Because you have the implant. She answered. And now you've got the amulet, too.
The Lifestone amulet. Arus patted the brown pouch on his hip as he watched the stars fly by. The power of the Lifestone was not a toy; Mateo had warned him of that. The thing would only be a last resort, if for no other reason than Arus' terror that it would drive him mad the way the sword had done to Kindel. For that matter, they had also been warned that whoever was to take the Blade of Kaleo from Thorus had to be of pure heart, or they would suffer the same way that he had. But who amongst them was pure of heart? None of them were perfect, least of all Arus. Who would be able to safely handle the sword? Would anyone, for that matter?
Kitreena had returned without his notice, it seemed, and she took his cybernetic hand into hers. "Come on, Arus," she said, her voice soothing his ears. "Time to go."
Damien was in his usual stance when they arrived at the bridge, head bowed with thumb and forefinger cradling his chin, eyes locked in a distant stare through the viewport. The journey had provided him with much needed rest; his wounds had been completely healed by Doctor Nori's miraculous medicine. Now, refreshed and rejuvenated, he was as ready to as he could be to take on his brother. Not that he didn't have his reservations, of course, but he knew what had to be done, and he was prepared to fight with everything he had to give. "Good morning, Arus. Kit." He didn't bother turning to face them. "I trust you are both ready to face the day's challenges."
"As ready as I can be," Kitreena muttered.
Arus tried to sound more upbeat. "Let's finish this whole thing once and for all."
That drew a raised eyebrow from Damien, but he held whatever comments he had to himself. "There's Terranias," he said, pointing to the glowing blue marble in the distance. "The Armada's ships are already in orbit. We should be entering attack range within eight minutes."
Arus moved beside Lieutenant Meni at the sensor array. "Anything from Thorus yet?"
"Nothing yet," Harold told him. "We've tracked no transports going to or from the surface."
"He may have teleported down," Damien suggested, "but if so, he hasn't begun to affect the planet's atmosphere the way that he did on Arynias. I think he is still onboard the Black Eagle, and that makes me nervous. Why would he wait for us?"
"I'm willing to bet he wants to try to destroy us all with one fell swoop," Kitreena said, taking a seat at the diagnostics terminal. "How many ships does he have?"
Damien's reply was solemn. "All indications are that he's summoned every last ship in the Armada from every quadrant of the universe. Current scans put them at about fifty sizeable starships, including twenty starcruisers and thirty battleships, not to mention each craft's starfighter attachment. I've called in as many of our own ships as I could gather for support. The longer Kindel waits to act, the more reinforcements we'll have on our side."
The escort flanking the Refuge had indeed grown; nearly thirty starships of various size and class had joined them, which matched a little more than half of the Armada's surging numbers. Arus marveled over the show of force—a war he might never had known existed if it hadn't been for Truce—and sighed for what had to be the thousandth time over the number of people who would die because of him. Kitreena had scolded him for that, saying that this conflict had been building for ages, but he couldn't help but wonder if it might have been diffused peacefully had he not gotten involved.
"Do we need to go over assignments?" Damien asked quietly. "We still have a few minutes to review if anyone—"
The lift door slid open behind them, and Timen and Nat entered, carrying a third Aeden soldier between them. The unidentified man was motionless; his head was covered by a black sack that had been tied at his neck. Dark brown boots dragged across the floor as the soldiers brought him through the doorway, and his hands were a sickly shade of white. Arus couldn't see his rank insignia's from where he stood, but Damien had a closer view. His eyes bulged at the sight of the three.
"Commander Naelas!" he exclaimed, rushing toward them. "What happened?"
"He's dead, Sir," Timen said, obviously reluctant to report the news. "By his own hand."
"What?!" Kitreena gasped, leaping from her chair. "How? What happened?"
They gently lowered the commander's body to the floor as Timen explained. "We were looking for him to ask a few questions about today's mission, and we found him in the library trying to send all kinds of sensitive material to the Black Eagle from one of the terminals. I tried to ask him what he was doing, and he just put his pistol in his mouth and fired."
"By the light of Zo'rhan, are you sure about this?" Damien asked, his eyes glistening with fear. "Are you absolutely certain?"
"Yes," Nat said with a grim nod. "Unfortunately, yes."
Damien took a quick glance at Naelas' corpse before he dropped into the chair in front of diagnostics terminal and began tapping away at the keys. Arus shifted to Kitreena's side as they waited, exchanging nervous looks with both her and the two men. Her voice appeared in his head quietly. Damien has a master login code for the terminals that gives him access to everyone else's data. He should be able to verify what information has been leaked within a few moments.
Do you really believe Naelas to be a traitor?
She didn't speak out loud, but the corners of her mouth tightened. I wouldn't say it's impossible. Everyone has spies spread throughout the galaxy.
"We're in trouble," Damien muttered. "He's sent schematics of the Refuge, damage reports from skirmish at Outpost Twelve, and it looks like he was trying to send today's battle plans when he was interrupted."
Kitreena leaned over the terminal beside him, studying the information on the screen. "Did he succeed?"
"I can't tell," Damien responded. "Look here. He notes in this one message that he hadn't received responses from anyone about his prior three communications. The time index puts the first of those three around the time that Kindel headed down to the surface of Arynias. If Kindel's people have gotten those messages, including today's, they've given no indication of it since then."
"Maybe they've been unable to relay the information to Thorus because of his . . . current mental state?" Arus suggested, looking closer at the terminal. "He isn't exactly—"
"Hold on a second!" Kitreena cut him off, pointing at the screen as Damien scrolled through the list of Naelas' previous messages. "Up! Go back up! There!" She pointed to one of the titles as Damien highlighted it. "Security Storage Safe! That's how they knew where we hid Arus when they attacked us at the Outpost! No wonder they got the key from Naelas so easily, and no wonder they knew that I had the other one! He's been feeding them information this whole time!"
The revelation had gotten her so worked up that Arus almost expected her eyes to start glowing. "What are we going to do, Damien?" he asked.
A growl of frustration came from the Zo'rhan. "What can we do?" he shouted, slamming his fist down angrily. "We can't very well work up a whole new battle plan; we don't have time for all that. And if we back off, we leave the Terranias and all the lives on it in Kindel's hands. All we can do is go forward and try our best to adapt to the situation as things happen."
"Sir," Lieutenant Tears called from the communications terminal, "Captain Thomas Angeles of the Stardiver would like to speak with you."
"Make the connection," Damien ordered in more of a grumble than a request. He motioned for Nat and Timen to remove the commander's carcass from the bridge, then pushed his chair back from the terminal and rose as Captain Angeles' voice boomed over the speakers.
"Damien? This is Thomas Angeles. My ships are falling in behind you now, along with a portion of the Belvidian blockade. We're ready to assist you in any way possible."
"Happy to fly beside you, Captain," Damien responded. "I trust you didn't leave Belvidia too unprotected."
"The Aeden High Council has ordered other ships to take our place, so they shouldn't suffer from a lapse of coverage for too long. Given what you wrote in your report, I think w
e can all agree that the threat we're about to face is the most pressing matter at the moment, don't you think? Let's wipe the floor with these Vezulian punks and go home."
Finally, Damien smiled. "I admire your optimism, Thomas. The battle is already won in your eyes, is it?"
Captain Angeles chuckled as he spoke. "I've got a month-long vacation on Geavaan coming up, and I don't intend to miss it for anything!"
"We'll do our best to make sure you get there safely, Captain. Damien out." He motioned for Merille to cut the communication line before turning to Harold. "Estimated time to arrival, Lieutenant?"
"One minute until we are within attack range," Lieutenant Meni answered. "Jindar has brought us right in on the Black Eagle."
Arus gazed upon Terranias, now a huge blue mass encompassing most of the bridge's viewport. The Vezulian fleet was larger than any he'd seen thus far, a varied assortment of craft in multiple shapes and sizes, each looking more powerful than the last. Despite their rather minuscule size compared to the girth of the Terranias, their presence almost seemed to cast a shadow over the planet. Somewhere down there, his mother was waiting. Somewhere down there, Keroko was waiting. Blind to the danger looming over them, they no doubt carried on with their lives as though the worst of their troubles were over. Had he been down there himself, he'd likely be doing the same, believing that what he saw around him was all there was to life. How little he knew. How naive they were.
"The Vezulian battleships are launching starfighters," Meni reported. "The cruisers are following suit."
"Form up," Damien ordered, positioning himself beside the tactical station. Tump, the round Svodesian with drooping ears, tapped away at the control panel as he issued his instructions. "I want a wide spread. Half-sphere defensive maneuvers." Tump's ears fluttered slightly at that. "Launch all fighters once everyone is in position."
Arus watched through the viewport as the Aeden starships began to gather around the Refuge in a half-sphere formation that curved away from the Vezulian Armada. Training exercises in the simulator had taught him that this defensive technique helped to minimize the opponent's ability to surround any one ship, as well as maximize laser coverage in every direction. A half-sphere curved toward the opponent would've made for a better offensive strike, but Damien intended to hold off on that formation until most of the fleet's starfighters had been launched. Fighters entered space through the inner curve of the sphere, giving them plenty of cover to get into space successfully. An offensive stance would've not only enhanced their visibility to the enemy as they exited from each starship, but it would've made every hangar bay vulnerable to enemy fire.
"The fleet is in position," Meni reported.
Tump's gravelly voice spoke for the first time that Arus had heard. "Fighter launch sequence has begun."
"Lieutenant Meni," Damien began, keeping his eyes locked on the Black Eagle, "have you monitored any atmospheric changes as of yet?"
"None, Sir. All readings are completely within Terranias' normal flow of activity."
"I want to know the second something unusual occurs, Harold," Damien said. "I don't care what I'm doing at the time."
"Aye, Sir."
Kitreena nudged Damien's arm. "When should we head for our ships?" she whispered.
"Not yet," he said. "Not until there is enough going on that a few fighters can blend in with the rest."
"Do you really think we'll be able to board the Black Eagle as easily as you suggest?" Arus asked him.
Damien nodded confidently. "The hangar bay doors will be opening and closing constantly as ships exit and enter. As long as we can make it past the hull turrets, we shouldn't have a problem slipping through. You practiced on the simulator, right?"
For a better portion of the week, he had. The problem was that he'd never been able to get it honed to a routine; there was always something unexpected that came up to complicate things. Still, he'd succeeded more often than he'd failed. Hopefully, the simulator was as realistic as they claimed it was. A fine time this was to send him out on his first starfighter mission. "Yes, I did it several times." Several was an understatement.
"Then you'll be fine," Damien told him. "Just keep alert, and always expect the unexpected."
A momentary flash of light preceded a small explosion as the first starfighter casualty went up in flames in the center of the battlefield. Within seconds, a barrage of lasers and missiles cut through the darkness of space in an eruption of colors and explosions. Aeden fighters twisted and spiraled as they hunted down their Vezulian counterparts, and the larger cruisers fired powerful streaks of energy into the midst of it all, incinerating any ship unlucky enough to find themselves in their paths. The first missile hit the Refuge, sending a wave of blue rippling through the craft's energy shields and a tremor through her decks. Kitreena's grip on Arus' hand tightened as they watched, eyes glistening with the glow of each laser and the flash of each explosion.
The battle had begun.
*******
Sartan Truce idly fingered his beard as he stared up at the circuit panel. Lying halfway within the maintenance shaft below the laser cannon's new power generator, he'd been toiling relentlessly for days on the rerouting device, spending almost every waking moment on his back. It was a blessing that he was not averse to closed spaces, or he wouldn't have lasted thirty minutes in there. Then again, living in underground caves for so many years had served to dull many of the fears he'd had as a child. During his youth, he'd actually been afraid of magic. Afraid! The mere thought made him chuckle now. Children were so naive.
He gazed at the device lodged into the open circuit box. A crude little thing, whipped up in haste from a basic concept that was flawed to begin with. When completed, it would focus all of the energy from the surrounding turrets into one concentrated blast. But while the new power generator they had installed was certainly capable of handling that kind of output, Truce wasn't so sure his rerouting gadget was quite as strong. If he managed to complete the design as it was, they'd likely be able to fire the cannon, but the power overload would probably blow out the routing circuit in the process. Still, a single shot might be enough if aimed properly. If not . . . Well, risk had become a more frequent part of Truce's vocabulary as of late, and there was no way he was going to give up on the idea now.
A tremor rolled through the floor, accompanied by a distant blast. Screeching lasers could be heard in the distance along with an occasional explosion. The Armada had engaged the Alliance, or the other way around. Regardless, the battle had started, and that meant that the opportune time to destroy the Black Eagle was nearly upon them. They would have to move quickly to be prepared.
Olock's voice came from the small room at the end of the maintenance shaft where Truce's legs protruded beneath the gunner's seat. "Boss, I can't find any. We're all out."
"Well, look again!" Truce snapped back. "There have got to be some spares somewhere."
"I'm telling you, we've used all the spares," Olock insisted. "The computer's supply chart shows none left."
Truce sighed and let his head slump back against the cold steel of the shaft. To come all this way only to be stopped by a few measly capacitors was ridiculous. All he needed was a single box, and he'd be able to have the cannon up and running as planned. "What about the other ships? Does the computer readout show if any of Thorus' other ships have spares?"
"I think so," Olock said. His voice faded a bit as he walked away from the shaft. "Yes, I'm reading two crates onboard the Emerald Crown, and six onboard the Black Eagle."
Oddly enough, the Emerald Crown would likely be more dangerous to try to board than the Black Eagle. It was among the more heavily armed battleships of the Armada, with twice as many turrets and missile launchers. "Board the Black Eagle, then," he said, grabbing either edge of the maintenance shaft and sliding himself out. "Take a team and board her. Tell them we need supplies for repairs."
Olock's face whitened. "But, Boss! We're right in the middle of a war, here!
How am I supposed to get to the Black Eagle when—"
Truce twisted his lips in disgust. "We're right next to her, for Kuldaan's sake! Take an assault transport over, and you should have no problems. Just make sure to bring a few people to watch your back."
"I don't know about this, Boss," Olock said, shaking his head. "I mean, destroying Kindel's ship might have been a good idea a week ago, but we've got the entire Vezulian Armada surrounding us now. If we fire on Kindel—"
"I told you, we won't fire until we've taken control of the Falcon Mist, which I intend to take care of while you're gone. Then, we'll destroy the Black Eagle and gun the engines, leaving both the Vezulian Armada and the Aeden Alliance to settle their own differences. They'll be too tied up with each other to chase us down."
Though he was still visibly uncomfortable with the idea, Olock threw up his hands and shrugged. "Whatever you say, Boss. I hope you're right."
Truce smiled at his old friend. "Hey, I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"
Olock practically rolled his eyes. "I think I deserve at least some of that credit," he muttered.
"You can have all the credit you want," Truce laughed, patting his old friend on the shoulder, "once we are free from the eyes of the Armada. Now, get moving."
"What about Enzulia? I'm supposed to be the captain of his ship. He's going to wonder about me if I disappear."
"Like I said, I'm going to take care of him while you're gone. If all goes well, you'll be returning to a Kyrosen ship, not a Vezulian one."
It was getting harder and harder to make the man smile as of late, but Olock finally flashed a quick grin before he nodded and headed through the door. Truce wiped his hands on the grey uniform and followed, checking first for Vezulian patrols before entering the corridor. The hall was a narrow walkway along the outer rim of the ship where the external turrets were to be manned in the event of a battle. Normally, the area would be bustling with activity given the firefight going on outside, but Olock had declared this particular line of turrets inactive in the computer system so that no one would disturb Truce in his work. It had provided a nice private working environment for the past week, but the time had come to set their plans into motion. Olock's task would provide ample time to gather a few of the Kyrosen from the cargo hold and storm the bridge, and the space battle made for a perfect distraction. Thorus would never even realize that Commander Enzulia had been overthrown, at which point the constraints of secrecy they'd been forced to endure could finally be lifted. When Olock returned, they'd finish the cannon, destroy the Black Eagle, and be gone before the rest of the Armada could even react.
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