Ascendant of Berongar

Forged Alliance Book 4

Anthony James

Contents

Terrani – Hakarul Base

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

© 2021 Anthony James

All rights reserved

The right of Anthony James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

Illustration © Tom Edwards

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Terrani – Hakarul Base

The Hakarul military base was monumental on a scale that put shame to any other human or Daklan facility to which the word was applied - the sort of place in which military personnel might conceivably remain for the entirety of their service without ever having to set foot outside the base perimeter.

Huge buildings of unpainted alloy formed what were effectively entire cities, while the landing strip and construction yards were expansive enough that smaller countries from Earth’s dim and distant past would have fitted within the Hakarul boundaries.

Having recently returned from a mission to the Landnir system – a mission which resulted in great success tinged with equal sadness – Captain William Flint found himself consigned to Hakarul, where he waited to learn what fate had in store for him. It was, he knew, only a matter of time before his pocket communicator buzzed with a message that would introduce him to a new mission.

Despite the risks, Flint was desperate for it to happen.

On this morning – five after his return from Landnir, Flint rose from his bed in one of the multitude of buildings assigned for use by senior officers. His room wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was originally built to house Daklan and that meant it was a fraction larger than the equivalent on a human base.

It wasn’t only the room which was intended for the hulking aliens, but the furniture too. The bed was huge, the desk – complete with communicator device – was oversized, as was the toilet and shower, both of which were situated in a linked room.

As he cleaned his teeth, Flint shivered in the chill air. He didn’t know if the Daklan genuinely preferred low temperatures – after all, Terrani was somewhat cooler than most other populated planets – or if they thought subjecting themselves to the cold made them tough. Nobody could accuse the aliens of being anything other than stoic, so maybe there was some truth in this latter guess.

When his teeth were clean, Flint looked in the mirror while he shaved off the stubble he’d recently neglected. The man who stared back seemed older than the one he remembered, though he thought the tiredness he’d carried with him from the Ancidium and then into Landnir had finally gone. A Frenziol flush in one of the Hakarul medical facilities not long after his arrival on the base had finally allowed him the blessed mercy of sleep, and he’d taken advantage of the opportunity.

Splashing icy water on his face to get rid of the soap made Flint shiver again, but it reminded him he was alive. He felt once more fully alert and he had a tingling feeling that today would be the day he would hear something from high command – probably from Fleet Admiral Recker directly, since the man had finally swallowed his pride and relocated to Terrani after helping to finish off the last members of the Kilvar Fifth Seeking in the Landnir system.

A bleeping sound from Flint’s pocket was startling in its shrillness, and he dragged the communicator from the pocket of his combat suit.

The originator of the call was not Fleet Admiral Recker.

“Lieutenant Garrett,” said Flint in greeting.

“Hello, sir.”

“Before you ask - I haven’t heard anything.”

Garrett couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. “Oh. Maybe soon, huh?”

“I thought you’d appreciate the break, Lieutenant.”

“It doesn’t seem right, sir, sitting on our asses, when we could be doing something more constructive. Besides, the weather is shit. The moment I poke my head outside, I get soaked.”

“That’s what your suit helmet is for. It’s the part that goes over your head.”

“You’ll let us know, won’t you, sir?” asked Garrett.

“I’ll let you know anything I’m allowed to tell you, Lieutenant.”

Flint ended the call and his communicator was halfway to his pocket when it bleeped again. He read the name on the screen and his body immediately started pumping adrenaline.

“Fleet Admiral Recker,” said Flint, having accepted the call.

“Captain Flint,” said Recker in return. “Ready for new duties?”

“Yes, sir. Will these duties involve exium?”

Recker chuckled. “Not yet. Later, maybe. There’s a spaceship waiting for you on the landing strip – the Determinant. When I give the order, you’re to board it and fly to a destination you’ll learn once you’re on the bridge.”

“That’s a battleship, sir. What about a crew?”

“You’ll take people with whom you’re familiar.”

Flint took a breath. “Including Commander Larson, sir?”

“We’re still deciding on the personnel, but Captain Larson is back in charge of her own warship.”

“Yes, sir.” Now it was Flint’s turn to feel a twinge of disappointment. “What about Lieutenant Burner?”

“He’s all yours, Captain,” Recker laughed. “Though you may come to regret the fact.”

“I doubt it, sir – the man is worth his salt.”

“That he is.” Recker went quiet for a moment. “What is your opinion of Commander Maddox?”

“She’s a competent officer, sir,” said Flint.

“I notice you didn’t say exceptional.”

“Commander Maddox fits in with my usual crew, sir. They like her and they respond to her. I don’t want her assigned elsewhere.”

“You’ve told me enough,” said Recker. “Commander Maddox will once again be ranked as acting lieutenant and she’ll operate as second weapons officer. As you’ll be aware, not every officer is accepted for duties on an annihilator, so I hope she will recognize this for what it is.”

“Does she have a borderline acceptable Expectancy Delta, sir?” asked Flint.

“This decision was not based on the Expectancy Delta,” said Recker, not betraying any surprise at Flint’s knowledge of these classified metrics. “Commander Maddox has found her level.”

Flint thought the same thing. “Yes, sir.”

“In the same way that Lieutenant Burner and Lieutenant Fredericks have found their levels, but that doesn’t mean they’re anything other than the best at what they do.”

The fact that Recker had gone out of his way to justify a decision made Flint believe it didn’t sit easily with the man. “I am pleased Commander Maddox will remain as part of my crew, sir.”

“You’ll be left with a shortfall, so I’ll make sure you have the right people assigned to act as backups,” Recker continued.

“Yes, sir. Can you tell me anything about this mission?”

“It’s important.” Recker’s voice held a scarcely contained excitement. “More than important. The details aren’t yet finalised, which is the reason I’m not about to tell you anything more.”

“Damnit, sir—”

“My own superiors used to give me exactly the same treatment, Captain Flint, so believe me I understand your frustration. It’s something you’ll have to accept.”

Flint didn’t want to accept it, but he didn’t have much choice. “When is it happening, sir?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know. Keep your communicator with you.” Recker paused, thinking. “There’s nothing stopping you heading over to the Determinant. You may as well take a look at your new warship.”

“Anything I should know about it, sir?”

“Nothing you won’t be able to find out when you’re sitting at the command station.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll go straight over and see what’s what.”

The communicator went quiet and Flint pushed it into his pocket. Something big was clearly brewing, but as ever, the details were clouded in mystery and – if the past was any indicator of the future – would likely stay that way until missiles began exploding against the Determinant’s armour.

Before exiting his room, Flint picked up his Rodan shotgun and his suit helmet. He considered putting on the latter, but decided to carry it instead. Doubtless the anticipated weather conditions outside would force a rapid change of mind.

Exiting his room, Flint entered a corridor that led in both directions, with many intersections, airlifts and stairs. The Daklan were fond of grids, which made it easy to get to places and Flint turned right towards the closest exit. Although the base was 24/7 – a description that remained in use even though Hakarul’s day was nearer thirty human hours – the last shift change had already taken place, leaving the corridors not quite empty, but definitely uncrowded.

Soon, he came to the innermost of the two exit doors. These doors could function as an airlock during emergencies, but at the moment there was no need to wait for pressurisation. He opened the first door, which was no more elaborate than a thick alloy slab, and entered the fifteen-metre empty space beyond.

A couple of Daklan hurried in behind him before the door could close. Flint noticed they were equipped with gauss rifles, Rodan shotguns, grenades and, for some unknown reason, MG-12 repeaters. From the colour of their spacesuits, both were highly ranked in one field of science or another, so it seemed odd for them to be carrying so many guns.

“Expecting trouble?” Flint asked, crossing to the outer door.

“No.”

The Daklan could be taciturn, but this seemed unusually abrupt, so Flint turned to see if he could glean a sense that they might have been ordered to deal with an issue somewhere on the base. Instead, he found both grinning in his direction.

“Weapons training day,” said one, his voice rough-edged like that of all Daklan males. He patted the repeater barrel which protruded horizontally from under his arm, and nodded in satisfaction.

“We were not permitted to bring shoulder launchers into our quarters,” said the other. “Those we will fire on the training range.”

“Have they swapped the human targets for Kilvar ones yet?” asked Flint, referring to the long-ago war between his species and the Daklan. In reality, he had no idea what kinds of targets were employed in the training areas.

“No, the targets are human,” said the first scientist. “Changing the design of the simulacrums would incur unnecessary expense. If it is any consolation, I will feel sadness every time a bullet plunges into artificial human flesh.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Flint, wondering how many friendly kills these two would accidentally be responsible for during their coming training session.

The outer door opened and he hurried into the wind and rain, a combination which seemed observationally to be present almost one hundred percent of the time. A bass pressure filled the air, as ubiquitous as the freezing droplets of water which pelted Flint’s skin and made him immediately put on his helmet.

As he snapped the fastenings into place around his neck, Flint paused to look around. His quarters were, logically enough, near to the edge of the landing strip, but given the size of the base, his destination wasn’t in easy walking distance. Tall towers hemmed in the officer’s quarters, forming a three-hundred-metre square area outside the exit. A shuttle pad with sloped sides occupied much of the space, and concrete roads ran along each of its four edges.

Looming above the surrounding structures, Flint could see the curve of an immense dome – featureless like nearly every building - which he’d been conspiratorially informed housed experimental crap. Further digging had unearthed more - within that dome, the Daklan were constructing an ingar-ternium reactor to end all ingar-ternium reactors.

Given the Kilvar’s ability to locate exium, Flint expected the finished reactor would be placed in the hold of the Nevanis superheavy lifter and transported to a world that wasn’t home to more than thirty billion of the alliance’s citizens. Once there, it would be used to create potentially hundreds of eye-wateringly unpredictable exium blocks ready for installation on fleet warships. Either that or the reactor would catastrophically explode the first time Research Lead Moseley, or someone like RL Moseley, fired it up for the first time.

Vehicles sped along the roads around the shuttle pad, travelling at speeds which would ensure death or injury to all but the most fleet-footed of pedestrians attempting to cross. Fortunately, the Daklan had constructed footbridges and it was towards one of these which Flint dashed.

Even though he was completely protected by his combat suit, he automatically hunched his shoulders against the conditions. The raindrops came down at an angle like tiny bullets and struck the ground so hard they hurled up countless miniature fountains through which he sprinted.

Crossing the bridge, Flint descended the far steps which took him near the top of the shuttle pad slope. Half a dozen transports were parked and waiting, and a couple of Daklan soldiers emerged from a personnel cabin nearby to make sure Flint was permitted to take one of the vessels. The security checks were over in less than twenty seconds and Flint hurried to the closest transport.

Entering the three-person cabin, he dropped into the centre seat and performed a quick check of the pilot’s console. Space flight was exceptionally safe – enemy missiles notwithstanding – and shuttles like this one were robust and reliable. The instrumentation readouts were all as expected, and the only thing out of place was an empty coffee cup on the floor next to the comms chair.

Only a few years ago, Flint would have automatically blamed this littering on a human, but since its introduction, the Daklan had taken to coffee with the fervour of a species accustomed to hot drinks which tasted like they’d been flavoured by scrapings from a Kilvar’s ball sac.

Lifting the shuttle off the pad, Flint piloted it a thousand hundred metres vertically, the propulsion adding its own drumbeat to the bass thick air. The flight control computer flashed him a couple of amber warnings and offered a vector which would take him to his destination without crashing into one of the thousands of other craft currently in the Hakarul airspace. Flint accepted the recommendation but declined the opportunity to be flown under remote control.

A thousand-metre altitude wasn’t enough for the shuttle to be above the tallest of the base structures, and Flint’s panorama was interrupted by numerous towers and domes. For long moments, he stared with a renewed sense of wonder – the greyness of Hakarul’s architecture and the regularity of the shapes, curves and lines could have made the vista resemble something from a child’s imagination, scaled up a million times. However, it was far more impressive and Flint was still amazed whenever he saw the place from altitude.

“Let’s get going,” he said under his breath.

The landing strip was east, and Flint oriented the shuttle’s nose towards it. Several warships were parked – more than he was expecting - and, high above, an annihilator dropped from the cloud cover, the sight of its six-thousand-metre hull instilling Flint with the usual sense of awe.

A channel request light appeared on the shuttle’s console and he touched a button on his panel to accept it.

“Captain Flint,” said Fleet Admiral Recker. “Soon just became now. One of my staff officers has passed on the order to your crew. Board the Determinant immediately and prepare for departure.”

Flint considered asking again for details, but held his tongue. It wouldn’t be long until he found out anyway. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

With the order given, Flint requested power from the shuttle’s engines and accelerated towards the landing strip.

Chapter One

The Determinant was a standard-design annihilator of a type the alliance had recently started building, assuming the word standard could ever be applied to a seventy-five-billion-ton warship packing enough technology to wipe out planets with the press of a few buttons on its bridge control panels.

The annihilator was one of six outwardly-identical craft, lined up on the landing strip and each battleship looked fresh out of the construction trench as if they’d been purpose built for the coming mission – whatever that mission happened to be.

Flint cast his mind back to the HPA battleships from the human-Daklan wars. Those vessels had also been fearsome, but with the alliance sharing and developing technology so freely, it made sense to focus on the best options – and that meant phasing out the human designs and building only annihilator class warships – though many people used the word battleship interchangeably to describe what were the most potent vessels in the alliance fleet.

Six battleships represented a lot of firepower and Flint asked himself if he was jumping to conclusions about their intended purpose. Against the Kilvar and their near-invulnerable warships, a hundred annihilators might not be enough.

Grimacing at the unwelcome thought, Flint dropped the shuttle directly between the Determinant and the adjacent annihilator, a vessel the flight computer informed him was called Oblion – a name which indicated it would have a Daklan crew.

A thousand metres separated the two warships, and the ground in between was crowded with vehicles and personnel. Flint landed in his designated spot and exited the shuttle. The weather hadn’t improved – in fact, judging by the significantly reduced visibility and the sensation of rain beating against his combat suit, it had worsened considerably over the last five minutes - and he had no intention of giving his bare skin a second exposure to its life-affirming fury.

The Determinant’s forward boarding ramp was lowered, but it was several hundred metres from Flint’s landing place and hard to discern through the driving rain. He looked around for a gravity car he could commandeer and saw none nearby.

Flint wasn’t too proud to use the feet he’d been born with and he set off across the landing strip. Here at ground level, he was granted an excellent demonstration of exactly what it was to be an insect, scuttling for safety in a world where almost everything was incomprehensibly larger than he was.

Having dodged fast-moving vehicles, including a Gundik tank, groups of technicians and patrolling squads of soldiers, Flint passed into the cover of the Determinant’s hull. The moment he did so, the rain no longer struck him, but the wind stepped up a notch, as if it were being channelled beneath the warship to an intensity which made it difficult to run without the risk of being blown from his feet.

At the bottom of the ramp, a lone figure stood, looking Flint’s way.

“Hello, sir,” said Lieutenant Rita Becerra through the chin speaker in her helmet.

“Well met, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Did you teleport here or have you been sleeping onboard?”

“Neither, sir.” Becerra raised an arm and pointed out onto the landing strip. “I was in that personnel cabin, looking out of the door and painting.”

“Painting?” asked Flint in disbelief. “With a real brush and canvas?”

“It beats sitting in quarters all day, stewing over the unknown.”

“Where’s the painting?”

“When the orders came through, I hung it on the wall of the cabin, sir. It was nearly finished and besides, the Daklan seemed to like it.”

“Good,” said Flint, not sure what else to say. Sometimes he forgot that people had lives and interests outside the military. He thumbed towards the battleship. “What have you heard?”

“Get your ass to the Determinant. That pretty much sums up the orders I received,” said Becerra. “Where are we going, sir?”

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “I’ll find out once we’re onboard.” He turned and began his ascent of the steps and beckoned for Becerra to follow.

“Another mission,” she said. “Six annihilators.”

“You thought that as well?”

“Only one was here at sun-up when I started painting, sir. The other five landed and the technicians were swarming them until about an hour ago. Now I guess these warships are ready to go.”

“Any sign of troops?” asked Flint. Had the Determinant been loaded with a few thousand soldiers, that would have given him an idea about high command’s intentions or expectations for the mission.

“None, sir. Not unless they sneaked in the back door when I wasn’t looking.”

The two of them hurried through the warship’s interior and entered the bridge. Everything here was familiar and Flint realised these cramped spaces were the closest thing to home in his life. It was an uncomfortable thought and one he didn’t want to deal with right now.

He dropped into the command seat, noting the pristine newness of the covering. A cursory check of the instrumentation was enough to confirm that the technicians had done an excellent job as usual. The alliance military paid well enough to be intolerant of screwups and few people got a third chance.

“See if you can track down the rest of our crew,” said Flint. “And listen out for anything we might be interested to hear.”

“I thought you said the mission documentation would be waiting, sir,” said Becerra innocently.

“It isn’t,” said Flint.

“Everything seems to be decided at the last minute, sir.” Becerra wasn’t the type to grumble, and she said it matter-of-factly.

“I thought maybe you’d be used to it by now.” Flint laughed. “Though I’m damned if I am.”

“Sir, take a look at this,” said Becerra a few moments later.

She put a feed onto the central area of the bulkhead screen, and on it, a vast, incredible vessel hung at a low altitude, directly over the massive dome in which the new ingar-ternium reactor was being constructed.

“The Nevanis,” said Flint.

The Daklan superheavy lifter was fifteen thousand metres in length and with an overall cuboid shape. Its flanks and beam were each about six thousand metres, giving its cargo bay enough volume to accommodate and transport more or less anything it was possible to build.

“What’s that doing here, sir?” asked Becerra, probing.

“I might have an idea,” Flint confessed.

It seemed like too much coincidence for the Nevanis to have turned up just as six annihilators were being readied for lift-off. As he watched, the entire top half of the dome building split in two as the ingeniously designed roof doors opened. Directly above, a pair of the Nevanis’ secondary hull doors also slid apart.

“Is something going in or is something coming out?” asked Becerra.

Flint wasn’t a big fan of secrets, especially when they were being kept from people risking the one and only life they had to risk. “There’s an ingar-ternium reactor inside that dome, Lieutenant,” he said. “I imagine it’s about to be lifted out by gravity chains and hauled into the Nevanis’ bay.”

“And taken to somewhere safer than Terrani,” said Becerra.

“Exactly. Don’t ask me what other plans high command have in place for the reactor, because I don’t know.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out in due course, sir.”

“As always.”

Five minutes went by – during which Flint couldn’t take his eyes off the Nevanis. The crew on the superlifter were evidently practised in fast-lift operations and an object soon rose from within the dome. The Determinant’s sensors produced a pin-sharp feed despite the rain, and Flint was left in no doubt that the cylindrical shape entering the Nevanis’ hold was an ingar-ternium reactor.

The next two members of the Determinant’s crew entered the bridge less than a minute after the superlifter’s hull doors closed. Lieutenants Burner and Fredericks talked together as if they’d known each other for years. Perhaps they had, Flint thought. He rose and greeted them warmly.

Next to enter was a familiar and unexpected blonde-haired officer.

“Captain Larson?” said Flint in surprise.

“Acting Commander Jo Larson for this mission, sir.”

“Fleet Admiral Recker told me you were in command of your own warship.”

“I was.”

“So what happened?”

“The Expectancy Delta,” said Larson. “Apparently all the data from the last mission produced an outlier result – a positive outlier. I got a call about fifteen minutes ago telling me I was assigned to the Determinant.”

“That was hardly any time after I spoke to Admiral Recker.”

Larson shrugged. “I’m used to the last-minute decisions.”

“I hope the change in responsibility comes as no disappointment to you, Commander.” Despite Flint’s best efforts, the words sounded stiff and formal.

“No disappointment at all, Captain Flint.” Larson grinned. “Who am I to argue against an outlier result?”

Flint smiled to hide his relief and he indicated the station adjacent to his own. “You’d best take your seat and be ready. Though for what I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.”

“Welcome to the military,” said Larson without rancour.

“We’ll be following that superlifter,” said Fredericks. “Mark my words.”

“It seems likely,” Flint admitted.

“And then we’ll be required to patrol bleak skies somewhere while that thing creates block after block of exium,” Fredericks continued.

“Since you’ve got everything worked out, I’ll contact high command and tell them not to bother sending us the mission files,” said Flint dryly.

“No need to do that, sir – maybe there’ll be a few surprises I didn’t already guess.”

Shortly after, the final members of the crew arrived – those being Lieutenants Amy Maddox, Sophie Garrett, Elsa Copeland and Wes Bolan. Recker had arranged a backup crew as well, and Flint spoke with those personnel briefly before sending them to their quarters.

“Still no mission documentation,” he muttered after returning to his seat and checking for the hundredth time. “And still no order to depart.”

“Must be some last-minute snags, sir,” said Larson.

“Maybe. And still no soldiers.”

“That might be about to change, sir,” said Garrett. “A transport is heading our way.”

“Find out if it’s Lieutenant Vance.”

One of the Determinant’s sensors was focused on the rectangular troop transport as it sped across the landing strip, veering around traffic like its driver was late for an important meeting. Flint watched the vehicle approach.

“Not much room for a thousand soldiers in that one,” said Larson.

“Enough for two hundred,” said Flint. “Assuming it’s full.”

The transport slowed to a halt beneath the Determinant.

“Ground Captain Vance requests permission to come onboard, sir,” said Becerra. “And he apologises for being late – he and his company were barracked about fifty klicks from the landing strip.”

“Ground Captain?” said Flint, unaware that Vance had been promoted. “He’s in charge of a full company now?”

“Not quite a full one, sir. Exactly two hundred soldiers are on that transport, including Captain Vance.”

“Tell him he doesn’t need an invitation,” said Flint. “And ask him when the other couple of thousand are arriving.”

“Captain Vance is unaware of any others, sir,” said Becerra.

“We’ll not be storming a Kilvar fortress with one company,” said Maddox, showing no ill temper at being once more consigned to a secondary role.

“I’ll feel safer knowing we have a company instead of a platoon,” said Flint, his eyes on the underside feed.

The troops exited the transport and sprinted up the boarding ramp. As it was happening, the mission files came through and Flint opened the documentation, eager to learn at which shithole end of the universe he was being ordered to risk his life this time.

He was becoming accustomed to brevity in the mission files and these latest ones didn’t break the habit. Once finished, Flint read them for a second time, in case he’d overlooked an important detail the first time around. He hadn’t.

Flint gave the news to his crew. “We’re going to the Ancidium.”

“The Ancidium?” said Garrett in surprise. “I thought we’d seen it for the last time.”

“Apparently not.”

“What’re we doing when we get there?” asked Fredericks.

“The mission documentation doesn’t make that clear,” said Flint. “However, Admiral Ivinstol is leading this mission – he’s in command of the Oblion. The Asternia and Talestrius have Daklan crew, while the Determinant, the Destructor and the Furnace have human crews.”

“Nice and fair,” said Burner, his voice teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Just how it should be.”

“I’m sure we have the best personnel for the job,” said Flint.

“The personnel details have just become available, sir,” said Garrett. “Captain Julius commands the Destructor, and Captain Bobby Osteen has command of the Furnace. Captain Osteen is a member of Fleet Admiral Recker’s personal team, sir, and he has a long combat record from the human-Daklan wars.”

“Who commands the Asternia and the Talestrius?” asked Flint.

“Captains Davox and Vakh, sir.”

Flint didn’t recognize either name, but Fredericks did.

“Captain Vakh was at Ivisto, sir,” he said. “Back then he was flying the desolator class Incendus. Did a hell of a job with it too. A hell of a job.”

“It seems like he got recognized for it and given his own annihilator,” said Flint.

“I don’t know Captain Davox, but we’ve got some talented officers on this mission, sir,” said Fredericks.

“That means there’s trouble ahead,” said Garrett.

“It’s always the case, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Anyway, we’re heading for a rendezvous with the Ancidium and none of you will be surprised when I tell you the Nevanis is coming with us.”

“Does that mean we’re giving the Lavorix the means to create exium?” asked Maddox in shock. “I know they helped us out against the Fifth Seeking at Landnir, but can we really afford to hand over our only advantage?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” said Flint. “Let’s hold the speculation for the moment.” He turned. “I’ve sent the rendezvous details to your console, Lieutenant Fredericks.”

“Yes, sir, I see them.”

“We’ve received our departure slot, sir!” said Becerra. “We’re third in line to go after the Oblion and the Asternia.”

“The Nevanis is heading for outer space, sir,” said Burner.

As so often happened, a period of relative calm turned rapidly into one of great activity. The superheavy lifter climbed strongly and the Oblion went after it, lifting off from its place adjacent to the Determinant and accelerating at an increasing rate. Further down the line, the Asternia went next, only a few seconds after the Oblion.

“Let’s not keep Admiral Ivinstol waiting,” said Flint.

He drew back on the controls and all seventy-five billion tons of the Determinant rose effortlessly from the landing strip, its propulsion a low thunder. Up it went, with Flint taking care not to create sonic booms as he held the annihilator in its vertical climb.

Through the clouds it tore and then into the endless chill of space. On the underside feeds, the Destructor and the Talestrius were also in the air and the Furnace was just lifting off. At one time, the sight of so much firepower – the culmination of alliance technology – would have filled Flint with pride. Now, that pride was tempered with knowledge of how little these warships might accomplish against an opposing force of Kilvar vessels.

Neither Recker nor Ivinstol was a fool and surely they had something in mind for the ingar-ternium reactor. Once exium was combined with the might of the Lavorix warship Ancidium, perhaps anything was possible.

“Synch code received from the Oblion, sir,” said Burner.

“Accept it.”

“Synch code accepted. We’re ordered to achieve a half-million-klick distance from Terrani and then come to a standstill while we fire up our ternium drives.”

“A half-million klicks it is,” Flint confirmed.

The Determinant hummed with technological perfection as it hurtled across space to the rendezvous point. Flint closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in the pure air, which was laden with the same scents carried by every single alliance warship he’d ever commanded. The odour was primal and raw and appealed to him far more than anything mundane like baking bread or fresh-cut grass.

“I’m bringing us to a stop,” said Flint.

“The Nevanis is already here, sir,” said Becerra. “We’re waiting on the Destructor, the Talestrius and the Furnace. There’re not far behind.”

Seconds later, the six annihilators and the superheavy lifter were in place.

“Our ternium drive has received a synch code command to warm up, sir,” said Lieutenant Copeland. “A little over three minutes and we go.”

“Our destination is the ass end of nowhere,” said Fredericks. “A solar system called Tygan about twenty hours from here.”

The Determinant’s ternium drive growled and the noise of it increased, becoming hard edged and making normal conversation difficult. Flint gripped the controls tightly, in anticipation of the coming transition. Once again, he was caught in a maelstrom of events, where everything happened so quickly it was hard to keep up.

When the propulsion warmup timer fell to zero, the annihilator launched into lightspeed.

Chapter Two

Fighting off the nausea of the transition, Flint and his crew completed their status checks and reports. Every needle and every dial was exactly where it needed to be, suggesting the Determinant was going to be rock-solid reliable like every other annihilator in the fleet.

“Twenty hours of lightspeed ahead of us,” said Flint. “I’ll generate a break pattern so we’re all rested when we arrive.”

A dedicated piece of software was used by the alliance military to create an efficient shift pattern for personnel and it didn’t take Flint long to have it generate what he needed. He’d have an eight-hour rest period leading up to the lightspeed exit at Tygan. That was twelve hours away, but since he hadn’t long ago risen from bed, it would be no hardship. Besides, the scheduling software had given him a couple of shorter interim breaks to allow him a chance at a bite to eat.

“Tell me about Tygan,” Flint said.

“Not much to tell, sir,” said Burner. “One star, eight planets. Our current transit will end near planet five – Ablea.”

“The mission files didn’t indicate where we’d find the Ancidium,” said Flint.

“Maybe that’s to be decided,” said Larson. “I guess both sides will have some lingering suspicions.”

“I’m sure,” said Flint.

In theory, there was no reason for those suspicions to exist, given that the Ancidium had already decided the war between the Lavorix and the alliance was over, plus the fact that both sides had fought together to defeat the Kilvar at Landnir. When it came to intergalactic wars with the survival of entire species at stake, it was never quite so simple as shaking hands and promising not to turn any more planets into dust.

“Permission to speculate, sir?” said Fredericks.

“Go ahead,” said Flint.

“The Lavorix have plenty to offer us and we have plenty to offer them. We’re definitely looking to trade.”

“Did you ever learn what kind of data we extracted from the Ancidium, sir?” asked Becerra. “I thought we might have done some good by stealing it.”

“I assumed the activation codes for the Ixidar were in there,” said Fredericks. “Else how would we have got that warship off the ground?”

“I don’t know what was in those files, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “I’m not even sure I’m in the loop to be told.”

“We got the Ixidar’s codes from somewhere,” said Maddox.

“That we did,” said Flint. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean they were amongst the data we recovered.”

“A direct line of communication between us and the Lavorix?” asked Maddox.

“Maybe,” said Flint.

“If we put those codes to one side and think about everything else on that obliterator core - even if there was some juicy technical data, our scientists haven’t had the time to make use of it,” said Fredericks. “We’re on a war footing but that doesn’t mean new production plants can be brought onstream immediately.”

“So, a trade,” said Garrett. “Is our situation grave enough that we’ll hand over all our secrets? Last I heard, the evacuation of Basalt was near-as-damnit complete and that’s the only one of our planets the Kilvar are confirmed to have located.”

“By all accounts, the enemy are successful at what they do, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “In my mind, that says it’s only a matter of time before they’re on the doorstep of Earth or Terrani or somewhere else we don’t want them.”

“Better to act first,” said Larson. “Even if it means taking some risks.”

“I remember a discussion where we agreed that further down the line – assuming we can defeat the Kilvar – the alliance will become a threat to the Lavorix again,” said Maddox. “Once they have control of exium, we won’t stand a chance.”

“Did you put the words exium and control in the same sentence?” laughed Fredericks.

“You know what I mean,” said Maddox. “We’re kicking a can down the road and sooner or later we’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

“Sometimes it’s best to buy yourself that time,” said Larson. “And live to fight another day.”

The conversation tailed off quicker than Flint had expected and the crew fell into their own thoughts. An hour later, having confirmed the location of a certain person on the internal monitors, he stood.

“The bridge is yours, Commander Larson. I’m going to the mess room. I know some people who might have heard a few things.”

Larson gave him another grin. “When you’re at the bottom of the need-to-know list, it pays to keep your ear to the ground. It’s the best way to stay alive.”

Exiting the bridge, Flint headed directly for the nearest mess room. Later, he wanted to explore the interior, to see with his own eyes the internal bays and the hardware they carried. Everything else he’d commanded prior to the Nightfall and the Determinant had lacked the space for extra shuttles and tanks, while an annihilator was designed to fulfil more or less any combat role.

First, he had other business to attend.

The mess area was hardly different to the equivalent on any other warship, albeit larger, with seating for about two hundred. A quick estimate of the current occupants came to forty, approximately half of whom were at the replicators. The air smelled of food and the talk was muted.

“Ground Captain Vance,” said Flint, approaching one of the tables adjacent to the right-hand wall.

Vance looked no older and no younger than last time. His guns and suit helmet were laid on the floor next to his bench seat and a tray in front of him held a variety of unappetising-looking proteins and carbs.

“Someone went ahead and promoted me behind my back,” said Vance with something resembling a smile. He used a hand to indicate the bench opposite. “Have a seat, sir.”

Flint placed his tray on the table and sat next to Corporal Suzy Hendrix. “Corporal,” he said.

“Sir.”

“Sergeant Gantry, Sergeant Tagra.” Flint nodded in greeting to the two officers sitting further along the bench.

“Lieutenant Gantry and Lieutenant Tagra,” said Vance. “I figured that if I was going to have all these extra responsibilities, I’d need the right people backing me up.”

“And you’ll be Colonel Ken Raimi?” said Flint, aiming his comment at the table’s final occupant.

“No, sir. Plain old Private Raimi, that’s me.”

“I see you brought your shoulder launcher,” said Flint, gesturing towards the six-feet tube propped against the wall. Each slight movement of the Determinant caused the weapon to roll an inch or two forwards or back, and anything more dramatic would surely see it clatter to the floor.

Raimi didn’t seem too concerned about the risk of damage and the weapon was created so that it wouldn’t discharge accidentally. “Just in case, sir. What happened on the Takrivon – all those Kilvar killing the warship’s crew and everything - made me decide I’d bring that launcher everywhere with me.”

“Even while he is defecating,” said Lieutenant Tagra. “Or so I am told.”

“It pays to anticipate your enemy,” said Raimi airily. “If a Kilvar knocks on the door while I’m taking a dump, I’ll be sure and fire a plasma rocket straight into its ugly face – even if it kills me.”

“Enough,” said Vance mildly. “We don’t know what type of Kilvar stormed the Takrivon or even if they did, since we found no enemy bodies.” His gaze rested on Flint. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Have you heard anything that might not be widely known?” asked Flint, cutting to the chase.

“Not that I’m aware of. We got the order to head on over to this warship and here we are.”

“Only a single company,” said Corporal Hendrix. “It’s enough to guard a battleship and not much else.”

Her words made it clear the soldiers had been talking and had likely arrived at a similar conclusion to Flint – they weren’t expecting a deployment.

“Someone told me we’re heading out for a pow-wow with the Lavorix,” said Raimi, pretending to study the half-dozen pale fries pinched between the fingers of his combat glove.

“Someone told you, huh?” said Flint, keeping a straight face.

“I can’t rightly remember where I heard it, sir,” said Raimi. He shoved the fries into his mouth and began chewing. “Must have been one of the technicians.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You have a good ear, Private Raimi,” said Flint. “I only just learned about the Lavorix myself.”

“So it’s true?” asked Hendrix.

“We’re on our way to the Ancidium,” Flint confirmed. “We’ll arrive in less than twenty hours.”

“What happens then, sir?” asked Vance, his expression making it clear he’d already guessed the possibilities.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. It was a phrase he’d been using a lot recently. “Admiral Ivinstol is calling the shots. I’m sure he set out with a plan.”

“We’ll find out when we find out,” said Vance without bitterness. “Same as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll stay on your toes,” said Flint. He looked down at his tray which held a slice of pizza his fingers had ordered independently of his brain.

“Too much of that will send you to an early grave, sir,” said Raimi, stuffing in another handful of fries.

“I think I’ll risk this one slice,” said Flint.

He spent five minutes at the table before taking his leave. The scheduling software had allocated Flint less than an hour away from the bridge and he wanted to have a look around.

Setting off deeper into the warship’s interior, Flint visited a couple of the shuttle bays and the launch bay for one of the annihilator’s four Gundik tanks. After that, he poked his head into one of the armouries, this being a four-metre room lined with weapons racks, each laden with a variety of flesh-shredding hardware.

With his hour almost over, Flint headed back to the bridge.

“Anything happening, sir?” asked Larson, when he retook his seat.

“I think Captain Vance has the same questions as we do, Commander.” Flint gave a short laugh. “Unsurprisingly, word has already got out about the Lavorix.”

“The military likes to think it keeps secrets,” said Larson. “Someone always knows.”

Another couple of hours went by and, one-by-one, Flint’s crew left for their allotted duty breaks. The backups replaced them, though they weren’t much needed during lightspeed. Flint took the time to speak to these officers and, as he’d guessed, they were entirely competent and – hopefully – capable of dealing with whatever crap circumstances threw their way. However, Flint knew exactly who he wanted with him on the bridge when – if – the missiles started flying, and it wasn’t the backup crew.

At his given time, Flint exited the bridge again and headed to the quarters he’d forgotten to visit earlier. The main room was ungenerous in size and the linked shower/toilet space equally cramped. A fully-grown Daklan could likely touch the narrowest walls by stretching out.

Flint stowed his weapons and suit helmet in the alcove at the top of the bed and dropped onto the clean, white mattress. He briefly considered taking off his combat suit, but it was like a second skin now and he hardly noticed its presence.

A few minutes later, he was asleep. Dreams did not trouble Flint and when he awoke to the alarm he’d set on his pocket communicator, he felt refreshed and ready to face anything. For a moment, he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. In less than an hour, the Determinant would break lightspeed and, soon after, Admiral Ivinstol would likely attempt to negotiate an equitable trade with the Lavorix.

How that would turn out, Flint didn’t know.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he rolled out of bed and belatedly realised he couldn’t take a shower while he was wearing a combat suit. He grunted humourlessly, stripped off, showered and got dressed again.

When Flint returned to the bridge it was as he’d left it and he dropped into his seat next to Commander Larson.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“No, sir. Everything is fine. Were you expecting trouble?”

“Not yet.”

The lightspeed timer was at twenty minutes and Flint suspected it would feel more like a hundred. As Larson had told him, everything was in good order, leaving him with little to do other than monitor the changing readouts on his console.

“Five minutes!” yelled Fredericks, after what seemed like an age.

“It’d be nice if we had an idea of what was going to happen,” said Garrett.

“Just go through your usual routines, Lieutenant,” said Larson. “I have a feeling we won’t be left alone for too long.”

Flint agreed – the Lavorix wouldn’t keep Admiral Ivinstol waiting, especially if the prize on offer was indeed the key to exium creation. Deep down he hoped, the same way the other members of his crew hoped, that high command wasn’t ready to completely surrender the alliance’s single technological advantage. Perhaps the Lavorix had tabled an offer that couldn’t be refused.

The lightspeed timer ran down and the Determinant’s propulsion went briefly silent. Then, the annihilator was ejected once more into local space.

Chapter Three

Doing his best to ignore the tingling in his fingers and toes, Flint gave the annihilator maximum acceleration. Its propulsion howled and the surge pressed him into his seat.

“Sensors online,” said Burner. “Near scans underway.”

“Fars running,” added Becerra.

“The comms are up, sir,” said Garrett. “I’m hunting for a local battle network.”

A twenty-hour journey was long enough to have introduced the possibility of a variation in the arrival times of the seven spaceships, though Flint doubted it would be anything significant. Either way, the Determinant was entering potentially hostile space and he waited anxiously to discover if his battleship was first to exit lightspeed. The wait was not a long one.

“Near scans complete, sir,” said Burner. “No threats detected.”

“The Oblion got here before us and has created a battle network, sir,” said Garrett. “We have been requested to join and I’ve accepted.”

“Good,” said Flint, trying not to sound too relieved. A green dot – the Oblion – appeared on the tactical, less than thirty thousand kilometres away. He backed off on the controls and banked the Determinant towards Admiral Ivinstol’s command ship.

“I’ve detected a series of inbound ternium waves within fifty thousand klicks, sir,” said Lieutenant Copeland. “Looks as if the rest of the mission fleet is about to arrive all at once.”

“Far scans complete,” said Becerra. “Nothing to report.”

“The other five of our spaceships have entered the Tygan system, sir,” said Garrett. “They’ll populate on the tactical any moment.”

“I see them,” said Flint. “So we’re all here – show me what’s out there.”

“Here’s Tygan, sir,” said Burner. “It’s about half a billion klicks from our position.”

The local star appeared on the bulkhead screen as an angry red-orange, overmagnified disk, its colour attributable to filters on the sensor feed. The light turned everything on the bridge into the colour of flames and when Flint looked at his hands, the redness made them appear strange, as though they didn’t belong to him at all.

“What about Ablea?” said Flint. “We should be near its orbital track position.”

“Yes, sir, we are – it’s a million klicks from the Determinant and heading closer at about sixty-five klicks per second,” said Burner. “It’s a gas giant - I’ve put it on the screen.”

The dimension overlay indicated that Ablea’s diameter was nearing a hundred and fifty thousand kilometres. Murky browns, abyssal reds and muddy yellows swirled across the planet in a steadily changing pattern of hostility.

“Our sensors are reading hydrogen, helium, carbon dioxide and nitrogen, along with various acids and other gases you probably wouldn’t want to get into your spacesuit,” said Burner. “On top of that, the combined radiation and magnetic fields are enough to significantly reduce the effectiveness of our sensors.”

“The perfect place for a holiday,” said Garrett.

“It’s like a million others we’ve seen,” said Flint impatiently. “We’ve come to meet with the Lavorix, so where are they?”

“I’m speaking to the Oblion, sir,” said Becerra. “I think Admiral Ivinstol is about to release some more information.”

“Don’t let that stop you putting our sensors to good use, Lieutenant.”

“Definitely not, sir,” said Becerra. “All three of us over here are on the lookout.”

Flint couldn’t imagine that Admiral Ivinstol would willingly lead his warships directly into a place of known peril, but the lack of information was becoming irritating. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for a mission to get underway before the goals were finalised and this seemed to be a perfect example of where high command had decided to jump before looking over the edge of what might well turn out to be a high precipice above jagged rocks.

Flint kicked himself mentally for his ongoing descent into pessimism. There were times when a fast response to new information was better than taking it slow and steady.

“There’s a twelve-hundred-klick Lavorix warship out there somewhere,” he said. “Find it.”

“They might come in by gateway, sir,” said Burner. “Depends on how jumpy they are.”

“It’s possible they’re wary,” Flint admitted. “The Ancidium isn’t exactly vulnerable, but without it the Lavorix are finished.”

“Maybe they think we’re going to double-cross them,” said Maddox.

“No,” said Flint. “You’re overthinking it. We’ll see the Ancidium soon.”

“Admiral Ivinstol has issued an updated mission document, sir,” said Becerra.

The newly arrived file glowed gently at the top of Flint’s message box. He opened the file, expecting it to contain a couple of sentences. Three at most.

“We’re here to trade with the Lavorix,” he said, once he’d finished reading the few supplementary lines to the original documentation. “Our exium in exchange for enough Kilvar-busting missiles to fill the Nevanis’ primary bay.”

“Lavorix missiles won’t fit in our warships,” said Maddox.

“I imagine the Ancidium can machine almost anything in hours or days,” said Flint. “If we gave them the design specs of our hellburners, I bet the Lavorix could produce ten thousand missiles by the end of the first day and a hundred thousand a couple of days later.”

“I guess,” said Maddox.

“You sound disappointed, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe – a little. I appreciate that we need missiles capable of penetrating the Kilvar defences, but I’d hoped we’d be getting something more out of this.”

Flint scanned the supplementary mission files again. “We are getting something more out of it, I just don’t know what it is.” He shivered with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

“Something big,” said Larson, studying Flint closely.

“If I had to guess.” He nodded and didn’t expand.

Larson wasn’t easily put off and she opened her mouth to press Flint for his thoughts. Before she could speak, Burner yelled out in excitement.

“I’ve located an object on the cusp of Ablea, sir!” he said.

“Show me!” ordered Flint, snapping his head towards the bulkhead screen and grabbing the controls. “Is it the Ancidium?”

“There’s interference from the planet’s atmosphere, but the dimensions are the…yes, it’s definitely the Ancidium! It’s staying low and travelling across the planet’s surface.”

Ablea’s atmosphere was likely enough to conceal a vessel the size of the Ancidium, but at the moment, the uppermost two-thirds of the Lavorix warship were visible, while the lower third was cloaked in noxious gases. As Burner enhanced the feed, bringing the details into sharper focus, Flint was struck anew by the menace possessed by this immense construction.

Larson was evidently thinking the same thing. “I’m glad it’s on our side.”

“Kind of on our side,” said Maddox.

“We’ve received orders from Admiral Ivinstol, sir,” said Garrett. “Every one of our warships is to approach the planet and we’ve received a synch code that will limit our maximum velocity to that of the Nevanis. We are not expecting hostilities.”

“I should hope not,” muttered Flint. “Let’s get going.” He glanced sideways at Larson. “Be ready for anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flint oriented the Determinant so that its nose was aimed towards Ablea. A warship could accelerate in any direction, so the adjustment wasn’t strictly necessary, but Flint had yet to meet anyone who wasn’t most comfortable with a nose-first approach. With its engines rumbling, the annihilator sped towards the distant planet and the other vessels kept pace.

“According to the tech files, the Nevanis tops out at nearly three thousand klicks per second,” said Fredericks. “That’s impressive given how much of its interior is given over to storage.”

“They run a high overstress,” said Copeland. “The Nevanis is given a thorough inspection every few months to ensure its propulsion modules are holding up.”

Flint was only listening with one ear. On the bulkhead screens, he could see the superheavy lifter and the other battleships, all within a few thousand kilometres of the Determinant. Ahead of them, the planet Ablea was a sphere of nature’s rage – a rage which only a few hundred years ago would have defeated the best alliance technology. Not anymore.

Through the gases drifted the Ancidium, the huge vessel entirely unaffected by the planet’s wrath. The fear and anxiety which Flint had anticipated he might experience didn’t come. In truth, he didn’t know what his feelings were for this alien species which had once threatened to wipe out humanity and the Daklan, and who had come within a hair of achieving that goal.

“About that something big you mentioned, sir?” said Larson.

“I didn’t say that, Commander. I distinctly remember it was you who used those words.”

“You don’t know what else we might be here for?”

“I’ve got some ideas,” said Flint. “I’m not about to share them.”

“We’re to head straight into the planet’s atmosphere, sir,” said Becerra. “Once there, we’ll flank the Ancidium and match its velocity.”

“Understood,” said Flint.

As he spoke the word, the Ancidium suddenly sank out of sight into Ablea’s atmosphere. The feed went in and out of focus as the sensor team tried to filter out the environmental crap. After a few seconds, the Lavorix ship became visible once again, only this time it was little more than a shadow – a grey shape beneath the surface.

“They’re dropping lower,” said Burner.

“Must have just been showing us they were here,” said Becerra. “And now they’re heading underwater again.”

“Let’s hope they don’t go too low,” said Burner. “The planet has no surface – it’s mostly hydrogen under increasing pressure all the way down.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” said Flint. “As long the Lavorix aren’t planning to lead us on a journey through the liquid metallic core.”

“I wonder what would happen to exium if it were exposed to such pressure,” said Fredericks.

“You pick your times, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Think about it later.”

“All that crap down there might trigger our mesh deflectors,” said Larson.

“Keep an eye on it,” said Flint. “We can set them to manual activation if necessary.”

“That won’t be ideal, sir.”

“I know.” Flint drummed his fingers. “I guess the Lavorix think that staying so low in the atmosphere will make them safe from Kilvar detection.”

It was the only logical explanation he could think of, though he suspected there might be more to it than just staying hidden. Flint drummed his fingers some more.

“Could the conditions in Ablea’s atmosphere conceal the presence of exium?” he asked.

“They certainly aren’t going to help anyone who’s looking,” said Burner. “But then I’d ask the question how the Lavorix know more about hiding exium than we do.”

“You find stuff out by testing,” said Garrett. “Maybe that’s what the Lavorix are planning once we’re done.”

Flint gave a mental shrug. If the Lavorix felt more comfortable trading within the toxic atmosphere of a gas giant, he wasn’t going to complain about it. Having conducted operations within erratic stasis fields before, a bit of ammonia and sulphur dioxide was going to be a comparative walk in the park.

“Distance to Ablea – fifty thousand klicks,” said Becerra.

“Reducing velocity,” said Flint, drawing back on the controls and producing another loud grumble from the annihilator’s engines.

As the distance fell, the Determinant’s sensors began to assert their dominance over the atmospheric conditions and the Lavorix vessel rapidly came back into focus.

“The Ancidium isn’t alone, sir,” said Burner. “I’m picking up dozens of smaller shapes at an even lower altitude. The sensors didn’t pick them up until now.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant,” said Flint. He glanced at the velocity gauge, which was reading four hundred kilometres per second. In less than a minute, the Determinant would enter the planet’s atmosphere. “Just keep watching.”

“I’ve detected a total of ninety-five smaller Lavorix warships, sir,” said Burner a few moments later. “And some which aren’t so small.”

“There’s a distinct possibility that other Lavorix vessels are hidden beneath the Ancidium, sir,” said Becerra. “A rough guess based on the pattern of the visible warships suggests a similar number are out of sight.”

“The numbers don’t matter too much, Lieutenant,” said Flint, looking at the densely packed orange dots on his tactical display. “We only have six annihilators and a heavy lifter. We didn’t come here to duke it out with the Lavorix.”

“No, sir.”

“What about those not so small vessels you’ve detected, Lieutenant Burner?” asked Flint, curious to know what the Lavorix had out there.

“Five in total, sir, plus the possibility of others,” Burner replied. “Mass estimates are difficult given the interference, but I’d guess we have a couple which might exceed a trillion tons.”

“More Laws of Ancidium,” said Larson. “To replace the ones they lost.”

“We already know about the Terragar,” said Flint.

“And they had others under construction, sir,” said Burner. “Captain Recker made a mess out of those ones.”

“I’ve seen it,” said Flint, recalling his time in the Ancidium’s bay – a bay filled with debris torn from the half-built vessels. “The Lavorix haven’t had time to clear up since we freed them from stasis.”

“No, but there’s plenty of room for other bays within the Ancidium, sir.”

Flint felt himself being drawn into the discussion and he wanted to ask Burner about his experiences from the Lavorix wars. It wasn’t the best time for talking and Flint kept the questions to himself, telling himself he’d bring the subject up again later.

By now, Ablea filled the bulkhead screen and Flint reduced velocity still further. He banked and adjusted the approach angle to bring the Determinant into the planet’s atmosphere a few hundred kilometres behind the Ancidium. From there, he planned to catch up and then take his position off the larger vessel’s starboard flank. The other alliance commanding officers knew what they were doing and created their own approach paths.

“Is that static on the feed a result of atmospheric interference?” asked Flint, as he guided the Determinant into the upper layers of hydrogen and helium.

“Yes, sir, and it’ll get worse,” said Burner. “Not so bad that we’ll be unable to see,” he added quicky.

The distance overlay on Flint’s console indicated the Ancidium’s topside was almost eight hundred klicks lower. He piloted the Determinant deeper into the clouds and the static become steadily worse, regardless of the sensor team’s best efforts to prevent it happening.

The static only exacerbated the sense Flint got of the planet’s hatred of this intrusion into its existence. On the forward feed, the Ancidium had become even less distinct – a darkness upon the darkness, a mythical creature of unfathomable size flying untouchable through these wrathful skies. All around this alloy god, its servants followed with the zeal of the truly faithful, ready to descend upon the unfavoured with righteous savagery.

“Shit,” said Flint under his breath, realising his brain had wandered despite his insistence that it did not.

He wrenched himself once more to the here and now, berating himself for his fanciful thoughts. Off to the Determinant’s starboard and only fifty kilometres behind, the Nevanis was the closest vessel. Further away, the other five battleships formed a rough, protective sphere around the heavy lifter, though the positioning was more for show than offering any practical benefits against the overwhelmingly superior Lavorix forces at Ablea.

The Lavorix escort ships were arrayed seemingly at random and they remained beneath the Ancidium, which allowed Flint to pilot his warship without deviating from a straight course. Seconds went by and the Determinant drew level with the Ancidium’s stern. Flint saw details he hadn’t noticed before – etched symbols, domes, towers and emplacements, the former of which had no obvious purpose.

Holding the annihilator steady, Flint’s eyes jumped across the feeds. His mind felt calm, but a cold sweat prickled his scalp and his palms were clammy despite the absorbent inner layers of his combat gloves.

“Step into the parlour, said the spider to the fly,” laughed Copeland nervously.

Twenty kilometres to starboard, the Ancidium was more of an eternal edifice than a transient insect and Flint realised his sense of awe at the scale of this alien vessel had never left him.

“We’re nearly in position, sir,” said Larson. “And no sign of the mesh deflectors triggering.”

Flint glanced at the external readings. The pressure was high, but nothing the Determinant couldn’t cope with. The winds were strong, and the air toxic enough to kill almost anything living – though the pressure would do that job well enough without assistance.

At last, the Determinant arrived at the position sent over by a member of the Oblion’s comms team, and Flint matched velocity at about twenty kilometres per second. He judged his warship was about four hundred kilometres back from the Ancidium’s nose and approximately halfway up its flank.

A pair of twelve-barrel repeaters were mounted on the Lavorix vessel’s hull directly opposite the Determinant and both were pointing straight at the annihilator. Had these been mere countermeasures, Flint wouldn’t have been so fascinated by the guns. It was the bores which caught his eye – each repeater looked as if it could chew up a riot class in a couple of seconds and a heavy cruiser ten seconds after that.

“Another strange mission,” said Flint.

“Been there, done that,” said Larson, and from the look in her eyes, Flint could tell she wasn’t exaggerating one little bit.

“So what happens now?” asked Maddox.

Flint didn’t know, but the answer came almost at once.

“We’ve received word from the Oblion, sir,” said Becerra. “We’re to fly into the Ancidium’s open bay and await further instructions.”

“There’s no bay open,” said Flint.

The words hadn’t left his mouth when a thirty-thousand-metre square section of the Lavorix vessel’s hull – about fifty kilometres above the Determinant - sank into the outer plating and, a moment later, dropped out of sight to reveal a tunnel. What was at the end of that tunnel, the annihilator’s sensors didn’t have an angle to see.

“We’re closest, sir,” said Larson. “That means we’re first.”

Once more, part of Flint wanted to feel fear. That terror wasn’t there, only a nervousness at the unknown. Somehow, Flint knew this mission was intended to achieve something momentous and he was on the brink of finding out exactly what it was.

With his trepidation simmering but under control, Flint piloted the Determinant towards the opening in the Ancidium’s hull.

Chapter Four

The tunnel past the first door led through forty thousand metres of the same dark alloy which clad the Ancidium’s hull. An inner door was already open and beyond that was a third door – currently sealed.

Flint guided the Determinant into the tunnel and towards the far door, which remained closed. On the rear feeds, he saw the Oblion coming next and, after that, the Nevanis.

“I think the Lavorix are waiting for us all to enter, sir,” said Larson. “There’s going to be a three-hundred-klick bay on the other side of that door.”

“If not, it’ll be something equally impressive,” said Flint. “You never did tell me what happened when you came here, Commander. Not the details, anyway.”

The Determinant had run out of space ahead and Flint brought the warship to a standstill, its nose less than a thousand metres from the solid door.

“Ask anything you want.” Larson gave a short laugh. “Maybe not now.”

“The Furnace and the Talestrius are last to enter, sir,” said Becerra. “They’re coming inside now.”

“Plenty of room for all seven of us,” said Maddox. “And this is just a damned entrance tunnel.”

“The first outer door is closing, sir,” said Becerra. “The Furnace and the Talestrius will be cut off if the second door closes.”

“It won’t,” said Flint. “There’ll be no betrayal here.”

For one long minute after the outer door closed, the innermost one also stayed closed. Despite his confident words about there being no treachery, Flint’s jaw muscles clenched and unclenched.

“Come on, come on,” said Maddox.

At last, the third door descended into its recess. Through the opening was the anticipated bay, and its dimensions were also as expected.

“Three hundred long, one hundred wide and more than seventy high,” said Burner. “And full of warships.”

It was clear that the Lavorix never rested and never stopped in their efforts to defeat the Kilvar. In this bay were hundreds of what Flint now thought of as conventional warships – these being between five and eight thousand kilometres in length and with varying masses up to a hundred billion tons or a little over.

The warships were stationary and arranged in rows and columns of eight. These rows and columns continued, evenly spaced, along the bay’s z-axis. From the Determinant’s current position – directly opposite the flank of a Lavorix battleship - Flint couldn’t see how much of the bay was occupied, but he guessed it was full.

“How many?” asked Maddox, shaking her head at the sight.

“Nearly seven hundred, based on the average dimensions of the visible warships,” said Fredericks. “Most of them look as if they could give the Determinant a run for its money.”

“In just this one bay,” said Maddox. “How did the Lavorix manage to lose against the Kilvar with such firepower available?”

“You saw what the Vilekron was capable of, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Plus we only encountered the Fifth Seeking at Landnir. What if the Kilvar possess a dozen others? Or a hundred?”

“Point taken, sir. It’s just that—” Maddox tailed off, though she continued staring at the bulkhead screen.

“Lieutenant Becerra, have you been told where we’re heading?” asked Flint. His eyes too were on the feeds. The Lavorix had left five kilometres of space around the edges of the bay, but there were no visible exits.

“I’m speaking with the Oblion, sir,” said Becerra. She went quiet for a moment. “There’s another bay linked to this one and that’s where we’re going – the entrance is through the forward bulkhead.”

“We’ll have to follow the perimeter of the bay,” said Flint, narrowing his eyes as he calculated the clearance.

“Plenty of room for the Determinant, but it’s going to be tight for the Nevanis,” said Larson.

“Too tight,” said Flint. “They might have to aim their nose at the ceiling in order to get around that corner.”

“Something they’re trained for,” said Larson. “And probably never had to put into practice.”

“I’m speaking to one of the Oblion’s comms team, sir,” said Becerra. “Admiral Ivinstol would like us to stop staring and get our asses in gear.”

“Happy to oblige,” said Flint.

He piloted the Determinant carefully into the bay, turning the warship’s nose towards the Ancidium’s forward bulkhead. As he did do, Flint brought the annihilator three thousand metres closer to the ceiling, allowing the starboard sensors a view all the way along the bay. As he’d thought, the place was completely filled and, in the exact centre, he spotted a dark, two-thousand-metre cube, the hull of which was covered in jutting spikes.

“An interrogator,” he said. “It must patrol the interior.”

“I’ve located two exits from this bay, sir. Forward and aft, and both open,” said Burner. “There may be others which are still outside our visibility arc.”

Flint guided the Determinant to the forward bulkhead and then carefully around so that the vessel’s nose was aimed at the far wall of the bay. The Oblion was only a few hundred metres behind and he could sense Admiral Ivinstol’s impatience.

“Get off our butt, Admiral,” said Larson. She raised a fist and shook it in mock anger.

“Here comes the Nevanis,” said Flint.

The superheavy lifter’s pilot had seen what was required and taken the decision to point his vessel’s stern towards the bay floor. Like Larson had said, it was something the Nevanis’ crew were trained for, but Flint doubted they would enjoy the coming manoeuvre.

“Maybe a few of those Lavorix warships could shuffle backwards,” said Fredericks. “Because this is a shitty way to treat your guests.”

No sooner had he spoken, than several columns of warships at the bulkhead corner flew back in perfect synch, bunching up until the gaps separating them were no more than a couple of hundred metres. When they were done, the Nevanis had much more room in which to turn.

“That’s very decent of them,” said Fredericks, his voice dripping.

“Plenty of space for the Nevanis now,” said Flint. On the rear-starboard feed he could see the heavy lifter re-orienting its underside to parallel with the bay floor.

The destination wasn’t far ahead and Flint gave the Determinant a little extra velocity. It felt strange to be in the presence of so many alien warships and not have any of them launching missiles in his direction.

Halting the warship directly opposite the thirty-kilometre opening in the forward bulkhead, Flint rotated the vessel and found himself staring along a tunnel leading to yet another door. Without hesitation, he piloted the annihilator to the end of the tunnel and brought it to a standstill.

The other pilots were experienced officers and, shortly after, all seven alliance warships were in the linking tunnel and waiting for the door to open. This time, the Lavorix didn’t delay – the second door opened after a few seconds and the first one didn’t close.

“Another bay,” said Flint. “The same size as the last one.”

“And some hardware,” nodded Larson.

“Lots of hardware,” added Burner.

What most caught Flint’s eye appeared at first glance to be a five-kilometre cube with a surface etched in a fine and intricate grid pattern. This cube hovered in the space directly in front of the Determinant at a distance of about fifty kilometres. When Flint peered closely, he saw that what he’d initially thought was a solid grid was, in fact, an almost delicate structure built with thousands of struts and beams. Resting in the gaps were slender cylinders with rounded ends.

“It’s a missile rack,” Flint said in realisation. “A huge, damned missile rack.”

“There might be five million hellburners on that thing,” said Fredericks.

“The alliance doesn’t have enough warships to hold that many,” said Copeland in disbelief. “An annihilator’s full loadout is less than five thousand.”

“We have a lot of warships in the alliance fleet, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Each of which is going to require a full magazine change. Plus all the reloads we’ll need when we start launching our new hellburners at the Kilvar.”

“When you said we were getting missiles, I expected a few thousand,” said Maddox. “Maybe a hundred thousand tops. Yet here – there’s enough to fight a war.”

Privately, Flint thought those five million hellburners would quickly run out during an extended campaign, but that didn’t dampen his joy at seeing so many missiles – each of which would presumably give the Kilvar a nasty shock.

“This is a game changer,” he said. “A chance to fight as equals.”

Except for the disparity in warship numbers. Flint kept the thought to himself. Some things didn’t need spelling out.

There was more. Ten kilometres to the left of the missile rack was another cube, this one with three-kilometre edges and a solid hull. Whatever it contained wasn’t visible to the sensors, though Flint was sure yet more weaponry was inside.

His eyes drifted to the other parts of the bay. The floorspace was covered in all manner of objects – from stacks of what appeared to be huge ternium blocks, to premade armour plating, turrets, particle beam generators and more. Between the stacks were dozens of construction trenches, each one occupied by a part-built battleship hull. Lifter shuttles and gravity cranes clustered around each vessel, putting them together with staggering speed and efficiency.

“This is incredible,” said Larson. “The first time I was inside the Ancidium, I asked myself if the same level of construction could possibly be happening everywhere.” She exhaled. “And here I see that it is.”

“So - missiles and other tech in exchange for our exium,” said Maddox. “At first I thought we were being premature. Now I see what we’re getting, maybe I’ve changed my mind – and I don’t even know what’s in that smaller cube.”

“It’ll be something we want,” said Fredericks.

“Lieutenant Becerra, have you heard anything from the Oblion?” asked Flint, not taking his eyes off the feeds. The other six alliance warships were now in the bay, none of them venturing past the Determinant. “I’d like to know how long we’re going to be here.”

“Getting itchy feet, sir?” asked Larson, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

Flint wasn’t sure why he was suddenly concerned about the possibility of a wait. “I don’t know, Commander.” He pointed at bulkhead screen. “That’s what we’re here for, so I’d like to get them loaded onto our fleet warships as quickly as possible.”

It turned out that events wouldn’t be proceeding as rapidly as Flint hoped.

“Word from the Oblion is that we’re going to warm up the ingar-ternium reactor, sir,” said Becerra. “We’ve agreed to provide the Lavorix with a certain quantity of exium in exchange for those two cubes in front of us.”

“How much exium?” asked Flint. “And how long will it take the reactor to produce the agreed quantity?”

“My big question is - are the Lavorix aware that exium can be depleted?” said Fredericks.

“And what happens to the reactor once it’s finished making all that exium?” asked Burner. “Are we bringing it back with us?”

The questions kept on coming.

“Who told the Lavorix it was safe to fire up an ingar-ternium reactor within the hull of the Ancidium?” asked Maddox.

“Enough!” snapped Flint, more forcefully than he intended. “I don’t know the answers. Most of what you asked are issues for Admiral Ivinstol and the rest of high command to handle.”

“The Nevanis’ main bay doors are opening!” said Becerra, her words drawing everyone’s attention to the feeds.

“That missile rack is moving from its position,” said Burner.

“I can’t see an engine on it,” said Copeland. “Is it being carried by a gravity field?”

“No – I think it might have a central propulsion unit,” said Burner.

“Clever,” said Fredericks approvingly.

The Nevanis’ bay doors didn’t take long to open fully and the missile rack flew across the bay, passing directly beneath the Determinant. It was strange to watch and awe-inspiring to think that the Lavorix had not only constructed five million missiles in what Flint believed was a few days - or a couple of weeks at the outside – but that they’d also designed and built a dedicated vessel to hold those missiles and transport them into the Nevanis.

This is what can be achieved when your entire species has a single purpose.

The thought reminded Flint that the Kilvar were similarly singular in their purpose. From the happiness he’d experienced only a short time earlier when he’d seen these missiles, he suddenly found himself wondering if they’d be no more than a drop in the ocean.

“Shit,” he muttered sourly.

“Sir?” asked Larson.

“Nothing, Commander,” Flint said. He reconsidered. “I’m trying to convince myself that those hellburners are enough to give us a chance.”

“We’re not the only species fighting the Kilvar, sir,” said Larson. “Anyway, I’d rather die slowly knowing I had a chance to win, than die fast because my enemy was immune to my weapons.”

Flint kicked himself mentally. He’d been trying to keep himself optimistic – like he used to be – but every once in a while, his outlook slipped. “We’ve got exium,” he said, forcing a smile.

“And we’re making great strides in learning how to control it,” said Larson, her own smile far more convincing.

“The missile rack is nearly in the Nevanis’ bay,” said Becerra. “The second cube is on its way.”

“After that, we’ll have to sit and wait until the ingar-ternium has produced enough exium,” said Garrett. “Then we can get the hell away from this place.”

Flint didn’t want to be so passive. “Lieutenant Becerra, I think it’s time I spoke with Admiral Ivinstol. I’d like to find out how long that reactor is expected to take.”

“Yes, sir – I’ll try and get hold of him.” Becerra paused for a moment. “Uh – the Admiral got there first, sir. He wants to speak with you on a private channel.”

“Bring him through,” said Flint. He had a feeling this was going to be bad news.

“Captain Flint,” said Ivinstol at once.

“Yes, sir.”

Ivinstol didn’t beat about the bush. “Shortly, we will depart, however, the Ancidium has requested that the Determinant remain. It has given me the necessary assurances over your safety.”

Of all the possibilities, this was not one Flint had expected. “For what reason are we to stay, sir?” he asked, wavering on the brink of anger.

“I do not know, Captain Flint.”

“Then how can you—”

“I am not ordering this,” said Ivinstol. He gave a rasping sigh. “I do not know what the Ancidium wants from your warship. There is an opportunity here, though I do not know what it is. I have taken this under advisement and I am asking you to take this risk.”

Having been struck repeatedly blindside over the last weeks and months, Flint was learning how to roll with the blows and his state of confusion didn’t last. Despite the admiral insisting this was only a request, in reality there was no choice whatsoever. Such was life.

“If you think there’s an opportunity here, I will agree to stay, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain Flint. Good luck.”

Admiral Ivinstol didn’t say around to chat and he cut the channel. After that, Flint tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. The unseen hand of fate was pulling his strings again.

Flint gritted his teeth and wondered where the dance would take him this time.

Chapter Five

“What happened, sir?” asked Larson, her face concerned.

“Does my expression give it away?” Flint asked.

“Pretty much.”

Flint raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “The rest of the mission is leaving and we’re staying. This was a request, not an order.”

“And you agreed to it, sir?” asked Copeland.

“This is not a committee, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Even if it wasn’t an order, it still sounds like we’ve just been sold down the river by our own side,” said Copeland angrily.

“The Captain said there’d be no treachery on this mission,” said Garrett. “I guess you were only considering the Lavorix when you said that, sir?”

“Admiral Ivinstol wouldn’t betray us,” said Larson. “I’ve met him before and he’s got principles of iron.”

“Then why leave us behind?” asked Maddox.

“If he asked this of us, there’s a damned good reason for it,” said Larson.

Flint wanted to jump to his feet and yell at his crew that there’d been no betrayal. He couldn’t do it, because right now he wasn’t sure one way or the other. While he didn’t know Admiral Ivinstol, this mission was one that Fleet Admiral Recker was aware of, and, while Flint’s heart told him that neither officer would pull a stunt like this, his head knew there was some figuring out to do in order to make the facts fit.

“Nobody’s shooting at us,” he said, trying to find something good in their current circumstances. “If the Lavorix asked for us to stay, they must want something.”

“Something only we can offer?” said Bolan. “Forgive me, sir, but what do we have that the other warships do not?”

“Captain Flint,” said Fredericks. “That’s what we have.”

“What do you mean by that, Lieutenant?” asked Flint sharply.

“I’m not exactly sure, sir.” Fredericks looked down. “Maybe it’s all of us, not just you.”

“What if we’re carrying some exium in one of our bays that nobody told us about?” asked Garrett.

Flint had been shaken by the assertion that the Lavorix might have a specific interest in him, so he was glad to find the focus shifting rapidly away. At least it shifted for most of the crew – Larson was watching Flint closely as if she were trying to gauge what he was thinking. The intensity of it made him uncomfortable like it always did.

“There’s no exium,” said Flint, without meeting Larson’s eyes.

“I know,” she replied.

What if it’s Captain Vance? Flint suddenly thought. Vance was here before. The entity on the Ancidium knows him.

Guesswork might stumble upon the truth, but they’d never know what was right - not until the Ancidium revealed its intentions. When that time would come, Flint didn’t have the faintest idea.

“How long have we got?” asked Copeland. She corrected herself quickly. “I mean, how long until the rest of our ships leave?”

“Apparently the ingar-ternium reactor has already produced the agreed quantities of exium,” said Becerra. “I’ve just heard that from the Oblion.”

The distraction of events had taken Flint’s attention away from the feeds and when he checked, the missile rack and the smaller cube had both vanished into the primary hold of the Nevanis. The heavy lifter’s secondary bay doors were now open and a solitary shuttle descended into view. It looked like a standard cargo-carrying model, a couple of hundred metres in length and of a type designed to lug a few million tons of dense materials from place to place.

“There’s the exium,” said Larson. “On its way to wherever.”

Watching it go, Flint experienced a twinge of unease at the thought of what use the Lavorix might have for the product. He had to keep reminding himself that the exium’s useful life was finite and that eventually the modules in the bay of that cargo shuttle would run dry.

“This is a balancing act,” he said. Saying it out loud helped Flint come to a greater understanding. “We need those missiles more than we don’t need to give those few blocks of exium to the Lavorix. We’re banking on being the only ones who can produce more exium in the future and that we’ll master its use enough that we can deal with any double-cross.”

“No-one ever won a war if they didn’t take risks,” said Larson.

The cargo shuttle descended slowly to the floor of the bay and landed between two of the construction trenches – a place that seemed nowhere in particular. Flint watched closely, but the Lavorix left the transport untouched.

“There was no pilot on the shuttle,” said Becerra. “The trade is done and our spaceships are preparing to depart.”

Flint was – understandably, he thought – on edge, and he fidgeted as he watched the sensor feeds. The bay doors on the Nevanis closed and then, as one, the alliance warships rotated and headed back into the tunnel linking to the first bay. No further comms came from the Oblion, except the standard data sharing across the battle network.

“There they go,” said Fredericks. “Thanks for everything, fellas.”

Even Fredericks was pissed and he usually took everything on the chin. The realisation gave Flint a sudden doubt about his decision. Maybe he should have at least talked things over with his crew - maybe that’s what a better commanding officer would have done. Flint was sure his crew would have agreed to stay anyway and their morale might have been better for the inclusion.

One-by-one the alliance spaceships disappeared into the adjacent bay and the Furnace was last to vanish from sight. No sooner had it gone, than the intervening bay doors rose up, sealing the Determinant’s only route out.

“Shit,” said Flint sourly.

“We’re here, sir, so what now?” asked Maddox.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“Something to happen.”

The constant bombardment of questions was beginning to grind Flint down and Maddox must have recognized the fact, since she closed her mouth and didn’t ask another. Doing his best to keep on top of his emotions, Flint watched the sensors, alert for developments.

Come.

The word appeared on the command console’s main screen and Flint blinked when it saw it.

“Did anyone else get that message?” he asked.

“What message?” asked Larson. She leaned across. “Oh – that message. It’s not on my screen.”

It wasn’t on anyone else’s screen either. The questions started again and Flint lowered his head.

“Quiet!” he shouted. “There’s only one place this came from, and that’s the Ancidium.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” asked Larson. “Are the Lavorix expecting us to land and disembark?”

“We’re not leaving this warship,” said Flint. He qualified the statement. “Not unless I’m convinced it’s the right thing to do – and at the moment you can be damned sure I’m not convinced.”

“I’m scanning the bay, sir,” said Burner. “Maybe there’s a clue as to what the Lavorix want from us.”

“This might be a stupid question, but can you reply to the message, sir?” asked Maddox.

“It’s not a stupid question, Lieutenant, but the answer is no. The message doesn’t seem to have come through the comms system – it’s like it’s been inserted into the software.”

“I can confirm that nothing was routed through the comms to your console, sir,” said Garrett.

Flint glanced at his console again and all he saw was that lone word. Come.

“When you said we were staying, I kind of thought it would be for a comms chat,” said Maddox. “The Lavorix would tell us what they wanted and we’d tell them what we thought about it.”

“If the Lavorix aren’t going to make it clear what they want, maybe we should mode 3 out of here,” said Bolan.

“We can’t,” said Larson. “Lightspeed travel doesn’t work into or out of the Ancidium – not unless you’re near a hole in its hull, and the Determinant isn’t carrying anything capable of making one. Besides, we’ve only been alone for less than five minutes. It’s probably best if we give Lavorix a bit of time, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bolan.

The training manual – that mythical object which, as far as Flint was aware, didn’t actually exist in physical form - was clear that in pretty much every situation apart from where a spaceship was landed in confirmed friendly territory, that spaceship’s crew should not disembark.

And yet, Flint had an unshakeable feeling the Lavorix wanted him to do exactly that. He had a similarly unshakeable feeling that it was he who was to exit the Determinant, rather than everyone else.

“Scan the bay for places a shuttle could land,” said Flint.

“I’ve already identified a couple, sir,” said Burner. “I’ll highlight them on the feed. And it looks as if the Lavorix are about to unload our cargo shuttle.”

Sure enough, a second shuttle had landed right next to the one from the Nevanis, close enough to hide anything in the narrow space between the two. Flint could have repositioned the Determinant for a better look, but it didn’t seem important.

“What are you thinking, sir?” asked Larson, her expression making it clear she’d already guessed.

“The Lavorix have business for us. I should go and speak with them.”

To Flint’s surprise, Larson didn’t try to argue him out of it. “Sometimes we have to be bold, sir.”

He smiled. “I thought you said we should give the Lavorix a bit of time.”

“Before we made efforts to leave, I meant.” Larson lowered her eyebrows. “But you knew that.”

“I think this is the only communication they’ll send,” said Flint, pointing at his screen.

“Yes,” said Larson. “I don’t think I’d exactly call this a test, more a case of aliens being alien.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Flint. He took in a breath. “This is an opportunity,” he said, repeating Admiral Ivinstol’s assertion.

“It is, sir. That’s why you agreed to stay.”

The more he thought about it, the more keenly Flint believed he was in the right place at the right time. No longer did he feel that high command had sent him to walk the plank, now he was eager to get on with things.

“Lieutenant Becerra, speak with Captain Vance,” said Flint. “I’m leaving the Determinant by the shuttle in Bay 1 and I’d like an escort.”

“How much of an escort, sir?”

“A dozen soldiers should do it - I don’t want to leave the Determinant without defences.”

“I’ll let Captain Vance know, sir. Is this happening immediately?”

“There’s no time like the present, Lieutenant.”

“Captain Vance will meet you in the shuttle, sir,” said Becerra, a few moments later.

With the arrangements made, Flint rose from his seat. “Commander Larson, the Determinant is yours.”

“Any specific orders, sir?”

“Stay safe,” he said.

Flint knew the survival of the annihilator and its passengers wasn’t in Larson’s hands and she knew it too.

“I’ll do what I can. You stay safe too, huh?”

Crossing to the weapons cabinet, Flint extracted a shotgun and a gauss rifle, slinging the former and keeping the latter in his hand. The extra weight of the Rodan was uncomfortable and he was beginning to resent having to carry one around with him everywhere.

With nothing more to say, Flint left the bridge and dashed through the battleship’s interior to Shuttle Bay 1. He was last man, like he’d expected, and Private Drawl waved him through the shuttle’s flank door, a wide grin on his face.

“Why so happy, Private?” asked Flint, as he stepped across the narrow gap separating the transport from the docking platform.

“Things have been quiet for too long, sir.”

“You call everything that’s happened quiet?”

“Quieter than normal, sir,” said Drawl with a shrug.

Flint left the soldier behind and ran through into the passenger bay. Shuttle 1 was one of the smaller rapid-deployment vessels the Determinant was carrying and its bay had seats for fewer than a hundred. The handful of troops Vance had brought with him looked lost in the space. One or two offered a greeting and they looked as enthused as Drawl.

Vance himself wasn’t visible and Flint knew where to find him. Narrow steps led from the bay and he climbed rapidly, accidentally knocking his Rodan twice against the solid walls as he did so.

The cockpit was cold, compact, dimly lit, and had seating for three. Vance was left and Lieutenant Tagra was right. Without waiting for an invitation, Flint squeezed into the middle seat. Elbow room was lacking, but he had plenty enough to pilot the shuttle.

“Ready?” asked Flint.

“Ready,” Vance confirmed. As usual, he kept the questions to a minimum.

“We’re launching from the Determinant and we’re going to set down on one of the platforms inside the Ancidium’s construction bay,” said Flint. “Then, we’re going to find out exactly what the Lavorix want from us.”

“A piece of cake,” said Tagra, getting the inflection wrong, as if one of the other soldiers had recently taught him the saying and he hadn’t got it quite right.

“Damn right,” said Flint. “Captain Vance, let the bridge crew know we’re ready to depart.”

“Done,” said Vance. “We have clearance.”

Flint activated the transport’s auto-launch sequence and a moment later, it accelerated stern-first along the docking tunnel. Protective doors within the annihilator’s armour opened at precisely the right moment to allow the shuttle’s transit. A few seconds later, it was ejected into the Ancidium’s vast bay and Flint took over the controls.

“The Determinant has fed through our destination point,” said Tagra.

“I see it,” Flint confirmed.

The landing place was a platform about a third of the way up the bay wall, approximately ninety kilometres away. Taking a deep breath, Flint turned the shuttle towards its intended destination and requested thrust from the engines. With a howl of vigour – indicative of the vessel’s rapid-deployment capabilities – the transport pulled away from the protection of the battleship’s hull.

Far below, the construction work continued without cease, as if the presence of the alliance battleship was of no consequence at all, and the cargo transport holding the exium blocks was in the exact same place it had landed. The Lavorix shuttle sent to unload it was already gone and lost amongst the hundreds of others. The aliens didn’t hang around.

Flint didn’t know what the Lavorix wanted from him, his crew, or his warship, but he was keen as hell to find out. He increased velocity and the landing platform – which was little more than a three-hundred-metre slab of alloy protruding a hundred metres from the wall - came ever nearer, while the excitement building inside him grew.

Less than three minutes after departing from the Determinant, Flint set the shuttle down in the exact centre of the platform.

Chapter Six

“Let’s go,” said Flint.

The cockpit’s three occupants descended the stairs and at the same moment, Captain Vance ordered the soldiers in the passenger bay to prepare for exit. By the time Flint was at the bottom of the steps, everyone was already waiting in the airlock. The space outside was in a vacuum and a rapid exit wasn’t important enough to initiate a violent depressurization of the shuttle’s interior.

Vance closed the inner airlock door and, a moment later, a green light appeared on the outer one.

“Open it,” Flint instructed.

“Airlock door opening,” said Private Zivor, crashing a hand with unnecessary force on the access panel.

The exit door opened and the soldiers hurried down the short ramp to the ground. Flint was second-last and he ran across to join the others. Darkness – which had been less of an impediment to the shuttle’s sensors and none at all to the annihilator’s – filled the bay, and the soldiers had their helmet torches switched on. Beams danced here and there, providing hardly any illumination and only serving to exacerbate Flint’s sense that they were isolated and utterly insignificant.

“There’s a door over here, sir,” said Drawl, jogging towards the side wall of the bay.

“It’s shut,” said Raimi. “Who forgot to bring the obliterator core?”

“We won’t need one,” said Flint, hoping he was right.

He set off after Drawl, aiming the light from his own torch at the wall. The illumination was drab, even where the beam should have been strongest, as if the darkness of the bay and the mass of the Ancidium were conspiring to crush the light into nothingness.

A seam was visible – faint and narrow – and Flint stopped at the outlined section of wall. Without sound or prompt, bar the arrival of the soldiers, the door opened and beyond was a passage. A lone Lavorix stood motionless, dressed in a spacesuit which seemed to be made up from tiny links like chainmail, and which was completely nonreflective. While most of the Lavorix wore black, this one was in grey.

All four of the alien’s arms hung by his side and he carried no weapon. He stared unblinking and Flint wasn’t sure if the Lavorix was looking directly at him or at someone else.

“That’s Xak-Uz-Tanr, sir,” said Vance on a private comm channel. “The Ancidium’s second.”

“I remember the name,” said Flint.

He stepped forward, ready to say something. Caught momentarily off-balance by the realisation that his chin speaker was useless in a vacuum, Flint instructed his suit comms to search for a receptor. It located a single one and it was open. He linked.

“Greetings – I am Captain Flint. We were asked to stay.”

For long moments, Xak-Uz-Tanr didn’t move and still he didn’t blink. Then, he nodded in Flint’s direction. “You are wanted.”

The alien’s voice was unpleasant, all clicks and sibilance – repulsive in the same way that finding a spindly, fast-moving spider in an underwear drawer was repulsive.

“I’m wanted or someone else?” asked Flint.

“You are wanted, Captain Flint.” The Lavorix turned and began walking away. “Come.”

With little choice in the matter, Flint stepped into the passage, which his environmental sensor informed him was not in a vacuum and the temperature was only a little below freezing. He remembered Vance telling him about these invisible separators from the last visit, so he wasn’t surprised.

A scent of age clung to the place – not pleasant, but not wholly vile. It was musty and totally dissimilar to any of the odours on a fleet warship. Flint breathed it in through his helmet filter and imagined the aeons across which the Ancidium had journeyed. Giddiness swept through him at the thought of eternal, incessant war and, while he was keen to see this unplanned mission to its conclusion, part of him wished to be almost anywhere but here.

Clearing his mind, Flint looked to see what lay ahead in the passage. It continued straight for a distance, to an intersection. Between here and there were doors, all closed.

“I’d like some answers,” said Flint.

“You will have them,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr without slowing or turning. His gait was fast and the soldiers had to almost run to keep up. “And perhaps those answers will also give rise to questions.”

“I’m sure they will. Why me?”

“You have drawn the Ancidium’s attention.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“You are looking for reassurances. I cannot offer them.”

Xak-Uz-Tanr kept on walking and he turned left at the intersection. So far, Flint had spotted no other Lavorix and he wondered exactly how many the aliens had lost to both the Kilvar and the extraction attacks they’d suffered during their war with the alliance. Certainly the activity in their shipyard didn’t look affected, but it was likely fully automated. Maybe if it came to a large-scale deployment of ground troops, the Lavorix would feel the pinch.

“Where is everyone?” asked Drawl loudly, having evidently been thinking along the same lines as Flint.

There was no doubt Xak-Uz-Tanr heard the question, though he didn’t respond. Of course, no senior officer was going to just come out and say that his forces were badly depleted. Drawl – not usually one to take a hint – did so on this occasion and he didn’t repeat his question.

“Our comms to the Determinant have failed,” said the recently promoted Sergeant Charnos on the squad channel. “Soon, the booster pack I am carrying will be equally ineffective.”

“Maybe the Lavorix will let us piggyback their internal comms,” suggested Private Ossie Carrington. “If we ask nicely.”

“If you want to be nice, don’t show them your ass, Carrington,” said Drawl. “Unless you’re looking to restart a war.”

“I’d be more worried if you let them smell your breath, Drawl,” Carrington shot back. “Did anyone ever tell you it’s like concentrated Kilvar flatulence with a few dead bodies mixed in?”

“My breath smells like warm cookies,” said Drawl. “And it doesn’t stop me wooing the ladies.”

“Wooing?” asked Raimi in disbelief. “Did you pull that one out of a thousand-year-old dictionary?”

“Yeah, no-one who says wooing ever wooed anyone,” said Carrington. “Least of all Raven.”

“Hey, that’s bullshit,” said Drawl, thrown on the defensive. “I ain’t got a thing for Raven.”

“Sure you have,” said Private Faye Raven gleefully. “You can’t keep your eyes off my sweet behind.”

“The only thing I see is suit,” said Drawl.

“And that’s all you’ll ever see,” said Raven in triumph.

Flint listened and wondered how the soldiers could detach themselves so easily from a situation. On the plus side, he guessed it meant they weren’t feeling the imminence of danger and usually Vance would have stepped in if he thought the crap talk was becoming a problem.

Glancing behind where the soldiers were following, Flint saw they were fully alert, as if their mouths could talk without getting in the way of their combat readiness. At last, Vance stepped in and ordered the soldiers to keep their mouths shut, though the anger in his voice was clearly put on for show.

By this time, Xak-Uz-Tanr had led the squad almost a kilometre from the bay, along anonymous, empty corridors where every door was closed, and Flint wondered at the efficiency of travel within the Ancidium. He’d heard from Vance that the Lavorix could run fast and for extended periods, so maybe the distances weren’t so important.

Two hundred metres further, Xak-Uz-Tanr stopped in front of double-doors and turned. “Captain Flint, you will come alone.”

“Why is that necessary?”

“Because it has been asked.”

Flint accessed the officer channel. “Well, Captain Vance, what do you think?”

“I can’t make this decision for you, sir. If it’s any use, the Lavorix have – up till now - been as good as their word.”

It was another illusory choice, and Flint nodded once at Xak-Uz-Tanr. “These soldiers will wait here.”

“Yes.”

The double doors opened seemingly without the Lavorix doing anything to cause it. Beyond, was a square, dark-walled room with no exits.

“This is a lift or a shuttle, sir,” said Vance. “My platoon and I travelled in one last time.”

“I remember you saying,” said Flint. He gave Vance a tight smile. “Whatever comes from this, let’s hope it works in our favour.”

Vance only nodded.

“Come,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr from within the shuttle.

Flint went inside and was struck by a tangy scent of technology that was so overwhelming it made his salivary glands spasm, like he’d sniffed a jar of vinegar. The doors closed, blocking out the soldiers. Straightaway, a droning sound rose to prominence and the floor underfoot vibrated with almost painful intensity.

The shuttle ride lasted no more than thirty seconds and then the vibration faded along with the droning. Xak-Uz-Tanr strode forward in full expectation that the doors would open before him. So they did, and the Lavorix exited the car into a huge room lit in the faintest of blues.

Immediately, Flint was struck by the oppression of the ages – a reminder that no matter how long he lived, his years were as nothing compared to those endured by whatever it was in this room.

And there it was, exactly like Vance had described it. Dead centre of the space, an eighty-metre sphere of dark material floated in the air.

“Approach,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, setting off across the floor.

“This is your god,” said Flint.

“Did I call it a god?” asked the Lavorix.

“That’s how you described it to Captain Vance when he was here.”

“Perhaps it is a god,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “Or perhaps Captain Vance needed to hear it called such in order to be receptive to its words.”

Flint wasn’t sure if he was being fed sophistry or if this situation was so alien and so far beyond his understanding, that anything could be true. He didn’t know one way or the other what kind of entity was contained within the sphere and he doubted he’d be any the wiser once the encounter was over.

“Here,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, stopping just beyond the extreme edge of the sphere’s single face, as if in a mark of respect or – Flint idly thought – in case it came crashing down on his foot.

Flint stopped too and he craned his neck. Although he was accustomed to piloting spaceships many times the size and mass of this sphere, he nevertheless found himself impressed. Closing his eyes for a moment, Flint tried to get a sense of whatever it was he was about to meet. He felt something, though when he tried to focus on what it might be, that feeling slipped away, making him wonder if he was only fooling himself.

Captain William Flint.

The voice appeared in Flint’s mind and he immediately resented the intrusion. Without knowing exactly what he was doing, or even if it would be any use, he imagined himself erecting mental walls to shield his private thoughts from this alien entity.

“Yes,” said Flint. “Why am I here?”

I have brought you here to see.

“To see what?” Flint experienced a hint of exasperation and then reminded himself that he shouldn’t expect a conversation with an alien god to proceed like a chat at the mess hall replicator.

The Ancidium’s next words shook him to the core.

The war with the Kilvar is lost. Not just for your species, but for every species. Soon, our enemy will ascend.

“We defeated them at our planet Basalt,” said Flint. “They took no life energy from us.”

Not from your planet. The Kilvar are in many places.

“So I have been told,” said Flint. It was possible the Ancidium was lying about the imminent ascendancy, but he didn’t think it likely. He felt the tendrils of defeat wrapping themselves around him, tightening inexorably. “You have brought me all this way to tell me the war is over?” he asked in anger. His next question spilled out. “What am I here to see?”

Your enemy. And perhaps to understand.

The dread which Flint was already feeling increased tenfold and it required the greatest of efforts to hold steady against it. Nothing was yet proven, he told himself.

Despite his initial misgivings about the Ancidium’s invitation, Flint had deep down believed the Lavorix were going to put an offer on the table – an offer that would help both them and the alliance at once. Now it seemed there was to be no offer, only a warning that death would soon be upon everyone not just in the alliance, but many other species besides.

And yet, he’d been summoned here. Perhaps there was more to this situation than met the eye. Determined he wouldn’t show any of his doubts, nor that this entity would read them from his mind, Flint steeled himself.

“You said you would show me the enemy,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Seven

Darkness came from nowhere and rushed through Flint’s mind, threatening to engulf his conscious thought. For a brief, panicked moment, he was on the verge of succumbing to the terror and being sucked into what he knew would be a permanent loss of sanity.

This. Will. Not. Happen.

Flint’s anger gave him strength. At the same time as he found the willpower to hold against the crushing darkness, he realised this was no attempt to end his life and nor was it anything so pitiful as a test of his worthiness. Instead, the Ancidium was showing Flint something of the utmost importance and it was waiting for him to understand.

He attempted to impose himself upon the darkness, to discover its secrets. The darkness was not to be imposed upon, and it eluded his efforts, no matter how hard he tried. Flint didn’t give up and, gradually, he noticed movement, as if the shadows were hiding something – a creature even they were afraid of.

Slowly, unsure how much time was passing, Flint asserted himself and he sensed the creature become aware of him. It hated him and yet it welcomed his presence. He felt it seeking him out and his mind recoiled, throwing up yet more barriers as Flint sought understanding. The feeling of horror grew and once more his sanity was threatened.

With one last, final effort, Flint saw. The creature was of the Kilvar, this he knew, but it was also magnitudes greater than anything the alliance had encountered before. Limbs, indistinct yet thick and enormously powerful, reached for him. They thundered into Flint’s mental walls like battering rams crashing into the oak gates of an ancient castle, each strike threatening to shatter his defences.

Flint no longer wanted to be here and he was taken by the realisation that he didn’t know how to escape. “Enough!” he gasped.

With the immediacy of a light being switched off, the darkness was gone and Flint’s consciousness was once more in the room with the sphere. His earpiece beeped and he was vaguely aware that the medical readout on his HUD was telling him his vital signs were all over the place. A weakness in his legs made him drop to his haunches and he put out a hand to keep himself balanced.

“What was that?” he asked. “What did you show me?”

You have seen the Raklivian, Captain William Flint.

“Is it the Kilvar god?” asked Flint, his brain scrambling for an explanation.

Not a god. It came aboard the Ancidium with the other Kilvar when your warship negated the stasis.

“You captured it?” asked Flint.

In a way.

“In what way?” asked Flint. The fear he’d experienced earlier hadn’t left him, but it was now accompanied by other emotions, anger being one of them. Underlying everything was a suspicion that the opportunity he’d not long ago discounted may well be available, just not in the form he’d anticipated. Flint also sensed an evasiveness – a reluctance by the Lavorix entity to provide a clear explanation for what was happening. “What are you hiding?” he asked.

The Raklivian gained access to the Ancidium’s extraction batteries.

Immediately, the reason for that evasiveness was clear.

“The Kilvar tapped into all that life energy you’d extracted from the Meklon and kept stored up for a rainy day,” said Flint. The outcome of so many intertwined events had led to an utterly tragic result.

Yes. The Raklivian took enough life energy for the Kilvar to ascend.

“And you had it all waiting on a silver platter.” Flint swore with feeling. He forced himself calm. The entity was still hiding something, he was sure. “Why haven’t the Kilvar become a god?” he asked. “The Kilvar boarded the Ancidium weeks ago.”

The Lavorix captured the Raklivian after it accessed the life batteries. They tried to recover that which was stolen. Part of the Raklivian escaped.

“Part of it escaped?” asked Flint in disbelief. “Why didn’t you just kill it when you had the chance?”

Killing the Raklivian is not so easy as shooting it with a gun, Captain William Flint. The Lavorix tried and failed. Our hopes for a conclusion rest with your alliance.

Flint was already infuriated by the conversation and he bit down on an angry response to this drip feeding of information. “What conclusion?” he asked. “Can’t you just spell out exactly what happened?”

Part of the Raklivian escaped, but part of it did not. The substance you call exium might offer a resolution. That which your alliance provided is being crafted into a cage. You will use the cage to recapture the Raklivian.

“I will use the cage?” asked Flint, placing strong emphasis on the first word.

The Lavorix will provide the tools.

“Why can’t the Lavorix use those tools?”

Because the Kilvar and the Lavorix are linked. We have no hope of recapturing the Raklivian in time. The enemy know us and will not be fooled.

“I think you need to explain everything to me,” said Flint. This encounter with the Ancidium had gone from disappointing, to terrifying, to confusing. Now it had turned distinctly interesting and Flint intended to keep pushing for answers until he was satisfied there were no more to be had.

For a time, he conversed with the Ancidium. Gradually, he came to the belief that the evasiveness he’d detected earlier wasn’t necessarily such. The entity within the sphere wasn’t human and it wasn’t remotely like a human, which made it difficult to assign it a humanlike level of subterfuge. In the end, Flint concluded that the Ancidium wasn’t trying to hide anything and, eventually, he extracted what he believed was the information he required.

When the Ancidium’s presence withdrew from his mind, it was more of a relief than Flint had expected. He rose shakily from his haunches, feeling alternately hot and cold, weak and then buoyed with adrenaline-fueled strength.

“You are finished,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. The Lavorix hadn’t moved and his pale eyes stared at Flint.

“I’m done here,” Flint confirmed. “Did you hear what was said?”

“No, but I am aware.”

“How long was I away?”

“Not long. Your soldiers are not yet alarmed at the time of your absence.”

“I need to return to them.”

Xak-Uz-Tanr wheeled abruptly and strode across the floor towards the exit in his unnervingly rapid gait. With his mind still digesting the information he’d learned, Flint hurried after.

“How long will the preparations take?” he asked.

“The first cage is made,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “It will be brought to you before you return to your warship.”

“And the Demagaron?”

“Soon, Captain Flint. Soon.”

The two of them entered the shuttle and this time Flint hardly noticed the sharp scents, nor the vibration. After thirty seconds of travel – during which he suspected they covered a great distance within the Ancidium – the sound and the vibration ended and the shuttle doors opened.

Outside, Captain Vance and his squad were waiting. They pretended nonchalance, but they were clearly wary and on edge.

“You will wait here,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. The Lavorix remained in the shuttle and the doors closed a moment after he’d spoken, leaving Flint in the passage outside with the soldiers. He glanced in both directions and no other aliens were in sight.

Vance stepped forward. “What orders, sir?”

“As the Lavorix said, we wait here, Captain.”

“What are we expecting, sir?”

“I’m not quite sure,” said Flint. “A cage of some kind.” As answers went, it wasn’t a good one, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to launch into a full-scale explanation just yet – not until his mind had worked through everything.

“A cage. Yes, sir,” said Vance. For once, he looked as if he might push further. “Are we in danger?” he asked, settling on a different question.

“I don’t think so,” said Flint. He attempted a smile. “I’m not keeping information from you just to be an ass. Once I’ve figured things out, I’ll let you know. The Lavorix are bringing us something and we’re going to wait here until it arrives.”

“Yes, sir,” said Vance.

“How long was I away?” asked Flint.

“Not long. Twenty minutes.” Vance watched closely. “Were you expecting a different answer, sir?”

“You told me what I was hoping to hear,” said Flint. “Once you’ve been caught in stasis a couple of times, you start wondering if things are happening fast, slow or not at all.”

“How long before we can get out of here, sir?” asked Private Steigers. He made a play of peering into the distance, where the corridor seemed to stretch on forever. “There’s no sign of anyone bringing us a cage.”

“Don’t listen to Steigers, sir,” said Drawl. “He’s been complaining that he’s hungry ever since we left the Determinant. All he’s worried about is getting back to the replicator, while people like me are thinking of important stuff like intergalactic security.”

“Shut your face, Drawl,” said Steigers amiably.

“Are you sure you can’t tell us anything, sir?” asked Carrington.

“Leave the Captain alone,” growled Lieutenant Tagra.

Flint hated being left in the dark, so he was sympathetic towards these soldiers who likely believed he was purposefully withholding his story and for no good reason.

“You remember back at Evia when the Kilvar made an attack on the Ancidium?” asked Flint after a moment.

“Couldn’t forget it,” said Carrington promptly.

“Well, the enemy were led by something called the Raklivian.”

“What’s that?” asked Drawl, before Flint could continue.

“The Ancidium told me about it.” Flint hesitated. “It showed me the Raklivian – or part of it at least.” He shook his head at the still fresh memory. “And I don’t want to see it again.”

“Was it like the Galkintor?” asked Vance, referring to the huge creature he and his platoon had destroyed with enormous effort during their escape from the Ancidium at Evia.

Flint hadn’t seen the Galkintor and had only heard what Vance and the other soldiers had told him. Even so, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Raklivian was something far beyond the Galkintor.

“It was nothing like the same,” said Flint. “I think the Raklivian is a—” He wasn’t sure how to finish and fell quiet, thinking.

“A big, bad, boss alien?” asked Private Raimi.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” said Flint. “The Kilvar are so alien to us it’s difficult to be sure exactly what the Raklivian was. I don’t think the Ancidium had the means to kill it.”

“That’s not good news for the alliance, is it?” said Steigers.

“This is what the Lavorix need the exium for,” said Flint. “The cage I mentioned – we’re going to use it against the Raklivian. It’s stolen enough life energy from the Ancidium to begin the Kilvar ascendency.”

“And we’re going to steal it right back,” said Carrington. “Shooting us some aliens as we fight our way through to the shit-infested swamp of—".

“Enough,” warned Vance. “Let the Captain speak.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Carrington. “You were talking about life energy.”

Flint didn’t answer. That same feeling of dread he’d experienced when the Ancidium first showed him the Raklivian had taken hold again. He looked around in alarm, searching for danger. The soldiers felt it too and they raised their weapons in readiness.

“Steady!” snapped Vance.

Movement further along the corridor – beyond the shuttle doors to a place the soldiers hadn’t been – caught Flint’s eye. A door had opened in the left-hand wall and a single Lavorix emerged, clutching an object in its four hands.

“Shit, what is that?” asked Raimi, instinctively repulsed by the object.

“The cage,” said Flint. Part of him wanted to back away and run, but he wouldn’t allow his feet to move.

Along the passage came the Lavorix, the cage held out before it like a piece of rotten meat. With each step closer, the dread intensified until it seemed to Flint’s primal brain that his death was unavoidable and imminent. He gritted his teeth and held his ground. The soldiers nearby had been through every kind of crap that war could throw at them, but they were clearly finding it difficult to face whatever it was the Lavorix was carrying towards them.

“Steady,” Vance repeated on the squad channel. He switched to the officer channel and spoke to Flint. “Sir, I need to know what that is.”

“It’s the Raklivian,” said Flint. He corrected himself. “It’s part of the Raklivian which the Lavorix managed to sever before the creature escaped.”

“The enemy’s cock,” said Lieutenant Tagra. “It will be angered by the loss.”

The idea of it made Flint burst out in sudden laughter, dispelling some of his fear and making it easier for him to await the approaching Lavorix. As the alien came nearer, Flint could better see what it was holding. The cage was a sphere made up from fine bars of a dark material. A square pedestal and four vertical bars supported the sphere and within was the same shadowy gloom which Flint had seen before.

Stopping directly in front of Flint, the Lavorix – which bore no features to distinguish it from any of the other aliens – offered him the cage. It was smaller than Flint had first thought – the sphere was only twenty-five centimetres in diameter and including the stand it was hardly more than forty-five tall.

Flint was reluctant to touch the cage and he spent a moment staring into the darkness. For a moment, he thought he caught sight of something floating in the centre – a grey object of indeterminable shape. The feeling of undirected fear became stronger and again, Flint was left with the impression that the Raklivian was aware of his attention and it was seeking him out. What the Kilvar would do if it found him – however that manifested itself – Flint had no intention of finding out and he looked away from the cage.

“Take it,” said the Lavorix.

With a deep breath, Flint slung his Rodan and put his hands beneath the base of the cage. The Lavorix released its grip and Flint tensed his muscles in case the cage was heavier than it looked. It was not – in fact it weighed hardly anything and he was taken by surprise, having been told before that exium was particularly dense.

“Sir?” said Vance.

Flint raised his head. “What is it, Captain?”

Vance’s expression was uneasy. “You keep staring at the cage, sir. It’s like you’re being hypnotised.”

The words struck home, particularly since Flint hadn’t believed his gaze lingered any more than would be expected. “Thank you, Captain. If you see it happening – and not just with me – put a stop to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here,” said Sergeant Charnos. He shrugged out of his comms pack, placed it carefully on the floor and then, with a heave, ripped the tough sealing flap clean off. Standing again, he offered the piece of material to Flint. “To cover it, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Charnos dropped the cloth into place and, though it was large enough to cover much of the cage, it wasn’t enough to block or even diminish the feeling of hatred seeping from the piece of Raklivian held within.

“What are we supposed to do with it now, sir?” asked Carrington, pointing at the cage.

“The Lavorix have another gift for us,” said Flint. “The Demagaron. They haven’t yet finished the preparations.”

“The Demagaron is a warship?” asked Drawl.

“Got it in one, Private,” said Flint.

“Are we supposed to just sit on our asses while they finish building it?” asked Carrington doubtfully.

The Ancidium hadn’t given much in the way of specifics, but Flint was definitely not intending to while away hours, days or whatever, in this corridor.

“We’re returning to the Determinant,” he said.

“With no escort,” said Steigers.

“I guess that means the Lavorix trust us now, Private,” said Flint. He remembered the way back to the shuttle well enough and he set off in that direction.

“Why am I not reassured?” said Private Raven.

“Because you’re a cynical asshole?” asked Drawl.

“There you go mentioning my ass again, Drawl,” said Raven. “Anyone would think you can’t get me out of your head.”

“Be quiet,” said Lieutenant Tagra without much enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” said Steigers. “I can hardly hear my stomach rumble over the sound of you two arguing.”

Flint set a fast pace and, despite the revulsion his proximity to the Raklivian caused, the talk of the soldiers was a solid link to reality – a reminder of life that even the vilest of creatures couldn’t take from him.

As he walked, Flint turned over the details of his recent discussion with the entity on the Ancidium – he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was a god, but he supposed that, given the capabilities of the Lavorix home ship, it may as well be one – and now that he had a chance to consider the agreements he’d made, he wondered if he’d made the right choices.

The more Flint saw of war and the longer he survived its worst excesses, the greater his self-doubts were becoming. Maybe it was a fault of his own personality, or maybe it affected everyone in the same way – he didn’t know.

One thing was absolutely sure – winning never became any easier, and what he’d promised the Ancidium was going to be the hardest test in his military career so far.

However, if the Lavorix were to be believed, success was the only way to prevent – or, more accurately, delay – the Kilvar ascendancy. If the coming mission failed, everyone was going to die and that was the kind of burden nobody wanted to deal with, Flint included.

Unfortunately, the universe had chosen him – pointed its cosmic finger directly at his chest and said YOU! in a voice which could not be ignored. And while Flint would have much preferred to raise his own middle finger vertically in response and told the universe into which black hole it could shove its commands, this mission was his responsibility.

And Flint was not a man who liked to fail.

Chapter Eight

Less than fifteen minutes after he’d first picked up the cage holding the piece of Raklivian, Flint and his escort of soldiers were once more on the shuttle and heading back to the Determinant. The activity in the construction bay had not lessened and Flint kept an eye on it as he piloted the transport.

Meanwhile on the comms, Lieutenant Becerra pressed Flint for details. He asked her to back off until he was once more on the bridge and better able to answer questions. In truth, he was still digesting everything which had happened and wanted some extra time with his thoughts.

“We have clearance to dock,” said Vance. “Shuttle Bay 1.”

The bay doors were open ahead and Flint prepared to activate the auto-docking computer to save himself having to fine-tune an entrance into the tunnel. The transport did not make it within.

The Demagaron awaits.

The moment the words appeared on his screen, Flint’s control of the shuttle vessel was removed and the joysticks went dead in his hands.

“Shit,” he said, when he realised the Ancidium had subverted the transport and locked him out.

In anger at the lack of respect, Flint entered a series of commands into his console which would put him once more in charge. Those commands didn’t work – or the Ancidium was able to revoke them quicker than he could enter new ones – and the shuttle banked away from the Determinant.

“Captain Vance, make my crew aware. Tell them to follow this shuttle.”

“Are they safe to do that, sir?”

“I hope so,” said Flint. “I’m damned if I’m setting foot on the Demagaron without my crew to back me up.”

“Is there anything I can do to communicate with the Ancidium?” asked Vance.

“Maybe – we didn’t figure out a way when the Lavorix sent a message to the Determinant’s bridge earlier,” said Flint. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.”

Vance was surely under no illusions about his chances of success where Burner, Garrett and Becerra, and the vastly superior equipment available to them on the battleship had failed, but that didn’t dissuade him from trying. From the corner of his eye, Flint watched the other man attempt a variety of methods to forge a direct link with the Ancidium.

While Vance worked and Flint continued his own attempts to dislodge the Lavorix from the shuttle’s control systems, the vessel accelerated steadily, its nose pointed directly at the thirty-kilometre door through which the Determinant had first entered. That door slid into its recess and the transport raced into the linking tunnel.

“The Determinant is hot on our heels, sir,” said Vance.

Flint exhaled in relief, though it came as no surprise to discover that Commander Larson’s reactions were not dulled by the temporary lull since his departure. She kept the annihilator close to the shuttle’s tail and the warship filled the rear sensor feeds.

The next set of doors opened and the shuttle sped into the adjacent bay, with its hundreds of stationary warships. Slowing not at all, the transport continued on the most direct course towards the opposite wall. With the Lavorix fleet too clustered for the Determinant to pass without numerous collisions, Larson turned the battleship left, intending to skirt the bay.

Although the annihilator had much farther to travel, it was capable of a much greater velocity than the tiny vessel it followed. Having given up his attempts to wrest back the shuttle, Flint had the opportunity to watch the Determinant’s rubber band acceleration and deceleration as it hurtled towards the bay wall. At the corner, Larson banked without impact and the annihilator accelerated again, overtaking the shuttle in moments.

“They will arrive before us,” said Tagra. He raised a hand and pointed at the far wall. “However, the exit door is not yet open.”

For Flint, this short journey was both interesting and frustrating. As the shuttle sped past the Lavorix warships, he was granted the kind of view that normally didn’t happen when he encountered alien vessels, on the basis that they were usually launching missiles his way, and that didn’t leave much opportunity to take in the sights.

While the Lavorix warships were undoubtedly tough and armed to the teeth, their square edges and cuboid shapes lacked a certain design flair. To many, that may have sounded a peculiar observation, since a warship was built to destroy, but Flint believed that a species’ love of technology – its craving for greatness and advancement – was demonstrated in both form and function. These vessels here in the Ancidium’s bay were the equivalent of sledgehammers – brutal, efficient tools and nothing more.

The Lavorix were created imperfectly and their own creations – these warships – are a reflection of that imperfection. As a species, they have reached a ceiling and they will never become more than they are.

Then, Flint remembered that the Gorgadar was something else entirely different to everything which had gone before it. Even the Ixidar and Terragar – savage and pure – displayed a new approach to warship design. Perhaps the Lavorix weren’t in such a dead-end after all. Maybe they would eventually transcend what they were intended to be.

Flint’s wandering mind was drawn back into the present by the opening of the far bay door, which revealed another of the linking tunnels and a second door which was still closed. The Determinant arrived at the opening first and Larson brought it to a halt, leaving room for the shuttle to pass without having to deviate in its course.

The transport entered the linking tunnel without slowing and the Determinant followed.

“Is this going to take us into the bay where the new Laws of Ancidium were being constructed, sir?” asked Vance.

“The place you deployed at the Evia system?” asked Flint. “No, Captain – that bay was closer to the stern and also lower in the flank. Whatever is beyond that next door, it isn’t the same bay.”

“What will we find?” wondered Tagra.

“The Demagaron is—” Flint began. He stopped himself, since he had nothing other than guesswork to offer – an image conjured up by his mind, which might bear no resemblance whatsoever to the coming reality. “Let’s wait and see, Sergeant.”

Movement on the sensors drew Flint’s attention to the door closing behind him. As soon as it was done, the next door opened at once and he stared ahead, eager to discover what the Ancidium had constructed this time.

Maintaining its velocity, the shuttle headed straight through into the new bay, which was yet another shipyard and with identical dimensions to all the others. A glance at the floorspace was enough for Flint to note that the Ancidium was building dozens more for its fleet, though some of the part-constructed vessels were significantly larger than the standard models which were stationary in the previous bay.

The Demagaron was difficult to miss, since it was twenty-two kilometres in length and hovering motionless in the exact centre of the space, as if the Ancidium had placed it here for maximum effect, like an artist displaying its proudest creation.

In appearance, the warship greatly resembled one of the Kilvar diamond shaped vessels, only scaled up and without the forward-pointing spines. The Demagaron’s nose didn’t end in a point, rather it was flat, as if the front of the spaceship had been neatly sliced off with a giant guillotine. Flint’s viewing angle wasn’t perfect, but he could see a single, perfectly round hole in the nose, almost a thousand metres in diameter. It didn’t take a genius to guess that a weapon of enormous destructive potential was housed somewhere behind that opening.

That wasn’t nearly all. On the Demagaron’s upper plating, twin guns with eight-kilometre barrels protruded from a single, immense turret. Flint could only imagine the feats of engineering and the technological expertise required to stop those guns snapping under their own weight, let alone surviving the trauma of discharge.

Elsewhere on the dark-clad hull of the warship, Flint spotted numerous missile clusters and hundreds of multi-barrelled repeaters. On the vessel’s underside were rows of circular hatches – all closed – from which he suspected the Demagaron could deploy a variety of additional, unpleasant destructive hardware. As if it didn’t already have enough.

“Looks like Kilvar, but at the same time, not Kilvar,” said Tagra.

Flint knew exactly why the Lavorix had chosen to build the spaceship in this way, though he didn’t mention it to the soldiers.

“We’re going to use it to recapture the Raklivian,” said Flint.

“Recapture or kill, sir?” asked Vance.

“Hopefully the latter,” said Flint. “The Ancidium told us the Demagaron is ready and that means the exium cage – the full-sized exium cage – is installed.”

“Did the Lavorix entity tell you what the cage would accomplish, Captain Flint?” asked Tagra.

“It told me of its hopes,” said Flint, sharper than he meant. He sighed. “The Ancidium doesn’t know if any of this hardware will function as it’s intended.”

“Doesn’t know or won’t tell, sir?” asked Vance.

It was a good question and one which Flint had already asked himself. “I’m doing my best to trust the Lavorix’s motives, Captain.”

“You should watch them, sir,” said Vance. “They aren’t our friends.”

“I know,” said Flint. “But here we are.”

“Why does the duty of this fall to us?” asked Tagra. “I know the alliance is threatened by the Kilvar, but we did not build the Demagaron.”

Flint had been waiting for the question to come and he’d asked the Ancidium exactly the same thing. The answer he’d been given was less than reassuring and only partway believable.

“The Raklivian has a way to kill the Lavorix,” said Flint. “Like it emits a localised death pulse or something. Here on the Ancidium, that death sphere can’t penetrate the walls. The Demagaron isn’t built the same.”

“The life energy which the Raklivian stole is how the Ancidium maintains its immunity,” said Tagra.

“I didn’t ask and the entity didn’t tell,” said Flint. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”

“Will the exium cage block the death sphere?” asked Vance.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Captain. The Ancidium didn’t know either.”

“Or it was lying,” said Tagra.

The two soldiers usually kept their mouths shut when they had doubts, and Flint realised how little faith his ground officers had, not only in the Lavorix, but the mission as a whole.

“And what if we recapture the Raklivian and afterwards its death sphere kills us, sir?” asked Vance. “With or without the Frenziol-15.”

Flint didn’t need to persuade Vance or Tagra, since he was the commanding officer and this was his decision to make. Even so, it made sense to keep them onside.

“This is a risk,” said Flint. “We – I – am relying on the Ancidium being truthful about most or all of what it told me. The stakes are too high to just turn our backs and leave – if the Raklivian has drained what it needs from the Ancidium’s life batteries, we could soon be facing an extinction event for humans and Daklan alike. We have to act.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t act, sir,” said Vance. “Only that we should be wary.”

“It’s the alliance I’m looking out for, Captain,” said Flint. “Nothing and nobody else.”

There were many other questions the soldiers could have asked and he was relieved when they did not. It was a respite which would be short-lived. As soon as Flint met up with his crew, the bombardment would resume. Accepting this mission was his choice, and he felt an unusual defensiveness which stemmed from his own doubts. A whispering voice asked if he was being employed as a useful idiot by the Ancidium, and Flint couldn’t absolutely deny the possibility.

During the short discussion, the shuttle continued its flight towards the Demagaron, and Larson still followed closely in the Determinant. Flint’s eyes searched the hull of his new vessel for an opening, and his mind began to wonder about the logistics of transferring everyone from the annihilator, especially given the urgency of the situation.

“Scanning for a docking bay entrance,” said Vance. “Got one.”

The opening was directly ahead of the shuttle, on the Demagaron’s inward-sloping underside, and the transport approached steadily.

“Will the Ancidium permit the Determinant’s crew to board?” asked Tagra.

“That was the agreement,” said Flint. “We’re not going anywhere without my crew and neither are we leaving anyone behind.”

With only a few kilometres separating the shuttle from the Demagaron, the size of the Lavorix vessel finally struck home. It was another incredible example of technology of a sort which Flint had seen before, yet past experience made the warship before him no less impressive. Even the Demagaron’s repeater turrets were vastly larger than the transport and a single discharge would be enough to punch the smaller vessel into a lump of mangled scrap.

At the last moment, the shuttle decelerated and its propulsion grumbled with the strain. Still travelling at speed, it entered the unlit docking tunnel and the transport’s forward sensors detected one door opening ahead, then a second and a third. At last, the vessel came to a standstill adjacent to a long, narrow platform.

Demagaron. The Denier.

When the words appeared on Flint’s screen, he stared at them for a long moment, wondering why the Ancidium had chosen such a name for the warship and why it had disclosed it to him.

Something about the words made Flint shiver and reminded him again of his many doubts. He’d made an agreement with the Lavorix and it wasn’t clear if the option to change his mind was open, or what the consequences would be if he tried.

Flint wasn’t so easily discouraged and he unclipped himself from the seat harness and climbed to his feet.

“Let’s get off this shuttle,” he said. “We’ve got a job to do.”

We must leave.

No sooner had he finished reading the Ancidium’s words, than Flint was gripped by an appalling nausea which made him feel like his innards had been crushed, blended, stirred up and then rammed into the back of his throat. He coughed and retched enough that his suit medical unit gave him a precautionary suggestion to inject a dose of Frenziol. The idea of it angered Flint enormously and that anger helped him get on top of the physical debilitation.

“What the hell was that?” he shouted. The feeling had been like a lightspeed transition multiplied ten times over.

“A gateway,” said Vance, his face giving little away about the extent of his own suffering. “The Ancidium has taken us to a new place.” He stared hard at Flint. “Is this what you were expecting, sir?”

Flint had never experienced gateway travel before and was in no hurry to try it again. He forced a thin smile to his lips. “Not the side-effects, Captain.” He straightened, feeling his strength returning. “Let’s get off this shuttle,” Flint repeated.

“Sir, the cage,” said Vance. He made no effort to pick it up.

“My burden,” said Flint. He stooped and picked the cage from the floor by its base, and the action made the blood rush into his head, intensifying the pounding from the gateway transit.

The shakiness in his legs only lasted a few strides and then it was gone. Flint headed for the shuttle’s exit, trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing and that capturing or killing the Raklivian was the single most important goal in the war so far.

Flint didn’t make it as far as the passenger bay before his earpiece hummed with a connection. It was Lieutenant Becerra.

“Commander Larson says we just went through a gateway, sir.”

“I felt it,” said Flint sourly. “Do we know where the Ancidium has taken us?”

“No, sir. We’re still in the construction bay, with no visibility of what’s outside.”

Flint took a breath. “We’re abandoning the Determinant. I want everyone on the Demagaron.”

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra after a moment’s hesitation. “Immediately?”

“Immediately,” Flint confirmed. “Activate the security locks on the Determinant’s hardware before you leave. It probably won’t stop the Lavorix from taking control of the warship if that’s what they intend, but it’ll slow them down.”

“Sir—”

“I know,” said Flint. Abandoning a battleship wasn’t a step to be taken lightly. “High command agreed for us to stay here on the Ancidium and they can damn well agree with the consequences of that.”

“Yes, sir.” The comms went on mute for a few seconds and then Becerra spoke again. “Commander Larson has passed on the order to the rest of the soldiers – we’re heading for Shuttle Bay 2. We should all fit with some room to spare.”

“Hurry, Lieutenant. The Ancidium just took us through a gateway and I guess it did that because it got a sniff of the Kilvar. If the Lavorix are jumpy, I don’t know what else they might do – certainly I don’t want to hang around and find out.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll board the shuttle in Bay 2 at once.”

The comms channel went dead. Flint entered the passenger bay, which the soldiers had already vacated. They waited with clear impatience in the airlock. Slowing, Flint suddenly felt the enormity of everything, and he almost buckled. Gripped in his hand, the exium cage seeped darkness and hatred, confronting him with what was at stake.

“Screw it,” he said. “I’ve been through worse.”

He ran for the airlock.

Chapter Nine

The docking bay outside was laden with the mustiness of the ages, despite the warship’s apparent newness, and it was freezing. Likely the breathable air would have been pure and sharp were it not for the heavy, almost cloying odour which Flint wasn’t sure he could ever become accustomed to.

“Here’s the bay exit, sir!” called Private Drawl on the squad comms.

Flint hurried over and activated the door’s access panel without further delay. The Demagaron may have been an alien ship, but he wasn’t expecting to run into hostilities on his way to the bridge. A short passage led to a dim-lit room, where Flint found a wall-mounted console of a type he recognized, and three exits.

He halted at the console. “I should have full access to this,” he said. “Let’s see.”

Sure enough, the hardware allowed Flint to call up its command menu and he discovered with only faint surprise that it was running the same backend software as would be installed on an alliance fleet warship. Flint didn’t spend any time thinking about it and he called up a map of the Demagaron. After that, he connected to the internal comms, which would allow him to route out and speak directly to the Determinant.

“What’s your progress, Lieutenant Becerra?” he asked, in order to test the comms link was working properly.

“Give us a chance, sir,” said Becerra. The sound of her breathing made it clear she was running. “We’ll be at the shuttle soon.”

Flint closed out of the channel and headed towards the doors he now knew opened into one of the Demagaron’s interior shuttle cars. The squad followed and soon they were all inside a long car with no seats and windows at both ends. A passage was visible, leading diagonally upwards, its termination point nowhere in sight. From the way they talked, a few of the soldiers were familiar with this method of transportation, like they’d seen it before.

“One day, we’re all going to have a sit-down and you’re going to tell me everything I missed in the Lavorix wars,” said Flint. The text on the shuttle’s control panel was in human script and he selected his destination. Immediately, the car began to move smoothly up the slope and he detected the presence of a life support unit suppressing the accelerative forces.

“Happy to, sir,” said Carrington. “Normally I’d warn you to watch out for Drawl’s tall tales, but I don’t reckon there’s much room for exaggeration.”

“Too much talking makes my mouth dry,” said Drawl. “I’d need a nice, cold beer to keep the words flowing. And I’m just a poor soldier with mouths to feed.”

Despite the circumstances, Flint laughed. “You’ve got no mouths to feed except your own, Private. Anyway, I’m sure I can foot the bill, but you’ll have to talk fast. Two drinks and you’ll be asleep.”

“Is he allowed to say that to me?” asked Drawl in mock indignation. “That’s persecution, that is!”

“And you deserve everything you get,” said Raimi.

The shuttle climbed rapidly and Flint stared expectantly out of the window. A comms channel formed and once again it was Lieutenant Becerra.

“We’ll be ready to launch from Shuttle Bay 2 any moment, sir.”

“Keep me informed,” said Flint.

The Demagaron’s shuttle car slowed and then came to a stop. Flint stepped towards the doors, which opened automatically. Outside, a short passage led to a room similar in size to the one at the bottom of the shaft, with a console and three exits. Armoured turrets were installed in the far left and far right corners, and the multiple barrels protruding from each were pointing directly at the squad.

“We’re definitely allowed here, aren’t we?” asked Raven.

“I think we’d be dead already if we weren’t,” said Flint, striding into the room. One of the turrets rotated slightly to follow his progress, but it didn’t fire.

“Is the bridge far from here, sir?” asked Vance, also entering the room.

“No,” said Flint. He pointed a finger at the grey door opposite. This door was wider than the others, but otherwise unremarkable. “That’s an airlift and it goes straight up to the bridge complex.”

The airlift access panel responded to Flint’s touch and the door opened with a faint whine. Into the lift car he went, ignoring a third, smaller repeater housed in the ceiling two metres above his head.

“I don’t remember the other Laws of Ancidium having automated defences,” said Drawl. “So why start fitting them now?”

Flint didn’t have an answer. He recalled how ineffective the Takrivon’s anti-personnel turrets had been in defending the battleship against the Kilvar, though on balance he was happy to have the extra defences.

The airlift rose, according to the map, five hundred metres through the centre of the Demagaron and from its exit point, the main bridge would be less than forty metres. Flint experienced a prickling of excitement, though he had a good idea what he’d find at his destination.

At the top of the shaft, the airlift door opened and Flint exited, followed by the squad. This new room was approximately twenty-five metres along each wall and the floorspace was occupied by many consoles of a type which Flint didn’t recognize. He strode for the far door, his eyes studying the hardware as he went.

“More turrets,” said Raimi.

“Stop thinking about them,” Carrington advised.

“What’s this area meant for, anyway?”

“Backup and support,” said Flint. “The Demagaron is a big warship.”

“Shame the Lavorix didn’t think to leave anyone here.”

“This mission is ours, Private Raimi,” said Flint. “If the Lavorix go anywhere near the Raklivian, it’ll know about it.”

“How come, sir?”

“I don’t have an answer,” said Flint. “It’s just what I was told.” He realised the explanation made him sound weak for not finding out, but he wasn’t about to lie just to cover up his mistakes.

“Must be some kind of alien mind link,” said Carrington.

“That’s enough,” said Vance.

“Yes, sir.”

The exit door was solid-looking, like they usually were this close to the bridge. Flint touched the panel and it opened, rumbling into a side recess that revealed the door was five metres thick.

“Steps,” he said, looking upwards. “Always steps.”

His destination was close and he leaned into the climb, his high-grip soles producing faint squeals of purchase against the alloy steps. A four-metre landing area at the top was protected by two additional turrets, and circular openings in the side walls suggested the bridge might have other protections as well.

Flint’s hand reached for the access panel. Before his fingertips made contact, his earpiece hummed.

“Sir,” said Becerra, her continued breathlessness attributable either to her recent sprint to Shuttle Bay 2 or to the news she was about to disclose.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“The Ancidium, sir. It’s gone. Only the Determinant, the Demagaron and this shuttle we’re on have been left behind.”

Somehow, Flint had been expecting the news. “Was there any communication from the Lavorix?”

“No, sir.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re no longer in the Tygan system, but you already guessed that,” said Becerra. “Lieutenant Burner is linked to the Determinant’s sensor arrays, but so far its star charts haven’t recalibrated.”

“That usually happens in a few seconds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If they haven’t calibrated already, we’re nowhere in alliance territory.”

“Yes, sir. And if the charts don’t calibrate, we can’t direct an FTL comm – real time or otherwise.”

“At least the Lavorix weren’t interested in the Determinant,” said Flint, wondering if the alliance would ever be able to recover the vessel.

“That’s something, huh?”

Flint touched the bridge door access panel and this second five-metre-thick slab opened. “I’ll see you soon.”

He cut the channel and entered the bridge. The space was almost exactly like he’d pictured it. Square shaped and with stations for eleven, the Demagaron’s bridge was hardly larger than the one on the Determinant. Everything was powered up and the green text on the console screens added an eerie tinge to the dull blue of the main lighting.

At the front of the bridge, three seats were placed in a row, the middle one being a few inches higher than those to either side. Flint advanced and dropped straight into the centre seat, the leatherlike cover producing a creaking sound he didn’t quite like. He placed the cage carefully at his feet.

“Captain Vance, return to the room below and stand guard,” he said. “The rest of your company should be here soon.”

“Yes, sir, I’m in contact with my officers.”

“I’m not expecting any trouble from within, but we know what happened to the Takrivon.”

“Yes, sir.” Vance didn’t say anything for a moment, but Flint could sense the other man’s uncertainty. “Do you want me to do something with that cage, sir? I could take it elsewhere.” Vance laughed gruffly. “Or find someplace to jettison it.”

“I’ll let you know, Captain. Thank you.”

“Be careful with it, sir.”

With that, Vance was gone, back down the steps and out of sight. Flint turned his attention to the control hardware. Like the console near the shuttle docking bay, the software was familiar. In fact, it was exactly the same as was running on the Determinant. It wasn’t much of a puzzle how it had come to be installed on the Demagaron – not when Flint thought about it for a moment.

The alliance software meant he was able to quickly understand how everything on the Demagaron was linked and how it operated. Unfortunately, the hardware itself was new to Flint, though he hoped that wouldn’t be too much of an impediment. If someone had the knack for piloting a warship, it generally didn’t matter who’d built the damn thing. Or so he remembered being told back when the HPA was transitioning to Daklan hardware. It appeared the same applied to Lavorix spaceships as well and it wasn’t long before Flint’s hands and eyes moved with confidence towards the right areas of the panels before him.

The Determinant’s shuttle docked successfully – something Flint watched happening on the internal monitors. His crew disembarked and only a few soldiers came with them, the rest no doubt acting under orders from Captain Vance.

Keeping one eye on his crew’s progress, Flint tried to gauge their mood. He could have listened in to their conversation, but it didn’t seem right.

Once he was ready, Flint accessed the sensor feeds of the surrounding space. These feeds were projected into the area directly in front of the command console, the data streams appearing so utterly solid it was hard to believe they weren’t real.

The Determinant was the only significant object within many billions of kilometres and the atmospheric scarring on its hull was perfectly defined, while its turrets and emplacements looked as if they’d gone through a hundred layers of sensor enhancement, but without suffering the artificialness that usually appeared when too many lens filters were applied.

Flint set the automatic scans to continuously sweep the space around the Demagaron. Exhaustive sweeping wasn’t anything like so effective has having a skilled sensor team, but his officers weren’t yet here to take over, and having something was better than having nothing.

After a time, Flint’s officers arrived at the Demagaron’s bridge, signalling the end to this comparative lull in proceedings. He stood and faced the entrance, ready to get things moving.

Chapter Ten

“This place looks familiar,” said Lieutenant Fredericks, his gaze hunting out a suitable console for himself. He halted and visibly shuddered. “What the hell is that?” he asked.

Flint hadn’t exactly stopped noticing the Raklivian’s presence, but it wasn’t anything like as bad as it had been when he’d first seen the cage.

“I’ll tell you shortly,” said Flint. “Find your station.”

“Another bridge,” said Garrett, entering the bridge directly behind Fredericks. “Seen one, seen them all.” She looked suddenly uncomfortable, like she’d walked into somewhere unexpected. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Find your places,” said Flint loudly. “We’ll talk in a minute.”

“Did I just walk into a death sphere?” asked Burner.

“What is this, sir?” asked Larson.

“Hold the questions, please,” said Flint. “Find your stations and then we’ll talk,” he repeated. “The equipment is different to what you’re accustomed to, but the Lavorix have loaded up the standard alliance control software.”

“How the hell did they manage that?” asked Bolan.

“Think about it, Lieutenant.”

Bolan dropped into his seat. “They were given a copy?”

“I imagine that’s exactly what happened,” said Flint. “Now let’s not dwell on how that came about - we’ve got a mission ahead of us.”

Larson crossed the bridge and spent a moment studying the console on Flint’s left and the one on his right.

“They’re identical, Commander,” said Flint. “Pick one.”

“I choose right,” said Larson, dropping into her seat. “You have some talking to do, sir.” She didn’t look up from her console as she spoke the words.

“That I do, Commander.” Flint turned and waved for Maddox to hurry. “That’s your seat, Lieutenant,” he said, pointing left.

Flint didn’t take his own seat. He had a head start on the hardware, such that he was now confident in his ability to operate the Demagaron. It was time for him to talk.

“The Demagaron is bigger than anything else you’ve operated, but it has sensors, comms and engines, the same as every other warship.” Flint stopped himself. “Commander Larson and Lieutenant Burner, I guess this is all familiar to you.”

“Yes, sir, pretty much,” said Burner. “We’ve been on a few Lavorix ships before.”

“In that case, you can answer any questions that come your way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flint shifted his gaze to where Commander Larson was operating her console without any apparent effort. She still didn’t look up and her brows were lowered as she stared at the green text on her middle screen.

Taking a breath, Flint talked. “The Demagaron is fitted with an exium cage and we’re going to use it to capture something called the Raklivian – it’s a Kilvar that drained life energy out of the Ancidium’s batteries and then escaped. It has enough of that energy for the enemy to complete their ascendency.” He bent down and picked up the small cage. “There’s a piece of the Raklivian in here and that’s what’s making you all feel like shit. This is to be our bait.”

The questions came in a barrage, like Flint had expected, and he did his best to answer them honestly, even those which laid him open to accusations of acting without due consideration. Time was tight and the Demagaron was in unknown space, so he couldn’t allow his crew to keep talking forever. Nevertheless, Flint was able to tell them everything he’d learned from the Ancidium and, after a few minutes, he called a halt to the discussion.

“You have questions and I have questions,” he said. “We need to focus on what we know. The Raklivian isn’t affected by vacuum and it escaped the Ancidium. The Lavorix believe a Kilvar spaceship was waiting and the creature made it onboard. It is our duty to stop it bringing all that life energy back to the Kilvar.”

“And we’re the only ones able to undertake this task because we won’t be killed by its death aura,” said Burner flatly.

“That’s what I was told,” said Flint.

“Why not bombard the Raklivian with missiles or something?” asked Garrett.

Flint tried not to show his impatience. “We went over this, Lieutenant. The Lavorix couldn’t kill the Raklivian and I assume they tried everything available. I have a feeling this was the first time they’ve ever captured such a powerful opponent.”

“Which they allowed to escape,” said Fredericks.

“Do we even have an idea where the Raklivian is going?” asked Bolan.

“The Ancidium told me it knew,” said Flint. “It didn’t outright give me the destination, which I assumed at the time was because it was a set of coordinates five thousand digits in length that I would be provided with at the right time. Since that right time didn’t happen, those coordinates are something we’re going to have to find for ourselves.”

“So, to summarise, we have to locate our target and capture it before the Kilvar ascend into godhood?” said Garrett.

“Yes.”

“With no guarantees the ascendancy hasn’t already happened.”

“When did you ever start a mission with guarantees, Lieutenant?” asked Flint. “The Ancidium believes we have a chance of success – that’s why we’re here.”

“Do you believe we have a chance of success, sir?” asked Fredericks.

Flint played it straight. “While I was talking to the sphere entity, everything seemed plausible.”

“And now?”

“I expected things to be different. I thought we’d be given more of a lead on what was happening. Not this.” Flint didn’t show uncertainty, and in fact he was still convinced by what he’d learned from the Ancidium.

“Nothing travels faster than a spaceship through a gateway,” said Larson. “What we saw at Landnir suggests the Kilvar haven’t mastered the tech yet, since they had to install those tenixite converters to bring in their warships. If we’re right about that, it means we could easily have a lead over the Raklivian.”

It was good to hear some positivity and Flint smiled. “Thank you, Commander – that’s what I’m hoping too. However, lead or no lead, we can’t delay any longer – the mission has begun whether we like it or not. When the moment comes, we’ll talk further about everything.”

“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about, sir,” said Burner. “I guess most of us trust your judgement.” He grinned. “Else we’d have pulled strings and got ourselves a transfer.” The grin faded. “You made a decision and I’ve got no complaints about the situation we’re in. Commander Larson and I – we’ve been here before, where you feel like you’re getting dragged along and nothing is in your control. We can overcome that, sir.” Burner’s expression was deadly serious now. “Whatever it takes.”

“Lieutenant Burner can’t usually string together more than two sentences, sir – and he only manages two when he’s talking about the replicator,” said Larson. “All that talking he just did probably means he’s in favour of this mission.”

“We’ve got a warship and we’ve got a target,” said Garrett. “It doesn’t get simpler than that.” She shrugged. “And if the mission ends up being more complicated than we’re expecting, we’ll just blow some stuff up.”

It was relief to have his crew onside and Flint finally took his seat. The acceptance of his officers made him think that perhaps he was overthinking matters. He was the one doing most of the talk about trusting the Lavorix, while at the same time he was imagining a future in which they betrayed him. Perhaps his encounter with the Ancidium had left him more conflicted than he realised.

“Do we need to keep that cage in here, sir?” asked Becerra. “I don’t like it.”

Flint found himself strangely reluctant to let the cage out of his sight, even though he didn’t want it nearby either. “Someone get in contact with Captain Vance or Lieutenant Tagra. Have them collect the cage and put it in a safe place that isn’t too far from here.”

“I’ll speak to Captain Vance, sir,” said Becerra.

“Thank you,” said Flint. “Now let’s get on with everything else.”

“Yes, sir,” said Larson. Once again, she was staring at him, like he was an open book. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Flint wasn’t sure if she was agreeing that it was time to get on, or something else. He didn’t ask, but he did smile. “We’ve got an enemy to find and kill.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Demagaron’s controls were startlingly similar to those on a fleet warship, comprising two alloy bars, each studded with switches and buttons. Flint rested his hands on them and pushed steadily. The weighting was unexpectedly heavy and he pushed harder. At first, the Demagaron’s propulsion grumbled and, as Flint requested more, the grumble become a roar which - when the control bars clacked at the end of their travel - turned into a pure, metallic howl.

“Fast!” shouted Fredericks.

“Damn right!” Flint shouted back. The hairs on his neck and arms were standing on end and the velocity gauge raced upwards with almost the same urgency as the one on the superstressed warship, Nightfall.

“We’re running a huge overstress!” yelled Fredericks. “The Lavorix may not have mastered exium, but they sure know how to get the best out of ternium!”

After a short time, during which the Demagaron exceeded eight thousand kilometres per second, Flint backed off and let the warship coast. The engine sound dropped once again to a background drone, which was both a respite and a disappointment.

All Flint wanted was to gain some distance from the gateway arrival point. He was certain the Lavorix wouldn’t have dumped their newest Law of Ancidium in hostile space, but stranger things had happened.

Either way, staying put was an unnecessary risk, especially since the Demagaron was equipped with an exium cage. Flint was sure the Kilvar would soon come hunting it out, like lightspeed-capable flies homing in on the biggest pile of freshly laid shit in the universe.

“I want status reports,” he said. “I’ve looked through this warship’s control files and I know what it’s capable of, but I want to hear it directly from my crew.”

“I guess you’ll want us to tell you where we’re going as well, sir?” asked Becerra innocently.

“The Ancidium brought us here for a reason and we need to find out what it is,” said Flint.

After he’d finished his discussion with the entity in the sphere, he’d assumed there’d be a mission file, or something to fill in the blanks and tie up the loose ends – like what was supposed to happen in the alliance military, to ensure that hours weren’t wasted in a meeting room discussing the minutiae. Instead, the Lavorix scumbags had dumped him and his crew here in the ass end of nowhere and left him to figure things out for himself.

“Sir, the cage?”

Flint turned to find Lieutenant Tagra standing nearby.

“Here, Lieutenant,” said Flint, recovering the cage from the floor and offering it to the soldier.

Tagra took it, his lip curled in a way which revealed much more of his fangs than normal. The Daklan weren’t scared of much and they were stubborn. While Tagra clearly didn’t want to handle the Raklivian, he certainly wasn’t going to order someone else to do it for him.

“Lieutenant Becerra said you wanted it putting somewhere safe, Captain Flint.”

“Just keep it out of everyone’s way, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Far enough that we can forget it’s here.”

“Yes, sir.” Tagra turned and headed for the exit.

“Where are those status reports?” asked Flint, directing the question towards his crew.

Burner cleared his throat. “Our sensor arrays are – technologically speaking - maybe a few years ahead of those in a fleet warship, sir,” he said. “We can also detect lightspeed tunnels and see phase shifted objects.”

“Phase shifted objects we hope not to encounter,” said Garrett.

“Anything specific I should know about the propulsion?” asked Flint.

“We have the kind of bottomless reserves you only get from having several hundred billion tons of overstressed ternium, sir,” said Fredericks. “The Demagaron is fitted with an energy shield, and we’ve got plenty of juice to keep it powered up and the lights on.”

“And we can chain three short-range transits, each with an independent five-minute cooldown,” said Copeland.

“Tell me about the weapons, Commander Larson,” said Flint. “Just in case I missed something when I looked earlier.”

“Missiles, countermeasures and those two big guns on top,” said Larson. “They’re named as XN1 in the control system, with a working name of rage cannons. I didn’t know the Lavorix ever got angry.”

“Maybe it’s a bad translation,” said Flint. “What about the disintegration cannon in the nose?”

“That’s not a disintegration cannon, sir,” said Larson. She smiled thinly. “It’s a particle beam and I believe it’s the same kind as was fitted on the Gorgadar.”

“So it’ll cut through anything?” said Flint.

“I can’t be sure it is the same,” said Larson. “The Lavorix haven’t included much documentation. I doubt they want to give the alliance a head start on copying their weapons tech.”

“That’s not unexpected,” said Flint. “Though some performance data would have been pretty damned useful.”

“The trust might never come, sir,” said Larson.

“What’s next after the particle beam?” asked Flint. He couldn’t do anything to change the Lavorix and he didn’t want to talk about trust at the moment.

“After the cannons and the particle beam, things go downhill, sir.” Larson pursed her lips tightly, as if she didn’t want to continue. “We’re fitted with a tenixite converter capable of firing a large-diameter depletion burst. As well as that, we have an extractor, with the same narrow beam as every other version of the weapon.”

“An extractor means the Demagaron has storage batteries, right?” said Flint.

“Yes, sir, we have batteries. They’re reading zero percent, and they’ll stay that way because the extractor is offline.”

Flint had noticed earlier. “Can you bring it online?”

“No, sir. I guess the Lavorix don’t want us having access to that particular weapon.”

“In case we use it against them.” Flint blew out his breath.

“That’s what I reckon, sir.”

“Anything else?” asked Flint.

“Finally, we’re carrying incendiaries.”

“Most warships carry them. Flint caught an edge in Larson’s voice. He was aware the Demagaron was equipped with incendiaries, but hadn’t read into the technical documentation. It sounded as if she’d discovered something she didn’t like.

“Not these kind, sir. These ones are ternium-accelerated. They’re real nasty stuff – nothing like the little ones designed to wipe out a city or two. If these files are to be believed, a single one of the Demagaron’s incendiaries could easily burn an entire planet. And we have dozens in our bays.”

“The Denier,” said Flint, suddenly making the connection. “The Demagaron is designed to cause death on the greatest possible scale,” he said. “Either to steal life for the Ancidium’s batteries, or to deny the Kilvar access to that same energy.”

Flint had served at the very end of the Lavorix wars and later on, he’d learned the available history. What he hadn’t done was experience the conflict in the same way that Commander Larson and Lieutenant Burner had experienced it. Now, the horrific brutality of these past wars became a little more real for Flint – wars where extinction was always the outcome for the losing side.

The worst of it was, these extinction events could almost be deemed necessary sacrifices – required to prevent the Kilvar from ascending and subjecting many other species to the same deprivations as they had before they achieved godhood.

It was too much for Flint to think about right now and he pushed the thoughts into the far corners of his mind. Maybe one day he’d confront those horrors. Today was not that day.

“We have two immediate priorities,” he said loudly. “First – where are we, and where are we expected to go? Secondly, how exactly does the exium cage work?”

“The Ancidium sure didn’t tell you much, sir,” said Maddox.

“Don’t keep reminding me, Lieutenant,” said Flint. He’d come to terms with the fact he’d screwed up, though the entity in the sphere evidently believed he had enough to go on, else it wouldn’t have left him in this part of the universe without a list of instructions. “I didn’t expect things to turn out as they did.”

As he was speaking, Flint noticed a sudden change in his mood – it was as though a veil he hadn’t known existed had been lifted from him and a seeping dullness in his mind evaporated.

“The Raklivian,” he said. “Lieutenant Tagra has taken it far enough away that it’s no longer affecting us.”

What was most worrying was that Flint hadn’t even noticed the subtler effects brought about by the alien’s presence. The closest parallel he could imagine was how Frenziol-15 altered the way a soldier thought and acted, yet managed it so deviously that it was difficult to identify the change. Proximity to the severed piece of Raklivian appeared to act like Frenziol, but in reverse. The comparison was a clumsy one, but it helped Flint understand.

“I feel like a hangover I didn’t know I had, has disappeared,” said Garrett. “Damn, how long were you carrying that thing, sir?”

“Too long,” said Flint. He recalled his reluctance to hand over the Raklivian to Tagra and asked himself if the creature was more insidious than he’d first believed.

A call from Fredericks distracted Flint from his thoughts.

“I’ve located the main cage, sir,” said Fredericks. “Well, I’ve located a hardware reference which I believe is the exium cage. The time stamp on the file indicates it was installed after everything else.”

“That would be right,” said Flint. “Since the Lavorix constructed the cage using the exium we created on the Nevanis.”

“The Lavorix have given the hardware a name, sir. For what I’d guess are obvious reasons, they called it a prison.”

“Makes sense,” said Garrett. “So if we manage to locate this Raklivian, how do we get it into its prison?”

“With the bait,” said Flint. “The Lavorix entity believes the Raklivian will be desperate to regain what it lost.”

“For a god, the Ancidium seems to indulge in plenty of speculation, sir,” said Garrett.

“While I was there, Xak-Uz-Tanr didn’t call it a god,” said Flint. “He said god was what Captain Vance needed to hear.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if the Lavorix were trying to manipulate me or if this is just how they are. Whatever is in that sphere – I doubt it’s a god.”

“This war keeps on getting crazier,” said Garrett.

“That it does,” Flint agreed. “What else can you tell me about the cage, Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“It’s a sphere, with a hundred-metre diameter, sir, and it’s installed in one of our bays.” Fredericks peered closely at his screen. “The bay is located just inside the Demagaron’s armour at the spaceship’s mid-point. There’s something else—”

“Tell me,” said Flint.

“The prison bay appears to have been created within the centre of a much larger block of ternium, sir.”

“Meaning what?”

“I’m checking,” Fredericks didn’t speak for a moment. “That ternium block is overstressed but the readings on the monitoring tools are strange.”

“I’ll wait until you’ve reached a conclusion,” said Flint, eager to speak to the other members of his crew.

“I have a conclusion already, sir.” Fredericks had taken off his suit helmet and he ran thick fingers through his short hair. “The ternium block surrounding the exium cage is designed to act as a null, which in this instance means it gives off no readings whatsoever.”

Flint caught on. “The Lavorix hope this will prevent the Kilvar detecting the exium within the Demagaron.”

“That would be my guess, sir.”

“What about the small cage?” asked Maddox. “That’s made of exium, isn’t it?”

“Maybe there’s a secure storage place for it near the prison,” said Garrett doubtfully. “Would the Lavorix gamble on us figuring all this out? This is a big warship to lose based on supposition.”

“Here’s another guess,” said Fredericks. “The base of the smaller cage is also acting as a null.”

“It wasn’t heavy,” said Flint. “Ternium and exium are dense enough that it would have made the cage hard to carry.”

“Weight is something that’s easy enough to overcome, sir,” said Fredericks, raising an arm and pointing all around him. “This spaceship, for example.” He smiled. “A tiny gravity drive in the base of the cage that activates on movement would make it as lightweight as the designers required.”

“Right,” said Flint. “I want confirmation on that – Lieutenant Becerra speak to Lieutenant Tagra and have him bring the cage back here.”

“No need, sir,” said Fredericks. “The environmental sensor in a combat suit can gather the data I need. Have one of the soldiers scan the cage and send over the results.”

“I’ll pass on the order,” said Becerra.

“Thank you,” said Flint. He stared hard in the direction of Burner and Garrett. “So we have our cage, but can someone tell me where the hell in the universe we’ve been abandoned?”

“The Demagaron’s navigational system knows exactly where we are, sir,” said Burner. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of the alliance star charts to overlay on top of the Lavorix version in order to pinpoint the location of our planets. Until I can do that, we won’t be able to fire off a real time FTL comm to anyone in the alliance.”

“I can extract a copy of the star charts from the Determinant,” said Flint. “Even with the security locks in place, my command codes should be able to access the files.”

“You’re right, sir,” said Burner. “Except that you may not want to bring that data anywhere near the Demagaron.”

“We’re sure the Lavorix know the approximate location of some of our worlds, sir,” said Larson. “But we don’t want to give them a full copy of our star charts. Just in case.”

Flint nodded. “We could probably do a partial extraction of the Determinant’s star charts and keep it isolated from the rest of the Demagaron’s systems, but it’s not a risk we should take yet.”

“I agree, sir,” said Larson. “Not unless it becomes unavoidable.”

“So, the Lavorix brought us here and now they expect us to figure out exactly what we’re supposed to do, all with a complete lack of information.”

“I was coming to that, sir,” said Burner, “There’s a highlighted location in the Demagaron’s star charts.”

“Is this highlighted place clearly marked as the destination of the Raklivian?” asked Flint, his frustration returning. “Or is it just an indicator on a map?”

“Maybe you should come and see what you think, sir.”

Flint nodded to Larson that she should take over the controls. He rose and headed over to find out what was hiding in the Demagaron’s charts.

Chapter Eleven

Flint leaned across Burner’s console. The man had a zoomed-out star chart loaded on his screen - this chart being countless tiny white dots, many of them linked by slender lines. Number overlays represented times, distances, positions, and other variables which Flint couldn’t understand just by looking.

“Show me what you’ve found,” he said.

“What we’ve got here is a tiny fraction of the Demagaron’s star charts, sir,” said Burner. He sounded excited. “They’ve also mapped out what I believe is the entirety of Meklon space, and damn it’s vast. When it comes to charts of alliance space, the Lavorix have only recently started the mapping process – which is something we should probably be relieved about.”

“Didn’t the Lavorix wipe out the Meklon?” asked Garrett.

“As far as we know, they did,” said Burner. “But it’s interesting to unearth the full scale of the conflict between all these species.”

“It was a tragedy on an unimaginable scale,” said Copeland.

“I know,” said Burner, his enthusiasm undiminished. “This is like digging up the past and finding out stuff that’s not in any of the history books.”

“Let’s move on,” said Flint. He was interested in learning more about these past and ongoing conflicts, but not at the moment. “Where’s this highlighted location, Lieutenant Burner?”

“Here, sir.” Burner zoomed in the chart and kept on going until a single dot – this one red – filled much of his screen. “Next, we do this.”

He tapped a button on his control panel and the red dot changed into a detailed map of a binary star system. Flint stared at it for a few moments. The two stars were unusually close and were surrounded by dozens of planets. Lines indicated the orbital tracks of every celestial body in this solar system and they described strange and seemingly erratic paths.

“How the hell did all of these achieve stability?” asked Flint in amazement.

“Who’s to say they’re stable, sir?” asked Burner. “And who’s to say another twenty planets didn’t collide in the distant past?”

“The wonders of the universe,” said Flint. He leaned closer. “So what exactly am I looking for?”

“I don’t know, sir. The Lavorix have mapped out this system in detail. Usually, a deep space scan would only detect the local star, along with any planets which happened to be large enough to register at the same time. Even if a scout ship happened to drop by, then it wouldn’t necessarily stick around long enough to locate every moon and calculate every orbital track. The Lavorix even gave this place a name.”

“Berongar,” said Flint. “The Lavorix were interested in this place.”

“And were probably interested long before the Raklivian escaped.”

“And the fact they haven’t turned everything into dust speaks volumes,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir. It suggests the Kilvar are able to defend Berongar.” Burner looked up. “Of course, it’s sometimes a good idea to leave a known enemy installation intact.”

“So you know where to find it when you need to,” nodded Flint. “You’ll have a better idea than I, Lieutenant – is this how the Lavorix operate?”

“They can be clever, sir,” said Burner “I’ve seen them hide in Meklon facilities before, ready to ambush whoever stopped by. I wouldn’t underestimate the Lavorix – they’ve been fighting the Kilvar probably since before humanity first learned how to fly.”

“I accept what you say, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t make it any easier to determine why the Lavorix decided to leave Berongar untouched.”

“Are you interested in theory, sir?” asked Larson.

“Theory or guesswork, Commander?”

“You sound just like Captain Recker,” said Larson.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please do. So my theory – we can suppose from what we discovered at Landnir that the main Kilvar forces aren’t anywhere near alliance territory, because they had to construct a gateway using tenixite converters on planet Lofor, in order to summon their Fifth Seeking.”

“That’s logical enough,” Flint agreed.

“We don’t know what kind of spaceship the Raklivian escaped on, but no matter what kind of lightspeed multiplier it can pull, it’s not going to be enough to cross the kind of distances we’re likely talking about.”

“The Raklivian has a destination,” said Flint, beginning to understand where Larson was going with this. “In order to complete the ascendancy, it needs to go to a specific place in order for it to happen.”

“And the fastest way to reach that destination is by gateway travel,” said Larson. “Or the Kilvar equivalent of gateway travel.”

“Berongar is a hub,” said Flint.

“If not a hub, then a node on a much wider travel network,” said Larson.

“How many others like it are the Lavorix aware of?” asked Flint. “Is there a way to find out, Lieutenant Burner?”

“I don’t think so, sir. The Demagaron’s charts contain approximately four hundred quadrillion individual location points and I have a suspicion that some of the search functionality has been removed or purposefully hobbled. We might even have a limited subset of their full star charts.”

“The Lavorix are as suspicious of us as we are of them,” said Fredericks with a laugh.

“In the circumstances, I can’t blame them for keeping secrets,” said Flint. “We’d do exactly the same.”

Burner leaned back in his seat. “So there you have it, sir. Berongar – the single highlighted location out of four hundred quadrillion others.”

“And with no indication what we’ll find when we get there,” said Flint.

“Kilvar,” said Garrett promptly. “We’ll find a shitload of Kilvar.”

“I’ve got some other news for you, sir,” said Burner.

“We need to use a gateway to get there.”

“How did you guess?”

“Because I haven’t been kicked in the balls for a few minutes, Lieutenant. I figured one was overdue.”

“If there’s only a single highlighted location on that chart, how are we supposed to return home when we’re done?” asked Maddox.

“I can’t give you a definite answer,” said Burner. “However, I reckon the Lavorix might have rigged up some monitoring tools on the prison and the moment those tools detect the Raklivian, they’ll trigger an unlock on the navigational system.”

“Which will tell us how to get home,” said Flint.

“Either that or we’re stuck out here, sir.”

“Or until I give the order to access the Determinant’s star charts.”

“Or we capture the Raklivian and then head back to the annihilator,” said Larson. “After that, we remotely set the Demagaron into permanent lightspeed, thereby ensuring the enemy never escapes, and make our homeward journey – however long – on the Determinant. Have you ever considered the Lavorix might not have planned to ever see the Demagaron again?”

“I’ve considered many things, Commander, and not all of them do I like.” He smiled. “One step at a time.”

Larson returned the smile. “Yes, sir. That’s exactly how we should take it.”

“Lieutenant Fredericks, I’d like you to set a gateway destination for the Berongar system, targeting a place that’s nowhere near any likely Kilvar facilities,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir. Does that mean we’re leaving the Determinant and its star charts here?”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing, Lieutenant. If we’re unable to return, the likely reason will be because the Demagaron is destroyed and us with it.”

“Right you are, sir. It’ll take me a minute to figure out how to set a gateway target. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

Flint didn’t return to his seat and waited to find out what Fredericks would report. It didn’t take long.

“We’re carrying a few billion tons of tenixite in our underside cargo bay, sir, and this gateway activation is going to reduce a sizeable chunk of it to powder.”

“How sizeable?”

“It’s a massive distance, and the power requirements scale up accordingly. Still, we’ll have plenty spare.”

“In that case, we have more than enough. What’s the warmup time on the gateway?”

“Eight minutes.”

“Start the process.”

“Done.”

Flint headed to his seat, listening carefully to find out if the gateway hardware had an audible signature. He thought perhaps a high-pitched whine now accompanied the deeper note of the engines, but he couldn’t be sure if it had been there all along and he’d only just noticed it.

“Lieutenant Tagra has been back to the cage and scanned it with his environmental sensor, sir,” said Fredericks, a short while later. “It’ll take me a few minutes to confirm that the pedestal material is acting as a null.”

“You have just under eight minutes, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir - that will be enough.”

Two minutes later, Fredericks reported his belief that the exium in the smaller cage was shielded by a property of the pedestal. While this was conjecture, Flint was nevertheless reassured. Having the Kilvar unerringly locate his exium-powered warships – regardless of what action he took to avoid the alien scumbags - was enormously irritating and he was glad to have this possibility of respite.

“We’ve got the hardware and now we’re no longer detectable across half the universe,” said Flint. “We’re on a level playing field for once.”

“What’s the plan once we arrive at Berongar, sir?” asked Maddox.

“No plan other than to pave the way for us to recapture the Raklivian once it breaks lightspeed,” said Flint. “But you’d guessed that already. If we can destroy a few trillion tons of Kilvar assets at the same time, then so much the better.”

“But the Kilvar won’t attack us straightaway, right?” said Garrett.

Flint didn’t even try to smile. “That’s what the Ancidium told me,” he said, recalling the ace which the sphere entity had played from its hand. “The Lavorix cracked the Kilvar inter-ship handshake codes decades ago, but every time they attempted an infiltration, the enemy always knew.”

“Because the Kilvar can detect Lavorix in the same way they can detect exium,” said Maddox.

The unspoken question was clear. “We talked about this, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Yes, the Lavorix can - apparently - shield exium from detection with barely any experience of the substance, and no they haven’t figured out how to do the same for their own personnel.”

“This is fascinating stuff,” said Fredericks. “The Kilvar and the Lavorix are clearly linked in a way we don’t understand, and it’s something they aren’t telling us about – except with a few hints here and there.” He looked at his console. “Two minutes and the gateway will open.”

“We have a couple of possibilities here,” said Flint. “Either the Kilvar are unable to detect the presence of humans and Daklan and they are taken in by the Demagaron’s fake handshake, or the Kilvar are not fooled by any of this, in which case we’ll handle the mission exactly the same as we would have done any other.”

Flint returned to his seat. Negative opinions were once again being too freely aired by certain members of his crew and, though it was partly understandable given the number of unknowns surrounding more or less every aspect of the coming arrival at Berongar, Flint knew he would have to take some more forthright action to ensure his personnel understood what he expected from them and anyone who didn’t respond might find themselves serving under a different captain.

Since Flint was being given tough assignment after tough assignment, he could no longer afford to tolerate officers who sniped at every detail - particularly when the consequences of failure were unimaginable.

Thinking about it brought storm clouds into Flint’s mind and those clouds darkened when his eyes went to the gateway countdown and he discovered less than ten seconds remaining on the timer.

Gritting his teeth, Flint held the controls in a death grip and tensed every muscle in the hope that this next transit would be less of a torture than the previous.

The timer hit zero and a black sphere appeared, blotting out the stars and engulfing the Demagaron.

This second gateway treated Flint no more kindly than the first.

Chapter Twelve

“Status reports!” barked Flint, the aching pain and nausea making him furious. Not just his fingers but his hands too were numb, though not enough to make him lose his grip on the control bars. He gave the Demagaron everything and the unsuppressed edge of the acceleration made his head thump like it was being struck a steady rhythm by a Daklan with a rubber mallet.

“The sensors are up,” said Burner, his voice noticeably weaker than normal. “There’s no offline delay after a gateway transit. Near scans underway.”

“Fars running,” said Garrett.

“The Demagaron is going through an automatic recalibration of its positioning – no doubt because of the distance it’s travelled,” said Becerra. “Once that’s finished I’ll be able to locate points of interest.”

“Keep me updated,” said Flint.

He glanced right, where Larson was watching her control panels carefully. Despite the freezing cold, she wasn’t wearing a suit helmet and her face showed no sign of discomfort from the transit, though her cheeks were red from the chill.

“Let me guess – the gateways don’t affect you much?” asked Flint. He returned his gaze to the sensor feeds, which so far weren’t showing anything of interest.

“I wouldn’t call them fun, sir. The cold helps.”

“Near scans finished!” said Burner, his voice jarringly loud. “Nothing to report.”

“Fars still running,” said Garrett. “A few seconds and they’ll be done.”

The Demagaron’s velocity gauge continued climbing, past eight thousand kilometres per second and then nine. Flint didn’t relent and the howling of the propulsion threatened to swamp his senses.

“Recalibration finished,” said Becerra. “We are six billion kilometres from Imbus and not much further from Larnor.”

She put the two stars at the centre of the Berongar system up on the sensors and from this distance they were predictably unimpressive, being little more than bright specks. They were, however, distinguishable from one another and Flint couldn’t take his eyes away. Binary systems had always fascinated him. The thought of such massive objects being bound together by invisible forces that could have them orbiting until one or the other became a supernova in billions of years, was captivating.

“Five planets located and on the sensors,” said Becerra. “Reolar, Bundus, Lona-5, Impren and Akrol, the nearest being half a billion klicks from our position. The other nine planets are either blindside, or so far distant that they’re not worth the effort to enhance.”

Flint didn’t spare much time on the closest five planets, since they were hardly more than dots which gave nothing away to the naked eye. Given time, the Demagaron’s sensors might gather some useful data, but right now, there wasn’t much to go on. Still, Flint had got exactly what he wanted – a period of immediate calm in Berongar, during which he could observe and then decide on his approach.

“Past experience indicates the Kilvar won’t take long to find us, sir,” said Fredericks. “We’ll soon find out if they can see through the Demagaron’s exium shielding.”

“And that’s the main reason we’re staying out here for a little while longer,” said Flint. “It’s vital we learn if the Kilvar can detect us.” He had another thought. “What’s the range on our ship-to-ship handshake, Lieutenant Burner?”

“The specifics aren’t available to me, sir,” said Burner. “On our own warships, it’s usually set to a million kilometres, depending on various factors.”

“Like whether or not a commanding officer wants to stay silent or make himself known,” said Flint.

“Right now, we’re running silent,” said Burner. “I can change that whenever you give the order. I’ll have to bring us out of silent in order to discover if I can alter the range of the handshake.”

Flint drew back the controls and let the spaceship coast, noting that its velocity had exceeded ten thousand kilometres per second. The Lavorix really did know how to extract the best out of a ternium module.

“If I decided it was necessary, we could presumably send a distress signal to any Kilvar warships close enough to pick it up?” Flint said.

“Yes, sir,” said Burner. “That would bring a whole bunch of Kilvar running in our direction.”

“And it might be a useful tactic at some point,” said Flint.

He considered a few ideas. It was sure the Kilvar had a strong presence in Berongar, so it seemed best to be circumspect until he knew more about exactly what he was facing. Unfortunately, time was as precious as ever, and Flint couldn’t accommodate the textbook approach of waiting for certainty before committing his warship. Recent missions had confirmed that audacity often brought the greatest rewards and he was no longer wary of grasping his opportunities – assuming they were offered.

Ten minutes passed and no Kilvar warships appeared. It was a promising beginning and Flint was becoming progressively more hopeful that the Lavorix exium shield was doing the business.

During those ten minutes, his sensor team scanned and enhanced the visible planets and so far they hadn’t turned up anything conclusive.

“Can you confirm a likely Kilvar presence on any of those planets?” asked Flint.

“No, sir,” said Becerra. “None of the data is strong enough to draw a conclusion – not even from Reolar, and that’s the nearest to us.”

“Plus the enemy facilities could be blindside,” said Burner.

“This isn’t unexpected,” said Flint, mentally cursing the Lavorix for not providing him with more concrete information about the Berongar system. Since the aliens had charted the planets and had presumably run into the Kilvar here at some point, they must have learned something worth sharing. “Damnit, we have a lot of ground to cover,” Flint said bitterly. He pictured having to SRT from one end of Berongar to the next, stopping at each planet in turn, orbiting and running full surface scans.

“Lieutenant Burner,” said Larson, her expression suggesting she’d had a thought. “Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of data unlocking in the navigational system when a certain trigger point was reached. Can you check for that?”

“That’s a great idea, Commander,” said Burner. “I’m not trying to make excuses, but the whole sensor team has had its hands full since we exited the gateway.”

“Whatever you say,” said Larson, grinning broadly.

“Aha!” said Burner after a few seconds. “There is more accessible data than there was before we arrived here.”

“Check it out and quickly,” said Flint. “Also, look to see if there’s anything new available on those other four hundred quadrillion entries in the Demagaron’s star charts.”

“I can tell you the answer to that last one is a no, sir,” said Burner. His brows were lowered and his eyes moved over whatever it was he had on his screen. “The Lavorix are aware of Kilvar facilities here in Berongar.” He swore softly beneath his breath. “A total of seven out of the fourteen planets have confirmed enemy facilities – Reolar, Lona-5, Akrol, Ivox, Gledan-Q, Ilkar and Obora. It gets worse – the moons of Lona-5 and Ivox also have confirmed facilities.”

“Seven planets and two moons,” said Flint. “Shit.”

“It might be more than two moons, sir,” said Burner. “The Lavorix use a threat level and priority system that doesn’t specify exactly how many of the moons contain military bases. Ivox, for example has three moons and Lona-5 has two.”

“Let me have a look at that,” said Flint. “Send the data to my console.”

“It’s with you now, sir.”

For a couple of minutes, Flint studied the newly revealed data and the story it told confirmed that the coming mission was not going to be plain sailing. The Lavorix had been – and surely still were – very interested in what the Kilvar were up to in Berongar, but had been unable to crack the enemy defences for long enough to build a complete picture of the resources in this solar system.

“The Lavorix marked up a few things, sir,” said Burner. “I guess some of these entries relate to orbital platforms similar to the ones we saw at Landnir. There are other Kilvar resources out in deep space and these are likely monitoring satellites.”

“Nothing that confirms the presence of a gateway generator,” said Flint, staring hard in case he’d overlooked something obvious.

“No, sir, and most of the planets have a similarly high threat and priority level.”

Flint swore again. “What the hell are we supposed to do with this crap?”

The fact that it was total crap made him increasingly certain he was missing something and when his brain didn’t recognize that something, his frustration grew. Since the Lavorix had been fighting for so many centuries, there was no way they could have succeeded for so long if this was the best they could manage.

As the seconds ticked by, Flint became increasingly concerned about the Kilvar deep space monitors. Although the Demagaron was far from everything in Berongar, a large enough platform fitted with hundreds of arrays and processing units would eventually locate the warship, even with its exium completely shielded.

Then, Flint identified another puzzle.

“It’s impossible to prevent a lightning raid on a planet if your opponents decide to drop out of lightspeed on your doorstep and start launching missiles, let alone defending an entire solar system against the same tactics,” he said. “I don’t believe the Lavorix would have allowed the Kilvar to establish themselves here – not to such an extent.”

“Which means something was stopping the Lavorix from attacking,” said Larson. “As you mentioned before.”

“Or they attacked this place already and encountered a reason not to do so again,” Flint mused.

“Leading them to send in their human stooges,” said Garrett.

Flint was thinking hard, feeling himself on the brink of an important realisation. That realisation came. “One reason the Ancidium gave for sending us on this mission was that the Kilvar will detect the Lavorix, even when they’re hiding out on a spaceship designed to fool the enemy. A second reason – which the sphere entity didn’t mention - is that the Lavorix are more vulnerable to instant-death technology than both humans and the Daklan.”

“Another death sphere or something that acts like one?” asked Larson. “Here in Berongar?”

“A single death sphere wouldn’t be enough to defend all of these planets,” said Flint.

“If the Kilvar could create one death sphere, I guess they could create a hundred if they had the power generation capabilities,” said Fredericks. “And we’ve seen what kind of resources they can muster.”

“It’s the only technology I can think of that would dissuade the Lavorix from attacking,” said Flint.

“But not so much the Ancidium,” said Larson. “Since it wasn’t affected by the death sphere at Evia.”

“The Ancidium is too important for the Lavorix to commit it readily,” said Flint.

“Then let’s hope the Kilvar believe the Demagaron is one of theirs,” said Garrett. “Otherwise we’re soon going to be in boiling water.”

“We should take a shot of Frenziol,” said Flint reluctantly.

He had three injectors in his leg pocket and the two shuttles from the Determinant each carried a few hundred spares in their medical cabinets – enough to keep everyone onboard the Demagaron wide awake for a couple of weeks and have them feeling like shit for a month afterwards.

“Should I pass on the order to Captain Vance, sir?” asked Becerra.

“Yes,” said Flint after a moment’s thought. “And ask him to send a squad to our two shuttles and have them gather up some extra spares, so we don’t run out.”

“Better safe than sorry, huh?” said Maddox, sounding as unenthusiastic as Flint.

“That’s right, Lieutenant.”

Flint balanced his injector on his open palm and then curled his fingers around it. A hard, stabbing motion was enough to drive the needle through the tough outer layer of his combat suit and into the flesh of his thigh. The injector squirted its contents into his leg and the readout flashed to show it was empty. Flint was tempted to dash it against the wall, but instead he placed it in a separate pocket to his spares, intending to dispose of it later.

“I want confirmation that everyone onboard is ready,” he said.

The Frenziol was like ice in Flint’s veins and gave him a sensation of particular cold directly behind his right eye, as if the drugs had diverted there on their journey to his brain.

“Damn I’m sick of taking this crap,” said Fredericks.

“Are you sick of living as well, Lieutenant?” asked Larson.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, ma’am.”

As he waited for news that the soldiers onboard were ready, Flint drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. The Frenziol had already expunged any hint of tiredness and had also given him a nervous energy. The fingers of his other hand began tapping the other arm of his seat, seemingly of their own accord.

Flint knew that a decision would soon be upon him. His warship – as potent a force as it was - couldn’t possibly defeat so many Kilvar. Briefly, Flint considered inaction. He could hold the Demagaron out here, away from the enemy forces and hope to get lucky by spotting the Raklivian when it exited lightspeed.

That plan was laden with the certainty of failure – it would be a trade-off in which Flint would have chosen the lowest risk to himself and his crew in exchange for a tiny chance of success.

Far better, he thought, to test the Demagaron and find out if the Lavorix technology was enough to deceive the Kilvar. If it worked, Flint could use the warship to locate the most likely destination for the Raklivian when it arrived at Berongar.

Then, all he’d need to do would be to lure it into the exium cage. Easy.

Flint spent a moment trying to convince himself that the controllable variables were good enough, but he’d never been able to fool himself. Luckily, he’d come through a few knife-edge missions lately and he’d learned that commitment was, itself, a controllable variable. Up until now, the method had worked out for him and his crew.

It was time to test it again.

“Warm up the ternium drive,” said Flint. “We’re going to Reolar.”

Chapter Thirteen

The Demagaron was packing a lot of processing hardware, which didn’t take long to complete the few octillion calculations required to activate the ternium drive. With a shudder and a depthless rumble of bass, the propulsion fired.

Although not using one of the spaceship’s SRT modules to complete the journey, the duration was so short that the transitions were effectively stacked. The resulting discomfort was preferable to that resulting from a gateway transit, though in no way was it an enjoyable experience for Flint.

Two for the price of one, he thought in irritation as he flexed his numb fingers. His mind went briefly to the annihilator Takrivon, on which every lightspeed transition had – for whatever reason – been smooth and almost pleasant.

A glance was enough to reassure Flint that the command console readouts were all where they needed to be. Usually, he would have requested maximum acceleration, but on this occasion, he pushed the warship to a low velocity and then held it steady.

“Status reports!” Flint shouted.

The lethargy from the transitions should have started fading by now, especially with a recent shot of Frenziol to show it the door. For some reason, the thickness in his head and aching in his limbs remained stubbornly in place.

“Waiting on sensors,” said Becerra. “They’re on their way up.”

The wraparound bulkhead projection appeared shortly after, indicating the Demagaron’s sensors were better at recovering from a lightspeed transit than those on an alliance warship.

“Near scans running,” said Burner.

“I’ve got the fars, sir,” said Garrett.

“Lieutenant Becerra, bring us out of silent running,” said Flint. “Remember, we’re trying to look as if we belong here and if that’s going to work, we’ll need to talk to any Kilvar warships in the vicinity.”

“Voice comms might be a problem, sir,” said Garrett.

“We won’t need voice,” growled Flint.

“I’ve taken us out of silent, sir,” said Becerra.

“Watch for inbound and outbound handshake requests.”

“I’m watching,” Becerra confirmed.

“Nears finished,” said Burner. “And all clear.”

“Leave the fars to Lieutenant Garrett,” Flint ordered. “Find Reolar and tell me what’s down there.”

“Is anyone else still feeling those transitions?” asked Bolan. “My balls are aching.”

“I didn’t need to hear that,” said Copeland. “But yeah, I’m not feeling great either.”

“I’ve located Reolar at one hundred thousand klicks - exactly the distance we aimed for,” said Burner. “Putting it on the screen.”

“Any sign of Kilvar?” asked Flint, staring at the feed.

Reolar was way out from Imbus and Larnor. It was predictably cold and barren, though its surface was pocked with volcanoes, some of them huge. The visible surface was mottled greys and browns, and Flint saw immense, hardened lava flows along with vast ranges of jagged mountains. At first, second and third glance, the place was no more than a mid-sized ball of rock with a bit more volcanic activity than most places.

However, Reolar had a feature not present in the majority of the planets Flint had visited – a thick fog of darkness wrapped it entirely, and that fog became thicker and denser closer to the surface.

“A death sphere,” said Flint. “No wonder we’re all feeling like crap. How far does it extend from the planet?”

“Scanning,” said Burner. “I can’t be certain, because the sphere gives off a reading that’s difficult to interpret, but I’d guess its radius is about a million klicks.”

“That’s got to require a big power source,” said Fredericks.

“There’s no sign of it from here,” said Garrett. “And we’re near enough that our sensors would have picked up any significant facilities.”

“We’ll have to look blindside,” said Flint, mentally picking a heading. “How come we didn’t know about the death sphere from our long-range scans?”

“It didn’t show up, sir,” said Burner simply.

Flint was about to ask more, when he was interrupted by Lieutenant Becerra.

“Sir, the Demagaron has received a handshake request and sent an automatic response!” she said.

“Did the inbound handshake contain direction and distance information?” asked Flint. The numbness in his fingers was almost gone, but the other symptoms – which he was now sure came from the death sphere – hadn’t shifted one bit. In fact, he wondered if they were getting worse.

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “The handshake contained both and the origin point is on the exact opposite side of the planet.”

“Let’s go take a look,” said Flint. He slid the controls a few inches along their guide slots and the Demagaron accelerated.

“I’ve double-checked and the handshake came from almost a thousand klicks below the surface, sir,” said Becerra. “It was routed to a topside antenna and sent our way.”

“Burying an installation so deep is a good way to limit the effectiveness of a missile bombardment from ten billion klicks,” said Maddox.

Flint wasn’t persuaded – planets were an easy target and creating a device that could smash open a thousand kilometres of rock would be a simple task for the Lavorix. And failing that, a tenixite converter would do the job from an almost unlimited distance.

Adding everything together, Flint was sure the Kilvar had other defences in place – probably an energy shield, or something akin to a mesh deflector that was able to absorb an incoming attack, no matter how destructive.

“I’m surprised no-one’s come out to say hello yet,” said Larson. “Even given our apparently successful handshake, I’d imagine the local forces are on constant high alert.”

“Or they’re so damned confident they don’t need to check us out,” said Flint.

He held the Demagaron on his chosen heading and nothing of interest was revealed on the planet. Becerra had put the origin point of the Kilvar handshake onto the tactical and the surface directly above that would soon be visible. Flint didn’t know what he’d find there, but he was certain there’d be something.

“Sir, I have Captain Vance on the internal comms,” said Becerra. “He reports three deaths among his soldiers.”

“Shit,” said Flint. “The death sphere killed them. Did those soldiers inject with Frenziol?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Vance has experience with instant death tech and he reckons some people are just more vulnerable than others. We lost Corporal Gralis, Private Gavand and Private Strickland.”

“What about everyone else in his company?” asked Flint.

“They’re feeling like varying degrees of crap, sir. Captain Vance doesn’t think there’s any way to predict if more people will die – whether we stay here or enter another death sphere later.”

“We’ve got a lot of planets to visit,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir. Captain Vance is aware.”

The fatalities were a timely reminder that alien technology was both unpredictable and terrible. Like a switch being flicked, the lives of those three soldiers had been extinguished without them being able to do a damn thing about it. Lives lived and lives lost as easily as that.

“You can’t let it affect you, sir,” said Larson quietly. “Not now.”

Flint nodded once and he opened his mouth, unsure what he was about to say, but feeling as if he had to say something. A call from Lieutenant Garrett drew his attention.

“I’ve located one of those orbital platforms, sir,” said Garrett. “It’s at a hundred-klick altitude and with the exact same dimensions as the ones we saw at Landnir and Evia.”

The platform crossed the planet’s cusp, travelling at lazy speed and on a heading that was not convergent with the Demagaron. Upon the fifty-kilometre platform’s upper surface, Flint saw the expected array of launchers and cannons, along with upward-pointing spines he was sure could discharge high-intensity particle beams. Other structures may have housed theme parks and party warehouses for Kilvar families, but Flint suspected it more likely the towers and domes contained power generators and hardware useful in the destruction of opposing spaceships.

“No surprise to find the enemy big guns,” said Flint. “I wonder what else we’ll find.”

“The crew on that platform don’t seem interested in us, sir,” said Garrett. “From the looks of it, this is their usual orbit and they aren’t deviating from it.”

Moments later, a second platform came into sensor sight, this time travelling over the planet’s southern rotation pole. Once again, its course gave no indication that it was tracking the Demagaron, or even interested in the warship’s appearance.

“How long will it take before someone on Reolar begins asking questions about those two massive cannons we’re fitted with?” asked Maddox. “Unless the Lavorix have stolen the design from an existing Kilvar warship the alliance hasn’t yet encountered, meaning we look familiar.”

Flint had already considered the same question. He doubted the Demagaron was copied from an existing Kilvar warship type, aside from its basic diamond shape. In fact, he was sure it was unique and, given the assumed size of the enemy fleet, Flint thought it likely the Kilvar commanded many unique warships.

The existence of the Vilekron and the Limborus – wildly different in appearance – only served to reinforce this view. In conjunction with the vast quantity of space the Kilvar were fighting across, it was probable that no single enemy officer could readily identify an imposter vessel, as long as the handshakes checked out.

His reasoning of course assumed that the Kilvar had an officer structure, rather than being part of a hive mind with instant access to a central data repository. As the thought jumped into his mind, Flint cursed under his breath, having fallen into the trap of trying to guess at everything.

Then came some bad news.

“We’ve been sent another handshake request, sir,” said Becerra. “It came from the same place as the last one.”

“Damnit,” said Flint. “Did the automated response trigger?”

“Yes, sir, the same as last time.” Becerra didn’t normally curse but she did now. “This second handshake request contains a different encryption method on its signature.”

“What does that mean?” asked Flint sharply.

“Each handshake comes with its own piece of encrypted code that the receiver decrypts and identifies before sending its own encrypted response,” said Becerra. “In the alliance, if the handshake return takes too long after receipt, it’s judged to have failed.”

“Because a friendly recipient will have the key to unlock the signature file without requiring a brute force attack,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “We responded to the first handshake, but now we’ve been sent a second with a different type of encryption.”

“Which suggests our response to the first handshake didn’t come quickly enough, so they’ve sent us another,” said Flint. Now it was his turn to curse and he did so loudly.

“I’ve checked the processing logs at the time of the first handshake request, sir,” said Fredericks. “The Demagaron is fitted with dozens of processing cores and there was a noticeable spike when the handshake came in.”

“The Lavorix didn’t crack the Kilvar inter-ship communications after all,” said Flint in understanding. “They were hoping their processors could perform an on-the-fly decryption so quickly that the Kilvar wouldn’t become suspicious.”

“I think that’s exactly what they’ve done, sir,” said Becerra. “On the plus side, it’s a method that will work no matter how many different signature encryption types the Kilvar employ.”

“But only if the decryption is fast enough in the first place,” said Flint. He held onto the controls and made no alterations to the Demagaron’s course. The briefest glance at the tactical told him that in less than thirty seconds, the area above the subterranean facility would appear on the sensors. “Was our second handshake response sent back quicker than the first?” he asked.

“Yes, sir – by a fraction of a second,” said Fredericks. “Whether it met the enemy’s expectations, I can’t tell you.”

“Nobody’s firing at us yet,” said Bolan. “That’s always a good sign.”

“Fingers crossed there’s no third handshake request,” said Maddox.

“I’m not sure the Kilvar will give us a third chance, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “I’d guess that two is all we’ll have.”

The next few seconds were anxious and Flint’s muscles were tense. Not only that, the effects of the death sphere clung to him, though he couldn’t yet be certain if they were becoming worse or staying the same.

“No deviation in the orbital paths of those weapons platforms,” said Burner. “A third one has appeared to the north.”

“How many shots will it take from our XN1 cannons to knock out a single platform?” asked Maddox nervously.

“I don’t want to be forced into an attack,” said Flint, refusing to commit to an answer.

Larson wasn’t reticent. “Having seen what the Toll gun on the Aeklu was capable of, I’d say two shots would be enough to disable one of those platforms, plus a few dozen missiles to finish it off.”

“We should have visibility on the topside facility any moment now, sir,” said Burner.

Flint watched the feeds intently. It was vital this mission discovered the location of the Kilvar gateway before the Raklivian exited lightspeed, and it would be an outstanding result if the enemy hardware was located here on Reolar.

It wasn’t to be, and Flint couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. Situating a gateway here made no sense, and he was sure it would be located on one of the more central planets.

“A couple of towers and two massive antennae,” said Flint, watching them come over the planet’s cusp.

“Five-klick towers and nine-klick antennae,” added Becerra, spelling out the scale of what they’d discovered. “Impressive stuff – I wonder what the Kilvar use them for.”

Flint didn’t know. The antennae were cylindrical with protruding posts, while the towers were cuboid and featureless. Nothing about the surface facility suggested it was used for offensive purposes, though he didn’t have enough experience of the Kilvar to be sure - the orbital platforms could likely fend off anything less than the most determined of attacks, assuming the death sphere and any other defences weren’t enough.

“I’m running some emission and output scans on those ground structures, sir,” said Copeland. “The antennae are giving off some unusual readings.”

“What kind of unusual?”

“Nothing I’ve come across before. Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“The readings are new to me as well,” said Fredericks.

“Do I need to worry specifically about those antennae?” asked Flint. “Any more so than I have to worry about everything else in Berongar?”

“I’ll see if I can figure out what the data means,” said Copeland.

“You don’t have a lot of time, Lieutenant – we’re getting out of here.”

“Where to, sir?” asked Larson.

“Planet six – Gledan-Q,” said Flint. The Lavorix used a familiar method to select a mode 3 destination and he tapped a finger on the tactical screen to select Gledan-Q. The planet was currently on the far side of Imbus and Larnor.

“Is it wise to jump straight out of here?” asked Garrett. “Won’t it look suspicious?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “I’ve already caught myself guessing too much and we’re not in a situation where we can figure out all the right answers just by talking or thinking hard enough.”

“In which case, let’s go,” said Larson, who sounded eager to be away from here.

“From one death sphere to the next,” said Flint. “Tell Captain Vance what we’re doing.”

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra.

Delaying only a few seconds for the message to be conveyed, Flint activated the Demagaron’s mode 3, hoping the three deaths from earlier would be the last on this mission. He didn’t think it likely. With a boom of propulsion, the warship jumped to a new location.

Chapter Fourteen

Once again, the stacked transitions were tough on Flint and judging by the cursing he heard from the stations behind, none of his crew found the experience a satisfying one either.

“Find the planet,” he snarled. “The area scans come second.”

“Sensors up, Gledan-Q located,” said Becerra. “On the feed.”

Gledan-Q was significantly larger in diameter than Reolar, and its surface of rocks in a variety of grey hues was even less interesting. The sharp line of day cut diagonally from south-west to north-east and the starkness of the light from the twin stars should have added an overbright harshness, but instead the thick darkness of a death sphere suppressed the illumination, like cold fog around a street light. When Flint stared, he thought the darkness was shifting and swirling in a way he hadn’t noticed at Reolar.

He felt the death sphere acutely – more so than he had before and he hated what it was doing to his body. However, Flint had plenty to keep his mind distracted - the Demagaron’s sensor arrays had direct sight on a vast Kilvar facility, a hundred thousand kilometres almost directly below the warship.

“Whoa, shit!” said Maddox. “What the hell are they doing there?”

The enemy had not been gentle to the planet. They’d gouged out an enormous quantity of the surface in a rough circular shape with a diameter of nearly a thousand kilometres and going to a depth of more than two hundred.

Around the perimeter of this bowl the Kilvar had erected yet more structures, including two of the enormous antennae at opposite sides, a variety of other towers, and many flat-roofed buildings which may have been storage facilities. Within the bowl itself, ground vehicles chewed up the rock, while dozens of two-kilometre spaceships flew overhead. The angle wasn’t perfect, but Flint believed these spaceships – which were bulky and resembled lifters – were sucking up the piles of stone created by the ground operations.

The surface facility wasn’t Flint’s immediate concern – the Kilvar had stationed a fleet of their diamond shaped warships at Gledan-Q. Fifteen in total were in sensor sight, at different altitudes, and travelling slowly along separate orbital paths. Flint had no way of knowing if others were blind side.

“We’ve received a handshake request!” said Becerra urgently. “It came from one of those ground structures.”

“What?” asked Flint. “I thought we’d successfully responded to the last one at Reolar.”

“I’m sure we did, sir,” said Becerra, talking quickly. “The only reason I can imagine for us receiving this new handshake request is because the Kilvar have zoned their operations at Berongar and each time a warship crosses into a new zone, its previous security clearance is reset.”

“Damnit!” said Flint. “Lieutenant Fredericks – what kind of spike do you see on the Demagaron’s processing units?”

“It took longer to crack the encryption on that handshake request than it did for the previous two at Reolar, sir.”

Which means we’re about to receive another request,” said Flint. The mission was rapidly heading south and he had no way to exert control.

“We could exit this zone, sir,” said Larson.

Flint’s hand reached towards the tactical and then he withdrew it. “I have a feeling that if we leave this place before we’ve offered a successful handshake response, it’ll trigger a system-wide mobilisation from the Kilvar.”

“Is that guesswork or intuition, sir?” asked Larson.

“A bit of both.”

Larson nodded. “It’s the best we have right now.”

“Be ready for anything,” Flint warned his crew.

Some good news arrived over the internal comms. “Captain Vance reports no additional deaths, sir, though one of the Daklan has fallen unconscious,” said Becerra. “I’ve asked that he keep us updated.”

“Thank you,” said Flint.

“Six of the local enemy fleet are coming up on their ternium drives to meet us, sir,” said Burner. “They’re eight-klick shit-eating bastards, exactly like the one that attacked Basalt. All the others here at Gledan-Q are the same type and mass.”

The nearest of the Kilvar warships was less than sixty thousand kilometres distant and it raced across the intervening space at what Flint suspected was its maximum acceleration. That wasn’t a good sign, since it told him the enemy were on high alert.

“We’ve received the second handshake request, sir,” said Becerra. “It came from the same place as the last one.”

Flint’s grip on the controls tightened. If the worst came to it, he intended to inflict some harm on the Kilvar at Gledan-Q and see what came from it.

“Ready,” Flint said, making what he hoped were subtle adjustments that would bring the rage cannons into line with the incoming warship.

Larson didn’t need the reminder and she was entirely focused on the weapons console. “If the enemy start something, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

“Lieutenant Fredericks?” asked Flint, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

“That processor spike was the shortest yet, sir!”

“The approaching warships are breaking off!” yelled Garrett. “They’re returning to their original positions!”

Flint had been unknowingly holding his breath and he let it all out at once. On the various feeds, the inbound vessels banked and headed away without firing a single shot.

“Did we get lucky?” asked Flint.

“I don’t know about lucky, sir,” said Fredericks. “I have a hunch the Lavorix software is learning each time it breaks the Kilvar signature encryption.”

Flint didn’t want to argue it, but he felt compelled to ask. “I thought the enemy were sending us different encryption signatures each time?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” Becerra confirmed.

“In which case, I’d say the Lavorix software is better against some encryption types than it is against others,” said Fredericks. “But it’s still able to learn, even when it’s presented with an encryption type it’s weak against.”

“So eventually the enemy are going to hit us with a handshake the Demagaron can’t deal with first time or second time?” said Maddox.

“Probably,” said Fredericks. “You’ll appreciate I haven’t had much of a chance to dig into this, but we may run into a situation where we can’t offer a suitably rapid handshake response on the third or fourth time of asking either.”

“That’s when the crap will start flying,” said Larson. “Until it happens, let’s continue scouting Berongar. We have a gateway generator to find.”

“How many circuits will we require at this altitude to be sure there’s no gateway here at Gledan-Q?” asked Flint.

“One should be enough, sir,” said Burner. “Assuming we’re looking for ternium cylinders as big as we saw in the Landnir system. If the Kilvar have done something unexpected like bury those cylinders, or the hardware is different, you might want to consider ordering more than one circuit.”

“A single one will do,” said Flint. “If you turn up anything needing closer investigation, we’ll deal with it as it comes.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve added a suggested course as an overlay onto the tactical,” said Burner.

Flint glanced once at the orange route line and adjusted course to follow it. The Demagaron was travelling at low velocity and he increased it only slightly. It was going to be a balancing act between acting fast enough to intercept the Raklivian and not drawing too much attention to his warship.

“Nobody’s watching us, sir,” said Garrett.

“Just because they aren’t following at fifty klicks, doesn’t mean the Kilvar don’t have a close eye on what we’re doing,” said Flint.

Even so, he increased the Demagaron’s velocity by another few hundred kilometres per second and the planet’s surface was revealed appreciably faster than before. The huge bowl remained visible for a time, and one of the ore carriers vanished from the sensors, indicating its load bay was full and it had gone into lightspeed with its cargo.

“I wonder if they’ve got a construction yard somewhere in Berongar,” said Larson.

“The Kilvar have to build their fleet somewhere,” said Flint. “If we locate the place, I might think about testing some of those incendiaries.”

A short while later, the Demagaron had completed its circuit of Gledan-Q and Lieutenant Burner reported his contentment that nothing significant was undiscovered, unless the Kilvar had somehow managed to install their gateway hardware underground and completely hide evidence of the work. Flint didn’t think it likely.

“We’ll head on to the next planet,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he considered the next target. “Let’s try planet four - Ilkar.”

“Is there a method behind your selections, sir?” asked Maddox.

“I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. Given the total absence of intel, I’m picking based on hunch.”

“That’s how Lieutenant Burner chooses his wine, sir,” said Larson. “Hunch and if he likes the picture on the label.”

“I’ve never picked a bad one, Commander,” said Burner.

“Why are we talking about wine?” Flint wondered aloud.

“We were talking about Ilkar, sir,” said Larson smoothly. “All three SRT modules are available.”

At that moment, Garrett yelled out in shock. “Sir, we received a third handshake request!”

“What the hell?” said Flint. “We cleared the local security already.”

“The Demagaron’s hardware cracked the encryption pretty quickly on that third one, sir,” said Fredericks. “Even though the handshake contained a different signature.”

“There’s no change in behaviour from the local enemy fleet, sir,” said Burner. “I’d guess that means we passed the test.”

“What’s happening?” asked Flint. “Are the Kilvar expecting trouble or is this increased security only because they have plenty of critical resources in Berongar?”

“I’d go with the latter, sir,” said Burner. “In my opinion, any warship in this system will be interrogated at regular intervals. Those intervals may not even be predictable.”

This mission was already effectively time-limited, but that didn’t stop Flint feeling the extra pressure which came from knowing that at any moment, the Demagaron might be identified by the Kilvar as hostile. He took in a slow breath and told himself that ultimately, it was something he could handle and that he should count himself lucky to have remained undetected for so long in the middle of so much enemy hardware.

“We passed the last test, but we’re getting away from Gledan-Q before the Kilvar send us another one,” Flint said. He tapped a fingertip onto the tactical display. “Our destination is Ilkar. Make Captain Vance aware that we’re likely to enter a new death sphere.”

“Yes, sir.” Becerra talked rapidly into the comms. “Done.”

Flint pressed the mode 3 activation button and the Demagaron performed an in-out lightspeed jump. Immediately, he felt like crap, though he didn’t know if the lethargy and dullness in his mind were a result of the transitions or a new death sphere.

“Locate the planet,” Flint snarled through the pain. “Then start the local area scans.”

The sensors came up and several of the arrays were already locked onto Ilkar.

“Another shithole planet and another death sphere,” said Lieutenant Burner in quick summary.

“Three Kilvar warships detected, sir,” said Becerra. “They’re sitting a thousand klicks above Ilkar’s north pole. They’re the same eight-klick type as we found at Gledan-Q.”

“Keep scanning,” said Flint. The transition numbness in his fingers and toes was already fading, but the pounding in his head wasn’t shifting. He gave his leg pocket a pat, reassuring himself that the Frenziol needles were still inside.

“I have a sensor lock on Ilkar’s single moon, sir. It’s a half-million klicks from our position,” said Garrett. “The Lavorix star charts didn’t have it highlighted as a place of interest, and I can’t see anything on the visible side. Should I change my search focus?”

“Yes – the planet is our primary concern for the moment, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Switching to surface and low altitude scans of Ilkar,” Garrett confirmed.

“We’ve received our first handshake request, sir,” said Becerra.

Fredericks must have been watching the processor cores closely. “We answered that one quickly as well, sir,” he said. “Either the Demagaron’s software is learning faster than I first thought, or we got lucky with another signature that was easy to crack.”

The information continued arriving in a flood.

“I’ve detected an orbital platform, sir,” said Burner. “Same altitude as the others we’ve located.”

“Make that two orbital platforms,” said Garrett.

“Another five Kilvar warships detected over the planet’s south pole, sir,” said Burner. “Three more coming around in an east-west orbit.”

“I’ve located a third orbital platform,” said Becerra.

“The Kilvar have plenty of hardware stationed here,” said Maddox. “And that’s only what we’ve seen so far.”

Flint’s instinct bells were ringing, though without giving him an idea of what had got their attention. Danger was part of it, that much was clear, but he wondered if there was something else besides.

Then, Becerra reported what she’d heard from Captain Vance. “We lost two more soldiers, sir – both Daklan. The Daklan who fell unconscious earlier – Private Topok – won’t be roused. Corporal Hendrix is concerned.”

The losses were another hard blow and Flint clenched his jaw. “Does Corporal Hendrix believe a second Frenziol injection will increase our survival rate?”

“Apparently, it shouldn’t kill us.”

“There’s a non-answer if I ever heard one,” said Flint sourly, unsure why Hendrix needed to be so evasive.

He pulled out a booster needle and stared at it with distaste. His initial hope that the most vulnerable personnel on the Demagaron had succumbed to the first death sphere and that everyone else would live through subsequent exposures, had been thoroughly dashed. If one or more of his crew died to the next sphere, the result for the mission could be potentially catastrophic.

Flint jabbed the needle into his leg, hitting a nerve and making his muscle spasm violently.

“Order everyone to inject again,” he said, his voice tight.

The second dose of Frenziol rushed eagerly into his veins. With any luck, it would be enough protection against the death spheres, though at the cost of future sleep and mild paranoia.

“I’ve passed on the order, sir,” said Becerra. “Reading between the lines, most of the soldiers took their second injection after the first three died.”

Flint cursed under his breath. “Most, or all, Lieutenant?”

“I’ll ask, sir.” Becerra didn’t take long. “Captain Vance gave the order for everyone in his company to take a second injection at Reolar.”

“That’ll be why Corporal Hendrix wouldn’t give a straight answer about the second dose,” said Flint, biting down on a sudden urge to ask for her opinion on taking a third shot. “I guess Captain Vance doesn’t need me to spell out how to maximise his chances of living.”

“You’d be disappointed if that was the case, sir,” said Larson, discarding her spent needle by throwing it into the nearest corner of the bridge.

“No doubt,” said Flint, pushing the controls along their guide slots. “We’ve spent enough time discussing booster drugs. I’m taking us across the northern pole. The Kilvar have something important here at Ilkar.”

The Demagaron accelerated with ease and the sensor team continued scanning for threats. Even without proof or evidence, Flint was nonetheless sure they would soon locate either the Kilvar gateway, or an installation of equal interest.

“Here’s something new, sir,” said Burner. “It’s on the screen.”

The object Burner had detected was in space, approximately half a million kilometres from the planet. With an octagonal shape, sloped sides and a gun with a single huge barrel, it was clearly a weapon of some kind.

“That’s incredible,” said Larson. “Eighty klicks across and forty high.”

“I wouldn’t like to test our energy shield against even one shot from that gun,” said Maddox.

“An emission scan indicates the turret contains mostly ternium in a state of high overstress,” said Fredericks. “That makes it a disintegration cannon, I guess.”

“What else might it be?” asked Flint.

“You don’t think it’s a disintegration cannon, sir?” asked Fredericks.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “Why bother making one that size? Why not fit it with eight smaller barrels instead of a single barrel?”

“Maybe it was built specifically to counter the Ancidium,” said Larson. “Or the Laws of Ancidium.”

“I’ve detected a second turret exactly like the first, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s fifteen million klicks from here.”

It was a good spot and led Flint to ask how many other such weapons the Kilvar had placed around the Berongar system. With each new discovery, it became clearer why the Lavorix had chosen not to launch an all-out attack on this place.

Just thinking about it made Flint increase the Demagaron’s velocity substantially, and the warship sped around the planet. The changing visibility arc revealed a further six warships to add to the three already detected over the pole. They were mostly stationary and those which were in motion weren’t going anywhere fast or with any outward sign of urgent purpose.

Then, a different kind of enemy spaceship came into sensor sight. This one was nearly eighteen thousand metres in length, resembling a cylinder with six visible enormous rectangular beams running the full length of its hull. One end of the cylinder was tapered, and countless emplacements studded its armour. Right now, this spaceship was stationary at a five-thousand-metre altitude.

“We received another handshake request, sir,” said Garrett. “That makes two.”

“Our sensors have detected a second massive enemy warship, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s at the same altitude as the first and heading across the planet’s cusp.”

Becerra put this next one up on the bulkhead screen and Flint watched the feed for a moment. Above the curving grey of the Ilkar horizon, the enemy vessel came with a leisurely lack of speed. With a similar length but greater mass than the first craft, the high flanks of this one sloped inwards as they approached the warship’s topside, and four circular openings were apparent on its facing nose.

“The mass of this second warship isn’t far off that of the Demagaron, sir,” said Becerra. “That’s two spaceships we don’t want to start a fight with.”

“Not two – three,” said Burner. “The next one is on the feed. And there’s something else, sir.”

The crap was piling up and the rate at which the steaming mound was building showed no sign of slowing. Flint swore bitterly at the sights – the third of the massive enemy warships was a collection of seemingly mismatched dark grey modules in varying shapes and sizes, clustered together as if it had been designed by a committee of a hundred different Kilvar engineers, each with a different idea about how the end product should look. In terms of size, it was similar to the first of the three, making it approximately seventy percent of the Demagaron’s mass.

And below this warship, just peeping over the planet’s curve, was a tenixite converter. Moments after the first became visible, Flint spotted two more and then two more after that.

“There’s the gateway,” he said. “And the Kilvar left three of their most potent warships to watch it.”

“That’s a lot of firepower,” said Maddox. “Why so much?”

“They’re waiting for the Raklivian, Lieutenant. It has the means to complete their ascendency and this the honour guard, waiting to escort it home.”

“I don’t think we can defeat all three of those warships,” said Fredericks. “Plus, as soon as we engage, every single other Kilvar vessel in Berongar is going to enter mode 3 and turn up for the party.”

“Don’t I know it, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “We’ll have to intercept the Raklivian the moment it arrives and capture it before the Kilvar notice it’s happening.”

Fate had other plans.

“Shit!” yelled Burner. “A spaceship just exited lightspeed about a hundred thousand klicks off our portside!”

Since the Kilvar warships didn’t push a ternium wave as they re-entered local space, it was both a stroke of luck and a testament to Burner’s skill that he managed to spot this one and obtain a sensor lock so quickly.

Flint’s eyes went to the screen. The new arrival was hardly more than three thousand metres in length and shaped like an arrowhead. Its armour plating was pure black and its hull was unadorned. What made this vessel unusual was the way it shimmered randomly fast and slow, sometimes becoming almost invisible.

That’s it, thought Flint. The damned Raklivian travelled all this distance and it’s jumped right into our front room.

Any doubts he had were extinguished when the Demagaron’s battle computer automatically added a label to the Kilvar warship.

> TARGET: RAKLIVIAN

Flint had felt all along that a steady approach to this mission would be the best guarantee of failure. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for the target to drop straight into his lap.

The gateway was close by and the planet was heavily defended by warships, orbital platforms and deep space batteries packing the most colossal guns Flint had ever seen. It was time to pick between offense – which was a guarantee of death – or allowing the Raklivian to escape and meekly slinking off to safety and hoping the Kilvar god would be a benign one.

The choice was easy.

“Commander Larson,” said Flint, his voice calm. “Target Ilkar with a full-strength depletion burst and fire.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Depletion burst targeted and fired,” said Larson. “I wouldn’t bank on it destroying those huge warships, sir.”

The depletion burst fired with a bone-deep bass that made Flint feel as if his eyes were vibrating in their sockets. Combined with the effects of the death sphere, the discharge was not at all pleasant.

Flint couldn’t let himself be slowed by pain and the double shot of Frenziol added a layer of separation between his mind and his physical body. It was enough. “It’s the planet I’m interested in, Commander!” he shouted over the fading reverberation.

Ilkar was not destroyed.

Instead, a barrier of deep blue appeared, and from the Demagaron’s hundred-thousand-kilometre distance, Flint saw that this barrier extended around the planet’s entire visible surface at a five-hundred-kilometre altitude, protecting it from the attack. A moment after it appeared, the barrier disappeared.

“Shit!” said Flint. “I wanted us to be engulfed in a planet’s worth of dust particles so the enemy wouldn’t see us take out the Raklivian’s warship.”

“We’ve received another handshake request!” said Becerra.

“The three biggest warships are accelerating from their start positions, sir,” said Garrett. “They aren’t heading directly our way, so I don’t think our cover is blown yet.”

“There’s plenty of activity everywhere,” said Burner. “I’m sure a couple of hundred additional warships will come in by mode 3 at any moment.”

Flint’s eyes went to the feed of the Raklivian’s shimmering warship. It hadn’t yet recovered from lightspeed blindness, which meant its sensors and comms would both be offline, though not for much longer. While it lacked comms, the warship’s crew wouldn’t be aware of the depletion burst attack.

The opportunistic attempt to sow the seeds chaos had failed and Flint desperately tried to think up a Plan B. His finger stabbed onto the tactical screen, selecting a destination point a hundred kilometres above Ilkar. If he couldn’t fire through the Kilvar energy shield, he’d lightspeed beyond it instead.

“We’re going in by mode 3. Commander Larson, ready another depletion burst.”

“The tenixite converter is still recharging, sir!” she said urgently.

Larson’s response came too late, or maybe Flint just didn’t want to hear it. He held in the SRT button on the controls and braced himself for the thudding trauma of stacked transitions. Nothing happened. Mode 3 didn’t activate and the hardware module retained its charge.

“What the—?”

Flint remembered the discussion and speculation he and his crew had engaged in, about how the Kilvar had managed to hold an entire solar system against the Lavorix. It seemed the enemy had more than energy shields for defence – they also had a way to prevent a warship bypassing those shields at lightspeed. The Ancidium possessed this technology and now it appeared the Kilvar had mastered it as well.

“We can’t SRT past the shield,” said Flint, resisting the urge to punch his console.

The problems kept on coming.

“I don’t know what the response threshold is for the handshakes, sir, but given the length of the Demagaron’s processing spike, I’d guess that last one was touch and go,” said Fredericks.

“What now, sir?” asked Maddox.

Flint’s brain threw up a hundred different threads of ideas, none of which were individually viable. Somewhere in amongst those threads was a tremendous, awe-inspiring plan. The trouble was, he couldn’t grasp what it might be.

“Oh crap! The Raklivian’s spaceship vanished from our sensors, sir,” said Becerra.

“Damnit!” Flint yelled. The enemy had recovered from lightspeed blindness and taken off into an SRT. “The crew of that warship can’t have had time to choose rationally,” he said. “They’ve picked a place and run.”

“We’ve been sent another handshake request,” said Garrett.

“A dozen warships have exited mode 3 about a quarter-million klicks from our position, sir,” said Burner.

“That handshake request produced only a short processing spike,” said Fredericks. “I’d say we answered it in good time.”

The movement of red dots on the Demagaron’s tactical screen made Flint think of angry hornets, swarming around in search for whoever had poked a shit-covered stick deep into the egg chamber of their nest. Through it all, he guided the Lavorix warship on the same heading as before. The gateway ring of tenixite converters was fully visible now, but safe and protected by the Kilvar’s planetwide energy shield.

“We might not be able to SRT below the shield, but I’d bet our particle beam will go straight through it,” said Larson. “Those tenixite converters are too widely spaced to hit more than one with each discharge, but the gateway might fail if the ring is incomplete.”

“What then, Commander?” Flint asked. “With the gateway destroyed, the Raklivian will be forced out of Berongar to the next nearest Kilvar system like this one. The gateway’s destruction would only have helped us in that one instant where we could have also finished off the Raklivian’s spaceship.”

Larson nodded her understanding. “Damnit, you’re right. We have to keep the gateway intact so that the Raklivian remains here at Berongar.”

“What about that piece of the enemy we’re holding in the cage?” asked Maddox. “Wasn’t it supposed to act as bait?”

“I don’t know how it’s meant to work,” said Flint. “This mission has always required us to play it by ear.”

He had a worrying thought – what if the Raklivian’s crew hadn’t simply panic-hit the mode 3 button. What if they’d detected the proximity of the severed piece and escaped in order to give the rest of the Kilvar forces time to identify its precise location. Flint knew he was dangerously close to overthinking matters and hauled his mind back.

“Another eighteen warships have exited mode 3 transits, sir,” said Burner. “They’re clustered between us and Ilkar’s moon.”

The Kilvar scumbags were coming in thick and fast and, sooner or later, they’d see the Demagaron for what it was. All across the bulkhead screen, the different feeds were of enemy warships, accelerating in groups or alone, some aiming for the planet, others for the moon, or setting off on trajectories that would take them on a circuit around Ilkar. They were hunting, so far in confusion and without direction. Eventually – soon - that would change.

“Commander Larson, target those eighteen warships with a depletion burst,” said Flint. It was unproven but likely that the most powerful Kilvar vessels had burst deflection technology, but maybe these smaller ones did not.

“The largest diameter sphere will only hit sixteen in total,” said Larson without so much as raising an eyebrow at the order. “Firing.”

This second discharge was bad like the first, and Flint gritted his teeth. Despite the cushioning effects of the Frenziol, his body felt like it had spent ten minutes in a combined blender and washing machine. He cursed the side effects and wished a thousand agonies on the Lavorix designers and scientists who’d created their technology without consideration for the people using it.

The result of the discharge made the pain worthwhile. Every one of the sixteen enemy warships caught within the depletion burst exploded into smearing clouds of powder.

“I was about to ask if the Kilvar will know who fired,” said Maddox.

“We’ll soon find out,” said Flint. He held the Demagaron exactly on the same heading as before, his eyes glued to the tactical. The Kilvar were already in a high state of agitation and the only thing they could do to escalate from here was to open fire, and for that, they required a target.

“We received the next handshake request, sir,” said Garrett. “I’d say we’re going to keep receiving them every few seconds from here on.”

“Is it time we left this zone, sir?” asked Larson.

“We have to watch that gateway, Commander.”

“Maybe we should stop antagonising our opponents, sir,” said Maddox.

“They aren’t going to stand down, Lieutenant. Not until the Raklivian has exited through that gateway and not before they’ve identified who’s taking shots at their precious hardware.”

“If the Kilvar start running hull scans, won’t they realise the composition of the Demagaron’s alloy is different to theirs?” asked Bolan.

“I’m hoping the Ancidium made a perfect copy, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “The Lavorix and Kilvar have fought long enough to have gathered samples of each other’s materials.”

“Something has to give, sir,” said Larson. “We can’t orbit Ilkar forever and hope to avoid detection.”

“I know, Commander. I’m thinking.”

In truth, Flint knew he was coming to the end of the road. Action had been forced upon him and he’d thought that if he kept pushing, a clear path would emerge.

A thousand kilometres to starboard, an eight-kilometre Kilvar warship slowed to match the Demagaron’s velocity and Flint was certain the enemy crew were scanning the Lavorix vessel’s hull to confirm its origin.

“We’ll soon find out if the Ancidium made that perfect copy, Lieutenant Bolan,” said Flint.

“That big cylindrical warship we saw over the gateway is diverting from its previous heading, sir,” said Burner. “The enemy are becoming suspicious of us.”

Flint’s eyes flicked to the sensor feed and then to the tactical. The Kilvar vessel wasn’t exactly under maximum acceleration, but neither was it taking it easy. Even if its interest turned out to cursory, one thing was certain - time was running out.

“We’ve received a comms channel request, sir,” said Becerra. “The Demagaron is fitted with translation software and the Kilvar on that big cylinder vessel want us to provide details about which battlefront we’ve been diverted from, as well as some other crap I don’t understand – I think they want to know about our original Seeking, as well as something about a commanding officer. Except I don’t quite understand if it’s a commanding officer in the same sense as we use the term.”

“Ignore the request,” said Flint. “Hopefully the Lavorix built in some predictive software that responds just like a Kilvar.”

“They didn’t include any software like that, sir.”

“Then don’t open the channel.”

Just as Flint was starting to believe he’d be required to give the order for Commander Larson to start unloading the Demagaron’s array of weaponry, one of his crewmembers came up with something that gave him hope of an alternative.

“Sir, I’ve been analysing the readings from those antennae we saw on Reolar and Gledan-Q,” said Fredericks. The speed at which he talked and the tone of his voice made it clear he’d stumbled upon something potentially important. “They definitely aren’t used for comms – they’re conduits of some kind and I believe they were tapped into power generators under the surfaces of those planets.”

Flint’s brain made the connection. “Those conduits are there to create energy shields.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fredericks. “I’m certain of it.”

“That means there’s a conduit somewhere on Ilkar,” said Flint. “And if we destroy it, the planet will be left unprotected.”

“I thought we didn’t want to risk forcing the Raklivian to go elsewhere, sir?” said Garrett.

“We don’t,” said Flint.

He thought furiously, trying to bring everything together into a usable plan. So little did he know about the Kilvar that it was difficult – if not impossible – to predict how they’d react to circumstance.

“If we push the Raklivian to the brink, will it take the safer and slower option of escaping, or will it go for broke?” Flint wondered aloud. “Will a thousand years waiting to ascend have taught the enemy patience or will seeing their goal almost within their grasp drive them into recklessness?”

“The Kilvar believe their ascendancy is inevitable, sir,” said Larson. “Even if the alliance can hold its own, the enemy are fighting other species, elsewhere in the universe. If the Kilvar are as close to godhood as we’ve been led to believe, nothing we do here at Berongar will stop them.”

Larson’s evaluation was incisive and Flint nodded at her words. “If the enemy take the long-term view, the success of the Raklivian or otherwise is not so important as we believe it.”

“That’s what I think, sir,” said Larson. “It’s critical for the alliance that our mission is successful, but all we’ll earn is some extra time.”

“And for the Kilvar, the crusade will continue the same as it ever did,” said Flint.

What Larson had said brought clarity to his thoughts. The enemy wanted the Raklivian’s life energy, and while they were doubtless enormously keen to have it, the Kilvar were playing the long game. If the Raklivian failed, the enemy would keep doing what they’d been doing for hundreds of years.

In Flint’s mind, that meant his target would wait for the right moment and then it would head through the gateway. The pieces slotted into place and he saw a way to control his enemy.

“We’re heading to Gledan-Q,” he said, lightly touching the tactical screen. His chosen destination glowed in confirmation. “Commander Larson, the moment you set eyes on those antennae, use the particle beam to turn them into molten sludge.”

“There’s a thirty second recharge timer on the particle beam, sir, and it’ll only hit one target at a time. I don’t think we can get an angle to take out both at once.”

“We’ve got an energy shield and the element of surprise, Commander,” said Flint grimly. “Let’s go.”

He activated mode 3 and the Demagaron returned to Gledan-Q.

Chapter Sixteen

“Waiting on sensors!” yelled Becerra.

“We should be over the Kilvar mining area,” said Flint. The Frenziol was combating the physical strains on his body and just about winning the battle. “And right on top of those antennae.”

“Sensors up!”

The Demagaron was exactly where Flint had wanted it. Ten thousand kilometres below was the huge scooped-out bowl he and his crew had seen earlier. The local Kilvar activity hadn’t decreased and the ore carriers still followed the many ground vehicles from place to place.

“Scanning for enemy warships,” said Garrett. “If we’re lucky, they all decamped to Ilkar.”

“They didn’t,” said Burner. “I’ve located five of the same type as we saw here before – they’re at a two-thousand-klick altitude and not far south of the mine.”

“Five is better than fifteen,” said Flint. “And they’re all above the shield.”

“Antennae located and on the feed!” Becerra exclaimed in triumph.

Flint reacted at once. The Demagaron’s particle beam had little adjustability from the bridge – only within a narrow arc - so he had to line the weapon up manually. As his hands worked the controls, he passed on instructions.

“Lieutenant Maddox, destroy those five Kilvar warships as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Using the sensor feeds and the tactical, Flint finished aiming. The Demagaron wasn’t directly over the first antenna, meaning the particle beam was going to come in at an angle that would – hopefully – disable the target and if the beam had any strength left, it would continue diagonally into the bowl.

“The nose beam is lined up…firing,” said Larson.

Flint had never witnessed a discharge from the Gorgadar’s particle beam, but he’d seen the results and had high hopes for the Demagaron’s equivalent. He wasn’t disappointed. A beam of filthy blue energy, a full thousand metres in diameter, lanced from the warship’s nose. In a split second, it had torn clean through the first nine-kilometre antenna, ripping the entire structure apart with violent energy and heat expansion.

The beam continued, unattenuated, through a two-kilometre ore carrier and a couple of ground vehicles, before opening up an even wider hole in the planet’s surface. Superheated rock swelled and cracked, erupting from the place of impact. Stone was turned from grey to intense white and dark fissures snaked away.

It was hard not to stare and if someone had told Flint that the particle beam had gone all the way through Gledan-Q and out the other side, he would not have uttered a word of disbelief.

“Five enemy warships coming our way, sir,” said Burner. “They haven’t opened fire yet.”

“Handshake request received!” said Garrett.

“Lieutenant Maddox, where are those missiles?” growled Flint. A tactical overlay told him all five of the enemy warships were within the XN1 cannons’ firing arc and Maddox hadn’t discharged those yet either.

“Missiles locked and launched, sir,” said Maddox. “Forward tubes one through twenty-four and undersides one through twenty-four on their way.” She gave a gruff laugh. “Rage cannon 1: fired!”

Flint was prepared for yet more trauma. What he got was a distant, muffled thumping sound and a sense of vibration through the palms of his combat gloves. What the target Kilvar warship got was a two-billion-ton, ternium-accelerated projectile crashing into its topside plating at a substantial velocity.

The enemy vessel was not built to withstand anything like such a collision and the result was partway between an explosion and a full-structure crumpling. Huge pieces of the Kilvar warship were hurled in every direction and a wide area around the impact zone turned from red to orange and then white in less than a second.

The combination of rupturing, expansion and impact energy broke the vessel apart. It was a gratifying sight, though as usual, Flint couldn’t afford the time to enjoy the view.

“Enemy countermeasures activated,” said Larson.

Multiple Kilvar shock bombs produced flashes of intense light in the darkness, and ballistic tracers raked through the detonations. At the same time as they unleashed their defences, the enemy warships split from their cluster and accelerated savagely along different trajectories.

The Kilvar countermeasures weren’t nearly enough to deal with all 576 of the Demagaron’s missiles – particularly since the shortness of the range made it harder for the Kilvar targeting systems to lock. The majority of the warheads struck home and the brightness of the explosions was enough to make Flint narrow his eyes and the sensor feed dimmed automatically to reduce the glare.

“That’s got them,” said Maddox. “They were so slow they didn’t get even a single shot off against our shield.”

“I don’t think they were too slow, Lieutenant,” said Flint, watching a few hundred billion tons of scrap heading into space and also towards the planet. Several pieces of wreckage were travelling fast enough that they’d cause some real damage to Gledan-Q if they broke through the energy shield, though not as much as Flint intended to inflict. “I have a feeling that since we’re successfully responding to the handshake requests, it’s screwing with the Kilvar battle computers.”

“You reckon they won’t lock onto a confirmed friendly target?” said Larson. “That’d be great for us.” She glanced down. “Ten seconds on the particle beam.”

“How long might it take the Kilvar to figure out a workaround?” asked Fredericks.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “Not forever.”

For once, he didn’t have much to do, except hold the Demagaron steady with its nose pointed towards the second of the conduits. Flint clenched his teeth against the tension. If he was wrong about the conduits, his plan would fail, while he and his crew would find themselves facing the might of the Kilvar forces here at Berongar.

Movement on several of the sensor feeds caught Flint’s attention. Space which had only a moment ago been empty, was now filled with dozens upon dozens of Kilvar warships, including the cylindrical vessel from Ilkar and another of similar mass but an overall cuboid shape, which Flint had not seen before now.

“We’ve received another handshake request, sir,” said Becerra.

“Expect to receive a bunch of them in the next few seconds,” said Flint. “Lieutenant Maddox, don’t be shy in giving these alien bastards exactly what they deserve.”

“Yes, sir, I will deliver them a valuable lesson in humility. Targeting missiles.”

“Two more handshakes,” said Garrett. “The Kilvar learn fast – they’re going to flood our processing core until it’s overloaded and unable to handle the decryption.”

“The particle beam has recharged,” said Larson. “Firing.”

A second of the blue beams emerged from the Demagaron’s nose and the outcome was similar to that of the first discharge. Sliced almost in two by the particle beam, the remaining conduit collapsed and melted. Debris flew and the shaft of blue disappeared into the surface of Gledan-Q.

“Forward clusters, rear clusters, uppers, lowers, starboard and portsides one to twelve: fired,” said Maddox a moment later.

Hundreds of missiles streaked out from the Demagaron, creating orange trails as they raced to their targets. The tactical screen – already covered with red dots representing the Kilvar warships – became a sea of fast-moving dots. Flint didn’t watch – he requested everything from the propulsion and hauled the Demagaron onto a course directly away from the planet.

“Commander Larson, target Gledan-Q with a maximum-diameter depletion burst and fire.”

“Depletion burst fired.”

This time, Flint was prepared for the bass note of discharge and he gripped the control bars as hard as he could in anticipation. The thumping wave of sound, along with the roar of the engines and the feeling of enormous acceleration threatened to overwhelm his senses. Having been deep in the crap many times before, Flint was stronger than he’d once been and he held firm.

Gledan-Q exploded at the same moment as the Demagaron’s missiles detonated widely amongst the Kilvar fleet. White and orange flashed and then, what seemed to Flint to be an immense grey wall came rushing towards his spaceship. It was a wall like the densest of fogs rolling in from the ocean, yet it was formed by particles of a destroyed world, expanding with tremendous velocity from the planet’s shattered core.

Flint had no idea how a depletion burst worked or how it was able to cause such ruination. Despite the Demagaron’s brutal acceleration, the particles overtook the warship within seconds and the energy shield illuminated in faint blue, protecting the hull from abrasion.

“Shit, did we just do that?” yelled Copeland.

“Somebody tell me about the handshake requests,” said Flint, ignoring the question.

“We might have handled the last two successfully, sir,” said Fredericks. He was usually unflappable, but witnessing the death of an entire planet had given his voice a ragged edge. “No guarantees.”

Every one of the sensor feeds was of grey beyond the energy shield, and Flint got a sense of the movement all around the Demagaron, like it had been transported into a maelstrom deep within the atmosphere of a gas giant, where pressure and violence were on the ragged edge of breaking his vessel into pieces.

“Time to get out of here,” Flint said. The tactical screen was empty now, the sensors unable to discern anything further away than fifty or sixty kilometres. “We’re heading back to Ilkar – let’s hope the Raklivian believes the death of Gledan-Q makes this a good time to run for the gateway.”

Flint selected his SRT destination and pressed the activation button immediately. The Demagaron’s ternium drive fired with a rapid-fire thud-thud and the spaceship was deposited back into local space hardly any time later.

“Sensors!” shouted Flint. He moved the controls a few inches along their guide slots. Having aimed for ten thousand kilometres above Ilkar, he didn’t want to risk a collision.

“Sensors coming up,” said Burner.

“Comms online,” said Becerra. “Watching out for that next handshake.”

“Commander Larson, Lieutenant Maddox, hold fire until I tell you otherwise,” said Flint. “Acquire targets and wait.”

“Yes, sir,” Larson confirmed.

The short-range transit had carried the Demagaron to the exact place which Flint had intended, that being directly over the gateway cylinders. Flint scanned for signs of the Raklivian’s warship and saw nothing. This plan involved a far greater amount of hope than he was comfortable with, but given the odds, he didn’t see much choice.

“Sensor lock obtained on two of the big warships we saw before, sir,” said Burner.

The vessel with the four nose cannons was five thousand kilometres closer to Ilkar – almost within touching distance – while the warship made up from mismatched shapes was about thirty thousand kilometres from the Demagaron and prowling a few hundred kilometres above the planet’s surface.

Elsewhere and less of a threat – a strange concept now, given how much damage a single Kilvar warship inflicted upon the Basalt Amber base – ten of the diamond shaped warships were in sensor sight, flying in small groups low and fast around the planet.

“Let’s hope we caused some confusion by destroying Gledan-Q,” said Garrett.

“Handshake request received!” said Becerra. “Oh crap, another dozen requests came right after the first.”

“There’s no way we can decrypt all of those in time, sir,” said Fredericks loudly. “Our processing cores are unable to cope.”

“That’s our cover blown,” said Maddox.

“Maybe not entirely,” said Becerra. “Those handshakes were sent by multiple sources a couple of billion klicks from here. We’ve received nothing from Ilkar.”

The mission was balanced on a knife-edge and Flint guessed he had no more than a few seconds before the Kilvar recovered from the chaos at Gledan-Q. If the Raklivian wasn’t already at Ilkar, the opportunity was likely already lost.

“Where is it?” Flint muttered angrily.

“We failed at least three of those handshake requests, sir,” said Fredericks. “Last time that happened, the Kilvar gave us a second chance to pass. If those second chance requests are automated, we might have a little time before their battle computers start treating us as a target.”

“And a little time before they confirm we’re responsible for all this crap going on in Berongar,” said Maddox.

Flint couldn’t believe the Kilvar crews wouldn’t know exactly what was happening, but he’d seen stranger things before. Maybe their warships were entirely computer-controlled, or perhaps the Kilvar couldn’t handle subterfuge. Flint was grasping at straws and he knew it, but the facts were that so far, the enemy hadn’t opened fire on the Demagaron.

“I’m reading a power build-up on the tenixite converter ring, sir,” said Copeland.

“It’s the same thing we saw in the Landnir system!” said Fredericks. “Something’s either coming through from the far side, or—”

“Or the Raklivian is on its way,” said Flint. “Watch for it!”

The Demagaron’s crew didn’t have to wait long.

“Sir! There’s the Raklivian’s warship!” yelled Becerra. “It’s on the tactical.”

Sure enough, a shimmering warship shaped like an arrowhead was travelling fast across the surface of Ilkar, heading directly for the circle of tenixite converters.

“The Demagaron’s particle beam is recharged and ready, sir,” said Larson calmly.

Without conscious thought, Flint adjusted his warship’s position so the nose beam was pointing straight at the Raklivian’s vessel. He took a long, steadying breath while making continuous alterations to the Demagaron’s orientation in order to keep tracking the enemy spaceship.

“Commander Larson, put a hole through that alien bastard.”

“Firing the particle beam.”

Something entirely unexpected happened. As Larson pressed the button to discharge the particle beam, Flint saw the Raklivian’s warship enter a tight turn. The particle beam stabbed out and the enemy vessel was concealed by the intensity of the light. A huge hole appeared in the planet’s surface, ringed white hot like those on Gledan-Q.

Without knowing why, Flint was immediately convinced that something was wrong.

“Where’s that warship?” he shouted as soon as the particle beam winked out. “Find it!”

“No confirmation of wreckage yet, sir,” said Burner.

“We’ve received another dozen handshake requests,” said Garrett.

“Can the particle beam kill the Raklivian?” asked Maddox doubtfully. “Nothing could have lived through that shot.”

“I need confirmation of the hit,” said Flint.

He was gripped by indecision – he was certain not just that the Raklivian had survived, but that its warship had also escaped destruction. The only way that could have happened was if the enemy had activated an SRT with incredible, lightning reactions. There was no evidence Flint was correct and no evidence he was mistaken, and still he couldn’t shake a sense of rising dread.

Flint couldn’t leave without seeing the proof and he thrust the control bars along their guide slots. The Demagaron surged towards the planet. All around the hole created by the particle beam were rocks and fissures. Of the Raklivian’s spaceship, there was no sign.

“Shit!” yelled Burner. “I’ve located the enemy!”

When he saw what Burner had found, Flint’s heart sank into the depths. From a place in the Demagaron’s starboard midsection, twelve hundred metres of the Raklivian’s warship jutted from the much larger vessel’s armour, like the two had somehow become merged.

Flint realised what had happened. The Raklivian had sensed the bait carried in the smaller cage and it had activated a lightspeed jump which had taken it into the Demagaron’s hull. No damage was visible on the Lavorix spaceship in the area around the intrusion and how that worked, Flint didn’t know. Maybe the Raklivian’s warship was phase shifted or something like it, allowing it to occupy the same space as another solid object.

“The Raklivian has come for what it’s lost – the Demagaron is about to be boarded,” said Flint. “Lieutenant Becerra, make Captain Vance aware. I don’t have the damnedest idea what’s going to happen, but he’ll have to deal with it.”

Flint had an inescapable feeling his own plate was about to have a ladleful of crap dropped into the middle of it and he needed the right man to handle internal security on the Demagaron. Captain Vance was definitely that man, but whether he could deal with the Raklivian where the Ancidium could not – that was a matter which Flint didn’t want to think too hard about.

“We failed at least four of those last handshakes, sir,” said Fredericks. “Something tells me we’ve run out of chances.”

Flint knew it too and he banked the Demagaron, taking it away from the gateway and the two huge Kilvar warships which were even now accelerating towards his vessel.

“A whole bunch of enemy vessels just dropped out of lightspeed within a hundred thousand klicks of our position, sir,” said Burner.

A flash of dark energy with no discernible source engulfed the Demagaron’s nose section, causing the vessel’s shield to light up. From a state of comparative calm, Flint’s warship suddenly had a target painted on both sides of its hull.

Certain that the Raklivian was onboard the Demagaron and with no requirement to stick around and exchange weapons fire with the Kilvar, Flint tapped his finger on the tactical to select a mode 3 destination and then pressed the activation button on the control bar.

Chapter Seventeen

Captain James Vance was sitting at a long table in one of the Demagaron’s mess areas. On a tray in front of him was a thin metal cup half-filled with a murky, steaming liquid. The air was so cold it was tempting to forget about the alien drink and replace his combat suit helmet.

He raised his head and looked around. This room was easily large enough to accommodate the 195 soldiers who remained of Vance’s company. Not everyone was here, of course, but Vance had set limits on where his troops were permitted to go, since he didn’t want anyone getting lost. He guessed more than a hundred of the soldiers were in the mess area, with the others either in the warship’s bunk rooms or training in those corridors which weren’t designated as off-limits.

“Some fighting going on,” said Private Ken Raimi, offhand like it didn’t matter. His plasma tube was leaned at an awkward angle, partly against the table and partly on his lap. The other end of the weapon protruded into the aisle separating this table from the next. It represented a trip hazard, but nobody was interested in a health and safety meeting.

Another boom came from elsewhere in the ship, and the propulsion noise climbed higher than before.

“Ten Feds says we’ll have an SRT in the next twenty seconds,” offered Private Drawl, from his place opposite and two seats along.

“Ten Feds says I jam you into the replicator slot in the next twenty seconds,” countered Lieutenant Tagra. He was sitting right next to Drawl and in easy range to make the grab.

“Threats ain’t fair, Lieutenant!” Drawl protested.

“Life isn’t fair,” said Tagra. He took another bite out of something green, flat and round, which the replicator had disgorged. Chewing happily, Tagra leaned back in his seat as if his job was done.

The Demagaron’s walls, floors and ceiling shuddered with a deep bass and Vance held tightly to his drink. The fluid had a peculiar smell – almost floral – yet the taste was savoury. He lifted the cup to take a mouthful and the warship’s engines become louder yet, so much so that Vance sighed in acknowledgement that he’d have to replace his suit helmet and use the comms to speak with his soldiers.

An SRT came, in-out and uncomfortable enough to produce a chorus of oaths from about the room. Vance resisted the urge to add his own curses and reached for his helmet.

“Suit up,” he ordered the others on his table, before dropping the helmet in place and snapping the fasteners shut.

“Are you getting a feeling, sir?” asked Private Raven, shouting across from her seat next to Drawl.

Vance wasn’t sure – he just felt it was time to be ready. “Maybe,” he said, using the helmet’s chin speaker to amplify his voice.

His Rodan was held between his legs and he lifted it as he stood. Now that Raven had brought it up, Vance realised he was feeling uneasy, and that uneasiness was entirely separate from whatever engagement the Demagaron was involved in. Usually he only got that sense when he was deployed somewhere – there generally wasn’t much point in listening to instinct while on a warship, since a soldier couldn’t do much to avoid a plasma missile or particle beam erupting through the armour.

Before Vance could figure out what he wanted to do, a link was made to his suit comms.

“Captain Vance,” said Lieutenant Becerra. She had a note in her voice that Vance picked up on at once. “I’m sending you some location details. The Raklivian caught us by surprise – its warship penetrated our armour and Captain Flint believes it has either boarded us, or is on the verge of doing so.”

“The bastard has come for the bait,” said Vance. The familiar calmness he usually felt before the onset of combat descended upon him. “What can you see on the monitors, Lieutenant Becerra?”

“So far there’s no sign of intruders, but the Raklivian’s warship hit us less than a minute ago,” said Becerra. She hesitated. “I can see part of the enemy vessel on the monitors and it…it doesn’t look right. It’s like darkness is seeping into the Demagaron and the internal sensors aren’t obtaining a reading.”

“Tell Captain Flint we’ll do what we can to handle the situation,” said Vance. He felt the floor shifting as the warship banked and he steadied himself automatically.

“Good luck and take care.”

Becerra closed the channel and Vance didn’t stand gawping at events, though a few of the soldiers who’d been sitting at the table stared expectantly his way. He got onto the officer channel.

“Listen up, we’ve got some shit heading our way. The Raklivian has embedded its warship into the Demagaron and has either boarded this vessel or it’ll do so at any minute. I don’t know if the enemy will be alone or accompanied and I have even less idea what it’ll take to slow this asshole down – or if it’s even possible. We’ve got something it wants and we’re going to use the bait to lure the enemy into the Demagaron’s exium cage.”

Vance had only recently been given charge of an entire company and most of the officers he didn’t know well. They were all veterans from the Daklan wars and hand-picked for this mission by somebody in high command who had a good eye for a survivor. He was unsurprised but nevertheless relieved when nobody asked stupid questions.

“Lieutenant Hanson, Lieutenant May, take your platoons and guard the bridge. Be ready for anything.”

“Yes, sir,” said the two officers in unison.

The Demagaron entered another SRT and Vance grunted in pain and irritation. The Frenziol wasn’t the panacea it used to be and he wondered if his body was becoming immune to the effects because of his repeated, enforced, boosting.

“The rest of you,” said Vance, once he’d recovered enough to talk clearly, “We’re going to collect the bait and take it towards the exium cage. Unfortunately, we have a problem and this is my screw up. The Raklivian’s warship is between the bait and the cage. In order to get to the place we’re going, it’s certain we’ll have to fight our way through some crap.”

“What’s going on outside, Captain?” asked Lieutenant van Ramos. The man was in the mess room and only a few paces from Vance. He looked about forty, with pale grey eyes, broad shoulders and an underlying anger about pretty much everything. “That’s two SRTs in the last couple of minutes and I’ve heard the Demagaron can only fire three before it needs a cooldown.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to this warship,” said Vance. “When there’s something I need to hear, I’ll hear it, and when I think you need to hear it, I’ll let you know.”

Van Ramos took the hint and closed his mouth.

Preparation – where possible – was usually key to success and Vance spent a minute on the comms, spelling out his expectations while most of the soldiers from the mess room hurried for the two exits in the wall behind him.

As Vance talked, he strode through the troops heading the other way, aiming for one of the mess room’s other exits. Lieutenants Tagra and Gantry followed, bringing their platoons with them and calling for those who were elsewhere to join up at fastest speed. The soldiers Vance had most experience with were going to be carrying the heaviest burden, and well they knew it.

When Vance was done speaking he was content his company was ready, though orders would count for nothing if the Raklivian was the kind of opponent he believed it would be.

The exit passage was wide enough for three humans or two Daklan in combat gear to walk abreast and Vance ran. Although the Demagaron wasn’t brightly lit, it seemed gloomier than before and the atmosphere was laden with threat. Vance was angry with himself for thinking that way – tough and mean it surely was, but the Raklivian was only another enemy, and he couldn’t allow himself to believe it was anything more than a soak for his bullets.

A few soldiers were coming the other way and the two sides squeezed past, exchanging earthy pleasantries and friendly observations about parentage as they did so. Vance caught sight of a couple of faces – a Daklan male and a human female whose names he couldn’t quite remember. The soldiers bore expressions Vance recognized – they knew something bad was about to happen, but badness was something they’d dealt with before. It was heartening to see their lack of fear.

“The armoury is four hundred metres from our position,” said Lieutenant Tagra.

“And you hid the bait in one of the lockers,” said Vance, knowing full well that’s what the Daklan had done, and exactly which locker he’d hidden it in.

“That is right, Captain. It seemed like a good option.”

Vance loaded the Demagaron’s internal map onto his HUD. The spaceship was externally vast and while the interior was much smaller, there were plenty of long corridors, huge bays and other spaces that weren’t practical to traverse on foot. The Lavorix had experience building on a colossal scale and that meant they’d fitted many shuttles, but those shuttles weren’t everywhere.

Pausing at an intersection, Vance turned left. Usually, he’d have studied a warship’s layout carefully, but he hadn’t been long on the Demagaron and had chosen to memorise only the areas around the bridge, along with the routes to three of the warship’s shuttles. It was, Vance reflected sourly, another screwup on his part. The idea that the Raklivian might somehow penetrate the Demagaron’s armour and run rampant through the Lavorix vessel had never occurred to him.

Getting old, he thought, breaking into a run along the left passage. The darkness was thickening and it wasn’t his imagination. Vance could see well enough ahead, but he didn’t want it to get much worse.

A comms channel formed. “Captain Vance,” said Lieutenant Becerra. “We’ve turned the Demagaron’s external countermeasures against the visible section of the Raklivian’s warship and turned it to scrap. It’s unlikely the vessel is functional.”

“The enemy is here and it’s going nowhere,” said Vance. “I understand.”

He had questions, mostly concerning what Captain Flint planned to do with the Demagaron. Vance kept them to himself – he’d long ago learned to separate his curiosity from what he genuinely needed to know in order to finish a mission. Becerra sounded as if she wanted to say more, but instead she closed out of the channel.

As he ran for the armoury, Vance listened to the company officer channel for the first reports of hostilities. Lieutenant Becerra had kept him updated, so he knew that the Raklivian’s warship was easily large enough to carry sufficient Kilvar to wipe out his company, assuming they were anything like as tough as the other ones he’d fought. Without the assistance of the internal countermeasures, Vance couldn’t imagine winning this one by force of arms alone.

Halfway to the armoury, the lighting suddenly dimmed almost to nothingness. At the same moment, Vance felt something assail his body – it was a force like a death sphere, yet not the same. This force tried to rip the life from his body, wrenching at his guts and threatening to rupture his organs. Vance grimaced with the pain of it.

“Damnit, no!” he cursed in defiance.

The feeling passed and the lights came back to the same suppressed level as they’d been before. Vance slowed his run and turned, just in time to watch one of the human soldiers from Lieutenant Gantry’s platoon topple forward. Private Weiland Steigers was nearby and he reacted quickly enough to slow the other soldier’s fall, lowering him clumsily and heavily to the floor.

“Medic!” yelled Steigers. “Oh shit, it’s—”

“Halt!” bellowed Vance, the tightness in the pit of his stomach telling him what hadn’t yet been confirmed. “Corporal Hendrix!”

Hendrix was already there, unslinging her medical box and ramming one of the cable probes into the connector on the soldier’s helmet.

“It’s Corporal Ball, sir. He’s dead,” she said, without hardly looking at the display on the med-box.

Vance swore again. “Cause?”

Hendrix’s face was set, but her eyes spoke of pain and emptiness. “The box gathered some data, sir, but it’ll take me some time to understand exactly what it means.”

“Don’t bother,” said Vance through gritted teeth. “More alien death shit.”

Private Enfield – a partner of Hendrix’s a long time past and with no hard feelings - patted her on the shoulder. “Better luck with the next one, huh?”

“He was the one,” said Hendrix. She rose to her feet and something passed across her face – a hardening or a resignation which Vance hated seeing. Hendrix was a good person and didn’t deserve this.

“Are you with us, Corporal?” Vance asked.

“Like always, sir,” she replied sadly. “Seems as if I’ll never leave.”

Nobody said anything and Vance turned to lead the soldiers away, leaving Corporal Ball dead on the floor where he’d dropped. During the brief pause, Vance had been better able to hear the distant sounds of the Demagaron’s external arsenal firing at targets unseen by him and his squad. The warship hadn’t long ago entered mode 3, so it was worrying for it to be already in combat.

“Platoon 4 has also lost one soldier, sir,” said Sergeant Charnos as the group got moving. “No other casualties reported. Lieutenant Van Ramos asks if you want us to take a third booster.”

“Not yet,” said Vance. He didn’t elaborate. A third injection was generally safe, but he didn’t want to give the order while the first two doses were still at peak effectiveness.

“So what happened back there?” asked Private Fidel Coates. “Did we enter another death sphere?”

“That was different,” said Lieutenant Tagra. “The death spheres are technology…what we experienced there was an active seeking of our life energy. Like we felt from the Galkintor, but worse.”

“The Raklivian,” said Vance. “It’s on the Demagaron.”

“How long until it sends out another one of those pulses?” asked Raimi. “I mean, I can handle them well enough, but I’m asking on Drawl’s behalf. There’s a brown patch on the seat of his combat pants.”

“No death magic is going to take me down,” Drawl boasted. “I enjoy life too much.”

“Live fast, die stupid,” said Private Raven.

“A rebel without a clue,” added Private Carrington.

An outside observer might have marvelled at the insensitivity of the soldiers – to have gone from the death of a platoon member, to swapping insults only a minute later. To Vance, it was resilience, not insensitivity. Trading bullshit had always been a good way to gloss over the crap the universe threw their way and hell, they needed all the help they could get.

The two platoons arrived at the armoury door without suffering the effects of another death pulse. Vance stared along the corridor, which continued for a hundred metres and ended at an intersection. A ceiling turret was that way and it was pointing straight towards him.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, thudding his palm onto the smooth, glassy plate of the access panel.

The door opened, revealing a twenty-metre-square space, lined with weapons racks and lockers. Other racks were placed like islands around the floor, each holding Lavorix handheld weapons of various designs. Vance had been here earlier and test fired a couple of different guns along the corridor. They weren’t anything he was interested in swapping for his Rodan or his alliance gauss rifle.

“This locker,” said Tagra, jogging across to the far-left wall and stopping in front of one of the cabinets.

The Daklan threw open the door, which crashed loudly into the adjacent locker. Straightaway, Vance felt the same sick feeling from earlier, though the Frenziol kept the worst of the effects at bay.

Tagra paused for only a moment and then reached into the locker. He grabbed the cage, non-too-gently and withdrew it.

“I will put it in one of these packs,” he said, heading across to a row of Lavorix ammo bags hanging high from hooks on one wall.

Leaving his officer to get on with it, Vance requested a channel to the bridge.

“What is the status of the interior security, Lieutenant Becerra?” he asked.

“Active,” Becerra confirmed. “Do the turret positions appear on your HUD map?”

“No,” said Vance. “I’d be grateful if you could make that happen – as it is, I have to manually switch between the map and a list of coordinates to try and tally things up.”

“I’ll add the turret placements onto your map, Captain Vance. The data should synchronise across your suit network, so everyone will see the same thing.”

A few moments later, a multitude of orange dots appeared on Vance’s map, showing him the locations of the active minigun turrets. Many of the turrets were red, indicating they were no longer responding to status requests.

“Those failed turrets – are they all down to the Raklivian’s ship?” asked Vance.

“I can’t confirm without running an audit, and we’ve got our hands full here on the bridge.”

“What’s—” Vance stopped himself. “Sorry. I’ll let you get on.”

“Wait! I was about to tell you, Captain Vance. We took an SRT out to the farthest reaches of Berongar,” said Becerra. “The Kilvar followed us within seconds. Lucky for us and unlucky for the first enemy arrivals, the Demagaron is an exceptionally capable warship.”

“The Kilvar have a way to follow the Raklivian,” said Vance. He realised how that might be and rapped his knuckles onto the side of his helmet that he hadn’t spotted it straightaway. “The warship stuck in the Demagaron’s hull – it’s transmitting our location.”

“That’s right, Captain Vance, and there isn’t a damned thing we can do about it from here on the bridge.”

“Captain Flint wants us to shut down the transmitter,” said Vance.

“Can you handle it?”

Vance laughed and there was even some real humour in the sound. “I’ll think of something.”

“I guess you don’t need me to tell you we don’t have forever – the Demagaron’s SRT modules are exhausted until the next one recharges, but we’re not getting away by mode 3. The enemy are following too quickly for us to warm up a full lightspeed transition, and they’re too numerous for us to destroy them all.”

Becerra closed the channel, leaving Vance to confront the enormity of the task he faced. Not only did he and his company have to kill or trap an entity which was beyond even the Ancidium, but he also had to board the wreckage of the Raklivian’s warship and work out how to stop the damned thing transmitting. All while the clock was ticking and his soldiers were being subjected to alien death pulses.

“Same as it ever was,” Vance muttered under his breath.

Unbowed by the challenge, he ordered his soldiers to readiness. So far, the other platoons hadn’t encountered hostiles, but there again they were still a distance from the Raklivian’s warship.

Vance held the two platoons for a few extra moments while he studied his HUD map. He and his soldiers were almost as close to the Demagaron’s nose as it was possible to be without entering the network of technician passages and crawlspaces, or exiting the warship and completing the final six kilometres by running across the hull.

Approximately seven kilometres aft from his position, the enemy warship. How much progress the Kilvar troops had made – if any – he didn’t know.

It was time to find out.

Chapter Eighteen

The main regret Vance felt as he and his soldiers exited the armoury, was that the Lavorix hadn’t left behind one of the huge floating cannons that he and his platoon had once used against the Galkintor on the Ancidium. While the Demagaron had three other armouries – one of which was far larger than the others – diversions would be required to reach them, with no guarantee they would contain hardware capable of blowing the Raklivian into rotten chunks.

Vance set a hard pace and soon neared the mess room from which he’d first set out. The pounding of his feet couldn’t mask the constant pounding of the Demagaron’s weaponry. He guessed the far booming he heard repeatedly came from the topside cannons, and Vance was fairly sure the bass expulsion which came every once in a while was caused by the warship’s tenixite converter as it created a depletion burst. The thought of the weapon was enough to make him shiver and the background thunder of missile clusters launching and the drone of hull-mounted countermeasures made Vance acutely aware of his own mortality.

A self-extracting piece of software was pushed into his suit computer by Lieutenant Becerra, and when it was finished installing, Vance was more than pleased to find the new software allowed him to link directly to the Demagaron’s internal and external sensors. While the latter might offer him an insight into what was happening outside, the former could well be enough to turn the tide of a battle. He quickly made a copy of the software and sent it to his officers.

A second death pulse swept without warning through Vance and his soldiers. Again, it was difficult to keep on top of the pain and, when the worst of it passed, he was left wondering how close he’d been to dying.

“Damned asshole aliens!” yelled Private Carrington.

With an effort, Vance raised his head and swept his gaze back along the corridor where a few of the soldiers were doubled over. “Casualties?” he shouted, the hardness of his tones hiding his anxiety.

This time, nobody died, though Sergeant Charnos learned of two deaths in the other platoons. It was galling to think that good soldiers were dying without shots being fired and Vance hoped he wouldn’t lose any more to the next death pulse.

“It seems we are running into the storm and praying for victory, Captain Vance,” said Tagra on a private channel. “I wish I could suggest a better way.”

Vance was aware of the limitations of his method and it was hard for him to admit that he felt helpless. Another few hard-travelled kilometres and with an enemy in sight, and he knew he’d feel differently. Right now, Tagra’s words were too accurate for Vance’s liking.

The two platoons re-entered the mess room, with its abandoned trays and sharp smells of replicated alien food. Vance didn’t linger and headed for the exit. That exit led into yet another corridor, which in turn would lead to an intersection, then a bay, then more passages. Normally, a long sprint would leave Vance invigorated. Not today – today, those metres were a frustration to be endured and nothing more.

“All platoons report,” he growled into the officer channel.

Each of the platoon leaders was linked to the internal monitoring network and their positions showed up as green dots on Vance’s HUD, but he wanted to hear specifics from his officers.

A few moments later, Vance was filled in. Lieutenants Hanson and May had established themselves in defensive positions around the bridge complex, while the other six platoons were spread across the entire internal width of the Demagaron and were advancing towards the Raklivian’s warship. Vance and his soldiers weren’t far behind and gaining fast.

Lieutenant Anjix and his soldiers had advanced the most, being midsection of the warship and sixteen hundred metres ahead of Vance, and the officer reported that the lights were so low he feared for his effectiveness in an engagement. While every combat suit was fitted with a helmet flashlight, those lights were apparently not effective against the darkness.

Vance had spoken to Anjix many times and had been impressed by the Daklan’s outward fearlessness. Faced by what was happening on the Demagaron, Anjix no longer sounded so confident.

“Don’t push any further, Lieutenant Anjix,” said Vance. “Hold position and use the time to link with the internal monitors. We’ll all benefit from learning what you find.”

“Yes, Captain Vance,” said Anjix. “I will hold position.”

Continuing his sprint, Vance came to an intersection and turned left, towards the centre of the Demagaron. Here, the darkness seemed to be winning its battle against the interior lighting - not only was the gloom thicker, but Vance sensed a malevolence to it, no matter how much he cursed his overactive imagination.

“I don’t much like this,” said Drawl.

“For once in my life, I agree with you, Drawlman,” said Private Raven.

Vance didn’t like it either, but they had a job to do and he pressed on. The air felt thicker and each stride took more effort than it should. He turned right into the next passage and slowed. Here, it was so dark he couldn’t see more than eighty metres. The map indicated an interior bay was only a couple of turnings away and after that came more sprinting.

A change on his HUD brought Vance to a halt. Three of the orange lights for the minigun defences about two thousand metres from his position went to red.

“Hold,” said Vance, raising a hand to halt the soldiers in the corridor behind. Immediately the footsteps stopped, the noise of the Demagaron’s discharging weaponry came to the fore and Vance guessed the engagement was pushing Captain Flint and his crew to the limit and beyond.

Inhaling steadily, Vance focused his mind. Lieutenant Anjix was meant to be scanning the internal monitors, but it was possible he’d missed the miniguns going offline. Linking to the Demagaron’s monitor nearest to one of the guns, Vance watched the feed on his HUD screen.

“Dark,” he said.

“I thought sensors could see through anything,” said Private Raimi.

“Usually they can,” said Vance. “Not this time.”

His internal alarms, which had up until now been chiming quietly at the back of his mind, started ringing too loudly for him to ignore. Having fought in a scores – perhaps hundreds – of engagements, Vance had long ago learned to separate his natural, human fears of the unknown, from that deeper feeling inside that always seemed to know when the danger was real.

This time, his intuition was telling him his life was hanging by a thread and Vance felt his body react. His breathing deepened and his heart rate climbed.

“This is wrong,” he said.

“What do you sense?” asked Lieutenant Tagra.

“We can’t beat this thing,” said Vance. He clenched his jaw tightly for a moment, hearing his teeth squeak together in his skull. “Not with guns.”

“Then what?” asked Private Enfield.

When Vance got agitated, everyone paid attention, and the soldiers watched him carefully, their own suppressed fears ready to break the surface.

“If we continue—” Vance started.

He didn’t finish the sentence. The green dot indicating Lieutenant Anjix’s position within the Demagaron disappeared from his HUD.

“Sergeant Charnos – Lieutenant Anjix went offline,” said Vance. “Speak to somebody in his team and find out why. I’ll check the monitors.”

As he linked to the internal sensors, Vance already knew what he’d find. The first monitor he connected to was positioned in the corner of a tertiary control room. A couple of wall-mounted consoles and ten dead soldiers were hardly visible through the creeping fog.

“Shit,” said Vance.

He didn’t know for definite where the other ten soldiers had holed up, but he took a guess and linked to a second monitor in a room across the corridor from the first. The rest of Anjix’s platoon were dead inside and Vance zoomed in the view to get a look at a soldier who’d gone down facing the lens. The man’s shrivelled features and unmistakeable expression of terror brought back memories of past encounters with the Kilvar and Vance’s fury threatened to overcome his control. He severed the link and punched the nearby wall.

“Lieutenant Anjix and his platoon are dead,” said Vance. “There’s no sign of Kilvar shock troops – our soldiers were killed by the Raklivian and they didn’t even get out a warning.”

He rechecked the positions of the other platoons. All except those assigned to the bridge were still advancing, like they hadn’t yet realised what had happened.

“All platoons, halt!” said Vance on the comms. “We’ve lost Lieutenant Anjix and everyone with him.”

A few of the officers spoke over each other as they asked questions, and Vance ordered them to silence. Quickly, he explained.

“What next?” asked Lieutenant van Ramos. His platoon was twelve hundred metres from Vance’s. “You’ve got the bait, sir, and my soldiers are on a straight line between you and Lieutenant Anjix’s position.”

“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant,” said Vance. He bared his teeth angrily, as-yet unwilling to give up the advance. “Cut directly towards the starboard flank, along passage DG-342 and hold at room TS-W1. Listen out for new orders.”

Van Ramos didn’t like it, that much was clear from the long silence that greeted Vance’s order.

“Do you have a problem with that, Lieutenant?” asked Vance low and quiet. He was already furious at the loss of one platoon and didn’t want to waste time repeating himself to an asshole like Van Ramos.

“No. Sir.”

“Then I suggest you lead your platoon to the ordered position, Lieutenant.”

Vance exited the channel. Minor insubordination was something he could handle and it didn’t faze him much.

He faced the soldiers as best he could in the tightness of the corridor. “What we’re dealing with here on the Demagaron - I’ve seen the like before. Some of you have too,” Vance said, pointing at Drawl, Tagra, Stanar and a few of the others. “We stormed a captured annihilator called Takrivon. Except we didn’t have to do much storming, because all the crew and everyone else were already dead. We didn’t find a single enemy body.”

“Damn, sir,” said Private Carrington. “Are you saying the Raklivian did that?”

“Negative.” Vance shook his head. “The Lavorix caught the Raklivian in the Evia system and it only escaped recently. Whatever took the crew on the Takrivon was something else. All I’m saying is, we could be facing a similar enemy.”

“A Kilvar boss,” said Drawl.

“Something like that,” said Vance impatiently.

“How do we beat it?” asked Carrington. “It doesn’t sound like our guns will be much use.” She tapped the butt of her Rodan against the wall to emphasise her point.

“We beat it by bringing the bait to the exium cage,” said Vance. His eyes went to the bag Lieutenant Tagra was carrying on his back. “The trouble is, the enemy is between us and our goal.”

“Do you think we can run past it, sir?” asked Steigers.

Vance wasn’t sure how fast the Raklivian could move. “I don’t know, soldier,” he said. “Gut feeling is we don’t have a cat in hell’s chance.”

“Yeah, that’s what my guts are telling me too, Captain.”

The choices – such as Vance saw them – were all bad. He could order his company to spread across the Demagaron’s interior and sprint for the exium cage, but the bait was with Lieutenant Tagra and Vance had a strong feeling the Raklivian knew exactly which direction that bait was found. The only question was if it would come straight for the prize, or go on the hunt for life energy first.

A green light on Vance’s HUD indicated a communication on the officer channel.

“Ah shit, we’ve got an—”

Lieutenant Van Ramos’ voice cut out abruptly and the channel went quiet. The other platoon leaders didn’t speak, waiting for Vance to confirm what they’d already guessed. He linked to the monitors closest to Van Ramos’ position and saw bodies.

“We lost another platoon. Let’s make it the last,” Vance said on the comms. “But we’ve learned something - the bastard is coming straight-line for the bait.”

“And travelling fast,” said Lieutenant Hanson. “Sir, you should withdraw – maybe buy some time for us to think of a better approach.”

Vance didn’t think running was going to solve anything. He punched the wall again and an idea came. Captain Flint surely wouldn’t like it, but it was the only way Vance could think of to reach the exium cage without the remaining members of his company having their life energies sucked out.

“I want everyone to hold position,” said Vance on the comms. “Except Platoons 1 and 2 – you’re coming with me.”

“Why do we always get the shit jobs?” complained Drawl.

“Because the Captain loves us so much,” said Carrington. “He wants us all to earn a medal.”

“I already got a bunch of medals.”

Now that Vance had a plan in his mind – albeit one that might not work – he felt a slight improvement in his mood. He clapped Drawl hard on the shoulder. “Time to earn another one, Private.”

With that, Vance pushed his way through the gathered soldiers, back the way he’d come. As he broke into a run, he requested a channel to the bridge, wondering what Captain Flint would make of his idea.

Chapter Nineteen

Despite its vast array of weapons and the enormous wells of power available to its energy shield, the Demagaron was under mounting pressure from the Kilvar fleet which was unerringly following it through each short-range transit. That wasn’t to say the enemy appeared instantly – the delay was anywhere between twenty seconds and forty seconds after the SRT – and these intervals were the only break in combat.

Each time one of the Demagaron’s SRT modules recharged, Flint picked a destination and pressed the activation button as hard as he could, hoping that this time, the enemy would fail to track his warship, or the transmitter on the Raklivian’s vessel would malfunction.

So far, neither had happened, and it was only a matter of time before the Demagaron became overwhelmed. The smaller Kilvar warships weren’t much of a threat, but four much larger vessels were in pursuit. Not only that, the enemy deep space platforms appeared to have effectively unlimited range and almost zero travel time on their weapons. Every so often, a burst of dark energy would erupt, with the Demagaron at the centre of it.

Worst of all were the pulses of sickening, life-sapping energy which had swept through the warship. Flint still hadn’t recovered from the last one and his limbs ached like nothing he’d felt before. It was inevitable that another pulse would come and the anticipation was a drag on his focus.

A couple of unused Frenziol injectors remained in Flint’s leg pocket and for once it was a fight not to stab one of them into his thigh. He knew from experience that too many boosters would give him an artificial confidence and right now, he wanted to be in complete control.

“Our energy shield dropped below forty percent for the first time, sir,” said Fredericks. “We need time for it to recharge.”

“And what then, Lieutenant?” asked Flint. He breathed in through flared nostrils. The air had developed a unique tang which had strengthened with each passing moment of the engagement. “Without an escape, we’ll lose in the end.”

The previous SRT had been twenty-five seconds ago and the first of the Kilvar pursuers – a cluster of six diamond shaped craft – appeared, approximately eighty thousand kilometres distant. He banked onto a heading directly away and held the Demagaron at maximum acceleration. The Kilvar vessels wouldn’t be able to keep up, but their weapons had plenty of range.

“I disagree, sir. If we kill enough of these assholes, they’ll eventually run out of warships.”

Flint smiled, glad to be reminded that hope wasn’t yet gone. “And while the Raklivian is onboard, we’re keeping them from ascending.” He raised his voice. “Lieutenant Becerra, what news from Captain Vance?”

“I’ve just finished speaking to Sergeant Charnos, sir,” said Becerra. “They’ve lost a platoon – Lieutenant Anjix and his soldiers were killed by the Raklivian.”

“As easily as that?” asked Flint in dismay.

“It happened in an instant, sir,” said Becerra. “Captain Vance apparently believes we’re facing another Takrivon situation.”

“What’s he planning to do about it?”

“I’ll tell you the moment I hear, sir.”

The loss of a platoon was far from a positive development and reading between the lines, it sounded to Flint as if not a single shot had been fired by the soldiers.

“Crap outside and crap inside,” he cursed. Flint’s mind began hunting for solutions that might help Vance, but he hauled it back. He had plenty of his own problems to deal with and Vance was the man to handle what was happening outside the bridge.

“Weapons lock obtained on six Kilvar warships,” said Larson. “Uppers one through twelve and rear clusters one through twenty-four: launched.”

“We have one minute and twenty seconds remaining on the recharge of SRT module #3,” said Maddox.

“There’s nothing to hide behind out here,” said Flint. Every sensor told the same tale – emptiness and faraway stars.

“Ready for the onslaught,” said Larson.

The Kilvar warships recovered from their lightspeed transits and red particle beams lanced into the Demagaron’s shield. The gauge dropped a little, but the enemy would require more serious firepower to bring it to zero.

That firepower arrived in the form of the high-flanked warship with the four nose cannons which Flint and his crew had first detected at Ilkar.

“Where there’s one,” said Larson.

Before the words had left her mouth, the eighteen-kilometre cylindrical warship appeared out of lightspeed. The particle beam hole which Larson had put diagonally through it from portside to starboard a few minutes ago, burned with undiminished anger. It wasn’t enough to put the Kilvar vessel out of action, though Flint reckoned the damage was severe.

“The particle beam is available, sir,” said Larson.

“Let’s give them another taste,” said Flint.

The Demagaron had surpassed eleven thousand kilometres per second, making it officially shit hot when it came to outright velocity. It would certainly give a superstressed warship a run for its money and Flint was amazed at what the Lavorix had accomplished with plain old overstressed ternium.

Having recent and repeated practice of the nose-tail swap, Flint was confident he could pull it off. He shifted the controls and adjusted the thrust across the Demagaron’s engine modules. Serenely, the warship rotated about its vertical axis with hardly any drift off course.

“Any moment,” said Larson.

“Four confirmed kills out of the six smaller vessels,” said Maddox.

“Don’t give them any respite,” said Flint through his concentration.

The particle beam’s narrow firing arc overlaid the enemy cylinder warship on the tactical and Flint waited for the fireworks.

“Particle beam discharged,” said Larson.

As she spoke the word, a flash of darkness engulfed the Demagaron, causing the shield gauge to drop. The burst of energy vanished, but the attack hadn’t distracted Larson from her shot. A second huge opening had appeared in the enemy warship’s flank, this time a few thousand metres back from its nose. Debris was visible erupting from the hole and Flint smiled grimly at the jagged tears in the vessel’s armour.

“XN1 cannon #1: fired,” said Maddox.

The so far undamaged cannonship accelerated from its arrival point, banking so that its four-barrelled main armament would come on target. Despite Flint’s best efforts, that enemy had landed a shot on the Demagaron’s shield about five minutes ago, and he wasn’t keen for his warship to suffer a second impact.

Maddox’s XN1 discharge came quickly enough that the target warship was unable to avoid it. The massive slug crunched into the cannonship’s energy shield with punishing force, turning it dark blue.

“Forward clusters one through twenty-four and uppers one through twelve: fired,” said Larson. “432 missiles heading out to say hello.”

“Nineteen smaller warships have exited lightspeed within fifty thousand klicks, sir,” said Garrett. “They’re accelerating blind away from their start positions.”

“No viable depletion burst shot available,” Larson confirmed.

“That second particle beam wasn’t enough, sir,” said Becerra. “The cylinder ship is coming our way.”

“Ten seconds and we can fire the particle beam again,” said Larson. “Maybe they’ll learn when we put a third shot into them.”

Flint listened to his crew and he watched the sensors. The panel in front of him was a sea of ever-changing numbers and electronic needles. It was his gift that he could absorb the data without much conscious thought, allowing him to give his full attention to the controls.

Many of the Demagaron’s forward, rear and upper clusters were still reloading, so Flint rotated the warship again, this time bringing the loaded portsides to bear.

Larson didn’t need an invitation. In less than five seconds, she had weapons lock. “Portsides one through twenty-four: fired.”

It was moments like this which could have fooled an inexperienced commander into thinking that victory was a possibility. The Demagaron was inflicting serious harm upon the Kilvar fleet, but the enemy always had more in reserve.

Red particle beams stabbed into the Lavorix vessel’s shield. Fifteen more enemy spacecraft – including the third massive ship from Ilkar – exited lightspeed nearby.

“Enemy missiles incoming,” said Larson. “Many sources and 230 warheads total. Hull repeaters set to track and destroy.”

Thousands of tracer lines raked out from the both the Kilvar fleet and the Demagaron as ballistic countermeasures turrets sought incoming targets. A dozen pulses of blue flashed with thumping expulsions of energy around the cannonship and another twenty followed before the first twelve had withered and died.

“Those assholes aren’t keen to test their shield against our missiles,” said Maddox.

“They haven’t run for cover yet,” said Garrett.

“The cannonship is 150,000 klicks behind us,” said Burner. “It’s a long distance to land a slug on target.”

“Their projectiles travel fast,” said Flint, throwing the Demagaron hard to port. He had no idea if the enemy had taken a shot and he immediately banked starboard.

“So do our missiles,” said Larson in satisfaction.

Not all of the warheads struck home – in fact, more than two hundred were destroyed by the Kilvar disruption cannisters and many others were knocked out by the pulverising hail of repeater slugs. Some got through. The cannonship’s shield erupted into white hot plasma flames, bright enough that the Demagaron’s feeds attenuated the glare.

“Their shield is holding,” said Lieutenant Copeland.

Meanwhile, the enemy attacks continued pounding into the Demagaron’s shield. The particle beams had almost no travel time and each one reduced the shield gauge by a fraction. Of the 230 inbound missiles, more than 150 had already been destroyed by countermeasures. The Demagaron’s incredible velocity wasn’t enough to escape the warheads, though it served to delay the time it took them to strike and gave the hull turrets longer on target.

It wasn’t quite enough, but only fifty of the Kilvar missiles hit the Demagaron’s energy shield. The feeds lit up and Flint squinted. Numbers on his control panel changed and updated. All lights remained green, but it was clear that while the end of the road wasn’t exactly in sight, it wasn’t far over the horizon.

“Shield down to thirty percent,” said Lieutenant Fredericks.

“Another two hundred missiles coming our way,” said Maddox. “The reload on XN1 cannon #1 is complete.”

“Our particle beam is ready to discharge,” said Larson.

“Nine additional enemy warships have exited lightspeed,” said Burner. “Add the numbers together and it comes to a crapload.”

“Multiple missile salvos launched from the enemy fleet,” said Maddox.

“Shield at twenty-seven percent!”

Flint held his nerve and rotated the Demagaron again, so that its now-loaded rear and topside clusters were on target. He glanced at the magazine readouts – the Lavorix had equipped the warship for an extended time away from base and every cluster had plenty of missiles available. Flint felt a surge of unexpected, genuine admiration and awe at what the once-hated Lavorix had built.

“Another big bastard just appeared,” said Garrett. “It’s one we haven’t seen before.”

“A twenty-five-klick alloy cesspit full of cock-faced, life sucking alien scumbags,” said Maddox with real feeling.

Flint couldn’t take issue with her statement, though he didn’t add to it. The new warship was another mishmash of cylinders and cuboids, with a significantly greater mass than the Demagaron. The enemy vessel bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the Vilekron, albeit on a much smaller scale, and the sight of it was enough to make Flint doubly wary. If the Kilvar had taken this long to bring it out of hiding, perhaps that meant it was something special.

“Let’s save the particle beam shot,” he said. “Maybe that cylinder ship will break up or shut down before it can follow us into lightspeed.”

A tap on the tactical chose the next destination and Flint’s eye went to the cooldown timers on the other SRT modules. One was above two minutes and the other was counting down towards three minutes. After this jump there’d be a wait before the next became available. Another flash of corrosive energy, fired from a place unknown, chipped away at the Demagaron’s shield.

Eager to avoid the next discharge from the cannonship, yet equally keen to eke out a few more seconds before using the precious SRT, he banked the warship out of the energy blast.

“Sir, Captain Vance has lost Lieutenant van Ramos and his platoon, and the Raklivian is heading directly for the bait,” said Becerra. “But he has a plan.”

“I’m all ears,” said Flint.

“Captain Vance believes any attempt to pass the Raklivian within the Demagaron will result in failure, so he intends to exit the warship using a shuttle and re-dock in the aft bay nearest the exium cage.”

“The Demagaron will need to be stationary or holding a constant velocity for that to work,” said Flint. “And the former would be easiest to manage.”

“Which means straight after an SRT,” said Larson.

“Even then, it’s going to be tight – what Captain Vance is proposing might be a sixty-second operation.” Flint swore. “Tell him to go for it. How long until he’ll be in position?”

“Six or seven minutes, sir,” said Becerra. “He’ll let us know when he’s in the shuttle cockpit and ready to go.”

“We can’t stay here that long,” said Flint. “Activating SRT.”

The Raklivian’s third death pulse came at the exact moment of the double transition and the agony of it was such that Flint thought his time was up. He gritted his teeth and insisted to the universe that he was going to live, not die.

Chapter Twenty

Flint didn’t die, though the pain wracking his body was beyond toleration. With an incoherent shout of rage, he took the third shot of Frenziol, wishing he’d accepted the risks of overconfidence sooner. Despite everything else he was suffering, the needle and the icy fluid still made Flint wince and he threw the injector away. He put his hands back on the control bars and requested maximum acceleration from the Demagaron.

“Where are those sensors?” he yelled. His voice sounded muffled in his ears – or maybe it was the roar from the engines making it seem distant - and his head was spinning. “Is everyone at their station?”

“Sensors coming online,” said Burner. “Lieutenant Garrett is either unconscious or dead, sir.”

“Lieutenant Bolan, give her a booster,” snarled Flint. “Anyone who’s only taken two, inject again – that’s an order!”

The sensors came online and, through blurred vision, Flint saw the empty space around his spaceship. He blinked rapidly and his eyes snapped back into focus.

“As soon as Captain Vance is ready in the shuttle, we’ll SRT again,” Flint said. His body didn’t want any more trauma, but the third shot of Frenziol was trying to reassure it that everything would be just dandy.

“Our energy shield has recharged past thirty percent and it’s still climbing,” said Fredericks.

It was the same old story of the engagement so far. The Demagaron would take out a few Kilvar warships at the cost of some shield reserves. Following an SRT, that shield would recharge a little, but the trend was always down.

“Lieutenant Bolan, how is Lieutenant Garrett?” asked Flint. He wanted to turn for a better look, but couldn’t take his eyes from the controls for even a moment.

“I’ve given her the shot, sir, and she’s still out of it.” said Bolan. “I’ve linked to her suit computer and she has vital signs. Should I call for one of the medics?”

Relief that Garrett wasn’t dead came in a surge and Flint exhaled noisily. “Lieutenants Hanson and May are near the bridge. Tell them to send someone immediately.” Flint berated himself for not giving the order sooner. His brain had been scrambled by the death pulse and the SRT, yet he still felt like that was an excuse.

“I’ll convey the order, sir,” said Bolan.

“Like hell you will,” said Garrett. Her voice was slurred, like she’d gone twelve rounds with a Daklan prize fighter. “I’m feeling better already.” She coughed. “Did somebody stick me with a needle?”

“Yes,” said Lieutenant Bolan.

“Well damn, you didn’t need to leave it in my thigh,” said Garrett, her voice already much stronger than it had been only a moment ago.

“Sir, should I request a medic?” asked Bolan.

“No medic!” said Garrett angrily. “Just give me a few seconds.”

Flint didn’t want to argue or micromanage the situation and he gave Garrett the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t usually screw up and he doubted she was about to start now.

“How long since we exited the SRT?” he asked.

“We’re just passing thirty seconds, sir,” said Fredericks. “Expect activity at any moment.”

“One minute and the next SRT will be ready,” said Larson.

A dozen Kilvar diamond shaped warships dropped out of lightspeed, ninety thousand kilometres from the Demagaron.

“Target and fire, Commander,” said Flint.

“The enemy aren’t willing to expose their big guns to our particle beam,” said Larson. “They’re sending in the cannon fodder to keep us busy.”

“Most commanding officers would do the same,” said Flint. He tried a rueful smile. “What I wouldn’t give for a slow-witted opponent.”

“Rear clusters one through twelve and undersides one through twelve: launched,” said Maddox.

The missiles raced off into the vacuum and Flint prepared himself for a repetition of what had gone on so far. He predicted that another one or two waves of the eight-kilometre warships would appear, and then the capital ships would follow. The Demagaron’s energy shield was creeping up towards thirty-five percent, which he guessed would last long enough for this SRT and the next. After that it would be touch-and-go.

“Come on, Captain Vance,” Flint muttered. He rotated the Demagaron so its starboard clusters would target. The XN1 cannons and the particle beam he was keeping hold of.

“Twenty-six additional enemy warships have exited lightspeed, sir,” said Burner. “Make that thirty-two. The Kilvar must be calling them in from all across Berongar.”

“They’re going to need every vessel they can muster,” said Maddox defiantly. “Starboard clusters one through twenty-four, locked and launched.”

The combat proceeded as before. Ten of the Kilvar spaceships were destroyed or disabled by the Demagaron’s missiles. Eighteen more came to take their place. The cannonship appeared, with its nose gun pointing in the wrong direction, and it was closely followed by two other spacecraft of an even greater mass.

“No sign of that cylinder ship,” said Flint. “Maybe the Kilvar are taking it to the repair yard.” He finished rotating the Demagaron so that its particle beam and topside cannons were pointing towards the enemy. “Any time you like, Commander Larson.”

“Nose beam fired,” said Larson.

The kilometre-wide spear of blue struck the cannonship on its stern and sliced through at an angle. When the beam vanished, the extent of the damage was an excellent sight, but Flint’s hopes for a one shot kill didn’t come to fruition.

“Not enough,” he said.

“XN1 cannons #1 and #2: fired,” said Maddox.

The faraway thump of discharge was followed shortly after by a significant deepening of the cannonship’s energy shield. For a moment, Flint thought it might collapse entirely, but then it strengthened, as if the Kilvar had a method of pumping in some extra juice to keep it running.

“Our shield is back below thirty percent, sir,” said Fredericks.

The next SRT was available, though Flint was reluctant to activate it so soon. He held off for a few seconds, his eyes on the feeds. The intensity of this engagement was beyond anything he’d known before – the Kilvar deployed dozens of their missile-scrambling shock cannisters, while stark lines of ballistic tracers sprayed across the darkness. Another launch from the Demagaron’s clusters produced a pattern of orange propulsion trails which vanished with impossible speed towards their targets.

At the same time, the thunder of propulsion vied for supremacy against the rumble of weapons discharge. Through it all, Flint felt like utter crap from the death pulses and SRTs, and the sensation of his heart beating fast and hard in his chest made him think he’d overdosed on Frenziol.

“The cannonship is lining up a shot, sir,” said Becerra.

“I see it,” said Flint. Doing his best to anticipate, he threw the Demagaron one way and then the other.

This time, the enemy were fast enough to compensate, or they simply guessed which way Flint would go next. An impact against the Demagaron’s shield produced a ripple on the feed and the reserve gauge dropped.

“Our energy shield is at twelve percent, sir,” said Fredericks. “We need to get out of here.”

Flint knew he’d misjudged and the Demagaron’s shield had suffered an unnecessary impact because of it.

“Get ready,” he said, picking another location at random.

Delaying no longer, Flint activated the SRT, hoping the third Frenziol dose would cushion the blow. The Demagaron’s ternium drive fired and cut out at almost the same moment. The drugs worked enough of their magic to keep Flint conscious and he gave the spaceship maximum power to get away from the arrival place.

“Is everyone at their station?” he called out, fearful that Garrett or a different member of his crew might not have coped with the strain of the SRT.

“Everyone’s awake,” said Fredericks.

“Sensors coming up,” said Becerra. “Any moment.”

“What’s the plan, sir?” asked Larson. She was handling the death pulses and stacked lightspeed transitions better than Flint, but they were clearly taking their toll.

“We’re going to hold the enemy at bay until Captain Vance contains the Raklivian and shuts off the transmissions from its ship, Commander,” said Flint. “Nothing more elaborate than that.”

Larson pulled no punches. “We’re not going to make it if we repeat what we’re doing, sir. The Demagaron might last long enough for Captain Vance to launch his shuttle and re-dock, but after that he’s got a run to the exium cage. Maybe the Raklivian won’t arrive at the same time and he’ll be forced to wait. After that, those soldiers have to figure out a way into the enemy’s warship and then—”

“I get the message, Commander,” said Flint. “We need a change.”

“Yes, sir, we do,” said Larson. She held his gaze. “And we need it soon.”

“A little over a minute and we can SRT using module 1,” said Flint. “Module 2 will be recharged in three minutes.”

“Time enough for Captain Vance to reach the shuttle,” said Larson. “He’s the only one who can handle the Raklivian.”

Flint wasn’t sure if Larson was hinting at what he thought she might be hinting. “There might be a way we can deal with the warship in our side,” he said. It took effort, but he smiled. “And it’ll be rough.”

Larson smiled back and for the moment she held it in place, the fatigue disappeared from her face and eyes. “Only a fool expects to come out of a battle unscathed.”

“The Demagaron isn’t our spaceship anyway.”

“It’s the fault of the Lavorix for handing out the keys to any old officer who just happened to be passing by. A junior officer at that.”

“They asked for me personally, Commander. The famous Captain Flint.”

Larson grinned. “Let’s show these Kilvar assholes what we’re made of.”

Flint nodded. The connection he’d felt with Larson suddenly seemed far more real. Whenever he faltered, or his ideas ran dry, she was there for him. “We’ll turn their entire fleet to dust.”

“Nineteen enemy warships have exited mode 3, sir,” said Burner. “It’s only the little ones so far.”

“Establishing missile lock,” said Larson.

Flint glanced at the SRT recharge timers again. “Lieutenant Becerra – please add a countdown to Captain Vance’s suit HUD and synchronise it with the recharge timer on SRT module 2. If he isn’t ready to launch the shuttle at that moment, it’s unlikely he’ll get another chance.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll let him know.”

“Rear clusters one through twenty-four and uppers one through twelve: launched,” said Larson.

“Any time you want to swing us around, I’ll fire those topside cannons, sir,” said Maddox.

“I’m on it, Lieutenant,” said Flint. He was becoming an old hand at the nose-tail switch manoeuvre and, though he rotated the spaceship smoothly enough, he couldn’t help but think it would have been easier if the Lavorix had designed their cannons and particle beams to have a 360-degree firing arc.

“Captain Vance is nearly at the internal shuttle car which will take him most of the way to the launch bay, sir,” said Becerra. “He thinks it’s going to be a close-run thing if he makes it.”

“He’s made good progress,” said Flint. “He should arrive a few seconds early if I’m guessing right.”

“It’s the Raklivian he’s worried about, sir,” said Becerra. “Captain Vance thinks it might reach the bait before he’s ready to launch the shuttle.”

“Damn,” said Flint. “Wish those soldiers good luck, Lieutenant.”

“I already did, sir.”

“Forward missile clusters one through twenty-four and uppers one through twelve: launched,” said Larson.

A multitude of explosions appeared at scattered locations on the sensor feeds as the Demagaron’s first salvo detonated amongst the enemy fleet. Tracers and energy pulses flashed, and the red particle beams came in great numbers.

“We have a total of fifty-one of those eight-klick spaceships within a hundred thousand kilometres of our position, sir,” said Burner. “That’s the most yet.”

“Our shield made it as high as nineteen percent after the SRT, sir, and now it’s heading down.”

“No sign of the cannonship or those other capital ships,” said Garrett. “Maybe they got scared off by that last particle beam shot.”

“I’m not laying bets on it,” said Flint.

“Those big warships are still not here, sir,” said Burner. “Based on previous SRTs, they’re definitely overdue.”

“Shit,” said Flint in realisation. “What if they exited lightspeed just far enough away that we wouldn’t easily detect them? They would know our position and could maybe land a few shots before we knew they were coming.”

“Scanning,” said Burner before Flint had even finished speaking.

Flint was sure he’d guessed right and he put the Demagaron into a series of tight, banking turns, first one way and then the next, keeping each one random so the Kilvar wouldn’t have an easy job landing a cannon slug.

“Ten seconds on SRT module 1,” said Fredericks.

“Two enemy capital ships located at three-quarters of a million klicks!” shouted Burner. “Scanning for others.”

An attack came in the form of another explosive burst of corrosive energy, this one far more damaging than those which had come before it. The Demagaron’s shield gauge went red and Flint cursed when he saw the readout.

1%

SRT module 1 became available and he knew exactly where he was going. It wasn’t going to be the middle of nowhere. This time, Flint intended to really give the Kilvar something to think about.

“Be ready on the particle beam, Commander Larson,” he said. “We’re going to Reolar.”

Flint sent the Demagaron into lightspeed.

Chapter Twenty-One

While the crew were cursing and dealing with the aftereffects of the transitions, the sensors came online.

“Find the planet!” shouted Flint.

“Planet located,” said Becerra. “We’re fifty thousand klicks above the surface.”

“Where are those conduits?” asked Flint. Reolar was exactly how he remembered it – stony and volcanic. “Locate them quickly. Lieutenant Garrett, we saw orbital platforms last time we came here – they’re a real threat to us.”

“Scanning,” Garrett confirmed, the weakness in her voice from earlier almost gone.

“Searching for the conduits…the site is just over the planet’s north-eastern cusp, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ve added the overlay onto your tactical.”

An orange line appeared on Flint’s screen and he turned the Demagaron to follow it. A rumble of acceleration pushed him into his seat and the warship sped towards the planet. Idly, he noticed that one of Reolar’s many volcanoes was mid-eruption, spewing rivers of orange and creating a vast plume of toxic gases which drifted slowly eastward, borne by unseen winds.

“Our energy shield has climbed to two percent, sir,” said Fredericks.

“I appreciate the good news, Lieutenant. Keep it coming.”

“Two orbital platforms just came into sensor sight within a couple of seconds of each other, sir,” said Garrett. “If the technology is consistent across Gledan-Q and Reolar, those platforms are below the level of the planet’s energy shield.”

“Bad timing,” said Flint.

The Demagaron was travelling fast and its velocity was still nowhere near maximum. Reolar grew larger on the sensors and the site of the two shield-generating conduits should be just across the approaching horizon. Heading low was the best way to stay out of the firing line of those orbital platforms and Flint altered the Demagaron’s trajectory onto a direct collision course with the surface.

“Uh…we’ve received a handshake request, sir,” said Becerra.

“What?” asked Flint, caught off-guard. “Does that mean the planet’s defence systems believe we might be friendly?”

“I wouldn’t bank on it, sir,” said Becerra.

“The Demagaron responded pretty damn fast to the handshake, sir,” said Fredericks. “Assuming there’s the tiniest chance that we aren’t already categorised as a priority 1 threat, I’d say we beat the clock easily.”

It was a distraction Flint didn’t need – an improbable hint of potential safety to slow him down or make him act differently.

“Missiles locked on each of the two targets, sir,” said Larson. “Both platforms are out of the XN1 cannons’ firing arc.”

“Hold,” said Flint. “Our missiles won’t break through the planet’s energy shield and I doubt the cannons will either.”

The Demagaron was approaching Reolar at a tremendous rate, such that its rocky surface filled the forward sensor feed. In the centre, the volcano he’d noticed earlier was a splash of vivid orange and Flint guessed its eruption was on a catastrophic scale.

“Levelling out,” he said, pulling back on the controls. The Demagaron was solidly built and its structure hardly groaned under the immense strains. At five hundred kilometres – which was the height of the energy shield at Gledan-Q - Flint got the warship parallel to the surface and followed the orange line on the tactical.

“Now only one of those platforms has visibility on us, sir,” said Burner. “And we’ll be in sight of the conduits within twenty seconds.”

“The energy shield has climbed to four percent, sir,” said Fredericks. “It’ll soak a few minor hits now.”

“Oh crap, the cannonship has exited lightspeed, along with a dozen smaller warships sir,” said Garrett. “And two of the other capital ships have just followed suit. They’re right on top of us.”

“They know why we’re here,” said Flint.

Garrett hadn’t exaggerated when she said the enemy were nearby. The cannonship was within five thousand kilometres and a few of the smaller vessels were within two thousand. Their sensor blindness wouldn’t last long.

With impressive speed, Maddox targeted and launched the Demagaron’s missiles. “Rear clusters one through twelve and topsides one through twenty-four: fired.”

The attack was devastating and made it abundantly clear why the Kilvar hadn’t dropped in so close to the Demagaron earlier in their pursuit. Nine of the smaller warships were ripped apart by the armour-piercing plasma warheads and their debris was cast about the Reolar skies in a thousand fireballs of different sizes and mass.

The cannonship didn’t escape entirely and its energy shield dimmed once again to almost nothing. It was infuriating to see the Kilvar capital ship so vulnerable and yet Flint knew he couldn’t deviate from what he intended.

“Waiting on reloads,” said Maddox. “Damn, those bastards are within our grasp.”

“Twenty-nine new warships have jumped in, sir,” said Garrett. “The closest at two hundred klicks.”

“They’re getting desperate,” said Fredericks.

“We’ve received another handshake request, sir,” said Becerra.

This time, Flint didn’t question it and he stared at the coming horizon. A blast of darkness struck the Demagaron’s energy shield, dispelling any notion that the Kilvar on Reolar were unaware of the warship’s hostility.

“Back to one percent on the shield,” said Fredericks. “And now up to two percent again.”

“Looks like we won’t have to manually drop our energy shield,” said Larson.

Flint nodded. The unspoken plan had been to switch off the energy shield and hope one of the Kilvar attacks would disable what remained of the Raklivian’s warship. “Let’s hope the Demagaron’s armour is strong enough for what’s coming.”

A second energy blast hit the shield, fully depleting its reserves. The readout showed zero and the gauge was illuminated an intense red. A glance at one of the starboard feeds told a tale. The Kilvar weapon had a corrosive effect and the surface plating was crumbling across a huge section of the Demagaron’s flank. Decayed pieces crumbled and billions of tons of dust broke free, leaving a dense trail behind.

“The Lavorix clad this warship thick,” growled Flint.

“Five seconds to target,” said Burner.

“We have one shot, Commander,” said Flint. “And we need to hit both conduits with it.”

“Yes, sir. You line them up and I’ll take them down.”

“And you’re ready for what comes after?”

“On your word, sir.”

Flint hoped Becerra’s overlay was accurate, since a last-moment correction to the warship’s course would cost precious seconds and may well result in failure. His eyes jumped to the topside sensors, where the enemy warships were showing signs of recovery from their lightspeed blindness.

“Targets in sight!” yelled Burner.

The two nine-thousand-metre conduits – which Flint had initially believed were antennae - rose in the distance. To Flint’s relief, they were dead ahead and almost perfectly lined up. He made the tiniest alteration to the Demagaron’s course and that was all it took.

“Particle beam locked. Fired,” said Larson.

At that same moment, a third explosion of energy hit the Demagaron. The warship’s shield had climbed to one percent, which wasn’t enough to absorb the attack and more of the armour plating was turned to dust. Through the darkness, the particle beam sliced cleanly and with the honed precision of a surgeon’s blade.

The blast faded and Flint stared at the feeds, hoping the particle beam had done enough. Ahead, alloy burned fiercely like a beacon, but he couldn’t be certain if both conduits were completely destroyed.

“The cannonship is banking our way, sir,” said Burner. “Another few seconds and it’ll have a clear shot into our topside armour.”

Flint’s eyes were drawn to the feed. That enemy warship had been the main threat throughout this engagement and he wanted to see what kind of damage the particle beam had left them with. To his frustration, the angle of the cannonship made it appear completely intact, though Flint did obtain an excellent view of its nose guns which would soon be on target.

“SRT module 2 has recharged and is available,” said Fredericks.

“Is Captain Vance in position?” asked Flint, his voice rising with the pressure of the situation.

“He’s just entering the shuttle cockpit, sir,” said Becerra.

“Tell him to be ready. I need a better view of those conduits.”

On the other feeds, red particle beams plunged into the Demagaron’s unprotected hull and a salvo of a dozen missiles – launched at such short range the travel time was over in the blink of an eye – exploded against the Lavorix vessel’s stern. The outer layer of plating was torn off in the blasts and it scattered away in pieces.

The situation didn’t improve. On one of the feeds, Flint spotted an object crash into the Demagaron’s topside with such incredible force that an enormous quantity of armour plating was punched inwards by the impact, while a vast ring around that area was forced up like a kilometre-high alloy wave. Heat spread rapidly until the feeds attenuated against the harsh light, and an unimaginable quantity of debris broke away, falling in the Demagaron’s wake and dropping towards the planet.

On Flint’s console, all lights remained green, except one.

> SRT Module 2: Error 211

“You have got to be shitting me,” said Flint.

“Thirty seconds on SRT module 3,” said Fredericks, spotting the failure at the exact same moment. “I’ll see if I can do anything to bring module 2 back online.”

“We took a gauss slug from an undetected source, sir – not the cannonship,” said Burner. “I’m scanning to locate it.”

“I’ve got locks on portside and starboard clusters thirteen through twenty-four,” said Maddox. “Missiles launched.”

Flint hauled the Demagaron off its previous course, hoping to avoid the next attack from the Kilvar gauss cannon. He was just in time and a second massive slug skimmed by. It crunched into the planet’s surface and formed a huge crater.

“No energy shield!” yelled Larson.

At the same moment, the warship’s rapid progress across Reolar revealed that which Flint had been waiting for – a clear sight of the conduits. Both were so badly damaged by the particle beam attack there was no conceivable way they could be operational and he’d just seen the proof of it.

“Commander Larson – target Reolar with the tenixite converter and reduce it to powder.” Flint banked again, wondering when the next gauss projectile would come.

“What about Captain Vance, sir?” asked Becerra. “Is he waiting for the next SRT?”

“Negative – he goes on my word. This is an enforced change of plan. He’ll understand.”

“I’ll let him know what he’s about to fly into, sir.”

“We’ll do what we can to keep him safe.”

Flint thought the conversation was over until Becerra called out again.

“Sir, Captain Vance says he can’t delay the launch any longer. The Raklivian is nearly on him.”

“If he launches that shuttle now, he’s going to die,” said Flint. “Commander Larson, destroy the planet,” he repeated. He glanced across – she’d been holding until the situation with Vance was resolved.

“Yes, sir. Depletion burst targeted and fired.”

Five words. One order. And a whole planet dies.

Flint braced himself and banked the Demagaron eastwards, just as Reolar exploded into dust. The energy shield gauge ticked up to one percent, which he doubted was going to offer any significant protection.

In a split-second, the sensor feeds were obscured by the planet’s rapid destruction. For a moment, everything was only grey, and then deep within the dense cloud of expanding dust, Flint saw a sullen orange which he realised was the planet’s molten core, broken up and reduced to particles, just like everything else.

Piloting the warship blind, he changed course again, hoping the Kilvar would be unable to predict the new position of the Demagaron. Certainly their sensors would be useless.

“Lieutenant Becerra, it’s time for Captain Vance to launch.”

As Flint spoke the words, he turned the Demagaron so that its portside flank was outwards to the flensing dust, and he brought the vessel to a standstill. The warship wasn’t safe here, but this was the only chance he could offer Captain Vance.

Flint watched and waited for the shuttle to exit its launch tunnel and enter the maelstrom of a dead world. Before the tiny vessel could emerge, the Raklivian sent out another of its death pulses, locking the bridge crew into an agony unlike any other.

As he suffered, Flint understood with certainty that even if he survived this one, the next would be more than he could handle. Closing his eyes, he willed Vance to finish his part as quickly as possible.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The shuttle’s cockpit was in a gloom so deep that anything farther than a handful of metres away was reduced to little more than an uncertain outline. Even the lights on the console in front of Vance were dim and he was sitting right in front of them.

“Come on, give us the damned order,” he muttered.

He could feel the Raklivian keenly now – it was an unseen presence that was everywhere about him, slowly crushing, and it felt to Vance like he was descending ever deeper into an ocean of endless depth.

There was more to it – while he’d never spent much time considering stark contrasts like good versus evil, Vance sensed the hatred of the creature and it was so utterly remote from anything he’d encountered before that he had no comprehension of why it even existed. It craved his life and it wanted what had been taken from it. What the Raklivian would achieve with the energy it had stolen from the Ancidium’s batteries was unimaginable.

“Sir, it’s here,” said Raimi on the comms. He was down in the passenger bay along with the other members of the two platoons. “Oh shit! Private Lostor is dead! And Private Josh!”

Vance couldn’t remember ever disobeying an order, but he did now. “We’re getting out of here,” he snarled. He pushed a thick finger onto the launch button and felt the acceleration pressing him into the padding of his seat.

On the forward feed, doors opened within the Demagaron’s hull, allowing the shuttle to pass.

“You’ve got the order to go, Captain Vance,” said Becerra on the comms.

“We’re already on our way, Lieutenant,” said Vance. “We couldn’t stick around a moment longer.”

The shuttle gathered speed and the next door opened. Vance wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the power of the Raklivian’s darkness was already diminishing and the constriction about his chest lessened with each metre the spacecraft gained along the tunnel.

“The enemy will not let us go so easily,” said Lieutenant Tagra.

Vance had been thinking the same, though he hadn’t wanted to come out and say it, as if giving voice to the thoughts would make them real. He wasn’t normally superstitious, yet the Raklivian had driven him to it.

As if to taunt Vance for his unspoken fears, a death pulse swept through the shuttle and the intensity of it was a step above those which had come before.

Fighting the pain, Vance’s mind went back a lifetime ago, to the Meklon base Oracon-1, where he’d first tasted the torment of a Lavorix extractor. He’d lived through that one and he sure as damnit was going to live through this.

The death pulse ended and Vance was alive, as were Lieutenant Tagra and Sergeant Charnos.

“Last doors ahead,” said Tagra, his voice laboured. “Then we will be outside.”

“This will be interesting,” said Charnos, as if he was describing something mundane, like a piece of cheese.

Vance’s fingers were curled around the control sticks in a grip that was making his knuckles ache. He desperately wanted to know if he’d lost any other soldiers, but he had to give the coming sixty seconds his utmost attention.

The final doors opened. Vance was given a hint of swirling chaos and then the shuttle was ejected into space. It was hard to ignore what he was seeing on the feeds, but piloting the unfamiliar Lavorix vessel required most of his concentration. A noise of something striking the hull – raindrops pelting a solid roof - reached Vance and the volume of it rose quickly until it was all he could hear.

Without altering the shuttle’s velocity, Vance banked it towards the Demagaron’s stern. He wanted to turn down the volume on his helmet earpiece to block out the noise, but he couldn’t spare a moment to take his hands off the control sticks. He stared at the feeds and, despite knowing what had happened to Reolar, his mind couldn’t fully grasp what was out there.

Directly portside, the Demagaron was an angled cliff of grey, majestic and unimaginable in size. Particles of Reolar washed over it above and below, dwarfing this alloy colossus and seeking to break it apart with a quintillion different impacts, each enough to erode a fraction of the whole.

Starboard, the dust particles from above swept down, while those from below swept up, as if caught in a powerful current. The dust merged and roiled, and all the while it raced away from the Demagaron and its shuttle with enormous velocity.

One part of Vance’s brain reminded him there were no currents in space and that a particle should follow a straight-line trajectory for eternity unless it was affected by gravity. And yet here, the motes of Reolar acted like an ocean of impossible size, swirling and tugged by unseen forces.

Vance knew he was being distracted by the savage beauty of a sight he would never witness again – as if his consciousness were being carried along by the aftermath of the planet’s destruction. He cursed himself. Too many soldiers had died this day for him to lose more because his attention wasn’t where it should be.

“Locate the rear bay entrance,” Vance ordered. He requested extra from the shuttle’s propulsion and it accelerated along the Demagaron’s flank. His eyes roved across the turrets and repeater emplacements, seeking an opening into which he could guide the shuttle, and away from the madness of Berongar.

“You’ve had twenty-five seconds outside, Captain Vance,” said the calm, clear voice of Lieutenant Becerra in his earpiece.

“I hear you, Lieutenant. We’re searching for the bay entrance.”

“It’s open and waiting for you.”

Although the shuttle was fast, it seemed like the Demagaron went on forever, and Vance increased velocity again. The propulsion was muffled and distant beneath the flaying of the dust.

“There is the Raklivian’s spaceship,” said Tagra. “It is a mess.”

Vance looked briefly at the feed. A few hundred metres higher up the Demagaron’s flank, a huge shard of glowing metal jutted out a short distance. The alloys of the enemy vessel were jagged and wickedly sharp from where they’d been pulverised by what must have been a few million repeater slugs.

With its stern and part of its midsection gone, the forward eighteen hundred metres of the Raklivian’s spaceship remained embedded in the Demagaron. Seeing how big the wreckage was, Vance was glad he was no longer tasked with searching for its onboard transmitter.

“Captain Flint is planning to let the enemy destroy the transmitter,” said Tagra, repeating what Vance had told him only a short time earlier. “It is a risky plan.”

“He’s the right man to pull it off,” said Vance.

“Success and failure are finely balanced,” said Charnos.

“We’re going to finish this and exit Berongar with our middle fingers high and raised over our shoulders at the bodies of our enemies, Sergeant,” said Vance, wishing he believed it himself.

“I have located the bay entrance, Captain,” said Tagra.

“I see it,” said Vance. A square hole was visible in the Demagaron’s flank, underneath a repeater turret. Further towards the stern, a huge patch of the warship’s armour was pitted and corroded from an energy weapon attack, and particles continued breaking away from the decayed surface. “Five klicks and closing.”

As he spoke, a plasma missile struck the Demagaron’s plating a few thousand metres above the shuttle. The blast was huge and was closely followed by a second. A few smaller pieces of debris were hurled out of the crater and Vance banked to avoid them.

“What’s with the missiles, Lieutenant Becerra?” he asked.

“The enemy are firing blind,” said Becerra. “They’ve landed a couple of lucky hits.”

“Won’t that mean—”

“Yes, the Kilvar will know which missiles successfully detonated and they’ll concentrate their fire in this area.”

“Shit,” said Vance.

He threw caution to the wind and gave the shuttle everything. This time, the engines were louder than the hull impacts and the transport sped towards the bay opening.

All hell broke loose. A salvo of missiles and a single, massive gauss slug hit the Demagaron’s sloping lower flank in the space of two or three seconds. What had once been a wall of alloy, turned into one of flames. In the midst of it, Vance saw a three-thousand-metre indentation where the gauss slug had impacted. A slab of armour which must have weighed five billion tons dropped into the void.

“Captain Vance,” said Becerra. It was a question about his safety and a prompt telling him to get his ass into top gear, rolled into one.

Vance was already in top gear and the bay entrance wasn’t far ahead. He turned the shuttle towards it and wondered if his piloting skills were up to the task of docking at this velocity. Maybe the Lavorix had built in an auto-dock routine, but he didn’t know where to find it and couldn’t spare the time to look.

A second salvo hit the Demagaron’s flank, and Vance had no idea if the impacts were terminal or not. The damage looked terrifying, but from here on the shuttle everything seemed incomprehensibly vast.

As he lined up the shuttle, Vance felt the tension in his shoulders and forearms, which made the fine-tuning difficult. Through force of will he relaxed, and locked his gaze directly on the square opening ahead.

Directly above the shuttle bay entrance, another three or four plasma missiles detonated in a line heading diagonally towards the Demagaron’s topsides. The repeater emplacement above the opening was torn partially from its mountings and it sagged, burning white and orange from the heat. Vance was certain it was going to break free and tumble across the bay entrance.

“Screw you!” he shouted in anger.

Holding course, Vance refused to give in to his fear and he refused to deviate the shuttle from its course. If he missed this chance, everyone on the transport would surely die and the Demagaron would follow into destruction soon after.

At a velocity high enough to make even the normally unflappable Lieutenant Tagra and Sergeant Charnos remain utterly silent, Vance flew the shuttle into the docking tunnel without touching the sides. Immediately, he hauled on the controls and the vessel slowed.

“Lieutenant Becerra, we’re in,” he said. The inner gates ahead opened and the shuttle sped through.

“Exit the shuttle and trap the Raklivian, Captain,” said Becerra. “Everything’s coming to a head.”

“That it is,” said Vance.

The next set of internal doors opened and the ones after that. Vance was braced for an SRT, but it didn’t come.

“Captain Flint is keeping the Demagaron exposed to enemy fire,” said Sergeant Charnos approvingly. “If we are lucky, the Raklivian’s transmitter will be destroyed.”

“I don’t like relying on luck, Sergeant,” said Vance.

The shuttle came to the end of the docking tunnel and he brought it to a standstill adjacent to the personnel platform. Vance was sure Captain Flint knew what he was doing, but the Demagaron had taken some heavy punishment.

Trying not to dwell on a matter he couldn’t influence, Vance unclipped his harness and stood. For a moment he felt an unexpected shakiness which he wanted to attribute to an excess of Frenziol, but which deep down he knew was a result of the shuttle ride.

“We’re docked,” Vance growled on the open comms. “Now let’s get the hell off this shuttle.”

Grabbing his guns, he dashed for the exit, with Tagra and Charnos right behind. Already, the passing weakness which had afflicted Vance’s limbs was gone. With his feet on the ground, he was back in control, even if that meant he had to face a seemingly unstoppable opponent with apparently no physical form into which he could put a bullet.

The soldiers of the two platoons weren’t keen to stay on the shuttle and the last of them were hurrying through the airlock as Vance entered the passenger bay - all except for Private Lostor and Private Josh, who’d been killed by the Raklivian moments before the transport’s departure. The two soldiers were propped in chairs at the rear of the bay, so drained of life their corpses were unable to stay upright. It was a sight which angered Vance greatly.

He turned away and headed for the airlock. The colder air from outside brought with it the odours of Lavorix age and decay, and Vance was happy he was alive to breathe it in. He stepped across the narrow gap separating the shuttle from the platform and when his combat boots were planted on solid alloy, relief washed through him. The journey on the transport had been a short one, but he hadn’t enjoyed it much. And now it was over.

“The Raklivian’s darkness is lessened here,” Tagra remarked, sniffing the air as if he thought he might catch a scent of the enemy.

“Not for long, I’m guessing,” said Vance. He had a map of the Demagaron on his HUD and walked towards the docking bay exit as he oriented himself with the location of the exium cage. “Fifteen hundred metres between us and our goal.”

Only a few paces from the door, Vance felt the Demagaron enter and exit lightspeed. He cursed the thumping in his head and turned to make sure the SRT hadn’t slowed anyone down. The soldiers were still on their feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vance said, smacking his palm onto the access panel.

The door opened onto a corridor which led left towards the centre of the Demagaron. Vance couldn’t be certain, but he thought the gloom was already gathering. Not wishing to find the Raklivian once more between him and his destination, he sprinted from the bay. The talk from his platoons was muted and they followed without a word being spoken on the open channel.

Everyone knew the stakes and nobody wanted this mission to fail.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As he ran, Vance contacted the bridge to find out if the transmitter on the Raklivian’s warship was disabled.

“I don’t have an answer for you, Captain,” said Becerra. She sounded stressed. “The Demagaron was taking too much damage, so Captain Flint activated an SRT before we were blown to pieces. Some of those Kilvar missiles landed on the embedded wreckage, but we don’t know if it’s stopped transmitting our position.”

“We’ll soon find out,” said Vance. “If the Kilvar follow us through the mode 3, the problem hasn’t gone away.”

He cut the channel quickly, to let Becerra get on with her duties. After that, he spoke to the other platoon leaders, who reported a noticeable lessening of the Raklivian’s darkness. Unfortunately, six other soldiers had died – four to the last death pulse and two had simply dropped down shortly afterwards. Vance ground his teeth together at the news.

“There’s no damn rhyme or reason,” he said on the officer channel. “Why are people whose veins are more Frenziol than blood dying like this?”

Not one of the platoon leaders had an answer, even though most of them had asked their company medics similar questions. What was happening on the Demagaron’s was outside of anything normal and Vance doubted there was even a single person in the alliance who could offer more than conjecture.

Nevertheless, he asked Corporal Hendrix, who’d likely seen more combat injuries than most other frontline medics in the alliance.

“I linked the med-box up to both Private Lostor and Private Josh after they died, sir,” she said. “The box collected some data, but nothing recognizable as a cause of death.” Hendrix paused for a moment, as if she were thinking. “Some of those readings are similar to those I used to obtain when somebody got killed by a Lavorix extractor.”

Vance’s fast pace had taken him to the first intersection after the shuttle bay and he turned left towards the Demagaron’s nose. This next corridor stretched on for a way and he squinted to gauge the level of the gloom. The warship’s lighting was clearly struggling, but Vance couldn’t begin to guess how close the Raklivian was to his position.

“Are the Raklivian’s death pulses killing us in the same way as the extractor killed us?” asked Vance, resuming his conversation with Corporal Hendrix.

“No, sir, I think the methods function differently. Obviously the end result is the same, so there’ve got to be similarities, I just haven’t been able to identify them yet.”

“Why are some of our soldiers living through one death pulse and dying to the next?” asked Vance. “Is the Raklivian adjusting to our innate resistance?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it, sir, but how much, I don’t know. The data from the med-box is almost identical across the different readings I’ve taken, so it’s either missing something entirely, or the changes are so subtle I’m not seeing them. Once we get back to base, there’ll be teams of people a lot brighter than me able to comb through the med-box’s arrays. I’m sure they’ll find something.”

Vance headed along the new corridor. He’d spotted that if he made a small diversion – a right-hand turn a hundred metres ahead - to one of the internal shuttles and stayed on that for a couple of stops, it would reduce the journey time by a minute or two.

“We need that something now, Corporal.”

“I know it, sir.”

“Death tech,” Vance spat. “What kind of asshole comes up with this crap?”

“The alien kind of asshole, sir.”

The conversation, albeit short and offering nothing Vance hadn’t heard before, nevertheless set him thinking. A tantalising morsel of an idea dangled in his mind’s periphery and he sought it out. The thought was elusive and it teased him with the possibility that it might be something of great significance.

On his way to the next turning, Vance contacted Lieutenant Becerra and asked her to order the internal shuttle to the place he was heading. In the few moments he was speaking to her, Vance learned that the Demagaron was heavily damaged, but that the Kilvar had not reappeared since the last SRT. It was an early, but hopeful sign, though ultimately it wouldn’t make a difference if the Raklivian remained uncaptured.

At the turning, Vance went right. A hundred metres farther, the passage ended at sealed double-doors and he covered the distance at a sprint. Vance touched the access panel to call the shuttle car, hoping Lieutenant Becerra had managed to send it to this stop. To his relief, she had him covered.

The doors opened and a look inside the shuttle car threw up no surprises – the interior lacked seating and was easily large enough to accommodate all of the soldiers. Windows offered a view in both directions along a tunnel which ran front-to-back through the Demagaron.

Vance stepped inside, waving for the soldiers to follow. He positioned himself at the inner panel and waited for the platoons to enter.

For a moment, Vance fixed his gaze along the tunnel leading towards his destination. The light that way was poor, though he couldn’t be sure if it was any worse than usual, even when he tried to judge it against what he saw through the window at the opposite end of the car. The environmental sensor in his suit told Vance the lights were identically bright, but he wasn’t convinced the tech could identify the Raklivian’s influence in the same way as the human or Daklan eye.

“Anyone got an idea what’s going to happen when we reach the cage?” asked Private Drawl.

“We’re going to throw the bait inside and then slam the door when the Raklivian goes to pick it up,” said Vance. As far as plans went, it was basic and full of holes, but he didn’t have a better one.

“I thought you said there wasn’t a door, Captain,” said Raimi.

“It was a figure of speech,” said Vance. “The bait should fit through the bars.”

“Do you reckon we’ll make it in time?” asked Enfield.

Vance levelled with the soldiers.

“Listen up,” he said. “We’ve been through plenty together and we’re still alive. I don’t know what we’re going to face when we make it to the cage. If you want to hear the truth, this time I’m winging it.”

“This time?” said Carrington. “Hell, Captain, we thought that’s what you always did!”

“Yeah, we stuck with you out of sympathy, sir,” said Private Janie Mack. “To give you a helping hand when you forget which end the bullet comes out of.”

“We’re a unit, sir,” said Drawl. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have answers, we’re still going to kick some ass.”

“We sure are,” said Vance, his chest tight with pride. The last of the soldiers entered the shuttle car. “Two stops and then we’re going to finish this mission.”

Drawl wasn’t done. “And when the Raklivian is in its prison, I’m going to pull down the pants of my combat suit and I’m going to treat it to the sight of my hairy ass.”

“As long as you give us advance warning,” said Steigers. “I wouldn’t want someone to mistake your ass for a new species of alien and put a few gauss slugs in it.”

“Enough now,” warned Vance. His hand was hovered over the control panel for the shuttle car, when his earpiece hummed with a new connection.

“Captain Vance, I’ve got some bad news for you,” said Lieutenant Becerra. “Have you been watching the status of the minigun defences?”

“Not since before the shuttle flight.”

“Those guns are shutting down, Captain. Follow the trail and the Raklivian is coming straight for you.”

“I anticipated we’d be its target, Lieutenant Becerra,” said Vance, linking once more to the network of countermeasures. On his HUD, he saw a ragged line of red dots leading directly from the first shuttle bay towards the bay in which he’d subsequently docked. That line veered midway along, clearly adjusting for Vance’s progress through the Demagaron.

The speed it was happening made him grind his teeth.

“We’re not going to be first to the cage,” said Vance, realising what Becerra had been telling him. His heart sank.

“No,” said Becerra simply. “There’s more bad news – the Kilvar attack didn’t take out the Raklivian’s transmitter. The enemy followed us through that last SRT. We’re ahead of them, but we’ve lost two of our SRT modules and the Demagaron’s energy shield generator has taken some damage.

It’s over.

The thought jumped into Vance’s mind, mocking his failure. He’d never been one to accept defeat and the looming promise of it only served to build his fury, until he felt as if he might tip over the edge of sanity and into whatever abyss lay waiting for the last vestiges of his humanity.

“Thank you for the update, Lieutenant. Nothing has changed – we’re heading for the prison.”

Becerra held the channel open for a moment, as if she had something else to say. Whatever it was, she didn’t speak and then Vance’s earpiece went quiet.

I’ll take the bait and run for it. No need for anyone else to die.

“Lieutenant Tagra, give me that bait,” said Vance, pointing at the pack his officer was carrying.

Tagra’s look of puzzlement would have been comical at any other time. He didn’t offer the pack. “Captain?”

“The Raklivian is going to beat us to the cage. Lieutenant Tagra, I’d like you to lead the rest of these soldiers elsewhere.”

The look of bewilderment deepened. “Negative, Captain. As Private Drawl said – we are a unit.”

Vance felt as if his insides were being ripped out, like he was betraying these soldiers at the same time as he was trying to save them. The conflict hit harder than any bullet and Vance felt his throat tightening. He hated the Kilvar and he hated the Raklivian for what it had forced him into.

Corporal Hendrix came to his aid.

“Sir, I’ve been thinking about the Raklivian’s death pulse,” she said. “I could be adding two and two and coming up with bullshit, but I think I’ve spotted a connection.”

“A connection with what?” asked Vance. He pushed Steigers and pointed towards the car exit. Steigers didn’t budge.

“The death pulse and the Lavorix extractors, sir. After the first death pulses hit, I spoke to a few of the soldiers and they all said they felt like shit. A few of us – the old crew – weren’t so badly affected. At first I thought it was a front, but now I think it’s something else.”

Vance was cleverer than he usually let on and his brain made the link. “We took a few extractor shots back in the Lavorix wars,” he said. “Maybe it helped our resistance as much as the Frenziol.”

“Or maybe the Frenziol allowed us to live long enough to build up that resistance, sir,” said Hendrix. “Maybe we’ll be able to survive proximity exposure to the enemy better than other people.”

It was something. Vance didn’t want to continue the mission alone. Even if the Raklivian didn’t have a body to fill with bullets, it was good to have backup.

“Lieutenant Tagra, this is no reflection on your ability,” said Vance. “You know who was under my command in the Lavorix wars. I’m taking them with me. It’ll hurt more if others die when I could have stopped it happening.”

Tagra made a low growling sound. “I do not like it, but I will obey.” He gave a sudden, wide smile. “I have thought of a way to use the time wisely.”

Vance nodded his understanding. “Maybe you should take Private Enfield with you.”

“That is a good idea, Captain Vance.”

“Private Enfield, you’re going with Lieutenant Tagra.” Vance met the soldier’s eyes and Enfield joined the others without complaint.

Holding out a hand, Vance watched as Tagra unslung his pack containing the bait. Then, Tagra spun on his heel and started calling out names and pointing at those who were coming with him. Sergeant Charnos joined in and together, the two officers got their soldiers moving in the right direction.

As soon as the last of them were out of the car, Vance exhaled, wondering if he was making the right choices. The bait pack was at his feet and he could feel the alienness of what was held inside. He raised his head and looked at the others – at the familiar faces from hard battles a dozen and more years ago; soldiers who had come through for him every time, and who would do so again.

“I hope you’re right about those extractors, Corporal Hendrix.” Vance smiled, to show he wasn’t going to lay any blame on her if she was wrong.

“Me too, sir.”

Another death pulse hit and it was as bad as the others. Tapping into depths of willpower he didn’t know he possessed, Vance remained still and didn’t allow his face to betray the agony he was feeling. He watched the others go through the same effort.

“Easy,” said Vance when the pain receded enough for him to talk normally.

“What was easy?” asked Carrington, her words light but her face drawn.

“Did I miss something?” asked Drawl, pretending to check fingernails he couldn’t see through the material of his combat suit.

“I do not understand why you are pretending there was no death pulse,” said Private Ipanvir.

“That’s because you’re a slow-witted Daklan,” said Drawl. “Maybe I’ll explain when you’re old enough to order a beer.”

Ipanvir was the best shot with a rocket tube Vance had ever seen and was definitely old enough to drink beer. The Daklan could have likely strangled Drawl with one hand, but they’d fought together too long for that ever to happen, and Ipanvir only laughed.

“We’re getting on with the mission,” said Vance.

With the death pulse gone, his body was strengthening by the second. Vance selected his destination and the doors of the shuttle car closed, leaving the other members of the platoons outside to go where Lieutenant Tagra would lead them.

A moment later, the shuttle accelerated along the transport tunnel and this time, Vance was certain the increased gloom ahead was real and not imagined. Pain lay in his future and he hoped he had it in him to survive.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The shuttle journey wasn’t long both in terms of distance and duration. As it passed, Vance watched the Demagaron’s internal monitors on his HUD. One-by-one, the miniguns went offline and he asked himself why the Raklivian even bothered, since he’d seen no indication it was vulnerable to any conventional method of attack. Neither had it brought other, weaker, Kilvar onto the Demagaron. Vance guessed there was a reason for the enemy’s behaviour, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

“Once we exit this shuttle, there’s a four-hundred-metre run to the exium cage,” said Vance on the open comms. “The Raklivian will get there first.”

“Except it isn’t going to stop and admire its own prison,” said Steigers. “That bastard will keep coming straight for us.”

“And we’ll have to get past it,” said Vance, painfully aware he’d been in this exact same position before he’d taken the transport outside and been almost incinerated by Kilvar missiles.

“There’s no way we can hide and no way we can avoid it,” said Drawl with unusual pragmatism.

“We’ve just got to live long enough to put the bait in the cage,” said Vance. “And hope the Raklivian can’t resist it.”

“We should take another shot of Frenziol, sir,” said Hendrix.

“Will it help?” asked Vance. These days he hardly felt anything more than a peculiar detachment from his body when he stacked the boosters.

“Truth is, I don’t know, sir.”

“Let’s do it,” said Vance.

Sighing inwardly, he pulled an injector from his pocket and jabbed it into his thigh. Discarding the empty, he stared back through the front window. The car was slowing and in a moment the transit would be over.

“Get ready,” he said, checking his gauss rifle and the bait pack were securely in place. In Vance’s hand, the Rodan offered little reassurance.

“Looks dark outside,” said Steigers.

“Nothing a plasma rocket won’t light up,” said Raimi.

The shuttle car stopped and the doors opened onto a narrow platform. Two doors on the opposite side of that platform opened automatically. Steigers was right about the darkness – it was oppressive, like dusk in a shadowy forest.

Vance’s feet didn’t want to move, but he forced them into action. Dashing across the platform, he exited the double doors and followed a short passage to an intersection. The new corridor was wider and with a higher ceiling and, according to the HUD map, it went most of the way to the exium cage.

“We’re starting our final run,” said Vance on the comms.

“Good luck, Captain,” said Becerra. She didn’t say anything about the situation on the bridge and her silence told Vance everything he needed to know.

The channel went dead and Vance got himself moving. He couldn’t see more than fifty metres ahead and he switched on his helmet flashlight briefly. All the beam served to do was add a diffuse glow that failed to provide illumination and also reduced visibility. It was the same as Lieutenant Anjix had told Vance earlier, but some things he needed to see for himself.

“This passage should end at an intersection,” he said on the comms. “We go left, right and then through a door to the prison room.”

A hundred metres from the shuttle car, the passage entered one of the Demagaron’s mess areas. The darkness was such that Vance couldn’t see the walls to either side, and many of the benches and tables were no more than dimly seen shapes.

“The Raklivian just shut down the final minigun on the far side of the prison room,” said Vance, with one eye on his HUD.

“So just to be clear – the plan is to keep running no matter what?” said Drawl.

“There is no plan, Private. I thought you knew that by now,” said Vance. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

He dashed through the mess room exit and by now the visibility was no more than twenty metres. The darkness was coming and he could sense its eagerness, as if the Raklivian was so powerful it could intrude into his mind.

Tentatively, Vance let himself absorb these alien emotions, in case they would teach him something about his opponent. He realised that emotions wasn’t an accurate term, though he didn’t have a more suitable word. The Raklivian craved life with an insatiable thirst that could never be slaked, and Vance was no more than a mote to be pursued and taken. If it was allowed the chance, this terrible creature would kill for an eternity without conscience or regret.

Vance also felt the weight of ages and he knew with certainty that the Raklivian had been born – or created – long before humanity had existed. That, more than anything, made him fearful this creature could not be defeated. It had survived for millennia and still it endured.

The thought that the universe could play host to such a being made Vance shiver deep inside. “We’re nothing to this asshole,” he said angrily.

“When was it ever different, sir?” asked Carrington.

Such was the heaviness of the gloom that Vance came to the intersection almost before he knew it. “Turning left,” he said on the comms, in case anyone was far enough behind that they didn’t see which way the others had gone.

Vance sprinted along the passage and his footsteps sounded muted. Within the confines of his helmet, his breathing was laboured and he could feel the sweat on his face and scalp. Glancing down, Vance noticed that even the Rodan in his hand was becoming harder to see, and the softly glowing ammunition readout was blurred like it was enveloped in mist.

The next turning was upon him and Vance almost collided with the wall. “Turning right,” he said, slowing long enough that he could look over his shoulder. He saw shapes behind, though they were so dim he couldn’t recognize a single face.

“Eighty metres to the prison room entrance,” Vance called out on the comms.

“Can’t see a damn thing,” said Steigers. The man’s voice was faint and distant, like it was an echo from aeons past.

Twisting his head again, Vance saw the shapes behind him were now no more than hints and barely sensed movement in the grasping darkness.

“The Raklivian,” he said. “It’s here.”

More than anything, Vance wanted to unload his shotgun into the darkness, but he knew the Rodan was useless. A death pulse hit him with vile energy and it tugged greedily at everything which made him alive. Invisible fingers grasped the blood vessels joining his heart and squeezed, while ice-cold talons slid easily into his brain and his guts.

Vance’s eyes were open, but so absolute was the darkness, he could see nothing at all. On the comms channel, he dimly heard cursing and requests for aid.

To Vance’s horror, the death pulse didn’t fade like the others. He knew why. This wasn’t a pulse, this was the Raklivian. It was everywhere around him, hungering for both his life and the bait he carried in the pack over his shoulder.

Step by stumbling step, Vance carried on. His sight was gone and such was the pain, he didn’t know if he was heading straight or if he’d somehow been turned completely about. The only anchor to reality was the HUD inside his visor and even that was no longer as sharp-etched clear as it had been before.

The same thought from before returned to Vance – this should have been his task alone. He’d allowed the others to accompany him, to share in his suffering, when this opponent couldn’t be overcome by numbers alone. The crashing wave of guilt flooded the sanctuary of Vance’s mind, inflicting as much agony upon him as the death aura itself.

“Stay back!” he yelled on the comms. “Let the enemy follow the bait.”

Vance had no idea if anyone heard, or if the soldiers would obey. The pain of the Raklivian’s death aura was growing and he recognized that the disconnect between his mind and his body brought about by the overdose of Frenziol was the only thing allowing him to remain sane, while the tempering of his body from repeated exposure to death tech was all that was keeping him alive.

Putting his arms in front like a blind man, he pressed on. His palms brushed against a solid wall or a door and Vance traced the path to a corner. Still he could see nothing and he felt around for the raised surface of the access panel. He couldn’t find it, even though he tried to orient himself with the assistance of his HUD. Vance guessed the Demagaron’s monitors were no longer tracking his position accurately and what his hands touched didn’t tally with what the HUD showed.

In desperation, he opened a channel to the bridge. “Lieutenant Becerra, open the door to the prison room.”

The channel was filled with static and if Becerra replied, Vance didn’t hear. He continued his hunt for the access panel and then felt the door slide open before him. Staggering through the opening, Vance caught his shoulder on the edge of the alloy frame and, since his balance was failing, the contact spun him halfway around.

Although the internal monitors were no longer precisely tracking Vance’s movements, they did give him an idea of which direction he was heading. After three or four steps, his HUD map indicated he was going the wrong way. Vance corrected himself and made a few extra steps towards the cage he couldn’t see. The pack he was carrying seemed a much greater burden than before, as if it were being pulled back and its weight increased all at the same time.

Vance stumbled again and felt his knees thud into the floor. He dimly guessed he’d fallen unconscious for a split second and now he was toppling forward. Putting out a hand, Vance landed clumsily and his entire weight came down on his extended fingers. He felt two of them snap with sharp clarity, though the pain which followed was remote.

“Shit,” he swore, using his other hand to push himself upright. His Rodan was gone, though he couldn’t remember dropping it. “The pack. Too much.”

Anger came. Usually it would have been enough to sustain him, but this time it seemed to belong to somebody else and Vance could draw no energy from it. He had a last Frenziol injector in his leg pocket, but he was sure that would kill him just as readily as the Raklivian.

Light blossomed ahead, intense enough to be seen through the death aura. Vance squinted towards it and saw the curved face of a dark sphere, outlined by the blast of a plasma rocket. Heat buffeted his suit, but Vance didn’t care. He had the direction he needed and he lurched on.

The explosion faded and Vance stumbled again. He was on the brink of death and each intake of breath was a struggle through the pain and the constriction of his chest. The pack was heavy. So damned heavy.

A figure appeared from out of nowhere. It was standing at a strange angle and it took Vance’s left arm in an iron grip. He felt another hand grab his right arm and suddenly Vance understood that he’d fallen once more, leaving him face down on the floor.

The two soldiers – one human and one Daklan - hauled him unceremoniously to his feet and together, the three of them staggered across the prison room floor. Vance tried to focus, but his mind was occupied by the Raklivian’s presence within his head. He didn’t know if he was alone in feeling the link or if the enemy had forced itself into the mind of every soldier. What Vance knew was that the Raklivian felt no fear that it might be denied. Maybe it had no capacity to care.

“Screw you,” said Vance, his voice weak and almost inaudible. He turned his head painfully to the soldier at his side. “Where’s the damn cage?”

“Nearly there, sir,” said a voice. It was Private Drawl.

Vance found the prison by walking into it. He mentally pictured the exium cage as he remembered it from the technical files Lieutenant Becerra had sent him. It was a huge, near-black sphere constructed of slender vertical and horizontal bars, with wide gaps between each. Reaching above his head, Vance’s fingers touched against one of those bars and when he waved his arm left and right, the side of his hand struck a second bar.

Put the bait in the cage and it’ll be done.

More than anything, Vance hoped it would be as easy as that. The Lavorix had built the prison without any experience of exium and they certainly hadn’t been able to test if it worked.

Vance dropped a shoulder and the pack handles slid down his arm. He fumbled for them and his broken fingers gripped the material. The pain of it was just another tiny facet amongst all the others.

“Do it, sir,” said Drawl.

“Damn right,” said Vance.

Calling upon energy he didn’t know he had left, Vance swung the pack in a circle, starting low and aiming for a gap between the bars. He felt it brush against the cage, but then it was through and he released his hold, allowing the bait to arc deeper into the prison sphere.

Feeling utterly drained, Vance slumped again and he felt the two soldiers drop with him to the floor. He closed his eyes, wishing more than anything for the pain to go away.

After a moment, the pain did go away. As if a switch had been flicked, it left his body, though his mind didn’t immediately dare accept that it had happened. Vance didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes, though he could tell there was light on the other side of his eyelids.

For a time, he lay where he’d fallen. He had duties to attend, but they would have to wait until he’d recovered enough to move. A single, overriding thought was in his head, blazing in the darkness of all he’d endured. The agony of the death aura was no more and that meant the Raklivian was trapped in the exium cage.

A hint of a smile crept upon Vance’s face.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Demagaron was in a bad way. Following the destruction of planet Reolar, the Kilvar had subjected the warship to a significant bombardment while its energy shield was depleted. Both of the XN1 cannons were disabled and, in several places, the armour plating had been penetrated. Elsewhere, several critical hardware modules were damaged, including the energy shield generator and the SRT units.

Given how much firepower the Demagaron had soaked, Flint knew he should be grateful the vessel was still – more or less – in one piece, but he couldn’t feel anything other than fury at the situation.

“Three minutes and the SRT module will be ready to fire again,” said Lieutenant Bolan, loudly above the roar of the Demagaron’s propulsion.

“We might not have another three minutes,” said Flint. He glanced at the velocity and shield gauges. One was reading eleven thousand kilometres per second and the other was at four percent. “What progress on the other two SRT modules, Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“I still can’t give you a time, sir. This is Lavorix hardware – a fix might not even be possible.”

“I’m having no luck with the energy shield either, sir,” said Lieutenant Copeland. “I’ve figured out how to divert some extra output from the Demagaron’s ternium modules, but it isn’t improving our recharge rate. I suspect one of the failsafes is limiting the flow through the conduits.”

Flint could have asked one of a dozen questions, but it wouldn’t have done any good and asking wouldn’t make Copeland work any faster. He kept his mouth shut.

“Here come the first Kilvar arrivals,” said Burner. “Fifteen total and they’re a hundred thousand klicks off our stern.”

Flint cursed the sight of them. For all the damage the Demagaron had suffered, the Raklivian’s warship was still transmitting. Something had changed, since it was now taking the Kilvar almost two minutes to follow using mode 3, but that wasn’t time enough to fire up the Demagaron’s main ternium drive for a transition into extended lightspeed.

More than anything, Flint and his crew needed a break from the pressure – to enact whatever repairs were possible and to allow the energy shield to recharge to one hundred percent at its reduced rate.

“Operational rear clusters, total twelve: launched,” said Maddox.

The missiles streaked off towards their targets. When the Kilvar eventually won this day – as seemed inevitable – Flint was sure they would reflect upon it as an engagement in which they got their asses comprehensively kicked. The thought wasn’t enough to bring a smile – the Kilvar would still be victorious.

The missiles detonated amongst the Kilvar warships, knocking out a half-dozen, which were promptly replaced by nine more emerging from lightspeed. Flint rotated the Demagaron, so that Maddox could target from the portside clusters. She didn’t delay.

“Operational portside clusters, total nine: launched.”

“How is Captain Vance getting on?” asked Flint. It surely didn’t matter if the man and his troops succeeded or not. Even if they got the Raklivian into the cage, it would be freed when the Demagaron was blown to pieces and Flint already knew the cold vacuum wasn’t going to kill it.

“He’s running for the prison room, sir,” said Becerra. “The Raklivian will be upon them before they reach it.”

“I’m not sure he can fight his way out of this one,” said Flint.

“There’s always a way, sir,” said Larson.

Flint nodded and tried to smile. “You’re right. There’s always a way.”

The first of the Kilvar energy beams lanced into the Demagaron’s shield. The gauge held at four percent, but it would soon drop.

“Our portside missiles have reached their targets,” said Maddox. “Five destroyed!”

“They Kilvar will have to build a few more spaceships after this,” said Burner. The forced lightness in his voice changed quickly. “Here comes the first of the big guns.”

“Ninety seconds on the SRT module,” said Fredericks.

The sight of the Kilvar capital ship, with its mismatched shapes and incomprehensible design, only served to increase Flint’s anger. “Be ready on the particle beam,” he said, completing his rotation of the Demagaron so that it was flying stern-first away from the enemy.

“Sir!” said Becerra. “Captain Vance is at the prison room! I’ve just opened the door for him.”

“I’m not sure anything he does will help our situation, Lieutenant. Unless he can trap the Raklivian and shut down the transmitter in the next two or three minutes. And we told him we’d handle the latter.”

“I know, sir, but—” Becerra fell quiet.

“Particle beam on target,” said Larson. “Firing.”

The thick line of energy stabbed into the distant Kilvar warship and when the beam cut out, Flint could clearly see the white-rimmed hole it had left in the enemy hull.

“That never gets old,” said Larson. “Thirty seconds on the beam recharge.”

“Nine more diamond ships have exited lightspeed,” said Garrett. “A few of them are clustered.”

“I get the hint, Lieutenant,” said Larson. “Depletion burst targeted and fired.”

The expulsive blast turned five of the Kilvar warships into powder, and Maddox sent missiles from the forward tubes after the others. Still the enemy didn’t give up. A second and third capital ship exited lightspeed and then came sixteen of the smaller ones.

Flint experienced despair as he watched it happen. A part of him – that part which still knew optimism – had secretly hoped the Kilvar were running out of spaceships in Berongar, or that maybe they would back off for a time to see if the Raklivian would kill the Demagaron’s crew.

No such luck.

Without warning, Flint felt a sudden lessening of the sickness which had pervaded the Demagaron. He sucked in air, astonished at how clean it felt and how quickly the dull, nagging ache in his body dissipated. The lights, which had been crushed by the Raklivian’s presence grew strong once more and he narrowed his eyes against the brightness.

“Captain Vance has done it,” said Flint, trying to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“I can’t reach him on the comms, sir,” said Becerra in concern.

“Keep trying,” said Flint. “I feel like a shit for saying it, but his work isn’t over.”

“I know, sir. I’ll try to get through to someone else from his platoon.”

“What about the monitors?” asked Flint. “You should be able to get a visual on those soldiers.”

“I’ll check them, sir.”

As interested as he was in the survival or otherwise of Captain Vance and the other soldiers, Flint couldn’t afford any more time talking about it. He gave his full attention to the controls and the external feeds. His tactical was becoming more crowded by the second and the Kilvar had shaken off their sensor blindness. The Demagaron’s shield gauge climbed to five percent and was immediately knocked back down to four percent by a series of particle beam strikes.

“Enemy missile launch detected,” said Larson. “Operational hull repeaters set to track and destroy.”

“Operational underside clusters, total eight: locked and fired,” said Maddox. “Keep turning us, sir.”

“Get ready on the starboards,” said Flint, rotating the Demagaron again.

A colossal blast of energy fired by one of the Kilvar capital ships struck the Demagaron’s energy shield. From the corner of his eye, Flint saw the reserve gauge flash red and he knew it had been reduced to zero. The Demagaron’s ballistic countermeasures poured into the darkness, creating hundreds of sharp tracer lines. One-by-one, the incoming missiles were smashed to pieces and the quantity of red dots on Flint’s tactical reduced.

Seven or eight of the Kilvar missiles got through and detonated in a line across the Demagaron’s topside, near the buckled and now-useless XN1 turret. Particle beams plunged at erratic intervals into the starboard armour, each one leaving an enormous patch of expanding heat.

Flint rotated the Demagaron again, to ensure the damage was spread evenly across the warship’s hull. In a moment, he would expose the portside flank again, and hope the Raklivian’s vessel would be completely destroyed. Unfortunately, that side of the Demagaron had suffered extensively and he didn’t know if it would hold up to another bombardment. Flint cursed the lack of options. Whatever he did, it was only delaying that last, fatal blow.

“Thirty-five seconds on the SRT module,” said Larson. From her expression, she hadn’t given up, but she knew the end was in sight. “I reckon we’ll live long enough to activate it.”

“And no more after that one,” said Flint.

Then came the break. Not just for Flint, but for everyone in the human-Daklan alliance.

“Sir!” yelled Becerra, on her feet and waving her hands to get Flint’s attention. “While Captain Vance was at the cage, Lieutenant Tagra led a platoon to the Raklivian’s warship.”

“They made it inside?” asked Flint, turning sharply in his seat.

“Yes, sir – the vessel’s hull didn’t survive its merging with the Demagaron intact. Its plating was ruptured and Lieutenant Tagra found a way through.”

“They’ve stopped the transmission?”

“No, sir,” said Becerra.

Flint’s hopes plummeted. “Then what?”

“Lieutenant Tagra judged that if he went exploring, we’d run out of time and the Demagaron would be destroyed. Instead, he ordered Sergeant Charnos to plug his comms pack into the first interface port they could find.”

“Lieutenant Fredericks, does the Demagaron have a purge routine we can inject?” asked Flint. He didn’t dare believe they had a chance to pull this round.

“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t looked.”

“Then look now, damnit!”

“I am, sir.”

“Search for something called a core override!” said Larson. “It’s what the Lavorix interrogators use to shut down enemy warships!”

“I’ve found the data files!” said Burner, quicker to the punch than Fredericks.

“Link to that comms pack and inject the override into the Kilvar warship!” said Larson, her voice rising in pitch.

“Core override transfer beginning,” said Burner. “It’s going to take a few seconds to complete.”

“Are the Kilvar warships vulnerable to this form of attack?” asked Flint.

“We’ll soon find out, sir,” said Larson. “Five seconds on the SRT module recharge.”

Another wave of Kilvar missiles exploded against the Demagaron’s armour. Viewed on the feeds, much of the warship’s exterior seemed to be ablaze, and pieces of alloy broke free in a nonstop rain of debris.

“Core override injection complete!” said Burner.

“SRT available!” yelled Larson a moment later.

“How long for the override to shut down the Raklivian’s transmissions?” asked Flint.

“Going from experience, it’ll happen quickly, sir,” said Burner.

Three or four hundred missiles were on their way and the Demagaron’s defences were gradually failing. Red particle beams stabbed again and again into the sea of fire engulfing the Lavorix warship.

With little choice other than to act, Flint chose a mode 3 destination as far from Berongar as the hardware would take them. He pressed the activation button and the Demagaron completed its in-out transition, exiting many billions of kilometres from its starting point.

“Lieutenant Fredericks – warm up the ternium drive. I don’t care where we go, just take us the hell away from here.”

“Yes, sir. Ternium drive warmup commenced.”

The background rumble of the propulsion was normally a comfort. Here, on the fringes of Berongar, it was a reminder of how close were the margins between victory and defeat. Flint’s eyes jumped from place to place and his hands fidgeted. If the Lavorix core override had worked, the Kilvar wouldn’t find the Demagaron in time. Otherwise, it was all over.

“One minute gone, two to go,” said Fredericks.

“Shield gauge at two percent,” said Copeland. “It’s still recharging slowly.”

“We won’t need the shield,” said Larson. She stared right at Flint. “Will we, sir?”

“Damn right we won’t,” said Flint tightly.

Silence returned, except for the noise generated by the warship’s engines.

“Coming up to two minutes, sir,” said Burner. “If the Kilvar are going to appear, it’ll be sometime soon.”

Flint didn’t say anything. His gaze had settled now, on the green progress bar for the ternium drive. That bar kept on climbing. Past seventy-five percent and then to eighty.

The Kilvar didn’t put in an appearance and the Demagaron’s ternium drive fired, sending the crippled warship into a high multiple of lightspeed. For once, Flint hardly noticed the pain of the transition and the moment the gauges on his console settled, he tipped back his head and stared at the ceiling.

It wasn’t his imagination. Each mission was tougher than the one before and he didn’t expect that to change when the next came rolling in like the tide. Berongar had tested him and his crew, and Flint was sure Captain Vance would have his own tales of hardship.

All he could do was hope that these hard-fought victories would have some positive effect on the war. The more he thought about it, the more Flint became convinced he was doing nothing more than spitting in the wind and the Kilvar ascendancy was going to happen, whatever he did.

Flint closed his eyes and wondered when it would end.

* * *

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Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

Survival Wars (Seven Books) – Available in eBook, Paperback and Audio.

Crimson Tempest

Bane of Worlds

Chains of Duty

Fires of Oblivion

Terminus Gate

Guns of the Valpian

Mission: Nemesis

Obsidiar Fleet (Six Books – set after the events in Survival Wars) – Available in eBook and Paperback.

Negation Force

Inferno Sphere

God Ship

Earth’s Fury

Suns of the Aranol

Mission: Eradicate

The Transcended (Seven Books – set after the events in Obsidiar Fleet) – Available in eBook, Paperback and Audio.

Augmented

Fleet Vanguard

Far Strike

Galaxy Bomb

Void Blade

Monolith

Mission: Destructor

Fire and Rust (Seven Books) – Available in eBook, Paperback and Audio.

Iron Dogs

Alien Firestorm

Havoc Squad

Death Skies

Refuge 9

Nullifier

Scum of the Universe

Anomalies (Two Books) – Available in eBook and Paperback.

Planet Wreckers

Assault Amplified

Savage Stars (Seven Books) – Available in eBook and Paperback

War from a Distant Sun

Fractured Horizons

Galactar

Fulcrum Gun

Laws of Ancidium

Empires in Ruin

Recker’s Chance