The warp demon nodded to the weft demon. Together, they opened a small hole in the fabric of space/time, allowing the hollow, cylindrical ship to reemerge from the jump. Rainbow radiation released, signaling the arrival, rushed through the star system like a raindrop filmed in reverse. The ripple of rainbow light collected at the point where the ship reentered reality as it returned to the known universe. The radiation along with all the distorted quantum vibrations collided against the ship's hull to form tiny crystals—jump sand. But because of the prior build-up of jump sands, the crystals clung together into what ships' crews called jump ice.
With their job done, the demons—one red and one violet—slipped back through the closing space/time hole, leaving the ship behind.
Claxons blared and robotic arms pulled stasis pods from their racks to place them on the deck. Pods opened sequentially and the internal equipment disconnected from their cargo—beings, members of the fifty known species of the Uplifted, each in a uniform designed for their non-human physiology.
The crew members staggered out the pods to head for their stations. Greeting each other, happy to have exited jump once more. The noise of beings returned to the interior of the Senate's Leviathan.
Vacated stasis pods were rehung by the robot arms, and the next pods settled in the empty spots.
Not all of the awakened beings were military personnel rushing to their posts. The green-gray Aquari priests entered the communications temple and knelt upon their cushions and folded their scaled wings against their backs, all between two of the three statues of the goddesses rising out of the waters, jointly carrying a bowl of eternal flame which always remained in flawless synchronicity with the eternal flames within the Lighthouses spread around the galaxy. The three statues, arcing toward the chamber’s center, separated from the arches defining the three-ribbed vaulted ceiling of the chamber.
The head priest settled his feeding tentacles, so they hung loosely off his bald, bulbous head, and opened his speaking mouth to utter the vibration of the commune. Each priest added his voice to the vibration. The ship's air shimmered and connected to identical chambers on the other Senate’s Leviathans of the battle group with their dozens of priests.
Each head priest stood upon their walking tentacles and bowed to his fellow head priests.
The lower-ranked priests filed out of the chamber, and their counterparts did the same. Given the nature of the chamber, each priest projection was actually three or four priests projected into the same spot—leading to blurred images when they moved. Aware their own projections were overlapping others', the priests moved precisely and followed the fading vibration as it rose and fell along its path; so too did their walking tentacles.
The head priests' arm tentacles ended in a “palm” where eight manipulation tentacles emerged. They waved the “hands” in a particular gesture—synchronized flawlessly with their fellows.
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A table rose up out of the floor. The head priests separated themselves, and all eight knelt about the circular table. After the last of the younger priests had left the chamber, in unison, the head priests looked up and said, “Senators, we are ready.”
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The Aquari senator, “Cali” as the landlubber crew called him, patrolled the second deck of the command-and-control chamber. His once vibrant coloring had faded long ago into bone white, being only slightly more yellow than the senatorial robe clasped beneath his feeding tentacles. He glanced at the various strategic consoles showing nothing but static because of the jump sands clinging to the sensor ports. Even the central hologram floating between the first and second decks only showed computer projections based on the last known data.
Unlike in other parts of the Leviathan, the twin decks were silent—bridge and command crews waiting to either die or to see. Had the enemy snuck into this star system? Were those same enemies burning their way toward them? Would weapons hidden on the other side of their coating of jump ice soon slice through armor and hull?
**BOOM**
Thunder rumbled through the ship.
Many jumped in their seats. Everyone waited.
No damage reports.
Just the cracking of jump ice.
The various crew members glanced and gave I-wasn’t-scared indicators to each other.
But not the senator.
In his old muscles, he knew the enemy had plenty of time to strike. If they were going to do so. The likelihood of being attacked within the first hectochron after emerging from the jump was minuscule. Both the Leviathan and their enemy needed to practically crash into each other—something so close to being impossible as to be indistinguishable from the impossible.
Yet, with even the viewports covered in glittering rainbow jump ice, one had no way of knowing if this would be the first time such a battle happened.
All creatures, sentient or not, feared what was beyond their ability to sense. Evolution had given them all the ability to fear the unknown, the unknowable, the unseen, the unfelt, the unsensed.
**BOOM**
The command-and-control chamber shook.
A crack appeared outside one of the viewports. A thin shaft of light from the system's star weaved its way through the crack in the jump ice and entered the chamber.
Everyone looked at the spot of light and gave happy impressions.
But not the senator.
For through that tiny crack, fresh data trickled into the ship’s computers.
Updates propagated into the holographic display of the star system. Icons showing estimations and calculations flipped to actuality. Very little about the system shifted. But new shapes appeared.
The enemy.
The invaders had the same idea—to use this star system to deice, refuel, and recharge.
And the problem with all space combat, first-comers always had an advantage. The only question remaining for the Aquari senator to answer was how much of an advantage.
“Inform the Senate. We have made contact with the enemy in the ARG-1165-YL star system.”
The various tactical and strategic crew members swung back to their consoles—collecting the data needed for their own invasion campaign.
Bridge crews stared at their gauges. The battle group had pushed hard to arrive in time to make a difference. Now, with the enemy swirling around this tiny oasis in the vast emptiness, it seemed they had pushed too hard. But as even the most cowardly of prey species understood, there was a point where one had to fight the circling predators if only to allow some of their species to escape.