The God’s Reckoning

Forged Alliance Book 5

Anthony James

Contents

The Ancidium

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Isolation

Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

© 2021 Anthony James

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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

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The Ancidium

“Gateway hardware warming up. Eight minutes and we’ll be on our way,” said Lieutenant Stan Fredericks. “Let’s hope the Demagaron holds together.”

Captain William Flint’s fingers were locked around the warship’s control bars and he couldn’t wrench his gaze from the dozens of red and amber status lights on his console. The Demagaron was in a bad way and it was a wonder the vessel hadn’t broken up completely.

“Back to the Ancidium to drop off our cargo,” said Flint. A cough broke out from deep within his lungs and when it escaped, his ribs and back ached. “And then on to the closest medical facility.”

Flint was not alone in his suffering - the rest of the crew were in a bad way too, having been subjected to repeated death pulses from the Kilvar entity known as the Raklivian. That entity was now trapped within the bars of an exium cage in one of the spaceship’s bays, and that cage was also blocking the creature’s seeping aura of sickly energy.

Still, the damage was already done. Flint’s body had been ravaged and he was surprised it hadn’t simply shut down. The parallels between his survival and the continued operation of the Demagaron weren’t lost on him.

“Near and far scans are still clear,” said Lieutenant Adam Burner. His voice was croaky, like he had a thick wad of greasy phlegm wedged in his throat.

“The Kilvar won’t find us,” said Commander Jo Larson.

Flint glanced her way. Larson’s face was tired, but despite everything it remained, he thought, inexplicably perfect. Out of everyone, she’d been least affected by both the death aura and the continued stacked lightspeed transitions required to stay ahead of the enemy in the recent engagement at Berongar.

That engagement was twelve hours past, and already the edges of Flint’s memory were fraying, as if his mind wished only to forget. He’d committed everything to a report document not long after the Demagaron’s escape from the Kilvar. If his memory failed, the words in the report would serve as an eternal reminder.

Larson caught Flint looking and she attempted a smile in his direction.

“The Kilvar won’t find us,” Flint repeated. “And if they do, they’ll have to contend with our energy shield and particle beam.”

“An energy shield that won’t climb above thirty percent, sir,” said Fredericks loudly from behind.

“I’m trying to embrace the positives, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Do you think we’ll find the Ancidium at the end of this gateway, sir?” asked Lieutenant Amy Maddox. Her gravelly voice had become quieter and wheezy, and had developed a deathbed quality.

“There’s none of us wants to spend time waiting for the Lavorix to show up, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“But like always, we have no say in the matter,” said Maddox bitterly.

The Demagaron’s star charts – with their four hundred quadrillion entries – had been stripped of useful information by the Lavorix, but as soon as the Raklivian had entered the exium cage, a data unlock had been triggered. That unlock caused a single, faraway solar system to become highlighted. It was to this place which the Demagaron was heading. Flint was as angry as Maddox at being forced to dance to the Lavorix’s tune, but he was keeping a lid on it.

The gateway timer fell below five minutes and just thinking about what the activation would do to him was enough to make Flint close his eyes and tip back his head. Even had this been the right time to sleep, he knew it wouldn’t come – not with three doses of Frenziol-15 boosters still coursing through his system.

I can’t sleep and I can’t stand to be awake.

With an effort, he opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw was the projected sensor feeds in front of his command console. Many of the feeds were of dark emptiness, while others were aimed along the Demagaron’s hull - and those feeds spared none of the details. Huge sections of the warship’s armour were missing and the heat of the Kilvar missiles and particle beams hadn’t nearly dissipated. In other places, the external alloys were pitted and marked from other weapons the enemy had employed. Hardly any part of the twenty-two-thousand-metre hull had escaped intact.

“Nears and fars still clear,” said Lieutenant Rita Becerra.

Flint only nodded in response, aware she probably wasn’t looking his way.

Nobody spoke for a time, though the bridge was not quiet. The background note of the idling propulsion was a distant rumble, overlaid with the groanings of overstressed metal which hadn’t been present when Flint first boarded the vessel.

He itched to tap into the bottomless wells of ternium power that would send the Demagaron to a velocity unmatched by almost anything, but the gateway couldn’t properly target a destination from a spaceship in motion. Because of this, the Demagaron was stationary and the tension of possibilities was almost unbearable. The Lavorix were an unknown quantity, but the Ancidium represented safety of a kind, and Flint was desperate to feel that comfort – to find respite in a fortress the Kilvar couldn’t breach, where he could be rid of the Raklivian’s vile presence, hopefully for good.

“Two minutes and the gateway activates,” said Fredericks.

“Come on, come on,” said Larson, tapping a nervous rhythm on the arm of her seat.

“Not worried are you, Commander?” asked Flint.

“Not one bit, sir.”

The timer on Flint’s console fell second by second and, when it arrived at zero, the gateway hardware activated with a distant, almost imperceptible booming sound. A sphere of darkness appeared around the Demagaron and the wracking pains of the travel were every bit as bad as Flint’s imaginings.

Somehow, he held onto consciousness, as did the others of his crew. Nobody cursed, as if the fight had been beaten from them.

The moment Flint saw the sensor feeds resume – which was only a split-second after departure – he thrust the Demagaron’s control bars to the far ends of their guide slots. With undiminished vigour, the warship accelerated through the void, its propulsion turning from a roar to a howl. On Flint’s console, one of the amber status lights changed briefly to a red and then went back to amber. He didn’t relent and the spaceship’s velocity gauge climbed.

“Commencing near scans,” said Burner. He spoke loudly to be heard, yet his voice was dull and lifeless.

“I’ve got the fars,” said Becerra.

Flint had a sudden, unwanted thought. “Check the star charts for new unlocks,” he shouted. “This might be no more than a waypoint.”

“I don’t think I can take any more gateways,” said Lieutenant Wes Bolan.

“That makes all of us,” said Flint in full sympathy. He could hear it in Bolan’s voice that the man was close to breaking point. If another place – a next destination - lit up on the Demagaron’s star charts, the Lavorix could shove it up their asses. “We’re not spending any more time following breadcrumbs,” Flint promised. “Not without some recovery.”

“There are no new unlocks on the star charts,” said Garrett. “So we’re at the place we’re meant to be.”

“The Folar-D4 system,” said Maddox. “Wherever that is.”

“Nears done and clear,” said Burner. “I’m helping out on the fars.”

Soon, the fars were also done and with nothing to report. Flint drew the controls to their neutral position and let the Demagaron coast at eight thousand kilometres per second.

“One star, eight planets,” said Burner.

“Like you told me before I ordered the gateway warmup,” said Flint. “Anything of interest nearby?”

“We aimed for the fringes like you asked, sir,” said Burner. “We’re about four hundred million klicks from planet eight – the Lavorix random name generator assigned it the label GL93123-DW522.”

“The Folar-D4 star is at five-and-a-half billion klicks, sir,” said Becerra. “But you’re not interested in that.”

“Not really,” Flint confirmed. “If the Ancidium is in this solar system, it could be anywhere. Even the Lavorix can’t expect us to SRT from place to place until we come within handshake range. Audit the comms system – find out if the Demagaron has transmitted anything without our knowledge.”

“I’m checking right now, sir,” said Burner.

Flint’s experience of the Demagaron suggested that the Lavorix had installed plenty of mechanisms that would allow them to control or monitor the warship from afar, with or without his acceptance. It therefore seemed likely the aliens had a means to detect its arrival here in Folar-D4 and an automatic comms transmission was the most logical way for the Demagaron to alert the Ancidium.

Before Lieutenant Burner was able to complete his comms system audit, an incomprehensibly vast colossus of metal exited lightspeed less than two hundred kilometres off the Demagaron’s portside flank. Several of the functioning sensor arrays locked at once and brought the Ancidium into focus.

“Sir!” said Garrett.

“I see it,” said Flint.

The Lavorix capital ship remained absolutely stationary and Flint stared at it, the long moments stretching out. A single word sprung glowing into life on his central screen. He knew what it would say even before he looked.

Come.

So, here it was again. The Ancidium. Home to an entity which might be a god, or might be nothing more than a sophisticated computer program. Or neither. Whatever the truth, this spaceship was magnitudes greater in potency than the combined alliance fleet. Without assistance from the Lavorix, Flint knew the Kilvar would never be defeated, even were such a feat still possible.

What the Ancidium had in store for him and his crew, Flint couldn’t guess. He was sure he’d soon find out.

Chapter One

“Be ready,” said Flint.

As he spoke, the controls went dead in his hands and the Demagaron began accelerating under remote guidance. It banked towards the Ancidium and, directly ahead, a thirty-thousand-metre square of the huge vessel’s hull slid out of sight to reveal a passage through its armour.

“The Demagaron is coming home,” said Larson. “I wonder what the Lavorix intend for the Raklivian.”

“They’ll want that stolen life energy back, I’m sure,” said Flint. “Whether they have the means to recover it is another matter.”

“I can’t say I’m confident in the Lavorix’s abilities to keep the Raklivian locked up,” said Garrett. “Not after last time.”

“I’m sure they’ve learned from their mistakes,” said Fredericks. It wasn’t clear from his voice if he was being serious or not.

Seconds went by and the Demagaron approached the entrance tunnel at a steady velocity, only decelerating when the distance between the two vessels fell below ten kilometres. Flint kept his eyes glued to the forward arrays, though he didn’t expect to see anything of interest until he was within the innermost bay of the Ancidium.

“Here we go,” said Larson as the Demagaron entered the tunnel in the larger warship’s flank.

The inner door remained closed while the outer one slid shut. Thirty seconds went by and nothing happened. Flint didn’t know if the Lavorix had a sense of theatre which made them prone to dragging out the moment, but he wished they’d get on with it so he could return to the nearest alliance base for some medical attention and a Frenziol flush.

At last, the second door opened, revealing a continuation of the passage and a third door. The Demagaron was guided deeper into the Ancidium and another thirty-second delay followed, during which Flint gritted his teeth and told himself to learn some patience.

“Third door opening,” said Larson. “Get ready for another massive bay filled with alien warships.”

Larson was only half right. The bay on the far side of the third door was three hundred kilometres by a hundred, by seventy. Unlike the other bays Flint had seen within the Ancidium, there was no sign of construction. Parked in neat rows on the floor near the bay’s centre were hundreds of shuttles. Stacked at the far end of the bay were a few thousand massive ternium blocks, along with some plates of pre-cut alloy – not nearly enough to keep a shipyard running.

“This is the first sign the Lavorix aren’t at full capacity,” said Flint, as the Demagaron accelerated. “I wonder how many other empty bays they have.”

Flint didn’t know what he thought and he could have been reading too much into the presence of this single idle construction yard. The other bays he’d seen could have built enough warships to keep the Lavorix fighting a dozen minor wars as well as a couple of major ones.

His mental diversion didn’t last long, and when he drew himself fully back to the present, the Demagaron began slowing. At the exact centre of the bay, the spaceship was brought to a halt.

Anticipating his hosts, Flint watched his console. He wasn’t left waiting.

Come.

There it was, that same word as before, as if the Lavorix had nothing else in their vocabulary. Staring at the screen, Flint felt a rush of anger. After everything he and his crew had endured, it was easy for his brain to imagine the brevity as an insult. He clenched his jaw and sucked cold air through his teeth.

“Seems like I’m invited elsewhere,” said Flint. When he rose from his seat, his joints cracked like he’d gained sixty years on this mission.

“What about the rest of us?” asked Larson. “Are we expected to sit here on a spaceship that might break into pieces at any moment? Or may be taken elsewhere for repairs with all of us still onboard?”

“You’re right, Commander,” said Flint. He turned. “Lieutenant Becerra, speak with Captain Vance. We’re heading for the nearest shuttle. All of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant Burner, scan this bay and find somewhere we can set a shuttle down.”

“I’ve already located a place, sir.”

“In that case, we’re ready to go.”

“Are we taking our guns, sir?” asked Bolan.

“You know the answer to that, Lieutenant. Bring everything that’s ours,” said Flint. “We won’t be coming back,” he added, with a feeling of great certainty. Even if the Lavorix did repair the Demagaron, his time with the spaceship was done.

“You said we’re bringing everything, sir,” said Becerra. “Does that include our dead? Captain Vance would like to know.”

Flint swore to disguise the fact that he was wavering between a yes and a no. “Everything means everything,” he said after a moment. “If we have to stay on the Demagaron a few minutes longer to get those bodies off, then so be it.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the order given, Flint’s crew didn’t hang around and their eagerness to depart was palpable. He couldn’t blame them – the Demagaron had become associated with pain, suffering and death. The comparative unknowns of the Ancidium seemed far more welcoming in comparison.

Carrying his Rodan shotgun in one hand and with his gauss rifle in its retaining clip on his back, Flint headed for the bridge exit. As he departed – for the last time – he felt no regret except for those who’d died. The Demagaron had overcome odds that would have been impossible for a lesser warship, yet he felt no love for it. The Denier had been constructed specifically to wipe out life on a planetary scale and anything built with such a terrible purpose could never command an emotional attachment.

Descending the steps outside the bridge’s protective blast door, Flint hurried across the command and control areas below. Captain Vance was waiting, along with Lieutenant Tagra and a few other soldiers of his company.

“I’ve sent everyone else ahead to shuttle bay 4, sir,” said Vance.

“Thank you for the escort, Captain,” said Flint. He looked through the other man’s visor and wondered if Vance appeared just a little older than before and a little less self-assured. The Raklivian had taken something from everyone. “How are the fingers?”

“They hurt like hell, sir,” said Vance. He released his grip on his shotgun and extended his broken fingers once. “Corporal Hendrix tells me I should take some painkillers.”

Flint nodded at the unspoken words. My body is too full of crap to give it anything else to deal with. “Our first destination after we leave the Ancidium is the nearest alliance medical facility. They’ll force-heal that hand in twenty minutes.”

“We should get moving, sir,” said Vance.

He waited for Flint’s confirmation and then turned towards the exit, followed by Lieutenant Tagra and Private Ken Raimi. The other soldiers let Flint and the rest of the Demagaron’s crew follow and then they fell in behind.

“We’ll take the internal car down to the launch bay, sir,” said Vance. “I’m sure you remember the way.”

“Lead on, Captain,” said Flint. One of the annihilator Determinant’s shuttles – which had brought the soldiers to the Demagaron in the first place – was in bay 4, and Flint was keen to be onboard. “It’ll be good to be piloting alliance technology again,” he said.

“Anything’s better than this bucket of bolts,” said Private Eric Drawl. “Even a low-powered tin box like that shuttle.”

“You’re alive because of this bucket of bolts,” Lieutenant Fredericks reminded him. “And maybe everyone in the alliance is too.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like the spaceship, sir,” said Drawl.

Fredericks admitted defeat. “I guess you’re saying what most of us are thinking.”

“It’s a talent I have, sir.”

“The only talent you have is for bullshit, Drawl,” Private Ossie Carrington remarked. “And maybe throwing grenades.”

For once, Flint wasn’t in the mood for listening to the soldiers exchanging wisecracks and he tuned out. A short distance from the command and control areas, the group arrived at the entrance to the interior shuttle car. The car arrived in moments and everyone went inside.

Positioning himself where he could see out of the front window, Flint leaned against the wall. Here, the scents of staleness and age were stronger than he remembered them on the bridge and he wrinkled his nose. Not long from now, Flint was sure he’d find out what the Lavorix had planned for him and his crew, and he had a growing suspicion it wouldn’t be a handshake and thanks for a job well done, followed by provision of a spaceship and directions to friendly territory.

No – the Ancidium’s sphere entity had sunk its teeth in and tasted sweet blood. If things ended up being straightforward, Flint would eat his combat helmet. Not that he planned to accept what was coming. If the Lavorix expected him to happily open his mouth when they offered him a spoonful of whatever shit they’d concocted, they were going to be in for a surprise.

None of these thoughts did Flint confide in his crew. He was sure Larson had a good idea of which way the wind was likely to blow, and none of the other officers were lacking in perception. They were probably keeping their mouths shut in the hope that everything would turn out nicely. Sometimes speaking ill brought the mountain crashing down.

The shuttle car accelerated smoothly along its tunnel and soon it came to a stop.

“Let’s go,” said Vance, indicating to his squad they should get their asses in gear.

The group exited the car and followed a short passage. Doors at the end of the passage opened into a square room. A short distance farther, along another corridor, more doors gave entry to shuttle bay 4. It was cold – below freezing – and the atmospheric composition was only just breathable, suggesting the Kilvar bombardment had opened a leak somewhere that the life support system was unable to compensate for.

Not only that, the lighting alternated irregularly between dim and bright in a way that reinforced Flint’s feeling that the Demagaron genuinely was on the brink of total failure and it would only be a matter of time before more of the critical systems went offline.

Sergeant Charnos, along with a squad of Daklan, was on guard outside the shuttle’s flank door. Even from the bay entrance, Flint could see the gleaming green eyes of the aliens as they looked towards the new arrivals.

“Inside,” said Vance on the comms.

Without hesitation, Charnos and his squad disappeared into the shuttle. A few moments later, Flint arrived and stepped across the six-inch gap separating the docking platform and the transport.

Hurrying through the airlock and into the main passenger bay, Flint discovered it was crowded, though not full. The scents of Lavorix were replaced by those of polymers, gauss coils, replicated fast foods, and coffee. It was a heady mix and Flint inhaled deeply, like a reformed smoker drawing on his first cigarette in a decade.

Steps led up through the forward bulkhead and Flint headed that way. The soldiers were clearly agitated, a fact which was obvious even if many were slumped exhausted in their seats. Hardly anyone talked and the usual crowds at the replicator weren’t saying much. Everyone just wanted to get the hell away from the Demagaron.

Flint paused to look for the bodies of those who’d died to the death pulses. If they were on the shuttle, they weren’t in this bay, though a secondary bay was located aft.

“Commander Larson, Lieutenant Burner, come with me,” said Flint. “Everyone else, make yourselves comfortable down here.”

Climbing rapidly, Flint couldn’t ignore the complaining of his muscles. Since escaping from Berongar, he’d tried hard to convince himself the Raklivian’s death pulses hadn’t done him a lasting harm and that all he needed was medical attention and some downtime. With each passing hour during which the pain didn’t recede, he became increasingly worried that his body was, if not broken, then something close to it.

The cockpit was welcoming and familiar and Flint dropped into the central seat.

“Lieutenant Burner, you’re on sensors,” he said. “That leaves you with the weapons, Commander Larson.”

“We’re not going to punch our way through the Ancidium’s bay wall with this shuttle’s nose gun,” said Larson. “I won’t be much use.”

“Maybe I just like your company. Lieutenant Burner, please confirm that everyone and everything from the Demagaron is now on this shuttle.”

“I can confirm that’s the case, sir,” said Burner after a few seconds. “We’re ready to depart.”

Flint’s hand hesitated on its way to his console as he briefly wondered if the auto launch routines would function now that the Ancidium was in control. He poked the launch button and was relieved when he received an acknowledgement from the Demagaron’s flight control computer.

“Here we go,” he said.

The shuttle was docked nose-first and Flint watched the rear feeds. Immense doors in the warship’s armour opened, with no sign of stress or imminent failure. At once, the shuttle accelerated through the open doors. A second set of doors blocked the passage but these too opened and after them a third pair did likewise. Then, the transport was cast out into the Ancidium’s bay.

When the Demagaron’s flight controller relinquished control, Flint was ready. He piloted the shuttle stern-first away from the much larger vessel, while Lieutenant Burner adjusted the sensors.

“Wow,” said Larson. “That warship sure took a beating.”

The results of the Kilvar attacks were even more dramatic viewed from a five-kilometre distance and Flint could only shake his head at the sight. Dozens of missile detonations had torn enormous holes in the Demagaron’s armour, and a multitude of particle beam strikes had deformed the alloys, which had then hardened into what resembled immense grey lava flows.

“Come on,” said Flint. For some reason he didn’t want to look any longer. Whatever he felt about the Demagaron, it was painful to see what had become of it. He banked the shuttle away and set a course for the location Burner had identified as a place to set down. “Let’s go and collect our medals from the Lavorix.”

“Jo Larson, saviour of the universe,” said Larson. “That has a nice sound to it.”

“Adam Burner, vanquisher of scumbags,” said Burner.

“And heroic drinker of coffee,” added Larson. She laughed and Flint thought it was the first time any of them had done so since Berongar.

Flint didn’t add anything to their imaginings, and he guided the shuttle towards the forward bay wall. It was dark, but the sensors pierced it well enough that he could see the landing platform jutting out.

“There goes the Demagaron,” said Burner. “Whoa, look at that.”

The huge warship rotated and then accelerated at an incredible rate towards the rear bulkhead. Watching it happen from the shuttle was a reminder of exactly how rapid a spaceship could be – something it was easy to forget ensconced on the bridge and cushioned by the life support modules.

An opening appeared in the bulkhead and the Demagaron raced into the linking tunnel. As soon as the vessel was inside, the door closed immediately.

“And it’s gone,” said Larson. She exhaled. “I’m glad to be alive, but I’m still glad to see the back of that spaceship.”

Flint nodded his agreement. The Demagaron – a short but significant chapter in his life – was back in Lavorix hands and there it could stay.

A sudden impatience prompted Flint to increase the shuttle’s velocity, and its engines grumbled louder than before. The transport came fast to the landing place and he rotated the vessel in order that he could set down parallel to the bay wall. Slowing at the last moment, he landed gently.

“Time to find out what fate, the universe, and a bunch of aliens have in store for us,” said Burner.

First down the steps, Flint entered the passenger bay where he discovered Captain Vance and a couple of squads had filled the airlock.

“We can make room if you want, but you should let us exit first, sir,” said Vance.

“Go ahead,” said Flint.

Once the soldiers had exited onto the platform, Flint, his crew and a few other soldiers entered the airlock. Less than a minute later, he entered the freezing vacuum of the bay. Torch beams skated across grey and half a dozen of the soldiers were gathered around a section of the wall about thirty metres away.

“I expect you’re looking for a door, sir,” said Vance. “There’s one over here.”

Flint didn’t think he had the energy to run, but he tried anyway. Once his legs got moving, he discovered he hadn’t lost the knack.

Vance gave a half smile when Flint arrived at the door. “That exium cage was meant to block the death aura. I reckon some of it was slipping through the bars anyway.”

“And now we’re away from the Demagaron, it’s gone,” said Flint. He hadn’t noticed it while he was in the shuttle cockpit, but when he flexed his shoulders and arms, the pain was noticeably less than it had been. Not gone, but it was a start.

“Want me to knock, sir?” asked Private Faye Raven. “I can’t find a doorbell.”

“The Lavorix know we’re here,” said Flint.

He stepped closer to the door, which was hardly distinguishable from the surrounding wall, particularly in the torchlight. As he’d guessed it would, the door slid open to reveal a passage.

A lone figure stood waiting less than five metres away. This wasn’t Xak-Uz-Tanr, the Ancidium’s Second. This was a human.

Fleet Admiral Recker was dressed in a combat suit and his helmet was held at his side. He didn’t move and nor did he smile. “Captain Flint, Captain Vance and everyone with you. Welcome back to the Ancidium.”

Flint studied the other man’s face, hoping to glean a sense of what was to come. Recker was inscrutable.

Even less sure than before about what his future held, Flint entered the passage.

Chapter Two

“I’d like to say it’s a surprise to see you here, sir,” said Flint, falling into step with Recker. The scent of age was cloying and musty, and stronger than it had been on the Demagaron.

The other personnel entered the passage and kept pace. The corridor was long and anonymous, like all the others Flint had seen on the Ancidium. He spotted a couple of doors ahead and an intersection.

“I never liked surprises myself,” said Recker. “You brought the Raklivian with you.”

“Yes, sir. Can the Lavorix keep it secure this time?” Flint asked, making an educated guess as the reason for Recker being here on the Ancidium.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Have you—” Flint stopped himself short.

“Have I received any assurances?” Recker laughed, though he didn’t sound amused. “Nothing worth a damn. And it’s not because the Lavorix don’t care.”

“Maybe they could connect a thick cable to that Raklivian bastard and use all the life energy it’s holding to power the Ancidium’s replicators,” said Private Drawl, with the lack of care of a man who knew exactly how to walk the line.

This time, Recker’s laugh was genuine. “Maybe we could put you in that cage, Private, and you can tell the creature some of your stories.”

“I’ve got plenty saved up, sir.”

“Keep them to yourself for the moment,” said Recker, not unkindly, but giving a clear signal it was time for Drawl to shut his mouth.

“Yes, sir.”

Recker turned once more to Flint. “I’m sure you’ve got questions.”

“Yes, sir, I have,” said Flint. He fell momentarily quiet. “I guess my first question is why are you inviting me to ask the questions?”

“I know enough about where you’ve been,” said Recker. “I don’t have the details – I’m sure those are in your report, or in your head if you haven’t had time to write one – but you’ve brought the Raklivian back with you and that means your mission was a success.”

“In that case, I’d like to know when we’ll be able to visit a medical team, sir. Not just me – everyone who was on the Demagaron. If you want us ready for another mission—”

“No need to make excuses for asking, Captain Flint. I’d prefer you alive than dead.” Recker thumbed over his shoulder. “And believe it or not I’m quite fond of these scoundrels. You’ll receive proper medical attention and soon.” Once again, Recker laughed. “You look like shit.”

“I feel ten times worse, sir,” said Flint truthfully. “And before we left the Demagaron, I felt ten times worse than I do now.”

Recker looked across as if this time he was really seeing. “It’s been rough.”

“Yes, sir. The hardest yet.”

“I wish I could say your duty is done.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, sir.”

“Some of us are never free,” said Recker.

“What happens next?” asked Flint.

“Do you mean for you and your crew, or the alliance as a whole?”

“Both, sir.”

“That remains to be seen.” Recker tightened his lips, as if to stop a particularly unpleasant truth escaping. “You’ve heard of the normality aberration?”

“Yes, sir. It’s where we gather data on every known and guessed eventuality, and stir them together to predict a likelihood of an approaching calamity.”

“That’s a good enough summary,” said Recker. The intersection was just ahead and he pointed left to indicate the way. “In the days leading up to the Kilvar’s first arrival at Basalt, the normality aberration started climbing. After those dead-faced bastards put in their appearance, the numbers returned to normal again.”

“Because the bad thing had already happened,” said Flint. He headed left into another empty passage. More doors, more intersections.

“Yes – because the Kilvar had found the alliance.”

“And now the normality aberration is increasing?”

“At a greater rate than last time.”

“Have our analysis teams identified the cause?”

“No.”

“Have you told the Lavorix about the increase?”

“It’s the main reason I’m here.”

Flint considered his next question. The normality aberration was a hard enough concept to grasp, even though it was a creation of his own species. “What did the Lavorix make of it?”

“I don’t know. They’re hard to read - I spoke to Prototype-91Z less than an hour before your return. What happens next is anyone’s guess.”

“Prototype-91Z?” asked Flint in confusion.

“The Ancidium’s First,” said Recker. “I imagine the name is a rough translation.”

“I thought Xak-Uz-Tanr—”

“He’s the Ancidium’s Second.”

“I knew that - I assumed the sphere entity was primary.”

“Whatever is in that sphere, it doesn’t have a rank. At least not one I’ve been told,” said Recker.

Flint’s mind spun as he considered the possibilities. He arrived at the logical conclusion. “If the Lavorix were created, then Prototype-91Z must be the first successful version.”

“Or the first one the creator was fully content with – a being capable of commanding the Ancidium.”

“Does the Ancidium predate the Lavorix, or were they created in tandem?” asked Flint. He felt momentarily giddy at the hinted revelations. “And if Prototype-91Z was the first—”

“Then it seems likely he’s many centuries old,” Recker finished. “We’re going to meet him.”

“Are we planning a formal alliance with the Lavorix, sir?” asked Flint.

“No,” said Recker. He looked over his shoulder in a peculiarly furtive manner. “Maybe. But I can’t imagine that any agreement will last. The alliance and Lavorix goals are aligned for the moment. What happens after the Kilvar is not so certain.”

“We’ll be talking war,” said Flint.

“What else is there?” asked Recker. He raised a hand and indicated right. “This way and it’s not far.”

“The normality aberration.” Flint hesitated. “What are your feelings about it, sir?”

“It’d be easy to say the Kilvar are on the brink of locating Earth or Terrani,” said Recker.

“It’s more than that,” said Flint. “Like you said, our war with the Kilvar has already begun, so their discovery of another planet wouldn’t be anything more than a continuation of a disaster which has already happened.”

“It’s the ascendancy,” said Recker, no trace of doubt in his voice. “It’s coming, and I have no idea how or when, or if we can prevent it.”

“The Lavorix believe it’s inevitable.”

“And yet they still fight.”

“As do we.”

Recker stopped abruptly, adjacent to wide double doors. “Here,” he said.

“Another transportation room?” asked Flint.

Without answering, Recker pressed his palm flat against an unmarked section of the wall. After a moment’s delay, the doors opened. Flint peered inside a large cylindrical room, with a high ceiling and no other doors.

“Looks more like an airlift,” he said.

“Come,” said Recker, in an unknowing echo of the Ancidium’s earlier command.

The airlift – if that’s what it was – could accommodate everyone from the Demagaron, albeit without much to spare, and Flint found himself a space to one side of the opening. A quiet humming from all around was the only indication of technology. Soon, his crew and everyone else was inside, the Daklan looming tall above the humans.

Recker was on the opposite side of the doors, so Flint couldn’t see the other man activate the lift. The doors closed and Flint sensed acceleration, though there was no accompanying sound, bar the faint humming he’d noticed earlier. Given the size of the Ancidium, the journey might be hundreds of kilometres, though he didn’t expect it to take long.

“Are we heading to the sphere room, sir?” asked Flint.

“No,” said Recker. “I still haven’t seen the place.”

Having been invited to ask questions not so long ago, Flint was unsure why the answers had dried up. Maybe he wasn’t asking the right things, or maybe Recker had decided it was best to keep comms talk to a minimum. Once again, Flint asked himself how much trust existed between the alliance and the Lavorix. He couldn’t see any sign it was growing stronger, despite recent battles and successes against the Kilvar.

“Here we are,” said Recker, when the lift doors opened.

The airlift’s occupants spilled out into a much larger, circular room. Consoles in different shapes and sizes ringed a central pillar, this pillar having a twenty-metre diameter and being near-black in colour. Lavorix wearing spacesuits of fine links sat at these consoles, hardly moving, and their pale eyes stared unblinking at the screens before them.

As soon as he exited the lift, Flint noticed a pressure in the air, even through the layers of his suit, and a low droning noise exacerbated the throbbing pain in his head.

“Captain Vance,” said Recker on the comms. “Beyond that door over there on the left, you’ll find a passage leading to a mess room. I can’t vouch for the quality of the food, but I’m sure you know a few brave souls willing to act as guinea pigs.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure I do,” said Vance. “You’re heading elsewhere?”

“Captain Flint and I have a meeting with the Lavorix commanding officer,” said Recker. “It’ll take as long as it takes.”

Flint had anticipated he’d be hauled off to a meeting, a discussion or a debriefing, but hearing it confirmed brought disappointment. Although his physical aches and pains had improved since leaving the Demagaron, he didn’t feel anything resembling normal. His hopes that the alliance had a medical team waiting to give treatment to him and everyone else - before business resumed - were now well and truly dashed. Recker had said the medical attention would come soon, which it appeared was a word open to interpretation.

“We’re taking this next exit,” said Recker, pointing to a door partly visible beyond the central pillar. He set off around the room’s perimeter.

Hurrying after, Flint looked at the Lavorix consoles as he went by. The personnel didn’t speak to each other except for the occasional whispered word or comment, which the language module in his helmet didn’t clearly interpret. Casting his mind back, Flint remembered that Captain Vance had captured Xak-Uz-Tanr in a room like this one, when the Ancidium was trapped in stasis at Evia.

“How many others are meeting with Prototype-91Z, sir?” asked Flint.

“On this occasion, it’s just you and me, Captain. I’m here on the Vanquisher battleship and I have an escort. If necessary, I can call upon anyone I might need.”

“Why are the Lavorix so interested in me, sir?”

“You know the answer to that one,” said Recker mildly. “And before you ask, no we didn’t give them a list of our personnel with the highest expectancy deltas. The Lavorix – or more likely whatever exists within that sphere – have identified something within you, Captain Flint.”

Recker stopped in front of the exit door, which opened without interaction. Another corridor was revealed and he strode from the room at an increased pace.

“They’re using me,” said Flint. Keeping up would have usually been easy, but the death pulses and everything else made even this modest effort painful.

“We’re all being—” Recker glanced towards Flint and gave him a half-smile. “Let’s not talk about this right now.”

About fifty metres along the corridor, Recker stopped again, in front of another door. Having resigned himself to an extended tour of the Ancidium, Flint had to bring himself up short.

“In here,” said Recker.

The door opened. A ten-metre passage led to a second door and that one opened too. Beyond, was a five-metre-square room, seemingly empty.

“Here?” Flint asked, feeling like he was missing something obvious.

Recker didn’t answer and simply pointed at the opposite wall. As if by magic – or perhaps by employment of advanced technology – a three-by-two metre section of the wall illuminated so brightly that Flint narrowed his eyes, and his visor darkened in response.

At first, he thought he was looking at a static image. A single Lavorix, dressed in grey and with the same pale skin and eyes, sharp teeth and six limbs of every other one of his species, stood motionless against a backdrop of grey. Nothing else was visible and Flint wondered at the life these aliens led – a life with no beauty and no joy, only endless, savage war, murder and death.

“We will speak,” said Prototype-91Z. His voice was distant and whispering, yet his skin was no more lined or blemished than that of any other Lavorix.

“I’m listening,” said Recker.

Before the Lavorix First could utter anything further, a realisation jumped into Flint’s head with the breath-taking sharpness and clarity of an ice-bladed knife plunging deep into his brain.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt what had caused the normality aberration to climb and, worst of all, with the Lavorix listening, he didn’t dare say it out loud.

Chapter Three

“We have discovered the reason for the change in your normality aberration,” said Prototype-91Z.

Flint blinked, already wondering if he’d guessed wrongly. He kept quiet and waited for Recker to speak.

“Please tell,” said Recker.

“We know of a species, of which your alliance has been – until now - ignorant,” said Prototype-91Z. “A species which is densely populated on its single world. A species which has not yet, and may never, master space flight. They name themselves Aterne.”

Hearing the words made Flint shiver. The Aterne were at serious risk of extinction.

“Who discovered this species?” asked Recker. “The Lavorix or the Kilvar?”

“We Lavorix have been aware of the Aterne for some time.”

Recker wasn’t renowned for his diplomacy. “That doesn’t answer the question.” He took in a breath. “Do the Kilvar also know of the Aterne?”

“In a way.”

“I don’t understand,” said Recker flatly. “Please explain.”

“The Kilvar find life - it is what they do. They have the scent and they will follow it to the source.”

“And is the Aterne species numerous enough to allow the Kilvar to complete their ascendancy?” asked Recker.

“Our estimates suggest the probability is high.”

Once more, Flint experienced giddiness. The lives of billions of sentient creatures hung in the balance, all because of a shitty war that nobody apart from the Kilvar wanted. Alongside that was another thought - if the Aterne were so numerous and yet their life energy was only possibly enough to enable the Kilvar ascendancy, the Raklivian must have stolen a vast amount from the Ancidium’s batteries in order to guarantee the enemy’s advancement to godhood.

Furthermore, something made Flint believe the Raklivian didn’t loot any more than the tiniest fraction of the Lavorix ship’s reserves. Thinking about it made his skin tighten and his heartrate climbed. It seemed to Flint this really was a terrible universe for the living.

“The Kilvar haven’t yet attacked the Aterne,” said Flint, making it a statement not a question.

“Not yet,” Prototype-91Z agreed. “It will happen soon.”

Flint didn’t want to follow the conversation to its conclusion, but he had no choice. “Can the Aterne be saved?”

The answer was not quite what he expected. “Perhaps,” said Protoype-91Z. “A fleet of high-capacity interstellars could evacuate enough of the Aterne and reduce the life energy available to the Kilvar.”

“The alliance fleet has six operational interstellars,” said Recker. “However, five of those are part-loaded with passengers from the Basalt evacuation and disembarkation will take time. It would not be wise to mix human and Daklan with this new species – not until we have studied the potential consequences of virus and bacterial transfer. Aside from those operational vessels, we have four more hulls being fitted out and they’ll be completed within six months.”

“The Aterne do not have six months,” said the Lavorix.

“How do you know?” asked Recker.

“We have experience of the Kilvar, human.”

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Flint coldly.

“Options are limited. We could defeat the initial attack on the Aterne, but once the Kilvar have the taste of life, they will not stop. Eventually, they would get what they desire.”

“And what other options are there?” asked Flint. He needed to hear it said.

“Life extraction of the Aterne world would deny the Kilvar that which they crave. It would also replenish the Ancidium’s life batteries, enabling us – the Lavorix - to continue our mission.”

Flint hadn’t been in the meeting room long, but he’d heard enough. No matter how much he reminded himself that the Lavorix had been created for a single purpose, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the way in which they pursued this war against the Kilvar.

What if the Lavorix are misled? he thought. What if the Kilvar ascendancy will be of little consequence to the universe?

It was another unknown amongst hundreds of others, though deep inside Flint was certain that a Kilvar god would be far worse than the creatures which had spawned it. When he followed that train of thought, he was forced to confront the question of whether endless death and murder was justifiable if it meant the Kilvar did not succeed. Thinking about it made Flint distinctly uncomfortable and he drew himself quickly back into the present.

“What method do you favour, Prototype-91Z?” asked Recker, his voice neutral.

“Extraction offers the only guarantee,” said the Lavorix.

“The alliance won’t play any part in it,” said Recker. “Mass murder is not an option.”

Prototype-91Z’s expression didn’t change. “You would gamble the lives of everyone in your alliance for a species you might never meet?”

“I—” Recker swore, gritted his teeth and then swore again. “I could not make that decision alone.”

Principles are easy when they’re cheap, thought Flint. Fleet Admiral Recker’s duty is to the alliance and nobody else. I don’t envy him his position, or the burden he’ll be left to carry.

A bleeping sound drew Recker’s attention to his leg pocket and he withdrew a communicator. He flipped it open with his thumb, read some text on the screen and then tucked the device away.

“My teams are chain-running the normality aberration report,” he said. “The probability of an aberration has surpassed ten percent.”

“I will not delay a decision on the Aterne,” said Prototype-91Z. “The Lavorix will not countenance an outcome which will inevitably lead to a Kilvar ascendancy.”

Flint watched Recker from the corner of his eye. This was the moment. The Lavorix First had effectively ruled out his support of anything that wasn’t a life extraction of the Aterne, unless Recker could pull something out of his hat that would convince Prototype-91Z to follow a different course.

“The Lavorix have vessels which could evacuate the Aterne,” said Recker.

This time, Prototype-91Z’s expression did change, though only subtly and in a way which Flint couldn’t interpret.

“I must think about this,” said the Lavorix.

“Is the war lost?” asked Flint. “If the Aterne die to the Ancidium’s extractors, will the Kilvar still be victorious?”

“You know the answer to that, human. The enemy fight on different fronts and some of their opponents are formidable. Yet, bit-by-bit, the Kilvar gather what they need. Even where they are losing, they are making ground on their ultimate goal.”

“The Kilvar have met a species which is stronger than they are?” asked Flint.

“On a limited battlefront,” said Prototype-91Z.

“Couldn’t we, you know, all join together and beat these Kilvar sons-of-bitches?” asked Flint, the pain from his recent ordeal making him speak more freely than he otherwise might have.

“If you encountered the Balon, it would not go well for your alliance, human, even were your interests aligned.”

“Have you dealt with these Balon?” asked Flint, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“I have dealt with many species,” said Prototype-91Z. He paused for a moment and his next words made Flint light-headed in the way they echoed his own thoughts from earlier. “The universe is not a place for the living, human.”

“That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago,” growled Recker.

“Whatever you think of the Lavorix, there are others who are far worse than us,” said Prototype-91Z. “We act as we were created, though we do not blame our creator. Sacrifices must be made and we bear the consequences.”

Flint wasn’t quite ready to believe the Lavorix were a compassionate species, but this conversation was enlightening. He wondered if he even detected some regret in Prototype-91Z’s voice. Certainly the words themselves strongly hinted that the Lavorix would prefer to be other than they were.

“It seems neither the alliance nor the Lavorix are yet ready to agree on a way to deal with the Aterne,” said Recker. “I will speak to my officers about what we have discussed and we will reconvene.”

“Be warned, human - I have a clear path to achieve my primary goal, and that is to extract the Aterne’s home world. Should you wish me to deviate from this, you must show me the benefits.”

Recker had nothing else to say and he nodded. Flint, however, was not done.

“What happens to the Raklivian?” he asked.

“The Lavorix will pursue a means to recover that which was stolen. Then, we will seek the destruction of this creature.”

“You failed once and the Raklivian escaped,” said Flint.

“We have learned from our failure, human. The enemy will not leave the Ancidium again.”

Flint wanted to believe, but his encounter with the Raklivian had left him asking if the creature could ever be truly killed. He reminded himself that if such a feat was possible, it was more likely to happen on the Ancidium than anywhere else.

The viewscreen went blank without Prototype-91Z saying another word. Flint turned towards Recker, to gauge how he was feeling about the meeting. The man’s expression was impassive.

“Not good,” said Recker, his gaze still on the wall.

“Which part in particular wasn’t good, sir?” asked Flint.

“All of it. Everything.”

Flint couldn’t argue with the sentiments and he couldn’t immediately think of anything constructive to add. He felt as if everything he’d accomplished so far counted for nothing and despair came. No matter how hard he fought, it was never enough.

“Let’s get you to a doctor,” said Recker, peering at Flint with concern.

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

Recker spun on his heel and aimed himself at the door. He was midway through his first stride when the communicator in his pocket bleeped again.

“Damnit,” Recker muttered as he withdrew the device. He took one look at the screen and then snapped the communicator closed. “The normality aberration now stands at thirteen percent. Whatever’s coming, it’s coming soon.”

The door opened and he exited the meeting room with Flint a pace behind.

“Before we spoke to Prototype-91Z, I thought I’d figured out the reason for the increase, sir,” said Flint.

“What reason did you come up with?”

“A depletion of the exium in the cage holding the Raklivian, sir.”

Recker stopped. “We know exium runs dry, but only after it has been used extensively for enormously draining tasks.”

“What if keeping the Raklivian imprisoned is an enormously draining task, sir?”

“Or what if the creature has a way to hasten the depletion,” said Recker. He swore. “Or a way to extract the potential from the exium in the same way it drew from the Ancidium’s life batteries.”

Flint hadn’t considered the latter. “If that were the case, the Raklivian might emerge from its cage even more powerful than it was before. And if it can use that power, maybe it’ll break out of the next cage even quicker.”

“We might be letting our imaginations run wild,” said Recker, setting off again. “The rise in the normality aberration could be a result of several factors – such as the Aterne and the Raklivian combined.”

“And maybe some other things we don’t know about, sir.”

“That’s the worry,” said Recker grimly. “We can’t act against something if we don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a shame the teams creating the aberration report can’t pinpoint what’s causing the increase.”

“That’s something we’re working on,” said Recker. He smiled thinly. “The processing power available to the alliance has - very recently - increased by an order of magnitude.”

“Sir?” said Flint. He suddenly realised exactly what might have caused such a step change. “An exium core?”

“Yes – the alliance has created the first new generation obliterator device.”

“Just one, sir?”

“So far,” said Recker. “Others will follow.”

“And how much of a step change is the new core?”

“It’s more like a whole staircase. We haven’t begun to grasp the possibilities of what these new cores will enable.”

Flint had a few thoughts, but he kept them to himself for the moment. “Where is that core, sir?”

“It’s being field-tested on the Vanquisher battleship,” said Recker, looking sideways at Flint. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, sir.”

By his expression, Recker thought there was more to it than that, but he didn’t push. He increased his pace and they entered the circular room with the central pillar. Soon, Flint found himself in one of the Ancidium’s mess areas.

The space was huge and rectangular, with multiple exits and hundreds of long tables arrayed in neat rows. No Lavorix were present, but the personnel he’d brought with him from the Demagaron were spread out around the closest end of the room. Most of them were sitting and a few brave souls were eating from trays. The meatiness in the air was strangely alluring and wrong at the same time, like the odour of tinned dog food.

“Are we heading straight to the Vanquisher, sir?” asked Flint.

Before Recker could answer, the Ancidium opened a gateway and travelled to a new place. Taken by surprise, Flint dropped to his knees and tried his best to cope with the unexpected pain. The part of his mind that remained lucid cursed the Lavorix, cursed technology and most of all, cursed the Kilvar for the war they’d started.

Chapter Four

The gateway activation caused no fatalities. However, trays were scattered everywhere and their glistening contents were smeared on nearby surfaces. A few weapons lay unrecovered on the floor and a dozen or more people – human and Daklan – were slumped and receiving medical attention, for all the good it would do.

After a couple of minutes, the confusion was dying down, though the questions continued across a half-dozen different comms channels.

Eight members of Fleet Admiral Recker’s team were also in the mess room – a fact Flint hadn’t noticed until they identified themselves amongst the crowd. He recognized Lieutenants Christy Garber and Thad Vogel, but he couldn’t recall the names of the others.

These personnel spoke urgently to Recker on a private comms channel, doubtless seeking to find out what the hell was going on. None of them looked happy. In fact, they looked royally pissed.

“Any idea what’s going on, sir?” asked Lieutenant Fredericks on a channel reserved for the Demagaron’s former bridge crew.

“Nothing confirmed,” said Flint. He had some ideas about where the Ancidium might have gone, but he didn’t know for sure. “Admiral Recker has been negotiating with the Lavorix and something new came up. Maybe there’s a connection.”

“Can you tell us more, sir?” asked Lieutenant Garrett.

“Not yet,” said Flint.

“I don’t know how much more of this crap I can handle,” said Bolan. “I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer ten times over.”

Movement from one of the exits at the far end of the room caught Flint’s eye. A mixed team of humans and Daklan entered and they were accompanied by one of the hefty treatment robots usually found on base medical facilities. Behind this first team was a second, and they brought another of the robots.

“Looks like the cavalry has finally arrived,” said Garrett.

“Admiral Recker must have ordered them from the Vanquisher or another one of our warships before we entered the meeting with Prototype-91Z,” said Flint.

“Prototype-91Z?” asked Garrett.

“It’s the name of the Lavorix First,” said Flint impatiently. “I’ll explain later.”

Movement caught his eye - it was Recker beckoning urgently.

“Captain Flint, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint, hurrying over. “What information do you have, sir?”

“Not enough,” said Recker. “Never enough. Come – we’ll talk as we go.”

“What’s our destination, sir?”

“The place we just damn well left,” snapped Recker, his own frustration rising to the surface.

Flint followed through the exit, casting one last glance over his shoulder. He spotted a third and fourth medical team enter the mess room from the far doors, bringing with them yet more sophisticated hardware. Sighing inwardly, Flint wondered if he’d ever get his turn. Telling himself that some things took precedence over his personal wellbeing was sounding more than a little stale.

“Have the Lavorix taken us to the Aterne, sir?”

“Yes – the Cratiss system,” said Recker, betraying no surprise that Flint had guessed correctly. “What their plans are, I don’t know.”

“Kill or save,” said Flint. “I wouldn’t like to be an Aterne right this moment.”

“We’re all screwed,” snarled Recker. His leg pocked beeped and he pulled out the communicator, his face twisted in anticipatory anger. He flipped the device open, scanned the message and then closed the screen with a clack. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to hurl the communicator against the wall. “The normality aberration stands at fifteen percent, and the report was run after the gateway activation.”

“Our arrival at Cratiss hasn’t affected whatever’s coming,” said Flint.

“It might have even hastened the increase in the aberration,” said Recker bitterly. “Sometimes I wonder if the universe is deliberately perverse, and the more we try to predict it or pin down an outcome, the more reality shifts in order to ensure that whatever the hell is going to happen, happens, regardless of anything we do.”

“I’ve often thought the same thing, sir.”

“It’s the path of madness,” said Recker. He shook his head angrily. “A part of me hopes that if we choose the correct course of action, the normality aberration will decline. And then the pessimist in me whispers that maybe everything is predetermined, and whatever I do, nothing’s going to change.”

The two men entered the circular room and hurried around the perimeter towards the next exit. If the Lavorix personnel thought anything was amiss, they showed no sign of it. Flint wasn’t reassured – the rapid increase of the normality aberration along with the clanging of his own internal alarms was making him jumpy. As usual, he couldn’t identify one thing in particular that was causing him to feel this way and he ground his teeth in irritation.

At the meeting room entrance, Recker paused long enough to meet Flint’s eyes. “I’m not sure we’re going to like what we’re about to hear.”

“I agree,” said Flint.

Moments later, they were once more inside the meeting room, and both stared at the wall as they waited for Prototype-91Z to appear. Flint shifted from foot to foot, wishing the thudding pain at the back of his head would stop.

Less than a minute later, the wall screen lit up. Prototype-91Z was in the centre of the feed and apparently in the exact same place as he’d been during the earlier meeting.

“Please explain,” said Recker testily.

“The Ancidium has travelled to the Cratiss system, human. This you already guessed,” said Protype-91Z in his faraway whisper.

“I had,” Recker admitted. “What are your intentions?”

“Time is short – for everyone. We could have talked and discussed and planned. Instead, we are here.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Recker.

“I did not,” said Prototype-91Z. “This is your chance to influence the outcome.”

“Will you save the Aterne?” said Recker.

“No, human, we will not save them.”

“Which means you’re planning to kill them,” said Flint. “But you’re willing to give the alliance an opportunity before that happens.”

“You may speak with the Aterne,” said Prototype-91Z. “Convince them to leave their planet Ater and you will save them from extraction.”

“You will permit them to board the Ancidium?”

“The Ancidium will not carry passengers.”

“The spaceships in my escort can’t evacuate a planet,” said Recker. “We have the Halion-2 lifter, but it isn’t designed to transport people. It would require an extensive refit.”

“The Ancidium has suitable spaceships within its bays, human. I offer you their use.”

Recker wasn’t happy and it was clear the flames of his anger were building. “And what are we to do with so many billions of these Aterne? I cannot simply take them to an alliance planet and unload them.”

“The transports holding this species could remain within the Ancidium’s bays without disembarkation,” said Prototype-91Z. “You have two days in which to convince the Aterne to evacuate their world. Once agreement is reached, I will commit as many of the Ancidium’s resources as necessary. I will allow seven further days and then the operation will end.”

“Two days to persuade a species to leave their home world?” asked Recker. “Give me a hundred and it would still be a mountain.”

“This decision is not yours to make, human,” said Prototype-91Z. “At the end of the ninth day, I will turn the Ancidium’s extractors upon Ater. We cannot leave anything behind for the Kilvar – not even scraps.”

Recker’s jaw muscles bulged, though he didn’t immediately say anything. His communicator beeped and he looked at it again and slipped it away into his pocket, without divulging what he’d read on its screen.

“What has suddenly changed?” asked Flint. “One moment you wished for time to think about the Aterne, the next a gateway opened and we came to the Cratiss system.”

“Nothing has changed,” said Prototype-91Z, his expression offering no clues as to what he was thinking. “You have two days, human. If in that time you have not obtained agreement from the Aterne to evacuate, their planet will be extracted. Perhaps that will be sufficient persuasion for them.”

The screen went blank.

“What a heap of shit!” yelled Recker, thumping the side of his clenched fist against the nearest wall.

Flint agreed, but he also wondered if, perhaps, Recker was relieved to have had this most difficult of decisions taken away from him. The Lavorix had put him in a position where his path was defined, and at the same time they’d saved him from his conscience. Or so it appeared.

This funnelling of the alliance into what was apparently a perfectly logical course of action made Flint wonder if Prototype-91Z was, in fact, a skilful manipulator. The idea didn’t sit easy and once he got it into his head, he couldn’t pry it out. Still, Flint thought he should give Recker some support while he considered whether or not the Lavorix were acting in good faith.

“Sir, talking to the Aterne – assuming the Lavorix can provide us with language files – won’t see results in two days. Not if they’re anything like humanity, or even the Daklan.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” said Recker.

“If you give me a warship, I’ll volunteer to lead whatever mission you decide on. And if that means strong-arming the Aterne into capitulation, then so be it. Of course I’d be relying on this species lacking the firepower to take down an alliance warship.”

“Thank you, Captain Flint,” said Recker. He offered the grimmest of smiles. “And what will you do if the only means to success is to bombard the Aterne until they surrender? Will you kill thousands – tens of thousands - to achieve our goal?”

“If that’s what it takes, sir.”

“I hate this crap,” said Recker. He strode towards the exit. “I need to think and you need to see a medic.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint, following into the passage that led to the circular control room. “What was the output of the last normality aberration report, sir? The one you received during that meeting?”

“It went up another percent,” said Recker.

Flint slowed. He suddenly felt as if he were on the brink of an important realisation, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be.

“What’s the matter?” asked Recker, also slowing.

“It’s like we’re on a road, sir,” said Flint. “A road with no turnings, and every moment we stay on it, our failure becomes ever more inescapable.”

“I know the feeling,” said Recker. “But I don’t believe there’s a road with no turnings.”

“Nor do I, sir. Sometimes the hardest thing is realising you can do something else – something totally unpredictable.”

Recker nodded. “And if you don’t have that realisation, you’ll never control your own destiny.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint. “I guess we can keep on doing exactly what we’re doing and dance to whatever cosmic tune we’re dancing to, or we can do something different.”

“Something different,” Recker repeated, as if he were about to have an epiphany of his own. His gaze went distant. “Whatever it takes.”

Flint recognized the mantra, which Recker and his crew had lived by during the Lavorix wars. Hearing the man repeat it now made Flint believe that big changes would indeed be coming – and soon. He shivered at the thought of what those changes might be.

Not long after, the two men entered the mess area again, where not much had visibly changed. Recker headed back to his team, while Flint went on the hunt for a doctor.

Chapter Five

“This won’t hurt a bit,” said the doctor, uttering what Flint had no doubt was a well-worn line designed to put his patients at ease, but which failed miserably in its primary goal. Maybe it was the man’s overly white teeth which he flashed repeatedly in a smile of dubious sincerity, or perhaps it was the fat needle he was holding in his hand.

A grey tube went from one end of the needle and disappeared into the equally grey housing of the cylindrical medical robot which either floated reassuringly or loomed – a matter of perception which depended on the anxiety of the patient – at the end of the table at which Flint was sitting.

“Just do it,” said Flint sourly.

“Yes, sir,” said the doctor. He hadn’t introduced himself by name and his combat suit didn’t have a name tag pinned anywhere visible. “Here we go.”

With well-practiced efficiency, the doctor stabbed the needle clean through the layers of Flint’s suit and into his thigh. Immediately it penetrated Flint’s skin, the needle gave him a squirt of numbing drugs to reduce the pain of what was to follow.

Turning, the doctor extracted a second needle from the med-bot. This time, he didn’t give a warning and plunged it into Flint’s other thigh.

“Two more to go,” said the man cheerily, offering another glimpse of his teeth. “We can speed things up by using a total of twelve needles.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “If you want?”

“Let’s stick with four for the moment,” said Flint.

“Four it is.”

The next two needles went into Flint’s upper arms, leaving him with four tubes dangling from his body. He was uncomfortably aware that only recently he’d been talking about dancing to the tune of the cosmos, and here he was looking like a puppet with strings attached to his arms and legs.

“Initiating body tissue flush,” said the doctor, peering at the readouts on the medical bot.

Flint didn’t want to move too much in case he dislodged a needle by mistake, but he peered from the corner of his eye at the screen. It was maddeningly impossible for him to bring the text into focus.

“Any lasting damage?” Flint asked, trying not to wince. The numbing drugs couldn’t mask the feeling of fluids being squirted into his muscle tissue and it felt like his flesh was bulging from within. He knew from past experience he’d be aching later, though it would be the kind of irritating-yet-manageable ache that was infinitely more manageable than the knee in the balls alien death pulse kind of aching he’d been obliged to put up with for the last sixteen or so hours.

“I don’t know,” said the man. “Almost everyone has asked the same question – we’ll have to study the data once these treatments are done.” He sized Flint up as if he was wondering whether to divulge an enormous secret. “I hear there’s a team working on this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” asked Flint, not in the mood for guessing games.

“Death technology,” said the doctor, again showing too many teeth. He saw Flint’s expression and the teeth vanished. “Apparently, the alliance is investigating ways to make us immune. Or at least not so susceptible to it.”

Flint would have been more surprised had the alliance not been researching this exact thing. Still, his curiosity was piqued. “Is success on the horizon?”

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t know – I’m in treatment, not research.”

Then why the hell did you mention it in the first place? Flint wondered uncharitably.

He leaned back on the bench seat and felt the table dig into his spine. The padding of his combat suit made the hard edge tolerable and Flint looked about the room. Each of the medical bots could treat four people at once, and three soldiers were on the other side of the table, attached to the same one as Flint. He didn’t recognize them and they avoided his gaze.

“Looking good, sir,” said Private Drawl, appearing from out of nowhere. He pointed helpfully at the tubes emerging from Flint’s arms. “Captain Vance ordered me to come over and find out if you wanted something to eat or drink.” Drawl thumbed over his shoulder. “He’s being flushed, otherwise I’m sure he’d have got off his ass and done it himself.”

Flint smiled. “No need to be so modest, Private. I bet Captain Vance didn’t even ask.”

“Is this individual bothering you, sir?” asked Private Carrington, ambling over. “Give the order and I’ll shoot him dead.”

“I think I can let him live - until he brings me a cup of water, at least,” said Flint. “After that, we’ll see.”

Drawl was an old hand and none of it bothered him – he spun around and headed for the replicator installed in the closest wall.

“How long left on that flush, sir?” asked Carrington.

“Ten minutes,” Flint guessed.

“Eight,” said the doctor.

By now, a few of the other soldiers had taken interest and they drifted over, no doubt hoping to pick up some interesting gossip.

“You’ll feel much better once it’s done, sir,” said Lieutenant Hunter Gantry. “Before they put all those needles in me, I was beginning to think I was beyond fixing.” He flexed both biceps. “I don’t feel one hundred percent, but I definitely feel a hundred times better than before.”

“You didn’t have a complete body flush,” said the doctor, evidently listening in. “The robot gave you some extra drugs and extracted whatever toxins were passing through your muscle tissue.”

“More drugs?” asked Private Faye Raven. She folded her arms. “And, the only thing I injected was Frenziol.” She fixed the doctor with a stare. “Are you telling me that people in the medical profession class our boosters as toxins?”

“Not toxins exactly,” said the doctor, his confidence ebbing. “When your body processes Frenziol, it breaks down the—"

“Enough,” said Flint, though he was tempted to let the doctor squirm a little longer. Tentatively, he explored his own pains and thought perhaps they were less than before. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Lieutenant Gantry. I think I’m feeling it myself.”

The soldiers talked among themselves and Flint was glad to hear them. It was a reminder of normality – of places far away from death pulses and spaceships capable of levelling entire planets.

Drawl returned with a cup of water and Flint removed his helmet. The fluid had a rich, metallic tang and he drank it in one go.

“Still thirsty, sir?” asked Drawl.

“I didn’t realise how much I wanted that,” said Flint.

Without being asked, Drawl headed back to the replicator. A few of the other soldiers shouted out their food and drink orders, to which he responded by raising his middle finger.

“What happens next, sir?” asked Carrington.

It was the question Flint had been waiting for and he’d already decided he’d answer it truthfully. “The Lavorix have located another species – the Aterne. The Kilvar have located them too.”

“Oh,” said Carrington, almost comically. “Are there enough of these Aterne—”

“Probably. The Lavorix have offered us a chance to evacuate these new aliens and they’ll even lend us the spaceships to do it.”

“To a bold new life in the stars,” said Private Weiland Steigers in a deep, mocking voice.

“Or death on the business end of an extractor beam,” said Lieutenant Krast Tagra.

“Spoken like a true cynic, Lieutenant,” said Private Ken Raimi.

“I am sure there is much of which I am unaware,” said the Daklan. “Yet that which I have already heard leads me to believe these Aterne will soon be extinct like the Meklon before them.”

In a war like this, the realists spoke of death and the optimists were fools, thought Flint. He hated that it was so and he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to imagine himself elsewhere – in a place where his worries were gone and the stars spoke only of secrets, rather than tragedy.

“Here’s your drink, sir,” said Drawl.

Flint opened his eyes and accepted the cup of water that was offered to him. “Thanks,” he smiled.

This second drink went the way of the first, though this time it was enough to slake his thirst. By now, the flush had noticeably reduced the pains in Flint’s body and the relief was incredible. Perhaps when the medical bot was finished, he’d feel like a human being again.

When only a minute remained on the flush, Fleet Admiral Recker made his way over. Captain Vance was at his side, flexing his force-healed fingers as if he was testing them for signs of weakness.

“You’re nearly done,” said Recker, stopping in front of Flint.

“Yes, sir.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, Captain Flint.”

“About which part exactly, sir?”

“Put your helmet back on. We’ll talk on the comms.”

Flint picked his suit helmet off the floor and lowered it over his head. He snapped the clips into place and felt the seals tighten around his neck. Immediately, a channel opened.

“That road you talked about - we’ve been heading along it for too long,” said Recker. “And I didn’t even know it. Ever since the Kilvar appeared, I’ve convinced myself that exium is the answer – that its capabilities and even its instability would give us a fighting chance.”

“I thought that too, sir,” said Flint. “Back at Evia, when the Firestorm’s exium module was controlling time itself, it seemed like everything was possible.”

“But we were still on that same road,” said Recker.

“You’ve come up with a plan, sir.” Flint winced at a sudden pain as the doctor unceremoniously yanked out one of the needles.

Recker grunted. “I can feel something on the edge of my senses – something which wasn’t there before we talked. It’ll come to me – it always does.”

“But not yet,” said Flint, wincing again as the remaining three needles followed the first.

“There’ll be a change, Captain Flint.”

“Then what, sir?” asked Flint, wondering why Recker had brought the subject up.

“I wanted to tell you the rate of increase in the normality aberration has lessened.”

“Just talking about a change has done that?” Once again, Flint experienced a light-headedness. The idea that the ongoing existence of both humanity and the Daklan could be influenced by a conversation was believable in itself, but having the ability to quantify that influence using computers and algorithms seemed borderline crazy now that he was seeing it in action.

“Maybe,” said Recker. He grunted again. “I suppose anything could have influenced the normality aberration results, but I’ve never been comfortable with the notion of coincidence.”

“We’re walking a tightrope,” mused Flint. “If we stay dead-centre and don’t so much as wobble, the normality aberration might decline. Anything else and we’re screwed.”

“The normality aberration may never fall,” said Recker. “The Kilvar might simply be an opponent we can’t beat, in which case the best we can hope for is an extension of our lives until they ascend.” He laughed bitterly. “But I’m damned if I’m going to stop fighting those bastards and there’s no way I’ll accept defeat until the life energy is sucked from my body.”

“That’s how I feel, sir,” said Flint. “It’s what kept me going through every mission you’ve thrown my way.”

“I know you have the strength – I don’t need an expectancy delta to tell me that,” said Recker. “And that’s why I’m throwing another one of those missions your way.”

“I’m going to Ater?”

“Yes,” said Recker. “I’d like to tell you this will be an easy one, but you already know it won’t. We don’t have time to cajole the Aterne into action – they might need to be shocked into it.”

“I’m not a diplomat, sir, but I hear there’s usually talking before the missiles.”

“I’m not a diplomat either,” said Recker. “Or so my wife keeps telling me. However, for this one, I’ll be doing the talking. I’m giving you control of the Vanquisher and I’ll stay here on the Ancidium. Prototype-91Z will allow me use of the comms.”

“How many other warships form your escort, sir?” asked Flint, realising he’d forgotten to ask.

“Six in total,” said Recker. “Including the Halion-2. There’s never much point in committing an extensive force when we’re paying our Lavorix friends a visit. The more assets we bring, the more we’ll lose if things ever turn nasty.”

“Will the Vanquisher be alone on this mission?” asked Flint.

“Captain Gast Iltron on the Evarox will accompany you – in a subordinate role. This responsibility is not something which should be carried by a single officer.”

“Like a firing squad where only one executioner has a bullet in the gun,” said Flint.

“That’s one way of looking at it. Anyway, we’ve talked enough – I’m ordering my own personnel to disembark. Gather your crew and board the Vanquisher. You know that time is tight – you’ll be leaving the moment you’re ready.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint. “What about Captain Vance and his company?”

“I can’t foresee you having a need for them, but that doesn’t mean they should remain on the Ancidium. Captain Vance and his soldiers will go with you.”

Flint nodded and rose from the bench seat. He felt much better – like his body had been given a comprehensive overhaul. “Yes, sir. I have a few more questions and then I’ll start giving out the orders.”

He stayed in the comms channel. For a few minutes the two men talked, and Flint gathered the information he needed. When the talking was done, Flint left the channel and delivered news of this mission to the rest of his crew and also to Captain Vance.

“I’ve been told the route to the bay which is holding our warships,” said Flint, after he’d called a halt to the questions. “We’ll speak more once we’re onboard the Vanquisher.”

Flint set off with a crowd of personnel following. Admiral Recker had arranged for everyone to be granted access to a few of the Ancidium’s top level systems, including limited map data, internal comms and some of the internal security. Using the computer in his suit, Flint could link to these systems and operate them. The method was intuitive and easily mastered.

As he left the mess room, Flint thought briefly about what was to come. Usually, he felt a degree of excitement at a coming mission, irrespective of the dangers. This time, it wasn’t the same. In the near future, he might be called upon to bombard a comparatively primitive species with advanced weaponry all in the name of saving them from the Kilvar.

Flint desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to murder. If the situation called upon him to open fire, the deaths would be on the hands of the Kilvar, yet he doubted his conscience would let him off the hook so easily.

As he broke into a run, Flint wondered if he’d been premature in volunteering for this mission.

Chapter Six

The bridge on the annihilator class Vanquisher was identical to that on the Determinant, this latter vessel being previously under Flint’s command until he was required to abandon it way out in the middle of nowhere. He waited impatiently while the rest of his crew entered and took their stations. Then, Flint took his own seat.

“Admiral Recker’s crew must have sneaked out the back door,” said Commander Larson. “There was no sign of them.”

“Lieutenant Burner – please check the internal monitors to ensure there are no stragglers,” said Flint. “If the former personnel aren’t clear in the next few minutes, they’ll be coming with us.”

“Checking…no sign of Admiral Recker’s crew, sir,” said Burner. “According to the logs, they all departed from Bay 2.”

Flint cast his eyes onto the bulkhead feeds. The Vanquisher was in another of the Ancidium’s huge bays, alongside the other alliance spaceships. This bay was otherwise empty, with no sign of the monstrously efficient construction work Flint had witnessed elsewhere in the Lavorix spaceship. The way out would be via a currently open door in the starboard flank, beyond which was the usual tunnel through the Ancidium’s external plating.

“Captain Iltron asks how long until we’re ready to depart, sir,” said Lieutenant Garrett.

“Not long – a couple of minutes,” said Flint. In truth, he could have flown the Vanquisher out of the bay right now, but he didn’t want to be too hasty. “This is another officer’s ship – I’d prefer to complete my pre-flight checks.”

Flint tested the weight of the control bars. They had a little more resistance than he was accustomed to, but nothing he couldn’t cope with. Other than that, everything was in order.

Larson hit him with a surprise piece of good news. “Our magazines are fully loaded with those Kilvar-busting missiles the Nevanis picked up at the start of its last mission, sir.”

“The sums don’t add up,” said Flint. “The Nevanis and its escort had a twenty-hour journey back to base. Add to that the time it would have taken to unload those warheads and—” He suddenly understood. “The Lavorix loaded us up while the Vanquisher was in this bay,” he said.

“It’s the only way I can think it happened, sir,” said Larson.

“I hope we aren’t going to run into the Kilvar here at Cratiss, but there’s always a chance of it,” said Flint.

“As well as those missiles, the Vanquisher is fitted with Terrus-V guns,” said Larson. “We already know that ternium accelerated slugs are effective.”

Flint smiled thinly. “If the Kilvar do show up, we’ll give them a demonstration of what an annihilator can do when it’s carrying the right weapons.”

“Sir!” said Lieutenant Fredericks loudly enough that Flint turned around. “I’ve discovered a resource called Oblex#1 linked to our central cluster of obliterator cores!”

“That’s the new exium core. I was told it’s on the Vanquisher for testing,” said Flint. “Can you tap into it?”

“I was on the verge of doing so, until I heard you say the word exium just there, sir.”

“Don’t be shy, Lieutenant.”

“Fine, let’s have a look,” said Fredericks eagerly. “Well, it’s a portable unit, sir, and connected directly to one of the main data conduits that run through the Vanquisher. And…Oblex#1 is likely faster than all twelve of this warship’s obliterator cores combined,” said Fredericks. “In fact, it can output enough data to flood some of the low- and mid-priority subsystems.”

“Sounds good,” said Larson.

“Judging by how many inches Lieutenant Fredericks’ eyebrows have climbed up his forehead, I’d say it’s potentially much better than good, Commander,” said Burner.

“Yes – this is incredible,” said Fredericks, with a level of excitement in his voice that could only come from a man who lived for technology. “Not only is Oblex#1 fast at running existing code, it can be switched to run a completely new set of instructions.”

“What sort of new instructions?” asked Flint.

“The stripped down, brute force kind of instructions, sir. The sort that could rip through any kind of encryption lock a thousand times faster than a standard obliterator core. I’m speculating of course, but—”

“I get the message,” Flint interrupted. “Go on.”

“That’s about it from the time I’ve had available, sir. Should I keep digging?”

“Don’t screw around with the core too much, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Look but don’t touch.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fredericks. “This is fascinating stuff – if we’ve learned how to integrate exium into our processing cores, the alliance has just overtaken anything the Lavorix or Kilvar can create. Technologically speaking, of course – I bet the Ancidium has processing power equivalent to millions of obliterator cores, just it’ll be distributed rather than all in one place.”

“But pound for pound, Oblex#1 kicks their asses,” said Lieutenant Becerra.

“Kicks their asses, chews them up, spits them out and then reverses twice over the dead bodies,” said Fredericks.

“Let’s all calm down,” Flint warned. It was hard to sound angry, since he wasn’t. Fredericks’ enthusiasm was infectious and it was impossible not to be carried along by thoughts of what could be achieved with a bunch of exium processing cores. “Is the exium detectable?” he asked. “Or is it shielded like the Lavorix managed with the Demagaron’s exium cage?”

“I don’t know if there’s a null around it, sir,” said Fredericks. “Last I heard we didn’t have the capability, but maybe there was some information sharing with the Lavorix before we handed them the exium blocks to build the cage.”

“Let’s hope so – else we’ll draw in the Kilvar from halfway across the universe,” said Maddox. Only a couple of hours ago she’d sounded on the brink of death. Now her voice was back to its usual huskiness.

“I have Captain Iltron on the comms again, sir,” said Garrett.

“Uh…and I have Fleet Admiral Recker on a separate channel,” added Becerra.

Flint couldn’t delay any longer. “Has the Ancidium given us clearance to depart?” he asked.

“We have no communication with the Lavorix warship, sir. Captain Iltron recommends you pilot the Vanquisher into the exit tunnel over there and wait to see what happens.”

“Fine, let’s be on our way,” said Flint.

He grabbed the control bars and requested power from the engines. The Vanquisher’s propulsion was a background rumble which hardly changed as the warship banked and accelerated towards the bay exit.

Flint’s eyes jumped around the feeds at the other vessels in Recker’s escort. Three annihilators – the Erdian-3Q, the Lascarin and the Astute – were stationary near the Halion-2 superlifter, while Iltron’s ship, the Evarox, was turning to follow the Vanquisher.

“The Halion-2 looks just like the Nevanis,” said Lieutenant Bolan.

“They’re sister ships,” said Larson. “They came out of the same shipyard at the same time.”

Flint was only half-listening. He’d lined the Vanquisher up with the bay door and guided the warship through into the tunnel beyond. The second door opened once the Evarox was alongside Flint’s vessel, and the first door closed simultaneously. A third door ahead was closed.

As he guided the warship into the next tunnel, Flint checked his console to find out if Recker had sent him any more information on the Aterne. As usual, this mission was light on detail and Flint didn’t expect the situation to improve.

“Anything?” asked Larson, watching from the corner of her eye.

“Not yet,” said Flint.

“We know absolutely nothing about these Aterne except what the Lavorix have told us.”

“I don’t like to use the word, but we’re about to drop in on a primitive species,” said Flint. “If it turns out they’re packing colossal surface-mounted firepower, we’ll get the hell away and Fleet Admiral Recker can have a rethink.”

“Two days isn’t long,” said Larson.

Flint had filled his crew in on the details during the journey to the Vanquisher, so they knew everything he did, not that it amounted to much. “None of us wants to start dropping bombs, Commander.”

“No sir, we do not,” said Larson. She looked troubled and Flint guessed he did too.

“This is for the best,” said Flint.

“I know. I don’t like it, but I can’t begin to think of a better way.”

“Maybe they’ll see what—”

Flint was brought short by the door opening in front of the Vanquisher. Space and stars were revealed and he piloted the warship out into the void. As soon as the battleship was clear of the Ancidium, he increased velocity and the Evarox kept pace, five hundred kilometres to portside.

“Near scans underway,” said Burner. “I’m just going through the motions – I’m sure the Lavorix would have warned us if there was anything to worry about.”

“Stick to procedure, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Fars running,” said Becerra.

Flint kept his eyes on the sensors, which so far showed nothing of interest. “Lieutenant Garrett, I want a sensor lock on Ater.”

“Yes, sir,” said Garrett. “The Lavorix provided us with full data on the Cratiss system – Ater should be approximately two million klicks from our position and heading towards us on its orbital track.”

“Near scans finished and nothing to report, sir,” said Burner.

Flint didn’t expect the fars to detect anything concerning either. It was possible the Kilvar had dropped out of lightspeed within the last couple of minutes, in which case they’d receive a nasty surprise once the Ancidium spotted them.

“Sensor lock obtained on planet Ater, sir,” said Garrett. “At two million klicks.”

A sphere of greys, greens, reds and yellows appeared on the centre screen. Ater was a large planet, with a much greater diameter than either Earth or Terrani and, at first glance, Flint was sure it could support many billions of lives, assuming the Aterne were even remotely sympathetic to the planet.

“I’m working on an enhancement, sir,” said Garrett. “A few seconds and you should see some extra details.”

Flint checked the velocity gauge. It was showing two thousand kilometres per second, meaning the planet was sixteen minutes away. A species incapable of space flight would not detect the approaching warships from this distance and might remain unaware until the Vanquisher and Evarox appeared in low orbit.

“Here, sir,” said Garrett.

The cleaned-up feed showed Ater to be similar to every other habitable world Flint had visited, with a surface of both land and water. Two main continents on the visible side nearly met and on their eastern edge, broke into an archipelago that extended for thousands of miles north to south.

“Surface temperatures aren’t much different to those on Earth, sir,” said Burner. “Though with lower variability.”

Flint nodded without speaking as he continued taking in the details. The Aterne had built thousands of towns and cities - none of which rivalled the sprawling alliance metropolises for size.

“Looks mostly agrarian,” said Becerra. “I’ve detected large areas of greens and yellows, which I’m sure are crops, along with ordered forests where I guess the Aterne grow fruit or nuts, or whatever else comes from alien trees.”

“What about air traffic?” asked Flint. He stared intently at the feed and although the clarity was good, it wasn’t quite perfect. “I’m sure these are a fascinating people, but at the moment I’m more interested in their weapons tech.”

“There are craft in the air,” said Burner. “Most travelling at what we’d call a low velocity.”

“I’ve detected what might be a military base, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ll highlight it on the feed and try to enhance.”

A red circle appeared around an area to the north. Flint squinted, but all he could see was a grey area that looked indistinguishable from the larger Aterne cities.

“There’s plenty of air traffic around that northmost area, sir,” said Burner. “It’s hard to be sure if it’s military.”

“I have Admiral Recker on the comms, sir,” said Garrett. “The Ater have a communications network, which the Ancidium can hijack without a problem. Once we’re in position, he’s going to send a broadcast to every receiver on the planet letting the Aterne know about the Kilvar and telling them we’re friendly.”

“And once he’s finished speaking, two six-klick annihilators are going to descend into low orbit playing a big band tune from the hull speakers and dropping a hundred million trust us leaflets onto the surface,” said Maddox. “We’ll have a smile on our faces and a bay full of incendiaries.”

Flint opened his mouth to snap out a response, but Bolan spoke first.

“I didn’t know we were fitted with hull speakers,” he said in puzzlement.

“We aren’t,” said Maddox. “I was just painting a picture.”

The interruption made Flint reconsider the rebuke he’d been about to offer. Maddox was absolutely right – although this mission had the best of intentions, the Aterne had no way of knowing that. The biggest shitstorm Ater had ever witnessed was forming and no amount of roses or perfume was going to hide the smell.

For a time, nobody spoke. The sensor team continued enhancing the feed as the warship approached the planet and by the time the distance fell below a million kilometres, Flint had seen enough to be sure he wasn’t about to pilot the Vanquisher into a surprise fusillade of high-yield missiles.

“We’ll hold at half a million kilometres,” he said. “Make sure Captain Iltron hasn’t forgotten.”

“Captain Iltron acknowledges, sir,” said Burner.

Flint considered requesting a direct link to the Daklan ship, but he couldn’t see much point at the moment. Admiral Recker’s orders were clear enough that they didn’t require analysis or discussion.

“Do we have any idea what the Aterne look like?” asked Lieutenant Copeland.

“None,” said Flint. “Maybe the Lavorix know, but they haven’t told us.”

“I doubt they care,” said Garrett. “Why would the Lavorix take an interest when all they want is life energy?”

Flint wasn’t in the mood to argue nuance and he didn’t respond. A glance at the tactical indicated it would be soon time to decelerate and not long after that, he anticipated the fun and games would start.

“I’m bringing us to a halt,” he said, as the Vanquisher approached half a million kilometres.

By now, the sensors ensured few of Ater’s secrets remained undiscovered. Thousands of tiny aircraft flew across the planet’s surface at a velocity that would have been impressive on Earth a couple of thousand years ago, but not so much now. Grey roads snaked from place to place, fewer in number than Flint would have expected, and with not much traffic. Maybe the Aterne preferred to walk, he thought idly to himself.

A short period of deceleration had the Vanquisher at a standstill and Captain Iltron positioned the Evarox within two hundred kilometres.

“Let me know when Fleet Admiral Recker sends the broadcast,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “Hopefully the Aterne have a single government and they agree at once to evacuate.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Fredericks.

Nor did Flint. He kept his hands on the control bars, watched the sensor feeds and waited for news from Recker.

Chapter Seven

“The broadcast has been sent, sir,” said Burner.

“Let’s see what effect it has,” said Larson. “For once, I’ve found some aliens I feel sorry for.”

“Don’t jump the gun, Commander,” said Garrett dryly. “The Aterne might potentially be the most warmongering bunch of scumbags in the universe and only held back because they’re too dumb to figure out how to reach escape velocity.”

“Or maybe Ater is a world of perfect happiness and bliss,” Larson shot back.

“And tapdancing unicorns,” said Fredericks.

Larson grinned. “Of course - how could I forget the tapdancing unicorns?”

“How long are we waiting, sir?” asked Maddox.

“We’re giving the Aterne fifteen minutes to find out what kind of response the broadcast generates,” said Flint. “If they offer no immediate agreement—”

“Which they won’t,” said Larson.

“No, they won’t,” Flint agreed. “So then we’ll enter their planet’s orbit and find out what happens when we turn the screw.”

A couple of minutes went by.

“Our sensors are detecting a large-scale scrambling of surface aircraft, sir,” said Burner. “I’ll put them up on your tactical.”

Flint raised a mental eyebrow at the numbers. “There are thousands of them,” he said.

“And coming from two separate land masses, sir,” said Burner. “Which suggests that if the Aterne have more than one government, they cooperate with each other.”

Flint thought it too early to draw any firm conclusions, though ultimately it would be to everyone’s benefit if the Aterne were united – it would mean that a single ruling body could make a decision that would affect the entire planet.

“Fleet Admiral Recker advises there has been no response from the planet so far, sir,” said Becerra. “He didn’t sound too pleased.”

“We can see the reaction of the Aterne well enough,” said Larson.

Flint checked the timer. “They’ll have their fifteen minutes.”

The seconds ticked by slowly. Flint wanted to act, but the Aterne needed this opportunity to come up with a response.

“Still nothing,” said Becerra, when fifteen minutes had elapsed.

“There’s no point in hanging around any longer,” said Flint. “Make Admiral Recker and Captain Iltron aware – we’re heading in immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he requested power from the Vanquisher’s engines, Flint experienced a twinge of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach. He brought the annihilator to four thousand kilometres per second and the thundering roar made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t done since before the last mission to Berongar.

“Less than two minutes and we’ll decelerate for orbital entry!” he yelled.

The Vanquisher raced for its destination and Flint’s mind also raced. While the Aterne had apparently not mastered spaceflight, early signs were they had a large military, albeit one equipped with low-level technology.

Should combat begin, the annihilator’s three mesh deflector charges would be quickly depleted if the Aterne started launching missile salvoes, so Flint would have to order the Vanquisher’s 128 railers to destroy the warheads. Those railers were brutal and he was sure they’d punch many of the Aterne aircraft out of the skies at the same time as their projectiles swept through the incoming missiles.

I volunteered for this mission. Someone had to.

“Check out these enhanced feeds, sir,” said Burner. “I’ve locked a couple of the arrays onto the Aterne hardware.”

Flint looked. On one feed, he saw an aircraft with four, rear-curving wings and a tapered, cylindrical fuselage. Heat shimmered on the plane’s tail and its twin engines left a contrail across the Ater sky. A second feed was of an ocean-going vessel, which was painted grey and with a low superstructure. Emplacements on the warship’s deck suggested it was equipped with missiles.

“Does this look familiar to anyone?” asked Larson.

“It could be Earth from centuries ago,” said Flint. “Even the tech looks familiar.”

“I guess most species go through similar phases of development,” said Copeland.

Flint didn’t know if that was true or not, but he had the strangest feeling as he watched the Aterne forces. His eyes went back to the four-wing aircraft, where Burner had improved the feed even more. Now, Flint could see a dome-shaped glass bubble on top of the plane and inside that dome, what looked like the pilot’s helmet.

“This is crazy,” said Bolan.

“Let’s focus on the mission,” said Flint. “We came here to save this species from extinction.”

“I’ve spoken to Fleet Admiral Recker again, sir,” said Becerra. “He sent another broadcast and still nothing in return.”

“The Aterne will be able to send a response to the Ancidium, won’t they?” said Bolan.

“Yes,” said Garrett. She didn’t elaborate.

By now, Ater was huge on the Vanquisher’s forward feeds. Banks of white and grey clouds drifted across much of the southern hemisphere, while the north was comparatively clear. An ocean of deepest blue crashed against the rugged eastern coastline and Flint imagined the purity and coldness of the spray against his skin.

He hauled his attention once more to the tactical screen. Hundreds of orange dots travelled with a painful lack of velocity across the planet’s surface and the randomness of their patterns told Flint the Aterne hadn’t yet detected the Vanquisher’s approach.

“Decelerating,” Flint said, pulling steadily back on the controls. “Tell Captain Iltron I’d like him to circle the planet once at a thousand-klick altitude and then wait for further orders. He’s to defend his spaceship, but nothing more.”

“Yes, sir,” Garrett replied. “Captain Iltron confirms his understanding.”

“The Aterne have a comms satellite network, sir,” said Burner. “I’ve broken their security and I can use those satellites to link with the Evarox when it goes blind side of the planet.”

“Good work, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

Still travelling at high velocity, the Vanquisher entered the upper atmosphere of Ater and Flint adjusted course to aim the warship towards his chosen position directly over the ground installation his sensor team had alerted him to earlier. Meanwhile, the Evarox broke away and banked east along a separate course.

One of the Vanquisher’s sensor arrays was targeted directly at the installation and the presence of long, narrow landing strips, along with maintenance areas and hangars confirmed beyond a shadow of doubt this was where the Aterne stationed a large air fleet – all of which was now off the ground.

“Altitude: one hundred klicks,” said Flint.

“Looks like the Aterne have finally detected the Vanquisher, sir,” said Becerra. “Most of their air fleet is diverting and heading towards this northern land mass. It’s obvious they don’t know what we’re intending and they’re trying to guess.”

“Some of those planes are going to take hours to reach the base,” said Burner. “Three thousand klicks per hour is the average velocity of the airborne craft and the fastest isn’t much above that.”

“Will they even have the fuel to make the journey?” said Fredericks.

“I estimate we might find ourselves up against two hundred of those planes within ten minutes of our arrival at the Aterne base, sir,” said Maddox. “With more coming as time goes on.”

“Welcome to life as a low-tech species,” said Larson.

“Humanity was once like this,” said Flint.

“I know, sir. That’s what makes this so hard. How many other species are there like us in the universe, but ones who’ll never make it into space before assholes like the Kilvar turn up and massacre them?”

By her expression, Larson wasn’t expecting an answer and Flint didn’t offer one. He gave the controls his full attention and levelled the Vanquisher at a five-kilometre altitude. The annihilator was flying over an extensively cultivated area of the planet and the crop fields stretched on for dozens of kilometres, the greens of the alien plants turning yellow as they ripened.

“One of the Aterne cities is up ahead, sir,” said Garrett. “And then we’ll be almost on top of the base.”

The outskirts of the city was mostly low buildings, residential and industrial by their appearance. Some areas looked ramshackle, with roads hardly travelled and the structures showing signs of decay.

A few kilometres further, the buildings were taller and constructed from metal and concrete. Most were fitted with thousands of reflective glass panes which glinted in the sunlight. The roads were wider here, and squat vehicles in many different colours were numerous enough to ensure the traffic moved at little more than a crawl.

“I got a sensor capture of an Aterne, sir,” said Burner. “It’s on the bulkhead screen.”

The image was clear, though the angle wasn’t perfect. An alien with greyish skin and clad in loose-fitting clothes of blue, was peering into the sky, a hand shielding its eyes from the sun’s glare. Flint wasn’t sure from the image if the Aterne was big or small, but it had two legs, two arms and hands with fingers.

Something about the image spoke of fear, and Flint could only imagine what the sight of the Vanquisher would do to the aliens. He hoped more than anything that the immensity of the battleship would convince the Aterne to listen to Recker’s broadcast. Whatever this species decided, Flint knew their existence hung by the slenderest of threads.

Soon, the city was left behind and the ground base lay ahead. Slowing at the last minute, Flint parked the Vanquisher directly over the centre of the installation and reduced the warship’s altitude to a thousand metres. It was low enough to display the annihilator at its best and drive home the superiority of alliance technology.

“Nobody’s fired at us yet,” said Burner. “That must be a good sign.”

“Check in with Fleet Admiral Recker,” Flint instructed. “Find out if he’s had any more luck talking to the Aterne.”

“No more luck than last time, sir,” said Becerra a few moments later. “The Aterne aren’t responding.”

Flint experienced the first hint of unease. He didn’t for a moment believe these aliens were going to suddenly wheel out a super-weapon capable of bringing down the Vanquisher, but given the circumstances, it didn’t seem unreasonable to expect them to open dialogue. The Aterne’s unwillingness to talk spoke of stubbornness and, Flint thought sourly, a degree of stupidity.

Having convinced himself of the parallels between the Aterne and humanity many centuries ago, he asked himself how the governments of Earth would have responded. He didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to guess.

An inner voice chimed in, reminding him of his first contact training. Those who encountered a new species were taught specifically to avoid falling into the trap of looking for human traits. Flint swore under his breath. Those same lessons also concocted various scenarios in which these first contacts took place, none of which were relevant to the one in which he found himself.

“I’ve located several poorly-hidden comms receptors within that base, sir,” said Burner. “Should I force a connection?”

“I’m tempted,” said Flint. He drummed his fingers. “Let’s wait another few minutes and see what happens. We need the agreement of the entire planet and I doubt the comms operators on that base are in a position to offer that.”

“And it’ll probably take them twenty minutes to rouse the base commander from his bed,” said Fredericks. “Then, another couple of hours’ delay while that commanding officer escalates up the chain. Before we know it, it’ll be tomorrow and we’ll be up here, grinding our teeth while a dozen different senior Aterne decide what the hell they’re going to do.”

“The first of those planes are coming within estimated launch range for their missiles, sir,” said Becerra.

“How the hell did you figure out an estimated launch range?” asked Copeland.

“I accessed the archive data for human equivalent technology,” said Becerra. “And I’m working on a range of a hundred klicks for the Aterne missiles. I could be way out.”

“The range of their missiles is the least of our worries,” said Flint.

“Besides, they have ground launchers to the east and west,” said Larson. “None of those have launched yet.”

“We’re at stalemate,” said Flint, though for some reason the word didn’t seem quite accurate. “If the Aterne won’t talk to us, there’s little we can do other than start firing missiles and hope they change their minds.”

“It’s too early for missiles, sir,” said Larson.

“I know,” said Flint. His fingers were tight around the control bars and he loosened his grip. “I’m just getting the feeling.”

“That something’s about to go south?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the tension of the situation. I don’t want the Aterne to end up as another few percent in the Ancidium’s life batteries, or for them to enable the Kilvar ascendancy. Yet here they are, making it impossible for us to help them.”

“On the plus side, they aren’t shooting at us,” said Fredericks.

The words came too soon.

“Missile launch detected from the nearest squadron of Aterne jets,” said Garrett. “Time to impact: ninety seconds.”

The Vanquisher’s battle computer automatically re-categorised the alien jets as hostile, and the dots on the tactical turned red. The inbound squadron of twenty-five aircraft had launched a total of one hundred missiles, which were heading straight for the annihilator.

Sighing at the stupidity of life in general, Flint wondered how best to deal with an attack from a species he was supposed to be saving from extinction.

Chapter Eight

“Another two squadrons will be in range to launch their missiles in the next three minutes, sir,” said Becerra. “And there’ll be plenty more soon after that.”

“They left their base and now they’re coming back,” said Fredericks.

“Ground launch detected from silos east and west,” said Larson. “Range: fifty klicks.”

“Activate the railers,” said Flint.

“Railers set to track and destroy,” said Larson. “Targeting missiles only.”

The railers started up, the drumming of their discharge so faint that Flint wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. Tracers streaked across the planet’s surface and, in less than two seconds, every one of the inbound missiles had been smashed into pieces.

“Confirmation, if the Aterne needed it, that we aren’t going to be troubled by their weapons,” said Maddox.

“I’ve detected a second launch from that same squadron,” said Larson. “I guess those pilots didn’t get the message.”

Again the railers fired, with a similarly conclusive outcome. The Aterne missiles disappeared from the tactical and the alien pilots launched a third wave. This time, one of the railers took out one of the missiles just as it left its tube and the pulverising slugs crashed into the Aterne jet, destroying it utterly.

“Those dumbass bastards!” said Flint. He gritted his teeth. “Lieutenant Becerra, make sure the Fleet Admiral is aware we’ve drawn first blood.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain Iltron has also piggybacked the Aterne comms satellites, sir,” said Garrett. “He reports similar activity on the far side of the planet, though so far nothing has opened fire. The Evarox is high in the atmosphere, so maybe the Aterne weapons can’t reach it easily. In addition, Captain Iltron reports the enemy—” she coughed. “I mean our misguided friends, have launched several much larger planes. They’re the high-altitude types that can circle half a planet before they need refuelling.”

“Nukes,” said Flint in disbelief. “The idiots are planning to nuke us if they can’t take us out with conventional weapons.”

“I’ve managed to break through another security layer on those comms satellites, sir,” said Burner. “I now have full visibility of the enemy launch commands and I can also track the Aterne weapons across the entire planet.”

“Is there anything I should know about?”

“Yes and no,” said Burner. “The Aterne have a large fleet of warships – the ocean-going kind – and many of those have launched missiles from a much longer range. Those missiles are currently out of our sensors’ visibility arc but they’re heading our way. Doubtless they’re using those comms satellites for guidance.”

“Can you shut the Aterne out of their own hardware?”

“Of course, sir. Their technology is a thousand or more years behind ours – this isn’t a fair fight.”

“Do it,” said Flint. “But allow the Aterne continued access to voice and visual comms. We need to leave them the facility to speak to us.”

“It’s about time they picked up the phone,” said Larson. Her sympathy from earlier had been replaced by a clear frustration. “We totally outmatch them and there’s no way they can believe otherwise.”

“The second squadron has launched missiles, sir,” said Maddox. “And the first squadron has launched a fourth wave.” The railers fired again. “Inbound missile waves destroyed. Our guns knocked out a second one of the attacking warplanes. Missiles launched from ground silos. Missiles destroyed.”

“Damnit,” said Flint. “How long before they understand their missiles aren’t going to hit us?”

“I’ve been able to disable the ocean-launched missiles, sir,” said Burner. “They’ll fly until they run out of fuel and then they’ll crash down.”

“Good work, Lieutenant.”

“And from what I can see,” Burner continued, “the Aterne have put a lot of faith in their satellite ring. I can get up to all kinds of mischief with their military systems.”

“Can you find out what those high-altitude planes are carrying?” asked Flint.

“High-yield fusion devices, sir.”

“Can you disable them?”

Burner didn’t answer for a moment. “Negative, sir. The comms on those planes are completely isolated from the rest of the Aterne network.”

“That makes sense,” said Larson. “Though it doesn’t help us or them.”

“The Aterne won’t know about our mesh deflectors and neither will they know the Vanquisher is fast enough to escape the blast zone of their nuclear bombs long before they detonate,” said Flint angrily.

“All they’re going to do is turn this area of the planet into a wasteland,” said Larson. “We can’t let it happen, sir.”

The alien squadrons launched yet more missiles and the closest jets broke off, banking north.

“Out of missiles,” said Fredericks.

Another short, yet punishing discharge from the Vanquisher’s railers was enough to eliminate the missiles. Flint was halfway tempted to let a few warheads detonate against the annihilator’s armour, as a further example of how impregnable it was against the Aterne weaponry. He doubted a thousand impacts would be enough to trouble the incredibly tough alloys which clad the battleship.

“Has Fleet Admiral Recker seen any progress?” asked Flint. He was wasting his breath – if the Aterne had opened dialogue, he’d know about it already, but he felt obliged to ask anyway.

“There’s been no contact, sir,” said Becerra.

“The Evarox should complete its circuit in the next minute, sir,” said Garrett. “Captain Iltron will park his warship nearby as agreed - unless you have updated orders for him.”

“No change to the plan,” said Flint.

A new salvo of missiles launched by the Aterne jets was knocked out by the railers and the aliens fired again. Flint paid only scant attention and he tipped his head back in thought.

Having struggled through the hardest of times recently, it was strange to think that being in command of overwhelmingly superior hardware didn’t necessarily make for an easy mission. Not all wins came from blowing an enemy warship into pieces.

Only most of them.

“How long are we planning to let the Aterne throw their hardware at us, sir?” asked Larson.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “If they won’t speak to us, the only escalation is to start shooting down their planes until there’re none left.”

“Ground silo launch detected,” said Maddox. “Missiles destroyed.”

“Is this how humanity would react?” asked Burner. “When the Kilvar arrived at Basalt, we sent a fleet to attack their warship.”

“The Kilvar weren’t friendly,” said Flint. “They didn’t even pretend.”

“I know, but whatever sweet words Admiral Recker broadcast, we’ve still presented the Aterne with an impossible choice,” said Burner. “Give up your planet on the word of an alien species, or die to a different alien species.”

“What else can we do?” asked Flint. He and his crew all knew this was the mission.

“I don’t think there’re any other options, sir,” said Burner. “This is just one of those situations where maybe there’s no way to force a positive outcome.”

Flint thought he detected an underlying message in the other man’s words. “You think we should start blowing things up?”

“Do we really care about the Aterne, sir? Apart from the parallels we’ve all drawn between them and humanity from a long time ago? We’re here to save the alliance, not the people on this planet. If the Aterne keep us effectively locked up here, we’re losing a chance to act against the Kilvar elsewhere. Most importantly, Fleet Admiral Recker can’t lead the alliance military when he’s on the Ancidium.”

This mission was already troubling and Burner’s words forced Flint to question himself. A ruthless officer might have no qualms about sending the Aterne a message they couldn’t ignore. Indeed, some few might have revelled in doing so. Not Flint.

“This is harder than I expected,” he confessed.

“That’s why you’re the right officer for the job, sir,” said Larson, staring straight at him.

“My first duty is to the alliance.”

“It is,” said Larson. “You have to decide on the best time to act.”

Flint’s eyes roved across the sensor feeds. The installation below was a hive of activity – vehicles sped along the roads and he spotted what might be tanks and mobile launchers. He felt the greatest of sympathy for the Aterne. Although they were stubborn and, from Flint’s perspective, behaving entirely irrationally, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the people of Earth would have acted the same way.

Certainly humanity wouldn’t have simply agreed to evacuate on the word of an alien species – maybe not even with a couple of seemingly invulnerable six-klick battleships flying across the skies. On the other hand, Flint couldn’t imagine the Earth militaries initiating an attack so readily. Perhaps, he thought, these Aterne were a more aggressive species than humanity.

“Let’s give them another couple of minutes to see if they speak with Admiral Recker,” Flint said with a heavy heart.

“Captain Iltron is now under attack,” said Becerra. “He’s limiting his response to railer fire only.”

The Evarox sped across the far horizon, descending and rotating with physics-defying ease as Iltron brought his warship into position. A few streaks of railer fire darted out from its hull turrets and then stopped. Not far from the Vanquisher, the Evarox halted, leaving the Aterne to contemplate the two enormous technological leviathans intruding brazenly into their airspace.

“Force open a channel to the ground station,” said Flint. He doubted there was much point, but it seemed best to give everything a try. “Maybe there’ll be someone down there who can pull strings.”

“Open channel?” asked Burner.

“Yes.”

“Aterne language modules activated and channel opened. There’s now an unknown alien on the bridge speakers, sir.”

“Greetings,” said Flint. “I am Captain William Flint of the human-Daklan alliance.”

A short silence followed and he pictured the surprised officer scrambling to marshal its thoughts.

“Leave this place,” said the Aterne. The alien’s voice was rough-edged – somewhere between a human and a Daklan. “Leave at once.”

“You have seen our broadcast,” said Flint. “Your planet is under threat. If you do not evacuate, your species will become extinct.”

“We cannot leave our planet. I must speak with my superiors.”

The conversation was going exactly how Flint feared it would. Nevertheless, he persisted. “I will speak to your superiors,” he said. “Are they nearby?”

“No. They are elsewhere.”

“Can you bring them into this channel?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Then please do so.” Flint took a deep breath to calm himself and to keep on top of his frustration. “If you do not agree to evacuate, you are all going to die.”

The channel went mute for ten seconds.

“My superior officer is in this comms channel,” said the first Aterne.

“Your species has become part of a much wider conflict,” said Flint. He was sure Recker’s broadcast had already covered the basics. “We have spaceships which can take you to safety. Someone amongst the Aterne must have the authority to order an evacuation.”

“I must speak with my superiors,” said a second voice.

Flint closed his eyes. “Why are you attacking my spaceship?” he asked quickly, hoping this question would elicit a definitive answer.

“Because you have violated our airspace and your presence is a threat.”

“We are not a threat.”

“You destroyed our jets.”

With rising fury, Flint stabbed a finger at a button on his console, cutting the channel. “Well, that was going nowhere,” he said.

“The Lavorix gave us two days before they turn to extraction,” said Larson. “I reckon we might need years to persuade the Aterne that it’s time to leave.”

“If those two officers are representative of their species as a whole, I don’t think the Aterne will ever accept what we’re telling them,” said Fredericks.

“This is screwed up,” said Flint. He clenched his fists. “I reckon we could wipe out their entire military and not be any closer to obtaining their agreement.”

“You can lead a horse to water, sir,” said Burner. “If the Aterne say no, there’s nothing much we can do about it.”

Deep down, Flint had always thought it might come to this. He could spend a few hours piloting the Vanquisher from place to place, destroying Aterne military targets and the aliens probably still wouldn’t believe what Recker was telling them.

Maybe they’d get the message if I ordered an incendiary drop on one of their cities.

Whatever the wider benefits that might come from shocking the Aterne into compliance, Flint didn’t think he had it in him to take such drastic action. Destroying military targets was one thing, ordering the incineration of a city was something else entirely. And yet, this was a mission Flint had asked for. And it seemed he was incapable of pulling it off.

As Flint stewed over his reality, the Aterne continued to launch missiles at the Vanquisher and Evarox, while the high-altitude jets with nuclear bombs in their cargo bays flew ever closer. Flint opened his mouth, unsure what he was about to say, but knowing he had to say something.

Events overtook the unspoken words.

An indescribable pain, without apparent source, gripped Flint’s body like a vice and squeezed. The agony left no part of him untouched and his brain threatened to shut down to save him from the torment. Flint heard a sound – a growl or a scream – and he didn’t know if it came from his own lips or those of someone else. He wavered on the brink of death and it seemed for a moment like he would succumb, no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

A word appeared in his head, the ramifications of which were incomprehensible in his enfeebled state.

Extractor.

Why the Lavorix had chosen to fire the weapon, Flint had no idea. He gritted his teeth so tightly together it was a wonder they didn’t crumble, and waited for the extractor attack to end.

Chapter Nine

The extractor shut off and it took a few moments for Flint’s disoriented mind to understand that the pain was gone. His body retained the memory, which clung to the fibres of his being and promised to haunt him for the rest of his days.

“What—?” he began.

Conscious thought began to assert itself and he reached for one of the Frenziol injectors in his leg pocket. His hand knew the drill – it pulled out a needle and plunged it into his thigh. Too late these boosters might be for the first extractor, but they’d be in his veins in case of another.

Just thinking of a second attack made Flint shrink within himself, like a beaten prisoner hiding in the darkened corner of his cell. Except this prison was his own body.

“Inject!” he ordered, his voice thick and croaking.

In the adjacent seat, Larson was a couple of seconds ahead of Flint and she dropped her own needle to the floor.

“We’ve got to find out why,” she said.

Flint knew it too. Something important – something critical – had happened, resulting in the Lavorix firing one of their most terrible weapons. Flint didn’t think it likely they’d run out of patience with the Aterne forty-six hours early and that meant real bad news was just over the horizon.

“Has everyone injected?” he asked, as loudly and clearly as he could manage. “We need to be ready.”

“We just had this shit flushed,” said Copeland weakly.

“Checking the sensors,” mumbled Lieutenant Burner. “The Ancidium is still at two million klicks, so the Lavorix didn’t go anywhere.”

Flint’s eyes were on the bulkhead screen when an eight-kilometre Kilvar diamond warship dropped out of lightspeed four hundred kilometres directly overhead.

“We don’t need this crap,” he said, putting voice to the obvious. “Commander Larson, target those scumbags and turn their spaceship into wreckage!”

“Sir, the planet!” said Larson. “The wreckage will come right down on the surface.”

It was a complication Flint wasn’t ready to deal with.

“What about the Aterne?” he asked. “Are they dead?”

A second Kilvar warship exited lightspeed less than a hundred kilometres from the first, adding to the pressure.

Flint’s hands were already on the control bars and he pushed them gently. The Vanquisher accelerated slowly over the surface facility.

“I need answers!” shouted Flint, his voice much stronger this time. “The Kilvar won’t be sensor blind for long!”

“The Aterne on the base are dead, sir,” said Burner.

A section of the bulkhead screen changed to show a new feed. On it, Flint saw a cluster of fallen aliens, dead from extraction. Their similarities with humans – and maybe with the Daklan too – was striking and he cursed bitterly at the fate of this species.

“A couple of their jets are falling towards the ground, sir,” croaked Garrett. “The rest are probably on autopilot.”

The evidence wasn’t yet conclusive, but it was enough for Flint.

“Commander Larson, shoot down those Kilvar warships,” he repeated. “Lieutenant Maddox - are you with us?”

“Yes, sir,” said Maddox, back to the deathbed voice again.

Larson didn’t question the order a second time. “Terrus-V cannons T1, T2, T3 and T4, targeted at Kilvar vessel #1 and fired. Upper hellburner clusters one through nine targeted at Kilvar vessel #2 and fired.”

The retort of the Terrus-V cannons was felt by everyone on the bridge. Four immense barrels jumped with recoil and four massive ternium-accelerated slugs were hurled at the Kilvar warship. The impacts crumpled the target vessel’s underside and several billion tons of plating and ternium were shattered and cast outwards in a destructive rain. The force of the collisions imparted heat and the structure of the Kilvar ship glowed white in four huge patches.

“It’s going to break up,” said Maddox.

Flint wanted to watch, but his eyes were drawn to the orange trails of the seventy-two hellburners which had ejected from the Vanquisher’s upper clusters. Such was the acceleration and velocity of the missiles that they appeared for only a moment before they detonated against the second Kilvar spaceship. Flashes of star-hot plasma engulfed much of the target vessel and a moment later, a second equally devastating salvo fired from elsewhere tore it to pieces.

“The crew of the Evarox are alive,” said Flint.

A surge of Frenziol energy was enough to give his mind and body the help they needed to recover from the extractor and Flint knew he’d soon be fully in command of himself. His eyes jumped to the tactical – which was a mess of debris warnings – and then to the sensors.

The first Kilvar ship had been unable to withstand the crunching Terrus-V impacts and it snapped in two along its midsection. In the larger, forward section, the ternium controllers had failed completely and the wreckage dropped vertically like a stone.

The smaller section stayed in the air, shedding pieces of alloy and fragments of its broken ternium modules. Flint considered it no longer a threat, but Captain Iltron was taking no chances. Twin strikes from the Evarox’s forward Terrus-V cannons created new explosions of debris. The Kilvar vessel’s malfunctioning control systems ordered the few intact ternium modules within the wreckage to fire and the rear section began to spin rapidly, throwing out its pieces in an ever-wider circle.

“Lieutenant Bolan is dead, sir,” said Lieutenant Fredericks.

The words cut like a jagged-bladed knife through the last vestiges of lethargy which clung to Flint. He wanted to ask for certainty, but knew that Fredericks wouldn’t make such a mistake. With a snarl of fury, Flint punched the console in front of him and then punched it again, hard enough to produce a sharp pain in his knuckles and wrist.

“Sir, we have to focus!” said Larson sharply.

She was right, but it required a monumental exertion of will for Flint to quell the anger within him. Bolan was dead, but the rest of his crew were not and the debris from the Kilvar warships required his attention. Not only that, the enemy rarely travelled in only twos and he needed to be alert for more coming.

“Lieutenant Garrett, please confirm the Aterne were successfully extracted.” Just saying the words made Flint feel dirty, as if he was responsible by association for the deaths of billions.

Billions dead.

The truth struck home like a hammer blow, adding to the loss of Bolan. Flint didn’t know the Aterne, so their sudden, brutal extinction was remote to him instead of harsh and raw. It was the burden of numbers he couldn’t avoid – lives lost and souls taken, drawn into the batteries of a twelve-hundred-kilometre spaceship they hadn’t seen and hadn’t known existed. The enormity of it made Flint reel and without the soothing tendrils of the Frenziol, numbing the edges, he thought he would have cracked and tumbled into insanity.

Overhead, the wreckage continued falling and Flint pushed the control bars further along their guide slots. The propulsion rumbled and the acceleration pressed him into his seat. Off to starboard, the Evarox banked and climbed high into the atmosphere and away from the trajectories of the plummeting debris.

“There’s no sign of life, sir, but that’s a conclusion I’m getting from watching the behaviour of the Aterne vessels already in flight,” said Burner. “You’d need to fly over one of those cities for me to be sure.”

The city Flint had piloted the Vanquisher across on the way in wasn’t far and he adjusted course to bring the annihilator over the tops of the buildings.

“What news from Admiral Recker?” he asked.

On one of the topside-rear feeds, the largest piece of Kilvar wreckage – sixty billion tons’ worth – kept drawing his eye. Down it came, trailing smaller pieces and heat smoke. Where it landed no longer mattered to the dead species of this world, yet it was fascinating to watch.

“I’m unable to get in touch with the Fleet Admiral, sir,” said Burner. He sounded unmistakeably worried.

“Have the Lavorix killed him?” asked Copeland in shock.

“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” snapped Flint.

The bad news kept rolling in, like an ocean of rotting corpses lapping the shore of a mourner’s hidden retreat.

“Captain Vance reports eighteen of his company dead, sir,” said Becerra. “Nobody was boosted and the extractor killed them.”

It was just another shovelful on the pile and Flint stowed it all away to be dealt with later. “We’ve lost the Aterne, but at least the Kilvar didn’t get their life energy,” he said. “Run a thorough scan of the Ancidium and the space around – if the enemy have attacked it, I want to know.”

“I’ve been scanning throughout, sir,” said Burner. “There’s no sign of Kilvar, except for those two who jumped out of lightspeed on top of us. The Ancidium is travelling on the same heading as it was when we left its bay, and at the same velocity.”

“We saw at Berongar that some of the Kilvar weapons have effectively unlimited range, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Is it possible they’re attacking the Lavorix ship from afar?”

“I’ve seen no sign of detonations on the Ancidium’s hull, sir, and its armour is unmarked on the visible side.”

“Nor have the Lavorix launched any additional ships, sir,” said Becerra.

“That’s as conclusive as anything,” said Flint. “But keep watching that spaceship – the Lavorix fired their extractor and I want to know the reason for it.”

“The major piece of debris is about to land,” said Garrett.

Flint couldn’t help but watch. The burning forward section of the Kilvar vessel was so huge, it appeared to fall in slow motion. It struck the planet’s surface in an area that was extensively farmed, though the Aterne wouldn’t be needing their crops anytime soon. The lump of alloy thudded into the ground with the inertia of an object that didn’t want to stop.

The collision formed a crater many kilometres across and with high sides that made Flint think of a volcano. Earth and stone were cast upwards and a shockwave rippled out at incredible speed, flattening an entire forest south of the impact point and creating a visible wave across the land in every direction.

“What’s the plan, sir?” asked Larson.

“I want to hear from Admiral Recker before we return to the Ancidium,” said Flint, drawing his eyes from the sensor feed. “If there’s been treachery, I don’t want to make it easier for the Lavorix to destroy us.”

“I’m sure the Ancidium has plenty of options, even at two million klicks, sir.”

Larson was right – the Lavorix capital ship had once shattered a star, so the Ancidium surely had the capability to wipe out Ater and anything which happened to be close by.

“I’m stating the obvious, but something has gone all the way south,” said Flint. “And I wish I knew what it was.” He turned. “Lieutenant Burner, are the Aterne satellites still operational?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve already interrogated the network and there are no additional alarms.”

“So those two Kilvar warships were the only ones to arrive?”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far, sir – the Aterne monitors don’t have a long range. There could be a hundred Kilvar warships at a half-million klicks and it would take the satellites hours to spot them.”

“Point taken,” said Flint. He swore. If the Kilvar were in the Cratiss system, the safest place should – in theory – be the Ancidium. “We’ll complete two orbits of Ater,” he decided. “That’ll give us a chance to scan for Kilvar and allow Admiral Recker time to re-establish a comms link.”

Flint’s plan was basic and he was forced to rethink it immediately.

“Sir, the Fleet Admiral is on the comms!” yelled Becerra.

“What news?” asked Flint. His whole body started trembling, as if he was going into shock. His intuition sometimes had a physical manifestation, but nothing like this. “Tell me!”

“It’s the Raklivian, sir,” said Becerra. “It escaped from its cage.”

“Shit,” said Flint. It was a bad development but nothing like as terrible as he’d expected. In fact, it was almost a relief. “Can the Lavorix recapture it? The Halion-2 is docked – is it carrying an ingar-ternium reactor?”

“The Raklivian released a death pulse, sir,” Becerra continued. She took a breath. “Fleet Admiral Recker believes it killed the Lavorix.”

“What? All of them?” asked Flint in disbelief.

“Yes, sir.”

There it was – the development which had got Flint’s intuition stirred up. For a moment, he sat, his mouth open and no words coming out. Then, his brain kicked into gear. “How sure is Admiral Recker?” Flint asked, the calmness in his voice surprising him.

“It’s not one hundred percent confirmed, but—”

“We need to get back to the Ancidium,” said Flint, interrupting before Becerra could finish.

He requested full power from the Vanquisher’s propulsion and hauled on the controls. The annihilator tore through the planet’s atmosphere, creating a chain of sonic booms that nobody was alive to hear. Into space it climbed, the velocity gauge racing through the numbers. Visible on the rear sensors, the Evarox followed.

A mission which was unusual to begin with was becoming progressively stranger and not in a good way. If the Lavorix were truly dead, Flint had no idea what that would mean for the alliance or for the wider conflict with the Kilvar.

Meanwhile, the Raklivian was on the loose somewhere within the Ancidium and, if the creature acted true to its nature, it would hunt the living.

It was a bad situation and one thing was sure – it was going to require a stroke of genius to turn this into anything that could be judged a positive. Flint ground his teeth and held tightly to the controls.

Chapter Ten

“Five minutes and we’ll be ready to dock with the Ancidium, sir,” said Burner. “That’s if it’ll open the doors for us.”

“We need to speak with Admiral Recker,” said Flint. “Where is he?”

“The Raklivian’s death pulse caused some problems, sir,” said Becerra. “I believe the Admiral has a lot on his plate.”

“Damnit!” said Flint. Recent events hadn’t yet fully sink in, but they were making progress. “We’ll maintain course unless we hear otherwise.”

The forward feeds were locked on the faraway Ancidium. Outwardly, nothing looked amiss and the colossal warship proceeded serenely on the same heading as before. Flint’s eyes roved over the vessel’s hull markings and the thousands of emplacements protruding from its armour and couldn’t believe that after all this time – these centuries – the Lavorix might finally have themselves become extinct.

“Two species gone in less than five minutes,” said Garrett, sounding like she couldn’t quite comprehend the enormity of it. “It doesn’t get any shittier than that.”

“Hold it together, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

The sound of the bridge door opening made him turn. A squad of soldiers entered, led by Captain Vance. Without a word, they made straight for Lieutenant Bolan’s body and lifted it reverently from its seat. They carried the dead officer away – another one to add to the pile. If the grim reaper existed, today would be a busy day.

“I guess he’s not getting married like he planned,” said Maddox, the words cracking as she spoke.

“We have to be steady,” said Larson. “The alliance is on a knife-edge and if we fall apart, it might be all that’s needed for the universe to have its way with humanity and the Daklan as well.”

The universe, thought Flint. The target of blame for everything, like it’s a single, malevolent entity seeking to expunge itself of life.

“If the Lavorix are dead, the Ancidium is vulnerable,” said Flint. “We can’t allow the Raklivian or the Kilvar to claim it.”

“Are we going to capture it for the alliance, sir?” asked Becerra.

It was a possibility which Flint hadn’t yet even considered. Now that Becerra had posed the question, he knew at once that out of tragedy, the greatest opportunity had been offered.

The universe, he thought again. We traded thirty billion lives to turn over the next card, and this is what we got.

“If the Lavorix are dead, you’re damn right we’re going to take their spaceship,” said Flint. He bared his teeth angrily. “We’ve earned this.”

Having committed, Flint mentally confronted the difficulties. Those difficulties were numerous and thinking about them as a whole risked him becoming overwhelmed.

“What is it you say, Commander Larson?” he asked.

Larson looked at him in confusion for a moment. Then, she understood. “One step at a time, sir.”

“Two minutes to the Ancidium,” said Burner loudly.

“I have Admiral Recker on the comms, sir,” said Becerra.

“Bring him in – open channel,” said Flint.

“Captain Flint, I cannot remember such an incredible series of events,” said Recker. “We must capitalize on them.”

“Yes, sir. What have you decided?”

“The Ancidium belongs to the alliance – we just need to secure it. We have many obstacles before us.”

“Yes, sir.” There was much to discuss and not a lot of time, but Flint gave in to temptation and asked the question that had been plaguing him most of all. “What happened?”

“So far, I only have speculation,” said Recker. “From what I know of the Ancidium, it is shielded – at least in part – from death tech. Yet somehow, the Raklivian was able to kill everyone onboard, except for the humans and Daklan.”

“Did we lose anyone?”

“Yes, a few. I’ve ordered everyone to take a double-shot of Frenziol and I’d suggest you issue the same command.”

“Yes, sir. Will the Vanquisher be allowed to dock and is that your preference?”

“I don’t know if the Ancidium’s flight computers will permit you entry,” Recker admitted. “You’ll have to test in order to find out – I’d rather you were safely in one of these bays than outside.”

“Two Kilvar spaceships exited lightspeed at planet Ater straight after the extractor attack, sir,” said Flint, unsure if his comms team had already passed on the message.

“Damnit,” said Recker, confirming that they hadn’t. “Two and no more?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure there’ll be others not far behind.”

“An entire Seeking, no doubt,” said Recker bitterly. “It changes nothing – bring the Vanquisher into one of the bays if you can. Otherwise, you’ll have to stay where you are until I can figure something out.”

“I’ll start my deceleration soon, sir,” said Flint. “If the outer doors won’t open, the Vanquisher and Evarox will act as escort.”

“At one time I’d have laughed at the notion of the Ancidium requiring an escort,” said Recker. “Now I have no idea what will happen if the Kilvar initiate an attack.”

“The auto-defences will be active, sir.”

“You’d think.”

“And I thought the Ancidium was invulnerable, sir.”

“So did I,” said Recker. “Having seen the outcome of the Raklivian’s death pulse, I am no longer so sure. We will speak of this later.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint. He knew Recker well enough that he didn’t push. Instead, Flint changed the subject. “Have you communicated with the entity in the sphere, sir?” he asked. “That might be the key to everything.”

“It might,” said Recker. “The fact it has taken no overt action is what worries me the most. I will converse with it the moment I am able.”

“And the Raklivian, sir?” asked Flint. “It searches for life.”

“The exium cage was taken to a bay closer to the Ancidium’s nose. I am relying on the creature requiring time to reach us. And perhaps it is not able to traverse this vessel as easily as it would another.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint, fervently hoping the Raklivian’s movements within the Ancidium would be limited.

“Anyway – I will leave you to dock, Captain Flint. We will talk again soon.”

The comms channel was closed abruptly.

“Time to slow down, sir,” said Larson.

The Vanquisher was approaching the Ancidium too rapidly and Flint drew back on the controls, producing the familiar booming thunder of maximum deceleration. Partly suppressed forces pulled him into his seat harness and the muscles in his shoulders, neck and forearms felt the strain. At twenty kilometres per second, Flint held the annihilator steady for the final approach.

“What’s the range on the Raklivian’s death pulse?” asked Fredericks.

“I have no idea,” said Flint. “We should take that second dose of Frenziol.”

“That’s what I was thinking, sir.”

“Lieutenant Becerra, pass on the order,” said Flint. He pulled out an injector and looked at it with distaste. Having recently been flushed, it was demoralizing having to double boost again so soon. Getting it over with, he took the second shot and dropped the spent injector into the tiny storage space on the front panel of his console.

“Order conveyed to Captain Vance, sir,” said Becerra.

“How are we planning to request docking clearance?” asked Fredericks. “I thought the Ancidium’s flight computer didn’t respond to any of our requests.”

“It hasn’t so far and I don’t expect that to change,” said Flint. “I’m hoping it has the Vanquisher and the Evarox on a friendly list and opens the door when we’re close enough.”

“We haven’t been shot down yet,” said Copeland. “I suppose that’s a good sign.”

“I’ve highlighted the bay doors through which we first exited, sir,” said Burner. “Head for those and let’s see what happens.”

The Ancidium was close now. The huge vessel was travelling at a low velocity which made it easy for Flint to calculate his approach without assistance from the Vanquisher’s navigational systems. He locked his gaze on the Ancidium’s flank. The seam of its bay door was so fine as to be almost imperceptible.

“It looks…dead,” said Larson.

Flint, too, had noticed that same change. “It does look dead,” he said. “The Ancidium has always carried death with it…” He tailed off, not sure what else to say.

“The Lavorix endured too long and now they’re gone. And I don’t feel bad for saying it,” said Larson. “They’ve given the alliance some help and for that I’m grateful, but if they truly are extinct, I think it’s long overdue.”

Flint brought the Vanquisher into a position opposite the Ancidium’s bay door and matched velocity. Five kilometres to starboard, Captain Iltron did likewise with the Evarox.

“I think I agree,” said Flint. “The sphere entity told me the Lavorix were created solely to defeat the Kilvar. What if they were never needed? What if the Meklon or another species the Lavorix extracted would have risen to the challenge and stopped the Kilvar anyway?”

“Natural order would have asserted itself,” said Fredericks. “Maybe. Given everything I’ve witnessed in the last few months, I’m no longer sure if there’s any such thing as a natural order.”

It was a topic to be discussed late in the evening, with several empty bottles on the table. With regret, Flint called a halt to the conversation. “I’m as much interested in speculation as all of you. We’ll have to leave it for later.”

Fredericks got the hint and fell silent. Directly ahead of the Vanquisher, the Ancidium’s bay door remained stubbornly closed, and Flint reminded himself that on previous occasions a minute or more had elapsed before the Lavorix vessel permitted entrance or exit.

“Come on – do it,” said Larson.

“I’m searching for open receptors that might be the flight controller,” said Burner. “The only visible receptors are those of our own hardware being routed through the Ancidium’s hull antennae.”

“Damnit,” said Flint. Cursing didn’t make him feel any better. He felt helpless – a spectator, when he wanted to be involved with whatever was happening onboard the Ancidium.

“I could attempt contact with Admiral Recker again, sir?” said Becerra.

“If he could help, we’d have heard already,” said Flint. His eyes darted to his central screen, in case the Ancidium had sent a message directly to his console. It had not.

“It’s been two minutes since we got here,” said Garrett. “The longest previous wait hasn’t been much over a minute.”

“I know,” said Flint through clenched teeth.

At last, after what felt like an age, a thirty-kilometre section of the Ancidium’s hull slid away out of sight. It was progress, but Flint didn’t feel relief. The old mission – the one to Ater – was over and this was the start of a new one.

What lay on the road ahead, Flint couldn’t guess. Of one thing he was certain – the significance of this could not be underestimated. Taking a deep breath, he piloted the Vanquisher towards the opening in the dead ship’s hull.

Chapter Eleven

The inner door opened after twenty seconds and the outer door closed at the same time. Piloting the Vanquisher into the newly revealed linking tunnel, Flint held his anger in check as he waited for the third to open and finally admit him to the bay in which Fleet Admiral Recker’s escort ships waited.

After ten seconds, this last door slid out of sight and the bay beyond was exactly how Flint remembered it. He guided the Vanquisher inside and the Evarox followed.

“Are we about to be hit by repeat death pulses?” asked Maddox.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “Be assured I’m no keener on the idea than you are, Lieutenant.”

“We haven’t heard anything from Admiral Recker,” said Garrett. “Are we handing the Vanquisher over to its former crew?”

Again, Flint didn’t know. “Get me a comms channel to the Admiral.”

“Requesting that channel, sir,” said Burner. “Channel request accepted.”

“Sir, the Vanquisher and Evarox are inside the Ancidium’s bay,” said Flint.

“That’s a positive beginning,” said Recker. “Disembark at once and head to the mess room in which we first met. Bring your crew and everyone else.”

“Yes, sir.” Flint hesitated. “Have you learned anything since last I spoke?”

“Learned? Not much. Guesses I have in plenty.”

“I’ll join you soon, sir,” said Flint.

He unclipped his harness and stood. The muscles in his legs complained and the flesh of one thigh throbbed from the Frenziol he’d squirted into it.

“You heard the Admiral,” he said loudly. “We’re leaving at once.”

“By which shuttle bay, sir?” asked Becerra.

“The same one we arrived in.”

“Bay 1 it is, sir.”

The rest of the crew left their stations, while Becerra communicated Flint’s orders to Captain Vance. Waiting at the door, Flint watched as she placed her headset carefully onto her console and he beckoned her to follow.

Shuttle Bay 1 wasn’t far, though reaching it added a frustrating delay Flint didn’t want. He needed some calm time in which to think – he was sure that answers could be found by logical consideration of the known facts, but the fast pace of activity kept him too busy.

Many of Captain Vance’s platoon were already on the shuttle, with only stragglers to come. Flint climbed straight into the cockpit, where he found Vance and Tagra already occupying two of the three seats.

“Just in case we needed to make a fast exit, sir,” said Vance, offering to vacate his position.

“The comms station’s yours. I’ll take the pilot’s seat,” said Flint. “We’re returning to the platform on the bay wall. I don’t anticipate difficulties.”

“Yes, sir,” said Vance, moving himself into the adjacent seat.

Larson and Burner entered the cockpit, Flint having ordered the others of his crew to remain in the passenger bay.

“Stay,” said Flint, when Larson asked if she and Burner should leave. “How many left to come, Captain Vance?”

“Twelve, sir,” said Vance. “Three members of my company were incapacitated by the extractor, on top of those who died. I ordered a couple of squads to carry them here.”

Flint cursed at the reminder. This had been a costly mission in more ways than one. “Who died?”

“Nobody you know, sir,” said Vance. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been toughened up by exposure to those extractors. Not just me, but the others who were with me from the Lavorix wars.” He thumbed at Tagra in the seat nearby. “While this bastard is just too mean and too stubborn to die.”

“Suffering the crap is a hard way to increase your chances,” said Flint.

“Better than falling down like the others. I heard the Lavorix are extinct, sir.”

Flint didn’t question Vance’s source of information. “It’s looking that way.”

“I think I’m glad.” Vance nodded, as if he were only just coming to terms with his own thoughts on the matter.

“You’re not alone, Captain,” said Flint. “They had too long.” He took a breath. “There’s more bad news.”

“The Raklivian,” said Vance.

“That’s right,” said Flint. “It’s on the loose within the Ancidium – we don’t know where and we don’t know if it has higher priority goals than sucking the life from a few hundred alliance personnel.”

“It’ll come for us eventually, sir.”

Flint nodded. “That it will. You may have to climb back into the ring for Round 2.”

“We’re facing the same shit as always,” said Vance. “Just like it ever was.” He snarled and the defiance was as strong as ever. “We beat it once and we’ll beat it again.”

“The last of our soldiers is entering the shuttle bay, sir,” said Tagra. “We’ll be able to depart imminently.”

“Opportunity and death are ahead of us,” said Flint.

“This is a tipping point,” said Tagra. “More so than any other event in our war against the Kilvar.”

Flint nodded his agreement. “We’re going to take the Ancidium and put it to good use.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than he found himself wondering if the Ancidium was too much of a force to be controlled by anyone other than the Lavorix.

If this vessel falls into alliance hands, would it draw the attention of other species in the universe, or other entities who have so far chosen to stay off the stage?

Flint shook off the thoughts – this was a time to commit fully until victory was secured, and deal with the consequences later. “Is everyone onboard?” he asked, watching the flank airlock light turn green on his console.

“Yes, sir,” said Tagra.

“In that case, it’s time to leave.”

A couple of taps on the pilot’s console requested launch clearance from the Vanquisher’s flight controller. The response came back immediately.

“Clearance granted,” said Tagra.

“Here we go.”

Flint activated the launch command and the shuttle accelerated stern-first along the docking tunnel. The doors in the annihilator’s armour opened and the transport sped through with gathering velocity.

After a few seconds, the shuttle exited the docking tunnel and entered the expanse of the Ancidium’s bay. Tagra adjusted the sensors and the huge, dark shapes of the other alliance spaceships became visible. The Halion-2 superlifter’s immense starboard flank was hardly more than a dozen kilometres away, and that was itself utterly dwarfed by the rising cliffs of the distant bay walls.

“Course overlay added to the tactical,” said Vance. “One hundred klicks, give or take.”

“Got it,” said Flint.

Banking away from the alliance vessels, he requested power from the shuttle’s engines. The transport responded eagerly and the rumble of acceleration imparted a vibration into the control sticks.

Flint was tense, but he tried not to show it outwardly. Hs muscles felt tight and the adrenaline was pumping with a natural purity he could sense alongside the artificial veneer imparted by the Frenziol. Guiding the shuttle towards his intended landing place, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, though it didn’t much help him relax.

Halfway to the landing platform, the Raklivian sent out a death pulse. The filthy energy tore through Flint’s body, making him curse repeatedly. He didn’t lose consciousness – not even close – and he held onto the joysticks.

“Welcome to the rest of the mission,” said Tagra with typical Daklan dryness.

“I’m checking for casualties,” said Vance.

“I can go into the bay if you’d prefer,” said Larson.

Flint turned for a moment to see how she and Burner had coped with the death pulse. Both were on their feet and appeared to have recovered quickly. “Stay where you are, Commander,” said Flint. “Is it just me, or was that death pulse easier to manage than the others?”

“Not just you, sir,” said Burner.

“I wonder if we are at the extremes of range,” said Tagra.

Flint didn’t know, but he suspected Tagra’s suggestion was accurate. It was logical that a pulse of energy would decay in potency as the range from the source increased, particularly when that energy was travelling through several hundred kilometres of ultra-dense materials.

“No casualties to report,” said Vance with evident relief. He looked sideways at Flint. “I thought the Ancidium’s walls were impenetrable, sir. Except to a certain type of particle beam built by the Lavorix.”

“Either we were wrong to assume that, or there’s something at play we don’t know about, Captain,” said Flint. “It’s another answer we don’t have.”

“Landing platform ten kilometres ahead,” said Tagra.

“When we set down, we’re making straight for the mess room,” said Flint. “Maybe Fleet Admiral Recker has settled on a plan or maybe he hasn’t, but we’ll be ready for whatever he decides.”

“Yes, sir,” said Vance. He gave a rueful laugh. “Usually I can guess which way the wind is blowing. This time, I don’t want to call it.”

Everything was in a state of flux and Flint completely understood what Vance was saying. Usually an opponent could be challenged either with spaceships or gauss rifles, yet this was a situation where neither might be required, or both.

“Coming in to land,” said Flint. “We’ll soon find out what Admiral Recker has in mind.”

He rotated the shuttle, bringing its flank parallel to the bay wall. Last-moment deceleration intensified the ongoing rumble of the propulsion and Flint set the transport down hard enough that its sprung landing legs creaked with the strain.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, unclipping his harness. “The faster we move, the less opportunity the Raklivian has to hit us with death pulses.”

Taking the exit steps two at a time, Flint descended into the passenger bay. Most of the soldiers were standing, but they made no moves towards the airlock, having doubtless been ordered by Vance to hold in order that Flint and his crew could exit first.

Entering the airlock space, Flint crossed towards the far door and waited for the Vanquisher’s former crew, along with Vance, Tagra and a few other recognizable faces to follow.

“The airlock’s full, you’ll have to wait your turn,” said Drawl triumphantly as he closed the door on the soldier behind him.

A green light appeared and Flint opened the outer door. The bay was in vacuum like he’d expected and he hurried down the short, retractable exit ramp to the solidity of the landing platform. The door into the Ancidium’s personnel areas wasn’t far and Flint jogged towards it.

“We can definitely get inside, can’t we, sir?” asked Private Steigers. “What with all the Lavorix being dead and everything.”

“We’ll soon find out,” said Flint, with his own concerns on the matter.

He stopped at the door and checked over his shoulder to make sure everyone from the first airlock cycle was nearby.

“Are we waiting for the others, sir?” asked Vance.

“Yes,” said Flint. “But I’ll see if I can operate the door.”

He used his suit comms to hunt for the door receptor and then requested a link. When the request was accepted, he blew out the pent up air in his lungs and ordered the door to open. Following a split-second delay, the square piece of metal slid aside to reveal the passage beyond.

“That’s us inside,” said Raimi.

“It sure is,” said Flint. He crossed the threshold and stood near the wall in the corridor. “I don’t want us to split up – we’ll wait here for the others.” He beckoned the soldiers and they followed him through the door.

Flint and the others watched while the rest of the personnel from the shuttle descended onto the platform. The soldiers who’d been unconscious before were still unconscious, and it was hard to ignore the frustration as they were slowly carried from the transport and into the tunnel.

At last, it was done and every member of Vance’s company was inside the Ancidium. Delaying no longer, Flint broke into a sprint towards the mess area where he knew he’d find Fleet Admiral Recker and – hopefully – answers and significant developments that would shine light on the best way to secure the Ancidium.

Flint didn’t make it to the mess room. A single glowing word appeared on the HUD within his suit helmet.

Come.

He bared his teeth at the sight of it and requested a comms channel to Admiral Recker.

“Sir, the sphere entity has requested the pleasure of my company.”

“Then what are you waiting for? I’ve attempted contact, but so far I’ve been ignored.”

“Is there anything I should be aware of before I go, sir?”

“I’d prefer you to have an open mind when you speak with the entity,” said Recker cryptically.

“Yes, sir,” said Flint.

He exited the comms channel and passed on this new information to Captain Vance.

“I’ll pick a few soldiers and we’ll escort you, sir.”

“Thank you - that’s appreciated,” said Flint.

A short time later, he entered the circular room with the cylindrical pillar. The Lavorix crew were either dead at their stations or dead on the floor. Flint didn’t want to look too closely, but he couldn’t help himself. The aliens wore a variety of expressions, from twisted pain to complete disinterest. What caught Flint’s eye most of all was the tranquillity on several of the Lavorix faces, as if their deaths had been a release from endless service.

It was an uncomfortable thought and one which echoed Flint’s growing feelings about his own life – feelings he’d experienced with increasing frequency as the war against the Kilvar progressed.

Calling a halt, Flint watched Vance’s company split. The majority of the soldiers would return to the mess room and a smaller group would proceed to the sphere room.

Stopping for even these short moments filled Flint with agitation. Trepidation and anticipation vied for supremacy, along with a dozen lesser fears and emotions. Wondering what the hell the sphere entity had in store for him – and by association, the rest of the alliance – Flint exited the control room.

Chapter Twelve

Flint’s feet carried him through the hushed corridors. He knew the way and while it was possible a faster route existed to his destination, he wasn’t in the mood for experimentation. A peculiar still had descended upon the Ancidium and he could hear little except the background hum of the vessel’s incomprehensibly vast propulsion.

He ran, his boots producing hardly any sound against the solidity of the floor and lending to the notion that the Ancidium was now well and truly forsaken – a place of the dead and the foolishly hopeful.

Not far from the control room, past a couple of intersections, Flint came across more Lavorix. They were in a heap against a wall – fifteen or sixteen in total - leaving ample room for him and the soldiers to pass by.

“It’s like they swept themselves up after they died,” said Drawl.

To Flint it seemed like a strange observation and he couldn’t think of a suitable response. Nor could anyone else, and the open comms channel remained quiet as the soldiers sprinted onwards.

“Not far to the internal shuttle car,” said Vance after a time. The passage was wide, giving him plenty of room to stay alongside Flint. “Are we coming with you to the sphere room, sir?”

Flint had already considered the question. These soldiers had been there before, and Vance was the first person in the alliance to converse with the sphere entity. “Screw it, I don’t see why not.”

It didn’t take long to arrive at the entrance to the shuttle and Flint spotted other dead Lavorix along intersecting corridors, piled up like the first group they’d found. As he waited for the doors to open, Drawl’s recent words replayed again and again in Flint’s mind. The soldier’s apparently innocuous comment had a far greater depth – intended or otherwise – than he’d first thought.

It’s as if the Lavorix were ready to die. Maybe they’d had enough of war – of the endless conflict against an opponent whose zeal for ascendancy was all the motivation they’d ever need.

The doors to the internal shuttle opened and Flint stepped into the car. Vance and the soldiers followed and Flint waited for the doors to close. They didn’t move and he instructed his suit comms to hunt for a receptor. It located several, but as far as Flint could tell, none controlled the car. He waited another thirty seconds.

Come.

Flint took the hint. “I don’t think you and the others are welcome, Captain Vance.”

“Should we exit this shuttle, sir?”

“I think that would be for the best.”

Vance led his platoon back into the corridor. “We’ll be here when you return, sir.”

The door closed and an uncomfortable vibration rose to prominence within the car, along with a metallic, charged scent. Flint had experienced this before and since he didn’t expect the shuttle journey to be a long one it was no great hardship to endure.

Less than a minute passed and then the vibration faded. The doors opened and Flint gazed into the vast expanse of the room containing the entity which may or may not be a god and which may or not be able to grant control access to the Ancidium. Before him, the eighty-metre sphere of nonreflective black was exactly how he remembered it.

Flint suppressed a shiver that was entirely unrelated to the chill of the room and he strode from the lift. Halting just beyond the sphere’s curve, he stared upwards. Eighty metres was tiny in comparison to even the smallest of warships, yet this object was possessed of a presence that made it as impressive as anything built by alliance hands.

Flint waited. For a time, nothing happened and he mentally cursed the games of aliens and those who would pass themselves off as gods. Then, words appeared in his mind.

The Lavorix are extinct.

As he’d done before, Flint imagined himself building high walls around his innermost thoughts, in case this entity had a way of plucking those thoughts from his brain and using them against him.

“They were careless with the Raklivian. Again.”

The exium cage was depleted, allowing the creature’s escape.

Flint chose his words carefully, not wishing to become embroiled in an argument that would benefit no one. “Bringing the Raklivian into the Ancidium was not wise. Had the Lavorix left the Demagaron in the void, they would still be alive.”

Perhaps. The Lavorix are gone and your alliance remains on the Ancidium.

“It is a valuable tool. Too valuable to fall into Kilvar hands.”

That is true. Do you covet the Ancidium?

The entity could be direct when it chose and Flint pondered his response. He decided to come clean – or at least partially clean. “The alliance is threatened with extinction. We would use the Ancidium against the Kilvar.”

This vessel was created for the Lavorix alone.

“And the Lavorix were created to defeat the Kilvar.”

So you were told.

“Isn’t it true?”

Empires rise and fall, human. They have always done so and they ever will.

Flint opened his mouth to accuse the entity of not answering his question. He closed it again – the sphere entity was telling him that whatever created the Lavorix had been playing the long game and intended them for a new purpose after the Kilvar were defeated.

And yet the Kilvar were not defeated. Perhaps I should be comforted to learn that even gods cannot predict the future.

“What are your intentions?” he asked.

I do not yet know.

“Did you create the Ancidium?” asked Flint, prying for information which might provide him with a greater understanding of where the sphere entity fitted in with everything else.

No. I am part of the Ancidium, not its creator.

“Do you control this vessel?”

I have influence.

“What does that mean?”

I cannot make it clearer.

“Please try – I do not understand.”

The Lavorix guided me and I guided the Lavorix.

The response wasn’t much help and Flint reconsidered his approach. “Do you think of yourself as a god?”

I have no hubris, though to many species – those your alliance have not yet discovered – I may as well be a god.

“You said you didn’t yet know your intentions. When will you decide, and what might you decide?”

You crave certainty, human. I have none to offer.

“Do you still wish to defeat the Kilvar?”

I am an enabler. The Lavorix were given the task of war.

“Will you enable the alliance to continue where the Lavorix failed?”

That is not yet decided.

“Is this decision yours to make?”

No.

A chill of the unknown made Flint’s skin tighten and his hairs prickle. “Then who?”

The answer is not mine to give.

“Have you asked for guidance?”

Yes.

“And when will you receive it?”

I do not know.

“Soon?” Flint asked. “I don’t know how long the alliance can hold out against the Kilvar.”

It is the Kilvar ascendancy you must concern yourself with. It will happen.

“With no hope the enemy will fail?”

I am not infallible.

“So how long before the Ancidium’s fate is decided?”

I do not know. Days, months, years, centuries. The Ancidium may be allowed to drift until a new purpose is chosen for it.

The conversation was maddening, even given Flint’s certainty that the entity wasn’t being deliberately evasive. Still, it was answering his questions freely – in its own way – and Flint was determined to keep talking to find out if he could wring anything useful from the sphere.

“How was the Raklivian’s death pulse able to kill the Lavorix?” asked Flint, changing tack. “I thought the Ancidium’s structure blocked such attacks.”

The Ancidium can be made immune to death technology. This immunity was considered of primary importance during its creation.

“Then why did it fail?”

Flint thought he detected the slightest hesitation before the sphere entity spoke again.

The immunity is not constant.

“You mean the Ancidium is sometimes vulnerable to death tech?”

That is correct.

The stirrings of realisation tickled the far edges of Flint’s mind. “When is it vulnerable?”

Again, that same hesitation before the entity responded.

The Ancidium’s propulsion cannot provide sufficient power for every primary system to run concurrently.

“But they can all run concurrently when there is enough power?” Flint pressed.

That is correct.

“What happens when there’s a shortfall?” Flint already knew the answer and just needed to hear the sphere entity admit it, even though it surely didn’t have the morals to care.

When a shortfall exists, the Ancidium draws from its batteries.

“The same life batteries that were filled every time the Lavorix extracted a planet full of living creatures?”

That is correct.

“And the Raklivian’s death pulse wiped out the Lavorix because the Ancidium’s internal shielding was not operational?”

Shielding is not an accurate description, but yes, the Ancidium’s defences were not active.

“Why not?”

The Ancidium’s batteries were low and the internal defences were not active when the death pulse was fired.

“So the Lavorix were conserving energy?”

Yes. Once the last of the Meklon species was extracted, it became harder to replenish the life batteries.

Flint had another thought. “Did the Raklivian empty those batteries when it first came to the Ancidium?”

Not emptied.

“Almost emptied?”

Yes.

“The Lavorix fired the extractor at the planet Ater.”

When it became clear the Raklivian would break its prison, the Lavorix extracted the Aterne, intending to activate the internal defences.

“What went wrong?” asked Flint.

They were not in time.

“And now the Raklivian is loose within the Ancidium?”

Yes.

“Is there a way to stop it?”

There is always a way.

Flint gritted his teeth. “Then tell me.”

The internal defences can limit the Raklivian’s movements, and an exium cage will contain it.

“Can you activate the internal defences?”

Until my goals become clear, I must preserve the Ancidium’s resources.

“Meaning you won’t tap into the life batteries?”

I will not.

“What if the Raklivian drains the batteries again now that the Lavorix have topped them up?”

I have taken steps to prevent it happening. The Raklivian will not access the batteries.

“It’s a shame you didn’t do that last time,” said Flint. “Can you order the crafting of a new exium cage?”

I will not.

Flint briefly imagined the satisfaction he’d gain from borrowing Private Raimi’s shoulder launcher and sending a couple of plasma rockets into the sphere. “Why will you not?”

The exium is more valuable than the lives onboard the Ancidium.

A new question came to Flint. “Why did you bring me here, if you have nothing to offer?”

To talk.

“And that’s it?”

Yes.

“I thought the Lavorix saw something in me,” said Flint. “Which is the reason I was asked to command the Demagaron.”

Everything has changed, Captain William Flint.

“Is there anything the alliance can offer, or anything we can do?” asked Flint in desperation. If this had ever been an opportunity, it was slipping away.

No.

“That can’t be the answer!” he shouted.

The sphere remained quiet and when Flint looked around, he was struck by a feeling of complete and utter isolation. He spoke to the sphere again, and again it offered him no response.

Turning away, Flint headed for the internal shuttle car, his footsteps measured, while he replayed the conversation in his mind.

Any hope Flint might have nurtured about convincing the sphere entity to simply hand over the Ancidium were gone. Time was far too tight to play the game – the Raklivian was free and the Kilvar had already located the Cratiss system.

Somehow, the alliance had to come up with a plan that would turn everything on its head. Failing that, this mission was effectively over and nothing would stop the Kilvar from ascending.

Flint cursed, and sprinted for the shuttle car.

Chapter Thirteen

When Flint arrived in the mess area along with Captain Vance and his escort of soldiers, the first thing he noticed was that the personnel were decamping. Several of the medical bots were on their way to the far doorway, and they were accompanied by members of Vance’s company.

“Look who it is,” said Private Carrington. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

It took Flint a moment to realise what she meant. Midway across the room, a familiar figure was in animated discussion with Admiral Recker. Or at least the familiar figure was animated, while Recker stood impassively and listened.

“We could have been in and out stasis a hundred times already and not known it,” said Steigers.

“I’m more surprised we haven’t been blown up,” said Raven. “Or blown up and then put in stasis.”

“Enough,” said Flint, wondering what Research Lead Victor Moseley was doing here on the Ancidium. Wherever the man was found, dangerous, unstable and highly experimental technology was likely close by. Flint gestured towards a nearby table. “Captain Vance, wait here.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Vance and his platoon prepared for a brief period of lounging, Flint hurried across the room. It was almost deserted now, except for Recker, Moseley and the last few members of Vance’s company whose medical treatment wasn’t yet completed.

“Admiral Recker,” said Flint in greeting. He looked at the other man. “Research Lead Moseley.”

RL Moseley was approximately fifty years old, pale and gaunt, with unruly dark hair. He smiled in recognition.

“Captain Flint,” he said.

“You may have noticed that we’re relocating,” said Recker, indicating the personnel making their way through the exit.

“Where to, sir?”

“We’ve discovered another control room a short distance from here. We believe it’s a sensor and comms station.”

“Do we have access to the hardware, sir?”

“I was hoping you might have some news for me on that front, Captain.”

Flint shook his head. “No, sir. I spoke with the entity sphere and it won’t give us what we want.”

“Why not?” asked Recker sharply. He stifled a sigh. “Only a fool would have thought this would be easy.”

“Is RL Moseley permitted to hear the details of my encounter with the sphere entity, sir?” asked Flint.

“Yes – anything you have to say, RL Moseley is allowed to hear it.”

Less than five minutes later, Flint finished talking. He wasn’t sure what the reaction would be and he watched closely.

“The entity is tolerating our presence and nothing more,” said Recker. “It hasn’t revoked our security access, so it doesn’t view us as hostile.”

“I was left with the feeling it answers to something else, sir,” said Flint.

“Or is a partner among equals?” asked Recker.

“That wasn’t the impression I got, sir.”

“It galls me to think that the continued existence of my species may be contingent upon the whims of creatures, beings – or whatever you want to name them – whom we may never meet, nor call to account.” Recker clenched both fists tightly.

“The situation may not be ideal, but we have a metaphorical foot in the Ancidium’s door,” said Moseley, who Flint knew from experience was one of the universe’s leading optimists. “The Kilvar are outside, and we are inside. The advantage is ours.”

“I’d have fewer reservations were it not for the Raklivian,” said Flint. He narrowed his eyes in Moseley’s direction. “We have the Halion-2 lifter. Does its hold contain anything which may tip the scales in our favour?”

“Anything…exciting, you mean?” asked Moseley, his face brightening as if he were imagining testing a particularly hazardous and unproven piece of technology.

“Exciting isn’t the first word I’d choose,” said Flint.

“We don’t have an ingar-ternium reactor in the Halion-2’s cargo bay if that’s what you’re hoping,” said Recker. “And nor did we bring any exium modules.”

Flint was disappointed. While he didn’t necessarily believe that exium would provide a solution to the current problems, at least it would have been an option – something to explore.

An idea jumped into Flint’s mind and it was a risky one. He faced Recker. “My engine officer was impressed by the Oblex#1 core on the Vanquisher, sir.”

“You want to hack into the Ancidium.” Recker said it more like a statement than a question.

“As RL Moseley said, we have a foot in the door, sir. One way or another, we have to force it all the way open.”

“A single core, no matter how many instructions it can execute, will not be enough,” said Recker, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than throw up obstacles. “And what of the sphere entity? What if it revokes the security access we already have?”

By this point, Moseley was practically jumping up and down with excitement. “What if the Ancidium’s internal systems are modular?” he asked. “Such an arrangement would prevent a total takeover of the vessel by allowing each subsystem to be individually isolated when a breach was detected.”

“So we could hack into one subsystem and afterwards it would be game over for us?” said Recker. “The Ancidium’s security would isolate that subsystem and prevent us from accessing anything else.”

Moseley looked momentarily crestfallen. “Still, it’s a beginning, isn’t it? Perhaps with some thought we could develop the idea.”

“We don’t know how vulnerable the Ancidium is to an intrusion attack,” said Recker. “And it’s likely we’ll only have one chance to find out. If we screw up, then we’re out of luck.”

Recker lifted his head and looked around the room, as if noticing how empty it was.

“We should head over to the control room. I’m sure we can do some judicious poking around without drawing the ire of the sphere entity.” He beckoned Vance and the soldiers over.

“Whatever is in that sphere it hasn’t yet given a straight answer about how much control it has over the Ancidium,” Flint mused.

“We must assume it has far more control than we do,” said Recker.

“What if we were able to cut off its access to the rest of the spaceship?” said Flint.

“That is something to consider,” said Recker. “However, we may yet need that entity. What if it controls something we later require?” He shook his head. “I’m aware of the time constraints we face, but we can’t act with too much haste. And believe me, I’m as frustrated as you are.”

Recker spun abruptly and strode for the exit through which the other alliance personnel had recently gone. Following close behind, Flint mulled over everything which had happened and everything which had been said. The alliance was beset by problems and he could think of no overarching solution. When the stakes were as high as this, it was much harder to gamble on what action to take.

Outside the mess room was another of the Ancidium’s long corridors. Doors and intersections were visible, along with a scattering of dark shapes which Flint realised were dead Lavorix.

“This place is all bays, engines and armour,” said Recker. “Usually I’d feel at home, but whoever or whatever constructed the Ancidium, they made it as dreary as possible.”

“A few of us believe the Lavorix would be glad to see the end of their existence, sir,” said Flint, thumbing over his shoulder towards Vance and the other soldiers who were only a few steps behind.

“They didn’t have much to live for,” said Moseley.

A couple of turns later, Recker pointed along a corridor. “Our destination is that next entrance on the left,” he said.

As he spoke, the Raklivian sent out another death pulse. It was only as bad as the last one, and that made it far more tolerable than those Flint had suffered on the Demagaron. His stride faltered and he put out a hand for support, but he didn’t fall nor drift towards unconsciousness.

“Damn that asshole,” said Recker, his back against the wall and his head tipped towards the ceiling.

Nobody died and the group resumed their journey towards the comms room. At the same time, Vance checked with the rest of his company and confirmed no further casualties amongst them. Shortly after, news came in from the Halion-2 that a technician had fallen off a gantry when the death pulse came, and broken his neck. Recker cursed again when he heard.

“In here,” he snapped, indicating the comms room entrance.

The door to the comms room was open and Flint followed Recker inside. It was a massive space, circular and with a hundred-metre diameter. In the centre of the room was another pillar like the one in the first control room, except this was larger and wreathed in thick black cables. These cables glistened with what Flint suspected was ice. The temperature in the room was low enough for it to have formed.

In concentric rings around the pillar, Lavorix consoles faced inwards. The operators were all dead and members of Vance’s company were busy dumping the corpses onto a pile on the far side of the room.

“This room reminds me of that first tenixite converter we found, way back when,” said Raimi.

“That’s what I thought twenty minutes ago when I saw this place,” said Recker. “I’d like to say they were good memories.”

“It was back in the days when we were shooting Daklan, Lieutenant,” said Drawl.

Tagra fixed him with an unwavering stare. “Your squad mates must have carried you through those engagements, Private. I’m sure you are lucky to be alive, while the rest of us must seemingly endure your presence for an eternity.”

“You could have just punched him, Lieutenant,” said Carrington. “He understands pain better than he understands words.”

“Be quiet,” said Vance.

“By all means let them continue,” said Recker. “But maybe over there where I can’t hear them.”

Vance nodded and ordered the nearby soldiers to join with the others of his company.

“Captain Flint, let’s go speak with Lieutenant Burner,” said Recker. “He’s operated the Lavorix hardware before and I asked him to check out these consoles.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint.

Burner was sitting at a console in one of the innermost rings, with Commander Larson at his shoulder. This station was noticeably different to those in the outer ring and also from those to its left and right, having two extra screens – blank along with the rest - as well as three additional panels of toggle switches, keys and buttons. Not far away, Lieutenants Garrett and Becerra studied a separate console, while Lieutenant Fredericks looked on with interest.

“Any progress, Lieutenant Burner?” asked Recker.

“The hardware is no different to that on the Aeklu and the Gorgadar, sir,” said Burner, “So if I was moved up a couple of security tiers, I’d be able to access the Ancidium’s external sensors and the outbound comms.”

“Let me try,” said Recker. “I might be on a higher security tier than everyone else.”

He sat and confidently pushed a few buttons on the top panel. The screens stayed blank.

“Nothing,” said Recker. “It won’t even bring up a login prompt.”

“Oblex#1 could crack the security in this room in a few seconds,” said Lieutenant Fredericks. He walked across and peered over Burner’s other shoulder. “Hell, even a standard obliterator core could break this single console.”

“We were discussing the same thing earlier,” said Recker. “It’s an idea to explore, but not right now.”

Burner leaned back in his seat. “Well, unless anyone has a bunch of Lavorix security access codes hidden up their sleeves, we’ve reached the end of the road when it comes to the terminals in this room.”

“I was hoping for more,” said Recker.

“So was I, sir.”

Flint pursed his lips in thought. “It wasn’t long ago we were on the Demagaron, blowing the crap out of the Kilvar. We had high enough security then – what if the Lavorix didn’t revoke it?”

“The Demagaron was running alliance control software, sir,” said Larson. She furrowed her brow. “But it was only a software layer sitting on top of Lavorix hardware. Maybe the main security database will still recognize us.”

“If we retain high level access, why aren’t we already recognized by the internal security?” asked Burner.

“Because we haven’t provided our login codes,” said Flint. “More than likely the Ancidium has simply given low level access to anyone who’s a human or Daklan. Let’s try something.”

Flint instructed his suit comms to hunt for the console’s interface port. He located the port and it was ostensibly closed - this being an obvious method to prevent unauthorised persons squirting in unwanted data. Flint offered his alliance login credentials, and the port accepted the data.

A moment later, the console screens illuminated and a prompt appeared on the central one, ready for instruction.

Flint smiled and nodded in Burner’s direction. “We’re in. Let’s see what we can find.”

Chapter Fourteen

“External sensors coming up,” said Burner, operating the console like a man with a lifetime’s experience of alien tech. Feeds of darkness appeared on every screen, along with data overlays in tiny text. “Whoa, this stuff is good.”

“Let’s not waste time drooling over the hardware,” said Recker. “I would like you to scan for Kilvar warships.”

“Yes, sir.”

Recker turned to face Flint. “Your security codes for the Demagaron should give you access to far more than just sensors and comms.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint. “But I doubt they’ll allow us to use the highest-tier hardware on the Ancidium.”

“Such as the weapons systems,” said Recker. “And maybe the propulsion.”

Flint knew exactly what an alliance warship captain would have access to at an alliance ground station – he’d be able to view most systems, but not order a weapons launch unless he used his override codes. He had no idea if the Lavorix had implemented a similar system. Maybe the commanding officer of a primary vessel like the Demagaron could get up to all kinds of tricks with the Ancidium’s hardware.

There was only one way to find out.

“Are these consoles multi-function or are they comms and sensors only?” asked Flint.

“I can’t access anything different, sir,” said Burner.

Flint looked around the room. “This console is different to these others. Are there any other types?”

“I didn’t see any, sir. Uh-oh.”

“What?” asked Recker sharply.

“See this on the screen?” said Burner, tapping a fingertip on the top-right corner of the central display.

“A countdown timer,” said Flint with a frown. “Currently showing three hours and fifteen minutes. What’s it tracking?”

Burner called up a menu and delved quickly into several different options. “When that timer ends, our higher-tier access to the Lavorix systems will be revoked,” he said.

“Damn,” said Flint. “A security feature we don’t need.”

“Is there a way you can delay the timer or even cancel it?” asked Recker.

“No, sir.”

It was Recker’s turn to curse and he did so with feeling. “Scan for Kilvar while I think,” he ordered. “Commander Larson, sign in to this adjacent console and search through the internal monitors for the Raklivian. I want to know where that bastard is hiding.”

“I doubt it’s hiding, sir,” said Larson, dropping into the seat nearby.

“The way I see it, we have a list of known tasks,” said Flint. “The first is to locate the Raklivian and lock it down. That means either using the internal defences the sphere entity talked about, or generating a work order that instructs one of the construction yards to build another cage.”

“The cages don’t last forever,” said Burner. “And we can’t jettison the Raklivian because it’ll take all that stolen life energy to wherever the Kilvar ascendancy is meant to take place.”

“Trapping the creature would buy us some time,” said Recker. “I’ll speak with RL Moseley – he’ll have some ideas about why the first cage failed so quickly.”

“The Raklivian is only one of our problems,” Flint continued. “We have a little more than three hours in which to make use of our security access to the Ancidium’s onboard systems. After that, our options will be limited.”

“You haven’t joined all the dots, Captain Flint,” said Recker. “Somehow out of all this, we have to seize full control over the Ancidium and fly it off into the sunset.”

“Holding our middle fingers high in the air to any Kilvar who try to follow us,” added Burner.

“I feel like Oblex#1 is the key,” said Flint. “That core is different – better – than anything the Lavorix created. If we could find a use for it…”

“We don’t know enough about the Ancidium” said Recker. He bared his teeth in thought. “But I don’t like sitting idly by and waiting when I could be doing something.”

“Usually that something is blowing stuff into pieces,” said Burner helpfully.

“At other times it’s rapid demotion of underperforming officers,” said Recker.

“We should pick a goal and focus on it,” said Flint. “I’ve been trying to decide which is the most critical one.”

“I’m not sure you can separate them,” said Recker. “Unfortunately, that’s going to make it tough to bring everything together at once.”

“I don’t think we can talk our way into a solution,” said Flint. “I wonder if the control room near the mess area has a multi-purpose console I can log into.”

“Take whichever of your officers you need and check it out,” said Recker at once. “Speak to Captain Vance and have him provide you an escort.”

“Yes, sir,” said Flint.

He summoned Fredericks, Maddox and Copeland, and asked Larson to swap out with Becerra and Garrett. Then, Flint spoke briefly with Captain Vance, who assigned a squad of eight soldiers to escort duties.

“Let’s move,” said Flint.

He exited the comms room and sprinted for the control room. The Ancidium was huge, but its interior was logically laid out and he had no problems remembering the way. Entering the control room, Flint caught his breath as he hunted for a console which might allow access to some of the Ancidium’s critical systems.

“This hardware looks basic,” said Maddox. She gestured towards the bodies nearby. “Maybe these were all assigned to the easy stuff like status monitoring.”

“There’s always a head honcho,” said Fredericks, heading along a nearby aisle towards the central pillar. “We just have to find out where they were sitting.”

Flint went clockwise around the room and, on the opposite side of the pillar, he spotted a pair of taller, wider consoles.

“These are different,” he said, breaking into a run.

His first feeling was disappointment, in that the consoles were outwardly identical to the one at which Lieutenant Burner had been sitting.

“More dedicated comms consoles?” asked Larson, coming across to join him.

“I hope not,” said Flint.

He sank into the single chair and instructed his suit comms to find the interface port. Once done, Flint repeated the procedure of sending across his access codes from the Demagaron.

“Here we go,” he said as the screens lit up.

Flint was acutely aware of Larson as she leaned over his shoulder to read the text which appeared. “That’s not just comms,” she said.

“It’s construction monitoring,” said Flint. He opened the topmost option on the menu and read through the contents. “I don’t know much about shipyard control.”

“I do, sir,” said Fredericks. “Want me to take over?”

“Please.”

The two swapped places, while the rest of the Demagaron’s former crew gathered round. Fredericks huffed and puffed as he switched between the different menu screens.

“Well?” asked Flint after approximately ten seconds of watching the show.

“Give me a chance, sir.”

Filled with nervous energy, Flint strode over to the second console and interfaced with it. No sooner had he signed in, than Fredericks waved him over.

“Are you ready to hear the news, sir?” called Fredericks.

“Is it good or bad?”

“I’d say it’s a bit of both.”

“It’s always a bit of both,” said Flint. “Why can’t it be all good news?”

He approached the console and Maddox made room so he could view the screens clearly.

“See this?” said Fredericks. He brought up an image which was a profile view of the Ancidium, with three rows of rectangular overlays.

“The construction bays?” said Flint in wonder.

“Yes, sir. Twenty-four in all. Each one capable of building a fleet.”

“Or storing enough resources for the other bays to build a fleet,” said Larson.

“I’m sure you’re right, Commander,” said Fredericks. “I’d guess that half of the bays are for storage.”

“We know they aren’t all full,” said Flint. “I wonder where and when the Lavorix were last able to take supplies onboard.”

“Maybe never,” said Fredericks. He shrugged. “Maybe the Ancidium’s storage bays were filled once, with the intention that they’d last the service life of the warship.” He spotted an option on his screen that brought up a huge list. “And here’s the inventory for Bay 1. It looks like I can call up an inventory list for the other bays as well. Our fleet is in Bay 15.”

“Where’s the exium?” asked Flint, already finding himself sidetracked.

“Bay 3, sir. That one’s close to the nose.”

“So you’ve found some interesting details about the Ancidium, but what’s the good and bad news?” asked Flint.

“The good news is that all construction is currently halted, but I can restart individual jobs from this station.”

“You have that authority just from being a propulsion officer on a warship?” asked Maddox.

“I don’t see why not,” said Fredericks. “If I walked onto an alliance shipyard I could start ordering the lower-ranked technicians around if I felt like it.”

“Let’s not overthink it,” said Flint. “You could order the creation of a new exium cage?”

“Yes, sir. Potentially. Which leads me on to the bad news – that particular construction job has a flag against it.”

“If you order the bay to make a new cage, it’ll raise an alarm?” said Flint.

“I reckon. Where that alarm would be sent and what the outcome would be, I couldn’t tell you. It’s possible we’d end up having our security access revoked before that timer reaches zero.”

“Could you recreate the original job, but without the flag?” asked Flint.

“I don’t know, sir. It depends on how clever the construction software is, and whether it’s designed to prevent circumvention of existing flags. I could probably locate the answer by digging around in the backend coding. On an alliance base I’d be confident, but here it’s pushing the boundaries of my expertise.”

“Wait up, I’ll find out what’s happening in the comms room,” said Flint. Lieutenant Burner was already in the officer channel. “Anything to report?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir, I was just about to let you know. Lieutenant Becerra has located the Raklivian – it’s in one of the construction bays.”

“Which one?” asked Flint.

“Bay 3, sir.”

“And what’s it doing?”

“It’s hard to say, since it’s affecting the sensors. The feeds aren’t much more than darkness and we’re having a hard time enhancing them.”

“The Lavorix’s exium is in Bay 3,” said Flint. “Make Admiral Recker aware.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flint cut the channel. “The Raklivian is in Bay 3,” he said. “It’s either planning to steal the exium or it’s guarding it until its Kilvar buddies arrive with a spaceship capable of hauling off the load.”

“This is beginning to feel like a lost cause already,” said Maddox.

“Don’t say that,” snapped Flint.

“We need more time, sir,” said Maddox. “With another few hours of security access, we could comb through the Ancidium’s files and find something that would help us. We know the Lavorix were working on a method of killing the Raklivian – I’m sure there’s information in this vessel’s databanks that will help us.”

Despite Maddox’s negativity, her words got Flint thinking. “Lieutenant Fredericks, look through the paused construction jobs and see if you can find anything experimental the Lavorix were working on.”

“I might not be able to view the top-secret stuff, sir.”

“In which case you’ll find nothing. Lieutenant Copeland will sit with you as a second pair of eyes,” said Flint. He would have dearly liked to have more than two of these consoles available, but hunting for others was too much of a risk at the moment.

“What about us?” asked Maddox, gazing at the second console. “What should we look for?”

“I’m still thinking,” said Flint, taking the seat for himself.

He called up the menu and spent a couple of minutes exploring the options available. Those options were limited.

“We can move freely within the Ancidium,” he said. “But we can’t activate either the propulsion or the weapons. That means we’re stuck in Cratiss.”

“I wonder how long the Ancidium can hold out against a concerted Kilvar attack,” said Larson. “Like if the enemy bring in an entire Seeking and open fire.”

“We have to assume that’s exactly what will happen, Commander,” said Flint. “I would also assume that the sphere entity would then open a gateway and take the Ancidium elsewhere.”

Flint tapped his fingers against the edge of the console. He’d never much liked jigsaws and now he felt like he’d been handed a puzzle with five thousand pieces, of which several hundred were missing and several hundred more belonged to an entirely different puzzle.

“Maybe it would be easier if we put the Ancidium back into stasis,” he said.

That was when the idea came. His intuition had been telling him for some time that Oblex#1 was the key and perhaps it was – just not in the way he’d first imagined it.

Flint requested a channel to Admiral Recker, wondering if he’d seen a way that might break the deadlock.

Chapter Fifteen

“Sir, if Oblex#1 is an exium core, can it be made to generate stasis fields like the obliterator core we first took to the Ancidium when it was in the Evia system?”

“One moment, I’ll find out,” said Recker. The comms went on mute for a short time. “RL Moseley says a few slight modifications will make it possible.”

“The core has to be removed from the Vanquisher. Can he ready it quickly and will it be able to create a permanent stasis field, rather than one that alternates between off and on?”

“What do you—” Recker began impatiently. “One moment.” He muted the comms again. “Yes to both questions - the modifications can be performed remotely. However, Oblex#1 wasn’t intended to create stasis and RL Moseley has warned me about possible unwanted consequences.”

“An explosion, sir?”

“It’s always an explosion, or something equally unpleasant,” said Recker. “What do you intend, Captain Flint?”

“At first, I thought we could use Oblex#1 to lock down the Raklivian—” He took a breath. “And then I asked myself what would happen if we isolated the sphere entity in zero-time.”

“If the sphere entity was taken out of the picture, we could act freely within the Ancidium – at least until your security access runs out. That’s wouldn’t leave much time, Captain Flint.”

“What if we used that time to recover the exium from Bay 3, sir? Could we use it to modify our other obliterator cores and then hack the Ancidium’s security systems?”

“I’ll bring RL Moseley into the channel,” said Recker.

“Hello?” said Moseley a moment later.

“RL Moseley, if you had access to a few tons of exium, would you be able to create more cores like Oblex#1?” asked Flint.

“Of course. The method is straightforward enough – hardly more complicated than opening up an existing core and swapping its ternium power supply for one made from exium. Once installed, the—”

“Do you have the equipment to create new power supplies with you on the Halion-2?” said Flint, cutting in. Moseley could talk forever about his work.

“No,” said Moseley. “The exium would need to be subjected to a process involving—”

“I thought you said the method wasn’t complicated,” said Flint, interrupting again.

“And I was telling the truth,” Moseley admonished. “However, that doesn’t mean I have the bespoke machinery – a Moseley-95 - pushed up my sleeve or stuffed into one of my pockets, just in case there’s an emergency requirement for it.”

“A Moseley-95?” Flint closed his eyes for a moment. “Could you build a new Moseley-95 with the right tools?”

“Definitely!” said Moseley. “In fact, the Halion-2 has the necessary components in its stores. I have a new research lab in one of its bays,” he added conspiratorially. “It is well stocked.”

“How long would the construction of a Moseley-95 take?” asked Recker impatiently.

“That is not an easy question to answer, Fleet Admiral. It is possible that some of the required components will themselves need to be made using other components. Were I back in my lab where everything is familiar, I could likely build a new machine in two or three days.”

“We don’t have two or three days,” said Flint.

“I’m aware of this, Captain Flint,” said Moseley. “We may have to consider other plans.”

“I bet the Ancidium could build a Moseley-95!” said Flint. “Lieutenant Fredericks is looking at the construction inventory right now. Maybe he can confirm. One moment.”

Flint silenced the comms.

“Lieutenant Fredericks,” he said. “How easy would it be to begin a new construction job from that console?”

“Very easy, sir. Though you’d have to have to be technically minded and know exactly what components you required.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.” Flint switched comms channels. “We should be able to order the construction of a Moseley-95 from this control room,” he said.

“If we put the sphere entity into stasis, can’t we instead just order the construction of a new exium cage?” asked Moseley.

“We could do,” said Flint. “We might even think of a way to recapture the Raklivian. Then, when the timer runs out, our security access would be revoked and we’d be stuck inside the Ancidium with no way to further our cause, other than to remove the entity from stasis.”

“I see.”

Recker had thought of a problem, and it was a big one. “If we assume the sphere entity operates as central control for the Ancidium, what happens when the Kilvar show up?”

“We’ll be sitting ducks, sir,” said Flint. “All this means is we’re up against the clock – the same as ever.”

“The timer has fallen below three hours, Captain Flint,” said Recker. He made a gruff sound which might have been laughter. “However, you’ve given us a plan and if we sit around hoping a better one will come along, it may be too late.”

“Yes, sir.”

Recker was the only one who could make the decision and he did so. “We’ll go for it,” he said. “I’ll arrange for Oblex#1 to be removed from the Vanquisher and brought onto the Ancidium. Captain Flint – the sphere entity seems to have an interest in you, so you’ll be the one who escorts the core.”

“And after that, sir?”

“Like you said, Captain – we’ll attempt to create Oblex#2, Oblex#3 and so on – as many of them as we can with the exium available.”

“We could still make another exium cage,” Moseley suggested.

“That remains a possibility,” said Recker. “You’ll meet with Captain Flint in the control room. Find out how much exium the Lavorix had left and let me know. If there’s enough for a new cage and a hundred cores, it’ll be an easy decision.”

“I’ll head over there now, Admiral,” said Moseley. He made a hmmm sound. “I have forgotten the way – perhaps some assistance?”

“Someone will show you,” said Recker.

It was crazy to think how much cutting-edge technical knowledge Moseley had stored up in his head, yet he couldn’t recall which turns would take him from A to B. Flint had always imagined the man forgetting to put on his trousers or struggling to operate a hair comb, so he wasn’t too surprised.

“Is everyone clear on what we’re doing here?” asked Recker.

“We’re going to zero-time the sphere entity, craft a bunch of new processing cores, hack the Ancidium and claim it for the alliance, sir,” said Flint.

What he didn’t mention was the Raklivian – the creature was in Bay 3 along with the exium, and Flint was sure it would become directly involved.

Recker had doubtless considered the same thing, but like Flint, he kept his mouth shut. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” he said. “Let’s get on with it.”

The channel went dead and Flint exhaled loudly.

“What is it, sir?” asked Larson, catching his expression.

“There’s a plan,” said Flint, speaking on the officer channel. He explained what he’d discussed with Recker and Moseley. When he was done talking, the silence lasted about five seconds.

“It might work,” said Fredericks. He gave a short laugh. “Hell, it will work.”

“Because we’re going to make it happen,” said Larson.

“RL Moseley is on his way here,” said Flint, leaving his seat and walking over to Lieutenant Fredericks’ station. “When he arrives, I’d like you to tell him exactly how much exium is in Bay 3 and I’d like you to show him exactly how to create a new construction order – so he’ll be ready when I put the sphere entity in stasis.”

“The Lavorix have eighteen tons of exium in storage, sir,” said Fredericks promptly.

“That doesn’t sound like much.”

“It isn’t, sir.”

“Does the work order for the previous cage tell you what mass of exium went into its making?”

“Yes, sir – fifteen tons.”

“Which doesn’t leave much spare for building exium-powered cores.”

“When the sphere entity is isolated, I could adjust the construction details and make the cage bars narrower, sir. The trouble with that is, the Raklivian escaped once, so I guess we don’t want to put it into an even weaker cage.”

“Did the Lavorix devise any alternative construction plans for the cage?” asked Flint in curiosity.

“No, sir – they had a single plan and that’s what they built to.”

“Have you discovered anything else on this inventory list and amongst the construction orders on hold?”

“That experimental crap you were looking for, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t been able to go through more than a fraction of the construction orders, sir. Unfortunately, they don’t have names like Super Destruction Cannon, which would make it easier to pick out the good stuff.”

Flint leaned closer and read one of the entries on the list. “FL-7322-XQ-DN-448.”

“Even if I opened up the file, it still wouldn’t be clear what’s being built.”

“Show me anyway,” said Flint.

Fredericks swiped his finger across a touchpad and the construction order file loaded. “It’s just a list of components, sir.” He poked the screen. “This number here is a sum of mass. From it, you can tell this was an order to build something small, like a shuttle.”

“Is there a way to filter the main list or extract more usable data?” asked Flint.

“Not that I’ve found, sir. I don’t think the Lavorix personnel stationed in this room were meant to interact with these orders.”

“What do you mean?”

“I reckon these are the technical details which were generated based on data inputted from a different place than here.”

“So elsewhere on the Ancidium, there’s a command room where a senior Lavorix officer could type into a console that he wanted fifty shuttles, six battleships and a couple of planet-wrecking behemoths?”

“Yes, sir.” Fredericks half-turned. “There’s something else.”

“Which is?”

“The Ancidium really is running low on resources, sir. Once these existing construction orders are complete, I don’t know how many additional warships it could build.”

“It would take time and effort, but the alliance could resupply this spaceship,” said Flint. “Besides, the existing build orders would likely double the size of our fleet once they were finished, and that’s not counting the capital ships we’ve seen in the other bays.”

“You’re right, sir. I was just pointing out that even if we capture the Ancidium, it isn’t an endless resource we can tap into. And while we could restock its bays like you said, I doubt that’s a task the alliance could accomplish before our war with the Kilvar is decided one way or the other.”

Flint was mulling this over, when he was distracted by Commander Larson waving urgently in his direction.

“Sir, you should check this out.”

Flint hurried to Larson’s console. “What now?”

“The life batteries, sir,” she said, pointing at her screen. “I’ve discovered how to obtain a readout.”

“Exactly twelve percent,” said Flint. As he watched, the readout fell by a thousandth of one percent. “They’re falling.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know what’s causing the drain, but I’m sure it’ll be hardware the sphere entity is holding in an active state.”

“The extractor killed all those Aterne and the batteries only went to twelve percent,” said Flint in sudden, shocked realisation.

“This is why the Meklon were so useful,” said Larson. “All of those planets and all of those people – sucked dry so the Lavorix and Kilvar could fight their shitty war.”

“I wonder how much the Raklivian drained from the batteries when it was here before,” said Flint. “And can we put back what it stole?”

“I don’t feel comfortable with any of this,” said Larson. “If we capture the Ancidium, the temptation to use this life energy in the alliance’s defence will be too much to resist.”

“I’d make that choice in an instant, Commander,” said Flint. “Those people are gone, but we aren’t. We keep saying whatever it takes and this is what it means.”

“I know,” said Larson. “And I’d make that same choice.” She tried to laugh. “Who am I trying to fool? This will never be my decision and here I am feeling guilt over someone else’s burden.”

“Fleet Admiral Recker’s burden,” said Flint softly.

“He always does what he believes is right,” said Larson, her gaze distant.

“And does he ever make a bad call?”

Larson didn’t say anything for a moment and then she shook her head vigorously. “No. Not that I’ve seen. It’s not always enough.”

Seeing the expression on Larson’s face – despair, dismay and a hundred other emotions - made Flint’s stomach clench at the depths to which humanity and the Daklan had been driven. Here he was, discussing the life energy of twenty or more billion souls and how it should be used against the Kilvar.

Were he to stop and think about it too long, Flint knew it would likely be too much for him to cope with. He did what he’d always done and pushed everything – all the hatred and the anger – into a box in his mind, closed the lid and hid it away.

One day, he knew, the lid of that box would burst open and there’d be nothing he could do to protect his sanity. The best he could hope was that before that day came, his time in service would be over and his duty done.

Chapter Sixteen

Flint was drawn from his dark thoughts by the sight of RL Moseley coming around the pillar, along with a squad of human soldiers.

“Hello!” Moseley announced enthusiastically, waving like he was an entertainer arriving at a children’s party.

Before Flint could reply, a link was made to the comms unit in his suit helmet.

“Captain Flint,” said Recker. “Oblex#1 is on a shuttle and it should be with you shortly.”

“Yes, sir. As soon as it’s here, I’ll take it to the sphere room.”

Recker cut the channel and Flint waited for RL Moseley to reach the console. The man probably didn’t devote much time to fitness and he was breathing hard after the run.

“What do we have here?” he gasped.

“It sounds like you need this seat more than I do,” said Fredericks, climbing to his feet. “Sit down and I’ll show you.”

Moseley was – predictably – an exceptionally fast learner and in less than two minutes he had a comprehensive grasp of how to operate the Lavorix console.

“The Lavorix have enough exium to make twenty additional Oblex cores,” he said.

Flint wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or not. “Does that allow for the construction of another cage?”

“Goodness, no,” said Moseley.

“Will twenty of these cores be enough to hack through the Ancidium’s defences?” asked Maddox.

“The key to science is experimentation,” said Moseley, likely thinking he’d uttered pearls of great wisdom.

“Does that mean you don’t know?” asked Maddox.

“Of course it means I don’t know,” said Moseley, sounding dangerously close to irritated. “The joy of discovery comes from testing.”

“RL Moseley is telling you in a roundabout fashion to shut up,” Flint warned.

“Yes, sir, I realise that now.”

“So,” Flint said. “We need twenty obliterator cores for modification. That’s a lot to find.”

“We’ll have to extract the ones we need from the alliance warships, sir,” said Fredericks. “It’s a time overhead we can’t much afford and it’ll leave our warships significantly down on processing capabilities.”

“My research lab on the Halion-2 contains twenty-four obliterator cores,” Moseley announced. “They’re portable units.”

“Great,” said Flint. “We’re going to need them. Now, are you able to create the new work order for the Moseley-95 device?”

“Already done,” said Moseley happily. “All I have to do now is send that order to the Bay 3 construction controller and the work will begin.”

“Wait!” said Flint. “There’s a flag on the exium cage work order. Are you sure this new job won’t create an alarm?”

“The Moseley-95 doesn’t require exium in its construction, Captain Flint,” said Moseley. “This new job has no flag on it.”

“Are you certain?” asked Flint, trying to gauge if he was witnessing another example of Moseley’s incredible - and occasionally misplaced - optimism.

“Absolutely.”

Flint narrowed his eyes. “If you make the wrong call…”

“I haven’t.”

Moseley was nothing but sincere and Flint could see that he fully understood the consequences of getting this wrong.

“How long will it take the Ancidium to construct the Moseley-95?”

“I won’t know until I send the order.”

“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear.”

“Nevertheless, it’s the answer you have.”

“And once the Moseley-95 is built, you can create more Oblex power cores?”

“Yes.”

“How are the power cores made?” Flint asked.

“We feed exium into one end of the Moseley-95 and the cores are dispensed – several minutes later - from the other end. After that, it’s as simple as removing the maintenance hatch from an existing obliterator device, extracting the old power supply and slotting in the new one.”

“How do we unite the Moseley-95 with the exium?” asked Flint.

Moseley opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “During testing, we simply put on a pair of insulated gloves, picked up the exium fragments we had lying around and dropped them into the Moseley-95 loading chute until there was enough to make the new power supply.”

It wasn’t the right moment to ask how many other corners Moseley and his team cut during their research – however, Flint had a good idea that no corner at all was left uncut in RL Moseley’s laboratory.

“Can we order the construction of a bespoke device that will pick up the remaining exium in Bay 3 and drop it into the Moseley-95 for us?” asked Flint. “The Lavorix exium is in blocks rather than fragments. They’ll be too heavy to lift without machinery.”

“Good idea, Captain Flint,” said Moseley, brightening again. “I’ll have a look at that right now.”

“Send the first work order across immediately,” said Flint. “I’d like to know how long it’ll take the Ancidium to build the Moseley-95 device.”

“Done,” said Moseley so quickly it was obvious he’d been waiting for the instruction. He peered at the screen in anticipation.

Digits and letters changed, too small for Flint to read. “Well?” he demanded.

“Erm—”

“I don’t like erm RL Moseley,” said Flint.

“The order went through, but…” Moseley scratched his head as if he could think his way out of a problem he hadn’t yet disclosed. “It hasn’t been accepted in Bay 3.”

Flint didn’t understand and he said as much.

“I have an idea what might have happened, sir,” said Fredericks, elbowing Moseley out of the seat.

“I’ll be glad if someone does,” said Flint. Agitation was threatening to peel away his calm veneer.

“Here we are,” said Fredericks, looking from screen to screen. “We’ve issued the construction order successfully, but it needs to be approved at the far end.”

“Meaning the order is stuck?” asked Flint, gritting his teeth.

Fredericks nodded. “On the bright side, once that approval is granted, the estimated construction time for the Moseley-95 is only twenty-eight minutes.”

“I’d have thought one computer could authenticate and enact an instruction from another,” said Larson, listening in from the other console.

“Not in this case,” said Fredericks. “I can see why the Ancidium’s creators would have built in a failsafe like this. You wouldn’t want one operator – or computer – clogging up a construction bay by accidentally sending over a thousand work orders. What’s happening here is actually a good method to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

“With the end result that we can’t build the Moseley-95,” said Maddox.

“You’re not thinking hard enough about it, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Oh shit,” said Maddox as realisation came. “Someone will have to make the journey to Bay 3 and manually accept the order.”

“Not someone, Lieutenant. Us. We’re the only ones on the higher security tier.”

“The Raklivian is in the bay,” said Copeland, putting voice to what everyone already knew.

“Is there an alternative way to accept the order?” asked Flint, his mind desperately casting around for a solution. “Maybe there’s a main construction control room elsewhere on the Ancidium which can accept work orders for each of the bays.”

“If there is, I haven’t found reference to it from this console, sir,” said Fredericks, staring at the screen as he descended through the different layers of a menu. “Once the order is created, it’s routed automatically to a pre-set destination with no obvious way to change it.”

“There has to be a top-level control room which can intercept and re-route work orders,” said Flint.

“I’m sure you’re right, sir.”

“Maybe you could ask the sphere entity,” said Copeland. “While you’re still on good terms with it.”

The suggestion wasn’t awful, but Flint rejected it after a moment’s consideration. “Next time I’m in the sphere room, I’ll have Oblex#1 with me. I won’t complicate matters by engaging the entity in conversation – it’s going into stasis as quickly as possible.”

“Lieutenant Burner might be able to locate the primary control room on the internal sensors,” said Larson.

Burner was listening in to the officer channel. “I’ll have a look for you, sir,” he said.

“Thank you. Don’t take long.”

A couple of minutes went by and Flint paced between the two consoles. Fredericks and Larson continued their hunt for something – anything – which might improve the odds of success. So far, they’d found nothing and Flint had the distinct feeling he was being unavoidably funnelled towards an encounter he’d far rather avoid.

“There are plenty of control rooms, sir,” said Burner. “Not one of them shows as primary.”

Flint cursed. “So there’s no way to accept the build order without paying a visit to Bay 3?”

“I wish I had something more to offer you, sir,” said Burner. “I heard Lieutenant Copeland mention the sphere entity. I’ll bet it could confirm the build order for us.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Flint. “It also has the capability to block our access to the Ancidium’s onboard systems and to prevent our movement within this vessel. I’m not anywhere close to understanding how that entity thinks or what its motivations might be. If I say one wrong word, this entire mission will be brought to a halt.” He cursed in anger. “At least if we lock down the sphere entity we’ll have a semblance of control until that timer runs down. I don’t want to face the Raklivian, but if that’s what offers the greatest chance of success, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Burner. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you.”

“Me too,” said Larson. “As soon as that work order was put on hold, I knew exactly where this was leading.”

“Straight to shitsville,” said Fredericks.

Flint nodded. “The road might lead to shitsville, but it heads out the other side too.” He pointed at the two consoles in turn. “We have a few minutes spare before Oblex#1 gets here. Keep doing what you’re doing – you might find something useful.”

“Yes, sir,” said Larson.

Fredericks didn’t turn but he gave a thumbs-up.

Another five minutes went by, during which Flint tried to guess exactly how long it would take for Oblex#1 to arrive.

Larson and Fredericks did not unearth any useful secrets from the Ancidium’s databanks - such as a method to remotely execute the Raklivian. Flint knew the Lavorix had been working on something to destroy the creature and that a combination of time and effort would eventually reveal what it was. Unfortunately, time was lacking.

Movement caught his eye. A grey, one-point-five-metre cube came speeding into view around the central pillar, carried near-silently by its gravity engine. Sprinting afterwards was an escort of soldiers, who looked as if they’d had a hard time keeping up.

Oblex#1 halted a few metres from Flint and the other members of his group, and even with its thick shielding, the waves of chill caused the air temperature to fall.

“Sir, we’ve been instructed to escort you to your destination,” said Captain Vance, breathing heavily.

“I already have an escort,” said Flint, indicating Lieutenant Tagra and the soldiers who’d accompanied him to the control room. He shrugged. “The more the merrier.”

“Are we moving out at once, sir?” asked Vance.

“Just as soon as RL Moseley has programmed Oblex#1 to generate a stasis field on command.”

“I already did that,” said Moseley, pulling a folding tablet computer from his pocket and waving it around like a magic wand.

“How does the stasis work?” asked Flint.

“Use your suit comms to issue a SETSTATUS command. Set it to 90 and the stasis field will activate,” said Moseley. “Make sure you’re more than a hundred metres away when you do so.”

“I can handle that,” said Flint. “Captain Vance, drop your link to Oblex#1. I’ll take over the steering.”

“Yes, sir, that’s done.”

Flint interfaced with the core and issued it a test command to move a couple of metres away from him. Oblex#1 floated off and then stopped.

With that confirmed, Flint spoke to Lieutenant Burner.

“I’ll be taking the internal shuttle car to the sphere room. Every other time I’ve made the journey, someone else has been in control of the car.”

“I’ve sent the destination code to your suit computer, sir. Just send that code into the shuttle car interface and it should take you to the right place.”

“Thanks.”

Everything was ready and it had come upon Flint so rapidly that there’d been little time to consider the enormity of what he was about to do. The sphere entity had been the centre of the Ancidium for so long and now he was about to trap it in zero-time, possibly forever.

“Let’s move,” said Flint, wondering if he was becoming sentimental about this incredible warship and construction yard. He had a countdown timer running on his HUD, telling him how long it would be before the Ancidium took away his security access.

02:38:21

“Are you expecting problems, sir?” asked Vance, following Flint towards the exit.

“I don’t know,” said Flint honestly. He instructed Oblex#1 to follow at a three-metre distance and it dutifully obliged.

The route to the shuttle car was straightforward and it didn’t take long to get there.

“Should we come with you, sir?” asked Vance.

“No – I’ll go alone,” said Flint. “I’m trying not to look suspicious.”

“You’re not doing a good job of it, sir,” Private Drawl commented. “In fact, you look totally guilty.”

“Thank you for the observation, Private,” said Flint. “I’ll do my best to relax.”

He summoned the car and the doors opened after a few seconds. Stepping inside, Flint ordered the core to follow and then he sent his destination code into the shuttle’s hidden interface port.

The doors closed and the usual vibration started, coming up through the soles of his combat boots. Oblex#1 seemed to exude even more cold than a normal obliterator core and ice quickly formed on the inside walls.

After a short time, the vibration stopped and the doors opened once more. Flint had already decided what he’d do and he instructed Oblex#1 to head at maximum speed towards the sphere. The core wasn’t limited to ground level and it took off at a diagonal, accelerating rapidly.

This was foreseen.

Taken aback, Flint fumbled for words. For once, his mind failed him and couldn’t think of anything to say. Oblex#1 come to a halt directly in front of the sphere, denying him – or saving him from – the opportunity to answer.

> SETSTATUS = 90

Flint saw no visible indication that the stasis field was active and nor had he expected to. However, his link to Oblex#1 was severed and that confirmed it was in stasis, and would remain so until its exium power supply ran out in however long that would take.

For a few moments, Flint stared, with a feeling of the strangest emptiness. Then, he sent another code into the shuttle interface, instructing it to take him back to where his escort was waiting.

Chapter Seventeen

The return journey seemed to take much longer, though Flint knew it was all a matter of his perception. Having failed to catch the sphere entity completely by surprise, he feared it might have revoked his high-tier command authority and that fear was gnawing in his belly.

The fact that the shuttle had accepted his destination codes suggested that not all access had been removed, but Flint still couldn’t settle. It didn’t help that the comms wouldn’t work from the car, leaving him to clench and unclench his fists while he waited for the transit to end.

As soon as Flint exited the shuttle, he spoke on the officer comms channel, while Vance and the other soldiers watched in curiosity.

“Commander Larson, do you still have access to that control room console?” Flint asked.

“I believe so, sir. I’ll check again.”

Flint broke into a steady run along the passage away from the shuttle exit. Vance ran alongside, while the other soldiers stayed a few paces back. Larson didn’t take long.

“Nothing has changed, sir,” she said. “Is it done?”

“It’s done,” Flint said. It was a great relief to find that his crew’s security access was intact, but he had another question he hardly dared ask. “Is the timer still counting down?”

“Yes, sir. It’s at two hours and twenty-three minutes.” Larson made a hmph of understanding. “You hoped that putting the sphere in stasis would freeze the timer, huh?”

“The thought had occurred,” Flint admitted. “I’m not shocked to find it hasn’t.”

“We have to work for our good luck, sir.”

“Don’t I know it.” Flint grimaced. “The sphere spoke to me just before I put it into stasis. It told me this was foreseen.”

“What was foreseen?” asked Larson.

“I don’t know. At first, I thought it might have known what we had planned. Now, I find myself wondering if there’s some nuance I missed.”

“Best not to think about it now, sir,” said Larson. “You should let Admiral Recker know the entity is in stasis.”

“Already done,” said Burner.

“There’re no flies on you, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “Did the Admiral have anything to say?”

“We are to continue with the plan, sir.”

Recker’s shunning of micromanagement was – mostly – a breath of fresh air. At times like this, where the stakes were sky high, Flint might have appreciated a little guidance or, perhaps, a more collaborative approach. He increased his pace, eager to be with his officers again, where he’d be better able to think.

Soon, Flint was back in the control room. His officers were at the two consoles and he detected no obvious buzz of excitement that might indicate they’d uncovered something useful. Of RL Moseley, there was no sign.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Still looking, sir,” said Fredericks.

Flint was disappointed, but he kept it from his face. “We’ve climbed the first step,” he said. “The sphere entity is in stasis. Next, we have to make our way to Bay 3 and accept the work order for the Moseley-95 device.”

“Lieutenant Becerra has been working on the best routes to that destination, sir,” said Larson.

“First things first,” said Flint. “Bay 3 is enormous – do we know where the receiving station is for the construction orders?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Becerra. “I’ve located the place – it’s not actually in the bay, it’s accessed via a passage on the bay floor. There’s a complex of rooms where I assume the Lavorix supervisors were stationed.”

“What are the options?” asked Flint.

“There’s the on-foot version, which takes you – or us, or whoever else is going - back to that same shuttle car you recently used. You’ll have to exit it about midway along the Ancidium, run a few hundred metres to another shuttle which will take you closer. There are a couple more shuttle journeys, but it won’t take long to go from one to the other. The mission personnel will enter Bay 3 through the aft bulkhead.”

It didn’t take a genius to identify the problem. “From the bay’s aft bulkhead to the forward bulkhead is a hundred klicks, Lieutenant.”

“In fact, it’s more like a hundred and ten klicks, sir – it’s a diagonal line from the aft entrance to the receiving station. Plus, there are vessels under construction in the bay which are additional obstacles.”

“I thought the darkness was preventing you getting a view of what was inside Bay 3?”

“We got over that issue, sir,” said Becerra. “The feed is far from perfect – in fact, it’s awful – but we can see shapes that are definitely Lavorix warships.”

“What does the Raklivian look like?” asked Flint, unable to hold in his curiosity. “Is it just darkness or does it resemble something – I don’t know, with claws and teeth?”

“We haven’t seen the Raklivian, sir,” said Becerra.

“It’s definitely in there?” said Flint.

“Yes, sir. Either it’s hiding, or, like you said, it’s no more than darkness.”

“We’re going to run into that asshole sooner or later. I’d rather we learned something more about it beforehand.”

“We’ll keep watching, sir,” said Becerra. “And to conclude the outline of this first option on how to reach Bay 3 - the mission personnel would need to locate a shuttle and fly it to the forward bulkhead before entering the receiving room complex. We believe there are shuttles on the bay floor within two thousand metres of the entry point.”

“From Captain Vance’s description of his encounter with the Raklivian on the Demagaron, that’s a long way to run,” said Flint. He tapped Lieutenant Fredericks on the shoulder. “Find out if we can remotely order one of those shuttles to land right outside the entrance.”

“I was talking to Lieutenant Becerra about it earlier, sir. Each shuttle is assigned to a bay, and we can’t remotely commandeer one without acceptance from someone in the receiving station.”

“Well isn’t that just a heap of shit?” said Flint sourly. “All things considered, I can’t say I like the sound of Option 1.”

“Option 2 is pretty much the same thing,” said Becerra. “Except you’d take an extra internal shuttle and then you’d enter Bay 3 through the forward bulkhead.”

“Go on,” said Flint.

“From the sensor feeds, it looks as if there’s a row of shuttles parked close to the entry point – within three hundred metres – and then you’d have a seventy-klick journey to the receiving station entrance.”

“Option 2 is an improvement over Option 1, but I’d take a punch in the face over either one,” said Flint. “I can’t believe there’s no more efficient way to get to that receiving station.”

“Without the Raklivian, these would be efficient, sir,” said Fredericks. “The only difficulty at the moment is crossing the bay.”

“Is there an Option 3?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “With Option 3, you’d board the Vanquisher and fly it through the internal bays all the way to Bay 3. We believe there’s just about room to set an annihilator down adjacent to the receiving station entrance and if you exit by the forward ramp, it’ll only be a few hundred metres to the target – depending on how close you can position the Vanquisher.”

“I like Option 3 the best,” said Flint.

“It’s the one with the highest initial time overhead, sir,” said Becerra. “You’d have to make it from here to the Vanquisher’s bridge. After that—”

“Plain sailing,” said Fredericks.

“Will the internal bay doors open for us?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir. We’ve tested and confirmed,” said Larson.

“Yet we can’t even order a damn shuttle to pick us up from the bulkhead entrance,” said Flint. He guessed it made sense to someone.

Fredericks was always keen to come up with an explanation. “Did you know that a warship captain’s command authority isn’t enough to open a stationary cupboard on an alliance base without the use of override codes, sir?”

“I did not know that,” Flint said. “And I appreciate that you’re about to give me examples of other anomalous security behaviour in order to make me feel better about these Lavorix shuttles, but I can save you the effort - I’d have chosen Option 3 anyway.”

“Yes, sir, I also prefer Option 3.”

“Is that decision final, sir?” asked Burner. “If so, I’ll let Admiral Recker know so that he can order another crew swap on the Vanquisher.”

“Thank you – please do so,” said Flint.

“Does RL Moseley need to come with us in case there’s an issue with the construction order, sir?” asked Copeland.

“I don’t think we’d be doing the right thing by hauling him along for the mission, Lieutenant. If there’s an issue with the build, he should be able to resolve it from here, assuming we leave these consoles logged in. As long as we have someone in the receiving station, modifications to the build order shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, RL Moseley still needs to come up with another build order for a machine to transport the exium into the Moseley-95,” said Larson. “He’s best off away from the action.”

“Like I said, RL Moseley stays at this end of the Ancidium,” said Flint.

“Fleet Admiral Recker has ordered the Vanquisher’s existing crew to remain onboard in a backup role, sir,” said Burner. “We are to proceed to the annihilator as quickly as possible.”

“Understood,” said Flint.

He didn’t leave immediately. This was his last opportunity to come up with an alternative plan, or to uncover vital information using the control room console. No new ideas came and, after only a minute, he decided it was time to move. Nearby, Captain Vance and his soldiers stood and watched.

“Have you received orders, Captain Vance?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir. Admiral Recker told me to pick enough soldiers to form a couple of squads and we’re following you to the Vanquisher.”

“It sucks to be us,” said Private Carrington, though she didn’t sound too concerned. If it was an act, she was a natural.

“It is a good day to die,” said Steigers, flaring his nostrils and raising his head as if he were staring into the heavens.

“We ain’t dying,” said Private Raven. “Not when we’ve got a bunch of Daklan meat shields to soak all those death rays for us.”

“Feeble humans, soon to be cut down like weeds,” said Sergeant Charnos. “Fear not - we Daklan will complete the mission and ensure your bodies are jettisoned from the Vanquisher’s soil chute.”

“You’re all heart, Sergeant,” said Drawl.

“Nobody’s dying,” Vance repeated, with surprising anger.

“How’re we planning to bring down the Raklivian, sir?” asked Raimi. “It’s all well and good saying we’re not going to die, but our weapons did squat when we faced it on the Demagaron.”

“We need a supersized Galkintor cannon,” said Drawl. “Now that was a weapon with teeth.”

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” said Flint, cursing himself. He tapped Lieutenant Fredericks on the shoulder. “Search the build orders for anything containing the word Galkintor.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fredericks, descending rapidly through a series of submenus until he was at the place he wanted. Then, he typed in his search term. A list appeared, half the length of the screen.

“At least there’s not a crapload to comb through,” said Fredericks. “What precisely am I looking for, sir?”

“A weapon,” said Flint. “The Lavorix had a cannon that Captain Vance used to kill the Galkintor when the Kilvar boarded the Ancidium at Evia.”

“With some modifications or development, that same weapon might be effective against the Raklivian,” said Fredericks in understanding. “Let’s see if there’s any sign the Lavorix were working on a souped-up version.”

A couple of minutes went by, during which Fredericks opened up each list entry in turn and peered at the contents. Aware this was a trail worth following, he was thorough to ensure nothing was missed.

As he waited, it seemed to Flint as if the atmosphere in the control room had become so heavy with tension that breathing had become more of an effort and his inhalation and exhalation was loud in his ears. He glanced towards the soldiers and noticed their affected nonchalance, which was so exaggerated it would fool nobody.

“Got something,” said Fredericks, leaning closer to the screen.

“What’ve you found?” asked Flint.

“The Lavorix were testing several design alterations to the original gun, each of which was shelved after testing. Except this one – a design and build project called AnRak.”

“Is it ready?” asked Flint, fearing what the answer would be.

“No, sir. The build is incomplete – it’s on hold along with everything else.”

“We should be able to cancel the hold from here,” said Larson. “Without the need to have confirmation from a receiving station.”

“Take it off hold and tell me how long until the construction is completed,” said Flint. “After that, give me the other specs – if this weapon isn’t viable, there’s no point in us getting excited about it.”

“The AnRak construction order is now off hold, sir,” said Fredericks. “Damn – it’s not a single gun,” he continued, his nose almost touching the screen. “The Lavorix were building four in total - AnRak-1, AnRak-2, AnRak-3 and AnRak-4.” Fredericks called up a data sheet and traced from top to bottom with his fingertip. “When completed, the four weapons will be identical except for one single component, which will be different in each gun. I guess the Lavorix were planning to do some more testing before the Raklivian came along and killed them all first.”

“How long until those guns are built?” Flint repeated. It was difficult to keep a lid on his frustration. “And are they transportable? If they’re the size of a Terrus-V, we’re going to have a real difficult time bringing them to Bay 3.”

“The constructions are happening concurrently, sir. All four will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“This is good news for once, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is the construction taking place?”

“Bay 8, sir. That’s two across and one down from Bay 3,” said Fredericks. “Wait up, here’s an image file.”

A 3D render of the AnRak cannon design appeared on the console’s left-hand screen. The weapon was dark grey, trapezoidal and with a single barrel protruding from one of the sloped faces.

“Recognize this, Captain Vance?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir, it looks almost identical to the gun we fired at the Galkintor.”

“This one is eight metres along its base, sir, and almost five wide,” said Fredericks.

“With a ten-metre barrel,” said Flint, basing his estimate on these other dimensions. “Does it have a gravity engine?”

“Yes, sir. These guns should easily fit in the hold of a cargo shuttle.”

“Four would be a squeeze unless we found ourselves a big shuttle,” said Larson.

“Bay 8 is another construction yard, Commander,” said Fredericks. “There’ll be something capable of hauling four AnRaks to Bay 3. Once we’re in the bay, there should be no requirement for confirmation from a receiving station – it’s only remote commandeering which requires that approval. I guess it’s to stop one bay supervisor borrowing the resources from another without asking.”

While time was tight – and becoming ever tighter – Flint was invigorated by the discovery of the AnRak guns. However, he foresaw a necessary change in plan.

“The Vanquisher isn’t designed to pick up hardware,” he said. “I wonder if there’s a different way.”

“What kind of different way sir?” asked Fredericks.

“We leave the Vanquisher with its existing crew and we take a shuttle to Bay 8. I need to speak with someone on the Halion-2.”

Flint requested a channel, which was accepted in moments.

“What can we do for you, Captain Flint?” asked the comms officer, a lieutenant by the name of Flora Pomander.

“I’d like one of your shuttles,” said Flint. “A big one – something capable of hauling a bunch of eight-by-five-metre turrets to Bay 3.” He hesitated as another thought came to him. “And we’ll need twenty obliterator cores from RL Moseley’s lab.” As he spoke these last words – which the subconscious part of his brain fed to his tongue like it was chambering bullets - Flint knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was vital the cores accompany him to the bay.

“We’ll need to speak with Admiral Recker for approval to remove the cores, sir,” said Pomander.

“Do what you have to,” said Flint. “So, about that shuttle?”

“We’ve got plenty that would fit the bill, sir, whatever the load it has to carry,” said Pomander. “I’m sure we can loan you a suitable model – are you coming to pick it up or should we arrange a drop off?”

“If it was waiting for us at the usual Bay 15 entrance, it would be much appreciated,” said Flint.

“We’ll bring you that shuttle, sir. If we have to load it up with RL Moseley’s cores, it’ll be a fifteen-minute wait. Maybe longer.”

“Thank you,” said Flint, grateful that Moseley’s lab was evidently not far from a suitable shuttle. The transport would be ready not long after he arrived at the bay, and he was pleased he wouldn’t be left waiting long for it. He closed the channel to the Halion-2 and addressed the personnel in the control room.

“There’s nothing to be gained by waiting any longer,” Flint said. Everyone in the room knew it too and they were clearly itching to get moving. “We’ve got ourselves a shuttle – we’ll pick up those AnRak guns and then head over to Bay 3.”

Turning towards the door, Flint was given another reminder that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

“Sir,” said Burner on the officer channel. “The Ancidium’s sensors have detected the presence of Kilvar warships near planet Ater – fifteen confirmed and with others possible on the blind side.”

Flint swore. “Any sign the enemy have located the Ancidium yet?”

“No, sir, but it won’t take them long.” This time it was Burner’s turn to curse. “A second bunch of Kilvar just exited lightspeed, sir. I’m guessing thirty more, and a couple of them are bigger than the others.”

“There’re going to be a whole lot more coming hot on their heels,” said Flint. He started running for the door. “The Ancidium is almost as big a prize to the Kilvar as their ascendancy. There’s been a change of plan, Lieutenant, so listen up.”

Flint talked on the run. He hadn’t made it much past the exit door when the Raklivian emitted another death pulse. Stumbling once, Flint righted himself and kept on going. In the back of his mind a voice whispered that if he’d only waited a little longer before locking the sphere in zero-time, the entity within it would have had no choice but to take the Ancidium through a gateway to a place far from here.

Now, the Kilvar were on the doorstep and there was no way to activate the Ancidium’s propulsion or its weapons systems. After centuries of existence, the massive Lavorix vessel was likely more vulnerable than it had ever been.

Flint ran harder, his feet thumping on the solid alloy of the passage floor and his heartrate climbing as his body laboured beneath the weight of his guns and his combat suit. His progress through the corridors of the Ancidium didn’t seem nearly fast enough.

Glowing on Flint’s HUD were the digits measuring his opportunity for success.

02:10:00

Chapter Eighteen

The aftereffects of the death pulse lingered and Flint struggled to shake off the lethargy and the nausea. The latter in particular made it difficult for him to finish his description of the new plan and Flint imagined that Lieutenant Burner wasn’t in much of a better state.

“Admiral Recker acknowledges the change of intent, sir,” said Burner. “He also asks if you want me to join you. Other options include Lieutenant Becerra and Lieutenant Garrett.”

“Stay where you are – all of you,” said Flint. “If something happens to the rest of us and we die before the clock runs down, we’ll need personnel alive who are on the higher security tier.”

“Coffee and feet up time for Lieutenant Burner,” said Larson. “Just how he likes it.”

Burner laughed but it faded quickly. “RL Moseley is heading back to the control room and he’s going to put together that new construction plan.”

“For the Moseley-95 loader,” said Flint.

“He’s done nothing but talk about it, sir.”

“When RL Moseley is excited about something, it’s time to start running away,” said Fredericks, between panted breaths.

“Here he comes,” said Copeland.

Moseley was somewhere in the centre of a platoon of soldiers which emerged from the next intersection and came Flint’s way. The approaching group moved to the left of the corridor and Flint kept to the right. Hardly anyone spoke and the lack of wisecracks was so unusual that he looked over his shoulder just to reassure himself that his crew and the soldiers were still with him. Next man was Lieutenant Gantry and the set of his face indicated he was entirely focused on the mission.

Flint turned his gaze forward once more and worked through the plan in his head. When the Halion-2’s shuttle arrived, he’d board it and head straight for Bay 8 to pick up the AnRak guns. After that, a journey to Bay 3 to field test the hardware.

However, the Moseley-95 was a priority and Flint didn’t know how long the Ancidium would take to build the loading device – once Moseley had sent the design to the construction yard and the work order had been accepted. From what Flint had seen, he doubted such a seemingly basic machine would slow down the vessel’s construction yards, but it wasn’t a chance worth taking.

When Flint entered the corridor leading to the Bay 15 entrance, he slowed and checked that everyone was with him. Vance’s soldiers were in good shape and the only personnel who had fallen behind were Fredericks and Copeland.

“I’m getting too old for this,” huffed Fredericks.

“You can rest when you’re dead,” said Flint. “We’ve got a mission to complete.”

He interfaced with the Bay 15 door and instructed it to open. The slab of alloy slid into its recess and Flint stared into the impenetrable darkness. His helmet sensor adjusted automatically for the conditions, but still revealed nothing.

“Where’s the shuttle?” said Flint.

He checked the time and discovered that only thirteen minutes had elapsed since he’d spoken to Lieutenant Pomander. He was on edge and it was affecting his patience.

“Maybe that shuttle parked left or right outside the door, sir,” said Steigers.

“Drawl, Steigers, move to the entrance and take a look!” Vance ordered.

The two soldiers dashed towards the bay entrance and Flint was about to request a comms channel to the Halion-2 when a shape descended into view in the bay outside and an incoming channel request appeared as a green light on his HUD.

“Captain Flint, here’s your shuttle,” said the pilot, a man the comms identified as Lieutenant Culos Umber. “We got those cores loaded in double-quick time.”

“That you did,” said Flint. “Set down, Lieutenant. “We’re here and we’re ready to go.”

“Yes, sir,” said Umber. “On my way.”

The shuttle was deeper in the bay than Flint had first realised and Umber guided it flank-first towards the platform. It was a large vessel – maybe a couple of hundred metres in length – and its bay would be more than large enough for the requirements of the mission. As he watched, Flint struck his Rodan shotgun gently against the side wall. Tap-tap-tap.

“Something up, sir?” asked Vance, watching Flint carefully.

“Nothing I can put my finger on, Captain.” Now he’d been asked the question, Flint realised that maybe something was bothering him. He faced Vance. “I’ve got that feeling.”

Vance didn’t need it explaining and he nodded. “Any change of plan, sir?”

“Not yet.”

At the bay entrance, Steigers and Drawl were just inside the passage and they waved towards the shuttle like they were at a military homecoming.

“Cut it out,” growled Vance.

To his horror, Flint saw a shape appear in the bay some distance behind the shuttle. This one was colossal in comparison, and it hung motionless.

“Shit!” said Flint.

“Steigers, Drawl, get out of there!” bellowed Vance.

Both soldiers spun and sprinted from the entrance, while Flint requested a comms channel to the Vanquisher. His request was denied, meaning the team onboard had higher priorities to deal with.

Orange trails – a dozen or more – left a trace across Flint’s vision as they raced diagonally across the opening.

“Get down!” Flint yelled.

He instructed his suit comms to interface with the bay door again. The link formed, but his brain wasn’t quicker than the plasma missiles and the warheads detonated against the massive warship which had just appeared in Bay 15.

Flint turned his head and closed his eyes tightly. Intense light illuminated the tunnel and even behind his eyelids, it was like the brightest of days. Flint sent an instruction ordering the door to close and as the light faded, he opened his eyes.

Through the narrowing gap of the closing door, Flint saw another series of plasma flashes, which lit up the space above the platform outside, beyond the arc of his sight. A red beam sliced almost horizontally across the bay, sixty or seventy kilometres away. Then, a vast shape sped from left to right, ejecting missiles from its underside and rear clusters.

The door closed and Flint’s sight was blocked. Discipline on the open comms was good and Vance ordered everyone away from the door. The alloy was thick, but it wouldn’t be much help against a direct plasma missile strike or a proximity hit from a Kilvar particle beam.

As he followed the soldiers and his crew, Flint spoke to Burner on the officer channel. “What the hell is going on, Lieutenant?” he asked. “A Kilvar warship appeared in Bay 15 and our fleet has engaged.”

“It’s more than one, sir,” said Burner. “The bay monitors count six in total.” Let me check the other monitors. He swore. “I’ve got alarms on nine bays. Twenty-two enemy warships are within the Ancidium.”

“Damnit!” shouted Flint. “How did they get inside? I thought the Ancidium was meant to be impenetrable!”

His mind whirled as it searched for answers. From his last conversation with the sphere entity, Flint had believed that the Ancidium was secure – meaning, he thought, that its exterior was switched into its semi-immune state. He racked his brain, trying to recall each word of the exchange.

“Sir, what are your orders?” asked Vance, loudly enough to get Flint’s full attention.

“We get far enough from the bay entrance that a stray missile blast won’t incinerate us. Then we stop and wait.”

“Yes, sir,” said Vance, exhorting those nearest to increase their pace.

“I thought nothing could break through the Ancidium’s walls,” said Steigers as he ran.

“Do you want to risk it soldier?” asked Vance.

“Hell no, sir.”

Flint knew he could potentially be killed by a plasma explosion, but he hated this need to retreat - he was desperate to witness what was happening in the bay for himself. If a full-scale conflict had erupted within the Ancidium, the chance of this mission succeeding had taken a nosedive.

The big question was how the Kilvar had managed to penetrate the Ancidium’s hull and the first answer Flint came up with didn’t bear thinking about.

“What if the isolation of the sphere entity resulted in the hull defences shutting down?” he asked on the officer channel.

“I didn’t check the defences after you put the sphere in zero-time, sir,” said Fredericks. “I’m sorry.”

“Every one of us should have considered the possibility, but we didn’t,” said Flint. “And there’s not much we can do about it.”

“The sphere entity told you it erected additional protections around the life batteries, sir,” said Larson. “If those protections are gone, there’s nothing stopping the Raklivian taking what it wants, entering one of the enemy warships and then escaping to enable the Kilvar ascendancy.”

Flint swore loudly. As usual, the Kilvar had the upper hand and he had no doubt they’d continue piling resources into the Cratiss system until they’d secured the Ancidium.

If the enemy are so close to ascendancy, why do they even need this vessel?

The thought gave rise to another, this one startling to Flint when he realised it might be true.

Even a god might fear the Ancidium.

“Halt!” Flint yelled on the open channel. He couldn’t allow himself to look into the future - not when the perils of the now were so tangible. “This is far enough.”

The group stopped and a dozen or more faces turned Flint’s way as soldiers and officers alike waited to find out what he’d order.

Commander Larson spoke first. “Maybe we should keep going and try a different route to Bay 8,” she said. “I’m sure Lieutenant Becerra will be able to provide us with route information so we don’t waste much time.”

“I need intel before I can make a decision,” said Flint. He requested a channel to Admiral Recker. “Sir, we’re not far from the Bay 15 entrance – whatever guidance you can offer, I’d be grateful to hear it.”

“As Lieutenant Burner already told you, the Kilvar are in nine of the internal bays, including Bay 8,” said Recker. “Our fleet in Bay 15 is armed with Lavorix-built hellburners and the enemy lightspeed blindness allowed us to get off the first salvoes. We should come out on top, even outnumbered. It’s just a matter of when.”

“How did the enemy penetrate the Ancidium’s plating, sir?”

“There’re no hull breaches,” said Recker. “I remember you telling me how the Kilvar entered the stasis sphere at Evia.”

Flint remembered too. The enemy had created shafts of dark energy and sent their warships along them at lightspeed. “Is it confirmed the Kilvar used the same method here, sir?”

“Not confirmed, but likely,” said Recker. “Damned if I know how the enemy figured out the method. The Ancidium’s hull can’t be bypassed at lightspeed, so this must be some more technological crap the Kilvar have been working on.”

“Or maybe those hull defences got switched off when I isolated the sphere entity, sir. So the Kilvar think their tech is working, but it’s only because the Ancidium is no longer immune.”

“Damnit, this doesn’t get any better,” said Recker. He laughed without humour. “At least it means the Kilvar haven’t blown any holes through the armour – when this is over, we’ll still have a spaceship worth keeping.”

It wasn’t going to take the Kilvar long to notice the Ancidium’s defences were down – assuming they were - but Flint didn’t say it aloud.

“If you believe our fleet in Bay 15 is going to defeat the enemy warships, I’ll wait here until the engagement is over, sir,” said Flint. “The alternative is a long run and multiple transits on the internal shuttle system.”

“It should soon be safe for you to enter the bay,” said Recker. “One moment.” The comms went on mute. “I have to go,” said Recker when he returned.

And that was it – the comms channel went dead.

“What now, sir?” asked Drawl, approximately one nanosecond after Recker was gone.

Flint explained what he’d learned. “Once the engagement in Bay 15 is concluded, we’re heading back that way and proceeding with the plan.”

“That’ll give me time to interface with the Ancidium’s internal systems and check the status of the hull immunity,” said Fredericks.

“Good plan, Lieutenant.”

Flint paced from one wall to the other and then back again, unable to take his mind off the vulnerable shuttle, with its hold full of obliterator cores.

“The hull defences are active, sir,” said Fredericks after a whole minute.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir – that’s why I took so long. I checked and double checked. I also checked the life batteries and those are also protected.”

“Then how?” asked Maddox.

“What technology makes, other technology can unmake,” said Fredericks.

“Then why isn’t the Ancidium flooded with enemy spaceships already?” asked Flint.

“Perhaps the Kilvar tech has a limitation, sir – possibly it requires a recharge period before it can activate for a second time.”

“We’ve been scanning the Cratiss system continuously, sir,” said Burner. “So far there’s been no sign of anything other than Kilvar warships. If they’ve brought additional hardware, I have yet to locate it.”

“How many enemy vessels are following the Ancidium now?” asked Flint.

“Ninety-eight, sir – plus the others inside the construction bays.”

“We need to adapt,” said Flint. His eye went to his HUD timer. 01:53:04. “What we planned before is no longer viable.”

An idea came to him, though it would mean throwing caution to the wind and taking risks he’d already dismissed as being too great. Not only that, the time constraints would be pushed to their limits. He spent a few moments in conversation with Lieutenant Burner, before mentally finalising his decision.

“We’ll have to steal a warship,” he said.

“Which one, sir?” asked Larson.

“I don’t know, Commander. It’ll have to be the right one.” Flint smiled thinly and prepared to deliver some bad news. “Lieutenant Becerra, you’re joining us,” he said.

“Immediately, sir?”

“Yes – immediately.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What now, sir?” asked Fredericks, staring at Flint as if he could gauge his intent.

“What now is that we’re going to wait for the engagement in Bay 15 to run its course and we’re going to take that shuttle to Bay 8 to pick up those AnRak guns.” Flint didn’t mention that the transport may well be a heap of burning wreckage on the bay floor.

“I thought you said we were—”

“Stealing a warship?” Flint nodded. “We have to find one first. And that’s where Lieutenants Burner and Garrett are going to help us.”

Explaining the plan didn’t take very long. A few seconds after Flint was done speaking, Burner informed him that the combat in Bay 15 was over, with the alliance fleet victorious. Shortly after, Lieutenant Becerra arrived, hardly out of breath despite the speed with which she’d covered the distance.

Flint delayed no longer. Sprinting once more towards Bay 15, he hoped more than anything that the shuttle had survived. Without the obliterator cores it was carrying in its cargo bay, the mission was going nowhere.

Chapter Nineteen

“What happened to that cargo shuttle, sir?” asked Private Raven, as Flint was interfacing with the bay door.

“It’s bit late to start worrying about it now, don’t you think?” said Drawl.

“I didn’t hear you say anything about it,” said Raven defensively.

“The shuttle survived,” said Flint, having learned as much only a few seconds previously.

“What about the Halion-2?” asked Raimi.

“It didn’t survive.”

The bay door opened and this time the darkness was not nearly so absolute. A red-orange glow filled the space, making Flint think he could be standing at the gateway to hell. Not only the Kilvar had perished in this place – the Halion-2 and the Astute were in pieces on the floor, way below the platform. At least the other alliance warships had come through relatively unscathed.

“No heat,” said Steigers.

“This invisible barrier that keeps the air inside the Ancidium must be keeping it out,” said Flint. “There’s nothing to worry about anyway – it’s a big space.”

He stepped across the threshold and looked upwards to find the shuttle hovering two hundred metres directly overhead and hugging the wall as if the pilot had thought that was the best way to stay out of sight.

“We’re ready. Again.” said Flint on the comms.

“On my way,” said Lieutenant Umber. The edge to his voice was that of a man still coming to terms with the fact that he’d somehow dodged the reaper’s scythe.

Watching the transport descend in vacuum silence was eerie, even though Flint had witnessed similar a thousand times before. The shuttle was a broad vessel but the platform was wider, and Umber set down with the forward flank door not far from the bay entrance.

When he was satisfied the shuttle was stable on the platform, Lieutenant Umber activated the flank ramp. Steps leading into the low-lit interior beckoned and Flint sprinted the short distance.

“Move!” he said on the comms.

As he used the rail to haul himself quicker up the boarding ramp, Flint glanced over his shoulder. Vance was only a couple of steps lower and the rest of the group were hot on his heels. Nobody wanted to draw the wrath of the platoon officers at a time like this by dragging their feet and a sense of urgency exuded from everyone.

Flint dashed through the airlock, along a short corridor and into the passenger bay. He saw nothing remarkable – seats for eighty, wall screens, a replicator – and the air carried the ingrained scents which many vessels like this one developed after they’d been operation for long enough. It was also well below freezing and a thin frosting of ice had formed up near the ceiling at the rear of the bay, as if the bulkheads between here and the storage areas weren’t able to keep out the chill of the obliterator cores.

Lieutenant Umber emerged from the stairs leading to the cockpit. The man was dressed in full combat gear and his eyes were wide below dark, curly hair.

“Captain Flint?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Flint. “Anything to tell me?”

“You’ve got twin cargo bays that way, sir,” said Umber, gesturing towards the rear bulkhead. “The obliterator cores are in the rearmost bay and the centre bay is empty. You should have plenty of space for those guns I’m told you’re picking up. If you need them, the underside gravity chains can hold thirty million tons.” He indicated the stairs. “The cockpit’s all yours.”

Flint nodded. “Did they send you alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did well, Lieutenant.” Flint thumbed towards the bay seats. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Umber’s life wasn’t about to get any less stressful, but it was something he’d have to deal with. Flint forgot about him at once and climbed the steps rapidly with Vance and Tagra following.

The cockpit was a little more sophisticated than that of most smaller transports or cargo shuttles, though still with only three stations. Flint took the centre one, Vance sat left and Tagra right. Meanwhile, Fredericks, Larson and Becerra entered the cockpit. They didn’t say anything and stood close to the rear bulkhead.

“Everything’s good to go,” said Flint.

“Sensors locked onto what’s left of the escort fleet,” said Vance. “The Evarox and the Lascarin took particle beam strikes from the looks of those heat patches.”

“Lieutenant Tagra, do you have an active comms link?”

“Yes, Captain Flint – to the Vanquisher.”

“Let them know we’re ready to depart and if any more Kilvar appear we’d appreciate their assistance.”

Tagra laughed harshly. “This shuttle’s underside nose and tail chain guns will defeat whatever the enemy send.”

“I’d prefer they sent nothing else,” said Flint. “Are the Kilvar still within the other bays?”

“Yes,” said Tagra. “The enemy are confirmed within Bay 11, Bay 8, Bay 6, Bay 5, Bay 3 and Bay 2, as well as other bays aft of our position.”

Flint mentally pictured the arrangement of the bays. Bays 1 to 3 were furthest forward and stacked, with Bay 1 closest to the Ancidium’s underside. Heading aft, the next bays were 4 to 6, with Bay 4 being nearest to the underside. And so it went, with the bays stacked in threes, all the way to Bay 24, which was furthest aft and closest to the topside armour.

“The enemy presence in Bays 11, 8, 5, and 2 would make me think they’d aimed towards the Ancidium’s centre and then activated whatever technology they used to bypass the armour,” said Flint.

“Except they are also in Bays 3 and 6,” said Tagra. “And the Kilvar vessels in those two bays are beyond the capabilities of the alliance escort fleet.”

“Hence the reason we’re looking for a nice Lavorix warship to steal,” said Flint. He twisted in his seat. “Lieutenant Fredericks, are you interfaced with the Ancidium’s security systems?”

“Yes, sir. The moment you give the order, I’ll instruct the linking door between this bay and Bay 12 to open. We’ll follow the Vanquisher and the Evarox into the next bay and the other members of the alliance fleet will come with us.”

“Just to be clear – is this shuttle able to dock with one of those annihilators?” asked Becerra. “I’d feel safer that way.”

“We won’t fit in the docking bays, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “This transport was designed for the Halion-2.”

“Damn.”

“So if the Kilvar reinforce while we’re in transit—” began Fredericks.

“Yes, I know,” said Flint. “That’s why it’s so important we find a Lavorix warship that can handle anything thrown its way and also accommodate a two-hundred-metre shuttle.”

“We should depart,” said Tagra.

Flint didn’t say anything more and wrapped his fingers around the shuttle’s twin joysticks. He requested power from the engines and lifted the transport vertically from the platform. Once it had climbed a few hundred metres, he banked and guided it deeper into the bay.

“Scanning the floor,” said Vance. “Shit, it’s a mess,” he said.

The Halion-2 was unmistakeable because of its size. The lifter had come down on its starboard flank, in the approximate centre of the bay floor. Missile detonations had torn vast holes in its armour and one huge section had crumpled inwards, forming a six-thousand-metre indentation. Multiple patches of heat indicated the Halion-2 had been hit by many particle beams.

“The Kilvar screwed up targeting the lifter,” said Vance.

“They sure did,” said Flint. “The Halion-2 wasn’t likely to do much harm to a Kilvar warship.”

“Their loss is our loss, but also our gain,” said Tagra.

“That’s one way of looking at it, Lieutenant,” said Flint, increasing the shuttle’s velocity. Another quick scan of the feeds was enough for him to identify the wreck of the Astute, which had crashed not far from three of the Kilvar warships. The enemy vessels had been ripped apart by plasma missiles and the debris was strewn everywhere.

“The Vanquisher and Evarox are moving into position,” said Vance.

“Open the linking door, Lieutenant Fredericks,” said Flint, watching the two annihilators accelerate from their starting position. The final two surviving alliance warships – the Erdian-3Q and the Lascarin – banked suddenly and in tandem to follow the Vanquisher and the Evarox.

“Command sent,” Fredericks confirmed.

“Four annihilators and room for a little one in the middle,” said Larson.

“I definitely prefer hardware that’s a billion tons or more,” said Flint.

He flew the shuttle beneath the Lascarin and past its nose. Six thousand metres away was the flat stern of the Vanquisher and Flint positioned the transport halfway between the two annihilators.

“The linking door is opening, sir,” said Vance.

“Do you need to send a command to the next door, Lieutenant Fredericks? If so, do it now.”

“I think one instruction does it all, sir,” said Fredericks.

“Let’s see what happens,” said Flint.

The Vanquisher and the Evarox entered the tunnel which led towards Bay 12, and Flint went after them.

“This shuttle wasn’t built for speed,” he said. Its propulsion grumbled, while the two annihilators accelerated with effortless disdain.

Once the five spaceships were in the linking tunnel, Flint waited.

01:41:54

“Running out of time,” he muttered.

“I could send the activation command again, sir,” Fredericks offered.

“Hold,” said Flint. “I’d hate to find that a repeat command triggers a safety lock or something equally unwanted.”

“The first door is closing,” said Vance.

“Come on, come on,” Flint urged the second door.

Twenty seconds passed, during which Lieutenant Burner advised him of a near-finished twenty-one-thousand-metre Lavorix warship in Bay 8. It was on the route and that made it a perfect target.

The moment Burner stopped talking, the next door in the linking tunnel opened.

Straightaway, the Vanquisher and Evarox raced into Bay-12. A moment later, the Erdian-3Q and the Lascarin shot past the shuttle at such a velocity that Flint was alarmed they’d detected Kilvar warships, even though he’d been told this bay was clear. His eyes went to the transport’s quarter-sized tactical display and on it he saw only green dots.

“We’ve received the all-clear,” said Tagra.

Flint blew out his pent-up breath and guided the shuttle into the bay. “Lieutenant Burner scanned this bay earlier and he doesn’t believe there’s anything worth stealing. We’ll have to wait for Bay 8 – there’s a suitable warship and those AnRak guns both in the same place.”

“What exactly is suitable, sir?” asked Vance. “Something big?”

“Something bigger than big,” said Flint. “Something massive.”

He kept his eyes on the sensor feeds. Along the portside wall and spilling far across the bay, were enormous heaps of what he thought might be ternium ore, as well as some different-coloured powders he didn’t immediately recognize. These heaps were thousands of metres high – an entire mountain range of natural resources loaded into the bay for the Lavorix to put to whatever use they deemed necessary.

Across the bay and occupying a third of the entire floorspace, was a single vast fabrication plant, made up from hundreds of interlinked cubes, cylinders and domes. The tallest of these structures was almost twenty thousand metres, with many being in excess of ten thousand.

Shuttles in all shapes and sizes flew in their thousands above the plant and on an endless to and fro from the heaps of partly-ground stone and powders to the fabrication facility and back again. Many carried crates or other loads suspended by gravity chains. Some of these loads were deposited into chutes on the roof of this structure or that, to be included in whatever assembly work the fabrication plant was designed to facilitate.

“The Ancidium never ceases to amaze,” said Larson. “That one plant could likely out-build every component factory in the alliance combined.”

“I thought all the work was locked down,” said Fredericks.

“Maybe it’s just the warship construction that was put on hold,” said Flint, still open-mouthed in wonder. “Clearly not everything has stopped.”

“Where does it all go?” asked Vance. “I see lots of stuff going in and none coming out.”

“Through the floor,” Flint guessed. “These bays are vast, but there’s plenty of space between each one. There could be a whole transportation network carrying needed components from place to place.” He tore his eyes away. “We can’t stop and stare.”

Despite his fascination with the fabrication plant, Flint had not slowed the shuttle in order that he might gawp, and the vessel was now more than halfway towards the door which linked Bay 12 with Bay 9.

“Send the activation command, Lieutenant Fredericks.”

“Yes, sir. Command sent,” said Fredericks. “And then our next stop is Bay 8, where we have a confirmed Kilvar presence.”

The far door opened and once again, the Vanquisher and the Evarox entered the linking tunnel first, while the Erdian-3Q and the Lascarin remained behind the shuttle in case the Kilvar paid a surprise visit to Bay 12. So far, the enemy were confined to their original entry points, though Flint didn’t expect that situation to last.

“It’s too quiet,” Tagra remarked.

“You can’t go around saying crap like that, Lieutenant,” said Flint, slowing the shuttle to a halt not far from the Vanquisher’s stern.

“The first door is still open,” said Vance. “Is that going to stop the next one activating?”

“I’ve seen both open at once before,” said Larson. “I don’t know what governs it happening.”

“How long will we wait this time?” asked Fredericks anxiously.

“As long as it takes,” muttered Flint.

“Sir!” It was Burner on the officer channel. “The internal monitors have detected four Kilvar warships inside Bay 9. They came out of nowhere.”

“We’re on our way to Bay 9,” Flint growled.

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Garrett has made your escort aware.”

“We could return to Bay 12, sir,” said Fredericks.

“It’s too late for that, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “The longer this takes, the less chance we have of making it through.”

The Erdian-3Q and the Lascarin flew past the shuttle and Flint guided his vessel towards the floor of the linking tunnel, hoping to escape notice. Above, the four annihilators looked mean as hell and he wished he was in the command seat of one, ready to blow the crap out of the Kilvar.

“Second door opening,” said Vance. “Get ready for the party.”

The moment the gap was wide enough, the Vanquisher and the Evarox tore through, accelerating with such savagery they were gone in the blink of an eye. The Erdian-3Q and the Lascarin followed a split second later, the former already spilling missiles from its forward clusters.

Flint requested maximum power from the transport’s engines and the vessel sped into the bay.

Chapter Twenty

“Scanning the floor for a route that’ll keep us out of sight,” said Vance.

The shuttle wasn’t built for speed, but neither was it shockingly underpowered. Flint aimed its nose down - he intended to find some cover at floor level and use that to make his way to the Bay 8 linking door, which was also in the floor.

“Holding the door activation command,” said Fredericks. “We don’t want to give those enemy vessels in Bay 8 access to this one.”

The information – visual and otherwise – came thick and fast. A series of plasma explosions in the centre of the bay illuminated a Kilvar diamond ship in stark relief, and Flint spotted a second one not far behind it. A red plasma beam lanced into the Vanquisher, activating its mesh deflector. Orange propulsion trails streaked across the bay and hundreds more white ballistic tracers pummelled the Kilvar hulls as the railer guns sought to pulverise the enemy missiles as they emerged from their launch clusters.

“Give those bastards hell,” said Larson.

The Vanquisher’s forward Terrus-V cannons rocked into their barrels and twin projectiles smashed into the closest Kilvar warship. Huge indentations appeared in the enemy vessel’s armour, visible amongst the light of the hellburner blasts. Heat from the impact energy spread outwards like a plague across the Kilvar armour and huge pieces of debris fountained.

“It’s about to get tough for the little guy,” said Larson. “And this time, we’re that little guy.”

Tearing his gaze from the other feeds, Flint scanned the bay floor. Forty or fifty Lavorix battleships were under construction in the portside half of the bay and lined up in two neat rows on the floor. Thousands of shuttles hung motionless above the shipyard, their build orders on hold. It was as strange a tableau as Flint could remember, as if the entire floor of this bay – a vast but mundane technological canvas - had been frozen in time, while a battle raged overhead.

“There’s no good cover in the starboard half, so let’s aim for that portside construction yard,” said Flint, banking left from the still open linking door.

Unexpectedly, ten or twelve plasma missiles detonated amongst the stationary shuttles. The blasts happened less than fifty kilometres from the place Flint was aiming his own vessel, and he banked onto a new course. The transport’s engines grumbled and the walls creaked under the strain.

“I’ll take us low to the floor,” said Flint. “I might be able to lose us among these battleships.”

Another salvo of missiles exploded amongst the Lavorix shuttles, this time no more than thirty kilometres away.

“Those are Kilvar warheads,” said Fredericks. “Are they aiming at us?”

“This bay is too compact for missiles,” said Flint. “I’d guess their guidance systems are picking the wrong targets straight after they exit their launch tubes.”

The bay floor wasn’t more than fifteen kilometres below and Flint sized up his intended approach to the linking door. If he skimmed low enough to the ground, he thought he might be able to fly beneath the part-build battleships, the hulls of which were oriented left to right.

“It’s a bad time to be us,” said Fredericks.

“I know it,” said Flint.

His eyes darted to the topside feeds, just as a mesh deflector activated on one of the alliance battleships. Three red energy beams stabbed fruitlessly into the shield before it winked out. Elsewhere, two other annihilators unleashed Terrus-V shots into a different Kilvar vessel, producing a single, irregular indentation which covered an enormous area of its underside.

Hellburner missiles plunged into the weakened section of the enemy craft and a vast fissure was torn open in its hull.

“That one’s almost out for the count,” said Flint.

He wanted to watch the spectacle of lights and destruction, but knew it would distract him from his single task. The bay floor was only a thousand metres away and Flint hauled on the controls to bring the transport out of its steep dive and into the aisle which ran between the Lavorix battleships.

On both sides, these much larger vessels loomed high and bulky, their hulls a patchwork of unfinished armour, with openings where missile clusters had yet to be installed. The bay floor was a clutter of gravity cranes and crawlers, all halted and going nowhere.

“There are no construction trenches for the battleships,” said Fredericks. “The Lavorix must support these hulls with gravity fields.”

“That gives us plenty of room to fly beneath,” said Flint, banking towards the blunt nose of the warship to his left. The space below its hull was inviting, with promises of safety.

“Oh shit, pull up, sir!” said Larson.

“What’s wrong?” asked Flint.

He knew Larson well enough that he didn’t wait for clarification before acting on the warning, and he pulled back on the controls. Flint’s reaction was too late and the shuttle’s velocity gauge suddenly tumbled, like the vessel had been grabbed by an invisible hand. The engines thundered and he felt the straps of his harness digging into his chest with the deceleration.

Lieutenant Fredericks was too slow to grab one of the wall straps and he slithered across the cockpit floor, before thudding hard into the metal legs of Flint’s seat.

“Argh!” he shouted, more in surprise and anger than pain. “Damnit!”

Flint couldn’t take his eyes from the console to help. The velocity gauge was showing zero while the propulsion gauge was nailed on one hundred percent. He shifted the joysticks left and right, but the shuttle didn’t move.

“Gravity fields,” he spat, realising the extent of his own stupidity.

“Yes, sir,” said Larson, helping Fredericks to his feet. “I was with Captain Recker on the Vengeance when he took us under the Aeklu back in the Lavorix wars. We got caught by the gravity fields, but the Vengeance’s engines were strong enough to pull us free.”

“This isn’t the Vengeance,” said Flint, painfully aware of the shuttle’s limitations. He shifted the controls again and still the vessel wouldn’t budge. “How are you, Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“Bruised, sir – my pride and my left shoulder.”

“The Vanquisher’s comms team ask what we are doing,” said Tagra. “I have informed them that we are stuck.”

“And not quite under cover,” said Flint.

The high flank of the Lavorix battleship wasn’t far ahead, but it wouldn’t offer any protection against an attack from vertically above. On the topside feeds, the engagement continued unabated, though the viewing angle was now considerably reduced.

“Looking on the bright side, our warships are going to win this one,” said Larson.

“I agree,” said Flint, watching a blazing section of Kilvar vessel plummet towards the bay floor eighty kilometres to starboard. “But victory won’t be much use if we can’t get away from this gravity field.”

Another salvo of missiles exploded amongst the shuttles above the construction yard, much too close for comfort. Then, a misshapen lump of smouldering alloy, five hundred metres across, dropped through the explosions and crashed into the bay floor two kilometres from the transport.

As if it were the first drop of rain from a coming shower, the chunk of alloy was followed by others. Pieces of warship, large and small crashed down, thudding into gravity cranes, welding bots and the part-constructed battleships.

“Sir, there’s a Kilvar vessel overhead,” said Vance.

“Ah crap,” said Flint.

How the enemy warship was able to stay in the air he didn’t know. Almost its entire hull was alight and it had suffered at least six Terrus-V impacts. Here was the source of the falling debris and the vessel flew slowly across the bay as the alliance warships continued pounding it.

“If that comes down, we’re deep in the shit, sir,” said Vance.

“It’s definitely coming down, Captain Vance. One hundred percent on top of us,” said Larson.

“I thought that’s what you’d say, ma’am.”

Brute force hadn’t been enough to break the shuttle free and Flint thought furiously. “There’s no sign of the generator blocks, so they’re buried beneath the floor.”

“Meaning we can’t request a missile strike from one of those annihilators,” said Larson.

“These ground vehicles aren’t moving,” said Flint, still thinking. “But there’s no way in hell they’d be trapped by the gravity fields, else they’d be unable to construct these battleships.”

“An exclusion list!” said Fredericks. “Each of the vehicles and construction shuttles will have an identifier which prevents them being immobilised by the gravity fields.”

“How do we get on that exclusion list?” asked Flint. “You’re interfaced with the Ancidium – can you figure it out?”

“I’ll have to,” said Fredericks. “Leave it with me, sir.”

“Lieutenant Tagra, have any of the alliance crews realised this transport is about to be crushed?”

“In case they have not, I will inform them using the clearest of language, Captain Flint.”

Flint hated being an observer and he ground his teeth together. The topside feeds held his gaze and he mentally calculated the arc along which the Kilvar vessel would descend. As Larson had said, it would definitely land on the shuttle.

A half-billion-ton section of ruined armour and ternium broke free from the stricken vessel and tumbled lazily as it fell towards the bay floor.

“That one’s going to be close,” said Flint. He heard Vance mutter something about metal coffins.

The piece of wreckage struck the upper plating of the nearest Lavorix battleship and for a moment, it teetered between completing its fall to the floor or settling on the vessel’s topsides. Everyone in the cockpit except Lieutenant Fredericks stared, willing the debris to stay where it was.

“That Kilvar warship is coming down as well, sir,” said Vance.

“Lieutenant Fredericks?” asked Flint through gritted teeth.

“I’m making progress, sir.”

“Fast progress, I hope.”

Fredericks didn’t respond and Flint watched as the debris settled on the battleship. Although it wasn’t going to kill him Flint didn’t feel much better for it, since luck was never a pleasing judge of life or death.

“We will soon be crushed, Lieutenant Fredericks,” he said.

“That’ll happen in thirty seconds at the warship’s current rate of descent, sir,” said Vance.

Flint snarled in anger and pushed hard at the control sticks. The gravity fields were likely designed to support two hundred billion tons or more and the transport didn’t move at all.

The combat in the bay was decided, though plasma missiles continued to detonate sporadically, out of the transport’s visual arc. Through the dark smoke of burning alloy came an annihilator, travelling at a substantial velocity. It crunched into the plummeting Kilvar vessel near its stern. The annihilator glanced away from the larger craft, putting it into a slow spin and knocking it off course.

“That’s not going to be enough,” said Flint.

As he spoke the words, a second annihilator struck the Kilvar spaceship from the opposite side, increasing the spin and knocking it onto another new course. Flint guessed the two alliance commanding officers each came up with the same idea and had enacted it without communication. Sometimes that was the only way, but on this occasion it didn’t seem like it was going to work out for the best.

“Still coming straight for us,” said Vance. He raised a middle finger and aimed it upwards. “Screw you.”

“Even if we break free now, we might not have the acceleration to—” Flint began.

He was still holding the joysticks forward and he cut short his sentence when the transport began to gather speed, heading directly for the flank of the Lavorix battleship. He banked towards the central aisle of the construction yard and the velocity gauge rose steadily.

Meanwhile, the immense wreckage tumbled and fell in such a way that it was almost impossible for Flint to judge where its leading edge would strike the bay floor. He was sure that gaining altitude would only hasten the collision, leaving him to hope he’d chosen a heading that would escape the coming impact.

“I feel like an insect looking at the sole of a descending boot,” said Larson.

Flint held the joysticks in a death grip and guided the shuttle into the construction yard aisle. The Kilvar vessel was huge on the feeds, blocking out the view of everything. Many hellburner craters burned vivid through the greasy smoke which wrapped its hull, and other debris fell with it.

“We are safe,” said Tagra with the satisfaction of the entirely convinced.

“I’ll order him to keep his mouth shut if you want, sir,” said Vance tightly.

Flint didn’t speak and he willed the unpredictability of chaos to work in his favour. The wreckage hit the closest Lavorix battleship on the nose with sufficient force to rock the vessel within the constraints of the gravity field. Over tipped the Kilvar diamond ship and it stood for a moment on one of its narrow flanks, balanced so precariously and so absurdly that Flint couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.

“It’s going to fall our way,” said Larson.

One of the alliance annihilators – the Evarox, Flint thought – raced in at a flank-first diagonal and struck the Kilvar warship with tremendous force. It was enough – more than enough – and the wreckage was knocked away from the still-accelerating transport.

“I have received confirmation from the Evarox that the enemy forces are defeated in this bay,” said Tagra a few moments later.

“The benefits of surprise,” said Flint.

“However, only the Erdian-3Q has an available mesh deflector charge,” Tagra continued. “The other warships are on cooldown.”

“We can’t wait,” said Flint. “Some of the deflector modules will complete their recharge by the time we’re through the linking tunnel to Bay 8.”

“Captain Iltron is in agreement,” said Tagra. “As are the others.”

“In which case – Lieutenant Fredericks, please instruct the next linking door to open.”

“Yes, sir. Command sent. By the way and if you didn’t already guess, I managed to put us on that exclusion list I was telling you about.”

“Are you expecting praise for performing your duties, Lieutenant?” asked Larson archly. “Or maybe the first medal to go into that cabinet you bought when you first signed up a hundred years ago?”

Fredericks laughed and Flint did too. The tension faded, though only for a moment and then it returned. Bay 12 had been a test, but that was nothing new. What was chewing Flint up was the anticipation of what lay within Bay 8 – a Lavorix warship worth taking and a solution to the Raklivian.

The coming minutes could well decide if the alliance would be successful in this attempt to capture the Ancidium.

No pressure.

01:32:17

Chapter Twenty-One

“The first door is holding open,” said Vance. “Waiting on the second.”

“Each of our warships now has a single mesh deflector available,” said Tagra. “Their other modules are still recharging.”

“Let’s see how long this next door takes to open,” said Flint, not taking his eyes off the underside feeds.

This linking tunnel was vertical and would enter Bay 8 through the ceiling. All four annihilators were below the transport, unmarked apart from the scarring of past atmospheric friction around their nose sections and flanks. Flint experienced a surge of pride – these warships were running up an impressive tally of victories. Now, they were preparing to add to the total by engaging the five confirmed enemy craft in Bay 8.

The Kilvar had other ideas.

“Sir, you need to abort!” shouted Burner on the comms. “A dozen Kilvar warships just appeared in Bay 8! You’re facing seventeen in total!”

“Damnit, no!” snarled Flint. “We don’t have the firepower to defeat seventeen!” With no other choice, he made a snap decision. “Lieutenant Fredericks, cancel the instruction you issued to the linking doors.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have made the other warship commanders aware,” said Burner. “They recommend withdrawal and a change of tactics.”

“There is no other way,” said Flint, still seething with his anger. “This was our one chance.”

“Sir, the cancel instruction to the door has not been accepted,” said Fredericks.

“Why the hell not?” asked Flint, his voice rising again.

“I think it’s another failsafe, sir. I’d need to be on a higher security tier to cancel my own instruction – probably to prevent two competing—”

“Enough!” said Flint.

Lieutenant Burner offered him a lifeline.

“Sir, I believe that shuttle you’re in is lightspeed capable.”

“That’s right, Lieutenant. But you know better than I that we can’t transit through the walls of the Ancidium.”

“Yes, sir, hear me out.” Burner usually talked in a measure way. This time the words spilled out of him. “Bay 7 – that’s the one beneath Bay 8 – has no Kilvar. It’s a holding bay full of Lavorix battleships, and right in the centre is this…”

An image appeared on Flint’s HUD. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“The Lavorix built two that we know of, sir.”

“We’ll have to open the linking doors between Bays 9, 8 and 7,” said Flint, combining the ingredients into a plan. “Then, this shuttle will be able to lightspeed past the Kilvar and into Bay 7.”

“What about our four annihilators?” asked Larson. “Are they to be another sacrifice?”

“No!” said Flint. He swore again. “Shit. Barring a miracle, yes, another sacrifice.”

“We’re running out of time, sir,” said Fredericks. “The linking door to Bay 8 is going to open and then all hell will break loose – we can’t afford to be caught up in it.”

“Admiral Recker has given the go ahead for whatever you decide, sir,” said Burner. “Do what must be done.”

Grinding his teeth so tightly they scraped audibly in his skull, Flint pulled back on the shuttle’s controls and it climbed up the linking tunnel, leaving the four annihilators behind.

“We can’t risk a full-scale conflict in Bay 8, sir,” said Larson. “What will happen to the AnRak guns?”

“Lieutenant Fredericks, open the linking door between Bays 9, 12 and 15,” snapped Flint. “Do the same for the doors between Bays 8 and 7.”

“Yes, sir.” He went quiet for a few seconds. “Commands sent.”

Burner didn’t need to have Flint’s intentions spelled out to him. “I’ll pass on the instruction, sir,” he said. “The commanding officers of our annihilators are to lead the Kilvar forces up into Bay 9, across Bay 12 and into Bay 15. They’ll do everything they can to keep the enemy occupied and away from Bays 7 and 8.”

“Yes,” said Flint. He almost asked Burner to wish the alliance crews good luck, but knew it would be more of an insult than a blessing. Those people were going to die, whatever platitudes he offered.

The shuttle’s gathering velocity took it back towards Bay 9 and, before he could pilot it into cover, the linking door with Bay 8 opened. Vast shapes drifted below the opening.

“Ready for the shitstorm,” said Vance.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, the four alliance battleships launched hellburners from their underside clusters and several hundred explosions illuminated Bay 8 a split-second later. Flint couldn’t watch – he was fully occupied with getting the shuttle out of sight. The topmost edge of the linking tunnel opening was only a couple of hundred metres ahead and he intended to cut it as fine as possible.

The transport emerged into Bay 8, missing the hard edge by scarcely two metres. Flint aimed the vessel towards the construction yard again, hoping he’d got out of sight quickly enough.

“The lightspeed drive on these models has an eight-minute warmup, sir,” said Fredericks.

“We’ll lay low beneath one of these Lavorix battleships,” said Flint.

He glanced at the rear feed and saw flashes in the linking tunnel. At any moment, four annihilators were going to come racing out of that opening, pursued by a fleet of Kilvar warships. Before that happened, Flint needed to hide the shuttle.

“Let’s hope the enemy didn’t spot us when the linking door opened,” said Fredericks.

“I was trying not to think too hard about that, Lieutenant,” Flint growled.

The shuttle was travelling fast and the nearest Lavorix battleship wasn’t far. Flint was intending to hide beneath the third warship in the row, which he judged was near enough to reach and would also cut the exposure of the transport to the Kilvar sensors.

Broken shuttles, smoking alloys and jagged debris littered the construction yard, along with the enormous hull of the Kilvar vessel which had crashed down not long ago. With any luck, the heat and the emissions would help make the transport much harder to spot.

Flint guided the shuttle beneath the first battleship without reducing velocity. The dark mass of its underside plating, studded with gauss countermeasures and missile clusters, only served to remind him of the transport’s vulnerability.

Movement on the rear feeds drew Flint’s eye and he saw all four annihilators climb from the linking tunnel, accelerating like they were being hauled upwards on invisible strings. Missiles streaked from their launch tubes and hundreds of railer lines stabbed into the linking tunnel.

A red particle beam lanced through the opening, activating the mesh deflector on one of the annihilators, and then what seemed like a hundred or more Kilvar missiles detonated against the shield, while dozens more overshot and exploded against the Bay 9 ceiling.

Rotating to bring their loaded rear clusters to bear, the alliance battleships accelerated for the opening to Bay 12.

“If those linking doors don’t open soon, this shuttle is in deep shit,” said Fredericks.

“It feels like I’ve been in deep shit since the moment I was born, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

The space beneath the Lavorix battleships was relatively clear of debris, allowing him to fly die-straight across the bay floor. Soon, the transport was beneath the second battleship and Flint considered slowing to a halt.

Keep going.

He held steady and the shuttle raced into the gap between this battleship and the third.

“Here come the Kilvar,” said Vance.

Dark shapes rose from the opening like corpses from the grave. The Kilvar were clustered too tightly for Flint to count how many they were, and the warships remained visible for only a moment before they were hidden by the hulls of the two Lavorix battleships.

“If they climb too fast too soon, those bastards will have a viewing angle on us,” said Vance.

“Yes, they will,” said Flint. “But it’s not going to happen.”

At last, the shuttle made it as far as the third battleship and Flint reduced its velocity as rapidly as its propulsion would allow. The transport overshot by a hundred metres, emerging into open space. He banked and piloted it once more into cover, relying on the battleship’s high flank to block out the enemy’s sight.

“Activating lightspeed drive warmup,” said Flint, reducing the transport’s velocity to a crawl – the drive wouldn’t fire if the vessel was stationary. “Targeting Bay 7.”

“Now for the longest eight minutes of our lives,” laughed Fredericks.

“What are we expecting to find in Bay 7, sir?” asked Vance.

“A few hundred Kilvar battleships and something special.”

Vance nodded. “It’ll have to be.”

“If Bay 7 contains so many spaceships, what will happen if we exit lightspeed into the middle of one?” asked Tagra, his brow crumpled as he pondered his own question.

“Don’t they teach you this in Daklan training school?” asked Fredericks. “If we emerge far enough into a solid object, we’ll all be killed.”

“That is the answer I anticipated.” Tagra’s gaze went distant as he listened to an incoming comm. “Our annihilators are engaged with the enemy in Bay 12,” he said. “The door to Bay 15 is not yet open.”

“How many Kilvar followed them?” asked Flint.

“The initial surprise attack on the enemy destroyed two vessels and disabled a third. Of the fourteen remaining, thirteen are confirmed in Bay 12.”

“That leaves one,” said Flint. “Do we have intel on its position?”

“Negative, Captain. Not from our escort ships.”

“If its crew decided to go poking around in Bay 7, we’re in trouble,” said Vance.

“Lieutenant Burner, we’re missing a Kilvar warship. Where is it?” asked Flint on the comms.

“It’s heading through the linking tunnel between Bay 8 and 9, sir,” said Burner. “It was stationary in Bay 8 for a while and now it’s coming after the others.”

Flint watched the sensors and the Kilvar warship became visible in the gap between the Lavorix battleships and the floor. It climbed slowly, and that was what made Flint worried.

“It’s not in a hurry,” he said. The enemy vessel disappeared from sight. “What’s it up to, Lieutenant Burner?”

“That spaceship isn’t doing much, sir – it’s stopped near the bay ceiling.”

“Looking for us?” asked Flint. “There’s a chance we were spotted when the linking door opened.”

“It’s possible, sir,” said Burner. “The warship is on the move again and heading towards the construction yard.”

“Damnit,” said Flint. “There’s no way they can see us down here.”

“From their current altitude they will not be able to attain a visual angle, sir,” said Burner. “Ah, crap. They’re descending.”

“Where?” asked Flint. “We can’t see shit from down here.” He made a quick check of the lightspeed warmup timer.

Six minutes.

“The enemy vessel has halted again, sir,” said Burner. “It’s between battleships one and two in the same row as you, and fifty klicks straight up.”

“They’re scanning,” said Larson. “They saw us when the door opened.”

A full minute passed and the Kilvar spaceship didn’t move. Flint’s eyes didn’t know where to rest and they jumped from the sensors to the timer and then to his console. Tagra was getting sporadic updates from the escort ships and the engagement had now moved to Bay 15. Annihilators were tough, but they weren’t going to last forever against such a numerically superior force.

“That warship is moving again,” said Burner. “Now it’s halted between battleships four and five – still at fifty klicks up.”

“The enemy have failed to detect us,” said Tagra.

Flint shook his head. “It doesn’t sound as if they’ve given up.”

He was right.

“That ship is descending, sir,” said Burner. “If it keeps going, it’ll end up between battleships four and five.”

“Will its underside sensors have a view of us if it comes low enough?” asked Flint.

“I don’t know, sir – what’s the clearance from the ground to the underside of that Lavorix battleship? I can’t gauge it from the bay monitors.”

“Four hundred metres at its least and more than six hundred at the flanks.”

“I can’t be sure one way or another, sir. Even my gut instinct is keeping its mouth shut.”

Keeping the shuttle at a low speed, Flint guided it towards the Lavorix battleship’s portside, where it would be furthest from the incoming Kilvar vessel. Whether it would be enough to reduce the enemy’s visual arc to zero, he had no idea and suddenly, the gap between the battleship’s underside and the ground seemed enormous.

“Still descending,” said Burner. “Ten klicks, nine, eight.”

The ternium drive wouldn’t fire nearly in time and Flint couldn’t remember an occasion when he’d felt more helpless than this.

“Our escort vessels are unable to break off combat to assist,” said Tagra. “I do not think they will survive much longer.”

“Seven klicks, six, five,” said Burner.

Flint clenched his jaw, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sensor feeds.

“Four, three, two,” said Burner, each word separated by a short pause.

“The underside of the Kilvar hull should be visible to you at any moment, sir,” said Burner.

Dark alloy came into sight a few kilometres from the shuttle and Flint thought the Kilvar warship’s underside was going to come all the way down until it touched the ground. With about two hundred metres to go, the descent halted.

Flint stared at the feed. The enemy warship’s underside appeared to be rocking back and forward, as if it were straining.

“It’s in the gravity field,” he said, not daring to sound like he was excited about it. “They’ve got themselves trapped.”

“Will they be able to break free?” asked Vance, tentative hope in his voice.

“I don’t know,” said Flint. “If they can’t do it soon, we’ll be out of here and into Bay 7.”

“Four minutes on the lightspeed timer,” said Tagra.

Two minutes went by and nobody spoke except for Lieutenant Tagra, who provided what few details he was hearing from the engagement in Bay 15. The Lascarin was destroyed and the Vanquisher was on the brink. While the enemy had suffered losses as well, they had the numbers to ensure the fight was only going to end one way.

All the while, the trapped Kilvar warship rocked back and forth as its propulsion fought to break free of the gravity field.

“We might just make this,” said Fredericks.

Flint didn’t offer an opinion. He had a good idea what the Kilvar would try next and it was only a matter of when. “Ninety seconds on the timer,” he said.

The Kilvar warship fired a particle beam from an unseen emplacement on its hull. The beam plunged into the bay floor along the central aisle. A moment later, a second beam struck the same place.

“They’re hoping to destroy the field generators,” said Flint.

As he spoke, plasma missiles exploded in a line along the aisle. The closest blast was nearly two thousand metres away, but the shuttle’s hull sensors registered a sharp rise in temperature.

“We don’t want those missiles detonating any closer than that,” said Fredericks.

“Does that warship know where the generators are, sir?” asked Vance. “Or are they about to saturate the area in the hope of getting lucky?”

“Neither will work in our favour,” said Flint.

Two more particle beams sliced through the fading plasma explosions and then another series of missile blasts created fountains of heat and light which climbed so high that Flint couldn’t see their tops from the shuttle’s position.

Then, as if the Kilvar commanding officer had reached the limit of its patience, dozens of missiles exploded at once – not just in the aisle, but against the ground in every direction around the enemy warship. Particle beams flashed outwards, striking the ground, the Lavorix warships, and the scattered wreckage, seemingly at random.

“Our hull temperature are rising, sir,” said Vance.

“Twenty seconds and our lightspeed drive fires,” said Flint. “Come on, you piece of junk!”

The Kilvar vessel managed to distribute one more salvo of its missiles, none of which came anywhere near the shuttle because of the Lavorix battleship that was in the way. Right on time, the transport’s lightspeed drive activated and the transit was so short that Flint wouldn’t have noticed it happening were it not for the pain in his head and the numbness in his fingers.

On the plus side, the pain meant he wasn’t dead. With his jaw set, Flint watched the sensor feeds and waited to see what they’d show him when they came online.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“That’s a crapload of Lavorix battleships,” said Fredericks.

“We’ve seen the like before, Lieutenant,” said Flint, recalling his last visit to the Ancidium, when he’d been given command of the Demagaron.

Flint brought the shuttle up to a steady velocity, while keeping one eye on the sensors. Bay 7 contained many hundreds of warships, these being lined up in neat rows and columns, with only a few hundred metres separating each.

The transport had exited lightspeed fifty metres above one of those battleships – it was close, and Flint was happy to have avoided becoming uncomfortably merged with a hundred-billion-ton lump of metal.

“This might be the same bay as last time,” he said. The Ancidium was vast and he saw it only in fragments, so he couldn’t be sure one way or another.

“You’re in the lower starboard corner of the bay, sir,” said Burner on the comms. “You’ll have to act fast – the Evarox and the Erdian-3Q will be out of the game in less than a minute.”

“We won’t need to act fast,” said Flint with cold anger. “Lieutenant Fredericks – send a close command to all the internal doors. They’ve cycled, so there shouldn’t a problem with security conflicts.”

“I hope not, sir,” said Fredericks. “Command sent.”

As he waited for confirmation that the interior doors had closed, Flint stared along the row. The spaceships went on seemingly forever - trillions of tons of resources which the Lavorix would never use.

“An ocean of grey,” said Larson.

“I can’t see our target,” said Flint.

“I’ve adjusted the sensors and we don’t have the angle from here, sir,” said Vance. “There’s too much Lavorix hardware in the way.”

“Then let’s go find what we came here for,” said Flint, increasing the shuttle’s velocity and guiding it diagonally upwards. “What about those linking doors, Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“I’ve had a confirmation response from all except the door which links this bay to Bay 8.”

“What’s keeping it?”

“I don’t—” Fredericks grunted. “Nothing’s keeping it – I’ve now received a confirmation response from every door. They’re all closed.”

Flint wasn’t to be allowed even a moment’s respite.

“Sir, a Kilvar warship entered Bay 7 just before the linking doors closed,” said Burner.

“You have got to be shitting me,” said Flint. He felt more resigned than anything else. “Why didn’t you give us some warning?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I was watching the other bays – the warship that entered Bay 7 is one which we believed was put out of action when our annihilators launched their surprise attack into Bay 8.”

“The Kilvar got it running again.”

“Yes, sir. It’s suffered enormous damage.”

“Not enough that this shuttle’s chain guns are going to take it down.”

“No, sir. I shouldn’t imagine so.”

In spite of everything, Flint laughed. “At least we’re making progress. Where’s the enemy vessel, Lieutenant Burner?”

“The entrance tunnel comes in through the centre of Bay 7’s ceiling, sir, and the Kilvar ship has not moved very far from its entry point.”

“It’s trapped in here,” said Fredericks. “Should I open the door to let it out, sir?”

Flint didn’t answer directly. “Lieutenant Burner, can you confirm that no other enemy vessels remain active in Bay 8?”

“Yes, sir, I can confirm that, though I’m unable to tell you for how long.”

“In that case, open the damn door, Lieutenant Fredericks,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir. It might take a minute or two to cycle.”

“We’ve got an hour and sixteen minutes left before our security access is revoked,” said Flint. He gave another short laugh. “Plenty of time.”

“Instruction sent,” said Fredericks.

Unwilling to run into the Kilvar warship – no matter how close to failure it might be – Flint brought the shuttle to a standstill amongst the sea of Lavorix craft. At this most unexpected of moments, he was struck by the poignancy of the sight. This was nothing less than a graveyard – battleships that could bring empires to their knees now empty and still.

“The first door has opened, sir,” said Burner. “And the Kilvar vessel is not moving into the linking tunnel.”

“Figures,” said Larson.

“Let’s wait to see what happens when the next door opens,” said Flint.

Seconds went by and his patience frayed rapidly.

“The Kilvar vessel is on the move, sir,” said Burner. “But it’s not the good news you’re hoping for.”

“It’s heading deeper into this bay?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t add its precise movements onto your tactical because the Lavorix systems won’t speak to ours, but I can manually add an approximation of its position.”

“Do it,” said Flint.

A red dot appeared on the tactical, high up in the bay and still in the centre. The dot vanished and then reappeared.

“It’s heading towards the starboard flank,” said Flint. “In our direction.”

“Yes, sir,” said Burner. “About a quarter of its hull is still burning and another quarter is orange with heat. The light should give you some advance warning as to its position.”

Vance was in the channel and he nodded to Flint to indicate he’d understood the situation. “I’m watching out for that light, sir.”

“Please do – we have to make it to the target without being blown to pieces,” said Flint. “After that, maybe we’ll teach these assholes a lesson.”

The Kilvar vessel travelled slowly along the bay’s forward bulkhead, staying near the ceiling. In response, Flint piloted the shuttle along the rear bulkhead and remained close to the floor. The Lavorix spaceships were parked in such a way that diagonal sight across the bay was almost blocked, but horizontal or vertical sight was unbroken all the way across the bay and from floor to ceiling.

If the Kilvar vessel travelled rapidly or erratically enough, it might well spot the much slower shuttle. Of course, that assumed the enemy were hunting for prey, though Flint was absolutely ready to accept that they were.

“Enemy vessel descending,” said Vance. “Approximate distance: 120 klicks. Light detected.”

The faintest of glows was cast by the Kilvar warship directly over the shuttle and a long way distant. It was difficult to be sure what radius the light extended from the source, but in conjunction with the tactical, Flint could gauge the position of his opponent.

“The Kilvar will have visibility of us along one of these rows soon,” he said.

Slowing the transport to a halt, Flint held it stationary beneath one of the Lavorix battleships. The manually updated red dot representing the enemy vessel continued steadily along the bay ceiling, passing across the top of the column in front of the Lavorix battleship and then moving onwards to the column behind.

“Keep going,” said Fredericks under his breath.

Flint waited until the enemy was another three columns closer to the bay’s starboard wall and then he accelerated the transport gradually towards the bay’s centre.

“We’re in a vacuum,” said Flint. “So there should be no resonation from our propulsion, but I don’t want that warship picking up our ternium emissions because I flew too fast.”

“This transport is well-shielded, sir,” said Fredericks.

“It’s not a risk worth taking,” said Flint.

Despite his words, he accelerated harder and the shuttle approached the next column of Lavorix battleships. Another hundred or so kilometres and his target would be in sight.

“Keep going, sir,” said Larson. “We have a clear run all the way to the middle of the bay.”

“And afterwards, thirty klicks straight up to our destination,” said Flint, experiencing a flicker of hope that this might be easier than it had any right to be.

“Uh, sir, the Kilvar warship has changed direction,” said Burner. “It’s heading portside – in your direction again.”

“Just bad luck or something else?” said Flint.

He cut the acceleration and let the shuttle coast, tapping into the engines only enough to prevent it succumbing to the bay’s artificial gravity. The red dot on the tactical gathered velocity, came to an abrupt halt and then dropped vertically between two of the battleship columns.

“Coming our way,” said Flint, his eyes seeking a place to hide the transport.

To his relief, the Kilvar vessel came to a halt midway between the floor and ceiling.

“Trying to sniff us out,” said Fredericks.

“And they’ve picked up a scent,” said Flint.

The Kilvar vessel accelerated once more, this time steadily and still in a portside direction across the bay.

“They’re twenty-five klicks above us,” said Vance. “And coming fast.”

“I’m bringing us into cover,” said Flint, guiding the transport close to the underside of a battleship and reducing its velocity to no more than a crawl.

“The enemy craft is slowing, sir,” said Burner on the comms. “Now it’s come to a halt.”

Flint’s eyes went to the tactical. “Vertically straight up the next column from us and ten klicks nearer to the forward bulkhead.”

“The Kilvar definitely know we’re here,” said Larson.

“Any bright ideas?” asked Flint. Fredericks and Larson were among the very best in the alliance at propulsion and sensors respectively, and Becerra was catching up. Between them, they could surely figure out what was drawing the Kilvar so inexorably to the shuttle.

“A fault in our ternium shielding,” said Fredericks.

“There’s nothing on the status monitors, Lieutenant.”

“Reflective pings,” said Larson. “Shit, the oldest trick in the book!”

“They’re bouncing signals around the bay?” asked Flint.

“The Kilvar behaviour suggests it’s a possibility, sir,” said Larson, her conviction growing with each word. “Given the number of Lavorix spaceships, the different angles on their hulls, and the comparative smallness of this shuttle, finding us won’t be easy. The enemy are probably using a chunk of their warship’s processing capabilities analysing each ping and plotting their paths around the bay in order to detect anomalies. With us being that anomaly.”

“Their method might not be perfect,” said Flint. “But damn, it’s working out for them.”

“That warship is descending, sir,” said Burner.

A dull red light intruded on the darkness, casting long shadows from the hull emplacements of the battleship on the next row. The light intensified and Flint flew the transport backwards towards the starboard flank of the battleship beneath which he was hiding.

“They’re not stopping,” said Burner. “Sir, you’ll be visible to them in approximately thirty seconds if you don’t take action.”

Flint requested more power from the shuttle’s engines and its velocity increased. At the battleship’s starboard flank, he slowed and waited to discover what the Kilvar vessel would do next.

To his chagrin, the enemy craft came to a halt at the row above and remained in the next column, significantly limiting Flint’s options as to where he could go next. The light from the Kilvar warship’s burning hull was sullen and threatening, a promise of the hell which would be visited upon the universe should this alien species ever achieve their goal of ascendancy.

“Next oldest trick in the book – wait until the enemy goes one way around the battleship and we go the other,” said Larson.

“That’s not a game I want to play, Commander,” said Flint.

“Could we fire our chain guns at something?” asked Vance. “Maybe that would fool those sensor pings.”

“Nice idea, Captain Vance,” said Larson.

“It won’t work?”

“Not a chance,” Larson confirmed.

“The enemy vessel is descending, sir,” said Burner.

“I see it,” said Flint, watching the light strengthen. He guided the shuttle vertically, keeping it within touching distance of the battleship’s flank. “We have no current visibility of the enemy, Lieutenant Burner.”

“I know, sir. They’ve stopped descending and will now have sensor visibility along the row beneath you.”

“We’re going to lose this,” said Flint. Saying it aloud drove home the reality and he found it hard not to punch the console.

An idea came, as if the pressure of the situation had squeezed his mind so hard that a plan just popped out.

“Oldest trick in the book,” he said.

“What?” asked Fredericks.

It was quicker to show than to explain. Flint used his suit comms to request a security link to the Ancidium. From there, he connected to the flight control computer for Bay 7, which then displayed a list of available assets. Each warship in the bay was represented by a string of numbers and letters and it wasn’t immediately apparent if those tallied up with a vessel’s position in the bay.

With some lateral thought, Flint searched out the battleships which were registering a proximity warning. About thirty indicated they were in close range to what their battle computers knew was a Kilvar vessel.

“Get ready for the fireworks,” said Flint.

Choosing one battleship from the list, he activated its automatic defences. A moment later, flashes of brilliant white cast long shadows all the way across the bay. Flint was torn between running and staying hidden. In the end, he kept the shuttle stationary against the battleship’s flank and hoped to ride out the storm.

The explosions continued for no more than seven or eight seconds and then they stopped.

“Lieutenant Burner?” asked Flint.

“That was outstanding!” said Burner.

“What about the enemy spaceship?” asked Flint tightly.

“It’s in pieces, sir.”

“For definite this time?”

“Yes, sir. The Kilvar warship is destroyed.”

Flint exhaled. “Let’s move on to our destination.” Under his guidance, the shuttle rose from behind the Lavorix battleship.

“The oldest trick in the book,” said Fredericks, drawing out the words. “You call routing an auto-defence activation request through the innards of a twelve-hundred-klick spaceship in order to blow up an enemy vessel, the oldest trick in the book?”

“Yes.” Flint stayed quiet, letting the moment drag. Then, he laughed. “Look, it worked didn’t it?”

Fredericks laughed as well. “Damn right it did. Now can you activate the auto defences of all the Lavorix warships inside the Ancidium’s bays? That would sure give the Kilvar something to think about.”

“I already tried and it’s no can do, Lieutenant. My security level only allows me to access one warship at a time.”

“We could activate one each,” said Becerra.

Flint shook his head. “We’re in a crew group. It’s one vessel between us.”

“Damn.”

“We’ve got everything we need right in this bay, Lieutenant.”

The shuttle ascended rapidly and it sped past the rows of battleships. Flint watched the sensors closely, eager for the first sight of his destination.

At the centre of the bay, it was there. A warship shaped in a perfect cube, with sides exactly eighteen thousand metres in length. From the centre of each visible face, a four-thousand-metre cannon protruded from an immense hexagonal housing, and each of these guns had a thousand-metre bore.

“The Axindar,” said Larson.

“Just like the Ixidar, but with larger bores on its disintegration cannons,” said Burner.

“Think you’re ready to pilot it, sir?” asked Larson.

“Hell yes,” said Flint, unable to take his eyes off the vessel. Out of all the warships ever known to the alliance, the Ixidar had the most fearsome reputation as an out-and-out killer.

The Destroyer.

And here was its successor, intact and ready to deliver the roughest of justice to the Kilvar. Flint withdrew his security access from the battleship further down in Bay 7 and requested access to the Axindar’s onboard systems. After a moment, that access was granted.

Flint smiled nastily. “We’re about to get even.”

He piloted the shuttle towards the Axindar’s nearest docking bay.

01:02:54

Time was running out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Exiting the shuttle bay, Flint dashed into the Axindar’s interior. It was cold like everywhere else on the Ancidium and with the same mustiness, as if the Lavorix had discovered a way to imbue the very essence of these huge metallic constructions with the staleness of their existence.

Flint entered a wide corridor which led to an eighty-metre room with several exits and a single wall-mounted console. He headed left, guided by Lieutenant Larson who’d been on the Ixidar many years before and who noted that the interiors of the two warships appeared to be identical.

The left-hand door opened and Flint dashed along a corridor towards what Larson said would be an airlift. As he ran, Flint went over the plan with Captain Vance on the comms.

“Sit tight in that shuttle, Captain,” said Flint. “We’ll get you to Bay 8, where you’ll pick up the AnRak guns. After that, re-dock with the Axindar and we’ll take you to Bay 3.”

“Where we’ll give the Raklivian a face full of experimental Lavorix weaponry,” said Vance.

“Exactly,” said Flint.

He opened his mouth to say something more, but a new death pulse made the words fail on his lips. The pain of this one was appreciably greater than the last, and Flint realised it was because he was now much closer to the Raklivian.

Still – he only dared whisper to himself – the agony of it was nothing like he’d experienced on the Demagaron and he wondered if he was still at the extremes of the death pulse’s effective range.

“Maybe it’s time for a third shot of Frenziol, sir,” Vance suggested.

Just thinking about the boosters made Flint angry for a reason he couldn’t explain. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Halting at the airlift doors, Flint inhaled deeply and the extra oxygen helped disperse the clinging lethargy of the death pulse. He pulled out an injector, plunged it into his thigh and then hurled the spent needle along the corridor. The alliance military frowned on littering, especially when it came to medical waste, but it wasn’t as if there were any Lavorix left around to accidentally skewer themselves in the foot.

The lift arrived and Flint turned briefly to check on his crew before he entered the car. To his surprise, he saw excitement in every one of their faces - in spite of the recent death pulse - and it was enough to make him smile. Becerra grinned in return, Fredericks gave a mock salute and – in a shocking lapse of discipline – Larson poked out her tongue.

“I’ll take that to mean you’re all ready,” said Flint.

“Absolutely,” said Maddox. “Commander Larson has told us plenty about the Ixidar, and now we get to see its spiritual successor in action.”

Once in the airlift, Flint requested a new comms channel to Admiral Recker.

“How do I get the best out of this warship, sir?” he asked.

“Rotate the Axindar about a single axis while you’re learning the ropes,” said Recker. “With the command console, you can alter the charge order of the destroyer cannons and that’s the real trick – only one gun will fire at a time and, if you anticipate and identify your next target quickly, you’ll always have a charged cannon pointing in the right direction.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Once you’ve mastered the single-axis rotation, then you can begin to rotate about a second axis and finally, all three axes at once.” Recker sounded wistful as he spoke. “I’ve never piloted anything that measures up to the Ixidar. When you’re in the zone – and by that I mean when you no longer need to consciously think about controlling the rotation or altering the charge order of the cannons – you’ll never want to stop. There’s nothing like the Ixidar – not even the Terragar.”

“Does twelve barrels versus six not make a difference, sir?”

“When I fought alongside Tol-Ga-Eld – who commanded the Terragar – to destroy the last of the Fifth Seeking at Landnir, I saw that his guns charged no more rapidly than those on the Ixidar. His maximum kill rate was no higher.” Recker laughed. “Do I sound proud? Well damnit, maybe I am proud, and I hope that when this is over – and you’ve reduced twenty trillion tons of the Kilvar fleet into dust – you emerge from it with full respect for what the Lavorix designed and built.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Flint as the lift came to a halt. “I appreciate this insight.”

“You’ll need to learn fast, Captain Flint, but you knew that already. Now - Lieutenant Burner is waving his arms in my direction, from which I understand the Kilvar have entered the Ancidium with yet more of their warships. I will leave you to continue the mission.”

The channel went dead just as the lift doors opened, and Flint exited into another corridor. So far, the route had been exactly as described by Larson and that meant it wouldn’t be long before he arrived at the bottom of the steps leading to the Axindar’s bridge.

“What’re we facing, Lieutenant Burner?” he asked, switching channels.

“I’m tallying up, sir,” said Burner. “I’d estimate another twenty of those diamond warships have appeared, divided more or less evenly between Bays 8, 5 and 2. That’s not all.”

“Tell me,” said Flint.

“Lieutenant Garrett is on the external sensors and the Kilvar are gathering, sir. I didn’t want to say anything while you were dealing with all that other crap. We’ve got another Seeking here in Cratiss and I’d guess we’ll be seeing a lot more enemy vessels before this is over.”

“Those assholes have sent plenty of their warships into the Ancidium,” said Flint. “Once they start landing their troops, we might never retake this spaceship.”

“No, sir. Admiral Recker didn’t say it outright, but we’re relying on you and the Axindar to turn things around for us.”

“Not just me – it’s me and everyone else,” said Flint. “We’ll handle it.”

Flint continued his sprint, refusing to let the pressure affect him. He suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen a single dead Lavorix on the Axindar and he wondered why it didn’t have a crew.

He arrived at the bridge steps, which cut steeply upwards through the passage wall. There was no extensive command and control facility here, as if the Axindar was not intended to pursue a strategy with anything resembling finesse.

The Ancidium was going to take the Axindar off its leash and watch as it cut a trail through the Kilvar fleets.

Climbing the steps rapidly, Flint arrived at a sealed blast door. He activated the control panel and the door slid open, revealing a bridge lit in a dim blue that was an almost exact copy of the one found on the Demagaron.

“I feel at home already,” said Becerra.

“Find your stations, folks,” said Flint, heading straight for the central command console.

“There’s no need for a weapons officer on this ship, sir,” said Larson, taking the adjacent seat. “I’ll help out with comms and sensors from here.”

“I served a few years on sensors and a couple of years on propulsion,” said Maddox.

“Assist with the sensors,” said Flint. “Lieutenants Fredericks and Copeland can handle the propulsion.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flint turned to his own console, intending to perform only brief pre-flight checks. It took him a moment to realise that something was out of place.

“The alliance military control software is installed on these consoles,” he said, looking straight at Commander Larson.

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Was this part of our agreement with the Lavorix?” asked Flint. “Exium in return for a warship like this one?”

Larson met his gaze and he could see that she didn’t know. “I don’t hear everything, sir.”

This was foreseen.

The phrase – spoken to Flint by the sphere entity – jumped into his brain with force enough to make his vision swim and a wave of giddiness swept through him.

Hell no. There’s no way.

“This is crazy,” he said.

Larson looked at him strangely and Flint was left with the feeling that somehow, she knew exactly what was going through his mind.

“Crazy or not, we’ve got a job to do.” She shrugged and gave him a smile that was many things. “Sensors online, sir.”

It was the spur Flint needed. The external feeds floated eerily in front of the command console and he swept his gaze across them. Aside from the battleships, he saw light far below, cast wide by the Kilvar wreckage. Directly above, the linking doors to Bay 8 were still open and the sensors had a clear line of sight through the opening.

“I see Kilvar warships,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “Lieutenant Burner has counted five in total.”

“We can’t risk disintegrating the AnRak cannons, sir,” said Larson.

“Don’t go in all guns blazing – is that what you’re telling me, Commander?”

This time, Larson didn’t smile. “Not until you’re ready, sir.”

“Give me another run down of what’s in Bay 8, Lieutenant Burner,” said Flint.

“It’s a construction yard, sir,” said Burner. “With four part-built Laws of Ancidium – one of which you had initially planned to borrow - and plenty of other smaller crap. The construction orders for the AnRak guns indicate they were assembled near to the starboard wall. I’ve located the structure and sent you the coordinates. The target should appear on the Axindar’s tactical display.”

“I see it,” Flint confirmed.

“Sir, I’ve detected some additional enemy warships in Bay 8,” said Becerra. “They just appeared.”

“Did you hear that, Lieutenant Burner?”

“Yes, sir, I’m looking at the internal monitors right now.” Burner swore. “You can’t see it from your position, but one of those new arrivals is twenty-five klicks nose-to-tail and likely way over a trillion tons.”

“We have to go, sir,” said Larson. “The Kilvar will never stop unless we force a change.”

Flint nodded, but he had one more thing to say. “Lieutenant Burner, if we don’t figure out where these enemy ships are launching from, we’re screwed – even if we capture the Ancidium.”

“We located the enemy hardware a few minutes ago, sir,” said Burner. “It’s blind side of Ater and firing those energy beams right through the planet and into the Ancidium.”

“That’s our number one target once we’ve dealt with the Raklivian.”

“Yes, sir. Our security access will be revoked in fifty minutes. The Moseley-95 requires twenty-eight minutes to build, and you’ll be kicked out of the Axindar’s systems when the timer hits zero.”

“I appreciate the reminder, Lieutenant.”

Flint’s hands rested comfortably on the Axindar’s horizontal control bars and he could sense the potential of this warship, urging him to bring death not only to his enemies, but to everything.

I’m in control.

On the upper feeds, Flint had a clear view through the linking tunnel and he saw two of the Kilvar diamond ships converge directly above the Axindar.

“Try this for size,” he said, firing the upper destroyer cannon.

A distant thumping noise reached the bridge and the barrel of the gun jumped into its housing. A ten-kilometre sphere of darkness appeared for a split-second, engulfing one of the enemy vessels almost entirely and the second from its stern to its midsection. The first Kilvar warship turned into an explosion of dense, grey powder, as did the affected part of the second.

The die was cast and Flint couldn’t delay a moment longer. He requested power from the Axindar’s engines and with a bone-deep rumble, the massive warship climbed vertically towards Bay 8.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Axindar gathered velocity in a such a way that Flint knew his hands were going to be full just preventing the vessel from colliding with the bay walls. It raced through the linking tunnel and into Bay 8, whereupon Flint was obliged to sharply reduce speed.

His eyes stayed on the feeds. The Kilvar had plenty of warships in the bay and the twenty-five-kilometre vessel which Burner had mentioned was stationary about a hundred kilometres portside. This capital ship was cylindrical, with six full-length beams fixed around its hull and, although its nose was pointing towards the aft bulkhead, Flint spotted two circular openings there, each about a thousand metres in diameter.

“Another cannonship,” he said, recalling a similar vessel which had pursued the Demagaron through Berongar. The Lavorix had evidently encountered this same craft before and the Axindar’s battle computer identified it. “The Z-Brovilor,” said Flint.

Around this behemoth, smaller vessels drifted slowly, like pack dogs waiting for the order to attack. Below them all, the work of the construction yard was frozen like it was everywhere else. Flint’s mind registered the four Laws of Ancidium – one of which had been his initial target for theft – but he hardly had time to absorb the details.

“Let’s blow these assholes to pieces,” said Larson.

“Damn right,” said Flint.

He set the Axindar into a gentle rotation about its vertical axis and accelerated towards the starboard end of the bay, where five or six Kilvar diamond ships were already launching missiles.

One of the feeds turned bright with plasma and a faint blue barrier of energy appeared around the Axindar, cube-shaped like the warship it protected and extending hardly any distance beyond the ends of the cannon barrels.

“Impacts upon our energy shield,” said Larson. “Negligible effect on our reserves.”

Flint narrowed his eyes as he got to grips with this colossal warship. A significant difference existed between a verbal explanation of how something worked and how it worked in practice. Flint could already tell that piloting the Axindar in a straight line was going to be a piece of cake, but combining all the other elements required to make this an effective weapon would be another matter altogether.

On the console before him, the different cannon housings were part-charged and the battle computer automatically selected one to receive a full charge. Flint saw that he only had a second or two in which to override and make his own selection before the computer took over and chose for him.

“Particle beam strikes detected,” said Larson.

Aside from the complication of the destroyer cannons, the Axindar’s battle computer also recommended a hundred different ways to set the warship into a rotation or a tumble, and that same computer attempted to predict Flint’s next target in order that it could generate a priority list and a cannon charge order. It was hand-holding for the novice commanding officer, a category into which Flint – at this moment - most definitely fell.

Flint, however, did not like being told how to fight by a computer and his determination to defeat these opponents helped focus his mind.

“Cannon #4 on target,” he said. It wasn’t a priority target, but Flint wasn’t yet skilful enough that he could afford to be choosy. “Firing.”

One of the Kilvar diamond ships at the starboard end of the bay - no more than thirty kilometres from the Axindar – was caught in the darkness of the blast and exploded into grey. Flint accelerated towards the still-expanding cloud and his brain sought to pick not just the next target, but the one after that. The destroyer cannons had no adjustability and that meant he had to line them up by orienting the warship just right.

“The Z-Brovilor is turning,” said Larson. “They’re bringing their nose guns around.”

“Cannon #5 on target,” said Flint, slowing the Axindar’s approach towards the starboard wall. “Firing.”

Another Kilvar spaceship was disintegrated as easily as that, though Flint couldn’t spare the time to be satisfied. He adjusted the controls and now the Axindar accelerated towards the portside end of the bay.

“Missed my opportunity to override the auto-charge,” Flint said under his breath. “Distance to Z-Brovilor: 150 klicks.”

“Enemy missiles launched,” said Larson.

Several waves, fired from different areas of Bay 8, struck the Axindar’s energy shield. Such was the warship’s acceleration that a number of the warheads didn’t have time to arm and they smashed fruitlessly into the shield.

“Cannon #2 on target: firing,” said Flint.

He heard the same deep booming as came from the earlier discharges and half of a Kilvar diamond ship was reduced to powder. The extremes of the blast sphere activated the Z-Brovilor’s energy shield, which appeared as a shimmering blue.

The Axindar’s battle computer recommended charging Cannon #3 next and Flint didn’t override. Neither did he reduce velocity and he altered the warship’s course onto a last-moment diagonal that caused it to collide with the Z-Brovilor’s shield. Such was the force of the impact that the cannonship was spun around its vertical axis.

“That took a chunk out of our own shield as well, sir,” said Larson.

“It’s time to fight dirty, Commander,” said Flint, holding the control bars at the ends of their guide slots. The Axindar pushed against the Z-Brovilor, forcing the enemy vessel towards the portside bay wall.

“We’re too close to discharge Cannon #3,” said Larson urgently.

Flint wasn’t intending a point-blank shot. Having forced the Z-Brovilor into a flank-first position, he accelerated away from it, aiming directly for the starboard wall. The moment he saw the distance to target reading hit seven kilometres, he fired Cannon #3 straight at the Z-Brovilor.

The discharge produced a hemispherical flash as the Kilvar warship’s energy shield absorbed the attack. Flint smiled thinly when he saw the protective blue darken noticeably.

“Let’s try that again,” said Flint.

He accelerated once more towards the Z-Brovilor. This time, the enemy crew was ready and the cannonship dropped vertically lower in the bay. Anticipating the Kilvar evasive manoeuvres, Flint adjusted and struck the enemy a second crunching impact. The Z-Brovilor was knocked off course and it sped lower as its crew tried to compensate.

“Cannon #4 is charged, sir,” said Larson.

Flint was aware the gun was ready, but he’d misjudged the Axindar’s rotation and the weapon’s barrel was pointing towards the forward bulkhead.

“You can’t hold onto the shot, sir,” said Larson quietly.

Effective use of the Axindar was all about maximising its efficiency – each cannon needed to be discharged the moment it was ready, so as not to waste killing time. Flint hadn’t even attempted to rotate the vessel about two axes, let alone three, and the moments of surprise were long gone.

Got to find the zone.

Flint adjusted the rotation speed of the Axindar and sent it turning slowly about its lateral axis at the same time. One of the smaller Kilvar warships racing across the bay came into the firing line of Cannon #4 and Flint blew the alien scumbag into particles without hesitation.

Acting on instinct, he overrode the recommended charge order and selected Cannon #1 instead.

“Here comes the Z-Brovilor, sir,” said Becerra.

The Kilvar crew didn’t have time to bring their nose cannons to bear, so instead they treated Flint to some of his own medicine by accelerating directly for the Axindar. Wrestling with the guns and the rotation, Flint was unable to evade the incoming warship and the Z-Brovilor caught the Axindar’s energy shield a glancing blow.

Flint swore in frustration as his vessel was knocked a few thousand metres towards the bay ceiling, screwing with his aim at the same time. From the corner of his eye, he saw a bunch of red dots – missiles – appear on the tactical and then vanish a moment later as they exploded against the Axindar’s shield.

“Eight of the diamond ships are heading for the starboard end of the bay, sir,” said Becerra. “They’re getting out of our way.”

“So they can hit us with their particle beams,” said Flint angrily.

As he spoke the words, three of those beams lanced into the Axindar’s shield. The reserve gauge fell, dropping to eighty percent, though it was the collisions with the Z-Brovilor which had done most of the damage.

“Screw this,” he growled.

Jamming the controls hard along their guide rails, Flint sent the Axindar along the bay, as if he were chasing after the Kilvar warships. He increased the vessel’s rotation about the second axis and was required to make a further adjustment to bring Cannon #1 onto target.

“Cannon #1: discharged,” he said, choosing the next gun to charge in the sequence even as the target warship was disintegrated.

“The Z-Brovilor is bringing up its nose,” said Larson. “We’ll be in the sights any moment.”

“No we won’t,” Flint growled.

It had never been his intention to pursue the smaller vessels to the bay’s end, only to give himself the space he required to get a feel for the additional rotation and the destroyer cannon charge sequence. Flint’s last adjustment had introduced rotation about the Axindar’s third axis and he made no efforts to rein it in. Instead, he banked the spaceship into a tight turn across the bay that saw it complete a full 180-degrees and he drew maximum power from the warship’s engines.

The rumble of propulsion turned briefly into a howl and the distance between the Axindar and the Z-Brovilor decreased at a tremendous rate.

“Cannon #6: discharged,” said Flint.

Dark energy tore at the Kilvar warship’s shield. The Z-Brovilor’s topsides filled several of the sensor feeds and then the Axindar smashed into the cannonship. Such was the impact that the colour of the enemy’s shield became the darkest of blues and once more the Kilvar’s efforts to bring their nose guns on target was disrupted.

The Axindar’s deflection took it to within five thousand metres of the rear bulkhead and Flint banked again. The warship’s rotation was greater now and, had this been almost any other vessel, it would have been out of control. Flint didn’t try to fight the three-axis tumble and he focused on the destroyer cannons and the Axindar’s passage across the bay.

A light on the control panel indicated the next gun had charged for a shot and – either through skill or luck – the barrel was on target.

“Cannon #1: fired,” said Flint.

The blast hit the Z-Brovilor as it accelerated across the lower half of the bay. The Kilvar crew were attempting to bring the vessel’s nose up, but the cannonship was clearly designed for long-range sniping at opponents, rather than a brawl in the confines of the Ancidium’s bays.

Flint banked again. He sensed the moment the next destroyer cannon finished its recharge and pressed the button on the control bar almost before his mind had registered the light appearing on the weapons panel.

“Cannon #4: fired,” he said.

The Z-Brovilor’s shield vanished, utterly depleted by the Axindar’s cannon shots and the multiple collisions. Belatedly realising they were on the brink of destruction, the enemy crew accelerated for the linking tunnel between Bay 8 and Bay 7.

“Like hell you will,” said Flint.

He piloted the Axindar to fifty kilometres above the opening, just as the next destroyer cannon became available.

“Cannon #1: fired.”

The discharge hit the Z-Brovilor on its stern and such was the volume of particles that they concealed the enemy warship. Flint wasn’t about to offer mercy and he sent the Axindar plunging towards the linking tunnel.

Becerra did something to the feed which filtered out much of the dust and allowed Flint a blurred view of the Z-Brovilor. Despite missing several thousand metres of its rear section, the enemy craft was still operational - it sped into Bay 7 and banked out of sight towards the Ancidium’s portside flank.

“Those assholes are going to run into some obstacles,” said Maddox.

Flint didn’t slow and the Axindar shot through the linking tunnel. When the spaceship emerged into the bay, Flint expected to see carnage. He got exactly what he expected – the stricken Z-Brovilor had collided at speed with the closest of the parked Lavorix battleships, knocking them into those adjacent.

Inertia and outright power had carried the Kilvar vessel deeper into Bay 7, but there were only so many impacts the Z-Brovilor could handle with these hundred-billion-ton battleships before it was slowed.

Flint brought the Axindar to a halt with its charged cannon pointing at his opponent. He watched for a moment as what remained of the colossal enemy spaceship muscled its way through the clustered ranks of Lavorix craft, pushing them aside with increasing difficulty as those battleships formed a huge alloy wave in front of the Z-Brovilor.

“You’ve got a clear shot, sir,” said Larson.

“I know,” said Flint. “This is just—” He pressed a button on the left control bar. “Another strange one. Cannon #3: fired.”

Particles burst outwards, hiding everything. When Becerra cleared up the feed, Flint saw that almost ten thousand metres of the Z-Brovilor was left and, incredibly, it was still trying to push through the Lavorix battleships.

“One more shot,” said Flint, rotating the Axindar. The charge bar took a moment to fill. “Cannon #2: fired.”

This time there was no doubt, and all that remained of the Z-Brovilor was a couple of thousand metres of slowly crumbling alloy, which landed awkwardly across two of the battleships.

“Let’s get back to Bay 8,” said Flint. For some reason he didn’t feel like smiling at this victory.

Putting the Z-Brovilor from his mind, Flint piloted the Axindar into the linking tunnel once more. A couple of the Kilvar diamond ships were on their way through and he disintegrated half of each with a single shot, before using the Axindar as a battering ram to knock the wreckage aside.

Seven other Kilvar warships were left in Bay 8 and they launched missiles and fired particle beams into the Axindar’s shield. Without the Z-Brovilor, the enemy forces were distinctly lacking in firepower.

As each moment passed, Flint became more familiar with the Axindar and it wasn’t long before the Kilvar fleet was scattered into particles which fell gently towards the bay floor.

With business taken care of, Flint guided the Axindar to the starboard end of Bay 8, to the place where the AnRak guns were being constructed. He held the warship stationary directly above the target building, which was flat roofed and resembled a warehouse. Whatever lay inside was hidden from view.

“Lieutenant Becerra – tell Captain Vance it’s time to launch. There are four guns ready for collection.”

“Yes, sir.” Becerra was quiet for a moment. “Captain Vance acknowledges.”

Less than twenty seconds later, the shuttle exited the Axindar’s launch tunnel and headed for the bay floor.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The shuttle’s engines droned and it seemed to Vance as if the presence of so many airborne particles was affecting the propulsion. That was, of course, impossible, since a ternium drive didn’t have anything so primitive as an intake, yet still Vance couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was about to clog, and the shuttle would plummet to the bay floor.

“Collect four experimental guns and then leave,” said Tagra, rolling the words around his tongue as if he were giving them the utmost consideration. “Easy.”

“If only,” said Vance, his eyes on the feed.

The target building was about ten kilometres below and any details on its surface were hidden by the dust. At a mere three hundred metres along its frontage and with a paltry depth of four hundred, the structure was a regular minnow in comparison to most things within the Ancidium’s bays.

A few kilometres from the target structure, the looming shape of a part-built alloy colossus was shrouded like a mountain in the darkest of low-lying clouds. The sight of yet another Lavorix world destroyer, along with the vastness of the bay and the uncertainty of his coming encounter with the Raklivian left Vance feeling distinctly on edge.

“Let us hope the Raklivian is vulnerable to at least one of these AnRak guns,” said Sergeant Charnos. “I do not wish to fail because the Lavorix designers could not build an effective weapon.”

Vance didn’t want to imagine a future in which none of the AnRak guns accomplished the task for which they were intended. He kept his mouth shut.

“Lieutenant Becerra says there’re two access points in the front wall of the building,” said Vance. “One big and one small.”

“Which are we targeting?” asked Tagra.

“We’re going straight for main entrance, Lieutenant.”

Vance adjusted the shuttle’s approach from exactly vertical to almost vertical and fixed his eyes on his intended landing place. The air above the building was crowded with stationary shuttles, but they were easy enough to avoid. He studied the bay floor in front of his destination and saw shapes that were the usual construction vehicles. Those vehicles were numerous, but not so much that Vance couldn’t land the shuttle within a hundred metres of the entrance.

“We’re setting down,” he said on the internal comms. “Be ready.”

Vance would never have classed himself as a hotshot pilot, but he could handle a shuttle. Waiting until the last possible moment, he decelerated and dropped the transport into his chosen parking place.

“Let’s move,” he said, grabbing his guns and dashing for the cockpit exit.

Descending rapidly, Vance first entered the passenger bay and then the airlock, where the rest of his platoon were already waiting. He saw the same barely suppressed fear in their faces as they surely saw in his. Vance wasn’t ashamed – his last encounter with the Raklivian had brought him pain beyond imagining, and he wasn’t ready to experience it again.

“Cycle the airlock,” he ordered, the moment Tagra and Charnos joined him.

“Roger that, sir,” said Steigers.

The inner door light went red and a couple of seconds later, the outer one turned green.

“Opening the door,” said Ipanvir, his rocket tube marking his position at the door panel.

The air rushed out and with it, Vance’s platoon. Emerging from the shuttle, Vance found himself in place where visibility was less than twenty metres and where everything was caked in a thick layer of grey dust. He hurried down the exit ramp after the others.

“Advance to the target,” Vance instructed.

The soldiers headed into the dust, each of them already covered from head to toe. Spacesuit visors were treated with repellents that were meant to keep dirt and moisture away, but the particles quickly adhered to the clear surface and Vance wiped them away with the back of his wrist, only succeeding in making a smear that reduced his visibility further. He tried again and things improved, albeit it only a little.

“Move!” Vance shouted, just to make himself heard. He’d only been in this place for a few seconds and already he hated it. Gravity cranes towered high and threatening in the gloom, giving Vance a reminder he didn’t need that in the face of technology, he was no more than a mote upon a mote. Each footstep kicked up a plume of grey and left deep indentations in the surface, like he was walking through a sandstorm in an alien desert.

Pressing on, Vance found his gaze jumping from place to place, as if his subconscious feared the Kilvar were hiding at the extremes of his visual range, and waiting for just the right moment to come sprinting through the dust with their dead eyes and their hideous faces. Surely the enemy couldn’t hide from the Axindar, yet the unease lingered.

“Too much damn dust,” said Private Raven.

“No shit,” said Steigers.

“Focus!” snapped Vance.

The wall of the target building was a darker grey amongst the other greys and Vance arrived to find his soldiers spreading out around the entrance, their guns raised and aimed into the bay.

Vance sized up the door. Judging from the seam, it was ten metres high and about fifteen wide, with no external access panel. He barked out a few orders, directing the soldiers away from the door and to the walls at either side.

“Be ready,” said Vance, standing adjacent to the door so he’d be out of sight when it opened.

He set his suit computer to hunt for an interface. It located one and he linked.

“Do it, sir,” said Lieutenant Gantry.

Vance took a breath. “Here we go.”

In vacuum silence, the plain alloy door sank into its frame and then slid to one side. A dull light spilled out into the bay, highlighting the trillions of suspended dust particles as they drifted towards the floor.

Cautiously Vance poked his head around the corner. “A construction area,” he said, pulling back out of sight.

He replayed in his mind what he’d seen. An expansive space through the door took up most of the building’s interior and it was filled with the kind of bespoke tech Vance had seen before in RL Moseley’s lab on Tibulon, way back when the Kilvar first showed up. Robot cranes and winches floated in the air, apparently idle, and the ground assembly bots were equally motionless.

“Any sign of the AnRak guns, sir?” asked Gantry.

“Take a look,” Vance indicated.

Gantry did so. “I can’t see them.”

Tapping Gantry on the shoulder, Vance took his place again. There was no sign of automated defences and nothing that was readily identifiable as a threat.

“What’s keeping you down there, Captain Vance?” asked Becerra on the comms.

“Just looking, Lieutenant.”

“Anything we can help with? Aside from disintegrating the entire building.”

“Not unless you can remotely link to the guns and send them our way.”

“We’ve tried – the guns are offline.”

“Can you switch the lights off? This place will stand out like a sore thumb if any more Kilvar enter the bay.”

“I’ll have someone check it out for you.”

It wasn’t the immediate result Vance had been hoping for. “We’ll head inside, Lieutenant. If the lights go out at some point, that would be great.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“No worries.”

Becerra left the channel.

Vance gave brief orders on the squad comms and then entered the building. A fifty-metre area inside the door was clear of tech and was evidently where the Lavorix parked the components they brought in. Beyond that clear area were large alloy cubes with rows of viewscreens, cylinders linked to other cylinders, consoles large and small, floating analysis robots, and pipes or conduits that ran from place to place. All of it was neat and tidy. Ordered in a way that spoke volumes about the Lavorix.

Dashing across the open space with Drawl and Raimi, Vance checked once over his shoulder and saw other groups of soldiers heading in different directions. Usually, he would have taken a measured approach to the search, but the constraints of time – and the fact Vance didn’t expect to run into hostiles – had prompted him to order a rapid sweep of the building.

He entered a wide gap between two fifty-metre pieces of tech and when he looked up, the ceiling far overhead was already made indistinct by the dust which swirled inside, like smoke carried by unfelt winds.

At the end of the passage, Vance turned right and found himself staring across a twenty metre square of open floor flanked by fifty-metre slab sided cubes. A cylindrical robot with many arms hung in the air above the tops of the cubes. The bot wasn’t moving.

Dead centre of the space, a trapezoidal turret with a ten-metre gun floated about a metre above the floor.

“I wasn’t expecting to find it so quickly,” said Raimi, sounding genuinely surprised.

“This is only one out of four,” said Vance. His earpiece crackled.

“We have located one of the AnRak guns,” said Tagra.

“We’ve found one as well,” said Vance. “That makes two.”

“Make it three,” said Charnos.

“Got a fourth here, sir,” said Gantry a moment later. “A quick result for once.”

“How do we get them out of here, Captain?” asked Drawl, tapping the housing of the nearby gun with his rifle. “If these are experimental, the Lavorix – may they rest in pieces – probably didn’t want just anybody walking out with their guns. Maybe there’s security.”

“We need to turn them on, soldier,” said Vance. “After that, one of the crew from the Axindar, or maybe Lieutenant Burner, will be able to switch over control of the weapons to us. That’s the plan.”

The AnRak gun reminded Vance of a tank, albeit on a slightly smaller scale. He jogged beneath the barrel, hunting for a control panel. On the rear of the turret, Vance found what he was looking for – an unlit panel, an unlit targeting screen and a couple of control sticks. Unfamiliarity with the alien hardware didn’t prevent Vance from stabbing a fingertip randomly at buttons until the screen came on and soft lights illuminated the panel.

He requested a channel to the Axindar. “I’ve got one of the guns online and we’ve located the other three,” he said, peering at the text on the screen. “Seems as if the Lavorix didn’t install any security. Let me check.” Vance searched for the gun’s interface and the hardware allowed him to link. “No security,” he confirmed.

“Captain Vance, we have detected Kilvar in Bay 8,” said Becerra suddenly.

“Of course you have,” said Vance bitterly. “Are we able to—”

The channel went dead and he cursed.

“Listen up!” he called loudly into the open comms. “The Kilvar are in Bay 8. For us, it changes nothing – activate these guns and let’s get them onto the shuttle.”

“But what if—” started Raven.

“There are no what ifs, Private. Do as I tell you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vance knew he shouldn’t be angry – this crap happened all the time and he used to pride himself on rolling with the punches. Somehow this was different – a sharp poke in the eye just when things were going swimmingly. Eschewing the control sticks on the AnRak gun, he interfaced with the turret and instructed it to follow.

With that done, Vance sprinted for the exit.

Chapter Twenty-Six

At the construction building exit, Vance called a halt as he considered his next move. Four AnRak guns and a platoon of soldiers waited for orders.

“Some shit is happening,” said Drawl, crouched near the exit and staring into the bay.

The Axindar was clearly visible. Many kilometres away, it accelerated and banked with impossible agility, its energy shield burning bright with plasma. Particle beams stabbed across the darkness in vivid blood red, each one striking the huge Lavorix warship’s defences, yet doing nothing to slow it down.

“Let’s move,” said Vance. “The enemy are occupied with the Axindar.”

He broke from cover and sprinted into the dust, hoping it would offer protection against the Kilvar sensors. The sensible option was to wait for the conflict to end, but Vance knew how much pressure this mission was under and besides, the structure he was leaving wasn’t going to protect against a stray missile or impacting wreckage.

The layer of dust was much thicker than before and it slowed Vance’s progress. He stumbled once, looking up when the Axindar came so close to the bay wall that it almost touched. Then, it accelerated once again, trailing heat and light as it raced towards the Kilvar ships Vance couldn’t see, but which he knew were there.

A remote command to the shuttle activated the loading ramp for the centre cargo bay and Vance instructed the AnRak gun to head inside, while he made for the flank door leading to the cockpit.

“Send the guns into the bay!” he shouted, climbing the ramp.

Pausing at the top, Vance turned to ensure that no members of his platoon had fallen behind. This was the kind of environment that quickened the feet and nobody was trailing. The other three guns were on their way to the cargo bay and the platoon were dashing for the passenger entrance.

Vance ran for the cockpit, climbing the steps rapidly and dropping heavily into the pilot’s seat. Tagra and Charnos weren’t far behind and they took their stations.

“Let us see what is happening,” said Tagra, switching between sensor feeds.

The cockpit was suddenly bathed in rich crimson and it took Vance a moment to realise that it was coming from one of the feed viewscreens.

“Shit,” he said. “Particle beam strike on the construction building.”

Squinting at the feed, Vance saw that the building was burning with intense heat. The sensors attenuated, allowing him a view of sagging walls and molten alloy.

“Our hull temperatures are rising,” said Tagra.

“The Axindar is aware of our situation,” said Charnos. “They have disintegrated the enemy vessel which attacked the building.”

“How many are left?”

“Six,” said Charnos. “The Kilvar started with thirteen.”

“Unlucky for those bastards,” said Vance. “They’ve run into the Axindar.”

“Our hull temperatures have stabilised,” said Tagra.

“That’s a good thing,” said Vance. “I’m damned if I’m lifting off into that shitstorm.”

“Does this not make you feel alive, Captain Vance?” asked Charnos.

“It might do if I didn’t have a family waiting for me to come home,” said Vance. He snarled. “And if I wasn’t feeling so damned old.”

With little choice other than to wait, Vance sat with his jaw tight and his fingers wrapped around the controls.

“We would have died, had you not given the order to move, Captain Vance,” said Tagra after a time. “The alliance is lucky to have you on the frontline.” He gave a scratching laugh. “As old and slow as you are becoming.”

Vance laughed too. “The legs still work and I can shoot straight. That’ll have to be enough.”

His eyes returned to the topside feed, which Tagra had locked onto the Axindar. Although Vance didn’t count himself an expert, he’d seen enough spaceships in his time to understand that Captain Flint was getting to grips with the Lavorix vessel. The Axindar was turning rapidly about all three axes and Vance detected no hesitation in flight as it manoeuvred around the bay.

“Lieutenant Becerra is on the comms,” said Charnos. “The last of the Kilvar vessels are defeated and Captain Flint has instructed that the linking door between Bay 8 and Bay 5 should be opened. We are to dock with the Axindar immediately.”

“Let’s get going,” said Vance.

He didn’t delay and lifted the shuttle straight off the ground. As he was doing so, the Axindar sped along the bay at such a velocity that Vance was sure it was going to crash into the transport. Decelerating late, Captain Flint brough the Lavorix vessel to a halt only a few thousand metres away and with the barrel of one gun hardly more than two hundred metres from the bay wall.

“There is our docking tunnel,” said Tagra. “I have highlighted it on the feed.”

“I see it,” said Vance.

He rotated the shuttle and accelerated towards the opening in the Axindar’s closest face. The tunnel was large enough to comfortably accommodate the transport and Vance flew right in, hauling back on the controls to reduce velocity.

“What orders?” he asked, watching the interior doors open further along the docking tunnel.

“We’re picking up a passenger,” said Tagra, his head cocked in the way he always did when he was listening to the comms. “And we’re to hold in this shuttle until we’re ordered to launch again.”

“When we reach Bay 3,” said Vance.

“I am sure that is the intention,” said Tagra.

“Who is the passenger?”

“Commander Larson.”

Vance brought the shuttle to a halt. A lone figure waited on the platform. He opened the side door and Larson entered.

“Come on up, Commander,” said Vance.

Larson arrived in the cockpit moments later.

“Should I leave this station?” asked Tagra. “Or Sergeant Charnos?”

“I’d like to be at the comms,” said Larson.

“I will vacate,” said Charnos. He grinned. “This is what it is to be alive.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Vance. He turned his gaze to Larson. “What’s the plan, Commander?”

“We’re heading for Bay 3. There’s a Kilvar capital warship waiting for us, along with a Raklivian. Captain Flint will pilot the Axindar as near to the construction yard receiving station as possible and you’ll take us down to the bay floor in this shuttle. I’ll accept the Moseley-95 construction order and you’ll deal with the Raklivian.”

“You drew the short straw,” said Vance.

“The death pulses don’t affect me the same as they do everyone else.” Larson flexed her bicep. “Get lucky old me. Anyway, the hope is that I’m equally resistant to the death aura.”

“I hope so too, ma’am. How much time do we have?”

Larson smiled as if the answer wasn’t important. “About twelve minutes to accept the construction order.”

“We’re cutting it tight.”

“Margins are for wimps.”

“What happens if you don’t accept the construction order in time, ma’am?”

“If the Moseley-95 is finished after our security access is revoked…” Larson lowered her brows as if this were the first time she’d allowed herself to think about it. “I don’t know, is the simple answer. The Moseley-95 device should function, but we have to load it with exium and then transport the power units it creates to the obliterator cores in this shuttle’s cargo bay.” She grinned at Vance. “Assuming you didn’t smash them all up by flying without due care and attention.”

“I always fly like my great-grandmother is onboard, ma’am.”

“Glad to hear it.” Larson’s gaze went distant as she listened to the comms. “Captain Flint is planning to clear the enemy from Bays 5 and 2 at the same time.”

“How many warships is that in total, ma’am?”

“Nineteen.”

“That is a lot,” said Tagra. “The Kilvar will find it is not enough.”

“The Axindar is incredible,” said Larson. “So was the Ixidar, but the new model has improved guns – they charge faster and can disintegrate a ten-klick sphere instead of an eight-klick sphere.”

Five minutes went by and Vance became fidgety. He could sense the same agitation from Larson, though she remained outwardly calm. The shuttle’s occupants were denied sight of what was happening outside, yet were still obliged to partake of the consequences. It was hard to cope.

“You hate the lack of control,” said Larson.

“I’m that obvious?”

“Captain Flint is the same.”

“And Admiral Recker too,” laughed Vance. “If I’m any judge of character.”

Larson stared at him for a moment longer. “It’ll happen soon,” she said.

Vance didn’t question the statement. Even if Larson didn’t have a comms link to the Axindar’s bridge, he suspected she’d be able to imagine the combat unfolding and come up with a passably accurate prediction of the outcome and how long it would take to happen.

“Four enemy spaceships remain,” said Larson. “Lieutenant Fredericks is opening the linking door to Bay 3.”

“Nineteen down to four happened quickly,” said Vance. He glanced at Larson. “We’ll launch soon. Like you said.”

Vance felt a chill sweep through his body and his teeth started grinding together, even though he didn’t want them to. He remembered the pain from his last encounter with the Raklivian and how it had almost been too much for him to bear. How it had taken him to the brink.

“If this is as bad as last time—” Vance began.

Larson didn’t turn, but she reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. “Don’t think about it, Captain. It’ll only slow you down.”

Vance swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s only pain. It won’t break me.

“The last of the Kilvar spaceships is destroyed,” said Larson. “When we enter Bay 3, Captain Flint will close the linking door. Then it’ll just be us, the Raklivian and a monstrous Kilvar warship.”

“I’m ready,” said Vance. Almost to his surprise, he discovered that he meant it with absolute conviction. “Six minutes left to accept that construction order.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Larson gave him an urgent hand signal. “That’s our order to go, Captain. Send the launch command and let’s get this done.”

Vance’s hand was steady as he pushed the launch button on his console. A thump of acceleration followed as the shuttle sped along the tunnel.

A few seconds later, the transport was ejected into the bay. Vance knew it was time – after almost two decades of conflict, he was about to come face to face with the only enemy he’d ever truly feared.

Fear will not slow me down, he thought, recalling Larson’s words from moments before.

Vance didn’t have it in him to bend or break. He replaced his fear with the purity of anger. The rage was an ocean within him – calm on the surface, yet with churning, unstoppable tides beneath. Vance hated the Raklivian for what it had done to him and for what it had surely done to countless other souls in its centuries of existence.

Now, it was time for payback.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bay 3 was blanketed in a darkness which the transport’s sensors could not pierce. Every one of the feeds was black and the instrumentation couldn’t decide on the shuttle’s altitude. The figures on the readout rose and fell with enormous variation.

“I need something, damnit,” said Vance. Without reliable information, he couldn’t do much other than hold the transport stationary. The vessel’s engines coughed and rumbled in a way he hadn’t heard from a ternium drive before.

“The sensors are not working as expected,” said Tagra.

“Lieutenant Burner told me how to get around the problem,” said Larson, her fingers confidently pushing buttons on the console. “There!”

The altimeter settled at ten thousand metres and the darkness receded from the feeds, though not enough that perfect clarity was restored. Vance saw shapes to starboard, while to port, the bay wall was on the edge of visibility.

It was enough.

“Let’s set this shuttle down,” Vance said.

Hoping the altimeter was at least partway accurate, he dropped the transport vertically. A few seconds into the descent, plasma light appeared on the feeds, somewhere towards the bay’s starboard flank. The explosions were muted and tinged with grey, like they were seen through a veil.

“That was a ton of missiles hitting the Axindar,” said Larson. “Oh crap,” she said, leaning forward and tapping some commands into her console.

“What’s the matter?” said Vance.

Even as he said it, he knew. The darkness was thickening – he could both see and feel its presence in the cockpit, dimming the readouts and bringing with it a dull ache which started in his bones and which would soon spread throughout his body.

“It’s coming,” said Vance. “The bastard has got wind of us.”

He increased velocity and the digits on the altimeter tumbled. The sensor feeds were failing again, though Larson did her best to prevent it happening. Whatever she was doing, it was just about working.

“I have ordered the platoon into the centre cargo bay,” said Tagra. “They will prepare the AnRak guns.”

“Three klicks and we’ll be on the ground,” said Vance.

He gritted his teeth – the pain had spread from his bones and into his muscles. His veins were rivers of Frenziol, but he no idea how much agony the drug was protecting him from. The darkness was becoming rapidly thicker, with a denseness Vance thought he might cut with a knife, like a cake baked to remember the death of all things. On his console, the individual characters of the text had developed haloes that made them difficult to read and he brought his face closer to the pilot’s console.

“Fifteen hundred metres,” Vance said.

He cast another glance at Larson and it seemed as if she were twenty metres away, rather than just one, and the Raklivian swirled around her, gradually coalescing as it hurtled across the bay in search of the life onboard this vessel. Larson’s face was just about visible and Vance could see her jaw muscles clench and unclench.

“Five hundred metres,” said Vance.

The death aura intensified and he well remembered what it did to him on the Demagaron. He felt the Raklivian slide invisible claws into his chest and his brain, twisting as it did so.

“Hell no,” snarled Vance. “Not this time.”

The altimeter went crazy again, though Commander Larson managed to perform a rapid change to the sensors which brought the ground once more into near focus. Through the pain, Vance guessed the shuttle was a hundred metres closer than the last reading of the altimeter.

He hauled back on the controls and the transport slowed. The bay floor came up fast and the vessel landed heavily, producing a crunching from the landing legs and a shrieking squeal that made Vance wonder if part of the hull had burst open.

It didn’t matter one way or another – the shuttle was landed and it was time to move.

“Let’s go,” said Vance.

Unsnapping his harness, he rose, the joints in his legs sending shooting pains up his spine and into his neck. Vance ignored the pains and strode for the exit stairwell, determined his will would maintain an iron grip over his body. Three steps down, he turned. Larson was right behind.

“Go!” she urged. “Lieutenant Tagra is with me.”

Resuming his descent, Vance emerged into the passenger bay. Drawl and Raven – two of the soldiers who reckoned they were strong against the death aura – waited at the bottom.

“Follow us, Commander,” said Drawl, his face entirely devoid of humour. “Hold onto Private Raven’s shoulder and I’ll hold onto yours. That way, we won’t get lost.”

This was prearranged and Larson did as she was asked. The three of them headed for the passenger bay flank exit, which was hidden in the darkness.

Vance wanted to be involved with Larson’s part of the mission, but he was best placed with the AnRak guns. The aisle which ran between the seats to the cargo bay entrance was distinguishable nearby and Vance made for it, with Tagra following. The Daklan might not be as naturally resistant to death energy as humans, but they made up for it with a stoic refusal to give up.

“Are those guns ready?” asked Vance on the open comms.

“We’re bringing them out into the bay, sir,” said Gantry, his voice laboured. “I don’t know what the hell I’m meant to be shooting at – it’s too dark to see anything.”

“The Raklivian is the darkness,” said Vance.

He stumbled into the shuttle’s centre cargo bay, which was caked in frost caused by the chill of the obliterator cores in the rear compartment. The frost was thick, but not too slippery and Vance staggered towards the flank opening, which he could see dimly outlined about thirty metres away.

“Should we fire the guns, sir?” asked Gantry.

“Hold!” said Vance.

“Why, sir?”

“I want this asshole to be right on top of us, Lieutenant – so it takes the full force of each shot.”

Vance didn’t know if he was doing the right thing and all he could go by was his intuition. That intuition hadn’t let him down before and he was willing to gamble everything on it guiding him through this most terrible darkness.

“Sir, the gun nearest me is starting to glow,” said Gantry. “Like it’s heating up. And the barrel is auto-aiming at something. I can’t see the other guns from my position.”

“My gun is behaving likewise,” said Charnos.

“And here,” said Ipanvir. “The onboard systems have located a target.”

“Hold!” Vance repeated, in the voice he reserved for times when he wanted his soldiers to really take notice. If someone got jumpy, he didn’t want them firing early.

The shuttle’s exit ramp was covered in the same frost as the cargo bay, and Vance slithered down without falling. Every part of his body ached and pains like a thousand needles jabbed into him constantly. The Raklivian’s talons were still wedged in his body, twisting and pulling with savage glee as the creature sought to draw out his life energy.

Vance wouldn’t let it happen. During his encounter with this opponent on the Demagaron, it had found a way into his mind, combining his consciousness with his physical form in a way that made both suffer equally. This time, Vance had the strength to isolate his mind, so that its interactions with his body were limited to only those he permitted. The pain was there, but it wasn’t all consuming.

Forcing himself through the clutching dark - which seemed to fight against him as if the Raklivian remembered Vance and his soldiers and how they’d consigned it to captivity in the Demagaron’s exium cage – he came upon the first of the AnRak guns.

The turret was glowing, like Gantry had told him – an irregular section of its plating was a furious red as if its power source was reacting to the presence of the Raklivian. No heat came from the gun and Vance staggered – his steps becoming weaker – to the operator’s panel. Gantry was there, along with three others, two of who were on their haunches with their heads bowed.

“Where are the other guns?” Vance mumbled. He realised he was totally lost already. The positioning system in his HUD kept changing its mind and the shuttle seemed to have vanished.

“Over that way, sir.” Gantry was too weak to even raise his arm to point and he tilted his head slightly to indicate the direction.

“Commander Larson, what is your progress?” asked Vance. With an effort, he raised his own head. If the Axindar was still operational, there was no sign of it.

“I’m at the bulkhead,” Larson replied. “Kill the damned Raklivian.”

“Yes, ma’am, when it’s time.”

Larson didn’t argue and Vance stepped closer to the AnRak gun. Its inner light was brighter now – verging on orange – and strangely comforting. The targeting display was lit up and rows of numbers scrolled across it, though Vance couldn’t make sense of what they meant.

“Sir, we need to fire,” said Gantry. “Before it’s too late.”

Vance turned, the action producing a wave of pain. He could see that Gantry – one of the most indomitable soldiers he’d ever met - was on the brink of death or insanity.

“Hold fast!” Vance yelled. “We’ve got this!”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got this,” Gantry repeated.

“Look at me,” snapped Vance, when the other man’s eyes dropped.

With an effort, Gantry lifted his head. “Sir.”

“This is our one chance, Lieutenant. And by hell, we’re not going to fail!”

“No, sir.”

A shockwave shook the bay floor, sending Vance thudding into the AnRak gun. He knocked the side of his head against the edge of the plating – only his combat helmet saving him from death or critical injury - and his vision blurred at the additional shock. From the corner of his eye, he saw an immense explosion blossoming upwards from the bay floor, much of its light crushed out of existence by the Raklivian.

Vance had no idea what had produced the blast, but he knew the Axindar wasn’t fitted with missiles. If the Kilvar had become desperate, maybe they’d saturate the bay with explosives before the Axindar took them down.

It was time.

“Fire the guns,” said Vance. His voice was weak and he repeated the order, as loudly as his fading strength would permit. “Fire the guns!”

He stabbed his finger into the circular red button on the turret’s control panel.

The gun fired in a thumping discharge. Whatever recoil the barrel imparted didn’t move the turret at all. A flash of yellow light ripped a sphere into the darkness and Vance felt a new pain in his eyes at the brightness. Moments later, three other bursts of light followed the first.

Vance wasn’t sure if the pain lessened. Certainly it didn’t vanish instantly in the way that he’d hoped. The activation button on the gun became available again and he pushed it a second time.

“Keep firing!” he yelled. It was all they could do.

The AnRak gun discharged once again, producing a new burst of light. This time, Vance was ready with his eyes narrowed, even though the sparkling dots across his vision hadn’t faded from the first blast. In anticipation of the recharge, he pushed the firing button again and again. Other flashes appeared to his left, sometimes high, sometimes lower, as if the weapons were recalibrating in order to target the Raklivian where it was most vulnerable.

In a moment of lucidity, Vance realised the pain was lessening. With each shot from the AnRak guns, the Raklivian was becoming weaker. Now, he sensed it shrinking away, as if it sensed defeat was imminent. In anger, Vance kept on pressing the firing button and the flashes of light – which he guessed were five hundred metres in diameter – appeared higher and higher in the bay.

As the Raklivian retreated, the darkness and pain receded with it. One of the flashes briefly illuminated the edges of an immense shape as it raced silently through the vacuum of the bay. For a moment, Vance’s fear returned, thinking this was a Kilvar vessel. His mind slotted the visual data together and he knew he’d seen the Axindar.

For a time – Vance wasn’t sure how long – he ordered the soldiers to keep firing the guns. He thought the unnatural darkness was almost gone, but he wasn’t about to take chances. Eventually, a message appeared on the AnRak gun’s screen.

> Target not detected.

Vance wanted to slump to the floor in relief, but he couldn’t allow himself – victory was not yet assured. The pain was still with him, but it was fading now and soon it would be no more than a memory.

“Commander Larson. The Raklivian is gone. Please report.”

“Gone, or dead?” asked Larson.

“Dead,” said Vance. “What’s wrong?” he asked, having detected something in her voice.

“I was too late,” said Larson. “I accepted the construction order for the Moseley-95 and the loading device, but it won’t be completed until two minutes after we lose our security access.”

Good news was always tempered with bad and every win seemed to have a corresponding loss. Vance closed his eyes and wondered what the hell the alliance had to do to get a lucky break.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The assembly of the Moseley-95 and its loader happened in a low-roofed structure not far from where the confrontation with the Raklivian had taken place. It was cold inside – not helped by the twenty obliterator cores which Vance had ordered to be unloaded from the shuttle and brought here – but after the pain, it was no hardship at all.

Vance and most of his soldiers watched as a dozen bots in a variety of shapes and sizes brought components together in two separate twenty-metre-square construction bays and joined them as easily as a human adult would put together a four-piece jigsaw.

“Impressive,” said Vance.

It was a struggle to conjure up much enthusiasm, but he meant what he said. Both work orders were nearly finished – the Moseley-95 resembled an ingar-ternium reactor, while the loader reminded Vance of an oversized forklift, except with four robot arms that could pick up smaller objects - like a child had taken the basic design and bolted on a few extras to make it look super-cool.

“Once these are finished, we’re going to instruct the loader to fly across to the exium storage building ten klicks away, right?” said Raimi.

“We’ve already been through this, Private,” said Vance. He tried not to sigh. “Commander Larson and Lieutenant Tagra have taken the shuttle to the storage facility, where they are attempting to secure the exium.”

“And they’ll jam the storage facility entrance door open using the shuttle,” said Raimi, nodding as if he’d only just grasped this facet of the plan.

“We’ll construct the Oblex cores here in Bay 3 and see what we can do with them,” Vance confirmed. “If any more Kilvar show up, the Axindar will turn them into dust.”

Raimi grinned. “Everything’s good, sir. I think we’ve got this.”

In spite of himself, Vance laughed. “Whatever happens, we took out the Raklivian and that counts for something.”

“The loader is finished, sir,” said Raven. She pointed into the construction bay, in case Vance couldn’t remember which direction to look.

RL Moseley had sent Vance a command file, to be injected into the loader when it was assembled. Interfacing with the vehicle, Vance instructed his suit computer to squirt in the data. For about five seconds, the loader didn’t move. Then, it accelerated towards the building exit on its gravity drive. The structure was almost empty, so the loader didn’t have many obstacles to avoid. In moments, it vanished into Bay 3.

“Fast,” said Charnos.

“What’s your status, Commander Larson?” asked Vance on the comms. “The loader is headed your way. It’ll take a couple of minutes to reach you.”

“My security access expires in thirty seconds, Captain Vance. We’ve managed to wedge the door to the storage building, but the exium itself is in a vault. We don’t have anything that can hold it open.”

“I guess we’ll soon find out what happens, ma’am.”

“And there goes my access,” said Larson a short time later. “If the vault closes, we’ll have to find a way to crack it open. It won’t be easy.”

Even after the stresses of the recent combat, Vance found the waiting harder than he expected and his mind wandered. The alliance had done everything possible yet it still came to this – the pursuit of a goal that might be unachievable. Without that security access, eventually they were going to run into a problem that couldn’t be overcome.

“Captain Flint reports two new Kilvar warships have entered Bay-3,” said Larson. She cursed. “And the exium vault has closed.”

“Then it’s over?”

“It looks that way,” said Larson, unable to mask her despondency. “We fought the tide and we lost, Captain.”

“Has the Axindar crashed down, ma’am?” asked Vance. “I thought Captain Flint would lose his access at the same time.”

“One moment,” said Larson. She switched comms channels and then returned. “Captain Flint is still signed in to the Axindar’s onboard systems.”

“Have you run tests to find out if your own security access was revoked, ma’am?”

The checking didn’t take long. “Well I’ll be,” said Larson. “I can still open this vault.”

“What if the Lavorix built in one of those margins you were telling me about?” said Vance. “Maybe you’re allowed a few extra minutes of access after the timer hits zero.”

“I’ll speak to Captain Flint and get back to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Minutes went by and Vance waited for the loader’s return. He’d learned on the comms that Flint remained in control of the Axindar. Having opened the linking doors, Flint and his crew were busy giving the Kilvar hell. Hopefully it would buy the alliance some time.

“Here it comes, sir,” said Drawl, from over by the entrance.

The loader sped into the bay, with twelve dark grey cubes balanced on its forks. Exium was the most unpredictable and powerful substance known to the alliance, but it sure didn’t look like much.

Hardly slowing, the loader headed straight for the Moseley-95. It halted at one end of the device – where Vance had already seen the two-metre loading chute – and without delay began feeding its cargo of exium into the Moseley-95.

“And that loader can definitely swap out the power supplies on those obliterator cores, right?” said Private Carrington.

“RL Moseley gave me instructions on how to do the swap manually, but apparently he was able to add the facility into the loader design before he sent it for construction,” said Vance.

“Let’s hope it all goes to plan, sir.”

As he watched the loader finish placing the exium into the Moseley-95, Vance found that most of his worries had drifted away, or become so ephemeral that they didn’t trouble him.

I’m calm because either victory or failure is assured.

He smiled faintly at the thought.

Several minutes passed and then the loader floated around to the opposite end of the Moseley-95. One of the robot arms darted out and withdrew something from behind a hinged panel. Carrying its cube-shaped prize aloft, the loader sped over to the obliterator cores. Without ceremony, a second robot arm tugged the core’s top panel free and a third arm plunged inside, shortly withdrawing a black cube. Then, the first arm slotted the replacement core into place.

“Oblex#2,” said Vance.

Ten minutes later, the Moseley-95 and the loader were finished. By this time, Larson, Tagra and the other soldiers Vance had assigned to the shuttle had returned.

“Oblexes#2 to #21,” Steigers remarked. “Or is it Oblexi#2 to #21?”

“Who cares?” said Raven. “What happens now?”

“We take them to the bay receiving station,” said Larson. “I saw several interface ports there and I don’t think they have input restrictions on them.”

Drawl clapped Raven on the shoulder. “We’re going to hack our way into a god ship and take it for the good guys.”

“That’s the plan,” said Larson. “We’ll crack open this spaceship’s onboard systems one-by-one and use them against the Kilvar. Captain Vance, let’s get these cores loaded onto the shuttle and take them to the receiving station.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vance didn’t know what the future held, but suddenly and in spite of everything, he thought maybe there’d been a shift in favour of the alliance. He reined in the idea quickly and got on with the job of loading the cores.

Isolation

The doors opened and Captain William Flint stepped into a familiar space. Time was tight, like it always was, but he allowed his gaze to linger for a moment on the eighty metre sphere which was currently trapped in zero-time. Oblex#1 was where he’d left it - suspended in the air and locked in a stasis of its own making.

Oblex#2 was behind Flint in the lift, and already loaded with software that would allow it to generate a stasis-negation field which would last for ten seconds before ending automatically.

“Go,” said Flint, sending an instruction to Oblex#2.

The core floated out of the shuttle car and towards the sphere. Halting just outside the stasis, it activated the negation field, bringing Oblex#1 and the sphere entity into normal time.

You have returned.

“I came to talk,” said Flint.

I am blind. My links to the Ancidium are severed.

“We have isolated you from the onboard systems,” said Flint. “The Ancidium belongs to the alliance now.”

What will you do?

The ten second negation field ended and Flint commanded Oblex#2 to create another one.

“We’ll use it to fight the Kilvar. The alliance could not wait for your decision.”

I understand.

“As easy as that?”

Did you expect anger?

“No.” Flint shrugged. “You do not seem concerned.”

I am not.

“Will you help us?”

Flint sent the command to Oblex#2 again. The conversation was going better than expected, but he wasn’t yet ready to extend the negation field beyond ten seconds.

It is too late to defeat the Kilvar.

“So you keep saying. The alliance doesn’t give up easily - and we have too much to lose.”

I will think on it.

“How long will you think?”

As long as it takes.

“I cannot remove the stasis while you ponder the matter.”

Then the thinking will take an eternity.

“I’ll discuss it with my superiors.”

Flint thought about pushing for more, but he knew it would be useless. However, a question had been plaguing him and he activated the negation field one last time.

“The security access granted to me and my crew. Why didn’t it expire?”

He waited the full ten seconds and the sphere didn’t answer. Flint returned to the lift.

As the Ancidium’s shuttle car carried him to his destination, he tipped his head back in thought. The Oblex cores had smashed their way into the critical systems of this colossal warship at a speed which had confounded everyone. Admiral Recker had activated the Ancidium’s gateway hardware the moment it became available, taking the warship far from the Cratiss system and the gathering enemy.

Not long after that, a seek-and-destroy command sent to the Lavorix warships in the Ancidium’s many bays had delivered a nasty surprise to the remaining Kilvar. It was likely the enemy had landed ground troops – something which Flint expected to be soon confirmed one way or another – but they wouldn’t get far with the alliance in control of the security systems.

All-in-all, the mission had been an incredible success, leaving the Ancidium in alliance hands.

Yet, somehow, Flint couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too little, too late. The enemy were going to ascend, and when it happened, maybe no force in the universe – not even the Ancidium – would be able to stop the Kilvar god.

Flint closed his eyes. Until the end came, he wasn’t giving up.

* * *

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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