The God’s Titan

Forged Alliance Book 2

Anthony James

Contents

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

Evia

Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

© 2021 Anthony James

All rights reserved

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

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

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

Illustration © Tom Edwards

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Chapter One

High over the ruins of the Amber military base, an armoured shuttle hung motionless in the air, its engines droning like a hive of agitated bees. The transport’s side door was open and Fleet Admiral Carl Recker – the lone occupant - stood in the doorway, one hand on the vertical rail to keep himself from falling.

The rain fell, as it often did on this area of planet Basalt, and the wind blew the droplets in stinging needles that left Recker’s unprotected hair and face drenched, and his cheeks red with the cold. It also reminded him what it was to be alive. And if life was worth living, then it was also worth fighting for.

He inhaled deeply, holding the chill air in his lungs, and surveyed the destruction below. The fires – caused by the Kilvar attack only a week ago – were extinguished, though a dense smoke clung low to several of the worst-affected sections of the base. More than a hundred structures had been hit by missiles or reduced to molten sludge by the enemy particle beams and the search for both living and dead amongst the twisted walls and torn alloys was ongoing. Until that search was over, the rebuilding couldn’t begin.

The ever-increasing tally of the perished was a sobering indication of what faced the human-Daklan alliance and thinking about it made Recker grind his teeth.

In the distance, the Pioneer flew across the western edge of the base, a fifty-billion-ton battleship among a thousand shuttles. Above the clouds and out of sight, many other warships flew on patrol, their ternium drives operating at reduced output following the Kilvar’s deployment of an unknown weapon which had temporarily shut down not only the local fleet, but the entire base as well.

The surprise attack by the aliens had been a sobering lesson in how intergalactic warfare could be as straightforward and unfair as a game of rock-paper-scissors. The Kilvar came with rocks and the alliance fleet kept on making scissors.

Late in the day, when the battle had seemed lost, the experimental exium prototype had been stirred into the mix, and that was rock, paper, scissors and stasis-field-generating disintegration cannon all in one, as well as being seemingly impossible to control and incomprehensibly dangerous.

Now, the Firestorm – the only exium-equipped warship in the alliance fleet – was stationary and crewed by a team of volunteers twenty billion kilometres from Basalt. Should the Kilvar return, that crew were instructed to do whatever was necessary to destroy their attackers, even if that meant losing the Firestorm.

The exium module itself remained entirely stable, and soon, Recker knew, he’d be required to make a decision on what to do about it. Adding to the difficulty was his near certainty that the Kilvar had a method of locating exium across vast distances. Worryingly, several of his theoretical mathematicians were beginning to whisper that those distances might potentially be infinite.

Regardless of the truth, Recker was fully aware that if he ordered a return of the exium prototype to Basalt, then doubtless the enemy would, at some unpredictable moment, return for a second attempt to steal it. As yet, he wasn’t ready to deal with a fleet of near-invulnerable Kilvar warships.

One part of Recker believed the right decision was to simply recall the Firestorm’s crew, put the warship into permanent lightspeed, and then forget about it. And yet, he had a stubborn streak a lightyear wide and that stubbornness insisted the exium belonged to the alliance, not to whichever damned alien species turned up and decided to make it theirs.

The reminder alarm on Recker’s portable communicator buzzed to let him know the thirty minutes he’d allowed himself out here, undisturbed, were over. Talking and planning had their place, but sometimes the only path he found to clarity was complete immersion in the death, the smoke and the stench of burned flesh. Recker had never kept himself aloof from the realities of war and he wasn’t about to change. Not now, not ever.

Stepping away from the doorway, Recker returned to the shuttle’s cockpit and piloted it the few kilometres to the landing pad outside the command and control bunker which was now his home.

Hurrying across the rain-pelted concrete, Recker entered the single-storey, reinforced surface building through which the airlifts were accessed. Human and Daklan soldiers were everywhere and Recker greeted them as he went by. Following his entry into one of the lift cars, he descended two thousand metres to the first of the three subterranean levels.

Minutes later, he was back in his office, where he found his personal assistant, Lieutenant Christy Garber, waiting for him.

“You forgot to turn on your comms receiver, sir,” she said.

“No I didn’t,” said Recker, taking the comms unit from his pocket and removing the channel block.

Garber narrowed her eyes. “You look exhausted, sir. Coffee has its limits.”

Recker was exhausted and it was increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise. He crossed to his desk. His new office was cramped, spartan, too bright and with an artificially pure smell from the air conditioning. The technology it contained was limited to a single desktop communicator and a large screen on the left-hand wall. Recker didn’t need anything else.

A silvery injector tube lay on the metal surface of his desk and he picked it up. “Frenziol-15,” Recker said with distaste. “I can’t bring myself to take it.”

“Maybe you should, sir.”

“I’ve had enough of boosters, Lieutenant.”

“In which case, it’s time you went to bed. You’ve had less than twelve hours in total since the Kilvar attack.”

“No boosters,” said Recker, slamming the injector onto the desk. “I’ve got a meeting with Admiral Ivinstol.”

“Yes, sir,” said Garber. “It starts in less than ten minutes.” She hesitated. “Have you had any ideas?”

“My head is swimming with them, Lieutenant, and many I have discussed with you and my team already. I keep returning to one or two of those ideas, and I would like to see what Admiral Ivinstol thinks about them.”

“He’s an intelligent…man,” said Garber. The Daklan didn’t refer to themselves as men and women but most humans found it comfortable using the familiar terms.

“Admiral Ivinstol has led the Daklan for a long time,” said Recker. “And they don’t suffer fools.”

“Is there anything I can get you before the meeting begins, sir?”

“I’d like another coffee, please.”

Garber nodded once. “Yes, sir.” She exited the office through the single metal door, which opened with a hum of concealed motors.

With a few minutes remaining before his meeting, Recker approached the viewscreen and touched one of the buttons on the control panel. The screen illuminated with a sensor feed from one of the newly deployed orbital satellites.

“Basalt,” said Recker, allowing his gaze to linger on the sphere of blues, greys and greens. The satellite’s sensor arrays penetrated the cloud cover easily and the feed was sharp enough to convey the windswept anger of the planet’s largest ocean. In the grand scheme of things, Basalt was temperate, but it could also be hostile.

Recker stared for a short while and then touched the control panel again. The feed changed and this time he saw the distant star, Reldus – a faraway speck of brightness, its energy output magnitudes beyond anything the alliance could produce, yet not nearly enough to heat the farthest planets in its orbit.

The door opened and Lieutenant Garber returned, with a coffee, an orange juice, a nutrient block, and a steak sandwich, all balanced on a tray.

“Prison rations?” asked Recker, pointing at the murky green block which he knew contained a careful balance of everything the human body needed. He also knew it tasted like unsalted bean curd with a faint, yet unpleasant hint of fish. Whichever lab designed the nutrient blocks, they’d done an outstanding job at engineering all the fun out of eating.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve finished it, sir,” said Garber encouragingly.

“You don’t believe that for a moment, Lieutenant,” said Recker, picking up the steak sandwich and taking a bite. It was a replicated version of overdone, but not bad all the same.

“I’ll leave you to it, sir,” said Garber. “And if find that nutrient block hiding in your bin when I return…”

Recker laughed – Garber’s value came from much more than just her efficiency. “You’re keeping me from my meeting, Lieutenant.”

Once again, Garber left the office and Recker returned to his desk. A real time FTL comm channel to the Daklan home world, Terrani, was arranged and waiting for him to connect. The meeting was due to begin in two minutes, which was enough time for Recker to finish half of his sandwich and the orange juice.

He entered the comm channel and stood in front of the viewscreen. Admiral Ivinstol was never late and Recker wasn’t expecting today to be an exception. The feed on the wall screen was now one of an office somewhere on Terrani. Recker saw a background array of basic furniture – a desk, an unpadded chair, a communicator, and, in one corner, a purple-leafed plant. Admiral Ivinstol was not interested in the trappings of his position and the contents of his office reflected that.

“Fleet Admiral Recker,” said Ivinstol, stepping into the sensor’s viewing arc.

Admiral Ivinstol was broad and tall, and wore a combat suit without the helmet. At sixty-five years of age, he was sixteen years Recker’s senior, though his dusky red skin displayed few signs of age. His hair was unaffected by grey and his green eyes burned like embers.

Returning the greeting, Recker nodded at his opposite number in the Daklan military. “We have much to discuss.”

“The combined fleet is mobilised,” said Ivinstol. He spoke the HPA tongue perfectly, though his voice was rasping and deep, like that of every male Daklan. “However, our issues are many.”

Recker and Ivinstol had spoken at great length about the Kilvar, yet a clear strategy hadn’t emerged – at least nothing more elaborate than putting warships into the skies and doubling efforts to scout and detect wherever it was the Kilvar had come from. Twelve years of scouting before the attack on Basalt hadn’t been successful, and Recker had no reason to believe it would start paying dividends now.

“Have you obtained consensus on the matter of exium production?” asked Recker.

“We Daklan will not be shackled,” said Ivinstol. “The die is cast and the Kilvar have attacked. Now we will respond with everything we have.”

It was the answer Recker had anticipated and the only surprise was that it had taken the Daklan so long to achieve this unanimity. He remembered the start of the human-Daklan wars and how the aliens had committed hard and fast, catching the HPA unawares.

“I value our alliance, Kolius,” said Recker, referring to the Daklan by his first name. “Most of all, I value the Daklan’s skill in war and your aptitude for new technology. However, in this instance, I wonder if a degree of subtlety would be the wiser option.”

Ivinstol grinned. “We Daklan know subtlety, though we may not favour it.” The grin faded. “What do you suggest?”

“Until we have learned how to control exium, its use is limited. We could produce additional modules and install them onto our warships, only to find we are unable to harness the propulsion superstress. By that time, we may have drawn in a hundred Kilvar warships rather than just a handful.”

“We have not yet proven the Kilvar can detect exium,” said Ivinstol.

“That’s right,” said Recker. “And I’ve seen the results of the atomic scans performed at Tibulon before the enemy attacked. Those scans detected no emissions and no signs of decay from the first exium module – at least nothing our monitoring tools could recognize.”

Ivinstol smiled grimly. “And yet, the Kilvar found their way to Tibulon and then to Basalt.”

“One of my analysis teams constructed a probability model and whichever way they manipulate the data, the results come out the same – the most likely explanation for recent events is that the Kilvar can detect exium,” said Recker.

The Daklan also had probability analysis teams, but they were less well-funded than their HPA equivalents. “So wherever we produce exium, the Kilvar will arrive,” said Ivinstol. “Are you suggesting we lay a trap?”

“Not a trap,” said Recker. The ideas which had been swirling around suddenly dropped into place. “Even if we laid such a trap, we would be required to create another reactor bomb like the one on Tibulon and at best we might destroy a few enemy warships.” He breathed in while he considered his next words. “Besides, I’m convinced the Kilvar will not let us be. We have shown we can create exium and we have destroyed their warships, albeit with effort. The Kilvar will return and next time it will be with overwhelming force.”

“And despite what you say about their detection of exium, I would not bet against an attack at other alliance worlds,” said Ivinstol.

“That’s my firm belief,” said Recker. “If we are to fight this war, we must first learn how to combat the Kilvar and secondly, we must learn how to find them.”

Ivinstol’s expression darkened and he drew back his lips, exaggerating the curve of his fangs. “The Lavorix had these answers. Be careful what you suggest, Fleet Admiral Recker.”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Recker. “Either we sit back and wait for the Kilvar to return, or we take control of our destiny.”

“Control is a word that is easily spoken.” The Daklan rarely looked worried about anything, but Ivinstol’s expression was deeply troubled. “Can we take this risk? We might inadvertently offer the Kilvar the greatest prize of all.”

“Or we might claim that prize for ourselves,” said Recker. Even as he spoke the words, he felt a tremendous unease at what he was suggesting.

“If I were to choose between the greatest of known dangers and the greatest of unknown dangers, I would choose the former every time.” Ivinstol burst out in raucous laughter. “Not that I would call any of this known.”

“Then it’s settled?” said Recker.

Ivinstol nodded once. “The decision is made. For good or for ill.” The Daklan’s expression hardened into defiance. “We will not be spectators.”

The meeting continued for a time. Many specific details could not be agreed yet, and the meeting closed with a new one arranged for the following day. When Recker touched the button to switch off the viewscreen, he felt utterly drained.

His office door access panel buzzed. It was Garber, and Recker told her to enter.

“What’s wrong, sir?” she asked immediately.

“The plan is made,” said Recker. “The Ancidium.”

Garber understood – or at least she understood enough, and the colour drained from her face. “Is it the only way?”

Recker shook his head. “It’s not the only way, Lieutenant. But it’s the way we’ve chosen.”

“Can we…?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. If we can’t, then we’ll choose a different way. I need some time to think.”

Garber left the room again, leaving Recker alone in the cold light of his office. For a time, he could only stare, while his mind spun with the dangers and the possibilities. Eventually, he activated his desktop communicator and started putting things in motion.

Chapter Two

Life onboard the alliance’s lone exium class heavy cruiser Firestorm should have been dull for Captain William Flint and his crew. Orders were for the warship to remain within ten thousand kilometres of coordinates provided by high command and that left little scope for exploration or excitement.

Acting as a direct counter to the dullness was Flint’s knowledge that the entire vessel was rightly classed as a Priority 1 threat, with propulsion that could potentially enter a state of irretrievable and critical superstress which might generate a catastrophic explosion, a death sphere, or, more likely, a non-decaying stasis field, trapping him and his crew in zero-time for an eternity.

And those were just the known outcomes. Flint had been granted access to some of the other reports and while many of these teetered on the cusp of outright speculation, he didn’t much want to contemplate how many different ways his death might come.

Worst of all, he’d volunteered for this duty, though he didn’t regret the fact. Following his return to Basalt after the Kilvar attack, Flint had learned of Fleet Admiral Recker’s plans for the Firestorm. At that moment, Flint’s mouth had opened and he’d offered to come back to the warship on the basis that he knew it better than anyone. His crew had also volunteered and their readiness had not come as a shock. In hindsight, Flint realised it would have been more of a surprise if they’d remained silent.

The requirement for the Firestorm to remain battle ready had necessitated a backup crew, and those personnel would soon disembark at the midsection flank exit onto an incoming transport. New faces would replace them - Fleet Admiral Recker wanted to expose additional personnel to the warship’s technology, and Flint and his team were best placed to do the teaching.

“Fifty minutes and the transport should be here,” said Lieutenant Sophie Garrett. “It’s bringing us ten new crew members and we only have three spare seats on the bridge.”

“It’ll be tight,” Flint admitted. “But nobody said we have to show all of them the ropes at the same time.”

“There aren’t that many ropes to show them, sir,” said Lieutenant Stan Fredericks. “Anyone who can pilot a warship can pilot the Firestorm.”

“You know that’s not entirely accurate, Lieutenant. When we came out of the underground bay on Basalt, we had to learn fast,” said Flint. “If this warship is put into another combat situation, it’d be best if the crew had some real, hands-on experience with the hardware.”

“I’m not trying to argue, sir. I just think that if enemies show up, we—” he pointed around at the other crew members “—the same crew as did the fighting last time – will be ordered to take double shots of Frenziol-15 and to get our asses to the bridge, whether or not we’re on duty at the time.”

“Sounds about right,” said Commander Amy Maddox.

Flint believed it was an accurate summation as well, though he didn’t say so. “Are all systems stable, Lieutenant Fredericks?” he asked, more out of habit than anything else.

“Yes, sir, the same as they have been all these last ten days,” said Fredericks. “Just don’t push the engines too far.”

“Not much requirement for velocity,” said Maddox. “Not with a ten-thousand-klick leash holding us in place.”

Flint rose and stretched. His combat suit had become part of him now and his body was adapted to both the weight and the resistance it added when he flexed his legs, arms and shoulders. Directly in his line of sight, the sensor feeds on the bulkhead screen showed little more than darkness, and Basalt was a tiny speck way out in the distance.

Keeping outside of a five-million-kilometre perimeter, three other fleet warships kept watch over the Firestorm, accompanied by a dedicated rescue vessel. Flint didn’t have high expectations those nearby ships would be much assistance should the Kilvar return, except perhaps as a way to divide incoming enemy fire. Idly, he watched one of those warships – a heavy cruiser named World Breaker – perform a series of intricate and unnecessary manoeuvres which made him think the crew was bored.

“How long before high command decides what they’re going to do with us?” asked Lieutenant Rita Becerra.

Having witnessed Becerra’s excellent performance during the last engagement with the Kilvar, Flint no longer had doubts about her ability, regardless of how fresh she was out of training. “I haven’t been told anything, Lieutenant,” he said. “Like I promised you before, the moment I hear, that’s when you’ll hear as well.”

“They’re going to extract the exium and take it somewhere top secret,” said Lieutenant Wes Bolan.

“I think high command wants to figure out how to control the prototype without making it useless,” said Fredericks. “The Firestorm is the only warship in the fleet that can defeat a Kilvar ship. Even if the exium is damned dangerous, why would they remove the option, last ditch or not?”

“Something’s got to happen,” said Bolan weakly. “I guess I didn’t think my argument through.”

“Well you’re right to think we won’t be parked here forever,” said Flint. “What change will come or when, I don’t know.”

“What do you think will happen, sir?” asked Lieutenant Sophie Garrett.

With little else to do, it was a question to which Flint had devoted a great deal of thinking time. “Research Lead Moseley and his team survived,” he said. “And I’m sure we have a few of those ingar-ternium reactors already built within the alliance. Put the two together and we could produce more exium.”

“Which might bring the Kilvar back,” said Maddox.

“The Kilvar are returning anyway, Commander. They aren’t done with us.” Of this, Flint was as sure as he was of anything.

“Why bother waiting an entire ten days?” asked Bolan. “Why attack once and then disappear for so long?”

“We don’t know how those Kilvar discovered us, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “What if they just happened, through chance alone, to come within exium detection range and decided to stop by to check it out? It may be the other members of the enemy fleet are weeks away, even at a high multiple of lightspeed.”

“Those bastards aren’t only interested in exium,” said Fredericks. “We all saw what happened to Private Arnold. When that Kilvar hit him, it sucked the life clean out of him.”

Flint remembered it well. After killing Private Arnold, the enemy soldier had begun convulsing like it was in a state of unimaginable ecstasy. That hadn’t stopped Lieutenant Vance and his platoon from blowing it to pieces, but the incident had Flint worried. It was usually advantageous to know what an enemy wanted and the Kilvar definitely wanted that exium prototype. However, Flint was sure there was more to it than just that.

“So you think we’ll produce more exium modules and install them on other warships?” asked Garrett.

“I didn’t say exactly that,” Flint hedged. “Once we’ve learned how to control the exium’s effects on a ternium propulsion, that’s when we’ll see additional warships being equipped.”

“In which case, we might be here for a while,” said Bolan.

“Are you disappointed by that, Lieutenant?” asked Flint.

“Sure, I’m bored, sir, but that’s not why I’m upset about waiting.” Bolan shrugged. “It just seems like we’re going to sit back and let the enemy throw another punch our way, except this time they might knock us out before we can do a thing to stop it.”

“I understand what you mean, Lieutenant,” said Flint. He was reluctant to speculate, but since Fleet Admiral Recker wasn’t the waiting kind of man, it seemed likely that something would happen rather than nothing. “Maybe we’ll hear sooner than you think.”

“But you’ve definitely not been told anything,” said Maddox, staring at him intently.

“Nothing,” Flint confirmed.

Since he was standing, he headed between the sensor and engine stations and stopped in front of the replicator. He didn’t feel much like eating, so he ordered a cup of orange juice which he knew in advance would have a metallic, artificial edge. Drinking it down, he winced at the cold bitterness, and then discarded the cup.

Returning to his seat, Flint occupied two minutes checking the same instrumentation he’d spent the last few days staring at, and another twenty minutes running audits on the Firestorm’s destructive hardware which wouldn’t operate without the propulsion being in superstress. Most of the needles and gauges were in their expected positions, though others were totally out of kilter, as if their time providing crazy readings had ruined their calibration. Equally, much of the audit data was corrupted or meaningless, though doubtless teams of technicians on Basalt and elsewhere were eagerly poring over the output.

Soon after, the inbound transport dropped out of lightspeed, well inside the five-million-kilometre exclusion sphere surrounding the Firestorm.

“There it is,” said Lieutenant Becerra. “Not much to look at.”

The newly arrived vessel was more of a rescue craft than an out-and-out transport. It was two hundred metres in length, boxy and unremarkable, though with hull-mounted coupling apparatus that could form a vacuum-proof seal with almost any other vessel. Since the Firestorm hadn’t been built to accommodate a shuttle of its own, it required specialised equipment - like this transport - in order to board or disembark while it was out in space.

“Heading our way,” said Garrett. “I’d best let the old backup crew know their replacements have arrived.”

“I’ve got an inbound comm, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s Fleet Admiral Recker.”

Flint experienced a pulsing surge of adrenaline. “Put him on the open channel.”

“Captain Flint,” said Recker at once. “I’d like to apologise for making you wait so long.”

“You’ve reached a decision, sir?” asked Flint.

“Yes, I have. First, this needs to be a private channel.”

“Yes, sir.” Flint gave a hand signal and the comms were diverted to his earpiece. “Done,” he said.

“Good,” said Recker. “You’re not going like what I’m about to tell you and part of being a commanding officer is handling your crew effectively. What you hear is for you to convey.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do that,” said Flint. “It sounds like you have a mission planned and I’m ready for something different. We all are.”

Recker gave a short laugh. “I guessed you might say that, though you’re going to get something you probably wouldn’t have wished for.”

The adrenaline pumped again and Flint wondered where this was leading. “I won’t know until you tell me what it is, sir.”

“Then listen up.” Recker paused, as if he were truly in two minds about whether to divulge an enormous secret, or as if he were about to sign the death warrants of everyone onboard the Firestorm. “Captain Flint, what do you know about the Ancidium?”

“Not much, sir – I don’t have authority to access those records.”

“Then you’ve tried?”

“I think we can learn from the past, sir. I didn’t do much fighting in the Lavorix wars, but I know how close we came to defeat.”

“You might think you know, Captain,” said Recker. “Few people really do. Tell me about the Ancidium.”

Flint opened his mouth and then realised that the scraps he’d pulled together amounted to not much. He considered making a couple of educated guesses and then decided against it. “All I have is hearsay, sir.”

“That’s good,” said Recker. “I don’t enjoy keeping secrets, but the Ancidium was something so far beyond not only our understanding, but our technological capabilities as well. It was the home to the Lavorix – a warship vastly greater in mass and dimensions than anything we’ve ever known. If the citizens of the alliance knew what our enemies had built, it would cause panic.” Recker made a sound of disquiet in his throat, like he’d never quite come to terms with the decision.

Flint didn’t know much about the Ancidium itself, but he knew a little more about the Laws of Ancidium. The Laws had once been six individual warships, each unique and each possessed of destructive capabilities magnitudes above those of anything in the alliance fleet. Flint had learned their names – Galactar, Aeklu, Verumol, Hexidine, Ixidar and Gorgadar – and just thinking of these colossal warships made him shiver at the dangers hiding in the universe.

Out of his crew, only Lieutenant Fredericks had any direct experience of these vessels. He’d fought against the Hexidine at Trinus-XN and was one of the few survivors from that engagement.

Five of the Laws of Ancidium were destroyed and only the Ixidar remained, its destroyer cannon barrels repaired, but its control systems offline and seemingly irrecoverable. Where the alliance had taken the hull was another secret to which Flint wasn’t party.

“I thought the Ancidium was destroyed, sir. I heard an explosion tore it to pieces,” he said.

“It might be destroyed,” said Recker cryptically. “In which case, the mission I’m about to give you will be for nothing.” He made a rumbling sound of anger. “Against the Kilvar, we can’t afford timidity, Captain Flint. I’m about to order you and your crew into action and I won’t lie about the risks. This is going to be tough.”

“My crew and I came through before, sir. I’m willing to do what it takes and I’m sure my crew feel the same.”

“That’s why I picked you. Now, listen carefully, and let me tell you the real history of the Ancidium. Then, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.”

Flint listened carefully, expecting this to be bad. What he got was many times worse.

Chapter Three

Five minutes after Fleet Admiral Recker had finished talking and closed out of the comms channel, the approaching transport requested permission to link with the Firestorm’s portside emergency hatch – a request which Flint granted. A few seconds of manoeuvring followed and then a green light on his console indicated a vacuum-proof seal was in place.

“Lieutenant Vance and his platoon are onboard, sir,” said Lieutenant Becerra in puzzlement. “We weren’t expecting troops.”

“Not until about ten minutes ago, we weren’t,” said Flint. He planned to divulge the details once the transport was on its return journey to the Amber base.

“Our current backup crew are departing and their replacements are staying on the transport,” continued Becerra.

“That’s correct,” said Flint. “Let it happen, Lieutenant. I’ll tell you what’s going on shortly.”

“So we’re the only crew?” said Maddox.

“For the moment, Commander.”

“We need to sleep at some point, sir.”

“These are the Fleet Admiral’s orders,” said Flint. His eyes went to the clock – this shift was less than two hours old and he was still fresh. The Firestorm would soon be at lightspeed and then there’d be time for sleep.

“Those new backup personnel must have already been loaded onto the transport when they heard the news,” said Fredericks. “This is the definition of last-minute planning.” He gave a gruff laugh. “That’s not a criticism, by the way - I know how it works.”

“Get me a channel to Lieutenant Vance,” said Flint.

“Channel opened, sir,” said Becerra a moment later.

“I’m pleased to have you with us, Lieutenant,” said Flint, once he saw the comms link light on his console turn green.

“Happy to be onboard, sir,” said Vance. He sounded almost like he was in a good mood. Almost.

“Have you been given the mission briefing, Lieutenant?”

“Probably only the outline, sir. I’ve been told you’ll provide me with whatever else I need as the mission progresses.”

“That’s right,” said Flint. “You’re aware this is a play it by ear kind of venture?”

Vance chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, make yourselves at home, Lieutenant. Just don’t expect it to be comfortable.”

Closing the channel, Flint leaned back in his seat. Lieutenant Vance didn’t seem especially concerned about what lay ahead. In fact, he sounded borderline keen to get started. Of course, this was just one more mission to add to his pile. Maybe, Flint thought, when he had another fifty engagements under his belt, he’d be laid back about it as well.

“We’ve received a bunch of new software updates over the comms, sir,” said Lieutenant Garrett. “They were only moved into beta status yesterday.” She made a hmph sound. “Signed off by Research Lead Moseley.”

“Save them into the propulsion control system, Lieutenant,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir,” said Garrett, doubt clear in her voice. “We shouldn’t be running beta software.”

“This is the Firestorm, Lieutenant,” Flint reminded her. “Almost everything in weapons control is beta. Hell, I’m sure some of the coding isn’t even in beta.”

“Yes, sir. Beta software saved into our propulsion control,” said Garrett. “Get ready to run for the exit.”

“I see a new menu on my console, sir,” said Fredericks. “It should appear on the command station as well.”

“It’s there,” Flint confirmed. He opened the menu, scanned the list of options and then closed it again.

“What’s all this about?” asked Fredericks. “This new software allows me to send commands to the exium module. I thought we were leaving it well alone.”

“Things have changed, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “We’re heading into lightspeed shortly. Once we’re away from the Reldus system. I have clearance to let you know what’s going on.”

“I’d like to say I’m excited by the mystery,” said Becerra.

“The transport is ready to de-couple,” said Garrett. “They’re leaving behind a deployment module on the hatch.”

“I’m curious to see how that works,” said Flint. “Give them clearance to depart.”

“Done.”

“Thank you,” said Flint.

One of the sensor feeds was locked on the shuttle and he watched it unclamp from the Firestorm’s hull. Slowly, it accelerated away, leaving behind a ten-metre cube of grey which remained attached to the heavy cruiser’s exit hatch. Gradually, the small vessel picked up speed.

“That’s a deployment vessel?” asked Becerra. “I guess it’s better than having no deployment vessel.”

“Who’s deploying and when?” asked Garrett.

“We’ll talk about it later,” said Flint.

“Whenever you’re ready, sir,” said Garrett. “The shuttle pilot tells me he’s going to stop at twenty thousand klicks and warm up his lightspeed drive.”

“Good choice – it’d take them four hours to exit our five-million-klick safety perimeter at their maximum sub-light velocity,” said Fredericks.

The shuttle’s ternium drive required almost ten minutes to prepare for a lightspeed transition. When it happened, the vessel disappeared from the sensors on its short return journey to Basalt.

“Signal those warships outside our perimeter,” said Flint. “We’re departing as well.”

“I’ll need some coordinates for that, sir,” said Fredericks.

“I’m sending them to your console, Lieutenant.”

“Got them.” Fredericks went quiet for a few seconds. “That’s the Evia system, sir.”

“You know about it?”

“Some.”

“Set a course. Like I told you – I’ll explain what I can once we’re on our way.”

“Coordinates entered. The navigational computer tells me it’s a five-day journey.”

“Start the warmup.”

“Yes, sir. The warmup has started.”

“I’m letting Lieutenant Vance know it’s time for him and his platoon to buckle up,” said Becerra.

Flint nodded in acknowledgement. At the same time, he listened carefully. Since the engagement with the Kilvar, this was the first time the warship’s propulsion had been put under any kind of stress. A whining started alongside the usual smooth drone of ternium and Flint listened hard to see if it would change. After thirty seconds with his ears cocked, his mind started playing tricks, such that he was no longer sure if the whining should be present or not.

A coarser note intruded and Flint watched the monitoring needles carefully. Aside from the erroneous readings which had been present with the engines at idle, the other gauges were exactly where they should be.

“Do you see anything that has you worried, Lieutenant Fredericks?” Flint asked.

“I don’t see anything, sir, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried. I’ve got a good idea why we’re heading to Evia and I’m not sure the Firestorm is ready for it. Hell, I’m not sure we’re ready for it.”

“What’s at Evia?” asked Lieutenant Bolan.

“I’ll leave the telling of that one to the captain,” said Fredericks.

“Later,” said Flint, his tone indicating he didn’t want to hear any more questions.

Another minute passed and the engines became loud enough to make normal conversation difficult, not that anyone was saying much. Flint glanced at Maddox. Her face was set and her lips tight together. She looked his way and her gaze spoke volumes.

“Forty seconds and we go,” said Fredericks. “No visible concerns so far.”

“It’s going to stay that way,” said Maddox, like her words could make it happen.

“Thirty seconds,” said Fredericks, his voice almost at a full shout. “Shit, got something on the…”

His voice was drowned out by a sudden, furious roar from the propulsion. It came from nowhere, a visceral thing which made Flint want to hide in fear. He gritted his teeth and his eyes roved across the instrumentation. Several of the readouts which he thought were calibrated were now telling him all manner of crap. Or at least he hoped it was crap. If not, the propulsion was about to enter superstress again.

The roaring vanished and was replaced by the familiar cavernous inhalation sound which Flint well remembered from before. It made him feel like he was being offered a glimpse behind the hidden veil of the universe at secrets his mind couldn’t possibly comprehend. “Shut it down!” he yelled.

Either the warning came too late, or nobody heard. A sickening lurch heralded the transition into lightspeed and Flint braced for what he felt sure would be pure agony.

The pain came and to his incredible relief, it wasn’t as bad as he anticipated. His head thudded, his fingers went numb and every muscle ached.

Only two standard deviations worse than a kick in the balls, he thought sourly, remembering the old saying.

He uttered a few curses, which helped, though not much, and judging by the sounds coming from elsewhere, it was a method popular amongst other members of his crew.

“Lieutenant Fredericks, please report,” said Flint, his voice far louder than he intended.

Then, he realised - it wasn’t that his voice was loud, it only sounded so because of the comparative lack of noise. He listened and the propulsion was little more than a whining hum, though with an enormous background depth of bass.

“Just pulling myself together, sir,” said Fredericks. “Damn that was rough.”

The aftereffects of the transition receded a little and Flint did his best to focus on the command console. The data he saw wasn’t making sense and either the calibration of the remaining instrumentation was out, or something had gone drastically wrong with the Firestorm’s lightspeed transition.

The sensors were offline – that much he could see from the darkness of the bulkhead screens – which meant the transition had definitely taken place. Other than that, Flint didn’t know what was wrong.

“Tell me what happened, Lieutenant Fredericks,” he said.

“I’m checking, sir. We went into superstress for approximately three seconds before the transition and it’s played hell with some of the gauges.”

“Are we in superstress now?” asked Flint. Another question came. “Is it even possible for the engines to be superstressed at lightspeed?”

“No and yes, respectively, sir.”

“You need to find out what caused that, Lieutenant.” Flint listened again and tried to get a sense of how the warship had responded to the brief entry into superstress. Aside from the unusual engine note, there were no red lights on his console to indicate the Firestorm was descending towards a state of failure. In fact, everything was – on the surface – quite serene. Flint wasn’t convinced. “If you don’t find answers, we’re exiting lightspeed.”

“Give me five minutes, sir,” said Fredericks. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Five minutes wasn’t long, but still Flint wondered if he should just call off the journey. While the safety manual was clear on what action he should take – and five minutes poking around wasn’t included in the prescribed response to a potential emergency - a lot was riding on this mission and he didn’t want to bring a premature end to proceedings. Also, Flint had a feeling that Fleet Admiral Recker was taking a chance sending him to Evia, rather than choosing from the pool of more experienced officers, and he was determined to show that trust wasn’t misplaced.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he confirmed.

Fredericks came up with the answer in less than sixty seconds. “That new control software we installed…” he cleared his throat. “The beta control software. It was designed to run an early ramp-up on the propulsion for the purpose of data gathering.”

“What do you mean by data gathering?” asked Flint.

“It was to test the viability of putting our engine modules back into superstress – engine modules that should probably be removed and destroyed at the earliest opportunity. Instead, we’ve been given new software containing routines designed to fire us into superstress again.” Fredericks was nobody’s fool and he stared hard at Flint. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going on, sir, but I don’t think the rest of the crew have an inkling what we’re heading into.”

“I promised I’d tell you about the mission once we entered lightspeed,” said Flint. “First, I’d like to you to confirm that we’re not about to break up and scatter parts of the Firestorm across a few hundred billion kilometres of space.”

“There’s nothing to indicate a current or imminent failure, sir,” said Fredericks. “The monitoring tools are all out of whack as you can see. Maybe some of them can be cajoled into giving a correct reading again, but I can’t guarantee accuracy. The Firestorm needs a long time in the dock.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” said Maddox. “Anyway, sir. This mission.”

While Flint still wasn’t entirely confident the Firestorm was in a fit state to be travelling at lightspeed, it was time to give the crew an explanation. He climbed from his seat and faced them.

Chapter Four

“The Ancidium was a spaceship, but on a far greater scale than anything the alliance has ever encountered,” Flint started. “To all intents and purposes, it was the home world to the Lavorix. It was an invulnerable construction yard capable of producing warships faster than anything the alliance was capable of - then and now - and the Laws of Ancidium were built within its hull. Fleet Admiral Recker and his crew took it out of the equation twelve years ago.”

“Taking something out of the equation isn’t the same as destroying it, sir,” said Maddox.

“No, it isn’t,” said Flint. “Currently, the Ancidium is locked in a combined stasis field and death sphere, with a four-million-klick diameter.” He let that sink in.

“How did it end up in stasis?” asked Lieutenant Bolan. “And what’s a death sphere?”

“Superstressed ternium is what created the stasis,” said Fredericks. “That’s what I heard.”

“You heard right. The warship Gorgadar created both the stasis and the death sphere,” said Flint. He aimed his gaze towards Bolan. “A death sphere is just what it sounds like, except it’s not fatal to humans and Daklan – only to the Lavorix as far as we know.”

“So the alliance has left the Ancidium in stasis for all this time and now we’re flying out to take a look at it?” said Garrett.

“I don’t know too much about what happened in the past, Lieutenant,” said Flint, “But I can guarantee you we haven’t left it alone these last twelve years. The fact we haven’t heard about it doesn’t mean anything. Some things are best kept quiet.”

“Do you really believe that, sir?” asked Maddox.

“In this case, and given what I’ve been told about the Ancidium, putting it on the news wouldn’t have been advisable,” said Flint. “Though I admit I’m not convinced one way or another.”

“So we’re going to the Evia system, and that’s where the Ancidium is frozen in time,” said Fredericks. “What’re we going to do when we get there? And why only us, especially given how the alliance has a massive fleet of warships?”

“We won’t be going it alone, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “We’ll rendezvous with other ships from our fleet at Evia. They’re due to arrive a few hours before we do.”

“You didn’t tell us what the plan is, sir,” said Becerra.

Flint tried not to grimace. “We’re going to pay the Ancidium a visit, assuming it isn’t destroyed.”

“We don’t know if it was destroyed or not?” asked Garrett. “Seems like we’re lacking intel.”

“Yes and no,” said Flint. “I’ve been told that when we aim our sensors at the stasis field, what we’ll see is an image of the Ancidium exactly as it was at the time the sphere was created – so it’s a snapshot of the past.”

“That means we don’t really know if the Ancidium is destroyed or – potentially – fully operational should the stasis field ever fail,” said Fredericks.

“Fleet Admiral Recker believes the death sphere will kill any remaining Lavorix in the event the stasis field collapses,” said Flint. “And he believes most of the enemy are already dead as a result of his engagement with the warship.”

“We’re going to try and forge a way through that stasis sphere, aren’t we?” asked Fredericks. “All these new options on the control software are designed to cause a partial stasis collapse, so we can get up close.”

“That’s a good outline of the basics, Lieutenant,” Flint admitted.

“Why do we need to dig up the past?” asked Lieutenant Bolan. “What’s the mission goal?”

“The Lavorix and the Kilvar fought for hundreds of years that we know,” said Flint. “A war can’t last that long unless one side has a counter to the other.”

“We’re hoping to find what kept the Lavorix in the game for so long,” said Maddox in understanding.

“Exactly,” said Flint. “Fleet Admiral Recker told me the Lavorix were probably on the run when they stumbled upon the HPA and the Daklan. They were also rebuilding their fleet – bigger and better than before. Enough that maybe they could have resumed their war with the Kilvar. Had things not turned out so badly for them against the alliance, this would have all been different.”

“We’d have been extinct,” said Fredericks. “Everyone knows what the Lavorix wanted. They planned to fine-tune their extractors and point them at each one of our planets until the life had been drawn from every living organism in the alliance.”

“That’s not what I mean, Lieutenant,” said Flint, suddenly not sure what he did mean. “I’m just saying that the Lavorix were one set of bad guys, who were the only barrier between us and another set of bad guys.”

“Then they should have left us well alone,” said Fredericks. “Damn, I lost friends at Ivisto. Good men and women.” He swore again and he was clearly fighting to hold his anger in check.

“We all lost someone to the Lavorix,” said Becerra softly. “I know I did.”

Fredericks exhaled, his anger dissipating. “You’re right, Lieutenant – we all have memories. It just seems like I have so damned many of them.”

“This might be our chance to collect some of what the Lavorix owe us,” said Flint. “Everything the Lavorix learned about the Kilvar is on the Ancidium and we’re going to take whatever we find.”

“Which means a boarding expedition,” said Fredericks. He gave a short laugh. “Which explains the presence of Lieutenant Vance and his platoon. He’s going to need more soldiers.”

“And he’ll have them,” said Flint.

“You mentioned a rendezvous, sir,” said Garrett. “Exactly how much backup will we have?”

“Twenty warships,” said Flint. “They’ve been called in from worlds believed to be at a lower risk of Kilvar attack. They’ll be bringing plenty of troops with them.”

“Even twenty warships’ worth of soldiers won’t be enough to storm the Ancidium,” said Fredericks. “And that’s assuming most of the Lavorix are already dead.”

“If it isn’t working out, we’re to leave the Ancidium in stasis,” said Flint. “This is meant to be a rapid response to a tough situation.”

“Maybe too rapid, huh?” said Maddox.

Flint had similar thoughts and wasn’t sure on which side he fell. Fleet Admiral Recker had forged success in the Lavorix wars through decisive action and he was bringing that approach to this new war with the Kilvar. The only trouble, as far as Flint saw it, was that Recker might be assuming everyone else had the same chance of success as he did. Maybe when the Lavorix attacked, he was just the right man at the right time.

“We’ve been given the order,” said Flint. “The officers who issued these orders – and remember the Daklan are in agreement – have ten times the experience of warfare than all of us combined.”

“And that really can make the difference, sir,” said Fredericks. He tapped a finger against the side of his head. “I’ve met the Fleet Admiral a few times.”

Flint waited for Fredericks to continue. The other man remained silent. “And what?” asked Flint eventually.

“I liked him,” said Fredericks with a shrug. “If this is his plan, let’s get on with it.”

“It sounded like you had doubts, Lieutenant,” said Flint, struggling to understand exactly what his engine officer was trying to convey.

“I’ve got plenty of doubts,” said Fredericks. “If I backed down when I was afraid of something, I’d have been killed on Ivisto. We’ve been trusted with this mission and that means we’ve got to do whatever we can to turn a good result.”

“I agree,” said Becerra. “Though I still don’t know exactly what we’re going to do when we arrive at Evia.”

“The plan is to use the Firestorm’s exium module to create a tunnel through the stasis field surrounding the Ancidium,” said Flint. “Then, we fly to the enemy warship and look for a way inside. Fleet Admiral Recker says there’s an opening through the vessel’s armour and that might be our best point of entry. If not, we have other methods.”

“Such as?” asked Maddox.

“One of the annihilators at the rendezvous has been fast-track fitted with a Terrus-V. If that doesn’t work, we’ll be using the destroyer cannon.”

“The destroyer cannon that our onboard diagnostics believe has failed,” said Maddox.

“It fared well enough against the Kilvar fleet, Commander.”

“And we only have one mesh deflector. It’s showing an amber warning light,” she continued.

“I guess the big uncertainty underlying all of this, is whether the Kilvar will discover what we’re doing at Evia,” said Fredericks. “I bet they’d give anything to lay their hands on the Ancidium – or what’s left of it.”

“I’m sure they would, Lieutenant. That’s why we won’t be hanging about. The Firestorm will be last arrival at the rendezvous - we’ll receive an updated briefing and then get started. If the Kilvar show up, that’s when we have to make the snap decisions.”

“Does that mean you’re in command of the entire mission, sir?” asked Becerra.

“No,” said Flint. “We’ll be taking orders from Admiral Aston.”

“Admiral Daisy Aston?” said Fredericks.

“One and the same.”

“Well, well. It’s a small universe, isn’t it?”

“This is the same Admiral Aston who used to fly with the Fleet Admiral?” asked Bolan.

“I see you’ve been paying attention during lessons,” said Fredericks. “If Admiral Aston is here for the mission, our chance of success just went up.”

“I hope so,” said Bolan.

Fredericks sighed. “We have five days to learn how these new propulsion options work so we can play our part. I hope RL Moseley included some documentation.”

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” said Maddox.

“I’m not.”

The conversation died off and Flint let his crew get on with their duties. He was sure they had many questions waiting to be asked, but for the moment they required time to absorb the information they’d been given. No doubt before these five days were up, Flint would be hearing a lot more from his crew.

Two hours later, the Firestorm was still in one piece and showed no indication of imminent, catastrophic failure. Lieutenants Fredericks and Bolan had recalibrated some of the instrumentation, but were directing most of their efforts towards the new control options for the propulsion.

Research Lead Moseley and his team had, predictably, been slapdash in their provision of useful documentation and, while Fredericks thought he could figure everything out, given the stakes, it seemed best to seek guidance. Fortunately, the Firestorm’s real time FTL comms transmitter was fully functioning, though its use would have to wait until the arrival at Evia.

Given that Evia was several days away, Flint decided he’d make an early check on Lieutenant Vance – not just because he was interested, but also because Vance had probably learned a few snippets of information that hadn’t filtered their way into the mission documentation.

“Commander Maddox, you’re in charge,” said Flint. “I’m going to find Lieutenant Vance and see if he has anything to say.”

He exited the bridge. According to the internal monitors, Vance was in the makeshift mess area along with a few members of his platoon. Flint headed there directly. The passages were empty and seemed darker than usual. He placed a palm on the wall and felt the comforting vibration running through the warship.

The mess area had originally been intended as a monitoring station for the Firestorm’s army of technicians, and two full-sized consoles joined the dozens of wall screens. At some point – Flint didn’t know when – a few tables and steel benches had been bolted to the floor. From the looks of things, those tables and benches had been ripped straight out of a personnel cabin and hauled onboard.

Ten or twelve soldiers were in the room, three of whom milled around the replicator like moths at an open flame. They all wore combat suits and – in a display of how little confidence they had in the warship’s structural integrity – each wore the accompanying helmet. Guns were in evidence too and Flint noted that gauss rifles were now partnered with the Rodan shotguns which had proven so effective against the Kilvar on Basalt.

“Lieutenant Vance,” said Flint.

Vance was at a table with the hulking Sergeant Tagra and the squad medic, Corporal Suzy Hendrix. Empty trays indicated they’d eaten, and each had a half-full cup of whatever drink they’d vended from the replicator.

The soldiers greeted Flint warmly enough, which he appreciated. Sometimes when a group had fought together for so long like these had, they became wary of others and unwelcoming. He saw no sign of it.

“Have a seat, sir,” said Vance through his chin speaker. He pointed at the half-space available next to Sergeant Tagra.

Flint squeezed in, feeling suddenly underdressed without his suit helmet or a gun. On the opposite bench, Vance unclipped the fastenings of his own helmet and laid it to one side. His short-cropped hair was speckled with grey and he had fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The man’s gaze was piercing and Flint knew he was far more intelligent than he let on.

“I came to say hello and welcome you to the Firestorm,” said Flint.

“And to find out what we know,” said Vance, smiling to indicate he didn’t mean anything by the words.

“A soldier who doesn’t keep his ear to the ground usually ends up a dead soldier,” said Flint. “I hear you were there – when the Ancidium was put into stasis.”

“I was there for most of it,” said Vance. He nodded towards Corporal Hendrix. “Along with about half of my current platoon. The rest of them are the meanest, toughest bastards I could find to make up the numbers. Most of them, anyways. Sergeant Tagra here has fought in so many campaigns he claims to have lost count.” Vance’s eyes glittered. “I never met a soldier who couldn’t remember.”

Tagra gave a rumbling laugh. “I used to shoot humans and now they are my brothers and sisters.”

“The Daklan are big and clumsy, but they make great meat shields,” said Hendrix, in her peculiarly accented voice. “And for that reason alone, I’m glad to have them with us.”

Once again, Tagra laughed. “We are each killers in our own way.”

Flint found himself fascinated by the way the soldiers talked. Every warship he’d commanded had a contingent of troops, but his relationship with them had rarely been more than cordial. He suspected the us and them was instilled during training. Lieutenant Vance and his platoon had seen it all and Flint guessed they’d come to understand there was no us and them.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the Ancidium, Lieutenant Vance? Anything that might help me turn a hard-fought loss into a hard-fought win?”

“My squad and I were indoors for most of it,” said Vance. “Captain Recker and his crew did most of the fighting and we just watched out for Lavorix. Those alien bastards could fight, no doubt about it – both their crews and their ground troops.”

“You look disappointed, Captain Flint,” said Hendrix. She shrugged. “We all have tales, but I don’t know if they’re going to help you much.”

“I don’t mind sink or swim, but I feel like I have weights tied to both ankles,” Flint admitted.

“You’ll stay afloat, sir,” said Vance, without any trace of mockery. He half-smiled. “And I don’t just say that because Admiral Aston is coming to join us.”

Hendrix stared at Flint. “Bringing the Vengeance with her, so I’m told.”

“The Vengeance?” asked Flint, searching his memory. “That’s an old Meklon warship, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, and likely still faster than anything in the alliance fleet, besides the Firestorm when it’s running in superstress.”

“You’re well-informed, Corporal. Anything else you’d like to tell me about the Vengeance?”

“Last I heard, it’s got the only operational Fracture in the alliance,” said Hendrix.

“And an Executor too,” added Vance. “Twelve years and we still haven’t figured how to make those things.”

The Firestorm had a Fracture installed, though it hadn’t worked the single time Flint had attempted to discharge it. Whatever an Executor was, he couldn’t remember. So much of the tech discovered during the Lavorix wars had been absorbed into a great, amorphous mass of alliance research and development that the original sources were often unknown by the people working in the labs. Some of the knowledge – such as concerned the most terrible weapons – was doubtless hidden away from all but the most highly-authorised personnel, and Flint wondered if the Executor was part of it.

This was the perfect opportunity to ask and he opened his mouth. Before the words could come, the Firestorm’s engines shuddered and the serenity turned into a thunderous booming. For a split-second, Flint didn’t know what was happening and then the realisation came.

We’re about to exit lightspeed.

The transition pain hit, but Flint couldn’t afford to sit on his ass and wait for it to subside. He slid sideways from the bench and ran for the bridge while opening a comms channel to Lieutenant Garrett. The thumping headache and numbness in his fingers and toes were insignificant to the agitation Flint was experiencing, and the release of adrenaline made it easier to ignore the discomfort.

He wasn’t halfway to the bridge, when Garrett accepted his channel request.

“What happened, Lieutenant?” asked Flint, his feet thudding hard against the solid passage floor.

“We exited lightspeed, sir,” said Garrett. “You’re not going to believe this – our first sensor scan indicates we’re already at Evia.”

“That’s nearly five days early,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir.”

Unsure what was going on, but equally sure he wouldn’t like the answer, Flint continued his dash for the bridge.

Chapter Five

“Can anyone tell me what happened?” asked Flint, dropping into the command seat. His first check of the supposedly functioning instrumentation suggested nothing was out of the ordinary, though he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that none of the readouts could be trusted.

“Our lightspeed multiplier was between fifty and sixty times greater than the navigational system reported it, sir,” said Fredericks. “The backend software believed that everything was running as expected, but the hardware was performing at a vastly increased level.”

It didn’t take a genius to guess the root cause.

“This was caused by our entry into superstress before the lightspeed tunnel opened,” said Flint.

“I imagine that’s exactly what it was, sir,” said Fredericks.

“An unintended consequence of the new propulsion software,” Flint continued. His brain conjured up a mental image of his fingers curling around Research Lead Moseley’s throat and squeezing. Pushing the thoughts aside, he focused on the present. “We can’t change what’s happened, so let’s get on with what we came here for.”

“The near and far scans are complete, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ve located the Evia star – we’re a billion klicks out.”

“Another error in flight. We were meant to arrive at fifty million kilometres,” said Flint. “Have you located the stasis field?”

“No, sir. We’re on the blind side of Evia,” said Becerra. “The stasis sphere is reportedly larger than the star, but at this range we have too much interference to obtain a clear view of anything beyond.”

“Send a comm to Basalt,” said Flint. “I’m assuming our FTL transmitter is functioning?”

“The hardware reports no errors,” said Becerra. “If that means anything.”

“Let’s test it out, Lieutenant. Request a channel to Fleet Admiral Recker – I’ll tell him what happened myself.”

The wait wasn’t long. “I have the Fleet Admiral on the comms for you, sir. He’s agreeable for the channel to remain open.”

“Bring him in,” said Flint.

“Captain Flint,” said Recker. He sounded neither calm, nor angry about the Firestorm’s unintended early arrival at Evia. “I’m guessing the new software produced an unexpected outcome.”

“That’s what my engine officers believe, sir.” It was difficult to put on an optimistic front in the circumstances. “I am concerned for the safety of my crew, sir. I’ll happily lead them into battle, but I can’t fight a bunch of ones and noughts in the control system.”

“I will order RL Moseley and his team to scour the new coding.” Recker sighed in the first indication he wasn’t pleased about the failing. “Clearly we’re in the process of closing the barn door after the exium-powered horse has bolted.”

“What action should we take, sir?” asked Flint. “I could send the Firestorm into lightspeed again and hold it there until the rendezvous fleet arrives.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise, Captain. Not until we’ve had time to run checks on the software. If we lose the Firestorm to an unwanted event, the mission will have failed before it started.”

“But you’re concerned the Kilvar will locate us as we wait,” Flint stated.

“I am,” said Recker. “However, the enemy didn’t return to Basalt and they had longer than a week after we defeated their first attack.” He sucked air through his teeth. “You can probably tell I’m not convinced that’ll keep you safe at Evia.”

“That message is coming through loud and clear, sir. Are any of the escort fleet running ahead of schedule? Perhaps if the Firestorm had some backup, we’d be better placed to sit it out.”

“I was getting to that, Captain Flint. I’m expecting a warship to exit lightspeed in the next hour or two. It’s a special warship which until recently was in pieces in a shipyard. These five days were meant for flight and weapons tests, as well as observation.”

“One ship might not be enough, sir.”

“No, it might not,” said Recker. “And I’m not sure I’m prepared to throw this particular vessel straight into the fray. I’ll think on it.”

Flint got the impression something was being hidden from him, though he couldn’t be sure if he was reading too much into the Fleet Admiral’s words.

“Yes, sir,” was all he said.

“As for the Kilvar’s ability to detect exium - I have analysts working on predictive models,” said Recker. “When those models are ready, they may well provide us with an idea of how much leeway we have.”

“I thought we weren’t yet certain how the enemy found the Tibulon refinery and the Amber base,” said Flint. “Is it confirmed beyond doubt that exium is the draw?”

“Welcome to the wonderful realm of statistics, Captain Flint. It’s a realm in which seemingly insignificant variables such as the colour of the fluff in my navel can forecast the arrival of a murderous species of alien intent on making us extinct.”

“The fluff is always blue, sir.”

“And I’m sure there’s a lesson there,” said Recker. “Though I’m damned if I know what it is.”

“Will the models be ready before the rendezvous fleet arrives?” asked Flint.

“I’ll have an output report by then,” said Recker, his tone making it clear how little faith he was putting in the conclusion of that report. “Tell me, Captain Flint, what is your feeling?”

The question caught Flint by surprise. Events had moved fast and there’d been plenty to occupy his thoughts. Now that he stopped to think, Flint recognized the uneasiness both in his mind and deep in his guts.

“I don’t like it, sir.”

“What precisely don’t you like?” asked Recker intently.

“You’ve asked the question, sir, and that’s making me second-guess myself.” Flint hesitated. “Everything feels wrong.”

“When I had nothing else, I always went with my instinct,” said Recker. “I told you that before.”

Flint’s mind worked furiously. He was sure Recker was waiting for him to give some input or come up with a plan. Maybe it was a test. He cursed inwardly, since no single option was clearly better than the others.

“We can’t afford to draw the Kilvar to the Ancidium, sir,” said Flint at last. “If the Lavorix mothership is intact in the centre of the stasis field, we can’t risk letting the Kilvar steal the technology it contains.”

“That means taking the Firestorm out of the Evia system,” said Recker.

“Yes, sir. The thought of waiting for the results of a statistical analysis doesn’t sit easy with me.” Flint had seen such reports before. “Especially since it might predict a hundred outcomes, with the most likely event having a five percent chance of coming to pass.”

“I often feel that way about those reports, Captain Flint. I keep reminding myself they’re only one facet of military intelligence.”

“Sir, I’ll give my engine officers a short time to check through the beta software coding and maybe in that time, they or RL Moseley and his team will find something. Then, I’ll take the Firestorm into lightspeed for two-point-five days towards a random location, and then into a two-point-five-day return journey to Evia. That way, we’ll arrive in time for the rendezvous.” Flint smiled. “Assuming you want the Firestorm back, at some point it’ll need to enter lightspeed. We may as well test it early.”

“I’d abandon that warship in an instant and have it destroyed by our own missiles, Captain Flint,” said Recker. “Sooner that than sacrifice its crew.”

“That’s good to hear, sir.” Flint was about to close the channel, when he heard Lieutenant Becerra yell in surprise.

“I’ve detected an object on the sensors, sir!”

“What is it?” asked Flint. His eyes jumped to the sensor feeds, where an almost indistinguishable dot was moving across the dark background of space. “And what distance?”

“It’s a long way, sir – a hundred and twenty million klicks – and travelling fast on a non-convergent heading. I’m cleaning up the scan data to find out what it is.”

“If it isn’t one of ours, it’s the Kilvar,” said Flint. “Lieutenant Garrett, is there anything in the alliance flight logs to indicate the presence of a scout ship in our vicinity?”

“I can answer that for you,” said Recker. “We have no vessels in the Evia system - only a few dozen monitoring satellites positioned around the stasis sphere. I ordered the last of the science vessels to withdraw in preparation for this mission.”

“There’s a second warship about five million klicks from the first, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s on a more convergent course than the first.”

“They’re hunting,” said Flint. “We saw them first, but I doubt it’ll take them long to locate us.”

“This is your situation to handle, Captain Flint,” said Recker. “You don’t want me breathing down your neck, so I’ll close the channel.”

With that, Recker was gone, reminding Flint in the process that the most senior officer in the HPA military didn’t go in for hand holding.

“The ternium drive warmup requires about three minutes in total, sir,” said Fredericks. “I’ve chosen some random destination coordinates already and I’m waiting for your go-ahead.”

Flint held tightly to the controls. “Fire it up, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, one of those Kilvar warships disappeared from the sensors!” yelled Becerra.

“It went into lightspeed! Find it!” snarled Flint, suspecting he didn’t have those three minutes.

“Found them! Five million klicks dead ahead!”

Becerra put the feed on the bulkhead and at this distance, the outline of the warship was clear, if not the details. Having only seen a handful of Kilvar vessels, Flint didn’t count himself an expert, but the similarities were apparent, from the elongated diamond shape to the forward-pointing spines and the hull colour which was nearer to black than any alloy used in the alliance.

“Another big warship,” said Garrett. “Five thousand metres and eighty billion tons.”

“They’re banking our way, sir,” said Becerra. “And accelerating.”

Options spun in Flint’s mind and he tried to recall the range of the Kilvar energy beams. He didn’t know and wasn’t even sure the maximum range of the weapons had been demonstrated during the engagement at Basalt. One thing was certain – the Kilvar had come to Evia to recover the exium unit.

The subconscious part of Flint’s brain acted. He reached out a hand and stabbed a fingertip onto the tactical screen, setting a destination for a short-range lightspeed transit.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said, pressing the mode 3 activation button without further hesitation. Even as he did so, Flint wondered if he’d chosen the emergence point wisely, or if he was in the process of enacting a monumental screwup.

It was too late to change his mind. Pulsing waves of pain swept through Flint’s body as the Firestorm completed an in-out lightspeed transition. The sensor feeds were all blank and belatedly he realised that the exium might well affect the SRT destination in the same way as it affected the initial journey to Evia.

“Where are those sensors?” he asked, pushing the control bars to the ends of their guide slots. The Firestorm’s propulsion thundered and the accelerative forces pressed him into his seat.

“Sensors coming up,” said Garrett. “Where did you aim for, sir? It might give us a head start on the scans.”

“I aimed for blindside of the star, Lieutenant – out beyond the stasis field.”

Flint was already wondering at his own intentions. He’d picked boldly and activated the Firestorm’s single SRT, leaving it without a fast-action escape option. Had he chosen the farthest possible range on the transit, the Kilvar would have been left billions of kilometres behind.

It doesn’t work that way, he thought. The fact that those bastards are at Evia means they can follow exium across probably any distance. And now they’re here, they’ll soon find the Ancidium.

Exiting an SRT always put a warship and its crew at a disadvantage and Flint scraped his teeth together as he waited for the sensors to come online. His grip on the controls was making his fingers ache and he loosened off.

“Sensors up,” said Becerra. “Starting the near scans.”

“Far scans initiated,” said Garrett.

“Nears complete,” said Becerra, finishing in double-quick time. “No hostiles. I’ll help out on the fars.”

“Leave the fars, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “It’s the Ancidium I’m interested in.”

“Yes, sir. I’m putting Evia up on screen.”

With a three-million-kilometre diameter, the star was above average but not remarkably so, and, since it was less than four million kilometres away, its heat should have been gently warming the Firestorm’s hull. Instead, the external monitors were reporting temperatures significantly lower than expected.

In addition, the feed was dim enough that Flint could look without discomfort and the cause was a peculiar haze which seemed to exist in the space between the Firestorm and Evia, as if a veil of faint but insistent darkness was draped over the star.

“That’s the stasis field, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s directly between us and Evia - we’re about fifteen thousand kilometres from the perimeter and running almost parallel.”

“That’s closer than I wanted,” said Flint. He checked the Firestorm’s velocity and the readout was above two thousand kilometres per second. Had he aimed the warship in the wrong direction while the sensors were offline, Flint knew he could have easily blundered into the stasis field. Cursing, he adjusted course to exactly parallel.

Only a few seconds had passed since his instinct made him activate the SRT and now he knew why he’d chosen this place. “Lieutenant Fredericks, that new control software is meant to create a tunnel of normal time through the stasis field, is that right?” said Flint.

“Sort of right, sir.”

Flint’s next question was interrupted.

“I’ve located an enemy vessel on the far scan, sir,” said Garrett. “Twenty million kilometres from here – it came out of nowhere.”

“Lieutenant Becerra, have you located the Ancidium?” asked Flint.

“Yes, sir – it’s on the feed.”

Flint only spared it a glance. The Lavorix vessel was showing its profile and its outline was indistinct. Viewed through the stasis field, the Ancidium was almost rectangular, with high sides and a nose which tapered from the top and the bottom. Around the huge spaceship were other, much smaller shapes, like tiny grey fish swimming around the ankles of a great titan.

“I’ve located another Kilvar warship on the fars, sir. It’s at two million kilometres.” said Garrett. “They’ve got the scent and they’re closing in.”

The pressure was ratcheting and Flint felt it keenly. “Lieutenant Fredericks, we’re going through that stasis field. Do whatever is necessary.”

Flint hoped beyond hope that the two-hour journey had been enough for Fredericks to learn the extra functions of the control software. As it was, Flint knew almost nothing about how the superstressed engines were meant to counteract the stasis field other than by – he assumed – creating a pocket of speeded-up time. Or perhaps the method was entirely different, and Flint bitterly cursed himself for not learning more in the available time. That chat with Lieutenant Vance and the others was suddenly looking like a luxury nobody could afford.

There were occasions, Flint knew, when the only option was to lean on someone and rely on them coming up with the goods. This was exactly that time.

“Switching the propulsion into superstress,” said Fredericks. “Aim for that stasis sphere, and I’ll do what I can to get us through it.”

Several events happened within a few moments. The Firestorm’s engines switched into superstress, filling the bridge with the hollow sound of inhalation. Gauges jumped and zeroes were added to the readouts. The destroyer cannon came online.

A red energy beam darted through the void and activated the Firestorm’s mesh deflector. Flint banked directly towards the stasis field, which appeared near invisible when viewed from head-on, and requested maximum from the propulsion. The velocity gauge raced upwards so rapidly it defied belief.

“If they want the exium, melting us into sludge isn’t going to make it any easier for them,” said Maddox.

Into Flint’s head jumped a thought.

Maybe the Kilvar don’t want the exium at all. What if instead, they fear what we might do with it?

“Sir, I’ve detected a ternium wave at half a million klicks,” said Lieutenant Bolan. “Maybe it’s that warship the Fleet Admiral was telling us about.”

“They’re dropping into the middle of a warzone,” said Commander Maddox.

“We can’t wait around for them,” said Flint, wishing the incoming spaceship hadn’t arrived at all. “Our mesh deflector is on recharge and we’re the only vessel capable of entering the stasis field.”

The justification sounded weak, but he’d been trusted with the Firestorm and he didn’t want it destroyed fighting an unwinnable battle. Whichever alliance vessel was about to break lightspeed, it had a chance to escape by SRT. His eyes went to the Firestorm’s own SRT recharge timer and to his surprise, it was already at zero. Another side-effect of running in superstress, he thought. In the brief moment he was looking, an amber warning light appeared on his console. Flint cursed.

“If our destroyer cannon was pointing the right way, I could give those enemy warships something to think about,” said Maddox. “The recharge timer on the mesh deflector is dropping fast. It’s not down to a second yet, but I guess it’s heading that way!”

“Creating stasis tunnel,” said Fredericks. “I don’t know how wide the tunnel will be or how long it’ll last. Keep your fingers crossed nothing can follow us.”

Flint thought he heard an expulsive thump coming from a place underneath the bridge. Again, the instrumentation readouts jumped, this time to such extremes that Flint experienced a spark of fear – a whispered voice telling him he was playing games with technology the alliance was nowhere near prepared for.

Visually, nothing changed on the sensor feeds. The star Evia covered much of the bulkhead screen, along with the miasma of intermingled darkness and, on this day of late decisions and even later realisations, Flint remembered that he needed a shot of Frenziol-15 before entering the death sphere.

His hand reached for the injector in the leg pocket of his combat suit. Flint was much too slow and the Firestorm plunged into what might be either death, stasis, or some impossible combination of the two.

Chapter Six

A feeling of despair washed through Flint, effortlessly turning his positivity and optimism into a malignant ennui. His eyes saw, but his brain made no effort to deduce anything meaningful from the input and he stared without comprehension at the sensor feeds.

The death sphere’s effects weren’t confined only to a drag on his mental capabilities. Flint felt pain, too. It wasn’t terrible, but it was everywhere within him and he knew it would drive him insane eventually. Not that he cared.

One tiny part of his brain was still functioning and it made him look at something he was holding.

Injector.

Numbly, Flint stabbed the needle clean through the tough material of his combat suit and into his thigh. The pain was both remote and sharp at the same time and, when he pressed the activation button on the injector cylinder, he winced at the icy chill of Frenziol-15 entering his veins.

Flint tugged the needle free and let it fall to his feet. His hand returned automatically to the control bar and rested there.

“Frenziol-15,” he mumbled, not much interested if anyone heard or not. Flint’s eyes went to the rear feeds – he wasn’t sure why – and he noticed a spaceship flying so close behind that its nose was almost touching the Firestorm’s stern plating.

What the hell?

The following vessel was smaller than the Firestorm and it didn’t look anything like the Kilvar ships. Nor did it resemble an alliance design and this would have left Flint greatly puzzled if he’d possessed the capacity for curiosity. Right now, the death sphere had left him utterly depleted.

A few seconds passed and Flint noticed his heart beating faster. His skin felt tight, like it was a size too small. Ten seconds later, some of his alertness returned – enough that he could recognize the depths from which he was emerging. The Firestorm hadn’t been destroyed and its mesh deflector was available again. He saw no sign of the red failure light which Maddox had reported. The strange warship was still following, though Flint felt no alarm.

Why is it staying so close? he idly wondered. The answer came. Stasis. The tunnel is collapsing behind us. The pilot doesn’t want to become trapped.

Forty seconds after the Frenziol needle had penetrated his skin, Flint thought he might be almost back to normal. Certainly, the pain was receding. He turned.

“Inject, damnit,” he said, his voice small against the continued inhalation of the superstress. Flint tried again. “Inject!”

At the adjacent console, Commander Maddox stared straight ahead, the Frenziol-15 needle still embedded in her thigh. She looked Flint’s way and her brow furrowed, like she wasn’t quite sure who he was. Slowly, she put out a hand and, without looking, yanked the needle free and threw it with surprising venom against the side wall of the bridge. The injector clinked loudly enough to be heard over the engines and then it fell to the floor.

“Has everyone injected?” asked Flint.

The boosters had brought him back to an even keel and their tendrils continued probing the recesses of his mind, blunting certain emotions and exaggerating others. Flint hadn’t taken the drugs in a years and had been told this new iteration of Frenziol was subtle. He hoped it was true – he well-remembered the borderline loss of control brought on by Frenziol-13.

“We all injected back here, sir,” said Becerra. Her voice was dull, and drained of its usual cheerfulness. “I’m feeling better.”

“Good – there’s a warship about a hundred metres off our stern plating – find out what it is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant Fredericks, this is the time we need you most,” said Flint.

“I’m here, sir. Waiting for these damn boosters to do their thing.”

“Lieutenant Garrett? Lieutenant Bolan?” asked Flint. “I need my crew – where are you?”

“Here, sir,” said Garrett.

“And me,” grunted Bolan, like he was rousing himself from slumber.

“That warship is not listed in our databanks, sir,” said Becerra. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Try contacting it.”

“Doing that right now, sir.”

Garrett had recovered enough to resume her duties. “In case you hadn’t already guessed, we are within the known perimeter of the stasis field, sir. The sensor feeds are no longer collecting data, except for a limited quantity ahead and behind, and an even lesser amount all around the Firestorm.”

“Whatever you did, it’s working, Lieutenant Fredericks,” said Flint.

“Yes, it is,” said Fredericks.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am, sir. If I’m being honest, I anticipated a different outcome.”

“I’d be surprised if RL Moseley was expecting it to work,” said Maddox, her eyes now clear and focused.

“I have Admiral Daisy Aston of the Meklon warship Vengeance, on the comms, sir,” said Becerra. “We’ve been issued a synch code. Apparently, it’s difficult to remain so close to us when we’re travelling at six thousand klicks per second.”

“Six thousand?” asked Flint. In fact, the gauge was reading a little higher and he didn’t recall pushing it so far. “Accept the synch code!”

“I already did, sir. Admiral Aston requests that we slow down. The Vengeance’s engines weren’t designed for this velocity and they’re running way beyond their rated overstress.”

“I’m surprised they kept up this long,” said Fredericks. “Damn, the Vengeance, eh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

It was a name Flint had heard recently in the mess room. He should have been angry that Lieutenant Vance and his platoon knew all about the Vengeance and its presence on this mission, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything more than a faint irritation.

“Reducing velocity,” Flint said. “We should take it easy while we figure out what we’re going to do once we reach the Ancidium.”

“The stasis sphere has a two-million-klick radius, sir,” said Fredericks. “I activated the superstress two minutes ago. We’re more than a third of the way to the centre.”

Far from giving Flint a break from the action and an opportunity to take stock, entering the stasis field had only added to the problems landing on his doorstep. A new realisation jumped into his head. “Shit,” he said. “What about our passengers?”

“I’ll find out, sir,” said Becerra.

“And what about our propulsion status, Lieutenant Fredericks? When we entered superstress at Basalt, you detected critical instabilities almost at once.”

“The less time we’re in superstress the better, but so far, there’s no sign of instability.” Fredericks made a hmph of grudging admiration. “Whatever RL Moseley and his team did to the software in the few days they had available, it’s doing a damn sight better job of keeping the propulsion in check than what we saw during the Basalt engagement.” He exhaled noisily. “I like to stay optimistic, but my instincts are telling me I shouldn’t expect this to last.”

“The stasis tunnel is collapsing behind us, Lieutenant. I assume this is intended behaviour?” said Flint.

“I believe it is, sir. The engine monitoring tools are showing regular output spikes. Those spikes drop off, plateau and then vanish. Can you hear that thumping sound coming from beneath the bridge?”

“I can,” said Flint. “It’s happening every few seconds. Is that the sound of the tunnel being opened?”

“Yes, sir. Those expulsions coincide exactly with the output spikes. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re making just enough room for a synch-coded fleet of twenty warships flying in perfect formation to stay within the passage we’re creating. Admiral Aston could have probably hung a bit further back.”

“Too late for that,” said Maddox. “That was some damn good flying.”

“Better than damn good,” said Flint. He felt that order was gradually returning and he spent a moment considering his next question. “Lieutenant Fredericks – what options are open to us when we reach the Ancidium? Are we remaining in superstress for the entirety of the mission? Remember, the plan is to gather intel and for Lieutenant Vance to go onboard if necessary.”

“The stasis tunnel should extend through solid objects, sir, and that includes the Ancidium,” said Fredericks. “If Lieutenant Vance leaves the Firestorm, we’ll need to position the warship so that he and his platoon are kept within the negated stasis.”

“Clumsy,” said Flint. “But better than nothing.” He drummed his fingers. “What if the stasis tunnel isn’t enough? You said it could accommodate twenty alliance warships, but the Ancidium is huge. There’s a chance Lieutenant Vance may need to venture outside of its range.”

“I think there’s a greater likelihood of our engines going critical before those troops get far enough, sir.”

“No doubt,” said Flint. “It sounds like you’re hiding something, Lieutenant.”

Fredericks grunted. “Not hiding, sir, just viewing the options with a healthy dose of scepticism.”

“Tell me about these options.”

“Stasis negation pulses.” Fredericks smiled, but it wasn’t a convincing effort.

Flint closed his eyes. “Even the name has RL Moseley’s fingerprints all over it. Give me the details.”

“We activate a piece of software and then we start emitting stasis negating pulses, each of which will last for thirty seconds before we enter stasis for ten seconds of what would be normal time for anyone who isn’t in stasis. Then, we emit another pulse and keep them going until we finish the mission.”

“Explain this ten seconds of normal time to me,” said Flint, wondering what the hell he’d got himself into. “If we enter zero-time stasis, won’t those ten seconds be irrelevant because for us they’ll never elapse?”

“That’s the exact same question I had, sir,” said Fredericks. “The exium module will – apparently – be unaffected by the stasis. Therefore, it’ll count ten seconds and create another pulse. We’ll have been trapped in zero-time, but in theory we shouldn’t know anything about it.”

“Why not just make these negation pulses overlap?” asked Garret. “That way we don’t ever have to go into stasis and risk never coming out.”

“Each pulse requires a massive amount of energy,” said Fredericks. “RL Moseley and his team believe thirty second pulses are the best we can sustain. Don’t ask me to fight his corner on this one.”

“How large a radius is the pulse?” asked Flint.

“There’s a possible margin of error, sir.” Fredericks kept his expression neutral. “The target radius is three hundred klicks, but we are warned to expect higher or lower outcomes.”

“How high and how low?” asked Flint. He could tell the answer was going to be bad.

“As low as a hundred and as high as five thousand. That’s independent for each pulse.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“I know the term experimental warship is getting old, but that’s the reason, sir.”

“What sort of probability are we talking about?” asked Flint.

“There’s a low probability of creating a pulse with a radius greater than five hundred kilometres.”

“And the people behind this didn’t think to quantify what low means?”

“No, sir.”

“Can somebody stick a fork in my eye?” asked Garrett. “Just so I know I’m not asleep.”

Flint felt himself being pulled inexorably into RL Moseley’s version of reality and he wasn’t happy. “When the Ancidium was first defeated, it was surrounded by a large fleet of Lavorix warships, which are currently trapped alongside it in the sphere. Their crews were supposedly all killed by the death sphere, but a five-thousand-klick stasis collapse might free those warships.”

“Temporarily, sir. Until the stasis resumes thirty seconds later.”

“And it might also free the Ancidium.”

“This is all a gamble, sir – a gamble on whether the death sphere killed the Lavorix before the Gorgadar’s engines went critical and created the stasis sphere.”

Flint was pondering a suitable response, when Lieutenant Becerra spoke up.

“Sir, I’ve talked to Lieutenant Vance. He and his platoon took boosters before we entered the death sphere.”

“How did he know?” asked Flint.

“They were watching the sensor feeds via the internal comms links, sir. Once it was clear which way the wind was blowing, Lieutenant Vance gave the order for everyone to inject.”

Flint shook his head in wonder. “How did they gain access to the sensor feeds?”

“Apparently Corporal Charnos knows a few tricks, sir. The Firestorm is a test bed as you know, and it hasn’t undergone rigorous testing. I guess he found a loophole.”

It was probably a breach of protocol, though Flint couldn’t immediately identify which regulations might or might not have been broken. Some battles weren’t worth fighting and this was one.

“Good on them,” said Flint. “Also, can you confirm exactly what happens when we send an external comm?” He pretty much knew the answer already, but it made sense to ask.

“Our outbound comms will travel to the edge of the stasis tunnel and then stop, sir,” said Becerra. “We can’t receive transmissions either – except from the Vengeance, of course.”

“Not unexpected,” said Flint. “At least we have an experienced officer accompanying us.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“What do we know about the Vengeance?”

“I’ve heard bits and pieces,” said Fredericks. “Captain Recker took it from a Meklon facility and used it against the Lavorix.”

“I should talk to Admiral Aston,” said Flint. “Request a channel.”

“Channel request accepted, sir. Bridge speakers?”

“Please.”

“Captain Flint,” said Aston. Her accent placed her from Earth and her voice had a mix of confidence, playfulness and impatience to get on with things.

“You arrived just in time, Admiral. Though what you arrived in time for, I couldn’t tell you.”

“We’re here for the Ancidium, Captain Flint. It’s a treasure chest we locked up long ago, and now it’s time to find out what’s inside.”

“Are you familiar with the new exium control software, ma’am?”

“I am. I guess you’re slightly less familiar with the Vengeance, so I’ll have my comms officer send over some files. There’s one thing I’ll tell you up front – this warship has the only operational Fracture in the alliance fleet. It’s failed against Lavorix warships before, but there’s a chance it might work against the Ancidium.”

“If the Fracture didn’t work before, I can’t imagine it working this time, ma’am.”

“It’s not our only hope. There are hidden options in the Firestorm’s new control software,” said Aston. “They were meant to be remote triggered if the Ancidium looked like it was about to escape the stasis.”

“Is there an option to detonate the Firestorm’s propulsion, ma’am?” asked Flint coldly. “With my crew and I still onboard? The Fleet Admiral said he wouldn’t sacrifice us.”

Aston’s voice hardened. “Who talked about sacrifice, Captain Flint? You were meant to have an escort and a means to escape. Regardless, the Ancidium must not be allowed to emerge from this stasis field. This is the difference between extinction and survival, do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Flint had always been aware of the mission’s importance, but now it had stepped up several notches. Those five journey days during which he’d intended to learn and to consider the best approach were a sore loss, leaving him and his crew unprepared and deep in the crap. It seemed to Flint as if his life had turned into a continuous lesson about how little he really knew and about how ill-equipped he was to deal with the real high-level demands of his station.

“Do you have anything else to ask, Captain Flint?” said Admiral Aston.

“No, ma’am. We came here for intel, so let’s grab what we can and get out of here.”

“That’s the spirit.” The playfulness had returned. “We’ll speak again once we’re at the Ancidium.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The channel went dead and Flint stared at the bulkhead screens, his mind elsewhere. This situation was a bad one, no doubt about it, and he’d learned how weak the threads were that bound everything together. In risking the Ancidium’s escape, Fleet Admiral Recker was playing with far more than just fire. He was playing with three hundred billion alliance lives, and Flint was caught right in the middle of it.

If you’re going for broke, give it everything. If you slow down or look back, you’ll always finish in second place.

Flint had no idea who’d told him that. It was probably a throwaway line spoken by a training officer or by someone when he was growing up. Here and now, the words resonated and he played them over in his mind, gaining strength as he did so. Whatever was coming his way, Flint was damned sure he’d do whatever was necessary to succeed.

Chapter Seven

“At our current velocity, we’ll be at the centre of the stasis sphere in less than two minutes, sir,” said Commander Maddox. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Let’s hold as we are, Commander,” said Flint. “We’ve done the talking and now it’s time to do some looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sensors were locked on the Ancidium and the image of it was slowly growing larger. For a moment, Flint wondered why that would be, since it was locked in stasis. Then, he realised the stasis tunnel was allowing the frozen light to escape and that was feeding into the sensor arrays. Thinking about it made his head swim, so he concentrated only on what his eyes could see, rather than the physics underlying it.

With the decreasing range, the visual elements of the Ancidium became clearer. It was monstrous and made from the darkest of alloys and, although its basic shape was cuboid, its hull was not completely regular. The topside plating had a gentle slope towards the nose and was studded with a multitude of what Flint guessed were emplacements. These emplacements were in the form of domes, cubes and other shapes which were harder to describe. Several of the topside structures were enormous, as if the Lavorix had bolted on extra modules over the service life of the warship.

Elsewhere, the flanks had a slight curve and were far less adorned. Flint saw imperfections which may have been patterns or grooves, though he couldn’t be sure which, or what purpose they might serve. As he watched, Garrett and Becerra adjusted the sensors, hoping to reveal further details which might become important later.

“How big is it?” asked Bolan.

“Twelve hundred klicks from nose to tail,” said Flint. “Five hundred klicks at the highest part of its flank.”

“Twelve hundred? Shit, I thought we were looking at something…I don’t know.” Bolan swore again. “Something smaller than that.”

“The Ancidium contained everything the Lavorix required to wage several hundred years of war, Lieutenant. This is the species which wiped out thousands of Meklon planets.”

“And we have to explore it in a couple of hours,” said Garrett.

“Not a couple of hours,” said Flint. “We’ll stay for as long as it takes, or until the propulsion goes critical.”

“Which might be less than a couple of hours, sir,” said Fredericks. “Though so far there’s no sign of a failure. In my experience, if you can hold an unstable substance stable for even a few minutes, generally that means you’ll be able to keep it that way for much longer if you need to.”

“Does that lesson apply to exium as well, Lieutenant?”

“I sure as hell hope so, sir.”

“We’re approaching the Ancidium,” said Becerra. “I’ve logged the positions of those smaller warships and placed them on the tactical, though you’ll notice that the tactical isn’t updating reliably.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Flint, reducing velocity a little more. “Seventy-eight targets plus the Ancidium. Fleet Admiral Recker told me earlier that normal Lavorix vessels can be anything up to seven or eight thousand metres and well over a hundred billion tons, so we’re not exactly talking minnows.”

“We don’t want to wake any of them up if we can avoid it,” said Maddox. “I’ve been looking through those files on the Vengeance and apparently its Executor will make a two-klick hole in anything it’s aimed at, on a five-minute cooldown.”

“That’ll be enough to hurt any of the Ancidium’s guard vessels,” said Flint. “In truth, I hope we don’t get a chance to witness a discharge of either the Executor or the Fracture.”

“Same here,” said Maddox. “I want this to be a smooth ride.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Fredericks.

“I swapped it for a desire to see my family again,” Maddox shot back.

“Quiet, please,” said Flint. “It’s time to focus.”

For much of the journey through the stasis sphere, the Ancidium had appeared as a faraway shape with a gradually improving level of detail. Suddenly, it grew rapidly until it blocked out much of the frozen light from Evia. The navigational system estimated the Lavorix warship’s starboard flank was within a hundred kilometres.

“I’ve detected an opening in the Ancidium’s midsection flank, sir,” said Becerra. “It’s about a thousand metres in diameter.”

Flint narrowed his eyes at the sensor feed. The hole in the warship’s armour was surprisingly clean. Only a particle beam of incredible potency could have inflicted such damage, and yet the surrounding armour showed no sign of heat damage.

“There’s our way in,” said Garrett.

“Looks like it.”

“You’re probably wondering what will happen when the stasis tunnel hits the Ancidium, sir,” said Fredericks. “I know I am.”

“I’m hoping we won’t allow it to escape, Lieutenant.”

“An object which is partially in stasis should remain held in place, sir,” said Fredericks after some consideration. “So even if we wake up the Lavorix crew – a crew we pretend to know are dead - and that crew attempt some funny business using alien propulsion tech that we’re unfamiliar with, they’ll still be held by the active stasis.”

“I guess because the light we’re seeing now shows the Ancidium as being in one piece, that means it didn’t get ripped apart by an explosion when the Gorgadar went into superstress twelve years ago,” said Flint, trying to figure out the possibilities in his head.

“Not necessarily, sir,” said Fredericks. “It’s possible some of the light was compressed for want of a better word and that we’ll only see the fate of the Ancidium when we enter the last few klicks of the approach.”

“Then we’d see it blow up at a hundred times normal speed?” asked Garrett.

“I’m making educated guesses, Lieutenant,” said Fredericks. “Don’t hang me if I get something wrong.”

“Does that mean our stasis tunnel might free some debris which should be travelling at the velocity of a Terrus-IV slug, but is currently frozen in place?” asked Garrett. “Then it hits us and it’s mission over?”

“I don’t know,” Fredericks admitted.

Garrett didn’t let it drop. “Shouldn’t we find out?”

“How do you propose we do that?” asked Flint. Even so, he reduced the Firestorm’s velocity to zero. “I’d like to speak with Admiral Aston again,” he said.

“I’ve got her on the comms, sir,” said Becerra.

“Bring her in.” Flint began speaking as soon as the green comms link light appeared on his console. “Admiral Aston, I feel as though I’m flying blind into the unknown, with both hands tied behind my back and wearing concrete boots. My crew have questions and theories, none of which we can explore except through guesswork. You were there when the Ancidium was frozen.”

“I was flying the Gorgadar,” said Aston. “It contained several hundred billion tons of ternium, all of which went into superstress to create this stasis field.”

“Did the creation also generate an explosion, ma’am? I’m reluctant to pilot my warship any closer to the Ancidium in case the cancelled stasis unfreezes some plasma or wreckage.”

“I understand your concerns, Captain. It was the Fleet Admiral’s intention that you receive a full briefing at the commencement of the mission, but circumstances have conspired against us.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s putting it mildly.”

“Various scenarios have been considered, including one in which the Gorgadar exploded at the same time as it created the stasis field.”

“What was the conclusion?”

“An explosion may be waiting for us,” said Aston simply. “However, we have devoted many resources over the last twelve years to studying the stasis field, including creating our own – much smaller - replicas to see how they interact with ternium at varying levels of overstress, and the explosion is not a given. In fact, the evidence suggests that an explosion may well have torn the Gorgadar’s ternium drive apart before it could create the stasis field, which would indicate no detonation took place.”

“What about the death sphere?”

“That was created before the stasis field, Captain. The Gorgadar was equipped with terrible weaponry.”

Admiral Aston didn’t go into detail and Flint didn’t push. “So we believe the Ancidium is in one piece?”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

“One chance of many, ma’am.”

“It sounds as if you’re becoming accustomed to the realities, Captain,” said Aston without rancour. “The sooner it happens, the easier it is to roll with the blows.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am definitely coming to that realisation,” said Flint truthfully.

“We’re almost at the Ancidium. This is the time to forget everything but the task in hand. You’ve no doubt spotted that hole in the enemy ship’s flank. It was created by the Gorgadar’s particle beam. Once we find the opening, we’ll enter and hunt for a way to access the personnel areas.”

“The hole isn’t much over a thousand metres, ma’am,” said Flint. “The Firestorm is sixteen hundred across the beam.”

“We’ll consider our options once we’re closer,” said Aston.

“What’s on the other side of that opening, ma’am?” asked Flint.

“A construction bay, filled with warships beyond the capabilities of this mission.”

“So we don’t want to bring them out of stasis?”

“Not if we can avoid it. Even if their crews are dead, there’s a chance we’ll be targeted by automated defences.” Aston paused. “We might also run into an interrogator.”

“I don’t know what that means for my crew or my warship, ma’am.”

“The interrogators are two-thousand-metre spiked cubes,” said Aston. “In the past, they could shut down our warships, but our defences have changed since then. Even so, there’s at least one on active patrol in the Ancidium. We don’t know what defences it might control, so if we see it outside of stasis, we’ll have to destroy it at once.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flint sensed it was time. “We should push on.”

“After you, Captain. Head for the opening first – we’ll take a look through and decide on our approach from there.”

Flint took the controls. “I’ll leave the channel open,” he said, increasing the Firestorm’s velocity.

The Ancidium was a grey cliff on the forward sensors and Flint was left in awe at this incredible construction of alloy. This part of the flank was sharply etched with diagonal grooves, which formed either a pattern or a huge symbol, the meaning or purpose of which was entirely unclear. The markings seemed peculiarly mystical to Flint and he wondered what prompted the Lavorix to add them.

He knew this Lavorix warship had been neutralised before it could bring harm to alliance worlds, and, seeing the vessel from so close, he sensed unknown weapons and technologies were held within its hull. Whatever they were, he was glad the Lavorix had been denied the opportunity to offer a demonstration.

Piloting the Firestorm along the Ancidium’s flank, Flint watched the tactical and sensors carefully. Most of the smaller escort ships were between two hundred and a thousand kilometres away, but a handful were hugging close to the Ancidium, and Flint didn’t want to bring them into the stasis tunnel.

His eyes darted amongst them. Their designs were purposeful and strong – warships created to mete out punishment and soak whatever came their way in response. Looking at them in their dozens, Flint was reminded of insects frozen in amber. The difference was, when these Lavorix warships came out of stasis, they’d function exactly as they had on the day they were first trapped.

Flint kept telling himself they should no longer present a threat, but this enemy fleet seemed so real it was easy to imagine them emerging from stasis and unleashing hell upon the Firestorm and the Vengeance.

“We’re nearly at the opening,” said Flint. Sweat prickled on his scalp. “Reducing velocity.”

“There’s no way we’re fitting through there,” said Maddox.

Flint rotated the Firestorm so that its nose was aimed into the opening. In order to keep the Vengeance in the stasis tunnel, Admiral Aston was required to reposition her warship directly behind the heavy cruiser. She kept it a little beneath, so that her own vessel’s sensors could also see through the opening.

“That’s some thick armour,” said Becerra. “It’s cutting out the viewing angle.”

Thick armour was an understatement. More than five thousand metres of plating clad this area of the Ancidium. The particle beam opening was even smoother than Flint had first thought, like the huge vessel’s armour had been penetrated by a needle, instead of ravaged by destructive heat. In the area surrounding the hole, the Ancidium’s hull was pristine rather than swollen or warped by expansion.

The view beyond the opening was harder to comprehend. A few kilometres inside, Flint spotted what he believed was a part-constructed warship, its size unclear. The particle beam had punched straight through the vessel, only this time the damage inflicted was catastrophic. Alloy plating was torn and buckled around the opening, and the heat had created wide fractures which snaked out of sight. Debris littered the ground in huge, irregular piles.

“I think there’s another warship beyond this closest one, and that’s got a hole in it as well,” said Garrett.

“There’s a third after that,” said Becerra. “The view beyond gets fuzzy. Maybe the stasis and the death sphere are interfering.”

“I’ve seen enough to understand that there’s a damn big construction bay on the far side of this opening,” said Flint. He raised his voice. “What’s the plan, Admiral?”

“We have options, believe it or not,” said Aston. “The first option is to mode 3 through the hull breach, and before you ask, the Firestorm’s dimensions inside a lightspeed tunnel don’t exactly conform to its dimensions in normal space. We have proof that a far larger warship than your heavy cruiser will go through that opening.”

“What’s the next option?”

“We enlarge the opening using the Vengeance’s Executor,” said Admiral Aston.

“Will it work?” asked Flint.

“Probably not, but we’re going to try. The Firestorm’s stasis tunnel extends to five thousand metres ahead, twenty thousand behind and a minimum of five hundred from the flanks.”

“That’s about what we’d guessed,” said Flint. “Just enough to accommodate the escort.”

“You’ll need to rotate 180-degrees so the tunnel’s longer end protrudes into the Ancidium,” said Aston. “Once you’re in position, I’ll fire the Executor within the area of negated stasis.”

The plan was straightforward enough and Flint rotated the Firestorm on the spot. From the corner of his eye, he saw an orange overlay appear on the tactical. This overlay formed a thick line ahead of and behind the warship.

“I added an estimation of the stasis tunnel, sir,” said Becerra. “It might make it easier for you to navigate.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, that was a good idea,” said Flint, halting the Firestorm with the stasis tunnel extending deeply into the Ancidium’s flank.

“Are you ready, Captain Flint?” said Aston.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Firing the Executor.”

Flint watched the rear feeds with interest. A sphere of darkness appeared, concealing the opening in the Ancidium’s flank and he heard a thump of expulsive energy through the bridge speakers. As quickly as it came, the sphere vanished, leaving the enemy warship completely unharmed.

“Shit, that never gets easier,” said Aston. “Every time we fire the damn weapon, it’s like being caught in a proximity shockwave from a hellburner detonation.”

“It didn’t work, Admiral,” said Flint.

“That’s kind of what we expected,” said Aston. She didn’t sound happy about the failure, but nor was she complaining too loudly.

“What’s next?” asked Flint, again regretting the lack of a briefing.

“The destroyer cannon,” said Aston. “When you fired it at the Kilvar warships over Basalt, the weapon created partial stasis fields which overcame the enemy defences.”

“That’s right, ma’am,” said Flint. “I’m not sure anyone figured out how or why it worked.”

“We’re going to try again,” said Aston.

“Yes, ma’am. The cannon has been showing a red status light since the last engagement. I don’t know how many more shots its good for.” Flint sized up the armour. “It might require two or three discharges to go through the Ancidium’s plating.”

“Let’s try one shot first,” said Aston, with a note of unmistakeable eagerness.

Flint guessed this was the method highest on the most likely to succeed list from the briefing he’d never received.

“I’ll rotate the Firestorm again, ma’am,” said Flint. He began the manoeuvre, conscious that the Vengeance had to track his movements in order to keep out of the stasis.

Soon after, the heavy cruiser’s nose cannon was aimed a fraction offset from the opening in the Ancidium. The destroyer cannon’s hardware failure light which first appeared at Basalt was still there - a glowing red circle on the status screen.

“Fire when ready, Captain,” said Aston.

Flint turned towards Commander Maddox. She raised a questioning eyebrow and he nodded once.

“Destroyer cannon discharged,” said Maddox.

A thudding bass pressurized the bridge air for two or three seconds, overwhelming the superstress inhalation, and then it dissipated. From experience, Flint knew the weapon’s only visible effect came when it caused damage. Here, against the Ancidium, nothing happened at all.

“Damnit!” he said.

Admiral Aston offered a few curses her own. “I hoped for more,” she said.

“We can ready a second shot, Admiral,” said Flint. “I’m not confident.”

“Neither am I, Captain. Hold the shot while I think.”

Flint muted the comms. “I’m not sure what other options we have.” He remembered his discussion about the stasis negating pulses and was gripped by a feeling that Admiral Aston was about to suggest an inventive use of the facility.

He was wrong – for the moment, at least.

“Please order Lieutenant Vance and his platoon to the deployment shuttle, Captain Flint. He has been briefed on the stasis tunnel and knows what to expect.”

Flint twisted in his seat and nodded at Garrett, indicating she should pass on the order.

“The order is given, ma’am.”

“The Vengeance will act as escort.”

“If I rotate again, you’ll have fifteen klicks of operational range in the construction bay – that’s after we’ve deducted those five thousand metres of the Ancidium’s armour from the stasis tunnel effect area,” said Flint.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than sending those soldiers in alone.”

“Yes, ma’am. The deployment shuttle doesn’t look tough or manoeuvrable.”

“It isn’t.”

“Lieutenant Vance and his platoon are heading for the shuttle, sir,” said Garrett. “They’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“I hope they know what they’re looking for and I hope they find it quickly,” said Fredericks. “Otherwise we’ve got a long wait ahead of us, and I’m not certain I want to sit on the bridge of a superstressed warship any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

Flint agreed wholeheartedly, though he wasn’t optimistic. The Ancidium was incomprehensibly vast and a thorough exploration of its interior was likely to require half a million personnel, along with a massive contingent of warships to patrol the interior construction bays. Thirty soldiers simply weren’t enough.

On top of that, Flint and his crew were effectively stuck here – they couldn’t even escape the stasis field, SRT out of the solar system and wait for Vance and his soldiers to finish. The Firestorm had to remain within the stasis sphere until the mission was over.

Letting his eyes return to the sensor feeds, Flint stared at the frozen warships, the Evia star with its death sphere veil, and the monumental Lavorix warship dead ahead. Not once in his life could he recall being in a situation of such profound strangeness.

Not just strangeness. There’s sadness here, too. The Lavorix were beyond redemption, yet even the worst of enemies deserve a clean death.

He breathed in the bridge’s cold air, clenched the muscles in his jaw, and readied himself for an extended period of inactivity.

Chapter Eight

The cube-shaped deployment shuttle was the least comfortable and least reassuring method of travel Lieutenant James Vance could recall since the red pedal car he’d owned thirty-eight years ago. That red pedal car he’d once overturned and ended up headfirst in a flower bed. He suspected the shuttle wouldn’t survive the same impact.

With entry gained by a single door, the shuttle’s passenger bay was all on one level. Viewscreens and replicators obviously hadn’t been on the options list and neither had seating. Instead, and probably to save a halfpenny on the guinea, leathery grab straps dangled from the ceiling as the only way for the bay’s occupants to maintain balance.

In the centre of the square floorspace floated a second cube, this one being a modified obliterator processing unit, from which freezing air beat out with the thickness of syrup. It was also the most critical component of the coming mission. Unfortunately, it was also the most potentially dangerous and volatile, as well as being a complete unknown in terms of what the hell was going to happen if it was ever required to perform the functions it was apparently capable of.

Vance was not in the bay. Instead, he was sitting in one of the two cockpit bucket seats. Accessed by steps so narrow that Private Eric Drawl had suggested applying grease to the walls, the cabin space was unpleasantly compact and Vance felt like he had to keep his gut sucked in constantly, and it wasn’t as if he was carrying any extra weight.

In the seat adjacent, the Daklan Sergeant Tagra’s knees were hard up against the facing edge of the two-person console and he’d knocked his suit helmet several times against the ceiling already and shuttle hadn’t even decoupled from the Firestorm yet.

“We’re ready to depart,” said Vance on the comms. The bulkhead in front of him was mostly screen and right now it was showing some of the Firestorm’s midsection and lots of the Ancidium’s portside flank.

“You have clearance to go,” said Lieutenant Becerra.

“Copy that,” said Vance. “If this death trap shuttle breaks up and kills everyone, please tell my wife I died shooting Kilvar instead.”

Becerra laughed. “You’re going to make it, Lieutenant. If cracks start showing in the armour, I’ll ask Captain Flint to put you in stasis until we figure a way to get you out of it.”

Poking his finger onto the release button, Vance initiated the launch. “That’s not armour you’re looking at, Lieutenant. It’s tin foil stretched over a wooden frame.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant Vance,” said Becerra, her voice back to serious. “Come back safely – you and everyone else.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Vance gruffly. He’d spoken with Becerra a few times during and after Basalt and she seemed to be one of the few officers who cared for his platoon on the basis that they were other living beings, rather than tools who could get a job done.

Vance curled his fingers around the twin joysticks and requested power from the engines. The shuttle’s propulsion modules – most of which were above the passenger bay and either side of the cockpit – rumbled feebly and the shuttle accelerated sideways, directly away from the Firestorm.

“We are receiving dimensional data for the stasis negation tunnel from the Firestorm,” said Sergeant Tagra. For once, his voice was muted and Vance knew the Daklan suffered the effects of the death sphere more than humans, even with the assistance of the Frenziol-15 – a drug which had apparently been designed to protect both species equally.

Vance didn’t ask if his sergeant was well enough to proceed. The fact that Tagra and the other Daklan were here on this mission meant they were confident they could give it their utmost.

“We have plenty of leeway for the moment,” said Vance, looking at the stasis tunnel overlay on the vessel’s ten-inch tactical display.

“Our comms links to the Firestorm and Vengeance are strong,” said Tagra. “Once we venture into the personnel areas of the Ancidium, Corporal Charnos will lay portable relays.”

“It’ll be nice to have active comms throughout a mission,” said Vance. He didn’t mention that the comms relays had an additional purpose beyond carrying mere voice traffic. It was something he preferred not to think about. Movement on the sensors caught his eye. “Here comes the Vengeance.”

The Meklon warship accelerated directly overhead and then kept pace, its hull protecting the shuttle. Vance had been present when the Vengeance was first recovered from a distant world and he cast his eyes over the familiar 1200-metre V-shaped warship.

Vance wasn’t prone to romanticising these colossally powerful weapons, but this one had always struck him as indomitable in a way he didn’t feel from other vessels in the fleet. Even the Daklan annihilators, while savage and unfettered in their power, didn’t leave him with the same wistful imaginings of lost empires and infinite stars. Neither was Sergeant Tagra able to take his eyes away. It was no wonder - the Vengeance had once brought unimaginable carnage to a Daklan fleet at a time when humanity was at its lowest ebb in a war settled long ago.

“The sensor data coming from outside the stasis tunnel does not look right,” said Tagra. “It has a blur which is not attributable to the death sphere.”

Vance’s brain didn’t want to think too hard about it. He imagined that stasis played tricks with light and he didn’t know how that would affect the sensor feeds. If the alliance scientists hadn’t figured it out in twelve years, he wasn’t going to waste time guessing at the answers when he had a mission to finish.

Even so, Tagra was evidently fascinated and he altered the sensors every few seconds. Vance wasn’t usually worried by space travel, but the sights around made him acutely aware of his vulnerability as he flew the shuttle towards the Ancidium.

“What will we find, Lieutenant Vance?” asked the Daklan.

“Dead aliens. That’s my hope.”

“There was a time I saw no honour in the Lavorix,” said Tagra. He’d fought them on Ivisto during a savage attack by the warship Hexidine, so had as good an idea as most.

“What do you believe now, Sergeant?”

“Their ground troops fought hard and fair.”

“That they did,” said Vance. “But what they did to our planets and our people was beyond forgiveness.”

“On the Ancidium we will find what we will find,” said Tagra. His harsh laughter came sudden in the cabin. “Like you, I hope we will find dead aliens.”

“The Lavorix are in our past, now, Sergeant, yet here they linger within the stasis sphere. If the Vengeance could Fracture everything which remains and turn it into dust, I would shed no tears.”

“Nor I,” Tagra admitted.

They fell silent for a short time. The shuttle’s engines rumbled, while the platoon talked crap in the bay below, their voices bordering uneasy. Meanwhile, the opening in the Ancidium’s flank grew ever larger. From a distance it had appeared little more than a pinprick and now it was a vast opening into which the shuttle could have fitted several hundred times over.

“It is a shame you did not see more of the Ancidium when you were here last,” said Tagra.

“There wasn’t much time for sightseeing, Sergeant.” Vance grunted. “Besides, what’s going to be different? The Ancidium is a big spaceship, but it’s a spaceship all the same.”

“We have only to locate a data port,” said Tagra.

“That’s the idea,” said Vance. “We’ll plug in the obliterator core, sit on our asses for a few minutes while it sucks out whatever it finds, and then return home with enough technical data to build our own extractors and make our warships invulnerable.”

“What we find must turn the tide in our favour,” said Tagra.

Vance didn’t reply. The Vengeance had pulled effortlessly into the lead and it dropped lower to enter the particle beam opening. With an eight-hundred-metre beam, the warship had room to spare, though not much of it.

The shuttle had no such limitations and Vance flew it straight inside after the Vengeance, his eyes jumping from place to place. From a distance, the inner walls of the particle beam hole appeared smooth, but from close up, they were rippled, though the Ancidium hadn’t suffered nearly as much damage as Vance had expected. There again, given how long this warship had survived, he figured it must be resilient.

“Through here is a bay, our sight of which is currently blocked by the Vengeance,” said Tagra. “We must be wary for operational warships and locate a place to land.”

“The bay is three hundred klicks in length, seventy klicks high and a hundred wide,” said Vance, repeating some of the briefing he’d given before departure. “It’ll be filled with crap that can take out our shuttle with hardly a glance. If the Lavorix crews are dead and if they didn’t set any automated defences, we might live long enough to find an entry point into the warship. The Lavorix were careless in their superiority against the Meklon, and we’re hoping they were careless inside the Ancidium on the basis that nothing and nobody ever came near to threatening its existence until Captain Recker arrived.”

“You are too old to live on hope, Lieutenant Vance,” said Tagra with another bark of laughter.

Vance tapped a finger on the side of his helmet. “I like to think I’m too wise, Sergeant.”

The shuttle continued its journey through the Ancidium’s armour and Vance reduced velocity a little. It made sense to let the Vengeance go on ahead and do the looking around while Vance kept his own vessel out of the way. One temptation got the better of him and he piloted the shuttle lower, to allow the sensors a view of what lay in wait.

“The Lavorix did not have time for repairs,” said Tagra.

Vance stared at the sensor feed. At the tunnel’s end was an area of flat ground, ending at a darker line which he knew was a docking trench. Rising sheer from this trench was a wall of alloy, which was the visible section of the immense warship being constructed inside. The particle beam had caused terrible damage on the way through and wreckage had been hurled in every direction. One twisted armour plate which had come to rest against the Lavorix warship’s flank, was almost the same length as the Vengeance.

“Admiral Aston is about to commence exploration of the bay,” said Tagra, listening to the comms. “She believes the stasis negation tunnel will make the coming task almost impossible.”

“One way or another, someone will find an excuse to test the stasis pulses,” said Vance, watching the Vengeance accelerate into the bay. Viewed against the gargantuan Lavorix vessel in the construction trench, the Meklon warship appeared suddenly far smaller, its protection no longer so sure.

“Scientists,” said Tagra, as if that answered every possible question on the matter of stasis pulses. “We will find out what happens.”

Still in sight, the Vengeance flew to within touching distance of the Lavorix warship and then it climbed steadily, rotating as it went.

“Careful,” muttered Vance, watching the stasis tunnel overlay on the tactical. He shook his head at his own naivete. Admiral Aston wasn’t about to make a stupid mistake like running into a stasis field. There again, maybe it wasn’t even possible to fly from non-stasis into stasis. Vance had no idea.

“The Firestorm is changing position,” said Tagra. “They are altering the direction of the stasis negation. We do not need to move.”

For a couple of minutes, Admiral Aston flew awkwardly within the stasis tunnel and Captain Flint did his best to accommodate.

“It’s not working,” said Vance. He flew the shuttle a few hundred metres forward, to obtain a better view. “The stasis tunnel doesn’t extend far enough to allow the Vengeance a sight across the top of this nearest vessel.”

Vance brought the shuttle to the end of the particle beam hole, at which point he was confronted by the magnitude of the Lavorix warship. He’d known it was big, but he hadn’t expected it to be sixty kilometres from nose to tail. Some of the Laws of Ancidium looked as if they were cobbled together from different parts, but this one was formed out of fine lines and crafted angles.

The particle beam hole in its flank wasn’t the only sign of damage. Much of the vessel’s nose section had been disintegrated and a few billion tons of powder was scattered around the edges of the trench, with doubtless many more billions of tons having slid down out of sight.

A second area had been disintegrated on the warship’s topside, though Vance couldn’t see much of it from his low-altitude position.

“The Ixidar did that,” he said, remembering what the then Captain Recker had told him. “Two shots from its destroyer cannons and this is the outcome.”

“I have Admiral Aston on the comms,” said Tagra. “She wishes to speak with you.”

“I imagine I’m not going to like what she has to say,” said Vance, signalling that he was ready for the comms link.

“Lieutenant Vance,” said Aston. “The stasis does not allow us an extensive view of the bay. My sensor officer has scanned the visible areas for a place you might usefully deploy and there is nothing within range.”

“We need to explore the rest of the bay, ma’am,” said Vance.

“And that means it’s time to start generating stasis pulses,” said Aston.

“I was hoping someone would have thought up an alternative,” said Vance honestly.

“Not this time, Lieutenant.”

Many of Vance’s missions had moments like this – moments when he felt like something bad was about to happen and when his control over his own fate was effectively nil. This was one of those times and Vance closed his eyes for a moment while he mentally prepared himself for what he felt sure would be a testing time for him and his platoon.

Chapter Nine

“Listen up,” said Vance on the platoon channel. “The Firestorm is going to start emitting stasis pulses. When it begins, we’ll follow the Vengeance into the Ancidium’s bay and find a place to deploy.”

“But we shouldn’t notice anything happening, right, sir?” said Private Ossie Carrington. “As far as we’re concerned, this’ll be just another day at the office.”

“Do you really believe that, Carrington?” asked Private Weiland Steigers.

“I believe we’re going to kick some ass, that’s what I believe.”

“Hell yeah,” said Private Titus Enfield.

“Quiet!” Vance ordered. “Private Carrington is right. As soon as we’re out of the stasis negation tunnel, we’ll all be frozen in time. The stasis pulse will give us thirty seconds of action before the zero-time resumes and then, after ten seconds, the pulse will fire again. Rinse and repeat until we escape with the Lavorix’s prize cow.”

Vance waited to find out who’d mention the fly in the ointment.

“When the obliterator core starts creating its own stasis pulses, that’s when we should worry,” said Private Eric Drawl.

“Correction, Private,” said Sergeant Tagra. “That’s when we know the mission is on the brink of success.”

“We’ve been through this in the pre-deployment briefing,” said Vance. “I assume you’re all clever enough to remember what we talked about less than an hour ago.”

A few of the soldiers spoke their agreement and then the talk died down.

“There’s nothing about this mission that’s any worse than any other,” said Vance. He almost believed it as well.

“Only difference is, you might get to live for an eternity,” added Sergeant Hunter Gantry. “And I can count on the fingers of my ass the number of soldiers I met who didn’t think they were going to live forever.”

“The time is coming soon,” said Vance. “Once I give the word, we’ll get out, finish the mission and get the hell away.”

It was a language the soldiers could understand and Vance spoke it well because he felt the same emotions himself. He muted the channel at the same time as Admiral Aston opened a separate one.

“The Firestorm is ready to begin, Lieutenant.”

“Everything’s ready here, ma’am,” said Vance. He had a thought. “Won’t the stasis pulses free up the Lavorix warships outside the Ancidium as well?”

“Let Captain Flint worry about that,” said Aston. “You’re the best man for your job, let him be the best for his.”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” said Vance. It didn’t surprise him much to discover he had plenty of faith in Flint’s abilities. Usually, it took him longer – years longer in some cases – before he trusted someone with his life and the lives of his soldiers. Flint wasn’t anything like Fleet Admiral Recker, but he was made of the right stuff Vance reckoned.

“The negation pulses will last thirty seconds each, Lieutenant. After that comes ten seconds of stasis and then another pulse. The Firestorm’s comms system is set to automatically add a countdown timer onto your suit HUDs. In theory it shouldn’t make a difference if it’s there or not.” Aston blew out a breath. The stress was getting to everyone. “I’m sure you’re aware the alliance has never attempted anything like this before.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware. We’ll do what has to be done.”

“In that case, it’s time to get started. Keep that shuttle out of sight, Lieutenant. I’d recommend you stay low to the bay floor. From memory, there’re plenty of construction vehicles and shuttles on the far side of this big warship nearest to us. Try and get yourself lost among them.”

Vance gave his agreement and closed out of the channel. He turned and found Sergeant Tagra staring at him intently.

The Daklan grinned, baring teeth and fangs. “We will plunder the graves of our enemies and their treasures will be reparations for their crimes.”

“I’d call it more of a down payment,” said Vance. A timer appeared on his HUD, showing thirty seconds and counting down. “They fired the first stasis pulse,” he said. Reacting immediately, he called on the shuttle’s engines and the vessel accelerated into the bay.

“We are not dead!” exclaimed Tagra mockingly, like it was a triumph in itself.

“Not yet.”

The sudden shift to action had Vance’s gaze jumping from the sensors to the tactical and then to his HUD. He knew the timer shouldn’t be a distraction, yet it was an effort to ignore it.

Freed from the confines of the stasis tunnel, the Vengeance accelerated vertically and with a contempt of physics only a ternium-engined warship could display. Flashes of orange speckled its underside and Vance sensed the missiles ejecting from their tubes. The discharge of weaponry wasn’t a good beginning.

“Damn, it’s too early for this crap,” he said.

No sooner had it launched its missiles, than the Vengeance dropped into the space between the incomplete warship and the bay’s inner wall, coming to an abrupt halt a few thousand metres above the floor.

It was time to commit and Vance aimed his shuttle for the particle beam hole in the nearby enemy warship, cursing the reluctance of his own vessel to accelerate. It produced a lot of noise, but the results were less than impressive.

Moments after the Vengeance’s missile launch, return warheads detonated against the bay wall, high above. Flashes of plasma made Vance narrow his eyes instinctively and he cursed the shuttle again for its lack of acceleration and velocity.

“The Vengeance is moving again,” said Tagra.

This time, Admiral Aston flew the warship horizontally sideways towards the nose of the huge Lavorix vessel. Another salvo of missiles burst from the Vengeance’s forward tubes and then she took it into cover once again.

“What’s doing the shooting?” asked Vance tightly. The debris pieces on the floor were even larger than he’d anticipated and he was forced to climb over the plating strewn in the shuttle’s path. A glance at the slab below was enough to tell him of the heat damage it had suffered – not only was the alloy discoloured, but a branching network of threadlike cracks had also formed.

“We’re in a bay with at least one interrogator, the Gorgadar and five other unfinished Laws of Ancidium,” said Tagra. “Until we have confirmation from the Vengeance, it could be any of those.”

“Well isn’t that just swell?” growled Vance. “The interrogators don’t launch missiles, so it’s got to be something else.”

Tagra tilted his head slightly, like he always did when listening to something important. “I have heard from the Vengeance’s comms officer. A Lavorix warship accompanies an active interrogator. Admiral Aston believes the new Laws of Ancidium are not operational.”

If there was any good news to be had, that was it right there in Tagra’s last sentence. The Vengeance could punch above its weight, but it couldn’t punch a trillion tons higher – and that was only the mass disparity with a single one of the Laws of Ancidium.

The shuttle wasn’t exactly speeding across the bay floor, but it had gathered enough velocity that the particle beam opening was within touching distance. Another salvo of enemy missiles detonated against the bay wall, illuminating the area around in stark white.

“Two seconds on the stasis pulse timer,” said Vance. “One.”

The HUD timer changed to a zero. The Vengeance – accelerating vertically again - froze in place, and the blossoming explosion of the enemy missiles stopped expanding, allowing Vance a perfect view of its halted chaos.

“We’re still in the stasis negation tunnel,” he said, in realisation. Checking the tactical, he realised the shuttle would be outside the tunnel in about five seconds. The primal part of brain screamed at him to slow down, to avoid this first stasis lock.

Vance didn’t act on his fears. He held the shuttle steady and it entered the particle beam opening, about a third of the way from the bottom. The ruined alloys of the Lavorix warship were splayed and ugly, twisted in a way the material had been unable to tolerate. Jagged shards protruded upwards and down, while ahead, the darker ternium modules glistened faintly as if the intense heat had given them a reflective sheen.

“We’re leaving the stasis tunnel,” said Vance. “Any moment…”

He felt nothing whatsoever. The timer on his HUD returned to thirty seconds and started counting down as before…twenty-nine…twenty-eight…twenty-seven.

“The pulse behaved as expected,” said Tagra, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Scientists,” said Vance, with a sudden rush of elation.

The shuttle continued its journey through the Lavorix warship’s interior and Vance peered ahead, trying to figure out what he’d find on the far side. He was sure the floor would be covered in more of the same debris. Plasma light illuminated the dull grey on the forward feed and Vance swore, his jubilation gone as quickly as it came.

“If the combat has shifted ahead of us, we’re in real trouble,” he said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a blazing object crashed down just outside the exit from the particle beam hole. This object – the nose section of a Lavorix spaceship – crunched into a pile of torn plating and then slid sideways until it was half blocking the exit. Plasma from the Vengeance’s missiles continued chewing at the alloy and the light spilled into the tunnel.

“Plenty of room,” said Vance, though it was the heat he was worried about.

He refused to back off and guided the shuttle towards the left-hand tunnel wall, which was the opposite side to where the debris had landed.

“This vessel cannot withstand the temperatures ahead for long, Lieutenant Vance,” said Tagra. “We must not slow.”

“Who mentioned slowing down, Sergeant?”

The opening came up fast and the shuttle exited the flank of the enormous vessel. Such was the intensity of the external heat that alarms went off on the control panel. Vance ignored them and banked sharply away from the wreckage. He was confronted by sharp contrasts of faraway darkness and the proximity light from the broken enemy warship, and his eyes took precious moments to adapt.

A new series of explosions played out on the shuttle’s upper sensor feed and a dark shape raced across the bay floor, heading towards the Vengeance. It detonated suddenly and catastrophically into a cloud of particles, destroyed in an instant by the Executor. A single large piece of its stern remained intact and it continued its previous course across the bay, already curving downwards as its momentum failed.

“The current stasis pulse is about to end,” said Tagra.

With two seconds left on the timer, the shuttle was struck by a wave of force created by the Executor discharge. Vance was expecting it and he reacted at once, holding the control sticks tightly and doing what he could to keep the vessel in the air.

The floor came up rapidly without him being able to do a damn thing about it and one of the shuttle’s edges scraped along a clear section of the alloy surface, before striking a five-metre piece of something dense which produced a reverberating clang and threatened to send the vessel into a spin or a tumble.

Swearing through clenched teeth, Vance managed to haul the vessel into the air again and straightened it out.

“No hull breach,” said Tagra. “No reports of casualties from the platoon.”

The shuttle’s life support module had done its job and the thin hull plating likewise. However, despite being well and truly alive, Vance wasn’t yet ready to accept he was piloting anything other than an under-specified shit-heap.

Now the shuttle was back under control, Vance spared a glance at the sensors. Plenty of debris covered this area of the Ancidium’s bay floor, but not so much that he couldn’t see the particle beam hole which had penetrated the next ship in the line.

This ship was also vast, though not so much as the first. The vessel was constructed from immense cylinders and cuboids, intricately arranged and tightly clustered in a way that made the overall shape understandable yet complex at the same time, like pointillism on a monumental scale.

It wasn’t the only sight which caught Vance’s eye. Above and beyond this almost constructed warship, a far more threatening shape hung in the vacuum of the Ancidium’s bay. Dodecahedral in shape, this next vessel had an enormous cannon barrel protruding from each of its faces. Vance remembered it from long ago, when it had almost decided the alliance-Lavorix war in favour of the latter. It wasn’t moving, and it wasn’t firing those guns, and for that he was immensely grateful.

The dodecahedral ship had once been subjected to a particle beam strike and the source of the attack was also in the bay, only partly visible over the warship in the construction trench.

“The Gorgadar,” said Vance. “It wasn’t destroyed.” He shook his head. “I guess I knew that all along.”

The sharp lines and curves of the warship’s nose section were all he could see from this low vantage, though Vance retained a crystal-clear image of the whole in his mind. Seeing the vessel again made him shiver with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, and it was hard to wrench his gaze from what he knew had once been the most potent warship in the Lavorix fleet - the Ancidium excepted.

“I would have expected to feel the death sphere more keenly here,” said Sergeant Tagra.

It was something Vance hadn’t considered and probably should have done before he’d piloted the shuttle into the bay.

“Perhaps the effects are uniform across the affected area,” he said.

“Perhaps.” Tagra shrugged in a startlingly humanlike expression of uncertainty. He tapped a finger on the sensor feed. “The construction shuttles have resumed their work.”

When Vance diverted his attention from the Gorgadar, he noticed the dozens of much smaller vessels flying purposefully across the bay. Some carried slabs of alloy or hauled billion-ton blocks of ternium. A stray missile hit one, engulfing it in white and sending its cargo towards the ground a few kilometres away.

“Automated,” said Vance. “Let’s hope they give us some cover.”

Keeping low, he banked to avoid another mound of the scattered debris, feeling more like a scuttling insect than ever. The next particle beam hole wasn’t far and he headed for the opening, trying not to be distracted by everything that was happening. Vance knew he had little influence over the conflict raging between the Vengeance and whatever was active in the Ancidium’s bay and he hated the thought of being helplessly destroyed while he flew the piece of crap shuttle the military had put him in.

“Lieutenant Vance, my warship is under pressure,” said Admiral Aston on the comms.

“I thought the death sphere was meant to have killed everyone and everything, ma’am,” said Vance.

“The warships I’m facing are a type I haven’t seen before,” she said. “I believe they were created for internal defence only. They were probably mobilised a short time before the Ancidium was put into stasis – that would explain the speed of their response. To answer your unspoken question, I don’t believe they have a crew.”

“How many of these warships are there, ma’am?”

“Three, plus one destroyed. One of the interconnecting bay doors has opened and others are arriving to reinforce.”

Vance detected a note in Aston’s voice, though he wasn’t entirely sure what it indicated. “Is your withdrawal imminent, ma’am?”

“Not imminent, Lieutenant. I might have to bring out the big guns.”

“The Fracture?” said Vance, guessing at her meaning.

“Yes, Lieutenant. The Fracture.”

Vance didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified. “Won’t that turn everything to powder including this shuttle?”

“I’m certain it won’t affect these new Laws of Ancidium,” said Aston. “That means if you take shelter inside one, you should be safe. I’m hoping everything else will be destroyed, buying us the time we need.”

“We’re entering the next plasma hole,” said Vance. He doubted anything he said would change the Admiral’s mind and he wasn’t going to argue her decision. “I’ll bring the shuttle to a halt midway and wait to find out what happens.”

Aston said nothing more and exited the channel, leaving Vance to fly the shuttle. The opening in the next huge warship’s flank was exactly the same size as the previous, indicating that the Gorgadar’s particle beam had not attenuated as it sliced through the bay. Vance’s eyes looked, but his mind was thinking about the coming seconds.

During the Lavorix war, Aston had always been there with Recker and she was another of the people Vance trusted. However, if she called it wrong, the Fracture would destroy everything in the bay, including Vance’s shuttle and the soldiers relying on him to keep them alive during the transit. He smiled inwardly. Death was never far away.

“Entering stasis,” said Tagra.

Once again, Vance felt nothing. For ten seconds, he and everyone in the bay had been frozen in time, yet it was as though his life had continued without interruption.

He briefly wondered what would happen if the Firestorm’s exium unit failed, trapping him for centuries or millennia, until a rescue craft or an explorer from what would effectively be his future turned up to free everyone. This conflict in the bay would likely still continue to its conclusion, and then – if he lived – he would emerge to find everyone he knew dead and buried.

“Shit,” he said, cursing himself for allowing his brain to daydream in a situation like this.

Vance’s earpiece crackled.

“Fracture discharging,” said Aston.

Instinctively, Vance guided the shuttle towards the tunnel’s ceiling, thinking it would provide some extra shelter. With his jaw set, he told himself this wouldn’t be his last day alive.

Chapter Ten

“Either the Fracture did not fire, or we survived it,” said Tagra a few seconds later.

Vance wasn’t ready to be optimistic, cautiously or otherwise. “Find out, Sergeant.”

He held the shuttle close to the ceiling and reduced velocity, while watching carefully for protrusions which might damage the vessel. A comms channel opened.

“Lieutenant Vance,” said Admiral Aston. Her voice was thick, like she’d been kicked in the temple and hadn’t recovered. “We have the breathing room we needed.”

“The Fracture discharged successfully?” Vance didn’t normally ask stupid questions and he kicked himself for this one. “Apologies, ma’am, I was expecting drama.”

“Be thankful you missed it,” said Aston. She coughed and audibly suppressed a groan. “The smaller defensive warships and the construction shuttles are gone. The Laws of Ancidium and the interrogator were immune. The Vengeance can deal with the latter, and so far, the former haven’t attacked.”

“We’ll proceed deeper into the bay, ma’am,” said Vance. “This shuttle’s sensors are not exceptional – will the Vengeance provide assistance once the interrogator is down?”

“Shortly, Lieutenant,” said Aston. “A note of warning – one of the connecting doors between this bay and another is open. I don’t know how far the effects of the Fracture extended. It may be the enemy will have reinforcements here soon.”

“Copy that.”

Vance closed the channel. For once it seemed like technology had been on his side and the Fracture had not caused a devastating outcome for him or his platoon. He shook his head in disbelief.

“For a man who has survived so long, you have a high expectation of death, Lieutenant Vance,” said Tagra.

The words, spoken without malice, hit Vance like a surprise punch in the solar plexus. “You’re right, Sergeant,” he said. “And it’s getting harder, not easier.”

“Perhaps you should have hung up your guns before the outbreak of this war,” said Tagra. “Now it has begun, you will never leave.”

The enormity of it sunk in. Vance had a wife and children he loved, and he could have retired from frontline duties long ago – all he’d needed to do was ask. And yet, he never had. Guilt crashed into him and he suddenly knew it was weakness, not strength, that had kept him from making the right decision.

Here on this shitty, unarmed and underpowered shuttle, currently flying inside the most powerful warship in the known universe – a warship which was itself trapped in a four-million-kilometre stasis sphere – Vance came to understand how badly he might have screwed up.

“I am sorry, Lieutenant,” said Tagra. Like many Daklan, he had the gift of insight. “This pains you.”

“No need for apologies,” Vance growled, pushing the control sticks forward and producing a rumble from the engines. “The only person to blame is me.”

“Promise yourself that when the war is over, you will leave and not look back.”

“I can probably promise the first, Sergeant. The second, I really don’t know.”

The time for talking was done and Vance focused on the tunnel exit, which was only a few kilometres ahead. Dust had begun falling across the opening and Vance noticed that the debris on the floor was no longer so clearly defined.

“Powder,” he said. “Everything got turned to powder.”

Eight seconds remained on the stasis timer when Vance piloted the shuttle out of the beam hole. The dust continued falling, no thicker than before, but enough to make the sensors struggle with fine detail. Before the shuttle lay the half-complete hull of yet another technological monstrosity. This next warship was almost twenty thousand metres from nose to tail, with curving sides and exposed ternium modules.

Vance didn’t pay it much heed and instead watched the Vengeance finish off the bay’s interrogator. The two-kilometre cube, with surfaces covered in spiked antennae, was ablaze about sixty kilometres away, high and stationary near a huge, square opening in the side wall. Enormous pieces of the vessel fell to the floor in a white-hot rain and another salvo of missiles detonated against its plating.

“It can’t hold together much longer,” said Tagra. “In fact, it may be finished already. Stasis incoming.”

Stasis hit and the next pulse from the Firestorm cancelled it without Vance’s body realising it had happened. His eyes remained on the interrogator and, without warning, the spaceship dropped towards the floor. Down it came, trailing dust and alloy, the plasma light creating a trail in the darkness. That same light cast its glow into the connecting tunnel in the wall and Vance thought he spotted movement. The shuttle’s sensors were fooled by the contrast and he couldn’t be certain one way or another.

“I thought I saw something in that interconnecting passage,” he said.

“If it was anything, it is no longer visible, Lieutenant,” said Tagra. “I will make the Vengeance aware.”

Vance didn’t like the idea that the Ancidium’s defences might recover so quickly, but he left it to Admiral Aston to check out the possible sighting and concentrated on flying the shuttle through the dust.

All around, the debris created by the Gorgadar’s particle beam twelve years ago had been reduced to grey heaps and Vance flew the shuttle above them at a low altitude. The vacuum in the bay meant there was no turbulence to whip up the dust and the transport left no sign of its passing.

“Time to search,” said Tagra, his brows lowered and his eyes locked on the sensor panel. “Though the Vengeance will complete the task far more rapidly.”

Vance knew it too. A trained sensor officer on the warship could sweep this entire bay in minutes, while that same officer in the shuttle would require far more time, with no guarantee of achieving the same result.

“There had to be a way for the enemy personnel to board their spaceships,” muttered Vance. “And it had to be more than just a single-file door in the wall somewhere.”

The shuttle’s upper sensor array detected the Vengeance accelerating hard along the bay, rotating at as it did so to bring its nose into line with the thirty-kilometre-square opening in the wall. Seeing how tiny the warship appeared drove home to Vance exactly how lacking in firepower this mission was. Even had all twenty of the escorts made it through the stasis, they might have still been outgunned by whatever lay undiscovered elsewhere, in another of the Ancidium’s colossal bays.

“No weapons launch detected from the Vengeance,” said Tagra. “I am scanning the bay walls for personnel doors.”

Vance knew that even a vast warship required only a small crew, but it was likely the Lavorix put thousands or tens of thousands of troops onto their larger vessels, and that meant they’d be brought in by shuttle. Unfortunately, any parked shuttles would have been reduced to dust by the Fracture, but, since the Ancidium was unaffected by the weapon, the shuttle platforms should still be intact.

“Look out for ledges in the walls, Sergeant,” said Vance. “Someplace big enough to have parked a few transports.”

“Scanning,” Tagra confirmed.

Meanwhile, the Vengeance backed away from the opening, though its nose was still pointed at whatever space lay beyond. Vance’s eyes kept going to the warship as he hunted for signs of another weapons launch.

On his HUD, the digits were approaching zero. “Stasis incoming,” he said.

The timer returned to thirty seconds and counted down. Vance increased the shuttle’s altitude and aimed it towards the left-hand wall with the intention of allowing Sergeant Tagra a clear view all the way to the end of the bay.

At fifteen seconds on the HUD timer, Admiral Aston opened the comms channel again. “My sensor officer has detected a possible entry point, Lieutenant. She’s sending you the details.”

Vance turned towards Sergeant Tagra and gave him a questioning look. Tagra didn’t meet his gaze, but gave a thumbs-up and then tapped the side of his suit helmet for good measure.

“I have added the route line onto the tactical, Lieutenant,” he said.

“We’ve received the information, Admiral,” said Vance into the comms. “We’re heading there right away.”

“Here is our destination,” said Tagra.

Like Vance had guessed, the entry point was accessed via a platform. The falling dust was clearing and the feed was much clearer, allowing him a good view. High on the side wall, and about midway along the bay, a thick slab jutted out. The sensors estimated the platform’s depth at two hundred metres and its length at nearly four hundred.

“It looks like a good place to start,” said Vance.

“I can’t see a door,” said Tagra. He played with the sensor focus, but wasn’t able to wring out anything better than a dust-blurred view of the platform’s facing edge.

Vance increased altitude further, revealing more piles of dust on the top of the slab - dust he assumed had once been Lavorix shuttles.

“Still nothing,” said Tagra.

Despite Vance’s mental exhortations, the shuttle refused to gain any significant velocity and it felt like it was creeping towards the destination. The digits on the timer indicated there’d be one more stasis and then he’d be able to set down. Vance rolled his shoulders, keen as hell to be off this transport and with his feet on solid ground again.

“Stasis incoming,” said Tagra.

“Last one on this damned shuttle.”

Like all the others, the stasis came and went, and Vance would have been non-the-wiser were it not for the timer on his HUD and the fact that he’d been told what happened when that timer hit zero.

“We’re about to land,” said Vance on the platoon comms. “Be ready on my word.”

He wouldn’t be giving that word until Sergeant Tagra located the door and Vance flew the shuttle slowly above the platform. The dust mounds were far smaller than he’d imagined, as if the Fracture didn’t just shatter its targets into powder, it actually reduced their mass as well. Vance suspected that was impossible, though for some reason he was curious to find out for definite. Maybe he’d bend RL Moseley’s ear if he ever got the chance.

“The entrance,” said Tagra, zooming the sensors onto an area of the wall.

When Vance squinted, he saw the door’s faint outline. “This is the place,” he nodded.

“Time to test the Lavorix security.”

“Let’s get the obliterator core ready,” said Vance, dumping the shuttle without ceremony onto the platform about twenty metres from the door. “Time to move out,” he said on the platoon channel.

By the time Vance had gathered his gauss rifle and his Rodan, and descended the tight stairwell, most of the platoon were outside on the platform. Sergeant Gantry had a watchful eye on the floating obliterator core and he turned when Vance emerged into the passenger bay.

“It’s waiting for instructions, sir.”

Vance issued the remote-link command to his suit computer and, a moment later, he was connected to the core. He issued a test command, and the device floated obediently towards the exit.

“Let’s go,” said Vance, satisfied the obliterator core was on its leash.

He headed outside after the others, and found himself standing on top of a pile of dust. Nearby, Private Drawl, who had apparently never grown up, was enthusiastically kicking that same dust at Private Carrington.

“There might be dead aliens mixed in with this, Carrington,” he said. “And now they’re all over your clean suit.”

“Screw you, Drawl,” said Carrington, standing her ground.

“Private Drawl, do I have to order Sergeant Tagra to throw you off this platform?” asked Vance.

“No, sir, that won’t be necessary.”

Vance would have normally made the man squirm a little longer, but this wasn’t the time. He turned 360-degrees, getting his bearings. The shuttle and the platform blocked some of the view, and the sensor in his suit didn’t work perfectly in darkness, but Vance had a reasonable sight into the Ancidium’s bay.

Most of what he saw were lines and variations of darkness, except where plasma fires continued burning and threw their unwavering light upon the walls and floors. The Gorgadar and the dodecahedral warship were vast and, from this height, Vance had a much better grasp of what an incredible threat these two vessels once presented.

Warships were not the only presence in the bay. Now he was out of the shuttle, Vance felt the death sphere more keenly. It added an edge of lethargy to his body and mind, while visibly it remained infuriatingly in his periphery. Whenever he tried to focus on its darkness, it skittered away as if it was reluctant to be seen. For some reason, it angered Vance greatly.

A shape – a sense of movement approaching rapidly - raced from out of nowhere, blocking his view of everything. The Vengeance halted with its midsection opposite the platform and a comms channel opened.

“Wave, Lieutenant.”

Vance raised one hand and gave a half wave, half salute. “I take it the known threats are eliminated, ma’am?” he said.

“For the moment. You’re aware the Vengeance’s weapons can’t open that door, so let’s hope the obliterator core does what it’s supposed to.”

“I’m heading over there now,” said Vance, breaking into a jog towards the closed door.

He already knew from the shuttle’s sensors that there was no visible access panel, which meant the core would have to search for a hidden interface port and link to it. Vance sent the command on his way over and the obliterator device returned a confirmation response. A moment later, it notified him that it had located an interface port and had formed a link.

Before he could send over the activation order, he had one last thing to do, and thinking about it made Vance’s face twist in both reluctance and irritation.

Most obliterator cores were created to perform a wide and general array of processing tasks. This particular one had been purpose built to crack security and Vance had every reason to believe it would be damned good at it.

The big unknown was that nobody in the alliance knew what effect a stasis interruption would have on the hacking routines. It was widely assumed that the obliterator would continue exactly where it left off, but it wasn’t proven. Therefore, it was considered feasible that, if the Lavorix security required more than thirty seconds to crack, the stasis interruptions would ensure the obliterator never completed its task.

To circumvent this problem, the alliance scientists had – in the space of the last week - devised a method which had caused Vance to openly grimace when he was told what it was. The solution reeked of RL Moseley, or someone closely associated with RL Moseley. On the one hand, the devised method offered a possibility of success, whilst on the other hand it likely increased the chance of death several times over.

“I’m ready to activate the exium node, Admiral,” said Vance. Partly he hoped she’d order him to call it off.

Admiral Aston did not give that order. “Do it, Lieutenant. And good luck.”

Closing out of the channel, Vance advised his platoon that the moment they’d all been waiting for was upon them. He didn’t hesitate further - sometimes it was better to drink the medicine all in one go - and sent the command to the exium node of the obliterator core.

“Done,” he said. The timer on his HUD was reading ten seconds. “Sending the hack command to the core.”

Vance hardly needed to check that his soldiers were in position. Some flanked the door, others had taken cover near the shuttle, and those with repeaters were prone amongst the dust, their guns deployed.

For long seconds, the obliterator attempted to grind down the door security. The countdown approached zero and Vance waited anxiously to find out what would happen.

“Any second now,” said Sergeant Gantry.

Vance looked around for a point of reference that would tell him if the obliterator core’s exium node had done what was intended. Two seconds became one and then the timer hit zero. Vance felt nothing unusual. The timer stayed at zero and he requested a channel to the Vengeance. Every receptor was grey, so he couldn’t even link.

“I think it worked,” he said.

“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” asked Private Steigers.

“Not one hundred percent.”

After ten seconds showing zero, the HUD timer went to thirty seconds and began counting down again. A comms channel opened.

“Lieutenant Vance, please report,” said Admiral Aston. “Did the obliterator’s secondary pulse leave you out of stasis?”

“I believe so, ma’am. The timer stayed off for ten seconds and then started again.”

“There are no errors or interruptions on the obliterator’s instruction queue,” said Aston. “So even if the secondary pulse didn’t negate the stasis, the core didn’t stop.”

“It’s been working on this door for about twenty-five seconds.”

“The coding will learn from each mistake. Next time it should be quicker.”

“Unless the Lavorix built in randomisation or had separate security networks,” said Vance, recalling what he’d been told during the mission briefing. “Whatever happens, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

At that moment, the platform door sank a few inches into the wall and then slid soundlessly aside. Vance wasn’t exactly taken by surprise but he had to mentally scramble to catch up. He readied his gun and prepared to face whatever the universe had in store for him this time.

Chapter Eleven

A dark-walled passage beyond the door led to an intersection fifty metres away. The lights were out, but the sensor in Vance’s helmet was equal to the challenge and he saw that the floor of this passage was littered with corpses.

“Lavorix,” said Sergeant Gantry, almost spitting the word.

Vance felt a clenching in his guts as his body reacted to the memories. Using hand motions, he directed four members of the platoon to sprint for the intersection.

“Clear,” said Corporal Charnos.

“This corridor has an atmosphere, sir,” said Private Drawl. “And I think the engines are running.”

Vance frowned. The bay was in a vacuum and he saw no barrier that would prevent the corridor air escaping. Doubtless the method behind it was a technological masterpiece.

Drawl’s report about the engines was potentially more worrying and Vance strode into the passage with the obliterator unit following. The air was strangely thick and clung to him like it didn’t want him to go any further, and it carried layered scents of decay and age, similar to those he remembered from his time on the Gorgadar many years before.

As well as that, Vance’s ears picked up a dull background noise which was unmistakeably created by an immense propulsion system. He’d been on his fair share of warships, and this one was different in that it was completely unstressed, yet also possessed endless depths, like the Ancidium could effortlessly haul a gas giant off its orbital track.

“Is it the engines, sir?” asked Drawl.

The soldier was looking for reassurance, though Vance wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s the engines, Private,” he confirmed. “Maybe they fire up during the stasis negation.”

To test his off-the-cuff theory, Vance waited for the HUD timer to reach zero. When it happened, the background noise stopped at once. He counted ten seconds in his head and at the end of it, the engines resumed.

“The propulsion is going off and on,” he said. “When this obliterator core generates a localised negation pulse, time for us continues and stops for the Ancidium.”

“What if…” Private Steigers began.

“I don’t know the answer, Private,” interrupted Vance. “Let’s get on with the job we came here to do and let someone else worry about the details.” Vance immediately felt bad for shutting Steigers down. The platoon deserved answers, it was just that he didn’t have any to give them. “Look, we’ll talk about it later. For now, let’s focus.”

Vance stopped at the first Lavorix corpse. The alien was dressed in a near black spacesuit of what appeared to be ultra-fine links. Its second pair of arms – upon which the Lavorix could also run – sprouted low from its torso, and its legs were short enough to be almost stubby. Still, the bastards could move fast when they were alive, that was for sure.

Vance crouched and flipped the alien over, revealing its green-tinged face. Its milky eyes were wide open and its mouth stretched wide like it had died in agony.

“They are very ugly,” said Sergeant Tagra.

“I doubt they’d consider you an oil painting, Sergeant.” The appearance of this corpse had Vance worried. “As far as I know, the death sphere works quickly - anything affected simply dies. I’d say this one was killed by something slower.” He beckoned Corporal Hendrix over. “What was the cause of death?”

Hendrix lowered her medical box to the floor, wrenched the alien’s helmet off and threw it to one side. Then, she jabbed a couple of probes deep into the flesh of its partially exposed neck. Text appeared on the med-box screen.

“This one was killed by an extractor.”

“Captain Recker fired a couple of extractor shots into the Ancidium,” mused Vance. He pointed at the bodies in the passage. “These must have been killed before the Gorgadar generated its death sphere.”

“You can only die once, sir,” said Hendrix, recovering the probes and picking up her med-box.

“So I’ve been told,” said Vance. He had no specific reason to be worried, but something was nagging at the back of his mind.

“We have found what we hoped to find, Lieutenant,” said Tagra. “Dead aliens.”

Vance nodded. The mission would be far less complicated if the Ancidium’s crew were all perished like these ones and the method of their deaths didn’t - in theory - matter all that much.

A comms link was made to his suit. “This is where we part ways for a time, Lieutenant,” said Admiral Aston. “The Firestorm will continue transmitting the stasis negation pulse intervals to the obliterator core. Make sure you leave those comms relays behind, so that everything stays in synch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Also, the Firestorm’s stasis pulses have been at the lower end of our radius expectations. That means you’re close to the boundaries. If you venture too far, you’ll be relying on the localised stasis pulse from the obliterator core.”

Vance experienced a fleeting giddiness at the craziness of the situation. He reminded himself it was best not to think too hard about all the stasis crap and to focus on the essence of the mission – that being to explore the Ancidium and extract whatever useful data he and his platoon could find.

“I’ll order the squad to stay within fifty metres of the core, as we discussed in the briefing, ma’am. That way if we travel beyond the radius of the Firestorm’s negation pulses, we’ll be thirty seconds in stasis and ten seconds out of it. The transitions so far have been seamless, so we probably won’t even know it’s happening.”

“I’m sure you remember we’ve got Kilvar waiting for us outside the stasis sphere and you might be spending a long time on the Ancidium if you’re frozen for thirty seconds out of every forty.” Aston didn’t often swear, but she did now. “Since we can’t do anything about it, we’ll have to manage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Vance.

He wanted to get on with the mission and he advanced along the passage. The next Lavorix he came to was dead with the same look of agony, though having confirmed the last one had been killed by an extractor discharge, Vance had no doubts these others in the corridor had met the same fate. The weapon had a long range and it was indiscriminate.

A few metres from the intersection, he spotted a one-inch grey cube stuck to the wall near the floor.

“The first relay,” said Corporal Charnos. He motioned along the left passage with his gun. “Dead Lavorix are that way, and more passages.” Another motion, this time to the right. “No dead Lavorix and a door.”

Vance stepped past and looked for himself. Plenty of corpses were in the left-hand passage, and he spotted several intersections in the distance. Right, the door was about fifty metres away. In general, Vance didn’t much like locked doors when he was in hostile territory, but neither did he enjoy becoming lost in the bowels of incomprehensibly vast constructions like the Ancidium.

“Let’s test the core again,” he said, thumbing towards the door.

Vance checked his HUD timer. It was showing zero and he realised he was becoming familiar enough with the stasis that he was no longer giving it too much attention.

The timer switched back to thirty seconds and Vance ordered the obliterator to interface with the door. It was meant to have a two-hundred-metre range, but that assumed the access system wasn’t buried in three metres of alloy.

“Interface failed,” he said. “Interface not found.”

Following a short sprint towards the door, Vance stopped and crouched against the wall, with his Rodan clutched in both hands. Private Drawl and Private Brastil caught up in near silence and they stayed close to the opposite wall, while other soldiers promised covering fire from the passage.

The obliterator located a port and confirmed a link, and Vance waited to find out how long it would take to crack the security this time. Seconds passed and he glanced behind him once or twice. The dead Lavorix stayed dead, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head that others might still be alive, somewhere on the Ancidium.

Fifteen seconds after it started, the obliterator broke the security and the door opened.

“Shit,” said Drawl. “What the hell is this place?”

Beyond the doorway was an enormous room with a high ceiling and, from what he could see, Vance believed this entry point was near one corner. He stepped cautiously towards the threshold, his eyes darting from place to place, seeking threats in the darkness. The lights suddenly turned on in cold, dirty blue, their appearance doubtless coinciding with the local power supply coming out of stasis.

Vance didn’t like he saw.

Thousands – perhaps tens of thousands - of open bunk frames made from thin metal struts went from floor to ceiling, stacked twenty high and with narrow aisles running between them. Ladders gave access to the sleeping platforms and Vance spotted what he guessed were mattresses, which were made from an off-white material.

Bodies lay everywhere. They were piled in the aisles and others lay in twisted poses on their bunks. These Lavorix had been killed quickly and painfully, with no chance to do anything about it.

“A bunk room,” said Brastil.

“The biggest damn bunk room I ever saw,” said Drawl.

Vance waved impatiently for silence, in order that he could listen for movement. The only sound was that of the Ancidium’s engines.

“These were also killed by an extractor,” said Sergeant Tagra, moving up to stand next to Vance.

“I feel little for their suffering,” said Corporal Charnos. He made a harsh sound deep in his throat. “Though it lessens me to say it.”

“This is no place to find data,” said Vance. “Let’s find a way across and out.”

He was confident the Lavorix were all dead, but didn’t let his guard down. Heading left from the door, Vance ordered the soldiers to spread out and remain watchful. The far wall was a long way off and a ping from his helmet sensor told him he had another three hundred metres to go. Looking right, the wall in that direction was four hundred metres.

Raising his head and looking around at the towering bunk frames, Vance was struck by the quantity of the dead. He felt no sorrow, but neither did he find anything to revel in. A part of his brain turned, trying to figure out how many Lavorix had been in this area when the extractor hit them. He reached as high as a shitload and then stopped counting.

A few paces on, the lights went out and Vance ordered a stop, knowing the darkness would only last for ten seconds until the Firestorm generated another stasis negation pulse.

“Thirty seconds of big negation, ten seconds of little negation,” said Raven. “It’s easy when you think of it that way.”

“Quiet,” said Vance impatiently. Holding still, he scanned the area around, relying on the night vision in his suit helmet to identify threats. The night vision turned everything green and added a graininess he didn’t like.

“This is crazy,” said Private Rocky Bautista. Usually one to let his jaw flap at the slightest encouragement, Bautista had been unusually quiet on the mission so far.

“Get used to it,” snapped Sergeant Gantry.

Back came the lights and Vance moved on, stepping over a Lavorix corpse which lay across his path. As he did so, he brushed against a second body that was half out of the lowest bunk, and it slithered to the floor. Vance cursed the dead alien for no other reason than the oppressiveness in the room was making him edgy, and continued along the aisle.

That same edginess urged Vance to pick up the pace and he did so, telling himself it was because the mission was time-limited, rather than because the corpses were making him feel like he was walking through one of hell’s morgues, with a signed invitation in his pocket to come and join in the fun.

“This place sucks,” said Private Carrington.

“At least they aren’t shooting at us,” said Private Kari Banks. “I don’t think I’ve got enough ammo to kill all of them.”

“Maybe Drawl told them one of his jokes,” said Carrington. “That’s a sure-fire way to kill a few million living organisms and it would explain why these Lavorix look as if they’ve been tortured for a hundred years.”

“Private Drawl?” said Private Faye Raven innocently, “Is it true they once tied you to the front of a Daklan annihilator in the hope that your face would disintegrate opposition warships?”

“Screw you all,” said Drawl, who was more than capable of handling himself in a three-versus-one.

“You wish,” said Raven. She paused to strike a lascivious pose and pointed at her ass.

“I never mix business with pleasure, Raven,” said Drawl. “Though in your case, nothing I see gets me stiff.”

“Hey, you don’t know what you’re missing!” said Raven, having fallen for the counterattack.

“Enough!” barked Sergeant Tagra. “Else I will be putting two stiffs into body bags!”

Walking a short distance ahead, Vance hid his smile. There were times when the crap talk made him feel better and this was one of them. Sometimes it went on too long, but mostly the soldiers knew when it was time to shut up. They’d had enough time to learn.

The far wall was less than 150 metres away, though Vance couldn’t see any sign of a door, and the countless struts of the bunks made it difficult to see anything diagonally across the room.

“Do you reckon any of these Lavorix are carrying wallets?” asked Private Enfield.

“Thinking of doing some looting?” asked Steigers. “You know that’s against the rules.”

“Not looting,” said Enfield, his voice unusually serious. “Maybe I’m looking for a sign that the Lavorix are more like us, you know? If they had wallets, that would something I could understand – then I could imagine them going places and buying stuff.”

“Like a cold beer on a hot day,” said Private Ken Raimi.

“Yeah, maybe like that.”

The conversation tailed off and nobody laughed at Enfield. This place – the morgue as Vance now thought of it – was getting to everyone and they’d only been here a few minutes. The lights went off again and this time he ordered everyone to keep moving. He was sick of the death and sick of the Ancidium already, and the mission had barely started.

Getting soft, James. You’ve had it easy for too long.

He ignored the thought and pressed on, taking care not to trip over the sprawled bodies. Breaking a leg because he fell over a Lavorix would be a disaster not only for his chance of survival, but for his reputation as well. Not that Vance lived on reputation, but he certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of his career finding out what inventive methods his soldiers could come up with the remind him of the incident.

Arriving at the wall, Vance had only one direction to turn and that was to the right. He set off, his eyes searching for an exit. Given the number of Lavorix in the room, it seemed logical there’d be plenty of doors. Fifty metres on, he found what he was looking for.

“Here,” he said.

The obliterator core was right behind him and he instructed it to interface. After that, he waited a few seconds for the platoon to get into position and then ordered the device to open the door.

“How long this time?” wondered Sergeant Tagra.

“Twelve seconds,” guessed Vance.

The door opened in less than ten and Vance gazed into a fifty-metre corridor which entered another room ahead. Once again, the lights went out and he muttered sourly under his breath as he waited for the Firestorm to create its next stasis negation pulse.

“Moving in,” he said, once the lights returned.

Accompanied by Drawl and Tagra, Vance hurried towards the next room. This space wasn’t so large as the bunk room, measuring about a hundred metres by fifty. Rectangular tables of grey metal were arranged evenly around the floorspace and each was served by four benches. On the opposite wall, Vance spotted what he believed were replicators – about a dozen in total. Each replicator had a vending slot and a lit screen above. He sniffed and caught a strong odour of something rotten.

“More dead Lavorix,” said Drawl. “They came for a bite to eat, were killed by the extractor and then got frozen in time.”

The corpses were numerous, indicating this mess room had been popular with the local aliens. Most of the seats had been occupied at the moment of the extractor attack, though many of the Lavorix had convulsed onto the floor. Food trays were on every table and upon these trays, Vance saw hearty globs of brown mush.

“Any volunteers want to find out what that stuff tastes like?” asked Drawl, pointing his Rodan barrel towards the nearest table.

“Hell no,” said Raven from a few paces behind. “It looks like shit.”

“Four exits including this one,” said Tagra, peering around the room. He lifted an arm and pointed at the right-hand door. “We should go that way.”

Vance stared in that direction. To his surprise, the Lavorix had fixed a direction sign to the wall and the language module in his suit could read the small text when he zoomed in. Technical Station.

That was also the moment he spotted something unexpected.

“Those four Lavorix standing near that door aren’t dead,” Vance said. He scanned the room again – the aliens he’d seen were the only ones which were upright. “They’re alive and in stasis.”

“How come?” asked Sergeant Gantry.

An explanation jumped into Vance’s head and it was one he didn’t like. “We’re at the edge of the Firestorm’s stasis negation pulse, so those Lavorix are still trapped in zero-time.” Vance swore. “The death sphere came before the Gorgadar’s stasis, so those ones should have been killed.”

“And there they are, frozen but not dead,” said Gantry.

“What does that mean?” asked Private Carrington.

“It might mean we’re looking at the four toughest Lavorix on the Ancidium. Lavorix who can withstand an extractor shot and a death sphere,” said Vance.

He ran through the timeline in his head. Captain Recker had fired the Ixidar’s extractor twice into the Ancidium and then escaped without knowing for certain how many of the enemy had been killed. Several days later, he’d encountered the Ancidium again, in a different location and that was the moment the death sphere had been created. Minutes after that, the Ancidium had been put in stasis by a runaway criticality on the Gorgadar’s superstressed propulsion.

“Or, more likely…” Vance continued, “…these four Lavorix were never touched by the extractor and they just happened to be in this room when the death sphere and stasis field were created later.”

“And since they aren’t dead, they survived the death sphere long enough to be put in stasis,” said Sergeant Tagra.

Vance took a deep breath. “I’ve always been told the death sphere works instantly against the Lavorix – like flicking a switch and then they fall over.”

“If the death sphere didn’t kill the Lavorix who survived the extractor attacks, we’re deep in the shit,” said Corporal Hendrix.

“Forehead deep,” said Gantry.

“Let’s take a closer look,” said Vance.

He set off into the room. With each step, the stench of the Lavorix food became progressively stronger and it made him think of raw meat slurry.

The obliterator core’s cancellation effect extended fifty metres and Vance halted the device at fifty-one metres from the frozen Lavorix. Looking from close up, Vance had no doubt these aliens were as alive as he was. In fact, it appeared as if they were on their way to the replicators, as if they cared not at all for the other dead Lavorix in the mess room.

“I’m about to send in the obliterator unit to cancel their stasis,” said Vance. “They’re unarmed, so wait a couple of seconds to find out if the death sphere kills them. If not, shoot them.”

Vance sent the obliterator core another few metres towards the Lavorix, so they’d be encompassed by its next stasis negation pulse. He chose a target and aimed his Rodan, while keeping watch on the thirty-second timer for the Firestorm’s stasis pulse. The digits fell to zero and the obliterator generated its own localised stasis negation pulse.

At once, the Lavorix resumed what they’d been doing before they were trapped in stasis, which wasn’t a trip to the replicator, but a disconcertingly rapid sprint for the exit in the opposite wall. Vance cursed – the Lavorix ran differently to a human or a Daklan and he hadn’t spotted that they were in full motion. It took a split second for the aliens to realise they were in the gunsights and then they ran faster.

“Kill them,” said Vance.

The platoon was well positioned and the soldiers remained calm. Vance tracked his target and blew the top of its head off with his first Rodan shot. Just to be sure, he gave it a second hole, this time in the torso. Other guns nearby discharged and then abruptly stopped. Lavorix bodies slid across the floor with momentum and blood pooled thickly. Sergeant Tagra strode over to confirm the enemy were dead, not that there was any doubt. He tapped the side of his helmet and nodded.

Vance requested a channel to Admiral Aston. “Ma’am, it’s possible the death sphere didn’t kill the Lavorix,” he said. “We’ve discovered some who were alive when we cancelled their stasis.” Vance quickly described the recent events.

“This is not good news, Lieutenant.”

“No, ma’am, it is not. However, I believe my platoon should continue the mission.”

“We have little choice,” said Aston. “If you find the same result everywhere, it is conceivable that billions of Lavorix are still alive on the Ancidium.”

“How did they survive the death sphere, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” said Aston. “Perhaps the Ancidium’s personnel areas are shielded from the effects. After all, the damn warship is immune to practically everything else. Don’t think about it too hard – move on with the mission and let me know what you discover.”

Vance had something else to ask. Once he led the platoon beyond the Firestorm’s negation pulse, they’d enter an alternating state of thirty seconds stasis and ten seconds of the negated stasis created by the obliterator core. Although he’d become accustomed to the stasis shifts, he’d be far more comfortable in a permanently negated stasis.

“Admiral, we’re about to enter an area locked in stasis. I don’t suppose there’s any way we can reprogram this obliterator core to create a permanent negation field?”

“I’m sure you remember the briefing, Lieutenant. Best not to tamper with something that’s already working.”

“Just thought I’d ask,” said Vance ruefully. “We’ve found directions to a technical station and we’re on our way there. It’s possible there’ll be an interface port that allows access to some data we can make use of.”

“Keep going, Lieutenant. I’ll speak to you soon.”

Vance closed the channel and ordered his troops to move. This mission had never been conventional and now it appeared there’d be a whole lot of shooting to accompany the stasis fields and the exploration.

Killing aliens was something Vance knew all about and he set off for the exit with a tight grip on his gun.

Chapter Twelve

As he approached the door leading from the mess room, Vance turned once to make sure nobody had fallen too far behind. From here, it would start getting messy if anyone became lost and ended up in stasis. Judging by the way the soldiers hurried to keep up, the same thought was on everyone’s mind.

The obliterator core cracked the door in eight seconds and, in the passage beyond, were more frozen Lavorix. Dozens of them.

“These ones are alive as well,” said Gantry.

The corridor continued to a left-right intersection sixty metres away, though the intervening space was too crowded for Vance to see if there was another sign for the technical station.

He advanced, leaving the core behind for the moment. The Ancidium’s propulsion note was gone now, certainly because the obliterator core’s tiny negation pulse didn’t reach as far as the ternium modules. That left it eerily quiet and the Lavorix were grotesque statues in the silence.

Backing up, Vance gave orders. The plan was straightforward. “I’ll bring the core forward. As soon as these bastards drop out of stasis, shoot them dead.”

“This is going to feel like cheating,” said Drawl.

“Don’t complain too much,” said Raven. “I much prefer it when the bullets are heading away from me.”

Vance motioned for silence and surveyed the positions of his soldiers. Given the limitations of space, he’d chosen Squad B to have all the fun. The soldiers formed an arc a little way from the corridor entrance.

“I’m bringing up the core,” said Vance.

He gave it the order and the device floated steadily closer. The moment it came within fifty metres of the nearest Lavorix, the aliens jerked out of stasis. Bullets poured into them and they went down like blood-sopping rags.

“Next,” said Vance.

Another group of Lavorix were freed and again the squad discharged their guns with the same outcome.

“Feels like I’m on a firing squad,” said Private Mack. “I’m not sure I like it either.”

Onwards floated the obliterator core and down went the Lavorix. The radius of the stasis negation field was fifty metres and the corridor was sixty in length, so the aliens at the intersection couldn’t be removed from zero-time while the obliterator stayed in the mess room. Vance halted the core at the doorway.

“Follow it into the passage,” he said, indicating with his gun. He ordered the obliterator unit to move again.

The squad didn’t require micromanagement and they went with it, the human soldiers flanking in the wide gaps to the sides and the Daklan firing over the top of the core. Blood and entrails made the floor treacherous and Mack’s feet skidded once, leaving a smear in the gore.

“We have cleared the way,” said Tagra.

Vance halted the core again, fifteen metres into the passage. “I’ll hold the obliterator here. Head to the intersection and be ready to kill anything that emerges from stasis.”

The squad hurried on and positioned themselves at the junction, with their guns ready.

“We have targets,” Tagra confirmed.

“The core is on its way,” said Vance.

Under his command, the obliterator resumed its journey. Vance and the other two squads had some leeway within its fifty-metre negation radius, but he played it safe and motioned the remaining soldiers to follow him as he strode after the core. At the intersection, guns discharged and then again. Vance didn’t stop until the obliterator was at the corner.

“We have killed all the Lavorix within range,” said Tagra, checking the ammunition readout on his Rodan. “I do not like these creatures, but there is no honour in this.”

“Just picture them with Bautista’s face, Sergeant,” quipped Drawl. “That’s how I did it in the mess room and it worked great. In fact, I’d like to volunteer to shoot the next bunch we run into.”

“You won’t have to wait long, Private,” rumbled Tagra. “This corridor holds many targets in both directions.”

Vance was already at the intersection. The nearby Lavorix had been efficiently and brutally slaughtered. Steam rose in the cold air from the lumps of red meat and guts which had once been murderous aliens. The scent of it was sharp and unpleasant, though Vance had long ago become accustomed to the odour of the freshly killed.

Many of the aliens had been armed and their fallen rifles were grey among the crimson. Vance hadn’t heard a single shot, but eventually that would change and one of the Lavorix would react quickly enough to discharge a weapon. He could only hope that his soldiers would not be hit.

“There’s another sign,” he said, spotting a ten-inch square of light grey metal against the darker grey walls. The sign was offset from the intersection and splattered blood made it hard to read. Vance wiped it with the side of his gauntlet, doing little more than spreading the redness around. He cursed and squinted at the sign, before rubbing it again to reveal an arrow.

“That way,” he said, pointing left. The corridor went on for some distance and Vance estimated sixty or seventy Lavorix were in sight. Passages linked in from the sides and a darker area in the distance might have been a door.

“It’s like the entire warship was mobilised,” said Steigers.

“I’m sure it was,” said Vance. “The more I see, the more I think these bastards were readying themselves for something.”

“Like what?” asked Private Fidel Coates.

Vance was only guessing himself, but he got irritated when people demanded answers that he clearly didn’t have. “Use your imagination, Private. Something bad.”

“I wonder if the operational crew is alive,” said Corporal Hendrix. “If that stasis sphere collapses and the Ancidium escapes, we could find ourselves right back where we were twelve years ago, only this time we’d have both the Lavorix and the Kilvar fighting over our life energy.”

“The outcome would be chaos,” said Tagra. “Chaos and death.”

“That’s always the outcome,” said Drawl. He didn’t usually get angry, but it was spilling from him now and he aimed a kick at a lump of glistening flesh, sending it thudding into the wall. “I don’t want it.”

“In that case, you know what to do, Private,” said Vance.

“Yeah, I know, Lieutenant. Shoot aliens and don’t stop until they’re all dead.”

“Either that or re-train as a weapons scientist,” suggested Steigers. “I hear RL Moseley’s team is looking for talented individuals.”

Even Drawl had to laugh and his anger dissipated. “We’ve got a mission to finish. When we’re done and returned home, maybe I’ll apply for that position.”

Vance was ready to go as well, but he wanted to ensure the squads were comfortable with the tactics he was about to employ.

“I’ll hold the core to a walking pace,” he said. “Squad A will take point, swapping to Squad B and then C as we need to reload. If anyone spots internal defences or a zero-time Lavorix with a rocket tube pointed our way, be sure to call it out.”

Before Vance could give the order to go, movement along the intersection caught his eye. His Rodan was aimed in the right direction and he shifted the barrel a few inches before pulling the trigger.

“Hostiles!” Vance shouted, as the Rodan thumped into his shoulder.

Blood sprayed and fast-moving shapes sprinted towards him. Vance pulled the trigger again, with the Rodan on narrow spread. Slugs punched into a Lavorix about seventy metres away, smashing its shoulder into mush and almost severing an arm.

A second after Vance yelled the warning, the passage became filled with the whine of gauss coils and the muffled thump of Rodan shots.

“Deploying,” said Gantry, kicking out the tripod on his MG-12 repeater.

“Rendos!” shouted Vance. “Cover right!”

The intersection was too crowded for so many soldiers and Vance barked orders for those with Rodans to fall back towards the mess room. He wasn’t far from the corner himself and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t crossing into someone’s firing line, and then he stepped out of the cross passage, bringing the obliterator core with him.

Gantry and Rendos were old hands with the repeaters and they set up in moments. The guns produced a hard-edged roar and they spilled a deluge into the Lavorix.

“Rocket tube ready,” said Private Stanar.

Vance lifted a hand, palm out, ordering the soldier to hold. “I think we’ve got this,” he said.

With Rendos and Gantry prone, Vance checked quickly left, withdrew his head and then checked quickly right. In both directions he saw carnage and blood glimmering on every surface.

“It’s not clear, sir,” said Gantry. “More of the bastards keep running in from the side passages.”

Vance swore and poked his head out again, just in time to see a Lavorix dart from a passage about ninety metres left. Bullets tore into the creature and, before it could drop to the floor, it became frozen in place. Vance’s suddenly guessed what was going on, but he needed to speak with Admiral Aston to find out for sure. As he thought, the Vengeance’s receptors were grey.

Ten seconds and those receptor lights will go green.

He was right. Ten seconds after he’d watched the Lavorix in the corridor become frozen, the Vengeance’s comms receptors went green again.

“Got movement, sir,” said Gantry. The MG-12s started up again. This time the repeater fire was sporadic, reassuring Vance that the Lavorix were no longer arriving in large numbers.

“Admiral Aston,” said Vance, once his channel request was accepted. “I get the feeling something isn’t going to plan.”

“Yes, there’s some bad news, Lieutenant. The Firestorm’s stasis-cancelling pulses are growing larger.”

“Why?” asked Vance. “I don’t understand.”

A few metres away, Gantry and Rendos kept on firing at the Lavorix entering the corridor, the repeater discharge making him raise his voice.

“The size of the pulses was meant to have a degree of randomness,” said Aston. “Up till now, there’s been no sign of it and each pulse has been the same size as the one previous. We don’t know why, but that just changed. The last pulse had a radius almost twice the size of all the others.”

“It’s freeing the Lavorix personnel for thirty seconds at a time, ma’am,” said Vance. “After that, my platoon and I have ten seconds of breathing room because of the secondary negation pulse generated by the obliterator core.”

“You probably don’t want to hear the really bad news,” said Aston. “Captain Flint is having problems shutting down the stasis pulses.”

Vance tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Can he fix the problem, ma’am? And how big might the stasis pulses end up?”

“The answer to both questions is I don’t know,” said Aston. “The exium module on the Firestorm is small, so it’s unlikely it’s going to cancel the entire stasis sphere at Evia. There’s a good chance it’ll become large enough to encompass the Ancidium.”

“Will the Lavorix escape?” asked Vance. “Can they open a gateway and go somewhere else?”

“That’s another one I can’t answer. Since the Ixidar shut down, the alliance doesn’t have functioning gateway hardware, so we haven’t been able to test if one would bypass a stasis field.”

“We’re up the creek, aren’t we?” asked Vance.

“About as far up as it’s possible to go.” Aston sighed. “This mission was always a calculated gamble.”

“They always are ma’am, it’s just the odds that vary. If that technical station is nearby, we might have a chance to capture some data and escape.”

“We can’t allow the Ancidium to come out of stasis,” said Aston.

The channel was abruptly cut when the Firestorm’s negation pulse expired. The obliterator core generated its own ten-second pulse, leaving Vance and his platoon as the only living creatures within two million kilometres who weren’t trapped in stasis. Gantry and Rendos executed high speed reloads, while Vance continued staring at the ceiling.

We can’t let the Ancidium escape.

Aston’s last words came back to him and, like a hammer to the temple, Vance understood what she’d been about to say.

Chapter Thirteen

Ten seconds elapsed and Aston opened the comms channel again. “You’ve probably guessed what’s coming.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s the right thing to do. Is there any hope of an extraction?”

“If we can fix the stasis pulses, we’ll be back as quickly as possible. I’d suggest you return to the shuttle as soon as the data extraction is complete and we’ll pick you up.”

“We’ll proceed with the mission. Are you leaving immediately?”

The two repeaters fired again, this time in a continuous burst that lasted five or six seconds. It sounded as if the pressure was rising. Of course the Lavorix troops had never been slow to act, so Vance was not surprised.

“We have no option, Lieutenant. I’m taking the Vengeance out of the bay and back to the Firestorm. Both warships will fly directly away from the Ancidium until we can figure things out.” Aston exhaled. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.” Another thought came to Vance. “I thought the obliterator core was relying on a signal from the Firestorm to trigger its own secondary pulse.”

“It is, but it doesn’t have to work that way. Before we depart, I’ll have the Firestorm send a signal to the core instructing it to automatically generate pulses at the same interval. You’ll continue getting ten seconds of negation out of every forty.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll wish you goodbye and good luck,” said Aston.

“Nothing else,” Vance confirmed.

Aston cut the channel and was gone.

Vance had never let a shitty situation slow him down and he entered the platoon channel. “Listen up, we’ve been served a plateful. The Vengeance and the Firestorm are pulling out temporarily – the stasis pulses are getting larger and they can’t risk freeing the Ancidium and having the Lavorix finish the job they started twelve years ago.”

“Does that mean we’re stuck here?” asked Bautista.

“I know Admiral Aston. If there’s any way to come back for us, she’ll make it happen,” said Vance. “For all we know, the Firestorm’s crew will get on top of the problem and they’ll return before we can complete our part of the mission.”

“Is that likely?” asked Mack. The question was genuine rather than sardonic.

“I learned long ago not to guess my own fate, Private,” said Vance. “We’ll play our part and leave it for others to play theirs. If it’s any consolation, the Vengeance and Firestorm are in good hands.”

“I’ve got a question, sir,” said Coates.

“You don’t have to raise your hand, Private. This isn’t a classroom.”

Coates lowered his arm. “So if I understand the situation correctly, once we’re no longer in range of the Firestorm’s negation pulses, we’ll be the only people on the Ancidium who aren’t in stasis.”

“I’d say you understand it well enough,” said Vance. “As long as we stay within fifty metres of the obliterator core, we’ll be active for ten seconds in every forty, and that’s ten seconds more than the Lavorix.”

“I hate to be the one that asks the question, sir,” said Drawl, “But if the Firestorm’s stasis pulses have screwed up, what’s to say the same thing won’t happen to the obliterator core?”

“It might happen,” Vance admitted, having only recently had the same thought himself. “I have no idea how to fix anything that goes wrong, so let’s keep our fingers crossed everything stays hunky dory.”

“You call this hunky dory, sir?” asked Steigers.

“It’s a hell of a lot hunky dorier than if we were trapped here forever, Private.”

“Point taken, sir.”

Vance heard Rodan shots and he wheeled towards the sound. “Report!” he shouted.

“Hostiles in the mess room,” said Londivir on the comms. “Two Lavorix are down. More may be incoming.”

Whatever else was going wrong, Lieutenant James Vance knew exactly how to act in a pressure situation. His brain rapidly calculated that he had no more than three or four of the Firestorm’s thirty second pulses to survive – before the Vengeance exited the construction bay and the two warships withdrew - and after that, he and his platoon would be the only ones equipped with stasis negation.

Vance’s viewing angle into the mess room wasn’t perfect, but he could mentally picture the metal tables and the space to spread out and avoid explosives.

“Squads A and C, we’re holding the mess room!” he shouted. “Sergeant Gantry, Private Rendos, stay where you are and cover this passage. Stanar, Raimi, back them up! Don’t get out of the obliterator’s range.”

Vance instructed the core to remain midway along the mess room’s exit corridor, where he judged it would be safest from incidental fire. Leaving it behind, he dashed for the mess area, just as two or three of the soldiers in that direction discharged their Rodans at new targets.

“More incoming,” said Steigers.

“The more the merrier,” said Drawl. “It makes them easier to shoot.”

Slowing at the mess room entrance, Vance checked the lay of the land. Two of his soldiers were crouched behind each of the nearest two tables and their guns were trained on the other entrances. Meanwhile, the newly arrived members of Squads A and C were heading left and right towards positions of cover.

The distance from Vance’s position to the farthest door was about a hundred metres and, while the Rodans were still effective at these ranges, especially on narrow spread, a few of the troops had switched back to the more familiar gauss rifles. Vance did likewise.

No sooner had he swapped weapons, than the opposite door opened at the same moment as the Firestorm’s stasis negation pulse ended. Revealed in the passage were dozens of sprinting Lavorix, now frozen for ten seconds. Vance dashed left out of the passage, aiming for one of the tables in the corner.

“Grenade out,” said Drawl, rising from cover about fifteen metres left of the entrance.

A sudden feeling of horror gripped Vance and he guessed what was about to happen. “No!” he shouted.

The warning came too late. Drawl’s arm whipped out in his familiar sideways throw and the grenade entered a low arc towards the far passage. Instead of completing its flight and landing at the feet of the enemy troops, the grenade hit the inner perimeter of the obliterator’s stasis sphere and dropped to the floor.

“Get down!” shouted Vance.

A whumping blast followed and the plasma grenade’s explosion was channelled inwards. Private Brastil and Private Raven were closest to the blast, but they were crouched behind a table. The explosion buffeted them and the heat charred their combat suits.

“No explosives during the ten second stasis!” said Vance, completing his own sprint for cover. He dropped low behind a table, alongside Corporal Charnos. Kneeling, Vance aimed his gauss rifle at the far door and chose his target. He couldn’t help noticing the six trays on the tabletop before him, upon each of which were mounds of Lavorix food paste. The scent caught in his nostrils, sweet, cloying and meaty, like flatulence in an airlock.

“Brastil, Raven, report!” he called out angrily.

“My suit is breached,” said Brastil. “I will require medical attention when this engagement is finished.”

From his position, Vance could see Raven checking her exposed arm and flank. The material of her suit was visibly discoloured. Twenty metres left, Corporal Hendrix was on her way, unslinging her med-box as she hurried low across the floor.

“No breach here, sir,” said Raven. “I’ll need a change of clothes once we get back to the Firestorm.”

“I’m sure Drawl will help you with that,” said Steigers unhelpfully.

“Hey, Brastil, Raven, I’m sorry,” said Drawl. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“No more explosives!” Vance repeated. He couldn’t be angry at Drawl, since nobody else had guessed what would happen. “It looks like our projectiles can’t enter zero-time. Be ready for the Firestorm’s next stasis pulse.”

The pulse came and the Lavorix in the far doorway resumed their sprint. They fired their long-barrelled rifles wildly, denied the time to aim. Bullets thudded into their flesh and not one of the aliens covered more than a handful of paces before being cut down.

Others were on their way and Vance shifted his aim towards the right-hand door just as it opened. It felt good to be using the gauss rifle again – which was a weapon of finesse rather than a brutal killer like the Rodans – and he put slugs into the first two Lavorix who emerged. The enemy were damned fast and hitting them was a test of Vance’s skill. He heard the cracking sound of the enemy return fire and their bullets thunked into the solid wall behind the platoon.

“I think we’ve poked the nest, sir,” said Sergeant Gantry. “There’s no sign of an end to the Lavorix in this corridor.”

“Keep shooting,” said Vance. “They’ll stop coming when they’re all dead.”

The doors into the mess room didn’t close automatically and he had a good view of the Lavorix as they charged towards the mess room. Fearlessness and speed were no match for gauss projectiles and the aliens were torn apart by gunfire before they could threaten the soldiers.

“This can’t last,” said Corporal Charnos.

Vance agreed. Experience told him the Lavorix were single-minded and that could lead them into suicidal attacks. On the other hand, they weren’t going to keep throwing meat into the grinder and hope the blades would eventually get stuck.

He shot the next Lavorix as it emerged from the right-hand doorway and as it fell, Vance saw that it held a matte grey cylinder in each hand. The grenades went off before the alien hit the ground and the twin explosions tore one of the tables from its mountings, as well as killing at least one other Lavorix. That next Lavorix had also been holding grenades and they exploded too. Body parts and debris were hurled across the room. A bent food tray clattered onto the floor near Vance’s table and slid past him into the rear wall.

“How long do we need to hold, sir?” asked Steigers.

“Not long,” said Vance, telling himself that was the truth.

The gunfire increased in intensity and the smell of charged gauss coils became stronger than the stench of Lavorix food pastes. A grenade exploded and then another. The Lavorix no longer charged into the room and were now hanging back at the distant intersections in the far passage. The enemy approaching from the right-hand passage had no angle to shoot the soldiers, but that allowed the aliens to advance to the doorway from where they could throw grenades.

“Carrington, Bautista, Loxon, move around,” said Vance on the platoon channel. He made rapid gestures with one arm to indicate where he wanted the soldiers to position themselves. They got going at once.

So far, the Lavorix were only attacking from two of the entrances. The third approach was covered by Gantry and Rendos, while the fourth led back to the shuttle. If the enemy found a way to attack from this last route or – worse - discovered the escape vessel, the situation would become much more challenging and Vance clenched his teeth as each passing second appeared to last ten times longer than normal.

Now the Lavorix were being more circumspect, the kills were harder to come by. From his position, Vance could see fifty or sixty metres along the opposite corridor to a side passage. An enemy soldier leaned out and he put a bullet in its shoulder. It moved out of sight and another appeared. A grenade exploded five metres in front of Vance’s table and he hunkered down for a moment.

Rising up again, Vance was in time to spot a Lavorix at the side passage through the opposite exit. He saw the silvery grey tube it was carrying and he fired his gun three times in rapid succession. Too late, a flash of orange indicated the Lavorix soldier had launched its rocket. The missile shrieked into the room, heading directly for the wall behind Vance.

Cursing the enemy and cursing the mission, he readied himself for death.

Chapter Fourteen

The one thing Vance did not curse was the stasis field. With the incoming rocket halfway across the room, the Firestorm’s stasis negation pulse elapsed and the obliterator core’s own fifty-metre stasis pulse activated. The rocket hung in place, trapped in zero-time and just beyond the perimeter of the localised negation pulse. Inside their own pocket of normal time, Vance and his soldiers were free to act.

“Move!” yelled Vance. The muscles in his legs bunched and the soles of his combat boots squealed against the floor as he launched himself into a sprint, heading for the side wall to his right.

Only a few soldiers already near the right-hand wall were confident of their safety, while nobody else wanted to risk being caught in the coming explosion. The perimeter of the obliterator’s stasis field prevented escape deeper into the room, leaving the only option as a dash to the right.

“Mack, Carrington, be ready shoot anything that comes through that door when the stasis ends!” shouted Vance at two of the soldiers who were already out of the coming blast’s radius.

“We’ve got you covered,” said Carrington.

Vance made it to the right-hand wall five seconds into the ten-second duration of the negation effect and he darted around one of the tables to keep it between him and the blast. Four soldiers were already there. Vance made it five and Corporal Charnos made it six. There was enough physical space for them to fit, but the table wasn’t going to offer much protection.

“Come on!” roared Vance, making great sweeping motions with his hand. Private Drawl had been farthest away, along with Private Lumis, and while the former had a whippet-like turn of pace, the Daklan wasn’t nearly so rapid across the ground.

“Two seconds!” bellowed Charnos.

Hurling himself full length, Lumis vanished from sight behind a table, just as Drawl – several metres ahead – did likewise.

“Be ready for the stasis switchover!” said Vance.

As he spoke the words, he sensed the Lavorix rocket resume its flight and heard it crash into the wall. The explosion flashed bright and Vance crouched lower still. Expanding air carried intense heat and it washed over the squads.

“Danstol, give them one back!” said Vance, rising to his haunches. He ignored the friendly temperature warning which pinged onto his HUD and fired rapidly into the far corridor, hoping to keep the enemy pinned.

“Grenade out!” said Drawl, somewhere behind the next row of tables.

The grenade arced into sight and Vance calculated it would land exactly in front of the right-hand entrance. A Lavorix ran straight into the blast, even as Drawl had a second grenade on its way.

Vance couldn’t watch too closely and he hurried once more to the left, following a pace behind Private Danstol. The coils on the Daklan’s shoulder tube warmed up and he broke stride long enough to get a sighting of his target.

“Rocket out,” said Danstol. Then, he made a peculiar grunting sound, audible over the expulsion of the missile and the whoosh of its acceleration.

“Shit! Corporal Hendrix!” yelled Vance, seeing the blossoming redness on the Daklan’s chest.

Danstol dropped to his knees and his rocket tube fell forwards, clunking as it struck the ground. Snarling in fury, Vance fired blindly into the explosion created by the soldier’s rocket. He kept shooting, hoping it would make the enemy stay low in the side passages.

The gauss rifle’s magazine ran dry and Vance dropped low behind the nearby table. His fingers had the memory and they ejected the old mag. Almost before the empty one hit the ground, Vance slammed in a replacement and he prepared to shoot whichever Lavorix showed themselves.

Two or three explosions went off with the familiar whumps of alliance grenades, and the soldiers poured bullets into the far passage. Vance judged Danstol’s rocket had landed close enough to the enemy rocket soldier to have killed the bastard, assuming it had stayed near the corner. Further away, fleeting movement indicated that other Lavorix were still in the fight.

The beauty of commanding experienced soldiers was that they knew how to act even when they weren’t having everything spelled out to them. Consequently, some of the troops were staying low and filtering back towards the left-hand wall, while others provided covering fire, or – in Drawl’s case – threw grenades with pinpoint accuracy into the paths of the attackers.

“Have some more, Drawlman,” said Carrington, sliding her six-grenade side belt across the floor towards him.

“Received with thanks, Carrington.”

Vance stayed in a crouch near were Danstol had fallen and fired gauss slugs into anything stupid enough to poke its head out for longer than a second. He wondered if he’d misjudged in falling back to the mess room. The space was large enough to spread out and minimise the effects of smaller explosives – which had been his intention – but it wasn’t feasible to avoid anything larger, like that enemy rocket.

He swore under his breath. It was a gamble he’d take again and the platoon had been unlucky that a Lavorix rocket soldier had been close enough to join in this attack.

“How’s he doing, Corporal Hendrix?” asked Vance, not shifting his gaze from the passage. A Lavorix arm or shoulder appeared briefly and he put a slug into it.

“Dead,” said Hendrix simply. “The bullet ruptured his heart and I can’t bring him back from that.”

Vance cursed again and wished this shitty mission was over. The Firestorm’s stasis pulse elapsed and the obliterator core created its own. In the ten seconds of breathing space, the two squads dashed into more advantageous positions and reloaded their weapons.

“What’s your situation Sergeant Gantry?” asked Vance.

“We saw no Lavorix in the last five seconds before the stasis change, sir, but I’m not hopeful the enemy are gone.”

“Nor am I.”

“How many more of those thirty second intervals do you reckon we have left, sir?” asked Private Raven.

“Not many,” growled Vance.

It turned out his three or four intervals guess was on the high side. Ten seconds elapsed and the Lavorix in the passages didn’t move. Another ten seconds went by and still nothing.

“Admiral Aston didn’t hang around,” said Private Raimi.

“Looks like,” said Vance. Even so, knowing that that the Firestorm’s exium module wasn’t behaving itself, he wasn’t about to march across the enemy’s line of fire in case normal time resumed for them. “Let’s hold for another twenty seconds,” he said. “Corporal Hendrix, how is Private Brastil?”

“He’s got burns to his forearm, sir. I gave him something for the pain and I’ve injected a filler in his suit breach. It’s not perfect, but it should hold.”

“Thank you.”

As he waited the last few seconds, Vance’s mind turned over recent events. Danstol was dead, and that was a kick in the balls, doubly so because Vance had met the Daklan’s wife a couple of times and she didn’t deserve the news that was coming her way. Not a man to shirk his duties, Vance would be the one doing the telling and that was going to break his heart – that same heart which a few of his platoon members were convinced he didn’t have.

Then, there was the separate matter of projectiles not entering zero-time. That was a strange one, because he’d been told that back on Tibulon the heavy cruiser Loadout’s missiles had been able to enter the stasis field created when Research Lead Moseley caused the ingar-ternium reactor to blow. On that occasion, the stasis field had only slowed everything down to a fraction of its usual relative velocity and perhaps that was the reason for the difference – bullets and explosives could enter reduced time stasis, but not zero-time stasis.

Vance swore under his breath. He wasn’t trained for this kind of shit and he doubted anyone else in the alliance was trained for it either.

Twenty seconds had gone by and the Lavorix hadn’t moved. “Let’s go,” he said, cautiously straightening from behind his table.

“Look at this, sir,” said Drawl, also climbing to his feet. He pointed towards the right-hand entrance.

Vance wasn’t in the mood for delays, but he looked anyway. In the doorway, one of the cylindrical Lavorix grenades was frozen in flight, and one of Drawl’s grenades, heading the other way, was also frozen.

“They were about to collide, sir,” said Drawl. He sounded bemused. “Stasis, eh? What a pile of crap.”

“Come on,” said Vance. “We’ve lost one of our own. Let’s make it the last.”

He headed for the exit corridor, still wary and still unwilling to accept that the Firestorm might not emit another negation pulse. Neither the heavy cruiser nor the Vengeance were showing a comms receptor, not that he’d expected one. If his platoon was to get off the Ancidium, those grey lights would eventually have to turn green.

By the time a minute had passed – or four entire minutes of time outside the Evia stasis sphere – Vance was willing to accept the obliterator core was the only thing negating stasis. At some point, the Firestorm would have to return and hopefully when it happened, the pulses would be at their previous radii. By that point, Vance intended to have an obliterator core filled to bursting with stolen Lavorix data.

He returned to the intersection where Gantry and Rendos were packing up their MG-12s. Both gun barrels were steaming from the heat and a haze distorted the air.

“Good work,” said Vance. “Thanks.”

“No problem, sir,” said Gantry.

Vance ordered a half dozen soldiers to hold in the mess room while he went over the details of what he intended. “We’re going back to the earlier plan,” he informed the platoon. “I’ll instruct the core to travel at a walking pace and we’ll shoot anything it frees from stasis. Squad A has point.”

“What about Private Danstol, sir?” asked Sergeant Tagra.

“I haven’t forgotten about him, Sergeant,” said Vance. “We’ll pick him up on our return, if we’re able.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vance swapped back to his Rodan and checked the ammunition readout. It was a few short of its fifty maximum, so he swapped in a full one and hooked the nearly full spare over his belt.

“Let’s find that damned technical station,” he said, bringing the obliterator core to the intersection. The device was cold and heavy, and the soldiers didn’t stand in its path.

Sergeant’s Gantry’s repeater had done a good job on the Lavorix and the passage was littered with their bodies. A skilled soldier – which Gantry was - could hold a choke point like this even against rocket troops, because repeaters could chew through flesh far quicker than a rocket tube’s coils could warm up. That didn’t mean an expert rocket soldier couldn’t get a shot off, but it was beyond the abilities of most.

Vance and the other members of Squad A stayed ahead of the obliterator on the basis that they needed to be ready to fire into side passages as soon as the stasis negation reached any of the Lavorix who were waiting in those directions. The first turning was left. Only a handful of enemy soldiers were within range, and none of them were carrying anything more threatening than a rifle.

A fusillade of Rodan shots blew the aliens into pieces and Vance halted the core while he searched for a sign that would lead him to the technical station. He located one on the wall and it was covered in a mixture of blood and a slimy green fluid which had been ejected from ruptured intestines.

Vance wasn’t squeamish, but he didn’t enjoy being slathered in gore. Using his forearm, he tried to wipe the sign clean and when that failed, he cursed and used the side of his hand.

“Bautista’s got an embroidered handkerchief, sir,” said Drawl. “He uses it to dry his eyes whenever he gets homesick. Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll lend it to you.”

“Hey, Drawl, you…”

“We’re going that way,” said Vance firmly, cutting off Bautista’s reply.

He pointed along the straight-ahead and stared that way for a moment. Gantry had mown down dozens of Lavorix and driven the others into cover, so visibility was clear all the way to a closed door at the corridor’s end, approximately three hundred metres away. Vance had a feeling the technical station was behind that door, leaving him and his squad a total of four side passages to negotiate.

He urged the soldiers into motion and turned briefly to make sure nobody from Squad B or C were falling behind. Having seen Drawl’s grenade hit the inside of the sphere, he suspected anyone coming into contact with the perimeter would simply be pushed forwards, but Vance didn’t want to discover that the stasis interacted differently with living organisms.

The next side passage went to the right and Vance jogged ahead of the core until his suit computer’s comms link to the device informed him he was forty metres ahead. He checked around the corner, where eight or nine Lavorix were clustered together and facing each other, as if they’d been discussing nasty tactics to prise out Sergeant Gantry and Private Rendos.

Vance halted the obliterator core for a few seconds, while Steigers, Raven, Drawl, Mack and Londivir joined him.

“Ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, Vance commanded the core into motion again. Its stasis negation field freed the clustered Lavorix. Six Rodans discharged once, again, and then for a third time. At the end of it, the Lavorix had joined the other greasy, bloody lumps on the passage floor.

The soldiers didn’t comment on the ease of the kills and Vance, having located another sign on the wall, indicated it was time to continue towards the end door. At the next side-passage, he checked again and was almost caught out when a Lavorix, which must have been right around the corner, stepped into sight about two metres in front of him. To Vance’s horror, it was holding a rocket tube which it had aimed towards the position Sergeant Gantry and Rendos would have been had stasis not screwed around with its position in time.

Vance fired his Rodan, clearing out most of the creature’s abdominal cavity. His gun whined with reload and he didn’t wait for it to finish. Instead, Vance dropped low and launched himself to the side, relying on the fast reactions of his soldiers. He landed hard on his shoulder, just as two further Rodan discharges smashed the top of the Lavorix’s head off and turned its chest into a mix of blood and shattered bones.

With its blood squirting profusely from severed arteries, the enemy soldier toppled onto Vance and its rocket tube landed on the floor nearby. Swatting the corpse angrily aside, he rose, covered in pieces of flesh and thick blood.

“Looking sharp, sir,” said Drawl.

“Shut up, Drawl,” said Vance. He pointed at the body on the floor. “Or I’ll order you to wear that around your shoulders until we get back to the Firestorm.”

Wisely, Drawl shut his mouth and he pretended to study the next intersection. “Let’s hope there’s nothing else around those next corners.”

The surprise appearance of the Lavorix rocket soldier could have ended much worse than it did and Vance was glad the alien hadn’t got its shot off. “Good reactions behind, whoever it was,” he said. “Even if I ended up covered in all this crap.”

Nobody claimed the glory, not that Vance was expecting them to. He experimentally rubbed the soles of his boots on the floor to ensure they weren’t slippery with blood and then stepped carefully over the dead body. A few paces on and he instructed the obliterator core to resume its progress.

A hundred and fifty metres further, passages from the left and right joined the main corridor. Vance had no intention of being caught out again and he took the utmost care to be ready for anything that might be hiding around the corners.

“Corporal Charnos, Private Mack, go left,” he ordered. “Private Drawl, it’s you and me,” he added, thumbing towards the right-hand passage.

On this occasion, no Lavorix jumped into sight and Vance was able to obtain a view along the right-hand corridor.

“Shit,” he said. “Attack bots.”

“Same along this way,” said Charnos. “I count three.”

“Seven in total,” said Vance.

The attack bots were little more than two-metre floating, armoured cylinders with twin chain guns. They didn’t need sophistication to chew their way through the platoon and Vance couldn’t believe the timing.

“One more stasis pulse from the Firestorm and these robots would have cut us down like wheat,” he said.

It wasn’t only the timing that was lucky.

“The ping from my suit sensor indicates the closest attack bot this way is at sixty metres,” said Charnos.

“And fifty-five metres along this passage. Just outside the core’s negation pulse,” said Vance. It was a lucky break, but he didn’t spend time dwelling on his good fortune. “This sign on the wall indicates the technical station is behind that door straight ahead.”

Drawl was looking unusually perturbed. “If those bots had been released a second earlier, we’d have been unable to pass this intersection without breaking them out of stasis.”

“And if the technical station had been along the left or right passages we’d have been stuck as well,” said Mack.

“Those are the margins,” said Vance.

Privately, he asked himself if there were any additional attack bots behind the technical station door. It was a valid question and when he turned towards Charnos, Mack and Drawl in turn, he knew they were thinking the same.

“Screw it,” said Vance. “We’ll deal with whatever we find.”

Instructing the obliterator core to continue its journey, Vance headed for door at the end of the passage.

Chapter Fifteen

The door was solid-looking and with rounded corners, in a way which reminded Vance of those on ancient submarines, albeit larger and without visible hinges or a release handle. He stepped forward and thumped his clenched fist onto the surface. The alloy felt predictably impenetrable.

Turning, Vance checked the distance between himself and the obliterator core. “Forty-eight metres,” he confirmed to Corporal Charnos, who was standing adjacent to him in the passage.

“This access panel is different to the one at the construction bay exit,” said the Daklan. “It is larger.”

Size was the only visible difference, though Vance assumed the Lavorix would have increased security around the sensitive areas of the Ancidium. He guessed this access panel would be harder to crack and there was only one way to find out.

“I’ll order the core to begin,” Vance said on the platoon channel.

The soldiers were arrayed along the passage, with some in cover behind the obliterator core. Sergeant Gantry and Rendos had set up their MG-12s about fifteen metres back and they had their eyes fixed on Vance. Overall, it was far from ideal positioning, but given the confines of the stasis negation field, Vance had little choice other than to make do.

“The security hack won’t fail even though it’s being interrupted every ten seconds,” said Private Drawl.

Vance wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement and he didn’t ask. Back at the construction bay entrance, the obliterator’s assault on the door security hadn’t failed during stasis switchover, and he was tentatively hopeful that it wouldn’t be halted by a thirty second interruption either.

If the core failed, the next option was explosives and Vance suspected the technical station door would require so many of Private Enfield’s pack charges that anyone in the stasis negation field would be incinerated at the same time.

Vance put his back against the side wall and readied himself. Opposite, Corporal Charnos did likewise. While the two MG-12s would quickly mow down any revealed targets, they had only a limited firing angle through the doorway, which was the reason Vance and Charnos were hugging the entrance.

“Security hack started,” said Vance.

He kept his Rodan aimed towards the door and breathed steadily. At this end of the passage, the overwhelming stench of Lavorix innards had been replaced by the familiar musty odour of centuries. Vance experienced a fleeting giddiness at the thought of so much history and so much war. The Lavorix were down, but what the platoon had discovered on this massive warship indicated the aliens weren’t out for the count. As long as the Ancidium was operational, this ruthless species had a chance to make a comeback.

“Twelve seconds have elapsed,” said Charnos. “We are into a new negation pulse.”

Vance checked the obliterator core’s instruction queue. “No break in the security hack,” he said with relief.

Another fifteen seconds went by and Vance checked the instruction queue again. The core was still running and its utilisation nailed on ninety percent. What the other ten percent was reserved for, Vance didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to try overriding anything to gain a few seconds.

“One minute,” said Charnos. “This door is well-protected.”

“As I keep saying, explosives are the most efficient way to make progress,” said Private Enfield.

“You keep saying, but nobody’s listening,” said Carrington. “I’d prefer to wait for the obliterator, even if it takes a week.”

An orange light appeared on the access panel.

“Get ready!” ordered Vance.

The technical station door sank into its frame and slid left across the opening. Vance stared into a large space beyond, the nearest third of which was lit in cold blue.

“Lots of hardware,” said Charnos.

Vance nodded in agreement and stepped into the doorway, so he could view the entirety of the room. Unlike the other places he’d seen on the Ancidium, this room was circular, with a diameter of approximately fifty metres. Six concentric rings of control consoles were arranged around an eight-metre-diameter central pillar which emerged from the floor and joined with the ceiling ten metres above. The pillar was covered in ice, though with that part of the technical station in zero-time, Vance didn’t notice a drop in temperature.

Perhaps as many as two hundred Lavorix were in the room, dressed in the usual dark mesh suits and most of them sitting at their stations. Others conferred over whatever had been important in the moments before they entered stasis.

“This looks like the place,” he said. “Two visible exits, left and right, with a third likely behind this pillar and out of sight.”

“We may have to kill all of these Lavorix personnel,” said Charnos.

“Mercy is something we can’t easily afford,” said Vance. He sized up the room. “We’ll need to position the obliterator core in the centre near the pillar, so that its stasis negation pulse allows the consoles and their local data stores to power up.”

“And in doing so, we’ll free these trapped Lavorix.”

Vance cursed. Killing them was going to be a dirty job – more like a mass execution than an armed confrontation.

“We’ll use our gauss rifles,” he said on the comms channel. “The Rodans will be too messy.”

Selecting half a dozen of his soldiers, Vance summoned them to the doorway.

“None of those poor bastards are armed,” said Drawl.

“Since when did the Lavorix become poor bastards?” asked Private Mack.

“Hell, I don’t know,” said Drawl. “Something about this just doesn’t seem right.”

Even though the soldiers had killed plenty of Lavorix on the way here – many of them shot straight out of stasis – it felt to Vance like this was on the wrong side of the line, and some of the others were feeling it too.

He briefly considered bringing the Lavorix piecemeal out of stasis, overpowering them and then hauling them somewhere else out of the obliterator’s negation range. He wasn’t sure if the method was viable and he wasn’t about to risk even a single member of his platoon.

“We’ve got to do this,” said Vance.

“I’d prefer to live guilty than to screw up a chance of finishing a mission as important as this one, sir,” said Drawl.

“Me too, soldier.”

Vance instructed the obliterator to advance at a slow pace, while he and the six soldiers remained near the negation perimeter. The first Lavorix was pulled out of stasis and shot four times before it could react. It slumped bloodily onto its console and then slid to the floor.

“Next one,” said Vance, bringing the obliterator a few paces further along the corridor.

Another Lavorix suffered the same fate as the first. Two more followed and two after that. It was an unpleasant business and Vance didn’t enjoy it one bit. He hated the Lavorix as much as he could bring himself to hate anything, but this felt like murder rather than warfare.

A few minutes into the operation, Vance estimated that nearly half of the Lavorix had been killed. The members of his platoon who weren’t directly involved stayed close to the obliterator core and watched quietly as the enemy personnel were massacred.

Each console powered up as soon as it was touched by the stasis negation. It was a good sign, though Vance didn’t slow down to examine the hardware. The central pillar was also out of stasis and it was cold like he suspected. Vance paused to run his fingertips across the surface of the cylinder and flakes of ice tumbled to the floor.

“This must be either a processor, a data store, or both,” he guessed.

“Looks like it’s full of the good stuff,” said Mack. “All we have to do is reach in, take it out and ride off into the sunset.”

He stepped away from the cylinder and his eyes lingered on the furrows he’d left in the frost, which for some reason brought memories of winter days long ago. Days when he’d seen nothing like this and never dreamed he would.

“Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” sighed Vance.

“Wait!” said Drawl. “Do you see that one over there, sir?”

Vance’s gaze followed the soldier’s pointing finger. A quarter-turn around the pillar, a grey-dressed Lavorix was leaning across one of the consoles, apparently discussing something with a second alien, this one in the standard black.

“It’s wearing a different kind of spacesuit,” said Vance.

“Maybe that one’s an officer or something,” said Drawl.

Slowing to a halt, Vance considered the matter. In his experience, the Lavorix always wore the same clothing and he’d never come across an indication they had an officer structure. It had puzzled him before and now here was the first sign that some of the aliens were different.

“We’ll take that one alive,” he said.

“Won’t it die when we expose it to the death sphere in the construction bay on the way out?” asked Drawl.

“That’s a good question, Private,” said Vance. “Corporal Hendrix, come over here.”

A few seconds later, Hendrix was at his side. “You want me to keep it alive?” she asked.

“If you can.”

“I don’t know how the death sphere kills them, sir.” Hendrix stared hard at the alien officer, thinking.

“The Frenziol-15 was designed to prevent off switches working on humans and Daklan,” said Vance.

“Yes, sir.” Hendrix looked pained. “It works on us, but it might be fatal to other species.”

“We want that officer alive,” said Vance. “We need a test subject.”

“Even if the Lavorix can tolerate Frenziol, they might still die to the death sphere.”

“I’d prefer to eliminate one of the two possible causes of death before we free that officer from stasis,” said Vance.

“Understood. What about that Lavorix over there?” said Hendrix, indicating a nearby alien. This one was sitting at its console, pale eyes on a screen covered in green symbols.

“Sergeant Tagra, Corporal Charnos, as soon as that enemy is out of stasis, I want you to restrain it.”

Tagra was over by the core and he strode across. Together with Charnos, he advanced on the target.

“Ready,” said Vance.

He brought the obliterator a few paces closer until the Lavorix was out of stasis. For a moment, the alien didn’t move and it didn’t spot the two huge Daklan standing behind its chair. Then, Tagra and Charnos each grabbed two of its arms and dragged it into the air like it weighed nothing. The alien thrashed in alarm and it was clearly stronger than it looked, if not enough to break free.

“Pin it down,” said Vance.

Working in concert, the two Daklan dashed the Lavorix non-too-gently onto the ground and lay on top of it. It continued struggling, though with no hope of escaping.

“Corporal Hendrix, go,” said Vance.

Hendrix advanced on the Lavorix, an injector in one hand. Kneeling, she stabbed the hardened needle through the alien’s suit and into its chest. Silent until now, the enemy made hissing and clicking sounds that Vance’s language module was unable to convert into recognizable words.

Working quickly, Hendrix pulled two needle probes out of a recess in the med-box and these she also jabbed into the Lavorix at seemingly random locations. The creature thrashed some more.

“Hold it still,” said Vance.

Tagra and Charnos kept the Lavorix pinned, even though the Frenziol was likely making it stronger by the second.

“That’s been thirty seconds,” said Hendrix, still kneeling and with most of her attention on the med-box display.

“How long before you can be sure it’ll survive?”

“The longer it lives, the surer I’ll be, sir,” said Hendrix noncommittally.

“Guess,” said Vance.

“If it’s still alive in five minutes, I’ll give it another half-dose.”

“What’s the med-box telling you?”

“Not much, since it’s meant for use with human and Daklan only,” Hendrix conceded. “It’s reading a heart rate and some other data, but I don’t have a baseline to compare it with.”

Vance didn’t want to wait another five minutes, so he instructed Tagra, Charnos and Hendrix to stay where they were, in order that he could make progress on clearing the room.

He checked his rifle’s ammunition readout and set off again, his trudging steps lacking enthusiasm for a job he couldn’t stop until it was done. By the time Hendrix announced she was injecting the second dose, twenty-three more Lavorix were dead.

“Do we have to wait five minutes this time as well?” asked Vance.

“If you want the best chance at predicting the outcome when we fill that Lavorix officer with boosters, then yes, sir, we do need to wait.”

The target Lavorix wasn’t far ahead and Vance killed the few enemy personnel in between. After that, he waited, aware that if he was intending to capture a potentially important prisoner, he needed to do the job right.

“What if it’s the menial workers who wear grey?” asked Private Raimi.

“Just keep your mouth closed,” said Vance.

“What are we going to do with that first Lavorix?” asked Drawl. “Assuming it doesn’t die from booster overload.”

“This med-box has drugs that will partially neutralise Frenziol and others that should put the prisoner to sleep,” said Hendrix. She gave a humourless smile. “Like Private Drawl said –assuming it doesn’t die.”

“Better it sleeps and we abandon it back in stasis,” said Carrington.

Vance was becoming agitated at the delay and he peered at the nearest console screen to distract himself. His language module translated the symbols, though it couldn’t teach him the meaning of the technical data. At least the hardware was powered up and appeared to be connected to a backend data source. Without that connection, the obliterator core would only have access to the locally stored data, and that might not be much use. All the juicy stuff would be on one of the main arrays – likely the cylinder – which the obliterator could almost certainly access from this room.

“This Lavorix isn’t about to die,” said Hendrix. “I’ll neutralise the Frenziol and put it to sleep.”

“Can you put it to sleep without neutralising the boosters?” asked Vance. “It might be preferable if we brought two prisoners back instead of one. Or at least kept one in the bag in case the other dies.”

“I can do that, sir,” said Hendrix. “It’ll just require a massive dose of the knockout drugs.”

“Do it,” said Vance. “Let’s see if it survives.”

Thirty seconds later, the Lavorix was unconscious, though Vance ordered a couple of his soldiers to keep a close eye on the slumbering alien. Five minutes after that, the grey-clothed officer had been freed from stasis, overpowered, injected with Frenziol and then put to sleep. As far as Vance was aware, this was the first time any Lavorix had been captured alive. If they talked, maybe the alliance would get something useful out of them.

With this unexpected side-mission completed, Vance completed the sweep of the room. By the time he was done, only the two Lavorix prisoners were left alive, and his soul felt like it was caked in filth.

It was time to attempt the main priority of the mission and he called the obliterator core into the room’s centre and parked it next to the pillar. As he waited for the device to float nearer, Vance gave a cursory glance over the position of his troops. While he and the other six had been clearing the room, the rest of the platoon had set watch over the four exits. The stasis negation bubble extended beyond the closed doors, but so far, no additional Lavorix had entered.

“Searching for an interface,” Vance said aloud, so the platoon what the core was doing. “Interface detected.”

“Now we wait,” said Tagra.

“Do you think it’s going to take a while, Sergeant?” asked Private Coates.

“On balance of probabilities, it will take a long time.”

“At least we’re safe in this stasis bubble, huh?” said Private Raven.

“Don’t go saying shit like that,” said Steigers. “Not if you want to get home alive.”

“You’re one of those don’t tempt fate guys, are you?”

“Most of us are,” said Carrington. “So yeah, stop talking about it.”

“Fine,” muttered Raven.

As long as the soldiers were alert, Vance didn’t mind them talking. He wasn’t paying much attention to anything other than the obliterator core’s utilization gauge, which was at ninety percent again. Several minutes passed and it didn’t change.

Too much on edge to stand in one place, Vance walked around the room between the cylinder and the first ring of consoles. Twenty minutes passed and the obliterator core hadn’t yet bypassed the Lavorix security. If it ever succeeded, the device would require additional time to categorize the unlocked data and then extract whatever its algorithms decided was most useful.

Once he got started on something, Vance didn’t like waiting. With little choice, he settled in for what he suspected would be an extended time in the technical station.

Chapter Sixteen

Captain William Flint and the crew of the Firestorm were not having an easy time, though their difficulties weren’t caused by alien attackers. Having piloted the warship a half-million kilometres from the Ancidium, the vessel was now stationary, with the Vengeance nearby and remaining tightly within the permanent stasis tunnel. The Firestorm’s engines were still in superstress and the sound of them – while loud – was somehow not intrusive and Flint hardly noticed anymore.

“The stasis negation pulses continue to become less predictable, sir,” said Lieutenant Fredericks in frustration. “I’ve spent the last hour modifying the control program coding and before that I adjusted every available built-in setting provided by RL Moseley and his team. Nothing’s working.” He exhaled loudly. “It’s as if…”

“As if what?” asked Flint, when the other man failed to complete the sentence.

“It’s stupid I know, but it’s like the exium has a will of its own – as if it’s naturally inclined towards chaos.”

“You’ve exhausted all the logical explanations you can think of, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “That doesn’t mean no other logical explanations exist.”

“I know, sir.” Fredericks tried to laugh, though it wasn’t a convincing effort.

“Keep at it,” said Flint.

He’d been pacing for the last ten minutes and returned to his seat. The situation was more than worrying. The size of the negation pulses had become wildly unpredictable, ranging as high as a ten-thousand-kilometre diameter, to as low as four hundred, though that minimum was increasing.

Just as concerning was the interval between each negation pulse. Thirty seconds was now the maximum interval, with the shortest so far being twenty-three seconds. Since each pulse had a thirty-second duration with a ten second gap, they’d begin overlapping once the intervals dropped to twenty seconds or less.

The predictive modelling suggested the interval would eventually fall to zero seconds and Flint didn’t want to think what that would mean for him and his crew. Perhaps the result would be no more threatening than a state of permanently negated stasis, but he didn’t think he’d be so lucky.

A lack of data relating to exium made everything the model predicted largely unreliable and Flint told himself he should instruct Lieutenant Fredericks to delete the files or treat the output as complete bullshit. Each time Flint considered giving the order, he had a change of mind, just in case the model eventually spat out something genuinely useful.

“We should go far away from here, sir,” said Maddox. “If Lieutenant Vance is right and the Lavorix on the Ancidium survived the death sphere, we really don’t want that spaceship breaking out of this solar system.”

“Admiral Aston wants to stay,” said Flint. “And I agree with her,” he added, for the avoidance of doubt.

“We came here for data,” said Fredericks. “If we leave empty handed, we might be handing the Kilvar victory on a plate.”

“I’m not convinced it’s so cut and dried,” said Maddox. She cursed softly. “I don’t want to leave anyone behind either and I know how important this mission is.” She sighed and fell quiet.

“We just emitted a fifteen-thousand-klick negation pulse, sir,” said Fredericks. “That’s by far the biggest yet.”

“There’s got to be a limit on what this exium can do,” said Flint.

“There’re always limits, sir. The thing with that is, by the time you learn what they are, usually you’ve gone too far.”

Flint understood well enough. He was willing to push, but far more was at stake than the few alliance lives within the stasis field.

“I wonder if the Kilvar have a method to enter the stasis field,” said Lieutenant Garrett.

Their warships at Evia demonstrably lack the technology,” said Fredericks. “That doesn’t mean they don’t have something bigger and badder currently inbound, fitted with similar technology to what we have on the Firestorm.”

“Except the Kilvar version probably works like it’s supposed to,” said Bolan.

“We’ve emitted a twelve-thousand-klick negation pulse,” said Fredericks. “That interval was twenty-two seconds.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Let me know about any new outliers.”

Flint gritted his teeth. His gaze was on the command console readouts, but his brain was elsewhere. He felt trapped and the one available escape route – that being an exit from the stasis sphere as close to Evia as possible, followed by a maximum duration SRT – would be a craven sell-out. Yet the voice of temptation kept whispering. Fleeing Evia, this voice said, would protect the alliance from the Ancidium,

“We could go to the edge of the sphere and take a look outside,” said Commander Maddox. “If we use the stasis tunnel wisely, we should be able to run some scans of the area without exposing ourselves to the enemy.”

“And we could request instructions via FTL comm, sir,” said Garrett.

“Admiral Aston is here to provide guidance, Lieutenant.”

“I meant instructions on shutting down the stasis pulses, sir.”

“There goes an eighteen-thousand-klick negation pulse on another twenty-two second interval,” said Fredericks. “I’m not sure there’s a way to stop it happening, sir.”

“Is there any sign of a critical reaction in our propulsion?” asked Flint.

“No, sir.”

“Then we can fix the problem.”

“I won’t stop trying until it’s done.”

Flint rose again and walked across to the propulsion station. Lieutenant Bolan was inputting data, while Fredericks was scrolling through charts and tables.

“What makes you think we’re past the tipping point, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t know, sir…a feeling.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m sure we’re missing something vital about the exium, sir. There’s no sign of a criticality on our propulsion – unlike when we were at Basalt – but the evidence is there that something is wrong. It’s like finding a dead body and just because you don’t know how it died or how it got there, the body is still dead.”

“Is this a lack of knowledge, Lieutenant?” asked Flint. “I don’t mean that against you, but RL Moseley and his team created both the exium and the control program. Do we need to send the FTL comm?”

Fredericks looked pained. “I think I’m running out of road, sir, and it hurts me to admit it.”

“That’s what I needed to hear, Lieutenant,” said Flint. “If you can’t control the pulses, we should speak to someone who might have a few new ideas.”

“Should I request a channel to Admiral Aston, sir?” asked Becerra.

“Please do.”

Aston entered the channel at once.

“Our efforts to resolve the problem have failed, Admiral,” said Flint. “We’ve been sending over the pulse data, so you know which way the wind is blowing.”

“You want to request assistance by FTL comm from the sphere’s perimeter.”

Flint raised an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll do it,” said Aston. “An hour is long enough for Lieutenant Fredericks to decide if he can fix the issue or not.”

“The risks shouldn’t be too great,” said Flint. “Even if the exium module creates a negation sphere five times greater than the biggest one so far, we should be able to return to the stasis sphere before the Kilvar can stop us.”

“And if the worst happens, we have mesh deflectors.”

Flint talked with Aston for another two minutes. The plan was straightforward enough, but the circumstances were not, so it seemed wise to discuss even the mundane details. When Aston cut the channel, Flint made sure his crew were aware of his expectations. Once he was satisfied, he readied himself.

“We’re heading for the sphere’s perimeter, emerging not far above Evia’s corona,” he said.

“Just far enough away that our FTL comm won’t be corrupted by interference,” Garrett confirmed.

“We’ve received a synch code from the Vengeance, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ve accepted it – they’ll automatically stay within the stasis tunnel behind us, as long as we don’t exceed their 4500 kilometres per second maximum sustainable velocity.”

“I’ll go easy on them,” said Flint.

He rotated the Firestorm in place and accelerated gently from its start position. The Vengeance dropped into position directly behind and matched velocity.

“There goes a twenty-thousand-klick stasis pulse,” said Fredericks. “It was on another short interval.”

Flint suspected they’d waited too long before requesting assistance. At first, both he, Fredericks and Admiral Aston had been confident a solution lay within easy grasp. That confidence was long gone.

“Three thousand klicks per second,” said Flint, keeping a careful watch in the velocity gauge. “Four thousand.”

“Admiral Aston is on the comms, sir,” said Becerra. “She asks if your grandmother is at the helm.”

“She really said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s increase to 4500 kilometres per second then,” said Flint.

The Firestorm felt hardly stressed and he wondered what kind of numbers that gauge would show if he ever got the chance to fully test the propulsion. Maybe it was for the best that the opportunity was unlikely to arise.

“Seven minutes and we’ll be at the outer limits of the sphere,” said Becerra.

“If RL Moseley asks me to reboot my console, I’ll plant my boot on his ass, if I ever see him,” said Fredericks.

“You did reboot your console, didn’t you?” asked Becerra.

“No,” said Fredericks flatly. “It’s a myth that a reboot fixes anything.”

Flint wasn’t really listening and his eyes were on the bulkhead feed which displayed part of Evia, its tempestuous surface completely unmoving. Meanwhile, he considered what might be waiting in his near future.

The intended escort for the mission should still be days away, so there’d be no nearby assistance if anything went wrong – not that it was certain the local Kilvar ships were vulnerable to alliance weaponry. The smaller ones at Basalt could only resist a certain amount of firepower before they succumbed, while the larger ones seemed able to withstand anything thrown their way. It was unclear which type of Kilvar vessels were here at Evia.

“Three minutes,” said Becerra.

“We’re not intending to stay forever, so make sure you’re ready to send the FTL comm,” said Flint.

“I have the files on my screen, sir,” said Garrett. “The moment we’re out of stasis, I’ll send them.”

“Then, we wait for the response,” said Flint. “Let’s hope whoever’s listening answers quickly, because we’ll be detectable by Kilvar scans when we’re out of the stasis.”

“And as we discussed, I’ll hold fire on the destroyer cannon until you order otherwise, sir,” said Maddox.

“Yes,” said Flint. “It’s clearly on the brink of failure, so we’ll save it for the real emergencies.”

“Two minutes,” said Becerra. “The Vengeance is still hot on our heels.”

“We’ve generated a thirty-thousand-klick pulse, sir,” said Fredericks. “At this rate, it’s going to be tough to control how much of the Firestorm we expose to normal space.”

“Any sign of trouble, I’ll put us in reverse gear and get us back into stasis,” said Flint.

“I’ll be glad once this mission’s over,” said Maddox.

“I’m sure you’re speaking for all of us, Commander.”

Flint noticed he was holding the control bars too tightly and, with a conscious effort, he loosened his grip. He was tense and had been ever since the Firestorm had first entered the stasis sphere. Rolling his shoulders helped a little, but the tightness in his muscles returned seconds later.

“I’m getting a bad feeling,” said Maddox. “I don’t know why, but it’s there.”

“One minute,” said Becerra.

“Reducing velocity,” said Flint.

The Firestorm could decelerate as easily as it could accelerate, but Flint didn’t want to misjudge and overshoot. He intended to cover the final few thousand kilometres with great caution. It seemed inevitable that an oversized negation pulse would open the surface of the stasis sphere, and he intended to use that as an opportunity to scan for Kilvar warships. If the exit point wasn’t clear, the plan would need a rethink, such as choosing another location from which to send the FTL comm.

Seconds passed and Flint held the Firestorm at its reduced velocity. Lieutenant Becerra called out the distance and time to emergence at regular intervals. At thirty-five thousand kilometres from the sphere’s outer limits, Flint brought the warship to a halt.

“The next negation pulse is due soon,” he said. “We’ll allow this one to fire and then I’ll take us another thirty thousand klicks towards the surface.”

“Waiting for the pulse…” said Fredericks. “There it goes. That one had a twenty-eight-thousand-klick diameter.”

“Let’s do this,” said Flint.

He pushed the Firestorm into hard acceleration and then slowed once more to a halt, with the spaceship ten thousand kilometres from the stasis sphere’s outer limit.

“The moment the next negation pulse fires, send the FTL comm and scan for hostiles,” said Flint.

He didn’t have to wait long. Twenty-two seconds after the last pulse, the exium module generated a new one with a thirty-thousand-kilometre diameter. Flint held onto the controls and waited for his sensor team to report.

The news, when it came, was so completely unexpected, that it left Flint utterly uncertain what he should do.

Chapter Seventeen

“Near scans underway,” said Becerra.

“The FTL comm antenna isn’t working, sir!” said Garrett. “I’ve ordered it to transmit the message queue and the audit logs from the new control software, but nothing’s happening.”

“We don’t have any reported hardware issues with the antenna,” said Flint sharply.

“No, sir.”

“Then find out what’s wrong and fix it. And we need the far scans!” Flint half-turned in his seat. “Lieutenant Becerra, what’s on the nears?”

“No sightings of hostiles so far, sir.”

“Switch to the fars.”

“Yes, sir, I’m running them now.”

The failure of the FTL comms was an unwanted development and, bypassing his comms team, Flint requested a channel to the Vengeance.

“Admiral Aston, our FTL antenna isn’t working and we don’t know why.”

“It’s strange you should say that, Captain Flint. We’re having the same issue.”

“Damnit! Have you identified the cause?”

“Not yet. We’ll finish our scans first and then focus on the hardware.”

Flint exited the channel. “Lieutenant Garrett, assist on the fars. We’ll come back to the FTL comms once we’re sure nothing’s about to blow us to pieces.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the order given, Flint turned his attention to the ever-changing sensor feeds. He kept his hands on the controls and poised himself to act the moment anyone gave a warning.

The Evia star was portside, an expanse of brilliant light that went on forever, its ferocious heat enough to generate a softly chiming hull temperature alert on Flint’s console. Darkness lay ahead and to starboard, and it was here where Becerra and Garrett focused their search.

“Negation pulse fired,” said Fredericks. “Same diameter as the last one.”

“I’ve located two objects at five million klicks, sir!” said Becerra. “Kilvar for definite. Putting them on the feed.”

Flint stared at whatever it was the enemy had brought to Evia. The first object didn’t nearly resemble a warship. In fact, it looked exactly like an eight-thousand-metre turret with a four-thousand-metre gun barrel – and that barrel was aimed directly at the stasis sphere.

A few hundred kilometres from the turret, a shape that was recognizably a spaceship hung motionless, its starboard flank parallel to the gun. At eighteen thousand metres, this vessel was far greater in size and mass than anything Flint had suspected was in the Evia system at the time he’d first taken the Firestorm into the stasis sphere.

From the current angle, the spaceship appeared bulkier than the other Kilvar warships he’d encountered, with no indication which end was which - if it even mattered. Its hull lacked the forward-pointing spines he’d seen elsewhere, though a few emplacements were visible on the outer plating.

“Both stationary,” said Flint.

“That second vessel looks more like a superheavy lifter than a warship,” said Maddox.

“Maybe the Kilvar are hoping to salvage something from the Ancidium,” Bolan suggested.

“No sign of bay doors,” said Flint. “None that I can see.”

“I’ve located a warship,” said Becerra.

“Ten thousand metres and diamond shaped,” said Flint, his eyes jumping to the new feed. “It looks just like the vessel which came to Basalt.”

“It’s half a million kilometres further away and stationary like the others,” said Maddox. “They must be confident.”

“Only the turret and larger craft are stationary,” said Becerra. “This third one is travelling exceptionally slowly – a few metres per second.”

“Drifting?” asked Flint.

Without warning, the smaller vessel vanished from the feed and he swore. “They’ve entered lightspeed.”

“Destroyer cannon ready to fire,” said Maddox.

“They didn’t go to lightspeed,” said Becerra. “What the hell is going on here? That warship went from low-low speed to five thousand kilometres per second in zero measurable time.”

“Are they heading our way?”

“No, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ve added their heading to the tactical. Crap – now they’re down to near-zero velocity again, just like that.”

“The FTL comm queue vanished, sir!” said Garrett excitedly. “All the messages and the audit log have been sent!”

“Any idea why it started working?”

“No, sir.”

Flint had plenty to think about and he was pushing his luck staying here with the Firestorm’s metaphorical head above the parapet. He was about to return to the comparative safety of stasis, when Lieutenant Fredericks hit him with a bombshell.

“Sir, the zero-time acceleration of that enemy vessel coincided exactly with the expiration of our last stasis negation pulse and its zero-time deceleration coincided exactly with the generation of the following pulse.”

“What?” asked Flint, fumbling for a more intelligent response.

“It could be coincidence, sir. More likely there’s something going on we don’t understand.”

“If anyone has an explanation for this, I’d be ecstatic to hear it,” said Commander Maddox.

“I’ve located a second turret, sir,” said Becerra. “And there’s another of those superlifters nearby.”

“Show me,” said Flint.

“Here you go, sir. They’re about four million klicks from the first and five million from the stasis sphere. Both are travelling at the same low-low velocity and their trajectory will take them to a position approximately three million klicks counterclockwise of the first two.”

“Good spot, Lieutenant.”

“I followed the predicted course of the warship, sir. It’s heading right for the new arrivals.”

“Shit, I’ve detected a fleet of Kilvar vessels about two million klicks from that second turret, sir,” said Garrett.

The word fleet in this instance, meant a total of sixteen spaceships, tightly grouped and stationary. The largest of the group was a twelve-thousand-metre carrier of a type which Flint and his crew had destroyed at Basalt’s moon. Most of the others were diamond shaped and about eight thousand metres.

“It’s getting busy out here,” said Fredericks. “We’ve only been in the stasis sphere two or three hours, so where did all these come from?”

“We need to get back into cover and figure out what’s going on,” said Flint.

“Admiral Aston is on the comms suggesting that exact same thing, sir,” said Garrett. “Maybe it’s an order, not a suggestion.”

Flint piloted the Firestorm straight backwards towards the stasis field, keeping a close eye on the Vengeance to make sure the synch code was still active. At a hundred thousand kilometres beneath the surface, he brought the warship to a halt. During the short travel time, Flint’s brain had cast up a possible explanation for events. It was an explanation he didn’t like, but he couldn’t think of another one.

“I’d like to speak with Admiral Aston on the open channel,” he said. “I think I know what’s happening.”

“Yes, sir, she’s accepted the request,” said Becerra after a moment.

“Your comms lieutenant tells me you’ve had an idea, Captain Flint.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flint hesitated while he got his words right. “There’s no way the Kilvar could have brought so many resources to Evia in such a short time. Not unless they had them all waiting nearby - and I don’t for one moment believe they’re as clever as that.”

“They might have gateway hardware.”

“They might,” Flint admitted. “What we saw makes me think it’s something different.”

“Then what do you believe?”

“The stasis pulses, ma’am. Each time one fires, it’s speeding our passage through the time stream. That’s why when the pulse is active, those Kilvar warships are – relatively speaking - travelling at hardly any velocity.”

“So they haven’t slowed down, we’re just moving a hell of a lot faster because we’re racing through the seconds,” said Aston.

“That’s what I think,” said Flint. “And in the ten seconds – now down to a couple of seconds because of the falling interval - during which there’s no stasis pulse, we’re progressing through time at the same rate as the Kilvar.”

“Give me a few minutes, Captain,” said Aston. “I’ll discuss what you’ve said with my crew.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Aston left the channel and Flint turned in his seat so he could judge how his own crew were feeling about what he’d said.

“I think you’ve hit on the answer, sir,” said Fredericks. “Or at least a plausible possibility.”

“So if each stasis pulse accelerates our passage through time, does that mean the Kilvar might have had weeks or months to prepare whatever crap they’re cooking up for us?” asked Garrett.

“I don’t think the Firestorm and its exium module are the priority any longer, Lieutenant,” said Fredericks. “There’s only one thing the Kilvar want and it’s right in the middle of that stasis sphere.”

“They’re planning to collapse the sphere and recover the Ancidium,” said Flint. “Assuming they have the technology to permanently negate the stasis.”

“Maybe they don’t even need to permanently negate it, sir,” said Maddox, chewing her lip in thought. “In fact, if they did collapse the sphere, they’ll free the Ancidium and – if the Lavorix react quickly enough - I doubt the Kilvar would enjoy the outcome.”

“This is becoming complicated,” said Flint. He swore when a new thought came to him. “Lieutenant Vance and his platoon are on the Ancidium and no longer affected by the Firestorm’s negation pulses. Does that mean it’ll feel to those soldiers as if far more time has passed?”

“I guess it will mean that, sir,” said Fredericks. “On the plus side, they’re only out of stasis for ten seconds out of every forty, so they’ll experience a quarter of the elapsed time.” He raised a hand and scratched the side of his head. “Or maybe that’s not how it works at all. Damn I’m having a hard time getting my head around this.”

Flint felt himself inexorably sinking into the mire of the unknown. He was convinced his explanation was accurate, and it was obvious the Kilvar had not been idle. If they recovered the Ancidium it would be a disaster. If the Ancidium escaped, it would also be a disaster. In fact, it was hard to envisage an outcome that was anything else.

“I wonder if our own fleet has attacked yet,” said Becerra.

“If they have, it hasn’t been effective,” said Flint.

Maddox stared directly at him. “What are we going to do, sir? Evia has the potential to become the biggest flashpoint humanity and the Daklan have ever known, and we’ve got everything to lose.”

“I wish I had an answer,” said Flint. He rubbed a palm against his cheek and felt the sharp prickling of his stubble.

“We could leave the sphere again and find out if there’s a return comm waiting for us, sir,” said Becerra.

“That’s got to be the best option for now,” said Flint. “RL Moseley might have a few suggestions as to how we can control the negation pulses. Unfortunately, each time we emerge from the stasis sphere, we run the risk of being spotted.”

“I have Admiral Aston on the comms again, sir,” said Garrett. “I’ll bring her into the open channel.”

“Captain Flint, my crew and I agree with what you said,” Aston told him. “Time for us inside the negation pulses has travelled much faster than we knew and the enemy – in normal time - have prepared themselves to attack or salvage the Ancidium.”

“We haven’t yet estimated how long we’ve been inside the sphere,” said Flint.

“I’ve been working on that, sir,” said Fredericks.

“What have you come up with?”

“Nothing certain, if that’s what you’re hoping for. However, it’s my opinion that time in the early negation pulses was no different to that outside the pulses, and it’s only since they became uncontrolled that time has begun speeding up for us.”

“Is there a direct link between the increased diameter of the pulses, the interval length and the passing of time?” asked Flint.

“There’s a link - whether it’s linear or exponential, I don’t know. Clearly, we don’t want it to be exponential, or we might find that after a few more negation pulses, months or years start passing by outside with each new pulse.”

“I don’t want to go home to a ninety-year-old fiancée,” said Bolan.

“Or to parents buried decades ago,” said Garrett.

“We can change this,” said Flint firmly. “There’s a way – we just have to find it.”

“What if we exited the stasis sphere while the negation pulse is active and wreck every Kilvar vessel using the destroyer cannon?” asked Maddox. “Their ships weapons would be travelling so slowly relative to the Firestorm that we’d be able to wipe them out easily.”

“It could work, sir,” said Fredericks. “The periods during which we’re in normal time are getting shorter and shorter. While the negation pulses are active, we’ll be travelling so fast – relative to the enemy – that we should be completely unstoppable.”

“It may come down to an all-out attack,” said Flint. “And if I believed the destroyer cannon had more than a couple of shots left in it, I might even give the order to go ahead - if Admiral Aston was of a similar mind.”

“We should consider other possibilities first, Captain Flint,” said Aston.

“We’ve created seven negation pulses since we retreated into the stasis sphere a short time ago,” said Flint, glancing at the data on his console. “Since outside time is travelling so much faster, that should have given RL Moseley and his team ample time to scour the control software audit logs for errors.”

“Given the failure of the FTL comms during the active negation pulse, I’m certain we can only send or receive when we’re in normal time,” said Becerra. “That window’s getting smaller and smaller.”

“It won’t take us long to pick up a transmission and return to the stasis sphere, Lieutenant.”

“No, sir, but we don’t know what the Kilvar have got up to in the time which has elapsed. If you drew a direct line between that first turret we spotted and the Ancidium, it would pass within a few hundred kilometres of the Firestorm, so whatever they’re doing, it’s happening directly above our heads.”

“We’ll exit at a different part of the sphere,” said Flint. “We need help and this is the only way to get it.”

“I agree,” said Admiral Aston. “Choose a new exit location, head for it, and the Vengeance will follow.”

Flint felt better taking action, even if he wasn’t expecting RL Moseley to have come up with an immediate solution. At best, the man would likely require a discussion with Lieutenant Fredericks, followed by some tweaking of the software code, all of which would require a live comms link that might not even be possible to maintain.

“Three minutes at this velocity, sir,” said Becerra. “That should take us out of the sphere far enough around the curvature that we’re not visible to the known enemy vessels.”

Holding the Firestorm at a steady 4500 kilometres per second, Flint couldn’t help but think that wherever they exited the stasis sphere, they’d find an enemy fleet or something similarly unwanted. There was no way the Kilvar would neglect an opportunity to capture or destroy the biggest prize in their centuries-long conflict with the Lavorix. The more he considered it, the more Flint became certain he’d been lucky last time to only find a couple of turrets and a single fleet.

Regardless, it was vital for them to receive the return transmission and Flint hoped that the alliance’s brightest minds had come up with the goods.

“Two minutes,” said Becerra.

“The last negation pulse hit forty thousand klicks, sir,” said Fredericks. “And its interval was below twenty seconds. That means for half a second or so, we were affected by overlapping negation pulses.”

“Tell me they stack additively rather than multiplicatively,” said Garrett.

“I’m telling you nothing,” said Fredericks. “Other than we need to get our asses in gear and find a way out of this crap.”

The heat was rising and Flint struggled to hold the Firestorm at only 4500 kilometres per second. He wanted to give it everything, leaving the Vengeance behind and returning to free Admiral Aston and her crew from stasis once he’d received the return transmission from Fleet Admiral Recker.

“One minute,” said Becerra.

“The average interval is down to twenty-two seconds, sir,” said Fredericks. “Another three or four minutes and we’ll be lucky to see an interval greater than twenty seconds. Then we’ll be in permanently negated stasis.”

“Twenty seconds, sir,” said Becerra.

On this occasion, Flint abandoned caution and he threw out the anchors at the last possible moment. The Firestorm, with its superstressed propulsion, decelerated too rapidly for the Vengeance to match and the warship came within a hair of crashing into the larger vessel’s stern.

“Stasis negation pulse fired,” said Fredericks. “Another big one.”

“Send out a new FTL comm and begin scans,” ordered Flint.

“FTL comm issued. Near scan running,” said Becerra at once.

Garrett wasn’t slow either. “Fars underway.”

“Where’s that inbound transmission?” muttered Flint, keeping watch on the comms system.

“Transmission received,” said Becerra. “It’s a voice recording. Whoever received our newest outbound comm hasn’t responded yet.”

“It shouldn’t take them long,” said Maddox.

“They don’t have long,” said Flint, knowing it was hopeless to expect a live comms link to last any more than a second or two.

“Inbound comm received and accepted, sir!” said Becerra. “It’s Fleet Admiral Recker!”

“Captain Flint—”

The comms channel was ended by the next stasis negation pulse and Flint crashed a fist onto the top of his console in frustration.

“Where are those scan results?” he demanded.

“Nears done and clear,” said Becerra. “We’re working on the fars.”

“I’ve located more Kilvar warships, sir,” said Garrett. “Two separate fleets of twenty-five, plus another turret and superlifter combination. Everything’s travelling in slow-mo like before.”

“Check this out, sir,” said Becerra. “This looks like an orbital platform.”

The orbital platform was huge – fifty kilometres along its facing edge and with dozens of upper structures which Flint guessed were missiles launchers, cannons and beam generators, all on a vast scale.

Flint had seen enough. Hauling on the controls, he piloted the Firestorm directly into the stasis sphere and didn’t stop until his warship and the Vengeance were half a million kilometres from the surface.

Suddenly, the enormity of everything hit Flint like a planet dropping on him from above. His shoulders wanted to sag and his eyes wanted to close, but he wouldn’t let them.

Hard times call for hard men, William. I want you to remember that.

The words of his father, spoken aeons ago almost brought tears to Flint’s eyes. He blinked them away and straightened in his seat. The ghosts of the past could hurt the most, but they could bring strength too.

With hardening resolve, Captain William Flint promised himself he’d do his utmost to bring everyone out of this alive and screw over the Kilvar at the same time if it was in any way possible.

Chapter Eighteen

“Play the voice transmission,” said Flint. “Bridge speakers.”

“Yes, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ve made the recording available to Admiral Aston as well.”

“Captain Flint, the alliance is in trouble, as you have likely already discovered,” began Fleet Admiral Recker. “As each hour passes, the Kilvar increase their presence in the Evia system and our scouts have identified unfamiliar constructions which our enemy are positioning around the stasis sphere. Their intentions are clear – they wish to collapse the sphere and recover the Ancidium. Our efforts to repel them have met with enormous losses and we are currently out of options.”

Recker paused and then continued. “At first, I kept hope that the Firestorm and the Vengeance could somehow turn things around. However, the news for you is not good. RL Moseley has analysed the audit logs from your control software and he believes the exium module is nearing depletion. As a consequence, it’s tapping progressively more into the Firestorm’s engines to sustain itself.”

A humourless laugh came through the speakers and Recker resumed his monologue. “There’s an accompanying technical explanation, which I have included as a data file attached to this transmission. Ultimately, RL Moseley believes this is irreversible. The pulses will continue until the exium module loses power. Experience tells me that partially understood tech rarely produces a positive outcome when things go wrong. If you’re still within the sphere when the exium module fails, you’ll be trapped until the Kilvar negate the stasis and I don’t need to tell you what will happen after that.”

Recker went silent for a long time and only the faint background hum of the recording indicated that he was still there. “Which brings me to my final comments. Lieutenant Vance is a resourceful man. Your transmission indicated you deployed him on the Ancidium and from that, I am certain he will have succeeded in his own mission. He will be waiting for your return, along with the obliterator core. I am ordering you to return to the Ancidium and extract those soldiers.

“In giving you this order, I will confess that my biggest worry – initially – was the escape of the Lavorix from stasis. Now, having witnessed what the Kilvar are capable of, I am no longer so concerned. Admiral Ivinstol is of a similar mind. Whatever comes of this, the alliance will be hanging by the same thread.”

This time when Recker paused, Flint guessed he was gathering himself. “I swore this would not happen on my watch, and here we are. Failure beckons, but until the breath leaves my body, I won’t accept that it can’t be averted. Do what you can, Captain Flint. Do what you must.”

The recording ended and the bridge fell quiet.

“At least we’ve got a plan now, huh?” said Garrett after a while. “Rescue Lieutenant Vance and then play it by ear.”

With a clenching in his guts, Flint realised exactly what a burden Fleet Admiral Recker had taken upon himself. The orders to return to the Ancidium, come what may, absolved every participant of guilt for whatever consequences followed. If the mission failed, Recker would shoulder the blame. If it succeeded, the glory would be on those here at Evia.

Inwardly, Flint shook his head. There was no glory to be had on this battlefield. Death beckoned and the chance of success was so remote, only a fool would imagine it might happen.

I’m not giving up.

“We’ve been ordered to the Ancidium,” said Flint. “Lieutenant Becerra, speak with Admiral Aston and make sure we’re in agreement.”

“Yes, sir.” Becerra spoke softly into the comms. “The Admiral is good to go. She recommends we head straight for the Ancidium. Upon arrival, the Firestorm will wait outside and the Vengeance will enter the construction bay to make the pickup.”

“Synch code active, let’s get on our way,” said Flint.

He rotated the Firestorm, checked the Vengeance was repositioned, and then accelerated directly for the Ancidium, holding velocity at 4500 kilometres per second.

“Lieutenant Fredericks, have you looked at the technical details Fleet Admiral Recker included with his transmission?”

“Checking them now, sir. RL Moseley foresees a range of possibilities leading to the exium module’s eventual failure. Once a tipping point is reached, the negation pulses may continue growing or they may reduce in size. At the same time, the intervals may become either longer or shorter.”

“He really said that?” said Maddox. “I could have come up with that prediction.”

“When the exium is on the verge of depletion, he predicts a thirty percent chance it will attempt a status change on our superstressed engines.”

“With what outcome?” asked Flint.

“Either we create our own stasis sphere, the engines detonate, something entirely unexpected happens, or everything simply shuts down and stops working.”

“I like the fourth option,” said Maddox.

“RL Moseley predicts a five percent chance of such an outcome,” said Fredericks.

“No surprise there,” said Garrett sourly. “I’d swear the man only got into science because he likes watching things blow up.”

“Anyway, our stasis negation pulses aren’t getting any smaller,” said Fredericks, “But the diameter of the last two suggests a lower rate of increase.”

“Is the change significant?” asked Flint.

“I’ll be able to tell you after another few pulses, sir. It may be that we’re approaching the plateau.”

“What about the interval?”

“Still falling.”

“So what happens to the alliance if the Ancidium escapes?” asked Becerra. “Do we benefit because the Kilvar have to divide their resources, or do we lose out because the Lavorix have a good idea where some of our worlds are located and they might choose to knock us straight out of the fight?”

“I can’t imagine the Lavorix would take a chance with us,” said Flint. “If they can wipe out the alliance quickly, it’s the best option for them.”

“Assuming they’re willing to gamble we won’t beat them for a second time,” said Fredericks.

“The circumstances first time around were unique,” said Flint. “I wouldn’t like to say the alliance could do the same thing twice.”

“We just emitted another pulse that indicates a levelling off,” said Fredericks.

“Keep me informed, Lieutenant.” Flint glanced at the velocity gauge and found it had crept to 4600 kilometres per second. Grimacing, he reduced it to 4500.

“Three minutes,” said Becerra.

“Do you believe the Fleet Admiral actually wants the Ancidium to escape, sir?” asked Maddox.

“I think what he wants is for us to extract Lieutenant Vance and the obliterator core, and let whatever comes from that happen.”

“Embrace the chaos,” said Maddox.

“I’d say it’s more a case of letting fate decide,” said Flint.

“Fate or luck?”

“Is there a difference?”

Maddox didn’t answer and Flint didn’t say anything more on the subject. The Ancidium wasn’t far and once the Firestorm and Vengeance arrived, everything would happen quickly, Flint was sure.

“Two minutes,” Becerra announced.

“The negation pulses have definitely plateaued, sir,” said Fredericks. “There are signs the intervals are increasing again as well.”

Flint cast an eye over the data. Each pulse was easily large enough to completely encompass the Ancidium and that meant he’d have to position the Firestorm carefully so that Admiral Aston could pilot the Vengeance safely into the construction bay, while still leaving some of the Lavorix warship in stasis. He guessed the Ancidium would be unable to escape if even a fraction of its mass remained in zero-time, but Flint wasn’t keen to experiment.

It seemed best to extract Lieutenant Vance and his platoon first and then decide what to do about the Lavorix. At the back of Flint’s mind a decision had formed. Whatever happened, the Kilvar couldn’t have the Ancidium. As long as he stuck with that, he’d know what to do when the time came.

“One minute,” said Becerra.

“What’s happening with those negation pulses, Lieutenant Fredericks?”

“No sign of them falling off, sir, but the intervals are creeping back up. The average is now a fraction above twenty-two seconds.”

“I wonder if the exium will fail quickly or slowly,” said Garrett.

“I’m hoping for a gradual tail-off,” said Fredericks. “These supersized negation pulses are drawing a lot of energy. As they decrease, the draw will fall commensurately.”

“But it’s our propulsion which is creating the pulses, and the exium unit making it happen,” said Becerra. “Surely the exium can just fail independently of the propulsion.”

“You’d think,” said Fredericks. He laughed. “In this, Lieutenant Becerra, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Time to decelerate,” said Flint, watching the overlay on his tactical screen. “I’ll position us so a forty thousand klick negation pulse will take the Ancidium’s forward section all the way along to the construction bay out of stasis.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Maddox.

In order to arrive at his chosen position, Flint was required to alter course a fraction. He did so while slowing the Firestorm first to a crawl and then to a halt.

“The Ancidium,” Flint said, once Becerra had put the warship onto the bulkhead screen.

He suddenly saw the Lavorix warship in a new light. Once, not long ago, it had been an unimaginable threat, focused only on the alliance. Now, although the menace remained, the Ancidium was as much a danger to the Kilvar as it was to humanity and the Daklan. The conflict was difficult to come to terms with.

“There’s the opening,” said Garrett. “Right where we left it.”

“Attempt contact with Lieutenant Vance,” said Flint.

“His receptor is grey, sir. If he’s alive, he could be out of range or in stasis.”

“Corporal Charnos was leaving a trail of comms relays,” said Flint.

“Yes, sir, he was.”

“Damnit,” said Flint. The outlook wasn’t promising for Lieutenant Vance and his platoon. “We came here for those soldiers and the least we can do is stick around while Admiral Aston checks out the construction bay.”

“While you were talking, we created a thirty-thousand-klick negation pulse, sir,” said Fredericks. “That’s well below the moving average.”

“An aberration?” asked Flint.

“I have a feeling were on the cusp of a rapid decline, sir.”

Flint wasn’t sure if that would be a good or a bad development. Certainly, he didn’t need to wait around to hear the next few readings, but he did need to reposition the Firestorm. The engines droned hollowly as he piloted the warship nearer to the Ancidium. “Let Admiral Aston know we’re in place,” he said.

“And let’s hope the next pulse isn’t forty thousand klicks in diameter,” said Maddox. “Because that would leave the Ancidium completely out of stasis.”

“We need a few lucky rolls of the dice,” said Flint.

He spoke the words with his eyes on the sensor feed. To his surprise, a shaft of darkness, five thousand metres in diameter, lanced across the space between the Firestorm and the Ancidium.

“What the hell?” he asked.

The shaft faded rapidly, but then, without warning, two Kilvar warships appeared within the Firestorm’s negation sphere, hardly more than a thousand kilometres away.

An eight-klick warship and a five-klick transport. They came through that shaft at lightspeed.

“Commander Maddox, target the warship and fire the cannon!” Flint yelled. The enemy vessel was out of the cannon’s firing arc and he wrenched at the controls to bring it into line. “Destroy the transport with missiles!”

The weapons officer on the Vengeance was quickest and a two-thousand-metre burst of dark Executor energy ripped a massive hole in the enemy warship’s midsection. Particles expanded, channelled outwards in a vast arc.

“Destroyer cannon targeted and fired,” said Maddox. “Missiles locked. Hellburner forward clusters one to three: fired. Uppers one to three: fired.”

Past experience had shown Flint that the destroyer cannon’s blast sphere varied according to the Firestorm’s propulsion output and he wasn’t sure what to expect this time. The result for the Kilvar was beyond devastating and the rear third of the warship was reduced to dust.

Meanwhile, orange specks of Hellburner propulsions sped across the intervening space. Once again, the officer on the Vengeance was fastest and twenty missiles detonated against the transport a half-second before those launched by the Firestorm. Struck by two salvos in quick succession, the Kilvar ship became completely engulfed in plasma fire.

“They’re not coming out of that,” said Maddox.

Flint watched carefully. The Kilvar warship was no longer a threat. It hadn’t even recovered from lightspeed blindness before the alliance attacks finished it off, while the transport had only just begun accelerating towards the opening in the Ancidium’s flank when the missiles hit.

“Hold fire,” he said. “What’s the status on the destroyer cannon?”

“A red light, but still online.”

“Admiral Aston is heading for the construction bay, sir,” said Lieutenant Garrett.

The Meklon vessel accelerated hard across the intervening space and Aston didn’t slow even as she approached the opening. One moment the Vengeance was visible on the sensors, the next it had vanished into the bay.

“It’s us alone for the moment,” said Fredericks.

“Hopefully not for too long,” said Maddox.

“Now the Kilvar have found a way through the stasis, there’ll be others heading our way,” said Flint. “Let’s hope that destroyer cannon has a few more shots in it.”

Moments went by and the crew of the Firestorm waited for developments.

Chapter Nineteen

Lieutenant James Vance was beyond worried - in fact, he believed this was likely the end. He wasn’t going to take it lying down, which meant that soon he’d be required to order his platoon into what might well be suicidal action, but that would only happen once he was convinced there was no alternative.

“Day thirty-four,” said Private Drawl, kicking idly at the front panel of the nearest console. “Maybe we should go looking for the officers’ quarters – I bet it’s much more comfortable sleeping there.”

“We’ve been through this - it’s not day thirty-four,” said Private Steigers. “Since we’re only out of stasis for ten seconds out of every forty, this is more like day 136.”

“Except we haven’t experienced 136 days,” said Drawl. “To us, it’s day thirty-four.”

Steigers sighed theatrically. “So who do you suggest asking for directions to these officers’ quarters? One of our captives is dead and the other is in a coma.” He pointed at the thin mattresses on the floor. “Besides, we went back and stole enough beds from the Lavorix bunk room.”

“And nearly died for our trouble,” said Drawl. He kicked the panel again.

The discussion was an old one and Vance was becoming tired of hearing the same thing said in different ways. It was time for the soldiers to take control of their destinies. He pushed himself away from the Lavorix console against which he’d been leaning and ordered the platoon to muster.

As he waited, Vance cast his eyes around the technical station. Nothing much had changed in the last few weeks of interminable waiting. The Lavorix he and his platoon had killed on the way in were no longer here, having been carried out of the room and dumped in the corridor. The brown smears of decaying blood were harder to get rid of, since the soldiers didn’t carry mops and buckets as part of a standard loadout, but Vance hardly noticed the mess any longer.

Near one of the curved walls, the Lavorix officer lay on his back, his vital signs weak but stable. He and the other prisoner had survived the Frenziol injections and then – unexpectedly – reacted badly to the sleep drugs administered by the med-box, killing one and leaving the other in a coma. That same medical box was now perhaps the only thing keeping the officer alive, though nobody really knew. Corporal Hendrix was trained in the treatment of battlefield injuries, but she was out of her depth here and didn’t pretend otherwise.

The platoon gathered near the central pillar, where the air temperature was below zero.

“Listen up,” Vance began. “I know we’re in a bad place and I know I’m the one ordering us to stay put. However, it’s been too long and now I’m ready to say neither the Vengeance nor the Firestorm are coming back for us.”

“That’s a real shame,” said Private Mack. “We’ve got an obliterator core full of sweet data, just waiting to be analysed.”

“So what’s the plan, sir?” asked Raimi. “The power supplies in our suits can run indefinitely, but I don’t know how much more I can take of the Lavorix chow.”

“The enemy wrecked our shuttle, so we need to find a new one,” said Vance.

“That’s the plan?” asked Private Raven.

“You were expecting something more elaborate?” asked Vance. “Perhaps one involving ballet and fairy lights?”

“No, sir.”

Vance smiled. “You know I prefer the straightforward route.”

“We nearly got wiped out making our way back to the shuttle on day four, sir,” said Carrington. She pointed at one of the doors. “There are Lavorix in zero-time through every exit. We’ve got plenty of ammo, but not enough to kill every damned alien on this warship. These consoles don’t hold map data for the Ancidium, or we can’t get them to show us it, which would leave us fighting our way through a Lavorix-infested warship hoping not only that we’ll locate a shuttle, but that someone left the keys in the ignition.”

“Thank you for the summary, Private Carrington.” She was frustrated as hell, like everyone else, and Vance didn’t chew her ear for expressing it. He strolled casually to his left and then motioned with his rifle. “What we’re going to do is rouse that officer over there and see what he can do for us.”

“I thought we were keeping him safe and warm until we could get him to proper medical facilities that might have a chance of rousing him,” said Drawl. “Personally, I reckon he’s faking it. A surprise kick in the balls would have him on his feet in no time.”

“We were keeping him safe and sound, Private,” said Vance. “However, things have changed and he’s just become disposable. The worst that happens is he dies and we’re left with everything the obliterator sucked out of these Lavorix consoles.”

Vance had talked this over with Hendrix before, though he hadn’t given her advance warning he was ready to begin, having made his decision less than five minutes ago.

“You - follow me,” said Vance, pointing at Hendrix, Tagra and Charnos.

As he strode across the room, Vance pulled a Frenziol injector from his leg pocket. Crouching next to the Lavorix officer, he studied the alien’s face. It looked sallow and unhealthy and its chest hardly moved.

“Ready?” Vance asked. He looked at the injector gleaming in his hands. Frenziol was the military’s answer to nearly everything and he hoped it would do the trick this time as well.

“Do it,” said Tagra, positioning himself at the Lavorix’s feet.

“Go,” said Charnos.

Corporal Hendrix didn’t say anything and Vance stabbed the needle straight through the comatose officer’s suit and into its thigh. The injector hissed for a couple of seconds and then indicated it was empty.

“Nothing,” said Private Coates, standing nearby with his rifle aimed towards the Lavorix.

“Give it a damned second to get into his bloodstream,” said Steigers.

Fifteen seconds passed and the readings on the med-box became more erratic.

“What does that mean?” asked Vance.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Hendrix. “The box isn’t taking accurate readings.”

Abruptly, the Lavorix’s eyes snapped open and it tried to sit upright. Charnos was quicker and he held the alien still. It clearly lacked strength after spending thirty-four days in a coma and didn’t even struggle against the Daklan’s grip.

“It’s time to talk,” said Vance. His own language module was able to interpret the Lavorix tongue and he hoped this officer’s suit was able to do the same thing.

“How did you get here?” asked the Lavorix faintly. Its voice was clicks and whispers and Vance didn’t much like the way it sounded. Not only that, his language module wasn’t fine-tuned for the Lavorix tongue and it was hard to understand even these few words.

“The Ancidium is trapped in stasis and we partially cancelled that stasis in order to board your warship,” said Vance, talking slowly and clearly. He didn’t mention the death sphere in case that particular secret came in handy later. “What is your rank?”

“[Unknown noun],” spoke Vance’s language module.

“Ask if he’s the head honcho, sir,” said Private Enfield in a stage whisper. “Maybe he’ll understand that question better.”

Vance turned impatiently and waved the crowding soldiers away. Sergeant Gantry took charge and began pushing them back towards the consoles.

“Are you a senior officer?” asked Vance, trying again. “We need to talk.”

The milky eyes narrowed and it was the first humanlike expression Vance could recall seeing in one of the Lavorix. Not that he often got close enough to observe, since mostly he preferred to shoot them from a distance.

“What is there to talk about, human?” asked the Lavorix. Its lips moved strangely as it formed the words, revealing sharp teeth and a grey tongue.

Vance hadn’t rehearsed and he decided that a degree of honesty was the best approach. If he later decided he’d given too much away, he could always kill the officer.

“First, tell me your name. I’m Lieutenant James Vance.”

“A junior officer.”

“Here and now, I’m the main man. What’s your name?”

The Lavorix seemed to consider the question before it responded. “Xak-Uz-Tanr. Rank of Second.”

“You’re second in command of the Ancidium?”

“In a way.”

Vance didn’t chase the answer further. His hunch that Xak-Uz-Tanr was a senior officer looked as if it was an accurate one.

“So, like I told you, the Ancidium - your biggest and baddest warship - is trapped in stasis and has been for the last twelve years.”

“Where is the proof?” asked Xak-Uz-Tanr.

Vance was no expert at reading Lavorix expressions, but he detected a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty in the question.

“If you don’t believe me. I’ll show you,” said Vance. He signalled to Corporal Charnos and the Daklan hauled the Lavorix to his feet. Nearby, Sergeant Tagra looked as if he was readying a piledriver blow to Xak-Uz-Tanr’s face if he tried any funny business.

Striding to the closest door, Vance opened it and stared into the corridor while Charnos half-carried the Lavorix over. Luckily, the dead operators had been thrown out of a different door, since a pile of corpses wouldn’t exactly do wonders for Vance’s clumsy efforts at diplomacy.

“See that?” he asked, indicating the many frozen Lavorix further along the corridor. “It’s the same throughout the Ancidium.” He spun and pointed at the obliterator core. “That’s our anti-stasis device. Its range is short, but that, in a nutshell, is how we made it this far.”

“The Kilvar have found you,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, showing that he was capable of grasping a situation without being spoon fed every small detail.

“That’s right. The Kilvar showed up at one of our worlds.”

“You cannot defeat them,” said the Lavorix. Its face twisted and Vance didn’t know whether it indicated fear or hatred. Most likely the latter, he guessed.

Vance took a deep breath and went for broke. “That’s why we’re here. We know something about the Lavorix-Kilvar war – we know it’s been going on for centuries, and that means you’ve learned their weaknesses.”

“You hope to obtain Lavorix technology,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“That’s about the long and short of it. Our deployment warship has gone missing, leaving us trapped here.”

“Did you find what you came looking for?” asked the Lavorix. The language module didn’t give much hint as to the feeling underlying the words.

“No,” Vance lied. “All we want is to escape. We’d planned to bring you with us for questioning, but we’re stuck here, with too many of your personnel between us and the shuttle bay.”

“What do you propose?” asked Xak-Uz-Tanr. He tried unsuccessfully to shake himself out of Charnos’s grip.

“Can you stand?” asked Vance.

“I can stand.”

“Corporal Charnos, let him go.”

Charnos released his grip and Xak-Uz-Tanr wobbled on his feet. He put out his four upper limbs in a cross shape and became visibly steadier.

“What I propose,” said Vance, “Is that you lead us to the shuttle bay and order any of your troops we pass to stand down.”

“That is not a proposition, human,” said the Lavorix. “That is a coward’s request for assistance.”

Vance bit down on the first response which came to mind. He’d clearly misjudged Xak-Uz-Tanr and he cursed himself for a fool. If the Lavorix really was second in command of a vessel like the Ancidium, then it was doubtful he’d attained such a senior position if he was incompetent or focused too much on the outcome of minor incidents and events like this one.

I’ve got to think like an officer, not a soldier, Vance told himself.

“Your species tried to eradicate mine,” he said, attempting to open up a wider conversation.

The Lavorix didn’t respond directly to the statement. “Tell me, human – what do you know of the Kilvar?”

“We know little,” said Vance. “Their ships are immune to many of our weapons. We also know they fought the Lavorix for centuries. Given that neither side won, we have reasoned that you were evenly matched.”

“Evenly matched,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, as if he were turning the notion over his mind. “Perhaps.”

“The Lavorix extractors killed off the Meklon and you attempted the same with humanity and the Daklan.”

“The Kilvar cannot be permitted to have your lives,” said the Lavorix, his eyes unblinking. “They are close to ascending.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” said Vance.

“The Kilvar seek life wherever they find it. Once they have absorbed enough, they will change state. For want of a better word, the collective will become a god.”

The Lavorix officer was providing information which was completely unknown to the alliance and Vance didn’t want to screw up by asking the wrong questions. For the moment, it seemed best to keep it simple. “How do you know?” he asked.

“This is why we fight.” As answers went it, was an eight out of ten on the evasiveness scale. “We cannot permit a new god to enter the universe,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“How do you know the Kilvar will become a god?” Vance repeated.

“The existing gods have given us this task.”

“A task solely to stop the Kilvar?”

“No, human. I told you – we cannot allow any ascendency. The Kilvar are closest to achieving it. You must free us from stasis. The Ancidium is weakened, but it is not defeated. Our crusade must continue.”

Vance’s head swum and he tried to imagine the questions someone with a more incisive mind would ask. While he was thinking, he realised the Lavorix hadn’t waited for Vance to come up with a proposition and had laid its own cards straight out on the table. Either it was desperate or the Lavorix negotiated differently to humans.

“Your crusade involves denying the Kilvar access to life,” said Vance. “And the only way that can happen is for you to make my species, and that of the Daklan, extinct.”

“All species must play their part in denying the ascendency,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“I’ll wager the Meklon didn’t offer themselves up on a plate.”

The Lavorix stared into the distance and Vance got the impression he was thinking to a time long ago. “At first, they did. For a time, they submitted to extraction and we used their life energies against the Kilvar.”

“Then they got tired of being killed for someone else’s war,” said Vance, guessing where this was leading.

“Some did. Others did not. Only once we had extracted a hundred of their worlds did they fully turn against us.”

Vance racked his brains trying to recall the pieces of Meklon history he’d picked up on his journeys with Captain Recker. Most of it was based on supposition – snippets collected in different places, with nothing to connect the dots and certainly nothing that showed the big picture.

“What use is the life energy?” asked Vance, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“The primary purpose of the extraction was to deny it to the Kilvar. However, even the extinction of the Meklon was not enough. The Kilvar have other targets, far from your worlds, human, but in those places they have encountered resistance they have not yet overcome.”

“I saw a Kilvar suck the life from one of my soldiers,” said Vance. “It was clumsy and slow.”

“That is their method. The Kilvar draw out life and it fills them with ecstasy. Each new life adds to the total. Their ascendency is close and they are desperate for it to be done.”

“What will this new god do?”

“It will disrupt the order. Its craving for life will go on for an eternity.”

“Can the Ancidium stop a god?”

Xak-Uz-Tanr stared directly at Vance. “It might.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You do not release the [unknown noun] from its cage to find out if you can defeat it. A Kilvar god would not be kind.”

“Point taken,” said Vance. “But let’s cut to the chase. Neither humanity nor the Daklan are about to sacrifice our lives for your war. We fight our own battles and, as you’ve discovered, we’re good at winning.” He wondered if he should mention the Kilvar’s interest in the exium module. Instead, he decided to turn the screw. “The Kilvar are outside the stasis sphere which surrounds the Ancidium,” said Vance. “They have located your warship.”

Xak-Uz-Tanr shook at the news, like he’d been connected to a wall socket. “The Ancidium is not ready to face the Kilvar.”

“The Ixidar extracted most of your crew,” Vance agreed. “But that didn’t stop you pressing your attack on our worlds.”

“You left us no choice, human. A quick victory over your two species would have given us the time we needed to regroup.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” said Vance. “You’re trapped in stasis, and we’re having some trouble with the Kilvar. Should you ever escape – and the alliance has the tools to make that happen – you’re going to resume your efforts to wipe us out.” He smiled thinly. “If you can think of a solution that works for both sides, I’d love to hear it.”

“I cannot give you a solution,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “For that, we must contact a god.”

Hiding his surprise took an enormous effort on Vance’s part. He’d entered this conversation with an open mind, but not for a moment had he expected it to conclude in this manner.

“How do we speak with a god?” he asked.

“Follow and you will see.”

With few options open, Vance shrugged. “Show us the way.”

At that moment, two of the visible doors opened and many Lavorix charged inside. Shots were fired and, as he raised his gauss rifle and aimed it towards Xak-Uz-Tanr, Vance wondered if everything was lost.

Chapter Twenty

Caught off-guard by the Lavorix attack, the soldiers fired their guns in desperation, trying to hold back the tide. Many of the attackers were unarmed, but on they came in their determination to overcome the platoon. The scent of charged gauss coils and spilled blood filled the technical station.

These events were a clear sign the Firestorm had returned, but there should have been a ten-second interval between the negation pulses that would have sent anything further than fifty metres from the obliterator core back into zero-time. So far, there was no sign of that break and the timer on Vance’s HUD – which had been running all this time, indicated one was overdue.

Outnumbered and in acknowledgement that bullets weren’t going to win this engagement, Vance gave the platoon an order.

“Cease fire!” he bellowed.

Even as he said the words, Vance experienced doubt. He was effectively surrendering and relying on Xak-Uz-Tanr to hold to a bargain which hadn’t yet been agreed and certainly hadn’t been sealed.

“Halt!” shouted Xak-Uz-Tanr, a split-second later.

Vance heard two or three additional gauss discharges and then the room went silent. Many dead Lavorix were laid on the floor and a few thrashed in silent agony. In the room and the corridors outside, dozens – perhaps hundreds – of others waited motionless, still like statues.

For long moments, the two sides watched each other.

“Hold!” Vance repeated.

Xak-Uz-Tanr uttered a few alien sounds which the language module couldn’t interpret and Vance kept a wary eye on the Lavorix. They didn’t move.

“Bautista’s taken one in the guts,” said Carrington from across the room.

“Our medic needs to check him out,” said Vance.

“Yes,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“Corporal Hendrix,” said Vance.

“On it, sir.”

Hendrix dashed across the room and kneeled out of sight behind one of the consoles.

“What now?” asked Vance, turning to Xak-Uz-Tanr. The balance had shifted all the way from one side to the other and it was galling.

“We speak with the god,” said the Lavorix, as if nothing had changed.

“First, we deal with our wounded.”

“Be quick,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

Vance gave Corporal Hendrix twenty seconds. “I need an update, Corporal.”

“Private Bautista is going to die, sir,” she replied, on a private channel.

“How long?”

“An hour, maybe. If we bring him with us, it’ll happen sooner.”

“What if we got him to the Vengeance or the Firestorm?”

“It’s too late for that, sir.”

“Can you help him with the pain?”

“Already done.”

“I won’t let him die alone. We’ll bring him with us.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have Rendos and Stanar carry him.”

Vance cursed with bitter feeling. “We were on the cusp of something and now this.”

“Same old shit in a different place.”

He exited the channel and requested a hold while Private Bautista was picked up by the two Daklan. With no field stretcher available, they simply lifted the man by his arms and legs, and Vance hoped the painkillers would be enough.

Bautista groaned quietly and the patch of blood on his torso looked tiny and insignificant. The combat suits were designed with an inner gel layer which could rapidly seal minor breaches, and Vance had no doubts that was what had stopped Bautista’s innards leaking everywhere.

“Lead on,” said Vance.

“You will leave your weapons.”

Vance didn’t hesitate. “Guns on the floor,” he said.

“Damn, sir,” said Drawl on the platoon channel.

“Shut up, Private Drawl, or I will punch you in the spleen,” Tagra said.

The other soldiers got the message and the channel stayed quiet as they laid down their weapons. Vance did likewise and immediately felt naked.

“Come,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, heading for the nearest door. The Lavorix who’d spilled through the opening stepped back so he could pass. “The device which came with you stays here as well.”

“The obliterator needs to come with us,” said Vance.

“No.”

“Listen,” said Vance, keeping his voice even. “Your crew were freed from stasis because our warship must have returned. It creates pulses which temporarily negate the zero-time. If that vessel leaves again and we don’t have the portable generator, we’ll all end up stuck.”

“Very well – bring the obliterator,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “We may need it anyway.” He appeared to be fully recovered from his coma, though he’d likely suffer a relapse once the Frenziol wore off. For now, the Lavorix was controlling the situation with the confidence Vance expected from a senior officer.

He sent an instruction to the obliterator core and it floated closer. Meanwhile, the platoon members hurried over from their positions around the technical station.

“Come,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, making no comment about the treatment of Private Bautista.

“Is it far?” asked Vance, following the Lavorix out of the technical station and into the corridor.

“The distance is great, but the travel time is not.”

Vance didn’t want the Lavorix to think he was on edge, so he kept his gaze forward, at the two or three hundred aliens in the passage ahead. Most of them were armed and they walked in good order, making it clear these ones were soldiers rather than general maintenance or operations personnel. At Vance’s side, Xak-Uz-Tanr set the pace. Something about how the Lavorix walked was repulsive, though Vance didn’t beat himself up for thinking it.

“Is everyone with us?” he asked on the platoon channel.

“We’ve left nobody behind,” said Tagra. “Approximately five hundred Lavorix are following.”

“Is there a plan, Lieutenant?” asked Private Raimi.

“I was trying to think of one, but now I’m talking to you, Private.”

“I’ll leave you in peace, sir.”

“That would be nice.”

That peace didn’t last longer than two seconds. A comms channel linked to Vance’s combat suit.

“Lieutenant Vance, I promised you an extraction,” said Admiral Aston. The comms link was weak and her words difficult to understand. “What happened to your comms relays?”

“The Lavorix found all apart from one, ma’am. They destroyed our shuttle as well.”

“The Vengeance is in the construction bay and you can board using the forward ramp.”

“Negative, ma’am, we’ve been captured. The last negation pulse freed hundreds of Lavorix and the ten-second intervals we were relying on aren’t happening.”

“The exium module is failing, Lieutenant, and some of the pulses are overlapping. There’ll be no consistent breaks - at least not yet. There’s a chance we’ll begin seeing longer intervals again, but we don’t know when it’ll happen. Time is running out for all of us, Lieutenant.”

The link light switched between green and amber and a background squeal threatened to end the conversation.

“Admiral Aston?” said Vance, unsure if she could hear him. “The link is about to drop.”

The comms light changed once more to green and the signal strength increased.

“Fleet Admiral Recker has ordered us to get you back at whatever cost, Lieutenant Vance. Speak to your captors. Promise them we’ll free the Ancidium from stasis if they let you go.”

“Don’t bring them out of stasis, ma’am! Not yet!” said Vance urgently. “We’re with one of their officers. There’s a bargain to be made.” He fervently hoped he wasn’t overstating what he might achieve.

“If the Firestorm’s exium module runs out of power, you’ll all be trapped, Lieutenant. The Kilvar have a way to penetrate the stasis sphere and eventually they’ll recover the Ancidium. There’s a lot riding on this.”

“That’s always the case, ma’am.”

“Can you—”

The link light went amber again and the signal strength readout showed two percent. It changed to zero, the light went red, the connection dropped and then the light went grey.

…handle it? thought Vance, finishing Aston’s sentence in his mind. Let’s find out.

He wasn’t quite ready to abandon the comms yet. “Corporal Charnos, can you do anything to boost my signal strength?” he asked on the platoon channel.

“Negative, Lieutenant. The Lavorix insisted I leave my comms pack in the technical station.”

Operating off-comms was nothing new, and, despite the likely consequences of failure, Vance’s instincts were telling him that he had to pursue this course he’d chosen. Perhaps the Lavorix god would draw his entrails out and use them to divine the future. Perhaps it would dissolve Vance’s body in a vat of acid and send his consciousness wandering for an eternity in the depths of the universe. Or, just maybe, the Lavorix god was something completely different.

A council of elders, he guessed. Thousand-year-old Lavorix pickled, and their brains linked by neural cords to a voice box.

The Lavorix ahead turned right into a wider corridor with the same alloy floors and walls. So long was this passage that Vance couldn’t see the end, even though he craned his neck and sent pings using the sensor in his suit helmet. A cold breeze blew and it was this, more than anything, which drove home the monumental size of the Ancidium.

And here I am, hoping to bargain with these bastards.

Vance wasn’t accustomed to self-doubt and he shook it off easily. In his experience, something either worked out or it didn’t and as long as he did his utmost to ensure the former, usually the outcome was good enough.

Without warning, the Lavorix directly in front halted, obliging Vance to do likewise. He stood taller and tried to spot the reason for the holdup. After a few seconds, the alien soldiers resumed their journey and Vance got moving again.

“What was that all about?” he asked. While everyone was pretending to be friendly, it would be remiss to keep the questions bottled up.

“My soldiers further ahead entered stasis for a short time,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “Why did that happen if your warship is close by, Lieutenant Vance?”

Honesty – or partial honesty, anyway - had worked so far and Vance stuck with the tactic. “The warship controlling the stasis is suffering technical issues.”

“With what possible outcome?”

“It may be unable to sustain these negation pulses.”

“Putting the Ancidium once more into stasis,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“Yes.”

“Trapping you and your soldiers at the same time.”

Vance thumbed over his shoulder. “Not as long as we stay within fifty metres of that obliterator core.”

“Are your lives valuable?” asked Xak-Uz-Tanr.

The question was asked without apparent malice and Vance understood the meaning.

“High command doesn’t want the Ancidium to escape stasis,” he said. Lying didn’t come naturally to Vance, but he could pull it off when he had to. “As it stands, the alliance would rather take its chances with the Kilvar. So far, they haven’t shown any sign of wanting to kill billions of our citizens by targeting our planets with a tenixite converter.”

“And a junior officer such as you can make your military change its mind?” Xak-Uz-Tanr was a shrewd one right enough, but he had no way of knowing that the alliance was planning to break the Ancidium free regardless.

“I was here when the Gorgadar created the stasis,” said Vance. “At every engagement between the Lavorix and the alliance, I was there. Don’t be fooled by my rank, Xak-Uz-Tanr. I was chosen for this mission because of who I am and what I have done.”

“Very well,” said the Lavorix. “We will continue and we will find a solution. Since time is short, we will make the best use of it.”

For five minutes, the Lavorix set a hard pace. Having been cooped up in the technical station, Vance appreciated the opportunity to stretch his legs. Gradually, voices returned to the platoon channel, though nobody was in the mood for wisecracks.

Abruptly, the Lavorix ahead stopped, leaving Vance and Xak-Uz-Tanr adjacent to double doors. Without apparent interaction, the doors opened and beyond was a square room with darker walls than those of the corridor and no other exits. An invisible energy crackled within.

Inhaling deeply, Vance expected the familiar odours of ozone and alloy. Instead, he scented the same age that pervaded the rest of the Ancidium. During all his time in the technical station Vance had never become so accustomed to the smell that he forgot it was there. Its presence made him feel like he was in a long-forgotten tomb.

“Come,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr, stepping inside.

Following, Vance crossed to the left-hand wall and stood next to the Lavorix. He was three or four inches taller than average and was surprised to find that Xak-Uz-Tanr was a similar height, though Vance guessed he outweighed the Lavorix by fifty or sixty pounds. For some reason, he’d always considered these aliens to be wiry because they were so fast and yet Xak-Uz-Tanr’s limbs appeared outright strong.

The lift or shuttle car – which Vance assumed was its function – was large enough to accommodate the platoon, along with fifty or so Lavorix soldiers. Once everyone was inside, the doors closed with a quiet hum. The air thickened and Vance heard a droning sound that rose in volume, though not enough to prevent conversation. Through his feet, Vance felt a vibration which would likely have become painful were it not for the thick soles of his combat boots.

For once, Private Drawl didn’t accuse someone of touching his ass and nobody else had anything to say, useful or otherwise. After sixty seconds, the noise and the vibration subsided and then stopped entirely.

“We are here,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

Vance had detected no change in motion and he didn’t ask technical details about how the lift or shuttle operated. The doors opened and Vance gazed into a cavernous, square space, somewhere deep within the Ancidium. Like everywhere else, the air was freezing, and the walls above and around the shuttle exit exuded a faint blueish light which hardly touched the darkness.

Here, the feeling of age was a thousandfold more oppressive than elsewhere. It gripped Vance and confronted him with the reality that his life and the lives of every creature not just here, but across the span of the universe, would eventually end and their bodies turn to dust.

He raised his head and stared at the only feature in the space before him. Equidistant from everything and in mid-air without apparent support, was an eighty-metre sphere made from a black, nonreflective substance. Vance knew at once what it was, but Xak-Uz-Tanr, filled him in anyway.

“There is our god, Lieutenant Vance. Let us see what it has to say.”

“Can it bring back the dead?” asked Corporal Hendrix coldly.

“Private Bautista?” asked Vance, his heart sinking.

“He’s gone, sir.”

“The gods do not resurrect,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“Let me guess, they only kill?” asked Vance, his temper threatening to boil over.

“That is the usual outcome,” said the Lavorix.

The loss of Private Bautista struck Vance hard. He’d witnessed endless death across the years, but each one was becoming harder to take, and, not for the first time since he’d deployed on the Ancidium, Lieutenant James Vance wished he was anywhere but here.

Chapter Twenty-One

Captain William Flint felt like a tightrope walker desperately seeking to retain his balance, with one foot on the rope and his arms flailing in a clearly doomed effort to stop himself from falling. Meanwhile below, someone had cut a hole in the safety net and solid concrete awaited his inevitable plummet.

He held onto the Firestorm’s control bars and tried to stop his teeth grinding. Two hundred kilometres to starboard, the Vengeance was stationary between Flint’s vessel and the Ancidium, its nose aimed towards the outer surface of the stasis sphere.

“How long are we going to wait, sir?” asked Commander Maddox.

“As long as it takes.”

Flint’s eyes never left the sensor feeds. Since the first Kilvar insertion into the stasis sphere, no others had attempted the same feat, though Flint wasn’t sure why they’d delayed. His hope was that the enemy were unaware what fate had befallen their first transport and its escort warship. More likely, the Kilvar were waiting until they could send an overwhelmingly powerful fleet into the stasis sphere, rather than having their vessels destroyed in pairs by the Firestorm and the Vengeance.

“Our negation pulses are steadily reducing in size, sir,” said Fredericks. “They’re now at fifteen thousand klicks, and the average interval has climbed to twenty-three seconds.”

“We’re running out of time,” said Flint angrily.

“I’ll keep you informed,” said Fredericks.

“Admiral Aston is confident Lieutenant Vance will pull an ace from his sleeve,” said Maddox.

“She trusts him,” said Flint. “That doesn’t mean she’s confident in the outcome.”

The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of another shaft of the same darkness which had lanced through the stasis sphere only a short time before. This time, the shaft cut across the negation pulse and connected with the flank of the Ancidium, near the opening into the construction bay.

“Get ready!” yelled Flint, watching carefully and trying to predict where the Kilvar would emerge. “Fire the destroyer cannon without hesitation!”

“Yes, sir,” Maddox confirmed.

“I’ve detected a second insertion point on the opposite side of the Ancidium, sir!” said Becerra.

“And now a third,” said Garrett. “Looks like the Kilvar aren’t playing games anymore.”

A fourth shaft appeared and then a fifth. The enemy were about to pour everything into recovering the Ancidium and Flint wasn’t intending to give them an easy ride.

“Open a channel to the Vengeance,” he said.

“Channel open.”

“Admiral Aston, it doesn’t seem like Lieutenant Vance will have much time to negotiate.”

“I agree,” said Aston. She made sound of frustration. “We’ve got the weakest hand in the game.”

“In a way, the Kilvar have the weakest hand, ma’am. If the worst happens, we can free the Ancidium whenever we please. I don’t think the Kilvar will be ready to fight that battle.”

As Flint finished speaking, a Kilvar warship appeared next to the Ancidium’s flank opening. It was another massive construction of dark alloy with spines and emplacements and, once again, it was accompanied by a transport into which the enemy might have conceivably crammed a quarter of a million soldiers.

“Destroyer cannon targeted and fired,” said Maddox. “Hellburners locked onto the transport.”

The thumping bass of discharge made Flint’s head pound. It was a price worth paying and the enemy warship’s nose section exploded into particles. He doubted their sensors had come online yet, but the vessel accelerated anyway, crashing directly into the Ancidium.

“Hellburner forward clusters one to three: fired,” said Maddox. “Uppers one to three: fired.”

Having collided with the Ancidium, the Kilvar warship scraped along the larger vessel’s flank as it sought to turn. A shot from the Vengeance’s Executor blew out much of its stern and several much larger chunks of debris came along with the smaller particles.

“Missile impacts any moment,” said Maddox.

Hellburners from both the Firestorm and the Vengeance ripped into the transport. Having seen how resilient the last one had been, Flint kept a close watch as he aimed his own vessel towards the second insertion point. All the while, he paid attention to the distance between his heavy cruiser and the Ancidium to ensure he didn’t inadvertently release it completely from stasis. It was a tough balancing act.

“Target locked: Kilvar warship,” said Maddox. “Underside hellburner clusters one to three: fired. Holding the destroyer cannon for the next undamaged target.”

“Our last negation pulse was smaller again, sir,” said Fredericks. “It was down to a twelve-thousand-klick diameter. That’s a big drop. Interval unchanged.”

The Firestorm’s superstressed engines took it rapidly over the top of the Ancidium and the underside feeds showed the vast expanse of the Lavorix warship. Its upper section was made from shallowly angled plates which rose gradually towards the centre of its beam. Flint spotted missile clusters, turrets and dozens of much larger cannons.

“Second enemy warship located,” said Becerra. “The particle beam hole goes all the way through and it looks as if they’ve aimed for the far exit opening.”

This next Kilvar warship surged rapidly upwards, rotating at the same time. If this enemy vessel had arrived with a transport, there was no sign of it.

Turning the Firestorm, Flint brought the destroyer cannon into line.

“Take those bastards down, Commander Maddox.”

“Destroyer cannon targeted and fired.”

The shot punched out many billions of tons from the eight-thousand-metre enemy vessel’s flank and the particles trailed in a grey smear that was darker than the miasma of the death sphere. Flint briefly wondered why the Kilvar were immune to the death sphere and then he remembered his brief experience with their ground troops on Basalt. Nothing about the enemy soldiers had made him believe they were alive in the conventional sense. Maybe that was the reason.

“Enemy missile launch detected,” said Maddox.

A split-second after she warned about the missiles, the Kilvar warship fired the same kind of red particle beam which Flint was much too familiar with. The Firestorm’s mesh deflector activated, blocking the attack. The recharge timer was only a single second, but with missiles on their way, Flint didn’t take any chances. He banked hard and sent his warship lower.

The Firestorm possessed such effortless reserves of power that the sudden change of direction made the Kilvar warheads overshoot. They dipped as their guidance systems attempted to re-target, but all they did was crash into a place where total stasis began. The missiles were destroyed without detonating.

“The Vengeance’s Executor has a five-minute cooldown, sir,” said Maddox. “And since they only have a single mesh deflector, they probably don’t have much to offer right now.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Commander,” said Flint. His evasive manoeuvres had taken the enemy warship outside the destroyer cannon’s firing arc and he made rapid corrections on the controls. The Firestorm’s interior groaned with the strain and Flint was pushed into the side padding of his seat.

All the while, he divided his focus between everything else that was going on. The first transport wasn’t quite in pieces, but the size of the craters in its hull made him believe all the passengers had been incinerated. Elsewhere, the warship which had accompanied the shuttle was out of action, spilling dust and debris, while its intact midsection spun rapidly. The wreckage was heading for the edge of the negation pulse and it posed no threat.

“Destroyer cannon targeted and fired,” said Maddox, the moment the Firestorm’s nose came into line.

She was a fraction slow and that, combined with the acceleration of the target warship, meant the shot hit the Kilvar vessel’s rear section. A massive hole appeared and particles spewed across the background light of Evia, but the damage wasn’t fatal.

“I’ve detected a third warship, sir,” said Becerra. She swore. “Now a fourth and a fifth.”

In the space of only a few seconds, Flint’s control over the situation fell away. Several new shafts appeared, all with end points near the Ancidium.

“I don’t know how they’re planning to make this work, sir,” said Fredericks. “Two of those insertion points are way outside our negation sphere. Either the Kilvar miscalculated or they’re planning something that doesn’t rely on us cancelling the stasis for them.”

Flint had been having similar thoughts, but his mind was too occupied to pursue them. His primary goal was to buy Lieutenant Vance the time he needed to bargain with the Lavorix.

“Sixth enemy warship located,” said Becerra. “Two further transports detected.”

Visually, this was easily the most bizarre arena in which Flint had ever fought. A few of the combat simulators were imaginative but they had nothing on this. The Evia star was bright, yet at the same time shrouded by the death sphere. Shafts of dark energy stabbed in from every location, while huge Kilvar warships raced across the hull of the much larger Ancidium.

Flint knew that in moments the crap would really start flying. Bringing the Firestorm around, he targeted a Kilvar vessel which was speeding low across the Ancidium’s nose section. At the last moment, the enemy warship also banked and climbed rapidly. Swearing, Flint adjusted, only for the Kilvar to change course once again.

“They’re becoming wise to our limitations,” he said.

“Missiles inbound,” said Maddox. “Shock burst deployed, railers set to auto.”

A glance at the tactical was enough for Flint to realise the game would soon be up. After destroying the first Kilvar warship, he’d allowed himself to believe he could knock out the rest one-by-one, as long as he acted quickly enough. With the missiles flying and the enemy refusing to sit meekly in the destroyer cannon’s crosshairs, the opportunity to give them a lesson in warfare had passed, had it ever existed in the first place.

The shock pulse detonated in a blinding flash above the Ancidium and the railers were a distant drumbeat, their projectiles leaving white streaks as they sought out the Kilvar missiles. At such a short range, the Firestorm’s countermeasures were far less effective and besides, the enemy were too numerous.

“Mesh deflector triggered,” said Maddox.

The shield blocked an enemy particle beam and a second attack hit while the mesh was still active. A wave of thirty or forty missiles were on their way and, given how many other warheads were incoming, a one-second cooldown on the mesh deflector didn’t seem particularly reassuring.

“Mesh triggered,” said Maddox. “Shock burst deployed.”

For a split-second, one of the Kilvar warships was in the destroyer cannon arc and then, infuriatingly, it banked and the weapon lock light went out.

“We’ve got twelve visible hostiles within our negation pulse,” said Becerra. “Plus five transports, three of which are heading for the opening on the Ancidium’s facing flank. They’re too big to fit through without using an SRT.”

“Portside hellburner clusters one to three: fired,” said Maddox. “Starboards one to three: fired. Mesh deflector activated.”

Thoughts and ideas piled up in Flint’s mind, none of them offering a path to victory. He was on the verge of requesting maximum thrust from the Firestorm’s propulsion to see if he could leave the Kilvar behind in an area of zero-time, but then Lieutenant Becerra spotted something that made him believe the tactic would be useless.

“Sir, those warships which arrived at the rear section of the Ancidium are on the sensors – they should have been trapped in stasis, but they’re heading our way.”

“Lieutenant Fredericks, how are the enemy accomplishing this?” asked Flint, gritting his teeth. The Firestorm sped high above the Ancidium and he banked, to ensure the negation pulses continued enveloping the forward half of the huge warship.

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox. “Sir, I think the real question is how are we going to get out of this in one piece?”

“I hear you, Commander,” said Flint, squinting against the brightness of plasma erupting against the mesh deflector. The shield went out and then lit up again.

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox. “Shit, that happened less than a hundredth of a second after the cooldown finished.”

Fuelled by anger, Flint’s reactions and his focus had become a hair better than before and he heaved at the controls, lining up the destroyer cannon with a Kilvar warship which twisted and turned. Two particle beams leapt from different emplacements on its hull, both connecting fruitlessly with the Firestorm’s mesh deflector.

“Destroyer cannon: fired,” said Maddox.

The shot was right on target and the resulting crater was almost enough to break the Kilvar warship into two pieces. It banked in an attempt to escape, but the destroyer cannon was recharging as quickly as the mesh deflector and Maddox got off a second shot, this one landing close to the first.

“Have that, you assholes,” she said.

The Kilvar warship split into two sections directly over the top of the Ancidium. The largest part crunched straight down on the Lavorix spacecraft, while the rest of the debris struck at an oblique before deflecting and almost colliding with one of the transports.

“Not a mark on the Ancidium,” said Fredericks in wonder. “The amount of energy in that impact was colossal.”

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox. “The status light went red again. Forward hellburner clusters one to three: fired. Shock pulse deployed. Mesh deflector light back to amber.”

The Firestorm was about to become overwhelmed and every time Flint checked the tactical, the count of known hostiles had increased. Red energy beams came from every direction and it was only because the Kilvar weren’t well coordinated that the mesh deflector kept out the attacks. Flint knew his luck couldn’t last for ever, and eventually those enemy missiles and particle beams would find their way through to the Firestorm’s armour plating.

In trying to maximise his effectiveness against the Kilvar, Flint had not paid much attention to the Vengeance and had supposed that Admiral Aston was keeping it out of sight until the Executor was ready for another discharge. When he spared a moment to check, he discovered that Aston was selectively picking off the transports and had reduced three of them to wreckage. Limited by its single mesh deflector, the Vengeance was obliged to operate close to the Ancidium’s underside, which offered cover against the Kilvar ships, the majority of which were at the flanks and topside.

“Admiral Aston has sent us a new flight path, sir,” said Becerra, talking quickly. “She orders you to head for the end point at maximum velocity.”

“The Fracture,” guessed Flint. As he spoke, he altered the Firestorm’s direction and pushed the controls to the ends of their runners. Superstressed ternium hurled the warship along its course like mass was entirely inconsequential, and the spaceship swept far beneath the Ancidium.

“The Vengeance has discharged its Fracture,” said Becerra.

With the Firestorm already at the end of the route line, Flint reduced velocity in order that he could execute a tight turn and bring the destroyer cannon into line with yet another of the Kilvar transports. Maddox’s reactions were up to the task and she eliminated the target with a single shot.

Flint didn’t give more than a cursory glance to the expanding cloud of dust. Instead, he watched the tactical to find out if the Fracture had been effective against the rapidly growing Kilvar fleet. All at once, ten or twelve enemy vessels and dozens of their missiles vanished from the display.

“Yes!” shouted Bolan.

Despite the success of the Fracture attack, Flint saw at once that the situation hadn’t changed. Seven or eight Kilvar warships had been unaffected – presumably because they were out of range – and, as he guided the Firestorm out from beneath the Ancidium, he spotted three more of the dark energy beams appearing on the sensor feeds.

Three became six and then ten. In moments, the destructive work performed by the Fracture was undone by the Kilvar reinforcements. Flint struggled against despair – the Ancidium was so important to the enemy it was possible they had thousands of warships either already stationed outside the stasis sphere, or on their way. Against such a force, the Firestorm and Vengeance stood no hope whatsoever.

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox.

“Shit,” said Flint bitterly. The options – already few – were rapidly diminishing in number. “We can’t hold off much longer.”

“The comms link to Lieutenant Vance is still grey, sir,” said Becerra. “We have no way of knowing what progress he’s making.”

“He needs time,” said Flint. The opening in the Ancidium’s flank caught his eye and he watched the Vengeance turn sharply and race towards it. “Admiral Aston isn’t in the mood for compromise, it seems.”

“New Kilvar warships detected,” said Garrett.

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox. “The light went red again – I think everything’s on the brink of failure.”

“Including us,” said Fredericks. “And I don’t much like the taste of it.”

The particle beam hole was too large for the Firestorm to enter, except by SRT. Even if were otherwise, entering the construction bay would free the Ancidium from stasis, because the negation pulses were still generating with a diameter greater than ten thousand kilometres.

If we break the Ancidium out of stasis, I can’t believe its crew will understand what’s happening. Not immediately. Maybe we can release the warship and still give Lieutenant Vance the time he needs.

A quick tap on the tactical set the destination for the mode 3 activation. As Flint withdrew his finger, the Vengeance raced through the opening at such a velocity he was sure Aston wouldn’t be able to recover in time to avoid smashing into the unfinished hull on the far side.

“Mesh deflector activated,” said Maddox. “The light stayed red for two seconds there and I don’t think the hardware will operate while it’s lit.”

“I’m not planning to test it out, Commander,” said Flint.

Before his eyes, yet more of the dark energy shafts appeared on the sensor feeds. The Kilvar weren’t nearly done with the Evia system and Flint didn’t want to find out exactly how many warships they’d send into the centre of the stasis sphere.

Hesitating no more, he pushed the mode 3 activation button and the Firestorm entered the shortest of lightspeed journeys, taking it into the Ancidium’s construction bay and bringing the immense warship out of stasis at the same time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Xak-Uz-Tanr strode into the room and Vance hurried after, forced by circumstance to forget about Bautista for the moment. Having assumed there’d be genuflecting, ceremonial stuff, or other displays of obeisance, Vance was initially thrown by the Lavorix’s lack of outward respect towards what it described as a god. He realised he was judging this from a purely human perspective and quickly accepted it for what it was.

“This room is in stasis, along with the aft six hundred kilometres of the Ancidium,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“How do you know?”

“I am part of the Ancidium, human.”

“The radius of the obliterator’s negation pulse is only fifty metres,” said Vance. He pointed at the sphere. “Not enough to encompass that.”

“I do not know if stasis has touched the god,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr. “Maybe only the god’s connections to the other parts of the Ancidium are affected, sealing it off from everything.”

“Does this god have a name?”

“Perhaps.”

“What happened to a good old yes or no answer?” asked Vance.

“If the god has a name, it is not one that you or I will hear.”

Xak-Uz-Tanr walked rapidly and Vance found it hard to keep up without breaking into a run. Almost two hundred metres into the room and still more than a hundred from the sphere, the Lavorix halted. “Send the obliterator core upwards to the sphere.”

“That’s going to leave us in stasis.”

“If you are worried, provide it with a second instruction to return after a minute has elapsed.”

Vance was dubious and he hated the thought of willingly submitting himself to even a minute of stasis. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head that the Lavorix would somehow manage treachery and the fact he couldn’t guess at the method didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t a possibility.

Clenching his teeth, Vance struggled internally. He couldn’t force himself to like the position he was in, but that nothing new.

“What do you think will happen when the obliterator frees that sphere—that god—from stasis?”

“If the god is removed from stasis, it may be able to communicate with us, even if we, ourselves, are trapped.”

“This sounds like desperation, guesswork, or both,” said Vance.

Xak-Uz-Tanr turned and stared directly across. “We have chosen this course, human. Why is it so difficult for you?”

Vance detected puzzlement in the question and he felt almost ashamed. It was difficult for him to negotiate with the Lavorix, given the history, but acting like an asshole wasn’t helping.

You told yourself you’d start acting like a damned officer. Now do it.

“There’s no difficulty,” said Vance. He pointed at the sphere. It was so enormous that it was hard not to feel like a supplicant. “Let’s talk to the god.”

“In which case, send up your obliterator device.”

Using his suit computer, Vance prepared a command that would make the core fly up to the mid-point of the sphere. Once there, it would hold for exactly one minute and then it would fly back down, freeing everyone from stasis.

Before setting the routine in motion, Vance checked to make sure everyone in his platoon was nearby. They were, along with a few hundred Lavorix, none of whom seemed especially in awe of their god. Maybe it was an alien thing.

“Here we go,” said Vance, sending the command to the obliterator core.

The device rose from the floor and sped upwards towards its instructed destination. Every head in the room watched.

Stasis is no more.

Vance understood the words, though he didn’t know where they came from. He was in darkness – or rather not darkness, so much as an absence of everything. For some reason, he didn’t feel afraid, even when he tried to move his limbs and discovered his consciousness had no connection to his physical body.

He formed a response.

The obliterator core is capable of negating the stasis for a short time.

You wish to stop the Kilvar.

Yes.

Yet you are life. With life, the Kilvar will ascend.

So I’ve been told.

You hope for an accord with the Lavorix. One which allows your species to survive.

One which allows my species and the Daklan species to survive. If we have to defeat the Kilvar to accomplish that, we’ll do so. If we have to leave the Ancidium in stasis forever, that’s an option as well.

The Ancidium will eventually escape stasis. Time is not all-powerful.

Vance wasn’t sure what that meant and he groped for a response that might provoke an answer he could comprehend.

The Kilvar are outside the stasis sphere and they’re about to start knocking on your door.

While the stasis persists, that event will not happen.

That’s a matter of perception, isn’t it? For the Kilvar, time is proceeding like it should. I guess they’re here because they also have a way to negate the stasis, but I doubt they’ll let the Ancidium go free.

And this is what you are offering. Escape from stasis.

Maybe, depending on if we can reach an agreement. Are you the Ancidium?

I am part of it.

Does that mean the Ancidium is a god?

In a way. The Ancidium is more than a vessel.

How many gods are there?

Hundreds. Perhaps more. The definition of what makes a god is not absolute.

Some of the rebellious streak which had always been part of Vance’s nature rose to the fore.

If you’re so many, why don’t you band together and do something useful like protecting life? Or maybe destroy the Kilvar with a click of your celestial fingers?

Vance sensed amusement, though it wasn’t mocking.

I will leave you to ponder the answer to your question.

As far as conversations went, it was frustrating and, to Vance, it seemed like the god was being deliberately evasive or obtuse, though he was willing to accept that perhaps it was so completely different to him that language alone couldn’t convey the necessary concepts and meanings in order for understanding to occur.

Whatever the truth, he didn’t want to spend an eternity – which he guessed even a single second at zero-time could feel like – chasing answers from an elusive god.

Xak-Uz-Tanr believed you’d be able to solve our mutual problem.

And if this problem is solved, you will break the stasis. However, I detect nothing in you, James Vance, that can accomplish this goal. You have a vessel.

That’s right. There’s a spaceship flying around outside the Ancidium and it can negate the stasis long enough for the Lavorix to gateway out of here. I have the means to uphold a bargain. Do you have a solution that makes the bargain possible?

The Lavorix were created for a single task – to prevent the Kilvar ascendency.

This response wasn’t exactly the direct answer Vance had been hoping for. Maybe the god was bored or naturally circuitous. Vance played along on the basis that no time was passing for him and he might learn something useful.

Created?

Did you believe they were a result of nature?

I didn’t think much about it - most of my time was spent shooting them. Anyway, the Lavorix are on the cusp of failing at their single task.

And in this lies a solution. In fact, this solution was decided the moment you arrived in this room.

What solution?

This obliterator core holds a substance which is beyond the Lavorix. It is also beyond the Kilvar, though they crave the knowing.

We call that substance exium.

If the Kilvar learned to create their own, it would hasten their ascendancy. Perhaps it would elevate them above all other entities.

Vance detected masked uncertainty, along with something else. Maybe it was fear.

I still don’t see the solution.

This exium means your species – your alliance – is more useful fighting the Kilvar than filling the Ancidium’s extractor batteries. The Lavorix will no longer seek your extinction.

What will they seek?

To destroy the Kilvar.

Will they join with us?

I do not have a decision. The Kilvar are numerous and the war against them fought on many fronts. We will see, James Vance.

What about—

The thought hadn’t completely formed when Vance was wrenched once again into normal time. He found the transition strange and jarring, as if he’d returned from death, rather than simply re-entering normal time.

“It is done, human,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“You know?” asked Vance. Nearby, the obliterator core hovered, waiting for its next instruction.

The Lavorix nodded once. “I know.”

For a man who was accustomed to making snap evaluations in the heat of battle Vance felt momentarily lost. “Is it really a god?”

“I can only answer that for myself, Lieutenant James Vance. In your understanding, what constitutes a god?”

Vance wasn’t sure. “An entity that can…” He stopped and didn’t continue.

“Your thoughts trouble you,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

This time, Vance kept his mouth shut. The experience had been perhaps the most peculiar one of his life and he wasn’t ready to talk about it – certainly not with a Lavorix officer. Besides, he had far more pressing matters to consider.

“I need to contact the warship Firestorm,” he said. “The comms link isn’t working from so deep within the Ancidium.”

“There is no requirement for you to contact your people,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“What do you mean?”

“The Ancidium is already out of stasis.”

“How?”

“Your warship’s negation pulse has freed us.”

“Where’s the Firestorm now?”

“It is in the construction bay where you first deployed.”

Vance’s thoughts raced. “What about the Kilvar?”

“They have begun landing their troops on the Ancidium. We will repel them.”

“Why not just get out of here?”

“The Ancidium’s control systems were not meant to be placed in stasis. They require time to stabilise.”

“And what then?”

“If the control systems recover in time, we will destroy the Kilvar and depart from the Evia system. You will return to your warship before that happens.”

“Will you help us find the way?”

“The directions will be installed onto your suit computer.”

“What if the Firestorm is destroyed?” asked Vance. As he talked, he made gestures towards his squad, letting them know they’d be leaving this place in a hurry. He was sure they all had questions, but nobody spoke as they readied themselves for a sprint.

“Until the Ancidium’s control stabilisation is complete, we cannot influence the fate of your warship. If the Firestorm is destroyed, the negation pulses will stop, you will be trapped here, and Ancidium will be returned to stasis,” said Xak-Uz-Tanr.

“We’d best get moving, then.”

“Take the obliterator core - your alliance will require the data it holds.”

It appeared the Lavorix hadn’t been fooled by Vance’s assertion that the core was only used for stasis negation. The lie had always been weak, but the important thing was that Xak-Uz-Tanr was allowing the obliterator and the data it contained to leave the Ancidium.

“Once you depart the Evia system, what happens?” asked Vance.

“That is undecided.”

“Your god seemed to think we have a part to play in stopping the Kilvar.” Vance gave a grim smile. “And if you leave us to the enemy, we might just lose and then they’ll ascend.”

“Your alliance will not fail so quickly, human. There is time for everything to change.”

Vance nodded, unsure what else to say. He took a step away from the god sphere and turned to face his platoon. As he did so, a file originating from an unknown source appeared in his suit computer. Vance opened it and a limited map of the Ancidium appeared on his HUD, along with an orange line telling him which way to run.

“We’ve got what we came for,” he said on the platoon channel. “And a whole lot more. Now we’re getting the hell away.”

“Are we bringing Private Bautista with us, sir?” asked Hendrix.

“No,” said Vance, feeling like a shit for saying it. “We can’t bring anything that’ll slow us down, and that includes Private Danstol’s body if we pass his way.”

The Lavorix soldiers parted as Vance strode towards them. He stared into the visors of those nearest and detected no hostility. Thinking back, Vance couldn’t remember any time when the Lavorix had shown hatred.

Giving his head a mental shake at how things had turned out, Vance broke into a run and the Lavorix let him go.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The shuttle car door closed, blocking out sight of Lavorix, gods and everything else. Vance looked around for a panel in order to select a destination. He couldn’t spot one and was about to order the obliterator core to hunt for an interface, when the air became heavy and the same droning sound he’d heard from the last ride started again.

“We’re on our way,” Vance said. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes for a moment.

“What happened, sir?” asked Corporal Hendrix.

“The Ancidium is out of stasis, but it’s going to take time before it’s battle ready. We have to return to the Firestorm before the Kilvar blow it to pieces.”

“I meant what happened while you were standing in front of that sphere?”

Vance exhaled. “I’m not sure I believe it myself, Corporal. I spoke to something. A god, or the Ancidium’s AI, or something else entirely. Whatever the hell it was, it decided the Lavorix no longer need to kill us.”

“Which hat did you pull that one out of, sir?” asked Drawl.

“I can’t claim the credit, Private,” said Vance. He pointed at the obliterator core. “Something about our ability to create exium makes us worthy of living.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” said Private Coates.

Vance wasn’t sure how he’d describe it. Certainly, bullshit wasn’t the word he’d have chosen to fit the outcome. “If the Ancidium escapes Evia, that’ll give the Kilvar a real headache.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t articulate what he was feeling.

“Let’s get out of here and talk about it after,” said Hendrix.

“Is the technical station on the return route?” asked Sergeant Tagra. “I would like to collect my weapons.”

The map data Vance had been provided wasn’t easy to interpret. He was sure it would make perfect sense to a Lavorix, but it took him a few moments of study to understand the twists and turns. If the shuttle stopped at the same place they got on, Vance was sure he’d remember the way.

“I’m not sure, Sergeant. Let’s find out where this shuttle takes us.”

The journey was a short one and the door opened onto what Vance believed was the same passage as the one they’d followed on the way to reach the god room. He leaned cautiously out of the shuttle door to check for Lavorix.

“I thought you said we’d have a free passage to the Firestorm, sir,” said Raimi.

“That’s what I was told,” Vance agreed. “So you feel free to run on ahead, Private.”

“Aim to arrive on time and alive, that’s my motto, sir.”

“Come on,” said Vance. “I can see plenty of Lavorix, so let’s hope they got the message that we’re friendly.”

He jogged out into the passage, heading in the direction of the technical station. It was tempting to break into a sprint, but Vance didn’t want to alarm the Lavorix. If the aliens were prone to agitation, they’d definitely be feeling it with the Kilvar being so close to the Ancidium.

The first group of Lavorix the platoon passed were armed with rifles and coming from the opposite direction. The aliens – about twenty in total - were running hard, their four lower limbs rising and falling in a hypnotic yet disquieting rhythm. To Vance’s relief, the Lavorix didn’t interfere with his platoon. They simply switched to single file and continued their headlong sprint along one side of the passage.

Reassured that his soldiers weren’t a target, Vance increased the pace. Hardly had he covered thirty metres when a second group of Lavorix – this one much larger than the first – dashed by his platoon. Vance had long ago learned how fast the aliens could run, but seeing it here was a real close-up demonstration.

“The technical station is nearby,” said Tagra.

Vance nodded, though he had something else on his mind. “This is the place I last heard from Admiral Aston,” he said. “Time to speak with the Firestorm or the Vengeance and let them know we’re coming.” He ran a sweep for receptors and turned up blanks. “Damnit.”

By now, Vance had his bearings and he intended stopping for his guns even though the route line on his HUD indicated that returning to the construction bay via the technical station was a fraction longer than the most efficient way. Vance remembered Xak-Uz-Tanr’s warning that the Kilvar were planning to invade the Ancidium and he didn’t want to be without a gun if one of those life sucking bastards showed up on the way.

“Let’s hope nobody cleared away our stuff,” said Corporal Stoner Givens.

“Try looking on the bright side for once,” snapped Vance.

Givens shut his mouth and, less than a minute later, the platoon entered the technical station. Having killed the previous Lavorix crew, Vance was surprised to discover the place was operational already, albeit with only a third of the stations occupied. As Vance scanned for his weapons, other Lavorix arrived from the side doors and took other seats. Then, the left-hand door opened for a second time and a company of the Ancidium’s soldiers sprinted into the room, around the central pillar and towards the right-hand door.

“There’s our kit,” said Vance, spotting the pile of weapons against the wall, clockwise from his position.

Less than thirty seconds later, everyone in the platoon was armed once more and the mood of the soldiers lifted. Vance slung his gauss rifle and hefted the Rodan he’d picked up from the weapons pile.

“Tooled up again,” said Drawl. “It feels good.”

Privately, Vance hoped he and his squad would make it to the construction bay without a shot being fired. Having been cut off from events outside his own stasis negation bubble, he had no idea how much progress the Kilvar had made in their efforts to capture the Ancidium but he suspected it was greater than none.

“Trying the comms again,” he said. Once more, the receptors were grey. “Corporal Charnos, is your comms pack detecting anything?”

“Negative, Lieutenant.”

Vance was worried, but he didn’t let on. “Nobody’s in stasis, so the Firestorm at least is nearby. We’re heading to the bay.”

There was no reason to wait and Vance strode for the exit. “Once we’re through here, we’ll head to the mess room, then to the bunk room and then to the deployment platform in the construction bay.”

The moment the exit door opened, Vance heard the muffled sound of gunfire coming from somewhere in the distance. He stared along the corridor and at the intersections between him and his goal. Whoever was shooting, they weren’t in sight and the mass of the Ancidium suppressed the echoes, making it impossible to judge the direction.

“There’s only one thing these Lavorix will be shooting at now we’re the good guys,” said Sergeant Gantry.

“I reckon,” said Vance.

He cursed his luck and briefly considered backtracking onto the route which Xak-Uz-Tanr had originally provided. He rejected the idea, suspecting it would eventually lead him into these corridors anyway. With no obviously better options, Vance strode into the passage. The moment he was out of the technical station, a warning in the Lavorix script appeared on his HUD. The language module in his suit duly translated.

Area alert.

“Anyone else get that?”

“Get what, sir?” asked Drawl.

“Never mind,” said Vance. “Just be ready.”

Ten paces along the corridor, he heard a low, rumbling boom and again it was maddeningly difficult to pinpoint the direction.

“I bet the Kilvar came in the same way as we did,” said Private Raven.

Vance was betting on that too and he advanced along the corridor with his Rodan barrel raised. Another company of Lavorix sprinted from the next intersection and they were closely followed by a second.

“I estimated the total at three hundred soldiers,” said Sergeant Tagra.

“Let’s hope they don’t start asking questions about all these body parts on the floor,” said Private Mack.

The Lavorix cut down several weeks earlier by Sergeant Gantry’s MG-12 had not gone anywhere. Having been held in stasis while Vance and the platoon were holed up in the technical station, the bodies hadn’t decomposed. The blood still glistened, the chunks of flesh and bone were pink, and the scent was raw.

“They’re in too much of a hurry,” said Corporal Charnos. “All things considered, the Lavorix have mobilised rapidly.”

The sight of so many troops was a reminder that the Ancidium was not a soft target and Vance was sure many thousands of other Lavorix would be on their way. This vessel had suffered a couple extraction attacks, but so far it didn’t seem to be lacking for soldiers.

A second explosion went off somewhere ahead and a third followed it. On any other day before this one, Vance would have been happy to let the Lavorix and Kilvar beat the crap out of each other. Now things had changed and he felt a reluctant duty to pick sides.

Not only that, he was acutely aware that if he took too long escaping, the Ancidium’s control hardware might complete its warmup. At that point, Vance and his platoon stood a great risk of being transported someplace far from alliance territory, with no guarantee they could ever return. It wasn’t the kind of fate Vance had in mind for himself or for anyone else in his platoon.

“This next turn leads to the mess room,” he said, his head tipped to one side so he could listen for the gunfire and explosions. The sound of both remained infuriatingly elusive, appearing neither closer nor farther than before.

“And from there, the left exit takes us to the bunk room,” said Tagra. “We are close.”

“Closer to the combat than to the exit, Sergeant,” said Drawl.

“I am sure you are correct, Private.”

Yet another company of Lavorix soldiers came running past – forcing the platoon to hug the passage wall - and they headed straight for the mess room. Vance hurried after and halted at the corner of the intersection. He glanced around and discovered the Lavorix company was already entering the mess area.

“Come on,” Vance urged.

He sprinted into the passage, playing hopscotch with the Lavorix corpses. Ahead, the last of the Lavorix soldiers went left and disappeared out of sight, on their way to the bunk room. With the passage empty, Vance was granted a view of the mess area. He saw bodies heaped in far greater numbers than he and his platoon had left behind earlier, and it wasn’t just the Lavorix making up the numbers.

“Kilvar,” said Vance.

He entered the room. Every single table had been overturned and the alloy walls were marked with explosive char. Vance guessed that a couple of hundred Lavorix had died in here, in addition to their casualties from earlier. Dozens of Kilvar had joined them and they were the same hulking giants which Vance remembered from Basalt. Each of their corpses had been shredded by gunfire, pulverised until whatever dark energy was holding them upright could no longer sustain them.

Somewhere in the mess was Private Danstol’s body, though Vance didn’t order a search.

“I can see one of the Lavorix automated defence bots over there in the corner,” said Private Enfield.

The bot was badly smashed and it definitely wasn’t operational. Its presence was a good indicator of what had done much of the damage to these Kilvar and Vance looked around for others among the carnage. Although the Lavorix weren’t shooting at his platoon, he wasn’t keen to run in front of a chain gun equipped bot and find out the hard way that its security protocols hadn’t been updated.

During the brief delay, the far door and the right door both opened and Lavorix poured into the mess area. They gave Vance and his platoon no attention at all, and raced for the exit leading to the bunk room.

“What’s that they’ve got with them?” asked Private Steigers.

“A gun,” said Vance.

The Lavorix coming from the right were escorting a floating, trapezoidal turret, made from a dark alloy and scarred from past combats. The turret’s housing was approximately three metres along its base and from it protruded a two-metre barrel. The weapon seemed like complete overkill for interior use, though evidently the Lavorix thought it would come in handy against whatever they were fighting in the bunk room.

Suddenly, the light in the mess room was suppressed by a wave of energy which swept across the space. A terrible pain, not far removed from that caused by an extractor attack, gripped Vance and he gritted his teeth against it. Far from subsiding, the pain intensified and he ripped a Frenziol-15 injector from his leg pocket.

“Boosters,” he snarled. “Take them.” He stuck the needle into his thigh and the cold pain of it reminded him he wasn’t dead yet. “Come on!” he roared, urging the drugs to fill his veins and dispel the agony.

Not far away, the Lavorix troops escorting the turret stumbled and faltered. One by one they fell and didn’t get up again. The company which had entered through the far door suffered the same fate. A few staggered on until they too succumbed to whatever death wave had been emitted from the bunk room.

One of the last to die turned towards Vance and he swore it looked him in the eye.

“Galkintor,” it said, or at least that’s how Vance heard the word. He didn’t know what it meant and his language module didn’t either.

Like always, the Frenziol worked its two-edged magic. The pain subsided and the price for it would be paid later when the sleeplessness and the mental numbness came. Vance welcomed the freedom from pain and hated the promise, all at the same time.

Straightening, he checked his platoon. Many of the soldiers were cursing, but nobody was on the floor. Humans and Daklan were – through whatever quirk of evolution – resistant to instant death technology and the Frenziol-15 was an added layer of protection.

“Twenty seconds and we move!” said Vance, walking amongst the soldiers and exhorting them to prepare for an exit from the mess room.

Leaving Tagra and Gantry to finish the task of rousing the platoon, Vance jogged across the room towards the turret. Overturned tables and a multitude of corpses got in his way and he swore angrily.

The turret was motionless and it hummed quietly. Vance checked it for a control panel and couldn’t find one, not even when he stooped to look at the weapon’s underside. The housing was steeply angled and his efforts to climb high enough that he could look on top failed.

“Do we need that gun, sir?” asked Sergeant Gantry.

“The Lavorix thought they needed it and that makes me wonder if we should want it too,” said Vance. “Trouble is, I can’t find a control panel.”

Before Vance could think of a better way to climb the turret, movement caught his eye. The door to the exit passage – the one leading to the bunk room – was open and from here, he could see most of the way along. He stepped around the turret to get a clearer view.

“Shit,” he said.

Dead Lavorix crowded the floor in their dozens, but that wasn’t anything to alarm Vance. What he didn’t like was the huge, grey-skinned alien, which was crawling towards the mess room with frantic, spasmodic lurches.

“Galkintor,” he said, guessing what the Lavorix meant when it spoke the word.

Before a single shot had been fired, Vance knew this was the toughest opponent he or his platoon had ever encountered and there was only one way to find out if it was a challenge too far. He hefted his Rodan and prepared for battle.

Chapter Twenty-Four

This Kilvar looked nothing like the shock troops which Vance had fought before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get a sense of exactly what it did look like, because the creature was so enormous that all he could see was its hunched shoulders which filled the three-by-three metre passage, and its bald head, which was lowered, denying him a sight of its face.

The alien shuddered again and slid another few metres along the passage, producing a scraping noise like a dozen bodies being dragged in a sack across a cobbled street. Then, with a wriggle, the creature managed to extend one of its arms – an arm which was clad in wiry muscle and more than six metres in length. The alien reached towards the mess area and flexed the overlong fingers of its hand as if it was trying to grab Vance.

“You’re too far away, you ugly piece of shit,” Vance shouted. He turned his head and bellowed at his platoon. “Stanar, Raimi, over here now! The rest of you, prepare for what’s coming – it’s a single target and the biggest damned alien you ever saw!”

The two rocket soldiers hurried over with their shoulder launchers, while Vance pointed along the corridor and told them to blow the crap out the approaching Kilvar. Standing close to the turret, Vance fired his Rodan into the top of the creature’s head. He knew he’d scored a hit, but the alien didn’t seem to notice.

Vance fired again, his eyes fixed on the enemy. It was eager – or perhaps desperate – to enter the mess room, doubtless because it hoped to gorge on the life energy of the soldiers it found inside. A third shot was no more effective than the previous two and already the Galkintor was less than twenty-five metres from the room.

“What the hell?” said Raimi, when he saw what was heading his way.

“Just blow it up!” shouted Vance.

Stanar and Raimi fired simultaneously from halfway across the floorspace. Their rockets entered the passage and detonated a split second later. The combined blasts were channelled into the mess area and the air temperature climbed rapidly. Vance was a good judge and he remained where he was, his narrowed eyes staring into the fading plasma light.

He heard another scraping sound and saw movement. The explosions dwindled to nothing, leaving patches of flame both on the walls and on the enormous Kilvar. Extensive charring covered its flesh, but otherwise it seemed unharmed and, with a heave, it slid a few metres closer.

“Again!” Vance shouted.

“Waiting on reload,” said Stanar.

By now, other members of the platoon had firing angles into the passage they discharged countless slugs into the Kilvar. Gantry and Rendos deployed their MG-12s not far from the turret and the two repeaters growled and spat. Patches of flesh on the Kilvar’s skull were shredded by the onslaught, revealing yellow bones beneath. Not a sound did the creature make, as if pain was something it didn’t feel.

Standing brazenly near the entrance, Drawl side-armed grenade after grenade into the passage. Each exploded with a thumping, percussive blast, but they were no more effective than the rockets in stopping the advance.

“Stand clear,” said Private Stanar.

He and Raimi each fired a second rocket into the tunnel, though by now Vance was certain the rockets weren’t going to be enough. When the blast cleared, the Galkintor was terribly burned, its skin cracked and torn, but it didn’t seem anywhere near death.

“We will not stop it entering this room,” said Sergeant Tagra.

Vance’s gaze flicked towards the opposite door, wondering if Lavorix reinforcements would arrive soon. The irony of wishing for their arrival wasn’t lost on him, though it only made him angry.

“We might have to make a run for it,” he said.

“Hey, Lieutenant, why not find out if the obliterator core will interface with that turret?” said Drawl.

“That’s a great idea, Private,” said Vance. “Maybe the best one you’ve ever had.”

As quickly as he could, Vance issued a command to the obliterator core, ordering it to search for an interface port and link. Success came in seconds.

“The core is linked,” said Vance, shooting the Kilvar as he spoke. “I’ve instructed it to crack the turret security. Once that’s done, I’ll order the gun to fire.”

“Maybe we should run to the farthest side of the room, sir?” said Private Banks. “That gun is pretty big to be firing it in a little space like this one.”

“It doesn’t fire explosives,” said Vance, relying on experience and a hunch to reach that conclusion. Even so, he waved the soldiers into a controlled withdrawal to the rear wall.

Without any indication it was preparing an attack, the Kilvar released another death wave. The dark energy pulse thumped into Vance and even with the fresh dose of Frenziol, it felt as if an ice-cold hand had grabbed the blood vessels leading to his heart and tried to yank them out. He groaned with the pain and shot the Kilvar in his fury.

“How much longer for the hack, sir?” asked Private Carrington.

Carrington knew the answer without asking and Vance knew the answer as well.

“When it’s done,” he growled, cutting her some slack because everyone was in the same shitty place and everyone just wanted to get this finished and get the hell away from the Ancidium.

Nevertheless, he checked on the obliterator core. Its utilisation gauge was at ninety percent and that meant it was still working.

“Come on!” he said, glaring at the core as if the strength of his will could make it chew faster through the Lavorix security.

The Galkintor made another convulsive surge and this time when it stretched out an arm, it hooked the end joints of its fingers onto the corner of the doorway. Each finger was about the thickness of Vance’s wrist and they ended in cracked, grey fingernails.

A few of the soldiers reacted by shooting their Rodans into the creature’s hand, hoping to dislodge its grip. One of the fingers was blown to pieces, but the others clung on even when they were reduced to little more than bones.

Vance realised the efforts to prevent the creature entering the mess room had failed. “Back into the corridor!” he shouted.

The soldiers were on edge and they didn’t wait for a second invitation. Doubtless everyone in the platoon had their own dark imaginings about what would happen once the Galkintor emerged into the mess room and started swinging those enormous arms.

Not wishing to have his life energies sucked out, Vance took a couple of steps away from the turret and then broke into a run after the others. He was too stubborn to give up and fired on the run, hitting the Galkintor with no more effect than the thousands of shots it had already soaked.

“What’s keeping you, sir?” asked Drawl, haring it into the passage behind the rest of the platoon and leaving Vance as the last man in the mess room.

The corridor was still twenty-five metres away when the Kilvar, with its dead muscles and tendons straining, dragged itself into the room. Its legs were long and single-jointed, and the flesh clung so tightly to its torso that its ribcage was visible. To Vance, it looked like the skeletal husk of a colossus from a faraway world, brought back from the dead and imbued with a near-invulnerability that allowed it to smash through enemy lines, however much punishment it received.

The creature raised its head, revealing a face out of nightmares. Empty eye sockets larger than dinner plates fixed on Vance and in their depths, he saw hatred, hunger and longing. The Galkintor’s mouth was elongated and it sucked in the air noisily, as if to taste the souls of the living. Inside the mouth was a long, grey tongue, which stabbed out and in before running across a row of inward-curving fangs.

Without slowing, Vance half-turned and fired his Rodan with one hand. The weapon jumped with recoil but he knew how to control it and the shot hit the Kilvar in the mouth, shattering one of the fangs. Still it made no sound and it attempted to unfurl its limbs. The ceiling was higher than the corridor but nowhere near enough for the Galkintor to stand, and Vance wondered what the hell it was doing on the Ancidium given how much the confines limited its effectiveness.

The Kilvar haven’t been here before. Maybe they sent in their big guns without knowing what they’d find.

While the ceiling wasn’t high enough for the creature to stand, the additional space allowed it to move more freely and it came after Vance, in a half-crawl, half-slither that knocked tables and bodies aside.

“Shit,” said Vance. He was going to reach the corridor first, but whether he’d make it far enough along to escape the Galkintor’s reach wasn’t so sure. The other members of the platoon had retreated halfway towards the intersection and they watched anxiously.

An update from the obliterator core appeared on Vance’s HUD.

Task complete. Device security status: 0.

Vance darted around an overturned table and jumped two Lavorix corpses. He could hear the Galkintor close behind and he chanced a look over his shoulder. It was nearer than he’d expected – less than fifteen metres away and soon it would be able to swing one of those arms and kill him with a single blow.

“Target, damnit,” said Vance. Several automated routines were built into the obliterator core’s hacking software and he activated one.

Straightaway, the turret hummed and whined and it seemed to Vance as if the lights dimmed, like the weapon was drawing power from every nearby source. He swore and wondered if he’d screwed up. A voice in his mind told him it would be better to die to the turret than the Galkintor, but Vance was just as worried for the rest of his platoon.

Over the duration of a single second, the pressure in the room built rapidly and then the turret fired with a dense, thumping expulsion. Vance was hurled forward with such force that he believed the Kilvar might have struck him. At the same moment, he heard a dreadful ripping sound and dark shapes flashed in his periphery. He collided with a solid object and felt consciousness fading. Gritting his teeth, Vance fought against it and wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

“Sir?”

Vance felt dazed. He was lying on his back and evidently alive.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Get up, sir, we have to leave this place.”

It was Corporal Hendrix and she was about to plug him into her medical box.

“Is it dead?” he asked.

“Dead and in pieces, sir,” came the voice of Private Steigers. “Lots of pieces.”

“Pick him up,” said Hendrix, to someone out of Vance’s sight.

“Hell no,” said Vance. “I can stand.”

He struggled upright, feeling more alert with every passing second. Pride told him he was recovering so rapidly because he was fit and healthy. Reality told him the Frenziol was doing most of the heavy lifting.

Gloved fingers snapped three times in front of his face. “Look at me,” said Corporal Hendrix. She tapped her visor. “Can you focus?”

Vance looked and Hendrix sighed.

“Any other time, I’d tell you to take a back seat,” she said.

“I’m fine,” said Vance.

It was only a partial lie. In a minute or two – maybe less – he knew he’d be fully recovered from what he realised was the discharge shockwave created by the Lavorix turret. That shockwave had hurled him twenty metres into the passage and that’s where he was standing now.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said.

Vance’s first few paces were unsteady. Quickly, his body recovered and by the time he was in the mess room, he felt as strong as ever. The Galkintor had been blown into chunks of shrivelled flesh, grey and bloodless, by the Lavorix turret. Pieces of it were scattered everywhere, though the majority were piled against the wall adjacent to the corridor. Vance spotted jagged bones, dry entrails and misshapen organs, as well as a severed finger and a piece of jawbone with a fang still attached.

“That cannon really did a number on it,” Steigers remarked.

“Don’t touch anything,” Vance warned, concerned in case the flesh retained the ability to drain life.

Carefully, the platoon picked their way across the room. Midway to the exit, another company of Lavorix arrived at full pelt through one of the other doors and stopped at the floating turret.

“What kept you?” asked Drawl.

The Lavorix didn’t pay him any attention. Using a nonvisible method, the aliens took control of the turret and headed straight for the left-hand door. Vance held his platoon long enough for the aliens to take the lead and then he set off after them.

The Galkintor was destroyed and he hoped he’d never see another.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The moment the Firestorm emerged from lightspeed into the Ancidium’s construction bay, Captain William Flint prepared himself for an almost immediate resumption of battle. Within seconds, the sensors had come online and he took in the multitude of details. The bay was even more impressive than he’d imagined and the scale of everything was awe-inspiring.

Ten kilometres starboard, the Vengeance was still stationary, while on one of the portside feeds, Flint saw the dodecahedral warship he’d heard about. One of its massive cannons was pointed directly at the Firestorm. Not far beyond, the Gorgadar hung in the vacuum, a 29,000-metre dormant killer which had brought the Ancidium to its current state.

“If only we could use some of this hardware,” said Maddox wistfully.

“We can’t,” said Flint. “So let’s get ready for the attack.”

“We’re in the middle of the bay, sir,” said Maddox. “That’s as good a place as any to fend off those Kilvar assholes.”

“Admiral Aston said that bay door in the left-hand wall was open before and now it’s closed,” said Becerra. “She’d hoped for a greater freedom of movement within the Ancidium.”

“We’ve got this bay,” said Flint. “It’ll have to be enough.”

A minute went by and no enemy warships appeared.

“Where are they?” muttered Flint. His eyes kept jumping to the Gorgadar and the dodecahedron. Even though they were created by the same species, it made him think of two colossally powerful rivals butting heads.

“Maybe the Kilvar don’t understand they can mode 3 into this bay,” said Fredericks.

“They do understand,” said Becerra. “At least one transport entered before us. It’s not on the sensors, so it’s got to be behind one of these Lavorix warships.”

“We’ll deal with it later,” said Flint, unwilling to go hunting while he was so concerned about Kilvar warships arriving in the bay.

“I reckon they’re waiting for a weapon to arrive,” said Garrett. “A weapon capable of slicing open the Ancidium’s hull.”

Flint wasn’t sure what he believed. “This is probably new for the Kilvar as well,” he said.

“There’s light and heat over at the far opening, sir,” said Becerra. “I think the enemy are trying to make the opening wider with missiles.”

“Let’s take a look,” said Flint.

He rotated the Firestorm and guided it along the bay, above the incomplete warships below. Not willing to venture too close, he positioned the vessel higher than the opening and a few kilometres back. White light filled the hole and spilled into the bay. Every second or two, that light would turn briefly pink as the red of the Kilvar particle beams mixed with it.

“How long before they realise the method isn’t working?” asked Maddox.

“Not long,” said Flint. He turned the Firestorm again and headed once more to the middle of the bay.

The short journey wasn’t complete when an eight-thousand-metre Kilvar warship appeared directly in front of the Firestorm, less than ten kilometres away.

“We’re lined up! Fire the cannon!” shouted Flint.

“Destroyer cannon fired!” said Maddox.

The shot punched an enormous hole in the opposing warship. Simultaneously, a flash of dark energy discharged by the Vengeance’s Executor struck the Kilvar vessel on the opposite flank. The twin attacks had surely been enough, but Maddox launched a dozen hellburners into the cannon hole to finish the job.

Flint squinted against the sudden brightness on the feed and began rotating the Firestorm to bring the other loaded clusters into play in case they were needed.

“It’s breaking up,” said Maddox.

A second Kilvar warship appeared, eighty kilometres closer to the far end of the bay and part-hidden by the Gorgadar. Flint cursed and brought the Firestorm’s nose around as quickly as he could.

“Ready the cannon, Commander.”

The moment this second warship came into the cannon’s firing arc, Maddox unleashed the shot, disintegrating much of the other vessel’s nose section. Flint didn’t wish to be caught in this open area of the bay and he accelerated directly for the Gorgadar’s topside, hoping to use it as cover.

“Portside hellburner clusters one and two: fired,” said Maddox. “Holding the countermeasures.”

“Enemy transport detected,” said Becerra. “It arrived directly behind the Gorgadar with only a hundred metres showing from our current position. It isn’t moving, so it’s probably still sensor blind.”

The hellburners smashed into the cannon-damaged warship, creating a huge blast that looked impressive but probably wasn’t fatal to such a large vessel. Flint didn’t stare and concentrated on piloting the Firestorm at high velocity over the top of the Gorgadar so he could open up an attack on the transport.

“The Vengeance is heading our way,” said Garrett.

Recovering from its SRT, the five-kilometre transport accelerated from cover, heading towards the vessels in the construction trenches.

“Portside hellburner cluster number three: fired,” said Maddox. “Underside hellburner clusters one to three: fired.”

The missiles streaked into the darkness and crashed into the transport a split-second later. A second salvo, launched by the Vengeance, struck a moment after and the Kilvar vessel dropped like a stone, burning like a sun as it went down.

“Two more enemy warships detected,” said Becerra. “Make that three more.”

“Accompanying transports also detected,” said Garrett.

A glance at the tactical told Flint the Kilvar vessels were at the far end of the bay, out of the destroyer cannon arc, but targetable by the rear clusters.

“Target: transport. Rear hellburner clusters one to three: fired,” said Maddox. “Railers set to auto. Holding the shock pulse.”

Bringing the Firestorm into the tightest of curves, Flint intended to line the destroyer cannon up with these new opponents. In his heart, he knew this was all spitting in the wind. The Kilvar were too numerous and they would keep on coming until they’d captured the Ancidium. Even if Lieutenant Vance and his platoon showed up right this second, there was no way to make the pickup.

“Destroyer cannon: fired,” said Maddox.

An immense hole appeared in one of the enemy warships, and the hellburners engulfed a transport in plasma flame. Another Kilvar vessel appeared on the tactical and then another.

“It’s getting crowded,” said Flint, feeling more anger than despair.

Away to starboard, an enemy spaceship climbed vertically from between the two largest construction trenches. It ejected missiles and its particle beam stabbed out once, twice and then a third time. The Firestorm’s mesh deflector activated and the same happened on the Vengeance.

Flint didn’t let it distract him, though he suspected his death was imminent. With a wrench on the controls, he brought the destroyer cannon onto target. Maddox fired it without a word and the far end of the bay filled with dust.

Another energy beam lanced across the darkness and once more the Firestorm’s mesh deflector activated. The red failure light appeared and then vanished, and the cooldown timer plummeted to zero. The deflector activated for a third time, while Maddox fired hellburners and deployed a shock pulse.

The intensity of the burst illuminated everything and, for the shortest of times, it seemed to Flint as if he were gazing at a picture depicting warfare at its most cruel and destructive, yet also at its most falsely romantic – the lure of oblivion captured in this single instant.

As quickly as it came, the shock burst died and the moment passed. Missiles raced across the bay and Flint aimed his warship for cover. The Vengeance was hit – once or twice, he didn’t know – but Aston retained enough control to fly it with incredible velocity low beneath the Gorgadar. Flint banked to follow, bringing up a new target for the destroyer cannon at the same time.

“Destroyer cannon: fired,” said Maddox.

Instead of a bass thump, Flint heard the shriek of tearing metal and a section of the Firestorm’s nose exploded outwards. Warning lights appeared on his console and he swore in fury.

“We lost the cannon, sir,” said Maddox.

The cannon was gone, but the mesh deflector was still available. It activated, preventing the Firestorm’s destruction once again. This time, the red light stayed on and Flint knew he was too far from the cover offered by the Gorgadar’s underside to escape the next attack.

From out of nowhere, a darkness appeared on the rear and portside feeds, blocking out everything. Flint’s first thought was that a Kilvar attack had knocked out the arrays, but then he felt a shock running through the Firestorm’s hull and knew the warship had suffered a collision. Not only that, the force of the impact had sent it on a rapid trajectory towards the Gorgadar’s flank.

Working instinctively, Flint regained control of the Firestorm, while his brain wondered what the hell had just happened. The darkness had moved from the portside feed and now it appeared on the forwards.

Not darkness. A spaceship. The dodecahedron.

The sensor focus adjusted and Flint saw the vessel clearly. It was rotating as it flew towards the far end of the bay. One of the Kilvar vessels was on the same feed, accelerating and banking away from the incoming Lavorix warship. Too late, the eight-kilometre spaceship was disintegrated by one of the huge cannons.

Flint didn’t forget he was meant to be piloting the Firestorm out of harm’s way and he succeeded in getting it beneath the Gorgadar. Amongst the forest of turrets and launch clusters, the Vengeance also waited, a quarter of its starboard flank glowing hot and with a single huge crater in the centre of the heat patch.

“Another Kilvar ship is down,” said Becerra.

“Our mesh deflector is still offline,” said Maddox. “Looks like everything decided to break at the same time.”

Flint could only nod as he positioned the Firestorm as close to the Gorgadar as he could manage. It was a scant hope to imagine the Kilvar would forget all about his warship, but with his primary defensive system offline and his primary weapon likewise, he couldn’t see a way out other than entering mode 3 and not looking back. However, after coming so far, it wasn’t an option to leave with the mission incomplete.

The dodecahedron was a killing machine of merciless and terrifying efficiency. With unnerving agility and punishing acceleration, it sped from one end of the bay to the other, its energy shield a blue nimbus wreathed in plasma from the Kilvar attacks directed against it.

Each time one of those destroyer cannons fired – these being the real deal, rather than the imperfect copy installed on the Firestorm – the discharging barrel jumped with recoil and a Kilvar ship was disintegrated.

How long the engagement lasted, Flint didn’t know. All he could do was watch in wonder until it was over. Eventually, the dodecahedron ran out of Kilvar targets within the bay and then it vanished.

“Gone hunting outside,” said Maddox.

“Looks like.”

“Are we a target?” asked Maddox.

“We’d be dead if we were,” said Flint.

“Admiral Aston reports the Vengeance has suffered no major hardware failure,” said Becerra.

“That warship’s in a better state than the Firestorm,” said Maddox. “Who’d have thought it?”

“What do we do now, sir?” asked Fredericks.

“Now we wait for Lieutenant Vance.”

“What if he doesn’t come?” asked Garrett.

“He’ll come,” said Flint. “Why do you think that dodecahedron didn’t turn us into powder along with all those Kilvar vessels?”

“An alliance with the Lavorix?” asked Fredericks. “That would be a real turn up for the books.”

“Just because they didn’t kill us, that doesn’t mean we’re in an alliance,” said Flint.

After fifteen minutes, the dodecahedron hadn’t returned, but Flint had no concerns that it was defeated. If the Kilvar hoped to achieve victory over that single vessel, they’d require something a lot more potent than what they’d sent in so far. Meanwhile, after repeated efforts to contact Lieutenant Vance, a comms link was finally established.

“They’re on their way, sir,” said Becerra.

“I’m glad. Did they bring the obliterator core with them?”

“Yes, sir. Apparently, we need to get out of here before the Ancidium’s control systems are back online. Once that happens, the Lavorix are exiting the Evia system, whether or not we’re still passengers.”

“We’re not leaving without those soldiers,” said Flint. “And they’ll be best off on the Vengeance.”

“Maybe we all would, sir,” said Maddox.

“We can’t leave the exium behind, Commander.”

Maddox grimaced. “I know. I think I’ve had enough of it.”

“Me too.”

“I’ve got Admiral Aston on the comms, sir,” said Becerra. “We’re to land the Firestorm on the bay floor and exit in preparation for a pickup. We’ve been sent a synch code.”

Flint exchanged a look with Maddox. “I guess the Admiral had instructions of her own.”

The Firestorm wasn’t fitted with landing legs and was only designed to hover, which meant it could set down effectively anywhere. Flint chose a spot as close to the deployment platform as he could find and let the autopilot take over.

“Time to leave, folks,” he said. His suit helmet was already in place and he pulled his Rodan off the clip holding it to the side of his console. “We won’t be coming back.”

The crew exited the bridge and hurried through the interior towards the forward boarding ramp. On the way, Flint listened to updates on the comms. Lieutenant Vance had reported his arrival at the deployment platform and Admiral Aston was on her way to make the pickup.

The urgency made Flint increase his pace and he soon arrived at the exit airlock. He sent the open command to the boarding ramp and climbed down to the construction bay floor, which was covered in powder from the earlier Fracture attack. Here, without the sight provided by the warship’s sensors, everything was utterly dark, though the sensor in his suit helmet aided his vision. Great mounds of dust loomed in every direction, like grey dunes in a desert formed from volcanic rock.

Flint hurried left away from the Firestorm’s nose, to where the Vengeance would soon land. The dust particles were dense and they didn’t slow him much. When he’d travelled far enough, he stood, along with his crew, in the silence of the vacuum.

“I don’t think I’ll miss the Firestorm,” said Becerra.

“Nope,” said Fredericks. “Normally I appreciate technology, even when it’s dangerous. There was something about that ship I didn’t much like.”

“So how are we planning to get out of here?” said Garrett, while they waited. “I didn’t think we could mode 3 through a stasis field.”

“Admiral Aston will SRT out of the Ancidium and then use the stasis tunnel to exit the sphere,” said Flint. “That’s when we’ll use the mode 3 to put some distance between us and the Kilvar.”

An object slid into view – dark upon dark – and Flint watched. A sliver of muted light appeared on the nose section of the descending Vengeance and, when the warship set down, the open boarding ramp was only a hundred metres away.

Less than thirty seconds later, the Firestorm’s crew were inside the warship’s airlock. The ramp closed and the inner door opened. A comms channel opened and Flint was given an invitation to attend the bridge. Accepting, he ran, knowing without being told which direction to go.

The mission was in its closing stages but it wasn’t yet over and Flint didn’t want to miss the finale.

Evia

Flint arrived at the Vengeance’s bridge, still groggy from the effects of the mode 3 transit which had occurred on the way. The bridge offered no particular surprises, being cramped, cold, and filled with technology.

Flint cast his eyes around and noted that the comms and propulsion stations were occupied by Daklan, which wasn’t unusual anymore. Admiral Aston sat in the command seat and next to her was Acting Commander Jo Larson, who Flint had been told was ranked captain outside of this mission.

Nobody turned to greet him and that was no surprise, given what he could see on the bulkhead feeds. The Firestorm was flying ahead of the Vengeance and Aston was keeping tight to its stern. Flint stepped closer, staying quiet so as not to distract the crew.

“The Vengeance can’t achieve the same kind of velocity as the Firestorm,” said Admiral Aston, breaking the silence. “That means our SRT cooldown will be finished by the time we reach the edge of the stasis sphere.”

“Is the plan to mode 3 out of the Evia system and discharge the Executor at the Firestorm, ma’am?” asked Flint.

“That’s exactly the plan,” said Aston.

“Did the Ancidium leave?” asked Flint.

“We didn’t wait around to find out. In truth, I don’t know if the Lavorix can escape so easily. Maybe they can gateway.” Aston shrugged without turning. “I don’t know.”

Flint’s mouth was dry and he craved water, but he didn’t move from where he was standing. Commander Larson twisted in her seat and smiled at him. She had perfect features and he smiled back stiffly.

“Two minutes and we’ll be at the extreme edge of the stasis sphere,” said Aston. “We’re going to keep it simple and activate the SRT the moment it becomes available.”

Nervous energy made Flint shift his balance from foot to foot. Everything seemed to be going according to plan and that had him worried. He knew if he let himself become suspicious during the good times, he’d end up constantly looking over his shoulder. A few deep breaths settled him only a little.

“Thirty seconds,” said Aston.

Flint stepped closer and grabbed the back of her seat.

“Expecting a bumpy ride, Captain Flint?” asked Larson.

“I don’t like the transitions.”

“Join the club.”

“Ten seconds,” said Aston. She looked at the tactical, in readiness to select a mode 3 destination.

The Firestorm exited the stasis sphere, though it was not into the darkness which Flint had expected. Instead, everything was stark white, and he guessed Admiral Aston had chosen an exit point close enough to the star that the Kilvar wouldn’t easily detect the emergence of the two warships.

A temperature alert chimed and then the bridge lighting changed to red. Ahead, the Firestorm was a dark outline.

“Executor fired,” said Larson at once.

The bass note produced by the weapon was accompanied by a pain which Flint had not expected. A sphere of darkness appeared on the forward feed and for a split-second it vied with the light of the star. When the darkness vanished, the Firestorm was no more, destroyed by that single attack. Flint felt no regret. Maybe it would come later.

“Mode 3 activated,” said Aston.

The in-out transition, on top of the recent Executor discharge, nearly brought Flint to his knees. He managed to stay on his feet and waited for the sensor feeds to resume.

“Sensors coming online,” said the Daklan sensor officer. Her name was Kavol-Tor and her voice was particularly melodious.

“Find out what went wrong,” said Aston.

“Was that not to plan?” asked Flint in puzzlement.

“We exited the sphere at the intended location and the hull temperatures should have been tolerable. Instead, we nearly burned up.”

The bulkhead screens came online and Kavol-Tor finished her near scans and then the fars. After that, she directed the Vengeance’s arrays towards the Evia system. Even from this enormous distance, something was clearly amiss.

“What the hell?” Flint asked, staring at the over-magnified sphere of light on the feed.

“The star’s diameter is fifteen times larger than it was,” said Kavol-Tor. “And it continues to grow.”

Flint couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. With each passing second, the star expanded and he couldn’t comprehend the speed of its happening.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Something destroyed Evia,” said Aston. “A weapon.”

“The Ancidium,” said Flint. “Its controls systems came online and they did something to the star.”

This time, Aston did turn. By appearance, she was a little older than Flint and dark hair framed her face within the helmet she wore. Her expression indicated how troubled she was.

“A weapon that can destroy a star,” she said. “What purpose could that possibly serve?”

Flint didn’t have answers and his eyes went back to the sensor feed. Judging by sight alone, Evia’s diameter was now seventy or eighty times what it had been originally and it showed no sign of slowing.

“We’re on the same side as the Lavorix now, ma’am,” he said.

“What if it was the Kilvar, Captain Flint? What if that was the only way they had to neutralise the Ancidium?”

Flint didn’t know and he didn’t speculate. All he could do was watch the unfolding destruction of the star, and ask himself what exactly it was the alliance had unleashed. Perhaps the Ancidium was no more and had been lost in the inferno. Or maybe it had wiped out the Kilvar fleet and then gone elsewhere. If the Ancidium had survived, he had no doubt it would return.

Whatever the truth about events at Evia, Flint felt less certain about the future than he could ever remember.

* * *

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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