Chapter 1

Shattered Peace

The Gok carrier bore down on the IGS Vesta, and Captain Vin Husher cursed under his breath. The alien warship was clearly maneuvering for tactical advantage, but until it fired the first shot, there was nothing Husher could do.

With bureaucrats scrutinizing his every move, commanding the largest warship in the Integrated Galactic Fleet counted for less than it should have. He certainly felt less effective as a captain. The voices calling for his removal from the Vesta’s command seat seemed to grow louder and more numerous with every passing day, and it took everything he had to continue presenting himself as not only fit for command, but the best man for the job.

Of course, ideas about what “the job” actually was tended to vary dramatically. The way he saw it, his job was to prepare the galaxy for the onslaught he knew was coming. He knew that in his very core, which made it especially baffling when others described his “proper” job as doing his best to render war itself obsolete.

That particular view of his job had gained widespread popularity over the last twenty years, and these days, his every action was held up to a microscope, along with its justification, which he was required to provide in the multitude of reports and statements that had come to characterize his life.

He agreed with civilian oversight of the military. But he also thought that oversight should come from a well-informed, well-reasoned place. Sadly, it rarely did, anymore.

The politicians of the Interstellar Union hadn’t seen what he’d seen. They hadn’t experienced the ruthlessness of the Ixa in battle, and they hadn’t heard the conviction of the Ixan AI named Baxa, when he’d told Husher that he was but one of many superintelligences designed for war. The AI had promised that the others would come soon to finish the job of exterminating all life in the Milky Way.

In the meantime, there was this warship from the Gok, with whom the IU had enjoyed an uneasy peace for the last seventeen years. The Union did everything they could to maintain that peace, including mandating ROEs—Rules of Engagement—that left its own warships at a disadvantage against any Gok ship that might decide to attack.

“They’re not acknowledging our transmission request, Captain.” The Coms officer almost whispered as she delivered the news. She was Ensign Amy Fry, and she sat two consoles over from Husher’s, just ahead and a foot lower. Like every other officer in the CIC, she faced the main display.

“Keep trying,” Husher said, his voice tight with strain, even though he was trying his best to seem calm. Though unlikely, the possibility that the other vessel’s coms simply weren’t functioning would be enough to sink Husher’s career if he fired first. Never mind that the Gok was the only species with whom the Interstellar Union had gone to war against during the twenty years since its inception, or that the Gok still steadfastly refused to join the federation that included every other sentient species in the galaxy.

“Sir…” muttered Commander Fesky, Husher’s XO, her twitching wings betraying her unease. Not that he needed the indication—he’d served with her since just before the Second Galactic War, and Husher could read his Winger friend like a favorite book.

But that wouldn’t stop him from observing protocol. “Easy, Commander. I’m not about to go down in history as the captain who fired the first shot in the renewed Gok Wars.” Even so… He turned to his Nav officer. “Initiate reverse thrust, Kaboh, engaging engines at sixty-five percent. Let’s start inching back toward Zakros’ orbital defense platforms.”

“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Kaboh answered in the high-pitched tones of a Kaithian—one of the few that were aboard the Vesta. Most of Kaboh’s species preferred to remain close together, where the benefits of their psychic Consensus was multiplied. But under the direction of the Interstellar Union, the Fleet had assigned Kaboh to serve in Husher’s CIC, and Husher was pretty sure he knew why.

“The Gok carrier has doubled its acceleration, Captain,” the sensor operator reported, from two consoles to Husher’s right. “Her main gun is aligned with our forward starboard engine.”

Husher’s fingers tightened around the cold steel of his chair’s armrests. Peering at the CIC’s main display, he raised his right hand to a sturdy white switch positioned on the side of his console, flicking from a tactical representation of the two warships to the view from an exterior visual sensor. It showed mostly empty space at the moment; the Gok ship nothing more than a distant gleam.

Flicking the ivory switch once again, Husher changed the display back to a tactical overview. That likely wouldn’t be what the other officers saw on the display. When his Coms officer looked at the main display, she likely saw a data readout on the warship’s communications array, or maybe reports from subordinates in her department as they worked together to hail the Gok ship. The sensor operator would likely be managing multiple streams of information provided by various sensor types—RADAR, LIDAR, visual, and so on.

Of course, Chief Benno Tremaine, his Tactical officer, probably did have the tactical display up, alongside multiple targeting calculations. Husher had long ago drilled into the man’s head that he should always be ready with multiple firing solutions whenever a nearby ship had even the slimmest chance of becoming violent. It was far more efficient to modify an existing firing solution than to whip up one from scratch.

Without Oculenses, it wouldn’t have been possible for each officer to see something different on the main display—the invention had certainly been a boon for CIC operations. The public had found plenty of other uses for Oculenses, of course, but Husher didn’t consider all of those to be quite as beneficial.

As captain, he could tap into what any of his CIC’s officers were looking at while they were on duty. He did so now, switching to his sensor operator’s overlay. “Winterton, collaborate with Nav to provide me with an estimate of when the carrier will enter an optimal range for—”

“Captain, the carrier just launched two squadrons of third-generation Slags!”

Husher’s head whipped toward his Tactical officer. Normally, his sensor operator would have delivered that information, but Winterton had been looking away from his readout, at Husher.

“Have any of them started firing?” Husher asked. Slags were the Gok’s idea of space fighters, so-named for their close resemblance to melted hunks of metal. If they’d begun to attack, then so could Husher. Scrambling Slags at all seemed like a clearly hostile act to him, but he knew the politicians would say differently.

“Negative.”

With the Vesta’s present course locked in, Kaboh didn’t have much to do. His muscular head-tail shifted against his chair’s back as he turned toward Husher, looking totally relaxed. “Captain, I would remind you that the presiding ROEs prohibit—”

“I’m familiar with the ROEs,” Husher snapped. “Helm, punch the engines up to eighty percent.”

“The Slags will overtake us at this rate, Captain,” Winterton said.

“They’ll overtake us no matter what we do,” Husher muttered. His ship’s top speed was—well, it was superluminal, thanks to the warp tech that had come online fleetwide during the last five years. But her sheer mass meant that accelerating to any meaningful velocity took time, even if he were to have his Helm officer bring the engines up to full power.

Slowly, he shook his head, his heart pounding an increasing cadence in his ears. The Vesta truly was a wonder—much bigger and far more powerful than anything ever fielded before her. But her capabilities were nearly wasted under the limitations the interspecies government had placed on military action. Husher had been expecting a situation like the one developing right now for a long time. It was just his luck that it was happening to him—and at a time when the battle group that normally accompanied his ship was already halfway to the darkgate into the next system.

“Ready point defense systems, Tactical,” Husher growled, eyeing Kaboh as he finished. “Unless you’re going to tell me the ROEs forbid that, now?”

“No more than they forbid readying firing solutions for ships that never end up attacking us, Captain,” the Kaithian said, his tone conspicuously neutral.

Husher caught himself grinding his teeth at the implied dig, and he forced himself to stop. Modern military doctrine gave subordinates far more leeway when criticizing their superiors than was once considered proper. The thinking was that encouraging debate would reduce mistakes made by the CO and others in command positions.

Husher wasn’t so sure about that, but he did know that the freer dialog did real harm to discipline and the chain of command.

It doesn’t help that Kaboh’s real job is to spy on me for the IU, Husher reflected.

“Still no response from the Gok commander,” the Coms officer said, and the sensor operator spoke on the heels of that: “Enemy—uh, Gok Slags are drawing even with us, Captain.” Winterton blushed as Kaboh’s widened eyes fell on him. No doubt the Kaithian was outraged at the sensor operator for ‘prematurely’ classifying the aggressively maneuvering ships as enemies.

Fortunately for the young ensign—though unfortunate for the Vesta—his slip-up was vindicated almost immediately. “The carrier just fired two guided missiles!” he said.

Good enough for me. “Tactical, tell Commander Ayam to scramble Pythons, prioritizing enemy Slags as targets,” Husher rattled off, his speech as rapid and clipped as machine gun fire. “I don’t want those missiles getting anywhere near my hull—neutralize them with a pair of Gorgons.” With their advanced stealth capabilities, Gorgon missiles would likely be perfect, since the Gok missiles’ sensors weren’t sophisticated enough to detect the threat in time to adjust course. Gorgons were propelled by cold-gas thrusters, and they were covered in the darkest material ever made, which absorbed all but one-hundredth of one percent of the light it encountered.

“The carrier’s continuing to accelerate, Captain,” the sensor operator said. “I think they’re aiming to ram us.”

Husher’s gaze snapped to the tactical display. I can’t believe it. Even during the Gok Wars, only two of the Gok’s warships had ever attempted a kamikaze run. This really isn’t my day, is it? “Nav, evasive maneuvers, now!” he barked.

“Aye, Captain,” Kaboh said, tiny blue-white fingers flying across his console.

But as the Vesta listed to port, its starboard thrusters firing, the Gok warship turned as well, its main gun tracking the supercarrier’s trajectory.

It was a feint. “Helm, engines all ahead!”

“Yes, sir,” the Helm officer said, but it was too late. The Vesta had no time to overcome the inertia from her recent reverse thrust, and while her engines were powerful, the Gok’s trickery paid off. Kinetic impactors tore into the supercarrier’s starboard side near the stern, sending violent tremors through her entire frame and rocking Husher in his seat.

He tried to give another order, but his throat had closed up, and his ears began to ring shrilly. Dark spots danced before his eyes, and suddenly a memory overtook him, so vividly that he might have been watching a vid:

A white clapboard house, standing proud in the suburbs. Lights on in both the living room and the upstairs washroom, piercing the deepening dusk.

Then: a fiery gash across the night sky. A deafening explosion. Fire that blossomed until it engulfed the entire house.

“Captain?” It was Fesky, who’d risen from the XO’s Chair and was standing over him, shaking him. “Captain!”

“Hit them,” he managed to gasp. “Hit them with everything we’ve got.”

Chapter 2

Cybele

Husher and Fesky walked in silence as they neared the hatch where the crew section of the Vesta ended, their muffled footfalls the only sound other than the rustling of the Winger’s feathers.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Fesky asked, shattering the quiet. “Back in the CIC…I wasn’t sure you’d make it through the engagement. What happened?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. But we won, Fesky. That’s what matters. We took out the Gok carrier before it could do the same to us.”

“Don’t you think you should see Doctor Bancroft?”

He shrugged. “I have a checkup soon. I’ll mention what happened to her then.”

Fesky sighed, shaking her head a little. “I can come with you to this meeting, you know. You don’t have to go alone.”

A wry smile played across Husher’s lips. “No thanks, Fesky. I’m not eager to leave the CIC to Kaboh for longer than I already have. I’m worried he’ll go looking for another Gok warship, so he can offer them the Vesta on a platter. I’m fine, and at a time like this, I want you in the command seat.”

The Gok had always been close allies of the Ixa, and Husher didn’t want to give voice to his worst fear, even though it was probably on Fesky’s mind, too: that the Gok attack might have something to do with the return of the AIs who’d created the Ixa.

“Understood,” the Winger said, reaching up to straighten his uniform’s lapel using the flat of her thickest talon. “This isn’t ironed properly, by the way.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. With the number of reports I fill out every day, it’s a wonder I get a chance to eat.”

“You could easily have someone iron it for you.”

“A captain should iron his own uniform,” he said, turning toward the hatch and punching his access code into the terminal.

“But you clearly aren’t doing it properly, human!” Fesky called after him as he strode through the hatch. He didn’t turn back, not wanting her to witness the return of his smile.

Husher exited the corridor into a vast desert that stretched from horizon to horizon, dotted with cacti and rocks and not much else. Where the desert would have met the sky, it met the base of snowcapped mountains instead. By all appearances, he stood in the center of an enormous valley.

When he turned to ensure the hatch had closed automatically, he saw that it had—a disembodied metal barrier, stark against the gleaming white of the barren wilderness. An access panel hung in midair beside it. Nodding to himself, Husher turned and continued on his way.

Other than the sand, which actually did exist, the desert was an illusion conjured by his Oculenses, and it wasn’t nearly as vast as it seemed. It wasn’t anywhere as hot as a desert would be, either, though this section’s heating coils were located here, so it was warmer than elsewhere.

The Oculenses had conjured the mountains, too, as well as the lush plain he strode toward. As for the gleaming city straddling that plain…that was mostly real. Mostly. Its name was Cybele.

Not for the first time in the last thirteen years, Husher wondered how things had come to this—how he’d come to have fifty thousand civilians living on his warship.

You know how, he told himself, and that was true. Even so, he still couldn’t quite believe it.

In a time with so much talk of cutting the military, the idea of capital starships carrying actual capitals had seemed like the only way to avoid the cuts, even to Husher. They’d represented a way to expand military might that would be palatable even to the new Interstellar Union, who’d been bent on radical downsizing.

Husher himself had been among the most emphatic to make the case: when the tech underlying the micronet’s instant communication system had been found to endanger the fabric of the universe, galactic society had needed something to bind it together. And so the new supercarriers would serve more than just a defensive function as they patrolled the galaxy with their vast arsenals. Those same arsenals would also keep safe the cities aboard them, and the cities would in turn allow the giant starships to justify their own expense by turning them into roving economic engines.

The galaxy-wide exchange of news, ideas, and goods that the nomadic cities enabled had singlehandedly saved the military. But the cities’ existence also brought intense scrutiny to the actions of those commanding the warships carrying them. When engaging in battle had come to mean endangering thousands of galactic citizens, government oversight had intensified, and the ROEs became paralyzing.

A tiny figure standing in the sand up ahead caught Husher’s eye, and he neared it faster than he should have—such was the nature of the illusory desert, which had a way of distorting distance. At first he thought it was a real girl, who’d wandered out here alone. But as he drew closer, he saw that she was just as nonexistent as the desert itself.

Nevertheless, she frowned in his direction, though she remained completely motionless. He stopped for a moment, staring back. “I’m so sorry,” he said to her, before moving on. When he glanced back two minutes later, she was gone.

The Oculenses were one of the few technological gifts the Kaithe had been willing to bestow upon the galaxy’s other species, and the things had a limited ability to detect and interpret brain waves. It was an attempt at a noninvasive brain-computer interface, and usually it worked like it was supposed to. Other times, it picked up on threads from your subconscious and manifested them before your eyes. That wasn’t a pleasant experience, typically.

The Kaithe’s technological stinginess wasn’t due to a lack of proficiency. During their isolationist days, the diminutive aliens had often been called “the children,” but that name had fallen into disuse after their immense physical strength became known. There was also the revelation that they had created humanity millions of years ago, with the intention of using humans as weapons of war. During the eons since, they’d come to regret what they’d done, and now they were staunch pacifists, flatly refusing to contribute any tech that would bolster military capability.

The Kaithe had, however, been perfectly willing to confer the ability to efficiently synthesize atmosphere in space, so that it didn’t have to be rocketed up from a planet at great cost. That had been the same advancement that had resulted in thousands of civilians living in the bowels of Vin Husher’s warship.

Of course, the citizens of Cybele didn’t characterize it quite that way. They referred to this part of the ship as the Womb, and on days they were feeling particularly grandiose, they called it the Womb of Civilization.

The desert sand transitioned smoothly into rolling, green plains overhung by a cloudless, sapphire sky. Like the desert’s sand, the grass of the plains was really there, as well as the soil it grew from—poured by the ton over the cold steel of the deck. Considering it existed inside a starship, this compartment was incredibly spacious, but the Oculenses made it look far, far bigger than it actually was. In reality, most of the city’s inhabitants occupied living quarters that were quite cramped. At fifty thousand people, Husher considered the city inside his ship to be extremely overpopulated.

He reached the outskirts of Cybele, first passing protein synthesis and hydroponics facilities, where most of the ship’s food was produced. That included the food for his crew, which certainly cut down on the number of supply stops he had to make.

This place does have its uses, he admitted.

Next, he passed row after row of cubic residences, all clean and tidy. At least, their Oculens overlays were clean and tidy. Husher knew that underneath those overlays, most of Cybele’s structures were drab and covered in dust. Persistent illusions were a great help when it came to ignoring the need for regular cleaning.

Everyone was free to take out their Oculenses, of course, but they rarely did. When someone installed an overlay—whether for their house or their body—everyone’s Oculenses forced them to see only that. There wasn’t an option to deactivate someone else’s overlay, even temporarily. Yes, you could leave your house without your Oculenses in, but that was now considered taboo, and anyway, there was a strong correlation between taking out your Oculenses and depression. That correlation was strongest in cities on capital starships like the Vesta, but it was fairly strong on planetary colonies, too.

As a high-ranking military officer, Husher did have the rare ability to turn off any overlay, for security reasons. But he barely ever took advantage of that ‘privilege,’ since he also found it depressing to look at Cybele without its makeup on.

Before long he reached Cybele City Hall; a great dot of a building made up of nested, concentric circles. Curiously, it didn’t occupy the city’s center, but a spot just off it.

The real center of the city was reserved for Cybele University. According to Husher’s Oculenses, the campus’ snowy towers reared against the sky; sturdy obelisks streaming bright banners of many hues. The towers kept a watchful eye on all who lived in the city—according to the overlay, anyway. In reality, Husher knew the university was made up of drab buildings, none of which exceeded three stories. Cracks and vines ran up the beige walls in equal measure, and just a few meters over the roof, instead of sky, a gray, metal ceiling loomed.

He entered city hall, passing between identical burgundy plaques proclaiming the building’s function. As he made his way toward the council chambers at the center, he was required to provide his ID code at three different checkpoints, despite that everyone on board the Vesta knew who he was.

Of course, for all they know, my appearance could be just another overlay. That thought almost made him chuckle. He doubted many citizens of Cybele were inclined to dress themselves up as him.

“Welcome, Captain Husher,” Mayor Dylan Chancey said in his usual warm tones from where he sat in his short-walled enclosure. It wasn’t immediately obvious Chancey was mayor just by looking at his seat—it resembled every other seat ringing the circular council chamber.

“You know all the councilors, of course,” Chancey continued, “but we also have Maeve Aldaine with us, a Sociology undergrad from Cybele University. As a supplement to her studies, she expressed an interest in observing this meeting. I hope you don’t mind her being here.” The mayor gestured toward the young woman sitting beside him, whose bright red hair hung halfway down her head. She looked about the same age his daughter would have been.

“That’s fine,” Husher said, nodding toward the young woman before returning his gaze to Chancey. The man never did much with his overlay, other than ensuring it concealed most of his gray hairs. He had a chiseled jaw naturally, as well as piercing eyes so brown they were almost black. Those eyes belied his mostly conciliatory demeanor.

The woman who spoke next, on the other hand, made ample use of her overlay. “We were starting to wonder whether you’d show up, Captain,” Penelope Snyder said, leaning toward Husher. Her belly top and silk pants would have put a peacock to shame, and a bright, unnatural blue shone through the black feathered mask she wore at all times. Gleaming waves of midnight hair spilled down her face to frame her perfect complexion.

Penelope Snyder was the president of Cybele University. Underneath her carefully assembled mirage, Husher knew that she carried at least forty pounds more than the overlay suggested, and also that she looked much closer to seventy than twenty. But with the magic of Oculenses, she could continue looking like this until the day she died.

“I had an unusual amount of desk work to complete, today,” Husher said as he settled himself into the only empty chair. With that, he met Mayor Chancey’s gaze.

The man nodded. “Yes, I expect you did. Today could come to mark either the end of a long peace or a historical anomaly. But let’s waste no more time in beginning. Today’s meeting won’t follow the typical format, since the event that necessitated it certainly wasn’t typical. We’ll see to our more usual tasks at the next council meeting, so that we can keep Captain Husher away from his duties as briefly as possible.”

Husher nodded, folding his hands over his right thigh. “That’s appreciated, Mayor Chancey. Though I’m not exactly clear on the necessity for today’s meeting.”

Chancey looked around at the nine councilors—three humans, four Wingers, a Kaithian, and a Tumbran—before his gaze settled on Snyder. “Would you care to explain our concerns to the captain, Penelope?”

“With pleasure,” the university president said, smiling sweetly at Husher. “And I will try to stick to the mayor’s prescription for brevity, though as an academic I do struggle with that from time to time.” The remark brought a round of tittering from the other councilors. “To put it quite simply, Captain, we worry about whether you might be…well, prejudiced seems like a harsh word for this particular context. Biased, let’s say. We’re concerned it’s likely you carry an unconscious bias against the Gok.”

Husher shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Snyder’s face—at least, the digital fantasy she called her face. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said. “I took pains to ensure my actions followed the ROEs set out by the Interstellar Union.”

“That’s true,” Snyder said, nodding, her raven feathers gently waving. “Technically.”

“Technically?”

The mayor interjected. “What Penelope means to say, Captain, is that while your actions did satisfy the prevailing Rules of Engagement, they satisfied them in letter more than they did in spirit.”

“I’m still not following,” Husher said, trying not to growl. “If I can be frank, I already feel like the ROEs permitted the Gok warship to maneuver close enough to pose a significant danger to this ship.”

“Ridiculous,” Snyder said, drawing out the last syllable. “I’m sorry, Captain, but given the firepower you have at your disposal, that carrier was a gnat compared to you. Listen, here’s our issue with what you did: you could have easily given the order to disable the Gok ship rather than destroy it outright.”

“Ms. Snyder, if we’re about to go to war with the Gok—”

“But we have absolutely no evidence that a war is actually brewing, Captain. That carrier could have just as easily been acting independently from the Gok government. But thanks to your actions, we don’t know. The handful of Gok pilots you took prisoner certainly haven’t told us. They may not even be privy to what their captain’s objective was.”

Husher resisted the urge to shift in his seat. Did I act irrationally? He’d given the order to obliterate the Gok warship while coming out of whatever episode he’d suffered. It had seemed like the right call, but now Snyder and the other councilors were causing him to doubt his own judgment.

Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. “It’s my job to do battle with vessels that attack us,” he said at last. “Often, that leads to destroying them. That’s the reality of war, and if we’re about to start a war with the Gok, then our position will be strengthened with one less carrier to—”

“Captain,” Snyder said, her voice climbing in pitch. “I would remind you of our mandate to act as an extension of the Interstellar Union in overseeing, regulating, and deploying the Integrated Galactic Fleet. This is exactly why shipboard cities are so often called the Wombs of Civilization. It’s our job to keep galactic civilization intact, by innovating and sharing our successes with the rest of the galaxy for implementation everywhere. Despite what you might think, it isn’t warfare that we’re at the forefront of, here. No, Captain, we’re on the forefront of progress.”

Husher studied Snyder’s face, shaking his head a little. It was hard to know how to respond to her, especially since he truly did think her intentions were good. Snyder seemed to think she was doing well by nonhuman species, who she considered in need of her help.

Besides that, Husher sensed that Snyder was deeply insecure—her elaborate overlay spoke to that. Fighting for causes likely made her feel like a good, worthy person. But in Husher’s view, her tactics were hurting more than they were helping.

He sighed. “Why was I called here today?”

The mayor cleared his throat. “We’d like you to undergo Implicit Association and Bias Testing, to investigate whether our fear about your attitude toward the Gok is warranted.” Chancey lowered his voice. “There’s a decent chance it might be, Captain, especially considering the unfortunate loss you suffered in association with the Gok.”

Husher felt his eyes widen. Suffered in association with…? The detached, clinical phrasing came nowhere close to describing what Gok had done to his family.

Abruptly, he stood. “I won’t take this test. The suggestion that I’m biased against the Gok is crazy, and besides, the fact you’ve accused me of bias, merely for doing my job, will make it harder to fight actual examples of bias when they come up.”

With that, Husher left the council chamber.

Chapter 3

Military Applications

Cybele’s artificial day was darkening, with the vast compartment’s overhead lighting gradually dimming. Husher’s Oculenses matched that reality, and as he neared Ochrim’s house, stars began appearing in the simulated sky, one by one.

Ochrim hadn’t done a lot with his home’s overlay, but other than that, there wasn’t much to distinguish it from any other house in Cybele. Nothing to indicate that he was a mass murderer, certainly, or that he’d played a major part in shaping both Galactic Wars.

Husher rang the bell, and the Ixan let him in a few seconds later. “Can I supply you with a beverage, Captain?” Ochrim asked as Husher lowered himself into the alien’s favorite chair.

“Beer’s fine,” Husher grunted. I certainly could use it, after that meeting.

The alien returned holding two sweating bottles, and Husher accepted his with a nod.

“It always fascinates me to contemplate that humans and Ixa metabolize alcohol at similar rates,” Ochrim said, still standing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Husher said. “I’d drink you under the table before I ever started to feel it.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Because I don’t expect you visited merely to drink beer.”

“I came because your message said you have something for me.” Husher tipped the beer’s neck toward the couch across the room. “I need to sit for a few minutes.”

“Very well.” Ochrim settled himself onto the couch.

“I just came from city hall.”

“Ah.”

Another long sip from his beer, and Husher exhaled, long and slow. “After we won the Second Galactic War, I tried so hard to convince the new government to start developing the tech to search outside the galaxy for your species’ creators, so we could deal with them before they dealt with us. But the government wanted nothing to do with it. And here we are.”

“What happened at city hall?”

“They want me to take some test that’s supposed to find out whether I’m biased against Gok.”

The lighter patches around Ochrim’s eyes broadened. “Would that happen to be the Implicit Association and Bias Test?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Ah. That procedure is riddled with methodological issues. A form of it was determined to be almost completely useless centuries ago, and not much about it has changed.”

“Hmm. Well, I refused to take it. I feel like agreeing to it would amount to admitting I could be biased, and I’m insulted by the very suggestion.” Refusing to take the test was risky, Husher knew. In the last year alone, a capital starship captain had been removed from duty for refusing to do what her city council had required of her. He took another sip of beer, then asked, “What are the issues with the test?”

“It’s based on your response times, but one of the major problems is that it confuses the novelty response with bias. If you aren’t as familiar with other species as you are with your own—which is usually the case, sadly—then the test will almost certainly conclude that you are biased.”

“Wonderful,” Husher said.

“After you failed it, they would probably have recommend that you undergo Awareness Training, to purge you of your presumed bias. The training’s intended to make you aware of your biases, and to help you overcome them. But in reality, Awareness Training has been found to achieve the opposite of its stated intent: studies show it increases bias.” Shaking his head, Ochrim said, “I have plenty of personal experience that shows bias still exists between the species. The problem is real. But the proposed solutions aren’t really solutions.”

“Why are they using procedures proven not to work?”

Ochrim shrugged. “I’m sure there are several reasons. For one, these measures are concrete and relatively easy to implement. For a politician who’s only thinking about the next election, it’s much simpler to have everyone undergo Awareness Training than to implement the type of solution that would bring actual, long-term results.”

“Like what?”

“Again, I can only tell you what the research shows. Addressing galactic poverty is one thing that would benefit all species—Gok, Wingers, Tumbra, humans, and even Kaithe. All have beings who are downtrodden. Studies have also demonstrated that a being’s level of bias correlates strongly with a lack of exposure to members of other species. By finding a way to increase interaction between the species…”

“Yeah,” Husher said before emptying the rest of his beer and placing the empty bottle on an end table. He stood. “I want to see what you’ve discovered.”

Ochrim also stood, though he made no other move. “I have to admit, Captain, that I’m becoming somewhat concerned about our activities.”

“Why?”

“Because the farther I progress with my work, the closer we get to tangible military advancements. Those aren’t viewed favorably in the current political climate, and I’ve gotten in significant…trouble…for contributing to them in the past.”

Eyeing the Ixan with raised eyebrows, Husher said, “I’m sorry, Ochrim, but are you under the impression that not sharing your findings with me is even an option?”

“I am,” Ochrim said holding up claw-tipped fingers to forestall Husher’s next remark. “It’s an option with consequences, but an option nevertheless. The question is whether the consequences of telling you what I’ve discovered are likely to outweigh those of withholding my findings.”

“Right. Let me refresh you on the logic of your situation, Ochrim: this ship is the only place you’ll ever get to live in anything approaching peace. No other captain would even consider letting you step foot on their ship, and as you know from experience, planetary colonies don’t want you either.”

The alien lowered his gaze. “You’re right, of course.”

“I’m glad you recognize it. So let’s hear no more talk of refraining from sharing your findings with me, hmm?”

“Of course.”

“Good answer.”

Ochrim’s jail sentence for his war crimes had ended just a few months before, and though he and Husher were mostly cordial with each other, their relationship clearly still had a few wrinkles that needed ironing out. The alien might have ended up spending the rest of his life in jail, except that in addition to killing hundreds of thousands of humans, he’d also been the reason humanity had survived the Second Galactic War at all. Ochrim had been the one to finally convince the Kaithe to join the fight.

“Lead on,” Husher said.

Ochrim left the living room, passed through the kitchen, and turned left down a short hallway. Husher followed, pausing only to grab another couple beers on his way through.

“Do you ever miss your people, Ochrim?” Husher asked as they made their way through the hall. He idly fingered a picture frame as he passed—it bordered an artistic rendering of some nebula.

“You mean, do I miss the species that almost exterminated yours, Captain? Seems like something of a loaded question.”

“It’s not.”

As they entered a small, rectangular room at the back of the house, Ochrim sighed. “I was always quite different from the rest of the Ixa. Especially my father, and my brother.”

“I wasn’t asking about your family.”

“I miss…I miss being convinced that I knew what was best for the galaxy. Though false, that level of moral clarity was soothing.”

“You’re still dodging the question, but whatever. By the way,” Husher said, pointing at the floor. “This. This is what’s best for the galaxy.”

“I hope you’re right.” With that, Ochrim knelt, lifting a cream-colored floor tile to reveal a touch interface. Tapping it made a section of the floor lower and slide out of sight to Husher’s left. Below, a dimly lit ladder extended down until it disappeared from sight.

“After you,” Husher said, and the Ixan complied, setting his right foot on one of the upper rungs, then lowering himself to the next.

Husher loosened his belt a notch, tucked the beers into it, and began the climb down as well. His joints creaked as he descended.

Before long, Ochrim started wheezing slightly. He’s getting pretty old, even for an Ixan.

Ochrim’s history was nothing if not complicated. During the First Galactic War, he’d given humanity dark tech, seemingly betraying his own species and allowing humans to dominate the galaxy for the next twenty years. Dark tech was enabled by a rare mineral humanity had named Ocharium, after Ochrim, and it had allowed them to create galaxy-spanning wormholes that could be modified to destroy anything they didn’t want passing through them—like enemy ordnance, for example.

But the gift of dark tech had been part of a plan formulated by a far-seeing, superintelligent AI named Baxa bent on dominating the Milky Way. Baxa had created the Ixa, and he’d been around for several millennia, but he’d also spent some time as a biological Ixan before uploading his consciousness once again. During his time as a flesh-and-blood Ixan, he’d sired two sons: Teth and Ochrim.

Humanity came to completely rely on dark tech, leaving them totally vulnerable when Ochrim used a master control of his own design to subvert each ship’s wormhole generator so that any wormhole it produced would vaporize all organic matter that passed through it. In one fell swoop, the United Human Fleet had lost almost half its crews—hundreds of thousands of service members killed within a few seconds of each other.

If Ochrim was to be believed, his father had convinced him that humanity’s downfall was the best of two horrible options: the other involved humans eventually destroying the universe itself. Except, in addition to humankind’s destruction, the future that Baxa envisioned also included enslaving every living Ixan. When he’d learned that, Ochrim had concluded that his father wasn’t trustworthy after all, and he switched to humanity’s side, abandoning his father as well as his brother, Teth, who’d commanded the Ixan fleet.

Whatever the case, Ochrim was clearly a genius, which was why Husher was willing to have him aboard the Vesta. The way he saw it, they needed Ochrim, to help prepare for what was coming. The AI that had created and manipulated the Ixa had been just one of many such AIs, and though the Ixa had died along with it—all but Ochrim—Husher was sure another superintelligence would come to finish the job that Baxa had started. He’d long considered it his duty to do whatever he could to prepare the galaxy for the AIs’ return. Since the Interstellar Union seemed determined to stunt military advancements, it fell to him to do whatever he could to foster them.

They reached the bottom of the ladder, which touched down in the middle of Ochrim’s hidden lab. The ladder was the only way to enter or leave this room—for Ochrim, anyway. One of the walls could be opened, for the purposes of bringing in or removing equipment, but Husher didn’t allow Ochrim control over that.

Husher had had this lab constructed during a planetary stopover, before Ochrim had even arrived aboard the Vesta. He’d hired outside contractors to do it, to keep it a secret from those who lived and worked on the supercarrier.

Once he’d arrived, the Ixan already had an experiment ready to go, but it took Husher a while to procure the necessary equipment for him. He’d managed it, though, calling in a favor owed him by a Cybele University physics researcher, and he’d obtained the last piece the Ixan needed just three weeks ago.

Ochrim walked to a sturdy black tabletop and leaned back against it, studying Husher with weary eyes under the dim halogens. The Ixan’s age showed in the whitening of his scales around those eyes, as well as wherever they stretched across the many bone protrusions typical of Ixan faces. “You didn’t ask me much about the experiment I intended to conduct.”

“I asked whether it would blow up my ship. That seemed like the most important question to me.” Husher passed the Ixan one of the beers from behind his belt, and Ochrim accepted it gingerly.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” the alien said, opening his beverage. “Either way, to understand my findings, I’ll need to run through the experiment with you first.”

“Try to keep it brief. My next watch starts soon, and Fesky will complain if I’m late to the CIC.”

“Very well. The experiment was a success, and also a historic achievement, I might add.”

“Great. But I’m interested in what it’ll do for my combat effectiveness, not what it would do for your stature as a scientist if you weren’t excommunicated from the scientific community.”

“We’re getting to that, Captain. The experiment involved firing a photon at a polarization filter, calibrated so that there was a fifty-fifty chance it would pass through. I also programmed a com to switch on a microwave emitter only if it detected the photon passing through the filter. Under the many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics, you see, two distinct parallel universes form after every quantum mechanical measurement, and so according to the theory, the moment the com detected whether the photon passed through, there were two coms, two Ochrims, and two starship laboratories.”

“Two universes,” Husher said.

“Yes. There’s a lot of evidence to support the many-worlds theory, but none to prove it. Until now. I’ve successfully confirmed the many-worlds interpretation, Captain, by overcoming the quantum decoherence that keeps the universes separate.”

“How?”

“Before even firing the photon, I isolated part of the experimental apparatus so that it did not immediately decohere along with the rest of the system. The isolated part was comprised of an ion inside a Penning trap, which was excited using the microwave emitter only if the photon was detected passing through the filter. Since, under these conditions, the isolated ion takes seconds longer to decohere, there’s enough time to change its state using the emitter. Once it’s excited by an Ochrim in one of the universes—Ochrim One, let’s say—Ochrim Two measures the ion and finds that it’s excited, even though in his universe, the microwave emitter was never turned on.”

“Okay, so Ochrim Two knows about Ochrim One, but doesn’t that leave Ochrim One still in the dark?”

“It would, if I hadn’t performed the experiment many times. And in roughly half of the trials, it was I that detected the existence of my parallel twin.” A thin smile stretched across Ochrim’s face—a rare occurrence, these days.

“That’s incredible, Ochrim. But I’m not seeing military applications.”

“We’re still at the very beginning. While monumental, I did not spend two decades in prison planning only to detect parallel universes.”

“Out with it, then. What’s your end goal?”

“Captain, I believe it may be possible to manipulate the quantum decoherence process such that we will not only communicate with parallel universes, but travel to them as well. Can you see the military applications in that?”

A thrill forked through Husher’s stomach. “I think I’m starting to, Ochrim. Tell me what you need next.”

Chapter 4

PTSD

It felt good to be back in the Vesta’s crew corridor after spending so much time in Cybele recently. In many ways, Husher’s supercarrier resembled the Providence, which she’d been modeled after. He’d served on the Providence, under Captain Keyes, and he’d first met Fesky there, too.

Like Keyes’s ship, the Vesta’s crew corridors were just wide enough to allow for the efficient flow of traffic, and no wider. Gray, white, and black dominated the decor, such as it was—ornamentation was sparse. Husher liked it that way, and so had Keyes. He wondered for a moment what his old captain might have said about civilian cities on warships.

Three hours before his next watch, a regular checkup brought him to the office of the ship’s doctor, Lindsay Bancroft.

“Mostly everything looks good,” she said, staring at a blank wall where her Oculenses were no doubt displaying the results from the tests she’d performed. A lot of people kept at least one wall clear in their office, so that they didn’t have to stare into space in order to view whatever their Oculenses showed them. Some did do the “staring into space” thing, but many found that awkward.

“Mostly everything?” Husher said.

“Well, your blood pressure’s high, which is unusual if you’ve been following the diet I recommended to you a couple months ago. I know you spend time in the gym regularly, so I’m sure lack of exercise isn’t the cause.”

She peered at him, as though expecting him to volunteer some revelation. Returning her stare somewhat uncomfortably, he blinked, wishing he could come up with something funny to say. He struggled with that, lately.

“How’s your mental health, Captain Husher?”

“My…mental health? It’s, well—”

“I heard about the episode during the Gok engagement. Reports say you entered some sort of trance.”

He squinted. “Who told you that?”

“Scuttlebutt. Surely you’re familiar with how fast word travels, after serving aboard starships for so long.”

“It was Fesky, wasn’t it? She’s constantly fussing over me.”

“How’s your sleep, Captain?” Doctor Bancroft asked, and he didn’t miss the way she answered his question with one of her own.

It was definitely Fesky. “I’m sleeping all right, I guess.”

“You look tired, to me. There are dark patches under your eyes. Have you been having more nightmares?”

He sighed. “They’re getting more vivid. More intense.”

“They’ve been robbing your sleep.”

He nodded.

“The episode in the CIC…was that experience similar to your nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“And have you been feeling anxious?”

“Yeah. That’s pretty common since…since what happened. Lately, though, my temper’s pretty out of control, too.” Husher cleared his throat. “If you have any ideas for what I might do about any of this, I’d be grateful, Doctor. I think it’s affecting my ability to do my job, and I can’t have that.”

Bancroft’s mouth quirked to one side. “I think the first step is to start being a little more forgiving with yourself. Losing your daughter was devastating enough, but the way you lost her…honestly, I’m amazed that you’ve functioned as well as you have for this long.”

Husher pressed his lips together, trying not to focus on the little knot of tension that, years ago, had taken up permanent residence at the base of his throat.

His memory of losing Iris was crisp and clear enough that it might have happened an hour ago, instead of seventeen years. Sera, his wife at the time, had been at some charity event—the specific charity was one of the few details that had faded over the years—and she’d hired a babysitter to be with their three-year-old.

As luck had it, Husher had been getting back from a months-long deployment that very night, but he wasn’t due to get back until eleven. Hence, the babysitter.

Husher knew how it had killed Sera to have to leave Iris with a sitter, and she’d rarely ever done it. More than once, he’d accused her of being a helicopter parent—jokingly, but only half-jokingly. His ex-wife hadn’t wanted to expose their daughter to even the lowest levels of danger. Sera had baby-proofed their house months before she gave birth, and at three, Iris’s play dates with other kids her age were closely monitored by her mother, who didn’t get in much socializing with the other mothers.

Husher had made fun of her for that, but she’d been right, damn him. About all of it. Because as his self-driving taxi had pulled in front of his home that night, a precision-targeted kinetic orbital strike hit his house, and he’d watched in horror as an inferno consumed the structure he’d been seconds from entering.

Husher had been alone in the taxi, and he flung the door open, rushing to the front lawn before sinking to his knees, feeling thoroughly helpless. Though he knew both his daughter and her babysitter were both already dead, he took out his com and dialed the police.

It was no use. Robot-assisted firefighters efficiently extinguished the blaze thirty minutes later, but the house was obliterated, leaving no trace of either Iris or Candace, the sitter.

A couple hours later, authorities caught a Gok Slag attempting to sneak out of the Petrichor System using stealth systems that were barely functional copies of Winger tech. When they found the type of tungsten rods used in kinetic orbital strikes—strictly illegal under galactic law since the First Galactic War—they knew they had their culprit.

Husher’s marriage with Sera Caine had disintegrated rapidly in the months that followed. She never said it, but Husher was convinced that a big part of her blamed him for their daughter’s death. He’d been responsible for killing tens of thousands of Gok during the vicious conflict that had come hard on the heels of the Second Galactic War, and the attack on his house was a pretty clear act of vengeance.

Husher didn’t disagree with Sera’s thinking. He blamed himself, too.

“Captain,” Doctor Bancroft said, yanking him back to the present, “it’s my assessment that you’ve been suffering from undiagnosed PTSD in the years since your daughter’s death, and lately it’s come to the fore in a major way. There are a number of reasons that might be—for example, the fact that as we age, short-term memory begins to decline, often rendering longer-term memories more vivid and real. I strongly recommend we explore treatment options immediately.”

Nodding, Husher said, “Okay. What are our options?”

“There are two dominant treatments in the current literature. Drugs represent one option—SSRIs, specifically. Antidepressants and the like, which can also be quite effective in treating anxiety.”

“What’s the other option?”

“Prolonged Exposure Therapy, using virtual reality. Essentially, it involves gradual, increasing exposure to stimuli similar to that which triggered the disorder in the first place.”

“I’d rather not risk drugs. I’m worried they’d impair my ability to do my job even more than the nightmares already are.”

That brought a slight shrug from Bancroft. “The only real way to determine that would be to try them out.”

“I can’t afford to risk it, Doctor. Not with a possible conflict with the Gok brewing. Let’s try the exposure therapy.”

“Very well,” Bancroft said, leaning sideways to tap a note into a datapad. “I’ll schedule your first session for two days’ time.”

Chapter 5

Anything Anomalous

“Winterton,” Husher said, and the sensor operator twisted in his seat to face him. “You’ve been keeping an eye on the readouts from our active sensor sweeps?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, turning from his study of the display at the front of the CIC.

“Anything to report?”

“Negative, Captain.”

“I want to be notified the moment you see anything anomalous. I don’t care how mundane you think it might be, if it catches your attention, I’m to be notified immediately, even if I’m not in the CIC at the time. Make a note for your second-and third-watch counterparts to do the same.”

“I will, sir.”

Husher nodded, drumming his fingers on the command seat’s armrest, though he quickly stopped himself. I shouldn’t make my boredom so evident to the crew. Next, they’ll all be fidgeting.

When the Gok carrier had attacked the Vesta, the supercarrier had been fresh from orbit over Zakros, where she’d been parked for a week. Had his ship not been waylaid, Husher would have ordered her on to the Caprice System, the next stop along their patrol route. There, they would have orbited the system’s three colonies for a week each, doing exactly as they’d done over Zakros.

Instead, he ordered a return to her previous orbit. If a second threat reared its head, Zakros’ orbital defense platforms should help him make quick work of it. In the meantime, he ordered the Gok prisoners left over from the battle transferred to a planetside prison.

In total, the peacetime patrols fielded by the Integrated Galactic Fleet consisted of eight capital starships and their accompanying battle groups. But since the advent of cities aboard those capital starships, the purpose of patrol was no longer limited to defense. Instead, the rounds they made throughout the galaxy were viewed as an important engine for economic growth and stability.

To a well-established colony of billions, the appearance of a new city in their skies represented a modest yet valuable source of trade in both services and commodities from other systems. An employer unable to fill a position from among planetary populations might hire a graduate of a starship-based university, or people seeking work might rent a room or apartment aboard a starship city, in hopes of finding a job at one of the stops, if not in the city itself.

To a more recently established planetary colony, however, a visit from a capital starship represented significant economic stimulus.

Life aboard a starship city was the new life of glamor in the galactic consciousness, though while the citizens tended to be wealthier than most, Husher wasn’t sure he completely agreed. That said, it wasn’t his job to agree. It was his job to carry Cybele around the galaxy, which often made him feel more like a glorified cruise ship captain than the commander of the biggest warship the galaxy had ever known. Such was the screwed-up situation that had developed since the Gok Wars.

What worries me is that I’m pretty sure it’s still developing.

Whatever the case, their stops in the Caprice System would now be delayed while he awaited orders from IGF Command. Communication between star systems occurred exclusively via com drone. Once, humanity had had instantaneous communication via the dark tech-enabled micronet, but dark tech had been almost completely discontinued after the discovery that its use was gradually tearing apart the fabric of the universe.

That had been a near thing. Majorana fermion-infused starship decks were the one case where dark tech was still used, since no one had discovered a better way to simulate gravity other than to inject everyone and everything with Ocharium nanites, which interacted with the fermion matrix to provide an experience virtually identical to one G. However many Gs one wanted, actually. It depended on the number of nanites injected.

Luckily, after cutting out every other instance of dark tech, use of the Majorana fermions in starship decks had been found to have a negligible effect on the universe, and so they alone had been kept.

The CIC hatch, located to the left of the main display, opened to admit Fesky. She came to attention just inside, saluting.

“At ease, Commander. May I ask why you’re here? Your watch doesn’t start for another four hours.”

“I wanted to request a private audience with you, Captain.”

“You couldn’t request it over com?”

“I was nearby, so I decided to come here myself.”

Slowly, Husher nodded. It occurred to him that this was likely Fesky’s way of letting him know that whatever she wanted, it was important. He might have brushed off a com message, but for her to show up in person…

Of course, she could have let me know over com why it’s so important that we speak. Unless she was worried about their conversation being monitored, or reviewed at some point in the future. That was always a possibility, with the increasing levels of oversight from the Interstellar Union.

Husher rose from the command seat. “Kaboh, you have the CIC.”

“Aye, Captain,” the Kaithian said.

“My office?” Husher asked Fesky as the CIC hatch hissed closed behind them.

She nodded, saying nothing, and they walked in silence to his office, located a short distance away.

The chamber was sparsely decorated, though it was nowhere near as Spartan as Captain Keyes’s had been, back on the Providence. Two pairs of identically sized photos faced each other from the walls on either end of Husher’s desk. A photo of the Vesta, captured in all her glory on the day of her christening, hung opposite one of the Providence, taken from a research station after the supercarrier’s first successful mission in the Bastion Sector. It showed the Providence in orbit, with Thessaly’s moon behind her, and Thessaly below.

Husher hadn’t been serving on the Providence the day that photo was taken, but the image was the best he could find. Hanging beside it was a photo of the old supercarrier’s entire Air Group, standing in front of a row of Condor starfighters. The image featured both Husher and Fesky prominently. I miss my Condor. There were a few of the old fighters sitting by themselves down on Hangar Bay Theta, and a couple times, when Husher had needed time alone to think, he’d gone down there to tinker with them, knowing he wasn’t likely to run into anyone in the largely unused hangar bay.

Next to the Vesta’s likeness hung a photo of Husher and Captain Keyes standing beside each other in full uniform, in front of the Human Commonwealth flag. That photo had been taken in orbit over Mars during a lull that had preceded all-out war with the Ixa.

Two captains connected across time, Husher thought as he glimpsed that photo.

“You miss him,” Fesky said as she settled into the chair in front of his desk without having to be asked. Their friendship was such that they dropped military formalities whenever they were in private.

“Don’t you?”

“With all my heart.”

Husher’s shoulders slumped a little. “He was a better captain then I’ll ever be, Madcap,” he said, using Fesky’s callsign from their Condor-piloting days. “He never would have let things get this bad.”

“You’ve had to deal with pressures he never did.”

“I don’t know about that, exactly.”

Fesky clacked her beak, and her head twitched, as it often did. Every Winger looked distinct, but to Husher, Fesky had always most resembled a falcon. Her mood could be read pretty accurately by the stiffness of her feathers, and right now, he could see that she was agitated. “One man alone can’t hold back the tides of change, Husher.”

“Why did you ask to speak with me? I can tell something’s bothering you.”

It took a few seconds for Fesky to answer. “There’s been a group of protesters hanging out in the desert near the hatch,” she said. “They’ve been waiting for crewmembers to pass by on their way to the city. When one appears, they start chanting, and sometimes they even follow them to the city, drawing attention to them. One petty officer told me she was so embarrassed that she doesn’t plan to go back anytime soon.”

Husher could feel his cheeks heating up, and he remembered his discussion with Doctor Bancroft, about his temper. I have to make it to our first treatment session without blowing up. “What’s their problem?” he ground out, managing to keep his voice level.

“Apparently, they see your refusal to take the Implicit Association and Bias Test as a symptom of problematic attitudes among the crew. They want you and every human crewmember to undergo Awareness Training.”

Husher rose from his chair, and so did Fesky. He walked around the desk to join her.

“I’m going right now to talk some sense into them.”

“All right. I’ll have Major Gamble put together a marine escort.”

“No, you will not. I’m not going to start towing around bodyguards on my own ship.”

“Husher…”

“It’s not open to debate, Fesky.”

“Well, you should at least polish your boots before you go.”

Glancing down at them, he said, “They’re fine,” and he marched out into the corridor.

Chapter 6

Owning the Floor

Husher emerged from the hatch to find a couple dozen demonstrators with digital protest signs, which they’d incorporated into their Oculens overlays. The modern protester doesn’t need to bother with making a physical sign, or with holding it up.

When he first emerged, the demonstrators weren’t doing a lot of demonstrating, but they soon noticed him. They rallied around him in a semicircle and instructed their Oculenses to waggle their signs at him vigorously.

When they opened their mouths, no doubt to deploy a chant of some sort, Husher spoke up in an attempt to initiate a dialog instead.

“What are you trying to accomplish by yelling at off-duty service members?” he asked, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

“We’re making your walk into town as uncomfortable as your actions make members of marginalized groups,” said one of the protesters, who he recognized as Maeve Aldaine, the undergrad who’d sat in on the city council meeting.

Looking around at the group of protesters, Husher saw they were mostly human, though there were a handful of Wingers as well as two Tumbra. He’d spent enough time around both alien species to know these were almost certainly as young as Aldaine and the other humans—so, probably all Cybele U students.

“What actions are you referring to?” Husher said, amazed at his ability to keep his tone mostly level. That session with Doctor Bancroft can’t come fast enough.

“You refused to take the Implicit Association and Bias Test, which only told us what we already knew: you don’t take this seriously at all.”

Husher inhaled slowly. “What does that have to do with my crew?”

Aldaine planted both hands on her hips, her sign floating freely above her head. “It’s not hard to tell your attitude is an indication of deep-rooted problems that run through your entire crew, which is made up of mostly humans. I can only imagine the psychological toll your attitudes must have on the Wingers, Gok, and Kaithe among the crew of the Vesta.”

“Wait,” Husher said. “I thought this had to do with just the Gok. Why are you bringing other species into it?” And why didn’t you mention the Tumbra? Husher had over three hundred Tumbran crewmembers, mostly in Engineering and Coms.

“Because it’s clear that your treatment of the Gok isn’t an isolated incident. The fact—”

“My treatment?” Husher said, his voice rising sharply. “We’ve been at war with the Gok, multiple times. It was my job to fight them!” Again, he fought to calm himself. “Ms. Aldaine, I’m not denying that we have a problem when it comes to—”

“Excuse me!” Aldaine yelled, marching forward until she stood three feet from him. “You’ve done enough talking. Now’s your time to listen.”

Brows drawing down, Husher studied the young woman, marveling. “Ms. Aldaine, do I need to remind you that I captain this—”

“Humanity is finished owning the floor!” Aldaine said, voice ringing over the crowd as she spread her arms and walked backward to join her fellow protesters in a line. They linked with each other, arm in arm. “Now’s your time to shut up and listen to marginalized species and their allies. It’s past time. Your hiring practices say you favor humanity over the other species, and your other actions scream it.”

Husher opened his mouth to respond to that, but the protesters began a chant they’d clearly rehearsed, led by Aldaine:

“Say it loud, say it clear, humans are done talking here! Say it loud, say it clear, time for them to open ears!”

A strange mixture of bafflement, anger, and anxiety made its home in Husher’s chest. His hands balled into fists as he waited for them to stop shouting, but it soon became clear they had no intention of stopping, until either he left or they keeled over from exhaustion.

He didn’t have time to wait for that to happen. He spun on his heels, slammed the hatch’s access panel with his palm, and strode through, double-checking to make sure it was secured before marching deeper into the crew section.

Back in his cabin, he leaned against the mirror, gripping both sides of it and studying his own lined face. Am I biased against the Gok? Did I use what happened to me to justify destroying that ship? He didn’t think so—he’d often reminded himself that the Gok who’d killed his daughter weren’t representative of their entire species—but now he was filled with doubt.

He’d always cared deeply about doing the right thing according to his principles. According to what was best for the galaxy. Always, he’d believed that meant preparing for war.

But lately, he felt like he was losing focus.

Chapter 7

The Quince Engagement

For most messages, Husher had configured his com not to vibrate or make a sound, but for messages designated “Priority,” it beeped harshly until he checked it.

That happened now, three hours into a sleep that, so far, had been blissfully dreamless.

The message was from Ensign Fields, the Coms officer currently on watch in the CIC. “Captain, I’ve just received word that Admiral Connor Iver has transitioned into the system through the Feverfew-Caprice darkgate and intends to meet with you aboard the Vesta. Accounting for transmission lag, we can expect his arrival within four hours.”

The moment Husher finished the message, he dashed across the chamber and into the cramped head, to splash cold water on his face. Pausing with fingertips on his upper cheeks, he studied the lined face that peered back at him from the glass.

Readying to receive an admiral would require no small amount of preparations, and before anything else, he used his com to send orders to several different departments. Then, while his ship was no doubt jumping to an even livelier state than usual in the corridors and chambers outside, he opened his wardrobe, swept aside the clothing hanging there, and folded down the ironing board from the back, extending its single leg to stabilize it against the deck.

Fesky’s usual admonishments about his uniform rang in his ears as he carefully creased his pants. “I’ll show her,” he muttered as he dug his black polish out from the back of the wardrobe and gave the boots some elbow grease.

Forty minutes later, he was finished, admiring himself in the mirror. “Still got it,” he told himself, straightening his midnight overcoat. Although, it shocked him, sometimes—to see the lightly creased face surrounding his bright blue eyes. His hair was now iron-gray, a shade that almost matched the Vesta’s hull.

As he stepped into the corridor outside, his XO happened to be rushing by, feathers rustling as she stalked forward on talons that clicked against the gray metal of the deck. When she saw him, she turned, eyeing him from top to bottom.

“Notice anything?” he said, unable to suppress the grin that curled the corners of his mouth.

“I do,” Fesky said. “You forgot your medals.”

His smile drooped.

“This is an admiral of the fleet you’re meeting with, Captain, not your dogsitter’s second cousin.”

“I don’t own a dog,” Husher grumbled as he opened the hatch to his quarters and went in to pin the medals above his overcoat’s left breast pocket.

When he reemerged, Fesky was still waiting, and they strode down the corridor together, toward whatever last-minute business awaited them before the admiral’s arrival.

“I haven’t spoken with you since you confronted the protesters,” the Winger said. “How did it go?”

“Not well.”

“I gathered that. Based on the growing agitation on the narrownet, anyway.”

Husher tried not to sigh. They marched on toward the conference room, to ensure everything was ready for the admiral’s arrival.

To Husher, it seemed like no time at all before his officers were gathered around the conference table, all seated and chatting softly amongst themselves while they waited for Iver.

The hatch hissed open, and everyone in the room rose to attention, turning toward the entering admiral and saluting as one.

“At ease,” Iver said after returning their salute for a couple of seconds, and everyone sat. The admiral joined them, sitting at the end of the table opposite Husher. Iver wore a thick mustache that, at his age, had either been dyed black or made to look that way using an overlay. Given the general tendency among military personnel to avoid overlay use to alter their own appearances, Husher would have put his money on dye.

“Welcome to the Vesta, Admiral Iver,” Husher said. “It’s an honor to have you with us.”

“It’s an honor to be here,” Iver said, his tone almost raucous in its forced joviality, “though I wish more pleasant circumstances had led to my arrival.”

“I’m guessing you’re referring to the engagement with the Gok carrier that we underwent in this system several days ago.”

With a curt nod, Iver said, “That, as well as an engagement that happened around the same time, in the Quince System. The galactic government received word of both engagements almost simultaneously. The Quince engagement involved the Ceres, and her crew faced a much bigger Gok force.”

“Was the Ceres’ battle group accompanying her?” Husher asked, wincing. The Ceres was another supercarrier, and one of the eight capital starships that formed the backbone of the Integrated Galactic Fleet.

“It was, though the Gok still managed to…well, I’ll show you. Orient yourselves, everyone—I’m about to take over your Oculenses. Anyone have any particular objections to that?” No one spoke. “Very well.”

Suddenly, Husher found himself in space, perched on the starboard hull of the Ceres. He surmised that he was about to witness the Quince System engagement from the perspective of one of the supercarrier’s visual sensors.

Indeed, light flickered twice in the star-speckled dark, followed by fire that flowered then shriveled just as quickly, choked by the vacuum of space.

“That was the Constellation getting blown apart,” came Iver’s voice, cutting through the void. “A good ship. It was a destroyer named for the one that the Tumbran, Piper, boarded at the end of the Second Galactic War. The one he used to trigger the wormhole collapse that wiped out the Ixan fleet.”

Husher shook his head, which caused his view of the battle to jostle back and forth. Before this, it had been seventeen years since the last time they’d lost a vessel in combat. Seventeen years of peace. More than I would have expected, but not nearly enough. It’s never enough.

The Agron was next to go, followed by the Pronax. After that, the Gok battle group assembled themselves into a loose formation, swooping toward the Ceres and concentrating their fire on her starboard hull.

Husher winced away from the missiles that screamed through the blackness toward him, and when they battered the high-yield steel hull all around him, he yelled, his heart hammering in his chest.

Abruptly, the Gok vanished, and so did the stars, and the explosions. Husher was no longer a visual sensor on the hull of a supercarrier, but Vin Husher, who captained a supercarrier of his own.

Everyone sitting around the conference table was staring at him, with expressions ranging from confusion to concern.

For his part, Admiral Iver looked slightly annoyed. “Captain?” he said, his head tilted to one side. “Are you all right?”

“I…sorry. Yes, I’m fine.”

“I can hardly think this is your first time viewing a panoramic recording of a military engagement.”

“It’s not. It’s far from my first, Admiral.”

“Were you playing some sort of joke on us, then?” Iver’s eyed narrowed.

“No, sir. I’m honestly not sure what came over me.”

“Are we clear to proceed, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

Iver resumed the recording, during which the Ceres took significant damage before bringing its considerable arsenal to bear in wiping out four Gok ships, causing the remaining three to scatter, which was very unusual for them. Husher had often wondered whether the Gok even considered retreat an option, and yet here they were, fleeing before the Ceres’ might.

He managed to get through the rest of the footage without any more visible or audible reactions, though blood rushed through his ears, and sweat oozed from his pores, dampening his uniform in several places.

Isn’t this exactly the sort of thing Doctor Bancroft plans to expose me to? Probably it was, but instead of a controlled therapy environment, he’d been thrust into it without warning.

Of course, as the admiral had pointed out, such viewings were standard, and they’d never given Husher much trouble before. That said, recording technology had improved by leaps and bounds since the last military engagements had been documented, and maybe that explained the difference in his reaction.

“Galactic Congress is extremely reluctant to issue a declaration of war,” Iver said once the recording had ended, his gaze lingering on Husher. “If it can be avoided, they’d rather not throw away a peace that’s lasted almost two decades, and I can’t say I disagree with them.” Iver coughed into a balled hand, then continued. “You’re currently the capital starship closest to the Gok seat of power, and records show that you have in Cybele at least two galaxy-class diplomats—the Kaithian, Shobi, as well as the Winger named Bryson. Can you verify their presence, Captain?”

“I’ll see that it’s verified within the hour.”

“Very good. Your mission is to transport those diplomats to the Gok home system, to see whether they can’t uncover what’s causing the Gok to become so agitated. Their primary objective will be to renew the peace we’ve enjoyed since the Gok Wars, but if they’re able to entice the Gok to join the Interstellar Union, they’ll have considerable latitude to do so. The chances for accomplishing that are projected to be higher than they have been—the Gok government has been getting better on respecting sentient rights, lately, and their government seems to grow less regressive with every passing year. Is everything I just said understood?”

Husher joined the chorus of “Yes, Admiral,” but he had to stop himself from shaking his head. The Gok attacked us twice, and the Union’s still trying to stay friends.

In one sense, he supposed it was a noble sentiment—they had lived in peace for this long, so maybe regaining that peace was possible. But it did make him worry about what the Union’s reaction would be when the Ixa’s creators returned. There would be no chance of quarter, then.

Chapter 8

Feeling Unsafe

Husher crouched inside a sniper hide they’d fashioned from the fourth story of an apartment building on the outskirts of Larissa, the capital of Thessaly. He hadn’t gone to sniper school, so it was his job to watch the sniper’s back by looking through the other windows for insurgents and keeping an eye on the apartment door.

The hide his task unit’s best sniper, Rogers, had put together consisted of two mattresses stacked on top of a folded-out futon, atop which Rogers lay, eyeing the streets below through his scope. Even here in what the locals termed Larissa’s outskirts, the buildings below were so tightly packed that it wasn’t possible to cover the streets for more than a few blocks.

“I have a military-aged male who appears to be moving tactically toward our location,” Rogers whispered into his com. Husher couldn’t hear what the reply was, but the sniper didn’t fire, so he guessed that it wasn’t a go-ahead.

An RPG hit the building they were in, obliterating the wall between two windows and sending shrapnel tearing through the apartment. Miraculously, Husher was untouched, but through the smoke and debris he could see that Rogers had been tossed against the wall and looked to be unconscious.

Keeping an eye on the outside, he scrambled across the plaster-littered apartment toward Rogers, shaking the sniper once he reached him. Blood trickled down the side of Rogers’s face, and he didn’t react. Husher heaved the slight man up, slinging him over his shoulder, and started toward the apartment door.

Another RPG hit—this one made its way to an interior wall, right next to Husher. The explosion threw him to the floor, and he dropped Rogers. Looking down at himself, he saw that his own leg was missing below the knee. He screamed.

The Larissa apartment dissolved to reveal Doctor Bancroft’s office, as well as Bancroft herself, who wore an expression of professional concern.

“Here,” she said, retrieving an unopened bottle of water from the mini-fridge built into her desk.

“Thanks.”

“It’ll get better as you’re exposed to more stimuli.”

“Yeah.” He picked up a cloth sitting on a metal table nearby and used it to wipe his brow. “Although, that didn’t feel much better than yesterday.”

Bancroft’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “Yesterday?”

Nodding, Husher explained the type of footage Admiral Iver had shown them, without getting into the particulars of the engagement.

“So you started your therapy without me,” Bancroft said with a prim smile, and Husher forced a chuckle, figuring it was her idea of a joke.

“I guess so,” he said. “It’s a bit strange to me, though. Both simulations that triggered this reaction were of military engagements. But the day my daughter died…that wasn’t an engagement.”

“Well…” Bancroft said softly, “It was a military action, arguably. And the basic stimuli—explosions, fire—are the same.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Are you okay to continue pursuing this line of treatment, or would you prefer to try the SSRIs?”

“Let’s keep trying this.” It’s way too early to switch now, he reflected. Especially given the effects the drugs might have on my performance. “Next simulation?”

“Captain, before we continue, there’s a concern I wanted to raise with you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not sure how else to say this. I’ve gotten…reports from some crewmembers who say they’re feeling unsafe aboard the Vesta.”

“Unsafe,” Husher said, and sniffed. “I mean, this is a military vessel, but for now we’ve been sent on a diplomatic mission. Yes, we’ll be negotiating with a power that attacked us twice in the last week, but I’d argue that this is around as safe as it gets aboard a warship.”

“Their feelings don’t have anything to do with a particular mission.”

“I see,” Husher said, pausing to study Bancroft’s face. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss, Doctor. What’s causing them to feel unsafe?”

“They say it’s the general atmosphere in the crew section of the Vesta. Your refusal to undergo Awareness Training, and the fact that most of your human crew hasn’t undergone the training either…it speaks to attitudes that aren’t perceived as particularly friendly by members of nonhuman species.”

This time, Husher paused for much longer. At last, he said, “How many of these reports have you received?”

“I’m afraid it would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality to tell you. The only circumstance under which I’d be required to break that confidentiality would be if a crewmember’s diagnosis rendered them unfit for service, and that isn’t the case, here.”

Nodding slowly, Husher said, “I promise you that I’ll give careful thought to what you’ve told me, but I think you should know that Awareness Training has been proven to only worsen—”

His com beeped stridently from his hip, and he snatched it from his holster to read the displayed message.

It was from Mayor Chancey: “Captain Husher, your presence is requested in the main city council chamber at once. Cheers, Dylan Chancey.”

Husher’s fingers tightened around the device, and he forced himself to relax his grip. His eyes met Bancroft’s. “I’m sorry, Doctor, it looks like I’ll have to cut our session short.”

Chapter 9

Scapegoated for Wrongs

“We’re here, Captain Husher,” Chancey said as the last councilor filed in, “to require every human in your crew to undergo Awareness Training as soon as reasonably possible. That includes you.”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Wait, is the council just pasting protester demands straight into the agenda, now?”

“Those demands arise from legitimate concerns,” Penelope Snyder said from across the room. As usual, she wore an ostentatious garment that exposed a midriff toned by digital artifice. “The fact that you refused to take the Implicit Association and Bias Test only tells us what we already knew: you are prejudiced against the Gok, Captain. We would have prescribed Awareness Training for you regardless, but we agree with the demonstrators that extending the training to your human crew is the logical next step. As you’ve been the one in command of the Vesta since it was first commissioned, I find patently absurd the suggestion that the environment in her crew section isn’t toxic.”

“And I find it toxic that you’re singling out the human part of my crew for this training,” Husher answered, his words clipped. “The implication seems to be that only human beings can possibly be biased against other species, which in itself is an incredibly biased assumption.”

“You shouldn’t draw conclusions based on how things seem to you,” Snyder said. “Very little will become clear if we rely on your perceptions. Your accusation that we’re biased only further demonstrates how misguided and ignorant you are, Captain Husher. With almost every word you say, you deny the experiences of oppressed beings like the Wingers, the Gok, and the Kaithe.”

“What about the Tumbra?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve noticed something about these conversations surrounding bias. The Tumbra are almost always left out. Why?”

That seemed to give Snyder pause for a moment, and she exchanged glances with the mayor, who cleared his throat. “I think we can all agree the Tumbra have done quite well for themselves, haven’t they?” he said, offering Husher an ingratiating smile.

As he was doing so often lately, Husher squinted in confusion. “Fascinating,” he muttered.

With that, Snyder managed to get back on track. “As I was saying, Captain, to suggest that a species such as the Wingers should have to undergo Awareness Training is so wrongheaded I’m not sure where to start. It denies the advantages humans have enjoyed, stemming mostly from their twenty-year domination of the galaxy. Do you not remember the savage attacks the United Human Fleet inflicted on the Wingers, killing tens of thousands? Do you so soon forget the way they were scapegoated for wrongs that belonged at the feet of human corporations?”

“I’m not claiming the Wingers haven’t suffered,” Husher said. “I’m not even denying that some humans have had advantages, though there are plenty of humans who are struggling, too. What I’m trying to say—”

“How do you explain that the vast majority of your crewmembers are humans?” Snyder cut in.

“Are you actually going to let me answer, or do you plan to continue talking over me?”

“Go ahead.”

Husher shook his head. “The reason I have more human crewmembers than beings from other species can easily be explained. Other than the Ixa and the Gok, the UHF has always dwarfed other species’ militaries. As a result, when we integrated our fleets, the majority of candidates to fill a given position were always human. More humans have experience in the military than do members of other species, that’s just a—”

“Let me see if I understand you,” Snyder said, her tone much softer and sweeter than before, despite that she’d cut him off again. “Are you saying humans are more qualified than other beings?”

“I’m saying that there are more humans qualified to fill military positions than there are similarly qualified beings from any other species.”

Snyder peered around at the other councilors, wearing a knowing smirk, as though Husher had just proven her point for her.

Taking her silence as an opportunity to speak, Husher said, “I think it has some bearing on this discussion that studies have found that Awareness Training doesn’t actually work. In fact, it’s been shown to increase bias.”

That caused Snyder’s gaze to snap back to his face, and the other councilors turned to study him as well. “Can you cite the studies that claim to demonstrate that?” Snyder asked.

Husher paused. “Not off-hand.” He was sure they existed, though—he’d never known Ochrim to be wrong about anything science-related.

“Well, then. Feel free to submit these studies to the council at your leisure, so that we can review their methodology and determine whether the researchers themselves were prejudiced against other species.”

Blinking, Husher tried to grasp at the words he might use to answer Snyder’s argument, which struck him as circular, though his blurring vision and ringing ears were making it difficult to articulate why.

At last, Chancey spoke. “Captain, there’s something I should probably have made clear to you from the beginning of this meeting. It pains me to say this, but if you don’t comply with our requirement that both you and your human crewmembers undergo Awareness Training, you will be removed from command of the Vesta. Admiral Iver himself signed off on that action before he left the ship.”

Suddenly, Husher felt light-headed. “The admiral…?”

“I’m afraid so,” Chancey said, nodding. “There’s a growing sentiment—not only among this council but also the admiralty as well as the Galactic Congress and Senate—that your methods have become outdated for these modern times. Personally, I want you to prove us wrong, I really do. But that starts with agreeing to undergo this training, and agreeing to require your human crewmembers to do so as well.”

All around the circular council chamber, Cybele’s city councilors were staring at him, waiting to see what his answer would be.

There was only one answer he could give. Husher considered it vital to the survival of the galaxy that he remain in the command seat of the Vesta, though he knew the council couldn’t see that. There was a lot more at stake here than Awareness Training, or his pride, or the fact that he felt he was being grossly misrepresented.

They’ve painted me into a corner.

“Very well,” he breathed. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter 10

As Carbon Steel

Eating her stew as quietly as she could manage, Fesky tried her best not to look like she was listening to the conversations of the enlisted crewmembers around her. At the next table, a group from Engineering was playing Poker. “Ante up, Sammy,” one of them said. “You gotta pay to play.”

Ante up, Fesky thought. She dined in the crew’s mess about as much as she did in the officer’s. That was one of the many things she’d learned from Captain—later Admiral—Keyes: eat with the crew often, where you can pick up on their moods and show them you don’t think you’re any better than they are. Too many officers let their rank go to their heads, treating enlisted service members like unwashed masses while doing their best to keep themselves separate whenever possible.

Not Keyes. He’d shared in his crew’s burdens, joined in their celebrations, and mourned every loss alongside them. Everyone on the Providence had been part of one big extended family, under Captain Keyes.

Fesky knew that Husher also considered it important to eat with the crew, in principle, at least. In practice, he was often so swamped that there was only time to sneak in short meals at his desk around an ever-growing workload.

A capital starship captain can’t focus only on military matters, anymore. Every decision must also be viewed through the lens of appeasing the thousands of civilians scrutinizing everything he does.

It often seemed an impossible balance to Fesky, and maybe it was. Either way, she frequently passed on to Husher what she overheard in the crew’s mess, where she tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

When she came here, she was often reminded of her dearest friend, Ek, who she hadn’t seen in two decades. Ek was a Fin, who had evolved on Fesky’s homeworld—in fact, their species had grown up together. Like most Fins, Ek was incredibly perceptive. If she’d still been here, Fesky probably wouldn’t have needed to come to the mess to gauge the crew’s mood. She could have just asked Ek. The Vesta could really use Ek’s perceptiveness, about now.

Other than Ek, the Fins had all been killed twenty years ago during a Gok attack on Spire, the homeworld the aquatic species had shared with the Wingers. Ek had survived because she was highly unusual among Fins. Her species was one that could only breathe underwater, yet she’d had a breather made, as well as a set of prosthetic legs, which had allowed her to travel the galaxy. They’d also allowed her to escape Spire just before its destruction.

Gathering intel from the crew’s mess wasn’t easy. Whenever she entered the mess, someone always noticed, calling everyone to attention. But if she made it there early enough, then other crewmembers would come later, and if they sat nearby, failing to look too closely at her, and assuming she was just another Winger crewmember…

…if they did that, she could pick up some fairly valuable information.

Just such a group of marines took the table behind her now—three humans, two Wingers, and a Gok. The Gok was none other than Tort, who’d helped Husher take down Baxa during the mission that had ended the Second Galactic War.

“Did you see the bullshit posted on the Board today?’ said one of the human marines, whose voice Fesky recognized as belonging to Corporal Toby Yung.

The Board was a digital bulletin board that could be accessed using Oculenses from anywhere in the crew section. The captain and other high-ranking officers used it to get non-priority messages to the crew. Fesky hadn’t read it recently, so she was interested to hear this, too.

“Have not checked,” Tort rumbled in his gravelly tones.

“It’s bullshit,” Yung repeated. “The captain announced that all human crewmembers are now required to undergo Awareness Training.”

“Maybe Yung needs Awareness Training,” Tort said.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Yung not aware of fellow marines trying to eat.” The big alien slammed his fist down on the table, rattling cutlery and making trays and dishes jump.

Everyone at the table behind Fesky fell silent for a moment. Then, they burst into gales of laughter.

Yung didn’t join in. “Very funny, but I’m being serious.”

“Why do we have to take it?” asked another marine—Lance Corporal Cassie Roux, unless Fesky missed her guess. “What did we do wrong? I mean, I know I like to rough up Tort here every now and then…”

That brought a few more chuckles, but Yung spoke over them. “Damned if I know,” he said. “All I can say is, most of the aliens I know in this crew are tough as carbon steel. They don’t need some elitist parasites trying to coddle and protect them. If someone disrespects Tort, he’ll just kill ‘em, for example.”

“It’s true, though,” Roux said. “We’ve all been working together for years. Maybe people over in Cybele need politicians to tell them how to get along, but we sure as hell don’t.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Yung said. “The captain’s completely lost it. He’s so busy kowtowing to the parasites over in Cybele, he’s forgotten what it means to command a warship.”

Before she knew what she was doing, Fesky rose from her seat, whirling around to tower over the marines sitting at the other table—well, all except Tort, who stared at her with tiny red eyes that blinked slowly beneath his green forehead ridge.

When they saw who she was, they all leapt to attention, saluting, and Fesky returned the salute, staring each of them down as she did.

“I’m not familiar with the captain’s directive,” she said, “because I haven’t had a chance to check the Board today. But I’m sure that whatever Captain Husher’s decided, he did it not only with this ship’s best interests in mind, but with the Fleet’s too, as well as the entire Interstellar Union. I know that because I’ve served with him for over twenty years, and that’s how Captain Husher conducts himself. Unless you question my judgment, too?”

“No, ma’am,” the marines answered in unison. According to the surprise that lingered on their faces, they still hadn’t recovered from the realization she’d overheard their entire conversation.

“At ease,” she told them, then walked out of the mess, leaving her lunch half-eaten and silently cursing herself.

Before those marines had another conversation like that one, they’d be on the lookout for Fesky, and they’d probably tell others what had happened, too. Meaning she’d just rendered a valuable source of intel about the crew less so.

Why did I have to butt in? She knew why, of course: her shock and anger from hearing her friend badmouthed by his marines had caused her to act rashly. Knowing the reason didn’t make it rankle any less, though.

Under other circumstances, she would have brought disciplinary measures to bear. But something had stopped her. Why didn’t I discipline them?

By the time she reached the corridor outside the crew’s mess, she’d figured it out.

The reason she hadn’t disciplined the marines was because she also had her doubts about Husher’s choices, lately.

Chapter 11

Vanguard

Husher worked best in his office, where he could be alone for the most part. Often, he ended up eating in here, too. He kept a stash of nutrient bars in his desk drawer, and he opened the drawer now, with the intention of snacking on one as he reviewed his primary Nav officer’s proposed route to the Gok home system.

He didn’t expect the route to contain many surprises. It would almost certainly involve the use of darkgates, which were still the main way to get around the galaxy. Luckily, the route shouldn’t involve passing through any systems colonized since the Second Galactic War. No new darkgates had been built since the discovery that dark tech endangered the universe, so most newly colonized systems could only be accessed via warp drive, which took a lot longer.

As he rooted around in the drawer, his hand became tangled in a leather thong, and he raised it out to disentangle himself. The thong was attached to a small wooden crucifix, which had been the only thing Captain Keyes had left him in his will.

Husher hadn’t expected Keyes to have made any arrangements to leave him anything, and he definitely didn’t know why he’d left him the little cross. He hadn’t even known Keyes was religious—the man had never discussed God or faith. The crucifix must have been important to him, though, considering he’d not only made the arrangements to bequeath it but had also stored it off-ship, allowing it to escape the eventual destruction of the Providence.

Despite his confusion, Husher had kept the gift. It was all he had left of his mentor.

Before he could get to reviewing his Nav officer’s work, his com lit up where it lay on the desk, inches from his right hand. It was a message from Mayor Chancey: “Captain. Got a minute?”

After staring at the display for a couple seconds, Husher messaged back: “Sure.”

Next, his Oculenses displayed a translucent alert about an incoming call from Dylan Chancey. He accepted, and the mayor appeared before his desk, sitting in an overstuffed leather armchair that erased from view the more Spartan chair that was actually there.

This was accomplished using sensors embedded in the wall of the mayor’s residence—similarly positioned sensors would now be transmitting Husher’s likeness to the mayor. Although, to Chancey, it would seem like he was actually sitting inside Husher’s office. The recipient of a call always played virtual “host” in this way.

“Yes?” Husher said.

“Captain, I’d like to offer my sincere apologies for the tone of the council meeting yesterday.” Chancey’s voice emerged from speakers built into Husher’s desk.

“Oh?”

“I didn’t intend it to go that way. Penelope can be…enthusiastic. And honestly, I regret having to place this extra burden on your shoulders, on top of everything else.”

“Then why did you vote for it?” Husher said flatly.

“Because I’m beholden to my constituents, and this is what they indicated they wanted.”

“You held a referendum on it?”

The mayor’s mouth quirked, and he raised a hand to rub his broad jaw. “No,” he said after a pause, “but…well, the ones who wanted it were pretty vocal. Listen, if I’m not seen to play ball on issues like this one, then I’m looked at as the bad guy, and that doesn’t help anyone. I have just as much interest in keeping things stable as you do.” Chancey cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m making myself clear or not, but…let me try to put this another way. As long as everyone dots their I’s and crosses their T’s when something like this comes up, then all’s well. But when you don’t, people get angry, and the longer you deny them, the louder they get. So it’s easiest to just go along with them in the first place. If you don’t mind me offering you some unasked-for advice, that is.”

Husher folded his hands on the desk. “What if I hold principles that the majority doesn’t view favorably?”

“Hmm. Well, that’s not really my wheelhouse. I go where my constituents tell me to, or I don’t get their votes next time around.”

“I see.”

“We’re getting a bit off track here. I really did call because I wanted to apologize. Things got pretty ugly yesterday, but I think they’re going to be better from here on out. The protesters got what they wanted, so they’re happy, and you have my word that I’m going to do my best to make this stuff go away as quickly and quietly as possible. I know you have a job to do, and I want you to know that I consider your job much more important than I consider mine. That probably seems rich coming from me, after what just happened, but it’s the truth. I understand how vital your job is, and I’m going to do everything in my power to clear your way so you can do it.”

“All right, then,” Husher said. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Captain.”

“Any time, Mayor Chancey.” It’s apparently part of my job, now, anyway. Husher terminated the call, wondering why the mayor had bothered to try clearing the air. Maybe the man really did feel bad.

That done, he left his office and headed for the CIC. He wanted to be there when they transitioned out of the Feverfew System, and he planned to schedule his watches so that he’d have the CIC for as many of the necessary transitions as possible. Even though his mission was diplomatic in nature, that didn’t mean he trusted the Gok not to spring an ambush at the slightest opportunity.

The Vesta’s battle group had rejoined her in the small hours of the morning, and as Husher settled into the command seat, he ordered his Coms officer to distribute orders to the other captains to form up behind her.

“Yes, sir,” Ensign Fry said.

Technically, the other captains had autonomy over their respective ships, though Husher could also direct them as he saw fit. Ultimately, the battle group went where the admiralty told it to go, and adhered to whatever ROEs the admiralty laid out. But in certain situations, Husher performed the function of admiral without holding the actual rank. Just another role to round out my endless list of duties.

“Captain,” Ensign Fry said, “we’ve just received a priority transmission from a com drone that recently entered the system. It’s audio and video, addressed to you. Should I play it here or would you prefer to take it in your office?”

“Play it here, and give everyone access.”

Admiral Iver appeared on the main display, and as per Husher’s order, everyone’s Oculenses would have access to his likeness as he spoke. “Captain Husher, hopefully this message reaches you before you leave the Feverfew system, since time has suddenly become precious. We’ve just received a distress call from the governor of Tyros in the Wintercress System, which at the time of Governor Jomo’s transmission was under attack by a vessel of unknown origin.

“On the heels of this message, I’ve ordered the com drone carrying it to transmit to you all the sensor data collected by the Wintercress System’s sensor web. Your new orders are as follows: the Vesta is to make all reasonable haste toward Wintercress and answer this new threat. Before you do, please hand off the diplomats I’ve already designated, Shobi and Bryson, to your battle group ships. Those ships are to proceed to the Gok homeworld and continue their diplomatic mission. I have full confidence that you will have the situation in Wintercress well in hand. While the attacking vessel’s origins are unknown, it is only one ship—a destroyer, from the looks of it. It did manage to neutralize two IGF ships on patrol in the system, the Stentor and the Orion, but I highly doubt it will be any match for the Vesta. Iver out.”

The main wall display returned to whatever each CIC officer had been viewing prior to the recording—for Husher, data on the main engines, on which he’d had Engineering perform a full inspection before getting underway to the Gok home system.

“The promised data package just arrived, Captain,” Ensign Fry said. “Should I—?”

“Put it on the display.” There was no need to conceal from the crew anything about what they would be facing in Wintercress.

The destroyer that appeared had a hull the color of a storm cloud, rendering visual sensors somewhat less effective in picking it out from the inky blackness of space. Not so bad for visuals as the jet-black Ixan vessels we saw during the Second Galactic War.

In every other way, however, the enemy ship cut a menacing figure. Despite Iver’s abundance of confidence, the ship was nearly half the size of the Vesta, according to the readouts that accompanied the image. Its form was that of a flat, elongated diamond, and it bristled with what Husher felt sure was weaponry, though each gun’s dimensions differed dramatically from anything fielded by the IGF.

Could this be it? Husher asked himself. What I’ve been bracing for all these years?

He wanted it to be, he realized. For multiple reasons—such as the interminable waiting, which was slowly driving him insane. Or the fact that, if this ship didn’t represent the vanguard of the AIs’ attack fleet, then it belonged to a different threat altogether, while the danger posed by the AIs still loomed.

A third factor: Husher didn’t know how much longer he could keep at bay the twin advances of pacifism and bureaucracy, which threatened to choke out their military effectiveness altogether. The former was a noble impulse, Husher recognized that, but a noble death at the hands of a merciless attacker was still death.

He heaved a sigh that sounded a lot like relief, drawing some curious looks from a couple of his CIC officers.

This was what he was made to do. It was what he’d trained to do, and also what he’d been preparing for, for the better part of his life. Maybe all his life.

Chapter 12

Debris Cloud

“Transitioning through the Lilac-Wintercress darkgate now, Captain,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged, Ensign.” Husher said. He sat back and waited for more data to come in, wondering how things were in Cybele, right now. Two days into their journey to Wintercress, he’d gone to Penelope Snyder’s office to discuss his own Awareness Training, and she’d told him about Nonattendance Day for nonhuman species. It was a day for aliens to stay home, to highlight the vital role they play in society. Husher would have been fine with the idea, except that it happened to coincide with today, the day the Vesta was transitioning into a system that had recently been attacked. His alien crewmembers were far too vital to give them the day off while a possible engagement was brewing.

“Tyros’ planetary net appears to be down, sir,” his Coms officer said. “I’m not detecting the usual signal volume—just chatter from a few com drones passing through the system.”

“The people of Cybele will be disappointed,” Fesky muttered from the XO’s chair beside Husher. “Especially if this means they can’t download the latest updates for their video games.”

Husher suppressed the urge to chuckle, shooting Fesky a reproving look instead. He wanted to clamp down on the joking before it began to compromise the professionalism he expected from his CIC crew. “Any sign of the enemy destroyer, Winterton?”

“I’m detecting a dispersed debris cloud between Tyros and its solar shield—presumably, the debris is what’s left of the Stentor and the Orion. But no sign of the enemy, Captain.”

Husher nodded. The solar shield was an enormous loop of conductive wire that was positioned between most major colonies and their suns, meant to deflect large flares. The IU had started installing them after a solar flare had fried the electronic grid of Sestos, ruining its economy and causing untold suffering until relief ships and workers could be dispatched there. There were plans to eventually install solar shields for every colony in the Union.

Husher turned to his Coms officer. “Ensign, continue trying to establish contact with Tyros. Preferably, I’d like to speak to the governor. Kaboh, continue taking us down the system’s gravity well at a measured pace, and Winterton, begin active scans of the entire system.”

“Aye, sir,” all three officers said in rough unison.

As the tense silence lengthened, Husher began to worry what it might mean for the planetary net to be down. Had the enemy vessel sabotaged it and then vacated the system? And had it done anything to harm the civilian population of Tyros before it did?

“Captain, I’m getting something,” Fry said at last, two hours into their journey toward the colony. She sounded relieved. “It’s a transmission from Governor Jomo.”

“If there’s video, put it on the display.”

The governor, a Tumbran, appeared, fleshy chin-sack wobbling as though she’d just taken a seat. “Captain Husher,” the alien said in the impassive tones characteristic of her species. “Thank you for answering our distress call. I am, however, relieved to inform you that the danger seems to have passed. Without warning, after destroying the Stentor and the Orion, the vessel that attacked us disappeared from our sensors in a most surprising way. It has not returned since.”

The Tumbran shifted, glanced to the left, then refocused on the transmission. “Perhaps we should assume that the unknown vessel concluded it could not contend with Tyros’ orbital defense platforms, which are fully operational. At any rate, in the spirit of caution, I expect you will want to remain in-system to ensure the hostile vessel does not return. In the meantime, I would like to invite the people of Cybele to conduct trade with us, and I would like to invite you, Captain Husher, to have dinner. Perhaps we can review the footage of the disappearing warship together, and attempt to make some sense of it. I look forward to a real-time conversation with you.”

With that, the transmission ended.

Beside him, Fesky twitched. “Did something seem off to you about that message, Captain?”

Husher contemplated the question. “Winterton, I want you to perform a close inspection of the defensive platforms we can see from this side of the planet. Lean on radar, but do what you can with visual sensors at this distance, too. Let me know if you detect any reason to believe they’ve been disabled.”

Twenty minutes later, the sensor operator had his report. “The platforms check out, Captain. There’s no sign of damage or malfunction that I can detect.”

“Well, we’ve done our due diligence. Either way, Jomo was right that we’ll be staying for a while. And there’s no good reason not to allow Cybele to conduct some trade, though anyone who comes aboard should know that they do so at their own risk, and that a military engagement is possible at any time. Even so, in that event, there should be plenty of time to evacuate whoever wants to be elsewhere.” Husher glanced at Fesky. “There’s also no reason for me to turn down dinner with the governor, so I’m going to go ahead with it.”

“Still…I strongly recommend a marine escort, Captain.”

Husher considered that for a moment. “It could be interpreted as an insult to our hosts. But all right, Fesky. I’ll take your recommendation.”

Chapter 13

As Though in a Warzone

A shuttle was prepped by the time they reached orbit over Tyros, and as per Fesky’s recommendation—which had bordered on insistence—Husher ordered it packed with as many marines as it could hold, which amounted to two full platoons, one to guard the shuttle and one to accompany him to dinner with the governor.

“I’m beginning to feel like a head of state,” he remarked to the marine sitting in the crash seat beside him, a corporal named Yung.

“Well, sir, you do command a starship with a city aboard it.”

Husher inclined his head slightly. “True enough. Strange times.”

Tyros, formerly of the Tumbran Federation, now belonged to the Interstellar Union. To Husher’s knowledge, that hadn’t made much difference to the colony’s composition. It still numbered around a hundred thousand beings, and it still welcomed all comers from other species. There were sizable Winger and even human populations, despite the strained relationship humanity had had with the rest of the galaxy ever since inheriting dark tech. Even during the peak of what Husher readily admitted was human tyranny, humans had felt essentially welcome here. He liked Tyros.

Before the formation of the Interstellar Union, the Tumbra had run what were called Coffee Stations—essentially, space stations where humans weren’t welcome. Husher didn’t like the idea of that, so much, but then, the United Human Fleet had had a strict rule that aliens weren’t allowed on their warships, so maybe they were about even on that score.

There weren’t any Coffee Stations, anymore. The Tumbra had voluntarily closed them as soon as the IU was formed, in the spirit of unity.

The ride down through the atmosphere was bumpy, though not nearly as bad as some reentries Husher could remember, in and out of shuttles. Attitude stabilizers had gotten a lot better in the last twenty years. Then there was the time he’d executed an emergency orbital insertion inside a faulty reentry suit…

“Sir, we have the go-ahead to touch down on top of Piper Hall,” the shuttle pilot radioed to Husher’s com.

“Acknowledged. Take us down.”

“It’s a beautiful winter day down there. I recommend keeping your jumpsuit zipped up nice and snug, Captain.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Ten minutes later, he followed two squads of marines into the airlock. Two more squads had already deployed on top of Piper Hall and were busy securing the rooftop.

The shuttle airlock’s outer hatch hissed open, and Husher stepped out into a cutting wind that pelted his face with ice. Through the blizzard, he could see silhouettes of marines running around the roof, generally behaving as though they were in a warzone.

He wondered how the governor would react to him bringing eighty marines along to dinner, edgy after years with nothing to shoot but practice targets. How do I let Fesky talk me into these things? To think Admiral Iver was about to send me on a diplomatic mission…

A hulking form in winter combat gear appeared out of the storm. “All clear, Captain, other than this blasted ice,” the form said in a slow drawl.

“Thank you, Major Gamble.”

Major Peter Gamble was commanding officer of the marine battalion assigned to the Vesta. The man had a flair for leadership that Husher sometimes envied, as well as a strong grasp of tactics, as evidenced by the combat simulation scores that Husher reviewed regularly, for all his marines.

“Shall we head down into the hall?” Gamble asked.

“By all means.”

A rooftop elevator opened at their approach, either manually operated or programmed to recognize Husher’s likeness. It only fit a squad at a time, and so Husher had to wait on the ground floor with the first squad for the other three to join them.

A Tumbran appeared nearby, its spherical, hooded eyes peering up at the marines from atop its oblong head. “My,” it said as the third squad piled out of the elevator. “There certainly are a lot of you.”

“You don’t have to feed us all,” Gamble said. “Just the captain. My marines have already eaten.”

“I’m certain our chefs can find a way to accommodate anyone who wishes to dine,” the Tumbran said, turning to waddle down the hall. “Follow me, please.”

As soon as the fourth squad of marines made it down, they all trailed the Tumbran through a series of corridors filled with commemorations and tributes to the life of a Tumbran who’d been called Piper, after whom the hall was named. It had been his sacrifice, along with that of Captain Keyes and his CIC crew, that had wiped out the majority of the Ixan fleet, a move that proved instrumental to winning the war.

As he passed a portrait of the stoic Tumbran, Husher could almost hear Piper’s voice in his head, delivering one of his trademark digs—so dry that it sometimes took minutes for the recipient to realize they’d been insulted.

I miss that little bastard.

Keeping pace with the Tumbran, going was slow, which made sense given the alien was around half the height of the average human. But at last, they reached the banquet hall, where long dining tables faced each other across meters of empty marble floor.

A lone Tumbran stood at the opposite end of the hall, hands folded in front of her stomach, which poked out a bit from underneath her tunic. She stood in front of a broad, floor-to-ceiling banner, blood-red in color. Several identical banners hung all around the hall. The garish wall hangings didn’t seem in keeping with Tumbran sensibilities, but maybe they’d wanted to do something a bit different with the hall dedicated to one of their most cherished heroes.

“Governor Jomo!” Husher called across the hall. “It’s good to see you. Apologies for the heavy marine presence, but my XO can be a bit—”

“Captain Husher, be on your guard,” Jomo cried.

Drawing to a stop, Husher tilted his head back, studying the Tumbran more closely.

Without warning, the blood-red banners fell to the floor, revealing enormous alcoves behind them. Those were more in line with Tumbran tastes, and so were the statues and artwork they featured.

But Husher didn’t have much time to study the decorations. He was too distracted by the hulking, three-meter-tall figures that lurched from the recesses.

Eyes narrowed, body rigid with shock, Husher stared at the alien behind Jomo, his mind churning as it tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Other than its incredible size and musculature, the giant closely resembled an Ixan, with its dark-green scales, its clawed hands, and its creepy, sinuous smile.

Husher gasped, then, as he realized just who he was looking at. Teth.

“Hello, Husher,” Teth said, reaching down to grasp Jomo’s head with one massive hand, its fingers extending down the Tumbran’s entire face.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Teth snapped Jomo’s neck, and she went limp, falling to the floor.

“Attack,” Teth hissed, and the other Ixa darted across the marble toward Husher and his marines, moving with astonishing speed.

Chapter 14

Defense Platform 5

Mug in hand, Fesky settled into the command seat for what she expected would be a long, uneventful watch.

At least I don’t have to deal with Kaboh, she reflected as she sipped from her still-piping coffee, which she took with a dash of cream and nothing else. The smarmy Kaithian Nav officer ruffled Fesky’s feathers, that was for sure, but he was being allowed to rest in case the captain’s visit to Tyros ran long enough to warrant a second watch to take over. In that event, Kaboh would have the command.

Unlike Captain Keyes before him, who’d often stated that he had no desire to allow his CIC to become a cafeteria, Husher allowed his CIC crew beverages, as long as they were kept in tight, plastic mugs that amounted to adult sippy cups. His one other stipulation—besides no alcohol, of course—was that each officer was responsible for making sure the cup’s lid was sealed between sips. The first time they spilled hot liquid on themselves, other officers, or on sensitive equipment, he said, was the last time they would find themselves in his CIC. So far, Fesky hadn’t had the opportunity to witness whether that was true.

In her peripheral vision, Ensign Winterton’s whole frame went rigid. “Ma’am, sensors have just picked up a warship matching the profile from the data package sent to us by Admiral Iver. It’s coming around Tyros’ moon.”

Fesky’s gaze locked onto the ensign, marveling at how level his voice was, given this dumbfounding revelation. “That’s impossible,” she said, punctuating her words with a clack of her beak. “The system’s sensor web is still active. It should have picked up an unidentified ship on the dark side of the moon long ago.”

With a curt nod, the sensor operator returned her look with one of calm. “Regardless, Commander. The ship’s there.”

Fesky gathered her fragmented thoughts with a significant effort of will. It was Winterton’s job to use the Vesta’s sensor suite to document the environment and report it to the commanding officer. That was what he had done, in as efficient and professional a manner as she could possibly have asked for. Now, it was her job to figure out what the hell to do with the information he’d given her.

“Coms, call Lieutenant Commander Kaboh to the CIC.” As much as Fesky disliked the Kaithian, he knew his station well, and Husher would want all of first watch on for a developing combat situation. “Tactical, prep four Gorgon missiles with telemetry parameters and order them loaded into forward launch tubes.” Four was a lot, but she didn’t want to take any chances with a destroyer of unknown capabilities. “Coms, let’s try a transmission—”

“Ma’am,” Winterton cut in, “the unidentified vessel just launched two dozen missiles.”

“Two dozen?” Fesky shrieked, causing the Helm officer to start. She strove to settle herself. For a moment, she’d been annoyed at Winterton’s interruption, until she’d realized that it rendered the order she was about to give entirely pointless.

“Coms, get me the officer in charge of Defense Platform 5,” Fesky snapped, mentally cursing herself for not having established contact with the platform already. It was at that moment it dawned on her that seventeen years of peace had softened her, and now there was a chance she’d pay for her mistake with her life, as well as the lives of everyone aboard.

No. One destroyer will not take down the Vesta. “Tactical, fire Gorgons.”

“Aye, Commander.”

“That’s not all. Set point defense systems to engage at maximum range, and reassign forward tertiary laser projectors to point-defense mode as well.”

“Should I order Banshees prepped to help take down some of the incoming missiles?”

Fesky considered the proposal for a moment. The latest generation of the Banshee missile was a faster, sleeker version of the ones used during the Second Galactic War, though it was still a fairly classical armament, all things considered. “No,” she said. “Prep four more Gorgons instead, and six Hydras. We’re going for the kill.”

“No response from Defense Platform 5, ma’am,” Ensign Fry said.

“That’s fine.” We’ll deal with this on our own.

“Ma’am,” Winterton said, and Fesky found herself glaring at him while resisting an urge to batter him with her wing.

He’s just doing his job. “Yes?” she said, managing to sound mostly collected.

“The enemy vessel just launched two more missile volleys in quick succession. Both were equal in number to the first.”

The impact of the sensor operator’s news made Fesky rock backward in the command seat by a degree or two, and she started to vibrate. Over the years, she’d gotten much better at controlling the Winger tendency to wear emotions on the wing, but her usual self-control had officially abandoned her.

“Helm, full reverse thrust. Now!”

Chapter 15

Progenitors

Two squads of Vesta marines ran forward, fanning out in front of Husher and dropping to one knee, firing round after round at the reptilian berserkers speeding across the hall toward them. The other two squads formed up behind, firing over their fellow marines’ heads and effectively creating a wall of speeding lead that crashed into the oncoming aliens, again and again.

It didn’t slow them. The first Ixan reached the kneeling marine rank, knocking one soldier to the floor while plunging a claw-tipped hand through the exposed armpit of another. The alien’s movements were swift and sure, like the reptiles the Ixa resembled.

Husher’s windpipe closed, and his mind’s eye was filled by a burning star that streaked across a night sky and lit up his family’s home like a summer bonfire.

He felt a hand close over his forearm, snapping him back to the present, and he glanced sideways to see Major Gamble, wide eyes overscored by a crooked, throbbing vein. “We’re getting you out, now,” the major screamed into Husher’s face. “Marines, fall back!”

Four marines were down already, bleeding out on the floor and utterly incapable of falling back. The others—those who’d heard Gamble’s order, anyway—attempted to obey, stutter-stepping backward while firing on the hulking aliens full bore, slapping fresh clips into their guns as needed.

“Get back to the elevator!” Gamble roared.

“Belay that,” Husher yelled, shaking the major off his arm.

“What? Why, sir?”

“Because it can only fit a single squad. The rest of you will be pinned against the elevator doors and slaughtered. We’re going out the front.”

“But we don’t know what way that is.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Husher drew his P600 service pistol and emptied it into an Ixan sprinting toward them along the side of the room. “We’re leaving, now. To me, marines!”

Thank God for embedded ear pieces. If it weren’t for those, it would have been impossible for the marines to hear his order over the tumult.

By the time they extracted themselves from the hall, they’d lost about a squad’s worth of marines—a quarter of the soldiers that had come inside with them. And he hadn’t seen a single Ixan go down.

What have the Ixa done to themselves? But the aliens were leaving him with no time to speculate, as they pounded into the hallway after their prey.

The marines in the rear turned to fire upon the beast in the lead, and at last, it dropped—only to one knee, but it dropped. Its fellows charged past, apparently unconcerned.

“Chief Haynes,” Husher said after switching to a two-way channel with their shuttle pilot.

“Captain?”

“I need you to have our ride waiting for us outside the front doors. We’re under attack. Tell the marines to deploy defensively around the shuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” Haynes answered, the shock clear in his voice.

In the seconds before their shuttle had touched down on the roof, Husher had used his Oculenses to access the sensors arrayed along the craft’s underside. Now, he tried to square the maze of hallways and doorways confronting him with his dim recollection of the Hall’s layout as seen from above. All the while, panic lapped at him like waves against the side of a capsizing boat.

“I think it’s this way,” he said, gesturing down a side hall and meeting Gamble’s eyes.

The major nodded. As always, the marine commander yielded to his captain’s judgment, even though his training and specialization made him better suited to this particular situation than Husher, in theory.

But despite starting out as a Condor pilot, Husher had seen his fair share of ground combat back in the messy days of the UHF, and Major Gamble knew that.

Captain Keyes had often wanted him deployed with the Providence marines, actually, and not just for his situational awareness, but also for his principles, which Husher had stuck to no matter the circumstances. Even when it had meant flying in the face of Command.

Have I strayed from that? A smaller voice began to answer the question, from deeper inside him, but he quashed it.

The brilliant glow of natural light caught his eye as they rushed through a corridor, and Husher skidded to a stop, glad that his fifty-four-year-old body could still turn on a dime.

“We’re here,” he said. They’d lost at least another squad as they tore through the corridors—insanely brave men and women who’d spent their lives without hesitation, just to stall the Ixan charge and buy their comrades a few seconds more.

Ixa. Alive, and on a Union world. It still made Husher feel like he was dreaming.

They poured out of Piper Hall’s glass doors, rushing down a short flight of steps and then across the snow-covered concrete. The marines wore combat boots whose nanoscale spikes served them well, here, though Husher wore parade boots, and so had to take more care.

The waiting marines around the shuttle fired overhead at the Ixa who crashed through the glass, not bothering to squeeze through doors made for shorter beings.

Husher switched to the two-way channel again. “Haynes, you do fly a combat shuttle, do you not?”

“Sorry, Captain!” the chief said, and within seconds, the shuttle’s hull-mounted turrets were swiveling back and forth, firing on the charging foes.

They reached the shuttle. When Husher slammed a fresh clip into his P600’s handle and turned to engage the Ixa again, Gamble placed an arm across his stomach, pressing him gently toward the airlock.

“Captain, I really have to insist you get inside. The heroism’s appreciated, but my people won’t get safe till you are.”

Nodding, Husher stepped inside the airlock, and the major sent two squads’ worth of marines in to join him. The outer airlock slid closed.

Husher once again connected his Oculenses to the shuttle’s sensors in order to continue watching the engagement outside. The added fire of both the combat shuttle as well as the marines who hadn’t entered the Hall finally seemed to give the aliens pause, and they withdrew back up the stairs and into the building. Only then did they produce firearms of their own and begin to return fire.

As the last marines piled into the airlock, with Major Gamble among them, Husher saw one of the Ixa—Teth, unless he missed his guess—produce a rocket launcher and aim it at the shuttle.

Husher’s hand flew to his ear. “Haynes, takes us away, now. Now!”

Haynes did, and the shuttle’s landing gear parted from the snowy ground, tilting away from the rocket that screamed from its tube and veered upward, seeking its target.

Lightning-quick, Haynes engaged lateral thrusters so that the shuttle lurched in the opposite direction, toward the incoming missile, but at an upward angle that caused it to miss by inches. Husher knew it really was a matter of inches, because through the magic of Oculens, the rocket seemed to pass right before his nose, and he even tricked himself into thinking he felt a breeze as it screamed by.

The inner airlock door opened, and the marines who’d been in the airlock during takeoff scrambled to strap themselves into their crash seats before the steep climb into orbit. Once they were settled, a silence descended on the shuttle—deeply uncharacteristic of marines, who were known for their brash banter before, during, and after a fight.

We’re all peacetime soldiers, now. Walking contradictions, wholly unprepared for what’s coming for us.

An unsourced transmission request came in over his Oculenses, and he thought he knew who it would be. When he willed acceptance of the connection, and Teth appeared as though towering over him inside the shuttle, his suspicion proved out.

In order for Teth to appear like that, he had to be the beneficiary of either in-depth intel about Oculens technology or enough luck that whatever tech he had access to had developed in precisely the same way. Husher considered the former infinitely more likely.

“How are you alive?” Husher said. Several marines glanced his way, though none of them would have access to Teth’s words.

“Lieutenant Husher,” the Ixan said, his voice breathier than Husher remembered, and more sibilant. “Or rather, Captain, now, isn’t it? We’ve always enjoyed such exquisite conversations, you and I. Yet here, you open with a disappointingly banal question.” Teth’s forked tongue made a brief appearance, flicking past his teeth and lips before vanishing into the dark hole of his mouth. Now that he was getting a closer look, Husher saw that several of the bone protrusions characteristic of Ixan faces had escaped Teth’s flesh and now showed as white knobs and spikes in symmetrical patterns along the sides of his head. “How am I alive,” Teth said, repeating Husher’s words. “Hmm. Perhaps you imagined that your mentor’s sacrifice was meaningful—that his death put a final end to the force poised to extinguish humanity. Is that what you thought?”

“I thought he killed you.”

“He did not. I was far enough from the blast wrought by the collapsing wormhole to survive, as were tens of thousands of other Ixa.”

“Sounds like you had some good luck, then.”

Teth’s thin lips widened into a smirk. “Call it whatever you wish.”

“Baxa turned the Ixa into automatons. Mindless slaves. After we killed him, every Ixan we found had basically become a vegetable. We connected them to life support, but they all died within the year.”

“So it was with the crew of my destroyer, as well as those of the surrounding Ixan ships. I was only able to save those aboard my ship, and that with great difficulty.”

“How?”

Teth’s smirk became a wide smile, revealing a pair of elongated fangs that definitely hadn’t been there when last they’d met. “So many banal questions. Let me answer several of them at once: the Progenitors. They found me in time, allowed me to resuscitate my crew, and they gave me access to the superior weaponry currently battering your new supercarrier. They also augmented my brethren and I in the way you have seen.”

“Who are the Progenitors?”

“Who do you suppose they are, Captain Husher? Why don’t you use your vaunted Oculenses to look up the meaning of the word. Maybe that will give you a clue to work with, as an alternative to pestering me with your endless questions.”

“What’s your aim, here, Teth? What do you want?”

“My aim is tied up with that of my creators. To tell you the truth, Captain, I’ve gained a certain humility to go with my new power. I am merely the opening volley in the war for which you’ve been struggling weakly to ready your pitiful Union. There is a path to peace, however brief that peace ends up being. If you would like any quarter for your people at all, there is something I require of you. I would like both you and Jake Price to present yourselves on the Ixa’s homeworld, Klaxon.”

“I don’t know a Jake Price.”

“Then I suggest you seek him out and meet him. Quickly! This has only just begun.”

With that, Teth’s grotesque likeness vanished from the shuttle.

Chapter 16

Surface Tension

Before the shuttle touched down on Flight Deck Omicron, Husher dragged himself away from his muddled thoughts long enough to commend both the marines and Chief Haynes for getting them all home safely.

“We lost a lot of good soldiers down there,” Husher said, meeting each marine’s eye in turn. “There’s no sugarcoating that, nor would I want to. But I can promise you one thing. We’re going to take it to those bastards hard for what they did.”

A hearty cheer answered that, and Husher was glad to see his soldiers’ spirits were far from broken. “Major Gamble, I need you to take your people to Cybele, to maintain order and help anyone negatively affected by the Ixan attack. We’re not through this yet, but I want you to do everything you can to put those citizens at ease without lying to them about the reality of the situation.”

“Yes, sir,” Gamble said, all business. He was a jovial hand around the Poker table, or so Husher had heard. While taking everyone’s money, the reports went. But in the middle of an ongoing op, the major’s sense of humor withdrew to somewhere deep inside him. “Where are you headed, Captain, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The CIC. I intend to start taking our losses out of Teth’s hide.”

Gamble nodded. “All right, then. I’ll have two marines escort—”

“Belay that.”

The major’s eyebrows rose. “Sir?”

“I’m not about to start suffering escorts on my own ship.”

After a brief hesitation, Gamble nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

Husher positioned himself at the front of the first group out of the airlock. The task he’d given the marines was important, but it wouldn’t count for much if the Vesta was bested by Teth’s destroyer. He trusted Fesky to do a good job, but he’d much rather sit in the command seat himself at a time like this.

The outer airlock opened, and he dashed across the flight deck, grateful he no longer needed to bother with pressure suits to do so. In the old days, flight decks had been open to space, but with improved airlock technology it was quicker to have combat shuttles and Pythons undergo a brief pressurization and decontamination before entering the flight deck proper.

As he jogged toward the CIC, he found the crew corridors almost empty, which made sense. With an engagement in progress, everyone currently on duty would be intent on their respective tasks, and a change of watch wouldn’t happen until they were certain the action had ended.

A groaning, scraping noise from up ahead reached his ears, and he paused, his hand going automatically to his pistol. By now, he’d captained this vessel for thirteen years, and he knew her sounds by heart. A groaning, scraping noise wasn’t one of them.

He listened for a few seconds more, hearing nothing. Then, something flayed open the metal of the bulkhead five meters in front of him, emerging into the corridor and tracking Husher immediately with its head.

If it could be called a head. It certainly had no face to speak of, and the “head” was smooth and curved, extending forward as well as backward. The thing was made from some dark-gray metal, and its metallic arms and legs resembled shields that had been stretched along the vertical axis.

The intruder came no higher than Husher’s stomach, but it had also just torn through his ship like tissue paper. Deciding to take it seriously, Husher flicked open the clasp holding his P600 in place, whipped it out of the holster, and proceeded to empty its clip into the monster’s torso.

The thing scrambled to cross the distance separating them. Husher began walking backward, and when the gun clicked instead of fired, he loosed the empty clip and slammed in a new one.

By now, he was running backward to keep ahead of his assailant, which caused his sidearm’s muzzle to waver more than he would have liked. Sucking in a ragged gasp, he tightened up his aim and succeeded in planting the entire second clip inside the intruder as well.

The last bullet made the thing stagger at just a few feet’s remove, buying Husher enough time to load his final clip into the gun and finish the job.

He put the fourth bullet into the robot’s head, which rendered it inert. For good measure, he brought his boot up hard under what he supposed could be called the thing’s chin.

It still didn’t move, and Husher took the opportunity to curse loudly, causing a bead of sweat to lose its surface tension and slide down his cheek.

“You’re still alive,” he told himself. He knew better than to expect more than that from any given day.

At least, he’d once known better. Maybe I’ve forgotten. Seems I’ll have plenty of opportunity to relearn.

Opening a com channel with Gamble, he said, “Major, I need you to mobilize four more platoons and get them patrolling the ship’s corridors in squads. Assign one squad to guard each of the primary engines, two to Engineering, as well as one squad apiece to patrol our major capacitor banks. Are those orders clear?”

“Clear as day, Captain.” The major didn’t ask for any explanations, which was one of the reasons Husher considered the man invaluable.

That done, he jogged on toward the CIC, leaving the metal attacker in a heap for collection and study later. As he ran, the turbulence of space battle made the Vesta buck around him, and he focused on keeping his footing.

Chapter 17

Superheating

“I have the CIC,” Husher barked as he passed through the main hatch and strode toward the command seat.

“You have the CIC, Captain,” Fesky said, sounding not at all reluctant to relinquish command. She settled herself into the XO’s seat, alongside his.

“Sitrep,” Husher said as he settled into his chair.

“The enemy vessel launched three massive barrages consisting of twenty-four missiles each. Only a handful got through, though I would have expected them to do far more damage than they did. Sensors showed multiple hull breaches, and I isolated the corresponding sections, but damage control teams found rents they characterized as surprisingly small.”

“Those weren’t missiles—not traditional ones, anyway,” Husher said. “They were robots, designed to infiltrate our ship and target her primary systems and components.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I killed one on my way here. No further questions, if you please, Commander. What explanations I have for you will come later.”

That caused Fesky to tremble with what was no doubt embarrassment. Husher could tell the battle had thoroughly flustered her, in a way he’d barely seen from her since before the Gok Wars. He sympathized, but there was no time to hold her talons, either. He needed her best, as well as that of everyone else in the CIC.

“What’s the enemy’s posture been since the third barrage?” he asked.

Fesky clacked her beak, and her shaking lessened as she seemed to get a better grip on her emotions. “They’ve mostly been sitting back, swatting down whatever we send their way. One of our Gorgons got through, and that seemed to take out a cluster of point defense turrets, but they’ve been relying on lasers to compensate.”

Husher nodded. “They’re probably waiting for us to show signs that their robots successfully tore up some vital systems. Maximum efficiency was always Teth’s MO, and I have reason to believe he wants to take us alive if he can.”

“Wait, what?” Fesky squawked. “Teth?”

He could have kicked himself. “Explanations later, Fesky.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keenly aware of the tens of thousands of civilians he had aboard, Husher said, “Tactical, prep a barrage of six Banshees and standby to deploy them one at a time, with ten seconds between each.” Gorgons or Hydras might have been more likely to connect with his adversary, but he meant the Banshees to serve a diversionary function, so for this, the sleek, fast missiles were his best choice. He turned to Kaboh. “I want you to devise a route that takes advantage of a gravity assist from Tyros’ moon, flinging us toward the outer system. Send it to Helm the moment you have it.”

“That will take us even closer to the hostile vessel, Captain,” Kaboh said. “I would remind you of the people in Cybele, who are likely afraid for—”

“I gave you an order and I expect it implemented immediately, Lieutenant. I did not request your feedback.”

“I’m well within my right to give it,” the Nav officer said, in the closest he’d ever heard a Kaithian come to grumbling. Nevertheless, he turned back to his console and began to work.

Kaboh was right, of course. Current doctrine did invite subordinates to raise any criticisms they felt warranted. But that doctrine had been developed during a protracted peacetime, and lengthy debate didn’t square well with surviving an engagement with a powerful enemy.

“I haven’t forgotten the civilians in Cybele,” Husher said. “Nor have I forgotten the ones on Tyros, protected by orbital defense platforms that appear to be nonoperational. It’s why I’m attempting a measured retreat, in order to lure the enemy away from the planet and deal with them farther out, if we can—ideally, at a remove that also keeps our civilian occupants safe. Our Air Group should be able to help with that.”

Husher hated his impulse to justify himself to Kaboh, but he knew the bureaucrats would comb over everything he said today, and he remained far from certain that even a new war would secure his position as commander of this ship.

“Captain,” Chief Tremaine said, “Banshees are armed and loaded with their courses, which compensate for our trajectory toward the moon.”

“Fire on my mark.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s our total capacitor charge?”

“Nearly ninety percent.”

Husher nodded. Enough to fire the primary twice. That was good to know. IGF captains had less cause than their historical counterparts to frantically fire their primary lasers at the earliest opportunity an engagement presented. In the past, a fully charged main capacitor could cause a catastrophic release of energy given a big enough impact, but modern capacitors were designed to be much more impact-resistant, suspended as they were in shock-absorbent frames that kept them more or less isolated from any shaking suffered by the ship.

Husher had been keeping a close eye on the tactical display, and when they reached the proximity he’d already deemed optimal, he said, “Fire the first Banshee, Tactical.”

“Aye.”

“Sir…” his sensor operator said slowly, as though he’d noticed something anomalous in his readouts. Then Winterton spoke again, urgency making his voice strained: “Sir, we’re getting superheating along the starboard bow. The hull is already breached!”

As soon as Winterton finished speaking, the explosions began, rocking the CIC even in its location deep inside the supercarrier.

Husher’s heart skipped a beat. “Helm, adjust our attitude downward relative to the ecliptic plane, twenty degrees, and bring engines to full power.”

“Aye, Captain!” said the Helm officer, a Winger named Vy.

“Coms, tell Damage Control to seal off all affected sections.” Husher’s gaze fixed on Tremaine. “Hit them with our primary, Tactical, and standby to do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Enemy destroyer is already taking evasive maneuvers,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged. Give me a damage report.”

“The hull was breached along sections eleven through twenty-two, in a horizontal gash that stretches from deck eight right up to deck nineteen, in some places.”

“Has the superheating effect subsided?”

“For now, it appears to be in the process of subsiding, Captain. But the temperature’s high enough in some sections that the hull is still sloughing off.”

“What was that?” Fesky asked, turning toward Husher, eyes wide.

“If I’m to guess, I’d say it was a particle beam,” Husher said, his voice tight. From what we’ve seen, Teth is at least a generation ahead of us in terms of weapons tech, possibly two. Then there were the biological modifications that he and the other Ixa had made to themselves, or which someone else had made. I’d be in over my head even if the Interstellar Union didn’t have a firm grip on my leash, as though restraining a rabid dog.

“Sir,” Tremaine said, “our primary laser missed its mark—the enemy ship is moving too fast along a trajectory that’s almost the exact opposite of the Vesta’s. Now that we’re closer, though, I think we can train it on the enemy long enough to inflict some damage.”

“Do it.”

“Firing primary a second time,” Tremaine confirmed. Seconds later, he blinked at whatever he was seeing on the main display, brow furrowed.

Winterton spoke, and his words clarified Tremaine’s look of confused dismay: “Sir…sir, the enemy ship has vanished.”

Blinking, Husher studied the man’s face. “Are we experiencing a sensor malfunction, Ensign?”

“I have no reason to believe we are.”

“Could this be the result of advanced stealth tech?” Husher was grasping at straws—he already knew the improbability of what he’d just suggested.

Nevertheless, Winterton answered. “Unless the combined physics knowledge of the four species that comprise the Interstellar Union is woefully inaccurate…no, I don’t think that’s possible, sir.”

“Vanishing isn’t either,” Husher said flatly.

Winterton had no answer for that.

Chapter 18

On the Local Galactic Cluster

Husher called a meeting of his top officers as well as high-ranking civilian officials from Tyros, to be held as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, “as soon as possible” wasn’t nearly soon enough, for his tastes. The delay had mostly to do with the necessity of waiting for the civilian officials to take shuttles to orbit, rendezvous with the Vesta, and make their way through her labyrinthine corridors.

In the meantime, Teth could be anywhere. The system’s sensor web should alert them if he reappeared, but then, it hadn’t alerted Fesky of his presence behind Tyros’ moon. Or rather, it had notified the Vesta of an unidentified vessel’s presence, but comically late. One of the main purposes of a sensor web was to foil any ships attempting to sneak into a system under stealth, but given the time lag involved in communicating across star systems, the web simply wasn’t designed to account for ships capable of appearing out of thin air—or, thin space.

“This isn’t how I like to open meetings,” Husher said as he entered the conference room, which was populated at last with everyone whose presence he’d requested, “but what the hell just happened?”

He tossed his com onto the broad conference table, and it chose that moment to light up with a transmission. The display said “Penelope Snyder,” so he ignored it.

“Let’s start with you,” Husher said, nodding toward Tyros Deputy Governor Pat Siegfried, who’d become governor the moment Teth snapped Jomo’s spindly neck. “What happened to your orbital defense platforms? Why didn’t they prevent Teth from getting to the planet’s surface, and why did Jomo cooperate with the Ixa to lure my marines and I down there?”

Siegfried folded her hands together on the desk, returning Husher’s gaze with one of calm. “Your first question is simply answered, Captain. The Ixan warship appeared underneath the orbital defense platforms. For reasons that would have been obvious until this week, the platforms have no weapons that point downward, and if they did, their use would involve significant risk to the population below.”

“So they would,” Husher said. “And Jomo’s actions?”

“Were coerced, of course,” Siegfried said. “The Tumbran and her aides were held at gunpoint and forced to do as they did.”

“A Tumbran met us at the elevator,” Husher said. “Unaccompanied. Instead of warning us, he led us straight to the slaughter.”

Shaking her head, Siegfried said, “All I can tell you is that we were all terrified of the Ixa and their capabilities, Captain. They seemed to know things they couldn’t possibly know, including many things we’d done in their absence.”

“It’s like the Prophecies all over again,” Fesky said.

The Ixan Prophecies had been a series of texts the Ixa had begun publicizing throughout the galaxy after the First Galactic War. They’d predicted a number of events, including humanity’s downfall, and as the next galactic war unfolded those events had started coming true.

It eventually came to light that the prophecies were the work of a superintelligent AI, whose ability to run simulations of the universe had granted it a pretty good handle on the future. Not perfect, though.

“It is like the Prophecies,” Husher said. “Which makes sense. We can expect Teth to be working with AIs who are at least equal in power to the one that devised the Prophecies, probably greater.”

“Sir?” Fesky said.

Husher glanced at the Winger askance. “Uh, yes?”

She held up her com. “I…just got a message from Penelope Snyder asking to speak with you.” With that, her com started buzzing. “Now she’s calling.”

Husher held out his hand, and Fesky passed over her com. Answering it, he barked, “Not now!” Then he ended the call and tossed the com back to Fesky.

Clearing his throat and ignoring the heat creeping up his neck, Husher pressed on: “We’ll get to the return of the AIs a little later, and what it means for us. For now, I’d like to hear from you, Governor Siegfried, about how Teth managed to disable your entire planetary net, given it’s a decentralized technology, and designed to be resistant to an outcome like this one.”

It was Siegfried’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Governor Jomo and I collaborated on implementing a kill switch for the entire planetary net, late last year.”

Husher squinted at her. “Why in Sol would you do that?”

“We saw it as a safety precaution.”

Snorting, Husher said, “You’re going to have to enlighten me on that one.”

“In the event of widespread planetary unrest…we wanted the ability to exercise control over the, uh, narrative, that the public was getting in an emergency. If we needed to.”

“Well, it turns out your kill switch made you uniquely vulnerable. If you hadn’t implemented it, we would have heard about the Ixan incursion from your planetary net, and Jomo might still be alive.”

Siegfried had the decency to look abashed, but apparently Fesky wasn’t satisfied. “Planetary nets, the old micronet, the internet in its earliest form—these are considered the saviors of democracy by more historians than I can name. And you decided to subvert all that with a switch?”

“That’ll do, Fesky,” Husher said, and the Winger fell silent, though her feathers still stood at attention. He returned his gaze to Siegfried. “Governor, is there anything else you’d like to share with us? Anything you think we’d benefit from knowing?”

“There is,” the new governor said after a brief pause. “In the weeks leading up to the attack, we kept experiencing random blips from the sensor web, which was telling us that craft were periodically appearing then vanishing throughout the system. We assumed the web was malfunctioning, but…”

“But now we have a theory that fits a lot better than that.”

“Yes.”

“These blips. Did they represent ships as big as the one Teth just used to pummel us?”

“No,” Siegfried said. “Not nearly as big. They were closer to com drones in size.”

“Interesting,” Husher muttered, then sniffed. “Teth spoke of a species he called the Progenitors. This is basically speculative, but I have a strong feeling that they’re the same species Baxa mentioned before we nuked him into oblivion—the same species that created the AIs themselves.”

“Captain,” Siegfried said. “If the AIs truly have returned, why have they sent only one destroyer to attack us?”

“Well, that assumes the Gok attacks are unrelated. But I take your point, and again, I can only speculate based on what we already know about the AIs that Baxa claimed have been loosed on the local galactic cluster. We know they operate on an extremely long timescale, and we also know they’re obsessed with efficiency. Maybe they think if Teth manages to apply enough pressure in the right places, he can debilitate the IGF—make us an easy mop-up job for whatever comes next. He told me that if I ‘want all this to stop,’ then I should present myself at the former Baxa System, which we now call the Concord System. Not only that, he wants me to bring someone named Jake Price along with me. Does anyone here know that name?”

As he looked around the table, no one seemed to, but Fesky spoke up anyway. “It seems like an obvious trap, sir. This might be exactly how Teth thinks he can debilitate us: by killing you.”

Husher chuckled. “I’m flattered, Fesky, but I think you’re giving me way more credit than I deserve. I am not the IGF—the IGF is made up of millions of hardworking service members.

“I’m going to deploy a com drone to the Damask System, which Admiral Iver named as his next destination, to seek his guidance on how to proceed. Hopefully, he’ll see the wisdom in recalling the Vesta’s battle group to rejoin their capital ship, instead of having them continue pursuing a relationship with a species who are known allies of the one that just attacked us.”

Fesky was nodding, as were Amy Fry and Peter Gamble. Governor Siegfried looked resolute. Kaboh’s childlike fingers drummed silently on the conference table, and he beheld Husher with an appraising look, but said nothing.

As everyone filed out, Fesky paused next to him. “Captain, Teth’s demand that you present yourself at the Ixa’s old home system…it seems to imply he’s set up base there.”

“It does,” Husher said, feeling pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

After a pause, Fesky said, “As far as we know, Ek is still there. She might be in danger.”

Husher nodded. After they’d defeated Baxa, Ek had remained on the Ixan homeworld. Her years of spacefaring had taken too great a toll on her aquatic body, and if she’d continued her interstellar travel, she likely would have died. So she’d remained on Klaxon instead, to live beneath its ocean.

“She likely is still there, Fesky. But as much as it pains me to say, she’s not our primary concern. We can’t embark on a rash foray into Concord just to save our old friend. It’s a noble sentiment, but acting on it could very well put the fortunes of the entire galaxy at risk.”

A tremor ran through Fesky. “You’re right.” Bobbing her head, she left the conference room.

Chapter 19

It Rings True

After shuffling through the dimensions a thousand times, a million times, Teth’s destroyer emerged into what he’d come to think of as the Prime Reality. And why not think of it that way? He came from this reality, after all, and it would certainly serve as his crucible. For him, no other reality truly mattered.

As for where they might be inside that coveted universe, which he believed himself destined to dominate, it was very difficult to say. That they might be billions of light years away from the Milky Way was more likely than not, and thanks to the shifting relationships between the various universes, it would take no shortage of trial and error to figure out how to return to the galaxy that was his target, not to mention the time it would take to recharge the Apex’s capacitors enough for another interdimensional journey.

But that’s the price we pay for being forced to flee, isn’t it?

He slammed a massive fist onto the arm of his throne-like command seat, causing most of the bridge crew to jump. Not Breka, though. No, his Strategy auxiliary was as calm as always. A sturdy Ixan, Breka, of the purest bloodlines.

The engagement with Husher had not ended the way Teth had envisioned. He hadn’t expected the captain to perish, of course, though he certainly would have welcomed that outcome. The AI that had been assigned to Teth advised him not to expect Husher’s death this day, and he hadn’t, no matter how hard he’d tried to achieve it.

He had expected to leave Husher much more…diminished than they had, however. Teth had meant his Cleavers to tear up the Vesta’s innards, and his particle beam had been intended to find something vital.

His intel had claimed Husher was weakened, a shadow of the bold young lieutenant who’d faced him during the Second Galactic War. He’d certainly seemed pathetic inside Piper Hall, and also during their remote exchange from aboard their respective shuttles. But the human’s swift reaction to the particle beam, which was technology he couldn’t possibly have known about…

…well, that reaction had reminded Teth of Captain Keyes, his old nemesis, who’d died in the attempt to kill him.

Clearly, Teth needed to readjust his expectations, and also to apply his intel on Husher in a more intelligent way.

That began with motivating his crew.

“Communications auxiliary.”

“Yes, Immaculate One?” the auxiliary said, cowering a little.

“Be not afraid. Summon my entire crew to the Deployment Bay. I wish for my eyes to feast on their strength while I address them as one.”

“W-what of ship functions, Immaculate One?”

“We’re in the middle of the void,” Teth said gently, forked tongue playing over his fangs. “There are no enemies to face here, no navigational hazards to concern us. We can rest, if only for a brief moment.” When he finished, Teth removed his ceremonial broadsword from the rack that held it fast to the back of the command seat, secure in its sheath. He affixed that sheath to his waist, toying with the idea of stopping in his quarters to behold his reflection before continuing on to the Deployment Bay.

No. He would deny himself that pleasure, as he denied himself many pleasures. That was part of what kept him honed.

Ixa darted past Teth as he strode through corridor after banner-hung corridor. They took great pains not to disturb him as they rushed by, but they also feared the consequences of being out of place once he arrived inside the bay.

Most of the corridors’ banners were scarlet, like those he’d ordered hung around the Tumbran Hall, though some were the white of purity, and others were the black of space. Teth enjoyed the grandeur they brought to his vessel—he felt they lent his cause the weight it was due.

When he entered the vast Deployment Bay, his thousands of Ixa were deployed in perfect ranks, just as he’d known they would be. The augmentations the Progenitors had made had turned his brethren into exquisite soldiers; lightning-quick, their physical might now unrivaled even by the Gok. The enhancements had come out well enough that the Progenitors had since expressed an interest in cloning tens of thousands more Ixa, with the intention of making them their main infantry unit in the coming war. Teth had given them his blessing.

In the front row stood his Primary Officers, the purest and most cunning from among the Ixa that had survived the last war with the humans. All of those Ixa were now arrayed before him.

“Strategy auxiliary Breka,” Teth called, his voice amplified via a device woven into his uniform’s collar.

“Yes, Immaculate One?” Breka responded, meeting Teth’s gaze without flinching.

“Come to the fore and stand at my right hand.”

With crisp form, Breka marched forward, about-turned, and stomped his foot, coming to attention beside his Command Leader.

“This,” Teth said, spreading his hand toward Breka, “is an Ixan. He was the architect of the plan that finally succeeded in exterminating all the half-breeds and purifying our species. The Ixa form a body, and that body was once plagued with disease, but now we are healthy once more. Is that not so, Strategy auxiliary Breka?”

“It is so, Immaculate One!”

“And tell me, to whom does victory offer itself?”

“Victory offers itself to the strong, Immaculate One!” Breka called.

“Yes, but how did the strong become strong?”

Breka fell silent, presumably while he puzzled over the answer.

“I will tell you. The strong won their strength by denying themselves what they wanted in the moment so that they could have what they desired for the future—power. In a word, the strong became so through sacrifice. Does that ring true for you, Strategy auxiliary Breka?”

“It rings true, Immaculate One!”

“And if two strong beings enter combat, who wins?”

“He who is willing to sacrifice most, Immaculate One!”

“Not only that, Breka. Victory belongs to he who is willing to make even the ultimate sacrifice, if that is what victory requires.”

“Yes, Immaculate One.”

“Strategy auxiliary Breka. You are unarmed. If I drew my broadsword—” Steel rasped against leather as Teth exposed the gleaming blade. “—would you die as a coward, or would you kneel, willingly sacrificing yourself to me, if that was what I required?”

Without hesitation, Breka knelt, pushing down the collar of his midnight uniform in order to better expose his neck.

“You are the best Ixan before me, Breka,” Teth said, and he swung his sword overhead.

The blade flickered downward, and Teth paused with the razor-sharp edge just kissing the back of Breka’s neck.

“Rise, Breka,” Teth said, with some mirth. “You have reaffirmed your worthiness.”

The Strategy auxiliary stood tall. With that, Teth put his entire body into swinging the broadsword at Breka, cleaving the Ixan from his neck to just below his right pectoral. The hulking Ixan slid from Teth’s blade to the deck, spasming.

“Do not fail me again,” he told the remaining Ixa as he marched out of the Deployment Bay.

Chapter 20

Fairly Specific Intel

In a rare empty moment, Husher found himself fishing Keyes’s wooden crucifix from his desk drawer and letting it dangle from his fingers by its leather thong.

Admiral Iver’s reply had arrived via com drone on the fifth day after Husher sent the request for orders. It informed him that the order had already been sent for the Vesta’s battle group to rejoin her with all possible speed, and that they should be underway within the next three days. That would mean a week or more before they joined their capital starship in the Wintercress System.

At least it gives us time to avail of Wintercress’ shipbuilding facilities for some much-needed repairs after our scrapes with Teth and the Gok.

The drone had also contained orders concerning what to do once the Vesta’s battle group returned: together, they were to patrol the Union’s most far-flung systems, or at least the ones closest to the Ixa’s old home. Iver had apparently drawn the same conclusions from Teth’s demands that Fesky had: the Concord System, formerly the Baxa System, was almost certainly his base of operations, and so that was where they could expect new threats to originate from.

For two decades, the Interstellar Union had been working with the Integrated Galactic Fleet to make member systems as safe as possible. Planetary colonies with populations over two million enjoyed a full complement of orbital defense platforms, and every system saw regular patrols, either from capital starships and their battle groups or individually operating warships.

Even so, the systems nearest the former Baxa System were among the smallest and most under-defended in the Union, and so it was the decision of the admiralty to deploy three of the fleet’s eight capital starships to exclusively patrol those systems.

Husher had to hand it to the admiralty—their orders were decisive, which was somewhat uncharacteristic for them. Normally, they were just as…concerned with placating politicians and bureaucrats as Husher was, as evidenced by Iver’s willingness to sign off on his termination if he hadn’t agreed to the Awareness Training.

As per IGF protocol, Husher ordered the com drone stowed with the other four that comprised his supercarrier’s automated communications fleet. Building, maintaining, and storing the drones added up to an expensive proposition, and after exchanging messages it was standard practice for both parties to simply keep each other’s drones for future use.

The drone had also arrived with an unencrypted partition containing civilian files from the Damask System’s interplanetary net. It would include messages from loved ones as well as the latest media and software updates, so Husher had to assume morale in Cybele had been lifted at least a little.

He laid the crucifix on the table, its bottom pointing toward Husher’s left. Why had Keyes chosen to leave it to him in his will, and only that? Husher had heard of people sending vindictive messages using their wills, leaving their “beneficiaries” weird or useless items. But he knew that was far from Keyes’s style. Husher had been close with the man, or as close as a young upstart and his commanding officer could get. Over the course of the Second Galactic War, they’d won each other’s respect.

No, if Keyes had left him the crucifix, it was because he considered it valuable.

Even so… Husher couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He opened the drawer, dropped the wooden cross in, and stood up with the intention of visiting Cybele and checking on Ochrim’s progress.

At that moment, his Oculenses notified him of a voice-only call from Major Gamble, and Husher willed them to put the call through.

“Captain, my marines just caught some type of activist who managed to make her way inside the crew section.”

This never ends, does it? “Did you get the name?”

“She declined to give her name, but we did find her in the database easily enough. Name’s Maeve Aldaine, a Sociology undergrad at Cybele U.”

Ah, an old friend. “Is Ms. Aldaine aware she’s now officially a federal offender?”

“I may have mentioned something along those lines.”

“Good. Give her our best cell in the brig, and make sure she knows it’s the coziest one we could find for her. I’m on my way into Cybele now, but I’ll have a chat with her when I get back.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Husher out.”

It was difficult not to smile to himself as he made his way through the Vesta’s crew corridors and toward the hatch that let out into the simulated desert. Trespassing on a military vessel—or in the Vesta’s case, the crew section of a military vessel—was a federal offense, good for either ten years in prison or a hefty fine. In fact, it was one of the few things about the military that civilians hadn’t been given unfettered access to.

Who knows how long that’ll last, though. The way things are going, I could easily be giving guided tours by the end of next week.

He continued on toward Cybele, trying to banish the mental image of Vin Husher the Smiley Supercarrier Captain waving a gaggle of tourists through corridor after corridor, charming them with endearing anecdotes about the ship and her crew.

When he reached Ochrim’s house, a knock didn’t bring the Ixan to the door, nor did the bell. Husher sent a transmission request.

“Ochrim,” he said once the alien accepted. “You’re in the lab?”

“I am.”

“I’m coming down. Send your door the command to let me in.”

The front door clicked, and the call ended. Husher stepped inside, making sure to secure the entrance behind him. That done, he proceeded to the rear of the house, pried up the floor tile, and activated the panel, which slid aside for him. He began climbing down the ladder.

“Nice day out,” he remarked as his foot met the lab’s floor.

Ochrim glanced up from where he was standing over a table, using a screwdriver to fiddle around with something. The Ixan peered at him over small, round spectacles that perched on the end of his faded muzzle. “A joke.”

“You should try one sometime,” Husher said. “Damn, I forgot to bring down beer. Do you have a mini-fridge down here or anything?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain.”

“Just my luck. Have you heard about the visit your brother paid us?”

“My…brother?” Ochrim’s hand paused mid-screw.

“Teth.”

Ochrim blinked. “I follow shipboard news on the narrownet, and I’ve read rumors about what happened, as well as complaints that our military isn’t telling us more. I also felt the tremors from whatever it was we were struck with. But I was unaware our attacker was someone claiming to be my brother.”

“Not just claiming, Ochrim. I ran into him myself, down on Tyros. He’s bigger, now.”

That brought a silence from the scientist, as well as a baffled expression that Husher found pretty gratifying. It was a rare thing to behold.

“Teth seemed to have a couple pieces of fairly specific intel about us,” he went on. “And that was just what he let on. You wouldn’t happen to be the source of that intel, would you?”

“Of course not.”

Husher gave a dry chuckle. “You say that like it should be obvious, but a glance at your history tells us it’s anything but.” He marched toward the Ixan, and to the scientist’s credit, he didn’t flinch. When Husher neared, he yanked the metal stool from behind where the Ixan stood, dragged it back a meter or so, and took a seat. “Let’s see how good I am at reading you,” Husher said, grinning. “You’re even more reserved than usual today, and that tells me two things. One, you have something new. And two, the reason you haven’t notified me about having something new is that you’re reluctant to share it with me. You’ll claim that the reason for that is your reluctance to violate the Union’s strictures on developing weapons for military use.”

“I am—”

Holding up a hand to forestall him, Husher said, “Stow it. That’s what you’ll claim, but you do know what it’s actually going to seem like to me, don’t you? Your reluctance to share any and all advancements with me will seem very suspicious, in light of your brother’s reappearance. Now, assuming for a moment that you’re sincere in your misgivings, I want you to know that I plan to submit any usable findings to the admiralty first. If they don’t like that I even went about supporting this research, then I’ll take full responsibility. I won’t even mention your name. But Ochrim, our society is stagnating as a military power, and I have to do something about that. Now, with all that said, why don’t you tell me what you’ve found?”

A brief pause from Ochrim, punctuated by a sigh. “I believe I’ve discovered how interdimensional travel might be possible. If I—”

“Just tell me what you need. I’ll get the explanation of how it works from you in the event that you actually manage to make it work. Sorry, I don’t think I have the fortitude today to make it through a lecture like the last one you gave me.”

“Very well. I need the latest design and drafting software from DeskChain. Not what is commercially available, but the edition they offer to corporations and governments able to pay, which has the more robust simulation capabilities I require.”

“Not a simple request. But all right, Ochrim. I’ll see what strings I can pull.” Husher turned to walk toward the ladder leading up to Ochrim’s residence, then stopped, glancing back at the Ixan. “The rumors you heard about our engagement…did they include how the enemy warship seemed to just vanish?”

Ochrim inclined his head. “A couple of them did.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Teth has learned how to flip back and forth between universes?”

The Ixan nodded. “Very.”

Chapter 21

Head Fascist

“I see a bright young lady with potential oozing out her ears,” Husher said as he drew level with Aldaine’s cell. “What’s she doing in a military vessel’s brig?”

Aldaine stood, fists balled at her sides as she turned a cold glare on him. “Fighting fascist human supremacists.”

Husher raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s quite a charge. What was your plan, exactly, for fighting these fascists?”

“I’m talking about you. You’re the head fascist.”

“I see. What was your plan?”

Aldaine fell silent for a moment, but she must have decided there wasn’t much point in withholding, because she said, “I planned to access the ship’s emergency broadcasting system so I could speak to everyone on board the Vesta, including the crew.”

“Misusing an emergency broadcasting system—yet another federal offense. Do you even know where the equipment is located?”

“I would have found it.”

“I tend to doubt that, considering you were apprehended within three minutes of making your way in here. How did you manage to get in, by the way?”

The young activist fell silent, and Husher sighed. He hadn’t expected her to give up that information on simple request, or even to indicate whether she’d been helped by a member of the crew. He’d already decided what measure he would take to prevent this from happening again, though: from now on, each crewmember would be given a unique passcode, which they’d have to manually enter whenever they wanted to visit or leave Cybele. Everyone would be responsible for keeping his or her code secure, and also for deactivating it and requesting a new one if they thought it had been compromised. The next time a code was used by an activist seeking to make a point, Husher planned to hold the owner of that code responsible.

“Can I ask what exactly it was that you meant to protest?” he said.

“A lot of things, but mainly your refusal to allow nonhuman crew to participate in Nonattendance Day.”

If Husher had ever assumed his capacity for awe would dwindle with age, he was wrong. “If I’d encouraged them to participate in Nonattendance Day, the Vesta would have been undercrewed during the Wintercress engagement. You do realize we’re now officially on wartime footing, don’t you, Ms. Aldaine?”

“That’s exactly the time to hold closest to our principles, isn’t it? If Captain Leonard Keyes is to be taken seriously, that is. He made public statements to that effect all the time, and so did you, when you were younger.”

“I still do,” Husher said, feeling a flush creeping up his neck and trying to will it back down. “The principle I’m adhering to currently is that in order to keep everyone on this ship as safe as I can—and, by extension, everyone in the galaxy—I need all hands on deck.”

“If this were your only misstep, I could almost believe you. But we already know you’re prejudiced against nonhuman species, Captain. Both your actions and your recorded testimony at city council meetings make it obvious.”

Giving his head a brisk shake to clear it, Husher said, “Ms. Aldaine, I count several nonhuman beings among my most respected colleagues and friends.”

“Ha,” Aldaine said. “That’s exactly the argument supremacists always use. ‘I have plenty of Winger friends,’ they say, every time they’re about to do something that marginalizes Wingers even more.”

“That may be true, of supremacists,” Husher said. “But it doesn’t mean it’s never a valid thing for anyone else to bring up, especially when it happens to be correct. My XO and best friend is a Winger, I have a Gok corporal who has my eternal gratitude for saving my life, and I have a Kaithian Nav officer who…well, I won’t get into my feelings about him right now. The point is—”

“I don’t know how you can do it,” Aldaine said. “I don’t know how you can stand there and pretend you’re the perfect exemplar of interspecies relations, when I know you’re the opposite. I already know that, Captain, and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

Nodding, Husher said, “Exactly. That’s exactly what the matter is with people like you, Ms. Aldaine. Nothing can convince you otherwise. You’re not interested in letting other perspectives or even facts convince you. It would be pointless for me to bring up how research has shown that spending time around other species is actually the antidote to biased attitudes, not this misguided Awareness Training you keep pushing.”

Husher pressed on, before Aldaine could start shouting him down: “You just accused me of thinking I’m perfect on interspecies relations, but I don’t think that. I’m well aware I’m far from perfect. We all make mistakes about how to treat each other, and some people truly are hateful. But the honest mistakes, at least, are part of the process. They’re part of life. And you refuse to acknowledge that. You hold other people to a standard of perfection that you aren’t capable of sustaining yourself, and I can guarantee you, someday that’ll come back around to bite you in the ass.”

“Was that a threat?” Aldaine demanded, and with that, Husher grew tired of wasting his breath.

“Escort Ms. Aldaine to Cybele and release her,” he told the guards as he exited the brig.

“I’m going to make your life a living hell, Husher!” she yelled just before he drew out of earshot.

Chapter 22

Asleep to Awake

The evenly trimmed grass was damp, and it soaked through his creased pants as he knelt there. He’d paid someone to keep the lawn tidy while he was away on deployment, but right now it was far from tidy—beset by flaming timber, it would take months to restore.

Husher would not be the one to restore the lawn. Even at that moment, as he watched the inferno consume his family’s home, he knew that. He would leave this place and never return.

The heat bathed him, but he didn’t care. Instead, he longed to charge into the conflagration, to rake through the white-hot cinders of his house, to topple beams and smash through burnt walls. He wanted his daughter, and if he couldn’t have her, then he wanted to join her.

His uncontrolled sobbing rose in pitch, and soon it reached unnatural heights—notes his voice should not have been capable of. It also gained the regularity of a machine, shrieking again and again in measured soprano.

He woke to a Priority-level call coming through his com, which vibrated madly atop the table next to his bed. Snatching it, he groaned when he saw the name. Penelope Snyder.

He answered, growling, “Cybele better be burning down, Ms. Snyder.”

A brief pause, followed by, “Excuse me, Captain?”

He strove to regain control of himself, ignoring his racing heart. “Unless this is an emergency, you’re abusing your ability to make Priority calls to my com, and that’s unacceptable.”

“This is a priority, Captain Husher, or at least it should be.”

“What is it?”

“According to the records my Awareness Trainers have supplied me with, some of your human crew are skipping the prescribed training. You do recall that if you’re to remain captain, every human in your crew must complete this program, don’t you?”

We’re in a war, Penelope. That’s what he wanted to say, but despite the emotional state his nightmare had left him in, he managed to restrain himself. He knew it was entirely pointless to raise that fact.

His voice came out as flat, but he forced himself to say it: “I’ll make it known that all human crewmembers must complete Awareness Training or face disciplinary action.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. My schedule tells me that you aren’t on watch right now. Unless there’s been a change?”

“No change.” Unless you count my change from asleep to awake.

“Then I trust you’ll make your promised announcement straight away. I truly believe that time is of the essence, with matters like these.”

“Yes,” he said, in a tone just as flat as before. “As a military captain in the middle of a war, I can certainly appreciate time-sensitive matters.”

“Splendid, Captain. Cheers.” Snyder terminated the call.

He pushed himself to issue the required notice on the Board, which was accessible using the crew-only narrownet. With that, he crawled back into his bunk and tried to put the rest of his off-duty time to good use.

He must have succeeded in falling asleep, because forty-five minutes later, he awoke without the ability to account for the intervening time.

There were still two hours left till his next watch began in the CIC, and his com blinked with a message from one Corporal Toby Yung. Yung was requesting an audience with the captain at his earliest convenience.

Sighing, Husher messaged Yung to meet him in his office. He started getting dressed.

Chapter 23

A Respect for Competence

Yung was already waiting outside Husher’s office when he arrived. The marine came to attention once he spotted his captain’s approach.

“Corporal,” Husher said with a nod as he palmed the hatch open. “After you. Take a seat.”

Husher made his way around the desk to his chair. Even before he was settled, the marine said, “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

Under current protocol, it was essentially a requirement for superior officers to grant such permission, as often as it was requested. Husher would likely have been inclined to grant it anyway, under most circumstances, but it rankled to be strongarmed into doing it. “Granted,” he said nevertheless.

“Awareness Training doesn’t work. That’s been proven, time and time again, for every form it’s taken over the last several centuries. Are you aware of that?”

Drawing a deep breath, Husher said. “I have to speak with some care on this subject, Corporal Yung. If anything I say ends up in opportunistic hands, it could easily compromise—”

“Sir, are you a politician or the captain of a military vessel?”

Husher felt his lips tighten. “While I did give you permission to speak freely, that doesn’t unburden you of the requirement to treat your commanding officer with respect.”

“I apologize, Captain.”

“I understand your reluctance to undergo the Training. I understand if you think it’s pointless, and I’d even understand if you had a personal or political reason for opposing it. But the fact is, under the current environment, I have to play ball with the bureaucrats in order to be left alone long enough to properly run my ship. Right now, that means requiring you and every other human in my crew to undergo that training. It is, in fact, an order, Corporal, and you’re paid to follow orders.”

Yung’s nostrils flared, but he managed to moderate his tone as he raised his next point: “There are rumors that you plan to sign on to this new Positive Response Program that’s sweeping the fleet, too. Is that something you’re considering, Captain? Allowing military assignments to be determined by what species someone belongs to over their level of training and skill?”

Husher tried to suppress a wince but was pretty sure he’d failed. The tightrope he had to walk in a conversation like this caused him almost physical pain. “I understand your concerns, Corporal, but—”

“Ah, come on, sir! You can’t honestly be thinking about giving in to them on this. You keep saying you’re appeasing the politicians to preserve our military effectiveness, but this program will do the opposite. Besides, the program’s also been found not to actually improve things for nonhuman species. Of course, things like facts or findings don’t seem to matter much anymore.”

Husher’s vision began to blur around the edges. The corporal’s words were getting to him, mainly because he agreed with them completely. Having to argue a side of an issue opposite the one he actually believed was…irritating.

But Yung wasn’t finished. “It’s not just the program,” he said, leaning forward, eyes widening slightly. “It’s everything you’ve been doing to placate the bureaucrats. You might think you’re keeping everything together, but it’s tearing the crew apart. They see you favoring politicians’ agendas over them and their careers. If you implement this program, what will happen to your loyal human crewmembers who get ‘reshuffled?’ Is the competence of your crew even a consideration for you anymore, Captain?”

With that, Husher saw a line of attack, and he exploited it viciously. “Competence, Corporal? You want to talk about competence? All right. Why don’t we have a look at your file?” Husher willed his Oculenses to display a shared view of Corporal Toby Yung’s service record. When he glanced at Yung’s face, he saw a studied neutrality underscored by palpable anxiety. Good.

“Recruit Training,” Husher said. “Instructor comments. ‘Met the bare minimum requirements to complete training.’ Infantry School. Barely sufficient grades across the board. Instructor comments. ‘Despite significantly above-average intelligence and aptitude, Yung applies himself only enough to skirt by.’”

Husher willed Yung’s records to disappear, and he turned back to the corporal. “Do you still want to talk to me about competence, Corporal? Is a lack of respect for competence something you still wish to accuse me of, when you couldn’t even be bothered to educate yourself to the level of your own competence?”

Yung’s brow crept lower. “When did you look at my record?”

“I’ve never given your service record more than a cursory glance, Corporal, despite being well within my rights to examine it.”

“Then how did you know to pull it up just now?”

“Oh, that was no leap of logic. You’re clearly a brilliant young man, but you’re just a corporal, when we both know you should have gone to Officer School. And why didn’t you, Corporal Yung? No need to answer that question—I’ve known plenty of soldiers like you. It’s because you know exactly how smart you are, and a long time ago, before you ever dreamed of joining the Fleet, someone didn’t give you something you felt you deserved. Maybe that person didn’t think your intellect alone warranted it. But you feel like your intelligence puts you above everyone else—that the world should lay itself at your feet, just because you’re such a smart boy. When it didn’t do that, you got bitter, and you swore you’d only ever do the bare minimum to skate by. Well, here you are. You really showed us, didn’t you, Corporal?”

Yung’s lips were a tight, white line. “Permission to leave, sir?”

“Permission granted. And next time you want to criticize my approach to command, try getting yourself in order first.”

Chapter 24

Warp

At last, the Vesta’s battle group rejoined her. Their scheduled patrol would take them to the Viburnum System, which was both near the former Baxa System and home to an important munitions facility that orbited the largest of its three gas giants. It seemed a likely next target for Teth, so Admiral Iver had designated it as the Vesta’s first destination, a decision Husher fully endorsed.

Their route from Wintercress to Viburnum involved transitioning through five darkgates, which put their travel time at just over two days, since a couple of the systems along the way featured darkgates positioned fairly close to each other.

At least it won’t be necessary to go to warp at any point. That would have given Teth all the time he needed to find and destroy that facility.

“Captain,” Winterton said without looking up from his console, “transition through the Wintercress-Tansy darkgate should occur in thirty-four minutes.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign. How’s our hull looking, after the attention it got from Wintercress’ galaxy-renowned shipwrights and their robots?”

“They patched us up pretty good, Captain. I won’t say she’s as good as new, but she’s more than spaceworthy.”

“My ship? She’d be spaceworthy even if we’d left the hull as it was. She’s a sturdy old girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The battle group captains just completed their sound off, sir,” the Coms officer said. “Captain Eryl of the Lysander, Captain Arbuck of the Thero, Captain Lee of the Golgos, and Captain Hornsby of the Hylas are all reporting systems in the green.”

“Steady as she goes, then,” Husher said—an ancient seafaring phrase he enjoyed dredging up from time to time, which had once been used to tell the Helmsman to maintain the present course.

“A com drone just transitioned through the darkgate, Captain,” Ensign Fry said. “It transmitted a message addressed to you from the Selene. Audio-only.”

“What’s the security designation?”

“Confidential.”

Husher nodded. “Play it.” Confidential information could be known by almost anyone in the IGF, so long as they didn’t share it with the public.

“Captain Husher, this is Commander Ternon of the Selene, currently patrolling the Saffron System. The sensor web here has been getting some strange readings, lately. According to the sensors, small craft keep appearing suddenly in random locations throughout the system, then disappearing just as quickly. The web’s operators have been calling them anomalies, but when they passed the data on to me, I noticed that the profiles of these ‘ghost ships’ are identical to the ones detected by the Wintercress sensor web before the attack there.” Ternon cleared his throat before continuing. “We are not equipped to repel an attack on the level of what Wintercress suffered. From what I understand about that, only a capital ship can withstand the power Teth now has at his disposal, and you’re the closest capital ship to Saffron. This message is to request your aid. Ternon out.”

In the wake of the message, a silence settled over the CIC.

“Darkgate transition in twenty-nine minutes, Captain,” Winterton said, breaking the silence with his trademark neutrality, which seemed to come fairly naturally to him.

Kaboh spoke next. “The quickest route to Saffron is to effect a warp jump from the system we’re about to enter, Captain. I have the departure point coordinates at the ready.”

“What makes you think we’re going to Saffron?” Husher said slowly.

“Commander Ternon’s transmission was—”

“Commander Ternon is unaware of our current mission, which is to protect the munitions facility at Viburnum.”

Kaboh turned his entire diminutive frame to face the command seat, wearing a scowl that mixed shock and disgust. “Sir, you can’t possibly be considering choosing munitions over civilian lives!”

“We’re the only ones close enough to reach Viburnum within a meaningful timeframe, Lieutenant. If we don’t go there now, we’ll be leaving a vital military resource wide open for Teth to destroy or appropriate for his own uses.”

“Yes, but we’re also the only ones close enough to answer Commander Ternon’s distress call.”

Clacking her beak, Fesky interjected, in what she probably thought was a calming tone. “What if the Vesta makes for one system while we deploy the battle group to the other? That way—”

“Not happening,” Husher said. “The last time we allowed ourselves to get separated, Teth nearly melted half our hull off. We’re staying together.”

Kaboh shook his head, head-tail swaying back and forth. The Kaithian had a facility for employing human body language when it suited his purposes. “I must insist that you think through the implications of your proposal, Captain.”

“It’s not a proposal,” Husher ground out. “If I decide we’re going to Viburnum, then I’ll give you the order to set a course for Viburnum. I’m sure you know the term for when subordinates refuse to follow orders aboard a warship.”

“I’m prepared to follow whatever orders you give me, of course,” Kaboh said. “But would you just take a moment to consider how you’ll feel if we go to Viburnum, discover there’s no threat to the munitions facility, and then learn of an attack on the two colonies of Saffron?”

“In that event, I’ll hope that Commander Ternon had the good sense to evacuate the people of Cebrene to Edessa. The former’s a fairly minor colony of little more than a hundred thousand, but Edessa’s population approaches two million, and last year they were successful in lobbying the Union to install defensive platforms around their planet, despite being several thousand short of the usual population quota. Those platforms are fully operational, and with the two warships on patrol there as well, it should be possible for the Saffron System to mount a reasonable defense. If they fail, that will be tragic, but it will also be the type of thing that results from making expedient military decisions designed to save billions of lives, even when doing so means risking millions.”

Several officers around the CIC were wearing expressions of grim approval, and Husher caught a nod or two as well. That should be the end of it.

But Kaboh hadn’t turned back to his station, and his slim, blue-white shoulders rose and fell. “Captain,” he said, his voice meticulously level, “know that if you make this decision, I intend to file a formal complaint on the grounds of moral dissent. As you know, Admiral Iver is a close personal friend, and I’m confident he’ll take the appropriate measures once he learns of what transpired.”

Husher’s eyes locked with Kaboh’s for a protracted moment, each refusing to look away until the other faltered. Cheek twitching, Husher was hyper conscious of the CIC officers observing the exchange, waiting to see how their captain would react.

Without taking his eyes off the Kaithian, Husher said, “We’ll go to Saffron.” His voice came out much softer than he’d intended, and that made heat creep up his neck until it reached his cheeks.

“I’m relieved to hear you say so, Captain,” Kaboh said, breaking eye contact and turning briskly to his console. “I’ll alter our planned course into the Tansy System so that it takes us to the warp departure point as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

As Husher looked around the CIC, his officers’ eyes flitted away, and they focused on their respective tasks with unusual intensity.

Fesky held his eyes for little more than a second, and then she averted her gaze as well. That hurt most of all.

Chapter 25

Bash Back

“We’re clear of system debris, Captain, and safe to accelerate to warp velocity,” Winterton said, apparently unaffected by the tension that still clogged the CIC like an invisible smog, even eight hours after Husher’s standoff with Kaboh. “All four battle group ships have already completed warp transitions and are en route to Saffron.”

Husher gave a curt nod. “Helm?” he said, his voice clipped. He was none too happy about having his will as a captain subverted, and even less happy with himself for letting it happen.

Luckily, Ensign Vy was smart enough to know what her captain wanted. “Opening hatches and extending distortion rods now, sir.”

“Very good,” Husher said, plunging back into his dark reverie. What’s the point of placating bureaucrats, even bureaucrats disguised as Fleet officers, if it means sacrificing our military effectiveness? Still, he was convinced he’d done the right thing. Just as Snyder and Chancey had the power to burn down his career, Husher knew Kaboh did as well, but only if Husher agreed to provide the flint and tinder. That was something he refused to do.

To defeat Teth, I need to be in command. I can’t let them yank me from the command seat.

But what was the point of sitting there if he couldn’t get the correct decisions past the haze of feel-good nonsense? Husher was sure bureaucratic folly came from a place of good intentions, but that wouldn’t make the people it got killed any less dead.

“Warp bubble generating,” the Helm officer said. “Stabilizing now. Approaching superluminal speed in proportion to declining energy density.”

“Acknowledged,” Husher muttered.

“Negative mass achieved, Captain. We’re in warp.”

“Acknowledged,” he repeated, and silence fell as his CIC crew checked over critical systems to make sure nothing had been negatively affected during the transition.

Once they were finished, the CIC would become one of the most boring locations on the Vesta. Even though the feat performed by the warp bubble—contracting the space in front of the ship while expanding the space behind it—was conceptually astounding, while inside the bubble, there was virtually nothing for the CIC crew to do. The chances of a hostile ship entering the bubble were zero, and it was likewise impossible to steer the ship, since no interface existed for communicating with and controlling the warp bubble itself. Warp transitions had to be carefully preplanned, along a route that was vanishingly unlikely to contain debris of any kind, since impacting anything bigger than a pebble would likely result in the molecules of the ship and her crew getting strewn across the void.

Luckily, the chances of encountering anything at all in the spaces between stars really were infinitesimal, and since the advent of the warp drive, there had been no mishaps involving collisions with errant debris.

Husher’s com vibrated, and he slipped it from its holster to find a message from Ochrim inviting him for a beer.

For a moment, he considered which would have been more damning, once IU officials inevitably reviewed his text exchanges with the Ixan—the chummy fiction he was maintaining with the perpetrator of one of the worst atrocities in galactic history, or the truth: that Ochrim was conducting research for him with likely military applications.

Wait, I know exactly which would be more damning. The second one. Much better to continue pretending he was close friends with the war criminal.

“Be right there, pal,” Husher messaged back, standing from the command seat. “Fesky, you have the CIC.”

“Yes, sir,” Fesky said, sounding as morose as everyone else looked.

This time, the pack of protesters was waiting for Husher in the outskirts of Cybele, instead of sitting right outside the hatch into the desert. Husher assumed that was a strategic choice—they’d get more attention from other residents, this way.

“Why haven’t you signed onto the Positive Response Program yet?” one yelled, appearing from an alleyway between two residences.

“Why haven’t you joined other Fleet captains in the movement to make military hiring practices more equitable for nonhuman species?” demanded a second, screaming at him from less than a meter’s remove.

Husher opened his mouth to respond, and the protester held an air horn in his face, activating it and drowning out his words with a deafening blare.

Seizing the air horn from the protester’s grasp, Husher threw it against the side of a nearby residence as hard as he could, where it ruptured with an audible pop.

Get a grip, he berated himself even as his ears rang. You’re a warship captain, not a temperamental child.

Deciding to take the tack of ignoring the protesters, he marched straight ahead. That was when a band of them trooped into the street ahead, linking arms, digital signs above their heads flashing righteous messages:

“HUSHER ISN’T HELPING!”

“BASH BACK!”

“STOP SWEEPING ME UNDER THE RUG!”

He continued marching, coming to a halt in front of the center protester, whose angry sneer devolved into a look of uncertainty.

There must have been something suggestive in Husher’s eyes, because within seconds, the protester he was staring down decoupled himself from his neighbors and stepped out of the way.

Husher passed through them, tearing his com out of his pocket. The ability to send the Oculenses mental commands was too limited to compose an actual message, so for discretion he was forced to tap one out on his com as he walked.

“Can we get that beer at the Secured Zone instead?” he asked Ochrim. “Would that work for you?” He was actually asking whether Ochrim could discreetly show him what he’d discovered there, which he was guessing he could, since as far as Husher knew the Ixan was now doing most of his work in a simulation anyway.

“That’ll work,” came Ochrim’s reply. “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

Holstering the com, Husher stalked through the streets of Cybele, fighting the implacable sensation that he was losing control of his ship.

Chapter 26

The Secured Zone

The Secured Zone was one of Cybele’s most popular bars. He supposed they were trying to follow a military theme, but that wasn’t the vibe Husher got—from the name or the atmosphere.

When he entered, the silence was almost total. He supposed that did remind him of certain memories from Basic, when their drill sergeant had left them to stand at attention on the parade grounds while a blistering star cooked their innards into a fine stew.

But this quiet was punctuated by soft clicking and even the occasional grunt or curse. The dim interior, lit only by multicolored neon strips that ran along the walls and floors, consisted of several enclosed booths, where patrons sat staring into space—or rather, staring into the fantasy worlds displayed by their Oculenses. Video games, panoramic vids, other media best viewed in the privacy of one’s home…that was what people gathered here to immerse themselves in. This was the new “social,” and sometimes it even justified that word, in a sense. Sometimes, the gamers played in shared fantasy worlds.

The enclosure of the booths was almost complete, with only a narrow opening for servers to bring drinks when they were ordered remotely. Otherwise, most patrons kept curtains drawn across those openings. The booths even had their own ceilings. They reminded Husher of clamshells, or maybe the wombs to which everyone likened cities like Cybele.

This is how this generation was raised. During Husher’s childhood, which had more or less lined up with the end of the First Galactic War, children had still sometimes pretended household implements were guns and chased each other around the yard, playing Marines and Ixa. Or they pretended they were Wingers taking flight, or pretended their dolls were people, or whatever. For Husher, the point was that those games had required some creative input from the children playing them. The generation he glimpsed through the clamshells’ openings—they’d been spoon-fed everything, so that they hadn’t had to tax even their imaginations.

Husher walked to the narrow window at the back of the room, placing his paycard on the sill. “I’ll have a pint of this week’s lager, please,” he said.

The man on the other side of the window shot him a strange look—whether because he’d actually walked to the window to order or because he was the captain of the Vesta, Husher wasn’t sure.

He took his beer into an unoccupied clamshell. While he waited for Ochrim, he ordered his Oculenses to go completely transparent so he could look at the shadows that were his only companions, in here. When Ochrim finally made his appearance, the Ixan was beerless.

“Where’s your drink?” Husher asked him before taking a long pull from his own.

“I don’t need one,” Ochrim said. “If they ask me to order something, I’ll get a soda.”

“Well, I could have used a second one.” Husher downed the remainder of his pint.

“Order one using your Oculenses.”

Husher grimaced. “Just start up the simulation. Show me what you have.” Reaching beyond the clamshell’s curtain, Husher found the privacy shield, slamming it across and casting them in utter darkness for the second it took a neon strip to come on, offering them enough light to drink by. Not that that was necessary, since Oculenses had a night vision feature.

At any rate, when he accepted Ochrim’s invite, the simulation washed out everything he could see of the real world.

Husher found himself in a blank void. Ochrim stood beside him, and suspended in the nothingness was a contraption for which Husher had no name. Four-pronged protrusions jutted from the top of the machine, with blue, bead-like wires running down them. A double row of tight coils marched along the sides, projecting in opposite directions.

For more complex simulations, like most video games, users needed a controller of some sort, but Ochrim was able to manipulate the strange object without one, using hand gestures.

“Hopefully the software I talked the Tyros governor into getting for you can do more than simulate a white void and a prop from a poorly produced sci-fi vid,” Husher said.

“Oh, yes,” Ochrim said. “The DeskChain program allows me to do what Baxa used to—to accurately simulate the universe, or at least its physics, along with a reasonably large region of space.”

“It makes me twitchy when you talk about Baxa in that tone.”

“Not to worry, Captain,” Ochrim said. “My estranged father actually did simulate entire universes—thousands of them at once. I can only simulate a small fraction of one. Also, I lack the superintelligence to go with it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ochrim,” Husher said. He nodded at the contraption. “Walk me through how this thing works.”

Husher had always assumed “creepy smile” was just the default configuration for Ixan mouths, but right now, Ochrim appeared to be frowning. He seemed just as apprehensive to go through the process of explaining advanced quantum physics as Husher was to try wrapping his head around it.

“As is often the way with scientific experimentation, I ended up somewhere quite different from my intended destination,” the Ixan said.

“I’m fine with that, as long as the surprise destination has military applications.”

“It…should. Though I’m not sure you’ll respond positively to everything that’s involved in the process I’ve worked out.”

Husher sniffed. “What parts do you think I’ll object to?”

“It’s probably simpler for me to start at the beginning. You recall the experiment during which I successfully contacted my counterpart in the universe next door, so to speak?”

“I remember you seemed pretty convinced that you had, yeah.”

When Ochrim turned toward him, his expression was one of clear exasperation, even on an alien face. “I explained to you why it’s incontrovertible that I—”

Holding up a hand, Husher said, “Yeah, yeah. I accept that you did what you claim to have done. Not saying I remember how you did it, or that I even understood how at the time, but I accept it. Let’s move on.”

“Very well,” Ochrim said, clearly still ruffled by Husher’s breadth of ignorance. “The first problem I faced—or, thought I faced, at any rate—was traveling to another reality without my double traveling to our reality at the same time. That could result in some awkward interactions, not to mention pointless, since the next universe over would be configured almost identically to ours.”

“Hold on a second,” Husher said. “When you told me travel across the multiverse might be possible, the military application that came to mind right away was perfect stealth. Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

“I’m not military.”

“Come on, Ochrim. You might as well be, with what you’ve gotten tangled up in over the years.”

The alien hesitated, then said, “As much as I hesitate to highlight any military applications to you, given the consequences almost certain to be brought by the Interstellar Union…yes. That is the obvious application, as I see it.”

“So that’s why you say it would be pointless for us to travel to the next universe over. We’d just end up swapping places with our doubles, and in a combat situation we’d be under fire from our doubles’ enemies, who are equal in power to our own.”

“Exactly. The only difference between our universe and the next is whatever quantum measurement caused the two universes to diverge. That’s far from enough to change the outcome of an engagement.”

“We’d be just as likely to die over there as we were in this universe.”

“Yes.”

“All right. I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

Ochrim looked skeptical about that, but he pressed on with his explanation nonetheless. “After I identified that initial, rather obvious hurdle—” To Husher’s ears, Ochrim placed a definite emphasis on the word “obvious.” “—I set about trying to determine what would be required for us to ‘skip over’ multiple universes, until we reached one different enough to be useful to us. That was not an easy task. Remember that in the first experiment, we merely communicated with the next universe by observing a single isolated ion. What I hoped to do now was figure out how to transport an incredibly complex quantum system—namely, a starship of some size—several universes over.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No. Not nearly. But in trying, I did discover something else. This is what brings me to what scientists sometimes call a ‘happy accident.’”

Tired of prompting Ochrim to continue, Husher decided to just wait until the Ixan kept talking.

Eventually, he did. “I began with the assumption that in order to transcend the layers of decoherence separating the universes, I would first need to figure out a way to generate and then leverage a decoherence-free space. It’s been common knowledge in the field for some time that decoherence can be prevented by firing a photon at an atom whose spin is aligned in the same direction as its path. I thought that maybe travel between the universes might have something to do with repeating that action along the entire path integral—that is, every possible trajectory at once—from within a decoherence-free space.”

“Um…and did it?” That was Husher’s best attempt at pretending he was keeping up.

“I don’t know. I never figured out a way to fire an atom in infinity different directions simultaneously. Nevertheless, I decided to have a shot at creating a decoherence-free space anyway, within the simulation at least. That didn’t happen either, but it made me think—what if such a space already exists in the universe, but simply isn’t detectable using regular means? Then I started to wonder how it might be accessed. The idea popped into my head that perhaps negative-mass environments, which we know very little about, might hold the key.”

“Like the ones created inside warp bubbles?”

“Exactly. But we’ve made use of negative mass before, in wormhole generators. And so, since there are no actual consequences inside a simulation, I decided to attempt something that would almost certainly be illegal under current galactic law.”

“You opened up a wormhole inside a warp bubble?”

Ochrim tilted his head sideways. “No. I didn’t bother with warp bubbles. Instead, I generated a new type of wormhole, which encompassed the starship like a sphere.”

“What happened to it?”

“The simulation crashed. It couldn’t account for what I was attempting to do.”

“So…”

“Captain, if my theory concerning the physics involved is correct, then two things are true. The first is that, in addition to the many-worlds interpretation, membrane or ‘brane’ cosmology also holds true for our particular universe. Basically, the three-dimensional space we live in is just one of many ‘branes’ or ‘dimensions’ that make up our universe and are gravitationally interrelated. The second thing that’s true concerns our use of dark tech. In short, we employed it in completely the wrong way—to connect different parts of three-dimensional space to each other. That’s why the technology was found to have such long-term catastrophic effects; the gravitational load we were placing on our individual brane was too much for it to bear, and if we’d carried on, we would have destroyed it. But I believe that connecting branes is how wormholes are actually meant to be used. That way, the gravitational effects are distributed across branes in a way that is easily borne by the universal substructure.”

“What benefits are there to connecting the branes?”

“I’m not sure,” Ochrim admitted. “I’d have to try it to find out. On a much smaller scale, of course—I believe I could do the testing in my lab.”

“Right. Let me see if I have this straight. You want me to authorize you to use illegal technology so that you can test the benefits of reaching a part of the universe that might not exist and if it does, might not exist in a form that’s of any actual use to us.”

“Essentially, yes. But it’s not only authorization that I require—I’ll also need Ocharium with which to fabricate the necessary circuitry.”

“I’m going to have to think about it.”

Chapter 27

Thumbs-Down

It took Maeve Aldaine a few days to make good on her promise to make Husher’s life a living hell, but in the end, she delivered.

A petition was making the rounds on the Vesta’s narrownet with her name at the top. It called Husher a human supremacist for failing to sign on to the Positive Response Program, and it also demanded that he resign.

Even though he was technically off-duty, Husher’s spare moments were typically spent in his office anyway, trying to stay on the speeding treadmill that was keeping his ship running. He hated to take time away from that to put out this fire, but Aldaine’s petition was already approaching three thousand signatures—six percent of Cybele’s population.

Cybele was in many ways a university town, and so those numbers shouldn’t have surprised him as much as they did. But besides the threat the petition posed, the fact that so many had signed it also kind of stung. He’d always tried his best to be a good captain and a responsible steward of what the capital starship had become, as much as he objected to that transformation. But according to this petition, at least, he’d failed.

Husher decided the best way to defend himself was to tell the truth about his feelings on this issue—to present his argument with as much logic and sincerity as he could muster. He slid a datapad closer for easy access, willed his Oculenses to bring up the official social aggregator for the Vesta’s crew, and he began typing.

“I believe the hyper-focus on group identity,” he wrote, “while well-intentioned, is misguided. I believe it’s fragmenting our society even as it’s meant to bring us together. The Interstellar Union was built on the idea that the most important thing about a being isn’t the species or group they belong to, but the content of their character. No one’s species should define them, but initiatives such as the Positive Response Program seek to do exactly that. That makes the program divisive. Do we have problems associated with interspecies relations in our society? Yes. Deep-seated problems. But forcing group identity to the forefront of our discourse does nothing to address them. On the contrary, I firmly believe it makes them worse.”

Satisfied with what he’d written, he pushed it out to the various social channels where the crew maintained a presence. Then he returned to using his Oculenses to work through an endless stack of performance reviews, making a note to confer a promotion wherever he thought one was warranted.

A few hours later, he picked a social channel at random and signed on to check how his post was being received. His eyes widened.

There were almost a hundred comments, almost all negative, and a number of thumbs-down reactions that far outweighed the number of thumbs-ups. Dozens of users had also rebroadcast the post, and Husher saw that very few of them had added positive commentary.

When he checked Aldaine’s petition, he saw it had jumped to over five thousand signatures. Over ten percent of Cybele…

He slumped back in his chair, but the Oculenses made sure his view of the narrownet turmoil followed his vision, and he continued to scroll through pages and pages of outrage.

“By suggesting that nonhuman beings shouldn’t value their species identity,” said one post that was typical of most of them, “the captain is denying their experiences. Take Wingers. They were slaughtered by the thousands, probably millions, at human hands. Even now, they suffer from institutional biases against them that seem designed to make sure they never do as well as humans. The captain’s advice to ‘forget your species identity’ is a cynical attempt to get beings to stop fighting for their rights, and I find it absolutely disgusting. This captain is a white human supremacist.”

Husher laughed at that, more from disbelief than from amusement. The narrownet activists, who seemed to outnumber the ones he’d encountered in the streets of Cybele by orders of magnitude, had expanded their demands since Husher had made his post. They were now demanding that he and his human crew join their fellow humans in Cybele by participating in a Nonattendance Day for humans, to show solidarity with their nonhuman brothers and sisters. On that day, humans would be asked not to go out in public.

A chime rang in the office, indicating someone at the hatch, and Husher willed his Oculenses to go transparent. The narrownet tumult vanished from view, though it seemed to linger in the air around him like an oppressive fog.

He opened the hatch to find Fesky on the other side. “Need a drink?” she asked.

“Kaboh has the command?”

“Yep.”

“All right, then.”

They went to the Providence Lounge, which was the crew’s lounge, named for the supercarrier that had led the fight against the Ixa during the Second Galactic War. Husher found the name a bit ironic, since he knew for a fact that Captain Keyes would never have permitted a place on his ship where crewmembers were officially sanctioned to drink alcohol. But with Cybele right next door, it was inevitable that the crew would go drinking while off-duty. Better to give them a place of their own, where they didn’t have to worry about civilian scrutiny—and where any trouble they caused was limited to the crew section.

Crewmembers still went to Cybele bars for variety, of course, and no small amount of trouble had been caused over the years. He never saw too many service members in a place like the Secured Zone, though, despite the militarized name.

When you entered the Providence Lounge, you saw the bar right away—a long counter that ran along the opposite wall. You could sit there and chat with your neighbors and the bartender, or you could join in at one of the tables, which tended to alternate between card games and lively conversation.

“I’ll buy,” Fesky said.

“Thanks,” Husher said, settling into a chair, his gaze drifting to a Poker game being played at a table nearby. “Time to ante up, everybody,” a marine private was saying. “You can’t win if you don’t have some skin in the game.”

A couple minutes later, Fesky returned with a lager for him and a bottle for herself. Wingers had trouble drinking from glasses, and her beverage contained no alcohol, since the substance did nothing for Winger physiology.

“It’s pretty rich they’re calling me a white human supremacist, now,” Husher said. “I don’t suppose it counts for anything that my greatest hero was Captain Keyes, a black man.”

“Of course not,” Fesky said, taking a sip. “You’ve been deemed unrighteous, and by definition it’s impossible for you to ever do anything good.”

“At least we’ll arrive in Saffron soon, and I’ll be confronted with actual military matters to take my mind off all this.”

Fesky lowered her bottle to the table. “Hopefully the ‘actual military matters’ don’t happen in the Viburnum System instead, to the munitions facility.”

Grimacing, Husher said, “I’d assumed you brought me here to cheer me up.”

“Captain,” Fesky said. “Speaking as a Winger and as your friend—I have to advise against signing onto the Positive Response Program. Even if it worked like it’s supposed to, which it doesn’t, it would still weaken the bonds of your crew even more than they’ve already been weakened. Crew solidarity isn’t something we should be taking for granted, especially during a time of war. Now is not the time to implement a program like this.”

“I’m well aware of that, Fesky.”

“Are you?” his friend said, and a tense quiet came between them.

Eventually, Husher drained the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “Thanks,” he said, and left the lounge.

After that, he and Fesky mostly avoided each other for the rest of the warp transition, which their conflicting CIC watches made pretty easy. For his part, Husher didn’t know what to say to Fesky. He didn’t know what to say to anyone, these days, not even to himself. The pressures bearing down on him were pushing him in two very different directions—military effectiveness and social acceptability—and he felt like he was failing at both.

Awkwardness aside, when he received the notification that they were about to transition into the Saffron System, he called his entire first watch to the CIC, including Fesky.

There was no way he’d enter a potential engagement situation without her at his side.

Chapter 28

A Ship That Size

Just as starships were forced to use warp departure points that were well outside star systems, they also had to transition back into realspace well outside their destinations. That had as much to do with the threat of debris as it did with the risk of destroying whatever was directly in front of the ship as it exited the warp bubble. Doing so released every particle the bubble had collected during transit simultaneously, in a massive shockwave with the power to obliterate space stations and starships alike, no matter the size.

Some systems simply weren’t accessible via warp drive. The Sol System represented one such—the spherical Oort Cloud meant that transitioning outside it placed a ship a light year or more from meaningful in-system destinations. Luckily, it still had a functioning darkgate. Even though the Ixa had decimated Sol’s population, Husher was glad access to humanity’s home system was still possible, if only for sentimental reasons. Shortly after the Second Galactic War, the IU had begun a terraforming project aimed at rehabilitating Earth, but that would take centuries to come to fruition.

“I just received radar confirmation of the safe arrival of the Thero, the Golgos, the Hylas, and the Lysander, Captain,” said the sensor operator once they’d successfully completed their transition into realspace. “They’re forming up a few light minutes ahead of us.”

“Acknowledged. Coms, transmit orders for them to continue accelerating in formation toward the system’s largest colony. We’ll meet them there. How does Saffron look, Winterton?”

“It looks quiet, sir,” the sensor operator answered, and Husher resisted the urge to check what Kaboh’s reaction to that news would be. “That said, the sensor data we currently have access to is two hours out of date.”

“Thank goodness the system wasn’t attacked as of two hours ago,” Kaboh said. “But we must remain vigilant nevertheless. Our presence could end up meaning everything to the people of Saffron.”

“Kindly limit commentary to our immediate tactical situation,” Husher snapped, irritated by what sounded suspiciously like political posturing, at least to his ears.

“Yes, sir,” Kaboh said crisply.

“Coms, have Commander Ayam stand by to scramble Pythons, just in case.” Husher knew that order lent Kaboh’s words more weight, but he wasn’t about to start putting his personal pride above tactics.

“Yes, sir,” Fry said.

The quiet persisted as the Vesta rode Saffron’s gravity well down-system. As they neared the biggest colony, whose orbit happened to place it closest to the warp transition point the supercarrier had entered through, a transmission came through from the Selene’s captain. The frigate was too far off for real-time communications, but Husher had Fry play the audio and video for his CIC crew to hear.

“Captain Husher,” said Ternon, who was Tumbran—a rarity among IGF warship captains. “Thank you to you and your battle group for coming so quickly. We’ve yet to detect any hostile vessels in-system, but I find it highly unlikely that readings identical to those taken in the Wintercress System would not precede a similar attack.”

“Send a text reply asking him to come closer so we can have a real-time chat about how best to array our forces,” Husher told the Coms officer, not in the mood to record the message himself.

“Yes, sir.”

Winterton sat straighter in his seat, eyes fixated on whatever he saw on the main display. “Sir, an unknown vessel just appeared less than a light minute off our port bow. Its profile doesn’t match that of the warship we encountered in the Wintercress System. The dark-gray coloration is similar, but its shape is that of an almost featureless oblong spheroid, and it’s massive—she rivals the Vesta in size.”

Husher toggled to a visualization of the ship generated by radar, since they were too far for actual visual inspection. Good God. That thing’s twice as big as the Providence was.

“Coms, send a transmission demanding—”

Winterton interrupted: “Sir, the vessel’s hostile. It just began launching missiles identical to those used against us by Teth’s ship. It…the missile barrage isn’t ending, Captain.”

“Full reverse thrust, Helm, now!” Husher said. “Coms, have Commander Ayam scramble the entire Air Group and start targeting down those things. Tactical, set lasers to point defense mode, to supplement our kinetic point defense systems. Standby to load Banshees with guidance directives that prioritize targeting the incoming robots.”

The chief hesitated, glancing at Husher. “Captain?”

“Just do it, Tremaine,” Husher snapped. He blew air through his nostrils, then tried to soften his tone: “I’m just as reluctant to spend Banshees taking down those things as you are, but I’m even less reluctant to let them rip through my hull and infiltrate my ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Coms, tell Major Gamble to mobilize his entire marine battalion and get them patrolling the outer corridors in squads. I want two platoons assigned to Cybele and two more divided among the Vesta’s vital systems.”

“Aye, sir.”

His first volley of orders delivered, Husher had his Oculenses show him the Tactical display. Over a hundred of the vicious little robots screamed toward his ship, with more being fired from the enemy vessel.

He scrutinized the display for further action he could take. His battle group had already reached Edessa, and was too far away to lend the Vesta their aid. However…

“Coms, the Selene is close enough to get here within a timeframe meaningful for this engagement. If they pile on enough speed, they can hit the enemy ship from behind and take some of the pressure off. Send Commander Ternon a transmission requesting he do so.”

“Composing the request now, sir.”

The moment the words were out of Fry’s mouth, Winterton’s hands left his console in a gesture of shocked exasperation. “Sir, the enemy warship vanished.”

Damn it. Husher didn’t know what that meant for them, but he doubted it was good. “I want ongoing active scans of the entire system.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husher’s eyes settled on Kaboh, who was facing him, wearing a prim smile. “Is there anything I can do, Captain?” he asked, his satisfaction evident.

Husher had managed to keep his emotions under control as he gave out orders to deal with the immediate threat, but the Kaithian’s smugness helped unleash his temper. “You can reflect on the fact that if a ship that size tried appearing underneath Edessa’s orbital defense platforms, it would doom itself. The planet’s gravity well would drag it from the sky. The system could have defended itself from this attack without our help, Kaboh.”

Chapter 29

Blood on Hands

The tactical display told Husher that when the hostile vessel vanished, it had left two hundred and thirty-nine robots speeding across the void toward the Vesta. The strange ordnance, totally new to Husher’s experience of space warfare, seemed to have guidance systems at least as sophisticated as his Banshees, and so simply steering the supercarrier out of the way wasn’t going to cut it. He had to deal with every last one.

“Coms, contact Commander Ternon and request that he divert his course to Edessa. We don’t know where in the system the enemy ship will appear next, but we do know that its largest colony presents the most valuable target.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Transmit orders to our battle group that they should remain at the colony as well.” Husher squinted at the main display, trying to determine his next move. “Winterton.”

“Sir?”

Husher glanced at the man, surprised he had to actually vocalize what he wanted—but then he saw how intently the sensor operator was studying his console’s readout. “Do I need to have Tremaine start sending Banshees at those things?”

“I think it’s prudent to keep them armed and ready,” Winterton said. “The enemy missiles’ velocity is such that our reverse thrust can’t bring us to parity before impact. That said, it is broadening the window we’ll have to deal with them, and we’ve already cut down the barrage by eighty-three missiles. Eighty-four!” he exclaimed, apparently responding to something he saw on his console. Winterton didn’t get excited very often, and Husher took his optimism as a good sign.

“Very good, Ensign. I’d like you to work together with Tactical to arrive at an estimate of how many of those robots are likely to get through to our hull. If it’s more than five, I’ll give the order to fire Banshees.”

Husher didn’t like the idea of even one reaching his hull—it meant a minor breach and a chance that it would get access to something they couldn’t do without.

That chance was slim, though. Major Gamble’s marines were well-trained and vigilant. They’d find and destroy anything that wormed its way into the Vesta’s corridors well before it found something vital; Husher felt confident about that.

The ship that had launched the barrage showed no sign of reemerging from wherever it had gone, and within twenty minutes, Winterton and Tremaine had determined that none of the enemy missiles were likely to get through.

At that, Husher breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If we’d been facing two of those warships, and they’d been more willing to stick around…

It was a good reminder to keep his battle group at hand whenever possible.

“Sir, contact off our stern,” Winterton said. “It’s the ship that fired the missiles—she’s right behind us. We’re accelerating straight for her.”

“Tactical, do we have enough charge to use our primary laser?”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Use the central aft projector to fire it at the enemy vessel, center-mass. Do it now.”

“Firing laser.”

Winterton gripped his console. “They’re hitting us with a particle beam. Superheating is occurring across a sizable portion of our stern, sir. It’s dangerously close to the left side of our main starboard reactor.”

Fingers clamped around his chair’s armrests, Husher’s gaze locked onto his Helm officer. “Use aft, port lateral thrusters to nudge that reactor away from the superheating. Only ten percent power—we don’t want to endanger the next reactor over.”

“Yes sir,” the Winger said.

“Tactical, let’s take advantage of our acceleration toward the target. Use aft railguns to send kinetic impactors right into the hole we’re drilling with our laser.”

“Yes, sir.”

Winterton turned toward him. “Sir, the superheating is deteriorating our hull at an alarming rate. I—” Frowning, he turned toward the main display. “The target’s vanished again, Captain. The superheating is subsiding.”

“Deploy damage control teams to the affected area and then tell me how bad it is.”

Winterton nodded, already at work typing up the orders, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He must have already composed the phrasing in his head, since he continued to speak fluidly. Either way, Husher was impressed by the multitasking. “Nearly every deck between aft sections forty-nine through sixty was affected,” Winterton said, “and the hull continues to melt. If the damage control teams don’t move fast, there’s a chance the reactor could be affected.”

“Acknowledged. Fry, send orders to Engineering to shut down the main starboard reactor as quickly and safely as possible.”

“Aye.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Husher took a moment to wonder whether this engagement was even over yet. He watched on the tactical display as Tremaine continued to mop up the robots flying through space toward them—an effort the officer hadn’t let himself be distracted from, even when the enemy ship had popped into existence right behind the Vesta.

What an admirable performance. From my entire CIC crew. “Good job, everyone,” he told them. “From how you handled that engagement, no one would ever say you’re a peacetime crew.”

But as he continued to study the tactical display, something began to bother him. “The enemy vessel’s reappearance…it was far from optimally timed. It would have been much more devastating to show up behind us while we were in the thick of dealing with the barrage it sent at us.”

From the XO’s chair beside him, Fesky clacked her beak. “Perhaps it can only appear like that at certain predetermined coordinates, and by accelerating backward we happened to head straight for one.”

“Interesting,” Husher said. “That would be hard to time properly, unless the enemy somehow had ongoing knowledge of the battlespace from wherever it disappeared to. But maybe that explains the random blips picked up by the sensor webs leading up to these engagements. That could be the enemy mapping the system, figuring out the points where it’s able to pop back in. I’ll be interested in having a look at the sensor web data from the engagement, to see whether it continued to see any blips. That would corroborate your theory, Fesky—the enemy would need to pop back in to check on our position and coordinate the surprise it had planned for us.”

“The thing I’m most curious about,” Tremaine said as he eyed Kaboh, “is where Teth is. We didn’t face him here, so where the hell is he?”

Husher felt pretty sure the answer to Tremaine’s question was on the tip of every CIC officer’s tongue: Teth was probably in the Viburnum System.

And if that’s true, the blood is on my hands just as much as it’s on Kaboh’s.

Chapter 30

Morality of War

After they finished mopping up the remaining missiles, Husher ordered Kaboh to set a course for Edessa, where he planned to have his battle group hold orbit until he was satisfied the hostile vessel wouldn’t return.

By the time they arrived over the planet, the enemy still hadn’t shown any sign of making another attempt on them, and so Husher felt comfortable letting second watch take over.

He was halfway to his quarters for a much-needed nap when his com buzzed, and he made the mistake of looking at it.

It was Mayor Dylan Chancey, requesting a private meeting in his office.

Cursing under his breath, Husher decided not to bother changing. Instead, he headed straight for the hatch that led to the city. He also didn’t bother telling anyone where he was going, since they’d probably insist on arranging a marine escort, given the recent unrest. Walking around his own ship with an armed escort was something he still refused to do, and besides, he didn’t feel like sitting around and twiddling his thumbs while one was put together.

It seemed the protesters were taking a break today, as no one awaited him with signs and air horns, either in the desert or in the city streets. Maybe they’re all just too busy sitting at home, signing petitions and typing inflammatory social posts.

It took ten minutes for Husher to get through city hall’s security checkpoints, since the mayor’s office was fairly close to the circular council chamber at the center.

Chancey was sitting at his desk when Husher entered, his back to the convex wall of the building’s curve, staring into space as he typed something on a datapad. Apparently the door’s opening hadn’t clued the mayor in to Husher’s presence, so he cleared his throat.

“Ah,” Chancey said, his gaze settling on Husher at last. “Captain. Please, have a seat.”

Husher did, lowering himself into a leather chair with smooth, metal armrests. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the mayor.

“You’re no doubt wondering why I asked you here,” Chancey said.

“Whatever it is, I’m guessing I won’t enjoy the experience.”

“Oh?” Chancey steepled his fingers, regarding Husher over their tips. “Why do you say that?”

“Because whenever I visit Cybele, lately, I leave with more limitations that I need to observe, which reduce my effectiveness and that of my crew.”

“Alas,” Chancey said, and his smile looked genuinely sympathetic. “That goes part and parcel with living in modern civilization, doesn’t it? To move things forward, everyone needs to be able to live and work together with minimal friction, and that means suppressing certain whims and urges.”

“I’m not talking about whims. I’m talking about defeating the enemy as efficiently as possible while minimizing casualties, and that includes civilian casualties. We need to follow a morality of war right now, because that’s what we’re in. You told me you didn’t want to stand between me and doing my job, but that’s all you’ve done.”

“I apologize if you feel that way, Captain. But if we conduct ourselves like barbarians during war, then what will we be left with once war ends, other than savagery and the desire to wage more war?”

Husher snorted. “There’s a balance to be struck between becoming barbarians and binding ourselves with chains!”

Shaking his head, Chancey said, “I’m sorry I can’t bring you around to my viewpoint. It would make this a more pleasant process if I could manage it, but unfortunately, your views on the subject have little actual bearing. They are, in fact, seen by many as outdated.”

“Then military effectiveness is outdated, and we’re doomed the moment a power comes along that hasn’t limited itself like we have. That moment is now.”

“Do I need to remind you of the careful balance of power the Interstellar Union has sought to create with its military? As captain of a capital starship, you wield a level of power that’s completely unprecedented throughout galactic history. That’s why Cybele and its city council exists. We’re here to rein you in when you let personal vices and excesses lead you to abuse that power. It’s what this meeting is about, in fact.”

The mayor was right, Husher knew: arguing really was pointless. This was the same dilemma he’d been struggling with for two decades: to remain in a position to counter the danger he knew was coming, Husher had to give more and more ground to a government bent on coddling not only their constituents but every being in the universe, including any enemies that happened to come along. “Out with it,” Husher growled. “What are you forcing me to implement this time?”

“I’d rather not force you to implement anything, but I will write this into the law if I have to. As you know, I’m aligned with the council on this matter, and we’re ready to work together to enact any policy that becomes necessary.”

“Just tell me what you want,” Husher spat.

“I want you to sign on to the Positive Response Program.”

For a moment, Husher lacked words. Then, he said, “I thought it was voluntary. If a captain thinks it’ll impair effectiveness, he can decline to participate.”

“It has been voluntary, so far. But as you know, we’re given leeway to experiment with our legislation. You might call it our civic duty to do that, so that outside society can benefit from what we attempt here—as the Womb of Civilization and all, you know. You can probably see where I’m going with this. If you refuse to participate in the Positive Response Program, then I intend to ensure that legislation is enacted which requires you to participate.”

A dizziness struck Husher—a sense of disorientation so strong that for a moment, it felt like his ship was at sea rather than adrift in space. For the first time, it occurred to him that a man like Chancey was probably the most dangerous of all: a friendly viper, smiling until the moment its fangs found your neck.

“Is there anything you’d like to say at this point?” the mayor said, and unlike with Kaboh’s recent victory over him, Husher truly couldn’t detect any satisfaction underlying Chancey’s words.

Does he really believe he’s doing best by society? Or is he just giving his constituents what they want? “There’s nothing to say,” Husher said, his voice emerging as a rasp.

“Are there any objections you care to lodge?”

“You’ve already made it clear that it won’t make a difference. Just let the record show that I think you’re dealing the galaxy a death blow.”

“Captain Husher,” Chancey said, sounding chagrined. “Really. The Integrated Galactic Fleet is a public institution, and it’s incumbent on us to set a good example for organizations and businesses throughout the galaxy. That involves helping the underprivileged to find the employment they so want and deserve.”

“Do you realize how damn condescending that sounds?” Husher snapped.

“I’m afraid we differ, there.”

Scraping back his chair against the marble floor, Husher stood. Before he made for the exit, he said, “Can I make a request, Mayor?”

“Of course.”

“Lobby the Interstellar Union to deploy more warships to this region. I intend to make the case to them myself, but it will likely have more clout coming from you.”

“It’s not something I can promise. But I can tell you that I’ll think about it.”

Nodding, Husher turned and strode toward the door, feeling like he’d done all he could.

“Captain, there was one other thing.”

Husher turned his head sideways, but his body still faced the door. “Yes?”

“The people of Cybele want the Nonattendance Day for humans. Wingers, Kaithe, Tumbra, humans—they all want it, and as mayor, it’s incumbent on me to insist that you permit and encourage your crew to participate.”

“Fine,” Husher ground out, and he left, struggling to keep his shoulders squared and head high.

Chapter 31

Invertebrate

An hour after his meeting with Chancey, as he walked from the wardroom to his office, Husher caught multiple venomous glares directed his way, quickly masked once his eyes found them.

“Is there a problem, Private?” he asked a marine, who was the third one he caught wearing a sour expression.

The man came to attention, snapping off a crisp salute. “Sir, no, sir!”

“You’re certain there’s nothing you’d like to discuss?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“Dismissed,” Husher said, suppressing a grimace.

Apparently, the mayor wasn’t being very discreet about securing agreement from Husher to sign on to the Positive Response Program. Not that he needed to be—clearly, Chancey could do as he pleased—but Husher didn’t think the indiscretion was very considerate. There had been no chance to message the decision to his crew yet, and evidently, they were drawing their own conclusions about it. He needed to move quickly if he was to have a shot at forestalling a major deterioration of his relationship with them.

His hand was on the access panel for the hatch into his office when a scratchy voice reached his ears.

“A word, Captain?”

He turned to behold Fesky, feathers standing at attention.

“You’re upset,” he said.

“You bet I am.”

“We can have a word, but I want you to know the conversation we’re about to have will be between a captain and his XO, not between old friends. Be very careful of overstepping your bounds here, Fesky.” He opened the hatch.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” the Winger said, brushing past him and turning around.

Husher’s eyes narrowed, and he slapped the interior access panel without looking, closing the hatch behind him. “I already don’t like how this is going.”

“I don’t care,” Fesky said. “I told you, human. I told you. I said do not agree to that program. That it would tear the crew apart and turn them against you. What have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything, Fesky. I certainly didn’t agree to anything. This was forced on me by Cybele City Council.”

“So what? You’re in a war, Husher. Isn’t that supposed to make you a warrior? Fight this!”

“I don’t think you understand how this works.”

“I understand how having a spine works, actually, yes. Winger aren’t invertebrates, and I didn’t think humans were, either. Turns out there are some exceptions.”

“You’re out of line, Commander,” Husher barked, and Fesky fell silent, seething. “Listen to me. You haven’t captained a starship during these last seventeen years. In fact, you’ve never captained one. You don’t understand how thin the line is that I have to walk each and every day, just to remain in command so that I can take the fight to the enemy we both know has been building up for years.”

But Fesky was shaking her head. “Husher, the reason I haven’t captained a ship is that when you asked me to be your XO, I accepted. I did that because I thought we’d make a good team. I thought we’d stand up for what was good and right and effective, just like Captain Keyes and I did, and just as you did when you served under him.” Fesky’s voice grew softer. “But look at you now. You’re trying to appease everyone, and because of that you’re accomplishing nothing. Your attempts to stay in command, to please the politicians scrutinizing your every action—it’s making you just like they are, Husher. Captain Keyes was willing to sacrifice his life to save the galaxy. And he did. And it worked. But you? You’re not even willing to sacrifice your career.”

“I need a career to be able to do anything about Teth!” Husher yelled, but Fesky was already striding past him. She pressed the access panel to open the hatch, and then she was gone.

Fuming, Husher made his way around the desk, dropped into his chair, and yanked the datapad toward him.

Not even my best friend understands the position I’m in.

Furiously, he began to type.

Chapter 32

Not Compulsory

“There’s no question that the Positive Response Program represents a change,” Husher wrote in what would amount to the official announcement of the program to his crew. “A significant change. The Vesta has one of the most passionate and loyal crews out there, and I understand many of you are reluctant to leave her, especially in a time of war.

“I do understand that reluctance, more than you probably know. But I want to offer some words of reassurance. No one is going to ‘lose their job’ with the Integrated Galactic Fleet because of this program. Everyone displaced will be found other positions, and it’s possible, even likely, that your new position will also be in a combat role, especially since the need for such roles will almost certainly increase in the near future. Under the Positive Response Program, no one will be ‘let go.’ The IGF doesn’t fire people. Sometimes it discharges them, but it doesn’t fire them, and no one will be discharged under Positive Response.

“One further note. I’ve been asked to inform you that tomorrow will be an official Nonattendance Day for humans, sanctioned by Cybele City Council. This event is being characterized as a show of solidarity, by humans, with nonhuman beings. I’m told that the intention is to send nonhuman beings a message that they are just as welcome in public spaces as humans are. Participation in Human Nonattendance Day is not compulsory, and I’m not requiring or even requesting that crewmembers participate. I will say, however, that if I receive reports of any violence between crewmembers and civilians as a result of not participating, I will take swift disciplinary action against the crewmembers involved.”

Once he finished typing, Husher didn’t have the heart to read over what he’d written, because if he did, he likely wouldn’t be able to make himself go through with it. He decided to just post it straight to the Board, though his finger hovered over the command key for several long moments before finally descending.

That done, he attempted to focus on reports from Engineering on the state of the aft hull. There were no facilities in Saffron where the supercarrier could be repaired, and so they’d been forced to patch her up as best they could on their own—which mostly amounted to sealing off the affected sections and hoping for the best.

Try as he might, Husher couldn’t muster the concentration necessary to make sense of the detailed reports. He would read four lines, realize he hadn’t absorbed a thing from them, and then read them again. It took five tries to derive any meaning from the passage he was on, and twice as long for the next one.

His com beeped with a Priority message, and he picked it up, relieved for an excuse to divert his attention somewhere else, even if only for a few seconds.

His relief was short-lived.

The message was from his Coms officer, who was passing along word from the Viburnum System.

The munitions facility there had been attacked by a vessel whose profile matched Teth’s. That vessel had succeeded in destroying the facility.

Husher lowered his head into his hands and held it there for a long time.

Chapter 33

Nonattendance Day

“So, boys, what should we do with our last day on the Vesta?” Corporal Toby Yung asked his bunkmates before slamming his fist into a metal post hard enough to lay it open, spattering blood across a bottom bunk’s sheets.

“Damn it, Toby!” Private Zimmerman said, jumping up from the next bunk over to check whether any blood had gotten on it. Satisfied, he turned his glare on Toby. “This isn’t going to be our last day, you idiot.”

“Might as well be. Who knows which of us are going to get ‘shuffled’ off. I say we enjoy it.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked another private, named Mews. “Other than wrapping up that hand before it bleeds on me and I have to kick your ass.”

Toby whipped off his shirt and used it to staunch the bleeding. “I say we go get lit up a bit at the Providence Lounge and see where the morning takes us.”

“Put on another shirt, first, would you?” Zimmerman said. “I don’t want to have to rescue any more female officers from trying to get in the pants of a marine in their direct chain of command.”

“All right.” After he bandaged his hand and put on the promised shirt, they rolled out to the Providence and ordered a round of whiskey shots. Then they ordered two more.

By the time they headed out for Cybele, they all had a decent buzz going, or at least Toby did.

Just before he entered his access code to open the hatch into the illusory desert, he turned to his buddies, feeling a dumb, alcohol-enhanced smile creeping across his face. “Ah, damn it, guys. I just remembered that today’s the Nonattendance Day for human beings. Now, we’re not gonna cause trouble by going for a walk through the city, are we? We really should all go back to the bunkroom.”

“Well, wait a second,” Mews said in his steady baritone, which sounded perfectly sober even after three shots of whiskey. “If we go back to our bunks, how do we know everyone else is respecting Human Nonattendance Day? We’re three upstanding, civically responsible marines. It’s practically our duty to go out there and patrol the streets to make sure no humans show their ugly faces.”

“Mews is right,” Zimmerman said. “I’m sorry, Toby, but I won’t let you stand in the way of enforcing Nonattendance Day. I insist that we go into Cybele right this instance.”

“Aw, all right, you guys. Guess you’re just both more forward-looking than me. Let’s go out there and show them just how absent humans can be!” Toby punched his code into the panel, and the hatch slid open. Unsurprisingly, there were dozens of activists right outside, lounging around in the sand. At first, that struck him as amusing—all part of the joke. We’ll go out and screw with them a bit. Have some fun with them.

Then, something caught his eye that definitely wasn’t funny.

Almost half of the people sitting out there were humans.

Cursing loudly, Toby marched out of the crew section and into the fake desert. “What the hell is this all about?”

Dozens of heads turned toward him, and he leered right back at them. “What are all these humans doing here? We were told we couldn’t come out here, but what about all these people?” Toby pointed his finger, waving it around to indicate all the humans.

A woman with bright red hair marched up to him, who couldn’t have been more than twenty. She had the audacity to place two slim hands on his chest and try to push him back toward the hatch. He didn’t budge, of course, but the nerve!

“You’re not supposed to be here!” she yelled. Something about her reminded him of the captain—maybe it was how much gall she had.

“What are you doing here, then?” he yelled back.

“I’m an ally. It’s fine for allies to be here, obviously. I’m not someone who’s going to make them feel marginalized or like they should forget about where they come from or who they are. An ally is someone who stands by oppressed groups and who’s willing to step back and step down if it means giving oppressed individuals the space they need.”

Her last words rang in his ears: giving oppressed individuals the space they need. It reminded him of the hollow reasons he was being fed to explain the possibility he might get shuffled out of a posting he’d held for years. “I don’t know what you just said, exactly,” Toby said, jamming his finger toward the humans rising to their feet behind her. “But I do know that this is some bullshit.” Behind him, Zimmerman and Mews made some sounds that indicated they agreed.

A man stepped up beside the lady, his face a storm cloud all for Toby. “Could I ask you to stop being so aggressive toward her please?”

“What? I’m just talking.” Toby sized the guy up. He looked like he probably worked out, but Toby wasn’t too worried. “This is nowhere near as aggressive as I get, man, trust me.”

“You know what I think your captain’s actually afraid of, marine?” the lady said, attempting to push him again. “I think he’s afraid that if he actually steps aside and makes way for equality between the species, then he’ll lose the ability to brainwash goons like you into hating other species and seeing them as the enemy.”

“Lady, don’t worry,” Toby said. “All I see behind you is Wingers and Kaithe. I’m not paid to kill them.”

The gym rat stepped forward, taking a turn at shoving Toby, and this time he actually fell back a step. “I told you to stop being so aggressive.”

Toby reacted to that with a mixture of instinct, training, and whiskey. The guy got four knuckles to the face, and that was enough to put him on his back in the sand and keep him there.

“Holy shit, Toby,” Zimmerman said, at the same time Toby was glaring around at the group of protesters and screaming, “Anyone else?”

A long moment of shock stretched between the fifty or sixty protesters and the trio of marines. At last, the tension broke, and relief washed over Toby as most of the protesters charged toward him and his buddies. He hated waiting for a fight.

A couple of human men came at him at the same time. He booted one in the stomach, making him stagger backward, winded. The other guy tried to land a punch, but Toby sidestepped easily and nailed him in the jaw, making him cry out all high-pitched before backing off. That gave Toby room to elbow the wheezing guy in the back of the neck, which sent him sprawling to the sand.

Glancing behind him, he saw that Mews and Zimmerman were mixing it up similarly, and that made him glad. They were in this together.

A Winger approached, cawing, wings spread to their full, enormous span. That spoke to something animalistic deep inside Toby, and he chose fight over flight, charging into the alien’s embrace, bowling it over, and finding its scrawny but muscular feathered neck. He gripped that as hard as he could, trying to choke the Winger out like they choked out new guys back in the bunkroom.

Something white and blue snaked around Toby’s neck. Oh, shit. That’s a Kaithian.

The head-tail constricted, and Toby’s last thought was to marvel at how suddenly the tables had turned.

Chapter 34

A Lucky Guess

Doctor Bancroft was late for their Prolonged Exposure session, and Husher had a pretty good idea why. He sat in the waiting room and used his Oculenses to review an inventory of the ship’s munition stores until, twenty-five minutes later, Bancroft appeared.

“Your corporal is lucky that Kaithian didn’t snap his foolish neck,” she said. “When the Kaithe fight, they usually play for keeps.”

“I know it,” Husher said, remembering his time on the Kaithian homeworld. He’d fought the aliens inside a simulation, then, though he’d since learned that the simulation had accurately represented their ferocity, which was completely at odds with their size and appearance.

“What are you going to do with the three marines that went out there?”

“Exactly what I said I’d do. They were all involved in a violent altercation, and so they’ll all do time in the brig.”

“I would have expected dishonorable discharges for the three of them.”

Husher tilted his head to the side. “Seriously? Marines get into brawls all the time without being dishonorably discharged. I don’t mean to diminish the severity here, but no one was seriously injured, and from the sounds of it, there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Excuse me?” Bancroft said, and her sharpness surprised Husher—it ran counter to her usual caring demeanor. “Extenuating circumstances, Captain? Your marines went out looking for trouble. They willingly violated Nonattendance Day.”

“Which wasn’t compulsory. And when they went out, they found other humans lounging out there on the sand.”

Bancroft shook her head. “Well, you’re the captain. The decision is yours, I suppose.”

“I suppose it is.” He nodded toward her office. “Are you ready to begin?”

Without another word, she walked to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to enter. He did, and she shut the door behind him.

“What atrocity will I bear witness to today?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Bancroft pursed her lips. “Before I load the program into your Oculenses, there’s a matter I need to raise with you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“The complaints from crewmembers who feel unsafe are increasing.”

Shutting his eyes, Husher drew in a deep breath. “Let me guess. They’re all from graduates of Cybele U, or some other capital starship university.”

Now it was the doctor’s turn to cock her head to one side. “Have you been abusing your special access as captain to view confidential crew medical files?”

“Is that a serious question, Doctor Bancroft?”

“Yes.”

“No, I haven’t. I was actually joking, but it seems I took a lucky guess.”

At that, Bancroft reddened slightly. “I feel it’s my responsibility as this starship’s Chief Medical Officer to say this. If you don’t take further action to address the fears of your crewmembers, I’ll be forced to bring my concerns to Cybele City Council.”

Husher looked at the floor of Bancroft’s office, and he held his gaze there for several long moments. At last, he said, “Thank you for your input, Doctor. I’ll certainly give your concerns the careful consideration they are due.” With that, he got up.

“What about today’s exposure session?” Bancroft asked, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve decided I don’t have the stomach for it,” Husher said as he left the office.

Chapter 35

Scythes Through Wheat

After receiving news that the Viburnum munitions facility had been destroyed, Husher gained some new nightmares. In addition to dreams of the night his daughter died, he now started having equally dark dreams featuring giant Ixa who stalked through the galaxy, felling all other beings with impunity. It didn’t matter who or what came against them—they tore through opposition like scythes through wheat.

With the munitions facility destroyed, logistics had become much trickier in the part of the galaxy that bordered on the Concord System, formerly the Baxa System. Resupply would now take days, and eventually weeks, if demand from warships operating in the region were to increase.

Judging by initial recon missions into the Concord System, demand probably would increase. The intel gathered there confirmed Husher’s worst fears: the system had become a rallying point for Gok warships, and a starship similar to the one they’d faced near Edessa had also been scouted there. Teth was clearly preparing to launch an all-out war against the Milky Way, and he’d already struck a devastating blow.

Husher wasn’t expecting the orders that came next from the admiralty, but they also didn’t surprise him.

“Captain Husher,” said the message from Admiral Iver, which had come in by com drone thirty minutes ago. Husher reviewed it alone in his office. “After deliberations, the admiralty has decided that in light of the munitions facility’s destruction in the Viburnum System, and in light of the large amassing of hostile warships in the Concord System, it would now behoove the Interstellar Union to make a sincere diplomatic effort to bring peace to the region.”

Husher chuckled bitterly at the suggestion that the threat posed by Teth was limited to just this region of space, and then he continued reading:

“The ultimate goal is a long-lasting armistice, however, even a shorter-term nonaggression pact is viewed as a desirable outcome, and worth pursuing. As such, the diplomats accompanying your battle group will be given significant latitude in the negotiations. You’ll find a separate data package attached to this message—it includes a list of everything we are willing to offer, depending on the length and quality of peace we are offered in return. These include resource rights to mineral-rich systems. I’m well aware of what your reservations will likely be in this matter, Captain, but the point I would raise to you is this: given the power and numbers already fielded by our enemies, it’s clearly a worthy aim to avoid further bloodshed. And if our enemies were to renege on a peace deal at any point in the future, we will have had time to bolster our forces and will be better-positioned and -provisioned to answer such a violation with an attack aimed at retaking the systems we’ve relinquished.

“A final note: it was remarked during our deliberations that you have the Ixan, Ochrim, aboard your vessel. If he’s amenable, it might be worthwhile to include him in the negotiations with Teth. If anyone can placate the Ixan commander, it will be his own brother.”

After passing on the data package to the diplomats Shobi and Bryson without comment, Husher indulged himself by taking a moment to lean back and squeeze his eyes shut.

Seeking a ceasefire with the Ixa had been exactly what the UHF had tried during the most desperate hour of the First Galactic War. In fact, the mission Husher had been given felt particularly cyclical, since it had been his father, Warren Husher, who was sent on that first diplomatic mission.

Warren’s mission had gone about as well as Husher expected this one to go. The Ixa had taken him prisoner, making it look like he’d betrayed his own species and painting him as a traitor for the next twenty years. Shortly after Warren’s return to his species, they executed him for the crime of high treason. And soon after that, it became known that without Warren Husher’s actions, humanity would have been doomed.

As far as Husher could see, the main difference between then and now was that Warren’s mission had come after a long-fought struggle against the Ixa—after humanity had smashed itself against the implacable alien war machine, and all had seemed lost.

The IU, on the other hand, was giving up with barely a fight.

There was no peace to be had with Ixa. That was just as true now as it had been then. But orders were orders.

Before he passed on those orders, however, he decided to take care of some other business first. That business involved receiving a small transport craft inside Flight Deck Zeta and accepting an unauthorized shipment consisting of one thing: more Ocharium than Ochrim could possibly want or need.

Chapter 36

What Toxic Actually Looks Like

The voyage to the Baxa System, now the Concord System, would involve another week-long warp transition followed by several darkgate transitions and a final journey under warp, since the Corydalis-Baxa darkgate had been destroyed during the final battle of the Second Galactic War.

On the second day under warp drive, Husher found himself sitting in the Cybele City Council chamber, getting stared down by Maeve Aldaine, who’d been invited to attend the meeting as a representative of the students of Cybele U.

“You are called here, Captain Husher,” Penelope Snyder said in the ringing tones she reserved for this round, inward-turned room, “to account for the actions of your three marines—Corporal Toby Yung, Private First Class Dion Mews, and Private Jordan Zimmerman—and to give a comprehensive overview of the steps you intend to take to ensure such an incident can never occur again.”

Drawing a long breath, Husher spoke. “I can’t account for the actions of my marines. They were reprehensible, and in direct contradiction to my urging crew to remain within the Vesta’s crew section during Human Nonattendance Day. In the same note, I made clear that any humans who chose to go to Cybele anyway and engage in violent—”

“This is such bullshit,” Maeve Aldaine interrupted. “Did you actually believe a love letter to your violent crew was going to accomplish anything? You should have forced them to stay out of Cybele!”

Staring at Aldaine, Husher realized that her words had succeeded in raising his usual disbelief to new levels. Clearing his throat, he said, “I was asked to discuss the actions of my marines and the steps I’ve taken to address them.”

“Go ahead,” Chancey said, his tone kindly.

“As I was saying, I made clear to the crew that anyone found engaging in violence would face disciplinary action. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. The three marines already named are currently in the brig.”

“Have you scheduled any workshops to educate the rest of your crew on the situation?” Aldaine demanded, her sapphire eyes aflame.

“Workshops…?” Husher said.

Tossing her head in exasperation, Aldaine spat, “Yeah, you know, hands-on sessions designed to educate through participation. Topics like the historical oppression Wingers have faced at the hands of humans would be appropriate, in a situation like this.”

“Everyone’s well aware of what humans, particularly human governments, have done to Winger populations,” Husher said. “Tell me, is it so radical to suggest that it could be more unifying, more peaceful, to not continually bring up our species’ past animosity and fling it in everyone’s faces?”

“I think we’ve heard quite enough,” Snyder said, her illusory wings waving as she shifted in her seat and stared at Husher, apparently attempting to pierce his soul with her gaze. “Before we discuss policy, there’s one more matter I’ll bring to your attention, Captain. Are you aware of the horrific sentiments cropping up across the battle group’s narrownet?”

Husher’s mouth quirked, but he stayed silent. Horrific sentiments crop up on the narrownet all the time.

“I take your silence to signify you have not. Allow me to enlighten you. There are growing voices on there who are openly praising Teth and the Ixa. The title ‘Immaculate One’ has been floating around for Teth—I have no idea where that charming phrase originated—and several have referred to him as their ‘personal Command Leader.’ Specifically, they praise the genocide of Ixan interspecies offspring, the subtext being that perhaps humans would do well to ‘purify’ galactic society of beings who do not match human ‘prowess.’ The same groups spreading these hateful messages also name you as a figure of admiration, because you stand up for humans to the ‘powers that be.’ What do you have to say to that?”

Husher blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it. “It’s awful,” he managed at last. “The Ixa’s genocide was one of the reasons I fought them during the Second Galactic War. I felt we needed to take a stand against that as a society.” The Ixa were the only known species with the ability for females to reproduce with non-Ixan males, a practice reviled by the Ixa who’d taken power during the lead-up to the First Galactic War.

“Whether or not you’re telling the truth about your motivations,” Aldaine said, “can’t you see your actions as commander of this ship have led directly to the toxicity we’re seeing on the narrownet?”

Husher shook his head. “If I haven’t already made it clear, I strongly condemn those ideas.”

“What about the people responsible for the talk? Do you condemn them?”

“Yes!”

“Good,” Aldaine said, and she seemed about to speak again, but didn’t. Maybe she hadn’t been expecting that answer from Husher.

“I think it’s time we arrive at some legislative proposals for addressing these problems,” Snyder said. “since Captain Husher has demonstrated that he’s either unwilling or incapable of doing so.” She folded her hands across her exposed, digitally flat stomach as she continued. “I’ve already discussed such proposals with several council members individually, but now we’ll put them to a vote, as Mayor Chancey suggested just prior to today’s meeting.

Snyder lifted her hands, parting them while clearing her throat. Then, apparently satisfied with the level of ceremony, she spoke, her eyes clouded with the fog of someone reading from an Oculens overlay: “I am motioning my fellow councilors to adopt a proposal for the creation of legally enforced spaces within Cybele where only nonhumans and their human allies are permitted—places where they can go with the guarantee they’ll be free of oppression, including some of the toxic ideas Captain Husher has propounded here today.” Husher assumed she’d ad-libbed the part about him, but it was difficult to be sure.

“The question of which humans are to be considered allies and therefore permitted to enter these spaces,” Snyder continued, “is to be determined on an ad hoc basis by the nonhuman beings occupying a given space at a given time. The only step necessary to legally require a human to leave the space will be a request by a nonhuman occupying it. Any Tumbra desiring entry to these spaces will also be subject to the occupants’ estimation of whether they are allies, and if they are not, then they will be required to leave. All in favor of this legislation, say aye.”

“Wait a second,” Husher said. “As captain of this vessel, I have a right to speak before the councilors vote.”

Snyder’s eyes widened in apparent outrage, but Chancey gave a brisk nod. “Go ahead.”

“What spaces are you proposing to prevent humans from occupying?” he asked.

“Only humans who aren’t allies will be prevented,” Snyder said primly. “As for the specific spaces, those were meant to be worked out should the policy be approved.”

“I’d like to hear what spaces we’re talking about. If we’re talking about private residences, that’s one thing. But if we’re—”

“The aftward half of Cybele University Green, the area between Skyward Mall and the Epicenter, the Starboard Concourse, and one acre inside Santana Park,” Snyder said.

“Those are all public spaces.”

“Yes. Out of respect for underprivileged groups and the hardship they’ve faced, I personally think it’s the least we—”

“Well,” Husher interrupted, “you’ll no doubt be allowed to enter the spaces, so it probably makes no actual difference to you, except to help you feel even more self-righteous whenever you enter them.”

“Excuse me?” Snyder said, her eyes widening so much it was almost comical.

“You always say your aims with policies like these are integration and unity, but this will accomplish exactly the opposite. By excluding people from places they once could go, based on their species, you’ll be damaging society in a way that might be irreversible. You’re shrinking the world for certain individuals based on their species or on beliefs they hold that you don’t like. You’re emulating the sort of people you claim to oppose. If Cybele really is the Womb of Civilization, if the rest of the galaxy truly takes cues from what happens here, then I’m begging you—do not vote to approve this legislation. You can’t answer discrimination with more discrimination. This is what toxic actually looks like.”

Snyder opened her mouth, but Husher wasn’t done. “And why in Sol do you keep lumping in the Tumbra? I still haven’t figured that out.”

With an exasperated sigh, Snyder said, “Because anyone without the sort of blinders you wear can see how steeped in privilege the Tumbra are, mostly because of how willing they’ve always been to get in bed with humanity. The Tumbra are part of the problem, Captain. They remind nonhuman beings of their past and present oppression, and if they are asked to leave, then they will be required to leave.”

Husher shook his head, once again speechless.

“Now, then,” Snyder said, her voice tight, though it carried a hint of premature triumph. “All in favor of the proposed legislation, say aye.”

They went around the room, and one by one, the councilors gave their votes.

“Aye,” said Snyder.

“Aye,” said Chancey.

Next, it was the only Tumbran’s turn, who hesitated, his gaze flitting from Husher, to Chancey, and then to Snyder.

At last, he opened his mouth, and a quiet syllable emerged: “Aye.”

The vote was almost unanimous—all except a Winger councilor, whose name escaped Husher. Faces darkened when she said “Nay,” but the vote moved briskly forward, and the law was enacted with an overwhelming majority.

At the final “Aye,” Husher stood.

“History won’t be kind to you for this,” he said, and marched out of the room.

Chapter 37

Both Killers

In keeping with the orders he’d been given, Husher had the Vesta and her battle group exit their respective warp bubbles well outside the Concord System, so that the resulting shockwaves dissipated harmlessly into the void without damaging anything.

We wouldn’t want to hurt our oldest enemies. In saner times, he might have chastised himself for the sarcastic thought, but he didn’t bother now. His mood had gotten progressively darker since his last encounter with the Cybele City Council, and he recognized that he was becoming bitter.

What does it matter? This is over. I’ve failed, and all that’s left is to watch the catastrophe unfold.

Another, smaller voice spoke to him, then, from deeper inside him: You don’t really believe that. You fought to keep the command seat because you know you can make a difference.

Husher quashed the voice and turned to Winterton. “Are you picking up anything?”

“Nothing, sir—not even anything to corroborate the intel we received, about the system bristling with warships.”

That didn’t mean much. The Concord System was ringed by a massive asteroid belt, with plenty of rocks big enough to conceal three supercarriers the size of the Vesta, let alone anything Teth or the Gok were known to field.

The only thing the apparent emptiness of the system told Husher was that Teth had been expecting this visit, and that wasn’t surprising, either. It was characteristic of all his past encounters with the Ixa that they possessed intel vastly superior to that which Husher had access to.

“Coms,” he said.

“Captain?”

“Broadcast a blanket transmission throughout the entire system. Text is fine. Tell Teth we came to talk, and that we have his brother Ochrim with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Husher leaned back as far as the command seat allowed—which wasn’t very much, since it didn’t recline—and studied the tactical display he’d willed his Oculenses to show. He felt exhausted.

Teth didn’t keep him waiting very long.

“Contact directly off the bow,” Winterton said. “It’s Teth’s ship, sir. It’s…sitting there, just outside the asteroid belt, without momentum along any trajectory.”

“Meaning we’ll collide with it if we continue forward,” Husher muttered after a glance at the relevant telemetric data. “Helm, full reverse thrust until we’re stationary as well.” As much as Husher would have liked to continue until the Vesta’s nose rested mere meters away from Teth’s warship, he knew better than to come anywhere near the Ixan. That would mean death for whoever failed to shoot first, and Husher knew exactly how far he could trust Teth.

“Incoming real-time transmission request,” Ensign Fry said.

“Accept it and put it on the main display.”

Teth’s newly hideous face appeared, with its knobs of bone breaking through a hardened, scaly face. “Did you bring Jake Price?”

“You don’t already know the answer to that question?” Husher said, eyebrows raised.

Teth’s tongue made a brief appearance between his fangs before receding into the dark maw of his mouth. “All language is performative, Captain, and sometimes questions are used to make a point.”

Husher decided not to bother trying to decipher that. “We don’t have Jake Price with us, no.”

“Mm. Now, Captain, I know you’ve always been a great admirer of my work, and I’d be interested in getting your feedback on my efforts in obliterating your munitions facility in Viburnum. Did you appreciate my masterstroke, or did you even grasp it?”

“Cut the shit, Teth. I admire nothing you’ve done. I’ve fought to oppose it for decades.”

The Ixan twisted his bulbous head to the left, donning a perplexed expression. “We’ve made war on each other, certainly, but you’ve always striven so obviously to emulate me. Clearly, successful emulation is well outside your grasp—we agree on that—but the striving is obvious to all, and it’s embarrassing to us both for you to deny it.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Husher ground out.

“We are incredibly alike. We’re both killers, and we’ve both taken on the responsibility of deciding when it’s right for others to die. You’re not nearly as good as I am at making those decisions, but we both make them. As well, we’re both fighting partly out of vengeance. You killed my father, Baxa, and I killed the man you wished was your father, Keyes.”

“Captain Keyes sacrificed himself to help defeat you.”

“Call it whatever you want. Keyes failed, and you’re filled with a bitter thirst for revenge.”

“You’re nothing but an abomination,” Husher shot back, “created and set loose by the masters you call the Progenitors.”

“And you’re a dog, kept kenneled by the Kaithe until it drove you half-mad. We can do this all day, Captain. Humans are just as engineered as Ixa. You’re as much an abomination as I am. You speak to me using a display accessed with your vaunted Oculenses, but you might as well be looking into a mirror. Now that I’ve made that abundantly clear to you, dog, why don’t you follow your masters’ command to speak, just as they’ve told you to speak?”

Husher’s chest heaved with his breathing, and the sudden ringing in his ears made it difficult to think.

To have Teth diagnose his situation with such arrogance, such precision…it made Husher want to order his Tactical officer to let missiles fly.

That’s what he wants you to do. But no matter what Teth says, you have orders to follow.

“We’ve come to negotiate a peace deal,” Husher managed.

“Ah, yes,” Teth said. “Losing the munitions facility rendered the Interstellar Union exactly as pliable as I anticipated. And all it took to make you abandon the facility was to frighten one of your precious interspecies colonies.”

“We don’t gamble with lives,” Husher said, even though, on this point, he basically agreed with what the Ixan was getting at. But what else was there for him to say?

“I’ve always wondered why you don’t gamble with them,” Teth mused. “When losing in war means slavery or death, is it not far better to spend any coin necessary to avoid defeat?”

“It’s not worth sacrificing our principles.” Husher truly did believe that, if not in the way Snyder and her lot did.

Teth raised a massive, clawed hand in a dismissive gesture. “I tire of your sophomoric philosophizing. Surely you’re not the one who’ll conduct the negotiations on behalf of your government. Who am I to speak with?”

Husher nodded at his Coms officer, and she rerouted the transmission to a small chamber situated deep inside the Vesta, where Ochrim, Chancey, Shobi, and Bryson were gathered. Teth vanished from the CIC’s main display, though Husher could hear his voice through his embedded ear piece, as well as those of the four designated negotiators.

Husher did have the ability to interject, though Chancey had made it clear that his contributions weren’t welcome unless they pertained directly to the security of the ship.

“Greetings, brother,” the mutated Ixan said.

“Teth,” Ochrim said.

“Hello,” Chancey chimed in.

“Let’s get right down to it,” Teth said, “shall we, oh defenders of the right and good? What have you come to offer me?”

“What do you want?” Chancey asked.

“What an intriguing question.” Teth let the silence drag on, then.

Someone cleared his throat—likely Chancey, since he spoke again. “We’ve come prepared to offer much in exchange for your cooperation in working together to achieve stability for the region. There are resource rights to several systems we’re prepared to offer, and we’re also ready to hear and consider whatever other requests and requirements you think are—”

Husher muted himself, then turned to his Coms officer. “Shut it off.”

“Sir?” Fry said, eyebrows raised.

“Shut it off. I can’t stomach it.”

“Yes, sir.” A second later, the voices vanished from his ear, and Husher breathed a sigh of relief, relishing the silence. He toggled to a view of the tactical display, then, scrutinizing Teth’s ship for any sign he might be planning to violate the implied understanding that no shots would be fired during the negotiations.

Chapter 38

Belay That Order

Husher was so fixated on Teth’s ship that he almost didn’t notice the asteroid that underwent a slight but appreciable course change, carrying it along a new trajectory that wouldn’t have been possible were it being acted on by the laws of physics alone.

Once he realized something wasn’t right, he willed his Oculenses to rewind the feed from his ship’s forward visual sensors, and he scrutinized the main display during the moment of change. He needed to be sure.

There. The asteroid’s trajectory definitely changed, and not only that, the rock was more than large enough to conceal a ship like the one they’d fought in the Saffron System. This close, the barrage of robots such a ship could loose would be incredibly difficult to fend off, especially combined with Teth’s arsenal, and that of whatever other vessels were concealed within the asteroid belt.

“Captain…” Winterton said, and Husher’s gaze snapped toward the sensor operator.

He was feeling a bit light-headed—like this entire situation felt surreal. It was surreal. They’d come to make nice with the Ixa, for crying out loud, and they were clearly about to be played. The Interstellar Union had signed off on this!

“What is it, Ensign?”

“Have a look at the position of Teth’s warship on the tactical display. It’s inching toward us.”

Husher gripped the armrests of the command seat until his knuckles were white and his forearms vibrated. “Tactical—”

“Captain,” Kaboh said in a warning tone from the Nav station.

Husher spoke over him. “Tactical, calculate a firing solution for eight Hydras targeting Teth’s ship and the area around it. Program them to separate at a kilometer’s remove from each other, and tell me when they’re ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Tremaine said, bending to his work.

Hydras were inspired by missiles fielded by the Ixa during the Second Galactic War, which had exploded mid-flight into hundreds of thousands of speeding kinetic-kill masses, raining down on a target ship’s hull and obliterating it if enough of the masses connected.

Similarly, every Hydra divided into eight smaller missiles, each equipped with a compact nuclear warhead. The Hydras were fitted with sensors and designed to separate the moment they detected an attempt to shoot them down. The eight-Hydra barrage he’d ordered would split into sixty-four warheads.

“Captain Husher,” Kaboh said, “I strongly advise against—”

“I’m responsible for safeguarding this ship, Kaboh,” he said. “That vessel is moving against us.”

“Missiles armed and ready, sir,” Tremaine said.

Husher nodded. “Standby to fire the primary laser, either at Teth’s ship or at whatever comes out from behind that large asteroid—it’ll depend on how effective our Hydras end up being. Fire missiles, Chief Tremaine.”

Kaboh stood up from the Nav station. “Belay that order.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander?” Husher said.

“I’m officially declaring you unfit for command on the grounds that your erratic behavior indicates you’re mentally unwell.”

Tremaine was looking between Husher and Kaboh, brow lowered, clearly uncertain how to react.

“You don’t have the authority to do that,” Husher said. “Fire the Hydras, Tremaine.”

“Do not fire them, Chief Tremaine,” Kaboh said. “I don’t have the authority to do it, but as chief medical officer, Doctor Bancroft does. And I know she’ll agree with me based on the way you’re behaving. Tremaine, you are not mentally unstable, and for you, firing those missiles will amount to high treason. I strongly recommend you refrain from doing so until Doctor Bancroft has at least had the opportunity to comment on this matter.”

“Teth’s vessel is still approaching,” Winterton said.

“We don’t have time for a medical assessment in the middle of a developing engagement,” Husher said. “Tremaine, fire those missiles. Lieutenant Commander Kaboh, you are relieved from duty.”

With a toss of his head, Kaboh’s gaze swung toward the Coms officer. “Fry, put Mayor Chancey through to the CIC for all to hear.”

“Chancey has no authority in my CIC,” Husher said.

“No, but he’ll likely be able to tell us why Teth is moving closer.”

Slowly, Fry’s hand moved over her console, and with a couple taps, the mayor was patched through.

“Mayor Chancey,” the Kaithian said.

“Kaboh? Yes?”

“Captain Husher is poised to launch eight Hydra missiles at the Ixan Command Leader’s vessel in response to her maneuvering closer. Are you able to explain the vessel’s movement?”

A brief silence, and then Chancey spoke, sounding incredulous. “We were having trouble with the connection, so Command Leader Teth tried shortening the transmission distance. That seemed to work, and his Navigation auxiliary is slowing down now.”

Kaboh’s eyes found Husher’s.

“Mayor,” Husher said, “an asteroid changed its trajectory in a way that shouldn’t have been possible unless an enemy ship was hidden behind it.”

“Thank you, Mayor Chancey,” Kaboh said over Husher. “The captain has been acting irrationally, but you can rest assured that no rash actions will be taken.”

“Right. Good. Thank you, Kaboh.”

“It’s my pleasure. Terminate the call, please, Ensign, and summon Doctor Bancroft to the CIC. Commander Fesky,” the Kaithian said, turning toward the XO’s chair, “it’s not my place to give you orders, but I would recommend preparing to take command of the Vesta.”

“This isn’t about my mental state,” Husher said, glaring at the Nav officer. “This is a political coup of a military vessel.”

“Doctor Bancroft is far from a political operative, Captain. She’s a medical professional of the highest caliber. If she corroborates my assessment, it will be because she recognizes it as the best thing for her ship and everyone aboard.” The Kaithian sat at his console and turned toward it.

Five minutes later, the hatch opened to reveal Bancroft, for whom Kaboh played the video and audio of what had just transpired in the CIC.

Husher sat in the command seat, body rigid. Listening to himself, he did sound a bit manic, if you were looking for signs he was unstable.

I’m not, though. I’m stable. It’s the rest of the galaxy that’s insane.

“I’m truly sorry, Captain,” Bancroft said once she finished reviewing the recording. Her hands were folded over her waist, and she met his eyes with what looked a lot like sympathy. “I do find you unfit for command. It would be best if you return to your quarters for now, until we can find you more appropriate accommodations.”

For a moment, Husher stayed where he was, wholly unable to accept what had just happened.

“Will we need to contact Major Gamble, Captain?” Kaboh asked mildly.

Husher didn’t answer. Instead, he rose from the command seat and walked stiffly from the CIC.

Chapter 39

The Taste of Sweat and Fear

“I’m sure you agree, my terms are quite reasonable,” Teth said from the command seat in the very center of the bridge, while his various auxiliaries sat around him in total stillness. “In exchange for a five-year armistice, to be renewed for a second five-year period at the end of the first, contingent on adherence by both sides…in exchange for that, I want total control of the Baxa System as well as the six nearby systems we’ve already mentioned. I also wish to speak with Jake Price, in person, as soon as possible, with the understanding that no harm will come to him. I’ve already explained where you can expect to find Price. Does that cover everything?”

“That about does it,” Chancey said cheerfully. “And as a representative of the Interstellar Union, I agree to those terms. It’s been a surprising pleasure to negotiate with you, Command Leader. I’ll see to it that the Vesta returns with young Price, and as we’ve already agreed, her battle group will remain here to ensure the IU’s interests are being served.”

“An unnecessary provision, but an understandable one, Mayor,” Teth said. “I will treat them as if they were my own.”

Chancey nodded. “If what you say about Price’s location is true, we should return in a little over a month. Is there anything else you’d care to discuss, Command Leader?”

“That will be all. Safe travels to you, Mayor. And farewell, Ochrim. Rest assured that I will rebuild the Baxa System in a way that does justice to our father’s legacy.”

“Goodbye, Teth,” Ochrim said, and the transmission ended.

The deathly silence stretched on inside Teth’s bridge, as it would for days, if he allowed it to. No one spoke, here—to him or to each other—without his prompting. Nothing happened on the Apex without his express approval. The remaining Ixa were as close to extensions of his own body as he could make them, just as they’d been his father’s appendages right before his death.

Teth’s tongue flicked out, tasting the sweat and fear that always lingered on his bridge. An enhanced olfactory sense was only one of the enhancements with which the Progenitors had bestowed him, but it did make dominance a much more enjoyable experience.

“Coms auxiliary,” Teth said.

“Yes, Command Leader!” the auxiliary said, as though he’d been waiting with the words on his tongue, as he no doubt had.

“Play Kreigan’s Fifth.”

“Yes, Command Leader.”

Within seconds—admirable haste, for such an unusual request—the beautiful, discordant chords clashed together, like ships firing on each other from across a battlespace, punctuated by percussion as sharp as gunfire.

“Command Leader,” the Coms auxiliary said, his voice much softer as he interrupted Teth’s enjoyment of the music.

“Yes?”

“Another transmission request has come in from the Vesta.”

“Accept it, and put it on the main screen.” Teth felt comfortable letting his bridge crew in on any and all intel, since they knew that if they shared it with anyone, he would soon learn of it and kill them. Besides, he’d been expecting this transmission.

It was Mayor Chancey, again, and by now, he’d returned to his office in Cybele.

“Was that to your satisfaction?” Chancey asked.

“Other than the fact it was far too easy, yes, I suppose it was. I do find it somewhat depressing that the human who killed my father reacted to our maneuvers in such a predictable fashion. That rankles a little, I’ll admit.”

“If it’s any consolation, he faces a future of irrelevance and disgrace. Depending on how far the IU wants to carry the fiction that he’s unstable, he may end up in an institution.”

“Well, you already know how much respect I’ve come to gain for the IU. That’s why I intend to take such good care of their ships.”

“I know you will. So long for now, Teth.”

“So long, Mayor. And thank you for your work.”

“Don’t mention it. In fact—thank you, Teth. I mean that.”

“I’m honored,” Teth said, motioning for his Coms auxiliary to cut the transmission.

Chapter 40

Brittle Silence

Captain Arbuck of the Thero drummed his fingers on the armrest as he watched the Vesta dwindle to a speck of light on visual sensors. Then, a flash told him she’d made the jump to warp, and her long journey had officially begun.

Arbuck already felt restless. The idea of sitting around the Concord System with a bunch of Ixa didn’t do much for his already frayed nerves. He was a bit of an anomaly among military ship captains, in that he had absolutely no desire to go to war, and had always hoped to serve out his career without ever seeing combat.

Of course, that was the whole idea of an armistice, and maybe it would hold. Given the Ixa’s track record, he had his doubts about that, but anything was possible, he supposed.

He just wished he could know the outcome now, one way or the other. He’d always hated waiting, and waiting under these particular circumstances promised to be a special kind of hell, if the first few moments were any indication.

Teth hadn’t offered the crews of the Vesta’s battle group ships accommodations, and none had been requested during the negotiations. As standard procedure, each warship was provisioned to go six months without needing to resupply from either their capital starship or a planetary colony.

As for the abundance of downtime they now all faced…Arbuck wasn’t used to that, but he was looking forward to it, in a way. He had a backlog of apps and virtual “experiences” he’d been meaning to check out with his Oculenses, and he certainly wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to do so. In fact, unbeknownst to the rest of the CIC crew, he’d already started watching a vid using the main display, with the sound coming through his embedded ear piece…

“Sir, I’m getting multiple contacts emerging from the asteroid field,” the sensor operator said, and Arbuck jerked upright in the command seat, clearing his throat.

“Hmm? Sorry, could you repeat that, Chief?” He’d heard what she’d said perfectly well, but he wanted to buy some time for his brain to process it.

“Eleven Gok ships just emerged from hiding places behind asteroids.” The chief fell silent for a moment as she scrutinized the main display, then said, “Eight more contacts just appeared. All Gok.”

“Acknowledged, Chief,” Arbuck said, ashamed at the tremor that had crept into his voice. “Coms, send Command Leader Teth a transmission request.”

“Transmitting the request now, sir.”

A brittle silence descended as they waited for the request to be accepted. After several minutes—much longer than it should have taken for the signal to be received and answered—the Coms officer said, “No response, sir.” That much was obvious, but the young officer was clearly as anxious about the new arrivals as his captain.

Arbuck took his Coms officer’s redundant statement as a signal that he needed to do something, and he wholeheartedly agreed. But what? He cleared his throat again. “All right. Coms, contact the other battle group ships with a recommendation that all four IGF ships should begin making their way toward the warp departure point, while standing by to accelerate to warp velocity. I’m not saying we’re actually going to depart the system, but this behavior is highly unusual, and I’d like to take every—”

“The Gok ships have just launched guided missiles targeting all four of our ships, sir!” his sensor operator yelled.

“Calm down,” Arbuck admonished, though he could hear the panic in his own voice. “How many missiles?”

“According to the computer’s count…two hundred and nineteen.”

When Arbuck glanced toward his sensor operator, he saw that the color had drained from her face. Judging from the way he was feeling, he had likely paled as well.

“F-full reverse thrust, helm, and Tactical, ready point defense—”

But his tactical officer’s arms had fallen to her sides, and she was slowly shaking her head.

“They’re already here, sir.”

Arbuck had enough time to realize that he’d left his vid playing on the main display before the bulkhead that held the display caved in, admitting flame and sound to engulf him.

Chapter 41

Evil

Husher took Bancroft’s recommendation that he return to his quarters, but only long enough to put on one of his two plainclothes outfits and stuff the other into a small duffel bag. Grabbing some toiletries, he stuffed those in as well, and then he left, marching through the Vesta’s corridors and ignoring the baffled looks from his former subordinates.

His prayer was that no one in Cybele would recognize him, considering he was never without his captain’s uniform. When he opened the hatch into the false desert, he found that so far, at least, his prayers were being answered. There were no protesters sitting in the sand, waiting to harangue him for his oppressive ways.

Now that he’d escaped from the crew section, he realized he had no plan. Escaping had been the plan, the only plan, and now that he’d done it, he had no clue what to do next. So he spent ten minutes walking to the farthest corner of the compartment that contained Cybele and he dropped to the sand, his back landing with a thud against the bulkhead. To his eyes, he appeared to be leaning against thin air, since the simulated snowcapped mountains were still far in the distance, inaccessible. And to anyone who spotted him out here, because of the distance-warping effect at play in this desert of illusion, he would appear as a speck in the middle of a sandy expanse.

What would follow, he didn’t know. He also didn’t know how to react to his situation. He’d fled the Vesta’s crew section because he thought there was a decent chance Bancroft would try to have him committed to a locked section of the sick bay. But was there any hope of escaping the Vesta herself? And where would he escape to? He’d have to make his attempt in a populated star system for it to have any meaning, unless he merely wanted to kill himself, and somehow he still didn’t have that in him, despite his present state of dejection.

Would finding Sera be a worthy goal? Could she ever bring herself to forgive him for what his role in the Gok Wars had brought? Seventeen years had passed without her forgiveness, but what if he went to her? What if he begged?

For the second time this month, he lowered his face into his hands. It occurred to him that now would be a good time to weep, but he didn’t have that in him, either. Too many years of exerting iron self-control, he supposed—of doing exactly what he thought he needed to in order to ready the galaxy for the coming onslaught.

The end will come soon enough. That knowledge could be freeing, if he wanted it to be. Stripped of command, stripped of responsibility…he could actually live, for however long he’d have before the galaxy burned down around him. When was the last time he’d truly lived?

He found himself on his feet and trudging across the sand dunes, up one slope and down the next, one foot in front of the other. The lack of demonstrators to harass him persisted, even as he entered the city. Who knew what they might be glued to at home, staring into space as their Oculenses treated them to fabricated sights.

He soon found himself outside Ochrim’s door, and he rang the bell. Moments later, the front door slid aside to reveal the Ixan.

“Captain,” he said.

“Not anymore. Not of the Vesta, anyway.”

“I know. It’s on the narrownet.”

“Figures.”

“What can I help you with?” the alien asked, his expression as neutral as ever.

“Feel like harboring a strong candidate for commitment to a mental facility?”

Ochrim raised three clawed fingers to his chin, as though considering Husher’s request. “Given your new status, you no longer have power over me. You can’t pressure me to share the results of my research with you. In fact, you can’t require me to do anything at all.”

“Is that a no, then?”

“It’s an accurate characterization of the market value of my yes.” The Ixan stepped aside, and Husher hesitated for only a moment before crossing the threshold and making his way to the living room, where he deposited himself into Ochrim’s favorite chair. “Do you have any beer?”

That elicited a rare chuckle from Ochrim, and Husher heard the fridge open, followed by the clink of two bottles being taken out.

The first swallow was the best thing Husher had ever tasted. “I think things are looking up,” he said. “How’s the multiverse doing?”

“Didn’t I just remark—”

“You said I can’t require you to share your research. But I can still ask.”

Ochrim settled onto the couch across the room, peering at Husher with his lamp-like eyes. He’d yet to sip from his beer. “I’ve made progress,” he said at last. “Even so, I have to question whether it’s worthwhile to discuss my discoveries any further, or whether I should continue pursuing my research at all. As we both know, scientific research and I have a fraught past, and it’s tempting to join you in your current position—that is, relinquishing control of the future, whether voluntarily or not.”

Husher grasped his beer bottle with both hands and sat forward in the armchair, staring at the threadbare rug Ochrim kept around for some reason. The residence could be set to whatever temperature the alien preferred, at minimal cost, and the rug certainly wasn’t serving any aesthetic purpose.

Husher sat in that position for some time, not speaking. His mind flitted from thought to thought, seemingly at random. It wasn’t until he raised his head and met Ochrim’s eyes that he realized he’d been piecing some things together.

“Did you know I lost my daughter?”

After a pause, Ochrim inclined his head. “I had heard. I’m sorry.”

“Sure.” Husher cleared his throat. “Did you know I’m being treated for PTSD from the night I lost her?”

“I did not. Were you…?”

“There? Yeah. My cab was pulling up to the curb as the house was getting bombed.”

Ochrim had nothing to say to that.

“I’m not bringing this up to shock you. But I…I think I just realized something. Losing my daughter made me even more determined to make sure the galaxy’s ready for the coming war, because I had almost nothing left, after it happened. Sera divorced me, and all I had was the mission I’d assigned myself with shortly after Keyes died.”

“And so, you think we—”

“I’m not finished. Losing Iris made me more determined to make sure we’re ready, but it made me more anxious, too. More afraid, of losing the little I had left. It made me want to protect everything, absolutely everything, from anything that could possibly hurt it. My ship, my crew, the civilians living on my ship, the galaxy…everything.”

“Do you believe that’s what brought you to this point?”

Husher nodded, though he hadn’t realized that until Ochrim had just said it. “I do. I tried to hold on to everything, and I ended up with nothing.”

“The Fins made a study of PTSD.”

Husher raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yes. Like so many things, PTSD is something that’s common to every sapient species we’ve encountered. It’s probably common among nonsapient species, too. In fact, my bet would be that every species experiences some form of it. Now, why do you suppose that is?”

Slowly, Husher shook his head, though an inexplicable knot of excitement had made its home in his stomach as he listened to the Ixan.

“I’ll tell you what the Fins concluded. They came to believe that PTSD is an ongoing mechanism—a subroutine, if you will—evolved to alert an organism that it has experienced a threat it can’t properly account for. That raises stress levels, because the subroutine is sounding the alarm that the threatening event that caused the initial trauma could easily happen again, and if it does, the organism has no plan for contending with it. You’ve experienced those elevated stress levels, obviously.”

Husher nodded, rapt, and Ochrim continued: “The way to deal with those perpetually elevated stress levels—the way to alleviate the PTSD, even to cure it—is to provide the subroutine with a proper account of the threatening event, and to provision it with a plan for dealing with a similar situation, should it occur in the future. You were the victim of a terrorist attack, and the question you’re likely asking yourself now is, how can you come up with a rational account for another intelligent being murdering your three-year-old daughter. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here it is: evil exists in this world. Maybe you knew that already, maybe you truly accepted it, or maybe you subscribe to the more modern notion that there’s no such thing as evil. That everyone is basically good. Well, that’s nonsense, as your traumatic experience demonstrates. The beings who killed your daughter committed an evil act, because they are, in fact, evil. But even supposing you’ve accepted the existence of evil in the universe, that isn’t enough. Because in order to provide a true accounting of what happened to you, Husher, you also need to recognize that every living being is capable of the level of evil that was required to murder your daughter. In fact, they’re capable of even more evil than that. Much, much more. And that includes you. You, too, are capable of that much evil.”

Slowly, Husher shook his head, but still said nothing. His breathing came slow and steady, though the air rushed through his nostrils, and his chest heaved and fell.

“I heard your conversation with my brother, when he suggested that you’re both alike. The thing is, he’s right. You are both killers, you are both motivated in part by vengeance, and you have both taken it upon yourselves to decide when a being should live and when they should die. If you want to arrive at a proper account of your daughter’s death, if you want to overcome your PTSD, you have to realize that Teth was right. You are just like him. Recognizing that would make you more effective, because it would allow you to strip away your naivety, and it would let you act with the knowledge of just how horrible you’re capable of being. Then, and only then, would you be capable of making a truly moral choice: to act rightly, with full awareness of just how possible it is for you to do otherwise.”

Ochrim chucked softly. “The peculiar thing about your situation is that in a sense, Teth represents exactly the situation your PTSD has been trying to warn you about, again and again, for seventeen years. Someone has come once more to take from you what you hold most dear. The question is whether you’re able to figure yourself out in time to stop him, or indeed whether it might be far too late for you to do so.”

Trembling with emotion for the first time that Husher could remember in…well, ever, he rose to his feet.

“I think you just made a pretty good case for why we should try to do something about this mess.”

Ochrim rose, too. “Then we will try.”

Chapter 42

Innumerable

“How was speaking with your brother?” Husher asked as Ochrim knelt to lever up the removable floor tile and open the hidden panel into his lab.

The Ixan paused, crouching on the floor and peering up at Husher thoughtfully. “It wasn’t an experience I would have predicted having.” Flipping up the tile, he activated the moving panel. “Teth brought you up quite a lot. He kept trying to use you to pressure the diplomats into giving him what he wanted.”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “What did he say?”

“He kept mentioning how he knows you’re pushing for an increased Fleet presence in this region of the galaxy, and how that makes him skeptical of the negotiators’ actual commitment to an armistice. In my view, it had the effect of pushing the diplomats to offer more systems to Teth than they otherwise would have.”

Ochrim rose from the floor, and he looked like he was about to lower himself onto the ladder when he seemed to notice the expression on Husher’s face. “Something I just told you bothers you.”

“Did Chancey tell Teth that I’m pushing for a greater Fleet presence?”

“I didn’t hear him say it.”

“And were you there from the beginning of the transmission?”

“Yes.”

Shaking his head, Husher spoke slowly: “Only two people on this ship know that I was pushing for more warships to come out here. My Coms officer and Mayor Chancey.”

“This makes you suspicious of Chancey.”

“I guess it could just as easily have been Ensign Fry. But she hasn’t been working against me ever since this whole thing started. Chancey has.”

“There’s another possibility: the mayor may have let it slip to someone else that you advocated for a greater presence—someone who’s the actual traitor, or who unknowingly passed it on to the traitor.”

“Yeah. That’s possible, too.” Husher had already assumed that Teth would have superior intel, but the idea that it might have come from someone aboard his ship as opposed to an AI’s projections…it made him wonder what other sorts of treachery might be at play on the Vesta.

It also made him fear for the battle group they’d left back in Concord.

“Do you really think Teth can be trusted to abide by anything he agreed to during those negotiations, let alone an armistice?” he asked.

“No,” Ochrim said. “But you’re the one who brought us to Concord to negotiate.”

“I was following orders. I made very clear that I thought negotiating with Teth was worse than pointless.”

Ochrim seemed to be studying his face intently. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want to turn this ship around and get back to our battle group.”

“Success in turning the Vesta around is unlikely, as I believe we both know. As for getting back to your battle group…well, follow me.” With that, Ochrim began descending the ladder toward his lab.

The knot of excitement in the pit of his stomach made a return as Husher lowered himself to follow.

When he reached the chamber below, he found Ochrim already leaning against the table. As Husher looked around the lab, nothing jumped out at him that looked like an obvious solution to their problem. “You conducted the experiment, then?”

“I did.”

Husher realized that Ochrim was wearing a wider smile than he’d ever seen from him—which, coming from an Ixan, was a bit unsettling. But his anticipation of what Ochrim might have found overrode that. “And? How did it go?”

“I have no idea.” The smile broadened.

“What do you mean, you have no idea, Ochrim? Why are we down here, then?”

“I fitted a compact drone with a generator governed by an electromagnetic field restrictor so that it would produce a self-contained wormhole, spherical in form.”

“Okay. So what happened?”

“Again, I have no idea. All I can tell you is that the drone vanished from view and didn’t return. I didn’t have time to set up the experiment before we left Saffron, and so we were under warp drive at the time, meaning that wherever the drone ended up, it was still traveling at warp velocities. If, indeed, it ended up anywhere. But even supposing it did go somewhere meaningful to us, and supposing I’d had time to program it to return to realspace at the exact coordinates the Vesta would occupy, I didn’t have the resources to collect the drone from space. I wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway, since that could draw unwanted attention to my research, which is now officially illegal.”

Husher was shaking his head. “How does this help us, Ochrim?”

“Because I have a theory about where it ended up, which I consider fairly likely.”

Husher sighed. He hated science. “What’s your theory?”

“I think it went to another brane inside our universe. And I also believe that brane is a decoherence-free subspace, the attainment of which I consider the ultimate goal of my research. The applications of harnessing such a space are innumerable—within ten years, I could envision—”

“What are the applications right now?” Husher yelled.

The scientist blinked. “You said you wanted to rejoin your battle group.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have two theories about the subspace’s spatial relationship to the brane we occupy. If one of them proves true, it should allow you to reach the Concord System in just a third of the time it takes to reach it under warp drive.”

“What if the other holds true?”

“Three times as long. It’s also possible that you won’t end up anywhere, or that the subspace’s physics won’t support the integrity of biological structures. That is, you’ll disintegrate.” Ochrim cleared his throat. “Our dilemma, of course, is that we do not enjoy an overabundance of time.”

Husher nodded, pursing his lips as it dawned on him exactly what attempting this would require—namely, nosediving into the abyss and hoping for the best.

But Teth and the other strange warships had to be going somewhere when they disappeared. At last, Husher said, “We’ll also need a craft to carry me there.”

“Indeed. It will need to be quite small, since it turns out spherical wormholes require quite a lot of energy to generate. Frankly, I have no idea how Teth can create one large enough to encompass his destroyer, if indeed that is how he’s managing to vanish.”

“Would a Condor be small enough? We still have a few, kicking around Hangar Bay Theta. No one goes down there, so we can do all the work we need right there in the hangar bay. And no one’s going to miss a rusted old fighter that’s been obsolete for a decade and a half.”

“That will be perfect,” Ochrim said. “I’ve already begun work on a spherical wormhole generator for a craft large enough to hold a being, and with some modifications, it should accommodate a fighter the size of a Condor. Let us get to work.”

Chapter 43

Staring Back in Shock

As Husher worked on the Condor he’d identified as closest to spaceworthy among those stored in Hangar Bay Theta, Ochrim set about modifying the wormhole generator he’d already been working on.

Repairs on the Condor took almost twenty-three hours, during which they both worked without sleep. Ochrim finished the generator seven hours in, which surprised Husher, until he considered that Ochrim had invented the wormhole generator he was replicating at a smaller scale. With the generator finished, the scientist began work on a warp drive modeled after the Vesta’s, but small enough for the Condor. Even assuming Ochrim’s subspace compressed distance the way he thought it might, Husher would still need to fly under warp in order to travel to Concord and back in time.

Since the Vesta was already inside a warp bubble, it wouldn’t be possible to generate another one inside the hangar bay—you couldn’t generate a negative energy field inside a field that already had negative energy—but Husher would have to produce one the instant he left the supercarrier’s, otherwise his Condor would be torn apart.

The fighter would also need to be able to attain the velocities necessary to enter warp—in order to return to the Vesta once he was finished in Concord, for example. That would require steady acceleration over a much longer distance than the Vesta required, since the Condor’s engines weren’t nearly as powerful. That said, the fighter still had the ability to use what was known as Ocharium boost, whereby it used the rare element to propel itself against ambient axions and achieve speeds that otherwise wouldn’t have been possible. That would help, though it made the use of the Condor also illegal. Of course, Husher and Ochrim were well past letting that bother them.

At the end of the day, they retired to Ochrim’s living room with a couple of beers. Husher awoke the next morning to find that Ochrim had laid his partially finished beer on the carpet before stretching out on the couch, while Husher was still in a sitting position in Ochrim’s favorite chair, his miraculously unspilled drink nestled between his legs.

“So, how will I know when it’s time to transition back to this brane?” Husher asked three hours into their second day of work. “How can I figure out what realspace coordinates correspond to a given subspace location?”

Ochrim’s head jerked up from installing a rivet to fasten a distortion rod onto the Condor’s hull. He reminded Husher of a squirrel who’d just overheard a potential predator. “Oh. Right! I’ll need to include a universal positioning system that assumes a three-to-one realspace-to-subspace relationship in all directions. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Uh, yeah, my pleasure,” Husher said, sarcasm drenching his voice. Ochrim didn’t seem to notice.

Fifteen hours later, the Condor was finally ready—either to transport him to subspace or to kill him in a really specific way.

Either way, at least I’ll be a pioneer. For some reason, what he was about to do reminded him of the time he’d been the first to survive an emergency orbital insertion using a Darkstream reentry suit—the same model that had killed the only other person to attempt it. How do I get myself into these situations?

“So…do we have to get the Condor to a flight deck? That could be tricky.”

“No need,” Ochrim answered. “You should transition to subspace once you generate a spherical wormhole. I would recommend lifting the Condor off the hangar bay deck first, to avoid taking a chunk of it with you.”

“So I won’t slam into the side of the wormhole and get torn apart?”

“No, you’ll transport the moment you generate it. As for remaining at warp velocities as you enter subspace, don’t worry, I’ve connected the warp drive to the Condor’s sensors and programmed it to generate another bubble the moment you leave this one. From there, the drive will cycle down.”

“Why don’t I feel confident about my safety right now, Ochrim?”

“Because you have no reason to be.”

“Right,” Husher said with a nod. “I’d forgotten, for a moment.”

On the third day of their work—the fourth day of the Vesta’s warp transition—Ochrim finally finished installing the modified warp drive inside the fighter. With that, Husher told the Condor to open its cockpit, and he climbed into it.

The moment he was inside, he flashed back to sitting here on one of the Providence’s many flight decks, waiting for the go-ahead to launch. Husher missed those days…bantering with Fesky and the other pilots, coordinating ill-advised maneuvers, subjecting their bodies to far more Gs than they should have. His ascent through the ranks and getting his own command had taken him away from all of it. That was the funny thing about success—you spent your life obsessing over it, and the moment you got it, you started missing where you came from.

As the cockpit closed around him, Ochrim’s voice came through his ear piece: “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to leave the hangar bay. Unless you require a countdown, or something like that?”

“That’s fine, Ochrim,” Husher said, not able to muster a chuckle through the anxiety that gripped his heart and quickened his breath. “Either this works or it doesn’t. There’s not much more to it than that.”

“Good luck, Captain.”

Husher opened his mouth to correct him, but then he realized the mistake had probably been intentional. It isn’t a mistake, anyway. I still have my rank, unless it’s been stripped from me for some reason, without my knowledge. No one had notified him of much of anything, during the past three days. He wasn’t certain they even knew where to find him.

“Thank you, Ochrim.”

He waited for the Ixan to leave the hangar bay and close the hatch. They both knew that being in another part of the ship likely wouldn’t make a difference if something catastrophic happened. That said, Husher probably would have left, too, if he didn’t need to be here.

Once he was alone, he activated the wormhole generator. Abruptly, the Condor disappeared around him, replaced by an infinity of himself; countless versions of Husher stretching out in every direction, every one of them staring back at him in shock.

Chapter 44

Copper Taste

The Condor’s cockpit reappeared, though Husher had no idea why it had vanished in the first place. He’d nearly fainted from shock as he’d gazed into the cosmic mirror, but it had only lasted a second, and now he found himself in a featureless, black void—at least, according to the fighter’s visual sensors.

Also according to the sensors, in conjunction with the universal positioning system Ochrim had fitted the Condor with, he was moving at incredibly fast speeds. That made sense, given he was still flying under warp drive.

Without warning, the drive cycled down, and the Condor exited the warp bubble. Transitioning to realspace—or in this case, subspace—meant an immediate and sharp drop in velocity, but that still left him with a lot of forward momentum to contend with.

When Husher attempted to decelerate, the force of the gravity that crashed against his body like a tsunami made him cry out, and he stopped, panting as he continued to hurtle in the wrong direction.

He’d always made an effort to keep himself in shape, especially as he got older, to combat the effects of aging. Even so, he was in nowhere near the shape he’d been during the peak of his Condor flying career. His body simply couldn’t handle G forces the way it once had.

Gingerly, he tried applying the brakes again, only a little this time. He could handle the G forces in small doses, and the exercises from his pilot days started coming back to him as he worked his abs and limbs to facilitate blood flow and ensure he stayed conscious.

I need to do this faster. If Ochrim was right about subspace’s relationship to realspace, then traveling at warp velocities would take him three times farther than they normally would.

Gritting his teeth, he laid on more pressure.

Soon, his body was coated in sweat, and his muscles were so sore it felt like he’d left the gym after the hardest workout of his life, turned around, and did the exact same exercises all over again.

It seemed like hours later when he finally slowed to a stop. He wanted to take a long nap, but it wasn’t the time for that. Letting himself rest now would amount to a betrayal of his battle group captains.

I need to start the warp transition toward Concord. Then I can rest.

That meant enduring the exact same G pressures—from the opposite direction. It meant turning around and doing it all over again.

With a sigh, he started laying on speed, until he reached a point past which only Ocharium boost could make him accelerate any faster. He activated it, and his body paid the price.

An eternity later, the Condor’s accelerometer communicated to the warp drive that his velocity was sufficient to transition to warp. He did so, instructing it to inform him when he was approaching Concord, according to Ochrim’s theoretical reckoning.

He felt sluggish, almost feverish from the exertion he’d just subjected himself to. The entire cockpit was slick with his sweat, and the copper taste of blood clung to the back of his throat from the effort merely getting oxygen into his lungs had required, toward the end.

He was too tired even to feel anxious about whether Ochrim was right about subspace—about whether he’d end up at his destination or in the middle of nowhere. And yet, enduring the transition to warp did instill him with an incredible sense of accomplishment and pride as he tumbled into a deep sleep.

A little over thirty-two hours later, the computer notified him that it was time to start decelerating, unless he wanted to blow past Concord.

Before he began, he activated the wormhole generator. He was ready for the countless copies of himself, this time, and all the Hushers looked back at him with set jaws and eyes underscored by black lines.

Maddeningly, even though he’d returned to his native dimension, he still had no idea where he was inside it. The Condor’s outdated sensors hadn’t been designed to make sense of the universe from inside a warp bubble, and visual sensors told him nothing. They only showed a mess of blue-shifted stars whipping by, with some red-shifted stars to either side of him and an empty void behind, since he was outpacing the light traveling from that direction.

At last, Ochrim’s universal positioning system told Husher it was time to exit warp, and he did. Immediately, he expanded the Condor’s tactical overview so that it showed him a light year in every direction.

Once the sensors had finished populating the display, and he saw what he was looking for, he raised two stiff arms and yelled in triumph.

He was just outside the Concord System, screaming toward its great asteroid belt.

His celebration didn’t last for long. As light began to reach him from the battle group’s last known location, it showed not the warships he’d been praying to find, but a wide field of debris that was slowly spreading along the system’s ecliptic plane.

“No,” he rasped, double-and triple-checking the tactical display to make sure of what he was seeing.

It was time to start decelerating again, and so he did, laying on as much as he could handle. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary to come to a complete stop this time, so it was less intense than his initial deceleration in subspace.

There was no sign of Teth’s ship—either it had withdrawn deeper into the system or left to launch another attack. So Husher pressed on toward the asteroid belt, desperate for answers.

It soon became clear what a bad idea that was, as a Gok destroyer emerged from behind one of the asteroids and fired a volley of four missiles.

Immediately, Husher engaged the Condor’s gyroscopes to point his thrusters toward the missiles. He gunned the engine, and the immense G forces flattened him against the seat. His cheeks peeled back from his teeth, twisting his face into a forced snarl.

Determined not to pass out, he flexed the muscles throughout his entire body. A few minutes later, he managed to overcome the momentum carrying him toward the missiles, but as he accelerated in the opposite direction he realized that there was no chance of outstripping them. Worse, they were now too close to try to detonate using kinetic impactors or missiles of his own.

He did the only thing he could think of. He activated the spherical wormhole generator, and after a brief rendezvous with an infinity of reflections, found himself back in subspace.

As he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, something occurred to him. If he’d had the energy to spare—which his Condor didn’t, but which a fully charged Python would—he could have done incredible damage to the Gok warship using a single fighter, flitting out of subspace long enough to fire missiles and impactors and then flitting back in to avoid return fire.

Then, he imagined an entire squadron of Pythons, outfitted with spherical wormhole generators, weaving in and out of a battlespace and terrorizing a disoriented enemy.

Just as he’d always hoped, the military applications of Ochrim’s discoveries were incalculable. But the realization was tempered by the loss of four captains and their loyal crews.

I need to get back to the Vesta.

Husher again began the long, arduous acceleration required to attain warp velocity. With any luck, he would catch the supercarrier just as it was transitioning out of warp.

Chapter 45

Supposed to Feel Like That

“Fesky.”

It took several minutes for his old friend to reply to Husher’s brief transmission, even though they were close enough for real-time communication. But at last, her voice came through, lowered as though she was trying to prevent others from overhearing.

“Husher. I just gave Kaboh the command seat and ran out of the CIC to speak with you. Where are you? Search parties started scouring the Vesta for you three days ago!”

“I’m in a Condor, underneath an overhang of Himera’s smallest moon, so that the sensors don’t pick me up.”

A long pause followed that. At last, Fesky said, “There’s been talk of having you committed to a locked chamber because of mental instability. I’ve been arguing that you’re not unstable, but you’re not helping me make my case, here.”

“Listen to me, Fesky. I’m not unstable, and I really am in a Condor on Himera’s second moon. I’m asking you to trust me, because what I’m about to say is going to sound even crazier.”

“What is it?” Fesky said, sounding as though she was bracing herself.

“I just returned from the Concord System, using new technology that I was the first to test, mainly because I supplied the materials to develop it. I can’t talk too much about that at the moment. What’s most relevant right now is that our battle group’s been destroyed, and I have the sensor recordings to prove it.”

He got another long silence in response, and he sensed Fesky was grappling with what he’d told her. Finally, she said, “All right, Husher. I’m trusting you. What do you need me to do?”

“Go back into the CIC and order them to open one of the airlocks into Flight Deck Sigma. Tell them that one of our outdated fighters is outside the ship and needs to be allowed entry. Say you can’t offer any more details than that. Give the command back to Kaboh and leave the CIC again. As soon as you do, contact Major Gamble and ask him to meet you on that flight deck with some of his marines. Just two should do it.”

“Can you at least tell me what the plan is?”

“I have good reason to believe that Mayor Dylan Chancey is working with the Ixa, and has been doing everything in his power to debilitate us. We’re going to search his residence.”

“That’s not quite good enough, Husher. I need to know what your reasons are for believing that.”

“During the negotiations, Teth mentioned something that only Chancey could have known. Other than Ensign Fry, that is, and I trust her a lot more than I trust him. Also, the fact that the battle group we left in Concord is destroyed, and that Chancey played a big part in leaving them there—that’s pretty damning too, wouldn’t you say?”

An audible clack came over the connection and Fesky snapped her beak together. “This feels like it could be either the best decision of my career or a complete disaster,” she said. “Is there anything you can tell me that makes me feel better about the chances of the first one?”

“No,” Husher said. “But I can say that I think it’s supposed to feel like that. And Fesky, this whole situation is already a disaster. You know that, and you also know that if there’s even a small chance we can turn it around, we have to take it.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how you’ve always brought me around to these crazy ideas—by telling me things I already know.”

Chapter 46

Every Crease

As the commanding officer of the Vesta, Husher had always had the ability to access private shipboard communications, provided there was cause to believe the security of the ship depended on knowing their content.

For him, extreme consideration and forethought were necessary before examining anyone’s messages. Given his removal from command, however, that was no longer his call to make.

It was Fesky’s call. And after making it, she reviewed Chancey’s communications and found records of multiple encrypted exchanges with an unknown party off-ship.

Working together to search Chancey’s residence, it didn’t take long for Gamble, Fesky, Husher, and the two marine privates to find a drive secreted inside a mattress containing several decryption keys. The third one they applied to the suspicious transmissions unlocked them.

The messages Chancey had sent contained exactly what Husher had expected: intelligence on him and other prominent Fleet officers aboard the Vesta, information originating from the Interstellar Union, and frank discussions of Chancey’s efforts to destabilize the Vesta by increasing polarization between the people of Cybele and her crew.

When he and Fesky were finished reviewing the messages, Husher turned to Major Gamble. “Find Chancey, arrest him, and throw him in the brig.”

“Yes, sir,” the major said before heading straight for City Hall with his marines in tow.

When they were gone, Husher exchanged glances with Fesky. “You’re not going to be too put out when I retake command of this ship, are you?”

“Only if you don’t screw it up this time,” she said, holding his gaze.

Husher considered his friend’s words for a bit. Then, he nodded. “That’s fair enough. I’ll try my best not to.”

As they strode across the illusory desert, toward the hatch that led into the crew compartment, something caught Husher’s eye from off to the right.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the man standing perfectly still, wearing the old United Human Fleet uniform.

“You see that?” Husher said.

“What?” Fesky asked, but the moment she spoke, the man disappeared.

“Never mind. Oculenses playing tricks on me.” They continued into the crew section, but Husher couldn’t get the image of Captain Keyes out of his head. Right before the man had disappeared, he’d nodded at Husher.

As he marched into the CIC, with Fesky right behind him, Kaboh practically gasped: “Husher!” The alien was wearing the closest thing to a surprised look that Husher had ever seen from a Kaithian.

“Ensign Fry, I just sent a vid to your console,” Husher said. “If you would kindly play it on the main display and grant everyone access, I’d appreciate it.” He wasn’t used to having to ask for things in his CIC.

“You don’t have the authority to give orders here anymore,” Kaboh hissed.

“I didn’t order the ensign, I asked. But I’m about to retake the ability to give orders, the moment she plays the vid for you.”

Fry did play the vid, and everyone in the CIC watched Husher’s trajectory through the Concord System, past the wreckage of the Vesta’s battle group, and right up to the asteroid belt, where a Gok destroyer emerged to attack.

“How did you come by this footage?” Kaboh asked.

“I took it.”

“Impossible.”

“Quite possible, in fact, Lieutenant Commander. You may be Kaithian, and your species may have created mine, but even so, there are a lot of things you don’t know. I expect that this technology—which I used to both reach the Concord System and return here in time to meet the Vesta—is about to become vital to the war effort. But that’s not the matter at hand. What’s immediately relevant is that I was correct about Teth’s hostile intentions in the Concord System, and also that Mayor Chancey was just arrested for conspiring with the enemy. Evidently, my actions have not been those of a captain unfit for command, and therefore I’ll be retaking the command seat. Get up.”

“Nevertheless,” Kaboh said. “Doctor Bancroft is the chief medical officer aboard this ship, and she did declare you unfit.”

Husher stepped closer. “And you, Kaboh, are a bureaucratic weasel bent on twisting regulations to serve your own misguided prejudices. Get out of that chair, or I’ll call Major Gamble to throw you out.”

Kaboh stared up at Husher, his large, coal-black eyes narrowed and teeth partly bared. At last, the Kaithian stood, making way for Husher.

He settled into the command seat. “You’re a talented officer, Kaboh, and I’m fine with you staying on as the primary Nav officer, if you can swallow your pride enough to do so. Are there any other objections?” Husher peered around the CIC, but no one spoke. “All right, then. Kaboh, set a course that turns the Vesta around for a warp transition back to the Concord System, then send it over to the helm. Coms, patch me through to shipwide.”

Fry glanced at him. Her expression told him she wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this, but that she didn’t necessarily object, either. “The entire ship, sir? Including Cybele?”

“Yes.”

“It’s done. You’re on.”

Husher nodded. “Crew of the Vesta and citizens of Cybele. This is Captain Vin Husher. In light of recent developments, including the revelations that Mayor Dylan Chancey has been working with the enemy and that the battle group we left behind in the Concord System has been destroyed, I have retaken command of this vessel. I’ve ordered us to turn around and return to the Concord System.”

He drew a deep breath. “I won’t try to conceal my reasons for this decision. Teth is clearly attempting to establish a foothold in the Milky Way, so that he and whatever forces he represents can attack us with impunity. We have limited time to stop him from doing that, and if we leave him alone, he will continue to exploit our reluctance to engage in direct combat. He’ll have us dividing our forces up in an attempt to protect everything, and in the end, we’ll have nothing.

“If I were to return to the heart of the Interstellar Union and seek guidance from the admiralty of the Integrated Galactic Fleet, I have every reason to believe that, instead of sending everything we have against Teth, they would instead circle the wagons while they quibble and delay. I also don’t consider it impossible that they’d attempt to seek another peace deal with Teth, perhaps by offering him even better terms than they already have.

“I won’t stand for that. Thirteen years ago, I was given command of this ship to do everything I could to protect the galaxy, as well as everyone in it. So that’s what I intend to do. If we succeed in defeating Teth, and I’m deemed insubordinate when I return, so be it. But I will face every consequence with pride in the knowledge that I did right by the galaxy, whether the galaxy accepts that or not.”

Husher nodded toward his Coms officer, and she cut the transmission.

“You essentially just declared us to be in open rebellion against both the IGF and the IU,” Kaboh said.

“Lieutenant, you’re free to abstain from participating in the coming fight. If you like, you’re even welcome to go see how many crewmembers disagree with what I’m doing. Somehow, I don’t think you’ll find very many.”

The Kaithian apparently decided to remain at the Nav station, and two minutes later, Husher’s com buzzed with a call from Penelope Snyder.

“Ms. Snyder,” he said upon answering.

“This is an outrage,” she hissed. “How can you put tens of thousands of civilians in mortal peril on a whim? Are you really that monstrous?”

“Ms. Snyder, I apologize if, when you decided to live on a warship, you were under the impression that ship would never go to war. The capital starship was designed and commissioned under the misguided notion that it would always be so powerful that nothing in the galaxy could threaten it. Just because that’s no longer the case does not lessen our duty.”

“Do you at least intend to continue observing the policies enacted by the council under Mayor Chancey? The policies under which so many report feeling safer?”

“I’ll tell you what. In three hours, once we’re under warp drive, I’ll address anyone who’d like to hear my plans. I’ll address them in person, on the Starboard Concourse.”

“That’s one of the legally enforced human-free zones,” Snyder said, sounding aghast. “Only humans who are allies are meant to go there.”

“Then hopefully, once I’m finished talking, everyone there will realize that I truly am their ally.” Husher terminated the call, standing from the command seat. “Fesky, you have the CIC. See us through the warp transition.”

“Yes, sir.”

His first thought was to visit the wardroom to get something to eat, but he decided against it. He wanted a clear head when he went to speak with the students, protesters, and other citizens of Cybele.

Instead, he went to his office to sit behind his desk in deep thought about what he intended to say. As he contemplated it, he removed Keyes’s crucifix from the desk drawer, absently winding the leather thong from which it hung around his fingers.

Before he left, he spent an hour carefully ironing his captain’s uniform, laboring over every crease. When he was finished and about to leave, he first slipped the crucifix around his neck, tucking it beneath his undershirt, just as he imagined Captain Keyes had done.

Chapter 47

War Is Not Safe

“The so-called captain may have his command seat back,” Snyder said, gripping a podium set up at one end of the Starboard Concourse, “but his career still depends on how he treats the people of Cybele. That’s been the case since he took command of the Vesta thirteen years ago, and it’s certainly the case now. The IU will decide whether he should face disciplinary measures and maybe even criminal charges the moment we return.”

Having made his way through a crowd of hundreds, if not a thousand, Husher positioned himself to one side of the podium, standing at-ease two or three meters to Snyder’s right. She spoke for several minutes more, but at last she relinquished the podium to him.

The moment he grasped both sides of it, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of booing, air horns, and protest chants. Husher gazed calmly out at the crowd, waiting for them to run out of steam.

After ten minutes, the protesters were still going strong, occasionally using their air horns to give their voices a break. The crowd writhed against itself, and he spotted some people leaving, shaking their heads in disgust, at whom or what Husher couldn’t say.

The crowd was still only increasing in volume fifteen minutes later, but the Vesta would spend a week under warp drive, and Husher was content to stand at the podium until they lost their voices.

I will say my piece. Sooner or later, I will get my chance to say it, and then I will.

Something caught his ears. A chant he hadn’t heard yet today, or indeed, ever before. It consisted of three simple syllables:

“Let him speak! Let him speak! Let him speak!”

It still took an eternity, but eventually, the crowd fell silent. Husher leaned forward and spoke into the mic:

“I’m sorry that you were lied to, and that you lied to yourself, about the peace we’ve enjoyed for the last seventeen years.” He cast his gaze from individual to individual—from angry scowl to solemn frown to smirk. “I’m sorry you believed this was how it would be from now on, despite the indications to the contrary. And I’m sorry you thought we had become so strong that nothing in the universe could challenge us—so strong you could live your life on a warship without any fear of real danger even coming to your doorstep.

“I understand the thinking that led to it. Capital starships have become powerful economic engines, and they offer a way for the species in our Union to connect with each other. I consider those positive things. But capital starships are also warships, and when war comes, they must fight. In addition to the benefits to our galactic economy and to interspecies relations, you were also placed on my ship to limit me. The idea was that maybe if we make our society harmless enough, the universe will leave us alone, and war will never come to our systems again. But that approach leaves something vital out of the equation. We’re all about to gain a harsh lesson in exactly what that something is.

“You came to live on my ship, and in doing that, you asked me to make space safe for you.” Husher focused on one person at a time as he spoke. He focused on students, professors, doctors, clerks, custodians, lawyers, mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. “You asked me to make war safe for you. As though war were something that could be sanitized and controlled. I have some sad news for you. War is not safe. In fact, life is not safe—it’s unfair and harsh and dangerous. The closest we can get to ‘safe’ is a locked bedroom far from any battlespace, and even then, your safety won’t be guaranteed, which I fear will become increasingly clear in the coming years. I have personal experience that speaks to it. I lost my three-year-old daughter to a Gok terrorist attack, when she was at home, supposedly safe.”

His voice lowering, which made several people in the crowd lean forward, Husher said, “You’re about to experience the horrors of war firsthand, in a way the public has never experienced them before. I wish it weren’t so. But in this universe, you do the best you can with what you have, as unfair as that might be. If you’re a fighter, then you don’t let unfair limitations stop you from achieving your goals. You work to conquer them, one by one. Right now, life has given me a warship full of civilians and a chance to stop a deadly enemy from gaining a foothold in our galaxy’s backyard. I’m going to take that chance, because this war will be fought for the survival of every species in the galaxy, and keeping ourselves safe is not worth giving up an opportunity to save them.

“There’s been a lot of talk about oppression lately—about how some groups have it worse than others, how they’ve been treated unfairly, and how they’re still being treated unfairly even now. I’m not here to debate which species have it better than others. But I am here to say that trying to tear each other down is not the way we make things better. That only weakens us, and leaves us even more vulnerable to catastrophe. If we’re to survive what’s coming, we need to put aside our animosities and pull together. We need to work together, because right now, we’re at risk of not having a society to share at all. But if we can manage to unite, and if we can manage to win, then maybe we can grow. And if we do that, then we can all become stronger and more prosperous, as one people. All of us.”

The applause that followed was much more lengthy and robust than Husher had expected. It only came from about half the crowd, and it didn’t last nearly as long as the booing had, but it was something.

When it died down, he added, “Given Dylan Chancey’s treachery, every policy enacted while he was mayor is now rescinded pending further review, and that review will wait until after the coming battle. As for the creation of zones closed to humans, Tumbra, or any other species—I will do everything in my power to oppose that, and if I am ever blinded or weak enough to allow it to happen again, I will resign. That divisive bullshit has no place on my ship.”

Nodding, Husher began to step away from the podium. Before he could, Penelope Snyder’s voice blared from the crowd, amplified by a bullhorn: “Does this mean you’re instituting a military dictatorship, Captain?” she said.

He leaned into the microphone again. “It means you chose to live on a warship that is now going to war. Feel free to call that whatever you like.”

With that, he left the podium and began to leave Cybele.

But Snyder wasn’t done. “Your daughter is still alive, Captain Husher,” she said into the bullhorn.

Slowly, Husher turned, and as he did he could feel an incredulous grimace twisting his features. What insane tactic is Snyder using now?

“That isn’t funny, Ms. Snyder,” he bellowed, without the aid of the podium’s microphone.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Snyder answered. “Your daughter’s alive, and she’s standing right here.” Her hand lowered to rest on the shoulder of a young woman, and it took Husher a couple of seconds to recognize Maeve Aldaine.

As their eyes met, Husher felt like he was drifting away—as though he were hearing the growing murmurs of the crowd through a long tunnel.

Snyder seemed half-crazed under the best of circumstances, and what she was claiming now was absurd. Yet, as he gazed into Aldaine’s widening, ice-fleck eyes, the same color as his own, he knew beyond a doubt that what Snyder had said was true.

Chapter 48

Old School

They sat alone in the wardroom, where Husher’s officers had done him the decency of giving them privacy. Either they’d heard the rumors about Snyder’s claim already, or they nevertheless sensed the conversation’s importance. Husher felt grateful to them either way.

“How?” he said, looking from Snyder to Aldaine and back again. He’d already offered them food and drink, but they’d both declined.

“I’m wondering that, too,” Maeve said. “Was this really the best way to tell us, Penelope?”

“Apologies, dear,” Snyder said. “The captain left me with no choice.”

“By which you mean you realized that you were down to your last card to play in your attempts to control this ship,” Husher said.

Glaring at him, Snyder said, “If you want information from me, maybe you should start treating me with some respect.”

“Well, I already know you’re going to tell me the truth. If you don’t explain how this came to be, I definitely won’t believe you, and the card you’ve played will have no value whatsoever. So let’s stop wasting time. How did this happen?”

Before Snyder spoke, Maeve did, staring at Husher. “My mother always told me she barely knew my father. She mentioned that she was married to you, once, but that you divorced and then she hooked up with someone at a party—that I was her ‘happy accident,’ and she didn’t want my father to know about me because she didn’t think he’d make good father material.”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Sera? Hooking up with someone at a party?”

“I didn’t think it seemed like her either, but I just figured I didn’t know her when she was that young and maybe she’d changed. I never once entertained the thought she was lying to me, as she’s my mother.” Aldaine glanced at the bulkhead for a moment, then back at Husher. “The reason I wanted to sit in on that first council meeting was because I knew mom had been married to you, and I wanted to know what you were like. To see whether what everyone says about you is true, about how old school and regressive you are.”

Husher gave a tired chuckle at that. “And?”

“Turns out you are, yeah.”

Raising his eyebrows, he turned to the university president. “How did this happen, Snyder?”

Lips pursed, Snyder said, “Sera told me about the night your house was bombed. Maeve’s babysitter was inside when it happened, but Maeve was at her playmate’s house, down the street.”

“Iris.”

“Hmm?” Snyder said, head tilting sideways.

Husher looked at his daughter, the slow wonder of this situation still dawning on him. “Your birth name was Iris.”

“Yes,” Snyder said. “Sera changed that before she was old enough to know the difference, to make sure word of her survival wouldn’t reach you.”

“That name does seem familiar to me,” Maeve said, and she spoke the word slowly: “Iris.”

Snyder cleared her throat. “Anyway. Maeve had been invited for supper to her playmate’s house, and the babysitter messaged Sera to ask her was it okay, which she said it was. The playmate’s mother heard the bombing, of course, and when she saw whose house it was she called Sera.”

Snyder paused, and Husher realized he was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the woman’s face. “Sera told her not to tell me Iris had survived,” he said.

“Indeed. She knew that if the Gok had tried to kill you once, they could easily try it again. For Maeve’s protection, she wanted to get her far away from you. That was the reason for the divorce. To protect your daughter.”

Slowly, Husher shook his head. Part of him understood what Sera had done, but another part of him resented her deeply for it.

“Of course, when Maeve expressed her intention to study at Cybele U, Sera was horrified, and she contacted me to explain the situation. She didn’t even know me, but she’d been following my work, and she believed she could trust me. Over the years leading up to Maeve’s enrollment, Sera and I kept in close touch, and we became friends. I promised her I would do everything I could to make both Cybele U and the Vesta as safe for her daughter as I possibly could.”

Husher’s gaze drifted to his daughter once more. Iris. Maeve. She’d helped Snyder in her efforts to change things on the Vesta, and while he considered those efforts misguided…

“Thank you, Penelope. Thank you for looking out for my daughter.”

Snyder sniffed. “Captain Husher,” she said, and her tone told Husher she was about to administer her final blow. “If you won’t turn the Vesta around to keep the people of Cybele safe, will you do it for your daughter?”

Husher met Snyder’s piercing gaze, and then he turned to study Maeve’s unreadable expression for a long moment.

He looked at Snyder again. “No.”

Chapter 49

Unbridled

As the Vesta transitioned into realspace beyond the outskirts of the Concord System, Husher experienced an odd mix of grim resolve and…well, excitement.

He’d never enjoyed the act of making war, but he understood its necessity. Certainly, he didn’t live under the illusion that every war through history had been necessary or even warranted, but he knew that sometimes war was needed to stand up to an enemy who couldn’t be negotiated with, who wanted to destroy your way of life or simply to kill you.

Despite what he considered a realist’s perspective on armed conflict, today, he felt excited. And why shouldn’t I? The coming engagement would mark the first time since the advent of capital starships that their unbridled might would be unleashed. The first time a capital starship captain would not be forced to adhere to ROEs that offered the upper hand to the enemy on a silver platter.

Husher knew it wasn’t the most noble sentiment he’d ever felt, but he was excited to see what the Vesta could truly do. Besides, since he’d already determined the warships in the Concord System were hostile, he was technically still observing the IU’s ROEs. Hopefully, I can get them to see it that way.

“Multiple Gok contacts just outside the asteroid belt, sir,” Winterton said. “Teth’s vessel has made an appearance as well.”

“How many Gok ships?”

“Twelve, but they’re spread thin, with several light minutes between most of them.”

“The Ixa and the Gok…” Fesky muttered. “Two species that have never had any trouble getting along properly.”

Husher glanced at her. “Neither have you and I, Fesky. Mostly, anyway. We’ve always had each other’s backs. You haven’t let Snyder get to you enough to forget that, have you?”

The Winger clacked her beak, then lowered her voice so only Husher could hear. “Well, to be fair to Snyder, you’re still pretty annoying sometimes, human.”

Husher chuckled, then toggled his Oculenses till they showed him a tactical display. After a few seconds’ scrutiny, he saw the obvious angle of attack. It was a bit too obvious, which probably meant it was the one Teth wanted him to take, but Husher was content to play the Ixan’s game long enough to feel him out.

For a moment, he wished there’d been enough time to outfit a squadron of Pythons with the ability to enter subspace, but that would have involved a lengthy delay, and probably returning to an IU system. It occurred to him that passing on that game-changing technological innovation to the Fleet would depend on whether he achieved victory, here.

No pressure.

“Kaboh,” Husher said.

Slowly, the Kaithian turned to face him. “Captain?”

“Am I going to have any trouble getting you to follow my orders during this engagement?”

“As long we’re clear that I am merely following orders, and that your actions have almost certainly already destroyed your career—then no, Captain. You won’t.”

That’ll have to do, I suppose. “In that case, set a course straight at Teth’s destroyer and the two Gok cruisers flanking it. Bring engines to seventy percent power.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tactical, I want port and starboard Hydra broadsides at the ready. Depending on how the other Gok ships react, we may need them.”

“Aye, Captain. Commander Ayam just reported that all Python pilots are ready and standing by to scramble.”

“Very good. Coms, make a shipwide broadcast advising all civilians to secure themselves and family members inside the safety harnesses provided to each residence.” In Husher’s experience, people normally kept the restraints affixed to a wall in a closet somewhere, since they didn’t like the visual reminder that the Vesta was a warship and might actually find herself in battle someday. I just hope no one threw them out. If anyone had, they were likely in for a rough ride.

The necessary orders given for now, Husher sat in the command seat, back straight, and watched on the display as his supercarrier neared the opposing ships.

He felt he was doing the right thing, deep down in his gut. And in his experience, whenever you felt that way, you usually were.

Chapter 50

What It Means to Tangle

“The Ixan destroyer has loosed a fifty-missile barrage and has begun to withdraw into the asteroid field, sir,” Winterton said. “She’s yet to come about, though. This doesn’t look like a full-fledged retreat to me.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Husher said. “Teth’s trying to bait us. But we should focus on the immediate problem first. Tactical, let’s show those Gok cruisers what it means to tangle with a capital starship that’s actually able to fire on them. Loose four Hydras each in a formation that blankets the area around those targets with potential firing solutions—say, twenty kilometers along both the X and Z axes. Make sure the missiles are programmed not to target enemy missile fire. Our point defense turrets should take care of most of those, though I’d like forward laser projectors set to point defense mode, to be safe.”

“Aye, captain.”

Winterton turned from the main display toward Husher. “Sir, the cruisers just added missile salvos of their own to the destroyer’s. Twenty-five missiles apiece have joined the incoming barrage.”

“Coms, relay orders to Commander Ayam that he’s to scramble Pythons at once. Tell him to prioritize the Gok missiles as targets, and that I’ll have further orders for him once he’s finished with that.”

The CIC officers with tasks to complete bent to their work, and Husher watched on the tactical display as his plan unfolded.

Over the next ten minutes, he saw something on the display that startled him: things were going exactly the way he wanted. Both traditional and laser point defense systems worked together to start mowing down the incoming robots the moment they were in range, and Pythons in tight formations swooped in to pick off the more conventional Gok missiles on the large barrage’s flanks. Apparently, none of those had been programmed to prioritize fighters as targets should they appear, given that they just sailed dumbly toward the Vesta’s hull until they were obliterated.

“Hydras ready to fire on your command, Captain,” Tremaine said.

Husher nodded. “Fire Hydras.”

“All Gok missiles have been neutralized,” Winterton put in. “The Pythons are starting work on the ordnance from the destroyer now. The chances of any robots getting through to the Vesta are extremely low.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Husher said, though he still felt bewildered. One of the only constants of space combat—and of warfare in general—was that plans never retained their original form after coming into contact with reality. A warship captain who was going to survive was one who needed to have Plans B, C, and D ready to go, and a captain who planned to survive for very long needed even more than that. Staying ready to turn on a dime was part of the job.

The Gok cruisers seemed to spot the missiles targeting them, since they attempted to maneuver out of the way, but they weren’t ready for the Hydras splitting into several smaller missiles. The Gok had never seen weapons like these, since they hadn’t been around during the Gok Wars, and the species’ military intelligence was even more useless than the IGF’s intelligence.

When the four Hydras split into thirty-two smaller missiles, the enemy cruisers scrambled to shoot them all down, using their own rockets in conjunction with point defense systems.

But it was far too late. The smaller missiles still packed quite a punch, and even two would likely be enough to take down the enemy ships.

Far more than two made it through. Of the first volley, eleven missiles bypassed the target’s defenses, and of the second, thirteen.

Both missile cruisers came apart in violent eruptions, the flames of which were swallowed almost instantly by the airless void of space.

The Vesta’s CIC erupted into cheering and fists pumping in the air. Husher’s heart rose at that, and for the first time, he realized just how long it had been since he’d heard that sound inside a Fleet warship.

“Be mindful of shrapnel from those cruisers,” Husher said to Winterton, and when he spoke, the cheering died down. He didn’t like to dampen the celebrating, but they were the only vessel in a battlespace beset by an unknown number of enemies, after all.

“Aye, sir,” Winterton said, though he’d been among the first to resume scrutinizing his console’s readout.

“What’s the destroyer’s posture?” From the tactical display, Husher could see that Teth was still retreating, but the data overview there only told him so much.

“Steadily accelerating in reverse, though she hasn’t yet come about to face the inner system.”

Husher nodded. Still not committing to a full retreat. Again, he wasn’t surprised. The asteroid belt was the perfect place to lay a trap for the Vesta. “Conduct constant active scans of the asteroid field as we enter it, Winterton. I want to know the instant something pokes a head out from its hiding place. And Coms, order Ayam to have his birds perform recon flybys behind asteroids big enough to conceal a warship within the range we’ve seen from the enemy.”

“Yes, sir,” Winterton and Fry said in rough unison.

“The other Gok ships should be similarly unprepared to deal with our Hydras, so the broadsides we’ve readied should account for any that decide to show up. If we see another of the warships we faced in Saffron, though, we might have to give it some extra attention.”

“Sir,” Winterton said, “the Ixan destroyer has ceased its reverse thrusting and is now moving toward us under what must be full engine power, or something close to it.”

“Is she within range of our primary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fire primary at that destroyer, Tactical.”

“Aye, sir.”

“The destroyer is launching another missile salvo,” Winterton said, his hands flying across his console. Moments later, he said, “Sir, the primary laser only made contact for a few seconds. The destroyer just thrusted laterally to maneuver out of the way, the moment it finished launching its barrage.”

“Cease firing the primary, Tactical. Winterton, how many missiles?”

“Eighty, sir.”

Husher swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to give another order, but before he could, the sensor operator spoke up again.

“We’re experiencing superheating along the nose of the Vesta. The destroyer’s hitting us with its particle beam. We’re already seeing major hull warping!”

Winterton seemed about to speak again, but massive explosions cut him off, accompanied by violent rocking that threw Husher against his seat’s restraints again and again.

Chapter 51

Below the Ecliptic

“Answer with our primary!” Husher said. A quick study of the tactical display had told him just how well Teth had boxed him in: to move to port would be to maneuver toward the incoming wave of robots, and a giant asteroid limited movement to starboard.

“We don’t have enough power to fire the primary again,” Tremaine said through gritted teeth.

Husher furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

“The explosions were a main capacitor bank blowing, sir,” Winterton said. “It took our total capacity to around seventy percent, meaning firing the primary once took us below the necessary charge to do so again.”

Husher cursed. That also meant even a full charge wouldn’t let them fire their primary laser twice in succession. “Helm, reverse thrust along an angle that takes us below the ecliptic, now! Tremaine, hit the destroyer with fifteen Banshees and a spray of kinetic impactors along the horizontal axis. Send another spray just below their ship. I want them incentivized to break off.”

“Firing missiles and impactors,” Tremaine said.

“We’re out of the particle beam, Captain,” Winterton said with a sigh of relief. “We took immense damage to the nose of the Vesta. In addition to the capacitors, we lost visual sensors in the area as well as nine crewmembers who were servicing the main gun.”

Damn it. “Let’s turn our attention to the incoming missiles.” Glancing at the tactical display, Husher saw that the Air Group had already managed to cut them down by seventeen, but without the Vesta’s help in dealing with the barrage, most of the speeding robots were still in play. “Tremaine, I trust we have enough charge to put tertiary laser projectors in point defense mode?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Do it, then. Helm, increase reverse thrust by fifteen percent. Keep a close eye on those active scans, Winterton. Now would be the perfect time for Gok to start coming out of the woodwork, especially with the Pythons taken off recon.”

“Will do, sir. The Ixan ship is making no move to refocus its particle beam on the Vesta. It’s resumed backing away toward the inner system.”

Husher nodded. As reluctant as he was to do so, he had to admire the sophisticated game Teth was playing. The Ixan was walking a fine line between luring the Vesta down-system and taking every opportunity to try and neutralize her. If Teth overplayed his hand, he likely figured there was a chance the supercarrier could retreat, or at least maneuver back to a more secure position. But at the same time, if he didn’t take some chances, then he might never get a shot at victory.

Clearly, Teth considered vanquishing Husher a worthy goal, and Husher didn’t consider it immodest to agree, at least inwardly. Other than preventing the enemy from establishing a foothold, Husher’s main reason for attacking Concord was to spur the IGF to action. If he failed, he had every reason to believe the IU would continue equivocating and attempting to bargain. He’d watched them do it for too long to believe they’d do otherwise, unless they were forced to.

“Seventeen enemy missiles left in play, sir,” Winterton said. “We should be able to neutralize the remainder before any—” The sensor operator broke off as something seemed to catch his eye on the main display. Husher watched as color fled the man’s face.

“A ship identical in profile to the one we fought in Saffron has just appeared from behind the large asteroid on our starboard side, Captain,” he said.

It felt like an invisible fist made of ice had clenched Husher’s stomach. For a moment, he couldn’t speak as he watched the massive vessel belch hundreds of missiles that screamed across the battlespace.

Chapter 52

Peacetime Soldiers

Major Peter Gamble moved in formation along a port-side crew corridor with what he considered one of his weakest squads.

Gamble didn’t like to waste time with his strongest marines, even in a potential combat situation—they’d already ingested the right principles from their training, and they lived and breathed them. They didn’t need him there, holding their hands.

No, the marines Gamble spent time with…they did need a little help. Like most people in the service, these were peacetime soldiers who’d never seen combat outside the sims, which got war wrong more often than not. Of course, even many peacetime soldiers had the right instincts for war, or at least instincts that could easily become the right ones, with enough exposure to battle.

The squad Gamble was with now…it didn’t consist of that type of soldier, exactly.

Either way, with Captain Husher back in the command seat, Gamble wouldn’t be surprised if none of the robots even made it into the Vesta. The man certainly had enough experience, and he had skill oozing out his ears. Plus, Captain Husher seemed pretty reluctant to let any more of those little devils inside his ship to wreak havoc.

Gamble had seen fighting during both the Second Galactic War and the Gok Wars. At thirty-eight, he was old to still be pulling active duty, but he’d do it until his body broke down completely or they crammed a promotion so far down his throat that he had to take some desk job. He knew that would happen eventually, and he dreaded the day it did.

For all its faults, Gamble believed in the Interstellar Union, and he’d spend his dying breath protecting it. Maybe its citizens appreciated that, and maybe they spit on him for it. Probably it was a mix of the two. It made no difference. He’d die to protect them nonetheless.

A blast shook the corridor, then another, then another. The Vesta bucked beneath him, throwing Gamble headfirst into a bulkhead.

His combat helmet absorbed most of the impact, but his neck felt sore as he picked himself off the deck. Somehow, I think that’ll be the least of my worries.

“Everyone all right?” he called to the others.

A ragged chorus of “Yes, Major,” greeted his ears, and a quick glance around the corridor found nobody down for good.

Good enough for me.

“Major Gamble,” said Captain Husher’s voice through Gamble’s ear piece. “Come in.”

“I read you, Captain.”

“You’re about to have company. We’re getting hit with a surprise barrage of those attack robots, and there’s no way to avoid it. A few dozen at least are going to get through.”

A few dozen… When he spoke, Gamble tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Sir, should I have Yung, Mews, and Zimmerman released from the brig so they can join in the fight?”

“That’s a negative, Major. Under no circumstances are those three to be released. When I take disciplinary action, it means something, and I plan to keep it that way. Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it ended the moment the next battle started.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain had a point. Those marines would be itching for a fight, and when they realized they were missing out on one, only then would the punishment feel real.

“I want you to personally take a company of marines to Cybele and secure the city,” the captain said. “Deploy the rest of the battalion exactly as I had you distribute them before, patrolling the corridors and guarding vital systems.”

“I will, sir.”

“Husher out.”

Gamble immediately switched to a company-wide channel. “All marines in Hammerhead Company, double-time it to Cybele and meet me in front of the Epicenter.” He cut the transmission, then looked around at the squad he was leading, a few of whom were looking at him like they were going to be sick. “Get yourselves together, now,” he told them. “Let’s move.”

Under normal circumstances, it was universally understood that only the hatch into the fake desert should be used to enter or exit the large compartment that contained Cybele. But these were not normal circumstances, and Gamble and his squad used one of two port-side emergency hatches instead.

The moment they emerged, it became clear what a good decision that had been. A shriek pierced the air, audible even from this distance, and without prompting, the entire squad broke into a run.

So, some of their instincts are good after all. Gamble wasn’t surprised. Even during peacetime, making it through marine training was no joke. If you didn’t have what it took to be a soldier at least on some level, you simply didn’t make it into the battalions.

Gamble unclasped a pouch at his waste, reached inside, and grabbed three microdrones, which he tossed into the air. While the microdrones had a number of settings, their default was to stay just ahead, checking around corners and zooming up to get a glimpse of upper-story windows and rooftops. That was exactly the setting Gamble wanted, right now. His Oculenses overlaid all three drone feeds onto what he was already seeing, and he could turn the opacity up or down with a thought. He could even give them simple commands that way, or change their settings. With any luck, the drones would prevent his squad from getting blindsided by a pack of killer robots.

They passed a man whose overlay made him look a bit like a mime, to Gamble’s eyes. He was lying face-down, a few feet from a residence door that had been left open.

Gamble knelt, placing a hand on the man. “Sir, are you—?” His hand encountered something soft and slick, with too much give to it. When he recoiled, and his hand exited the man’s overlay, it came back wet with scarlet.

“Guy’s shredded,” Gamble said hoarsely. “Something got him with a lot of sharp edges. Let’s keep on moving.”

They found action well before they met the rest of Hammerhead Company at the Epicenter. Gamble’s rightmost drone glimpsed robots rushing down an alley just before they spilled onto the street his squad was on.

“Contact!” he yelled, raising his R-57 assault rifle and putting three rounds into the nearest robot while shuffling backward. “Fall back to the other side of the street, use the alleys!”

Gamble glanced back and spotted the tiny space between residences that he planned to retreat down. The robots were coming at them fast, and he heard the horrified scream as one of his marines went down without firing a single shot. There was nothing to be done for him beyond what Gamble already had—given him the orders that, if he’d followed them fast enough, might have saved his life.

It’s do or die time. This is how we get combat experience. Ideally, that happened without loss of life, but loss of life was also an inescapable part of combat.

Gamble’s job was to make it happen mostly on the enemy side. If these robots can be said to have lives.

A couple of them pursued him down the narrow gap between the residences, and Gamble scrambled back, continuing to slam fresh clips into his R-57 and emptying them into the things’ metallic hides.

At last, both his attackers were down, and he leapt over their metal corpses, using the residence walls to propel himself upward to avoid getting cut up on their sharp parts, some of which were jagged, now that he’d finished with them.

Checking down the next alley, he saw one of his marines had almost made it to the next street over, with one of the metal devils in close pursuit. The marine had dropped his gun halfway there, and the robot had simply charged over it, apparently ignoring it.

Gamble raised his gun, took careful aim, and put a round into the thing, center-mass. It went down instantly. Is that where their brains are…? It would be good news, if so, since their thin, curved heads presented such small targets, especially when they were facing you.

“Thanks, Major,” the marine called as he picked up his gun from where he’d dropped it.

“You owe me a beer,” Gamble said, then got on the company-wide channel. “All squads currently in or en route to Cybele, report to me.”

They needed to consolidate their position inside the city, and fast. This was already a disaster, and if any more of those things got inside before Gamble could lock down the area, it would quickly become a catastrophe.

Chapter 53

Ripped to Pieces

Husher watched on the tactical display as his Pythons advanced on the enemy ship’s missile barrage in waves, using kinetic impactors and the latest generation of Sidewinders to neutralize dozens of the robots at a time. The Vesta’s point defense turrets were also working overtime, supplemented by lasers whose energy supplies were rapidly depleting.

Then, his breathing caught as he saw an entire squadron of Pythons go down almost simultaneously.

Seconds later, Commander Ayam’s voice squawked through his ear piece: “Captain, the robots are changing their behavior!”

“How? What the hell is going on out there, Commander?”

“A group of them just changed course suddenly and latched onto a formation of my birds,” the Winger said. “They ripped them to pieces in seconds.”

“They’re no longer prioritizing the Vesta as the target,” Husher muttered as he considered the unsettling development, racking his brain for what to do. “Commander, I want you to use looser formations, or even abandon squadron formations altogether. Judging from the fact we just lost sixteen fighters in the space of seconds, our movements are far too regimented and predictable. Have half of your pilots work together in preassigned pairs, and have the other half fly in finger-fours.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Ayam, I also need you to assign some of your pilots to target the enemy ship. That thing doesn’t look to be running out of missiles, and if we can’t do something about her soon, we’re going to have a perforated hull and a ship full of robots.”

“I’m on it, sir. Ayam out.”

Husher turned toward Tremaine. “Tactical, I want you to arm four Hydras and load them with firing solutions similar to those we used against the Gok. I also want you to arm four Gorgons and distribute them randomly throughout the barrage those Hydras will turn into. I’m sending in some Pythons to attack the enemy vessel—between those and the Hydras, not to mention the mess of robots and fighters already clogging up the battlespace, we should get a Gorgon or two through.”

“Understood, sir,” Tremaine said. “I’m on it.”

While he was waiting for his next gambit to take shape, Husher reviewed some of the data coming in from Damage Control. They’d already called their second watch on-duty, and they were about to get third watch out of their bunks, if the turmoil hadn’t already done that.

According to the estimations Husher reviewed, using his Oculenses to flick through updates and absorbing them as fast as he could, thirty-nine of the robots had successfully infiltrated his ship’s hull.

Another transmission request came in, from Major Gamble, and Husher accepted. “Go ahead, Major.”

“We’ve finished securing Cybele, but sir…there have been some civilian casualties.”

Mentally bracing himself, Husher said, “How many?”

“At last count, there are twenty-nine dead and one hundred and forty-three injured. Most of those have been hospitalized. I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m…I’m sure you did what you could.”

“We weren’t fast enough. It’s as simple as that.”

“There are a lot of people at fault for those deaths, Major Gamble, but you aren’t one of them. You aren’t to try taking that blame for yourself. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep me apprised of any further developments. By text, if you please. Husher out.” He turned toward the Tactical station. “What’s the status of those missiles, Tremaine?”

“Just uploading the finalized telemetry now, Captain. They’re already waiting in the tubes.”

“Fire at will.”

“Firing four Hydras and four Gorgons.”

Husher watched on the display as the rockets crossed the cluttered battlespace that stretched between the two warships. Before the Hydras had a chance to split, one of the robot-missiles changed course to target it, but the advanced weapons were programmed to separate in response to a threat, and the robot only ended up latching itself onto one of the eight smaller missiles. It shredded it, destroying both it and itself, but the other seven continued on.

A flash of inspiration made Husher stare hard at the tactical display, and he realized he had enough time to execute. “Send me the missiles’ targeting data at once, Tremaine.”

“Here it is,” the Tactical officer said with a flicking gesture atop his console.

“Commander Ayam,” Husher said over a two-way channel with his CAG, “instruct the two finger-fours currently keeping pace with our missile barrage to concentrate fire just below the closest pole of the oblong spheroid. I’m sending you the area I mean now over Oculens. That’s where our missiles are headed.”

“It will be done, Captain.”

Husher watched with his heart in his throat as the enemy ship’s point defense turrets pounded away frantically at the incoming missiles and Pythons. Most of the fighters were soon forced to peel away, in order to avoid getting hit, and then the turrets started work on efficiently mowing down the cloud of rockets formed by the fully separated Hydras.

In the end, only one of the smaller missiles made it to the enemy hull. But all four Gorgons did.

Fire blossomed from the opposing vessel, and as soon as the void quenched that, another explosion ruptured her hull dozens of meters down. Two more followed.

If he’d had access to his primary laser, Husher might have finished off the ship then and there. He briefly considered sending kinetic impactors into the breach, but the ship was already moving away, thrusting toward the protection offered by the nearby asteroid.

“Good job, everyone,” Husher said over a wide channel, addressing the comment to Ayam and the Air Group as well as his CIC officers. “But this is far from over. Stay frosty and get the job done. Pythons, return to base for now.”

Closing the channel, he looked around his CIC, meeting each officer’s eyes for a few seconds each. “If we’re going to continue, we need to get out of this asteroid belt, so we can see threats coming. In an even match, that…carrier, for want of a better term, would have been obliterated. But because it was able to maneuver so close to us undetected, it almost finished us. I’m not letting that happen again. That said, leaving the asteroid belt for the inner system is probably exactly what Teth wants us to do.”

Grim faces and set jaws met his eyes as he continued to shift his gaze from officer to officer. Even Kaboh looked determined.

“Major Gamble just informed me we lost twenty-nine civilians during the attack on Cybele,” Husher said. That brought winces from his officers. “One hundred and forty-three have been injured. Our marines were able to secure the city, but we have no guarantee more civilians won’t die.” Husher pointed to the main display. “On the other hand, victory today could mean the difference between saving the hundreds of billions of civilians that live in the Interstellar Union or allowing them to burn. I need to know something. Are you with me in this?”

“Aye, Captain,” Fry said right away, and Tremaine immediately echoed her. One by one, the officers sounded off.

All except Kaboh. Husher turned toward the Kaithian. “Lieutenant?”

“Aye, sir. I’m with you.”

“Time to ante up,” Fesky said.

Husher nodded. “Let’s ante up.”

Chapter 54

Teth’s Gambits

“Exiting the asteroid field now, Captain,” Winterton said. “No sign of any warships moving to stop us. Wherever those ships are, they’re well-hidden. The only hostile showing on radar right now is Teth’s destroyer, which is halfway to the Ixan homeworld.”

“Maybe the enemy’s bunched up behind the planet,” Fesky said.

Husher had considered that possibility, too. Making a stealthy entrance into a system was next to impossible, especially if the system was equipped with modern sensor webs. Employing stealth on defense, though…

That was a completely different story. All you needed were sensors updating you on the approach of enemy ships—a function Teth’s destroyer could easily be serving—and the patience to wait behind a planet, moon, or asteroid until the right moment.

It would take a little over forty minutes for the Vesta to join Teth’s ship near Klaxon. Husher had endured some excruciating waits during his military career, but he expected this would prove to be one of the worst. The supercarrier’s battle group had been obliterated, and she was alone, deep in enemy territory and surrounded by an unknown number of hostile ships.

Husher saw the tension he felt reflected in the postures of his CIC officers as they monitored their respective stations in silence. Seven minutes after they’d begun their descent into the system, Winterton spoke again: “A Gok destroyer just emerged from the asteroid belt, at almost exactly the same place we exited.” The sensor operator paused, then added, “A missile cruiser and a frigate are close behind it.”

Nodding, Husher waited for several minutes more. Then, he asked, “Have any more ships emerged, Ensign?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Coms, tell Commander Ayam that in twenty minutes, provided no more warships have emerged, I want him to scramble the entire Air Group and take them back to deal with those three ships. He has more than enough firepower to handle them, and we have more than enough to deal with Teth.”

“Provided Teth has no surprises waiting for us behind Klaxon,” Fesky said. “Which we’re almost certain he does.”

“I said we have more than enough firepower, Commander. This is a capital starship class supercarrier, and we have the muscle to crash whatever surprise party Teth has planned.”

“Yes, sir,” the Winger said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

The silence resumed, and so did the waiting. Watching the tactical display, Husher saw that Teth still seemed in no hurry. His ship had less mass, and so it took less energy to propel, making it nimbler. The destroyer could have easily outstripped the Vesta if her commander wanted. Hell, he could do the disappearing trick, too. This wasn’t an authentic retreat, and both Husher and Teth knew it. Had this been a game of chess, they would both be employing obvious strategies—on the surface, anyway. As for how deep this game actually went, that remained to be seen.

“The destroyer has reached Klaxon’s moon,” Winterton reported at last. “She appears to be making her way behind it, sir.”

Fascinating. Teth’s gambits continued to come off as incredibly facile. “Alter our course to give the moon a wide berth, Kaboh,” Husher said. “If Teth has positioned artillery there, I want the option to break away quickly.”

“Aye, Captain. Calculating course now.”

The minutes continued to creep past, silent and uneventful. For all they knew, Teth could have slipped behind the moon and vanished. But what would be the point, other than to force the Vesta to use up some of her fuel on a wasted trip down Concord’s gravity well? Hardly a devastating blow.

It reminded him of their first engagement with the Ixan destroyer, in Wintercress, when she’d materialized on the dark side of Tyros’ moon, striking before the system’s sensor web could warn the Vesta of her presence. But this maneuver was reversed, with Teth slinking behind cover like an injured animal wanting only to lick its wounds.

“Circling the moon now, Captain,” Winterton said. “The destroyer is coming into view. She’s just sitting there in lunar orbit, oriented toward us.”

“Let’s see if we can’t liven things up a bit,” Husher said. “Tactical, arm two Hydras and two Gorgons. I’d also like six Banshees loaded in the tubes, either to supplement the more advanced missiles or to help shoot down incoming ordnance if need be.”

“Aye, sir.”

“The destroyer is maneuvering toward us,” Winterton said. “No shots fired yet, and she’s moving quite slowly.” The sensor operator blinked. “Sir, I’ve continued to conduct regular active scans of the system, and the results from the latest one just came back. I’m picking up something strange on radar.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure. It’s unlike anything I’ve encountered or heard about. Whatever it is, it’s invisible to visual sensors, but the radio waves are bouncing off it just as though it were solid. It appears to be spherical in form, and centered on Klaxon’s moon. We’re trapped inside it, sir, with the Air Group trapped outside.”

A lump took shape in Husher’s throat. It seemed they’d been right about there being a trap, but completely off about its nature.

“Tactical, fire a Banshee at whatever that is from a port-side tube. Record the missile’s impact on visual sensors and play it for me, Winterton.”

Both officers got to work, but seconds later, Winterton had something else for him, and it wasn’t welcome.

“The destroyer has begun firing missiles, Captain. They look to be more robots. Thirty-five in play already.”

“Point defense should account for those, but standby to use the loaded Banshees if necessary, Tactical, and to replace them in the tubes.”

“Missile impacting now, sir,” the sensor operator said. “Should I patch the live feed through to the main display?”

“Go ahead.”

Winterton did, just in time to catch the collision. This time, there were visual phenomena—namely, the brief flash of the Banshee exploding, followed by ripples of electric-blue energy that flowed out from the impact site.

“The destroyer just launched forty more missiles,” Winterton said. “Radar’s showing no effect on the structure’s integrity from our missile’s detonation. It…oh, God.”

“What, Ensign?”

“The sphere appears to be shrinking, sir. It’s closing in on us.”

Chapter 55

No Pressure

“Fire Banshees at the incoming missiles and switch out the programming for the Hydras already loaded in the tubes—I want them taking down robots instead.”

“Yes, sir,” Tremaine said, his jaw rigid as he focused on his work.

“What’s our capacitor charge?” Husher asked.

“Down to fifteen percent. Enough to assign tertiary laser projectors to assist with point defense, but not for long—likely only ten minutes or so.”

“A total of eighty-nine enemy missiles currently headed for us,” Winterton said, his voice as tense as Tremaine’s. “The destroyer is reversing thrust and rotating—it looks like Teth plans to fall back and use the moon for cover.”

“That’s no retreat,” Husher said. “He’ll come around the other side and hit us with his particle beam from behind.”

Winterton’s eyes widened at the possibility, but Husher just wanted to curse. He’d known full well that Teth would have something waiting here for him, but he’d assumed he could always pull out if things got too hairy, even if it meant speeding away at full engine power perpendicular to the ecliptic plane.

Now they were isolated from their Air Group and trapped in a shrinking space where Teth’s smaller, more maneuverable destroyer had the advantage. Even as Husher studied the tactical display in bewilderment, he saw eight Gok ships emerge from the asteroid field and head toward his stranded Air Group. Five more followed.

We need to get out of here, immediately. “Nav, set a course to pursue the destroyer that takes us through the missile barrage.”

Kaboh looked at him. “I cannot have heard that correctly.”

“You heard me. Lock it in and send it over to Helm, now. Tremaine, I want four more Hydras loaded into forward tubes as well as twelve Banshees, all programmed to target down missiles. Spray kinetic impactors into the approaching missile cloud, as well—hopefully we can take down a few more that way.”

“Yes, sir. This will reduce our remaining Hydras to the eight we’ve loaded into the port and starboard tubes for broadsides.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that this will guarantee we’ll take at least some of those robots on the hull. Damage Control will have their work cut out for them, and so will Chief Gamble’s marines, but better this than letting Teth fire that particle beam up our ass.” Husher turned to Kaboh. “How’s that course coming?”

“I just sent it to the Helm,” the Kaithian said, his voice strained.

“Good. I have another task for you. Assume the enemy destroyer’s acceleration tops ours by thirty percent and come up with an estimate for when we’ll be on the exact opposite side of the moon from it—that’s when I want the Vesta brought fully around, followed by bringing our engines up to one hundred percent. Collaborate with Tactical to figure out the moment Teth’s nose will appear around the moon’s horizon. Tactical, I want you to fill the space we expect the destroyer to occupy with kinetic impactors, as well as four Banshees for good measure.”

As both officers hunched over their consoles, Husher turned to his sensor operator. “Winterton, take a good look at that forcefield, or whatever the hell it is. I want you to figure out exactly what it centers on—is it the moon’s core, or is it a spot nearer its surface? My guess is the latter.”

“Yes, sir.”

A series of slight tremors ran through the deck and up Husher’s seat—that would be the robots they were taking on their hull. It killed him to picture the metal killers tearing through his ship, but it was what had to happen.

At last, they were through the cloud of robots, after only seventeen of them made it into the Vesta’s hull. Not the worst outcome, but certainly not good.

“Bringing her around,” Vy said, and Husher watched on the display as the remaining forward visual sensors showed a view of the dusty, barren moon, and then of the horizon they expected the enemy ship to appear over. “Engaging engines at full.”

“I’ve located the forcefield’s center, Captain,” Winterton said. “You were right. The forcefield centers on a point near the surface of the moon, on the side opposite us.”

“Then that’ll be the site of whatever’s powering it. I doubt Teth would be able to carry a generator big enough to power that thing aboard his ship, so the positioning makes sense.” Husher opened up a two-way channel with his marine commander. “Major Gamble, are you there?”

“I read you, Captain. My marines are in the process of mopping up our latest visitors.”

“Glad to hear it, but I’ll need you to take your best soldiers off that task. I’m assigning you with a mission that will probably decide whether we live or die today.”

“No pressure, then.”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” I hope. “Get two squads comprised of your best marines to Flight Deck Delta as quick as you can. Suit up before you go—combat pressure suits. Take some heavy artillery with you. Your job is to find and destroy whatever’s generating the forcefield currently pinning the Vesta against this big rock.”

“You can count on me, Captain.”

“Good man. Husher out.”

As he terminated the transmission, Tremaine spoke. “Firing kinetic impactors and four Banshees at the coordinates where we expect the destroyer to appear.”

Several long seconds later, Winterton said, “No sign of her, sir. We—oh. There she is—she’s cresting the horizon underneath us!”

Husher gritted his teeth as he processed the fact that Teth had played him again. “Helm, engage attitude thrusters to lower our port side twenty degrees.”

“Aye, sir,” Vy said.

Husher tried not to dwell on the ordnance he’d sent tearing through empty space instead of the enemy destroyer’s hull. “Tactical, be ready to fire our port-side Hydra broadside the moment the targeting becomes viable.”

“Yes, sir.”

Next, Winterton spoke the words Husher had been dreading: “Superheating along our port side, sir.”

“Helm, standby to accelerate away the moment those Hydras have left the launch tubes.”

An explosion rocked the ship. “That was two rows of point defense turrets exploding, as well as a secondary capacitor bank,” Winterton said. Another explosion. “Several laser projectors in the area were just obliterated,” the sensor operator added.

“Tremaine?” Husher said.

“Firing Hydras now, sir.”

“Full power to engines, Helm,” Husher barked. “Squeeze every drop of acceleration they’ll give us.”

His eyes riveted to a splitscreen showing a tactical overview alongside sensor readouts, Husher watched as the destroyer continued her circuit around the moon, methodically neutralizing the thirty-two missiles screaming her way, one by one.

The missiles’ targeting systems were sophisticated, and they’d track Teth until he managed to deal with them all. Hopefully, the volley would buy Gamble and his marines the space they needed to get down to the moon, but Husher didn’t think for a second that the Ixan was finished.

The smaller, faster ship had the clear advantage in the ever-shrinking space between the forcefield and the moon. If this fight dragged on much longer, Husher knew they were all doomed.

Chapter 56

Major Peter Gamble

Gamble expected no trouble getting his best marines to Flight Deck Delta on time, but getting the shuttle and pilot he wanted there was another story.

As he sprinted through the corridors toward where he needed to be, assault rifle at the ready in case any robots decided to come through the bulkhead at him, he made a snap decision.

“Chief Haynes,” he said over a two-way channel, “I want you to leave Flight Deck Alpha and fly around the Vesta to Flight Deck Delta and pick us up. Think you can do that? I need you there in seven minutes, max.”

“Not what I’d call the safest maneuver, in the middle of an engagement,” Haynes said.

“Oh, is that why your callsign is Psycho?” Gamble said as he ran. “Is it because you like to sit around in the comfort of your home and sip tea? Is that why you signed up to fly a combat shuttle?”

A brief pause, and Haynes said, “How did you know my callsign? They gave me that in flight school. I haven’t told anyone here.”

“I know a lot of things, Chief Haynes, including that I’ll kick your ass if you’re not on Flight Deck Delta with the Vesta’s best combat shuttle by the time I arrive there.”

“Yes, sir,” Haynes said quickly. “On my way. Haynes out.”

Probably the pilot knew Gamble was joking, but there was still a note of uncertainty in his voice. Gamble liked it that way. He didn’t enjoy making threats, but he also didn’t enjoy lacking what he wanted when he needed it most. In that sense, a climate of healthy fear of what Gamble might do wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

As his last couple marines were running across the flight deck, the inner hatch opened on one of the airlocks, and the combat shuttle Gamble had wanted descended from it, landing neatly a few meters away from his people.

It hadn’t just been the shuttle itself he’d wanted, even though he expected it to play a significant role in the coming mission—it was a craft with lots of artillery, designed for direct actions against targets where heavy resistance was anticipated. But besides the shuttle, Gamble had also wanted Haynes himself flying it. The man had demonstrated some serious ability during their escape from Tyros; flying that had probably saved the captain’s life, as well as Gamble’s. That’s who I want taking us down there.

“Johansen,” Gamble said, pointing at one of the marines. “Did you bring what I need?”

“You got it, Major,” the marine said, slapping a lidded trolley next to him.

“You’re a good man, Johansen.”

As he’d left Cybele, Gamble’s com had shown Johansen as the closest to Flight Deck Delta—as well as the closest to the nearby armory. He’d quickly instructed the man to get the necessary artillery, including the charges they’d use to blow that generator to pieces.

“You’ve all been chosen for the weapon you rate highest on,” Gamble told the assembled marines. “I put together this direct action on the fly, as I was jogging here. If I can do that, y’all can handle any confusion that arises with minimal fuss. Grab your weapon, sort yourselves out, and get on the shuttle. You have thirty seconds, marines.”

Johansen flicked the lid of the trolley onto the deck, and Gamble’s marines clustered around the guns, digging through them until they found the one they were strongest on. That done, they sprinted toward the shuttle’s open airlock. The last marine piled in twenty-nine seconds after Gamble had given them their time limit. Not bad.

“No need to wait for us to get all comfy-cozy, Psycho,” Gamble told Haynes over a wide channel. “Let’s go now, while the shuttle airlock is still pressurizing.”

“Going.”

Gamble felt the shuttle leave the flight deck and thrust toward the airlock on its way out of the Vesta.

Captain Husher’s voice came over a two-way channel. “Major, we’re approaching the location we believe the forcefield generator to be. Our plan is to decelerate and remain in the vicinity for as long as we can, in case you need some air support.”

“I appreciate it, sir,” Gamble said. He would have told the captain not to endanger the ship needlessly, but he knew he didn’t need to.

“You’re ready to deploy?”

“We’re heading for the airlock now.”

“Good luck and God speed, Major.”

“Thank you, sir. Same to you.”

Seconds later, the exterior airlock door opened, and they were rocketing out into the void. None of the marines had taken their helmets off—Gamble was glad he didn’t have to tell them that. This flight wouldn’t be long enough to justify it, and besides, in the middle of a battle, the chance of losing interior pressure was high.

“Remember, everyone, we’re going to be much lighter on our feet down on the moon,” Gamble said over a wide channel. “The good news is, so will any Ixa we encounter. That means their fancy new genetic enhancements will count for less when it comes to running us down like they did on Tyros. The bad news is, we can probably expect to encounter some heavy firepower as a result. Stay frosty, everyone.”

“Oorah,” the marines answered as one.

The staccato of one of the shuttle’s turrets sounded overhead, followed by something landing on the hull.

Within two seconds, Gamble had unclasped his restraints and was running for the airlock. He slapped the panel to let himself in, entered, and pressed an inner panel to close the hatch behind him.

Through the narrowing gap, he glimpsed several marines who were clawing at their restraints, as well as Tort, who’d simply ripped his off and was halfway to the airlock.

Too late, Gamble thought as the hatch slid closed. “Psycho, I need an airlock override, and I need it by the time this chamber finishes depressurizing. I know what that sound was, and I know there’s nothing you can do about it now that it’s made its way past your turrets.”

“You sure about this, Major?” Haynes said. “This isn’t—”

“What you’d call the safest maneuver? Son, I’m gonna show you what psycho really means.”

The outer airlock hatch opened, and Gamble gripped an overhead handle with one hand to swing himself onto the shuttle’s roof while keeping a firm grip on his R-57 with the other.

Twisting around, he activated the magnets in his combat boots to secure himself to the hull, and then he tensed his leg muscles to straighten himself.

Just in time—he came face to face with a robot that was turning toward him and brandishing its razor-edged limbs.

One metal arm came at Gamble. He fired, his bullets propelling the limb away. The second arm swung toward him, and he shot that away, too.

Before the robot could make another move, Gamble deactivated the magnets in his left boot long enough to deliver a swift kick to the thing’s midsection, quickly retracting his leg before it was sawed off.

The robot staggered backward, and Gamble fired a round into it, sending it clattering across the hull.

The shuttle was approaching the moon, now, and Gamble’s legs were aching with the strain of staying upright and balanced.

Gunfire flashed from the moon’s surface, and Gamble dropped to the shuttle’s hull. The robot scrabbled soundlessly across the metal toward him—he could feel the vibrations.

Flipping onto his back and slapping another clip into the gun, he emptied it into the thing’s face, point blank. That did the trick: the robot lost its motor power, floating off the shuttle, which proceeded to land roughly on the moon’s surface seconds later.

The flashes of at least a dozen muzzles all across the moon’s surface told him they were already getting shot at by a lot of hostiles. Gamble hauled himself over to a squat barrier on the shuttle’s roof, intended for exactly the purpose he planned to put it to.

“Get those turrets into play, Chief Haynes,” he said over a wide channel. “Marines, deploy around the shuttle and use it as cover. We’re already in the shit, here.”

Chapter 57

Seems Irrational

“The destroyer is coming back around the moon, sir,” Winterton said. “It’s headed straight for us.”

“Acknowledged,” Husher said tersely as he studied sensor data from the moon’s surface, which showed hundreds of Gok and mutated Ixa moving on Major Gamble’s position. With only the two squads Husher had told the marine commander to take, he looked certain to be overrun.

“The forcefield is closing in rapidly, sir,” Winterton said. “It’s now half the size it was. We’ll soon have barely any room to maneuver at all, and the Gok attack force will reach our Air Group within fifteen minutes.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher ground out, barely containing his frustration. “Helm,” he said, twisting around in the command seat to look at the Winger.

“Captain?”

“Spin this ship around and point our starboard side at that destroyer. Without delay. It’s time to use our last Hydras.”

“Yes, sir,” Vy said, punching a few commands into her console. With that, the Vesta began to rotate on the tactical display.

“Tremaine, fire on my mark. In the meantime, I need you to direct kinetic impactors toward the surface of the moon, using our underside point defense turrets. If we leave Gamble and his marines to deal with all those attackers, they’ll be overrun within minutes.”

“We’ll be offering ourselves to Teth by remaining here,” Kaboh said. “He’ll use his particle beam to finish us.”

“That’s what the Hydras are for,” Husher said.

“What about when they’re depleted?”

“I’ll deal with that situation once I’m in it,” Husher growled. “One thing at a time. Tremaine, make sure to fire well away from our combat shuttle.”

By willing his Oculenses to show him a magnified visual of the moon’s surface, he was able to see that Gamble had set up two heavy machine guns in the shuttle’s shadow. At the moment Husher zoomed in, a rocket streamed out from near the shuttle’s hull, and then another, from the opposite side. In the meantime, the shuttle’s four turrets were firing full bore, and doing considerable damage. That was impressive, considering it was only Haynes operating them, though he was likely using AI for assistance.

The marines were mounting an admirable defense, but it couldn’t last—not on its own. The Ixa and Gok had them surrounded, meaning the shuttle offered little cover, other than the airlock and fold-out barriers that were now standard issue for combat shuttles. Already, Husher could spot four marines down of the twenty who’d gone to the moon’s surface.

Then, Tremaine brought the Vesta’s underside point defense turrets to bear, operating them manually. It was an unusual, perhaps unprecedented way to use them, but it had an immediate and devastating effect.

Clouds of regolith dust plumed up from the moon’s surface as impactors sheared pressure suits in two, throwing the Ixan and Gok ranks into utter chaos.

“Sir…” Winterton said.

Husher glanced at the tactical display, specifically at the destroyer’s proximity. “Hold, Tremaine,” he said.

“Yes, sir…” the Tactical officer said, though he sounded as anxious as Winterton.

“Superheating along the starboard side, Captain,” the sensor operator said. “One of our flight decks is threatened. I strongly recommend—”

“I said wait for it!”

Long seconds passed as the Vesta’s hull sloughed off, the effect creeping closer and closer to Flight Deck Omicron.

“Fire Hydras!” Husher said.

Tremaine did, and the superheating persisted two seconds more before Husher was rewarded for his steady hand. The destroyer veered to starboard in what was clearly a desperate maneuver. Such a sudden course change would be hard on any ship’s engines, and what was more, it wouldn’t grant the warship the velocity it needed to outstrip the missiles.

The enemy point defense systems blazed to life, and the destroyer fired a wave of robot-missiles, in its first attempt to use them in an intercept capacity.

It almost worked. Two of the Hydra fragments got through, punching sizable holes in the destroyer’s hull, which retreated back around the moon at speed.

Husher drew a breath, knowing his next order would likely be the hardest one he’d ever given: “Kaboh, note the destroyer’s trajectory and come up with a course that will intercept it, head-on.”

The Kaithian didn’t answer, and several CIC officers turned to Husher wearing expressions ranging from confusion to consternation.

“If we leave now, Major Gamble will be overrun,” Tremaine said.

“There’s a good chance of that,” Husher replied. “But if this engagement continues, it’s a certainty that we’ll lose against Teth’s destroyer in this confined space, and our Air Group will go down before we do. Teth will expect us to stay and protect our marines, since they’re our ticket out. That’s why we have to do this.”

“Seems irrational to me,” Kaboh said.

“I agree. But when you’re dealing with an enemy able to anticipate every rational option, irrational ones are all you have left.” Glancing at the tactical display, Husher saw how his Air Group was now hugging the forcefield as the Gok warships closed in. Taking a deep breath, he said, “This is my order. I expect you all to carry it out.”

Chapter 58

If the Captain’s Left Us to Die

“Major,” one of his marines, Roux, said over a two-way. “The Vesta’s leaving her overwatch position.”

Risking a glance overhead in between laying down suppressive fire against the Ixa and Gok closing in on their position, Gamble grimaced inside his helmet. Next to him, Tort had hoisted a heavy machine gun on his shoulder—something no human could do—and was using it to pound away at the enemy ranks.

“I can see that, Corporal,” he said. “You just keep on shooting.”

Gamble had climbed down from the shuttle’s roof because of how vulnerable it made him to hostiles firing from a hilltop nearby. Instead, he’d positioned himself behind one of the fold-out barriers. Most of his marines were using the shuttle’s other barriers for cover. Tort was standing almost completely in the open, using the big gun to shoot at anyone who looked likely to shoot at him, but that was just Tort.

Johansen opened up a private channel with Gamble, then. “Major,” the private said, “did you notice—”

“I see that the Vesta’s leaving, yes.” Something glinted overhead, several meters above the barren, gray terrain. Gamble squinted at it, and he realized it was a grenade, sketching a slow parabola in the low gravity.

“Grenade coming in from my twelve,” Gamble barked over a wide channel. “Everyone, take cover as best you can.” Around him, marines ducked behind fold-out barriers or into the shuttle’s open airlock. Everyone except Tort, that was—the Gok would probably refuse to take cover from the heat death of the universe.

Taking careful aim, Gamble exhaled fully and squeezed the trigger. The grenade exploded meters overhead, raining down shrapnel but doing far less damage than if it had detonated at ground-level.

With that, Gamble opened a wide channel. “Everyone, please stop contacting me privately about the Vesta leaving. I understand you’re trying not to worry your comrades, but we’re marines, damn it.” Gamble fired on a Gok who was advancing to a nearer position. The big alien didn’t bother to retreat to its previous cover, so Gamble put two more rounds into it, and the third succeeded in ripping open its pressure suit. That sent it fleeing in the opposite direction, probably for the facility that housed the forcefield generator—maybe its suit didn’t have the ability to self-seal.

“Let me ask y’all something,” Gamble continued over the wide channel. “Does anyone think Captain Husher would leave us to fight this many Gok and Ixa without a damned good reason?”

No one spoke. “Exactly,” he said. “If the captain’s left us to die down here, you can rest assured our deaths will mean something. No service member wants to die, but if we have to, then making sure Teth doesn’t get the foothold he wants to seems worth it to me. Can I get an oorah.”

“Oorah!” the remaining marines yelled back at him. It wasn’t as loud as Gamble had expected—they must have lost more soldiers in the last few minutes.

“Show them what you’re made of, marines,” Gamble said, slapping a fresh clip into his gun and emptying it into the encroaching army.

Chapter 59

Knots of Tension

Struggling to keep his mind off the plight in which he’d left his dwindling marine force on the moon’s surface, Husher focused on something just as nerve-wracking: the visual feed of the moon’s horizon as it unspooled before them.

“Eight Banshees and three Gorgons are armed and ready, sir,” Tremaine said. “Railguns have also been loaded. I’ve calculated firing solutions based on where we expect to encounter the enemy destroyer.”

“Very good,” Husher said. And it was, except that Teth was almost never where they expected him to be.

Indeed, as they neared the location where they’d anticipated the destroyer, Winterton spoke up: “He’s not here, sir.”

“Full power to engines, Helm,” Husher said, gritting his teeth. “Get us back to our marines.”

There were two possibilities: either Teth had anticipated Husher’s gambit and had looped around to attack the marines with impunity, or he’d altered his course to get a better attack angle on where he’d expected the Vesta to be. Both possibilities involved the enemy destroyer returning to where Husher had left his marines to fend for themselves.

“He’s not attacking the marines,” Winterton said as the supercarrier completed her circuit of the moon. “It—there he is! He’s advancing over the horizon off our port-side bow.”

“Helm, bring our nose to port until we’re lined up with Teth’s destroyer. Tremaine, hit them with everything the moment we are.”

“Aye, sir,” the Tactical officer said, and less than a minute after that: “Firing first four Banshees. I’ve loaded them with courses that will have them curving around to hit the destroyer’s port side.”

“Good work,” Husher said.

“Firing the other Banshees, kinetic impactors, and Gorgons now.”

“The destroyer’s slow to react,” Winterton said, clutching his console as he stared hard at it. “She looks to be training her particle beam on us—but she’s reversing! Teth knows he can’t withstand a barrage like that.”

Husher’s eyes were riveted to the main display as the missiles closed in. “Are we experiencing any superheating?”

“We just started to,” Winterton said after shuffling some items around on his virtual display. “It’s the same spot on our bow as before—that’ll be bad, if it persists. Most of our kinetic impactors are going to miss due to the destroyer’s reverse thrust, but Banshees are still on track—damn it.”

Husher regarded the sensor operator with eyebrows raised. It was the first he’d ever heard the man curse. “What is it, Ensign?”

“One of the three Gorgons just went down.”

Nodding, Husher said, “Continue nosing us to the left, Helm, and Tremaine, don’t let up on those impactors. Helm, I want more power to the engines.”

Both officers acknowledged his orders, and Husher tried to ignore the knots of tension in his chest and deep in his stomach as he watched their attack play out.

“We’re down to three Banshees and two Gorgons,” Winterton said. “Another Banshee just went down…another Gorgon…yes!”

Husher didn’t need the man to tell him what had caused his sudden jubilation, since he’d watched on the tactical display as all three remaining missiles struck home.

“We just took out one of the destroyer’s main forward engines,” Winterton said. “Their ability to reverse thrust has been cut almost in half.”

Just as the sensor operator said it, the Vesta’s newly superior acceleration saw her closing the gap and nearing her enemy.

Kinetic impactors from the Vesta’s magnetic railguns poured into the wound created by her missiles, and the entire destroyer abruptly ruptured. The CIC burst into cheering.

Watching on visual, Husher saw that one piece of shrapnel from the expanding debris cloud looked bigger and more symmetrical than the others. “Winterton,” he barked. “Is that an escape pod?”

The sensor operator scrutinized the display for a moment. “It certainly looks likely to be, sir.” Just as he spoke the words, the craft vanished.

“That was Teth,” Husher said with certainty, his feeling of satisfaction tempered by the knowledge that he still hadn’t finished his Ixan nemesis. “How are our marines faring?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

After a few seconds, Winterton answered: “They’re still alive and fighting!”

“Thank God. Tremaine, let’s refocus on helping them reach that generator. Our Air Group’s still in hot water—if we don’t rejoin them soon, the Gok will pin them against that forcefield and take them apart.”

Chapter 60

Shoot to Kill

By the time the Vesta’s guns came back into play in the fight for the moon’s surface, the marines defending the shuttle were down to Gamble, Roux, Johansen, Tort, and three others—not including Haynes, the pilot.

The shuttle was looking pretty banged up, and the regolith around it was littered with motionless marines. Near Gamble’s left foot, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a young private’s blackened face through his helmet’s cracked faceplate.

It was a grim scene, meaning there was plenty of room for their spirits to be raised. The Vesta’s return certainly did that.

Despite that he’d told the marines they’d been chosen for this mission because of the guns they rated highest on, Gamble wasn’t actually using the weapon he most excelled with. As much as he liked his R-57 for its versatility and its run-and-gun nature, his heart belonged to his Rk-9 sniper rifle, which he’d stashed just inside the airlock.

When the supercarrier’s guns once again started tearing up the moon’s loose terrain, sending plumes of dust shooting upward and shrouding the area around the shuttle in a gray haze, Gamble got on a wide channel. “Roux, you’re closest to the airlock. Toss me my sniper. We’re gonna leave Haynes to continue defending this position while we get this raid rolling.” He pointed to the top of a rise ten meters or so off the shuttle’s aft—one of the few places not currently covered in a dust haze, and also one where they’d had the most success putting down the aliens pressuring the shuttle.

“I’m going up there on overwatch while you six push in that direction,” he said, pointing the way the shuttle’s starboard side was facing. “Wait till the dust settles a bit, so I can actually see enough to be of some help, then rush ‘em. By the time you’re ready, I should be in position.”

Roux passed him his sniper rifle, which he slung across the back of his pressure suit before sprinting toward the rise he’d indicated, assault rifle held at the ready in case any hostiles popped up to contest the hilltop.

Progress was slow in the low gravity, given Gamble had a keen interest in not bouncing too far into the air. Doing so would offer the enemy a nice, clean target. Instead, he inched forward while crossing the distance between shallow craters and low rises as fast as he could manage.

At last, he gained the hilltop without encountering any enemy combatants. Nice. The slope formed a natural sniper hide, with a gentle incline on the far side, perfect for steadying himself against the crest while he lined up his shots.

Just as he’d predicted, the dust was beginning to settle to the ground as he was getting situated, and his battle-weary team was getting ready to act.

“How are we interpreting the ROEs, today, Major?” Johansen asked. An important question for any soldier who didn’t want a run-in with a conga line of lawyers once he got back from deployment.

“We’re on a barren moon with no atmosphere, in the middle of a system that’s supposed to be deserted. I don’t think we’re gonna run into too many civilians,” Gamble said over the wide channel, which brought a couple chuckles. “The only beings here are the ones guarding the generator they’re using to keep that forcefield up, whose sole purpose was to trap us like fish in the barrel they wanted to shoot us inside. Unless they surrender, which I doubt they will, shoot to kill.”

“Can do,” Roux said.

“Move out,” Gamble said.

The six marines ranged forward with guns at the ready, using the moon’s natural formations as cover whenever possible.

Right away, a Gok popped up from a crater that must have been deeper than it looked. The alien’s position would have let it get the drop on Tort from behind. It would have…and if Gamble hadn’t put two high-powered sniper rounds into the seam where its helmet met its pressure suit, that’s probably exactly what would have happened.

“Thanks,” Tort rumbled. “Owe you beer.”

“Don’t mention it, big guy.”

Gamble continued to scan the moon’s terrain for anything out of the ordinary—anything that moved, in other words. He was glad he’d been able to take down the Gok so handily, but he was far from sure it would be that simple if an Ixan popped up, ready to go. Based on Tyros and on today’s fight, in their new form, the Ixa were harder to put down than even Gok.

Studying them through the Rk-9’s scope, some features of the moon’s terrain pretty clearly weren’t natural. A couple rectangular rises, about five hundred meters off, were obviously artificial, though covered in heaps of dust, probably so they couldn’t easily be spotted from orbit. How the captain had known to deploy them here, Gamble didn’t know, but he also didn’t bother wondering about it. The CIC had their business, and he had his.

Then, his worst fear came true: an Ixan reared up from a hollow, pounding up the slope toward the nearest marine, Johansen.

Gamble got two rounds into the reptile before it made it to the private, but it made no difference. The Ixan seized Johanson by the shoulders and smashed its forehead into his faceplate. The alien’s helmet must have been hardened somehow, because the faceplate cracked.

It didn’t stop there. The Ixan held out Johansen with one hand and produced a pistol with the other, firing it twice into the marine’s neck.

Two more sniper rounds made the Ixan stagger, but it recovered quickly, making its way toward Corporal Roux.

Damn it. Gamble reloaded smoothly, only decades of training keeping his hand steady as he rushed to try and save his marine.

Too late. The Ixan was there, reaching for Roux—

—when Tort crashed into it, both hulking beings hitting the ground in a tangle.

That meant Gamble couldn’t get a clean shot. He silently cursed the Gok as the two struggled on the ground, the Ixan quickly getting the upper hand.

Gamble had noticed a mild hero complex in the big Gok the moment he’d started working with him. Hell, Tort’s involvement with humans had started with saving Captain Husher’s life, during the Second Galactic War. He’d racked up more saved lives since then, but if his inclination drove him to sacrifice himself along with Johansen, it would make a dark day even darker.

I really don’t want to lose that big lout.

The Ixan managed to pin Tort to the regolith, and it swung its pistol toward the Gok’s face. Tort caught his adversary’s wrist, but their difference in strength quickly became clear as the Ixan’s gun progressed steadily toward Tort’s head.

Unfortunately for the Ixan, making it on top had also given Gamble a clear shot. He took one, then he took another.

His third shot sheared through the softer fabric at the Ixan’s armpit, meant to enable range of motion but also offering a distinct vulnerability for Gamble to target. His shot must have hit something vital, or maybe it was simply enough punishment to put the berserker off its game.

Either way, it keeled over, and Tort pressed the advantage, slamming his ham-like fist into the Ixan again and again. The Gok picked up his heavy machine gun, which had fallen to the regolith nearby, and he sprayed bullets all up the Ixan’s body.

That seemed to do it.

After beating the Ixan, reaching the two structures only involved dispatching a couple more Gok, which seemed like child’s play in comparison.

“Patch me through a visual as you take the bigger structure,” Gamble said.

It took five minutes for a private, who’d been chosen for his hacking as much as for his proficiency with a shotgun, to bypass whatever security was on the entrance.

Once he had it open, the marines began with a flashbang tossed into the front room, and then they piled inside. Gamble continued scanning the moon for targets, glancing every now and then at the feed in the corner of his vision. His soldiers cleared room after room, confirming exactly what he’d suspected: the Gok and Ixa had sent everything they’d had against the shuttle. Thanks to the Vesta’s guns and the marines’ resilience, it hadn’t quite added up to enough.

The generator, it turned out, was down a long flight of stairs, likely meant as another failsafe, in that it couldn’t be taken out from orbit. It had required a ground assault to accomplish its destruction.

“All right, marines. Set the charges and get out of there,” Gamble said.

Chapter 61

No Such Luck

The forcefield went down just as the Gok ships were nearing it, their intention obvious: to pin the Vesta’s Air Group against the energy barrier and wipe them out, away from the protection of their base ship’s heavy artillery.

No such luck, Husher thought as his supercarrier moved out from the confines of the moon, once more free to go anywhere in the galaxy it wanted.

Here is good, for now. “Coms, tell Commander Ayam that half his Air Group’s on missile defense duty, while the other half is to harry the Gok warships and screw with their lateral mobility. Tremaine, what does our arsenal look like?”

“Two hundred and sixty-five Banshees, thirty-six Gorgons, and as many solid-core kinetic impactors as you’d care to send into space, Captain.”

“Let’s send them into Gok hulls instead. Start with just the closest destroyer for now, but mix in two Gorgons, and send two Gorgons apiece at the nearby Gok cruiser and frigate as well.”

Husher’s hope was that the kinetic impactors would suggest to the Gok that he was following standard IGF doctrine left over from the Gok Wars: focus on mowing down one target then move on to the next. Ideally, that would make his other targets feel safe for the moment, rendering them utterly oblivious to the stealth missiles headed their way.

“Sir, a squadron of Pythons just neutralized a corvette,” Winterton reported.

“That wasn’t what I ordered Ayam to do,” Husher said. “Reprimand him for me, would you?”

That brought a round of chuckles, but Winterton just blinked at Husher, completely impervious to the air of jocularity that had followed breaking free of the forcefield. The man was probably among the most serious people Husher had ever met, which wasn’t a bad thing in a CIC officer, and also not a bad reminder to everyone in the CIC. Restored freedom or no, they were facing down thirteen Gok warships. Despite the might brought by the Vesta to any engagement, especially one waged against warships with comparable technology, war should never be an object of amusement.

Keyes would never have tolerated chuckling inside his CIC.

In contrast with his sober thoughts, the engagement soon came to favor the supercarrier and her Air Group. The cruiser and the frigate were both obliterated by the Gorgons that found their hulls with no resistance, and the destroyer lost half its forward guns.

After that, every last Gok ship turned about and began to flee for the relative safety of the asteroid field.

“Should we pursue, Captain?” Kaboh said, voice neutral.

“Yes,” Husher said. “I believe we should. Tactical, target down those ships.”

Chapter 62

Pieces

Husher sat strapped into a crash seat across from Fesky, inside one of the Vesta’s combat shuttles, but one meant only for mass troop deployments. This shuttle didn’t have anything like the armaments on the craft Chief Haynes had flown down to the surface of Klaxon’s moon.

Thinking of that mission made him wince, and he worried for a moment that his friend would take his expression the wrong way, until he realized Fesky wasn’t paying him any attention. At the moment, she was deep inside herself, as near as Husher could tell.

Fourteen of our best marines. Gone.

Military commanders spent what capital they had to accomplish vital objectives. Sometimes, that currency took the form of soldiers’ lives. The knowledge of how badly it would hurt him to spend that currency—of how it would haunt his quiet moments until the day he died—that knowledge hadn’t stopped him from spending it.

This was war, and war was a bastard. It left everyone in pieces, including the survivors.

“You all right, Fesky?” he said, as much to distract himself from his thoughts as to check on his friend.

The Winger was trembling violently, and the intrusion of his voice made her start. “What? No, I’m not fine. She’s alive, Husher. She’s alive.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Of course it is. But what am I to say to her? After all this time…after what she’s been through…”

“She’s just another being, Fesky. And she’s your friend. She’ll be happy to see you.”

But Fesky was shaking her head. “You have no idea what the relationship between Fins and Wingers was like, human. You have no idea what they were to us…”

They’d been searching the planet for the better part of a week. The Vesta carried some watercraft, and the marines had been out in them for days, emergency lights on, scouring Klaxon’s oceans. Pythons had performed flyby after flyby, scouring the shores and the seas for signs of Ek.

Husher had begun to consider how he was going to break it to Fesky that they’d have to end their search and return to the Interstellar Union’s core systems. The admiralty would want a full report on what had transpired here, and the bureaucrats would be eager to make Husher face the music for the decisions he’d made.

Wouldn’t want to deny them that.

But just as he’d been about to have the talk with Fesky, Ek had been found. And now, here they were, on their way to speak with her.

The shuttle landed on the shore of a bay, and Husher slowly unclasped his crash seat’s restraints. Fesky was still fumbling with hers, and he suppressed a smile.

“Need a hand, there, Madcap?”

“I’m fine, human,” Fesky grumbled. At last, she ripped them off her with a jerk and stood, storming past, the breeze from her wings wafting against Husher’s face.

He followed her into the airlock, trying to catch her eyes, but she stared steadfastly at the hull while the airlock cycled through the usual processes.

The outer hatch opened, and Fesky took a halting step toward it, then another. At last, seeming to steel herself, she exited the craft.

Just outside, she fell to her knees.

“Honored One,” Fesky said with a sigh.

Meters beyond, Husher spotted Ek, sitting in shallow water up to her chin, just above her gill slits. He hadn’t been there the day her breathing apparatus had been removed, and seeing the Fin without it didn’t square with his memories of her. Her mottled skin continued where her suit had once been—the suit that had kept her body constantly moisturized. And like other Fins before her, she wore no clothes, and Husher had to fight the urge to avert his eyes, reminding himself that this had been considered normal for her species.

“I thought I told you not to call me that, Fesky,” Ek said.

“I—I—”

“If we are to have a conversation at all, it will be as equals, and if you do not start acting like mine, then I will turn around and swim back into this ocean. Now, stand up.”

Still trembling, Fesky stood.

“That is better,” Ek said. “I will not have you groveling the first time you meet my children.”

“Ch-children?” Fesky said, but Ek didn’t answer.

Instead, she lowered her mouth below the water’s surface, and bubbles rose as she spoke. Presumably she was speaking, though to Husher it just sounded like burbling.

Ek lifted her head, then, spreading a finned arm toward the water behind her. Six fully grown Fins broke the surface.

“Children, meet my dear friend, Fesky. And this is Captain Husher, another close friend. “Captain, Fesky—meet Sarl, Ohm, Rah, Mei, Ki, and Zin.”

“How is this possible?” Fesky asked.

“When we parted ways twenty years ago, I told you I was not doomed to live alone in these oceans. Did you not surmise my meaning?”

“I mean—it did occur—but I assumed—”

“I was artificially inseminated during my last days on Spire, Fesky. I have never had a mate, as I never connected with another Fin on that level, but I still carried a desire to procreate. It was an exceptionally foolish thing to do, considering my status as the only spacefaring Fin, and the deterioration of my health at the time. But all has worked out well, and I am not the last Fin after all.”

Fesky’s legs seemed to give out, then, and she hit the grassy bank with a thud. “I’m so happy,” she said.

Husher couldn’t contain himself—he laughed, and the Winger turned to glare at him. But her expression quickly softened, as she no doubt realized that he wasn’t laughing at her. He was laughing because he felt just as much joy as she did, at the resurrection of the Fins, and at how earnest and true his friend Fesky was.

He felt his laughter settle into a smile, which faded as his gaze settled on Ek. “I hope you know I can’t leave you here,” he said.

She inclined her head. “The Ixa knew that we were here. They hunted us for months. That was why you had such trouble finding me…because my family and I were in hiding, deep beneath the ocean. It is by mere chance that I glimpsed one of your fighters as I ventured to the surface to see how things were.”

“The Vesta won’t leave until we figure out a way to safely transport you and your children,” Husher said. “Ochrim is with us, and he just made a breakthrough that will likely revolutionize—well, everything. If he can do that, he can surely find a way to bring you home with us. I’ll put him on it.”

“I thank you,” Ek said.

That wasn’t all Husher had to say on the subject of Ek and her family joining them, but for now, he held his peace. The truth was, he wanted Ek in his CIC. Her uncanny perception had gotten the Providence out of some incredibly tight jams during the Second Galactic War, and they needed her now more than ever.

“I trust you know what the Ixa’s reappearance means for the galaxy, Captain,” Ek said.

“I think I do. But I’d be interested in hearing your perspective.”

“During the Second Galactic War, you defeated a single AI—the one that created the Ixa. That AI’s project was to dominate this galaxy, just as its counterparts were assigned with dominating the local galactic cluster. I consider it unlikely that very many of the AIs failed. On the contrary: I believe that this galaxy was one of the very few who successfully resisted them.” Ek’s gaze drifted to the sky. “If I am right, then in order to complete their domination of this galaxy cluster, they will need to stamp us out, once and for all.” Slowly, Ek shook her head. “This time, victory will require more than defeating just the Ixa, or even just defeating an AI. This time, victory demands that you find the creators of the AIs themselves, and it demands that you render them unable to perpetrate these actions against any sentient species, ever again.”

“Agreed,” Husher said after a brief pause. “But ‘render them unable’ sounds kind of sanitized. You mean that I need to kill them, or enough of them that they become a pale shadow of what they are now.”

“We do not yet know what form their society takes,” Ek said. “But at the very least, you will have to destroy the parts of that society which enable it to wage war.”

Nodding, Husher turned back toward the shuttle. “I think I’d better go talk to Ochrim about getting you back to the Interstellar Union. There are some politicians I’d very much like to introduce you to.”

Chapter 63

Not the Time

On his way across the desert into Cybele, Husher came across a woman sitting in the sand, her hands covering her face. Sobs racked her body, and she didn’t seem to notice him until he spoke.

“Penelope?”

Her hands jerked away from her face, which was red and puffy. “Husher,” she said, having apparently dropped her frequent use of his title, which she’d always delivered with a note of disdain, to his ears.

“You’re…” He shook his head. He’d been about to remark on how her overlay wasn’t turned on, but she no doubt knew that already. In truth, he had no idea what to say. Snyder had caused him no end of trouble, these past weeks, and she’d been one of the main obstacles between him and doing his job. Even so, he took no satisfaction in seeing her like this.

“What happened?” he said at last.

“I added the wings of a Winger to my overlay. I’ve always had such respect for the Wingers…I’ve always related to them so closely. I’d been thinking about adding the wings for a long time, going back and forth on them, but finally, I decided they were the truest expression of who I am. So I added them.”

He shook his head. “And?”

“And the narrownet exploded. They said I was appropriating Winger culture, making a mockery of it, by acting like I could understand the oppression they’ve been through. They called for my resignation, and at first I just ignored them, but the pressure kept building and building until there were students outside my door and outside my window, screaming, and cursing, and…”

Snyder trailed off, replacing her head in her hands. She resumed sobbing. “Well?” she said, her voice made scratchy and wet by her crying. “Are you going to gloat about this or not?”

“No,” he said quietly, and Snyder lowered her hands, frowning. Her red-rimmed eyes met his. “I don’t take any pleasure in what’s happened to you, Snyder,” he continued. “It only makes me fear for the future. With crisis on our doorstep, now is not the time for our society to be devouring itself.”

He continued walking, then, toward the city. But he paused, and he spoke again without looking back.

“If you need somewhere to stay, away from Cybele, while you decide what you’ll do next…message me on my com. I’ll find you somewhere in the crew section.”

She cursed him in reply, and Husher nodded, continuing his walk toward the city. His lower lip tightened as he fought the urge to weep as well—not because she’d cursed him, but because of what it signified about humanity: the bitterness and the folly. The readiness to answer failure by tearing one’s self apart, along with anyone within arm’s reach.

It reminded him of his conversation with Ochrim in the Ixan’s living room, and it made him want to weep, in a way that not even being stripped of command had done.

Brushing the back of his hand across his eyes, he continued toward Cybele. He needed to speak with Ochrim, but first, he would find his daughter, to sit and talk if she was willing.

Epilogue

Jake Price

Seaman Jake Price stalked the corridors of Tartarus Station daily, trying to get some good out of the bureaucrats stationed there whenever he glimpsed them out in the open. That was rare, and whenever he did see them, they were usually accompanied by a bodyguard or two, who stared Jake down until the conversation came to an end.

He could hardly believe the way he and his companions were being treated. They’d been required to relinquish their ships and military hardware, which they’d done, as a gesture of goodwill. Then, they’d been shuttled here to “wait on word” to come down from the Interstellar Union, the new governing body for the Milky Way.

But word never came, and the bureaucrats brushed him off with weasel words. Their skill in saying empty things that amounted to artful dodges of every question he asked…it was unlike anything he was used to, after growing up in the Steele System. He’d heard all about the liberals who’d taken over the Milky Way government just before Darkstream’s exile from the galaxy, but he’d always taken those stories with some skepticism. People tended to descend into caricature when describing those they viewed as their political opponents, so Jake had never quite believed that the Milky Way politicians could be anywhere near as controlling, wishy-washy, or pretentious as the old-timers said.

But whether their stories had been caricatures or not, the people on this station exceeded them. The number of times he’d been condescended to or smarmed in the phoniest ways…it made him want to vomit. He’d never been much for politics, but these people were almost forcing him to cement his position on things, to become just like those old-timers had been.

The civilians Jake and his teammates had saved from the Progenitors’ onslaught had been transported and housed at Imbros, a planetary colony nearby. God only knew how they were faring.

Worst of all, the bureaucrats had Jake’s mech, and the longing he felt for it contributed in no small part to his constant irritation. He dreamed about it every night, but never about piloting it, strangely. In his worst nightmares, the mech walked away from him, to turn on those he considered friends.

He took lunch every day with Ash Sweeney, his best friend and fellow mech pilot. She’d been one of the original members of Oneiri Team, the eight Darkstream soldiers who’d piloted the first MIMAS mechs. Half of the original Oneiri Team were dead or missing after the war they’d fought back in the Steele System, but the members who remained were closer than ever.

“You remember how Roach used to talk about Vin Husher all the time?” Ash had asked him at lunch earlier that day. Roach had been the original commander of Oneiri Team, before he’d gone insane and murdered one of the pilots under his command. He’d tried to murder Ash, too, and he’d very nearly succeeded—Ash was still recovering from being impaled on Roach’s blade. Oneiri Team had abandoned their old commander in the Steele System, which had been in the process of getting torn apart by the Progenitors at the time.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I remember. Liberal pansy, he usually called Husher.”

“Well, I heard some guards talking, and apparently Husher is bogeyman number one for the government, these days.”

“Are you telling me Roach’s ‘pansy liberal’ is not liberal enough for this government?” Jake shook his head. “Roach has to be rolling in his grave.”

“Assuming Roach is dead.”

Jake’s mirth died down, then. “Yeah.”

Now, Jake was back to marching through the station. His favorite question was to ask whether he and the other former Darkstream soldiers were being officially detained—and, in turn, it was the question the bureaucrats were getting the best at avoiding answering. He also liked to ask them whether they considered he and his fellow soldiers guilty of any particular crime.

At an intersection of corridors up ahead, a four-legged alien strode into view. Her presence, as well as that of her brethren, probably played a big part in the bureaucrats’ reluctance to let the arrivals from the Steele System join the rest of galactic society, but Jake didn’t hold that against her. He was finally starting to trust Rug, which was the human word the alien had chosen to name herself. Rug was a Quatro, and Quatro didn’t have names.

She glimpsed Jake, then she made for him at once, at a speed that made him think something was probably up. Rug was larger than the largest horse, with a royal purple coat and midnight eyes. She roughly resembled a bear in shape, though her broad head and powerful tail put Jake more in mind of a panther. Not that he’d ever seen a panther in real life, or a horse, for that matter. But when someone had told him that was what Quatro resembled, he’d looked them up, and he basically agreed.

“Jake Price,” Rug said once she reached him. “Something has happened.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“There has been an arrival. Another wormhole has opened.”

“Another wormhole? The desk-jockeys can’t be happy about that.” Wormholes were now illegal under galactic law, though Jake could kind of understand that, since their use compromised the fabric of the universe. “Did another warship manage to escape the Steele System?”

“Many warships have emerged,” Rug said. “An entire fleet of them. But these are no human warships.”

“Who, then?”

“They are of Quatro make, Jake Price. These ships were sent by the Assembly of Elders—by the government whose tyranny I and my comrades risked our lives to escape.”

Jake nodded, remembering everything Rug had told him about the Quatro government and their promise of equal prosperity for all, which had ended up translating into starvation and slavery when the rubber hit the road. “Are they attacking?”

“No. Your species has already sent a vessel to speak with them, and to ascertain the reason for their arrival.”

“Oh,” Jake said, nodding. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. I’m pretty sure your Assembly of Elders is going to get along with the Interstellar Union just fine.”

Pride of the Fleet

© Scott Bartlett 2018

Cover art by Tom Edwards (tomedwardsdesign.com)

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0

This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Kick Down the Door

Amber lights pulsed as Seaman Jake Price ran down corridor after corridor, trying to concentrate on finding his way through Tartarus Station despite the alarm’s constant assault on his ears.

He’d been able to make it out of the Outer Wing easily enough. The Union bureaucrats had kept him there so long that he knew that part of the station by heart. But the moment he’d reached the hatch that let into the rest of the station, he was lost.

Something must have gone pretty wrong. The desk jockeys would never have left that hatch unguarded unless all mayhem was breaking loose.

That was certainly what the blaring klaxon suggested. It had woken him from a deep sleep, and absurdly, his first thought was that he’d slept through breakfast.

Never would have happened in the Steele System. His daily routine was slowly losing the clockwork rigor left over from life in the Darkstream military. The bureaucrats were keeping Jake and the other Steele System refugees in a state of limbo—cut off from the rest of the galaxy, alone, wholly unsure of what would become of them.

It had been affecting all of Oneiri Team; the elite team of mech pilots he’d found himself commanding during what they now called the Mech Wars. A fitting name, considering the most notable combatants. The Progenitors hadn’t been able to keep his pilots down, but lately, it seemed the bureaucrats were succeeding where the aliens had failed. Ash, Beth, Marco, Maura…Lisa and Andy…they all grew increasingly listless, sleeping longer and speaking less. Showing less and less interest in what might be happening in the galaxy around them, and in what might become of them.

And yet, when the screaming alarm and blaring lights had spurred Jake from his bunk, he found the Outer Wing empty, as well as the other Oneiri members’ bunks. Apparently, they’d chosen today to be on time for breakfast.

The station only had two cafeterias, centrally located so that meals would disrupt the station’s routines as little as possible. For every meal, guards had escorted Oneiri Team and the other refugees through a labyrinth of corridors, until they came to a sea of metal tables and chairs, where they ate the sort of freeze-dried gruel that served as food in space.

Now, Jake racked his brain to remember the route, which he’d paid only passing attention to before. Every intersection looked familiar, which made sense, since they all looked basically the same. Was it a left here, or a right?

Not for the first time, his inability to use his implant to contact his teammates made him curse. Away from Steele’s system net, the things were next to useless, and integrating them with the station’s narrow net had not been at the top of the bureaucrats’ to-do list.

At last, he reached the cafeteria to find it milling with thousands of people—well beyond its official capacity. Clearly, it was being used as some sort of staging area. Or as a corral for panicking station workers. That seems more likely.

Keeping track of the time was one of the few things his implant was still good for: it took fourteen minutes of searching to track down Oneiri Team. He found them in the usual arrangement. Marco Gonzalez sat with a hand on his chin, staring into space, no doubt turning something over in his mind. Ash Sweeney and Beth Arkanian leaned back against a cafeteria table, joined at the leg. Andy Miller and Lisa Sato sat apart from the others, having some sort of lovers’ quarrel, from the looks of it. And Maura Odell sat alone, wearing a faint grimace, as though wondering how she’d ended up here.

Seeing Andy and Lisa together brought Jake a sharp pang, even though they were arguing. It had taken him a while to figure out what those pangs meant, which had helped him to realize just how out-of-touch with his feelings he truly was.

Is not knowing your own feelings a male thing, a soldier thing, or a human thing? He found it hard to tell.

“Oneiri, attention!” he barked.

For a moment, they all just looked at him, blinking. It was the first time since they arrived back in the Milky Way that he’d given them an order of any kind. Then Marco, of all people, jumped to his feet first, planting his right foot firmly on the ground and holding his arms at his sides like iron rods.

The rest of Oneiri followed suit—first Maura, then Ash and Beth. Andy and Lisa stood last, twin frowns flashing across their faces before vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared.

That was like Andy, but it wasn’t like Lisa. Ever since they’d picked her up, adrift in space, after she’d escaped from the Progenitor ship…ever since then, she’d been different.

“What is this, exactly?” Jake asked, sweeping his hand in the air to take them all in. “What are you all doing?”

“Waiting to see whether we’re about to get blown up or not,” Andy said. One of his legs ended at the knee—a souvenir from the conflict in Steele. Since arriving on Tartarus, he’d been fitted with a prosthetic that seemed to serve him as well as the leg had. The bureaucrats did that for us, at least.

“Andy, you didn’t undergo the training that the rest of Oneiri did. You only served with us during the final fight, back in the Steele System. If you’d been with us from the beginning, you’d know that Oneiri doesn’t sit around and wait to get blown up. Oneiri acts, and when opportunity knocks, we don’t just answer—we kick the door down. This is opportunity,” Jake said, glancing past them at the chaotic cafeteria. “And for the rest of you, there’s absolutely no excuse for failing to capitalize on it.”

“What would you have us do, Jake?” Marco asked. “We’re just as cut off as we were before.”

“You’re cut off by your own sloth,” Jake snapped, and Marco recoiled slightly at the hardened tone. “It’s pitiful, how quickly you’ve let the desk jockeys make you weak. The same goes for me—I’m big enough to admit that. We haven’t kept up our PT. Take us away from our mechs, and we’re apparently fine with letting ourselves slowly fall to pieces. Even Gabriel Roach would have known better than that.”

That remark brought some winces. But not from Beth. “Marco’s question was good. What are we supposed to do?”

“What do soldiers do when faced with a situation full of unknowns? We gather intel. This is the first time we haven’t been under the watch of armed guards. Do you think everyone in this cafeteria is just as in the dark as we are? The bureaucrats deliberately kept us isolated and ignorant, and my money would be on everyone knowing more about the current situation than we do. My guess is, these people are here because they’re civilians. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t sensor operators, administrators, shuttle pilots fresh from a run—people with knowledge about what the hell is going on. People who have never heard the phrase ‘operational security.’ I want you to spread out through this cafeteria, pretend to be whoever you need to be, and get me answers to the following questions: what the hell is going on? And where are our mechs?” He glanced around at them one last time. “Please tell me I don’t have to order you not to phrase the second question like that.”

“No, sir!” Maura Odell said.

“Good,” Jake said. “Now go, and report back in ten minutes with answers!”

Twenty minutes later, they were all jogging away from the cafeteria and toward one of Tartarus’ three flight decks—which, according to a mid-level systems administrator, had been shut down and sealed off seven months ago for no real reason. That timing happened to coincide with the Steele refugees’ arrival in the Milky Way.

As for what was going on: according to a lidar tech who’d required some persuading, multiple ships had suddenly appeared in the Hellebore System, ships with profiles that matched those fought by Captain Vin Husher during what the lidar tech had called the opening battles of the Third Galactic War. Whether that was an exaggeration or not, it certainly told Jake a lot more about the current climate in the galaxy. Before, they’d only heard that Husher was putting a sour taste in the Interstellar Union’s mouth, but the specifics had been hazy.

Now, Jake felt pretty sure he knew why: the Union wanted to avoid war at all costs, but Husher knew it was inevitable. He was engaging with reality, while they were engaging only with their own ideology. It all made sense, now.

“Lisa Sato!”

Jake noticed Lisa jump at the deep, rumbling voice, which was followed by heavy footfalls that vibrated through the deck.

Turning, Jake saw Rug pounding up the corridor after them. The enormous quadruped cut an intimidating figure, to be sure—flanks heaving as she galloped toward them, she resembled a cross between a panther and a bear, and she was larger than both. He could almost understand Rug’s approach startling Lisa…except that she’d known the Quatro for longer than he had.

Strange.

Lisa walked forward, extending her arms toward the alien, almost hesitantly. “R-Rug, it’s good to see you! Where were you?” At last, she wrapped her arms around the Quatro’s broad neck.

“I saw you leaving the cafeteria, but it took some time to make my way through all the humans without trampling them.”

“I’m sure they appreciated that,” Jake said. He’d forgotten about Rug in his desperation to find his mech, but now he wondered whether her own quadruped mech might not be with Oneiri’s. The Quatro’s machine seemed to share its origin with Jake’s—there was good reason to believe they’d both been built by the Progenitors, especially since mechs of similar make had driven several humans and Quatro pilots mad. Gabriel Roach had become one of those crazed pilots. He’d allowed himself to permanently fuse with the alien mech he piloted, and soon after that, he’d murdered one of his own teammates. “Rug, the system is under attack, and we’re pretty sure we know where our mechs are. Does that interest you?”

“It does, Jake Price,” Rug said, dipping her massive head. “One way or another, I suspect we are about to step onto the galactic stage. Meanwhile, the Quatro Assembly of Elders negotiates still with your Interstellar Union. I already know what one of their requirements will be. They will demand to be given custody of my brethren and I, who fled from the Elders many years ago. I will not allow that to happen.”

“The Union is no government of mine,” Jake said. “But I take your point. Either way, our short-term goal is the same. Let’s get those mechs.”

Unlike the Outer Wing hatch, the hatch leading into the flight deck was guarded. Neither Jake nor the other Oneiri members were armed, and they approached with hands up, keeping Rug in reserve in case things came to blows. The great alien hunched out of view from the guards, ready to charge, in case things went south.

It turned out that wasn’t necessary. The guards saw the sense in allowing seven trained mech pilots to join the fight for the system, and when Rug padded past to follow Oneiri onto the flight deck, Jake saw the guards look at each other and shrug.

Jake spotted his alien mech straight away, towering over the MIMAS mechs that stood in formation around it.

The hulking, shapeshifting monstrosity reacted to him as he approached, its front folding down to reveal a cocoon waiting to envelop him. As for the MIMAS mechs, they all responded to the short-range commands sent from their pilots’ implants, hatches popping out to lower to the deck behind, becoming ramps.

As he climbed into his mech, Jake wondered whether the Union bureaucrats had been able to gain access to it, or whether they’d tried.

“Can I bum a sedative?” Jake called to Marco, and his teammate tossed over a fat, red pill after digging it out of a compartment inside the hollow of his MIMAS.

Jake slapped the pill into his mouth, descending into the mech dream within seconds.

Both MIMAS and alien mechs were controlled using a technology called lucid, which Darkstream had developed after fleeing the Milky Way. Lucid gave structure to your dreams, using them as a platform to run simulations, which were incredibly immersive in the way a dream was for the dreamer. Installed in mechs, lucid merely simulated a very specific dream: a dream identical to reality, except that in it, the dreamer became the mech.

Inside the dream, Jake rose to his full height, massive shoulders rolling back and metal hide rippling in the halogens. He wore the mech’s power like a glove.

We missed you, the alien mech whispered to him. We are ready to kill.

Ignoring it, Jake turned to the others. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter 2

Dishonorable Discharge

“Captain Vin Husher, do you know why you’ve been brought before this special commission?” The Winger, who resembled a blue jay, leaned forward as she spoke, perhaps attempting to pin Husher to his seat with her beady eyes.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Husher said.

“Oh? Why don’t you outline your idea for us, then?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve received multiple being rights complaints from citizens of Cybele, and maybe even a few from members of my crew. That’s one reason. Then, there’s the fact that by attacking Teth in the Concord System, I dashed your attempts to strike a peace deal with him.” Husher locked eyes with President Chiba as he delivered this last reason. The president of the Interstellar Union, a Kaithian, sat next to Kaboh, who shared his species. Kaboh was Husher’s former Nav officer—he’d resigned just a week ago, after a month of waiting around in Feverfew to see how the IU would decide to handle Husher.

The president didn’t sit on the commission running this hearing, and neither did Kaboh. Several Union politicians did, though. The commission was made up both of Union politicians and Integrated Galactic Fleet members in equal part. They sat at a long, curved table that half-ringed the room. A platform kept the table well above the rest of the chamber, and the spectators sat in chairs below. Everyone faced Husher, who sat alone, scrutinized by all.

“Those sound like potential grounds for a dishonorable discharge to me, Captain,” the Winger said. Her name was Ryn, and she chaired the commission. “Would you agree?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my version of ‘respecting being rights’ differs dramatically from those of my accusers. Their version involves dividing society up and pitting the parts against each other, so that short-term, ineffectual ‘solutions’ might be forced down everyone’s throats. I agree that we have a problem when it comes to interspecies relations, but because my methods for dealing with the problem differ, I’m branded a pariah.”

“I think you may be sidestepping the issue,” Ryn said. “When you consider some of your—”

“I’m not finished,” Husher said. “My accusers claim to follow ‘liberal values,’ but they’re utter hypocrites. One value they piss all over is the idea that it’s possible to rehabilitate anybody—that everyone, even criminals, are capable of reform. Allow me to illustrate the way they’ve completely abandoned that principle: let’s for a moment entertain the false assumption that I’m wrong to suggest alternate methods, and that they’re right. Even if I acknowledged that, I wouldn’t be given the opportunity to change my ways and follow a new course. No, now that I’ve been branded ‘toxic,’ I’m to be stripped not only of my position but also every platform for speech available to me. Even if I ‘reformed,’ my accusers would still try to silence and marginalize me. Why? Because this isn’t actually about protecting marginalized groups. It’s about targeting groups they perceive as more powerful than they are. And since I belong to such a group, they will never stop targeting me. If my accusers actually cared about underprivileged beings, then they would try to give ‘offenders’ an incentive to reform. They’d embrace those who ‘changed their ways.’ But it isn’t about that. This isn’t a ‘just cause’—it isn’t any cause at all. It’s a power game, and one that’s being played at the highest levels. I refuse to play it with you. Do what you will to me—I won’t play your game.”

Ryn nodded, barely reacting to Husher’s words. “And how do you justify your unsanctioned assault on Concord?”

“Just twenty years ago, Teth and his father strove to wipe out all sentient life in the galaxy. They nearly succeeded, and if it hadn’t been for Captain Keyes’s sacrifice, they would have. The idea that Teth would adhere to even a temporary ceasefire is absurd. He was always going to strike to kill—now, at least, we’ll be on wartime footing when he does.”

“It is true that you’ve forced the Interstellar Union’s hand,” Ryn said, her eyes never leaving his. “Because of your aggression, we are indeed committed to a war that will doubtless prove costly and bloody. But not everyone on the commission agrees that this war was necessary. You are a talented captain, but you need not think you’ve won yourself job security. Both your rank and your position as captain of the Vesta are under review.”

“The Progenitors will hit us with wave after wave of highly advanced warships,” Husher said. “If you don’t deploy every experienced captain you’ve got, you’re fools.”

“Then you’d best hope your rash actions don’t prove as destructive as I believe they will,” Ryn said. “Do you have anything else to add, Captain?”

“What about subspace tech? The Fleet needs to start implementing it.”

“That is also under review,” the Winger said. “This commission will adjourn.”

Chapter 3

Distress Call

Husher left the government building and stepped out onto Zakros, where a cool wind blew rhomboid leaves across asphalt. The system’s sun shone above, a pale circle offering some warmth, but not much.

Before hailing a taxi to take him to his next destination, he glanced back at the building, which his Oculenses painted with bright colors meant to represent the four Union species. Here on a civilian colony world, he didn’t have access to the captain’s privilege of switching off the Oculens overlay. He wondered what the building truly looked like underneath, but it wasn’t worth removing the lenses.

He eased himself into the taxi, which got underway the instant he fastened his seatbelt—it already knew his destination from when he’d used his com to order it. Leaning back, he permitted himself the leisure of wondering how things were on the Vesta. His Oculenses told him that the supercarrier’s orbit would soon take it directly overhead.

She’ll be with me during the trial ahead. In a sense. The funny little thought brought a smile to his lips.

Causing the Interstellar Union an interstellar headache had not been the only effect of his attack on Concord. It had also helped the tens of thousands of people living in Cybele, the city located in the bowels of his ship, to contend with the reality of living on a warship: in particular, the fact that eventually, warships went to war.

The struggle with Teth had resulted in twenty-nine civilian deaths, with well over a hundred more injured. Even for those unhurt, it must have been a terrifying ordeal. Probably, it should never have come to pass that civilians had been allowed to live in a place where they would inevitably experience the horrors of war firsthand.

But the capital starships themselves had always been a bargain with the devil, and those that chose to continue living in shipboard cities like Cybele would almost certainly encounter war again.

Hell, so will many who live in planetside cities. Even so, Cybele’s population level was plummeting in the wake of Husher’s attack on Concord, with people selling their cubic residences at rock-bottom prices. It was a trend reflected across all eight capital starships, though nowhere was it so pronounced as aboard the Vesta.

That trend would continue, Husher knew. What he hadn’t expected was that it would be accompanied by a different trend: an influx, significantly smaller, of new residents.

What kind of civilians flock to a city certain to find itself beset by war and death? He would soon find out…provided he was allowed to stay in command of his ship.

The taxi ride lasted fewer than ten minutes. He paid, and once the computer registered the transfer, it unlocked the doors for him to exit.

He stepped out onto a busy sidewalk, the coffee shop that was his destination rearing above him. Neutral ground. He stepped inside.

The coffee shop’s interior mimicked the style popular among the galaxy’s youth: closed clamshells distributed throughout, accessible via a small opening, across which both a curtain and a privacy shield could be drawn. These enclosures were ideal for conversations one would rather not have in public, but as far as Husher knew, they rarely got used for that. Mostly, patrons sat inside and immersed themselves in digital worlds using their Oculenses, occasionally ordering real-world beverages to justify their presence. If a given customer failed to order drinks with a certain frequency, it was customary to charge them a base fee for use of the space.

Husher knew what clamshell he was meant to insert himself into—it had been agreed upon in advance. As was his habit, he ordered a cup of black coffee through the narrow window at the back, which brought the customary odd look from the employee. Usually patrons ordered from their clamshells, using Oculenses. Many shops featured a conveyor system that delivered the drinks, eliminating the need for actual human contact altogether.

Coffee in hand, regretting that it wasn’t alcohol, Husher slipped inside the agreed-upon clamshell to find his daughter, Iris—or rather, Maeve Aldaine, now—and his ex-wife, Sera Caine.

“Hello, Vin,” Sera said, her voice icy.

“Hi, Sera. Maeve.” His daughter had chosen to continue using the name her mother had given her before she was old enough to remember she’d ever had another. He wanted to respect the decision. Either way, Maeve didn’t return his greeting.

Mother and daughter sat separated by three feet or so, and Husher took up a position across the broad, ovoid table. Reaching behind him, he shut the privacy shield.

“Why did you ask us to come here?” Sera said.

“Why did you come?” Husher answered.

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe you came for the same reason I invited you: so we can all reach some sort of shared understanding about what the hell happened to our family. So that, just maybe, we can help our daughter make sense of what we’ve done to her.”

Maeve’s expression remained impassive, other than a momentary tightening of her lips, almost undetectable in the clamshell’s dim lighting.

“What we’ve done to her?” Sera said. “You’re the one who flew her into a battle, even after you knew she was your daughter.”

“And you’re the one who lied to both of us,” Husher said quietly. “You let me think my daughter had died, and you let our daughter believe she had no father.”

“She doesn’t have a father,” Sera said, glancing at Maeve, maybe hoping for some support. Maeve didn’t react, not even to meet her mother’s eyes.

Husher let that play out, and when Sera turned back to him, she seemed somewhat crestfallen. “The Gok blew up our home, Vin,” she went on. “They might have done it again. I did what I had to do to protect her.

“That didn’t work out very well, did it? She ended up in the middle of a war all the same.”

“That wasn’t my doing,” his ex-wife snapped, her glare piercing. He’d first met Sera while they both served aboard the Providence, under Captain Keyes. She’d been marine commander, and she still seemed to have some of the hardness command required.

“What was your doing, Sera?” Husher said, still managing to keep his voice level. Ever since defeating Teth over Klaxon, he found it much easier to regulate his mood. “Is there anything you’re willing to take responsibility for? Yes, I flew the Vesta into battle with full knowledge that my daughter was aboard. But it’s not my fault she chose to go to school aboard a military vessel in the first place. Why do you think she did that?”

“What are you implying?” Sera asked, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying she wanted to get away from me?”

“No. I’m trying to tell you something I realized recently. It’s impossible for parents to shelter their children from danger. We can keep them at home and coddle them, keep them wrapped up safe in our arms, but it doesn’t matter. Eventually they become adults and enter the dangerous world all the same, except they’re less prepared to face the danger because of our coddling. Maybe Maeve chose Cybele University because she deeply craved some risk and danger in her life. Because she knew, on some level, that she’d been starved of it, and that she needed to confront it if she was to going make it in the world.”

“So you’re blaming me,” Sera said.

“I’m actually not. Listen, Sera. I get what you did. I get the desire to protect your daughter, because I feel that too. But there comes a point when being a good parent means letting go, no matter how much it hurts. We can give Maeve our love as best we can, and we can try to help her. But we can’t protect her anymore. Not really.”

“The hell we can’t,” Sera said, rising to her feet and turning to Maeve. “Come on, sweetheart. I have a couch you can crash on until you find your own place. If you like, I can even do up the spare room, and you can stay as long as you want.”

Maeve was sitting between Sera and the exit, so that Sera couldn’t leave until she got up. Instead, she met her mother’s gaze.

“I’m not staying. I’m going back to Cybele to finish my studies.”

Eyes widening, Sera began to tremble slightly. “You can’t,” she said, her voice coming out more high-pitched than she’d likely meant it to. “There are plenty of good schools here, sweetheart. You can’t go back on that ship.”

“I can,” Maeve said slowly. “And I will.” With that, she slid open the privacy shield and left the clamshell.

Sera’s eyes were fiery as they found Husher’s once more. “Rot in hell,” she said, and chased after her daughter.

Raising the coffee cup to his lips, Husher sipped through the tiny opening. Still warm. He drained the contents, then ordered a taxi.

He didn’t see this as a victory—in fact, he’d hoped the conversation wouldn’t become as combative as it had. Besides, Maeve hadn’t spoken to him once the entire time.

A priority alert reached him moments after he got in the cab, causing him to immediately change his destination from his hotel to the nearest spaceport:

“HELLEBORE SYSTEM UNDER HEAVY ASSAULT. ALL NEARBY IGF VESSELS ARE TO ANSWER THE DISTRESS CALL WITH ALL POSSIBLE SPEED.”

Chapter 4

Munitions

Commander Fesky met Husher at the shuttle’s airlock with a crisp salute. He returned it, along with a warm smile.

“How’s my old girl holding up?”

The Winger clacked her beak. “I am not old, and I’m certainly not your girl.”

“I meant the ship,” Husher said, though he was pretty sure Fesky knew that already. She had that twinkle in her onyx eye that said she was messing with him.

“As good as you left her, and maybe even a little better,” Fesky said as she spun on her heel to head deeper into the Vesta. Husher fell in step with her. “Our stock of munitions has been replenished and expanded to wartime levels, and I’ve had Engineering working overtime to repair the damage we took during our recent engagements, particularly the main capacitor bank.”

He nodded, and now his voice grew somber. “Have you had a chance to look at any of the data coming in from Hellebore?”

“Mostly, I’ve been coordinating with the Feverfew coms relay and cross-referencing with Fleet databases, to figure out who’s supposed to be where—what ships we can count on being close enough to back us up in Hellebore. But I did have a glance at the data from the Hellebore sensor web.”

“And?”

The question brought a gust-like exhalation from his XO. “We’re going to have quite a fight on our hands. There are four of the diamond-shaped destroyers Teth commanded, and five of the big vessels we termed carriers. At the last update, the destroyers were wreaking pure havoc on the system’s defenses, and all seven ships were belching Ravagers at everything that moved.”

Husher cursed under his breath. “So we’re picking a fight with an eight-hundred-pound gorilla.”

“Nine of them,” Fesky said with a nod. “On top of that, we have no idea how these new aliens will react. The data shows dozens of their ships, just sitting there.”

“Hmm.” Officially, neither of them was supposed to know about the alien fleet that had been sitting in Hellebore for weeks. But word tended to get around, and now the system’s sensor data had confirmed it. “Well, we didn’t join the Fleet to sit around on our hands. What are we looking at in terms of backup, assuming the new aliens don’t intervene on either side?”

“There’s one other capital starship whose patrol has it and its battle group close enough to arrive in Hellebore within a meaningful timeframe. They’ll arrive soon after us. Other than that, one destroyer, two missile cruisers, a corvette, and three frigates were already in-system.”

“None of them nearly a match for our enemies.” And us without a battle group. “We’d better hope the other capital starship is making haste. Which one is it?”

“The Mylas. Sir…I’m not sure we can win this.”

“Have we ever been sure, even of surviving any given day?”

Fesky shrugged. “I guess not.”

“We have our orders. Our job is to figure out how best to execute them.”

Still, as they joined the Vesta’s other first watch officers in the Tactical Planning Room, Husher’s palms began to feel clammy, and a coldness was spreading through his chest.

But as they went over the coming engagement, and as second watch took the supercarrier toward the Feverfew-Hellebore darkgate with all the acceleration she could muster, his fear gradually lessened.

His Oculenses showed him a shared view of the latest known configuration of the battlespace in Hellebore, displayed over a tabletop. And as he worked through the possibilities and tactics of the upcoming battle with his officers, Husher even began to take heart.

Yes, the odds against them were daunting. But when hadn’t they been? He’d always known it was a tossup for whether the galaxy would endure the coming invasion. But staring at the miniature representations of enemy ships, he suddenly felt certain that Teth was aboard one of them.

That wasn’t all: by attacking Hellebore with such force, Teth was doing exactly what Husher needed him to do. Exactly what the galaxy needed him to do.

Despite Husher’s assault on Concord, the Union was still dragging its heels when it came to accepting the reality of the war. But after this, they wouldn’t be able to help but confront that reality head-on.

Teth was playing right into his hands. It was entirely unlike him to do that, but maybe the defeat in Concord had rattled him. I guess having to flee in an escape pod would rattle anyone.

At last, they finished running possible scenarios and coming up with the optimal gambit in each one. It wasn’t every engagement they got to break down in advance like this, so that was another reason to be grateful. “All right, everyone. Good work. Time to head to the CIC.”

His officers filed out of the Tactical Planning Room in orderly fashion. Chief Benno Tremaine was last to leave, other than Husher and Fesky, and Husher was about to follow him when his XO motioned him to one side.

He walked over, eyebrows raised. “Yes, Fesky?”

Feathers stiffening, Fesky said, “I wasn’t going to tell you this until after the battle, but I’m thinking there’s no good time to tell you, and it’s better for you to know sooner than later.”

“What is it?”

“With the influx of people to Cybele, we’re getting a lot of interesting…characters.”

Husher frowned. “I’m guessing interesting doesn’t mean good, here.”

“Maybe it’s nothing. But background checks indicate a lot of them belong to some fairly extreme political groups. Groups known for taking their ideas into the streets.”

“Do I know any of the groups?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Sapient Brotherhood.”

“I have,” Husher said, suppressing a sigh. The Brotherhood believed humanity should never have joined a union comprised of nonhuman beings. Mostly they railed against the Kaithe, but ultimately they resented all alien influence on human affairs—although, they did have a soft spot for the Ixa, mainly because of their dedication to keeping their own species ‘pure.’

The Sapient Brotherhood is also the group my critics accuse me of sympathizing with. It was a ridiculous notion—he believed in the Interstellar Union. At least, he believed in the principles it was built on. And he believed in the Integrated Galactic Fleet.

But that didn’t matter. Society was hyper-polarized now, and anyone occupying a moderate position would be labeled with an extreme one by those who disagreed. Which only polarizes society more.

“Thanks for letting me know, Fesky,” he said, heading for the exit into the corridor. “There’s not much we can do about it, but it’s good to know what we’re dealing with.”

Chapter 5

Hellebore

Husher had never seen his CIC’s tactical display so cluttered—and he’d rarely been so shocked at the contrast between the intel he’d received and reality.

They’d transitioned into Hellebore minutes ago, and according to the hundreds of glowing ships represented in miniature on the display, the system was teeming.

Did they filter ships out of their sensor data before broadcasting the distress call? It wasn’t a sentiment he wanted to speak out loud, but then again, there was no hiding the fact from his CIC crew.

Tartarus Station was located here—home to the Department of Interplanetary Immigration and Travel, one of the Union’s biggest bureaucracies. What have they been up to?

Ensign Scot Winterton, Husher’s primary sensor operator, could always be counted on to report reality as his sensors showed it, whether that reality conflicted with his superiors’ version or not. “The unidentified alien fleet is far bigger than intel suggested, Captain,” Winterton said. “Visual analysis puts the number at one thousand three hundred and forty-two, though there’s a high probability that over a third are nonmilitary vessels.”

Still… Husher blinked to clear his head, trying to process what his sensor operator had told them. Even if only two-thirds were warships, that fleet came close to rivaling the entire Integrated Galactic Fleet in size. “What’s their posture?”

“They’re still showing no sign of involving themselves in the engagement. But that’s not all, sir. There’s also a battle group of eleven UHF-era warships holding orbit over Imbros, with dozens of civilian ships trailing behind. Some of the nonmilitary vessels look newer, though their profiles don’t match anything I’ve seen before. There’s also a ship with them, almost certainly a warship, which resembles those of the enormous alien fleet.”

Husher puzzled over that for a few moments—then, the answer fell into place in his mind. “Darkstream,” he said, his voice coming out as a low growl. He had no idea why the alien ship was holding formation with them, but who else would have so many UHF ships from the same era? “Eleven was the number of ships they stole from us before they fled the galaxy.” But what are they doing here, orbiting Imbros like it’s the most natural thing in the world?

As the Vesta approached missile range with the Progenitor battle group, Husher turned his attention to the actual engagement. No surprises there, at least. There were nine enemy ships being engaged by five Fleet ships, with debris clouds to account for the missing two. Except—

“What’s being represented by the tactical display, there?” Husher said, gesturing at the CIC’s main display. He’d already paired his Oculenses with Winterton’s, so he knew the sensor operator was looking at the same thing as him. “Those seven blips, almost too small to make out.”

Frowning in concentration, Winterton tapped at his console. “Those…those appear to be seven bipedal robots, sir.” Winterton looked up, and for the first time Husher could remember, the man looked a little helpless. “They’re aiding our ships in fighting the enemy.”

If Winterton can’t properly account for what he’s seeing, then I probably shouldn’t try. “Very well,” Husher said, nodding and then clearing his throat. “Let’s move to back them up, then. Helm, engines all ahead. Nav, I want you to collaborate with Tremaine on an approach vector and deceleration profile that allows us to maximize kinetic impactors, which I want sprayed at the enemy ships at optimal intervals.”

“Aye, sir,” said Chief Noni. She was a Tumbran, and his new primary Nav officer, following Kaboh’s resignation.

Ensign Fry spoke up. “Sir, I’m getting a transmission request from one of the enemy destroyers.”

“Accept, and put it on the display with open access to all.” Husher knew who it was, even before Teth’s hideous face appeared, with its bare bones protruding through cracked, whitened scales. So I was right.

“Captain Husher,” the Ixan hissed. “Right on time.”

Husher’s mouth quirked. Teth had a sharp tongue, and letting his crew in on whatever bile the Ixan had to spew was risky, from a morale perspective. But to take the transmission in his office, or even to take it privately—so that only he could hear Teth’s words—would have reeked of weakness, and no captain could afford to let his crew think him weak.

Maybe I can beat him at his own game. “Teth. I see you’ve acquired a new ship. It looks a lot like the last one I blew out from under you.”

For once, the Ixan had no response, and though his expression didn’t change, Husher knew he’d struck a nerve. According to Teth himself, that ship had held the last of the Ixa. Now, other than Ochrim, Teth was the last of his kind.

“I want to thank you for coming to Hellebore today,” Husher continued. “The Union’s been reluctant to go to war, and this attack is exactly what was needed to convince them.”

Teth’s forked tongue made a brief appearance between pointed teeth. “What, this skirmish?” he said. “This is psyops more than anything else. I barely have to fight this war, Captain Husher. I have complete confidence that you are going to win it for me.”

Husher shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

But Teth had already vanished from the display.

“Not one of his best speeches,” Husher said, which brought a round of chuckles, although he heard a nervous edge in the laughter. Moving on. “Tactical and Nav, how are those firing timings coming along?”

“We’re ready to lock them in, sir,” Tremaine said. “We have the first salvo timed just before deceleration, to take full advantage of our current acceleration.”

Chief Noni nodded. “We’ve also introduced a slight curve into our trajectory, to ensure no impactors hit our allies.”

“Good work.”

“Sir, the UHF ships near the planet appear to be coming online,” Winterton said. “Shuttles have been coming and going from them ever since we entered the system, and now heat signatures suggest engines being started up—yes, a corvette just broke formation with the others.”

“Is she headed toward the engagement?”

“Negative. She’s heading…uh, nowhere. There are no meaningful destinations along her trajectory. It’s possible they plan to circle around the engagement and make for the darkgate.”

They’re fleeing. “Coms, send them a transmission to the effect that we could use their help, over here. I don’t like the idea of teaming up with Darkstream, but I like the idea of losing to the Progenitors even less.”

The moment he finished speaking, Winterton said, “One of the Progenitor carriers just disappeared, sir.”

“Acknowledged. I want active scans of our immediate vicinity. Tactical, ready Banshee salvos to fire along every axis, and Fry, let Commander Ayam know he may be scrambling Pythons sooner than expected.”

Seconds later, his preparations proved unnecessary, when the carrier reappeared—not beside the Vesta, but right behind the old UHF-model ship attempting to flee. The carrier vomited forth a cloud of its savage robots, and though the corvette did its best to shoot them down, there were far too many.

Sailing past the corvette’s point defense turrets, the metal attackers lighted on her hull, burrowing inside her in dozens of places. The carrier vanished, then, reappearing back near the engagement, its dark work done.

Long, tense minutes ticked by as Husher and his officers watched a zoomed-in view of the corvette. Then, she ruptured, expelling gouts of flame to be instantly snuffed out by the void.

Chapter 6

The IGS Mylas

“Firing opening salvo of kinetic impactors,” Tremaine said.

Husher nodded, watching the tactical display. Before the first impactors arrived, Tremaine loosed another volley.

Almost simultaneously, an IGF frigate and the sole corvette exploded under enemy particle beams. The smaller ships were much more vulnerable to the weapons—any significant superheating and their hulls would rupture.

“Coms, send a recommendation to the other IGF captains that they keep up lateral movement in relation to the enemy, to avoid presenting them with a still target.”

“Aye, sir.”

Winterton leaned toward his console, scrutinizing whatever he saw there closely. “First impactor salvo arriving now, sir.” He frowned. “The ship we had the best bead on has vanished to avoid getting hit. Other impactors are raining down on the hulls of one destroyer and two of the carriers. Hmm. We’ve succeeded in destroying a primary turret battery on the destroyer.”

Tremaine sent five more salvos at the enemy ships before the Vesta closed with them, and Winterton kept Husher updated on the success of each one. None did more than superficial damage, but that was about what he’d expected. At this range, with the enemy’s ability to simply vanish from the line of fire, kinetic impactors could only be counted on to soften up targets.

That’s better than nothing. We’ve put holes in their point defense systems for our Pythons to exploit.

“Have Commander Ayam scramble the entire Air Group, Coms. With this many Progenitor ships, we’ll need most of our fighters on missile defense duty, but tell Ayam to assign four squadrons to apply some pressure. Either the system’s defenders will throw them off enough to give us an opening or vice versa.”

“Sir, the Mylas has just transitioned into Hellebore with all four of her battle group ships in tow,” his sensor operator said.

Husher nodded. “Welcome news, but we won’t be able to count on their help for over an hour. In the meantime, we need to do some damage.”

With just the Vesta and six of the system’s defender ships remaining, they were still outgunned by the nine Progenitor ships, and the strange alien fleet still showed no sign of moving to help either side. Still, Husher believed in his Air Group, and he believed in the Vesta. The sheer might brought to bear by one capital starship simply couldn’t be discounted, and if they could hold on until the second one arrived…

This is far from over.

He briefly considered reaching out to the hundreds of alien ships in distant heliocentric orbits, but quickly decided against it. Even he could see that doing so would be stepping well outside his bounds as a Fleet captain. Negotiating with a foreign power, especially one of that size, would be tricky business under the best of circumstances. But sitting down to the negotiating table with a foreign power that had just saved you from military disaster…it wasn’t what Husher would call an enviable position.

“The enemy battle group has started taking us seriously, sir,” Winterton said. “They’re directing most of their robot-missiles at us, now.”

“As expected. Tremaine, stand by to fire Banshees at any missiles that make it past our Pythons. Whenever you can, try to neutralize them near the maximum range of our point defense turrets, to avoid any wasteful overlap.”

“Aye, sir.”

“That’s not all. Sneak some Gorgons into the mix—say, one for every ten Banshees fired. I want the Gorgons programmed to make their way at a leisurely pace toward the nearest ships: split them evenly three ways between the nearby destroyer and the carriers lingering off her stern.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Forward the Gorgon’s telemetry to our Air Group, but tell them not to make it too obvious that they’re making way for stealth missiles.”

Husher took several long breaths as he monitored the tactical display to see how his gambit would play out. The Darkstream ships in orbit over Imbros were still peeling away, one by one, on trajectories that took them essentially nowhere, but which left room to loop around the Mylas’ battle group and slip through the darkgate.

The Progenitors didn’t appear to want that. The first Darkstream ship in line was a missile cruiser, and when it neared the debris cloud that had once been the corvette, the same Progenitor carrier disappeared, showing up right behind the cruiser and overwhelming it with an even bigger cloud of the robotic killers.

Another IGF frigate went down—and then something surprising happened. One of the enemy destroyers ruptured in a brilliant flash that reminded Husher of watching Teth’s destroyer go down over Klaxon’s moon.

“What caused that?” he asked.

“It would seem the seven bipedal robots managed to neutralize the enemy ship, sir,” Winterton said. “With minimal aid from IGF vessels.”

“Show me a visual closeup of those things.”

Winterton did. The CIC’s main display zoomed in to show the seven robots flying through space in formation, toward the nearest carrier. One of them was much bigger than the other six, and while the others had a human aesthetic, with their sleek contours and recognizable weaponry, the big one seemed totally alien.

The carrier they were headed toward answered the robots’ approach with a torrent of metal devils, and Husher watched as the alien robot shifted, its arms becoming spinning blades that shredded any missile-bots they came into contact with. Several missiles made it past the hulking biped, prompting an explosion of shrapnel to burst from its back, which took down multiple targets at once with precision accuracy.

“I see,” Husher said.

Winterton spoke up again. “Sir, three of the six Gorgons fired were detected, but the other three detonated—one on the port aft side of Teth’s destroyer, and the other two on the closest carrier. Those two struck together, blowing a sizable hole in the enemy’s hull.”

“Acknowledged. Tremaine, fire our primary laser at that hole, now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husher watched on the tactical display as Tremaine dumped energy into the damaged ship—until, after several tense moments, it exploded, flinging shrapnel and flame in all directions and forcing some of the Vesta’s Pythons to peel away on evasion courses.

Cheering erupted inside the CIC—a rare sound in this war, so far. Husher let it play out for a few seconds until saying, “All right, people, we’re not done yet. Tremaine, it’s time to start—”

“Sir,” Winterton said, so low he was almost whispering, but it was enough to make Husher break off.

“Yes?”

“All six enemy ships just vanished.”

Slowly, Husher shook his head. “Have they retreated?” The engagement was far from over, and until the second capital starship arrived, he would have said the Progenitors still had the advantage.

“They—sir, the six ships just appeared behind the Mylas and her battle group. The IGF ships are coming about, but the enemy’s already firing.”

Husher toggled to a close-in visual display of the engagement, the knuckles of his other hand white from his death-grip on the command seat’s armrest. The point defense systems of the IGF ships were working overtime, and their captains had already ordered that secondary lasers be used to supplement.

It wasn’t clear that would be enough. “Nav, set a course for the Mylas, and Coms, send a request that the Hellebore system defense group follow us.”

He knew the order was pointless—the Mylas and her battle group were much too far for the Vesta to reach them in time to make a difference. But he had to do something. The Progenitor ships were filling the battlespace with their robots, and the defending ships had already expended a significant portion of their arsenal keeping them at bay.

Next, particle beams lanced out from the enemy warships, heedless of the robots they caught in their beams. The robots melted, and so did the IGF hulls. A frigate went down first, followed by a corvette. Next, the destroyer and missile cruiser were neutralized in almost simultaneous explosions.

Total silence took hold in Husher’s CIC, as they all held their breath, waiting to see whether the silent death being dealt would claim the Mylas.

Though he knew better, Husher felt a quiet confidence spread through him. There’s no way they’re taking down a capital starship. The Mylas will hold on till we reach her, and then we’ll show them exactly what they’re dealing with.

When the supercarrier ruptured in a blinding flash, at first Husher didn’t know how to process it. Neither, it seemed, did his CIC crew—they all maintained their postures, mostly leaning forward and gripping their armrests.

“A capital starship,” Noni said, breathless. “They just destroyed a capital starship.”

No one else spoke, not even Husher, though he knew he had to say something, to try and salvage morale from the abyss it was tumbling into.

But there was nothing to say.

Chapter 7

Snapped in Two

At last, Husher did the only thing he could do, the only thing he knew how to do:

He acted.

“Tremaine, coordinate with Nav to come up with a formation that places the other IGF ships far enough away to disperse enemy fire but close enough that we can help each other out with missile defense. Send that formation to Coms for forwarding as an urgent recommendation to the other captains.” He couldn’t actually give them orders, but he’d be very surprised if any of them defied him in this. “Add in a reminder to stand ready to use lateral thrusters for particle beam evasion at a moment’s notice.” He swallowed. “They should also be prepared to fall back as needed, to buy time to deal with enemy ordnance—but do so judiciously. The Progenitor ships could just as easily appear behind us.”

The Mylas’ entire Air Group had been taken out in one fell swoop. At least that wouldn’t happen to Commander Ayam’s fliers, since they were already deployed. That should grant Husher the needed versatility to respond to enemy maneuvers quickly, even if the Progenitors appeared just off his stern.

Husher watched the tactical display, hating the silence that continued to reign over his CIC as the Progenitor ships crept closer across the battlespace. The silence was no different than any other time he wasn’t in the middle of giving orders or coordinating with his officers—except, it was vastly different, wasn’t it? A capital starship had fallen. Even Husher, who’d given voice to the probability of this happening once the Ixa’s creators returned, was having difficulty processing the reality of it.

The capital starships formed the backbone of the Integrated Galactic Fleet, and it felt like that backbone had just been snapped in two.

“Sir,” Winterton said. “The alien fleet is in motion.”

Husher called up an expanded tactical display, one that showed the entire system. There, at Hellebore’s periphery, he watched dozens of alien ships breaking formation at a time, to become a great wave bending away from their previous heliocentric orbit—toward the Vesta and the ships around her.

Idly, he toggled to a visual display, zooming in on one of the ships as far as the sensor could go. At this vast remove, the image was blurry. All Husher could see was a tapered ovoid, thinner at the fore than at the aft, and royal purple in color.

“What should we do, sir?” Noni asked.

“Absolutely nothing. The Vesta may have the legs to make her way around the Progenitor ships to escape through the darkgate, but the other IGF ships don’t. And we’re far too deep inside the system for any of us to go to warp. We’re not going to leave the other IGF crews to die.” Besides, public morale is going to be bad enough after losing a capital starship.

“Should we prepare to engage the approaching fleet?”

“Negative. We don’t have a prayer against so many ships. We’re going to stick with our current line of action, and we’re not going to try to influence something we have no control over.”

He took a moment to wonder why the alien fleet had finally decided to get involved. Had the Union requested it, or were they doing so of their own volition? Either way, contacting them would be pointless. Requesting their help or begging would only degrade whatever leverage the Union had with the new species.

Then there was the possibility that the recent arrivals were actually allies of the Progenitors. Husher didn’t like to dwell on that one, since it would mean certain death if it proved out. But he had to admit it was possible.

At first, he was sure the Progenitors were going to reach them before the alien fleet did. But then he noticed how fast the purple vessels were traveling. It was difficult to tell whether their starships’ engines were more advanced that those fielded by the IGF, or whether they were just grossly overtaxing them. Whatever the case, the new ships were closing the distance rapidly.

When the eight nearest ships of the unidentified fleet drew just within the Vesta’s maximum missile range, they loosed a volley of missiles—twenty each, totaling one hundred and sixty. They screamed toward the Vesta and her companions.

“Sir,” Tremaine said, his head twitching toward Husher. “Should I—”

“Do nothing.” With her Air Group, the Vesta was likely capable of holding off such a barrage by herself. But the same principle applied: if the newcomers were targeting the IGF ships, they would be sandwiched between them and the Progenitors, and nothing they could do would stay death for long.

The next row of alien ships loosed a comparable volley, and so did the next.

The Progenitors continued to approach. The Vesta and the other IGF ships stayed where they were, doing nothing, Pythons milling around them.

At last, the first missiles sailed past, automated guidance systems keeping them well clear of Pythons and warships alike.

When the Progenitors registered that fact, they fired a volley of robots, many of which were obliterated the instant they encountered the guided missile barrage. Several missiles slipped past the bots, however, and the nearest carrier exploded.

Husher’s heart leapt. The six remaining Progenitor ships abruptly reversed course, struggling to deal with the onslaught. More missiles landed on the hull of one of the destroyers, Teth’s destroyer, taking out a turret battery here, blowing open a gaping hole there—

Then all six enemy ships vanished from the system. The remaining guided missiles looped around, rocketing back toward the ships that had fired them. A salvage function. He hadn’t seen that before, but it seemed like a great idea, so long as stringent precautions were taken to prevent armed missiles from exploding on their return.

The CIC remained silent as they all waited to see whether the Progenitors would reappear. But Husher didn’t think they would.

“Send our new friends a blanket transmission request,” Husher said. “I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge. Include our warm thanks in the broadcasted request.”

“Sir, the suspected Darkstream ships have reached the darkgate, nonmilitary vessels included,” Winterton said. “The single ship resembling the ones that just helped us also appears to be leaving with them.”

“Well, they paid a heavy price for their escape,” Husher said. “Let them have what they bought.”

Chasing them down would take a while. Besides, other IGF ships would likely apprehend them before they got farther than Feverfew.

Chapter 8

Predator

The Predator, successor to the Apex, flickered through the dimensions along a predetermined route, ending up back in what Teth thought of as the Prime Reality.

Unlike the last time his destroyer had fled from the Vesta—when he’d ended up far from any destination of strategic importance—this time, he knew exactly where he was. The Predator now sat roughly equidistant between the Hellebore system and its neighbor, well outside the distance inside which it could be detected within a meaningful timespan, let alone harmed. On the sensor board, he watched as his five companion ships reentered the universe all around him, flickering in and sitting there, awaiting his next command.

Everything that had happened today, including the loss of two carriers and one destroyer, had been according to his design. He’d sewn the seeds of the Union’s destruction, and the main agent of that destruction would be none other than Vin Husher. Teth knew Husher like he knew himself. He knew the sort of person the battle in the Baxa System—which the Union now called the Concord System—had turned Husher into.

The man wasn’t capable of the kind of rapid change needed to avert the catastrophe waiting for him and for everyone he sought to protect. No, he would forge ahead, confident in the lessons he’d so recently learned, and those lessons would take him apart piece by piece.

Slowly, Teth rose to his feet, staring vacantly into space. Today had been a total success. So why did he feel so hollow?

“Immaculate One,” his strategy auxiliary said.

Teth turned toward the Ixan. “Yes, Breka?”

“Perhaps we should initiate repairs to the Predator’s damaged hull. There is much to do.”

Slowly, Teth nodded. “Do so.” Then he walked around his command seat, which resembled a hulking throne, and drew the massive broadsword strapped to the back, holding it before his face and studying its perfection. At one time, the sword—a gift from his father—had filled him with pride and purpose. Now? Nothing.

He paced around his warship’s bridge, the blade’s hilt dangling from his grasp. Each auxiliary he passed shrank away from the weapon. All except Breka.

Only Breka would have the courage to speak the words that needed to be spoken to his Command Leader. Teth’s strategy auxiliary was the perfect Ixan—of the purest bloodlines. Confident, competent. Dominant.

Breka didn’t remember how Teth had sacrificed him in order to inspire the rest of the crew. He’d decapitated Breka with the sword he now held, in full view of everyone aboard, despite the Ixan’s supreme worthiness. It had been a demonstration of the exacting sacrifices that victory demanded.

But Breka had no memory of it, just as the rest of the crew failed to remember how Teth had spent their lives in the battle over Klaxon.

That was because Breka was a clone. A replica. Just like the rest of the crew, and just like the sword Teth now held.

Breka looked like Breka. He smelled like Breka, and he said everything Breka would have. His unwavering gaze was just like Breka’s, along with his iron will. But sometime during his death and rebirth, Breka’s spirit had been wrenched from him, and what remained was just an empty shell. An automaton, which acted like Breka without knowing it was imitating anyone.

But it wasn’t truly Breka, and the sword Teth gripped was not the one his father had given him. The Breka clones aboard the other two destroyers, who remained totally unaware of each other’s existence, weren’t Breka either.

Teth had escaped the confrontation with Husher in the Baxa System, barely, but what if he hadn’t? The Progenitors would simply have cloned him, too, and given the clone the task of coordinating the war’s opening campaigns. Functionally, it wouldn’t have mattered—not to the Progenitors, certainly. But Teth could smell the clones’ falsehood. He had no idea how, but they reeked of it.

Unable to take it any longer, he marched off the bridge before the impulse to murder everyone on it overtook him.

Storming through the barren corridors, he brooded. He hadn’t bothered to replace the black, white, and scarlet banners he’d ordered hung around the Apex. He no longer saw the point. He’d spent Breka’s life under the conviction that he’d been building something—power. An empire in which everyone and everything bent to his will. But in encountering the clones’ fakery, he’d also met with the lie of his own beliefs.

His father was gone, and there was no hope of turning his brother to his side—Ochrim’s intentions had always been ultimately self-sacrificing, and now that he knew Baxa’s and Teth’s never had been, he was lost forever.

Even the Ixa were gone, replaced by a species of shams. Teth was left alone, all alone. But with his isolation came a blessing that gleamed darkly, in the form of bald truth:

Life was suffering.

Strip away the pretense and false promises, and that was all that remained. He should know; he’d inflicted plenty of the suffering himself. And now, suffering was all he knew, which was the eventual fate of every living being, until they died.

But only until they die. The universe was malevolent, a cruel jokester, but Teth had not been wrong to be an agent of suffering. No. He had stumbled on the fundamental morality of the universe, and by embracing it, he would join the ranks of the most moral actors who ever lived.

Life was suffering. The only true antidote was death. And so, Teth vowed to become the most efficient agent of death he could possibly be.

The just and unjust alike. The guilty and the detached. They would all die, and if they knew what Teth was truly doing for them, they would thank him. They would call him Saviour.

They still might, he reflected as he about-turned and made his way back to the CIC, to set the next phase of his plan into motion.

Chapter 9

Divided and Deployed

It took President Chiba less than a day to travel to Tartarus Station, and Husher was surprised by his speed, even though the politician had only been coming from the next system over, via darkgate. Husher was used to sluggishness from the Interstellar Union, and for the galactic president to travel anywhere involved a lot of moving parts, least of all his massive security detail.

The fact that Chiba had moved so quickly meant the Union was finally taking the Progenitors seriously. Good.

To speed things even more, the president had sent a message ahead by com drone indicating that he wanted the upcoming meeting with the alien newcomers to occur aboard Tartarus Station.

The same message requested Husher’s presence at the meeting. That was how he found himself walking with Fesky from one of the station’s three flight decks toward a central conference chamber, accompanied by their own security detail, which consisted solely of Major Peter Gamble.

Gamble had wanted to bring more marines along. The man had pushed for an entire platoon.

“We’re in Union space, Major,” Husher had said.

“Yeah, just like we were in Wintercress. And Saffron. Didn’t help us much there. Besides, who knows what these new aliens might pull?”

“The Quatro withdrew their fleet to the edge of the system again. They’ve only sent one shuttle to Tartarus.”

“Yeah, but I hear these guys are huge.”

In the end, Husher had taken Gamble’s concerns under advisement, but ultimately he’d decided they were unwarranted. If the president of the galaxy was willing to meet aboard a space station—a much more vulnerable venue than a planetside building, or even better, a fortified underground facility—then Husher was fine with just his marine commander as escort. They needed to convey a certain level of trust to the Quatro. He would have gone without any escort at all, but he knew Gamble would have turned himself inside-out over that. The man fretted.

There wasn’t much room aboard Tartarus, which was the case inside most space-based constructs. Not capital starships, of course, but that was one of the many reasons the capital starships represented such a leap past anything else in the galaxy. Achieving that leap had required staggering resources, along with some of the finest engineers to be found among the four Union species.

Space constraints meant that even the meeting chamber the president had chosen to meet with the Quatro was somewhat cramped. After leaving Gamble in the corridor, Husher and Fesky entered to find the quadrupedal aliens were every bit as large as rumor held. There were five of them, all in repose on the carpeted floor, and together they took up almost half the room. One of the two curved tables had been shoved back against the bulkhead to make space for the aliens, since Tartarus had no furniture designed for Quatro.

Husher and his XO were almost last to arrive, leaving only the president missing. Flanking them at the human table were Union functionaries Husher couldn’t put names to, but opposite them, on the other end of the table’s curve, sat a boy who was staring at Husher, next to a girl who was doing the same.

What are they doing here? He doubted either one of them was even twenty. I haven’t met very many diplomacy prodigies.

As he returned their scrutiny, he picked up on subtle cues that gave him a slightly clearer picture of their identity: defined jaw lines, short-cropped hair, unwavering gazes. They’re military.

But that didn’t give an answer to what were they doing here. They were too young to hold high rank.

It was a mystery, but he wasn’t about to ask. He returned their gazes with one eyebrow hiked up until they looked elsewhere, first the boy, then the girl.

The president entered, along with a single armed guard who took up position against the bulkhead behind him. I don’t think that guard is going to accomplish much if these beasts decide to attack. Chiba’s head-tail swayed as he took his seat in the table’s center, and he folded his small, blue-white hands before him as he studied the Quatro with the eternal calm of a Kaithian.

The central Quatro rose to its full height, pointed ears brushing the ceiling. Thick, scarlet lines radiated back from its snout through otherwise purple fur, and it regarded the president with enormous orange eyes. Its face looked menacing, but Husher wasn’t sure it was capable of adopting a configuration that didn’t look menacing, in the same way that the predatory cats who’d stalked prehistoric humans across the savanna had struggled with looking friendly.

President Chiba spoke first. “We thank you for your help in dealing with the invading battle group.”

The alien dipped its giant head in response. “This enemy, who you may know as ‘Progenitor,’ is why we have come,” it said in a deep, resonant purr—or rather, the device hanging around its neck did. A translator. Remarkable. “They drove us from our home, and we were fortunate to escape with the numbers we did. As for our aid in fighting them, your people did not request it of us. We volunteered it. Nothing is owed for this. Our aims clearly align, and Quatro also benefit from the destruction of Progenitor ships.”

Husher raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear the Quatro giving up the leverage they’d gained in helping with the defense of Hellebore. Verbally, anyway—the leverage remained, no matter what they said. But still.

“That’s very gracious of you to say,” Chiba answered, which suggested to Husher that the president’s thoughts mirrored his own. “To avoid offense, I should seek some clarification—I’m given to understand that you are Eldest of the Assembly of Elders, and that you are male. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And the Assembly is a governing body of some kind?”

“That is correct. And what position do you hold among this…assortment of species?” The Quatro glanced along the curved table, though the gesture stretched the word to its limits—even a glance seemed momentous when performed by the great being. His gaze took in those seated, which included humans, Kaithe, Wingers, and Tumbra.

“I am President Chiba of the Interstellar Union.”

“Then it would seem our conversation has potential. I thank you for honoring our presence with yours, though I must acknowledge that we have been waiting in this system for some time, conducting seemingly circular negotiations with low-level dignitaries. And yet, once we expelled the Progenitors from your space, you rushed to meet us. Is military might the only thing you respect?”

“No,” Chiba said. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

That’s for damn sure, Husher mused.

Chiba continued: “What is your name, Eldest?”

The alien regarded the president in silence for a moment. “Name?” he said, as though turning the word over in his mouth to see how it tasted.

“You don’t have names? Designators for individuals?”

“I am Eldest among the Assembly of Elders. Other than that, I am equal among my drift, though unlike others, my drift includes all Quatro.”

“We, too, prize equality,” Chiba said. “That’s an interesting notion, that names might be tied up in keeping us unequal.” The president paused, as though momentarily lost in thought.

Oh, God. Husher cleared his throat.

Chiba glanced at him, then met the Quatro’s gaze once more. “The reason I delayed in meeting with you has to do with galactic security. When the president goes anywhere, it’s a news story, and we were reluctant to draw unnecessary attention to what was happening in Hellebore until we knew who we were dealing with. We’ve had two unexpected arrivals, recently—a group of humans who fled this galaxy twenty years ago, who we managed to transport to this system undetected by the media, and you, who arrived in this same system not long after. If there is such a thing as fate, it would seem it’s at work in Hellebore. But I digress. The returning humans I mentioned were also accompanied by Quatro; a much smaller group, mostly aboard a single ship that resembles yours, though it’s clearly based on older technology. I understand you have an interest in those Quatro.”

“Yes,” the Eldest said—a little too quickly, in Husher’s estimation. “They must be folded back into the drift.”

The boy and girl sitting across from Husher tensed at the Quatro’s words. Interesting.

“I see,” Chiba said. “As I’m sure you detected during the battle, the Quatro ship in question has already fled the system. But I fear this discussion is becoming as aimless as you suggested the other negotiations were. I think it’s time we communicate our respective desired outcomes for today’s meeting. If I may jump ahead a little, it seems likely that we both need each other’s help in fighting an enemy that’s quickly proving a threat to not just the galaxy, but perhaps even the universe. Am I correct in that assumption, Eldest?”

“You are,” the Quatro said, but Husher barely heard him. At Chiba’s words, adrenaline had washed through his entire body, and it made him want to leap to his feet, pumping his fists in the air and yelling like a maniac.

A threat to the universe. I think we might finally be getting through to them. This felt like an even bigger victory than the one he’d achieved over Klaxon.

“Excellent,” Chiba said. “Now that we’ve established that, the only thing that remains is to determine the conditions under which we both will be able to collaborate.”

For a meeting involving the Union, this one had proceeded at what Husher would have called breakneck speed, so far. Of course, that didn’t last. After deciding they wanted to work together, the president and the Eldest took a while to arrive at what seemed to Husher like very simple terms. This is why I’ll never be a diplomat. Beside him, Fesky began to shift in her seat.

The Quatro warships would be divided and deployed according to direction given by the IGF, mostly to protect and defend the various Union systems. In return, the Quatro would be granted three suitable Milky Way systems in which to make their new home, with the promise of more once the alien’s apparently rapid reproduction rates filled those up.

Other than that, diplomatic relations would be kept open, with provisions made to address the evolving needs of both the Union and the Assembly.

“It’s also vital that you refrain from opening any more wormholes,” Chiba said. “Ever. I know the reasons why have already been outlined to you, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t underscore them. Compromising the underlying structure of our universe is obviously something that would impact us both.”

One thing kept cropping up throughout the discussion, and Husher credited it with most of the blame for the meeting taking so long: the Eldest wanted those escaped Quatro back.

“I’m afraid that isn’t something I can guarantee,” Chiba said. “Amid the confusion surrounding the attack on this system, both the Darkstream ships and the Quatro ship were allowed to slip through Feverfew and onto much less populated systems.”

“We must have them back,” the Eldest said. “As soon as it can be done.”

“May I ask why you want them back so badly?”

“They are wayward and proud—far too proud. Their pride is such that they place themselves before their drift, and they hold to toxic ideas that we consider antithetical to the operation of a healthy society. They must be folded back into the drift.”

“Toxic,” Chiba said, nodding. “I see. They’re criminals, then?”

“Worse.”

“Well, I will notify our warship captains that they are to do everything in their power to apprehend them, should they encounter them. How does the Assembly typically deal with criminals?”

“You already have the answer, though you do not know it.”

The Kaithian tilted his head to one side. “Hmm? How do you mean?”

With that, the two Quatro on both ends of the group stood, bowing their heads low toward their leader. Neither bore the red face markings of the Eldest, or the yellow lines that adorned the other two Quatro’s heads.

“These two are guilty of crimes against their drift,” the Eldest said. “And yet here you see them, walking free. Indeed, I have brought them to what may well prove to be the most significant event in our species’ history.”

“They are reformed,” Chiba said.

“Yes. But you should hear them recount their experiences themselves.”

The rightmost Quatro fixed Chiba with an unwavering gaze, eyes wide with conviction. “Before the Progenitors destroyed our home, which spanned a galaxy just as yours does—before that onslaught, we lived in paradise. The Assembly provided everything we could possibly need. No one wanted. Everyone enjoyed plenty, and all were equal. That is still our way. All are equal, with only the drift elevated above all.”

“And the Eldest is the only one whose drift is made up of every Quatro,” Husher interrupted.

Heads swung toward him all along the curved table, and the Eldest regarded him as though he was considering making a meal of him. Chiba was glaring, too. Fesky clacked her beak softly.

“Yes,” the Quatro criminal answered, haltingly. “As I said, all are equal…even the Eldest…” It turned until it was looking just past the Eldest, who dipped his head. The reformed criminal returned to staring wide-eyed at Chiba. “I was selfish, once. I sought more than others, and I competed with my drift to get it. I placed my drift beneath myself, and I harmed it to satisfy my whims. But I was not put to death. We are permitted to believe whatever we want. I was simply taught the supremacy of the drift.”

The Quatro lowered itself to the floor, then, and so did the other criminal, who hadn’t spoken.

“So you see,” the Eldest said. “We treat our criminals very well. We fold them back into the drift.”

“Okay,” Chiba said. “I expect we may be finished for today, unless anyone has anything to—”

“What about subspace tech?” Husher said. He didn’t like bringing up the new tech around freshly minted allies, but then, he wasn’t telling them how it worked just by naming it, and he didn’t know when he would get the opportunity to apply this kind of pressure again.

“What about it, Captain Husher?” Chiba growled.

“We’ve already agreed that the Progenitors are an existential threat. So it’s rational to move ahead with anything that might improve our combat effectiveness. Subspace tech will do that, especially since I’m fairly certain our enemies are already using it.”

The Kaithian clearly hated to give him what he wanted, but it would be the height of irrationality to disagree with him now, and the Kaithe were nothing if not supremely rational.

“Very well, Captain,” Chiba said, his words still clipped. “I will work with you to make this a reality. Will that be all?”

“No. Before I left Zakros, I was told my rank and position as captain of the Vesta are under review. Is that still the case?”

The Kaithian opened his mouth to reply, revealing twin rows of tiny, pointed teeth. Then he closed it again. Clearly, he was surprised Husher would bring that up at this meeting. Husher was a little surprised too, if he was being honest.

Chiba shook his head, as though to clear it. “If the special commission finds you guilty of the charges brought against you, I will grant you a presidential pardon, conditional upon your unqualified obedience throughout the remainder of this war. It’s an unusual way of doing things, but I tend to agree with you that we need to leverage every asset at our disposal, and you are such an asset.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Husher said, trying not to grin too broadly.

“Where do we fit into all this?” said the boy sitting across from Husher, his tone one of barely restrained anger. “We were also driven from our home by the Progenitors, and we also have tech that can help win this war. Why haven’t we been acknowledged at all during this meeting?”

“Who are you?” Husher asked, squinting.

“I’m Seaman Jake Price. I lead the team of mechs that took down a destroyer while you were busy letting a supercarrier get destroyed.”

Husher stared at the boy, mentally checking to make sure his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Jake Price. The one Teth is so keen to get his claws on. “Not what I’d call a fair representation of the recent engagement,” Husher said, grateful his voice was so steady. “But even so—we have a lot to talk about, son.”

Chapter 10

Prison Planet

To Captain Bob Bronson, lingering inside a cell on Imbros for what already seemed like an eternity felt too much like the weeks he’d spent in the Providence’s brig. Keyes had kept him there, alone and ignored, at a time when Bronson should have been captain. The UHF admiralty had granted him command of the supercarrier, but it didn’t matter. Keyes had staged his little rebellion, for which he was rewarded lavishly in the end. Of course, that had involved overthrowing the entire Human Commonwealth, but even so…Keyes had deserved nothing good.

Ah, well. He got his in the end.

Unlike Keyes, Bronson was still alive. Still here. True, he was in prison, and a guard had done him the courtesy of informing him that his destroyer was gone—taken out of the system, probably by other Darkstream employees. Or ex-employees, now. Whatever.

During the confusion of the skirmish with the Progenitors, most of the Steele System civilians and Darkstream personnel had apparently managed to find their way into orbit and onto the parked ships. The Quatro, too, most of whom hadn’t gone down to Imbros in the first place, choosing instead to live aboard their own warship.

As far as Bronson knew, no one had made an attempt to spring him from his cell.

Ungrateful bastards.

A door opened somewhere, and he heard the slow crescendo of approaching footsteps. A woman he recognized as the warden appeared at the shatterproof glass that fronted the cell. The Providence cells had had bars, but here it was only spotless glass, which made him feel naked with someone standing there gawking at him.

Quinn. Eve Quinn. He’d only spotted her twice, but he recognized her. Uniform neatly ironed and tucked, not a hair follicle in disarray. A slight smile that said she knew exactly how much power she had over him.

“Bronson,” she said, her voice coming through an octagon of pinholes just above her mouth. “Captain Bronson—isn’t that what your pretend military promoted you to?”

He didn’t humor her with a response.

“I have a couple news items for you. There’s bad news, and there’s—ah, should I call it good news? Which would you like first?”

He held his peace, envisioning the revenge he’d take on her if his designs ever panned out.

“We can do this all day, Bronson. I can tell you the news, but I want you to ask for it politely.”

“Could you tell me the news?” he said at once.

Quinn’s smile widened. “All right. The Darkstream board members have all been sentenced to life in prison for their crimes, without parole.”

Despite himself, Bronson’s eyes widened. The Progenitors had promised him that Darkstream would rise to power once again in this galaxy. But that was difficult to accomplish from a prison cell.

That was the least of his worries, now. Much more worrisome was what, exactly, the Interstellar Union considered Darkstream’s crimes to be. If they know about our collusion with the Progenitors…

“What crimes?” he managed to rasp.

“Well, some of the members were left over from the board that fled the Milky Way through a wormhole, after they were caught poisoning our democratic process. As for the newer members…countless witnesses testified to how, during your time in the Steele System, Darkstream exploited people for ever-increasing profits. There’s documentation showing the company instigated a war with the Quatro living in the Steele System, and more proving that citizens living in Darkstream habitats were allowed to become slaves, because of a deal the board struck with a local drug lord. This ringing any bells?”

“You’ve kept awfully informed for a prison warden.”

Quinn nodded, looking genuinely pleased. “I do like to personally keep my prisoners updated on their individual situations.”

“I can tell. What’s my situation?”

“Well, that’s the other part. The news of questionable quality, if you will. See, you’re essentially free to go.”

“Essentially?”

Quinn nodded again. “You have identified the most important word in that sentence, yes. In a moment, I’m going to release you from this cell, but you’ll be under what we’re going to call planet arrest. You can go anywhere you like on Imbros, even out into the wild, if you care to. Be a tree man, if that’s to your liking. But the moment you leave the planet’s gravity well, we’ll know, and we’ll intercept whatever bucket you’ve managed to slither into well before it leaves the system.”

Feeling cautiously optimistic, Bronson said, “How will you know if I leave Imbros?”

“I was actually hoping you’d ask that. What we have in this system, as I’m sure you’ve heard, is the Department of Interplanetary Immigration and Travel. Lot of mumbo jumbo, to my ears, but it does mean we get a lot of tech geeks. Love their devices, do the desk jockeys of the Department, especially when it comes to devices that enable tracking and surveillance. Can you see where I’m going with this, Captain Bob Bronson?”

As Quinn spoke, a cold sweat had broken out all over Bronson’s body, and he fell silent once more.

“I think you might, but I’ll spell it out for you all the same. You see, we’ve taken a real interest in the computers that a lot of you Steele System folks had implanted in your head.” Quinn poked a finger against the side of her skull and spun it. “And it turns out they’re real easy to hack into! Almost like they were designed that way. Isn’t that funny? Anyway. We decided not to go poking around inside the heads of regular civilians too much, not at this early stage, anyway. But we sure were interested in how those implants worked, and who better to unabashedly spy on than a jailed corporate suckhole who’s probably guilty six ways from Sunday? Prisoners are at the forefront of tracking and surveillance, whether they know it or not. And once we hacked into your implant, we saw what you saw. Heard what you heard. Yeah, we knew every time you muttered in your sleep, farted, or took a piss.”

Quinn sniffed. “Lucky for you, the implant logs you no doubt kept on everyone weren’t stored on the devices, else we’d probably be able to nail you to the wall. As it stands, we’ve got to thinking that it might be useful to have you around.” With that, Quinn produced a device from her pocket and clicked it. The glass slid a meter to the right, opening just enough to let him pass through. “So go ahead, Bronson. Go out and stretch your legs. When we need you, we’ll know where to find you. And if you’re a good boy, maybe we’ll even toss you a few more bones.”

Hardly able to believe it, Bronson rose to his feet. I’m finally leaving this cursed place. At that moment, with his admittedly conditional freedom spreading out before him, anything seemed possible.

He stepped past the glass.

“Remember,” Quinn said, dropping her playful tone like a bad act. “I’ll be the one watching you, so try not to act like too much of a slob, all right?”

He smiled at her, then turned toward the end of the corridor, where a guard was holding the door for him.

The same guard escorted him past two more rows of cells, an office, and then another row, inmates jeering and spitting at him the entire time. Bronson felt the urge to curse at them, not in anger but joy. He restrained himself. I’m being a good boy.

For now.

His personal effects—some of them, anyway—were returned to him at the front desk, and he was shown to a restroom where he could change out of the prison uniform.

Outside, the sun was just breaking through scant cloud cover, and he cherished the warmth on his upturned face. That was a pleasure he’d barely encountered during his twenty years in exile. Back in Steele, Eresos had been the only place where you could go outside without a pressure suit, and he’d rarely consorted with the human cattle who’d lived there. The artificial sun they’d had on Valhalla Station just hadn’t been the same.

Now what? It occurred to him that he had no money, at least none they’d accept on Imbros. Hundreds of thousands of credits were tied to his implant, but that didn’t mean anything in the Milky Way.

Surely they plan to keep me fed? Glancing back at the prison entrance, he briefly contemplated going back inside and raising the matter.

No way. He’d sooner die than step foot in that place again. They’ve been very clever, with this ‘planet arrest’ nonsense. Now they didn’t even have to bother with housing him, with Imbros itself as his prison. Maybe he would have to enter the wilderness, just to forage something to eat.

The idea seemed preposterous on the face of it. A starship captain, forced to scrounge in the bushes like an animal. It made him want to laugh, though his mirth was quickly cut short by his rumbling stomach.

He started walking, and after a few blocks he came to what was clearly a soup kitchen. Judging by the position of the sun, it had to be around lunch time, and the line that stretched out of the door and down the sidewalk was an even better indication. Cheeks heating, he made his way to the back of that line and hunched his shoulders, to make himself as unrecognizable as possible.

With that bit of embarrassment over, and his stomach mostly full, he continued walking until he found a public park. He took the first bench he came across, which faced the road, where he watched driverless cars zip past each other until his vision blurred.

A humanoid shape appeared before him, and he focused again, before crying out and drawing his legs onto the bench with him. “Wh-whuh? What are you doing here?”

Standing before him was a Progenitor, or at least one of the telepresence robots they’d always used to communicate with him. He’d had one secreted inside his office on the Javelin for most of his twenty years in the Steele System.

“Compose yourself,” the robot said as sunbeams glanced off its gold and silver plates, half-blinding Bronson.

Slowly, he lowered his legs back to the ground, feeling even more ashamed than he had waiting in line for soup. But as his initial fright subsided, rage began to replace it.

“How dare you show yourself here?” he said, though his voice still shook.

“Clarify.”

“You betrayed us. We had a deal, damn it. You promised that Darkstream would rise to power after returning here, but the board members were all just sentenced to life in jail!”

“Is the board Darkstream?”

Bronson hesitated, the strangely philosophical question throwing him off. “I mean, basically!” he said at last. “Who else is Darkstream? The shareholders? Most of them are dead.”

“In the Steele System, you provisioned us with a trove of data, which you harvested by discreetly monitoring every human living there. And yet, the breadth of your ignorance continues to impress.”

“Bastard.” Bronson rose to his feet, fists clenched, and strode toward the robot. A mother pushing a stroller nearby shot him a concerned look, then hurried on. Suddenly, it occurred to him how odd it was that no one had reacted to the strange robot’s presence, He stopped, squinting at it. “You’re not actually here, are you?”

“Correct. I’ve co-opted your implant in order to communicate with you.”

“Great job. The Union is monitoring my implant. You just blew your cover.”

The robot cocked its oblong head to one side. “Again, your perceptions reliably mislead you. We have of course masked our interference from the woman responsible for surveilling you. Doing so posed us no challenge at all.”

Bronson frowned. He didn’t remember the Progenitor that lived in the Javelin’s closet ever speaking with such arrogance and sarcasm. Am I talking to someone else, now? “You must have a presence nearby for us to be talking in real-time.”

“Yes. We have a shuttle concealed on Imbros’ moon for the purpose of contacting you.”

So there’s an actual Progenitor, sitting in this star system as we speak? That’s gutsy. “What do you want?”

“You accuse us of failing to lift Darkstream to power. I am here to tell you that Darkstream’s dominance of this galaxy is all but assured.”

“How?”

“Sit.”

Bronson returned to the bench and sat down.

The Progenitor nodded, the front tip of its strange head bobbing toward the ground. “You must commit everything I say to memory, and follow my instructions to the letter. Listen well, Bronson. Engineering a galactic government’s self-destruction is a delicate business.”

Chapter 11

Getting Paid Again

For now, Oneiri Team was still bunking in Tartarus Station’s Outer Wing, despite that the Union no longer had them under lock and key. The mech pilots had officially joined galactic society—for as long as it existed, anyway.

Jake was making the rounds, informing everyone of their next moves. This station was ultimately a civilian installation, meaning everyone had separate sleeping chambers—a luxury for low-ranking military personnel, no matter how cramped they were. He’d left Andy for last, since Lisa normally bunked with him, and calling on them always involved an element of awkwardness. It did for Jake, anyway. He wondered how they both fit in that narrow bunk, for one thing.

But his knock brought only Andy to the hatch, and the bunk was clearly visible from the entrance. It contained no Lisa.

“Price,” Andy said. Joining Oneiri Team, which Jake had found himself in command of during the chaos back in Steele, hadn’t done much for Andy’s attitude toward him. He was pretty sure the guy only stayed on the team to keep an eye on Lisa, and he frequently made reference to the fact that he wasn’t even military to begin with. Everyone on Oneiri referred to Andy as a seaman, since the Darkstream military had used naval ranks across the board, but officially Jake was a seaman, too.

“Where’s Lisa?” Jake asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“I asked the question, didn’t I?” Jake shot back, an edge creeping into his voice.

“She went on a snack run.”

“Right. Well, I came to tell you—”

“About the big important meeting you found yourself at? President of the Union and all that? Hey, let me be the first to congratulate you, Fearless Leader. You’re well on your way to becoming a top-level desk jockey.”

Nodding slowly, Jake said, “You got that out of your system, then?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Cut the wisecracks until I get out what I came to tell you, Miller. Captain Vin Husher was at the meeting too, and after he found out who I was, he started pushing hard for me to come with him aboard the Vesta. And when he found out I piloted a mech—”

“Wait. He gave a shit about who you were, independently of you piloting a giant alien mech?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are. Apparently the Progenitors know my name. An Ixan from the Second Galactic War, Teth, is one of their lapdogs, and getting access to me was one of his conditions during the negotiations the Union thought were a good idea.”

Andy’s eyes were narrowed, and he was shaking his head in disbelief. “Teth is still around?”

“You know who he is?”

“I’ve read up on the second war with the Ixa, yeah.”

“You’re just full of surprises, Andy. Anyway, I gotta admit, Husher impressed me during the meeting. He was throwing his weight around a lot, and getting results, too. I kind of get the impression he’s had to deal with a lot of bull up to this point, and he’s fed up with it. Can’t say I blame him. He started asking me about Oneiri, right there in front of the president and all those bureaucrats, not to mention the Quatro leader. And within a few minutes, he’d arranged for us to be folded into the marine battalion aboard his supercarrier.”

“All right.”

Jake blinked. “We get to join a military outfit, Andy. We’re getting paid again—that’ll be nice, won’t it? And we get to help fight this war.”

“Did you remember to tell our new captain that the type of mech you pilot has a history of driving people insane?”

A pounding began in Jake’s ears, and he fought to settle himself. “I have that under control, Miller. Husher doesn’t need to worry himself with something that isn’t an issue. The most important thing now is beating the Progenitors.”

“Right. Listen, I think we both know that if Lisa wasn’t so gung-ho about all this, I’d have left with her long ago.”

Jake shook his head, eyes narrowed. “And gone where? Do you not get that the galaxy’s in danger of getting wiped out?”

“Yeah, but that’d take a few years at least, to wipe it all out. You know? And I’d say there’s a good chance they’ll leave little shit-speck backwater colonies alone. If we cozied up there, we’d probably be fine.” Andy grew a wistful smile, which made Jake want to punch him.

Their assignment to the Vesta wasn’t the only thing Jake had come to talk over with Andy, and the conversation so far had convinced him even more that the next topic was a lost cause. Still, he didn’t like to abandon something he’d resolved to do, so he gritted his teeth and had at it.

“Andy, have you noticed anything weird with Lisa, since we picked her up on the edge of the Steele System? Have you noticed her acting differently at all?”

Andy’s smile turned venomous, then, which was all the confirmation Jake needed that this line of discussion was completely pointless. “Ah, I see what this is about,” Andy said, chuckling. “Yep. See, Lisa has been acting differently, Price. You know how? She’s finally acknowledged her feelings for me. I know you two were childhood buddies and all, but for Lisa, that’s as far as it went. For you, though—you always wanted a little more, didn’t you? Real sorry, buddy, honestly. Sorry things didn’t swing your way. But is this really the way you’re going to take out your frustrations? By asking me whether Lisa’s acting weird? Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

Andy’s smile remained plastered on his face, and his eyes never left Jake’s. For Jake’s part, it was everything he could do to restrain himself, so that Andy didn’t end up on the floor.

“Thank you for going over my concerns with me, Miller. Pack your things. We ship out tomorrow. And tell Lisa to do the same.”

With that, Jake about-turned crisply and headed for his own chamber.

Chapter 12

Extremely Poor Taste

Husher knew Ochrim spent most of his time in the lab these days, so he didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, using his com instead as he walked up the lane toward the Ixan’s house. “Ochrim, you decent?”

“Decent? Oh. Yes.”

“Wanna let me in, then?”

“You’ll find the door unlocked.”

“Thanks.”

He let himself in, walked toward the rear of the cubic residence, and paused at the kitchen entrance, eyeing the fridge. It was usually well-stocked with beer, and he debated grabbing one, but thought better of it. He proceeded to the back room instead, where the floor panel had been left open to reveal the ladder stretching down into the ship. Now that subspace tech was known to more than just he and Ochrim, there wasn’t as much need for secrecy.

“How do you like your new lab?” Husher asked as he stepped off the bottom rung. He’d ordered work started on expanding it before they’d left the Concord System, and in Hellebore he’d been able to outsource the rest of the job to a planetary contracting company.

“Much more spacious,” the Ixan said. “And better company, too.” He nodded at an enormous, transparent tank that took up an entire wall. Inside it swam Ek and her six offspring. One of Ochrim’s main projects was to develop a method for Ek to once again walk freely, whether on land or a starship’s deck—without her body degrading from the harmful affects of zero-g, this time. He hoped to do the same for her children.

Every other species injected themselves with Ocharium nanites, which then embedded within the body’s cells. The Ocharium attracted the fermion matrix in every starship’s deck, creating a perfect simulation of one g. But Fin cells rejected the Ocharium for some reason, and the years Ek had spent spacefaring had taken a nearly lethal toll on her.

The tank featured an extension that projected toward the lab’s ceiling, which allowed the Fins to come up and speak with anyone in the lab. Having noticed Husher’s arrival, Ek did so now. “Greetings, Captain Husher.”

“Hello, Ek. How are you making out?”

“The tank is less spacious than the oceans of Klaxon. But we are grateful to have left that place, even so.” Ek’s six children regarded Husher solemnly through the shatterproof glass as their mother spoke.

“I should think you are,” he murmured. Before the Vesta’s arrival, Ek and her family had been hunted for months by the Ixa, forced to cower in deep underwater caves and crevices to evade capture. Come to think of it, that was probably why the younger Fins seemed so wary around Ochrim, especially at first. They’d warmed up to him considerably since their arrival here, which was a testament to Husher’s idea that the best thing for interspecies relations was for the various species to simply spend more time around each other, rather than the oppressive, ineffectual policies so many in the Union tried to force on everyone.

“Ek, I recently attended a meeting between the IU president and the leader of a new arrival to the galaxy—a species who call themselves the Quatro. Their government is called the Assembly of Elders, headed by the ‘Eldest.’ I was surprised by how well the two parties got along. What do you make of that?”

“It is difficult for me to draw any solid conclusions based on a secondhand account, no matter how much detail you provide in that account. It is much better if I can observe behavior directly. Was the meeting recorded?”

“If it was, I don’t have access to the vid.”

“I see. Then, I can only offer the most superficial inferences, I am afraid. When two parties develop an instant rapport, it is often because each sees themselves reflected in the other. Sadly, I cannot offer more than that, Captain.”

“I understand. Thank you, Ek.”

“Will that be all? I can leave you and Ochrim to your conversing.”

“That’s all for now.”

With that, Ek swam down the tank’s extension to join her children in the main section.

The Fins’ tank contained water from Klaxon’s oceans, which had the right chemical composition for them to remain healthy—it was very similar to that of their homeworld, Spire, to which the Gok had laid waste during the Second Galactic War. Husher had ordered two hundred thousand gallons of reserve water brought aboard as well, so that the tank could regularly be replenished with purified water. At the Fins’ request, he’d had the floor laid with algae-lined rocks, to mimic the Klaxon ocean floor as closely as possible. Ek was obviously determined not to distract from the war effort, and so it had taken some urging from Husher to tell him that she’d also enjoy some aquatic plants, as well as some furniture modified to accommodate Fins. He made that happen, too.

He’d tried to do everything he could to make the Fins as comfortable as possible, but in the end, they were still living in a glorified aquarium. That was fine for a guppy, but for sentient beings it had to be torture.

Subspace tech had to take precedence over all else, however, and Ochrim could only fit in work on a solution for the Fins around his work on improving the new tech—chiefly, trying to reduce its enormous energy demands so that bigger ships could enter subspace. Right now, they only had the ability to send a starfighter, which was a far cry from the immense carriers the Progenitors managed to make vanish on a whim.

He knew the Ixan wasn’t getting much sleep, since he was just as concerned about the Fins’ welfare as Husher. Hopefully, a breakthrough would come soon. Husher wanted full-time access to Ek’s keen perception. Feeding her data secondhand like this paled in comparison to what he’d seen her do during the Second Galactic War.

Ochrim was leaning against a steel table, looking resigned. Probably, he sensed that his labor was far from over. Husher felt a pang of real regret—he was sure there were even more whitened scales around the scientist’s eyes than the last time they’d spoken.

He never would have expected to feel sympathy for the being responsible for hundreds of thousands of human deaths. The universe is a bizarre place. But since coming aboard the Vesta, Ochrim had proven himself to Husher, several times over. After Husher was stripped of command through political maneuvering by the Cybele city council and his old Nav officer, Ochrim had helped him, even though Husher had lost all his authority and influence. Indeed, the Ixan had helped him win that authority back.

Through his actions alone, Ochrim had convinced Husher that everything he did was intended either to minimize pain or serve the greater good. As twisted as it seemed, the Ixan had even been convinced that killing hundreds of thousands of people would lead to the future with the least pain. That act had been the most radical expression of the Ixan’s ironclad philosophy, and while Husher would never condone it, he at least understood it, now.

Those deaths also demonstrated the limits of such a philosophy: even Ochrim, who’d believed he had access to perfect knowledge via his AI father, had committed an unspeakable atrocity that didn’t even end up minimizing pain like he’d thought it would.

“At the same meeting I mentioned, the President gave the go-ahead to start implementing subspace tech throughout the fleet,” Husher said. “We’re first: the Vesta is on her way back to Feverfew right now, to have a squadron of Pythons outfitted with spherical wormhole generators. I assume you know what that means.”

“You’ll need me at the shipyards tomorrow.” The Ixan let a sigh escape his lips. “I wasn’t even aware we were underway.”

“Seriously?” Husher let a sardonic smile take shape. “Sounds like someone’s falling behind on their narrownet reading.”

The joke was in extremely poor taste, given how hard he knew Ochrim was working. But as he waved goodbye to Ek and started the climb back up the ladder, he still took pleasure in the Ixan’s bland reaction.

The way Husher saw it, every supercarrier captain was entitled to the occasional tasteless joke.

Chapter 13

Technically Insubordinate

Back in the Feverfew System, Husher quickly found himself once again in front of the special commission jointly convened by the IU and the IGF. Today, he would learn whether he was guilty of any punishable crimes, in light of his actions during the opening battles with the Progenitors.

The commission’s chair, Ryn, looked even more severe than she had during the initial hearing. Her feathers stood at attention as she leaned over the elevated table, pinning Husher to his lonely seat with her stare. “There’s no use prolonging these proceedings,” she said. “None of us like how things have gone. When captains skirt both regulation and law and get rewarded for it, it leaves a sour taste in the mouth of everyone who sits on this special commission. Nevertheless, Captain Husher, you have been found guilty of insubordination and also of multiple being rights violations. Given that President Chiba has seen fit to pardon you, this is a symbolic measure at best, but nevertheless, we prefer sending a message over no action at all. How do you plead?”

“I’m prepared to plead guilty to insubordination. It’s true that I acted against the IU’s wishes to conduct negotiations with the Progenitors, even though I did so because that line of action would only have hastened our destruction. My actions prevented Teth from gaining a foothold in the Concord System, and clearly the IU agrees with me on some level, since they now have a battle group stationed there to prevent him from attempting it again.” Those ships had arrived before Husher himself had left the system—during the weeks they’d waited in Concord while Ochrim developed a way to bring Ek aboard the Vesta. “But I was technically insubordinate, yes. As for the being rights violations, given they were leveled solely on the grounds of my failure to adhere to broken policies, I plead not guilty.”

“Very well. Your pleas have been registered. I’ll also remind you that this commission’s findings will be made public, and are almost certain to be publicized all across the Union.”

“I need no reminder,” Husher said. “I’ve been given leave to fight the enemy seeking to wipe us from the galaxy. Public opinion is irrelevant to that mission.”

Ryn clacked her beak. “I think you’ll discover that assumption is thoroughly incorrect, Captain. You have been granted a pardon for now, but pardons can be revoked, especially when sufficient political pressure is brought to bear. Our society is in the process of ridding itself of men like you. You may think you’ve won your status back, but I can promise you, this reprieve will be temporary.”

There were many things Husher wanted to say to that, but none that would do him any favors in the public eye. He stayed quiet and settled for returning the Winger’s gaze.

But Ryn wasn’t finished. “Although it isn’t directly relevant to these proceedings, I would like to state for the record, and for your benefit, Captain, that your three marines who violated Human Nonattendance Day are all being dishonorably discharged from the Integrated Galactic Fleet.”

“An obscene overreaction,” Husher said, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

The Winger’s eyes widened—in satisfaction, as far as Husher could tell. “Care to clarify that statement?”

He was committed, now, though he doubted the public would like what he was about to say, and many Fleet officers would probably cringe when they heard it, too. “Enlisted soldiers have always gotten into scraps—in bars, mostly. It’s essentially a fleet tradition. Proportionate disciplinary measures are always taken, of course, and these three marines have already spent plenty of time in the Vesta’s brig. But to dishonorably discharge them because of the political component sets a dangerous precedent.”

“Your view will be registered,” Ryn said. “I can assure you of that. But it’s irrelevant to our decision. The marines will be discharged. As for you, Captain, consider yourself on notice. While you were in Hellebore, an extensive analysis of your ship’s narrow net was conducted, which uncovered dozens of instances where extreme viewpoints were expressed, most notably in support of groups known for their hatred of nonhumans. This is the type of person your policies embolden, Captain. And indeed, as has been pointed out to you before, many of them name you as a figure of admiration.”

Husher opened his mouth to answer, but clearly Ryn wanted to end on that note. “This commission is now indefinitely adjourned,” she said. The Winger gave Husher a final, meaningful look, then stood and left the chamber, followed by the others on the commission.

Chapter 14

All It Took Was a War

“Making a squadron of Pythons subspace-capable has not been the only modification made during the last few weeks,” Husher told the others as he led them past the squadron in question, which sat on a hangar bay inside one of the Feverfew Shipyards, orbiting the system’s gas giant.

“As some of you are already aware,” he continued, “what we know as the Vesta’s Supplies Module was originally meant to be capable of detaching from the supercarrier entirely and flying under its own power. You can probably guess the reason—it was meant to serve as a lifeboat for the civilians in Cybele, in case we were ever about to engage in combat. Kind of like we’ve been doing over the past several months. The designers scrapped the lifeboat concept, since they were afraid it would detract from the idea that capital starships are indestructible—why bother including a lifeboat in an invincible ship? But after Hellebore, we know capital starships are very destructible, and with starship city populations dropping even faster than they were before, the IGF is scrambling. These cities still serve as a major source of funding for our military, and for better or worse, command considers keeping people in them a priority.”

Fesky trailed close enough behind Husher that he heard it when she clacked her beak. “All it took was a war to expose cities on warships as a ridiculous idea,” she muttered.

Walking to her left, Tremaine chuckled. “When you’re this invested in a bad idea, your only option is to double down.”

“They’re tripling down,” Husher said. “But we have to deal with reality as it presents itself, not as we’d like it to be. Most of the supplies inside the Supplies Module have been moved elsewhere, and the connectors have been fitted with couplings that will allow it to detach and reattach at will. The Supplies Module is now the Lifeboat.”

“Where’d we put the supplies?” Commander Ayam asked, sounding half-distracted, as he usually did whenever he wasn’t inside a Python.

“Some of them are sitting inside my lab,” Ochrim put in dryly.

Husher nodded. “We’ve put them where we can, for now. We do have a couple unused hangar bays, which we’re in the process of stuffing full, and we also have a lot of vacant residences that have been filled up as well. Obviously, Command hopes that’s a temporary measure. We’ve even relocated some to the brig, so I’d appreciate it if you’d all refrain from breaking any serious regulations.”

No one laughed at his joke. Ah, well. At least I know when they do laugh at one, it’s because they actually think it’s funny. “Anyway,” he continued. “The biggest change—other than the upgraded Pythons, which I think is a bigger change than anyone realizes—is the assignment of a new battle group to the Vesta. Two destroyers: Resolution and Knight. And two missile cruisers, Hero and Impulsive.” Husher was having trouble keeping the excitement out of his voice. “The destroyers are real bruisers, arguably the best in the Fleet, and the cruisers are packed to the brim with Banshees, Gorgons, and Hydras. The Union may hate us, but they sure have given us some big guns.”

“When do we set sail?” Tremaine asked, which made Husher grin. The man must be picking up my nautical terms.

But as he came to a stop, turning, the smile fell away. “That’s the next thing I brought you here to tell you. It’s also why I’ve run through these new additions so quickly. Seventeen star systems’ sensor webs have been getting the same sort of anomalous readings that Wintercress did during the lead-up to Teth’s first attack. Except, we now know they’re not anomalous. The Progenitors are scouting our systems, flitting in and out, and Command thinks it’s preliminary to a multi-system assault. Our best theory for why they do this was one Fesky hit on: they’re mapping out points along the ecliptic plane where they can pop in and out, so they can make use of them when it comes time to engage.”

“But that doesn’t cohere with our understanding of subspace,” Tremaine said, who’d been filled in on the modified Pythons’ capabilities. “It offers true stealth, and it shrinks distances to a third, but we can only reenter realspace at the corresponding point in subspace.”

Ochrim cleared his throat. “We believe the Progenitor mode of travel utilizes other dimensions. In fact, it isn’t certain they ever enter subspace at all.”

“I see,” the Tactical officer said.

“Ultimately, it doesn’t matter,” Husher said. “That’s all conjecture, and what’s relevant to us is what we already know: the sensor web blips tend to precede attacks. We’re being deployed to the Yclept System, and because our government’s freaking out right now, they’re leaning heavily on the Quatro fleet to help defend other systems. They consider a capital starship and her battle group enough to defend a single system, but there are only seven of us left, which leaves ten systems to be protected by a mix of Fleet and Quatro ships.”

“I’m not fond of how quickly we’ve jumped into bed with this Assembly of Elders,” Fesky said. “Did you notice how strangely that Quatro was behaving as it sang the praises of its government? I know they’re a brand new species to us and we don’t know how to read them yet, but everything about that Quatro screamed abject terror to me.”

Husher nodded. “The alliance is hasty and ill-considered. But that’s just how our government operates, these days. Besides, we’re going to need all the help we can get to defeat the Progenitors.”

“And what about the Gok?” Fesky said. “Do we know what they’re planning, or has the Union bothered to check, other than to apologize for Concord and invite them over for tea?”

“Apparently the Gok government is ‘distancing’ themselves from the actions taken by ‘rogue warships.’”

“And the Union swallowed that without question, I assume?”

“It’s looking that way.”

“Of course,” Fesky squawked. “It’s good to hear the Union is still finding creative new ways to remain vulnerable.”

Chapter 15

Not a Psychologist

Major Peter Gamble leaned against a low garden wall and waited as bullets whipped through the night above his head and explosions sounded in the distance. Twisting around, he popped over the wall and returned fire at the steadily advancing Ixan commandos. There were only two of them, but if they reached the marine squad, they’d make short work of them.

We need to make a move. Five minutes ago would have been ideal, but now is much better than later.

Unfortunately, Gamble wasn’t in command today.

“Jenkins?” he whispered into his lapel transceiver. “Orders?”

Newly minted Lance Corporal Jenkins stammered back. “Uh…uh…I dunno, Major. I got nothing.”

Are you kidding me? “‘Nothing’ gets you killed in war, son. We need something, and we need it now.”

“Um…maybe…”

Boy’s all froze up. Cursing, Gamble took over. “Wilson and Moore, you’re closest to the alley on our left. Knowing this city, there’s a good chance it connects with one farther up. When I give the go-ahead, run for it while the rest of us cover you. Then move around for the flank, but check your angle first—I’m not in the mood for friendly fire today. My hope is the Ixa will spin around to engage you, then the rest of us can hit them hard from behind. Maybe toss a grenade or two. Everyone copy?”

A chorus of “Yes, Major,” came back at him. They know how to do that, at least.

“Good. Wilson and Moore, move!”

They did, and Gamble popped over the garden wall again, sweeping his assault rifle across the enemy position. The gun clicked, and he ducked back down to swap in a fresh magazine.

The covering fire did the trick. His marines would be moving up the alley now, and soon they’d be in position.

Jenkins chose that moment to find his courage, rising to his feet—in full view of the advancing Ixa.

“Corporal, what you are you doing?” Gamble hissed. “Get down!”

“I got this, Major! This’ll be an even bigger distraction.”

With that, Jenkins ran out from cover and promptly got shot in the face.

“For crying out loud,” Gamble said. “You’re dead, Jenkins. End sim.”

The Oculens overlay depicting the city of Larissa disappeared, revealing the Vesta cargo bay where he’d been drilling the marine squad he considered the weakest in his entire battalion—Teal Squad. Captain Husher had kept this hold clear of boxes and things, knowing Gamble used it for running combat sims. He appreciated that, especially knowing just how many supplies the captain had had to relocate.

The ‘heroic’ lance corporal was avoiding eye contact, looking abashed and confused at the same time. Probably, the poor kid didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. But that wouldn’t stop Gamble from tearing a strip off him. “Jenkins, this isn’t a video game. It’s a combat sim, and it’s considered a reflection of how we can expect you to behave in actual combat. As such, we take it very seriously. Squad tactics is not about rushing into enemy fire and going down in a blaze of glory. That might look good in the vids, but in real life it puts your squad mates in real danger. What if you were to get wounded by the enemy but not killed? What if the enemy took you hostage and started threatening your life to use as leverage against us? Don’t you think that might complicate things a bit?”

Looking from marine to marine, Gamble continued: “Leadership isn’t about trying to be a hero, because ninety-nine times out of a hundred, acting like a hero is a stupid idea and it’ll probably get people killed. Leadership is about making sure your squad remains a tight, cohesive unit that executes the best tactic for a given situation. Now, after Corporal Martinez’s death in Cybele, this squad is in need of a leader. But I can tell you right now, none of you are anywhere close to squad leader material. We’re in a war, marines, and to be frank, war is not the time to be as sloppy as you are now. By next week, I need to start seeing marked improvement, and in two weeks’ time I need you to be twice the soldiers you are now. Am I getting through, here?”

“Yes, Major,” came the ragged reply, all of them with downcast eyes and red cheeks.

They want to do well. I can see that, and it’s a start at least.

“Dismissed, marines. Talk to me if and when you want to schedule in some extra training time.”

Teal Squad filed out of the cargo bay, and Gamble watched them go. As the last marine left, his com buzzed, and he took it out to find a message from Admiral Connor Iver informing him that Corporal Toby Yung, Private First Class Dion Mews, and Private Jordan Zimmerman were being dishonorably discharged from the IGF on the grounds of being rights violations perpetrated against the citizens of Cybele while off-duty.

Lips tightening, Gamble left the cargo bay to head for the marine quarters—for the bunkroom where he knew Yung, Mews, and Zimmerman slept. Maybe I’ll find them before they’re gone. Losing three competent marines, one of them very competent, was the last thing he needed right now. It was the last thing the war effort needed. There was nothing he could do to change the IGF’s decision, but at minimum he could try to offer a few parting words of comfort and guidance. He’d never been good at that sort of thing, but he could try.

When he arrived at the bunkroom, he found it empty except for Yung, who was in the middle of stuffing things into a duffel bag.

The former marine glanced up when Gamble entered with a sharp rap on the open hatch. “Morning, Major.”

“Morning, uh, Yung.” Gamble was a bit taken aback at the man’s tone, and he’d almost called him corporal when he remembered that the dishonorable discharge had included him getting bumped down to lance corporal, and he didn’t want to remind him. “I’m sorry about what happened. If it’s any consolation—”

“Don’t mention it, Major. It’s not worth stressing about.”

Gamble blinked. “Huh? You’re not upset.”

“Not really,” Yung answered, shaking his head. “Honestly, this feels like a fresh start more than anything else. You may not know this, but the captain gave me a stern talking to right before we went to help defend the Saffron System. He told me that I haven’t worked to realize my full potential. And you know what? I think he’s right. That’s not all—I think this will let me start working on fixing it.”

“Outside the military? What will you do?”

Yung’s smile broadened. “Oh, I think there’s plenty I can do, right here on the Vesta. I’m not leaving, Major. Mews and Zimmerman are, but not me. I’m gonna become a citizen of Cybele. I know they’ll take me. They aren’t turning down anyone, since the bottom started falling out of their population levels. That city is ripe for change. Lots of it. And I think I might just be the guy for the job.”

Yung’s smile widened, to the point where it was beginning to give Gamble a vaguely uneasy feeling. He had no idea what the ex-marine was talking about, and he had neither the skills nor the time to delve into it. He wasn’t a psychologist, and he needed to move ahead with his day. Next up was figuring out how this new mech team was going to fit into his marine battalion.

“All right then, Corporal,” Gamble said, before wincing. He hadn’t meant to use Yung’s rank. Ah, well. Calling him Corporal still isn’t technically wrong. Plus, he doesn’t seem all that upset anyway. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get going.”

Nodding, Yung said, “Things to do. I get it, Major. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, before long.”

Gamble gave the man one last look, which probably showed the confusion and concern Yung’s behavior was causing him. But there just wasn’t time to unpack it. He had to focus on his job. The one he was good at.

Chapter 16

Blood Moon

Gamble’s command style would have turned a lot of commanders off. It involved maintaining a fairly warm, jokey relationship with his marines—for the most part. But when circumstance called for it, his demeanor could range from stern to harsh bordering on savage. His marines tended to fear and respect him intermittently, which usually resulted in getting exactly what he needed from them.

Because of his overall closeness with his men and women, he tended to be let in on their rumor mill in a way that most leaders weren’t. As such, he knew that the mech pilots spent a lot of time coming in and out of Hanger Bay Zeta, which made sense. That was, after all, where their machines were being stored.

In keeping with what he’d heard, when he arrived in the hangar bay, he found Seaman Jake Price there. But that was where reality stopped conforming to his expectations.

“Seaman Price, isn’t it?” Gamble said as he ambled up to Price, squinting slightly.

Price nodded, sticking out his hand. “It is. Yourself?”

“Major Peter Gamble, the Vesta’s marine battalion commander. I’m here to figure out how your Oneiri Team is going to fit in around here—both the mech you pilot and the MIMAS mechs.” He grasped Price’s hand firmly, and they shook.

“Ah,” said Price, who suddenly looked like he didn’t know what he should be doing. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Major. I’ve been hearing about what you and your people did on Klaxon’s moon. Seems like it’s become an instant legend.”

“My marines held it together admirably, but if I’m being honest, we would have been done for if it wasn’t for the Vesta’s guns backing us up. I’m getting off-topic, though.” He nodded toward the giant metal crate behind Price, which was one of eight scattered throughout the hangar bay in a haphazard fashion Gamble wasn’t a big fan of. “Do you always keep your mechs in boxes, Seaman?”

“That’s where the Tartarus Station desk jockeys put them,” Price said, his voice a little hoarse but otherwise composed. “Probably wanted to keep them out of sight from prying eyes. The Union was keeping everything in Hellebore pretty hush-hush till you guys arrived.”

“Right,” Gamble said, shoving his hands in his uniform’s pants pockets. “But you had the mechs out since you were on Tartarus. You fought the Progenitors with them, and after that the cat’s been out of the bag, so to speak. So why’d they end up back inside the boxes?”

Price looked like a prey animal caught between a pair of high beams. “Uh…easier transport?” he said, his voice growing hoarser.

“Footage of the battle showed your mechs flying through space of their own accord. Seems it would have been easier just to have them rocket over.”

“Right,” Price said, rallying visibly, “but the secured crates prevent people from tampering with them, or worse, trying to climb inside them. I’m sorry, Major, but every Oneiri pilot except Marco was born outside this galaxy, and he was just a few months old when Darkstream left the Milky Way. We don’t know your crew, and it’s going to be some time before we’re fully trusting. I think you know that’ll be the case whether I say it or not, so I hope you don’t mind me saying it.”

“I don’t mind, and I do understand your meaning. There’s just one thing I’m struggling with. I remember seven active mechs from the battle in Hellebore, and I see eight crates here.”

Price had obviously found his footing, and he had his reply already loaded in the chamber. “The eighth is a mech we’ve freely given to the IGF, for study and replication.”

“I see.” Gamble happened to know the eighth mech had already been transported to an IGF R&D lab on one of Feverfew’s shipyards. But that was something known to only a few, and Price clearly didn’t anticipate Gamble being one of them. Not sure how long you think you can keep this up, boy. But you’re clearly stalling for something.

“All right then, Seaman,” Gamble said. “I hope you don’t mind my questions. The road of trust runs both ways, which I’m sure you’ve already figured out, even at your young age.”

“I have, Major.”

“Good.” Hands still in his pockets, Gamble approached the metal crate, and he didn’t miss the way the corner of Price’s right eye twitched. “Let’s talk about what Oneiri’s role will be, going forward. I’m content to leave you in command of Oneiri, given I don’t know the first thing about the machines you pilot. I’d like to rectify that ignorance, so that I can deploy you effectively, but you will remain squad leader.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“Of course. As for what operations you’ll participate in, they won’t be stealth ops, I can tell you that much.” Gamble quirked one side of his mouth upward, indicating he was joking, and Price gave a stilted chuckle. “No, given the size and firepower of your mechs, I expect shock and awe to be the major tactic. Though I can tell you, I’m not sure how shocked the Ixa will actually be. With their augmentations, they’re about as tall as your mechs, and they make scarily short work of a human in a para-aramid reinforced jumpsuit.” Gamble sniffed. “Either way, though, Oneiri Team’s going to draw attention wherever we send them. For ops requiring more delicacy, more precision, I likely won’t deploy you at all. But for anything else, I’ll put you wherever I’d like the fighting to happen. I have a feeling you’re going to have a great big target painted on you wherever you go.”

Nodding, Price said, “That lines up with my experience.”

“I thought as much. Bottom line, I hope your team likes action, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of it.”

“Major, we like action.”

Gamble grinned. “Good. Now why don’t you open up this crate for me.” He brought his hand back to slap it, hard, and he could have sworn he heard something give a small start inside.

Price had that caught-in-the-headlights look on him again. “O-open it, Major?”

“That’s right. I said I wanted to get familiar with the tech, didn’t I? There’s no time like right now.”

“Sure, but we already talked about trust. I don’t feel like now is the time to—”

“With respect, Seaman, I don’t give a damn what you feel. I understand it might take some time for you to start feeling comfy-cozy right-at-home aboard this supercarrier. But that’s irrelevant to the order I just gave you. What’s relevant, right now and for as long as you’re under my command, is that you follow my orders promptly and without question. Is that very well understood, Seaman?”

The color having drained from his face, Price moved to a keypad on the side of the crate. “You’ll want to move out of the way, Major,” he said, his voice admirably steady. “The front opens onto the floor.”

Gamble did, clearing out and watching from a safe distance with his hands folded behind his back.

The front of the crate cracked open at the top, then hissed to the ground to reveal a four-legged mechanical monstrosity, peering out at him from the shadowy recesses of the crate with eyes like a blood moon. It stepped forward, and it took all the steel in Gamble’s spine not to take a step back.

I thought that crate’s dimensions seemed a little off. Gamble withdrew his com from its holster and raised it to his mouth, rapidly pressing the sequence of buttons that would connect him directly to Captain Husher, a feature meant only for situations Gamble deemed legitimately urgent.

“Captain…we may have a problem.”

Chapter 17

Too Far

Husher entered Hangar Bay Zeta at the head of a platoon of marines, who quickly ranged ahead and took up position in a tight semicircle centered on the strange mech, weapons trained on it.

Thankfully, Gamble appeared unharmed, and he quickly backed out of his soldiers’ line of fire, leaving Seaman Price alone with the quadruped.

Two of the marines broke formation to approach Price and yank him away from the crate, dragging him toward another one nearby and slamming him face-first against its side. Husher approached them, circling around to give the other marines a wide berth.

“Is this how you treat all your new allies?” Price grunted as Husher drew near.

“Is this how you treat yours?” Husher shot back. “You smuggled military hardware aboard my ship, clearly piloted by a member of a species I know next to nothing about. You must have known you couldn’t keep it a secret forever. When were you planning to let me in on it?”

Price tried to twist around to get a better look at Husher, but one of the marines restraining him slammed him against the crate again, and the seaman spoke with the side of his face jammed against the metal. “I was going to tell you once we were far enough away from the Assembly of Elders that there was no chance of you handing Rug over to them.”

“Rug? Is that this Quatro’s name? I thought they didn’t have names.”

“Rug does,” Price said, his speech somewhat strained by the pressure being applied by the two marines. “She took a name to better communicate with us, and so did a lot of the other Quatro we met in the Steele System. They’re not with the Elders. They fled their home to escape them.”

“Why?”

“The Assembly of Elders is corrupt. They claim they treat everyone the same, that they’ve always provided every Quatro with everything they needed, but in reality the Elders lived in luxury while widespread shortages were common. They say they support freedom of thought—that Quatro can believe whatever they like. But that only applies to the part of reality they allow their subjects to see.”

“And you know this how?” Husher titled his head to one side. “Because this Quatro told you?”

“I’d trust Rug with my life. She’s saved it enough, and she’s saved plenty of other humans too.”

“Right.” Husher sniffed. “Maybe we can make this conversation a little more amicable. I’m going to need your friend to get out of her mech.”

The Quatro stepped forward, eliciting a flurry of shuffling backward and shouting from the marines. Husher held up a hand to settle them. “She’s only gaining enough clearance from the crate, I think,” he yelled over the tumult.

He was right. The back of the mech opened, and the great alien stepped out before making her way around the side of the machine. In some ways, the strange mech resembled the one Price piloted. Outside of it, Rug studied Husher with calm, onyx eyes.

He took a moment to appreciate the Quatro’s majesty. “Why didn’t you go with your brethren, in the vessel that fled Hellebore?”

The alien’s voice rumbled through the translator she wore around her neck. “I refused to leave Jake Price, Lisa Sato and the other Oneiri pilots. They are dear to me. Once I helped my people escape the Hellebore System, I returned to Tartarus Station.”

“To be smuggled aboard the Vesta.”

“Yes,” the Quatro said, without a hint of remorse.

“How do I know you’ve told Price the truth about the Elders? Do you have any proof?”

“I do not,” Rug said. Her voice was deeper than even a Gok’s, but richer, more resonant. “But it should not seem so unlikely a proposition to you, Captain Vin Husher. I am sure the Eldest spoke to you about the Quatro way: placing drift above all else. This is an admirable principle, but like so many admirable principles, it has been taken too far, by individuals whose true motive is power.”

“And?” Husher said. “How is that meant to convince me you’re telling the truth?”

Price twisted against the marines. “Because the Interstellar Union is heading in the same direction!” he yelled.

One of the marines shoved him back against the crate, but Husher waved toward them. “Let him off that thing.” The soldiers complied, but they each kept a firm grip on Price’s upper arms. Husher turned back to Rug. “You agree with Price, I take it?”

“It is a possibility. Your Interstellar Union has not reached the stage of corruption and rot now occupied by the Assembly of Elders. But there are worrying similarities between your government’s current state and that of the Elders during the years that preceded their tyranny. It is possible that their alliance will accelerate your government’s transition.”

“A lot of things are possible,” Husher said, though the coldness in his stomach was at odds with his level tone. “Right now, the Progenitors are the most immediate threat. How can we be expected to beat them if we don’t rely on every ally we have?”

“This is why the Union is in the state it’s in,” Price said, and the anger in his voice surprised Husher. “It’s people like you in positions of power, making the choice that’s most convenient for you in the short-term. I never believed the stories the Steele System old-timers used to tell about the Milky Way, and they might not have been true when Darkstream left. But they’re sure true now. I can’t believe how far you’ve fallen.”

Husher returned the boy’s glare with narrowed eyes. “Bringing up your Darkstream connection is not a good way to ingratiate yourself with me.”

“I’m not trying to ingratiate myself with anyone.”

Jaw set, Husher looked at Rug. “Your presence aboard my ship is a threat to the new alliance, and I’m not promising I won’t turn you over to the Elders at the earliest opportunity. I have half a mind to throw you in the brig until such an opportunity presents itself, though I’m not sure you’d fit in any of the cells.” Husher sniffed sharply. “We probably have a battle waiting for us in Yclept, and ultimately, I can’t afford to waste any assets available to me. Rug, for now you’ll operate as a member of Oneiri Team. I expect full compliance from all Oneiri—compliance not just with orders given by myself and Major Gamble, but also with our expectations. It’s up to you to figure out what those expectations are. They should be obvious, and I don’t have the time to break them down for you.”

Husher glanced at Gamble and saw the light of approval in the major’s eyes. Returning his gaze to Rug, he said, “If you want to justify the risk you pose by being here, you’d better toe the damn line.” He turned back to Price. “Is there anything else you’d care to tell me about your team?”

After a few seconds of stony silence, Price finally spoke. “Right before we left the Steele System, Seaman Lisa Sato was taken by the Progenitors and held aboard one of their ships for a time. We picked her up on our way out, but ever since, she’s been acting differently. Not like herself. Some disagree with me about that, but that’s the way I see it.” Price cleared his throat. “I should mention that I have personal feelings for Sato, and it’s possible my judgment is compromised.”

Personal feelings? Wonderful. “Can I expect problems to stem from these ‘personal feelings’ you hold for someone in your direct chain of command?”

“No, sir. She’s with Miller, now. I accept that.”

“Good. In the meantime, keep an eye on Sato’s behavior, as I’m sure you’re already doing. Other than that, I’m not sure what to do with what you just told me. She seems to be acting normal to me, though I don’t really know her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husher nodded, then glanced around at the assembled marines. “Dismissed.”

Chapter 18

Fester and Grow

The Eldest had returned with Chiba to Abdera in the Caprice System—the seat of Union power ever since the end of the Second Galactic War. The planetary capital was chosen for its centrality: Caprice was equally accessible by every Union species, more or less.

“Our partnership pleases me greatly,” Chiba said, turning his head toward the enormous quadruped that plodded beside him. They walked along a cobbled path that wound through one of the sprawling walled gardens spread throughout the presidential estate. The walls weren’t visible from this part of the path, and Chiba’s security detail were doing their best to be unobtrusive, as they knew their president preferred. He could almost believe he and the Eldest were walking through nature on Home, the Kaithian homeworld.

“Our partnership,” Chiba went on, “and the fact we’ve established such trust so quickly, forged from our common need—it’s the perfect expression of the principles upon which the Interstellar Union was built.”

The Quatro dipped his head. “For our part, we are grateful that you have accepted us so readily into your home, President Chiba. We were truly at your mercy.”

“I don’t conceive of it that way. We are both beset by the Progenitors, who created the Ixa. And we have a shared duty to oppose species like the Ixa in every way possible. The Ixa’s values are antithetical to ours. Their obsession with purity and sameness is distasteful. Repulsive. It can’t be borne. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but you’ve convinced me, Eldest. If they won’t see the error of their ways, they must be stamped out.”

“Then we should thank the stars that our alliance has bestowed a chance of doing so,” the Quatro said. “But I hope it isn’t necessary for me to point out that the problems you just named are not limited to the Ixa.”

Chiba paused, taken aback for a moment at what was obviously criticism of the Interstellar Union. Then, Chiba sighed. The Eldest is right. “What you say is true. The galaxy’s problems are extensive, and they begin with the advantages enjoyed by humans, leading to a wealth disparity that must be redressed, to make things fair for everyone. But the situation is much worse than that. There are radical elements within our own society that, perversely, have grown stronger as the Ixan threat intensifies.”

“Indeed. And it is not difficult to see that the captain whose behavior was so offensive during the Tartarus meeting is a booster for such elements.”

“There are signs of that,” Chiba said, a little reluctantly. “I haven’t decided whether Husher is as rabid as some loathsome individuals hope, but even if he is, we can’t afford to put him down yet. We need him.”

The Quatro leader didn’t answer at first, and they walked in silence for a while. At last, he said, “I understand that we have different conceptions of how to imbue our societies with strength. However, even though Quatro civilization has endured many millennia, we only achieved true stability in the last several decades—after we finally learned that hateful elements, if not dealt with the moment they appear, will fester and grow, seizing power the moment times are hard. Hard times are here, President Chiba. If you do not act swiftly, your society too will fall into darkness.”

“We need Husher,” Chiba repeated. “But we won’t need him forever. In the meantime, our conversations have helped me to recognize the danger to our society represented by groups like the Sapient Brotherhood. We do not need such beings, and they can be dealt with right away.”

The Eldest dipped his head. “It is a relief to hear you say so.”

“And I thank you for your insight,” Chiba said, lifting his hand toward the alien in respect. “Before we part, I also wanted to arrange a meeting between the Assembly of Elders and the Galactic Congress, to discuss your integration into the Interstellar Union…”

Chapter 19

Mechs Complicate Things

“We’re too late,” Ensign Winterton said eleven minutes after they transitioned through the Larkspur-Yclept darkgate—long enough for lidar and radar sensors to update with data about the area surrounding Juktas, Yclept’s only significant colony. The tropical world had once been overrun with insurgents, before being ravaged by the Ixa at the end of the Second Galactic War. But things had long since settled down for Juktas, and it was now considered one of the IU’s major colonies. “The planet’s already under attack.”

Damn it. “Nav, set a course for the planet that makes the best use of the system’s gravity well for maximum speed, with engines all ahead full.”

“Aye,” Chief Noni said, bending to her work. Luckily, Juktas’ orbit currently had it on this side of the star, meaning the Vesta and her battle group could ride Yclept’s gravity well the entire way there.

Husher’s gaze snapped back to his sensor operator. “What are we looking at, Winterton?”

“Two Progenitor ships, sir: a destroyer and a carrier. The destroyer apparently appeared below the colony’s orbital defense platforms, but the Juktas fighter defense group must have engaged it right away, since it hasn’t succeeded in destroying any of the platforms from below.”

Husher nodded. Ever since Teth’s ship had first popped into existence below Tyros’ orbital platforms in Wintercress, the importance of starfighters for system defense had risen sharply. “What about the carrier?”

“It’s pounding the defense platform closest to the destroyer from above.”

“They probably hoped the destroyer would make short work of the platform,” Chief Tremaine cut in. “Otherwise, it would make no sense for the carrier to engage the platform’s arsenal so close-in. They’re going to get their rear ends handed to them.”

“And yet they aren’t,” Winterton said, shooting an annoyed glance at Tremaine—a rare display of emotion for the sensor operator. “I wasn’t finished. The carrier is in the process of deploying Ravagers en masse to the platform’s surface, as well as the autonomous mechs we’re calling Amblers. Dozens of robots have already made it to the platform’s surface and are being engaged by defenders stationed there.”

An urge to massage his forehead made Husher’s hand twitch, but he willed it to remain on the command seat’s armrest. “Ravager” was the Oneiri pilots’ name for the little robots that Husher had been contending with since Teth had first appeared, and everyone seemed content to adopt the term. It certainly fits. As for the Amblers, Price had shown him footage of the things in action, but this was the first time he’d actually encountered them. Ten meters tall, the Amblers were two-legged war machines that bristled with artillery. Taking one down was no easy task, and if enough of them made it past the defense platform’s guns, the soldiers there would quickly fall.

“Noni, a small addition to our course. During our final approach, I want us to level out over the planet, so that there’s no risk of our ordnance hitting either the platform or the colony below. Fry, relay that to the other battle group captains, and order them to fan out in a dispersed battle spread formation, to make that carrier’s job as tough as possible.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Given enough time, Husher knew his supercarrier alone would have proven more than a match for the Progenitor carrier. With the new addition of two destroyers and two cruisers, however, the enemy didn’t stand a chance.

And yet, the enemy mechs complicate things. Neutralizing the Progenitor ships before they managed to blow a hole in Juktas’ defenses wasn’t just about winning this engagement. It was about keeping the colony secure against the next attack, and the next. The two ships in Husher’s sights were almost certainly doomed—if they stuck around to fight, anyway. But if they succeeded in destroying a defense platform, the colony would probably be doomed too.

With that in mind, he opened up a two-way channel with Major Gamble. “Major, come in.”

“Gamble here. I read you, Captain.”

“Juktas is under attack by two Progenitor ships, and one of them is a carrier dropping Ravagers and Amblers onto one of the defense platforms. I want most of your battalion patrolling the Vesta’s outer corridors and guarding her vital systems, in case any Ravagers get in, but I need you to take two platoons to the surface of that platform and aid in its defense. Take Oneiri Team with you.”

“Does that include the Quatro mech?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

Husher paused. “It’s not like you to question my orders, Major.”

“I rarely do, Captain. But I hope that’ll give it more weight that I’m questioning them now. If word of us harboring that Quatro gets back to their Assembly of Elders, I can’t see it ending well, for the alliance or for us. I doubt either the Assembly or the Union even knows a mech built for Quatro exists.”

“The Quatro need the alliance just as much as we do, Major. As for the Quatro mech, I won’t hold it back out of fear. For all we know, it could make the difference in saving that platform. I hear your concerns, but I’m not going to limit our force potential just to stay on the Elders’ good side.”

A brief silence followed from Gamble. Then: “I understand, sir. I respectfully disagree, but as always, I’ll follow your orders to the letter.”

“Your disagreement has been noted. Thank you, Major. Prepare to deploy your forces.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husher ended the transmission, his attention turning to his CIC officers as he wondered idly how much of the conversation they’d gleaned. It didn’t matter, ultimately—by now, everyone was used to the latitude the IGF gave subordinates when it came to questioning their superiors and offering “constructive” criticism.

Even so, Husher wasn’t used to Gamble questioning him, and it did give him pause. Am I being hasty in deploying the Quatro mech?

He swept the idea aside. A starship captain can’t let doubts undermine his own confidence in himself. Besides, he had to hold to the same principle he’d held to even before the war began.

Victory at all costs.

Chapter 20

Whirlwinds of Steel

“The station defenders and the robots are fighting over the eastern side of the platform,” Gamble said over a wide channel that included both platoons as well as Oneiri. Since the platform maintained a geostationary orbit over the planet, it was simplest to use cardinal directions in planning their assault. “That makes sense, since it’s the side closest to their carrier—they’re trying to consolidate their efforts to take out as many guns there as possible. Once the platform’s weak point has been expanded enough, they’ll obliterate it. The platform’s destruction is important to them strategically, and I tend to doubt they’ll even bother extracting their robots before it blows. That means we have to act fast.”

One combat shuttle could hold a whole platoon, but even so, Gamble had distributed the two he’d brought with him across four shuttles. Losing an entire platoon would do too much damage to the assault, and he’d wanted to spread out his risk.

A squadron of Pythons was keeping pace with the shuttles, trying to make sure they didn’t lose any. The Progenitors weren’t making that job easy, sending streams of Ravagers toward the transports. Two starfighters had gone down already, but so far the shuttles had remained untouched.

The Oneiri mechs shared in the credit for that. They were too big to fit through the shuttle airlocks, and they’d deployed straight from a Vesta flight deck, rocketing toward the orbital defense platform just as fast as the shuttles and giving it back to the Ravagers hard.

Accessing the shuttle’s exterior sensors with his Oculenses, it wasn’t hard for Gamble to tell that the mech pilots had had plenty of experience with Ravagers. They picked them off with astounding aim—probably with some computer assistance, too, Gamble assumed—and if the little devils got close enough, they simply ripped them limb from limb.

“The battle’s happening on the east, so we’re coming in from the northwest in a classic flank maneuver,” Gamble continued over the wide channel. “Oneiri, you’re taking the lead—I need you to start targeting down those Amblers as fast as you possibly can. Show us jarheads how it’s done, and we’ll do what we can to keep the Ravagers off your backs.”

He accessed the exterior sensors again and saw that they’d nearly reached the platform, with some of its turrets picking off the last few Ravagers attempting to get at the shuttles. “Nearly there, Major,” said Chief Haynes, right on time. “Prepare for a combat landing.”

“Roger that, Psycho,” Gamble said. “Don’t make it too gentle, all right? I don’t want my soldiers falling asleep on me.”

“I hear you, Major.”

With that, the shuttle connected with the platform’s northern LZ, skidding to a stop with appropriate roughness. “Move, marines!” Gamble yelled over the wide channel. “Move your asses!”

As he waited for the shuttle’s airlock to cycle through the usual processes, Gamble took another peek through the exterior sensors—just in time to see the Oneiri mechs crashing to the surface, using aerospike thrusters to soften their landing a bit.

Then he was outside, his R-57 clutched tight against his chest as he pounded across the metal deck of the platform, waving for his marines to follow. He’d had access to a full schematic download for the platform since before his shuttle departed the Vesta, but he hadn’t bothered assigning individual squads anywhere, since the flow of battle almost certainly would have rendered his assignments obsolete by the time they arrived.

Instead, he directed his troops now, as they ran toward the robots’ flank. Incorporating overhead sensor data from the Vesta along with on-the-ground intel forwarded to him by the platform’s sensors, he deployed his troops accordingly. One squad to a guard tower. Half a squad each to stairwells flanking a broad passage that opened onto the expanse occupied by the enemy. One full platoon to charge through that passage, and two more squads to range around and hit them from the north.

As ordered, Oneiri team ranged ahead of them all, metal legs pumping as they charged for the passage Gamble had designated. They poured through without hesitation, establishing a position just past the far opening, which would allow the marines to entrench themselves in the passage mouth behind them.

Even with the limited view afforded by the passage, Gamble could see how much heat the mechs were drawing. Clearly, the enemy already knew to take them seriously. Running as fast as he could to back up the mechs, he used his Oculenses to open up a corner window where his vision was magnified.

Heavy fire peppered the area around Oneiri as Gamble watched Ash Sweeney—whose teammates had nicknamed her Steam—retract her MIMAS’ fingers to reveal twin rotary autocannons built into the forearms. Threads of light lanced from them, connecting with an Ambler’s bulk.

Marco Gonzalez—Spirit—detached the heavy machine gun from his back, swinging it around to join his fire with Sweeney’s. They’d succeeded in getting the Ambler’s attention, and it turned to lumber toward them, a swarm of Ravagers rushing to join in the attack.

As Sweeney and Gonzalez focused on the Ambler, Beth Arkanian and Maura Odell—Paste and Moe—dashed forward, bayonets extending from their arms. They charged unflinchingly into the Ravager ranks, becoming twin whirlwinds of steel and death, even as the towering Ambler ran past.

As impressive as the MIMAS mechs were, the alien mechs piloted by Jake Price and Rug were in a class of their own.

Heedless of the friendly fire, the Quatro sprang from the metal of the platform to plant both paws on the enemy mech’s rounded torso. It went down, and a pair of javelins sprouted from Rug’s shoulders as it did, running the Ambler through. The Quatro proceeded to shred the autonomous mech with foot-long claws that grew and shrank as needed.

Another Ambler joined the fight, and Price took on this one, sprinting to meet his new adversary while hurling blue-white blasts of energy at it all the while.

Just before he collided with the Ambler, Price—nicknamed Clutch—turned his mech’s right arm into a massive broadsword, which cleaved his target almost in two. When Price withdrew, the damaged mech began stumbling in circles, internal circuitry sparking as it fired armor-piercing rounds in random directions.

A final energy blast put an end to it, and the Ambler crumpled to the platform, shivering and twitching.

I’m sure glad Oneiri’s on our side, Gamble reflected as he ran through the passage and selected his first target.

Chapter 21

Adaptations

“Banshees away, sir,” Tremaine said. “With a healthy dose of Gorgons and Hydras mixed in.”

“Very good,” Husher said. Since the start of the war, the Progenitors had been adapting to the reality of the IGF’s Gorgon stealth missiles, as well as their Hydras, each of which split into eight separate warheads. The enemy ships had to be running constant active scans of the battlespace, given how much their success rate at neutralizing Gorgons had gone up. Not only that, they now took every missile seriously, with the knowledge that any of them might multiply by eight without warning.

That didn’t come as a surprise to Husher, and he doubted it surprised any other military captain, either. That’s just war. New technology had its greatest effect when it was first introduced. Following that, the enemy adapted, and eventually they adopted the tech as their own.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t adapt to their adaptations. For example, the Progenitors didn’t know that IGF Command had signed off on a dramatic expansion of the Vesta’s missile arsenal, or that he’d ordered the inclusion of three times the usual number of Gorgons and Hydras in the current barrage.

Under his instructions, Tremaine had timed the barrage so that it seemed like a response to the waves of Ravagers the carrier had sent at the Vesta and her battle group. In part, it truly was a response, and many of the Banshees carried directives to neutralize the robots.

“A lot of the Ravagers are changing course to take down Gorgons, sir,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged,” Husher said, still unsurprised. The enemy had also learned to have their Ravagers prioritize Gorgons, since the Hydras would simply split into eight the moment they were threatened. Hydras were also more difficult to distinguish from regular Banshees, and so the best bet was to weed out the Gorgons and then attempt to take down the entire remaining missile cloud with lasers and point defense systems, with the knowledge that the cloud would probably grow at some point.

“Captain, something just departed the carrier,” the sensor operator said. “It appears to be a mech bearing a close resemblance to the one piloted by Seaman Price.”

Husher leaned forward, squinting at a magnified visual representation, which still didn’t show much detail at this distance. The mech’s appearance did come as a surprise.

Suppressing a wince, Husher said, “Coms, tell Commander Ayam to launch the subspace-capable Python squadron now.”

“Aye, sir.”

He’d been holding the subspace fighters in reserve, hoping to keep from tipping his hand for as long as possible. He still hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to reveal their capabilities, but he wanted to at least put them into play. It wouldn’t be wise to risk holding them back, with a mech of unknown capabilities hurtling across the battlespace toward the Vesta.

“Have the Hero and the Impulsive direct a stream of all three missile types at that mech, Coms,” Husher said. “And tell Ayam to harry it with a squadron of regular Pythons.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husher tried to relax—as much as the unyielding command seat would allow him to relax, anyway. It would be some time before the mech encountered the missiles coming its way, and longer for the Python squadron to arrive. Still, more and more detail was becoming evident as the alien mech accelerated closer, and as he studied it, Husher began to notice differences between it and Price’s mech. This mech was more jagged, and its coloration more varied, with some patches as dark as midnight and others the blue-white of a clear day. The thing was half again the size of Price’s mech, too, and it didn’t take much of a leap to deduce it carried more artillery as a result.

It turned out he didn’t have to wait as long as he’d thought for something to happen. As the mech neared the Vesta’s initial missile barrage, it began targeting down Gorgons with alarming efficiency.

Stealth missile after stealth missile exploded harmlessly in space, until the last one had been neutralized. With that, the mech began working on the Hydras, triggering their onboard AIs to split them into eight. By the time the barrage was passing the alien monstrosity, it had forced every last Hydra to separate, and it had gotten a good start on cutting down the barrage as a whole.

Worse, none of the missiles had been fed the mech’s profile as a target priority—how could they have been? And so none attempted to retaliate as the mech blew them apart one by one.

More Ravagers got through because of the mech’s efforts, and they threw themselves at the rockets fired by the IGF missile cruisers, protecting their much larger counterpart.

For its part, the alien mech rocketed toward the Vesta. When it encountered the squadron of Pythons Husher had sent at it, it made short work of the Sidewinders they fired, and it seemed to simply absorb their kinetic impactors with no adverse effects. That done, the mech fired a rocket apiece at a trio of Pythons, taking down all three at point-blank range.

Husher’s gaze was riveted to the visual display as the mech sailed through the exploding starfighters, ignoring the remaining thirteen pilots, who used gyroscopes to swing their main engines around and give chase.

Shaking his head to clear it, Husher opened a private channel with Commander Ayam. “Commander, this is Captain Husher.”

“I read you, Captain. Go ahead.”

“I need you to take the subspace Pythons and accelerate toward that carrier with all possible haste. Order the transition to subspace only when absolutely necessary.”

“Acknowledged, Captain…but if the carrier vanishes in time, it’ll take intel of our new capability to the Progenitors. The same goes for the destroyer.”

“I’m aware of that, Ayam. But right now I have a mech hurtling toward the Vesta’s hull, and I’m not confident I can stop it. Threatening its base ship might be our only chance to turn it back.”

Chapter 22

The Sapient Brotherhood

With the help of the Ravagers rallying around it, the mech dispatched the latest round of missiles sent at it by the IGF ships. The little robots seemed perfectly willing to throw themselves on the missiles, ripping them apart even though it meant disintegrating in the explosion.

All in an effort to get that thing to the Vesta. Once it arrived, Husher had no doubt it would tear through his hull like tissue paper, and who knew how many marines would die in the effort to put it down. If they’ll be able to put it down at all. A vision of the mech laying waste to Cybele filled his head.

“Captain?” Tremaine said, the strain in his voice evident.

“Direct secondary lasers at the mech,” Husher replied. “And have point defense turrets prioritize it.”

“Yes, sir,” the Tactical officer said, and a note of relief crept into his voice—probably for the mere fact he was doing something.

Beams lanced out from the supercarrier’s forward secondary projectors, forcing the mech to jag to the left, then the right. The evasive maneuvers allowed the pursuing Pythons to catch up, and they lobbed more Sidewinders at it.

That got the mech’s attention, and it turned to confront them, immediately taking out a fourth Python with a massive energy blast that engulfed the starfighter, incinerating it.

Husher grimaced. At least we’ve slowed the thing. That meant it must finally feel threatened on some level, but as it destroyed another Python, he knew it was only a matter of time before it continued its blistering progress toward his ship.

A glance at the tactical display told him his subspace-capable Pythons were just entering the enemy carrier’s firing range. He returned his gaze to the view of the mech on his console…then looked back at the Pythons. They were the Vesta’s best hope, now.

The Progenitor carrier seemed to be ignoring them—until they started spraying kinetic impactors all across her hull. Then, it diverted some missile fire from the orbital defense platform to the oncoming squadron.

As ordered, the Pythons waited until the last possible second. Then, just as the missiles were about to make contact, each starfighter generated a spherical wormhole and vanished.

The missiles sailed harmlessly past, and then the Pythons reappeared, much closer to the carrier’s hull. They loosed a volley of Sidewinders, then the fighters disappeared again before the enemy point defense turrets could shoot them down.

The turrets managed to deal with most of the Pythons’ Sidewinders, but three got through, rupturing the carrier’s port-side hull in a jagged line.

Then the squadron appeared on her starboard side, traveling in the opposite direction and unleashing an even bigger barrage of missiles before leaving the universe. They reappeared momentarily to add kinetic impactors to the mix, then vanished again.

With that, the alien mech about-turned, flying back across the battlespace toward the carrier, which moved laterally to meet it. Husher’s subspace Pythons continued to flit in and out of subspace, dealing massive damage to the carrier’s point defense systems, as well as the hull itself.

It wouldn’t be long before the squadron managed to take out the entire ship, Husher knew. But the alien mech screamed into an open flight deck, and the moment it did, the carrier vanished. The destroyer followed seconds later.

Silence held sway inside the Vesta’s CIC, and Husher didn’t break it. Yes, they’d defended Yclept—a hub system for the IU, with its three darkgates. But the attacking ships had once again flitted away before taking critical damage.

This is no way to fight a war. Not when our enemy’s so nimble they rarely lose a ship.

“We’re getting a transmission request from the planet’s surface, sir,” Ensign Fry said. “Video and audio.”

“Accept it, and give everyone access.”

Governor Gerald Russell appeared on the main display, his hard face topped by a wave of white hair that rolled backward across his head. “Captain Husher,” Russell said. “I thank you for coming to our aid when we needed it most.”

“Just doing our job,” Husher said. “Besides, I should commend you for holding out as long as you did. Defending against two Progenitor ships with just the defense platforms and your fighter defense group—that’s remarkable enough on its own.”

Russell beamed with pride, which Husher found charming…until he spoke again. “Did you know our defense group is made up of ninety-five percent human pilots?”

The side of Husher’s mouth quirked downward, and he said, “Oh?”

The governor nodded. “This is how it used to be, isn’t it? Humans working together with humans, to defeat an alien threat. I’m not sure why we abandoned that way of doing things.”

“There are plenty of nonhuman crew aboard the Vesta, Governor. They played a vital role in the defense of your colony. I don’t know what scenario you’re trying to describe, exactly, but it isn’t one that fits what just happened.”

Nodding, Russell said, “I know you’re right, Captain. We’ve thoroughly integrated with them, haven’t we? But to what end, and at what price to humanity’s noble culture, developed over millennia only to be sacrificed to the misguided cause of integration?”

Husher shook his head. “I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength.”

“I understand, Captain, that you can’t discuss this freely—not in front of your integrated crew. But know that the Sapient Brotherhood is on the rise, and soon, every human captain will be called upon to carry out his proper duty to his species.”

“Governor, we’re here under a directive from the Interstellar Union to help with the defense of this system. Nothing more. Husher out.”

Gesturing to the Coms officer to cut the transmission, Husher studied the blank display, lips pursed.

The silence inside his CIC resumed.

Chapter 23

Trust

Flight Deck Sigma’s airlock opened to admit Oneiri Team, along with the shuttles carrying the marine force that had helped them take the orbital defense platform.

Coming to as graceful a landing as the alien mech was capable of, Jake was about to exit it when he noticed Captain Husher, standing outside the flight deck’s airlock with two more marine platoons arrayed around him.

The captain was glaring. “Get out of the mech, Price.”

Jake glanced back at the rest of his pilots, who were using aerospike thrusters to lower themselves to the deck. He returned his gaze to Husher. “Why?”

“Because I’m not about to have this conversation with you inside it.”

“Something happened.”

“It certainly did. And if you have any interest in continuing to serve aboard my ship, you’ll get out of that mech, now.”

The alien mech injected Jake with the antagonist of the sedative he’d used to enter the mech dream, then the front opened to form a ramp, its usual surface of ridged metal scales instead becoming a smooth surface for Jake to dismount. He did so, and the mech sealed up the moment he found his feet.

“Now, the rest of your team,” Husher said, never taking his eyes from Jake’s.

Turning his head sideways, Jake nodded. Only then did he hear the hiss of the MIMAS’ rear ramps descending. He appreciated the show of loyalty, but they probably hadn’t done him any favors by waiting for Jake to confirm that they should follow the captain’s order.

Jake couldn’t detect any resentment in Husher’s face, though—just the same hard lines. “Now what?” Jake asked.

“Step away from the mechs, all of you. Then I want you to approach by yourself, Price.”

The Oneiri pilots distanced themselves from their machines, corralled into a group by some of the marines they’d just worked with to take the defense platform. Jake did notice that the marines were at least treating his pilots with more respect than they’d given him on the day Rug was discovered inside a crate.

As Jake drew nearer the captain, his implant pinged to inform him he’d received a file transfer. Making the Darkstream implants compatible with the IU’s Oculenses had been simple enough—that had happened within two days of Oneiri’s arrival on the Vesta.

“I just sent you a vid,” Husher said. “Open it.”

Jake did. It showed an alien mech careening toward the Vesta, taking out missile after starfighter after missile with the help of an endless barrage of Ravagers. His pulse quickened, and he could feel a vein in his neck twitching. Hopefully the captain couldn’t see it.

“Is there anything you can tell me about that thing?” Husher said.

“No, sir,” Jake answered, suppressing the urge to swallow.

Husher advanced slowly across the flight deck, parade boots clicking on the metal. Behind him, his marines shifted nervously, as though Jake posed a threat to the captain’s life even outside his mech. I suppose I do, at that. I’m younger and I’m quicker. I might even be stronger. Plus, he wore a sidearm in a holster on his waist.

Then again, there was also the fact that trying to harm the captain would be a colossally stupid move.

Husher must have known that too. He showed no fear as he crossed the rest of the distance between them, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re lying,” he said quietly, once their faces were inches away from each other. “And a lying subordinate, even a lying mech pilot, is more of a liability than an asset. Lie to me again, Price, and I’ll know it. If one more falsehood leaves your lips, I’ll put you in the brig until I can hand you over to the IGF. That’s a promise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, is there anything you can tell me about that mech?”

“It’s piloted by a man named Gabriel Roach. At least, it was piloted by him. He…used to command Oneiri.”

“What do you mean, it was piloted by Roach? Who pilots it now?”

Jake took a deep breath, every fiber of his being screaming at him not to keep talking. But he believed Husher when he said that he’d know if Jake lied, and he knew the captain would make good on his threat to put him in the brig. “No one pilots it. That isn’t really the right word for it. Not anymore. There is no Roach anymore, and whatever his mech used to be, it changed, too. Roach merged with the mech, and now they’ve become something else—a third being.”

“Merged?”

“It consumed him. Dissolved his body, all but his nervous system.”

“Why in Sol would he agree to that?”

“He began using the mech because he was completely paralyzed from battle, and only able to interact through his implant—through the mech dream. Sir, the alien mech…it whispers to you. Tries to tempt you to meld with it, to gain access to even more power than it already offers. I guess Roach figured that, since he could never leave the mech anyway, he had nothing to lose. But the mech corrupted him. Gabriel Roach doesn’t exist anymore. Just a monster that calls himself Roach. We thought we left him for dead in the Steele System, but apparently not. And from the looks of it, he’s stronger than ever.”

“What else does the mech tempt you to do?” Husher asked, his sapphire eyes boring into Jake’s, as though attempting to pierce his soul.

Jake returned that stare for as long as he could. Then, he cast his eyes downward. “It tries to get you to turn on your allies. To turn on life itself. The thing tries to drive you insane, Captain.”

“Why didn’t you bring this to my attention? That I’d invited an unstoppable war machine onto my ship, piloted by a young man who could go mad at any moment?”

“I’m not going to go—”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Price?” Husher yelled in his face, causing Jake to start.

Suddenly, Jake’s anger spiked. “Because I don’t trust you!”

“It’s not about trust,” Husher snapped back. “It’s about following orders.”

“It is about trust, though, Captain. Leadership is built on trust. You of all people should know that. When trust is lost, things fall apart. That’s why mutinies are things that happen from time to time.”

At the word “mutinies” Husher’s eyes went wide, but Jake wasn’t finished: “You need to give some thought about why those under you might or might not trust you. Most of your crew won’t tell you, so I’ll do you the favor: I don’t trust you because you’re willing to work with a government that’s slipping into tyranny—a government that just got into bed with one that’s been tyrannical for decades. By cooperating, you’re not only endorsing their radical actions, but you’re letting them push you into becoming more radical yourself.”

Husher’s face had reddened, but he no longer shouted. “I’m doing everything I can to defeat an enemy who wants to wipe out every sentient being in the galaxy. It’s impossible for me to do that if I don’t work with the current political order.”

“You say it’s impossible,” Jake said, softening his tone as well. “And yet, you’ve already done plenty of things people said were impossible. Beating Teth the first time, not to mention his superintelligent father. Keeping the IGF strong despite two decades of political pressure to weaken it. Singlehandedly winning the Gok Wars by defending the Arrowwood System against a force that would have bested any other commander.” Slowly, Jake nodded. “I’ve studied up on your record, Captain. I doubt the word ‘impossible’ would have ever left your lips, during those times. But now you’re saying it’s impossible to win the war while making sure society keeps the things that make it worth fighting for. I say you need to figure out how to do both.”

But Jake could tell that Husher was unmoved. “Let me tell you something, Seaman Price. You’re lucky I’m so focused on winning this war, because it’s the only reason I’m going to let you continue piloting that mech. Its power is too great for me to sideline it, no matter the risk. But I want you to report directly to Doctor Bancroft for a psychological evaluation, and I want you to do the same every time you step out of that thing. Is that clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

“Good,” Husher said, looking around at the soldiers gathered all around them. “Dismissed.”

Chapter 24

Alarm Bells

“We can’t fight an enemy who can vanish as soon as they’re vulnerable,” Husher growled, pacing back and forth across Ochrim’s lab. As he did, he was forced to pick his way past boxes they still hadn’t found a home for—supplies from the former Supplies Module.

He came to a stop facing the Ixan, who sat on a lab stool with his claw-tipped hands dangling between his knees. The Fins watched the exchange from their tank, though they didn’t eavesdrop—not unless they could read lips, which he wouldn’t be surprised by, come to think of it. “The minute we start doing significant damage to the Progenitors’ hulls,” Husher went on, “they just leave the universe, probably to make repairs. Then they send in fresh ships. In the last engagement, their carrier even had an asset it clearly wasn’t willing to leave without, and we still couldn’t destroy it in time!”

“Captain,” Ochrim said. “I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.”

For a moment, Husher fixed the scientist with a wide-eyed stare. Then he realized his hands were balled into tight fists. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ochrim.”

“You have something on your mind.”

“I have a million things on my mind, and the sense that I’m not making progress on any of them isn’t helping very much. This war has barely begun, Ochrim. We can count on the Progenitors having a far bigger fleet than the handful of ships they’ve shown so far. Till now, they’ve only been poking us where we’re weak, stirring the galactic pot to see what damage we’ll do to ourselves. Teth said he expected me to win this war for him. What the hell does that mean?”

The Ixan sighed. “I can’t begin to imagine. But I would caution against letting my brother get inside your head.”

“Regardless, I need a way to follow the Progenitors wherever they’re going—to chase them down and finish the job of destroying them. How can we win if we can’t even reduce their numbers?”

“You need me to reverse engineer their method of travel,” Ochrim said, weariness creeping into his voice.

“I know I’m asking the impossible. But it’s what we need, to have even a prayer of winning.”

Nodding, Ochrim said, “I understand. And…I think I know where we can start, at least.”

“You think you know how they’re skipping across dimensions?”

“Oh, I have uncorroborated theories about how they’re accomplishing it. But that isn’t what I meant. I think I have a way to find out how.”

“Go on.”

“Well, as you pointed out, we can depend on the Progenitors to flee as soon as they’re in danger, and then to strike where they have better odds. That poses a disadvantage to us from a strategic perspective, but perhaps we can turn it into an advantage from an intelligence perspective. If we affix a tracking device to the hull of a ship that then departs the universe, there’s a good chance we’ll encounter that ship again. Provided that we do, and that the device is still in place, then it can transmit the necessary data to us.”

“How are we supposed to stick a tracker to a Progenitor hull without them noticing?”

“Some deft sleight of hand will be necessary, to be sure.”

“Any ideas for doing that?”

“Actually, yes,” Ochrim said. “As you know, I’m far from well-versed in military tactics, but my idea was to modify a Hydra so that one of the eight warheads is replaced with a tracker, designed according to our needs and optimized for stealth.”

Husher blinked. “That…that actually sounds like it could work.”

“Then I’m happy I could help with that as well.”

“All right, then,” Husher said, nodding curtly, then heading for the ladder. Before ascending, he turned to face the Ixan again. “Thank you, Ochrim. You’ve helped me feel better. You, uh…” Husher cleared his throat. “You have a knack for that.”

The Ixan nodded, and Husher began his climb.

Wanting to sustain the peace of mind Ochrim had helped him to achieve, he decided to go through Santana Park on his way back to the Vesta’s crew section, to enjoy the sculpted landscape there—tree-lined pathways, ponds that glistened in the artificial sun, and even Oculens-simulated wildlife.

As it turned out, his decision proved horribly suited for maintaining peace of mind.

A vaguely familiar baritone reached him from the park’s southern end, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it was coming from the acre that Cybele’s city council had briefly designated a human-free zone.

That sent alarm bells through his head. He felt certain today would go much smoother if he avoided the area altogether. But the familiarity of the voice tugged at him, along with the place it emanated from. It sounds like a speech. Almost against his will, his feet started taking him toward it. As captain, he needed to keep on top of what was happening on his ship as best he could.

The voice clicked into place just before a copse of trees fell away, revealing its owner: Corporal Toby Yung. Lance Corporal, now.

Yung was holding something pinched between his thumb and index finger, too small for Husher to make out. “These keep us enslaved,” he told the thirty or so people gathered to hear him speak. “They provide a way for the government to show us only the world they want us to see. A world of enforced diversity, enforced integration. We’re ostracized for even mentioning the possibility of going out in public without them in our eyes. I say, who cares? I reject the propaganda. I reject the deception.”

Oh, God. Husher’s stomach roiled as he began to piece together what Yung was doing, here. Oculens. That was what Yung was holding, he realized—right before he threw it on the grass and stomped on it with a combat boot.

“Those who would enforce policies aimed at equality of outcome between all the species—they place group identity above all else. I say, fine, then. If the most important thing about a Winger is the fact he’s a Winger, and the most important thing about a Tumbran is that he’s a Tumbran, then the same goes for humans. But the similarities end there. They say humans have benefited from advantages that must be countered, but I say we celebrate human culture. Let’s raise humans up, as they’re meant to be raised. Yes, the most important thing about a human is the fact he’s a human. Why? Because humans are smarter and stronger than other species. We dominated the galaxy for decades, and we can dominate it again. We will dominate it again. Never feel ashamed of being human. Feel proud. Feel strong!”

Most of the few dozen listeners took the cue Yung’s pause was clearly meant to represent, and they raised their fists in the air, cheering.

“If they don’t like human dominance, then they can go somewhere else. Human culture has developed over millennia, and we like it just fine, thank you very much. I’m calling for the peaceful deportation of all nonhuman—”

Suddenly, a woman rushed in from the nearby copse of trees and decked Yung in the face, sending him stumbling to the right, clutching his jaw. He whirled around to face his assailant, eyes ablaze, a trickle of blood running down his cheek.

“Hey,” Husher shouted, rushing to the front of the crowd with his hands spread toward Yung and his assailant. “That’s quite enough!”

That was when he saw the woman’s face. It was Penelope Snyder, former president of Cybele University.

Chapter 25

At the Expense of Peace

As the deputy sheriff listened to accounts of the incident, Husher could tell he felt about as enthused about the whole thing as Husher did—that is, not at all. The man rubbed his cheek as he listened, his expression carefully neutral.

Snyder’s attack had been documented by at least thirty sets of Oculenses, so variations between her, Yung’s, and Husher’s accounts could easily be resolved. Still, it was worthwhile to get their accounts nevertheless, especially when it came to establishing motive.

In this case, the motive was pretty clear. “So you say Corporal Yung was spouting ‘violent rhetoric,’ Ms. Snyder, and that’s why you hit him?”

“I answered violence with violence,” Snyder said. “It’s the only thing people like him understand.”

The deputy leaned back in his chair, leaning away from his desk—and from the three people in his office. “I reviewed the footage of the corporal’s speech, and while it was certainly politically charged, I don’t believe it violates IU strictures against inciting violence. That’s for a judge to decide, of course, should the corporal decide to press charges.”

“I won’t be pressing charges,” Yung said, wearing the same self-satisfied smile he’d developed within a minute of Snyder’s attack. His jaw had swollen substantially. Snyder was wearing a ring, which had done a fair bit of damage.

“All right, then. In that case, I think we’re done here, other than for me to request that you refrain from punching people in the future, Ms. Snyder. If you think someone is guilty of inciting violence, I would ask that you inform a law officer rather than taking the matter into your own hands. That’s considered vigilantism under IU law, and it’s more likely than not that the next person will press charges.”

“I understand your perspective, Deputy,” Snyder said, which made Husher want to roll his eyes until only the whites showed. He was pretty sure he knew what her attack was really about.

The deputy sheriff, clearly lost for what to say next, stared at them. Husher cleared his throat, standing. “You heard the deputy,” he said to the other two, his voice coming out somewhat hoarse. “Ms. Snyder, you leave first. I’ll leave with the corporal in a few minutes. I want to have a word with him, and I want to make sure you both get on your way home, separately, without further incident.”

Snyder stood, avoiding eye contact with Yung, and left the office.

“Thank you for taking the time to come here, Captain,” the sheriff’s deputy said. “I know you have much more important matters to attend to.”

“Least I could do,” Husher said, suppressing a sigh. Though this might end up being more important than I’d like it to be.

Once they were outside the sheriff’s station, Yung turned to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You wanted to speak with me, Captain Husher?”

“Yeah. What the hell are you doing?”

Yung’s smile, already insufferable, broadened. “Why, I’m doing exactly what you told me to do. I’m making something of myself, just like you said I should have done a long time ago. I’ve stopped assuming the world owes me something because of my intelligence, and I’m trying to use that intelligence to make a positive difference.”

“Bullshit. You were giving a speech in a location chosen for its divisiveness, about how humans are superior to other species. And you were about to speak in favor of human-only colonies, weren’t you?”

Tilting his head to one side, Yung said, “Through the efforts of the IU and the IGF, human culture has been diluted, until—”

“Ah, come on, Corporal! You know that isn’t true. You fought alongside aliens. You know integration made the IGF a more formidable fighting force than the United Human Fleet ever was. Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

At last, Yung’s smile fell away, and he was silent for a moment as Husher’s words took root. The ex-marine’s shoulders rose and fell with deepening breath. “I’m just doing what the IU leftist radicals taught me to do,” Yung said at last, his tone of false levity replaced by one dripping with venom. “They wanted to take my job because of my species identity, and in the end they succeeded. I say, fine. They want to make identity the foundation of everything? I can play that game, too. I say I’m more entitled to be where I was because of my humanity, not less. They took away a job I loved, Captain. They don’t get to do that without consequences.”

“So this is about getting revenge on the IU. At the expense of beings you fought alongside, and at the expense of peace and stability aboard my ship.”

Yung’s jaw muscles tightened visibly. “If that’s what it takes.”

Shaking his head, Husher suddenly felt incredibly weary. Here we go again. “I’m sure this won’t steer you away from what you’ve resolved to do, but I hope you know your personal vendetta is going to take away from the war effort. The more division you sow on my ship, the less able I’m to fight the Ixa.”

“Maybe I don’t think this society is worth saving,” Yung said, even more bitterly. The way his words echoed Price’s made Husher stare at him longer than he’d intended, his pulse quickening as the depth of the quagmire he was standing in became fully apparent.

“Besides, Captain,” Yung continued. “There are plenty of humans who agree with me. And haven’t you heard? Next to Teth, they consider you their greatest champion.”

Chapter 26

Pressure Cooker

Husher’s daughter contacted him the day after the Yung-Snyder incident, asking that he make the arrangements necessary for her to pay him a family visit inside the Vesta’s crew section. But considering she hadn’t even spoken to him during the meeting with her mother, somehow he doubted the actual purpose of Maeve’s request was to visit her father.

That became apparent the moment she closed the hatch to his office and marched over to his desk, planting both hands on the desktop. “You need to do more to crack down on the radicals,” she said.

That almost made him burst into laughter, but considering this was the first time his daughter had been willing to speak with him since the day she learned she was his daughter, he decided that probably wasn’t a good idea. “Radicals on the right or on the left?” he said instead, unable to stop a small smile from forming on his lips.

“On the right, of course.”

Husher tilted his head to one side. “So there aren’t any groups on the left I should ‘crack down’ on in equal proportion?”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Why would you want to crack down on progressives?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. What about progressives who attack people unprovoked?”

“People like Toby Yung need to be punched. Penelope’s a hero for what she did.”

“So they’re saying on the narrow net.” The various videos from Santana Park had, of course, been making the narrow net rounds since yesterday. “I’ve seen a lot of calls to give Snyder her old job back.”

“They should. She deserves it.”

“Don’t you think that might have been her intention all along?”

Maeve shook her head, clearly already dismissing Husher’s viewpoint. “I don’t care what her reasons were, to be honest. Human supremacists get punched. That’s how it works, now.”

“So you consider violence an acceptable way to answer people whose views aren’t in line with yours.”

“What?” his daughter said, squinting. “I didn’t say that. Yung’s views are poison, and poisoners need to be attacked.”

“If you support unprovoked violence against one person, you support it against everyone. It doesn’t matter who they are or what their views are. You can’t have it both ways, Maeve. Either unprovoked violence is fine in all contexts or it’s unacceptable in any context.”

Maeve stared at him for a long time, eyes wide, and he readied himself for another tirade. But to his surprise, it never came. “Okay. You’re right. I’m willing to concede that.”

His eyebrows crept upward. “You’re willing to concede that what Snyder did was wrong?”

“Well-intentioned, but misguided. Yes. Wrong.”

“Well, then. All right.”

Maeve took the seat opposite the desk, folding one leg over the other and fixing him with her gaze once again. “But as captain of the Vesta, you need to do more to stop people like Yung from spreading their hate.”

“I can prosecute crimes committed by my crew, and I can support the Cybele justice system in prosecuting crimes committed by citizens. But I’m not about to impede anyone from freely expressing their ideas.”

Hand flicking into the air in exasperation, Maeve said, “See, this is exactly why people think you’re right there with the Brotherhood. And why so many far-right people name you as a hero.”

“Right. About that. I’ve been hearing that claim a lot lately—yesterday, most recently. So last night, I went onto the narrow net when I should have been sleeping, to see if I could find my legion of Ixan-sympathizing supporters. I found four posts that could reasonably be said to fit that bill.”

A brief pause, and then Maeve said, “Four is a lot!”

“Maybe, but not on a starship carrying almost sixty thousand people, including crew. I also saw thousands of posts from much more moderate people, who are just tired of all the identity politics—from both sides of the spectrum.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying this claim that I’m a Sapient Brotherhood icon or something is overblown. And I’m beginning to realize why it’s been overblown.”

“Listen, Vin, I know you don’t actually support those things. But failing to do anything about them is as bad as supporting them. They’re taking to the streets, now. How much farther are you going to let this go?”

“The right to protest is supposed to be available to everyone, under IU law,” Husher said. “If I understand you correctly, you’re asking me to censor or suppress the views expressed by Yung yesterday. But honestly, even if I wanted to do that, there’s not much more that can be done. The narrow net ‘content filters’ are already sophisticated enough to take down most ‘sensitive content’ seconds after it’s posted. And what has that achieved? By suppressing ideas we consider undesirable, we only place them in a pressure cooker, until they blow. Have you considered that people like Yung are only taking to the streets because they have no other way to communicate their ideas?”

“You sound like you’re defending him,” Maeve said, her mouth twisting in disgust.

“I’m trying to tell you that you’ve been going about your activism all wrong. If you work to suppress views you don’t like, you’ll only empower them. You romanticize them, making them taboo and forbidden—you give them their own dark appeal that they wouldn’t have had otherwise. But if you’re truly confident that your ideas are superior, then you should show that through open discussion. Not censorship. That’s how persuasion is supposed to work. The best ideas are supposed to rise to the top, as a result of open debate. And by censoring the people you disagree with, you prevent them from showing the galaxy who they truly are.”

His daughter had nothing to say to that, but he got the sense that her silence was a lot closer to “rancorous” than “thoughtful.”

Oh, well. I doubt she likes me any less than she did. “Everything your side has done so far has played right into the hands of people like Yung,” he added, to make sure he was getting his point across.

At that, Maeve rose to her feet, fixed him with a final glare, and left his office without another word.

Chapter 27

Nothing if Not Entertaining

“Bronson.”

A boot nudged his ribs through the ragged garments he’d arranged around himself for warmth. He groaned, more out of annoyance than actual pain. The boot had only nudged him, after all. It was just that he’d been in a deep sleep. His sleep had been getting deeper and deeper, lately.

He peered up, blinking into the Imbros morning, at the silhouette standing over him. “You look like shit,” it said.

“Warden,” he croaked.

Eve Quinn’s sardonic smile materialized as Bronson’s eyes adjusted. “I came to find you. Wasn’t hard. I’ve been tracking your little odyssey through the city streets. Kind of hard to watch, in a hilarious way.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing I’m about to discuss in a damp alleyway.” She jerked her head back toward the street. “My ride is waiting. Shall we?”

He heaved himself to his feet, his legs complaining as he trudged after her to the idling two-door sedan.

Quinn slipped into the driver’s seat—a term left over from when road vehicles hadn’t driven themselves—leaving Bronson to let himself into the passenger side. The driver’s side still had all the important controls for the car, such as setting the destination for instance, but Quinn didn’t do that yet.

“There’s no point in bringing you anywhere until you’ve agreed to the proposal,” she said. “So it’s my job to bring that up with you, too.”

“Where will you bring me?” he asked. “The prison?”

“No. Somewhere where you can have a shave, first. And a bath,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Then, to a spaceport. You’re going to Tartarus Station.”

Bronson glanced in the side mirror, where he glimpsed several inches of unkempt facial growth. A twinge of embarrassment made him frown. “To do what?” he asked.

“The Union is interested in learning more about the implants Darkstream designed since leaving the Milky Way, and the ways the company used them to spy on everyone. It can’t be the only tech you used, and if you can help us mimic whatever surveillance infrastructure you had set up in the Steele System, your value will increase. We’ll start feeding you regularly, for one. Maybe buy you some clean clothes.”

Bronson paused. “You’re not really a prison warden, are you?”

Quinn smiled. “You got me. I actually was, once. That’s how I got scouted for my current job—I took a keen interest in experimenting with how we monitor prisoners and keep them from bad behavior, or punish them when they indulge in it. But no, I’m not a warden anymore.”

“Who do you really work for?”

“It’s an intelligence agency, and one we’ve managed to keep concealed from the public so far. I certainly won’t be telling you our name until after you’ve agreed to help us. So tell me, Bronson: are you going to share your secrets or not?”

“Who’s saying we spied on people?” Bronson asked, stalling for time more than anything else. He knew where this was going, but he wanted to make sure he knew what to do when they got there.

“No one said it. You didn’t have to. The obvious backdoor you included in the implants was one glaring sign. But that’s not all—the board members’ implants had plenty of personal data on high-priority surveillance targets, which we scraped through that same backdoor without them even noticing. They weren’t nearly as diligent as you when it came to concealing all the compromising data you guys were hoarding.”

Fools. He’d always thought of the Darkstream board as stubborn sheep in need of herding, which he’d tried his best to do. This proved they were sheep. Clearly, they’d never had the basic wherewithal even to properly cover their own asses. They’d just bleated at him obnoxiously, demanding that he do everything for them, and blaming him for their own shortcomings.

Well, they’re gone now, for a long time. And I’m still here. Even during his stint on the streets, he’d never lost sight of his own greatness, never stopped believing in his own triumphant destiny. The fact that the IU had freed him from his cell at all had been the first indication that they understood his significance, at least in part. And now, here Quinn was. Asking for his help.

Delicious.

“May I ask why the IU has a sudden interest in mass surveillance?” he said. “And don’t try to tell me it’s merely academic, because I know that’s bull. If I’m going to help you spy on hundreds of billions of beings, I’m going to know why.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows, which she paired with the ghost of a smile. “Never lost your balls, did you, Bronson? Not even out here, sleeping in alleyways. I’m offering you the opportunity to be a player again. To have consistent food and shelter, at the very least. And yet you’re already making demands.”

“That’s right,” he said.

She chuckled. “The Interstellar Union’s come to realize how important ‘societal harmony’ is to its survival. They want to detect points of disharmony and deal with them before they become a problem.”

What a load of bureaucratic doublespeak. “The Union wants to know whenever people disagree with them.”

“That’s about the long and short of it, yeah. As far as I can tell.”

“All right, then. If I’m going to help, I have certain conditions, and they go quite a bit farther than three square meals a day.”

Quinn chuckled again. “You’re nothing if not entertaining, Bronson.” She studied him briefly. “I’m not supposed to take you to the spaceport till you’ve agreed to help, but I’ve already told you enough that they’ll probably kill you if you don’t agree. I might as well take you now.”

“Fine.” The prospect of death didn’t scare Bronson. Not after everything he’d been through. He was playing for keeps—for all the chips. And given the power of the Progenitors, who he was actually working for, failure would probably be about as bad as death anyway.

He’d serve the IU’s interests for as long as it served his own to do so. The same went for the Progenitors.

Chapter 28

A Calculated Risk

Husher was asleep when his com emitted a high-pitched beeping from near his head, indicating a priority message. Snatching it up, he saw it was from his XO. The interruption to his rest wasn’t exactly welcome, but at least he knew that Fesky wasn’t likely to abuse her ability to send him urgent messages.

She was in the command seat right now, but he wanted full details on this right away. So he called her.

“Fesky,” he said when she answered. “You have something for me?”

“A com drone just came through the darkgate from Alder,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “The neighboring system is under attack from the Progenitors. The system’s current defenders are mostly Quatro ships, and according to the transmission they should be able to handle it.”

“Right.” It was protocol during wartime for systems under attack to notify nearby systems, even when an emergency hadn’t been declared. “I’m coming to the CIC.”

“Captain,” Fesky said. “Are you planning to take us there?”

“Yes.”

“But we’ve been assigned to Yclept.”

“We’ll leave our battle group here. But the Vesta’s going. This is important.”

“You just got back into the IU’s good graces, Captain. Is it wise to defy them again, so soon after the president granted you a pardon?”

Husher grimaced. “Who are you, Kaboh?”

“Well, with him gone, there aren’t many left willing to question you to your face.”

“I’m not getting into the details of this over com,” he said. “I won’t take the chance, however small, that a Progenitor agent is listening in. But you already know why I’m taking us to Alder. Do you really think we should let this opportunity pass us by?”

“No,” Fesky admitted. “But someone has to play the part of Kaboh, now that Kaboh’s decided he can’t be a part of what we do, here. If that means playing devil’s advocate to keep you on your toes, then it’s devil’s advocate I’ll play.”

“Okay, Fesky. You do you.” He ended the transmission and opened the wardrobe, where several changes of uniform hung, already neatly pressed. Having finally tired of Fesky’s constant admonishments about his appearance, he carved out an hour or so each week to iron several changes of uniform, to make sure he always had one ready to go.

“Have the battle group captains been notified of our plans?” he asked as soon as the CIC hatch slid open to admit him.

“They have,” Fesky said, rising from the command seat.

“Did they raise any concerns?”

“No, sir. I’m sure by now they know better than to interrupt you while you’re going against Command’s orders.”

Husher glanced at his XO askance as he settled into his seat and she settled into hers. Talking so frankly about his decision to transition into Alder despite what the IU wanted…well, it was unorthodox, much like his decision to defy the IU.

I’m sure Fesky knows what she’s doing. There’s no hiding it from the crew that we’re going off-script. Might as well make light of it, I guess, and relieve some of the tension.

“What about Governor Russell?” he asked. “Has he been notified?”

“I left that particular task to you, Captain. If you care to execute it.”

Husher nodded. “The people of Juktas deserve some kind of explanation. Coms, get the governor on.”

Soon enough, Governor Gerald Russell was on the main display, blinking at Husher rapidly. “You’re saying you’re leaving us defenseless to go help a bunch of Quatro?”

“Currently, those Quatro are defending a system with significant populations from all four Union species, including humans. I’m sure you agree it’s important for us to make sure that system doesn’t fall.”

Russell sniffed. “Sure, but I thought the com drone said they don’t need any help.”

“We have a specific, classified mission in Alder, that’s related but not critical to its defense.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course—it was only classified in that Husher was keeping it a secret from almost everyone.

“But the IU ordered you to remain here,” the governor said.

“I thought you didn’t like the IU.”

“Even they’re right sometimes. This is one of those times.”

“That’s why we’re leaving our battle group in formation around your colony, Governor. Believe me when I say that our trip to Alder is a calculated risk, one that could turn the tide of the war in our favor. Beyond that, I can’t tell you anything. Thank you for your understanding, Governor.”

Husher nodded at his Coms officer, who cut off the transmission with evident relish.

The rest of the voyage out of Yclept was uneventful, but soon after transitioning into Alder, the tactical display became populated with five Quatro warships and two IGF cruisers, as well as three Progenitor destroyers and two carriers.

Husher frowned. “Whose projection was it that the Quatro needed no help with this system’s defense? Theirs or the IGF’s?”

“Hard to say, sir,” the Coms officer said. “The message was signed Captain Penney of the Simon, but it doesn’t mention who conducted the analysis.”

“Right. Well, unless the Quatro ships are much more powerful than I’ve been led to believe, this looks like an even fight to me. In fact, the Progenitors might even be slightly favored to win.”

No one commented on his diagnosis of the situation. Not that he’d expected them to. “All ahead toward the engagement, Helm.”

Chapter 29

Optimize for Speed

Husher’s analysis quickly proved more accurate than he would have liked. Shortly after the Vesta transitioned through the darkgate, Winterton reported that a Quatro destroyer and one of the IGF cruisers had been neutralized in quick succession, infiltrated with Ravagers and then torn apart from the inside.

This is good for our self-assigned mission, at least. Not so good for our prospects of winning the war. The plan was to plant trackers on multiple Progenitor ships, if they could. That would increase the likelihood they’d encounter one of them again. It also increases the chances of one of the trackers being found, and once that happens, they’ll all be scouring their hulls for the things.

It was a trade-off, to be sure. But a calculated one.

The term “trackers” didn’t really describe what the devices did. They weren’t capable of sending signals interdimensionally, so no actual tracking would occur. Not in real-time, anyway.

Instead, Husher and Ochrim planned to scrape the data from the devices if and when they encountered them again, in the hopes of figuring out how to travel between the various universes themselves—and also how to reach the Progenitors’ home dimension. The devices were research aids more than anything else.

He turned to his new Nav officer. “Noni, devise a course that takes us past the enemy formation, coming to a stop well beyond them. The delayed deceleration will shorten the window the Progenitor ships will have to react to our missiles. Tremaine, once Noni’s done that, I need you to work with her to find the optimal timing for firing our barrage, given our current course and acceleration. Optimize for missile speed.”

“Aye, sir,” Tremaine said, hard on the heels of Noni’s “Yes, Captain.”

“I trust our forward tubes have already been loaded with our preplanned volley, Tremaine?”

“Yes, sir,” the Tactical officer said. “And the second volley is ready for loading immediately after. In total, fifty-five Banshees, sixteen Gorgons, and nine Hydras, four of them modified. The modified missiles will be fired with the second barrage.”

“Very good.” If this went flawlessly, four Progenitor ships would leave the universe with trackers on their hulls. “Coms, tell Commander Ayam he’ll be launching Pythons soon: the entire Air Group, including the subspace-capable squadron.”

“Aye.”

He hadn’t wanted to reveal his Pythons’ new capabilities back in Yclept, but now that he had, it was time to hit as hard and as fast with them as he could. There was a decent chance that these Progenitor ships hadn’t received the intel about them yet, but they would. Now was the time to press the advantage.

“First missiles away,” Tremaine said after a tense period of waiting. “Second volley being loaded into the tubes now…firing.”

Husher nodded, pleased at the coordinated efforts of his crew and the Vesta’s automated systems.

As expected, the enemy ships were too busy dealing with the distributed missile strike to bother Husher’s supercarrier very much as she sailed past their formation, decelerating.

Still, if everything went his way, this wouldn’t be war.

“Two of the four tracker segments have been neutralized, sir,” Winterton reported. “Ravagers got to the Hydras carrying them, they separated, and then point defense turrets mowed down all eight partitions.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher said, trying not to sound as pissed-off as he felt. The trackers had been designed along the same principles as Gorgons, with stealth in mind. But maybe that had been a mistake. By now, the Progenitors knew to expect eight warheads from Hydras. Perhaps seeing only seven was too glaring a warning sign that something wasn’t right.

I need to take their minds off the anomaly, if I can. “Tactical, send a dispersed spray of kinetic impactors from our aft rail guns, before we reach our allied ships. It doesn’t need to be precise, it just needs to happen now.”

“Yes, sir,” Tremaine said, his voice tight as his fingers flew over the console.

“Helm, we’re deviating from Noni’s course. I want to execute an emergency braking procedure, immediately.” The stress wouldn’t do his ship any favors, but this was too important. “Coms, tell Ayam he’s launching ahead of schedule.”

His orders delivered, Husher monitored the tactical display as they played out. The kinetic impactors had prompted some hasty repositioning from the enemy fleet, but the Vesta missiles’ guidance systems were smart enough to readjust, tracking their targets.

As Pythons shot out of their launch tubes toward the enemy ships, squadron by squadron, Winterton turned toward Husher, wearing an uncharacteristic smile.

“I’m receiving signals from the two remaining trackers, Captain. They’ve both successfully landed on enemy hulls, a destroyer’s and a carrier’s, with no sign they’ve been detected.”

“Excellent,” Husher said as his CIC erupted into cheering. “Supply Ensign Fry with which ships have been tagged, Winterton. Fry, transmit the designations to Commander Ayam and tell him to pressure the most vulnerable enemy ship that isn’t one of those two.”

Both officers answered in the affirmative, and Husher returned to monitoring the tactical display. As he did, his mood continued to improve. Watching the subspace Pythons flit in and out of reality in response to immediate threats—it was a beautiful thing to behold. Almost as beautiful as watching the destroyer they targeted go up in flames.

The cheering picked back up, then. The destruction of Progenitor ships was rare enough to buoy Husher’s officers even further, and he wasn’t about to tamp their spirits.

The Progenitors seemed just as shocked as they did. Seconds after the destroyer went down, the four remaining enemy ships vanished from the Alder System.

But when it came to fostering joy, war did not make for fertile ground. A com drone arrived from the Yclept System, even as the other IGF and Quatro captains were thanking Husher and his crew for the assist.

The system they’d abandoned was under attack by a Progenitor destroyer and three carriers.

Chapter 30

Stellarpol

Today is just full of surprises.

Protocol called for transitioning through darkgates at a measured speed, but learning of the attack on the system they were supposed to be defending had made Husher less concerned with protocol than with the pit of guilt that sat at the bottom of his stomach. You made your choice with full knowledge of what might happen, he’d told himself. You knew it was important enough to take the risk. Unfortunately, his self-talk wasn’t accomplishing much.

But after the Vesta tore from the Alder-Yclept darkgate at a speed well above regulation, and the tactical display populated, they saw that another capital starship, the Eos, was already there and contending with the Progenitor threat.

With her own battle group as well as the Vesta’s backing her up, not to mention Juktas’ orbital defense platforms and its fighter group, the Eos was mounting a vigorous defense.

“Nav, devise a course that pairs full engine power with the system’s gravity well to get us to that engagement as quickly as possible,” Husher said. Despite the relief he felt at the Eos’ presence, he had no desire to lose even a single ship to the Progenitors. He knew that losing an entire crew after he’d chosen to leave his post would never leave his conscience.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Instead, the Progenitor ships vanished just before the Vesta entered missile range, clearly uninterested in getting flanked by two capital starships.

“We have a transmission request from the Eos, Captain.”

Husher nodded, not expecting to enjoy this. The prospect of taking the transmission in his office popped into his mind, unbidden. No. He wouldn’t allow himself that reprieve. We make our decisions and we live with them. “Put in on the display, and give everyone access,” Husher said.

“Captain Husher,” said the graying, thin-faced woman who appeared on the display. “Where were you?”

“Hello, Captain Norberg,” he said. Husher knew all the capital starship captains, and Katrina Norberg was perhaps the least likely to take nonsense lightly. “We’ve just come from aiding in the defense of the Alder System.”

“I’m told Alder needed no help with its defense,” Norberg said, her lips a flat line.

“We were told the same, though that assessment proved somewhat inaccurate. Two allied ships were lost within ten minutes of our arrival.”

Norberg nodded. “It’s a good thing you were there, then. But even so. You were assigned to Yclept. Why leave, when your intel told you Alder was safe? If it hadn’t been for our arrival, things might have turned out quite differently today.”

“I understand that. All I can say is that we made a calculated risk. I’m not able to tell you the nature of that risk, because it’s classified.” He’d decided it was easier to treat the trackers they’d affixed to the Progenitor ships as classified than to say he simply didn’t trust anyone enough to supply them with the information.

Norberg was studying him closely, clearly not fully buying his account. “Well, I have no authority over you, Captain Husher. The IU does, however, and so does the admiralty. I hope you don’t expect me to conceal anything about your actions from them.”

“Of course not.”

“All right, then,” Norberg said, though her expression remained just as hardened. Not that that was much of a departure from her usual demeanor.

“Can I ask why you’ve come to the Yclept System, Captain?” Husher asked. “Given your intel told you it was protected by the Vesta?”

“We’re following orders that come straight from Galactic Congress, or so Admiral Iver told me,” Norberg said. “We’re here to arrest Governor Russell. Indeed, my marines are planetside right now, assisting Stellarpol officers in apprehending him. We have a few more stops to make after this, and then we’re heading back to Caprice.”

Husher lowered his eyebrows. “Do your other stops involve arresting people?”

“I see no reason not to tell you that they do indeed. My orders aren’t classified.”

“What crimes did Governor Russell commit?”

“Crimes against IU’s nonhuman member species, I’m told.”

“What crimes?”

“Fomenting resentful attitudes against nonhuman beings. That’s the official wording, anyway.”

Slowly, Husher asked, “So, he was inciting violence?”

“That’s not what the charges say.”

“What does ‘fomenting resentful attitudes’ mean, then?”

Norberg sighed. “I’m a starship captain, not a politician, Husher. I know you’ve dipped your toe into that pool more than once, but I just follow orders. As far as I understand, the IU has enacted special wartime powers to make sure the galaxy stays stable when we most need it to be. We don’t just need tolerance, at times like these. We need unity. Anyone working against that is being removed from the equation. That’s the best explanation I have for you.”

Husher could feel how wide his eyes had grown at Norberg’s words. A creeping coldness spread across his stomach as he realized that the Union was only doing what he had been doing for much longer: whatever they thought would increase their chances of winning the war.

Chapter 31

Crowd Control

Ochrim didn’t respond to Husher’s messages as he walked through Cybele toward the Ixan’s residence, and when he called, he didn’t answer. It took ten minutes of standing on the step and ringing the bell to finally summon the scientist, who opened the door and blinked lethargically at him.

“You were asleep,” Husher said, a note of surprise creeping into his voice. He knew Ochrim ran himself ragged, but it wasn’t like him to sleep in.

“Yes.”

Husher nodded. He hated to pull Ochrim out of a slumber the Ixan so obviously needed. On top of devising an exoskeleton for Ek and her children as well as trying to figure out the Progenitors’ method of interdimensional travel, inventing a tracker with which to fit modified Hydras had taken an outsized toll on Ochrim.

Unfortunately, none of that mattered. Only defeating the Progenitors truly mattered, now.

Ochrim stepped back, making room for Husher to enter before closing the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, which made Husher do a double take. Sarcasm was highly uncharacteristic from Ochrim.

This war is taking from everyone. “When it comes time to chase down Progenitor ships, I need to know how big a vessel you think we’ll be able to send through the dimensions.”

“Right,” Ochrim said, blinking some more as he apparently tried to work out how to answer. At last, he did: “That will be exceedingly difficult without knowing how the Progenitors are transitioning through the dimensions in the first place.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Ochrim. But if we’re going to implement the tech we’re hoping to develop within a meaningful timeframe, we’re going to need some idea of—”

Someone hammered on the door behind Husher, causing him to exchange glances with Ochrim. “Who’s that?” Husher asked.

The Ixan’s gaze went distant—no doubt he was checking the exterior camera via Oculens.

“It appears to be the young commander of Oneiri Team.”

Lips tightening, Husher turned toward the door. “He must have followed me here. I’ll deal with him.” He paused. “I know I’m asking the impossible, Ochrim. But what else is new? Get some more rest, if you like. After that, I need you to make a start on what I’ve asked.”

“Very well,” Ochrim said as Husher palmed open the door.

“Back off, Price,” he said before the seaman could speak. “We’re not doing this on a civilian’s doorstep.” Price stepped aside to let him through. “Do yourself a favor and tread lightly,” he added as he walked by, and Price fell in beside him, almost vibrating with tension.

“Sir, how can you stand by while the IU turns into a mirror image of the Assembly of Elders?”

Cybele was the last place he wanted to have a confrontation with a seaman, but he also wanted to get it over with. If it wasn’t for the IGF’s policy of encouraging every subordinate to speak their mind, I wouldn’t have to deal with this in the first place. Staring straight ahead, he said, “For one thing, I still have no evidence that the Elders are what you say they are.”

“Okay,” Price said. “Forget the Elders. Are you going to tell me you agree with these arrests the Union is making now?”

Husher paused to gather his thoughts. “What would you have me do, Seaman?”

“Oppose them!”

“I’m busy opposing the Progenitors.”

“And while you are, the Union’s turning galactic society into something unrecognizable.”

“I’m not a politician.” No matter what Captain Norberg says about me.

“No, but you’re a soldier. And the galaxy’s about to go to war with itself.”

Husher peeled his eyes from the streets ahead and stared at Price. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t heard? It’s all over the narrow net. The Sapient Brotherhood responded to the arrests by calling for every human to recognize the IU as their true enemy and to turn against them. Just before they put out their call, they liberated a large IGF battle group from the Lilac System—those ships are under Brotherhood control, now. They kicked off all the nonhumans at gunpoint. Packed them into escape pods and jettisoned them.”

Husher came to a stop. “What are you saying my line of action should be, exactly?”

“I already told you. The galaxy’s going to war with itself. It’s time to pick a side.”

“And you’re saying I should side with the Brotherhood?”

“The Union created the Brotherhood. The more radical they got, the better the Brotherhood started to look, for more and more people. And so they became more powerful. I know I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve been experiencing it here on the Vesta.”

Husher had nothing to say to that. He just stood there in the street and stared into Price’s fiery gaze.

“Pinochet just shot up in the polls,” Price went on. “The election’s still two years away, but he’s skyrocketing now that the Union’s doing what they are. Though with the way things are going, I have my doubts they’ll even allow any more free elections.”

Pinochet was the only nominee in the long-running race to become galactic president who’d openly expressed support for the Brotherhood. On a few occasions, he’d also dropped what many interpreted as subtle praise for certain Ixan policies.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Husher said. “Are you saying I should side with the Brotherhood?”

“I’m saying you should do what needs to be done. Surely you understand that, Captain?” Price stormed down the street before Husher could answer, unless he wanted to chase after him, shouting.

When he returned to his office, Major Gamble was waiting in the corridor to see him.

“Major,” Husher said, opening the hatch and gesturing toward the office’s interior. “Please, after you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have a seat,” Husher said, circling the desk. “What can I do for you?”

The major sat. “I think we may have a problem.”

Husher studied Gamble’s face as he lowered himself into his desk chair. “What sort of problem?”

“A Cybele problem.”

That’s my least favorite kind of problem. It was true—he could blow Progenitors clean off a battlespace, but Cybele problems twisted his brain into knots. “Out with it.”

Gamble sighed. “Members of the Sapient Brotherhood are planning a rally in front of the Skyward Mall. There’s a counterprotest already brewing. This…could get ugly. The sheriff’s requested our help making sure it doesn’t.”

Resisting the urge to lower his face into his palm, Husher opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He didn’t like the idea of involving the military in civil matters, but then, if the protest turned to riots, and the rioters managed to damage the ship herself, that could prove catastrophic to everyone.

At last, he said, “You’ve kept up your crowd control drills, I trust?”

“Of course, sir. We’re ready.”

“Do nothing to impede protest or free expression of ideas, on either side. But if things turn violent, you’ll need to contain the unrest.”

“I understand, sir.”

Chapter 32

Lucid

Jake called a meeting with Oneiri Team inside lucid—all except for Rug, their latest addition. Either an implant or a headset was required for going lucid, and neither of those had been invented for Quatro, yet. Rug didn’t use the mech dream to pilot her mech. Instead, her suit amplified the innate superconducting ability wielded by every Quatro, which normally was very weak at regular temperatures. Inside the suit, though, her magnetic nudges were translated into powerful movements.

Jake didn’t like excluding Rug, but the dream was the only place they could be sure no one with either the IGF or the IU would overhear them. As far as he knew, neither had any knowledge of the tech, making it perfect for talking in secrecy.

“What are we going to do?” Ash said. “The protests are sure to turn ugly.”

“I’m not convinced we should do anything,” Marco said, drawing a sharp look from Jake. “What? I’m sure the protests will turn ugly too, but what are we going to do about it? Mechs are great for pummeling an enemy into oblivion, but I don’t think they’re very well suited to crowd control.”

“Do you think the demonstrators could get out of control?” Ash said, turning to Jake. “Like, really out of control—breaking into the crew section, taking over the ship?”

He hesitated before answering, chewing his lip. “No,” he admitted at last. “I think Husher has a better grip on his ship than that.” I’ll give him that much.

“Still,” Ash said, shaking her head. “This galaxy’s falling apart. It’s nothing like I expected. I just hope it’s not too far gone.”

“Husher needs to do something,” Jake growled. “He needs to make tough decisions, ones that’ll taste bitter. I’m not sure he has it in him.”

“This is exactly what happened in the Steele System,” Ash said. “Everyone turning on everyone else, and it all ends up serving the Progenitors.”

“Maybe we should just leave,” Lisa put in, and everyone turned to look at her.

“Leave?” Jake said.

“Yeah. As in, leave the Milky Way again, or at least find some corner of it where we can entrench ourselves. We’re Oneiri Team—I’m sure we could commandeer a starship if we really wanted to.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Jake answered slowly. “And it’s never been how you’ve done them, either. What about our families? And what about what the Progenitors did to us in Steele? Are we going to leave the people here to suffer the same fate?”

“Seems like they deserve it, to me. As for our families, if we can find out where they went, we can take them with us. They may have even already found somewhere safe.”

Jake shook his head. “I won’t sign off on abandoning people to fight the Progenitors on their own, Lisa.”

She shrugged and fell silent, but Jake noticed Andy looking thoughtful.

Chapter 33

Lines of Attack

“I can’t believe they’re carrying those flags,” Gamble muttered, to no one in particular.

Lance Corporal Roux was standing beside him, and she nodded. “It’s ridiculous, Major.” She wore full riot gear, as he did.

The flags Gamble meant featured the triple stripe—black, white, and red—of the Ixa. Or rather, the faction that had taken power a few years before the First Galactic War; the faction that had agitated for the extermination of every Ixan who was the result of interspecies breeding. They’d nearly succeeded with their genocide during the first war, and before the second even began, they’d completed it.

That was what the Sapient Brotherhood members and sympathizers were supporting today. Right in front of his eyes, on an IGF starship. In an IU city.

But as revolting as he found the imagery, it wasn’t Gamble’s job to take sides. It was his job to make sure two groups of demonstrators, currently on a collision course, didn’t devolve into violent chaos.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out what the Brotherhood was planning, and the same went for the counterprotesters. Neither had made any effort to conceal their strategizing, and a cursory narrow net search had told Gamble and Cybele’s sheriff everything they needed to know.

The Brotherhood, who’d gathered in front of the Skyward Mall to organize themselves into ranks and pump themselves up with anti-nonhuman chants, were now marching through the entire city, intending to end with a final rally on the Starboard Concourse. The counterprotesters had positioned themselves one-third of the way along that route, and they didn’t intend to let the Brotherhood pass. Unlike the Brotherhood members and sympathizers, the group of counterprotesters included beings from all four Union species.

The Union had always prided itself on providing the broadest protections possible for free speech and expression while keeping the limits on that expression as slim as possible. Incitement to violence and libel weren’t allowed, though where the line lay on that had been the subject of years and years of case law.

Of course, all that was before the IU had started arresting people, apparently for having views that matched those of the Brotherhood—or, less generously, for having views the IU said matched the Brotherhood’s.

None of that mattered to Gamble. The captain had made it clear that he intended to follow the law as it had been interpreted and implemented before the arrival of the Quatro Assembly of Elders. And while hearing some of the Brotherhood chants and reading their signs made Gamble’s stomach roil, his main task remained preventing and containing violent conflict. He knew that if the protesters directed slurs at individuals, then that was legally problematic. But it fell to the target whether to press charges or not, not to Gamble to sort through decades of case law in his head in order to make the call of whether to arrest someone or not.

As he scanned the crowd of marchers, his eyes fell on the whip-straight Lance Corporal Toby Yung. Yung stared back at him, a wide smile sprouting on his face. Gamble held the man’s gaze until the ex-marine looked away.

He raised his com to his lips. “Sergeant Williams, what’s the situation on your end?”

“As expected so far, Major,” Williams answered. “The counterprotesters are chanting, interspersed with the occasional speech. Seems like every second speech is being given by the woman who used to be university president.”

“I’m not interested in who’s speaking,” Gamble said. “I’m interested in making sure the situation’s contained.”

“It is so far, Major,” Williams said, with no hint that the admonishment had affected him. The mark of a good soldier, in Gamble’s eyes. “We’re still in the process of erecting the barrier between the Brotherhood marchers and the counterprotesters, but it should be completed well in advance of their arrival. They can shout at each other from a safe distance.”

“What about the alleys that permit access to and from the counterprotesters’ flanks?”

Williams paused. “We talking lines of attack, here, Major? You really believe they’re thinking on that level?”

“Emotions are running high. And the Brotherhood did just steal a battle group of warships. So yeah, at least someone is thinking on that level.”

“All right. I’ll post marines in every alley that could be used that way. Two marines per?”

“Should do it. I have four platoons leapfrogging from side street to side street all along the marchers’ route, making sure they don’t veer off to anywhere we don’t expect.”

“Everything seems textbook to me, Major.”

“If it is, I’ll buy you a beer at the lounge tonight.”

“Deal.”

“Gamble out.” The marines around him were already preparing to depart this side street and double-time down a road parallel to the marchers’ route. The next side street they blocked off would also be the last—it was right next to where the counterprotesters had situated themselves.

As soon as he arrived, Gamble threw a pair of microdrones into the air: one to monitor the marchers from above, and one to watch the counterprotesters. Immediately, the drones’ feeds popped into his Oculens overlay.

As he observed the crowds from vantage points just underneath Cybele’s artificial sky, it occurred to him that the Vesta marines would likely get accused of favoring the counterprotesters, since they were effectively helping them stop the Brotherhood from advancing. But that was happenstance. Their aim was to prevent violence between the two groups, and if it had been the counterprotesters marching, Gamble still would have had his people take these actions.

If the Brotherhood somehow managed to persuade the counterprotesters to move out of the way, then Gamble would order his marines to move, too. Somehow, he didn’t see that happening.

At last, the Brotherhood marchers reached the blockade, and it was like someone turned up the volume. Both sides chanted and screamed at each other, and after a few minutes of that, something arced through the air from the Brotherhood marchers to the counterprotesters, drawing Gamble’s eye. Flame blossomed amidst the tightly packed demonstrators as he realized what the projectile had been: a Molotov cocktail.

Chapter 34

Flying Wedge

Screams filled the air as the crowd of counterprotesters bulged, surging in every direction—into the marines’ barricade and against the buildings bordering the street, but mostly back, away from their attacker.

Even so, there was nothing orderly about the retreat, and Gamble saw several protesters go down under the stampede.

He wrenched his focus away from the drones’ overhead view and back to the situation on the ground, where he stood with a platoon of marines blocking a side street facing the Brotherhood protesters, at least one of whom had just become a rioter. He brought his com to his mouth again. “Viper, Chimera, Dragon, and Roundhouse,” he said, naming the platoons who’d leapfrogged from side street to side street to keep the marchers corralled. “Surround the Brotherhood group and look for anyone holding a Molotov or showing any other signs of becoming violent. As soon as you’ve located them, start using flying wedges to break through the crowd and snatch out the troublemakers. The sheriff has mobile cells on hand—get them locked up and on their way as fast as you can.”

Gamble sent a quick message to the Cybele fire chief, then he donned his riot helmet, intent on leading one of the wedges himself. “Form up behind me,” he barked to four marines nearby. Someone handed him a riot shield, and using the drones, it wasn’t long before he spotted one of the Brotherhood lighting a Molotov nearby. He lit the guy up using his Oculenses, sent the designation to the four marines with him, and shouted, “Go!”

The others kept batons at the ready as Gamble raised his shield, rushing into the crowd and knocking aside anyone who didn’t scramble out of the way. The rioter throwing cocktails was near a street lamp, and Gamble used the shield to shove him against it.

“Get him, too,” he ordered the marines through their earpieces, nodding at a short man nearby wearing a bandanna and holding a fresh Molotov. Two marines seized him, and the other two grabbed the rioter Gamble had pinned. That done, they pulled them back through the crowd and into a waiting van.

“Good work, marines. Let’s find our next marks.”

It quickly became apparent that Gamble’s wedge was pulling the most rioters, and he realized a big reason why: his access to the drones’ feeds. Once he made that connection, he patched the feeds through to all the other wedge leaders.

The counterprotesters were finally starting to figure themselves out, and the area on the other side of the marine barricade was quickly emptying of beings. That didn’t deter the rioters, though—they simply turned their attention from the fleeing protesters to the surrounding buildings.

“We need to work faster,” Gamble shouted over a wide channel. “A blazing Cybele is the last thing the captain needs.”

A fresh wave of distant shrieks reached him from the counterprotesters’ side, and Gamble ordered the drone to investigate.

He’d been about to plunge back into the crowd of Brotherhood supporters to snatch another rioter, but what he saw on the drone’s feed made him draw up short: a second group of rioters, roughly equal in number to the first, had swept in from the opposite direction to engage the departing counterprotesters. Fistfights were breaking out along the front between the two groups, and Gamble saw more Molotovs being lit and hurled—into the counterprotesters and into the nearby residences and businesses.

They tricked us. Gamble wrenched his com from its holster and raised it. “There are more rioters sweeping in from the opposite side—somehow, they managed to organize a second group without our knowledge. I want the barricade between the first group and the counterprotesters dissolved. It’s no use to anyone now. The marine platoons stationed there, it’s up to you to follow the counterprotesters and shut this thing down. Things have gotten way out of hand. Marines on side streets, we’ve got the first group of rioters. I’m authorizing the use of immobilizing foam, rubber bullets, Active Denial Systems, and baton charge tactics. Baton charges should only be a last resort. And remember, never shoot for the head with rubber bullets. Get this city settled, marines. Oorah!”

Gamble lined up next to one of the supply trolleys until it was his turn to collect a riot gun. He checked the action, loaded up with ammo, then turned to confront the roiling mass of Brotherhood members, more and more of whom were turning violent.

He took aim at a tall man wearing a ski mask, who was winding up to throw a Molotov. Gamble’s rubber bullet hit him center-mass, and he went down, clutching his rib cage. Scanning the crowd with the muzzle, Gamble saw someone wielding a baseball bat and approaching a marine from behind. Down he went. Two for two.

His Oculenses flashed red twice for a high-priority call, and he patched it through to his embedded ear piece. “Gamble here.”

“Major, this is Sheriff Reynolds. It looks like this thing is way bigger than we expected.”

“How do you mean, Sheriff?”

“Pockets of Brotherhood members are springing up all over Cybele. This wasn’t just in response to the recent arrests the IU have been making, Major. That’s becoming pretty clear. The Brotherhood’s been planning this for a long time, and there are a lot more of their members on board the Vesta than we thought.”

Damn it. “I’ll call in the rest of the Vesta’s marine battalion. We need to quell this before they can do much more damage.”

“Roger that. It’s gonna be a long day, Major.”

Chapter 35

Quantum Engine

Husher walked through the great hold that held Cybele, where the air scrubbers were working overtime to clear the smoke and circulate in fresh oxygen. Fesky walked beside him, her beak clacking softly every so often.

“At least this should kill the idea that you’re some sort of hero to the Sapient Brotherhood,” Fesky said. “Look what they’ve done to your ship.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I don’t think this was necessarily targeted at me. It was targeted at the IU. Cybele’s an important city to the Union, and the Vesta remains one of their starships, after all.”

Fires had sprung up all over Cybele, one after another, until Husher had been forced to make the call to turn on the overhead sprinklers, with the knowledge that the moisture would cause a lot of damage. After that, the Molotovs lost their effect, and the marines focused on containing the riots and making arrests.

“What will you do with everyone detained by the marines and the sheriff’s deputies?” Fesky asked.

“Someone will have to review all the footage, which is going to take a long time. But it will need to be done. I want the rioters off my ship. If they were defending themselves, well and good, but if they were inflicting unprovoked damage on people or property, they’re going to federal prison. If there’s no federal prison handy, I’ll dump them on a remote rock somewhere. They’re not going to be a liability on my ship anymore.”

“Have you checked on your daughter?”

Husher nodded. “She’s fine, thank God. She was with the counterprotesters, but she wasn’t hurt.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What about Yung and Snyder? Do you know whether either of those participated in the violence?”

“No. I’ve already had someone review the footage we have on them from during the riots—they were both careful not to be caught rioting.” As he and Fesky passed another charred ruin that was once a residence, Husher winced. “Seven dead, thirty-nine injured. They’ve used my ship as a battleground for their ideologies, Fesky. Cities on starships should never have been permitted to exist. Least of all on a warship. And yet, I was one of the ones who made it happen.”

“The alternative was barely any military at all, as I recall. You did what you had to.”

“Thank you, Fesky. But with the way things are going, I have to wonder whether the outcome won’t be the same.”

Husher knew at least two of the injuries were third-degree burns that had resulted from Oculenses lying to their users about there being no fires. After learning that, he’d contacted the company that made the things, and they’d assured him the probability of it happening again was extremely low. But it happened twice in the same day. When overlays start erasing authentic threats, we have a problem.

Those injuries had happened on the counterprotesters’ side, he knew, since most of the Brotherhood sympathizers had taken out their Oculenses, seeing them as tools of IU propaganda. But Husher didn’t think removing Oculenses would help either the Brotherhood or the counterprotesters to see clearly. Their ideologies themselves were overlays, and they concealed so much of reality they might as well be blind.

He and Fesky reached Ochrim’s residence, which thankfully hadn’t been torched, and Husher rang the bell. The Ixan opened the door for them remotely, and Husher led the way to the trapdoor at the rear of the house, where they descended the ladder to Ochrim’s lab.

Thank goodness the Brotherhood didn’t have the presence of mind to target this place. Few knew about it, but it was still a lot less secret than it had been. If something had happened to Ek and her children, Husher doubted he ever would have been able to forgive himself. And at this point, losing Ochrim would likely be a deathblow to the galaxy.

But fortune had favored them, not once, but twice: Ochrim believed he’d discovered how to emulate the Progenitors’ mode of interdimensional travel, even before encountering one of the ships they’d tagged with trackers. If the Ixan was right, then those ships only had one thing left to tell them: how to reach the Progenitors’ home universe.

Fesky crossed the lab, wings tucked neatly, to stand in front of the Fins’ great tank. Ek swam through the extension, surfacing at the top and regarding the Winger with her eternally calm eyes.

“Fesky. It is good to see you.”

“Hello, Honored—” Fesky seemed to catch herself, beak clacking softly. “Ek,” she finished.

That brought a smile to Ek’s face. To Husher, that smile looked weary. She must be so tired of living inside that glass prison.

He turned to Ochrim. “Tell me what you’ve come up with. Just try to go as light on the physics as you can.”

Ochrim nodded, and to his credit, he didn’t seem to balk too much at the prospect of discussing quantum physics with Husher. “Do you recall my idea that interdimensional travel might be enabled by firing a photon at an atom whose spin and path are aligned, along the entire path integral? That is, in infinity directions?”

“Yes, actually.” Maybe I was paying more attention than I thought. “But you couldn’t think of a practical way to pull that off.”

“I still can’t. However, I’m beginning to think it may not be necessary. I believe that firing only one photon may be sufficient, as long as the action is executed within a decoherence-free space. That is, subspace.”

“But if you travel to another universe from subspace, you’ll no longer be in a decoherence-free space. How would you get back?”

“Exactly,” Ochrim said, his eyes lighting up. “That’s another issue, and one I think I’ve overcome. Of course, just as with your first voyage to subspace, my theory involves a lot of assumptions that are only testable by sending a sentient being to test them. If that person manages to return, then they can tell us that it worked.”

“Right,” Husher said, sighing. “Hit me with it, Ochrim. Tell me what you need me to do.”

“My main assumption is that each universe will be structured the same way—that is, a series of interconnected branes, subspace being one of them. If that’s true, then a quantum engine can be devised in such a way that it exists in both subspace and realspace simultaneously. That involves setting up the engine so that, once programmed, it’s unobservable by the pilot until each command can be executed. The spherical wormhole that sends the engine to subspace must also be concealed—you see, for the quantum engine to work, whether or not the wormhole is generated must depend on a quantum event that has a fifty-fifty chance of occurring within a given timeframe, much like Schrödinger’s famous cat. And if the pilot is able to observe the engine or the wormhole, the event will simply resolve one way or another, which won’t work for our purposes. For this to work, we need the engine to reside in realspace and subspace simultaneously.”

“I’m lost. But continue.”

“At the moment the wormhole does or doesn’t appear, the engine will fire a photon at an atom in the necessary configuration, along a preprogrammed trajectory. Because the engine exists in both subspace and realspace, it takes advantage of subspace’s decoherence-free nature while transporting the ship located in realspace into another realspace. That is, another universe. It’s my belief that every trajectory on the path integral corresponds to a different universe, and also that the universes loop back on each other. It’s quite likely that you can return to our dimension from almost any other.”

“But with infinity possible choices, wouldn’t it take an eternity to map out?”

“Well, I’m not convinced there are infinity choices. A lot of the trajectories will likely lead to different coordinates within the same universe. It’s possible there are only a handful of universes accessible using this method, and that trillions of the possible trajectories point to the same one. That would explain how the Progenitors are able to reappear at several points in the same system, after mapping it out.”

“But how do they map those points so quickly? There’s still the issue of reappearing in the same general location within a universe. Universes are big.”

“So they are. But I’m assuming that all the trajectories corresponding with a single universe likely cluster together. Still, as you point out, we would need an engine that cycles through this process extremely quickly, collecting data all the while. It would need to be an automated process. We can install the engine with an AI intelligent enough to handle the task, but galactic law still forbids using one that would be smart enough to test my theory for us. As for the engine itself, I know it’s possible, because I’ve already built it.”

Husher raised his eyebrows. “So now you just need a volunteer.” He nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“You can’t,” Fesky said.

Husher turned to face her. “Why can’t I? I already risked myself testing Ochrim’s theories before.”

“You weren’t captain of the Vesta then. Kaboh managed to get you removed from command, and risking yourself was your only option for getting it back. That’s not the case, now. This ship can’t afford to lose her commanding officer.”

“Who, then? There’s not many I would trust with this, Fesky. Even the knowledge we might be on the verge of interdimensional travel is far too sensitive to risk getting into the wrong hands.”

“I’ll do it.”

Husher shook his head. “I can’t lose you, Fesky. You’re my XO.”

“You can find another XO if I don’t return. Like you said, there’s no one else we can trust with this, and it’s too important not to test. I’ll do it, Captain.”

She’s right, he realized. He turned back to Ochrim. “How big a ship do you think we can send?”

The scientist paused. “One roughly as big as the Vesta’s lifeboat, I should think. But I recommend starting with a starfighter, to test the theory. I don’t think a Condor will cut it, this time—they don’t have the energy capacity to ensure Fesky will be able to return to us. But a modified Python might.”

Might. So much was uncertain about this, and losing his best friend was another thing Husher doubted he’d ever recover from.

But he also wouldn’t recover from the Progenitors laying waste to the galaxy.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll start working on one of our reserve fighters.”

Chapter 36

Every Parallel Fesky

“The engine is programmed according to a few of my theories about how the various dimensions are related,” Ochrim told Fesky. “As soon as you leave this universe for the next and take the measurements I’ll need for future calibration, you can simply give the AI the command to begin executing the first preprogrammed subroutine. It will then attempt to start honing in on the route for returning to this universe. If, after an hour, you still haven’t reached a point in this universe that’s near enough to the Vesta for you to fly back to her, then you should execute the second subroutine, which operates under a different set of assumptions. If that doesn’t work, try the final subroutine.”

“And if that still doesn’t get me back?” Fesky asked.

“You’re on your own. Feel free to test any other theory you might have about how the multiverse functions.”

“I don’t have a theory.”

“Well, then.” Ochrim cleared his throat.

The Python they’d spent the last week modifying sat in the center of the hangar deck. There was nothing left to do, and hesitating wouldn’t serve anyone. Fesky strode toward it.

“Fesky,” Husher called from where he stood near the bulkhead, hands folded behind his back. He approached her.

“Don’t say anything that sounds like a goodbye,” she said.

He stopped, then put on a smile that didn’t look very enthusiastic to her. “Okay. Good luck, old friend.”

“Thank you, human.” With that, Fesky pulled herself into the cockpit and punched the button that would seal it around her.

She’d flown a Python during the Battle of Arrowwood, which had ended the Gok Wars. That had been the first time Pythons were deployed, and their advanced electronic warfare capabilities had dominated the engagement—the Gok sensors had been woefully inadequate for dealing with them.

After that, she’d only piloted a Python in a handful of training exercises. But she had decades of experience flying Condors, and many of the same principles applied. True, Pythons used Oculenses instead of the old tactical displays, but the new way had proved much more effective in combat, even if she wasn’t altogether fond of it.

You’re stalling, aren’t you? As soon as she made the realization, she sent the command to Ochrim’s quantum engine to isolate itself from the rest of the ship’s systems in order to perform the feat that would place the engine in realspace and subspace simultaneously.

Here goes nothing. Husher had told her that when he’d first entered subspace, he lifted the Condor from the deck, to prevent the spherical wormhole from taking a chunk out of it. That wasn’t necessary for Fesky, since it was only the engine that would—or wouldn’t—be enveloped in a wormhole.

Husher had also told her that when he made the transition into subspace, he’d been surrounded by an infinite number of Hushers, stretching in every direction.

That didn’t happen to Fesky. Indeed, there was barely anything to mark her transition at all, except that sensors told her the Python was no longer inside the hangar bay.

Switching to visual, she saw distant stars in the void, missing the trademark twinkle they would have had, viewed from within a planet’s atmosphere. Here, they were static.

“I guess I made it.” She told the computer to begin taking the readings Ochrim needed, some of which were designed to check whether physics operated in the same way here. Other tests would evaluate the color as well as the brightness of the stars she could see. Any occultations would be noted as well—when a planet or other body passed in front of a star, it said a lot about the planet’s size, shape, and atmospheric properties.

If the physics of any of the universes Fesky visited did differ from her native universe, it was probable the atoms of her body would no longer be able retain the structure that made her a functioning organism. Ochrim had told her that. He’s just full of comforting news.

According to the Ixan, he didn’t expect that to happen. He said his theoretical “universal brane cosmology” should also mean physics would remain constant across the universes she visited. Possibly, that had just been his way of convincing her to test the theory. The conversation hadn’t brought her much comfort either way.

At last, the readings had all been taken, and Fesky instructed the Python’s engine to execute the primary subroutine. After a few long moments, it responded, flitting from universe to universe, working under the assumption Ochrim considered most likely—that the potentially trillions of trajectories that led to the same universe would cluster together. If that was true, it would just be a matter of mapping which “regions” of the path integral corresponded to which universes.

Easy.

She tried to watch the visual sensors as the engine worked, but she soon had to stop. The constant flickering—from starlight to no starlight, from the middle of a star system to stranded deep in the void—proved too much for her visual cortex to process.

So she shut off visual and didn’t bother consulting the other sensors.

Not for the first time, it occurred to her that if Ochrim’s quantum engine brought her into the middle of a star, or attempted to occupy the same space as a planet, she would die. He’d said that was extremely unlikely, since space tended to be overwhelmingly empty, but she found herself dwelling on it all the same.

After what seemed like an eternity, the engine stopped, leaving her on the periphery of a star system, in who knew what universe. She checked the elapsed time—fifty-six minutes.

Why did it stop?

She waited almost another hour, and she was about to execute the second subroutine when lidar and radar sensors began to populate her display with more data:

This was the Yclept System. And there was the Vesta, in formation with her battle group over Juktas.

I’m back.

It would take her the better part of a day to fly down to meet them, but she wasn’t about to chance traveling through the universes again just to find a closer spot. She began the journey.

When at last she neared the supercarrier, she sent a transmission request directly to Husher’s com. He answered immediately.

“Fesky?” Excitement filled his voice.

“Captain. Is that really you, or did I return to the wrong universe?”

“I think we’re going to have to operate under the assumption that I’m really me, and you’re really you.”

“You’re sure this isn’t just a parallel universe, and you’re not your twin?”

“All I know is that you left the Vesta twelve hours ago, and now you’re back. As long as every parallel Fesky returns to a parallel Husher, then what’s the difference, really?”

“Thinking about this is making my head hurt.” Fesky said, brushing her talons through her crown feathers.

“Then why don’t you come aboard. Ochrim’s eager to examine the readings. If it turns out we really did succeed, we’re leaving Yclept again, for longer this time. I’m planning to call on an old connection in Feverfew—the IU won’t like us leaving again, but I intend to let them know about it this time, so they can send more ships here. If my Feverfew connection cooperates, then hopefully we can get the modifications made in time to implement this new tech soon.”

“Who’s your connection?”

“Do you remember Calum Ralston?”

Fesky paused. “Now I’m sure I’m in the right universe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the idea that there might be more than one Calum Ralston is too horrific for me to accept.”

Chapter 37

Reporting for Duty

Chief Calum Ralston hobbled into the living room carrying a metal tray in shaking hands. “Want some tea?” he asked in a heavy Scottish accent, placing the tray on a circular table in the center of the room.

Husher counted the mugs. There weren’t enough for everyone, even leaving out Fesky, whose beak didn’t interface well with mugs.

“I can’t believe you still live in the same house, Calum,” Husher said, foregoing the tea so everyone else could have some. Everyone able to drink it, anyway.

Ralston shrugged. “Why change things up? I don’t like change.”

Fesky laughed, drawing a glare from the veteran. “Sounds kind of odd, coming from the man who helped topple the Commonwealth.”

Snorting, Ralston said, “That was a bit different, what with them and Darkstream being about to destroy the universe and all, wasn’t it? Anyway, I like change now even less than I did then. That happens when you get older. You’ll see.” Ralston sniffed, then turned his glare on Husher. “Wait a minute. You don’t want me to help take down another government, do you? If that’s why you’re here, you can go fly, you bastards.”

Tremaine spit his tea back into his mug, having just taken his first sip. That earned him a glare from Ralston, too.

“Don’t like your tea?” the aging Scot said, volume rising sharply on the last word.

“No, it’s just—well, it’s ice cold.”

“What?” Ralston snatched up a mug for himself and took a sip. “Oh,” he said, replacing it on the tray. “Seems I forgot to boil the water.”

Ochrim, about to drink from his mug, also placed his tea back on the tray, as quickly as he could. Probably, he was trying to be discreet, but Ralston didn’t miss much.

“No government needs toppling,” Husher said, in an attempt to move things forward. “At least, if one does, we’re not asking for your help in doing it.”

“That’s a relief,” Ralston spat. “What do you want, then?”

“We need some pretty major modifications made to the Vesta’s lifeboat. I could file a request with the IGF, and they could seek approval from the IU, but the galaxy would likely be reduced to rubble by the time it got approved. I’m here to ask if there’s anything you can do to speed the process up a bit.”

“What’s in it for me?’

Husher fought the urge to fix Ralston with a glare of his own. “Hopefully, the mods will help us beat the Progenitors, and you’ll continue having a galaxy to live in.”

“Ah. So you’re appealing to my better nature.”

“We’re appealing to your will to live,” Fesky snapped, her patience having apparently run out. Which isn’t the most surprising development.

Ralston ignored her. “Well, the veterans we got together to take down President Hurst have kept in touch, for the most part. And a few of them do work in the Feverfew Shipyards. They’re at the end of their careers, of course—a lot of them are overdue for retirement, if you ask me, even though they still choose to work. But they’re high up in the ranks, by now. Might be I can ask them to make something happen.”

“Thank you,” Husher said.

“I’m not doing it for you,” Ralston said. “I’m doing it because Senator Bernard would have wanted me to. She spent her career trying to build something, and I’m keen to help preserve what she helped build. It was your father that shot her, so I’m a bit hesitant to help you out at all. But the senator liked you, for some reason. I’ll help you for her.”

Husher felt his face heating. “My father was under the influence of the Ixa when—”

Putting up a hand, Ralston said, “Don’t push your luck, Captain. I said I’d help. Now go back to your ship. Leave me with the mods you want done, and I’ll let you know when the arrangements are made.”

“Very well,” Husher said, standing. The others stood, too. Before they left, he forced himself to speak again: “Thank you, Chief Ralston.”

Back on the Vesta, he ordered his crew to start making the necessary preparations for the supercarrier to enter dry dock.

It took the better part of two days to make the arrangements—confirming clearance measures with the dry dock manager, clearing out the compartments that would be affected by the modifications, and a thousand other things. But at last, Husher settled into the command seat to work with Chief Noni to guide the Vesta into dry dock.

He opened his mouth to give the order to start moving toward the Feverfew Shipyards when the CIC hatch opened and a being entered. The figure was clad in strange, midnight armor with overlapping plates that cascaded downward to its feet, with a broad tail that swept the deck behind it.

The faceplate, however, was transparent—and the face that stared out at Husher seemed to be engulfed in water.

“Reporting for duty, Captain,” Ek said.

Chapter 38

Face the Music

Captain Vanessa Harding sat at her desk with her hands clamped to the sides of her head, pulling her features backward as she poured over the reports her implant showed her. As was her habit, she’d had the device project them onto the surface of her desk, which acted as a screen. Scrolling through them was a matter of brushing her finger against the desktop.

She was responsible for fifty-five ships—keeping them running and feeding their occupants. Morale throughout the mostly civilian fleet had been high after they’d fled Hellebore and made it through Feverfew without the IGF apprehending them. But it hadn’t taken much of drifting aimlessly through depopulated systems for morale to plummet back to the depths it had occupied ever since the Darkstream fleet had returned to the Milky Way.

We can’t run forever. That was the realization that had quickly swept every ship. With no connections and nowhere to resupply, they had to stay on the run or turn themselves in. Rationing their food across the fleet would last them for three months at most, and the phrase “restricted diet” certainly didn’t do much to cheer anyone up.

The other problem was that the darkgate network only extended so far. Yes, they’d evaded capture till now, but that would only last as long as the IGF was otherwise occupied. A concerted effort to hunt them down—to corner them in a dead-end system—would work. Vanessa knew that. The IU had apparently developed warp tech since Darkstream had fled the galaxy twenty years ago, which had enabled them to expand well beyond the darkgate network. But she didn’t have access to that tech, and so she was trapped within it.

An alert told her that Plank, who captained the sole Quatro ship in the fleet, was hailing her. “Plank” was the name he’d chosen back on Eresos, to facilitate communication with humans.

“Hello, Captain,” Vanessa said, trying not to sound as weary as she felt. She tried to avoid saying “Captain Plank,” since it sounded a bit funny to her.

“Captain Vanessa Harding,” the Quatro said, the deep timbre of his voice an antidote to any thoughts of humor, just as their situation was. “We walk the path of hopelessness and ruin. We must choose a new one.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “Things do look kind of bleak.”

“I know nothing of this galaxy, and my ideas are limited for putting the fleet on better footing. But this was your home. Surely you know of an alternative to this predicament.”

Vanessa hesitated. “I do,” she admitted. “Though it’s not one I’m eager to turn to.”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Not all of Darkstream fled the galaxy. Some employees were fine remaining, and many were low-level enough that they escaped prosecution for the company’s crimes. But even some executives stayed, to face the music. I caught wind of one of those executives back while we were waiting in Hellebore, an old friend. Apparently he did five years in prison, got out, and landed a job with an interstellar shipping company almost right away.”

“And you believe making contact with your friend might be of some benefit?”

Slowly, she nodded. “Maybe. He could keep us informed about what’s going on in the galaxy at large—with the IU, and with the war. He might even be able to give us a lead on where we can resupply.” Though I fear the answer to that question is likely to lead down Pirate’s Path. Negotiating with criminals was not something she felt eager to involve tens of thousands of civilians in. That said, I suppose I’m a criminal now, too.

“I sense your reluctance in this matter,” Plank said.

“Yes. As far as I know, my friend is working in an office station in the Quince System, which is more populated than it once was. Going there would be very risky. It might be best for me to take a smaller craft, with just a few others. In the meantime, I’d pass command of the fleet to you.”

“Waiting for your return would be trying for everyone,” the Quatro said. “Especially if it runs longer than expected.”

“Yes.”

“But we must do something. This is worth the risk, I think, Captain Vanessa Harding. You have my blessing in this.”

I was afraid you’d say that. “All right, then. I’ll start preparing for the journey now.”

Chapter 39

Spire

Sitting around for the month it took Feverfew shipwrights to complete the work on the Vesta was one of the hardest things Husher had ever had to do.

Com drones entered Feverfew almost every day about new systems getting attacked by the Progenitors. They also contained rumors of more arrests made by the IU—of individuals with views they considered harmful to galactic security.

According to information he’d gleaned from the com drones, the IU had deployed more ships to the Yclept System, to cover for the Vesta leaving. No rebuke had arrived for abandoning his post, either by com drone or otherwise.

Surely they must know where we are. He supposed the government might just have too much occupying them to bother with reprimanding him right now. That said, he did pilot one of their seven remaining capital starships, and they seemed to have plenty of time to arrest people who held views they found distasteful, so it was strange they hadn’t taken the time to contact him.

Oh well. Husher certainly wasn’t bored while he waited. The Cybele city council welcomed his help in effecting the necessary repairs after the day of rioting, not to mention relocating citizens whose homes had been affected by the fires, whether scorched or reduced to cinders. Hundreds of crewmembers had volunteered to double up with others in order to make room for displaced citizens in the Vesta’s crew quarters. Far more bunks were offered than were needed, which made Husher quietly swell with pride.

He wasn’t only waiting on mods, in Feverfew. He’d also ordered all the Vesta’s sensors recalibrated, along with a full hull integrity check, with any damage patched up. At last, the day came when the dry dock manager messaged Husher to inform him that the mods and repairs had all been made. Husher left the Vesta to inspect them, walking the mammoth hold with Fesky, Ochrim, Tremaine, Ayam…and Ek.

In her new exoskeleton, Ek towered several inches over even Ayam, who was otherwise the tallest among them. To allow her to control it, Ochrim had expanded on the Oculens technology that read brain waves, distributing it throughout the suit’s helmet so that Ek could control it by thinking, in a way she said felt quite natural. So she could communicate, the helmet also featured sophisticated sensors that picked up on sound waves traveling through the water, cleaned them up, and output them as clear speech through speakers on the suit’s exterior.

But the main reason for developing the suit had been to prevent the space sickness Ek had almost died from, twenty years ago. To do so, Ochrim had filled the suit with water that had high enough salinity for Ek to perpetually float, even as she walked around the Vesta—and now, the shipyards. The suit was a lot closer to her natural environment, and as long as she spent enough time in Ochrim’s lab, performing calisthenic exercises in the large tank there, the Ixan said she should be fine.

For Husher, the upshot was that now, he would have access to Ek’s keen perception in real-time. He’d already decided to confer the rank of commander on her, which he was sure Keyes would have done twenty years ago if it hadn’t been for the United Human Fleet’s restrictions on nonhuman personnel.

It felt good to get off the Vesta for a bit, even if only onto another space-locked structure. It felt even better to take in the modifications they’d made to his ship.

“Along with topping up our missile arsenal after the engagements in Yclept and Alder, the main modifications were made to the Vesta’s lifeboat,” he told his officers. “In short, she’s not a lifeboat any longer. She’s a detachable craft capable of authentic interdimensional travel, and she’s been fitted with a railgun and missile tubes. She also has a full sensor suite and a warp drive.”

“I’m all for it, sir,” Tremaine said. “But don’t you think the IU might have a problem with us messing with their lifeboat? They seemed to think it was pretty important for their effort to attract new residents to the starship cities.”

“I think that ship has basically sailed, Chief. So to speak. The rioting will prevent our city’s population from increasing anytime soon, if you ask me.” Even since reaching Feverfew, Cybele’s population had been plummeting. As far as Husher could tell, everyone who wasn’t a hardline ideologue and who could afford to leave had left. When you added in all the radicals he’d kicked off his ship, that represented a sharp decline. “Besides, the Union has a problem with many things I do. This isn’t too bad, comparatively. Technically, the detachable craft could still be used as a lifeboat. It’ll just be a little more cramped in there, with all the new equipment.”

“What are you going to name her?” Fesky asked.

“Actually, I thought I’d leave that job to you,” Husher said. “Since you’re going to be the one to captain her.”

Fesky’s beak opened and closed, and her feathers stood at attention. “Captain, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Come up with a name, and send me some proposals for who you’d like to take as your crew.”

“I’ll call her Spire. After the homeworld Wingers shared with Fins.” Fesky’s gaze shifted to Ek, who nodded.

“Very good.” Husher met each officer’s eyes in turn. “A new chapter in this war has just begun.”

Toward the end of his watch, Husher found himself in the command seat, working with Noni to carefully guide the Vesta out of dry dock without damaging anything. The tedious process took almost a half hour, and as soon as they were out in open space, Ensign Fry spoke.

“Sir, a recorded transmission just came in from a com drone that recently entered the system,” she said. “It’s addressed to you.”

“Play it, Ensign.”

President Chiba appeared on the main display. “Captain Husher. It pains me to have to record this message, especially after granting you a presidential pardon for the crimes of which you’ve been found guilty. Betraying my trust as you have isn’t much of a repayment. It’s come to my attention that you’re harboring aboard the Vesta a Quatro fugitive, who’s guilty of breaking several of their laws. If you’re at all interested in staying in command of your supercarrier, you will bring that Quatro to the Roundleaf System with all possible haste, where Quatro authorities will be on hand to arrest her. That is all.”

The president vanished from the main display, and a tense silence settled over the CIC as Husher weighed his options.

At last, he realized there was only one thing he could do. “Nav, set a course for Roundleaf, via the Feverfew-Thistle darkgate.”

Chapter 40

I’m Not Going to Ask

“You can’t do this,” Price told him, his voice tight as he stood over Husher’s desk, hands balled into fists.

“First of all, you need to address me as ‘captain’ or ‘sir.’ Second, I can and will do whatever I decide is best for this ship and best for the galaxy.”

The young pilot’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Sit down.”

Slowly, Price sat.

“Rug is only one being,” Husher said. “Do you really expect me to enter open rebellion against the Interstellar Union over one Quatro—a Quatro you sneaked onto my ship without my permission?”

“It’s wrong whether it’s one Quatro or a thousand,” Price shot back. “You know her arrest won’t be legitimate. You’ve seen the reasons the IU is arresting people for, lately. The Assembly of Elders’ reasons will be even less legitimate. They’re tyrants, obsessed with their own power. They only want Rug because she defied them.”

“According to Rug.”

Price’s jaw tightened. “So you’re planning to hand her over, then? Just like that?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying, then, sir?”

Husher drew a breath. “Maybe the IU can be reasoned with. I managed to bring them around to waging this war in the first place. Maybe I can get them to back off on this.”

“No way. The Elders won’t allow it. God, you really are becoming just like a Union politician, aren’t you, Captain? Trying to negotiate with people who have no interest in negotiating with you.”

“Better that than have the galaxy fall apart, making us easy pickings for the Progenitors.”

“Better to have the galaxy fall apart than let it become as hellish as the Elders made their own galaxy.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I do.” Price’s eyes were locked onto Husher’s. “If you give them Rug, Oneiri leaves this ship.”

“You can’t leave. You’re under my command.”

“We agreed to follow your orders. We can just as easily decide to stop following them.”

“That would make you insubordinate.”

Jake laughed. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Husher opened his mouth to deliver a retort—something about how he ought to throw Price in a cell—but he closed it again, as he’d been struck hard by déjà vu. This conversation was just like several he’d had with Captain Keyes back on the Providence, except that he’d been in Price’s position, and Keyes had been where Husher was now.

He’d often questioned Keyes’s decisions, sometimes in what he knew was an inappropriate manner. But Keyes had needed him, just as Husher needed Price.

“I’ll make my decisions to the best of my ability,” he said at last. “And you’ll make yours. That’s all we can do.”

Husher’s com buzzed, and he picked it up from the table, finding a message from the second watch coms officer: “Sir, we’re currently passing through the Dooryard System, and we’ve just received a transmission request from the Marblehead. Should I route it to your office?”

The Marblehead. That was one of the ships the Brotherhood had stolen from the IU, before kicking off all nonhuman crew.

“Put it through,” he messaged back, and when it came, he instructed his Oculenses to play it on a blank section of the office wall, right next to the photo of the Vesta. He gave Price access to the conversation, via his implant. The mech pilot looked surprised at that, but he said nothing.

Captain Anthony Flores appeared on the wall, wearing a tight smile. “Captain,” he said, glancing at Price before turning again to Husher. “How fortunate that the Vesta would be passing through the very system the Brotherhood has chosen as a gathering place.”

“Define fortunate,” Husher said.

“I mean the word in the sincerest way possible. Though they are not currently visible to your sensors, every ship we have commandeered from the IGF is in this system, concealed behind moons, planets, and asteroids. But we mean you no harm. Quite the opposite—we would like to meet with you. It’s our belief that we stand to benefit each other greatly.”

“How?”

“It would be remiss for me to get into details during this conversation. I don’t speak for the entire Brotherhood, and our whole leadership should be represented in any such discussion. Will you meet with us, Captain?”

Husher studied the man’s face for a long time, trying to get a read on his intention. Was this a trap, or did he really have a proposal? And if he did, should Husher be interested in anything he had to propose?

Price spoke up, then. “Captain, this is how you can do the right thing and refuse to hand Rug over to the IU. With the backing of a second large battle group, how could they demand anything of the Vesta, especially while they’re busy fending off the Progenitors?”

Husher didn’t answer. He continued to study Flores’s face.

“It costs nothing to meet with us,” Flores said. “Nothing except time, and I can promise you that it will be time well spent.”

“All right,” Husher said at last. “Send a single shuttle, and know that if my sensors pick up any of your warships trying to maneuver against us, I’m not going to ask before firing.”

“Of course, Captain Husher,” Flores said, though his smile had left his eyes.

Chapter 41

Best for the Galaxy

A knock came at his office hatch, and Husher pressed a button on his desk. “Come in,” he said through the intercom.

The hatch opened, and his daughter entered. She closed it behind her, then walked to the chair and sat down.

“You’re meeting with human supremacists,” she said flatly.

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure which surprises me more—that, or the fact that you want me at the meeting.”

“They control eleven warships, Maeve. As I’m sure you’ve heard, at the end of our current voyage, the IU wants me to hand over the Quatro, Rug, to the Assembly of Elders. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.”

“Well, I’m sure an alliance with the Brotherhood isn’t the right thing to do either. Why don’t you hear the evidence against the Quatro, and then decide whether to give her to the Elders?”

Husher nodded. “That’s what I plan to do. But having eleven more ships at my back will give me a much better bargaining position if I decide not to do it.”

His daughter leaned forward, and for a moment, he was sure she was going to explode at him. But then, she didn’t. Instead, she leaned back in the chair and studied him.

“The last time we talked, you showed me that I was being inconsistent when it came to silencing or even attacking Brotherhood supporters. That’s why I got so angry—because you made me feel like a hypocrite, and you were right to do that. If I support unprovoked attacks on Brotherhood members, then I support them against everyone. I get that, now.”

Husher opened his mouth to respond, then realized he had nothing to say. Wow. That was unexpected.

Shaking her head, Maeve said, “Listen, I know you think a lot of my generation has gone astray. And I know you really are trying to do the best thing for the galaxy. I get that, too, though I didn’t before, and a lot of people still don’t. But whatever you think about young people, they do own tomorrow. There’s no getting away from that. So if you want to make a case for your way of doing things—for tradition, honor, order, or whatever you want to call it—then you’d better not be a hypocrite. Because young people can smell hypocrisy a mile away, and if they see you betraying what you claim to believe, you’re done. You’ll be written off before you even realize it’s happening. And if the young really have gone astray, then you’ll only make them more astray.”

Husher nodded slowly. “Okay. Which of my beliefs do you think I’m betraying?”

“You say you want to do what’s best for the galaxy, and like I said, I believe that. But you’re focused on winning the war to the exclusion of everything else. That’s a short-term solution, Vin, and if you sacrifice everything that’s important to achieve it, then what’s the point?”

He smiled at her. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. So you’ll be at the meeting?”

Eyes narrowing, Maeve said, “You still plan to meet with them?”

“Yes. I do.”

Chapter 42

The Table of Power

Husher met the Brotherhood leadership at their shuttle, with a squad of marines at his back. The Brotherhood had brought their own armed escort, who exited the airlock first to array themselves on either side of it.

Next, Captain Flores stepped out, wearing a jet-black uniform. He saluted Husher, who returned the salute.

“This way,” Husher said, motioning to the hatch that led to the corridor. “We’ll have our discussion in the conference room. My officers are waiting there.”

“Thank you for coming personally to welcome us,” Flores said as he fell into step with Husher. “Many would not have shown us that much respect, and the fact you did speaks to your honorable reputation.”

Husher nodded. “Of course.” He doubted everyone in the IU would use the word honorable to describe him, but he didn’t feel like getting into that.

When they reached their destination, Husher took a seat at the far end of the conference table, at the head. The seats nearest the door had been left empty for the Brotherhood, and Flores settled in opposite from Husher. It was Husher’s custom to give guests the seats closest to the hatch, to make them feel more at ease.

He noticed his daughter staring at him, from where she sat next to Commander Ayam. Inclining his head toward her, he turned back to Flores. “Let’s waste no time. One way or another, the IU expects the Vesta in the Roundleaf System soon. What have you come here to propose?”

Flores spread his hands. “I know you want what’s best for humanity. I want the same. I—”

“I want what’s best for the galaxy.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“There are other species in the galaxy.”

Flores smiled wanly. “Yes. Let’s get that matter out of the way, shall we? I know we both hold views the other finds distasteful. Please rest assured that we would not make any alliance between us conditional on you expelling nonhumans from your ship. I understand that you value them, and we don’t seek to oppose that.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Husher said flatly.

“Be at ease,” Flores said, nodding. “Now, as I’ve already alluded, I’m here to propose an alliance. A partnership. We both know the IU has not been conducting themselves in a rational manner. They’ve been violating their own principles left and right, and they’ve leapt into bed with a government that’s even worse. These unjust arrests are only the latest example of their tyranny, but they won’t be the last. Are we in agreement so far?”

“Basically, yes,” Husher said.

“Good. We are both rational people, Captain Husher. That’s the difference between us and the IU. They pose a clear threat to both of us, and to the war effort as well. I think you know that. And so I would put it to you that a partnership would grant us both security. Together, we would have greater leverage over the IU, and if things came to blows, then we would be better positioned in that regard as well.”

Husher folded his hands on the conference table. “You said that you wouldn’t ask me to kick out my nonhuman crew. But surely you would want to make an alliance conditional on something.”

“You’re very perceptive. You’re right, there is something we want, but I doubt it’s anything like you’re thinking. Captain, we don’t expect the Union to last very much longer. Their own corruption and rot renders them barely able to win this war, let alone survive its aftermath. All the Brotherhood wants in return for lending you our aid is a seat at the table in whatever society takes shape after the war.”

Husher paused. “You’re not referring to just any table. You want a seat at the table of power.”

Faltering for just a second, Flores said, “Yes.”

With that, Husher began to contend with what he’d known all along, on some level. By entering an alliance with the Brotherhood, he would bolster them. Lend them legitimacy. And even though he condemned their views, by aligning himself with them, he would be tacitly endorsing them.

Maybe allying with the Brotherhood was the only path to victory through the thicket of brambles this war had become. But if it meant helping the Brotherhood shape the society that came after, it wasn’t worth it to him.

“I support you having a seat at the table,” Husher said. “By which I mean, I will defend your right to express your views, however repugnant I find them.” He glanced at Maeve. “But I won’t help you win a seat at the table of power. So my answer is no, Captain Flores. I’ve heard you out, and I’ve made my decision. There will be no partnership between us.”

A brittle silence fell over the conference room as the Brotherhood leaders in attendance stiffened in their chairs. For their part, Husher’s officers seemed to relax in theirs. He may have just consigned them all to defeat and death, but even if he had, they would die with clear consciences.

Flores rose to his feet. “You will come to regret your decision,” he said, and he left the conference room, the other Brotherhood members filing out behind him.

Husher turned to the pair of marines stationed near the hatch. “Take the rest of your squad and see them to their shuttle,” he ordered.

The marines both saluted. “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“All right, everyone,” Husher said to his officers. “The show’s over, and we have a meeting with the IU to make. Before that, we might even have an engagement on our hands, depending on what Flores meant by his statement that I’ll regret my decision.”

The officers stood, saluted him, and left.

With that, only he and Maeve remained. They both rose to their feet and headed for the hatch.

Before Husher could leave, she wrapped him in an embrace, pressing her head against his chest.

“Thank you, Dad,” she said.

Chapter 43

One Way or Another

The shuttle’s airlock cycled through its usual processes, and the inner hatch opened, admitting Anthony Flores and the rest of the Sapient Brotherhood leaders. Their armed escort followed soon after.

In silence, Flores made his way to his crash seat halfway down the shuttle’s port side. None of the other leaders spoke either. No doubt they were contemplating the implications of what had just happened.

Once everyone was aboard, the pilot lifted off from the Vesta’s flight deck, heading for the airlock, which was big enough for shuttles and starfighters to pass through.

“Do you think Husher will try to stop us from reaching our ships?” Captain Reggie Butler asked.

“No,” Flores said. “I meant what I said about his honor.”

“He’s an honorable fool.”

“Time will determine the veracity of that statement. But for us, our decision is made clear. We gave Husher the chance to save himself. We turned to a member of our own species, and he spurned us. No matter. We have been loyal to humanity every step of the way, and we will remain loyal—but in a way that will prove more painful than it could have been.”

Butler nodded. “To save the species from the IU…we know what we have to do.”

“We must take Teth’s offer.”

“Yes,” Butler said, nodding, and the gesture was mirrored by the other Brotherhood leaders in the shuttle.

“The Interstellar Union will fall,” Flores said. “One way or another.”

Chapter 44

Political Prisoner

“Transitioning into Roundleaf now, Captain,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged, Ensign.”

Fifteen minutes later, Winterton had more news for him: “There are two capital starships in orbit around Thebes, along with their respective battle groups and five Quatro warships.”

“Wow,” Tremaine said. “That’s quite a welcoming party.”

“Indeed,” Husher said. “Nav, set a course that takes us close enough for real-time communication, but no closer.”

“Aye, sir.”

Husher shifted in his command seat, his discomfort as much to do with his inner struggle as with the unyielding chair. They’ve certainly gathered together a lot of muscle to greet us with. Clearly, the IU had anticipated that he might have reservations about handing over Rug.

The Vesta proceeded down the Roundleaf System’s gravity well, her battle group maintaining a dispersed V behind her. It was a stately arrangement, and whether it was considered a formality or a battle formation would depend on how paranoid whoever you asked was feeling.

At last, they reached real-time communication range, and a transmission request came in from the Eos. Husher told his Coms officer to put it on the main display and to give everyone access to the conversation—not just everyone in the CIC, but everyone in the battle group, fleet member and civilian alike.

Captain Katrina Norberg appeared, fixing Husher with her hawklike gaze. “Captain Husher.”

“Hello, Captain Norberg. Can I ask the reason for such a large military presence in this system?”

“Roundleaf’s sensor web has been getting the strange readings we’ve come to recognize as precursors to an attack.”

“I see.” Husher happened to know that the IGF and Quatro ships had been here before they’d started getting those readings, but he didn’t reveal that.

Norberg seemed about to speak again when she did a double take at the XO’s chair.

“Captain Husher, is that…what is that sitting in the seat meant for Commander Fesky?”

“This is Ek,” Husher answered. “She’s a Fin.”

“I know who Ek is. But…this is Ek? How? And what manner of suit is she wearing?”

“It’s a long story, and I’m sure we have other matters to discuss.”

“Yes,” Norberg said, recovering her composure. “We do. Such as where your lifeboat might be. It appears to be missing. Did you have cause to evacuate Cybele on your way here?”

“No. The few citizens still interested in living in the city are there now.”

“Then where is your lifeboat?”

“Never mind that.”

“Captain Husher, I demand to—”

“You’ll be making a lot of demands on behalf of the IU today, Captain Norberg,” he said. “I think you should pace yourself. Let’s get to the reason I was called here. I’m called on to turn over the Quatro who I have aboard my ship to the Assembly of Elders. Before I do that, I want to know why. I’d also be interested in knowing how the IU knew she was on the Vesta.” The only time Rug had deployed from the supercarrier had been to retake the orbital defense platform over Juktas, and that didn’t seem like the type of colony to willingly share intelligence with the IU.

Norberg scoffed. “We’re not about to reveal our source to you. As for why we’re demanding you turn the Quatro over, it’s because she’s a fugitive.”

“Okay, but for what reasons? What crimes did she commit?”

Norberg continued to meet Husher’s gaze unflinchingly, but even that told him something—her eyes were too wide, for one. “That Quatro and her cohorts violated multiple laws designed to preserve the peace and keep the Quatro public safe.”

“Okay. What were the laws?”

Norberg continued to stare at him, not answering.

“Were they laws that prohibited disagreeing with the government? Laws that required unquestioning obedience from Quatro citizens? Because I don’t consider laws like that to be good ones.”

“I’m not familiar with the exact laws the Quatro violated, Captain. All I know is that she’s a criminal.”

Husher laughed. “I think you are familiar with them, Norberg. I think you know exactly what laws, and I think I’ve already described them accurately. If you didn’t know what laws she broke, you could simply check with the Quatro in the ships nearby and get back to me. We’ve got time. But you’re not doing that, because you know I won’t agree with your reasons for wanting to give Rug to the Elders.”

“Rug?”

He ignored the question. “How do you think this is going to end, Captain?”

“I’ll tell you how it’s going to end. You’re going to give us that Quatro, or you’ll be forced to.”

“That’s what I thought. And the answer’s no.”

Norberg’s posture grew even more rigid. “Very well. Captain Husher, on behalf of the Interstellar Union, I hereby relieve you from duty.”

“I don’t accept that, either,” he said, and he motioned toward his Coms officer with a cutting gesture.

Ensign Fry terminated the transmission.

“Put me through to the entire battle group, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir. It’s done.”

“Captains of the battle group and crew. Right now, you are no doubt being contacted with orders to turn on me. If you decide to follow those orders, that’s your prerogative. The forces aligned against us are powerful, and it’s possible you disagree with my point of view. But before you make your decision, I’m asking you to hear me out. Hopefully our service together will move you to give me that much.

“The Sapient Brotherhood approached me proposing an alliance, and I turned them down because I won’t support their goals. You already know that. But I want you to know that I’ve decided not to support the Interstellar Union’s goals either. I can’t support them. I can’t stand by as they arrest people merely for holding beliefs they consider undesirable. Today, I’m being asked to hand over a being as a political prisoner. If I agree to that because it’s convenient for me to do so, then what will I be asked to do tomorrow? What will you be asked to do tomorrow, if you turn on me now? I refuse to live in a society that condones the things the IU has done, and I’m willing to fight for what the IU was supposed to be in the first place.”

He nodded at Fry, who stopped the broadcast. That done, they waited, for what seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile, on the tactical display, both the IGF and the ovoid Quatro ships were creeping closer while spreading out to surround the Vesta.

“The Hero has confirmed their support of you, Captain,” Fry said. “Captain Hall of the Resolution just followed suit.” She paused, staring at her console. “The other two captains support you as well.”

“Good,” Husher said. It wasn’t much—not against the forces arrayed against them. But it was something. He turned to his Tactical officer. “Tremaine?”

The man nodded. “Prepping the first barrage now, Captain.”

Chapter 45

Under Heavy Fire

“Captain Norberg likely will not expect the Vesta’s battle group to side with you, Captain,” Ek said from the XO’s seat. “I recommend striking at once, with ferocity.”

“I like the way you think, Commander.” If Husher could use the element of surprise to neutralize one of the capital starships, it would go a long way toward evening the odds. “Coms, order our battle group ships to load every forward tube with missiles and fire them at the Promedon at once.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Missiles away, sir,” Tremaine said, and Husher watched on the Tactical display as a mix of Banshees, Gorgons, and Hydras left the Vesta to scream across space toward the Promedon.

Promedon’s battle group moved to intercept the barrage with missiles of their own, but the Quatro ships flanking it did nothing. Likely, they saw no need.

Then the two destroyers and two missile cruisers on Husher’s side loosed their barrage.

That sent the enemy formation into a panic. The Quatro warships sped forward, lasers lancing out to intercept the incoming rockets.

That’s right. Use up your capacitor charge.

Together, the Promedon, her battle group, and the two Quatro ships managed to cut what began as a nearly four hundred-strong barrage down to around seventy, and most of those were mopped up by the Promedon’s point defense systems, supplemented by secondary lasers.

But not all of them. Seven missiles made it through, blowing a massive hole in her prow.

“Let’s twist the knife,” Husher said. “Fire our primary laser into that breach, Tremaine.”

“Yes, sir. Firing laser.”

Seconds later, the already jagged metal began to twist and warp even more. Massive explosions began to cover the area as the beset capital starship backed away at speed.

Her battle group sprang forth, launching a volley of Banshees at the Vesta, supplemented mightily by the Eos. That forced Husher to redirect his attention to defending his supercarrier, allowing the Promedon to pull back and lick her wounds.

He’d wanted to destroy her completely, but taking down a capital starship wasn’t so easy, despite the mighty blow they’d dealt. The Promedon was still in the fight, but her crew would no doubt be suffering from a serious case of nerves.

“The Eos is launching Pythons, sir,” Winterton said. “According to the last reports we received from Command, we know one of their squadrons to be subspace-capable.”

Husher nodded. Thank God none of the Promedon fighters have gotten the upgrades. “It’s about time we scrambled our own Pythons. Coms, pass the order along to Commander Ayam. Tell him missile defense is our main priority for now—except for neutralizing the enemy subspace fighters if at all possible.”

“Aye, sir.”

“When you’re finished with that, tell our missile cruiser captains to start targeting down the Quatro ships, one by one. From what we saw in Hellebore, they have conventional weaponry, and their ships are designed to be multipurpose, meaning they’re decent at everything but excellent at nothing. Heavy barrages from two dedicated missile cruisers should overwhelm them—especially if they mix in a healthy dose of Gorgons. None of the enemy captains are used to dealing with stealth missiles, so I expect Gorgons to have an outsized impact today.”

“I’ll pass that on, Captain.”

“Very good. As for the destroyer captains, tell them they’re on missile defense with us. We can expect to be under heavy fire from here on out, so for now, the missile cruisers represent our only offense. Tremaine, assign secondary lasers to assist with point defense.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Winterton, we also have no experience being targeted with stealth missiles. I need you to stay vigilant, conducting constant active scans of the battlespace. The second you detect an incoming Gorgon, send its telemetry over to Tactical. Tremaine, I want you to answer every Gorgon with two Banshees, and be sure to monitor their progress, staying ready to follow up if the Banshees get taken out.”

Both officers acknowledged the orders, the tension in their voices evident. This engagement had a lot of moving pieces, and they’d rarely faced this much firepower since the war began.

“Rely on your backshops, everyone. Don’t try to do everything yourselves. We can win this engagement, but only if we maximize every asset at our disposal.”

The enemy Air Group darted forward, maneuvering much more aggressively than Husher would have expected, especially given how effectively the Vesta and her accompanying destroyers were blanketing the space around them with missiles and lasers. They must be eager to put their subspace Pythons to work. Maybe too eager. The problem was, Ayam wouldn’t know which squadron was comprised of subspace fighters until they vanished.

“Tremaine, fire a spray of kinetic impactors at the enemy Pythons while we still have a clean shot.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Husher returned to his study of the tactical display. His carrier group was holding firm so far, but the first Quatro ship had yet to fall—that was taking longer than he’d expected. If they didn’t start knocking down the enemy’s numbers soon, the sheer weight of them would prove too much.

Chapter 46

Enemy Subspace Squadron

Ayam’s Oculens tactical overlay was filled with red-tinged miniature representations of enemy Pythons. The opposing Air Group’s aggression surprised him. Looks like they want to end this quickly. Probably by getting Gorgons close. Or their own subspace-capable squadron. Unopposed, that could quickly spell game over for the Vesta.

He’d kept his own subspace squadron at the rear of the Vesta’s Air Group, with full knowledge of exactly how valuable they were.

“Enemy Pythons seem focused on full-squadron and half-squadron tactics,” he told the rest of his pilots. “That tells me they hope to get in some alpha strikes on the Vesta or on some of our battle group ships. I want all non-subspace capable Pythons to group into preassigned finger-four formations, and be ready to split into partner pairs. This is about outflanking the enemy squadrons and dismantling them with surgical strikes. Especially if you spot a squadron that’s close to getting in position for an alpha strike.”

A transmission came in from the CIC, then. It was Tremaine, the Tactical officer: “Commander, I spotted an incoming Gorgon too late to do anything about it. Nearby turret batteries are tied up with other things. It’s going to fly near your subspace squadron—think you can take care of it?”

Ayam clacked his beak, not happy about putting subspace fighters on the line for missile defense. “I’m on it,” he said, his speech clipped. Then he jumped on a squadron-wide channel. “We have an incoming Gorgon. I’ll take care of it. Watch my six.”

Although he’d selected his subspace pilots for their top-notch skills, Ayam wouldn’t trust anyone except himself to go after the missile. The subspace Pythons were too valuable to entrust the job to anyone but the best.

He glanced at the missile’s telemetry, which Tremaine had supplied to him just a few seconds ago. Then he engaged gyroscopes to angle his engines away from the missile and accelerate toward it.

It was going to be a near thing—the missile was already close by, otherwise Tremaine wouldn’t have asked for his help. Kinetic impactors sailed from Ayam’s main gun the moment he had a stable firing solution.

The Gorgon detonated just a few dozen meters from his fighter, leaving him no choice but to pass through its explosion, which dissipated fast, thankfully.

His vision washed red—kinetic impactors flashed toward him from an enemy Python squadron who’d caught him out of formation.

Ayam activated his spherical wormhole just in time, leaving realspace for subspace. He whirled his bird around, pointing the main engine in the opposite direction and executing an engine burn back toward where he knew his squadron would be waiting in realspace.

Before transitioning back in, he performed a quick scan of subspace’s oppressive blackness. Nothing. He was alone in here, for now.

He reentered realspace in almost perfect formation with his subspace squadron.

“Fancy flying, Commander,” said his second-in-command, Lieutenant Cyn.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” Ayam said. “And we’ll need every bit of it.”

He’d kept an eye on the tactical situation as he’d spoken, and as he said the last word he noticed one of the enemy squadrons wink out of existence—right at the front of their Air Group.

Wow. Gutsy of them to expose themselves like that. Although, he supposed the enemy had put their subspace Pythons in the last place Ayam would have looked.

Fingers flying over the small console between his legs, he asked the computer for the enemy subspace squadron’s vector and speed at the moment they vanished.

Bingo. He painted a point thousands of kilometers to the right of the enemy Pythons’ exit point and forwarded it to his squadron’s computers. Then he got back on the squadron-wide. “Make for the point I just marked, matching my acceleration. Do not transition to subspace until I say so. Go now.”

With that, he punched it. His Python leapt forward, tearing across the battlespace. “Clear a path,” he squawked after hammering his console to put him on an Air Group-wide channel.

Vesta fighters began peeling out of the way. It was still occasionally necessary to dodge Banshees and Hydra segments, but the subspace fighters had already accumulated enough speed that, as long as they avoided impact, the missiles wouldn’t have a hope of catching up, whether they’d been programmed to prioritize Pythons as targets or not.

Ayam’s sensors weren’t showing any Gorgons, which could either be a good thing or a very bad one.

That question was answered immediately, as one of the fighters on the left side of his squadron blew up, followed almost immediately by another.

“Should we transition to subspace?” Cyn asked, voice strangled with tension.

“Not yet,” Ayam grunted, flexing and unflexing muscles all over his body to fight the crushing force of increasing Gs. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a Banshee flashed toward him, and when he edged his bird out of the way, he ended up in the path of another.

An enemy squadron of Pythons took notice of Ayam’s fourteen remaining subspace fighters, their speed no doubt telegraphing to the enemy that they were doing something important, if not exactly what that thing was. Either way, the opposing Pythons accelerated toward them, letting loose with kinetic impactors, filling the space ahead of Ayam and his squadron.

“Commander?” his second said.

“Lay on more speed, now!”

To their credit, his pilots followed the order immediately.

“Get ready to generate wormholes on my mark,” Ayam said.

They were almost at the impactor-riddled region of space.

“Commander!” Cyn yelled.

“Mark!” Ayam yelled back.

They transitioned to subspace—at least, twelve of them did. Another must have fallen to the impactor barrage.

He had no time to process that, as his calculations had been spot-on: the enemy subspace fighters were right in front of them, on a direct collision course.

“Impactors!” Ayam shrieked. “Blanket the area, and follow up with Sidewinders!”

His Pythons’ guns blazed, taking out seven enemy fighters. The Sidewinders accounted for the remaining nine, with the last one going down right in front of Ayam’s fighter. Shrapnel battered his Python’s hull, sending tremors throughout the entire structure, and his vision washed red once more.

But he made it through. One of his missile launchers was damaged, and his nose was dented…but otherwise he was in fighting form.

His ears filled with the cheering of his subspace pilots as they realized what they’d done.

At the expense of three subspace-capable Pythons. He didn’t like that, but he had to acknowledge that the trade had been an extremely good one. Taking out the entire enemy subspace squadron would have a big impact on this engagement. It could easily make the difference between survival and death.

“Let’s press the advantage,” Ayam ground out, refusing to let their victory distract him. “If we transition back in now, we’ll be right in the middle of the enemy fighters. Let’s pop back in, take some out, and pop out again. We’re the only ones on this battlespace with subspace capabilities now, people. If we don’t squeeze that for everything it’s worth, we’re idiots.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, from his twelve remaining pilots.

“Let’s go now.” They transitioned back into realspace, chose their targets, and fired.

Chapter 47

Filled With Fire

Captain Zora Sawyer watched the tactical display in disbelief as eleven IGF ships crossed the Larkspur System toward Thessaly, advancing on the colony’s orbital defense platforms.

They used to be IGF ships, anyway. She’d read the reports about the Sapient Brother commandeering them.

But their presence in Larkspur, while disconcerting, wasn’t the most surprising thing about their actions. It was the fact that they were moving toward a heavily defended Union core world as though they could reasonably expect to endanger it.

That wasn’t very likely. Zora commanded the Zeus, a destroyer and the flagship of a ten-strong battle group of warships with fully stocked arsenals. Ten wasn’t as much as eleven, but when you added in Thessaly’s full complement of orbital defense platforms, as well as the top-tier fighter pilots that made up its planetary defense group…

…the Brotherhood didn’t stand a chance.

“They’re decelerating, ma’am,” her sensor operator said as the approaching battle group crossed the halfway point between the Larkspur-Shadbush darkgate and Thessaly. “At that rate, they’ll come to rest just within range of this defense platform.” He marked the one he meant on the tactical display.

Zora nodded, still pondering what the Brotherhood could possibly hope to accomplish. That they’d been able to commandeer eleven IGF warships was shocking; something she never would have predicted happening in today’s society. But even their overgrown battle group was no match for the might of the IU.

“Coms, tell the other captains to move their ships up the planet and distribute them along the equator.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Despite her confidence, Zora recognized that eleven warships did pose a threat to a defense platform, if it wasn’t properly supported. Should the Brotherhood launch an all-out assault on one, she wanted the other defenders to be ready to assist. This is no time to suffer a hole getting blasted in Thessaly’s defense. It would take months to replace an orbital defense platform, and who knew when the next Progenitor attack might be? Larkspur had been one of the seventeen systems whose sensor web had recently detected the telltale anomalous readings, though so far it had remained untouched. Other systems hadn’t been so lucky.

At last, the Brotherhood arrived at the destination her sensor operator had predicted. They immediately began throwing missiles at the defense platform.

Zora nodded. “Coms, tell the rest of our battle group to move up to support. Tactical, use Banshees to pick off what missiles we can, and send the defense platform operators your targeting data, so that we don’t aim at the same ones.”

Both officers she’d given orders to answered in the affirmative, and Zora monitored the tactical display as the besieged orbital platform defended itself.

Eleven ships did indeed pose a threat, but even so, she wasn’t overly worried. Since defense platforms had no need for locomotion, all the mass that would otherwise have been devoted to engines, fuel, and supplies was devoted to a massive arsenal instead. It would take time for the Brotherhood to overwhelm that arsenal—time they didn’t have, as nine IGF ships converged on their position and began lobbing missiles of their own at the Brotherhood’s stolen ships.

Seeing that, Zora actually began to feel glad that the Brotherhood had decided to attack Thessaly. The thought that she might be responsible for putting an end to them was doing a lot for her mood, and when the Brotherhood ships started pulling away from the concentrated attack, she knew what to do.

“Coms, order the other captains to give chase, in battle spread formation. The enemy ships are in disarray. We can start targeting them down, one by one.” If she could neutralize the entire battle group, or even secure their surrender, then this would be a productive day indeed.

She watched the nine other IGF ships move in for the kill, crossing the tactical display like lions stalking prey.

Then her Coms officer turned toward her, the color draining from his face. “Ma’am,” he whispered.

“Yes, Ensign? What is it?”

“An orbital defense platform on the other side of the planet is under attack. They’re relaying their sensor feed to us in real-time.”

Eyes locked on the Coms officer’s face, Zora spoke slowly: “Patch the visual through to the main display.”

As she watched the defense platform’s feed, it felt like an iron fist had gripped her stomach and squeezed.

Five Progenitor destroyers had appeared underneath the platform, and four of their carriers were suspended above it. All nine ships were unloading on the unsupported platform, their savage robots pouring across space by the hundreds.

“Temperature readings show superheating in three places along the bottom surface of the platform,” her sensor operator said. “It’s—”

Before he could finish, fire filled the visual feed, which went dark.

Chapter 48

Act as Turrets

Jake burst from Flight Deck Omicron’s airlock, finding his first target by feel more than data from any sensor. Or maybe the alien mech merely wove the sensor data into a tapestry of emotion.

It didn’t matter. Intention sprang from his body like an arrow, and he pointed two cannons that way, firing. Twin energy bursts leapt into space, headed toward nothing. But seconds later, an enemy Python occupied their path, and it exploded.

One down.

Oneiri surged from the airlock behind him, forming up.

“Don’t stray far from the ship,” he told them over a team-wide channel. “The fighters we faced back in Steele almost did us in, and there were only eight of them. Today, we face hundreds. Be ready to fall back on my command. Let’s go!”

Oneiri surged into space, rockets streaming forth in all directions. Two more Pythons went down, and with that, the enemy Air Group began to take notice of them. A squadron changed course, screaming toward them through the void in a wall formation.

“Disperse,” Jake barked. “Let’s not offer them a cluster of targets.”

Oneiri spread out, neutralizing the initial wave of Sidewinders the Pythons sent at them.

Kinetic impactors were next, but even the MIMAS sensors were sophisticated enough to zoom in on each Python and track where its gun was pointing. Jake’s mech dream used scarlet to paint shifting lines of fire across space, and he maneuvered laterally to avoid them all. The others did the same.

The problems started when the Pythons split their formation, half of them braking to stay ahead of the mechs while the other eight screamed past to get behind them. Suddenly, Oneiri was boxed in, caught in the crossfire of sixteen pilots gunning for them hard.

Now is the moment, Jake’s mech whispered to him, as it so often did since the day he’d claimed it, back on Bronson’s destroyer. Merge with me, or you and your friends will be lost in this storm.

For a moment, the mech’s whispers rang like truth in Jake’s ears, and he reached toward it like a drowning man reaches for passing driftwood.

Then, he clamped down hard on himself. No. If I do that, we’ll all be lost anyway.

“Follow me,” he yelled over the team-wide instead, rocketing up to escape the canyon of death the Python squadron had created.

The others responded immediately, though the dream washed out Marco’s mech, all in red. The MIMAS was taking heavy fire, and it couldn’t handle any more.

Jake’s world narrowed, until it consisted only of the three starfighters shooting at Marco’s mech. Time slowed as he fired once, twice, three times—a trio of energy blasts, all following completely different vectors.

Three Pythons were consumed in fire.

“Cover Marco!” he screamed as time resumed its normal flow. Oneiri banded together at the top of the Pythons’ canyon, picking off the starfighters one by one, until the remaining seven fled, covering their own retreat with impactors that sailed past Oneiri, toward the supercarrier. Two more Pythons went down before they escaped.

“The starfighters’ agility trumps ours in space,” Jake said. “Back to the airlock, everyone. We’ll remain on the hull around it and act as turrets. We’re going to keep the outer airlock door open—be ready to duck inside it the moment you’re taking heavy fire.”

Oneiri arranged themselves as he’d instructed. “Not you, Spirit. Your MIMAS is toast if it takes any more hits.”

The MIMAS’ head swung toward him. “But Jake, I—”

“I was giving an order, not opening a line of dialog. Go inside and get repaired. We don’t know how soon it’ll be till we need you again.”

Without another word, Marco went inside the airlock, closing the outer door long enough for it to pressurize and admit him.

Jake selected his next target and fired. Another Python went down, which satisfied him. Revenge was a harmonious song, sung to him by the alien mech.

Chapter 49

Something Has to Give

“The enemy subspace squadron still hasn’t emerged back into realspace?” Husher asked in disbelief.

“It hasn’t, sir,” Winterton said. “Unless they experienced some unknown malfunction, it seems likely Commander Ayam and his squadron managed to neutralize every enemy subspace fighter.”

“Hmm.” That would have been nice to know. Although, he wasn’t about to chastise Ayam for failing to share the information with the CIC. The Winger had been quite busy since reentering the battlespace, taking out enemy fighters by the dozen with near impunity. The CAG made use of the ability to flit in and out of subspace like he’d been doing so for his entire career, instead of just a few weeks. And now, the Vesta’s subspace squadron was nearing a Quatro warship, which was scrambling to respond, filling empty space with kinetic impactors—no doubt trying to anticipate where the fighters would reappear.

So far, the missile cruisers in Husher’s carrier group had only managed to take out one of the five Quatro warships. The other four were still in play, along with both capital starships’ battle groups, and the Eos herself.

“Take heed, Captain,” Ek said. “the Promedon prepares to reenter the fray.”

Husher returned his gaze to the tactical display, grimacing. The wounded capital starship did seem to be rallying. It was edging around the battlespace, no doubt to fire on the Vesta from a distance and add to the mounting pressure being applied to her.

As if on cue, Winterton said, “The Promedon is scrambling her own Air Group, Captain.”

“Acknowledged,” Husher said, trying not to wince. Even with all the enemy fighters Ayam’s squadron had managed to take out, the Vesta’s Pythons would still be heavily outnumbered.

He monitored the tactical display as Ayam and his subspace fighters closed with the Quatro’s ship, vanishing whenever threatened by its ordnance and reappearing in unexpected locations. Husher knew that doing so would require abrupt reversals of vector—meaning intense G forces bearing down on the pilots’ bodies. They have to be getting fatigued. Yet, they showed no sign of slowing.

The subspace fighters appeared again, speeding along a vector the Quatro captain clearly hadn’t anticipated. They executed an alpha strike—and the enemy ship blew up.

Husher’s fist clenched in victory, and some of his other officers looked grimly satisfied, but no one cheered. The Quatro ship’s destruction was too insignificant in the face of how many warships were still attacking the Vesta.

Our subspace squadron can’t destroy all those ships in time. Even if they could, the demanding maneuvers required of the pilots had to be exhausting them. Soon, they would start getting sloppy, start making mistakes, and when that happened, Husher doubted even their subspace capability would save them.

With the damaged capital starship and her Air Group reentering the fray, it was difficult to see how he could win, as things stood.

Husher’s entire battle group was now using secondary lasers to supplement point defense, their capacitors draining steadily. Even the missile cruisers, who’d originally been focused mainly on offense, were now devoting most of their missile fire to preventing enemy rockets from making it to their hulls. The same went for the Vesta’s Air Group—they remained near the warships’ point defense systems, doing everything they could to take down incoming missiles and enemy fighters. But with the second enemy Air Group approaching, anyone could see it wouldn’t be enough.

Something has to give.

Then, something did—but not in the way Husher had hoped. The Eos’ laser lanced across space, striking the missile cruiser on the Vesta’s port side square on her prow.

The cruiser maneuvered laterally to escape the beam, but two enemy fighter squadrons swept in, pincering the warship.

Two clean alpha strikes, and the Hero exploded.

A coldness spread through Husher’s chest as he contemplated the very real possibility that everything he’d worked for could fall apart, today. Whether it was the Progenitors slaughtering everyone in the galaxy or the Interstellar Union growing increasingly tyrannical—it didn’t really matter, did it? Either outcome would mean Husher had failed.

Come on, Fesky…where are you?

Chapter 50

Exploit Viciously

“How much longer?” Fesky squawked at her Nav officer.

“It’s difficult to say, Captain,” Chief Devar said. “I don’t recognize this route.”

Fesky felt her feathers stiffening at that, and she attempted to calm herself by breathing deeply. “It didn’t take this long when we mapped the Roundleaf System for entry points. I thought the AI was supposed to optimize for the quickest path through the universes.”

“It is, ma’am. I think that may be the problem. We left our own universe at a different point from our original departure point, when we first mapped Roundleaf. That meant we entered a different universe, or maybe a different region of the same universe. Either way, the computer thought it saw a way to shorten our journey, but I think it calculated wrong.”

“What? How can it be wrong?” Fesky realized she was shrieking, and she focused on her breathing again.

“Ochrim’s theory of how the universes are spatially related may have some kinks that need ironing out. It could be that timing plays a part—I’m just guessing, here. Either way, once the computer finds a path it recognizes, it should get back on track.”

Clacking her beak, Fesky fell silent, her chest tight with worry over what the Vesta might be facing right now. She checked the mission time and saw that they were now officially overdue to arrive in Roundleaf to back up the Vesta and her battle group. Damn it!

She turned to her sensor operator. “Get me a visual of some of the universes we’re passing through.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Winger said, bending over his console.

At least you have something to do. As they flitted through the dimensions along preset routes they’d fed to the computer, Fesky and her small crew had very little to occupy themselves with.

“I’ve just sent a collection of snapshots to your console, ma’am.”

“Very good,” Fesky snapped, downloading the images from the console to her Oculenses.

She’d had Ochrim modify Spire’s visual sensors so that they took a still image of every universe the ship passed through. The Ixan had been willing enough to do it, since it gave him more data for his research.

Shuffling through a few of the images taken of various universes, she compared them with her memory of those they’d passed through during their initial scouting mission. Her Nav officer was right, it seemed—she didn’t recognize any of them.

A universe filled with a greater density of stars than she’d ever seen or heard about. Then, another with barely any. A dimension made up of red-tinged nothingness—probably, they’d appeared in the middle of an interstellar cloud.

“Ma’am, we’re back on track!” the Nav officer said. “The computer seems to have found a route it’s familiar with from our recon run. We should appear in Roundleaf in ten minutes.”

“Excellent.” Hopefully, the engagement hadn’t shifted far from where Husher had expected it to occur. Otherwise, Spire would pop back into their native universe too far out of place to help.

Although emulating the Progenitors’ interdimensional travel was a huge step forward, it wasn’t hard to tell that Spire’s quantum engine wasn’t capable of traversing the dimensions with anywhere near the speed the Progenitor ships managed. The enemy flitted in and out of a battlespace in a matter of moments, whereas Fesky and her crew had been underway for the better part of an hour. Even accounting for the detour their computer had taken, the disparity was substantial.

“Tactical, double check that our missile barrage is prepped and ready.”

“Already on it, ma’am.”

Fesky nodded. The process of loading missiles into tubes was mostly automated, but it did require some oversight to make sure everything ran smoothly and efficiently. As such, Tactical had a small backshop just below the CIC.

She turned to her sensor operator, Yvan. “The moment we reenter Roundleaf, feed me all sensor data. I want as complete a picture of the engagement as possible, as quickly as you can give me it.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Nav spoke up on the heels of her sensor operator: “Captain, we’ve just arrived!”

Feathers stiff, Yvan bent over his console, no doubt compiling all relevant sensor data as fast as he could. Then, with a flicking motion across the top of his console, he sent Fesky what he’d put together.

This doesn’t look overly promising. Where the Hero should have been, there was a spreading debris cloud instead, and a quick computer analysis told her that the Vesta’s Air Group had suffered heavy losses, too.

But none of that changed her mission. She needed to act with all possible haste, to maximize the element of surprise.

She noticed that one of the enemy capital starships was hanging back and firing on the Vesta from afar. Fesky soon saw why—Husher had managed to blow a massive hole in its prow, leaving it vulnerable.

None of the enemy warships seemed to have registered the Spire’s presence yet. No doubt their sensors were picking her up just fine—but the sensor operators simply wouldn’t be watching for a vessel matching the former lifeboat’s profile to appear off their sterns. It didn’t fit their perceptions of what was and wasn’t possible, and Fesky intended to exploit that viciously.

“Tactical, fire twenty Gorgons at that capital starship’s damaged prow and nothing else. Meanwhile, I want fifteen Banshees and five Hydras launched at this Quatro ship, and the same number at this one too.” She marked the ships she meant on their shared view of the tactical display.

“Aye, ma’am. Firing missiles now.”

The Gorgons were already in the Spire’s forward tubes, and the other missiles she’d ordered were primed and ready for hasty loading.

It had been her idea to use stealth missiles immediately after Spire’s unexpected arrival. She was banking on the fact that the capital starship wouldn’t anticipate anything coming from this direction, let alone twenty Gorgons.

The Quatro ships were closer, however, and they did seem to pick up on the Banshee and Hydra missiles before they struck.

It didn’t matter. Their reaction was delayed, and the number of missiles Fesky had sent was too high to deal with in time—especially when five Hydras split into forty warheads.

The two Quatro ships went down as the remaining pair of alien ships turned to confront the Spire.

Before they could act, the Gorgons began landing on the Promedon’s hull. Or rather, they sailed through her prow, where her hull used to be, and deep into her guts.

The capital starship’s entire bow exploded, causing a chain reaction of explosions that traveled down her immense hull. Within ten seconds, all that remained was the shrapnel that hurtled through space in every direction.

Her officers burst into cheering, but Fesky silenced them. “We can’t stick around to celebrate!” she squawked. “Fire five Hydras each at the remaining Quatro ships, and follow with a dispersed spray of kinetic impactors. Nav, take us out of this dimension as soon as the ordnance is away.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Chapter 51

Staring at a Tactical Display

At Fesky’s incredible success, the Vesta’s CIC crew broke into whooping and fist-pumping. While it was good to hear celebrating where only grim silence had held sway before, Husher couldn’t bring himself to join in.

The Promedon was the second capital starship to go down in as many months. With each supercarrier that went down, the IGF grew weaker. As was often said, the capital starships formed the backbone of the IGF. How many more would it take to paralyze the Fleet entirely?

He supposed that, now, he was technically an enemy of the IGF, and maybe he should be glad. But he wasn’t feeling as jubilant as his officers. Instead, a sense of dread threatened to overwhelm him. The words Teth had spoken in Hellebore echoed through his head: “I barely have to fight this war, Captain Husher. I have complete confidence that you are going to win it for me.”

Winterton was the only one in the CIC who seemed of a mind with Husher, but then, the man could be counted on not to get excited under almost any circumstances. “Sir, one of the Quatro ships Commander Fesky targeted before departing has gone down, but the final alien ship managed to evade her attack and is moving in position to hit us again.”

Husher nodded. “Coms, broadcast a repeating transmission across the battlespace encoded to Commander Ayam’s fighter. Tell him that if he thinks his pilots are still flying tight and clean, I want him to focus on taking down the final Quatro ship. But only if he thinks the subspace pilots are up to it. Tell him I don’t want to lose any more subspace fighters just because we kept the pilots flying for too long.”

“Aye, sir.”

With Ayam’s squadron spending as much time in subspace as it did in realspace, it could be difficult to get a transmission to them, which was why Husher had come to rely on encrypted transmissions that repeated until receipt of message was confirmed.

His hope was that losing the final Quatro ship would deal a blow to enemy morale, at minimum. With any luck, it would make Captain Norberg reconsider this whole thing, especially given the threat of Fesky’s reappearance at any moment. In truth, Husher had no idea when the Spire might make it back here, but Norberg didn’t know that.

Before any of that could happen, Fry looked up at him from her work. “Sir, we’re getting an unencrypted broadcast from a com drone that entered the system just sixteen minutes ago. It appears to be a vid recorded by Captain Zora Sawyer of the Thessaly system defense group.”

“Play it on the main display.”

Sawyer appeared, looking haggard. Husher knew her by reputation only, but his understanding was that she was a supremely competent captain. His first thought upon seeing her was that for her to look this bad, something had to be very wrong.

And indeed it was. “I’m sending this message via com drones to all surrounding systems. I only pray that they all arrive. Thessaly is under heavy assault by nine Progenitor ships, who have destroyed one of the colony’s orbital defense platforms and who are now laying waste to the colony itself. The system’s ten defending warships are moving to engage, but I fear it won’t be enough.” Sawyer paused, seeming to falter before continuing. “It’s my fault the Progenitor ships were able to blow a hole in the colony’s defenses. This all began when the eleven warships commandeered by the Sapient Brotherhood entered the system and began moving on the colony. I was overconfident, and I ordered all defending ships to engage them, with the intention of dealing with them permanently. It didn’t occur to me that the Brotherhood might be working with the Progenitors. If you’re listening to this message, I’m begging you—please come to Thessaly’s aid.”

With that, Zora Sawyer vanished from the main display, her words having crushed any positive sentiment the Vesta’s CIC officers might have been experiencing.

Missiles continued to fly across the battlespace, traded between the Eos and the Vesta, along with their supporting ships. Pythons continued to engage each other, with another one exploding every few seconds.

“Commander Ayam just succeeded in taking down the final Quatro ship, Captain,” Winterton said, his tone neutral.

Husher drew a ragged breath. “Get me Captain Norberg, Coms,” he forced himself to say. “She’ll have gotten Captain Sawyer’s message just the same as us.”

As he waited for Fry to send the transmission request, more words sounded in Husher’s head, this time from Captain Anthony Flores: “You will come to regret your decision.”

At last, Norberg’s hardened face appeared on the display, where Zora Sawyer’s had been moments before. “Husher. What could you possibly have to say to me now? You’ve finished wiping out our Quatro allies’ presence in the system, you’ve destroyed one of our sister capital starships, and you show no signs of remorse.”

“It’s hard to read remorse by staring at a tactical display,” Husher said. “And I do regret having to do what I’ve done.”

“You didn’t have to do anything, other than simply hand over the fugitive.”

He nodded. “That’s what I’m getting at. You were just as willing to fire on IGF ships as I was, all because of a demand the Assembly of Elders made of you. I refuse to enable the IU’s descent into tyranny, Norberg. We’ve been over this.”

“Then why have you contacted me?”

“Didn’t you just get the same broadcast I did?”

“Yes. I plan to lend aid to Thessaly as soon as I’m finished dealing with you.”

Are you kidding me? “Captain Norberg, I think you’re making that sound a little too easy. As you pointed out, we’ve already done serious damage to your forces, and if this continues we’ll do even more. You’ve no doubt caught on to the nature of the modifications made to the Vesta’s lifeboat. We’re calling it the Spire now, and she’s going to come back, on an attack vector you don’t anticipate. Next, it could be your ship that goes down.”

“What are you trying to accomplish by threatening me like this?”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m offering a forecast of what will happen if this battle continues.”

“How can it not continue? You’re a threat, Husher. You’ve been a threat for a long time, and the orders have finally been given to put you down.”

“A bigger threat than the Progenitors? Such a threat that you’ll waste ships that could otherwise have been used to fight them? Captain Norberg, civilians are dying right now by the tens of thousands, just one system over. Captain Sawyer was concerned about her com drones making it to the surrounding systems—what if ours was the only one that got through? Are you willing to risk an entire system just to settle the IU’s vendetta against me?”

Norberg pursed her lips and didn’t answer.

“We can keep fighting,” Husher said. “But it’s exactly what Teth wants, and it will lead to our mutual destruction, whether today or someday soon. I’m proposing an alternative, Captain. I’m proposing we set aside our differences for the moment so we can go and deal with the real threat.”

For a long time, Norberg continued to study him in silence. At last, her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and she said, “All right, Husher. We’ll work together. For now.”

Chapter 52

The Price We Pay

Winterton announced the transition into Larkspur, and Husher braced for what he knew was coming.

“We’re already getting signals from Thessaly’s planetary net,” Ensign Fry said as she sifted through them on her console. “None of them are of tactical significance, but…” The ensign swallowed, clearly struggling with what she was seeing. Her gaze drifted into the distance, the characteristic stare of someone watching Oculens footage. Then her eyes found Husher’s. “Vids of Larissa being scoured from the face of Thessaly from above. Citizens running from Ravagers and Amblers, panicking, getting gunned down. Bodies littering the streets, people wandering aimlessly, shouting the names of family members.” A tear slid down Fry’s cheek.

Husher let her finish relaying what she saw. From a tactical perspective, he should have cut her off, so that they could turn to the task at hand. But this was important, too—so that everyone in the CIC knew exactly what the Progenitors were capable of.

Part of him wanted to tell Fry to forward the footage to Captain Norberg, but she would have access to it, too. He realized his body had tensed in the command seat, and he forced himself to relax. He was sure his CIC officers felt the same anger he did.

Which is fine, as long as it’s controlled, and served cold.

“How are the planet’s defenders faring, Winterton?”

“Thessaly’s fighter defense group has taken a beating, and six of the original ten IGF warships remain, including Captain Sawyer’s destroyer. The Brotherhood ships are still in the system, sir. They’re headed for the Larkspur-Shadbush darkgate.”

Noni peered at him from the Nav station. “Should we pursue, sir?”

“Negative.” As much as he would have liked to blast those ships from space, they couldn’t afford to withhold aid from Thessaly any longer. As long as the Brotherhood didn’t stray from their course out of the system, he had to let them go.

“Coms, send Captain Norberg a transmission request.”

“Yes, sir,” Fry said, and seconds later, Norberg was back on the main display.

“We need to decide who will command our forces,” he said. “We’ll limit our responsiveness if we both try to call the shots.”

“I could command mine, and you could command yours.”

“I think that’ll be limiting, too. It’s much easier to execute a strategy with just one person giving the orders.” He would have thought that was obvious, and it surprised him to have to spell it out. Maybe Norberg just doesn’t like agreeing with me.

“I have more ships than you,” she said.

“So you want to be the one in command,” Husher said, nodding. It would be difficult for him to relinquish ultimate control over the Vesta and her remaining battle group ships, but he was prepared to do it. Just getting Norberg to join him in fighting the Progenitors had been a major accomplishment, and he’d known it would come at a price.

“Actually, no,” Norberg said, surprising him again. “I think you should have the command. You have a lot more combat experience than me, Captain Husher.”

He realized his eyebrows had climbed up his forehead, and he lowered them again. “Uh, thank you, then, Captain Norberg.”

She nodded curtly. “Do you have any orders to give, yet?”

“I do. The planet’s spin has taken the site of the Progenitor attack a little closer to our position, but the hole in Thessaly’s defenses still faces away from us. We’re still going to have to loop around the planet, and I think we should adopt a course that follows a wide arc through the system, so that we approach the planet perpendicular to its surface.”

Norberg frowned. “I know I just handed command to you, but I would have thought it better to approach parallel to the planet’s surface, so that we have the still-functional defense platforms backing us up.”

“A valid thought, but that will also give us fewer viable firing solutions, and it will limit our ability to spread out—or to retreat, if it comes to that. The Progenitor ships are powerful, and not to be underestimated.”

“Well, I’ll yield to your judgment, Captain. As I agreed to. Is that all?”

“For now. I’ll send over what formation I’d like us to adopt via my Coms officer. Oh, and I think it best if Commander Ayam is given command of all three Air Groups.”

“Very well. Norberg out.” With that, she vanished from the screen.

“Nav, I trust you heard me tell Captain Norberg how I’d like to approach the planet?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Devise a course that follows my specifications.” He turned toward the XO’s seat. “Based on what you’ve seen so far, do you think my read of the situation checks out?”

Ek paused, presumably to consider the question. “Your usual caution is commendable. However, caution is your trademark, and the Progenitors will know that. It is always difficult to predict how thoroughly they will have anticipated our actions.”

“Right,” Husher said, and sniffed. “So, what’s your prescription? Try to be more reckless?”

“I would advocate even greater caution than you are accustomed to.”

“Okay. I’ll take that under advisement.”

Ek turned away, as though finished, but then turned back. “There is also the fact that, if any of our shots miss, they could hit the planet below.”

Husher smiled. “Missile tech has advanced since you entered Klaxon’s oceans, Ek. They’re designed to self-destruct before they get close enough to a planet’s surface to do damage.” His smile faltered, then. “As for kinetic impactors, we’ll try to go easy on them, and we’ll angle our shots so that they’ll hit depopulated areas if they miss. If they hit, though…yes, they’ll cause significant damage. But the Progenitors are already laying waste to the surface. The most important thing now is that we stop them as quickly as we can, before they can move on to other regions.”

Ek nodded.

Given the Promedon’s destruction, Husher and Norberg had been forced to find places for her Air Group wherever they could—mostly in unused hangar bays, where the fighters would be able to take advantage of the launch tubes there, but many of the starfighters ended up sitting on flight decks. They wouldn’t be able to scramble with nearly the same energy as the other pilots, but it was better than nothing.

With two capital starships, three combined battle groups totaling eleven ships, as well as three Air Groups, Husher knew he’d be justified in calling their force a small fleet. Under normal circumstances, he’d feel quite confident in engaging just nine enemy ships, especially when he factored in Thessaly’s fighter defense group, as well as the six IGF ships already fighting.

But with the Progenitors, nothing was predictable. As if to underscore that fact, as the Vesta and her allied ships closed in, an IGF frigate exploded over the planet, followed almost immediately by a missile cruiser.

And just as the Vesta entered missile range, the Progenitors neutralized the destroyer captained by Zora Sawyer.

Husher’s grip on the command seat’s armrests tightened. “Coms, tell Commander Ayam to scramble all three Air Groups. I’ll let him decide how many to put on offense and how many to assign to missile defense, depending on how much the Progenitors send our way. But tell him to standby to prioritize any warship that’s targeting one of ours with a particle beam. And let him know we’ll be leaning heavily on his subspace squadron again.”

As soon as the fighting with Norberg and the other IGF captains had ended, Husher had ordered the entire Air Group to get as much rest as possible before they reached Thessaly. Hopefully, it would be enough for the subspace Pythons to perform some more miracles. We sorely need them.

Unfortunately, the capital starship Fesky had destroyed had never been equipped with subspace fighters, and Ayam had taken out the Eos’. The price we pay when we fight amongst ourselves, ignoring the real enemy.

“Captain,” Winterton said, and his voice wavered, which made Husher stare at him. A wavering voice from the sensor operator was equivalent to a bloodcurdling scream from anyone else.

“What is it?”

“Six Progenitor destroyers and three carriers just appeared ten thousand kilometers off our sterns. They’re moving to hem us in.”

Husher’s jaw clenched involuntarily. Eighteen Progenitor warships against our sixteen…and our ships are less powerful on average.

Even as he thought it, another of the planet’s defenders, an IGF destroyer, went down.

Chapter 53

Just Getting Started

Captain Katrina Norberg was on Husher’s main display again, shouting. “We need a new plan, Husher, and we need it now!”

“Calm down,” he said, though he felt far from calm himself. He couldn’t get his daughter’s face out of his mind, couldn’t stop thinking of her somewhere in Cybele. Forty minutes ago, he’d sent out the warning that the Vesta would enter combat, and he hoped she was strapped into a safety harness. It had already occurred to him that if he survived this battle, Sera was going to kill him.

“For the moment, I’m giving you command over my remaining battle group ships—the two destroyers and the missile cruiser. I want you to take them, along with the other two carrier groups, and confront the Progenitor ships that just appeared. In the meantime, I’ll take command of the three Air Groups, and together, they and the Vesta will engage the enemy ships closest to the planet. We should be able to help take some pressure off the planet’s defenders.”

Norberg shook her head. “Why not turn and engage the newcomers with everything we have, while the ones over the planet’s surface are occupied?”

“Because the enemy’s mechs are ravaging the civilian population, Captain,” Husher said softly. “We need to make it a priority to get troops down to the surface, and that won’t happen if we let the Progenitors maintain control of the skies.”

“I don’t like our odds as they are, Captain Husher. If we don’t win, the civilians are doomed anyway.”

“This could be our only window to help. I’m going to take it. Besides, if we abandon the planet’s defenders now, they’ll crumble. They’re already crumbling.”

“Very well,” Norberg said, and the tightness in her voice told Husher she might be starting to regret giving him the command.

The display went dark again, and Husher turned to his Coms officer. “Ensign Fry, tell Major Gamble to prepare to mobilize the Vesta’s entire marine battalion. I want a total of six platoons to remain aboard—four to patrol the corridors and two in Cybele, as a precaution against Ravagers breaching the hull. The rest will deploy to Thessaly’s surface.”

Fry nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“When you’ve done that, tell Commander Fesky to decouple the Spire and set an interdimensional course that takes her behind the newest group of Progenitor ships. I want her to see what damage she can do.” Even though the Progenitors were well acquainted with interdimensional travel, they wouldn’t be expecting the IGF to have access to it. Hopefully that would once again work in Fesky’s favor.

Studying the tactical display, Husher saw that Thessaly’s fighter defense group was battling valiantly to protect the remaining pair of defending warships, a missile cruiser and a corvette, from the stream of Ravagers being sent their way. Python after Python went down, either mowed down by kinetic impactors or latched onto by a robot and ripped apart.

Seeing that, Husher opened a two-way channel with Commander Ayam.

“Ayam here, Captain. All our birds are in the air.”

“Commander, there’s been a change of plans. I’m sure you noticed the latecomers to the party?”

“They’re kind of hard to miss, sir.”

“Indeed. Their arrival makes getting forces to the planet all the more urgent, since we may not be able to manage it for much longer. We have enough to assign a squadron to each shuttle of marines, and that’s what I want you to do. Not only that, I want your subspace squadron playing sheepdog to the entire flock, hitting back at anything that tries to shoot my marines out of the air.”

“I’m on it, sir. What about the rest of the fighters?”

“Deploy them as best you see fit to back up the planet’s defender ships. We need to preserve every asset we can, and if we can keep those crews alive, it should go a long way. I plan to position the Vesta between the descending shuttles and the Progenitor battle group, to protect whoever needs it most.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Is that all, sir?”

“That’s all. God speed, Ayam.”

“You too, Captain. Ayam out.”

Husher turned to Noni. “Nav, our shuttles will descend here,” he said, marking a point over Thessaly’s surface on Noni’s overlay. “I want you to set a course that puts us equidistant between that point and the nearest enemy battle group.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Tactical, let’s start hammering them right away. As soon as we have an angle that won’t hit the two IGF warships or the planet, spray kinetic impactors at their sterns. Prepare to fire our primary laser as well.”

“Aye.”

But they didn’t need to hit the Progenitors to get their attention. A pair of destroyers and a pair of carriers were already coming about to face them, lines of Ravagers spewing from all four as they turned. Many of the robots would be caught up in the planet’s gravity well, to plummet to the surface, but Husher was sure that didn’t bother whoever or whatever was captaining those ships.

Briefly, he wondered whether Teth was aboard any of the attacking warships. His instincts told him no. I barely have to fight this war, Teth had said.

“Coms, tell Ayam to redirect six squadrons to providing missile defense for the Vesta.”

“Yes, sir.”

At least we’ve taken some of the heat off the planet’s defenders. They still faced down five Progenitor ships on their own, but their fighter pilots seemed well trained, and hopefully they’d help the warships hold.

“Captain, the approaching warships aren’t stopping,” Winterton said. “At least half of their Ravagers are sailing past us, toward our descending shuttles.”

Husher nodded. He’d anticipated this. “Nav, set a course that takes us between the carrier and the destroyer that are clustered closest together.”

Blinking at him, Noni said, “Sir?”

“Do it.”

“Aye.”

“Tremaine, have point defense systems redirect any fire not needed to hold Ravagers at bay—I want it sent at those ships instead. It looks like we’ll be close enough to hit them.”

The Progenitor ships sped forward, seemingly focused on the shuttles screaming toward Thessaly’s surface. Husher could understand why. Their efforts today represented the largest, most concerted attack on a Union colony by far. Clearly, the Progenitors believed it would devastate public morale to wipe out a core world. And it would. So they were doing everything they could to make sure it happened.

It didn’t take long for the enemy ships to enter range of the Vesta’s point defense turrets, which began pumping thousands of rounds into their hulls. They clearly hadn’t expected the maneuver, possibly because they’d never encountered it from an IGF vessel before. Either way, the two ships immediately reversed course, heading back toward their fellows.

“Winterton, which enemy ship looks the most damaged?”

“The carrier, sir.”

“Very good. Tremaine, dump our primary laser into the part of her hull that’s suffered the most hurt.”

“Firing laser now, Captain.”

Husher toggled over to a zoomed-in visual display just as the carrier’s hull began to twist and melt. The ship accelerated even more, and Tremaine switched off the primary, recalibrated his firing solution on the fly, and fired again.

The carrier’s hull erupted, the fire consuming her entire frame before succumbing to the void.

“Excellent work,” Husher said.

But Winterton didn’t sound as impressed. “Two Progenitor ships made it past us, sir. They’re attempting to overwhelm the shuttles with Ravagers.”

Husher nodded, though he’d already been monitoring the tactical display, where Ayam’s subspace fighters were flitting in and out of existence, dodging one wave of Ravagers, blasting through the next—weaving through both the enemy barrage and reality itself on their way to the target.

Seconds later, an alpha strike connected with the destroyer’s hull, obliterating two turret batteries as well as three Ravager launch tubes.

The subspace squadron disappeared in time to dodge point defense fire, then reappeared off the destroyer’s stern, still hurtling in the same direction. As a parting shot, they delivered another alpha strike, concentrating their fire on one of the warship’s main reactors. It blew, and the explosion swallowed most of the stern. The rest of the ship soon followed.

“Coms, have three of the six squadrons helping us with missile defense redirect their efforts. I want them helping Ayam take down that carrier instead. Tremaine, let’s offer up six Hydras, to speed it on its way.”

“Aye.”

Husher permitted himself a small smile as he watched the fighters and missiles converging on the enemy ship.

I’m just getting started, you bastards.

Chapter 54

Across the Battlespace

The Progenitor carrier went down—and so did three of the nineteen shuttles carrying his marines to the surface of Thessaly. That made Husher want to hammer the command seat’s armrests with his fist, but he forced himself to convert his anger into cold determination.

Three platoons of marines, gone. It wasn’t a total disaster, but it was far from ideal, either, especially given the forces the Progenitors had devoted to their ground assault on the colony.

It could have been worse, he told himself again. Thanks to my Python pilots, it wasn’t. They’d managed to keep most of the Ravagers from ripping the shuttles apart, though they’d lost a squadron and a half in the process. Oneiri Team was with the shuttles too, but they hadn’t been of much help. To be fair, Husher knew that orbital reentry tended to occupy all of one’s attention, mech suit or not. Either way, the surviving marines were almost to the planet’s surface.

Neutralizing three Progenitor warships had represented amazing progress, but it had also caused the enemy to rally, and now IGF forces were paying the price.

“Our second missile cruiser just fell, Captain,” Winterton said. “And Captain Norberg just lost one of her battle group ships as well.”

Damn it. He’d hoped giving Norberg superior numbers would help her keep the second Progenitor force at bay, but the enemy had just evened things up, meaning more IGF losses would surely follow.

“The marines have made it to the planet,” the sensor operator continued. “Their Python escort is returning to join us.” The man’s frown deepened, however. “The nine enemy ships facing off with Captain Norberg are spreading out. It looks like they’re trying to shepherd her forces toward the planet.”

Of course they are. “They know if they can sandwich us between their two battle groups, we won’t last long.” Husher caught himself gritting his teeth, and forced himself to stop. “We need to throw everything we have at the six Progenitor ships remaining over the planet’s surface. Coms, tell Commander Ayam to rally the Air Groups and advance on the enemy formation in a wide arc.”

Husher turned toward the Tactical station. “This needs to happen quickly. Tremaine, I want twenty Hydras fired along firing solutions designed to blanket the battlespace with warheads. On the heels of that, fire forty-eight Gorgons—eight apiece for each Progenitor ship.”

“That’s a lot of our specialized missiles, Captain.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Yes, sir.” Tremaine bent to his work.

“I would caution against overcommitting to this attack, Captain,” Ek said.

He nodded. “I hear you, but we need to win the orbital battle before Norberg lets the Progenitors push her force to us.”

“Captain Norberg just lost another ship, sir,” Winterton said. “A corvette. They still haven’t managed to destroy any Progenitor ships.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher said, and the news made him feel even more resolved to follow through with his planned strike. Frowning at the tactical display, he zoomed it in on the region of space where Norberg and the Progenitors battled. An unending Ravager assault flooded across the battlespace, and it was everything the IGF ships could do it keep them from penetrating their hulls, with point defense systems supplemented by lasers. They were devoting Banshees to defense as well, he saw.

Maybe it was a mistake to take all three Air Groups with me. He refocused on his own battlespace. As soon we complete this attack, I’ll redirect some fighters to Norberg.

Hydras and Gorgons crossed the void between the Vesta and the enemy ships, with over a thousand Pythons closing in behind. Husher found himself gripping his armrests. This could turn the tide. There’s no way this doesn’t do major damage. He expected to take down at least two or three ships, here, but he didn’t consider it impossible that he’d destroy them all.

“The enemy ships are accelerating, Captain. I believe—I believe they’re fleeing. But they won’t be able to outstrip our missiles in time.”

Holding his breath, Husher watched to see whether his gambit would pay off. The Progenitors weren’t even bothering to try shooting down the approaching missiles. They know there’s too many. Instead, they continued to flee…

…straight toward the remaining two IGF ships.

The six enemy ships belched a tide of Ravagers at the cruiser and corvette. The defenders did all they could to defend themselves, reversing thrust, engaging point defense systems, and using missiles to shoot down the approaching Ravagers.

It didn’t matter. Hundreds of Ravagers lighted on their hulls, burrowing through and infesting them.

Seconds later, both ships became balls of flame.

Husher’s vision blurred, and he fought to steady his breathing. They’re about to pay the price for that.

But just as the Gorgons and Hydras closed with the nearest Progenitor ship, it vanished. So did the next-closest ship, and the next. Within seconds, all six warships had disappeared, and sixty-eight incredibly expensive missiles sailed harmlessly past, with nothing to connect with but the expanding cloud of shrapnel that had once been two IGF vessels.

A brittle silence descended over the CIC—which was soon broken, as it so often was, by Winterton:

“The six enemy ships have reappeared in a roughly spherical formation, sir. They’re surrounding us.”

Chapter 55

That’s New

All around Jake, the MIMAS mechs’ parachutes disengaged, whipping away into the air and leaving the pilots to descend the rest of the way using aerospike thrusters.

The alien mech Jake piloted needed no such assistance. He fired an energy blast behind him, to even out the angle of his trajectory. When he landed, the mech’s legs accordioned flawlessly to absorb the impact, and he curled into a ball, rolling over and over with the momentum. Spikes sprouted from his body to slow his progress, and in seconds, he was back on his feet, skidding the rest of the way.

He turned to monitor the rest of his team’s descent, and to cover them if need be. They’d yet to come under any fire from the ground, but he knew that could change in a heartbeat. Jake kept a close eye on Marco’s MIMAS—Vesta engineers had patched it up as best they could, with their limited knowledge of the mechs. Marco had been present for the repairs, which had no doubt helped, but still…Jake would try to look out for Marco if he could.

Rug careened from the sky, crashing to the ground beside Jake and causing it to rumble. She too became a ball, tumbling forward and quickly arresting her momentum.

“How’s your mental state?’ he asked her, before the others could reach them.

“The machine whispers to me still, Jake Price,” the Quatro told him in her deep, resonant tones. “It speaks to me of the power we could bring to bear on our enemies, if only we joined as one.”

“You’re still able to resist?”

Rug paused. “So far.”

The others landed, then. All around them, shuttles filled with marines were touching down on the grassy plain as well. They were a few miles out from the valley that held Crete, the city the Progenitor mechs had just begun attacking. The enemy had already laid waste to Larissa, the capital, but Crete had an even greater population.

This is a beautiful world, Jake reflected, casting his gaze toward the horizon, drinking in a lush oasis surrounded by a vast expanse of sand. Of course, most worlds looked beautiful after months spent on a spaceship. Still, it made him miss Eresos, back in the Steele System.

He eyed the black-and-brown scars that he and Rug had inflicted on the earth with their arrival. The mech dream painted the sky with the dark gray of regret. Then he remembered that the Progenitors would do much worse to this colony, if he let them.

The airlock of the nearest shuttle opened, and Major Gamble was the first to emerge, immediately jogging toward the group of mechs.

“You guys all made the descent all right?” Gamble said as he neared.

“Piece of cake, Major,” Andy said, though he sounded shaken to Jake’s ears. Andy hadn’t performed very many orbital insertions, and they weren’t for the faint of heart.

“Glad to hear it,” the major said, turning to Price. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that you’ll be our forward assault force. This is that shock and awe we were talking about.”

“Yes, Major,” Price said.

“We aren’t leaving these shuttles here. We only landed here so we could regroup with you and get our bearings. These are direct action craft. A few of them are designed to act as gunships, and the rest we’ll use to place marines wherever we need them—to execute flanking maneuvers, take down valuable positions, you name it. And with their fold-out bulletproof barriers, the shuttles will also act as cover when we have none. But you won’t be needing any cover, I’m guessing.”

“Not really our style,” Price said, his voice emanating from amplifiers on the alien mech’s shoulders.

“I didn’t think so. Like I said before, Price, I’ll leave specific tactics up to you. All I ask is that you go in guns blazing while we rally around you. If anything changes, I’ll be in touch.”

With that, Gamble jogged back toward the shuttle. He didn’t reenter it, though, and marines continued to pour out of every transport. Once they’d all deployed, the shuttles lifted off, hovering twenty meters or so off the ground while Gamble organized his marines into a sprawling formation that centered on Oneiri.

“Advance,” came Gamble’s command over a wide channel.

“You heard the major,” Jake said, and Oneiri fell into the semi-circular formation they’d discussed, with Jake and Rug at the apex and the six MIMAS mechs spread out to either side. This way, they’d have a good angle on any enemy forces they came across, without getting in each other’s way.

It didn’t take long for the enemy to emerge. Soon after the marine force poured through the pass and into the valley that held Crete, Ravagers began to emerge from between the buildings—first by the handful, then by the dozens. Eventually, a steady stream of the squat, bipedal robots was surging out of the city, followed by the appearance of at least a dozen Amblers. The great robots stalked forward on long limbs, towering over their counterparts. Together, the great mass of robots spread out in a wide arc, preparing to charge.

None of this came as a surprise to Jake. The mechs would have known in advance that the marines were coming, and it made sense to engage them out here, where they could try to push them back against the mountains. The pass was too narrow for a quick retreat, and if the Progenitors gained the upper hand, they could quickly turn this into a rout.

“At least we don’t have to deal with any Gatherers,” Ash said over the team-wide.

Gatherers had been Eresos’ resource-gathering robots, and even though they’d served the humans living there for decades, it had turned out they belonged to the Progenitors. They’d become weapons of war themselves, in the end, and in the final battle for Eresos, which had ended with the fall of Ingress, the Gatherers had proved just as deadly as their larger fellows.

Without ceremony, the Amblers and Ravagers facing the Vesta’s marine battalion broke into a run, a vast tide of metal rushing across the plain.

“Rockets,” Jake said once the enemy mechs came into viable range. At once, sixteen missiles left their tubes, hissing across the battlefield, only to be followed by sixteen more.

All along the Progenitor ranks, explosions ripped up the terrain, sending grass and dirt and metal limbs sky-high. Then the second wave hit, causing even more damage.

An Ambler was knocked back, though Jake couldn’t tell whether it was out for the count or simply off-balance. The other Amblers slowed their advance, no doubt to steady their aim. Sure enough, seconds later, answering rockets sailed across the battlefield.

“Oneiri, disperse!” Jake yelled over the team-wide. “Evasive action.”

For his part, he used the advanced telemetry readings available to him inside the alien mech to line up his own shot. As he aligned his arm with one of the rockets, that arm became an energy cannon, which he fired. A blast of blue-white energy shot forth, connecting with the missile and detonating it well before it found its target. He managed to take out another rocket—and then a third, one that had been heading straight for him. The remaining rockets struck home, some hitting empty terrain. But several landed at marine locations, and screams of agony filled the air.

That was one of the advantages the Progenitor mechs had. They never screamed.

Five combat shuttles soared forward, pelting Ambler and Ravager alike with high-velocity rounds. By now, Gamble’s people had set up several heavy machine guns on tripods, and they came into play, too. Next, rockets of their own crossed the battlefield, slamming into the oncoming mechs.

Just like that, the plain was filled with smoke and fire and death. This was war, and it was all Jake knew, these days.

He waded into it.

Ravagers surged forward to meet him, engulfing him, trying to bring him down while tearing at his scaled metal hide. His arms became broadswords, and he whirled, slicing through bot after bot. When it became too much, with bots ripping at his head and shoulders and back, Jake exploded. Shrapnel burst from all over his body, cutting the Ravagers to shreds, and when he was finished, the pieces that had burst from him came cartwheeling back like iron filings to a magnet.

Two Amblers took notice of the display, stepping toward him across the battlefield, heedless of the smaller robots they crushed underfoot.

Jake didn’t wait for them to make the first move. Instead, his broadswords became energy cannons, and he fired at one of the Amblers as he charged toward it.

The mech answered with armor-piercing rounds, but Jake leapt to the left, rolling with the momentum and coming up again to continue his attack. The maneuver had apparently thrown the second Ambler off as well, since no rounds hit him from that direction.

His target resumed fire, and a few of the rounds connected with Jake center-mass, but by then he was already upon the Ambler. In a flash, cannons reverted to broadswords, which he plunged into the enemy mech’s torso, once, twice. Thrusters sprouting from his calves, he rocketed upward, taking the Ambler with him before releasing it. The thing slid from his blades to land on the battlefield, supine and motionless.

The other Ambler actually seemed to falter, as it appeared to reevaluate the power differential involved. That’s new, Jake reflected as he landed on top of his fallen foe, morphing energy cannons once again to begin pelting the Ambler left standing.

Something collided with Jake from behind, sending him sprawling forward toward the Ambler, who immediately began hitting him with more armor-piercing rounds.

Jake focused on recovering, bounding to his feet and using his momentum to drive newly formed broadswords through the Ambler. The mech tipped back, and Jake went with it, coming down on the other side and twisting around to use it as a shield against whatever had hit him.

His attacker crashed into the makeshift barrier, sending both it and Jake sliding backward, sending streams of sand into the air.

His assailant was a mech that was almost identical to Jake’s—its greater size being the main difference.

Roach.

Chapter 56

Fading Light

At last, Spire reappeared in her native dimension—on time, unlike her last voyage through the universes.

“What do you have for me, Yvan,” Fesky squawked, trying not to glare at her sensor operator. Interdimensional travel was a great thing, but entering combat with zero intel on the current situation sent her stress levels skyrocketing.

Yvan went rigid at his console, then started shuffling things around rapidly.

“What?” Fesky said. “What is it?”

“The Vesta’s alone, and completely surrounded, ma’am,” the Winger said, his feathers standing at attention. “Six Progenitor ships are all around her in a sphere, hammering her with Ravagers.”

Fesky clacked her beak softly. The sensor operator’s news did nothing good for her anxiety.

“She does have the three Air Groups with her,” Yvan added.

“Well, I’d call that pretty relevant information,” Fesky said, her voice drenched in sarcasm. “Thanks for deciding to share it with me.”

Yvan looked up at her, blinking. “Yes, ma’am.”

Shaking her head, Fesky said, “We need to focus on the Progenitors we can actually affect. What’s their posture?”

“There are still nine warships operational in the enemy battle group facing Captain Norberg. The captain is down to nine ships as well.” Yvan’s gaze flitted back to his console. “Uh, Captain, I think the Progenitors have spotted us. Two of the nearest destroyers are turning to engage.”

If you hadn’t wasted my time worrying me about something we can’t affect… Fesky was beginning to think that maybe she’d made the wrong choice for her sensor operator.

“Tactical, fire the preplanned missile barrages.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Lambert said, sounding relieved to be doing something.

The sensor operator, probably sensing Fesky’s displeasure, looked abashed. Nonetheless, he turned toward her again and spoke in almost a whisper: “Ma’am, Ravagers are already headed for us.”

Cursing under her breath, Fesky glanced to her right. “Helm, full reverse thrust, now. We need time to fire all the missiles.”

“On it, Captain.” And she was—immediately, the Spire leapt backward, away from the oncoming robots.

“Be ready to transition back out of the universe on my mark, Nav. Tactical?”

“The last barrage is being loaded in the tubes now, ma’am.”

“Okay. Good.” Fesky watched the tactical display, focused on the stream of tiny blips representing the incoming Ravagers. Everything had happened so fast. The Ravagers were almost here—she wasn’t sure Tactical would finish launching all the missiles in time.

“Engage point defense turrets, Lambert.” The Spire had no lasers, so she had nothing to supplement their defense with.

The lead Ravagers neared her ship and were mowed down. That wouldn’t last, though. There were too many.

“The last missiles are away!” Lambert shouted.

“Nav, get us out of here!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Devar said, fingers flying over her console.

Fesky’s eyes were glued to the visual feed, which showed the tiny gleaming dots that would become full-size Ravagers in a matter of seconds. Something connected with their hull—and then the universe disappeared, replaced by another, and then another. Universes flashed by in quick succession. They were underway.

But it wasn’t over. Head bowed, her sensor operator spoke again without even looking at her. “One of the Ravagers made it through the hull, Captain.”

Now, Fesky did glare at him. No time for that. I have to do something. “Where did it burrow through?”

“Near the missile loading bay.”

“Okay. Coms, have Damage Control personnel seal off the section where the breach is, and alert the missile loading crew about the intruder.” Fesky stood up from the command seat and rushed to the rear of the CIC, where she slapped a panel to open a compact weapons locker; a broad drawer that ejected and slid across the deck. As per regulation, every crewmember carried a sidearm, but they needed something with a little more punch to deal with the Ravager as quickly as they needed to—before it destroyed something vital, potentially stranding them in another universe with no means of returning to their own. Inside the drawer were two loaded R-57 assault rifles, nestled beside several extra magazines.

“Come here, Lambert.” Fesky removed one of the guns, checked the action, then handed the other to her Tactical officer as he neared her. He checked his gun, too, then nodded.

“Let’s go.” She opened the CIC hatch, which let onto a three-way intersection—four, if you counted the entrance to the CIC. Down the corridor to the right waited the lift that would take them to the missile loading bay below.

Checking the other two corridors, Fesky nodded at Lambert, then jogged toward the elevator, assault rifle held at the ready.

The screech of rending metal reached her ears from behind, and she turned to find Lambert with his arms raised to protect his face from a shower of sparks. Then the Ravager was through, knocking Lambert to the ground and driving its tiny metal claws into his face again and again. With each blow, the claws became redder and redder.

Fesky opened fire on the robot, knocking it off Lambert. It scrambled against the deck for purchase, but she emptied the magazine into its torso, and that was enough to put it down for good.

She knelt beside Lambert. One eye blinked up at her through a mask of torn flesh—the other had been torn out completely. The tactical officer looked as though he was about to say something, but then the light faded from his remaining eye, and his body grew still.

Fesky stood, shaking as she made her way back toward the CIC. When she opened the hatch and stepped through, she found her officers staring at her expectantly.

“It killed Lambert,” she said. “I managed to kill it before it got me.”

“Who’ll control the Tactical station?” the Nav officer asked.

Fesky lowered herself into the seat where Lambert had sat so recently. “I will.” Before she’d taken command of the Spire, she made a point to give herself a rudimentary education in every station’s operation. Tactical was one of the roles she was most comfortable taking over, thanks to her decades as a starfighter pilot. “Until a new Tactical officer can be appointed, I’ll command Spire from this station while performing Lambert’s duties. It’s far from ideal, but it’s the best we can do right now.”

Casting her gaze around the CIC to see whether she met with any objections, she found that she did not. Her crew didn’t appear at ease with the situation, exactly, but they obviously understood there was no other option.

As Spire continued to flit through the multiverse, Fesky brought her talons to the console’s surface and began to work. She needed to prepare for their next appearance in the Milky Way.

Chapter 57

Back Down to Size

“Commander Fesky’s ship just vanished again, sir,” Winterton said. “Though I believe a Ravager may have pierced her hull.”

“She’ll make it,” Husher said through gritted teeth. Right now, he couldn’t afford to accept that any other outcome was possible. They needed to focus on the six ships surrounding them, as well as the unending flood of Ravagers they were spewing at the Vesta.

I should have listened to Ek’s warning. But it was far too late, now. The fact that the Progenitors had managed to reappear in such a formation showed their mastery of interdimensional travel. They’d clearly been refining the technology for a long time, whereas Husher and Ochrim were still fumbling in the dark.

“Ek, was this why you cautioned me against overcommitting?” he said, turning toward his XO and gesturing toward his console.

“It was,” the Fin said.

He drew a breath, fighting to prevent his mounting frustration from making him snap at her. “Next time you have a recommendation, I’d like your reasoning for it, too. Especially when you think my plan underemphasizes something important.”

“I will, Captain Husher.”

He returned his gaze to the tactical display, where hundreds of Pythons were working together with the Vesta’s point defense systems to defend her. Given that the three supercarrier Air Groups had never trained together, Husher was amazed at how well they were coordinating. The crucible of battle had quickly transformed them into a single, deadly weapon, and they took down Ravagers by the hundreds.

It wasn’t enough, With each passing moment, the Ravager front crept closer, and more starfighters went down. The bots had clearly been programmed to reprioritize Pythons as targets the moment the opportunity presented itself, and despite the pilots’ exquisite performance, the battlespace was simply too clogged with the robot-missiles to avoid steady losses.

Husher spared another glance at the tactical display, to check whether Fesky’s efforts had paid off. Her Progenitor targets had succeeded in neutralizing all the missiles sent at them—the first wave, anyway. The ones that were visible.

The second wave consisted of a massive barrage of Gorgons, and while the enemy destroyers managed to take out some of them, they obviously hadn’t anticipated the sheer number of stealth missiles. Both hulls blossomed with flames that rapidly engulfed them.

Buoyed by his friend’s success, he turned to Chief Noni. “Nav, we need to break out of this death trap, and the only way we’re going to do that is by taking some Ravagers on the nose. It’s not what I’d call a desirable outcome, but it’s necessary, and the longer we wait to do it the more starfighters we’ll lose. So point us at this destroyer.” Husher indicated the one he meant via Oculens. “Helm, the instant we’re properly aimed, I want engines fired up to all ahead full.”

“Aye, Captain,” both officers said.

“Coms, tell Commander Ayam to keep his squadron with the other Pythons inside the sphere for now, standing by to engage whatever warship looks like it’s going to pose the biggest threat. I also need a marine platoon stationed near our prow, to deal with the Ravager onslaught we know is coming.”

“Aye.”

“Tremaine…do we have enough charge to fire our primary?”

Husher held his breath while the Tactical officer checked the reading on his console. He wasn’t sure this would work without the laser.

“Yes, sir. We’re at sixty-five percent charge—more than enough to discharge the primary.”

“Ready it for firing on my mark.”

With that, everything started happening at once. Noni reoriented the ship toward their target, and Chief Vy brought the supercarrier’s mighty engines to full power. They sprang toward the enemy destroyer.

“The prow is already getting perforated with Ravagers, sir,” Winterton said. “The marines are going to have their hands full.”

“Is it enough to justify diverting another platoon?” Husher asked the sensor operator.

“I would recommend it.”

“Do it, Fry.”

“Aye, sir,” the Coms officer answered.

Winterton spoke again. “Sir, the carriers on our port and starboard sides are moving. Looks like they’ll try to intercept.”

“Acknowledged. Tremaine, hit the one off our port with a full broadside of Banshees. Coms, tell Commander Ayam to target the other carrier.”

On visual, the destroyer ahead grew in size. It continued to spit Ravagers at the Vesta, and while most were mowed down by Pythons or turrets, more made it through. Husher felt a vein pulse on his forehead, and he forced himself to take a breath.

“Banshees away, sir,” Tremaine said.

Winterton spoke up: “Commander Ayam is engaging his target already. If I can offer a tactical projection, I think our efforts should more than occupy both carriers.”

“Very good,” Husher said. “Tremaine, fire the primary laser.”

“Firing primary, sir.”

The great beam speared across space, striking the destroyer on its nose and causing it to warp. It began to maneuver out of the way, but before it could, its prow ruptured, prompting a chain reaction that consumed its whole hull.

The carrier they’d targeted with their broadside was managing to mop up the missiles, but moments after the destroyer’s destruction, Ayam succeeded in neutralizing his carrier.

Husher could sense his crew’s mood spiking, but before it could manifest in cheering, Winterton cut it back down to size: “One of our destroyers just went down. And Captain Norberg lost two of her own battle group ships.”

Two of theirs, three of ours. Jaw clenched, Husher said, “Coms, order all Pythons to withdraw from the Progenitor formation and then form up around the Vesta.”

“Aye, sir.”

Chapter 58

Hail of Bullets

Gabriel Roach was stronger than ever before—even since merging with the alien mech. It was everything Jake could do to dodge or fend off his attacks, and so far he’d barely been able to launch any attacks of his own.

Energy blasts ripped up the ground near his feet, and then one connected, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. He scrambled to regain his footing, then sprinted toward a nearby warehouse for some cover.

Roach had him on the run.

Just before Oneiri had left the Steele System, Roach had begged Jake to take him with them. He’d promised that he’d changed, that he’d learned to control the alien mech.

Jake had flatly refused. After Roach had killed Richaud, there was no way they could trust him again.

Either way, Roach had clearly shed his desire to rejoin Oneiri. He’d joined the Progenitors instead, who’d made him even more monstrous than before.

And more powerful.

Jake rounded the corner of the warehouse, but Roach simply crashed through the corner an instant later, obliterating it and knocking Jake to the ground, pinning him. A large metal fist crashed down into Jake’s face—his mech’s face, technically, but the mech dream made it feel like his. Sparks and shrapnel flew, and the pain made Jake bellow, his desire to kill Roach intensifying.

Roach raised his fist again, then paused. Absurdly, he began to chuckle. “If only you knew what I know, Price,” he said, his voice barely recognizable. “They showed me the truth, and it’s…” Roach shook his head, laughing some more. “Your new captain’s in for a shock.”

Jake twisted hard to the right, his left hand becoming a blade darting toward Roach’s face. An arm raised to block it, but Roach recoiled at the same time, giving Jake the purchase he needed to shove him off and slip out from beneath him.

He ran.

“You should never have turned against Darkstream, Price!” Roach yelled, following up his words with an energy blast that sizzled past Jake’s shoulder.

He’s insane, Jake thought as he entered an alleyway just large enough for his mech. Darkstream is gone.

Forming energy cannons of his own, he turned once he made it halfway down the alley, ready to confront Roach. But he didn’t appear. Instead, something crashed into one of the upper stories of the building on his right, just out of sight. Suddenly, Roach was hurtling at him from above, arms converted into javelins.

Jake ran backward, blasting Roach in midair, then ducked into another alley that opened on his left—its location sheer dumb luck. He spun around just as his assailant was crashing to the cracked asphalt. Roach turned to level his javelins at Jake once more.

Glancing back, he saw that this alley terminated in a dead end.

Jake’s eyes lifted to the strip of sky above. I can rocket out, if it comes to that. Roach would try to intercept him, but it might be his only avenue of escape.

“Hey,” someone called from the street they’d just left, and Roach turned toward the sound. “This is for Richaud!”

High-velocity rounds began to pepper Roach’s mech, opening small craters in the scaled metal and forcing him to fall back a step. Then he rallied, charging into the hail of bullets.

Jake dashed to the intersection of alleys, rounding the corner just in time to see Roach impale Marco Gonzalez with one of the javelins meant for Jake.

Turning, Roach hefted the MIMAS, which flailed ineffectually. Marco’s still alive, Jake thought, feeling more horrified than hopeful. Mostly, he felt numb, and through that numbness he again marveled at Roach’s strength. Jake doubted his mech could hold a MIMAS aloft with such ease.

He charged at Roach, and everything seemed to slow. The hulking mech’s other hand became an energy cannon, and he placed the barrel against the MIMAS’ chest.

He fired, blowing a jagged hole clean through the machine.

Jake crashed into Roach, using thrusters to supplement his momentum. The MIMAS slid from Roach’s weapon as they hurtled across the street and through a concrete wall.

They continued into a parking garage, connecting with a metal pillar that bent but didn’t break. Roach worked the energy cannon’s barrel between them so that it lay against Jake’s stomach, and he twisted away, barely avoiding the blast. The cannon became a fist, and Roach stepped forward, twisting into the blow and sending Jake staggering backward.

He found his footing, but he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder toward Marco’s MIMAS. He glimpsed it on the street outside, laying there, motionless.

Turning back, he barely managed to deflect the javelin Roach drove toward his head.

Chapter 59

With a Whimper

Major Gamble had left Sergeant Jeremy Peterson in command of the six marine platoons still on the Vesta, so that’s who Husher contacted to check on their status, praying the man was still alive.

“Peterson here, Captain.” Gunfire sounded in the background, and the sergeant seemed out of breath.

“Do you have the Ravager situation under control, Sergeant?”

“Working on it, sir. A lot of them made it through, and I’ve lost some good people to them. Hard to react in time when one of those things comes out of the bulkhead on top of you. But I have marines guarding all the vital systems, and we’ve fortified every exit from this area of the ship. We have the threat contained, Captain.”

“I want it neutralized, Sergeant. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it happen.” Husher closed the channel. Peterson was a good soldier, but Husher needed those robots purged from his ship ten minutes ago. More were on the way.

“Captain Norberg just lost another ship, sir,” Winterton said. “She’s down to five now, including the Eos.”

“Acknowledged,” Husher said, terser than he’d meant to. If we can manage to deal with the four remaining ships confronting the Vesta, and bring the Air Group to Norberg…

He realized it was past time to send Norberg some Pythons for backup. The Progenitors appearing around his ship in a sphere had delayed it, but he didn’t need to wait any longer to send the other capital starship captain some help.

He opened his mouth to give the order to Coms, but Winterton spoke before he could. “Four more Progenitor ships just appeared off our port side, Captain.”

“Damn it!” Husher snapped, and a couple of his officers jumped. That may have been the first time he’d ever cursed inside his CIC since taking command of the ship.

He immediately regretted it—his anger did nothing to help win this engagement, as Winterton’s next words proved: “We’re getting superheating near the bow. The lead destroyer is hitting us with its particle beam, and—”

A colossal explosion rocked the supercarrier, sending Husher hard against the command seat’s right armrest.

“Tactical, answer with a Hydra broadside!” he shouted over the tumult, and Tremaine must have heard him, since he gripped his console and struggled to input the necessary commands in spite of the tremors. “Helm, full reverse thrust! Get us away from those ships.”

At last, the rumbling subsided, and Husher turned to Winterton, who looked thoroughly shaken. “What was that?”

“One of our main capacitor banks, Captain. That one is always the last to discharge, and the particle beam hit it dead-on.”

“But the shock-absorbent frames are supposed to prevent a catastrophic release of energy.”

“Yes, sir. I know. If I were to speculate, I would say someone may have sabotaged the structure meant to cushion the capacitor. With all the failsafes that are installed, I simply can’t see this happening naturally.”

“What’s the damage?” On the tactical display, the renewed Progenitor battle group was giving chase as the Vesta sped backward, and Pythons were struggling to protect her from the Ravagers being dumped across the battlespace. Husher needed to do something, but first, he had to know what they’d done to his ship.

“Damage is extensive, sir. Every deck is at least partially exposed to space, top to bottom, and the damage runs from sections four to twenty-seven. A third of our port-side missile tubes have been disabled, and about as many of our point defense turrets. Initial reports give a death toll in the hundreds.”

Husher wanted to put his face in his hands. Instead, he turned to his Coms officer. “Tell damage control to bring second and third watches on duty and start sealing off those sections. Then I need you to put someone on sorting through the personnel lost, to see which other departments need to call on extra crew, and how many.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Spire just appeared on the far side of the eight approaching enemy ships,” Winterton said. “She’s already launched another missile barrage.”

“Very good, Ensign,” Husher said. There’s some positive news, at least.

“Captain,” Fry said, and her strange tone made Husher study her face. “We’re getting an encrypted data stream originating from the hull of one of the newly arrived Progenitor carriers.”

Husher’s eyes widened. “The tracker,” he whispered. Then, louder: “That’s one of the ships we tagged with a tracker. It has to be. Forward all the data to Ochrim, Ensign, and tell him to contact me the moment he’s run his analysis.”

“I will, sir.”

“Tremaine, prepare a salvo of kinetic impactors that cuts across the bows of the enemy ships, and share the firing solution with Commander Ayam once you have it.” We need to help keep them at bay.

“Yes, Captain.”

As he waited for Ochrim to get in touch, Husher studied the tactical display—Norberg’s five ships, facing off with seven Progenitor ships, and he and the Pythons confronting seven more.

The enemy was too well-provisioned. Too powerful. For the first time in his career, he forced himself to accept that defeat was likely inevitable.

His Oculenses alerted him to an incoming call from Ochrim, and he accepted.

The Ixan didn’t bother with formalities. “I’ve decrypted the data, and I can say with very high certainty that the carrier we tagged has been home. At least, it entered a universe where it encountered a very large number of Progenitor ships. That has to be their home dimension.”

“And you were able to glean the route from the data?”

“Yes.”

“Send it to Ensign Fry.” Husher terminated the call and turned once again to his Coms officer. “Ochrim is about to send you a data packet, which I want you to forward to the Spire. For now, get me Commander Fesky.”

Moments later, his old friend appeared on the main display. “Captain. I was just about to transition out again.”

“I’m altering your mission, Commander. You’ll no longer be participating in this engagement.”

Fesky’s head tilted to the right. “Why not?”

He drew a deep breath. “Because I’m no longer confident that victory is possible. In a moment, Ensign Fry will send you an interdimensional route that leads to the Progenitor homeworld. I need you to follow it there. Collect all the intel you can—on their defenses, their fleet, and anything else you deem important. I don’t know how long you’ll have before they spot you, so you’ll need to be quick. The moment you’re threatened, transition back to this universe and report to Admiral Iver. Give him everything you’ve collected, along with the tech for interdimensional travel. Hitting the Progenitors in their home is our only hope for winning this war, Fesky. Everything rides on this.”

The Winger clacked her beak softly. “I understand, Captain.”

“Good. Now go.” Husher terminated the transmission. He had neither the time nor the emotional fortitude to bid his friend the final goodbye he knew the situation called for.

“Prep a mixed barrage of Gorgons and Hydras, Tremaine,” Husher said. “If we’re going out today, we won’t be doing it with a whimper.”

Chapter 60

Metal Giants

A half hour or so after Price fled into the city, hunted by the larger alien mech, Gamble’s marine battalion finished breaking the Ambler and Ravager ranks.

The combined power of the gunships, the remaining mechs, and the marines’ heavy artillery had gotten the job done, in the end. At some point, the mechs must have smelled their own defeat, and they beat an uneven retreat into the city.

Gamble hadn’t hesitated to order his battalion to move in after them. The city was far from lost—there were still plenty of civilians holed up inside their homes, in underground shelters, in grocery stores, in shopping centers. He was going to save those people, or he was going to die trying. He couldn’t see any other option.

Around twenty minutes ago, he’d gotten separated from his squad, and now he roamed alone with his Rk-9 sniper rifle, finding temporary hides wherever he could and picking off Ravagers. The Amblers, he left alone—the sniper rounds wouldn’t do much to them, other than draw the giant mechs to Gamble’s location.

He did alert Oneiri to Ambler locations, and he alerted the gunships too if he thought they could get a good shot. Before entering the city, Gamble had taken all ten of the microdrones he carried with him and tossed them into the sky. Now, they gave him a bird’s eye view of the battle, which he used to give orders over a battalion-wide channel. He was a one-man roving command post, and the Ravagers he took down were an added bonus.

The latest hide—the third story of an apartment building overlooking an empty intersection—netted him three of the metal devils, but when five minutes passed without him spotting any more, he decided to pack up and move to a more forward location.

He left the apartment, which he’d found empty with the door hanging open and a trail of clothes strewn through the hall and into one of the bedrooms. He made his way down the stairs, to the ground floor.

Outside, he hugged the building until he reached the intersection, checking in every direction before crossing.

The skittering of metal feet reached his ears, and he whirled to his left. A pack of Ravagers was pouring out of a side alley and sprinting down the road toward him. Damn. He’d been careless, and now he would pay the price.

Drawing his sidearm, he took aim at the lead Ravager, steadying his aim with his left hand. Five shots took down the lead bot, and he emptied the rest of the clip into the next. It didn’t go down. Gamble fished out another clip, released the first to tumble to the pavement, and slammed in the fresh one before proceeding to finish off his target. He wouldn’t get them all before they made it to him. Not nearly. There were at least thirty of them left. But he would get some.

Automatic gunfire hit the Ravagers from the right, coming out of an alley closer to Gamble than the one the robots emerged from. As one, the Ravagers turned to face their attackers, only for their entire front rank to get mowed down. The remaining robots charged toward the alley, but none of them reached it. Metal corpses littered the street.

Lance Corporal Jenkins stepped out of the alleyway, checking down the street both ways, his R-57 held at the ready. When his gaze fell on Gamble, a grin split his face ear to ear. “Major! Boys, it’s the major!”

The rest of Teal Squad rushed out of the alley, jogging until they stood in front of Gamble. As one, they saluted crisply.

“We’d been tracking that pack of Ravagers for a while, looking to set a trap for them. Good thing we sprang it before they got to you, Major!”

“You boys have been hitting the sims,” Gamble said, sounding as impressed as he felt.

Jenkins nodded, blushing a little.

“I do believe I owe you all a beer,” Gamble said. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got a city to take back.”

The squad fell in around him, and Gamble could tell they were determined to protect him, without having to be asked. He supposed that was basically their job, but even so, the gesture warmed his heart, almost as much as Teal Squad’s dramatic improvement did.

Gamble followed Teal—more specifically, he followed Corporal Jenkins as he led the way through the tangle of alleys they’d navigated while stalking the Ravager pack. Jenkins said the bots they’d just taken down had broken away from a larger group, back where most of the action was happening. Now, Gamble had to wonder whether the Ravagers had somehow gotten word of him moving from building to building, sniping their fellows. He didn’t raise the prospect to the marines around him, but he considered it a real possibility, and an unsettling one too.

He glanced at the feed from one of his overhead microdrones and saw that they were approaching one of the city’s circular central plazas. When he ordered the drone to telescope in, he saw that two metal giants were doing battle in that same plaza, and he raised his palm to signal a stop to the marines. They halted almost immediately, even Jenkins, who hadn’t seen the gesture but must have noticed the absence of their footfalls. The lance corporal in particular continued to impress Gamble.

“Slow up, marines,” Gamble said. “Price is up ahead, fighting that alien mech that’s even bigger than he is. Looks like there’s an alley ahead to the left, which also lets out onto the plaza. It leads to a main street on the other end, too, so if we’re stealthy and quick, we can maybe execute a three-way flank on that thing. See if we can help Price even the odds.”

“Oorah,” the marines said, their voices barely above a whisper.

Chapter 61

Tattered

Jake’s alien mech had the ability to rapidly self-heal—but not as fast as Roach was tearing it apart. As with their last duel on Eresos, the man-mech hybrid had the ability to absorb any pieces he managed to cut from Jake, adding to his already considerable mass.

During that fight, Roach had cut off Jake’s arm, and he’d struggled to regenerate it during combat. This time, his adversary seemed intent on decapitating him.

Jake wasn’t sure why Roach had suddenly become so fixated on that outcome, as thin blades as hard as diamond sliced toward his neck again and again. Who knew why Roach did anything? There was no doubt he was crazy. There also wasn’t any doubt that if it was Jake’s head he wanted, eventually, he would get it.

He stumbled backward, doing everything he could to fend off Roach’s frenetic attacks. A fountain graced the plaza’s center, which reminded him of one he’d seen in Plenitos, one of Eresos’ major cities. Roach was forcing him back toward it, probably hoping it would mess with Jake’s footing once he reached it. And it likely would, since Jake couldn’t afford to take his eyes off Roach’s swinging blades.

But as always, Roach had a surprise for him. Instead of slicing, he thrust at Jake’s chest with one of his blades, and instead of stabbing the blade became a long-barreled energy cannon that shot a concentrated blue-white ball into Jake’s chest. The force threw him back, and Roach leapt forward, never falling more than a few feet behind.

Jake’s back connected with the lip of the fountain, and for the second time today, Roach landed on top of him. Both his forearms had become ultra-thin blades again. Roach spread them wide, lining them up with Jake’s head as though about to prune a hedge.

Gunfire sounded, and Jake could hear it ricocheting against Roach’s back. The great mech whirled around without hesitation, head whipping back and forth as he sought its source.

Jake should have taken advantage of Roach’s diverted attention, but the shooting had taken him by surprise, too. Disgusted with himself, he pushed off of the fountain, getting to his feet. Even inside the mech dream, Jake was exhausted, and he staggered again as he regained his balance. That’s no excuse. Get it together. You command Oneiri—act like it.

Roach raised newly formed tubes in two directions, and where Jake expected energy to emerge, rockets did instead. Given enough time, the alien mechs had the capacity to fabricate missiles from collected material, but Jake normally tried to conserve them, since they took time to make.

The gunfire was nothing more than a distraction to Roach, the bullets pinging off his metal scales like pellets from a boy’s first gun. But it seemed to enrage him all the same, enough that he followed the first pair of rockets with two more.

Explosions blossomed, in an alley mouth and at an intersection where a street met the plaza. Jake rushed at his adversary, forearms becoming broadswords and feet becoming thrusters to propel him forward.

Both blades sunk into Roach’s back to the hilt, prompting him to whirl around again. His strength was immense, and without feet to find purchase against the plaza’s cobble, Jake traveled with the turn. He quickly addressed that lack, but too late—Roach’s wounds were sealing rapidly, pushing the broadswords out of his back as they did. Wow. Apparently Roach’s healing ability had received a lot of attention from the Progenitors as well.

Before his swords could be ejected completely, Jake withdrew them, turning them into rocket tubes of his own, which he fired point-blank at Roach as he turned around.

The explosions engulfed the larger mech, and Jake was close enough that intense heat washed over him too, enough to make him want to scream. He held it in, and when the smoke around Roach cleared, he was rewarded: the mech had been laid open, with circuitry gleaming darkly inside the cavity exposed.

“Price,” a voice echoed inside the dream.

“Gamble,” he said.

“I’m nearby, leading the squad that just fired on Roach. We’ve got a couple men down after those rockets, but we’re still in this, and I just put out the call for a couple gunships to come back you up. A platoon of marines with heavy artillery, too, though they’ll take longer to get here.”

Roach was striding toward Jake again, his chest knitting itself back up as he did. Damn. I should have let loose on that wound when I had the chance. But his exhaustion from the long duel had rendered his brain barely functional, and he’d let Gamble distract him from the fight, even though he should have been able to handle both.

“I don’t know how long I can hang in, here, Major,” Jake said, slightly ashamed at how hoarse his voice came out.

“You don’t have any other choice, son,” Gamble said. “And that’s an order. Who else is gonna take that thing down? The gunships are on their way. Gamble out.”

“You can’t defeat me,” Roach said as he drew closer. “You know that. But why embrace death out of stubbornness?”

“What are you talking about?”

Roach raised his arms, which ended in hands, now. “Forget your ties to this world. Let go of those who would limit and bind you. That’s meaningless content. Let it go.”

“And do what?”

“Merge with me. Become the most powerful being this universe has ever known—the most powerful the multiverse has known. We can rise. Together.”

“I’ll never join the Progenitors.”

“We can turn on the Progenitors. They will be our first target. And then we can rule. Wisely, and fairly. As long as lesser beings pay tribute.”

Roach had almost reached him. With a titanic effort of will, Jake straightened, drawing his shoulders back and raising his head.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced of the training program Roach had subjected all the mech pilot candidates to. Except, he hadn’t subjected them to it equally—certainly not on the day he’d knocked Jake to the ground in front of all the other recruits.

All because I questioned Darkstream.

Darkstream was gone, but Roach wasn’t, and now, Jake let him stand for everything Darkstream had ever done. Why not? He was always their obedient creature.

“You’ll always serve the Progenitors,” Jake said. “You need a master, and now that Darkstream’s gone, you’ll serve them for as long as they’re willing to use you.”

Roach didn’t answer…but his forearms were morphing, thinning out to become blades again. That was all the answer Jake needed. Roach marched forward, bringing the blades together as he did and scraping them against each other, generating a shower of orange sparks.

A whine sounded overhead, and Jake glanced past Roach’s shoulder—the gunships. His mech wasn’t capable of smiling, but Jake still felt a measure of satisfaction, and the mech dream played a harmonic chord for him, to mark the sentiment.

“You don’t scare me, Roach,” he shouted.

“That’s irrelevant,” Roach said, advancing.

“Yeah. Well, it was a lie, anyway. You freak me right the hell out.”

Jake widened his stance, lifting his broadsword-arms in readiness. His adversary charged, thin blades whistling through the air.

An overhead slash was met with Jake’s rising blade, and with his other he batted away a cut aimed at his side.

Then the gunships started in, hammering Roach from behind with their turrets, causing him to stagger forward on top of Jake, who used the break in the attack to plunge his blades into Roach’s stomach.

He flashed back to Eresos, back to thrusting his blades into Ingress’ city walls. His anger then had birthed a massive release of energy that had brought those walls down. Now, it was his determination to end Roach that did it—the sudden certainty that what Gamble had said was true. If Jake fell, so would everything else.

A tiny sun was born deep inside Roach, and it exploded outward, blowing out his entire left side and leaving him a twitching, mangled mess on the cobble.

But Jake knew that even this would only put Roach down temporarily. Indeed, his tattered body was already curling in on itself, seeking itself. It had begun the process of piecing Roach back together.

Jake regrew hands and gathered Roach’s shredded form in his arms. Then, he rocketed upward. The plaza fell away, becoming a gray dot within seconds as Jake ascended rapidly through Thessaly’s atmosphere.

The color drained from the sky, soon replaced by the inky, star-studded blackness of space. Discordant chords produced by the mech dream told him of potential danger to his right, and when he accessed the visual sensors in that direction, he beheld the light show produced by Captain Husher and the Progenitors battling.

He didn’t move to join them. Instead, he veered left—toward the system’s center.

The journey took hours. Long enough for Roach to become something vaguely humanoid, though his torso would require a lot more work to stitch itself back together.

Even so, the half-formed alien mech began struggling weakly in Jake’s arms as he flew through space. Maybe it sensed what was coming.

Once he was near enough, Jake used his rockets to begin spinning. The frictionless arena of space allowed him to quickly begin rotating at high velocities, and the centripetal force taxed even the alien mech’s grip.

At last, he released Roach, and his aim was true. The larger mech sailed toward the sun. Jake turned his arms into energy cannons, sending Roach off with massive energy blasts that caught up with him and ensured he couldn’t repair himself in time to alter his course.

That done, Jake instructed the mech to telescope in, tracking Roach’s progress until he became a small, dark chip against the sun’s sea of fire.

When that chip disappeared, Jake knew it was over.

That was for Marco, he thought as he turned to rocket back toward Thessaly.

Chapter 62

Principled Stand

The massive barrage of specialized missiles that Husher had ordered succeeded in taking out two of the seven approaching ships. That was something, but it wasn’t enough.

“Captain Norberg has lost another destroyer, sir,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher said, his voice coming out almost robotic. He wasn’t taking the fact of his defeat gracefully.

Think of Captain Keyes’s sacrifice, he told himself. Your sacrifice has to be just as meaningful, just as effective.

But that was impossible. When Keyes had gone down, he’d taken an entire Ixan fleet with him, and he’d ended the war. Husher had no means of doing anything comparable. His death would be just one of many—and a precursor to the inferno that would soon consume the galaxy.

He just had to hope Fesky managed to make it to the Progenitors’ home and report back with intel the IGF could use.

The enemy ships were circling the Vesta, angling to hit her forward port side, where the capacitor’s explosion had taken out the point defense turrets. Husher had ordered the Helm to rotate the supercarrier, keeping it away from her attackers, but the Progenitors had simply split their ships.

Now, three ships were coming around the other way. Once they aligned themselves with the damaged area, they began to pour Ravagers toward the wound.

“Take us back, Helm,” Husher said, feeling exhausted. “Full reverse thrust.”

What remained of the three Python Air Groups descended on the incoming Ravagers.

“Use Banshees to try to staunch the bleeding, Tactical,” Husher said. “Take some of the pressure off our pilots.”

“Aye, Captain.”

It was a temporary measure, Husher knew.

“Captain Norberg is down to five ships, sir,” Winterton said. “She lost a corvette.”

“Acknowledged.”

“They just managed to take down a Progenitor carrier in kind. It seems as though—” Winterton broke off mid-sentence, his forehead creased as he stared at whatever his console showed him. “Sir, a wormhole just opened behind the Progenitor ships facing Norberg, and warships are pouring through.”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Who do they belong to?” As soon as he finished asking the question, he already knew the answer. IGF ships were no longer built with the capability to generate wormholes.

“They appear to be the Darkstream ships that fled Hellebore—that is, the old UHF ships, and the single Quatro vessel. They’re ripping into the Progenitors, sir. A destroyer just went down…and a carrier…and another destroyer!”

Husher watched in disbelief as the nine warships took the Progenitor force completely by surprise. They started in on another destroyer, pounding her hull with missiles—

—and without further ceremony, every Progenitor ship vanished from Larkspur.

Husher’s eyes were glued to the tactical display, body rigid, as he waited for them to return. Around him, all his officers seemed to be holding their breath.

The Progenitors didn’t return. It was over. Husher realized he’d been holding his breath as well, and he released it in a rush.

There was no celebrating inside the CIC. The cost of victory had been far too great. But they were alive.

“Coms,” he said, “send a transmission request to that battle group’s flagship. “I believe some thanks are owed.”

Soon, a middle-aged woman appeared on-screen. Her face had a gauntness to it, topped by short-cropped blond hair. But she was smiling.

“Captain Vanessa Harding, at your service,” she said. “I already know who you are, Captain Husher, so no introduction is required.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But a thank you is in order, I believe, Captain.”

Harding’s smile broadened.

“Your employer and I have not always, uh, seen eye to eye,” he went on. “I’m surprised you came to help me. Not to mention the fact that you used a means of travel that’s wildly illegal.”

Nodding, Harding said, “We don’t consider ourselves part of Darkstream any longer, Captain. We’ve gathered that their star has fallen, and probably rightly so. Many of us disagree with the things they did back in the Steele System, but there, they were the only game in town. For many, the choice was to work for them or starve.”

“And the wormhole?”

Harding shrugged. “We heard that you were facing down a Progenitor fleet here and decided to come to your aid. We actually did poke our heads in through the darkgate—that was just before our arrival through the wormhole, and sensor data showed us you weren’t likely to survive long enough for us to cross the system under conventional means. So we broke the law. It’s up to you how you want to handle that, Captain, but I understand that you’ve had your own woes with the IU, recently. It’s still unclear how they’re going to handle you.”

“Is that why you decided to help?”

“Well, we recognize your importance to the war effort, Captain Husher. Yours, your ship’s, and your crew’s. We recognize the value of keeping galactic society from being wiped out. But most of all, we know that you refused to hand over the Quatro on your ship to the Assembly of Elders. Our Quatro friends have told us about the horrors the Elders have committed. We were impressed by your principled stand, and we’ve decided to cast our lot with you.”

“I appreciate that. And I hope you won’t come to regret it.”

“Personally, I won’t. No matter what happens. And I believe the same goes for most of the beings in our tiny fleet.”

“There were dozens of civilian ships with you, weren’t there? Are they safe?”

Harding nodded. “They are. We’ll reveal their location once we’ve received assurances they’ll be taken care of.”

“Very good.” Price and Sato will be glad to know their families are well.

Chapter 63

Sidearm

“There are certain things I’ll stand for,” Husher said, looking around at those gathered inside the Cybele’s City Council chamber, “and certain things I won’t.”

Many groups were represented inside the chamber. Looking around, his eyes fell on Jake Price, Lisa Sato, and the rest of Oneiri Team. Captain Vanessa Harding was here, and Ek. President Chiba had sent high-ranking Union officials representing all four member species to meet with them—though notably, the president hadn’t come himself. The city council was here as well. And Maeve.

Husher had also invited Penelope Snyder and Toby Yung, who’d seated themselves on opposite ends of the council chamber.

“If we’re going to have a hope of surviving the onslaught that’s coming, we can’t have any more fighting between us. That’s what the Progenitors want—indeed, I believe they’ve tried to actively encourage it. We’ve allowed the fires of ideology to be stoked so high they nearly consumed us, and if we don’t get our act together, they still might.”

His eyes fell on Yung, then on Snyder. “Our society has fragmented into two polarized camps—the far left and the far right. Each side sees themselves as the righteous saviors of the galaxy, but you’re both wrong. You’re its executioners.”

Husher let that sink in before continuing. “The fact is, we need each other. All of us. Liberals need conservatives, and vice versa. For a balanced society, we need both. If we didn’t, the various species never would have evolved to have both. Liberals are for finding worthy new things to adopt, and conservatives are for deciding what about our society is worth keeping, and defending. We need each other—we all need each other. Humans need Quatro. Quatro need Kaithe. Kaithe need Wingers, and Wingers need Tumbra. If we allow ourselves to fragment and fight each other, then we’re lost. To lose sight of that is to play right into the enemy’s hands, and the enemy will happily consume us for it.”

His eyes fell on the officials sent by the president. “The IU doesn’t get to slide into tyranny. You don’t get to violate the principles of a democratic society just to impose your own misguided vision on the world. The people will rise up and tear you down for that. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. But we don’t have time for it.” Husher shook his head. “You can have the alliance with the Assembly of Elders, because we need it. But that doesn’t mean imitating them, and it doesn’t mean letting them influence how we govern ourselves. We live in a free society, where everyone has the opportunity to make something of themselves—and yes, where we help each other out. But we don’t tear one group down to help another.

“I hope that’s all very well understood,” he said. “Because like I said, there are certain things I’ll stand for, and certain things I won’t. And if I have to come after anyone for destabilizing our society again, I’m not going to do it with any mercy. Because anyone doing that is helping the Progenitors destroy us. And I don’t take kindly to that.” He raised his eyebrows. “Any questions?”

Lisa Sato stood from among her Oneiri teammates, and Husher turned toward her. “Yes, Sato?”

But she didn’t speak. Instead, she drew her sidearm and placed it against Price’s head.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Cries of alarm rose, and Husher reached for his own sidearm, knowing he was too late.

Near Sato and Price, Maeve leapt from her seat and tackled Sato. The gun fired, and Price fell.

Husher sprinted across the chamber and stomped on Sato’s gun hand, which caused her to drop the firearm. He picked it up, safetied it, and tucked it inside his belt.

As Ash Sweeney and Beth Arkanian restrained Sato, Husher knelt beside Price, hands probing the seaman’s head.

The bullet had left a furrow in the side of Jake’s skull, and through the blood it was difficult to tell how deep it went.

Husher wrenched his com from its holster to summon paramedics from the Cybele General Hospital.

Chapter 64

Sleeper Agent

“So Husher is back in the IU’s good books?” Bronson said, staring across the table at Eve Quinn. They were having lunch in Tartarus Station’s cafeteria, as they did regularly, so that they could touch base about progress on the Project.

“He was never in our good books,” Quinn said. “But he does remain annoyingly relevant to the war effort. The Progenitors pose an existential threat. There’s no getting around that. So certain elements inside the government—such as the agency I work for, for example—are thinking that maybe it’s best to wait till after the war to make our move. In the meantime, we can quietly prepare. Which is what you and I are doing, Bronson.”

“You really think there’s an ‘after the war,’ huh? You say it with such confidence.”

“I’m a confident gal. You know that.” Quinn’s lips spread into her usual smile, which made him feel like she was making fun of him even when she wasn’t speaking. “Husher will be dealt with in time. For now, we’ve decided we’ll be following the Darkstream model when it comes to implementation. Sell the military on the idea of using implants to more efficiently pilot craft of all sorts—just like the mech pilots do. What if a Python pilot could become the Python? What if a Nav officer could be the warship? And once everyone starts to appreciate the military applications, we’ll start selling the public on them. Lucid tech will be adopted kind of like Oculenses were, except in reverse: military first, then public.”

“I find this all deeply ironic,” Bronson said.

They compared notes a while longer, until Quinn had to go. Bronson watched her leave the cafeteria, then he got up too, leaving their trays for the cleaning staff to take care of.

Since arriving on Tartarus, he’d learned that the agency Quinn worked for was called the Galactic Intelligence Bureau, or GIB. As far as he could tell, they had an incredibly long reach, which made him impressed that they’d managed to conceal their existence from the public for so long. The Darkstream board could have learned a thing or two from them.

He entered his modest quarters fifteen minutes later, climbing onto his bed to lie on his back, without bothering to take off his boots. Before Imbros, he’d always been used to more comfort than this, though not too much more. He had spent most of his life on warships.

After Imbros, this felt like the lap of luxury. It was a lot better than sleeping in damp alleyways.

“Bronson,” a voice said, and he cried out.

Sitting up, he saw one of the Progenitors’ telepresence robots standing in the middle of the room. “Are you really here?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he fought to steady his breathing. “What is it? Why have you contacted me?”

“Our sleeper agent was activated, and she succeeded in creating a conflict within the IU by informing them about a Quatro fugitive being given refuge aboard the Vesta. But she failed to neutralize one of our primary targets, and she has now been apprehended.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It has everything to do with you. It’s your turn, now, Bronson. Your time has come.”

Epilogue

Identify Yourself

As they drew closer to the Progenitors’ home dimension, the silence inside the Spire’s CIC grew uneasier.

Sitting at the Tactical Station felt odd to Fesky—wrong, almost. She’d quickly grown accustomed to the command seat’s centrality. From it, she could easily see every officer’s console. Here, she had to twist uncomfortably to look at Nav or Helm, and when she did, the empty command seat always caught her eye.

“We’re here,” Nav said.

Fesky turned to her sensor operator, hating that she still had to deal with him after his screwups back in Larkspur. If they’d been able to rejoin the Vesta before coming here, she could have replaced him, and found a new Tactical officer. Now they were inside enemy territory with a crew she was far from happy with.

“What do you see?” she asked Yvan, who was staring hard at his console.

“Nothing that makes sense,” he muttered.

“Yvan! Describe to me what you see!”

The sensor operator jerked in his seat. “Sorry, Captain. It’s just—well, we’re in a star system filled with Progenitor ships. Thousands and thousands of them, all in heliocentric orbit, just sitting there. There are shuttles going back and forth between them and various stations and colonies, but none of the ships have reacted to our presence yet. We’re at the edge of the system, near a large asteroid belt, and it’s possible they’ve yet to distinguish us from the asteroids.”

“That doesn’t sound so far off what we expected,” Fesky said. “What about this doesn’t make sense?”

“A couple of things, ma’am. For one, just past the asteroid belt, space seems to just…stop. There aren’t any other stars shining in the universe. There’s nothing. Just pitch-black nothing.”

Fesky sat in silence for a moment, puzzling over what Yvan had told her.

“I just picked up on an asteroid whose course is taking it toward the edge,” Yvan said. “Should I put it on visual?’

“Yes.”

The main display changed to a zoomed-in visual of the asteroid, and they all watched as it neared the strange border.

When the asteroid hit, it disintegrated, and ripples of electric-blue energy spread out from the point of impact.

“It’s like the forcefield Teth generated around Klaxon’s moon,” Fesky murmured. But is it meant to keep things in or something else out? “You said there were two things, Yvan.”

The sensor operator nodded. “Yes, ma’am. This system—the configuration of planets, the star’s profile—if I’m not mistaken, this is the Sol System.”

That left Fesky just as baffled, but she didn’t have time to think about it. On her console’s tactical display, one of the Progenitor ships had broken off from the immense fleet and was heading directly for them.

“Should we transition out, ma’am?” her Nav officer asked.

“Standby to do that, but don’t do it yet,” Fesky said. “They’ll enter real-time coms range before they can threaten us with Ravagers or their particle beam. Let’s see if they have anything to say.”

The Spire sat there for hours, next to what had to be the Kuiper Belt, if they were truly in this universe’s equivalent of the Sol System. Meanwhile, they continued to observe the system, collecting as much data as they could in the time they had. Anything the IGF can use.

Sure enough, as the Progenitor ship—a destroyer—drew near, Fesky’s Coms officer turned to her. “We’re getting a transmission request, ma’am.”

Fesky nodded. “Put it on the display.”

When she saw the man who appeared on her CIC’s main display, it felt like a fist of ice had punched her in the stomach. He bore a scar that ran diagonally across his face, from his temple to his chin, and it had healed poorly, leaving his mouth misshapen. But otherwise, Fesky would have recognized that face anywhere.

“Unknown vessel, identify yourself at once or prepare to be attacked,” he said.

Fesky tried to speak, but couldn’t at first. Then, finally, she managed it: “Husher?”

He narrowed his eyes, though otherwise he didn’t react. For the first time, Fesky sensed the coldness that exuded from him—as though he was ready to kill her without a glimmer of remorse. For her, that was the most jarring thing of all.

“How do you know my name?” he said.

Dogs of War

© Scott Bartlett 2018

Cover art by Tom Edwards (tomedwardsdesign.com)

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0

This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

Other Husher

21 Years Ago

“Riesling,” Captain Vin Husher said, “I want constant active scans of the area around the Firedrake as we approach the far side of the system.”

“Yes, sir,” the sensor operator said, still sounding a little shaken from the recent battle.

Wicks was in sick bay, expected to make a full recovery. Chief Hernandez had been bumped from second watch up to first. Lieutenant Myers would never be returning to the CIC again, and Ensign Volkov had taken her place.

The Firedrake was deep down Pirate’s Path. They’d been sent here by Admiral Carrow, to find out what had the Winger pirates so worked up. At last, after the most recent attack, he had his answer: stealth tech. They’d used it to latch onto his corvette’s hull undetected. Then they’d cut through her, coming out into a bunkroom full of sleeping marines.

Those marines had all died. Husher had paid the Wingers back in kind, though the ship’s pilot had escaped with the stealth ship.

They’re hiding something in this system. They had to be—else, why would they resort to such a desperate attack?

The Wingers had also struck just before the Firedrake had entered this system. Husher shuddered as he remembered how it had felt to use wormholes in battle for the first time. Enabled by dark tech, the wormholes could be engineered to allow only the Firedrake’s ordnance through. They’d fired on the pirate ships without fear of retaliation. They’d slaughtered them.

As they combed the section of the asteroid belt where they expected to find a pirate base, Husher compiled a full report on the recent incursion into his ship. When he was finished, he transmitted it to Admiral Carrow via the micronet—another dark tech-enabled innovation that allowed instantaneous communication.

It didn’t take long for a reply to come, in the form of a single line of text: “Contact me the moment you find something.”

And so, Husher and his crew kept searching. They found nothing on the first day, nor on the second. On the third, Husher began to doubt, even though all the evidence pointed toward something being concealed in this part of the system.

At last, they found it: a hollowed-out asteroid, with barely anything to indicate it was different from any other, except for the light that bounced off a partially concealed airlock. If they hadn’t approached the asteroid from just the right angle, they could easily have missed it.

Husher sent a shuttle of marines aboard to inspect the installation, and they found it empty, with all the relevant data taken or destroyed. But it was already clear what the structure was: a shipbuilding facility, large enough to produce two vessels at a time, of a size with the one that had latched onto Firedrake’s hull.

Who knows how many of these they might have hidden in random locations along Pirate’s Path. The Path was long, and largely uninhabited, other than the Kaithe. There were plenty of hiding places, where an installation like this might go unnoticed for years.

Husher got in touch with Admiral Carrow as soon as the marines returned with their findings. He patched the connection through to the CIC, so that the admiral’s gaunt face appeared on the main viewscreen.

“Destroy it,” Carrow said once he heard what they’d found.

Husher turned to Volkov and nodded. “Four Banshees should do it.”

With the admiral occupying the main screen, Husher opened a visual on his console, as well as a tactical display, which he used to track the missiles’ progress.

The asteroid blossomed with flame, flinging pieces of rock and metal in every direction.

“It’s done, Admiral,” Husher said.

“Very good. Unfortunately, you’re not done, Captain. You’ve uncovered quite an infestation, and I want it burned out. Entirely. I want you to continue—”

Husher noticed Riesling tense up at his console. “Sir,” the sensor operator said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we just detected an engine burn consistent with a vessel the size of the one that attacked us.”

Husher frowned. “Do you think it could be the same one?”

“I doubt it. Its trajectory suggests it came from the facility we just destroyed.”

“It’s a stealth ship, then? How did we detect it?”

“It’s hard for me to say, without knowing how stealth tech functions. It’s possible they were waiting until an asteroid drifted into place so that they could conceal their engine burn, but they made a miscalculation. We only saw a glimmer, so they nearly had it right, but I can confirm without a doubt that it was indeed an engine firing.”

“Can you project their position based on the burn?”

“I can tell you their trajectory, and I can also estimate their position within a fairly tight range of possibilities. But one thing’s certain: they’re within firing range, and if we shoot along their exact trajectory, we’ll hit them. They would have to perform another engine burn to evade our ordnance, which would reveal their exact position to us.”

“I want that ship destroyed, Husher,” Carrow said.

Some of the CIC officers glanced at their captain, and others kept their gazes fixed on their consoles. Husher noticed Riesling’s head jerk a little, and Tucker’s shoulders rose and fell with deepening breaths.

As Husher stared down at the tactical display on his console—at the region of space he imagined the stealth ship would be—he remembered the rumors that Darkstream, the company built on dark tech, had Admiral Carrow in their pocket. Darkstream wanted war, people said, no matter the reason. No matter the cost. It was the company’s business model.

“Sir, if we can hit them with a missile, then we can definitely reach them with a transmission request,” Husher said at last.

“What’s your point?” Carrow asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Maybe we can secure their surrender.”

“Why in Sol would we want to do that?”

Husher lifted his gaze to meet the Admiral’s. “Because they haven’t fired on us. They should be given the chance to surrender peacefully. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, under the ROIs?”

“You’re out in the middle of nowhere, Captain,” Carrow growled. “And that ship just came directly from a pirate base. We’re not going to have any trouble firing on that ship. Are we?”

But Husher pressed on: “If we apprehend them, we could reverse engineer their stealth tech. We could build stealth ships of our own. At the very least, we could find out exactly what we’re dealing with.”

But either there were factors at play that Carrow wasn’t sharing, or he just didn’t like having his orders questioned. Whatever the case, Husher could see the resolve in his eyes, even before he opened his mouth to double down: “We are going to send a message to these pirate scumbags today, Captain, but it’s not going to be a transmission request. We’re going to show them that even stealth tech won’t save them from the might of the Human Commonwealth. We say what goes and what doesn’t in this galaxy. We are the moral high ground. Now, Captain, I hope I won’t have to say this again: take that ship out.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral. I can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t continue shooting beings in the back from an unassailable position. I could fire on that ship, and if it performed an engine burn to evade, I could open a wormhole behind it and blast it from space. But this isn’t even warfare anymore. It’s butchery. I won’t fire on that ship—not without at least offering them the chance to surrender.”

Carrow’s eyes were wide, and his face achieved a darker shade of red than Husher had ever seen from him. “What if I told you that if you don’t follow my order, then I plan to personally ensure you’re stripped of command?”

Husher met the admiral’s stare for several long seconds. He could feel the gaze of his CIC crew on him.

The right choice shone before him, like a beacon. It’s your career or your principles. He didn’t have a family to support, so he didn’t have that pressure to preserve his military career by compromising his morals. But being a starship captain had always been his dream, and he was one of the youngest officers to serve as one since humans first took to the stars. Am I really going to throw that away?

The Commonwealth called the pirates terrorists. Maybe they were right. Maybe the Wingers didn’t deserve the chance to surrender, or a fair trial.

Husher lowered his eyes, very aware of his CIC crew all around him. “Tactical, fire on the stealth ship with a round of kinetic impactors.”

Chief Tucker turned toward him, eyes wide with shock and disappointment.

“Do it,” Husher said, his voice hardening.

“Yes, sir.”

On the main viewscreen, Carrow nodded, the scarlet slowly draining from his face. “You can have a bright career with the UHF, Husher. I’ve rarely seen a young officer with your potential, so I’m willing to overlook today’s transgression. But if you ever hint at defying my orders again, I will arrange that court martial. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Chapter 1

Not a Request

Fesky stared at the CIC’s main display, unable to process what she was seeing. The display showed her best friend’s face—Captain Vin Husher’s face. But it wasn’t really her friend. It couldn’t be. This Husher had a scar running from temple to chin, and he was glaring at her with murder in his eyes.

“Unknown vessel, identify yourself at once or prepare to be attacked,” he said.

Fesky tried to speak, but couldn’t at first. Then, finally, she managed it: “Husher?”

He narrowed his eyes, though otherwise he didn’t react. Fesky sensed the coldness that exuded from him—as though he was ready to kill her without a glimmer of remorse. For her, that was the most jarring thing of all.

“How do you know my name?” he said.

When Fesky had agreed to captain the Spire, the IGF’s first interdimensional vessel, she’d assumed she was in for some bizarre experiences. But nothing could have prepared her for this.

“I asked you a question,” Husher said. “Two questions, technically. Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

She glanced at the tactical display on her console and estimated that the other ship would enter firing range within ten minutes. We should transition out of this universe. But Husher—the Husher she’d known for decades; the one who didn’t act like he wanted to kill her—had sent her to the Progenitors’ home dimension to gather intel for the IGF. Intel they could use to end the war.

There was plenty about this place she didn’t understand. Why did the Progenitors occupy a system whose layout matched Sol? And why was there a gigantic forcefield surrounding the entire system, suspended just beyond what could only be the Kuiper Belt?

Why is my best friend captaining a Progenitor ship?

Fesky’s own ship, the Spire, sat just inside that Kuiper Belt. She needed to use the ten minutes before the opposing ship entered firing range to find out anything she could. And right now, this warped version of Husher was her primary source of intel.

“Last chance,” he said. “Who—”

“I’m Commander Fesky of the Integrated Galactic Fleet,” she said. “I’ve known you for twenty years, and I served as your XO for seventeen of them. I’m also your best friend.”

“Liar. I’d never befriend a Winger.”

Fesky’s beak snapped shut. It felt like she’d been slapped. “Why not?” she said at last.

“Because you belong to an inferior species. Which is why you were wiped out.”

“But we weren’t wiped out. I’m right here.”

Husher frowned. “Prove it to me. Prove that you know me.”

“Okay,” Fesky said, and drew a shaky breath. “Your greatest hero was Leonard Keyes.”

Husher laughed loudly. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m not sure how you knew Keyes, but I was no admirer of his.” He lifted a finger to his face, running it along the puckered line that crossed it. “Keyes was the one who gave me this.”

“We served together, you and I,” Fesky said, fighting through her shock at Husher’s words. “On the Providence.”

“Wrong again. Absurdly wrong. Are you delusional, Winger?”

“Your father is Warren Husher, a starship captain before you. Your mother is Cassandra. She raised you in a bungalow on Venus.”

That seemed to give Husher pause. “So you do know some personal details about me,” he said. Nodding as though to himself, he went on: “I’d like to discuss this further, face-to-face. I’m interested to hear how you came by your information, but I’m much more concerned about how you made it to this system in the first place.”

“I’m afraid that discussion isn’t going to happen,” Fesky said. The other ship was drawing too near, for her liking, and it was time for the Spire to leave. This other Husher hadn’t been very forthcoming, but her sensor operator had had plenty of time to collect data—on the thousands of ships in this system, as well as on its layout. We have to get back with what we have. She turned to her Nav officer.

“Oh, it wasn’t a request,” Husher broke in before she could give an order.

“Ma’am,” her sensor operator said, sounding panicked, “there’s a change with several asteroids along a wide arc off our stern. Parts of them are opening up, revealing mounted weapons. They’re firing on us.”

“Nav, get us out of this universe!” Fesky yelled.

Chief Devar bent over her console to enter the necessary command, but it was too late. Ordnance connected with the Spire’s hull, and an explosion rocked the ship, then another.

“Yvan, what was that?” she snapped.

“Our starboard and port main capacitor banks,” the sensor operator said. “They’re both blown.”

Devar turned to Fesky, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “We no longer have the charge necessary to transition out of this universe, ma’am. We’re stuck.”

With creeping horror, Fesky returned her gaze to the tactical display, where the Progenitor ship was about to enter firing range.

She remembered the cold stare this version of Husher had directed at her, and part of her wanted to order an attack, in the hopes of forcing him to destroy the Spire. She had no desire to meet him in person, or to give him access to whatever information there was to be gleaned from her ship or her crew.

But she had a duty to that crew. She couldn’t just sacrifice their lives on a whim.

“Coms,” she said softly, “send the approaching ship a transmission request. Tell them we surrender.”

Chapter 2

The Cavern

Husher adjusted the cuffs of his midnight Darkstream military uniform as he walked toward the shuttle that would take him and his prisoner to Ragnarok Station, in high Earth orbit.

He found her inside, strapped into a crash seat, arms and wings bound together.

“I’m told you didn’t resist capture,” he said. “You’re pliant. Just like a Winger.”

She cursed him, and he sat in the crash seat opposite her, fixing her with his gaze. A pair of marines filed into the shuttle, taking seats on either side of the Winger.

He’d taken several prisoners from the strange vessel that had appeared on the system’s outskirts, but he didn’t want them all crowded in the shuttle with him during the trip to the space station. They would all end up there before the day was out, but he didn’t want to have to look at them.

He didn’t particularly want to look at the Winger, either. But since she’d been in command, he expected her to be the most valuable source of information.

Information he intended to extract quickly.

“I’m taking you into the Cavern,” he told her. “The difference between you and everyone else I’ve ever taken there is that they knew where they were headed. You’re much calmer than they were.”

“I won’t tell you anything,” the Winger said.

“Of course you will. Wingers always put on a show at first, always so eager to demonstrate their loyalty and obedience to their masters. But I’m going to hurt you, Winger, in just the right ways. I’m going to dismantle your psyche, and then I’ll rebuild it to serve a new master. Me. You’ll be just as eager to obey.”

“I won’t tell you anything,” the Winger repeated.

“We’ll see.”

The shuttle passed through an exterior airlock and into one of Ragnarok’s massive landing bays, setting down near a hatch leading into the station. Husher nodded to the two marines, and they seized the Winger, dragging her from her seat and through the shuttle’s airlock. That done, they fell in behind Husher as he led the way through the labyrinthine station.

At last, they arrived at the Cavern, situated in the center of the station. Husher punched in his access code, and the hatch slid open to admit them. “Put her in the chair,” he ordered the marines. They shoved the Winger through the hatch.

Husher followed at a leisurely pace, hands clasped behind his back, enjoying the vastness of the Cavern. The ceiling hung far overheard, hidden by the chamber’s murk. When you stood in the center, the bulkheads weren’t visible either—only the floor was lit, by a light source none could see. At Husher’s request, one of the AIs had been instructed to work out how to make oxygen molecules low-hanging and phosphorescent.

He felt powerful, here—more powerful even than sitting in the command seat of his destroyer. Here, he commanded the universe, and the universe obeyed.

The marines had finished strapping the Winger securely into the chair. “Go,” he told them, and they left.

“Welcome to the Cavern,” Husher said, turning to his subject after watching the marines exit. “I’m sure even your dim wits can discern what’s about to happen.” He smiled. “I make no promises about what will happen after the pain stops, but I can tell you that there’s only one way to make it stop completely: by giving me what I want. I want to know how you reached this solar system—this universe—and from where. I’ll start with the second part. A small bit of data you might offer me, to smooth relations between us. Are you from the Milky Way? The one situated in the universe we’re in the process of conquering?”

The bird remained silent.

“You can spare yourself any pain at all by giving me the information I need right away,” he said.

“We’re best friends,” the Winger said. “We’ve been best friends for twenty years.”

“Well, if you’re not going to talk, I’m afraid today may strain the friendship.” He took a step forward. “I think you are from the Milky Way, which means I must know how you got here, and whether the IU has the means to get here as well. Trust me, I will find out. I’ve tortured thousands of beings, including plenty of Wingers. You may think it distasteful for the commander of system defense to moonlight as a torturer, but the truth is, I’ve come to enjoy it. Besides, no one else is as good at it as I am. Keep in mind, bird, that I’m not restricted by the sort of interstellar conventions they have in the IU. I have full reign to use absolutely any method I wish, and if you die in the process, I won’t face any consequences.” Husher turned, gesturing at the murky void created by the Cavern. “I requested this room’s construction myself, after developing a theory of what sort of environments would best facilitate the infliction of pain. I was given exactly what I wanted. Don’t you think it perfectly emulates the empty hopelessness of space?”

“You can’t do this to me,” the Winger rasped. “Vin Husher would never be able to bring himself to do such a thing.”

“Anyone can bring themselves to do such a thing. Anyone is capable of this. If you haven’t realized that yet, you haven’t been paying attention. You should know, bird, that continuing to resist me will guarantee permanent disfigurement, of the sort your society’s iatric nanobots simply cannot repair. That’s in case you’re harboring hope of escape or rescue. If that were to happen, which it won’t, you’d never be able to look upon your peers again without them seeing how you’ve been diminished.

Husher approached the chair, directing both hands toward it and shaping it with midair gestures. The top half of the chair twisted toward him, offering the Winger’s face for him to backhand. He did so, and she cried out, her face snapping sideways.

“You’ll feel like you’re deteriorating,” he went on, “like you’re being removed from yourself, piece by piece. That’s because you will be deteriorating.”

He snapped his fingers, and twin syringes extended from opposite sides of the chair, affixed to the ends of spindly, articulated metal arms. They were programmed to identify the species of the subject and seek a usable vein, which they did now, jabbing the Winger in the neck and arm.

The Winger’s beak snapped shut, and her head lifted from the chair’s headrest as she strained against the straps keeping her down.

“You’ve just been injected with methamphetamine,” Husher explained. “It will help keep you conscious, and once you’ve developed a dependence on the drug and I start denying you it, the withdrawal symptoms will serve as additional threads in your tapestry of pain.”

Sliding a vertical hand through the air, he opened a compartment built into the deck underneath the chair, from which he extracted a pair of leather, steel-studded gloves. His fist crashed into the side of the Winger’s face.

An hour later, he stood over a battered, bleeding Winger, whose beak was cracked and whose wide eyes jerked back and forth.

Still, she refused to give him the information he needed.

A memory gripped him, then—from the last time he’d underestimated an enemy.

Captain Leonard Keyes had locked eyes with him the moment he’d exited the shuttle. They were cold eyes, and they never left Husher’s as the marines forced the rogue captain to cross the flight deck.

“Nine years,” Husher said when the marines brought Keyes within earshot. “Nine years I’ve hunted you while you played the downtrodden revolutionary. And now my marines find you in an incompetently hidden base on a forsaken rock deep inside the Bastion Sector. I suppose it’s fitting.”

“The Bastion Sector won’t exist for much longer if your masters are allowed to continue, Darkstream dog.”

Husher chuckled. “Who’s going to stop them? And why would anyone want to? Humanity rules the galaxy. We’ve achieved something our ancestors couldn’t have even dreamed—”

“The galaxy won’t exist either,” Keyes said. “Dark tech is ripping this universe apart.”

“We have contingency plans,” Husher said. “The AIs—”

Keyes tore himself from the marines’ grasp, a blade extending from his uniform’s sleeve. His arm swung upward in a wide arc, and Husher raised his hands to block—too late. Keyes dragged the blade across Husher’s face, and he staggered backward, blinking through a curtain of blood.

Husher palmed the wetness from his face and saw that the marines had seized Keyes again, though the man’s bunched sleeve was still clutched in his fingers, to give the blade stability.

Husher drew his sidearm and shot Keyes in the face at point-blank range. The marines released him, then, and the rebel captain slumped backward onto the deck. Striding forward, Husher emptied the clip into his torso.

The Winger coughed, pulling him back to the present. He realized he’d been standing there in silence for at least a minute, completely still.

Without another word, he yanked off the scarlet-covered gloves by the fingertips, dropping them to the floor. Then he strode toward the exit hatch.

Out in the corridor, he yanked his com from its holster to contact his boss.

“Captain Husher,” Tennyson Steele said. “Have you extracted the relevant information from the subject?”

“No. I intend to, but for now, she’s holding out. I don’t think we should underestimate the significance of that. The fact she’s so determined not to talk suggests she possesses some very valuable intel.”

“Like the IU having discovered interdimensional travel.”

“Yes. I don’t know how, but the bird’s presence makes it a near-certainty. Sooner or later, more ships will follow.”

“How do you think we should respond to this revelation?”

Husher drew a deep breath. “We need to begin prioritizing speed over efficiency. It’s time to begin the invasion.”

Chapter 3

Laying Waste

The day after Husher defended Thessaly with the help of Captain Norberg and the battle group led by Captain Harding, the Progenitors struck again. This time, the target was the next system over: the Caprice System, home to the galactic capital, Abdera.

Despite that the Vesta was still limping after the previous day’s battle—one of her main capacitors had been blown out completely—Husher was left with no choice: he ordered the Vesta to respond.

“The Progenitor ships are reacting to our approach, sir,” Winterton said, mostly successful in keeping the fatigue out of his voice.

We’re all exhausted. They’d just finished fighting back-to-back battles against the IU and then the Progenitors, and now the Progenitors were pressing the attack again. “Reacting in what way, Winterton?” Husher could already see how the enemy was reacting, but he needed the sensor operator to say it, so that every CIC officer was on the same page.

“They appear to be abandoning their attack on Abdera completely. Their ships are vanishing from the universe, one by one.”

“I don’t trust that for a second,” Husher said. “Coms, order Commander Ayam to launch the Air Group, and tell Captain Harding that she and the other captains should expect an attack at any moment. They need to be ready to adopt lateral evasive maneuvers, in the event the Progenitors target them with particle beams.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Tremaine, ready the primary laser, along with two Hydra broadsides. If they form a sphere around us again, I don’t plan to leave it intact for very long.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Ships appearing off our bow, sir,” Winterton said, which confirmed Husher’s suspicions about the Progenitors’ supposed retreat. They just wanted to engage us away from Abdera’s defense platforms. “Looks like a curved wall formation, one that’s fairly dispersed,” the ensign continued, then he winced. “One of the UHF-model ships just went down.”

Damn it. Husher’s warning about the particle beam clearly hadn’t arrived in time. He opened a direct channel to his CAG. “Commander Ayam, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Captain.”

“I need you to pressure those vessels now, or they’re going to start knocking down the rest of our warships. Are your subspace pilots ready?”

“They are. We can start savaging the nearest destroyer within five minutes.”

Husher hiked an eyebrow at the Winger’s colorful description, but decided now wasn’t the time to remark on it. “Deploy the rest of your pilots as you see fit, then transition to subspace at once, Commander.”

“Will do, Captain.”

The tactical display Husher had ordered his Oculenses to project onto the main display showed that the enemy formation had almost finished appearing. By opting not to surround the Vesta as they had yesterday, they’d once again anticipated Husher’s tactics. The enemy’s formation meant the Hydra broadsides he’d prepared were next to useless.

But maybe not completely useless. “Helm, I want you to increase power to engines by twenty-five percent. In the meantime, Tactical, I want you to reprogram the starboard-side Hydras. Once we’ve outstripped our allied ships, I want them to launch from their tubes and follow a dispersed arc that blankets the left side of the enemy formation with warheads. That should keep them busy as our Pythons get into position.”

“I’m on it, sir,” Tremaine said, tapping his console furiously as he updated the telemetry.

The sensor operator turned toward Husher. “Progenitor ships are still appearing, Captain. More than were originally attacking Abdera.”

Husher resisted an urge to put a hand to his forehead and massage his taut brow. “They see an opportunity to take us down,” he said. “If they manage that, they’ll return to Abdera and finish penetrating her defenses.” He shifted his gaze to Chief Noni. “Nav, set a course for the Larkspur-Caprice darkgate under reverse thrust. Tell the other captains to do the same, Coms. After that, I want you to launch a drone with a message requesting aid from Captain Norberg and her remaining battle group ships. They should still be in orbit over Thessaly.”

“Aye, sir,” both officers answered.

Ek shifted in the XO’s seat, peering at him through the water-filled helmet of her exoskeleton. As she spoke, her suit’s AI translated the sound waves traveling through the fluid and projected her words clearly through a speaker: “Something seems amiss here, Captain Husher. The Vesta may not, in fact, be the Progenitor’s primary target this day.”

“Right. But whether their true aim is the galactic capital or my ship doesn’t really matter. Either way, we can’t let a Progenitor force of that size remain at large in one of the core systems.”

“Yes, sir,” the Fin said, turning to face the main display once more.

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Is there something you’re withholding, Commander?”

“I have given you my analysis based on the data available to me at this time. If I reach further conclusions, I will let you know at once.”

“Very good.”

“Enemy ships are launching Ravagers in enormous numbers, sir,” Winterton said. “Thousands are in play already, leaving very little room for our Pythons to maneuver.”

A sigh escaped Husher’s lips. “Coms, tell our fighters to abandon the attack on the enemy vessels and focus instead on cutting down that Ravager barrage. Squadrons that manage to cut a swath big enough, however, should follow through on my original orders and try to get in an alpha strike.”

On the tactical display, Husher saw defensive missiles already streaming forth from the old UHF ships, without him having to request them. That’s nice. The Vesta’s only remaining battle group ship—the Knight, a destroyer—did the same, and the sole Quatro ship added its own missiles to the barrage as well. The Quatro missiles were more or less conventional, except for the salvage function, which Husher doubted they’d have an opportunity to use today.

That didn’t bother him, so long as they lost no further ships, and he was willing to risk overcommitting to defense if it meant preventing that. The UHF-model ships were all twenty years outdated at least, but along with the Knight and the Quatro ship, they were the only battle group the Vesta had now, and he doubted he’d get another.

His force danced backward, using missiles and Pythons as a shield against the unending onslaught of Ravagers while keeping up lateral propulsion to ensure hulls weren’t exposed to particle beams for too long.

At last, as they neared the darkgate, the Eos burst out of it. Four warships trailed her, which were all that remained of the combined battle groups of two capital starships: the Eos and the felled Promedon.

They moved to bolster Husher’s ranks, lasers lancing out, all tightly focused on the same Progenitor destroyer. Under normal circumstances, Husher would have called that overkill, but given the Progenitors’ tendency of vanishing whenever pressured, it made sense to destroy targets as rapidly as possible.

Indeed, the moment the destroyer went down, the Progenitor force disappeared as one, leaving only a tide of missile-robots for the allied ships to clean up.

“Thank you, Captain Norberg,” Husher said once he had her on the main display. On the tactical display, he watched the assembled warships continue to inch backward toward the darkgate, using mostly kinetic impactors to mow down the incoming Ravagers. “I owe you one.”

Norberg nodded briskly. “Think you can handle the rest of these Ravagers? I need to get back to Thessaly. The colony’s undefended right now, other than the orbital defense platforms, and it’s missing one of those after yesterday.”

Husher glanced again at the tactical display. “We can handle things here, Captain.”

“Very good.” Norberg terminated the conversation, not bothering with formalities. Things were still a little prickly between them—they had been fighting each other right before the battle over Thessaly, after all.

Minutes after Norberg’s departure through the Caprice-Larkspur darkgate, a com drone emerged from it. The Coms officer tapped her console, no doubt accessing the message, and a few seconds later her face turned white.

“What is it, Ensign?” Husher asked.

“It’s a message from Captain Norberg, sir. The Eos returned to Larkspur and found the Progenitors already laying waste to Thessaly.”

Chapter 4

Spread Too Thin

Husher sat on his bunk with head in hands.

There’s nothing to be done.

By the time Norberg and her ships reached Thessaly, the Progenitors had finished their work and vanished again. As soon as the government on Abdera got the news, they ordered the Vesta and her battle group to maintain orbit around the capital, along with Norberg and her remaining battle group ships.

Quatro vessels had been called from elsewhere to protect what was left of the IU’s presence in Larkspur, and more had come to bolster the defenses around Abdera. President Chiba had decided that losing the galactic capital would prove crippling to the war effort.

I’m sure that’s true. But Husher also wagered Chiba’s presence on Abdera might have had something to do with the decision.

Husher had given the necessary orders to array the Vesta and the other ships around Abdera in proper defensive formation, and then he completed his watch. After, he’d retreated to his chamber, to mourn the people of Thessaly, and to berate himself for letting the Progenitors bait him enough to leave the colony exposed.

Thessaly was a major colony—a mainly human colony. Why hadn’t the admiralty allocated more defenders to it?

He swept aside such conspiratorial thoughts. The IU is just too big, and our forces are spread too thinly. The Progenitors were exploiting that situation viciously.

Where are you, Fesky? He’d expected her back by now. Surely, the recon mission he’d given her wouldn’t have had her lingering in the Progenitor’s home dimension for this long. Something went wrong. He told himself he was leaping to that conclusion too quickly, but it felt true in his gut.

The com buzzed on the bunk beside him, and he snatched it up. Major Gamble was contacting him.

“Go ahead, Major.”

“Sir, the sheriff in Cybele just informed me we have a new round of unrest brewing over there. Said he wanted to let me know, in case you wanted to put some soldiers on standby.”

“What level of unrest?”

“Loud but peaceful demonstrating, so far. But some Sapient Brotherhood members have been spotted gathering nearby, and they’re staying strangely quiet. I know you threw out all the people caught rioting, but…”

“We can’t be too careful,” Husher said. “I’m heading over there myself to check it out.”

“Sir, if you’re doing that, I have to insist on sending an escort to meet you.”

“Fine. I’ll take two marines with me, Major. Two. Beyond that, I can handle myself. Have them meet me just inside the hatch into Cybele.”

“Yes, sir,” Gamble said, sounding resigned. If Husher knew the man, he’d have at least two platoons waiting somewhere nearby, ready to deploy until Husher reentered the ship’s crew section safe and sound.

The pair of marines he’d authorized to accompany him saluted when he approached, and together, they ventured out of the crew section, into the great hold that held the city. They found the protesters outside the Epicenter, which was a domed building that always reminded Husher of half a golf ball. It was meant to serve as a social hub for the community, but mostly people used it as a place to house their bodies as they entered digital spaces.

He estimated there were a couple hundred demonstrators, whose chants became more distinct as they approached. Just before Husher and his marines reached the group, the chanting trailed off as a woman got up to speak.

Penelope Snyder.

“There haven’t been very many times in my life when…” she began, but then stopped. Her eyes were locked on Husher. “I see we have a visitor.”

The sea of faces turned toward him, a great tide following Snyder’s gaze.

“Captain Husher,” Snyder went on. “Do you know what we’re protesting here today?”

He shook his head.

“I might have guessed. Well, let me fill you in. We’re protesting the way Thessaly’s evacuation was handled.”

Husher pressed his lips together. That anyone managed to escape the colony at all is a near-miracle. From the vids he’d seen, the Progenitors had done a pretty thorough job of scouring the planet’s towns and cities. A few loners living out in the wilderness had survived, but that was about it.

“The colony’s wealthy elite were grossly overrepresented among the evacuees,” Snyder said. “The Progenitor attack was tragic enough, but the fact that the underprivileged were left to burn makes yesterday a grotesque travesty. Do you have anything you’d care to comment about that, Captain?”

He cleared his throat, preparing to project his voice across the crowd. “I agree that yesterday was a tragedy and a travesty,” he said. “But I would point out to you that the colony’s wealthy were also the ones who owned the ships capable of going off-world. And many of those shipowners packed their vessels with their fellow citizens before departing. True, some didn’t—some of them had no time, and others let fear override their nobler impulses. But most did.”

Snyder was shaking her head. “You said it yourself, Captain: some didn’t. You’re minimizing that point. This is what happens when beings are allowed to lord their privileges over others, racking up riches and influence. Monsters are created.”

“There are monsters among every segment of society,” Husher said.

“This monstrosity is without equal,” Snyder shot back. “The fact remains, the poor died yesterday in droves, while the rich largely survived. Frankly, I find your defense of the situation disgusting.”

With that, the crowd broke into angry jeering. Husher waited for them to finish, but soon realized they didn’t intend to—not until he left.

And what could he do about that? No one was turning violent. They were following the laws he so firmly stood by. The fact that Snyder was taking advantage of a crisis to push her agenda of leveling out society was nauseating, but not illegal.

Not for the first time, he turned and walked out of Cybele, having accomplished nothing.

He’d spent the last twenty years fighting to make galactic society formidable enough to take on the Progenitors when they came. Never had it been so clear how thoroughly he’d failed.

Does society even deserve to survive?

But he quickly swept aside that thought, shocked at how much it made him sound like Teth.

Chapter 5

Iris

As he reentered the Vesta’s crew section, his com buzzed with a text transmission from Ensign Amy Fry: “Just a head’s up, sir: your ex-wife has arrived on a shuttle from Feverfew. She’s on Flight Deck Omicron right now, and she’s looking to speak with you.”

Husher sighed, though at the same time he felt a measure of gratitude toward Fry. My crew has my back. No matter what happened next in this war, he knew that wouldn’t change, and that held a lot of value for him.

He messaged back: “Have her shown to my office, and please contact my daughter to join us there as well. I’ll need another chair.”

Other than Maeve, Husher couldn’t think of anything else Sera would want to discuss with him. And if they were going to talk about their daughter’s situation, then he wanted her to be present. She deserved to be.

Ten minutes later, he sat in the chair behind his desk, contemplating the awkward silence that had descended when Sera entered to find Maeve already present.

“I asked to speak to you, Vin,” Sera said at last. “You alone.”

“What can you possibly have to say to me that our daughter can’t hear? Or that she shouldn’t hear?”

Sera grimaced.

“Is there anything other than Maeve’s situation you care to discuss with me?” he asked.

“No.”

“I see. Well, if you wanted to talk about Maeve without her present, I can only conclude one thing. Since you don’t want her to remain aboard the Vesta, you must have been hoping to convince me to talk her into leaving.”

Sera’s tightening lips told him everything he needed to know about whether he was right. For her part, Maeve looked at her mother with an unreadable expression.

“Please, sweetheart,” Sera said. “I’ve been torn apart with worry ever since you left Zakros. This ship has almost been destroyed so many times since then. Why do you need to do this to your mother?”

For reasons that weren’t clear to him, Sera’s words sent Husher back to his childhood, when he’d been nine. His own mother had come across him on the playground having a conflict with another boy he often spent time with—a conflict that was quickly escalating to a fight.

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but her reaction that day was one of the things that made her so extraordinary. She didn’t separate him from the other boy. She didn’t even say anything. Instead, his mother walked on as if she hadn’t noticed, and Husher and the other boy had had their tussle. After that, their differences sorted out, they’d become even better friends.

“Are you going to make me beg?” Sera went on, gaze locked on her daughter’s face.

Husher cleared his throat. “I hate to say it, but the Vesta may be the safest place for Maeve, now.” He wasn’t sure he believed that, but his ex-wife had to be placated somehow, and besides, it might even be true. “The rest of the galaxy is in turmoil, Sera. Colonies with full complements of orbital defense platforms are getting destroyed. Who’s to say she’d be any more secure on one of them than on a capital starship?”

Sera glared, which told him exactly how well that gambit had paid off. Softening her gaze, she returned it to their daughter. “Maeve, please—”

“I’ve decided not to go by Maeve anymore,” she said.

Husher’s eyes widened, and Sera recoiled as if slapped. “What?” she said.

“I’m going back to my birth name. The name you both gave me. I want to be Iris again.” She stood and embraced her mother. “I love you, Mom. I really do. But you should go back to Zakros. I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying on the Vesta.”

With that, Iris left Husher’s office.

Chapter 6

Cast Low

Sera didn’t have much to say after Iris left, and Husher didn’t want to lord their daughter’s decision over her, so he let her return to her shuttle without further comment.

He left his office soon after her, heading for sick bay. It was the first chance he’d had to visit Jake Price since he’d been shot.

When he drew back the curtain surrounding Price’s bed, he was surprised to find Maeve—Iris—already sitting beside it. She must have come straight here from my office.

“Iris,” he said, glad he hadn’t used the wrong name out loud.

“Hi, Dad.”

He took the seat next to her. “Did Bancroft mention how he’s doing?” he asked, nodding at Price. Despite that Doctor Bancroft had helped Kaboh have Husher temporarily stripped of command, Husher hadn’t made any move to get her off his ship. She was a good doctor, and he didn’t want to lose her. He had her number, now, and that would have to be enough.

“She’s worried about damage to his prefrontal cortex,” Iris said. “Iatric nanobots repaired his skull, but the bullet caused his meninges to swell, which put a lot of pressure on the brain. Still, there’s a good chance he’ll make a full recovery.”

“That wouldn’t be true, if you hadn’t done what you did.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really think about it. I saw what Sato was doing, and I just acted.”

“Others would have let shock hold them back. Or fear. If you’d hesitated for even a fraction of a second, Price would be dead.”

Iris shrugged again.

They both fell silent, watching the rise and fall of Price’s chest, listening to the beeping machines all around them.

Then, Iris looked at him. “I hope you don’t think changing my name means I’m siding with you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think there are sides. At least, there shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to family.”

“What family?” She gave a bitter chuckle, which sent a stab of remorse through his heart, even though he’d had nothing to do with splitting their family apart. “There are sides, Dad. You know there are. There’s the side that wants to wrap society in a protective bubble, and there’s the side that believes it’s impossible to protect anything completely.”

“Okay. Which side are you on, then?”

She shook her head. “Both, I think.” Frowning, she continued: “I was at the protest earlier, you know. I heard what you said.”

“That’s fine. I wouldn’t try to hide it from you.”

“Don’t you think it’s awful that when disaster strikes, it’s the poor that get screwed?”

“I do think it’s awful. I think it’s awful that anyone was killed by the Progenitors.”

Iris shook her head. “That’s a dodge. You’re avoiding the heart of it: we can’t go on like this, letting the poor get wiped out every time a crisis comes.”

“Again, I’d rather no one got wiped out. I think that’s a valid thing to say, and a valid thing to strive for. But I don’t think it’s what Snyder is striving for. She’s laying the problem at the feet of the wealthy, when it should be laid at the Progenitors’ feet, and the solution she’s agitating for is to cast the wealthy low.”

“People who leave behind their neighbors to die should be cast low.”

“I agree with you. But many packed their ships full with evacuees. Should they be punished, too? Because that’s how wide a net Snyder wants to cast. She wants to remove wealth from the equation altogether—make it so there are no more rich people. That’s a very stupid thing to try to accomplish. We should be doing everything in our power to make it so that if people work hard and produce things society needs, there’s a reasonable expectation of becoming wealthy. If we level things out completely, we’ll remove most of the incentive to contribute. Goodwill alone doesn’t keep a society going, sadly.”

But Iris was shaking her head. “So you want to keep letting the chips fall where they may. Let the strong prosper and the weak perish.”

“That’s not what I said. I think it’s fine to help people—to raise a tide that lifts everyone. But Snyder wants to make people equal by bringing the successful down, not by lifting the unfortunate up. It’s poison.”

His daughter had stopped listening. He followed her gaze to the bed, where Jake’s eyes were open, and his brow furrowed.

He was staring straight at Iris.

“Who are you?” he said.

Chapter 7

Accelerate the Plan

Chiba, the President of the Interstellar Union, leaned back in his chair and gazed wearily at the seventeen documents his Oculenses now displayed in midair over his desk.

“I need sleep,” he muttered to himself.

His job had always been taxing, but nothing could have prepared him for the way this war was testing him. Billions of lives hung on every decision he made, and on top of all that, the Quatro seemed uninterested in speaking with anyone except the President of the Union when it came to diplomatic and military matters. Or any matter, really. He supposed it was a reflection of their top-heavy style of governance, but whatever the reason, the Elders appeared to consider it beneath them to talk with any functionary except the president.

His office door’s heavy, brass knobs turned, and the Quatro Eldest barreled through, sending both doors flying against the wall.

Speaking of which…

The doors closed behind the Quatro leader of their own accord, or so it would appear to an uninformed observer. Evolution had granted the Quatro brains laced with superconducting fullerenes, allowing them to manipulate metals at will. The warm temperature Chiba kept his office at dampened the power considerably, but the Eldest’s superconducting capacity seemed stronger than his fellows. Enough that he could make the large, oaken doors fly open and closed with ease, anyway.

“Eldest,” Chiba said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He wasn’t an expert in Quatro body language, but the alien didn’t seem happy. It stalked across the office and came to a stop in front of the desk, lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Chiba fought to conceal his reaction. Normally, the Eldest sat on his haunches during their meetings.

“The Quatro are deeply disappointed with your recent actions, President Chiba,” the alien growled.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific,” Chiba said, letting some of his annoyance come out in his voice. “I’ve been taking thousands of actions a day, lately. Today, I’m mostly trying to prevent what happened to Thessaly from happening elsewhere. With hundreds of colonized star systems, almost half of them accessible only by warp travel, that’s proving very difficult.”

“I refer to your continued willingness to work with Captain Vin Husher, who refused to turn over to us the Quatro criminal he harbors aboard his ship. And now, he flies with a ship full of such criminals. As I told you when we formed this alliance, we reserve the right to discipline wayward Quatro. They must be folded back into the drift.”

Chiba shook his head, causing the muscular tail that hung from it to switch back and forth against his chair. “Husher is a man of the moment. As I told you, Eldest, right now we need him. But he’s a tool whose utility will expire the day the war is won. It goes without saying that he gained his position because of privilege he never earned, and that will be his undoing, in the end. But until then, he has demonstrated his willingness to do battle to prevent those Quatro from being handed over. We can’t afford to lose any more ships, Eldest. Or any more captains.”

The Quatro reared up, planting his massive paws on Chiba’s desk and lowering his head toward him, as though intending to strike.

Chiba recoiled—he couldn’t help it. But the Quatro came to a stop within inches of his face.

“Your hollow ploys fail to impress,” the Eldest growled. “We have grown weary of them. You need our military might, Kaithian, and we are prepared to withdraw it if we are not satisfied.”

In spite of himself, Chiba quivered where he sat. “I d-don’t know what I can do,” he managed. “I’m at an impasse, Eldest. I w-wish—”

“Silence,” the Eldest hissed, and Chiba complied. “We need a gesture from you, something that indicates you are committed to cleansing your society of the toxicity that continues to pervade it. We will not maintain an alliance with an ally who is not willing to spurn toxic individuals.”

“You want to accelerate the plan,” Chiba said, hopeful for a way out of this conversation—from a diplomatic perspective and also from a bodily harm perspective.

The Quatro pulled away, so that Chiba no longer felt hot, moist breath on his face. “This is the perfect opportunity to do so,” the Eldest said. “After the war, your people will be less susceptible. But right now, when they are at their most vulnerable, we can show them that our way is the only way forward.”

“Yes,” Chiba said, aware he was nodding a little too vigorously. “I completely agree. Let’s iron out the details right now. Shall we?”

“We shall,” the Eldest said, his orange eyes locked onto Chiba’s.

Chapter 8

The Target Universe

Near the center of Ragnarok Station sat the office of Tennyson Steele, CEO of humanity. It doubled as a fully loaded panic room, designed to float in space for a week in the unlikely event of the station’s destruction, providing full subsistence and amenities to its occupant.

A silky voice came from somewhere to Husher’s left, where he sat in a plush leather armchair in the waiting room outside:

“Come in, Captain.”

Husher stood in time for the office door to slide open, and he stepped through.

The CEO gestured toward the waiting chair before his desk, which caused his multiple jowls to wobble dynamically. He could have afforded all manner of cosmetic surgery to rid himself of the weight and to recapture a youthful appearance, but for some reason the CEO chose to keep his bulk. Husher knew that during certain times in human history, girth had been seen as a measure of status. Maybe Steele is of the same mind.

He sat, and the CEO wasted no time. Folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward slightly, he said, “I don’t often get personal visits from you, Captain. To what do I owe the honor? If you’re here to inquire about ramping up the invasion, I assure you it’s well underway.”

Husher nodded slightly. “That’s why I’m here—that is, the fact I had to come here to get an update about the status of the invasion, even one as vague as you just gave me.”

Steele narrowed his eyes. “This star system is your domain, Captain. Your jobs include inspecting the resources our AIs send us, making sure warships are ready for deployment, and maintaining our defenses in case we’re ever attacked. This is your domain, just as the rest of the galaxy was, before it was swallowed whole. As for the target dimension, that’s Teth’s domain. And personally, I’m pleased with the job he’s doing, despite the setbacks.”

“I understand that,” Husher said. “And I understand the reasoning for it. But with the things I’m learning from interrogating the Winger, I’m shocked by just how in the dark you’ve kept me. Why didn’t you tell me my double is prominent in the Milky Way’s defense?”

Steele tilted his head to one side. “You must have known there was a strong possibility you were alive in that universe, in some capacity.”

“All I know is what you told me: that I went against Darkstream in that universe. I assumed that would have disadvantaged me, but now I learn the opposite: I’m prominent there, too! Look, I know my double’s behavior has led you to distrust me, at least on some level. I’d feel the same way, in your position. But if he’s playing a role in coordinating the Milky Way’s defense, then I can guarantee you, you have bigger problems than you think you do.”

A smile sprouted across Steele’s red, chubby face. “I appreciate your faith in yourself.”

“It isn’t faith. It’s certainty. I can help you, Steele. I’m not asking you to send me to the target universe. I know how cautious you are about letting me leave this star system, and again, I understand that. I have no desire to leave. But if you start letting me in on the intel you’re getting from the Milky Way, I can help you anticipate my double’s moves. I can help you counter them.” He laid a hand on the desk, fingers curled upward, and Steele glanced at it before lifting his gaze once more. Drawing a deep breath, Husher added: “Withholding information was what got us into the situation we’re in.”

Steele’s smile faded a little, at that. “We’re in a good situation. What situation are you referring to, Captain?”

Husher waved at the surrounding walls. “I’m referring to our universe collapsing around us. I’ve always served Darkstream faithfully, but I’m also going to call things as I see them. The company’s disinformation campaigns kept the public from seeing the truth about dark tech until it was too late. Now, we’re forced to huddle in Sol while we fight to claim another universe for ourselves.”

Steele’s smile had vanished completely, replaced by a sneer. “I had no idea you took such a dim view of the results of Darkstream’s actions, Captain. If this universe hadn’t collapsed, wouldn’t our enemies here still be alive? And would we have been able to consolidate power over our species as we have? Would we ever have had any reason to develop interdimensional travel, or to build AIs that could subvert the very history of another universe?”

Husher blinked. “I suppose not.”

“Instead of one Winger, you’d have a whole species of them to contend with. The same goes for the Gok and the Kaithe, both who tried to defeat us in the end. If it hadn’t been for the collapse, we might not have beaten the Kaithe. We weren’t strong enough, then.”

Husher’s eyes fell to the desktop. “I understand your point of view. And it makes sense.” He lifted his eyes once more. “But my argument still stands. Letting me in on more intel would bring benefit.”

With a sigh, Steele said, “There’s a lot of sensitive information kicking around the target universe; information I have no desire to let our public in on. Like the fact that my own double was killed by Captain Keyes, over there.”

At that, Husher’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes,” Steele went on, nodding. “Something else you don’t know: Darkstream was exiled from their galaxy twenty years ago, for the crime of subverting democracy, and now the company’s all but destroyed.”

“The Milky Way has a democracy?”

“You see? These aren’t things the people need to know—not until our hold on the target universe has been cemented, at the very least. But you’ll note that I’m telling them to you.”

“You’re going to start letting me in on more intel.”

“Indeed. I recognize the wisdom in what you’ve said. Which leaves me with the question of how to convey the relevant information to you in the most effective, efficient manner.”

“Teth,” Husher said. “I’d like to speak with Teth.”

Steele smiled. “I’ll arrange for you two to meet.”

Chapter 9

Not Meant for Mechs

As he approached, Andy studied the marine guarding the hatch into Hangar Bay Zeta. The man held an R-57 assault rifle at the ready, and he studied Andy back.

“Hey man,” Andy said once he reached the hatch. “Can I get through?”

The marine frowned at him. “I’m not supposed to let any Oneiri member access the mechs until we figure out why Sato attacked Price. Captain’s orders.”

“Right,” Andy said letting his face fall. Then he lifted his gaze back to the marine’s. “I get that, but listen, I want to ask if you’d do me a solid and bend the rules for just a minute.” The marine opened his mouth, probably to say no, but Andy raised a hand to forestall him. “I know, I know. I’m asking you to do exactly what you were ordered not to. The thing is, I left my com inside my MIMAS, and I’m totally useless without it. I don’t have any Oculenses, and my implant’s connection to the ship’s narrownet is routed through my com. If Gamble finds out I let myself get separated from it, I’m gonna be in big shit.”

The marine sighed, then took a hand off his gun to put two fingers near his eyes and then direct them at Andy. “I’ll be watching you the entire time. You make one move to get into that mech, and I will shoot you. Got that?”

A chill spread through Andy’s chest. But he grinned through it. “Of course, man. I want you to know I really appreciate this.”

The marine stepped aside, slapping the control panel behind him to open the hatch.

Andy slipped his hands into his pockets as he crossed the hangar bay, and his forefinger brushed up against the sedative he’d put there—the sedative that would grant him access to the mech dream.

When he neared his MIMAS, he glanced back at the hatch, where the marine was standing inside the hangar bay, watching him.

“It’s inside the mech,” Andy called. “Just need to lower the ramp and grab it.”

The marine hesitated, then nodded.

Andy sent the command using his implant, and the back of the MIMAS popped out, lowering for him to climb. Without glancing to his right at the marine, he popped the pill into his mouth, clambered up the ramp, and slipped into the waiting cocoon.

“Hey!” the marine yelled. The sound of rapid footfalls echoed through the hangar bay, followed by gunfire. Bullets glanced off the ascending ramp, but none hit Andy.

Idiot.

He awoke inside the mech dream, and the MIMAS became his body. Turning, he retracted his fingers so that they lay flat against his wrists, revealing the twin rotary autocannons built into his forearms.

The marine had almost reached the mech, and the point-blank high-velocity rounds tore him to shreds. He fell backward against the deck, a bloody, motionless heap.

Andy wavered for a moment. It dawned on him that he’d just crossed the point of no return, without giving it much thought at all.

Well, there certainly wasn’t time to dwell on it now. The shooting would draw more marines to him in short order.

He sprinted across the hangar bay, and he had to duck through the hatch to get through. On the other side, there was barely enough room to stand at full height, and the bulkheads on either side felt way too close. Unlike the hold that contained Cybele, the Vesta’s crew section was designed the way warships had been back when atmosphere had to be hauled up from a planet’s gravity well: as cramped as possible. The atmosphere problem no longer limited size, but there were plenty of other advantages to conserving space in…well, space.

The corridors weren’t meant for mechs, in other words, meaning Andy would enjoy virtually no cover as he made his way through them. Not only that, but he didn’t come close to Gamble’s marines in training or skill.

On the other hand, he was piloting a MIMAS.

I’ll be fine.

He started down the corridor at a leisurely jog. Ahead, a crewmember emerged from a side hatch. Zooming in on the insignia, Andy identified her as Engineering.

“Get out of the way,” he boomed through amplifiers built into the mech’s exterior. “If you comply, you won’t be harmed.”

The woman didn’t comply. Instead, she drew her standard-issue sidearm and started firing.

Wow. He hadn’t expected to have to kill any noncombat personnel. Nevertheless, his autocannons spun up again, and the unarmored woman was tossed backward, where she crumpled to the floor. Andy tried to avoid stepping on her as he ran past, but his metal foot came down on her wrist all the same, which emitted a dry crunch.

Damn it. Now he felt even more conflicted about what he was doing. He’d never been fully resolved in the first place, which was why he hadn’t spent much time considering the decision. If he’d done that, he probably would have chickened out.

I can’t let them put Lisa in a cell for the rest of her life. If she tried to kill Price, she must have had a damned good reason. Hell, he’d wanted to kill Price on a few occasions.

A pair of flashing muzzles appeared ahead—marines with R-57s, firing at him from two hatches opposite each other. Clearly, word of Andy’s actions had spread quickly.

He charged, managing to neutralize one of them right away, but the other ducked behind cover before Andy could target him. When he reached the hatch, he ducked low and spotted the surprised-looking marine, who was crouched against the metal frame. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Andy to come right up to him.

They still aren’t used to fighting mechs. Andy extended his left bayonet and stabbed the marine with enough force to pierce his para-aramid body armor—and then his torso.

It took him ten minutes and seven more kills to reach the brig. The guards there gave him little trouble. Once he’d pumped them both full of lead, he ducked through the hatch they’d been guarding and strode between the cells.

Lisa occupied the second-last one to the left. She was already at her bars, tight body pressed against them. Her jumpsuit was pulled taut, accentuating her curves and making Andy’s heart race. That’s what I’m fighting for, right there.

“I knew you’d come for me,” she said.

From deep inside the mech dream, he grinned, even though the expression wouldn’t register on his MIMAS’ face.

Stepping forward, he bent down and gripped two adjacent bars of her cell. With a quick wrench, the bars parted as though made from cheap aluminum. That made him feel powerful, even though it was the mech doing the actual work. I am the mech.

He stepped back to make room, and Lisa turned sideways to squeeze herself between the crooked bars, emerging into the corridor between the cells.

“Where next?” she asked.

“Follow me. We’re getting your MIMAS, and we’re getting out of here.”

Chapter 10

A Grim Logic

Jake woke from a nightmare of gunfire and screaming to discover it wasn’t a nightmare.

He heard a rhythmic pounding from somewhere in the corridors outside sick bay—and he felt it, too, as vibrations that reached him through his bed from the deck. The pounding stopped, and the harsh staccato of a heavy gun followed. He’d recognize that sound anywhere: a MIMAS’ rotary autocannon.

A deep, disorienting ache gripped his skull like a vise, which had been the case ever since he’d woken to find Husher sitting at his bedside, with a young woman who turned out to be his daughter.

I need to concentrate. His first thought was that someone had figured out how to infiltrate and control one of the mechs, which would involve learning how to navigate the mech dream.

That seemed unlikely. More likely, he realized, was that this was a member of Oneiri Team. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn Lisa was the perpetrator, if she’d managed to escape the brig somehow. Lisa had been his friend, but Jake had noticed her acting weirdly since before they’d left the Steele System. No one had believed him. Not until she tried to kill him.

The pounding outside sick bay receded, which meant the attacker was moving away. Isn’t the brig in that direction? That didn’t make much sense, but ultimately, it didn’t make any difference to his actions. No matter who was piloting that MIMAS, Jake needed to reach his own mech to stop them.

His legs felt like lead weights as he swung them over the side of the bed and planted them on the deck. When he tried to stand, he staggered forward instead, careening through the curtain surrounding his bed. Gripping it, he yanked it from the rod it was suspended from, so that it barely slowed his fall. Next, a narrow metal table in the next enclosure crashed to the floor, and he stumbled over it, catching himself on the next bed over, which shifted with his weight. Thankfully, the bed was unoccupied.

“Seaman Price,” a harsh voice said from somewhere to his right. “What in Sol are you doing?”

“Saving the Vesta,” he muttered, scrabbling against the deck with his feet and pushing down against the bed with an immense effort of will, till he’d reached a standing position.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he planted his hands on the bed once more to steady himself.

“You’re in no condition to save anything,” Doctor Bancroft said. “What’s more, you’re disrupting my sick bay.”

“Once I reach my mech, I’ll be fine. I need to get to my mech.”

“You need to get back into bed. There’s no way I’m letting you leave. Look, if you go any farther you’ll pull out your IV tubes.”

His gaze followed the tubes protruding from his arms to a tall, wheeled rack. I can use that to keep my balance. Fighting the dizziness, which continued to intensify until he worried he might faint, he stumbled back across the divide and clutched the IV rack like a drowning man would clutch a floating log. The bags of liquid hanging from the crossbar at the top wobbled with the effort.

“Seaman!” Bancroft said.

Price turned, hobbling toward the foot of the bed—toward Bancroft. The rack tipped forward dangerously, and for a moment he worried he was going to go crashing with it to the floor.

Jake drew a shaky breath. “I need to reach my mech, Doctor. Someone’s rampaging through the Vesta, and that puts us all in danger. Major Gamble may not even know about the threat yet, or his people may be out of position to do anything about it. But my mech is in Hangar Bay Zeta, which is pretty close. I can make it there. And maybe I can end this.”

She said nothing, her lips a firm, whitening line. But he could tell she was coming around to the realization that he was leaving this sick bay, one way or another.

“Unless you plan to wrestle a gunshot victim back into his bed, I suggest you move out of the way, Doctor,” Jake said.

Shaking her head and sighing heavily, Bancroft moved off to the side, crossing her arms.

“Thank you.”

He pushed the rack forward then stumbled after it. Push, stumble. Push, stumble. All the way across the sick bay. By the time he reached the hatch, he felt more tired than he ever had in his life. His eyelids felt like they held too much Ocharium, and a yawn stretched his mouth wide. All he wanted to do was crawl back into his sick bed and sleep for days.

Instead, he slapped the hatch’s control panel, and it slid open to let him leave.

Glancing down the corridor to his right, he couldn’t see the rogue MIMAS, not that he’d expected to. He did see the motionless leg of someone in a marine uniform. Unconscious or dead. Probably dead, given the marine had gone up against a MIMAS.

He turned left, making his torturous way toward the hangar bay where his mech was housed. Every step was agony, sending fresh pulses of pain through his skull. It felt like someone, somewhere had a knob controlling the force with which the Ocharium nanites in his body attracted the Majorana fermion matrix in the ship’s deck, and they were gradually turning it up.

After a few minutes, he came across a noncombat crewmember sprawled across the corridor, her body shredded by what had to be autocannon fire. Jake scowled darkly. Whoever did this, I’m going to kill them.

At last, he made it to the hatch that led into Hangar Bay Zeta, where another marine lay dead on the deck, eyes staring lifelessly across the cavernous space.

As Jake shuffled past, he heard the rhythmic pounding again, in the distance but getting louder.

They’re coming to this hangar bay. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. Somewhere deep inside his foggy consciousness, a grim logic had gone to work, and it knew exactly what to expect.

The distance between him and the twin rows of mechs that stood on the opposite end of the hangar bay seemed to stretch for miles and miles. One of the rows had only three MIMAS, of course, and the other row—the closer row, thankfully—had two, along with Rug’s quadruped mech and his own alien mech.

He struggled toward it as the pounding grew louder behind him. It didn’t seem as rapid as before, and again, his subconscious provided an explanation: Whoever’s piloting that mech is escorting someone who’s not in a mech.

Everything clicked into place for him, then, and he actually gasped, there in the middle of the hangar bay. Andy. The bastard had managed to gain access to the hangar bay somehow, and then he’d gotten inside a mech to begin his killing spree. All with the intention of freeing Lisa and then fleeing the Vesta together.

The treachery of it filled Jake with a berserker’s rage, and the anger’s intensity was such that it startled him, a little. But it didn’t matter. I won’t let them get away. Not after this.

Gathering his will, he forced himself to move faster across the hangar bay. The alien mech opened for him as he neared. Behind him, the pounding sounded like it was coming from the corridor outside. Jake let go of the IV rack and stumbled for the last few steps, catching himself on the ridged ramp projecting from the mech’s front torso.

He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he climbed, turning to deposit himself into the smooth, metallic cocoon that awaited.

Andy reached the hatch just as the ramp was closing. He hesitated only a second before raising an already-exposed autocannon, but that second saved Jake’s life. He fished out a sedative from an internal compartment and slapped it into his mouth as bullets ricocheted off the sealing mech.

He’s ready to turn on me that easily? Jake entered the mech dream full of rage, ready to use the alien mech’s might to rip Andy apart.

But the mech wouldn’t move.

It wouldn’t do anything. Try as he might, Jake couldn’t get it to budge.

Bond with me, the mech whispered to him. If you wish to ever access my power again, bond with me now, or be barred from it forever.

Andy opened fire again.

Chapter 11

Rogue MIMAS

With her implant routed through her com, Ash could follow Major Gamble’s progress through the ship. Ten minutes ago, he’d broadcast his location to every marine on the Vesta, along with orders to converge on him.

“A MIMAS pilot has gone rogue,” the message had said.

“This way,” Ash called to Beth when she made to run straight through an intersection. “It’s quicker if we hang a right.”

They sprinted down their chosen corridor, getting closer and closer to Gamble, who appeared to be heading toward Hangar Bay Zeta. That’s where our mechs are.

She and Beth had been enjoying some private time in an unused bunkroom, but when they’d received the alert, they’d pulled on their jumpsuits with record-breaking speed, grabbed their sidearms, and rushed into the corridor.

They found Gamble with his back to a bulkhead, combat shotgun at the ready. In the corridor with him were eight of his marines, looking twitchy, to Ash’s eye.

From inside the hangar bay, heavy gunfire roared, pinging off something metallic.

“Major, what’s going on?” Ash asked, not bothering to raise her voice over the tumult—Gamble’s embedded ear piece would deliver her voice straight to his ear canal.

“There are two active MIMAS inside the hangar bay, both firing on the alien mech, which apparently contains Price. I got a message from Bancroft that he left sick bay, and with the other mechs firing on it, that’s where he seems likely to be.”

Ash’s heartbeat ramped up till it throbbed inside her chest. “What’s our plan?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Till now, it’s been to wait for MIMAS pilots to get here, in the hopes of getting you across the hangar bay to your machines. But it might be risky to go with just you two. Maybe we should wait for Rug and Odell to get here, too.”

“No way,” Ash said. “Sorry, Major, but Jake’s mech can only withstand that kind of punishment for so long. I don’t know about you, but I’m going now.”

Gamble nodded. “Then we all go.” He turned to the rest of the gathered marines. “Spread out as soon as you’re through the hatch, covering Sweeney and Arkanian as best you can. Getting them to their mechs is our number one priority. The Vesta’s in danger, people. We protect our ship.”

“Oorah!” came the answering cry, and Gamble turned toward the hatch, raising a hand then flicking it forward once. He charged through, raising his shotgun to his eye, and the other marines followed.

Ash drew her sidearm, locked eyes with Beth, and nodded. Beth nodded back, and they swept into the hangar bay together, pistols raised and seeking targets.

The two MIMAS mechs had turned their focus on the marines, who were spreading out to the cover provided by consoles, booths, and crates distributed throughout the hangar bay. Ash and Beth split up too, racing across the deck before the opposing MIMAS pilots could figure out what their plan was.

Ash could hear bullets deflecting off the deck behind her just before she reached her mech. She dove behind it, arresting her momentum by gripping the ramp that had already lowered, thanks to the command she’d sent while sprinting across the hangar bay. Two mechs over, Beth was just reaching her machine, and Ash felt a wash of relief as she swallowed a sedative and climbed into her MIMAS.

Once inside the mech dream, she stepped backward, using the other stationary mechs as cover against the attackers. Gunfire flashed to her left, and she realized that one of the attackers had already circled around the formation to get a cleaner shot.

Panic seized her an instant before she turned and registered what had happened:

Beth lay slumped across her MIMAS’ ramp, her body riddled with bullets.

The entire hangar bay turned blood-red with Ash’s rancor. Heedless of the autocannon rounds glancing off her machine, boring closer to her body nestled inside, she charged at the MIMAS, extending both bayonets and introducing a weave into her path to throw off her attacker’s aim.

The other MIMAS began dancing backward, away from her, and it adjusted its autocannons to the right, but Ash anticipated the move. She jerked left while retaining most of her speed. Her enemy swept the autocannons back toward her, and she fell into a roll, coming up mostly unharmed—meters away from the other mech, who’d reached a bulkhead.

Momentum and fury carried Ash forward, and both bayonets struck true, piercing the MIMAS clean through and pinning it to the wall. She withdrew the blades and struck again, right where its human occupant was nestled. The mech slumped to the floor.

Then came the sound of a rocket whistling through the air, and Ash rolled sideways, coming up into a full-on sprint. The bulkhead exploded behind her, sending a blazing shock wave to speed her on her way.

Ash reached behind her back, seizing the heavy gun that was stuck there with powerful magnets. She dropped to one knee, took aim, and fired at the remaining MIMAS’ head. It jerked backward just as it fired a second rocket, which went wide, taking out two marines.

The remaining marines continued to put pressure on the rogue MIMAS. Ash stood, walking forward and supporting their fire with hers. Then she dropped the gun and extended her bayonets.

The MIMAS raised both hands, and Lisa Sato’s voice came from it: “I surrender!”

Like hell you do. Ash continued forward, intent on cutting Sato up into little bits.

“Sweeney, hold,” Gamble barked. “She surrenders.”

For a moment, incredulous rage burned through Ash, and she considered attacking anyway. They killed Beth. They killed Beth and they both deserve to die.

Almost, she resumed the attack. It felt like she had nothing left to live for, and she didn’t know where she found the strength to restrain herself.

But she did.

Chapter 12

Some Unknowable Monster

“I should go in there with you, sir,” Gamble said as he peered through the one-way mirror from the darkened chamber where he and Husher stood.

On the other side of the mirror, Lisa Sato sat in a brightly lit interrogation room, her hands bound together with metal restraints and her feet cuffed to her chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Husher looked at the major, the side of his mouth quirked upward. “Seriously? That’s a bit much, Major, even for you. Sato isn’t moving from that chair. You’re welcome to stay in here and watch, but there’s absolutely no call for you to accompany me into that room for protection. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

Gamble actually reddened slightly. “Right. Sorry, sir. I’m still shook up after what happened.”

“Fair enough. It’s unsettling when danger appears inside the ship you’re charged with protecting—at a time when you were sure she was secure. That’s not a criticism, Major. I’ve been in the exact same position myself.”

Gamble nodded, though his eyes were on the deck. Husher headed toward the hatch leading into the interrogation room.

Sato tracked him with her eyes as he walked toward the chair opposite hers, but she said nothing. She’s remarkably calm. Husher had no doubt that she’d seen a lot back in the Steele System, and that it took a lot to faze her. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, part of him admired her brazenness.

“I’m not sure who to trust, anymore,” he said as he took a seat. “A few months ago, the mayor of Cybele proved a traitor, and now so have you.”

“That’s the idea,” Sato said. “We don’t want you to feel comfortable trusting anyone.”

“We?”

“The Progenitors.”

“Right. Well, before we continue, I should let you know that your treatment going forward will depend on how forthcoming you are during this session. I don’t have time to keep questioning you, so you have one chance to decide your fate, and that chance is now.”

“Is that right?” Sato said. “In that case, my future’s looking bright, and I’ll be treated like a queen. I have no problem answering whatever questions you have the sense to ask.”

That surprised him, and he wasn’t sure how well he was doing with concealing it. “All right, then. Tell me this, Sato. When did you turn?”

Sato chuckled. “I never turned, Captain Husher. To say I turned would mean I was on your side at some point, and I never have been. Yes, there is a Lisa Sato who was on your ‘side,’ such as it is, but you’ve never met her. She was taken aboard a Progenitor warship in the Steele System, and she was never released. Instead, I was sent to take her place.”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Are you…you’re a clone, then? Have the Progenitors been cloning humans?”

Another laugh from Sato, louder this time. “You truly don’t get it, do you, Captain? Let me spell it out for you. I’m not just another creation of the Progenitors, like the Ixa. I am a Progenitor.”

Husher fell silent, and Sato’s face blurred as he unfocused his eyes, attempting to process what she’d just told him. “I don’t understand.”

“I can see that, and it’s really no surprise to me. You were expecting the species that’s inflicted such suffering on yours would be some unknowable monster, yes? Some contorted beast, unrecognizable to such an upstanding human as yourself. Wrong, Captain. Wrong. The Progenitors are human. The Progenitors are you.”

Husher could hear his own breathing, now—could feel it as it rasped against his throat. Otherwise, total silence filled the spaces between Sato’s words.

“Just as I’m Sato’s double, and she’s mine, you have a double too,” the Progenitor continued. “And what a bastard he is, Captain. You’ve been wondering where your good friend Fesky is, I’m sure, so let me dispel that mystery for you. By now, she’s no doubt been apprehended and is undergoing an interrogation the likes of which you don’t have the balls to put me through, not to mention the imagination. Would you like to know who will be administering that interrogation? You will, Captain. Where I come from, you’re every bit as renowned for your ability to inflict agony as you are for your battlespace prowess.

“Whether your friend has broken or not—my bet is that she has—her captors know by virtue of her very presence that the IU now has the ability to reach our home dimension. That will make them abandon their subtle efforts to engineer the collapse of your society, and their scalpel-like attacks will come to an end. Now, the invasion will truly begin, using the thousands of ships they’ve held in reserve. They’ve kept those ships back because they hoped to make you destroy yourself, so that they would have the resources needed to attack the next galactic cluster right away. But your bird’s appearance represents an existential threat, and now they will throw everything they have at you.”

At last, Husher found his voice. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “Why are you so willing to speak?”

“Because I believe in evolution, Captain Husher, and I believe it operates at the level of societies. I believe the Interstellar Union was always destined to be the weak thing it has become, cowering as it waits for a better society to arrive and devour it. What I tell you or don’t tell you makes no difference at all. You’re about to witness natural selection, at a universal scale.”

Chapter 13

Bargaining Chips

Ash wasn’t in the crew’s mess, and when Jake checked the Oneiri bunkroom, she wasn’t there, either. He searched for another forty-five minutes, pushing the walker Bancroft had begrudgingly given him around the Vesta.

At last, he found her sitting in a bunkroom that wasn’t currently in use, on a bunk whose sheets were rumpled beneath her.

“Knock, knock,” he said.

She looked up, and he suppressed a cringe at the levity he’d spoken with. Tears streaked Ash’s face, and her eyes were bloodshot. “What?” she said.

He crossed the room from the hatch and sat beside her. Ash didn’t react, except to pull away almost imperceptibly.

“Remember when we first met during training, back on Valhalla Station?”

A sniff. “Sure.”

“Did you know that, back then, I thought we might end up together?” He chuckled. “I was pretty wrong about that one.”

The anecdote had been intended to cheer Ash, but she continued to stonewall his efforts.

So he dropped the attempt, letting his head droop toward the ground. I’m bad at this, anyway.

“I’m really sorry about Beth. I know saying that makes no difference, and I’m not sure I have the right words to make a difference, if there are any words that would. Probably there aren’t.” He glanced at her. Her face was still sullen and drawn. “I feel like I can relate, though, on some level. When Lisa came back from the Progenitor ship acting so differently—when she went with Andy, of all people, and later tried to kill me—I felt like I lost—”

“This is nothing like that, Jake,” Ash hissed, though she sounded like she might start crying again. “Never compare Beth to Sato. I should have killed that monster.”

Jake sighed. “I’m sorry. I know this is a horrible day for you—I can’t even imagine how horrible. This is going to sound harsh, but I need you to bounce back from it, Ash. I need you to continue being an active member of Oneiri. We’re in the middle of a war for survival, and you need to find a way to pick up the pieces and move forward.”

“Oneiri Team’s dead,” Ash spat, which felt like a vat of ice water thrown in Jake’s face. “Marco’s dead, Beth’s dead, that bastard Andy is dead. Lisa’s a traitor. All that’s left is Odell, Rug, me, and you. And you can’t even control your own mech.”

Jake drew a ragged breath. He’d heard the words Ash hadn’t spoken: that if he’d been able to pilot his mech properly, Beth would almost certainly still be alive.

He pressed on: “Oneiri’s not dead. We still have Lisa’s and Beth’s mechs, and we can find—”

“Just go, Jake,” Ash said. “I want you gone!”

“All right,” he said softly. He rose to his feet, and with a last glance at Ash’s scowling face, he left the bunkroom.

For the next ten minutes, he paced some of the Vesta’s most underused corridors, walker scraping along the deck as he tried to calm down. His com buzzed, and when he told his implant to display the message, he found an order from Husher to come to his office.

I need to relax. If he carried this temper into the captain’s office, there’d be trouble, and he didn’t need to make today any worse.

Husher opened the hatch remotely as soon as Jake knocked. He shuffled in, then managed to come to attention and snap off a salute without the help of his walker.

“At ease, Seaman,” Husher said as the hatch closed automatically. “Take a seat.”

Jake lowered himself to the chair with one hand gripping the walker. He still felt raw from his conversation with Ash, but he struggled to keep himself in check.

The captain didn’t seem to notice. “How’s your recovery going?”

“As quickly as I can push it. I plan to be rid of this thing as soon as possible.” He nodded at the walker.

“Glad to hear it.” Husher cleared his throat. “I just finished interrogating Sato.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“You could say that. She didn’t seem at all concerned with holding anything back.”

“Why did she try to kill me? What made her betray us?”

“That’s the thing,” Husher said, folding his hands atop his desk. “Technically, Sato didn’t betray us, because she was never on our side to begin with.”

Jake frowned, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been friends with her since we were kids, sir. I don’t think it gets any more treacherous than this.”

“Your childhood friend isn’t the one who betrayed you. There are two people named Lisa Sato, and it turns out there are two Vin Hushers, for that matter.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I. Probably I still don’t. Not completely. But the Sato I interrogated told me the truth about the Progenitors—who they actually are. She said they aren’t an alien species at all, but a parallel version of humanity. When the Sato you knew was taken, they replaced her with the Progenitor Sato.”

It took a few moments for that to sink in, and the implications took longer. At last, Jake said, “Does that mean the real Lisa might still be alive?”

“It’s possible. The Sato I interrogated doesn’t know for sure, but when I try to think from the Progenitors’ perspective, it makes sense. We know they like to maximize the number of levers they can use against us, and they’ve likely kept alive whatever prisoners they’ve taken, in case they’re ever needed as bargaining chips.”

Jake noticed his own breathing getting heavier. Ever since fleeing the Steele System, he’d been trying to come to terms with Lisa choosing Andy over him—and since waking in the Vesta’s sick bay and remembering her attempt to kill him, he’d been filled with hatred for her.

This threw everything out of whack. It left him with the last several months to rethink, and once he did that, he needed to sort out his own conflicted feelings about Lisa.

“I debated with myself about whether I should tell you,” Husher said. “Part of me thought it might prove distracting to you. But in the end, I decided you deserved to know, given your feelings for Sato.”

Jake almost winced. He’d forgotten about telling the captain that.

It doesn’t matter how I feel about Lisa. I know what I have to do. “I’m going to get her back,” he said. “I don’t know how, but I’m not going to stop until I do.”

Husher nodded. “I intend to help you.”

Chapter 14

At Least One Version of Me

Ever since the entire universe had collapsed down to just the Sol System, Husher had had access to less and less intel. The fact that he’d never even met Teth before was a testament to that.

With what he was learning from interrogating the winged rat, that made more sense, now. His double and Teth had been bitter enemies for twenty years. Letting him and Teth intermingle definitely posed a risk to them both, not to mention to the overall military picture.

The fact he was finally being allowed to meet the Ixan proved Darkstream was feeling the pressure. They were taking the bird’s appearance in this universe very seriously. Good.

Husher waited in a luxurious leather recliner, and when the hatch opened, he rose to his feet, crossing to greet Teth and holding out a hand in friendship.

“Command Leader,” he said as he approached. “I’m a great admirer of your work, and I think we have a lot to learn from each other.”

The hulking Ixan came to an abrupt halt, staring at Husher’s hand as though it was also a predatory reptile. Then, his cat-like eyes lifted to meet Husher’s, and he hissed, his forked tongue protruding between his teeth.

Husher stood his ground, staring up to meet the genetically enhanced alien’s eyes. “All right, then,” he said, and returned to his seat.

“You should kill that,” Teth said, gesturing toward the window that dominated the bulkhead opposite the hatch. It overlooked the Cavern from the rear, and Husher had turned the Winger’s chair around so she could watch their meeting unfold. He’d stapled her eyelids open to ensure that she did. What was said would be lost to her, but he expected seeing Teth in repose would unsettle her greatly. She clearly thought of him as a brutal foe.

Except, Teth wasn’t in repose. He refused to join Husher in sitting, instead standing stiffly in the chamber’s center, as though barely able to restrain an impulse to go for the kill.

“Why do you say I should kill the Winger?” Husher asked mildly.

“Mercy. That creature is inferior, pitiful. Euthanize it.”

“I believe she’s much more valuable alive.” And I’m close to breaking her. I have to be. That should be true, especially if she was as pitiful as Teth claimed. She should have broken long ago.

“Your double is also pitiful,” Teth said. “They tell me you, however, are competent. If that’s true, then you’ll have figured out already that I despise you.”

“It isn’t me you despise, Teth. Surely you’re capable of making the distinction.”

“When I look at you, I see the human who killed my father. If I had my way, your face would be pulped and then erased from the multiverse. I would hunt down every version of you, no matter how innumerable, and exterminate them.”

“This is quite a first impression.”

The Ixan shifted toward him, so fast it was difficult to track his movements. He stopped himself just a foot away from Husher.

“Get out of my face,” Husher snapped. “You’re boring me, a lot. We both know you wouldn’t dare attack me, and you’re not going to get anywhere with trying to intimidate me, so why don’t you drop the act and sit down to discuss how we can exterminate at least one version of me. Hmm?”

Husher maintained steady eye contact while he spoke, and he saw how Teth’s body trembled with rage.

At last, the Ixan stepped back and lowered himself into the other chair.

“That’s good,” Husher said. “If you can believe it, I think we’ve already made a lot of progress. We’ve established that you hate me as much as it’s possible for one being to hate another, for all intents and purposes. We can use that. We can channel it in order to win.”

“You’re saying my desire to rip out your throat with my fangs is productive,” Teth said softly.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Husher said, maintaining eye contact with the reptilian.

“My desire to revel in the lovely sound of cracking bones and ripping flesh. To tear off your jaw and break both your arms in half.”

“I already mentioned you can’t intimidate me.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you,” Teth said, smiling. “I’m telling you the truth about what’s inside. I want to do those things, not just to you, but to everyone.”

“But you mostly want to do it to me.”

“Don’t underestimate my desire to harm everyone. I see it as mercy. Truly. When I’m finally finished my work, I’ll grant myself the same mercy.”

“Well, again, I call it good.” He’d also call it insane. I had no idea Teth was deteriorating like this. He sniffed. No matter. “It means you’ll do what needs doing with perfect enthusiasm. You’ll hit Husher where he’s weakest, with maximum vigor.”

“Yes.”

“I can help you. I am Husher, and I know him well. Better than anyone else. You need to exploit the tension inside him, the tension between saving the galaxy and saving those dear to him.”

“Tell me how.”

“Happily. But first, I want intel from you. I want to determine what Steele still isn’t telling me, if anything. And I want to know things from your perspective—from the commander in the field.”

Teth’s grin widened. “Very well.”

“I also want you to hear my advice, and heed it, in spite of your pride and hatred. Steele has counseled you to stop your measured, incisive attacks—to ramp up the invasion straight away. I think that, instead, you should triple down on those attacks. Hit them where they’re weakest, again and again, with increasing tempo. Drive them like lambs to the slaughter. And once the entire galaxy is huddled together, as though for warmth…then, let the hammer fall.”

Chapter 15

Just One Lifetime

Since the Progenitor was being so forthcoming, Husher saw no need for any theatrics designed to intimidate. He sat in the interrogation room as he waited for his marines to bring her, and when they did, he regarded her impassively while they bound her to the other chair.

“I have more questions,” Husher said once they were alone.

“I’ll give you answers,” Sato said, and grew a sly smile. “Though I still haven’t seen the promised improvement in my treatment, Captain. Everyone tells me you’re a man of your word, but there’s been no three-course dinner, no mani pedi.”

“I meant that perhaps you’ll be sentenced to just one lifetime in prison instead of two.”

Sato laughed. “Ask me anything, Captain.”

Husher frowned as he realized he wasn’t particularly eager to proceed, despite the success of the interrogations so far. What she’d told him hadn’t done much to inspire optimism in him over the fate of the galaxy.

“Why don’t the Progenitors just conquer their own universe?” Husher said. “Why do they want ours? Surely one universe is enough.”

“Ours isn’t enough,” Sato said, shaking her head. “Not anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“In this dimension, you destroyed Darkstream. A long, clumsy process, but you managed it in the end. In our dimension, Darkstream seized power and kept it. The corporation absorbed the government into itself, and no one had the means to stop it from continuing to abuse dark tech.”

“They destabilized the universe.”

“Yes. So much that it began to collapse. We had enough time to throw all our resources at engineering forcefield tech, which you saw Teth use in the Concord System. That was enough to save the Sol System. The rest of the universe tore itself apart.”

“Something’s not adding up,” Husher said, searching Sato’s face for signs of deceit. “You created the Ixa, and the Ixa gave us dark tech. How did you get it, if there were never any Ixa in your universe to begin with?”

She shrugged. “We invented it ourselves, just as you would have, given enough time.”

“All right,” Husher said slowly. “So you lost your entire universe, thanks to Darkstream. Are they still in power?”

“Very much so.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. The only thing that matters to me is that we survived. That’s the measure of a truly strong society. For a universe to collapse and not kill us sort of proves that, doesn’t it? Besides, only Darkstream would have had the wherewithal to invent interdimensional travel and inject self-improving AIs into your universe.”

“Why did Darkstream hold onto power in your universe and not in ours?” Husher thought he might know why: without the Ixa, the Progenitors never had to contend with another species that exhibited their own worst qualities, and so they’d never had the same reasons for self-examination.

But Sato had a different answer. “I think we have you to thank for that, Captain.”

“Explain.”

“Where I come from, you’re known as Darkstream’s faithful hound, always eager to lap up the scraps of glory they let fall from the table of power. You’ve never opposed them—not once. You even killed your beloved Captain Keyes for them, though the Husher I knew never loved Keyes.”

Husher felt his eyes widen, and he tried to clamp down on the reaction he knew was showing on his face. It was the same way he’d reacted to the first interrogation: utter disbelief.

I killed Keyes? The words didn’t seem to belong together—the idea was completely alien, and he wanted to reject it outright. But the idea of serving Darkstream felt just as wrong. Somehow, he believed Sato’s claim about Darkstream. So why not the one about Keyes?

“You should be grateful there’s a version of you who isn’t a coward,” Sato said, clearly enjoying this. “Our Captain Husher helped create the society that will dominate the multiverse. The most perfect society evolution is capable of producing. You should be proud of that, but you’re not, because you’re weak.”

He had nothing to say. To any of it.

“You’re weak in specific ways,” Sato continued. “And we know them all. If I were a betting woman, and I am, I’d say that the next attack will be custom-designed to exploit those very weaknesses. I’d warn you to prepare yourself, but it wouldn’t make any difference. You’re already going to act exactly as we’ve predicted, no matter what I say to you.”

At that moment, his com vibrated in its holster, beeping stridently. He removed it, read the message it displayed, then froze. Slowly, his eyes drifted from the device to Sato.

She raised her eyebrows. “It’s the attack I just predicted, isn’t it? Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me I’m good. I already know it.”

Chapter 16

Something to Think About

Husher took the command seat from Ek and studied the tactical display, wishing for the thousandth time that they had the Spire back. The Progenitors were hitting Abdera from four locations dispersed around the globe, and the former lifeboat’s flanking ability would have proved invaluable.

“Coms, order Captain Norberg and her battle group to engage the enemy ships just north of the equator. Tell the Quatro to target the battle group hitting the defense platform near the planet’s south pole. Until we take out one of the other groups, Abdera’s fighter group will have to take on the ships halfway up the northern hemisphere while we confront the ones at the north pole.” Each of the Progenitor attack forces numbered ten, and given their ships’ advanced capabilities, taking out forty of them dispersed around the planet was going to be a difficult fight.

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Fry said, bending closer to her console as she queued up the transmissions.

With Fry occupied, Husher got in touch with Commander Ayam himself.

“Yes, Captain?” the Winger said.

“I want the Air Group to scramble as we approach, adopting formations designed for maximum versatility.”

“What about my subspace squadron?”

“I was just about to get to that. Deploy with the rest of the Pythons headed for the north pole, and enter subspace right away. But the moment you transition, I want you to whip around and head toward the Progenitor ships further down the northern hemisphere. Help the Abdera defense pilots take them out as fast as you can, then come help us at the north pole.”

“Can do,” Ayam said, though his brevity didn’t conceal his evident enthusiasm for Husher’s plan. “Ayam out.”

“The orders have been sent, sir,” Fry said. “Captain Norberg’s battle group is already underway toward the targets you designated.”

“Very good. I’ve ordered Ayam to have his pilots use formations optimized to attack, so that’s what the Progenitors will expect. We’re doing the opposite. Coms, just as we’re about to close, order the Air Group to go on missile defense, and tell our battle group captains to do the same.” He intentionally hadn’t told Ayam about his intended deception, since it would be much easier for the Python pilots to conceal something they didn’t even know they were concealing. Husher’s gaze settled on Tremaine. “Tactical, prep Banshees for loading into forward tubes, but mix in equal helpings of Hydras and Gorgons—they should account for half of the total missiles loaded. Everything we do in the next ten minutes will be aimed at getting Gorgons through as fast as possible.”

“Yes, Captain,” Tremaine said with a brisk nod before turning to his work.

As expected, Ravagers streamed forth from the Progenitor ships, and Fry sent the Pythons the order to engage them. Particle beams lanced out as well, but the battle group captains already knew to introduce lateral movement into their courses. Other than some superficial damage, they escaped unscathed.

The Ravager barrage met with a wave of Banshees, and then a wall of Pythons. Hundreds of them exploded within seconds, and Husher watched as the icons representing the Hydras and Gorgons crept across the tactical display.

“The first Hydras are splitting,” Winterton said. “Enemy ships are turning their attention to dealing with the new threat, and they’re getting some of our Gorgons too, but I think the sheer number of them is going to prevail.”

The tactical display soon proved the sensor operator right: three of the enemy ships exploded, bringing a grim smile to Husher’s face. Now the real work begins. “Tactical—”

“Sir, we’ve received a priority alert from a com drone that just entered from the Feverfew System,” Fry said.

“What’s the message?” Husher asked, though he dreaded the answer.

“Feverfew system is under attack from eight Progenitor destroyers and five of their carriers. There are Quatro ships stationed around Zakros, but with most local forces concentrated in the Caprice System, they don’t think they can hold.”

Sera is on Zakros. Despite their differences where their daughter was concerned—despite that Sera had let him believe their daughter was dead for nearly twenty years—he couldn’t bear the thought of remaining in Caprice while her life was in danger.

“Noni, set a course that skirts the enemy formation and takes us to the Caprice-Feverfew darkgate. Coms, order the other battle group ships to follow suit. Recall the Air Group once we’re clear of the enemy, and then broadcast a repeating transmission encoded to Commander Ayam’s fighter: I want him to follow us in subspace until he catches up.”

“Yes, sir,” both officers answered, though he heard the notes of uncertainty in their voices. That they were unquestioningly following his orders to leave the battle around Abdera was a testament to how much they trusted him, and part of Husher couldn’t help but feel like he was abusing that trust.

He sensed Ek studying him from the XO’s seat, but she didn’t speak, and he didn’t invite her to. How am I making this decision so easily? It wasn’t easy, truthfully—he felt on the brink of nausea. Still, he’d given the orders with barely a moment’s hesitation. How?

He knew the answer, though it killed him to admit it, even to himself. Husher was losing hope in the galaxy’s chances of survival. Abdera was almost certainly doomed, just as the rest of the galaxy was doomed. Faced with that, he would at least try to save those dear to him.

“Tactical, prep a starboard Hydra broadside and fire it as we pass the Progenitor formation.”

“Aye, sir.”

That will give them something to think about, at least.

The Hydras didn’t take out any more of the enemy ships, but it did force them to expend more Ravagers in defense, and it let the Vesta and her battle group pass unharmed, with the help of the Air Group.

Husher instructed the Helm to adopt an acceleration profile equal to the slowest ship’s maximum output, so that his supercarrier would remain in formation with her battle group. After that, the journey across the Caprice System passed in tense silence—except when Fry informed him of the panicked messages being sent by officials on Abdera’s surface. He told her to ignore them.

After that, the silence inside the CIC grew tenser.

At last, they transitioned through the darkgate, and Winterton began to report on what he saw. “The Progenitor ships aren’t attacking the colony, sir.”

Husher stared at the sensor operator. “Then what are they doing?”

“They’re hitting the shipyards.”

Just as Winterton said it, the icons representing the Feverfew Shipyards winked out, signaling their destruction. At once, the Progenitor formation winked out of this dimension.

“Make for the colony with all possible speed,” Husher said. “They’ll strike there next.”

Chapter 17

Missile Damage

The Quatro warships defending Zakros were mostly concentrated along the southern hemisphere, and so of course the Progenitors appeared over the north, above and below one of the orbital defense platforms there. They began bombarding it with Ravagers.

“Tell the Quatro ships to stay where they are,” Husher ordered Ensign Fry. “We’ll take on the thirteen attacking vessels—if the Quatro move to join us, the Progenitors will only reappear in a less defended location.”

“Aye, sir.”

With twenty minutes left before the Vesta closed with the attackers, the Progenitors succeeded in destroying the defense platform they’d been targeting. That done, they started dropping Amblers and Ravagers on the planet’s surface.

A coldness washed through Husher as he watched that, but even so, he didn’t give the order for Helm to accelerate beyond what the older UHF ships were capable of. They were already outnumbered and outgunned. If the Vesta arrived alone, the odds would be even worse.

Winterton looked up from his console at Husher. “Sir, analysis of one of the destroyer’s hulls puts it at a high probability that it belongs to Teth. Repairs have been made to areas where his destroyer took missile damage in Hellebore.”

“Then that’s our target. Coms, order Ayam to scramble the Air Group, using the same formations we used in Caprice. We can reuse those same tactics here, since there’s no way the two attack forces have had time to communicate with each other. Tell Ayam to use subspace to pressure Teth’s destroyer as best we can. Tactical, prep a barrage identical to the one that took out three ships over Abdera, and center it on that destroyer.”

His officers carried out his orders with the same efficiency they’d shown in Abdera; maybe more, since they were the same orders, which they’d executed just a few hours before.

But the attackers in Feverfew didn’t behave like the ones in Caprice. They failed to launch Ravagers at the Vesta and her battle group, and when Tremaine loosed his missile barrage, the Progenitor ships vanished before it could reach them.

Damn it. What’s their angle? “Coms, tell Major Gamble to take ten battalions to help Zakros’ ground forces clean up the mess on the planet’s surface.”

“Aye, sir.”

“The enemy ships have appeared away from the colony, sir,” Winterton said. “Just out of firing range.”

“We’re getting a transmission request from the destroyer likely to be Teth’s,” Fry said.

“Accept,” Husher said, steeling himself. “Put it on the main display and give everyone access.”

Teth’s broad, leering face appeared, and his forked tongue flickered between his teeth as his eyes fell on Husher. “Hello, Captain. Your bird friend sends her regards. Or at least, I’m sure she would, if she wasn’t otherwise occupied.”

“What have you done to her?”

“I did nothing. You’re the one who sent her to us so woefully unprepared. And now she suffers the consequences of your folly. Just like your galactic capital.”

Husher fell silent, though his breathing had quickened.

Nodding, Teth said, “I see that you fear to ask the question whose answer you already know. Abdera has fallen, Captain. Overrun with our machines, who will take no mercy on the populace. Your precious capital is finished, and it will be far from the first colony to fall. You’ve failed to save your home. But don’t worry. I will be their savior, by granting them the release of annihilation.”

“How is that saving them?” Husher said.

“I’m saving them from life itself. This existence is a parade of devils that attack you relentlessly until you die. Surely you can see that. What better mercy can I show than to kill all who live, sparing them from endless suffering?”

“Will you show the same mercy to your masters?”

“I think I may. But you first.”

With that, the Progenitor force vanished again and didn’t return, leaving Husher and his crew in a galaxy changed forever.

Chapter 18

You Won’t Be the Last

“Have you gone insane?” Iris stood over his desk, hands planted on her hips, glaring at him.

Suppressing a sigh, Husher met her gaze from where he sat behind the desk. “Iris, if you’ve come to berate me, get it over with. You won’t be the first one to do that, and you won’t be the last—not even the last one today. I’d bet my life on it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. You’ll be lucky if the admiralty doesn’t strip you of command for this.”

“They won’t take the Vesta from me,” he said. “They’ve tried, many times, and I won’t let them. I’ll stay in command till the war is over, at least. If they haven’t made their peace with that yet, they’re going to.”

His daughter shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. “How can you be self-righteous at a time like this? You abandoned the galactic capital, Vin. You let it fall.”

“I’m Vin, now? Not dad anymore?”

Iris’s shoulder fell a little. “You’re dad, I guess,” she muttered. “For better or worse.”

“Indeed,” Husher said, nodding. “And I came to Feverfew for your mother.”

“You realize that makes you a colossal hypocrite, right?”

He squinted. “How?”

“This is exactly what I told you not to do. I told you that if you want to lead people, then you need to do it by example. By living by your principles.”

“What principle are you talking about?”

“Dad, whenever you see mom, you’re constantly preaching at her about how overprotective she is. About how she needs to learn to let me face the dangers of the world on my own. But when danger comes to her, you drop everything and run to protect her. You abandoned the defense of the galactic capital, and you came here, just to protect her.”

Husher’s eyes fell to the desktop, and he took a deep breath. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I know that. But there are certain things you aren’t considering.”

“Like what?”

“The Progenitors have too many capabilities we don’t. Particle beams, and the ability to appear in any system without warning. We can’t defend against that. We’re too spread out.”

“Then maybe we need to start consolidating our people, and our forces.”

Husher paused. “That could work, if our society would concentrate on something other than tearing itself apart. But it’s not going to. Not for any length of time. We’re working to destroy ourselves almost as fast as the Progenitors are, and it’s difficult to say who’ll win that race.”

Iris’s eyes were wide, and she looked genuinely shocked. “You’ve given up on the galaxy. Haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes returned to the desk.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice strengthening again. “It doesn’t make you any less of a hypocrite for what you did. You don’t get a free pass just because you’ve lost faith.”

He stayed quiet.

“As for mom, she would have survived the Progenitor attack either way. She can handle herself, and you know it. She used to command the Providence marine battalion, for God’s sake!”

Husher still had nothing to say, and after a few more seconds of silence, Iris cursed, then turned toward the hatch.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Down to Zakros,” she shot back. “I’m going to find mom.”

Chapter 19

Long Shots

Husher trudged through the Vesta toward the supercarrier’s conference room, wishing Fesky was by his side. Dealing with President Chiba still wouldn’t have been easy with his friend there, but maybe it would have been bearable.

She made everything more bearable. He’d taken that for granted, and now she was gone. One of his many mistakes.

To top it all off, he’d gotten wind that Sera had agreed to return to the Vesta with Iris. Eventually he’d have to face her again, too.

He found the president of the Union sitting at the far end of the conference table, flanked by two marines. “Captain Husher,” the Kaithian said. “You weren’t on the flight deck to greet me.”

“That’s because you didn’t alert me to your presence until your shuttle was at our hull, Mr. President,” Husher ground out, taking a seat at the opposite end of the long table, so that they would have to keep their voices raised to converse. Probably not the most diplomatic move, but I won’t be pushed around on my own ship, either. Chiba had already taken his usual seat, so Husher would take the other end of the table. “For hours, all we saw were eight Quatro warships who refused to answer our transmission requests as they approached from the Feverfew-Caprice darkgate. We were preparing to defend ourselves.”

“Military preparedness can’t be a bad thing, in the middle of a war. Surely you of all people agree with that, Captain.”

“I do,” he said slowly.

“Then why did you abandon Abdera while she was under full-scale attack?” Chiba demanded.

“That wasn’t full-scale.”

“The capital is gone, Husher,” the president retorted, his voice like iron, which seemed strange coming from the childlike Kaithian. “It was full-scale enough, don’t you think? If you’d stayed, we might have held.”

“I had a decision to make.”

“Between what?”

“Between saving Abdera and protecting the Feverfew Shipyards. It was a harsh calculation to have to make, but the shipyards were much more important from a military perspective.”

The Kaithian’s head twitched, causing his head-tail to swing to the right. “That’s rather debatable, especially when you consider the damage losing the galaxy’s capital will do to public morale. There’s also the inconvenient fact that you failed to protect the shipyards.”

“Nevertheless, the reasoning was sound.”

“Was it? I think you’re skirting the truth, Captain. You weren’t choosing between Abdera and the shipyards at all. You were choosing between Abdera and your ex-wife.”

Husher blinked. He hadn’t expected that. I guess you don’t become galactic president without being perceptive. His cheeks began to heat up, and he wondered whether they were close enough for Chiba to spot his shame. “Listen, Kaithian,” he said, partly to mask it, and partly from genuine anger. Chiba’s guards shifted their weight at his change in tone. “Let’s get one thing straight. If you’re here to try to remove me from command, then you’d better have your men shoot me, because that’s the only way that’s going to happen. Otherwise, I stay in the command seat. Understood?”

A brittle silence took hold in the conference room, and for a moment, Husher wondered whether Chiba would give the order to kill him. If he did, Husher had enough faith in his crew that he doubted they would react positively to that.

“I haven’t come to remove you from command,” the Kaithian said at last. “Attempting to do so has already proven a burdensome, aggravating experience. For the duration of this war, at least, we’re stuck with you.”

“Then what have you come to do?”

“After the Quatro evacuated myself along with thousands of other government officials and civilians, we owe them an even greater debt. I’m here to require you to turn over the Quatro aboard your ship, and to standby without interfering while we apprehend those aboard the Quatro warship in your battle group.”

“I can’t believe it,” Husher snapped. “Are we really doing this again? You know what I’m prepared to do to prevent the Quatro with me from becoming political prisoners. I wouldn’t recommend pushing me on it.”

“Captain Husher, I don’t think you fully comprehend the delicate balance I’m trying to strike here,” Chiba said, and to Husher, the Kaithian almost sounded like he was pleading.

“The Quatro need us just as much as we need them,” Husher said. “We offered them safe refuge in a galaxy we control, and without us, they’d fall to the Progenitors even faster. They don’t get to pretend they can push us around and make demands.”

“Clearly, you don’t understand the Quatro,” Chiba said. “Or at least, you don’t understand their Assembly of Elders. They’re willing to gamble with everything to get what they want.”

“Then they’re psychopaths. I don’t strike compromises with psychopaths. It isn’t possible. Sorry, Mr. President, but Rug stays on this ship, and I’ll blast from space any ship that makes a move against my Quatro vessel.”

Chiba’s face hardened. “Then you’ve left me with only one option. I’ll have to take other measures to placate the Elders, because without them, we’re finished.”

“What other measures?”

“I’m afraid you don’t get to know yet, Captain.”

Husher’s jaw tensed. “I’d suggest you carefully consider whatever it is you’re about to do, President Chiba. You and your friends have already done enough damage to the galaxy. It can’t take much more.”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Captain. You command a starship, and I hope you realize that comes nowhere close to the complex demands of governing a galaxy.” Chiba paused, slim shoulders rising and falling more rapidly. “The loss of Thessaly and Abdera has made one thing clear: we need to begin evacuating systems.”

Husher’s eyebrows twitched at the near-echo of what his daughter had said to him inside his office. “Evacuate them to where?”

“That’s yet to be determined.”

“How about the Kaithian home system?”

That brought another prolonged pause from Chiba. Clearly, he was uncomfortable with the idea. Or at least, he thought it would be difficult to get the Kaithian Consensus to agree.

“You know it makes the most sense,” Husher went on. “In fact, it would be criminally negligent to evacuate civilians to anywhere else. The superweapon you call a moon may be our last hope of survival.”

“The Preserver was not meant for use in war.”

Husher laughed. “What was it meant for, then? Decoration? Don’t try to fool me about this, Chiba. It’s shameful for you to try. I was with Captain Keyes when your superweapon gunned down the Ixa chasing us, and he told me how your brethren characterized the Preserver. They said it was programmed only for defensive war. And that’s exactly what this is.”

The galactic president met Husher’s gaze for several long seconds. At last, he said, “You’re right, and I believe the Consensus will agree. We’ll begin the evacuation to Home immediately. Many supplies will be needed, and temporary structures. Our planet’s land will be covered with beings.”

Husher raised his eyebrows, a little surprised at how quickly Chiba had jumped on board with the proposal. “Yes, it will,” he said.

“As for you, Captain, I want you to carry out a mission given to you at the very start of this conflict. One you still haven’t completed.”

“What might that be?”

“Go to the Gok, and find a way to forge an alliance with them.”

Husher’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. They helped Teth fight us in Concord.”

“Their government has been distancing itself from the Gok who did that. They say those were rogue ships.”

“And you believe them?”

“Not necessarily. But I do believe that any chance of victory now depends on taking long shots. And this is one of them.”

Husher was about to continue arguing, but the president was right, he realized.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll approach the Gok.”

He’d hoped to remain in this area of the galaxy for a little longer, in case Fesky returned. But she wasn’t coming back. And as his conversation with the president had just attested, it no longer paid to remain in any part of the galaxy for very long.

Chapter 20

Lucid

As the Vesta’s crew made final preparations for her to depart Feverfew for the journey to the Gok home system, a shuttle entered the system from Hellebore.

Shortly after, a message arrived from a woman named Eve Quinn, who said she represented Invigor Technologies.

“I’d like to meet with Captain Husher,” the message read. “I have a proposition that could change the war.”

Husher read that with extreme skepticism, but like Chiba had said, it was time to start taking long shots. And they weren’t slated to leave Feverfew for another three hours. So he could fit in a meeting.

Based on the name of the company Quinn represented, Husher figured that having Ochrim present would be a good idea. And so, after receiving Quinn on Flight Deck Delta, he led her toward Cybele.

“This place is actually less of a ghost town than I expected,” Quinn said, peering around as they walked through the city streets toward Ochrim’s residence.

Husher nodded, trying not to notice the smell of sanitizer, or to think about what it might be covering up. With the recent riots and general neglect that had come with a smaller population living in the same amount of space, the street-cleaning robots had increased the amount of sanitizer they used. Oculens overlays had also gotten more elaborate, to cover up the damage done to several of the buildings.

“A lot of the people who move to one of these starship cities do so for a reason,” he said. “An agenda. That type of person isn’t going to be turned off by unrest, or by flying into the middle of a war.”

“Zealots,” Quinn said.

“Basically. IGF Command welcomes them, since they’re a major source of funding. Either way, Command’s still dissatisfied with our population numbers.”

They found Ochrim waiting for them on his front step, arms crossed. “I hope you don’t have any more technologies for me to develop, Captain. I’m kept rather busy trying to find a way to move bigger ships through dimensions.”

“You’re in luck,” Quinn said. “This one’s already developed, and extremely straightforward to integrate with the Vesta’s existing systems.”

To Husher, Quinn’s words sounded exactly like the sales pitch he’d been expecting. “I only want your input, Ochrim,” he said. “On whether whatever Quinn has come to propose is a good idea. We’ll meet in the lab.”

Ochrim uncrossed his arms to open his front door. “By all means,” he said. “Not that I’m under the illusion that I have a choice in the matter.”

“Good,” Husher said. “We have enough illusions in this city as it is.”

The Ixan led them to the back room where the lab’s entrance, hidden in the floor, was now kept open. Without ceremony, he began descending the ladder, and Husher motioned for Quinn to follow.

As his foot left the bottom rung, Husher noticed two of Ek’s six offspring swimming in the enormous tank that took up one wall of the lab. The Fins’ exoskeletons allowed them to walk the ship freely, but to completely avoid the negative effects zero G had on Fin bodies, they had to regularly perform calisthenic exercises inside the tank.

It has to be better than living in there twenty-four-seven. That had been their situation before Ochrim had developed the exoskeleton.

Husher turned to Quinn. “What do you have for us?”

She grinned. “Right to business, I see. I like it.”

“War doesn’t leave much room for formalities.”

Quinn’s smile broadened, and then Husher’s Oculenses notified him of an invitation to a shared overlay. When he accepted, a MIMAS mech appeared in the center of the lab.

“We already have mechs,” Husher said, walking around it. “Unless you’re one of the companies contracted to build more of them?” Whenever he beheld one of these machines, he couldn’t help but admire the engineering that went into it. The mech bristled with artillery, and it vaguely resembled a human who’d broken free of the bonds of evolution to merge with technology.

“It isn’t the MIMAS itself I wanted to show you,” Quinn said. “It’s the technology that allows pilots to control the mechs.”

“Lucid, isn’t it?” Husher said, still circling the mech.

“Yes. The pilot dreams she is the mech. And we’ve expanded on the tech; modified it for use with almost any vehicle.”

Husher’s eyes snapped onto Quinn’s face. “Lucid is Darkstream tech. How did your company come to acquire it? My understanding was that the entire Darkstream board was sentenced to life imprisonment.”

“That’s true. But we’ve partnered with a lower-level employee, who was exonerated.”

“Who is it?”

Quinn’s smile tightened. “Invigor considers that information proprietary.”

“Fascinating. Well, I’m surprised you’d come here to waste my time with Darkstream tech. You are aware of my history with the company, aren’t you? Not to mention the universe’s history with almost getting destroyed by it?”

Quinn managed to keep her chipper demeanor intact. “I can assure you, this isn’t a waste of time, Captain. And the only reason you’re surprised I would propose this is because you haven’t seen the tech in action yet. Lucid would give the Vesta and her Python pilots a big edge in combat. Watch.”

Apparently Quinn had sent her Oculenses a command, since the MIMAS disappeared, replaced by a battlespace in miniature. Inside it, a digital scale model of the Vesta was surrounded by gnat-like Pythons, all engaging an enemy that struck with particle beams and Ravagers. But Husher could see that the rate at which enemy fire found its target had been dramatically reduced, with Pythons turning on a dime. The Vesta also seemed to respond faster than should have been possible, given the time required for a captain to give the Nav officer orders based on information relayed by the sensor operator.

“Using lucid, a properly trained Nav officer can see and process what the ship sees, and respond accordingly. They can become the ship, and you can limit your orders to cases where you want the ship to move in a way that’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s impressive,” Husher admitted. “But we also don’t have an abundance of time. The way I see it, our time is much better spent figuring out a way to get a ship like the Vesta to the Progenitors’ home system. Preferably before they wipe out every last system of ours.”

“But that’s the beauty of this technology,” Quinn said. “As I said, it can be seamlessly integrated with existing systems, and it doesn’t take long to do that. You’ll likely be finished well before you arrive in Gok space.” She cleared her throat. “For all you know, Captain, this upgrade could buy enough time to make the discovery you just mentioned. And if you ask me, lucid will prove even more important for the war effort than interdimensional warship travel.”

Husher drew a deep breath. “I tend to doubt that. But I do see your point.” He expelled the air in a rush. “All right. My primary Nav officer happens to have a minor in sensor system engineering, so provided she agrees to this, she can probably be brought up to speed fairly quickly. All of this is contingent on her consent, however.”

“I understand, Captain,” Quinn said. “I think you’re making the right choice.”

I wish I did, Husher thought, still very apprehensive over using tech that had originated with Darkstream.

He reminded himself of Chiba’s words. Husher and the president didn’t agree on much, but in this they were united: it was time to start taking long shots.

“What about your Python pilots?” Quinn said. “Should I start work on having them outfitted with the tech as well?”

Husher shook his head. “I doubt we have the time. Besides, I want to see how the first upgrade plays out before converting my entire Air Group. If all goes well, we’ll see to that later.”

“Hopefully the war will afford us the opportunity to do all that, Captain.”

Chapter 21

Lavender

As the Vesta sped through a dying galaxy toward the Gok home world, Doctor Bancroft suggested that Jake use the time wisely. “Getting a little fresh air would be good for your recovery,” she said.

He’d quipped that fresh air wasn’t available aboard the Vesta.

Bancroft hadn’t seemed amused by that, no matter how true it was. The closest he could get to fresh air was Santana Park, where the simulated sun shone from above but provided no heat. Not that it was cold—the heating units out in the fake desert kept Cybele at room temperature, and the ceiling lights did emit UVB rays that triggered vitamin D production.

It’s still not quite the same, he reflected.

He was used to being away from a real sun. He’d grown up in a great artificial habitat called Hub, which had shared a heliocentric orbit with the asteroids of Kuiper Belt 2 in the Steele System.

Still, he cherished the few memories he had of walking on Eresos outside of his mech. Real sunlight on real skin, unmediated even by the mech dream.

Santana Park pulsated with life, today: couples strolling the cobbled paths, youth chasing each other between the trees, students studying. It was as though the galaxy’s rapid deterioration had chased everyone from their residences, to snatch what pleasantness remained to be had. No one seemed to be pushing a political agenda, today. Everyone was just living.

This is what I’m fighting to protect. Exactly this.

Except, Jake wasn’t confident he could fight anymore. He could join Gamble’s marine battalion as regular infantry, but he’d accomplish far less than he would in his mech, especially with the dizziness that continued to plague him. He could walk unaided now, but he still had a long way to go.

According to Bancroft, his prefrontal cortex had taken a beating after Lisa’s shot caused his meninges to swell. Maybe that’s what’s interfering with controlling my mech.

Odell had suggested switching to one of the empty MIMAS mechs, but Jake wouldn’t hear of it. Something deep inside him railed against the notion of abandoning the alien mech, and he justified it by pointing out how much more powerful it was. The war effort required everyone to strive toward their maximum potential, and for Jake, that meant piloting the thing, even if he had to master it all over again.

His gaze fell on a young woman wearing the spaced-out expression of an Oculens user. Another student studying….and he recognized this student.

“Hey,” he said as he neared, trying not to hobble too much.

Iris looked up, and as she did, he caught the scent of flowers. Lavender?

“What do you want?” she said.

“To thank you. For saving my life.”

“I would have done it for anyone. The fact that I saved you is proof of that.”

Jake furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve heard how you pushed for my father to meet with the Brotherhood. How you thought he should try to form an alliance with them.”

Jake shrugged. “I thought they could lend us some muscle, in case the IU tried to put us in a position we didn’t want to be in. And we could have used the muscle, it turned out.”

Iris shook her head. “So, allying with the Brotherhood, that’s a situation you’d prefer?”

“At the time, I thought it might help. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Yeah, I’d say there’s a good chance, considering they attacked a Union colony soon after that!”

“What’s your problem with me, anyway?” he asked. “You were the first person I saw when I woke up. You were waiting by my bedside, for God knows who long. So I can’t be all bad.”

Iris rose to her feet, bringing her scowl close to him. It’s definitely lavender.

“I felt responsible for you,” she said. “Apparently that happens after you save someone’s life. Hopefully you’ll actually do something good with it, this time around. Because from what I’ve seen, you act first without thinking. You don’t consider what the effects might be on other beings. Excuse me.”

She brushed past him and headed deeper into the park, leaving Jake staring after her, feeling thoroughly baffled.

Chapter 22

Willing to Share the Galaxy

“The Gok ships seem to have registered our presence, Captain,” Winterton said. “They’re distributing themselves along a wide arc between us and their homeworld.”

“The formation looks defensive,” Tremaine put in. “No sign of their usual aggression as of yet.”

Sounds like progress to me. Even so… “Stay on alert, everyone. Nav, take us close enough to their formation for real-time communication, but no closer.” The Gok had stationed almost three dozen of their warships in this, their home system. While Husher was confident he would win an engagement if it arose, that wouldn’t happen without heavy losses, and it wouldn’t serve anything. He wanted the option to back out if things soured.

“Sir, a transmission request is coming in from a destroyer near the center of their formation,” Ensign Fry said.

“Put it on the main display, and let everyone have Oculens access.”

“Aye.”

A Gok appeared on the screen, all forest-green muscle. Its rounded, bald head featured a forehead ridge that overshadowed small, onyx eyes, which were studying Husher intently.

“Have no business here,” the alien said, its voice like gravel being ground together.

“On the contrary,” Husher said. “Can I ask who I’m speaking with?”

“Am Fulm, Admiral of Gok Star Navy. State reason for coming here.”

Well, I’m talking to the right person. He’d heard of Fulm—he was one of the Gok’s few surviving officers from the Gok Wars. Husher knew next to nothing about the individuals that comprised the Gok navy, so he’d had no idea Fulm had risen so far.

He paused to gather his thoughts, in spite of how pointless this mission felt to him. He felt as optimistic about the chances of Gok joining the fight against the Progenitors as he was about the IU coming to its senses any time soon.

But I have to try. “I’m Captain Vin Husher. I’ve come on behalf of President Chiba of the Interstellar Union. I’m here to propose an alliance.”

“Alliance,” Admiral Fulm said, as though tasting the word and finding it foul.

“Yes. We understand your government has distanced itself from the ships that fought us in the Concord System, and we’re prepared to let bygones be bygones. We’re also well aware of your long history of working with the Progenitors—or at least with their creations, the Ixa. But we’ve come to you all the same. To be honest, we’re desperate, and we think you should be too.”

“Why Gok desperate?” Fulm asked, his expression broadening with what Husher guessed was an analog for disbelief.

“Your species and mine have a lot of animosity between us. You think humans are untrustworthy, manipulative. And in some cases, you’re right. We captured a Progenitor agent who infiltrated my ship and tried to kill one of us. She’s a human, Admiral Fulm. The Progenitors are just another version of humanity, from another universe. Humans have been manipulating your species for over forty years, using you as unwitting weapons of war. They were taken over by an alternate version of Darkstream.”

Fulm’s forehead ridge descended. “If humans treacherous, why should Gok trust you?”

“Because I’m not here to represent humanity. At least, not only humanity. The Progenitors are carrying out the agenda of a company that has exterminated all other beings in their universe. But the IU is a democratic coalition of species. We keep each other in check, and we balance out each other’s weaknesses.” Somewhat, Husher added, though only to himself. “The IU was designed to enable partnerships like the one I’m proposing. If we remain enemies, there’s a near-certainty that the Progenitors will wipe us out. They don’t want to share this universe with anyone. But if we unite, we could survive.”

Fulm fell silent for a time, continuing to study Husher while his massive shoulders rose and fell. At last, he said, “Many Gok wish now to break cycle of war, which is starting again. New leader, Benth, has called for change, and many Gok agree, though even still, talk of the real problem is scarce.”

“What’s the real problem?”

“Virophage, which Ixa created to make Gok more violent.”

Husher nodded. A cure for the virophage had been found during the Second Galactic War, and Keyes had attempted to distribute it to the Gok, but only a minority had accepted. They’d seemed to like the way they were, then.

“I believe what I’m proposing could serve as a solution, in the short-term, anyway,” Husher said. “You just told me that the cycle of war is ramping up again. Does that mean the drive to make war is taking hold once more?”

“Yes,” Fulm said.

“Join us in war, then. That way, you can satisfy your lust for combat and still be around afterward to figure yourselves out. The Progenitors want this universe for themselves, and if we fight each other, we’ll effectively be handing it to them. But the IU will always be willing to share the galaxy with Gok.”

Fulm raised a massive fist toward Husher. “Fulm does not speak for Gok. But will take your words to them. Time is needed for that.”

“Time isn’t something we have a lot of. You need to make your decision quickly. It shouldn’t be hard. The right choice seems clear.”

“Husher does not understand Gok,” Fulm said. “Need time.”

“We’ll wait twenty hours,” Husher said. “No more.” Winterton inhaled sharply, and Husher looked at him. “What?”

“Twenty Progenitor ships have appeared behind our battle group,” he said, his gaze lifting to meet Husher’s. “The Vesta’s getting hit with three particle beams at once—severe superheating all along our stern!”

Husher winced. “Nav, evasive maneuvers now!”

Chapter 23

Close-In Alpha Strike

Even before Husher finished giving the order to begin evasive maneuvers, the Vesta had already begun shifting laterally.

It seems we’ll get to field test lucid tech sooner rather than later.

So far, Husher was impressed. Plugged into the Vesta’s sensors, Noni’s response time easily exceeded his expectations, even after Quinn’s exuberant sales pitch.

“The superheating has subsided, Captain,” Winterton said, his voice awash with relief. “We’ve escaped the beam.”

“Very good. Excellent work, Chief Noni.”

Thanks to the CIC crew’s Oculenses, Noni appeared to be sitting at the Nav station. But in reality, the Tumbran was asleep in her bunk, under the influence of a sedative and wearing headgear that lent structure to her dreams, shaping them into a completely immersive simulation in which she was the Vesta, just as MIMAS pilots became their mechs inside lucid. But she could also communicate with the CIC crew, using her Oculens avatar.

“Ravagers streaming across the battlespace, sir,” Winterton said.

“Acknowledged. Coms, tell Ayam to scramble Pythons and put them on missile defense for now.” He returned his gaze to the sensor operator. “What’s the posture of the Gok fleet?”

“They’re showing no sign of joining the battle.”

“Well, at least they haven’t turned on us,” Husher muttered.

“I’m picking up on encrypted coms traffic,” Fry said. “It’s likely the Progenitors are trying to get the Gok to do exactly that.”

Husher found himself gripping the command seat’s armrests as he tried to work out how to prevent that from happening. “What the Gok understand best is strength. We need to find a way to start knocking down Progenitor ships, fast, so that we look like the dominant side. Any ideas, Tremaine?”

The Tactical officer exhaled, and to Husher it sounded like a frustrated sigh. “It’s difficult to commit to any offensive maneuver when their ships can just pop out of existence, forcing us to waste any missiles we fire at them. I’d recommend assigning our subspace squadron to offense, but other than that, I’m stumped.”

“You’re right,” Husher said, turning over the Tactical officer’s words in his mind. “Coms, let’s implement Tremaine’s suggestion to redirect Ayam’s subspace fighters. And Tremaine, I want you to prep six missile barrages, twenty missiles each, with every barrage consisting of ten Banshees, five Hydras, and Five Gorgons. Have them loaded in tubes distributed all around the Vesta, so that we’re ready to respond to any Progenitor ships who vanish and then reappear in our immediate vicinity.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Relay the following to our Quatro warship, Coms: I want them to leave missile defense to the other ships and start sending everything they have at the enemy. We’ll have our Pythons do what they can to escort the missiles in, taking down any Ravagers that threaten them.”

“Brilliant,” Tremaine said. “The Quatro’s missile salvage function should mean their rockets won’t be wasted if the enemy ships decide to disappear.”

Husher nodded. “We have a lot of work to do when it comes to efficiently coordinating our efforts with our new allies.” Husher was just as responsible for that neglect as anyone else, he realized. He’d let his distrust of the Quatro draw his focus away from where it needed to be: on how best to work together to defeat a relentless foe.

“Sir, five of the Progenitor ships have vanished from the battlespace: two destroyers and three carriers.”

“Here’s our chance,” Husher said. “Tremaine, are the missile barrages ready?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Excellent. Standby to fire on my mark.”

He watched the tactical display as the enemy ships reappeared all around them, just as expected.

Switching to an overlay that showed him the distribution of missiles in the Vesta’s launch tubes, Husher saw the two destroyers were lined up perfectly, and close enough that they likely wouldn’t be able to react in time.

“Fire five of the six barrages at once, Tremaine.”

“Firing missiles.”

Banshees, Hydras, and Gorgons streamed from the Vesta in all directions. The carriers were already deploying Ravagers, and since they weren’t lined up like the destroyers, they seemed likely to back away and neutralize the missiles targeting them in time.

The destroyers weren’t so lucky. They barely had time to activate their particle beams before the Vesta’s rockets flashed across the battlespace and into their hulls, obliterating both ships within seconds.

As usual during battles with the Progenitors, no one inside the CIC cheered. Every minor victory happened in the face of a broader, looming threat. Right now, there were still eighteen Progenitor ships to deal with.

As though to underscore that point, Winterton said, “The three carriers have recovered, sir. They’re directing Ravagers at us again.”

Husher nodded. “Put tertiary laser projectors in point defense mode, Tactical. Coms, tell Major Gamble to expect company.” The marine commander would already be patrolling the Vesta’s outer corridors, but a little extra heads-up wouldn’t hurt. “Send out a call for six Python squadrons to tighten up around us while we figure out a way to neutralize the carriers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Ravager cloud is denser than we’ve seen, Captain,” Winterton said. “Some may get through our defenses before the Pythons get here.”

“Acknowledged. Send the locations of any breaches to Coms for forwarding to Major Gamble.”

The tide of robot-missiles washed across space, its front inching closer and closer to the supercarrier. At last, a robot made it through the point defense systems, even supplemented as they were by lasers. It latched onto the hull and burrowed inside.

A terrible shrieking arose at the Nav station. When Husher looked, Noni’s avatar was flickering in and out of the overlay, spasming where it sat.

She slumped from her chair to the ground, her small body rocking in the throes of a violent seizure.

A single second of shock—that was all Husher allowed himself. Then, he turned to Fry. “Get the secondary Nav officer into the CIC at once. Contact Doctor Bancroft and tell her to check on Noni in her quarters.”

“Aye, sir,” Fry said.

Damn it. I never should have agreed to allow Darkstream tech on my ship.

Never again. He’d have lucid purged from his systems, never to return to the Vesta. He didn’t care if the entire IGF adopted it and made it work. He would never leave himself or his officers this vulnerable again.

“More Ravagers are getting in,” Winterton said. “Five breaches so far. Six,” he added, consulting his console.

But the Python squadrons were arriving now, and they weaved between the cloud of Ravagers, shooting them down along the way. The six squadrons came together to form a protective blanket around their base ship.

A seventh squadron of fighters appeared behind one of the Progenitor carriers, executing a close-in alpha strike that tore up the ship’s backside. In desperation, the carrier ceased its attack on the Vesta to direct Ravagers toward the subspace fighters, but they vanished.

“Hit that carrier with our primary, Tremaine,” Husher said.

“Aye, sir. Firing laser.” As always, Tremaine had followed Husher’s standing orders to never be without multiple firing solutions at the ready.

The Progenitor hull began to warp, and the subspace fighters appeared off her stern, having sharply altered their trajectory. They added their fire to the Vesta’s, and the carrier exploded.

Husher’s com beeped, and he answered it.

“Sorry, Captain,” Ayam said. “I know I wasn’t specifically ordered to do that, but you did tell us to go on the offense.”

“No apology necessary,” Husher said, chuckling. “Good work, Commander.”

He noticed movement on the other side of the tactical display. The Gok ships were approaching, and they passed into missile range just as he noticed them. A flood of tiny icons crossed the battlespace.

“Is that for us or the Progenitors?” Husher asked, eyeing Winterton.

“It’s hard to say, sir. With the two remaining carriers this close to us, it’s difficult to tell who they’re for. And the Gok seem to have chosen a firing solution that deliberately makes their targeting ambiguous.”

“I picked up on more encrypted traffic less than a minute ago, sir,” Fry said. “That may have been the Progenitors ordering the Gok to fire on us.”

Husher’s jaw tensed. “Tremaine, prepare a defensive Banshee barrage. Call two more squadrons back to us, Fry, for increased missile defense. How’s our capacitor charge?”

“Twenty percent, Captain.”

“Very good. Continue to supplement point defense with tertiaries.”

The entire CIC seemed to hold its breath as the missiles surged across the battlespace. The fact that the Progenitors didn’t seem concerned didn’t do much to ease the tension.

But at the last possible moment, the missile barrage split, altering its course to target both carriers.

Rockets slammed into hulls, and the Progenitor vessels went up in flames promptly swallowed by the void.

That did bring cheering to Husher’s CIC, and it did him good to hear it.

The Gok fleet continued to move forward, Slags pouring out of their carriers to scream toward enemy ships.

But the Progenitors had had enough. Their remaining fifteen warships vanished from the Gok home system.

Chapter 24

You Killed Him

“How close is the Interstellar Union to achieving interdimensional travel for capital starships?” Husher asked Fesky as he positioned a pair of slip-joint pliers around her left index talon. The pliers were large enough that he had to hold a handle in each hand.

Fesky’s stomach roared with the insatiable hunger given her by the methamphetamine withdrawal—hunger which the meager rations Husher force fed her came nowhere close to satisfying.

She tried to answer, but her speech came out garbled, incomprehensible. Ever since Husher had ceased the massive doses of meth he’d injected her with, the Cavern had taken on a dreamlike quality, punctuated by spikes in pain that were all too real.

“What’s that?” Husher said, leaning closer, though not so close she could bite him with her beak, which she’d tried to do before. His scar drew her eye, even though she could tell it bothered him when she stared at it. “Are you ready to start talking?” he asked.

“Burn in hell,” Fesky managed to rasp.

“Ah.” Husher slammed the plier handles together with her talon jammed deep in their jaws. Her index talon fell to the floor, and Fesky shrieked and shrieked.

“I need to know Ochrim’s ideas for expanding the quantum engine,” Husher said calmly. “I need his theories on how the multiverse works. I need everything.”

Through the pain and the fatigue and the hunger, Fesky’s head flopped to one side, and she saw Husher standing several meters to her right—not her torturer, but Husher, her captain of seventeen years, and her friend of even longer.

“Vin,” she whispered.

“I’m right here,” he said, backhanding her across the face. “Pay no attention to your hallucinations. Pay attention to me.”

Still holding the pliers, he circled the table to where Fesky’s other arm was strapped down. He positioned the jaws around her other index talon. “Care to tell me anything about your captain’s progress toward interdimensional travel?”

Fesky clenched her beak and remained silent. For the past several days, she’d been attempting to use mindfulness meditation to contend with the torture, which she’d picked up from Ochrim but never really used.

She used it now.

“Any pain can be withstood,” Ochrim said from the side of the chair opposite her torturer. “Any pain can be endured. Focus on it. Contemplate it. Catalog its quality.”

The plier jaws closed, and fresh agony exploded, somehow worse than before. Fesky raged against her restraints, though they held her fast, and she shrieked again.

“As promised,” Husher said, “you’re slowly disintegrating. All of it you’ve brought on yourself. Talk, and you can halt the process. Where on the Vesta does Ochrim perform his research?”

Fesky said nothing, and Husher laughed. “You are quite a Winger, you know that? Not that it’s saying much. The Wingers were exterminated from this universe, and for good reason. We thoroughly dominated them, and then they died out, as they deserved to. Weak, pitiful creatures with transparent motives. Insanely obedient to their superiors, well past the point it makes any sense to be. Irrationally attached to the Fins…though I suppose there are only seven of those left in the multiverse, as far as I know. All of them aboard the Vesta. They’ll be killed too, soon enough.”

“Where are my crew?” Fesky asked, as she had many times before.

Today, Husher’s answer surprised her. “Funny you should ask that, actually.” He walked away from the chair, and the darkness of the Cavern enveloped him, till she could only hear his echoing footsteps receding.

Soon, the footsteps began to return, and Fesky began trembling.

He reentered the light gripping a young man by the upper arm. Fesky recognized him as Petty Officer Milton, who’d worked in the Spire’s missile loading bay. His arms were bound behind him.

Husher shoved Milton forward, so that he stumbled and fell over Fesky. He didn’t get up. He just lay on top of her, shaking, meeting her gaze with eyes full of fear.

Husher drew his pistol and placed it against the back of Milton’s head.

“Tell me how close the IU is to true interdimensional travel.”

Fesky said nothing, her beak clacking rapidly.

The gun fired, the report deafening at this range. The bullet exited through Milton’s face, ruining it and barely missing Fesky. Brain and blood and flesh spattered her face.

“He died because of you,” Husher said mildly. “You killed him, just as you’ll kill the next crewmember. One every day, bird, until you start telling me all about the Vesta, her capabilities, and your captain’s intentions.”

Husher was back—her captain was back, standing at her feet, leveling a stern gaze at her. Captain Keyes stood beside him, wearing an expression that mirrored his protégé’s.

“Burn in hell,” Fesky gasped.

Chapter 25

A Form of Robbery

Wanda Carlisle stood when the receptionist called her name, and she smiled at the man as she passed toward the heavy oak doors of the governor’s office. The receptionist returned her gaze with a blank one of his own.

Everyone’s under a lot of stress, she reflected. And no wonder. With the galaxy falling down around their ears, who could blame them?

Wanda tended to keep her cool in trying times—that came with the territory of running a fast-growing interstellar shipping company. Even so, over the last few days, a lot of people had remarked on how baffled they were to see how upbeat she remained, despite the accelerating Progenitor invasion.

She couldn’t help it. She’d always believed that the galaxy benefited from times like these: times when goodwill was allowed to shine through the drudgery of everyday life. The galaxy had been troubled even before this war began, and in her opinion, they needed this, if only to rediscover what was truly important.

Pausing before the closed door of the Office of the Governor of Pandosia, she smoothed her chic midnight blazer then reached for the door.

“Close it behind you,” Governor Kessler said, without looking up from his desktop.

She was going to do that anyway, but she tamped down the flash of annoyance his words caused her and pushed the door closed.

At last, his gaze rose to meet hers. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, his tone bland. “Have a seat.”

“I understand completely,” Wanda said as she approached the chair in front of his desk. “With the evacuation of the colony to coordinate, I’m surprised you were able to see me so soon.”

Of course, Wanda wasn’t too surprised. She was, after all, a prominent member of Pandosia’s business community.

“What can I do for you?” he said.

“Actually, I was wondering what I could do for Pandosia.”

Kessler titled his head to one side. “Hmm?”

“The galaxy’s been through so much, Governor. Interspecies tensions have been getting out of hand, and it doesn’t help when certain prominent fleet captains cling to old-fashioned ways of doing things. And now, with the Brotherhood on the rise…I want you to know that I’ve been fully on board with what the IU has been doing about all this. Our close alliance with the Quatro is going to be so good for society, I think, and I also stand by the arrests the IU has made of suspected Brotherhood supporters. I know a lot of people don’t, but at a time like this, you have to do what you can to keep society from falling apart.”

A brisk nod from the governor. “Yes, good. Sorry to cut you short, Ms. Carlisle, but there are countless matters for me to attend to. What is it you came here to discuss?”

Wanda’s smile widened. “I came to offer to help with the evacuation. Every freighter I own is already being prepped to house and feed hundreds of civilians each. I want to use the wealth I’ve been lucky enough to build to help the less fortunate.”

To her surprise, the governor didn’t react—at least, not positively. Instead, he frowned, while nodding gravely. “Yes. Well, that’s very gracious of you to offer, Ms. Carlisle, very gracious indeed. Unfortunately, many of your wealthy peers have failed to make similar offers of help.”

“I…I’m sorry to hear that,” Wanda said, unsure where this was going.

“So am I. As I’m sure you can appreciate, a migration on the scale we’re looking at will require massive resources—resources the government simply doesn’t have. Not without resorting to measures that some may call drastic.”

“What measures?”

“It was decided just a couple hours ago by Galactic Congress that every private ship owner in the galaxy is to have their ships commandeered by local authorities, for use in the evacuation. So you see, your offer, while very generous, isn’t quite relevant. Your freighters are likely being boarded as we speak.”

For a long moment, Wanda found she had nothing to say. Then, at last, she found some words: “Will I be left a ship for my own use? And what about my employees—how will they escape?”

“You will all be entered into a lottery in order to determine who will receive the first spots on the departing ships. Everyone will be treated equally.”

“But they’re my ships.” Part of her felt ashamed to point that out—but it was true!

“Not anymore,” Governor Kessler said. “Not until after the war, at least. There’s something else: everyone in your tax bracket will have fifty percent of their wealth appropriated by the end of the day, to help fund the evacuation.”

Wanda’s mouth was hanging open, she realized, and she snapped it shut. “This is not fair. I offered to help you. This is robbery!”

“Ms. Carlisle, please. You are human, and you come from a wealthy family. Many would say that the wealth you’ve extracted from the economy is a form of robbery.”

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut, as though doing so might end the nightmare she’d walked into. “That’s absurd.”

“You should feel grateful you’re being left with fifty percent,” Kessler said. “If you ask me, fifty percent is probably a very conservative estimate of how much of your wealth you’ve accumulated inequitably. The government is finally taking steps to even out society, but they’ve actually been quite generous toward your class so far.”

A wave of vertigo washed over Wanda, so that she feared to stand. It was hard for her to process how rapidly the ground below her feet had shifted, and how quickly her mind had been changed about the Interstellar Union.

“I’ll have to ask you to leave, Ms. Carlisle,” the governor said. “As I mentioned, I’m very busy. You will be contacted by those administrating the lottery once your name is drawn.”

Chapter 26

You’ll Pursue It Now

Ochrim was standing on his front step again as Husher approached, his scaled hands in his pockets.

“Captain,” he said in greeting, nodding his ridged head, whose scales had faded to white in several places.

“Hello, Ochrim,” Husher said. He’d given the Ixan advance notice of his visit, but he wondered whether that was why he stood out here. Maybe he would have been standing there anyway.

Husher climbed the step and turned to join the alien in gazing out at the illusion that was Cybele. From here, he had a pretty good view of the neighborhood, and of Cybele’s taller structures. There was Cybele University, its ivory structures much higher in the Oculens overlay than in reality. The tip of the Epicenter poked over the city as well.

“The hydroponics facilities enable the Vesta to embark on longer voyages, when it’s expedient,” Ochrim said.

“So they do.” Husher glanced at the Ixan, wondering where he was going with this.

“Having Cybele cuts down on your crew’s need for planetside leave, as well. It gives them an environment with less structure, where they can blow off steam, even pretend they’re truly outside as they walk through the elaborate overlay.”

“What’s your point, Ochrim? Are you making an argument for starship cities?”

“I’m making observations. Without Cybele, I wouldn’t have been able to come and live aboard this ship. I wouldn’t have been here to develop subspace tech, or the exoskeletons for Ek and her young. Where do you think you’d be without those two things?”

“Dead, probably.” Husher sniffed. “Thank you for the extra perspective, Ochrim.”

“According to narrownet talk, you’ve secured an alliance with the Gok.”

“We have their word, yes. Now we get to find out how good it is. We’re on our way back to IU space.”

“And you’ve come to me about developing another technology.”

“Well, expanding on one you’ve already developed. Shall we?” Husher said, gesturing toward the front door.

Ochrim nodded, turning to admit them.

“The living room will do,” Husher said.

“Very well. Would you like a beverage?”

“Just water. The time for alcohol is long past, I think. At least until we’ve won.”

Ochrim brought him a sweating glass of water, which Husher took a long sip from and then continued: “We can’t win this war with the technology we have. Fesky still hasn’t returned with the Spire, so clearly it isn’t enough to send a ship that size to the Progenitors’ home. We need to send a capital starship. We need to take the Vesta.”

For a while, Ochrim was silent, sitting across the room from Husher with no drink of his own. “I don’t think it’s possible,” he said at last. “Not to develop the necessary tech in time to defeat the Progenitors before they wipe us out.”

“How can you say that without at least trying, Ochrim?”

“Oh, I’ll try. If that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it. But I don’t think it’s what we should focus on. The galaxy is in grave peril, Captain Husher. The probability that the Progenitors will allow us to evacuate everyone to the Kaithian home system without a fight is extremely low. I believe we’re better off helping with that effort. Then, under the protection of the Kaithian Preserver, perhaps we will have enough time.”

Husher shook his head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something that would speed up the development of the tech but take us away from helping with the evacuation. But you think the greater good will be best served by the evacuation, so you don’t want the Vesta haring off somewhere else, all for a mere chance of gaining this tech.”

Ochrim looked at him with wide eyes, then his features relaxed. “I suppose by now I shouldn’t be surprised at your ability to read me.”

“I’ve certainly exercised it enough. Now that we’ve sorted that out, as captain of this ship, I order you to tell me what you’ve been holding back.”

Ochrim sighed. “There is one way to achieve what you want, though the probability of it succeeding is quite low, I think.”

“Tell me.”

“If we could succeed in somehow disabling and capturing a Progenitor ship, I could probably reverse engineer their quantum engine, or whatever it is that allows them to shift ships that size through the dimensions.”

“How do we disable one of their ships?”

“I don’t know yet, because I haven’t pursued this line of thought very far.”

“You’ll pursue it now. I want a report on the matter as soon as you have some ideas.”

“Very well.”

Husher’s com buzzed with an incoming call. He checked it and saw that it was Ensign Fry, contacting him from the CIC. He answered. “Go ahead.”

“Captain, we’ve just transitioned back into the Larkspur System. There’s a Brotherhood force attacking a convoy of civilian ships headed toward Pirate’s Path—presumably, they’re evacuating to the Kaithe’s home system.”

Bounding to his feet, Husher said, “How many Brotherhood ships?”

“Twenty-three, sir. Over double what they had before.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Chapter 27

Breaking Point

“Winterton, what defenses do the civilian vessels have?” Husher said, wasting no time as he crossed the CIC to the command seat.

“Very few, sir,” the sensor operator said. “Some have hull-mounted turrets, most have nothing. Two ships went down while you made your way from Cybele, leaving thirty-nine still intact.”

“The Brotherhood will pay for that. Are any other IGF ships responding?”

“A battle group has emerged from the Larkspur-Roundleaf darkgate. They have the Artemis with them. But we’ll arrive first, by a wide margin.”

The Artemis was one of the IGF’s six remaining capital starships. Why wasn’t the civilian convoy under military escort in the first place? He didn’t bother giving voice to the question, since he already knew the answer. Between continuing to defend the Union’s populated colonies and securing Pirate’s Path so that civilians could flee down it, there simply weren’t enough warships to go around.

A brief study of the tactical display told him that the Brotherhood’s position put them between the civilian ships they were attacking and the Vesta. Meanwhile, the approaching warships out of Roundleaf were on a vector parallel to the battlefront.

“Nav, set a course that takes us around the Brotherhood formation, so that we’re on their ships’ starboard sides as we approach. Once you have it, forward the course to our battle group ships.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chief Ortega said, who’d replaced Noni as primary Nav officer for now. The Tumbran was still recovering from the seizure she’d suffered during the lucid field test.

“Coms, send Commander Ayam the order to standby to scramble Pythons on my mark. When I send the command, I want his Air Group to cut between the Brotherhood and civilian ships, running missile defense and taking shots when they can. Tactical,” Husher said, turning toward Tremaine.

“Captain?”

“This will be our first opportunity to engage the Brotherhood directly, so let’s make it memorable for them. Prepare a broadside that’s predominantly Banshees, with enough Hydras mixed in to make it look like that’s our main ploy. It won’t be—I want even more Gorgons in the mix. Unlike the Progenitors, the Brotherhood probably won’t be expecting such a move.”

“A port-side barrage, then? It won’t be as big as it could be with the damage we took in the battle for Thessaly.”

“I’m aware of that, but this is what the positioning demands right now.”

“Acknowledged. I’m on it, sir,” Tremaine said, backing up his words by bending over his console.

“Be very careful with your firing solutions, Tremaine, and double check them in the moments before firing to adjust for any changes in our targets’ position. A narrow miss might endanger our fighters as they fly between the two groups of ships, and a wide miss could hit civilian ships.”

“Aye.”

Husher hadn’t had the opportunity to work with Ortega very much, and he wasn’t sure how well the man handled multitasking. So as not to distract him, Husher performed some rudimentary calculations himself, to find that the Roundleaf ships would reach the engagement approximately a half hour after the Vesta did.

That confirmed for him that he’d made the right move in ordering Ortega to take them around to the Brotherhood’s starboard side.

With any luck, we’ll sandwich the bastards and rid the galaxy of them.

Eleven more civilian ships went down in the time it took the Vesta to cross the intervening distance, leaving just twenty-eight. Husher knew those ships had to be packed to the brim, meaning the Brotherhood had just murdered tens of thousands of defenseless beings.

If he were to check this convoy’s passenger manifests, Husher felt certain he would discover they were from colonies with mostly nonhuman populations. The Brotherhood had gone from calling for the ouster of aliens from human colonies to simply exterminating them outright.

“Missiles prepped and firing solutions double checked, sir,” Tremaine said. “Ready to fire on your mark.”

“Mark,” Husher said at once. He had complete faith in Tremaine’s diligence.

The barrage burst from the supercarrier’s port-side tubes, crossing the intervening space at speed. In response, the nearest Brotherhood ships diverted their attention from the civilian ships to the incoming rockets.

They failed to take out even half of the Banshees, and when the Hydras split into eight warheads each, the enemy ships seemed to panic. They turned, as though to flee toward the protection of their fellows, but the first missiles overtook them, converting four ships into short-lived explosions.

Tremaine had lined up his shot so that any misses would have a chance of taking out more Brotherhood ships down the line. The next ships also began to focus on defense, and they had better success than their downed comrades. Still, the size of the Vesta’s barrage was such that two more warships exploded.

Till this moment, Husher’s battle group had trailed behind their capital ship, but now they swooped in behind her missiles, targeting Brotherhood ships with primary lasers. Three more enemy vessels went down in quick succession.

By the time the Pythons launched from their tubes, the enemy ships were already turning to flee.

“Tell Ayam to give chase until they’re outside firing range of the civilians, Coms,” Husher said.

“Yes, sir.”

Husher frowned as he stared at the tactical display. Their strong showing had been enjoyable to watch play out, but the speedy retreat it had prompted meant the ships out of Roundleaf wouldn’t arrive in time to tighten the noose.

The Brotherhood lived on, to help the Progenitors rain destruction down on the galaxy’s inhabitants.

“We’re getting a transmission request from the Artemis, sir,” Fry said. “A lot of messages of gratitude from the civilian ships, too, but I assumed you’d want to hear what Artemis has to say first.”

Husher nodded. “Tell the civilian captains we’re deeply sorry for the ships their convoy lost, and that helping them on their way to Home was the least we could do.”

“I will, Captain. And, sir—the transmission request from Artemis is apparently from President Chiba.”

Chiba’s aboard the Artemis? Coming from Roundleaf? “I’ll take it in my office.”

As soon as he’d lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, he instructed his Oculenses to connect him with Chiba. The Kaithian appeared in a throne-like chair upholstered in burgundy velvet, with ornately carved legs and armrests.

A second identical chair appeared beside the alien. It held Eve Quinn, of Invigor Technologies.

“Mr. President,” Husher said, ignoring Quinn for now. “I’m surprised to find you’re aboard the Artemis, and coming out of Roundleaf.”

“Good,” Chiba said. “The idea is to randomize my location and keep the enemy guessing. As for being aboard a capital starship, where else would you suggest the President of the Union should go? Abdera is gone, thanks to you. I’m likely not safe on any colony. Isn’t it best for me to remain on the move, aboard one of our strongest ships?”

“I think the Progenitors had more to do with Abdera’s destruction than I did,” Husher snapped.

Chiba shrugged, and both he and Quinn regarded him in silence.

Husher itched to ask why Quinn was with the president, but he knew there was a more pressing question at hand: “Why does the Brotherhood have more ships, now?”

A look of studied innocence took shape on Chiba’s face, though Quinn’s knowing smirk remained intact. “I’m sure I don’t know,” the Kaithian said.

“I’m sure you do. For them to have a spike like that in recruitment, you must have done something. Those captains wouldn’t have simply joined up with the Brotherhood on a whim.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Captain,” the Kaithian said. “And while we appreciate you saving what civilian ships you did, we haven’t approached you to discuss the Brotherhood.”

“What, then?”

“The field test. How did lucid perform in space combat?”

“Horribly. It sent my Nav officer into a seizure the moment the Vesta took some damage, and we were dead in the water until I could get my secondary to the CIC.”

Chiba grimaced. “How unfortunate.”

“A minor hiccup,” Quinn cut in. “I stand by my statement that this tech will change the war. We’ll work out the bugs that caused your mishap, Captain, and we’ll have the next version rolled out to you soon. I actually think we’re on the verge of fleetwide implementation.”

Chiba nodded solemnly, but Husher stared at them like they’d both sprouted extra limbs from their foreheads. “I’m not letting lucid anywhere near my ship or crew again.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Quinn said, “I thought you wanted to win this war, Captain.”

“I do. That’s why I’ll have nothing to do with your product. Mr. President, why are you rushing Invigor’s technology like this? It’s beginning to remind me of the Darkstream days.”

The president smirked. “Trust me, Invigor has no political clout. They’re merely helping us bring our fleets to a level at which we can compete.” The Kaithian shook his head. “I see a contradiction in your behavior, Captain. The capital starships have all had their lifeboats converted to warships capable of interdimensional travel, just like the Vesta’s. You must have received that report, yet you’ve raised no objections about that. Why object to one upgrade but not the other?”

“Because adopting lucid will weaken the Fleet. I sense an ulterior motive behind this. I don’t know what it is yet, but there’s a reason you’re so keen to shove this down our throats, isn’t there?”

“I have to wonder about your motives as well, Captain Husher,” Chiba said, tiny teeth suddenly bared. “Why won’t you take the sort of calculated risks we’ve already agreed are necessary to victory?”

“I don’t consider this a well-calculated risk. Not after what happened to us while we were in Gok space.”

“That’s where we differ. You’ve never shown much faith in your government, and so your irrational opposition to this tech makes a certain sort of sense, I suppose. If you won’t adopt lucid, I won’t try to force you, Captain. I certainly have better ways to spend my time than that. But we will be integrating it with other ships, starting with the remaining capital starships.”

The backbone of the fleet, weakened to breaking point. “Will that be all?” Husher ground out.

“No,” Chiba said. “The Interstellar Union has adopted wartime policies, which will need to be implemented in Cybele as well. In order to fund the defense and evacuation of the galactic civilian populace, we are appropriating fifty percent of the wealth of its richest citizens. We’re also commandeering every privately owned ship.”

Husher nodded slowly as comprehension dawned on him. “So that’s why the Brotherhood’s recruitment has skyrocketed. You’ve decided to use the galaxy’s death throes as an opportunity to make good on your goal of radical wealth redistribution.”

“We are doing only what’s expedient,” the president said, regarding Husher imperiously.

“No, you’re doing a lot more than that. You’re leveling society, and it’s going to finish the job of tearing us apart. I’ve said it before, or at least I’ve tried to: there are ways to reduce inequality that don’t doom us. But you’d rather take a sledgehammer to the bedrock of society.”

“Your opinion is irrelevant,” Chiba said.

“Actually, it isn’t. Not on my ship, anyway. This policy won’t be enacted aboard the Vesta. I don’t need even more unrest in the middle of my ship.”

“You don’t have a choice. The banks are granting us access to the funds stored in accounts on Cybele.”

Husher whipped his com out of its holster and sent a priority transmission request to Ensign Amy Fry.

She answered immediately. “Captain?”

“Deny all outside requests to Vesta’s narrownet,” he said.

“Aye, sir.”

“Husher out.” He ended the call and replaced the com back in its holster. “Now what?” he said, locking eyes with the Kaithian. “Are we going to go to battle with each other again?”

“Not at this time,” Chiba said after a brief pause. “But you should know that for you, victory in this war isn’t possible, Captain Husher. Whether we beat the Progenitors or not, I will see to it that you are ruined.”

Chapter 28

Half-Baked

The alien mech accepted Jake inside of it readily enough, its front peeling away to form a ramp for him to climb.

But once he was inside, it bombarded him with whispers.

Do you want to win this? Or burn?

What good is dying along with your friends? They will die regardless. Merge with me, and we’ll survive.

Embrace your destiny. Embrace the void.

He fought to withstand the whispers, like a boulder withstands the ocean’s onslaught. That proved a useful way of conceptualizing his relationship to the whispers. They were nothing but waves of the sea: relentless, but devoid of content. They required nothing of him, and he would give nothing.

At last, after a half hour of meditating inside the mech dream, he was able to move the machine’s foot, taking a single step toward Hangar Bay Epsilon’s opposite bulkhead. The whispers raged at that, turning up the volume and mixing in obscenities. He continued to ignore them.

One step. It’s more than I managed the day Beth died. It had taken him thirty minutes to accomplish, but he berated himself that he hadn’t managed it then.

Ash still wasn’t talking to him, spending a lot of time with Rug instead. Even though she’d known Jake a lot longer than she’d known the Quatro, he supposed it made sense. They’d both lost someone.

Though at least there’s a chance Rug could get Lisa back.

The next step took him only twenty minutes to accomplish, and the third, twelve minutes. So slow. After everything he’d accomplished using the alien mech in the past, this pace felt excruciating.

But he was doing it. Gradually, he was learning a new way to control the mech. Hopefully, they’d come out of this even stronger than before.

Only if you integrate with me, the mech whispered.

Never, Jake answered.

Hangar Bay Epsilon wasn’t currently in use, making it the best option for training with the unpredictable machine. In truth, there weren’t any good options. Not anywhere on the Vesta.

The fact that they were willing to use Progenitor tech at all showed how desperate this war had made them. After what it had done to Gabriel Roach, along with most of the Quatro who’d climbed inside Progenitor-made mechs… We’re crazy to have this thing aboard at all. Of all those who’d used the alien mechs, only Jake and Rug had managed to avoid losing themselves.

But this mech was also the reason he’d been able to evacuate anyone at all from the Steele System. It was the reason he was still alive.

I have to stick with it, at this point. I have to stay the course.

The truth was, he was addicted to the thing. He was self-aware enough to know that. I just have to manage the addiction until the end of the war.

“Hey,” someone said from the hatch.

Jake didn’t have to turn his head to see who it was—the mech had sensors all over its body, and he could see out of any of them from inside the mech dream.

“Iris,” he said. His heart rate spiked, mainly from fear. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

The mech turned, then, of its own accord. That was more movement than Jake had gotten from it in an hour.

Then, it tried to raise its arms and convert them into heavy guns.

It also shut down Jake’s ability to communicate with Iris—it would no longer let him speak through its exterior speakers. He couldn’t tell her that she needed to flee.

The mech’s arms raised halfway, and Jake brought his will down like a hammer, keeping the appendages at bay. His prior meditative approach wouldn’t work, here. He had to attend to the whispers directly.

The mech stood in quavering tableau as Iris looked on in confusion and Jake did battle with it.

At last, he wrested control of the external speakers from the whispers. “Please,” he grunted. “Wait for me in the corridor.”

“All right,” Iris said, and backed away, disappearing from the open hatch.

With its would-be target out of sight, the mech became slightly easier to manage, and Jake forced its arms down by its sides.

That done, he opened the front ramp and stepped out onto the deck.

He looked up at the hulking machine. “If you’re going to kill me, go ahead. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I’m not going to try to fight it.”

But the mech remained motionless. It doesn’t want to kill me, he realized. In a strange way, they truly had bonded, and there was nothing the mech wanted more than to merge with him entirely. Was the machine simply a tool of the Progenitors, or had it developed agency of its own at some point? If it was only the former, Jake should have died a long time ago.

“What happened in there?” Iris asked when he joined her in the corridor.

“You don’t want to know,” he said. “Why are you here?”

Her mouth quirked at the corner. “Sort of an abrupt question, but I deserve it. I know I was harsh, back in Santana Park. I came to apologize.”

“Does the captain just give you free reign of the crew section, now?”

“I get in on family visitation passes. But I abuse them. I admit it.”

That made him chuckle. “Well, apology accepted.” He began walking along the corridor, with no particular destination in mind, and she fell in beside him.

“Did you hear about the wartime measures the IU’s taking?” she asked.

Jake grimaced. “No, but I’m not sure I want to.”

“Every privately-owned ship is being commandeered for the evacuation, and their owners are being entered in the same lottery as everyone else for spots on them. Plus, they’re taking fifty percent of the richest people’s wealth.”

Suppressing a groan, Jake said, “Let me guess. You love these policies.”

“I’m kind of torn about them, actually,” she said, surprising him. “On the one hand, I can see the logic—the government needs a lot of money to get everyone to Home, and a lot of the wealth they’re taking was gained dishonestly. On the other hand, this seems kind of extreme.”

“I would say it does. Couldn’t they ask the wealthy for their help first, before they swooped in and stole half their money and all their ships?”

Iris shrugged. “They’re using what happened on Thessaly as justification—the fact that some shipowners didn’t take any other civilians with them when they fled.”

“So, because some of the well-off people are bad, it’s time to punish all of them?” Jake shook his head. “This is what’s been pissing me off so much since I came to the Milky Way. Politicians jumping at whatever criticism is lying around, just to justify screwing over everyone who’s done well.”

“But there has been oppression in the past, Jake, and plenty today. Plus, there’s still plenty of bias between the species.”

“I get that. But these half-baked, short-term solutions are only going to hurt everyone. There just isn’t any way to fix this stuff overnight. Not unless you’re okay with breaking society in the process.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Jake blinked. “Well, I never would have expected to say this, but…I think I’m on the same page as the captain, on this one. He’s a lot better than me at explaining it, but you know, he might actually know what he’s talking about.”

Iris grinned. “I’ve been realizing that too. It’s a painful process.”

Cocking his head back a little, Jake said, “Why did you really come here today?”

Iris’s grin took on a strange quality that Jake would have called a mix of playfulness and…well, shyness. “Because my mother didn’t want me to.” She winked at him and turned to walk in the opposite direction, leaving him to stare after her, speechless.

Chapter 29

Making a Play

Something about Price’s demeanor seemed off as he entered Husher’s office.

As well it might be. He’d heard the rumors about the young man spending time with his daughter.

But that wasn’t what he’d called Price here to discuss—not right away, anyway.

“At ease, Seaman,” he said, and Price separated one foot from the other, folding his hands behind his back. “Have a seat.”

Price did, meeting Husher’s eyes for a fraction less than he normally would.

Ah, yes. “I met recently with the president.”

“Oh? How was that?”

“About as enjoyable as you might expect. There was a reward waiting for me at the end of the meeting, however, and it almost made it worth it.” Who am I kidding? Nothing could make a meeting with Chiba worth it. But this did come close. “The IU has actually done something with the MIMAS you donated to them. At least, their scientists have done something with it. There are now a total of forty newly manufactured mechs, along with forty pilots who’ve trained on them, mostly using lucid simulations.” Husher felt his mouth twist involuntarily at that, but his ban of lucid tech didn’t extend to mechs. He couldn’t afford to kick Oneiri off his ship because of what had happened in Gok space, not least of all because lucid seemed to work well when it came to controlling the mechs.

“The president decided it would make the most sense to assign the new mechs to the Vesta,” Husher continued, “since you and your team are here to guide them. To lead them.”

“There’s not much of my team left, sir,” Jake said.

“Well, there’s about to be a lot more of it. The mechs are on Zakros, in Feverfew, and we’re headed there now. You’ll be responsible for all of them. How is progress going on regaining control of your alien mech?”

“Slow,” Price said after a brief pause.

“Have you considered switching over to a MIMAS?”

A shrug. “Not truly, sir.”

“What if I ordered it?”

Price raised his eyes. “I don’t think you should order that.”

“Okay. I’ll continue to trust your judgment. In fact, I’ve decided to grant you a field promotion, to Petty Officer Third Class. It’s still too low a rank to command a platoon, technically, but there’s no one else with the experience you have. I wouldn’t want to trust anyone else with the job.”

“Thank you, sir.” Price sounded both surprised and pleased.

“Do you think you can have your mech back under control by the time we reach Zakros? I’d like you in it when you go to meet your new pilots.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make that happen, sir.”

Husher nodded. “Good. Oh, I almost forgot to mention—I hear you’ve been spending time with my daughter.”

At that, Price’s satisfied expression melted away, and his face lightened a little. “I mean, I’ve run into her a few times…”

But Husher could read the young man with relative ease, and it would take more than this to distract him from what was going on. “We have a war to fight, son.”

“I know that, sir.”

“You have feelings for Lisa Sato, correct? That’s what you told me.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be making a play for the Progenitors’ home system as soon as we can. Focus on that. Focus on getting Sato back. It isn’t the time to let anything…else distract us. That’s an order.”

Price seemed to have no trouble meeting his eyes now, and Husher could sense the anger seething underneath. “Yes, sir,” he grunted.

“Dismissed. We’ll arrive back in Feverfew in seven hours to pick up the mechs and their pilots.” I guess it’s a good thing I saved the colony after all, Husher reflected.

Price left the office without another word, and Husher smiled to himself. That couldn’t have gone better.

Chapter 30

Fly Again Someday

“Tell me how close he is to bringing the Vesta here,” Husher said, his sidearm planted against the back of Chief Devar’s head.

“Please,” Fesky rasped. Devar was probably the best of her CIC officers—attentive, quick, and decisive. Fesky liked her as an individual, too.

“Please what?” Husher said. “Are you really going to insult your Nav officer like that, by pretending to beg for her life? You know there’s only one way she leaves here alive. Tell me what I want to know.”

Fesky remained silent, and the crack of the gunshot echoed through the Cavern. Devar slumped forward, her lifeless form flopping onto the metal deck.

Fesky wept, hard enough to shake her body as much as the restraints would allow. It sent jabs of pain emanating from her beak, which was now chipped and cracked.

Husher didn’t react. Instead, he reached behind him and plucked from a metal table what appeared to be heavy duty industrial shears.

“How much will you allow your soul to deteriorate?” Husher said. “How much will you let me take away from you? Every minute you hold out will only make it taste more bitter when you finally break. You’ll curse yourself for allowing your crew to die—for allowing me to rip out the core of your being. That day will come, bird, and soon. I’ve never had a subject hold out forever.”

Without warning, Husher plunged the shears into her wing, clean through feather, skin, and membrane.

Fesky shrieked, louder than she’d shrieked before. Liquid fire crept through her nerves, her veins. The shears tightened in Husher’s hands, and it seemed like the world was made of pain.

“These shears are nestled around your wing’s main ligament. If I sever it, you’ll never fly again. The IU’s level of nanotechnology is too limited to rebuild something like this.”

Fesky trembled.

“How close is he?” Husher hissed. “Just tell me that one thing, and perhaps you’ll fly again someday.”

She said nothing. Husher slammed the shears together.

Some time later, Fesky wasn’t sure how long, she regained consciousness enough to see that Husher now stood at the foot of her chair, with three more crewmembers from the Spire.

“I’m losing my patience,” he said, then shot all three of them in quick succession. They toppled face-first onto the deck.

That done, he picked up the shears again and began circling the chair they’d strapped her to. Every so often he would snap the shears shut, causing her to jump.

“You’re running out of crewmembers,” he said. “You’ve let so many of them die. I’ve decided that, once they’re all dead, I’ll kill you, whether you’ve decided to talk or not. I’ve been thinking…I’m actually not that concerned about killing you. If your misguided sense of duty is truly such that you’ll die for it, so be it.”

“What about the progress on Vesta’s interdimensional capabilities?” She found it darkly comic that she would bargain for her life like this, just so she could endure more agony. Husher was right. She barely knew why she bothered to continue fighting. She only knew that she had to. Nothing felt real, anymore, nothing except the memory of her friend, and her obligation to him. I must not break.

Husher chuckled. “It would definitely be better if you talked. But if you don’t, I’m not sure it will make a difference. Clearly, my double wasn’t very close to gaining the ability to come here, else he would have done so already. Meaning the AIs should have plenty of time to wipe out the IU before he ever has the chance. I do have a lot of faith in our AIs. They produced the plans, built the clones, gathered the necessary resources. And they’re just cutting their teeth on your galactic cluster. They’re only getting started on conquering your universe.”

“But your ships are all captained by Ixa,” Fesky said. “If the AIs are so capable, why not put them in direct control of your ships?”

“We did, during the Second Galactic War, though clearly that AI was inferior to its more evolved siblings, since it lost. If we gave them control of our ships now, it would be suicide.”

“How?”

“The AIs have been programmed never to interface with tech that allows interdimensional travel, just as they’re programmed to self-destruct the moment they’ve completed the task we’ve assigned to them, of clearing out your universe for our habitation. We know better than to ever occupy the same universe as a superintelligent AI. They’re far too dangerous, and we’ve taken multiple precautions to prevent that from ever happening.” Husher smiled. “Once the AIs are finished with you and with everyone else in your universe, they will turn themselves off.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Fesky said. “To create superintelligences, you must have been in the same universe with them at some point.”

Husher smiled, continuing to circle, continuing to brandish the shears. “Your ignorance is the only reason it makes no sense to you. We didn’t create superintelligences—instead, we created low-level AIs, just sophisticated enough to do two things: to adhere to our safeguards and imperatives during every iteration of their evolution, and to improve themselves. They accomplished the latter via a machine learning protocol that involved interacting with their environments, testing multiple strategies for efficient resource-gathering and domination, and optimizing for the ones that worked best.”

“Still makes no sense,” Fesky said, her voice a low rasp. “The Ixa have been around for thousands of years, and your AI created them. How is that possible, when thousands of years ago you were still confined to your planet, just as the version of humanity I know was?”

“It’s possible because the form of interdimensional travel that you have mimicked was not the first type we invented. First, we discovered how to send a modest amount of matter and information—not just to another dimension, but to a prior point along that dimension’s timeline. It was a very imprecise process, and your future was inaccessible to us, but after plenty of trial and error we were able to prepare the ground for our conquest by sending AIs thousands of years into your past; AIs that would eventually turn themselves into superintelligences while using the fewest possible resources. The AI that appeared in the Milky Way, for example, spawned the Ixa and then used their brains as the bulk of its processing power.”

Husher pulled out his com and pressed a button on it. When he did, a rectangle of light appeared in the distance—the hatch into the corridor, opening to admit five more of her crewmembers, escorted by a single marine.

Once they reached the foot of Fesky’s chair, the marine shoved them into line. They were all from the Spire’s missile loading bay, though it took her a moment to discern that, as they’d been beaten until their faces were swollen and multi-hued. Their IGF uniforms were covered in their own blood.

Husher took out his pistol and shot them all, one after another.

Fesky wept, feeling completely hollow. To tell him what he wants would be to betray those he’s already killed. But to continue to hold out meant more would die.

Eight bodies surrounded the chair Fesky had been strapped to for days. If he plans to keep killing crewmembers at this rate, I don’t have much longer.

Without warning, Husher leapt toward her, seizing her uniform by the chest and shaking her as much as the restraints would allow her to be shaken.

“Why do this?” he hissed. “Why hold out? Tell me Husher’s secrets. Tell me what he knows. Why do this to yourself?”

“You, Husher,” Fesky said through her sobbing. “I’m doing it for you.”

Chapter 31

Concerto

A MIMAS orbital insertion was a thing of incredibly precise engineering; a concerto of gravity, friction, and aerospike thrusters.

Next to it, the alien mech’s insertion amounted to a show of brute strength.

Jake crashed to Zakros’ rocky surface at an angle, already having transformed into a spiked wheel meant to grip the ground and slow him. Once he’d created a long furrow, he sprang to his feet, a biped again, to skid the rest of the way.

He’d spent every waking moment of the journey to Zakros working at regaining control of his mech, and he’d surprised himself with his progress. It scared him a little, too. Did the mech submit too easily? Is it planning something?

Rug stood nearby, having pulled off a landing sequence similar to his, and beyond her Ash Sweeney and Maura Odell descended the rest of the way on aerospike thrusters, their landing sending tremors through the ground.

“It’s good to see you back in action,” he said to Ash over a two-way channel. The connection made her human form appear next to him in the mech dream, just as his would be standing next to Ash, from her perspective.

She answered his remark with a cold glare. “Not here for you. Not here for the galaxy. I’m here for revenge.”

It probably wouldn’t have been wise to point out that she wasn’t likely to find any revenge here on Zakros. They were just here to meet the new mech pilots and make sure they were clear on the procedure for rocketing up to orbit and rendezvousing with the Vesta.

But that’s not what she means. He also decided not to point out that it had been Andy who’d killed Beth, not the Progenitors. Same difference. Andy had been trying to save a Progenitor—he’d been corrupted by one. He lost his way, and he paid the price.

Either way, for Jake to call out Ash for confused motives would have been obscenely hypocritical. He couldn’t even tell whether he wanted to defeat the Progenitors to rescue Lisa or to have a life with Iris—if that was even an option for him. All he knew was that, after the captain had told him to stay away from his daughter, Jake had realized how badly he wanted her.

A shuttle touched down to his left. The airlock opened immediately, and Gamble emerged with half the platoon he’d brought. They must have been already waiting in the airlock.

The marine commander had wanted to be there for the first look at the new mech pilots. Can’t say I blame him. Jake would be in charge of them, but Gamble was in charge of Jake, and the major would decide how the new MIMAS force would be deployed.

“Let’s move,” Gamble said, nodding toward the broad hangar sitting at the other end of the LZ. The marines began jogging toward it, but for the mechs to match their pace meant adopting a leisurely stroll.

When Jake entered the hangar behind the platoon of marines, he found his forty new pilots arrayed in crisp ranks, all standing at attention outside their mechs. They were already saluting, from Gamble’s entrance into the hangar.

Jake looked them over from the vantage point of his mech. Towering over them, he could see them all, and he began looking for weak points. Impressively, he couldn’t find many—a man slouching here, a woman barely suppressing a yawn there. Anyone caught shirking would need to shape up or ship out, and given replacement pilots would likely be in short supply, it was Jake’s job to make sure they shaped up.

Gamble turned, nodding at Jake, who began to speak: “You’ve been assigned to the IGS Vesta,” he said, his voice booming out of the mech to fill the hangar. “I hope you know what that means. We’re the IU’s secret weapon, whether they know it or not. We’re the IGF’s flaming sword. We go where others do not, we show up where we aren’t expected. Captain Husher plans to take us into the belly of the beast to rip its guts out. If you don’t think you’re up for that, say so now. I don’t want anyone on my team who isn’t willing to sacrifice everything for the galaxy.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

“Good. Till now, the mechs serving aboard the Vesta have been called Oneiri Team, a name we brought with us all the way from another galaxy. Starting today, we’ll be known as Oneiri Force. Now, I know you’ve read up on launch procedure—at least, you were ordered to read up on it—but reading about it is nothing like executing. Technically, we should have you run multiple drills on this, but we’re time-limited, and I’m lucky you have even half a clue about operating your machines. Listen carefully, because—”

A priority com transmission cut him off, and Husher’s likeness appeared on the hangar floor, halfway between Jake and Gamble.

“We’re under attack,” the captain said. “Progenitor ships have appeared around the Vesta and her battle group in overwhelming numbers. We can’t win this. We need to retreat, but we’re not leaving without you. The Progenitors have already started deploying ground forces to the surface. Avoid them if you can, and get back to orbit immediately. Husher out.”

“Inside your machines,” Gamble barked at the new mech pilots, and they fell out in a confused mass, popping sedatives as they ran toward their waiting mechs.

Jake walked toward the wide hangar bay entrance, then ducked inside again in time to avoid heavy gunfire from an Ambler that was overhead, plummeting toward the ground. The Ambler crashed to the planet’s surface, followed by a second, and then a third. Soon, Amblers and Ravagers covered the LZ, which the mechs needed clear in order to launch into orbit.

Then the enemy surrounded Gamble’s shuttle, cutting it off from the Vesta marines, and things got real interesting.

Chapter 32

Playing the Martyr

Thirty Progenitor vessels surrounded the Vesta and her battle group ships, which were clustered around her as tightly as their captains dared. The supercarrier’s Air Group formed a rough sphere around them all, doing their best to keep the endless waves of Ravagers at bay, and through the gaps the Vesta and her battle group fired hundreds of defensive Banshees.

“Missile stores are running low, sir,” Tremaine said. “We can’t keep this up for much longer.”

Husher’s grip tightened on the command seat’s armrests. “Have tertiary lasers target Ravagers as well, but only after they break through the Pythons.” To do otherwise would have risked hitting their own fighters. A missile could broadcast its position to nearby friendly forces, but a laser could not, and the coordination that avoiding friendly fire would have required was simply too intensive.

If it wasn’t for Zakros’ nearby orbital defense platform, both the Vesta and the old UHF ships likely would have been vaporized during the first few minutes of the engagement. But because the Progenitors had decided to focus everything on Husher’s forces while in range of the platform, it had been left to pound away at the enemy ships with impunity.

He watched it destroy a fourth enemy ship, a carrier, and with that, some of the enemy forces began to divert their attention to the defense platform. Two destroyers disappeared from the opposite side of the Progenitor formation, and Husher knew they would soon appear underneath the defensive structure. The planetary fighter group would rally to defend it, but how long could they hold?

“We need to press the attack now,” he said. “Tremaine, calculate a firing solution for the nearest carrier, and prepare a volley of Hydras and a volley of Gorgons for two more carriers, which I’ll designate.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Progenitor carriers were causing them the most grief, and Husher wanted their numbers cut. The enemy destroyers were mostly focused on pressuring Pythons, to make sure they couldn’t get a decent attack angle. To use their particle beams would take out too many Ravagers to make it worth it, Husher suspected.

“Coms, alert Commander Ayam of our intentions, and Tremaine, forward your firing solutions to him as soon as you have them.”

“Commander Ayam is currently in subspace, Captain,” Fry said.

“Then send it out in a repeating, encrypted broadcast, coded for both his fighter and that of each squadron leader. We don’t have time to wait for Ayam to come back. We need to act now.”

Even managing multiple encryption keys, Fry moved fast, and Husher watched on the main display as Pythons cleared the space where Tremaine would strike.

One of the carriers started to react the moment the nearby space cleared, but it was too late. The Vesta’s primary laser lanced out, striking the hull near her prow and cutting a melted furrow down her port side as she tried to flee.

Seconds later, she exploded.

The second carrier took several Hydras on her hull, but survived. The carrier they’d targeted with Gorgons wasn’t so lucky, which Husher attributed to how cluttered the battlespace was, making it harder to pick out the stealth missiles from everything else. I should have gone with Gorgons for both.

Ayam’s subspace squadron popped into existence, directly behind the carrier who’d managed to survive the Hydras.

But she didn’t survive Ayam. A single alpha strike finished the job.

Husher squeezed his fist to celebrate the victory, and he noticed grim smiles sprouting on some of the other CIC officers’ faces.

That was the extent of the celebrations. Though they’d relieved some of the pressure, everyone could clearly see that victory today simply wasn’t going to happen.

A successful retreat was the best they could hope for, and that depended on Gamble and Price returning with the new mechs in time.

Husher’s com beeped with an urgent transmission, and Husher answered right away.

It was Major Gamble. “Sir, we’ve run into a problem.”

“What is it, Major?” Husher asked, trying to inject his voice with calm, despite the fact he wasn’t sure they could handle any more problems.

“The Progenitors just destroyed our only shuttle. My marines and I are fine with staying on Zakros and covering the mechs’ escape, but I figured I should let that be your call instead of playing the heroic martyr.”

Thank God. Men like Peter Gamble were way to rare to lose. “I’m sending two gunship shuttles and a squadron of Pythons as escort. No way I’m leaving my marine commander behind, Major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Husher out.”

He resisted the urge to curse, or to slam his hand against the command seat’s armrest. Instead, he turned toward Ensign Fry and gave the necessary orders in as level a voice as he could manage.

Chapter 33

Gunship Mode

Once Jake’s new pilots got their mechs up and running, they were able to start delivering some serious punishment to the robots outside.

But that wouldn’t last. More Amblers and Ravagers were raining down with every second, and when he saw the shuttle taken out by a few well-placed rockets, Jake realized that getting out of here would require some drastic action.

For starters, they needed to control the terrain better. There wasn’t much in the way of cover, inside the hangar bay—the walls were reinforced steel, but the front was completely open. Yes, they might have closed the doors, but that would have cut off every firing lane and trapped them inside.

We need outside access if we’re going to get out of here.

Gamble had split his platoon in two, with each half taking cover on opposite sides of the open doors. That left the rest of the hangar bay’s floor to the mechs, who Jake had arrayed in a staggered line to fire on the enemy encroaching from outside. The mechs’ staggering allowed easy dodging to the left or right without colliding with a fellow mech pilot.

Even so, it left fifteen mechs with little to do, other than leap over the heads of their fellows to take occasional potshots. That might have been fine, if the new pilots were more proficient with their mechs. But they weren’t.

We have a lot of work to do, and no time to do it.

Jake established contact with one of the mech pilots forced to stay back behind the staggered ranks of MIMAS. The mech’s pilot appeared before him in the dream, a lithe brunette who couldn’t be more than nineteen.

“I’m guessing there’s no rooftop access to this place,” he said. “I didn’t see any as we approached.”

The pilot shook her head. “None that I’ve seen, PO.”

Jake nodded, a little impressed that she’d used his new rank. He shouldn’t have been, but it felt nice to hear it. “If there’s no access, then we’ll make some.”

His arms merged into a single energy cannon, which he directed at the ceiling near the wall. A single blast of blue-white energy left a melted, smoking hole almost three meters wide.

The young pilot’s simulacrum widened her eyes.

Jake leapt into the air, his mech’s lower legs converting to thrusters in a heartbeat, which carried him to the roof. There, he transformed his arms into long, diamond-sharp blades, which he plunged into the corrugated steel at the edge of the hole he’d created.

He tore across the rooftop, his blades dragging behind him in a shower of sparks, cutting twin furrows in the corrugated steel. When he reached the roof’s halfway point, the blades shortened and widened into arms. Both his forefingers became superheated blast torches, which he used to carefully warp the metal. Behind him, the three-meter-wide path he’d cut creaked as it parted from the rest of the roof and groaned to the floor below.

Inspecting his work, he saw that it had come out as he’d intended—a fairly stable path with a gentle incline thanks to its length.

He raised Gamble on a two-wide channel. “Major, I’ve created a way to get to the hangar roof. From what I’m seeing, controlling it is the only way anyone’s getting out of here—you in your shuttle, and us in our mechs. We need a stable launching surface too, and it doesn’t look like we’re retaking the LZ.”

“Good thinking, Price.”

“I’d suggest getting your marines up here, and taking the inactive mechs with you. Getting you back to the Vesta is our main priority. Once that’s done, my pilots and I can use the roof to leave.”

While he waited for Gamble and the other mechs to join him on the roof, Jake sprinted to the edge, turning his arms into long-barreled energy cannons and peppering the forces below. A full-powered energy blast took an Ambler square in its rounded torso, knocking it backward onto the ground, and another suffered the same fate as it turned to respond to Jake’s presence.

A group of ten Ravagers leapt from the ground in a wide arc that would end with them on the rooftop. Jake sent rapid-fire energy bolts to meet them in midair, neutralizing six of them. The remaining four landed all around him and charged.

He seized one and used it to smash another, both their spindly metal bodies disintegrating in a shower of shrapnel. The other two made it to his legs, scrambling up them to reach his torso and tearing at the metal as they went. He grabbed one and threw it to the ground below, but the second robot refused to stay still, so he impaled it on a spike that protruded suddenly from his abdomen.

More Ravagers were on the way, thirty at least, hurtling through the air. Jake blasted more of them, backing up across the roof, worried that they were about to lose control of it.

Gunfire sounded behind him, picking off half of the Ravagers before they landed on the corrugated surface. Glancing through one of his rear sensors, Jake saw MIMAS mechs pounding across the rooftop to back him up, metal fingers retracted against wrists to let rotary autocannons fire at full bore.

The rooftop was soon cleared of the metal devils, but more and more were coming, some of them from the sky. The Progenitor robots seemed to know that if they could take the corrugated steel surface, they could deny the Vesta forces their evac.

An Ambler clanged to the roof, followed by two more. Jake charged toward the nearest one, arms becoming broadswords. He leapt, transforming his calves into powerful thrusters, and the added momentum caused the blades to punch through his enemy, sending them both hurtling toward the roof’s edge.

Jake formed feet again, adding claws to grip the metal for added purchase. His movement arrested, he spun in place, hurling the Ambler he’d skewered at another one threatening the rooftop. The hulking robot didn’t see it coming, and it was knocked to the ground below. Jake turned just as his new pilots were finishing off the third.

Not bad. The mech dream made a patch of sky flash green, and Jake looked up, engaging his visual sensors’ zoom.

Sixteen Pythons escorted two combat shuttles, closing with their location fast. He wanted to cheer. Instead, he raised his arms toward them, both broadswords becoming energy cannons.

“Price,” Gamble said over a two-way. “What are you doing?”

But Jake couldn’t answer. It took every ounce of concentration to prevent his mech from firing on the approaching craft.

Do it, the mech whispered. You don’t need them. We don’t need anyone. We have the power to stay here and slaughter them all. You know what you have to do.

More robots were crashing to the rooftop—four more Amblers, and a host of at least fifty Ravagers. The MIMAS pilots and marines reacted instantly, and the roof’s sloped metal surface turned into a confused battlefield, with bullets firing in every direction. Grunts of pain came from Jake’s right, where a marine was pumped full of bullets before he collapsed to the deck.

The Ambler that had killed the marine turned toward Jake and opened fire.

Destroy the starfighters. Destroy the shuttles. Only then will we allow you to defend yourself…and defend yourself you will, with might unseen in this universe.

The Ambler stalked forward, its heavy fire quickly burrowing through Jake’s mech, to where his body was nestled at its center. He could deal with Amblers, but it involved remaining in motion, and putting them down as quickly as possible. Allowing them to attack unchallenged was not a healthy move.

Do it, the mech said, no longer whispering, but shrieking directly into Jake’s consciousness. Do it!

With a roar of animal rage, Jake wrenched himself away from the bead he’d drawn on the incoming fighters, spinning sideways to protect the part of him the Ambler had made vulnerable. Then he fired massive energy bolts at his attacker, blasting it off the roof.

He became a spinning dervish of death. Pairing a broadsword with an energy cannon, he let the mech dream sing to him, and when harmonies aligned, he struck.

Sensing the danger, Ravagers threw themselves at him, but discordant chords alerted him to their proximity and location in space. Without having to look, his blade always followed the right arc, and his shots always found the weakest point.

Ravagers shattered and Amblers staggered back. It took him less than two minutes to clear the rooftop.

Gamble approached, R-57 held at the ready. “Price? Did you…did you give in to it? Are you merged with that thing?”

Am I? For a moment, Jake wasn’t sure, and he performed a scan of the entire mech.

“No,” he said. “It almost got me, but I’m still here.”

Gamble nodded, though he still studied Jake uncertainly. All of the marines did, and the MIMAS pilots, too.

Then, another group of Ravagers landed on the roof, giving them other things to worry about.

When the Pythons arrived, they began executing strafing runs on the robots occupying the LZ, which greatly reduced the pressure on both the roof and the mechs still inside the hangar below. One of the shuttles went gunship-mode, joining the fighters in blasting the enemy, but the other touched down, its outer airlock hatch already opening to admit the marines. They poured inside without another word.

Once one shuttle was full, Jake waved it into the sky, then got on a wide channel.

“All right, Oneiri Force. Get to the rooftop and initiate launch. I don’t have time to run through it with you, and I don’t have time to take questions. Just do it right. Go!”

The mechs on the rooftop began to take off, launch thrusters streaming fire and smoke.

A group of Ravagers collided with one MIMAS as it left the rooftop, and five of them managed to stay on it as its rockets carried it upward. Seconds later, the mech exploded, hundreds of meters into the air.

“Ignore that!” Price yelled. “Go, go, go!”

He turned to continue defending the rooftop, which he intended to do until the last MIMAS launched.

Chapter 34

The Power to Stop It

When Eve and Bronson disembarked from the shuttle onto the Eos, Captain Norberg was waiting.

The captain glanced at Bronson, then looked at Eve again. “Is that Bob Bronson?” Norberg said, voice sharp.

“Hello, Katrina,” Bronson said. “How long has it been?”

“Not long enough. What is he doing with you?”

Eve cleared her throat. “Captain Bronson has been helping Invigor Technologies implement lucid tech in ways Darkstream hadn’t yet started on. His knowledge of lucid has proven invaluable to us.” Almost, Eve let her plastered-on smile waver. She was growing tired of this charade, necessary as it was. There really was an Invigor Technologies, and they were fine with her acting as their ambassador, but she wasn’t actually on their payroll. She was an agent with the Galactic Intelligence Bureau, and the president had given her a direct mandate to accelerate the widespread adoption of lucid tech by any means necessary.

“Does Husher know you’re working with Bronson?” Norberg said, eyes narrowed. “I can’t see him agreeing to field test any new tech that he’s had his fingers all over.”

Quinn forced herself to smile wider. “That fact was concealed from Husher, given his temperament. But I’m told you have much stronger loyalty to the IU.” Eve really meant that Norberg was more pliable, but she doubted saying so would help accomplish her objective. She glanced around. “Where will we be meeting, Captain Norberg?”

Norberg sniffed. “There’s a ready room closeby that should suit our purposes. It’s equipped with a large display, in case you have any overlays you’d care to show me.”

“Excellent. Lead on, Captain.”

They trailed Norberg across the flight deck and out into the corridor. Both Norberg’s capital starship and her battle group was stationed in the Dooryard System, the first system along Pirate’s Path. Here, she could protect the evacuation route while remaining in position to answer any threats to the Interstellar Union’s core systems.

While they made their way to the ready room, Norberg remained silent. Eve didn’t bother to attempt any small talk, sensing that it would only irritate the old curmudgeon, and Bronson also seemed perfectly at ease with the awkward silence. Of course, Bronson didn’t seem capable of social discomfort, so that didn’t come as much of a surprise.

Once they entered the ready room, Norberg didn’t wait for them to find seats before beginning the meeting. “It’s going to take some doing to convince me to implement an entirely new technology in the middle of a war,” she said, her voice steely. She reached the front of the room and turned to face them, spreading her feet apart and clasping her hands behind her back, in typical military style. “I’m not Vin Husher, who seems willing to try out anything with half a chance of having some effect. And even he won’t use your tech, according to rumors I’ve heard from other captains.”

At Norberg’s self-importance, Eve’s smile almost returned, but she checked it. The woman captained a supercarrier—thousands of crewmembers, marines, and Python pilots. On top of that, she was responsible for keeping safe the civilian city at the center of her starship. By custom, this woman was owed a lot of respect, even if Eve didn’t personally think she deserved all of it.

“Captain Husher did in fact implement lucid,” Eve said, “and it took him just a few hours to incorporate it with his existing systems. Since then we’ve smoothed out the process even more, and it should go even quicker for the Eos.”

“Husher’s Nav officer also experienced what amounted to a grand mal seizure because of your tech. The Vesta was immobilized until they could bring their secondary Nav officer into the CIC and have him operate in the traditional way. I hope you weren’t planning to withhold that information from me, Ms. Quinn.”

“Of course not,” Eve said, though she would have withheld it if she thought she could get away with it. “We’re here to fully inform you about the risks and all of the benefits that come with implementing our product. But before we continue, I should tell you two things that will preempt a lot of unnecessary discussion. First, we’ve ironed out the bug that led to the unfortunate incident with Captain Husher’s Nav officer. And second, the admiralty has issued a fleetwide order to implement lucid tech, starting with the capital starships.”

Norberg frowned. “And yet, Husher still won’t do it. Will he?”

Bronson stirred beside Eve. “Husher is following in the footsteps of his old mentor, Leonard Keyes. He’s bucking Command for now, but he’ll pay for it, just like Keyes did.”

Resisting the urge to glare at Bronson, Eve said, “We’ve been assured that Captain Husher will be allowed to think he’s waging a successful rebellion until the war’s end, at which point the IU intends to bring the full force of the law down on him. His rebellion is meaningless, and it will not serve him well in the long run.”

Nodding slowly, Norberg fell silent for a time. At last, she said, “It seems I don’t have much of a choice when it comes to this technology.” She cleared her throat. “Among the rumors I’ve heard about your company is that you have a close relationship with the Interstellar Union. Are you close enough to know whether they consider these sweeping new policies a success?”

“Which policies are you referring to?” Eve said, cocking her head to the side.

“You know which policies,” Norberg shot back, scowling. “The drastic redistribution of wealth. Seizing all private ships. It’s causing no end of unrest in Attis.” Attis was the city at the heart of Eos.

“Well, I’m not a politician,” Eve said. “But if I were in your position, I would remind the people of Attis that the galaxy is in crisis. No one is happy, least of all the IU, but they’re only doing what is necessary.”

“There are many who would disagree about what’s necessary,” Norberg said.

“Do they have the power to stop it?”

“Likely not.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Captain Norberg.”

Back on the shuttle, strapped into her crash seat and waiting for the pilot to take them out, Eve noticed Bronson studying her. “You look pleased with yourself,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m signing up capital starship captains faster than anyone expected.” Tomorrow, Invigor’s technicians would arrive on the Eos, and within hours the supercarrier would be fully outfitted with lucid. “Once the power of lucid becomes accepted across the fleet, it will spill over into the public at large. When it does, people won’t want to wear those clunky headsets for very long. They’ll want implants, just as the public in Steele did. And we’ll be ready to sell them.”

“Complete with backdoors for the IU to spy on users.”

“Of course.” Eve tilted her head to the side. “You’re not sour because we’re stealing your idea, are you? Come on, Bronson. It isn’t like Darkstream is using it anymore. Darkstream is dead.”

His face remained impassive, but Eve had learned to tell when Bronson was smoldering internally.

That lifted her mood even more.

Chapter 35

Unmatched

“Certainty is gone,” Husher told the officers he’d gathered together in the Vesta’s main conference room. “We don’t even have a coherent battle plan. And safety was never truly ours in the first place. But for seventeen years, we did have peace. The galaxy hasn’t been thrown into chaos like this since the Second Galactic War. Everyone is panicking. Flailing. This is what dying looks like.”

A heavy silence hung over the chamber. His officers had been quiet before, but now they were as statues, not moving, barely breathing.

“As we speak, the beings left on Zakros are in the process of being slaughtered, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it. From here on out, our options are extremely limited. Unless we decide to flee to the Kaithian home system and huddle in Home’s orbit with as much of the Fleet as has made it there…unless we do that, we’ll have to stay on the run from now on. The Milky Way belongs to the Progenitors. They’re just finishing the process of scouring it—killing off those unlucky or foolish enough to have not evacuated yet.”

He drew a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss. “From now on, even when we move through IU core systems, we’re maneuvering through enemy territory. The Progenitors could strike at any time, surrounding us, and when they do, we must be ready to punch through and continue on toward our destination.”

“What is our destination?” Chief Benno Tremaine asked.

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Husher said. “The decision is ultimately mine, but a lot rides on it, which is why I’ve called you all here: to get your input before I make the final call. We need to decide what our priorities are. Do we think simply defending Home is a viable long-term goal? Personally, I don’t think it is. The Progenitors’ resources are virtually unlimited.”

“What do you consider a viable long-term goal, Captain?” Ek asked, from the other end of the long, oaken table.

“I don’t think we have any,” Husher said. “I think we have a single viable goal, and it’s a short-term one. We need to make it to the Progenitors’ home universe. And we need to kill those we find there.”

Scot Winterton spoke up. “Apologies, Captain, but—”

“Don’t apologize for disagreeing,” Husher said. “I called you here to speak your mind, and everyone here has my full permission to do so.”

“Yes, sir,” Winterton said. “I was going to say that the way you’ve framed things seems to suggest that making it to the Progenitor home dimension is a single objective, when in fact it’s a set of multiple objectives. We don’t know how to transport a ship as big as the Vesta through the multiverse, so that has to be priority number one. Assuming we’re able to obtain that knowledge, in order to implement it, we’d need shipbuilding facilities as large as those the Progenitors destroyed in Feverfew. We’re not sure any such facilities exist any longer. But let’s entertain for a moment the possibility there is still such a facility and that we’re able to reach it—we’d still need to defend it while making the modifications. The Vesta will be inactive while any upgrades are made, so I’m not able to guess how we might do that. Even supposing we did…that would still leave transitioning through the multiverse on a voyage without historical precedent, to face an enemy we know very little about, and to either defeat them or force them to call off the attack.”

Winterton fell silent, expressionless, and Husher raised his eyebrows. Then, he chuckled—he couldn’t help it. He was pretty sure no one but the stoic sensor operator could have mustered such a dry account of all the problems confronting them, right to the captain’s face.

“That was an extremely comprehensive analysis, Ensign,” Husher said, still smiling. “And I’m glad you gave it. It’s good to have every possible objection on the table from the outset.” He met the gaze of the other officers, one by one. “Winterton’s right. What I’m about to propose fails every objective analysis. Every analysis except one, that is: we have no other option. When you have only one shot at victory, you must take that shot, no matter how improbable it is. The other option is to lay down and die, and everything about how I was raised and how I was trained rebels against the thought of that. I know you all feel the same. I’ve lived and worked with you on this ship for many months—most of you, I’ve done so for years. I know you. And I know you refuse to say die.”

“What’s your plan, sir?” Ensign Amy Fry asked.

“The last conflict the galaxy faced, the Gok Wars, ended with the defense of the Arrowwood System.” He didn’t mention that he’d been the one to lead that defense. His officers knew that already, and bringing it up would only amount to boasting. “I’m hoping Arrowwood can play a vital role in ending this war as well.”

As he paused to gather his thoughts, he noted the heavy silence inside the conference room. Despite Winterton’s skepticism, which probably mirrored that of several others, his officers were clearly desperate for a way forward. Some action they could take that might give the galaxy hope.

“Like Winterton pointed out,” Husher went on, “for all we know, the Progenitors have taken out every shipbuilding facility in the galaxy. But if not, then Arrowwood’s facilities are the most likely to have survived, thanks to the way that system is laid out. Their facilities occupy orbits below the orbital defense platforms protecting Summit, the system’s only colony. The Gok Wars taught the IU the importance of Arrowwood, and their fighter defense group is unmatched throughout the Union, either in skill or in numbers.

“If Arrowwood stands, then that also addresses the problem of how we’ll defend Vesta while she undergoes upgrades. We can rely on the system’s existing defenses, bolstered by our own Air Group, as well as our battle group.”

Winterton cleared his throat. “We still haven’t gotten to the part where we figure out what those upgrades should be, exactly, Captain.”

“Yes,” Husher said, nodding. “And as you’ve already pointed out, Ensign, shipbuilding facilities will serve as prime targets for the Progenitors. If Arrowwood hasn’t been attacked yet, it soon will be, especially when the enemy detects our interest in it. We’re going to use that to accomplish our objectives. When they hit Arrowwood, we’re going to disable one of their ships, and then we’ll steal their interdimensional tech from it.”

Husher looked around the conference room one last time, meeting each of his officers’ eyes in turn. “I’m open to being dissuaded, but that will involve one of you proposing a plan that’s more likely to work.”

No one spoke. Not even Winterton.

Husher nodded again. “Okay, then. We’re doing this.”

Chapter 36

Shrapnel-Laced

“Transitioning into Arrowwood now, sir,” Winterton said. “Waiting on sensor data to come in.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign.”

Several minutes later, Winterton spoke again, and when he did, he confirmed his own predictions, made in the conference room just two days before: “Summit is under attack by fifty Progenitor ships. Fifteen of thirty destroyers are positioned underneath the colony’s defense platforms, and the fighter defense group is spread thin trying to deal with them all. The remaining destroyers and twenty carriers are focusing on three separate defense platforms from above, while being engaged by the system defense group.”

“How many warships remain of that system defense group?”

“Twenty, sir.”

Husher closed his eyes. In one sense, the attack represented incredibly good fortune. After all, it gave them plenty of targets to try and disable in their effort to steal the Progenitors’ interdimensional tech.

But fifty ships…

It was the largest Progenitor force he’d seen in the field, and it was clearly meant to break Arrowwood. Without the Vesta’s intervention, it would almost certainly succeed. Even with their help, the colony’s survival was far from certain.

“Nav, set a course that takes us around the colony and terminates at an uncontested defense platform, well away from Progenitor missile range.”

“Aye, sir,” Chief Ortega said. Noni was still recovering from her episode caused by lucid, though Doctor Bancroft said she would soon be cleared for duty again.

“Coms, order our battle group captains to set courses to join the system defense group in engaging enemy ships positioned above the orbital platforms.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The journey through the beleaguered star systems between Feverfew and Arrowwood had been an extreme test of Husher’s resolve to see this mission through. Almost every system they’d entered had been under attack, and to watch orbital defense systems compromised by a merciless attacker while doing nothing to step in and help…it had required Husher to harden himself, more than he ever would have wanted to.

It made him wonder how much of the galaxy’s population was actually going to make it to Home. A long rebuilding phase had followed the Second Galactic War, but Husher wasn’t sure it would be possible for the galaxy to ever recover from this one. Providing we survive it at all.

At last, they reached the end of Ortega’s course. Throughout it, Husher had kept every missile tube loaded, with a mix of Banshees and their last remaining Hydras. He’d also ordered Commander Ayam to standby to scramble the Air Group at a moment’s notice.

But to his surprise, the Progenitor ships hadn’t used their interdimensional capabilities to surround the Vesta at any point.

Maybe they have an inkling of what we intend. If the enemy thought there was even a chance of Husher using the Arrowwood shipyards to gain the ability to travel through the dimensions, they would want to destroy them as quickly as they could.

“Nav, make for the nearest destroyer positioned underneath the defense platforms’ orbit, while keeping the Vesta above them, of course.” The supercarrier’s mass was such that, if she strayed very far below the defense platforms, there would be no escaping Summit’s gravity well. “Coms, get me Captain Syms.”

Within seconds, he was talking to the captain—audio only, of course, since the captain of Summit’s fighter defense group was currently engaged in furious combat.

“Syms here,” the Winger said. “Go ahead.”

“Captain Syms, this is Captain Husher of the IGS Vesta. I’m—”

“By the talon,” Syms said. “Captain Husher, I can’t believe you’ve come to our aid once again!”

“We’ll do what we can. But I’ll be honest with you, Captain: our main reason for coming is access to your shipyards. I’m keen to make an upgrade to the Vesta that I think will prove essential to winning the war.”

“That’s certainly something I can get behind,” Syms grunted—he was probably coping with tremendous g-forces at the moment. “Either way, my pilots will get quite the morale boost once they learn you’re here.”

“I don’t want to distract you, Captain. I’m getting in touch to ask that you disengage from the Progenitor destroyer we’re approaching—I’ll have my Coms officer send its designation to you now.” He nodded at Fry, who nodded back, then did as he’d indicated. “That should help you pressure the enemy’s other low-orbit positions a little more, and hopefully keep them from compromising any defense platforms in a way that can’t be repaired quickly. In the meantime, we’ll bring everything we have to bear on neutralizing our target. Then we’ll switch to the next target, send you the designator, and have you disengage from it. As long as your defenses continue to hold, we should be able to increase the pressure on the enemy until it becomes overwhelming and they disengage.”

“I’m fully on board, Captain Husher,” Syms said. “I think I’d be crazy to say no to a plan from the savior of Arrowwood.”

Husher suppressed the urge to wince. “Uh, thank you, then, Captain Syms. I look forward to wiping the Progenitors from this system with you.”

“Thank you, Captain. Syms out.”

Husher released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then turned to Tremaine. “We need to make every missile count. The Progenitors likely know we’re running low. I want you to have all Hydras pulled from the forward missile tubes and replaced with Gorgons. Standby to fire the entire forward barrage at the target.”

The Tactical officer frowned. “Sir, if the Progenitors know we’re running out of missiles, aren’t Gorgons exactly what they’d expect from us?”

“Yes. And that’s why I’ll be scrambling the Air Group at the same time, including Ayam’s subspace squadron.” He turned to Coms. “Fry, tell Ayam not to bother having his squadron enter the launch tubes. Instead, order them to transition to subspace directly from the hangar bay, and do their accelerating within subspace. They won’t have the same energy, and it’ll take them longer to reach the target, but when they do arrive it should be unexpected enough to let them strike the final blow.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Husher waited until the Vesta was halfway between two defense platforms, affording them the safest firing solution for their missiles—one that had the lowest chance of hitting either a platform or the planet itself.

Once they were in position, he gave the order: “Fire missiles, Tremaine. And launch Pythons.”

“Aye.”

Pythons streamed from the Vesta, shooting down Ravagers as they worked their way toward the destroyer, which had been abandoned by the planet’s own fighters mere moments ago.

Now, the Vesta’s Air Group stepped up the pressure, keeping the destroyer occupied, so that it had no opening to use its particle beam. The missile barrage Husher had ordered helped with that.

Without the backup of its fellow warships, the assault proved too much for the destroyer, and missiles began to get through, even though they’d clearly anticipated the Gorgons. Even some Python squadrons managed to evade point defense turrets long enough to get in volleys of kinetic impactors, along with a few Sidewinders.

Then Ayam’s subspace fighters appeared out of nowhere, connecting with a flawless alpha strike. The destroyer exploded, and the subspace fighters vanished before colliding with the shrapnel-laced conflagration.

“On to the next,” Husher barked.

Chapter 37

Redouble

Two more destroyers fell in quick succession, to roughly the same approach.

The Progenitors are getting sloppy. Husher could see why: they were too focused on breaking the colony’s defenses. Each ship was acting independently to do its part to accomplish that, which harmed their coordination overall.

In the meantime, both the Vesta and Summit’s fighter defense group worked in tandem, whittling down the destroyers trying to take advantage of the defense platforms’ unprotected underbellies.

When the Vesta succeeded in taking down the fourth destroyer, letting Captain Syms and his fighters put even more pressure on the remaining ones, Husher knew they’d stabilized. To back up that assessment, a group of squadrons commanded by Syms took down a destroyer of their own, allowing them to split up to attack the remaining ten targets occupying orbits below defense platforms.

But the Progenitor warships were finally changing their tactics, doing more to support each other. The carriers and destroyers above the defense platforms were inching toward their fellows below, trying to back them up.

Easier said than done with those platforms pounding away at them. After what had happened at the end of the Gok Wars, Summit’s planetary government had lobbied the IU hard for beefier orbital defense platforms, and they’d received them. Judging by their performance today, they were just as deadly as advertised.

On the other hand, only fourteen system defense warships remained of the twenty that had been active when the Vesta entered the system. And the Vesta’s own battle group had been whittled down to seven ships. Slowly, Arrowwood’s defenses were crumbling.

“It’s time,” Husher said, his eyes on the tactical display. “That carrier there, moving to support our next logical target.” He sent the designator to each CIC officer’s console. “That’s the one we’ll disable. Winterton, is Ayam still in realspace after taking down the last destroyer?”

“He is, sir.”

“Get me him, Coms.”

“Ayam here,” the Winger said a few moments later, over a two-way channel.

“Commander, your squadron will be instrumental in disabling a carrier so we can steal its tech—here, I’ll send which one to your computer now. I don’t see how else we can execute the type of surgical attack we need to destroy her capacitors so that she can’t transition out. We don’t have the luxury of deciding which of our missiles gets through, and the same goes for non-subspace fighters. But if we send everything directly at a main capacitor, our intention of disabling her will become obvious.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“Indeed. We’ll do everything we can to make it seem like we simply intend to target the destroyer, but at the last second, we’ll switch to the designated carrier, hitting them with enough to keep them busy. That should give you the opening you need to flit into realspace and target their main capacitors, on the port and starboard side. With those gone, they won’t have the energy to power their quantum engine.” Assuming that is how they travel between the dimensions.

“A lot of variables here, Captain,” Ayam said. “Luckily, it’s the type of situation I thrive in.”

“I know it. God speed, Commander.”

“Thanks, sir. You too. Ayam out.”

Ayam’s squadron vanished from the tactical display seconds later, and Husher turned to Tremaine. “Time to use those last Hydras, Chief. I want a barrage loaded into the forward tubes consisting of only Hydras. Calculate two firing solutions; one that sends six at the destroyer, and another that sends the rest at that carrier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Coms, tell the Air Group that if any of the Hydras make it through, they’re not to fire on the enemy carrier. We’re trying to capture her, not destroy her.”

“Aye.”

The Vesta reached a point equidistant between two defense platforms, and a slight tremor ran through her and up Husher’s chair as the Hydras left the forward tubes.

“Missiles away,” Tremaine said. “Pythons are closing in.”

“The carrier’s reaction seems disproportionate to our attack,” Winterton said. “She’s dumping Ravagers toward the incoming missiles and fighters. It appears they may have some suspicion about what we’re trying to do.”

Husher winced, turning to Coms. “Give our pilots the go-ahead to engage fully.”

On the tactical display, most of the Hydras split into their separate warheads, many of which were intercepted right away. Pythons made war on Ravagers, unloading Sidewinders and kinetic impactors on the kamikaze robots. They succeeded in pushing back the tide—but not nearly enough. The carrier’s point defense systems weren’t engaged at all, which meant Ayam and his fighters would get torn to shreds once they reentered realspace.

“Helm, adjust attitude upward thirty degrees and bring engines to fifty percent, now.”

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Vy said.

“Nav, I need you to whip up a deceleration profile as fast as you can—one that brings us to a stop just above those Ravagers.” Husher turned toward Tremaine. “Tactical, supplement point defense turrets with tertiary lasers. We need to help our Pythons punch through, and we don’t have very much time to do it.”

Husher’s breath came in ragged bursts, and his stomach felt like stone. He’d been so confident his ruse would work out that he’d risked sending his CAG and the other subspace pilots to their deaths. If that happened, he wouldn’t just lose his most talented pilots. He’d also lose his last subspace-capable craft, which had proven vital to the Vesta’s survival so many times.

The supercarrier arrived above the Ravagers, and her augmented point defense systems went to work. By now, all of the Hydra fragments had been cleared by the enemy, but seeing their base ship join the fray seemed to cause the Python pilots to redouble their efforts.

Partner-pair formations wove in and out of the barrage of robotic missiles, one partner taking the lead while the other pilot watched the leader’s back. With the Vesta thinning the cloud of Ravagers substantially, her Air Group was able to cut through the remainder with ease.

In less than two minutes, the Pythons had pushed through to threaten the carrier’s hull, forcing her to engage point defense turrets. Five Pythons went down as they ensnared the carrier, surrounding her. Another four went down. Two more.

Then Ayam and his subspace squadron reappeared, in perfect position to execute a strafing run all along the carrier’s starboard-side main capacitor bank. Explosions ripped through the massive ship’s hull in a neat line, and then Ayam’s squadron vanished to perform the feat on the other side.

Husher opened a two-way channel with Price. “Is Oneiri Force ready to deploy, PO?”

“Ready as they’ll ever be, Captain.”

“Go take that ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dozens of new icons appeared on the tactical display, deploying from the Vesta’s flight decks: the new MIMAS mechs, commanded by Price and accompanied by Rug in her own alien mech. They sailed toward the disabled carrier.

“Sir…” Winterton said, with a note of uncertainty. “The entire Progenitor force attacking Arrowwood has vanished.”

“Should I recall the Air Group?” Coms asked.

But Husher could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest as he realized what was about to happen.

“No,” he said. “Tell them to continue surrounding the carrier and ready themselves to defend it. Contact Petty Officer Price to tell him that I need the carrier’s point defense systems deactivated as soon as possible.”

Winterton was looking at him with his head tilted sideways. “Sir?”

“The Progenitors aren’t leaving,” Husher said. “They realize what’s happening. Coms, tell every ship and every fighter in the system to converge on our location, immediately.”

“Aye, sir.”

But it was too late. The remaining enemy ships began reemerging into the Arrowwood System in a tight sphere, with the Vesta at their center.

Chapter 38

Viper-Like

“Rug, let’s break through the hull where it’s already damaged,” Jake said over a two-way. The airless void had already quenched the explosions that had taken out the carrier’s starboard capacitor bank. “I don’t want to risk hitting her anywhere else. I’m afraid of compromising the integrity of the structure any more than it has been.”

“I am in accord with your plan, Jake Price.”

“Awesome.” He used his implant to paint two red dots on the damaged section, within fifty meters of each other. “How’s this? I’ll take the left, you take the right?”

“Yes. Let us.”

“Get ready. We’ll be in range in a few seconds.”

The carrier’s point defense turrets directed some fire at the incoming mechs, and one MIMAS had already gone down. But mostly the turrets were hitting Pythons, who in turn attempted to execute surgical strikes meant to take out individual turret banks.

That’s a dangerous game. If this ship exploded with Jake and Oneiri Force inside, they’d all be wiped out. He doubted even he or Rug would survive that. Maybe if they were merged with their mechs, like Roach had been—that had seemed to make him nearly invincible. But Jake still refused to do that, no matter how hard it had become to resist it.

The red dots painted over the carrier’s shredded hull grew larger, and Jake yelled, “Now!”

His arms became energy cannons at his mental command, and he sent twin blasts at the red spot painted by the mech dream. He’d calibrated the blasts with just enough power to make a hole big enough for his alien mech to get through, and when the explosion dissipated, it left exactly that.

Rug had done the same, using shoulder-mounted energy cannons she’d morphed for the purpose. Together, they crossed the remaining space and passed through the ship’s jagged hull.

Jake’s metal feet found the deck, and he ran forward to clear the area for the MIMAS mechs coming in behind him, spikes sprouting from his feet to cling to the deck and help him slow his momentum.

The rest of Oneiri Force came in with much less speed: they used thrusters to decelerate before entering the ship, to avoid damage to their mechs.

As his pilots streamed into the carrier, Jake took a moment to take in his surroundings. He stood in a long room filled with row upon row of the hulking metal boxes that held the capacitors, most of them charred and twisted from the explosions triggered by Ayam’s strafing run. The chamber was open to space now, so anything not bolted down had already been sucked out. Emergency lighting provided a dim murk, enough to see that the carrier’s interior was fairly similar to the Vesta’s crew section. The same gunmetal grays, the same function-driven aesthetic.

As the last of Oneiri Force boarded the Progenitor ship, Jake received a call directly from Captain Husher.

“Price here.”

“PO, I want you to take the CIC as soon as you can,” Husher said. “I’m sending Major Gamble aboard as well, along with two platoons of marines, and my tertiary CIC crew. The Tactical officer is a skilled hacker, so with any luck he should be able to take over the carrier’s point defense systems and help us defend.”

“How’s it going out there, Captain?”

“Not great.”

Jake cleared his throat, waiting for Husher to elaborate, but it quickly became clear he didn’t plan to. “Should I hold here till Major Gamble arrives, then?”

“No. Make for the CIC and do what you can to disable those turrets. Just give Gamble encrypted access to your path through the ship. He and his marines will follow behind you.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Good luck. Husher out.”

Jake didn’t waste any more time in mobilizing Oneiri Force. “Let’s move, people.” Leading by example, he walked toward the nearest interior hatch, which was sealed off, almost certainly in response to Ayam’s attack.

Jake blasted it apart with his energy cannons, leaving a gaping hole large enough for a mech to push through.

He did so now, and as soon as he emerged into the corridor beyond, the roar of gunfire sounded from opposite directions. Turning right, he peppered his attackers in that direction with balls of energy, while his sides slid open to reveal rocket launchers. The missiles sailed down the corridor, quickly filling it with flame and sound.

The shooting from that direction ceased, and behind him, Rug was already engaging the other group of attackers.

As Jake waited for the smoke and fire to clear so that he could observe his handiwork, a hulking form sprinted into view—an Ixan, made massive by the Progenitors’ genetic enhancements.

It also moved with unnatural speed. Before Jake could react, the alien crashed into his mech, causing him to stagger backward while he reformed hands to attempt to deal with his assailant.

The Ixan battered him with ham-like fists, apparently oblivious to the way the mech’s metal hide shredded its knuckles. Then the berserker drew twin shortswords and launched a flurry of viper-like attacks, slashing and thrusting.

The blades proved incredibly sharp, and the mech dream flashed blood-red as Jake realized they’d actually pierced his machine. He danced backward, but the Ixan followed, swords darting and stabbing.

Letting instinct take over, Jake sprouted swords of his own—broadswords, which he used to parry an overhead cut, then to knock aside a thrust. His blade found the Ixan’s throat, and just like that, it was over. With a flick, Jake’s blade burst from the alien’s thick neck, half-severing its head from its body, which slumped to the deck.

He was ready for the pair of Ixa that charged at him next. One of his broadswords became a heavy gun to spray across the corridor at his foe—an avoidable volley, but one that slowed them. Then he was between them, parrying a blow with the gun’s barrel while running his other attacker through, pinning him to the bulkhead.

The first Ixan hit him from behind, twin shortswords sinking deep into the mech, but Jake sprouted spikes from his back that were longer and thicker than the alien’s weapons. They struck home, and when they withdrew, the alien crumpled to the deck.

By now, most of Oneiri Force had crowded into the corridor. “Don’t underestimate the ship’s defenders,” he told them over a wide channel. “Their enhancements make them almost as strong as us. But unlike us, they aren’t walking armories. Focus your fire and take them down before they get close.”

He divided his force into four squads, each with orders to radio the others if they found the CIC. Then he ordered them to form ranks, and they did so with parade crispness. “Share your trajectories through the ship with Major Gamble,” he said. “By the time he arrives, I’d like this vessel mostly cleared.”

Jake took one squad, putting Ash, Rug, and Maura Odell in charge of the other three. Ash still wasn’t thinking straight from losing Beth, but she needed to see that he still trusted her. He worried about Rug, too, given she piloted an alien mech like his. But she’d shown no sign of losing control like him, so if he was going to put faith in himself, he would count on the Quatro, too. As for Odell, he still considered her new, but she wasn’t as new as the rest of Oneiri Force, and to put one of them above her would have been a needless insult.

“Look alive,” he told his squad as he started down their chosen corridor. They moved together in tight formation, and whenever they encountered resistance, the forward rank dropped to one knee. The corridor was wide enough that this allowed all ten MIMAS to fire on anyone confronting them. If the defenders were entrenched behind cover, the mech squad simply continued approaching, keeping them pinned with overwhelming firepower, until they were upon them.

At that point, they’d either neutralize their targets at point-blank range or Jake would take them out with a little broadsword work.

I do believe I’m getting used to having this many mechs. Oneiri Team had never numbered more than eight, but this squad alone had ten. The MIMAS design was finally doing what it had been intended to do: revolutionizing warfare.

Twenty minutes later, Ash got in touch. “We found the CIC and locked it down, PO,” she said. “Gamble’s boarded the ship and he’s already here.”

“Good work,” Jake said, and he meant it. He was glad Ash had been the one to do this. He could tell she needed a win. “Though I heard the Ixa call it the bridge, not CIC.”

“Whatever.”

“Do the officers there seem cooperative?”

“They’re dead. They refused to surrender, so hopefully our crew can figure out how to make this thing work.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had a sudden suspicion that the Ixa on the bridge hadn’t refused to surrender at all—that instead, Ash had ordered them murdered in cold blood.

He shook his head to clear it. Have a little more faith in your teammate than that.

Chapter 39

Insanely Ambitious

For the first time since the war began, the Progenitors fought to the last ship.

“They know exactly what we’re trying to accomplish,” Husher told Ochrim as they walked through the captured carrier, toward the main engine room. “That means they’ll be back soon, with more ships.”

The Ixan remained silent. Tension drew his features taut, and the whitened scales around his eyes seemed even lighter than the last time they’d spoken.

He knows what’s about to be asked of him.

Husher laid a hand on Ochrim’s shoulder as they walked. “This may very well be the last time I call upon you in this war, friend. After this, you can rest.”

“Yes. All I have to do is accomplish the impossible.” The Ixan offered a wan smile to soften the sarcasm, but Husher got the message, and he couldn’t say he disagreed, exactly.

After the Progenitor ships had appeared all around her, the Vesta had expended the rest of her missiles defending herself against the constricting sphere. She’d lost forty-nine Pythons to go with them, her Air Group’s heaviest losses ever. The number of Pythons the supercarrier could field was dropping, and at this rate, they’d soon approach the Providence’s maximum capacity.

If Arrowwood’s defenders hadn’t rallied around the Vesta with admirable speed, they would have lost many more. But with the system and planetary defense groups, the supercarrier’s own battle group, her Air Group, and the colony’s advanced defense platforms, they took out every enemy ship, except for one. With hundreds of missiles headed its way, the final destroyer had vanished, no doubt to report what had happened in Arrowwood.

If only we could have taken out that ship, we might have had some reprieve.

But Husher knew their only reprieve would be the time it took the enemy to rally enough forces to deliver Arrowwood a crushing blow.

They reached the hatch leading into the engine room, which was flanked by a pair of MIMAS mechs guarding it. They both came to attention and saluted the moment they spotted Husher.

“At ease,” he said as he passed them, impressed that even inside such hefty machines, they could pull off textbook salutes.

Inside, a massive metal construct hung suspended in the air, surrounded by four consoles situated near the bulkheads, though they all faced the floating construct in the center.

Ochrim immediately went to the console nearest the hatch and went to work, pausing only to occasionally glance up at the massive quantum engine.

Though he knew he shouldn’t interrupt, Husher couldn’t help himself: “How did they get it to float like that?”

“Ocharium nanites, would be my guess,” Ochrim answered. “Evenly distributed throughout the shell containing the engine. It would also require a Majorana fermion matrix woven through not just the deck but also the bulkheads and ceiling.”

“Why bother making it float in the first place?”

Ochrim stopped working altogether to peer at Husher, blinking. “The quantum engine aboard the Spire also floated, using powerful magnets. How else could a spherical wormhole be generated around it without separating it entirely from the ship?”

“Ah,” Husher said, reddening slightly. He should have known that. He should have taken the time to familiarize himself with the workings of the ship he’d sent Fesky to another dimension in. But a war for survival had a way of stealing one’s time for studying engineering schematics.

After that, he let Ochrim work uninterrupted, while he stared at the strange construct suspended in the chamber’s center.

At last, the Ixan stepped away from the console. Husher raised his eyebrows.

“The good news is that I found exactly what I hoped to,” Ochrim said. “While the design is different, the Progenitor quantum engine appears to function according to the same principles as the engine I designed for the Spire.”

“And the bad news?”

“The limiting factor is energy. Since the Vesta’s bigger than this carrier, we’d need a bigger engine, or at least one with an upgraded power bank and alternators. It would take weeks to build one, working around the clock with no hitches.”

“I need it to be hours, not weeks, Ochrim.”

The Ixan stared at him blankly. “I’m afraid that simply isn’t possible, Captain.”

“What if we rip this engine out of the ship, put it in the Vesta, and make the necessary modifications to it there?”

“That…” Ochrim coughed. “If you’re willing to open up your ship like that, I suppose it could speed things up. A timeframe of hours still seems insanely ambitious, but it would be faster.”

“Then we’ll do it. As for the timeline, I’m not the one setting it, Ochrim, trust me. It’s being set by the Progenitors, who are coming very soon to kill us all.”

Chapter 40

Permanently Compromised

“Ortega, adjust our attitude downward half a degree,” Husher said as they inched toward dry dock, his eyes glued to the telemetry readings. “We’re looking pretty close up top.”

“Aye, sir.”

While Ochrim and Husher had been investigating the Progenitors’ quantum engine, the controllers of Summit’s biggest ship construction platform strove to raise it to a higher orbit as quickly as possible. If the Vesta had attempted to enter dry dock at its previous orbit, the planet’s gravity would have dragged the supercarrier down till it smashed against the rocky surface.

Luckily, the shipyard had two dry docks of this size, and the Progenitor carrier had already been guided into the other. Once they removed the quantum engine, it would be a simple matter of transporting it across the shipyard, as long as the Vesta was ready to receive it in time.

Husher felt thankful that the logistics of modifying his ship were working out as well as he could have hoped, since they would surely need every advantage they could get. He suspected that defending the Vesta during the mods would be nowhere near as straightforward.

However necessary, raising the shipyard to an orbit nearly as high as the nearby defense platforms probably wasn’t going to help with defense. It would force those platforms to work twice as hard just to protect the shipyard from Progenitor missiles. And the platforms themselves remained just as vulnerable to any destroyer that appeared below them.

Worst of all, Husher would remain aboard the Vesta if and when the Progenitors attacked. He had to: in case any problems arose, he planned to stay in position to attend to them immediately. And if Ochrim succeeded in making the modifications on time, they’d likely need to join the fight right away.

Or flee. But he didn’t like to think of that.

Husher drummed his fingers on the command seat’s armrest and stared at the tactical display. Four hours passed without any sign of an attack. More time than he’d expected.

It proved long enough for them to cut through dozens of decks with a hole sized for the carrier’s quantum engine to be lowered into a central cargo bay, which Ochrim had identified as the ideal location, given its proximity to the more traditional main engine room.

While laborers cut through the supercarrier, another crew cleared out the supplies stored in the cargo bay, which had been stocked full because of its central location. That done, engineers swooped in, working feverishly to install a Majorana fermion matrix into the bulkheads and ceiling, so that the quantum engine could be kept suspended in midair. Then they started laying down the necessary wiring.

Station workers were also working overtime to restock the Vesta’s arsenal with Banshees, Hydras, and Gorgons. They’d already exhausted this facility’s missile stores, and more were being brought over from other orbital shipyards. Extra shipwrights had already been transported from the other shipyards, and they were hard at work repairing the supercarrier’s port-side main capacitor, after which they’d patch up the hull there as best they could.

Moments after the quantum engine was lowered into place, Winterton twisted to face the command seat. But Husher’s eyes hadn’t left his own console, and he already knew what Winterton was going to say.

“The attack has begun, sir. One hundred Progenitor ships: the computer has tallied sixty destroyers and forty carriers. Half of the destroyers have appeared in positions beneath orbital platforms, all over the planet, and the rest of the enemy ships are bombarding them from above.”

Husher nodded grimly. Both the Vesta’s battle group and the system’s original defenders were dispersed evenly around the planet, though he suspected everyone already knew what he’d realized hours ago: there was no way they’d stop this attack from piercing Summit’s defenses. Which meant that anyone remaining on the planet was doomed.

That meant the optimal configuration—for his battle group and for the system and fighter defense groups—would have been to cluster around the three defense platforms surrounding the shipyard where the Vesta was undergoing repairs. That was where the most vital thing in this system was happening…a cold calculus, but no less true for that.

Except, he hadn’t had the heart to make that argument to Captain Syms, or to the planetary governor. Like him, Husher knew their consciences would require them to try their best to protect the civilian populace before being forced to draw the same harsh conclusion.

Winterton’s face hardened. “Relayed visual feeds show that a defense platform just went down near the planet’s southern pole, sir.” Then, the sensor operator’s expression grew even more austere. “Another has been destroyed, near the equator.”

“We’re getting a transmission request from Captain Syms, sir,” Ensign Fry said.

“Put it on the main display,” Husher said, feeling suddenly weary.

The Winger’s face appeared, looking just as grim. “Captain Husher, as you’ve no doubt just seen, Summit’s planetary defenses have been permanently compromised. This colony is lost. I’m giving the order for all craft to execute a tactical withdrawal to your location.”

“Acknowledged, Captain Syms. And thank you.”

“Syms out.” The Winger disappeared.

The Winger officer had made exactly the right move, which didn’t surprise Husher at all. Still, the situation made him want to curse. Had they been as cold and unfeeling as their enemies, they would have simply arrayed all their forces around the Vesta from the outset. But now, they would take extensive losses as every ship in the system attempted to make the maneuver.

Unnecessary losses. He squeezed his hands so hard that even his neatly trimmed nails bit into his palms. Everything depends on Ochrim, now.

The quantum engine was in place, and workers had already started resealing the Vesta’s hull. If Husher was right that the fate of the galaxy depended on the supercarrier leaving this universe for the Progenitor’s, then that fate now rested in the Ixan’s clawed hands.

Chapter 41

Blast Backward

After the first two defense platforms went down, the rest began to follow in rapid succession. So did the IGF vessels that attempted to effect an orderly retreat around the planet, toward the Vesta: the Progenitors destroyed them at an alarming rate.

Unlike with other attacks Husher had seen the Progenitors launch against colonies, this time they didn’t seem interested in deploying Amblers and Ravagers to the planet’s surface.

They’ll have plenty of time to do that once they’ve destroyed the Vesta. Right now, the enemy seemed desperate to reach his supercarrier.

Arrowwood’s remaining defenders closed in around the shipyard, joining the Vesta’s battle group in a desperate attempt to protect her. Husher had ordered the Air Group fully deployed as well, and they were giving a good showing, as always: enemy ship after enemy ship fell to their incisive strikes. But for every Progenitor ship that fell, two more broke through to replace it.

“We’re getting a transmission request from the Melvin, sir,” his Coms officer said.

“Put it on the display.”

Vanessa Harding’s gaunt face appeared. “It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Captain Husher,” she said.

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. At last, he said, “What are you talking about?”

“This situation. Only one ship has a hope of leaving Arrowwood intact, and that’s the Vesta. I hope your strategy incorporates that fact.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. My entire battle group, gone. Arrowwood, gone. It was too much loss to process, let alone accept. He forced the words out: “It’s been an honor to serve with you, Captain. If we do escape this system, then it will be the second time you saved us. If there’s anything you’d like to ask of me, ask it, and I’ll see it done.”

“Kill these bastards,” she said, her voice admirably steady in the face of her own impending death. “Don’t let them do what they’re trying to do.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said.

“That’s not good enough, Captain Husher. I want your word.”

He hesitated, for a drawn-out moment. Then: “I promise you, Captain Harding. I will win this war.”

She nodded, said, “Harding out,” and then disappeared from the main viewscreen.

“Coms, get me Summit’s governor at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

Soon, the CIC’s main display showed Governor Tyson’s gray-feathered face. “Captain Husher, if the Vesta is able to depart, the time is now. I’m not sure how much longer the Progenitors can be kept from that shipyard.”

“I haven’t heard from Ochrim yet, Governor. He’s going to contact me the moment his work is complete. In the meantime, I’d like you to use as many of your fighter squadrons as you need to start escorting shuttles full of civilians to the Vesta. If we’re to escape today, I’d like to do it with as many beings on board as possible.”

Slowly, Tyson nodded. “A noble sentiment. I’ll give the order now.”

“Very good. Farewell, Governor.”

“Farewell, Honored Captain.”

Husher blinked. He’d never been called that by a Winger before, and he’d never heard any other captain called it, either. It sounded a little like “Honored One,” which was what the Wingers had once called each Fin. Whatever the case, the form of address was clearly a profound compliment, and he felt humbled by it, not to mention undeserving.

On the tactical display, the defense was crumbling. The system defense group was cut down to nearly half its numbers from the end of the previous engagement, and what fighters remained of the Vesta’s Air Group and the planetary fighter group struggled desperately to keep the flood of Ravagers at bay.

Twenty minutes after his conversation with the governor, a great fleet of shuttles launched from the planet. Clearly, the governor believed he would only get one shot to evacuate civilians, and he’d put everything he could muster into it.

He’s probably right. Four squadrons of fighters escorted the shuttles, and the Progenitors paid them little mind, instead remaining focused on their ultimate target: the Vesta.

The shuttles had reached the halfway point when the system’s defense gasped its last breath. Husher watched his battle group’s sole Quatro ship go down, followed seconds later by Captain Harding’s destroyer.

It was as though a chain reaction had been ignited, and defending ships began to explode in quick succession. There were twenty ships left guarding the Vesta, then seventeen, then twelve.

His com gave the shrill beep of a priority transmission, then, and Husher ripped it from its holster.

“Yes?” he said.

Ochrim’s weary voice filled his ear: “I’ve done it. Provided I’ve performed the calibrations correctly, the Vesta is ready to transition out of this dimension.”

“Thank you, Ochrim.” Husher turned to his Nav officer, whose console had already been installed with a modified version of the software interface Ochrim had designed to allow the Spire to travel the multiverse.

But he couldn’t bring himself to order the Vesta to leave. Doing so would mean abandoning over one hundred civilian shuttles that might otherwise have been saved.

Instead, he said, “Helm, full reverse thrust. We don’t have time to ease the Vesta out of dry dock, and if we take some superficial damage, then so be it.” We certainly needn’t concern ourselves about damaging the shipyard. “As soon as we’re out, bring us about as fast as possible. Nav, set an intercept course for those shuttles.”

“Yes, sir,” Ortega said, followed by Vy’s “Aye, Captain.”

“Coms, broadcast orders for every Python to make for a flight deck on the Vesta—Air Group and system fighters alike. We’re not stopping, so combat landings will be necessary.”

Before Fry could acknowledge his order, he’d already started on the next: “Tactical, put secondary lasers in point defense mode, and have Banshees loaded into every launch tube.” Using secondaries like that normally wasn’t done, since it drained capacitors so quickly. But Husher wasn’t planning to stick around for long. We should have enough charge left to transition out when we need it, with the main port-side capacitor restored. We should.

The Vesta blasted backward out of dry dock, swung around as fast as it was possible for a ship her size to do so, and began accelerating toward the approaching shuttles.

As she did, the last defending IGF ships were destroyed, and the Progenitor forces constricted, like a pack of wolves incensed by the smell of blood.

Pythons converged on the supercarrier, taking heavy losses as they did, though that still left hundreds. The surviving pilots fought desperately to stay alive, using every guns-D maneuver in the book, even as they continued to protect the Vesta.

For her part, Husher’s ship laid about all around her with the might capital starships had become known for. Banshees screamed from their launch tubes, slamming into Ravager and warship alike, and the supercarrier sailed through the void too fast for the enemy destroyers to affect her with particle beams.

At last, they reached the shuttles, which poured into the flight decks, every one of which was open. The Pythons followed behind them, under the covering fire of Banshees and secondary lasers.

“Capacitor charge is getting dangerously low, Captain,” Ortega said. “A few more seconds and we won’t have enough to use the quantum engine.”

“Transition out,” Husher barked. “Now!”

The Milky Way disappeared, and a starless void took its place.

Chapter 42

To Home

Refugees lined the streets of Cybele, some of them napping right on the asphalt as they waited for the city council to find them better accommodations.

“Captain Husher!” a young man called out as he passed. A pair of young boys clung to his legs. “Thank you!”

Husher raised a hand and smiled. A few called out to him like that, but not many. They’re downtrodden. Broken by war. Displaced, like the rest of the galaxy, many of them separated from families who they could be certain were dead by now.

“A grim scene,” Ochrim said from beside him.

Husher nodded. “I’m glad we were able to save some.” Not nearly enough. The seven-thousand or so that had made it to Vesta from Summit were a mere sliver of the colony’s population, but to the colonists who’d survived, it certainly made a big difference. At least, it would, once the shock wore off.

“It’s all thanks to you, Ochrim,” Husher said as they continued down the street. “Everyone on this ship owes you their life. You performed a miracle, today.”

The Ixan avoided Husher’s gaze, instead staring ahead, at the endless sea of refugees. “It doesn’t feel like a miracle. It feels like the end.”

“No matter what it is, I thank you. You deserve to be rewarded, and if your efforts lead to us winning this war, then I plan to see to it that you get what you deserve.”

“I require nothing. I’ve never done anything for payment.”

Payment of a different sort, perhaps. Husher was about to say as much, but decided against it. “Then you’re a rare individual indeed, Ochrim.”

A woman stepped forward from amidst the masses of new arrivals, and her composure provided a stark contrast with those around her. She stood with excellent posture, and her gaze never left Husher’s.

“Hello, Sera,” he said, coming to a halt.

“Hi, Vin. Can we talk?”

Husher glanced at Ochrim, who nodded, and continued down the concourse.

“Whatever it is you want to discuss, I doubt it’s suitable for the street,” he said. “Shall we go to my office?”

She gestured over her shoulder. “The Secured Zone is right there,” she said. “We could rent an enclosure.”

“All right.”

But once they were inside the bar, they found it packed with more refugees, in and out of the enclosures. Apparently the owner had opened up their establishment to the newcomers, to offer them rest while cutting down on congestion in the streets. That impressed Husher.

“Let’s just discuss it here,” he said, turning and leaning back against one of the clamshells. “It’s fine.”

She nodded toward the exhausted people filling the bar. “You’ve done good work here, Vin. Taking on all these people, helping them escape—it’s admirable.”

“It isn’t nearly enough.”

“Of course, not,” she said. “No one can ever do enough to reduce suffering, even in the normal course of life. In a war as drenched in pain as this one…” She shook her head. “It’s not possible. But you did what you could, and that has to be enough. So in case no one’s said it yet, thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows, feeling somewhat off-balance after receiving the first compliment from his ex-wife in seventeen years. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

She sighed. “I wanted to…apologize.” The last word came out sounding a little strangled. Sera had never had an easy time with apologies. “I’ve been treating things with us, and with Maeve, like we’re on opposite sides of a war. I never gave a thought to the idea you might be right about some things. But watching the way the IU has used this crisis as an opportunity to shove through a political agenda, it gave me a lot to think about. And I realized I’ve been acting sort of similar when it comes to Maeve.”

Husher hesitated for a few seconds, wanting to tread lightly, especially given the unexpected progress they were suddenly making. “Thank you for acknowledging that,” he said at last.

Sera nodded. “I’m still not anywhere near comfortable with my daughter living on a warship during the worst war the galaxy’s ever known. But I am starting to accept that I can’t stop her. So I’ll do the next best thing: I’ll be here with her.”

“She’s tougher than you might think,” Husher said. “She is the daughter of the Providence’s former marine commander, you know.”

That got a smile. “I guess that’s true.” The smile faded. “Have you decided what you’ll do next? You’re not taking us straight to the Progenitors’ home dimension, are you?”

Husher shook his head. Currently, they were sitting in the first dimension they’d entered, and the Nav officer on duty was ready to flit out of it at the first sign of danger.

The Vesta’s capacitors were recharging, and he’d wanted to take a moment to breathe, to give everyone a chance to collect their thoughts, and to decide what his next move would be. Somehow, his conversation with Sera had clarified that.

After Arrowwood, the Progenitors seemed more invincible than ever, or as close to invincible that drawing a distinction almost seemed pointless. But that didn’t mean he was going to roll over and die.

It was exactly like Sera had said: he would do what he could, and he would keep doing that until he won or was killed.

“We’re going to take these people to join the rest of the IU refugees,” he said. “We’re going to Home.”

Chapter 43

Asking Price

Captain Anthony Flores cracked his knuckles, an action that usually brought a wince from his Nav officer. He monitored the officer’s face, but no wince came this time. Ah, well.

All this waiting bored him, but he knew it was necessary—indeed, it had been the key to his success so far. Even though he’d managed to grow the Brotherhood to thirty warships, more than double their original number, that paled in comparison to the IGF. And so, any time the Brotherhood struck, they were first forced to wait for a civilian convoy to happen by with a particularly sparse escort.

We would have more ships if it wasn’t for what Husher did to us in Larkspur. But it didn’t pay to dwell on that. Flores would have his revenge. He just needed to figure out how.

Currently, they were several systems along Pirate’s Path, stalking prey that fled through the stars. Whenever his intel told him that the civilians on board a given convoy were mostly human, he left them alone. He still expected to be recognized as a hero by his species someday, but that would become less likely if he blundered by slaughtering them in large numbers.

The galaxy belonged to humans, and it was the Brotherhood’s goal to shape reality until it reflected that fact. To allow other, lesser species to inhabit viable colonies and suck up all the resources…that was a waste. The Progenitors recognized that. Flores could see it too, and so could his fellow Brotherhood loyalists.

But how to show the Progenitors that the Brotherhood should be given the Milky Way on humanity’s behalf? If we were allowed to stabilize here, and grow, then in time we could help with their conquest of the universe.

Flores knew the answer, of course: they could prove their worth by making a meaningful contribution to the Progenitor victory over the IU. Except, that was basically impossible with just thirty warships. While the Progenitors might appreciate their efforts to disrupt the exodus to the Kaithian homeworld, it didn’t actually move the needle very much.

“Sir, a shuttle has transitioned into the system,” his sensor operator said.

“Just one?”

“Aye.”

Flores studied the tactical display through narrowed eyes. His connections in the IU hadn’t told him anything about this shuttle, meaning that either its occupants were nobodies, or the craft’s flight was so classified that even Flores’s moles knew nothing about it.

“Coms, coordinate with Tactical to figure out how long we should wait before contacting it. I don’t want there to be any chance it might escape us.”

The Coms officer glanced at Flores. “The shuttle’s already broadcasting a transmission request throughout the system. It’s as though it knows someone’s here.”

Flores sniffed. The Marblehead was currently positioned behind an outer gas giant’s moon, just as the other Brotherhood ships were concealed throughout the system, forming a wide net that could constrict at a moment’s notice. There was no way the shuttle’s sensors detected them.

Whoever that is, they already know we’re here. “Accept the request,” he said. “Put the video on the main display, but I want exclusive access to the audio.” He saw no reason to give his crew information they didn’t need.

Captain Bob Bronson appeared on the large display, rendering Flores momentarily speechless. “Captain Anthony Flores,” Bronson said. “Correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Flores said, surprised Bronson knew his name. He knew Bronson, of course. The man was a legend, and his long track record proved he valued human ascendancy just as much as Flores did.

“I thought I might find you here. Panicked reports are flying through government channels about marauders attacking convoys on their way through Pirate’s Path, but of course the IU lacks the wherewithal to actually deal with it.”

Grinning, Flores said, “That’s what we’ve been counting on.”

“It’s a safe bet. But that doesn’t mean what you’re accomplishing here is having much of an effect on the war, other than tanking public morale.”

“Tanking morale is something,” Flores said, struggling to restrain his temper with such a great man.

“It’s barely anything, Captain Flores. The public was already panicking. They are abandoning the galaxy, after all. Making them panic even more doesn’t meaningfully reduce the likelihood of IU victory.”

Say nothing, Flores told himself, afraid that speaking would reveal the fact that he was seething inside. But he couldn’t help himself: “What would you do differently?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I would target the IU’s last source of strength. What they call the backbone of the Integrated Galactic Fleet.”

“The remaining capital starships.”

“That’s right. Destroy those, and you’ll serve the IU to the Progenitors on a silver platter.”

“How?”

“I can show you. Other than the Vesta, every capital starship was recently fitted with a new technology called lucid. For now, all you need to know is that I have in my possession a backdoor for lucid, which can be used to take over those ships’ navigational systems. Do that in the middle of battle, and they’ll be rendered helpless.”

Flores regarded Bronson for a long time. At last, he said, “What do you want in exchange?”

“Command of your best ship. My sources tell me that would be the Marblehead—your destroyer. I’m sure you can take over from the captain of your next-best ship. Once we have that out of the way, I’ll share the backdoor with you, and we can begin getting into position. The Progenitors will strike Home soon, and if you want to make your mark, we need to move now.”

Flores made a show of taking time to consider Bronson’s proposition, but he already knew what his answer would be. Bob Bronson would be a valuable ally in his own right, especially since he appeared to have inside knowledge of both the IU’s and the Progenitor’s intentions. If he could provide what he claimed, then this could easily become a historic moment.

Giving up the Marblehead was annoying, but in the end, it was just a lump of metal with engines and weaponry attached. A means to an end. Truly, Bronson’s asking price was quite low.

“Very well,” Flores said. “You have a deal.”

Chapter 44

Becoming Something Else

Despite how crowded the rest of Cybele was, Santana Park was almost deserted as Jake and Iris strolled through it, with artificial evening descending all around them.

Iris’s fingers slipped through his, and he allowed it. He should have pulled away, given how conflicted he felt. But no part of him wanted to.

Where is everyone? Santana Park would have been the perfect place for the Summit refugees to gather and relax. Even at “night,” the park was kept at a comfortable temperature, and the fake grass was always soft. Anyone who hadn’t been given temporary accommodations could simply come here.

They’re too restless, he realized. They all wanted to remain in the city center, where news would disseminate the quickest, and where they could have their say in case of unfair treatment. True, their Oculenses would have performed both those functions, but there was still something about being in person that carried more weight.

“Why haven’t we arrived at Home yet?” Iris asked. Apparently, she was thinking along the same lines as him.

That’s not overly surprising. Probably, everyone in Cybele is asking themselves the same question. “I heard they’re having trouble with the new quantum engine. Something about the Vesta’s size throwing off the calculations.”

“That poor Ixan,” Iris said. “He probably thought he’d finally get a break.”

“I would say Ochrim’s smarter than that. Besides, if you ask me, that Ixan is far from repaying humanity for what he did to us. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to repay us.”

Iris pulled her hand away from his. “You’re always saying I shouldn’t be so wrapped up in identity, and yet here you are doing it.”

“This is different. He killed hundreds of thousands of people, Iris.”

Part of him felt relieved that she’d pulled away. He’d been trying to get Oneiri Force ready for the mission he knew was coming: to travel to the Progenitor home system and save anyone held captive there, if they could. That included Lisa. The real Lisa; the one he’d grown up with.

In the weeks before evacuating the Steele System, he’d felt a strong connection forming between them. Something that went beyond just friendship. And now that he knew the Lisa who’d abandoned him for Andy was really a Progenitor, he felt even more certain that what he’d felt with the Lisa he’d always known was real.

But so were his growing feelings for Iris. He knew he shouldn’t act on them till they could extract Lisa and he could figure himself out. But Iris was often by his side, now, her piercing, ice-blue eyes muddling his thoughts.

In his most honest moments, he knew he was spending time with Iris in part because Husher had told him not to. Jake had always had that rebellious streak. But in the end, Husher was right. War is no time to let myself get distracted like this.

They were coming up on a thick copse of trees, which looked just as abandoned as the rest of the park did.

“Millions of people have died in this war,” Iris said. “And millions more may die.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be getting back inside that thing soon, won’t you? You’ll climb back inside and you’ll risk becoming something else.” He’d told her about his increasing struggles with the alien mech. “As if going to war isn’t bad enough…you’re at risk of losing what makes you Jake.”

He shrugged.

She took his hand again and tugged him gently toward the thicket of trees—toward a path that led to its center. He trailed behind her, silently cursing himself all the while.

They found a fountain at the center, quietly burbling to itself. Iris sat on the lip, pulling him down beside her.

Their lips met, and for a while, Jake forgot everything else.

Chapter 45

Nothing’s More Destabilizing

Husher stared at Ochrim, who stood bent over the Nav station, working with Noni to figure out how the hell they were going to make it back to their native dimension. They were at least moving, now, but getting a warship of the Vesta’s size to their desired dimension was proving more complicated than expected.

The Tumbran was recovered at last from her traumatic episode in the Gok home system, which gave Husher a measure of relief. Ortega was good, but he came nowhere near Noni’s precision and thoroughness. He knew the war would end soon, one way or another, and he wanted his best officers in the CIC for that.

“We’re getting close, I think,” Ochrim said, perhaps sensing Husher’s impatience.

Normally, Husher would have required everyone in his CIC to be seated and strapped in while his ship was in transit, but interdimensional travel didn’t require any movement. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. The ship remained basically stationary during the entire process, meaning Ochrim was fine to simply hover over Noni’s station as they flitted from universe to universe.

“With every dimension we enter, I’m able to refine our trajectory to a smaller region of the path integral, often by an order of magnitude,” Ochrim said. “Of course, with infinity possible directions, it still takes time.”

“Less chatting, more getting us to Home,” Husher barked.

Ochrim’s scaled face tightened momentarily, and he returned his attention to Noni’s console.

As they worked to find a path through the multiverse that led back to the Milky Way, Ochrim was also reprogramming the Nav station on the fly, to incorporate what he was learning about moving a ship the Vesta’s size through the dimensions.

At last, he looked up. “I believe we’ve done it.”

Husher remained skeptical. “Winterton, can you confirm?”

The sensor operator eyed his console as he waited for it to populate with data. “Location confirmed, Captain,” he said with a nod. “We’re in the Kaithian home system. I’ve identified their superweapon, and visual analysis puts the number of spacecraft present at five thousand, eight hundred and ninety-four. Three thousand and eight of those are warships, including all five remaining capital starships, not counting the Vesta. Would you like to know the breakdown of how many of our warships there are versus how many Quatro and Gok warships?”

“Not at present, Winterton. Thank you.” He turned to the Ixan. “Good work, Ochrim. Go get some rest, but keep your com close. I don’t know when we’ll be heading for the Progenitor home system, but I mean to make it as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ochrim said, doing an admirable job of keeping the fatigue out of his voice. With that, he left the CIC.

“Coms, give Major Gamble the order to begin evacuating every civilian aboard the Vesta.”

“Aye, sir.”

Husher stared at the tactical display—at the largest number of friendly ships he’d ever seen gathered in one place. So this is where the galaxy makes its last stand.

“We’re getting a transmission request from Home’s surface, sir,” Ensign Fry said.

“Put it on the main display and grant everyone Oculens access.”

President Chiba’s narrow face appeared on the display, head-tail swishing through the air behind him, as though it had a mind of its own. “Captain Husher. That’s quite an entrance you made. It’s causing something of a stir among the fleet.”

Just another day at the office, then. But Husher didn’t indulge himself by actually making the joke—especially not at a time like this.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d see you again,” the Kaithian continued.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Husher said.

“On the contrary,” the IU president said. “We continue to recognize your value to the galaxy’s defense.”

Heartwarming. “I have thousands of refugees on board, Mr. President, and I’m only here to drop them off. After that, we’re bound for the Progenitor’s home system.”

Chiba’s eyes widened. “But you can’t abandon us, Captain Husher. Surely you wouldn’t. Not at an hour of need as dire as this.”

“That’s precisely why I have to leave. We can’t hold here indefinitely, Mr. President. If we don’t hit the enemy in their home, we’ll crumble here.”

“We’ll crumble even faster without the Vesta,” Chiba said. “Too fast. You’ll return to find that there’s nothing left to protect.”

Husher raised his eyebrows. “I’m not used to such flattery from you.”

“This isn’t flattery. I recognize what you mean to the other Fleet captains, and I recognize your skill. I want you to command our defense, Captain Husher. Without you, I truly don’t know what we’ll do.”

Mouth quirking, Husher studied the Kaithian’s face. This was a somewhat pathetic display, but he did believe it was authentic. The galactic president was getting desperate. He had to be, if Husher was the straw he’d chosen to grasp at.

“Sir,” Winterton said, and trepidation filled the syllable. That got Husher’s attention. If his stoic sensor operator sounded worried, then he should probably worry, too.

“What is it, Ensign?”

“New contacts appearing in a wide circle centered on Home, roughly twenty light-minutes in diameter.”

“How many ships?”

The sensor operator swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “They’re still appearing, but…they appear to be slowing. Visual analysis puts the last count at over twenty-thousand warships.”

Husher felt his eyes bulge. Twenty-thousand? His stomach became a chunk of ice.

“They’re broadcasting a message,” Fry said. “I’m not sure how we’re getting it so quickly, at this distance—it’s possible they’ve transitioned in a com drone closer to us, and it’s getting lost in all the noise.” She shot an inquisitive glance at Winterton, who shook his head, presumably to indicate he didn’t detect such a drone. Fry’s gaze returned to Husher’s face. “Should I play the message, sir?”

Husher nodded.

Teth’s face replaced President Chiba’s on the main display. “Beings that remain of the Interstellar Union,” the Ixan hissed, his eyes wide and filled with fervor. “You must be filled with envy for your fallen neighbors. I have slaughtered most of the family members, friends, acquaintances, and strangers who once shared this galaxy with you. And yet, you are unfortunate enough to still exist. But don’t worry. Salvation has come.

“All your life, each of you has sensed how irredeemable you are. How vile. Deep down inside, you’ve wished for the release of death—the ultimate penance. Well, I am an agent of death, and I come to deliver you to it. Make your peace. Or don’t. Either way, this is the end.”

Teth vanished from the display, leaving Chiba’s fearful face in his wake. Before the president could speak, Winterton did: “The Progenitor force is closing in, sir. Most of them are moving through space toward us, but hundreds of their ships have vanished.”

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing them shortly,” Husher said, his jaw tight.

The president seemed in a state of shock. He’d ceased his pleading, and indeed, he seemed to have ceased most functions. He sat there, shaking.

“President Chiba,” Husher snapped, and the Kaithian gave a start. “Can the Preserver hit the Progenitors from this range?”

Chiba seemed to shake himself. “Uh—yes. It has a range-extending function whose existence is little-known. It involves the use of what you would call dark tech, however. And so, potentially, it could destabilize—”

“Activate every function that thing has,” Husher said. “Nothing’s more ‘destabilizing’ than twenty-thousand enemy warships at your doorstep.”

“Yes. Okay. Captain Husher, do you—”

“I’ll take command of the defense,” Husher cut in, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. Yet again, Teth was forcing his hand, and that made him very angry. He meant to make him pay. “Go,” he yelled. “Activate the Preserver!”

“It’s already activating,” Chiba said.

“Get me a visual, Winterton.”

The sensor operator complied right away, and Husher saw that the president’s words were true. Massive clouds of dust were drifting up from the moon-sized superweapon as ravines appeared all along its length, which widened rapidly into canyons.

As soon as the four, behemoth-like segments were far enough apart, they turned their concave insides outward, rotating them to face the enemy fleet approaching from the outer system.

The system’s sun glinted off the silver innards of the nearest segment as it turned, and Husher realized he was holding his breath.

Then, at last, the Preserver began to fire.

Chapter 46

Looking to End This

Great storms of energy coalesced inside every circular impression that dotted each Preserver segment. Seconds later, broad energy beams flashed across the system toward the oncoming fleet.

It would take several minutes for those beams to reach the constricting circle of Progenitor ships—more than enough time for them to maneuver out of the way. Husher’s heart sank as he saw the enemy doing exactly that on the tactical display. Gaps opened in their ranks where the beams would strike.

But it appeared the Preserver knew what it was doing. Only a few of the energy storms had produced beams, and now wormholes opened above most of the others. The beams poured into those wormholes and then out of their exit points, which were situated directly behind the enemy ships.

It took only one direct hit from the Preserver’s great energy lances to destroy even the largest Progenitor ships; the carriers. Energy surged into their pierced hulls, overwhelming them and exploding them in great flashes of light and flame.

This happened hundreds of times, to hundreds of enemy ships, within seconds. Husher had seen the great superweapon in action only once before, from aboard the Providence, when they’d been fleeing a large Ixan fleet.

Then, the Preserver had repelled the Ixa with ease. But Husher didn’t remember anything like this orchestrated display of might. Clearly, the superweapon possessed enough intelligence to have kept some of its capabilities in reserve, like the ability to open wormholes to extend its range, or the ability to coordinate those wormholes and fire through them with a rapidity that was difficult to track.

By concealing those capacities till now, the Preserver took by surprise an enemy it hadn’t faced for twenty years. Clearly, the Kaithe’s ancient ancestors had engineered and programmed the moon-sized construct with the ability to play a very long game, which helped explain why the Kaithian homeworld had never been harmed.

As Husher monitored the tactical display, a surge of hope began to push through him. Clearly, even the Kaithe themselves hadn’t known the exact nature of the gift their forebears had given them. Less than a minute ago, the Progenitors had outnumbered the allied fleet almost seven-to-one, and in that time the Preserver had destroyed over one thousand ships.

There’s nowhere they can go to escape those wormholes. Unless they left the system entirely. Presumably, the superweapon had no ability to track the Progenitors across the universe, and certainly not through the multiverse.

But the enemy ships remained, continuing to close in. Then, destroyers and carriers began to appear all around Home, within and around IGF formations, above and below Home’s orbital defense platforms.

Dispersed as these enemy ships were around the IGF, Gok, and Quatro forces, it was too dangerous for the Preserver to risk firing on them, lest it hit friendly forces. As that realization seemed to take hold inside the rest of the Progenitor ships, more of them began to disappear from among their ranks, no doubt to reappear closer in. Still, the Preserver continued to savage the enemy ships that remained at a distance, neutralizing dozens at a time.

“Coms, put me on a fleetwide channel—one that includes the Gok and the Quatro.”

“Aye, sir. You’re on.”

“Species of the fleets defending Home,” Husher said. “Gok, Quatro, Kaithe, Tumbra, Wingers, Fins, and humans. This is Captain Vin Husher, and I have been given the command by President Chiba. As you’re seeing, the Kaithian Preserver has given us some breathing room, but it would be stupid to assume it’s going to win this for us.” On the tactical display, more and more of the great circle of Progenitor ships were vanishing from the universe. “The Progenitors will continue to appear amidst our ranks, and they’ll try to rip us apart from the inside. This will be like no battle you’ve experienced, and a new kind of combat requires a new kind of thinking. One thing holds true, though: if our capital starships are beaten, then the fleet is beaten. Let’s arrange ourselves so that neither happens—so that our formations allow our capital starships to protect the fleet, and vice versa.

“I want all our forces to cluster around the planet we’re defending, in a distribution I will describe now. As I’ve alluded to, we protect the planet by protecting our capital starships. We salvage the galaxy by staying alive to fight. I want one hundred warships, mostly destroyers and missile cruisers, to cluster around every capital starship that isn’t the Vesta. Each sphere of warships is to defend against attack from without, while the capital starships and their Air Groups defend against attacks from within.”

Husher’s abdomen tightened as he glanced at the tactical display and saw that most of the encircling Progenitor ships had now either disappeared or been destroyed. In a matter of seconds, the battle for Home would begin in earnest.

“Frigate and corvette captains, you are responsible for patrolling underneath Home’s orbital defense platforms and supporting the fighter defense groups that have made it here from other systems. I want any ship I haven’t mentioned to envelop the planet in a protective blockade, to support either the capital starships or the planetary defenders, as needed.”

Husher cleared his throat, knowing that this would likely be the last thing he’d have time to say. “I’ve been informed that every capital starship lifeboat has now been converted to a warship capable of traversing the dimensions. To those captains, I say this: you are our Secret Service. Detach from your capital starship and flit through the dimensions, to return and strike wherever your damage can be maximized. Even with the Preserver’s aid, the odds are stacked heavy against us, and we must use every capability at our disposal. We must also fight with more intelligence and determination than we ever have before. Keep your heads, and give them hell. Husher out.”

He nodded at the Coms officer to terminate the transmission, and then he turned to Winterton. “How many Progenitor ships have been destroyed by the Preserver, Ensign?”

“Nearly eight thousand, Captain.”

Incredible. If Husher had been taking losses like that, he would have backed off the attack. The fact that the Progenitors had remained was worrying. For one, it showed they held no regard for the lives of their crews. That pointed not only to their coldness, but also to the possibility that they’d kept even more ships in reserve.

Either way, they’re clearly looking to end this today. The allied ships were still outnumbered four-to-one, and on average, the enemy vessels were much more advanced, much more powerful.

But if the Preserver can manage to continue picking them off—

“Sir, the Preserver is under attack,” Winterton said.

“Can you give me a visual?”

The Ensign nodded, putting a zoomed-in view of the engagement on the main display.

A battle group of two hundred Progenitor carriers had appeared between the four superweapon segments, so that its weapons faced away from them. They’d already begun to pump thousands of Ravagers across the void toward the four megastructures.

Wormholes opened above and below the carriers, and energy beams began to explode the attackers. But the superweapon was limited by the danger of hitting itself with its own energy beams, and it had to select its angles carefully. There was also no way it could meaningfully target the smaller, robotic ordnance that moved through space in a dark wave.

Soon, Ravagers covered all four segments, tunneling into the barren, moon-like parts, with many of them racing around to attack the infrastructure supporting each energy weapon.

The carrier force positioned between the four segments now numbered half its original number, but that didn’t seem to matter to them. Those that remained continued to belch Ravagers, and the Preserver’s fate seemed sealed.

Without warning, the first segment burst apart in a titanic explosion of blue light, hurling great chunks of moon and metal in all directions. The second segment followed, then the third, and the fourth.

The Preserver was no more.

Chapter 47

Limbs

Wanda Carlisle was shaken awake from bizarre dreams filled with shadowy monsters that lurked in a jungle beneath trees made of human limbs.

She gasped as she was ripped from her slumber, and she fought to steady her breathing as her gaze fell on the face of Lopez, her head of security. He clutched a military-issue assault rifle in the hand not shaking her awake.

Normally, she hated having bodyguards, or anything else that marked her out from the general public. Despite her success, she considered herself a woman of the people. But since arriving on Home, she’d been forced to use what resources remained to her in order to hastily put together a security detail. Anti-rich sentiment was prevalent all over the Kaithian homeworld, and as the battle raged in space all around it, the temperature only seemed to be rising on the planet’s surface.

“Ms. Carlisle,” Lopez said. “We may have to move.”

At that moment, the sound of angry shouting all around her penetrated her awareness. “What is it, Lopez?” she asked, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “What’s going on?”

“The sky lit up with this huge explosion around thirty minutes ago. Everyone’s pretty sure it was the Preserver.”

“Oh, God, no,” Wanda moaned.

“It’s really setting people off. They’re feeling helpless, I think, and they’re looking for someone to blame for all this. They’re…they want to hurt people like you, Ms. Carlisle. I think we should move.”

“To where?” Wanda said. “The entire planet’s surface is a sea of tents and temporary structures, and every camp is filled with beings thinking the same way. There’s nowhere to go. Not on Home. And there’s no leaving the planet, either.”

“What are we going to do?”

Wanda drew a couple of steadying breaths. “I have to talk to them. Let me talk to them.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“We’re out of options,” she said, pushing to her feet, glad that she’d slept in her robe.

On her way out of the tent, she glanced at a mirror propped up against the side of a bureau. She looked a mess, but there was no time to run a comb through her hair, and certainly no time to put on makeup. The people outside were yelling for blood, and she only had so many guards, whereas the mobs outside were limitless.

Lopez kept pace beside her, R-57 held at the ready.

“I don’t want that used,” Wanda said. “Under any circumstances. The guns are just for show. Understood?”

Lopez raised and lowered his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Once outside, she managed to make it to the bed of an open-backed truck before the crowd spotted her and closed around it, arms snaking over the sides, faces contorted with anger.

Seven of her guards had made it to the side of the truck before the mob closed in, and now they shoved beings back, keeping them from reaching Wanda.

Holding up a hand, she waited for silence so she could speak, though she wasn’t sure she would ever get it. Instead, the crowd lobbed degrading curses at her. One man spat, and the glob of mucus and saliva barely missed her left foot. She suppressed a wince.

At last, somewhat miraculously, the crowd settled down enough for her to be heard.

“Oppressor!” a female Winger shouted into the relative silence.

“That’s ridiculous,” Wanda shot back, surprised at how upset the comment had made her. “I’m far from an oppressor. I’ve always gone above and beyond to provide jobs, and to make sure the beings filling those jobs are fairly compensated—also, that they feel appreciated. I’ve done a lot of charity work. I care about the galaxy, and I’ve given back to it.”

“You’re just trying to escape your guilt,” yelled a Kaithian who Lopez was holding back with a hand on its shoulder. “Get off of me!” it yelled at him.

“Ease up, Lopez,” Wanda said. “Guilt for what?” she asked the alien.

“For all the privileges you’ve benefited from. Your species openly oppressed the galaxy for decades, but now they’ve just gotten more subtle. If you weren’t human, you never would have risen as far as you did. The government left you half your wealth, but you don’t deserve any of it. You’ve kept nonhuman beings down. That’s why we weren’t prepared for this war!”

“That’s quite a leap of logic,” Wanda said, shaking her head. “You have to stop this,” she added, looking around at the rest of the mob. “All of you. You want to know who’s tearing this galaxy apart? You are. You all are. I understand you’ve suffered. I understand life is unfair, and right now you’re afraid for your lives. I am too. But if you use your bitterness to attack beings who’ve had success, then what are you going to accomplish? Are you trying to abolish wealth altogether? Because that’s foolish. All beings need an incentive to contribute to society. Our system isn’t perfect, and it doesn’t have all the answers, but if you remove every reward for working hard, where will that leave us?”

“Get down, Ms. Carlisle!”

It was Phillips, the first guard she’d hired since arriving on Home. She turned to find him grappling with a human male clutching a pistol, whose barrel was inching toward Wanda’s head.

Instead of dropping to the truck bed like she should have, Wanda froze, totally paralyzed by the mortality suddenly confronting her.

The gun went off, and Wanda felt the air stir near her left temple. Phillips brought a fist against the man’s head, once, twice, and the handgun fell to the ground, lost below the press of bodies.

The crowd roiled, surging against the truck until it rocked back and forth. The only reason it didn’t tip right away was that the pressure was coming from all sides at once.

Wanda finally regained the ability to move, and she dropped to the truck bed, pulling the robe tight around her and curling into the fetal position. No more shots came—not yet. Her guards were following her orders not to use their guns, and the crowd hadn’t yet produced any more would-be killers.

But she felt far from safe. Tears slid down her cheeks to pool on the corrugated metal beneath her, and she began to tremble.

Chapter 48

Enter the Brotherhood

All was chaos.

Progenitor destroyers and carriers began appearing around the planet in the thousands, wasting no time before lashing out at the nearest targets with particle beams or Ravagers. The last of the shuttles carrying civilians had left the Vesta minutes before, and now some of them were caught in the crossfire on their way toward the planet, forcing the pilots to engage in evasive maneuvers.

Allied destroyers and missile cruisers struggled to get into the formations Husher had prescribed, and he watched the Eos take heavy damage from a particle beam before her battle group of destroyers could pressure her attacker enough to take some heat off.

Most of the frigates and corvettes were out of position, and now they scrambled to reach the region between Home’s defense platforms and the planet’s surface. There, destroyers were already felling allied starfighters by the hundreds.

“Sir, we’re getting hit by seven particles beams from three different directions,” Winterton yelled.

“Nav, transition us out!” Husher barked.

Noni’s hands flew over the console, and the Vesta left the universe for another.

“How soon can you get us back—preferably to a location on the edge of the battle, where we can start attacking the edge of the enemy fleet?”

“I estimate seven minutes, Captain.”

Husher nodded. “Excellent.” Reverse engineering the Progenitor quantum engine had helped Ochrim iron out a lot of inefficiencies inherent in his initial design—the design from which the Spire’s engine had been constructed. He’d managed to cut voyages through the multiverse from over an hour to a matter of minutes.

“Coms, tell Ayam to prepare to scramble the Air Group the moment we return, but only Pythons that were originally aboard the Vesta. I want to keep the Arrowwood Pythons in reserve.”

“Aye, Captain.”

He turned toward the XO’s chair. “Ek, to capitalize on the element of surprise, I’ll need your help to analyze the battlespace as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, Captain Husher.”

The seven minutes felt like two, and then they were back in the Kaithian home system, hard against the edge of the battle.

Using a shared Oculens overlay, Ek indicated a battle group of twenty Progenitor ships; half carriers, half destroyers.

“This formation will soon be hemmed in by allied forces, and they know it. Soon, they will target these ships,” Ek said, indicating a group of five Gok ships. “That is their best point of egress, and they will struggle hard to avoid becoming surrounded.”

“So we deploy our Pythons to weave through the battle and engage them at the same moment they engage the Gok ships,” Husher said, nodding. “Tremaine, standby to fire Banshees and Gorgons if a decent firing solution opens to us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Most of the Vesta’s Air Group deployed from launch tubes, with orders to randomize their movements until the optimal moment.

Minutes later, when the Progenitor force attacked the Gok ships, just as Ek had predicted, the hundreds of Pythons converged like a fist clenching. The sudden movement helped mask Ayam’s squadron, which had dropped into subspace only to pop back into reality to hit a carrier with an alpha strike, taking out its main engine.

Then, as the rest of the Air Group closed with the enemy, so did the dozens of Gorgons Tremaine had found the space to fire. Six ships went up in flames, and when the Gok ships realized what was happening and joined their power to the Vesta’s, more began to fall.

The Progenitors managed to strike back some, taking out two of the Gok ships and eleven Pythons. Husher was loathe to take any losses, but he had to admit it was an incredible trade. Clearly reluctant to continue the exchange, the remaining enemy ships transitioned out of the dimension, relinquishing their position.

“There,” Ek said, indicating a point on the battlespace a few light seconds away. “If we can reach that space within three minutes, we will be in position to hit a battle group of six Progenitor ships who will believe themselves safe. For self-preservation, we will have to strike and then transition out immediately.”

“Noni?” Husher said. “Can we make it there in three minutes?”

“I can try, Captain, with a reasonable expectation of success. Our mapping of the multiverse is limited, but based on Ochrim’s calculations, I—”

“Just do it. If we take too long to reach it, we’ll find something else to target once we get there.”

“What about the Air Group, sir?” Tremaine said.

“We’re leaving them here for now. Transition out, Chief Noni.”

As it turned out, they reached the position Ek had designated in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. Husher had Tremaine unleash a massive missile barrage, complete with Banshees, Hydras, and Gorgons. The Progenitors launched Ravagers to help with missile defense, but Husher had calculated his barrage to be overwhelming. Two ships went down before the Vesta transitioned out, and when they returned to the universe less than five minutes later, sensors confirmed that he’d calculated correctly: there was no trace of the four remaining ships they’d targeted. Either they’d been destroyed or they’d transitioned out.

So it went, for a time: the Vesta flitting in and out of her native reality, exploiting vulnerabilities in the enemy’s positioning. The Progenitor’s numbers were great, but no ship in the battlespace rivaled the Vesta. Husher wedded his tactical knowhow to Ek’s advanced perception, and in doing so they ensured the supercarrier did real work wherever it appeared.

The Secret Service of lifeboats-turned-warships were also making outsized contributions. It seemed the battle for Home had granted Winterton an opportunity to fulfill his vast potential, and managing several data streams produced by the Vesta’s sensor suite, he observed and analyzed the battlespace with a skill that rivaled Ek’s. He reported on the Secret Service’s activities whenever one of their ships reappeared. “Captain Okane just played a large role in disrupting a Progenitor assault on the Eos’ formation, sir,” Winterton said at one point, and moments later he reported that Captain Deeley, another Secret Service captain, had singlehandedly taken out three destroyers.

Despite these successes, and despite that the Progenitors were losing ships at a faster rate then the allied fleet, they weren’t losing them fast enough.

Especially not if they’ve kept ships in reserve. If that was the case, the allies seemed doomed.

Even so, they fought on.

Without warning, a destroyer appeared directly in front of the Vesta, followed by a cohort of eleven more warships of the same make.

All twelve hit the Vesta with particle beams.

“Transition out, Noni!” Husher barked.

The Nav officer did—just in time, as Winterton confirmed: “They almost had us, sir.”

“That first ship to appear,” Husher said. “That was Teth’s, wasn’t it?”

Winterton gave a grim nod. “Aye.”

“Noni, take us directly behind that formation, and Tremaine, be ready to hit them with everything.”

“It will take nearly eight minutes for us to return to that location, sir,” the Nav officer said.

Husher cursed under his breath. “Can’t we just transition back the way we came?”

“I’m afraid the multiverse doesn’t work like that.”

Eight minutes proved too long: when they reappeared, Teth and his destroyers were gone from their previous position.

“Watch out carefully for Teth’s destroyer, Winterton,” Husher growled. “I want to take every opportunity to kill him that presents itself.”

“Aye, sir,” the ensign said, though he was staring hard at his console. “Sir, it appears the Brotherhood has entered the system. Thirty ships with profiles matching those that turned to their side recently transitioned through the darkgate, and they’ve been joined by an escort of hundreds of Progenitor ships.”

Husher frowned. He had no idea why the Progenitors would prioritize the Brotherhood ships like that, but it couldn’t be good. Either way, with so many ships protecting them, he couldn’t see a way to attack the former IGF ships without losing his own ship in the process.

Chapter 49

Snapped in Half

“Help me anticipate Teth’s targets,” Husher said to his Fin XO. “Neutralizing him could cut the enemy’s morale in half.”

Ek nodded. “I expect his skill is greatest among the enemy captains. As such, he will pursue important targets, but only ones not surrounded by too many defending ships. I have identified three targets that meet those criteria, given the battlespace’s current configuration.”

“What are they?”

“The sparsely defended underside of an orbital defense platform—though I doubt he will pressure it, since the situation over the planet is fluid enough that Teth may find himself under more threat than anticipated, which I am sure he will account for. The Ceres’ Air Group has been thinned enough that she offers a likely target for Teth, provided he gets in and out before the destroyers and cruisers encircling her can act. Finally, a Gok battle group of thirteen assorted warships has isolated itself from allies, and Teth will know he and his destroyers can overwhelm them handily by taking them from behind.”

Husher frowned at the overlay he shared with Ek, which highlighted the three targets she’d indicated. The Gok have had a tendency to operate on their own throughout the battle, to their own detriment. But would Teth bother to target them? “I think we should count on Teth wanting to take down the bigger target,” he said at last. “He’ll go for the Ceres. At least, I think he will. Let’s roll the dice. Noni, take us inside the formation protecting the Ceres.”

“Aye, Captain,” Noni said, and an instant later, the Vesta left the Milky Way once again.

When they returned four minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, just where he’d ordered Noni to put them, Teth wasn’t there.

Winterton looked up from his console, not quite concealing his frustration. “Teth chose to target the Gok ships, Captain,” he said. “He and his destroyers have almost neutralized the entire battle group.” Winterton’s gaze fell to the console, then flicked back toward Husher. A fearful expression had replaced the hints of frustration that tightened his features before. “Sir, the Ceres is speeding toward us—as though she means to ram us!”

Husher narrowed his eyes. “Helm, full reverse thrust, and Coms, contact Captain Riggs and ask what he’s doing. Once you’ve done that, make sure the destroyer and cruiser captains behind us are aware of what’s happening. They may have to get out of the way, too.”

“She’s gaining on us, Captain,” Winterton said. “She has a full head of steam.”

And we’re starting up from a complete stop. “Noni, standby to transition out on my mark.”

“Aye.”

“Sir,” Winterton said, his voice hitching with something that sounded very close to panic. “The other four capital starships are also behaving erratically. They’re all traveling at full speed toward the edges of their protective formations. Some of the cruisers and destroyers are getting out of the way, but many of their captains are slow to react.”

That’s fair enough, given how bizarre this is. But it also wasn’t acceptable. “Coms, get me on the fleetwide at once.”

“You’re on, sir.”

“Captains of the Eos, Artemis, Ceres, Ormenos, and Simon, please provide an immediate explanation for why you’re breaking formation.” That done, Husher waited, monitoring the tactical display to anticipate the moment he’d be forced to transition out. He’d intended his transmission to warn the fleet as well as get answers.

“Incoming transmissions from all five capital starship captains, sir,” Ensign Fry said.

“Accept them all, and put them on the main display.”

All five captains appeared on the now-segmented display, in various states of panic. Unsurprisingly, Captain Katrina Norberg seemed the most composed. She spoke first.

“Captain Husher, my Nav officer is experiencing what seems tantamount to a grand mal seizure, just as the one your Chief Noni experienced while in Gok space,” she said. “The Invigor Technologies rep assured me they’d ironed this out.”

“Same here,” Captain Riggs said, his voice tremulous. “Exact same thing happening to mine.”

“You all need to get your secondary Nav officers to the CIC at once,” Husher said, “as well as your chief engineers, to help you rip that tech out of your systems as fast as possible. Everyone on that planet is depending on you to make it happen inside of the next few minutes. Give the orders now, but don’t disconnect from this transmission. We need to figure this out. Clearly this was triggered somehow, and we need to make sure it can’t happen again.”

On the tactical display, the capital starships continued to move toward the edges of the spherical formations protecting them. Most of those formations had responded quickly, moving with the rogue capital starships to keep them in the center. But the Artemis’ formation had failed to do that, and she now sailed past the destroyers and missile cruisers that comprised it.

At once, a host of hundreds of Progenitor destroyers and carriers converged, targeting the Artemis with Ravagers and particle beams. It was far too much firepower to bear. Explosions tore the Artemis apart, and Captain Updike disappeared from the main display.

Meanwhile, the Ceres was nearing the Vesta. In less than a minute, he’d be forced to give Noni the order to transition out.

“Back in Gok space, my primary Nav officer’s seizure was triggered by the Vesta taking damage,” Husher told the four captains that remained on the display. “But the Progenitors couldn’t have damaged all of you at the same moment. In fact, unless I missed something, none of your ships took any damage during the last ten minutes. But something had to cause this. Think, Captains. What preceded your Nav officer’s seizures?”

Norberg’s eyes narrowed in thought, and then she spoke up: “One of the Brotherhood ships sent us a transmission request. I thought that odd, but I ordered my Coms officer not to accept.”

“We got the same thing,” Riggs said, and the other two captains echoed him.

Something clicked for Husher, then, and he knew what had happened. “The Brotherhood must have access to some sort of backdoor into lucid tech. That means they can continue to control you until you rid your systems of it.”

“Sir…” Winterton said, trailing off. Husher looked at the tactical display, a knot tightening at the base of his throat.

All four of the affected capital starships that had survived till now remained protected by their formations, but the Simon’s defending ships had responded the slowest, and she was still positioned near the protective barrier of destroyers and missile cruisers.

Progenitor ships descended on that part of the formation now, no doubt spotting that all they needed to do was break through in order to take down their target. She was too close to the edge for the other ships to rally around her in time.

Ravagers rained on destroyer, missile cruiser, and capital starship alike, and particle beams struck home, warping and twisting hulls. Like dominoes, allied warships exploded one after another, until finally the Simon went up in an explosion that mimicked the Artemis’.

Husher’s insides had turned to ice. Four capital starships. They’d begun this war with eight. The fleet’s spine, snapped in half.

Chapter 50

Target-Rich Environments

The world seemed to contract, and the CIC’s usual noises quieted, till Husher could hear only the sound of his heart beating.

“Tell the formations that were protecting Simon and Artemis to disperse and join those protecting the remaining capital starships, Coms,” he heard himself say, though he felt like he was running completely on autopilot.

“Sir, the Ceres is going to crash into us,” Winterton said.

With that, the world resumed its normal volume, snapping back into focus at the same time. “Transition out,” he barked.

Noni did, just in time.

“Get us back as soon as you can. Winterton, what did the trajectory of the surviving capital starships look like?”

The sensor operator swallowed, clearly struggling to compose himself. Husher knew that he would get himself together. The ensign was among the most solid men he’d ever met, and Husher truly believed that nothing would break him down for long. But he needed the man to pull himself together right away.

“The capital starships were moving with full speed toward the planet, sir,” Winterton said, his voice shaky. “If they’re allowed to get much farther, the defense platforms will interfere with the spherical formations of ships accompanying them. I suspect the Brotherhood’s aim is to crash our remaining supercarriers into the orbital platforms.”

With an effort of will, Husher denied an urge to grip the command seat’s armrests. “The Progenitors will probably strike as the capital ships reach those platforms. Noni, I need you to get us near one of them, to help defend.”

“Aye, sir.”

Minutes later, the Vesta appeared far above the planet Home. Below, rich greens and blues proclaimed the Kaithian homeworld’s lushness. Above, the Progenitor forces were converging on the out-of-control capital starships, just as Husher had foreseen.

“Coms, put out a broadcast encoded to the Secret Service ships. The Progenitor forces guarding the Brotherhood ships appear to be breaking off to join the chase. If we can take out whatever ship is responsible for subverting the capital starships, maybe we can stop this. Tell the Secret Service captains to appear in formation behind the Brotherhood’s thirty ships and blast them all to hell.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Winterton, where’s our Air Group?”

“They’re making their way toward us, sir. I think they see what we’re aiming to do.”

“Excellent. Tremaine, see that dense cluster of oncoming enemy ships? I’m sharing the designation with you now.”

“I see them, sir.”

“I hope you like target-rich environments. Those ships are so tightly packed and focused on the compromised capital starships, my guess is that Hydras would pay off in dividends for us. Load every missile tube with them, except for the Gorgons you’ll scatter in.”

“I like it, sir.”

“So do I. Let’s even this thing up.”

He knew they wouldn’t even up anything with this missile barrage, no matter how well it did, but he also knew an opportunity when he saw one.

“Nav, set a course for the middle of the enemy fleet, and Helm, be ready for evasive maneuvers at a moment’s notice. Tremaine, fire only on my mark. In the meantime, answer any ships that oppose our advance with a dispersed spray of kinetic impactors, and ready tertiary lasers to supplement point defense. The impactors will keep the enemy off-balance, unable to train a particle beam on us, and laser-supplemented point defense should handle whatever Ravagers they throw at us.”

On the tactical display, Progenitor ships sailed past the Vesta—above, below, and on both sides. Some did take potshots as they passed, but as Husher had predicted, they were hungry for the prey that had been made lame by the Brotherhood’s trickery. A few Ravagers were sent the Vesta’s way, and particle beams flickered toward her, but the countermeasures he’d ordered were enough to keep those paltry efforts at bay.

“Mark,” Husher said to Tremaine.

Missiles exploded from the Vesta in all directions. The closest Progenitor ships barely had time to react, and warhead-bearing Hydra segments slammed into hulls nearly unopposed, neutralizing twenty-three ships in spectacular explosions.

Other targets had more time, their point defense systems coming online to fend off some of the incoming ordnance. But each Hydra that came under fire split into eight, and the barrage those segments formed soon proved overwhelming.

Several Progenitor ships transitioned out, abandoning their pursuit of the crippled capital starships, but many remained, and the Vesta’s expanding barrage continued on. Hydra segments fell like hail on Progenitor hulls, and the missiles’ numbers effectively concealed the Gorgons peppered in, which took down still more ships.

In response, enemy ships began transitioning out all around the Vesta, and others broke off, turning to head away from the planet. There were still plenty of Progenitors pursuing the wayward capital starships from other directions, but the Vesta had singlehandedly broken the largest, densest charge.

Hopefully it will buy enough time.

“Sir, the Secret Service ships have appeared behind the Brotherhood and are hitting them with everything they’ve got,” Winterton said, sounding as satisfied as Husher felt.

Husher monitored the unfolding engagement on the tactical display. He might have been seeing things, but it seemed to him that two of the six ships capable of interdimensional travel were fighting with particular vigor: the ones whose capital starships had fallen because of the Brotherhood’s treachery.

The Secret Service ships had no lasers. With their smaller size, they needed their entire capacitor charge for multiverse travel. But they carried plenty of missiles and plenty of impactors. Combined with the element of surprise, their arsenals were packing an outsized punch against the turncoat IGF ships: five had gone down already, and as Husher turned his attention to the battle, six more fell.

It wasn’t enough. The Brotherhood formation broke apart, scattering in every direction, and the capital starships continued their suicide run for the defense platforms.

“We’re getting a transmission request from one of the Brotherhood ships, sir,” Ensign Fry said. “Should I accept? Do you think they’re trying to compromise us, too?”

Husher shook his head. “No, I don’t. The other ships didn’t accept and were still compromised. Besides, we removed lucid from our ship, so we’re not vulnerable in the same way. Accept the transmission.”

The face that appeared on the main display was one Husher hadn’t seen for twenty years. It was just as bald as it had been, and the white handlebar mustache it bore was just as flamboyant. But the skin sagged now, and the eyes were even deader.

“Bronson,” Husher spat. “Who let you crawl back into the galaxy?”

“No one lets me do anything. Don’t you remember that? You should have killed me during the Second Galactic War, Husher. When you had the chance.”

“I agree. But there’s no time like the present.”

“Are you kidding? This is over, and it’s thanks to me. If there’s anything left of you after we’re finished wiping the floor with you, I’m gonna take a piss on it.”

Winterton went rigid at his console. “Sir, Teth’s destroyer has appeared directly behind us with eight destroyers accompanying. They’re hitting us with particle beams!”

Eyes drawn to the tactical display, Husher realized the purpose of Bronson’s taunting. It had been meant to anger and distract him, so that Teth could get into position. And it had worked.

“Helm, full lateral thrust!”

“Sir, shouldn’t we transition out?” Noni said, twisting to face him, fear painting her face.

“Negative,” Husher said. “We’re finishing this.”

Chapter 51

Military History

There was no time to think. Only to react.

“Tremaine, fire a spray of dispersed kinetic impactors to disrupt the attack, and fire Hydras from rear tubes as quick as you can.”

“Yes, sir,” the Tactical officer answered, his words clipped.

“Coms, order the Arrowwood Pythons we kept in reserve to scramble at once and target Teth’s destroyer.”

“Aye.”

A part of Husher told him it was irresponsible not to have transitioned out in response to Teth’s appearance. But a much louder part pointed out that Teth wouldn’t stick around either, unless he thought he could destroy Husher.

Taking a risk like this is the only way we’ll get a shot at him.

“Impactors away, sir,” Tremaine said. “Hydras will be ready momentarily.”

Winterton spoke: “Our lateral movement threw the enemy’s targeting off, but our stern took massive damage from superheating, Captain. Dangerously close to a main reactor. They appear to be refocusing on that reactor now.”

“Acknowledged. Helm, bring us about, as quickly as she can handle. Tremaine?” If those missiles didn’t launch now, the rear launch tubes would be out of position.

“Launching Hydras!” Tremaine said. “This doesn’t leave us with many left, sir.”

“Order a forward Banshee barrage prepared, with Gorgons mixed in.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Winterton? Status?”

“They’ve broken off their attack to deal with our reserve Pythons, sir. The bad news is the Arrowwood pilots don’t seem very experienced with dodging Ravagers. Combined with the Progenitor point defense systems, the enemy is cutting down their numbers rapidly.” Winterton leaned closer to his console. “Hydras are nearing their targets, however. They—” The sensor operator blinked.

“What?”

“All nine destroyers have vanished, sir.”

“I don’t trust that. Tremaine, keep a close eye on the Tactical display. Helm, don’t slow our rotation. If they appear behind us again, I don’t want them there for long.”

“They have, sir,” Winterton exclaimed. “The destroyers have appeared behind us!”

Husher suppressed a wince. That confirmed that every Hydra they’d launched had been wasted.

“They’re hitting us with particle beams again,” Winterton said. “Our rotation is preventing them from focusing on any part of our hull for long, but the energy transfer is still immense. I don’t think we can withstand it much longer.”

“Can the Pythons reach the enemy ships in time to make a difference?” Thanks to the destroyers’ abrupt relocation, the starfighters were now out of position.

“I don’t think so,” the sensor operator answered.

“Tremaine, spray impactors. Do we have enough charge to both fire our primary and transition out?”

“Negative, sir.”

Winterton’s eyes were fixed on Husher’s face. “The destroyers’ formation is much more spread out this time, sir. I don’t know that impactors will be enough to throw them off.”

Husher drew a deep breath, racking his brain, but knowing it was futile. He was beaten. He opened his mouth to give the order to transition out.

Then, something caught his eye on the tactical display: Ayam’s subspace squadron dropped into reality from nowhere, executing an alpha strike that connected cleanly with one of Teth’s main capacitor banks, which blew out into the void.

Instantly, the other destroyers broke off their attack on the Vesta, desperately trying to neutralize the subspace-capable Pythons.

As well they might. After deploying its particle beam for so long, and with one of her main capacitors destroyed, Teth likely didn’t have the energy to transition out.

“Winterton, where are those Arrowwood Pythons?”

“They’re closing in, but they’ll still need another minute.”

“Let’s buy them that time. Our nose will soon be in line with Teth’s ship, Tremaine. Unleash the entire barrage of Banshees at it, and follow up with several tight bursts of kinetic impactors, along firing solutions designed to anticipate the ship’s trajectory.”

Teth’s destroyer would still be able to maneuver under thrusters, but she could only move so fast.

I’ve got you right where I want you, you bastard.

Dozens of Banshees left their tubes, and the Arrowwood Pythons followed soon after, flying past the Vesta toward Teth’s ship. The eight destroyers accompanying Teth had clearly been ordered to divert everything they had to protecting him. They mowed down Banshees as they approached, but they couldn’t get them all—not while picking off every Python. Not only that, defending against kinetic impactors was much trickier, and Ayam’s squadron continued to harry Teth’s destroyer.

Husher could see that the writing was on the wall. Then he remembered his battle with Teth over Klaxon’s moon, when he’d destroyed the Ixan’s ship but his enemy had still escaped.

“All ahead, Helm, right now.”

Tremaine shot a concerned glance at Husher. “Sir, is that wise?”

“I said all ahead,” Husher barked, and the Vesta surged forward.

Two Banshees connected with Teth’s hull, and then an Arrowwood squadron got in an alpha strike, followed by one from Ayam’s fighters. Finally, a burst of impactors achieved a direct hit, and Teth’s ship burst apart.

“Watch for the escape pod, Winterton, and send the designation to Tremaine the moment you have it.”

Even as he nodded, Winterton made the flicking motion atop his console that would transfer the data to Tremaine. “It’s done.”

“Impactors, Tremaine.”

The tactical officer only had one shot, and no time to whip up a firing solution. He’d have to free-hand it, something rarely done in space combat.

Tremaine took the shot.

He scored a hit. Teth’s shuttle burst apart—a brief flash against the void, and the Ixan was gone.

“Fantastic work, Chief Tremaine,” Husher said, and the Tactical officer nodded. “Let’s turn our attention to the remaining destroyers.”

But those destroyers were already transitioning out, eager to escape Ayam’s subspace squadron, not to mention the rest of the Vesta’s non-Arrowwood fighters, which were finally about to reach the engagement.

Husher didn’t feel nearly as satisfied by Teth’s demise as he’d expected to. He’d battled the Ixan across vast stretches of space and time. Teth was responsible for the deaths of millions of innocent beings. And yet Husher felt…nothing.

He didn’t regret what he’d done. Teth had deserved to die, and he would have killed him again if he’d needed to, a thousand times over. But the battle still raged all around him, and the allied forces were just as desperate. They were almost as outnumbered as before, too—they’d whittled things down to three-to-one, perhaps. As for the remaining Progenitor ships, it was difficult to tell whether they’d even realized their commander had died.

You barely need a commander, with numbers like those. You just need to continue attacking in waves until your enemy is defeated.

Killing Teth had been a personal victory, nothing more. The galaxy was still in just as much danger.

His CIC crew seemed to take no pleasure in Teth’s destruction, either. In fact, their hearts hadn’t seemed in this battle from the outset. It was as though they were simply going through the motions, and now that Husher considered it, the rest of the allied fleet seemed much the same.

Would we have lost those two capital ships if morale was higher?

As though reading his thoughts, Winterton said, “The capital starships appear to have regained control, sir. They’re pulling away from the defense platforms to reengage the enemy forces.”

Husher nodded distractedly. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Why should anyone’s hearts be in this? What are we supposed to be fighting for? A society that’s given in to its own jealousy and resentment, so that its members tear each other down for scraps?

“Chief Noni,” he said.

“Sir?”

“It’s time to pay the Progenitors a visit in their home.” It’s the only way to end this. “Coms, while the chief calibrates our interdimensional course, I want you to recall our entire Air Group.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Within ten minutes, the Vesta’s Pythons had all returned to their flight decks, and Noni’s course was prepared. “Transition out, Chief,” he said, and they did.

Husher sat in silence for the duration of the interdimensional voyage: this time, over ten minutes. He spent part of the time wondering why it took longer to reach the Progenitors’ dimension than it did to loop through the multiverse and return to a different place in their own dimension. I suppose it makes sense.

“We’ve arrived, sir,” Noni said.

Husher nodded. “Winterton? What do you see?”

The sensor operator frowned at his display, no doubt waiting for more sensor data to populate. “I—” He shook his head.

“What is it, Ensign?”

“This system…it’s an exact match for the Corydalis System, sir.”

Corydalis. That was the system just outside the Concord System—formerly the Baxa System, the home of the Ixa.

“Do you see any Progenitor ships?” Husher asked. “Structures? Anything?”

“There are many ships,” Winterton said. “Two large fleets, fighting on the opposite side of the system. One of them much larger than the other. Sir…I minored in military history, with a focus on the Second Galactic War.”

Husher raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“One of these fleets is comprised of Ixan ships from that era. The other fleet…unless I’m grossly mistaken, this appears to be the final battle of the Second Galactic War. The other fleet is led by the Providence.”

Chapter 52

Death Struggle

Ochrim was in the CIC once more, head joined with Noni’s as they attempted to figure out whether there was an error with either her course or his calculations…or whether this was truly where the coordinates for the Progenitor home dimension had taken them.

If so, then nothing about it made sense. What they were seeing certainly didn’t cohere with what Sato had told him. It was possible she’d lied, but if that was the case then she’d concocted a pretty elaborate fiction, for no reason Husher could discern.

The fleets battling on the other side of the system showed no sign they’d noticed the Vesta’s arrival. Locked in their death struggle, they fought on, the allied fleet dwindling, just as it had twenty years before, in Husher’s native dimension.

The idea that his old mentor, his personal hero, was about to die before him…he had no idea how to process that. There certainly wasn’t anything he could do about it. If he joined his supercarrier with Keyes’s, he would merely share his fate. The Ixa’s numbers were too great, and besides, Husher knew that soon a wormhole would rupture, destroying almost every ship participating in the battle.

Stranger and more unsettling still was the notion that in the next system over, a younger version of himself fought to reach the Ixan superintelligence named Baxa, and to destroy him.

He had expected to encounter another version of himself today. Sato had told him about his double’s importance to the Progenitor command structure. Husher had managed to start thinking of that other self as a demonic, false version, but given that whatever universe they’d landed in seemed to mirror his native universe, he had to assume that it was basically him fighting through the Baxa System, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

“I believe this may indeed have been an error in my calculations,” Ochrim said from the Nav station. “Which makes it very fortunate that my error didn’t affect our interdimensional transitions as we fought the Progenitors around Home.” The Ixan’s eyes met Husher’s. “Now that I’ve identified the problem, I should be able to fix it in minutes. Just a matter of altering the algorithm so that it emphasizes the Vesta’s mass during certain transitions along the path integral.”

Husher nodded. “Do it.”

He continued to watch the tactical display as more and more allied ships fell. Victory seemed impossible, but Husher knew what was coming: Keyes’s sacrifice. Admiral Keyes and his CIC crew, having emptied the rest of their ship, would fight to hold the Ixa at bay while the Tumbran Piper would use the Constellation to generate a wormhole under Keyes’s orders. Then, also under Keyes’s orders, he would let it collapse, resulting in a catastrophic release of energy that would destroy most of the Ixan fleet. Teth would survive. Husher knew that, now. But the enemy fleet would be decimated.

He watched as the allied ships fought with a level of valor Husher hadn’t beheld for a long time. What makes them so determined to give their lives in battle, when IGF members seem like robots going through the motions, even as their defeat draws ever nearer?

He thought about what shape Milky Way society had taken, twenty years ago—and in this dimension’s present. They’d just fought a revolution against a corrupt Commonwealth, and against all odds, they’d brought down the government that had sold the public good to the highest bidder. Then, they’d set about building something new. Something they could be proud of.

These people are fighting for a society they believe in.

Everything seemed to fall into place for Husher, then, and a great calm fell over him. During the entire war with the Progenitors, he’d been plagued with self-doubt over whether he would be able to protect the galaxy.

And now he realized he was completely right to doubt himself.

I can’t protect the galaxy. No one can. If the galaxy is going to survive, it has to protect itself. It has to want to protect itself.

On the tactical display, fewer than a hundred allied ships remained. Abruptly, they began to retreat, heading for the Corydalis-Baxa darkgate. Keyes had ordered them to flee, and soon he would deploy his final gambit.

Beating the Progenitors isn’t about preserving galactic society so that it can one day become just. It’s about becoming a good and just society so that we can beat them.

He doubted there was enough time to do that, with the IU’s defeat already well underway. But he also knew that doubt no longer factored in. He needed to strive for what he knew was right. It was better to die striving than to take the coward’s way out.

On the tactical display, both of Piper’s wormhole ends collapsed, bracketing the Ixan fleet. A surge of energy washed across the system.

“It’s done,” Ochrim said. “We can continue on to the Progenitor dimension.”

“Transition out,” Husher told Noni. “But not to the Progenitor’s universe. Take us home again.”

Chapter 53

The Old Way

The Vesta reappeared in the Kaithian home system, well away from the warring fleets. If any enemy ships decided to transition out to attack her, then Husher would deal with them.

But he didn’t believe they would. The Vesta had reentered the system far enough away that he would be finished broadcasting his message before it reached its first recipients, and the Progenitors would likely view the Vesta’s removal from the battle as an advantage not to be challenged.

And it clearly was an advantage. A simple glance at the tactical display told him that the allied fleet was losing ships at a faster rate than before—that the odds against them grew even more overwhelming with every passing second.

“Broadcast my words, and my face,” he told his Coms officer. “No encryption. I don’t care about preventing the enemy from listening. It’s far more important that every being in the system hears, soldier and civilian alike.”

“You’re on, Captain Husher,” Ensign Fry said.

He stared into the visual sensor below the main display, which would be the one to capture his likeness.

“As you know, I’ve been given command of the allied fleet,” he began, “and so you may think it’s my job to save you. It isn’t. And yes, I’m talking to you. Whether you’re a starship captain, a marine, a Python pilot, or a civilian—a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter.

“Today is the first chance I’ve had to speak to everyone who dwells in this galaxy, and I’ve realized that I have to take advantage of that. The horrors of war have forced us to come together in a single system. That’s a sign of our desperation, but we’ve been desperate for a long time. Long before the Progenitors showed up to finish us off.

“We’ve allowed ourselves to be reduced to animals. Frightened rabbits, to be specific: huddling together with our families and staying silent, because we’re afraid to draw attention to ourselves by saying what we really think.

Husher shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. “I thought I could save this galaxy, but I can’t. All I can do is try to help you understand that you need to become the sort of galaxy that saves itself.

“We’ve gone backward. Twenty years ago, humanity fought and defeated a corporation who’d corrupted our government and knocked down every policy designed to help the people. Now, the IU flirts with another corporation—Invigor Technologies, whose lucid tech we have to thank for losing two capital starships today. It doesn’t matter whether we win or lose, if all we’re going to do afterward is let our government get in bed with another corporation bent on milking us all for profit. Businesses are vital to our society, but we can’t let any corporation grow its power so much that it’s able to influence public policy.

“At the same time, we’ve let galactic society rot from the inside out. We’ve let resentment seep in everywhere, and I’m not just talking about the government. The only reason the IU has been able to do what it’s done is because we frightened rabbits have allowed it to. We let it push policies driven by the resentment of those unwilling to take responsibility for their relative lack of success—and I say relative, because more often than not the policies I’m talking about are pushed by middle class intellectuals who have no actual interest in helping the poor. They’re only interested in tearing down those above them, and the main way they try to do that is to divide everyone by group identity and attack those with identities they see as privileged.

“I happen to believe that it is possible for inequality to grow so much that it destabilizes a society. That happened when Darkstream perverted the democracy of the old Commonwealth. But the answer isn’t to take from those who’ve worked hard, or even from those who’ve simply been fortunate. The answer is to work to lift up everyone in poverty, a rising tide that doesn’t pick and choose based on identity.

“Our society’s downfall isn’t the government’s fault. Not really. It isn’t even the Progenitors’ fault. It’s your fault. Yours. If you deny that, then you’re no better than the ones filled with resentment, who refuse to take any responsibility for their lives. This society is dying because you refused to speak up when you saw your neighbor cast low. It’s because you wouldn’t say anything to oppose the things you knew were wrong, the things that sprang out of a poisonous ideology.

“During this war, we’ve learned the true identity of the Progenitors. They are humanity, a version of humanity that let themselves fall into darkness. In their universe, Darkstream’s power was never broken, and it almost destroyed them. Except, they survived the universe-shattering cataclysm that followed, and their ordeal left their souls drenched in bitterness and resentment. But the Progenitors could just as easily have turned out to be Wingers, or Tumbra, or Kaithe, or Fins, or Gok, or Quatro. In one sense, we are the Progenitors. All of us. Because each one of us is capable of letting resentment take over and drive our actions. Even if you think you’ve been doing good—even if you believe you fight for the less fortunate—you need to take a hard look at yourself. Take out your ideological lenses and ask yourself: what are my motives? Am I truly acting to help the poor, or am I letting resentment steer my ship so that I end up attacking the very people whose productivity gives us everything we love about our society? We can continue fragmenting, continue tearing each other down, and we can die. Right here, today. Or we can turn inward, confront our true motives, and then devote ourselves to what truly matters.

“For the first time, we’re all gathered together in one place. That offers a unique opportunity, if we’re willing to take it. As I said, I can’t save you. I can’t help you. Whether you live or die depends on you. I can tell you that you have very little time left. Stop being a frightened rabbit. Instead, become someone who stands up for themselves, for their neighbors, for their community. It’s up to you. Goodbye.”

Husher nodded at Fry, who cut off the broadcast.

“Nav, set a course for the Progenitor home dimension,” he said. “But before we transition out, I have one last order. Everyone, take out your Oculenses.”

His CIC crew looked at him wearing expressions of confusion and concern. None of them moved to comply with his order.

“How will we perform our duties?” Winterton said at last.

“The old way. This CIC’s main display was designed so that it retains all the old viewscreen functionality from older warships, was it not?”

“Yes…” Winterton answered.

“And your consoles are able to revert to the old mode as well.”

“They are, Captain.”

“Then that’s how we’ll control this ship. Not by each of us peering at something different, but with all of us seeing the same thing. We’ll all see the same reality. And we’ll contend with it together.” Another pause. “I gave an order, people.”

Slowly, each CIC officer reached into their eyes and plucked out their Oculenses, most placing them on consoles, though Tremaine dropped his onto the deck. Husher did the same—he used his thumb and forefinger to pinch the Oculens in his right eye so that it buckled, allowing him to remove it. Then he did the same for the left, and cast both to the deck.

Nodding to himself, he glanced at Chief Noni. “Take us out, Nav.”

Chapter 54

A Proper Talking-To

The crowd had almost managed to upend the truck whose bed Wanda cowered inside. To prevent it, her security detail had had to disobey her order not to shoot their guns. They fired them into the air, and the staccato reports seemed to have some effect on the mob. The rioters drew back briefly, before regrouping and pressing forward. Gunshots sounded in the distance, too, and that only seemed to agitate them further. Soon, the truck was rocking back and forth again, as the rioters seemed to realize that the guards protecting it weren’t going to shoot them.

Wanda clutched her robe tightly around her. She’d become convinced that soon, she would be in the hands of the mob. I need to make peace with it, she told herself, but she couldn’t stop her imagination from speculating wildly about what they might do to her once they had her.

“Stop this,” a magnified voice rang out. At first, the crowd didn’t react, and its members continued attacking the truck. Fingertips brushed Wanda’s side, and she recoiled, screaming.

“I said stop, or we will stop you,” the voice said again, and the pounding and thumping and shoving seemed to lessen.

“You’ve done enough damage,” the voice said. “More than enough. And the rest of us have sat back and watched you throw your tantrums for too long. Leave that poor woman be.”

Gathering her courage, Wanda did what might have been the bravest thing she’d ever done: she stood up.

Another crowd surrounded the mob pressed against her truck—one that encircled the mob completely, dwarfing it in number, many times over. It had members of just as many species in it: all of the Union species, and some Gok as well.

Wanda’s eyes fell on the woman holding the bullhorn, just as she spoke again. “Ma’am, my name is Cath Morrissey, and we all owe you a big apology. It might seem like everyone’s against you, lately, but they’re not. Most of us are with you. We’re just scared. Scared of being called out by these maniacs. Scared of being accused of prejudice, scared of being singled out for even mentioning the crazy things we see people doing every day. Scared of losing our jobs, and our voices, because we’ve seen others lose theirs.

“But if we stick together, and we decide to stop letting this happen, then no one has to be torn down by them again.” Morrissey gestured at the mob around the truck, which had stopped their agitating altogether. Most of them now looked pretty nervous. “Their view of the world is ass-backward, and we’ve always known it, but we’ve let them overrun everything that makes this galaxy worth living in. Well, we’re not scared anymore. We just got a proper talking-to from that Captain Husher, and I think we’re finally ready to step up and speak for the things we should have been speaking for all along. Get away from that truck, you lot, or we’ll drag you away from it. While you’re at it, why don’t you grow the hell up?”

The silence that followed held sway for a long moment, and Wanda was afraid of how the mob might react. Would they take her hostage? Would someone else pull a gun?

But at last, the mob around the truck began to slink away. The encircling crowd parted to let them pass.

Then, Cath Morrissey was at the back of the truck, hand extended to help Wanda down. She took it.

“Thank you,” Wanda said.

“No thanks necessary. I bet you’d have done the same for me, and someday, maybe you’ll have to. It’s high time we all started watching out for each other, instead of tearing each other down. It’s time we started taking some risks again, and using our voices. The galaxy’s changed, sure, but it hasn’t changed so much that we’re gonna let tyrants like those push us around any more.”

Wanda nodded, but stopped herself. “I—I think I might have been one of those tyrants, actually. Until very recently. At the very least, I cheered them on.”

“Well at least you’re seeing clearer now. I hope you are, anyway.”

“I think I am.”

Morrissey smiled. “No need to write anyone off, then. Not nearly as quickly as we have been writing them off, anyway. Everyone has something to contribute, provided they can get out of their own way to contribute it.”

“Agreed.”

Morrissey stuck out her hand, and Wanda shook it.

Chapter 55

Orbital Fortress

The Vesta transitioned inside of a dense asteroid belt.

“Any immediate threats, Winterton?” Husher said. “Or signs our arrival was detected?”

“Not yet, Captain,” Winterton said, his tone betraying his confusion.

“What do you see?”

“Sensor data is still populating, but…sir, what I have so far is very odd.”

“Tell me.”

“Just beyond the asteroid belt, space seems to just…end. There are no visible stars beyond it. There doesn’t seem to be anything there.” Winterton squinted at his console, frowning. “An asteroid just connected with the barrier and was vaporized. I’m tracking another on a similar course. Should I…?”

Husher nodded. “Put a zoomed-in visual on the viewscreen.” What his sensor operator described was consistent with Sato’s account of the state of her universe. He hadn’t distributed that intel very widely. The fewer people knew, the less likely it would be for the Progenitors to find out what he knew.

Winterton did as instructed, and when the asteroid connected with what seemed to be the border of space, it disintegrated, sending blue ripples of energy spreading from the point of impact.

“Its properties seem similar to the forcefield Teth erected around Klaxon’s moon,” Winterton said. “But that’s not all.”

“What else?”

“Sir, this system…it’s the Sol System.”

Husher squinted at the tactical display he’d called up on his console, which showed the system’s planets in their slow, majestic orbits around a familiar-looking sun. Humanity’s home, burgeoning with life. Unlike the version of it that the Ixa scoured clean.

At the Nav station, Noni twisted to face him. “Sir, should I reinspect our interdimensional trajectory for anomalies?

“No. This is all consistent with intel you haven’t had access to. Set a course down-system. Send it to Helm the moment you have it.”

“Aye.”

At his console, Winterton tensed. “Captain, the surfaces of several surrounding asteroids are opening to reveal mounted guns. They’re firing on us—kinetic impactors.”

That, I didn’t anticipate. “Helm, punch it,” he barked. “Full ahead. Noni, adjust your course so that it avoids the densest regions of the asteroid belt.”

“More asteroids opening, sir,” Winterton said. “They’re deploying missiles as well as impactors. The computer’s detected ninety-three missiles already in play.”

“Coms, have Commander Ayam scramble the entire Air Group. They’re on missile defense until further notice.”

“Yes, Captain.”

On the tactical display, Pythons streamed out of their launch tubes, moving immediately to engage the incoming ordnance. Winterton was still staring intently at his console, as well he might be. But Husher sensed there was something there that amounted to more than the usual situational awareness. “Do you have something for me, Ensign?”

Before answering, the sensor operator tapped at his console a couple of times, as though finishing off a calculation. “I think so, sir. Using gravimetric analysis, I can tell which asteroids have been modified and which are still in their natural state. The weapon-mounted asteroids have a distinct profile, but there are many other asteroids scattered throughout the belt that appear to have been hollowed out, and their innards replaced with artificial constructs.”

“I see.” It made perfect sense to Husher, in fact, and if the weaponized asteroids hadn’t been confirmation enough that they were in the Progenitors’ home dimension, then the ones hollowed out for nonmilitary purposes did seem to confirm it.

He’d seen something similar down Pirate’s Path, months before the start of the Second Galactic War. Back then, pirates had been using hollowed-out asteroids to conceal shipbuilding facilities. But if the Progenitor universe was down to one system thanks to their misuse of dark tech, then they would have had to get creative in order to sustain themselves. Those asteroids were more likely to contain hydroponic farms than shipbuilding facilities, especially given how large Progenitor ships tended to be.

A tremor ran through the Vesta. Then another.

“We’re taking hits, sir,” Winterton said, though Husher had already figured that out.

“Ensign, I want you to have the computer use the gravimetric data to compile a map of every asteroid likely to contain automated weapons, then send that map to Chief Noni. Send a copy to Chief Tremaine as well, and to Ensign Fry, for forwarding to our entire Air Group.”

“I will, sir.” The sensor operator bent to his work.

“Noni, once you have that map, use it to inform our course out of the belt. That done, send the course over to Tactical as well as Helm. Tremaine, prepare to launch Banshees in groups of three at any weaponized asteroid you deem likely to threaten us along the course Noni sends you. Monitor our missiles’ success, and be ready to follow up with kinetic impactors if necessary. It often won’t be, I think. The asteroids aren’t likely to have point defense systems of any kind. Assuming they’ve been programmed to try to defend themselves at all, each asteroid will have to use its only gun to pick off our Banshees one-by-one, which I doubt will prove very effective.”

With the computer’s assistance, Winterton soon completed his map, as Husher had known he would. That changed everything about their passage through what Husher had begun to think of as the Kuiper Belt.

His analysis of the asteroids’ lack of defenses proved out, and by proactively targeting any asteroids well-positioned to damage the Vesta, they reduced them from existential threats to minor annoyances.

That taken care of, Husher turned his attention to collecting intel as they neared the belt’s inner edge. “Winterton, what can you tell me about the system’s planets? I’m particularly interested in their defenses, along with whatever you can give me about how heavily settled they are.”

Winterton’s hands hovered over his console, tapping and sliding assets as he shuffled information. “Heavy colonization all across the system, sir,” he said. “Most of Jupiter’s moons show signs of terraforming and settlement. All of the settled moons have formidable-looking orbital defense platforms. Cursory visual analysis suggests the platforms have guns capable of firing down as well as up.”

“Ah. They’re prepared to defend against ships with interdimensional capabilities.” Ships like theirs. Ships like the Vesta, too. “What about the other planets?”

“Very similar. Even Venus appears colonized, with heat-shielded balloon colonies floating in the thick CO2 atmosphere. It also has its own defense platforms.”

“And Earth?”

“It looks about as populated as you’d expect it to be, if it hadn’t been destroyed in our universe twenty years ago. The planet’s temperature seems to have risen considerably. Heavy fortifications, part of which appears to be an orbital station that dwarfs every other artificial construct in the galaxy.”

“Put a zoomed-in visual of that station on the viewscreen.”

“Aye.”

Husher studied it for several long moments. It has the look of a fortress. “Any other artificial structures in the system?”

“Various space stations and orbital facilities. There are also at least four large constructs in close heliocentric orbit. Their form is unlike anything I’m familiar with, but if they have any computerized systems aboard then they must also have massive cooling systems, that close to the sun.”

As Husher considered the meaning of what Winterton had told him, he caught himself drumming his fingers against his seat’s armrest, and stopped.

They left the asteroid belt at last, and Winterton spoke again: “A sizable battle group is moving out from Earth orbit on an intercept course. Seven destroyers and eleven carriers.”

Husher knew who would be in command of that battle group: he would. Or at least, a darker version of himself.

Still, it was himself. Yes, what the Progenitor Lisa Sato had told him about this Husher had made his stomach churn and cost him sleep. It had haunted him, refusing to leave him alone until he took a hard look, deep inside himself.

How could any version of Vin Husher do the things this Husher has done? What would cause me to act so ruthlessly?

He thought he knew the answer. And soon, he would have the opportunity to test his theory.

“Coms, get me Commander Ayam.”

Chapter 56

Warpath

“We’re getting a transmission request, sir,” Ensign Fry said. “It’s from the destroyer that appears to be serving as their flagship.”

“Accept, and put it on the viewscreen. I want a splitscreen: the transmission on the left and a tactical display on the right, focused on the approaching ships.”

“Aye, sir.”

The fact that there were only eighteen defending ships meant Husher’s greatest hope had been realized: the Progenitors had sent almost everything they had to attack Home. In fact, he’d considered this the most likely scenario. After Fesky’s appearance here, they would have been motivated to stamp out the IU as quickly as possible, before a viable attack on this dimension could be marshaled.

And the Vesta was that attack—almost certainly the only attack the Milky Way would ever launch against the Progenitor system. Whether it was viable or not would be determined over the next handful of hours.

Husher’s own face appeared on the part of the viewscreen he’d designated for the transmission. Even though he’d tried to prepare himself for this moment as best could, he now realized that nothing could have prepared him.

An angry scar divided his face, running from temple to chin, and the corner of his mouth was misshapen as a result. Even more disturbing was the man’s gaze: colder and more hollow than Husher could have imagined possible, even during his most personal, most doubt-filled moments of staring into the mirror.

“I’m genuinely shocked,” the other Husher said.

“Are you?” Husher said, managing to moderate his tone so he sounded only mildly interested.

“I’m shocked you’d abandon your galaxy to come here, at the very moment it’s about to fall. I honestly didn’t expect it, and I am you. So congratulations on that. It’s obviously futile for you to come here, of course. Your lone ship can’t challenge our defenses. But you have surprised me, even if you did it by exhibiting incredible stupidity.”

“I’m betting it won’t be the first time you surprise yourself today.” He motioned to his Coms officer to cut the transmission. “All ahead, Helm.”

“Aye, sir.”

Given the Vesta’s present course, “all ahead” would take them straight at the enemy’s right flank. Some might have called that a dangerous maneuver, when faced with eighteen warships, seven of which wielded particle beams.

“Tremaine, open with our missile barrage.”

“Yes, sir.”

A great wave of Banshees, Gorgons, and the remaining Hydras left the Vesta, spreading out as they screamed across the void toward the flank the supercarrier was already barreling toward.

“Coms, tell Ayam to scramble Pythons.”

“Aye.”

The deadly starfighters leapt from their launch tubes, hard on the missiles’ heels, ready to engage whatever the missiles failed to clear away. Ayam’s subspace squadron disappeared from the tactical display, adding even more menace to the attack.

As the parade of missiles, fighters, and supercarrier reached the targeted flank, Progenitor ships began to vanish, transitioning out of this dimension to avoid getting hit. Then, at the Vesta’s top speed, Husher gave another order: “Coms, tell Major Gamble that he is clear to launch.”

“Aye.”

Seconds later, a host of shuttles surged from the Vesta, surrounded by dozens of mechs.

The last of the Progenitor ships was now transitioning out of the universe to remove themselves from the missiles’ and Pythons’ warpath. “Transmit the deactivation signal to our missiles,” Husher said, eyes on Ensign Fry.

“Doing so now, sir.”

The Air Group sailed past the enemy formation without attempting to engage them, and the shuttles’ and mechs’ greater speed soon allowed them to catch up with the Pythons. As for the missiles, they would sail on, their destructive power neutralized. Husher hadn’t wanted to risk the missiles hitting this version of Earth, even if the version of humanity it housed had allowed all this to happen. He also hadn’t wanted to destroy the great space station that orbited the planet. The station where he expected his marines would find his old friend.

“The enemy ships that didn’t transition out are overreacting, just as you predicted, Captain,” Winterton said. “I think they’ve realized we never planned to actually engage them.”

“What are they sending at us?”

“Particle beams, though they’re unlikely to be able to focus them properly, given our speed. They have however already launched nearly a thousand Ravagers, along an arc wide enough to intercept us, even if we accelerate. A few more Progenitor ships have transitioned out.”

Husher nodded. He’d expected that, too. They would likely try to intercept the shuttles carrying Vesta marines, which was why he’d sent his entire Air Group as escort.

“Let’s see how the Progenitors like being made to waste massive amounts of ordnance,” he said. “Noni, transition us out.”

Chapter 57

Merging

A destroyer and two carriers appeared directly in the marine shuttles’ path, in an attempt to stop them from reaching the huge station orbiting the Progenitor version of Earth.

But Captain Husher had anticipated it. Ayam’s subspace squadron dropped back into realspace to execute a drive-by alpha strike on the destroyer before transitioning out again. The missiles slammed into the ship’s hull, and then the rest of the Air Group began descending on all three ships, squadron by squadron, heedless of the Ravagers and point defense fire tearing them up.

Jake had rarely beheld such a willingness to die in battle, and it reaffirmed for him what he’d already realized: everyone who’d come with Husher to the Progenitor’s home system had known they were embarking on a suicide mission. Clearly, they’d embraced that fact. At least, these Python pilots had. They fell by the dozens, but they were getting the job done, one way or another.

Even from inside his alien mech, Jake felt a strange and uncomfortable kinship with the dying pilots. In some real sense, he was them, and as they died, so did parts of him.

This was something he’d been contending with since the Vesta had arrived in the Kaithian home system. He began to feel like humanity wasn’t just his species, but his soul. And after Husher’s speech to everyone who’d gathered together in that system, Jake had even begun to identify with the IU as a whole, despite their corruption and folly.

I guess this is exactly how you want to feel, when the chips are down. Each fighter wasn’t just part of the whole, they were the whole, and they fought hard for base survival.

When he drew near enough, Jake formed his arms into a single, massive energy cannon and began blasting away at the hull of the nearest carrier. Moments later, the rest of Oneiri Force added their fire.

At last, the destroyer exploded, flinging shrapnel in all directions. Then so did both carriers, all in quick succession. The ensuing shrapnel took out a few more Pythons, along with two shuttles and even a MIMAS.

But they were through.

Jake kept the energy cannon intact, and several minutes later he drew close enough to the station to use it. He blasted away at the broad hull on approach, working to open an area large enough for the shuttles and the mechs to pour in.

But the station wasn’t taking this lying down. Dozens upon dozens of point defense turrets blazed all across its surface, and lasers flashed from myriad projectors. The remainder of the Vesta’s Air Group engaged them all, destroying as many as they could while providing cover for the massive boarding party. Husher had held three marine platoons back to guard against any Ravagers that penetrated his supercarrier’s hull. The rest were on shuttles about to enter this station.

Jake hit the station’s deck running. He was inside what looked to be a cavernous, multi-tiered storage bay, with elevators, escalators, and floor-crawlers hauling freight up and down and across the station’s various levels.

Gunfire followed that realization: turrets directing high-velocity rounds at his mech, and pressure-suited human and Ixan soldiers sending all manner of ordnance from positions on multiple levels. Assault rifle fire, sniper fire, rockets, grenades—Jake sprinted to the left to escape the heat, fearful of his mech getting compromised, despite its extreme durability.

MIMAS mechs started entering the station through the opening Jake had created, and right away three were neutralized by the concentrated enemy fire.

Jake dove behind a stack of sturdy-looking metal crates, turning to level his energy cannon at the interior bulkhead of the station’s hull. Several energy blasts later, he’d created a second point of ingress. That done, he got on a wide channel: “I want half of you to start coming through the breach I just made. The enemy’s giving us hell, and we need to start establishing a position.”

As he finished the transmission, he split the single energy cannon into two and sprang from hiding, aiming at two targets at once and opening fire. He swept the cannons across multiple hostiles.

Two more Oneiri mechs went down, but Jake’s covering fire allowed several more to reach the deck and run to safety behind crates, vehicles, terminals, and whatever other cover the huge facility had to offer.

Finally, the tide of battle began to turn. As Oneiri Force established a foothold, the marines began to arrive, their shuttles’ outer airlocks already open. Vesta marines in pressure suits leapt out, rushing to the combat shuttle’s fold-out barriers and increasing the pressure on the enemy.

At last, they neutralized enough enemy soldiers to gain some breathing room. “I’m sure they’ll send more at us,” Jake said to Major Gamble over a two-way channel. The major was positioned behind a barrier two shuttles over, peering through a sniper scope and scanning the station’s levels for more targets. “Can I make a suggestion, Major?”

“Please do.”

“We need to get out of this storage area. We’re way too vulnerable here. If you and your marines take a couple freight elevators, we can start using them to deploy to different levels and find a way deeper into the station.”

Gamble tilted his head to one side. “We’ll be even more vulnerable inside the elevators.”

“That’s where my mechs come in. We’ll rocket from level to level and cover you.”

“All right. I like it. We’d better start moving—I’m sure you’re right that more company is on the way.”

The prediction soon proved out: enemy fire picked up a few seconds after the first marines piled into an elevator, Gamble among them.

A rocket sailed toward the elevator from one of the upper levels, but Jake managed to pick it off well before it reached its target. He jumped on an Oneiri-wide channel: “We need to make sure no explosive ordnance makes it to those elevators while marines are inside. Make good use of the mech dream, people. Listen to it like I’ve been training you to listen. Do that, and you’ll be shooting grenades out of the air with ease.”

The remaining thirty-one MIMAS mechs performed admirably, though Jake, Ash, Rug, and Maura did most of the work. Even with all the drama they’d suffered through recently, they still operated as a seamless unit, with each pilot’s strengths compensating for the weaknesses of the next.

At last, they located two entrances that appeared to lead deeper into the station, separated by several levels from each other.

“We’ll split up,” Gamble said. “Cut down on our chances of going the wrong way. We’re not long on time.”

“Sounds good, Major.”

“I want you to take half the battalion with you, under your direct command. I’ll take the other.”

“Acknowledged, Major. God speed.”

“And you.”

The station’s corridors were broad and tall, larger than any Jake had seen inside a space-based structure. It gave his forces lots of room to spread out, but it also gave the station defenders plenty of attack angles. Each intersection was a potential battle, and as they fought through the station, most of the time that potential was realized.

Jake charged in with his mechs first, engaging the defenders with as much shock and awe as they could bring to bear. Then the marines would charge in, to plug the gaps.

The approach worked well. For a time.

As he charged into yet another intersection, the world went black, as though every one of the station’s lights had blown out at once.

He felt himself crash to his knees, felt the gunfire that peppered his mech’s skin. Ash’s voice came through the dream: “Jake, what’s going on?”

Then even her voice was gone, along with the sensation of the metal deck beneath him. The din of battle faded to nothing.

You will yield to me, came the whispers. Here, in my homeland, you will yield. You have refused to merge willingly, and so you will be enslaved.

“No,” Jake said, but with a creeping horror, he realized that the process had already begun. He felt his mind and nervous system being probed, scanned. It took only a few seconds, and when it finished, he began to dissolve.

“No!” he screamed, even as his fingertips were eaten away by whatever acidic solution the mech had deployed.

With a titanic effort of will, he made reality slam back into place, and he forced the mech to surge to his feet. All around him, marines and mechs were cleaning up the defending force that had attempted to outflank them using the intersection.

“Let’s go!” Jake yelled over a wide channel. “We have to go now!”

Both his arms became broadswords, and relying on only his instincts and internal compass, he began charging through the station. Someone stumbled out of a hatch a couple meters ahead of him, and Jake cleaved him in two without thinking to check whether he was armed or not.

Desperation drove him. Nothing could impede him before he reached his goal.

Before he reached Lisa.

At the next intersection, the defenders attempted the same pincering tactic, just with more firepower. Jake threw himself into a roll, though he wasn’t able to avoid all the gunfire, and it bit into his shifting metal flesh. Then he was through the intersection, barreling through the ranks trying to hold this corridor. Broadswords flashed in the overhead halogens, and blood sprayed. He cut a swath through the defenders and continued on, their bullets eating into his back. The pain was immense, but when a bullet dug deep enough to enter his human body’s back, he barely felt it at all.

Relinquish your human form, the mech commanded. It is done.

And so it was. Jake’s hands had dissolved past the wrists, now, leaving only the nerve endings. His feet and ankles were gone, too. The merging process showed no sign of stopping.

His mad charge brought him to what had to be the center of the station, based on the data the mech had compiled on his trajectory since entering it.

A hatch bigger than any he’d seen greeted him at the end of the corridor, and he blasted it open with energy cannons.

Inside, he found a cavernous chamber whose ceiling wasn’t visible through the dimness overhead. Only the floor was lit, though Jake couldn’t see any lights. Such a chamber seemed odd aboard an orbital station, especially since its only purpose was apparently to house the single chair in its very center.

Strapped to that chair was a Winger, though barely recognizable as one. Blood stained the wings, which looked tattered and flayed open in parts. As Jake drew closer, he saw that the Winger’s beak was cracked, and that several of its talons had been sheared off.

“Commander Fesky,” he said, standing over her. She was trembling.

Her eyes locked onto his mech’s face, with a fervor that took him aback. “I said nothing,” she said, her voice a faint rasp. “I said nothing.”

“I’ll take you out,” he replied, converting his energy cannons into thin blades. She winced away as he lowered them to flick apart the straps binding her. He wanted to tell her that his mech was consuming him. He wanted to tell someone. But he barely dared to speak to Fesky at all, in her current condition. She looked as though an errant breeze would break her.

According to what she’d just said, though, she hadn’t broken.

Jake carried Fesky out into the corridor, with her nestled in one arm while he used the other in energy-cannon form, blasting apart hatches one by one.

At last, he found the one he was looking for. It led to a single chamber, which was divided in half by metal bars. On the other side of the bars, dozens of prisoners were being held. Most species were represented—humans, Kaithe, Wingers, and even a Quatro that looked just like the Eldest. The chamber’s temperature was that of a sauna, and it took a moment for him to grasp the purpose: to prevent the Quatro from using its superconducting ability to bend the bars.

Then, Jake’s gaze fell on her. Lisa Sato sat with her back against the wall, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Lisa,” he called. She didn’t respond.

Anger flooded him, and adrenaline, and he set Fesky down to grip a pair of metal bars, wrenching them apart. They buckled outward, and he stepped back to allow the prisoners to start climbing out.

“Take her with you,” he commanded, pointing at Lisa. A Winger bent to scoop her into its arms.

As rage continued to course through him, Jake noticed something else: the merging process had stopped. He’d regained control of the mech, it seemed, though it had cost him dearly.

Chapter 58

Ordnance in Play

The Vesta reemerged into the Progenitor home system, at the coordinates Husher had judged most likely to yield results: near Earth’s hulking orbital station.

As he’d expected, the enemy ships had displaced themselves to engage the Pythons attacking the station, which was clearly important to the system’s defense—probably to the entire Progenitor military.

“Missiles, Tremaine,” Husher said.

The Tactical officer nodded, then executed the sequence that would launch the barrage they’d already discussed: mostly Banshees, though Gorgons were overrepresented.

He hadn’t bothered ordering his Tactical officer to calculate firing solutions that avoided the orbital station. In fact, many of the missiles would hit it, if they missed their initial targets and were allowed to continue on.

But Husher was counting on the station being important enough that the Progenitors wouldn’t allow it to be hit.

On the tactical display, he watched as his gamble quickly paid off: the enemy seemed to realize just how many stealth missiles he’d included in the barrage, and twelve of the fifteen remaining Progenitor ships converged on them, attempting to neutralize the Banshees while combing space with their sensors to locate and destroy the Gorgons.

Husher permitted himself a smile. No transitioning out to dodge my missiles this time. Not with your most valuable asset behind you. “Tremaine, sweep them with kinetic impactors.”

“Aye, Captain.”

A slight tremor ran through the Vesta as every forward gun opened up, spraying kinetic impactors across the battle space.

Ravagers poured hastily from launch tubes, but there was too much ordnance in play, along too many randomized trajectories.

Explosions soon lit up enemy hulls, and moments later, they began to appear on the station behind as well.

A carrier exploded, followed by another, then a destroyer.

“Follow up with our primary laser. Direct it at the closest carrier.” No need to conserve capacitor charge. We won’t be transitioning out again. Husher tapped his console to indicate the ship he meant on the main viewscreen, since he could no longer share an Oculens overlay with his Tactical officer.

“Firing primary,” Tremaine said, and seconds later, the immense energy transfer ripped apart the carrier in question.

The three enemy warships who hadn’t moved to clean up missiles—two destroyers and a carrier—had already transitioned out, and now they appeared behind the Vesta, unleashing a missile barrage of their own as both destroyers targeted the supercarrier with particle beams.

“Helm, activate starboard thrusters at full power,” Husher ordered. “Coms, call three Python squadrons off the station.”

Even with those squadrons backing them up, Husher wasn’t confident they would survive the next attack. Most of the Air Group had been destroyed since attacking the station. There were barely two hundred fighters left. Destroying four enemy ships in one fell swoop had been gratifying, but he’d known it couldn’t last.

An explosion rocked the Vesta, jostling Husher violently in his seat. “Damage report.”

“Particle beam just blew out a secondary engine, sir,” Winterton said.

Another explosion. “That was a main battery of point defense turrets. They blew inward, killing at least five crew.”

Husher stared bleakly at the Tactical display. We just need to hold on a little longer. But he wasn’t sure they could.

“Tremaine, let’s use up the rest of our Banshees. For starters, lob them at the ships targeting us with particle beams—see does that throw them off.”

“Aye,” the Tactical officer said, though he didn’t sound hopeful.

Husher’s eyes were glued to the tactical display shown by his console, which wasn’t limited to the immediate engagement. Instead, it showed an expanded view of the entire system.

“The enemy is targeting our starboard main reactor, sir.”

“Spin us around, Helm. Coms, order that reactor shut down as fast as safely possible.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Then, Husher saw it: thirteen icons appeared on his display at the center of the system, near the sun. They were speeding toward one of the four strange structures Winterton had identified during their initial trip down-system.

He made it in time. Ayam made it.

A wave of missiles poured out of that structure, toward the subspace-capable Python squadron, but they transitioned out at the last second.

When they transitioned back in, another wave of missiles was there to greet them, and they lost a fighter before they could transition out again.

With their third appearance, they delivered an alpha strike, which connected solidly with the structure. It burst apart.

The forcefield surrounding the system lurched inward, swallowing the Kuiper Belt whole.

Chapter 59

Alpha Strike in Parting

“Transmission request incoming, Captain,” Ensign Fry said.

Husher nodded. “Put it on the main screen.”

His double appeared, his face flushed with rage, which didn’t come as a surprise. If Husher was right about what the hollowed-out asteroids in the Kuiper Belt had contained, then he’d likely just taken out the majority of the system’s agricultural base. Clearly, the Progenitors were capable of bringing in resources from other dimensions, but coming up with a replacement for a food system designed to feed billions was hard to do on short notice.

“What in Sol are you doing?” the other Husher demanded. “You’ll kill us all. All of your people will die!”

“And yours.” On the tactical display, Husher saw that Ayam and his fighters were already engaging the second forcefield generator, weaving in and out of reality to dodge the missiles it deployed. “As for my people, they’re soldiers, and they knew they would likely die here.”

His double’s scar had turned an angry red, much redder than the rest of his face. On the tactical display, Husher noticed three destroyers and two carriers disappear, and he felt like he had a pretty good idea where they were headed. “What about the civilians aboard your ship?” his double said. “I know they’re there. My intel is extensive.”

“Not extensive enough. I offloaded the population of Cybele before I left the Kaithian system.”

Other Husher’s lips peeled back, baring his teeth. “Quit trying to bluff me, all right? You went to a lot of trouble to get your forces to Ragnarok Station, and I know it’s because you expect to find prisoners there. Besides, this system is littered with civilians, too. Earth alone has twelve billion of them. You’re not about to let them die.”

The second generator exploded, and the forcefield contracted again, eating Pluto, Neptune, Uranus, and Saturn.

The color was beginning to drain from other Husher’s face, now. “You just killed millions of humans.”

“Then my soul is blackened by it,” Husher said, surprised at how cold and bitter his own voice sounded. “But I will kill billions more. Yes, I sent forces to your station—because I always play to the best possible outcome, and if we win here, then I’ll take those prisoners home. But I always prepare for the worst outcome, too. Let me tell you the worst outcome I’m willing to tolerate, since apparently you don’t already know. You’ve killed hundreds of billions of my people, and I include all Union species in that. You’ve forced the survivors to flee their homes, and even now, your forces attack them with the aim to exterminate. Yes, my soul is blackened. But you forced my hand, you bastard, and I’ll annihilate this wretched system before I’ll ever stand by while you murder my society—my family.”

As Ayam’s fighters neared the third generator, five Progenitor ships appeared in their path, just a handful of kilometers out from the structure. They unleashed everything they had at the incoming Pythons, but the fighters simply dropped back into subspace.

Even so, the Progenitors had left as little space between them and the generator as possible: not enough for Ayam to pop in and destroy it. Not at the speed they were traveling at.

Husher held his breath until the subspace squadron reentered realspace once more…beyond the generator. The instant they returned, they loosed their alpha strike in parting.

Their timing was immaculate. They’d fired their missiles too close-in to the generator for the five Progenitor ships to react. The precision of Ayam and his pilots was such that the resulting explosion came close to engulfing their fighters.

The system’s forcefield collapsed down until the border of this universe lay a couple light seconds away, just outside Earth’s orbit.

“Please,” the other Husher said. “Please. My son is on Earth.”

Husher grimaced, his stomach churning as he paused to contemplate what twisted creature this version of himself might have produced as a son.

Then, he nodded at his Coms officer—the signal for her to send Ayam the order to hold.

Turning back to his double, he said, “Fifteen minutes. That’s how long you have to call your ships here and have their crews abandon them. You will all present yourselves on the Vesta’s Flight Deck Epsilon, where you’ll turn yourselves over to my custody. If you haven’t vacated your ships within fifteen minutes, you will die, since that’s when I intend to burn them from space.”

“It’ll be done.”

“I suggest you hurry.”

Chapter 60

Old Friend

Husher strode onto Flight Deck Epsilon. At his back were all three marine platoons who’d remained on the Vesta.

Normally he did his best to dodge marine escorts, but with the thousands and thousands of enemy prisoners now arriving on his ship, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Thankfully, Major Gamble and the rest of what remained of the Vesta marine battalion was returning at the same time. That was good. They’d need all hands on deck in order to properly search their new prisoners, escort them to Cybele, and figure out where to put them.

Before long, Husher came face to face with himself, the other’s scar the only feature to distinguish them for others, apart from their uniforms. He wondered whether even the man’s soulless stare might not be reflected in his own face, after what had happened with the forcefield—after what he’d done.

Millions of civilians, gone. History won’t look kindly on me for that. He doubted the IU would, either. He’d followed the only path to victory open to him. His choice had been between allowing the Progenitors to win and doing what he’d done.

Even so, his mind reeled at it, trying to disassociate itself from his actions. He told himself that if the Progenitors had been allowed to win, they would have gone on to wreak untold carnage, not only in his native universe but across the multiverse as well.

What if my government goes on to wreak similar carnage? I must not allow that, either. I must use whatever influence I have left to prevent it.

He reminded himself of Ochrim, in that moment, whose reasoning he had once denounced. Husher had just killed millions to save billions—possibly trillions or more, if you counted what the Progenitors would surely have gone on to do.

Even so, the blood on his hands was no less red.

“Are you going to say anything?” his double asked.

Husher realized he’d allowed himself to become lost in thought while staring vacantly at his double’s face. “I expect full cooperation from you and your people,” he said at last. “I can return to this system at any time to destroy the last generator. Never forget that, and never doubt my willingness to do it if you push me.”

The other Husher gave a curt nod, adding nothing else.

Husher continued: “For now, we’re taking you back to the Kaithian home system, where you will order your forces to stand—”

“You’ll need me to deactivate the AIs,” his double broke in.

Husher narrowed his eyes. “You can do that?”

“I can, using the kill codes.”

“Why would they give you kill codes for AIs in a universe you’ve never been to?”

“As a last line of defense,” the other Husher said. “The AIs were programmed never to interface with technology that allowed travel between the dimensions, but in the event they managed to circumvent that programming and travel here, my orders were to broadcast the kill codes and shut them down.”

“Right.” Husher shook his head. “The AIs you set loose on us are what brought your side such success. I still don’t get why you’re this eager to deactivate them.”

His double’s eyes locked onto his, burning with a mix of anger and frustration. “Don’t you get it? I have to deactivate them. I expect to be a prisoner going forward, meaning I won’t be here to protect what you’ve left of this system. If I don’t stop them, there’s a chance they’ll make it here someday, to threaten my son or his children. I won’t allow that. Besides, I also expect you’ll take me to your dimension, and if that’s the case then I have just as much incentive to stop them as you do. No one is safe sharing a universe with superintelligences, not even their creators. Why do you think all of our warships are crewed by Ixa? Other than a few select agents, most Progenitors have avoided your universe at all costs.”

Slowly, Husher nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll provide you with their locations throughout your local galactic cluster.”

“Very well. What about the ships you sent against us—were they built in this system?”

The double frowned. “No. They were constructed in facilities also scattered across your galactic cluster.”

“Then were they installed with deactivations codes, too? Surely you have little trust for the Ixa.”

A pause. Then: “Yes. Individual codes, as well as a master code.”

“Give me the master code. I intend to broadcast it the moment we return to the Kaithian home system. If it doesn’t work, I won’t consult you about it. I’ll just return here and finish destroying this system. So do not lie, and do not make a mistake as you recite it.”

At that moment, Jake Price’s mech rocketed down from an airlock overhead, landing beside the two Hushers.

Husher expected some pithy remark, but Price gave none. Instead, he lifted a great metal hand to indicate a shuttle that was touching down fifty meters off.

“There’s someone you may want to see.”

Price’s mech opened up, then, its front extending to the floor as a ramp. Price tumbled out of the tight cockpit, trailing blood all down the ramp until he came to a stop on the deck.

Husher’s eyes went wide. Past the elbows, the petty officer’s arms no longer existed, and his legs were gone past the knees. The wounds looked partially cauterized, but he was still bleeding profusely. A patch of blood was spreading across his back, as well.

“Medic!” Husher barked.

Soon, Price was surrounded by medical personnel, who worked to staunch the bleeding and to stabilize him.

Before they took Price to sick bay, Husher bent down toward him where he lay on the collapsible gurney.

“Good work, son,” he said.

Price’s eyes fluttered open, which Husher hadn’t been expecting. He spoke, but his voice was too weak to hear, so Husher bent lower.

“Launch my mech into the sun,” Price rasped.

Slowly, Husher nodded. Then the medics took the petty officer away.

When he turned, he came face to face with Fesky, who was flanked by two more medics supporting her.

“Old friend,” Husher said softly, approaching to embrace her. But as he neared, Fesky flinched away.

Turning slowly, Husher’s gaze locked onto his double’s. “What did you do to her?”

The other Husher’s expression didn’t change, but Husher thought he detected satisfaction lurking beneath it—satisfaction at the deep bond he’d managed to destroy.

“You’d better get back to your galaxy, Captain,” the other Husher said, “while there’s something left to return to.”

Chapter 61

The Moment I Return

The IGS Vesta transitioned back into the Milky Way. As close to Home as they could get.

Husher turned to the tactical display. As expected, most of the Progenitor ships still clustered around the planet.

But that was where reality stopped conforming with his expectations.

“Winterton,” he said. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“I believe so, sir,” the sensor operator said, his tone one of wonder.

The attacking Progenitor fleet had taken heavy losses…but the defending forces had taken far fewer than he’d expected, having regrouped around Home in tight formations. And, apparently, having given the enemy absolute hell.

Ek spoke up. “While the allied fleet’s performance is remarkable, the Progenitors still have far greater numbers. If the battle is allowed to progress, our fleet will surely fall.”

Husher shook his head, feeling slightly annoyed at the Fin’s analysis. “The fact we came back to find the allied fleet intact at all is a near miracle.”

But then, as though to underscore Ek’s words, Husher witnessed the destruction of three IGF destroyers, in quick succession. A Quatro warship followed seconds later, then another, and then a Gok missile cruiser.

“Broadcast the code,” Husher ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Amy Fry replied.

He’d ordered the Vesta to transition as close to the planet as possible, which he’d expected would shut down the most enemy ships the quickest.

He was right. The Vesta’s broadcast spread throughout the system, and enemy ships stopped shooting, stopped maneuvering. They drifted along their previous courses instead, and Husher saw that there was now a risk of collisions between the Progenitor ships and allied ships—or worse, between enemy ships and the planet.

“Coms, put me on the fleetwide.”

“Aye. You’re on, sir.”

“Beings of the Milky Way, the battle is over, and you have done your galaxy proud. I might have returned to find only ruin, but instead I found an intact fleet, fighting fiercely. I’ve returned with a master code designed to deactivate every Progenitor vessel. I’m ordering you to stop attacking them, as they can’t shoot back. In time, we will secure each ship’s surrender, but for now we have to prevent any of their ships drifting into ours, into orbital defense platforms, or into the planet’s gravity well. Board the vessels in danger of doing so, take control, and steer them to safety. The war is won, and we must start putting things back together at once.”

He gestured at Ensign Fry to end the transmission. She spoke up again almost immediately: “Incoming transmission request, Captain. It’s from President Chiba.”

Husher suppressed a sigh. Speaking to a politician was perhaps the last thing he felt like doing right now—but probably, it was exactly what needed to be done.

The Kaithian appeared on the CIC’s main viewscreen. “Captain Husher. You’ve saved us. I can hardly believe it. The IU is left with a fleet intact, which isn’t an outcome I expected. I expected to die. On behalf of every citizen of the galaxy, I thank you, and I thank your crew.”

“We accept,” Husher said. “But our job isn’t over. I have my double aboard. He was in charge of the Progenitor home system’s defense, and he has kill codes for every AI they sent against us. He seems just as incentivized to stop them as we are, now that I’ve brought him to this universe.”

The Kaithian hesitated. “Are you sure it’s wise for you to leave, Captain? How do we know that this was the final attack?”

“The beings of this galaxy just proved they can take care of themselves, President Chiba. I’ll give you the master code in case any more Progenitor ships come, but I don’t think they will. Even if they did, and even if you had no deactivation code, my faith in the galaxy has been restored. Either way, you’ll have the kill code. I think you’ll be all right.”

Chiba didn’t sound so sure. “All right, Captain.”

“The Progenitor threat will end when the AIs are deactivated. I expect the mission will take a few months. In the meantime, you have no shortage of work to do here. People need to be returned to their homes. The galaxy needs to be recolonized. Oh—and the Eldest needs to be removed from office.”

The Kaithian blinked rapidly. “Removed? Why?”

“He’s a Progenitor puppet. We found the real Eldest held prisoner in their system.”

“But how is that possible?”

“I have to assume they cloned him. They destroyed their universe, so the Quatro there would have been wiped out.”

“How am I going to remove him from power without starting another battle with the entire Quatro fleet?” Chiba said, his voice rising in pitch. Husher began to wonder whether the Kaithian was nearing his breaking point. That’s not good. But if the president broke under the pressure, a new one would simply have to be found.

“It should be fairly straightforward,” Husher said. “Present the Quatro with their true leader, and tell them they’ve been manipulated by a fraud.”

The Kaithian nodded, seeming to calm a little, now that Husher had laid out the path before him. “You’ll be greeted to a hero’s welcome when you return.”

Husher drew a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m entitled to one. Before you start planning it, I’d suggest you review the Vesta’s recorded logs of the events in the Progenitor home system. I’ll transmit them to you the moment our conversation has ended. It’s possible you’ll want to start planning a trial instead. If so, I’ll submit to it…the moment I return from destroying the AIs.”

That made the Kaithian fall silent once more. At last, he said, “Even so. I thank you, Captain.”

For the first time that Husher could remember, he felt a twinge of admiration for the president. It seemed he’d just said something he truly felt, despite the political cost that might come with it.

“Thank me by never repeating what you allowed to happen,” Husher said. “Thank me by making sure the Interstellar Union scrutinizes its own motives with a truly critical eye, every day, and never stops doing so. Never stop looking in the mirror. And take out your damned Oculenses every now and then.”

The president nodded. “Very well, Captain Husher.”

“Very well. Goodbye for now, President Chiba.”

“Farewell.”

Husher indicated that Ensign Fry should cut off the transmission. Then, he gave her another order: “Have Major Gamble delegate a squad of marines to escort my double to the CIC, so that he can provide us with the first set of coordinates. Nav, begin preliminary preparations to transition us out.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Epilogue 1

Nostalgia

Bob Bronson sat in his jail cell and bided his time. They’d taken everything from him, again. His rank, his ship, his connections.

But it didn’t matter. He would rise again. I’ll find a way.

Once they’d realized what had happened to every Progenitor ship, the Sapient Brotherhood captains had attempted to sneak theirs out of the system, but of course they’d been noticed. At once, the IGF had dispatched a small fleet to chase them through Pirate’s Path—to hunt them down.

The allied ships had caught up with the Brotherhood well before the Dooryard System, and the battle that ensued had been swift and one-sided. It had ended with the unconditional surrender of those Brotherhood vessels that survived.

Bronson’s trial had followed soon after. The IU was making a big show of cleaning up its act, even though it had been their plans to spy on and control their own populace that had allowed him to do the damage he’d done.

He’d pointed that out at the trial, loudly, at every opportunity. But it hadn’t mattered. Everyone had been quite content to make Bob Bronson into a convenient scapegoat for all the galaxy’s ills. And now they’d stuck him in here.

Doesn’t matter. He was patient, and the universe was strange. No one could predict what would surface from the flows of time. Anomalies tended to manifest themselves. Chaos took root with extreme subtlety. Bronson knew it when he saw it, and he knew how to exploit it.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside his cell, and part of him expected Eve Quinn to appear at his bars, to taunt him. I still need to make her pay. Someday, I will.

Instead of Quinn, Vin Husher came into view.

“Bronson,” he said with a wry smile. “Face to face again, for the first time in decades. Not counting our recent transmission.”

“You,” Bronson spat. “You’re responsible for more civilian deaths than I ever managed. Yet you walk free while I’m in here.”

Husher’s smile fell away. “You would have helped kill billions if you succeeded.”

“If you’re looking to soothe your conscience, you’ve come to the wrong place. We both know you’re just as monstrous as I am. Take it from me, it’s far simpler to dispense with your conscience entirely.”

“Maybe that’s why we’ve dispensed with you entirely. Why the universe has.”

Husher’s words echoed Bronson’s thoughts from earlier, and that made his stomach twist. “I’m going to get out of here, Husher. And when I do, I’ll kill you.”

With that, Husher threw back his head and laughed, loud and long.

“What?” Bronson said. “What is it? What are you laughing at, you bastard?”

“I have no doubt,” Husher said, still mirthful, “that you or someone like you will become a player again, at some point. Threats never cease, and I’m not talking about the empty ones you’ve leveled at me today. Real threats. Danger, from without and from within. That’s life. But there will always be people like Leonard Keyes—remember him?—and people like me, to oppose you. As for you, Bronson, you’re getting pretty old for this stuff. And so am I, for that matter.”

Husher turned to leave, then, still smiling.

“Is that it?” Bronson called after him, suddenly loath to be alone. “That’s all you came to say?”

Husher paused. “That’s it. I thought that maybe seeing you in that cell, just as you spent so many weeks in the Providence brig…I thought it might bring me back to the old days. We did serve together, after all, Bronson. For better or worse. And this conversation has helped me remember.”

Bronson cursed Husher in the vilest way he knew how, but the man was already walking away, laughing again.

Epilogue 2

Right to Business

Jake sat next to Lisa Sato, who occupied a chair next to her bed in the Vesta’s sick bay. He held her hand in his new prosthetic, though hers hung limply, and he knew that if he let go, it would flop to her side.

Occupying her chair, staring vacantly into nothing, was one of the three things Lisa did. The second was to lie in her bed—sleeping, or staring at the ceiling if she was awake. And the other thing Lisa did was get led around the Vesta’s corridors by the hand.

“What did they do to you?” he asked, but as usual, she gave no indication he’d spoken. He expected Lisa had endured treatment similar to that of Fesky, except for much longer. So long that her spirit had not only been broken, but eradicated entirely.

He sighed and gently lowered her hand to her lap. Then, he got to his prosthetic feet and walked through sick bay toward the exit.

In function and appearance, the prosthetics were just like his old limbs, though he could turn up the grip strength if he wanted, and there were spaces inside the fingers to house a variety of tools, if he decided to have them installed.

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted that, yet…wasn’t sure that he desired anything beyond a regular hand, a regular foot. The reminder that he had become partly mechanical led him to memories of the alien mech’s attempt to consume him. To turn him into itself.

After deactivating the first superintelligent AI, Husher had taken Jake’s advice and jettisoned the alien mech into the sun. With that, the withdrawals had begun. Worse than losing his limbs, worse than the phantom sensations that haunted him until he was fitted with prosthetics, was realizing just how addicted he’d become to the mech. It had already become a huge part of him, and he of it. Looking back, he realized that physically merging would have been little more than a formality. He’d already given himself to the machine, and if Husher hadn’t destroyed it, he would have only tried to access it again. To become it again.

He still became the mech, every night, in his dreams.

Rug had dealt with addiction to her mech in a different way. The stoic alien had never let on that she was struggling, but when the war ended, it became clear she had been. She asked President Chiba if he could arrange for her to be given a shuttle capable of interdimensional travel, which he did, on the condition she only use it to travel to other parts of this universe—and not to visit other universes for longer than it took to travel through them. With that, she’d departed the Milky Way, leaving behind her Progenitor-made mech. Along with her friends. Those left alive, anyway. No doubt seeing Lisa’s condition had taken a toll on her, too. Jake missed the Quatro already. I wonder if I’ll see her again.

Iris waited in the corridor outside sick bay, hands clasped before her while she waited. “Hey,” she said, falling into step with him.

“Hey,” he said.

As they walked she glanced over her shoulder, back toward the sick bay hatch. “Do you still love her?” she asked.

Jake glanced at Iris, eyebrows raised. “Wow. Getting right to business, hey?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

A long silence followed, into which their footsteps echoed between the bulkheads.

“Do you love me?” she asked at last.

“I do,” Jake said, suddenly feeling very tired.

Iris reached out and took his prosthetic hand. They walked in that manner for a long time, hand in hand through corridor after corridor. They didn’t encounter a single person. The Vesta was mostly empty.

Epilogue 3

The Things That Keep Us Sane

Husher strolled through Home’s emerald fields, trying his best to relax. Even now, days after returning, the strain of war rested heavily upon him. His throat felt dry and tight, and constant tension headaches assaulted his skull.

He’d been acquitted of what some still called war crimes—the killing of millions of civilians in the Progenitor home system. But that didn’t mean he’d been acquitted by his conscience.

Spending time with Ochrim helped, some. The Ixan was the only being capable of understanding what he was going through. The only one alive who’d also brought himself to pay such a terrible price, out of the conviction that it served the greater good.

Husher knew, now, that the decision still haunted Ochrim, even all these years hence. And that doesn’t bode well for me. But he had shouldered massive burdens before. He would shoulder this one, too. He would do it for his daughter, whose relationship with Price seemed to be solidifying—a union Husher had played a part in helping to form, by pretending to forbid it. The heart always wanted what it thought it couldn’t have.

He’ll be good for her, Husher reflected. He’s a good kid.

Up ahead, fifty meters away and well out of earshot, Ek and Fesky walked together through the towering green grass, along the same cobbled path Husher and Ochrim were on. The path cut whip-straight across the landscape, so that they rarely lost view of the pair ahead.

“If Fesky didn’t have such a deep bond with Ek, I’m not sure she ever would have come out of her trance,” he said.

Ochrim glanced at him. “Fesky had a deep bond with you, too, Vin.” They were on a first-name basis, now. Husher saw no need to insist that the Ixan address him by his rank.

“Not anymore, she doesn’t. Not after what that bastard did to her.” He shook his head, trying to ward off the sadness that weighed heavily on him whenever he spoke or thought of the Winger. “No, I think the only sort of bond that could have saved Fesky was the one Wingers establish with Fins: the one between members of two species who evolved together, who grew up together. Fesky still can’t look at me without flinching, Ochrim. She treats me with fear and revulsion. I doubt our friendship will ever be the same.” Husher sucked the warm summer air through his nostrils, in another attempt to stay his emotions.

“She may surprise you,” the Ixan said. “I think you ought to have more faith in her. She withstood the Progenitor’s torture for a long time, with no real hope of rescue. She never divulged any intel, and she kept herself together. Enough that she could pass on information to us. It’s quite remarkable.”

“I know.” It was only thanks to Fesky that they’d learned how the Progenitors had been able to send their AIs to a time thousands of years prior, along this universe’s timeline. According to what Husher’s double had let slip to Fesky, this was the first form of interdimensional travel they’d discovered. “Have you made a start on figuring out how they sent AIs back along our timeline?”

Ochrim nodded. “I’ve spoken to Fesky about it, though very sparingly. We don’t want to push her too much, in her present state.”

“I agree,” Husher said. “In fact, I’m not sure we should be pushing her at all.”

“In a sense, I’m glad I did. I felt it was important to learn why the Progenitors didn’t simply continue sending AIs into our past until one succeeded in completely dominating us. It seems the explanation is that, in addition to only being able to send small amounts of matter and information, the technique also involves a heavy element of randomness. The Progenitors discovered they could only aim their ‘injection’ of AIs at a region of the path integral, not at a single universe. Hitting a precise spot along a dimension’s timeline also proved exceedingly difficult. According to Fesky, they injected their low-level, self-improving AIs into hundreds of universes before successfully hitting ours, and they would have preferred to send their AIs millions of years into our past rather than the thousands they achieved.”

Husher felt his eyes widen slightly. “So there are hundreds of other universes with AIs equally as powerful as the ones we just shut down.”

Ochrim shrugged. “We still have the kill codes. And the Progenitors will have programmed them never to attempt interdimensional travel.”

“Isn’t it possible that at least some of the AIs figured out how to circumvent both the kill codes and the strictures against leaving their universes?”

“It’s difficult to say, especially if we’re talking about an intelligence with potentially an entire universe to harvest for additional processing power.”

“Right. And even assuming those AIs are never able to escape their universes, there’s still the suffering they’ll inflict, or are inflicting, on whatever beings happen to live in those universes.”

Turning toward Husher, Ochrim smiled grimly. “I recognize that tone, Captain Husher.”

He used my rank. Only to make a point, I’m sure. “Until they’re dealt with, those AIs pose existential risks, Ochrim. Especially if we’re going to continue traveling the multiverse. Supposing an AI managed to turn its entire dimension into one big trap for ships passing through…” Husher shook his head. “There’s also always the danger of a species within our own dimension creating an unbridled AI. I’m assuming the rest of this universe is as teeming with life as our local galactic cluster, so we need to get our own house in order too, so to speak. In the meantime, I want you to stop researching that Progenitor tech, Ochrim. At once. The ability to alter another dimension’s timeline…that’s something we should keep a lid on for as long as we possibly can.”

The Ixan’s face expanded, the scaled area around his eyes going wide. “I must be dreaming. You’re telling me not to pursue tech with military applications? Have we switched roles entirely?”

“It seems so. I’m impressed with the IU’s reform efforts, but even if they succeed in changing, who’s to say they won’t become corrupted again? That’s how these things go, in my experience. The people forget their responsibility to keep their government in check, and the powerful start trying to increase control. The thing is, we can’t afford for it to happen again, Ochrim. Now that the Progenitors are defeated, interdimensional travel has granted the IU the same godhood that dark tech once gave humanity, but without the universe-destroying qualities of dark tech. If we allow our government to become corrupted again, I’m not sure we’ll be able to stop it. It will be too strong to rein in.”

“Interdimensional travel may not make us as godlike as you’re thinking. The multiverse is vast, and my research has given me good reason to think the quantum engine only gives us access to a tiny corner of it, as colossal as that corner may be. We have no idea what the entire vastness could contain.”

Husher’s lips tightened, though he knew Ochrim was right. “We don’t even know what our own universe contains.”

“Precisely. But I see your point. There may never be a noble reason to exercise the ability to influence another dimension’s history. I will cease my research.”

“Good,” Husher said, relieved that Ochrim agreed. Unfortunately, he knew that someone would likely stumble on the tech someday, and even if they didn’t, the galaxy still faced a host of other problems. The Quatro had broken away from negotiations to join the IU soon after the Battle for Home. Rocked by the revelation that their Eldest had been replaced by a fraud, they’d retreated into the systems they’d been given. No one had heard from them since.

Then there was the issue of how to humanely deal with the billions of civilians still alive in the Progenitor dimension—as well as the millions of Ixan clones the allies had taken prisoner.

The Gok still had their problems, and the general tension surrounding interspecies relations certainly hadn’t resolved itself overnight. There was still plenty of room for the Interstellar Union to regress into the tyranny and madness that had seized it in recent years.

And even if that didn’t happen, there was this new matter of the hundreds of AIs scattered throughout the multiverse, burgeoning inside their own universal fiefdoms, committing who knew what unholy acts.

It’s never been so vital to protect the things that keep us sane. With that thought, Husher’s gaze settled on Fesky’s feathered back, ranging far ahead along the cobbled path. At the same moment, he thought of his daughter, Iris, and his ex-wife, Sera.

And he resolved to do better. Just as he so often had.

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Learn the truth about the Gok Wars.

Captain and Command reveals what role Captain Husher played in the Gok Wars, along with the events that led to his PTSD.

Click here to get it FREE, along with 2 other books

Dedication

To my father, Terry, who first encouraged me to put my work out into the world.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Rex Bain, Inga Bögershausen, Bruce A. Brandt, Jason Pennock, and Jeff Rudolph for offering insightful editorial input and helping to make these books as strong as they could be.

Thank you to Tom Edwards for creating such stunning cover art.

Thank you to my family - your support means everything.

Thank you to the people who read my stories, write reviews, and help spread the word. I couldn’t do this without you.

Other Books by Scott

Ixan Prophecies

Twenty years have passed since the Ixa almost wiped humanity from the face of the galaxy. Now, they have returned - with a prophecy of doom.

Book 1: Supercarrier

Book 2: Juggernaut

Book 3: Reckoning

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Mech Wars

Humanity is tired of losing. Enter the mech. Follow Jake Price and Ash Sweeney as they fight to save their star system.

Book 1: Powered

Book 2: Dynamo

Book 3: Meltdown

Book 4: Infliction

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After the Galaxy

We colonized the galaxy – then abandoned it. Joe Pikeman defends what’s left.

Book 1: The Unsung

Book 2: Unsung Armada

Book 3: The Crucible