Victoria awoke somewhere other than her rack. Naked.
Not an altogether unfamiliar circumstance, though it lacked the characteristic screaming of a jealous wife. Also the characteristic light source of any kind whatsoever. And if she was being completely honest, the characteristic not-being-sucked-through-a-tear-in-horizon-space that she’d thus far enjoyed in her life. The things one took for granted.
Before long her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, and instead of the perfect pitch black she’d initially took herself to be in, there was in fact a subtle glow in the floor, defining an elevated ring. The conn.
"Huian? Are you there?"
No answer. Slowly more of the Condor’s control room began to take shape around her: the command couch, her repeaters, and lower down, the navigator’s station, having lost the majority of its Chinese population in just a few short minutes. Not that Victoria had any idea how long she’d been out.
"Avery? Carillo? Red?"
Not even the hum of the engines answered her, nor the reverberation of the metal and composite hull. Hell, the air didn’t even taste like desiccate. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the Condor.
"Davis? Doc Whipple?"
Nothing. No sailors, no marines, none of her officers or crew. She’d been separated and isolated from the one thing she couldn’t manage without. Humans.
"Alright enough, the jig is up. Who’s pulling the strings here?"
A shadow passed over the dim luminescence of the conn. Victoria looked up. There was no upper bulkhead. Instead there was only the vague, distant, blue-black artifacting of horizon space, and a black silhouette drifting across it. The hair all over Victoria’s body began to prickle. She was a bottom feeder, looking up at the underbelly of a great white shark. This place, this thing, this not Condor was a creation for her benefit, fabricated from what? Had they torn apart her ship already? Had they plucked it directly from her brain? No one knew what the Kossovoldt were capable of. Rather, no one knew the extent of their capabilities.
Down it floated, swimming against some unseen current as tendrils snaked out behind it, like something between a squid and a deadly man of war. Its flesh had the same red patterns as the hull of the hulk, and Victoria could see the back of the thing was ridged with undulating vertebrae. The Kossovoldt spiraled down, its enormous streaming length suspended in the air, until it could regard Victoria at eye level. Not that the xeno had eyes, just a slick sensory band wrapping around the foremost protuberance, wherein perhaps it had what one might recognize as a brain. It passed directly over her, smelling like a truck full of dead fish, and she could see multiple openings underneath crossed by a lattice of small triangular teeth. The bulk of it was the size of a van, and tentacles and streamers that snapped and sparked with static in the air extended another forty or fifty feet. Hard to judge while the thing was in constant motion, waves rippling through its trail while she tried not to vomit. In part because of the smell, in part because watching the thing was making her seasick.
"So here we are," said Victoria. "Middle of fucking nowhere, my ship falls into the hole you tore in the ass-end of space, and now what? I hope you don’t plan on just killing me after all this song and dance."
A tendril reached down, causing Victoria to recoil. The Kossovoldt retracted it, almost startled.
"Wayward child, I have no intention of killing you."
It was strange hearing Kossovoldt spoken by its namesake species. Every xeno had their own unique spin on it, Earthlings included. But coming from the multiple mouths on the underside of the Kossovoldt it sounded . . . right. Almost enough to lull her. It was a siren song. Ultimately, the Kosso were predators, all the apex xenos were. You didn’t get this far ahead in the stars without a carnivore’s mindset, and those teeth Victoria had seen weren’t for shredding veggies.
"No? Well then why am I here?"
"I brought you here."
No shit. Who would have thought that her first time meeting a Kossovoldt, Victoria’s biggest concern would be minding her own belligerent temper? She grit her teeth.
"Alright, then why are you here?"
The Kossovoldt performed a slow roll that translated down through its myriad appendages. "To speak with you, wayward child."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Victoria asked.
The hues on the Kossovoldt shifted from red to a deep blue, its pattern mimicking the horizon space artifacting. "It is what you are called. You who has turned the atom upon yourself, and yet made it to the stars. You whose world is ravaged still by war, and yet made it to the stars. You who have shunned our gifts and yet made it to the stars. You are truly our most wayward child, and now have found yourself embroiled in a conflict older than your written word."
Victoria shook her head. The Kossovoldt spoke like it had a personal interest in humanity. "Gifts? What gifts? I think if you’d been to my neighborhood there would have been some record."
The Kossovoldt stopped its swimming, and in doing so took on a new motion. Its skin became a deep brass hue specked by eye-like markings. Its tendrils curled into enormous rings that spun and undulated slowly about each other as it tread the air before Victoria. It had stopped directly above the main viewscreen, which flickered and displayed a blue marble hanging in space.
Earth.
"We gave you the first gift, our spoken and written word. But that tribe like so many others was swallowed, and so it remained only in your past until you rediscovered it from your neighbors. Ever you would be satisfied only with what you stole or built for yourself, never with what you are given. There has been contention, whether it was worth the journey at all. Your flame burned so dim it was argued that it would never be bright enough to pierce the wall of light. It was argued that you were best left forgotten. But yet again the wayward children found another unlikely path. Through this."
The blue orb of Earth was replaced with the small insectoid shape of a microchip. Humanity’s secret weapon in a universe of tape and punch cards.
So contrary to popular opinion, the Kosso language had been given to early humanity. Which meant that a Big Three xeno knew the location of Earth, and if that were the case then likely they knew of Ithaca, Eden, and Kepler. The Kossovoldt could snuff out their entire species in an afternoon, and judging by the Kosso Standard’s uncanny similarity to Ancient Sumerian, Victoria surmised that they could have done so anytime in the last seven thousand years or more. But they wouldn’t even need to do it themselves, all it would take would be a few hints dropped to the right xenos, and the enemies of humanity would set aflame the skies of Earth. Not exactly the Kossovoldt’s typical M.O., but then Gavisar had changed all that, hadn’t it? Victoria burned to ask the question, but not wanting to give the floating fish any ideas, refrained. But the question of Gavisar still remained.
"Why did you destroy Gavisar?"
The Kossovoldt resumed its circuit, as the main viewscreen now displayed Gavisar as it had been before their arrival. Lush blue and green oceans covered the planet, while thick white clouds twirled overhead. An aurora crested the northern reaches, and but for the unfamiliar continents, and the size which Victoria knew to be closer to Jupiter’s, it might have looked like home. Or at least as much as Earth had ever felt like home. Victoria had been on space assignments longer than she’d been planetary.
"You know why."
"Do I? You’re the one who brought me here, rebuilt my conn, told me that you visited Earth and I still don’t know why. Shit, I don’t even know why you stripped me naked. If it was to try and intimidate me, you should know I’ve been naked in more compromising circumstances."
There was a hesitation in the forward momentum of the xeno, causing the trailing streamers to bunch up briefly, as if the Kossovoldt was noticing something for the first time.
"Your nudity was not of my doing, wayward child. The Kossovoldt do not share your need for garments, but I did not take them from you," it said, with some measure of incredulity. It pointed a barbed tentacle tip at Victoria as it drifted overhead. "You left them behind."
Victoria looked down at the stocky frame of her body, marred by the chronic bruises of life in space. Shit. That actually was more plausible than some tentacle-on-tushie back shelf pulp fiction. She had spent near on fifty years in the thing, and would likely spend another seventy if the job or the drinking didn’t kill her first. She was more comfortable in her skin than in any uniform.
"You, wayward child, have found yourself not only centered in a thousand-year war, but to be one of the driving forces at the helm of it. Now your intervention demands a more immediate response on our part."
"The truce talks between the Dirregaunt and the Malagath."
"Just so."
Victoria considered as the xeno shifted to hues of blue and green. "Dirregaunt halted Malagath expansionism into the Orion Spur with their war near the Perseus Arm. That expansionism was pressing into systems defended by the Kossovoldt on the side of the Sagittarius arm. The Duchess’ interest in the Maeyar is an indication that things with the Praetory have becalmed enough for the nobles to resume their favorite pastime of empire building."
"Now follow the chain to its logical conclusion."
"The Kossovoldt can keep the Malagath and the Dirregaunt from pressing into the galactic core, but only so long as they are also at war with each other. A unified Empire and Praetory could jointly be a threat to the Sagittarius bottleneck, so your presence this deep in the Orion Spur is meant to provoke one or the other into diverting their attention to you, leaving them too vulnerable for the other to pass up."
Victoria’s unearthly companion turned a slow circle in the air. "I am pleased that our most wayward children have not lost the spark of guile for which I sought to elevate you. It is amazing how leaving a body behind can free one's perceptions in this place."
"This place?" asked Victoria.
The blue-black lines of horizon space pulsed for a moment, and Victoria noticed the familiar chill creeping up her skin. For the first time, she realized that her retinal implants had not picked up anything the entire time. Did she even still have them?
"My home."
Victoria shuddered. The Kossovoldt was casually gifting her knowledge stretching back a thousand years before civilization.
"Well you still murdered an entire planet just to get the Malagath’s attention. Likely two, if we can’t keep the Gavisari from scouring Pedres. Can’t see as you give much of a shit what happens to the Orion Spur or us Lesser Empires."
If it were possible for a color to be somber, the Kosso managed it with a dark shade of red speckled with shifting sprays of dark blue that reminded Victoria of rainfall on a terrestrial cockpit.
"Nothing could be further from the truth, wayward child. The Unveiled are our pride as much as any other. Our coming gave them what they always wanted: A second chance at their place among the stars, a place so callously stolen once before that their only way to cope as a species was to rationalize a collective falsehood of dogmatic inequity. May you someday forgive us, for we removed the only thing holding back the Gavisari, as you call them."
"And what was that?" asked Victoria.
"Themselves. We do not lightly intervene to elevate a mature culture. In this it was necessary. Gavisar had certain physical properties unique and necessary if we are to keep the Malagath and the Dirregaunt and all other challengers from the . . . Sagittarius Arm, you call it? Yes."
"What’s down there that’s so great it’s worth all this fuss?"
Jet black shot through the Kossovoldt. Electricity snapped and arced in its tendrils as it lifted an admonishing coil at Victoria. "That," it said, "is not for you to know." It drew back, coiling on itself again, the soft streamers spreading out like a sunburst. "The time is coming, wayward child. You are not a chosen one, but you are the choosing one and you must decide. Will you return to your war under the watching eyes of the Malagath, and by proxy their Praetory wardens? Will you continue helping the Maeyar and the Gavisari to kill each other? Or will you leave, and draw yourself away from this conflict? I can deliver you to your world of wayward children, or anywhere you desire. But I will not make this choice for you."
There it was. No matter how hard and fast she ran from the choices she’d made with the First Prince aboard her ship. Humanity was visible now, and having an impact disproportionate to their standing in the Orion Spur. If the war across the thin stretch of stars connecting the Perseus and Sagittarius arms ignited in earnest then no world was safe, no party neutral, and billions, perhaps trillions of lives across countless worlds would be snuffed out as the Big Three seized strategic systems and resources to better position themselves. The Kossovoldt began already, whatever they were doing at Gavisar was not a peaceful act and the Malagath were not likely to see it as such. Through their watchful eyes they had known just how to stimulate the invasion of Pedres, and it seemed not even the secrets humanity harbored so closely were safe from their reach.
Victoria had to do what she could to safeguard Earth.
"Take me back to Pedres."
Sothcide grimaced as he listened to the squadrons report in. The Gavisari had grounded another ship from outside their own estimated engagement range. The four high-altitude destroyers were able to engage with relative impunity, and the return missile fire of the Vitacuus and Arda’s other ships having to climb against gravity to deliver their deadly payloads robbed them of their killing power. But the handful of light cruisers that Raksava had left with them had elected to brave the storms of Juna to bring their heaviest arms to bear. Even with the interceptors scouting, the Maeyar ships were being given almost no warning of the impending attacks. Something wasn’t right, and more and more Sothcide was suspecting the interference of Human Jones as Victoria had warned.
Sensors within the electrical storms of Juna were limited at best, though the hot and bulky Gavisari ships burned like candle blossoms on six different sensors. But by the time the Vitacuus or the fighter wing were able to filter the noise into a workable ranging solution the Gavisari were already lined up for an attack run at speed. If not for Victoria’s marines listening in to the strategic communications and risking themselves with periodic broadcasts as their orbit allowed, Sothcide would likely be escorting an empty fleet.
"They’re maneuvering again. North, arrayed like an arrowhead. I think they caught wind of your last course change. Recommend bringing your lead ships to two-two-zero and descending another six thousand feet. That’ll give you a better range and they should cross in front of your bow on their next run."
The human radio was surprisingly clear and crisp through the murk of the storms, much more so than his own fleet internal communications. "Acknowledged, Human Aesop, I’ll pass your recommendation along. How is your gun fighter doing?"
"Poorly. We don’t have any way to patch her up without depressurizing her suit."
Space walkers. Sothcide shuddered at the thought of a thin layer of composite between himself and the void. Many of the cultures they encountered had been mistrustful of the Maeyar’s appearance—the shadowy onyx physique was the subject of many a stellar legend. But the humans wrapped themselves in it, thought nothing of traversing the great black vacuum in little more than silk swaddling. But they were just as frail as any other when it came down to the true horrors of space. "If not for the light cruisers, it is possible one of the frigates might have climbed up to accommodate you. All of our vessels have functioning medical facilities."
"Hell, the Blessing has a fully stocked medbay, we just have no way to pressurize it. We’re passing out of range up here. Good luck Sothcide, and I’ll see you on the next pass."
A quick flip of his radio severed the connection between his interceptor and the marine communication array. Angling the nose of his interceptor down, he dove back into the clouds and pushed west as the tiny fighter descended through the storm. Lightning licked at his hull, as if curious of the battle damage that marred his left wing, but without a ground it was harmless. His altitude plummeted and the clouds began to break as he entered the eye of a Storm where the Vitacuus skimmed the mountaintops of Juna’s northern hemisphere. Arda’s flagship showed damage along its port hull where it had taken laser hits and more than a few concussions from anti-cruiser nuclear missiles exploding within a dozen miles or less.
Sothcide’s radio crackled as he addressed the Vitacuus’ communication hub. "This is primary wing officer seeking Vitacuus wing commander."
"Affirmed, wing officer. Patching you through now."
A brief pause followed, in which Sothcide spotted Jalith’s last missile destroyer, the Slingray, temporarily assigned to Arda’s battlegroup same as himself. It was unusually bulky for a Maeyar vessel with its payload of long-range missiles. Stuck as they were in the storms of Juna, the battlegroup had no way of providing the artillery vessel with the means to accurately target its nuclear and exotic matter weapons.
"Battlegroup commander," said Arda over his radio. He could hear the background chatter of her bridge crew as her face filled his comms monitor. It was clear her attention was focused elsewhere. "Go ahead wing officer."
"Victoria’s marines report the Gavisar moving north across the plains. They recommend turning south southwest to cross behind them."
"Do they now? Ral, did you get all that?" Arda asked, raising her voice to her husband and first officer behind her. Sothcide’s close range sensors showed a spike in EM as the starboard antigravity generators forced the hulking ship to lean into a port turn. The other visible ships followed suit, and Sothcide heard the orders filter down through his fleet-wide circuit.
"All fighters be advised, fleet coming to two-seven-zero, altitude two-seven thousand feet. Prepare for engagement."
Arda was ordering the battlegroup due west, on a track to intercept and engage, rather than to evade. Sothcide hesitated. "Wing commander?"
"Interesting how your human friends seem to give us just enough to evade, but nothing that furthers our goal of returning to Pedres. Vehl was convinced of their intentions, and now she is dead. Your wingmate trusted them and now he is dead. I do not trust them, and I am alive. Perhaps they are earnest, or perhaps their efforts serve to delay our return to the defense of the planet. Regardless, this finally offers us an opportunity to strike back and swing the numerical advantage to our favor."
Sothcide wanted to argue, but the wing commander was right. Every moment the battlegroup squandered in evasion, Admiral Raksava drew closer to his wife in Pedres’ orbit. "Where would you have my wings, Commander?"
Arda glanced at the monitor, her eye cold and hard, but twitching with excitement. "I need your fighters at the front. Targeting data is going to make or break this maneuver, and we can’t chance the active sensors. I need you close enough to the strike force to develop a solution for the Slingray. This plan is not without risk. Do not make me explain to Jalith why I made a widow of her. Understand?"
It was a risky move, but a bold one. Arda’s career had been hallmarked by fighting from a poor position and emerging successfully. "We will be going in blind," said Sothcide. "Without the humans to alert us, we may miss any changes in the Gavisari attack profile."
"The lapse of the human overwatch is why we’re attacking now, Sothcide. Besides, I’m sure the marines are capable warriors, by the stars I’ve heard the rumors too. But I’ve spent the last ten years coordinating fleet movements. I think I might know better than a gunfighter who can’t perform a targeting calculation without the aid of a computer, don’t you?"
"Yes, wing commander. I’ll rally the wing immediately," said Sothcide. He didn’t add that the human’s deficiency in math and the physical sciences did not equate to a lack of strategic and tactical competence. But again, Arda was right. His own fondness was clouding his judgment, creating a desire to defend the humans from criticism and perhaps ascribing more merit to their skills than was warranted. And to their loyalty. But for the immediate future, the humans were nonfactorial.
Arda was on the hunt.