by Barry Kirwan
It was done.
* * *
Jen, Dimitri and Rashid all breathed out at the same time. Jen smoothed her brow with a clammy hand. After a year of waiting, it had all happened so fast.
“Three point eight seconds,” Dimitri confirmed.
Jen’s head ached, but she didn’t want to click off the interface just yet. She felt elated and groggy at the same time. It had been like watching two Gods play zero-G tennis.
She tried to contact Kalaran. “That didn’t take long. Which plan are we on now, B or C?”
“Would you like to pilot one of these ships? Darkur’s is known as the Duality. He’s always hated black holes.”
She was on her feet in an instant. “Hell, yes!” she shouted
Dimitri and Rashid turned to her. “What, Jen?” Dimitri asked.
She walked over to him, kissed him, held his face with trembling hands. “Love of my life, when I tell you, you must promise not to kill me…”
* * *
Kalaran’s mind held all the data of their thirty-three trips, exact local times including gravity distortion effects, and plotted the trip home. He didn’t calculate as such. Instead, his mind, distributed over the ship, perceived all the parameters and coalesced an answer that required no further checking. It would be tight, but they would arrive back just before Quarantine came down.
Even with Darkur’s ship, it was still a long shot. He’d have to find Hellera after all, though she might side with Qorall just to spite him, or quit the galaxy.
Kalaran whisked all three humans into the control centre of Darkur’s ship.
He’d hoped to stay longer, to catch up, but this had always been a flying visit. He sent an avatar over to Jen and the others to instruct them on how to manoeuvre the ship, though their task would be much easier: all they had to do was stay within his slipstream. He would handle the worms.
He’d run many simulations since leaving, predicting what would happen on the small world where the humans had been quarantined; most of them resulted in catastrophic outcomes. The ones called Micah and Blake were predicted to hold things together, just. But he knew that as soon as the quarantine came down all prediction confidence was lost in an uncertainty cascade. Humanity had a score to settle against the Alicians, and all simulations predicted that humans would pursue this vendetta even at the cost of losing the galaxy to Qorall. Moreover, even when he biased the statistics to gain a positive outcome, it required humans and Alicians to work together, and put aside their lethal feud. As Jen would say, fat chance.
Jen signalled ‘ready’. His ship turned and accelerated away, Jen’s in tandem.
While his avatar indulged the humans who were having a great deal of ‘fun’, he focused his mind on the task at hand. He had one ally remaining in the Silverback galaxy, the Hohash. Those omnipaths, servants of the Kalarash and no one else, had nearly been lost. The eldest survivor had transmitted disturbing signals across the void: a new variable, one tending to worsen all simulation runs, an Alician female who had joined forces with Qorall. He had no idea why she should do so, nor did Jen, other than that this woman named Louise was a ‘queen bitch’, as unpredictable as she was dangerous. Normally this would not even be on his sensor grid, but Louise had kidnapped one of his Hohash, and if it fell into Qorall’s clutches…
Kalaran considered that this was all a suicide run, given that Qorall had been preparing for a very long time, and that he should turn around, explain to Darkur that it had all been a bad joke, or else high-tail it to a new galaxy on the other side of the universe. Jen and the others had already said they’d understand if he didn’t go back. Kalaran recalled that in his long history, at one point he’d been technically dead for a million years, and had found the experience unmemorable, definitely not worth repeating. But he’d fought Qorall once before, stared into those nova eyes. If Qorall won this time, aside from taking revenge on Kalaran so that he would be truly gone forever, he wouldn’t stop there: he’d target other galaxies, those harbouring the remaining Kalarash and their progeny. On impulse, Kalaran sent a sub-space comms message ahead of him, addressed to Hellera, via all Hohash, in case she still had one: “We need to talk.”
He activated the portal, an oval patch of space blinking open, latticed by lightning bolts that sparked then vanished, revealing the blue and white vortex that was their route home. The first batch of dark worms smeared into view, blockading the shunt gateway. They’d arrived quicker this time. He readied the anti-matter and spatial distortion defences, but knew that it would take all his mental effort to outrun them. It was a welcome relief. Jen brought her ship up close behind his. Good girl.
Kalaran erased all the simulations. In a matter of local human days they would be back, just before quarantine came down, and then they would see. In any case, as Jen would say, it was all now in the lap of the Gods. He smiled again; it felt good for a Level Nineteen being to consider that there might be a higher order.
But it was time to focus. Kalaran’s consciousness spread out to all parts of the ship and its Hades Class weaponry, and he got down to business, tackling the writhing, dark energy creatures who could swallow both ships whole.
Chapter Fourteen
Strategies & Tactics
Sister Esma got the call from Serena, leapt out of her bed, still fully clothed, and for once broke her own protocol and ran all the way. She calmed her breathing just before arriving, then swept onto the bridge
“Report!”
Serena was ready for her. “Quarantine is down, two days early. The Ossyrian pyramid ship is about to leave orbit. The single Q’Roth Hunter Class vessel is still on the ground.”
“Long range tactical?”
Serena tapped a screen. “A Q’Roth Marauder is inbound, no callsign registering –”
“Louise,” Sister Esma interrupted. “Interesting.” Louise had always been a wild card. That had been advantageous when she’d controlled Louise, but she didn’t anymore. Sister Esma drummed her fingers, wondering what she was up to. Then she caught Serena’s expression. “More?”
“Yes – ah – good, they’re in sensor range now.” Serena touched the console and a starchart holo appeared, showing Louise’s Marauder and another vessel almost in-system. Serena put her finger against the moving blob on the 3D display. “A Mannekhi spike-ship is coming in fast, again no callsign but that’s to be expected; we cannot decode enemy insignia. We only picked it up three minutes ago.”
Sister Esma moved towards the display, inspecting a blur like a faint comet’s tail approaching from the same direction as the spike ship. “And what, may I ask, is that?” It looked like the wake from a craft, but there was no vessel at its head.
Serena pursed her lips. “We don’t know. The Q’Roth don’t either, it seems. It’s not in their database.”
Sister Esma surveyed the sector holo, Esperia and its two moons dead centre. Bringing down the barrier early was a smart move she hadn’t given them credit for, but it would make no difference. The fact that the Hunter was still on the ground suggested that either they were not expecting attack, or the vessel itself was disabled, or else they had been divided concerning this action – perhaps the Ossyrians were called back early to their new base planet. Again, it changed little, and the Hunter was not a serious threat against Serena and their smaller but faster Raptor craft.
Louise – if it was indeed her former protégé – could prove to be an asset or a distraction. She had to admit, though, that she would like to have Louise back after all this time. True, she’d tried to have Louise killed after the sacking of Earth, but Louise was Alician, and would see the larger picture.
The Mannekhi Spike-ship, however, could prove to be a problem. She decided to delay the launching of the planet-cutter tendrils until its motivation had been discerned – spike ships were unpredictable, as were the Mannekhi generally. The space anomaly – that was a known unknown, a risk that would need to be handled tactically as it developed.
The assessment
had taken her five seconds. She dismissed Serena back to her station. She turned to address her crew and the two Q’Roth warriors.
“This changes nothing, our strategy remains the same. First, the absolute priority is to take fifty to a hundred captives from Esperia to restore our future survival prospects. We will not under any circumstances attack Esperia before those people are secured. Second, we disable and preferably destroy the Ossyrian vessel before it can transit out of the sector, and neutralize the Hunter vessel once airborne – it is too close to their precious Esperantia at present.
Third, we destroy Esperia using the planet-cutter as agreed with the Q’Roth queen, to make it look like an accident –” she bowed slightly to the Q’Roth warriors, who remained immobile, “– unless this becomes difficult, in which case we launch missiles to obliterate Esperantia and most of the surrounding continent. If we take that course of action, we, the Alicians, and I personally, will take full responsibility for our actions, absolving the Q’Roth of any and all complicity.” She stared at the two warriors. “Is this agreed?”
The two simultaneously clicked their mid-claws together twice, fast.
Sister Esma turned to the rest of her crew. “Is any of what I have said unclear? If so, speak now, for mistakes will not be tolerated once battle is joined.”
Serena studied the rest of the crew. “I believe everything is clear, Your Eminence.”
Sister Esma took her command chair. “Do we have a clear shot at the Ossyrian pyramid ship?
“In five minutes,” Serena replied.
“As soon as we are ready, take us out of stealth mode, and open fire.”
* * *
Kat awoke in darkness, and could still see what she’d just been dreaming. Six Q’Roth letters. She knew a little about Q’Roth script, but to her it didn’t make any word she recognized. It blazed in her mind like an after-image, ivory figures against the indefinable blackness of night. It felt like she had been staring at them for hours whilst asleep, which made no sense.
“Lights,” she said, and her room was bathed in Q’Roth standard mustard light. At least she wasn’t restrained anymore. She lifted her right wrist to her mouth, too weary to get out of bed or even lift her head.
“Aramisk? I’m awake. Can you help me, please?”
She lay there trying to work out what had happened before, but it was all mixed up in her head, and her mind felt as exhausted as her body.
As soon as Aramisk entered, Kat interrogated her. How long? Where are we? Where are we headed? Where is the Hohash? What is Louise’s plan?
She didn’t care much for any of the answers she received. If Louise teamed up with Sister Esma, Micah and the others wouldn’t stand a chance. Everyone she knew would be killed. Kat thought her nightmares had been bad, but this felt like endgame. Her stomach knotted.
Aramisk was unusually quiet, even for her. Kat guessed why. “What will happen to you, Tarish and the others?”
Aramisk’s face clouded over. “She said she will take us with her.”
Kat said nothing, she didn’t need to join the dots for a Mannekhi. “What does Tarish say?”
Aramisk looked even less happy, if that was possible. “He says we are bound to her, we must do her bidding. If she disposes of us, which is his and my prediction, then so be it.”
“So, you let her kill you? Just like that?”
Aramisk’s voice grew harsh. “No, not ‘just like that’. You know nothing about us, our history… what we’ve been through. Besides, Louise carries that damned rifle with her all the time now. We’ve never encountered anything so lethal.”
Kat remembered something. “What if I could distract her, get her away from the Bridge?”
Aramisk regarded her with suspicion. “How?”
Kat wanted to keep it to herself for the moment. “Can’t you trust me?”
Aramisk snorted. “No. Mannekhi live and die as teams. We don’t hide anything from each other. That is our code. Tell me now or this conversation goes no further.”
“But then you will tell Tarish, and he’ll inform Louise and I’ll be dead within seconds.”
Aramisk paused. “You need my help or you wouldn’t be asking.” She got up and walked a circle. “There is a blood debt between us: I owe you for saving my life at the forest planet.” She stopped. “Very well, speak now and I may decide to delay telling Tarish.”
“Christ, remind me never to haggle with one of your kind!”
Aramisk waited.
Kat tried to sit up, and Aramisk came over to help her. As she held Kat in her arms, their faces neared, and Aramisk kissed Kat, locking her in an embrace.
Kat was completely surprised, also because Aramisk was one hell of a kisser. “What…?”
“Do you think your species is the only one to have same-gender attraction? My own lover was killed in action four years ago.” She released Kat, and stood. “Your plan, please.”
Kat swallowed. At least it had got her blood flowing again; she felt her face flushing. “Right. Um…” She briefly imagined Micah and Antonia witnessing that kiss – the tables turned. But thinking of Micah brought her neatly back to her plan. She cleared her throat. “Last time we dealt with Louise, Micah killed her.”
Aramisk placed her hands on her hips.
“Well, to be precise, it was another called Jen, but it was Micah’s plan, which is why she hates him so much. Anyway, she had a back-up clone.”
“Ah. And you think she has one onboard.”
“Definitely. She must go there frequently, at least once every few days, to download recent memories, so that if she’s killed –”
“Yes, yes. You want me to find it. I think I already know where it is, as I have access to security logs detailing movements, and there is an area of the ship, a locked room near to where Louise carries out her training regime. But it will require an entry code, most probably her command override code, in Largyl 9.” She folded her arms. “Do you have this code?”
Kat recalled the figures she had dreamed, carved into her mind. The Hohash was an omnipath, it could access the entire ship’s database and see straight through any code. When Louise had been about to destroy it, it must have sent the code to her, a last attempt to aid her. She felt sorry for it, as if she’d lost a beautiful, trusting animal. She also knew it must have been incredibly old, and now was gone forever.
“Yes,” she said.
Aramisk studied Kat, then began to walk in a circle again, hands clasped behind her back. “We arrive in Esperia’s system in two hours. The location is deck 4, room alpha 17. If you can disable the clone, and we can get her off the bridge, I might be able to persuade Tarish.” She stopped pacing again. “But if he says ‘no’, then I will not defy him. Do you accept these conditions?”
Kat nodded. Aramisk headed for the door. Kat found herself calling after her. “Wait? Wait a minute, please.” She got up off the bed, and staggered toward Aramisk, who met her mid-room, supporting her in her arms.
Kat looked into those eyes, for the first time not repulsed at some subliminal level by their alien nature. “Aramisk, in a few hours we’re both likely dead, and if there is an after-life, we’ll both be reunited with our lovers.”
“So?”
Kat knew it was wrong, but she needed something to get her through what she had to do. “So… kiss me again, one last time? Aramisk, Plea–”
Chapter Fifteen
First Strike
Blake felt a chill run down his spine when he heard the ripping sound coming from the sky as the Quarantine shield came down. He stared upwards. A spot of red blazed in the sky’s zenith, then stretched into a circle of fire racing outwards in all directions towards the horizon. Thunder boomed across a cloudless afternoon sky, then silence poured in. The other four men all turned as one to him.
“Let’s get to the ship. We need to get into the game, and it’s going to take place up there.”
They ran all the way.
Blake stood at the Hunter ves
sel’s portal, with his back to Zack’s Transpar in the pilot’s chair, Marcus at the weapons console. He gazed at the screen as their blue-black Q’Roth Hunter Class vessel, shaped like an armoured crab and half the size of a football field, lifted from the ground, retracting its six squat legs. The inquisitive crowd dispersed, ushered away by Vasquez’s militia. Vasquez would coordinate Ops – if there were any – from the dome. Ramires, working with Gabriel’s partner Virginia, was to set up armed youngblood trios – they functioned best that way – at each main intersection of Esperantia, while several militia patrols had been dispatched to the farms.
Vasquez had earlier posed a question as he shaded his sight from the afternoon sun, looking towards Hazzards Ridge. “What about the spiders, Blake? Will they join the fight if it comes?”
Blake had thought about it often. In many ways he still hardly knew them – they always seemed non-violent, artistic. They had sacrificed themselves during the previous Q’Roth incursion a thousand years earlier in order to save their unhatched young, not firing a single weapon. In fact, he’d never seen so much as a spider dagger.
“Wouldn’t count on it,” he’d replied.
Vasquez carried on his preparations. “Should we head out to the hills? From space, Esperantia looks like a big round target.”
Vasquez had a point, Blake thought, studying Esperantia from the ascending ship. From above, the town was roughly circular, its rooves glinting from the zinc solar panels, corrugated lines marking out the main streets, pockets of plazas here and there, stubby three-storey blocks on each corner with low-rises in-between.