, had broken off and returned to the station. Liam hadn’t noticed when, but that made it abundantly clear that they were trying to make a run at the jumpships, probably knowing by now that they were controlling the fleet, and if they knocked out their transmitters they’d still have a chance of winning this fight.

A few moments later the computer tagged the deceleration profiles of the incoming 18 cruisers, all of which were heading towards the Chimaera.

Make that 17…the Hycre destroyer had just taken out one of them and was slugging it out with two more at close range as the others continued to decelerate up to the jumpship, intent on making a slow flyby as they blasted away at the ship’s shields, which were considerably weaker than Liam would have liked. Their shield technology had improved greatly over the decades but it was still weaker than that of the lizards, and the jumpship’s shields were weaker still due to the power requirements to generate a barrier large enough to surround the massive ship.

“Permission to dip into our fuel reserves?” Leslie asked.

“You’ve got 5 minutes worth to work with, no more,” Liam said, knowing that while they needed to defend the ship they also needed enough fuel left to return home…which was several jumps away, which meant several accelerations and decelerations, each of which burned a massive amount of energy that had to be generated and stored in capacitors for such a quick release. Those capacitors were nearly full again, despite the microjump, and Captain Leslie was about to dip into them for the second time.

On Liam’s monitor the shield strength for the Chimaera started ticking up, gaining about 10% every 1.5 seconds as the capacitors poured energy into the hundreds of shield emitters spread across the ship, which then took that power and transformed it into more of the thin energy matrix already spread around the jumpship. That energy matrix progressively thickened the as the seconds went by until the first green plasma orb was fired off from the approaching cruisers and hit diffusely across the forward shields, draining them of some of their energy as the plasma canceled out against the matrix.

The sudden boost to shield strength ended as the capacitors shut down, despite still holding a significant amount of power. The 5 minutes Liam had instructed the Captain to use was the amount of power created by running the power cores at 100% for 5 minutes, which was less than a full capacitor charge. That said, given the shield strength currently deployed, it was going to take a lot of hits to get through.

Unfortunately the lizards had a lot of hits to give. As the cruisers came up to pointblank range and flew along the length of the ship they pounded every cannon they had into the upper shield, swarming over it with a cascade of green plasma going down and a lesser amount of blue plasma coming back up as the Chimaera’s own defense cannons targeted the attacking ships. Unlike the old model weapons, Star Force’s new plasma cannons were able to concentrate and contain their plasma into a brief orb before it diffused, not unlike the lizards’ weapons, which Star Force had extensively studied and copied into part of their design.

Their plasma cannons were still inferior to the lizards’, but not by a lot. Two of the already shieldless lizard ships were destroyed on their first pass over the jumpship by concentrated firepower as the Captain tagged the weaker ones for the ship’s gunners to pick on. Nevertheless three sections of the Chimaera’s upper shield went down after the first pass, leaving the hull of the ship exposed.

The lizards didn’t hesitate to pull a 180 and come back over for another attack, hammering away at the ship’s plasma cannons and the portion of the shield that was still covering the main transmitter. One by one the icons on the jumpship holo displayed before Liam began to wink out, meaning less and less defensive options for the jumpship, though the lizards did lose another cruiser to the mass of plasma fire coming up at them before they created a semi-safe zone around the transmitter that made it hard for the surrounding cannons to depress far enough to target them.

They got that section of shield down just as the Hycre destroyer made a slow strafing run over their position, careful to shoot down at the enemy ships without missing and hitting the Human jumpship. The lizards ignored it and hammered away at the transmitter, knocking it out just before the smaller Star Force ships made it back and dove into the engagement.

It didn’t last long. By the time the trailing heavy cruisers arrived the 18 lizard warships were nothing more than debris…as was the Chimaera’s main transmitter, though most of it was still attached to the ship. Fortunately it wasn’t the only transmitter on the warship, but by losing it Liam had lost his ability for longer range control of his fleet, such as from one side of the star system to another. Fortunately even the backup transmitters had enough power to reach across planetary orbit, so this mission wouldn’t be affected, but once again the lizards had found a way to cause more trouble than Star Force expected them to, even if they hadn’t been able to deny them their objective.

The hologram of the Hycre symbol appeared again as an incoming transmission was translated into text.

STATUS OF SHIP DAMAGE?

“We’ve lost one of our transmitters and some weapon batteries, but we’re still operational,” Liam replied. “We’ll hit the station and their battleships as soon as we get our fleet back in range.”

WE WILL ASSIST.

Liam typed away at his podium inside the holographic nexus, reforming his fleet back into its vertical plane formation then advanced it towards the station, targeting it again with the heavy cruisers and their cleansing beams while staying out of effective plasma range. Once they’d racked up a significant amount of damage to the station the two battleships turned and fled the engagement, heading back down towards the planet’s surface.

“Damn it,” Liam swore, typing in pursuit orders then jabbing the transmit button for a line to the Hycre. “Stop them.”

He needn’t have bothered. By the time he transmitted his message the Hycre destroyer was already accelerating out ahead of the Star Force fleet and gaining ground on the battleships, which then split as they saw it was incoming. It pursued the one going to the right and intercepted it just before it reached the atmosphere and started to exchange green and white plasma between the ships with the first wisps of the planet’s air starting to drag on their shields as they were both headed on a trajectory almost straight down to the surface.

The battleship’s shields went down first, with the torrent of air flowing in and causing a portion of the hull to glow from the friction of descent, but the ship kept on fighting all the way down, finally punching through the destroyer’s forward shield that was also being stressed by the atmospheric friction. It stayed with the battleship until it had torn a huge hole in its hull, then it finally broke off and angled away into a long braking maneuver as it fought the planet’s gravity.

The more massive battleship wasn’t so fortunate. As it attempted to slow its own descent one of its gravity drives overloaded from the damage the Hycre had done to the ship and exploded, knocking out another small chunk of the ship and leaving it with less propulsive force than necessary to overcome gravity in the little time it had left.

The lizards tried to angle away as the destroyer had, but only managed to avert their head on collision with the planet by turning the impact into a long, scraping crash across the flat landscape. The underside dragged on the ground, digging out a deep furrow until the friction was too much and the ship’s nose caught and flipped the entire battleship head over heels, breaking it apart when the aft end smacked down in a shower of ship chunks that went twisting and twirling in all directions, plowing out smaller furrows of their own.

Liam monitored the impact site, noting the fact that there were at least 3 Darlestik cities in the area and doubting it could have missed all of them.

Meanwhile the second battleship got away, dipping into the planet’s atmosphere in a more controlled fashion and heading down to one of their surface bases and taking refuge beneath its shields. Liam tracked its position, noting that the lizard base was far larger than any they’d been able to establish on Corneria.

One thing at a time, he reminded himself, turning his attention back to the station that his ships were thoroughly chewing apart from range. He could have ordered them closer to finish it off faster, but he also knew they’d probably take some damage in the process which would limit his offensive capability for later. That meant his best bet was to take this slow and knock the station out from a distance, no matter how long it took.

Liam tweaked their lines and maneuvered a few of their ships around the perimeter to target backside weaponry, but otherwise he just stood and watched the station go down piece by tiny piece as the Hycre destroyer limped up out of the atmosphere and rejoined the Human fleet.





3





July 4, 2331

Gadre System

Iracet



Liam watched as the first rail gun rounds began to pass through gaps forming in the shields of the lizards’ largest base on Iracet…though ‘base’ was a misnomer, for this one had grown to the size of a city and had a shield both larger and stronger than any they’d encountered on Corneria. Fortunately the fleet that Star Force had sent had more than enough rail-gun equipped warships to deal with it.

Ammunition was limited in this assault, however. While the warships could refuel, repair, and reload at the jumpships there was only so many surplus rail gun rounds in storage and once they ran out their assault would come to an end…and there were far too many lizard bases on the planet to take them all out. With the increased shield strength they were showing compared to previous estimates, Liam was having to scale back their expectations considerably.

Taking out the largest base was the first priority, just to give the lizards and the Darlestiks the message that there was nowhere on the surface safe from Star Force’s orbital firepower. Hopefully that message, being delivered now in a horrific display of wanton damage as the lizards’ shields finally collapsed and all of the lethal rain began to get through, would inspire Iracet’s native population to greater rebellion, killing the myth of the lizards’ unchallengeable dominance, at least locally.

As Liam monitored the shattering buildings below he was simultaneously searching out their next target, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to get even a third of them all. He was currently torn between hitting those bases on the edge of the Darlestik contention zone and from trying to clear their inhabited moon of all lizard bases. He thought they had enough ammunition to do the latter, but most of the ongoing rebellion was occurring on the planet. The lizards didn’t have many bases on the moon because it had been mostly pacified, so if he cleared out those installations he wasn’t sure if there would be enough of a rebel presence to overthrow the scraps.

There was a lot he didn’t know about the situation. Star Force only had limited data provided by the Hycre to work with, which included a translation program but one that they hadn’t been able to dig into very deep on their own to verify. As it was, Liam didn’t have any Darlestik contacts on the planet to even talk to, let alone strategize with.

Which made this mission what he considered to be a ‘blind op.’ By that he meant that the help they were giving the Darlestik would be occurring without the natives’ knowledge. Obviously they would see the lizard city/base being wiped out, but how much communication those near the destruction had with those on other portions on the planet was unknown. It was possible that the rebels might not hear about it for some time and miss the opportunity for a quick counterstrike.

A planet was a huge place and without communications infrastructure one side of the world wouldn’t have a clue what was happening on the other. How much communications capability the Darlestik retained Liam didn’t know, but he doubted the lizards would have willingly left them much.

That question suggested a third possible plan of action…hitting bases in as widespread a pattern as possible, hoping to maximize eyes on target to spread the word. But was breaking the psychological stranglehold the lizards had on the Darlestiks the main objective, or was it breaking up the lizards’ infrastructure and supply lines?

Even still, should Liam call off the assault going on now after the shield generator was destroyed, which it just had been a few seconds ago with a beautiful centerline shot that gutted the tower in explosive fashion, and save ammunition to take down the defenses on more bases? Was it necessary to obliterate this base to send a message or was more widespread destruction the way to go?

Liam was leaning towards obliteration, but at the moment there were numerous contacts moving away from the doomed base, scattering in all directions now that they couldn’t hide underneath the shield…one of which was quite large and quickly gaining speed as it flew at low altitude across the landscape.

The Hycre hologram appeared and a pithy screechy transmission played out, along with the translation.

PAUSE ATTACK TO LET US PURSUE.

Liam frowned for a second, then realized that the angle that the battleship was escaping at put it directly opposite the base from the low orbit where the Hycre destroyer was waiting, meaning that a straight line pursuit course would bring it directly under the orbital bombardment.

Liam tapped a pair of buttons and all rail gun fire from his fleet ceased.

“You’re clear. Go get them,” he said, noticing that the destroyer had already begun its rapid descent. Even damaged it was far faster than any ship Star Force possessed, especially in atmosphere. He didn’t fully understand the shield modifications that let them cut through the air so rapidly, but given that their home environment was the high pressure atmosphere of gas giants he figured that technologically speaking the thinner atmosphere below them didn’t provide that big of a maneuvering challenge.

How the Hycre planned to take out the battleship with part of their forward weaponry destroyed was a mystery to Liam…but also something he was keenly interested in observing. The Chimaera was receiving a copy of the Hycre’s sensor data, both of the battleship it was pursuing and of the surface area of the planet that it was passing over. Both were far more detailed than what Liam had available from his own fleet, including the images of the damaged lizard base as the destroyer flew across it in hot pursuit of the fleeing warship.

“Map those images,” Liam told Captain Leslie, “and get revised targeting data out to the warships. I don’t want to waste a single round of ammunition by random firing if we don’t have to.”

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged, relaying more specific orders to the bridge crew.

Liam left her to it as he watched the Hycre chase down the battleship…which was apparently trying to leapfrog across to another lizard base and take refuge there. When it was about halfway across the gap and discovered that it wasn’t going to be able to make it before the Hycre caught up it wheeled about and gained a few kilometers of altitude, intending to fight it out there.

The smaller Hycre destroyer didn’t hesitate or veer off course. It headed straight in, executing a hard braking maneuver and opened fire on the battleship as soon as it was in range, sending two long streaks of bright white plasma out towards the battleship as dozens of green plasma orbs were sent back in reply. The destroyer cut off its braking maneuver early, causing it to shoot ahead from where the lizard gunners expected it to be and making most of the enemy plasma overshoot.

The Hycre got off another hit before the destroyer flashed by at fairly close range then executed a long sweeping turn, taking it well away from the battleship with enough lateral momentum that the lizard gunners couldn’t track the ship until it came back at them straight on from the port flank, firing off another pair of streaks.

Then it held course, firing off a second salvo as it took hits of its own on its forward shield and top ‘fin’ on the shark-like design. That second pair of plasma lances broke through the battleship’s port shields and kissed the hull with minor damage…then the destroyer hit the brakes something fierce and came to a stop less than 1 kilometer away from ramming the larger ship. With its nose pointing straight into the side of the battleship the Hycre began blasting away with not two, but four plasma cannons that were now in range thanks to the wider profile of the target.

In addition smaller weapons on the ‘shark’ opened fire, adding damage to the unshielded hull as several pointblank green plasma orbs pummeled the destroyer’s shields. The two warships literally slugged it out like a boxing match until the destroyer took a hit on its port side and pulled up, accelerating over the battleship and away, firing its aft plasma weapons as it left and adding to the horrific gash in the enemy ship’s port side.

The battleship’s starboard weaponry hammered the destroyer for a few seconds as it fled, getting another hit through the gap in its shields but it didn’t take the ship down as most of the hits were absorbed by the ‘tail’ shields. The Hycre flew off on another long sweeping turn, pausing at extreme distance until their downed shields regenerated. Seeing the writing on the wall the heavily damaged battleship turned and began to accelerate towards the nearest lizard base, putting its still shielded starboard side in direct line with the Hycre.

To their credit the Hycre waited, pacing the battleship until their shields regained a measure of strength, then hit the lizards again before they could get within firing range of the defense towers at the lizard base. Instead of hitting the flank the battleship offered them, the Hycre flew around the aft arc at distance and came back in on their port side for another strafing run, landing two white streaks into the gaping hull breach.

Apparently the Hycre gunners weren’t just lashing out randomly at the enemy hull, because with the additional hits the front of the elongated battleship dipped down, falling underneath the rest of the ship and dragging it towards the surface. The lizards increased power to their aft gravity drives and the descent slowed to a stop, but the ship was hanging in midair, nose down, putting its aft conventional engines at the wrong angle to propel it on towards the base. In fact, it couldn’t fly in any direction other than straight down on those engines, making it a sitting duck for the Hycre destroyer to finish off.

Executing the only option it had, the battleship ran their remaining gravity drives to full power and began to lift the ship higher up into the atmosphere as the Hycre came around for another attack run and put two more shots into the hull, blasting out small pieces of the ship as it continued to rise up.

Before the destroyer could come around again the lizards shut off their gravity drives completely and let the ship fall towards the surface, using maneuvering engines to tip the nose progressively to the side, bringing its orientation parallel to the ground about halfway down. Once it passed that point and began to tip up the lizards kicked in their conventional engines and began to fly sideways, with every degree of angle added to their orientation adding more thrust to counteract gravity’s pull.

Liam watched the tracking data, mentally estimating their curve and not seeing how they were going to pull out of the dive in time. They did manage to get their nose to sky, but the speed they were dropping by was too great for their engines to counteract…then it dawned on him what they were trying.

Suddenly the tracking numbers shifted and the ship began to decelerate much faster…meaning the lizards were reactivating their gravity drives now that the ship had its nose up in the air instead of underneath them. This caused the ‘heavy’ top section to tip to the side, which the lizard thrusters tried to counteract.

They only slowed the tip over, but it was enough. The downward momentum was completely stalled out 4 kilometers above the surface and began to reverse. As it did they cut off the gravity drives and relied on the conventional engines only as the ship teetered to the side, gaining lateral momentum but losing altitude again as the thrust was angled to compensate for the ship’s center of gravity.

It all bottomed out at 1.5 kilometers above the surface, then the battleship ungainly limped up into the sky like a rocket and began to slowly fly towards the lizard base nose up and throwing out a massive amount of thrust to compensate, unable to use the gravity drives due to the angle of the ship.

The Hycre watched its tug of war with gravity, waiting to see if it would hit the ground. When it pulled out of the maneuver and began once again traveling toward its destination the destroyer came at it again making a series of several strafing runs, cutting into the vulnerable side of the ship until its conventional engines took a hit, dooming the lizards.

The battleship sank to the ground, hitting a Darlestik city while still maintaining partial thrust, blowing apart several buildings before it landed aft end down. The ship visibly crunched from the impact, then the top portion tipped over and flattened dozens of structures, killing who knew how many natives and lizards within the city.

The Hycre did a flyby, receiving no return fire, then angled their ship nose to sky and headed back up to orbit.

“Well done,” Liam whispered, belatedly signaling his fleet to resume bombardment of the primary lizard base. One on one, based on blueprints alone, the lizard battleship should have had a slight edge on the Hycre destroyer…but apparently they were as good tacticians as they were shipbuilders. Having stronger ships was important, but knowing how to use them was key, and it seemed the Hycre had both aspects covered.

They were definitely living up to their reputation of naval superiority.

Liam turned his attention back to the lizard base, seeing that Leslie had also sent his terminal the updated map of targets. After a quick glance at what they’d already destroyed he began tagging certain areas for additional hits and others as ‘clear’ zones, indicating that they didn’t require any more rounds fired. While it was impossible to precisely hit targets with unguided projectiles from orbit, Star Force had gotten good enough at the practice that he was confident that they could target specific areas of the city reliably, so he started to conserve ammunition while insuring that the base/city was thoroughly busted up.

Less than half an hour after the assault began Liam called a final halt to the bombardment, taking a few more minutes to survey the damage before ordering the fleet to redeploy to another location on the planet’s surface. Kitla, the planet’s moon, would have to wait. The active rebels on Iracet needed their assistance the most, not only in wiping out more lizard bases along the border of the rebellious areas, but in hitting the bases supplying the personnel, vehicles, and aircraft being used to try and subdue those areas.

The information the Hycre had given them included detailed maps and estimates of military production of all the lizard bases, dated as of 6 months ago. The destroyer had offered some updates upon arrival, but there were still three major centers of industry that Liam decided needed to go and it looked like his fleet had enough ammo remaining to take out one of them before heading back to the jumpships to reload.

Meanwhile 7 of the Star Force warships were already docked with the pair of jumpships and undergoing moderate repairs from the naval battle with the lizards. The large ships didn’t have full shipyard capability, but they had enough repair services to replace hull armor and swap out damaged components for spares they kept in storage, such as weapon batteries and shield emitters.

Once those ships were patched up they and their rail guns would be added to the rest of the fleet, and Liam intended to use every last rail gun round they had against the lizards before they left the system, hoping that whatever damage they managed to do would be enough to give the Darlestik enough of an advantage to survive.





4





September 13, 2331

Epsilon Eridani System

Inner Zone



The Chimaera braked hard against the Epsilon Eridani’s center star, ending the last leg of their return journey from Gadre without incident and with 11% fuel remaining. As soon as they slowed down their tracking data was immediately updated by the system’s navigation grid, relaying the position of all ships and stations with only a few minutes of signal lag.

The Sirius jumpline defense station was right where it should be…off to the side and monitoring all incoming and outgoing traffic. Next to it were two dozen or so drone warships ready to respond to any uninvited guests, a pair of SRs to deal with emergencies, and a halo of sensor stations surrounding the jumpline, but not on it. Even when a sensor stealthed ship like the lizards used jumped into a system there was enough of a high frequency reflection, or ‘jump flash,’ that could be detected moments before the ship arrived.

With the jumpship acting as a plow against the radiation coming out from the star, it would push the light back in towards the system with such a high doppler shift that the signal frequency shot well above gamma rays, giving the telltale sign of an incoming vessel even if it was only a minuscule amount of radiation being reflected.

That momentary warning was critical, however, for navigational purposes…and in fact all Star Force jumpships intentionally sent out an intense signal ahead of them starting at least an hour before arrival in order to alert the sensor beacons to their arrival point and trajectory, that way they could have at least a few minutes warning to clear the jumpline to avoid a potential collision. As it was, once a jumpship made the jump out of a system they had to veer to the ‘right’ and travel several hundred thousand kilometers off the jumpline to keep from potentially running into another jumpship coming the opposite way…then scoot back over onto the line for deceleration at the target system.

Granted, space was huge and collisions were extremely unlikely, but the more accurate a ship was able to hold to a jumpline the greater the chance of another doing the same and running into each other, hence the new travel protocols, which also included a weaker signal being transmitted continuously during a jump so that an opposite traveling jumpship could mark another’s position and move to avert an upcoming collision, again, moving to the ‘right’ as far as the galactic plane was concerned.

Trouble was, not all races observed the same protocols, though the Hycre had agreed to follow Star Force procedure when traveling through one of their 17 systems.

“Welcome back, Chimaera,” a voice sounded over the comm from the ‘jump station.’

“Thank you,” Liam answered back as the comm officer shunted the communication over to him as had become standard protocol when entering a system. “Any activity while we were gone?”

“Nope. All quiet here. Ship status?”

“We’re in the green.”

“Is the Sebacean behind you?”

“Should be an hour back.”

“No warnings or updates to deliver today, so you’re clear to proceed.”

“Thank you,” Liam said, ending the brief protocol conversation. “Captain, set course for Corneria. Moderate speed.”

Leslie nodded and began conversing with the helmsman as Liam accessed the insystem communications grid and logged a request for repair work on the damaged warships that both the Chimaera and Sebacean were bringing back with them. After waiting through several minutes of signal lag he received response, indicating that they should be taken to the A4 shipyard.

“Helm, how are we poised for a course correction?”

The man in the station in front of both Liam and the Captain swung around in his chair. “We’re currently trolling into a slingshot trajectory around the star enroute to Arrakis, but we can move into a lower orbit and redirect if necessary.”

“Keep the leg to Arcadia, then divert to Optimus,” Liam said, glancing at his own navigational holo.

“Shipyards?” Leslie guessed.

Liam nodded.

“They’re ahead of schedule,” she commented.

“That, or they’re partially operational. I’m just glad there were some slips already open.”

“Will you be staying onboard for the duration?”

“No…in fact I’ll bail out at Arrakis. What’s our eta?”

“8 hours, 34 minutes,” the helmsman offered.

Liam turned to the Captain. “The bridge is yours. I’m going to get one last workout in before I jump ship.”



When the Chimaera decelerated against Arrakis’s gravity well it pushed a bit on the star’s gravity to move it into an orbit around the desert planet using differentiated gravity drives. It was another step up the tech ladder, which allowed the gravity drive to focus on a single gravitational vector…meaning it could push against a planet or star to the exclusion of all other gravity wells present. With the jumpship containing multiple gravity drives one could then push against the star for some lateral movement while the others braked against the center of Arrakis, slowing the ship and neatly settling into orbit without having to use its thrust-based, fuel sucking engines.

Once it was tucked into orbit a shuttle was sent over from the planet’s one and only starport to pick up Liam, then the jumpship waited until its orbital progression put it on the jumpline between Arrakis and Optimus. Once there it made a microjump, traveling from the innermost planet in the system to the 2nd and cutting back close to the star to do it. It certainly wasn’t the shortest route to the shipyard but it was the fastest, given that a jumpship obtained ‘traction’ from pushing off between gravity wells rather than ‘normal’ propulsion. The arrival point into the system hadn’t been near any of the planets, leaving the jumpship a bit ‘adrift’ until it had gotten to Arrakis.

The jumpship had purposefully maintained a bit of their forward momentum when coming out of the jump so that they were slowly falling into the star, then the helmsman had used all of their gravity drives to push off of Corneria, which was situated behind them and to the left, to move them laterally over the course of several hours and into the slingshot orbit the jumpship had just come out of.

Ironically, the subsequent trip from Arrakis to Optimus would take less than 10 minutes, thanks to the direct line of flight between the planets.

Liam’s shuttle brought him back to the starport where he waited 2 hours before boarding an inter-planetary starship that flew him and a few other personnel out to Corneria using its own, smaller gravity drives. That route was actually a 2 leg trip, bouncing off the 6th planet in the system, a gas giant, and back in to Corneria, all of which took them 6 hours.

The starship braked early coming into the planet to avoid the infrastructure in low orbit. In addition to all the Star Force stations there were now 7 Canderian sedas and a scattering of Russian facilities servicing their large colony on the surface. Three of their warships, equipped with downgraded versions of Star Force plasma cannons, held close by for security reasons despite the fact that the entire system was full of warships far more powerful than the 2 cutters and corvette. Still, Liam appreciated their attitude and commitment to self-defense instead of leaving their security entirely up to Star Force.

They weren’t the only nation that had been given colonization rights within the system. Brazil also had been given a small stake on Corneria seven years previously, which was still in the early stages of development. They had about 12,000 colonists on site, but without being able to ship their own construction materials out from Sol their growth was tied to either expensive Star Force shipping charges or purchasing materials off the Star Force markets.

Following a nationalistic policy, Brazil wasn’t buying any prefab Star Force buildings, preferring instead to construct their own from raw materials bought from the market. Due to that their startup timeline had stretched out to more than 10 times what it had taken the Russians to get to a similar point of development, but slow as it was Brazil was making progress and bringing some of its own industry online, allowing them to produce more of their own materials. A few more years of growth and they’d reach the tipping point and see their expansion rate snowball, but they were definitely doing things the hard way compared to everyone else.

The only other nation within the system was Australia, but they didn’t have a stake on Corneria. Instead, Star Force had given them control over 90% of the land on Optimus, reserving the other small portion for its own spaceports and two medium-sized colonies that fed their underwater infrastructure on the waterworld. The planet’s surface was less than 1% land, but Star Force’s aquatics division was furiously expanding underneath the waves while they let the Australians colonize essentially their own planet, which had quickly become a gem of a resort world.

Tourism made up 63% of their economy, but they were also following the Star Force model and building up their local industry in a self-sufficient fashion. Already they had enough resources to survive without Star Force markets for more than 2 years and were pressing to increase that number with increased foodstuff production facilities, underwater mining sites, and a wide variety of factories producing everything from building materials to toothpaste.

They were also stockpiling other items they didn’t currently produce, taking no chances should interplanetary or interstellar trade routes suddenly be cut off, in addition to fielding a sizeable defense force of their own. They had a small fleet of 16 warships in orbit and more than 5,000 troops guarding their 1.4 million civilians and 250,000 annual tourists living on Optimus.

They weren’t the only non-Star Force residents within the system, however, for the Hycre had also been allowed to colonize Threshold, the gas giant that Liam’s starship had redirected off of. While the planet wasn’t nearly as hot as the Hycre liked, it was habitable to them similar to Alaska being habitable to Humans. Not the most preferred location, but given how few habitable planets there were in the galaxy, regardless of your species, it was still worth colonizing.

Their population numbers weren’t shared with Star Force regularly, but the last count they’d given had been 19.2 million. Liam knew they had a lot of structures beneath the cloud layers where Star Force sensors couldn’t see, but the Hycre also had three large stations in orbit with a fourth currently under construction. The largest one was a trade center in which the Humans delivered raw resources mined on Corneria and other rocky planets to the Hycre per the trade agreement they’d struck in their first diplomatic summit nearly 65 years ago.

They’d worked out an exchange rate, receiving credit for the various metals and other compounds that the Hycre had in short supply, then were given an equal amount of rare materials on Star Force’s list, including corovon, epiti, and large amounts of metallic hydrogen that the Hycre mined from the core of Threshold.

Surrounding the planet was a fleet three times as powerful as Star Force’s, but with less than half their number of ships. Ever since they’d made their pact, the Hycre had devoted a significant force to defending the Human system against lizards and others that began to show up once news of the Human victory began to spread. They didn’t have a presence in Sol or any other Star Force system, but had made a point of securing a safe ‘cradle’ for the Humans to develop in, as well as establishing a stronghold in a region of space that they’d historically not been present in.

Losses against the lizards had pushed them back in many areas, usually when another race’s system fell rather than their own, but none the less the lizard border had continued to expand and the portion of it that the Hycre dominated was continually shrinking. The ‘Human sector,’ as the Hycre referred to it, was their only point of pushback and they’d been investing in it heavily, establishing outposts and even two other colonies in nearby systems that Star Force had no presence in.

In addition to the 5 inhabited planets Star Force had in the system, it had also established a freestanding station in its own orbit around the star that served as an interstellar commerce zone. Thanks to the Hycre, Star Force had come into contact with 4 other races as well as having been exposed to many others that hadn’t made formal contact. The Babylon station served as a small city where those other races, including the Hycre, had small enclaves that served as embassies and outposts for their interests in the region.

As a result Epsilon Eridani saw a moderate amount of non-Human traffic coming through, some of which came for the trade market on Babylon, but many simply used the facility as a way station, renting out large cargo holds to use for their own transactions and resupply. Star Force had some rules regarding what they could use their station for…first and foremost was they couldn’t keep any live creatures onboard for use as food.

The Berss had thrown a fit when Star Force discovered they were keeping a flock of birdlike creatures in one of the holds to slaughter at will, and had even pulled out of Babylon for two years in protest before grudgingly asking permission to return. Star Force agreed, after writing out a code of conduct policy covering any and every contingency they could think up, not wanting to be caught off guard again.

Already the station had to be enlarged twice, which it easily could be thanks to the modular design Star Force had wisely implemented. Liam and the other trailblazers hadn’t been sure what to expect when they built and opened up the station to other races through invitations spread and endorsed by the Hycre, but the result had been a tiny amount of inter-racial trade that had brought a number of scientific breakthroughs as Star Force got a taste of new tech and, more importantly, new materials that the V’kit’no’sat had no record of.

That was probably because they were inferior to what the dinos used, but since Star Force was still eons away from catching up with them these lesser technologies and discoveries were helping to upgrade and expand the Humans’ technological capabilities, as well as gather information about more of the galaxy through simple commerce and communication with races that inhabited regions the Hycre had no presence in.

All of the 6 races that had enclaves on the station, counting Star Force and the Hycre, were enemies of the lizards to some degree, which offered a common purpose in exchanging intelligence they had on Cajdital, as the lizards were commonly called, though it appeared they didn’t care for that name…which was probably a major reason why their enemies used it. The lizards name for themselves was Li’vorkrachnika when you took out the varying screeches and whistles that Human vocal chords couldn’t master.

Star Force officially referred to the lizards by their common name of Cajdital when dealing with other races, but simply labeled them ‘lizards’ for their own records, given that the nickname had stuck early on and nothing better had arisen to replace it.

A special room on Babylon had been devoted to cataloging and sharing their common intel on the lizards, making Epsilon Eridani not only a growing inter-racial commerce hub, but a source for information brokering as well. Already two other races had sent requests to Star Force through the Hycre inquiring about the possibility of establishing formal relations with the Humans. One of those was all but confirmed, but the other was still being investigated as the Hycre were ambivalent concerning their request.

All said, while Epsilon Eridani was a Human system it was quickly gaining a rep for being an inter-civilization watering hole, upping Star Force’s status in the region and on the anti-lizard front.

When Liam reached Corneria he transferred off the starship and onto another starport, then traveled down to Corneria Prime via dropship where Mandy-512 met him at the starport with bottle in hand. He paused just off the boarding gangway and took a swig, sucking down the hot chocolate with care to get a good taste.

“Better,” he pronounced, taking another longer drink for ingestion’s sake rather than a taste test. “But I still don’t like the cinnamon.”

Mandy frowned. “I dialed it back enough that I didn’t think it’d bother you.”

“It’s tolerable, but not needed. Stick with mint,” he suggested as they walked away from the landing pads and further into the spaceport.

“And if I told you the Clan disagrees?”

“You’d be lying…what was the vote?”

“48%,” she said dismally.

“That’s up,” Liam said mock reassuringly. “Only 32% more to go.”

The Neon Squirrel’s frown leveled out. “How’d it go?”

“Well,” Liam said, taking the fork in the hallway that led to a city transit terminal. “We cleared planetary orbit and did a significant amount of damage to the surface, but there were still a lot of bases we didn’t even scratch…and we never even got to the moon.”

“Worth it?”

Liam nodded. “At the minimum it will slow their growth and give the Darlestiks more time. With luck they might be able to take the offensive.”

“So what now?”

“For them or us?”

“Both.”

Liam sighed. “We haven’t decided yet. The Hycre haven’t requested any additional missions, at least as far as I know.”

“Any chance of Neon Squirrel getting a shot?”

“We’re not putting down ground forces unless we’re moving in, and we’re not going to do that with a race we know almost nothing about.”

“Afraid of them turning on us after we kick the lizards out?”

“Possibly. Too many unknowns. Right now we’re playing a support role. Anything beyond that is up in the air.”

“You need anything?”

Liam sucked down the rest of the hot chocolate and handed the bottle back to her as they arrived at the transit terminal. “Nope. And don’t wait up on me. I don’t know how long this is going to take. I might not get back to the colony for a few days.”

“We’ll keep the lights on,” she assured him as he ducked into one of several small, pod-like cars.

When the curved door closed he zipped away on a mono-rail track, disappearing into a tunnel in the wall and off through the city to the command building where several of the trailblazers and Duke Hightower were waiting for his in-person mission debrief.





5





January 2, 2347

Epsilon Eridani System

Babylon Station



“Dak’tule, Ardvak,” Dakota-041 offered in greeting to the Critel ambassador as he sat down and slipped in an earpiece wirelessly connected to the module in the center of the commerce table. The gangly creature across from him made a buzzing sound with its X-shaped lips, which the translation module interpreted as a chuckle in a deep Human voice, followed by equally low toned words as the ambassador began to speak and the program translated with a slight delay.

“Your speech improves, Dakota,” Ardvak said, answering familiarly due to the ongoing dialog the two men had established. “I wish I had the skill to mimic your words, but my voice cannot bear the strain.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Dakota admitted, speaking English which the module translated into Critel and transmitted to Ardvak’s headband that wrapped around to cover the ear slits on his large, bald head. “What have you got for me this time?”

“An introduction. One of our merchants was contracted to bring an emissary to this station so that they might speak with you on urgent business.”

“An emissary from who?”

“They are unknown to me, but our traders have limited contact with them. They are a primitive race from the Iona System. Single planet, no space travel.”

“Do they speak Critel?”

“Partially, but their emissary claims to speak Human. It seems they’ve been studying you for some time.”

Dakota frowned. “How?”

“I wondered that myself and inquired. It seems they obtained information from our traders about many races, but particularly yours.”

“Interesting,” Dakota mewed. “Did he say what the urgent business was?”

“No, unfortunately. I tried to pry the information from him but he was adamant about maintaining diplomatic security and would not speak of the matter with anyone but a Human.”

Dakota leaned back in his chair. “You think they want to open an enclave?”

“I could get no read on this individual. His race is new to me and I haven’t been able to learn their idiosyncrasies.”

“What do they look like?”

“Smaller than us…both of us, I mean. Biped with a tail. Tough, grey/green skin. Three digits.”

Dakota held his hand up flat, then moved it up and down. Ardvak raised his long, pale gray fingers up to just under a meter in height.

“Really short,” he commented. “What kind of trading?”

“Various natural resources. The system is outside our normal trade routes, but some enterprising individuals managed to secure exchange rates lucrative enough to travel the extra distance.”

“Anything we’d be interested in?”

Ardvak made another buzzing sound, which the translator interpreted as indecision.

“They have nothing rare, but have significant amounts of palladium and tungsten, which I know Humans use a great deal of.”

“We use a lot of materials,” Dakota reminded him. “So you’re suggesting that any potential trade deals would be resource only?”

“They have little technology, from what I am told. What mining they do is labor intensive, but they have a high population so it balances out. My government does not feel they are important enough to establish formal relations with. I promised I would pass on their request for contact to you, but I made no promise of your response. I fully understand if they are not worth your time, but you have an interest in meeting new races, yes?”

Dakota smiled, picking up on some of the Critel politics involved. “Arrange a meeting for three hours from now, if possible.”

“They will accommodate you, I’m sure.”

“Do you have any other business with us?”

“Not at the moment. Have you any for us?”

“Not at the moment,” Dakota echoed.

“Thank you for your time,” Ardvak said, standing up and stretching out his long, thin body up to his 7 foot height. “I will set up the introduction.”

“3 hours,” Dakota reminded him, then walked out the door on his side of the table while Ardvak went out his.



Ardvak opened the door and walked into the commerce room first, then was followed in by another Critel and finally the smaller alien that almost bounced along with each step. Dakota was waiting on his side of the table that stretched all the way down into the floor, acting as a solid barrier between the two groups with no room to walk around either side, for it stretched out and connected with the side walls. There was no barrier above the table though, giving both parties an intimate, yet segregated room to discuss matters of state within.

Babylon had dozens of these rooms with the built-in translation programs for use by all of the enclaves and their patrons. Typically no more than a third were in use simultaneously, but as the station drew more and more traffic the commerce rooms had started to become popular amongst the other races that typically couldn’t speak each other’s languages. Many had translation programs for text messages sent between ships or their enclaves, but few had realtime translation programs that they could use in person.

At the moment two of the other rooms were in use by Human delegations while 13 others were in use by non-Human parties. The Human negotiators were all Clan Kirk, as were all of the Humans on Babylon. Dakota’s Clan had been given stewardship of the Babylon station, which included providing security for all involved. As the small alien passed through the door and it closed behind it when the motion sensors indicated that the threshold was clear, Dakota caught a glimpse of one of the two Knight guards outside, both of which stood as tall as the Critel, then the four diplomats were sealed inside behind privacy-lined walls.

“Dak’tule,” Ardvak offered in greeting as he attached his headband and passed one to the other Critel.

“Dak’tule,” Dakota echoed, his eyes falling on the other gangly alien.

“This is the Captain of the freighter that transported Kritas here,” Ardvak explained. “And this…is Kritas.”

“Greetings,” the small alien said in English, standing on the floor as its two towering companions sat down. Dakota remained standing on his side so the table wouldn’t block his view of the newcomer.

“Hello,” Dakota offered, reminding himself to speak as simply as possible. “I am told you learned our language?”

“We have,” it said, but did not elaborate any further.

“I am also told that you traveled a long way to speak to us. We will listen.”

“We are happy. We are also sad. We are ashamed. We seek your mercy.”

Dakota frowned and tossed a quick look at Ardvak, who shook his head…a Human gesture that he’d picked up, indicating that he didn’t know what this was about.

“Your name is Kritas?”

“Kiritas, yes.”

“What is the name of your people?”

“We are Kiritas.”

“What is your individual name?”

“I speak for all. I take the name of all.”

“Kiritas, what kind of mercy do you seek?”

“We die. We do not want to die. We ask for mercy.”

Mercy, Dakota thought, guessing they’d gotten the meaning a bit wrong.

“How are you dying?”

“We starve.”

“You seek aid.”

“We will compensate.”

“You wish to establish trade?”

“We seek mercy.”

Dakota glanced at Ardvak. “Can you try and define ‘mercy’ for me?”

The tall Critel, still taller than the Kiritas even when sitting, spoke in a series of warbles to the small alien that his earpiece also translated. When the Kiritas responded the translated answers were broken and jumbled, suggesting that its understanding of the Critel language was limited. After a few exchanges Ardvak turned back to Dakota.

“I think by ‘mercy’ they mean ‘help.’”

“Thank you,” the trailblazer said, looking back down at the angled head plate across the table that reminded Dakota of a hornless triceratops. “Why do you ask us and not others? Why not ask the Critel?”

“Humans are saviors. We have heard stories. You freed Darlestiks. You rescue Junlats. You can save Kiritas also. What is ours is yours. We want to die no longer.”

“You need foodstuffs?”

“We need many things. You have large planet. You no starve. Teach us not to starve. Teach us to travel the stars. Teach us to be like you. We need your mercy.”

Large planet…overpopulation.

“How many Kiritas are there?”

“2 trillion. Too many. Cannot save.”

Dakota’s eyes went wide. Did it get the number right?

Ardvak stepped in and asked in his language for a clarification of the number, but the Kiritas had to answer in a roundabout way because it didn’t know the Critel word for ‘trillion.’

“All on one planet?” Ardvak asked the Captain beside him.

“He speaks the truth. They are very overcrowded.”

“What do you trade with them?” Dakota asked.

“Various elements and compounds they mine.”

“What do you give them?”

The Critel hesitated a moment, then purred a bit, which the translator tagged as a gesture of shame. “Food.”

Dakota glanced at the ambassador. “That explains the profit margins.”

“Indeed,” Ardvak said, glaring at the Captain. “And not much of it?”

“They’re willing to trade for small amounts. They don’t even use most of the stuff they mine so they trade it away almost for free. They asked for little in return and we gave it to them. We’re businessmen. Why pay more than the client is charging?”

Dakota and Ardvak stared at him for a moment before the Human spoke again. “How bad is it?”

The Captain glanced to his left at the Kiritas, almost apologizing before he spoke. “Their world is out of control. They are not stupid, but they have no population control and have outgrown their planet’s natural resources. The foodstuffs we trade them feed thousands.”

“What do they eat?”

“We trade them kiporat.”

“It’s somewhat similar to your bread,” Ardvak offered. “Small cakes about this size,” he said, putting his fingers together to outline a perimeter slightly larger than Dakota’s fist.

“Cheap?”

“Fairly,” the ambassador admitted, “more widespread than low quality.”

Dakota looked down at the Kiritas. “You said what is yours is ours. What did you mean?”

“You set terms. We agree.”

“What do you think we will ask?”

“We die. It matters not. Save us.”

Dakota sucked in a deep breath then blew it out slowly. “Tell me more about your world.”

“It is large. Gravity more than this. Flat land, small water. We build big cities. Many cities. What else you want to know?”

“Do you have any maps or data?”

“Maps yes. Do not know word ‘data.’”

“Information,” Dakota clarified.

“Yes, Kiritas bring much. I translate for you,” it said, pulling out a handful of what looked like data chips from the vest it wore. Then it reached into another pocket and pulled out what looked like a scroll and with one quick movement jumped up on top of the table and laid the objects down for Dakota to see. It flipped a tiny button on the scroll and the stiff material became flexible and the Kiritas rolled it out flat and touched another button, powering up the flatscreen and plugging in one of the chips to a slot along the edge.

A planetary map appeared with what looked like surface images.

“Do you have objects in orbit?”

“Yes, they make these pictures,” the Kiritas said, zooming in to a much closer view, going all the way down to street level where there was a cluster of small bumps smooshed together into a giant mass. “This is my home. You can see all parts of planet on this map.”

Dakota leaned over and took a closer look at the flatscreen, tapping what he thought was the zoom out button, seeing that the landscape was littered with the building clusters. He continued to zoom out, realizing that virtually all of the land space on the planet was filled with urbanization.

“Where do you make your food?”

“Many places,” the Kiritas said, taking control of the map and moving it to another of the nub-like building clusters. “We make food inside. Not enough. Too few fields.”

“How many more would you need to feed all of you?”

“We eat as little as possible. Many are sick because of this. At this amount of eating, double the fields we need. We have no place left to build. We take down old buildings, make new field, more Kiritas born. We cannot feed all. Many sick. Cannot work. Less to build. ”

Dakota leaned to the side and tapped a button on the translation module, opening a slide panel to reveal a control panel. Using it the Archon brought up a holographic display of a star chart, searching out the Iona System.

As he expected it was coreward of Sol and outside the mapping range of the Hycre. Star Force had never been there, obviously, but it was 58 light years away and on the back border of Critel territory. That was still a long haul for Star Force, especially if they were considering regular food shipments, but it wasn’t too far away to rule out all assistance.

The star system on the map was only a dot, but when Liam hit another button it exploded out into an insystem view with dozens of planets that had been cataloged by the V’kit’no’sat. No other maps obtained by Star Force covered this area, which was indicated by a small red tag at the base of the hologram.

“Which is your planet?”

The Kiritas pointed to one of the outer ones. “This is Kirit.”

Dakota pulled up the planetary data, noting that there were no native species listed, which he found curious. “Do any of the other planets have people on them?”

“We do not think so.”

Dakota glanced up at the Captain. “Are there?”

“No, there aren’t.”

Dakota zoomed the Star Force map out again, looking at the available jumplines. Star Force had a 22 light year maximum jump limit on its most advanced gravity drives due to targeting accuracies. The farther away the target was, the harder it was to hit. Some adjustments could be made enroute via thrust-based engines but not much, meaning the jumpship had to jump off the departure star exactly as needed else they’d miss the target star.

There were also navigational hazards blocking the jumplines, such as nebula and other debris. Those had to be avoided, and given that Star Force hadn’t been to this region they couldn’t be sure which jumplines were still clear. Nebula weren’t bound to move a lot, but given that it had been millennia since the V’kit’no’sat map had been updated they couldn’t take the chance and send a jumpship out before they’d sent a probe ship. It would take time to chart new/old jumplines, but that too could be accomplished if needed.

“What route do your ships take?”

The Captain leaned forward and traced three long lines coming out of their territory with one of his fingers.

“These jumplines are clean?”

“Two are. This one has limited debris, but our shields are strong enough to weather the transition.”

Dakota saw him point to the middle leg, one that was out of their way anyway.

“Ardvak, I’d appreciate any updated charts the Critel can provide.”

“I’ll inquire.”

“You will give mercy?” the Kiritas asked, its tail twitching side to side hopefully.

“We will look,” Dakota promised. “How long can you stay here before you go home?”

“As long as needed.”

“Good. We will have many questions. Now, I need to talk with my brothers,” the Archon explained, looking over at Ardvak. “Where is he staying?”

“For the time being he is a guest at our enclave.”

“I’ll make sure he has private quarters by tomorrow. Can you see to his orientation and care until then?”

“So long as he is our guest, that is my obligation.”

Dakota nodded his thanks, then turned back to the Kiritas. “We will talk again later.”

“Kiritas will be waiting.”

The trailblazer threw one last glance at Ardvak then shut down the hologram and retreated out the door on his side of the room, heading straight to Babylon’s control room.

“Narri, we have a new race on the station, single individual. Get him quarters assigned, coordinate with the Critel ambassador. He’s staying with them as a guest at the moment.”

“Who are they?” the fellow Clan Kirk Archon asked.

“Kiritas…from coreward of here,” Dakota said as he walked to the comm terminal and stood over the shoulder of the on duty officer. “Get me a priority prompt and tag all trailblazers in the system and Hightower as recipients.”

“Video or text?”

“Text.”

The officer worked the terminal for a few furious seconds in a flurry of button presses then his hands fell silent. “Done,” he said, giving up his seat.

Dakota sat down and began typing out a short report, along with insisting that his fellow Archons get their asses out to Babylon ASAP.





6





February 19, 2348

Iona System

Kirit



Randy watched from the bridge of the MCV-class jumpship Forge as it made a slow approach to the planet Kirit, coming in above the asteroid laden rings on an approach to the clear lower orbits. Aside from a scattering of satellites there was no space infrastructure to speak of. No ships, no stations, no orbital tethers…nada. If it wasn’t for the planetary rings the orbital space around Kirit would have been absolutely desolate, with only a few dozen probe-like satellites buzzing around like gnats.

There was one other signal in orbit, but it didn’t belong to the Kiritas. It was the Chimaera, still packed tight with its drone warships, having arrived an hour earlier. A third Freighter-class jumpship was due an hour later and was already in the system, but given that Kirit was the 8th planet around a huge white star it was considerably far away from the jumppoint the Star Force ships had arrived at. It had taken the Forge 8 hours to transit from there to the planet, then another hour to cautiously approach lower orbit around the planetary rings.

Tom-008 was commanding the Chimaera on this mission while the Nebuchadnezzar didn’t have any Archons onboard. It was playing the role of cargo hauler, as it normally did, with its regular captain and crew. It and the Chimaera would be returning to Star Force territory shortly, but the question was would the Forge be doing likewise or remaining behind.

The foodstuffs the Nebuchadnezzar was carrying were going to the Kiritas, that much had been determined, but whether or not Star Force was going to take up the role of becoming caretaker of the planet was a decision in the making. There had been many discussions amongst the trailblazers as to what they could do and what they should do, but until they got on the planet and judged the conditions for themselves they’d be relying on secondhand information for an undertaking of massive proportions…which was something they weren’t willing to do.

However, if the Kiritas really were starving to death they couldn’t afford to waste time. Randy had been dispatched with the Forge to give him the option of beginning to build Star Force infrastructure immediately if they chose to go that route, while the other two jumpships would return as couriers with news and further requests for material and personnel. The Chimaera was present to make sure the system really was secure. Even though it was well outside of lizard territory they weren’t the only threats in the galaxy, and had the Kiritas been deceiving Star Force about the extent of their space technology it was possible they could have posed a threat to the jumpships themselves.

That didn’t appear to be the case, however. In fact, as Randy began to get surface scans from the Chimaera it was becoming clear that the primitive planet the Kiritas had described in detail was just that…highly urbanized and technologically unremarkable.

When the Forge made it to a low parking orbit Randy waited for the Nebuchadnezzar to arrive then rode down to the planet’s surface with the first wave of supplies on an assault shuttle from the Forge. It was armed, quick, and could carry a limited amount of cargo, perfect for security patrols or point to point troop transfers. The Forge had many of the craft onboard and Randy had dispatched more than half of them to fly escort down to the coordinates the Kiritas envoy directed them to.

He’d been expecting some type of spaceport, but as they flew over the surface from a few kilometers of elevation he saw a small lake in the distance and the narrow, dry beach that was to be their landing zone. Along the perimeter of the nearby buildings were thousands of Kiritas smashed into every street exit, balcony, and plaza within eyesight, but none of them were on the beach, keeping it clear for the dropships to arrive.

Randy turned to the Kiritas beside him in the hold of the shuttle. “Are they going to be a problem with the offloading?”

“No. They are here to help and to watch,” the diminutive alien said with its tail twitching rhythmically.

Randy walked a step over to the pilot and put a hand on her shoulder. “Pick a spot along the water and take us down…but give us a few meters of beach between ship and water.”

“You want me to wait on the ground or air?” she asked, beginning their final descent.

“Air. I’ll comm you when I want pickup.”

Randy watched from the cockpit monitors as the shuttle slowly set down on the angled beach, not feeling the tilt due to the inertial dampeners/artificial gravity. He half-expected the crowd to swarm them when they touched down but to his surprise not a single one of them moved. Carrying his helmet the trailblazer walked out the boarding ramp and down onto the sands of Kirit with two other Clan Star Fox Archons beside him. All three of them were armed with weapons on their backs, making for a formidable first contact party as they followed the hopping envoy up the incline to the edge of the crowd.

Randy noticed the steep incline to the beach, which he guessed was at least 15%, figuring that was going to make the cargo offloading a bit slower and wondering why the Kiritas had selected these coordinates. Surely they had some courtyard or airfield they could have set down in.

A few of the other Kiritas along the edge of the crowd came down to meet them and there was a brief conversation between the envoy and the others in their native language, then a loud cascade of elated chirps broke out that made Randy’s skin crawl. He guessed that was their version of cheering, but it could just as easily have been war cries by the sound of it.

The envoy walk/hopped back over to Randy with two others, both of which looked slightly larger than those in the crowd, but still very thin. He couldn’t see ribs on these two like those in the crowd, so he guessed they were higher placed in Kiritas society and had access to more food. He also noticed that most of the crowd was topless, wearing only thin pants opposed to the envoy who wore much more clothing.

The air was hot, which could have offered a partial explanation, but Randy also wondered if it might not have something to do with available resources given a population of trillions living on one planet.

“Human Ran-dai, this is Kiritas Lorni leader,” the envoy introduced. “I speak for them.”

“Hello,” Randy offered, looking down on the pair. From previous conversations he’d had with the envoy he knew that their clans were led by brood pairs, with both functioning as one individual within Kiritas society. “Where would you like us to deliver the foodstuffs?”

The envoy translated for him and got a quick response from the one on the right.

“Kiritas Lorni thanks you for granting mercy. They say to put supplies here and they will carry them where needed.”

“Alright,” Randy said, slipping on his helmet and giving the go ahead to the first dropship. Within 30 seconds one descended from the holding pattern that had begun to accumulate above the lake and set down beside them, its long wings filling the beach side to side as the Dragon barely had room to land. In fact, its front landing legs were sitting in the water with the nose of the craft sticking out over the lake in order to secure some acreage of beach between the main cargo door and the surrounding buildings to facilitate the offloading.

With the Kiritas hopping along behind him, Randy and the other two Archons headed over to the dropship and supervised the crew as they began to offload large pallets of boxed foodstuffs onto the sand.

“Can you move them this large or do we need to unpack them?”

The envoy translated again and got a quick response.

“We will unpack and carry by hand. Show us how to open.”

“Loader, I need a cutting tool,” Randy said, walking partway up the wide aft boarding ramp and into the dropship.

One of the crew retrieved and tossed him the device as they continued to haul the large crates out on tiny forklifts that carried far more weight than it would appear possible, looking more like sweepers than lifting gear.

Randy walked back out of the ship and down to where the Kiritas were waiting at the nearest crate, some of which were eyeing it expectantly. He cut through the straps holding the containers in place then pulled one of the bathtub sized boxes off the top, finding it a bit heavier than usual given the planet’s high gravity but it wasn’t anything his acolyte muscles couldn’t handle.

Setting the tub down on the ground he undid the latch on the sturdy plastic container and opened the lid, revealing stacks of packaged foodstuffs. Everything in this box was type C rations, specifically created for the consumption of the Kiritas with months of taste test help from their envoy back on Babylon. Each package contained 64 cubes, each of which held enough calories to sustain a Kiritas for a day, based on the minimum amount most of their population was surviving on.

The Lorni leader and the envoy conversed again, with the well clothed Kiritas looking up at Randy expectantly. “Can we take them now or do you want to set terms first?”

“Have at it, Sparky. Food first, talk later,” he told him, using the nickname he’d assigned the envoy months ago. The Kiritas naming system wasn’t very useful for the Humans, mainly because the little aliens rarely used it for themselves, preferring to be addressed by their race, clan, or at best their occupation. Familiar titles were used in private company only, it seemed, but Randy wasn’t having any of that and had named the envoy anyway, which it reluctantly accepted.

“Your mercy is great,” Sparky answered, then translated for the Lorni leader. They gave another round of instructions and the crowd suddenly moved forward and slowly swarmed around them, causing Randy’s senses to flash a proximity warning, but no trouble broke out. Each of them grabbed one of the packages and disappeared into the crowd, carrying the foodstuffs away to somewhere else.

Before Randy could take a few breaths the box was halfway empty so he pulled another one off and set it on the ground for the shorter aliens to get at, with the other two Archons stepping up and doing the same. Once the loading crew saw what they were doing they stopped bringing out more pallets and started opening the ones already on the beach and collecting the empty boxes for reuse later, slowing the entire unloading process down considerably but maximizing distribution out to the Kiritas population.

After getting the first dropship squared away Randy and his squad went around to the other dropships landing nearby on the beach and showed their crews what they needed to do, after which there was a round the clock beach party offloading a continual stream of foodstuffs. Randy opted out after an hour or so and called the assault shuttle back down to pick him up along with Sparky and one of the ruling brood pair while the other stayed on the beach. From there they took to the sky and supervised the offloading from above while taking a brief tour of the city.

“We need to set up another landing zone, or this is going to take forever,” Randy told him as he searched the city for any opening big enough to use. “How about there?”

Sparky looked up at the display screen where the Human was pointing then chattered away with the Lorni.

“Bad things happen there.”

“Have happened or will happen?”

“Both. Not safe.”

“What’s dangerous?”

“Starving Kiritas go crazy for food. Banished to this place and others. They hurt others to stay alive.”

Randy’s gut clenched, reading between the lines of what Sparky was saying. “Is there another safe zone?”

“We will make more when food is eaten. Less crazy Kiritas.”

“Will you send food there?” Randy asked, pointing again to the banished zone.

“Yes, but they eat last.”

“No,” Randy said firmly, realizing that ‘last’ on a planet of 2 trillion meant never. “They eat now. Pilot, take us down there slowly,” he said, then contacted one of the descending dropships, a smaller falcon, and had it divert to their location.

“Not safe,” Sparky repeated, looking back and forth between Randy and the Lorni.

“Do they have weapons?”

“They are crazy. They use anything for weapon. We die we go down there.”

“You stay inside. Same for him,” he said, gesturing to the clan leader as he walked back into the small hold and pulled up one of the seats revealing the store of stun weapons underneath. “Fellas,” he prompted, tossing stinger rifles to the other two Archons before grabbing one for himself and checking to make sure that it was loaded.

“Bad idea,” Sparky insisted.

“We feed all Kiritas,” Randy said, staring him down but not letting his voice go as dark as his emotions were. “Our terms.”

The two Kiritas had an animated conversation but Sparky didn’t offer any more translation, then both fell silent as the assault shuttle landed in the middle of some type of landing pad, large enough to hold several shuttles and with faded markings on the surface. That, combined with the light debris scattered about indicated that it hadn’t seen use in some time.

Randy led the other Archons out the back while the two Kiritas cowered up near the pilot, then Randy shut the ramp and signaled the shuttle to lift off and circle overhead leaving the threesome alone on the pad for a moment while the dropship was on approach.

“How many?” Randy asked.

“I spot six, hiding in the entryways.”

“Couple more up on the roofs.”

“Hold here and make nice. Not sure how rabid they’ll be, but remember we’re here to help them. Some head banging may be necessary to establish order, but be as gentle as you can,” Randy instructed.

“Permission to check the perimeter?”

“Go,” Randy told the Archon as the dropship drifted over the surrounding buildings, each of which were about 5 stories tall, and stalled out overhead.

“Ditto,” the other Archon said, heading out to the opposite edge of the pad after a confirmation nod from Randy.

“Bring her down and stay buttoned up until I give the word,” Randy instructed the pilot, then walked off to the edge as the flying wing of a craft floated down on anti-grav engines and opened up the belly hatches, extending its landing legs, then compressed them slightly as the engines powered down and the gray/white ship settled onto the roughly rectangular pad.

“Any movement?”

“Scurrying away,” one of the Archons reported.

“Alright, bring it in and cover the ship while I unload. Pilot, open her up.”

The main bay door opened and Randy walked up the boarding ramp, meeting the loaders inside.

“Just one for now and set it down at the foot of the ramp. And cut it open,” he ordered, glancing back outside as the other Archons took up guard positions on either side of the ramp, stun rifles held at the ready with their lethal weaponry still on their backs. He could see sets of eyes popping up in the shadows but they held back, unsure of what was going on.

After the first pallet was cut open Randy pulled a box off and walked it over towards one of the entrances and set it down on the ground. He opened it up and took out a package, tearing it open to reveal the small food cubes. He took one and tossed it into the nearest of the shadowy entrances beneath an arched overhang. For a moment there was no response, then he heard a scuffle and squeak before silence returned.

The trailblazer tossed out a few more, each progressively closer until the Kiritas had to come out into view to grab the food. Hunger propelled them forward in short, panicked runs, followed by retreats back into the shadows. When nothing happened they started to get bolder and come further out, then the group began to inch their way out into view and Randy could clearly see how near death they were. Their skin looked like tissue paper wrapped around bones and several of them had visible injuries, some splattered with blue blood.

Randy committed himself then and there to saving these people, even if they had to conquer the damn planet to do it.

He pulled out another three packages and opened them, sliding handfuls of food cubes around the area, both towards the entryway and elsewhere, then he stood up and walked forward, gesturing for them to come out.

Their need and curiosity overwhelming their fear, the Kiritas began coming out by the dozens, grabbing up what food cubes they could, some of which began fighting each other for the last ones. Randy pointed a finger towards one of the culprits and a stinger flew out from behind him and nailed the would-be thief, knocking him unconscious. He pointed at another and it was hit as well, then Randy walked back to the open box and pulled out several more packets. He opened one and slowly walked up to the crowd, which surged back and forth, wanting to run but wanting the food just as bad.

Randy picked out one cube and reached forward, offering it to one of those nearest to him. He pointed to it, then held the cube out palm up and waited.

Shaking, the Kiritas came forward and snatched it out of his hand and devoured it within a second…then choked as its throat wasn’t accustomed to so much food. It eventually worked it free and swallowed, then stepped forward hoping to get more.

Randy pointed to one next to it and held out another. When the first one reached for it he closed his hand and waved his finger in an ‘uh-uh’ motion, then held it back out to the other until it took the food. He repeated the process, establishing some semblance of order as he slowly handed out food cubes to all those who came…then more came, and more, their wildness suddenly gone as they saw the others calmly taking the handouts. Soon there were hundreds, and those hundreds became thousands.

Randy called in more personnel and expanded the auxiliary relief zone and kept it running throughout the day and into the night. Still more came, and they kept coming until the dropships ran dry.





7





March 2, 2348

Iona System

Kirit



With the Nebuchadnezzar gone, having unloaded its full cargo of foodstuffs onto the populace, Tom and the Chimaera remained behind to safeguard the Forge for a while longer, just in case any non-Kiritas ships entered the system. The 2 trillion member race truly didn’t have any space assets to threaten them with, but with at least the occasional offworld trade ship coming through Tom didn’t want to leave Randy uncovered.

The Forge was capable of remotely controlling a fleet of warships left behind, but given that they’d come all this way the Archons figured that it’d be a waste to turn around and leave so soon. Both of them had agreed that the situation on Kirit had to be dealt with, and despite their willingness to help the Kiritas undesirables Star Force was being given virtually unlimited authority on the planet. Randy had already met with all of the 287 clan leaders, using Sparky as a translator as his techs worked to upgrade their translation software with the Kiritas language, and secured permission to start reorganizing the planet’s resources and food distribution network into a more efficient system.

As to be expected they were finding and rooting out existing corruption with various individuals and groups syphoning off foodstuffs for themselves, but overall the Kiritas were doing well to share what little resources they had amongst each other, which Randy took as a good sign that they’d be able to work with their population. The less corrupt they were the faster their orders could be implemented, and given that the ratio of Humans to Kiritas was so low it was going to be impossible to provide sufficient oversight, meaning that if the Kiritas were going to cheat there’d be no way to stop them.

Fitting, considering it was their planet that Star Force was trying to save, that their fate would ultimately be in their own hands on as simple a matter as following orders.

The first of those orders were already being followed with a long line of convoys being routed to specified landing zones where dropships from the Forge were picking up loads of raw materials that the Kiritas were giving them to feed the factories inside the jumpship. Those specially designed factories were then constructing building materials for predesigned buildings, each engineered to perform a specific function that would allow the Forge to expand its shipboard operations onto the surface of the planet.

The Kiritas had evacuated several sections of their cities, turning over the buildings and land to Star Force to level and recycle while they moved out to adjacent areas, doubling up with other residents as dropship after dropship brought down personnel, equipment, and a continual flow of materials that quickly became familiar Star Force production facilities that clashed with the surrounding Kiritas infrastructure. To them the buildings were almost sacred…a promise of a better future that all Kiritas worked hard to contribute to.

Within 2 weeks the first hydroponic facility went online using seedlings that had already been started in their growth cycle onboard the Forge. The crops were staggered, with a new indoor field being started every week so that once the first came to harvest they’d be getting a regular supply of grains. Randy started them off with the fastest growing varieties and within only a few weeks the first of the output started flowing into the surrounding factories that Star Force was adding, along with more hydroponic structures.

Like a real-life version of an empire-building videogame, Randy added structure after structure using the resources the Kiritas were providing while Tom managed the Kiritas’ local foodstuff production and distribution network. Two months in and the Star Force foodstuff production facilities were adding a small but steady supply of food cubes to the workers in the mines and other Kiritas production facilities, knowing that the stronger those people became the more productive they would be.

Tom meanwhile used the Kiritas’ own production network to maximize and stretch their own supply while Randy gradually pulled more and more mouths to feed off his hands. They were still coming up short, however, and the death tolls coming in from starvation were in the millions per week, but Tom kept strict rationing on what they did have and saved as many as he could.

In order to do so he also had to order some drastic changes to Kiritas society, which saw mixed reactions. Those Kiritas who were close enough to the Star Force sites or the Humans themselves threw their trust to the aliens…but those in more distant locations were more hesitant, at least until the odd foodstuffs started flowing in, city by city. It was the vast majority of the planet that had no connection to Star Force that all but rebelled over the orders Tom was sending down the chain, prompting him to record a speech in the Kiritas native language, explaining who the Humans were and why the changes were necessary.

After that point most of the chaos was paused, with the starving natives waiting and hoping, desperately, for change…and deliver it he did. His first order was the isolation of separate sectors, for the urbanization on the planet had grown to such a level that one city flowed into another, essentially making the planet a less attractive version of Coruscant in which the world was covered in one giant city.

Tom didn’t trust the Kiritas so far as to decree imaginary lines not to be crossed, so he ordered a flurry of new construction projects, physically blocking off access points and securing separate zones in which he had a specified amount of foodstuffs delivered and distributed to each of the registered recipients to insure that not a single mouthful was wasted. How well it worked depended on the honesty of the Kiritas at the local level, but with each new sector added the local death rate dropped to near zero, so he assumed the Kiritas in charge of the distribution networks were doing their job.

Trouble was, they couldn’t add sectors fast enough and the foodstuffs going out to non-secured areas were woefully insufficient. Tom boosted the shipments as much as he could to keep those outside the zones from assaulting the barricades to try and get inside the contained areas. It tore him up inside to see so many dying and him having to decide who got the food and who didn’t, so he tried to cycle the shipments to hit all areas at least periodically, giving everyone at least a chance of survival.

The reports he was getting from the unsecured areas were sporadic and mostly unreliable, for those filing them were themselves starving, but the murders being committed were off the charts and the local security was so physically malnourished that there was little they could do but sit and guard certain sites, unable to go out and patrol or respond to incidents. So much of the planet was in a malnourished trance that they rarely left their dwellings, save for those who were at their wits end and turned violent, trying to secure what food they could, even if it meant killing and eating their neighbors.

Tom was relieved to no end when the Nebuchadnezzar returned with a full shipment of foodstuffs and two other Freighter-class jumpships with it. Those two had a mixture of foodstuffs and equipment that Randy and Tom had requested, along with bringing Erin-016, Logan-036, Emily-023 and a host of other Archons that they put to work immediately managing the planetary networks at a regional level with Tom still overseeing the entire non-Star Force areas of the planet.

The Humans ate the foodstuffs being produced on the Forge, with their caloric intake unrestricted. Tom and Randy had decided to keep the two supply chains deliberately separate so they wouldn’t be tempted to redistribute what they had to save more of the Kiritas. They needed to keep their own strength up, not to mention maintain their workout intensity and the high amount of foodstuffs that kept them going.

Humans ate more than the smaller Kiritas did anyway, so it was essential not to mix the two, which was hard seeing so many of the planet’s people in need, especially for those Archons managing the unstructured areas of the planet.

One of the more unpopular orders the Archons gave was for the segregating of the males and females. The females laid eggs regularly, which the males then fertilized in a jealous rage. Despite numerous attempts at population control in previous years the Kiritas could not check their extremely large and unstable growth rate. Tom was dismayed at the numbers he was getting on their reproductive capability, with even malnourished females laying 3 eggs every 5 weeks. If given enough foodstuffs, he learned from some of the clan leaders, a female could produce more than 100 offspring in a single year, and every three out of four eggs laid was female.

The starvation rate was the only thing that had kept their immense population in check, and even as the Kiritas reluctantly segregated and left their eggs unfertilized Tom assigned Logan to tackle the challenge of creating a stable societal structure that wouldn’t gobble up all of their available resources once Star Force’s production caught up to the planet’s needs.

To that end Logan, with the assistance of the other trailblazers insystem, began designing a Star Force occupation of the planet in which they’d essentially adopt the Kiritas and train them one by one, starting with the hatchlings, to speak and read English, operate Human technology, and learn from recorded Archon lectures similar to the structure of a Canderian maturia, only one customized to fit the uniqueness of the Kiritas.

With the help of many techs Logan began mixing what they learned of Kiritas technology and architecture with improvements from Star Force, resulting in a mesh that was identifiable as both. Training programs were instituted, which the Kiritas had never before seen the like of, for their lifespans usually ranged from 25-40 years in which replacement by successive generations was used in lieu of the advancement of the individual.

Logan changed all that, teaching the Kiritas as soon as they hatched from their softball-sized eggs that training was vital to their development and longevity. They matured within 3 years and as soon as they finished their basic training he began deploying some of them to work with Randy in his growing infrastructure to free up Humans to redeploy to other areas. These Star Force-bred Kiritas were given the clan moniker Kiritak, despite the fact that their eggs came from all across the planet.

Emily took over the training program as the Kiritak numbers grew and began to intensify their training, creating multiple societal paths for them to take, some of which were 10+ years worth of training in the making. Star Force medics, during this time, also figured out how to chemically suppress the females’ continuous egg production, allowing them to choose when and where to reproduce, which also allowed them to work in traditionally male-dominated sectors.

Within the Kiritak, like Star Force, each individual earned their position, not because of bloodline or privilege, but by their personal effort and achievement. The rest of Kiritas society was changing at a slower rate under Tom and Logan’s direction, knowing that the Kiritak would one day grow to replace all the other clans. They didn’t clue the clan leaders in on that caveat right away, but with the widespread starvation still an ongoing problem securing food was their primary concern and they pretty much let Star Force do what they wanted so long as the food cubes kept coming.

While Tom and the other Archons tried to secure and manage the unmanageable situation across the planet, Randy and his non-Archon staff grew their infrastructure at an amazing rate. As he’d expected, the more he fed his Kiritas workers the more raw materials they produced and once proper supply lines had been established he had more raw materials stacking up than he knew what to do with.

He had them stored in containers and stacked in crude ‘parking lots’ where he’d ordered the demolition of more and more Kiritas buildings. As they had before the locals obliged his every request, making more room for the Humans to build and use their planet’s resources to save itself. With the Forge’s well designed interior factories Randy was able to get 189 hydroponic facilities constructed and operational within the first year…with an exponential growth rate from there on out.

When other races’ traders came the Kiritas let Star Force renegotiate the terms of their agreements, using the surplus of raw materials to barter larger trade deals from the Critel and a few other races that Star Force hadn’t encountered before. The extra foodstuffs they brought in went straight to Tom for him to distribute, saving several million more lives, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to the numbers that were still dying.

It took Star Force 7 years before they finally got Kirit to the point of meager self-sufficiency while still relying on regular shipments from the Humans. A year later those became unnecessary but Tom and Randy kept them coming to help rejuvenate the malnourished population. Though they were surviving, they were still barely hanging on and even the smallest glitch in production would see hundreds of thousands starve to death…but the Archons were too skilled to let that happen. They kept a tight rein on the food supply while continuing to take control of Kiritas society and remake it into something that could sustain itself into the future.

Therein they encountered problems. While the vast majority of the Kiritas were extremely grateful to the Humans, if not downright obedient of their saviors, a small but growing minority was resenting the changes Star Force was making to their planet, and now that they had at least enough foodstuffs to survive they had, for the first time in decades, free time to occupy. As much work as Tom had the Kiritas doing to restructure their planet, 97% of their population was still unemployed.

Most were still recovering and doing small things to improve their planet on their own, but the spare time also lead to clan politics growing in intensity along with independent political groups sprouting up that crossed clan lines…none of which were anti-Star Force, for that was a quick invitation to a smackdown by the others, but they were issue-driven and fundamentalist, resisting the Star Force philosophy being imposed on them and their offspring.

The reproduction bans were also a major issue, which Tom hadn’t relinquished even after the starvation period had ended. There had always been a small amount of unregulated breeding, even with the sector barriers in place, but with their energy levels rising and hormonal urges escalating as a result, more and more pressure was being exerted on the clan leaders to allow the reintegration of the males into the female population, despite the threat that posed to the fragile food supply.

Tom was adamant that that wouldn’t happen, and had the Kiritas continually building new infrastructure to further isolate one sector from another, as well as the zonal restrictions within that kept males apart from the larger female population. He coupled this with a merit-based breeding system that supplied the eggs for the Kiritak training programs. That kept most of the mating urges focused into a productive agenda, but only for the 3% that were in the workforce. For the rest of the population they had to suffer through the reproduction bans, with their meager food supply a continual reminder of why the Archons had kept it in place.

Those who did not see the bigger picture obeyed because it was expected of them, but a small organization was forming that staged raids across sector and zonal lines. At first it was just for sexual reasons, if you could call egg fertilization ‘sexual,’ but these ‘code breakers’ eventually crossed into other activities in defiance of Star Force, forming an active criminal element that grew bolder as time passed on. More than once Archons had to go in and track down thieves that were syphoning off foodstuffs to use for themselves or barter for resources, some of which were weapons.

Fortunately the Kiritas didn’t have guns, but what they did have were blades and explosives. The blades weren’t a threat to the armored Archons, but the explosives were, especially the thrown ones. A la Goldeneye, the Kiritas used a form of remote mine that they would toss through the air at their enemy then trigger manually using a detonator when it came into range.

All weapon production facilities had been decommissioned on Tom’s orders and reworked into tool factories. Existing stores of weapons were rounded up and turned over to Star Force who recycled the raw materials, but not all had been secured. In addition the Kiritas were making more and trading them on the black market to be used against the security forces that were enforcing the sector borders.

Dissent was unusual for Kiritas society, but not entirely unheard of. Clan issues were expected, but rebellion was not. There were always deranged individuals that had to be dealt with and required security, but after the inter-clan rivalries had been abandoned over 200 years ago in favor of mutual cooperation to combat the planet’s many growing problems there had been no true security threats on Kirit. When starvation became widespread revolts broke out, but those individuals were banished into forgotten zones where the horrors that ensued were contained and out of the public’s knowledge. Other than keeping those zones locked down, the rest of the Kiritas virtually forgot they existed, maintaining a semi-functional society during their starvation-induced decline.

Such harmony, real or illusionary, was fading…and the Archons knew a larger confrontation was brewing.

As such, they began to make plans on how to fight their new opposition as the loyal Kiritak slowly grew in size, strength, and skill. They were the future, and Tom and Randy knew they could win this coming fight by playing for time. As much as they wanted to teach the old school Kiritas how to train and reach self-sufficiency they knew that most would not make it, and that most would not even try…which meant as time moved on the older Kiritas would die out and within 50 years or so only the Kiritak would remain if they could keep a lid on the unsanctioned reproduction.





8





December 1, 2360

Iona System

Kirit



Zoe-3482 stood perched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking a region of shorter Kiritas buildings, bracing her feet against the curve of the dome-topped roof so that she didn’t slide off and fall down seven stories to the street below…not yet anyway, for the time wasn’t right. She was stationed as backup as two other Archons and a Kiritak security team were about to raid a rebel stronghold that intelligence reports indicated was located in this building cluster and responsible for the production of the explosives that had taken down a convoy of ore trucks last week. No Kiritas had been killed in the attack, but the disruption to their supply routes was one of many in recent months as a matter of protest against the breeding restrictions.

Trouble was, they were destroying equipment that the planet needed to survive…and it was only a matter of time before one of the attacks left someone injured or dead. Good as the Kiritas were at using explosives, the overcrowded nature of the planet practically begged for collateral casualties. Zoe was impressed that they’d gotten by with it as long as they had, but with Tom’s refusal to rescind or even diminish the reproductive ban the sabotage attacks were growing in number, not to the point to jeopardize their planet-wide efforts, but they were starting to affect local production facilities when they couldn’t get the raw materials they required.

No foodstuff shipments had been hit, for that too would have drawn an immediate negative response from the population, but they were taking out related areas, hitting parts convoys, ore shipments, tool factories, vehicle factories, and anything else they could do to disrupt the Archon-led Kiritas production. The rebels hadn’t been stupid enough to hit any Star Force facilities, but with such a large planet to manage there were an inordinate amount of soft Kiritas targets to hit, most of which didn’t even have the Kiritak there as overseers, let alone as workers.

It was these remote facilities that the rebels preyed upon, trying to show that Star Force didn’t control everything and they weren’t helpless to stop their growing power, promising in sporadic propaganda showing up around the planet that they intended to prove that they could return the Kirit to its former glory on their own merits and were asking the public to allow them their own autonomous regions to prove the point.

Tom had laughed that off, but not the sabotage attacks. As much as the rebels were ‘requesting’ the chance to prove themselves they were also strategically hitting convoys around specific areas that the Archons predicted would become rebel controlled areas if they could isolate the local media and keep Star Force in the dark about it. To that end Tom had assigned surveillance teams to monitor the functionality of all non-Star Force and non-Kiritak infrastructure on the planet, looking for disruptions that might signal a quiet takeover of a specific region.

The rebels were being smart about it too, hitting one area while quietly moving to assume control over another. The key to it all was maintaining the foodstuff supply lines, and so long as those weren’t disrupted the local populations were more or less ambivalent about what else happened around them, trying not to stir up trouble as they eeked out a meager existence…surviving, for the first time in ages, but still only barely while Star Force and the Kiritak transformed the planet sector by sector, but with so much territory to cover most Kiritas would never see the changes come to their homes in their lifetime and they knew it.

So they made do with what little they had, tolerating the rebels so long as they didn’t go too far. The rebels realized this and learned just how far they could press and began to set up little anonymous empires around the planet, recruiting workers and followers with the promise of extra foodstuffs that they had begun producing on their own, the materials from which were apparently stolen from other sites but in such small number as not to make waves outside the local factories that noted the thefts.

Just last month Zoe had been part of a seizure team that took one of the illicit foodstuff factories down, finding the basement of three adjacent buildings having been turned into indoor fields where a type of grain known as zaka was being grown under small lamps scavenged from buildings all around. The makeshift setup was evident in the design, but the facility was functional and providing a pittance of food to the rebels…which they could then use as bribes to outsiders to bring more resources into the fold.

That facility had been confiscated and its materials removed for use in a proper factory…along with foodstuff bonuses for the Kiritas that had tipped the Kiritak off to the location. After several more similar incidents word got around about the rewards and numerous tips started flowing in, some of which had led them to this facility.

This was one of 18 simultaneous operations around the planet to ferret out rebel strongholds, and that was barely a scratch against the list of probable targets they’d been collecting. Kirit was notable as having the highest concentration of Archons after Sol and Epsilon Eridani, and that number was rising as the trailblazers dedicated more and more of Star Force’s resources to running the planet.

On the street below Zoe saw a team of Kiritak gather around one of the exits, dressed in full body flex armor that stood out in stark contrast to those Kiritas pedestrians that were topless, barefooted, and baretailed. Zoe could also see the tailor-made stinger pistols Star Force had designed to fit their three fingered hands. Their plate-like heads were uncovered, but otherwise they were sealed up from neck to tail tip in their signature aqua-colored garb.

Thirty seconds after they arrived the door was breached and they rushed in, with Zoe listening to their comm chatter as they conversed in their native English language. They also spoke Kiritas, but they’d initially been instructed in English for the sake of the long term development of their planet and interstellar relations.

Meanwhile other teams collapsed around the perimeter, spearheaded by a pair of Archons on the ground in search of a particular rebel leader they’d tagged as ‘Rebel Ace.’ She’d gotten away from a previous raid and was said to be the kingpin in this area of the planet. Zoe had been positioned up on the rooftop to insure that she didn’t escape again.

Inside the raid went extremely well. Most of the rebels submitted, but the few that were armed were quickly subdued with stinger rounds and those that tried to flee were rounded up by the Kiritak coming in the exits…that was until a few of them started to come out an upper story window and jump across the street to the flat wall on the opposite building.

They didn’t fall to the ground on impact like Zoe expected. Somehow they gripped the wall with their forearms and climbed up to the curved roof and began to flee through the valley-like trenches as one bulbous building top connected to another in a large multiplex.

“Son of a bitch,” Zoe said, triggering her comm. “In pursuit of five rebels fleeing to the north,” she reported before pressing the large button on her armor’s chest and jumping off the roof.

Instead of falling straight down she coasted level across the street, suspended in midair by the armor add-on she was wearing. When the top of the far building was underneath her feet she pressed another button on her chest and the anti-grav pack lowered her down to the rooftop where she shut it off and awkwardly began sprinting through the valleys paralleling the rebels that were several rows down to her left.

She passed through three sections then jumped up to her left, tapping her chest again, and used her momentum coupled with the pack’s limited lift capacity to vault her up to the top of one of the hemispherical bulges where she caught a glimpse of the last of the line of rebels now running off towards the west.

With the help of her pack and using a choreographed on/off sequence Zoe leapt from one bulge to another like a frog, barely keeping up with the rebels that were sticking to the trenches as they hopped down them, one foot landing on the angle to either side where a Human would have been hamstrung by the lack of flat foot space to land on…and they were making good time of it too.

When the rebels got to the edge of the multiplex unit they jumped across another street with ease, continuing to head west. Zoe jumped up as high as she could on the last rooftop bulge and caught her momentum at the peak, using the anti-grav pack like an invisible zip line that pulled her across the street and the next two rooftops before she had to cut it off before it ran out of charge. She landed on the top of one of the bumps and took three normal steps over the hilltop then jumped again, triggering her pack and releasing it over the next one and the next and the next, momentarily recharging the capacitor in the brief pauses.

She saw she was starting to gain ground on the line of five Kiritas as they slowed their hopping down to a less furious pace and hoped that they wouldn’t have the sense to turn around and see her coming. Another 20 seconds or so and she’d be close enough to take a shot at them…

Suddenly the leader stopped and opened up a hidden rooftop hatch, then caught a side glance of Zoe coming in at them just as the Kiritas beside it was hit by a green stinger and stunned into unconsciousness. The leader ducked inside as Zoe shot the others and pulled the hatch closed behind it. Zoe heard a click just as she landed in the trench, feeling her ankle roll sideways as her foot slid down to the center upon landing.

She stepped up onto one of the unconscious aliens and used it to stand on while she ripped the thin, locked door off its hinges with two solid jerks from her armored hands before tossing it aside and jumping in feet first in pursuit, logging a waypoint on her battlemap where the 4 stunned Kiritas were located so that they could be picked up later.

The tunnel leading down into the building was narrow and Zoe bounced around it as she fell, then landed in an equally small hallway that she had to duck down a few inches to run through, following the sound of another opened door to her left and around a blind corner.

The Archon shuffle/ran down the hallway and turned just in time to see her quarry duck down another hallway to the left through the open doorway. Zoe ran after her, catching up inch by inch as the Kiritas had to open doors in her way and the claustrophobic nature of the building didn’t allow the aliens their fast hopping gait.

The small confines slowed the Human down too, but like all Archons Zoe was a scrambler and tore down the hallways in a fast, yet almost comical fashion, running on her knees as much as she was her feet trying to negotiate turns and the tube-like shafts the jumping race used instead of stairs as the rebel seemed intent on heading down to ground level.

Zoe fired off several stingers trying to wing the Kiritas but she couldn’t line up a good shot because there were so many twists and turns in the architecture, enough to make her dizzy and disoriented as if she was back in school on a field trip running through a play maze at the museum. Fortunately she didn’t have to know where she was going so long as she stayed on the tail of the rebel, and it eventually led her out of the building and onto the typically crowded street outside where she got her first clear look at it.

Timing her shot just right, Zoe waited for its hurried bounce to carry it higher than the others on the street and fired her stinger pistol, splatting it on the back of the head underneath its cranial disk and dropping it to the ground where it was swallowed up in the crowd.

Those Kiritas around the Archon immediately backed up and gave her space, but there were literally dozens of people between her and her target so Zoe used her jump pack and leapt up a few meters into the air and hung from that position as her momentum carried her down the street towards where the target had fallen, but from her higher vantage point she could see that it wasn’t unconscious, but rather scurrying half numb along the ground.

Zoe fired three quick shots at it, one of which hit and knocked it the rest of the way out before she eased off the power of her jump pack and gently dropped back into a gap in the street below. When she got over to the downed rebel she saw that another Kiritas had been hit by her wayward shots…make that two if you counted the one with a limp heading off down the street in a panic.

“Seeco,” Zoe said apologetically to the Kiritas standing over the unconscious bystander, then she put another shot into the rebel for good measure and tagged the location on her battlemap for pickup. Dropping to a knee next to the female Kiritas she turned her over and got a good look at her face, realizing that this wasn’t Rebel Ace. Never the less she pulled out a genetic ID module and pressed it against her forehead to get a scan.

The results came back with a positive match, indicating a known mid-tier operative within the rebel hierarchy that had been tagged along with many others by informants.

Zoe waited with the pair until a team of Kiritak arrived and took the rebel into custody. The Archon borrowed one of their destunning injections and woke the unconscious bystander up and apologized for her bad aim before checking on the capture of the four rebels on the rooftop then heading back to base. As it turned out one of those four was in fact Rebel Ace.



Zoe accompanied Yarric-2201 into the interrogation room where Star Force was holding Ace where both Archons pulled off their helmets and sat them on a side table before stepping up to the physical energy shield separating their side of the room from the prisoner’s. Normally it would have been invisible, but the Star Force prison designs added a slight colored element, in this case blue, so that both prisoners and guards would know where exactly the barrier was located.

On the other side Ace was standing in an empty rectangular cubical…little more than a holding cell during the interrogations, which in Star Force’s case were little more than conversations. On the ceiling above the shield was a translation nub similar to the ones used on Babylon, except that this module had the Kiritas native language programmed in, despite the fact that most Archons on the planet had learned at least a basic understanding of the local language and dialects.

Yarric chose to speak in English, however, so the translator could accommodate a more precise conversation.

“Why?” was all the Archon asked, then stood staring down at the rebel through the shimmering blue energy shield.

“Why what?” Ace asked back, translated like an echo by the overhead device.

“The others we’ve captured usually have a reason why they turned rebel. I’d like to hear yours.”

“You feel a need to justify my execution?”

Yarric frowned. “You think we’re going to kill you?”

“Other rebels you’ve captured have not been returned. They disappear from Kirit. It is not hard to imagine what becomes of them.”

“They’re in prison,” Zoe pointed out. “Why would we release them so they could return to aiding your rebellion.”

“We do not rebel,” Ace said vehemently. “We protect. You are destroying Kiritas. The Kiritak are an abomination. You have twisted the minds of our young to serve you, while you reduce our population by denying all but your chosen ones the ability to breed.”

“Some of you still seem to manage it,” Yarric pointed out. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you that before we came this planet was starving to death. We saved you. I would expect gratitude rather than rebellion.”

“We do not rebel!” Ace repeated, not letting go the point. “You save Kirit only to make Kirit your slave. We do your bidding, you feed us…but only enough to keep us alive, not enough to grow strong. You control us with food, and when we seek to feed ourselves you take our crops away from us.”

“Those crops are being used to feed everyone,” Yarric pointed out. “We don’t sell food to you, we give it freely. You’re using food as currency. Who has Kirit’s wellbeing in mind?”

“We will reclaim our planet, Human. Kill me if you wish, but the loyal will grow, and as they do the shaded eyes will open. Kirit will be Kiritas again, I promise you.”

Zoe and Yarric exchanged glances.

“Guess this one isn’t going to be ratting out her buddies,” Zoe said, shrugging.

“No, I don’t think so,” Yarric agreed. “And I don’t see the need to waste our time here.”

“Nope,” Zoe said, picking up her helmet and heading out. Some of the rebels they’d captured had been compliant, telling them everything they wanted after a few misconceptions were cleared up. It was clear that that wasn’t going to happen with this one, so they might as well send her over to the prison and start working through the list of other leads they had.

“Believe it or not, we’re here to help you,” Yarric added after Zoe had left. “And we’re not going to let idiots like you ruin it for everyone else.”

“You do more damage than you help,” Ace said with a hiss, which the translator interpreted as an icy demeanor and incorporated that feel into the spoken words. “You’re killing our society. You’re killing our culture. You’re killing all Kiritas where the famine would only have killed part of us. You are worse than famine.”

“We’re changing your society, yes,” Yarric admitted. “Killing your culture…I certainly hope so. It’s what got you into this mess in the first place. As for killing all Kiritas, you’re alive and going to stay that way. Same thing for the other rebels. If you want to preserve your culture within yourself, go right ahead, but we’re showing the planet a better way and you’re going to have to sit on the sidelines and watch. Enjoy the show.”

Yarric left not caring what the rebel had to say after that point. An hour later the Kiritak came and transported Ace over to a Star Force run facility. When the transport carrying her opened up it was connected to a long, narrow hallway with no windows or openings of any kind and the transport was sealed to it, leaving no room for even thinking about escape. The Kiritak guards in the transport unbound Ace’s restraints and nudged her into the hallway, then a thick door slid out of the wall and cut off view of the transport…then that door began to inch forward, pushing Ace down the hallway.

She walked on ahead of it and came to a clear cube at the end. Once inside an equally clear door shut and the elevator car detached from the entry point and moved on a hidden track along the wall of a huge chamber. Ace had never seen so much empty space before, and there wasn’t a single person in sight. All over there were modules of various sizes interconnected by tubes, off on the far end just before her elevator car disappeared inside a wall she saw a crane lifting one of the modules off its rack and carrying it over to another location.

She didn’t know what that meant, but in time she’d realize that the wardens kept reconfiguring the interior of the prison so that there was a different layout month after month. The reason for doing so wasn’t for security’s sake, but to change up the prisoners’ routine and keep them having to learn and adapt to new configurations. Stagnation was one thing Star Force prisons did not allow, and a mobile interior helped combat that greatly.

Ace’s elevator car eventually brought her to another airlock-like door that she was pushed out of by the rear wall as it detached and moved her forward. From there another mobile hallway segment guided her into a Kiritas-style apartment…but one large enough to hold 20 of her people. There was no one else present, however, and by Star Force standards the prisoner’s quarters were standard size, though they hadn’t been downgraded to match the smaller Kiritas physique, so in that regard they were a bit larger than normal, but the idea behind the standard quarters was to get the Kiritas prisoners adjusted to proper living conditions and out of the claustrophobia they were accustomed to living in.

Many, including Ace, had trouble adjusting to the new environment and the amenities it possessed. It made no sense why the rebels would be given clan leader status accommodations, but then again nothing else the Humans did made much sense either.

After exploring the four rooms that made up her prison cell and checking out the few luxury items that were left as if presents for her a blinking light caught her attention just below the wall-spanning video screen set behind protective glass to reduce the chances of damage. A round button was the source of the light and read ‘information’ in the Kiritas language, so Ace pressed it and was immediately presented with an orientation video along with a menu of options. She ignored them and shut the device down, preferring to recheck the rooms for some chance of escape until a tone sounded and led her to one of the four rooms where a compartment had another blinking light that drew her attention.

Ace touched it and a tray with a pair of food cubes appeared. She took one and sniffed it, then gobbled it and the other down before the automated tray retracted and the compartment resealed. It would repeat the process each day, but always at a random time within a 2 hour block.

By the time the third day rolled around Ace was at wits end. Never before had she had this much room to herself, nor had she been separated from other Kiritas for more than a few minutes at most. Here there was no one, not even a cursed Human to talk to. She had more food than ever before in her life, her body was responding to it and pumping her full of energy and drive but she had nothing to do!

It was maddening, and eventually she began exploring the information database just to fight off the boredom, finding a newsfeed that allowed her to keep up with what was happening on the planet. Ace occupied herself with that for another week before finally looking through the orientation information…where she discovered various workout options and work tasks available to her.

At first she only complied to explore, hoping to find other rebels in the workout areas, but to her dismay the dreaded herding walls brought her out of her quarters and onto an empty track. She could only see two lanes, the inside of which were bounded by another wall, but after walking around she discovered that it was shaped in a large stretched out circle with no doors, windows, or other openings around the entire perimeter for her to potentially escape from.

Disgusted, she abandoned the track and the automated system led her back to her quarters, indicating that it would be another 12 hours before she’d have the option of using the track again.

One month into her imprisonment Ace finally broke down and started using the workout programs the Humans allotted for her, fearing that she’d go insane if she didn’t have something to do. She also began using the learning tools in the database, which taught her a great many things if she worked through the programs.

After that point Ace began to make progress in her solitude, not understanding why she was even trying. The Humans may not have killed her, but they were torturing her in a way she hadn’t known was possible. She was alone, well fed, and given luxuries that few Kiritas had ever known…and the worst part of it all was that she didn’t feel like a Kiritas anymore. She had no connection to her people, and had to think through everything herself.

They were forcing her to become an individual, and she hated them for it.

That said, she continued to learn and train despite her misgivings, erasing the rebel over time and eventually given a means to work her way to freedom. By the time she earned her way to release the rebel was gone, as was the world the rebel had been fighting to protect. Ace left the prison and reintegrated into the world she had been monitoring via the newscasts, living in an apartment the same size and specifications of her prison cell and working in a factory doing tasks identical to those she’d been earning her way to release on.

Her transition was so bizarre that she woke up for the next several days wondering if anything at all had changed…then seeing her door to the outside and the open button on the inside, something that had never been present in her cell. She opened it, half expecting to see the guide walls for days, but only found the exterior hallway that connected several of the local residential quarters together. The sight was an overwhelming joy each time she saw it. It was the taste of freedom, the one thing she’d been denied by the Humans in her pit of luxury, and it had finally been returned to her.

Only it hadn’t. She’d had to earn it back. She was so relieved to be back into the world that she didn’t bother to hate the Humans any longer, though they still ruled her planet. No, she was back and loving every minute of it, with any ideas of rebellion long since vanished.

She had to admit, though, that the Humans had succeeded in destroying her culture, just as the one had said they would do. And though it was all over now, it still rankled her a bit to know that the Humans hadn’t done it to her…they’d tricked her into changing herself.





9





December 26, 2384

Iona System

Kirit



“The last report is in, Archon,” a Kiritak said, walking up to Tom and handing him a datapad.

The trailblazer read through the summary of the transitional handover of sectors 4505-4608 to Randy’s reclamation team, then skimmed through some of the more detailed files attached. “I guess that’s it then.”

“It’s been an honor,” the Kiritak said, bowing its head slightly.

“Where are you being reassigned?”

“Archon Daniella’s staff, overseeing region 18, personnel division.”

“You’ve done good work here, Ika. Thank you.”

“Thanks are not required. Kiritas owe you. Our service is but a small repayment. Is there anything else you require?”

“Just make sure the command center gets decommissioned properly. I don’t want any equipment going missing in the transfer.”

“I will remain for the duration. May I give the word?”

“Pack it up,” Tom prompted, with the short alien turning about and scurrying out the door. The Archon flipped through a few more pages of the report, verifying that all was in order as the last of his planetary management team was turning over the last of Kirit’s unorganized territory. Everywhere else on the planet had been annexed by the reclamation forces, demolishing structures to make way for new infrastructure and Kiritak governing units.

Most of the planet still lived in the old dwellings, but the key facilities had all been replaced with the new designs, giving Kirit a strong skeleton upon which to feed and retrain the population…which had been dramatically lowered to 1.4 trillion as the reproductive ban’s cumulative effect snowballed. With the older generations dying out of non-starvation causes and the limited breeding replacing them the planet was gaining some badly needed breathing room as they worked to build brand new cities in a scattering of locations to hold an entirely new, Star Force-trained Kiritak population.

That was Randy’s turf, along with Clan Star Fox that had moved more than half its holdings into Iona. Randy’s Clan had even established an independent colony on another planet in the system, giving Star Force a claim to the region and allowing them to establish a permanent defense fleet along with the neophyte Kiritas version that they’d been building out of prototype stage over the past 5 years. That had been necessary, given the increasing number of trade ships coming through the system, in order to discourage the more unsavory elements from trying to take advantage of the primitive planet.

Star Force had even gone so far as to build another Babylon station in the system, which was tagged Babylon 2, in order to facilitate trade between the planet and others and it was quickly growing into a commerce zone of its own, given that the Iona system was strategically placed along three separate trade routes used by neighboring races. Most of them usually passed through the system without giving Kirit a second thought, but as Star Force opened up the system to trade by outsiders the word spread and more and more ships began showing up, most of an independent nature.

Whereas the original Babylon station was an embassy of sorts between civilizations, Babylon 2 morphed into a free trade zone where many individuals would come to skirt their own race’s legal code and taxes. Star Force maintained their own limited rules, keeping the venture from becoming a haven for criminality, but the Humans’ philosophy of economic freedom proved to be very loose by comparison with others, making the system a growing hot spot in the region.

New races also began appearing, most peaceably once they saw the fleet that Star Force had in the system, which grew the Humans’ contacts well into the coreward regions out from Sol, but no mention of the V’kit’no’sat was ever come across. Apparently they’d pulled back from Sol’s region within the galaxy, which was a relief to the Archons, but it begged the question as to what happened to them and where were they now?

Tom was leaving Kirit to join one of the mapping expeditions heading out anti-spinward from Sol, now that his mission here was finished. Randy and the others would be staying, though many had already cycled out to be replaced by others. Randy and Clan Star Fox were the regulars now, tackling the enormous task of restructuring the entire planet. Tom’s job had been to stabilize the chaos while Randy built and expanded, and now that starvation no longer choked Kirit it was time for him to leave the planet.

He’d become fond of the Kiritas and their world, but he didn’t want to get rooted here like Randy had. His moving a portion of Clan Star Fox here allowed him to keep a foot in both worlds, but Tom needed a change of venue, so he’d chosen one as different from his planetary post as he could…which was deep space exploration.

Others had been running Clan Skystrike in his absence, as most of the Clans now were, given the communications difficulties between systems, but Tom had been out of formal contact ever since he’d come to Kirit, only getting periodic, yet detailed reports from the rest of the Clan and issuing the occasional order when needed, which would take weeks to make it back to the nearest Star Force system.

Iona was still well outside their borders, an island in the stars so to speak that Randy was claiming for them. Only one other system had been annexed in his time here, given the amount of resources needed to sustain Kirit as well as those being consumed by the continuing war being fought against the lizards. Star Force’s jumpship fleet had expanded exponentially, but the large ships were still hard to come by and had to be reserved for specific uses, not allowing the wildfire-like expansion into the galaxy that you’d read about in scifi stories.

The systems that they did have they were constantly fortifying, not just against the lizards but against the growing number of races the Humans were coming into contact with. Anonymity had been a powerful defense in the past, but that was no longer a luxury as word of the Humans spread, meaning that everywhere they had a presence Star Force was likely to attract attention at some point. It was standing policy to make all of their colonies known to their allies and others, clearly establishing their territory while offering free pass-through privileges to interstellar traffic…with the one exception being Sol.

Star Force didn’t want anyone else going there, but by opening up the surrounding spacelanes to traffic most races obliged and kept clear of the Human homeworld. That policy of free travel also meant that whatever visible infrastructure or fleets Star Force had in a system was likely to be monitored by the passing traffic, meaning that the Archons couldn’t afford to have any weak systems that might invite predation.

The lizards were by far their primary enemy, but there were also a handful of other races that were either disinclined to have any relations with Star Force whatsoever or were actively hostile. There were no ongoing wars with them as there was with the lizards, but there had been a number of incidents in neutral systems that had made those races’ political alliances crystal clear.

The Zatoma were the primary minor threat, not in overall military might, but in the way of piracy. They had no known homeworld but their ships could be seen traveling the spacelanes all across this part of the galaxy and they’d been at odds with the Humans from the start after they jumped a mapping expedition early on and were barely fought off. After that the Zatoma avoided Star Force whenever they could, unless they thought they had the advantage. That was rarely the case and more often than not Star Force would intervene when the Zatoma would hit someone else.

As a result, they’d begun to sniff out weak areas in Star Force’s publically outlined territory. Finding none they kept their distance, but they were always on the periphery looking in, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Tom left his command center for the last time and headed over to the neighboring block in the small Star Force annex within one of Randy’s rebuilt cities. This one was well away from the metropolises he was building and had been completely leveled early on in order to build a Kiritak facility for Tom to work out of. Starting with the Star Force buildings, including a small sanctum for the Archons to use, the city had expanded outward ring by ring over the years until Tom had a fully functioning Kiritak infrastructure to work out of as he managed the surrounding ‘lawless’ territories, as well as those spread across the planet.

He’d nicknamed the city ‘Solitude’ after Superman’s ‘fortress of solitude’ up in the wasteland of the north pole, and in a similar motif Solitude sat in the wastes of Kirit while both Star Force and Kiritak infrastructure projects were focused elsewhere. Tom had essentially ruled a shrinking planet for several long decades, and he was happy to turn over the final piece, his mission completed and mostly successful. Still, those billions that had died in the early years that he couldn’t save kept him from labeling it a total success.

Tom returned to his private quarters and packed up his gear, then hit the sanctum one last time for a solid workout before having a dropship run him up to orbit where a jumpship was waiting. It had offloaded its cargo and accepted return passengers three days ago, but had been held over for Tom to finish up the handover on the planet before leaving. As soon as he was aboard it adjusted its orbit until it hit on the jumpline that led to the system’s central star and made a microjump into the inner zone. From there it maneuvered onto an interstellar jumpline to leave the system and head back towards Star Force territory.

Eight months later and Tom would be outbound again, commanding an expeditionary jumpship on a mapping mission and settling in to his new assignment with ease. Archons were adaptable and multitaskers, and above all else they craved a challenge. The change of mission profile and lifestyle fell into that category and Tom took it in stride, satisfied with the completion of his mission on Kirit but with no qualms about leaving the planet and the Kiritas behind.

Randy was in the opposite position. His chosen mission was to stay on Kirit and help advance their race…a huge challenge and one worthy of an Archon, but he had to be careful not to get too settled into the local atmosphere, for as much as he needed to set an example for the natives he couldn’t let himself start thinking like them. He was the instrument of their change, not the other way around.

Him bringing in Clan Star Fox had eliminated that problem. Not only did he have more Archons with which to interact and train with, he had Star Force duties to attend to simultaneous with Kiritas ones because he intended to make the Iona system a firm part of Star Force territory. He’d chosen one of the rocky inner planets to set up shop on, an airless world much akin to Mars but larger. It had gravity slightly less than Earth and ample mineral resources, as well as a surface covered in sand and dust and made for a moderate building challenge, but nothing that his Clan hadn’t encountered before.

At present Randy had more than 2 million Clan Star Fox colonists on the world that he’d named ‘Horizon,’ due to their location on the edge of Star Force’s map. Though he didn’t live there, the trailblazer ran the colony along with all other Star Fox assets within the system from their enclave on Kirit that held another 100,000 Clan colonists.

It was the one location on the world that the Kiritas didn’t inhabit or co-inhabit, and Randy spent about half his time there and the other half moving about the planet from one facility to another dealing with problems and guiding the massive reconstruction effort while Emily ran the Kiritak training facilities, now numbering in the thousands, each of which was larger than a university back on Earth. It was here that eggs were brought to be fertilized, and like the Canderians the Kiritas offspring were born into the training programs and guided by older Kiritak through largely automated teaching systems.

More than a third of those systems were interactive recordings of Emily and other Archons explaining essential concepts while the rest was data oriented. There were very few recordings of Kiritas to teach Kiritas, so revered had the Humans become within their society. To them, Star Force was the bringer of knowledge, unity, strength, and hope…to Emily and the others involved in the training of the Kiritak they just wanted to make sure the proper instruction was given and found it was easier to do it themselves rather than to train an ‘actor’ for the role.

As such, every generation of Kiritak born entered into a world that was a mix of Kiritas and Star Force, and as the years passed and there were less and less original Kiritas left alive and more and more Kiritak entering the population a major shift occurred, in which ambitions began to rise for their society as a whole. They were not merely content to follow the orders of the Archons…they wanted to prove themselves worthy to the Humans, both by remaking the entire surface of their planet to wash away the scars of the past, meaning removal and replacement of all old infrastructure, and by expanding out into the stars.

To that end the Kiritas leaders, now all Kiritak, requested a ‘trial of advancement’ from Star Force, which both surprised and pleased Randy. He and Emily accepted their request and began creating a tiered achievement system that would have the Kiritas creating technology on their own, but having to meet prerequisite standards set by Star Force as they did so in a sort of quality control system that allowed the Archons to direct their advancement down a specified path.

For example, the first step they set them on was an improvement in their aircraft, followed by the creation of dropships, then starports, starships, shipyards, etc. Each had to fit within parameters defined by the Humans and had to be proven ad nauseam before they were allowed to progress to the next level. In this way it insured a mastery of the technology rather than the copying of tech bequeathed to them for use on the surface and retooled for orbital use.

The ongoing Trial of Advancement eventually resulted in the creation of the Kiritas’ limited naval fleet, then limited orbital habitats, given that most of their production resources were still being used to remake the planet. They built a few habitat stations, a few factories, warehouses, shipyards, and whatever else Star Force wanted them to learn how to build on their own, slowly grooming them into a space-based civilization while continuing to teach them how to maintain their enormous population.

It was a long, deliberate process that Randy was guiding them down, one that would found the basis for an alliance closer than any other the Humans would forge, for all the time and resources Star Force spent to save the Kiritas and teach them how to live, the diminutive aliens would never forget the debt they owed, and would forever be seeking ways to impress and aid their Human allies, some of which would be crucial to Star Force’s survival in the distant future.





10





July 29, 2389

Katerne System

Oel



The Hycre jumpship released the Star Force light battleship from its hold once it reached orbit of Oel, a world on the border of Bsidd space where the Hycre had been invited to attend an anti-lizard summit. Five of the most powerful races that were both enemies and victims of the lizards were gathering to discuss the mutual threat, of which the Hycre were one. Star Force’s ally had requested that the Humans attend as part of their delegation and had arranged for appropriate transportation to the distant summit.

Unable to travel on the Hycre ships due to their lack of environmental conditions suitable to Humans, Star Force had sent their smallest manned warship along as a diplomatic vessel, which the Hycre had then carried more than 650 light years around the periphery of lizard territory along with a small warfleet of their own.

As the Tenacity left the confines of the Hycre jump bay along with their own warships, Greg got his first good look at the planet beneath them, easily identifying the scattering of gigantic cities across the green surface. As the Hycre information had stated, the Bsidd kept a very strict line between urban and natural areas on their worlds, with their perfectly circular cities appearing as dots in the otherwise wild regions of the planet below. Greg could see three such locations in the world-spanning forest as the Tenacity and Hycre ships orbited around towards the night side, along with the glowing markings of another just appearing on the horizon.

The summit, however, would not be held on the surface. The course the Hycre transmitted over to the Star Force ship had them moving to rendezvous with a massive station in extremely low orbit, barely kilometers above the atmosphere. Why they kept it so close Greg didn’t know, but the technology used to create it was glossy to the extreme. He couldn’t visually identify a single edge to the construct, which looked like an octopus with its arms loosely wrapped around its main body.

Every tentacle on the station glistened with reflected sunlight on the day side, then glowed bluish/purple on the night side. Despite the very squishy aesthetic Greg got the impression that the Bsidd were highly technological, which was confirmed three days later when the Humans were given access rights to the station…or part of it anyway. There were 5 different sections, each with their own environmental distinctions, of which the Humans were given access to the oxygen zone.

When Greg and a party of three other Archons boarded the station they were taken aback by what they saw, feeling like they were walking into a movie scene. Dozens of different races were milling about, all of which were brand new to them, in what felt like a Mass Effect Citadel station. Half of them were floating around on anti-grav seats/sleds above the Humans’ heads while others were crawling along small tubes that lined the walls. The rest followed the footpaths, which Greg and company took as they began to explore the Bsidd station.

Holograms were everywhere, all written in the trade language that the Hycre had supplied to the Humans and that they’d studied in detail both before they’d left Star Force space and during the weeks that it took them to travel here. Greg had picked up enough of the language that he could read most of the signs at first or second glance and headed in the direction an information sign indicated was the way to the main promenade.

When they came to an up-ramp their feet suddenly stuck in place as an energy shield wrapped around them an inch above the floor and pulled them up as an invisible escalator. Greg’s feet came free at the top which he walked off from to allow others behind him to ascend, then he looked back down at the very shallow angle of the ramp, thinking the Bsidd were going out of the way for comfort’s sake.

“Is it just me or does this feel like a videogame to anyone else?” Jen-475 asked.

“Guess we really are the newbs out here,” Greg agreed. “And yeah, it does feel like a videogame.”

“Oh I want to try that,” Aaron-622 said as they walked out onto the promenade ring that surrounded a huge lower level complex that was a mix of shops and entertainment facilities. Crisscrossing the plaza was a series of zero g energy tubes that shot an individual from one side of the promenade to the other, apparently keeping you confined inside with little more than energy shields being emitted by occasional floating pylons.

“Easy,” Greg cautioned. “Everything around here seems extremely pedestrian. I don’t think they’d like us racing across.”

“Killjoy,” Aaron teased as he brushed shoulders with a passing ape-like creature that bounced him to the side on impact. Both the Human and the larger alien exchanged glances but kept on walking in opposite directions. None of the Archons had their armor on, nor were they carrying any weapons, and Aaron got a good feel for the toughened skin on the monkey as his shoulder bounced off what felt like armored plates.

“He’s lucky I’m on vacation,” Aaron said sarcastically.

“I think that’s the embassy wing,” Clint-274 said, pointing to one of many outer exits on the promenade.

“Gently cut across traffic,” Greg prompted, letting Jen lead the way as they crossed through the pedestrian flow, glancing up at the undersides of the hovering passersby as they played frogger to get across the circus-like mix of races…and these were only the oxygen breathers on the station.

When they got to the entrance the traffic thinned, but they still had to part their four man formation to let what looked like a clear gelatinous blob float by on an anti-grav orb that it had somehow internalized. Greg didn’t know if it was surgically implanted, swallowed, or if the alien could take on varying shapes, but it was definitely one of the more bizarre races around.

Clint exchanged glances with him and Greg microscopically shrugged beneath his white uniform. Half of the aliens in sight weren’t even wearing clothing, while a small portion were covered in fabric or concealed within armored hulks.

Aaron whistled appreciatively as they passed one of the mostly nude species, the closest to Human form they’d seen. The alien glanced over at them in turn, but continued to walk out of the embassy wing as Aaron kept his eyes on ‘her’ mostly feminine form right down to her pair of uncovered breasts…yet her bluish/green skin was slightly ridged like soft armor, giving her a bristling, yet exotic look.

“Might want to think twice about shore leave for the crew,” he noted, turning his head back in the direction they were walking. “I get the feeling if some of the guys hit on her she might eat them.”

“Point taken,” Greg said as they saw another of the pseudo-females pass them by along with a hip height quadruped.

The dog-like creature did a double take then turned around. “Taru, ven a Sta For?”

Greg and the other Archons paused and did a double take. “Yes, we are,” he answered in the trade language, or as best as he could manage the pronunciation.

“Thank you for coming. We have much to discuss,” it said, walking up alongside of them. “Our rooms are this way please.”

Clint shot Aaron an eyebrow as he flicked on his earpiece, but the other Archon just shook his head. “This day is getting weirder by the minute.”

Greg and the others followed the hairless dog down a series of wide halls until they came to an ornate set of doors that led into one of the embassy suites that acted as both a national and corporate headquarters on the station, facilitating both trade and diplomacy for members of the embassy’s race as well as interracial relations.

“With so many newcomers to the summit, it’s an excellent opportunity to make new friends,” the alien dog said, its words being picked up and translated by the earpieces all of the Archons wore. “You come with the Hycre, yes?”

“Yes,” Greg answered, having to actually speak the trade language, given that the earpieces only worked one way.

“Tell me about your people, your planets, your customs. We wish to learn more about our galactic neighbors. I am Hartu of the Nevarsensta. Welcome to Oel, Star Force.”

“Nevarsensta?” Greg asked, frowning. “We were supposed to be meeting with the Elorav.”

The Nevarsensta clicked its muzzle teeth together three times in rapid succession. “Oh my, have I made a mistake? It seems I have. My sincere apologies. We have extended invitations to all new races at the summit. Did you not receive one…or did you not wish to meet with us?”

“We did not receive,” Greg managed, having to think hard to come up with the word for ‘receive.’

The Nevarsensta bowed his head and shook it side to side. “Shall we arrange a future meeting then? I do not wish to keep you from other appointments.”

“I can stay,” Jen offered Greg in English so the alien couldn’t understand.

“Alright,” Greg said. “Aaron, stay with her. Clint and I will go search out our other contact.”

“Two of us will stay,” Jen told the Nevarsensta as Greg and Clint walked back out into the embassy corridor.

“Excellent,” Hartu said, walking over to a pillow-like cushion on the floor and laying down. “Be seated,” he prompted, pointing a ‘paw’ at several similar cushions, “and tell me more about your race.”



Two weeks later the summit officially began. The Humans had a small booth with two chairs in front of a glass wall that looked in on a shallow pit, around which there were other booths of varying sizes. Immediately to their right and visible through another glass wall were the Hycre. It was the first time Greg had ever seen one of them in person, floating about in their own environment. The wall between them was double thick, however, so that the excessive heat from the other side wouldn’t bleed through and cook the Humans.

To their left was a race Greg and the others had never seen, but apparently they had been invited as a subsidiary of the Hycre as well as four others. Each of the five main races had lesser races with them, giving the total assembly a count of 27, most of which were visible from where Greg sat alongside Clint. Behind them Jen and Aaron stood and watched as a huge hologram filled the central chamber in a star map that outlined the full extent of the lizards territory.

“Shit,” Clint whispered.

“That’s a lot more territory than the Hycre knew about,” Greg agreed, seeing that the rimward regions extended farther from the lizard homeworld than the coreward ones did. A lot farther, in fact, giving the enemy a huge realm that stretched from the top of the galactic plane down to the bottom in the form of tendrils with the main bulk of their territory in the center. The map was by far the most intricate the Archons had ever seen and made it clear just how powerful the lizards were in the region.

“So they have been toying with us,” Jen commented as a voice in the trade language began to speak.

“Know your enemy,” a Bsidd said from a compartment to Greg’s right about a third of the way around the arc of booths. The alien was insect-like and very ugly, with a wisp of a frame but standing half again as tall as the Archons. It had pointy appendages everywhere but was mostly biped…though those other parts might have been able to pass for extra legs.

“They are larger and stronger than all those assembled here. Some of us have made small gains against them in recent years but that will soon be for naught. Some of you with territories on the rimward edge of the Cajdital’s domain know the truth, but for the rest of you I will show you the reason we are all still alive.”

One of the Bsidd’s stick-like appendages pressed a switch in its booth and the star map updated with a host of green dots illuminating rimward of the lizards’ sea of yellow ones. Star Force territory, on the coreward side, as a mere handful of off-white dots while the other races’ star systems were equally colorless but with different shades to mark their territories.

“What is left of the H’kar is shown before you now. They are the greatest threat to the Cajdital and have been fighting a war with them longer than most of us have lived. That war has tipped to the Cajdital’s favor, and they are now rolling through their star systems, destroying or annexing all they come across. These systems are what they have left,” the Bsidd said, gesturing to the green dots on the map. “When the Cajdital are finished with them they will divert the bulk of their military towards eradicating us.”

“The only hope we stand is to coordinate our efforts, share technology, resources, transportation, and even some of our worlds. We must band together or the Cajdital will roll over us with ease, no matter how much success you’ve had against them in the past. All of us will perish, and the Cajdital will grow stronger on our carcasses. We must use our strengths against them, and armor over each other’s weaknesses. Here, today, we can forge an alliance, a true alliance that can turn back the tide of Cajdital aggression if we hit them now…before they are finished with the H’kar.”

“Politics must be put aside and we must band together…we must! When the wave of Cajdital ships comes, our worlds will be cut apart from one another, so we must make preparations now, before the storm. Otherwise you may as well return to your homes and live out your remaining days as you choose, for when they come they will come in numbers that will blot out the stars and you will have no hope of surviving alone.”

“To do this, we all must contribute, and the Bsidd are no exception. In order for this proposed alliance to function we must have adequate communication lines established, and no, I do not refer to courier ships. We are willing to share our interstellar communications technology with all who sign on to this alliance in order to establish a network of relays surrounding lizard territory and binding us all together.”

“As we do so, we must also take action in multiple ways. We must reinforce our defenses, establish shared outposts on currently uninhabited worlds and empty systems, places where the Cajdital will not know to look for us. We must also establish evacuation routes for when our worlds do get hit, so that we may preserve as many lives as possible in our defeats. We must also have places for these refugees to go, not only to escape, but to contribute to the alliance in a productive manner.”

“Simultaneously we must be on the offensive. We cannot let the Cajdital dictate every battlefield. We must choose some of our own, not just in defense, but to push the Cajdital back in key systems, denying them spacelanes and resources they need to expand with. We must keep them bottled up as we prepare, and we must keep them blind to our efforts. Their scouts cannot be permitted travel through your systems. You must seek out and destroy them when they try so that we can retain the element of surprise and unmonitored reinforcement.”

“We can fight the Cajdital effectively, but it will take a combined effort. Not a sham. Not a stunt. Not a deception. But a true alliance the likes of which the Bsidd have never known, and as I assume most of your races have never known. Put aside your conflicts with one another and forge the bonds of a united front. We either stand together…or we fall one by one.”





Augmentation

1





May 8, 2395

Jartul System

Daka



Mark-084 looked down on the planet of Daka from orbit, seeing the dark browns of the continents mixing with the pale green pair of oceans snaking their way around them in long fingers, but he was unable to make out any signs of urbanization on the planet, new as it was to the Alliance. Somewhere down there was a city, constructed mostly underground to be able to survive orbital bombardment but not necessarily for secrecy. The planet and star system were uninhabited, located a third of the distance around the perimeter of lizard territory from Sol, and as such were expected not to draw the enemy’s attention.

That was the reason why Alliance Command had chosen the system to establish their starfighter training center, where pilots from all the Alliance races could assemble, swap notes on the lizards, and start building better equipment and tactics to counter the enemy in the air and in space. It’d been operational for a couple of years now, but this was the first opportunity Star Force had to attend given the distances involved. More and more the Hycre were having to ferry them about to various Alliance bases given the limited capabilities of their gravity drives and this was no exception. It had taken two massive Hycre jumpships to carry over the 8 ships in Mark’s small taskforce that would be permanently setting up on the planet below.

From the bridge of one of his cargo ships Mark spotted the orbital infrastructure where the spacebound fighters trained, but that was one area that Star Force had not delved into. All their pilots were aerial pilots, tasked with in-atmosphere combat, leaving orbital maneuvers to the navy with their bigger guns and attack drones. The idea of losing pilots in naval engagements was abhorrent, which was why Star Force didn’t used manned craft. On the surface the pilots stood a chance of survival if they got hit, and their aerial craft were equipped with armored cockpits to increase pilot survivability, much like the mechs were, so that a defeat didn’t necessarily result in a death.

Other races weren’t so considerate and fielded large numbers of manned craft, sometimes little more than mobile weapon platforms. Putting armor or shields on a fighter slowed it down, as well as made it more expensive to produce, which was why some Alliance members had their starfighter forces comprised of largely disposable craft armed with powerful weapons…and treated the pilots to be just as dispensable as their craft.

Those races often used hoard tactics, just as the lizards did, to overwhelm a target by sheer numbers but the Calavari did not, and they were the leading Alliance member when it came to starfighters. They’d been the first to suggest the construction of this facility to train up the other races’ inadequate pilots, as they’d put it, in order to present the lizards with a more skilled, united starfighter front.

12 races were already here, with several more to come, making the Humans a latecomer to the scene. The Hycre had no starfighters at all, let alone pilots, so their presence in the system was purely as a defensive force in case the lizards did stumble across this system. Two of their destroyers remained on station permanently, while the jumpships that had just dropped off Star Force’s ships had left as soon as the unloading was complete.

There were a few other warships in the system but Mark had elected not to bring any of their own, instead using all of the available cargo space the Hycre had allotted them to bring materiel and personnel sufficient to establish a Canderian seda in orbit. For now, at least, Mark and his pilots would be taking up residence in the Alliance base on the surface while his army of techs began establishing mining outposts at varied sites across the planet that would, months down the road, supply the raw materials to construct the seda in orbit.

Of the 24 pilots Mark had assembled, including himself, 12 were Archons, 10 were Star Force regulars, and 2 were Canderians. Half of the Archons were from Mark’s own Clan Gunstar, with the others being highly skilled volunteers from the others. All together the trailblazer had assembled a good group of the best pilots Star Force had to offer…with the two Canderians thrown in as extra. Canderous had been begging Star Force to let them establish a starfighter wing of their military, but they’d been staunchly refused, and given that they had little in the way of surface operations they’d never had much need for aerofighters, so they’d made do with building armed assault shuttles for air support.

Mark had brought them along so they could see for themselves how stupid manned starfighters were when going up against warships, but also to allow them to learn from the other races and see what type of ground support operations they might find a niche in, considering that it looked like Star Force’s primary area of contribution to the Alliance was going to be surface-related and Canderous was heavily space-based.

Leaving his cargo fleet in orbit under the care of Baron Keller to begin setting up mining operations, Mark and his fellow pilots left for the surface in a dropship and traveled down to the northernmost continent and the tallest mount range on the planet…which was only several hundred meters high. Daka was covered in grasslands and extremely flat, with the Alliance base tucked into what little terrain the planet had.

When the falcon approached the coordinates that had been transmitted to the Humans upon arrival they did a flyby, seeing several squadrons of aerofighters performing maneuvers around what looked like a bombing range to the east while others were busy with dogfights to the west. The northern and southern approaches were clear for the moment, so the dropship pilot brought them in from the south and circled around until they spotted a large open door on the side of one of the more sheer mountains, exposing a huge hangar bay inside.

As the dropship approached it was literally swallowed up by the massive construct. Plains of open deck stretched out before them with hundreds of aircraft clustered in small groups sporadically spaced around the interior of the dome…with another massive, closed bay door on the other side, meaning that the hollowed-out chamber had to stretch from one side of the mountain range to the other. It was kilometers wide at minimum and was obviously designed to hold a great deal more occupants than it had at present.

A tracking beacon led the dropship to the area of the deck that was being allotted for use by the Humans, tucked up against one of the support columns rising up to the top of the dome to keep the mountain from crushing down onto the hang deck. As they got closer Mark realized the column was much bigger than it appeared, and as they moved in to land a hundred meters away from it he also saw infrastructure imbedded inside in the form of doors and hundreds of windows stretching up the exterior.

Just outside the doors were a group of 5 people waiting for them to land, so once the dropship settled down Mark and the other pilots slipped their filter masks over their mouth and nose and grabbed the first of their gear from the hold before walking outside into the planet’s native atmosphere.

The world had plenty of oxygen to go around, up near 45%, but there were also a number of other gases mixed in that didn’t affect the Humans so well. If they needed to they could breathe the atmosphere directly, but after a few minutes of exposure they’d start to get a burning sensation in their throat and lungs that would build to painful levels, though it was said that it wouldn’t kill them.

Star Force had designed the small masks that wrapped around the back of their heads and sealed over their mouth and nose to be as minimally intrusive as possible while removing the hazardous compounds from each breath they took. As Mark led the pilots from the dropship and over to the column he saw that three out of the 5 people in the greeting team also wore masks of some type, though these covered their entire faces. One of the two that was unaugmented stepped forward and spoke first.

“Welcome, fellow pilots,” the four-armed Calavari said in the trade language, looking down at the smaller Humans. “We are pleased you could join us.”

“I am Mark-084 and these are some of the best pilots Star Force has to offer,” the Archon said, his voice muffled by the breather mask. “We appreciate the invite…and the chance to test our strengths against your own.”

“I am Vornac, and will serve as your liaison officer while you are here. This is Morhat, my wingman, and these three are Protovic pilots who were interested in seeing the newcomers.”

“Dash’ti’ki,” one of them said, taking a step forward and holding its hand up in what Mark almost thought was the Vulcan V-hand greeting, except that the fingers weren’t right. The middle two were together with the others splayed out, but concealed within the body suit and helmet the Protovic was wearing the Archon could have sworn he was looking at another Human. “You are Star Force?”

“We are,” Mark said proudly.

“You do look like us,” Dash’ti’ki said, glancing over Mark and the rest of the Humans. “We are interested in seeing if you fly as well. We offer a challenge, when you are ready.”

“Thank you. Once we get settled in and figure out how things work around here I’m sure we’ll be able to come to terms.”

“Come to terms?”

“We have rules of engagement that must be satisfied before we accept challenges, so I cannot officially confirm or deny until we get more information.”

“And that you will have shortly,” Vornac assured Mark as he gestured one of his arms back towards the column. “Let’s continue this indoors, shall we? I can see that your race doesn’t take well to this atmosphere.”

“Yours apparently does,” Mark said after nodding and following the aliens over to the door.

“It is tolerable to us but not to the Cajdital, which is why we chose this planet. If they find us here they’ll have to equip their assault forces with envirosuits and they don’t typically carry a lot of them in storage, which would diminish their numbers if they chose to launch an immediate attack.”

The triple-wide doors split apart, two pieces sliding laterally into the walls while the third middle piece disappeared up into the ceiling, giving them all easy access into a large empty room with a solitary terminal rising up out of the floor in the center. The internal architecture was all shades of red and orange, a stark contrast from the greys in the hangar.

Vornac remotely closed the outer doors before triggering a whirlwind that nudged Mark off balance as the air was rapidly exchanged through a series of filters hidden within the walls. As soon as the violent windstorm began it died out and a light illuminated on the terminal.

“The air is clear, with a mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon dioxide remaining. I believe that is satisfactory for your race?”

“What percent of carbon dioxide?” Mark asked.

“Same as the planetary atmosphere, about .5% and our air processors keep that ratio internally.”

Mark slid his mask off and took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly, feeling no ill effects. “We’re good,” he said to both Vornac and his fellow pilots that followed his lead and removed their masks.

The Calavari used the terminal to open the inner doors, revealing an ovoid hallway stretched laterally that was decorated in more red and less orange than the airlock chamber, but the colors were still bright and a bit overbearing, giving the whole area almost a carnival feel to it.

“This complex is for your use and is capable of holding 2,400 individuals. That’s how many quarters are present, though if you double up you could accommodate many more. We will accommodate you with whatever foodstuffs you require, though many races prefer to ship in their own,” Vornac said, leading them through the column to a three story tall room not far from the airlock.

“This is your control center and will allow you to monitor all chambers within this column, as well as communicate with others and tap into the base’s external sensors, communications, and other systems. Don’t be afraid to wander around the system, safety protocols are firmly locked into place so you won’t be able to accidentally cause any trouble. The systems are all encoded in the trade language, of course, so there shouldn’t be any language issues. On the far side are the cargo areas, which I imagine you’ll want to start loading up from your transport?”

“We have a lot more stuff to bring down, but only a handful of people. These are all the pilots I brought with me.”

“What, just these?” Vornac asked, a bit taken aback. “We intended to train you an army of properly prepared pilots.”

“These will be enough,” Mark said confidently. “We will learn and pass on what we know. Our territory is far from here, so we didn’t want to bring too many out on the first trip.”

“Yes, of course, I’d forgotten. My apologies. Just know that this facility is not the only one allotted to you. We have many more should the need arise, so do not hesitate to bring in as many pilots as you can. As far as your introductionary information is concerned, there is a program installed on this terminal that will explain everything, which you can view at your leisure.”

“If we want to go somewhere else, do we have to walk across the hangar deck or do you have an alternative means of transport?”

“You’re certainly welcome to fly across to other locations if you wish, or go by foot, but we do have access corridors above the hangar ceiling that connect all structures together. Also, there are communal structures up there for all to use. I suggest that once you get settled you take a while to explore the base before we get heavily into training. This is a home for all pilots and the Calavari want to ensure that everyone feels the same.”

“Well, we’ll definitely take the opportunity to explore,” Mark promised. “Are there any specific training sessions or meetings over the next few days that you want us to attend?”

“Everything is at your discretion. Join us when you feel ready. A full schedule of base activities and operations is available in the database, accessible from here,” Vornac said, laying one of his lower hands on a console. “You can also sign up for use of the Valeries remotely.”

“Valeries?”

“A type of starfighter that we have designed for the use of all Alliance pilots. You can, of course, use your own, but you’re also welcome to use a Valerie whenever you like.”

“Operating controls?” Mark asked, glancing at Vornac’s four arms.

“Modular to accommodate all races invited, except for the Hycre. They declined invitation so we didn’t modify any for them.”

“Modifications for each race or one design that all can use?”

“Forgive me, I misspoke. Had the Hycre attended they would have required different craft. The Valeries available to you can be used by everyone once you reconfigure the internal controls and environment to your race’s setting, easily accomplished within a few minutes.”

“Interesting,” Mark mewed. “And where are these Valeries located?”

“A neutral zone of the deck,” Vornac said, accessing the database and quickly pulling up a map and thrusting one of his four thick fingers at it. “We have several thousand available and do all servicing ourselves. The Calavari, I mean. That way other race’s pilots can focus on flying and learning while we handle the maintenance. We also offer fuel services for your unique craft, once we have the necessary formulas worked out. Some races prefer to keep that a secret, but the more redundancy we have in production across all our bases in the galaxy the better equipped we will be to fight the Cajdital.”

“Ours is mostly hydrogen-based. I’ll send over the formula later, though we do intend to fuel our own craft.”

“As you wish, but we will soon have a supply on hand should you require its use. We also are modifying the Valerie designs for construction by other races using resources plentiful to them and we will do the same for you if you wish.”

“We like our skeets well enough, but we’re always on the lookout for new ideas to steal.”

“A ‘skeet’ is your craft?”

“Atmosphere only, but yes.”

“What are your space-based craft called?”

“We don’t use any manned ships that small in space. We rely on our warships for naval combat.”

“Much as the Hycre do,” Vornac pointed out neutrally.

“Our motivations are different, but there is a coincidental similarity there.”

“What is your motivation?” one of the Protovic asked through its mask that it still had on.

Mark leaned again the edge of a console and crossed his arms over his chest, expecting this to turn into a bit of a pilot’s turf war. “We accept the loss of machinery in battle, not pilots. In atmosphere starfighter pilots have a better chance of survival, even if they get shot down, and usually the guns they face on a planet are far smaller than those of a navy in space.”

“The Cajdital have no such concerns.”

“And we’ve found ways to beat them,” Mark countered. “Their starfighters are no match for our gunships because we designed them to take the enemy’s advantage and turn it against them.”

“I would much like to see those battles,” Vornac said, “if you happen to have records?”

Mark smiled. “We do, and I brought copies to study. I hope all of you have done the same. I’m interested in how the lizards have adapted to fight you.”

“Lizards?” Dash’ti’ki asked.

“It’s our nickname for the Cajdital. We usually don’t use that term with other races, but since we’re all pilots here I figured you’d have some shorthand terms of your own.”

Vornac laughed with a booming tone. “I like you, Human. You speak like Calavari pilot. I hope you fly like one.”

Mark glanced across his shoulder at Boen-497. “We’ll find out soon enough. Our skeets are coming down with the next dropship. Any procedures we need to know about before taking to the sky?”

Vornac smiled, showing two rows of tiny teeth. “Our skies are free. Head out when you like.”





2





May 9, 2395

Jartul System

Daka



With most of their equipment unloaded and their skeets being transported down from orbit in small shipments Mark left their complex in Kara-317’s hands while he and Boen, Sam Grind, and Iren-844 headed up the elevator in the support column they were inhabiting and exited onto a wide, bridge-like arching walkway large enough for a mech. It was all but empty, with only two other individuals visible at the far left end and a junction a decent distance down to their right.

“Which way?” Iren asked.

“Let’s start with what’s close,” Mark suggested, walking off to their right. “There should be some structures down this way, if the map was accurate.”

“Guess we won’t have to worry about having to run around the flight deck in masks,” Boen commented, seeing the size and length of the upper walkways.

“No, but this shallow arch is going to be fun,” Mark said sarcastically, knowing that running up it would be a bear considering that it was so long. Running down it would also be tricky, as your body would want to go faster than normal and it’d be easy to over accelerate and trip up your feet…but then again, what Archon didn’t enjoy a challenge.

“There’s a door,” Sam said, being the non-Archon in the foursome, as he pointed ahead of them along the right wall where a small doorjamb jutted out a few inches as seen from the side. When the pilots got to it they saw it was closed but a small control panel held two crystal-like buttons, one red, one yellow, that according to their base introduction walkthrough stated was used in lieu of handles or latches.

Boen pressed the red button, finding the deceptively crystal appearance to actually be slightly squishy. It glowed when he touched it, but the door didn’t open.

“Twice,” Mark reminded him.

“Right,” he said, tapping it again with nothing happening. He frowned and hit it two more times in quick succession, then the door opened in another tri-split, giving them access to a high-ceilinged room that held rows of pods along with a central display hologram that activated automatically as they got within proximity. It appeared that no one else was in the chamber, not surprising given the size of the facility, but it did feel odd that such a tech-laden room had no one using it.

“This must be one of their simulators,” Boen said, walking over to one of the nearest pods and cracking it open…then quickly taking a step back and coughing as a wave of noxious gasses came out of the contained atmosphere inside the pod. “Oh…that’s nasty,” he said between coughs, trying to get the air out of his lungs and nose.

Mark wrinkled his nose as a bit of it wafted his way. “Ammonia?”

“That’d be my guess,” Boen confirmed. “Who else is nearby?”

“The Gnar have their quarters nearby,” Sam offered. “And I think I remember the databanks saying they breathed a combination of oxygen and ammonia.”

“The pods must have their own life support so the pilots aren’t encumbered by breathing gear when inside,” Mark suggested. “Just be glad that isn’t the communal atmosphere or we’d be the ones wearing masks everywhere we went.”

“You think this area is set up for specifically for the Gnar?” Iren asked.

Mark bit his lip as he thought, then walked over and opened another pod. “This one isn’t noxious, and the controls are different. Check the others,” he said, reaching in and adjusting one of the control bars. The pod itself was huge, but the pilot’s controls were situated on a series of mechanical arms coming out of the back wall of the pod but with no seat. The ammonia-laced pod had had one, so Mark looked around to see if there was a modular version he could bring up out of the floor.

He found a floor button and kicked it with the toe of his shoe, which broke open the floor beneath him and slid his body to the left as a chasm became exposed. Out of it came several more mechanical monstrosities.

“Got another stinky one,” Iren reported from the other side of the room.

“Clean up here,” Sam said from the second tier above them.

“This is interesting,” Boen said from across the hologram on the ground floor from Mark. “This pod is configured as a two-seater.”

“Y-wing?” Sam joked.

Iren turned around and frowned. “Why haven’t we ever built one of those?”

“We did,” Mark said, still trying to reconfigure his pod’s controls. “It sucked.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard about that?” Boen asked, shocked.

“Because it sucked,” the trailblazer repeated. “All bombers suck, so we don’t use them.”

“Do we still have one tucked away somewhere?” Boen pressed.

“Yes.”

The Archon gave him a ‘why haven’t you ever told me about this’ look and shrugged his arms up in the air. “Where is it?”

Mark sighed. “Along with the X-wing, A-wing, B-wing, and TIE fighter that we built. Paul’s got them stashed away somewhere.”

“Are you serious?” Iren asked, desperately hoping he was.

“Yes, I’m serious,” Mark said as his seat finally reconfigured into a chair design, allowing him to sit down as he adjusted the rest of the controls to his liking. “None of them worked as good as the skeets, and we’re not going to build inferior ships just because they look cool.”

“I wonder if Kara knows about this,” Boen said, throwing a glance at Iren.

“What else did you guys build?” Iren asked Mark.

“Optimus Prime,” he said deadpan. “Ah, there,” he said as the canopy on his pod began to lower down to cover him and the surrounding space big enough to fit a couch.

Iren and Boen exchanged glances.

“No they didn’t,” Boen said, with Iren nodding his agreement.

Inside the canopy it was dark aside from the illuminated controls until a hologram formed around the spherical covering that showed a decent representation of the grasslands outside, fixed in place rather than moving underneath him as if he’d been flying. Directly in front of his odd assortment of controls a menu flashed up written in the trade language offering Mark a plethora of options that he had to concentrate to read through, with some of the terms not registering in his mind.

When he got to the craft selection option he stopped there and began cycling through the presets, seeing that there were over 160 craft already programmed in. He sifted through them until he came to the Valerie, then pulled up the flight control schematics for the stub-winged fighter. While the mechanics of the craft were a bit different than their skeets, they still had the same basic functions and he was able to maneuver the control arms around into a more or less familiar arrangement, knowing that he could tweak it later. Right now he just wanted to get behind the stick…or in this case, roll bars.

On his holographic HUD another icon appeared, tagging a pod that had just come online. Mark tapped his earpiece and opened a comm line to the other three pilots. “Who else is in?”

“That’d be me,” Sam said. “Don’t know what’s taking the other losers so long.”

“Dude,” Boen’s voice came back over Mark’s earpiece, “you just called yourself a loser.”

“Did not.”

“Yeah, you did,” Iren confirmed. “Mark, you want us all in?”

“Yes please.”

“Why didn’t you say so,” Boen complained, marching over to an open pod. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back out.”

“I’ve found the Valerie,” Mark went on. “Everybody load it up and try to get the control arms situated so they’re useable.”

“Whoa,” Iren said, his voice raising in pitch. “They’ve got some sweet holos. Way better than ours.”

“What makes you say that?” Mark asked.

“The battle graphics are insane…or, wait. Maybe that’s a recording of outside the base. Actually, I don’t know. As soon as I got in it flipped into display mode and I’ve been watching about 25 fighters throw down.”

“What kind?”

“Valeries and Bsidd fighters, if I’m seeing this right. They’ve got some crazy weapon systems.”

“Oh?” Boen asked.

“Later people,” Mark said, cutting off a response. “Everyone get to the main menu and bring up a Valerie,” he said, tapping one of the now three icons present. Instead of data on that pilot he got a game prompt instead. After a moment’s inspection he realized he needed to choose a simulation before he could bring others into it.

“Ok,” he whispered to himself, selecting the default map of the base and the surrounding area, then he tagged the other three pilots, turning their icons yellow. One by one they turned red as they accepted the invite, then Mark set the simulation in motion without choosing any other options. Suddenly his view changed to the interior of the Valerie, which was hovering above their base looking down at the mountains below.

“Everyone else in the sky?”

“Right behind you, diamond formation,” Sam reported.

Mark looked around, then found his point detection sensor display, seeing the three other fighters sitting behind him in a ‘V’ formation, making him the tip of the diamond. “Got you. Break up and see if you can fly in something other than a straight line. We’ll play tag later.”

“Copy that,” Sam said, dipping down below the formation before awkwardly scooting forward and off to the left. The others broke away from Mark, who held position for a moment to let them get clear before he started playing with the anti-grav controls, finding that he could roll the ship front to back or side to side with ease as if the gravity drive was located dead center in the ship…or else they had some sweet computer control to balance it out.

Mark’s Valerie danced about in place for several minutes, then the dagger-like ship accelerated ahead with its reverse wingtips cutting into the simulated air making 4 brief contrails. As the ship’s speed rose its shields visibly altered shape, making the already aerodynamic craft into more of a needle, allowing it to slice through the atmosphere more efficiently. Mark thought the shields were computer generated rather than actually being visible, but when dealing with other races’ tech it was hard to be sure.

“Guys, are your shields opaque or invisible?”

“I haven’t deployed mine…not sure where the button is either,” Iren answered.

“I didn’t use a button,” Mark explained. “They must have auto-activated as I accelerated.”

“High speed shields?” Boen asked.

“Yeah, but I can see them. Not sure if that’s the computer or what they really look like.”

“Anyone else think these things fly weird?” Iren asked.

“Define weird?”

“Aft heavy.”

Mark turned his Valerie through a long 180 degree turn, then wiggled back and forth getting a feel for the craft. “I see what you mean. The nose seems so light it has a mind of its own.”

“Exactly.”

“Hold on,” Boen said. “There’s something here about balancing the anti-grav…yeah, there we go. You’ve probably got it all in the rear. The adjustment slider is on my left, if that helps anyone.”

Mark looked around looking for a slider and found one down by his right foot. He read the label and figured that was the one his fellow Archon was referring to. He adjusted it to the midpoint and found that the squirrely nose of his fighter settled down considerably.

“Good catch.”

“I have my moments,” he answered pithily as another icon lit up in the corner of Mark’s map in yellow alongside the three red icons for his fellow pilots.

“Looks like someone else wants to play,” Sam noted.

“I see that,” he said, reading the name tag he didn’t recognize. “Form up, we’re about to have company.”

Mark pushed the button, turning it red, and a 5th fighter appeared in the simulation.

“I see you’ve found one of our simulator rooms,” a voice said through the pod’s comm system rather than the Human’s earpiece. “Allow me to walk you through the basics. The Valerie is our standard fighter, but it has some uniqueness to it that takes a while to master.”

“Who is this?” Mark asked in the trade language.

“I guess you haven’t learned to read yet,” the voice said, laughing. “I am Lorsar of the Calavari. My user icon has my name and other data attached to it. I see you four are using generic templates.”

“We’re just exploring the system,” Mark explained. “We’re not up for any simulated combat yet.”

“I didn’t expect you to be, but if you’ll rendezvous at my position I can teach you some of our standard combat maneuvers, then you can adapt them to your liking.”

“Can you start with a demonstration? We’re having some trouble getting used to the controls.”

“As you wish,” Lorsar said, kicking his Valerie upside down and dropping towards the ground at high speed. From there he went through a series of basic maneuvering, giving the Humans a good idea of the ship’s movement profile, then he worked up into higher levels of flight, demonstrating that he was no average pilot and that the Valerie was a formidable craft to fly against…then again it had to be if they were supposed to counter the lizards’ nimble fighters.

From there they moved to basic paired flight and maneuvers, which showed Mark that the Calavari definitely had their tactics nailed down. Lorsar told Mark how to bring in computer-controlled targets, since he was the one who initiated the simulation, and they practiced a bit with the firing controls before enabling them to shoot back. The spherical targets fired off plasma bursts that registered as hits rather than damage, with a tally number in the upper left hand corner of the HUD.

Lorsar worked them up through the most basic of settings until they started encountering resistance, then he began giving them a few tips on how to approach the targets using the maneuvering capabilities of the Valeries. That got them up another two levels before they called an end to the simulation and cracked open the pods.

To Mark’s surprise there were several individuals from different races standing around, watching their progress on the central hologram. Among them were the Protovic, still clad in their full body suits. Across the hologram from Mark another pod opened, this one revealing a Calavari that had to be Lorsar. He stretched out his four arms and the Archon heard at least one joint pop in the process.

“They’re not bad,” he announced to the group of onlookers. “Once they get adjusted I think they’ll do fine. I saw their own ships on the deck this morning, front heavy, so cut them some slack.”

“We are merely here to observe,” one of the Protovic said. “Not to judge.”

Sam slid down from the second tier on the smooth side of two poles down to the floor and joined the other Humans in a tight knot while the rest of the crowd had them surrounded. Mark didn’t say anything, but just looked them all in the eye, trying to judge their demeanors.

“If you can get us the schematics of your own vessels, we can load them into the simulation,” Lorsar offered, “though I think in the long run it’ll be better if you learn to fly the Valerie.”

“We’ll do both,” Mark stated, crossing his arms over his chest. “But for the moment I’m going to take some of my other pilots up in the real air for some maneuvers. I’m sure there’s some cameras around here for you to monitor our progress. We’ve also got some target drones to deploy so we can have some live fire exercises. After that I’d be interested in hearing your assessments,” Mark said, gesturing to them all.

“You think your ships are superior?” a Protovic asked.

“Don’t know yet,” he answered honestly. “But I’ve put 300+ years into the design work, so I know they’ve got more in them than you’re assuming.”

Lorsar crisscrossed all four of his arms. “You helped design your fighters?”

“I helped create the original and have been refining the design ever since.”

“300 years?”

“And change.”

“How long do Humans live?” Lorsar asked.

“As long as we want,” Mark said evenly. “Those who don’t train last about 100 years.”

“How old are you?”

“377.”

“And the rest of you?”

“These two are over 300,” Mark said, pointing to Iren and Boen. “Sam is…”

“Only 121,” the Star Force pilot answered, “but I can still keep up with them for the most part.”

“That makes you three among the oldest pilots we have here,” Lorsar informed them. “The Kitot have 5 that are over 636, but I know of no others 212 years or older.”

“They don’t fly that well for being so old,” another Calavari noted.

Lorsar held up a hand to stop further comment. “Let’s observe them in their own craft first. I am interested in seeing what you’ve built, Human.”

“Happy to oblige,” Mark said, leading the other Humans through the middle of the group of onlookers and out of the simulator complex.





3





Mark climbed up into the open cockpit of his personal skeet, painted in the yellow/chrome color scheme similar to the Naboo starfighter from Star Wars, and slid his right leg over the pommel, feeling the familiar seat and chest rest as he straddled fighter and triggered the canopy to slide shut with the press of a button. When the internal atmosphere recycled, taking the harmful gasses out of the air, he pulled off his breath mask and tucked it in a small storage compartment underneath his right arm then gripped one of the ball-like joysticks in each hand down below the control board that was set just in front and below his chin.

Above that was the HUD, with both a video screen and a holographic display having replaced the previously see-through canopy. Now the pod was completely enclosed in an armor-hard carapace to protect the pilot and the visual navigation was all handled by relay from external cameras and sensors. It had been a bit disconcerting when Mark had implemented the design change, but they’d included more than 2 dozen micro-cameras around the hull, meaning that the most likely way a pilot would lose visuals would be if the craft completely lost power…during which they wouldn’t be able to maneuver anyway.

As soon as he powered it up the holographic display filled the entire cockpit, making it appear as if the skeet was invisible. Mark could see the deck beneath his skeet, which appeared as an outline before he flipped a switch and returned his viewing option to opaque. The flat T-shaped nose returned, along with the floor underneath his feet, making him feel more like he was in a fighter than a simulation. Other pilots preferred the wider view, but Mark liked to be able to see his engine pods and fuselage during flight, unless they were on a bombing run or other ground support role.

Visible over the ‘T’ of his ship were another pair of skeets, one blue and another yellow/chrome. The blue one belonged to Clan Saber, with Kara as its pilot. There was also a white/gold from Clan Mantle, an entirely orange from Clan Firestorm, two black/green from Clan Star Claw, and a dark brown from Clan Croft. The rest of the skeets were Star Force grey, both those for the regular pilots and the spares that they’d brought along. Mark could also see the pair of Canderian assault shuttles on the deck next to two gunships, two mantises, and a scattering of dropships that had remained on station rather than returning to orbit.

Sliding his left hand back into the spherical joystick he doubled up his fine-tuned control of the craft by activating both sticks…that way each directional motion was halved and if he wanted a full motion he would have to perform the same twist with both hands. This allowed him to fly one handed and manipulate the control board with the other, or to use both for precision control, such as driving around the flight deck.

Each joystick was a solid cylinder crossing from one point on the inside of the sphere to the other, allowing him to wrap his hand around it while burying his fist inside the compartment. On the outside of each there was a thumb notch with a trigger button. When using the weapons his thumb would rest there, when not his thumb would cross over to the other side and lay against the solid portion of the joystick to keep it from accidentally hitting the trigger during hectic maneuvers.

There were no other buttons on the stick, but it did roll, allowing him to turn left or right. The entire ball-like fist chamber also moved forward and back, allowing Mark to tip the craft up or down, while twisting his wrist to the side would roll the ship around on its axis. Opposite commands from the other joystick would cancel out and each one automatically recoiled to center position, with both deactivating when tactile pressure on the sticks was released.

There were other buttons inside the sphere, however. If Mark reached his fingers out from the stick they’d find four floating triggers that could be tasked with a variety of functions. That gave an available button for each digit, one of which Mark had tagged as a comm button. When he pressed his left middle finger down it changed the other 7 buttons over to preset comm channels, and deactivated when one was selected so the other button functions could be used while chatting.

Mark powered up his skeet’s anti-grav engines with another one, then brought his propulsive engines to an idle, insuring that all were functioning after their trip in the belly of a dropship. Retasking the roll of his right joystick over to anti-grav control, the trailblazer lifted his skeet up off the deck a few inches and retracted the landing get up inside the fighter, then pivoted around using minimal propulsion from his wingtip engines until he was pointed back towards the open bay doors and staring at the side of a dropship.

Triggering the comm, he hovered in place for a moment. “Report any problems.”

“Good to go,” Kara reported, followed by similar sentiments from the other 8 pilots Mark was taking up with him.

“Take it slow and watch out for traffic,” he ordered, rising his skeet up above the altitude of the top of the dropship then accelerating at minimal speed across it and over to the distant doors. On his sensor board he saw all the ships on the deck, along with the ones rising up behind him. They were tagged with ID signatures for his pilots along with damage statistics, all of which showed full green bars beneath. The ones on the ground showed no data at all, given that they weren’t currently powered up.

Mark pressed his right foot pedal harder and his skeet zipped across the mostly open deck and out of the mountain hideaway, upon which he pulled back on both joysticks and tipped the fighter’s nose up into the air and climbed with the anti-grav automatically adjusting to the change in altitude. Once he got up to 2km he held position and waited for the rest of his squadron to come out along with one of the dropships carrying their targets.

Once everyone was aloft Mark led the group out 50 kilometers from the base where they staked out their training ground and began to go through basic maneuvers, getting themselves reacquainted with their skeets after such a long trip out on the jumpship. As the dropship began dropping floating targets a few alien fighters began to come out of the base and head near to the Humans’ position but they kept a respectful distance, Mark thought, probably so they could relay sensors and visuals back to the base.

“Kara, you’ve got Deuce. Jenna, David, Wade, and Peter are with me,” Mark said, flying a lazy arc so the others could rendezvous and form up around him. “Standard formation drills, lachars set to tickle.”

“Copy that,” Kara said, flying off to another rendezvous point where the rest of the pilots would join her flight group.

“Wade, take point,” Mark said, setting himself in the center of the five skeet line. The fighters flew side by side parallel to one of the targets until they got a few degrees shy of perpendicular to it, whereupon Wade cut hard left, followed a few seconds later by David, then Mark and so on, setting up single attack runs from multiple points, each with their own firing line and a bit of a stagger.

Mark let David flash over the target, a large floating metallic sphere, before firing one shot from his lachar that splashed against the energy shield, which registered the hit that appeared on his skeet’s HUD along with the others being fired by the rest of the fighters in both groups. When he flew past the target he pulled up slightly then made a hard right turn after he was well past and accelerated to catch up and reform their side by side line, now heading back in the same direction they began after going through the S-shaped maneuver.

Once back together they made a long looping right turn and came back at the target from the opposite direction, making a reverse direction mirror attack of their first with each pilot easily landing their hits. Mark’s group went through several more runs before switching formations 5 additional times, with multiple attempts at each.

“You ready for playtime?” Kara asked after her group completed their scripted runs.

“Hunters and hounds?”

“Which are we?”

“Your choice,” Mark offered.

“We’ll take hounds.”

“Ha, your funeral,” the trailblazer said, toggling his control board and sending commands to one of the targets. He barely had time to configure the team protocols before Kara’s skeet broke off after the now moving target.

“Move it guys,” Mark said, pulling a tight turn and accelerating hard after her, “before she gets an easy one.”

Suddenly all the fighters snapped out of their lazy maneuvers and accelerated into combat mode, with half of them pursuing the erratically maneuvering target and the others pursuing them. The hounds scored points by shooting the target, while the hunters scored by shooting the hounds.

“Jenna and Peter, take Alex. Wade and David, Kevin or Liara, your choice. I’ll keep the rest off the target,” he said, firing off a few long range shots at Kara with his skeet’s lachar hoping for a hit that would knock her weapons offline for a few seconds.

That didn’t happen until she pegged the target, scoring a point for Deuce team, then she flew off before Mark could get close to her.

Once she was clear he turned his attention to Silas, a Star Force regular, who was also making a strafing run on the target, but the anti-grav unit in the device kept it bobbing up and down randomly as its conventional engines moved it across the grasslands in a zigzag pattern, causing Silas to miss his first few attempts before Mark hit him at moderate range, which knocked his weapons offline and took away the immediate threat to the target.

That left Liara as the only wild card. The other two pilots were occupied enough just trying to keep from getting shot by the pairs chasing them that they couldn’t mount an assault on the target, and soon a point for the Primes came up as Alex was hit, evening the score. Liara was trying to unbalance that by making a run towards the target from the opposite side, firing away repeatedly hoping to get a lucky shot in before Mark could get to her. Liara missed up until the point where Mark was almost in range, then he had to pull up hard to avoid Kara coming up at him from below.

That he hadn’t expected. Normally she would have gone in after the target, which was doing a good job of making itself hard to hit. Instead she had come over to cover for Liara which, now that Mark had to divert, was closing in on…

The score counter kicked up to 2 for the Deuces as Liara found her mark and swung off, suffering through the weapons deactivation that kept one pilot from sitting in place and racking up a high score in a matter of seconds.

Mark had to act quickly to get in close to the target before Silas could nail it. The trouble with going 3 on 1 meant they were likely to score several points, but at the same time his teammates would be racking up a lot of kills on the two weaker pilots they were picking on. He hoped that this way the burden of the victory would be on him, and he knew that all he had to do was buy time and the match would be won.

The trailblazer successfully got to Silas and killed him again before he could get to the target, but then Kara got in a lucky hit that knocked out his weaponry and allowed both her and Liara to make a move to score, but the pesky target only allowed them one hit before Mark’s weapons came back online and he shot Kara, whom he’d been trailing. She hadn’t gone evasive, hoping to get in a score before his weapons reactivated, but her gambit hadn’t paid off.

Suddenly the Prime’s score jumped to 3 as both of the weaker Deuce’s went down, but their aerial display didn’t stop. As soon as the brief pause expired the pilots would be live again and the Primes knew better than to let them out of their sights. Going 2 on 1 wasn’t exactly fair, but Kara had chosen hounds and Mark was going to make her regret that choice.

He took a short rest from guarding the target so he could track down Liara and take her out of the picture for a bit, then drove off Kara and Silas as the target ducked under him closer than he would have liked. The drone had non-collision protocols written in to it, but every now and then it came close enough to the fighters with a last second juke in one direction to spook them. That unpredictability made it difficult to target, but also kept the pilots on edge because it had enough mass that even a little bump would cause major problems.

Mark continued to guard the target, allowing only two more hits on it before his teammates brought the Primes’ count up to 10, which was standard for a short match. As he swung around in a victorious loop he spotted the alien fighters in the distance, suddenly remembering that they had an audience. Almost as soon as the skeets stopped their maneuvers a comm prompt lit up in Mark’s cockpit, which he activated using a series of button presses within the joystick spheres.

“You fly better in real air than you did in the simulator,” Lorsar’s voice said with a touch of approval.

“We fly better in our own ships,” Mark countered.

“As most do. What is your drone’s defense?”

“It has an energy shield that registers our low powered hits.”

“How low?”

“Barely enough to scratch the paint if it did get through.”

“If I restrict the Valerie’s plasma to its minimal level, will that be too much?”

“Not sure what the minimal level is, but it’d probably be alright. You want to take a try at the target?”

“A simple demonstration of targeting efficiency. Perhaps you can use two drones and a time limit to compare one of the Valeries to your own ship.”

“We call them ‘skeets,’ and yes, we can do that. How long a timespan do you want?”

“43 seconds will be sufficient,” Lorsar said, referring to the basic unit of time in the trade language. Many races, he’d discovered, gave time estimates either in their own familiar units in translation or used the trade language ones. Mark always used minutes and hours and just translated them into the exact conversion mentally rather than trying to guestimate in terms his brain wasn’t used to using. So far Star Force had resisted converting over to the trade language units for their daily use, and Mark didn’t think that was going to change anytime soon.

“Alright, you ready?” he asked Lorsar.

“I will not be the one. Hesar, one of our junior pilots, will demonstrate.”

“Standby,” Mark said, switching comm frequencies. “Kara, take this one. I want to watch.”

“No pressure,” she said, flying over to the nearer target which was still zigzagging around.

“Begin on my mark,” the Archon said. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1…go!”

As soon as he gave the word the Valerie, which was already tailing the drone, dropped in altitude and got below eye level with the target, firing small plasma spurts that fanned out into a cone-like spray. The golden glow mitigated by the time it reached the target, but enough of it was still active plasma to register a hit right off the bat, with subsequent attacks hitting the mark about 50% of the time.

Mark saw the Valerie’s hit counter roll up continuously before topping out at a score of 64. Kara, meanwhile, had succeeded in scoring a decent 16.

“Damn,” the Archon whispered as she flew off from the target. “That’s one hell of a cheat weapon.”

“As you can see,” Lorsar’s voice cut in on Mark’s comm before he could answer Kara back, “the Valerie is a superior craft. Our engineers and pilots have worked hard to develop it into the premier anti-Cajdital fighter so that it can strengthen all Alliance races.”

“I’m impressed,” Mark admitted, “but we’ve got a lot of testing to do before we think about adopting it.”

“Of course,” the Calavari said genuinely. “No pilot discards their familiar craft quickly or easily, but in time I think you will see the wisdom in making the switch.”

“You’ve got an interesting weapon system there,” Mark said, putting a halt to the Valerie love fest. “Now let’s see how well it maneuvers. Are your pilots willing to play target so we can see how hard they are to hit?”

“How many do you wish?”

“Let’s start with one and work our way up from there. If ten of us can’t hit one of yours we’ve got problems.”

Lorsar laughed. “Very well, we will humor you with a small victory to begin, Human. Then we will see how effective your little ships are.”

“Good,” Mark said with a mock positive tone as he remotely deactivated the targets so they wouldn’t be dancing around the battlefield. “Do you have energy shields on the Valerie?”

“The shields are a combination of energy and physical shields, and I will play scorekeeper until our techs can interface our computer systems with yours. I assure you I will not falsify the numbers, to do so would be an insult to the Valerie.”

“Terms accepted. Let’s get at it.”





4





May 25, 2395

Jartul System

Daka



Mark pulled up out of a steep dive, firing off a plasma orb partway through his redirect and nailing the shielded target on one of the ranges to the east of the base with the small blue glob of plasma before flashing across the target then leveling out over the grasslands far beyond it, watching his altimeter closely. He had to stay under 50 meters or he’d be disqualified from the run and there were holographic obstacles ahead that he was going to have to weave his way through.

He was piloting his skeet, as usual, while he’d encouraged his other pilots to try out the Valeries. Over the past 2 weeks they’d started to get acclimated to the alien design and began making progress in the simulators vs. the scores of the other race’s pilots. Mark figured it’d be less than a month before they’d adjusted enough to hold par, then they’d get to really see who could outfly who.

As for the future of Star Force’s aerial forces Mark knew they weren’t going to use the Valeries to replace the skeets, even if they proved to be a better craft. With the wealth of data from the V’kit’no’sat pyramid he knew that they’d grow beyond the Calavari tech eventually so there was no point in making an overhaul to their forces, though he did admit that they might be purchasing some of the craft for limited use given how his pilots were responding to them. Their allies had done well in designing the craft, but Mark still preferred his skeet.

He was a trailblazer, after all, and if the skeets were underperforming the Valeries or any of the other alien craft on base then he was the one that was going to ferret out the weaknesses and make them stronger. First among those that he’d discovered were the exotic weapon systems the Valerie had, all of which were designed specifically to down the lizards’ lightly defended and highly agile fighters. He didn’t decry their designs, for they were highly effective, but Star Force’s true enemy was another matter entirely, and while they did need to make adjustments to fight the lizards they also needed to keep the bigger picture in mind, and the V’kit’no’sat fighters were heavily armed and shielded, meaning you were going to need a lot of firepower to take them down.

That was one reason why the skeets had powerful weapons on them designed for one shot delivery, another was the fact that Mark and the others didn’t like the idea of spraying the battlefield with wild shots hoping to hit your target. In a cluttered melee you could end up hitting friendly targets, not to mention it was just downright sloppy. Given the swarm-like nature of the lizard tactics he could agree that such weapons were effective, but Mark preferred precision to mass tactics and was never going to get comfortable with anything but a clean kill shot.

Rolling his wrists to the left in various amounts he scooted his skeet level to the left, passing by one of the holographic barriers then nudged it back right a hair before pulling hard left again, trying to keep his speed up as much as possible. The binary control joysticks allowed him more fine motor control than usual, which was very helpful at the moment, but also was the fact that he was flying a craft extremely familiar to him and low level maneuvers weren’t new to him or the skeet, which right now was more driving across the surface than flying.

Mark thumbed his right joystick and fired off a plasma orb into another target, juked left around a barrier and hit another, all the while modulating his speed with the foot pedals as best he could. One thing about the Valerie that he liked was its anti-grav propulsion unit that used differential technology to pull on various pieces of the planet to provide minimal to moderate thrust. It was something Star Force had been working on, but they hadn’t come up with a viable prototype that could fit on a skeet frame yet. When completed it would allow a ship to propel itself without any convention engines…assuming you weren’t in a hurry, given the reduced acceleration curves.

Right now Mark would have liked to have that as a forward brake, but all he had to work with was atmospheric drag because there was no way he could reverse thrust on his engines fast enough to make the maneuvers he was doing. He was having to smooth out the angles as much as he could, which also meant bleeding off speed. He’d seen a Valerie run through this course using hard decelerations and even faster accelerations when the anti-grav was used to boost its conventional engines, registering a time that he was nowhere near to competing with.

Then again that had been one of the better Calavari pilots. Mark and his skeet were actually ranked in the 89th percentile on this course, meaning that he’d progressed enough to beat a handful of pilots that were actually using the Valeries. Kara had gotten up to the 73rd percentile using one of the alien ships with several other Human pilots in between. Most of the pilots in the 96-100th percentile, the bottom of the barrel, were using their own native craft and not the Valeries, so overall Mark and the other Humans were still getting their asses kicked.

Two more targets and six more barricades flashed by, then Mark was out of the restricted altitude zone. Barely 100 meters past it and he pulled up hard, using both his skeet’s conventional and anti-grav engines to push him up into the sky at maximum acceleration as he closed with a distant target floating up in the thin part of the atmosphere. The fighter was environmentally sealed so air pressure didn’t matter, but go high enough and his conventional engines would lose effect, though his anti-grav was fully capable of propelling him up into space…where he’d become completely ballistic.

As Mark’s fighter climbed he kept an eye on the distant target, seeing his targeting reticule just below it and drifting up as his anti-grav pushed his skeet straight up while his conventional engines were accelerating the ship at an angle of climb. He lined up the lateral vectors then waited for the center of the crosshairs to cut over it. When they finally did he triggered a series of lachar bursts as he adjusted his flight line to hold onto that target.

The plasma was out of range, he knew, but ever since adding a lachar to the skeets they’d had the possibility of engaging targets at extreme range, though unless they were stationary it was virtually impossible to line up a shot. Even with computer-assisted micro-targeting it was problematic, but the weapon gave the skeet the ability to penetrate lizard shields where the plasma wouldn’t, yet the plasma was a far stronger weapon, even when confined to an orb rather than a streamer, and the skeets had been modified so they could produce both.

Mark kept firing off lachar blasts hoping for a hit as he approached, then finally flipped over to plasma when he came into the outermost range, firing off an orb with each trigger pull and racking up a few early hits that visually dropped the health meter on his HUD by a sliver. He kept firing until the target began firing back, at which point he veered off and decelerated in the thin upper atmosphere, using his anti-grav to stay aloft and his conventional engines with double thrust to maneuver around and avoid the lizard-sized kirby cannons.

Had this target been equipped with lizard anti-air it was unlikely he would have been able to attack it with a skeet. The Valeries had shields strong enough to survive their anti-air for brief moments, enough for a strafing run if they were quick about it. That was one upgrade he was going to steal from the Calavari, for their shield tech was better than what Star Force or the lizards were using, and they were offering it to all Alliance races freely.

That couldn’t be said of some of the others, such as the Kvash who had the strongest shields of them all, but there was enough tech sharing going on that the Alliance, as an overall front against the lizards, was growing in technological strength by leaps and bounds, the only question was how quickly could they get their new equipment into the field to replace the old. In fact, that was one reason why the Calavari claimed they’d developed the Valerie, so that they could sell directly to all Alliance members and handle the production themselves so the others wouldn’t have to build up production infrastructure prior to putting them into use.

Mark appreciated that, but Star Force was going to produce its own equipment. To do anything less would make them dependent on others and that was a quick way to a slow death. Sharing tech and equipment was fine, but tie your regular supply network to someone else and you were just asking for trouble. That was a lesson Davis had taught the trailblazers long ago and Mark had never forgotten it.

As he came around for another pass on the large shielded target, the Archon switched plasma cannon fire over to the old school streamer that fired a lance of plasma out like a squirt gun, except that it’d been modified to fire a very wide beam, allowing the skeet to dump a lot of damage on a stable target when needed in lieu of carrying bombs. The plasma wasn’t condensed like the orbs were, which gave them their extra explosive kick on impact, a trick they’d learned from the lizards, but it made up for the lack of concentration with pure volume, allowing Mark to scathe the target as he flashed past.

The health meter dropped by a third with that single run, eliciting a smile from the trailblazer. He guessed that was a little better than the Valerie could dish out, which also had a bombardment setting to its plasma cannons, but the dynamics of the skeet’s weapon had come from a watered down version of an insanely powerful weapon in the V’kit’no’sat database…that was listed as a minor model. It still galled Mark at how far behind them Star Force was, even with the treasure trove of data they’d recovered, making him ever more grateful that the dinos were nowhere to be seen at present. One of their fighters could take out every skeet in existence, if they were all thrown together in one battle, and Paul had confirmed that the same held true for their navies.

Mark had to wait for his plasma reserves to fill back up before making another deep pass, but he managed a few more orb hits in the meantime, trying to shave down that health bar far enough that two more runs would knock it out. It had a regeneration function to it, meaning that if he left it alone long enough the bar would start to refill and he could be at this forever.

He glanced at the clock on his HUD, seeing that he was still slightly ahead of schedule compared to his previous runs, then started his second pass even before the capacitors were fully filled. That occurred halfway in, then he dumped another full load on the target, getting winged by return fire that cut 18% off his own shields. He corkscrewed away, making several more shots miss, then circled wide to recharge for the last hit.

When he eventually came back in he nailed the target with a long stream of plasma that broke through the outer shield and impacted the inner one, signaling that he’d killed the target. The anti-air return fire ceased and Mark dove back down towards the planet, heading for the last section of the course. He switched his plasma back over into orb mode and linked his pair of cannons for simultaneous fire, knowing that the last targets would require more than one hit each to take down.

As he lost altitude the view of the mountain range that held the Alliance base grew in size, but the last section of the course was located in a plain to the southeast hidden between several peaks. Mark had the location tagged on his battlemap to insure he made the quickest trip there possible and eventually came down over several long lines of objects on the surface representing lizard vehicles. On his HUD a quarter of them lit up, indicating that they were activate targets, along with a 112 second timer once he dropped to a predetermined altitude.

Mark dropped low to the ground and took a narrow attack angle to the first target, bottoming out on his gravity drives but tipping the tail up slightly higher than the forward engines so that his weapons would point down a bit. He held that hull angle, thanks to the skeet’s design, and fired off his first linked pair of blue orbs at the target…with only one hitting at range.

He knew firing from far away was difficult, but with the dual fire setting he had a pair of dots to shoot with, so if one missed wide it was likely that the other wouldn’t unless he was way off target, which Mark hardly ever was. As his skeet approached he got a few hits in, then the target flashed red, indicating that it was dead. The Archon switched to the next closest target as his forward momentum brought him up on the group in a hurry, but he had succeeded in taking out at least one before he had to slow his approach.

He got a few hits in on the second, then came to a drifting hover and blasted away at the targets from close range, two plasma shots at a time spaced apart a few meters with lachar blasts thrown in whenever he could manage. The main plasma weapon operated off the same draw as the orb cannons, so he couldn’t fire both simultaneously, but since the lachar was altogether separate he could add its limited firepower to the plasma now that he was close enough in to fire without spending too much time aiming. The targeting computer for the plasma factored in gravitational pull, which the lachar was unaffected by, so he had two reticles on screen and was snapping off lachar blasts with his left trigger whenever it drifted over the target while flying to keep the plasma zeroed in at all times.

Luckily there was no return fire coming from the targets, otherwise he would have been a sitting duck this close to the surface and moving forward almost as slow as a mech. One by one he patiently made his way up the line of targets, then came to a full hover while he poured shot after shot into the final target of the course, simulating a lizard structure. After about 20 shots it went down, ending the run and stopping the clock at 23:14…a full minute better than his last run.

Satisfied with his progress, Mark gained some altitude and flew up over the nearest mountain and back to base, setting his skeet down on the deck next to the others and pulling his breath mask out of a pocket in the cockpit before cracking the canopy and letting the foul air inside. Sweating a bit from the exercise, a cool breeze immediately caught his attention, prompting him to jog rather than walk back over to the Star Force annex.

“79th percentile,” Boen reported when Mark walked into the control center.

“I know. I was reading the statistics on the way back,” he said, sitting down in a random chair and stretching out. He preferred the pommel seats in the skeets to others, but after a while they got the body sore, even for those pilots used to them if they flew enough straight hours, and Mark had just finished off a five hour training session.

“Get her refueled. I want to go back out in a few hours.”

“Workout first?”

“A hard 10k around the roof,” Mark said, pointing above them. “Wanna come with?”

“I already got an easy 20 in this morning, so no. I can’t keep up with you anyway.”

“Not even a couple of kilometers?”

“If we had a track I’d give it a go, but I don’t feel like walking all the way back here when you leave me in the dust.”

“Just jog back.”

“Sorry, boss. I’m done running for the day. I’m going over to the simulators with Alex and Jenna for some head to heads with the Protovic in two hours anyway.”

“Valeries or skeets?”

“I assume they’re all using Valeries, but I’m going to try a Bsidd raider. Been working out the controls the past two days and it’s got a good aft cannon setup that I want to test out. I don’t think the Pros will be able to stick so close to it, and that might give us an advantage.”

“Let me know how it works out. I’ve been eyeing that ship for a while.”

Boen glanced to his left when a tone sounded. “Incoming message from Vornac.”

Mark smiled. “Right on time,” he said, sitting up in his chair and scooting it over to the nearest comm terminal. He pointed down at it with a finger and Boen routed it over to him. He listened through the recording, which was critiquing his course run, then he read through the attached datasheet, slowly nodding.

“What?” Boen asked.

“The lizards hit a Kvash border world, big ground assault with a lot of fighter combat. They had Valeries in the mix and Vornac sent over the performance sheets.”

“And?”

“16 to 1 kill ratio. The rest were at 2.3.”

Boen whistled. “They’re definitely living up to the hype. What was the battle outcome?”

“The war is still ongoing, but this engagement was a loss. The lizards hit them with a 47 to 1 fighter ratio.”

“Damn,” Boen swore. “They’re not playing around anymore.”

“Jason was right when he said the ones that hit Corneria weren’t line troops. If we’d faced these kind of numbers we would have lost the system.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Mark looked him straight in the eye, but kept his voice even. “We get better.”





5





January 3, 2396

Jartul System

Daka



Boen went flying back through the air and landed on one of the lounge chairs, flipping over backwards and rolling into a heap in the middle of the viewing promenade and 200+ other pilots.

“Ow,” he said calmly, kicking a chair out of the way as the other pilots stepped back, giving him and the newly arrived Nestafar pilot some space. He stood up and rubbed his neck, ignoring the miniature winged dragon that reminded him a bit of Godzilla as it fumed, huffing and growling as it flexed its muscular wings wide and flapped its short tail on the floor.

Boen finally turned to look at his attacker and smiled, uttering a half laugh. “You hit like a Cajdital.”

That elicited a roar from the pilot, as well as the two standing behind it. All three walked forward, intent on pounding Boen for the insult, as well as the result of the ongoing simulator battle that the assembled pilots were watching. Mark and five other Humans were teaming with an equal number of Calavari as they battled against the Nestafar and Protovic, with the trailblazer just having downed the best Nestafar pilot.

Given that the Nestafar and the Calavari were both primary members of the Alliance and traditionally at odds with one another…and add in the fact that the Nestafar were the only pilots on the planet that could actually fly themselves…the one standing next to Boen had become quite agitated when the Human vocally cheered on his peers as they took down the Nestafar pilots in the simulator.

When the leader got halfway to Boen the Archon released his ramrod-straight posture and ran forward two steps, lowering his shoulder and colliding with the abdomen of the slightly taller alien. His momentum knocked its spindly frame down, which Boen pushed off of to keep himself standing. The other two Nestafar came in swinging, but the Archon ducked under one then kicked the other back a step to get some spacing before he tore the two aliens apart with a flurry of strategically placed punches. Using some leverage he tossed their shocked bodies on top of the first one in a pile, then he stepped back and placed his hands on his hips stoically, looking around at the other assembled pilots.

“Anyone else?” he asked as a group of Calavari pushed their way through the crowd to get to the ruckus.

“What’s going on?” one of the four-armed aliens demanded, looking between Boen and the three Nestafar that were climbing to their feet.

“A sore loser,” a Bsidd pilot said, gesturing to the Nestafar.

The Calavari turned toward the three winged aliens. “Causing trouble already?”

“Bah,” the Nestafar bellowed, turning and walking away with the other two.

“Are you alright?” the Calavari asked Boen.

“More than alright,” the Bsidd interjected. “He took them down with ease.”

“Oh? That’s hard to believe,” he said, sizing the Human up.

“I’m not just a pilot,” Boen said, picking up and righting one of the chairs that had gotten knocked down. “I’m an Archon.”

“And what’s an ‘archon?’” a nearby Protovic asked.

“We’re trained in all forms of combat.”

“Such as?”

“Hand to hand, piloting, naval, mechs, aquatics, and a lot of specialized areas,” Boen said as his eyes flipped back up to the main display holo and the ongoing battle that the Calavari/Humans were clearly winning.

“You’re special operations?” the Protovic asked.

“That too,” Boen said, watching Mark go evasive as one of the Valeries dropped in on the skeet’s tail.

“What about the other Humans?”

“11 are Archons, 10 are pilots, 2 are Canderian pilots…which is a military civilization that lives primarily in space. They’re our lowest scoring pair, if you’d noticed. They’re not used to piloting fighters, so they’ve got a bigger learning curve.”

“Because you don’t believe in starfighters?” a different Calavari asked.

“That’s right,” Boen said, pulling the last chair up and sitting down.

“Arrogant twit,” a Gnar said, its mechanical voice high pitched coming through the metallic mask it wore connected to a small tank on the back of its head that provided the ammonia it needed in addition to the oxygen being breathed in from the air. “How you survived even a small Cajdital invasion is beyond me.”

“They had help from the Hycre,” the Protovic added.

“The Hycre,” the Gnar all but spat.

The lead Calavari waved a large finger at the shorter Gnar. “They may not have pilots, but do not underestimate their naval power. Their worlds have proven the hardest to hit, by the Cajdital…or others.”

“Is that an attempt at an insult?” the Gnar demanded.

“It is a fact,” the Calavari said, crossing both sets of arms over its chest, “that you took two small mining outposts from them, but when you tried to assault one of their gas giants you never made it into the atmosphere. Your starfighters were tore apart by their warships, I hear. Nearly total losses?”

The stubby alien pointed a finger up at the Calavari. “Do not open up old wounds.”

“Do not make new ones,” he countered, pointing towards the Human.

The Gnar glanced at Boen, then back at the Calavari. “So, you have adopted the Hycre scraps,” it said, walking off as the final statistics of the now ended battle flashed up in the air, showing that all 12 Nestafar/Protovic pilots had been downed with 5 Calavari/Humans surviving, Mark among them.

Another of the Calavari made an unpleasant noise and walked up behind the Gnar and kicked it to the ground before the other pulled it back by its left arms. “If you want to start a fight, do it in the simulator, you coward,” the Calavari said to the Gnar. “Are you a pilot or a politician?”

“I will personally shoot you down, Morshav, that I promise you,” the Gnar said, pointing up at the Calavari.

“What terms?”

“Since you think these Humans aren’t a joke, use their craft against our own. No Valeries.”

The Calavari hesitated, glancing at the other four-armed pilots around him.

“What? You’re not confident outside your special starfighter? A skilled pilot will prevail no matter what craft they use.”

“11 days,” he agreed. “6 or 12?”

“12,” the Gnar said without hesitation. “We will prove how weak both you and the Human fighters are.”

“Seeing as how you were insulting me,” Boen said from his chair, “I want to fly with the Calavari…or is that too much of a challenge for you?”

“Acceptable, but just you…and you will be their 13th pilot. An extra bonus, so that when we defeat them there can be no excuses.”

“Your funeral,” Boen said before the Calavari could respond.

The Gnar looked up at the taller aliens. “Do we have terms?”

Morshav hesitated, but the lead Calavari nodded its head. “We have.”

With that the Gnar walked off as another simulated battle began to play out on the hologram, this one without any Humans in it.

“Have you tried our skeets in the sim?” Boen asked, walking up next to the Calavari.

“I have not.”

“Name’s Boen,” the Archon offered.

“Gonstan,” the Calavari said, placing one of its hands on Boen’s shoulder. “If we’re going to fly together, we need to practice in your ships. Have you fought the Gnar yet?”

“No, but I’ve flown one of their fighters in the simulator, so I have an idea of what they’re capable of.”

“Good. You will instruct us in their use?”

“Happy to, as soon as you assemble your 12.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Done,” Boen said, looking up at the battle between the Bsidd and Fanset.



Mark spun his simulated skeet around to the left, flipping front for back while gliding across the surface on its anti-grav engines, then fired off a single blue plasma orb at the lizard fighters behind him, nailing one square on and dropping it from the sky. He kicked his conventional engines back in and accelerated towards the swarm, taking a couple hits on his shields along the way. He shot another two before passing into the clear, but his shields were hit with two small areas of damage popping up on his status display, floating in holo in front of his left shoulder approximately where it would have been in an actual skeet.

The tiny fight diagram showed two yellow marks on the starboard hull just outside the cockpit, indicating armor damage but no penetration. Mark mentally made a note not to try that maneuver again when he had more than 6 lizard fighters on his tail and flew off to the left as he swerved through a series of S-weaves trying to break up the hoard of fighters chasing him. When he got a partial split he acted, turning hard and cutting back across a piece of their ‘cloud’ and firing at one of their little wisps on the edge before flashing past.

The fighter icon on the sensor board didn’t disappear, meaning he hadn’t killed it but he was sure he’d at least winged the craft.

Unfortunately he didn’t have the Star Force battlemap in the simulator, nor did he have the normal straddle seat, but the Calavari had made similar augmentations that got fairly close. The feel of it wasn’t right, but Mark was a pilot and could fly just about anything and he’d adjusted the modular controls enough to be able to get his full range of maneuvering options back, despite the lack of spherical joysticks.

The trailblazer kept swinging his skeet about, not having any topography or other combatants to use to shake his pursuit. It was just him and what had been 26 computer-controlled lizard fighters. He’d trimmed that number down to 17 but he was running out of moves as the computer adjusted its attack pattern to compensate for his, according to noted lizard starfighter tactics. The Calavari and others had accumulated a wealth of data on the enemy, making these simulations some of Mark’s favorites…especially because they kept beating him every time.

He managed to kill 3 more before his skeet lost power from a plasma impact and fell down to crash against the simulated ground. The holographic display in the pod cut out the scenery and replaced it with battle statistics which he quickly ran through before moving through the menu to restart the simulation. Before that could happen he heard a ‘tap, tap’ on the pod cover, prompting him to exit out of the program and pop the seal.

“What’s up?” he asked when he saw a pair of Human feet come into view as the canopy raised.

“Need you to play bad guy tomorrow,” Boen said.

“I play that every day,” he mocked. “Just ask the Canderians.”

“I need you to do it with a group of Calavari.”

Mark spun around in his seat, unstraddling and sitting back down in a more conventional fashion facing backwards.

“What did you do?”

“The Gnar and Calavari are going at it in 11 days, but the Calavari have to use our skeets. I’m flying with the Calavari and need you to help me get them up to speed by exploiting the skeet’s vulnerabilities every which way you can.”

“Why are they using skeets?”

“Because the Calavari stuck up for us during a little spat we had. It’s going to be a 12 on 12 with me flying as an extra 13th. The Gnar use their fighters, the Calavari use ours.”

Mark whistled slowly. “I’m surprised the Calavari agreed to those terms. Even if they win the Gnar can claim they had an advantage…and if they lose that’d be a huge embarrassment.”

“If we lose it’ll be because the Calavari aren’t used to our ships, hence, I…we, need your help.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that. We’ll run them through skeet boot camp in a week’s time, if for no other reason than to protect the rep of our ships. The Calavari are superior pilots, and I certainly don’t want them blaming our ships if they lose.”

“I’m good for at least 2 kills,” Boen declared.

“Have you flown one of the…wait a minute, defended us against what?”

“Well, when you were kicking the crap out of the Nestafar and Protovic one of the Nestafar took out his frustration on me, then two of his buddies joined in.”

“Who won?”

Boen frowned. “I did. The Calavari arrived late and shooed them off, but the Gnar started mouthing off in their stead, hence the challenge.”

Mark considered that for a moment. “The Gnar are in the Nestafar camp anyway,” he said, referring to the unofficial divisions within the Alliance. Each of the 5 primary races had brought their own allies into the group as the Hycre had done with Star Force. Some intermixed well, such as the Calavari and Humans, but a lot stuck to their political sub-alliances, waging a proxy war within the Alliance for position and influence. “But I didn’t realize the Nestafar had it in for us.”

“It may just be because we’re working with the Calavari,” Boen suggested. “Those two have never got along, from what I hear.”

“Which is why they stayed away from here as long as they did, according to Vornac. The fact that they finally showed up was seen as progress, but they might end up just causing trouble. Any of the other races join in?”

“No, but there were plenty around watching.”

“Where was this?”

“Pilot central.”

“Wow, they are bold. They as weak as they look?”

“The one got a decent punch in, but they’re easy to knock down. Low body mass and those wings make them easy to off balance.”

“Were the Protovic there?”

“Yes, and they stayed neutral, despite the fact that you were also whipping their butts at the time.”

Mark tapped a finger against his front two teeth. “I know they really don’t like the Hycre, but they seem to have been giving us a chance to prove ourselves. Agree/disagree?”

“They’re being cagy. Not sure what to make of their politics. The Calavari seem genuinely interested in raising the bar for all races’ fighter capabilities, but everyone else looks like they’re here for ego sake.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’d say that’s why the Nestafar and a few latecomers joined in. Vornac said more are coming too, which gives the impression that this training endeavor is turning into a political showdown, pilot style.”

“We playing?”

“Of course, but we’re here to learn and adapt, to both the lizards and our allies’ pilots.”

“Enemy of my enemy?”

“That’s what they’re probably thinking, but we’re playing this straight up. The Nestafar and Gnar may have us pegged as rivals because of the Hycre, but we have an opportunity to make a name for ourselves here and maybe reverse those stereotypes…which I’m guessing you accomplished quite well to begin with.”

“How so?”

“We’re not floating gas bags hiding behind a sulfuric atmosphere and warship bulkheads.”

“You’re saying they expect the Hycre’s apprentices to be as physically weak as they are?”

Mark spread his arms wide. “You just made my point. We’re not apprentices, we’re allies. We get along with the Hycre and we’ve been getting along with the Calavari, despite the fact that those two have a somewhat frosty relationship. The sooner the rest of the races see us as Humans rather than mini-Hycre, the sooner we can start establishing an understanding with them on our terms.”

“Understanding?”

“Such as don’t pick a fight with a Human.”

“You think that helped us with the Nestafar?”

“Possibly, or maybe not. Everyone reacts differently. Some timid races would be appalled at you kicking ass, while others, probably including the Calavari, would see it as a sign of strength. Either way, we start setting our own reputation rather than relying on gossip and hearsay. From reputation comes relationships, and from relationships come experience. This training center is a very good idea on the Calavari’s part, because it gives all of us a forum to interact with one another. You know the Archons in your trainee group better than almost anyone else because of the common trials you went through.”

“So we’re flying and fighting each other to root out everyone’s true colors?”

“And to show them ours, yes. We do need a united front against the lizards, but that doesn’t come from paperwork.”

“Seriously, does anyone even use paper nowadays?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “They did when I was born, so we’re keeping the terminology, youngling.”

“So, we need to uphold the honor of our skeets if we’re going to establish any credibility out there?”

“We’ve already established some, otherwise the Calavari wouldn’t have agreed to the Gnar’s terms, but yeah, we need them, and you, to kick ass…so hop in and we’ll do a little testing, skeet to death glider.”

“Death glider?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No, it doesn’t. What’s that from?”

“Stargate.”

“Never heard of it,” Boen said deadpan before Mark punched him in the gut.

“Shut up,” the trailblazer said, swinging around on his seat and lowering the pod as he searched through the database of fighter designs until he found the Gnar’s version, which did have the gentle arc of a Goa’uld death glider, save for the fact that it was painted bright white.





6





January 14, 2396

Jartul System

Daka



“Looks like you moved up to the big leagues,” Mark commented to Boen as the pair walked into one of the Calavari’s simulation chambers. It was much larger than the ones spread around the base for the other races to use, containing hundreds of pods set in rings on multiple levels. Many of them were in use already, but the innermost ring on the ground floor had been reserved for the Calavari/Gnar showdown.

The smaller, fat-looking aliens were already assembled around the large holoprojector that sat dead center of all the circles. It was currently displaying a Calavari training drill that they were running in the closed pods, but whenever a higher level contest began it would minimize that current engagement to a corner of the enormous hologram and display the ranking matchup. The Gnar weren’t watching the training exercise, but rather talking amongst themselves clad in their stiff pseudo-armored suits that hid most of their purple, wrinkly skin. Only the tops of their heads and hands were visible, otherwise they looked like they were walking, talking trash cans.

“There is only supposed to be one of you,” a Gnar said, walking over to Boen and Mark as they slid between the outer pods towards the inner ring.

“I’m just an observer today,” Mark assured it, having no clue if the Gnar had genders, let alone being able to tell the difference in their physiques.

It snorted out an indecipherable comment, probably in its native language, and walked back over to the group as the Calavari pilots walked in, all 12 in a single file line weaving their way through the outer pods from the right and reaching the central holoprojector opposite the Gnar. Gonstan was leading them down, distinguishable by the long earring he wore from his right lobe, signifying his position as a squadron commander.

“Here we go,” Boen whispered to Mark as he walked over to join the Calavari.

“Are you ready?” Gonstan asked the Gnar in a challenging voice.

“We are,” their stubby leader responded. “Need you time to consult with your Human?”

“The Human is ready,” Boen answered pithily, walking over and standing next to Gonstan, with his head barely reaching up to the Calavari’s shoulder.

“Regeneration?” the Gnar asked.

Gonstan straightened. “4 rounds will be sufficient.”

“As you wish,” the enemy leader said as he and the other 11 Gnar retreated to the open pods and began logging in.

Gonstan slapped Boen on the back. “Time to prove your worth.”

“Four?”

“It will allow us some mistakes…and allow you to prey on their weakest pilots multiple times.”

“48 kills, not 4 each?”

“Yes,” Gonstan said, sitting down in a pod on the opposite side from the Gnar and next to Boen. “It will take a moment for the Gnar’s atmosphere to cycle,” the Calavari said as he closed his pod.

Boen threw a glance back at Mark then sealed himself inside as he reconfigured the standard controls and seat, creating the pommel forward stance with a pad on his chest to lean on. Two control bars substituted for the skeet’s joysticks, but they didn’t have the extra buttons. Those functions were accomplished by an auxiliary control board a few inches away from the hand bars, making for a quick reach when needed.

He logged into the system with his ID, then joined one of five ongoing scenarios in this simulator complex, that being the one the Gnar had set up with the agreed upon parameters. Whenever a fighter was killed it would regenerate on the edge of the map and be brought back into the mix until 4 rounds worth of kills were tallied. That meant the Gnar had to rack up 52 kills to win, while Boen and the Calavari had to hit 48.

The trick was, you could regenerate as many times as you liked in this scenario. You weren’t limited to 4 per pilot, but 4 on average, so if Boen could hammer the Gnar’s weaker pilots multiple times it would eat up the number of respawns their better pilots would have.

That was the plan they’d concocted, given that Boen was by far the best pilot among them in the skeets, though all the Calavari were making considerable daily progress. He wished they’d had more time to prepare, but they were going to have to make do with what they had, which meant the Calavari pairing up evenly against the Gnar while leaving Boen free as a wildcard.

He doubted it would end up that way, but a good pilot was one who could adapt during combat, and above that he was an Archon. If he couldn’t adjust then the Calavari had no hope at all.

As Gonstan had said, it took the Gnar extra time before they all logged in and the final countdown timer began to tick off their version of seconds, which were slightly longer than normal. When it finally elapsed, Boen’s hologram flashed into the battlefield with him and the other pilots randomly appearing along the perimeter of a huge circular plain with walls at their backs to define the border.

“Booyah,” the Archon said, accelerating hard ahead and angling to the left as he headed for one of the Gnar death gliders that had lower swept wings that angled up to a pyramid-like point on the top of the fuselage. Underneath was a smooth arc that gave the fighter an artistic aesthetic along with a tri-point plasma attack, two from the wingtips and one from the peak.

The Gnar pilot turned the other way, heading for a Calavari at higher speed than the skeet was capable of. That annoyed Boen, but they’d worked out the flight dynamics of the enemy craft in multiple situations and he knew it was up to the Calavari to bring the enemy to him if they didn’t seek him out to begin with…which they weren’t. The pilot to his right was another Calavari who turned away from him, clearing Boen’s aft arc and allowing him to focus ahead.

Within 10 seconds a kill marker went up for the Gnar, meaning they’d already shot down one of the skeets.

“Focus, guys,” Boen reminded them. “Bring them to me.”

Without a vocal response the nearest Calavari turned and dragged the opposition behind him, staying evasive by spinning around on his anti-grav and thrusting off a different direction rather than trying to fly in a conventional path. During their training they’d discovered that the death gliders’ rate of turn was much higher, meaning the only way they were going to survive was by making direct momentum changes rather than turns, either forcing the Gnar to do the same or fly off in wide arcs to change their direction.

The one closest to Boen was caught off guard and overshot the Calavari as the two fighters exchanged plasma fire. The skeet caught one hit but the shields didn’t go down as the ships passed, with the Gnar banking to the right to come around on the skeet’s tail again.

Boen fired off his lachar at range, hitting the death glider in its thicker cross section as it came around head to head. The energy blast passed through the physical-only shields and knocked out one of the death glider’s three plasma cannons located just above the cockpit, but it didn’t knock the fighter down.

Knowing that leaving the ship wounded was better than having it regenerate with full firepower, Boen flew off, heading towards the next closest Gnar and taking pot shots with his lachar at distance. When he took one down, as it stubbornly stayed on the tail of one of the Calavari, three others suddenly broke off their pursuit and turned to intercept him, realizing that the Human was the priority target rather than the liability.

“Here we go,” he whispered, switching over to plasma cannons. Even having to punch through the enemy shields they were the quickest way to take down one of the enemy fighters if he could get in successive shots and not allow their shields to regenerate in between.

He set his pair of cannons to linked fire and reversed his engines, bringing his fighter to a stop with the three enemies coming in at him within his forward hemisphere. Boen kept the engines burning at full power and began flying backwards, narrowing the firing arc between the three targets as they came closer together, falling in on his ‘tail’ while overcoming his inferior speed and quickly catching up to him.

As they did he started firing back at them, causing them to break off momentarily. Apparently they weren’t used to having someone shoot backwards at them, at least not at this comparatively slow speed. Head to heads usually flashed by, but with his motion subtracting from theirs the catch was drawn out, allowing for multiple shots from both sides.

The narrow, flat profile of the skeet made it hard to hit, while the triangular hulls of the death gliders gave Boen a solid target head on. He splashed plasma against two of the targets before one finally went down, then he got through the shields of a second before his own defenses dipped below 20%, which prompted him to stop firing and hit his anti-grav thrust and rocket his ship straight up into the sky while its nose was kept level to the ground, throwing off the Gnar targeting.

Boen dipped his nose down as the death gliders began to slip underneath him, then fired into their much wider top sides, killing a second with three paired salvos hitting already weakened shields. The third fighter nicked his skeet’s hull, punching through the rest of Boen’s shields, before the proximity warning for the outer wall prompted both ships to break off.

The death glider turned away, but Boen simply reversed thrust and flew away directly, drifting backwards briefly until his acceleration compensated for the drift, which put him on the tail of the death glider at distance. He switched back over to lachars and winged the fighter before it stupidly pulled up, showing Boen its wide top side. He peppered it with lachar blasts, blowing apart a wing which resulted in it slowly spiraling down to the ground as another skeet crossed over it from the left, finishing it off with a short range heavy plasma salvo that popped it into shrapnel on impact.

“Nice assist,” he said over the silent teamcomm. The Calavari, as he learned, kept talking to a minimum, only sharing essential information.

“Four for you,” Morshav said, flying off towards another target as that Gnar pilot restarted far away along the wall on the opposite side of the map. “And they know it. Beware, they’re coming for you.”

“I know…ow,” he said, seeing that virtually every death glider on the map was heading his way.

“Oh shit,” he said, diving down towards the ground, knowing that would give the other skeets at least a peek at the upper sides of the Gnar fighters. “I’ll play bait, you guys hit them when they’re not looking.”

Boen took a quick peek at the score before he ramped up his anti-grav to keep from smacking into the simulated ground. 5 to 3 good guys, but he wasn’t going to be adding to that right now as he started juking left and right as he streaked across the landscape only meters off the ground, dodging incoming plasma. Readjusting his hands on the various controls he executed a combined turn/swivel, skidding his skeet wide to the left while swapping front for back and bringing him into firing range of three of the death gliders closest to him that were also skimming the surface…meaning they had limited maneuvering options.

One came in directly at him while the other two pulled up, exposing their wide undersides. Boen held his skid, blowing apart one of the ones that pulled up, then accelerated forward and into the Gnar lines, taking down the second one a moment before his fighter’s starboard engine disappeared in an explosion and his skeet tipped over and careened into the ground.

Boen flinched, then saw a short-lived score in the blackness of the pod before it restarted him again in an undamaged and fully shielded skeet far away from everyone else, with the score now reading 8/4. With him so far off the Gnar started to reengage the Calavari, which Boen didn’t like.

He switched his comm over to open broadcast so the Gnar could hear him.

“That’s one for you, 6 for me. Looks like letting the arrogant twit play was a mistake. Is this all you’ve got, Gnar? You’re not even making this hard.”

To Boen’s satisfaction he saw half the little blips on his sensor board turn and head towards him.

He switched back over to his squadron’s frequency. “That got their attention. Double up on the others while I keep these busy.”

“Are you sure? We need you racking up kills,” Gonstan asked.

“I’ll get a few before they take me down, go pick on their stragglers.”

There was no response from the Calavari, which was a sign of compliance from them. Boen didn’t have time to worry about it as he lined up a long distance shot and fired off his lachar until he finally got a hit on the lead death glider, then he broke off and led the Gnar over to the other side of the map, pulling them further and further away from the Calavari.

They eventually realized what he was doing, with half of them turning around and reversing course. When they did Boen flipped over and did a direct reversal, flying straight into their now thinned lines, darting down and to the left to try and shoot through a slightly wider gap, from which he angled up towards one of the rear fighters and fired away with rapid fire single shots, one for each trigger pull on the control bar in his right hand. He exchanged plasma with the fighter, but again his smaller cross section worked to his favor and he downed the fighter before he lost shields, then he pushed forward with as much thrust as his ship could manage, dragging the Gnar behind him for a few seconds before their greater speed brought them back into plasma range.

Knowing he was about to get spanked he went erratic, literally flying like he was out of control, spinning around his axis while weaving to and fro, making it difficult for the Gnar to predict his path and shoot him…all the while his shields continued to recharge. It was a stalling tactic, but the more time he bought meant the more likely the Calavari were to rack up some more kills given their numerical advantage.

“Come to us,” Morshav said, with Boen coming out of his spin and weaving side to side as he headed toward a group of three skeets coming from the right, apparently having respawned in that portion of the map.

He glanced at the score again…15/9.

“Up or down?” the Calavari asked.

“I’m going down,” the Archon said, getting his aft shield clipped by a bit of simulated plasma. “Three, two,” he counted down, cutting off his forward thrust and spinning his skeet around again, “one, mark!”

He dropped his anti-grav down to 10% and fell level towards the ground, tipping his skeet’s nose up slightly and firing back at the approaching Gnar. They followed him down, depressing their angle of flight and showing Morshav and his wingmen their upper sides…which they then stitched with lachar fire. Two of the ships veered off, but one reversed its dive too far, coming up and exposing its underside which quickly took the brunt of Morshav’s plasma as the trio of skeets came within range.

After that Boen couldn’t see what happened, so busy he was with just staying alive. He took down two more before the Gnar’s numbers finally caught up with him and he found himself respawning along the perimeter again.

From that point on four of the Gnar stuck to Boen while the others intentionally steered clear, focusing on the Calavari or just getting out of the Human’s way, deeming him too dangerous to go head to head with. Near the end of the engagement the Gnar had finally learned to break off when he flipped over, swing around and reset for another attack run at an angle that didn’t allow for a slow-down. The death gliders had superior speed, which made them especially deadly when they paired up and attacked from different angles, but Boen managed to keep their best pilots at bay long enough to secure their victory, 48/41, with him racking up a kill count of 26.

When the final kill was registered by one of the Calavari he was relieved, knowing that the Gnar had learned a lot from the battle and that the tactics they’d been practicing wouldn’t work so well in a second match…which he hoped wasn’t going to happen, at least not until the Calavari got more seat time in the skeets. Then again, he doubted they would be cornered into using them instead of their Valeries again.

Boen popped the canopy after going through the stats, curious as to which of the Calavari had done the best, and choked as the repugnant smell of ammonia drifted into him from the open pods the Gnar had been using.

“What is wrong?” Gonstan said, placing a hand on Boen’s shoulder as he coughed.

“That air…is nasty,” he said, pinching his nose as the Gnar stomped off, not bothering to stick around long enough for the Calavari or Boen to gloat.

“A bit of defiance,” the Calavari said, unaffected by the fumes. “They exited before recycling the pods’ atmosphere.”

“The air processors are going to take care of that, right?”

“They should be already,” the four-armed alien said as Mark walked up to the pair, scrunching his nose.

“Who taught you to fly anyway?”

“You did,” Boen said, coughing one last time.

“I taught you not to get shot. You died 5 times.”

“It was a tradeoff.”

“Well don’t make a habit of it,” the trailblazer warned, then looked up at Gonstan. “Nice work.”

“Our thanks for your instruction. Your fighters are difficult to learn. Boen has proved they are effective, but I must say, I thoroughly hate them.”

Mark laughed. “To each his own. Thanks for upholding the integrity of our design. With you flying and winning in them I think we’ll get a little more respect for the skeets.”

“I do like your energy weapons, limited in power as they are. Would you be willing to trade for the technology?”

“Would you be willing to help us modify our skeets with your scattergun?”

Gonstan smiled with his wide jaw. “I think so. Without it your ships are not nearly effective enough against the lizards’ swarm tactics.”

“Our gunships are,” Mark countered.

“Only in atmosphere…but I think we have much to discuss on this matter, and this isn’t the proper place.”

“Agreed,” Mark said, lightly slapping Boen in the gut. “Come on, youngling. We’ve got some diplomatic swapping to do.”





7





August 4, 2397

Jartul System

Daka



Mark sat in the small passenger compartment directly behind the cockpit in the falcon-class dropship that was carrying him up to orbit, watching the ascent up through the atmosphere on a small datapad as he simultaneously ran through the latest batch of simulator tests. With the addition of a plasma-based scattergun to the skeets their kill power against the lizard fighters had increased considerably for their weaker pilots, but less so for Mark. His skill with the standard plasma cannons afforded him better accuracy, whereas the scattergun allowed a pilot to damage a target by simply shooting near to it like a fighter-sized shotgun.

‘Damage’ was the word though, because most of the time the simulated lizard ships wouldn’t go down because only a few plasma shards would hit their armored hulls. Put a square shot on one and it would shred the ship nicely, but the whole point of the weapon was to enable less accurate kill power, causing Mark to have mixed feelings about the upgrade, especially since they’d had to remove one of the standard cannons in order to make room for it, leaving him without the ability for linked or rapid fire.

The recycle time on the weapon was about half a second, which meant if you got on the tail of an enemy fighter, even for just a moment, you could pump loads of the tiny plasma pellets into the target, which in the case of the lizards would take them down, sometimes two at a time if they overlapped into the same firing cone during their massed assaults. But when Mark had tried out the weapon against other non-lizard craft the damage was not so spectacular. Even weak shields soaked up a lot of the plasma splinters, then regenerated if the target could get clear. The lizards had no shields, thus any hits were for keeps, but Mark knew Star Force couldn’t afford to make a permanent change to their weaponry because it’d leave them weak against other enemies.

What they really needed was a modular swap out, but the new weapon was tricky enough that his limited techs hadn’t been able to work out the dynamics of such a design, though he had sent the specs back home via a passing Hycre ship. It wasn’t a jumpship, so there was no way of knowing how long it would take to pass the data file back to Star Force territory, but since the Alliance communications network hadn’t been extended out to the Humans yet couriers were still the only way they could keep in contact, and with being so far away sending Star Force jumpships was out of the question, leaving the Hycre as their only link back home.

The communication delay was still monstrous, with no Star Force updates having reached Daka, which meant Mark was going to have to make modifications to their aircraft using his local resources only…that were about to be augmented, which was what had prompted this trip up to orbit. Another Hycre jumpship had arrived carrying Star Force freighters with supplies and additional personnel, the exact specifications of which the trailblazer didn’t know since the reserves had been sent without his consultation, given the communications problems.

In fact, the ships had already been unloaded given that he had no forewarning of the arrival of the jumpship. With the Hycre’s advanced gravity drives they’d arrived in the system and diverted to Daka before any signal of notification could have traveled the intrasystem gap. He’d been notified that the Hycre would be sticking around for a couple of days to pick up messages from Star Force and other friendly races within the Alliance then heading out again, given that they didn’t have any assets of their own in system to deal with aside from passing along some additional fuel to the planet’s two guardian warships.

Mark had grabbed the cargo pilots on base and got three dropships into the air immediately, his being the first up on the way to the partially constructed Canderian seda where the reinforcements had gathered.

Located in semi-synchronous orbit, the spherical station had a large chunk missing from it that hadn’t been built yet, making it look ominously like the Death Star from Return of the Jedi, only colored green. Had this been one of the earlier seda designs it wouldn’t have been operational as yet, due to the dynamics of the rotating central gravity cylinders, but now that Star Force had artificial gravity plates coupled with containment fields to shape and concentrate the effect, the completed part of the seda had full life support and functioning sections that Baron Keller and his engineering crew were now living out of.

They had a small army of Sparrow and Eagle-class dropships that they’d built in system running cargo up and down from the 6 surface outposts they’d constructed. Initially the factories to produce various items had been onboard the freighters, then they’d expanded them onto the surface, but now that the seda was partially operational those facilities were being dismantled and shifted up to orbit, allowing more personnel to transfer back into space.

About half of those workers were Canderian, and as such preferred living in space opposed to on the ground. The others were Star Force regulars who didn’t care one way or another, they were just here to get the seda built then they’d be transferring out of the system along with the Baron. They’d been assigned because Star Force didn’t trust Canderous to set up on their own in a new star system, let alone one so far away from support. Davis’s legion of mini-mes were specially suited to that sort of startup work, which was why Mark had brought Keller along.

His rate of progress was nothing short of amazing. From day 1 he’d had boots on the ground, setting up resource outposts where the Calavari had allowed, and from there they’d worked like an army of ants digging materials out of the ground and building additional equipment to do more of the same thing. Once those operations had snowballed they’d begun assembling construction supplies and storing them in the holds of the now empty freighters in orbit, from which the construction crews began drawing as they built the superstructure of the seda.

With that in place they began filling it out, section by section, like clockwork. Keller had given Mark a projected timeline that he’d nailed to within 3 days so far, and the trailblazer doubted it would vary any until completion…unless the newly arrived supplies and personnel sped up the timetable.

As the wannabe Death Star grew on his screen Mark spotted the docking bay they were headed to as the doors began to open, revealing a blue energy field just inside that was holding in the atmosphere. The bay should have been evacuated, just as a precaution should the shield fail, but containing the valuable gasses was worth the effort and inconvenience. When the dropship hit the specially designed physical energy shield it breached under the pressure of contact, but only those points under duress.

The rest of the field stayed intact and flowed to fill in the gaps, maintaining a crude seal around the ship as it passed through before completely reforming behind it. Once all three dropships were inside the bay doors ground closed and the shield deactivated, maintaining the atmospheric integrity and allowing instant debarkment as opposed to having to vent and repressurize the bay had the containment field not been in place.

When the doors did finally close a group of people entered the bay and met Mark at the foot of the dropship’s ramp, with one of them grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, who let you in here?” Mark mock grumbled at seeing Sandra-255.

“Blake says hi,” the hotshot pilot said, referring to the trailblazer that led Clan Star Ranger. “And that you could use some help, so he sent his best pilots and a bunch of Canderian whelps out to this…frontier world.”

Mark crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. “You’ll find this frontier world is the hottest place in the Alliance for fighter pilots.”

Sandra smiled. “Which is why I volunteered. I read your report.”

“So it actually got back?”

She nodded. “Still no word on when we’ll get hooked up to the Bsidd comm grid, but the Hycre are keeping us informed of Alliance activity. So, what have you been doing to the skeets?”

“Experimenting with some upgrades. I’m not completely sold, but they are helping in the simulations against the lizard fighters.”

“How’s our cred?” she asked as they began to walk out of the bay side by side with a group of other Archons following in their wake.

“Increasing. We’re not top dogs, but we’re gaining ground and we’re doing it with the skeets.”

“How are you with their Valeries?”

“We don’t spend enough time in them to get on par with the others, but our flight experience gives us an edge. We’re average when we do joint operations in the Valeries, and they’re decent craft, but not something we’re going to mass produce.”

“You don’t like them, why?”

Mark hesitated a moment as they passed out of the bay and into the station’s interior hallways. “They’re good against the lizard fighters, but they’re not built for our fighting style.”

“Expendable?”

“Not so much. They’re built primarily as an anti-fighter craft, modified for limited fire support.”

“We have the gunships for that,” Sandra pointed out. “How have they been working out?”

Mark smiled. “We’ve been tweaking them in private while using the skeets in our skirmishes. I’ve got a partial design change worked out, but I don’t have the engineering support I need to flesh it out.”

“We brought a design team,” she said with a wink.

“Thank…you,” Mark said emphatically, glad his report had made it back in time.

“So who’s tops now?”

“New bunch, came in about a year ago. In the Kvash camp. Reflexes off the chart…almost as fast as mine.”

“Name?”

“Urik’kadel…but we just call them the ‘rabbits.’ They’re not fluffy, but they’re only as tall as your knee and have a twitchy nose.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. They’re not tops in space, but in atmosphere even the Calavari have a hard time keeping up…and they don’t use the Valeries either. They say they’re too big, so the Calavari are working on miniaturizing the design. Vornac says they’re too valuable of pilots to waste on their native technology, which is lacking. They don’t have a lot of kill power, but they’re extremely nimble and dangerous when they attack in packs.”

“Armor and shields?”

“Neither. Hit them and they’re dead. Their pilot corps is huge, so they just replace their losses with new pilots. Survival of the fittest, or luckiest. Another reason we call them rabbits. How many losers did you bring with you?”

“122 Star Rangers, 0 losers…unless you mean the Canderians, which we brought 5000 out.”

“All Star Rangers? Why no other Clans?”

“You’ve already got your handpicked pilots, we’re just here for support and training. You didn’t request specifics.”

“No problem, just remember that as far as everyone else knows, we’re just Humans. So keep the Clan references behind closed doors.”

“Ah, I can’t make fun of you in public then?”

“Blake sent you on purpose, didn’t he?”

Sandra shrugged. “He didn’t want you to go too long without seeing your girlfriend…his words.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I am so going to get that punk the next decade I see him.”

“Ah, come on. You used to like me.”

“That was mercy. You second gen newbs needed a lot of help after Wilson somehow passed you out of basic.”

One of the Archons behind Mark snickered, drawing a look over his shoulder from the trailblazer. “My condolences.”

“For what?” the Star Ranger asked.

“Being in the same Clan as her.”

“Are you kidding? She’s awesome. We all want to hook up with her, but apparently she only has eyes for you.”

Mark turned on Sandra like a whip. “That was scripted.”

“Was it?” she asked, a devious, yet satisfied smile on her face.

“Archons don’t date,” he reminded her, turning back to the younger ones behind him. “Even these weaklings.”

“We did once, and we were Archons.”

“Workouts aren’t dates.”

“I don’t know, some of those joint stretching exercises were pretty intense…”

“Blake!” Mark shouted, rolling his eyes and looking up at the ceiling, eliciting a laugh from Sandra.





8





February 18, 2398

Jartul System

Daka



Boen flew wide around a holographic pylon, just skimming the surface of Daka and making ripples in the tall brown grasses that followed his prototype Valerie as he accelerated through the turn, firing off the lachar at a series of targets as the nose of the alien craft passed over them. He hit four of the six before corkscrewing all the way around the pylon and pulling up to shoot through a higher elevated holographic ring that lined him up with a gauntlet run through a series of parallel and very real towers, on top of which were lizard-style anti-air defense turrets, all of which were shielded.

Boen snapped off a combination of lachars and the concentrated plasma orbs that the Valerie was equipped with, but he did not use the scattergun, knowing that given his rate of closure there was no way it would penetrate the turret shields unless he was at pointblank range, which he wouldn’t be given that he was flying down the middle of the gauntlet. As he kept the ship mostly stable in the center of the trench he fired off weapons independently of one another, aiming well ahead of the craft to keep the angular arc within the weapons’ tilt range so that he wouldn’t have to weave side to side to point the nose at the targets that were flipping by so fast he couldn’t even count them all, let alone shoot them.

Getting them all wasn’t the point. Hitting as many as possible was.

Boen kept his cool and methodically shot target after target, then he was clear of the gauntlet and heading up to an even higher altitude where a number of floating, mobile targets representing kirbies were tracing a lazy loop around the area. He began lighting up one of them with the lachar well before he got into plasma range, then saw return fire began to sneak his way. It was low powered, same as his Valerie’s weapons, but it was genuine lizard plasma and the green flashes of light sent a shiver up his back…something he never got in the simulator.

The Archon methodically flew around, poaching the kirbies before flying off on the last section of this test course, which was located low to the ground and simulated a lizard predator, with Boen knowing this was going to be his greatest challenge. Again he hit it from range with his lachar before coming in close to slug it out with his plasma cannon, altering it into a hold and fire function that allowed extra plasma to accumulate before release, akin to a plasma ‘bomb’ that gave the fighter heavier firepower to hit stationary targets.

While the predator wasn’t completely stable, it was so slow that it might as well have been compared to the Valerie. Boen flew it right across the much bigger craft on a direct strafing run before rocketing off the other side at a random angle, taking significant anti-air fire on the way, which dropped his shields down to 23%. He looped around at distance and took several more shots at the predator with his lachar, then broke off and circled around again as his shields recharged.

Trouble was, the predator’s shields were recharging as well and the lachar wasn’t doing much to stop them, though it was scoring hull damage. He didn’t make another strafing run, the first of which was just as a demonstration to prove how effective the predator was at defending against such an attack. Instead he kept circling around at range, firing with his lachar and nicking up the surface of the predator in a specific area until one of its anti-air turrets went down, giving him a less arduous approach vector.

From there he began making strafing runs, always coming in on the less active side, even when the predator spun around to keep him from it, in which case he’d bank away and come back in again, getting a few plasma shots off in the process while taking a few hits of his own. After a while he stopped trying to approach on the weak side and angled his strafing runs so that he exited across that side instead, still diminishing the amount of anti-air the predator could throw at him and landing a heavy plasma blast each time he came across.

Eventually he nailed another turret with his lachars, which further opened up his strafing runs, allowing him to make them a bit slower so he could throw more attacks at the enemy. When the shields eventually came down he began lighting it up with plasma, eventually killing the craft after a total of 72 strafing runs and numerous perimeter lachar attacks.

“There,” he said over the comm to the Calavari team observing him. “Told you one could do it. You just have to be patient.”

“Not something that’s always an option in combat,” Procarva said, “but point taken. It’s good to know that it is possible, but picking off individual turrets at range is problematic. How did you manage it?”

“Two ways. One, we’ve been using lachars for a long time, so I’m comfortable with the weapon. Two, I don’t aim for a specific turret. Pick an area of the hull and shoot at it. Eventually you’ll saturate it with enough hits that you’ll get a turret or two.”

“Impressive flying, but it still isn’t good enough,” the Calavari admitted. “We have to modify the Valerie with a bigger weapon.”

“You’ll have to sacrifice something else,” Boen reminded him. “This is a big ship, but not that big.”

“I know, but we need to be able to take down their gunships with a pair of fighters, no more. And we can’t spend as much time on the task as you just did.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to accomplish that unless you add missiles,” the Archon said as he began flying back to the mountain base from the testing range.

“Battle longevity is the aim,” Procarva reminded the Human. “We need speed, power, flexibility, and durability.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to get much more without going over your weight limits.”

“Neither do I, unfortunately, so we’ll have to be satisfied with this minor progress. Come on back in.”

“Already on my way.”



Boen met Procarva at one of the Calavari complex columns within the massive hangar and cycled through their airlock into the more musty atmosphere that they preferred, pulling off his filter mask and slipping it into one of his pockets.

“How’d the lachar hold up?” Boen asked.

“The data is inconclusive. On average there was a slight improvement, but we’re still getting varied intensities.”

Boen shook his head in frustration as Procarva walked him through the complex. “It’s gotta be your power distribution grid.”

“It was operating within standard parameters.”

“What about within the weapon? Do you have any sensors to monitor that?”

Procarva thought for a moment as they entered an elevator. “All was in working order prior to your flight. Perhaps something is becoming amiss during operation.”

“Whatever it is, we need to find it. It may be negligible, but it doesn’t occur with our lachars. And where there’s one copying glitch there might be others.”

“Never the less,” the Calavari said as they stepped out into the research center several floors above the flight deck, “the weapon is adding extra damage at range prior to normal engagement.”

“But you had to scrap your death blossom to incorporate it. If you are focusing on engagements with the lizard fighters I’m not sure you’ll like the tradeoff.”

“Death blossom?”

“It’s a nickname,” Mark said as Boen and Procarva walked up to him, a Star Force tech, and several other Calavari all gathered around an impressive display table that held both flat images as well as holos of different fighter craft. “We have something similar in our fiction.”

“The radial burst weapon you’re referring to,” Procarva continued, “is used in the latter stages of battle when allied fighter craft are not in the area. It is a last ditch weapon designed to take as many lizard fighters down with the defeated Valerie as possible. I much prefer having a weapon that we can use prior to battle to thin their numbers and attack their larger craft.”

“As do I,” Vornac added.

“Don’t underestimate the first strike advantage,” Mark cautioned. “If you have an incoming fighter swarm and you can send out one or two Valeries equipped with the death blossom, have them dive into the lines and fire, then hope to escape out the back side and run like crazy, you could get dozens of kills since the lizards don’t use shields.”

“We’ve run those simulations,” Procarva admitted. “They don’t prove as promising as you might think. The spherical nature of the attack greatly diminishes effectiveness as distance increases.”

“What if you modify it for only certain sectors…like, say, omit upper and lower so you don’t waste plasma throwing it into the ground, during surface fighting anyway.”

Vornac rubbed his chin. “You mean to aim the blast?”

“Why not, if you can double up the intensity by eliminating other sectors?” Mark asked.

Boen frowned. “Are you arguing against them using the lachars?”

Mark shook his head. “No. What I’m getting around to is suggesting they use more powerful lachars, which would mean cutting out other weapon systems. Cut those out and put them on separate craft rather than trying to make a ‘do it all’ version.”

“You come back to a familiar point,” Procarva said, thinking hard.

“Because I think it’s important,” Mark said, standing his ground. “We only use skeets because they have a narrow operational window. If we used them in space we’d have an alternate design, and we do have an alternative to deal with the lizard fighter swarm tactics, that being our gunships. The skeets are for fire support and air superiority, and have been so armed.”

“By air superiority you mean to take down harder targets than lizard fighters?” Procarva asked.

“Such as Valeries,” Vornac added.

“Not all races use expendable fighters like the lizards do, so we have to build tougher craft. We also build our designs with the survivability of the pilot in mind and that takes up extra hull space, so we don’t have a lot of weapon options.”

“Yet you already have 4 on your skeets,” Procarva pointed out.

“Not really,” Mark admitted. “We have two, a lachar and a plasma. We split the power requirements for a larger plasma weapon into two separate cannons, then added a holding tank that syphons off plasma from those cannons and contains it for the streamer discharge, so in a sense it’s all one weapon pulling the same amount of power, we just included variations on how to use it.”

“What would you have us do, exactly?” Vornac asked, wanting to clear the air.

“Tell me what you want and I can give you direction, but without a purpose behind a specific design there’s nothing to work with.”

“We want a fighter that can kill multiple lizard fighters,” Procarva said, humoring the Human, “survive their anti-air batteries, take down their transports, harass their warships, and be able to outrun anything they can throw at us.”

“And combat their gunships,” Vornac added.

“Individually or in squadrons?” Mark asked.

The Calavari exchanged glances. In the end it was Vornac that spoke. “We wish it could be individually, but we always fight in groups.”

“Then my suggestion is to continue building standard Valeries, maybe with a few modifications here and there, and supplement your squadrons with specialized versions. You mass produce the standard ones, then add a Valerie specifically designed to hunt lizard fighters en mass to a squadron engaging that foe. Meanwhile you add a Valerie bomber to a squadron attacking surface targets or warships. Make a third to chew apart the kirbies, predators, and whatever else they come up with to throw at us.”

“And then, just to be on the safe side,” Mark said, lowering his voice, “you make an anti-Valerie Valerie, just in case the lizards develop a stronger fighter or one of your allies turns the technology back around against you.”

There was silence for a long moment, then a third Calavari finally spoke. “The Human speaks wisdom. The Valerie must be able to accomplish a wide variety of missions, but it cannot excel at all of them. Reserve the radial blast for other craft and put the lachar on the standard model, that way at least a pilot has a small chance of taking down a larger craft, as Boen has just demonstrated.”

Procarva glanced at the older Calavari. “You want to build variants?”

Tibeerva nodded. “For ourselves only…and our Human friends if we can ever convince them to use the craft,” the four-armed giant said with a bit of humor. “Utilizing these special craft will take a tactical understanding that I do not trust the other races to wield, and I will not trust them with a fighter than can supersede Valeries.”

He looked down at Mark. “Now, what changes would you suggest we make to create a Valerie killer…I’m sure you’ve been considering that since the day you got here, in order to upgrade your own craft in place of using ours.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “No scattergun. No lachar. Modified death blossom to cover the aft arc only. Add a shield depletion weapon and retain two standard plasma cannons. Lose most of the space thrusters and increase in-atmosphere maneuverability. That’s where the majority of the battles will be fought, and you need to be able to outturn the other Valeries or similar enemy ships. You can create a space-based version if you feel the need and give it extra maneuverability by sacrificing the aerial combat aspect.”

“You seem to be well ahead of us,” Vornac suggested, “yet your own craft suffer in comparison. Why?”

“To put it simply, our craft have other design considerations factored in aside from fighting the lizards and we do not want to sacrifice those. If we need to produce anti-lizard specialist craft, we won’t have to. We can just buy the Valeries from you.”

“But there is something else you want from us?” Tibeerva asked, resting his lower hands on the tabletop as he stared down at Mark. “You will help us improve the Valeries, which will also improve your odds against the lizards, but you wish another trade. Am I correct?”

Mark also leaned on the table, his smaller arms looking almost comical compared to the others. “I have something to ask of you, yes, though I wouldn’t consider it a trade. As you know, we do not use fighters in space. We do have some attack drones which are piloted remotely, but they are little more than mobile weapon platforms and useless in anti-fighter combat. While Star Force is not going to change our battle tactics…they work well for us…there is another faction of Humans that live primarily in space. For them I would ask your help in developing a remotely flown starfighter to defend their homes with.”

“These Humans live in your orbital station?” Vornac guessed.

“Yes. They are called Canderous. We created them as a military civilization and they take orders from Star Force, but their procedures are a bit different from ours. They have been wanting to develop starfighters for a long time and we’ve been refusing to let them do so because of the low survivability rate. I also want our pilots accustomed to atmospheric flying and not splitting their time with spaceflight, so Star Force won’t be using them, just Canderous. Think that’s something you could help us with, because we have almost no experience in that type of combat.”

“With no pilot?” Procarva asked to make sure he heard right.

“No, just a comm control system that we already know how to produce. It’s one of our most guarded secrets, so we won’t be sharing the dynamics of that, but it does take up far less space than a pilot and environmental controls.”

“What if the enemy jams your communications?”

“Let us worry about that,” the trailblazer answered ambiguously.

“Risky,” Tibeerva warned. “With a single weapon the enemy could render all your fighters inert.”

“We use the system on our warships. Most of our fleet is unmanned and remotely controlled. We’re aware of the risks and have found ways around them, which allows us to fight even more aggressively when we don’t have a crew to be concerned about.”

All the Calavari within earshot took on a perplexed look, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing, but it was Vornac that finally expressed their combined sentiments.

“The lizards adapt extremely well. They will find a way to neutralize your warships, and when they do your worlds will lie helpless to them.”

“I know it may appear that way to you, but there are secrets that we have, secrets that I cannot reveal to your or anyone else, secrets that most of our own population are not aware of that make this tactic far less risky than it sounds. The lizards know of our broadcasting signal, and have targeted our transmitters numerous times. They have failed to disable all of them, allowing our fleet to pick them apart while they overcommit themselves. This too they have learned, and now hold back to fight conventionally unless they see an opening to exploit.”

“Why have we not heard of this?” Vornac asked.

“It’s not something that we advertise,” Mark explained, “and the signals we use are somewhat…exotic.”

“Do you have interstellar comm capability?” Procarva asked.

“Unfortunately no. That’s something we’re still waiting for the Bsidd to hook us up with.”

“But you fly your own fighters?” Vornac asked.

“Yes we do, but only in atmosphere and with a protective shell around the pilot to maximize survivability. Machines are expendable, personnel are not.”

“Perhaps that is so with such a long lived race,” Tibeerva said respectfully. “But many others do not share your philosophy. Especially not the Cajdital.”

“It’s our training that allows us to live so long,” Mark explained, “not our physiology. You and others could live long as well, it is not just a Human thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Procarva said.

“When your society treats you as expendable, very few live long enough to find out.”

“Your thoughts are interesting, Human,” Tibeerva offered, “but your race is still new to the galaxy. To many what you say is sacrilege. Life is destined to die, therefore it is in how we die that matters. There is no greater honor than dying while defending your people against the enemy. Pity are those who die in their sleep a useless death.”

“So many say to justify battlefield suicide,” Mark argued. “You can die today, gaining victory, or live in defeat only to return later and achieve 100 victories. Which then is of more value to your race?”

“If you lose today, there might not be a tomorrow.”

“Such are the concerns of a shortsighted race.”

Tibeerva laughed a deep booming laugh. “Always spoiling for a fight, aren’t you? I’m amazed you’ve survived this long.”

“Me or all of us?”

“Both.”

Boen put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “We watch each other’s backs…and we’re just plain good at what we do.”

Vornac smiled, showing off his intimidating teeth. “You’re not the best pilots here, despite your age.”

Mark smiled back. “We’re catching up.”





9





December 18, 2399

Jartul System

Daka



“Damn it,” Mark swore as he saw Boen get shot down, then he pulled his skeet through a vertical loop as a pair of simulated lizard fighters dropped in behind him and began to light up his shields. As soon as he came out of the maneuver he had to dodge right to avoid running into another group of 5, but he snapped off a quick shotgun-like blast from the scattergun and hit two of them doing partial damage, but not knocking either out of the massive aerial battle.

Mark couldn’t think ahead, much, as he was flying in and out of enemy fighters just trying to keep himself alive, but he did keep his situational awareness intact and was trying to divert to a specific section of the map to where the fighting was the thinnest. He and Boen had flown straight into the lizard formation to disrupt and distract their hundreds of fighters while the rest of the Star Force pilots nibbled away at the edges, but even that he couldn’t monitor, for there were so many fighters around he was literally bouncing between them like a pinball, snapping off shots where he could.

If it wasn’t for the scattergun he likely wouldn’t have been able to hit any because he wasn’t getting an opportunity to aim. The lizard fighters were fast, nimble, and had small silhouettes, so all he could do was pull the trigger when one passed near his firing line and hope to make a hit. That said, he’d already killed 20 or more in his run through the swarm, but he didn’t dare look at the score board now for fear of actually colliding with one of the fighters.

Dipping down on his anti-gravs and pulling his skeet through a skid turn, the trailblazer twirled around an invisible drain as he headed down towards the surface, hoping to make himself very hard to hit but likewise making it impossible for him to fight back. Right now though all he needed to do was run away and if he couldn’t do that directionally, then maybe he could cut low and catch a gap in their formation to exploit.

He pulled several fighters in pursuit down with him, but when he bottomed out and rocketed off in a straight line over the simulated surface of Daka he managed to get away from the massive brawl overhead, though those tailing him were still occasionally peppering his shields with plasma hits. Fortunately they didn’t get too many in sequence and his matrix was able to partially recharge as he weaved his way off to the edges of the map and away from the beehive.

Once he assumed he was far enough away he kicked in his anti-gravs and shot his skeet up into the sky, then skid-banked to bring his forward weaponry around to target one of the 7 fighters in pursuit. He nailed the first with a normal plasma cannon blast using his left trigger, then winged another pair with the scattergun before going evasive. He ducked, dived, skidded, twisted, and anything else he could think of to disrupt any easy firing angles for the enemy while taking brief moments of opportunity to down his pursuit, then when he had only 3 remaining he went on the offensive, trading plasma with the unarmed fighters.

By the end he had only 7% shield energy left, but all 7 of the fighters were down and his hull hadn’t been scratched…but as he swung around and gained more elevation he got his first clear look at the ensuing battle, as well as their score tally, and saw that his 21 other fighters were nearly half gone as the beehive had collapsed around them.

Accelerating up to dizzying speed he entered the skeet’s super-pursuit mode for a few seconds, stretching out his minimal shields to make the craft more aerodynamic, then he reverted back to normal and hit the brakes, flipping his engines over to reverse and coming down on the cluster of enemy fighters tracking a pair of his pilots from above.

He used his scattergun to peel off two of them, then fired his plasma cannon to get another group to break off pursuit of Kara, giving her a moment of relief by drawing them to him. He killed another one before they could fully circle around, then he started his fighter dancing an evasive jig while Kara returned the favor and came around to clean one off his tail. The pair kept switching up the lizards, forcing them to focus on one while the other flanked them or split their numbers to pursue each individually.

That eventually happened, but Mark was able to make quick work of the 3 that came after him, then before he could get back to Kara another 6 flew in from elsewhere and made his next few minutes hell as he took a shot to the tail of his skeet, which fortunately didn’t penetrate the fighter’s thin armor.

A tone sounded in his pod, indicating that they’d passed the prerequisite score to advance into the next round, but he didn’t let up. Beating half the other race’s involved in the annual combat tournament and solidifying themselves in the upper half using their skeets and not the Valeries had been the goal, and this was their 7th run out of 10 attempts, but that wasn’t good enough for Mark, because he knew they were among the best pilots on the planet and he wanted to set a first round score that would indicate as much.

This would be their last run, though. He’d promised as much to his pilots. Most of the other races had already used up their 10 attempts, so their top scores were locked in. Mark had held off on their attempts, stretching them out so they could see how the others were performing, knowing that Star Force pilots worked better when they had a benchmark to hit. Some other races had the same idea, so the Humans weren’t the last to still be making their runs, but according to the tone he’d preprogrammed into their simulation they’d mathematically secured their slot in the second round and any score beyond this point was purely for sport.

By the time he had shaken off and killed two of his trailers Kara had already gone down, as had all but three of his pilots left in the simulation. The remaining lizard fighters, still numbering in the hundreds, began to reposition and overwhelm the last of the skeets so Mark knew his time was just about up.

He pulled up hard and shot his fighter straight up, using both conventional and anti-grav engines to gain as much altitude as possible, then tipped over near the peak of the map and came charging back down firing away with his scattergun and killing the closest fighter. After that he only did damage as his shots spread out too far for a concentrated kill while he was weaving his way back down to the surface at crazy speed.

Three of the lizard fighters had managed to stay with him a few hundred meters back, but they were having trouble shooting him as he evaded, and he had the distinct feeling that one of them had collided with another, but he wasn’t paying close enough attention to the sensor screen to be sure. All of his attention was focused forward at the fighters between him and the ground.

He pulled up on the nose of the fighter, faking that he was going to angle off along the ground, then pulled down and executed a reverse loop that shot him out the other way inverted, skimming across the grassy plain of the planet. Before he could flip back over he took a shot to the underside, knocking out his streamer cannon…but he wasn’t using that weapon anyway, so it wasn’t a loss.

Another tone sounded in his pod, indicating that he was the ‘last of the Mohicans,’ so to speak, and that the rest of the Star Force fighters had gone down…and that now every lizard fighter out there was coming after him and that he wasn’t going to have anywhere to run to.

Having been in a similar situation before, he knew that the only thing he could do was to keep moving erratically, bouncing around and trying to take as many of the enemy fighters as he could down with him. The trailblazer lasted another 1:12 before a green plasma blast hit his skeet in the nose and send it careening down to the ground where his simulation suddenly ended.

Mark blew out a breath like it was a projectile, ticked at having died. He hadn’t expected to survive the run, nobody ever did, but there was a part of him that always resented getting shot down. In his mind that was still a failure, and had this been real he would either be dead or stranded on the surface of the planet in his skeet’s armored pod.

He triggered the release on the simulator after running through the post-mission stats, resulting in a crack of white light around the base that quickly grew to encompass the interior as the pod cockpit lifted off him. Outside Boen and the others were standing around, waiting for him to come out.

“116 kills?” his fellow Archon asked. “You’re making us look bad.”

“The longer you survive the more you can kill,” he reminded him as his eyes were drawn to the central hologram in the simulation room. It should have been showing what was going on in the simulators, but as far as he knew only the Humans were currently using this room. “What’s that?”

“Nestafar 5th run. We’re piping it in from another chamber,” Sandra said from a few meters away. “We are done, right?”

“Yeah, that one did it,” Mark confirmed, walking over to Kara and giving her a friendly jab in the ribs. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Sabers call it teamwork, but you’re welcome anyway.”

A pair of heavy lands landed on Mark’s shoulders, then another ran through his hair. “You did well, Human,” Vornac said mirthfully. “That’s the second highest score yet. Why did it take you 7 runs?”

Mark pried the hand off his head, then the other two off his shoulders so he could spin around and look up at the Calavari. “A change of tactics this time. Did we prompt you to have another go at it?”

Vornac laughed. “You may have surpassed us this time, but this is only the first round. You may have the credit, if it stands up to the others, but be aware that some of us are only trying to qualify. How you only do so on a run this good is confusing to me. Almost as if it were luck.”

“Please don’t say that,” Boen begged. “He’ll make us do it over again.”

“Luck or not we’re through for the first time,” Kara added as a few of the pilots began to mingle their way out of the chamber while most remained to watch the Nestafar.

“A surprise to most, but not us,” Vornac said approvingly. “We have trained you well,” he joked.

The Calavari glanced around, seeing that no one was heading back into the pods. “If you truly are done for the day, I’ll see you up in the main lounge in a bit?”

“Me, no,” Mark said. “I’ve got a workout to get in.”

“I’m going to grab a shower then I’ll be up,” Kara said, raising an eyebrow at Boen.

“I think most of us will find our way up there sooner or later,” the Archon agreed.

“Good,” Vornac said, clapping palm in fist on his upper set of arms. “I want to see how the others react…especially if they don’t make it.”

Mark glanced up at the hologram. “You don’t think they will?”

“Difficult to say, but I intend to find out with drink in hand. As always, you’re welcome to partake.”

“As always,” Mark replied, inferring his normal declination. Drunk pilots, or Archons for that matter, were dead pilots, as such Star Force had banned all alcoholic substances from use by their personnel and refused to sell them to the general population. The Calavari version was mild compared to some of their other inebriating concoctions, which could theoretically kill a Human, so Mark had issued orders that none of their people should ever so much as sample any alien foodstuffs or drink that hadn’t been cleared for consumption.

Vornac walked off, leaving the Humans alone in their victory as they watched the Nestafar get cut to pieces by the simulated lizard fighters. They did manage a 3/1 kill ratio, but that was far inferior to most of the other races on Daka, putting them well below the qualification line. That said, they had another 5 runs to try and up their score.

“See ya later,” Kara offered Boen and Mark before heading out herself. Once she got into the quiet hallway outside she jogged off to the right, passing Vornac as he headed to a nearby elevator terminal to speed him over to his destination. Kara, heading for the shower anyway, preferred to get a bit of an extra run in and hoofed it over to the entrance to the Human complex, which was more than 3 kilometers away.

The closest simulator complex had been hogged by the Gnar most of the day as they practiced in repetitive shifts, making it impossible for all 22 Humans to get online at the same time, so they’d relocated to an empty one to make their three qual runs today, after a less than successful effort yesterday.

The elevator entrance to their complex was slightly downhill of the simulator, prompting Kara to turn her jog into a heavy run, which felt good after being cramped up in a pod for the past several hours. They’d gone through some practice maneuvers before and in between their quals, stretching out the session considerably, but doing so in order to keep them from getting in a rut and simply repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

Kara tagged the open button on the elevator twice and stepped in, letting the tri-door close and the atmospheric processor recycle the air. While they breathed the standard atmosphere within the base just fine, Mark had fine-tuned their complex’s atmosphere to Star Force standards, diminishing the amount of oxygen and upping the nitrogen. As such she always felt a bit more lethargic after losing the more oxygen-rich air, but then again she didn’t need to be sprinting around their interior hallways.

The Archon headed over to her personal quarters and went straight for her shower…which had been one of the first upgrades Star Force had made once moving in. The Calavari had air turbine scrubbers to blow off dirt and grime, but then again they didn’t sweat either. The modifications made were one of many that all the incoming races were encouraged to make, given that the Calavari didn’t know about all of their individual needs…and very little about the Humans until after they arrived.

Kara walked up the short rubbery staircase, stripping off her clothes as she went and tossing them along with her shoes on the floor, then pulled open the lid on her shower tank and slid inside. The water rushed up over her chin, then careened out overflow ports in the sidewall until it leveled out just below her shoulders. She slid the lid back in place over top, which triggered the illumination panels running up and down the tank which had a clear wall looking out over the rest of her quarters, making the tube feel less claustrophobic.

The water was already warm and filled with a soapy solution according to Kara’s standard settings. With the press of a button drops began falling from the lid and slicking her hair down with pure water as a series of pressure jets underneath the waterline began scouring her body in a rhythmic fashion that doubled as both a scrubber and a masseuse.

She stayed inside for a good ten minutes before she killed the sequence and climbed out using footholds imbedded in the far side of the tube. She straddled the opening, letting excess liquid fall back inside as she rung out her hair before grabbing a nearby towel and stepping aside, only to slide the lid back in place with her left foot before walking down the steps and over to her closet.

Once dressed she left the Human complex and snagged the nearest transit elevator on the circuit of ceiling corridors and headed over to the main hangout for all the pilots on base. When she arrived on the promenade she found Boen and several dozen others already there hanging out in small clusters while the rest of the races did the same with little mixing…save for the bar which was where she was headed to.

“Water and a niktat,” she told the nearest server on the long countertop. With a precise throw the Calavari tossed her a bottle, then a sealed package, both of which she caught with ease.

“Thanks Sala,” she said, retreating back over to one of the tables with half the seats filled with Archons and regular pilots. “What’d I miss?”

“The rabbits went back out on another run, just to show off,” a Star Force regular by the name of Larry Ibsig said. “They upped their high score by 23.”

“Damn,” Kara whispered, tearing open the packaging on the niktat, which was a chewy dough that was on the ‘ok alien food’ list. It tasted like cookie dough to her, which was why she usually picked up some whenever she was in the lounge.

Peter-523 leaned over and pointed up at the main scoreboard. “Have a look who’s in the basement.”

Kara looked down at the bottom half of the list, running through the usual subpar races, of which Star Force was usually one, until one name jumped out in particular.

“No way,” she said at seeing the Protovic not only in the bottom half, but the bottom quarter on the round 1 score list. “Do they have any more runs?”

“Just one…coming up in a few minutes.”

“I’m glad I didn’t miss this,” she said, leaning back a touch and pinching off a glob of niktat that she downed in a slow gulp. “Who else has to go?”

“The Gnar, of course,” Peter said, knowing that there was little chance that they were going to make it given the strength of the scores having been posted, but then again anything was possible with so many elite pilots around. Even those who were at the bottom of the basement were considered top notch just about anywhere else in the galaxy. “But the Irondel are just on the good side of the bubble, and they’re hanging onto their last 2 runs in case they need them.”

Kara glanced up to the top name on the list, the Urik’kadel or ‘rabbits,’ then her eyes slid down to the second name, written in the trade language, the Humans, which was just above the Calavari…wait, no it wasn’t. They’d slipped down to 4th. The Bsidd had moved up to 3rd, which was a total shock. As advanced as their technology was, their pilots had always been subpar, relatively speaking.

“This is turning out to be a very interesting tournament,” she commented to no one in particular before washing down the niktat with a healthy swig of water.





10





December 20, 2399

Jartul System

Daka



Mark heard noise behind him in the hallway then flinched as two Nestafar flew past over top of him as he ran. He wasn’t used to people being able to catch up to him, and very rarely did he ever see any of the Nestafar flying around, though the hallways were plenty high to accommodate their wide, muscular wings. They kept their legs, arms, and tail tucked up to their torso and pumped their wings furiously to get up the incline that Mark was running.

The Archon shook off the surprise, reminding himself to remember that sound in case it happened again…then he twisted to his left and peeked back over his shoulder to see if any more were coming…but the hallway was clear, as it usually was. While it was possible to walk from pilot complex to complex through the ceiling passages most people used the elevator system to get them close, then huffed it over the short distances with very few venturing out into the long ovoid tunnels…save for the Humans when they were running workouts.

They’d never established a proper sanctum in the base, but had made accommodations where they could within the local structure. The hallways offered plenty of room to run and had been mapped out for their precise distance the first week after arrival. Addition chambers within the Human complex had been renovated with various pieces of training equipment, sufficient to cover their core workouts and the specialties of those Archons on site, but they only built what they needed inside the base, given that they were working out of someone else’s infrastructure.

The newly finished seda in orbit did have a full range of training equipment and chambers that they could use, but most of the time Mark and the other Archons weren’t up there, so they just made sure they got in what workouts they needed to maintain and slightly grow their skills while focusing the rest of their time on flying.

The 1st round of the annual tournament, which was measured in Calavari years, was completed with Mark and the others notching the 3rd overall spot with the Kvash bumping them out of second by three points. Those positions were immaterial, for the next round was not seeded in any way. Starting in two days the top half of the field would be running through support tests, assaulting the lizards’ larger craft and bases, which Mark felt their skeets were better equipped for than dogfighting compared to the Valeries, so he held out some hope that they might qualify through to the round robin, where the remaining races would go head to head.

As it was, they were the only qualifying race that wasn’t flying a Valerie. The rabbits had gotten their modified version worked out with the Calavari, which had made them even more of an obstacle to the other pilots. They’d solidified their dominance over the atmospheric competition and were thought to be contending for the space title as well this year, which would occur a few weeks later.

As Mark ran up the incline he accelerated enough to maintain pace, then leveled back out when he hit the peak, keeping close attention on his cadence so he didn’t screw up this lap segment. Each 500 meter section had to be run in under 100 seconds to keep him below 5:20 mile pace and the Archons had put small tracking markers on the corridor walls across the entire base for measurement purposes that would synch with his wristwatch…and it didn’t matter whether there was an incline, flat, or decline in the sections, they still had to be run under minimum pace.

When Mark got a few meters in from the top of the incline and back onto the flat he saw the Nestafar land and walk into one of the pilot dens. They’d gotten so far ahead of him that it took a couple minutes for him to catch up and pass by the entrance…where he skidded to a halt. Inside the open doorway there were sounds of a commotion so he stepped in to see what was going on.

The interior was a labyrinth of narrow hallways leading to pocket-like rooms. He’d been invited to these hangouts several times before so he had an idea of what took place inside and what didn’t, and the sounds he was hearing were very atypical…given that and the fact that the Calavari and Nestafar didn’t like each other, he could tell there was trouble.

After making a right/left/right through the pathetically short halls he almost tripped over a Calavari laying on the floor with orange blood seeping from multiple cuts on his body. Mark glanced ahead and behind to make sure he was clear, then knelt down next to the unfamiliar alien and tried to rouse him, but a loud screech from further in drew his attention and the Archon jumped up from his crouch across the downed Calavari and zigzagged his way towards the sound.

He came out into an alcove and saw three Nestafar flying half a meter off the ground around a Calavari, along with two other winged aliens lying on the ground with misshapen limbs. The three in the air were punching and kicking at the four-armed alien as it wildly jerked about, trying to knock the flyers down.

Mark didn’t hesitate and jumped up behind the nearest Nestafar and let gravity pull him back down a few inches as he hammered his left elbow into its back right between its wing stalks. It went slack, taken completely off guard, and hit the ground underneath the Archon’s body as he somersaulted over it and back up onto his feet where he punched another in the lower abdominal cavity, forcing it to fly backwards a few meters and away from the bleeding Calavari.

That was when Mark noticed the bladed weapons the Nestafar had in their hands and on their feet. The handheld slicers wrapped around their fists in wicked looking circular blades while the foot straps had a claw-like blade sticking up at a nasty angle…and from the look of Gonstan they’d been doing a considerable amount of damage with them.

The Calavari pilot grabbed the last of the Nestafar attacking him by the throat and threw it to the ground as it sliced both hand blades into his thick upper arm. His lower arm grabbed one and pulled it away, but the other carved out a deep trench in his skin, gushing out a river of orange just before his foot came up and stomped down on the creature’s neck, after which it dropped both blades as its arms fell lifeless.

The other one left in flight ignored the Calavari and went straight at Mark, but the Archon was too fast. Even as it swung its blades at his exposed skin he caught it by the wrists and walked up its chest, making the pair too heavy to stay in the air. They both came crashing down to the floor, whereupon Mark delivered a heavy punch to its ribcage while sliding in between its legs so it couldn’t gut him with the foot blades.

It tried to swing a right cross that would have cut through his face, but he caught its forearm with his elbow, then drove his stiffened fingers into its throat with a strike quick as a scorpion, then his arm was back up in defense while the Nestafar choked to get air. Meanwhile Mark grabbed one of its wrists and pried the blade out of its hand, tossing it aside while working on the other…then a huge foot came down on its head and the alien went limp.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sliding back out from under Gonstan’s blood drips.

“I don’t know,” he said, walking out of the room towards the sound of other combat.

Mark left the dead/incapacitated Nestafar where they lay and followed the Calavari through the narrow hallways and into another room where more fighting was going on, but before he could jump in to help he heard sounds behind him and turned just in time to duck a blade swiping for his throat.

The Archon pulled down into a crouch then exploded forward, running on hunched knees into the midsection of the first Nestafar and driving it back football style into the two behind it, then he stopped suddenly and kicked into its midsection before grabbing one of its wrists and twisting hard. The ugly alien’s grip slackened and he pulled the blade free as he backed up a step.

Mark glanced over his shoulder into the room to make sure he wasn’t about to get ambushed from behind then held his ground in the hallway, not letting any of the reinforcements get through to the Calavari as he struck a pose with the curved blade wrapping around his fingers like the scariest set of brass knuckles every conceived. He held it out in front of him in warning with one shoulder turned backwards so he could have a bit of peripheral vision to the inside as the three Nestafar clawed their way to their feet.

None of them could fly, given the width of the halls, but Mark could see and hear more coming up behind them, probably flying in as the two had done prior to his arrival.

“Stand aside!” he heard a voice bellow from behind.

Mark took a step backward to clear the entrance then ducked behind the wall to his left just before a table came flying through the air to smash into the attackers. Following it another Calavari charged in, this one not so bloody, and Mark could hear all kinds of screeches and screams as the four-armed giant busted his way through the pinned flyers. Unable to amass or surround, the Nestafar had no chance one on one, hand to hand with a Calavari and they knew it.

Mark turned his back to the wall and looked for more enemies, but the small room had only 3 Calavari on their feet, with another one lying dead on the ground along with a host of Nestafar. He reached up to his ear to make sure his earpiece wasn’t there, then turned the corner and followed the Calavari all the way out to the entrance after the attackers, spotting at least one that had taken a side detour.

As the four-armed behemoth closed and sealed the tri-door Mark turned and chased the Nestafar through a series of twists and turns until it came out into yet another small chamber, this one with two attackers and one wounded Calavari trying to shield itself from the swinging blades with its already cut up arms and legs as the flyers tried to go for its throat.

Angry as hell, Mark ran up and drove his own blade into the back of one, eliciting a horrible screech as it imbedded in the cartilage and the Human was able to physically pull it away from the Calavari using the handhold.

He yanked it back and away, twisting it to the side before running up and clobbering the other in the back of the head with his fist and instantly regretting it as his knuckles took the brunt of the hit. The wing flaps paused in a moment of shock, bringing the Nestafar down to Mark’s height, upon which he swung his right arm around and leaned into the blow, bypassing its face with his fist and instead landing his much stronger elbow on target.

That knocked it out and Mark pulled it off the wounded Calavari before turning around to see another come in and finish off the one squirming around on the floor with the blade still buried in its back. As he heard the neck snap the Archon turned around and frowned, looking down at the pile of blood that the Calavari was still lying in, unable or unwilling to stand.

“Where are your medics?” he asked the other.

“Elsewhere,” was all the pilot said, heaving with exertion. “If they too aren’t under attack.”

“Are there any more in here?”

“We will handle it. Thank you for your help. You fight stronger than you look.”

“So what, they just jumped you?”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Gonstan said as he charged in, looked around, then began to leave to search other compartments. Mark followed him.

“Are you injured?” the alien asked back over his shoulder.

“No, but several of your men are. They’re going to bleed out if they don’t get help.”

“Combat first, medicine second,” Gonstan said, ducking into and checking another section. Mark waited in the hallway for him to come back out, not wanting to get in the way.

“Why blades?” he asked as Gonstan came back out and moved on.

“We didn’t permit them to bring firearms onto base, given their history,” he said, ducking through more hallways. “They are a treacherous lot.”

“What’s their aim?”

“Depends how widespread this is,” he said, meeting up with another Calavari.

“All clear,” he reported.

Gonstan turned around and pointed behind Mark. “Back.”

More nimble than the giants, the Archon backtracked and headed out to the closed door where they waited for the remaining Calavari to gather, some of which were quite bloody.

“Go with him,” Gonstan ordered one of his kin, referring to Mark. “See to it that he gets back to his enclave safely.”

Mark held up a hand. “No, I can move faster alone. Once I…” he said, suddenly cut off by a base-wide alarm that sounded like something off a techno dance track.

Gonstan swore something in his native language. “This is happening everywhere. Prepare yourself, Human. And good luck.”

Mark nodded and let the Calavari move up in front of him before they unlocked and opened the door. It parted in 3 pieces, revealing an open hallway for a moment, then a Nestafar flew down and landed in front of it, uttering something not in the trade language to the others outside.

Gonstan charged out and punched it into the far wall, ignoring the nasty cut he got on his lower right arm, then another pair swooped in to attack, but the other Calavari got to them first, yanking them down to the ground by their hanging legs and pounding them mercilessly. As ferocious as they were a few minutes ago, the base-wide alarmed seemed to have upped their adrenaline to a lethal level…and Mark’s as well.

The other two Calavari blew through the door after them, immediately engaging other Nestafar and giving Mark an opening. He cut left behind one of them, taking the opportunity to punch a flyer in the gut and drag it to the ground as he sprinted off, leaving the Calavari to deal with the 8 or so nearby. Further down the hallway, though, he could see individuals or pairs flying about, all of which immediately redirected towards the fighting.

One of them came down at Mark, but it missed in its swoop attack as he evaded with a fake to the left then a run/bump against the right wall to scoot by, after which he sprinted off downhill, reaching into his body’s upper gears and hitting 33 mph as he raced towards the last elevator cupola that he remembered seeing on his run. He could hear wing flaps behind him, but he kept pushing his sprint until the sound became ominously close, then he leaned forward, curled up into a ball, and hit the ground hard rolling across his right shoulder and upper back in a sideways somersault as the Nestafar and its buddy shot by.

Ignoring the numb pain in his right elbow’s funny bone, he jumped back up onto his feet and sprinted forward, now running behind the Nestafar as they arced up into a braking maneuver and turned around just as he was passing underneath them, causing a moment of confusion before they flapped furiously to match his acceleration.

Mark beat them to the elevator terminal and slid to a stop, punching the open button twice and staring back at the winged vermin as they closed on him, ready to make a jump attack when they got within range.

Unexpectedly there was already an elevator car waiting, so the doors opened with only a momentary delay. Mark jumped inside and hit the close button, pressing himself up against the left wall, ready for them to jump in after him. He held the button down so that it would override the motion sensor and caught the first Nestafar as it tried to squeeze through, pinching its wings against its sides along with one arm.

Mark grabbed the other and pulled it wide, then kicked as hard as he could into its torso, popping it back out into the hallway. He reached over and jabbed at the close button, this time with the doors coming together with a few inch gap by the time the second one reached in with one arm coming through up to the elbow.

He brought his leg up high at the knee then extended his foot even further up with a slight pause, then brought his leg down on the thing’s wrist, knocking the bladed weapon loose and causing the Nestafar to recoil and pull its arm out. The doors slid shut with a click and mark hit the button for the location nearest the Human complex.

When he felt it start to move he released the button and kicked aside the blade…a disgusting weapon meant for a butcher, not a warrior.

During the ride through the more solid sections of the base ceiling Mark tried to think of what the Nestafar were up to…but he couldn’t come up with any reasonable scenarios. They were the Calavari’s nemesis, not Star Force’s, and the Humans knew very little about them, let alone their motivations or their history with the Calavari. He knew it wasn’t pleasant, but the fact that they’d agreed to tolerate each other within the Alliance had, he thought, meant they weren’t outright enemies.

They were now, though, regardless of what had brought them to this point. Even if the Nestafar hadn’t already displayed their dislike for the Humans Mark still would have sided with the Calavari, even if this hadn’t been their base. Next to the Hycre, and maybe the Kiritas, the Calavari had become Star Force’s closest ally…here on Daka, anyway. Not to mention that several of them had become personal friends.

When the elevator door finally opened Mark wasn’t anywhere to be seen, hiding aside from the door in case the exit was trouble. After not hearing anything for a handful of seconds Mark cautiously walked out, finding the surrounding area to be clear. He sprinted off towards the door to the dedicated elevator shaft that led down into their complex, not sighting a Nestafar until the last few steps, and only then at the very far end of the hall, or rather as far as he could see down to another incline.

Mark jumped into the elevator and rode it down to the command level, then burst out to find it all but empty. Only Sandra was there, coordinating via earpiece and console.

“Report!” he demanded loud enough to get her attention.

She looked up at him, suddenly relieved. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Helping the Calavari fight off an ambush. What’s going on?”

“They hit the hangar bay, but not our ships. The Calavari’s fighters are gone, as are several other races’. Explosives followed up by troops with handheld rockets. Most of us are out there keeping them away from our ships, because now they’re torching everything in sight. We’ve lost two skeets and a dropship so far, but we’re pushing them back.”

“In armor?”

“Yes. We’ve also got some of the regulars in the air, strafing them in the bay, but the Nestafar fighters are waiting outside the bay doors in ambush. We know because we saw a Kvash squadron go through and get hit.”

“Did they get reinforcements or are they doing this…”

“In house only, as far as I can tell. Their ships in orbit haven’t moved.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Mark said, rushing off towards the armory when Sandra yelled.

“Wait!”

He skidded to a halt and came back, seeing her bring up an orbital sensor display just as several new contacts were showing up…all Nestafar.

“Damn it,” Mark swore as he took off in a dash to get to his armor.





Backstab

1





December 20, 2399

Jartul System

Daka



Mark pulled open the armory storage locker revealing three sets of green battle suits, all his. He took the right boot of the newest one and slid it on over his shoe, securing it in place before pulling out the other pieces of the ranger armor and latching them on, then doing a quick shimmy to get them to all lock into place forming an airtight seal. The density and weight of the armor was greater than that of the acolyte armor, which was in turn greater than that of the adept armor, giving him the most protection possible.

As Archons grew in strength they could bodily handle higher grades of armor, and the ranger armor was the most advanced version they had fielded yet. It weighed 128 pounds, almost as much as Mark did, and was tailored to fit the exact dimensions of his body, thus increasing his speed and flexibility as compared to an adjustable, generic suit. The whole assembly was unpowered, save for diagnostics, communication, and a lot of other stuff in the helmet, meaning that he had to propel himself and the suit around on muscle power alone, which would have been impossible for an untrained Human, who would have had difficulty in walking a single step.

Mark, on the other hand, was a level 2 Archon Ranger and took off running out of the changing area as if the suit was nothing more than a thick set of clothes. He grabbed several weapons in a nearby compartment, attaching them to the built-in rack on the back of his torso along with an extra ammo carrier that slid in along the small of his back but still allowed him to bend at the waist as he left the armory and headed for the hangar.

“I’m in. Talk to me Sandra,” he said as he tore through the hallways.

“Big fight going on in orbit and they’ve got dropships coming down. Closing the bay doors would be a big help.”

“Are they both open?”

“No, just south side. But the Calavari remote control is down. They’re asking for assistance manually shutting the doors. I don’t know how, but the Nestafar have troops swarming the hanger and the interior corridors.”

“I can confirm the latter. Where are the manual controls located?”

“Control booth above each door.”

“Above?” Mark said, skidding to a halt just before he got to the airlock. “So I need to go through the roof to get there?”

“That’d be my guess. I’m not getting much information from the Calavari right now.”

“How are we doing in the hangar?” Mark said, not sure which way to go.

“We’ve got the regulars in the air providing cover, but aside from the smoking dropship remains there’s not much to hide behind out there. We’re good for now, so I suggest you hit the roof.”

“On it,” Mark said, sprinting off towards the elevator. “You going to get in the fight or what?”

“I was waiting to find you,” she said, her voice dissipating a bit as she walked away from the mic towards another station. “Next time we have an alien invasion remember to wear an earpiece, will ya?”

“Get in your armor and mobile. I’ll coordinate enroute.”

“Going,” she said, cutting the comm line as she left the control room to head over to the armory.

“Boen,” Mark said, switching to the Archon suit frequencies listed on his helmet’s HUD, “how’s your day going?”

“Just lovely…these things are starting to piss me off. They’re chucking rockets all over the place, but not a lot at us. They seem more interested in the Calavari and Kvash. Where have you been?”

“Playing hopscotch. We’ve got a battle in orbit and Nestafar dropships headed this way. I’m going for the door controls, think you can keep things together without me?” he said as he punched the open button on the elevator twice.

“Go.”

Mark jumped in between the doors before they were fully open and impatiently rode it up to the ceiling corridors. When it opened again he walked out finding a line of Nestafar flying away from his position. They didn’t see him come out, so he ducked down the corridor until he got to the transit elevator without incident, but as he was waiting for a car to be diverted to his position another group came up following the others, accelerating their wing flaps as soon as they saw him.

The Archon squared himself to the hallway and faced them, smiling at the tiny blade weapons they were carrying. Now that he was armed and armored they weren’t going to be a problem.

He raised his plasma rifle and was about to fire at the first of them when the elevator doors opened, so he held his fire and stepped inside…then was whisked off through the base to the point nearest the southern bay doors. When the car finally arrived and pulled open its doors Mark found himself shut inside by the hallway doors that usually retracted in sync. A crack of light was visible at the top and bottom, but a whole solid line of some sort of melted metal was covering the center, locking the doors in place.

Mark fired his plasma rifle into the seam at pointblank range with his right hand as he held in the retract button with his left. Little chunks of the door blew out but it wouldn’t budge, so he let go of the button and tucked his rifle onto his back and began punching the broken seam. After the third punch the left door shifted, giving him a half inch wide gap into which he drove his fingers and pulled. The door didn’t want to move but Mark’s strength convinced it, prying open a half foot gap before a Nestafar’s face poked in from the other side.

The trailblazer punched it back and continued to pull, but the alien pulled out an exotic pistol and fired a bolt of red plasma through the gap. Mark ducked down with the blast passing over his shoulder and impacting the back wall, then put all his effort into moving the stubborn door.

He only got it a few more inches before another two shots came through, one of which hit him in the left pectoral. Annoyed more than anything, he took a step back, pulled out his rifle and shot the Nestafar with one clean blue streak, then tucked his weapon onto his armor and went back to prying. It took more than two minutes to get the doors wide enough apart for him to slide through, and when he did he realized he was behind enemy lines with a lot of commotion coming from the right.

If his guess was correct the control room was somewhere to the left but he couldn’t see anything in the plaza he was standing in now. It was a pentagon with four hallways shooting out the various sides with the elevator occupying the 5th. Mark hung close to the wall and went left, running down a short section of corridor before he got to a T-junction, on the left of which were several dozen Calavari all hunkered down and silently standing around a few Nestafar corpses.

Mark looked at them through his helmet, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for reinforcements,” one of them said, dripping blood from its arm. Mark looked around and saw that most of them were injured and weaponless, though a few were holding the Nestafar hand blades.

“Where’s the bay control room? We need to shut the doors before they can land their reinforcements.”

Another Calavari pointed down the opposite hallway that seemed to go the wrong direction from the exterior of the base. “We just lost it. How did you get here?”

“The elevator. I need one of you to show me to the control room. I’ll get it back.”

Two of the Calavari stood taller. “There are too many, and they have firearms.”

“I can handle it,” the green armored Human said confidently. “Point me at them.”

“The security team is nearly here,” another argued, pointing in the direction of the audible firefight. “When they arrive we will retake it together.”

“I can’t wait,” Mark said, turning about and heading off to the right. Before long he came to another ‘T’ and looked in either direction, seeing nothing but empty hallway, and these were much shorter and narrower than the main thoroughfares he was used to running through.

“Go left,” one of the slightly wounded Calavari said as it ran up behind him.

Mark nodded his thanks and jogged off until he came up on another ‘T’ jutting off to the right. Before he got there a Nestafar appeared, this one walking around the corner rather than flying. A quick plasma shot to its head dropped it to the ground with little effort…but its fall was followed by three more of its friends flying into view, and they came around the corner firing.

Knowing his ally had no armor or weapons Mark charged ahead, shooting one of the ugly vermin out of the air and drawing fire from another before he got to the ‘T’ where he shot a second in the gut and pulled the third down to the ground by its foot. He took a red plasma blast to the chest in the process but shook it off and shot the pinned one in the head, then looked off to the right and saw dozens more at the end of the hall in front of an open door that had to lead to the control room.

“Stay here,” Mark said, glancing back at the Calavari who was still out of view around the corner, then the Archon took off sprinting towards the enemy, intent on giving them as few shots at him as possible. He took several hits on the run up with the plasma washing over him like an angry cloud that traveled down the hallway and barreled right into the lot of them, shooting a few on the way then busting up the rest hand to hand as the Calavari watched from the corner, unable to completely hide and wait while the Human went into battle.

To its amazement the little man didn’t go down, but the Nestafar did, leaving the Archon standing in the pile of their corpses for a moment, smoke rising from his only slightly damaged armor before he kicked his way clear and jumped over their bodies and through the doors.

The Calavari shook its head in amazement then followed Mark up to the pile of dead enemies, grabbing one of their tiny pistols and squeezing his thick finger through the trigger loop…but it wouldn’t fit. It fired off a shot sideways into the wall as his finger pressed in on the trigger and held it flush to the casing, unable to recoil again.

With a growl the Calavari tossed it aside and stepped over the pile, kicking one of the corpses on the way. When he got inside he followed a line of dead Calavari through several small chambers until the suit of green armor came back and looked up at the larger alien. “Where are the door controls?”

“Follow me,” the Calavari said, passing him by and moving two rooms up. Mark followed him, keeping close guard with his plasma rifle crossed over his chest and his helmet turning back and forth robotically as he visually scanned the area for new targets.

A blue flash crossed within a foot of the Calavari’s arm as the Human fired on a Nestafar coming in from another doorway, then the short ally burst ahead as quick as an insect and took up a guard position, firing twice more at enemies the four-armed giant couldn’t see as it bent over and started tapping buttons on the console. A holographic display of the hangar bay arose, offering a clear view of the melee going on below them and the open doors leading out onto the grassy plains. The exit corridor was also displayed with dots representing the Nestafar Valeries moving in and out of the local sensor range as they waited to poach any fighters coming out.

With a few more keystrokes the 2 giant doors began to creep inwards, each several meters thick and hundreds of meters wide.

“It is done,” the Calavari announced, glancing around.

Mark walked back in from the doorway and held position near the hologram, watching the closure. As the gap diminished one of the Nestafar fighters flew in…then another. Halfway closed several dozen shot through and began flying around the interior, knowing that they wouldn’t get another opportunity once the doors fully closed.

Inside Mark could see their skeets moving off from the column that had been their home these past few years to engage the enemy fighters, leaving the Archons on the ground to deal with the individual Nestafar flying about under their own power and causing havoc with their rocket launchers.

“Lock them down if you can,” Mark prompted as soon as the massive doors came together, sealing off the hangar from the outside. “Are there any other entrances to the base?”

“Not to the hangar, but there are a number of tunnels leading out into the mountains. None big enough for a fighter,” the Calavari said as footsteps behind them caused Mark to spin around reflexively…but he held his fire as more Calavari appeared, some of which held their own version of rifles in their two right arms.

“Hangar secured,” the one with Mark said.

The members of the security team looked down at the Human and his slightly pitted armor. “You did this?”

“Yes. Can you hold this position?”

“We can.”

“I have to get back down to the hangar and assist my men,” Mark said, brushing past the larger aliens who stepped aside respectfully. As soon as he was past them he took off sprinting back towards the elevator.



Boen took a knee next to Kara behind one of the broken wings on a Falcon-class dropship that the Nestafar infantry had toasted with a hail of rockets. They were still flying around the hangar, up high where they were harder to hit, and firing rockets down on the other races’ ships. The Archons had cleared out the bulk of those near the Star Force parking lot, but there were so many zipping around that a few kept coming their way from multiple angles…and there were so many of their fighters surrounding the column that they were difficult to all protect.

Add in the fact that the rockets had an equal if not greater firing range than their rifles, given that the targets the Nestafar were shooting at were huge in comparison. If it wasn’t for the skeets hovering in the air and discouraging most attacks they’d have lost at least half of their ships by now. As it was, two of the fighters had already been shot down, with both surviving pilots recovered by Archons pulling them out of the wreckage and escorting them back over to the column.

In the few minutes that the battle had been going on the Star Force pilots had learned to shoot at anything that even twitched in their direction, and the ceiling of the hangar over Boen’s head was a constant wash of blue light as the skeets lit up the surrounding area trying to hit the bird-like Nestafar at range with their plasma.

Boen fired off a shot with his lachar sniper rifle, nailing one of the distant flyers as it pivoted up in an arc, reversing directions and momentarily coming to a halt, which the Archon immediately took advantage of.

“Seventeen,” he sounded off for Kara’s sake.

“5000 more to go,” she said sarcastically, keeping a close watch over both Boen and the surrounding area, ready to warn and shoot if anything came up on the pair. The rest of the Archons were equally spread out, with most taking cover behind the various dropships on the deck or along the base of the column where they didn’t have to watch their backs.

Both Boen and Kara wore their silver acolyte armor, made out of a Herculium alloy stronger than what Star Force had originally used as warship hull plating…only now it was twice as light.

They both had a good quarter inch built into their armor plates, with the adept armor having half that. The plates were necessarily dense and heavy, which Boen was grateful for since Jason hadn’t worked out the dynamics of a small enough shield generator yet, which he’d promised was on the way. His acolyte armor gave him a greater sense of security due to the extra protection, knowing that he could probably survive a rocket impact on his chest…it was the second one that came down while he was unconscious on the ground that was worrisome.

“Right, mid level,” Kara called out with Boen swinging his rifle around in the general direction. He spotted the target on approach then sighted it in with the scope on a wide setting, zooming in to an appropriate level and trying to center the crosshairs on the moving target.

He pulled the trigger half a second after the Nestafar fired off one of its rockets. His lachar blast hit the casing on the launcher, knocking a tiny hole in it at the melt point but the flying trooper was unharmed. Boen didn’t complain, flinch, or even make a sound. He just kept his crosshairs on the target and waited a split second to get the scope’s oscillating motion to the point where he expected it to drift up and then pulled the trigger.

This shot hit the enemy in the waist just below the launcher. Despite the fact he’d been aiming above the shoulder the hit still succeeded in dropping the enemy down to the deck where he saw it hit satisfactorily hard.

The rocket it had fired moved off to the right out of his scope, but Kara saw it streak across the bay and hit one of the skeets on its port engine pod. The fighter’s shields flared and popped, with the resulting smoke cloud covering half the ship before thinning out. As Kara watched the shields reformed with a glimmer, but she could see some small damage marks on the engine pod, maybe enough to inhibit the propulsive engine, though obviously the anti-grav on that wing was still functioning.

Suddenly an earthquake tremor rolled across the deck, bringing Boen’s helmet up from the scope as he looked around…then he saw the massive bay doors start to close.

“Not bad for an old guy,” Boen joked, turning his attention back to his scope.

“Oh crap,” Kara said as the Nestafar fighters started to pour into the bay and the floating skeets took off after them.





2





Legat Orion-024C-14 watched the sensor hologram on the bridge of the Canderian seda in orbit as a fleet of Nestafar warships arrived at Daka and immediately began to engage the Alliance ships in orbit, assisted by those few already on station. The two guardian Hycre destroyers reacted immediately as the first Calavari ship was ambushed while the rest of the allied ships in orbit seemed to be caught unawares, then they slowly began to move…with half of them running away.

Star Force’s cargo ships were all clustered around the seda in a higher orbit than most of the other ships, keeping to themselves and so avoided the initial attack, but Orion knew it was only a matter of time before the Nestafar headed their way…and what in the hell were they doing anyway? They were a founding member of the Alliance and now it looked like it might be the start of an internal war…or worse yet, perhaps they had sided with the lizards?

The Canderian Legat watched quietly as his bridge crew waited for his orders, none of them panicking. They were soldiers all, as was every other person on the seda. If he gave the word they’d snap into action efficiently and effectively, but first he needed to get an idea of what was going on out there.

As he watched the battle he looked for signs that the Nestafar had allies in the fight, but the Protovic warships that had been on station weren’t participating. Instead they were pulling out, save for one. A cruiser sitting alongside a pair of Calavari warships returned fire on a Nestafar destroyer when it attacked, suggesting to Orion that the Protovic had not been informed of this assault and they weren’t sure how to respond.

The battle was quickly turning into a rout as the overwhelmed defenders didn’t coordinate with one another. That was sloppy, and just the sort of thing the mission of this planet was attempting to counter. The Alliance…or what was left of it at this point…had to work and fight together if they were going to survive this day, let alone the war against the lizards.

Orion didn’t even bother to turn his head away from the hologram as he calmly but firmly ordered everyone into action. “Battle stations.”

A repetitive alarm sounded throughout the seda, which the Canderians immediately responded to. It had been drilled into them during their days in the maturia and initiated an immediate adrenaline surge every time they heard it…for the Canderians didn’t believe in staged drills, and if the call to arms sounded they knew trouble was afoot.

As the crew moved into action bulkhead doors slammed shut all over the station…which subsequently opened small, phone booth-sized auxiliary passageways around the doors so the crew could still pass through via the most basic of airlock systems in case there was a hull breach. That was unlikely, given the thick armor covering the spherical station and the strategically designed inner layers that had most vital systems located within the core, but the Canderians weren’t ones to take chances and had built the sedas with multiple doomsday contingencies in mind.

Orion sat back down in his command chair and brought up the Hycre translation protocol. The small hologram appeared on his right, indicating that the line was now active.

“Pull them our way and we can assist.”

WE CANNOT. THEY ARE TARGETING UNARMED SHIPS FIRST.

Orion paused the Hycre channel. “Get me comm lines to all allied ships out there…scratch that, just give me open comm, I don’t care if the Nestafar are listening.”

A small light illuminated on his control chair, indicating that the appropriate setups for the transmission had been completed. He pushed the button and began to address the entire system in the trade language.

“All ships, repeat, all allied ships. Fall back to our seda. We will provide covering fire. Rendezvous here and we stand a fighting chance. All ships, rally at the Human station,” he said, belatedly realizing that they probably didn’t know what a seda was.

Before he had even finished the statement a few of the unarmed transports began altering course as they ran away from the planet and redirected towards what was the only safe zone in orbit. The stations that the Calavari had built for starfighter training were armed, but they had been the first targets of the Nestafar and were currently swarmed with warships systematically tearing them apart and ensuring that the thousands of fighters inside wouldn’t be joining in the battle.

“Incoming comm,” one of the bridge crew noted.

“Send it to me,” the Legat ordered, punching it up on his command chair arm controls. This time a hologram appeared with the image of a Protovic and Orion authorized video response.

“We are not part of this,” the armored suit-clad alien insisted. “We revoke any ties we had with the Nestafar. May we approach your station and take part in its defense?”

“You may. Approach in such a way that you don’t obscure our firing lines, then take up flanking positions with your warships and let the transports hide behind the station with ours.”

The Protovic nodded gratefully, then the transmission cut out.

“Status on our fighters?”

“About half are online,” one of the bridge crew answered as the remote control stations were actively logging in on his display board from their positions in other chambers across the seda.

“Get them into space and have them hold position with our cargo ships. They are to wait there until called for or until the enemy gets to them. Inform the Archons that we’re about to be engaged.”

“We’ve lost contact,” the Canderian comm officer reported.

Orion frowned. They’d been informed that there was combat going on inside the base just before the warships had arrived, now to lose communications…but then again if the Archons were under attack they’d be fighting, not manning a comm station. Still…

The Canderian commander watched the orbital display as the Nestafar finished off the Calavari stations en mass while half their fleet was out fighting/pursuing the ships in orbit. Several had already escaped the planet, making micro-jumps away for those with strong enough gravity drives, but some of the smaller Nestafar warships were pursuing them and it soon became clear that they didn’t want anyone getting away.

With that evident more and more ships started to flee towards the Human station, it being their last refuge as the Alliance warships were being overrun. When one of the Hycre destroyers was taken down it seemed to send out a pulse of panic and soon every ship within range was coming up to the seda…and dragging some of the Nestafar with them.

That was good, Orion knew. Better to engage them piecemeal than all at once…especially if they didn’t know the full extent of the station’s armament.

“Get those ships organized,” he told his staff. “We need clear fields of fire and proper grouping. Inform them that we have fighter support and get them aligned in a defensive grid. Angle their shields, block firing lines with their hulls…standard drill, but make sure they understand before they get here and assign them positions. Get to it, we don’t have a lot of time before they’re on our doorstep.”

Orion punched the resume on the Hycre transmission. “We have the fleet pulling back to us. Retreat before you’re destroyed. I need your ship alive and fighting in this battle. Without it I have no means of flanking the enemy. Pull back now.”

WE MUST KEEP THE ENEMY DIVIDED. WE WILL BUY YOU TIME. FIGHT WELL AND SURVIVE. TELL THE OTHERS WHAT HAS HAPPENED HERE.

Orion wanted to swear, but as usual he kept a lid on his visible emotions. He knew what the Hycre were doing and the stupid Nestafar were falling for it, but the destroyer wasn’t likely to survive against that many ships using blunt force distraction tactics.

The first of the retreating ships arrived at the seda, an Irondel transport, and tucked itself in alongside the grid of Star Force ships behind the station as instructed. The Canderian remote-controlled starfighters flew around it protectively as more and more of them emerged from the seda’s hangar bays, ready to engage the Nestafar fighters and pick on any warship that got too close to their flock, all of which were pumping out as much energy as possible into their shields. The Star Force transports were actually stacked up in pairs, with each interlocking their shield matrixes to provide additional support by giving them less surface area to protect…an ability that Paul had insisted in installing in all ‘unarmed’ cargo ships.

They did have a few defensive weapons Orion knew, but nothing that would let them contend with the warships coming their way. The allied transports he suspected had none, and was tagging and treating them accordingly.

The incoming allied warships were another matter. Several Protovic vessels were on the way, as were a host of the Calavari’s smaller and almost useless navy. Their strength lay in their fighters, and several of the incoming ships were in fact carriers, but up against so many guns on the Nestafar fleet he doubted that fighters alone could do the job, unless they had some extremely badass missiles loaded onto them…which some of the Canderian fighters did.

“Bring all weapons to bear,” he ordered. “Begin battle spin.”

All over the smooth green armored hull of the station small nodules rose up and split apart, exposing recessed components that were mechanically raised to the surface, most of which were weapons batteries, but several along the equator of the station were engine banks that tipped perpendicular and began to fire off a long stream of thrust.

Very slowly the station began to spin, at first just a few centimeters per second as the mass of metal was nudged out of its orbital lock with the planet, then a few more and a few more until the rotation reached 5 meters per second, after which the engines cut off and retracted back into the station. The two chunks of armor on either side of each of them slid back together and depressed into the hull, reforming the smooth outline and protecting the engines for use later if need be.

With the station spinning slowly it would be impossible for the enemy to create a permanent blind spot if they were able to knock out the weapons on one side of the seda, for eventually others would rotate around into firing range. It was true that an attacking fleet could fly with the turn of the station to stay in a blind spot, but it was yet one more advantage that the Canderians had employed into their standard battle procedures and would put the impetus on the enemy for navigational corrections.

“Standby cleansing beams. Rail gun status?”

“Magazines are full, loading tubes now.”

Orion nodded, knowing it would take some time to get the guns up and running. Once the automation was kicked into action the 8 rail guns spaced around the hull could each spit out a slug once per second, given that each battery had 6 barrels. Still, the greatest distance weapon they possessed were the heavy lachars and cleansing beams, though the CBs made the lachars look like pea shooters in comparison.

“All rail guns report ready,” one of the bridge crew noted as more ships began to arrive at the seda and take up parking positions behind it. The station wasn’t big enough to shield them from attack, nor were they close enough to it to do so, but the point was to get them out of the free fire zone but close enough that the Nestafar would have to choose between shooting the transports or shooting the seda, and if they chose the transports the Canderians were going to make them pay a high price for it.

If the ships panicked and ran then the enemy could track them down and kill them outside of the Canderians’ firing range, which is why it was important for them to hold position, as maddening as that may have sounded to their crews.

The last of the fleeing ships weren’t clear of the Nestafar, all of which were warships from 7 different races executing a fighting retreat to the seda, meaning the Canderian gunners were going to have to make precise shots in order to avoid hitting friendly targets if they opened up at maximum range.

The Legat watched as the battling ships crossed into what was marked as the outer firing boundary for the cleansing beam but he didn’t issue the order to fire. He was going to give his men a little bit more leeway, just to make sure they hit their marks. As he patiently counted down the distance to the line he was mentally drawing across the hologram he began whispering to himself so low that no one else could hear.

“Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station,” he said, ironically quoting Star Wars before he raised his voice back up to normal level. “Tag priority targets. Cleansing beams fire at will.”

Due to the rotation of the seda and the angle from which the ships were approaching by only 3 of the 6 cleansing beams had firing lines on the enemy, with the polar battery getting the first strike in. The powerful weapon struck a bolt of glowing white energy straight out into the distance where it all but disappeared from view before impacting a Nestafar destroyer exchanging fire with three fat Fanset corvettes. The beam passed right through the Nestafar’s physical shields and cut into its hull, digging a deep furrow across the surface until it abated.

Three seconds later an internal explosion ripped apart the destroyer along the front edge between the ‘wings.’ All weaponsfire from it ceased just before a second cleansing beam hit it aft of the first that clipped an engine fuel line and detonated the drive, blowing out the aft section and leaving the large wings barely connected by what was left of the hull in the middle.

Orion’s fist slowly clenched in a mild celebration, but that was as far as his outward display of emotions would go. His eyes followed the battle hologram intently while his bridge staff organized the defensive effort and his gunners located around the station chose their own targets. The bridge had a command nexus should he have chosen to use it, but the Legat had always preferred watching the battle unfold and interjecting only when necessary. His men had been well trained and knew how to handle the seda’s weapons.

The third cleansing beam hit a larger cruiser, slicing into its port wing but causing no secondary explosions…though before it abated it did pass all the way through and exited out the far side.

As soon as both of those ships were hit the disposition of the Nestafar fleet changed. Those trying to poach the fleeing transports broke off and began forming up with the others while the large mass back towards the floating rubble of the Calavari stations started to move up towards them as well.

“That’s right, come and get it,” Orion whispered again as his seda’s cleansing beams continued to slice up the cruiser until it blew apart from the wing and went careening around from the excess momentum unpowered, nearly colliding with a corvette that thrust out of the way just in time. “Are the shields synced?”

“All battle systems are go, Legat. Just give the word.”

“Tag the battleship,” he said, standing up and taking a half step closer to the hologram. “Give me one rail gun battery. Let’s see how our range is.”

On the surface of the spherical seda there were 8 additional domes, not complete hemispheres but still significant enough to stand out on the surface. All were coated with double thick armor plating but the curve on the surface didn’t end there, rather it continued all the way around through the interior of the station, forming a ball/socket rotational battery that held a linear rail gun cluster inside.

The sphere with the best firing line to the enemy fleet visible rotated against the hull, aiming its small pit of an eye precisely, computer compensating for the battle spin, then it spat out a metallic projectile the size of a bus at a blurry speed. The projectile was tracked on the bridge hologram where it neared the battleship…and passed it by.

“Give it another try.”

“Sir, that was a hit. The projectile passed clean through.”

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Relaying telemetry from the battery,” he said, bringing up a side hologram. It showed a telescopic view of the enemy ship with a gaping hole torn through its thick starboard wing.

“Hit it again.”

The Canderian relayed the firing order to the gunner, who still had the battery trained on the target waiting for the go ahead. She was about to release another slug when the aspect trajectory began to change…meaning the target wasn’t going to be where it was a few seconds from now when the slug arrived. The battleship was moving off and accelerating at a rate that the computer couldn’t entirely predict, giving the gunner a wide area of space to shoot at in the hopes of getting in a lucky shot.

She opted to hold her fire to wait for a better opportunity but one didn’t come. The target swung wide on an erratic arc, possibly realizing that it was hit with a projectile weapon and as such it would be more difficult to target. The battleship shrunk on her viewer down past what was even considered extremely lucky range, so she never fired off another shot.

“Target out of range,” she reported, then zoomed back out keeping an eye on other targets. As she waited and watched the Nestafar warships turned off, allowing the remaining allied vessels to reach safety, including several that were limping along behind the pack.

The bulk of the enemy fleet, however, was still on approach, with the forward elements merely circling around out of range and waiting for them to join up, now that they knew the Human station was not a soft target.





3





With the cleansing beams firing off white streaks and the all but invisible rail gun rounds pounding the approaching Nestafar fleet, half their ships opened up with missile fire, sending firefly-like glowing green streaks spiraling in towards the seda along with a few heading to the flanking warships. The missiles didn’t fly a straight line as most things in space did, but rather corkscrewed around a linear trajectory in a way that made Legat Orion wonder what the purpose was and why they would waste space on the missiles for the extra maneuvering capability.

He got his answer a few moments later as the missiles heading for the warships abruptly turned and passed by the first few, zigzagging between the defensive fleet until they found the targets they wanted…all Calavari ships. Some of the fireflies went down to anti-air fire while the rest impacted the warships’ shields, sucking large chunks of energy out of them but with none of their destructive force getting through to the hulls.

The bulk of the missiles that were headed for the seda never got through as anti-missile lachar batteries opened up what looked like a shooting gallery and sniped the fireflies before they could hit the shield. Those handful that did get through were stopped short by the protective energy barrier, then the Nestafar fleet entered plasma range.

Red globs shot out from all their ships, raining down on the battle station looking like elongated teardrops. The shields held up against the torrent briefly, then began falling in sections where the incoming fire was the strongest. The weapons batteries exposed beneath them had secondary shields covering them while the armored hull began to explosively soak up the excess damage.

A few moments later the enemy fleet entered the seda’s plasma range and blue orbs began flashing out back towards the Nestafar fleet along with the rail gun rounds and cleansing beams. From his position on the bridge Orion couldn’t see the spectacle, for he was staring at the battle hologram that was displaying damage graphics rather than live pictures. Other than the missiles and rail gun slugs being exchanged it didn’t show any weapons fire…though the amount of projectiles passing back and forth on the hologram was impressive enough.

The view from the backside of the seda was equally impressive, as you had the moon-like station winged by weapons fire being exchanged between the Alliance warships and the unseen foe. Though she was seated within a control room on the seda, Sandy-K903-10 saw through hologram the perspective of her Ravager-class starfighter as it floated in between two Star Force transports. Her orders had been to stay put until called for or until the enemy came to her and she didn’t like it one bit. Her ship had plasma weapons, four type-3 shipbuster missiles, and a lachar that she could have been using against the Nestafar but no, she and the other pilots had to sit back and wait…typical.

As she watched a Gardeen warship, looking like a spindly needle, broke apart from a ferocious plasma attack along its midsection just before the cruiser that killed it appeared crossing the horizon on the seda, trailing smoke as it came but was still pouring out plasma damage and firefly missiles into the warships and completely ignoring the station.

The seda, however, wasn’t ignoring it. As the cruiser worked its way around the perimeter it brought itself into range of more weapons batteries that couldn’t reach the main group, which then gave the ship their full attention.

Plasma orbs covered it like rain, then two plasma streamers reached out and cut into the ship like a fire hose cutting into mud. Before those hits could register one of the backside cleansing beams fired off and cut straight through the heart of the ship, hitting in a section of already damaged hull and disappearing within for a second before blasting out the opposite side. When the beam abated the plasma covered the corpse of the ship with debris plumes, partially obscuring view of the warship.

Sandy whistled approvingly, wondering just what was happening on the far side where most of the fireworks were happening…then her fighter’s sensors picked up more enemy contacts coming around the station.

“Finally,” she whispered in her control cubicle as she thrusted ahead and flew around the bow of the leftmost ship as she took her ravager out to confront the enemy fighters…Valeries no less. They were skipping through and around the Alliance warships, making it almost impossible for the seda’s weaponry to hit them without resulting in friendly fire, though she did noticed a few contacts disappearing from pointblank anti-air fire coming from the warships.

“This is it,” she heard another of the pilots seated next to her yell, but she focused on her ship’s telemetry and tuned out the occasional chatter. Orders would come over her earpiece, so any other sounds were meaningless, though she did share his sentiment.

Sandy brought the ravager’s plasma cannons online but didn’t bother with the lachar, knowing that Valeries had energy shields that would eliminate the penetrating nature of the weapon. She set the modular intensity of the cannons high, knowing that taking down Valeries was going to be very different from their anti-lizard simulations, but she was anxious to show the Alliance what the Canderian starfighters were capable of.

She wasn’t the first to move to intercept the fighters coming in on the left. There were two other ravagers ahead of her with others following up while about half of them took off the other direction to counter the enemy advance on the opposite side of the seda. None were coming up or under the station, given that there were no warships stationed there that they could hide amongst.

There were plenty on the rear side though, and as soon as Sandy got to the enemy they were darting around in between the transports, Human and others alike, with the Valeries firing into every shielded ship they came across. Eventually they split up enough that the Canderian had one of the enemy fighters all to herself, which she was chasing all the way to the back of the transport formation.

Whenever she got a clear shot with a backdrop of black space she fired off the ravager’s blue plasma cannons, managing to hit the Valerie twice over the course of 30 seconds, but it wasn’t enough to take its shields down. The pilot was doing a good job of going evasive in the limited maneuvering space he had, and was using the ships to block most of her shots by making hard turns to form blind corners that she had to follow him around. Several times he almost got away from her, but each time she reeled him back in but couldn’t get a clear series of shots.

That was until he flew out the back of the formation and began to loop around to reenter…only he didn’t. Instead he curved his loop inward even sharper and tried to fall in behind the ravager.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, twisting her ship around, much like the skeets would do in atmosphere, and pointing her nose and cannons at the Valerie. She didn’t have a shot at it due to its angular speed, but sooner or later it was going to have to line up for an attack run or break off. If it chose to flee she’d drop in on its tail again. If not then they were going to swap some plasma.

The Nestafar chose the latter and swung around at high speed on a direct line for her ravager. She responded by drifting the ship to the right to throw off any computer targeting program the Valerie might have, and continued erratic lateral maneuvers as she fired off the ravager’s plasma cannons in sequence, creating a rapid fire effect that leapt out towards the narrow profile of the incoming Valerie.

It in turn responded with scattergun fire, almost none of which made it to the ravager until it came within close range, then it began to wear down her shields like a sand blaster. A flash of motion later and the Valerie had passed her by.

Sandy flipped her fighter over and began accelerating to pursue the Valerie, which was when she noticed that it was smoking. It broke off and dove back into the rows of ships, leaving behind a visible trail for her to follow.

She accelerated hard to get after it, eating up its lead faster than she expected due to the engine damage her plasma had done. Just as she was catching up to it down a row of warships it turned a hard left and brought her around into the face of another Valerie that smashed a blast of plasma into her forward shields.

The second fighter flashed by and Sandy cursed herself for not reacting quicker. Diagnostic indicators on her display said she’d lost a cannon and a good chunk of the forward hull after the shields were breached, meaning that the second Valerie hadn’t been using a scattergun…but had hit her with a bombardment orb, meaning it must have been waiting in ambush for her.

“Teamwork?” she mumbled, tracking the smoke trail through the ships and seeing one of the Gnar transports with an active hull breach spewing out atmosphere. She wondered what the Valeries were carrying that could do that when another red bolt of plasma came down through a gap in the formation and dug into the same spot.

Up above she saw a Nestafar corvette taking scattered fire from the weapons on the transports, then she saw a bright white light blossom on the side of the winged ship, overstressing its shields to the point where the transports’ weapons were able to breach them at several locations, registering minor hull damage on Sandy’s hologram of the enemy warship.

Letting the damaged fighter go she pulled up hard on the controls and took her ravager in at the enemy capitol ship that had snuggled itself down into the transport lines in order to avoid drawing fire from the seda. With its shields down she knew she had a chance to do some damage if she could get in close enough.

Ducking under another transport and trying to approach from cover the Canderian raced forward, intent on getting within range before the shields could regenerate. So long as the transports kept up their fire that shouldn’t happen but she wasn’t going to squander the opportunity while she had it. On approach, running lateral alongside a row of ships and just before she was to make a sharp left turn and head into the target, she activated the four shipbuster missiles located in a pair of armored storage racks on either side of the ravager, opened their sheaths, and steadying her hand on the launching trigger after reconfiguring the fire control to loose all four simultaneously.

She banked the ravager around the wide nose of a Star Force transport, pulling up at the same moment and coming into sight of the corvette that was just above her down the line. Spurts of tiny red anti-air plasma directed her way but she rolled her ship around erratically, much like the Nestafar missiles did, and survived long enough to get up under the ship where the shields were down and some small craters on the hull were forming. She hesitated a heartbeat to give her missiles a better chance of making it to target then pulled the trigger as the ship grew alarmingly big on her hologram.

As soon as they were away she depressed at the greatest angular turn the ravager could make and skimmed the hull below where all four missiles impacted, creating a huge ball of plasma that ate into the ship like a hungry blob. Half the weaponsfire from the warship cut out and the decompression nudged the corvette to the side, with stabilization thrusters working overtime to kill the list before it drifted into one of the transports.

Sandy missed the damage but didn’t turn around to get a better view, instead she pushed on ahead, knowing that with no more missiles there wasn’t much she could do against a capitol ship. Soon she crossed over a diffuse smoke trail and turned to follow it, hoping to catch up with the Valerie she’d damaged and finish it off.



Orion watched the battle progress with displeasure as some of the enemy warships were able to make it into the transport lines and effectively shield themselves from the seda’s considerable firepower. Half of their weapons batteries on the front side had been destroyed, with more gradually rotating around into range but the back half still had most of their active firepower and they couldn’t use it for fear of hitting the Alliance ships.

The allied warships weren’t putting up much of a fight either, though some had come to them already damaged. After having spent years studying Hycre battle data Orion had gotten accustomed to their level of proficiency in naval warfare and had somehow assumed the other alien races out there were similarly equipped. He’d been wrong, grossly wrong. Even Star Force’s fleet would have fought better than this, and they were supposedly the new kids on the block.

The good thing was the seda was holding its ground. Even though their weapons were being sniped by the Nestafar, the sheer bulk of the station and the thickness of the armor on its surface meant that at best the enemy was going to have to disable it before they destroyed it, and they’d have to commit an insane amount of plasma over multiple hours, if not days, to do so.

The Nestafar fleet was also a shambles, but they were holding together better than the allies. The transports were holding their position, thankfully, and keeping the damage incurred to a minimum while his fighters were causing a good amount of havoc. Canderous had always said that adding starfighters to their defenses was common sense, though Orion admitted that Mark’s caveat about them having to be remotely piloted craft was also proving to be correct. They’d lost 16 of their ravagers in the fighting, yet those pilots were safe and secure inside the seda, available to go into battle again at a later date once new craft were given to them. Had Canderous originally had their way of things, those pilots would have died in the field.

That said, remotely piloting the craft made his pilots even more aggressive, which he liked. Take fear of death out of the equation and they were in it to win it. They’d already disabled two enemy warships harassing the transports, one of which three of the fighters had rammed when they ran out of missiles, racking up enough kinetic damage to take the frigate out of the fight and thus shielding multiple transports from the firepower it would have continued to throw down.

That was a tactic that no sane living pilot would have used, but using remote pilots was turning out to be a whole other ball game and Orion mentally made a note to look into extending the same practice to their surface craft if they could get the lag issues dealt with.

Suddenly the disposition of the enemy fleet on the bridge hologram changed, with the ships moving in all different directions. Orion didn’t know what they were planning, and he really hoped they weren’t going to try to ram the station because that was something they couldn’t defend against. The armor would provide a little defense, but that much mass thrown in at decent speed…the mathematics were undeniably destructive, though the sheer size of the station would offer some protection.

Fortunately that wasn’t the Nestafar’s aim. They intended to preserve their remaining ships, not destroy them, as they ordered an immediate retreat. Their ships scattered in all directions, taking the most direct routes away from the station as it continued to fire on them as they ran off up until they were out of weapons range.

Their fighters went with them, zipping out of the transports like flies with several ravagers going after them.

“Recall the fighters,” he ordered, blowing out a slow breath. “Inform the hangar bays to prep search and recovery teams for our damaged ships, Alliance only. Let the Nestafar survivors breathe vacuum, their recovery is not a priority.”

“Is that a ‘do not recover’ order for the enemy,” one of the bridge officers asked, “or a ‘leave till last?’”

“Leave till last…and check with the Star Force transports to see how much of their equipment is operational and include it in the recovery efforts. Tell them I’m assuming command of their possessions until Mark overrides me. Any contact with the surface?”

“Scattered reports of an ongoing assault on the base, but nothing from our people.”

“Hmmn,” Orion muttered, rubbing his goatee as he thought. “Keep trying, but for the moment there’s nothing we can do to help them. I don’t think the Nestafar are going to be back our way, unless they get reinforcements or try something tricky, but we need to stabilize the situation in orbit before we even think about landing troops on the ground. Contact all other Alliance ships in the system and inform them that we’ve secured a safe haven and that they need to get their asses here immediately. Make them understand that we don’t have any warships in play, so if we’re going to protect them they have to be at the station.”

He turned back to the hologram as another thought occurred to him. “What happened to the second Hycre destroyer?”

“It’s still showing on sensors,” another officer said, enlarging the hologram to show the entire area. “It’s heavily damaged and the Nestafar are disregarding it.”

Which suggested that it was dead.

“Give me a drift plot.”

A few seconds later a dashed line appeared along with a section of Daka beneath them as the orbital path of the damaged destroyer was highlighted. According to the map it was on an outbound trajectory that would cross altitude with the seda prior to it catching up with them in its lower orbit.

“Organize a salvage team. I want that ship caught and towed over to us, just in case there are survivors onboard.”

“We can’t bring them onto the station.”

“No, but we can get them away from the enemy. And even if they are all dead, I don’t want the Nestafar laying claim to the ship and reverse engineering their technology.”

“But…we might?”

Orion put his hands on his hips, still staring down at the hologram and visually tracking the movements of the retreating enemy fleet. “That’s not my call to make. The Archons control our alliance with the Hycre and they’ll decide what to do with the wreckage…if they’re not all wiped out,” he added before dropping silent for nearly a minute as his mind raced through various tactical scenarios.

“I want ground assault teams readied and standing by…and have one of the remote pilots drop a ravager down into the atmosphere to recon the base. We need to know what’s going on down there.”





4





Sam Grind fired off his skeet’s plasma streamer at 50 meters away from the Nestafar Valerie, burning through its shields within a second and killing the fighter within 3 as it shot up a group of Calavari infantry on the hangar deck that were chucking anti-air missiles at it. The Star Force pilot had snuck up behind the craft and luckily got in the killing blow, something that normally would not have been possible with the heavy weapon.

All around the hangar the Nestafar pilots were involved in combat, either with other fighters zigzagging around the support columns or with infantry on the deck. Their own infantry was flying about, flanking the ground units from the other races that had come out of their various column complexes to defend their ships. Who was going to gain air superiority within the hangar was still in question, but Sam had at least gotten rid of one of their pesky craft.

Trouble was the Nestafar had wisely targeted the Valeries on the hangar deck first, meaning the fighters rising up to face them, those that weren’t rubble yet, were largely inferior to the Alliance standard model and were getting shot down rapidly, though they were managing to take a few of the Nestafar fighters down with them. A few more were being hit by the infantry, but all in all it was the Star Force skeets that were pushing the Nestafar pilots to their limits, and vice versa, which was why Sam was glad that he’d caught this one off guard and made the kill.

Whether the pilot was dead or not he didn’t know, it hadn’t fallen far before it hit the floor, but at the moment he didn’t care. Several skeets had already gone down and these bastards were responsible, so if he smoked them in the process so be it.

The Star Force regular flew off around another of the giant columns, hoping to avoid attention and sneak up on another fighter but unfortunately one found him first. Like the rest of the skeets he amped up his anti-grav and shot towards the ceiling, staying level with the ground, then dropped like a rock back down, trying to evade the scattergun plasma shards being shot at him and only partially succeeding. His shields were draining, but the enemy was going to have to land a solid shot to get through them because every bit of clear air Sam got his shields recharged, making this pursuit a game of attrition.

“Sam, come low over the deck and buzz the dead dragon,” he heard Boen order him over the comm.

“I’ll try…” he promised, his voice cutting out a bit prematurely as he yanked the ship hard through a skid turn and snapped off a shot with his own scattergun as the Valerie flashed by on his left. He wasn’t sure if he winged it or not, but he knew it would be circling around onto his tail in short order so he used the brief moment of opportunity to put a few extra meters on it and accelerated off towards the Star Force column, snapping off a quick shot at another passing Valerie and nailing it in the left flank.

Another skeet flashed past behind him after it, then Sam dropped down to the deck and ‘drove’ his way towards the destroyed dropship remains, registering some shield hits from behind as the Valerie’s scattergun racked up more indirect hits.

“Take cover,” Sam warned, “this guy is spraying everything.”

“We’re ready,” Boen insisted. “Keep it tight.”

The hits continued to increase as Sam kept the skeet in a more or less straight line, allowing the Nestafar pilot to aim better…then he brushed over the top of the broken dragon and held his line unnervingly as his shields were shot down under 20%...then suddenly the incoming fire ended and the icon on his sensors representing the Valerie winked out.

“Thanks for the assist,” Sam replied to Boen as he upped his anti-grav and brought the skeet off the deck, circling around to find the next closest target.



“Come on, come on,” Iren said, ducking down behind the far side of the dead dropship.

“Incoming in four,” Boen counted down beside him but around the corner enough to get a clear view of the other side, “three, two, one,” he said with the last number coinciding with Sam’s skeet flashing overhead and into Iren’s view, “now!”

Iren tipped up his rocket launcher and fired blind, trusting the auto-targeting systems to do their job. Six tiny missiles blurped out of the vertical box he held on his shoulder and streaked out towards the Valerie, catching it in the aft and hitting the shield that Sam had already weakened. The first two took it down then the other four broke off the aft end of the craft and sent it careening into the deck where the nose bent at an angle and it skidded to a smoky stop in one of the large plains in between columns.

“Nice,” Boen commented as Iren tossed the spent launcher aside and pulled out his plasma rifle.

“Wish we had a few more of those…heads up, east side high.”

Boen spun around and took a knee, sighting with his sniper rifle then quickly downing another of the Nestafar’s flying infantry. “Anymore?”

Iren glanced around. “Nothing close.”

“Kara, how are you coming?”

“Need another minute to get strapped in…it would help if it wasn’t on its side.”

“Make it quick, we just lost another skeet,” Boen said, seeing one get hit then ricochet off a column before skidding across the deck missing both tail and right wing stub. His HUD tagged the pilot as Jenna, and given that it was still active he hoped that she was alright inside the pilot’s cocoon.

“Ground,” Iren interrupted. “Bsidd complex.”

Boen spun around again, aiming his lachar sniper rifle at the very distance column, seeing lots of tiny specs on the deck fighting it out. “Damn. I can just barely make them out, but I can’t get a shot without hitting the Bsidd,” he said, looking around for a group of Nestafar all to themselves. He waited 30 seconds before he thought he should try taking a shot, and when he did it missed clean.

“Too far,” he insisted. “Anything closer?”

Just then a loud thud shook him to his bones. Another followed it, along with the groan of stressed metal.

“Looks like she’s up and running,” Iren commented as he glanced at one of the destroyed falcons as a mech forced its way out of the interior.

“Will you quit playing around and get out here?” Boen complained as more thuds shook the ground.

“Easier said than done,” Kara said as the dropship tipped sideways as the mech crawled out the hole she’d punched in the side of the bay, unbalancing it. As soon as the neo slipped out the dropship fell back down so hard the vibration rattled the Archon’s teeth. “Where to?”

“Anywhere you can get their attention,” Boen said, switching frequencies. “Good news, fellas,” he said, talking to the skeet pilots. “We’ve got the boss’s mech in play, so bring the Nestafar our way for an introduction.”

“That’s more like it,” Alex said, swinging his skeet around and heading back to base along with most of the other Star Force pilots. The rest were just flying to stay alive at this point.

Kara raised her mech’s arms up, ready to deal with the incoming fighters. It’d been a long time since she’d been in a neo, but given this scenario she wasn’t going to have to do much moving around, but rather play turret. Her mech’s left arm held the standard plasma cannon which would probably down a Valerie with one shot, but it was going to be hard to aim. Her other arm, however, had been modified by Mark with a scattergun…a big, beefy scattergun.

“I’m ready, bring ‘em here,” she announced.

“Coming from the south,” Alex said, pulling a pair of Valeries along in his wake that were having a hard time keeping up with his twitchy flying.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Kara mumbled, waiting for them to get close. Wisely Alex wasn’t flying directly over her position, leaving her a line of sight on the Valeries at all times, even if the angle was shallow. When they got close and he was about to zip over her mech’s left shoulder she fired.

The blue plasma came out of the neo’s arm like a shotgun blast, crossing the distance between mech and fighter in the blink of an eye and consuming the rightmost Valerie, ripping off its shields and damaging the hull on the first shot. She managed to fire again twice more before the fighters flashed past, with her target shredding in the air and falling hard to the ground.

“Yeah! Want some more of that?” Kara yelled into the comm. “Bring ‘em to me,” she said, firing off at another Valerie as Kevin came in with one on his tail. Meanwhile Alex corkscrewed around and went head to head with the Nestafar, now that he was down to a one on one.

“Who’s in my mech?” Mark’s voice asked over the comm as his ID signature appeared at the foot of the column and ran out into the battlefield of the hangar deck.

“That’d be me, boss,” Kara said, ripping apart another Valerie stupid enough to come in close and target her directly. Its plasma blasts hit the neo in the chest, but only managed to peel off the top layer of thick, heavy armor the likes of which starfighters could never carry.

“Pick up your feet, you walk like you’re drunk,” he chastised as he ran over to Boen and Iren’s bit of cover. “What’d I miss?”

“Half the party, boss,” Boen said, still searching the perimeter with his sniper rifle. “Nice job with the doors…I assume that was you?”

“With some Calavari help, yes,” he said as a pair of Valeries swooped in and fired their largest plasma orbs possible at Kara, blasting a cascade of armor bits off the mech, but only one of the fighters lived to make another pass. The unlucky one twirled to a flame-filled crash 600 meters on the other side of the walking machine that continued to pace a small circle as the Archon fired off continuous scattergun blasts at the Nestafar Valeries.

“Stop shooting up my mech!” Mark yelled at the enemy fighters.

“Contacts,” Iren said, pointing off to the south. “They’re going after Kara.”

“Where?” Mark asked as Boen sighted in on Iren’s line.

The acolyte pulled the trigger twice, dropping two of the Nestafar and causing the others to scatter. “Right there…and they’ve got rockets.”

Mark was silent for a moment, and after Boen fired off another lachar blast he looked up from his scope and turned on Mark. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Can’t let you guys have all the fun,” the ranger said, clapping Boen on the shoulder before he took off sprinting towards the mech.

“Damn it,” Boen said, setting his helmet back to his scope and firing at the broken lines of infantry running/flying forward low to the ground.

“He does have the heavier armor,” Iren pointed out.

“Not as heavy as that mech,” he countered as more bits of destroyed armor flaked off the massive machine.



Mark ran towards the battling neo, but cut to the right to keep out of Kara’s immediate foot path, eventually passing her by and heading for the approaching infantry as she kept firing on and downing the Valeries. Why they kept pounding her he didn’t know, and it looked like their skeets were beginning to take control of the local airspace, though there were still large numbers of both fighters crisscrossing the airspace within the hangar.

It took a long time to get out where he wanted to go, but eventually he positioned himself in the empty plains of the hangar with the mech and Star Force column behind him and the approaching infantry, several hundred worth, ahead and still keeping low to the ground. He stopped his run and held his ground, pulling out his plasma rifle and aiming at the nearest enemies as a few red plasma blasts came back his way.

He killed half a dozen before their line came close enough for them to open fire en mass, though most still seemed to be focused on the mech. When that happened he went mobile again, zigzagging forward and diving straight into their lines taking a few hits along the way to his already damaged armor. He shot the two nearest him then reached up and pulled another one down by the foot as it passed over him, ticked when it shot him in the helmet.

He kicked it in the gut then shot it as he moved off, gunning down a couple more as some of the others began to circle around him, all flying a couple meters off the floor and keeping their distance so he couldn’t yank them down. They went through a short yoyo session with him running out towards the perimeter to try and get some of them in between him and the others, with the circle pulling back and reforming each time, even as it lost more and more Nestafar to Mark’s rifle.

A hot spot on his back told Mark that his armor was almost breached, prompting him to jump to the side in a dive roll that got him mobile and more difficult to shoot, then a bright flash crossed behind him, prompting another dive roll as he didn’t know what the hell that was. He turned face up just in time to see a second bright plasma orb come through and vaporize three of the flyers on contact before it angled down and into the deck, melting a small glassy crater in the floor material.

Mark smiled but didn’t hesitate to waste the opportunity. He went after the confused survivors, gunning them down as Kara fired a third plasma blast into the thickest group she could find all the while taking hits from the remaining rocket launcher-carrying infantry in play, then the mech turned to the left on the torso and fired an almost pointblank scattergun blast into a passing Valerie with a satisfying detonation of its fuel supply, popping the fighter into a debris-laden fireball that rained down on the nearby infantry.

Two skeets flashed by, which she didn’t target, and Mark saw them veer off on a wide angle towards another Valerie up near the ceiling that was poised to make a strafing run on the mech when its back was turned. Beyond that Mark didn’t notice, for he was still dealing with the infantry, shooting any in range but running towards the knots where there appeared to still be rocket launchers. The mech was filled with holes in its armor and a good shot by one of the ugly buggers could cause major trouble, so it was essential to get them out of the fight as soon as possible.

A blur of motion from his left was his only warning to a skeet coming in at ground level and laying waste to most of the remaining infantry with several scattergun shots that barely missed Mark. He could literally see divots in the floor on the left of him 3 meters away and 8 meters distant on the opposite side. From his HUD he knew the fighter was being flown by Prat, so he opened up a comm line as he ran off to chase down the few Nestafar left.

“I hope that was skill and not luck.”

“Either way it worked,” the pilot answered back.

“How many more do they have in the air?” he asked, shooting a Nestafar before it could sight in on him. He caught it in the chest and it dropped out of the air.

“Six left and we own them.”

“Don’t get sloppy,” he said as another bright flash vaporized the Nestafar he was aiming at, along with a good section of the deck underneath.

“I’ve got the scraps, Mark. Get back to cover,” Kara said.

“You giving orders now?” he said, shooting one more before taking off running.

“I’m in the leader’s mech, aren’t I?”

“What’s left of it,” he said as a large boom sounded. He turned his head as he ran, trying to see what it was. “Did anyone else hear that?”

Another boom sounded, then Boen broke in. “Remember those doors you closed?”

Mark skidded to a halt and turned around, looking out across the bay at the distant doors as a sick feeling crept into his gut, then a third boom sounded and a tiny bit of glow manifested on the left side, disappearing as soon as it began.

“Oh crap,” he said, taking off again before the 4th boom sounded.





5





Gouts of blue plasma streaked out from the dozens of hovering skeets surrounding the small hole in the bay doors, firing back out against the Nestafar forces trying to break inside. Their much larger plasma weapon was expanding on the 10 meter wide hole, melting off bits of the door while shooting inside occasionally, which the pilots had to be leery of. The inside of the hangar had been pacified, though there were still battles being fought inside the base, not only in the ceiling infrastructure but within several of the column complexes.

Mark had dispatched Archon ground teams out to assist the Calavari and others fighting inside while he organized the defensive effort being erected near the doors. They didn’t have a lot to work with, but based on the forces landing outside if they didn’t do something here, now, they were going to be overrun when the doors were breached.

The trailblazer had wanted to hop in a skeet and fly out the opposite doors, but base surveillance indicated that there were fighters and ground troops waiting there as well in ambush, though the bulk of the assembling ground forces were at the southern entrance. The smaller base entryways scattered around the mountainside had been locked down with Archon guards as backup, though Mark was tempted to head out that way and start causing trouble for the Nestafar on foot.

None of the options available to them were good ones, and to top it off all base communications were being jammed, with their orbital telemetry offline as well. The main comm array on the mountaintop had been slagged and the transmitters in the skeets were being interfered with by some form of signal washing. He’d thought about sending a team outside and up to the surface to try for a laser link to the seda as it passed overhead each day, but there was little the Canderians could do to help them without the airpower to break through the forces outside.

Before the orbital telemetry had gone down they’d registered not only a swarm of Nestafar warships coming into planetary orbit, but at least five jumpships that had come along with them, which accounted for the insane number of ground troops outside. They certainly weren’t playing small ball in this and had brought an assault force sufficient to take the planet.

Why, he didn’t know. The Nestafar had been founding members of the Alliance and even though they’d always been at odds with the Calavari they were also breaking bonds with the races they’d brought into the Alliance. Everyone in the base was under attack, as if the Nestafar had genuinely gone insane and were attacking everything that moved.

“We have recovered four,” a Scionate said, walking up behind Mark almost silently as the armored quadruped looked up at the slightly taller man, “two of which are serviceable. The others we can use for parts.”

The Archon nodded. The Nestafar had caught most of the other races off guard and pancaked their fighters and support craft in the initial ambush, but some of those resources hadn’t been completely slagged. “How long?”

“48 minutes for one, an hour and 13 minutes for the second.”

Mark glanced over at the doors as another boom sounded, seeing a third cherry red spot appear on the intact portion of the door while sunlight shot in through the existing hole the skeets were shooting out. “Detonators?”

“Remote or timer.”

“Will the remote work with the signal jamming?”

“Unknown…best we use a timer then?”

“Yes.”

The cheetah-like Scionate nodded its head and turned away, walking slowly at first before accelerating up into a slow run across the hangar deck and over to the Star Force column that had become the unofficial Alliance command post. Mark was out on the deck, organizing the creation of all kinds of nasty surprises for the Nestafar and riding around in one of the surviving jumpships as he visited the various complexes, offering assistance and supplies, along with engaging in a few fights. He’d brought back emissaries from all the races he could find along with all their intact fighters, landing them on the Star Force ‘parking lot’ along with any other equipment they could scavenge from the debris…including a few nukes the Scionate had brought with them.

Messy as they were, Mark wasn’t going to pass on them. In fact, he was grabbing up all the ordinance he could find on the hangar deck and assembling it into an open air armory where techs from several races worked with Star Force’s people to repair, remount, and in some case jerry rig new weapon systems onto parts of fighters converted into hoversleds.

“Negative on the cannon, boss,” Boen reported, coming up on his left flank as Mark was pulling apart a circuit board from the debris of one of their dropships. “We can’t get simultaneous fire control. We’re going to have to go with pea shooters.”

“Damn,” the trailblazer said, standing up and tossing the components aside. “These are scrap too. Looks like we’re going to have to get in our fighters and rack up an all-time high score.”

“I don’t like it either,” the Archon admitted. “Fallback plan?”

“I don’t feel like heading up to the surface, but I’ve got Andy working on it just in case,” he said as a signal came through his helmet. Those at least weren’t suffering from the jamming signal.

“They’ve pulled back,” Sam reported from the cockpit of his skeet. “We don’t have a line of sight on the walker anymore.”

“Copy that,” Mark said, glancing over at the hole in the doors as another thud melted away part of the rim along with spraying red plasma through and into the hangar. He turned back to Boen. “If we can’t take those things out they can do the same thing to the roof, and then we will have to evacuate. Find me some more things that go boom, I don’t care what they are.”

“I’m on it,” the Archon said, tossing a quick mock salute before running off.



“Legat, we’ve reacquired communication with the assault shuttle.”

Orion paused his pacing a couple of steps behind the command chair and looking to the comm officer. “Report?”

“They say the enemy has some type of signal jammer in place on the ground, which is why we lost contact. They successfully made their reconnaissance run and have a data package ready to transmit, but are holding off until they get further away from the surface due to inconsistencies in signal strength. We’re only getting text transmission and it’s heavily duplicated.”

“Instruct them to hold transmission until they return to the seda,” he said, resuming his pacing around the control room. A jamming signal explained quite a bit, though they had been able to contact the Calavari early on when the Archons were unreachable.

Orion kept pacing and rechewing what little data he had available until the sensor recordings from the shuttle came through…which showed a massive invasion army situated outside the closed bay doors of the Alliance base.

“That’s insane,” another Canderian commented as they all looked at the main hologram.

Orion turned on him. “What did you expect? If you come to take a planet you bring enough troops with you to do the job, not undercut and hope the battle swings in your favor. The Nestafar clearly intend to have this base and have brought what they thought was necessary to achieve that goal.”

“Are they wrong?” another officer asked.

Orion bit his lip as he weighed their options. “They’re attacking Archons, and that’s never wise, but they’ve got enough materiel on the ground to overwhelm the base if they can get through those doors,” he said, pointing to one large six-legged machine, “and judging by that thing I’d bet they can with enough time.”

“What is that?”

“A mobile cannon would be my guess. Their form of heavy artillery.”

“How do we take it out?”

“You assume we’re going to mount a surface attack?”

“What else can we do but wait and watch them get overrun…then they’ll move on to our surface bases. We might as well fight them while the Archons are still in the game.”

Orion nodded. “I concur, but we don’t have enough equipment to tackle their lines, nor do we have air superiority. Where does that leave us?”

“Hit their jumpships?”

“I would like to, but our fighters wouldn’t be able to scratch the hull. Ground ops are our only avenue of attack.”

The control room staff fell silent, not having any good ideas to suggest…nor did Orion.

“Geyr, set up a battleroom think tank. You’ve got an hour.”

The Tribune nodded and hurried off, knowing exactly what and whom he needed to assemble for such a task while Orion forced himself to be patient and sat down while he studied the hologram. Icon tags were present on a lot of the walkers, fighters, and transports visible, indicating additional sensor data that he was able to access via his armchair controls. There were also visual records attached, showing a large line of glossy chrome walkers headed out from a nearby landing zone towards the bay doors up the side of the mountain slope.

He watched as they set up camp outside and began assaulting the doors with the largest walker of them all, which was throwing an enormous amount of plasma at it in spurts. The Canderian was surprised the Calavari structure was robust enough to stand up to the punishment and was impressed with both races’ military proficiency…a proficiency that he had to deconstruct and disrupt on the Nestafar side.

That was going to be a challenge, for the Nestafar were far better equipped on the ground than they were in the air. They were one of the races that had been reluctant to use the Calavari-designed Valeries, but after seeing the results against the lizards in combat they had begun buying up an enormous amount from their former nemesis. The addition of the aircraft had significantly increased their battle profile, strengthening a weakness in covering their ground forces.

He didn’t have access to much information about the Calavari/Nestafar wars, but rumor had it that the Nestafar were their better except in terms of starfighters, which the Calavari used to impressive effect, both on the ground and to supplement their pathetic naval fleet. All things Calavari were based off the fighter, and now that the Nestafar had their precious technology it seemed they were ready to restart the old war with their weakness now patched over.

Canderous couldn’t achieve air superiority…not even close with their limited resources. That was partly the Archons fault for restricting the type of military assets they could produce, but Orion was wise enough to see their purpose in doing so. Canderous was still young and needed to master each piece of warfare, so making them do with less was an ongoing exercise training their battle skill. They were also a supplement to Star Force, who did cover all angles. While the Archons might have avoided the use of starfighters for naval combat, they were more than capable of making up for it with the design of their war fleet.

Simply copying Star Force wouldn’t do for Canderous, so making the civilization chart its own path was both wise and forward thinking…but in this case it was coming back to bite them in the ass, because it precluded the Canderians from attacking the Nestafar’s primary weakness.

Orion still classified it as a weakness because if the Valeries could be countered the ground troops were still vulnerable to air assault. The stupid Nestafar had worked a patch on their battle acumen rather than redesigning it to cover anti-air.

The reconnaissance team had done a very good job in assembling profile data on the enemy units, which Orion was pouring over and matching up with the rumors he’d heard of their capabilities. They literally had no weapons on their walkers designed to defend against fighters…everything was focused on ground combat. Slow, ponderous, heavy combat.

That was something Orion could appreciate, but it wasn’t a balanced approach. The Nestafar, apparently, compensated for the lack of speed with their infantry. Thousands were flying around carrying heavy weapons, and given their mobility over the ground, not to mention outright flight speed, they made for a more mobile infantry than Canderous could field, even with jump packs.

He could counter the infantry with mechs, but they’d be eaten alive by the heavy walkers. Those they could attack with assault shuttles dropping assets right under their feet, but there was no way they were going to get through their Valerie screens. It was an impressive army, one that he couldn’t overwhelm with numbers and couldn’t attack directly on any front…which left him with what options?

One thing he did notice was that they were leaving their grounded transports relatively unprotected. They did have air cover, but virtually nothing on the ground…and the slowness of their walkers would mean any attack on the LZ would have limited immunity given the time it would take for them to return.

Their infantry would come back quickly enough, but that could be countered with mechs if he could only get them there, which meant landing dropships through their fighter screen.

No go there, which meant he needed to start thinking abstractly. If he couldn’t defeat the enemy it was his obligation to thin their numbers, slow them down, deny them their prize.

A thought suddenly struck him, causing him to stand up as an adrenaline buzz raced down his spine. “Orbital map, now.”

The holographic reconnaissance data disappeared and a map of the seda’s sensors came up, detailing a partial view of orbit. Orion’s eyes went straight to the position of the enemy warships as he played a quick game of naval chess in his head.

“Contact Captain Davion and get me a private line.”



Mark walked forward in his battered mech, finding the biomechanics and weapons functional but the armor was chewed to bits. Fortunately he wouldn’t be needing it, he hoped. The pounding on the bay door was still ongoing, with now three separate holes punched through. The first was the largest, having been eroded out to several dozen meters wide and was nearing a merger with the second. The Nestafar hadn’t yet sought to send troops through, but it was only a matter of time.

He actually hoped they would now, because he figured they could handle them if they were thinned down by the narrow access points. Widen them enough to get their walkers through and there was little they could do but fight the first few then retreat into and up the columns to the roof and fight a prolonged internal engagement…assuming they could take out the behemoth banging on the door and the Nestafar didn’t get sneaky and plant an even bigger bomb than the one Mark’s mech was carrying.

In the mech’s left hand was one of the Scionate nukes, rigged with a timer on a pull chain similar to a grenade. The trailblazer made sure to keep a firm grip on the device without crushing it, for if he accidentally dropped it inside the bay it would be hasta la vista Archon.

Right now the hand was locked in place so it couldn’t be dropped as he walked the mech towards the doors. The question was, how good was his aim?

It was a long walk up there, with his mech getting bathed with red plasma sparks spilling in more freely now as the mega walker kept blasting the intact portions of the door. The holes themselves weren’t being targeted and Mark hoped that would remain so, because he really didn’t want his nuclear softball getting knocked back inside.

When he got to the doors he found the lowest of the holes to be just over the shoulders of his mech, with the others being more than twice its height. He chose the lower one as his target and unlocked the mechs hand, micro-flexing the fingers around the device as he steadied himself.

“Be like Mike,” he told himself as he set his mech jogging forward towards the wall. He accelerated it to as fast of a run as he dared and brought the mech’s arm up, first to shoulder height, then up over its head, making for a very awkward run in a mech, especially with all the lost armor weight, but this wasn’t the first time the trailblazer had been in a mech and even though he was primarily a pilot he had always liked the neo’s design and had kept in regular practice, making him proficient enough to slam face first into the wall and dunk the nuke through the hole.

He knew the impact was coming but ignored it, focusing entirely on the task he could not fail. He jerked hard against the control restraints, bleeding in several spots immediately but the shock absorbers on the contraption kept him from breaking any bones, though his head went through a mild whiplash as the mech bounced off the wall and fell onto its back...empty handed.

“Son of a…” he said, shaking himself to his senses and twisting the mech over onto his feet while looking around to make sure it had gone through. Not seeing anything by the time he got up he ran off along the door, trying to get as far away from the hole as he could before…

The nuke blew, blasting who knew what on the other side and sending a stream of air and shrapnel through the holes while breaking out the connection between two of them and enlarging the breach. Mark felt the mech off balance for a moment but he caught his feet and kept running off into a gradual slowdown where he turned around in a wide, victorious circle.

“You da man, boss,” Boen said over the comm as Mark walked the mech back towards the holes so he could sneak a peek outside before the enemy could reorganize enough to shoot at him.

“My tongue would be sticking out if it wasn’t bleeding.”

“Meaning what?”

“Never mind,” Mark said, stopping his mech ahead of the hole and seeing a debris field directly in front of him, made up of large chunks of what he hoped was the mega walker that had been pounding on the door. “Get our defenses ready. I think we took away their lock pick.”

The next moment an even larger explosion than the nuke rocked the hangar, denting in the massive doors and knocking the neo backwards through the air with the blast wave coming through the holes.





6





“They’re moving to intercept,” Frankton said from the navigation console as Captain Davion took his Gargantuan-class freighter down into low orbit.

“How close?”

“Hold course and we’ll hit atmosphere first. After that I have no idea. The ballistics of this ship outside of a vacuum are beyond me.”

“It’s not the ship, it’s the shields,” Davion reminded him from the pilot’s seat. The rest of the bridge including the captain’s chair was empty, as was the rest of the ship, save for the Canderian assault shuttle waiting in the hangar bay. “They brake the atmosphere, not the hull.”

“Until they collapse,” Frankton said, making adjustments to the computer projections of their course. “I think we need to brake a bit sooner,” he said, sending a new revised route over to the pilot’s station.

“Worried about the in-atmosphere turn?” the Captain asked, taking the suggestion and altering their course slightly as they descended rapidly towards the planet in the oversized transport. The Starbright and her sister ships were the largest vessels in the Star Force fleet aside from the jumpships, capable of hauling an insane amount of cargo and personnel and barely fitting into the hulls of the interstellar transports. Fortunately the Hycre knew how to accommodate such large ships in transit, otherwise they never would have been able to bring in enough equipment to build the seda in the first place.

“At the speed we’re traveling, ‘difficult’ is an understatement.”

“Relax, I’ve got more than 50 years of piloting experience under my belt before I worked my way up to Captain, and a lot of that was with dropships. I’m well acquainted with atmosphere.”

Frankton frowned. “You flew dropships? I thought you were strictly a navy man.”

“I am now,” Davion said, tweaking their course a bit more as the wisps of upper atmosphere began to tug at the large ship. “But they just don’t hand over command of freighters to anyone like they did back in the day. You’ve got to work your way up, kid, and do so by demonstrating skill. Kiss ass will get you demoted in Star Force. I’ve seen it happen to lots of guys. Double check our exit.”

“Yes, sir,” the ship’s navigator said, sliding over to another console. “All doors read locked open from here to the hangar.”

“Range to enemy ships?”

Frankton slid back over to his normal station. “60 seconds out, but they’re going to have to decelerate before then or the atmosphere will bounce them back.”

“Don’t count on it. Check my alignment.”

“You’re four degrees high.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted. Hold on to your butt,” the Captain said, kicking in the conventional drives at full power.

The ship shook from the blast of acceleration, but thanks to the inertial dampeners neither man felt it. The massive engines at the rear of the elongated, yet fat gargantuan kicked out blue fire exhaust that churned against the upper atmosphere while the ship was flying backwards, causing a faster deceleration than friction alone would have allowed. The shields along the rear portion of the ship were down along a narrow line covering the engines so that the exhaust wouldn’t catch inside, making the already non-aerodynamic shape of the ship even less so by turning the whole thing into a cup facing the wrong way.

Davion didn’t have a choice in the matter, because it was the only way to get to their target ahead of the Nestafar warships attempting to intercept them. They were coming alone, without escort, while some of the warships made a bluff in higher orbit that had drawn the Nestafar further out of position…but as soon as the freighter had started to head towards the planet they immediately reversed and came after it, knowing that they intended to aid the base under assault.

“Give me the count.”

“Rotational speed in 12…10…8…6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, mark!”

Davion cut out the ship’s conventional engines and briefly kicked in the gravity drive to hold them aloft against the torrent of atmosphere trying to twist them around and out of control. They were still falling, and fast, but by reducing the speed he was giving himself a controllable force to work around, thus allowing him to pilot the falling ship.

With their braking maneuver completed he returned the shields to full cover, immediately reducing the drag on the ship and allowing him a slightly easier pivot as the control thrusters fought to turn the bow around so they could face forward and get the trimmer nose pointed into the air.

“Some help, please,” the Captain suggested.

“Working on it,” Frankton promised as he adjusted the shield geometry to act like ailerons and rudders in order to assist the thrusters to complete the turn in time.

“Come on, come on,” Davion muttered as the sluggish nose gradually turned around as his ship fell belly first towards the ground. They were only going to get one chance at this.

A warning light flashed on the shield matrix on Davion’s console, indicating that a section of the top hull had just gone down…then another, followed by hull damage.

“Is that the atmosphere?”

“No, its weapons fire. One of their corvettes caught up.”

“Where are the others?”

“Too far back to matter now.”

“How the hell did this one make it?”

“I don’t…wait, there’s another headed our way from the surface. I bet this one came up at us too.”

“Even that drag out!” Davion yelled, knowing they had precious little time and that the downed shield was now altering the airflow pattern over the ship and catching like a sail.

“Hold on…there’s going to be a jerk.”

“I’m ready,” the Captain said, goosing what he could out of the thrusters as he watched the altimeter drop rapidly.

“Ah,” Frankton commented to the ship, “this is gonna hurt, baby.”

He hit the commit button and squeezed his eyes shut as the shields suddenly reformed into a large wedge.

Davion got a huge swing to the ship, which brought the nose around crudely in front, then the shields all but disappeared from half the hull as the emitters burned out and the ship became a lot more unresponsive.

“What the hell was that?”

“Don’t ask, sir.”

“You pulled a direct feed, didn’t you?”

“It worked.”

“Yeah it did,” he admitted as he used the thrusters to keep the nose pointed forward as he began to cut out the forward gravity drives to dip the front end of the ship towards the surface. “You’re done here, get going.”

“Captain?” Frankton asked suspiciously.

“I’ll be there shortly. Hold the door open.”

“You’d better be,” the navigator said as he got up out of his seat and ran off the bridge.

Davion’s eyes glanced at what little sensor telemetry the ship had, considering that it was now burning through the atmosphere like a fireball…but he could still see the corvette keeping pace behind and above them. Small pinpricks of damage were popping up on the hull, which only made the Captain smile.

“Go ahead, do your worst,” he said, finally getting the ship rotated over fully using the aft-most gravity drive to act as an anchor to hold the angle as he micro-adjusted with the main engines and thrusters to keep her falling on course. If he missed his target on the wrong side…

But no, the ship was falling where it should, though a little to the south. A heavy thrust from the main engines countered that by about 50%, and he saw that he wasn’t going to get much more out of it. That was good though, to have a cushion on the correct side, for as soon as he left the pilot’s chair the ship was going ballistic.

“Starbright, I think you’re going to live up to your name. You’ve been a good ship. Farewell,” he said, shutting off all but the anchor gravity drive and dashing out of his seat, following the route Frankton had took. He ran through doorway after doorway, all that were locked open so as not to slow him down, until he got to the closest hangar bay and pushed his way inside through the hurricane-like winds whipping inside from the open doors on the hull, meaning somehow the hangar’s atmospheric shields had gone down also.

Fortunately the artificial gravity was still in play, otherwise he would have fallen against the wall because the planet was visible perpendicular outside the bay with just a slice of the horizon popping up along the far left wall, indicating how close they were getting to the surface.

Davion ran hard, leaning into the wind and fought his way across to the open door on the assault shuttle where Frankton was waiting for him. The Captain plowed his way aboard with the navigational officer pulling the door shut immediately.

“He’s in, let’s go!” he shouted at the Canderian pilot, who wasted no time in lifting off and rocketing out of the side of the ship.

The tiny craft hit a wall of turbulence and got knocked out of control for several seconds before the ship passed beneath them and the wake diminished. The pilot eventually got the shuttle leveled out and accelerated away from the flight line and the Nestafar corvette that was still trying to pump plasma into the freighter, even though most of it was never reaching the target due to the friction with the air.

“Oh crap, we’ve got company,” the Canderian said, dropping hard towards the surface at an angle that would also pull them away from the Starbright.

“Fighters?” Davion asked.

“No, that warship is coming after us.”

“Surely you can outfly that hunk of metal?” he goaded.

The Canderian glanced back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “You’d better hope so,” he said, pulling the shuttle through a tight loop and redirecting it off towards the north…a maneuver that the corvette couldn’t easily match, though it wasn’t giving up on the pursuit.

The pilot reversed his turn and headed back southeast, wanting to get further away from the freighter and causing the corvette to overshoot again, then he headed the tiny craft down towards the surface, intent on losing their pursuit in the mountains. The angle didn’t allow them to see the Starbright when it hit the surface, but several seconds later they felt the shockwave as it bounced the shuttle around.

“Sorry, Captain. Know you wanted to see that, but losing that warship is the first priority.”

“No need to apologize. At least now I won’t have to have it replaying through my mind at night.”

The assault shuttle flew straight down towards the mountains, then ducked into a valley and started skimming the shallow trenches until they found one particularly sheer rock wall. The Canderian pilot slowed them to a hover and tucked up alongside it, waiting to see if the corvette would follow them down.

“Comms are back,” he noted when the incoming signal button lit up on his console. “I’d answer that, but I’d rather not give the Nestafar any help in locating us.”

“You have your sensors set to passive, son?”

“Of course I do,” he said, looking at Davion oddly. “And there she is…”

Davion looked on the passive sensors display as well as out the forward viewport monitor, seeing the corvette high above them flying a lazy course across the mountains.

“I think they lost us,” Frankton added.

“For now,” Davion said, thinking hard. He didn’t see any fighters on the sensors, but being tucked up against the mountain diminished their view of the immediate area.

A second comm light lit up on the dashboard, blinking in sequence with the first.

“Can you tell where those are coming from?”

The Canderian pilot tapped on the first, bringing up the info display along with the transmit button which he intentionally avoided. “The seda…” he said, switching to the second, “and the base.”

Davion saw the Star Force ID signature on the base’s data screen, meaning it wasn’t coming from the Calavari or others…and it had a message attached rather than just a request prompt. Before he could tell the pilot to activate it the Canderian did so on his own and Kara’s voice came over the comm.

“Any Star Force units within the immediate area of the base please respond. Repeat, any Star Force units within the immediate area of the base please respond. You’re about to get your asses kicked.”

Davion and the Canderian exchanged frowns.

“What does she mean by that?” Frankton asked.

“Risk it,” Davion said.

The Canderian reached over and activated the response channel. “This is Canderian assault shuttle 28…respond.”

There was a short pause before the feed cut out the automated message and a live transmission replaced it.

“What’s your current status?” Kara’s voice again asked.

“Trying to avoid detection,” Davion answered. “We’ve got a corvette that chased us to ground and at the moment it seems to have lost us, despite this transmission.”

“Never mind that, you’ve got incoming fighters dropping from orbit. Get running or get inside the base. How many of you are there?”

“One shuttle, three occupants.”

“And what did you hit the enemy with, exactly?”

“My ship,” he said, regret evident in his tone.

“Captain?”

“Davion. Despite the skills of our pilot, I’d prefer not to try and outrun the enemy fighters back up into orbit. What’s our best approach to the base?”

“I need you to land on the mountain and come in through one of the auxiliary entrances…on foot, unless you want to run the gauntlet and come in the front door before they get reorganized. Either way those fighters are getting close to the surface.”

“Send coordinates for the mountaintop entrance,” Davion decided in an instant. He knew well how much firepower had been at the entrance and he doubted they’d have a straight line approach, meaning they’d be sitting ducks as they tried to maneuver through his ship’s debris and into the base.

“Get going. We’ll have a reception committee waiting,” Kara promised.

“How many masks do we have?” Frankton asked as the battlemap waypoint came through and the pilot got them moving within three seconds, eager to get away from the now distant corvette should it turn around and come back for them…which it did as soon as they pulled up into the sky and cleared the horizon.

“Down there,” the pilot pointed back into the compartment behind them over his right shoulder.

Frankton stepped out of the cockpit and pulled open the wall panel, revealing a recessed storage compartment with a rack of filter masks. He pulled out three and handed one to Davion.

“Thank you,” the Captain said, ripping the seal and pulling it out of its plastic bag, then placing it squarely over his nose and mouth before securing it behind his head into a firm grip. He took a few practice breaths and found it mildly restrictive, but otherwise fully functional.

“Two minutes,” the Canderian warned them as he pulled up above the mountaintops, abandoning any ideas of using the terrain to his advantage and making a bee line straight to the waypoint as he flicked on the active sensors, which responded with a much stronger image of the corvette along with a cloud of contacts coming down from above. “Stand by the side hatch.”

Davion moved aft, walking through the personnel compartment to the junction with the cargo hold, there he found a short exit ramp covered by a solid door with an activation panel nearby. He waited there with Frankton, ready to move out as soon as the pilot set the shuttle down.

“Go!” he heard him yell, and Davion didn’t waste any time. He jammed the open button in so hard he felt his finger joint bend back, then was forced to wait through a quick release of the door as it pulled out away from the hull and aside as a foot ramp extended down to the surface. He ran out it just as the Canderian was catching up to them and sprinted ahead to where a red armored suit was waving at them across an uphill field of grass so tall it came up to their shoulders.

Davion punched through it with adrenaline at levels he hadn’t experienced in a long time, clawing it apart with his hands as a rocket was launched into the sky from ahead. He didn’t see where it came from, only the lone Archon signaling to him. A loud explosion made him flinch as it detonated in the air above, then two more shot out just before he broke through the sea of grass and onto the flat stones of the entryway where he saw six Archons and dozens of Calavari standing guard over a very small entrance.

“Come on, come on!” the Archon yelled, urging the threesome forward. He yanked Davion into the building by the shoulder, pulling him faster than he would normally could have ran resulting in a stumbling shuffle, but the strength of the man kept him on his feet before he dumped him to the side behind the thick walls of the base.

A moment later the Calavari started coming through, then another Archon with Frankton. After that there was a long line of armed soldiers pouring in followed by the Canderian pilot and the four other Archons, after which there was a large audible ‘clunk’ as the base door sealed over.

Davion sat heaving against the wall, his limbs numb and tingly from the exertion, until one of the Calavari came over and looked down on him. “You came from the crashed ship?”

He nodded. “We bailed out before impact.”

“They said you were the Captain.”

“I am…was,” he corrected himself. One wasn’t a true captain without a ship.

“You may have just saved all our lives. We are in your debt, Human.”

“No problem,” he said with a wave of his hand dismissively.

“No. We are pilots. We know what it is like to lose your ship and ours are small. Yours was not. It was a great sacrifice and we are truly honored,” it said, reaching down and pulling Davion up off his butt. “It is not safe here. We must go further inside. This is a kill zone should they breach the outer door.”

“By all means,” he said, letting the four armed alien escort him across the wide room and through another doorway along with the others.





7





“Oh for crying out loud,” Mark said as soon as he shook the stars from his head as he laid flat on his back looking up at the hangar ceiling through his mech’s display holo. “What the hell did I hit out there?”

Silence answered him…then he noticed that his comm display was dark, meaning it must have been damaged in either the shockwave or fall.

“Ouch,” he said, twisting his sore arms around as he leveraged his mech up into a sitting position…which was when he saw the now ginormous hole in the door along with a shiny, yet pitted chrome walker skittering through and getting pounded by plasma. “How long have I been out?”

He raised his mech’s left arm up, deactivated the hand and pumped a plasma orb into one of the walker’s six crab-like legs, melting a hole alongside several others and snapping the leg off as too much pressure fell on its remaining support struts. The entire machine wobbled, but the other legs compensated before an internal component blew out from the bulky center and killed the thing.

Mark got his mech up onto its feet just as the much larger Nestafar version began moving again…only not under its own power. As he watched another pushed it forward from behind, using it as both a shield and plow against the other bits of debris lying around.

Plasma fell in on it from multiple angles, most of which were coming from the skeets but a lot of the improvised weapon sleds were also nearby and firing makeshift weapons on the entry hole. Mark was impressed with the amount of firepower they’d accumulated from the wrecks in the hangar, but was appalled at what little damage each of them were doing to the walker that was now half exposed. Its armor must have been incredibly dense…probably why the damn things moved so slow too.

Mark added his neo’s weapons to the defensive effort, both the plasma cannon and scattergun as the enemy walker moved far enough in to use its belly-mounted cannon and roasted one of the weapon sleds over considerable distance with what looked like a plasma fire hose, yet extremely thin. It cut through the metal frame like a hot knife through butter, wrecking both the anti-grav and the weapons onboard, though thankfully it had been remote-controlled by the control bunker and no one had been onboard.

The Nestafar beast cut apart another one before it finally succumbed to the combined firepower of the hangar guard, dropping down on its powerless legs like a withering spider and blocking the hole…the primary hole anyway…in the door. When it too began to move forward, much slower than the first, Mark reactivated his mech’s hands and charged forward, running up against the remains of the first walker and pushed back, leveraging as much strength as he could.

“Please don’t shoot me guys,” he said to the dead comm as his mech’s feet scraped on the floor due to lack of traction. “Come on!” he yelled, twisting a bit and shoving at a different angle.

Slowly, inch by inch, he shoved the mass of the two dead walkers back until the second one was completely out of the hangar…then a stream of small rocks came in through the next biggest hole in the wall, higher up, and rained down around him. When they hit the ground they opened up into protomechs, each about half as tall as his neo, and started shooting into his badly damaged armor at close range.

Mark released his hold on the pile of scrap and turned around, reactivating his cannon and blasting one off its feet, half melting through the outer armor. He ran up to the next nearest and kicked it back, then found himself in a shower of blue plasma as half a dozen skeets zipped over and started shooting at the protomechs while swinging about laterally, making them difficult to target.

Mark popped another one then took the opportunity to retreat, seeing several flashing red markers on his virtual mech chassis indicating critical damage to his armor. Two more protomechs fell to the skeets, which they were having a hard time targeting, then four of them transformed back into balls and started rolling after the neo.

The weapon sleds nearby targeted them immediately, killing two before they could wheel around and accelerate across the deck, passing Mark’s mech and headed for more distant areas.

“No you don’t,” he said, firing his scattergun at one and succeeding in giving it a limp. It bobbled with each rotation, then got nailed by a skeet’s plasma streamer. The controlled roll became chaotic and the thing began careening out of control. Mark chased after it and put a finishing plasma salvo into its belly as it tried to unfurl back into mech form.

He glanced off to the left and saw several more skeets and other fighters pursuing the last one while a much larger brawl was going on at the door as more of the protomechs were popping through, but at least the main hole was still plugged, though for how long that was going to last he didn’t know.

As if reading his mind one of the Falcon-class dropships roared by overhead carrying a large chunk of one of the previously destroyed craft on a series of tethers. It carried it over to the breach point and dropped it unceremoniously on top of the first dead walker, then flew off slowly through a swivel turn, heading back to base while another two came through and did the same, piling up more junk to block the entrance as the skeets finished off the protomechs…which really weren’t good at targeting the aircraft.

A Protovic transport came next, dragging a large mashed up bulk of dead aircraft across the deck and dropped it as a stopper a little way out from the walkers, then more of the other races started piling debris between it and the door, making sure nothing was going to push its way through.

They’d been planning on using that tactic if the nuke attack on the mega walker had succeeded, he just hadn’t expected such a big hole being blown in the doors by whatever that was that followed it. Maybe the thing had a reactor that was damaged and then went nuke on its own.

Mark hung around the doors as the debris was being assembled, waiting to see if any more of the protomechs would shoot through. That hole was too high up to block, unless they were going to make a really big pile, but after a while with nothing further coming in he finally turned his mech around and headed back over to their nearest command center where he parked it and climbed out.

“Did you lose comms?” Sandra asked when he got to the ground.

“Yeah I did. How’s things look outside?” he asked, referring to the base’s external sensors.

“They took out half their army and most of their infantry, but there were plenty outside the blast radius that moved up. We do now have comms with the seda, so either you or they knocked out the jamming device.”

“They? What caused that second explosion?”

“Kamikaze cargo ship.”

“What!?”

“They dropped a gargantuan right on top of their army. Made our nuke look like a spitball.”

“Really…how many do they have left?” he asked sarcastically.

Sandra, however, took him to be serious. “No go. The Nestafar have repositioned their fleet to avoid that happening again…or what’s left of it. They attacked the seda and got their asses kicked.”

“Good…what about the Hycre?”

“They’re gone…as are most of the other warships. The Calavari orbital stations are dust too…and the Nestafar have jumpships in orbit, so who knows how much more ground game they have.”

“Has the Legat launched his own ground op yet? Please say no.”

“No.”

“Good. Those walkers are heavily armored. Our mechs aren’t going to be as effective as they are against the lizards.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sandra said, glancing over him. He had put his armor back on before getting out of the neo, but apparently she still saw something. “How bad did you get knocked around in there?”

“I’ll be sore for a few days,” he admitted, “but nothing broken.”

“How’s the head?”

“Got my bell rung pretty good. How long was I on the floor?”

“A while. We thought your mech was toast.”

“Nearly, and the only replacement panels we have are on the seda. Other than heavy lifting don’t let anyone pilot it in combat.”

“Gotcha. Where you heading?”

“To suck some ambrosia and have a chat with Orion…before he decides to play snowball with any more of our ships.”

“You disapprove?”

“No, just wish I’d thought of it sooner.”



After a dropship picked him up near the doors and brought him back over to their column complex, Mark got out of his armor and into their medical area, knowing he could trust the others to handle the defenses without him for a little bit, though he did snag an earpiece on the way in so he could stay in contact if needed. He self-administered some healing patches to the cuts on his arms, legs, head, and torso then grabbed a new set of clothes, tossing the blood-soaked ones away as he headed over to their kitchen and snagged several ration bars and two bottles of water. He hadn’t eaten in 13 hours, nor slept in 28, and was feeling a big ragged now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

He opened the first ration bar and started chewing as he activated the datapad he’d brought with him that detailed the destruction outside, along with a live feed function that allowed him to see what the enemy was currently up to. The analysis had numerous points highlighted by the Bsidd, offering their summary of the Nestafar casualties as well as the operational nature of their damaged assets. It was meticulous, as if they were trying to make up for their lack of martial contributions, given that the Humans were essentially leading the defensive effort.

That was due to their not being seen as a significant threat by the Nestafar during the initial ambush, a mistake he assumed the enemy would not be making again. The sacrifice of their cargo ship and the resulting destruction, which was significant due to the placement of the impact crater, had also gained Star Force instant credibility as the rest of the races were desperately doing everything they could to support their mutual survival.

Add in the fact that the seda in orbit was the only naval military asset keeping the Nestafar at bay and protecting the Alliance’s remaining ships. All in all, the Humans had quickly proved their worth to their previous naysayers, the Gnar included.

Mark got up, carrying the datapad with him over to a cabinet and pulled out a rack of wafers, counting out 14 of them, then heading back to the table grabbing a breadstick the size of his forearm on the way. He stuffed one of the 2-dose wafers into his mouth and pulled up the live feed on the datapad, seeing that a few more walkers were heading their way from the enemy LZ. They were Giraffe-class, as Boen had already nicknamed them, and medium among the lot. They had four pointy legs with high spider-joints that came up over the level of their backs along with a high arching neck that had a head with a powerful plasma cannon that the Bsidd data indicated was an orb launcher.

There were also 17 Spider-class walkers milling about outside the door, though they were split up by the debris that was littering the surrounding area and preventing any large scale assault on the base from that direction. As it was, three of them were picking their way through the lines and heading up and over the mountain to the far side bay doors with an ever growing number of units assembling there, though the bulk of the units were still being dropped in the main LZ on the south side.

Mark couldn’t figure their strategy there, and so far none of the mega walkers were visible on the battlefield, meaning they didn’t have a lock pick to use to get inside the north doors. They might have had another up in orbit on one of their jumpships, but if they did they hadn’t deployed it yet, making him wonder if they were rolling out some new strategy or just fumbling around after the debacle of the kamikaze attack…and his slam dunk nuke, if they even knew that had happened.

Mark still had one nuke in his arsenal plus parts from two others, which as of yet hadn’t been fully assembled into a single device. The Kvash had requested that project and had spirited the components away to who knows where, but at least they had one big bomb left to work with, though he would have much preferred their own non-nuclear devices, of which they had none in the base.

The seda would have some, he knew, but not the really big ones. It hadn’t been around long enough to have had time to fill its armory of most things and Orion had been insistent on getting their starfighters and mechs assembled first off…which, he now wondered, how had they fared in the attack on the seda?

He thumbed through the datapad while chewing apart another ambrosia wafer, looking for the battle data that the seda should have had on file and accessible through their resumed comm link when his earpiece activated.

“Trouble boss,” Boen said, his voice serious.

“Go,” Mark said, then stuffed another wafer in his mouth and chewed fast.

“Calavari found another group of Nestafar holed up in the base…and they’ve been busy digging a new access tunnel to the surface.”

“Whaaat? How?”

“They had to have started weeks before the attack. The Calavari just found it doing a comprehensive scan of the mountain to look for structural damage after the big bang. The tunnel is several miles long and only a few hundred meters from completion.”

“Tell me they don’t have a lizard planning all this for them,” he said, his mouth now clear of food. “Have the Calavari secured this side of the tunnel?”

“No they haven’t. The Nestafar holding it are armed and well dug in. The tunnel begins directly under one of their columns.”

“How wide is it?”

“Too small for walkers.”

“What about their protomechs?”

“When they ball up, maybe…oh crap,” Boen said, realizing that the hallways in the base were just big enough for the damn machines to fit through, and the ones in the ceiling were wide enough for two side by side.

Mark paused a moment, thinking it through. “Ok, so plan number 1 is to bust in through the main doors…no, check that. Plan number 1 is to take over the base from the inside using their pilots, hand blades, and the few plasma rifles they were able to smuggle in…or at least long enough to keep the bay doors open for their ground troops to enter. Plan number 2 was to break through the doors using the super dragon and let their ground troops inside.”

“Super dragon…I like that.”

“Plan number 3, which begins well before numbers 1 and 2, has them digging a tunnel to the outside of the mountain, creating their own entry point so the base can’t be completely sealed off to them. They didn’t try to assault any of the base’s smaller entrances with the initial ambush, but they dig one of their own…why?”

“I would have said to bring in an assault team to get the hangar doors open, but now that doesn’t make sense, especially the fact that the tunnel isn’t finished yet.”

“That’s because they couldn’t have someone spotting it from the outside,” Mark said, dismissing that worry. “They had to stop short.”

“It would have been easier to just take one of the existing ones and hold it while their troops arrived. They’re closer to the door controls than the columns are anyway.”

“They’re not after the door controls...they want something else.”

“And the controls,” Boen added.

“To get their army inside, but there’s something more going on here.”

“Think it has to do with the Calavari?”

“Get a team or three over to…wait, where is this breach point? I thought you said the tunnel originated in a Nestafar column?”

“It apparently has another access point within the base. Maintenance area. Beyond the hangar wall.”

“Get some Archons over there to help out, then meet me in here. We’re going to have a chat with the Calavari.”

“Think they know something?”

“My spidey senses say yes.”

“On my way.”

Mark tossed the datapad aside and shoved two more wafers in his mouth, grabbed the rest and a bottle of water in his hands, and jogged out the door on his way to get into another suit of armor.





8





“What are they after?” Mark asked Vornac and several other Calavari that had come over to the Human complex at his request.

“They want to capture this base, obviously,” their liaison answered.

“No, they only want to hold it. That tunnel isn’t a way in for their troops, though they may very well be using it for that soon. They were digging for something else. What is this base sitting on?”

Vornac frowned. “It isn’t on anything. We carved it out of the mountain.”

“Why did you choose this location? This particular mountain?”

“That I do not know. I was assigned after its construction.”

“Who would know?”

“The original builders…but I don’t know if any of them are still insystem.”

“A few are,” one of the other Calavari said.

“Get them here,” Mark insisted. “Now.”

Vornac nodded to one of his kin and the four-armed alien walked off to one of the communications consoles and sat down. “What are you looking for?”

“A reason the Nestafar would turn on their own allies.”

“We have been at odds with them for centuries.”

Mark shook his head. “Not you. The Protovic and others they brought into the Alliance. They attacked their ships in orbit and their pilots here. If they wanted to start a war with you again, throwing away their allies makes no sense. There has to be something else going on and I have a feeling it is connected to that tunnel.”

“How does knowing help us defend ourselves? One way or another they intend to take the base. Should we not focus our attention there?”

“I can multi-task,” Mark said, a bit pithily.

“They joined the Alliance,” Boen interjected, “because of the threat of the lizards. That threat hasn’t changed, and you know them better than us. What would be so important for them that they would risk doing this?”

“A good question…but one that I cannot answer. They are, and have always been, a treacherous lot.”

“Did this planet once belong to them?” Mark asked.

“Not to my knowledge. It was unclaimed.”

A comm prompt signaled from Mark’s helmet, which was setting on the table next to him. “Excuse me,” he said, sliding it on and beginning the private conversation with his external speakers shut off. “Go ahead.”

“We found one,” Orion reported.

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“Other side of the planet, and only a small team. One transport, a few dozen infantry. I think they’re a scout team and have been unsuccessful as of yet. There’s nothing else within a hemisphere of their position.”

“What are they doing?”

“Searching some caverns by the look of it. Do you want a more thorough reconnaissance?”

“Covertly, if you can manage it.”

“I already have a shuttle standing by.”

“Send it…and keep searching for other surface activity.”

“We will.”

Mark cut off the comm link and pulled off his helmet, lightly slamming it down on the table and interrupting whatever Boen was saying.

“It’s not the base they want, it’s something on this planet.”

“What do you mean?” Vornac asked.

“The Nestafar have a small search team on the other side of the planet. We’ve got no assets there, and as far as we can tell neither do you or anyone else. They’re looking for something. So I’ll ask again…why this mountain?”

“May I?” Vornac asked, gesturing to the central holoprojector.

Mark nodded and the Calavari brought up a map of the base and extended it outward so they could view the entirety of the mountain/mountains it was contained within.

“I know we desired binary access to the hangar bay so that it would be difficult to block off. We wanted our fighters to have the cover of the mountain and easy access to the skies…now we have so few left the enemy has air superiority. The secondary entrances were to provide infantry access to the slopes should we need to fight outside to flank the Cajdital if they were assaulting the bay doors.”

“What did you plan to hit them with?” Boen asked.

Mark glanced up at the Calavari, thinking the same thing.

“Items that have not yet been delivered to the planet. We did not expect the Cajdital to find this world quickly, if at all. This betrayal by the Nestafar caught us unprepared.”

“Why no defense turrets on the hangars?” Mark asked.

“We did not expect the Cajdital to be able to penetrate the doors. They were the only defense necessary assuming we could maintain control of the skies.”

Mark stared down at the base design, shaking his head. How could you build such a large structure and not put defense guns covering the doors? This had been designed as a ‘cover your ass’ base rather than a fortress to fight out of. A pity, given how much work they’d put into it.

He and Boen continued plying Vornac with questions, mostly without success, until one of the Calavari builders finally arrived to shed some light on the situation.

“There was an extensive network of caverns running through the mountain that we expanded upon,” the slightly shorter Calavari explained. “They made it easier to hollow out the mountain, which was why this location was chosen in addition to the geographic surroundings. We wanted cover but with enough room to maneuver the fighters about and not get them boxed in during an attack. The dome of the mountain is sufficiently thick to protect the base from orbital assaults, and to maintain that thickness we had to dig down very far into the bedrock, which the caverns allowed us to access immediately.”

Mark suppressed a smile. Now they were getting somewhere. “Were all the caverns consumed during the construction?”

“Most were, but some ran deeper than the foundations needed to be. We sealed them off when we built over them.”

The Archon pointed a finger at Vornac. “I’ll bet you there’s something down in those caverns that the Nestafar want badly enough to sabotage the whole alliance, and that they dug down to confirm it before they launched the assault. The access shaft to the surface is just a bonus. Where are the sealed entrances?”

The Calavari reached its lower left arm up and scratched its wide chin, grimacing as it thought, then it reached down and highlighted half a dozen areas on the underside of the base.

“These are guesses, and I know there’s more than that, but I’m sure these are fairly accurate.”

Mark traced the line of the Nestafar tunnel, dipping his armored finger into the hologram and stopping where it intersected with one of the points. “There’s our mark.”

“Says Mark,” Boen added, immediately holding up his hands in apology, but he’d had to say it.

“10 man team,” the trailblazer said, letting it go. “Boen, pick your seven and grab Kara. We’re going in through their base.”

“It hasn’t been secured yet,” Vornac interjected. “The fighting has ground down into a stalemate.”

“I know, I’ve already cycled two Archon teams through there,” Mark explained, standing up straight and grabbing his helmet. “Time for a bigger push.”

Boen slid his helmet on and rushed out of the control room, leaving Mark alone with the Calavari. “The Nestafar want what’s in those caverns. Focus your men on the tunnel entrance in the maintenance areas. If we hit them hard they may call for reinforcements and give you an opening…or maybe the other way around.”

“It will be done,” the Calavari promised.

Mark nodded, put on his helmet, then began to organize a larger assault group via his helmet comm as he contacted the other races in the base.



“Stand clear,” Boen warned. He waited a pair of Time Lord heartbeats then walked around a corner in the Nestafar complex and hurled a small object sidearm towards a doorway guarded by barricades and half a dozen of their winged infantry. A moment later the Archon pressed a small detonator switch in his other hand and the Kiritas-inspired throwing mine exploded.

Kara and two other Archons followed Mark around the corner and proceeded to shoot the survivors, then kicked away the barricade debris and opened up the hall for the Scionate following them. The quadruped bit down on a jaw-stick and pumped another plasma round into one of the Nestafar on the floor for good measure as it walked over, then followed the Humans into a maintenance shaft that spiraled down several floors with various piping running the length, interspersed with an erratic walkway leading down to the floor.

“Stand aside,” the Scionate said, biting another button and causing its body armor to slide up over its neck and form a solid helmet with only two jewel-like eye slits showing. They glowed green in contrast to the yellow armor, then the alien jumped off the catwalk and down through the center along with the pipes, grabbing onto and sliding down them with his front paws.

Boen and Kara took off sprinting down the catwalk, zigzagging left and right as the sounds of weaponsfire manifested below. They moved down three flights before Kara hopped over the edge and fell to the floor, with Boen following her.

He hit hard, legs buckling, and rolled down onto his shoulder turning the fall into a somersault that ended on a dead Nestafar. That off balanced him for a moment, then he came up firing at the dozens of enemy troops around the base of the shaft. Kara was doing likewise with the Scionate ducking behind several pipes to avoid direct fire. It had already killed over a dozen, but its armor was badly damaged and couldn’t hold up to much more punishment.

It didn’t have to. After the pair of Archons came down more followed, dropping from the air as Protovic troops hurried down the catwalk behind them. All three species wore body armor, which was why Mark had requested them. The Protovic, especially, had wanted payback against the Nestafar and had been more than willing to lend a hand now that their own complex within the base had been secured.

“Dre’for?” Mark asked as the Nestafar began to retreat down two side hallways that led out of the shaft.

“I am alive,” the Scionate answered, shooting another before walking out behind Mark.

The Archon gave a hand signal and four Archons shot off down the left passage while he moved up on the right, fired twice, then sprinted ahead sensing an advantage. By the time Boen caught up to him he had three Nestafar down and was punching another into submission. It fell to the ground and Mark kicked its weapon aside before landing his knee on its chest and pinning it to the ground.

He waved Boen on by, then leaned forward as he and others moved down the hallway behind his back. The trailblazer pulled out his stinger pistol from his back rack and pumped three shots into the Nestafar’s midsection, rendering it unconscious.

“A prize?” Kel’sad asked, walking up beside him and looking down at the captive.

“No, just someone to gloat over after this is all over,” he said sarcastically. “Can you carry it up topside? My people will meet you there to take it.”

“As you wish, Human,” the other Scionate said, opening its face armor and gripping the Nestafar’s arm with its mouth, then rolling over on its side and lifting it up into what resembled a fireman’s carry, though the dynamics of which were a bit different for an armless quadruped. As it left with the Nestafar its den brother came up to join Mark, its armor pitted in several places.

“Lead on,” Dre’for said, with several dozen Protovic following him.

Mark jogged on ahead with the Scionate easily keeping pace with its long loping strides until they reached Boen and the others he’d sent on ahead as they pushed through another knot of Nestafar and into a large storage area. There they found a half dozen more which Mark and the other Archons took down before the others could get at them, all standing around a small hole dug into the floor.

The other group of Archons came in through an opposite entrance, apparently having broken through the Nestafar lines on their side, and joined him at the middle as he looked down into the cavern entrance. There was a thick layer of what vaguely resembled concrete that the Nestafar had drilled down through, then nothing but black below.

“No lights?” Boen asked, poking his head over the side.

“They see well in the dark,” one of the Protovic said as it walked up in its trim armored suit and also glanced down. “And they can fly, so I do not think we will find any way down by foot.”

“Can’t be that far down,” Kara said, walking up beside the pair. “This is just the tunnel, not the cavern, right?”

“Should be,” Mark confirmed.

“Well then,” she said, hopping off the edge and disappearing down into the dark.

Boen glanced at Mark.

“Sabers,” he said dismissively, then clicked on his comm. “How many pieces you in?”

“Just one sexy one, as normal,” she answered back. “Bit of a slide a couple meters down…and they do have lights, just not our spectrum.”

Mark saw a tiny white light wink on in the distance down at an angle underneath the floor beneath Boen’s feet that was Kara’s exterior light on her helmet. He switched his HUD to artificial overlay and also picked up the infrared generators imbedded into the walls like gems or marker beacons. They cast a gentle glow on the tunnel, enough for him to see by, at least.

“You guys coming or not?”

Mark motioned to Boen and he jumped in, followed by the other Archons.

“Does your armor have lights?”

The Protovic troops nodded, as did the lone Scionate they had remaining with them, though the other should have been returning soon.

Mark let the rest of the Archons get a few steps ahead of him then he jumped in, immediately feeling his feet hit a gravel wash and slip out from under him. He slid down a sharp bank that leveled out on a curve and brought him to a standstill, whereupon he quickly got up and walked forward, flashing on his lights and turning off the infrared.

“What have you got, Kara?” he asked over the comm, for she was still at the head of a long, single file line of helmet lights ahead of him.

“Basic tunnel. Nothing interesting.”

“Hurry it up,” he warned, “those troops outside aren’t going to wait forever.”

“Hurrying,” she said, taking off at a light run with the others following suit behind her.

Mark joined in when the line reached him, with the Scionate and Protovic following up behind. The large cat-like alien’s distinctive four-beat steps stayed right behind him yet out of sight all the way up the tunnel until a flash of blue plasma marked the end of their brief trip. Two more followed it, then was responded to with a flash of red…then nothing.

“Pair of guards,” Kara reported. “I think we found the entrance.”

“Think?”

“Check your battlemap.”

“What am I looking at?” he said after nothing specific was showing up aside from the Archon icons and the tunnel.

“Nothing,” Kara answered. “Where’s the cavern on the Calavari scans?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Call me stupid. I completely missed that. It dead ends above us.”

“Well, stupid, I missed it too until now…but there is another opening here. A big one. It might be a stretch, but I’d hazard a guess that its sensor shielded.”

“Which direction?” he asked, coming up on the back of the other Archons as they were now walking forward and fanning out two and three wide.

“Straight down…and I don’t feel like jumping this time,” she said from the edge where she was looking up at the rough rock. “I think we’re at the bottom of the plug the Calavari put in. Some sort of solidifying liquid, patchy down here. They didn’t have to cut through much.”

“No need to jump,” Varn-1633 said. “The walls are climbable. There’s a series of ridges almost a meter deep and about 10 down from where I’m standing. Can’t see much beyond that.”

Mark nudged his way through the other Archons until he came up on the edge and looked down, adding his light to the others. He switched back over to infrared and got a much better view, for the entire chamber was glowing in it.

“Looks like the Calavari weren’t the first here after all,” he said, turning around and pointing to one of the Protovic. “You, come here. Tell me if you recognize this architecture. Can you see in infrared?”

“My suit can,” the Protovic said, stepping up next to Mark and looking down…then it started jabbering on in its native language and took a step back from the edge, looking as if it was worried it was going to fall in and be swallowed up.

“What?” Mark asked, staring helmet to helmet with the unsettled alien.

“Keepers,” was all it said, which prompted Dre’for to nudge his way forward and poke his armored head down into the hole. A deep, mechanical growl emanated from its suit that made even Mark twitch.

“What’s a Keeper?”

“An ancient race, Human,” the Scionate said, moving back. “One with magical technology. It was rumored that the Nestafar were once their subjects. If this was once their world they will stop at nothing to reclaim it.”

Mark looked down into the ridged cavern, his spidey senses tingling more than ever. “Enough technology to make them the dominant power in the region?”

“Yes,” Dre’for growled, “or enough to give the Alliance the power to defeat the Cajdital with ease.”





9





Ashley-810 sprinted down the Nestafar tunnel, climbing up the shallow incline with every step as she and four other Archons moved ahead of the Calavari and others that were also racing up towards the surface. The diggers were almost through to their reinforcements and she could see them ahead, barely a pinprick in the distance on her helmet’s infrared sensors. That spec was glowing with heat as it chewed through the mountain rock and compressed the rubble down into dense cubes that she had to keep running around or jumping over.

This last section of the tunnel was crude, cut out of the mountain in the past day with no Nestafar lights embedded in the walls and plenty of trash cubes lying around. The workers had abandoned all efforts at cleanup when the tunnel entrances had been discovered and the defenders had dug in to buy time. Now the machine were spitting out the chunks of compressed rock behind them with wild abandon as they raced to get through to the surface before the base defenders could catch up to them.

Ashley was breathing hard, harder than usual in her acolyte armor, both from the speed at which she was running, the distance of the tunnel, and the incline…but it was the regular jumps that were killing her, for some of the cubes had fallen together to form knee-high barricades that she and the others had to go over rather than around.

There were several more adepts behind them, but they hadn’t been able to keep up. Even a few acolytes trailed, but the four behind her were managing to stay in a loose formation and keying off her timing, both for jumps and for managing their ascent up towards the surface.

Just as they were getting close enough to feel the deep rumbling coming from the machine as it tore through the rock a bright light lit up her helmet, causing her to duck to the left and smack into the wall as a plasma blast, glowing fiery bright on her infrared, flew a few inches over her head and impacted the ceiling behind her.

She bounced off the wall, dragging her feet on the crushed gravel ground, and stumbled back into her run behind two of the other Archons. They continued charging up the underground hill as a few more plasma blasts came their way, looking as if they were being fired from a lone weapon…maybe a rear guard on the digging team. The Archon ahead of her to the left fired back, a pair of blue streaks flashing off ahead of them and into the back of the digger, missing the shooter but leaving two hot spots on the machine.

Just below them a lot opened up and kicked out another cube, which also glowed hot on the infrared. Two more followed it before another plasma blast came their way and Ashley finally was able to spot the shooter, hiding in a small covered booth on the left side of what looked like a single digging machine. She jumped another cube and sprinted at the highest speed she could manage, nudging between the other two Archons and pulling ahead as she hurdled another low wall/pile.

Almost there, she told herself, fighting the stress on her body. Sprinting uphill was hard enough, but she was carrying heavy armor and it dragged on her body more than normal, given that she’d been spending most of the past year in cockpits and doing her running through the halls of the base in casual uniforms.

Another plasma blast shot out, this one hitting her in the left shoulder. She snapped off a return shot that made the Nestafar cower back inside its booth as another pair of cubes got tossed out the back side. The entire machine then advanced two meters and stopped again, re-instigating the ground-shaking rumble of it tearing away at the rock, then a bit of steam emerged from the rear as water began to flow down underneath the machine and onto the hot cubes.

Groundwater…they must be getting close.

Ashley fired into the back of the machine, emptying 11 rounds inside of 5 seconds before she had to jump over another cluttered section. She was having to step around the cubes everywhere, literally dancing through them to keep moving as the concentration continued to increase, why she didn’t know, but there was no time to think and she kept firing into the back of the machine, melting through its covering and hopefully into some internal components.

Problem was, it was a digger designed to move through solid rock and was therefore unbelievably well reinforced, meaning they were going to have to pour a lot of plasma into it to stop it from breaking through to the surface.

A scattering of plasma orbs came from behind her whenever the other Archons had a clear shot, one of which finally nailed the sniper. The Nestafar took the hit to the head as it leaned out to fire again, with its body falling sideways down onto the growing puddle, on top of which another cube popped out and crushed one of its wings.

Ashley kept firing, trying to burn a hole into one spot on the backside all the way up till she got to the device…then she ducked into the booth and glanced at the controls. Nothing looked familiar so she just started jabbing buttons.

“Hell with it,” she said when nothing seemed to work. She pulled up her plasma rifle and blasted away at the control board.

The machine didn’t stop, but it did start a high-pitched whine, indicating that she’d managed to do something. The whine continued to increase, with no more cubes coming out from the back side, then finally there was a loud ‘thunk’ and the machine fell silent…hopefully irrevocably damaged.

“Woo,” Ashley said, stepping out of the booth and leaning against the flat backside of the digger as she breathed heavily. “That was close.”

“How far away are we?” Liara wondered.

“The map says…oh, that can’t be right,” Ashley said, double checking.

“Two meters,” Liara confirmed.

“They can blast through that from the outside,” the acolyte said, suddenly feeling a lot less confident. “I don’t see any dirt. How can we be 2 meters away?”

“Sheer wall?” Liara suggested.

Ashley shook her helmeted head. “I don’t like this. We have to seal this tunnel.”

“How the hell did they get this thing in here anyway?”

“Must have brought it through in pieces,” she said as some of the other Archons caught up. The Calavari were further back, but not nearly so far as she’d expected. She stepped forward and put her foot on one of the box-sized cubes. “Damn those are heavy.”

Liara latched her rifle over her back and knelt down to try and move one, wrapping it up in a bear hug and leveraging it up onto one side…then she let it back down, careful not to get her fingers or feet caught underneath. “I can’t get it. That is super dense.”

“Maybe they can,” Ashley suggested to the approaching Calavari.

“I doubt it,” Liara said pessimistically.

“We need to stack these up or find some other way to seal the tunnel,” she insisted, placing a hand on the rear of the digging machine.

Two of the other Archons stowed their weapons as well and worked together to drag one of the cubes over to the rear of the machine and centered it in the circular tunnel. “That’s one,” David said.

“You’re serious?” Liara asked as the others began teaming up and moving individual cubes around slowly.

“For the next five minutes,” Ashley said,” yes. Let’s see how hard this is before we run back for equipment.”

“You mean let’s see how hard it is for them,” Liara asked, pointing back at the approaching Calavari.

“Shut up and lift you pansy,” she said, finding a lonely cube to nestle up to and start shoving.



“Any of this familiar to you?” Mark asked Boen on a private comm channel as they climbed further down into a very unusual Keeper structure, making the Archon feel like he was inside a giant earthworm.

“No, you?”

“Big lizards…like iguanas. Don’t remember the name, but they were huge.”

“From where?” Boen asked, stepping across one of the ridges on the side of the tunnel that had now flattened out for the most part so that they could walk rather than climb down. Behind him the other Archons, Protovic, and Scionate followed, with the Protovic having numerous conversations amongst themselves. Whatever the Keepers were this place was clearly unnerving them.

“Pyramid database…a rimward race the V’kit’no’sat wiped out.”

“So much for magical technology.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be of use to us…and it would probably go a long way for the Nestafar.”

“You think there’s anything down here we can put to use, like now?”

“I’m kind of hoping so, otherwise we’re wasting our time. Our comms aren’t reaching back topside either, so we…I can’t stay down here too long.”

“Shielded, huh?” Boen said, checking and confirming that he couldn’t reach anyone else aside from those Archons in the ‘cave.’

“Got an alcove, Mark,” Kara’s voice broke in.

Mark readjusted his comm settings. “Where at?”

“Stick to your left and you’ll come to it,” she said from much further ahead. He had her and a couple others out exploring ahead of them where the cave branched while he stayed with the Alliance’s main group.

“Find any goodies?”

“Yes, but you need to see this yourself.”

Mark exchanged glances with Boen. “Can I get a hint?”

“I think I found the reason for the caverns in the mountain…and the sensor shielding.”

“On our way, twit.”

“Twit?” Kara asked.

“Yeah, you could just answer my question without playing games.”

“Alright fine,” she answered back, a little mock-miffed but loaded with sarcasm. “There’s a Nestafar research platform where they’ve been disassembling some of what looks like battle droids next to an egg chamber and a very large dinosaur-ish creature held in some sort of stasis.”

Mark took that all in for a moment. “You’re right, I need to see that for myself.”

“Thank you,” she said as her voice trailed off satisfied.

“Boss, did she just say dinosaur?”

“She said ‘dinosaur-ish.’”

“Please don’t wake it up,” Boen pleaded.

“What, you don’t want to say hi?” the trailblazer kidded, hopping over yet another ridge as he moved left and picked up the pace. He turned back, half looking over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the irregular floor in front of him. “Fellas, we found something. This way.”

“What is it?” Dre’for asked.

“Ah…you’ll just have to see it for yourself. I’m told it’s a ways up on our left,” he said, hearing Boen snicker beside him. “Shut up,” he whispered.

It took them several minutes to reach the alcove, which was halfway down a steeper section of tunnel but no less ridged. The opening was narrow but the interior spread out with the same grippy terrain covering floor, ceiling, and walls with not so much as a single corner or crevice in sight. In the middle of the alcove was the Nestafar tech, including a flat workspace they’d brought in over top of the floor ridges to allow them to work more normally with three other exits surrounding it that led into other chambers.

“They’ve been busy,” one of the Protovic said, walking up next to Mark.

“That’s not the impressive part,” he told him. “Kara, where are you?”

“Middle doorway.”

Mark pointed across the Nestafar workspace. “That way.”

“I assume the Alliance is going to work out an agreement to share the findings here,” Dre’for asked, addressing both Mark and the Protovic.

“Probably,” he answered as he stepped up onto the metallic plates and walked across, “but we have to keep it away from the Nestafar first…and find some way to get reinforcements here.”

“A message was sent prior to the destruction of the communications array,” the Protovic said, “or so the Calavari informed us.”

“I’m afraid not,” Mark said, crossing to the other side and stepping back off onto the ridged floor. “A signal was sent up to the relay satellite and the system transmitted it, but it appears the Nestafar had previously disabled the transmitter.”

“How do you know this?” the Scionate asked.

“Our station in orbit gets a wash of residual energy from the transmitter when it’s active. We went back and checked the records for the time that the signal was supposed to have been sent, and none was recorded.”

“So no one knows we’ve been attacked?” the Protovic repeated unnecessarily.

“And won’t until another transport comes through.”

“Didn’t some of the ships escape the syst…” Dre’for began to ask as they walked into the next chamber, coming out of a tiny S-shaped connection. Before them was a beast of a lifeform sleeping within a clear containment chamber that appeared to be kept chilled, due to the light amount of frost on the inside. Kara was standing before it, with the creature’s head nearly as tall as her body.

“Icra’nefor,” Dre’for said, visibly shrinking back half a step. The Protovic, likewise, were completely stunned.

Mark, even with forewarning found himself a bit froze in place.

“More like dragon,” Boen said. “Is this them?”

“I think so, though I didn’t think they were this big,” he said, then turned back to address the others. “Is this a Keeper?”

“We have never seen one to know,” the Protovic answered. “Only small bits of their technology.”

“If this one lives still,” the other Scionate, Kel’sad, asked, “will it be friend or foe? The Nestafar seemed more interesting in stealing the secrets of the Keepers’ technology rather than reviving their former masters. Perhaps they fear them. And perhaps so should we.”

“We’ll let it sleep for now,” Mark said, turning around to look at the others. “Agreed? At least until we have the base secured.”

“Agreed,” the Protovic said, and both Scionate bowed their heads in confirmation.

“Kara, you’ve got exploration team,” Mark said, making a snap decision. “The rest of you can stay down here and look around, so long as you don’t touch anything, but our comms are being blocked by this structure and we’ve still got a war to fight, so I’m heading back topside.”

“Yes, battle first,” Dre’for said. “There are still Nestafar in the base. We must eliminate them before we turn our attention here.”

“We will guard the entrance,” the Protovic offered.

“If they break through to the surface the enemy troops are coming straight here,” Mark reminded him. “Set up barricades and whatever else you have to. My people will map out this place and see if there are any other entrances the Nestafar can slip in.”

“What would you have us do?” the Scionate asked.

“Make sure no one wakes that thing up.”

Kel’sad growled. “Nor have people poking around where they don’t belong.”

“We will provide security for search teams and make sure none of us try to take advantage of the situation,” Dre’for promised, turning to the Protovic. “And you will keep them out save for those we let in. A few from each race under supervision.”

“I think that would be wise, though many will argue otherwise,” he said, turning to face Mark. “And they may not trust us or the other former allies of our now common enemy.”

“You guard the door, the Scionate patrol the inside, and my people search and map the rest of the base. I’ll inform the Calavari personally and have them set up some additional checkpoints, both against nosey pilots and Nestafar incursions. Boen, work out a comm relay chain so we can stay in touch. Not sure what the range of their dampening is.”

“We are in agreement. Go Human, the quicker the better for us all,” Dre’for urged. “The Nestafar cannot be permitted to possess this place.”

Mark nodded and began to run back, hopping from one floor ridge to another with Boen in tow. Kel’sad passed both of them by with ease and raced on ahead, jumping across multiple ridges with each lengthy bound. He got so far ahead that the Archons lost sight of him, though a pair of the Protovic were keeping decent pace behind, with both incidents proving mildly surprising.

“Are we getting soft?” he asked Boen as they climbed back out of the hole and into the Nestafar-made tunnel.

“Na, just been a long day,” the Archon said, doing a quick comm check. “Now I can’t get anyone from here, up top or below.”

“Work on it,” Mark urged as he ran off on the now level ground that his legs thanked him for dearly, which also gave him his answer. He’d learned in the past that no matter how good of shape he was in, doing new things was always exhausting...though Boen was right too. He was starting to feel an insistent urge for sleep growing in the back of his mind like a numb spot. Right now though there was work to do. Sleep would have to wait a bit longer.





10





“Status report?” Mark asked when his comm options returned as he ran down the Nestafar tunnel back towards the hole they’d dropped down, figuring he could either climb up it or move on down the tunnel the other way and come up in the maintenance area. Last he heard the other team had nearly broken through.

“Mark! Where have you been?” Sandra all but yelled.

“The caverns are shielded, we lost comms as soon as we went in. What’s happened?” he asked, knowing from her tone that something was wrong.

“What’s happened?” she asked incredulously. “The Nestafar are hitting the front doors, the back doors, and trying to dig their way into the tunnel that we stopped them from finishing. It’s like they all just went into berserk mode.”

“Oh crap,” Mark said, getting to the tunnel’s end and starting to claw his way up the loose gravel. “They know we found it.”

“Found what?”

“The reason they backstabbed the Alliance in the first place,” he said, trying to find applicable handholds. The opening wasn’t very far up, but he was going to have to pick his way up carefully. The Scionate probably just jumped all the way up, and for once he was jealous of their four-legged physique. “There’s an alien base underneath this one, full of advanced tech the Nestafar want really bad.”

“Seriously?”

“Afraid so, right down to the frozen dragon. What’s the status of the main doors?”

“Did you say frozen dragon?”

“Later…the doors?”

“More protomechs coming in while their walkers are trying to push through the debris pile. They’re not getting very far with it, but the mechs are scattering and the skeets are having a hard time chasing them all down, but so far we’re holding.”

“What’s the story with the tunnel?”

“Not good. The digger almost got to the surface before Ashley’s team knocked it out, but the Nestafar figured it out and started digging from the other side. Fortunately they’d established a barricade of rocks on the inside, which is slowing the enemy down, and the Calavari are trying to seal the breach but they can’t fight and build at the same time, not without sacrificing men by leaving them on the wrong side to die.”

“Do not let them do that…” Mark said with a huff as he pulled himself out of the hole and back into the lowest level of the Alliance base. “What are they trying to seal it with?”

“Some kind of concrete, fast drying I’m told, but they can dig back through it or move around unless we take out their digging machine. Ashley said they damaged it, but the Nestafar recovered it and pulled it outside where she thinks they’re working to repair it. At the moment they’re trying to break through the blockade by hand.”

“What about the other entrances?”

“Heavy fighting, but holding. They’re hitting them all, though, so we’re spreading people thin. The Calavari are organizing those lines with a sprinkling of Archon support.”

“Where are you?”

“Main doors. If they get in here we’re toast.”

“Are they still sitting outside the north doors?”

“Some are, but a lot of those units redeployed to the auxiliary exits and tunnel head.”

“How many are left?”

“Too many to fight our way through to get into the skies, if that’s what you mean.”

“Have they reestablished fighter cover on the base?”

“Limited, but there is some. I think we could handle them if we could only get out.”

“Oh, we’re getting out,” Mark said, running through the bowels of the Nestafar complex towards the elevator shaft that would take him back up to the hangar. “Patch me through to Orion.”

“That’s not a good idea,” she warned.

“I’m out of good ideas, you have any?”

“They’ll get creamed.”

“Put me through.”

“Iren’s in the perch.”

“Thanks,” he said, searching out the other Archon’s comm signature on his battlemap. “I need a patch through to the seda.”

“Will do,” Iren responded. “Where have you been?”

“Pissing off the enemy. We found their toy chest and apparently they want it back.”

“You calling down the fire?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Go.”

“Legat?” Mark asked as Iren connected the long range comm unit in the column to their suit to suit systems.

“Here, Archon. I have a status report.”

“Quickly,” Mark urged.

“The Nestafar found some type of ruins linked to subsurface caverns. They explored them briefly then left. Our men went in and had a look around, but there wasn’t much there aside from a series of empty rooms. We didn’t observe the Nestafar removing anything, but the architecture is clearly not Calavari.”

“Good,” Mark said, knowing that meant they probably had the mother lode beneath them and that the Nestafar were going to have to come through the Alliance to get it. Had they found items of value they could have taken them off planet and back to their territory for study…and eventually a massive tech upgrade if the stories of the Keepers were accurate, though Star Force above all others knew how difficult and time consuming it was to reverse engineer more advanced technology. “Now, I need a favor.”

“Name it,” Orion said anxiously.

“How are you set up for a hot drop?”

“The Nestafar fleet is standing between us and the surface, but we can get past them. Ramming another ship into the surface is off the table though.”

“Don’t need that much, just need you to open a door for us.”

“Our pleasure,” the Canderian said, his voice dark and eager for more combat.



Rena-AC-094-11 banked her dropship to the side, accelerating hard to slip by the Nestafar warships and their escorting Valeries along with dozens of other Basilisk-class dropships all taking individual tracks down to the surface at high speed to evade their pursuers. The first wisps of atmosphere began to pull on the stubby dropship and create a ripple effect in front of it as the heat of friction built against the powerful shields covering its nose as it shot past the destroyer on its port side.

A few anti-air plasma blasts tried to cross the gap to the basilisk but they never got close. The high massed ships simply couldn’t maneuver to counter the dropships, which had been designed for extremely fast troop insertions onto a planet. Even Star Force didn’t have basilisks, preferring to rely on their conventional dropships for transport, but the Canderians knew space and the challenges it presented, and as such had developed the means to get from their sedas down to the surface in short order, both to support their meager surface outposts as well as to counter lizard incursions near any of their homes.

The Archons had held back their development initially, but like the wise warriors they were they eventually submitted to the strategic value of the craft, even if they hadn’t employed them in their own ranks as of yet.

Rena watched as the pressure monitor rose on the basilisk’s shield statistics. She knew there was only so much they could take before they’d collapse and the hull would start to burn up from the suicidal friction it was undergoing…but risking it was the only way to penetrate the fighter screen and deliver her pair of mechs and their waiting pilots to the surface. For the first time in Canderous history an Archon had called for their help, not in the form of assistance, but as in saving their asses…and Rena and the rest of the spaceborn soldiers were hell bent on answering that call.

As the pressure built she began to kick in the basilisk’s anti-grav, pushing back against Daka and gently slowing the dropship’s descent as the atmosphere thickened. Already they have left the Nestafar fighters in their dust, but more remained below, circling above the Alliance base and waiting for them…so she had to keep her descent speed up.

Using a modification to the shields she steered the falling, wingless dropship towards a specific spot on the surface to keep from potentially colliding with the others. All of them were spaced out widely, then would break towards their true destination at the last possible moment, distracting the enemy from their intended landing zone enough that they couldn’t reposition ahead of them and be waiting in ambush.

“Prepare for landing,” she said over the intercom to the two modified thors when her altimeter told her it was time to pull up out of the meteor-like dive they were in. She ramped the anti-grav up to maximum power and banked the ship hard to the left as it decelerated, shooting it out towards the valley north of the base.

The pressure on the shields dropped like a rock and the fiery nose cone the ship was creating dissipated enough for Rena to see the grass-covered mountains below. She’d been staring down at them from the seda for years, but this would be her first touchdown on the surface of the planet, let alone at the Alliance base, short as it would be.

She started killing lateral momentum as the LZ approached, where several other basilisks were already setting down, then dialed back the anti-grav so it wouldn’t shoot the dropship back up into space. With the smooth touch of a professional pilot, the Canderian dropped the basilisk down into the valley like a slowly falling rock to kiss the surface on its six thick legs with the backwards facing cargo bay doors facing up the grassy incline. The protective hatch covering her cargo opened up within 4 seconds, exposing the tightly packed mechs.

A mechanical arm pushed the leftmost one out first, dropping its box-like form onto the ground with the second one falling out just as the first one began to unfurl. The dropship’s hatch reclosed and the basilisk took off, rocketing back up into the sky now much lighter than it had been on descent, heading off away from the base and back towards orbit on a course that would take it well away from the enemy’s ineffectual blockade.

Both mechs popped out their arms and legs from their ‘cargo mode’ and stood up, flexing their joints for a moment to insure that all was working as the missile launcher riding over the left shoulder of each cycled its projectiles around internally, loading the 3-prong firing rack as more of the basilisks dropped around them. Within a matter of minutes 56 thors were scaling the side of the mountain and picking at the Valeries with their anti-fighter lachars as the enemy fighters swooped by overhead.

The Nestafar troops staged outside the northern bay doors saw them coming and began to redeploy their medium and heavy walkers down the slope towards them. The taller giraffes fired red plasma orbs down at the thors from atop their long necks while the spiders seemed content to march forward and wait until they got closer in range. Meanwhile a flood of protomechs came down around the flanks, not wanting to get caught up between the larger machines.

To the Nestafar’s surprise the thors split along the center and ran up the hillside heading directly for the protomechs with a surprisingly fast gait. The little ones were faster and had the advantage of moving downhill, but the Canderians were able to regroup into attack clusters of five each and absolutely hammer the smaller mechs with heavy plasma cannons, one in each arm.

A low knob over the right shoulder of each thor held a standard lachar, as well as the anti-air version, that stitched the protomechs at range as they balled up and rolled down the hillside to try and escape the plasma torrent of those thors closest to them. The lachars chewed them up, able to accurately target them on the move with less than a dozen making it down to the bottom of the valley and attempting to climb back up to hit the Canderians from the rear.

One group of five, or a ‘star’ of mechs, turned back to deal with them while the rest continued up the hillside at a slow run, now split into two assault forces that were beginning to exchange fire with the Nestafar’s heavier walkers. The spiders began spitting out plasma streamers at those closest, hitting the thors with potent red streaks and melting the armor straight off their machines. The Canderians lost two before they knocked out the belly gun on the first one with a coordinated plasma attack, but there were six more coming up from behind with equally potent weapons.

The spiders also had missiles in play, similar to the fireflies their navy used. The glowing green missiles launched out a roof compartment on their backs and arched down onto the thors below, blasting away at several of them in a focused strike that wiped out an entire star within 20 seconds.

But the losses only seemed to enrage the Canderians rather than break their spirit. They charged upward, maintaining unit cohesion and methodically targeted the spiders’ belly-mounted streamers and taking them out of play while they suffered through the devastation of the missiles, accepting their losses in order to take away the walkers’ firepower.

18 of the thors went down before the spiders were neutered, with them continuing to fire off their remaining missiles and smaller point defense plasma weapons while the giraffes and thors went head to head in a plasma orb slugfest. A scattering of fighters circled about, strafing the mechs when they had an opening, but the automated lachars kept most of them at bay as the thors quickly discovered that the giraffes couldn’t fully rotate their heads around to cover their aft arc.

Soon the stars, or what was left of them, began splitting up and encircling the medium-sized walkers, each of which massed a bit more than they did, and took turns being the point man. The bipeds were more maneuverable that their counterparts, especially on the slope, so when one got badly damaged it would circle around behind and let a fresher thor take the brunt of the shots until they’d succeeded in decapitating the weapon mount off the walker, after which they’d ignore it and go after the others.

Not a single enemy had been taken out, save for the small protomechs which were now all dead. The walkers staggered about firing off secondary weapons as the Canderian swarm moved through their ranks as if picking flowers, one by one taking out the enemy’s heaviest weapons and ignoring their formidable armor.

The thors eventually moved up the hillside far enough to be able to come around and flank the Nestafar mechs from behind, finishing off the weapon cleavage of the giraffes then focusing on hitting their secondary plasma weapons as the spiders threw their last missiles at the thors. With more than half of their number down, the Canderians continued to pick apart the enemy with their plasma cannons while holding back on their own missiles, knowing that they wouldn’t do much good against the Nestafar’s chrome armor.

There were two exceptions, however, that kept charging up the hillside towards the hangar doors, leaving the rest of the mechs to fight it out behind them. Both thors unleashed their shoulder-mounted missiles at the base of the doors and the infantry stationed there, then began picking them off with their automated anti-air lachars when they took flight. Some of them fired back with rocket launchers, but the mechs were too heavily armored for that to matter. They were also bathed in dozens of tiny red plasma blasts coming from the infantry’s rifles, but the mechs simply shrugged it off and continued the slaughter.

Eventually the rest of them ran…on foot to avoid the anti-air, vacating the doors and abandoning the now besieged walkers who had little weaponry left to fight with. Those batteries that they did have were now being targeted by plasma at close range or with lachars and missiles from further out, gradually wearing down the Nestafar’s offensive capability until they were near to becoming irrelevant.

Before that happened the bay doors shook violently and began to grind open. The two thors turned around into guard positions and slowly advanced forward, sweeping up what little there was left of the infantry while making sure none snuck inside the base as Star Force skeets began to shoot out, first one at a time, then by the twos and threes as the doors opened wider. Behind them came a scattering of Valeries that had survived the initial ambush in the hangar along with 8 other fighter variants from the Alliance races. Behind them all came two Star Force gunships, loaded up with missiles, lachars, and scatterguns, that took to climbing straight up the mountain towards the peak while the fighters immediately mixed it up with the enemy.

Mark was among them, firing off a plasma streamer at one of the Spider-class walkers the moment he exited the doors. The blue jet of superheated xenon splashed across the walker’s back side and melted away a few inches of armor plating before the Archon pulled up and flashed into the sky, extremely happy to be back in the cockpit again and sticking it to the Nestafar directly. As he climbed he searched the sky for fighter contacts, finding several still hanging around and more off to the south.

“Boen, Kara, Iren…you’re with me. We’ve got some Valeries to kill.”





Origin

1





December 21, 2399

Jartul System

Daka



Mark flew in low, just skimming the brown grasses with the underside of his skeet’s shields as Kara and company came in high on the spider walker and hit the breach in its armor with multiple plasma orbs, most of which missed and impacted the intact armor around the hole, though two did slip through and cause more internal damage to the intimidating mech. A short plume of explosive debris shot back out but the spider stayed on its feet and continued walking towards the base doors where the onslaught was continuing. It fired back at the quick fighters with its secondary plasma weapons and missed badly, though it did manage to catch the tail tip of one of the skeets, punching through the shields and burning off a bit of the hull.

The fighter didn’t go down, instead it streaked across the walker with the others providing the diversion that allowed Mark to get in close at a perpendicular angle where he released a plasma streamer dead on target, filling the hole in the spider with a thick squirt gun shot of fiery blue plasma that burned away at the interior. Internal components melted and rehardened, turning part of the walking mechanisms to slag and freezing one of its six legs in place.

The giant machine staggered, nearly falling over before the pilot corrected for the malfunctioning leg. Using the other five it began limping forward, dragging the dead one across the ground and digging up the native grass as it moved slowly towards the Alliance base’s southern doors where numerous other walkers were in the process of blasting their way inside.

Mark shot his skeet to the left, keeping low to the ground and skimming the aft end of the spider before weaving an evasive pattern across the plain then rocketing back up into the sky when he was clear of the walkers’ return fire. He pulled over to the left and came around, giving him a good view of the enemy LZ further south and the line of ground troops crossing up towards the hangar doors like an army of ants…with several of them dead along the route.

The skeets had made quick work of the remaining Nestafar Valeries, losing only two of their own in the engagement. Those two might yet be recoverable, Mark didn’t know for sure, but air superiority had been returned to the Alliance. All the training they’d done against the Calavari had proven to make them very prepared for dealing with Valeries…especially those flown by less able pilots than the craft’s creators.

Knowing that their ground troops were now exposed, the Nestafar knew they had to push their ground advantage and break the base now, else they’d be picked apart from the sky. To that end the LZ had been receiving additional dropships, spewing walkers, protomechs, and infantry to support the others being slowly picked apart by the skeets and the few other Alliance craft in the air. Mark had sent his gunships up to try and harass the dropships in flight, but the truth was they had too few fighters to counter this large of a ground assault when the bay doors had already been breached.

He was keeping in contact with the defense team inside, which was reporting several holes forming in the trash heap covering the breaches in the doors. They weren’t big enough for the walkers to get through yet, but infantry was slipping through and trying to make a mess of things inside. To top it off several of the units assaulting the smaller entrances were also getting reinforced and at least one had gone down, with the Archons and Alliance troops on site reforming their lines further inside the base and keeping the enemy breach team contained for the moment.

The northern doors were still theirs, and the surviving Canderian mechs had left a pair on station outside while the rest had entered the base and walked the long distance over to the southern doors to assist if/when the Nestafar walkers broke through, adding considerable firepower to the makeshift defenses Mark and the others had erected the previous day.

As the trailblazer turned around and headed back towards the Nestafar lines he took a glance at his plasma levels…which read 23%. That wasn’t good, because the only way to seriously affect the heavily armored Nestafar walkers was by using the plasma streamer, which ate up plasma at a very fast rate. Before long he was going to have to try and reenter the base to get reloaded, as would the others, unless he felt like fighting out the rest of the battle with only his lachar.

The line of troops in the distance before him stretched across the entire length of the plain between the LZ and base with a larger group set directly outside the doors, but those were scattered around the debris from the gargantuan and half of them were dead walkers, which was making it difficult for the assaulting troops to throw a concentrated force against the doors…but they didn’t need much to break in now, and apparently their infantry had brought along enough explosives that they were busy making holes for the big machines to move in through.

With that in mind Mark sighted in on a trio of quickly moving dots moving up the line and tore after them, mindful of the larger walkers and their slow rotating, slow firing secondary weapons. While he would be difficult for them to hit, they were bound to get lucky once in a while and their weapons were powerful enough that even a partial hit would cause him serious problems.

He came in at a 45 degree angle and fired his lachar at one of the rolling balls, hitting it twice before nailing it with a plasma orb…then he shot across the lines and weaved away for a bit before circling around and coming back across to hit a second one in a similar manner, damaging another of the protomechs before it could get to the base. Both weren’t destroyed, but they were unable to maintain ball form and had to start limping their way forward on their legs once they transformed, one of which was missing a foot.

Many more of the rolling dots were making their way up to the base before Mark could shoot them all. The other skeets were picking off a few, with the rest of them teaming up to take down the spiders and giraffes one by one. The other races’ fighters were concentrated around the entrance, using the debris for cover as they made their strafing runs against the partially pinned walkers, letting Star Force hit the ones in the open.

Mark jerked his skeet up into the sky, aborting an attack on another of the protomechs as a tiny missile shot out towards him, seemingly coming out of nowhere. He rolled his left engine pod up while jamming the anti-grav at full power, dancing around the infantry-launched missile and missing it by 20 meters.

That was the 3rd time today that their damn infantry had nearly shot him. They were so small they didn’t appear on his sensors until the last second, and then only their weapons did, for their bodies were poor reflectors, making them almost invisible. If he looked close he could spot them visually, but with the speeds the skeets were strafing at that was next to impossible.

The missile turned to follow in his wake, but by the time it did Mark was too far away and traveling too fast for it to catch up, and once it expended its fuel supply it dropped from the sky and fell to the ground, exploding on impact and ironically killing two of their infantry that were unlucky enough to be flying by that spot at the time.

Mark took his random direction and turned it into a dive towards another spider, firing down from nearly straight above and seeing his plasma orbs virtually sink into the chrome armor and disappear before he broke off, firing another at a group of infantry and spraying them with mud from the hit that otherwise missed. In reality the plasma burnt a few inches off of the walker’s topside, but it would take multiple strafing runs to bust through…and if they managed to survive this whole ordeal Star Force was definitely going to snag some of that armor to copy.

“Boss, got another big one walking out of the LZ,” Boen reported over the comm.

“Wonderful…and us out of nukes.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Where are you at on plasma?”

“34%”

“Ignore it for now. We have to take pressure off the doors.”

“Can’t ignore it forever,” his fellow Gunstar pointed out. “And it looks like it’s got a lot more escorts this time around.”

“I’ll figure out something,” Mark promised. “Keep working on the walkers, and especially those damn protomechs. They can slip through sooner and I don’t want them chewing up the Canderian mechs before the big boys break through.”

“You think they will?”

“Break through or chew them up?” Mark asked, delivering a partial plasma streamer into a blast crack on a giraffe’s neck. It was well low of the head, making him wonder who had been targeting it there until another blue streak shot out and hit a split second after his did. It melted through, sheering off the top portion of the neck and taking away the walker’s primary weapon.

“Break through,” Boen clarified. “That trash heap is massive.”

“I’m getting reports that their infantry are carrying explosives in addition to the rocket launchers. They’re planting them in the heap and blasting it apart bit by bit when the walkers don’t have a shot.”

“That I didn’t know. You want us going after the infantry?”

“Not really, but if you have a clear shot take it.”

“Will do…you just worry about that super dragon.”

Mark spun his skeet around on a long loop, giving himself a moment to think before he flashed back into combat. The Nestafar had already landed a second mega walker and they’d managed to take it and a lot of other walkers out with their second nuke, the blast marks of which were still visible on the trail from the LZ up to the base, as was the remains of the giant machine. The line of ‘ants’ had moved to the side around it as if it wasn’t important, and now Mark understood why. He’d hoped they didn’t have a third sitting up in their jumpships to bring down, but apparently he’d been wrong.

He made a diagonal strafing run across the path heading back south, hitting another protomech then flying off towards the east as he came around closer to the LZ. There he saw the super dragon stretching out one of its enormous legs to take a step forward while the ‘small’ spiders and giraffes skittered out around it in a wide formation, forming a bulge in the ant line that was creeping its way out from the LZ and up towards the base.

Boen was right, they had to do something, and soon.



Mark flew in through the slit in the northern bay doors directly over a pair of thors and slipped inside the base along with three other skeets behind him. As soon as they got inside the doors ground closed, locking them in and the Nestafar out. So far the enemy hadn’t attempted another assault there, though they were making plenty of progress in other places.

The skeets flew across the cavernous bay and landed snug up against Star Force’s pillar and the refueling equipment that had been built inside it. Mark popped the hatch as the techs and a handful of grounded Archons ran out and began attaching refueling equipment to his skeet, both for the engines and the plasma, along with a third smaller one for the lachar that virtually never ran out of the scattering of physical particles included in the mostly energy cocktail.

“How we doing?” he asked Luke-593 as soon as he hit the deck, wearing his armor minus the helmet and gloves, both of which were sitting at the bottom of his cockpit in restraint bins.

“No mask?” Luke asked as they walked over and into the airlock while the techs were busily servicing the skeets.

“I’m trying not to breathe much,” he said, toggling the door closure routine and feeling the whirlwind of exchanged air to follow.

“We’re losing ground,” Luke said loudly so he could be heard over the noise, “but all fronts still have the enemy contained at the moment.”

“Found anything useful downstairs?” Mark asked as the sequence died out and the interior doors opened, with both Archons jogging off to the control room.

“Nada. We’ve pulled everyone back up save for two and a group of Protovic. All but one of the Scionate we had to divert to the auxiliary exits to hold them.”

“Tunnel?”

“Can’t get it sealed. Not enough dry time and their digger is operational again…or they brought in a new one. They keep cutting through or digging new tunnels around and we have to keep falling back. We’re trying to erect a larger blockade at the base intersection, but if we don’t take out the digger they’ll tunnel back in within a week.”

“A week I’ll take,” Mark said, walking in on a very sparse command staff, none of which were Archons. The shipless pilots and techs had a holographic battlemap glowing in the center of the room, detailing the conflict outside as well as the numerous ones on the perimeter of the base. Mark looked over the icons representing the auxiliary exits and saw the mass of infantry on the exterior.

“Have they snuck a dropship by us or are these units flying in on their own?”

“No dropships have deviated from their orbit to landing zone flight path, aside from the one the gunships shot down,” one of the techs reported. “No units have emerged from the crash site and no recovery units have been sent out.”

“Any progress on that third nuke?”

“No go,” Luke told him. “Not even close.”

“Damn,” Mark said, leaning on the holoprojector table. “We’ve got to have something to hit the big one with. If it was alone we might be able to pick it to death, but it’s got an army of escorts.”

“We need to get the gun,” Luke pointed out, “unless you’re worried about it ramming through the doors.”

“We can’t get a look at it without taking down the spiders ringing it.”

“We could introduce one of the dropships to it?”

Mark looked over at the other Archon. “I don’t think it’d get through, and nobody is making a one-way run, I don’t care how bad the situation is.”

“Their anti-air sucks, and if we build up enough speed prior to impact…”

“I’ve already considered that. And I didn’t mean get through their weaponsfire, I meant get through its hull. It took a nuke to crack the other two, and they barely got the job done.”

“Oh…don’t suppose we can tip it over?”

Mark’s eyes suddenly went wide as a crazy idea hit him. “What do we have that might trip it?”

“Sorry, no tow cables.”

“We don’t have to kill the thing, just keep it away from the base.”

“If you can’t stop their other walkers it’s not going to matter. They’re about through as it is and the Alliance fighters don’t have enough firepower to take all of them down. They only thing…”

“The approaches,” Mark said, getting the same idea as Luke a split second later.

“The starship pieces are too big to move, not that we could get them in there anyway, but…”

“…we do have a lot of dead mechs on the north side.”

“And a big Protovic transport to help move them, along with some others…if you can thin the herd out there first.”

Mark dug a finger in the Archon’s chest as he turned to leave. “Make it happen,” he said, taking one last glance at the battlemap and the incursions happening on the surface, then he took off to head back to his skeet, knowing it wouldn’t take long to get it refueled. When he got back outside he noticed, to his satisfaction, that a group of techs were in the process of loading two missiles underneath…but they weren’t of Star Force design. Another standing nearby came over to explain as the first of the four skeets took off and headed back out towards the northern bay doors.

“A present from the Gnar, simple release. We’re arming them now so don’t bump into anything on your way out.”

“What yield?”

“About 200 kilotons.”

“How many?”

“They had six stashed away, with the other four going on their craft. They were buried under debris, or so they said. I think they were just holding them back until now.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder as he climbed up into the open cockpit and resealed it as he waited for them to finish, coughing out a bit of the harsh atmosphere as the air inside recycled to get the noxious compounds out. While he waited he triggered his comm as he checked to make sure his fuel and weapons were at full power, which they were.

“Boen, you busy?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Got a couple party favors from the Gnar. Not enough to do our big boy in but I should be able to wound a couple of spiders. I’m about to come out, get your ass in here and refueled, then I need your help with plan B.”

“Please tell me plan ‘B’ stands for bomb?”

“‘B’ for barricade,” he explained as the techs rushed away from his skeet and one of them gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“Heading in,” Boen said as Mark lifted off and headed for the doors. The other 3 skeets were already gone, but the doors were still cracked open, either waiting on him or they’d just decided to keep them open until they saw an enemy closing in. On his battlemap he saw a few other skeets circling around to the north but he beat them there and ducked through the visibly narrow gap that drastically widened at the last moment, then he was out of the base and back into the sky, turning off to the right and heading along the curve of the mountain rather than flying straight over.

“Heard you picked up some bombs?” Kara asked.

“Be there shortly,” Mark answered. “Got some infantry to hit first.”

“You’re wasting them on infantry?”

“No, but our defense teams are getting clobbered,” he said, approaching the first site and getting a little bit more altitude sufficient to make a strafing run…except he didn’t increase speed. “Are you refueled?”

“Yes.”

“Keep hitting the protomechs, we’ll deal with the big ones when everyone gets cycled through.”

“Better hurry. That big one is slow, but it’s making progress.”

“I know,” he said, coming to an almost standstill over one of the exterior exits but retaining just enough of a drift to keep the skeet moving laterally to make it a bit harder to target. He switched over to scatter gun and fired into the assembled infantry outside and hit his anti-grav, rocketing him up into the sky as he pointed the nose down, keeping the gun in line as he hammered the Nestafar outside, knocking out several rocket launchers before they had a chance to fire and thinning the numbers of reinforcements they had to throw at the defense teams inside.





2





Mark came in on the spider walker from behind in a lazy dive bomb and released the second of his Gnar bombs, rocketing up into the sky immediately upon release, though he still felt the concussion wave hit the hull and rock him around a bit. When he eventually got turned around so he could see the result of the blast another of the Nestafar walkers was partially broken apart and now sprawled on yet another one of the paths through the debris field, blocking access to the hangar doors.

Several other walkers were damaged and knocked down, along with the scattered remains of multiple protomechs and a slew of infantry that had been in the blast wave. Never the less, three walkers were still battering the already breached hangar doors, methodically tearing away at the trash heap that was holding them back. That said, the flow of reinforcements coming into that location was beginning to grow thinner…though the bottleneck of walkers being backed up behind the blockades the skeets were strategically laying down was growing very deep, so much so that the fighters had to avoid flying over that area directly for fear of getting hit by a mass of random weapons fire coming up into the sky.

“Nice placement,” Kara commented.

“Wish we had a few dozen more of those,” Mark responded as he ducked down toward the starship remains and fired a few orbs into the side of one of the spiders near the doors, expanding upon a topside hole that the fighters had been pecking into it.

“If we slow them down enough we can whittle them to death,” Boen added, sensing Mark’s mood.

“I don’t think we can keep them off the base long enough to try,” he said reluctantly as the other Archon found his wing and dropped in cattycorner to his right.

“Got any better ideas?”

“I’m working on it, but if you want to steal my thunder and break out a brilliant strategy to save the day…be my guest.”

“Target the debris,” Boen replied pithily as the pair shot past an approaching giraffe and nailed it in the left flank that did little more than mark it as a target with a few dimples in its armor.

“With what?”

“Dropship with tow cables.”

“They’d be sitting ducks,” Mark reminded him.

“We have to block the inroads and we’re running out of time. Unless you’ve found some more explosives to use, what else do we have to work with?”

Just then he got a proximity warning, highlighting the area around the mega walker, indicating that it had just become a no fly zone.

“Who tagged that?” Mark asked over the comm, too busy flying and shooting to search out the ID tag in the battlemap database.

“Wasn’t me,” Boen asked, his voice clearly confused.

“Nor me,” Kara answered.

“Canderous,” Sandra said, having taken a moment to swing up over the base clear of incoming fire so she could look it up.

Just then a target appeared high in the sky, streaking down towards the planet and smashing into the line of walkers just ahead of the super dragon. The oversized missile detonated on impact and knocked several of the medium and heavy walkers aside while gouging out a larger crater. It was followed by another, and another, and another…all the way up to six missiles before the dust began to settle and the carnage exacted on the ‘ant train’ started to show through.

Mark pulled off his current attack run and got some altitude so he could see the damage, as well as comming the seda. “What was that?”

“A few basilisks filled with improvised explosives,” Orion answered immediately. “Thought you could use the assistance.”

“Tell me they were unmanned,” Mark demanded angrily.

“They were unmanned,” the Legat confirmed. “Coordinate locked and released.”

“If you were aiming for the big one you missed.”

“Unfortunately yes. Did we get any of the smaller ones?”

“You got a lot of the less big ones…I’d hesitate to call them small. You got any other tricks up your sleeve, because we’re running short down here?”

“That was our last tactical option, short of violating your standing orders.”

“Stick to protocol no matter what,” Mark told him firmly. “Death before dishonor.”

“Death before dishonor,” Orion repeated. “If it helps, it appears that they’ve begun recovering dropships. The last few enroute are probably going to give you the tally of the ground forces you have to overcome.”

“Copy that,” Mark said, slightly relieved. He’d felt like the flow of Nestafar reinforcements would never stop…and like the Legat had said, he now had a semi-firm number to work with.

“Boen, Kara. Looks like we’re going to have to rack up a high kill count.”

“Will do, boss,” Boen acknowledged.

“I’m up for the challenge,” Kara agreed.

“Three groups,” Mark ordered. “You each take one and we hit one walker at a time, starting with those near the doors. Opposite strafing runs, target topside.”

“That’s more like it,” Boen said, breaking off Mark’s wing and flying off to rally the other skeets to him.

“We work our way back up the flow and let them crawl over their dead.”

“And the super dragon?” Kara asked.

“We’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it. Right now focus on keeping them off the doors.”

“On it,” she said, dipping down with another two skeets behind her and releasing a plasma streamer into the top side of a spider. Small bits of plasma shot back up at her fighter but they missed badly, then the other two came through adding their blue lances and damaging approximately the same spot, melting off armor but not penetrating all the way through.

“We’ll make as many refueling runs as needed, just unload on them,” Mark said, using his control board to call more than a dozen fighters to his wing. Kara and Boen were doing the same, forming up for a more focused attack run that would have them coming in from approximately opposite sides. He let them go first, holding his group back and circling around to a northern approach as he watched on the sensors as they moved in.

It took both groups, with each fighter unloading a streamer onto the top side, but they managed to break through the top of the spider’s armor, leaving it open for Mark’s group. Given the angle they were coming down the mountain and the small hollow the doors sat in, his skeets had to drift out over the target to fire, but the trailblazer brought them down three wide and directly overhead where they fired down onto the top of the spider.

The walker collapsed directly in front of the doors, its innards junk, while one of the skeets took a hit and went spiraling off towards the debris field…then it rocketed high up into the sky as the pilot amped up his anti-grav in a last ditch survival tactic. He was totally out of control, but the skeet wasn’t going to crash. Mark knew he’d be able to limp off, but that was one less fighter they now had to throw at the enemy.

Angry, Mark abandoned his group and dropped his skeet straight down to the deck and pancaked out a few meters above the ground, bracketed by debris on either side with a straight targeting line to the underside of the second closest walker to the hangar doors. He fired off another plasma streamer directly into the underside cannon, slagging it then rocketing back up much as the other skeet had before the walkers and protomechs in the area could concentrate their fire on him.

“Nice hit,” Kara commented. “Don’t do that again. They’ll be ready for it.”

“Less to pound on the doors with,” Mark said, though he was in agreement. He got his skeet under control and rendezvoused with his attack group while the other two were already making a run against the next spider in line, ignoring the giraffe that was in between. He also targeted the spider, placing an attack waypoint on top for his group to focus on, then he sped them in at almost reckless speed, crossing over the target half a second after the last of Kara’s group.

He released a dual plasma orb attack, nailing the top of the target while those behind him mixed it up, either firing their plasma streamers in a phaser-like beam that crossed over the walker or pummeled it with additional orbs. Mark flipped around quickly and went back in underneath the rest of his approaching group that had got strung out and hit the mech while its weapons were focused the other way, pouring a streamer in on a slow attack dive and crumpling the walker to the ground.

This time, however, the walker exploded along the midsection, blowing out all six legs like harpoons, two of which speared nearby giraffes, knocking one down and puncturing the other just below the neck. That one didn’t get back up, though the other did, with the walkers’ attention now firmly on the fighters and not the hangar doors.



Another small explosion in the debris pile flashed, followed by a wash of tiny pieces scattering out onto the hangar deck. Soon after one of the rolling spheres pushed its way through and was immediately hit by more than a dozen plasma orbs, melting it on contact and sending its broken form careening off towards the thors. One of them stepped aside, shooting it again as it slid past, then it retook its guardian position, waiting for the next one to come through.

Instead it was a swath of infantry, most of whom were hit by the plasma, which had thoroughly chewed up the floor around the entry point. Those few that survived flew off high and tried to escape into the cavernous ceiling. Several of them were downed by Archon snipers with lachar rifles, but a few managed to get free.

Those were tracked down by another team of Archons circling overhead in a falcon dropship, which flew nearby with gunners in its open doors, either shooting the enemy out of the sky or pursuing them to the ground wherever they chose to land and dealing with them there. The Protovic were handling most of the infantry resistance on the ground, scurrying about all over the hangar deck, insistent on making sure not one of the treasonous Nestafar made it to any of the base entry points.

The rest of the Alliance personnel in the hangar were waiting around the bay doors, ready to back up the mechs if/when the enemy walkers broke through. So far nothing larger than the protomechs had gotten in, but the debris pile was getting thinner and thinner and soon the highest holes would be open, which would let in an unending stream of infantry that would be much harder to target.

Then the incursions abruptly stopped. The explosions on the exterior of the debris pile cut out, the protomechs squeezing through ceased, and the infantry sneaking their way in disappeared. The Canderians dutifully stayed at their posts, weapons trained on the holes for nearly two hours before the skeets came back in, half as many as there were that had gone out.

The Canderians received new orders from the Archons, indicating that two mechs go on guard duty and the others begin cycling through rest cycles. As those that were recalled walked back over to the Star Force column they saw several dropships lift off and depart out of the northern hangar doors, to where they weren’t told. The mechwarriors were simply instructed to get back to the Star Force complex and get some food and sleep, for they didn’t know when the assault would begin again.

Vikar climbed out of his thor and down to the deck as an additional pair of skeets came back, both battle scarred in numerous places, almost so much so that he didn’t know how the aircraft were still flying. They set down on the hangar deck close to the entry airlock and their cockpits opened just as the Canderian was passing by. Both pilots, Archons judging by their armor, looked exhausted and neither one bothered to put on a breath mask or their helmets as they walked over to the column.

Vikar waited until the air had recycled inside before he asked them to speak, but he was very curious as to what was going on.

“Is the enemy defeated or have they withdrawn?”

“Withdrawn,” Kara told him, her voice dark and angry. “But not far. They’re holding position just outside the debris field.”

Vikar frowned. “Why did they stop?”

Boen kicked the control terminal in the airlock out of frustration just before the inner doors opened. “Because we killed almost every walker they sent up to the base and now they’re rethinking their game plan.”

“You don’t sound pleased,” the Canderian said respectfully as the Archons bumped elbows and began to walk out side by side with Vikar trailing.

“We lost Mark,” Kara said, half glancing over her shoulder.

“The trailblazer?”

“No, the other Mark,” Boen growled sarcastically until Kara put a warning hand on his shoulder. His demeanor softened, but the pain he was feeling still lingered on his features. “He went down on the wrong side of the wreckage, right where the Nestafar have camped out. We can’t get to him, and two more of us got shot down trying.”

“Ground op recovery then?”

“It’d be suicide,” Kara said, frustration coloring her voice. “If he even survived the crash.”

“I know he did,” Boen said forcefully. “It’s afterward that concerns me.”

“If he’s alive we cannot leave him there,” the Canderian said, a bit more forcefully.

“If he survived,” Kara said before Boen could snap, “then he was most likely killed shortly thereafter. I’d give Mark the benefit of the doubt regardless, but with so many walkers and protomechs around he wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”

Vikar thought that over as he followed the Archons further into the base that he’d never set foot in before. “Where are we to report to?”

Kara stopped walking and turned around, glancing over him once. “Next hallway, turn right. Staircase on your left. Three floors up. You’ll find food and supplies there, and there are plenty of empty quarters on the upper levels.”

“Thank you,” Vikar said, respectfully breaking off from the group and leading the handful of other mechwarriors that had been trailing behind him at a distance.

“Are you coming with me or not?” Boen whispered as the Archons walked off another direction.

“To do what?”

“Confirmation at the minimum.”

“It’s not worth the risk. You know he’d say that.”

“At this point I’m starting not to care.”

Kara swung so fast Boen barely saw the elbow coming. He reacted instinctively, shrugging his right shoulder up and ducking his head to deflect the blow but it was too late. Her elbow nailed him in the head and spun him around as he fell to the ground.

“Snap out of it!” she yelled down at him. “He’s not the only one missing out there.”

Boen shook the stars from his vision, but the pain was useful in clearing the head. He focused on it and bled away his panic, then looked up at Kara’s bleary eyes that were barely holding back tears. His armor scraped on the floor as he repositioned himself and slid up onto his feet, standing up in front of her and staring directly into her face.

“If it was Greg, or Jason, or Sara, or one of the other trailblazers out there Mark would go,” he said softly, containing the anger within. “And I’m going for him. I won’t get myself killed recklessly, but I have to try and at least get eyes on his crash site.”

Kara bit into her lower lip, trying to keep her voice and nerve steady. “Then you’d better knock me out first, because I won’t let you.”

Boen stared into her eyes, moving a few inches closer, daring her to do so…then his expression softened and he stepped up on the tips of his toes and kissed her on the forehead before nudging past her on the way to the armory.

Kara didn’t move for nearly 30 seconds, simply standing in place as she knew what he was doing was right…but that it would probably also get him killed. Finally the tears broke through and began streaming down her face, which she just let run, bleeding off the emotional overload and recalming her mind, then she walked off to the control room, knowing that without Mark someone else had to take command and find a way to keep the rest of them alive.





3





Boen slipped out of the gap in the southern doors just before the dropships inside the hangar began to reposition and add to the stack, shoring up the makeshift barrier with extra material gathered from around the base, including some large panels that the Calavari were welding into place over the uppermost holes. They knew they wouldn’t stand up to even a single plasma blast from one of the Nestafar walkers, but they would slow down the infantry when they came back.

Boen knew he wouldn’t be able to get back inside that way again, but it didn’t matter. He had to get out to where Mark had gone down. Fortunately his acolyte armor blended in well with the pieces of walkers laying around, but he was unsure of how well he could hide against the Nestafar sensors and the eyes of their infantry. His armor would reduce his infrared signature to almost nothing, but he still wasn’t very hopeful. Jogging off through one of the mini-canyons in the debris field he began watching and listening intently to pick up any sign of the enemy, hopefully before they spotted him.

They shouldn’t have been anywhere near the doors if they were holding position, but there was no guarantee how long they were going to stay put. Boen also wondered how many of the walkers’ crews were still alive and meandering about. They’d had enough time to find their way out of the graveyard he was picking his way through now, but he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t alone as he stooped down and slid underneath a giant spider’s leg and onto the charred ground on the other side.

Ash was everywhere from the nuke and starship impact. The grass was completely gone, vaporized in one or the other, and giant furrows had been dug out from the various pieces of cargo ship debris, making for a series of mini mountains for Boen to huff his way across…all of which were loaded down with debris. The pathways that had existed through the field were now cluttered with dead walkers, so much so that even an individual Human had trouble finding a way through without having to climb up and over each dead piece of military machinery, and as the hours stretched on Boen was beginning to envy the Nestafar’s ability to fly, which gave their infantry a huge advantage in this type of terrain.

But he wasn’t out here to fight, he was our here to skulk, and as the day gradually transitioned into night he finally began to approach the largest piece of the gargantuan, which was buried in the ground and sticking up at a 45 degree angle, forming an impromptu mountain on the other side of which Mark’s skeet had gone down…which was where the remaining units of the Nestafar army were also camped out, including the super dragon.

The walkers had been coming around the massive heap on the east side, so Boen felt he had the best chance by going west and hiding in the debris as he moved, but he didn’t get very far into the junk yard before he heard a flap of wings and ducked under cover. A few moments later a rifle-toting Nestafar soldier flew by a few meters off the ground, weaving its way through the debris canyons, obviously on patrol…meaning Boen had to be extra careful from here on out.

It took him another 2 hours just to get to the edge of the debris mountain where he could see down onto the Nestafar camp…which was, in fact, a camp. Somehow the enemy had brought portable buildings with them and had several set up in a ring around which the walkers were parked. The big one was on the south side of the camp and facing north, looking down on all the smaller ones, and Boen could barely make out a slew of protomechs parked around their feet, but the infantry were too small to see, even with his helmet vision enhancements.

The infantry patrolling the debris field were another matter. Those he could see clearly, the trick was in keeping them from seeing him. Fortunately there were many places to hide, but there wasn’t many where he could advance more than a few dozen meters at a time before he’d have to backtrack or go laterally to maneuver around a piece of junk he couldn’t climb over, or couldn’t risk climbing over and being seen.

Partway through his trek he began to think Kara was right, that he was just wasting his time and recklessly putting himself at risk, but a part of him just couldn’t let go. He had to see this through for Mark’s sake, even if there wasn’t anything he could do other than confirm that he was, in fact, dead.

Suddenly there were wing flaps over top of him and he glanced up just in time to see the feet of a Nestafar appear a meter over his head from behind a piece of debris. The enemy didn’t move on, but rather tipped its rifle down after a moment of shocked realization and fired.

Boen moved reflexively, equally surprised, and got a hand on its foot by the time it pulled the trigger. The plasma blast hit him in the right shoulder, melting away the top layer of armor as he yanked the flying soldier out of the air and pulled it down to the ground, bringing around his right fist and imbedding it in its torso twice before yanking away the rifle and turning it back on its owner.

He buried the muzzle in its chest and fired, hoping to diminish the sound of the shot, then he scurried off, leaving both the corpse and weapon behind as he tried to find a new hole to hide in in case the weaponsfire drew others.

Which it did a few minutes later. Tucked under a piece of flat hull that had half imbedded into the ground forming a lean-to with other debris piled on top, Boen waited and listened as several other Nestafar flew in and around the area. He had only a narrow line of sight, but he could hear them moving about, searching for the target that had downed the patrol, of which they had to have found by now.

Boen waited for a very long time, well past the last audible wing flap, before he slowly crawled out of his hiding place and further into the debris field. He kept low and moved very slowly, hoping to keep his visual movement down so he could blend in with the rest of the random junk lying all over the place. With the cover of night he hoped that tactic would be successful, essentially ‘playing rock’ as he crept in towards the giant mountain of refuse.

When he could he kept an eye on the enemy camp, but most of the time it was obscured from view. Twice he had to lay flat and play dead when patrols flew by, both of which missed him, fortunately, because there were no available holes to jump into had he wanted to. When he finally got to the crash site he was able to slip inside what was left of the ship’s corridors and crawl through the crumpled passageways, taking him out of sight of the aerial patrols.

The portion of the ship he was climbing through, however, was totally torqued out of proportion. The hallways were twisted, bent, smashed, and every other word imaginable that was an antonym for ‘straight.’ Boen found himself doubling back multiple times as he tried to make his way forward, not so much ‘up’ the mountain but through it, hoping to find a hole on the other side to climb out of or at least look through. Mark’s skeet had impacted near the bottom of the pile, yet inside several ringing pieces of debris. It had disappeared down inside the trash heap, but at the time Boen couldn’t get a good view as to exactly where, for he was dodging a mass of anti-air fire.

The grey skeet Mark had been piloting at the time was going to be difficult to find, as opposed to the normal gold/chrome version of his personal craft. In the chaos of the battle and Mark’s absence, his own skeet had been taken by another pilot, one that had not fared so well, shot down by the Nestafar fighters early on. After that there had been a swapping of pilots and everyone grabbing what available craft there were without regards to the previous owners or Clan colors.

The grey one he had been flying was one of the spares/basic models that hadn’t been assigned to any one pilot, and unfortunately the coloration was nearly identical to the wreckage of the cargo ship. Boen had mentally tagged the location he’d seen him go down in, but the more hours that passed and the more he thought it over the fuzzier the memory got.

The various creaks and moans coming from the remains of the ship also worried him. He wasn’t walking/climbing through a stable structure and the pit of his stomach kept falling out every time he heard a tremor above, thinking that the whole thing was going to smash down on top of him. He also wondered if Mark had been crushed under debris, or maybe was still trapped inside his cockpit cocoon, unable to pop the hatch because he was buried underneath tons of rubble.

Every possible scenario flashed through Boen’s mind multiple times as he searched for a way through the crashed ship. By the time he finally saw a beam of light coming down into his current area he realized that it must be morning already and was grateful for even a small sign that he was near the other side.

The hole was only fist-sized and punctured through by a beam from outside, but it did give him a view down the slope. He pushed his head up against the hole and tried to look down to where he thought the skeet had hit, but he didn’t have the right angle.

Another tremor shook the structure, this one much louder and stronger with the epicenter close by. Boen walked off from the hole and kept moving, knowing that the sooner he found a way out onto the southern slope the better he’d feel about potential cave-ins, but then he’d be exposed to virtually every gun in the Nestafar camp…which appeared to still be holding defensive positions. Why they hadn’t hit the base again he didn’t know, but he was glad Kara and the others were getting a breather to reestablish their defenses.

A second tremor shook the structure and Boen could clearly hear a piece fall down with a crash, as well as several Nestafar voices off in the distance. The Archon pulled his plasma rifle off his back, then thought better of it. He switched it out for his stinger pistol, knowing that raising an alarm was probably the worst thing he could do right now, so if he had to shoot one or more of them, quiet was definitely the way to go.

Boen followed the occasional sounds through the remains, again having to double back several times to eventually end up traveling in a straight line. He knew he was getting close when he could hear the whine of a walker’s joints, then a giant limb thrust through a wall two sections over from where he was standing. There was a bit of a clear airway through the broken walls, enough for him to see the sunlight shoot in around the tip of the walker’s chrome leg, then the limb bent and dragged a huge chunk of the structure out with it, exposing the interior to more daylight.

Boen backtracked immediately, then tried to flank the breach point, having to move through the labyrinth at its pace and continually reminding himself not to get flustered. Flustered Archons were dead Archons, as the old saying went, so he forced himself to focus on the task at hand and eventually found a way around.

Just as he was walking through the last section before it opened up onto a partially sunlit, cockeyed room, his feet were lassoed together and he fell forward onto his knees…suddenly finding the tip of a plasma rifle in his face.

It quickly pulled back and the pressure on his legs released, just in time for Boen to look up and stare into an identical, yet green helmet a few inches away from him.

He was about to say something but an armored finger shot up in front of the helmet, indicating that he be silent. It followed with several Archon hand signals, telling Boen that there were troops nearby.

The Archon got to his feet and responded in kind, noticing crushed plates on Mark’s armor along his left leg. He pointed to it and Mark responded with a ‘snapping’ motion, indicating that the bone had been broken and his leg was out of action.

Putting all questions aside, Boen signaled to Mark to wait, then began walking off a few meters in other directions, trying to get a feel for where the Nestafar were without leaving the trailblazer behind. He had wisely tucked himself up under a shelf-like section of wall that had blown out and was just high enough for him to slide under while laying down, making for the perfect ambush hole.

He wanted to use his suit to suit comm to talk to him, but if Mark had restricted himself to hand signals then there was probably a reason, so he responded in kind and kept the dialog to hands only. Around the next corner he heard footsteps and slinked up against the wall and waited…then grabbed the Nestafar by the throat as it appeared and shot it with his pistol in the chest twice, splattering green paint laden with stun energy on its ugly body before tossing it aside.

Boen ducked around the corner, searching for any others but finding none. He pulled the unconscious enemy aside and stuffed it in a hole in the wall before he went back to Mark where he signaled that he had a way out.

Mark nodded and reached out a hand, then bit down hard on his teeth as Boen dragged him out and up onto his one good foot, then he grabbed Mark’s arm and ducked his torso underneath, hefting him up into an uncomfortable fireman’s carry on top of his weapon’s rack, though the armor on Mark’s chest kept him from feeling the jabbing pressure. Boen kept his pistol in his right hand as he wrapped it around Mark’s good leg, trying to keep as much pressure off the bad one as possible, then in a crouching motion he carried him back the way he had come using his constantly updating battlemap to recall the route he had come in on.

Boen moved Mark back a third of the way through the artificial mountain before he finally set him down and took his own helmet off, with Mark following suit. To Boen’s surprise his face was bloodied, though from what injury he couldn’t be sure.

“You look pretty banged up, boss,” Boen whispered.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you.”

“What’s the condition of the base?”

“Holding. The Nestafar pulled back and are camped just a little ways yonder. We busted up so many of their walkers I think it put a hold on their plans, but we’re low on skeets.”

“What about the other entrances?”

“We’ve secured the auxiliaries, but they’re gaining ground in the tunnel and we can’t stop them. They’ve only got the troops hiding in the tunnel, because we’ve cut them off outside, but they got a lot of protomechs in there along with the infantry.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, could be through already if they caught a natural fissure. It took me forever to get here.”

“Thanks.”

“Haven’t got you out yet, and we can’t go back in through the main doors either. They’re sealed up real good by now.”

“Get a dropship to pick us up if we can get clear…assuming we have any left?”

“That’s the plan, but we’ve got a long way to go and most of it is above ground…and they’ve got patrols roaming the debris.”

“They’ve been after me ever since the crash. I dug out underneath the debris and tried to avoid attention but they found me halfway through. Couldn’t get at me with so much junk in the way, until they brought in one of the walkers and tried to crush me. Caught my leg, but I was able to pull free and find my way in here. It’s messed up pretty bad.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fine as far as I know, why?”

“Your face is bloody.”

“It’s from my leg. I had to go upside down several times crawling and it seeped through my armor.”

“You don’t sound like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“Only when I move, right now it’s just numb.”

“That’s a bad sign.”

“I know, and my body’s run out of ambrosia, so I’ve got those headaches to deal with and not enough to speed up my healing, though as bad as it felt when it broke I think I’m going to need a regenerator.”

“Which is up on the seda.”

“Details,” Mark said sarcastically. “Let’s get moving.”

“Don’t suppose we can chuck your armor.”

“If you can get the Nestafar to agree to not shoot me, sure.”

“Just saying, you’re fairly heavy,” he said, glancing around. “Reason for no comms?”

“Just didn’t want to give them a signal to trace.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Boen said, rotating his helmet around in his hands. “We’re going to need every advantage that we can get.”

Mark nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, putting his helmet back on and reaching a hand up for Boen to grab.





4





Ashley knelt next to the wall silently, pressing her ear against the bare rock as the other Archons and Scionate around her kept absolutely still.

“I hear it,” she said softly, looking up at Ske’rar. “They’re digging parallel to us.”

“We only have one choice if we wish to prevent them from breaking through,” the Scionate said in a frustrated snarl. “To go outside and fight our way back in…unless you’ve learned how to walk through rock.”

“He’s right,” Chase-918 agreed.

Ashley sighed then glanced up at the other Archon from her kneeling position. “You up for some running?”

“Always,” he said eagerly.

“Four man team, me, Chase, Less, and Terry. Everyone else keep slowing them down,” she said, standing up and walking back along the tunnel and accelerating up into a jog with the other three joining her.

Ske’rar also followed. “I will come as well.”

“So long as you can keep up, because we’re going on foot,” Ashley said, gradually increasing her pace.

“Why not use a transport?”

“Because I think the only reason the big boys stopped hammering on the front door is because they think they can get through the back one. If we land outside their tunnel entrance and pour in troops they might not be so confident and resume the main attack.”

“Regardless, we only delay the inevitable.”

“The more time we have the better, so let’s get what we can.”

“Very well, I will meet you topside,” the Scionate said, jumping over the Archons and landing in front of them lithely before sprinting off far faster than the Humans were capable of running.

“Showoff,” Ashley muttered.



Boen knelt down and gently dumped Mark off his back, setting him up against what was left of the corridor wall and moving forward a few steps to get a look at the exterior of the debris mountain. He poked his helmeted head out and looked around, seeing one patrolling Nestafar in the distance as its wingtips flipped up over top of one of the many junk piles dotting the area. It was now midday and brightly lit…and he still wasn’t sure how he was going to get Mark back to base out in the open.

The Archon looked around, trying to mentally plot out their first move after leaving the interior ‘structure.’ Part of him was glad to be on the way out because he was constantly worried that it was going to fall down on their heads, but even with his agility and speed, avoiding the patrols was going to be difficult and he was far less game carrying Mark on his back.

He spotted the last bit of cover he had used on the way in, but quickly nixed that path. He needed more, somewhere he could lay Mark down while he moved around, figuring he’d have to fight past at least some of the patrols. That said, the best of all available bad locations looked to be a slight overhang off to his right, down low enough for Mark to crawl under. It wouldn’t hold two of them, however, so he needed to plan this out as much as possible before they started to move.

Boen took a few steps outside, getting a better view with and listening for the sound of more patrols. Skulking low to the ground he moved out halfway towards where he was planning on putting Mark down and tried to find some place to hide himself, seeing a few possibles that had partial cover that he could duck back and forth between.

That was going to have to do, because there wasn’t much else to work with.

He headed back to the crack in the starship hull jutting up out of the landscape and ducked inside, bringing Mark out a moment later and walking as fast as he could down to the impromptu blind. He laid him down as gently as he could and the trailblazer pulled himself underneath as Boen ducked off behind cover. From there he bounced around from point to point, looking for another place to stash Mark as they began their long and hazardous journey back towards the base while the Nestafar patrols continued to sweep the area.



Ashley led the short line of Archons down the mountainside through the thick grasses on a controlled sprint, during which the Scionate merely loped along behind in its metallic armor, seemingly bored by the Humans’ pace. As for her, she was running hard the whole way down from the auxiliary entrance that had been held and pacified in the previous hours. As it was the tunnel incursion was the only active assault on the base…probably because it was the one deemed most likely to succeed.

The Archons remained silent during their run, not even bothering to chitchat over the comm. They wanted to be as covert as possible, hoping that their approach might go unnoticed long enough that they wouldn’t have Nestafar spilling back out at the entry point as they came down the slope without cover.

But she shouldn’t have worried, for when they got down to the multiple breach points there was nothing left alive moving about, only trashed walkers from the previous aerial assault that had driven the Nestafar troops inside the tunnels, protomechs and all. During the last few meters of the descent Ashley whipped her rifle off her back and slid to an almost stop before dropping off over one tunnel entrance and twisting around so she landed facing in while absorbing the fall by bending her knees and compressing down into a crouch.

She stayed there a moment as the others dropped down behind her, looking into empty tunnel, with Ske’rar pawing about behind them.

“Which tunnel shall we take?” it asked, seeing six spaced out, dug into the mountainside.

“You’re the one with the ears, you tell me,” Ashley prompted.

Ske’rar retracted his helmet, leaving only a control bit in its mouth. He sniffed the air several times and cocked his cat-like ears, then walked over to each of the other tunnels in turn as the Archons remained still and silent, knowing that any movement on their part would interfere with the Scionate’s senses.

“There is activity in four, the loudest of which is here,” he said, walking back over to the second from the right. “I believe it holds the digging device.”

“That’s our primary target,” she said, running over and past Ske’rar. “Let’s go.”



Kara watched from the Star Force column command center as another line of Nestafar dropships came down from orbit and began depositing more walkers, protomechs, and thousands of infantry into the LZ that slowly began to make their way up towards the base camp where the super dragon and the rest of the assault force were gathered…now revealing the reason why they had paused the assault.

The Archon knew they were screwed. Even if the southern bay doors could magically be repaired it wouldn’t be enough to hold back the coming onslaught. Though the walkers couldn’t all attack at once and would have to pick their way through the debris field, it was only a matter of time before they breached the entrance defenses again and sent in their infantry and protomechs. At that point there’d be a fierce battle inside, for they’d prepared well, but during which the breach in the doors would be expanded upon until the larger walkers could come through, at which point it would be game over.

They’d have to fall back to the columns, which were fairly defensible and thick enough that the walkers’ weaponry couldn’t penetrate all the way through, meaning the Nestafar would have to attack hand to hand inside, though the protomechs were small enough to fit through some of the corridors in ball mode. If they could find their way up to the ceiling hallways they could unfurl and walk about, given the size of the structure, which would force the Alliance to hole up in individual chambers in defensive actions against wave after wave of infantry.

She knew they’d make a good fight of it, and the Nestafar would be hard pressed to take down the Archons in hand to hand combat, but short of help miraculously appearing in orbit Kara saw no way to end this conflict aside from death or surrender…and to her knowledge the Nestafar hadn’t so much as contacted the Alliance to gloat since the backstab had begun, let alone offer terms for surrender.

And with Mark gone, their chances of survival had gotten that much slimmer. The only hope they had now was to take preemptive action before the base was overwhelmed. It was looking more and more like they were going to have to call for an evac from the seda, and getting the dropships by the blockade was going to require them to take the long route around the planet. Fortunately no more Nestafar Valeries had appeared in the skies, though there were at least a few squadrons left in orbit, helping to assure that another cargo ship didn’t drop down and obliterate their ground forces again.

She knew she had to do something, now, before events escalated beyond their control, but what options did she have?

Kara pounded her fist on the table once and stormed off, leaving a slight imprint where her armored hand had hit.

“Where are you going?” Sandra asked, pausing her earpiece’s audio for a moment as she directed the ongoing construction efforts at the southern bay doors.

“To do something really stupid,” she said, not sticking around to elaborate.

Half an hour later she walked up to the Protovic guards stationed in the Nestafar-dug tunnel, nudging her way past several Gnar and other races wanting access to the Keeper cave. When the other armored bipeds let her pass through there was a clamoring of protests but she didn’t care. The base was about to get sacked and all these poor excuses for pilots could think about was grabbing goodies out of the technological treasure chest.

She climbed down the ridged walls until the ground leveled out and made her way to the stasis chamber where she met up with Dre’for who was patiently guarding the sleeping alien.

“Mark has been shot down,” she said firmly, looking up into the slightly taller cat’s head that reminded her of a saber tooth without the big teeth. “That leaves me in command.”

The Scionate rumbled a low growl as it looked her silver-armored form over. “You want to wake the beast?”

“We’re out of options. The Nestafar just landed more troops and they’re on their way up to the base as we speak. We don’t have enough fighters left to hold them off, and I don’t know if we’re going to be able to stop the tunneling team or not. We need to see this through while we still have time.”

“What if all we do is unleash another enemy at our throats?” Dre’for asked, glancing back at the cryo-chamber and the huge lizard inside.

“I know there are no guarantees, but if that thing can help us I’m not just going to stand by and wait while everyone gets killed because of what might happen if we wake it up. By the way, have you figured out how to do so yet?”

The Scionate ignored her question. “The Nestafar once served the Keepers, it is likely that bond will be honored here. You will only add to our list of enemies.”

“They didn’t wake it up,” Kara pointed out. “And if it’s half as skilled as you all keep insisting they are, it could have helped them secure the base. Instead they leave it there, frozen, and start ripping apart tech.”

“I will admit that is a possibility, but not a certainty.”

Kara pulled off her helmet and looked up at Dre’for’s much larger head. “Everyone is going to die unless we do something radical. The Nestafar have us beat. What would you have us do?”

“I do not know, Human, but what you propose is too rash. Mark did not want it woken, nor do the Scionate. Focus your efforts elsewhere. We are not defeated yet.”

Kara dropped her helmet out of her left hand to hit the ground where it rolled off, as it did so her right hand came up into view holding her stinger pistol. With a flash of reflex Dre’for tried to move aside but for once the Human got the best of him. She drilled a green stinger into his forehead then tracked the big cat as it recoiled, pumping shot after shot into its unarmored head until it finally fell to the ground unconscious.

The Archon slipped the pistol back into its slot on her armor with a sigh. “I thought you’d say that.”

Kara walked over and retrieved her helmet, slipping it on before she set herself in front of the stasis chamber’s controls. She’d looked these over thoroughly when she was down here the last time and had thought she’d gotten the gist of it, but if there was a complicated revival procedure she could very well kill the thing because she couldn’t read a bit of the script on the controls.

She knew it wasn’t completely frozen, because there was active life support in the chamber and she’d stared at it long enough to see it complete a very shallow breath, but there had to be more than just the cold keeping it down, because there were no feeding tubes attached. Kara didn’t know how long it had been here, but even minimal breathing would have required calorie expenditure, so the machinery must have been sustaining it in some fashion.

There were four active systems, as far as she could tell. Without touching any of the controls she’d guessed out the means by which to turn it off and had discussed it with Dre’for earlier, to which he had disagreed with some of her assumptions. He had argued that if the beast had been put here for a reason, then there should have been a plan to wake it up, such as an automatic trigger. He didn’t think the manual controls were meant to be used, but since the thing hadn’t already woken up they were all she had available to work with.

Kara looked back at where Dre’for lay, thinking that she better move him off or else the thing might think about making a snack out of him. Deciding that was for the best she walked over and pulled the heavy alien off into another chamber, which the ridged floor made exceedingly difficult…plus he weighed a ton.

After getting him removed from the area Kara came back and took her best guess at a revival sequence and shut down the four active systems.

A flashing green light appeared underneath a small morphing hologram that she guessed was a countdown clock of some sort. Probably an automated release now that the life support was down. She wasn’t sure if hitting the button would speed it up or reverse what she had done. Flying blind she just went on instinct and pressed the damn thing…then a groan sounded and the clear barrier between her and the giant lizard retracted up into the ceiling, releasing a foul odor that made it all the way inside her helmet’s filters.

The lizard lay still, just as it had been, though the frost covering its body began to melt. Kara just stood there and waited, not sure what else to do. Maybe she had accidentally killed it, or maybe it was going to take a while to revive. She had no answers so she just stayed back and watched, circling around a bit to get various views, looking for any signs of life.

After nearly 5 minutes she saw it take a breath, much as it had been before, so she knew it wasn’t dead, thankfully. A minute later another breath followed, then another, and another…each with shorter intervals until it was up to one every ten seconds.

That was when Kel’sad came in so quietly that Kara didn’t detect his presence until he was only a dozen meters behind her.

“What have you done?” the Scionate growled, poised in a defensive lean backwards away from the sleeping giant, as if he was ready to run at the first twitch.

“If you don’t want to be here, leave,” Kara warned. “Take Dre’for with you. He’s napping around the corner.”

The Scionate’s face crunched up in a confused look, then he sniffed the air to confirm the proximity of his den brother. “You assaulted him?”

“We had a difference of opinion,” Kara said, keeping one eye on the Keeper and one on Kel’sad. “He’s unharmed, just unconscious,” she said, pulling out her pistol and pointing it at the Scionate. “It will stun through armor if necessary, but I would prefer I didn’t have to shoot you as well.”

“Have you gone mad, Human?”

“We’re all about to get killed when the base is overrun. We aren’t going to get another opportunity for this, so I had to act now.”

“What’s done is done,” Kel’sad growled. “Put your weapon away.”

Kara stared at him for a moment, then decided that he was genuine and slipped her pistol back into its storage slot. “The Nestafar are landing additional dropships. We don’t have much time. If this thing can help us, we need to find out.”

Kel’sad growled again, this time more so than the first, but not at Kara. The Nestafar bringing in more troops was a bad sign and he recognized as she did just how bad of a situation they were in.

On the opposite side of the lizard’s head, where neither Human nor Scionate could see, a crack appeared in the beast’s eyelid at the name ‘Nestafar.’





5





Ashley held up her hand to get the others to stop behind her as the tunnel suddenly branched off to the left. She approached cautiously, with nothing else in sight ahead of her, then poked her helmet around the corner and was suddenly staring directly into a row of ball-form protomechs parked in the side tunnel. They looked like perfectly smooth chrome orbs, but whether or not anyone was inside them she didn’t know…nor did she know where the entry hatch would be, because at a glance she couldn’t see any seams in the spheres.

They didn’t fill the entire tunnel, but it would be next to impossible to climb around one of them without scrunching through. She doubted Ske’rar could make it in his armor, and even though they didn’t intend to head off to the left Ashley was worried about what would happen if the protomechs followed them down the tunnel ahead.

“Trouble?” Terry-1055 asked.

“Have you seen Indiana Jones?”

“Yes.”

“Remember the giant rolling boulder?”

“Protomechs?” the Archon guessed.

“They’re parked to the left. I don’t know if anyone is in them or not, but if they come after us down the tunnel they’ll crush us.”

“You want to turn back and try another tunnel?”

A muffled growl from the Scionate indicated that he wanted to know what was going on, given that he wasn’t keyed into their helmet comms.

“Move back,” Ashley said, also giving the appropriate hand signal. “Time to poke the bee hive.”

The three other Archons did as instructed and retreated back up the tunnel a ways. Given the incline she hoped that if the protomechs came after them they’d be slow enough that they’d be able to run and stay ahead of them on their way back up to the surface. Going downhill further into the mountain would be suicide given that the rolling balls wouldn’t even need to propel themselves to gain speed.

Ashley jumped out into the side tunnel and shot the first protomech three times with her plasma rifle, putting tiny melted divots in the hull but otherwise having no effect. The thing didn’t move, at all, and Ashley fired five more times trying to provoke a reaction…but the thing was as dead as a giant marble.

“Ok, I guess they’re unmanned,” she said, walking up closer, ready to run at the slightest twitch of movement.

The others came down into view, Ske’rar included, as she tried to slide her body through the narrow gap between giant orb and tunnel.

“What are you doing?” the Scionate asked.

“Trying to find…never mind. There’s a walkway carved into the wall. Looks like they dug this offshoot just to store these,” she said, dropping into the narrow shaft that ran parallel with the tunnel. It stretched out down to what looked like a cross tunnel, suggesting that the Nestafar had been digging much more than a single route into the base, but rather establishing their own outpost of sorts inside the mountain where the Alliance fighters couldn’t get at them.

“Chase, Less, come through here,” she said, waiting for the pair to squeeze through the gaps and into the walkway. “Go cause trouble.”

“Happy to,” Less said, rubbing against the wall to get by Ashley with Chase right on his heels. She went back out into the protomechs tunnel and scrunched her way back through to the others.

“They’re the diversion, we press on to the digger,” she explained to Ske’rar.

The big cat nodded and followed her and Terry down the shallow angle of the descending tunnel towards the ever growing rumbles of distant machinery.



Boen tapped Mark’s shoulder twice, indicating that it was time to move again, then he reached down and offered his hand, into which the trailblazer put his wrist. With a heave Boen picked him up over his shoulders and stumbled his way through the debris field down a zigzaggy valley between big sections of what had once been the freighter and one of the spider walkers. He eventually set the Archon down underneath a hollowed out piece of the spider’s leg, then jumped off across the ‘road’ where he slid underneath a narrow overhang just before the wing beats of another patrol became audible.

Both Archons stayed perfectly still and waited. Before long one of the Nestafar flew by a meter off the ground, flapping hard to maintain its subtle hover as it danced from one point of view to the next, then slowly disappeared out of sight and sound. The pair waited longer, knowing that they couldn’t afford to get careless, then Boen moved Mark again, just another 50 meters up to where he found a tent-like overhang where two pieces of wall had fallen in on each other. It didn’t appear to be the safest location, but it was large enough to cover them both with room to spare.

Boen laid Mark down and dragged him inside, then reached back out and smoothed the singed dirt to try and erase the footprints and drag marks leading in. Everything was so fresh that most of the dirt was covered in bits of debris, but erasing even the smallest of signs tipped the odds away from the Nestafar finding them and the Archon was intent on making those odds as lopsided as possible.

“I can’t believe they have patrols this close to the base,” Mark whispered when Boen pulled off his helmet so he could hear better.

The Archon cringed. “Sorry boss,” he whispered back, “but we’re nowhere near the base yet. We’ve only moved about a quarter mile since we left the underground. We don’t exactly have a straight line back.”

Mark pulled off his helmet as well, then lowered his voice to make sure his normal compensation for the dampening effect wouldn’t carry over into his unhelmeted speech. “Where did you first encounter the patrols?”

“About halfway in…” he said, falling quiet as a soft rumble sounded. The faint noise gradually grew louder and louder until the foot beats were unmistakable. Boen put a finger to his lips, a reminder for Mark to stay quiet and still, then he gently poked his head out of the hole to have a look around. At first he didn’t see anything, then a bit of motion off to the left caught his eye. It wasn’t fully visible, given the debris in the way, but through several gaps he saw the flank of a protomech along with at least two Nestafar infantry flying just above its shoulders.

He pulled back in before they had a chance to spot him and moved over next to Mark. “Looks like they’ve added some firepower to the patrols.”

“Protomech?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re not going to halt the assault forever,” the trailblazer reminded him. “We need to get clear of here before they come back en mass. I’d say that was more of a scout than a patrol.”

Boen frowned and glanced around, more out of habit than trying to look, because there wasn’t much visibility available from where he was crouching. “How’s the leg?”

“Still no go.”

“Not what I meant.”

“It’s bad and not getting any better.”

“Dizzy?”

“Aside from the screaming pain…yeah.”

“You’re low on blood,” Boen commented, which both of them knew was bad. “We’re going to have to risk some longer runs. I was thinking about dragging you, but I don’t know how to do it without making your leg any worse.”

“Please don’t do that…” Mark pleaded in all seriousness.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. You got any ideas?”

“Follow the mech,” he said, leveraging himself up. “Now.”

For a moment Boen didn’t understand what he meant, then realization flashed in his eyes and he quickly pulled his helmet on and ducked out of the hideaway. Mark crawled out on his own and Boen picked him up again, listening for the location of the protomech and then heading that way, intent on getting in behind it.

He heard Mark groan several times from the bumpy ride, but he had to be quick to get in position and the erratic terrain wasn’t helping. It was daylight, which made their being spotted even more likely, but odds were they wouldn’t have one patrol following on the heels of another, so if they got in behind the protomech and its escorts, from far enough back, they might be able to have a clear run through the debris field…or at least in whichever direction the patrol was headed.

Boen remained silent, but he felt like uttering a whoop of joy when the backside of the short mech came into view briefly, then disappeared behind another pile of junk. He worked hard to stay close enough to it so that the sound of its footsteps would mask his own, but far enough away to keep out of sight most of the time. As it was, the Nestafar flying along with it had eyes front and to the side, not bothering to look behind where they had just passed.

Heavy as Mark was in his ranger armor, Boen was more than happy to carry him, feeling like each meter they progressed was an unmitigated victory up until the patrol turned to the east and was no longer helping them along. The pair of Archons ducked off to the north then started heading west before they came to a nook in the debris where Boen finally set him down before jumping off a few meters to the north and grabbing a better vantage point of the area.

Mark lay where he set him, pulling himself back in a few more inches and grimacing against the pain. It was numb, yet eye-piercing pain at the same time and he could feel his grip on reality fading, but as he lay perfectly still his mind began to restructure itself enough to gain control and bring him back into the moment.

Boen signaled to him that they were going to stay put a while, then pointed off further to the west, letting him know where they were headed next. After that it was just waiting and listening for more patrols, then back to the lethal game of frogger they were playing.



“I do not see how this helps,” Kel’sad said. “But here as it may be, let us see where it takes us.”

“Better,” Kara commented as a fierce headache hit her. She blinked away the pain, wondering what in the world had caused it, then she glanced back at the Scionate and saw him staring at the floor. “Are you ok? I just got a bad headache.”

Kel’sad didn’t move, as if he were frozen in place.

“Kel’sad?” Kara asked, walking over to him and gently poking him in the head…without a response.

Then to her left the lizard’s neck twisted, lifting its head up off the ground and rotating around so it could look at her across a 20 meter gap. It rumbled some language she didn’t know, the sound of which was truly frightening, but she held her ground next to the Scionate. It looked at her for a long moment, saying other things she couldn’t understand, then it seemed to grow disinterested in her and turned its long neck back towards its body as it strained to get to its feet, with multiple joint pops attesting to the length of time it had slept.

“Can you understand me?” she asked in the trade language, but it didn’t respond. She swallowed hard, then switched tongues based on something Mark had said earlier. “Gar cu ratch bey?”

As if struck by a bolt of lightning the lizard turned, unfurling huge wings that had been hidden by the way its body had been coiled up, and stared down at her. Kara smoothly pulled her plasma rifle off her back and held it at the ready across her chest, not aiming at the creature but making it clear she was ready for a fight if it was going to make one of it.

“Are you Ter’nat?” it asked directly, both of its huge eyes staring directly at the Archon’s helmet.

“Sort of.”

“Do not trifle with me,” the dragon warned. “Are you V’kit’no’sat?”

“We are enemies of the V’kit’no’sat, as I have been told you are.”

“Yet you are Ter’nat, are you not?”

Kara stared back at the creature, fear running through her veins at the sheer muscle power driving the thing and making her wish she was standing farther away, but she wasn’t about to abandon Kel’sad.

“We are not Ter’nat. We are descended from Zen’zat.”

The dragon recoiled a hair and cocked its head at an angle as if looking her over again. “That explains why I cannot access your mind, so you must tell me the answers I seek. Both Ter’nat and Zen’zat serve the V’kit’no’sat. How then can you be their enemy? Has a rebellion begun?”

“In the distant past, yes,” Kara confirmed, realizing that she was breaking the silence the Archons had kept on all things V’kit’no’sat for centuries, but if this dragon could speak the language then it probably knew more than she did. “A Rit’ko’sor rebellion resulted in a colony world being abandoned. My ancestors were left behind. We had no knowledge of the V’kit’no’sat until we recovered records of the past, and so far we have not encountered them across the galaxy, though we have not traveled far as of yet, but their old borders do not match those of the present. Where they are or what happened to them we don’t know.”

“Why then do you call them ‘enemy?’”

“We know that they do not tolerate splinter groups. If they find us, they will either kill or enslave us all.”

“They will not enslave you,” the dragon said as if it were common knowledge. “Rogue groupings are not tolerated in any form and are marked for eradication. Your survival is a feat of luck, nothing more. Whereas we were not so fortunate.”

That took Kara aback. “Before we get into a lengthy conversation I’d like to clear up one thing first…am I going to have to shoot you or not?”

A cross between a bark and a growl ripped from the dragon’s throat, then was gone as fast as it had been uttered. “I know of the conflict brewing above and of your imminent defeat. You shall not have to add me to your list of enemies unless you fire your weapon. I am weakened from my sleep and it might even hurt me.”

Kara recognized the arrogant nature of that remark and smiled. At least they had that in common.

“Your race was wiped out by the V’kit’no’sat…yet here you are. Explain. And a name would help too.”

“We are the Zak’de’ron, and I have no need to answer to you, little Zen’zat. You will answer me. What world are you from?”

“That I’m not saying,” Kara said, the headache suddenly returning. “What did you do to him?”

“His mind is easy to control, but yours is shielded. He does not know the name of your world, nor do those above. What is it?”

“We are alive because the V’kit’no’sat don’t know we exist, and we plan to keep it that way.”

“You believe they still exist, even though you have had no contact with them?”

“They were too powerful to have fallen.”

The dragon lowered its head down to almost floor level. “In that we are agreed, Zen’zat. The Rit’ko’sor would have hurt them, and hurt them badly if they chose to strike when and where I think they did, but it would have been little more than a distraction unless others joined them. Do you have any knowledge of this?”

“There were no others specified in the data.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “You recovered a planetary defense station.”

“Meaning what?”

“Do not try to hide it from me. I may not be able to access your mind, but I am not blind. Our data records are kept in few places, and knowledge of a rebellion would not have spread to a colony except through controlled channels. You discovered a planetary defense station and used your genetic legacy to access it.”

“Our data records?” Kara asked.

“You obviously haven’t studied them very closely,” the dragon said, a bit miffed. “We were part of the V’kit’no’sat until they turned on us. They eradicated our worlds and decreed that all must die, which is why I must know the name of your world. It is important.”

“That I can’t risk,” Kara said, feeling the gravity of the situation upon her. “I know the names of every race within the V’kit’no’sat. I have studied my enemy well, and your kind were never mentioned.”

The dragon’s nostrils flared with anger, but fortunately it wasn’t directed at Kara. “Killing our young is treason enough, but to rewrite history is beyond contempt.”

“Why did they turn on you?”

“Many reasons. Like your kind, we are not blood kin. We did not fully capitulate to the consensus during inception. We kept a portion of our identity intact, and that the others never forgave us for. The water dwellers never trusted those they could not control, and the smaller races relied on the elders to provide for them, so when it came time to make choices their voices were suppressed. We are Zak’de’ron first and always, V’kit’no’sat second. That was why they betrayed us, and that is why they will stop at nothing to hunt me down, so I ask again, Zen’zat, what world are you from?”

The headache returned a third time, as if the dragon were trying to reach into her memories without success. “Why does it matter? The V’kit’no’sat are no longer there or anywhere in the vicinity.”

“That is exactly why I need to know. From the size of the hole in their domain I can guestimate a sequence of events, but I must know where that hole is.”

Kara stared up at the huge beast, glad to have her helmet in between herself and its massive jaws, for it steadied her nerve a bit. “Tamprani.”





6





“Tamprani…” the dragon mewed. “But that is a region, not a world.”

“That’s as much as I’m going to give you.”

“Sufficient enough,” it decided, spinning around in place and giving Kara a good view of its long, muscular tail as it seemed to stretch out its various joints. “How long have I slept?”

“I have no idea,” Kara admitted, glancing at Kel’sad. “What have you done to him?” she repeated.

“His mind is not shielded as yours is. How long has your world been free?”

“Is he damaged?” she asked icily.

“He is paused,” the dragon said, staring the Human down. “How long?”

“About 100,000 years.”

Suddenly every fiber on the beast’s body tensed up, and for a moment it appeared that he had become as frozen as Kel’sad, then a low rumble sounded from his gut that quickly rose up to a screeching howl more terrifying than any sound Kara had ever heard.

When it ceased the dragon stamped its front legs down hard on the floor, looking severely stricken.

“Then I am the last of the Zak’de’ron,” it said, turning to face Kara again. “Zen’zat, I require your assistance.”

“How about you clue me in one what’s happening before you start asking favors.”

“Ask? You serve us, little one.”

“I said we were descended from Zen’zat, not that we are Zen’zat. We are Star Force, and we serve no one.”

“You serve their Alliance,” he said, gesturing towards the frozen Scionate.

“We work with them to counter a common foe.”

“Yes, these Cajdital, you call them. For such weaklings to dominate this area of the galaxy means the V’kit’no’sat must have suffered heavy losses, but still, we are not safe here. We must relocate, and for that I require your…help.”

“Oh, you’re asking now are you?”

“You have courage, little Star Force, but not wisdom. I could crush you easily.”

“And yet you seem to need my help for something. Odd how that works.”

The dragon huffed. “Your insolence is refreshing. Tell me, if the V’kit’no’sat come back to reclaim your world, what will you do?”

“Run,” Kara said without hesitation.

“You have already made plans.”

“Of course we have. We know their strength.”

“You do not, that I can assure you. If they seek it, they will destroy you no matter where you go, as they have destroyed us. If you are wise, you will abandon your world and flee to the edge of the galaxy, there they have no domain. Make yourself small and go unnoticed, for it is your only hope of survival…and the same is true for us, only greater so. You are insignificant to them, we are not. If they believe us dead then I have a chance to fulfill my mission, but I cannot remain here. I must flee as well, before they know to chase me. Do you understand this?”

“Who are you...to them?”

“A threat…one that they will not, cannot tolerate. For their treachery they know we will never forgive them, thus one of us must fall. They believe it to have been us, but here we survive, unknown to them. I can blanket the minds of the others, but yours I cannot. I must either kill or conscript you into silence, but given that we both will share the same fate if the V’kit’no’sat find us, I do not believe you are in a position to betray us to them.”

“You can erase their memories?” Kara asked, looking again at Kel’sad.

“Our power over the mind is formidable, even more so than the Oso’lon. It is one reason why they fear us so.”

“The Oso’lon have mind control?”

The dragon frowned, wrinkling its hairless eyebrows. “You do not know as much as I assumed. You must delve deeper into the information you possess if you seek to unlock their secrets.”

“We have been, but this is the first I’ve heard of any telepathy.”

“Their information systems are designed for use by those who already know, they do not teach as your Alliance does. Information is not given to those without the ability to use it, and those with the ability to use it will know how to find it. You must look deeper to find the answers you seek. Then, perhaps, you will recognize how hopeless your survival is on your native world.”

“They call you the ‘Keepers,’ why?”

“We conscript others into our civilization…something else that the V’kit’no’sat did not condone. Many of our conscripts referred to us as such amongst themselves.”

“You’re not conscripting us, I can promise you that.”

“We cannot, do you not see?” the dragon said, leaning closer with its long neck. “You are shielded from our power. The V’kit’no’sat changed the Ter’nat they recruited into Zen’zat so that none of us could manipulate you. You served us all, without bias. You were obedient, but independent. Zen’zat have no master, for the sake of all.”

Kara frowned inside her helmet, trying to make sense of this. “How many V’kit’no’sat races have telepathy?”

“All do. The Ter’nat do not because they are servants, but the Zen’zat were elevated to better serve. Your mind is blank to me, have you no skill?”

“Wait a second, you’re saying Zen’zat are also telepathic?”

“Much more than telepathic, though your ‘skill’ is impotent compared to ours. Your greatest asset is your shielding, but you should have some basic abilities. Zen’zat were forbidden from breeding so they could not pass them on to those who were unloyal. If your ancestors truly were Zen’zat, then you should possess the capability, no matter how many generations have passed.”

Suddenly all those episodes of X-files she used to watch started to pop into Kara’s head. “Ok…did not know that. So you ‘keep’ races of your own, you’re telepathically stronger than the other races, you kind of do your own thing…so why did the others put up with you as long as they did?”

“It was we who put up with them…do you not know how the V’kit’no’sat began?”

“Oddly enough, that wasn’t foremost in the datab…in the records.”

“There is no need to try and deceive me, little one. You could not access the ‘records’ unless you possessed ambrosia, and in order to know how to make it you would need access to the factories that produced it. Those only existed in one place in the colonies. Tell me, is your defense station fully operational or was it damaged?”

“The Rit’ko’sor trashed everything else on the planet, then submerged it,” she admitted.

“It was on land then? They broke the water ponds?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling a little spooked by how much he knew.

“The armor on the defense stations is extremely difficult to damage…and even harder to build. They could not have destroyed it if they wished, because they did not possess the weapons strong enough to do so. There is a hierarchy amongst the V’kit’no’sat, with weapons and technology divvied out accordingly. The Rit’ko’sor are at the bottom, though their numbers are immense. That is why they were capable of rebellion.”

“If you have an intact defense station, which I’m assuming you do,” the dragon continued, “you should also have access to the information nets?”

“No, they went down shortly after the colony was abandoned.”

“The relays must have been destroyed then,” he mewed. “That means they truly have withdrawn from Tamprani…but then they’d have to in order to replace the Rit’ko’sor. Your scraps of a race may have more time than I originally assumed, but beware, they will return eventually to reclaim what they’ve lost. At present they are unable to do so, but once their numbers rise again they will push back out towards the rim.”

“Why?” Kara asked, glimpsing something more there. “Why haven’t they taken the rim already? You said it was beyond their domain earlier.”

“The V’kit’no’sat are bound to the core and expand when they can. Without sufficient strength the Hadarak will strike, as they always have, thus they are bound to the front.”

“What are the Hadarak?”

“A curse on the galaxy. Beasts without reason that live in deep gravity wells. They have the power to alter gravity and can use it to hurl themselves across the stars. They have no technology, all is biology for them, and it was for our mutual defense against them that we created the V’kit’no’sat to counter, much as you have done with your Alliance.”

“We?”

“You have not discovered even that much? You truly do not know who we are?”

“There is a race known as the Les’i’kron that is similar, but there was no mention of Zak’de’ron. Mark thought you were a race the V’kit’no’sat had in the database that was exterminated, but that was before we could see your wings. I don’t recall what they were, but they were not listed as part of the V’kit’no’sat.”

“Les’i’kron?” the dragon growled. “What do you know of them?”

“Not much. They’re flyers, built like you but with a shorter neck and a double blade on the tail. Inhabit the coreward planets mostly.”

“Vile betrayers!” he said, tilting his head towards the ceiling and eliciting a huge plume of what looked like plasma from its throat. The material of the ceiling partially melted, dropping in molten globs down to the ground, some of which hit the dragon and bounced off, cooling as they fell…though it didn’t seem to care.

Kara didn’t say anything for a few moments, and waited till he’d stopped torching the roof before asking her next question. “Not friends of yours I take it?”

“They are a perversion,” he said, pounding his forelegs into the ground again, which rattled the whole chamber, though the somewhat soft material dampened the vibration from traveling further out. “The blades you mention were a genetic upgrade the V’kit’no’sat tried to force upon us. We refused, as we refused most of their demands. Les’i’kron means ‘subjugated one’ in our native tongue,” he said before launching another plume of blue/white fire at the ceiling angrily.

“They didn’t kill you, they…”

“Corrupted them,” the dragon finished. “I am still the last of my kind, but the others live on as perversions. I swear on the pyres of my ancestors this heresy will not go unpunished!”

“Who controls the V’kit’no’sat? Which race is dominant?”

“In the beginning there were three,” he said, controlling his anger though it wouldn’t abate. “The ground dwellers were led by the Oso’lon, the water dwellers were led by the J’gar, and the air dwellers were led by us, though we also controlled many land dwelling races. We were the dominant of the three, and organized for adding many more secondary races to grow the strength of the V’kit’no’sat. As we fortified the core worlds the Hadarak were pushed back, contained to their gravity wells where we could not pursue. It is because of this the V’kit’no’sat cannot leave the core, nor can they leave it under-defended.”

“Why then did they betray you? That would cut into their strength greatly, I would assume.”

“Indeed it did, but the V’kit’no’sat grew beyond us. They developed a common culture, one which restricted and bound all together in common cause. We were too powerful to be coerced, and they resented that fact. All must yield to the V’kit’no’sat, or else must be destroyed…but you are also correct about their needing our strength, because it seems they recreated us as the Les’i’kron to fill the gap in their ranks. I require the information you have on them.”

“Thinking about a rescue? I thought you were running.”

“If they have done what I believe they have, then there is no one left to rescue…nor am I able, but I need to know exactly what they have done.”

“What are the eggs for?” Kara asked, pointing in the direction of the other chamber.

The dragon’s nostrils flared. “Have they come to harm?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I didn’t take too close a look. What are they doing here? What are you doing here and what is this place? The Nestafar seem to want it pretty bad.”

“The Nestafar know nothing,” he said dismissively. “They foolishly seek to acquire technology they could never use. Given how we are pathetically lowered to equals in this circumstance, I will tell you why we are here, but the others will never know. That information cannot spread back to the V’kit’no’sat.”

“We know how to keep secrets, as you can imagine.”

The dragon huffed once, blowing out a few sparks. “You have not shared your find with the others in your little Alliance?”

“We have not shared that secret with our own people,” Kara countered. “Only a few know…those that can be trusted.”

“The Zen’zat were individually trained…though I would imagine yours reproduce wildly?”

“Unrestricted, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then most possess abilities they did not earn. For that alone the V’kit’no’sat will hunt you down and destroy you. Every last one. You will not be able to run far enough, nor fast enough, to stay ahead of them. Secrecy is your only hope, as was it ours. While we fought and distracted our former allies we sought to hurt them, delving deeply into the territory of those who dared to defy us, but they were united and we could not turn one against the other, for their fear of the collective was greater than their fear of us.”

“We knew that we were at a disadvantage, for their war caught us off guard. We did not share everything with the V’kit’no’sat, however, and our knowledge and power held them at bay for a time. Knowing that they would never let us live, we knew we either had to defeat them or escape them…so we planned for both.”

“I was entrusted with the escape, and with me a future generation. The only way we could escape was to no longer exist, so here we disappeared. My mind could be detected from space, so I had to slumber in order to insure there was no chance of detection. The galaxy is far greater than you know, Zen’zat, and it is easy to hide when you know how. As good of hunters as the V’kit’no’sat are, the odds are always with the hunted due to the boundless playing field. Because of this I was able to slip away and remain safely here without their knowing.”

“Until when?”

“Until I am summoned by the victorious others…or until another has risen up to overcome the V’kit’no’sat. I do not believe the Rit’ko’sor have accomplished so much, but we can no longer stay here now that you have found us, and I would be a fool not to take advantage of our enemy’s temporary weakness.”

“Wait, how were you supposed to know if the V’kit’no’sat were defeated if you were sleeping here?”

“That is a secret I will keep, little one.”

“So this whole place is a storage facility for you and your eggs?”

“No, it is a repository of all that we are. A seed for us to regrow from. I contain the knowledge, this place contains the power. A power that the Nestafar will not gain…nor will your Alliance.”

“Fair enough, not that we need it anyway.”

The dragon huffed again. “The power stored here is greater than that which the V’kit’no’sat wielded at the time I began to sleep, and I highly doubt they could have attained it since. We know all that they know, but they do not know all that we know. We only shared part of our knowledge.”

“By knowledge you mean technology?”

“By that question, you demonstrate how little you know.”

Kara sighed. “If you can leave the planet, does that mean you have a ship down here too?”

“Your primitive base will remain intact. I will not remove it.”

“It won’t be our base for much longer, unless we can find a way to stop the Nestafar. I assume you can control their minds as well?”

“Not all at once,” the dragon admitted, “but I can stop them. Will you give me access to your world’s knowledge?”

“Will you help us unlock the parts inaccessible to Zen’zat?”

“Though I think it will make no difference in your fate, I wish you to harm them as much as possible. We have an agreement, but knowledge of my presence must not spread amongst your people. I will only risk so much.”

“Knowledge of your presence would betray our own secret. We will keep it quiet, though it will take time to arrange. Our world is far from here and the site is…buried.”

The dragon spun around, swinging its tail over Kara’s head as it retreated to the back of the hibernation chamber. There it reached its four finger/claws on its right limb into a rack containing two rings, then it did the same with its left before walking over additional racks and doing the same on its back limbs. The eight rings in total began to glow cherry red in sync, clashing with the deep grey of the dragon’s skin…then all of a sudden the rings disintegrated and the powder-like material began to expand over its fingers and up its legs. Out of all proportion it gained speed and quickly spread across the dragon’s entire body.

The powder then began to solidify into hard plates…thousands of tiny, hard plates looking for all the world like red dragon scales, even up and over its wings and down its face, making the giant look even more intimidating than it was before.

“Stand aside,” it told Kara.

She glanced at Kel’sad and saw him walking off as well, still in zombie mode, and chose to get out of the dragon’s way as it climbed down and sank its claws into the ridges on the floor, pulling itself along towards the exit and out into the corridor. The Scionate held position off to the side, but Kara gave his frozen form another glance before running off, hopping from one ridge to another as she followed the dragon off elsewhere into the underground caverns.





7





Ashley was partway down the long tunnel and just beginning to see activity in the distance when Ske’rar confirmed her suspicions.

“They are ahead and waiting for us. Several dozen at minimum behind barricades and heavy weapons,” he explained, using his enhanced eyesight, though whether that be from biology or the advanced armor he wore the Archon didn’t know. “The digging machine is a short distance behind them. If we can get past these it is ours, but we will be running straight into their concentrated firepower. I can only block for you for so long, after which it will be up to you to subdue them.”

“Bad plan,” Terry commented. “Ash, please tell me you have something better in mind?”

In response Ashley slowed her decline-enhanced run and reached back to pull the compact rocket launcher off her back, exchanging it for her rifle.

“That’s better.”

“We need your weapons for the digger,” Ske’rar warned.

“We need to be alive when we reach the digger,” Ashley countered when a comm line opened.

“All teams engaging the Nestafar in the tunnel,” Kara’s energetic voice said, “pull back. Repeat, pull back. The Nestafar are coming out. Let them go for now, I’ll explain everything later, but it’s urgent that you do not get in their way or engage them. Pull back now.”

“What the hell?” Ashley commented. “Ske’rar, hold up,” she said, raising a hand and skidding to a halt. The big cat did likewise just ahead and turned back questioningly, but Ashley was already contacting Kara.

“We’re about to blow the hell out of their digging machine,” she argued.

“No need, kiddo. It’s coming out too.”

“Quit calling me that, I’m as old as you. And what do you mean it’s coming out?”

“They’re breaking off the assault and don’t ask me why, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. For now just get out of the way.”

“Copy that,” she said, reattaching the rocket launcher. “Can you see any movement up there?”

The Scionate turned around and stared off into the distance. “Nothing we can exploit. Why have we stopped?”

“We’ve been called off. Apparently the Nestafar are withdrawing from the tunnels.”

Ske’rar did a double take. “Has some form of an agreement been reached?”

“I don’t know, but something is up. Can you tell whether or not they’ve stopped digging?”

“I can still feel the vibrations, can you not?”

Ashley rolled her eyes, unseen beneath her helmet. “Ok, dumb question. Can you see anything else going on up there?”

“Nothing. They are holding position behind their barricades and the machine continues to advance…”

“What’s happening?” Terry asked.

“They are walking out of cover,” the Scionate said as the audible vibrations began to wind down. “And coming up the tunnel.”

“Armed?” Ashley asked, straining to see the tiny figures in the distance.

“Yes, they are carrying their weapons, but their movements are slow. They are also disassembling the heavy weapons…and the digger appears to be reversing direction.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ashley whispered. “Let’s stay ahead of them,” she said as they began to walk back up the tunnel. “Less, Chase…where you at?”

“Heading out, you?”

“We’re in pretty far and pacing the digging team on its way out. What’s happening up there?”

“They stopped fighting a minute after Kara’s message came through and just started walking out to the surface.”

“What about the protomechs?”

“They haven’t showed up yet. We’re trying to beat them out just in case.”

“Meet you outside,” Ashley said, accelerating into a jog. “The rest of their troops are retreating out of the tunnels,” she told Ske’rar.

“This is very odd,” he commented.

“No kidding, but as long as they’re not digging forward let’s play along. Kara knows more than she’s saying.”

“Agreed. Are you fatigued?”

“No,” Ashley said with confused look under her helmet.

“Then I suggest we increase our speed and get to the surface as quickly as possible.”

“Go ahead,” she prompted. “We’ll catch up later.”

The Scionate huffed, a sign of agreement, and tore off ahead of them eager to find out what was going on.



Boen lugged Mark around one last piece of engine that he been flung from the crashed ship, climbing up the shallow ridge that it had cut into the ground on impact and stepping across a narrow line of ashes…then they were back into the grasslands that covered the planet and finally out of the debris field.

“Put me down.”

“Gladly,” Boen said, dropping the trailblazer onto his good leg and helping him stand in place with a firm grip on his arm.

“You see anything?”

Boen looked around the perimeter, but there was nothing aside from grass and mountain ahead of them and debris behind. To the south they could see the edge of the Nestafar encampment, with the walkers barely registering as dots.

“I don’t want to jinx us, but I think we’re clear.”

“Call it in,” Mark prompted as he lowered himself down to the ground, grimacing as his broken leg was forced to bend an inch or two. “See if they’ve got that mantis repaired yet, though if I have to I can ride on the top of a skeet.”

“Not a half bad idea,” Boen said as he activated his comm, thinking that whatever pilot they had fly out here could change places with Mark and let him fly back, then he and Boen could head in on foot rather than risk a dropship. The one surviving mantis had been hit badly, and he figured it wouldn’t be fully operational any time soon. The idea of sending it out wounded to get them was problematic, considering the protomechs and rocket launcher-toting infantry the enemy had in the area.

Mark pulled off his helmet and keeled over to the side, throwing up as the pain finally won out against his stomach. Fortunately there was no blood in it, but his insides now felt almost as messed up as his leg.

Boen looked down at him, but knowing there was nothing he could do short of organize his extraction he didn’t comment.

Mark spit out what gunk was left in his mouth then his arms started shaking. For a moment he thought it was due to his weakening condition, perhaps shock setting in, but the vibration in his arms was also in his half numb leg, making it complain in an entirely new fashion, which was when he realized it was the ground that was shaking.

“What’s that from?” he asked, not in a position to get up and look around.

“I don’t know, but it’s close.”

The tremors increased until a section of hillside below them disappeared. Mark couldn’t see it well, hidden in the grasses, but a tunnel mouth appeared with no dirt or debris being thrown about. As if by magic the hollow formed, out of which a red-scaled dragon climbed and stood upon the grasses, stretching out a huge set of scaled wings.

“What the hell?!” Boen asked, taken aback. “That can’t be the one…”

With a wicked flap of its wings and a muscular leap off the ground the dragon took flight and rose up a short distance, thereupon it stretched out its wings to their full grandeur and hovered in place, looking down on the Nestafar camp, the debris field, and everything else in view as it rotated its long neck around.

Suddenly both Archons got a surge of pain in their minds along with words they did not recognize, but whose meaning they somehow understood.

The pain disappeared as soon as it began, but the words flowed, instructing all those near to cease fighting…with the unmistakable threat of doom should they dare to disobey.

“Boss, can you hear that?”

Mark nodded, his nerve already weakened by his injury. The power of the mental contact was so great that he was stunned into silent awe as he stared up at the enormous beast that somehow was staying aloft without flapping its wings.

“Hey, you still with me?” Boen said, kneeling down next to him without completely taking his eyes off the dragon.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Mark said, blinking away both pain and the tears welling up in his eyes. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. “Might want to delay that pickup for a while…till the skies are clear.”

Down in the Nestafar camp where the pair of Archons couldn’t see, the enemy pilots of the nearest walkers began exiting their war machines while the infantry around them, clearly intimidated by the dragon’s words, looked about, confused as to what was happening. Then one of the giraffes on the back edge of the formation, apparently unaffected by the dragon’s mind control, tilted its head around and fired a red plasma blast at the distant aerial target.

The shot missed badly due to the range, but it prompted several more to follow, along with missiles launched from a pair of spider walkers. Those tracked directly to the dragon and impacted it on the chest and wings, blowing apart in a short-lived fireworks display that left the dragon exactly where it had been. Boen and Mark couldn’t see what damage had been done, for they were on the wrong viewing side of the attack, but they didn’t miss the subsequent roar of rage, both audial and mental, that ripped forth from the great beast…followed by it flapping its wings and rising higher up into the sky as more plasma and missiles came in at it.

It flew in lazily towards the camp and halfway there stalled out briefly, flapping its wings forward once violently, which resulted in some sort of clear ripple through the air that crossed to the now moving walkers in less than two seconds…and knocked them off their feet as if they were toys. The super dragon tipped over as well, falling on its right side and crushing a protomech that got swept up underneath.

The zombified Nestafar in the ruins that could see what was happening suddenly snapped out of their haze, turning their weapons on the dragon or heading towards it for those that were out of firing range. The remaining upright walkers in the camp began heading towards the dragon, firing as they went…then the leaders would stop their advance and weaponsfire as their minds were frozen once again, though it seemed that combat was significantly diminishing the dragon’s ability to hold as many minds inert as before.

“Get that transport in here now,” Mark urged, watching the dragon sweep its wings again, this time towards the ground from overhead and crush one of the stalled spiders with the invisible concussion wave as rounds of plasma were hitting its red scales and appearing to do no damage whatsoever…though it was difficult to see from such a distance. Regardless, the dragon wasn’t thwarted and continued to quickly break up the overflowing camp of enemies that Mark and the Alliance had been about to be overwhelmed by. How one aerial craft, dragon or not, could be so powerful filled Mark with a mixture of both dread and inspiration.

“Already on the way,” Boen said, lifting Mark up to his feet. “You feel up to flying?”

“Not really,” Mark said, tearing his eyes away from the carnage below for a moment. “What did you do?”

“You’re flying back, we’re running,” he said, catching a glimpse of reflected light from the top of the mountain as a skeet zipped over the summit. “Three minutes and you’ll be in the air.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, for more than just the good news.

Boen nodded, but didn’t say anything until the skeet got to their position and landed. When the hatch opened Liara hopped out on top and helped Boen lift Mark up and into position, which took some doing without leveraging his bad leg. Still, getting it over the pommel and into position hurt him badly, but once down on the seat he was more than happy for the tradeoff.

“Doors are open,” she told him from behind his head as he reconfigured the controls so he wouldn’t need to use his bad leg. “Put her down by the column, we’ve got people standing by.”

“Better step back,” Mark warned. “I’m a bit shaky.”

Liara smiled beneath her helmet, but her mirth was still evident in her voice. “At least now I can say there was one day I was a better pilot than you.”

She slid down off the skeet and ran around it to where Boen was already climbing the mountain at an angle to get to the nearest auxiliary entrance a few kilometers away. They both glanced back as the skeet slowly rose up into the air and shot out ahead of them…then the Archons picked up the pace, turning the ascent into a mixture of workout and race, eager to get back inside and away from the dragon.

“Do you know what’s going on with that?” Boen asked, thumbing back over his shoulder towards the one-sided battle.

“Kara’s doing. She was starting to explain when you called for pickup.”

“Is that the same one that we found below?”

“Sleeping beauty it is, and she brokered some sort of deal with it.”

“Score one for Kara,” Boen said, feeling slightly less at risk but still wanting to get back inside as quickly as possible.



The Zak’de’ron landed in the midst of what had been the Nestafar camp, lifting up and crushing one of the giraffes without even touching it. The walker simply levitated then collapsed down into a rough ball, which was then thrown into a nearby spider, denting and knocking it off its feet as another telepathic wave shot out to those in the immediate vicinity.

“Submit!” he warned, “or I will destroy you all.”

A group of flying infantry fired a pair of rockets towards the dragon, but a pyre of blue flame shot out from its throat, vaporizing both rockets and the Nestafar that had fired them.

With considerable mental prodding the minds around him began to cave…not him overriding their control of their own bodies, but submitting to his will and command, once again becoming the Zak’de’ron’s servants as they once had, though he knew such servitude would be short lived if he could not also control those in orbit above.

The minds elsewhere were also in turmoil, but a quick check of those at the tunnel entrance confirmed that they were still obeying his orders, though the aftereffects were beginning to wear off. He sent another surge of telepathic energy their way, furthering his tenuous link binding them to his will. So long as the Zen’zat or their pathetic allies didn’t fire on them they shouldn’t be able to break free of his control…and if the fools did, the outcome would serve their stupidity well.

The dragon walked over to one of the broken spiders and lifted it up into the air by apparent magic and loosed a stream of fire into the side of it, melting straight through and cutting the machine in half. It threw the two pieces aside in concurrence with another telepathic wave, this one reaching even further in range and he felt the outlying troops submitting in turn.

A few dozen at a time he contacted directly, imposing his will and command on them until they fully submitted, then he withdrew the focus of his mind while leaving only a tiny monitoring tendril behind. In such a way the dragon quickly and efficiently conscripted the surviving Nestafar troops to its command and had them abandon their machines, then fly back over to their LZ while he trashed their walkers beyond repair, both as a demonstration of power and in order to take away their means to fight should they shuck his mental control as he contended with the others.

Eventually he returned to flight, relishing in the battle and the freedom of the air once again after having slept for so many countless years. He stayed aloft for some time, picking off the minds of those Nestafar that had remained behind at their landing zone, including the pilots of the dropships on station.

From them he also learned many secrets, now that he had the time to pry into their memories. He learned of the assault in orbit and the victory of the Zen’zat in the defense of their orbital station. Crude as it may have been, the design and tactics employed were sound, befitting their ancestry. He had always wondered what the Ter’nat would become if taken off the V’kit’no’sat’s leash. The other races had deemed them stupid and unworthy of peerdom, but then again the Zak’de’ron viewed the other races just the same.

The Ter’nat had been primitive savages when the Hjar’at had discovered and conquered them, then they were ‘elevated’ to mere primitives and allowed to reproduce as a labor force, given their small size and dexterity. They learned quickly, however, and soon became valued slaves that the other races demanded be shared. The Hjar’at complied, and the Ter’nat became wards of the V’kit’no’sat. The Zen’zat had been created so that their new slaves could better serve the more advanced duties needed of them, as well as making them at least minimally useful on the battlefield and had proven remarkably adept for such primitive origins.

They were still inferior, as all were to the Zak’de’ron, but the dragon knew they were not so inferior to the others. He would have liked to have conscripted these rogue Zen’zat, but their shielded minds would prevent traditional conscription and he did not have the time necessary to absorb their race in the means that would preserve their usefulness. A pity, for he would very much have liked to teach them the ways of warfare and throw them back at the V’kit’no’sat…but that was not an option. His race’s survival depended on secrecy and flight. Perhaps one day, millennia from now, he would see to their revenge.

The Zen’zat were on their own and doomed to failure, but it was gratifying to see them making inroads of their own where the V’kit’no’sat had said they were totally inept.

The little ones’ battle station had done well to destroy so many of the Nestafar warships, but many still remained, including their jumpships that contained too many minds for him to overwhelm directly. Conscripting them all would take time, and he could not allow any of their ships to flee the system with knowledge of his presence…meaning he had to act quickly before they recognized the threat and ran for their lives.





8





Out of the ground another tunnel formed and an object hurled forth…this one much larger than the dragon and deep blue in color. It flew up to where the Zak’de’ron was hovering above the Nestafar LZ and impacted it, twisting around and transforming into some form of exoskeleton that covered the red armor scales and turned the dragon into a much larger beast 3 times its original size. Once the fluid machine had encased it the beast shot up into the sky, leaving the Nestafar on the ground to continue loading into their dropships as previously instructed.

The blue of the additional armor began to glow brighter as it rose up into space, ending with a flash of light that left it neon in color. From there it flew up to where the Nestafar fleet was waiting and passed them by, heading directly for the distant group of jumpships parked in a higher orbit.

The Nestafar warships tried to move to intercept the dragon, but it was far too fast…making them seem as if chess pieces it could run around at its leisure. Even the Valeries escorting the warships couldn’t keep up and before they knew it the Nestafar commanders had the image of a blue, glowing dragon staring down at them from outside their jumpships.

“You will submit,” the powerful mental signal shot forth to all those onboard the jumpship the dragon was perched over. There were thousands of individual minds onboard, all of which heard the dragon’s thoughts as if it were standing behind them and breathing down their neck as it spoke. “Or I shall destroy you. Disarm and stand down now. This world belongs to me and you shall not claim it.”

He could sense the reactions of the jumpship crew, mixed as they were, as well as their confusion…but the rest of the Nestafar fleet was not so affected and the warships that the dragon had blithely flown past were now catching up, with their fighters hanging back, probably because of the carnage they had witnessed on the surface.

From the minds onboard the jumpship the dragon drew much information, including the communications occurring between the ships, indicating that they were indeed going to strike.

“Submit,” he repeated, focusing on the minds within the jumpship as some of its weaponry was beginning to come online. Soon those batteries deactivated as he cherry-picked minds to assert control over and gradually the tide of sentiment on the ship began to shift into compliance as he bathed them in telepathic influence…but he could not fully conscript them before the warships arrived, so he linked the jumpship commanders’ minds to his and released the others, then flew off to intercept the approaching warships.

The glowing armor that the dragon was encased in increased in intensity drastically, becoming a harsh point of light rather than a shape, so fierce that it hurt all eyes that viewed it. It flew directly towards the leading warship and cut through it…passing into the front hull and exiting out the back as if nothing had stood between it, though the hole it tore straight through the core of the ship testified otherwise. It banked to the right and rammed another Nestafar warship out of the dozens that were approaching, coming down on one of the ship’s wings and tearing clean through, only to arc back up and go through the other one, leaving two giant holes in the ship as if playing with it as the dragon repeated its mental summons, this time stretching out so as to touch all the Nestafar ships in orbit.

“Submit,” he repeated as he lazily flew towards the next closest ship…but this one shut down its weapons in a hurry and the dragon pulled off, buzzing the warship but not damaging it as he felt its crew wisely relent.

Others did not and fired upon the dragon…or tried to. It was moving so fast that they couldn’t land any plasma on it and their missiles simply disintegrated when they hit the fierce point of light, never getting a chance to detonate.

Suddenly one of the other jumpships winked out, making a microjump away from the planet. On cue the attacking warships spread apart and fled, with all the other jumpships save one running away. Only three warships remained behind, all complying with the dragon’s mental demands, and then the Zak’de’ron suddenly vanished as well, with the point of light disappearing in a flash heading outward.

There was no more time left to try and conscript these fools, so the dragon abandoned its mental links and chased after the jumpships who were wisely heading separate ways, tugging at various planets in the system to spread themselves apart from one another as they all headed by circuitous routes towards the system’s central star…from where they hoped to escape the system.

He couldn’t let that happen, for knowledge of his presence would spread, not just from the stories told but from the images captured from the surface and in space. Those he could not let go or they would likely find their way to the V’kit’no’sat and all his years of sleep would be for nothing. He must maintain secrecy or all would be lost!

Catching up to the still accelerating jumpship was difficult, but soon he rammed into its hull and disappeared inside…with the gravity drives cutting off almost instantaneously. His glowing blue form punched out the port side, temporarily diminished in glow, then arced around tightly as it regained its terrifying brightness and punched back inside.

In and out the dragon traveled like a bee buzzing through a hive, tearing apart the giant ship until it was no longer capable of response…then he landed atop it and summoned all the power he could muster. The blue glow quickly disappeared, returning the dragon’s armor to its deep blue that almost disappeared against the blackness of space, then the ship began to move, towed along by the dragon as it changed its course and headed it into a spiral that would land it in the star. It took far longer than the dragon wished to yank the ship into the proper alignment and as soon as the proper mathematics were reached it released its hold and disappeared from view in a blur of motion as it shot off in pursuit of the next closest jumpship.

One by one it killed the fleeing jumpships, but could not redirect them all in the short space of time it had, so it left some of them free floating while it tracked down the others, then went back and pulled all of them into degrading orbits that would eradicate all traces of the dragon’s presence from their databanks when they burned up inside the star.

After that he tracked down and conscripted the fleeing warships, each of which was too weak to flee the system on its own, though two tried. He tracked them down over the next few days and destroyed them in transit between the stars, for he didn’t have enough power to redirect their masses at such a speed mid jump. He did have the power to redirect himself, however, and flew back into the system and rounded up the surviving warships and lone jumpship, corralling them into a low orbital zone and systematically wiping their memories and databanks of every trace of his presence.

The Nestafar ground troops were recalled to the jumpship, as were the warships, though there were too many left to fit inside. The crews of those ships that would have to be left behind were transferred over to the jumpship, then the dragon set it on its way, escorting it all the way out to the star and holding mental control over its bridge crew until the jump was made and the last of the Nestafar were removed from the star system.

After that he returned to orbit and began wiping the memories and records from the Alliance ships, though the Canderians were beyond his influence. The dragon was taking a chance leaving them alive, but they were at even more risk from the V’kit’no’sat than he was…and he needed the intelligence they had on the Les’i’kron. Their databanks, however, he did wipe. Interfacing with their computer systems remotely and scrubbing all applicable data before they even knew he had hacked in, then he covertly traveled back to the surface, not appearing on any of the ship’s sensors.

Once there he began wiping clean the memories and sensor records of all Alliance personnel and equipment, including Star Force’s, leaving the minds of the Zen’zat with the only traces of his existence as he roamed about in the catalyst below their base, inspecting the eggs and seeds under his care and insuring that no harm had come to them. Several days later the Zen’zat he had spoken with before came down to the tunnel that the Nestafar had dug and stood over the spot that had once led down into the catalyst, which the dragon had since resealed.

“What do you want, little one?” Kara heard its voice speak inside her mind.

“We’ve repaired the orbital transmitter and sent a message requesting transit back home, but it will take some time before a jumpship arrives,” she said aloud to the tunnel. “And even when it does it will take months for one of us to return home and make preparations for your visit.”

“So I assumed.”

“Will you be staying here or traveling with us?”

“I will travel by my own means. You need only give the time and location.”

“Will you speak with Mark?”

“Concerning what?”

“The V’kit’no’sat.”

“You need not concern yourself with those you cannot defeat when you have another war before you. The Nestafar have not only attacked this world, but many others in your neophyte Alliance. Yours are too far away to become targets, but your allies were to come under attacks simultaneous to this one. They have sided with those you call the Cajdital, in exchange for a guarantee of safety when the war escalates. They intend to disrupt your Alliance, sabotaging your growth and coordination so that the Cajdital will have less of a challenge when they bring the full might of their pathetic forces against you. Concern yourself with these things, not the V’kit’no’sat, or you won’t even live to see your inevitable doom.”

Kara considered that revelation for a moment, knowing how screwed up it meant the Alliance had just become. “Will they be coming back here?”

“Those I sent back will discourage it, but they may. I will not be here to save you a second time, so prepare.”

“Out to the rim then?”

“To Earth…from there is not your concern.”

Kara laughed. “And here you had me thinking I could keep that from you. We did notice the hack, by the way. Very subtle.”

“Your memories will be all that you keep. Nothing else of my presence will be allowed. Not here, and not on Earth. Make sure your Mark understands this.”

“Tell me this…when your race returns to the galaxy, will we be enemies?”

“You will not survive that long, so it is a pointless question to ask. Take your people and run to the rim, far from the core and these Cajdital and hide yourselves away from the galaxy. Do that, and I can promise you we will never cross paths again. You will have no need to fear us.”

“We are warriors,” Kara corrected him. “If we run and hide it will be for strategic advantage, not out of fear. We will not be dominated.”

“Nor shall we, and we learned our lesson of trusting allies.”

“No, you just chose the wrong ones.”

“You are not in a position to judge, Zen’zat. The Nestafar betray you and several others are poised to do the same if the situation alters. Build your own strength, do not rely on your allies for it.”

“What do you mean, others?”

“I have seen their minds. A common enemy has brought you together, but that bond will not last once your worlds start to burn. The Calavari will not betray you, but trust no others. I would recommend you conscript them soon, before the Nestafar wipe them out, for it is they that the hammer blow will fall the hardest on. The Nestafar will hit them from the core, then at a chosen time the Cajdital will strike out from the rim and crush your ally, leaving the others untouched, confused, and scattered. Your Alliance is doomed, your enemies have planned well. Take what knowledge I have given you and use it to survive what is to come.”

“How soon is this to happen?”

“When the Calavari buckle, the Cajdital will come. If the Nestafar cannot accomplish this on their own their agreement with the Cajdital will be nullified, thus they will push as hard as they need. You know your ‘ally’ better than I, so make your own judgment as to the timeframe.”

“Anything else we need to know?”

“Many things, though I do not have the time.”

“Catching up on more sleep?”

“There is much work to be done, for us both. If the need arises I will summon you.”

“Bye then,” Kara said in her best impression of a 15-year old girl, sensing the short conversation had come to its climax. She sighed and began to walk away when the ground in front of her opened up a tiny shaft, peeling aside as if the dirt and rock were but blankets to be unfolded. Out of the chasm a small, clear jewel appeared, floating up into the tunnel seemingly under its own power.

Suddenly the left glove and gauntlet of her acolyte armor disconnected and pulled off, levitating beside her…then the jewel shot out and attached itself to the topside of her wrist, burning into place and depressing into her flesh. The pain passed as quickly as it began, then her floating armor pieces jumped back onto her arm and relocked into place as the hole in the ground resealed.

“A gift,” the dragon’s voice droned in her skull, twice as powerful as before. “I miscalculated and did not leave sufficient defenses around the catalyst. This world was empty when I set to slumber and the entrance concealed in rock. Your Calavari carved through the rock and opened the access way, though in their ignorance sealed over it during the construction of your base. The Nestafar reopened it during their attempt to create a covert entrance to the base from which to assault it from. Had you not awoken me, they or your Alliance would have plundered the catalyst.”

“What you carry now is the same augmentation that the Zak’de’ron’s Zen’zat possessed. They were stronger than the rest because we trained them to be so. You are not so skilled, so with the emblem I have given you genetic knowledge that will slowly unlock as you earn it. Do not attempt to remove the emblem or copy it, it is protected from both.”

“Wait a second, I didn’t agree…”

“We are finished. Aside from providing the coordinates for my arrival on Earth, we shall have no further contact.”

“What the hell did you just do to me?” Kara asked, pulling off her armor’s glove and looking at the tip of what looked like a large, flat diamond set into the bone just shy of where her hand lifted up. She wiggled her wrist around, finding that it didn’t hinder her movement, though it did press up on her armor’s gauntlet a bit.

There was no answer from the dragon. His voice had left her mind and she would never hear it again.

“Wonderful,” she said, apparently talking to herself. “I hate jewelry by the way!”

Kara pulled her gauntlet off and tossed it on the floor, then pulled off her helmet, ignoring the harsh air as she looked over what the idiot had just done to her body. The skin around the edge wasn’t bleeding or charred, which surprised her because she could have sworn it had sealed thermally. Her pale flesh met up with the edge perfectly, and the jewel was centered on top of her bone. It had no sharp edges, but several faces, the center of which was a septagon, ringed by dozens of other tiny shapes. It was beautiful to look at, but as she pressed the side of it with her other hand she confirmed that it was firmly attached and not going anywhere.

“You punk-ass dragon! Take this off!”

But there was no answer, and there never would be. She would wear the jewel on her arm, despite several attempts to remove it, for the rest of her life.





9





February 8, 2400

Jartul System

Daka



“Quit smiling,” Mark told Boen as they were running the halls of the Alliance base.

“Can’t help it. I like beating you.”

“Technically…we’re even…right now,” he said, huffing in between words.

“That won’t last long,” Boen promised. “As soon as we hit that turn it’s game on. I’ve given you a month to get back in shape, now no more coddling.”

Suddenly Mark elbowed him in the gut, causing him to stagger for a few steps as the trailblazer sprinted off towards the turn.

“Cheater!” Boen yelled with a smile, pressing to try and catch up with him before the turn…but it was no use. Mark had timed his ambush perfectly and got to the sharp bend in the hallway that led back towards the Star Force complex elevator entrance first, rounding the corner and accelerating a bit more as he disappeared from Boen’s view for a split second.

The other Archon followed him through, finding his quarry a few more meters distant than he’d expected, but he dug down deep and sprinted evenly, catching up centimeter by centimeter down the long hallway and eventually pulling even with Mark. No more elbows were thrown, as the trailblazer was moving at maximum speed and a delighted Boen found that he had just a little bit more left in the tank. He pressed himself up to maximum sprint and pulled ahead, smiling as much as his straining body would allow.

He flashed by the elevator entrance a good two meters ahead of Mark, then gradually decelerated in a long, triumphant runoff, circling around and jogging back to where his friend was bent over and breathing heavily.

Before he could gloat Mark stood up straight and touched his earpiece, apparently getting a message.

“Go ahead,” he said heavily, still trying to catch his breath.

“Are you ok?” Sandra asked.

“Running…what’s up?”

“Hycre fleet just arrived in orbit. Warships and a jumpship ferry for us.”

“Good,” Mark said, relieved. “Tell them we’ll be ready to go within 24 hours.”

“Copy that.”

Mark deactivated his earpiece and looked up at Boen. “When I get back, I am so gonna kick your ass.”

“Promises, promises,” the second gen Archon mocked. “Until then this victory stands. So please…take your time. Assuming that was a call about the Hycre arriving and not just you going to get a snack?”

Mark nodded. “Warships and jumpship just arrived.”

“I hope some of them are sticking around.”

“I would imagine so. This facility is too important to lose.”

“What are you coming back with?”

“As much as I can,” Mark said, starting to walk over to the elevator. “And another thousand pilots, at least.”

“How many are rotating out?”

“Just six, and those are special cases.”

“Including Kara?”

“Yeah, I hate to lose her, but she wants a more in-depth analysis of her trinket. Can’t say I blame her.”

Boen and Mark walked into the elevator as the doors opened. “I’ve got final packing to do. Send someone down to tell the dragon the ETA is 6 months.”

“How’s he going to fit?”

“We’ll have to do some remodeling over the entrance shaft,” Mark commented as the elevator whisked them down into the Star Force complex.



Paul kicked hard, using the prosthesis linking his legs together into a mechanical tail to propel him through one of the underwater hoops with his arms pointed over his head to break the water. As soon as he passed through he tore his hands apart from one another and used them to anchor him in place as he rotated around and dove straight down, kicking hard until he reached the bottom of the lake and tagged the finish pedestal. A holographic number appeared in the water next to him, indicating his time was a multiple of 2.3 of Ariel’s recent course run…meaning she won, again.

His goal was always to pull inside of twice her speed, but today she had done remarkably well, improving her best time by more than 2 seconds and leaving him with even more ground to futilely try to catch up with.

“A decent attempt,” the Elarioni said as she swam up beside him, seemingly effortlessly, as he floated at the bottom of the lake holding onto the pedestal for orientation, “but you are still rigid.”

Paul responded through his mask, which both gave him air to breath and acted as a translator for the mermaid’s native language. “That’s because my back doesn’t bend like yours does.”

She stared back at him with her glowing gold eyes, made all the more intimidating in the near darkness so far away from the sunlight. “Stretching…now,” she insisted.

“Ugh…I had to open my mouth, didn’t I?” he said, using his arms to ratchet his body around into a plank position horizontal to the lake bed while he held onto the pedestal with his hands. Ariel swam up and pressed her forearm down on the small of his back while prying up on his knees. Paul felt a joint pop, then the all too familiar tension as his body was forced to contort in a manner it didn’t like.

She seemed to like doing it to him, however, because he often caught her smiling as she did so. He figured it was payback from all the workouts he had her doing to maintain her self-sufficiency, though she had previously said it was interesting to get her hands on such an awkward and rigid swimmer and that she just felt compelled to loosen him up a bit.

Paul had concluded that she’d picked up a bit of his sarcasm over the years, because she often made fun of him for being so awkward in the water. She, on the other hand, was a virtual gumby. One day she’d had him perform the same flexibility drill on her and he was dismayed when he literally was able to wrap her body up in a ball, with her just looking back and smiling at him as he did so. Then again, having cartilage instead of bones did give her a decided advantage.

“Ow,” Paul moaned as she pushed a little farther than his back wanted.

“Now kick,” she instructed, loosening up slightly on her prying. He managed a weak flicker of his bound legs and she pushed in on a precise spot of his back with two stiff fingers. “Quicker now.”

Paul felt something pop, then his legs loosened up considerably and his micro-kick became fluid and regular.

“There, that’s better,” she said, holding him in place. “Practice the small motions correctly and they will build into the larger ones.”

“You know I’m never going to be able to swim like you, right?”

“Just as I knew I would never live this long,” she countered. “Now kick, a thousand reps. I will keep count, just focus on maintaining the proper movement.”

“Kill joy,” he mumbled, but she only smiled at the complaint while maintaining a firm grip on his waist and upper legs, limiting his range of movement while using her tail to maintain her attitude in the water. He worked through the exercise diligently, trying to keep his movements within necessary rhythm though Ariel had to pry him back into alignment several times. Eventually he reached the 1000 mark, after which she released his legs and pulled him upright.

“Arms,” she ordered, with him putting his wrists back over his head for her to grab with one hand while still holding onto his waist with the other, then she pressed her chest into his back and pulled with both arms, bending him out like a bow, during which he felt another couple joints pop. “You are so inflexible.”

“Not…built…for the…water,” he reminded her amidst the strain.

“That’s no excuse. Taryn is much more flexible. In fact, you’re the worst of all your brothers and sisters.”

“You haven’t…met…all of them.”

“They say you’re the worst, and I believe them.”

“I think…Ian…is in competition…for that title.”

“Would you agree with that?” Ariel asked.

“Agree…with what…myself?”

“No, Paul is by far the worst,” Mark said, swimming up to them skillfully. “He just doesn’t like the water for some reason.”

“Who…is that?” Paul asked, unable to see from his position but vaguely recognizing the voice being transmitted through the commlink in their breath masks.

“One of your brothers that I have not seen in a long time…and one of your better swimmers,” Ariel said, releasing Paul from the stretch and swimming over to embrace Mark. “It has been too long.”

“Sorry I don’t visit more,” he said, feeling her slick hair brush over his neck as she pulled back.

“What brings you back?” Paul asked, awkwardly swimming over to the pair as he massaged the small of his back with his left hand.

“What’s the latest you’ve heard?”

“About what?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “I thought the Hycre would have gotten word to you by now.”

“The Bsidd are dragging their feet getting the relays built, so we’re still five links off the grid. What’s going on?”

“The Nestafar have allied with the lizards and are attacking Alliance worlds, Daka included.”

“What!?” Paul asked so fiercely that a few extra bubbles escaped his mask.

“I’m told they’re specifically targeting the Calavari, and that when they’ve got them weak enough the lizards are going to come in for the kill, splitting the Alliance apart and taking the rest of us down piecemeal.”

“How do you know that…wait, you said Daka was hit, how bad?”

“Pretty bad, but we only had a few Star Force casualties. We did lose Vitor and Enrich though.”

“Status of the system?”

“In Alliance control. The Hycre brought in a defense fleet and the seda is still intact. The base was damaged but we held it just long enough to get some extraordinary help.”

“What help?” Paul asked, swimming up within a meter of Mark and all but forgetting that Ariel was beside him listening in.

Mark turned to the Elarioni. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to steal Paul away for a few months. We have to take a trip back home.”

“If you must,” she acquiesced.

“Just out with it,” Paul insisted.

“Kara invited a dragon to the pyramid,” he answered bluntly.

Paul looked at him through the water as if he had gone nuts. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“We’ve learned a lot more about the V’kit’no’sat…from a dragon…that used to be part of them.”

Ariel’s face contorted, hiding her usually bemused demeanor with a scowl of rage. “They are here?”

“No, they’re not. And it’s a long story, but to summarize, the dragon we found…”

“Found?”

“Underneath the Alliance base,” Mark said offhand like Paul should already have known. “Was originally part of the V’kit’no’sat, a race called the Zak’de’ron…which, by the way, were transformed into the Les’i’kron, after they were defeated after the V’kit’no’sat backstabbed the Zak’de’ron, who was one of three races that originally formed the V’kit’no’sat as a defensive alliance against the Hadarak. Savvy?”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Paul said, trying to comprehend what Mark was saying.

“Kara is the one that got the information out of him, and she got a nice jewel stuck on her wrist as a thank you. Anyway, we’re meeting the dragon on Earth so we can let him into the pyramid because he wants to know what the V’kit’no’sat did to his race, because he’s been sleeping all this time in some form of doomsday egg cache…which is what was underneath the base that the Nestafar found and wanted bad enough to send a huge warfleet out to get, seeing as how they used to be a subservient race to the Zak’de’ron a long, long time ago, which they and most of our Alliance refer to as Keepers.”

“Ok, just stop already,” Paul said, holding up a hand that twisted his floating body aside. “Let’s continue this on dry land.”

“See,” Mark said to Ariel, “he doesn’t like the water.”

“I know the name ‘Keeper’ from Elarioni history. They were a magical race that had many others serving them…then they vanished from the galaxy, leaving behind artifacts that were highly sought after. The Eulersol claimed to have been one of their former servants, but that assertion was doubted by many.”

“You’ll have to tell me that story later,” Paul said, thinking hard. “Whose bright idea was it to give this dragon access to the pyramid?”

“That would be Kara, but I agree with her reasoning and I’m hopping on the next jumpship headed that way. The Hycre just dropped me off here a few hours ago.”

“What’s her reasoning?”

“The dragon agreed to unlock the restricted portions of the database…if we agree to keep its presence a secret. Apparently our minds are shielded to its mind control, so it couldn’t wipe our memories. Instead of killing us, its trusting us to keep our mouths shut so the V’kit’no’sat don’t find out that it survived.”

“And here I thought you would be bored on some backwater world…” Paul mewed. “Ariel, can you get us back up there. We’ve got a lot to do and I don’t want to waste time.”

“With me?” she finished, then smiled to let him know she was only joking. “Alright, but I want to know what’s going on as soon as you get the chance…before you leave.”

“I promise,” Paul said a moment before she grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him up through the water at incredible speed…though lesser than normal because she had Mark in the other hand. As they angled up towards the surface they passed by several of the glowing hoops marking the obstacle course they had been working on earlier then they moved through an empty section of water until several small lights began to appear in the distance.

Those lights eventually grew into the underwater architecture that Ariel had helped Star Force design and build. It functioned as both a prototype testing facility as well as underwater embassy and city for the lone Elarioni. Inside it she conversed with Star Force Archons and engineers, continually helping them to upgrade their aquatics division, in both military and civilian applications.

She pulled both Archons up into the structure and through several tunnels before depositing them in a shallow pool with an underwater staircase leading up into the dry land segment of the small city. They eventually got their footing and climbed out after Paul disconnected the prosthetic from his legs. Ariel poked her head up out of the water and waved to them, which both Archons returned graciously before walking out of the room and up towards the surface pad where Mark had a mantis waiting.

“Dragon?!” Paul asked/yelled after removing his mask.

“Crazy, I know, but it’s true. It saved the Alliance from the Nestafar ground assault, mentally forcing some to retreat and killing the ones that wouldn’t. It also wiped all computer records of the battle, but a few people saw it first hand and, if that’s the kind of firepower the V’kit’no’sat have we don’t stand a chance in hell of even scratching them. It did say, though, that the Zak’de’ron were more powerful than the other races, but still, if they could defeat them then we’re sitting ducks. It also singlehandedly took out their warships and jumpships.”

“How big of a dragon are we talking about?”

“Big…like, dropship big.”

“And where is it now?”

“It said it would rendezvous with us at Earth, and we’ve only got a few months to get back there and set things up. We’re going to have to remodel the factory to let it in.”

“It has a ship?”

“It is a ship…don’t ask me how. Some sort of transformer-like armor add-on. Kara said it also had armor that extruded from rings on his claw/fingers.”

“Did you talk to it?”

“Never got the chance. After it kicked the crap out of the Nestafar it sealed itself away and no one on the base knew it had ever existed except for us. Really creepy knowing it can do that.”

“Why are we shielded?”

“Zen’zat.”

“What else haven’t you told me? Did Kara come with you?” Paul asked as they walked up the boarding ramp and into the back of the waiting mantis.

“Only to get her trinket examined. She’s not heading back to Earth.”

“What trinket?” he asked, then realized that she was sitting in the back of the mantis waiting for them.

Kara held up her left arm and pulled back the sleeve, revealing the diamond-like jewel inset there. “This one.”



Many weeks later, back on Daka, the ground underneath the Alliance base began to shake with a steady and low hum that coincided with all the external sensors going offline simultaneously. Those Alliance pilots in the air at the time flew away from the western edge of the base and would have no recollection or sensor data afterwards to confirm what had happened, but a pair of skeets were in the air at the time and, though their sensor data also went ‘missing’ their eyes weren’t blocked from seeing a series of holes in the mountainside open up as worm-like tendrils extruded themselves from the rock that then somehow reformed behind them, leaving the mountainside untouched save for a bit of displaced grass.

On the surface the worms floated up into the air and coiled together into a long chain that then doubled back on itself and pulled together to form a donut, not unlike the original Star Force command ships, save for this one did have a small hole in the center. The massive construction floated above the surface for a moment before the dragon came up out of the ground from another disappearing tunnel, then he flew around the contraption as if inspecting it before flipping over and landing in the small center opening, whereupon the machine appeared to swallow it up with hull morphing to cover the previous hole.

The catalyst then rocketed off into the sky, heading into space and leaving Daka for good. It traveled across the star system until it set on a distant jumpline that would head straight to the Solar System, then winked out of existence as it set off across the galaxy, leaving behind only a handful of individuals that had memories of ever setting eyes upon it.





10





August 4, 2400

Solar System

Earth



Mark ducked under a left cross then exploded back up into the holographic opponent’s midsection, tossing the artificial Zen’zat to the ground while staggering to stay on his own feet. The taller opponent hit hard and rolled across its shoulder, spinning back onto its feet just as Mark kicked its legs back out from under it with a low roundhouse. He pulled out of his spin and leapt up into the air and came down on his opponents back with a stiffened elbow, feeling it give slightly, then the hologram disappeared and he smacked his elbow on the ground.

He glanced up at the statistics floating above the control console, then was startled to no end when the dragon’s voice suddenly thrust into his mind. “I am here.”

Mark jerked back, falling on his butt a meter back from where he had been laying before he realized what was happening.

“Where’s here?” the trailblazer asked aloud.

“In orbit. Have you made the necessary preparations?”

“Yes, but it will take a few moments to remove the camouflage.”

“Do so, then I will approach.”

“Alright,” Mark said, getting to his feet and grabbing his earpiece from atop the console. He slipped it in and ran out of the training chamber, heading down to the lower levels in the pyramid. “He’s here. Open it up.”

Down in the command deck, on one of the Star Force work platforms they’d constructed in the gaps between the V’kit’no’sat pedestals, Davis frowned deeply when he heard Mark’s message. “Orbital tracking hasn’t shown anything. How do you know?”

“He just telepathically told me.”

“Very well. Where are you?”

“Heading down.”

“Do you want me to wait until you’re here?”

“I’ll be there before he is. Where are the others?”

“Working on the database a few pads away.”

“Don’t wait on me.”

Davis turned to one of the many Star Force techs roaming the work area. “Retract the cover.”

The man’s face blanched. “Is it here?”

“So I’m told.”

He nodded nervously and walked off to a station where he began making contacts within the network of installations that they’d set up within the pyramid, one of which was to the security station guarding the topside entrance that had recently been carved out of the foodstuff factory that set overhead.

“We have incoming,” the Knight in command told the Star Force security team stationed on the rooftop around the entry corridor. “Retract the roof.”

“Let’s hope nobody’s watching from space,” the woman next to him said, triggering the snow-covered square plate to separate along the mid seam and gradually scoot off to either side, revealing a deep chasm that part of the pyramid was visible through. Down through the gap the hollow angled off to the left and out of sight where the main entrance to the pyramid sat, given that the Zak’de’ron was too big to enter through the Zen’zat levels.

After several minutes the cover panels locked into place, fully revealing the exposure as the 50 man security team searched the skies for any sign of the dragon, cloudy as it was. A few heartbeats later a giant red mass burst through the grey clouds and fell down towards them like a meteor. The security team reflexively ducked for cover as the dragon’s wings spread wide and braked its decent less than 200 meters overhead, then it tucked them into the hollows on its back and fell down through the open doors, planting its massive feet on the green/black stone of the pyramid and crawling down through the fairly tight pathway Star Force had cut out for it.

“Holy shit,” one of the security officers swore nearby the Knight, as many others did around the perimeter checkpoints.

“Focus people,” he reminded them over the comms. “We have a duty to perform. No one gets in, so keep your eyes on the perimeter and not down in the hole.”



Paul drove his mongoose over to the main doors with Morgan on his back just as the dragon came down outside and pivoted around to face in. Both Archons’ eyes widened at the spectacle, then as it walked through the giant opening on the pyramid’s exterior the red scales covering it suddenly began to disappear, rolling down its body like a sheet of water until they collapsed into a series of rings on its claw/fingers, revealing a deep grey flesh underneath.

Its giant head swiveled to look down at the pair, then walked on by without further interest, heading through the huge walkways that now seemed aptly sized towards the command deck where Davis and the others were waiting.

“Wow,” Morgan commented as its whip-like tail disappeared up around a corner as it scaled a ramp and Paul began to motor after it from a safe distance. “He didn’t even say hi.”

“I hope Mark knows what he’s doing.”

“Ditto.”



Davis stood on the observation platform, some three stories up from the floor of the command deck when the dragon entered, yet still he was below its head height. Without so much as a word it walked around several of the platforms that Star Force had built and went straight towards one of the larger pedestals, the ones reserved for the Oso’lon, in fact. It climbed up over the steep edge with a simple step, then Davis saw three mongooses pulling up behind it as the onsite trailblazers followed it over.

He made the conservative decision to stay put and let them handle the situation, realizing that even a haphazard step by the beast could crush him…but he did open his comm lines to include all six of the Archons so he could listen in on what was happening.



Mark got off the back of Greg’s mongoose and ran up the side steps to get on top of the pedestal as the dragon stepped onto the large circle imbedded into the pad and stood in place, distractedly twitching its tail.

It stayed like that for some time, long enough for all six trailblazers to arrive and mount the pedestal, taking up position amongst the Zen’zat control consoles.

Jason nudged Mark in the ribs, which he returned in kind.

“It’s your dragon,” Jason whispered.

“He’s not exactly the talkative sort,” Mark said, grudgingly accepting the roll of ambassador. “Are you into the system?”

“It will require a considerable amount of time,” the dragon said, eyes closed and concentrating. “Our access has been removed, therefore I must create a new entry path.”

“You have a mental interface?”

“Holographic.”

“Different ambrosia, different access?” Paul suggested.

“So he’s hacking in?” Jason asked, just to clarify.

“Beats me,” Mark said, shrugging.

“Zen’zat…take your place at the controls,” the dragon said, still not looking at the Humans.

Morgan responded instantly, stepping up in front of one of the control boards. “What do you need?”

Suddenly a plethora of images flashed into her mind, then they repeated more slowly, allowing her to work through the operations step by step.

“Ok,” she said, turning on the console and having a hologram activate in front of her. She used various keystrokes on the luminous creation as well as on the control boards to dig into parts of the database she had never seen before, ultimately coming to a code prompt…at which point a very long and odd code entered her mind. It took her more than five minutes to put it into the system, but when she did suddenly the area around the circles on the pedestal where the dragon was standing filled with holograms, several of which were moving in unusual ways as if…

“He’s telekinetic,” Paul said in a whisper.

“Why?” Jason asked.

“Those are control keys,” he said, pointing up at the holograms forming an arc around the dragon’s head and front torso. “He’s pressing them to interface with the computer systems.”

“Why are we seeing them?” Taryn asked.

“Something I did,” Morgan answered as she also continued to enter commands the dragon was mentally feeding her.

“Do they all have Jedi powers?” Greg asked.

“Kara said it said we did too,” Mark pointed out. “So my guess would be yes…which explains how they interact with most of their technology.”

“And here we thought we did everything for them,” Greg said, shaking his head as he watched the dragon whip through command sequences on the holograms far faster than any set of hands could have. “Morgan, is he talking to you?”

“Quite a bit. I’m having to focus to keep up.”

“Shutting up,” Greg acquiesced, turning to face Mark. “He can’t understand English, right?”

“Kara didn’t think so, and he doesn’t appear to be able to pull information from our memories…but he did ransack our computer systems, so I wouldn’t put it past him entirely.”

“And you said he kicked the crap out of a Nestafar army?”

“Not looking like this. He was wearing some sort of armor.”

“He has it on now,” Paul interjected. “Those rings on its feet are the armor. It flew in wearing it, then took it off at the door.”

“That’d be cool,” Taryn added. “And I like jewelry anyway.”

“Is that what he gave Kara?” Jason asked.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. Last she said was it was a lump of crystal giving her weird dreams. They’re doing a thorough analysis on Corneria, but short of cutting off her hand and regrowing it they haven’t found a way to take it off.”

“I hope she’s not stupid enough to try that?” Taryn asked, eyeing Mark.

“Don’t look at me, ask him,” he said, deferring to Paul.

“She won’t,” he said confidently. “She’s thinking about it, but in the end she isn’t going to hack off her own hand.”

“Saber taboo?” Greg asked.

“Unless it’s harming her in some way,” Paul added, ignoring the Star Wars jibe.

“He is here to help, right?” Jason asked, returning the subject to the dragon. “I mean, he’s not going to activate the internal defenses, kill us all, and reclaim the planet for himself?”

Paul glanced over at the trailblazer. “Do we have internal defenses?”

“Not that I know of, but who knows what’s in here that we haven’t found. Mark?”

“I think he just wants the information then will be on his way…besides, he’d already discovered where Earth was from our computer records. Better to invite him here than have him force his way in.”

“Good point,” Paul said, trying to figure out some pattern to the morphing holograms surrounding the front side of the dragon. “Does he have a name?”

“Not that Kara knew, no. And he wasn’t talking to anyone else.”

“Why isn’t she here?” Taryn asked.

“Because she’s pissed off with him for sticking that jewel on her wrist without permission,” Mark explained. “And the fact that he won’t take it off.”

“He said it contained genetic knowledge?” Greg asked.

“Something about that. Kara didn’t completely fill me in on that part.”

“You could just ask him,” Jason pointed out.

“Woo,” Morgan exclaimed happily, “yeah baby! We now have core access.”

“That was fast,” Taryn said, stepping over to Morgan’s console and seeing the familiar holographic structure of the database…along with several new tendrils added.

“As agreed,” the dragon said, finally turning to face the tiny Zen’zat, “you now have full access. This one will show you how to use it. I require more time for my own purposes, and I do not seek further questions. Take what I have given you and learn from it.”

With that the dragon’s head twisted back up towards the holograms and a series of new display nodes appeared as it began researching the Les’i’kron and other matters pertaining to the history it had missed out on while sleeping.

It stayed there for several hours, investigating much more than it had planned. There was a wealth of data stored within the database that post-dated his slumber, including some subsequent reports on the Rit’ko’sor rebellion that continued to be logged up until the communications net had been taken down. Included were several reports of massive Rit’ko’sor fleets that the V’kit’no’sat had not been aware existed, and as such the little vermin had succeeded in catching the other races off guard along the periphery. Wisely they had not tried to claim star systems, but rather simply destroy all that they came across, wiping the V’kit’no’sat from several regions before a counteroffensive could be organized.

Shortly after that point the net had been severed and the defense station had no further records, but the last few entries pointed to a massive war with nearly even casualties on either side, which truly surprised the Zak’de’ron. His estimates for the V’kit’no’sat reclaiming this region of the galaxy had been overly optimistic, and now he saw that the Rit’ko’sor rebellion might have even caused a forfeiture of the central band.

If that was the case he had a significant opportunity before him…a pity he hadn’t awoke sooner, but he hadn’t anticipated a rebellion from within weakening the V’kit’no’sat. Frustration at lost time aside, he needed to get the catalyst into position and begin their regrowth. Vengeance was on the distant horizon and the time for slumber was gratefully over.

Using his rings the dragon downloaded and transmitted a wealth of data off into space where the catalyst lay, then it closed down the system and retreated off the pedestal, ignoring the few questions the Zen’zat asked of it. He walked back to the ramp, gracious enough not to step on their crude structures along the way, and headed back to the exterior entrance.

With a thought he activated his rings, which spread back out over the dragon’s body in a sea of red plates, fully obscuring his skin and giving him the anti-grav boost he needed to easily climb up the crude tunnel the Zen’zat had dug. When the opening appeared above him he leapt up, wings tucked, and tore through the hole and into the sky, not bothering to look back at the forgotten colony. He headed straight up into space, lingering only long enough to hack into and jam the sensors of the ships and stations in orbit so that his passage would go unnoticed.

He flew out to high orbit around the planet where he rendezvoused with his exoskeleton. The blue material formed around the red armor and obscured it from sight, then in a flash its gravity drives shot him off to the edge of the star system where the catalyst lay waiting. He merged with it and made a short jump back in to the system’s star, then from there he launched himself and his precious cargo out towards the edge of the galaxy and far away from both the V’kit’no’sat and the rogue Zen’zat.



A month later Kara was still on Corneria, taking the opportunity to undergo some heavy training while she waited for transit back to Daka along with a host of other pilots. Star Force and the Alliance had decided to heavily reinforce the system rather than abandoning it in light of the new war they were having to fight against the Nestafar. Sales of the Valerie to the enemy had stopped, of course, which meant that the more of the fighter craft they were able to kill the weaker the Nestafar starfighter corps would become…and given that that was their greatest weakness, it was deemed an even greater priority for the Alliance to increase its starfighter acumen, which it would need to counter the formidable Nestafar armies.

The Calavari had all but elevated the Humans to peer rank in the Alliance to replace the Nestafar, so far as Daka was concerned anyway, and Star Force was ready and willing to step up into the position of co-leadership on the starfighter front…even though they only used aerofighters, but even that was no longer a concern, given the defensive effort they’d mounted against the Nestafar to secure the Alliance base.

In their allies’ minds the Nestafar had seen they were outmatched and capitulated, leaving the system in favor of a much larger assault later or never to return again. Either way it was a significant victory, despite the betrayal and the losses suffered. No mention of the dragon or the subterranean caverns was ever made, for he had indeed removed it from their memories. Star Force didn’t fill their allies in on the truth, but chose to keep it to themselves. If word did somehow leak back to the V’kit’no’sat that a dragon had been spotted it could hasten their return, and that was something they could not afford to have happen.

As such, the aerial theatre of this growing war was becoming more and more Star Force’s turf, and Mark had asked for much more in the way of resources and personnel be sent to Daka to spearhead the effort. Kara had chosen to return because of this, knowing that on Daka she could probably do more to help the war effort than anywhere else…at least until Star Force decided to start pushing back against either of their enemies, in which case she’d be among the first to transfer to the front lines.

While she waited for transit she focused little on flying, taking the opportunity to train with the commando and mech experts in the system and use them to really push her to the limits, as well as to get their critiques and advice on how to advance her skills to the next level. It was during one of her commando training exercises that involved her dodging tiny bouncy balls that really stung when they hit that she got a glimpse of the ‘gift’ that the dragon had stuck her with.

Not able to dodge all of the balls and seriously regretting the ones that she let get through, Kara began twisting evasively while trying to catch or deflect the ones she couldn’t miss with her hands rather than let them hit her head or chest. When one came in on her left, headed for about neck level and her body was already moving the wrong way from dodging another, she brought her arm up to block it but didn’t feel the impact sting. Thrown a bit by what must have been a near miss she continued dodging the next few that came in until her eyes went wide with shock as she noticed the large piece of red covering the back of her hand.

She got hit several times by balls she didn’t block, one of which was particularly painful that caught her on the right cheek, before she deactivated the training scenario with a voice code. No longer having to worry about the tiny little pain inducers, she stared down at her arm, getting a two second examination of the scale-like armor segment before it retracted back into the jewel.

She held up her arm and stared at the thing, mentally trying to make it come back out but failing.

“Ok, you just got a lot cooler,” she said as her mind raced through various training methods she could employ to prod the thing. “Now let’s see if I can get you to do that again.”





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