They locked Saracen’s surviving crew inside a spare compartment while giving the ones who died by Cherdor Hosk’s hand hasty burials in space. Rúna ordered Doc Svoboda to treat their injuries and posted guards at the hatch, while Remi and Taneka, with their respective crews, prepped the ship for departure. Genvass, left with nothing to do but wait until they encountered the Alliance fleet, tried to stay out of their way, feeling utterly useless yet again.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

He looked up in surprise as a strangely subdued Samara sat down across from him, eyeing her with caution. “Samara? Or Guardian?” he asked nervously.

“It’s me,” the Protean sighed. “Sorry about earlier.”

Genvass blinked in surprise. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting an apology.” His hand went to his throat, massaging the bruises. “There are times you scare the shit out of me, Samara,” he said honestly. “I was just trying to save lives. That’s all.”

“... I know,” she muttered, bowing her head.

“Then why?” Genvass said suddenly. “What the hell did I do to make myself a target?”

She sighed once more. “Nothing,” she shrugged.

His confusion deepened. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

The former assassin got a distant look in her eyes. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed?” she asked him.

“No, and I’m not sure I want to,” he answered warily.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Samara shrugged. “But if you were to guess, I can promise you the actual number is much, much higher.” She turned to look at him. “After a while, it becomes a way of life. It’s like the old saying; ‘When your only tool is a hammer, soon all your problems look like nails’.” Her eyes met his. “When your only tool is a gun… pretty soon all your problems look like targets.”

“Killing just leads to more killing, Samara,” Genvass said fervently. “They kill us, we kill them… where does it stop? How are we ever going to break the endless cycle of violence, if we don’t start at home, with ourselves?” The ambassador gave her a plaintive look. “Seriously, I’d really like to know.”

“What makes you think it can be stopped?” she snorted. “I mean, ignore the other races for a minute, and focus on us Terrans. Our history is written in blood, going back to the very beginning. Before the beginning, even. Without a written language to keep track, who can say?” She shook her head. “It’s who we are, Genvass. We’re a race of killers. We always have been, and the other races are no better. You don’t claw your way to the top of the food chain by being a pacifist.”

“Then what’s the point?” he demanded. “Why are we here? If we’re not trying to better ourselves, to build a brighter future for our children and our grandchildren, then why even bother?”

Samara barked out a bitter laugh. “I’m a terrorist, remember? Not a philosopher. Ask someone else.”

“I’m asking you,” he countered. “All those deaths, do they ever bother you? Do you even care? Or are you just humanity’s most prolific serial killer?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he’d made a huge mistake.

With a snarl, she leapt out of her seat; her face a mask of pure venom. Genvass shrank back from her, his eyes now wide with fear, but instead of launching another attack, she came to a sudden halt as the ambassador sagged in relief.

“Thank you, Guardian,” he gasped.

“It’s not Guardian,” Samara said stiffly, her body taut as a bowstring. “That being said, stop pushing my buttons. Now is not a good time.” Slowly, she sat back down again, though she was still as tense as he’d ever seen her.

“Why?” he asked, suddenly curious. “It can’t be this mission that’s got you worked up.”

“It’s not the mission,” she confirmed. “Change the subject.”

“Fine.” The ambassador thought hard for a moment, then said quietly, “Back when we were on Gyrfalcon. Did it… did I… mean anything to you? Or was it all just business?”

The Protean sighed. “Genvass… let it go. There’s no sense in dredging up the past.”

He stared at her for a moment, then glumly nodded. “I guess that answers the question, doesn’t it?”

Samara winced, then shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. I enjoyed your company, believe it or not. You were… sweet.”

“Sweet.” Genvass grimaced. “Not exactly a rousing endorsement.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat. “Hey, don’t knock ‘sweet’. There’s few enough people in the universe I’d say that about.” Samara sighed once more, and then said gently, “But if you’re asking if I was in love with you, the answer is no. Fond of you, yes, but…” She trailed off into silence for a moment, before she tried again.

“Someone asked me once if I’d ever been in love. I told her…” Samara’s voice faltered, as she slowly lifted her gaze. “... I told her, that love wasn’t meant for people like me.”

She turned and looked away, leaving him at a loss. Finally, he ventured, “I think a part of me pities you, Samara.”

The Protean turned and glared. “Don’t,” she snapped, “I don’t want your damned pity.” She rose once more and stormed off, coming to a halt briefly as Rúna suddenly appeared in the hatchway. The two women stared daggers at one another before Samara shoved her way past and disappeared.

“I hope that was therapeutic for you,” the Valkyrie said dryly as she leaned against the bulkhead.

“Just how long were you listening?” Genvass sighed.

“Long enough. Like I’d ever allow you to be alone with that psychopath.”

Genvass shot her a look. “So tell me, just where were you exactly when she tried to squeeze my head off?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Rúna held up her hands in supplication. “Okay, that’s on me. I let my guard down for a second because Guardian was in control. Him, I trust.”

A choked laugh bubbled up out of his throat. “Strange that you’d trust a Precursor stuck inside a box over a fellow Terran.”

The Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “Over that Terran? It’s not even close. Besides, tell me you don’t feel the same.”

“I don’t want to argue about Samara,” Genvass retorted. “Besides, we have bigger problems ahead of us.”

“Yes… we do.” She pursed her lips for a moment and then shrugged. “When we spot the Alliance fleet, we have to broadcast our surrender immediately. We need them to listen, because if they spot us first...”

“Let me guess; they open fire and destroy us,” the ambassador said uncomfortably.

“Got it in one,” Rúna agreed. “Now, if they accept our surrender… and with the Paygan in command, I’m hoping they will… that’s where it gets tricky.”

“I’ll have to do some fast talking, I imagine,” Genvass mused. “Only problem is, I don’t know what to say.”

“Can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” she shrugged. “I’m just the hired help.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything, Rúna,” he smiled. “Your advice and counsel have been invaluable. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

The Valkyrie blushed. “Still… I liked it a lot better when I was just an anonymous corporal,” she demurred. “But thank you.”

The pair sat in silence until Genvass was struck with a thought. “You know, I can’t help but wonder what the Alliance hopes to accomplish. Is this just a show of force? They have to realize that even if we choose to meet them in battle, the moment things went south all we have to do is retreat back under Athena’s protection. They can’t enter the system without being destroyed, and they know that. Nothing can survive against her solar-powered ship killer.”

“I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Rúna agreed. “If we stay behind her protective umbrella, they’re stymied. How long do they plan on waiting for us to come out? A week? A month? A century?” She shook her head. “I may not be the ship expert Taneka or Remi are, but I know you can’t keep a fleet that size on blockade duty forever. First off, it’s expensive, and second, it’s merry hell on both the ships and their crew. Eventually, most of them are going to pack it in and go home.”

“From what I hear, the Troika had a blockade surrounding New Terra for millennia,” he reminded her.

“Different circumstances entirely,” she pointed out. “For one, they were only using a portion of their navy, rotating ships out as necessary. And second, until the Alliance came along, they had the largest fleet in the Perseus Arm, as well as the most advanced vessels. Gave them one hell of an edge. And then finally the Troika made it their top priority, as they could absorb the cost. The Alliance can’t, at least not for long.” She shook her head. “If the Clan leaders are smart about it, all they have to do is wait them out.”

“So what’s their plan?” he asked again. “I can’t disagree with anything you just said, and what’s more, the Alliance has to be as aware of the facts as we are. If they know that ultimately their show of force is futile, then why are they still coming?”

“I don’t know,” Rúna said finally. “They must know something that we don’t.”

“Lovely,” Genvass sighed. “Then we better figure out what that something is. Fast.”

----------------------------------------

Captain Inaba double-checked with the communication technicians, who verified the data from their own instruments, before giving Holme the nod. “All jamming has ceased, Sir, and we’re bouncing the carrier signal between relay stations to shield our location. Stand by for live mic in five, four, three, two, one.” A red indicator light came on as he stood before the camera, his expression suitably grave.

“To anyone receiving this transmission, I am Colonel Elias Holme, commander of the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regiment of the Valkyries, broadcasting this message to the citizens of New Terra. What I am about to tell you may seem shocking, even unbelievable, but I assure you, it is genuine. Despite all we have suffered, all we have survived, I am here today to warn you we now face the greatest threat our race has ever known. Not from the Troika, or the Yīqún… but from our own leaders.”

He paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in. “Despite their many promises, the Clan leaders, except Grand Master Makar, have manipulated not only our own kind, but the multitude of species scattered throughout the Perseus Arm as well. Their goal is simple; to create a state of war between ourselves and the other races, even those in the Alliance who fought by our side. What’s more, their plan involves using Precursor technology to crush all resistance within the galaxy, starting right here on Terra Nova against our own people.”

“I know many of you will find this impossible to accept. Believe me, I once felt the same way, until I saw the cold, hard truth with my own eyes. Some of you already suspect the Clan leaders are being less than honest, that the rumors of treason within the Dharmist Clan make no sense.”

“The reason is simple. They make no sense because they are a lie.”

Colonel Holme gave the camera, and those watching his broadcast, a solemn nod. “I stand before you to tell you this; the Dharmist Clan is innocent of these accusations. Worse, it was their very own clan leader, Dàifu Tsoumlum Khatsakhox, who offered them up as sacrificial lambs, making them scapegoats for their cause. I have seen the prison camps with my own eyes, and it doesn’t stop there. Already, they are drawing up plans to permanently eliminate anyone who dares stand against them.”

His attention was briefly diverted as Inaba suddenly went to one of the technicians, huddling over their console as they spoke frantically in hushed tones. “The Clan leaders stand against everything we as a people have fought for,” he continued, eyeing his subordinate’s actions with growing concern. “I am speaking to you today to deliver this message; do not submit to their tyranny. Do not believe their lies. I make this appeal to each one of you… rise up and fight the Clan leaders, and those that stand beside them. Take back our birthright, our freedoms, and our pride, for once they are gone, they are gone forever. The battle before us is the most important one we will ever face, for it will determine who we are as a people and decide the galaxy’s fate…”

Inaba broke away from the technicians as the cameras abruptly blinked off. “They’ve backtracked our signal!” she shouted, grabbing the colonel by the arm and dragging him toward the waiting transport. “We’re showing multiple craft inbound!”

“Tell all units to scatter!” Holme bellowed, while the Valkyries hurriedly broke down their equipment and loaded the vehicles before racing off. “Reassemble at Rally Point Sierra Tango!”

“You better be there, Sir!” Inaba yelled back as she leapt into the truck, while the colonel clambered aboard his own waiting carriage. Common sense dictated that officers and senior personnel travel separately; otherwise, a single strike could decapitate their entire chain of command, rendering the outfit leaderless.

The battalion frantically dispersed, with transports peeling off in every direction. Captain Inaba searched the skies as they bounced and jostled their way through the thick woodland growth. She flinched as a massive explosion to the east announced the Clan leaders’ attack; the detonation marked by a weapon signature she recognized all too well. Apparently, their opponents had discovered their own cache of Precursor weapons, choosing to fight fire with fire.

The fight had escalated once again.

There was no defending against those weapons. Throughout Terran history, the race between offensive and defensive technology had seesawed back and forth for millennia, each new advance forcing the other side to adapt. It seemed, however, the Precursors had settled the debate once and for all, with offense emerging as the clear victor.

If the ancient cities themselves couldn’t withstand that onslaught, structures that had survived unscathed for a billion years, nothing built by Terrans even stood a chance.

Another explosion, this time to the southwest. Inaba checked her display and cursed as another icon disappeared, heralding the destruction of another unit. They were using every trick in the book to avoid being spotted, but Commandant Zakiyya knew that playbook just as well as she did… better, even. Every strategy had a counter, every tactic a means by which it could fail. Here and there she spotted their own efforts, lances of energy reaching up to the heavens to knock the enemy’s shuttles out of the sky, but each time they fired they made themselves a target. Seconds later, an explosion would detonate, marking their demise.

An enormous blast to their north forced her to shield her eyes, the concussion wave hitting them like a mailed fist, forcing the driver to swerve as massive limbs were torn from the nearby trees. It took them several moments to recover, and when she checked her display once more, Captain Inaba could only stare in horror as the icon marking the position of Warlord Six, Colonel Holme’s callsign, blinked out.