“We need more ships. We’re dying out there!”

Magnus slammed his fist down onto the polished round conference table in the spacious meeting room of Krii’s Great Hall complex, the central headquarters for the High Council of Tarsus. Across from him sat the glowering leaders of the councils from each of the seven land masses covering the planet’s 3rd dimensional shade.

“It’s been nearly five Tarsian years since the Drahks invaded. After Caledon launched the Appin a year ago, not one new ship has been finished on Tarsus. We’re down to eleven, twenty-seven for the whole fleet, and Salaal’s forces just keep growing. It’s damned hard to stay alive!”

“We understand the difficulties you face, Captain Talrésian,” Dieter van der Meer, high councilor of Andara, replied with stiff formality. “But as we’ve explained, the money just isn’t there for more than what we’re already supporting.”

Asta Gunnarsen bristled, quite openly as outraged as her younger colleague. “So you’re just going to cut us adrift, let the rest of us die out there?”

“No one said anything about cutting you adrift, Captain,” Dieter answered with a frustrated sigh. “We’ll continue to fund repairs and improvements for the ships we have in the air.”

“And what if more of us go down?” Alasdair wondered aloud, sending a stern look to each of the councilors on the other side of the table. As the newest captain of the Tarsian vessels, he was all too aware of how often Alcyoni officers had been promoted due to the loss of ships and crews since the war began. “Without building more ships, we won’t even be able to maintain the defenses we have. We’ll be backsliding.”

“The Chi’ans are still producing new ships, and so are the Ki’ans and Niemians,” Magnus pressed vehemently. “The Ubadi don’t fly, but they’ve put every crystal master they’ve got to work trying to invent something to compete with Drahkian technology. We’re the most populated planet in the system—we need to be spearheading the Alcyoni effort, not lagging behind.”

“We’ve been bearing the financial brunt of this war from the beginning,” Roy Carmichael of Caledon shot back, his thick brogue punctuating his words. “I’m proud of what Tarsus has contributed. I’m proud of all of you. But we have to ask ourselves what good it’s doing to keep sending expensive technology against the reptiles that doesn’t seem to work. The Drahks are still breaking the portals, still able to shift anywhere at will while all of you are strapped to using those ancient rings.”

“Has anyone been able to salvage any Drahkian equipment for our engineers to study?” Dieter asked, sending a questioning look to Miros.

The admiral shook his shaggy dark head, his mouth twisting with chagrin. “No, nothing larger than fine rubble, and no matter what we’ve tried, we haven’t been able to capture any of them. Surrender must not be in the Drahkian vocabulary—they fight until they’re dead.”

“Top-down culture, like Yuri said nearly two years ago,” Al grumbled, glaring at no one in particular. “At least the Maians won’t give up. Thank the Prime they’re Pleiadian.”

“And so are the Meropeans,” Magnus hammered. “They’re family! We can’t give up on them. With Ngama’s loss last month, millions more Meropean lives are down the sewer, but the billions on Sahara, Dashen, and Bandu still have a chance.”

“We’re not without sympathy for the Meropeans—that’s why you’re there,” Roy replied. “It just feels like we’re throwing our funds and the lives of our own fleet away on someone else’s deteriorating war. We have better things to spend our budgets on.”

“Like what?” Magnus snapped heatedly. “Are we going to sit around and wait until we’re all slaves under the Drahks? What if we’re next on the list?”

A firm hand on his back made him bite back the rest of his words and sit back in his chair. Miros’s steely countenance told him the admiral was just as angry as he was, but apparently he believed there was nothing further to be gained for the moment by continuing the argument.

“I’ll take this subject up again with the Andaran council when we meet next week,” Dieter stated tightly as he reached out to collect several crystalline points from the holo pad in front of him. “Unless there’s anything else pressing, we’ll adjourn for the day.”

Magnus blew out a breath and turned a vexed look to Alasdair while the high councilors rose from their seats and headed for the door. Asta stood up from her chair beside Al and stepped around to place her hands on each of their shoulders. “Nice try, boys. Let’s go.”

Pushing up from the table, they turned to find Miros waiting with his hands on his hips. “There will be another day,” he said wearily. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Magnus nodded reluctantly. “At least I’ll get my ship fixed,” he grumbled. “Xiangting and his team are pulling their hair out trying to get the front quarter put back together from that last hit we took. I can’t imagine the conniption he’d throw if he was told he couldn’t get any more parts.”

“Come on, lunch is on me,” the admiral said with a nod to the three captains. “Lita said she’d meet us if we got out early.”

“I don’t want to eat with that woman,” Alasdair whined as the group headed for the door. “Your wife is mean.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Miros grinned. “She told me you and Magnus were the ones who were always causing problems at the academy.”

“It was aaall of them,” Asta groaned, shaking her head wearily. “Three hellions in one class is more than any instructor should have to put up with. It’s easier fighting Drahks.”

As the party moved out into the busy corridor, Magnus turned his head and was startled to see Councilor van der Meer leaning against the wall, waiting to catch his eye.

“Captain, do you have a moment?”

Magnus came to a halt and glanced at Miros who had turned with the others, his gray eyes widening in surprise at the man’s soft request. The admiral sent him a quick nod of encouragement and waited a few paces away with the other two captains to see what transpired with the Andaran high councilor.

Dieter shifted his gaze to the three fleet officers as he stood away from the wall. “If I’m interrupting, then perhaps another—”

“Not at all, Councilor,” Magnus assured him smoothly, giving his full attention to the most influential political leader on the planet. “Go on without me, Miros,” he called out. “I’ll catch you another time.”

As the footsteps of his friends trailed off down the hall, Magnus studied the quiet man standing in front of him. Dieter’s loosely-tied hair, dark clothing with open vest and rolled-up sleeves gave him an air of casual grace which Magnus found infinitely more approachable than the stiff, arrogant suits of his father’s circles.

The blond man’s pale blue eyes appraised him with equal calculation before he tipped his head toward the wide corridor leading off into the central suites of departmental offices. “Walk with me, Magnus.”

Matching his gait to the shorter man, Magnus slipped his hands into his jacket and walked beside Dieter in companionable silence. Sensing the subtle signs of agitation in the councilor over their heated debate, he thought it prudent to give the man all the room he needed to express whatever was on his mind.

“I just wanted you to know that I find it very difficult … to deny you anything,” the councilor began, his voice taut with distress. “If it were up to me, I’d give the fleet every last penny in our collective budgets. I spent months arguing in your favor and it was extremely painful to watch your faces today when I had to tell you no.”

“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect in there, Dieter.”

“I understand, Magnus, neither did I. You’re a passionate man and I admire that. I personally agree with every single thing you said.”

“They’re coming, Dieter. It’s not a matter of if, but when.”

“I know,” the councilor grimaced. “That’s the part people just don’t want to think about. Their memories evaporate into what they can see right now, today. They don’t remember the trading partners we had just a few short decades ago, not to mention the huge Pleiadian family we had once—our own people!”

“The Drahkian horror isn’t real to them,” Magnus commented sourly.

“And I just don’t understand that,” Dieter stated incredulously. “The refugees we’ve given homes to have shared some pretty gruesome accounts, like the Schedarans out in the deserts of 1st Shade who were nearly wiped out.”

“That’s the problem,” Magnus complained. “They’re just stories, something awful that happened to somebody else. Most Tarsians, like my father, don’t see the value in sending help outside of Alcyone.”

The resentment in the young captain’s voice made the councilor looked up. “Geir Talrésian is one of thousands of voices around Andara and the rest of the planet who fund the budgets. I’ve had no choice but to listen to their wishes and make some hard decisions I personally don’t agree with.”

“I know, Dieter. You straddle the line as it is.”

“Trade, commerce, the arts have been the lifeblood of Tarsian culture for millennia,” the high councilor went on. “We’ve never been militaristic—it goes against the grain of just about everyone on Tarsus.”

“I’m not either,” Magnus declared fervently. “I’m not a killer—none of us are. Taking lives is not something I do lightly. We’ve destroyed thousands of men and animals in Merope. How many of them had a choice in being there? We don’t know anything about the Drahks or what makes them such violent bastards, but I doubt they’ll stop and let me ask them.”

Dieter came to a halt in the busy hallway just outside of the entrance to his offices, slipping his hands into his pockets while he looked thoughtfully up at the young officer. “What made you decide to join the fleet, Magnus?”

The tall man sighed and ran a hand up through his dark hair. “Well, let’s see, I guess it started with my obsession for unusual artifacts from all over the galaxy. I’ve collected ever since I was a kid.”

“Really? Interesting hobby,” Dieter noted with surprise.

“Yeah. I wanted to go into archeology, but my dad threw a fit, so I majored in business to keep the peace,” he glowered bitterly. “That didn’t stop me from going on summer digs or buying more pieces. In Merope, I hooked up with this trader from somewhere out in the Aswan Belt, a crusty old codger who’d been through more places than I could imagine. He told me stories of hideous things he’d seen, places he’d narrowly escaped from, and of course, somehow it always led back to the Drahks. When I saw the naked fear in his eyes, it really scared me and I began talking to anyone who’d seen them. The reactions were always the same—sheer terror. That’s what people here on Tarsus are missing—they haven’t looked into the face of the reptile.” Magnus shook his dark head and pulled in a rapid breath before he went on. “They’re vicious, barbaric, the stuff of nightmares. The more I heard, the more I realized I had to do something about it, so I applied to the academy in spite of my dad’s objections. Now I’ve fought them myself, lost good friends, watched entire worlds swallowed up, and they’re threatening the lives of people I care deeply about.”

“That’s right, you know the Malawis,” the councilor remarked softly.

Magnus nodded soberly. “Yeah. I can’t stand the thought of losing them and it’s beyond horrific to think of the beasts ever taking over here, Dieter. Life as we know it would die a brutal death.”

The high councilor’s astute eyes assessed him for several long minutes. “I’m with you, Magnus. I’ve watched all the reports too many times to count. We won’t give up and we won’t wait until the Drahks are beating down our portals. We’ve got to keep searching for a way to counter their technology. I’m sure we can convince our people to loosen their purse strings if we can pour their money into something that works against the Drahks.”

“Wow, thank you, Dieter. I’ll sleep a little better tonight knowing you’re behind us.” Magnus extended his hand to the blond man who reached out and grasped it firmly.

“Thank you, Magnus, for your relentless dedication.” With a tip of his head, the Andaran high councilor turned and disappeared into his suite of offices.

With a considerably lighter heart, Magnus made his way back through the corridors of the Great Hall complex. He was still completely perplexed at the blindness of Tarsian leaders to the real threat the Drahks posed and irked that they were making survival difficult for everyone fighting in Merope, but just knowing that the intelligent high councilor was hard at work on the predicament was heartening and he was certain Miros would feel the same.

Pushing out the nearest exit, Magnus passed through the grounds of the Great Hall and turned onto the wide, tree-lined walkway leading down past the academy campus to Fleet Headquarters, the Portal Center, and the vast landing fields beyond. At this time of day, the sidewalks were thick with fleet personnel, cadets and instructors, as well as parties of diplomats, travelers, and merchants who had business in the Great Hall.

After passing through a teeming square with a sparkling fountain, he was about to veer off onto a sidewalk leading to one of the entrances to headquarters when his ears picked up a distant voice urgently calling his name. He turned and searched the crowds in front of the entrance to the Portal Center, a wide smile spreading across his face when he recognized the lean, blue-gray skinned man in a well-worn brown overcoat hurrying in his direction.

“Jindo!” Magnus shouted as he rushed forward to meet his old friend, clapping the thin Aswani’s shoulders in happy greeting. “I was just talking about you! What a bizarre coincidence.”

Jindo Jin Sahn bobbed his head several times in his customary manner, his pale yellow eyes darting nervously at the people passing by. “Don’t ya tell me tings like dat, Magnoos,” the trader admonished in his own peculiar sing-songy version of Mothertongue. “Bad luck, bad luck it is.”

“Just as superstitious as ever, you old goat. What brings you to Tarsus?”

The Aswani bobbed his head again, his thin wisps of pale hair fluttering in the air. “You, Magnoos boy, you be my business.”

“What, you have something for me?”

“Oh, yassss, indeed I do.”

Instead of the usual gleam in his eyes over the prospect of scalping Magnus for a good chunk of change, the trader’s mouth twitched and he looked up at the Tarsian captain with an odd sobriety.

Magnus crossed his arms and cocked his head. “Well?”

“Not here,” Jindo fretted softly, “Too many eyes.”

“Alright, come on, we’ll find a place in the Portal Center where we can sit down and talk.”

Jindo nodded and turned to walk beside him as they headed toward the doors of Krii’s busy hub of commerce and transport. The trader’s characteristic swagger and stream of storytelling was strangely missing and Magnus wondered what could possibly have gotten under the crusty old swindler’s skin.

Navigating through the packed public areas filled with travelers and baggage, Magnus steered them down a side hallway to one of his favorite eateries where they were ushered to a semi-private booth near the side wall. After placing an order for two meals, Magnus clasped his hands in front of him and raised a questioning brow. “So spill the beans, Jindo. What’s bothering you? I’ve never seen you like this.”

The Aswani shoved his hand down into a deep pocket and pulled out a wad of surprisingly clean cloth. Holding it gingerly with one hand, he lifted the edges with great deliberation, careful not to touch the item within with his fingers, and held it out toward Magnus.

“Take it,” Jindo rasped, his yellow eyes boring into Magnus with pleading insistence.

Magnus held out one hand and Jindo dropped the shiny object into his palm, whisking the cloth away to stash it once again in the depths of his tattered coat.

“Now I done what he tol’ me. He can’t be comin’ afta me again,” the trader muttered feverishly, staring at the delicate gold construct laying in the Tarsian’s hand.

Magnus picked up the finely crafted piece with his fingers so he could examine it more closely. The outer shell of heavy gold wires formed a perfectly balanced octahedron, perhaps an inch in length along each edge, while the intricate network of interior wires cradled what appeared to be a tiny faceted red stone.

“What is it?” he asked, mesmerized by the look and feel of the strange object in his hand.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the Aswani replied with a tense shake of his head.

“How much?”

Jindo raised wide, fearful eyes and shook his head vehemently. “No money, Magnoos boy. He tol’ me it be for you. Made me swear to put it right in your hand. I be done wif da damn ting now.”

Magnus curled his fingers around the warm gold and tucked it into his palm, strangely comforted just by holding it, and looked up quizzically at the nervous trader. “Cut the cryptic crap, Jindo, and just tell me who gave this to you.”

The Aswani glanced around the crowded restaurant before turning his eyes back to Magnus. “Tall man like you, dark cloak, scaaary eyes dat burn right troo you, dey do. He be one of dem mages, I tell you Magnoos boy, mus be,” he proclaimed with a conspiratorial nod.

“A mage,” Magnus repeated flatly. “Like the Tahni?”

“I dunno, but maybe yes, like dem,” Jindo nodded.

“Jindo, they disappeared a thousand years ago,” Magnus sighed with mild exasperation. Alcyoni’s seventh planet of Ti’uan had vanished from the heavens with its entire population of Tahni mystics over a Tarsian millennium ago, surviving only in history books and Pleiadian legend.

“Ok, maybe not a mage den, but he give me da creeps, Magnoos boy, ever since dat day he tol’ me—” the trader broke off his words and glanced away from Magnus with a guilty twist to his mouth.

“Told you what?” Magnus snapped, irritated at the man’s peculiar evasiveness.

Jindo started to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of two heaping plates of aromatic noodles. Magnus slipped the small golden object into the inner pocket of his jacket where he could feel it resting next to his chest and picked up his utensils, digging into his food with gusto.

“He tol’ me about you.”

Magnus stopped mid-chew and glanced over at the thin man who sat watching him with a kind of leery speculation. “Go on,” he mumbled around a mouthful of savory vegetables.

“Way back in Pemba I be doin’ my business round da west market, and I walk past dis man in a dirty cloak sittin’ to da side of a shop and he points, see, and tells me I should go talk to dat boyo wif da black hair. I tink dis man be a beggar and maybe he hear you wantin’ to buy da good stuff, you know, sniffin’ a young guy wif money—”

“Yeah, yeah, easy mark, I know,” Magnus cut in while focusing on slurping a glob of wet noodles into his mouth.

“Well, I be excited to have dat tip, see, so I give him some money and he looks up at me wif dem eyes, first brown, den dey flash all violet and burnin’. Creepy, boyo.” The trader shivered and looked down at his untouched plate.

“Eat, will you?” Magnus prodded, waving his sticks at Jindo’s food.

“Dat man find me again, Magnoos boy,” the trader hissed fearfully as he picked up his own sticks and rested his hand on the table. “Two days ago in Kortera!”

The captain looked up at the mention of the capital city on far-off Unakiri in the Rasalhag system. Jindo’s penchant for swindling and exaggeration made it easy to dismiss targeting an off-world kid by market people or a pair of strange eyes, but it was highly unlikely that a beggar would have the means to track the trader down across star systems.

“Das right, it be weird, boyo. I be makin’ a deal wif dis woman outside a warehouse and I turn and dat man be standin’ behind me. Folk don’t mess wif guys in cloaks, so I run, see, but he comes afta me and grabs my coat, pushes me into dis alley up against da wall. Dis time his whole face under da hood changes—white skin, white hair, violet eyes.”

“Let me guess—burning eyes, right?”

“Yaasssss, right in my face, Magnoos.” Jindo swallowed loudly as his sticks fell limply against the table. “I be real scared, boyo, real scared.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Well, he um, he says my name, my whole name, in dat same quiet kind of voice as before in Pemba. Sends a jolt up me just to hear.”

“That’s pretty dangerous, Jindo.”

“He says yours, too, boyo! Dat man knows ‘zakly who you be, you watch it.”

“That is a bit creepy,” Magnus agreed, but somehow the notion didn’t have the same disturbing effect on him as it had on the wily old trader.

“He shoves dis white clof in my hand and says, ‘Don’t you be openin’ dis, Jindo Jin Sahn. You go straight to Tarsus and put dis ting into Magnoos Talrayseen’s hand or I be findin’ ya again.”

Magnus smiled to himself, starting to get a pretty good picture of Jindo’s terrifying encounter with the stranger on Unakiri. “So of course you opened it.”

The Aswani shrugged briefly. “I just takes a peek at it after da man be gone and it burns me, burns my fingers, it does. Dat ting be bad news, Magnoos.”

“I’ll deal with it. Did he say anything else?”

The trader bobbed his head several times. “Yas, yas. After he lets me go, he stands back. I tink he be goin’, but he says real quiet, ‘You ask dat Tarsian if he hear all da talk about da T’nari League.’”

Magnus’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What? What League?”

The Aswani sat forward, his nervous demeanor transforming mercurially into lathered excitement. “Boyo, der be talk all over de portal centers an’ markets where I be tradin’ about dis big group banded togedder out der fightin’ dem fuckin’ Drahks!”

Magnus dropped his hand to the table as his eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding. Who are they?”

“Der be many rumors I hear, Magnoos boy,” Jindo replied with a knowing nod, falling into the old storytelling mode Magnus remembered from many past encounters with the Aswani trader. “Folk say dem T’nari people be everywhere.”

“Could you be more specific, old man?” Magnus pressed, pouncing on the information like a hungry tiger. “If somebody’s out there fighting those bloody bastards, I want to know about it! We could really use some help here in the Pleiades.”

“Yeah, I tell ya, big man, but you might not believe—”

The trader’s words were abruptly drowned out by a loud siren sounding in the corridor outside the restaurant.

“Fucking hell!” Magnus swore, reaching into his pocket to pull out the headset he carried at all times. “They’re calling in the fleet. Hang on.”

Flipping on the receiver, he made a quick call to pick up the news being issued by headquarters. “Damn it, I’ve got to go!” Jumping up from his chair, he waved to the waiter and pulled out his wallet, quickly handing the man some money for the meal.

“Jindo, we’ve got a problem over Bandu, but I need to hear more about these League rumors and the mysterious guy who seems to know me. Will you be here when I get back?”

“’Fraid not, boyo,” the Aswani replied. “I already be late for some big tradin’ over Pemba way wif Miz Desta. I done my duty by da scary mage man so he don’t come afta me no more.”

“Then you keep that rickety ship of yours flying and stay out of trouble. I want to see you back here in one piece after you visit Sahara, you hear me? Bring me something cool to buy.” He grabbed Jindo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It was good to see you, even if you were sent by a scary man.”

“Keep yourself alive, Magnoos boy,” the Aswani replied with a crooked smile. “And don’t you be talkin’ ‘bout me.”

With a nod and a grin, Magnus turned and dashed out of the restaurant, tearing down the corridor as fast as he could around the clots of staring travelers. The siren shut off just as he burst into the vaulted open area and wove through the crowds, racing out the nearest exit onto the pavement bordering the landing fields.

Several large shuttles in front of Fleet Headquarters were filling up quickly with the officers and crewmen from the three starships on leave rotation as well as the Zephyr, technically down for repairs. He and his crew all knew they would only fly the run pending Xiangting’s seal of approval, but had answered the call and come running per fleet emergency protocols.

He jumped aboard the first of the Zephyr’s shuttles seconds before it took off across the concrete. His eyes searched the people running for the neighboring shuttles and caught sight of Hayk and Alasdair racing for the transport that would take them out to the Appin, temporarily docked on Krii’s landing field so Alasdair could attend the morning meeting with the high council.

Magnus squashed down a fleeting moment of heartache which he knew he couldn’t afford as he watched the faces of his friends disappear onto the crowded vehicle. He missed both of them terribly since they’d been given their commissions to lead Caledon’s new vessel. His logical mind understood and supported Miros’s selection of the two bright young officers, but his emotional self hadn’t ever quite come to terms with the loss of their daily companionship.

The shuttle tore across the pavement past several mid-sized craft and as it rounded the imposing hulk of the Corum, the sleek form of the Zephyr came into view. Magnus was dismayed to see that the forward quadrant damaged in the last skirmish was not completely repaired and he tensed with the thought that they might not be able to leave the ground. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt next to one of the open ramps, he bounded to the ground and charged up into the aft cargo hold where the rangy figure of Li Xiangting came running to meet him, his long black braid flipping in the air behind him.

“What’s the status, Xiangting? Can we fly?”

“Yes—I don’t like it, but I’ve given the go ahead to HQ,” the Chi’an engineer nodded with a frown. “I ordered the repairs to be made from the inner sections outward just in case this happened. It’s only the two outermost compartments near the front that are still under construction, but the rest of the ship is airtight—she’ll hold. Just take it easy until you get outside the atmosphere so you don’t rip apart the portions we haven’t finished.”

“Damn, you’re good,” Magnus commended, grateful for the umteenth time for the brilliant young engineer on loan from Chi who had proven to be a godsend for Tarsus’s own strapped technical teams. “So what am I down?”

“The damage didn’t hit any of the propulsion units or you wouldn’t be flying today. I reconfigured the hull arrays so your shield output should be up fifty percent in non-atmospheric conditions. All the forward laser cannons have been overhauled or replaced, except for the outermost port unit which was on the slate to be installed in two days. Sorry.”

“Are you kidding? I’m amazed at what you’ve done in just ten days. We’ll make it work.”

“Alright, I’ve told my teams to pack up and be off the ship in … six minutes,” the Chi’an snapped off, glancing at the nearest clock. “Just bring her back in one piece so we can finish.”

“Yes, sir!” Magnus grinned, slapping the man on the shoulder. “You’re the best, Xiangting.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” the engineer mumbled with a sideways smile before stalking down the ramp toward the pavement.

As Magnus started across the bay toward the stairs at the back, he flipped his headset to an open channel to make a quick call to his wife. Mara answered after one buzz, her voice shaking with distress. “I heard the sirens—are you leaving?”

“Yeah, Bandu’s been hit. Most of the fleet is already over there.”

“Come home to me, Mag.”

“I will. Give Kahl a squeeze for me. I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

Magnus swallowed hard as he switched off the link. No matter how many times he went through this, somehow it never got any easier to say goodbye to her. With a quick shake of his head, he sped up three flights of stairs two at a time, hurrying down the long corridor to the bridge at the heart of the ship.

The moment he entered the softly lit room with the bright holo of Tarsus shining at the center, Hurik’s head rose expectantly from the command console. “Are we—”

“We got the ok from Xiangting—we’re going,” he confirmed quickly, glancing around the room at the still-empty stations. “Crew status?”

“We’re at thirty-six percent so far, Captain. Crew members are still pouring in from shuttles and over the ramp from HQ.”

“Thanks, Hurik,” he mumbled with an inward groan as he sat down next to his proper first officer. The woman was sharp, had quick reflexes, solid judgment, was an outstanding officer on all counts, but he still couldn’t get her to call him by his first name, a small point which made Al’s absence all that much more pronounced.

Magnus switched his headset to monitor the admiral’s open channel connecting the four ships and scanned the screens across the console, watching each one come to life as his crew arrived and ran through emergency lift-off protocols at break-neck speed. Within a few short minutes, the Zephyr was humming and ready to run. As the last of the bridge officers flew into the room, he glanced aside at the screen Hurik hovered over intently.

“Ninety-six percent, Captain,” she relayed briskly. “All critical personnel present and at their stations.”

Magnus pulled down his mic and switched to a ship-wide link. “Alright everyone—outstanding response time. We have the green light to fly with the Corum. Bandu is under full assault, both portals. All hands stand ready for battle. Strap yourselves in or stay close to the grips.”

Switching off the link, he turned toward his tactical officers. “Rob, the tech team didn’t get one of the forward cannons mounted.”

“Yep, I see it didn’t load on my screens. We’ll make do with the other two on that side.”

“They’ve all been recalibrated so you should see better performance over last time.”

“Great—Xiangting, right?” Rob nodded with satisfaction as he made adjustments to the controls in front of him.

“You got it. Thora, you should also see a drastic improvement on shields,” Magnus advised across the consoles as his headset crackled with Miros’s voice issuing orders. “The Corum’s ready for lift-off. Rhona, follow her up to the gate behind the Loki and Appin,” he said with a nod to the navigation officer at the console beside Hurik. “Take it nice and slow. We’re under orders from the Master Engineer not to mess up his handiwork.”

Magnus adjusted the holo to a view of the Corum rising up off landing field, followed moments later by the other two starships. The pavement next to the long wings of headquarters looked bleakly empty as the Zephyr lifted off and turned to bring up the rear of the ascending party of ships.

As Rhona navigated the Zephyr along the coordinates up through the portal locks, the Corum disappeared through the transport gate with the Loki and Appin following closely behind.

“Thora, shields up the instant we’re through. Rob, Ari, be ready to fire,” Magnus ordered. “Rhona, takes us through.”

As the Zephyr headed into the Tarsian gate and emerged out of the ring over Bandu, the radiant reddish glow of Merope’s mid-sized fifth planet filled the holographic space at the center of the room. The twin portals of the arid world were situated in close proximity within the same quadrant, directly above the two largest land masses where the bulk of the population was concentrated.

Magnus shifted the holo into a close-up view of the primary portal and a separate view of the secondary portal while the sensors took energetic readings. The flickering light of disruptor discharge from Drahkian ships sweeping through the Pleiadian array blossomed through the main holo like strings of mini fireworks. The Meropean vessels ranging across the space between the orbiting stations held their ground, sending a blitz of beams up into the swooping warships while Ki’an and Tarsian starships blasted from behind, driving the invaders away from the locked grid. Predictably, the warships vanished just beyond the portal’s perimeter and reappeared several miles out where numerous bands of dark gray discs hung in suspension above Bandu’s grid, just far enough away to make it foolhardy to go after them.

Magnus shook his head in disgust. This same pathetic scenario had played itself out time and time again—the huddled Pleiadian sheep waited over the portal to be swarmed by packs of circling rabid wolves who could appear and disappear at will. It was maddening and absurd, like a dream gone terribly wrong on endless replay, and there wasn’t a damned thing any of them could do about it.

“By the Prime,” Hurik whispered as her eyes scanned over the flocks of warships. “So many.”

“Yep. With every new conquest, the bastard gains more wealth to expand,” Magnus growled, muting his mic and shifting the admiral’s channel to speaker so the bridge officers could follow his reports and orders.

“Amara’s got every single Meropean vessel on the field, spread over the two portals,” Miros’s deep voice relayed. “Tanamar brought in thirty-two Birdwings and we’re the last of the Alcyoni vessels to come through. Looks like Salaal’s up to the same old shit.” The undertone of aggravation in the admiral’s voice was evident. Miros was a brilliant man and Magnus knew that he and the other two admirals were at their wits’ end to come up with effective tactics against the ruthless invaders and their disruptive technology.

“There don’t appear to be any gate dogs waiting for us this time,” Al noted across the link.

“Nope, doesn’t look like Salaal cares how many of us come through,” the admiral grumbled. “He’s got at least a dozen new ships out there from the counts Amara gave me.”

“Then they’ve got more than we do for the first time,” Asta observed sourly. “That doesn’t bode well for Bandu.”

“Tanamar’s directing the forces over the second portal, including all of our Chi’an and Niemian ships. We’ll slide in down below to assist Amara’s forces and our Ki’an and Tarsian vess—hang on.” Miros’s voice paused as he tuned into a separate relay. “Another Birdwing contingent is about to come through. We’ve got to move, people.”

As the flagship shifted down and away from the gate, the Zephyr banked gently to take up a position alongside the other two Tarsian ships behind the larger vessel. Magnus shifted his gaze to the console screen showing the view of the gate behind them just as the bright golden flash of the lead Birdwing shot through the ring like a burnished bullet. A heartbeat later, a second ship pushed through, followed by six more bursts of light until the entire wing of graceful ships hovered in space above the Tarsian vessels.

“Sorry we’re late, Admiral,” Yuri’s voice broke in over the channel. “We just got back from Caph and heard there was trouble over here.”

“Glad to have you,” Miros responded. “We’ll be—”

“Incoming!!” Asta barked as a cluster of six dark gray discs swept in from the flank of the Loki and opened fire on the Tarsian vessels.

“Hold on, people!” Magnus shouted to his officers, grabbing the grip bars on his console as the Zephyr rocked. A glance at Thora’s startled face as she scanned over her readings told him Xiangting’s improvements to their shields were working their magic. The officer raised her eyes to his and shook her head. “Not a scratch, Captain,” she reported. “Holding steady.”

The large forward viewscreen on Magnus’s console blazed with light as the Birdwings showered the warships with return fire. The Drahkian ships ceased their bombardment under the Maians’ barrage, veering away from the Tarsian vessels to disappear once again.

“Well, I guess they’re not too happy we came to join the party after all,” Miros declared. “Let’s take this away from the gate, folks. They need us down there over the portal.”

“Rhona, keep us in formation behind the Corum until we’re given new orders,” Magnus charged. “Rob, Ari, stay alert in case that warband comes back.”

As the Zephyr angled away to follow the flagship in its descent toward the battlefield, Magnus’s headset beeped softly and Yuri’s voice came through on a private channel.

“You’re ship’s looking a bit worse for the wear and tear, Mag,” the Tori chided, knowing full well what had happened in the last skirmish over Bandu ten days prior.

“We’re flying,” Magnus retorted. “At least my ship’s bigger than yours, birdman.”

“It’s not the size that counts,” Yuri needled in a silky voice. “Watch out, Mag—I’ve got your tail in my sights.”

“Shut up, you kinky bastard.”

Flipping off the channel to the sound of Yuri’s laughter, Magnus glanced aside and was surprised to see a smile playing at the side of Hurik’s mouth as she studiously poured over her readings. There was hope for the woman yet, he thought with a silent sigh, pulling himself forward in his chair.

As the party descended, the holo lit up with the weapon fire from another attack, this time from three groups of warships sweeping in from incoming points just beyond the portal. Sparks flew from the rear quarter of one of the Ki’an ships that had darted in with two other vessels to fire on one of the enemy bands.

“The Jutsu’s taken a hit,” Hurik noted, her eyes glued to the images weaving through the holo.

“Yeah, I know, but she’s still in one piece. Let’s hope they’re—yesss!” Magnus exclaimed, slapping his hand on the console as two Meropean vessels blasted the warband that had turned to take another pass at the wounded ship. The side of one of the discs burst into flames and the ship dropped like a stone toward the portal’s grid, exploding in a shower of light as soon as it hit the energetic field.

As the Tarsian party dropped the last few thousand feet toward the portal, the open channel crackled as Miros pulled Amara Tungo’s frequency into the link.

“By the Prime, are we glad to see all of you,” the Meropean admiral exclaimed. “Salaal’s been hanging back to watch ever since they got here, sending in sweeps like that last one, probably just to test out the skills of his newest captains,” she complained, clearly irritated at the thought of their fleet being used for target practice.

“Any runs on the portal?” Miros queried.

“No, not yet. The ships he sent in must not be equipped to burn through the locks. I expect him to unleash the rest of his mongrels any time, especially now that you’re here.”

Magnus exchanged a look with Hurik and shook his head. The Drahkian warlord had never acknowledged the Meropean admiral and had probably held back his full assault until a leader arrived whom he deemed worthy of crushing. “Damned peacock wants an audience for his bloodbath,” he spat with disgust.

“A male audience,” Hurik corrected softly.

Miros growled with exasperation over the channel. “Alright, folks, let’s get to work. Yuri, take your wing on a random course just outside the perimeter and break up the Drahkian formations whenever you can. Asta, you’re with me. We’ll join the Meropean forces defending across the portal. Magnus, Al, you two start a sweep over the portal stations.”

“Got it,” Magnus acknowledged, muting his mic to issue orders to his officers. “Rhona, open a direct link with Jeanie Campbell on the Appin to coordinate our movements with theirs—you take the lead. Set a course as soon as we’re in range of the closest station and keep it haphazard so we’re not an easy mark.”

“Aye, Captain,” the red-headed Caledoni confirmed, her fingers flying over the console to set up the new path.

Magnus opened a second channel to the Appin and put it on speaker. “Al, you and that lazy first officer ready to roll?”

“Nah, but the rest of these people seem to know what they’re doing,” Al’s voice drawled over the com.

“Take him back, Mag, please. We’ll gift wrap him,” Hayk teased as the two ships banked into their new course, passing over the first blinking portal station.

Opening a third holo to display the paths of the two ships, Magnus laughed. “Not a chance, Hayk. Hurik doesn’t whine as much as he did,” he retorted, flashing his blushing first officer a roguish grin. Her small smile faded quickly as she studied the large holo of the portal space and perimeter.

“Captain,” she said with a quivering voice. “They’re coming—all of them.”

Magnus’s eyes flew to the images of the dark discs several miles beyond the portal. Instead of jumping across the space in groups to rain bursts of havoc into the Pleiadian array as they had in the past, the warships were moving en masse toward the orbiting stations, tightening the noose in a painfully slow display. The bottom holo of the other portal showed the same stratagem being implemented by the warships surrounding Tanamar’s patrolling forces.

The captain shook his head. He could well imagine the sneer spread over Salaal’s pebbled face as he sat and watched the drama unfold. “Damn it,” he breathed softly as his stomach clenched with tension. “All for show, just to make us squirm.”

“It’s working,” Hurik muttered, scanning the approaching warships intently, her fine features drawn taut with apprehension.

The warships came within five miles of the stations and began to circle. Magnus kept his eyes glued to the holo as the Zephyr rose and wove alongside the Appin in an erratic path above the stations. A streak of gold flashed across the viewscreens as Yuri’s Birdwings zoomed past in their sweep through the perimeter.

“Here they come!” Al blared across the link as the circling gray discs broke into groups and raced across the empty space from multiple directions.

“Hurik, keep your eyes on the angles and paths of the warships. Let me know the second we’re targeted,” Magnus directed, watching more than a dozen bands of discs converge on the Pleiadian forces.

“This group of four is headed straight for the next portal station,” she pointed out, highlighting the ships in red within the shimmering holos. “It looks like each group is targeting a station on its way in.”

“We’ll aim for the closest. Rhona, take us down, but keep us above their current altitude. I want to drop and strike before they reach the station,” Magnus instructed while Amara rapped out orders over the relay for other vessels to cover the rest of the stations.

“Al, we’ll hit the far pair. The other two are yours.”

“You got it, bro.”

The Zephyr banked over the station with the Appin on its tail and headed out toward the oncoming warships. “Wait for it—drop!” Magnus roared. “Rob, fire! Ari, full aft cannons as they pass!”

The ship lurched downward and vibrated as the forward cannons sprayed the Drahkian vessels with a shower of fire. It shook again, much harder as the warships hit them with several volleys of disruptor blasts. Magnus grabbed the grip bars on his console for support while Ari pounded the warships with a barrage from the rear.

“Come about!” he shouted, scanning the screens for indications of damage to the Zephyr as well as the warships. “Thora, shields?”

“Holding steady, Captain. No damage.”

“Al?”

“We’re ok—some minor damage.”

“One of the warships took a hit,” Rob reported while the Zephyr made a tight turn back toward the orbiting station. “A trail of debris is floating between us and the portal. The Birdwings took out the lead ship in another formation.”

“The group we struck veered off course and barely grazed the station when they passed,” Hurik added, studying the flight patterns of the ships on her screens before sucking in a quick breath. “They turned and are heading straight for the Corum and Loki … and so are three other clusters,” she finished, looking up with wide eyes.

Magnus quickly popped his mic back on. “Miros! They’re coming after you!”

“We see them. If they’re so hot for my blood, we’ll let them chase us up away from the portal. Time to pull some dragons out of our back pockets, folks. Tarsian navigation officers, shoot toward the coordinates I’m sending out and fall in behind the Corum when we get there. Ki’an nav officers, head for these coordinates and line up behind the Senshi. Yuri, sweep in just above the portal and see if you can keep those bastards from punching through.”

“What about Amara?” Al piped in. “Looks like they’re gunning for the Nomvikeli on the far side.”

“Don’t worry—she’s got some surprises up her sleeve. Let’s go!”

Magnus muted his line and glanced over at Rhona.

“I’ve got it, Captain,” she confirmed with a nod while her hands flew over the controls.

As the Zephyr shifted course and raced upward toward the meeting point, Magnus shut down the image of the stations behind them and enlarged the holo of the entire portal space. Seconds before the four warship bands converged on the flagship, the Corum shot up with the Loki and pulled quickly around in a tight turn, sending a burst of fire across one of the groups before they rose again and darted just beneath the bellies of a second formation, scoring the Drahkian vessels with a swath of cannon fire.

“She’s a fucking great pilot,” Magnus whispered under his breath as he watched the pair of graceful starships pull up and away from the criss-crossing mass of larger warships.

“Who, Lita Silésian?” Hurik asked beside him. The admiral’s fireball wife was the navigation officer steering the Corum.

“Yeah. She was the best in our class years ago at the academy. Miros knew what he was doing when he married that one. I bet she’s just as good—” Magnus broke off and cleared his throat before he said something hideously inappropriate. “They make a damned good team,” he mumbled as his serious first officer twisted her mouth to keep from smiling.

“The rendezvous point is just ahead, Captain,” Rhona called out.

“Ok, stay sharp, people. The Corum and Loki are coming in with four warships on their tail,” Magnus observed and flipped on his mic. “Al, let’s cut those bastards off to give Miros some room to maneuver.”

“Right behind you, Mag.”

“Rhona, take us right across the warband’s nose and then whip us around so we can slide into formation near the end. Rob and Ari, fire a blitz in their faces as we cross in front of them. I don’t care if you hit anything—just blind them for a few seconds to throw them off.”

The Zephyr shifted its course and headed for the oncoming warships. As the Corum shot past, the Loki banked away while Miros began shouting orders across the link to collect the converging Tarsian starships into a line trailing tightly behind the flagship.

Rhona dipped the Zephyr and brought the ship charging up at an angle across the path of the lead warship.

“Fire!” Magnus ordered and held on as the ship shook from the discharging cannons and a burst of return fire from the warship. The Zephyr pulled into a sharp turn with the Appin close on its heels and bolted forward in a burst of speed to join the Tarsian formation.

“The warships steered away from our barrage, but they’re coming up again behind us,” Hurik exclaimed.

“Got it. The Loki’s waiting for us up ahead. Hold steady, Rhona, and lock us into the Corum’s flightpath five hundred feet behind the last ship.”

“Thanks for the cover, people,” Asta’s voice broke in over the channel. “You two go ahead and fall in. We’ll cover the rear—we’ve got bigger aft cannons.”

“Mmm, yes, you do, big girl,” Alasdair teased.

“Watch it, pipsqueak,” the senior captain retorted as the Loki opened fire on the lead warship and came into position behind them.

The Corum was already whipping through the northern third of the portal zone like a vengeful god, pulling the Tarsian ships behind it in a serpentine chain and firing on the first Drahkian vessels in its path. As soon as the Corum passed over and blasted a target, the next ship fired and then the next, hammering precision shots at the same coordinates on a single warship to weaken its shields.

Magnus watched the coordinates feeding into their systems from the Corum fly across the screens on his console. “Looks like our first mark is already wounded,” he pointed out as the Zephyr sped along its roller coaster path toward a disabled gray disc being pummeled by the passing Tarsian vessels.

“We’re ready,” Rob confirmed, his eyes glued to his screens and controls. As the Zephyr came within range of the floating ship, the officers fired long, hard bursts onto a darkened patch on its hull in the few flash seconds they had before passing out of range. In the next instant, the warship exploded, shooting debris outward in a bright display.

Down below, the Corum shot into the midst of a large batch of warships that had banded together, sending the slower gray discs into chaotic disarray as the Pleiadian dragon tore through, blasting in all directions. The Drahkian vessels returned fire, but the erratic path of the line of smaller ships made them difficult to hit. Two more warships lit with showers of sparks as the piercing beams from the passing Tarsian vessels found their marks, rupturing both vessels after the fifth ship’s pass.

Abruptly the entire bevy of warships disappeared from the field and reappeared a short distance away where they quickly reorganized into a new formation. Moments later, six other discs transported directly into positions at the vanguard of the Drahkian formation.

The Corum glided upward and slowed, leading the Tarsian line in a sinewy curve away from the large warband while Miros’s laughing voice came on over the channel. “Bingo! Those new ships in front just confirmed my hunch. I’ve been watching their movements and I’ve pinned Salaal’s ship. All of you, key your holos into mine—I’ve marked the flagship in red.”

Magnus quickly picked up the frequency and zoomed the display in on the warband where one of the discs near the center of the diamond formation was highlighted in bright red. “Damn,” he whispered under his breath, amazed once again at Miros’s sharp wits.

“The Ki’ans destroyed two discs on the far side with these same tactics and Amara’s new spinning formations brought down four more.”

“I bet Salaal’s mad as hell,” Asta reckoned over the link. “He’s lost most of the new numbers he just brought in over this portal alone.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s in a lather,” Miros agreed. “They’re starting to move. Let’s nail this motherfucker while we know where he is! Stay with me, people.” The channel went quiet while the admiral issued orders to his crew for a new course.

Magnus glanced around the silent room at the fierce concentration on his officers’ faces. They all knew the ride was about to get bumpy again and that the lives of everyone on board, not to mention the millions down below on Bandu, rode on each of their shoulders. An instant’s hesitation or miscalculation could very well turn them all into vapor and dust particles.

As the Corum came around, leading its long line of shimmering, sleek vessels, the flock of warships moved slowly across the portal space, by all outward appearances in no hurry to engage the Tarsian forces. A patch of gold flickered in Merope’s sunlight as Yuri’s wing patrolled the space down below the warships, no doubt keeping an eye on the gray disc Miros tagged as Salaal’s.

The Zephyr lurched forward as the admiral’s ship picked up speed. “Here we go,” Rhona announced briskly, setting the controls to keep the Zephyr accurately positioned in the Tarsian lineup.

The Corum wove an erratic path as it accelerated and raced toward the oncoming discs. Just out of firing range, it dropped below the warband’s altitude and pulled up again in a tight curve, rocketing up through one side of the diamond array, spraying fire on the four closest warships. The Drahkian formation wobbled and opened fire, a heartbeat too late to catch the Corum as it shot passed, scattering further as the second and third Tarsian ships burst through with all cannons blazing.

Magnus kept his eyes pinned on the bright holo while Rhona guided the Zephyr down into the curve to fly in under the scrambling warband. Lita was already bringing the Corum back around, angling the dragon to make another pass across the gray discs.

“Magnus,” Miros called sharply across the open channel. “We’ve got one shot at Salaal before he transports away. While his eyes are on me, break off your run and come up underneath him. Al, Asta, follow Mag’s lead and pound the daylights out of that bastard. We’ll hit him from above.”

“Got it!” Magnus confirmed, shifting his mic to a channel with the Appin and Loki. “Rhona, keep us on track a few more seconds. Steady—now! Head for Salaal’s ship and bring us up next to the closest rim.”

The Zephyr peeled away from the Tarsian line, bulleting toward one of the discs just off center in the formation as the Corum raced downward, feinting toward the far edge of the diamond before shifting course abruptly to come in for a strike on the opposite side of the flagship.

“Rob, fire everything you’ve got, single point!” Magnus bellowed as the Zephyr shot up from below a few hundred feet from the bulky dark warship. “Ari, aft cannons, same point!”

The Zephyr shook from the vibrations of its cannons as well as a sudden blitz of fire from the Drahkian vessel. As the ship tore up and away, the Corum pounded a stream of blasts at the apex of the disc while the Appin launched its few seconds of heavy assault on the rim and followed close behind the Zephyr.

The warship rocked as a piece of the rim exploded and broke away. The Loki came on right behind the Appin, hammering steadily at the gaping hole in the warship’s hull for several seconds before the damaged vessel and the rest of the warband vanished from the field.

“Level us out, Rhona,” Magnus ordered, scanning the holo for the reappearance of the warband.

“There,” Hurik exclaimed the instant the cluster reappeared behind them just outside the portal zone.

The Corum circled with the seven other Tarsian starships in tow. “Well, we took a bite out of him,” Miros remarked over the com. “If we hit Salaal, I’m sure he’ll be coming after us. Stay sharp, people.”

“They’ll be back any second—” Magnus predicted just as six dark discs appeared right in front of the Zephyr and opened fire. “Rob, lock on and fire! Rhona, hard to port!” he shouted, grabbing hold of the console as the ship quaked under the thunder of continuous blasts. “Ari, hit them as they pass!”

“The shields are taking a beating, Captain!” Thora cried out. “If they dip any further, they may rupture.”

“They’re sweeping right over us!” Hurik wailed over the rumbling noise. “The Appin’s taking heavy fire! So is the Loki!”

Magnus’s eyes flew to his rear viewscreen which flashed with the bright light of multiple beams raining destruction over the Appin’s frame.

“Al! Hayk!” he screeched over the link, “Drop your altitude! Get out of there!”

“No good! Another group just appeared below us off starboard!” Al yelled. “They’re coming on hard! Shit!”

The sound of explosions echoed over the channel before they abruptly ceased. The viewscreen blazed with light as the Appin burst into pieces.

“Al!” Magnus screamed, clutching his console as his chest constricted and his stomach turned inside out. The Zephyr shook from the onslaught of the second set of warships. From somewhere far away, he heard himself issuing brisk orders. “Ari, fire aft cannons! Rhona, bring us back around starboard and climb five hundred feet. We’ve got to go back and help the Loki.”

A flash of gold zoomed across his screens an instant before one of the warships exploded and he heard Miros’s voice shouting something about the Loki’s heavy damage. The pounding seemed to stop all of a sudden and the warships disappeared from his screens. He sat back and listened to Thora’s report of the damage to the Zephyr and watched Ari slump over his console. Beside him, Hurik’s shaking voice put in a call to the Zephyr’s deathwalker, asking the man to help take care of the people from the Appin.

The hideous sound of Salaal’s angry shrieking pierced Magnus’s floating awareness and he looked up at the reptile’s loathsome image looming above them in the holo display Hurik must have opened.

“How dare you touch me, filthy human! How dare you!!” the warlord raged, obviously only interested in addressing Miros. “I’ve had enough of this tiresome game. You’ve cost me far too much in this campaign—ships, crews, property, equipment. This world is mine! Do you hear me? And I’m coming for Dashen and Sahara. You tell them to be ready to submit or they will die. There is no other choice. And if you get in my way again, Miros of Alcyone, I will crush you and all of your paltry vessels.” The Drahk waved an angry hand and the transmission instantly snapped off.

Magnus dropped his gaze to the bright holo of the portal space where the images of the Drahkian vessels blinked out, only to reappear a moment later in a formation of concentric circles contracting downward toward the grid. At the center of the top circle, Salaal’s damaged flagship appeared, hanging in suspension for several heartbeats before it slowly, insolently descended through the ranks of protection. Just above the grid, the ship paused and hovered while a soft, barely perceptible glow formed across the hull. As the dark disc dropped into the locks, the glow blazed into white-hot heat, searing through the energetic weavings set by the orbiting stations. The circles of warships shifted into motion, spiraling downward after the flagship and disappeared through the rewoven grid.

Tanamar Rimstrider’s frustrated voice broke in over the admirals’ channel. “They just shot past us and burned through the secondary portal. Bandu’s gone.”