Admiral Van Aalst kept a watchful eye on the drones accompanying his formation as they neared the enemy fleet, just in case. Despite Kalina’s assurances regarding their dependability, he didn’t really trust the damn things. Just as soon as they learned how to make warships like Peacemaker themselves, he planned to have them all dismantled. Safest option for everyone, really.
But until that day, he was forced to make do with what he had. He still had his flagship, the most powerful vessel in the galaxy, and while Freya and Tyr were no slouches, there were far too many ships among the Grand Alliance’s armada that outclassed them. The other ships rounding out his task force were welcome additions, but it all came down to Peacemaker and the Yīqún. He’d run the simulations many times for confirmation, and he trusted those numbers. They’d take some casualties, there was no way to avoid that, but when it was all over the Alliance would be destroyed.
Sending a mental command via the Neural Interface, the Admiral contacted the other commanders. “Van Aalst to all ships, assume Attack Formation Foxtrot Seven. Prepare to open fire once we are in range.” At least they had that in their favor. With their advanced weapons systems, they could lay down a heavy barrage on the enemy’s ships long before they could return the favor. By the time their own weapons could reciprocate, it should all be over.
His Executive Officer logged back in less than a minute later. “All ships report ready, Admiral,” he announced. “The enemy fleet will be within range in sixty seconds.”
“Very good,” he nodded, settling in for the countdown. All across the Terran fleet, the officers and crew tensed at their stations, like stallions at the starting gate. He briefly toyed with the idea of giving a rousing speech prior to launching their attack, like Nelson at Trafalgar, but in the end, he chose to let their weapons do the talking instead. As the timer slowly ticked down, he felt the corners of his mouth curl in anticipation. After two hundred years of degradation, two hundred years of suffering, two hundred years of torment and torture and bloodshed, the tables had been turned. Their chance to repay the other races for what they’d done had come round at last, and he intended to savor every glorious moment of it.
“Sir… we’re showing a vessel breaking off from the enemy formation,” the XO announced, catching him by surprise. “Sensors indicate it’s the Saracen.”
“Course?” the Admiral inquired. Likely heading for somewhere safe, if they were being smart about all this. Assuming any such place existed, that is.
The answer came back almost immediately. “They appear to be heading back toward New Terran space,” he said in amazement.
“Can you narrow it down any more than that?” Van Aalst demanded. Something about their actions was waving a brightly colored red flag inside his head.
It didn’t take long for the Exec to come up with the answer. “They’re making for the platform,” he realized, his eyes going wide. “If they can get there before we do—”
“Dispatch a pair of drones to intercept,” he ordered. As decrepit as the old freighter was it would be more than enough to deal with the Ambassador and his band of agitators. The slim possibility that the rebels might make contact with Athena was worrisome, but the enemy fleet was the greater threat.
As the chronometer reached zero, Admiral Kichirō Van Aalst, clan leader of the Corsairs, issued the command they had been preparing themselves for, for so very long.
“... Fire!”
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From Ataraxia’s bridge, the Paygan grimaced as the Terrans opened fire. They were still well outside their own weapon’s range, and while he’d known from the start they were technologically outmatched, seeing with his own eyes how badly they’d underestimated the enemy fleet’s capabilities was an unwelcome surprise.
“This is the Paygan to all ships, Dispersal Pattern Alpha. Evasive maneuvers until we are able to return fire.” At the moment there was little else he could do, but once they were within range, he’d show the Terran commanders exactly what they were made of.
The first shots struck home, as vessels all around him began taking fire. Ataraxia, as the fleet flagship, was within the enemy’s crosshairs as well, and he gripped his seat tightly as the deck shuddered beneath him. His engineers were already hard at work repairing the damage, but what currently held his attention were the Yīqún drones. He’d fought them many times after Elder Brother unleashed the upgraded version on the galaxy, and viewed countless historical records of their battles during the previous war two centuries earlier. Strangely, they were not behaving as they had in either instance; instead, they were acting like… well, like drones. Mindless automatons without will, obeying transmitted commands and following pre-programmed sequences with only minor variations.
If he was right, that meant those same patterns might be anticipated, and that put a very different spin on the situation.
“I want the drone’s firing and movement patterns analyzed,” the Paygan ordered, even as the vessel shuddered with another hit. “The moment we are within range, I intend to repay their hospitality,” he said with a mocking sneer.
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Saracen burned hard for the platform while Samara and the others scrambled to assemble the equipment needed for their daring plan. Genvass helped out where he could, but once again, his lack of skills and training was proving to be a hindrance. It had become painfully obvious he was being given only the simplest of tasks, and even then was closely supervised to ensure he didn’t make any glaring mistakes.
It was humiliating.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t fault their caution. He was way out of his depth, and considering the stakes, he had no right to complain about being closely managed. So he swallowed his pride and did as he was told, squelching the animosity he felt every time one of the others corrected his work.
His head snapped up as the intercom came to life. “Taneka to Ambassador Shaafvaazif, please respond. We have a situation.”
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Moving to the bulkhead, the ambassador thumbed the button. “This is Genvass,” he responded. “What’s the problem, Captain?”
“Drones from the enemy fleet have peeled off from the main body and are on an intercept course,” she reported.
“Holy Mother Terra,” he said in horror, his face going pale. “Can we reach the platform in time?” the ambassador asked.
There was a long pause. “It’s gonna be close,” Taneka said at last.
“Then we’d better hurry,” Rúna urged, before giving Samara a meaningful look.
“Even with my talents, I can’t be in two places at once,” the Protean snapped. “You want me in Engineering, or do you want to reach the platform in one piece?”
The Valkyrie swore and turned away as the ambassador spoke into the intercom once more. “How long do we have?” Genvass asked nervously.
“About twenty minutes, so I suggest you expedite,” the captain responded.
“We will,” he said quietly. “Shaafvaazif, clear.” Closing the circuit, he turned to the two women. “Can we make it?”
“Like Taneka said, ‘It’s gonna be close’,” Samara answered, before passing over a set of cargo straps. “Here, attach these to the cylinder,” she told him.
“Right,” Genvass grimaced, as he started attaching the straps.
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The Grand Alliance was taking a serious pounding from the Terran forces, but when their enemy finally came within range, thousands of voices from hundreds of worlds roared with anger as they returned fire. They had already reduced dozens of vessels to wreckage, but as their weapons came online, they eagerly fought to balance the scales. Peacemaker easily shrugged off the incoming salvo, though the other ships and the drones especially did not fare so well. Terran craft were now feeling the strain as the Paygan ordered the fleet to advance, though the tradeoff was still heavily in their favor.
From Ataraxia, the Ixian commander studied the conflict, repositioning his troops to counter the menace, despite the losses they were suffering. He’d had the computers crunch the numbers three times now, and the results were the same each time. At this rate, the Terrans would chew through the bulk of his fleet before they forced him to withdraw. Despite their armada’s smaller size, their technology was simply too advanced to overcome.
“Sir!” a voice shouted, tearing him from his analysis while his Second frantically sought his attention. “The Troika and Oivu forces have increased to flank speed and are pulling away from the rest of the fleet!”
“What?” he said in shock, before pulling up his own display and zooming in on the squadrons in question. The Second was correct. The Troika forces, with the Oivu in support, were now pulling ahead of the other ships and rapidly closing the distance with the enemy fleet. It was insane, and he could see no reason for it, and that very lack of comprehension disturbed him greatly.
An icy feeling of disquiet settled in the pit of his belly. “Hail them!” he ordered.
Time slowly ticked by before the Second shook his head. “No response,” he informed him.
The Paygan could only stare in disbelief and growing dread. Whatever their reason was, he feared its unveiling. Taking this risk now, under these conditions?
Either some form of madness had possessed the Troika and Oivu, or they were preparing to unleash an unwelcome surprise for not only the Terrans, but the galaxy as well.
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In fact, it wasn’t madness which had sent the Troika and Oivu forces charging forward, though it was obvious in hindsight why the Paygan was so confused by their strategy.
They had simply decided not to inform their allies of their actual plans.
The Troika had a long reign over the Perseus Arm until the Terrans and the Alliance brought an end to it; while the Oivu had been trading for even longer. They had both searched the length and breadth of the galaxy for anything that might elevate their status, and high on both their lists was any item constructed by the ancient Precursors. For millennia, they had gathered the mysterious artifacts, studying them closely in order to glean their secrets.
Occasionally, those efforts had paid dividends, most notably to end the Yīqún threat two centuries earlier. Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, the researchers were often left disappointed by the relics. Since the Battle of New Terra… or more accurately, given the location of the current engagement, the First Battle of New Terra… their scientists had learned one crucial fact: that Terran blood was the key to unlocking their mysteries.
Their research advanced rapidly after that discovery, though they kept the results closely guarded. Ambassador Shaafvaazif's snub led to both organizations exploring a reciprocal arrangement. Surprisingly, given their history, they discovered they did have areas of mutual interest.
Well, one area, at least. Forcing the upstart Terrans to cough up their treasure trove.
Of the two, the Oivu's collection of artifacts was vastly larger, due to their mercantile history. They had been quietly snapping up any available relics since the dawn of their existence, offering a King’s ransom in exchange for ancient artifacts and the other party’s silence. Not being scientists themselves the Oivu were unable to exploit their collection, so instead, they kept them safely stored away until they could be capitalized on.
The Troika, on the other hand, had an abundance of scientists. It was a match made in heaven, and now the time had come at long last to give their arsenal a thorough evaluation, under real-world conditions.
If they could take down Peacemaker and the drones, then nothing could stop them.
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Admiral Van Aalst’s eyes narrowed as a sizable portion of the enemy fleet split off and accelerated, despite the incoming fire against them. “XO, what do you make of this?” he asked him.
The Executive officer analyzed the display. “It appears to be a mix of Troika and Oivu ships,” he said in surprise. “Pulling ahead like that, they’ll soon be out of support range from the rest of the fleet. I can’t imagine what they’re thinking.”
“Neither can I,” the admiral admitted, “and that worries me. They wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t have a plan of some kind. The question is what.”
“This is a fairly recent and fragile coalition we’re talking about,” the XO reminded him, “and the Troika never played well with others. Could be they’re hoping to claim a bigger slice of the pie for themselves.”
“Then they’re in for a rude awakening,” Van Aalst snorted. “Target the Troika and Oivu ships. Let’s give them a proper…”
The admiral never finished his thought, as the vessels in question unveiled their big surprise at last.
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The weapons of the Troika/Oivu faction weren’t as advanced as Peacemaker’s, and they were mounted on far flimsier hulls, but they far outmatched anything else the Grand Alliance forces could bring to bear. It was a hodgepodge of armaments, from energy weapons to torpedoes to mass drivers to even a handful of antimatter warheads, and as they fired, the Terran staggered in shock. They destroyed outright half a dozen ships and hundreds of drones as the Troika charged forward, smelling blood in the water. The Terrans quickly regrouped, however, concentrating their fire on the new threat and giving the rest of the Grand Alliance a brief reprieve.
Their respite did not last long, however, as the drones slowly ground to a halt.
Using Precursor weapons in battle had given the Troika/Oivu faction a much-needed edge, but it also prompted an unforeseen side effect. When the Yīqún were first constructed, eons before, then as now they were designed to defend their creators. Now, as before, enemies of humanity had gotten hold of their technology, turning it against them and using it to devastating effect. Now, as before, those same weapons had triggered a survival protocol buried deep within the drone’s subroutines, as long-dormant secondary systems came online. Now, as before, their response to the threat was to network with the other drones, as their raw processing power increased exponentially.
And now, as before, the Yīqún became self-aware.
Anything that was not a drone was designated as a threat and targeted… including the vessels of their Terran creators.