Author: A. C. Hadfield
Date: 2015-09-08 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Space Opera; space fleet; Military; Galactic Empire; Colonization; First Contact; space exploration; Adventure; Exploration; Science Fiction & Fantasy; Space Marine; Alien Invasion
Description: A millennium into the future. In a galaxy far from Earth. We were not prepared for the Terminal War. Billions of lives are at risk as enemy forces mass on the frontier of the Commonwealth. If the planet Terminus, the center of all the Commonwealth's technology, falls, we will lose everything, and there will be no way back. The Axis Combine's fleet is overwhelming in number, and their firepower is superior. Unless one man and his crew can save Terminus, the galaxy will never be the same again. They must find a way to give the Commonwealth an edge, or we'll face complete annihilation. There is b
Publisher: eBook (Kindle)
Rights: Copyright 2017 A.C. Hadfield. All rights reserved.

The Terminal War

A.C. Hadfield

Binary Books Ltd

Copyright © 2017 by A.C. Hadfield

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

About the Author

Chapter 1

Something was wrong—very wrong. The warning alarm hadn’t sounded for over a thousand years. Its tone pulsed through the smooth white corridors of the habitation and control center. Afron, a vestan Guardian, thrust his spindly black foot against the hatch of his meditation pod and sprang out, his emotions transforming from a blissful calm to immediate concern.

Usually, the system reported minor defects around the fringes of the controlled area of Terminus, a dwarf planet with a distant weak sun. But the nature of his job, as one of the twenty Guardians, meant he couldn’t take risks. He needed to see what had triggered the alarm, as it was likely to be something more than just a simple structural defect.

A line of small pink lights on the ceiling flashed with every pulse. Afron crossed through the brightly lit hexagonal central area of the complex and headed for the control center to investigate. The electronic metal eye of the form-recognition system authenticated him as he approached, and the door slid open.

Kortas, the head of the vestan Guardians, also dressed in his green meditation gown, had already arrived and was scanning data on five screens that stretched the full length of the wall.

“What’s the problem?” Afron asked.

“Just the usual: a crypt breach on the boundary.”

“But the alarm…”

The dark sullen expression from Kortas told Afron that it wasn’t anything major, yet the beginnings of panic crystallized within Afron. He glanced at the floating green holomap in the center of the room and immediately spotted the location of the breach. An orange blip halfway between two of the four fusion generator facilities that kept the rest of the planet’s ice at bay flickered. Afron knew this to be a typical location for a structural compromise.

The map perfectly plotted the fifty-klick-wide area. A facility stood in each corner, powering the heated flexible underground rods. Old vestan crypts cluttered the space on the outer edges. Thousands of newer generation mausoleums in formal rows lined the insides. The most important location was dead center. A pyramid containing the Saviors of the vestan race. Sensors in each location and motion-detecting drones in the air provided live updates.

“I’ll carry out a damage assessment,” Afron said. “Inform the rest of the Guardians to continue their studies.”

“Very well,” Kortas replied.

Older crypts on the boundary had been constructed out of a less flexible compound and often developed cracks through the ages. The vestans initially built them below the surface of Terminus, according to custom—until they realized the problem. Part of a guardian’s mission was to ensure the integrity of every mausoleum, crypt, and vault. Afron guessed it would be another old-fashioned repair job, unlike some of the complex data corruption problems they could get in the newer mausoleums.

Kortas led the way back through the complex corridors to the transport bay. He stood by the operations console, waiting to open the external door.

Afron stood between two metallic plates and a gray self-assembling nanosuit and helmet built around him. Despite Guardians spending the majority of their lives on Terminus, they still kept a form suitable for a vestan atmosphere. If they didn’t, respectful communications with the dead would be impossible.

Once the helmet’s digital display activated and confirmed a successful operation, Afron climbed into one of the four oval hover-pods. He configured the coordinates of the breach on the touchpad and synchronized the vehicle to the control center network. The pod smoothly lifted off the ground; he brushed his gloves across the pad and drifted into the airlock.

A thick transparent door closed behind the pod. Ahead, the brushed steel external doors parted, revealing the inky black star-studded sky surrounding the planet. A special feeling of privilege crept over Afron, just like every other time he traveled between some of the greatest minds in vestan history.

The breach had occurred between zone one and two. Afron guided the pod between two rows of modern mausoleums toward the fusion facility. It wasn’t the most direct route, but it avoided weaving through the cluster of tightly packed crypts on the fringes of the vestan world of remembrance.

Each closely spaced stone building had a monitoring pad attached to the entrance under a protective shield, confirming internal power and providing dim light. Afron kept the pod’s front beam focused along the middle of the dark pathway until he drew level with the location of the breach and turned for the boundary.

Most of the older crypts were smaller and more elaborate. Decorative statues of ancient gods and creatures jutted from the roofs, plants and weeds wrapped around the walls. Vegetation grew thicker in the outer areas and brushed against the underside of the pod. Afron focused and wound his way around them toward his destination.

Twenty ages ago, vestans were free to visit Terminus and construct the buildings for their family and friends. That stopped when one of the Saviors had his mind corrupted by modern thoughts. Data readings showed the savior had picked up images of humans and their weird customs. The vestan high council decreed only Guardians were allowed to remain after that. Saviors could only handle pure vestan thoughts, not ones poisoned by sights of people consuming an intoxicating drink, playing games, or gambling.

Humans were allies now. After they won the Century War and offered protection against the vestans’ former colonizers, the horans. Every Guardian knew the horans presented their former pact as an Axis: a power to stop humans and fidians spreading across the galaxy like a plague of locusts, but it was never like that. They only wanted vestan technology to create their galactic empire.

Afron stopped in front of the crypt that reported a problem: a small stone rectangle wrapped in vines, right on the edge of the zone. He checked his comms screen to ensure there were no other issues before lowering to the ground.

An alarm winked between the foliage on the crypt’s entrance. The pod’s hatch opened with an electric whine. Lights auto-activated on Afron’s helmet and shoulders. He approached the crypt and swept away the dark greasy leaves. This place belonged to an engineer from forty generations ago. It explained the vines. No Guardian would visit and communicate because his mind had been superseded by the advancement in technology and lacked the wisdom of a savior.

Afron raised the protective shield and pressed a series of symbols, confirming an entry code. The locking mechanism clanked open.

The thick metal door juddered and groaned inward, ripping apart the attached vines. A light blue glow came from the chamber at the bottom of twenty steps. Afron climbed down and surveyed the room.

Everything looked normal at first glance. The engineer was suspended upright inside a transparent tube in light blue preservation liquid. A graphene cable led from the back of his head to a monitor on the nearest wall. Afron moved around the tube to the far side of the chamber.

Rubble lay on the floor. A lower part of the wall had collapsed inward. It wasn’t any breach that he had seen before. Usually, it was just a crack or a chunk of internal plaster that had fallen onto a sensor.

Afron crouched and directed his light into the darkness beyond the damaged wall. A rough tunnel, cut through dirt, extended into the gloom of buried frozen undergrowth long since petrified by ice. At the far end, it split off in two directions.

A roar echoed in the distance. Afron’s black skin slithered in reaction to the dread sound. He wondered what it could have been. Only one explanation made sense, and Afron knew he had to get out of here as soon as possible and inform the other Guardians.

A dark shape raced along the tunnel. Afron turned and ran, desperately pawing his way through the vegetation to get to his pod in time. His two hearts thundered together like a drumroll. A specter from the distant past breathed down his neck, bringing with it centuries of pain and regret.

He scampered up the stairs.

Footsteps raced across the chamber behind him.

Afron rushed out of the entrance and extended a hand toward the pod’s hatch. He activated the transmit button on his comms device.

Something wrapped around his neck and tightened. It dragged him back down the steps at high speed, past the engineer in the chamber. Afron thrust out his arms in an attempt to stop himself being taken through the tunnel.

It was no use. He couldn’t stop it.

And he knew he’d never see the surface of Terminus again.

Chapter 2

A pair of swallow-shaped fighter drones roared over President Morgan’s head and powered toward the atmosphere. Both cobalt engines quickly melted into the clear blue sky as they headed for their escort duty.

Morgan shielded his eyes from the sun and gazed across the landing zone at a distant row of twenty hangars. Three fleet destroyers were in for servicing and tiny figures and machines buzzed around them. Everything ran like clockwork.

Morgan missed being part of the operation, rising through the ranks, commanding a squadron—and becoming an admiral. As president, at least the Commonwealth Defense Force had a man in charge that had their back.

The Salus Sphere, a twenty-light-year-wide section of space containing over three hundred inhabited planets, faced an ongoing danger and threats from outside forces. The CWDF hadn’t seen large-scale battle since the Century War twenty years ago, but the moment they dropped their guard, an attack would come, Morgan just knew it; it was the way of things. The horans and lacterns, the Axis, surrounded half of the sphere’s frontier and had spies in many places and would strike at the first sign of weakness.

A rectangular, graphite-colored vestan shuttle, the type that usually carried high-ranking dignitaries, thrust its engines, slowing its descent.

Both CWDF fighter drones flanked it all the way down.

The council members had arrived at least, albeit two hours late.

Morgan straightened his dark blue admiral’s jacket. He still held the ceremonial rank and hated being out of this uniform. The former president, Steros, used to swan around in robes, attend parties, and had little respect for the military. Few respected him for it.

The shuttle’s engines roared a final thrust. It gently landed to the left of a row of twenty fighter drones. Morgan had decided against letting his admin staff carry out the meet and greet. He preferred to be hands-on. The idea of constantly sitting behind a desk in the government building, or being followed around by fifty security bots never appealed to him. Although he had reluctantly agreed to a minimum security detail of four agents. Fides Prime still had an undercurrent of anti-establishment feeling, and it wouldn’t be beyond reason to expect that one of the underclass scumbags would make an attempt on his life.

Two lines of Marines, in their formal light blue uniforms, holding their X50 rifles across their chests, formed a guard outside the shuttle. Its side door slid to the left. A chrome ramp extended to the ground, hitting with a dull thump.

Two black-skinned vestans stepped out. They stood seven feet tall and wore their usual plain cream robes. They made their way down the ramp on their stiff legs. Morgan had met some of their council before, but from a distance these two looked unfamiliar. One nudged the other, and both stared at the jagged mountain range beyond the hangars.

Morgan cleared his throat loudly enough for both to hear. They turned and hobbled between the marines, chatting in their native tongue.

“President Morgan. Welcome to Fides Prime.” He extended a hand.

Both aliens abruptly halted.

The one on the left, wearing a silver data-bracelet, a vestan version of the Salus Sphere’s smart-screen, shuffled forward. “I’m Ferban, council member for defense, and this is my colleague, Desolt.”

“You have a beautiful planet,” Desolt said. “My compliments.”

“Thank you. I’ll escort you to the conference room if you follow me.”

Ferban’s leathery face scrunched around his mustard-colored eyes. “That would be most gracious of you, President.”

Morgan was already late for another appointment and decided not to mention their lack of punctuality; they appeared nervous already, which Morgan expected of former enemies during the war.

Although their species didn’t make great fighters, they had provided the means and technology to the Axis, giving them a critical edge. Bringing the vestans into the Commonwealth, via a new peace treaty, was a particularly good move on Morgan’s part, giving him a free run at the CW presidency.

Four marines surrounded them as Morgan led the way back to the conference room. His secretary, Emma, a young human in a sharp white suit, sat at the long glass table holding her smart-pad, ready to take minutes.

“Please, take a seat,” Morgan said and held an arm toward the chairs. Both vestans raised their robes and sat. “Can we get you any refreshments after your trip?”

“No, thank you. We replenished a short time ago,” Desolt said. “May we get straight to business? Our requirements are pressing.”

“Of course,” Morgan replied, “Although if the priority is so high, you could’ve arrived sooner, or just communicated your request through our secure ansible link.”

Ferban inclined his head to concede the point, then added, “Some things require personal communication. We would prefer to conduct business face-to-face, to build our relationship on strong foundations,” he said, blinking slowly in that hypnotic manner of theirs. “We have two requests, but the second is for your ears only.” The vestan smiled at Emma, an apologetic but firm request.

“My ears only?” Morgan sat back in his chair, maintaining eye contact. “You don’t have to be worried about what you say in this building.”

“We’d prefer total secrecy on this subject,” Desolt said.

Morgan sighed and nodded at Emma. She picked up her things and headed for the door. He remembered the paranoia of the vestans during the treaty negotiations, often over trivial matters, or at least they were to humans and fidians.

The conference room’s opaque glass door whined shut, and both vestans leaned forward. Desolt glanced at his smart-screen bracelet and manipulated its controls with elegant gestures.

“Anything the matter?” Morgan asked.

A few seconds later the vestan looked to his partner, then to Morgan, blinked, and then inclined his head in an awkward facsimile of a human nod of agreement. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I expect my actions may seem untrusting, but I needed to make sure there are no listening devices or scanning fields within distance. I exaggerate not when I say this is the most important issue the vestans have ever entrusted to an outside party.”

Morgan’s neck prickled. A cold shiver crawled through his guts. The anticipation of their request made him tap his fingers against the desk’s surface.

“The horans and lacterns have stepped up their aggression since we left the Axis. They continue to raid our outer planets,” Ferban said. “Three of your Fides days ago, they attacked a mineral mine, rendering it beyond salvageable. They retreated after taking hits from our surface-to-orbit cannons.”

“As part of your treaty obligations—” Desolt added.

“I know our obligations,” Morgan interrupted, holding up his palm. “I haven’t seen any reports through the official channels. If we don’t know about the attacks, what do you expect us to do? You have to start being more open with us. These kinds of requests are better off going to my commanders, who can then act accordingly—and quickly.”

Both aliens stared at him. Morgan remained silent and waited for an answer. His level of hands-on didn’t extend to micromanaging Sphere security.

The vestan council had been told several times to report any hostilities immediately. As part of a newly extended frontier, they were of equal priority to the rest of the Salus Sphere. Providing a show of force to eliminate these types of raids was a standard operation for the CWDF. The Axis couldn’t gain confidence at any point, lest they believe they could mount an attack.

“Our ground defenses can handle raids at the current level,” Desolt said. “But if they grow, our manufacturing will decline, and we won’t be able to meet your latest orders. Our technology, which the Commonwealth covets so highly, requires many rare and difficult to source materials, the planets of which are under threat from the Axis.”

“Pass me the coordinates, enemy strength and details of the raids, and I’ll personally deal with it,” Morgan said. It was easier to get the request out of the way and send an envoy to Vesta again to explain how things worked. While there, a strategy could be delegated, and he could turn his attentions to more important things.

Ferban’s lips curled downward, a vestan version of a smile, and he manipulated his data-bracelet. “You’re a good partner, President. The information will be on your smart-screen presently.”

Two seconds later, Morgan’s screen beeped. He glanced down at an encrypted message on the display and marked it for transfer to Captain Steros. The previous president’s son had been given a role within a small fleet to prove himself. It would be a good task for him. One that Morgan fully expected him to fail and thus give him the reason he wanted to shift him out to some distant patrol route on the far edges of the Sphere. “Expect the fleet to be in touch within the hour,” Morgan said. “And please, communicate with them as soon as anything like this happens again.”

“Very well,” Desolt said. “Now, for the main reason we have come here. We have a mission that requires total secrecy—our very existence, and, therefore, the treaty is at stake.”

Morgan leaned forward, his pulse notching up two extra beats—a sign of heightened excitement he hadn’t experienced for some time. “Please, do tell.”

Both aliens shuffled their chairs around the conference table and sat to Morgan’s right. He instinctively reached for a pistol that wasn’t on his belt—a reflex from his experiences of previously fighting this species.

“We require your best agent to complete a discreet mission,” Ferban said. “The details are highly classified.”

“What kind of mission?”

Desolt leaned close. Morgan detected an odor of burnt rubber. “We need to know that you understand the complete discretion required here.”

Morgan sighed and shook his head. “What more do you want me to say? I understand. You either want my help, or you don’t. Now tell me, what kind of mission are we talking about?”

“There’s a problem on Terminus, our world of remembrance. One of the Guardians is missing.”

“I don’t see how this concerns the CW. It sounds like an internal matter,” Morgan said, wondering about this planet. There were no records of it in the inventory during the treaty negotiations. He was about to make that point when Desolt continued.

“The location is a closely guarded secret, even from vestans. Only the Guardians and the dead are permitted.”

“If you have resources already there, why do you need us?”

Desolt let out a low croak. “We can’t risk losing another one of the Guardians. They live a thousand of your lifespans and are irreplaceable.”

“Our greatest minds are at stake,” Ferban added with a hint of panic. “A modern vestan memory would corrupt them. A threat on the planet may destroy them. We need a race that are unable to communicate telepathically to resolve this crisis.”

“If the Guardians are your greatest minds, why aren’t they better protected?”

“The secrecy of the location is our best defense,” Desolt said. “But you don’t understand. Our wisdom and the high-level council does not come from the Guardians. It comes from the Saviors of our race who are already dead.”

Morgan shook his head. “How is that even possible?”

“We cannot possibly explain that. Any deceased vestan who isn’t damaged by battle or accident is sent to Terminus and stored this way. Let’s not get distracted by detail. Can you help us?”

Although the vestan race was small in numbers, the thought of a majority of them still being able to communicate beyond the grave blew Morgan’s mind. He wondered if that technology could be of use in the CWDF. For centuries, scientists on Fides Prime had tried to perfect reliable telepathic communications with no result.

“This isn’t part of our treaty,” Morgan said, playing the role of a politician for a change. “Terminus isn’t named in the extended frontier for protection.”

“We have an offer that may interest the Commonwealth, and you personally,” Ferban said.

Morgan turned to him and arched an eyebrow. “Me personally?”

“Our war records show the destroyer you commanded during the Century War ruined two of our hospitals. This information would be potentially damaging if it were made public, would it not?”

“After we had become allies I cross-checked your report,” Desolt said. “You claimed the strike destroyed a weapons factory.”

Anger flared inside Morgan. He stood suddenly and clenched his fists. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“No. We are simply saying that if you send your best resources to help on Terminus, we will amend our records to match your claim—and then there’s the added offer,” Ferban said. “We have certain advanced technology that we’ve recently developed based on theories of those very minds that are in danger. Help us maintain our link to the minds, and we will share this technology willingly.”

Morgan crooked an eyebrow. “What kind of technology are you talking about?”

The two vestans did their creepy slow blink in unison. Desolt said, “You have within your possession one of our concept ships. It uses fusion crystals for faster than normal light jumps… the new technology will make L-jumps resemble the horses and carts your kind used to use not so many hundred years ago.”

Now Morgan was interested.

Travel speed had always been the biggest issue with securing the Salus Sphere. Their destroyers had to be strategically placed around the Sphere so they could plug any gaps as needed. If they had the technology to move quicker, they could more easily centralize their forces and react in stronger numbers.

“I’m interested,” Morgan said, half out of eagerness for the tech and half out of necessity to keep his secret under wraps, although he knew they would likely use this against him in the future. That was fine for now, he thought. He could deal with that another time.

Desolt inched closer, dropping his voice to a husky croak. “The only problem is that this mission is a one-way trip. We can’t risk the location of Terminus getting out. We need your best resources for this—with the knowledge they won’t be coming back.”

Morgan took a deep breath and quickly played things through his mind. He remembered the strike on the hospital—it was an honest mistake. The serving admiral had swept it under the carpet, as they were at a crucial point of the war. If the information came out now, it would certainly lead to political turmoil in the Sphere, of which the horans and lacterns were sure to take advantage. Once again they were at a crucial point in the Sphere’s safety.

One man and his crew immediately sprang to Morgan’s mind: freelance experts in carrying out one-way missions—and surviving, despite the odds. A team led by a rogue mercenary known as Bleach for his ability to clean things up.

This was a job for Carson Mach.

“I think we have an agreement,” Morgan said.

* * *

Ferban and Desolt hobbled back toward their shuttle. Morgan agreed to their request but vowed to one take responsibility for his action during the war, regardless if they amended their records.

That day would come once the Sphere was finally safe from Axis aggression.

Desolt turned and raised a spindly black hand. Morgan returned a glare. The vestans were more cunning than he had expected. He wouldn’t forget this lesson, especially when it came to future negotiations.

Both vestans climbed the ramp back into their shuttle. Its engines blew hot air across the landing zone. A red transport pod whined around the side of the strip and stopped in front of the administration building.

Commander Tralis, an old friend and former fighter pilot, and his second in command, Captain Steros, clambered out in their olive coveralls. Both placed berets on their heads and offered stiff salutes.

“You wanted to see me, President?” Tralis said.

“At ease, Commander,” Morgan said. “How long ’til your fleet’s ready for space?”

Tralis rubbed his gray stubble and glanced back across the landing zone toward the distant hangars. “Tomorrow morning. I’m guessing this is to do with that vestan’s visit?”

“You guessed right. A small raiding Axis force is hitting their outer planets. I’ll clear it with the admiral if you’re interested?”

“Kicking Axis ass? You bet I am. Send over the data. I’ll start making plans.”

Morgan smiled at the expected response. “I thought this might be your kind of thing. Do you want a quick drink tonight for old times’ sake?”

“Sure. I’ll swing by at eight?”

Throughout the conversation, Steros glared at Morgan. The young captain always showed outward animosity toward him. His father was the former president, and Morgan had been instrumental in his overthrow, for the good of the Salus Sphere. It was understandable to a certain extent, but Steros junior’s pass had expired and open signs of insubordination could no longer be tolerated.

“Do you have a problem, Captain?” Morgan asked.

“No, President,” Steros replied, placing emphasis on the title.

“Listen, son, I’m sorry about your father, but we all need to move on. It’s a dangerous galaxy out there, and we all need to be working together.”

Steros narrowed his eyes. “I’m not your son, President.”

Tralis gave Morgan a knowing nod and grabbed Steros by the arm. “This way, Captain. We need to have words.”

Both members of the Western Fleet returned to the transport pod. Morgan headed for his office, feeling confident the threat around the vestan planets was under control.

Tralis would keep Captain Steros in line. He was only a minor distraction compared to the next piece of business on the agenda: recruiting Mach for the mission to Terminus.

He would have to lie to his old friend, of course, but Mach would understand—if he survived. Morgan had no other choice. Mach would see that.

Chapter 3

The lactern wrestler wrapped his muscular black arm around the horan’s head and ripped it off with a single, brutal yank.

Mach grinned at Beringer’s expression. The archeologist sat opposite him and focussed on at the fighting cage with a mix of horror and disbelief. The pounding beat of the fight music thrummed throughout the dingy downtown club situated in a little-known alley. If Fides Prime security got wind of it, and of all those that dwelled here, Mach had no doubt they’d just nuke the whole place with everyone inside.

“How can you drink that stuff?” Beringer said.

Mach slammed another shot of the toxic concoction known as Death’s Whisper on account of its quiet approach. One minute you’d be enjoying the sweet, warming taste as though it were a cough mixture, then bang, you’re tripping balls, not knowing how to work your limbs and having the time of your life for it.

After so many hard missions, Mach needed to cut loose.

“Drink up,” Mach said to Beringer. The latter hadn’t touched his Whisper. He sat there, back straight, his hands in his lap, like a kid at church.

“I’d rather we just conclude my proposition,” Beringer said. He glanced a nervous eye across the bar: exactly what Mach had told him not to do. He was so out of place that if he accidentally made eye contact with the wrong person, he’d not be able to walk out of the place of his own volition.

“Dude,” Mach said, slamming his glass down on the table and waving a hand in the air to summon one of the many semi-naked bartenders who slithered between the tables like greased snakes. “Drink your damned drink and stop staring around the place. You’re gonna get us both messed up. Besides, relax! We’ve got good booze, great entertainment, and Adira’s fighting in the main event. What a privilege you’re getting.”

The gray-haired archeologist slumped forward to the table, resting his elbows on the edge. It was better, but he still looked so out of place, which was part of Mach’s plan—to an extent. Risky, but it would pay off if Beringer didn’t get stabbed in the kidneys before he had a chance to put the bet on.

“Okay,” Mach said, leaning forward. “Tell me more about your job.”

A leather-clad human barwoman approached and placed two more glasses of Whisper in front of the two men. She smiled. Her metal-tipped fangs reflected the neon light of the dingy bar.

Damn, Mach thought, they looked great—expensive too.

It was a good sign. Despite the dark, underworld atmosphere, there was an epic weight of loot swimming about.

The woman ran a hand over Mach’s head, the sharp, poisoned-tipped nails gently scratching his scalp—a little reminder to tip well.

“No fear, my sweetheart,” Mach said to the woman. “By the end of the night, you’ll get the biggest tip you’ve ever seen.”

“Why thank you kindly, Bleach,” she drawled with a southern Fides Prime accent. “That would be a wise decision on your part.”

She spun on her stiletto heel and slithered between more tables, catching the glances of everyone as she went, including the kingpin of the establishment and one of the biggest criminal enterprises in the whole of the Sphere: Gracious Sinju.

It would be generous to call him a man: the beast had two extra prosthetic arms under his original pair, powered by a vestan exoskeleton. Both of his eyes had been swapped out for IR units, and he had a murder rap sheet that would put the military of a small empire to shame. His head was completely bald and capped with a plate made from Summanun jet: one of the hardest substances known in the Sphere and more expensive than most precious metals.

Gracious, however, he was not. The grizzled old bastard seemed to enjoy the irony of being anything but. He caught Mach’s gaze and inclined his head a few millimeters. One would be mistaken to think this was a greeting or recognition of respect. It was no such gesture; it was Gracious saying: “I see you, motherfucker.”

Mach just grinned and saluted him with two fingers before turning back to his table.

Beringer’s hand shook as he picked up his glass of Whisper. He sipped at it, like a nervous bird.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Beringer said, keeping his eyes down.

“Yup.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”

“We? You’re the one who wants the money for your little expedition.”

“Only because you’re demanding so damned much.”

Behind them, another two fighters were going hell for leather inside the cage. They were fighting a bare-knuckle fight to the death, and the two human men took that quite seriously. The crowd bayed and roared with each direct hit and spurt of blood.

Mach leaned closer into Beringer and grabbed his wrist. “Tell me,” Mach said. “How badly do you want to go to this shitty little planet to get this artifact of yours?”

The archeologist tried to pull away.

Mach held firm.

Beringer slammed his other hand down on the table. “As badly as I’ve ever wanted anything, damn it! You don’t understand the significance of this find. I have to have it; it could change our perception of the Sphere and those that inhabited it before us. Don’t you understand how important that is?”

Mach let go and smiled. “That’s all I wanted to know. My crew and ship don’t come cheap.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t understand why it has to be so expensive. It’s just a routine task.”

Mach leaned back in his chair and sunk the rest of the Whisper. “It’s not just the danger of going to some unknown rim world beyond the noncombat zone; it’s the opportunity cost. If I take your job, we’ll be gone for two weeks. I could earn more money than you have in a few days. I’m sorry, Beringer, but I ain’t in this game for anything other than cold hard cash. So if you want us to ferry you out there, you need to pay up, and that means…”

“I know,” he said, staring down at his half-empty shot glass. “I just think it’s unnecessarily dangerous.”

The crowd roared as one of the human combatants stood over a bloody pulp of an opponent, his hands raised in victory. Two bodyguards entered the steel cage and escorted the man out. He could barely walk.

A group of cleaning droids dragged away the body of the loser and then dashed back inside to clean the blood and assorted fluids from the fighting arena.

Mach could see Beringer trying not to look at Gracious.

“Just drink,” Mach said. “Keep your eyes on the cage. Did you bring the stake money?”

Beringer tapped his wrist-mounted smart-screen. “Twenty thousand eros. It’s everything I have. If anything goes wrong, this will ruin me. You understand that, right?”

“Sure, but the thing is, it’s not just my fee you’re covering, you’re also getting one helluva favor from Adira, and she will insist on collecting the favor at some point.”

“I know this too,” Beringer said, resignation drawing his words out with a sigh. “I have no other option. I can’t go through official channels; they’d just lock the artifact away, hiding the truth. And no other freelancer has the skill or a ship like yours.”

Mach checked the time on the large display above the cage. They still had another ten Standard Salus minutes to go before Adira’s headlining fight. Her opponent hadn’t yet been announced.

That, however, shouldn’t be a problem. Adira was out in the back room preparing with her usual deathly still meditation. Mach had offered to sit with her, but she gave him the eyes. And one does not simply defy the eyes.

“Tell me more about this discovery,” Mach said, to waste some time and hopefully ease Beringer’s nerves. “Why’s it so important to you? I mean, I get that it’s rare and can blah blah something about our perceptions, but why you? Why do you have to be the one?”

Beringer finally swallowed the rest of his drink and leaned forward so that the small electronic candle in the middle of their table lit him from beneath like some shady effect from humanity’s old twentieth-century films.

“I was just eight years old,” Beringer said, “forty years ago when my parents took me off Earth and to Fides Prime during the exodus. It was all so exciting for me then; I didn’t truly understand what was going on with the Century War. Earth was changing on a daily basis, Dad got killed, and then the next minute I know, I’m on a new type of starship, making my very first L-jump to the Fides system.”

“Probably better for you that you were young,” Mach said. “What about your mother? What happened to her?”

“Cancer,” he said, the single word dropping like a bum note in a minor key.

“I’m sorry,” Mach said. And he was. He had known so many of the Earth people to succumb to it before the medical revolution in the Sphere eliminated such diseases. “So this artifact that you’ve discovered… it’s related?”

Beringer’s eyes widened, pupils dilating due to the Whisper and the gloominess of the room, but there was a fierce hunger there, twitching at the corner of his eyelids.

“It’s from Earth,” Beringer said, hushing his words so that Mach could barely hear him. He continued, “Before our species evolved to who we are now on Earth, there are some schools of thought that we were the results of not just evolution, but of a helping hand, some grand conductor easing things into place.”

Mach snorted. Evolution had been proven time and time and again. “I don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo,” Mach said. “And frankly, I’m surprised you do.”

Without moving even a scintilla, Beringer said, “I know it to be true. I found a similar item on an expedition back to Earth when I was twenty-three years old and studying for my Ph.D. It was a small object, round. Perfectly round. Unnaturally so. Under high magnification, it displayed no flaw in its surface. Do you realize how impossible that is? A material that even under the most powerful microscopes we have today shows perfect spherical form in every possible essence?”

“And you think you’ve found another?”

Beringer sat back for a moment and smiled up at the barwoman, who had brought another couple of drinks over. No Whisper this time, but something a little more potent: Gasmulch.

“Courtesy of the gracious one,” the fang-toothed woman said, running a fingertip across Mach’s hand, making him shiver with delight—and no little fear. “He asked me to pass on his best wishes to Adira against her opponent tonight.”

“And that is?” Mach prompted.

“You’ll see, darling, in good time.”

She swung away, laughing. Mach didn’t like that one bit. The back of his head burned. He could tell Gracious was staring at him. But fuck him, Mach thought; he wasn’t going to give the manipulative old swine the satisfaction.

Instead, he grabbed both glasses and shot them one after the other, slamming them down on the table so hard most of the patrons in the bar looked over at him.

“Do we have to do this?” Beringer asked. Mach noticed the poor man’s hands were shaking worse. But this was good. He needed to be scared. That was the only way this plan would work.

The last fight played out in the cage over the course of a bitter ten minutes. The two combatants—vestans armed with wooden staffs—beat the living crap out of each other. The larger of the two took a shot to the balls. Vestan balls were even more sensitive and painful than humans’ if played with wrongly.

A chorus of, “Oooh,” rang around the bar.

The vestan slumped to his knees and gave the three-finger gesture—fingers close together, palm up. He had quit—and would likely never sire children in his lifetime.

The bar erupted in cheers as the winner was announced, and the onlookers who had backed the right fighter buzzed around the bookmaker’s desk to collect their winnings. It was no surprise to see that the number of losers far outweighed the winners.

“Adira’s up,” Mach said. “But before they start, tell me: you found another of these spheres on some distant planet?”

Beringer simply nodded. “And it predates the one I found on Earth by at least two millennia.”

“Excuse me if I’m missing something here, but how do you know it’s there, and if you do, why could you not retrieve it with whatever was sending you the data.”

“No device told me of it,” he said.

“Then what?”

“I found reference to it in a data-store—an ancient digital drive from a race long since extinct. It’s taken me fifteen years to break the encryption and understand the data. But when I finally did it, I knew. I knew what it was, and where it was. I just need to get it.”

“And then what?”

“That, Mr. Mach, shall remain my business, and my business only.”

Mach shrugged. It was of no concern to him—as long as the plan worked and Beringer got him his 200k fee from Gracious Sinju. He just hoped Adira would live up to her side of the bargain and drive her odds up. The fee would easily cover any reconstructive surgery she would need.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” a suited man said from the center of the cage. The lights in the bar dimmed to almost complete darkness, including the individual lamps on the tables. Only a single spotlight shone down on the announcer, glistening off his slick black hair and so-white-as-to-be-almost-neon teeth. “I present to you, on behalf of Sinju Enterprises, the main event of the evening!”

Despite the effects of the drink numbing him, Mach still felt nervous. He had grown to care a great deal for Adira, and despite her undoubted skills, he still hated to see her get hurt.

The announcer called her out, giving the patrons the rundown on her long list of assassinations and triumphant activities as part of Mach’s crew on the Intrepid.

She wore her standard cloth outfit: black, formfitting without being too tight, and elasticated to allow her to perform her most balletic of attacks. Her face was hidden behind a mask so that only her eyes peered out.

She didn’t look at Mach or Beringer. Just paced the cage like a panther, waiting for her opponent.

Mach tensed, his hands gripping the arms of his chair with anticipation.

“And her opponent,” the announcer said, “hails from the Calinus moon Ephrania. He has a fight record of fifty-three wins, no draws, no losses, all wins by way of first-round deaths. I present to you, the one, the only... Ballis Bardoom!”

No one cheered.

Mach certainly as hell didn’t cheer.

The spotlight moved from the center of the ring to the far left side of the bar—the direction Mach was sitting. From a large doorway it came, lumbering, sweating, and frothing. The drinkers nearest to the path that led to the cage scattered, as all three meters of Ephranian-born killing machine swaggered toward the arena.

The only voice Mach could hear was the high-pitched snigger of Gracious Sinju. It made Mach want to pull his Stinger—his exotic and highly efficient firearm—and slot the bastard right there, and then Bardoom.

“Fuck,” Beringer said. It was the first time Mach had heard him swear, and in this instance it was fully justified.

Mach darted his attention to Adira in the cage. She stretched her arms casually above her shoulders, completely oblivious to Bardoom opening the door to the cage and stepping his greatly muscled legs into the fighting area.

“That’s no human,” Beringer said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

“It was human once,” Mach said. “But this thing is the result of millions of eros of genetic modification and upgrades. It’s outrageous. Adira would never have agreed to this if she knew Sinju was going to pull some shit like this. I swear if she… I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands.”

Beringer shrank in his chair and looked on with terror in his face. The announcer quickly finished his preamble and left the cage.

Bardoom was on the left of the ring, Adira on the right. The fight was scheduled for three six-minute rounds—or for as long as the two combatants lived, whichever came first. Bardoom wore a pair of old-fashioned boxing shorts. Black, like his boots. Naturally, he wore no gloves.

His head was buzzed close, showing all the scars from his surgeries—as did the network of scars across his gigantic back and chest. His biceps looked like weather balloons. Mach hated to think how strong this freak was.

Opposite him, Adira looked like a piece of nanothread.

Mach’s throat dried, but he forced himself to look over at Sinju’s personal bookmaker’s desk to see the odds. Adira was currently up at 5s, meaning a five-fold return. That wouldn’t be enough for Beringer, even with his entire 20k stake. Adira had said she would only do this for 100s.

Not for the first time, Mach wished he had never agreed to this job. He reached his left hand down to his left pants pocket and felt for the detonator—the backup plan. If it all went wrong, there was only one way out of it.

The bell sounded, and the fight got underway.

Chapter 4

Bardoom took two strides forward and threw a stiff jab. Adira crossed her forearms over her face and parried the blow. The force of it sent her stumbling back. Six fidian punters, dressed in filthy gray coveralls, rushed past Mach toward Sinju’s bookmaker, temporarily blocking his view of the fighting cage.

Bardoom’s appearance and starting price had naturally sparked a flood of bets in his favor, despite the extremely thin margins available. The odds, displayed in red digits above the bookie’s desk, tumbled to mere fractions for the big Ephranian.

Adira’s rose to 8s.

On the face of it, everything was going according to plan, but Mach never figured Sinju would put up his undefeated champion. The lumbering genetic freak hunched down and charged like a bull across the arena.

Adira shifted nimbly away, maintaining a safe distance from his scarred and tattooed knuckles. A classic match of brain versus brawn that Mach had seen Adira win a hundred times, although never under these circumstances.

A chair scraped against the plastic floor behind Mach. Hot breath brushed against his ear. He could smell Sinju’s mix of body odor and booze a mile away but kept his focus on the cage.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Beringer pale a shade lighter.

“You look worried, my friend,” Sinju said in his usual fake jovial tone. “You thought I’d what? Put up an easy fight for your crossbreed bitch?”

“You’ve lost none of your old charm,” Mach said, staying his hand. He so much wanted to ram it in Sinju’s ugly mouth. “Adira had two options. Fight here and win her place back on my crew, or return to prison where I’d collect the bounty.”

Sinju laughed. “You? Return somebody to prison? The Summanus bounty on her head is no more. I checked out your story.”

“Who said anything about Summanus?” Mach replied, thinking on his feet with his thin cover blown. Thankfully he hadn’t been too specific when arranging the contest. “She’s wanted in Feronia Prime.”

That much was true, but then so was Mach. They had carried out a raid a few months ago in exchange for a ship. Although the casualties were only stunned, the local gang lords’ pride had been dented, and they were desperate to introduce Mach to a world of pain using some of their retro torture tools.

Sinju grunted and rested a hand on Mach’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “It doesn’t matter. In a minute, you’ll likely need to find another crew member.”

Bardoom leaped forward and roared after circling his quarry and forcing Adira into a corner.

Adira ducked under his swinging arm. His fist crashed against the cage’s sturdy wall. She retreated to the opposite side, crouched in anticipation of his next move and waved him toward her.

“She can’t avoid him forever,” Sinju said. “As soon—”

Mach turned to face him. “Why don’t you talk to someone who cares? Leave us to enjoy the fight and our drinks.”

Sinju glanced at Beringer, who immediately looked away. “Who’s your pale friend?”

“None of your business.”

“In this club, everything’s my business,” Sinju growled. “I haven’t seen him around before.  That makes me a suspicious man, especially when you’re involved.”

Mach shrugged. “He works at the museum, if you must know, we’re old friends.”

Aliens and humans alike, sitting at the tables around the cage, roared with delight. Sinju’s face transformed from a scowl to a smile. Mach spun back to face the fighting area. Adira had taken another hit and staggered to her left. She planted her hand against the side of her head and narrowed her eyes.

The odds on her winning flicked to 50s. Enough for Beringer to place a bet and earn the money for his mission, but not enough to give Adira and Mach a decent bonus for their troubles.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to it,” Sinju said, changing back to his smug self. “Enjoy the destruction.”

Adira’s movement had slowed.

Bardoom stomped after her with continued purpose, probably keen to protect his perfect record of first-round kills. He gritted his yellow teeth and threw a left hook. It connected with Adira’s shoulder, throwing her back against the cage. Her shoulder cracked against the metal.

Mach winced and took another mouthful of Gasmulch.

Beringer pulled his seat closer to Mach’s side. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“You’re underestimating Adira too, eh? Good. More people think like you, the higher the odds. Don’t discount her so easily.”

Bardoom connected again with a backhand swipe, sending Adira skidding across the ground. The howls around the cage increased.

A few patrons rushed across to the bookie’s desk to squeeze out tiny profits from the big Ephranian’s shrinking odds. Adira’s price flicked to 80s.

Sinju, now standing at the bar, folded his four arms across his wide chest and grinned. Mach imagined the eros signs flashing in the old bastard’s eyes as he calculated the epic windfall from this fight.

Mach’s smart-screen flashed: a message from Morgan. The old dog always had a bad way with timing that stretched back to their time together on a destroyer. He had a skill for inconvenience only matched by genital warts.

I need you for an immediate and confidential task. The price meets your expectations. Meet me at the Vesta star port in forty-eight hours. This mission is a high priority, so I require immediate acknowledgment. It’s not possible to provide further details. I’ll do that in person.

Morgan knew the money would be too much to resist.

Whenever the president needed an off-the-books mission completed, Mach had a habit of picking up fines before the offer came. Yesterday, a new one appeared on the Salus System, accusing him of causing building damage on Retsina. He did blow a vault there, in search of a rumored treasure, but it was years ago in a centuries-old derelict temple. Morgan was one of the few people who knew about it, and Mach didn’t believe in coincidences.

Bardoom thrust his fist against Adira’s chest and pinned her against the cage’s wall. Members of the crowd bayed for a kill. The luminous green electric timer above both fighters displayed fifty seconds. It was time to execute the final part of the plan.

The odds for Adira flicked to 110s—more than they strictly needed. But who doesn’t love a little extra?

“Go now,” Mach said to Beringer. “Put the full amount on Adira.”

Beringer raised a few inches from his chair and paused. “Are you sure?”

“If you say that again…” Mach took a deep breath. The older man was way out of his depth and had a look of fear in his eyes. “Do you want your artifact or not?”

The old archeologist gave a resigned nod and snaked between the tables to the bookie’s desk. Adira remained at 110s and would go no higher—even Sinju wasn’t that risky; he’d hedge his odds against a freak outcome.

Adira stumbled around the inner edge of the cage, attempting to avoid the bone-crushing blows.

Mach acknowledged Morgan’s message, confirming his acceptance—they would have to set off immediately after the fight to reach Vesta in time, but it was doable. Beringer’s mission dropped a place down the pecking order, but Mach was sure the archeologist could live with it, considering they had helped to finance his trip.

As expected, the odds above the bookie’s desk changed after Beringer placed his bet. Adira dropped to 50s because of the hefty sum.

At the bar, Sinju noticed and peered at Mach, his smarmy grin no longer visible. He crashed between the tables and headed straight for the bookie. It was too late, though. The biggest sin in the underworld was going back on a bet. Sinju was probably already coming to the realization that all was not what it appeared to be.

At least Mach hoped it wasn’t. Blood dripped from Adira’s left eye, and she looked worse for wear.

Mach set his smart-screen to record, stood and stretched, giving Adira the signal to strike. She didn’t notice at first, too busy avoiding the increasingly frenetic swings as Bardoom went for his customary final-minute finish.

Eventually, she glanced up with only fifteen seconds left in the round. The big Ephranian had her cornered, one fist clutching her throat, pinning her in place. He pulled his free fists back for his signature move: the double strike at the heart.

No human or fidian had ever survived the blow.

Adira twisted her body with such ferocity it would have snapped the spine of a lesser fighter. The sudden movement broke Bardoom’s grip.

She threw an uppercut at lightning speed, catching the bigger opponent off guard. Bardoom’s head snapped back, and he wobbled on his heels. The humans in the crowd collectively inhaled—the fidians whined.

The light green vestan nanogloves, colored perfectly to match her skin, were an amazing and powerful piece of equipment. Tulula, a vestan engineer in Mach’s crew, had acquired them last week from her home world. Mach fell in love with them the moment he tried one on and punched a hole in the Intrepid’s mess wall.

Reactive nanosteel thread had more kinetic energy stored in it than most nukes when compared particle to particle.

Only a single raised voice could be heard in the club. Sinju held the bookie by the throat in a two-handed grip and shouted in his face. Beringer edged away from the desk and slipped behind a thick black roof-supporting column. Sinju shoved the bookie to one side and focused on the cage.

With only ten seconds left on the digital timer above, Adira threw a left-right combination connecting with Bardoom’s jaw. His arms dropped limply to his sides, and he sank to his knees. She raced around to his back, wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at Mach.

He gave her a single firm nod.

Adira twisted.

A dull crack echoed through the silent bar. Bardoom slumped face-first to the ground. His legs twitched three times then relaxed in death.

An electronic buzzer signaled the end of the round, but this fight was already over. Mach walked between the tables, attempting to conceal any outward signs of pleasure, and grabbed Beringer by the arm. The older man trembled in his grip. “Confirm your winnings. Let’s move. We’re getting the hell out of this shit-hole.”

Lights blinked on around the bar. Mach felt hundreds of eyes bearing down on him. Two off-duty CWDF marines glared at him as he dragged Beringer past their table to the bookie’s desk. It always amazed him that people had never learned only criminals and fixers got rich off gambling. The same principle had applied throughout the ages.

Beringer held his smart-screen over the glass pad on the desk. The bookie wiped blood from his nose and confirmed the transfer of two point two million eros. Mach ended the recording on his screen and mailed it to Babcock, his technical expert on the Intrepid.

Sinju stood to the bookie’s side and glared at Mach. “I want to inspect your fighter. Those punches weren’t natural.”

“You inspected Adira before the fight,” Mach replied. Sinju had demanded Adira strip in the back room before entering his fighting cage. He patted down her clothes but was far too interested in staring at her breasts to notice the subtle variation in skin texture of the nanogloves.

“I’ll find out, and when I do…” Sinju said.

“I play by your rules in here. A bet’s a bet.”

The big criminal’s four fists clenched and he moved from behind the desk. Mach knew it wasn’t wise being close to him when his blood boiled and edged back. Sinju had a reputation for delivering a devastating headbutt, powering forward on his stocky legs and using the Summanus jet skull-cap to flatten facial features.

Adira appeared from a side door. Her left eye was swollen closed. She walked with a slight limp and held her ribs. The money would help ease the pain of her wounds. Beringer wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and they headed for the entrance.

“Time to go,” Mach said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

“I don’t think so, Mach,” Sinju said, standing between him and the entrance. Two men, dressed in faded blue OreCorps uniforms and armed with laser pistols, ran to his side.

Adira glanced back. Mach raised his chin, gesturing her and Beringer to climb the stairs and prepare their hover-bikes outside. He suspected something like this might happen. It didn’t take a quantum physicist to work out Sinju would be a sore loser.

The club remained silent as the patrons watched on, getting extra value for their bets—a free fight, on the house.

Mach raised his smart-screen. “I recorded the fight and the wager. If anything happens to me, it’ll be sent around the Sphere. How many people will visit your seedy operations if they wind up dead after winning a bet?”

The smooth hum of hover-bike engines drifted down the stairs.

Hatred burned in Sinju’s eyes. He turned to the DJ booth next to the bar and nodded. Loud music pumped through the speakers on the walls. He stepped closer to Mach. “This isn’t the end. I’ll be watching you. One false move, one sniff that you cheated me, and I’ll rip out your throat.”

“Will that be all?” Mach asked.

“Just fuck off and get out of my sight, you cockroach.”

Sinju stood to one side and waved his two goons away. Mach tensed when he walked past the big criminal, half expecting a strike, but none came. A message from Adira pinged on his screen: the Intrepid’s hover-bikes were ready, and she was waiting outside.

Mach stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned back. Sinju headed toward the bookie, no doubt wanting to find out the extent of the hit he had taken.

“Sinju,” Mach called.

The big criminal stopped and looked over his broad shoulder. Mach smiled and raised his two middle fingers.

Sinju roared, threw a table out of the way, and sprinted across the club. Mach clambered the steps, sucked in the alley’s glorious fresh air, and jumped onto the backseat of Adira’s bike. Beringer had already left. The pink rear light of his bike was already halfway to the port in the darkening sky.

“Full speed ahead. An angry man’s about to fly out the door.”

Adira punched the accelerator with her foot, and the bike thrust forward and gained altitude, away from the enclosed space of the stone buildings below. Sinju sprang out of the club’s entrance just in time to be blasted by a wake of dust. Mach laughed and waved, and decided the time was right for his backup plan, because why the hell not?

He pressed the button on his small remote detonator and twenty kilos of X91, military-grade explosives boomed into the night sky, bringing down the rear wall of the cube-shaped building.

It wasn’t enough to collapse it; Mach wasn’t that cruel, but it was enough to put Sinju out of business for a few months to make the repairs.

A cloud of steelcrete dust billowed up around the raging figure of Gracious Sinju as the old bastard rushed to see the extent of the damage.

“That was unnecessary,” Adira said.

“Sure, but you’re not complaining, are you?”

“Hell no. I hope he chokes on the dust.”

* * *

It didn’t take long to catch up with Beringer, who flew more cautiously toward the shaft of light radiating out of the Intrepid’s open fighter bay.

Mach had instructed Lassea, a former junior pilot of the CWDFIntrepid and now a solid member of his crew, to put the ship down on the edge of the landing zone. It was easier to spot in the fading light, unlike the mess of hundreds of dark shapes in the center of the paved strip.

“Nice hits back there,” Mach said and wrapped an arm around Adira’s waist.

She shrugged off his grip. “By that big oaf or me?”

“You did a great job. And, I’ve got some good news.” Mach switched his screen to the ship’s comm channel. “Lassea, prepare for an immediate takeoff. We’ve got a new mission.”

“Roger, Captain. Do you have coordinates?” she replied.

“The Vesta star port, we need to be there in forty-eight hours.”

“Consider it done.”

“Vesta?” Adira asked. “Beringer didn’t mention that.”

Mach looked across to the archeologist powering through the air on the other bike. His gray hair and cream trouser suit flapped in the wind. “We’re taking a diversion. Morgan’s just given us one hell of a reason to put Beringer’s job on the back burner.”

“I guess he doesn’t know that yet?”

“We’ll explain when we get to Vesta. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Mach grinned with the satisfaction of a job done well, and with more rewards to come.

Chapter 5

Lassea counted down the moments of the Intrepid’s landing on the vestan star port. “Docking in T minus ten, nine, eight, seven…” A square of twenty open hangars surrounded sixty ships of various sizes, each parked in spaces of an illuminated grid system. This place was exceptionally tidy, Mach thought, watching the camera’s feed on the bridge screen.

The young CWDF pilot handled the Intrepid as though it were her baby, bringing her down softly and with no mean skill. She turned from her console station and looked up at Mach sitting in his captain’s chair.

“Landing complete, Captain,” she said, beaming a smile.

“Good job, as ever, Lass,” Mach said. “That landing wouldn’t have even spilled my drink—if I had one.”

“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks flushing red.

On the station next to her, the vestan engineer, Tulula, made to leave her position.

Mach held up his hand. “Sorry, Tulula, you’re staying here.”

“What?” she asked, raising an arched eyebrow—an affectation she had got from spending so much time with Mach’s old war buddy, Sanchez.

“I mean it,” Mach said. “You lot are staying put until I know what the vestans’ defense council want with us. Morgan has declined the opportunity to elucidate on the particulars.”

“But this is my home,” Tulula said. “My people.”

“She’s got a point,” Sanchez, the big hunter said. His tanned skin the results of spending a month recovering from an operation on the tropical paradise of Jeeroniva. It gave him the appearance of a leather shoe sole.

“No,” Mach said. “She doesn’t have a point. I do—as captain of this vessel, and the payer of your wages, especially as I’m going to discuss the details of the next job.”

Beringer sighed like a petulant student.

“Problem, Beringer?” Mach asked as though he didn’t know the man’s issue: pissed that he’d have to wait a few more weeks before he could get his hands on his artifact.

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” he said. “Hell, I paid you, and here we are, on bloody Vesta.”

“Don’t worry, old man, you’ll get your ball to play with soon enough. It won’t take long, I’m sure.”

“Mach, this is President Morgan. Are you coming out, or do I need to come in there and get you myself?” the president’s voice garbled through Mach’s smart-screen. He rolled his eyes and engaged the microphone. “I’ll be right there, Morgan. Keep your panties dry.”

He shut off the audio segment of his smart-screen and turned to leave the bridge. “Babcock, you’re the new captain of the ship while I’m gone. I’d like you to oversee post-L-jump maintenance on the fusion crystals and have this bird ready to fly again at a moment’s notice. I don’t know how quickly we might have to leave.”

“Watch your back,” Adira said from her laser control station to the right of the bridge. She stood between Babcock and Tulula and disappeared between the pair of shadows.

She had healed well during the weeklong L-jump to Vesta.

Babcock’s floating fist-sized octopodal drone, named Squid for its appearance, had worked night and day while she was knocked out with powerful sedatives, working at the cellular level to increase her recovery rate.

Squid was in its third incarnation—the other two having come to a decidedly premature end. Still, Squid Three hovered about, wiggling its short limbs, being useful all over the ship from engineering and maintenance tasks to healthcare.

It even helped fix Adira’s ribs.

Bardoom had broken a few bones, but they had knitted back without any deformity using the latest in Babcock’s nanobone material, applied judiciously by Squid Three.

“Don’t get up to any mischief while I’m gone, kiddos,” Mach said, ducking through the bulkhead that separated the bridge from the central passageway. He eventually left the ship, climbing the ladders to the base of the vestan hangar.

Morgan stood waiting, wearing his presidential colors, various medals hanging off his left shoulder. Unlike the last few presidents, Mach knew full well that Morgan had indeed earned these decorations in service to the Commonwealth military.

Morgan was not for show.

There was nothing ceremonial about him—just business.

Two vestan guards, bulked out like baby Bardooms, accompanied Morgan, their weapons angled to the ground, but only a few inches from a firing position. The vestans wore dark gray fatigues, the color almost matching their skin.

The way they moved, as though their feet were never really in touch with the planet’s surface, unnerved Mach.

“Carson, my dear friend,” Morgan said. The older man clapped his hand on Mach’s shoulder. “So good to see you again.”

“Cut the crap, Morgan. What’s the deal this time? What ridiculous situation have you got yourself into and need me to clean up?”

The two vestans gave Mach an intense look, the kind of look that made him feel like shit on their shoes.

They escorted him across the hangar, through a door, and into a small security room, where they unceremoniously removed all potential weapons.

This shedding necessitated him wearing a vestan robe, the shoulders of which were too narrow, and the fabric too clingy.

“This is frankly bullshit,” Mach grumbled.

“It’ll be worth it, old pal,” Morgan said. “Just hear what the two councilors have got to say and you’ll be on your way again.”

The two guards, still not saying anything and giving off their acrid, burnt scent, led them through a series of nondescript corridors and elevators until they came to a circular building the width of an old football pitch.

Marble-like stone made up the structure. Cream colored with veins of gold and titanium, the material twisted upward in a cone shape. Following around the inner surface was a glass tube running on the vestans’ anti-gravity technology, taking various robed dignitaries to varied levels.

“Wait,” the first guard garbled when they approached the fancy tube elevation system. The guard whispered into his collar, the words in a language Mach had never been able to pick up: Vestan Minor—a purposely difficult language with untold metaphors layered one upon another until the original meaning had been abstracted to the ass-end of the Sphere and back.

“Going all the way up?” Mach said as they waited.

“Something like that,” Morgan said. “Defense.”

The guard stopped mumbling and stepped back. The door to the glass tube opened.

“In,” the guard said.

Mach shook his head and smiled. “You guys seriously need to work on your concierge skills.”

Their rifles twitched.

Mach quickly hopped inside. Morgan chuckled and followed.

“Later, fellas,” Mach said.

The door closed, and they were off, flying up the transtube to the defense department with surprising speed. Mach realized then that not only did the system have anti-gravity propulsion, but also the carriages themselves had localized gravity to equalize the g-force.

“Takes some fun out of things,” Morgan said.

“What does?”

“The lack of G-force.”

“I’m not sure about that. I can happily do without it; it reminds me too much of planet entry during the war. My guts developed an aversion to that.”

“I remember,” Morgan said. “I was often the one who had your vomit on my shoes.”

The carriage stopped just shy of the very top of the twisting marble tower.

They got out and walked down a short corridor, also made of marble. The whole place looked as if carved from of a single piece. The veins of gold and titanium matched from the outside wall surface to the inner contours of the corridor.

“The clever little buggers built this out of a single piece, didn’t they?” Mach said.

“Probably.” Morgan stopped outside of a set of double doors. They were made opaque, smoky. Morgan’s body language stiffened, and he leaned into Mach.

“Listen,” Morgan said, his voice hushed. “There’s no room for negotiation here, okay? Consider this an orientation, or a briefing—from a superior. In other words, Mach, keep that cakehole of yours shut.”

Mach held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whenever have I been known to be insensitive? It’s cool. I never have a problem with accepting a mission from an old friend—and now the CW president—on shady terms, with a price that’s conveniently the same as my fines, and with so little detail it could be anything. Why would that make me inquisitive?”

“I mean it,” Morgan said. “These guys are vestan thoroughbreds. We fought against them and their kind in the war. Those tensions run deep. But on this, we need each other. Just hear them out, be respectful, and you’ll soon be on your way. Just trust me, okay?”

“You know,” Mach said, “the last time you told me to trust you, I nearly died—as did the rest of my crew.”

“The emphasis on nearly. It’s because of the nearly-ness about you that you’re here. Now do me a favor, for old times’ sake, and just shut the hell up and listen for once.”

Mach indicated closing a zip across his lips.

Morgan sighed and shook his head before opening the two double doors and leading Mach inside.

“Beautiful place you’ve got here,” Mach said as soon as he stepped inside. “I like what you’ve done with the drapes.”

There were no drapes.

Morgan elbowed him in the ribs. “You couldn’t even be silent for one fucking minute, could you?”

Two vestans sat at the base of a phallic table. Mach smiled to himself, unable to resist the schoolchild humor. The vestans didn’t have that kind of anatomy, so to them it was just a practical shape. To humans—and Mach especially—it appeared as though they were sitting around a pair of particularly bulbous testicles. Probably better there than at the other end, he thought.

“Don’t you dare mention it,” Morgan said out the side of his mouth.

Mach could see the beginning of a smile on the old man’s face. Even being a war veteran and the president of a massive empire didn’t make one immune to a good dick joke. But for the sake of brevity, Mach kept quiet.

“Is this the agent?” The first vestan said. Morgan introduced him as Desolt. He was the younger and shorter of the two aliens and wore a cream robe that contrasted brilliantly against his dark skin.

“This is,” Morgan said. “Carson Mach—my finest agent and the perfect man for the job.”

Desolt slow-blinked, then scrutinized Mach in the bright room. The area must have easily been a thousand square feet. It was circular, and tall windows lined the walls, letting in the diffuse light of the Vestan sun.

A dense, foggy cloud obscured any further detail on the home world. Even getting this far was some achievement. The vestans were usually hyper-vigilant of who had access to their planet. Despite recently joining the CW from the Axis, they still hadn’t grown to trust the CW enough to allow carte blanche access to their planet.

As far as Mach was concerned, trust worked both ways.

But then everyone knew the CW only really wanted the vestans because of their tech. It provided an advantage over the Axis powers if war broke out again.

The other vestan stood from the ornate wooden testicles and approached Mach with long, elegant strides. He held out his hand in a more traditional greeting. Mach took it and shook it once before letting go.

The alien’s skin felt like mushrooms.

“We were enemies, once,” the vestan said in almost perfect Salus Common. “But now we’re here, working together. I welcome you to our home. I’m Ferban Maieesta, the councilor for defense. And this is my co-councilor, Desolt Lzaretti. We thank you for responding to our request. Please, take a seat, we have much to discuss and little time. We have a shuttle waiting to take you right away.”

The discussions were indeed brief. Mach made sure to pay attention to their request as they repeated to him what they had discussed with Morgan. Mach, naturally, had the same questions, but all they would tell him was that there was a threat on their secret planet called Terminus, and they needed a non-vestan to investigate.

Mach, knowing there were no negotiations, politely nodded and made mental notes as they explained that a shuttle would take him plus two members of his crew to the planet on a week-long L-jump.

“And you don’t know where Terminus is?” Mach said, unable to remain silent. He found it unbelievable that the planet from which their most important insights and technology came from remained unknown to them.

The two vestans shook their heads, mimicking the human gesture.

“No,” Ferban said. “Only the Guardians of the planet know. They send shuttles with programmed coordinates and bring resources as they need them.”

“And no one’s tracked one of these shuttles?”

“They’re designed to take obfuscated routes in such a situation. Besides, the planet itself has certain… defenses.”

That was it; that’s all Mach could get from them. They knew nothing else about this threat; only that something had killed one of the Guardians.

The discussions came to a swift end, and the Guardians escorted them from the tower. Mach was given fifteen minutes to speak with the Intrepid crew before he had to leave for Terminus.

Morgan disappeared to another part of the star port to talk with some of the CWDF fleets that had arrived ready for their patrols on outer vestan space. Mach rejoined the Intrepid’s crew in the mess—their natural appointed meeting area, mostly because of the availability of food and various stimulant-based beverages.

“Well,” Adira asked. She sat languidly at the end of the mess table, her feet up on the surface. The Bardoom-inflicted bruises on her face had almost faded to nothing. “What’s the situation?”

Mach relayed what he could to the crew.

Babcock looked over his steaming mug of coffee. “So, who’s the lucky pair to join you?”

That was a great question. Mach had thought about it since leaving the meeting.

He scanned around his motley crew and assessed them one by one:

First there was young Lassea, a former junior pilot of the Commonwealth Academy. Since joining his crew, she had grown from strength to strength and had become one of the best pilots he had ever known. She would stay, the Intrepid would need her—especially as Mach had reluctantly agreed to have the Intrepid join the rest of the CWDF fleet on their vestan patrol duties.

It would be a good experience for them, he had concluded. The mission he was going to undertake would require at minimum three weeks. He didn’t want his crew sitting around getting drunk, lazy, or fat in the meantime. Better to have them out there, working together, making a good impression with Morgan and the CW hierarchy. Perhaps then, they would get off their backs and give them some freedom.

Next to Lassea sat Sanchez, Mach’s oldest friend. The big, hulking hunter had recently undergone some seriously invasive surgery, and although Sanchez would argue that he was as fit as ever, Mach didn’t want to take that chance.

Babcock was Mach’s most intelligent member. Able to hack almost anything—often to his detriment—and a former exile, Babs wasn’t much of a people person. The Intrepid could do with his technical skill and experience. He too would stay and captain the ship in Mach’s absence.

Tulula, the vestan engineer—and somewhat romantic interest of Sanchez—had to stay. That was the vestans’ rules, so that was an easy choice. That left just two others: Adira, who he had always known he would take.

He loved her deeply, and if anything happened to her while he was away, he couldn’t live with himself. Besides, Adira had threatened to kill him in his sleep if he tried to leave her behind.

Which left just one more, and someone who strictly wasn’t part of Mach’s crew, Beringer.

“Okay,” Mach said, “here’s the deal. Everyone apart from Adira is staying here on the Intrepid and joining up with Tralis’ CW fleet. For the next foreseeable, you’ll be carrying out patrols—and possibly some combat, so Sanchez and Tulula, you’ll have some fun with the ion cannons and laser batteries.”

They whooped at that though Mach could see the disappointment on Sanchez’s face. But his mind wouldn’t be changed. His old friend, as skilled and as perfect as he would normally be for this kind of mission, was in no right state physically, or even mentally, yet.

Beringer looked at Mach, confusion written on his face. “What about me? I didn’t pay you your fee to be some military lackey.”

“That’s quite right,” Mach said. “How would you like it if I told you that you could come to the home of the vestans’ technology—and see their very origins.”

Tulula looked away, disgruntled, but she more than anyone knew she couldn’t go.

Beringer, however, perked up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I need two crewmembers to go with me. Your historical and archeological knowledge might come in handy. Besides, we owe you a trip, and while it’s going to take us a while to get your sphere, we can at least show you something cool.”

Beringer stood and raised his glass of Fides single malt. “I’m in!”

So that was that, then.

Mach issued basic orders, knowing Babcock would take care of the crew. He said goodbye to the others and left with Adira and Beringer to meet Morgan and the others by the awaiting shuttle.

But as they got into the small, boxy windowless craft and settled into their vertical stasis units for the weeklong L-jump, Mach noticed tension on Morgan’s face. The president leaned through the shuttle door, smiling at Mach and saying some usual protocol bullshit, but his attention and gaze were off somewhere else.

“Hey,” Mach said, leaning out of the front of his unit. “What’s up?”

Morgan snapped back to the present. “Oh? Nothing. I realized that we’re treading new ground here.”

“Is that all?” Mach had known Morgan for longer than anyone. Fought with him, under him, and against him at times. He knew when Morgan was holding something back, and it gave Mach a cold feeling in his guts.

Just what the hell had the old man got him involved with this time?

“That’s all,” Morgan said. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Just make sure you get back in one piece, okay?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah… you do.”

That tension again.

Mach didn’t have time to tease it out of him. The door of the shuttle closed and it started its countdown procedure. There was nothing to do; the whole thing was automated. With Adira and Beringer next him, Mach relaxed back and waited for the warmth of stasis sleep to come.

But as he drifted off, he knew in his heart something about this mission was very wrong—and that Morgan knew it too.

Chapter 6

Babcock gripped the arms of the captain’s chair. The Intrepid, along with four CWDF destroyers and a capital ship,  came out of L-jump a few AUs outside of Palios, the factory planet named after its giant sun.

The fusion engines wound down with a decreasing smooth roar, and the ghostly pink image on the bridge’s main screen solidified into the familiar dark of space.

The Axis attacked here twenty-four Standard Salus hours ago. They destroyed the electronics factories of Palios Major—a key part of vestan manufacturing infrastructure. Given the lack of alarm, it was clear the enemy had already left, no doubt to seek more prey on another rim planet.

Babcock had been here before, shortly after the Century War when he had made the decision to live in Exile. He came here looking for components to build the original Squid, the first of his automaton companions.

The current model, the third incarnation of this particular droid creation, floated above his left shoulder and chirped at the sight of two distant green planets—Palios Major and Palios Minor, or just Minor as most people called it.

“Configure the command channel back to the main speaker,” Babcock said. “Saves me the trouble of repeating the commander’s orders.”

“You got it,” Tulula said.

“Lassea,” Babcock said, feeling slightly guilty over dishing out orders. Leadership didn’t come naturally after years of seclusion, but he was the most experienced on the ship. “Engage the gamma drive and thrust away from the formation. Let’s keep our distance from this little soiree.”

Sanchez, sitting at the ion cannon’s controls, zoomed his guidance screen toward Palios Beta. Small gray mushroom clouds peppered the western side of the planet, mainly focused around the densely populated industrial zone.

Babcock bowed his head and sighed. It didn’t take a genius to work out the signs of a lactern space-to-surface missile attack.

Tulula turned from the comms system. “Captain Steros from the Chester coming on screen.”

The Chester, equipped with four laser turrets and an ion cannon that was no match for the Intrepid’s, formed the left flank of the destroyers’ diamond formation, protecting the four quadrants around the capital ship.

“Steros as in the son of the former president?” Babcock asked.

“That’s the one,” Lassea said.

An image flashed up showing a round-faced man with intense light blue eyes and thin lips, sitting too close to his camera. The family resemblance was obvious. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as Steros junior was concerned.

The small white orb-cam attached to the bridge’s ceiling slid level with Babcock. Its black eye swiveled toward him, and a small green light winked on. “Good morning, Captain Steros,” he said. “If we’re going off local time, of course.”

“You’re out of the formation. Thrust back to my flank.”

“May I remind you, we’re here for support,” Babcock said, masking his irritation at the abrupt response. “The Intrepid’s taking up a position to cover all Axis movements.”

Steros leaned closer and the screen filled with only his nose and narrowed eyes. “This is a CWDF patrol. You follow my orders. Return to your pre-jump position.”

Babcock guessed this would be the point where Mach told the young captain to take a walk out of the airlock. Babcock, however, decided to be proactive rather than reactive. “I’ve been observing horan maneuvers and picked up new attack moves. You won’t find them included in your training manuals.”

“You? What would an old freelance nerd know about modern space war?”

Sanchez grimaced and stepped toward the camera. Babcock extended his palm toward the big hunter to keep him at bay. They were clearly dealing with a person who enjoyed his lofty position as a destroyer captain—no doubt gained through his father. Steros wasn’t the first man to be drunk on the little amount of power he possessed, and wouldn’t be the last.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Babcock said in a calm voice. He selected a file on his smart-screen and sent it over to the Chester's bridge. “Please, run the simulation on a holoscreen.”

“Where did you observe this?”

“That’s my business,” Babcock replied, not wanting to give away his location of exile on the planet Minerva. He planned to go back one day and had no intention of having his retirement disturbed by the CWDF. “You have my word that this is genuine.”

Steros’ features softened, and he sat back. “What am I looking at?”

“I coined this move a horan whiptail,” Babcock said. “The graphics aren’t perfect, but you’ll get the general idea.”

Over Steros’ shoulder, one of his crew opened the file, and a green sphere flashed to life. In the center of it, six CWDF Class-3 destroyers, like the Chester, fanned out in an extended line.

Six horan ships, featureless rectangles of barely visible dark-gray illudinum, and of similar firepower, faced them in a V-formation, their standard attack mode. A lineup designed to punch through the central area and spread the CW fleet, picking off ships individually.

The young captain twisted in his chair to observe.

“We’re in a diamond shape,” Steros said. “If they come at us like that…”

The simulation started. Three horan ships formed up in front of the gaps of the middle four CW destroyers.

“They’re almost in range,” Babcock said. “But you can see how their three ships are keeping four occupied. At this moment, it’d be too risky for either side to engage in a head-on battle. Now watch.”

The three remaining horan ships navigated down to the left of the destroyers.

“Standard flanking move,” Steros said. “What’s different?”

“This is the point where the horans facing our center fire speculative shots at the individual destroyers. Three bolts at both flanks.”

“The horans don’t fire speculative shots.”

Babcock smiled and pushed his glasses against his nose. “You need to think again. What’s your modus operandi when facing three incoming?”

“We move into a new formation to combat the attack or take evasive action. Depends on how much time we have.”

“You thrust into a diamond, and it gives them a concentrated area of fire. Thrust away and it makes it six on four in their favor.”

The simulation showed all three flanking horan ships change course and sweep beneath the CW formation, enabling them to use their vestan-produced ion cannons to fire at the hulls of the central ships.

At the same time, the other three Axis ships launched a head-on attack. The file ran through five different scenarios Babcock had programed—all replicating typical CWDF moves.

None produced a favorable outcome.

Steros turned back in his chair to face him. “This is assuming that our center doesn’t move, or we hit them first.”

“Out of range against an equal force? Does that match the conventional wisdom of CWDF battle planning?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’ve calculated hundreds of ways to defeat their new strategy. Run the simulation back to the twenty-second point and I’ll show you the best.”

The young captain glanced to his left and nodded. The green sphere blurred and paused just after the point where three flanking horan ships were about to change course.

“There’s a small window where the horans crucially split their forces but aren’t in a position to jointly engage,” Babcock continued. “We turn their strategy against them by all thrusting away from their circling ships and attacking the ones designed to hold our center in position.”

“And by the time the flanking ships have got within range, we can turn our attention on them?”

“Exactly.”

At least Steros now seemed engaged. Fighting used to be relatively straightforward against the horans. The main Axis powers were driven by their superiority complex and firm belief that they were the kings of space battle. Humans were considered a new and inferior species.

During the Century War, they deployed aggressive tactics, often bordering on suicidal. Through strategy and guile the CW won, but the Axis powers were learning.

“You need to report this to Fleet Command,” Steros said in a softer tone. “And any other maneuvers you know about.”

Babcock smiled. “You can have this one on me. Keep the simulation and tell your bosses. Who knows, it might get you a promotion.”

Playing on Steros’ ego was an obvious way to go. Besides that, Babcock had no desire to please the head honchos on Fides Prime. His main focus was to survive, and the slippery Commonwealth career ladder meant nothing to him.

His interests were in the pursuit of science.

Steros cracked a half smile. “Very generous, Captain Babcock. I’ll be sure to pass on your information. Now, back to my original point—”

“You were going to tell me to maintain position in case we encountered horans, and they tried a whiptail move? I agree that proactively patrolling outside your formation would avoid them launching this type of offensive.”

“Err…yes. I’ll inform the commander of my decision. That’ll be all.”

Lassea held her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Sanchez relaxed back in his chair and smiled.

“Thank you, Captain Steros,” Babcock replied. “We’ll maintain course and keep you updated.”

The main bridge screen flashed back to a view of the Palios system. Babcock sighed and dabbed beads of sweat off his forehead with a white handkerchief. Conflict had never been his forte.

“What a tool,” Sanchez said, shaking his head. “I’d love to go five rounds with him in a fidian fighting pit.”

“Only an idiot refuses to change their mind,” Babcock replied. “He’s no idiot. Hopefully, my information will keep him off our case.”

The comms system pinged. Tulula read the message and said, “The commander wants you and Steros to join a virtual conference immediately. What do humans say about lucky days?”

* * *

Babcock knew why Tralis wanted a virtual conference to convey orders. They served together during the Century War, and the commander had always believed in using the correct chain of command. Any person who served in the Fleet understood it, but to people like Sanchez, it was official bullshit. That was another reason why Mach had made Babcock temporary captain. He needed a person who understood the nuances.

Laser arrays in the small, white-walled technology suite scanned Babcock’s body, creating a virtual image of him sitting at a table to transmit. The holographic shape of Tralis appeared first, inches to his left, dressed in his crisp dark blue uniform. Steros appeared seconds after to his right, looking a lot more attentive than their first meeting. In a real environment, all of them would be conscious about the lack of space.

“Thank you for joining,” Tralis said. “I’ll be brief. We’ve received reports of another attack on a border planet. I want the Chester and Intrepid to head for Erebus and intercept any enemy in the area.”

“Any information about—“ Babcock said.

“Do you have any information?” Steros interrupted. “What might we be facing, sir?”

Tralis glanced between them, maintaining a neutral expression. “Two lactern frigates deployed orbital bombers. We need a win, gentlemen. The Axis will continue to attack vestan interests until we show them we’re serious about the treaty.”

“Count on me to lead our mission,” Steros said. “If they’re in the vicinity, I’ll flush ‘em out.”

“Nobody leads,” Tralis replied. “I want you to work together. Captain Babcock has the advantage of experience, speed, and firepower. It’s to our benefit that he’s here to help, and we need to be a cohesive unit.”

Steros forced a smile and inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”

The junior captain clenched his fist.

Babcock didn’t completely blame Steros for appearing to have his nose put out of joint. Plenty of young guns wanted to make a reputation for themselves, and the Intrepid wasn’t an official part of the Fleet. In similar circumstances, a lifetime ago, he might have felt the same.

“Any questions, Captain Babcock?” Tralis asked.

“No questions. My crew will coordinate a travel plan with Captain Steros’ and head straight there.”

“Excellent. Report any contact immediately, and good luck.”

Tralis rose from his chair, and the laser arrays cut, ending the conference. Both holograms immediately vanished, returning the small room to its former plain white state.

Babcock made his way back along the corridor, thinking about the mission’s potential risks. The lactern frigates were an obvious one, but so was a man desperate to make an impression or stamp his authority at the wrong time. Babcock’s smart-screen lit up as he reached for the authentication pad to enter the bridge.

A message from Tralis:

Kingsley: do not mind him. He’s an impetuous little sod, but he means well. Keep an eye on him, and you won’t have a problem.

Babcock fully intended to do just that.

He didn’t trust Steros to be a reliable partner in action, but a plan was already formulating in his mind.

Chapter 7

Mach’s mind rang with internal dialogue praising the lord of all that is merciful! For now, the nightmares were over. They’d been the worst Mach had ever experienced in an L-jump. And they just had to be during a weeklong jump. He thought they’d never end.

“Anyone else lose their minds?” Mach asked the darkness before him. He could feel Beringer’s and Adira’s presences near him, tucked away in the stasis pods.

The shuttle smelled of sweat and mildew, indicating the lids had opened—which also meant they were at their destination. Mach knew the shuttles would only open arrival to Vesta.

A yawn sneaked up on him, making his jaw click with the violence of it. His body ached, desperately in need of movement and real air. Though he remembered they would not get that on Terminus and tried not to think about having to spend the entire mission breathing from a bottle.

A light the color of freshly cut grass and the size of a fist blinked somewhere off to his right. It gave the small shuttle a weird effect, as though he were trapped in some ancient sonar screen.

Over his head, the door to the shuttle hissed and popped, sliding back into the carcass of the craft. Light-gray smoke billowed out into the cold atmosphere outside. It caught in the back of Mach’s parched throat. He coughed and saw lights flash in front of his eyes.

Heaving himself up from his semi-prone position made the lights angry. They morphed into nebulous blobs of reds and purples that reminded him of the intestines of the ginnell shark—a prized delicacy back on Fides Prime.

The bright purple fish-offal did nothing for him, personally, except to make his guts feel like someone had routinely punched them for half his life—much like how they felt now.

The damned stasis muscle stimulator had clearly gotten carried away.

“Hey,” Mach shouted. “Anyone hear me?”

“Keep your voice down, will ya?” Adira said. “I’ve got a headache from hell.”

“I’m glad to hear those dulcet tones once more,” Mach said. “I had the worst nightmares ever.”

“You became celibate?”

“That would have been preferable to the horrors I saw,” Mach replied, trying not to recall those dreadful images. And failing, because if someone says to you don’t think of an elephant, that is exactly what you think of. The imagination is a vindictive son-of-a-bitch like that.

“Where are we?” a different voice said this time. Older, male: Beringer.

For a while, Mach had forgotten they had brought him along. But it was the clarity he needed, the final nail in the subconscious coffin—they were there. They were at Terminus!

Mach blinked the stasis-crud from his eyes and stood up, stepping outside of the shuttle into the cold dark of their surroundings.

The sodden clothes he wore, dampened by the stasis fluid, dripped with water to the ground, tapping like tiny, soluble crystals against a stone surface.

His bare feet transmitted the coldness up through his legs, chilling every muscle and tendon, bringing with it the tight pain of cramp in muscles previously starved of correct movement.

Not even the hi-tech vestan stasis system could prevent that, much to Mach’s chagrin. He turned back and helped the other two out of the shuttle. The three of them began to unload the craft of their supplies, of which amounted to no more than a single case of clothes, atmospheric suits, and various stims and nutri-shots. They weren’t allowed to bring their weapons or smart-screens, naturally.

“Someone’s coming,” Beringer said from Mach’s left. “I can hear footsteps.”

The older man was shivering like he would fall dead any minute. The darkness of the room lightened by progressively lighter shades of gray until Mach noticed Adira to his right, peeling off her sodden clothes.

The room they were in was completely devoid of any meaningful detail. Dark grey stone made up the surface of floor. And the walls, as far as he could tell. The place was at least large enough for five shuttles, and when he looked up, he saw a tiny sliver of white light between two long panels: a bay door, he thought. That’s how they must have come in.

A brighter light flashed on, blinding Mach. He held up his hand to his squinted eyes. A dark, tall shape came toward him. It was much taller than he, and willowy so that it almost seemed to shimmer in the brilliant illumination.

“Stand still,” the voice said in Salus Common. It resonated with more octaves and nuances than Mach could resolve. There was something almost musical about it, the way it seemed to phase in and out of keys and suggest more meaning than Mach could discern.

The figure before them reached out a thin hand, taking Mach by his wrist.

Mach tried to pull back, but the tall, lithe figure was much stronger than he had anticipated, and it snapped a cold, metal bracelet to Mach’s wrist.

Then it did the same to Beringer and Adira.

No one said anything for a moment. Mach tried to get his bearings, get his thoughts running smooth like the Intrepid’s engines again, but the cloud of stasis fog in his mind wouldn’t play fair.

“I’m Kortas,” the figure said. “Your Terminus representative. I am to brief you on the task and be your point of contact for the Guardians. You will do as we tell you. Come, we have limited time available to us. Afron’s mind has less than fifty standard hours before it’s no longer connective.”

“Connective?” Adira asked. She had finished putting on her dry clothes and looked at Kortas with no sense of surprise or bewilderment. The stims, Mach thought. The medical procedures she had after her fight must have held back some of the effects of the weeklong stasis.

“I’ll explain more shortly. For now, you three will require your protective suits. Terminus’ atmosphere is in its regression phase. It will be quite toxic for you, and our air supplies for this bay are finite: we don’t receive guests normally, you understand.”

There was a sound of bitterness to those words, Mach thought. Although he couldn’t make out Kortas’ face in the silhouette, it didn’t take a genius to detect the underlying resentment for their presence.

Kortas disappeared back into the light, leaving the others to do as he suggested. Mach glanced down at the bracelet wrapped round his wrist and for a brief moment couldn’t remember how it got there. It was heavier than it looked: a centimeter-wide band of polished chrome with a single pinhead dot of red light blinking in the middle.

“You can see us, can’t you?” Mach said as though he were a madman.

“Who are you talking to?” Adira said as she opened the case of supplies and pulled out the atmospheric suits.

“They’re watching us,” Mach replied.

“A bit early for paranoia, isn’t it?” Beringer grumbled. The older man had removed the last of his wet clothes and started to dry himself off.

“It’s never too early when vestans are concerned,” Mach responded.

For the next ten minutes, they all got themselves dried and suited up.

Without having to tell anyone they were ready, a sliding door at the end of the shuttle bay opened up. Kortas’ long frame stood there and gestured for them to follow.

Mach stepped forward, glancing at his bracelet, wondering just what it was capable of doing. He doubted it was just a listening or tracking device. He had fought these people in the War; he knew of what they were capable

And then he thought of Morgan, and the feelings Mach had had before leaving.

None of this felt right, he thought. Not right at all.

* * *

A few hours, and a few liters of coffee later, Mach and the others felt more human. At least for Mach, he was happy that the stasis-fog had gone. He wasn’t quite thinking as clearly as he would like, but at least he could manage more than a few weak thoughts.

They were sitting in another spectacularly dull room. Nothing more than an off-white cube with a table in the middle, around which they all sat. Mach, Beringer, and Adira were wearing their suits, but with the masks down—the air supplied to this room, Kortas had assured them, was plentiful.

The vestan sat at the head of the table in his cream robes. They contrasted against his dark, almost glossy skin. Completely hairless, his head was elongated and narrower than the regular vestans; he was thinner and taller too.

Although the vestans had an innate ability to shape-shift their appearance and limbs to suit their situation, they still held a core appearance, which to Mach’s eyes was markedly different to Kortas—a so-called Guardian.

“So,” Beringer said, his face attentive as he soaked in all the details and making Mach confident he had made the right choice bringing the archeologist and historian along with them. “You were talking about the Guardians’ role here. How is that affected by Afron’s disappearance?”

Kortas leaned his bony elbows onto the edge of the white table. “Your minds couldn’t comprehend the change,” he said, but without malice. “It is our task to ensure the minds of the Saviors and all those that came after them remain with us. With fewer Guardians to hold this mental network together, the harder it is for us to retain this information.”

“Fascinating!” Beringer said. His hand twitched as though it were grasping a pen or gesturing over a holoscreen. The bracelet on his wrist clanked against the tabletop, prompting Adira to hold her wrist up to Kortas.

“And what is the purpose behind these? You were quick to take advantage of our confused post-stasis condition, weren’t you?”

Whether Kortas took offense to this, Mach couldn’t tell. The vestan remained still, impassive, and simply responded, “It is as much for your protection as it is ours.”

“Explain that further,” Adira said, squinting her eyes at him.

Kortas clasped his long fingers together and leaned a little closer. “We need to see and hear what you see and hear,” he said as if that explained everything. “We also need to ensure the safety of our Saviors and the dead.”

Mach realized then exactly what they were: remote weapons. “So you can terminate us if needed?” Mach said.

“If you wish to see it that way, then yes,” Kortas said. “You have to understand, Terminus is the most important aspect of vestan civilization. I don’t expect you to grasp the full consequences of its role, but know this: without Terminus, the Commonwealth will fall. The Salus Sphere has greatly benefitted from the minds of the Saviors. From culture to technology, philosophy—”

“And war,” Mach added. “Let’s not be coy here. Your so-called Saviors’ technology and weapons killed billions.”

“And so did your kind,” he said.

“Fine,” Mach added, shaking his head. “I guess this won’t get us anywhere. I get it, you can kill us whenever you please, but you still need us more than we need you. You wouldn’t have shipped us out here if that weren’t the case. Our so-called unevolved minds cannot communicate with your dead. Without us, you cannot recover Afron’s mind. So let’s just put all our cards on the table, as it were, and get down to business. What happened to your fellow Guardian, and what do we need to do to get him so we can leave you lot in peace?”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Kortas said. He stood and placed a small cube in the middle of the table. With a single press on its surface, a three-dimensional hologram flickered into life.

“Here’s our recording of the incident,” Kortas said. “Afron was sent out to a fault in the structure between zones one and two. It’s situated a few hundred meters from one of the fusion generators.”

Beringer’s interest picked up here. “That’s how you keep the sacred grounds from being frozen like the rest of the planet, right?”

“Indeed,” the vestan replied. “As well as provide power for our facilities and well-being for the remaining nineteen Guardians—including myself.”

The group watched the video play out in three dimensions.

Afron made his way through an old mausoleum that was crawling with vines and moss over the stone brickwork. In the middle of the dank room stood a translucent tube with a body inside.

“Who’s that?” Adira said. “Inside the tube?”

“A minor figure in our rich history,” Kortas said. “It’s not important to this task. Please, continue to watch. You’ll see how poor Afron got caught in amongst the vines.”

They followed the instructions and saw, in high-definition, Afron peer through a tunnel in the rubble of the structural fault—and then mayhem. The poor vestan tried to flee… something, but couldn’t manage to save himself. His neck was trapped, around which coiled a thick green vine-like limb.

Afron disappeared down the tunnel.

The video flickered and faded to black.

“And that’s all you have?” Mach said.

“It is. We’ve provided you each a copy on your bracelets. You’ll find that it works as a small hologram projector as well as… well, you understand.”

Adira requested the video be replayed, and as she watched, Kortas left the room to prepare their transport to the facility. With him out of the room, the group began to suggest what might have happened to Afron.

“To me,” Mach said. “It looks like he fell into the tunnel.”

Adira shook her head. “The physics is all wrong. I’d say something dragged him.

“Which,” Beringer added, “brings us to the question of by what?”

“You’re not buying the idea that it’s a vine?” Mach said. “It wouldn’t be the first time for the existence of a predatory vine. I’ve cut my way through them on Gasetta. Strong damned things when they get a scent of you.”

Beringer stroked his chin and twisted the corner of his mouth up. He stared at the hologram now playing on a loop.

Kortas reentered the room and announced that their transport was ready to take them to the mausoleum for a closer inspection. “I’ll show you to your vehicle,” the vestan said, gesturing for them to leave the room through the door from which he had come. “It’ll take a few hours, so the quicker we start…”

Mach and the others followed him through a series of blank corridors that Mach had the impression were set up purely to confuse them so that they remembered nothing of their facilities’ true layout.

And all throughout this, Mach saw nothing of detail anywhere: no text, imagery, other Guardians—just a couple of blank rooms and the holographic film.

Their transport sat in a similar docking bay to the one they had first experienced. Only instead of a shuttle, there was a sleek hover-pod waiting for them, its gullwing doors open. The inside looked comfortable with its fabric seats and traditional cockpit dashboard lit up with internationally standard controls. Not that they could use them.

Kortas had informed them it was strictly on autopilot.

The vehicle was entirely vestan in its design: black, all curves and no sharp angles. It was like a pill with a slightly narrow nose. Mach, Adira, and Beringer got inside.

“When you reach the site,” Kortas said, leaning into the transporter, “take things slow. Investigate everything, and take nothing for granted. And above all: do not touch or interfere with the body.”

“How will we send all this data back to you?” Mach said, glancing again at the bracelet.

“We’ll instruct you further when you’re there. But we’ll see what you see, and hear what you hear. Do not deviate from the task, and we won’t be forced to…” He trailed off, letting Mach get the gist of the warning.

“What about weapons?” Mach said.

“There’s a small cache in the transporter’s trunk—but let me say in no uncertain terms: they are for purely exceptional circumstances. Their misuse will result in us being forced to—“

“I get it,” Mach said impatiently, holding up the bracelet. “You’ll zap us from your secret hideout. Now if there’s nothing else, can we get the hell out there and deal with this? I’d rather not be here for a minute longer than I have to.”

Although not responding, Mach could tell from the twisted lips on Kortas’ face that he felt the same way.

“As you wish,” the vestan said, stepping back.

The doors to the transporter closed with a near-silent clunk. The docking bay opened to a dull Terminus morning: a picture of weak gray light from the distant sun blanketed the place in a monochromatic shawl. The transporter’s engines whined, they rose a meter off the ground, and then they were off, moving forward toward their destination.

After about ten minutes of this, Beringer, sitting in the back of the transporter and watching the holographic film play from the small projector on his bracelet, looked up, his face pale.

“What is it?” Adira said, from the copilot seat, staring back at the older man.

Mach turned to face him too.

“Beringer,” he said, “talk to us, what is it?”

The archeologist freeze-framed the video on the moment Afron disappeared from the picture. He zoomed into the vestan’s blurred face. “There,” Beringer said, gesturing with his free hand to a dark shape around Afron’s neck.

“Shit,” Mach said. “That’s no vine.”

“What is it?” Adira said.

“That,” Beringer said, “is an arm. A vestan arm.”

Chapter 8

The hover pod’s engines decreased in tone, and it bumped against the ground. Its gull-wing door smoothly rotated upward. Mach peered outside at a mausoleum bathed in weak light, matching the projection from Beringer’s bracelet. Other vine-strangled stone buildings surrounded it in a disorderly formation, but this was the only one with its door open.

Beringer cut the holographic image and swallowed hard. “If the bodily dimensions are typical, we’re looking at…”

“What?” Mach said.

“A vestan bigger than any we’ve seen before. Twice our size.”

Mach raised his bracelet. He wasn’t exactly sure how it worked, but knew the Guardians would be watching and listening. “Caught in vines, you said.”

Nobody responded.

“Screw this,” Adira said. “I’m grabbing the weapons.”

She jumped out of the pod, moved toward the back of it, and returned moments later with three graphite laser pistols. Mach had used this type of weapon before, after scavenging a pair from a downed atmosphere fighter during the war. The lasers were good enough for twenty shots if fully charged.

“I know you’re there,” Mach said. “Who took your colleague?”

“The images are inconclusive,” Kortas said through Mach’s bracelet. A red holographic image of the guardian’s thin face appeared out of the pinhead light. “Your theory is wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Beringer asked. “I know a vestan arm when I see one.”

“None of our living species arrived by ship and have set foot on this planet. It’s physically impossible for the dead to rise, and we’ve picked up no extra mind signals.”

Beringer frowned. “I don’t see how it could be anything else.”

“Perhaps it’s a replicant? We’re the ones with Terminus knowledge and would know if it was a brother.”

The only replicants Mach knew lived twenty light-years away and were a peaceful species that had never traveled beyond their system. When he first came across a group of them during a hunting trip with Sanchez, they invaded his thoughts and turned from transparent spheres into fidians he had once known—cocktail waitresses.

“No offense,” Adira said, which usually meant she was about to be offensive. “But your knowledge can’t be that great on these matters, considering an unknown tunnel-digging maniac killed one of you right in front of your eyes.”

Kortas’ head spun to face Adira. “Firing a laser inside our mausoleums is prohibited. Be careful where you use them—and only then as a last resort.”

“What if we corner it inside?” Adira replied.

“You’re allegedly the best agents. I assume you’ll use ingenuity. We’ll be watching you.”

The thinly veiled threats were becoming tiresome. Mach bit his lip and resisted the temptation to thrust his fist through the projection. He wanted this job over and done with, and the bracelet off. He was also conscious that whatever wrapped an arm around the guardian’s neck in the footage might burst out of the mausoleum at any moment.

“Leave it with us,” Mach said. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Kortas turned to Mach. “Your measurement of time—”

Mach slapped his hand over the pinhead, cutting off the holographic image and muffling the guardian’s response. “Let’s get it over with. I already hate this place.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Adira said. She tossed the other laser to Beringer. “Stay close, and shout if you see any signs of movement.”

Beringer fumbled with the weapon and glanced up. Something caught his eye outside, and he rushed out of the pod.

Mach immediately followed across the damp, weed-covered ground and grabbed the old archeologist’s shoulder. “Not so fast. We stick together.”

“That statue,” Beringer replied, pointing to a moss-covered stone creature on top of a neighboring mausoleum. “I’ve only seen it in ancient fidian books.”

“This ain’t a field trip until we complete our mission. Follow my lead.”

Adira moved across to the mausoleum’s open door and pointed her laser through its gloomy entrance. Mach scanned the local area. Forty meters beyond the collection of buildings, a two-story-high metallic boundary, stretched into the distance in both directions. A wall of ice jutted against its outer side. From space, Terminus must’ve looked like a giant white marble with a small green square in the middle of it.

Something rustled to Mach’s left. He turned to see Beringer swiping foliage away from the mausoleum wall. The archeologist ran his hand against alien images carved into the stone.

“Beringer!” Mach shouted. “Get over here.”

Mach joined Adira at the entrance. A thin red glow brightened the bottom of a stone staircase. Without wanting to waste any time, he extended his laser forward and descended, carefully treading down each step.

The temperature in Mach’s prosthetic eye rose a notch. A quiet electric hum echoed along the walls. Adira’s and Beringer’s footsteps followed closely behind. He entered the main chamber and swept his laser across it.

Data streamed across a screen on the wall, providing a soft ambient glow. A black thick cable ran from it into a translucent tube in the center of the room. The naked vestan, suspended by liquid inside, sent a shiver down Mach’s spine. The thought occurred to him that some of the aliens on Terminus might have met their end at his hand.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Adira said.

Beringer placed his hand on the tube. “Fascinating. He must have some stories to tell.”

Adira shrugged. “Like how he had his brain kept alive while being trapped in a tube for centuries?”

“You know what I mean,” Beringer replied. “He could clear up parts of the Sphere’s prehistory. Before fidians started documenting.”

“And kill our myths? I’m sure the priests would love that.”

Mach ignored the conversation, crept around the side of the floating corpse, and crouched by a small pile of rubble. He activated his helmet light and flashed its blue light beam through the dark circular tunnel. His HUD sensors picked up a gentle breeze.

The tunnel initially cut through dirt and headed down at a slight gradient, underneath the boundary wall, and split in two directions, confirming that something had burrowed its way to the mausoleum from outside the vestan complex.

“Know anything that lives under ice and attacks above the ground?” Mach asked Beringer.

“Only sea creatures. Nothing like this.”

Adira raised her bracelet. “Kortas, what used to live here?”

“We’ve managed the consecrated land since its establishment,” Kortas replied. “No vestan has intentionally gone beyond the walls.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Mach said.

“This is the first recorded occasion of unknown life.”

Getting information out of Kortas was as painful as catching fingers in a slamming door. Mach consoled himself that heading down the tunnel at least took them away from the boundary and the guardian’s rules. He could also shoot on sight without having to worry about his bracelet detonating. Mach activated the ice setting on his boots. Sixteen black crampon teeth lowered out of the bottom of his soles and bit into the ground. “Ready to do this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Adira said.

“Great, you cover our rear. Beringer, keep your eyes peeled for any clues about what we might be facing.”

“Seriously?” Beringer asked. “We’re going down there?”

“If it’s a vestan, I’ve battled them a hundred times, killed hundreds of them before.” Mach smiled to himself, imagining Kortas listening from the control room. “The Guardians should thank me. I’ve been good for business.”

“And I want off this planet as soon as we can,” Adira said. “You’re welcome to stay and chew the fat with Kortas if you like, Beringer.”

“Look on the bright side,” Mach said to Beringer. “At least you’re seeing a place that none of your fellow nerd curators at the museum ever will.”

Beringer peered down the tunnel with fear in his eyes. Mach felt a little sorry for him. What the old man originally thought was a trip to collect an artifact had turned into a hunt for a monster. Still, it’ll be character building for him, Mach thought.

“Trust me,” Mach said. “Stick together, and we’ll keep you safe.”

“You and safe go together like skin and broken glass,” Beringer said.

Mach smiled at the response and entered the tunnel. The icy ground crunched beneath his boots. A smooth spiral indent ran along the walls and twisted into the darkness. It suggested whoever created the tunnel had mechanical assistance, and a wider space below to deposit the debris. It also meant they had intelligence—and motivation.

Crazy aliens were usually easy prey.

Crazy intelligent aliens were a completely different matter.

Mach remembered a mission to catch a fidian with a God complex called Torace. The mad little alien lived alone on one of Fides Gamma’s moons and dedicated his life to building a giant laser fifty times bigger than anything the CWDF possessed. Torace planned to control the Sphere under threat of destruction if anyone defied him. When Mach went to capture him, the little bastard set up booby traps around his complex. One broken arm and a crushed foot later, Mach finally managed to complete the mission. Torace still sent spiteful messages from his cell on Summanus, although they were becoming less frequent.

Thirty meters into the tunnel, solid dirt changed to frozen green and purple foliage. A drop of water hit the top of Mach’s visor and rolled down the surface. The temperature reading in his eye increased again. He continued forward and reached the split.

One side led to a dead end of icy rubble, explaining the location of the material gouged out of the tunnel. The other direction led down at a steeper incline. Thin streams of water trickled down the walls and formed into a small flowing channel.

“Are you seeing this, Kortas?” Mach asked and waited a few seconds for a response. “Don’t pretend you’re not there.”

“You may be seeing the effects of the planet’s core,” Kortas said through the bracelet.

“Bullshit,” Mach snapped. “We’d need to be far lower. I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling us. Where’s this heat source coming from?”

“I’m afraid I have no data on that. All this is beyond our realm of responsibility.”

“We might be close to a magma chamber,” Beringer said. “Or an artificial power source…”

“No artificial power sources exist,” Kortas said.

“Oh no?” Mach replied. “What created the line in the tunnel?”

“I have no scientific explanation,” Kortas said and paused for a moment. “It might be a natural phenomenon.”

“Or a mining drill. I’ve seen similar patterns in the mountains of a Noven mining planet.”

“Impossible. We don’t have that kind of machinery or your crude tools here; the Saviors built everything you see here many millennia ago. If there were drills or other tools from your kind, we would have long ago discovered them.”

The contempt in the guardian’s voice was obvious. Mach traversed down the steeper path, digging his crampons into the increasingly softer ice. His helmet light beamed into a wider space below. He dropped to his ass and slid the last four meters into a cavity the size of a regular human house.

Two metal crates bulged out of the ice on the opposite side of the cavity. Both had jagged rips along their centers. Mach wasn’t an expert in alien text, but he recognized black vestan symbols stamped on both of them.

Beringer slid down the tunnel and landed in a heap. He brushed slush off his suit and stared at the two crates.

“What do you make of that?” Mach asked.

“It’s their old style of writing. I can’t translate it.”

“Luckily we’ve got a voyeur who can.”

Mach swept his manacle—bracelet didn’t seem the right term anymore—across the crates, ensuring Kortas got a perfect view of the symbols. Mach edged forward and aimed his laser through the dark crack in the closest crate. The jagged rent edges of metal had been forced out to create a large gap. Nothing lay inside. He moved across to the second one. This one had been forced inwards.

A single black muscular arm, the length of Mach’s body, lay propped against a solid bench. It looked exactly like the limb that had wrapped around the guardian’s neck in the holographic footage. A pool of frozen yellow blood surrounded the stump; more of it had spattered against the interior walls.

“Are you still there, Kortas?” Mach asked. “Something’s been ripped to pieces down here.”

“Reception isn’t possible.”

Mach rolled his eyes. “An opinion would be helpful. What does it say on the crates?”

“The text says nothing. It’s a standard shipping container.”

“There’s nothing standard about it,” Adira said. “It must say something.”

“You also said no vestan had intentionally gone beyond the walls,” Beringer added. “It seems there’s a lot of things that have happened here that you don’t know about.”

“Millions of containers have the same code,” Kortas replied. “They’ve been used for hundreds of your generations to transport goods. Please investigate further.”

Beringer focused his helmet light on the severed limb. “Are you sure you know the history of Terminus? That arm’s one hundred percent vestan, and it might have been down here a very long time.”

“Retrieve the arm after you’ve found Afron,” Kortas replied in a neutral tone. “We’ll conduct tests on it to establish its origin.”

“Are you blind?” Adira said with more than a hint of irritation. “Look at the evidence. Here’re two vestan containers. Something has broken out of one and probably murdered the occupant of the other. The arm clearly matches your form.”

“Don’t lecture me on our sacred land. I’ve been here since before humans left their home world.”

Mach shook his head. “What dirty little secrets are you hiding?”

Kortas didn’t reply.

The tunnel descended further past the containers. Its melting walls widened and brightened in the distance. Mach knew if they wanted to complete their mission, the only option was to continue down, find the dead vestan and kill the alien responsible for the attack. Their beliefs blinded the Guardians, but that was irrelevant.

A deep roar echoed up the tunnel.

Mach and Adira crouched and aimed their weapons. Beringer staggered, his back slamming with a thud against the cavity wall.

“You need to start talking,” Mach shouted into his manacle.

The pinhead light flashed in rapid succession. The manacle tightened around Mach’s wrist, making him wince with pain. It vibrated and whistled a high-pitched tone.

“Proceed with your mission,” Kortas said. “This is your final warning.”

“Final warning for what?” Mach replied through gritted teeth. “We’re here to sort out your shit, at you request, remember? Why don’t you ask your supposed Saviors about the containers?”

“Beyond the walls, vestans don’t have influence. Your theories are unsubstantiated and blasphemy. This discord will not be tolerated.”

“Tolerated?” Mach asked. “Open your eyes, Kortas. Whatever came out of this container was put here by one of you lot, whether in the distant past or more recently.”

“Your statement is dangerous. We can’t permit that. How dare you accuse us!” Kortas snapped.

The manacle’s blinking light changed to solid green. Adira winced and dropped her laser. Her light had also changed. She screamed, grabbing her wrist with her other hand, her eyes shut tight against the gripping pain.

“Stop!” Beringer called before he too collapsed to the ground, holding his wrist.

Mach’s manacle continued to tighten. He thought it would crush his bone. Pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder, and for a brief moment he thought he might pass out.

Chapter 9

Babcock eased himself back into the captain’s chair and ran through horan and lactern battle simulations on his smart-screen. He had never expected to be captaining an advanced ship on an intercept mission during his exile but knew when he had accepted the offer to freelance in Mach’s crew, anything was possible.

Squid Three hovered over his shoulder, extended its tentacles, and chirped.

“Go to engineering,” Babcock replied. “I’d rather you run diagnostics from there if we encounter any problems.”

Sanchez smiled and leaned over the back of his chair. “Does your little machine speak, or was that just for our benefit?”

“Why would it be for your benefit?” Babcock asked although he suspected the big hunter was teasing. “I stopped trying to impress people thirty years ago.”

“You impress the hell out of me!”

Squid Three drifted out of the bridge, and the door hissed shut.

Distant stars streaked across the bridge’s main viewscreen. A 3D image on the navigation console showed a small outline of the Intrepid rapidly approaching Erebus’ heliosphere.

Lassea deftly manipulated the holocontrols and spun the central cube to the engine systems. “L-jump deceleration in ten seconds. Preparing the gamma drive.”

The crew ran like a well-oiled mech. Babcock hardly had to lift a finger after he gave coordinates for a rendezvous location agreed upon earlier with Captain Steros. The CWDF destroyer’s L-drive was no match for the Intrepid’s, so they had ten minutes to scan the area before it arrived. This suited Babcock. It gave him a chance to assess the situation before the hot-blooded young captain showed up.

Tulula activated the laser controls and peered at the target screen. Sanchez did the same at the ion cannon console. They glanced at each other for a brief moment. It was nice to see they had formed a meaningful relationship. Babcock had always believed that coming through adversity together formed stronger bonds between humans and aliens, and these two were living proof of his theory.

A high whine from the fusion engines descended to a low hum. The viewscreen momentarily blurred and cleared to a view of the immediate area of space in the Erebus system.

“Scanning for energy sources,” Tulula said.

The comms system pinged five times in quick succession. Tulula slid across to it. “We’re picking up multiple signals on the galactic distress frequency.”

“Where from?” Babcock asked.

“Two seconds.” Tulula scrolled through the streams and turned. Her shiny black facial features contorted. “Escape pods from Orbital Hibock. They’re still in location.”

“Overlay its position on the scanner,” Babcock said.

Tulula returned to the controls. A red spherical image appeared on the screen.

Babcock zoomed on its position. A small energy-reading registered, but nowhere near the size he expected from a vestan orbital. The conclusion was obvious, and it showed on all of the crew’s faces.

Lassea looked over her shoulder. “Do you want me to…”

“Set a course,” Babcock replied, finishing her sentence. “We’ll collect any survivors and sweep the area.”

“You got it, Captain. It’s not far from here.”

The title never sat comfortably with Babcock, and he’d already told the young former CDWF pilot. But for the sake of brevity, he kept his mouth shut. Everybody who served the Commonwealth had an echo of its formalities in their mannerisms. Lassea’s were the loudest, as she was reasonably fresh out of the Fleet.

“Make sure you stop a few klicks short,” Babcock said. “We don’t know what else might be waiting for us.”

The gamma drive groaned, and the Intrepid thrust toward their destination.

Steros would just have to catch up once his destroyer arrived in the system. Vestan escape pods could survive for a long time in space, but that wasn’t Babcock’s main concern. Cloaked Axis ships might still be in the area or even picking the pods off one by one.

* * *

Lassea engaged the retro thrusters, slowing the craft.

Babcock zoomed the main viewscreen on the former position of the vestan orbital station.

Twisted chunks of debris scattered around two huge blast-scarred sections of the dull metallic station. One of the sections gently rotated and revealed the charred skeleton of the forty inner decks. Babcock had seen the aftermath of post-war Axis raids on Orbitals before, and none had gone this far. Whoever attacked had significantly more firepower than a typical horan or lactern skirmish squadron, and they stayed around to complete the job.

“Holy shit,” Sanchez said. “Looks like they deployed a grand fleet.”

Lassea spun in her chair to face him. “When did that last happen?”

The big hunter shrugged. “Thirty years ago. I dunno.”

“They’ve been preparing for something,” Babcock said. “I never guessed they’d announce their intentions in this part of the Vestan Empire, though.”

“Why here?” Sanchez asked. “It’s the ass-end of nowhere.”

Babcock tried to think of a logical explanation. Once he reported his findings back to Commander Tralis, the CWDF Admiralty would scramble to counter the threat using overwhelming force. An Axis show of strength against a small orbital in the outer reaches of the newly extended Salus Sphere made no sense. Every previous grand fleet struck at the heart of the Commonwealth. Something else was going on.

Steros’ face appeared on the comms screen. “Why aren’t you at the agreed rendezvous point? We’re picking you up at the western edge of the fourth vestan quadrant.”

“Orbital Hibock’s destroyed,” Tulula replied. “We came to collect survivors.”

Steros frowned. “I’d prefer to speak to the organ grinder.”

Babcock raised his hand toward Tulula to stop her responding. She more than any of the crew on either ship would feel the loss of the vestan orbital, but Steros needed handling with velvet gloves.

“A large Axis force has attacked,” Babcock said. “Head to our location. We’ll interrogate any survivors we rescue and find out enemy strength.”

“We already knew they carried out an attack,” Steros said dismissively. “I’ll sweep the area on the opposite side of Hibock.”

“Wait. We knew they attacked a manufacturing planet. This other attack is unreported. What if they wanted to draw us to a specific area?”

“Carry out your search. Let me know if you need our help.”

“Stop…”

The comms screen cut to black. Babcock took a deep breath. He decided to let the young captain’s decision slide for the moment, as Axis forces didn’t have a history of hanging around after striking. But Steros had compromised both ships by splitting in an area of recent enemy activity.

Sanchez shook his head. “He’ll wind up getting us all killed. Who put him in charge?”

“RHIP,” Lassea said.

The big hunter gave her a vacant stare.

“Rank has its privileges. It’s a Fleet saying. His dad was president. That’s how he rose through the ranks.”

The corners of Tulula’s mouth drooped as she half-smiled in her inverted vestan way. “Not anymore.”

“Never underestimate the desire to rush to judgment when confronted with a problem,” Babcock said. “It’s been killing people for centuries.”

“So what’s our next move?” Lassea said.

“Proceed to the escape pods and keep our eyes on the scanner. Deflector shield at twenty percent.”

Lassea raised the shield, and a green outline enveloped the 3D image of the ship on the holographic status display. The Intrepid thrust toward the debris field.

Tulula and Sanchez both had the scanning screen patched through to their weapons consoles. They searched for any new energy readings.

Distress messages continued to ping on the comms system.

Babcock gazed at pieces of wreckage bouncing off the Intrepid’s shield as they neared the two large sections of the shattered orbital. It reminded him of a previous mission with Mach when they were tracking down a supposed mythical ship. The myth turned out to be very real, and dangerous.

Dim lights winked amongst a jumble of floating junk.

Babcock caught sight of one of the red oval pods and its flashing beacon. It would be easier to send out one of the Intrepid’s drone fighters to pull the small craft in, rather than risk the Intrepid’s deflector shield bouncing them into deep space.

Sanchez bolted upright from his usual slumped position. “We’ve got company.”

Two energy sources had appeared on the scanning screen on the opposite side of the orbital, either side of Steros’ destroyer, the Chester. The signatures matched typical readings of lactern frigates. Both closed in on its position.

Babcock jumped from his chair, not wanting to waste any precious seconds fiddling with his smart-screen, and raced to the comms system. He hit the CWDF channel transmit symbol on the pad. “Steros, put your shields to full and hold them. We’ll be there shortly.”

A young female officer, dressed in the stiff blue Fleet uniform and cap, appeared on the screen. “We’re searching for a path, preparing to L-jump.”

She jerked to one side and the image flickered. The Chester must’ve taken its first hit from the lactern cannons. Steros moved around in the background, barking orders at other members of the crew.

“You won’t find a path,” Babcock said. “There’s too much debris.”

Steros barged the woman off her chair and leaned forward. “Our shields won’t hold long enough. You’re too far away. We can’t outrun them on photon drives.”

“You don’t know the Intrepid,” Babcock said. “Hold your nerve and return fire.”

“This is utter madness. I haven’t got time for this.”

Lines of static fizzed across the screen again, and Steros grabbed hold of his chair to maintain balance. Babcock knew there was just a single way out of it. “Fire your lasers. Keep your shields up and keep them interested.”

“Shields down to eighty percent,” one of Steros’ crew shouted in the background.

“Hold your nerve,” Babcock said. “We’ll get through this together.”

Steros closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Keep the channel open. I hope to God you’re right, Babcock.”

A distant red glow from Chester's lasers illuminated chunks of debris. At least no other enemy ships had uncloaked. Two lactern frigates were easily manageable. They would be completely unaware of the Intrepid’s power. Only a few people in the Axis knew about the vestan-produced prototype, and they wouldn’t be expecting it to be part of the Commonwealth Fleet.

“Take us beneath the closest frigate,” Babcock said to Lassea. “As fast as you can.”

Lassea turned and gave him a wild-eyed look. “How close?”

“I’ll hit the bastard as soon as we’re in range,” Sanchez said. “Don’t worry about that.”

Squid Three chirped through Babcock’s smart-screen.

“They have the Chester in a pincer move,” he replied.

The Intrepid’s engines ground to a high whine as they thrust forward. The deflector shield battered away pieces of twisted metal in their path until they hit clear space. Lasers streaked across the distant blackness.

“Shields at sixty percent,” Steros shouted through the comms channel.

Babcock moved to Sanchez’s shoulder. “How much longer ’til we’re in range?”

“Thirty seconds at this speed, unless we can go any faster?”

Tulula didn’t say a word while she focused the crosshairs of the laser’s guidance system toward the ongoing battle.

“Shields at fifty percent,” Steros said, sounding even more frantic.

The standard operating procedure for any destroyer was to retreat at this level. Babcock knew it was flawed. When facing enemy ships with faster engines and superior firepower, the only way to defeat them was to destroy them. Running led to a prolonged death.

“Forty percent,” Steros said. “We can’t keep taking these hits. You’ve left us as a sitting duck. I’m thrusting—”

“Calm down,” Babcock said in a raised voice. He hadn’t spoken to somebody like that for over two decades, but it worked in silencing the stunned-looking young captain. “We’ll be there in fifteen seconds. Focus on the starboard frigate.”

The Chester shook again. Smoke curled across the screen.

“Ten seconds,” Sanchez said and placed his thumb over the fire button. On his console screen, the circular locking target fixed on a lactern frigate and glowed red.

“Thirty percent. I can’t believe I let you do this.” Steros gasped and turned to a member of the crew. “Prepare the life ships. Order all nonessential crew to board.”

The Intrepid’s engines roared to their full strength and Lassea thrust left to sweep them below the frigate.

Both frigates were now visible on the main viewscreen. The locking target on Sanchez’s console screen switched to green. He immediately fired.

A low boom echoed from the top of the ship. The roof-mounted cannon spat out a bright bolt of condensed energy that streaked across space. A second later it slammed into the hull of the closest frigate.

The lactern ship’s reading dulled to a faint glow.

Babcock didn’t need to wait to see the results. He’d seen the Intrepid’s cannon in action before and knew it was one of the most powerful in the galaxy. A lactern ship was no match. Only a capital ship could withstand a couple of hits.

“Nice work,” Steros said. “I’ll hold the other ship in position, and you take it out.”

“Great idea,” Babcock replied. The easiest way to deal with the likes of Steros was feeding him ideas and letting him think he made the decisions. It seemed the young captain’s ego couldn’t manage any other way.

Lassea rolled her eyes from the holocontrols. She thrust to the right and headed below the second Axis ship. Sanchez grunted and locked on to the remaining active frigate.

“Shields at twenty percent,” Steros said. “Hurry the hell up.”

An electronic alarm flashed from the scanning screen. The frigate had locked its lasers on the Intrepid. At this range, they would be useless against the deflector shield. Tulula already knew as much and didn’t even attempt to return fire in the opposite direction.

Two red lines speared across the darkness and failed to register a percentage point of damage on the shield. Babcock thought they’d have turned and fled after seeing what happened to their other ship, but then again, the frigate could have had the Axis equivalent of Steros at the helm.

Sanchez fired again.

Babcock gazed up at the main screen and watched the bolt zip through space and successfully strike.

All lights on the frigate blinked off. Babcock took a deep breath, turned to the comms screen, and wondered if the young captain had any idea how close his destroyer had come to being violently transformed into space junk.

Steros peered back. A genuine smile had replaced his previous look of terror. “Both enemies are barely registering a signal. Great teamwork, Babcock.”

“Thanks. Next time, don’t go running off on us like that.”

“I’ll bow to your experience. What’s the plan?”

“Pick up any survivors from the orbital’s escape pods. The Fleet needs to know what they’re facing and where they might be heading.”

“Excellent. You lead the way.”

Babcock returned a smile but had deep internal concerns. If the Intrepid had been any further away, he would’ve been reporting a lost destroyer back to Commander Tralis. Probably the last thing his old friend wanted to hear after Babcock informed him that an Axis grand fleet had deployed if a survivor confirmed his suspicion.

Lassea didn’t need to wait for instructions and navigated the ship in a wide arc back toward the remnants of Orbital Hibock.

“Squid,” Babcock said into his smart-screen, “prepare a fighter drone to retrieve any manned escape pods.”

Squid Three beeped acknowledgment.

Chapter 10

As quick as the pain had arrived, it had gone. The torture device on Mach’s wrist eased its grip. He shook his arm, trying to get the blood running again and ease the ache. He pictured Kortas’ smug face and then pictured it after he had blasted it with his Stinger. The vestan would pay for this one way or another.

On the ground beside Mach, Beringer lay curled into a fetal position, sobbing quietly through a tense jaw. His right hand shook with the pain. The light on the manacle had changed back to a blinking light and sat visibly loose on the older man’s wrist.

To Mach’s right-hand side, Adira got to her feet and leaned back against the semi-frozen wall. Her face was passive through her helmet—never a good sign; this was her ‘I’m gonna murder every fucker in the room’ face. She shook her arm, clenching and unclenching her hand.

“Are you two okay?” Mach asked them.

“I will be in a minute,” Adira said. She looked at Mach, a silent question on her face that Mach had come to know to mean, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Her single raised eyebrow had the amazing ability to communicate both disdain and genuine query.

Mach simply nodded to her, knowing she knew he was full of shit. He had no idea how this was going to go down. Kortas seemed out of control for one of the most revered of all vestans. This episode had affected him, and his fellow Guardians, far more than he was letting on. But that was fine, Mach thought, he’d just see this through, one way or another, and get some answers at the end of it.

Just as soon as he figured out how to remove these damned manacle, or at least find a way of disabling the signal to them. It was situations like these he wished he had Babcock with him.

Mach looked down at Beringer, who was now slowly getting to his feet, and wondered if he had made the right decision to bring him along after all. Back in the war, Mach wouldn’t have been so sentimental to consider the idea that he owed someone. And it wouldn’t have even crossed the old Mach’s mind to feel that he ought to make it up to someone and bring them along as a way of assuaging their frustrations. Beringer’s mission could have waited.

Mach didn’t need to have brought him along. His archeological skills were clearly of no use here.

Feeling bad for thinking like this, Mach helped Beringer to his feet and steadied him by gripping his shoulders. “Are you all right?” Mach asked.

Beringer wouldn’t look up, presumably shamed for his sobbing.

“Couldn’t be fucking better,” Beringer said, shrugging Mach off and bending down to pick up his laser. He then wandered a few meters further down the dirt- and ice-encrusted tunnel.

Mach was about to tell him not to go too far, but it was clear the older man needed some space. Mach would keep him in sight, but would let him have a moment to himself.

“Kortas,” Mach said, speaking into his manacle, “you there? We get your message loud and clear. But if you keep incapacitating us, we won’t be able to complete your task.” It was an effort for Mach to remain civil and in control, but it was clear Kortas had all the power in this situation, and it made no sense to antagonize the Guardian any further. It was quite obvious to Mach now that the Guardians were panicking about this whole situation, which made them unpredictable.

“I needed to show you the severity of the situation,” Kortas said, his voice even, almost distant now as though his thoughts were somewhere else—perhaps communing with the Saviors. “And the consequences of failure to do as we ask. We have requested your help and have made an exception to have you here. But you also need to respect our customs. Work with us, Carson Mach, and you’ll get out of this alive.”

The alternative was obvious. “Fine,” he said. “Then let us do our jobs. You want this thing found and destroyed; we can do that, but not if you’re going to shut us down every time we say or think something you don’t like.”

There was a minute’s silence before Kortas replied. “It is agreed,” he said. “Do what is necessary, but remember, we’ll see what you see. Don’t deceive us, and we won’t be forced to—”

“Yeah, we get it,” Mach said. “We’re going to continue and find this source of heat, as that’s all we have to go on right now.”

“We think that is a wise course of action,” Kortas said. The light then blinked off, and the manacle eased further so that it fit loosely over the wrist of his suit.

“Ready?” Mach said to Adira.

She had retrieved her laser pistol and stood, waiting for orders. “Always. Let’s do this.”

“Beringer?” Mach said through the comm system. “You okay? You can return to the Guardians if you don’t wish to continue. Adira and I can take it from—”

“Holy crap,” Beringer said, disappearing round a bend in the tunnel. Mach grabbed his laser from the floor and chased after the older man. Adira was by his side, matching him step for step.

They came to the edge of the tunnel. Beringer spun round and shouted for them to stop. Mach and Adira did so just in time. A few inches from their feet a dead drop fell away into icy darkness.

The three of them held onto each other and stared over the boundary.

Above them, a cap of domed ice gave the huge cavernous space the feel of a contained city, the kind they built on Summanus. Bio-domes mostly. This one, however, was the largest Mach had ever seen.

The dome itself must have been at least a hundred meters high. The weak sun shone through the blue crystalline material, bathing the space below in a light blue haze, making it seem as though they were underwater. But it wasn’t the domed ice cap that caught everyone’s attention; it was what lay beneath it, far below their current position.

“It’s an entire city,” Beringer said breathlessly. “So ancient. Look at it! The coldness must have preserved it. It’s… unbelievable.”

“Are you seeing all this, Kortas?” Mach said, slowly sweeping the manacle across his body so as to take in the full scope of the city that stretched out for kilometers in all directions.

The vestan Guardian didn’t say anything. Mach knew that he was looking, though. How could he not? The city below them looked as if it one day it had just fallen asleep beneath the ice and remained that way for… how long, Mach didn’t know, but it must have been a millennia or more given the thickness of ice above them.

“That’s incredible,” Adira said.

It appeared they were on a rocky abutment protruding from a straight rocky cliff face. “They must have dug the city into this bowl. Can you imagine the effort and technology required for that?” she added.

Mach could; he’d been on a terraforming squad just after the war. Great machines capable of excavating huge swathes of planet surface could dig out a bowl like this in a matter of weeks, shedding the material across conveyor belts that ran for ten klicks or more to various locations. The machines were actually ships that were rented out to various planet inhabitants to reshape the landscape. Though since then, the Commonwealth had banned them; they were too dangerous for some of the most volatile planets’ ecologies and climates.

They could be used as great ground weapons in the wrong hands, diverting rivers and tributaries away from cities, building great fortifications to protect from invading forces. As far as Mach knew now, the company who used to build them had been absorbed into the CW as engineers and contractors for smaller scale work.

Considering the age of this particular city, it boggled the mind how they would have the technology to burrow into the planet’s core like this. They were standing at least sixty or more meters higher than the tallest building.

When he scanned the scene with his prosthetic eye, Mach detected the heat signature that they’d first noticed back in the tunnels. This time it was more pronounced, specific. The signature read fifty degrees Kelvin higher than the surrounding area.

“Kortas?” Mach asked again. “You know anything about this place? Anything we should know before we continue?”

“Nothing at this time,” the vestan said. “Please, be careful here; it’s very old. Sweep the area. We’ll be recording and analyzing as you go and will return with any information that you might need in due time.”

“The city, Kortas… did you know this was here?”

“No. We did not. Please proceed.”

Mach and Adira shared a smirk. It was clear to them that these so-called Saviors hadn’t told the Guardians everything about their home world after all. Mach was tempted to say something to that effect to Kortas but refrained from antagonizing the vestan unnecessarily.

“What do you think, Beringer?” Mach said. “How old do you think this place is?”

Beringer kneeled down and peered out at the dense urban scene before him. After a few moments to consider, he said, “Given the architectural design, and based on the vestan artifacts we have at the museum, I’d say this predates anything we have by some considerable span. At its youngest, I’d estimate this city to be at least ten thousand years old. But that’s a conservative estimate at best. Most of these buildings are completely new to me in design and function. I’ll need to get closer to be more accurate.”

“Ten thousand, eh?” Adira said. “It don’t look too shabby from here given its age.”

Mach scanned the city closer now, trying to see what Beringer was seeing, using a critical eye to commit the details to memory. They might not get another chance to view it from this vantage point, and once down there in among the narrow alleys and passages, Mach would want some frame of reference to use for navigation.

The first thing that caught his eye was the large tower toward the northernmost edge, some few hundred meters away. A spiraled minaret, its surface gold and reflective, capped the peak of the tower. Narrow black windows like archer slots from ancient Earth days dotted the circumference of the minaret and also tracked a vertical line down the tower until it reached the gabled roof.

Buildings all around obscured the rest of the details; thin lines cut between them representing alleys and roads, a veritable maze.

On the east side of the bowl, a series of six flat-roofed buildings stood in a regimented line, their sandstone-colored fronts peering back toward the rest of the city. A series of arched porches and wide, rectangular windows gave the buildings an anthropomorphic quality, half a dozen frowning scholars judging the rest of the city’s more flamboyant architecture.

“There’s a bridge down there,” Beringer said, pointing over to the west. “And what looks like a canal, frozen naturally.”

“Quite romantic if it wasn’t so damned cold,” Adira said. She wiped the frost from her helmet. A plume of heated air billowed out of her mask as her suit jettisoned the excess oxygen.

The bridge led to the center of the town. Mach tracked his eye across, committing more of the layout to memory. He could see that beyond the terraced buildings, which he assumed were dwellings, there was a series of gardens or communal squares. He scanned across, tracking the temperatures with a narrow-beam setting on his prosthetic eye. “The heat’s coming from beyond those squares,” Mach said. “We should make a beeline for it unless anything else grabs our attention for some other reason.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Adira said. “No point in us standing up here forever. I don’t know about you two, but I’m not getting good vibes from this place at all. And I’ve been in many cities of the dead before—“

“You have?” Beringer said.

“Yeah, don’t ask.” Adira checked her suit and said, “We’ve got enough monofilament to get us down to the surface. I’ll go first. You two cover me.”

Mach raised an eyebrow. “Really now? Chain of command mean anything to you, my love?” He flashed her a smile to take the edge off his objection. Adira needed handling with kid gloves if he were to keep her from doing anything rash, especially when her patience was running out, which he knew from experience would soon be the situation.

“Fine, Captain Mach, what would you rather do?” Adira said, hands on hips.

“Beringer goes first—both of us can actually shoot a rifle,” Mach said. He was already moving behind the older man, pulling the graphene-tipped grapple hook from the integrated winch and backpack.

“Hey,” Beringer said, looking over his shoulder. “Is this such a good idea?”

Mach ran out some slack and buried the hook into a crack in the rock. He pulled on it, testing the weight. The motored tips of the hook dug further into the rock, making for a solid anchor point.

“It’s a great idea,” Mach said. “Unless you want to stay up here on your own—with that… thing running around. At least this way, we’ll have you covered all the way down to the city surface.”

Despite his face becoming pale, Beringer swallowed once and nodded. “Fine,” he said, his voice cracking as he stepped toward the edge of the outcrop. He stood there for a brief moment; his body arched like a reed in the wind over the edge.

Adira sighed with impatience and moved toward him, no doubt to push him off. But to both Mach and Adira’s surprise, Beringer jumped of his own volition into the blue abyss between their position and the city below.

Chapter 11

A feeling of pride swelled inside Babcock. Squid Three, his creation, and companion, navigated one of the Intrepid’s swallow-shaped fighter drones through the open docking bay and landed next to the other two stationary craft.

Chrome securing clamps rose out of the floor and snapped around its three legs. An oval escape pod, attached by a length of graphene cable, floated above it.

The graphite-colored docking-bay door rumbled closed, blocking out the distant view of the orbital’s mangled remains. Babcock gazed through the viewing window and waited for the bay to pressurize. They had managed to find a single vestan alive during their search. The other pods were mostly uninhabited or damaged by debris collisions.

Tulula stood by his side. She had come along to translate if the male vestan didn’t speak Salus Common.

“I still can’t believe my people sided with the lacterns and horans,” she said.

Babcock put his hand on her bony black shoulder. “Better the devil you know. You wouldn’t believe it, but Earth was a microcosm of the galaxy. Humans fought over land and resources and had their territorial pacts. Discrimination against many things, including appearance, used to be rife until everybody realized we had bigger things to consider, like finding a new home.”

“Seriously? But your home world is so small, and you all look exactly the same.”

“Indeed. The less we knew, the more open-minded we claimed to be. It’s comforting to believe you’re the center of the universe.”

Tulula let out a gargled laugh. “Is that what your ancestors thought?”

“To some extent. Many assumed we were alone until Professor Katona invented the photon drive, and we explored beyond our solar system.”

“You’ll have to tell me more of human history one day.”

“Beringer’s your man. He lives and breathes it.”

The escape pod gently floated down and bumped against the ground. A slim, gray-faced vestan, dressed in a dark brown uniform, pressed his hands against its transparent lid and glanced around the bay.

A green light pinged on the entry pad, and the viewing deck’s door hissed open. Babcock headed inside, eager to find out exactly what had happened during the attack.

The fighter’s cockpit cover raised a few inches and slid back. Squid Three ascended, raised a silver tentacle, and chirped.

“Good job,” Babcock replied. “Continue your analysis on the Axis encryption keys. Let me know if you have a breakthrough.”

Squid Three’s red eye flashed twice, confirming the command, and it drifted away.

Babcock smiled to himself. The development of this version had started working a lot faster than the previous two. Not that he planned to share the droid’s inner workings. Both the Axis and CWDF had a habit of weaponizing any new advancement in AI.

Tulula headed to the escape pod. Its red circular hatch spun and punched open. She extended an arm inside and helped out its dazed-looking occupant. They held a brief conversation in their native tongue and turned to Babcock.

“This is Nigel,” Tulula said. “He’s a laser gunner from the orbital battery.”

The vestan gunner bowed his head.

“Nigel?” Babcock said. “That’s an odd name for a vestan if you don’t mind me saying.”

“My name is unpronounceable for humans,” Nigel said. “I chose it before my first trip to Fides Prime. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Any decent being would’ve done the same thing,” Babcock said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Nigel took a couple of steps forward, moving smoothly across the ground in the vestan perpetual-motion way. His mustard-colored eyes widened, and the central black dots focused on Babcock. “We picked up hundreds of encoded signals on our old Axis links. Our orbital defense network had traced the source before their fleet appeared on our scanners.”

“How big was the fleet?” Babcock asked.

“Maybe a hundred ships. I’m not sure. They weren’t heading here. The vanguard broke off the main body and attacked. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“Did you manage to decrypt any of the signals?” Tulula asked.

“No. It happened too quickly. We never expected them to attack.”

Babcock sighed at Nigel’s naivety and innocence. “You’re part of the Commonwealth now. It’s obvious you weren’t the main target. This attack was more of an opportunistic strike.”

Nigel’s eyes flicked from side to side, making a wet peeling noise. He stumbled to his side and pressed his spidery gray hand against the fighter drone for support.

“You must be tired and hungry,” Tulula said. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the mess.”

Tulula supported Nigel and helped him across the docking bay. The attack made a little more sense to Babcock. Orbital Hibock was unlucky, as it happened to be en route to whatever destination the Axis fleet was heading.

“Captain Babcock,” Lassea said through his smart-screen, “we’ve got an ansible message from Commander Tralis.”

Babcock raised his screen. “What does our great commander have to say?”

“He’s ordered us to return immediately.”

“Plan the L-jump with Steros. I’ll be up shortly.”

“The Chester's already left. I’ll prepare to jump in two minutes.”

It came as no surprise that Steros had already departed. Babcock imagined the young captain filling Tralis’ head with stories about his brave actions, taking out two lactern frigates before the truth could be revealed.

* * *

The Intrepid came out of L-jump two klicks away from Tralis’ fleet. Babcock stared at the floating wreckage of a CWDF destroyer. It had four gouges ripped out of its dull metal side, showing all the hallmarks of lactern cruiser torpedo strikes.

Thankfully, the other two destroyers were still intact and flanked the capital ship. Small craft buzzed around the fleet, no doubt searching for survivors and surveying damage.

Tralis appeared on the comms screen. “Nice to have you back, Captain Babcock. We need to talk.”

“What happened?” Babcock asked.

“Six Axis cruisers. They came out of nowhere. A shuttle’s already on its way to your ship.”

“Can’t we use holo-comms?”

Tralis shifted in his chair and narrowed his eyes. Babcock recognized the look. The commander’s order wasn’t up for negotiation.

“I’ll board as soon as it docks,” Babcock said.

The screen cut back to the galactic signal tracker.

“Opening the docking bay,” Lassea said. “It’s only half a klick away.”

Sanchez shook his head. “I knew we’d end up being messed around. The longer we stay, the more chance we’ll end up bogged down in Commonwealth politics.”

“Stay positive,” Babcock replied. “At least it keeps us busy while the others carry out their mystery mission. It could be worse.”

The big hunter puffed his cheeks and turned back to the cannon console. Babcock knew Sanchez had wanted to be part of the action on the ground, but he had to get over his injuries from a previous mission. Mach insisted on it.

“I kinda like it,” Lassea said. “Makes my training seem a little more worthwhile.”

The bridge door hissed open. Tulula led Nigel to the laser controls. She had already introduced him to the crew during the L-jump, and his skin had returned to shiny black after being fed and watered.

“Feeling okay?” Lassea asked Nigel.

“I can’t thank you enough. You saved my life.”

Lassea gave him a reassuring smile. “Stop saying it. I’m sure you would’ve done the same thing for us.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m a laser gunner,” he replied in a matter-of-fact way.

A smell of burning rubber engulfed the bridge. Babcock wondered what it’d be like on a ship packed with vestans. His eyes watered at the thought.

“This is Tango-Two-Zero,” a male voice said through the comms speaker. “We’ve successfully docked in the Intrepid.”

Babcock groaned from his chair. “Sanchez, you’re in charge. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Would I?” Sanchez said and flashed a wicked grin.

Squid Three chirped. Babcock decided against translating the obvious response. He left the bridge and took the transparent tube elevator back to the docking bay.

The attack on Tralis’ fleet came as a surprise. Capital ship movements were kept a closely guarded secret between the upper echelons of the Admiralty, and the Axis rarely attacked them. Babcock suspected Tralis thought the same, which is why he wanted a face-to-face, to discuss the reason and ramifications.

The elevator stopped with a gentle bounce and its doors parted in the middle. Babcock headed across the bay toward the CWDF shuttle’s open side entrance. The bland rectangular shape reminded him of his time serving with the Fleet. They even had a tagline for junior officers of ‘You’re not paid to think.’ Being part of Mach’s team was far more fun, and he could expand his scientific research.

A female flight officer, in a Navy coverall, snapped a salute as Babcock boarded. He returned the gesture, feeling slightly awkward and sat in the front row of black leather seats in the back.

The flight officer headed to the cockpit. Babcock gazed out of the window at the Intrepid’s bay entrance rumbling open. Engines roared beneath him, securing clamps snapped away from the shuttle, and they headed into space, toward the capital ship.

* * *

It had been over two decades since Babcock had set foot on one of the Commonwealth’s big beasts. Not since his software configuration for the AI weapons system corrupted and it fired on an allied planet. Enforced exile was the price of failure, although he never returned when the ten-year period expired.

Two pulse cannons mounted on square turrets, protruded from each corner of the three-hundred-meter-long off-white structure. Quad laser batteries bristled from the top and hull. Red lights of fighter drones swept around it, protecting its extended perimeter.

A blue light shot from the front of the ship into distant space: a probe designed to scan beyond the reach of the Fleet and send back information.

The shuttle entered one of the port tunnels. Rings of white lights brightened the long square metallic shaft. If any human or alien wanted to appreciate the full power of the Commonwealth, they only had to see a deployed capital ship.

Artificial light flooded in through the windows as they entered the enclosed hangar.  Two drone fighters stood along one side. The other eight were all deployed, meaning a high state of alert. The pilot guided the shuttle to the opposite side of the hangar and landed next to two of the same craft.

A mechanical jet bridge smoothly extended out of the wall and attached to the shuttle’s side door with a dull clank. Babcock’s smart-screen beeped, informing him of a received message, but he was caught up in the nostalgia of the moment.

“You’re clear to leave, sir,” the pilot said on the loudspeaker.

“Thanks for the ride,” Babcock replied.

The door automatically opened, and he made his way along the short metallic corridor. He knew the layout inside a capital ship like the back of his hand but was also aware that he wouldn’t get far without a crew security tag.

A security officer waited at the end, dressed in blue and white disruptive combat clothing. He motioned his rifle to the left. “Welcome, Captain Babcock. This way.”

Babcock followed along the main central walkway that ran the full length of the ship. He passed closed doors leading to the living quarters, hydroponic farm, upper cannon positions and the mess hall.

Tralis and Steros sat together in a soundproofed glass conference room near the end of the walkway. It was built behind the entrance to the bridge for a commander to hold private conversations with the upper reaches of the Admiralty or senior officers.

The marine swiped his tag against the conference room’s security pad. The transparent door slid to one side.

Tralis looked up and smiled. “Captain Babcock, welcome. Captain Steros has been telling me about your patrol.”

Babcock eased himself into a soft white leather chair on the opposite side of the table. “I’m sure you’ve got all the facts.”

Steros gave Babcock a false smile.

It mattered little. Soon, the young captain would be back to being exclusively Tralis’ problem. The Intrepid would be cut loose from the Fleet after Mach finished his mission. The initial nostalgic feel of being back on a capital ship had faded. Its air of officialdom and competitiveness sent an oppressive shiver down Babcock’s spine.

“Did you find any survivors?” Tralis asked. “I heard you stayed back to search the wreckage.”

“We picked up one. He estimated an Axis formation of over a hundred ships.”

Tralis leaned over the table. “I suspected that might be the case. What I don’t buy is an ambush on my fleet while their grand fleet is hours away.”

“I could have identified us,” Steros said. “If they’re scaling up operations, it makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. What’s the likelihood of six cruisers waiting at the exact point where we planned our first holding pattern?”

“Unlikely,” Babcock said. “In fact, I’d say impossible unless they were told.”

Tralis thumped his fist on the table. “Exactly. We’ve got a mole in the Fleet. Command is investigating the operations center. Until we establish the source, all communications between us will be face to face. We can’t risk our movements being broadcast on our comms channels if somebody is passing them along.”

“I’ll investigate the Chester,” Steros said. “If it’s one of my crew, I’ll flush them out. Trust me on that.”

“Excellent work, Captain,” Tralis replied. “Join the other two destroyers in a defensive formation around my ship. I’ll call for you when I have further orders. Be prepared to move in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Great work in the Erebus system. You’re a credit to the Commonwealth.”

Steros stood and straightened his jacket. He glanced at Babcock and back to Commander Tralis.

“That’ll be all, Captain,” Tralis said and gestured his hand toward the door.

The young captain paused for a moment before leaving the meeting room and heading in the direction of the internal hangar.

Babcock smiled. “Credit to the Commonwealth? He’s… undesirable.”

“I know. I checked the Chester's logs as soon as he arrived.” Tralis remained stony faced and wheeled his chair around the table. “Listen, Babs, HQ are convinced the transmissions came from my fleet. We’ve searched all frequencies and can’t find a thing. I need your brain on this.”

“You could start with Steros?”

“He hasn’t got the intelligence or inclination. The Admiralty won’t move to counter the grand fleet until we’ve found the mole. Comb the data and see what it turns up.”

Babcock held up his smart-screen. “I assume the ping I received when I boarded was a transfer of the comms logs?”

“Correct. Work on it while your crew tracks the Axis grand fleet. We need to know their intended destination.”

The casually delivered order increased Babcock’s pulse rate a few notches. It was the equivalent of asking Intrepid’s crew to do ancient crosswords while sticking their heads in the open mouth of a horan raptor.

“You seem surprised,” Tralis said. “Your ship’s the fastest we’ve got.”

“We’re only attached for a favor to Morgan. It’s risky. Too risky.”

“Come on, Babs. Could I send Steros to hack their navigation system?”

Babcock sighed and took off his glasses. “Squid Three is working on the latest encryption key. As soon as a single Axis ship spots us, we’re jumping.”

“Excellent. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” Tralis pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Good luck finding the mole.”

Tralis headed for the conference room door.

The marine outside swiped his tag and held it open. He remained in position after the commander had left and stared into the room.

Babcock nodded an acknowledgment. At least he had the consolation of telling Intrepid’s crew they wouldn’t be working with Steros in the immediate future. But they were heading into danger that far outweighed dealing with an impetuous young captain

Chapter 12

Mach helped untether Beringer and Adira, the three of them now on terra firma. From this position, the city seemed even more impressive, the buildings taller than he first realized from their previous elevated position.

When all three of them were free, Mach took point, checking his laser pistol was fully charged and ready to fire. A crackling noise came over his manacle. “Was that you, Kortas?” Mach asked, squinting against the sudden burst of white noise coming from his helmet’s internal speakers.

“Carson Mach… must… source.”

“What was that, Kortas?” Mach asked. “Source, as in heat source? The reception is terrible down here. There’s some kind of interference. You know of any EM field generation going on?”

More white-noise static followed, and through the din he could just make out Kortas’ panicked voice telling him to find the heat source. Then, “The Saviors… looking… information soon.” The message cut off, and Mach shut down the internal speakers from the manacle to a whisper.

“Adira, Beringer, you two hear me okay?” Mach said, looking at each of his crewmembers so that they could see that he was talking. Both nodded and replied with an affirmative.

“So,” Adira said, “looks like our comms are good. Best to stay close.”

“Of course,” Beringer said, alarmed. “You weren’t planning on having us split up, were you?”

Adira shrugged. “I guess you could if you wanted to. You know how to fire a laser, don’t you, old man?”

“Funny girl,” Beringer said.

“Easy, Beringer,” Mach said. “If you want to stay safe, I suggest you just follow our lead. Make a note of anything you see that’s particularly interesting in terms of this creature… prints or marks on the floor, an architectural detail that may hint to us where the thing might be staying.”

“Well,” Beringer said, turning back to face the cliff they’d just descended, “there’s these for a start.” He pointed to a series of scrapes within the rock. Each one separated by about a meter and a half—the long loping gait of something taller than the average vestan.

“Great,” Adira said. “So this thing, whatever it is, can rock climb like a gambrian scaler. Let’s hope it’s not as venomous—or as stealthy; otherwise, we’re truly up shit creek without a fusion drive.”

Beringer ran his gloved fingers through the gouges, using the inbuilt haptics to get a feel for things. “It has claws,” he said. “You can feel the uniform indentations in these foot and hand holds.”

“Hooks that can dent ancient rock…” Adira said, her voice war weary. “That’s just great. This mission continues to get better. I mean, what more could we want, eh? Hidden frozen cities, some proto-vestan predator, and a planet-load of secrets. And there’s me thinking we’d be in and out, simple-as.”

“When has anything been simple?” Mach asked. “Apart from getting yourself put into solitary on Summanus, that is.”

“Perhaps we ought to continue the search?” Beringer said, stepping between Adira and Mach and smiling an awkward smile. “Time and essence and all that?”

“Looks like the archeologist is eager for trouble,” Adira said, slinking away from the two men and heading across the rocky surface to the edge of the city, rifle at her hip, half raised, ready for action. “Well? You two coming or what? Or does the lady have to handle this herself?”

“Stay in a close formation,” Mach said, stepping forward next to Adira. “No more than two meters apart, preferably much closer. Beringer, you stay between Adira and me. Your job is to observe, right? Any movement, anything odd, you speak up. Okay?”

“Got it,” Beringer said.

“Good. Let’s have it, then. Into the grim frozen city we go. Totally non-threatening, and not at all creepy. Nope, it’s just a nice, cozy old place.”

The grip on his rifle tightened, and he led his two-man crew into the edge of the city, their steps slow and deliberate so as not to slip on the ice. Even with the crampon teeth of his soles, the ice was so thick and hard they didn’t penetrate more than a few millimeters. The HUD display showed him the overlay of the city he had committed to memory, the holographic 3D map giving him landmarks with which to orient themselves.

He confirmed that they were heading to the main square of the city and the direction of the heat source, scanning left and right, his muscles tense and ready to act.

Buildings with fluted pale-sand-colored columns and crumbling render on their front elevation towered over them, creating deep shadows between the narrow passages.

Dead, green-black vines wilted over walls and crumbling bricks. Mach stepped over a number of them that had snaked across the ice-encrusted stone floor, the flags of which were cut perfectly, the mortar of choice between them glittering under the translucent frosting as though it were made of something alive.

“Incredible,” Beringer said, scanning around, looking at every small detail, occasionally stopping to gaze closely at a protrusion from the side of a building. “Carvings,” he said. “Worn away by the ice over the generations. They’re like gargoyles from old Earth cathedrals.”

Adira regarded them with suspicion and gently elbowed Beringer to keep him moving. Mach continued forward, staring into the abyssal darkness ahead of them. To their left, the side of a building stretched up for at least fifty meters or more. A gable overhung the top. Stone abutments held it aloft. Through the window, Mach thought he saw movement, but when he stopped and blinked to clear his vision, he realized it was just his movement shifting the shadows.

They continued until they reached the end of the narrow alley. They came out to a wider street, at least wide enough to accommodate ten people side by side. Mach sighed quietly, relieved to be out of the oppressive darkness, although he didn’t like the open much more—it made it easier for them to become targets.

Like the alley, the ground was made up of precise, interlocking stone flags—the edges sharp and the mortar lines accurate to within hundredths of millimeters. “Great engineers, these so-called Saviors,” Mach said, raising his manacle and sweeping it across the street so that Kortas could get a view. The vestan Guardian didn’t respond through the constant stream of static.

“What do you think these were?” Adira said, pointing up the row of buildings on the opposite side of the street. They were about two stories high with flat roofs. Intricate filigree ironwork surrounded the circumference of the buildings, making Mach think of the roof terraces back on Fides Prime.

“Perhaps a governmental building,” Beringer said. “Given its aspect and central location, it would be ideal as a town hall or seat of government—or whatever these proto-vestans have as a hierarchy if anything at all.”

“Any idea how old all this is?” Mach said to the archeologist.

“I can’t be accurate yet. If I’m allowed to take a sample of the stone, I’ll be able to date it once we’re back on the Intrepid—I have my gear there.  For now, I’d say, given the architectural style, that this predates anything I’ve seen of vestan culture by some considerable time. So much so, I would say this isn’t even vestan. Whatever that thing was that dragged the Guardian away might not even be the original species that dwelled here.”

Mach’s manacle chirped and Kortas’ voice—faint and distant—crackled through the static for a few seconds. “The city is the original,” the Guardian said. “I’ve… with… Saviors. They built…”

“So this proto-vestan thing,” Mach said, “is what exactly, a predecessor?”

“Too early… tell yet… please hurry… time’s running out for Afron… mind corrupt…”

“I hear you,” Mach said. “We’re on it.”

The manacle indicated the end of the conversation.

Turning to the others, Mach indicated the direction toward the heat source. “We’re going east from here,” he said. “At the end of the street, we’ll need to go left. Let’s stick to one side. Adira, you watch for movement on the left, Beringer, you’re taking the right. I’ll take the front.”

The three of them took the formation and stuck to the left side of the street. They reached the end without incident and turned left into the next street. At the end of the hundred-meter-or-so section, they saw two narrow towers reaching up to the icy dome above them like needles. Between them, a metallic gate slowly swung open then shut, ringing out like a bell with each crash against the fittings.

“We’ve got wind,” Beringer said.

Mach tuned his suit’s scanners to the atmospheric setting and the wind direction and speed flashed up in small green text on his HUD. It was blowing south to north—the direction in which they were heading. It only moved at a few kph, so there was no fear they’d be blown off balance.

“This means that we’ve got a breach somewhere,” Adira said. “Or further back there’s a tunnel leading out to the planet’s surface. Otherwise, where else is the wind coming from?”

Mach looked over his shoulder back down the street toward the cliff. A few darker spots on its surface indicated that there might be some tunneling there somewhere. He noted it as something they would check out once they’d confirmed the heat source and found Afron. They scurried quickly toward the clanging gate and slipped beyond it into a courtyard. A series of statues on fluted marble columns stood before them in a long row. The carved stone objects resembled myriad different species—or at least variations of a single a species.

“What do you make of these, Beringer?” Mach asked.

“Ungodly,” he whispered as he inspected the forms one by one, slowly proceeding down the narrow walkway created by the statues. “Look at these things… their forms… truly alien.”

“We’ve got ourselves a real freak show here,” Adira said. “I’ve never seen anything like these before. They’re like some nightmare creation of some lunatic’s mind.”

Mach inspected the first few, craning his neck to look up at them as they in turn peered down at him. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw life in their stone eyes, but when he blinked and took a breath, he realized it was just his imagination.

The creature he was looking at had three stumpy legs. Fat and bulging, the tripod form held up a bloated torso with no arms. On a flat neck, an almond-shaped head was cocked to one side, eyes situated on the far sides. A thin slit for a mouth rose up at the edges as though it were planning some nefarious plan.

The next one wasn’t much prettier. A biped this time, long and lithe with grotesque, flaccid breasts that hung below its waist like billiard balls in socks. The stone was carved in such a way as to give it a kind of scaly texture. The face was an almost comical rendering of a human mixed with the lizard-like horans. Small tusks protruded up from the thick bottom lip.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Mach said as he continued to follow Beringer and Adira down the uncanny causeway that led to a long, narrow building with a domed roof. The front of it was oval in shape, columns holding up a heavy stone lintel, the shadows were dense in the space, obscuring the door, giving it the feel of an open mausoleum.

“Are you seeing all this, Kortas?” Mach asked. He stopped in front of the columned oval frontage, leaving the processions of nightmares behind him. Knowing they were there made the hairs on his neck tingle as though he expected them to animate suddenly and attack him.

Stranger things had happened. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the damned things were still sitting atop their columns—they were, much to his relief.

Kortas’ voice broke through the static in a rare moment of clarity.

“I’m seeing this,” the vestan said, his words light with a sense of disbelief to them. “I can’t quite believe it, but I’m seeing it. Listen, Carson Mach, I must apologize to you for the way I’ve acted since you arrived. It’s clear to me now that I, and the other Guardians, have grossly misunderstood the situation here.”

Mach glared at Adira. Her lips were pressed ready to unleash a sarcastic retort.

“Apology accepted, Kortas,” Mach said. “Let’s just work together to figure out what’s going on, shall we?”

“That’s gracious of you, Carson Mach. Thank you. I need to let you know that what you’re seeing there appears to us to be one of the ancient savior temples. We thought they were long gone, destroyed when the system’s sun weakened and the planet froze. Only the Garden of Remembrance remained free of the permafrost incursion.”

“Makes me wonder what else is on this rock that you don’t know about,” Mach said. “Why didn’t the Saviors communicate with you about this place? Surely they must have known it was still here.”

Silence. Kortas’ breath caught, and the lack of words dragged out into a tense moment. Mach realized the implications of what he had just said: it meant that the Saviors, the very creators of the vestan species, had lied to their twenty Guardians. Their mind-link wasn’t an open and honest exchange. The Saviors were only communicating what they wanted the Guardians to know—and nothing more. What did these Saviors do that was so bad that they had to withhold that information from their very creation?

“Please enter the temple,” Kortas replied, ignoring Mach’s question. Mach let it go, partly out of sympathy for the Guardian, and partly out of a desire to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“What are we expected to find in there?” Adira said. “Is this part of our mission to find Afron, or something else entirely?”

“It’s all related,” Kortas said. “I need to know what’s inside. That will enable us to…” He trailed off, sadness in his words.

“Go on,” Mach said. “We need to understand if we’re to help you.”

Another moment of silence filled the dead air, then came taut, pregnant words. “It’ll enable us to confront the Saviors.”

The words landed like a nuke.

There it was, plain and simple: the force behind the vestans’ existence was not one of benevolence, but of secrecy and clandestine motivations. That the Guardians would feel the need to confront their dead-but-not-dead progenitors told him nothing here was as it seemed, not even to those tasked with guarding it. Their whole existence was a lie.

“I hear you,” Mach said. “We’re going in.”

Adira and Beringer raised their rifles. Mach took point and edged into the gloom. Before they got through the oval porch of columns and into the shadows, something above on the lintel shifted.

Adira and Beringer raised their rifles. Mach took point and edged into the gloom. Before they got through the oval porch of columns and into the shadows, something above on the lintel shifted.

A body came hurtling down at them.

Mach jerked out of the way, stumbling backward, grabbing Adira’s arm and pulling her out of the way. He toppled into Beringer behind him, who was too slow to move. They hit the deck in a heap as the body thudded against the ice-covered flagstones with a dry crack of bones.

“What the hell?” Adira said, pulling herself out of the pile of bodies.

Mach scrambled to his knees and raised his rifle toward the lintel. A shadow shifted and was gone. His heart raced and he turned his attention to the body in front of him: the thing was desiccated, naked, its skin pulled tight around bones that had snapped as if they were hollow, dry twigs. The face was pulled into a scene of horror, the lips pulled back over dried gums, teeth snapped and crooked. It had no eyes, just dark, dry sockets.

A voice crackled over the comms, the static returning. “Afron,” Kortas said, “it’s… Afron.”

Mach stood up, edging closer. The poor guardian’s skull had been neatly cut, the dome of his head removed, the brain cavity completely empty.

“My God,” Beringer said. “My God—”

His words were cut off with a strangled sound. Mach spun to see Beringer being dragged out of the courtyard toward the west edge, through a gap in the wall he hadn’t noticed before.

“Beringer!” Mach yelled, getting no response. He and Adira set off in pursuit. The dark, shadowy figure had its arm around Beringer’s neck. They disappeared once they got beyond the boundary wall made of densely packed irregular boulders.

“Heh…” Beringer said over the comms before the connection was cut.

Chapter 13

Babcock led Tulula to the guts of the ship and entered his lab. Squid Three followed and rested in its bowl-shaped docking station, giving the little AI droid faster access to the servers and machines spread around a semicircular workbench.

Motion sensors quietly clicked and the room filled with bright light.

An array of tools, wires, and shiny red electronic boards spread around a square table to the left. Tulula gazed at them. “That looks like horan tech?”

“It’s Squid Three’s project. We’re trying to decipher the latest encryption keys. No luck so far.”

“Hopefully we’ll have more finding this, what did you call it? … A mole?”

“It’s human espionage jargon for a spy. No need to think too hard about our language quirks.”

“I think I understand. It’s like when Mach calls somebody a dickhead?”

Babcock paused for a moment and thought about correcting her, but decided against it. Salus Common was constantly evolving with the deeper integration between fidians, humans and now vestans. Nobody could say with clarity what was right or wrong linguistically anymore.

“Let’s get down to business,” Babcock said. “This might take a while.”

He activated a holo-keyboard, transferred the comms logs to its terminal, and gestured Tulula to sit.

She shuffled in front of him and peered at data streams running across the screen. “Where do you want me to start?”

“With the message payloads. If anything stands out, like an odd word or a pattern of corruption, drill down on it. I’ll search the transmission data.”

“There’s thousands of them.”

“That’s the nature of the beast, I’m afraid. I’ll grab us some strong coffee.”

Babcock left Tulula and Squid Three analyzing and headed to the mess.

Searching the logs for a hidden signal played to his strengths. He was a happier man solving a riddle in his lab, rather than playing the role of uncomfortable captain. Although he knew the crew would all respond without question.

Lassea, Tulula, Sanchez, and Nigel were pleased about Tralis’ new orders when Babcock relayed them. The consensus, as suspected, was they were glad to be away from Steros, even though it meant a dangerous scouting trip.

Babcock left Sanchez in control of the bridge, Nigel on the lasers while Lassea retraced their route back to the remains of Orbital Hibock. From there, they would follow in the direction of the passing Axis grand fleet in the hope that it hadn’t L-jumped.

The fusion drive wound up with a smooth roar. Babcock felt a brief moment of weightlessness, and the coffee cups clinked together on the mess table. Lassea had engaged the L-jump, so they had at least four hours to spend on the logs. He returned to the lab and placed a cup by Tulula.

“Found anything interesting?” he said.

“Just the usual checks with the operation center and intrafleet movement commands.”

Babcock fired up his screen. Transport layers enveloped and delivered the message payload. The first place he planned the check was the reserve buffer between the two. During the Century War, engineering crews on destroyers used it as an informal comms link. He highlighted two thousand messages, dragged them into his processing folder and ran a filtering tool he’d produced several years ago.

Ten buffers had information inside them. Butterflies of excitement fluttered in Babcock’s stomach for a brief moment until he reminded himself that nothing was ever this easy. He decrypted the data and read the text.

Morgan had been using the buffer to communicate with fleet commanders, mostly his old friends from the war. It was probably his way of circumventing the Admiralty and hearing firsthand information. Most messages discussed enemy sightings and Axis movements; Tralis had sent one about the mole and Babcock’s investigation.

The president and his commanders used CWDF net addresses of previously destroyed ships. Babcock wanted to know how Mach was getting on. He trusted his old friend to successfully carry out his secret mission, but the crew deserved an update. He decided to use the address of the Nimrod, a decommissioned destroyer that both him and Morgan served on and typed a message to send in a buffer.

Dear Mr. President,

During my investigation into the information leak, I came across your communications. Your secret is safe with me if you provide an update on Mach in the next twenty-four hours.

Best regards,

Kingsley Babcock

Babcock tapped the transmit image on the holo-keypad. He smiled to himself, imagining Morgan’s face when he opened the message. The shortness of the gruff old dog’s fuse made Mach look like a saint in comparison.

“Found something?” Tulula asked.

“Nothing that helps us find the mole, but perhaps an improvement in communication flow with our dear president.”

Tulula let out a wet croak. “He’s not my president.”

“Officially he’s not mine, but he’s a good ally and has access to the Commonwealth treasury.”

“Is that all humans are interested in?”

“Not always.”

It was easy to forget the differing motivations of Intrepid’s crew. Mach always said his missions were purely down to money, but Babcock knew honorable intentions were a part of his makeup, despite the rogue captain’s claims. Sanchez had escaped prison on Summanus, and although his debt was settled, he stayed on as part of the crew because he loved adventure. Lassea had a free spirit, and Mach put her to far better use than the Fleet ever could.

Tulula was a different story. Babcock was never quite sure what drove her. They’d rescued her from the Black Swan’s orbital and since then, she’d integrated into the crew without complaint. He wondered if she had any dreams or aspirations beyond hired missions. Perhaps it was her love of Sanchez that kept her on the Intrepid.

“What are you thinking?” Tulula asked.

Babcock felt his cheeks warm. He avoided asking personal questions. People or alien management wasn’t his forte. “Oh, err… nothing. Better get back to work.”

He turned back to his screen, peered at the data, and wondered where to look next. The mole posed a significant threat to the Commonwealth, which in turn meant the stability of the galaxy. The Salus Sphere firmly under horan influence would spell oppression and possibly the destruction of humanity.

That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

* * *

A cold metal object pushed into Babcock’s cheek. He rubbed his eyes and raised his head from the desk. Squid Three hovered above him and retracted one of its tentacles.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

Tulula turned from her terminal. “Three hours. Squid Three sent a message to my screen saying we should leave you.”

Babcock swallowed to moisten his parched throat. He would normally protest, but he hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours, and catching some rest during the L-jump made sense. “Have you found anything?”

“Nothing yet, and I’m nearly through it.”

Squid Three chirped and turned to a holographic screen next to the docking station. It displayed a block of unencrypted Axis data. Babcock rolled across on his chair for a closer look.

The little AI droid had cracked the latest encryption key, without his help. It marked another milestone in Squid Three’s evolution, but more importantly, it would be faster to hack the grand fleet’s navigation systems if they found it.

“Excellent work, sir,” he said.

Squid Three beeped an acknowledgment.

Babcock raised his smart-screen. “Lassea, how long ’til we’re out of L-jump?”

“We already are,” she replied. “There’s a faint reading two hundred klicks away, heading in our direction. No rush, though. It’s coming in slow.”

“I’ll be up shortly.” Babcock frowned and spun his chair to face Tulula. “Three hours you said?”

“I’m still not good with your concept of time. All I know is we need you fresh if we come across the grand fleet.”

“Continue here and keep me updated.”

Babcock suppressed a yawn, rose from his chair, and headed for the bridge. He had configured the comms system to filter all buffers on the Commonwealth’s secure galactic broadcast frequencies, and forward any information to his smart-screen, but so far, he hadn’t received a reply from Morgan.

The elevator hummed up its metallic tube and stopped at the top level. Babcock squinted against the brilliant white corridor and thought at some stage in the future it might be a good idea to get a pair of prosthetic eyes. He used to believe in the purity of the human form, but like many others in the Salus Sphere, age degradation had a way of changing minds.

Babcock palmed the authentication pad outside the bridge and its door smoothly punched to one side.

Lassea sat at the holocontrols and peered up at a small image on the edge of the tracking screen. Sanchez relaxed back in his seat by the ion cannon console and offered a casual two-fingered salute when Babcock entered.

“What have we got?” Babcock asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Lassea replied. “No transmissions and not close enough to get a clear reading. It’s too small to be a destroyer.”

“Plan a jump in case we need to make a quick exit.”

Lassea smiled. “Already done.”

Nigel had changed into one of the Intrepid’s dark blue engineering coveralls and busily tapped away on the laser configuration pad. Babcock moved across to the vestan gunner and looked over his thin shoulder. “Doing anything interesting?”

“Carrying out calibration checks,” Nigel replied, blasting Babcock’s nostrils with his acrid breath. “It’s a standard preventative maintenance procedure.”

Sanchez snorted. “We’ve got an official one here. He kept asking me for a uniform. I gave him a fusion monkey’s suit.”

“What’s a fusion monkey?” Nigel asked. “Mr. Sanchez told me it was a gunner’s dress.”

“Ignore Sanchez,” Babcock said and gave the big hunter a fake frown. “It’s crude slang from the Feronian docks.”

“What if he needs my help?”

“I’ll keep it simple for you. Don’t take anything he says seriously unless we’re under attack or launching one.”

Sanchez grinned, raised his middle finger, and spun back to face his console. Babcock eased himself into the captain’s chair and surveyed the bridge’s screens.

For the next ten minutes, the weak distant image grew stronger and closer. When it reached within fifty klicks, the energy reading split.

Two small ships were approaching the Intrepid. They crossed each other’s paths in small sweeping arcs, maintaining their slow speed.

“Horan scouts,” Babcock said. “I recognize their patrol pattern.”

“Like swatting flies,” Sanchez said. “If they lock on, I’ll give them a taste of our cannon.”

“Jump or raise our shields?” Lassea asked.

Babcock rubbed his chin and considered their options. “Neither. We’re not registered to the Commonwealth. Let’s play the role of the naïve space traveler and see what they can tell us.”

“When they attacked my orbital—”

“The Axis isn’t in the business of killing civilians,” Babcock replied. “Unless it hurts CW interests. Lassea, prepare to move in a moment’s notice, but for now, we’re on a mission to find an ancient relic.”

“What kind of relic?” Nigel asked.

“It doesn’t exist. We’re pretending.”

Nigel stared at Babcock for a moment before returning to his work.

Both ships appeared on the main viewscreen and thrust to either side of the Intrepid. Neither activated their lasers, probably aware the small scout ships were no match in a firefight. But they must have been confident about their position to get this close, which meant a larger force probably lurked out of the scanner’s range.

“They’re hailing us on a shipping frequency,” Lassea said.

“Establish an unsecure connection,” Babcock replied. “We don’t want to show a single sign of caution.”

“You got it.”

Nigel finished his checks and activated an auto-tracking system on the laser console. The central target on his display followed the starboard scout ship. Babcock hadn’t seen Tulula use this feature before. It also got Sanchez’s attention. He moved over to the vestan gunner and held a hushed conversation.

The image of a horan appeared on the main viewscreen. Babcock took a deep breath. The sight of the purple lizard-like creatures, with their flaming red eyes always put him on edge. It was the same for most veterans of the Century War. The younger generation was more accepting, but he had a feeling that was about to change.

“Human,” the horan said, “what is your business?”

“We’re searching for a relic,” Babcock replied. “It’s a freelance job for a private collector.”

“A Salus Sphere collector?”

“No. A dionian,” Babcock lied, thinking on his feet. Dionians were a neutral species with powerful defenses and deep culture. They despised horan violence and wouldn’t respond to a cross-check. “The planet appears in ancient texts. We don’t know if it’s a myth. Dark space seemed a good place to start.”

The horan hissed and leaned toward its screen. “Do you know of any Commonwealth ships in the area?”

Babcock shook his head. “Not seen any since we left Summanus.”

“Are you escaped prisoners?”

The thought occurred to Babcock that these two scout ships were independent to the fleet. Likely bounty hunters or pirates chancing their arm to catch large prey. “We dropped off a prisoner and collected our reward. I’d like to know your business?”

“Wait.” The horan spoke through another channel in his native tongue, paused for a few moments, no doubt receiving a reply in its chrome earpiece and focused back on the camera. “You need to accompany me back to my fleet for authentication. We have intelligence that spies are in the area.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

“If you don’t, ten destroyers will hunt you down. Running is a sign of guilt and will not be tolerated.”

Sanchez’s hand twitched on the cannon’s controls. Babcock hit the mute button on the arm of the captain’s chair. “Keep your cool, guys, I know what I’m doing.”

Lassea turned and gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“What did you say?” the horan said.

Babcock reactivated the speaker. “We’ve nothing to hide. Lead the way and we’ll stay close behind.”

“Very well. We’ll be watching you.”

The horan flashed off the screen. Babcock took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbed beads of sweat from his brow.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sanchez said.

“Why search for the grand fleet when the horans take us straight to it?”

“Are you crazy? You know what their interrogation involves, right?”

Babcock was fully aware the horans used ancient tools to extract information. It was one area the species felt they didn’t need any technological advancement. “It won’t get to that. We’ll gain all the information we need before getting too close.”

“Sounds pretty risky to me.”

“What’s the plan?” Lassea added.

“The same as before. Hack the navigation systems and jump before they attack. Intrepid will outrun any of their fleet.”

Both horan scout ships turned and headed back in the direction they appeared. Lassea spun back to the holocontrols and thrust forward.

Babcock knew they were upping the danger level significantly by following directly toward the grand fleet, but knowing its final destination and passing that information on could be vital to the survival of the Commonwealth. It was worth the risk.

Chapter 14

Mach’s heart beat furiously. He clambered through the hole in the wall and ran as fast as he could in the environmental suit down a narrow alley.

The suit’s fabric caught against his thighs and hips, slowing him down. His body’s upgraded adrenal system was being wasted, the energy fighting against the constriction of the suit rather than being turned into velocity of motion.

Adira kept pace with him, her elegant fidian shape not as restricted by the suit as his bulky human form. “Where’d he go?” she said, casting her head around. The alley was short, and they had already reached its end.

Either side of them, peculiar architecture stretched high above them, the surface texture resembling a network of stone veins and arteries. Dark, black-green vines clung to the sides, entwined with the stone, creating a weird mix of urban and jungle.

Mach noticed that the jungle part was denser here. The vines and other creepers were no longer dying, but thriving, claiming the city’s old remnants.

Once beyond the edge of the alley, Mach looked right then left down the only two options. There was no movement from either end. He switched on his helmet light and fought to calm himself and be methodical. Panicking and running off in the wrong direction wouldn’t save Beringer.

He scanned the ground. Flat-leafed purple weeds grew up between the cracks in the flagstones and through the boulder-constructed walls. More of the dark-green vines hung over the tops of the walls to loop down to the ground, the thick branch lying slack among the weeds.

“There,” Adira said, looking over his shoulder and pointing a few meters in front of them. Among the foliage were signs of disturbance: crushed leaves and a part of the vine split down its length.

“Come on,” Mach said. He set off, running north through the narrow passage. They were making their way toward the rear of the temple on the outside of the courtyard. When they reached the edge of the passage, it opened up into a wider street that ran alongside a frozen canal. An arched bridge crossed the ten-meter-wide stretch of ice. The bridge itself was yet more of the sand-colored stone. Its bricks were neatly cut and on the outside featured still more of the vein-like detail. It rose up in a perfect hemisphere. Green and purple flora was in the process of colonizing its right side, as though they were dragging it down, infinitely slowly, into the canal.

“The fucker’s right there,” Adira said, pointing her rifle at a dark shape standing on the edge of the bridge. It held Beringer around the neck with a long, muscular limb. Beringer’s legs kicked wildly over the side of the bridge.

Mach raised his rifle too, sighting down the scopes. He caught a quick glimpse of the thing before it jumped over the side of the bridge and plunged through the ice with a shattering crash, dragging Beringer with him. Mach’s trigger finger twitched, sending a laser blast toward the froth of white water and fragmented ice, but it was too late, the creature had got away.

“Cover me,” Mach said, lowering his rifle and running toward the edge of the canal. Without stopping to think, he jumped off the bank and onto the ice. It didn’t break. He skidded, his legs slipping out from beneath him. He crashed hard onto the thick ice, banging his head against the side of his helmet.

“Motherfucker!” he said between gritted teeth.

Adira’s arm hooked under his, lifting him up. “That wasn’t smart. You ready to move?”

Mach shook his head, cleared the splotches of multicolored ink from his vision and grunted and affirmation. The two of them helped each other toward the break in the ice. “Kortas, did you see all this?” Mach asked.

The static was still there but not as strong. The vestan guardian’s voice came through reasonably clear and determined sounding. “Your colleague is still alive,” he said. “The suit is protecting him from the cold. He’ll have enough air for thirty standard minutes. I would advise you follow.”

“For him, or for Afron’s brain?” Mach said, regretting the bitterness in his voice immediately.

“Both,” Kortas said. “Be quick, Carson Mach. They’re heading west.”

Mach switched his laser off. Adira followed his lead, and then the two of them dove into the water through the gap the creature and Beringer had made. Mach’s prosthetic eye registered the temperature below the ice at 176 Kelvins—strictly impossible if this was water, which froze at 273. Whatever this liquid was, it certainly wasn’t regular old H20.

“Kortas? You hear us under here… what is this liquid? Will the suits withstand it?” Mach was already feeling the chill enter through the suit, prickling at his skin like the cold winds did at the north pole of Fides Gamma. A place his fellow soldiers abandoned him during an attack on an enemy fortification. That’s how he lost most of the muscle in his right arm and most of his hand. It took three years for the prosthetic growth medium to return his limb to a normal state. He didn’t want to go through all that again.

“You will be reasonably safe for now,” Kortas said. “The suit’s HUD will warn you of any impending catastrophic breaches.”

The vestan cut off into a sea of static again, leaving Mach and Adira floating beneath a thick cap of ice. The water—or whatever it was—made it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead. Even with their helmet lights on, the dense liquid reflected most of it back at them with billions of floating particulate obscuring their vision.

“Thrusters,” Adira said. “They’ll be quicker than trying to swim through this damned soup.”

“They’ll use the majority of our fuel,” Mach said. The implication being that they wouldn’t have much left to power their heating and air systems.

“Then we better hurry and get him, right?”

“Right,” Mach said. “Just wanted to make sure you knew the risks.”

“Fuck the risks, Beringer’s one of us.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mach said. “After three…”

He knew there’d be no countdown. Adira was always ready. The two of them secured their rifles to the holsters on their belts, stretched their arms out in front of them, and engaged their boot thrusters. The force propelled them forward through the dense, murky miasma, their lights barely showing them what was coming.

The curtain of sediment and particulate broke away from them as they pierced through the water, using almost half of their fuel to swim just a few hundred meters. And yet there was still no sign of Beringer. Kortas’ voice came through to his comms unit, the static crackling intermittently but not enough to obscure the guardian’s words.

“Stop,” he said. “Turn ninety degrees to your left and head in that direction for a further fifty-seven meters. You’ll come to a bank. I’ve tracked your colleague to a position there. He’s stationary now.”

The Guardian updated Mach’s HUD with a crude map. It was enough, however, to give Mach the motivation and direction he needed. Using another quarter of their remaining fuel, they propelled themselves through the canal until they reached the bank.

Mach cracked his hands against the hard surface, the momentum too fast for him to pull away before striking the stone bank. He scrambled up, pulling himself through a gap in the ice that was no doubt the work of the proto-vestan creature.

“You okay?” Adira said.

“Fine, come on, he’s up here.” Mach dragged himself up and dropped a hand to help Adira up onto the surface of the bank. Mach looked around to get his bearings. They were on the far side of the city now, where he had seen the row of flat-roofed buildings. He took the rifle from his holster and checked that it was still operational—which it was. Mach didn’t have any doubt; it was vestan tech after all, as were the suits.

Despite a slight chill, the suit had kept him remarkably comfortable. Even now, the elements entwined in the interior fabric were heating up, equalizing the temperature to a more suitable level.

“All good?” Mach asked Adira.

She looked away for a moment, checking her HUD, and nodded her head. “Let’s move. There’s footprints all over here, but look, there’s a trail of wet prints and drag marks.”

The blue light filtering through the icy cap over the city bathed the scene in a cool blanket, giving everything a monochromatic feel. The ground, an uneven area of rock, was the color of blue steel.

The wet footprints reflected the ice dome with a silvery-cyan hue.

Even the buildings themselves were vastly different to other areas of the city. Gone were the ornate, elegant columns and lintels, to be replaced with structures made of advanced polymers molded into complicated geometry and metallic formations creating various beams and supports that resembled the framework of a geodesic dome.

Mach and Adira sped toward this starkly futuristic structure, following the prints as they went. They entered through an open doorway into the central part of the building. Mach looked up at the dark eyes-as-windows as he went, but saw no movement. Beringer’s location disappeared off his HUD, the holographic display flickering until it disappeared altogether.

“You lost your HUD too?” Mach asked Adira.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’ll do it the old-fashioned way: sweep and clear each room.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He made sure the laser was ready to fire if needed and stepped slowly into the dark room that lay ahead of him. Adira was behind him, sweeping their six and making sure they weren’t being flanked.

They stepped into a bare room that resembled a reception. A single round table stood to one side with a hole in the middle. It reminded Mach of the old vestan meeting rooms he’d seen once on an unofficial trip to one of the vestan worlds. He pushed through a set of double doors. They swung open easily, their electronics long since ripped out, wires hanging loosely like quartered entrails.

The room on the other side had white walls and white floors, all of which were stained with dark brown and yellow marks. The vines created a thick maze of foliage on the far wall, having breached through the ceiling. A breeze blew through a hole in the wall to their left.

“This place looks like a lab,” Mach said. He pushed his way past a tumbled cabinet of some kind. A steel bench ran around the perimeter of the room, a mix of vestan instrumentation littering the surface. “Kortas, what is this?” Mach said, waving the manacle slowly around. “Anything we should be worried about?”

Adira stepped forward, sweeping her rifle, inspecting each corner. While Mach waited for a reply, she gave him the thumbs-up sign and nodded to indicate another door to their right.

Somewhere in the distance there was a clang, followed by a muffled noise. Was it Beringer? “You heard that, right?” Mach said to Adira.

“Yeah, it’s him.”

Mach vaulted over another toppled cabinet and pressed his body against the doorway. Adira took the other side, and then Mach swept in, going low into a crouch so Adira could fire over him if required.

Nothing was there, apart from a huge hole in the roof. Metal and polymers splintered inward. Mach traced the trajectory down to the floor and saw a crater a few meters wide in the tiled surface. There was no sign of what might have caused it, though.

The light from the dome bled in through the gap, pushing the shadows to the far corners of the room. It was about half the size of the science lab and Mach thought it had once served as an office, given the single desk console on the right-hand wall.

Seeing nothing else in there, they moved through the other door into a hallway. The muffled noises echoed down into the space. Mach sped up, jogging toward the end. When he got there, it split into a T-junction.

“Kortas?” Mach snapped. “Come in if you can hear this.”

No response.

Adira stepped up beside Mach. “We go left,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

Mach looked at the floor; there were no more footprints or marks to indicate where the alien had dragged Beringer. Either the alien had got wise or had an alternative means of escape. Or… he looked up and saw that the low metal ceiling had a hatch. He reached up and pushed it open with the rifle. It swung open easily and clattered with a loud clang as it fell completely open.

He jumped up and used his elbows to lever himself into the space. It was warmer up here. His eye reading told him they were now heading again toward the direction of the heat source.

“This way,” he said. “I think we’re getting closer to this thing’s home. Or lair…”

“Good,” Adira said. “I can’t wait to kill the fucker.” She joined Mach in the tight space. Mach had to arch his back almost seventy degrees as he walked, but thankfully, the low ceiling rose higher as they moved further in.

The light was much darker here, and he had to flick on his helmet light to show the way.

Broken vines and some thick, wet brown substance littered the floor. “I think the thing’s been crapping in here,” Mach said, his feet squelching through the paste-like substance.

“Just great,” Adira said. “Why do these damn things never have any manners? It has enough smarts and tech to thaw the ice on an ice planet and kill a Guardian, but not enough sense to shit in a hole.”

After a few more minutes, they reached the end of the crawl space. It looked out over another science lab of sorts. The back wall of the room, which was also the back wall of the building, had crumbled in, semi-collapsed, creating a random staircase of stone and metal. At the top of this crumbled structure lay a piece of light-gray material: a section of a suit.

“This way,” Mach said. “He was taken over there.”

They clambered down from the crawl space and climbed the wedge of debris. Mach inspected the piece of material. It had got snagged on a piece of metal. Spots of blood speckled the edge. They were still wet.

Before they reached the summit of the hill of wreckage, Kortas spoke. “I know this place,” he said over the comms, the static now turning to a dull hum. “I have seen it… in the Saviors’ minds on occasion.”

“And I’m guessing they never explained what it was?” Mach said.

“You assume correctly, Carson Mach. The image was one of the forbidden images… I, to my shame, tried to know more about it once…”

“And?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Kortas said. “But tread carefully. There are things there that we can’t comprehend. I can’t watch you from here. I’d risk…” He let his words trail off as the electronic hum grew louder before the connection was severed, returning silence to Mach’s helmet.

“What was that all about?” Adira said.

“Not sure, but I don’t like the sound of it. These so-called Saviors are sounding ever more suspicious. Come on; let’s get over to the other side. We must be far enough now, we’re almost at the edge of the city, and there’s just rock from here. Beringer must be here—”

A high-pitched scream came over Mach’s comm—from Beringer’s helmet. Mach collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands uselessly against his helmet in a vain attempt at stopping the painful noise.

Adira reached down for him. “What is it?” she said, her words barely audible under the scream.

“It’s… Beringer,” Mach said. “It sounds like he’s dying…”

Getting back to his feet, Mach stepped over the threshold and down into the next room. He glanced around, jaw clenched, ready to attack at the first sight of that damned thing. Adira stepped in front of him, already eager to sweep the room.

A loud thunderous crack boomed out from somewhere above them. The terrible noise echoed around the entire city. The ceiling exploded inwards.

Mach yelled for Adira.

She spun round, looking up.

The ceiling completely collapsed around her, steel and plastic splintering in, pinning her to the floor. A chunk of ice the size of a hover-car soon followed, sending shards of ice flying about the room. Mach crouched and turned his back. The ice struck him hard, knocking him to his knees.

Adira screamed in pain, an echo of Beringer’s.

“Mach! I’m trapped!”

Chapter 15

A huge red disturbance had registered on the edge of the scanner. Babcock knew it couldn’t be anything other than the Axis grand fleet as the Intrepid continued to follow the pair of horan scout ships.

Lassea, Sanchez, and Nigel peered at the main viewscreen, waiting to catch a first glimpse of the enemy formation. Babcock had already briefed Tulula and Squid Three to stop what they were doing and concentrate on decrypting every current signal. Both had returned to the bridge and worked at the comms system to his left.

Distant twinkling lights appeared in a dark area of space. Only a handful at first, but it quickly became clear they were heading toward three large clusters positioned in a defensive ring: the classic Axis staging strategy while waiting for other ships to arrive. Destroyers surrounded three capital ships. There were possibly a hundred enemy units in total.

A trickle of sweat ran down Babcock’s back. He maintained a calm exterior and decided they could get no closer than five klicks, and even that was pushing it. Small red lights from fighter drones buzzed around the edge of the clusters. They would lock their weapons on the Intrepid and escort the ship inside the defensive ring once they got within seven klicks.

“We’ve got something,” Tulula said.

Squid Three chirped.

Babcock rushed over to the comms system and peered at the data. The messages were only partially decrypted, but it was obvious they were Axis ship-to-ship continuity checks. The horans and lacterns constantly pinged each other to test the stability of their communication channels.

“Fifteen klicks away,” Lassea said.

“Engage retro thrusters. Slow us down,” Babcock replied.

They needed as much time as possible to grab information before L-jumping to safety. Sanchez and Nigel returned their focus to their weapons screens.

Lassea manipulated the holocontrols, and the Intrepid let out a short deep puff. The ship continued toward the fleet at a slower pace.

More decrypted data streamed across the comms system. Most were standard messages between horan captains discussing their next moves. One mentioned a neutral vestan-built vessel coming in under escort. They planned to commandeer the Intrepid and use it as an Axis shock-ship.

Shock-ships made up the vanguard of the fleet, used for suicidal runs into the Commonwealth defenses. Babcock wouldn’t allow that to happen.

A capital ship sent out a repeated broadcast on a generic lactern channel. None of the energy readings on the scanner matched the signature of lactern cruisers, and it was unlikely they’d be cloaked in a staging area. The realization hit Babcock that this would be one of the biggest fleets ever assembled against the Commonwealth if the current numbers were only a partially assembled group.

Tulula jabbed her bony black finger against the screen. “I think we’ve got a location.”

Babcock peered down at two identical sets of coordinates in horan form. He translated the symbols to Salus Common on his smart-screen, input the result onto a galactic map, and transferred the image to one of the bridge’s overhead displays.

Sanchez squinted at the dark image. “What’s the target?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Babcock said. “Unless they’re heading for another staging post in unchartered space.”

“Why, though?” Lassea said. “It’s not like the horans to be convoluted. There has to be a reason.”

Babcock glanced back at the main viewscreen. The grand fleet was around ten klicks away. “Ours is not to reason why. Let’s see if Morgan’s on the ansible, and then get the hell out of here before they surround us.”

“Now you’re talking,” Sanchez said. “Nothing like a pair of horan bolt cutters to focus the mind.”

Tulula patched the voice-activated ansible link through to speakers on the captain’s chair, and the link beeped to confirm the connection.

“Fides Prime Government headquarters,” a female fidian said. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Captain Babcock of the Intrepid. Please put me through to the president’s office.”

“Do you have an authorization code?”

Babcock frowned. This must have been a new procedure introduced to stop Morgan’s secretary being bombarded with calls.

Lassea turned in her chair. “They won’t put you through without one.”

“My authorization is a hundred axis ships on my main viewscreen,” Babcock said. “I’m sure you understand.”

No immediate reply came. The channel clicked, and an electronic tone pulsed through the speaker.

“President Morgan’s office,” a gruff voiced male said.

“This is Captain Babcock. I urgently need to speak with the president.”

“I’m afraid he’s currently engaged in a meeting.”

Babcock sighed and wondered how many more people he’d need to bounce around before eventually getting through. “This is a matter of urgent galactic security. I currently have an Axis grand fleet in my sight.”

“I can transfer you to the Admiralty?”

“No, and you’ve got less than five minutes before I’m jumping.”

“Please hold.”

Both horan scout ships had responded to Lassea’s thrust and slowed. Two small energy readings broke from the closest cluster. Fighter drones were being deployed to beef up the escort as the Intrepid approached the defensive ring.

“If we don’t get a reply in two minutes,” Babcock said to Lassea, “prepare to jump.”

* * *

Morgan checked the time on his smart-screen. The meeting had been running for two hours and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Eight councilors, dressed in blue robes, debated Fides Prime administration issues around an oval-shaped glass table. He sat at the head of it, but his mind focused on the prospect of another war.

Tralis had informed Morgan about the Axis fleet, but the Admiralty had only agreed to patrol around the Salus Sphere in small groups. The destruction of a vestan orbital on the edge of the frontier wasn’t considered enough for a mass deployment. Space Marshal Brindley naively claimed it could be an exercise. Brindley, like the rest of the senior officers, still had a deep mistrust of vestans and refused to give them any priority over the rest of the Salus Sphere.

“What do you think, President?” one of the female councilors asked.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that last part,” Morgan said.

“I’ve tabled a motion to outlaw illegal fighting pits. There was an explosion a few days ago there. Probably an argument over gambling debts.”

“I think we’ve got bigger things to—“

Morgan’s secretary entered through an opaque door at the end of the room, rushed to his seat and stood to attention in a way only a civilian could. “Sir, Captain Babcock is on the ansible. He says it’s a matter of great urgency.”

“Please excuse me,” Morgan said to the councilors. He rose from his chair, straightened his jacket, and headed for the door with a mixture of relief and curiosity. Whatever Babcock wanted, he deserved acknowledging for providing an excuse to leave.

The last sensible update Morgan received on Babcock was about him being tasked to find a mole passing on Commonwealth space movements. The Axis had almost matching strength in terms of big ships. Knowledge of CW movements would give them an edge in any battle.

A little less sensible was the old scientist’s message about him using the buffer to communicate with commanders. Morgan wasn’t doing anything illegal and had no updates on Mach’s mission. He knew Babcock too well and chose to ignore the plastic threat.

The secretary directed Morgan back to the reception area outside his office and gestured to the built-in desk console. “You can take the call here, sir.”

“I’ll take it in my office,” Morgan said, aware that Babcock might start asking questions about Mach. “Make sure nobody enters.”

Morgan entered his office and sat behind his antique oak desk salvaged by pirates from a ruined airport on Earth. He bought it as soon as he saw it on the Salusnet open market, and could almost feel the excitement of passengers waiting in line while running his hand across the grain. Travel back then was surely more exciting before technology ripped all the fun out of it.

“Babs,” Morgan said into his speaker, “what’s so urgent?”

“We’re just about to jump,” Babcock replied with a hint of panic. “I’m sending over the Axis fleet destination coordinates.”

“Where are they heading?” Morgan asked.

“Unchartered territory. They’re already staging here.”

Morgan bolted up in his chair. “How many ships?”

“I’ve got a visual of at least a hundred. We’re ten klicks away and need to jump.”

The coordinates scrolled across the screen. Morgan felt a knot in his stomach. The mole could’ve done more damage than he ever imagined. “Give me a minute. I need to check something.”

“Fighter drones are closing in. We can’t wait any longer.”

“A minute, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay, but that’s it.”

Morgan connected to the secure line to Vesta. He had a dedicated channel to the High Lord, their equivalent of president.

A green winking light confirmed the connection.

Nobody answered. Morgan slammed his fist on the table. “Answer the fu—“

“President Morgan,” High Lord Buktan said in a gravelly voice, “I’m on my bracelet so you’ll have to be brief.”

“I’m sending over coordinates. Confirm if these are Terminus.”

“I can’t do that.”

“An Axis fleet is heading to this location. I’ve got a ship waiting to escape and need an immediate answer.”

Buktan didn’t reply.

“We need to stop the Axis if they’re after your tech. Is this Terminus?”

“Yes. How did they find it?”

“That’s not important. Can you scramble your ships?”

“It’s a sacred world. No vestan can—“

“Do you want it crawling with horans?” Morgan interrupted. “Because that’s what’ll happen if we don’t act immediately.”

“I’ll order forty-five of our frigates to the area. We need to investigate how this came about. It has deep ramifications for Vesta, and I expect your full cooperation.”

Morgan groaned and ran his hands through his thick gray hair. “I need to speak with the Admiralty. Tell the head of your fleet to get in touch with Commander Tralis. He’ll be organizing our forces.”

“I hope we’re in time,” Buktan said. “For all of our sakes.”

“Agreed. I’ve got an idea how to stall their fleet. Out.”

Morgan immediately switched back to the ansible link with the Intrepid. “Still alive, Babs?”

“Both drones have locked on. I hope you’ve got a good reason for putting our lives at risk. We’re jumping in thirty seconds.”

“I need you to fire on their ships. Cause as much destruction and confusion as you can. After that, head straight for the coordinates you gave me.”

“Seriously? You’ve finally lost it. May I remind you we’re not officially—”

“Cut the crap and listen to me,” Morgan said. “Those coordinates are for Terminus. The Axis Combine is heading there to capture vestan intelligence. If you want to save Mach, Adira, and Beringer’s bacon, I suggest you follow my instructions and rescue your crew.”

“We can head there now without firing,” Babcock said. “They’ll blow us out of space.”

“We need to stall any moves before our ships arrive. Please, just do this one thing. I’ll double your fee.”

Babcock sighed down the link. “I’m sure Mach will be pleased if we live to collect.”

“Thanks, Babs. I knew I could rely on you.”

Morgan cut the ansible link before receiving a reply. He knew Babcock as a man of logic, and he would ultimately do the right thing. The Admiralty would also have to act. If they left the vestans to be destroyed, and their greatest minds taken by the Axis, the treaty would be destroyed, and the Salus Sphere would follow.

* * *

Babcock stared at the main viewscreen. Both fighter drones had circled around the back of the Intrepid and kept their weapons locked onto the bridge. A tracking beam registered on the scanner, transmitting from the center of the Axis defensive ring formation as a guide to follow in.

“Tulula, Nigel,” Babcock said, “can we fire and jump at the same time.”

The vestan engineer and gunner held a loud conversation in their native tongue. Nigel flailed his arms around whenever making a point.

Sanchez heaved himself from his chair and winced, still clearly suffering from his injuries sustained during their mission in the Noven system. “Just go. Tell Morgan we fired and split. He won’t know.”

“We’ve got Mach’s location too,” Lassea said. “The sooner we get there and pick him up, the less chance we’ll be around when the Axis show up.”

Babcock leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his chin. Morgan’s attack suggestion made sense if they wanted to throw up a roadblock, enabling the Commonwealth forces to arrive. The grand fleet was definitely closer to Terminus’ coordinates. The Intrepid could comfortably beat any Axis ship with its faster fusion drive, but it all depended on the vestans’ technical conclusion. He wouldn’t fire if they couldn’t simultaneously jump. Anything else would be suicide, and none of the crew signed up for that.

“We’re being pinged by a horan ship again,” Lassea said.

Babcock jutted his chin toward the comms screen. They were less than seven klicks away, and the huge enemy formation stretched across a wide area of space directly in front of them. In a matter of moments, they would be in non-maneuverable range of the capital ship’s cannons.

An image of one of the scaly purple deviants appeared, in the cramped metallic cockpit of one of the drones. “Why have you slowed down?”

“My humble apologies,” Babcock said. “What would you like us to do?”

“Increase your speed and follow our beam. Be prepared for boarding.”

“Whatever you say,” Babcock said and cut the link.

Tulula and Nigel finished their heated debate. She turned to Babcock. “It’s possible to fire and jump. But it’s dangerous.”

“As soon as Lassea engages,” Nigel added, “we have one shot on the lasers and cannon. Anything more and the energy will be dragged along with us and rip apart the ship.”

“One shot’s all I need,” Sanchez said. The big hunter tweaked the orientation of the cannon toward the closest capital ship. “Just say the word.”

Two more drones left the Axis fleet and headed for the Intrepid. Babcock knew it was now or never if they wanted to escape. “Switch to fusion drives and set coordinates for Terminus,” he said to Lassea. “They’ll confuse the increased energy for us following their command.”

The young pilot configured the settings on the holocontrols and looked over her shoulder. The fusion engines wound up with a smooth roar.

Nigel sat back at the laser console and peered at his screen. The crosshairs were directly between the Axis fleet and the drone to port side.

“On your word, Tulula,” Babcock said.

The vestan engineer moved to Lassea’s side. “Guys, you’ve got two seconds to deploy our weapons. Ready?”

Sanchez nodded. Nigel responded in vestan.

“Engage,” Tulula said.

Lassea ramped the L-drive to full power. Sanchez and Nigel fired.

Babcock swallowed hard and peered up at the viewscreen. Four lasers stabbed from the underside of the Intrepid. The port-side fighter drone exploded into pieces.

A bolt of concentrated energy zipped across space and headed for the Axis fleet.

Multiple weapon systems locked onto the Intrepid.

Distant lights flashed from the formation as cannons and lasers fired.

The ship thrust to the left and bucked as a laser struck it. An alarm blasted from the bridge’s speaker, and a damage report streamed across the status screen. A moment later the distant stars turned to thin white lines.

Babcock took a deep breath and slumped back in his seat. Their next stop was Terminus, and he didn’t want to be around when the Axis showed up.

Chapter 16

Mach shook his head, clearing the fogginess. A pain in his lower back stabbed at him, reminding him of what had just happened. He must have been knocked unconscious for a moment; his memories didn’t quite match up. A void lay between frames of a film, a key piece taken out that broke the narrative.

“What the fuck happened?” he said, croaking the words out. No response, from anyone. With slothful limbs, Mach eased himself up from his prone position, shifting the fragments of ice and metal infrastructure out of the way. He spun round, trying to remember where he was, then soon remembered when he saw the pile of debris in the middle of the room and the roof that splintered inwards as though it had taken a direct hit from a fusion rocket.

Through this gap, the increasingly bright blue light from the dome shone through, a piercing beam. At the end of the beam, the dome of ice above now featured a fragmented façade, the intricate network of cracks scoring across the surface of the ice like some giant doodle from a bored God.

The dome continued to fragment, the cracks spreading out, forking across from one side to the other, bellowing out its thunderous verse. Great chunks of ice splintered off and crashed down into the city below, natural bombs striking at the heart of history, demolishing all that had come before and had endured for millennia.

“Mach!” Adira screamed over the scratchy comms. Her panicked words dragged him out of his initial paralysis, his Century War shellshock hangover. He clambered forward to the pile of ice and debris, dragging lumps of rock and metal and other primordial building materials until, eventually, he found Adira buried up to her waist, a polymer joist of considerable mass pinning her in place.

“I see you,” he said. “Just hang in there, I’ll get you…” somehow.

“I’m not going anywhere, you take your time,” she said, the panic in her voice hiding beneath her scathing sarcasm. Not a good sign. He’d rather she be yelling at him and cursing at him in a dozen alien languages.

“Vitals,” Mach said as he searched around the piles of debris for something to use as a lever. “Give me the specs. Right now!”

“Heart rate through the roof,” Adira said. “Blood pressure dropping faster than a lactern whore’s panties, core temperature as cold as a wendigo’s snatch. What else do you want to know? My inside leg measurement? Just hurry the fuck up, Mach, and get me out of here before I beat the living hell out of you. Twice.”

Mach smiled, this is what he wanted. Angry Adira was Surviving Adira. He stumbled over a pile of rock and destroyed furniture and found a long section of roof beam that had collapsed beneath the great weight and velocity of the ice fragment. It must have been at least three meters long, and Mach had to use all his augmented strength to lift it and heave it over to Adira’s position.

“No time for remodeling,” Adira said, catching his eye. “Just get me out of here before I lose the use of my legs.”

“I’m right on track, darling,” Mach said, getting a scowl for his over-familiar term, even if he did mean it sincerely. He didn’t want to show her that he was afraid of losing her, so he’d get her back up with double-bluffed sentimentality. “Why don’t you use your arms and help me to help you,” Mach said, indicating the end of the beam, which he was trying to wedge beneath the joist that had her pinned.

“Some rescue this is,” she bemoaned, heaving the tip of the beam into place.

Mach clambered forward of the pile of debris and placed a large rock under the beam about halfway. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to lever this sonofabitch off you. When the pressure is eased enough, I want you to skid your ass back out of the way. If I drop it, I don’t want to take your legs with it; I can’t carry you and chase after Beringer.”

“Where is the idiot, anyway?” Adira said, gritting her teeth as some pain wrenched at her.

Mach didn’t answer; he didn’t know, and right now, his priority was Adira—it always had been, and would likely remain the case until he was finally a part of the universe’s great field of indifferent particles.

He heaved once on the end of the lever, pushing down with perhaps half his strength, eager not to be too hasty and break something—or someone. The joist groaned against the resistance, the low bass note complementing the high-pitched scream that came to Mach via his external microphones—a scream that belonged to Beringer. A scream that if Mach were not already in a hyper state of attention trying to get Adira free, would have chilled his blood to a frozen state right there in his veins.

“That was him,” Adira said, helpfully.

“I know,” Mach grunted. “As soon as you feel anything move, try to get free.”

“Get on with it, superman.”

This time she rewarded him with a smile that, had his veins froze, would have melted them again. She knew it too, knew it would help motivate him. Her beauty was only second to her cunning and complete knowledge of Mach’s psyche. If anyone else had this kind of insight into him, he would have likely made sure they weren’t in a position to take advantage of it, but Adira was different… so very different.

He heaved harder this time, willing every sinew of his musculature to work harder than it had ever worked, to do this one thing for him if they wouldn’t do anything like this again. Just this once, he said, bargaining with his body. You owe me, old buddy. I saved you so many times on pox-ridden planets that the CWDF felt they needed to defend. And what had that achieved? A short peaceful period to allow the Axis Combine to rebuild their fleets…

“Argh!” Mach grunted as his body gave him what he wanted.

Everything he had, every particle, quark, atom, and molecule coalesced into one thing: a lever-pushing device of immense motivation and force. Things within his body snapped, giving up the ghost, as they used to say, giving their lives to him in this one monumental effort.

Sweat dripped down his face, over his lips, tasting peppery on his tongue. The beam-lever bowed dramatically over the fulcrum rock, the joist continuing to moan its elemental bass line, soundtracking his efforts.

The joist shifted. Dust and rocks fell away, now freed from the tyranny of the joist’s weight. Mach tried to call out to Adira, to move, to shift, do anything to get out of there, but the tendons and muscles in his neck were too taut to allow his vocal chords to work.

His vision grew dark and eventually, with one final effort, he let out an animalistic yowl, pushing the lever down a few more centimeters until something gave, snapped.

The joist!

It had broken against the lever; the part that lay over Adira tumbled down the small pyramid of rocks and ice to crash against the floor. A small avalanche of sand-colored stone chased after it as though they already missed its dominance.

Adira, however, gave out a cry of freedom, using her arms to push herself up and out of the debris until she lay flat on her back on the top of a chunk of ice. Her chest heaved in sync with his own that flared with pain as each breath made his muscles work again despite their burning protest.

Mach fell backward, letting the lever go. It bounced up and then down, the center pivoting on the fulcrum, until it, too, made that journey down to the floor, where it lay next to the joist, as Mach lay next to Adira, both exhausted, but still alive.

Without turning to face her, due to the impossibly heavy amounts of lactic acid now drowning his muscles, he said, “Are you okay? Anything broken beyond repair?”

A pause, pregnant with emotion he knew Adira wouldn’t display. The silence was enough for him, though; a few seconds that he could fill with his version of what Adira might be feeling. It included gratitude, and something else that he already doubted before it fully formed in his mind.

“I’ve sprained my ankle; I think,” she said, with no emotion in her voice: just the facts, like a good journalist covering the skirmishes in the trenches. “It will be fine to walk on with the swelling. I’m dehydrated and suffering from low levels of shock. Nothing to worry about. No bones broken. You?”

“Peachy,” Mach said. “Just peachy.”

During this conversation, he realized that Beringer’s screams had stopped. He couldn’t sit up yet, his back and shoulders were locked, demanding their time to recover for they had made the bargain and had given Mach everything. Now he needed to play the game, give the time, but time wasn’t something he had in abundance. He willed himself to sit up, groaning with the effort.

His HUD had stopped working. Beringer’s position was no longer available to him.

“Kortas,” Mach said, talking into his manacle, “you read me? You seeing any of this?”

The static buzzed, crackled, then the unmistakable voice of Kortas broke through.

“Carson Mach, we see… we’re seeing…” He broke off; the sound of panicked other voices echoed in the background. A guttural scream, an explosion, the sound of stone falling and collapsing.

“What the hell’s happening there?” Mach asked, his body now cooperating with him, a fresh dose of adrenaline helping to combat the sloth-like indignant attitude of his tired muscles.

“We’re under attack,” Kortas said. “They’re swarming the Garden of Remembrance… this is… impossible, it can’t be… shouldn’t be.”

“Okay,” Mach said. “Just breathe, concentrate, and tell me what’s happening. Does it relate to what’s going on here? The ice cap is fracturing.”

“They’ve reversed the polarity,” Kortas said with an increased incredulous tone. “The fissure under the Garden is melting. You have to get back here, Carson Mach, as a matter of urgency. We need your help.”

“The polarity of what?” he demanded. As he talked, Adira had taken his laser pistol and clambered up the rock, presumably in search of Beringer. Above them, chunks of ice kept falling from the compromised ceiling.

“The generator rods,” Kortas said breathlessly. It sounded like he was running. “They keep the fissure that the Garden is built upon frozen while keeping the atmosphere above it warm so that we can keep the Saviors safe.”

“So you’re saying the fissure is melting, and the atmosphere is freezing now?”

“Only in the confines of the Garden, yes. The proto-vestans are more cunning than any of us could have imagined.”

So there it was, finally, an admission of what they were facing. Mach was about to launch into a castigation of how the Guardians had sent them on a fool’s mission with a lack of information, but time wasn’t available for that now. “Just tell me what you know, as quick as you can, about the situation, about these proto-vestans.”

Adira interrupted the conversation by telling him she had found Beringer.

While Kortas continued to run and pant, Mach dragged his tired body up to the top of the pile of rocks and joined Adira. She pointed over a half-crumbled wall to an exposed lab of some kind.

“That’s him,” Adira said.

Beringer, stripped of his helmet, was strapped to a chair, his legs and arms encased in electrical wires. From a dozen points over his body, translucent tubes looped from him to a vat half-obscured by shadow. The vat was a tall cylinder that held reddish-brown mulch.

“Kortas!” Mach yelled, holding up the manacle. “What the hell is this?”

More panicked shouting came from the manacle’s comm-link. Kortas was shouting orders to evacuate and get to the ‘temple.’ “There’s no time,” the vestan said. “You have to get to the temple, get the Saviors off the planet’s surface. It’s too late for us now. We underestimated them… their capabilities, their numbers. We see now why the Saviors buried them so long ago. We should have known not to leave them there, in the ice. We should have destroyed them.”

“Destroyed what?” Mach said. “You’re not making any sense.”

“The proto-vestans, Carson Mach, one of the Saviors’ grand experiments. A huge failure, and our forebears. The pits… the icy burial grounds, they’re rupturing, melting… they’re coming, Carson Mach, coming for all of us, for their makers, the Saviors, you have to get to the temple before all is lost.”

The feed cut. The manacle clunked and fell to the ground—as did Adira’s and, beyond them, Beringer’s. They were free… in a sense.

A dark shadow crept out from behind the cylinder and loomed over Beringer. Mach raised the laser pistol, brought the green reticule over the proto-vestan’s dark, almost featureless face. Mach felt the blood in his veins chill at the sight of this thing; this… proto-vestan was the only accurate description. It was glossy black, smooth skinned, but lanky, long, odd-proportioned with the merest slit for a mouth and eyes that shone like black orbs through semitranslucent lids that reminded him of an early reptile.

Mach pulled the trigger. The pistol fizzed and hummed, a laser bolt blasting out of the barrel. Mach blinked and looked back through the scope to see the shadow slither off beyond the cylinder that obscured his view into the room.

He’d missed—this time.

The tubes running from Beringer transformed from clear to red.

“Fuck, they’re draining him,” Adira said, already clambering down the pile of debris and racing across the ground toward the half-crumbled wall, her right sprained ankle giving her an awkward gait.

Mach holstered the pistol and made to chase after her, but the movement above him stopped him in his tracks.

He peered up and saw hundreds of dark shadows shifting across the outside of the ice dome. He followed their trajectory and realized the proto-vestans had escaped their frozen prison and were heading back toward the Garden of Remembrance, the Saviors’ temple.

The numbers were overwhelming. They’d never be able to fight that many… which left but one option: do as Kortas said. Get the Saviors’ off the planet’s surface. But not before he and Adira saved Beringer—they owed the poor bastard that much at least.

Chapter 17

Morgan’s two-seater transport pod powered along the side of Fides Prime’s main spaceport. To his left, crews ran for the twenty open hangars to board the stationary destroyers. He had put the planet on red alert and was heading to the Admiralty to explain the dire situation they faced if they didn’t act decisively.

Five fighter drones lifted from the concrete and headed in different directions toward the atmosphere. A group of eight members of the Fides Prime defense force, in their pale blue coveralls, marched in the direction of a tall white orbital cannon.

Meeting with senior officers at short notice was always better face-to-face and the best way of guaranteeing a result. Morgan remembered when he was an admiral. Officers always complained when the president demanded they attend an immediate meeting in the government building. Visiting them in their environment started things off on the right footing. He also enjoyed being back in his old haunt.

The transport pod pulled to a gentle halt outside the two-story solid granite structure. Images of early Commonwealth ships were carved into the walls. A green and white striped CW banner fluttered at the top of a roof-mounted flagpole.

Morgan hit the exit pad, and the door rose open.

Two marines, either side of the open glass doors, braced to attention and slapped their palms across their rifles.

“Carry on,” Morgan said and headed straight inside.

A young fidian, in dark blue officer’s dress, met him in the lobby. She smiled, flashing her light green teeth. “Welcome, sir. The space marshal and his staff have already assembled in his office. This way, please.”

Morgan followed her across the cream marble floor. He didn’t need an escort to find his way around the building that doubled as his second home for over a decade, but followed protocol. CWDF rules were never formed on democratic principles, but that was the best way to manage a fighting force.

Paintings of previous admirals hung on the walls of the corridor leading to the space marshal’s office. Morgan grimaced as he passed his own. The old human painter had given him an expression he only recognized in himself when he was on the toilet. Typically, Mach pointed the same thing out during the only time Morgan had given him a tour of the place.

The female officer extended her arm, gesturing Morgan through an open door, and he entered the room. The buzz of chatter instantly stopped.

All five officers stood to attention.

Space Marshal Brindley, at the head of a rectangular wooden table, gave a nod of acknowledgment. Morgan wondered why he still bothered to dye his hair black. It was fairly obvious from his thin frame and deep wrinkles around his forehead and eyes that he was close to retirement.

“Thank you for accepting my meeting request, gentlemen,” Morgan said. “Please, be seated.”

The officers collectively murmured a response.

Morgan sat opposite Brindley. The four commanders between them, on either side of the table, were the space marshal’s form of window dressing. He liked to have the final say on everything but primed them with questions to play devil’s advocate against any of Morgan’s plans. It wasn’t as tedious as it sounded. Brindley was excellent at his job, and everything deserved scrutiny when it came to issues relating to CW security.

“We still haven’t located the mole,” Brindley said. “Any luck your end?”

“Nothing yet. I’ve got Babcock working on it.”

A smile stretched across Brindley’s face. “Kingsley Babcock? How is the tetchy old bugger?”

“He’s just fired on the Axis grand fleet. I’ll send him your regards.”

“Babs? Are you serious?”

“I wish I was joking. Mach is completing a ground mission. Babcock’s standing in.”

Brindley’s smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes. “What have you got Bleach doing this time? Please don’t tell me he started all of this?”

“No, he didn’t, but he’s currently on Terminus.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Morgan remembered Brindley had been Babcock’s junior officer in engineering over thirty years ago. They worked well together and had a healthy mutual respect. Mach constantly annoyed Brindley when he visited Babcock in the lab by playing with their test equipment and calling them geeks.

“Down to business,” Brindley said and flipped open a desk-pad. “I need more information before we commit eighty percent of the Commonwealth’s resources to an unchartered area of space.”

“Babcock’s report matches a witness account from Orbital Hibock. Over a hundred Axis ships are heading to attack Terminus. We need to stop them for the sake of the treaty, and our futures.”

“Terminus?” a middle-aged commander to Brindley’s right asked. “We don’t have any records of the planet. The coordinates are outside our frontier.”

“He’s right,” Brindley predictably added. “It’s not in the agreement we signed with the vestans. What’s so special about this place?”

“It’s the planet for their dead and most don’t know the location,” Morgan said and leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Their greatest technological minds are based there. If the Axis capture them and desecrate the land, we kiss goodbye to our new allies and the edge they bring.”

Brindley slowly nodded. “I see the need for us to defend the area, but we’re talking about facing down a grand fleet. Are the thousands of lives we’d lose worth it?”

Morgan counted to five in his head to compose himself. He knew the marshal had probably already calculated the risk. “We’re talking millions of lives if we don’t. The Axis will retreat if they see an equal force. You know we can beat them in battle. If they attack, we’ve got a chance of securing peace for another decade by knocking out their fleet.”

“An armchair admiral would agree,” Brindley replied, “but we’ve still got our mole to consider. An assembling force in space is open to ambush.”

The four officers nodded in agreement. Morgan maintained a calm exterior, but inside he was irritated about the armchair admiral comment. Brindley knew as well as he did that they had to scramble.

“Nero fiddled while Rome burned,” Morgan said and relaxed back in his chair.

Brindley frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s an ancient saying from Earth. While the great city of Rome burned to the ground, its emperor Nero played a violin, revealing his lack of concern for his people and empire.”

“Are you saying we aren’t concerned?” a commander to Brindley’s left asked.

“No. I’m aware of the threat our mole poses, but that doesn’t mean we neglect our priorities. Can I tell the vestans we’re on our way to Terminus?”

Brindley looked around his commanders. “The Fleet always acts in the Commonwealth’s best interest. I know you’d carry out the same due diligence in my shoes. Hell, I’ve even seen you do it.”

“You’re not wrong,” Morgan said, taking a more conciliatory tone. “But we both know there aren’t many options on the table. Two things can happen. Our show of force will be enough to avert a conflict, and we continue to build our strength.”

“Or?” Brindley said.

“Or we create history by making our next war last a day, rather than a century.”

The commander to Brindley’s right leaned toward him and whispered. Morgan found it rude for a moment until he remembered doing the same thing in front of former President Steros. Forty years of CWDF service was hard to shake. He had to accept he moved in different circles nowadays.

“Have the vestans confirmed their numbers?” the whisperer asked.

“Forty-five frigates,” Morgan replied. “They’re in the process of deploying.”

“And the Axis strength is confirmed at a hundred?”

“That’s the latest report I’ve had from the staging area.”

“Any sign of lactern cruisers?” a female officer to Morgan’s immediate left said.

Those ships, with their cloaking tech, caused the most fear amongst the allied fleet. They were always more comfortable fighting what they could track.

Morgan shook his head. “Not that I know about, but obviously that can change.”

Brindley peered at the screen to his left and focused back on Morgan. “Four capital ships, sixteen destroyers, and forty fighter drones will be there in twenty hours. That’s all we can afford without leaving the Sphere open to attack.”

Morgan did a quick calculation in his head. Unless the Axis jumped in the next hour, the CW ships would arrive before them to join the vestans. A joint force of over a hundred should be enough to scare the grand fleet away.

“Thank you for your understanding, Marshal,” Morgan said.

“Let’s hope we get there in time,” Brindley replied. He folded down a screen on the table. “Time to go to work, gentlemen. I want a holo-meeting with all Fleet commanders in twenty minutes to discuss strategy.”

The four officers stood, braced for a moment, and left the marshal’s office. Very obedient, Morgan thought. He knew he made the right appointment when promoting Brindley. With him as president, the days of high-ranking bullshit artists were over.

Brindley unbuttoned the collar of his dark blue jacket and moved to his desk at the end of the room. He opened a drawer, produced a bottle of Orbit Hooch, the spirit used during the Century War to toast victory, and poured two glasses of the amber liquid.

Morgan joined him, sat on the edge, and took a glass. “Armchair admiral? If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’ve gotten too big for your boots.”

“You know the drill. The men and women need to know I’m fighting in their corner and not folding to every request from the top.”

“That’s exactly why I chose you. I didn’t want a patsy. I’m sure word will get around about your barb, and you’ll be a hero for an hour.”

Brindley sighed and peered into his glass. “We might lose a lot in the coming days.”

“I know how you’re feeling,” Morgan said. “Trust me, you’re doing the right thing.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“An ancient war leader once said, ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’ If we are heading to war, humans, vestans, and fidians will say the same thing about our fleet. It’s a horrible price to pay, but our story will echo through the centuries.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Morgan clinked his glass against Brindley’s. “Let’s toast to a safe return.”

Both men swallowed their drinks and slammed their glasses on the table.

Chapter 18

The tubes came out easily, the proto-vestan having used a quick release system to attach them to Beringer’s suit.

The needles came out with a sucking sound. Beringer’s suit pressed tight against the wounds, a membranous layer inflating with the suit’s compressed air. Adira had fetched his helmet and connected it, having removed the smaller breathing apparatus that were fitted to the archeologist’s face.

“Can you hear me?” Mach said, kneeling in front of him.

Beringer blinked his eyes rapidly as though he were transmitting a message in binary format, but he was just getting used to the light as he came around from his enforced subconscious.

“I… what happened?” he said, wincing as he leaned forward.

The suit’s constricting fit meant that for the time being his movements would be stiff. At least until his blood had clotted, which, given the vestans’ suit tech, wouldn’t be long. The membrane was fitted with a coagulant coating.

“You were dragged off by a monster and used as lunch for his friends,” Adira said. She jerked a thumb to the cylinder that held the small amount of blood the alien had extracted from Beringer.

“What the?” Beringer said, shaking his head.

Mach stood and searched the room, looking for anything useful. The cylinder was as tall as he, and was half full, or half empty, depending on one’s outlook, with the reddish-brown mulch. A tube at the base headed toward a wall shrouded in shadow. Mach stalked closer and discovered that there were half a dozen cryo-chambers, within which were more of the proto-vestans. These ones, however, were frozen in place, unmoving.

Beringer stood with Adira’s help and looked up, the shadowy movement having caught his attention. Mach couldn’t help but follow his gaze and watch as yet more proto-vestans swarmed across the dome, which cracked still more. Each time the ice split, a booming crack, the sound of primordial thunder, bellowed out to the city bellow.

“We’ll explain on the way,” Mach said, remembering the urgency in Kortas’ voice. He made sure there were no more proto-vestans waiting to jump out on him from the shadows of the lab and guided Beringer out over the crumbled wall. He got his bearings, using the distant tower as a landmark to retrieve the overlay he had embedded in his memory earlier.

They eventually cleared the crumbling science buildings and were back out into the city proper. More chunks of ice continued to rain down, ordnance in a one-sided battle.

“Come on, this way,” Mach said, pointing to a wide road that ran parallel to the frozen canal. “We’ll have to go back into the Guardians’ compound and head to the temple. We need to extricate the Saviors, get them off the planet.”

“In what?” Adira asked as the group began to jog back through the city, retracing their steps.

“The shuttle we came in on,” Mach said. “We’ll just have to make room.”

It took just ten minutes to reach the mausoleum where the attack had first happened on poor Afron. Mach wondered what had happened to him; though given the mulch in the cylinder, he realized that the vestan Guardian was probably in the bellies of his forbears now. And as for the heat signature, he now had that confirmed by Kortas: the generator rods.

For a creature so primal looking, the proto-vestans were cleverer than they appeared. Probably why the Saviors buried them in great pits of ice. But then why not just destroy them outright if they were that feral and dangerous? He’d have to deal with the question later. For now, they had to get back to the Garden of Remembrance. Although he feared the proto-vestans would already be there, getting into the temple to consume their makers, and with it, taking the sum of the vestans’ knowledge wrapped up in the Saviors’ dead-but-not-dead minds, and thus weakening not just the vestans themselves, but also the CWDF, who had recently brought the vestans into the Commonwealth from the Axis Combine to shift the balance of power.

The three of them took another fifteen minutes to get back to the courtesy vehicle outside the mausoleum. The weak sun was rising to its zenith point though it didn’t bathe the planet in strong white light; the shadows merely became less dense, more nebulous. And dipping in and out of these shadows was the tall, lithe figures of hundreds of proto-vestans, streaming toward the GoR like a line of ambitious ants.

Mach hit the autopilot controls of the transporter pod. The engines whined up and sped back to the docking bay from where they had first set out. He had hoped then that they’d be back without too much trouble, having found Afron’s remains, and that he’d be now negotiating with the Guardians for their freedom.

Mach wasn’t stupid; he knew that they were never due to leave the planet. And that Morgan had sent them here on that very assumption; an old friend sending the other into a situation that the former hoped the latter would leave up to his reputation and defy the odds to return. Slim odds, though, Mach thought, not taking it personally, although knowing that if he survived this and got off the planet, that he’d call in the biggest favor of his life from Morgan. The president owed him that much at least for sending him to his certain death.

Still, it wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. It was just how it was with Morgan and Mach. Two old war vets continuing their scheming in the aftermath, both unable to let go of the past and just be.

They had to live on that edge, keep pushing, because to give up and live a life of comfort was just another form of death. A slow, insidious death that crept up on you one night when getting out of bed and realizing you haven’t done anything of note for weeks and, worse, you had no desire to.

No. Mach wouldn’t do that.

When his time came, it would be saving his friends, fighting enemies, having an actual effect on an indifferent universe that wasn’t even hostile, just utterly unconcerned with what went on inside it. That was the real reason the proto-vestans were so eager to come out of their slumber and consume their makers: they too knew that it was a slow comfortable death on the other side of the coin.

They had spotted their chance, used the slight environmental changes—the thawing of just one creature—to leverage the opportunity to live again, to be the thing that the Saviors made them: killers—brutal, efficient killers—consuming all in their path.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind asked him sardonically who and what that reminded him of. Touché, he said to his subconscious as the vestan vehicle increased its speed, as though it knew the urgency of the situation and left the swarming ants behind.

The vehicle stopped abruptly in the docking bay, which was entirely dark.

The gullwing doors slid open, and the lights came on the second he stepped out of the pod, as though the room were alive, waiting for them. “You both okay to move? We’ve got to be quick,” Mach said, speaking to Adira and Beringer, who had also stepped out of the vehicle.

“I’m okay,” Beringer said. “The stim is numbing everything at the moment. I can’t speak for my mental condition right now; I’ve never been so scared, and I don’t know what the hell I’m saying or doing…” He rambled on until Adira stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re good to go,” she said.

Mach nodded and checked his laser was ready to fire if needed. They only had the one weapon between them now, but the battery was still almost at ninety percent, giving him enough shots to take down at least a few of the protos if needed.

“Which way to the temple, then?” Adira said.

The three of them looked around the utterly sparse dock, its plain white walls giving no hints of direction or perhaps a handy map one would find projected on the sides of the metro pods.

“No idea,” Mach said. “Let’s figure it out as we go. I know that we came in from that door.” He pointed to the southern wall and approached, rifle raised.

Outside of the docking bay, the sound of more ice cracking filled the air, along with smaller cracks and thuds, reminding him of grenades in a warzone and making him wonder if the protos hadn’t found a secret cache of weapons. That would not be good at all.

Mach led the others through the door after checking it was clear and entered the equally plain corridor. He wondered what the Guardians had against aesthetics, or at least some kind of detail to help orientate the GoR’s main structure.

From the outside, it looked like a set of four pyramids connected with glass tubes. However, there was no way of telling what form it was, for the rooms and corridors all looked alike.

“I remember these corridors,” Beringer said. “They all look alike, but there are subtle differences to the texture.” He stopped for a moment and turned his light to the wall, showing that one panel a few meters wide displayed a glossy texture while the next panel was matte.

“How does that help us?” Adira asked, genuinely interested and full of hope.

“It’s a guide,” Beringer said. “I studied something similar to this before; the passages of vestan destroyers use a scheme like this. The textures provide directional cues of a sort.”

“Great,” Mach said. “You’re taking point. We need to get to the center, where the temple is. Think you can get us there?”

Beringer shrugged. “Only one way of trying. Just make sure you’re covering me; I don’t want to be dragged off and used as a food source again. Trust me when I say it was entirely unpleasant and an experience one would not wish to repeat.”

“Covering, now go,” Mach said. “The quicker, the better.”

For the next five minutes, they stalked the seemingly endless corridors as Beringer tried to figure out the navigational scheme. Then, with a whoop, the archeologist announced he had it figured out and sprinted off toward the center of the building.

Following them, from an adjacent room or passageway were the hurried sounds of footsteps and crashing noises and screams. The protos were trying to get to the temple the more direct way, Mach assumed. But if that were the case, he and his team were one step ahead—for now.

Mach and Adira followed Beringer around a corner, and the three of them came to a sudden stop. Up ahead, less than five meters away, in the narrow passageway crouched three proto-vestans devouring the bodies of two dead Guardians, their robes stained darkly with viscera. The pitch-black protos hunched over their prey, clawed hands digging into dead meat.

Mach raised the rifle, embedding the butt into his shoulder and let out a series of five quick-fire shots. He held his breath and arced his fire a few degrees from east to west, the laser bolts striking their targets before they had even known he had fired.

They flopped to the ground, not even screaming. One twitched a couple of times, then reached its clawed hand up. Mach put another laser bolt into its body, making it still. The mess brought back terrible memories he had spent many years trying to eradicate. He stumbled slightly. Adira caught him.

“Good shooting, hero,” she said calmly.

Mach’s heart raced hard. Too hard. He still had a stim shot left, but he suspected there’d be more suitable situations to come yet.

“Those Guardians…” Beringer said, stepping shyly toward them. “What a way to go. It’s not right. None of this is right, you know that, Mach? This is so messed up.”

“I know you’re out of your comfort zone here,” Mach said, “but we need you sharp, old man. If we’re going to survive this, we need you to help navigate through this place. We can think about the dead later. Right now, let’s focus on saving the Saviors.”

Beringer nodded and stepped over the pile of corpses, inspecting the walls. After a few long moments of inspecting the textures, trying to get an understanding of the strange vestan-built system, the archeologist finally found something.

“Here,” Beringer said, dashing to the very end and skidding to a halt at the end of the passageway. Its glossy walls reflected like dark mirrors, showing the three of them huddled there. Mach’s eyes were wide, attentive for movement.

“The temple’s behind this panel,” Beringer said, shining his helmet light on the configuration of smaller panels, communicating some kind of sign in the form of varied textures. “We just need to find the mechanism…”

Adira turned and kneeled over the body of the closest Guardian. It had its long, lithe hand reaching out. Around its wrist was a manacle, the polished metal surface one of the few clean surfaces in the grim tableau. Adira quickly removed it from the guardian’s thin wrist and tossed it over to Beringer. “Here, do something with that, hotshot.”

While Beringer tried to work out a way in, Adira and Mach stood either side of him, covering for any potential attack. “Come on,” Mach said, hurrying the archeologist up as he considered the manacle in too slow a manner.

A keening noise came from the opposite end of the passage, and then the narrow space became even narrower as two more protos rushed through on all fours like feral war dogs. Mach brought the rifle up and aimed and was about to fire when the protos, seemingly sensing Mach’s intentions, leaped forward, their bodies elongating like meaty spears. Mach tried to readjust his aim, but their arcing movement so close made it difficult for him.

They were just a few inches away, claws extended.

Chapter 19

A booming thud came from behind Mach. A hand grabbed his arm and dragged him inside a dark, cool place. The panel slammed shut just millimeters from his outstretched hand, closing the protos out and them inside.

Mach turned round. Above them, a circular light fitting switched on. A cone of yellow light sprang forth, pushing the shadows to the very edges of the circular space. It must have been at least twenty meters in diameter, and in the middle was a tall construction of translucent material made from eight interconnected cylinders two meters high at a minimum.

Inside the cylinders were creatures Mach had never seen before.

“My God,” Beringer whispered in hushed, reverent tones even as the protos continued to assault the panel behind them, the material of which wasn’t giving in to the onslaught.

“It’s them,” Beringer said. “It’s them… the so-called Saviors, the vestans’ makers.” The archeologist reached out an arm to point at them as though they were easily mistaken for something else in the empty circular room. His arm trembled, and his steps toward the Saviors were unsteady, a toddler taking his first steps to his mother or father.

The creatures were even taller than their vestan creations. They must have been at least three meters tall. Like their prodigies, these things were willowy to the point of emaciated, their many ribs sticking out of their white cloth robes that clung so tightly to their limbs, one could see every knee joint, elbow, knuckle, all long and thin, speaking of some otherworldly creation.

Their faces were no less disturbing; ethereal expressions that were the embodiment of inscrutability gave no sense of what they thought if anything at all.

Mach knew they were dead, only their minds alive, but still, he had a sense that they could move at any moment, reanimate their desiccated forms and shape the world around them as they had done so many millennia ago.

In some lights, Mach thought they almost looked human, but as quick as the thought had arrived, a contradiction replaced it, telling him that despite being bipeds, with two arms and a face that had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, they clearly weren’t. No ears, though, which seemed initially strange, but then Mach realized that the dead don’t need ears.

“Holy fuck,” Adira said, with less reverence. “Just look at those damned things… how in the hell are we going to get those lanky freaks off this godforsaken planet?”

Mach didn’t have time to respond as a thin, reedy voice spoke through their comms as though it were being transmitted from an entirely different plane of existence.

“The Guardians have fallen,” it said. Mach couldn’t tell if it had a gender. It had no accent that he recognized, and despite it speaking in Salus Common, the words sounded so otherworldly, it might as well have spoken in a different language.

Beringer stopped short of reaching the cylinders. Adira stepped closer to Mach, her body stiffening. “You all heard that, right?” Mach said although it was clear they had. The protos were still bashing something against the panel, trying to get in. The voice continued in its weirdly calm and to-the-point manner that reminded Mach of a captain he had once fought under.

“Terminus has come to its conclusion,” the voice said. “Our… mistakes of the past have come to claim what they feel is rightly theirs. I know all about your mission and what you tried to do for us, but I need to ask yet more of you if we are to ensure our combined survival.”

“Okay…” Mach said, staring up at the eight ghostly Saviors, wondering which one he was speaking to, or whether he was speaking to the combined mind of all of them. Whichever it was, their tone of voice had the effect of calming Mach, despite the chaos that was going on just outside of this temple. “So what do you suggest? We only have a shuttle; it’s gonna be a tight squeeze to get us all on, but—”

“No,” the voice said. “There’s insufficient power in the shuttle to get us all off the surface and maintain our chambers. We need to use some of the mechanisms here in the temple.”

“Right,” Mach said, not quite sure what to say next. Then, regaining his confidence and having come to terms with what he was dealing with, he said, “Listen, old chap, no offense, but we’re gonna do this my way. The protos will get through soon enough, so you’re going to tell us how to get you and your lot to the shuttle using an alternative approach. Once you’re safe inside the shuttle, we’ll deal with the power issues. I’m assuming you can communicate with us at will?”

“Only while the temple stands,” it said. “The central communication model is below your position. I’m transferring a map of the facility to your HUDs. We must move quickly before our… children find the shuttle.”

“Children?” Adira said, her face curling in disgust.

Throughout this conversation, Beringer had circled the central system of chambers that were holding the Saviors. He was inspecting the mechanism and looked up at Mach with a smile on his face. “I can see how to move them,” he said. “Going to take some effort, but I’m sure we can do it.”

Mach nodded and addressed the Savior again. “So, what do we call you?”

It seemed to think for a moment before replying, “For the purposes of this communication, you may refer to us, collectively, as Hanos. Now that we’re understood, I would implore you to carry out your plan immediately. Our children are swarming, and we won’t have much time.”

Mach’s HUD glowed with a new map overlay. A route, picked out in red, showed them the alternative and thankfully quicker route through the facility to the shuttle bay. They were going to go below one level, hopefully, safe from the swarming ‘children.’

They dragged each savior through the tunnels beneath the facility until they came to an elevator that took them up to the docking bay. They communicated with Mach, showing him where to replenish their weapons: yet more laser rifles. He, Adira, and Beringer took one each.

After twenty or so minutes of hot, sweaty, grueling work, they finally got the eight Saviors into the shuttle. Out of curiosity, Mach tried the controls after hooking the ethereal creatures’ chambers up to the shuttles power source and confirmed that the small craft wouldn’t have enough power to get everyone off the surface.

“There’s a reactor core at the base of the temple,” Hanos said via Mach’s helmet speaker. “We have updated the position on your map. It’ll require two of you to remove the core and bring it to the shuttle. We will also require the twin couplings from the reactor unit. There’s a tool kit within a maintenance bay nearby that you will need for this. You will find instructions in the file we are sending to you.”

“Got it,” Mach said, trying not to be daunted by the proposition of carrying a volatile, vestan reactor core through an underground labyrinth.

“I’ll stay here with them,” Beringer said once he finished wiring up the chambers. They were stacked atop each other in the rear of the shuttle, leaving the cockpit free for Mach, Adira, and Beringer. Not ideal, but he’d traveled in worse conditions. “Make sure nothing comes to get them.”

“Right,” Adira said. “Mach and I will be back in no time. Hold tight, Beringer. Stay quiet and don’t do anything stupid.”

Mach and Adira checked their weapons and swept around the docking bay to make sure it was free of any protos. Satisfied, they snuck back beneath the facility and headed for the core. They traveled quickly and silently, listening to the varied booms, cracks, and explosions around them as the protos were trying to find ingress in the fortress of the Saviors’ glorified mausoleum.

Worse, however, were the tremors from beneath.

The generator rods were now heating the great icy fissure on top of which the Garden of Remembrance stood, the fissure being the most solid part of the planet. That wouldn’t be the case for too much longer at this rate. Mach tried to put that to the back of his mind and focus on the job at hand: get the reactor core.

They followed the Saviors’ directions and found the toolkit without too much trouble. They crossed a long access tunnel that led back to the temple: the epicenter of the facility, beyond which lay the reactor core. Mach approached the sliding door to the temple. Noises came from the other side. Wet, rending noises. Pushing the door open a few millimeters, he peered through the gap to see a couple dozen protos chowing down on the remaining Guardians that they had dragged into the middle of the temple.

Mach stepped back and checked his HUD again. There was no alternative route to the reactor core. They needed to cross the temple to get to the next access tunnel.

“What is it?” Adira said, her voice only audible in Mach’s ears.

“Company,” he replied. “Couple dozen of them in there, camped around the empty cylinder sockets. We’re gonna need a distraction and then run like hell to the access panel on the far side.”

They both checked their laser rifles, making sure they had a charge in the chamber ready to go. Mach was carrying the toolkit in a pack on the back of his suit. They didn’t have enough fuel left to blast their way over the top of the protos; they were going to need all that fuel for the air the suit was generating. They only had enough for about four hours at this rate, which, should they be able to get to the reactor core and back, alive, should be plenty. The thrusters, however, used up far more, and he couldn’t risk them dying of asphyxiation.

“I’ve got a plan,” Adira said. “Give me your first laser rifle. It’s still got a bit of a charge, right?”

Mach checked and handed it over to her.

“Good,” she said, shouldering her weapon then fieldstripping Mach’s with expert speed, removing the battery from the rifle’s power chamber. She placed the remaining parts of the weapon quietly on the floor and weighed the battery in her right hand.

“These are volatile once outside of their chamber,” she said, following up her statement with a grin that told Mach all he needed to know about her plan.

“We move on three,” Mach said. “Don’t stop… we need to get through that access panel. Okay?”

Adira just nodded, then glanced at the makeshift grenade.

“I mean it,” Mach said. “Don’t go all bloodlust kill-mode on me; there’s too many of the fuckers out there, and I need you in one piece with all your limbs intact.”

“Just my limbs?” she said with a sultry wink. Mach always got a little worried when she was in this kind of mood. She would do stupid, reckless things, but he had to trust her. She knew the stakes.

“On three,” Mach said, bracing his shoulder against the door to the temple. His suit weighed down on his back with the tools, making the fabric chafe in places he didn’t want; it would only slow him down. Nothing he could do about it, though.

“Three,” he said, barging in, rifle raised.

Adira quickly followed behind. They got halfway toward the center of the temple, hugging the far left wall when Adira threw the volatile charge unit as far to the other side as she could. The protos were so busy ripping the Guardians apart and feeding on the resulting viscera, that they hadn’t noticed its trajectory.

The charging unit clattered against the wall with a thud.

Every single proto in the room flicked its attention to the sound, becoming still.

“Go, go, go!” Mach shouted through the comm unit.

He and Adira moved quickly and as quietly as they could. The charging unit hissed, smoke billowing from it. A couple of the protos had approached it before it exploded. They were caught full force and screamed terribly. The rest of the group spun round as though the scream were coming from all directions.

They clocked Mach and Adira, and the hunt was on.

“Fuck!” Adira said, over and over, in time with their strides.

The protos had formed a kind of wild pack now, chasing after them on all fours like the others, their long, black forms reminding Mach of the hideous panthers that the horans breed for sport.

One of the protos, quicker than the others, leaped at Mach.

Swiveling the rifle up with his left hand, he fired a short auto-burst over his right shoulder, catching the creature in the waist and legs, sending it squealing and tumbling away.

Adira raised her rifle up and over her shoulder and fired blind while she ran toward the access panel, which waited just a few meters away.

With barely a second to spare, Mach crashed through it, thankful it wasn’t locked or had some intricate mechanism, the manacle that Beringer had given to him providing security credentials. Adira followed quickly behind after emptying her rifle into the face of the closest proto.

Panicked, Mach kicked the access panel closed and watched as it buckled with the force of the pack smashing into it from the other side, yet it remained sturdy, secure. But for how long he wouldn’t have liked to guess.

Adira helped him up.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Mach said. “Not sure my heart can take much more of this, though.”

“The reactor core is just up ahead to the left. Let’s get a move on. The quicker we get to it, the better.”

“But how are we going to get back with that lot outside?” Mach said.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Mach wasn’t confident of their chances. They were down to just a single rifle with half a charge against dozens of protos, with more swarming around outside. They had to find an alternative route. He took a breath and analyzed the map on his HUD.

Beyond the reactor core was another room that had something, a straight pipe perhaps, that went up through the pyramids and beyond into the open air.

The map didn’t show how wide it was, but it was clearly too narrow to crawl through. Mach wondered if there was perhaps another one of these maintenance tunnels running from it that would help them across the temple section without having to face the protos.

“Change of plan,” Mach said, highlighting the room on Adira’s HUD. “We’re going to check that place out before going to the core. It’ll take a minute to see what it is, and we might have an alternative route.”

“Agreed, lead the way.”

It took just a couple of minutes to negotiate the narrow passages to the new room. The dead guardian’s manacle provided entry. Inside, a console desk ran three meters or so across the back wall. The floor, walls, and ceiling were plain white and similar to the briefing room where they had first been introduced to the Guardians.

The difference with this space was that the console table was familiar, in that the controls and iconography were similar to his vestan-designed Intrepid. And, more importantly, Mach recognized a communication system when he saw it. It made sense now what the rod on the HUD map was: an antenna. “Must be the equipment they use to run the shuttles and other systems,” Mach said.

“Funny that the Saviors didn’t mention it,” Adira said, knowing they were likely listening in despite them agreeing on radio silence to the shuttle to keep it protected from eavesdropping. The protos had proven far cleverer than their wild appearance indicated.

“Probably still under the illusion they could keep this place a secret,” Mach said. “But fuck their secrets, we need help. Can you cover the door while I get to work?”

“Sure,” Adira said, making sure it was securely locked first before taking Mach’s rifle and training it on the doorway.

Although the system was familiar in terms of its operation and labeling, it still took Mach a few minutes to figure out how to turn it on. Once connected to the antenna, a holographic screen came to life, showing him various functions. He pictured Kortas manipulating these controls, ordering a shuttle from Vesta and sending information to Morgan.

That suited Mach down to the ground, because right there was the original communication channel, telling him that he was right and that this was a comms system. Wasting no more time, he punched in his passphrase that he and Morgan had used to communicate securely back in the Century War, and sent a call request to the president.

It took a minute or so, and all the while the sounds of baying protos grew louder as they were continuing to smash into the outer access panel, trying to get the tasty treats that hid inside.

“Mach?” a voice said, the signal crackling but otherwise strong and clear.

“Yeah, it’s me, Morgan. Listen, there’s very little time to explain, only that I know you sent us here with the knowledge we wouldn’t be coming back, but things have changed.”

“Changed how?” he said, not even bothering to refute the allegation.

“It’s seriously fucked up here. The Guardians are dead, and we’re trying to get the Saviors off the planet.” He continued telling Morgan everything that had happened and what a shitty situation they were in now.

“I’m patching your coordinates through to Babcock,” Morgan said. “I’ll have them come and get you; they’re not far away. Things have escalated out here too.”

“How so?” Mach asked.

Adira was listening in and couldn’t hide the disgust on her face as though Morgan’s very voice was making the bile rise in her gut.

“War, Mach, we’re going to war. The Axis is building up a big force. It’s not going to end well, but we can still get you lot off Terminus. Are the Saviors safe?”

“For now,” Mach added. “Beringer, Adira, and me… that’s another matter. You fucking let us come here to die, you bastard,” Mach said, unable to hold it in any longer.

“I know,” Morgan said, no hint of an apology. “We’ll talk about it when you’re safe. Do what you can to hold out for another few hours. The Intrepid is on its way. I need to go; the council is forming. Good luck, Bleach.”

Mach swore at the dead air, hating the casual use of a nickname he never wanted. The outer access panel finally gave in to the onslaught, clanging like a church bell. The door to the comms room was the protos’ next target, the metal surface vibrating with each strike, making Mach feel like a fish trapped in a barrel.

He and Adira shared a grim expression.

“A few hours?” she asked.

“A few hours,” Mach said and cringed every time the door buckled against the protos’ continued attack. He doubted it would hold for a few minutes. But at least his crew was on the way. That was something, some sliver of hope, albeit an incredibly thin sliver.

Chapter 20

Babcock filtered the encapsulated communications data again. Nothing unusual showed up in the payload or buffers. The only thing he could think of trying now was simulating the transmissions in the hope that something, anything, leaped from the screen to give them a clue about the mole.

Sanchez, who refused to go to his bunk, slumped in his seat and snored. Nigel kept peering over at the big hunter as if he had some terminal condition. Vestans didn’t make a sound when they rested, and this was probably a new experience for the gunner.

“Coming out of L-jump in five minutes,” Adira said from the front of the bridge.

Babcock acknowledged her with a raised thumb and continued to configure two dummy endpoints in the emulation environment Squid Three created. He input all ingress and egress addresses, loaded the data and activated the simulation.

Messages streamed across the console screen. Babcock slowed the rate to a readable level and watched the transmission layer.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened at first. The round-trip times were all good. Occasional error correction messages went back and forth to correct the odd corrupted byte. It appeared this was another dead end.

“She’s gonna make it,” Tulula said through the bridge speakers.

Tulula was monitoring the fusion drive on the engineering deck. They were running hot after the Axis laser had hit the outer engine housing. The Intrepid remained at top speed, although she said another long jump was out of the question until they carried out repairs.

“Never doubted it,” Babcock replied.

Lassea glanced over her shoulder at him, looking less convinced. For the last two hours, the smooth whine had been punctuated by grinding roars.

Squid Three chirped and extended its tentacles. Babcock stopped the simulation and reversed it to a point that showed an extra twenty bytes of data after the header of a message from the Chester. The Operations Center receiver dismissed it during the error correction phase.

It was too clean to be corruption. Babcock filtered all messages from the Chester and found the anomaly five more times. He extracted the data from the mid-flow simulation and transferred it to his decryption tool.

The bytes were encoded with second-generation horan cryptography, which would look like scrambled data if inserted into an allied stream. This had to be inserted post-transmission by a link tap on the ship. Somebody on board had deep technical knowledge and access to the comms cables running to the roof-mounted antennas.

With satisfaction, Babcock smiled. Now that the mole was confirmed, it had to identify them.

Second-gen horan crypto was fairly easy to crack, although Babcock admired the solution. All other forms of encoding used horan and lactern symbols and would’ve given the game away. This was old-school espionage and something the Commonwealth never expected.

Six decrypted messages appeared on the screen. Three reported a vestan shuttle’s movements from a probe. The final coordinates were Terminus. The rest reported CW Fleet movements, including the patrol to Orbital Hibock and the name of the Intrepid.

The perpetrator signed off on two messages. Steros.

Babcock slammed his fist on the console. He should’ve known it. The young captain’s behavior was a classic double bluff. Steros drew attention to himself because it would lead any suspicion away from him.

“Problem?” Lassea asked.

“We’ve got our man,” Babcock said. He transferred the messages to a bridge screen above the young pilot.

“What the hell?” she said. “Why?”

“I suspect he’s got an axe to grind over his father. Looks like he took the nuclear option and sold us out.”

“That’s some axe.” Lassea let out a deep breath and returned to the holocontrols. “Switching to gamma drive in one minute. I can’t believe that treacherous piece of shit.”

Her words had the effect of an alarm clock on Sanchez. The big hunter bolted in his chair and blinked. “Who is?”

“Steros,” Babcock said and jutted his chin toward the on-screen messages.

Sanchez’s eyes slowly narrowed, and he bared his teeth. “That little shit. I want first shot if the Chester comes to Terminus.”

The fusion drive decreased in tone and the low hum of the gamma drive kicked in. No other ships registered on the scanner. Babcock sat back in the captain’s chair and looked at the distant image of Terminus.

The ice planet, highlighted by a distant weak sun, had a small dark square in its center. That was an obvious place to land and find Mach, Adira, and Beringer.

Before that, Morgan had to be informed about the mole. Babcock activated the ansible channel and called the government headquarters on Fides Prime.

This time, the receptionist and secretary were a lot more urgent, and within thirty seconds he was patched through to the president’s office.

“Babs, do you have good news?” Morgan asked.

“Depends on what you call good news. Your mole is none other than Captain Steros.”

Morgan grunted. “Like father, like son. Tralis’ fleet is already on their way. I’ll let him deal with it.”

“Sanchez wants first shot. That’ll be reward enough for our work.”

“Sorry, it’s an internal matter, but you won’t be seeing Steros again,” Morgan coldly replied. The sound of tapping echoed down the link. “Mach’s established comms on Terminus and needs your help with a collection. I’ve sent over the frequency and code. Good luck.”

“Do we need luck?”

“You’d better speak to Mach. Out.”

The bridge door hissed open. Tulula bounded in and moved straight toward the viewscreen. Nigel sprang from his chair at the laser controls and joined her.

“First time you’ve seen it?” Lassea asked.

“Yes,” Nigel replied. “My ancestors are here, along with generations of the finest vestan minds. It’s a special—”

“Fuck this mumbo jumbo,” Sanchez interrupted. “Call Mach for a sitrep. Let’s collect and get the hell out of here before the Axis show up.”

Babcock nodded in agreement. He usually gave deep consideration to alien cultural feelings, but it had its limits. With over a hundred enemy ships on the way and a potential war impending outside of Terminus’ atmosphere, he had no intention of hanging around.

Tulula led Nigel back to the lasers.

Squid Three had already transferred Morgan’s information to the comms system. Babcock hit the transmit symbol on the arm of his chair. “Mach, can you hear me?”

“Babs? Is that you?”

“It’s me all right, old friend. Listen, things are heating up here. Are you three okay down there?”

Static interrupted by Babcock got the gist. It sounded like Mach had got himself into a kind of hell—again. “Listen, we’re about two hours away. You get yourself somewhere safe and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid is what I do best, Babs, now get your asses in gear. Two hours might not be soon enough.”

With that, the line went dead, and Babcock turned his attention back to the ship’s controls. He felt useless at that moment, unable to do anything but wait until they arrived. He would remain calm and keep the crew focused. He didn’t need anyone getting overly excited and making some fool mistake.

“Keep her steady and keep her fast,” Babcock said. “We’ve got crew to save.”

He sat back and brooded over what was coming next and waited out each long minute of their journey to Terminus.

* * *

“Coming out of the L-jump,” Lassea said, but Babcock was already ahead of her, watching their trajectory tick down on the main screen ahead of him. Every nerve and muscle pulled taut as he messaged Mach a few times to ensure he was still alive. The sounds Babcock heard from somewhere beyond Mach’s position sent a chill through his bones.

The next stage was a blur to him. He brought up the view on the screen as the Intrepid’s engines defied the odds and brought them to Terminus ahead of the Axis fleet without blowing up along the way.

The small ice planet hung there in the middle of the dark space, it’s tiny, dying sun barely giving it any warmth. “Bring us down to the surface,” Babcock said.

Using a set of security protocols he had received from the vestan council, Babcock programmed a radio transmission to allow their safe passage through the planet’s outer security system.

The ship roared down toward the planet, the crew busy around their consoles, maintaining their rapid approach. “The entry’s going to be rough,” Tulula said, consulting her scanning results.

“So be it,” Babcock said.

And Tulula was right.

The entry sounded as if the Axis fleet had arrived and were bombarding them with cannons, yet the incredible engineering of the experimental vestan ship held together and even defied all attempts at stopping it.

They flew through the sky like the mythical Garuda, the wings of the Intrepid now coming in to slice through the atmosphere and bring them down to Mach’s coordinates.

“There it is,” Tulula said, her voice hushed. She stood for a moment just staring at the video screen, taking in the pinnacle of her species’ culture and technological wisdom. Nigel too stood transfixed.

Babcock, however, had no such reverie. He’d seen dozens of alien home worlds and for him they were all alike—a repository of times past, of lessons gone unlearned. For all the beauty of the Garden of Remembrance and the central building that held Mach hostage, there was the dark, swarming evidence of the vestans’ hubris: monsters.

“What the hell are they?” Lassea asked.

Their shapes resolved as the Intrepid came closer and eventually landed on a crest of a hill a quarter of a klick from Mach’s position.

The debris and squat, rectangular crypts made it impossible for them to get closer.

“They’re… us,” Tulula said, horror etched on her face. “Us before we were…”

She turned away and shared a look and an expression with Nigel that Babcock couldn’t begin to understand. The two of them slumped their shoulders and made a kind of whimpering noise.

For some reason, it annoyed Babcock. Sentimentality was not on the agenda right now. “Tulula,” he snapped. “I know this is difficult for you and Nigel, but right now there are your Saviors waiting to be saved. I want you to pilot the drone fighters and get Beringer and the Saviors’ shuttle into the cargo bay. Now.”

“Right away, Captain,” she said with no malice in her words.

“Lassea,” Babcock said, “I want you to keep the engines running. As soon as we’ve arranged an away party and got the drones in the air, I want you to hover fifty meters off the ground. We don’t want them things out there swarming all over us like fleas on a dead dog.”

“On it, Captain,” Lassea said, snapping a curt salute and turning back to her controls with eagerness.

Babcock then turned his attention to Sanchez, to tell him to stay put, that he hadn’t yet recovered from his recent medical attention, but he’d already gone. By the time Babcock had decided what to do, he had heard Sanchez’s voice booming over the ship’s communication channel.

“I’m going in,” Sanchez said. “Be ready to clear as soon as I’ve got Mach out.”

“Sanchez, you fool, you’ll get yourself killed!” Babcock replied, but it was too late, the old hunter was already off. Babcock turned to order Squid to keep a camera drone on him, but he realized that it too was gone.

He slapped his hand down on the side of the chair and struggled with the smart-screen controls to bring the video feed around to Sanchez’s position. As he did so, Tulula looked up and gasped.

There, standing on the ridge of a hill, was Sanchez armed with two twin-plasma chain guns mounted either side of him on an experimental combat exoskeleton. Squid hovered over the top of the hunter, no doubt providing targeting metrics.

“That fool’s gonna get himself killed!” Tulula said. “Nigel, you take over for me. Someone needs to go out there and help him.”

“No,” Babcock said… then, thinking about it and realizing that he had lost command and that it didn’t matter anymore, said, “Go, and be quick!”

The time wasn’t to argue anymore. The time was to act before that swarm of creatures destroyed everything the vestans knew and, worse, destroyed the few people Babcock considered friends in this fragile, painful existence.

Chapter 21

With a war cry that was drowned out by the Intrepid’s engines, Sanchez engaged the exo-suit into high-speed combat mode. The motors aided his muscles weakened by months of prior surgery so that he felt like his old bad eighteen-year-old self again.

To his left lay the pyramid structure Mach and Adira were trapped within. To his right, and straight ahead, sweeping around in a swarming arc, were hundreds of proto-vestans, the enemy: the ones that would devour everything if they had a chance.

The old hunter checked his distance with the automatic rangefinder. A green reticule glowed on his HUD. He lifted the meter-long twin plasma chain guns and spun up the rotors. The swarm didn’t care; they continued to rush on, not knowing what was coming.

Sanchez grinned as the stim shot he’d taken earlier coursed through his veins and the adrenaline pumped his heart, slowed time, and brought him back his soldiering days, the days he loved the most. Fighting and hunting was what he was good at, not sitting inside a ship dealing with the white-collar assholes.

Here, now, fighting for life, that’s what he was about, and he had his friends to save.

Time to be me, he thought. He stepped forward with purpose, fear long gone, receding in the past as he channeled the fighter that lived within him, always waiting to be let out, to do what it did best.

“Sanchez!” Tulula screamed from somewhere behind him. He ignored her, making sure he stood between her and the onrushing swarm.

When the chain guns reached their optimal spin rate, Sanchez loped forward and let loose the chain fury of encapsulated, super-heated plasma. The rounds struck the icy ground in front of the swarm. Then as he got a few meters closer, the heavy weaponry hit the target, blasting on impact, covering dozens of creatures with each round.

A plume of purple plasma covered the battleground, mixed with the blue of the fields of ice to give the planet an even weirder atmosphere. Sanchez didn’t care, though. With Squid Three hovering above him, working on targeting, all he had to do was make sure he overwhelmed the enemy and got to the pyramids.

Tulula joined him by his side. She grabbed a rocket launcher from his back, hooked into Squid Three’s targeting protocol and laid down a carpet of micro bombs, carving a path through the swarm toward the pyramid.

Over in the distance, a huge explosion roared up, sending a million fragments of ice shattering into the sky.

“My God,” Sanchez said. “There’s more of them, look.”

Tulula stopped firing for a brief moment, taking in the scene. “I can’t comprehend all this,” she said.

“Then don’t. Just keep firing. We need to get Mach and the Saviors out of here.”

With that, he plunged forward, sending another twin volley of chain fire into a battalion of proto-vestans who were trying to flank him.

The rounds ripped into them, sending long, glossy black limbs flying around them, swathes of sod clumps and ice fragments bursting up in a cone of destruction. The protos screamed and scattered, yet they still came.

There must have been over three hundred now, Sanchez guessed. Split into three large sections, they seemed to be working together, spreading, diverting their fire. Tulula rained down more micro carpet bombs, crudely landscaping a path made of soil, rock, and bits of proto-vestans.

When his chain guns were out of ammo, he unclipped them from the sides of the exo-suit and withdrew his ion swords with integrated laser blasters in the hilt. He held both swords above his head and sprinted at a quick clip toward the leftmost clump of proto-vestans.

“Stay close,” he shouted to Tulula, who had now dropped the rocket launcher and was wielding an autolaser rifle. She picked off a few of the forerunning creatures as they headed toward the path of destruction leading to the pyramid.

They descended into a kind of long gulch. The proto-vestans were swarming over the sides, blocking them in front and behind. But Sanchez just grinned even further as he yelled out and dashed forward into contact with the first group of six black, lithe creatures.

The first one leaped at him.

He took it head-on, driving his ion sword right into the top of its head. With the other, he brought it down across the back of its neck, severing the head clean off. The next two didn’t leap this time but crouched and approached slowly.

Tulula fired off a three-shot burst, taking the first one down.

Sanchez fired the laser blaster with the right sword and then thrust forward with the left, driving it deep into one of the creature’s guts. Its long limbs struck Sanchez against the side of his armored helmet, rocking his head to the side.

The exo-suit took the impact and righted him. He brought the free sword around in an arc, slicing through two more creatures as Tulula spun and took down a few more with controlled auto blasts.

As they continued in this fashion through the gulch, getting ever closer to the pyramid, Squid Three chirped above them, flailing its eight limbs, firing its small onboard ordnance: micro nukes.

The sides of the gulch helped protect them from the wave pulse of the explosions even as the dirt and ice from the ground rained down on them.

Sanchez stepped over the pile of bodies and dashed forward. Tulula kept pace with him; horror etched on her face. “I can’t believe we’re doing this to Terminus,” she said.

“There’s no other alternative,” Sanchez replied. “Here, I’ll cover you; get inside.”

The first pyramid had a hole blasted through the wall. Once inside, Sanchez picked up the radio frequencies from Mach. Inside was dark, the power out, the plain, glossy walls and floor giving him no real indication of where to go. His and Tulula’s helmet lights flickered on, giving them all the light they needed.

Squid Three came chirping through above their heads. “Follow me,” it said to Sanchez, using text on his HUD. From behind them, a long scream roared out from the pulsing mass of proto-vestans descending on their location, but above them, Sanchez saw the two drone fighters from the Intrepid flying overhead like old-style jet fighters.

The two drones fired lasers and rockets, vibrating the pyramid with a series of explosions. “That you, Babcock?” Sanchez said, flipping over to the Intrepid’s open channel.

“Lassea, actually,” the young pilot said.

“Good shooting, girl,” Sanchez replied, proud of her for getting into the spirit. “You keep these fuckers off our backs, and we’ll get Mach. We’re inside now and will have him in a few minutes.”

“We’ll only be able to cover for a few more seconds,” Lassea said. “The drones are for getting the shuttle with Beringer and the Saviors; we’re bringing them into the hold.”

Sanchez shrugged his shoulders. “That’s fine, then; Mach and I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way. I’ll see you on the other side.”

With the drones creating time for them before the rest of the protos chased them down, Sanchez sped up, almost sprinting down the corridors. He followed Squid Three’s lead, swords outstretched, ready to attack anything that moved. And he would have plenty as he plunged deeper into the facility, heading for the central temple zone.

* * *

Mach and Adira stood in front of the door of the comms room, both bracing for the impending attack. The metal door looked like it had been vacuum formed over a set of stalactites, the metal thrust inward, the results of a battering ram.

With no weapons left, they had made a pair of makeshift spears out of some tubing they had pulled from the room’s infrastructure. Other pipes were bracing the door, holding back the tide. Mach had figured they would have got bored a long time ago, yet the bastards were insistent on getting their meal.

Babcock had got in touch just a few minutes ago to announce their arrival. Given the sounds of explosions and general mayhem outside, Mach knew that Sanchez had happened. He almost felt sorry for the proto-vestans.

The door crashed again, heavier this time, and the two pipes bracing it snapped. The top half of the door bent forward to expose the snarling, eager protos pressed tight up against it, their limbs reaching in, claws swiping at thin air.

“God, they’re ugly fuckers,” Adira said, grabbing one of the spears and ramming it through one of the creature’s heads, a steel rod through a soft melon. This only motivated the others even more.

“Keep stabbing,” Mach said, following suit.

This way, they managed to keep the protos at bay for a while longer, although they could see through the gap in the door that more and more were joining, filling the temple with ever-increasing numbers. For each one they killed, it seemed another ten filled their place.

The protos nearest the door stepped back away, out of range of Mach’s makeshift spears. They just stood still, looking on.

“What are they doing?” Adira said.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” Mach patched his comms into the Intrepid and got them to forward his line to Sanchez. “Old buddy, you hear me?” Mach said.

Breathlessly, Sanchez’s familiar voice barked over the line. “Yeah, man, loud and clear. You and Adira still alive and in one piece?”

“For now, I don’t think we’ve got long, though.”

“Hold your pants, old man, we’re coming.”

Before the line shut, Mach heard Tulula and Sanchez scream a war cry that even made him shiver a little. Outside of the comm line, somewhere in the distance beyond the temple, the sounds of laser fire echoed, along with something more organic. Steel on steel and bone and flesh.

Even the protos outside of the comms room heard it. As one they turned away and stared across the temple. Adira and Mach stepped forward and peered out of the damaged door.

A small floating disc the size of his fist, with eight wriggling arms, floated through the opposite access panel.

Squid Three!

Mach and Adira cheered as Babcock’s little companion hovered above the heads of the protos and dropped a small, chrome ball bearing. The protos didn’t know what was coming.

Mach did. He and Adira crouched behind the door, huddled closer together, and closed their eyes as a thunder wave crashed against the door, knocking them over to their sides. The boom echoed around the temple for what seemed like an eternity. Even with the environmental suit blocking out most of the sound, Mach’s hearing still featured a low whistle from the blast.

Smoke billowed into the room. He peered out through the smoke and saw the destroyed temple, every proto smeared across the surfaces, and beyond the crater in the middle, the forms of Sanchez and Tulula rushing toward them.

Mach sat back and closed his eyes, letting the relief rush over him. Saved. For now at least. He reached over to Adira and helped her up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve had worse.”

He felt guilty at that moment for her fight at the beginning of this mad journey. Given the lack of a mission for Beringer, it all seemed unnecessary now. Still, they had more pressing matters: get off the planet. It took just a few moments for Sanchez to rip the remains of the door off its hinges with his exo-suit.

The five of them, including Squid Three, made their way back through access tunnels until they reached the shuttle bay. The fighter drones were already outside, towlines attached to the craft cradling the Saviors.

Beringer stood outside and watched as the fighters drew the shuttle out and above, lifting it to the hovering Intrepid’s cargo bay. The downdraft kept the protos away, as did the laser batteries firing down from the craft’s flanks.

“They okay?” Mach asked Beringer, referring to the Saviors.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s going to be fascinating studying them.”

“Let’s take one thing at a time,” Adira said. “We need to get out of the system first.”

“About that,” Sanchez said. “There’s a complication there.” The hunter and Tulula filled Mach and Adira in on the Axis attack. They were coming here, to Terminus.

Still, it was too late for them to get the Saviors now, but there was still so much here with regards to tech and other innovations that the CWDF really couldn’t afford to lose it to the Axis.

It wouldn’t surprise Mach if the horans and lacterns found a way of recruiting the protos into their ranks.

When the drone fighters had successfully docked the shuttle into the Intrepid’s cargo bay, the Intrepid landed, waiting for them to board. The protos took this as a sign and attacked.

Sanchez sprinted forward.

The Intrepid lay less than fifty meters away. They would have to rush it and hope.

With the laser batteries keeping most of the protos away, there were still a few dozen suicidal creatures that got through the Intrepid’s fire and headed right for Mach and the others.

Sanchez chopped and thrust with his swords. Tulula brought a few down with her autolaser while Mach and Adira still clutched their makeshift spears, making sure the protos didn’t get close enough. Beringer remained in between them as they followed Squid Three’s lead. Unfortunately, the little machine was out of ordnance.

After a few minutes of frenzied fighting, the group reached the outer airlock and dove inside just as the Intrepid lifted off.

Lassea was on her toes, making Mach both relieved and proud as they continued to rise away from the ground, the protos becoming ever more antlike in their aspect as he watched the external videos.

Adira stepped up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Morgan was right after all,” she said. “We did make it out alive.”

“It was too close, though,” Mach said. “Too damned close.”

When the ship finally escaped from Terminus’ gravity well and punched through space, Mach finally got out of the environmental suit and headed to the bridge. There was a lot to catch up on by all accounts.

When he got there, he thanked Babcock, Lassea and the rest of the borrowed crew for their fine work. Babcock brought Mach up to speed with everything that had been happening while he was stuck on Terminus.

The viewscreen was on, showing him the system, the small, cold sun drifting out of their field of view. The Saviors were safely stored in the cargo bay, with enough power to keep them going until it was decided where they would be taken.

Mach sat in his captain’s chair and surveyed his crew.

Sanchez had taken his position on the laser battery to the left. Lassea and Tulula took the two central consoles to pilot the craft. Babcock and Adira were in their usual positions on the right at the ion cannon and comms system respectively. A new member crew that he busied himself nervously from station to station, no doubt overwhelmed by Mach’s reputation as rogue number one.

He ignored the young vestan; he was doing his tasks efficiently enough, being guided by Babcock’s experience. Lassea piloted the Intrepid to a position behind an asteroid belt that ringed the system, some five AUs across.

While they were getting into a defensive position, Mach saw pulses of light flash on the viewscreen: ships entering the system from their L-jumps. They were like viewing a distant battle on the surface of a planet. The bursts of light increased until they were happening all around them: huge CWDF capital ships, with their destroyers and cruisers, even a squad of vestan ships.

The hairs on Mach’s arms rose. He hadn’t been in a space battle of this scale for decades. His whole body vibrated with excitement and fear all mixed together. Beyond the asteroid belt, smaller flares of light pierced the darkness.

What came through only gave Mach more chills: Axis ships—a huge horan fleet supported by lactern ships of various sizes, and somewhere among the armada were the cloaked lacterns.

Mach’s private communication device chirped on his smart-screen.

“Babcock, you’ve got the bridge,” he said, heading out of the bridge towards his private chambers. Once inside, he opened the communication and saw the hologram of the president pop up.

“Morgan! You utter bastard,” Mach said.

Chapter 22

Morgan didn’t immediately reply. His holographic image shifted back in a high-backed leather chair and gave Mach a lingering glare.

Mach shook his head. “What’s up? Disappointed to see me?”

“Come on, Carson. You know why you get these jobs.”

“And I know when you call me Carson, you’re feeling guilty. Dealt with Steros yet?”

The president let out a resigned sigh. “He escaped in a drone. An orbital picked it up heading over the frontier. I’ll double your fee if—”

“I’ll do it,” Mach interrupted. Babcock had already filled him in on the depth of Steros’ treachery. With opposing forces forming up for battle outside, lives would be lost, and it didn’t take much motivation to make one of the chief instigators pay. “Where do you want me to dump the Saviors?”

“That’s the thing,” Morgan replied and leaned forward. “You need to stay behind the fleet until it’s safe. If the Axis see you leaving, they’ll quickly put two and two together.”

Mach considered the response. Although the Intrepid could comfortably outrun any horan or lactern ship, it would potentially bring the enemy fleet closer to the Salus Sphere and its billions of civilians. The Axis was clearly serious about getting their hands on the Saviors, and the idea of being stalked by multiple ships wasn’t appealing. If he had to stay, remaining a passive observer wasn’t an option.

“Makes sense,” Mach said. “What kind of odds are we talking?”

“We’ve sent a hundred and five. A similar amount to the Axis, if what Babcock saw is their entire fleet. Talk to Tralis. He knows you need to be kept out of it.”

Mach whistled. “Big numbers. I doubt they’re stupid enough for this kind of head-on collision.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. Then you can get on with capturing Steros.”

“Dead or alive?”

“Alive, preferably.” Morgan’s expression darkened. “If we lose the battle, forget about Steros. We’ll be in no position to protect the Saviors. Kill them.”

“They’re already dead.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. His smart-screen beeped and he glanced down at it. “You know what I mean. I need to brief the senators. Good luck, and don’t forget to stay out of trouble.”

“Of course,” Mach said, killing the hologram.

Having Morgan wish him luck was the equivalent of a horan smashing him in the face then offering its scaly hand to shake. Mach made his way back to the bridge and thought about previous encounters during the Century War.

Most confrontations were squadron sized, around twenty ships each. With weapons of similar range, it nearly always ended up being a battle of attrition, until one side was destroyed or fled. The Commonwealth and Axis had rebuilt and expanded during the last two decades, and the scale of the forces were on par with the final decisive battle that brought galactic peace.

As much as Mach hated to admit it to himself, the horans would always plan or attempt to destroy humans and fidians. The only way to stop them was to dish out a solid ass-kicking every few decades.

Mach entered the bridge and eased himself into the captain’s chair. He joined the rest of the crew, who were already staring at the main viewscreens.

On the far side of the battle space, looking sunward, the Axis ships were moving into position. Four capital ships had arrived and took up their standard cube-shaped defensive position across a five-klick area. The horan ships were sleek, the outer armor designed to look like scales, which also helped deflect laser strikes. Their two thousand-meter-long hulls had thin, smooth edges that expanded into a kind of bulbous pill in the middle. All across the sides were dozens of laser-cannon batteries and varied ordnance—not to mention the many bays for the smaller fighters.

An impressive sight they made, as did their destroyers. Although only three-quarters the size of the capital ships, they still packed a punch.

There were four destroyers surrounding each capital ship in a  diamond formation. The sight of it took Mach’s breath away. He wondered if this kind of man-made power had ever assembled in such a small area of space. The battles he had been in were far grander in scale, but over much larger distances.

Closer to Mach’s position, taking up formation out of long-range-weapon distance, were the CWDF force.

Two vestan multipurpose frigates, both an older class of Jaguar to the Intrepid, flashed out of L-jumps and joined a row of forty-three others, between the rest of the CWDF ships and the asteroid belt. Mach used to hate fighting these types of craft. Four could join to create a combined weapons platform to match any destroyer. Eight replicated the strike power of a capital ship.

Clever tech by clever vestans—the very same that were currently in his cargo bay.

Sanchez spun from the cannon controls. “Gonna be a busy day.”

“Or a very short one,” Adira said.

“It won’t come to it,” Lassea added. She peered back to the viewscreen and lowered her voice. “It can’t.”

“It can,” a male vestan said from the laser controls.

Mach gestured his head toward him. “What’s his story?”

“We call him Nigel,” Tulula replied. “He’s a gunner from Orbital Hibock.”

Nigel raised his skinny black hand and waved. Mach acknowledged him with a single nod and turned back to Tulula. “As long as he knows what he’s doing. I’d prefer you at the controls.”

“I’m an engineer. He’s a gunner.”

Despite vestans being humorless, Mach admired them for their simple logic. It was probably the reason they had managed to create advanced tech compared to other species. They wouldn’t waste hours in meeting rooms, debating the cosmetics, like the rest of the Commonwealth, or spend half their lives bitterly stewing over their enemy, like the horans.

“I’ve fired vestan lasers over six hundred times,” Nigel said. “During my academy training—“

“I don’t need your résumé,” Mach said. “If the guys vouch for you, that’s good with me.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be ready for the attack.”

“If it comes,” Lassea said, likely more in hope than expectation.

Mach also hoped the Axis would come to their senses, but knew deep down a war was inevitable now. The horans and lacterns wouldn’t have come this far for a simple show of strength. At the moment, the fleets were like two powerful boxers, eyeing each other up while staying out of range. Sooner or later, one would advance and throw the first punch.

After that, there would be no going back.

The twinkling lights of enemy ships, ominously moving into position, radiated in the far distance. Mach counted ninety in all, but more arrived every minute. They were forming into five Axis battle clusters around their capital ships.

“The four-horned horan scorpion,” Babcock said. “I’ve seen them practice this strategy.”

Squid Three chirped. No doubt in agreement with the assessment.

“Does Tralis know about it?” Mach asked.

“Doubtful. I’ll ping him and ask.”

Mach waited and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. It would be impossible to sit in the asteroid belt and watch this play out from a safe distance. He decided to use the opportunity of talking tactics with Tralis to grab a role for the Intrepid.

“Incoming call from Commander Tralis,” Tulula said. “Screen four.”

Tralis’ frowning weathered face appeared. Mach remembered him as a likable fresh-faced junior pilot but hadn’t seen him in years, and it was fair to say age hadn’t treated him kindly.

“Captain Mach,” Tralis said, “long time no see. I was just about to call your ship.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Mach replied. “Morgan told me to stay out of the way. What can we do for you?”

“Does Babcock have any intelligence on the Axis’ early movements?”

“It replicates a native horan scorpion,” Babcock said and moved over to the comms system. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

A small black square appeared in the corner of screen four. Babcock slipped a stylus from the side of his smart-screen and sketched on the console’s black glass pad. “These four lines replicate the four horns on the front of the scorpion’s head. When it attacks prey, it charges head-on and attempts to cause puncture wounds.”

“Looks pretty straightforward,” Tralis said. “The vestans are providing outer cover to sense the lactern’s stealthy frigates. They’ve got the best scanning equipment. We can take each horn individually.”

Babcock shook his head. “That’s what they want and expect us to do. The fifth group sweeps over the top, acting as the scorpion’s stinging tail, and hits our occupied forces.”

“What do you suggest?” Tralis asked.

“Flanking the whole formation. If we keep moving, they won’t get a chance to execute the move.”

“We’ve got enough—“

“Commander,” an urgent voice said, “you need to see this.”

Tralis looked to his left.

“Holy shit,” Sanchez said.

Multiple energy readings appeared on the tracker in unison. Mach glanced at the screen displaying the Axis ships. Around a hundred lights flashed around their clusters, doubling the size of their force to over two hundred ships.

To Tralis’ credit, he kept his cool and didn’t show a single sign of panic. He turned back to his comms-cam. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a plan for this, Babcock?”

“My strategy remains the same,” Babcock replied. “Think about it as orbiting a planet with heavy ground defenses. We’ll never have to face the full force at the same time. Only what we allow in range. Anything else is suicide.”

“Any plans for a tactical retreat?” Mach asked.

Tralis gave a grim shake of his head. “Not an option. They’ll pick us off. It has to end here.”

“How’s this for an idea,” Sanchez said. “If they’re here for the Saviors, why don’t we send them out in a drone and blow the fuck out of it?”

Everyone turned and stared at the big hunter. He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying… it’s an option.”

Sanchez was closer than he realized to what was already under consideration if things didn’t go the CW’s way. Mach doubted the Axis would stop even if they knew they couldn’t get their hands on the Saviors. At this stage, they heavily outnumbered the Commonwealth fleet and never turned away from a battle with a numerical advantage. There was still the collection of archeology and data on the planet’s surface too. It was too much of an opportunity for the Axis Combine to turn down.

“I’ll brief my captains to carry out a left-flanking move if they attack,” Tralis said. “Stay in the belt. I don’t want all of this to be for nothing.”

“I can do better than that,” Mach replied. “We’ll use our cannons against any uncloaking frigate. Looks like you need all the help you can get.”

“If your shields drop below fifty percent, I want you behind my ship. Understand?”

Mach offered a casual salute. “Perfectly, Commander.”

The screen cut to black.

Just as Babcock predicted, over the next ten minutes, the Axis split into five groups. Four took on horn-shaped formations. The fifth group raised a klick above them. If they decided to attack immediately, the battle would commence in two minutes.

“Commonwealth fleet,” a croaky voice said over the open galactic channel. “This is your first and only chance to surrender. Disengage all weapons and hand over the vestan Saviors.”

No immediate reply came.

“Commonwealth fleet,” it said again, sounding like one of the old propaganda messages transmitted across the Sphere during the Century War. “After destroying your fleet, we’ll kill all of your children. Give us your final answer.”

“Charming,” Beringer said, breaking his long silence. “They certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”

Mach half-smiled. The poor old archeologist only wanted to go and find an artifact. He ended up with a lot more than he bargained for, but had performed well despite the shit well and truly hitting the fusion coolers. If they came through the battle, Mach vowed to make Beringer’s quest his next mission.

“Axis fleet,” Tralis replied on the channel. “This is Commander Tralis of the CWDF. We refuse your terms. Leave the area or face the consequences.”

Lassea gasped. “Oh my God. It’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

The bridge hushed to a tense whisper as they waited for the answer.

The Axis did not respond.

Hairs on the back of Mach’s neck prickled. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. Completing his missions gave him satisfaction, and he knew he was never cut out for a long career in the fleet. But nothing beat the thrill of fighting for the cause of billions, rather than money.

“They’re moving,” Lassea said.

All four Axis horns advanced toward the Commonwealth ships. Slowly at first, then increasing velocity. Almost instantly, the CW defensive cube thrust left, following Babcock’s advice, moving away from the asteroid belt, and the Intrepid, drawing the horan’s attack wide.

Reports of weapons systems engaging flowed across the status screen. Mounted cannons and lasers on the CW capital ships and destroyers swiveled to aim, countering their flanking move.

“Strap yourselves in,” Mach said. “This is gonna get messy.”

Two lactern torpedo cruisers uncloaked suddenly less than a klick away from a line of vestan frigates. The lactern vessels simultaneously fired their nukes at the vestan defensive line, taking out two of the frigates.

The shield line created by the combining vestan ships held against the first broadside, despite the early losses. The second set of nukes, however, punctured through and erupted inside the defensive bulwark’s guts, blowing out twisted chunks of metal across space.

Laser batteries on the closest vestan frigates swung to face the Axis cruisers and fired, turning the weak cruisers into nothing more than cosmic dust.

The crew of the Intrepid became still for a moment, and then the sounds of war erupted over the comms channels, with captains and the commander’s officers barking orders and requesting return fire and maneuvers.

“Take us through the asteroid belt,” Mach said to Lassea. “We need to get closer to the action.”

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“Trust me,” Mach said. “We are not losing this on my watch.”

Lassea gulped and did as she was told.

Adira, Sanchez, and the young vestan brought the weapons online, anticipating Mach’s orders. Good, he thought. If they were to survive this, everyone would need every bit of intuition they could muster.

Chapter 23

Explosive flashes brightened the huge gray rocks around the Intrepid. For the moment, Mach’s view of the battle was obscured. He had to rely on the scanner, although Lassea was doing an excellent job navigating through the tightly packed asteroid belt with the ship’s inertia thrusters positioned all around the hull.

“We’re reaching the edge of the belt,” Lassea warned.

“We need partial cover,” Mach replied and pointed toward the viewscreen. “Get between those two rocks; they’ll give us something to hide behind.”

Lassea applied a gentle starboard thrust. The ship scraped against the side of an asteroid, and the superstructure screamed. Beringer held the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

The Commonwealth ships appeared back on screen. All forty remaining vestan frigates had combined in a line to create a ghostly green protective shield around the fleet, like a glowing orb or a small translucent planet, the core of which hovered inside. Two torpedoes from another uncloaking lactern frigate burst against the sphere’s far end, both strikes unable to pierce the protective barrier.

It was only a matter of time before the shield took too many hits and collapsed. Vestans were good with tech, but not hard-core battle. They’d never faced the suicidal runs of a horan vanguard.

Most of their designs were to defeat ships from the Commonwealth in smaller numbers.

The left-flanking move had averted a full-on conflict for now and the deployment of the scorpion tail strike. The Axis horns were rapidly repositioning themselves to launch their attack from a new angle, far too efficiently for Mach’s liking. In the meantime, the Axis commanders were still sending the cloaked lactern cruisers for short-range attacks.

Mach turned to Babcock. “Can’t we do anything about those damned cruisers?”

“Haven’t got the tech. How many do you think they’ve sent?”

“No idea,” Mach said. “Doubt they’ve got more than twenty.”

“That’s all the Axis need,” Sanchez said. “If they take down the combined shield, it’s job done. We can’t beat the rest in open warfare. The bastards have got their shit sorted for a change.”

“We?” Mach said and gave the big hunter a thin smile. “Since when have you aligned with the fleet?”

“Since I decided to put a value on my balls.”

Two more cruisers flashed into view, less than a quarter of a klick from the shield. Their torpedoes zipped through the darkness, leaving a wake of vanishing red vapor and exploded near the center of it. A ripple raced across the shield’s surface as it distributed the energy.

Allied weaponry immediately responded. Eight light blue particle-guided fusion bolts spat from destroyers and crippled the lactern ships. This wouldn’t bother the Axis, though; the cruisers were suicide bombers. They’d uncloak, deliver their payload, and pray to whatever God they worshiped as their now-useless ships were blasted by whatever had remained of their torpedoes.

The row of vestan frigates finished off the powerless vessels with hundreds of laser blasts. A couple didn’t stop firing even though it was clear both enemy ships had been turned into giant cheese graters. Mach imagined crazy versions of Nigel behind the controls and wondered if his new crewmember would act the same. Having a touch of the mad-dog inside wasn’t a bad thing during a fight.

“We could try the Saviors?” Beringer said. “They might have ideas… about the cloaked ships, I mean.”

Tulula snapped her head in the old archeologist’s direction and growled. Nigel flinched at the laser controls but kept his focus on the targeting screen. Mach wasn’t sure what part of the suggestion offended them, but it wasn’t the time to be wary of vestan sensibilities. He’d already had about as much as he could stomach from the Guardians and their rules.

“Babs, Tulula, get your asses down there,” Mach said. “See if the corpses can help.”

Squid Three chirped and spread its tentacles.

“You’re coming too,” Babcock said to his little AI droid. He stood and made for the door. Tulula remained in her chair.

“Problem?” Mach asked.

“They’re sacred. We’re not supposed to see them, never mind talk to them. It’s all I can even do right now not to reach out to them with my mind. I’d corrupt them.”

Mach took a deep breath to stop himself saying something he’d regret. Tulula would find out in her own time exactly how sacred her supposed Saviors were. They were lucky to be here and not destroyed by their own terrible experiments.

“You’re the best person for the job,” Mach said, playing to her vestan logic. “Babs might need translations or help with cultural nuances. It’s probably their only chance for survival if things continue as they are.”

Tulula bowed her head and followed Babcock out the door. Squid Three hovered by the side of her head and rested a tentacle on her shoulder.

Another pair of cruisers uncloaked in the distance, interestingly enough, on a similar trajectory to the previous ones. They fired off two sets of torpedoes again before being destroyed. The shield’s green tinge faded.

“They can’t just sit there and take like for like damage,” Sanchez said. “Doesn’t take a genius to work out who’ll end up winning.”

“Agreed,” Mach said and switched to the Commonwealth command voice channel. “Commander Tralis, what’s your plan?”

“Exactly the same as before. We keep moving and engage no more than two horns. Anything more and we’ll be swamped.”

“Why not send out fighter drones to search for cruisers?”

Tralis’ tone hardened. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

Mach shook his head. “No… I’m just… Forget it.”

“You’ve got my permission to fire, but I don’t need to remind you of your priority. Keep your ship in the belt.”

“Don’t worry, Commander. You can rely on us.” Mach tapped his smart-screen to end the transmission. He moved over to the holocontrols and sat next to Lassea. “Some things never change.”

“Like what?” Lassea asked, and narrowed her eyes when Mach reached for the sub-controls. He liked that she’d got protective over the dashboard when she piloted the Intrepid.

“The CW fighting defensive battles,” Sanchez answered for Mach. “They’d rather sit on their butts and let it play out, which is exactly what the horans and lacterns expect.”

“So we give the buggers something to think about,” Mach said. He remotely fired up the fighter drone and started the docking bay door-opening procedure. A holoscreen flashed in front of him, displaying a view from the cockpit. “Tralis told us to keep our ship in the belt. He said nothing about drones.”

On the main viewscreen, the Axis was back in their initial launch positions, formed up in anticipation of where the CW fleet was heading.

The southern and northern horns advanced, faster than before. This time they sent their disposable vanguard—ships captured from around the galaxy who were given a simple choice: pilot their vessels into the side of the enemy and detonate a bomb just before impact, or be executed along with any member from their family, village or town of origin. Not exactly a great deal different to the lactern ‘art’ of warfare.

Crude, but effective—if you didn’t care about the casualties.

Beringer moved closer to the viewscreen and zoomed in.

A ragtag group of twenty ships powered away from the front of the two horns, all different shapes, colors and sizes, some looking ready for the scrapyard. Mach hardly recognized a single one but had always hated the sight of horans using this tactic. He knew inside each vessel frightened aliens would be sacrificing themselves for a cause they didn’t believe in, to save their family or community.

Two central capital ships fired speculative missiles at the vestan shield sphere. One struck a member of the vanguard on the way through, a small dirty gray orb with stubby fins, and blew it into thousands of pieces.

Mach sighed. At least that alien was spared the chilling final moments before impact. He rested his hand on Lassea’s shoulder. “How would you like that kind of encouragement?”

“You know, the academy tells us this stuff, but I never quite believed it.”

“When it comes to horans, believe anything bad, and you’ll be closer to the truth.”

“Morgan said that about you.”

“I’ve said it about him.”

Behind the vanguard, each horn consisted of one capital ship, five destroyers and at least twenty fighter drones. Within minutes, the northern and southern formations and the main body of the CW fleet would be in lethal range of each other. The eastern and western groups weren’t far behind, but Tralis was doing a good job directing the flanking move, keeping over half the Axis fleet at a safe distance.

The sub-controls beeped, informing Mach the bay door was fully open. He focused back on the task at hand. Scenes of previous floating wreckages flashed through his mind. He rubbed his clammy palms against the sides of his seat and launched the drone. It powered out of the bay, straight between two small asteroids, and out into open space. Mach engaged the port and rear thrusters and swept around in a wide diving arc, surveying the view and checking how well hidden the Intrepid was.

Once satisfied with his handling skills, he set a course for where the last two cloaked ships appeared. If any others were waiting along a similar trajectory, they’d have to show themselves to engage. Mach fired the drone’s two side-mounted lasers on an extended shot and thrust back and forth.

Both beams speared through the blackness, spraying tiny laser bolts in a hopeful pattern. A few minutes of this passed until the drone’s laser batteries were empty. Mach’s plan of fishing out the cloaked ships had resulted in no hits.

“At least you tried,” Sanchez said. “What next?”

“How about distracting one of those horns with our little kamikaze run?”

The big hunter smiled. “Now you’re talking.”

Mach looked back to the main viewscreen. The shield had almost faded to nothing on the right side of the CW formation. Most of the vanguard had crashed against it, weakening its effectiveness. Two small craft had got through and headed for the closest capital ship. Destroyers didn’t give either a chance to get close and battered them with quad lasers. Two brilliant white lights flashed across space when the internal bombs, planned to explode against the shield or a hull, detonated at a harmless distance.

Four more lactern cruisers uncloaked in front of the shield’s breach and fired their torpedoes in sequence at the same CW destroyer. Mach’s heart skipped a beat, and he winced.

The first two explosions took out the CW destroyer’s personal shield. The second two torpedoes punctured through its side and exploded, sending debris and fire spewing out of two ugly gouges in its hull. The ship’s power cut and it drifted lifelessly away from the fight, its thrusters dead, along with its crew.

Multiple lasers ripped the cruisers to shreds, but there was no sense of victory there; it was just the final part of the lactern game. The ruined cruisers joined the rest of the mangled wreckage and pieces of debris that floated between the two opposing forces.

Lassea cupped her hand over her mouth and took a sharp intake of breath. Nigel had stopped whatever he was doing and peered at the wrecked destroyer.

Beringer raised his smart-screen. “Babs, how you getting on with the Saviors?”

“Just got talking, give me a few minutes,” he replied.

Mach couldn’t afford to wait for a theory, and if he didn’t do something, this war was lost. He turned the drone in the direction of the capital ship at the center of the southern horn and gunned the engines to full power. This would do for an opening shot, but the CW was on the verge of needing something special if they didn’t start knocking out the Axis in greater numbers.

* * *

Babcock stood over the Saviors’ transparent cylinders in the cargo bay. Each thin vestan face had a pious expression as if they were experiencing a pleasant dream.

A small gamma generator softly hummed in the center, providing enough power to keep the tombs running for the foreseeable future. The thought of active minds in dead bodies sent a shiver down his spine.

Tulula had remained several meters away and leaned around a dark blue hover-truck. He’d never seen her act like this before, especially as Sanchez continued to rub off on her.

“Vestan channel eight,” she said. “I don’t need it.”

Babcock switched channels and raised his smart-screen. “This is Kingsley Babcock. Can you hear me?”

“Who is the vestan in our presence,” a low hollow voice said. “Identify yourself.”

Tulula tentatively stepped forward, glanced down at the closest cylinder, and spoke to them in their native tongue.

“For the sake of decorum, we’ll communicate in Salus Common,” the voice replied. “You may leave now.”

Tulula bowed her head and turned toward the exit. Babcock gently grabbed her arm. “Wait. I need you here. Nobody knows the Intrepid like you.”

“She doesn’t belong in our presence. Until we establish a new location—”

“You won’t have any location if you don’t listen to me,” Babcock said, unable to stop himself interrupting. The urgency of the situation outside demanded it. “Who am I speaking to?”

“You may call us Hanos. Are you threatening our existence?”

“No. Your old partners are. There’s a war raging outside, and unless you can give us an edge, I can’t guarantee any of us will survive.”

“The alternative to death is capture by the horans,” Tulula added.

A strange bubbling sound came through the speaker. “How do you expect us to help?”

“Do you know anything about lactern cloaking?” Babcock asked.

The bubbling again, as if they were having a private conversation. Babcock looked across to Tulula. She attempted to shrug, although it looked like more of a roll of the shoulders.

“You have strange thoughts, Tulula,” Hanos said. “Who is the man that invades your memories?”

Babcock blushed a little. If Tulula didn’t have black skin, he guessed she’d be doing the same over Sanchez, and decided it was best if they stayed on topic for the sake of brevity and lack of embarrassment. “I haven’t brought our engineer down for you to interrogate. Your species worked with the lacterns. Is there any way to detect their cloaking?”

“They use an array of particles unknown to us,” Hanos said. “Any solution would be guesswork. We don’t guess.”

“You must, if you pioneer tech. Otherwise, how do you create anything?”

Squid Three chirped and circled the cylinders.

“Planning and multiple result-based iterations. The base has to be solid.”

Babcock groaned. He wasn’t getting any support from Tulula, which was understandable to a certain extent, but all things considered, he needed a way to make the Saviors act with a little more urgency.

Threatening them seemed like the only course of action. Babcock crouched by the generator and activated its control pad.

“What are you doing?” Hanos said.

“If you can’t help us, we can’t help you. I’m switching you off.”

Tulula jerked forward but stopped herself. Babcock knew she’d been with the crew long enough to understand a bluff. It was part of Mach’s standard operating procedures.

The bubbling sound increased in volume and continued for several seconds.

“We know the code for two lactern particles,” Hanos said. “But there’s no guarantee they’re used in cloaking. You’ll have to reconfigure the scanner, but it means you’ll lose all capability to track horan and Commonwealth ships.”

Tulula tapped at her smart-screen. “They’ve sent me the codes. Let’s get moving.”

“You must become a Guardian, Tulula,” Hanos said. “No living vestan can see us. Who is the other vestan on board?”

“Sorry,” Tulula replied. “You’ll have to find someone else. I’ll ask Nigel and let you know.”

“You can’t deny our request.”

“She can, and we need to go.”

Babcock, Squid Three, and Tulula headed straight for the exit. They at least had a plan, which was better than what they had before they came to the cargo bay.

“Kingsley Babcock,” Hanos said.

Babcock paused and glanced over his shoulder at the cylinders. “That’s my name.”

“We will remember it.”

* * *

Mach aimed the drone’s lasers at the southern horn’s capital ship. He wasn’t far from being able to get off an effective shot but had to pass a destroyer. Sanchez and Beringer stood either side of him, willing the craft on. So far, the horans and lacterns hadn’t reacted to the approach. The main enemy ahead consumed their attentions, or the drone hadn’t registered amongst the debris.

“Almost there,” Mach said. “Just another few seconds.”

“Go for the bridge,” Sanchez said. “It won’t break through, but it’ll give ‘em a hell of a shock.”

“Engines,” Beringer said. “You might get a lucky hit.”

Mach screwed his face and hovered his thumb over the fire button. He had to make this one count. Since Babcock had gone, four more cruisers had appeared and destroyed another CW destroyer.

The Axis was losing ships, but only the snide attack variety, and not the big powerful ones that were about to reach an effective firing range themselves.

A flash of light brightened the drone’s cockpit.

Two seconds later the feed cut to static.

Mach slammed his fist on the dashboard. “Damn it. How many of these things have they got?”

Another cruiser had uncloaked and made easy work of the drone with a torpedo. It cruised the length of the southern horn and vanished back into blackness.

The bridge hissed open. Babcock staggered in, leaned on the console to catch his breath, and dabbed a handkerchief on his forehead.

Tulula joined him, and Squid Three floated between them.

Babcock straightened his glasses. “We might have a solution.”

Mach sprang from the sub-controls and raced over. “What’s the situation?”

“We’ve got codes for two lactern particles,” Tulula said. “If I reconfigure the scanner, we might be able to detect cloaked ships.”

“Excellent,” Sanchez called over Mach’s shoulder.

“There’s a catch,” Babcock said. “If we try it, we lose our scanning ability.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Mach said. “Viewscreens will have to do.”

Lassea held up a thumb. “I won’t let ‘em out of my sight.”

Nigel loped over from the far side of the bridge. “That might not be a good idea.”

Mach frowned. “You’ve only been here five minutes. This is how we operate. If there’s a chance, we take it.”

“You misunderstand me, Captain,” Nigel replied and raised his bony black finger toward the scanner. “I think they tracked the drone’s path. Two destroyers are heading toward the asteroid belt.”

Mach looked up at the screen and confirmed it.

Oh crap.

“Everyone to their station!” Mach screamed. “Evasive maneuvers. Now!”

Chapter 24

Lassea piloted the Intrepid out of the asteroid belt and to a position behind the shield sphere. In the middle of the failing force field, Mach saw Tralis’ capital ship change course, steering the CW fleet away from the southern tip of the horan horn formation.

“Tralis!” Mach shouted over the comms. “Two destroyers incoming toward the asteroid side, high latitude. Do you copy, over?”

A female voice, one of Tralis’ communication officers, responded in the affirmative. “You did will to drag them out of formation, Captain Mach. We’ll take it from here.”

Babcock looked up from his console, eyes wide with alarm. “Mach, that’s crazy! They’ll be in firing range of the horan capital ships.” He gestured across his smart-screen and spoke directly to Tralis, giving them his data.

“CW fleet, this is Commander Tralis. Prepare to engage the Axis Combine. I’m sending attack vectors right now. We move in twenty seconds.”

Babcock shook his head.

“This is insane,” Lassea said.

“This is war,” Sanchez replied.

Mach stood up from his chair and surveyed the battlefield in front of him. The two destroyers that had moved to track their position were now being turned into fragments of trash by six vestan frigates, who had combined to make a small capital ship. Its sheer volume of laser ordnance overwhelmed the two horan destroyers.

Mach’s heart began to beat faster as he felt the energy of battle seep into his veins. Although he knew the two destroyers were disposable, a reuse on the Axis’ part to give the CWDF false confidence.

His smart-screen flashed with the receipt of the attack vectors.

The crew looked up at him from their positions around the bridge.

“What’s happening?” Lassea asked, swiveling in her pilot’s chair.

Mach read the instructions twice to make sure he didn’t misunderstand. “Full front attack on the east and west horns,” he said. The words dropping like a brick.

“They’ll be slaughtered,” Babcock said. “Did they not listen to a damned word I said?”

Mach was deep in thought. It was too late to stop the plans now; the vestan shield was breaking apart as the frigates were joining to make three capital ships, which joined with the CW’s four capital ships and a dozen destroyers. Some forty-plus smaller fighters launched out of the central capital craft and swarmed around like flies.

To Mach’s brief reckoning, they were outnumbered two to one.

“Tulula, ready the ion cannon. Sanchez, you and Nigel are on lasers. Adira, I want you on the torpedoes. Here’s the plan: Babcock, you carry on working with those codes. We needed them yesterday. Lassea, I want you to keep us behind Tralis’ ship until I tell you to split… when that happens, I want you to send us beneath the capital ship’s hull. That’ll bring us under the Axis’ horns. If the CWDF are going to engage like this, we might as well take advantage.”

“Aye, Captain,” Lassea said, visibly shaking.

The rest of the crew saluted Mach and got on with their tasks.

Mach watched the battle unfold on the viewscreen.

The great scorpion formation of the Axis was turning to face the bulk of the CWDF force, which was now splitting into an inverted V shape, with half a dozen destroyers and twenty fighters on each side of the V, and the capital ships contained in a solid defensive block at the base.

Not a bad tactic, Mach thought, considering the difficult circumstances.

The two forces moved into position and then it began.

Thousands of laser bolts filled the darkness. Sparks, debris, and bursts of flame erupted as the smaller fighter craft on each side engaged in graceful dogfighting, each of the vessels emitting plumes of maneuvering thrusters as they fought for supremacy.

From the east side of the battle, the Axis horn made up of the sleek horan destroyers, arched in toward the right flank of the CW formation, huge ships exchanging fire in rapid volleys.

“Babcock, how you getting on with that scanner upgrade?” Mach asked, knowing that the CWDF had left themselves vulnerable to attack through the center of their V formation.

“Ready to patch in a few seconds,” Babcock said. “Though there are no guarantees.”

“The north and south horns are shifting to the center,” Adira said, alarm starting to etch into her voice as the right CWDF flank began to crumble under the sheer weight of numbers.

The Axis capital ships were now getting closer to firing range, but so were the CWDF and vestan ships. “Lassea, get us out of here. Dive!”

“I’m on it,” she said, inputting the commands and shifting the Intrepid below the main bulk of the CWDF force. Above them, two vestan capital ships split apart to allow the first volley of the Axis’ central attack pass through them without damage.

“Adira, I want you on that ion cannon, ready on my say-so.”

She nodded, focused on the holoscreen in front of her, which would soon become useless once Babcock added his new software.

As Lassea piloted the Intrepid down below and out of the way of the main fighting, Mach saw with horror the entire right flank break apart. The Axis’ eastern tip pierced through the defense. Further behind, the whiptail was shifting around.

“Okay, uploading,” Babcock said. “Ready to scan in three… two….”

The holodisplays in front of everyone’s consoles blinked out. The overlay map on the viewscreen followed, leaving them with just visuals, which, given the fight around them, meant they could barely see anything. Apart from a patch of dark space leading in a column from the main body of the horan formation.

“Scanning now,” Babcock said.

A pair of CWDF fighters buzzed by their position just a few dozen meters away, chasing a trio of horan ships.

“Sanchez, now!” Mach said.

The hunter was already on it, jabbing a finger at the gesture controls. The Intrepid’s gamma engines hummed loudly as the energy diverted to the laser battery.

A pair of red beams flashed on the viewscreen, taking out two of the horan fighters. The pair of CWDF craft quickly took out the third, but just as Mach was about to let out a cheer, the group of destroyers on the west horn tip blasted them into pieces.

“Shit!” Adira said firing the ion cannon toward the destroyers, but the range was too far.

“Easy,” Mach said. “Conserve the energy until my orders. Lassea, get us the fuck out of here. Head lower and bring us round toward the rear.”

“Wait! Babcock said. “I don’t know, but it’s working! Look.” He made a quick gesture and sent the results of the scan from his console up on the main screen.

In the dark columnar patch leading from the central horan formation were eight more lactern frigates in a tight square formation, heading right for the group of CWDF capital ships. The software, picking up on their stealth particles, outlined their shapes.

“Forward the data to Tralis’ group,” Mach said.

“Lassea, change of plan, bring us to the rear and above the formation. We’ll sweep down. Adira, I want you to aim for the front ship. Take its system down and—”

“We’ll have ourselves a logjam,” Adira said, smiling.

Mach gritted his teeth and sat down as Lassea spun the craft and engaged its thrusters to send it to the rear of the CWDF line, and then thrust again to alter their vector until they were now floating high above with a view down below.

It was a mess.

The CWDF was getting annihilated now that their flank had gone. Tralis was trying to regroup, but the vestan frigates were running, leaving gaps.

“I’ve got it targeted,” Adira said.

“Wait until it gets within two klicks of the capital ship,” Mach said. “We want our boys and girls to have as much surface area as possible to aim at when they come out of cloak.”

The radio chatter from Tralis barked over the comms channel. Mach had to admire the man’s spirit. He was still focused and confident. Mach communicated with his tactics officer about their next move. Everything was ready.

“Fire!” Mach said, hoping against everything that Babcock and the Saviors had got it right.

The ion cannon thrummed and shook the whole ship. At first Mach thought they had taken a hit, but they were above the main fighting. Down below, however, between the mad light show of life and death, the ion beam struck gold, hitting the front frigate with a dazzling display of crackling energy.

The beam of ion particles had struck, shutting down the ship’s systems and engines. The frigates behind it that were on an acceleration vector couldn’t maneuver in time. They crashed into it, log jamming together.

Tralis ordered concentrated fire over the comms.

All the capital ships and remaining destroyers aimed and fired their arsenal at the column of lactern cruisers, turning them into no more than a memory. The north and south horns pulled back, now exposed without their invisible backup.

The CWDF capital ships concentrated their fire, seeing the effects on the cruisers. Even the fighters were in sync. The north horn broke apart, the column of destroyers and cruisers falling away, unable to withstand the bulk of the fire.

Lassea let out a yelp of victory. Babcock slapped his hand on his console as Squid Three chirped.

“Great work, Intrepid,” Tralis said. “Now stay out of the way and pick things off as you can. We’ve got them on the run now.”

The confidence seemed to flow across the CWDF fleet, the underdog rising to take on the bully. The remaining vestan frigates split from their capital ship configuration and spread themselves thin, creating their shield once more to protect the capital ships from the whiptail of Axis craft.

“I want you to keep scanning, Babs.”

“Already doing so, Mach,” Babcock said.

Adira was focusing on her task, firing the ion cannon whenever there was an outline within range.

Sanchez was using the ship’s laser batteries to help keep up the stream of fire and take down damaged Axis ships that had drifted out of the formation.

Mach’s hands were gripping the arms of his chair so hard he felt something snap within his hand. He ignored the flash of pain and forced himself to relax. He surveyed his crew below him on the bridge, making sure they were on their jobs. Everyone had a steely focus, even the young vestan they called Nigel.

But as he assessed his crew, he noticed Tulula stiffen and lose her balance for a brief moment before returning her attention to her console. Her head cocked to one side like a dog responding to his master.

“Tulula,” Mach said, “what’s wrong?”

At first she didn’t respond. Beringer looked up at Mach then back to Tulula, nudging her gently. She got the message and focused on Mach. “What is it, Captain?”

“I’m asking the same question. What’s wrong with you?”

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “The Saviors… they have communicated some information about the Axis capital ships.”

“Spit it out, then,” Mach snapped, wondering why this information had come so late.

Tulula looked up at Squid Three as it hovered over Babcock’s shoulder. “They think we may have the advantage in this current situation.”

* * *

As the Terminus war raged on, both sides taking heavy losses and the momentum swinging back and forth, Mach watched on from the middle of the asteroid belt. The fighting had moved further away from the planet, the CWDF chasing down the Axis as they moved to regroup for a retaliatory phase.

Babcock said something to Squid Three that Mach couldn’t quite hear, but the little AI drone chirped back something that sounded like a comforting phrase. The drone was attached to a thruster pack jury-rigged from an EVA combat suit. The pack itself was rammed with the contents of one of the Intrepid’s fusion crystals—the source of its enviable speed, and of course, the creation of the Saviors. Though without it the Intrepid would be reduced to the speed of a normal ship of its size, the power from one fusion crystal could be devastating if engineered in a precise way.

Mach stepped down from his chair and approached Babcock. Tulula was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

“All set?” Mach asked.

“All set,” Babcock responded with a sigh of resignation to his voice.

“Tulula,” Mach said, “are the Saviors sure about this?”

She gave him a peculiar kind of shrug that he guessed to mean that doubting them was a preposterous thing. They had designed the Intrepid after all, and it’d had been the best ship he’d ever flown. His feelings toward them about the proto-vestans aside, he had to agree that they did know something worthwhile. Whether it would work or not was another matter.

By crippling the Intrepid, if their plan failed, and the CWDF were overrun, they wouldn’t be able to escape the Axis ships. The Saviors, then, he thought, were prepared to risk themselves for this.

This thought gave him confidence.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Do it.

Chapter 25

They only had Squid Three’s chirps over the radio signal to let them know how far it had got. Mach liked to think that he could see the little droid with its devastating payload head for the center of the Axis capital ship formation amid the chaos of war. But it was impossible to see, the image only a ghost of his imagination.

The crew of the Intrepid all stood together on the bridge, watching the battle rage on. The numbers had dwindled to under a half or more on each side. The CWDF was putting up a stronger fight of it than it had first looked. Taking out the cloaked cruisers had turned the tide and took away the Axis’ main strategy.

For a tense fifteen minutes, they waited for Squid Three’s signals and confirmation of its distance. They chose not to have it communicate with language in case the frequencies were being quantum-tapped. If they listened in now, all they’d hear were seemingly random blips.

Mach’s nerves were shredded. He expected the droid to be hit by a stray laser blast or a piece of debris at any minute. So far it had done well, Babcock’s programming and Squid Three’s self-learned AI doing a great job of keeping it safe.

Another tense, silent five minutes passed.

The final vestan frigate blew up into a fragment of metal and composite materials, the blast of which clustered into a CWDF destroyer, taking down its shields.

Then, for a second, the battery of laser fire coming from the central Axis capital ship stopped.

Squid Three sent back a series of beeps.

“The little bugger’s hacked their weapons array!” Babcock said, translating and clenching his fist with pride.

The three horns that were engaged with the bulk of the CWDF withdrew.

Did they know something was wrong?

“What’s happening?” Lassea said.

Beringer, who had remained quiet and withdrawn throughout the whole event, moved closer to the viewscreen until his nose was almost touching it.

Then, a small white light appeared in the center of the Axis formation. It continued to grow outward in a cone, slowly at first, and then faster, until it burst into a blinding ball of white light.

A second later the Intrepid rocked violently to one side as fragments of the asteroid and battle debris smashed into their shields.

Mach fell to his knees and turned his head away from the blinding white light.

A booming roar blasted through the ship’s hull.

Lassea reached for her console and gestured wildly, bringing the Intrepid under control. The viewscreen was still utterly white.

Babcock patched the comms back in, and all Mach could hear were screams, but not of pain or anguish, but of relief, victory!

“They’re retreating!” one officer said, ignoring normal radio protocol now.

Another said, “My God, look at it, it’s like a supernova!”

Still another, “We won, I don’t believe it, we’ve won!”

Then Tralis’ voice: “What the fuck happened! Status report, now.”

On it went for fifteen minutes, each captain of the remaining vessels delivering reports of their situation and what they thought had happened. Some were quick to claim responsibility, but as Mach looked up at Babcock, the tears making the scientist’s eyes glossy in the light of the bridge, it was clear who, or what was responsible.

“He did it,” Babcock said, choking with pride. “That little bugger did it.”

Lassea piloted the Intrepid out of the asteroid belt and into a clear area of space. Sanchez, Adira, Tulula, and even Nigel grouped together, patting Babcock on the back, not just for his actions, but also for that of his companion. Squid Three.

While they were updating with Tralis and confirming that the Axis had officially surrendered after losing half of their capital ships in the fusion-crystal blast, Mach made his way to the cargo bay and spoke with the Saviors.

They wouldn’t say much about what had happened, only that they did what was necessary.

“So what now?” Mach asked Hanos.

“We too find a new home,” the Savior said. “And plan for the future as best we can given our losses. We’ve sent coordinates to a vestan shuttle that’s currently on its way. When they’re docked with you, I’d like you to ensure we’re transferred over safely. From there, I’m afraid we can’t say much else, only this, Carson Mach: we are indebted to you and your crew. Truly, you and your allies have done something we thought not possible, and for that we are grateful.”

“Thank you,” Mach said. “I’ll forward your words to the rest of the crew.” He wanted to say more, but what else was there to say? Given the great cost of life on both sides, it felt unimportant now to say anything.

They had won the war.

What happened next was clear and planned.

His role in the affair was over, and the crew of the Intrepid could finally relax and go home, but no sooner had that thought crossed his mind his smart-screen bleeped.

Morgan.

Mach left the cargo bay and sat in his quarters and brought up Morgan’s hologram. They filled each other in on what had happened during the battle and what was going to happen with the Saviors.

Morgan also gave Mach some information on Steros.

“My crew are tired,” Mach said. “I’m tired… it’s been an emotional time.”

“You’ll get over that, Mach. You always do.”

The two of them shared a silence for a moment before the president expressed his gratitude. As he went on, talking about the council and how important it was to save the Saviors, Mach grew tired and cut him off.

All the politics and the fallout could wait.

He wanted to be with his crew. Help the Saviors go about their business.

And deal with Steros…

Chapter 26

Mach piloted the small two-man hunting plane through the giant greenwood trees of a small, distant planet on the far rim of the Salus Sphere. He reduced their speed to avoid crashing through the canopy but not so much they would lose sight of their prey: Steros, the traitor. The one who had tracked Mach and thus found the location of Terminus, which he had then given to the Axis. He was down there on the surface of the dense jungle planet, driving an old-fashioned hover-jeep toward a complex he had made home.

The binary suns of this system made sure the planet never had a night period. Bright yellow sunshine, all day, all night, and every hour. Even now, the tinted windows of their craft, named the Manta by Sanchez, on account of its flat, flared wings, only cut a certain amount of the sunshine, making Mach squint.

“I wish we had bought the bigger craft,” Mach said to Sanchez. The two men sat so close together in the tiny cockpit that their legs mashed together. “The bigger one had a full suite of digital screens.”

“It also flew like a container ship,” Sanchez said, “and it smelled like a pack of horan hell beasts had recently been burned inside. Your stench is bad enough to deal with.”

“You don’t exactly have a sweet perfume either.”

“That’s called testosterone. You should try it sometime, Mach.”

“You saying I’m not manly enough for you?”

Sanchez let out a relaxed laugh and helped to pilot the Manta through the dense trees. On the holographic screen in the middle of the pill-shaped and graphite-colored cockpit, a holodisc displayed their target’s movements.

So far it appeared that Steros hadn’t realized they were following.

Mach planned for it to stay that way until they had made him stop breathing. It was too late now for him to face a trial. Morgan had wanted him dead and frankly so did every member of the CWDF. Thousands of lives were lost in the Terminal War because of him.

“He’s diverting,” Sanchez said. “Heading east.”

Mach corrected their course, sweeping the Manta ninety degrees to the left in a silent, graceful arc. Birds, half the size of the craft, flew beside them as though they were one species on the hunt together. The birds featured long talons and a beak strong enough to pierce EM-armor. There must have been fifty of them surrounding the Manta.

“We’ll need to do something about them,” Sanchez said, nodding to the birds. “They’re gonna give away our position if that weasel down there looks up.”

“Use the static emitters, I’ll keep us on course.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sanchez said, giving Mach an exaggerated salute as he flipped a console cover up to reveal a small smart-screen. Sanchez gestured on the controls and sat back with a satisfied smile.

A second later, the Manta vibrated with a subsonic ‘thrum.’ The surrounding birds seemed to miss a flap of their wings simultaneously, then scattered, some heading into the tree cover, some going higher into the thin clouds.

“That went well,” Mach said. “I expected you to fry them.”

“I can be subtle when I want.”

“Sure you can. Twin plasma chain guns and ion swords would say otherwise.”

“Hey,” Sanchez said with that grin of his. “A man’s gotta have a little fun now and then, especially when landing on a planet full of carnivorous psychos.”

Mach didn’t continue the banter; Steros had changed course again—this time turning ninety degrees toward the north, picking up a new trail Mach hadn’t noticed on his previous reconnaissance runs. The trail twisted direction for the next ten minutes, taking him out of the dense jungle and into a deep, narrow valley.

“He’s up to something,” Sanchez said.

“Yeah, and if we follow for too long, he’ll see us without the tree cover. I knew we should have used the other ship; it had stealth tech.”

“That was just a sales gimmick,” Sanchez snorted. “Unless a few well-placed mirrors count as ‘tech’ these days. Just get lower and bring us to one side, so the wall of the valley keeps us hidden.”

Mach followed his friend’s advice, deferring to his superior hunting skills, and piloted the Manta lower, protected by the valley wall. They continued to follow Steros for another ten minutes when he just disappeared—both visually and from the suite of scanners.

“Impossible,” Sanchez said.

“Not impossible… sneaky. We’re going down on foot.” Mach circled the Manta slowly, keeping close to the ground. When they came around, he pointed to the screen at what looked like a dense shadow at the end of the valley. It wasn’t just a shadow; it was a complete absence of light, even in the section where the twin suns could reach.

“I’ve seen that before,” Mach said. “That anomaly is created by nano-particle-embedded nets. They absorb light completely, along with a whole range of the radio spectrum. Consider it a portable blackout shelter.”

“Why’d he want one of those?” Sanchez pondered.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out. Get your parasuit on; we’re going down there. Oh, and take the rifle only. No need for twin chain guns or anything crazy. We go in, assess the situation, and plan a new attack vector.”

Mach set the Manta to autopilot and connected its controls to his smart-screen so he could control it from the ground if needed—as long as he wasn’t in the blackout shelter, that is.

The two men suited up in the cramped lockout cabin. Mach equipped himself with his favorite rifle: the Stinger. Sanchez took an advanced vestan rifle: a full-auto weapon that could superheat the atmosphere around the barrel, and, using a powerful EM field, fling the resulting hot pockets into an enemy, the results of which weren’t pretty, but effective.

Mach clipped his helmet into place, checking comms and fuel levels. They were ready to go. He slapped a gloved hand against the red panel. The floor to the craft flipped open, dropping Sanchez and Mach directly down into the valley a hundred yards away from the blackout shelter and behind a large formation of rocks that looked like giant’s fingers curling up out of the ground.

Mach’s guts tightened and threatened to escape through his throat until the boot thrusters kicked in, slowing their descent behind the rocks. Sanchez landed next to him, on one foot. Mach grabbed him and kept him upright.

“Easy, old friend,” Mach said through their internal comms.

“I’m good. Let’s just get on with it. Tulula’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to upset her; you’ve seen where the vestans came from. Who’s to say some of the proto appetite isn’t still in there somewhere, eh?”

“You’re lucky to have her,” Mach said, and then nodded once to end the conversation.

The two men stalked forward, sticking to the shadows, their suits helping to dampen their movements by altering the photons around them. They reached a human-sized boulder about ten meters in front of the blackout shelter.

Up close, Mach could see inside. The shelter had no back wall, allowing some of the light that found its way through the valley to creep in and illuminate the edges of the three horan soldiers and, of course, Steros. His hover jeep was parked to the right of the shelter, leaving just a narrow channel to the left of it.

“Our approach is narrow,” Mach said to Sanchez, but the hunter just grunted, he already knew all this; it was his expert subject after all.

“You stay here,” Sanchez said, using his thrusters to launch him silently up the side of the valley until he disappeared over the ridge. “Move when I tell you.”

Mach crouched behind the boulder; Stinger propped over the edge, reticule glowing on his HUD, Steros’ back in the firing line. “You’re taking the soldiers, right?” Mach said to Sanchez, whose location now appeared on his HUD as a small blue pip.

“Something like that. You just keep your eyes peeled and be ready in… five… four… three… two…”

The jeep exploded, the front end flipping up and over until it crashed to the red-sandy ground. Smoke and sand billowed out. Panicked shouts and screams pealed out.

Sanchez’s pip shifted quickly on Mach’s HUD.

Mach stood from the boulder and dashed forward, Stinger raised.

The two horan soldiers bellowed and fired their rifles to the rear of the shelter.

“Got a hot tail,” Sanchez said. “Drawing them away. Get Steros.”

This was not the way Mach wanted to deal with it. Typical Sanchez, doing something far more extravagant than required! Mach didn’t have time to protest, though; Steros was already sprinting for the opposite wall of the valley.

A slight flare of light bloomed at the bottom of Steros’ suit legs: thrusters.

No time to grab and question him like Mach wanted. He raised the Stinger, firing twice. Both shots missed; Steros had already engaged his thrusters, flying high, but in his haste, he struck an outcropping, sending him spinning.

From the shelter came another explosion: another one of Sanchez’s subtle attacks. “Be quick,” Sanchez said over the comms. “There’s a gang of mixed alien scum over here; looks like they’re trading military-spec drones.”

“Doing what I can,” Mach said, launching himself into the air toward the flailing figure of Steros. “Keep ‘em busy for a while longer.”

Mach shortened the distance between him and Steros, the latter having straightened up and doing what he could to get away, but his thrusters were malfunctioning, spitting globs of fuel in a series of small combustions like the sound of a pistol.

Mach twitched, re-aimed and fired again.

This time he hit.

Steros yelled in pain and clutched his left leg. The maneuver unbalanced him and sent him crashing into the valley wall, where he crumpled into a ball and collapsed on a thick ledge.

With a small correction and a boost of energy, Mach adjusted his trajectory and landed on the ledge, rifle raised. Steros spun round and collapsed backward as he tried to scramble away on his butt, legs sliding in the red chalky dust.

“Nowhere to go,” Mach said, stalking closer.

“Mach, old buddy!” Steros said, stretching a pained grin across his face, sweat glistening on his skin. “We go back a ways, right? I can explain; you can understand, right? It was just business. I’m sure you’ve done similar… a little working outside of the conventions.”

“I’ve never triggered a war,” Mach said, stepping closer. He checked the Stinger’s ammo chamber, confirmed it was ready to fire and raised the rifle.

A yelp of panic escaped Steros’ tight, thin lips. His complexion had become paler. “Please, Mach… Listen, hear me out. It was all a mistake. I didn’t know where you were heading when I had a transponder put on you. How was I to know it was Terminus you were heading to? Hell, I didn’t even know what was at those coordinates.”

“Perhaps not,” Mach said. “But the horans you sold them to knew. What you did was unforgivable. And given your actions here, it’s not like you’ve changed your ways. I’m sorry, Steros, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re just a blemish that needs to be cleaned up.”

A laser bolt crashed into the rock a few inches above his head. Steros darted forward, taking advantage of Mach’s surprise, and jabbed a Taser into the guts of his suit. The blast sent Mach flying off the ledge, the rifle wheeling away to the ground, his brain too foggy for him to be able to work the boosters.

He struck the ground hard. The impact knocked the air from his lungs even if his suit did protect him from breaking any bones. Pain slithered up his spine as he rolled onto his back. Above him, Steros peered down from the ledge.

“Bastard,” Mach said.

“What happened?” Sanchez asked through heavy breaths as though he were running.

“Attention malfunction,” Mach groaned. “Where are you?”

“Can’t talk right now. Get the hell out of there; a drone’s coming for you.”

A dark shape circling the sky confirmed Sanchez’s dire warning. Mach scrambled to his feet and grabbed the Stinger. He raised the sights to Steros first, but the traitor had already backed away, protecting himself with the ledge. The drone circled lower. Mach dashed away, not wanting to get into its targeting tag.

“Get down!” Sanchez screamed through their comms.

Mach hit the deck as he spun round.

A horan thug, twice as tall as a human with scales all over his body, leveled a long-barreled plasma torch at Mach. But before it could pull the trigger, a sharp crack sounded, and the horan slumped to its knees. A black hole an inch in diameter punctured through the horan’s thick skull. It gave Mach a clear view through to the blackout shelter and a trio of lacterns in their almost-human way that spoke of varied evolvements gone awry.

Two more cracks and two more bodies hit the floor.

Mach rolled to his side, avoiding the return fire. He grabbed his rifle and pulled the trigger in one sweeping movement, the round finding its target and dropping the third lactern thug.

The drone above him whined and fired a volley of strafing, radiotoxic rounds as Mach ran for the blackout shelter.

He glanced at his HUD and noted Sanchez making his way around the valley toward Steros’ last location. “Where are you headed?” Mach asked as he ran to the burning corpse of the hover jeep for cover.

“To get the rat. You just stay alive, and perhaps get the Manta down here before reinforcements arrive. Remember our first freelance job together, the flyby pickup? Now’s a good time to relive that.”

Mach smiled as he gestured across his forearm-mounted smart-screen and ordered the Manta to join his coordinates. The drone continued to buzz around outside, circling like a carrion bird waiting for its prey to die in the desert.

The sound of humming echoed throughout the valley. A dark shadow appeared on the red sand. Dwarfing the drone, the Manta loomed down out of the thin cloud cover, twin laser batteries firing in almost complete silence, blasting the drone into hundreds of pieces.

The craft hovered lower. Mach sprinted for it and dived through the open lockout door, tumbling inside with a bump. Not waiting to remove his suit, Mach eased himself through the short, narrow passage to the cockpit and took control, sending the ship upward so quickly that his guts were squeezed with the g-force.

“All aboard,” Mach said over the comms. “Sit-rep, Sanchez.”

“The weasel is running overland,” the old hunter said, breathing heavier still with every passing minute. Mach fully expected a quip about how he was getting too old for all this, but the thrill of the hunt kept Sanchez quiet.

Mach plotted his direction into the Manta’s nav system and let the small, fast craft catch up to Sanchez and Steros. The two were just fifty meters or so apart, the latter making great hops with the last of his thruster fuel.

When the Manta loomed over him, Mach reduced the speed until they were almost identical. The downdraft from the VTOL engines created a whirlwind of red sand and stones, each one bouncing off the hull with a ping.

“Tell me when,” Mach said, having to rely on Sanchez’s guidance.

A few seconds later the hunter shouted, “Now!”

Mach hit the button that slid open the bottom cargo door and dropped the Manta so that it hit the ground. He let it slide on the rough surface for a moment until he received a noise of affirmation from Sanchez.

Mach closed the cargo doors and brought the craft up off the ground, aiming for the sky and turning the ship into a wide circle until they were heading back to the planet’s interior, where the ship port waited.

A couple of minutes into the return journey, Sanchez stumbled into the cockpit and collapsed into his chair. He lifted his helmet off. His hair stuck to his face with sweat. He breathed heavily, chest heaving.

“That was a close one,” Sanchez said, leaning back in his chair. “I nearly got caught outside of the cargo hatch.”

“Just following your guidance,” Mach said with a grin. “But I’m glad you made it. How’s Steros, did you…”

“Kill him? Nah didn’t need to. You crushed him when you landed. I only managed to drag some of him onto the ship. The rest of him is spread like butter back there on the ground.”

“At least the task is done, and we got out alive,” Mach said. “Another mission complete. I’ll send Morgan the ID and bioscans later so we can get paid and finally put all this behind us.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. I think we’ve earned a much-needed rest now that the vestan Saviors are safely on their way to a new planet and Steros is dead. Man, I can’t wait to hit the beaches and let the sun heal this old body of mine.”

Mach turned to face his old friend. “A vacation? Who said anything about that? We’re not done yet.”

The smile dropped from Sanchez’s face. “What do you mean we’re not done yet? What else is there? The war’s over; the loose ends have been dealt with…”

“All apart from one,” Mach said. “Beringer: we owe him a trip to collect his fancy ball. Should be easy enough. A few weeks travel, easy in and easy out. You can rest on the journey.”

Sanchez cocked an eyebrow, giving Mach a distrusting expression. “Easy? Since when has any job with you been easy?”

Mach laughed, gunned the engines on the Manta, and thought about a weeklong L-jump on the Intrepid, just him and Adira in his cabin until they got to Beringer’s little planet. Bliss, he thought.

A nice easy job…

About the Author

A.C. Hadfield always wanted to be an astronaut. As a boy he grew up reading science fiction novels and dreaming of the stars. He ended up as an engineer but developed a passion for the world of writing. He lives in the USA in various locations depending on the seasons. He enjoys traveling, stargazing, and dreaming up galactic empires in which to tell his tales.

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