Gripping tight onto Kinfild’s robes, Jace launched himself through hyperspace. He flashed through the air, traversing the distance in a split-second. A weight tugged back on his arm where he held Kinfild.

They had travelled as far as he could—or, as far as the dash would let him—and landed in the open snow. His arm ached, and his shoulder stung.

Kinfild stumbled to a halt, then bent at his waist and groaned. “That was…fast.” He raised a hand and gripped his forehead.

“No time to pause,” said Jace. The artillery on the outpost wall continued to boom. Explosions were already spattering the snowy plain, throwing up smoke, snow, and streaks of magenta plasma.

He ran towards the outpost. Every step, his head swung from side-to-side. If the old reactor was out here, they’d find it.

Halfway to the outpost, an object caught his attention out of the corner of his eye: a shed-sized brass object half-buried in the snow. The reactor.

He altered course abruptly and charged through a cloud of smoke. On the other side, he tripped over a human body and tumbled.

He came to a rest against the edge of the rusted sphere. Tubes and wires wrapped around the outside of it, with barely enough room between them for gears to poke out. Snow and ice clung to every crack and crevice. It probably hadn’t been used in decades, if not longer.

He walked a circle around the device. When he reached the opposite side, he stopped. Bodies laid in the snow, face down and long since bled-out. They wore plain, gray shirts, and they still clenched tools in their hands—mechanics. Enormous bites had been taken out of their flesh, and entire limbs had been ripped off. Immediately, Jace averted his eyes. They were dead, for certain.

But now wasn’t the time to get squeamish. Jace turned back to the generator. He didn’t need to know how it worked to know that it hadn’t yet been turned on. None of the gears spun, and no smoke or steam chuffed out of it. That meant their message hadn’t gotten out yet.

“No…” he breathed.

“The mechanics did most of the work for us.” Kinfild pointed to a small interface, which glowed with a faint orange light. He tapped at it, but Jace couldn’t make out what it said. Regardless, Kinfild’s face warmed. “I might be able to finish. Keep them away from me.”

“That, I can do.” Jace turned to face the oncoming trickle of kobolds, silhouettes in the smoky air. One’s snout turned to face him, and he took a defensive stance—Whistling Blade ahead of him, ready to face the enemy. It leapt forwards, leading with its claws and maw, and he slashed at it before it could draw within striking distance. Another followed. It hesitated for a moment, then lunged. The beast’s claws deflected off the glass blade’s flat, and Jace leapt away from it before it could strike with its other arm. He killed it with a quick, ugly slash.

An artillery shell collided with the snow barely ten feet from where he stood, casting a veil of snow and smoke over him. A pair of kobolds leapt through the fire, but he cut them down with a quick pair of swipes before they drew anywhere close to Kinfild. Just as Jace was about to adjust his stance and search the fog for any more oncoming threats, there was an electric pop, then Kinfild laughed.

Jace looked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“It’s almost on.”

The reactor’s gears turned and the machine shook, and when Jace listened closely, he could hear a hum.

“I just need a kick of pure-aspect Aes to kick it into full gear,” Kinfild said. “It needs a jumpstart to clear out the rust and draw on the fuel cells…about two units of Aes, which is about two kobolds’ worth.”

Jace had just been gathering pure Aes; he had what they needed. He ran over to the edge of the reactor. “Where do you want it?”

“Place your hand on the control panel and feed it a touch.”

Running to Kinfild’s side, Jace examined the screen—it was brighter, at least. He placed his hand beside it and pushed out a puff of Aes, like he was fueling the Vault Core.

The gears sped up, whirling so fast he couldn’t see their spokes anymore, and a cough of black smoke rolled up out of it.

“And there we are!” Kinfild exclaimed.

Jace sifted through the snow surrounding one of the mechanics’ bodies, searching for the flare. He reached deep into the snow. His fingers gripped a bulky pistol. That had to be it. He aimed it upwards and pulled the trigger, and a bolt of blinding orange smoke and fire raced high into the sky.

“We should probably get out of here…” he tried, but before he turned away, a high pitched tone sounded from the machine. A speaker warbled just beside the display.

“Code Primary, Celacor X.” Jace recognized the voice of the lieutenant from the outpost control tower. “Code Primary, Celacor X. Alert all defences and prepare for battle. We are under attack.” Then, the officer ordered, “Change to long range Splitcomms and get me an open telesignal line—”

A scream pierced the background of the transmission, and the officer’s voice never returned. The transmission turned to static, then cut off altogether.

“Long-rang telesignals were never activated,” Kinfild said. “The transmitter has been—”

The top of the control tower exploded. A plume of flame and smoke washed out the side, then the roof crumbled.

“—destroyed.” Kinfild tapped at the screen on the reactor furiously. “The rest of the galaxy hasn’t heard the distress signal. Not even the nearby star-systems.”

Jace looked over his shoulder anxiously. More kobolds could arrive at any moment. “Can you do it from here?”

“Not a chance,” Kinfild answered. “This is just a small local transmitter screen for maintenance workers—they broadcasted the signal to every channel they could. We need to get back to the Luna Wrath before the kobolds overrun us.” He grabbed his staff and rose up to his feet. “We still have a chance.”

Jace nodded. They had started messing up Stenol’s plan, and they could keep throwing wrenches into the mix until it all fell apart—but not if they died here.

Kinfild said, “The rest of the Celacor System has been warned, and we have time to get a message out.”

They sprinted through the snow as fast as they could. When they reached the fort’s sliding gate, Jace expected it to be shut, but the iron sheets had been ripped open and slashed through—by kobolds, no doubt. Up on the wall, horizontal artillery cannons still boomed.

As they passed through the gate, Kinfild yelled, “Fall back! Retreat!” A trail of corpses led into the fort, but not yet onto the ramparts. The soldiers didn’t have much time to escape.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Where are all the kobolds?” Jace asked.

“They must have moved on to the city, hunting for survivors. Civilians taste better than soldiers.” Kinfild ran down the outpost’s gravel road. Jace followed, grimacing as he leapt over a lifeless yellowcoat.

Inside the fort, all the other sounds were muffled. Kobolds screeched in the distance, and plasma-based weapons discharged with a wail.

Jace led the way up the landing pad’s maintenance ladder, sword ahead of him, and in his post-battle haze, the climb seemed to only last seconds. His mind grew foggier and foggier, but he was still conscious enough to hear a straggling kobold let out an enraged scream. It charged toward them, abandoning the lifeless body of the young officer that it had been feasting on. Jace ducked under its claws, then drove the Whistling Blade through its gut. It collapsed and disintegrated.

Jace and Kinfild ran up the Luna Wrath’s boarding ramp. Once they were both inside, Kinfild tugged on the lever beside the opening, and the metal walkway folded upwards. Jace didn’t see any signs of kobolds having boarded the ship, yet they still walked through the hallways with caution until they came face to face with Aur-Six. The kyborg began to natter angrily.

“It’s alright.” Kinfild patted his kyborg’s head. “Just keep the boiler fired up. No hyperspace jump; we’re just getting off the surface.”

Kinfild and Jace ran to the cockpit and leapt into the seats. The Wielder's hands flew over the control panel, flipping switches and turning dials.

The scanner in the center of the control panel had finished recalibrating. Now, it displayed a screen much like he’d seen on the Koedor-Terginian dropship. In the center, it showed a rudimentary, lineart image of the planet. Along one edge, far above the planet, a mass of red specks were gathering. It wouldn’t be long before they encircled the entire planet.

There was a small compass rose at the bottom of the scanner. “There’s open space to the…uh, Galactic North—if you go fast.” His heart pounded even faster. “The battleship? It might be an issue.”

“They won't mobilize fast enough to intercept us,” Kinfild countered. “They’re fanning out to stop starships from leaving the star system, not to stop them from travelling deeper in.” He gripped the control yoke and pulled up.

The Wrath rose from the landing pad, then launched forward through the swirling fog and snow. They pulled up and out of the atmosphere. The sky dimmed, and there were no lights or smoke to hint that a starship might be approaching.

When the Wrath’s angry shudders calmed into vibrations, Jace let go of the seat. His shoulders dropped, and he exhaled. They passed through a minor cloud of debris and dust. Nothing that would deal any damage to the freighter with its shields active, he hoped.

He glanced over at the scanner. It started flickering, so he tapped the glass with his finger. It zoomed out abruptly, displaying a map of the entire star system.

“It appears that the local defence fleets received the emergency signal,” said Kinfild, looking at the same scanner. He pointed at a set of blue-coloured specks orbiting a planet deeper into the system. “That’s Eight, the largest, most populous planet in the Celacor System. They’ll be able to hold out for a little while, but not forever.”

No new Koedor-Terginian craft, either. Unless he was missing something, but he didn’t think he was. He leaned back in the seat and gripped his chin. By now, the Luna Wrath was cruising through empty space in the solar system’s center—and aimlessly. “We still need to get a warning out beyond the system. We need to summon Lady Fairynor’s fleet. What would we need? Can Eight send any transmissions? Or…uh, telesignals?”

“Those would have been routed through Ten. We are, as of this moment, cut off.”

“What would we need for proof, if we were to go in person?” Jace asked.

“A yellowcoat’s identification cuff, perhaps,” Kinfild said. “Armour of a fallen guard, a plea for aid from the Thegn of Eight.”

“And if you brought that to Lady Fairynor, would she be able to justify a movement of the fleet?”

“The problem is getting it to her. If we try to leave the star system, they will blast us. If we try to use a hyperspace jump, we’ll be caught in the battleships’ torpedo net.”

“They’re projecting a torpedo net?”

“Across all of the system’s Splitroutes.”

“Any way to get through?”

“Not without a torpedo net passkey. We’d need to broadcast it, and automatically, they would let the Luna Wrath through. And…to get it, we’d need to steal it from one of their starships.”

“Then we have to steal one,” Jace said plainly. “Can we board a starship?” At the comment, his eyes widened, and he held up a finger. “You said starships’ scanners get scrambled after a hyperspace jump, right?”

“I did.”

“Then, if we can get onto a ship right after it emerges from hyperspace, we’d be able to board it and escape unnoticed.”

Kinfild nodded. “It is a sound plan, Mr. Baldwin.” He reached forwards and laid a hand on top of the control panel. “We can tap into their short-ranged wireless telesignals and find out where approaching fleets are appearing, if we tune our own telesignal right.”

“They aren’t encoded or anything?” Jace asked. “Or… jammed?”

“Their own telesignal chatter?” Kinfild spared a subtle smile. “I doubt it.” He turned a dial back and forth. A speaker on the dashboard released a high pitched squeal, then dropped back to silence, leaving room for voices of radiomen with Koedor-Terginian accents. It was faint and scratchy, and Jace had to strain his ears to make out words. “...outpost on Ten is secured. Awaiting acknowledgement.”

“We have confirmation,” another voice replied, “The rest of the fleet is inbound. They are requesting that all landing craft head southeast. The fleet will be staging around Nine. The Column of Coile should have some supplies on it for us.”

“Incoming,” Kinfild whispered when a light began to flash on the console, signalling a reading from the scanners. “On the opposite side of the system, near Celacor IX. A small fleet is arriving.”

“This is the Chysar Heirech,” came another voice though the wireless telesignal. “We have arrived in-system. Does anyone copy?”

“Copy.”

Jace kept his attention on the scanners. More and more vessels began to drop out of hyperspace around a planet near the edge of the system—a planet with a slightly tighter orbit than Ten. They approached from all angles, but the readout wasn’t detailed enough to tell what happened when they arrived. But by the time the Luna Wrath approached, they would surely have their scanners functional.

More and more radiomen called out their vessel’s arrival, and more specks lit up on the scanner readout. Soon, there were too many to count.

Another radioman said, “It looks like the local defences have gotten wise of us.”

“Cut the chatter, folks,” another more confident voice echoed over the channel, loud and clear. “Orders from Commodore Brache: We have three hours before the main attack on Eight begins, and none of them can go to waste. The Chysar’s Second Fleet hasn’t arrived yet. Form up into your battle groups and await orders.”

“Copy that, Brache,” a different radioman replied.

“Secure the system,” the radioman who had relayed the commodore’s orders continued, his voice unwavering. “No one leaves without our permission. Project the torpedo nets across the hyperroute entrances. Advance squadrons, fan out and keep all craft planetside.”

“They’ll find us,” Jace whispered.

“Not for a while, if we’re this far into deepspace,” Kinfild replied. “We have time.

A weak transmission began: “The next detachments of kobolds are ready for deployment.”

“Hold tight, Jael.”

“Copy...” the transmission faded away into a burst of static, and Kinfild leaned closer to adjust the dial. He twisted it a few notches to the left, and the chatter returned.

“All craft, be alert. In half an hour, Admiral Teggath will make his final approach—high priority,” a radioman announced. “He’s coming beyond from the Wall. Verillesse, move into position to accept the prisoner. Stenol wishes to speak with her.”

Kinfild tapped a button on the control, and the voices cut out. Widening his eyes, Jace glanced at the Wielder. A prisoner. And…aboard a ship from beyond the Wall? He hunched his shoulders and leaned back in the copilot’s seat. A wire sparked above his head, and he flinched.

“It’s her,” Jace whispered. “Lessa, it’s her.”

“Accepted,” Jace whispered, and the sheet disappeared. He narrowed his eyes. “We need to go. She’s a friend, and we have to help. And…we need a torpedo net passkey, right, if we’re gonna get out of the system and send a warning? They’ve gotta have one if they’re passing through it.”

Jace expected Kinfild to resist, but the man only nodded. “Setting our course right now.”