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  “Thresh, take power from any system you can and put it into the stability field.” Poledri’s voice quivered with the shaking ship. “Give Boyd what he needs to complete the maneuver.”

  Thresh staggered from one console to another and found a few spare gigawatts from somewhere, dumping them into the stability field. The deck plating immediately calmed its wild vibration. It was steady for a moment before Boyd pushed hard again, turning tight to beat the Truth.

  A glancing blow from the Truth’s spitz guns knocked out the primary lighting on the flight deck. A power conduit blew out, showering sparks across the flight deck that momentarily lit up the crew.

  “You are going to get me killed, Boyd,” Poledri said. “There won’t be any ship left for the Union to attack.”

  And then the vibration stopped.

  “Maneuver complete!” Boyd called out.

  “Target acquired. Firing now,” Thresh said.

  Boyd checked the heading of the Union ship. It was lying at ninety degrees to the Fist, heading out of the system through the sphere while the Fist was pointing along the orbital plane of the system’s planets.

  The holo-stage came back to life just in time for Boyd to see the Truth. He wondered, if that had been the Resolute, would he have been able to join the battle and attack his own ship, his old Blue Star Marine brothers? Would he be able to give Thresh the shot she needed? Would Boyd be able to kill those people he had served with, still served even now?

  “It’s a hit,” Poledri said, jumping out of his seat and punching the air. “Hit it again, Thresh.”

  Boyd saw the high-density kinetic hail smash into the port side of the Truth and then the explosion that could only have been caused by the rupture of the reactor.

  “Firing again, same target location. Drifting out of range. Hail shot away.”

  Boyd felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as the hail cannons fired. The sudden static discharge. The familiar smell of gunfire. The distant sound of the gun batteries firing.

  But Boyd felt that it was partly guilt that caused his scalp to tingle.

  The Union cruiser, the Truth, erupted in fire that tore along the entire length of the port side, flinging white plasma out like a sheet across space. The drive system failed and went dark for a moment before the sheet of plasma sliced through it. In another second, the whole ship was consumed.

  The flight deck of the Odium Fist erupted in a jubilant frenzy. People hand-slapping, backslapping, cheering and laughing, punching the air for sheer delight at the victory, and in relief that it was not them dying in a plasma fire.

  Boyd set his heading and increased speed to clear the scene of his crime as quickly as possible. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned and looked up at a beaming Poledri.

  “Excellent flying, Boyd. A Union cruiser is one hell of a scalp. Kitzov will reward us personally for this. I always knew you were the best.” Poledri playfully punched Boyd in the shoulder. “Get us out of here before any more of those Union bastards show up. Great flying.”

  Boyd grinned his best lying grin. He looked up at the captain. “You’ve got it, Captain. But Thresh should take the credit. She found the target. I just got us into the right place for the shot.”

  Poledri slapped Boyd on the back. “I won’t have any modesty in my crew. You did good, Boyd. You saved my ship and everyone in it. I think we can find a bonus for you somewhere.”

  But Boyd didn’t feel like a hero. He glanced at the holo-stage and the receding image of the plasma fire. Secondary explosions were billowing out from the fireball, punching it out in irregular patterns.

  Boyd didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like a killer.

  But that was all part of the job. The job to get close to Kitzov and end the Faction once and for all. He may have been responsible for the destruction of one Union cruiser but taking down Kitzov would save dozens, if not hundreds, more.

  It was scant comfort, but it was all he had.

  12

  Sergeant Dorik marched along the line of assembled Blue Star Marines in their tactical suits. Pulse rifles in hand. These Marines were the best of the best, all trained for special operations.

  And this mission was unique: investigate a Skarak ship. It was dangerous, as the unknown always was.

  With a final check of his team, Dorik stepped over to the outer hatch. He tapped the control panel and the outer hatch slid aside to reveal black, endless space. A few distant stars stood as perfect points of light in the dark vacuum. Then the shape of the Skarak ship drifted into view, floating in space, darker even than the void.

  Dorik stepped out, his suit’s thrusters driving him slowly forward.

  His helmet communicator crackled.

  “Steady as she goes, Sergeant,” the major said from inside the Resolute. “This is recon only.”

  “Unless we encounter active enemies,” Dorik said darkly.

  “Unless,” Featherstone agreed. “Just try not to pick any unnecessary fights. We don’t want to start an interstellar war today.”

  Dorik advanced, checking the line of Marines behind him. The squad was trained in all aspects of special operations. He had led this same team on an infiltration mission before, but they had been infiltrating a Faction ship, a huge freighter known to be running weapons and supplies to pirates in the outer system.

  That mission had not gone easily. Although no Blue Stars were injured, the freighter had been packed with fighters. They were never going to give up without a fight, and rather than be taken prisoner, the freighter had opted for destruction, driving in close to the Resolute in an attempt to ram her and destroy them in a suicide attack.

  Dorik had escaped with his squad before the freighter’s reactor collapsed, destroying the ship entirely.

  This operation was different. Very different.

  This was an alien ship, unknown in the Scorpio System in over five hundred years of settlement. Other than plant and animal life on the planets, the human habitants had not met any alien life. These Skarak were clearly not from the Scorpio System. They were from somewhere much farther away.

  There were far too many unknowns here, which was why Dorik had to infiltrate. And he knew it. A chance to learn more about the aliens would be invaluable when it came to their next encounter.

  Touching down lightly on the outer hull of the Skarak ship, Dorik half-expected a reaction—an attack of some kind or a defensive response—but there was nothing. The rest of the team touched down.

  The hull was hard, yet it did not seem to have a clear outer boundary. It felt almost slimy, as if his boots were sinking partway into mud. His boots slipped, but no material came away from the hull. It was as if the surface was several centimeters deep.

  The area that Featherstone had identified as a possible entry point was just a few meters away. Dorik slipped and skidded across the hull toward the small oval opening.

  He looked at his feet as they moved through the surface. It was a strange and disorientating optical effect where his feet appeared to be simultaneously on the surface as well as several centimeters below it. He pressed on, looking ahead to the entry point.

  The opening in the hull was dark and narrow, just enough room for a single Marine. Dorik elected to go first. As far as he knew, nobody had been aboard one of these ships. He would be the first.

  “Wait for my signal and follow when I say.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Dorik stepped into the small opening and slipped down into the ship.

  The sides of the narrow tunnel felt the same as the outer hull. The surface was not defined and obvious. He noticed his suit moving through it. His suit’s onboard sensors recorded the surface as a definite plane, a solid surface, but it was not. It was as if it was both here and not here at the same time.

  Then Dorik dropped into an interior space, a large enclosure that was extremely regular, a perfect sphere. He found himself at the very center of the sphere. He did not remember dropping the several meters f
rom the opening he had entered through to the center, but there he stood.

  Turning and studying the interior with his suit’s scanners recording and his suit’s flashlight shining into the dark, Dorik spotted several narrow tunnel openings at regular intervals. He set out for one of the openings. He moved toward it but remained at the center of the sphere. He moved and yet did not move.

  The opening he investigated was identical to the one he had entered through. There were dozens, or maybe just one. He was starting to feel confused and frustrated, but his Marine training helped him stay calm. He suspected he was not thinking clearly.

  Dorik spoke on the team channel to the Marines outside and called them in. There was no reply. He checked his communicator, but there was no signal. He stepped away from the tunnel in front of him and looked up to the one he had entered through, just above his head at the top of the sphere.

  Using his thrust to move upward, he found again that he was remaining at the center of the sphere, yet also moving toward the opening. Then he was in the tunnel, slipping through.

  Emerging into the dark vacuum of space, a Marine’s hand grabbed at him and pulled him free.

  A sudden cacophony of voices called his name.

  “Sergeant,” a Marine said, “We thought we’d lost you. We were just about to send a search party. The major was going to leave without you.”

  “Leave?” Dorik said. “We only just got here.”

  “We’ve been here two hours. The Resolute has orders to proceed to the belt. Dozens of Skarak ships have been appearing.”

  “I was only in there for a moment.” Dorik looked back down into the opening.

  “Sergeant. Sergeant Dorik.” The voice of Major Featherstone was loud in his ear.

  “Sir. Yes, sir. Dorik here.”

  “Your report. Any activity down there?”

  Dorik looked down at the opening at his feet.

  “No, sir. No activity. The ship appears dead. I could detect no power readings. Sending all my suit’s sensor readings now.”

  As Dorik accessed the readings on his holo-stage, he discovered hours of recording but no data. He remembered being in there. There should have been some data, even if it was just a simple map of the sphere. He double-checked. There was nothing, no data at all. It was as if he had not even been inside the Skarak ship.

  Skarak.

  But he could remember being there. Even as he thought back, however, the memory was fading. Only one thought remained, like a whisper.

  Skarak.

  “We are leaving,” Featherstone said, his voice bursting over Dorik’s helmet speaker. “Get back with your team. We have orders to destroy the alien ship and proceed to our new objective. The Resolute is ready to fire.”

  Dorik nodded. “Copy that, sir. Returning at once.” Dorik pointed his team back to the Resolute. “You heard the major. Back to the Resolute. Right now.”

  As he lifted off, Dorik looked back at the Skarak ship. Somehow, he had a strange feeling that some part of him would never leave.

  The Marines soon entered the Resolute’s airlock, and as the outer hatch closed, Dorik watched the flank spitz guns rain fire down onto the Skarak ship. The pulse rounds flickered over the surface like super-heated beads of white glass dropped in water.

  Then the mass beam struck, and the Skarak ship collapsed in on itself. No explosion, just a steady crumpling of the structure until a thick, dark ooze began to drift out from the cavities punched through the strange outer surface.

  Dorik felt himself double with pain. A sickness in his gut.

  “You okay, sarge?” a Marine asked, putting an arm over the sergeant.

  “I think I just got a bit disoriented in there.”

  Doc Cronin, waiting for the team’s return, stepped into the airlock as the inner hatch opened. “Let’s get you to the med-bay.” Cronin helped pull Dorik’s helmet off. “You look like crap, sarge.”

  Dorik vomited and collapsed to all-fours.

  “I’m fine,” Dorik said, climbing back to his feet. “Just a bit space-sick. EVA gets me sometimes.” His legs gave way under him again. He narrowly avoided the sanitation drones that scuttled over the deck to clean up his vomit

  “I don’t think you are okay,” Cronin said.

  “I’m fine,” Dorik said, pushing Cronin and a Marine aside. He stood just as the ship’s communication system alerted the crew to an imminent high-acceleration maneuver.

  The Resolute was heading to battle.

  13

  Boyd reduced the Fist’s speed just as the vibrations from the core asymmetry fed back through the super structure.

  “I’m losing drive power. Primary reactor core is losing symmetry. It’s only sub nano meter scale right now, but if it gets any worse, we’ll fly apart.”

  “Deflection shielding emitters are out of alignment,” Thresh said. “Hull stability field is in critical condition.”

  “The ship is falling apart,” Noland said, panic rising in his voice.

  “Okay, cool it,” Poledri said. “Find us a spot to set down.”

  Noland scanned the area. The Fist had left the sphere far behind and was close to the orbit of Lastone, the outermost planet of the Scorpio System—a vast, dead, rocky world, its frozen surface torn by volcanic scars spewing molten rock over the frigid surface. The thick atmosphere of steam and gas made it a perfect hiding place.

  “I can get us to Lastone,” Boyd said. “I don’t know if she’ll make it to the surface through all that atmosphere.”

  “I can guarantee you she won’t,” Thresh said. “With our hull stability field out of commission, the Fist will be crushed like a paper cup if we try and set down on the surface of Lastone.”

  “No problem,” Poledri said. “An old Faction trick. We’ll float in the upper atmosphere. Find us a density layer we can use and ready the ship to match its density. We will turn the Fist into a submarine and float in the clouds.”

  Boyd had been with the Blue Star Marines hunting Faction pirates long enough to know this old trick. When Faction raiders were pursued by Union cruisers, they often made for one of the gas giants or the thick atmosphere around Lastone. A ship could survive unpowered, simply floating in one of the density layers of the atmosphere. With wind speeds beyond supersonic and thousands of streams running parallel, one above the other in different directions, a raider could effectively disappear. Although the Union always knew the pirate was somewhere in the area, it would take days, even weeks, to find them if the Faction ship could remain unpowered for that long.

  “Approaching Lastone now,” Boyd said.

  “Searching for a suitable hiding place,” Thresh added.

  Poledri climbed down from his command chair and walked over to the holo-stage. He walked tall, Boyd thought. As he passed, the captain looked more enthusiastic than he had for a long time. This was an old school pirate tactic, and Poledri, the old school pirate, was loving it.

  The pirate captain used the holo-stage to show various density layers. Readings of wind speed direction, atmospheric density, and chemical composition all came up alongside the layers within the atmosphere. Poledri didn’t need to check the Fist’s specifications. Any good captain knew every bulkhead of his ship.

  “There,” he said, his fingers jabbing into the holo-image of one layer of Lastone’s upper atmosphere. “Put us in there, Boyd,” Poledri said. “Cut all power except for essential systems and let’s ride the breeze.”

  Boyd maneuvered the Odium Fist into the atmosphere. High winds in the atmosphere snatched the Fist and tossed her downstream. The Fist fell like a stone. It hit the density layer boundary and skipped across it like a stone on a stream. Attitude control was failing, and the Fist was spinning almost out of control. Boyd fought the ship to keep her from tumbling nose over tail.

  “Punch us through those clouds, Mr. Boyd,” Poledri said. He was calm and confident, his voice shaking only because of the buffeting of the ship.

  Boyd angled the Fist down and skim
med across the density layer, matching the speed of the stream and dropping into the layer below. The layer below was traveling at a different speed, much slower than the higher density layer above. The Fist stalled as it slowed suddenly.

  “We are in,” Boyd said. He made some fine adjustments with the thrusters and matched the flow of the atmospheric stream.

  The Fist now matched the speed and density of the surrounding atmosphere. She floated like a twig in a stream, listing lazily one way and then another as she meandered her way along. Slowly, the Fist began to spin as she drifted.

  “Altitude is fixed,” Boyd said. “I think we could float around in this density layer forever.”

  “As long as we maintain our relative density, we will be fine.” Poledri climbed up into his command chair. “Organize repairs. Let’s not treat this like some kind of river cruise. We just destroyed a Union cruiser. They will have broadcast our position before they went down, so I think it’s best if we don’t stick around for too long.”

  “I already have a repair schedule arranged,” Thresh said as she stepped away from her console. “Boyd will work with me on the drive, and I’ll assign a team to the stability field. I’ll have us ready to go in a couple of hours.”

  Poledri nodded, impressed with his new engineer. She was good in a fight and she knew her way around the ship systems. And she didn’t mind bossing Boyd around either, so of course Poledri liked that.

  “Proceed, Thresh,” Poledri said. “Noland, put a surveillance probe up in orbit. I want to know the instant any Union ships come heading this way.”

  Boyd followed Thresh along the central corridor of the Fist. She was an old ship and had been through the ringer on more than one occasion, but the crew respected her and treated her well. Apart from the obvious chips and scuffs on the composite, the corridors, and operational bays, it was neat and ordered. It was what Boyd would expect on a Union vessel, but he’d always imagined Faction crews to be slovenly, lazy, and highly untidy. He was starting to think some of his assumptions needed to be revised.