Saracen broke orbit without incident, en route to the system’s border. The other vessels in New Terran space seemed to go out of their way in ignoring the ship; apparently, its habits were well-known within the Corsair community. Genvass wondered what the hell they smuggled that bought them so much protection. He could ask the surviving crew, of course, but even assuming they’d tell him the truth, he had more important matters he needed to be focusing on.
Making his way forward, the ambassador entered the bridge and found an unoccupied seat. “Any signs of pursuit?” he asked.
“None,” Taneka informed him, “though there’s a ton of activity near the fifth planet. Can’t make out the details, though.”
“Isn’t that where the shipyard’s located?”
“Sure is,” Remi agreed. “My guess? The clan leaders are gearing up to face the Grand Alliance.”
“At least we have a head start,” Genvass answered, grasping for a silver lining. “Have you spotted the armada?”
“At extreme range, but they’re burning hard for New Terra,” Taneka responded. “ETA is approximately four hours.”
“I hope you have some kind of fucking plan for when they get here,” Remi snapped, “otherwise, this is going to be a really short trip.”
“Oh, we’ve got a plan,” the ambassador sighed. “As soon as we’re in communications range, start broadcasting our surrender on all frequencies. If we get a response, inform me immediately.”
“And then what?” the Corsair demanded. “Because there’s a decent chance they won’t accept our surrender and open fire instead.”
“We’re hoping they won’t,” he replied, “but I admit it’s a gamble.”
“You realize that you’re gambling with our lives,” Remi snarled.
The Dharmist just shook his head. “I’m gambling a lot more than that, I’m afraid. Whatever happens in the next few hours will determine the future of our race.”
The pirate glared at him. “Then I suggest you don’t screw it up.”
“... working on it,” Genvass said in resignation.
----------------------------------------
“Sir, we are receiving a transmission,” the communications officer aboard Ataraxia reported, “from the Terran ambassador.”
Paygan Kuosha Xeing leaned forward in his seat. “What does the message say?”
The bridge officer handed him an electronic slate. “It is an offer to surrender, Paygan,” they answered, awaiting his response.
The Ixian snatched up the tablet and read the message for himself before turning to his tactical officer. “Scan the sector. How many enemy vessels are located within that region of space?”
His subordinate hurried to comply, double-checking their readings. “Only one, Paygan,” they responded.
The Paygan reclined in his chair as he contemplated the message. The bridge crew silently awaited his decision until he spoke up once more.
“Order the vessel to heave to, and prepare to be boarded,” he said at last. “Inform them that any attempt to resist will be dealt with harshly.”
His Executive officer cleared his throat. “Paygan, our orders clearly state—”
The Ixian whirled on him with sudden fury. “Do not presume to tell me our orders,” he snarled. “I answer to no one, save the Emperor. Should my dear cousin take issue with the manner in which I have carried out his instructions, he may remove my head at his leisure. Now do as I command.”
The others scurried to obey his wishes as he examined the display.
I would rather have faced you in battle, he reflected, retreating into his own thoughts.
It would have been easier to not look you in the eye when I am forced to carry out my orders.
----------------------------------------
The passengers and crew of Saracen assembled in the loading bay, just outside the airlock, as they awaited the Alliance’s arrival. The original owners were cuffed and manacled to prevent them from interfering, and by order of the ambassador, all weapons had been safely locked away, save one. As Rúna took her place at his side, she wore Blye’s sword in its scabbard, something which had been the subject of heated debate between them.
The Paygan’s orders were explicit. No weapons. Period. Failure to obey that command put the entire crew at risk, and yet the Valkyrie had made a zealous argument in opposition, stating it was vital that she carry it when they met the boarding party, claiming it was an Ixian tradition the Paygan would understand. When Genvass suggested they radio Ataraxia to confirm this, she shut him down hard, claiming it would violate some ancient taboo. That made absolutely no sense to the ambassador, but Rúna was adamant. No one was taking her sword.
Genvass was still uneasy over the matter, but short of taking it away at gunpoint, it was impossible to enforce his will over her. Even then, he doubted he could find any volunteers willing to beard the lion in her den, other than Samara, of course. She’d gladly do it, but that was a fight only one of them was walking away from, and the odds were heavily in the Protean’s favor. In the end, it left him stewing in silence as the airlock cycled open.
An Ixian honor guard entered the loading bay and took up positions, armed to the teeth and eyeing the Terrans with fell intent. Once they’d secured the compartment, their leader spoke briefly into a communicator, as moments later Paygan Kuosha Xeing strode into the cargo bay, flanked by his officers. He approached the waiting delegation and came to a halt before the diplomat.
“Ambassador,” he said with a bow. “I regret meeting under these circumstances.”
“As do I, Paygan,” Genvass answered.
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The Ixian nodded, then turned his attention to the Valkyrie beside him. “And where is my sword?” he said brusquely.
“Confiscated,” Rúna answered. “It forced me to find a replacement.”
“Confiscated?” he repeated in astonishment. “They did not stand and fight for the honor of its dominion?”
“They threatened to murder my squad if I didn’t hand it over,” she said in disgust.
The Paygan growled in the back of his throat. “An ignoble end to a weapon with such an illustrious lineage,” he said in disgust. “May the dishonorable cur who holds it die a coward’s death.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said with utter sincerity.
He nodded once again, then returned his gaze to the ambassador. “It was the good captain who advised that you surrender, was it not?” the Paygan inquired.
“It was,” Genvass agreed. “A great deal has happened since our last meeting,” he said in a rush, “and there is much you must be made aware of if we are to salvage anything from this disaster. If you would allow us the opportunity to explain…” he began, only to be cut off when the Paygan raised his hand.
“As I once told you, nothing you can say matters now,” the Ixian informed him, his words filled with regret. “The entire galaxy is now aligned against you, and I am powerless to stop them. They sealed the fate of your race the moment that cursed ship appeared in our skies.”
“Paygan, it was our own leaders who conspired against you, using Peacemaker as a cat’s paw in order to bring you here,” he disclosed. “They plan on crushing your fleet with Precursor weapons, so I strongly urge you to turn back while you can. We are already fighting them in order to bring them to justice, but the moment you engage them in battle, our hands are tied. So please, I beg you… stand down. For all our sakes.”
The Ixian just shook his head. “Even were I convinced disengagement and withdrawal to be the wisest course, were I to give such an order, they would immediately remove me from command. The odds of survival following my ouster are all but nonexistent, and while I do not fear death, the disgrace of such an act would tarnish both my name and the honor of my bloodline for generations to come. I can not… I will not… allow that to happen.” Bowing his head in remorse, the Paygan said gently, “Forgive me, Ambassador, for it seems that fate has condemned us both.”
Genvass found himself at a loss for words as he finished, struggling to suggest an alternative. Rúna, on the other hand, merely gazed at her former mentor with a quiet serenity she could not possibly feel. “Is that your last word, Paygan?” she asked softly.
“I regret to say that it is, Captain,” he answered, with each word sounding as if it were being torn from his chest. “But since you have surrendered to our forces with honor, I assure you we will not mistreat you during your captivity.” He drew himself up to his full height, his bearing rigid, his countenance dignified and proud. “I, Paygan Kuosha Xeing, swear it to be so.”
His statement earned him more than a few nervous glances from the Terrans, as well as several scowls from his fellow Ixians. Rúna, however, merely took a step forward, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Then I present to you the opportunity for your champion to face me in single combat,” she asserted, locking eyes with him as she recited the phrase he had once said to her, at their first meeting on Sonoitii Prime. “Should they be victorious, you and your fellow warriors may depart unmolested.”
The Paygan froze, while the Ambassador’s jaw dropped. “Rúna, what the hell are you doing?” he asked frantically.
“Buying you time,” she whispered as she turned to face him. “For the love of Holy Mother Terra… don’t squander it.”
The temperature of the compartment dropped to somewhere near Absolute Zero. “Captain… Rúna,” the Paygan said delicately, “since you choose to remind me of my own words, allow me to do the same.” His features softened as he beseeched her. “Do not do this. Please.”
“You have left me with little choice, Paygan,” she answered, her expression one of heartbreak. “I fought then for the lives of those I swore to protect. I do so again now.”
“That’s why Blye gave you her sword,” Genvass said in sudden realization. “She knew you were going to do this.”
“Blye understands the Ixian soul, just as I do,” she nodded, “though she hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Rúna, this challenge is in grave error,” the Paygan said firmly. “At least agree to limit the match to one of ‘First Blood’, just as before.”
A grim smile appeared on the Valkyrie’s face. “For a first match between rivals it is acceptable, but a second? That would be seen as cowardice, I fear,” she recited, using his own words against him one more. Leaning forward, she peered closely at him. “Are you a coward, Paygan?” she goaded.
The Ixian’s eyes went cold. “Take your position, Captain,” he hissed, drawing his own blade. “The rest of you… stand aside. Let no one interfere”
Genvass, still dazed by this horrific turn of events, ushered his fellow Terrans away from the center of the cargo bay, giving the combatants room, while the other Ixians did the same.
Rúna drew her sword and saluted the Paygan, before taking her position. He eyed her for a moment, and then said deliberately, “You defeated me at our previous encounter through a ruse I will not fall for again,” he informed her. “Your skill with a blade is no match for my own.”
“I know,” she responded, taking her stance.
“You have provoked this contest with words that cannot be rescinded,” he said darkly, “leaving me with no choice but to strike you down.”
“I know that, too,” Rúna said softly.
Something broke behind the Ixian’s well-crafted façade, as a hint of shame found his features. “I have no wish to kill you,” he told her. “Our friendship, all we have endured together… it should not end this way.”
She smiled at that. “Yeah… right back at you.”
The Paygan closed his eyes, nodding in mute acceptance. “Honor is often the cruelest mistress of all,” he said at last.
“She’s a stone-cold bitch, all right,” Rúna agreed.
The Ixian took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Goodbye, Rúna,” he told her, accepting at last their mutual destiny.
“Goodbye, Paygan,” she replied, preparing herself for the inevitable clash of steel.
Genvass could only watch in sick horror as one of his dearest friends prepared to give her own life, and for what? How would her death buy them the time they so desperately needed? He wracked his brain for some brilliant turn of phrase that could prevent this from happening, some magical loophole that might spare her life, but came up empty. His head whipped around, searching for something, anything, that might give her a fighting chance, before finally landing on Samara. Waving her over, he whispered frantically, “Can you stop this?”
The assassin gave the compartment a laconic once over. “Sure,” she told him, “but it won’t make any difference. Even if I kill them all, their fleet will destroy the ship.”
Genvass had only a moment to process that when a shout wrenched his attention back toward the duelists, as Rúna launched her attack. The Paygan parried her blow with almost contemptible ease, batting it aside, before responding with a counterstrike, the pair exchanging a flurry of blows that filled the cargo bay with the sounds of ringing metal. Even though he had never held a sword himself, he could tell the Valkyrie was in trouble as she struggled to avoid his strikes, before being forced to dive for safety as he lunged for her, his blade tearing open her flesh as she cried out in pain.
She managed to recover, coming back up and holding her sword before her even as a spreading stain of blood seeped through her tunic. Rúna was breathing hard now, her respiration labored, her hair and clothing matted with sweat. She struggled to stay on her feet, and yet there wasn’t a gram of surrender in her eyes.
Rúna intended to drag this out to the bitter end, and Genvass realized, at last, he was about to watch her die.
With a shriek worthy of a banshee, she threw herself at the Paygan, her sword aimed for his chest. Despite her efforts, the strike was a meager one, and Genvass knew the Ixian would easily render it harmless… only to watch in disbelief as his blade was a fraction of a second too slow. With a grunt, he stumbled back as Rúna’s rapier plunged into his chest, a trickle of green blood appearing at his mouth while their pair gazed into each other’s eyes, frozen in a moment in time, before falling to his knees.
“... well done,” he wheezed, as Rúna pulled the sword from his chest, before toppling over on his side.