New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Three hours later, the P’G’Maig Hev contacted Commodore Siilon and requested a cease-fire.

The request was granted, and what followed was, in my view, an extremely contrite apology from Overlord Ks’Kull.  The attempts on my life, as well as that of Ambassadors Kell and Decinus, Dr. Logus, as well as the entire crew of the Craton were, according to him, “the carefully-planned result of a traitor who had sought to destroy his reputation and ruin the chances for peace”.  He even showed the corpse of the supposed traitor, another body-double, and offered to hand it over along with two thousand sacrificial officers for us to mete out our revenge upon.

His offer was not accepted, but the peace has held, and his forces have begun a withdrawal from this front.

At the end of the day, there are thirty-three dead on the Craton and over two hundred seriously injured – ten of whom still cling to life by a thread.  This includes Dr. Arn Logus, who is in critical condition and under Dr. Y’s personal care.

Ambassador Decinus has already been discharged, and though he still has healing to do, the man gave me his sincere thanks.

Among the Hev, the death count is not known for certain.  Our best guess has over 380,000 of the P’G’Maig dead.  It is a drop in the bucket, but that so many were lost largely to the Craton is thought to have made the Overlord second-guess his rash decisions.

The T’H’Tul Hev we came to save have contacted us now as well.  As part of the cease-fire, the P’G’Maig have dropped their interference and we have been able to freely communicate with them.  Ambassador N’Keeea has begun talks to bring his people out of the system with the help of the Sapient Union.

None of us believe that the P’G’Maig will drop their claim to the system, and the peace is still tenuous, long-term.

But hopes are high that this all will make some difference in the end.

---

“Ambassador N’Keeea, are these terms acceptable to your people?”

N’Keeea sat next to Brooks in his office, while a number of other beings were present in projected form.  Siilon stood watching, largely quiet, along with Councilor Tallei of the Dessei.

N’Keeea rose to his feet, and gave a nod.  “I have spoken to the survivors of my people – and they are prepared to accept this offer.”

“Even Supreme General G’Kaackt?” Brooks asked.

N’Keeea turned to him.  “G’Kaackt is no longer Supreme General.  In the . . . excitement, it seems that a tragic accident befell him.  In his stead is Acting Supreme General K’Tekek.  He has given me full powers of negotiation.”  A small smile went briefly over N’Keeea’s face.  “It seems I am viewed quite positively by those who still live.”

“I am pleased that your people have agreed to evacuate,” Tallei said.  “The Dessei Republic are willing to send transport ships to aid your people, and assist you in relocating into uninhabited sectors under our control.”

“I must thank you, Councilor,” N’Keeea said, though Brooks could tell there was some displeasure in him.  He hid it well, but the Dessei had originally rejected N’Keeea’s plea for assistance.  Now, it seemed somewhat opportunistic.

“Do we know how the Maig feel about this?” Siilon asked, speaking up.  “They may try to launch some sort of attack or provocation to justify attacking the Tul once they are in the open.”

“Unlikely,” N’Keeea replied.  “Ks’Kull, endless curses upon his name, is facing significant internal strife at his failure to achieve his stated goals.  It is in part due to this, and the shameful fact that he was forced to ask for a cease-fire that have placated the honor of my people.  He is in no condition to attack.”

“Do you think there will be any other hold-outs who refuse to go?” Brooks asked.

“We predict that the vast majority of survivors will choose to leave.”

“And those that don’t?” Brooks persisted.

“They will fight to the very last Hev when the P’G’Maig resume their assault,” N’Keeea said.  His tone portrayed no emotion.

“It is as good an ending as any of us could hope for,” Siilon said.

“I suppose,” Brooks replied, his stomach still clenching slightly.  Out of the ten billion or so left, how many would stay and die out of an ancient sense of honor?

“The civilian government will transmit lists of survivors beginning tomorrow morning,” N’Keeea continued.  “Commodore Siilon, will your fleet be willing to stay for a time to be absolutely sure that the D’Y’Maig behave appropriately?”

It took Brooks a moment to realize what the new honorifics that N’Keeea has put onto the Maig meant.

D’ implied cowardice and Y’ failures.

He wondered how long the peace could really last.

The meeting ended, and N’Keeea wrung his hand.

“I put all my hopes in your hands, Captain Brooks,” the Hev told him.  “It seems that I trusted wisely.”

Brooks smiled, sincerely.  “I am glad for you, and for your people, Ambassador.  I hope nothing but success and prosperity for you all.”

“We shall yet see.  Perhaps one day we will be the ones to exterminate the D’Y’Maig, eh?”

N’Keeea laughed, and walked from the room, while Brooks felt his stomach flip-flopping.

After the Ambassador had left, he turned to look where Siilon had been.  “Are you still there?”

“Of course,” the Sepht said, her image reappearing.  “It seems the little Ambassador has regained his teeth, eh?  Do not worry, I shall keep an eye on him.  We will not be pushed into a true war, even if there are attempts.”

“I’m glad,” Brooks said.  “I’m afraid the Craton can’t take another beating like that so soon.”

“Will she take long to repair?  I’d rather like to see you humiliate Ks’Kull again, in all honesty,” Siilon replied with a laugh.  “You truly shamed him.”

“That was the idea,” Brooks said.  “His life was mine, and I let him live.  It was as strong a move as I could make.”

“Short of killing him,” Siilon said.

“Even if I could have without destroying the Craton – no.  Someone else would have vowed revenge and come after us.  Only after that would the power struggle begin in earnest.  By making him flee, I set him against all the potential usurpers.”

Siilon considered that thoughtfully.  “If N’Keeea’s rumors are true, then Ks’Kull may not have much time left to him.”

“We’ll see just how vicious he is.  If he falls, let’s hope whoever takes his place isn’t worse,” Brooks said.

He cleared his throat.  “Speaking of trouble, though – I have been worrying about just how much you’ve gotten into.  Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful for the rescue.  But you broke your government’s orders.”

Siilon grinned.  “Oh, no, I followed them to the letter.  It’s simply that I got new ones ordering me to go in.”

“And how did you manage that?” Brooks asked, agog.  He knew, for certain, that she had somehow pulled off the feat.

“It was not the hardest maneuver,” Siilon replied.  “I simply dropped some hints to Dessei contacts that the Craton was in dire straits – with the daughter of Solon Maara aboard.  When the Solon learned, she was very persuasive to her government . . . and when the Dessei sent help, I informed my government of that fact.”

“. . . And they rushed to match the Dessei’s solidarity,” Brooks surmised.

“Oh, yes.  You are very lucky that our governments are so adversarial, Ian.  Neither wishes to be made to look bad compared to the other.”

Brooks chuckled.  “Well played, Commodore.”

“There’s a reason I earned this badge,” she replied.

“And why you’ll go no higher,” he joked back.

She laughed.  “Oh, clear seas – no, I would never want that.  I might end up with more paperwork than I could delegate!”

---

< Ep 6 Part 53 | Ep 6 Part 55 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“All missiles threatening the Craton destroyed!” an officer called out.

“Hev ships one minute until witnessing our light,” another told her.

Siilon considered briefly, pressing her hands together a moment and contemplating, before rising to her full height.

“Contact the Fesha ship,” she ordered.  “FTL, open channel.”

No one questioned her, despite the oddity of the order.  They had a decisive advantage at the moment – they could launch attacks on the Maig before they even knew that her force was here, cutting the time they had to react.

But she had a different idea in mind.

The channel was opened, and she caught the surprise of the Fesha Captain, who would not see the light of their ship for at least two hours.

“Sepht Captain, what an unexpected surprise.  May I inquire-“

“I am calling to inform you that the Mopu System is now an active theater of war,” she said, cutting the being off.  “I am ordering you, for your safety, to leave immediately.”

The Captain took several long moments to answer, clearly looking off to the side for information – probably his systems trying to figure out who she was.

Let them look and know her, she thought.  They’d shiver all the more when they learned.

“Ah, Commodore Siilon, we take your sincere concern to heart, yet we feel our safety is already assured with your gracious-“

“Not acceptable,” she said, and leaned over to speak to one of her officers.  “Have the Ring Ship send two of our tugs over to the Fesha.  I want them out of my warzone, even if they have to drag them out.  Send two cruisers with them.”

Alarm went over the Fesha’s face.  “You would not dare to drag our ship-“

“It is my discretion what I shall do,” she told him coldly.  “You will leave this warzone – one way or another.  You will do it alive and unharmed, whether you like it or not.”

And, most importantly, they would not get to stay and observe the fight from close range.

“We find this most ungracious and injurious and will be filing a grievance, Commodore!  We shall leave, only because of your barbarous threats to our dignity-“

“Siilon out,” she said, and cut the transmission.

A sensor officer looked up.  “Their transmission wavering at the end suggests they’re lighting up for a burn – likely away from us and out of system.”

“Make sure they actually do it.  Have the Hev seen us yet?”

“Not yet, Commodore – but they surely heard that.”

“Good,” she replied.

It meant they knew they’d just started a war.

“Contact the flagship of the Dessei.”

It was opened, and she looked at the Moth-Owl, who seemed solemn – though she thought they always appeared that way, showing only emotion with their crest of feathers.  For her kind, who rippled with color and writhing tentacles to portray endless moods and emotions, it always made them hard to read.

But she knew from the look of the one before her – Councilor Tallei – that he was unsure.  Despite being in command of his people’s fleet, he was a politician, not an admiral.

“With your permission, Councilor,” she said.

He gave her a sharp nod.  “You may, Commodore.  Glory to the Republic!”

“And may the currents be with us,” she replied.

Keeping the line open, she turned to her crew.

“Target lock every capital ship in their fleet,” she said.  “Fire all missiles – I demand a first strike that will leave them bereft of hope.  Artillery ships, prepare long-range smartshells, aim for maximum effect.”

“Aye!” her crew replied, calling as one.

The effect draw a smile to her face.

The massive artillery ships moved ahead from the fleet, their enormous coilguns charging.  When they fired, streaks of light emerged, disappearing out of sight even faster than the waves of missiles already headed out.

“The Maig have visual on us,” a sensor officer called.  “They are attempting to regroup stragglers of the Overlord’s fleet . . .  Forming a new battle line facing us.”

“How long until impacts of the first volleys?”

“Missiles – one more minute.  First volleys of coilgun shots should impact in moments.”

The Hev, far from taking evasive maneuvers, were moving into a tight defensive formation.  It was a rookie mistake, an artifact, she knew, of the damage the Craton had inflicted upon the Maig.  Without an experienced leader, under the stress they were experiencing, they were reverting to the kind of defensive attitude of their ancient ancestors.

It could happen to anyone, really, caught out of their depth.

And it meant they were lining up perfectly to be hit.

“Have the Ringship send a probe through.  I want to see it in real time,” she said.

Siilon had been called bloodthirsty in uncharitable circumstances, and though it was not true, there were times the reputation was useful.  Even now, she did not feel joy at the thought of slaughtering the P’G’Maig.

But she did need to know what havoc they inflicted.

The Ringship activated its massive zerodrive, sending through only a handful of drones that could report back in nearly real-time.  It was a massive waste of power in some senses, and even a ringship with its massive cooling fins and dozens of reactors and geometry optimized in every way to allow for such passages at will could only open so many portals before it had to take a break.

As the feed came back, though, she saw that it was worth it.

“Impacts!” the sensor operator called, before the image resolved.  She was working off the timing, and the math was correct.

The smart shells were bursting, showering the Hev formation with thousands of small pieces of hypervelocity shot.  Each small piece would do less damage, but also dump more of its energy into the enemy ships, and increase the chance of hitting something important.

One ship had a gout of plasma out of its side, and she surmised that a reactor had been hit.  Another had rippling explosions go across its flank as something was set off internally.  Others had very little visible reaction, save for lights flickering, going off, and a clear lack of command and control.

The thought of how many she’d just killed or maimed came to mind, though the impact was superficial as of yet.  She’d contemplate on it later, perhaps feel something, and then move on.

“Missiles incoming in one minute,” she was told.

The Hev formation had far less of a defense against them than even she expected.  The missiles were nearly unchecked as they smashed and blew apart vital infrastructure on the largest ships, even weaving around the smaller vessels that tried bravely to put themselves in the path to take the hits for their brethren.

“All missiles accounted for – 82.5% successful hit rate!”

There was more cheering across the bridge.

“P’G’Maig forces are routing!  Withdrawing in disorganization, Commodore!” the gunnery officer called.

“Shall we fire another salvo, complete their defeat?” her first mate asked.  “Perhaps a nuclear lance strike?”

She saw that the Hev had noticed the observation drones she’d sent in, and warnings of lock-ons by defensive lasers were detected-

The feeds cut out.

“No,” Siilon said finally to her first mate.  “Let them run.”

---

< Ep 6 Part 52 | Ep 6 Part 54 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“Another missile wave hitting outer defense zones!” Urle shouted.

“Seven PDCs out of commission, two more out of ammunition!  And all but one laser are down,” Jaya called.  The sirens and noise and smoke made shouting necessary, and Brooks could scarcely see even his command officers through it.  His HUD was fighting to view anything.

“Roll the ship,” he ordered.  “Bring our best defenses to bear on the heaviest concentrations of missiles.  And get the ventilators back online, I want this smoke gone!”

“They’re too spread out,” Urle called.  “We’re going to have gaps in our defenses-“

“Do we have any defensive drones left?” he called.

“Only a few-“

“Get them to the weakened sectors!” Brooks snapped.  “Are we in coilgun range yet?”

“Hit chance is still extremely low at this range,” Cenz said, his voice still screening his own mood; which Brooks could not imagine was very positive at the moment.

“Fire anyway, see if we can take some missiles with it, and threaten one of their missile carriers, we might be able to slow down their rate of fire!”

“Reactor Seven shutting down,” Cutter said, his voice the only naturally calm one; Beetle-Slugs were nearly unflappable even in the face of death.  “Hits have caused fluctuations in-“

“It’s enough to know it’s down,” Brooks said.  “How does this affect our charging for a jump?”

“Significantly,” Cutter replied in a clipped tone.  “Running calculations.”

The situation was dire, and though the Craton was not going to be destroyed by even a few waves of missiles, they were quickly being rendered helpless.

“Tell me the drives are still working,” he said.

“Aye, sir.  Front nose cone is holding so far, but she’s got some big craters in her,” Urle said.

That was a small miracle.

But as some of the smoke cleared, and he saw the number of missiles incoming in this next wave – now only two minutes out – he realized that it was not nearly enough.

They would run out of ammunition, their defenses would get knocked out, and they’d be helpless.  The Hev would board them with hundreds of thousands of troops – millions, if they had to.  And they could shoot until they ran out of ammo, until their printers were eating the walls to make bullets, and still they’d lose.

All he could do was save what lives he could.

“Prepare to eject habitat section bunkers.  See if we can give them a bump away from us as fast as we can.”

Urle nodded.  “Aye sir.”

Doing that essentially meant blowing off sections of the hull and letting the safety bunkers be launched out with bursting charges.  They had only limited air and supplies and no engines.

And that assumed the Hev wouldn’t hunt them all down.

But it was the only thing he could do to potentially spare them bloody deaths.

He lowered his voice.  “Make sure Ambassador Kell, Decinus, Logus, and Apollonia are in one of the bunkers,” he said.

Urle hesitated.  “Sir, about that . . .”

“I know what the orders are,” Brooks said bluntly.  “But I believe it will be better if Kell escapes to live another day.”

“. . . Yes, sir,” Urle said.

Part of Brooks wanted to order Urle into a bunker as well.  The man was his closest friend, and his children had no one else.

The words hovered in his mouth, and he was about to speak, when Cenz’s voice cut through the other noise.

“Captain, we are detecting something rising from zerospace dead astern!”

His chest clenched.  Now the Hev were outflanking them as well?  It was flogging a dead horse at this point, but it would put the civilians in a worse position . . .

“On-screen,” he said.  “Perhaps we can discourage the Hev from-“

His words cut off as the ship appeared in a flash – it emerged so close that the Bower Radiation didn’t have time to decay.

It was not a Hev ship.  It was a Dessei Ring Ship.

Over four kilometers in diameter, it was a portable gateway to zerospace, an entry and exit point from that alternate dimension.  Enormous, nearly defenseless.

He felt his jaw drop as he realized what that meant.

It would not have come here alone.

“Captain, we are detecting dozens of other objects emerging!”

Other ships began to appear; cruisers, destroyers, droneships, even battleships and artillery ships.

It was not all Dessei; emerging among them, in their own formation, he saw Commodore Siilon in her flagship – Dusk Falls.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“We’re receiving a message,” Eboh called.

The voice that came through was Siilon, along with an image of her on her bridge.

“Craton, I recommend you begin withdrawing to the safety of the fleet.  We will cover you.”

“Do it,” Brooks ordered.  “And Commodore, if I may say – I’m glad to see you.”

Siilon flashed him one of her jagged smiles, then the transmission ended.

“Artillery ships are charging their coilguns,” Cenz said.  “They are firing – oh my.”

The shots from the ships spread like shotgun blasts towards the Craton, though he felt not even a moment of alarm.  Every shot was wide, aimed for the missiles that were weaving through the gaps in the Craton’s defenses.  Bracketing them perfectly.

Dozens of threats disappeared off the board, and already he saw other shots coming.

He felt the clutching pains in his chest relax, and felt suddenly weary to the bone.  Moving back to his seat, he dropped into it.

“Focus everything into defense, do whatever we can.  Get all Response teams to vital areas, and work to get Reactor Seven restored.”

Cheers went up among the crew, and he shared in their elation.

But he could not let his guard down just yet.

Though they had reinforcements, the P’G’Maig numbers were still stacked against them.

---

< Ep 6 Part 51 | Ep 6 Part 53 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Iago jetted down the corridor that felt longer than it should have.  Any door around him could contain an active hostile, or a civilian.

His system was still not functioning, so his HUD couldn’t give him an active mini-map.

It was the best way to reach his squad’s rally point, and theoretically shouldn’t have enemy present.  But everything was down around him; the lights, the gravity.

That was extremely bad.  It seemed unlikely that the P’G’Maig boarders could have taken down so many systems that the power was fully out.

Where was everyone?  There should be Response Teams all over this area, dealing with the breach.  At least drones.

Things had gone terribly wrong.  He increased his speed.

Keeping his hand to the wall, he felt the ship.  Normally, the Craton hummed.  It was never loud, all steps taken to keep things calm and quiet in most areas.

Despite that, there was always a feel to a ship.  Every spacer grew to know the feel of their ship when things were normal.

But right now there was nothing.  She was as still as a tomb.

He felt a small shudder.  Someone was not far away, perhaps in the room whose door lay just ahead.

If he was feeling it, then they had just fired their thrusters.  The blast had impacted a wall, and . . .

They were alive, and could be a threat.

He placed himself next to the door, guessing as to when it might open.  Perhaps on five or six.

He started counting, and had just reached five when the door opened.

And he rushed the target, shoving his pistol into the crook of his neck, where the armor was thinnest.

“Commander Caraval!” he heard.  It was a male Dessei voice, filtering just barely through the contact of their suits.

He blinked, his finger on the trigger, ready to pull it.  With a great effort, he let go, and leaned in to press his helmet to the other being’s.

“Kessissiin,” he said, panting.  “It’s you.”

The Dessei’s eyes were wide with concern, his crest higher still – at least as high as the confines of his helmet would let it go.

“Sorry,” Iago told him.  “I thought you were a Hev.”

“I had to patch my suit,” Kessissiin told him.  “Took some hits that ripped it, but I’m unhurt, sir.  The detonation of their landing pod caused some disruption to local systems, so I also acquired some replacement radio pieces.”  He offered one to Iago.

He gratefully took it and connected it to his helmet.  His speaker crackled to life.

“Good job,” Iago said to him, now over the radio.  “We should . . . get moving.”

“Yes, hook up with whatever unit we can,” Kessissiin replied.

Iago didn’t echo the sentiment.  At the moment, he was just glad that the first person he’d run into was someone he could trust.

Someone not from the Craton.

“If I were the Hev,” Iago said, “And I had landed there, I think the obvious place to head would be Reactor Two.”

“True,” Kessissiin agreed.  “It’s a prime target.”

Iago unslung the rifle he’d taken, trying not to picture Ackerman’s face.  “Let’s move out.  If we catch them from behind, we can take a few.”

They had no drone defenses left.  It was much more likely they’d be shot down before they could do much.

But they had to try.

Kessissiin clearly knew that.  But he nodded along.  “Yes, sir.  You will know the best path – I will be with you.”

---

Kell had felt it.

Apollonia Nor had awoken something, and that something, however briefly and ephemerally it had been here, had come.

Every part of the ship felt strange to him, but the area Apollonia had been in had turned to a shade of reality he was all-too familiar with – and loathed.

He could travel where he wished; locked doors were nothing to him, the security of the ship was nothing, and he made his way there, straying to the edges of the fabric, until he arrived.

The bodies of the Hev were torn, twisted in ways that could not be achieved with tooth, claw, or human weaponry.  Not even he could have tortured them into the shapes they had become.

Unnatural shapes that stirred within him ancient hate and even, to an extent, horror.

Oh, when he was fully awake, how he hated the force that had done this.

Even if they had done his immediate job for him.

Scurrying animals, using their tricks and technology to confuse and kill each other.  It was all beneath him, their games, and these were not the first of the secret Hev teams he had found and dealt with.

His body flowed like a liquid, over their corpses.  He left behind all the parts that were artificial.  But their bodies, their flesh, was consumed.  Bone, fur, tissue.

They were alien, yes.  But . . . he savored the uniqueness of their matter.  Truly, he’d never had anything like it.

He had known he’d get to eat an alien eventually.  What a pleasant novelty.

When the last of their twisted corpses was consumed, he moved on, into the room they had sought entry into.  The door was still standing, but he moved past it, flowing through the gaps, and into what was beyond.

A creature that he still did not know was dead here, punctured and oozing orange ichor across the floor.  Doctor Arn Logus was in a puddle of his own blood, his wounds covered now with drones that were focused entirely on keeping him stabilized.  Lights flashed on them, some sort of call for help.  Perhaps it would come; he knew that should he even bother to intervene the man would be certain to die.

Logus should be thankful he didn’t try.

More importantly beyond him, was the woman.

Apollonia Nor was unconscious, blood running from her nose, ears, and eyes.  The natural result of what she had unleashed.

But she still lived.  And she was not going to die, not from that.

Something wanted her to live, and he saw suddenly, how the thing, so often asleep, much like most of his mass, subtly twisted the world around itself.

All to protect Apollonia Nor.  And by extension . . . itself.

But like Nor, it was now dormant.  Exhausted into a stupor.

Looking down at her, he wondered.  Would he be doing them all a favor by killing her?

Would it be the greatest gift he could ever give Apollonia Nor, to free her?

---

< Ep 6 Part 49 | Ep 6 Part 51 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Consciousness flooded back to Iago.

He gasped, spat, trying to keep from choking on his own saliva.

He was floating, and flailed for something, anything solid to anchor himself on.  His hands found nothing, and he struggled through the instinctive panic to speak through bleeding lips.

“Three-dimensional map projection,” he told his system.  “Orient me upright.”

He could see lights in his suit, he could hear the air pumps working.  But no visual appeared on his hud, and he reached up, to feel if the face plate was even still there.

It was.  At least that was something.

“Ackerman?  Hernandez?  Anyone there?” he said into his radio.  There was no response.

His higher systems must be out.  It was a strange problem to have, with the heavily-distributed nature of the suit’s computer meaning something should be working as long as the suit was even partially intact.

But it was a situation he’d drilled for.  His breaths loud in his ears, he reached for his manual thruster controls on his side and gave a burst from his shoulders.

He did not know what his orientation was, only that he was floating in a room.  It was dark, so he couldn’t tell one bulkhead from another, but if he got into a gentle spin he might just figure out up and down.

As he rotated, he realized that he’d been perpendicular to the floor, and was now seeing the windows of the Equator ring.  The area they’d taken on to defend.

And they had failed.  Because he saw that the explosion from earlier had not just torn open the protective shutters over the doors and windows, but blasted out the solid blocks of transparent titanium.

Large shards were floating, still carrying momentum.

Out of reflex he felt his body for air holes, for sharp pains, for the sight of spherical droplets of his own blood floating by.

But he felt, he saw, nothing.

“Emergency recording log,” he said, hoping that system was working.  He didn’t get an indicator, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.  Their black boxes were quite hardy.

“An explosion has opened the windows of the equator ring.  I’m sorry, but we failed.  Most of my unit are KIA, and I cannot find the rest.  I seem to have no serious injuries and no suit punctures.  Primary systems are all offline.”

The Hev pod was gone, he realized – and it had been the epicenter of the explosion.  It was expected that a pod would explode if its team died – because why not?  It would make it easier on the next wave.

Had they killed the entire boarding party?  That didn’t seem likely, there had been a hell of a lot of Hev, at least forty.  He knew for sure he’d only taken down about three.  His battery likely hadn’t killed any.  So it probably wasn’t that the Hev were gone.

Maybe the pod had malfunctioned and exploded, taking their own party with it.

He couldn’t count on them all being dead, though.  If he’d survived, they might have as well.

He didn’t know where his mag rifle had gone, but he knew his duty wasn’t done.  Groping to his side, he found his sidearm and drew it.

“I do not know if any of the boarding party is still alive.  I will keep this running in case I fall.  I hope it serves someone . . .”

With the artificial gravity out, he’d have to get around with thrusters.  Keeping a close eye on his reserve fuel and reaction mass in case he needed to make an emergency burn towards cover, he headed towards the messiest area.  Tables, chairs, silverware, even plates and dishes, had been thrown by the explosion, towards the walls.

Fuck.  This was Watchito’s, wasn’t it?  Elliot’s favorite restaurant.  They had the best pizza on the Craton.

The place was eerie in the darkness.  Lit only by starlight . . . it should really be almost pitch-black, and he wasn’t sure why he was seeing as much as he was.  There had to be some dim light sources still on, but wherever he looked he could not see them.

A sound came from behind him.  That was impossible, of course, because he wasn’t even touching anything that could carry sound, and it clearly had come from outside of his suit.

With a quick hiss he spun to face behind himself, lifting his sidearm.  A second burst shook him as it arrested his spin.

He saw nothing behind him.  Certainly nothing so close it was touching him.

But he scanned the dark room more carefully.

There!  Was that irregular shape a limb?

It wasn’t moving, so he jetted over.  The size and shape didn’t look Hev, and it was hopefully one of his own team, just unconscious.

As he got closer, he saw that his first thought was correct, but his second was not.

It was Ackerman.  Bloody droplets in perfect spheres were leaking from a dozen punctures through his armor.  It had been pieces of the windows.  Flying at high speeds, even his armor hadn’t stood a chance.

The man’s O2 meter was at zero; his tanks must have gotten voided.

He’d survived for at least a little bit, Iago realized.  He’d grappled onto a metal railing.

A small decompression wouldn’t have sucked people out, but one this big . . . Ackerman must have barely had time to connect himself here.

“Ackerman is KIA,” he said for his black box.  He rotated the man around, finding that his rifle had been slung and hooked.  Taking it off, he tapped in the code to convert it to his system, and slung it.  He’d need it.  If the Hev had succeeded here, it was only a matter of time before another landing party came.  Now he just had to find a way to alert command-

His eyes flickered over Ackerman’s face.  The plate was gone, his face exposed to the bare vacuum.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face swollen, looking like putty.  His mouth was open, tongue dry – all the water on it had boiled away.

But his lips were moving.

It wasn’t just some kind of twitch.  Despite the fact that he could not be alive, despite the fact that dead men did not talk, Len Ackerman was mouthing words.

He seemed to be repeating himself, and Iago tried to make sense of this bizarre death message.

But he couldn’t.  And his eyes were drawn upwards, to the man’s own eyes.  Despite being dry and bloodshot, he saw they were moving.  Widening, as if in terror.

“Ackerman!” he called, pressing his helmet to the man’s.  It wouldn’t help without air to transfer the vibrations, but he did it out of habit.

His eyes were inches from the other man, and they moved – for an instant locking onto his own.

“. . . as terrible . . . time . . .”

Shaking, Iago pushed Ackerman’s body away.  Its safety link kept it from drifting far, but he had to get it away from him.

He jetted back, feeling a surge of nausea, he tried to fight it back.  He failed.  A hose and mouthpiece dropped in front of him, and he bit onto it.  The hose had a gentle suction, taking his vomit away so he didn’t choke.

He focused hard on not breathing in while it worked, and when it was done the mouthpiece retracted.

Breathing hard for a moment, his helmet still smelling horrible, he struggled to regain composure.

He forced himself to go back to Ackerman, he had to confirm what he’d just seen.

And as he put his face nearer the man’s, he saw no movement.  His eyes were not moving, nor his lips.  He was blue.

His heart thudded in his chest.  Panic and adrenaline did things to men, he knew that – him, in this case.  He tried to shake the image of Len’s lips moving from his mind.

He knew he had to find someone from his unit, or another unit.  He had to do his duty . . . even if . . .

Even if he was terrified.

Because he was certain that Len Ackerman had said those words to him.

---

< Ep 6 Part 48 | Ep 6 Part 50 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

The camera view wasn’t a good one, but it showed enough, Apollonia thought.  The Hev were armed to the teeth.

“Did I . . . lead them here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Logus looked at her, and the memory of that old, irrational fear of him rose inside her – but she wasn’t sure what she felt at the moment, not from him.  It wasn’t fear.

The man was smiling reassuringly.  “No, Ms. Nor.  They were headed here already, I’m sure.  An Armory is an important place on a ship, and if they were to set charges in here . . .”

“A lot of vital assets gone,” Squats on Sand said.  “Weapons and munitions we could have used against them.  And the boom it’d make . . .”  His sections all rotated, his tentacles flailing.  “It’s about the most damage they could hope to do to the ship, outside of attacking the bridge, a reactor, or the coilguns.  Yep, we’re an obvious target.”

He focused his eyes on her.  “Why did you come here, though?  I thought you were in a Volunteer unit!”

“I, uh . . . I wasn’t able to make it to my team,” she lied through dry lips.  “And then I got locked out of a bunker and then I remembered you worked here . . .”

“Ah, that’s a pity!  You could be out there in the excitement, but I’m afraid you’re in for a boring time.  They’re not going to break through these doors!” Squats on Sand said confidently.  His tentacles were operating a panel, though, and he seemed to deflate slightly.

“Though . . . I can’t seem to contact any other part of the ship.  I don’t know how they could have interrupted that . . .”

“The Fesha,” Logus said, the thought popping into his mind.  “We believe they were selling arms and equipment to the P’G’Maig.  This might be some of that.”

Squats on Sand was quiet for several long moments.  “In that case, it’s slightly alarming,” he admitted.  Then, quickly, he added; “But don’t worry yourselves too much!”

Apollonia didn’t find it very comforting.

Logus slid up next to her, and she leaned away.

He clearly noticed.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I know you don’t like to speak with me, but I have to ask again; are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you meet your Volunteer team?” he asked.  “We saw that you disappeared after leaving your bunker – we feared you were hurt!”

“I . . .”  She was struggling to talk.  “I got scared,” she admitted.

The shame punched her in the gut again, and she pulled her knees up to her chin, burying her head.

Logus said nothing for a long moment.

“That’s very natural,” he told her.

She didn’t raise her head.  “I’m a coward.”

He reached up, slowly, and put a hand on her shoulder.  “You aren’t a coward, Apollonia.  Fear is a perfectly normal and rational response, and . . . you are going through one of the toughest transitions a person can possibly make.”

“That’s easy for you to say.  You aren’t a coward like me.”  She looked up at him, and he saw the tears streaking down her face.  “You really came out to find me, during all this?”

Logus was caught off-guard by the question.  “Ah, yes,” he said.  “I did.  Because it was my duty, and-“

“I failed my duty,” she said.

He swallowed.  “No one knows how they will react when they first face action,” he told her.  “The bravest can turn to cowards, and the meekest turn to killers.  That you found out you could not face the dangers you thought you could . . .  I can no more judge you for it than I can judge anyone else.  But you have learned something about yourself, and in time you will be able to look at it dispassionately, and know yourself better.”

She laughed.  “I know I puke in space suits,” she told him.

He laughed.  “As do I.”

She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his.  “I never hated you, you know.”

“Ah, well that’s good to know-” he began.

“I had a reason for not talking to you.”

“You’ve said before.  But Apollonia, you don’t have to go into it now-“

But she felt like she did.  Her eyes became more intense, and Logus felt the back of his neck tingle.

“I see too much, sometimes,” she said.  “I never thought you were a bad person, but I saw . . . I just knew . . .  If I spoke to you, it would lead me – somehow – down a path I couldn’t go.”

There were many meanings he could take from her words, but something about them chilled him.  Whatever she spoke of, he could see, it terrified her.

“I saw blood and death,” she breathed.  “I saw an ocean of blood, the stars turned crimson with it, and death on a scale that I . . . I can’t even . . .”

She turned away.

And though Logus had met people who were delusional before, people who believed that they were dead historical persons reincarnated, or that they were the only real person in the universe, never before had he believed they spoke the truth.

Until now.

“We have to tell this to the Captain,” he told her softly.  “Do you . . . see this path coming as a result of our talking now?”

“No,” she admitted.  “I don’t know why, but I realized just now when we got in here that I didn’t feel the creeping dread like every other time.  And I . . .  I had to say it while I could.  Just in case-“

Logus had been absently rubbing his neck as she talked, but she was cut off, as He That Squats on Yellow Sand spoke.

His voice, usually so genial in his rumbling way, had taken on a note of perfect calmness and seriousness.

“Get down.”

Apollonia threw herself to the floor, off to the side.  But Logus did not have her reactions; instead of obeying, confusion went over his face, and his eyes went to the screen, to see what the Abmon was speaking of.

There was a terrible sound and things flew through the door.

A weapon of some kind had been discharged, something designed to breach the heaviest armor.  There were multiple projectiles, and they tore through it at critical contact points – through it, and beyond.

Through Logus, and beyond.

The man’s face was still caught in shock as he realized that it was not simply his entire arm gone – but most of his right shoulder.

And jaw.

Apollonia realized she was screaming.

Logus tried to speak, but only a spitting sound came out, and he began to fall away from the wall that his blood had painted red.

“GET HELP!” she was screaming, though she hadn’t even thought about the words.

She looked up, and saw that the door was now starting to fall inward, slowly, the door-breaching weapon having worked perfectly.

But Squats on Sand was rushing as fast as he could to catch it.  His tentacles grabbed the massive slab, and pushed.  His stout legs dug into the deck, claws grinding against metal.

“I’ll hold it!” he roared.

He stopped the door from falling; and began to push it back.

He roared out triumphantly.  “I can hold it!” he shouted.

Apollonia looked down at Logus.  He had fallen into her lap, his eyes gazing at her in shock.

Blood was everywhere.  “Medical drone!” she called out, hoping one of her words would trigger some kind of system.  There had to be a medical drone in here, right?

Right?

“Emergency!” she screamed.

Then the weapon outside fired again.

Despite his armored body, they went through Squats on Sand as easily as they had the door.  Yellowish-orange blood splattered out of him in great gouts.

He still held the door.

They fired again.  Part of Squats on Sand’s main body was blasted off.  But he didn’t drop the door.

But his legs began to give way.

“I’ll . . . hold it . . .” he said, his voice quiet.

A light seemed to fade from his eyes, and he fell.  His body still propped against the door.

She heard pounding on it, the Hev outside now trying to force it the rest of the way.  Though it was tilted inwards now, Squats on Sand’s body still blocked it, still held it.

But they’d force it eventually.  They’d manage to push his body back, or fire their fucking giant weapon until they’d shredded so much of the door that it would break apart.

And then, or perhaps even before then, she’d be dead.  She knew why, now, she hadn’t seen any danger in talking to Logus.

She’d been a coward.  But she didn’t have to die like one, at least.  And now that it was here, she remembered the feeling she’d had on New Vitriol, when she’d felt sure she was going to be executed.

That this was a good thing.  That, for her, it would be an escape from powerlessness, and an evasion of something far more terrible.

She screamed again, curses and slander, every terrible thing she could muster at the P’G’Maig.  They would pay, if not now, then someday.

Some . . . day . . .

The room swam, consciousness not so much slipping as being taken from her by something big, something powerful.

Something that was a part of her.  And she had the realization that they would not pay someday.  They would pay now.

Because something had woken up inside her.

All went red.

---

< Ep 6 Part 47 | Ep 6 Part 49 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Logus felt a stitch in his side as he ran, but he didn’t want to stop.

He’d been searching for Apollonia for, it seemed, twenty minutes.

So far, there had been nothing but dead ends – and he had little to go on.  Despite his degree, he wasn’t a wizard who could predict all facets of human behavior.

Especially for someone who had always refused to talk to him.

Christ, he hoped she wouldn’t pull that now.  What a terrible choice he was for this, yet he had to try, he was the only reasonable choice.

“Show all people who Apollonia Nor has had a conversation lasting more than one minute . . . over the last six months,” he wheezed to his system.

He gave his doctor’s authorization for such a grievous violation of her privacy, and saw a list.  It was surprisingly long, and he had to narrow it.  “Longer than five minutes!” he said.  “Include data from off the ship if possible!  Sort by duration and level of perceived intimacy.”

The system worked a little longer.  Telling it to guess at intimacy level was a shot in the dark, but the system should be able to make a guess, and all he needed was a clue.

The list popped up, and he saw now; after Dr. Y and Captain Brooks . . .  He That Squats on Yellow Sand.

She had a knack for making alien friends, didn’t she?

He tracked down the Abmon, finding that he was, currently in one of the armories.

Which wasn’t far from the bunker Apollonia had left her tablet in.

The system indicated her going there was unlikely; the armory would not, after all, open up to let civilians in.

But that didn’t mean Apollonia wouldn’t try.

His system charted him the fastest route, and he tried to increase his speed.

“Armorer!” he messaged ahead.  “This is Dr. Arn Logus, prepare to open armory doors on my signal!  Override code . . .”  He sent it.

“Acknowledged, Doctor,” the Abmon came back.  “This is a very strange request, though . . .”

“Just be ready to open the bloody doors!” he said.

The hall he was in was a very gentle curve along the inner hull, and he knew it wasn’t much further.  Coming to a junction, he skidded around the corner-

And Apollonia was standing not ten feet away.

She whipped around to look at him, eyes wide, and he let out a gasp of relief.

“Apollonia!” he said.  “Come with me, immediately!”

“What?  What are you doing here?!” she asked.

“I came to find you – we have to get you to the armory-“

“I was heading to the armory,” she said, their words jumbling over each other.  They paused.

“Move,” he said.

“Is that the right way?  I got lost!” she said.

“Yes, it’s right-“

His system blared a warning as they turned into the short, defensible hall that led to the Armory door.  Aside from that feature, it was unmarked to anyone not connected to the Craton’s system.

But something was moving behind them, and it was not a part of the crew.

Shoving Apollonia ahead of himself, he caught the barest glimpse as he moved past the corner.

An enemy drone.

It fired, and he felt something sting on his temple.

“Open doors!” he barked.

Apollonia fell through, and he jumped in.

The door slammed shut just behind him – and he heard the sound of more shots hit the reinforced metal.

He That Squats on Yellow Sand was towering over him, leaning his heavy body over to peer at him on the floor.

“That was close,” the Abmon said.  “Sorry – the doors closed on their own when they sensed the hostile drone.  You’re . . . actually pretty lucky it didn’t get you.  The door or the drone.”

Logus put a hand on the side of his face, feeling the blood.  “I . . .  I think it did,” he said softly.

The Abmon rattled.  “Even I can tell that’s a scratch, Doctor!  You just had a close call!”

He was quickly realizing that Squats on Sand was right.

“Second close call today,” he said, his neck hurting even more now.

“Let’s hope you don’t have a third!” the Abmon replied, tromping up to the door, eyeing it and him and Apollonia all at once.

“Are you okay?” Logus asked Apollonia.  She had moved away, watching him with wide eyes.

She nodded, saying nothing.

“They’re outside,” Squats on Sand said.  “But don’t worry, unless they have something really big, they can’t get through this door.”

A screen turned on, and the Abmon trundled over to it, but it only showed an error text.

“They’re knocking out the cameras,” he grumbled.  “So I guess they’re really going to want in.  Let’s see if . . . ah, they missed one!”

An image appeared.  It showed a group of Hev espatiers and their drones.  They were setting up just outside the doors to the armory.

---

< Ep 6 Part 46 | Ep 6 Part 48 >