Soul Jacker - Original Fiction - Military Sci-Fi Space

[Kris Wicker]

All right, here is the next novel I would like to lay out. I have always loved sci fi with space ship blowing each other up, so of course that had to be involved!

It clocks in at almost 90k words, set as a stand alone, but can flow into a series if there is enough interest

Here is the book cover, below.



Massive fleets and secret ships assemble. Escalating tension along their border demanded a decisive encounter. Among the numerous ships filling the night sky two commanders prepare, each believing in their own cause. Both of them have their own secret super weapon to deploy to guarantee victory.

Evandor, of the Earth Core Republic, brings a powerful but conventional weapon. Corso, of the United Free Tribes, brings something different. A new technology never conceived of before that he calls the Soul Jacker.

They race towards mutual destruction trying to out pace their rival. It doesn't matter because nothing goes as a planned when the aftermath brings an unexpected horror. Death leads to life. Betrayal and temptation intertwine. Loyalty is questioned, and the universe will never be the same.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 1
Frontier Space, with in the United Free Tribes territory, just beyond the border.

"Massive fleets and secret ships," Lieutenant Toshiro Huttori muttered under his breath as he made the way to the bridge of his scout frigate. "And we have to find both."

It was four hours before his shift was supposed to start, but since he could not sleep and the scout frigate, Highwayman, was his ship, he was going to start early anyway.

He twisted his stocky frame as he passed another crewmember through the cramped corridors of the ship. He had to carefully duck his head to avoid hitting it on the thick cables hanging in the corner. Nearly every day he found himself wishing the ship designers had given the crew area more space to make it more livable on these long missions.

Today his mind was consumed with far bigger issues. In his head, he kept replaying the last briefing with War Admiral Evandor. It was the same mission given to every scout commander in the 5th​ fleet. Though it was nearly two months ago, he could relive the moment as if he was still standing there with Evandor's dark eyes boring into him. "Find the biggest enemy fleet ever assembled," the Admiral had said, "and a new ship design we believe is a super weapon."

Granted, those were not his exact words, but it was the distilled essence of the message. Evandor didn't have to spell out that the enemy was The United Free Tribes star nation because it was understood that they are the threat on this border. Huttori's lip curled at the thought of the disgusting bioengineering practices they forced on their people.

He had joined the military because at one time he thought he could be the hero to liberate the Tribe citizens from their unnatural practices. When he realized they were too far-gone he had to refocus his goals to prevent them from spreading their abhorrent practices. Humans are supposed to be humans, clean and pure as possible.

It bothered him how the Tribe had become increasingly aggressive over the last five years. It was especially disconcerting how they were now were amassing an invasion fleet ready to pour towards the planets of the Earth Core Republic (ECR). Evandor in turn was assembling the 5th​ Combined Arms Space Fleet (CASF) that was tasked to defend this frontier. Huttori just had to find the enemy's staging area in the vastness of their boundaries.

"Massive fleets and secrets ships," he muttered again as he came up to the door of the bridge. It sensed his arrival and slid out of his way.

"At ease," he said before any of the crew could react to his arrival. "Status report?"

"Probes are deployed along assigned sectors," said second lieutenant Uleski, who was overseeing the third shift of the bridge crew. "We are compiling information. No anomalies yet to be detected."

Huttori nodded as he made his way to his command chair that Uleski departed. His eyes swept over the monitors and readout displays. Everything looked in order. He sat down and skimmed over the reports from the other scout frigates with the 5th​ Fleet. Coming up empty, his gaze settled on the forward view port out into empty space.

He was not fond of rushing when trying to find the enemy. Effective deep space scouting depended on careful planning, intentional movements, and extreme discretion. To go hurtling through space racing to find armed and hostile ships was begging for disaster. Yet, he understood the urgency of his task, and how critical it was to Operation Storm Anvil. He had to be willing to take risks to find the Tribes so they could be stopped.

Yet, he could do little until they received some contact or clues as to where the Tribe fleet was assembling. His idle eyes fell onto Ensign Muller, one of his two sensor officers on duty. She had lost one of her brothers only a month ago during a skirmish.

Next to her was Ensign Weber, the lead pilot on this shift. His home planet was in the border zone. The Tribes had raided it three times this last year alone. Each time striking hospitals and stealing genetic materials and bio-tech. At first the Republic was surprised the Tribes targeted hospitals and medical facilities, but they shouldn't have been. Every citizen of the United Free Tribes reveled in being a bio-engineered freak that melded animal DNA to their human forms. He didn't want to think what they were doing with the stolen genetic material.

Weber did not lose anyone close to him during the raids, but the threat of the Tribes was very real to him. Huttori grimaced at the thought of the genetic tampering the Tribes engaged in and what they planned to do with what they stole from the Republic. "Damn tamps," he said using the common slur used to refer to the tribes.

"Sir?" asked Uleski.

"It's nothing," Huttori whispered waving the thought away with his hand. He had not realized he'd cursed out loud.

Uleski's eyes glanced at the scout reports on the monitor attached to the armrest on Huttori's chair. "Any word on the ship?"

"Nothing at all," Huttori said, knowing that Uleski was referring to the mystery ship. They all knew it was part of their mission to find this new secret weapon.

"What do you think it might do?" asked Weber, whose ears had perked at the mention of the alleged secret weapon. "Do you think it has something to do with the bio-tech raids?"

"I heard they call it the Soul Jacker," said Muller jumping in. "What do you think that's about?"

"Yes," cut in Huttori, "ECR Intelligence has caught the name, Soul Jacker, but let's not speculate on what it is supposed to do." His voice low as was his habit. He had heard plenty of rumors as well, from planet buster to soul snatcher. "No one can confirm if it actually exists. So let's not define what it may or may not do. We don't want our expectations to blind us from whatever it ends up being."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

"Just keep your mind and eyes open. We'll figure it out," said Huttori. Everyone was on edge with the magnitude of danger and importance of their assignment.

The rest of the crew went back to their monitors in silence. Huttori casually let his hand drop on the armrest and his fingers fell on the cyberjack access cable. He ran his finger over the connector that when pulled out and connected to the port behind his right ear would allow him to send his consciousness into the machine. Doing so greatly enhanced the crew's speed and coordination making it standard military combat doctrine.

What bothered him was that how many civilians used the slang term, soul jacking, for it. He didn't like the concept that it was his soul being transferred to the machine. He shook his head, a slight grimace on his face. He didn't really believe that was the case, but the new weapons name being, Soul Jacker, did nothing to ease his tension.

"Probe three found traces of jump drive distortions," said Ensign Muller. Her words captured Huttori's attention. Their own ship had been sitting recharging their jump drive coils at star point RF-471. A location rich in the solar radiation necessary for his faster than light reactors, but not much else.

"On screen, show me the distances," he said, his voice monotone. The small 3-D projector at the front of the bridge came to life showing the planetary systems involved.

"How many jump signatures?"

"Two signatures. Analysis suggests departures from solar orbit of the Turrin Star System.

Huttori leaned forward. It was the first real contact anyone had reported. "Relay coordinates to the rest of the scouts. We will go in for a closer look."

"Set coordinates for one of the pirate points in the system?" asked Weber. Even though he was part of the less experienced third bridge crew, he anticipated the next move precisely.

Huttori still ran over his options. Pirates recharged their ships at these remote points near an active sun. They were usually on the sun-exposed side of the nearest planet in orbit. It took longer to recharge jump drives from that distance, but it made ships harder to detect and kept them away from the open space that most ships used.

"Correct, set coordinates and prepare for jump," Huttori said. He glanced over at the jump drive energy readouts and they were partially green. The first use would drain most of the energy reserves, but would leave enough for a short jump if needed.

The small bridge crew went through the paces preparing for the jump. With all the preparations complete, Huttori gave the order to initiate the jump drive.

Under full surge the jump drive system emitted energy waves that latched onto the fabric of time and space and carried itself into a place that was neither here or there, nor now or then. Everything felt like it shifted sideways as time and matter rippled. Altering the energy flows caused the ship and the crew to materialize in the new location almost instantly.

Appearing at their intended coordinates, the proximity alert immediately flashed red and wailed its audio alert. In front of them, taking up the entirety of the forward view port was an obscenely large ship.

Huttori and his crew sat in silent shock. They were used to dealing in distances of hundreds of thousands of kilometers, having an enemy ship sitting practically within arm's reach was a worst-case scenario. His lightly armed and armored scout frigate relied on speed and the vast distances of space to stay safe.

"We have contact!" said Muller, her voice emitting a tinge of a shrill sound that normally was absent.

"I can see that!" said Huttori as his eyes widened and darted to the details of the ship's hull in front of him. He couldn't see much, but he could tell by the design style that it was not on his side. The missile tubes casually pointing right at him meant it was heavily armed and more than just random pirates.

His eyes glanced at the 3-D projector watching ships pop up all around his frigate as the computer compiled the data coming from the scanners. He had stumbled into the enemy fleet, and they were in deep.

"They haven't reacted yet," stated Weber. He managed to keep his voice calm, as was the trait of any good pilot. "There is no way they didn't notice the jump drive trace we just created."

"I'm sure they did," said Huttori, "but we're so damn close they probably haven't figured out what happened or who we are. Everyone, cyberjack in now!"

Each crewmember reached to the hardline cyberjack cable at their console, pulled it out and plugged it into the cyberjack port at the base of their skull behind their right ear. They quickly tightened the harness strapping them to their chairs and then lowered the helmet built into their chairs to keep their heads secured.

Their bodies safe, they sent their essence through the cybercable. They felt themselves rush into the computer mainframe where time slowed as their senses connected with the powerful computer and sensor equipment of the ship. They were no longer hampered by the need to use verbal words, or physical actions, greatly increasing their coordination and efficiency which were paramount to success in battle.

The crews' cyberselves materialized in a computerized rendition of the bridge to give them something familiar to ground themselves in order to prevent excessive mental load. They sat in the same chairs, in front of the same consoles, but the walls were gone as they transcended beyond themselves becoming one with the ship's sensors.

"Suggest evasive maneuvers, Lieutenant?" thought spoke Weber.

Connected to the ships sensors, Huttori could feel the enemy craft surrounding him. His vision shifted to cybersight and he took in all the enemy ships around him. His connection with the frigates optic package allowed him to focus in as if he was standing within arms of reach of each enemy ship. None of them had yet reacted to his sudden arrival, but it wouldn't take long so they had to act fast.

Igniting the engines would cause a large energy signature that would be noticed immediately and the shooting would start quickly. Stay still and quiet, or make run for it? He silently cursed himself for jumping into this spot. He should have anticipated that the enemy would have ships at the pirate points.

"Power down all systems, collect as much data as you can, prepare to send trans-"

"We have movement!" said Muller. "They found us!"

Huttori watched as ships adjusted their vector confirming Muller's words.

"Engage engines, full thrust, stay close to this ship's hull for protection," said Huttori changing his plans in a heartbeat. "Spin the jump coils. Engage as soon as you can to any place that's not here." There was no need to run cool now. The massive energy plume they would create from heavy acceleration no longer mattered. The ship in front of him started to move and he could feel his own ship begin to turn as Weber applied thrust.

"How long before we can jump?" asked Huttori

"Fifty seconds," said Uleski

Huttori's mind focused on his mission. They were scouts and they had a job to do. He had to warn the rest of the fleet. He could send nano-burst data packs through jump-space to deliver the information instantly.

However, each transmission sent would delay the use of the main jump drive that he needed to get his ship to safety.

He did not know how many seconds his ship would last. With no guarantee of escape he needed to ensure the information was sent. He had a duty to warn Evandor and the rest of the fleet.

"Muller, collect as much data on the fleet as you can. Send transmissions every ten seconds as you compile."

Lieutenant Huttori focused on the sensor information. There were so many ships he couldn't take it all in. He checked on the jump-drive system. It was winding up, and the calculations for the jump were computing. He had to buy time for his crew, for the fleet, for Earth.

"Hug that ship," Huttori commanded. If they stayed close to it, the other ships would refrain from firing in fear of hitting their own ship. The Highwayman was flat and wide like a manta ray. Weber brought it in tight and skimmed across the hull.

"They are trying to lock on weapons," said Uleski. "Deploying counter measures." The ship launched decoy pods out of the rear wing sections. They shone a brilliant orange while projecting immense electronic, heat, and mass signatures designed to confuse the enemy's targeting systems.

"Engaging evasive maneuvers."

"It's a carrier, Sir," said Weber. "Big enough for us to hide by, but they are launching strike craft."

"Forty seconds until we can jump, Sir," said Uleski.

Huttori suddenly became very grateful for his scout frigates small size.

Weber was fully immersed into his daring flight. Cyberjacked in, he was the ship, flying with his arms spread wide as his belly skimmed insanely close to the carrier as he deftly maneuvered over the contours and protrusions of its hull.

Huttori watched as they approached the front of the ship. He could see the blazing trails of strike craft as they poured out of the front of the ship. The lead ships where already wheeling around towards them. This carrier had pilots sitting in the cockpits ready to launch in seconds. They were waiting for a fight.

"Thirty seconds to jump," said Uleski.

"Sending first data transmission," said Muller.

"They have weapons lock," said Weber.

Huttori watched the strike craft hurtle towards him as their weapons blazed to life in an attempt to end his. Weber careened the ship hard to port, bringing it over the deck of the carrier, then around to the portside using the big ship as a shield.

Uleski activated the rear defense turret sending high-density slugs to connect with pursuing torpedoes. Red explosions flowered behind them.

"We have a second group of strike craft," said Muller as fighters came at them from the underbelly of the carrier. They snaked in tight, getting their forward weapons lined up with his frigate.

"Twenty seconds to jump!" shouted Uleski

"Sending next transmission!" shouted Muller on his heels.

The fighters opened up with their weapons sending pulsing bolts of green into the frigates light armor. Huttori watched the damage readings on his hull plates escalate despite Weber's best efforts to evade. Huttori winced from the blows, though he could not physically feel the pain of his ship, he groaned with it.

"Ten seconds to jump."

"I have to pull away from the carrier," shouted Weber. The scout frigate leapt away from the ship into open space. As he peeled away from the carrier's hull, the bigger ships began to light them up with their turrets.

Space erupted with the brilliant colors of weaponry being disgorged at them. Blues, yellows, reds, and greens all tracing their paths to his ship's hull systematically tearing or boiling off armor. The ship shuddered and groaned as the jump drive counted down to zero.

"Jump drive engaged!" shouted Huttori as he took the reins.

"Cyberjack crew detected. Safety protocols engaged. Jump aborted," said the computer. Military protocol dictated that the crew wasn't to be cyberjacked in during the jump. The mental load was extreme and could accelerate the likelihood of cybersickness.

"Fuck! Override safety protocols! Huttori five-two-delta-seven," Huttori shouted his command codes and immediately engaged the jump drives once the computer lifted the restraints. He could have ordered everyone to cyberjack out, but didn't want to take the time.

The hail of weapon fire ruptured the hull integrity of the Highwayman as the jump coils engaged sending the ship light years away. Materializing in empty space the ship went into a spiral as secondary explosions tore off the port wing section from the main hull.

In cyberspace Huttori saw Muller and her subordinate wink away. With no reason to remain, he ordered everyone to leave cyberspace. His essence rushed back into the warmth of his body and was immediately struck with the after effects of jumping while in cyberspace. His vision swirled, nausea gripped him and it felt like a part of him was left in the void of jump space.

Opening his eyes he discovered why the others left cyberspace early. A bulkhead had crashed down and killed them. With their bodies dead, their essence in cyberspace lost integrity and transitioned into the next life.

The fire suppression system had already triggered leaving a white haze in the air. He couldn't smell the stench of the dry, acrid chemicals because his uniform had activated its decompression safety protocol. The helmet engaged the shield to seal off his face, and the fabric tightened its weave making sure the rest of him wasn't exposed.

Decompression bulkheads had triggered due the extensive hull damage resulting in other casualties. Huttori was grateful to see Weber and Uleski moving. Huttori took out the cyberjack cable from his port. The warm, wetness along his calf was the first clue of his injury. Being in cyberspace he missed out on the initial shock of pain when his leg was ripped open by debris. Now it was dull throb.

Damaged reports kept coming in, his ship was dead in space and they would need rescue. He consoled himself that despite the damage and loss of life because they managed to find the Tribe fleet and warn Evandor.

"The Admiral better make this all worth it," said Huttori, as he reached down to put pressure on his wound. His crewmembers died to get the information. "It had better be worth it."


Back at the Turrin star system the United Free Tribes ships stood down from the brief firefight.

"Status report," ordered Grand Chieftain Tane Corso, Commander of the Fleet. He was asleep in his private quarters when the enemy arrived and it was over so quick he barely had a chance to get out of bed and dressed.

"They escaped and sent transmissions," said Crewer Akita.

Corso acknowledged the statement and closed the circuit. They were found sooner than he would have liked, but so be it. They were ready.

He watched the replay of the skirmish from his private quarters that were nestled deep in his flagship, Black Mastiff. The rest of the Earth Core Republic's 5th Fleet won't be far behind bringing him Evandor. His name brought a curl to his lip and growl in his chest. He hated the man.

His campaign against the Republic was going so well until Evandor took over nearly four years ago and pushed him back. It railed him when he heard some of his crew refer to Evandor as the Lou Gaurou, a life-stealing demon indeed. He was just a man, and any man can be fooled.

In a small way he knew he was grateful because he had learned much from Evandor. Tane was young for one to have command over the main fleet. While being born into the alpha family in the dominant Kane Tribe did have its privileges, he had shown enough skill and strength to warrant his position. At first, he was not prepared for the guile of the Republic commander, but now Tane had learned the art of trap and counter-trap.

He keyed the comms to Warlock Ava Savita, commander of his secret weapon, the Soul Jacker. He knew he would be hard pressed to win in a straight up battle with the approaching fleet. Normally he would never pool his resources like this in one spot. However, the Rept Tribe had developed a weapon that made him supremely confident.

They proved it worked when they tested it on a captured Republic ship. They had to go through nearly all the captured crew before they perfected it. He knew that the Earthers would eventually find defenses against it, but for now, he had the upper hand. A special weapon they could never imagine, let alone expect.

The face of Warlock Ava Savita appeared on screen. Her sharp features and the sheen of her skin never did look right to him, as if she was ill. It was common enough among her tribe who blended their human DNA with that of reptiles.

"They're coming," he said to the Warlock.

"We are ready," she replied.

Corso smiled, he looked forward to ripping out their souls.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 2
The Next Day
Frontier Space, near the United Free Tribes border.

His dark eyes drank in the data displayed throughout his bridge. Though reclined in his admiral chair, Evandor maintained an air of rigid intensity. With his lean fingers steepled together in front of his angular face, he watched his crew do their work efficiently and professionally. His ears alert as brisk words were passed between bridge crewmembers.

The intense activity was triggered when they received the last transmission just over twenty-four hours ago from the Highwayman. The signal initiated a flurry of activity, coordinating other ships, checking, double-checking and triple-checking jump point coordinates, ensuring weapons and defense systems were primed and ready. Most of his fleet was in a state of readiness before the signal from the scout ship. Like a pride of lions stalking their prey, it was time to pounce.

Once again, Evandor turned his attention to the last transmission report from Lieutenant Huttori. His data analysts had scoured the information for every morsel, yet could not identify the elusive secret weapon of the Tribe. He gave the report another cursory skim, slowing to read the Huttori's personal log.

Evandor gave the slightest of nods, his pointed chin dipped a hair. He could tell that Huttori hated losing crewmembers but he still put them at risk for the sake of the mission. It was the curse of a good officer, the need to be willing to risk death so that others could live.

Evandor knew the curse well. His choices had become increasingly more difficult as he rose in rank with more and more lives under his direct command. Once again he read the names of the deceased from the Highwayman. Only four dead. Only four… there was going to be a lot more very soon.

His eyes swept over his crew, a pang of guilt knotted in his stomach because he was about to send them into face the guns of an enemy, but that was there duty, to stand in harms way so other's wouldn't have to.

His bridge crew radiated a sense of controlled intensity mixed with the normal pre-battle jitters.

"Admiral," said comms officer Singh. "Admiral Dayle of the 2nd​ fleet requesting permission to join us."

"On screen," replied Evandor.

The holographic image Admiral Jayne Dayle appeared before him. She was sitting in her admiral chair as well. She had cut her hair to short military buzz cut since they had last met.

"War Admiral Evandor," she said. "The 3rd​ battle group of the 2nd​ fleet is within range of your group. We have two jumps charges ready and able to carry us to battle."

"Acknowledged Admiral Dayle," said Evandor. His eyes swept over systems and readouts. "It is good to have you with us. We will send over confirmed coordinates to join us, then the attack coordinates right afterwards."

Dayle looked off screen for a moment. "Acknowledged. We will be there shortly. Dayle out."

After a quick series of orders and transmissions Dayle's flagship, the mega-carrier, Juno's Courage jumped in with it large fleet of supporting ships. Evandor switched the 3-D projector, which was the center piece of the command bridge that took up the center of the floor space measuring four meters in in diameter to a tactical view of the local fleets.

The ships of his 5th​ fleet were displayed between the 3-D projectors, which were deep blue concaved glass domes in the floor and ceiling. A safe distance away the elements of the 2nd​ fleet appeared.

"Mark those ships yellow band," said Colonel Ries, the Executive office aboard Evandor's flash ship. The Mobile War Fortress, Victor's Valiant. Where Evandor was tall dark and thin, Ries was shorter, stockier and pale.

The images of the 2nd​ fleet ships where marked with a yellow band, signifying they had used one of their jump-drive charges and only had one more left in reserve. Most jump capable military ships had enough storage capacity for two jump-drive activations. One to get into combat, one to get out. Due to the time pressures, many of the 5th​ fleet ships already had the same yellow band meaning they had enough to jump into battle, but once there, they would be committed. A high risk move, but the opportunity to break the Tribe fleet was to good to pass up.

As was his habit, Reis slowly walked laps around the bridge crew who were positioned around the 3-D projector in a circle giving the bridge a round-table feel. Communications, defense systems, weaponry, fighter command, medical, every military branch had a representative.

Satisfied everything was in order, Reis made eye contact with Evandor who accented with a nod. "Send all ship final attack coordinates. Start the countdown clock for five minutes. Good hunting, and may God watch over us all."

Comm officer Singh cyberjacked in. His eyes glazed over as he was in communication with his team who were rapidly sending data packages and getting confirmations from all the other ships. A timer hovered over the 3-D projections of the fleets and counted backwards from five minutes.

There was nothing to do but wait out the last five minutes. Evandor dropped his hands to rest on the arm chair. With all the pieces in place there was no turning back. He was all in. The stakes were higher than he could be expected to measure. Nearly every ship in the 5th​ Fleet was at risk, and Dayle's battle group represented twenty percent of the 2nd​ fleet. If they lost the battle, then the billions of citizens living on the border planets would be in jeopardy.

He knew this battle would mark his legacy. Evandor had caught the undertones of the Tribes movements, and presented the battle plan to Lord Admiral Duzan, the commander-in-chief of all the Earth Core Republic star navies. Together they agreed to let the Tribes continue with their aggressive tactics. To amass a fleet that the Republic would be forced to counter in an effort to thwart them. They were going to do more than that, bringing reinforcements from nearby fleets, and their own secret weapon, Evandor was going to decimate them and end the Tribe threat.

In the back of his mind he was concerned about his home system of Tomlin. He was the first of his people to reach such a high rank in the ECR, which was normally reserved for only those born on Earth. If he succeeded, his people would move up in status. There was an unwritten understanding that the people born on Earth were the first-class citizens of the Republic and everyone else was a bit less. He wanted his home planet and his people to move up in prestige and have the opportunities that came with it.

Before every battle he heard the words of his long time mentor, Karl Duzan. In his baritone voice he would say, "It's about the people, it is always about the people." That is why Evandor kept risking and pushing to greater heights. He wanted more for the people of his home system, and he wanted the best for everyone in the Republic.

"Sir, we are ready. All systems are optimal," said Colonel Reis.

Singh and his communications crew all cyberjacked out.

Evandor glanced at the timer which was now under two minutes. He nodded. It was time to address his fleet before the fateful battle. He stood up, and keyed the communications so all the ships in his massive fleet could hear his voice.

"Soldiers of the 5th​ and 2nd​ Combined Arms Space Fleets of Earth. This is War Admiral Evandor. You knew this day was coming, and today will be our day. We will meet the Tribes, smash their fleet, and claim our victory. Today, those beasts will be put to heel.

Each of us will do our job. Trust in those next to you to do theirs, and trust in me that I will do mine. Know my combat at record, and know that I brought us here for nothing less than complete victory. When future generations live free from the fear of the Tribes, they will know it was us, the soldiers of the 5th​ and 2nd​ Fleets, that bought them their freedom.

Today we are the champions of Earth. It will be our greatest days, and each of us will be heroes. Good hunting and good luck. Evandor out."

Cutting communication, he sat down. He found it a touch ironic that they would Earth's champion because he, nor any other person in his 5th​ or 2nd​ fleet had ever set foot on Earth. Yet, Earth's champions they were, ready to beat down the savages of the United Free Tribes. How the battle unfolds would determine how history remembered them all, and specifically him.

"It's about the people, it is always about the people," Evandor said to himself. He watched the time race down to zero. He had become closer to the 5th​ fleet than any other group in the Republic because they were bonded in battle.

Every eye cast upwards watching the timer. Evandor raised his right hand, finger pointed up. The sheer number of ships jumping from different locations into a relatively small part of space was bold, to do it facing an enemy fleet was even more so.

The timer hit six seconds.

"All systems green," reported Reis.

"Operation Storm Anvil is go," said Evandor as his arm dropped as the timer hit zero. "All ships, jump."

Thousands of ships travelled light years in an instant. They snapped into existence at their intended coordinates with a flash of purple and blue energy plumes, and zeroed in on the enemy.

Evandor leaned forward, his back stiff, his hands rested on the armrests of his chair while his gaze took in the 3-D hologram projection of the ship formations that would soon be engaged in deadly combat.

Evandor's eyes darted as new ships materialized on the projector in rapid succession. He watched the destroyers from the Rashcar squadron arrive with their frigate support elements. The projectors painted them blue to identify them as friendly ships, but gave them a wide yellow and orange band meaning that these ships, like many others, double jumped their faster than light drives and would not be able to jump away if the battle went sideways.

There were too many ships with this yellow and orange band in his fleet for Evandor's liking. It was a necessary risk to bring enough ships in for the battle. His eyes moved back to the red painted holograms of the United Free Tribes' starships. They had been in orbit around the Turrin System for several days recharging their own light drive systems from the solar energy. Evandor did not know how many could jump, but he wagered the number was small. Most of those ships would need another day or two to replenish the energy to slip away. They would not get those days.

"Where is the Hammer?" he asked.

"ETA, six minutes," said Singh.

Late, as they had planned. It was part of the condition for him to secure Ezra's Hammer, which was no small feat. It represented the Republics new weapon and only two of these existed in the entire star navy. A marvel of engineering, the ship primarily consisted of generators, engines, and a massive energy cannon.

Republic High Command was hesitant to create these ships because the resources needed to build the energy cannon were immense and took away the ability to build smaller energy weapons for numerous other ships. The primary cost being the natural crystals needed to coat the barrel to align the destructive energy being discharged at its intended target. Ezra's Hammer, and its brother ship Isaac's Sword needed two specific types of crystal for the entire length of the cannon and used up all the warehoused reserves.

The result was utterly jaw dropping impressive. The space cannon's beam could remain focused despite energy disrupting defensive measures and would literally evaporate its target with terrifying ease at distances that gave the Republic a new tactical advantage. This would be the first battle where a space cannon participated.

Ezra's Hammer was his secret weapon that will shatter the Tribes allowing his fleet to retain its strength and allow it to invade the Tribes' space and start plucking enemy holdings. Without the Hammer, Evandor believed he would still win, but the cost to his own fleet would be much greater and he would question its combat strength afterwards.

The opportunity to break the Tribes in one epic battle was too much for the Republic High Council to pass up. Hence, they granted Evandor his request for the use of the space cannon. The only caveat was he couldn't over extend its jumping reserves and it had to be able to retreat if it was needed. The requirement to ensure it had the energy stores to complete two jumps was causing the delay of its arrival and put the whole operation at risk.

Evandor looked over his command crew with a sweep of his eyes. A good crew, all at their stations in their crisp light grey uniforms with red trim. Each with their rank and insignia on their shoulders and each with the three red bands on their left forearm designating they were part of the 5th Fleet, and specifically part of the Evandor's command. Evandor made it a requirement to paint these three wide red bands on the hulls of all the ships of the 5th Fleet. These markings went back to his days as a star fighter pilot when he first cut his teeth in combat.

Those red markings he carried with him as he advanced in command, from squadron to wing command, then to frigates, destroyers, carriers, and now the entire 5th CASF. They were a declaration to the enemies of the ECR that they are facing Marcus Evandor, whose reputation preceded him. Brilliant, bold and ruthless.

His eyes met with Colonel Reis. Evandor gave him a look, with the years they had worked together Reis immediately understood the que.

Reis opened the fleet channel. "This is the Executive Officer. Operation Storm Anvil is live. I repeat, Operation Storm Anvil live. All hands, cyberjack in."

Evandor leaned back in his command chair, strapped himself into the harness and lowered the helmet onto his head. The helmet was fastened to the back of the chair just as his body was fastened to the chair as a precaution in the event violent maneuvers sent the limp bodies of cyberjacked crews rag dolling across the ship. Having secured bodies was critical for all the smaller strike craft, but possible high-g maneuvers meant that it was more than a formal precaution for massive capital ships such as Victor's Valiant.

Instinctively his right hand went up to the back of his ear to feel the cable connecting to his implant, which in turn lead to Valiant's super computer. Hardline cyberjacking remained the practiced method of interfacing with the machine. The body had to be physically plugged into the mainframe to cyberjack. Even if it was possible, the idea of trusting wireless connectivity with ones very essence had little appeal.

With the physical confirmation as expected, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and guided his mind into the machine.

Chapter 3

Captain Sharran 'Slice' Blike smiled wide at the news. She was sitting in her FF-51 Lancer Flex Fighter, the premier strike craft of the ECR. They were loaded into a launch tube before the space jump. Her cyberport already plugged in anticipation of this moment. She was the lead pilot of Sabre Squadron, and the other sixteen pilots in her group were all similarly prepared.

She cued the comms. "All right Sabers, you all heard that. Cyberjack in and let's make the old man proud," she said in reference to Evandor. Like him, the pilots of Sabre Squadron where all born in the Tomlin star system.

The Tomlin star system was well established. Its citizens had developed their unique evolutionary traits generations ago as many planets did. These unique traits were referred to as their phenomenon.

Every planet was terraformed from the seeds of Earth, however, they were not Earth. The subtle environmental differences lead to genetic shifts to adapt. They were human, but not exactly like the ones found on Earth. For the Tomlins, it lead to thin frames, lower body temperatures and a high tolerance to g-forces making them highly regarded as pilots.

Sharran focused on her training and imagined herself in her mind. She stood in what looked like her bedroom. There was bed for resting, a work desk for thinking, pictures and ornaments symbolizing key memories hung on the walls or resting on shelves. To the front was a large window, and to the back right was a large door with a light, but distinct wood grain. She stepped towards it, and it swung open beckoning her in. Behind the door was a liquid black portal, her mental image of the cyberport.

Smiling she launched herself forward leading with both fists. As her hands sunk into the black her entire essence was whisked through the cybercable. She loved how all around her it sparkled with blue and white lights as she zipped towards the machine.

Like all trained soldiers the whole process took less than a second and her essence was in her Lancer star fighter as she stretched her mind feeling every rivet of its bridled power. The Lancer sat poised to be launched, ready to go from zero to combat speed in three seconds. She felt the engines purr in anticipation, her senses going forward looking down the launch tube, waiting.

"Sabers, call check," she sent out to the rest of her squadron. The others responded instantly, most in the images of their call signs. Toad, Rain Cloud, Slingshot, Moose, Pretzel, and the others.

Satisfied Sharran switched her comms to the command channel. "This is Sabre One, all systems go."

"Acknowledged," replied Wing Commander Nadine. "Stand-by."

"Roger," Sharran said. She knew they wouldn't have to wait long. As was her compulsive habit, she checked the vital read outs of her flesh body. Everything was good as it always had been. She kept telling herself that she should never look at her life signs because the moment she discovered her body to be dead, would be the moment she would evaporate into the nothingness of the world beyond.

She looked at herself through the lens on the instrument panel. There wasn't much to see. Her body clad in its dark grey flight suit, with its full helmet covering her features. It was airtight in case the ship's hull lost integrity or she had to eject.

"Hey Slice, stop looking at yourself," said her squadron second in command, Jake 'Toad' Marshall. He sent an image of her checking herself out in a mirror. He liked calling her out on that, and she regretted telling him her habit after a night with one too many drinks.

"Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself, Toad boy," she said, sending an image of a toad jumping into a swamp in response. He was the longest serving member of her squadron and they had developed an informal banter. She was aware of the other pilots trading verbal jabs and let them have at it. They needed to blow off pent up energy while waiting.

She expected his counter, but the wing commander overrode their comms.

"Saber Squadron is go for launch."

"All Sabers launch, GO! GO! GO!" sent Sharran to her squadron enforcing the order. With that, she triggered the launch tube and her ships thrusters. Together they propelled her forward under heavy acceleration. She felt her thrusters blaze to life, the strain against her ship, then as she cleared the tube her senses flared wide as she was no longer constrained.

She could feel the rest of her squadron get spat out of Victor's Valiant in quick succession, keenly aware of their distance, speed and direction of travel. Right behind them came the slave-wings. Drone versions of the Lancers, two each for every pilot. The drones slid into formation, sidling up to the piloted ship to which they were attached. With the enhanced ability of cyberjacking and cutting edge software, the slave-wings responded as extensions to the pilots, like two extra hands to work with. Aiding with sensors, firepower and defenses turning the sixteen ship squadron into a forty-eight ship task force.

"Smokes! Look at that," sent Rain Cloud. Her awe could be felt.

Sharran knew exactly what she meant. All around them were hundreds of large ECR ships, nearly a thousand beyond that. Across the way their scopes came to life with the data being fed by Victor's Valiant revealing the massive Tribe fleet. If she was in her body she would have let out a low whistle.

"Damn, I am reading fifty-one carrier class ships," said Pretzel as he highlighted the images.

"There is going to be an ass load of strike craft out there." Moose zeroed in on an image of a Tribe ship launching bombers and light corvettes.

"Don't forget the hundreds of destroyers and thousand or so frigates," added Slingshot.

"Keep it tight kids," said Toad. "We outnumber the bastards, and our fortress trumps their battleship," he said referencing the flagships of both fleets.

"And we have the Lion of Tomlin," said Sharran referring to the name Evandor earned for himself early in his career when he was the first of the cyberjacked pilots. She sent an image of an old recruitment poster that had Evandor front and center. "Tomlin Born, Tomlin Proud. We are the ace fighter pilots here!" She felt their lifted spirits and heard the cheers.

"Form up on me, we have a combat patrol sector assigned." She knew that was the staging area for when their real assignments would come when the battle started. Despite the magnitude of the battle she felt good. The flash of memory of the recruitment poster she saw when she was young reminded her how she soon became the youngest pilot to be admitted to the academy beating out Evandor, the previous record holder.

Flying was in her blood, passed down for generations, born into a family who lived it and loved it. Her passion kept pushing her, to be better, faster, and smarter than the rest. The best part was that her hard work had paid off and she was damn good at it. Even better than her two older brothers, if she said so herself.

With her squadron forming up into a loose flying wedge she set her slave-wings to fly above and below her. She twisted her lancer in a quick barrel roll, the slave-wings mimicking the maneuver precisely. The ECR was the only star nation to have the slave-wing technology. It was like cheating when it came to strike craft combat, and she loved to cheat.

A memory from battle command school came to her mind as it always did before a fight. She could still vividly remember sitting in class listening to retired Admiral Blanstot, the man who led the Republic to total victory against the Plasorah Separatists. He wore his crisp white dress uniform to class every day. He was in his eighties at the time, but still a distinguished figure of a man. White wispy hair and wrinkle creased face notwithstanding.

"You will never be in a fair fight," he said. "What you need to do," he paused for dramatic effect, sweeping his eyes across his students, "is to make sure you are cheating better than anyone else." Those words blazed across her mind then, and to this day came forth with pre-battle adrenaline. "Press every advantage and cheat whenever you can. Keep in mind that cheating includes better training, greater numbers, superior technology, and so forth. If you cannot find a way to cheat like hell, then either plan your escape or your funeral."

Words to live by, words to kill by.

Chapter 4

Sergeant Mikal Orva flexed his Ripper power armor. "Oh yeah, feels so good to be back in," he whispered as if talking to a lover.

Cyberjacked into the power armor he felt as if he was the machine. Better than a second skin, it was like his very own body only faster, stronger, and deadlier. His every day body rode inside the seven-foot armor, moving as it moved though it was limp as his consciousness was no longer in the flesh.

He twisted at the hips and rolled his shoulders listening to the servomotors whine as they moved. Power levels read maximum, all systems green. He unplugged the suit from its charging station and stepped forward. He was part of the Ripper shock troops for War Admiral Marcus Evandor stationed aboard his flagship. Soon they would be heading out into the heat of battle.

Looking to his left, he watched his squad mates unplug and stride forward, all of them moving like weight lifters flexing their muscles. The euphoria of the power was hard to contain. Highly addictive, it made the damage and reconstruction his flesh body received almost worth it.

His original plan of joining the army for a short stint as a tank commander was long gone. The memories of hopes and dreams haunted him, just as the freak accident that led him down this path. With his body broken he was admitted into the Cyborg Reconstruction Program. He was given new body parts, military grade bones, synthetic muscles, and replacement organs. His brain implanted with cybernetics and permanently cyberjacked into his new body parts. He went from invalid to super soldier.

He liked being in the Ripper armor as his head was clear from the drugs used to offset the mental and physical trauma of having body parts replaced by metal constructs. No matter how much more powerful the new body was though, the loss of the original human body was hard to reconcile. Especially for Orva who was once a Primal, the nickname given to the privileged pure humans born on Earth.

He didn't like being a cyborg. Not really human, not really machine. He stuffed down the humiliation and pain letting it only come out as rage during battle. At the cost of his humanity, his new cyborg body made him stronger and faster. The Ripper armor he wore made him a juggernaut.

"Rippers," he said as he watched his squad. The origin of the name always brought him a moment of brevity. It came from the commander who first had the privilege of using the first Rippers in combat. He watched as they cut through the enemy ranks with disgusting ease. "Those guys are ripping them a new one," he stated. The sense of awe in his voice can be easily heard in the official records. Ever since then, the Ripper name had stuck.

"Squad Eight Rippers," he said, this time using radio and audio. His twelve-person squad stopped their preening, and gave him their full attention. Orva watched as they lined themselves up. They were a motley looking group. Each power armor unit had the same shape and modular weapon payload system geared towards the mission at hand. However, an allowance was given to the Rippers to distinguish their armor as unique because it was such a personal extension of the pilot.

The pilots of his squads, and all the other squads forming up around him, took this liberty to heart. In his squad were a multiple of various patterns. Most had military themes and colors, greys, tans and greens, but some had unique themes.

Private Tham had a dragon theme, green scales, with fangs and horns welded on for added affected. Corporal Ross, his second in command, had fur and hair patches attached to his armor, which he claimed were trophies from hunts. Orva thought that was disturbing, but it was better than Private Hansen whose choice of a bright yellow and black pattern that could only be described as an eyesore.

At first this display of individualism felt wrong to Orva, who believed the military should enforce uniformity and discipline. Now that he was a Ripper, he found the expressive craft to be therapeutic. After his first combat mission on the planet Taniya, he found himself working on his armor. On the body of his armor, he painted on the colors and patterns of the desert tigers from the planet. For the helmet, he carefully painted it to resemble the tiger's face, for good measure he welded on cat whiskers and ears. He lost track of the hours he had poured into his artwork, but he didn't care because it was one of the few things that made him smile.

"Weapons check you grease slugs," he said. Each Ripper snapped into a shoulder wide stance, squared to him. Orva could feel their excitement through the cyberjack connection and even by the way they stood.

They were spoiling for a fight.

"Arm weapons," shouted Orva. They all lifted their arms into the air. Left arms shot out a long bladed spike from its forearm sheath and heavy hand pincers audibly clamped. The combination was used to secure and then puncture targets, whether it was ship hulls or opposing troops. They all spun their rotary guns that hung under their right arm, their primary weapon.

Visuals and readouts all satisfied Orva. "Secondary payloads," he shouted. From the back of eight of the rippers a shoulder cannon swung into place, loaded with heavy armor piercing rounds for tougher targets. The other four members displayed their shaped charge dispenser used to blow reinforced doorways or destroy critical ship components. Around them other squads were going through the same prefight checks.

"Prime jump jets," said Orva. In unison, they all fired their rocket thrusters attached to their boots and backs. The small boosters screamed out blue thrust as they lifted the rippers off the metal decking for a second before disengaging. On the ground, these acted as jump jets, in space they would get him around. Not fast, but effective enough.

"You filthy grease slugs ready?" shouted Orva.

"BOO-YAH!" his squad shouted back raising weapons up into the air as they cheered.

Orva pointed his left arm to the hangar exit and shot out his breech blade for added effect. "Out that door is going to be more fucking enemies than any of you slugs ever fantasized about," he said, pausing for their cheers. "If you grease slugs are lucky we will get to rip up their ships," another cheer. "If we have to, we will protect our ships," this time there was a series of boos. It was so much more fun going in to break other people stuff than trying to protect your own things.

"Either way, you grease slugs are gonna get the job done cause we are fucking Rippers," back to cheering. "If you get your ass blown off, I expect you to ghost ride long and hard killing the fucker who killed you," said Orva referring to how the Rippers have become nefarious for fighting for a few seconds beyond their bodies' death. Adrenaline, the rush of battle, the thrill of killing, often meant that the pilot kept fighting not realizing his flesh body had been killed.

Orva had once seen a squad mate get his head blown clean off, but since the mind was in the machine he kept fighting for almost ten seconds, killing the one who killed him before realizing his body was destroyed and his consciousness broke apart and left. When his time came, Orva hoped he would ride the ghost long and hard avenging his death ten times over.

"Today, live or die, we're all going to be fucking heroes! That's how we will be remembered, heroes for today, legends forever!" Orva didn't know about the others, but that is how he wanted to be remembered. Not as a victim, not as a cyborg, but of a hero whose story would be told through the generations to inspire all those who heard it.

His squad cheered, and around him, other ripper squads were cheering as they overheard him as he was shouting.

"Let's go make the old Lion proud," shouted one of the other squad sergeants to another round of cheering. If Orva was in his body he would have given a rueful smile. When he was first assigned to the 5th​ fleet he was pissed that he would be part of the only fleet that wasn't lead by an Earth born Primal. However, he came to understand that since Evandor was given command the campaign against the Tribes shifted from losing defensive skirmishes, to offensive geared victories. Winning felt good, and did wonders for morale.

Orva took a moment to take in the cheering. It amazed him how not a single Ripper pilot was Tomlin born, as the body frame of a Tomlin as too slight to ever qualify to be a Ripper, yet they all rallied behind Evandor. He had even overheard ridiculous conversations as some pilot's where throwing out names speculating that high command would name the ship after him. He caught names like Evandor's Rage, Evandor's Gambit, or versions with his first name like Marcus's Defiance. Orva knew it was too early to tell if Evandor would ever get such an honor as so much would depend on how todays battle played out. If the battle went half as well as expected, the admiral would be a lock to get his name on the next major capital ship rolling off the production line at the shipyards

Orva no longer cared if Evandor was brilliant or lucky as fuck. The old man brought him to the doorstep of the biggest gunfight ever. Here was his chance to go guns a blazing, live or die, it will be glorious.
Satisfied his squad was mentally and physically prepared he cued his comms to the command channel. "Captain Rathal, Squad Eight is confirmed primed and ready to go."

"Acknowledged," came the quick response. "Load in Fastcat sixteen."

"Yes, Ma'am," Orva said. Then to his squad, "Squad Eight, fall in line, we got a cat to catch." He turned and led them in a quick march to get to the nearby hangars where the Fastcat light corvette waited to carry them into battle. The ships were military grade shuttles, fitted to carry a twelve-man ripper squad to an enemy ship so they could do their work. They were painted black, fast, and agile relying on stealth and speed over weaponry.

Fast marching to their transport ship, Orva felt a cloud of introspection close in on him. At times, it would try to sneak up and catch him. Reminding him how he didn't want to be here. How he didn't want to be ripper, or fighting in frontier space against an enemy he really didn't care about. This wasn't supposed to be his life. This wasn't supposed to be him.

Orva needed to force the thoughts from his head. "Ross," he shouted, "roll the war drums."

As commanded, Corporal Ross started the canned music and played it over the squad's private channel. It was a heavy, all bass, thumping score.

Catching the beating drums Orva started to chant out the ripper war song. "Who is going to rip the souls from their flesh." The lyrics matched the heavy drums and the timed thunder of their armor-clad footfalls down the corridor.

"We will! We Will! We Will!" shouted the squad in unison.

"Who will peel the skin from their bones," shouted the next man in line, Corporal Ross, his second in command of the squad.

"We will! Rippers for life! Rippers for death!" Came the chorus, the only part that stayed the same in the chant.

"Who will crush their hearts under our heels," shouted the next soldier, followed by the course and then the next man in line put in his own unique verse, and the war song continued down the line.

 

[Kris Wicker]

All right, that gets the ball rolling with some world building, stage setting and character introductions.

I am going to have to go over the next chapters and clean them up better before posting, but you will be seeing at least a chapter a week, if not several chapters a week.

 

[Autocorruptor]

Hey, welcome back. It was a pleasure reading your other story, so this should be nice. Unless the story becomes a QQ exclusive, I think I will mostly comment on SB, as commenting on two different sites is inconvenient.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Hey, welcome back. It was a pleasure reading your other story, so this should be nice. Unless the story becomes a QQ exclusive, I think I will mostly comment on SB, as commenting on two different sites is inconvenient.

Click to shrink...

Its good to be back!

I will be posting this here as well as Space Battles. This one is SFW, and because most of the story involves, well, space battles, I will use that forum as well! lol.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 5

Evandor stood in the cyberspace rendition of his bridge. His cyberimage stood straight and tall with his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the fleets move into position. A cursory check confirmed all his bridge crew was with him and at their respective stations. The brilliant orange Turrin Sun blazed to their starboard side, the Tribes fleet was arrayed to their front.

Evandor kept his distance from the bridge crew, overseeing their activity. He had learned that he could no longer focus on the specifics in such large ships. In his early days of command, with the speed of cyberjacking, he used to try to be involved in everything. Which lead to extreme mental loads that resulted in splitting headaches and nausea. He also learned that by micromanaging his crew he undermined their confidence and decision making. Which had even worse long term affects to the overall performance of the ship.

He gave his flagship a mental sweep. Victor's Valiant was one the largest ships in service, and he no longer even entertained the thought of trying to do it himself. He often remembered his mentors words and actions. How Duzan would always tell him to find those with talent and give them a chance to succeed and then keep pushing them. They needed the best of humanity doing their best.

Evandor's put his attention to the rendition of the fleets. He had the image zoomed out so he could take in his whole fleet. Victor's Valiant was at the heart of it all, large ships arranged all around and clouds of strike craft moving through them. Spots flashed to the port side of Victor's Valiant announcing the arrival of more ships.

"Confirmed arrival of the Ezra's Hammer and Orion's Fist battle groups," sent Colonel Reis as the capital ships materialized with all their support destroyers and frigates on the 3-D projector.

Evandor felt the instant morale boost among his fleet with the arrival of the battle group. This would be the last one joining his forces. Normally the arrival of the battleship, Orion's Fist with its supporting carriers, destroyers, and frigates was reason enough to celebrate, but it was the space cannon, Ezra's Hammer coming in behind with its supporting cast that gave the real boost.

Previously, Evandor could feel a steely grim determination among his fleet. They knew it was going to be a hard battle, but now spirits were lifted, as was their confidence, both good things. With subterfuge and counterintelligence being what it was, only the highest ranking officers in his fleet were expecting the new arrivals.

"Admiral Drest of Ezra's Hammer reporting."

"Admiral Byrd of Orion's Fist reporting."

"Acknowledged," replied War Admiral Evandor. "Good to see you two."

"Wouldn't miss it for the universe," said Drest. He and his battle group were on loan from the 1st​ Fleet that usually patrolled the inner core of Republic planets. It was rare to see a ship crewed completely by Primals at the frontiers.

Evandor highlighted his capital ships on the 3-D projector. They were massive and rare in the Republic. Powerful and expensive, each combined arms space fleet had no more than a total of five. This battle he had six, which was unheard of to have so many together.

The other three were all mega-carriers. Wolfe's Fang and Mattias' Rampage were both part of the 5th​ Fleet. The third, Juno's Courage with Admiral Janye Dayle was on loan from the 2nd​ Fleet. They were already in position with their strike craft in flight.

"Nice to see the Hammer and Fist arrive together," commented Colonel Reis. He gave the mental image of Ezra's Hammer firing its beam weaponry and Orion's Fist firing its kinetic mass drivers. "Nice compliment, will give the defense frigates hell."

"Admiral Byrd reports all rail guns online," reported the Ensign Llorrel Ellan, the junior comm officer. To the side she had a schematic of Orion's Fist with all systems showing green. The entire ship was reliant one the weapon platforms, from the small anti-ship turrets to the primary anti-ship rail guns that ran along its length.

"Thank you," replied Evandor. He had been concerned about the condition of the Fist. It was an ancient ship now, and the rail guns systems had grown finicky over the decades. They fired fast, ammo was cheap, but the maintenance was high.

The arrival of Orion's Fist made Evandor briefly wish he could have had his second battleship, Kenlin's Pride, available but it was severely damaged in the defense of the Deketer system nearly two years ago. The Pride managed to survive the day and was hauled back to the shipyard for repairs. It still sat there with reconstruction delayed due to budget constraints.

With the arrival of these ships Evandor was all in. The entire front lines along the Free Tribes' frontier had been stripped of any meaningful combat force. The only elements left behind were rear echelon support ships and the planetary invasion assault ships with their associated ground forces. There was little need to bring tanks and ground infantry to a space battle.

Once the battle was over, the ground pounders would see their fair share of action as they start taking planets. Evandor estimated if all goes well, that they could take and hold almost one-quarter of the Tribes' planets and mining operations before running out of troops. If things went poorly, then the Tribes would be moving in and capturing Republic planets instead.

The key point being that the winning side would able to hold their gains. Raiding a planet was comparatively easy. Come in fast and hard, take what you came for and leave.

Holding a planet was much more of a challenge. You needed to bring enough troops to defeat the defending armies and quell the local population. If that was not hard enough, enemy sector reinforcements were close, and resupply was always difficult for the invaders. The winner of this battle would have the advantage of owning the space ways and could likely forever hold the upper hand.


"New enemy contacts," sent Threat Analyst Bakerfan, not in words, rather a mental image of the Tribe ships that just appeared relative to their location.

"Analysis," sent Evandor.

"Six defense frigates and one unknown." Bakerfan captured the image of the unknown ship and formed a large rendition that increased in detail as data fed in from scanners across the fleet.

"Identify unknown."

"Inconclusive, first recorded contact of this class."

"This must be their new super weapon," said Reis, his cyberself was next to Evandor. "I was expecting something different. Something bigger."

The new designated threat was a destroyer class, or at least a similar sized ship. The back half looked like a normal destroyer with engines and supporting structures, but the front half looked like a huge tuning fork with its booms slightly concaved. In between the prongs was a massive violet sphere that seemed to be spinning haphazardly in its moorings.

Evandor took in the details of the new ship. "Agreed. This is nothing I would've expected."

Reis scanned the readouts. "Display defense cones. Both sides."

Threat Analyst Bakerfan complied adding another layer of data on the projection of the fleets. Shaped cones protruded great distances out from the defense frigates and capitol ships equipped with the protective arrays creating a wall of protection.

Defense and repulsor arrays were the crowning breakthrough in technology during the Pirate Wars that gave the star nations the upper hand that lead to victory. The systems had high-energy demands, but they were able to negate energy and kinetic weaponry. Given enough time and distance, they turned energy weapons into baths of lights, and projectiles dropped to non-lethal velocities.

The closer the attacking ship came, the harder it was to diffuse its weaponry, which made space combat a close and intimate affair. Gone were the days when ships would shoot at each other from thousands of kilometers. Now, the combatants would close in the distance to effectively pound on each other. This resulted in ships getting dangerously close to each other in a swirling array of fighters, frigates, missiles, explosions, and flying space debris. This is what the brilliance of the space cannon was, they could now reach out and pulverize ships at a distance.

"I want firing solutions for the Hammer to hit that," Evandor ordered as he tracked the firing lines for Ezra's Hammer. He brought in the space cannon in with his main fleet, revealing his hand early because he wanted it in place and ready to react.

"Enemy ship is giving off frequencies and radiations that our systems are not properly registering," said Bakerfan as he brought up an image of graphs with gyrating readouts.

Evandor watched elements of the Tribes' Fleet begin to form up in front of the new destroyer to give it a stronger defensive front. They were making a concerted effort to protect it.

"Any idea what that ship does?" asked Reis.

"Unknown," replied Bakerfan.

"Line up the Hammer shot and alert me when ready," said Evandor. "We will kill it now. The science crews can pick over whatever wreckage remains after the battle."

Colonel Reis kept on the task of trying to decipher the function of the Tribes new ship, perplexed about it's possible capabilities. "In the biggest battle in history, we bring a massive space cannon. The Tribes, they decide to bring a big purple glowing ball."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 6
With the orders issued for the Hammer strike, the ships leapt into action. The distance was beyond normal combat range, but the power of the Hammer would be able reach out and be felt. Evandor watched the Hammer orient itself to bring its target in line.

The primary cannons on capital ships brought the most amount of firepower to the game. However, due to the size of the barrels that ran the length of the ship it meant the entire ship had to be aimed at the target.
Which was fine for big targets like other capital ships and planetary orbital defense stations, but made them near useless when trying to hit smaller ships like fighters, light corvettes, and to a lesser degree the faster frigates when they closed the distance and became hard to track.

Destroyers however, were big enough and slow enough to make the shot very viable. The space cannon being as powerful as it was going through its charging cycle which took longer than Evandor would have liked. He zoomed his focus onto the space cannon, watching its power levels rise. The energy cannon barrel began to glow a gentle blue-white light as it primed itself.

"Power levels beginning to spike," said Bakerfan.

"Acknowledged," responded Evandor as he watched Ezra's Hammer charge it's main gun with one eye as he watched the ships move with the other.

"Clarification, sir. Soul Jacker power levels are spiking," Bakerfan quickly communicated showing the new enemy ship as its purple ball began to spew out streams of light and a graph showing the power levels rapidly climbing.

"Clarification acknowledged. Thank you." Evandor quickly replied, grateful that Bakerfan noticed his focus was on the Hammer, didn't take his response at face value and gave a clearer message of what he meant.

Back before cyberjacking, the miss would have slipped through and cost valuable time before he noticed the wildly spiking read outs from the purple ball destroyer.

"Analyze and interpret," Evandor requested from the Science Officer Malhotra.

"Unknown. First exposure to these readings," the lead scientist onboard the Valiant responded. "Compiling data, working on theories."

"Comms, have all available fleet ships assist in diagnosis," said Evandor. The comm officer quickly relayed the request to every other ship present with science personnel on board.

Evandor watched the power readouts of the Soul Jacker and the space cannon climb. He knew when the latter would reach its peak, the former was a mystery. He suddenly found himself hoping they could figure out what the Tribe was attempting and devise a solution. He did not like to have to rely on hope, it was such a wispy thing.

He began to rue that his science frigate was not available. It had rather short legs for space jumps and was almost a week out. He couldn't afford that time and left it behind. He didn't think he would need it, but the evidence at hand shows that he may be wrong. Granted, each capital ship had a few scientists aboard, but they didn't have the advanced instruments, sensors, or the collective power of many scientific minds to breakdown a problem.

Mentally he replayed the events bringing them up to this stage. He was convinced that he orchestrated everything like a puppet master bringing the United Free Tribes' Fleet to one location so he could smash them with the Hammer. It took years of maneuvers, feints, and ploys to make it happen. Now he began to wonder if the Tribes commander lured him into a false sense of victory so he could unleash his secret weapon on the amassed fleet of the ECR.

Going over in his mind all the battle logs and video replay of Grand Chieftain Tane Corso, commander of the Tribes' Fleet, he had a hard time believing the man had this much guile in him. Tane had proved himself as a sound commander. His strategies and tactics always displayed a bold efficiency with maneuvers that tended to be straightforward with relatively little deception. Could he have been playing weak the whole time, like a wounded dog turning tail and cowering, just to turn and snap his enemy's throat when he least expected it?

Evandor drew his focus back. As the commander of the fleet, he could not afford to be so narrowly focused on just two ships. The entire fleet will soon need his attention, feeling the ebb and flow of the symphony of destruction.

"Admiral Drest confirms Hammer ninety-eight percent ready to fire," reported the comms officer.

"Give me Admiral Byrd," said Evandor. The comm officer patched him through and while watching the ships maneuver into position he gave the commander of Orion's Fist last second instructions.

"Drest confirms Hammer strike is ready."

"Fire the space cannon."

"Yes, sir. Cannon firing."

With orders in place the barrel of the space cannon, which was essentially the entire front half of the ship, released its pent-up energy lashing out across the emptiness of space, reaching for its target. In that instant, every set of eyes stopped and watched the energy beam lance across blackness as they had never seen such a weapon fire before in their lives. The beam itself was immense, over one hundred meters in diameter, which could engulf any frigate on site. The core of the beam was brilliant blue with white surrounding it. What looked to be lightning or electrical discharges spiraled around the edges of the beam.

In the time for the cannon to charge up the Tribes had moved a squadron of defense frigates in its path. Normally at the range of two thousand kilometers, there would be no real threat to the masses of defense frigates. However, with Ezra's Hammer's strength pouring its beamed death into the target, real damage could be done. The Tribes had nine defense frigates close enough to the path of the weapon to be able to engage in emitting their disrupter fields. Any less and the Hammer strike would have vaporized the first frigate in its path. As it was, the frigates maximized their systems to their straining limits keeping death from pealing back the skins of their ships to get to the soft innards.

Both fleets watched the display of power, and it looked like the defense frigates would do their jobs on the first shot of the Hammer. That was until the first salvo from Orion's Fist's rail guns slammed into the lower starboard defense frigates hull. The Fist targeted the supporting vessel with the goal of weakening their defensive front so that the Hammercould get through to make its primary kill. Normally, a defense frigate was capable of putting energy into its repulsor field arrays that would stop or slow mass projectiles, but with full power diverted to the energy disrupters, the heavy slugs smashed into the front hull unimpeded.

Orion's Fist fired its four secondary anti-ship rail guns first, the four slugs slammed into the enemy's hull. The power of the shells stressed the armored skin, warping and stretching it as they caused it to cave inwards creating four large dents. The armor didn't get a chance to stop vibrating when the next salvo hit. This time the two three-meter long slugs from the primary anti-ship cannons hurled themselves forward exhausting the fatigued metal. Both shells ripped open a hole and tore inside. Atmosphere barely had a chance to start venting when the shells ripped through the soft and delicate innards wreaking all sorts of havoc before burying themselves into the forward generators powering the disrupter fields.

There was no need for a third salvo for the mortally wounded frigate as its hull cracked like an egg falling on the edge of a frying pan, splitting open and spilling its contents in a messy orange display.

With one of the frigates knocked out, the remaining eight could not hold back the beam from the Hammer. It was their good fortune that the Hammer had exhausted the stored energy from its first shot.

Unfortunately, there was enough destructive power left to overwhelm the leading frigates. The first received a bath of a blue-white electrically crackling light show that hid it from sight. When the light subsided, it left the front half of the frigate with only its scorched reinforced frame remaining. The armor plating, crew, corridors, conduits, and whatever else was in the front half of the ship was just not there anymore.

The back half of the charred frigate was not designed to be without its front half. Secondary explosions, electrical discharges and parts of the ship came out of the back half before all power was lost. The ship went dark and listed peacefully to its port side a few heartbeats later.

The second frigate inline was not directly in the path of the cannon blast. Its port side barely kissed the beam, but the result was its armored skin evaporated all along its side from bow to stern. The armor that had not boiled off bubbled and looked like sickly blisters on a burn patient. Enough of the energy and heat transferred into the interior of the ship caused complete system overload resulting in secondary explosions and fires that consumed the ship increasing in magnitude until the whole ship was turned into fiery wreckage.

The first shots were fired and the Tribes lost three frigates. Evandor checked the timer as it reset for when Ezra's Hammer would be recharged and ready to fire its second shot. It was going to be a long three minutes.

 

[Kris Wicker]

There, shots fired!

Feels like I got through most of the data dumps to the set the stage. I didn't like having to do that exposition, but felt i needed to get to the point quickly.... maybe I will go back and rework it if is too thick?

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 7

The commander of the United Free Tribes' Fleet, Grand Chieftain Tane Corso was in the cyberspace mainframe of his flagship, Black Mastiff. They had watched the new Earth ship arrive. Then moments later it stabbed out its white-blue beam striking his most important ship.

"Damage report?" he immediately asked after the weapon finished its discharge.

"We lost three fri-" started a crewer.

"I don't care about those!" he snapped. His entire battle plans depended on a single ship and it wasn't a frigate. "Give me the Warlock."

In a moment, the bald head of Warlock Ava Savita appeared on screen. "Commander," she said quietly lacing contempt into the words.

"Tell me what I want to hear," Tane said, having no patience for the woman or her games. He was from the Alpha Family of the Kane Tribe, those who mixed their DNA with wolves, and as such preferred straightforward words.

"We are still functional, although that last shot damaged some systems, mostly superstructure and scanners, but we can still fire the weapon."

"Functional is not good enough," he said, a growl could be heard in his words. "There is no room for error. The Soul Jacker must be tuned perfectly. There is no telling what may happen if it misfires."

"I know all of this," said the warlock. She broke eye contact, dismissing him. "It will be ready."

Tane stared hard at the woman on the screen. "Very well, fire the primer. If the results are in line, continue with the first mega-pulse. We will need to act fast."

"Yes, Sir," she said and cut transmission.

Tane Corso started issuing commands. He needed to protect the Soul Jacker at all costs. "Forward elements ahead full, initiate flanking maneuvers, reinforce that protection screen." His eyes darted around the battle map. It looked like his nemesis Evandor brought in his own secret weapon. He couldn't help but smile, in a way he would have been disappointed if he didn't. This was going to be a lot more interesting than he originally thought.

With the first shots delivered and received, his fleet leapt into action. Until that moment, the ships moved tentatively, like two heavy weight boxers slowly closing in on each other jockeying for position.

Discovering the long reach of the space cannon the Tribes throttled forward pushing hard acceleration. They knew that they would not win a long distance shoot out and needed to close the distance.

The larger ships on both sides began to fire their primary weapons causing streaks of light to flash out at each other. Normally impressive, in the aftermath of the Hammer's display they were infants in comparison. At this distance, no significant damage was expected to be delivered because the defense frigates excelled at their job. Still, it was good practice to keep the frigates honest.

Evandor stood in front of his command chair as he overlooked the ships on the 3-D projector. The threat analyst brought attention to an attack wing trying to slip down low and around the side of the ECR Fleet. The primary recipient of the report was Wing Commander Nadine who was in command of the overall deployment of the smaller craft. Evandor, being the war admiral was also in on the announcement.

Bringing the Tribes attack wing on a periphery 3-D projector, Evandor took in the threat. They were small fast attack ships trying to cloak their way past the front lines to hit the rear echelon ships. In this case, he would anticipate they would be doing an end run for Ezra's Hammer. Their signatures came in and out of the scanners, and Evandor found himself wanting his science ship again. Its advanced gear would be able to pinpoint what the stealthy small ships were and their flight path trajectories.

As it was, it looked to be four squadrons of bombers, with two squadrons of gunship corvettes as support. He mused that there would be a few stealth corvettes carrying enemy shock troopers to try to storm a ship or two along the way. Enemy compromised ships were always a problem. Sometimes they turn the captured ships guns on nearby targets, but more often they set them on a collision course with another ship and bailed out to move on to the next target.

He quietly observed as Wing Commander Nadine issue commands to intercept the threat. Two fighter squadrons that will shred the bombers, one combat frigate that can out range the gunships to take them out to clear a path for the fighters, and one defense frigate for protection in case those bombers get too close to the frigates before the fighters can get to them.

It wasn't always about bringing more to the game. It was about bringing the right stuff to counter the enemy. Commander Nadine's selection was flawless and Evandor left her to it. He didn't want to get involved in fighter command if he could help it. One criticism against him was that he tended to favor his fighter squadrons. Being slightly too protective of them was the accusation given his history as a fighter pilot, and the fact that lots of the pilots came from his home system of Tomlin, gave weight to the argument. He scoffed at the claims giving reference to his past as a squadron commander that was marked with citations for being too brazen and daring on the verge of losing his command on more than one occasion. That was a different time, and with age, he had tempered his approach considerably.

Threat analyst Bakerfan brought another attack group attempting a flank maneuver to attention. This one near the same attack vector as the first, but far enough away that they would be hard pressed to support each other. This group consisted of a squadron of four cannon frigates with three squadrons of fighter support.

Nadine took in the threat and dispatched two missile destroyers to counter. Just as those ships began to move in response a multiple of other threats came to attention across the fleet. Each of the six capital ships acted as the nerve center coordinating the craft in their assigned sector. Evandor kept his attention zoomed out, watching the overall flow of the battle.

Intuition tingled, something was not right. His situational awareness was telling him something was off. His opponent was acting aggressive sending out flanking units, and pushing his front line. Which was normal enough for Corso, but there was something wrong about it. Not exactly wrong, but more like it wasn't exactly right.

Not only were the flankers making end runs with poor reinforcements, but the main body formation was stretched a little too thin. The forward ships where just a hair too far away from the ships they were supporting leaving them in an aggressive, but vulnerable position.

Grand Chieftain Corso was known to be aggressive, and his movements did speak of a desperation to neutralize the space cannon. Yet, just as Evandor studied Corso and every battle he was a part of he had no doubt Corso studied him and every battle he had participated in.

Watching the pulse of the battle, taking it in like a dance he sensed it. Corso wasn't desperate. He was luring Evandor to distraction. He made his forces slightly vulnerable, just enough that an opportunist like Evandor would jump and carve up the weakest targets, which would allow him to win the battle of attrition, which would give him victory for the day.

Grand Chieftain Corso wasn't doing the movements to lose, he was doing them to win. If Evandor took all these targets of opportunity, he could not focus on the Soul Jacker that he brought in.

"All ships, full forward flank speed," he commanded with such force that thoughts echoed as verbal words. He felt the momentary shock of the crew at the unexpected and forceful command. They hesitated for the briefest of moments before issuing the orders.

"All ships are to fire all weapons, primary, secondary and tertiary at every defense frigate along this corridor," came the next command as he traced a corridor on the 3-D projector. This too was unusual. "Bring back those missile destroyers, and give me a missile solution timed with the next Hammer shot. Four second lead time."

Military discipline overcame confusion and surprise. All ranking commanders knew that the smaller secondary weapons would do little at this range. The smaller anti-fighter tertiary turrets would be even less of a threat, never mind firing missiles at this distance because that gave too much time for them to be countered and shot down. Space erupted with a cacophony of light as every available ECR weapon came to life and sang its death song.

No matter their misgivings, ship commanders switched from effective targets to the new selections and began pouring everything they had along the corridor that would clear a path for the Hammers second shot. Whatever that Soul Jacker did, he needed to stop it before it happened.

"Weapon discharge!" came the announcement from Threat Analyst Bakerfan followed by the image projection of as a brilliant violet shock wave radiated out of the orb. Its wave front spread across the night sky, engulfing every ship in its path.

Evandor braced for impact. With a name like the Soul Jacker, high command debated if it somehow interfered with the cyberjacking systems. It didn't seem plausible because cyberjacking was a closed, hardwired system. Even if he wanted to order everyone out of cyberspace, the disruption that would cause to the complex operations they were in engaged in made it a high risk move.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 8

Sharran ' Slice' Blike eased off the main thrusters of her Lancer. Her squadron remained in the flying wedge formation alongside her. In space, once forward momentum was achieved it kept constant. Allowing ships to save fuel, only needing to reignite thrusters if they wanted to accelerate or use maneuvering thrusters to change course or dodge enemy fire. Too much speed was not always a good thing as it became hard to hit targets and flight paths were easier to predict.

Her Lancer nose was aimed at where the bomber formation was, though her craft traveled to the intercept point. With engines down, systems running cool, and with the stealth material construction they would be hard to see coming. They were still beyond visible range, and coming quiet would increase their chances to be hidden from enemy scanners giving them the element of surprise.

The sudden eruption of weaponry behind her squadron drew her attention. If she were in her body, she would have been craning her neck to look at what was happening. Cyberjacked in, she just merely looked through the aft cameras. Every large ECR ship had started firing their primary weapons earlier, but now they were firing absolutely everything. Beams, burst fire, and from her view point she could see Orion's Fist firing its rail guns, the electron magnetic blue bursts from the guns sparkling against the black of space.

"Is it me, or is it too early for that?" asked Slingshot.

"He is right, the fleets are too far apart," said Rain Cloud. Her analysis was correct, it made no sense for the big ships to firing their close-in weapons.

Slice pondered the light show. Something must have changed, but she had no idea what. "Let them have at it, we got bombers to hunt," she said. She gave a mental shrug and focused back on her orders to intercept those bombers. She trusted the fleet officers and it was not for her to question why.

"What was that?" asked Toad as a purple light flashed from the middle of the Tribe fleet.

Slice caught a glimpse of the flash as well. She racked her brain and her ships data file for a cross reference as she had no answers. Her scanners where on minimum signature output, so they didn't pick up the wave front racing towards them until the last second.

"What the hell was that?" she said as it washed over them and was gone. She had a sense of something flickering. She gave her ship's systems the once over as well as her body's vitals. Everything showed nominal, no record of any disturbances. She could have sworn there was a flutter of something.

"Everyone check in." She listened as her squadron confirmed the same sensation, but all their systems remained nominal as well.

"Doesn't matter people. Let's get back to those bombers." As peculiar as it was, it did not change their immediate mission.


Sergeant Mikal Orva stood in the lead position in the Ripper bay of the Fastcat corvette. The pilot was running silent in the stealthy craft, but must have received orders as he fired the thrusters to change their trajectory. It looked like they have been given a target.

His spirit leapt for joy when the orders were relayed to his heads-up display. They had been tasked to infiltrate cannon frigates. Six rippers per frigate was the assignment. Considering a cannon frigate only has some seventy crewmembers his Rippers should not have much trouble. They would target the bridge first, and see what havoc they could create. As long as the pilots got them there in once piece, Orva would have plenty of opportunity to work out some of his rage.

Orva felt an itch, without thinking he instinctively raised his clawed armored hand and scratched the helmet of his power armor. "That was weird," he muttered as he stopped himself. "I have never had an itch before when jacked."

He rolled his armored shoulders and gave himself a shake. Whatever that was, it didn't matter. He had some frigates to rip up.

"Analyze and interpret," Evandor ordered as the wave front passed through them with no tangible results.

"Inconclusive," came multiple responses.

"Speculate," he countered. There was a pause and then the image of the front line of the ECR ships came into view replaying the wave front passing through the ships. Spectral graphs superimposed over the images showing energy systems. One of the analyst brought attention to a millisecond point of the graph that showed blank. As if nothing was there.

"Possible wave distortions of energy output."

"If that disrupts the defense fields generated by the frigates we would be open season for their guns," Colonel Reis put in. "Armor won't last against the amount of firepower they have out there."

Evandor did a quick analysis of the cyberjack system. It remained flawless. Perhaps the Soul Jacker name was a red herring that the Tribes leaked out on purpose.

He rolled this over in his mind. Did the Tribes find a way to neutralize defense frigates? That would be a significant tactical advantage, but that wave did so little it would be near impossible to time the shots to the millisecond the wave created.

"Sir, the Soul Jacker's stored energy has grown exponentially." The image of the purple orb destroyer came up, glowing brighter than before, power readings topping the charts. "I'm speculating that the first wave was just a primer for the next one."

Evandor looked at the timer for the Hammer to fire, one minute and eighteen seconds. His eyes went back to the concentrated firepower he was dumping towards his primary target. His goal wasn't so much to destroy the frigates, but rather between projectile and energy weapons thrown in such volume at them it would force them to expend power and keep the crews overwhelmed regulating the disruptor and repulsion fields. So that when the Hammer did fire, it would be too much for them allowing the shot to get to that destroyer.

"Sir, replay of the first wave front discharge shows an energy anomaly. I believe we can predict when it will fire again."

"Lead time?"

"Twenty seconds, maybe more," came the response from the science officer Malhotra as a display of the sine wave gyrations just before it fired played. The pattern frequency did have a noticeable spike.

"Notify me immediately when you see that pattern," said Evandor.

"Yes, sir."

Evandor checked the timer for Ezra's Hammer, one minute and nine seconds. The missile formulas had been created. The ships that could fire missiles all had their orders. The distance between the fleets was closing rapidly.

The intensity of fire increased. On the 3-D projectors defense frigates had begun to glow amber, indicating that they were becoming overwhelmed with the incoming firepower. Normally he would rotate the ones in danger back allowing fresher frigates to take the brunt of the action. Now instead of pulling back he ordered the fresh defense frigates to leap frog their suffering companions shrinking distances even further and denying respite to anyone.

Frigates turned red on the projector and faded away. In space, they exploded and people died. If Evandor were in his body, he would be grinding his teeth. He did not like this at all, as he watched another frigate glow red and fade off the board. This time at least it was a Tribes' frigate.



Chapter 9

"Weapon discharge in thirty-three seconds," announced Malhotra. His thoughts bringing up the telltale graph of the sine wave distortions he had recorded earlier super imposed over the current ones. A perfect match.

Evandor's attention flicked to the Hammer's countdown clock. Thirty-seven seconds before it fires. "Fire all missiles in twelve seconds," he said. They would arrive early to their targets before the purple orb discharges and the Hammer fires. The tribe would have to commit attention and resources to negate the deadly threat giving greater odds to the success of the space cannon strike.

The 3-D projector added all the new missiles to the display. Many ships carried some degree of missiles, though there were few dedicated missile types. Effective missiles were exorbitantly expensive, took up ample storage room on spacecraft, and were difficult to resupply which limited their usage. While not abundant, there were still enough to obscure a few ships in their blazing glory as they spiraled wildly, using lateral thrusts and irregular bursts to make it harder for anti-missile weapons to shoot them down.

Fifteen seconds until weapon discharge. Evandor watched the seconds tick off the timer. Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, ten, he flicked back to the Hammer's time still four seconds behind.

In space Tribe anti-missile weaponry came to life creating new colorful streaks from solid lasers and small projectiles that tipped with orange and red plumes of exploding missiles as they connected. The sheer volume of missiles kept rolling through the explosions as software calculated and recalculated trajectories guiding the warheads into enemy ships adding to the chaos.

Evandor cued the channel to the Ezra's Hammer. "Admiral Drest, fire the Hammer five seconds early." Grim calmness exuding from his thoughts. He needed his crews to feel his resolve, no sense of panic or doubt.

"Deactivating pre-fire fail safes," said Drest. "Sir, the beam will be underpowered."

"I am aware of that." Evandor had read all the reports and studies on the space cannons. Cutting the recharge cycle short would result in the beam not achieving its full focused destructive power. "We are out of time, we cannot let their weapon fire before ours."

"Understood. The Hammer is ready."

"Five seconds early."

"Yes, sir."

Evandor checked the time again. Only five seconds early should minimize the potential risks. He would hate to have to explain how he burned out the prized ship on its second shot, but he would hate it more trying to explain how he lost the bulk of his fleet because of a four-second delay. He didn't want to find out what the Soul Jacker did, regardless if it disrupted the defense system, or cyberjacking, or worse.

Evandor switched to cybersight. With the complied data from the fleet, it was like he was standing in front the Hammer and watched the barrel glow with stored energy. Electrical discharges danced around its mouth. He turned and changed his perspective so that he was standing over the purple orb. It too was powering up. It was spinning and purple light danced from it in a rhythmic pulse.

Seven, six, five, and on cue Ezra's Hammer fired its main cannon. It still had its incandescent blue core of energy surrounded by brilliant white. This time however, the white looked slightly diffused. More telling were the electrical discharges that on the first shot were a tight spiral around the beam now forked out like unruly tufts of hair on this second shot.

It sliced through space to hit its target. The shorter distance and the ECR Fleet pouring firepower at the defense frigates gave them too much to be able stop the blast this time. Their disrupter fields did what they could, but only managed to distort the beam before it struck the purple orb.

The blue beam, crackling with lightning struck the destroyer with the spinning orb radiating ultraviolet energy. The diameter of the beam was wide enough to obscure the entire purple orb. As it struck the orb released its stored energy in an ever-expanding sphere breaking out of the Hammer's beam. This time the violet wave front had taken the blue lightning crackling from the beam with it along its surface. As if, the two weapons had melded and released outward. Two unknown powers merged and spread across space.

The last time the purple energy wave passed through the Tribes' ships it was as if they weren't there. This time the lightning dancing on its surface leapt out and struck the ships a millisecond before the purple energy wave hit it. The stricken ships lights flickered as if they were being overloaded, then shut down. Passing through the Tribe's fleet in seconds, it hurled towards the 5th​ fleet while the Hammer's beam kept pouring into the purple orb.

Instincts flared and Evandor immediately sent out the call to cyberjack out. Frozen for a split second, he watched in fascinated horror as the threat washed over everything in its path. It didn't matter because, the wave moved too fast for him to formulate the thoughts to cyberjack out. The blue lightning struck out first, and then each ECR ship went dark after the purple wave front consumed it just like every Tribe ship it did earlier. At near light speed, it reached and washed over Victor's Valiant and all the crew inside.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 10

At the edge of the effective blast zone, the purple energy wave struck Captain Sharran 'Slice' Blike's squadron causing all systems to shut down. The small ships continued with their forward trajectory. Moments of time ticked by as the Lancers silently flew out of the affected area, as they did the ships rebooted their systems. The purple wave had caused them to power down but they escaped its influence before going completely cold.

The pilots onboard had lost consciousness when they were hit. It took several minutes before Slice regained her senses. She knew something happened, but she didn't sense the passage of time. She felt ill, a fading sharp pain at her core. Like some giant hand had reached inside of her and tried to yank out her guts. Yet, she should not be able to feel pain in cyberspace.

She swept over the systems of her Lancer. Everything showed nominal, so did the check on her body's vitals. She instantly reoriented herself to the targeting system. She was startled that the scope had no targets registered. She checked again, not believing what the instruments were trying to tell her. They were diving in on the bombers and she had multiple targets acquired a moment ago.

Slice checked her proximity scanners. Her squadron was still with her but where did the enemy go? They were in visible range. There was no way for them to escape. They could not have jumped away because no ship that small could carry the necessary drive system.

"Sabre Squadron, system check. I lost the enemy targets."

"Confirmed," said Toad, then the others responses cascaded right afterwards. All of them reporting no flaws detected with their scanners. Slice could feel their confusion. It didn't make sense.

Slice powered up her long range active sensors. Her squadron was with her, but the other squadron that they were flying with was missing. They were veering off on to a different strike vector a moment ago. She should be able register them. Where did they go?

"Time anomaly registered, Captain," said Toad.

Slice checked her ships clock, puzzled to see that it had advanced over seven minutes from where it should be. "Confirmed. Seven minute lapse."

"What the hell?" said Slingshot. His astonished response spoke for the whole squadron.

"Both fleets are silent," said Rain Cloud.

Slice was so focused on what was in front of her, she didn't look behind her. A series a colorful and confused comments followed.

"Distance from the fleet correlates to our velocity and the seven minute time lapse," said Toad. He sent a display showing the math. Their trajectory taking them straight out of the heart of the fleet.

"All pilots form up," said Slice as she slowed her craft down. There was no point to be zipping through space at combat speed when there suddenly was no combat to be had.

Reading and then rereading the readouts, she called out to have the other pilots confirm her data. "All pilots, jack out. Give me a manual instrument check."

Suddenly she remembered Evandor urgent call to cyberjack out. Alarmed, Sharran willed herself back into the warmth of her natural body. Her senses went from the cool lethal efficiency of her fighter, through the tunnel of the cyberjack connecting system and felt the flush of body heat. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs feeling her chest expand.

Everything was in order, she felt fine and wondered if she really did hear the admiral call for them to jack out. Getting back to the task at hand, she focused her natural eyes, they swept over the instrument panel.

They confirmed her earlier findings.

She pointed the nose of her Lancer to the side and engaged the thrusters putting her nimble ship into a gentle arc. As the ship wheeled around, she craned her neck to look over her right shoulder to where the fleets should be blasting each other into burning heaps of space junk.

Instead of the expected violent display of lasers, cannons, tracers, and missiles streaks, there was nothing. No weapon fire and even stranger no ships had their running lights on nor was there the glow of engine thrusts. She found herself staring into the silence of space.

Chapter 11

"Attention Earth Fighters," the male voice called through Captain Blike's comm set made to jump. "This is First Warrior Sheppard from the United Free Tribes' Squadron. I call a truce between us. We both see what has happened to our comrades."

Slice cursed herself for not noticing the stealthy enemy squadron earlier as she had been too distracted with everything else going on. She narrowed her scanners to focus on the direction of the communication, and sure enough, the stealthy enemy ships came up. Twenty-four of them to be exact, all bomber class.

She smirked to herself, First Warrior Sheppard failed to mention that he was part of a bomber squadron when he called the truce. She knew that in the Tribesman military ranking structure that a First Warrior was about equivalent to an ECR Captain so their ranks matched up well. However, her fighters completely out matched his bombers.

"This Is Captain Blike," she called back to him. "I will take your request under consideration." She keyed off the comm, and opened the secure channel for her squadron. "Sabers, jack in, form up, and call out your targets. The lead dog is mine."

She willed herself back into the machine, feeling her essence slip from her body, out the tunnel of the connecting cyberjack port and back into the lethal spacecraft.

Engaging her thrusters, she lined up the enemy bombers. She had no guilt in not accepting the truce he boldly tried to call. There was no doubt in her mind that if he was in fighters or gunship corvettes that they would have attacked without warning. However, since he was outclassed he tried the truce. It would have been smarter to turn tail and run hoping to sneak away.

As her ship accelerated her sense of thrill heightened. Yes, this is exactly what her old teacher Blanstot would have done as well. Take the opportunity to strike and eliminate a threat before they could cause any harm. She felt a sense of pride that he would approve of her actions.

"Earth fighters. Break off. We need to work together and figure out what happened to our fleets," said Sheppard as his bombers started to take evasive actions.

"Sheppard, the is Captain Blike of the 5th​ Fleet, of the Earth Core Republic. I do not accept your offer as I cannot trust you." The last thing she wanted was to give an enemy bomber squadron free reign on the defenseless ships in her fleet.

"Damn you Earther, we don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do. Blike out."

Slice primed her quasar auto cannons. Ingenious energy weapons whose ammunition was fed by the waste energy sludge that was created by the onboard plasma fusion engines that powered the fighters. Her guns could shoot faster than the engines could produce ammunition, but with controlled bursts, they could be used indefinitely. These bombers were not worth wasting any missiles.

She listened as her squadron called out, and locked on their targets. Slice oriented her slave-wings as her Saber Squadron swooped in like predators with their sleek, sharp edged Lancers.
Slice lined up the lead bomber, who she predicted belonged to none other than First Warrior Sheppard himself. Her targeting computer identifying the enemy bombers craft they were facing.

"Looks like we got a sausage party," said Toad in reference to the nickname the ECR pilots had given this type of bomber. The design was of three long sausage like tubes in a triangle formation, connected along their length with support beams. Each sausage, or tube, had a thruster behind it, one tube was for the pilot, and the other two were for the quasar bombs.

"They are loaded for heavies," said Slice, confirming that the bombers payload was geared towards hitting large ships. The quasar bombs were bigger versions of her auto-cannons. Each quasar bomb did considerable more damage than the small bolts from the fighters, but their rate of fire, velocity, and reload times suffered.

Slice rapidly closed the distance, keeping the lead bomber in her sights. The bomber fired its lateral thrusters snapping towards her and launched a quasar bomb. Slice engaged her lateral thrusters shifting her attack vector letting the bomb sale wide. A second bomb was launched, its green energy ball of goo shimmering through space as it streaked towards her. Another lateral thrust and it to flew through empty space.

She responded in kind and released a short burst of small bolts of her own glowing green energy sludge. The small bolts travelled much faster than their larger bomb cousins did, but the Tribe bomber pilot was up to the challenge and evaded the first burst. Blike expected no less.

She corrected her aim, and took advantage her slave-wings firepower. The first slave-wing fired, forcing the bomber to commit. Slice then staggered the firing arcs and timing of her other slave-wing anticipating the evasive maneuver.

Her streaking quasar bolts caught the bomber on its pilot's sausage, instantly super heating the armor plating turning it into metallic steam. First Warrior Sheppard was fortunate that none of his internals were burnt on the first burst that hit him. His luck ran out when the second longer burst from the slave-wing stitched up his craft and sliced through the cockpit. The quasar bolts evaporated metal and the silica glass canopy before striking his body incinerating his torso and head leaving only limbs with smoking ends.

First Warrior Sheppard instantly realized his flesh body that he called home was no more. His cyberjacked soul screamed a mechanical scream as he desperately tried to stay in the machine and stay alive. With no flesh to anchor him, his consciousness evaporated from the craft to the great beyond.

The bomber shuddered under its assault. Once the life force left it, the zero-momentum fail-safes kicked on and engaged directional thrusters to bring it to a halt in space. These fail-safe zero-momentum thrusters had been installed on virtually every spacecraft.

The theory being if the crew was killed, or lost control, it was better for the ship to come to a stop and float harmlessly in space until rescue or salvage teams could arrive. This was preferred over letting the craft continue to fly through space and getting lost, or crashing and destroying itself, or worse destroying other craft or facilities.

Satisfied as the sausage shuddered and went silent Slice quickly turned her guns on the next victim. This one met bursts from her quasars striking its plasma fusion generator turning it into a flowering ball of orange fire tinged with green.

Blike's Lancer sliced past the wreckages it just created. Her squadron had similar success, leaving no surviving Tribe ships after the first attack run. She checked her scanners, no other active ship in range. Only the derelict floating craft in the distance that had been silent the whole time.

"Confirm hostiles neutralized," she said, then listened to her pilots report the same. No enemy survivors, no friendly casualties.

"Good job Sabers. Form up on me, and let's head back to the Valiant." She eased back her velocity and pointed her ship back to their home ship.

"Everyone stay alert, full active scanners," she said as her squadron began to form up around her. Normally she liked surprises as they kept life interesting, but she had her fill for the day. "We need to figure this out."

"Any idea what happened to the fleet," asked Toad as his Lancer came up off her right wing.

"Let's say I am open to suggestions," said Slice. "Does anyone have any fleet comm activity?"

"Reading zero activity," said Pretzel. "If ya'll weren't here I would think I'm going a little bit crazy."

"Crazy likes company," chimed in Rain Cloud.

"At least the tribe fleet is down as well," said Inferno.

"Hey Captain, I got something at coordinates 23.47.76," said Toad as he brought up the image of a purple star.

Slice zeroed her focus on the coordinates given which were well inside the Tribes' Fleet.

"What's that?" asked Pretzel. "Stars aren't purple."

"That is where we are going. Change course to intercept," said Slice.

"What is it?"

"That is the place where we will find some answers," said Slice. She took a moment to take in the two fleets. Thousands of ships floating quietly in space. "Everyone, activate your zero-momentum thrusters. Just in case."

She was one of the squadron captains who had the practice of disengaging them going into combat. Her theory was that small strike craft relied on speed to keep them alive, the last thing they wanted was their ship to come to a halt by some mishap or technical failure.

She tried to analyze the purple star, but her scanners were not designed for complex analysis and gave her little.

"Captain, that purple energy signal is right in the heart of Tribe fleet," said Slingshot.

"We will be flying right into the teeth of the enemy."

"Your point?"


"Slingshot," said Slice, pausing for effect. "Do you think everyone is doing this to trick a single squadron to fly into their fleet to destroy them?"

"Point taken," said Slingshot, followed by a handful of jeers from the other pilots.

"Keep it tight people. I want everyone on full alert. Nothing is to be missed," said Slice as she cut the chatter.

Toad cued a private channel. "Any idea what the hell is going on?"

"Nope. So we will fly over to that purple thing and find out together."

"Roger that, Captain."

They flew in together, eyes peeled and scanners wide open. Yet their eyes could not see what was happening in the invisible energy spectrum. Their scanners, which were designed for combat, to find solid targets and evade weapons, were equally blind to the real threat lay before them.

The pilots had no way to know that they had flown out of the area of affect of the Soul Jacker. Searching for answers they flew forward, straight back into the influence of the purple orb, succumbing to it once again.

 

[Kris Wicker]

3 Days Later
On Earth, the Center of the Colonized Galaxy

Chapter 12

Lord Admiral Duzan stood silent and rigid. He was a man of tall and wide stature. Even in his seventies, he was massive. Not fat, but rather man-beef bulk. It seemed fitting that his grand physical size reflected the immensity of his position having risen to be the supreme commander of the ECR Space Fleet. His normally imposing stature, with his shaved head, was dwarfed by the huge view screen that was in front of him.

He watched the last part of the sequence where the space cannon shot the purple sphere causing that massive energy wave to burst out from it complete with arc lightning. He slowed down the recording to catch the details watching the blue lightning stab out to hit ships as the wave approached them. How the lightning would spread apart and dance all over the hulls like the whole thing was electrically surging. Then as the purple energy wave washed over the ship, turning the blue lightning purple as it went. Finally, how the ships lights would flicker and go dark shortly afterward.

It did not matter the ships allegiance or size. Tribe or Republic, fighter or fortress, everything was affected equally with the same results.

Lord Admiral Duzan kept his hands firmly clasped behind his back, his body utterly motionless on the surface, hiding the growing storm of rage building within. His entire 5th Fleet succumbed to whatever that was. The video was at the part where the purplish-blue shock wave reached Ezra's Hammer, washed over it, and left it silent in its wake.

He grimly watched the wave come up to the satellite probe that had been stationed at the edge of battle recording the event. Once the wave hit the probe, the screen turned to static fuzz. There were three other probes at the scene, all in different locations, but all showing the same events. The fact the probe only had capabilities for video recording and basic sensors railed against him. It left so much information in darkness.

The video package arrived this morning, sent by nanoburst transmission. A military grade relay system where the message was compressed to a nanosecond, and then sent through FTL space station relays back to Earth. The probes recording the event sent a transmission every five seconds in the event they were destroyed. Even at the incredible speeds of the system, the data was three days old. He had watched it all morning, and all afternoon, from beginning to end, from every angle available.

His entire 5th Fleet sat out there with an unknown status. Long-range scanners detected no light jumps, so they must still be floating there. The ships list ran through his head. How many decades would it take decades of full production to rebuild that fleet and train the crew? The sheer loss of resources staggered him. The best he could hope for was a stalemate with the Tribes' Fleet as they too were incapacitated.

If they weren't, they would have free reign to start invading ECR planets along that entire sector. He already had issued the orders to send extra elements of the 2nd CASF to shore up the defense of key planets as a precaution. The 2nd Fleet was already stretched thin, compounded by the lost ships that it committed to that debacle of a space battle. If the Tribes' Fleet were still active, the 2nd would be hard pressed to defend. He would have to send elements of the 1st Fleet, which was not good because the 1st was not battle-ready like the others. It was dedicated to training recruits and policing inner core worlds.

"Computer, replay at fifteen point two-six and hold image." The video shifted from the static to the image of two seconds after the Hammer struck the orb when the beam was pouring its energy into its target and the purple energy wave pulsing out of it engulfing the nearby ships, a perfect backdrop for the upcoming discussion.

Duzan slowly shifted his weight and spun around on his heels, coming to a stop to face the rest of the room. He was standing at the head of the table of the ECR High Command Council Room, which was reserved for only the top-ranking individuals and for the most sensitive topics. The table was a large, solid and fabricated with high-density steel. The centerline had installed a 3-D projector, currently not active. The whole room was dark, large, and imposing. A solid bunker of a room sealed from the rest of the universe.

Around the table sat handpicked individuals. On the left side of the table sat War Admirals Henkel Sevastian and Barl Broone commanders of the 1st and 2nd Combined Arms Space Fleets, respectively. Facing them was Lord General Grayson Kraun, the commander of all the ECR ground forces, just as Lord Admiral Karl Duzan was the commander of all the ECR Star Navies.

Two chairs down from the general sat Commander Spretza, chief ship engineer and lead scientist. Sitting next to him was the only civilian in the group, Doctor Jacque Corfur, the founding father of cyberjacking.

"Gentlemen," Duzan said addressing the group, his deep baritone voice reverberating in the otherwise empty room. He and Lord General Kraun were the only ones wearing a black uniform with navy and gold trim. The other military personnel wore the standard colors of their respective military branches. The dark uniform, his bulk and expression made him an ominous presence. "I trust we all understand the severity of what we have witnessed and it will remain classified until I say otherwise."

He paused, looking each man in the eye. He didn't expect a verbal response. "What do we know about what we just saw?" The question was aimed at Commander Spretza. All the faces turned to him.

Spretza cleared his throat, he felt much better with his kind in a lab, not with these overbearing military types, especially Duzan whose size and intensity scared the hell out of him. "Unfortunately we do not know much as the recording only had basic visual and sensor data. We know that the ... Soul Jacker had never been encountered before this battle. We also can surmise that the result of the space cannon hitting it before it fired that shock wave was not what the Tribes intended to happen."

He brought up the 3-D projection of the battle scene on the table projectors in front of them. His eyes swept over his audience. Duzan, Kraun and Broone seemed to be trying to bore holes through him with their eyes. Sevastian gave him a reassuring look, and the old doctor on the other side of him seemed to be barely paying attention. Spretza dropped his hands to his lap under the table so they wouldn't see them tremble.

Since no one else was saying anything, he cleared his throat again and continued, "As you can see here the wave attacked their own ships in the same manner as it attacked ours. There is no way that was the original plan." He altered the image to the first firing of the weapon. "Here we can see the... the... Soul Jacker...um... sorry, that name really bothers me. Does it have a real name?" He asked looking back at the military commanders.

They all glanced at each other before Sevastian spoke up. "He does have a point. We can't exactly call it the Soul Jacker forever. It's bad for morale. Especially in light of what we just saw." Which spurned another round of sideways glances.

Duzan was well aware of the importance of morale and public relations, but didn't believe in coddling his troops.
"Yes, we need to give it a more official reference," Duzan agreed. Having a less ominous name

"Indigo Pulse Destroyer?" Sevastian chimed in. Duzan's glanced to War Admiral Broone and Lord General Kraun, both gave barely a shrug. Being men focused on strategy, tactics and the logistics of battle, he knew they didn't care. Whereas, Sevastian was excellent at organizing and administration, which made him perfect for commanding the 1st CASF in its primary role as support. However, a brilliant military mind he was not.

Duzan drew in a deep breath that drew everyone's attention back to him. "We will continue to refer to it as the Soul Jacker," he stated. He then turned to Sevastian. "What where you about to tell us about the Soul Jacker?"

Sevastian swallowed hard. "As I was saying, the first pulse went through all the ships on both sides. However, once it happened you can see War Admiral Evandor immediately altered his plan and launched a full-scale attack toward the Soul Jacker." The image played forward to where all the ECR ships opened fire with every weapon they had regardless of effectiveness level. He let the clip play for ten seconds to drive home his point.

"We do not know what it did to our ships, but whatever it did caused an immediate and decisive action. Evandor did not want to be hit by the pulse again. Considering what the second pulse did, I can speculate that it was an energy disrupter of some sort. Maybe the original plan was for it to negate disruptor fields, or shut down main engines, maybe crash computer systems including cyberspace. I have no idea how it would do any of these, but the second pulse did all of that and more."

"Can you determine how it shut everything down?" Duzan said.

Spretza stared at the 3-D projector. "We can start running tests and theories, but like I said we have very little data to work with. We don't have the energy readings that the orb gave off. For that matter, I don't even know the energy readings of the space cannon when it hit. It fired early, which ruins the baseline readouts, and then you can see it go through nine disruptor fields from defense frigates on the way to its target."
Duzan stared at the 3-D projector that Spretza had pointed out. "Doctor?" he asked without taking his eyes off the projector.

Dr. Jacque Corfur let out a rattling wheezing breath. Not from nerves, but from old age. His age was hidden from public records, but everyone agreed he was well over one hundred years old. Many speculated he was past one-twenty, a few suggested he was over one-thirty and perhaps even over one-forty making him the oldest person on record. He had nearly every organ replaced among other life extending medical procedures. All things considered, he looked very good for his age, but death could not be held at bay forever.

"I'm afraid I do not have anything more to offer at this time," he stated. His wispy thin white hair fluttered as he spoke from the old age trembling of his head. Duzan shifted his eyes to the Doctor and somehow managed to look even more foreboding.

"Ah, if you mean the fate of the crew," Corfur said answering the unspoken question. "I'm afraid all of our studies show that when a machine lost power with a cyberjacked mind trapped in it, the results are always the same. We have never been able to recover anyone from that."

"What of those who were not cyberjacked in?" Duzan asked next. Even in the heat of battle, only sixty percent of the crew would be linked into the machine.

"Again," started the doctor, interrupted with a cough. "We can only speculate with the information at hand. If the rest of the crew survived they should have contacted us by now." Corfur paused. The military men held their gaze behind stone faces.

"Yes, very well then," Corfur continued, with no reaction to read. "It is possible that the pulse weapon incapacitated them all. If rendered unconscious, with the power to life support lost they would succumb to affixation in a matter of days depending on the size of the ship."

It was just as he thought. "Very well, you two are dismissed." With that, the doctor and scientist rose from the table.

Corfur paused as he stood up, licked his lips and spoke. "If I may, Lord Admiral? There was a science ship attached with the 5th​ fleet. If we get its records, we will know a whole lot more of what happened and learn how to protect ourselves."

"The science ship was not with the fleet during the battle," Duzan conceded. "It is in route now." The doctor perked up ever so slightly, most would not have noticed it, but Duzan had seen enough of the doctor to catch the subtle signs. It was mostly in his eyes, a hint of a sparkle.

"Would I be able to see a live feed of the mission?" Corfur asked.

"You will be advised as your expertise is needed."

Corfur held his gaze with Duzan as he thought over the statement. "Very well," the doctor said as he turned and started to walk out of the room. Commander Spretza walked beside him, shortening his stride to keep pace with the older man so that they would leave together.

Duzan sat down. The four remaining men sat in silence waiting for the heavy sliding doors to close behind the two men.

"We have several thousand ships floating in space. Our Tribes' frontier defenses are thin, but our enemy is worse off as they don't have the reserves we do, and we have millions of troops ready to invade. We need to take advantage of this."

"My troops are ready to move across the entire quadrant," Lord General Kraun said as he brought up the star systems along the Republic - Tribe frontier on the 3-D projector. "These planets are our staging areas," he said as a dozen planets glowed a brighter blue. "They are all within striking distance and are our best choices. On the Tribes side of the frontier, eight planets turned a brighter orange. "They will be well defended as we know the Tribes' armies are stationed there as well. Our biggest problem is lack of naval and fighter support with the 5th​ out of commission."

"The 2nd​ fleet can help with that, but we lost half our combat ships in that sector in the last battle that were supporting the 5th​. I have two task forces of any size left along that frontier, meaning we can only reasonably support two invasion forces." War Admiral Broone highlighted the map where his two carrier groups were stationed.

Duzan looked over the map. He already knew the details of their deployment, just as he knew the 2nd CASF was split with twenty-five percent of its forces on the three hostile fronts, with another twenty-five percent held in reserve to police and protect the outer-core worlds.

"We will take elements from every other sector only leaving ten percent behind at the outer-core. The rest will all redeploy to the Tribes' frontier," Duzan laid out the plans on the 3-D projector. "How soon can we support another invasion?"

War Admiral Broone eyes swept over the star map, calculations and options spinning through his head. "The nearest task force can meet the forces stationed at Kalmar system at this jump point in sixteen days."

"Make it happen," Duzan ordered, then turned the General. "Choose the three most valuable targets that you can take and hold."

"What about the abandoned ships?" asked Sevastian. "We can't just leave all of them there floating in space. If we can get crews to them we can restore the 5th​ fleet and even take the Tribes' fleet as well!"

"That is why you will be sending every available starship recruit to that sector." Duzan said bringing his attention to the commander of the 1st Fleet. "They don't have to be combat ready. They just need to be trained well enough to get those ships back to us so we can do it properly."

"Yes, Sir," said Sevastian. His eyes darting all over the map as the logistics played through his head. No doubt excited to be part of an actual military campaign instead of just putting recruits through their paces at the academies and then having them patrol the safer inner core while the best soldiers were rotated to the war theatres. "The distance is great. It will take months to get there and we don't have enough people ready to take all those ships even if we strip crew from other ships."

"Assign what you can and have them leave immediately," said Duzan. "We will secure the area as best we can, then we will start with the most valuable ships first, bring them to safety and then send those crews back to get more. We will do that until we have everything. The incoming 2nd​ fleet elements will provide cover for the operations and lend whatever crew they can spare to speed it up."

"Lord General, once you take and secure those first three planets, you will leap frog to the next most valuable planets and do the same. That will pressure the Tribes keeping them busy while we salvage two entire battle fleets."

"Long-range sensors still show an energy anomaly at the battle site," Broone said. "We need to clear that problem before we can send ships into the area."

"The science vessel will be there in four days. They are tasked to negate that problem," Duzan said. "Keep everything in route. We need to protect them and that fleet from the Tribes until they can turn off or blow up the Soul Jacker."

"You have your orders, make it happen." Duzan commanded.

 

[Kris Wicker]

5 Days Later
Turrin Star System, Location of the Event

Chapter 13

Captain Rylan Rahmore slouched in his command chair on the bridge of the science frigate SRF-014 Insight. His hand caressed the plush velvet armrests he had custom installed. Being from the Merlur System, he had heightened tactile sensory ability and just loved touching the velvet. The long nights and poor daylight on his home planet help lend toward this phenomenon. Being able to touch and feel in darkness became an essential ability that grew among his people, fluid movements and deft of touch being a main trademark of Merlurian people.

A very useful trait when it came to precision medical processes, as well as some other covert type professions that some of his brethren had choose. Not him, he would rather be somewhere warm and safe than skulking around in some insurgent commando squad.

There were a few trade-offs for the haptic abilities, a lack of any hair was one of them and the natural disdain of clothing touching the flesh when it didn't really need to be worn. Too bad practically every other planet considered walking around naked inappropriate, especially the military. So uptight about their protocol.

Rylan curled his toes in his boots, even with his soft cashmere socks he shuddered at the restrictive feeling of them. His feet should be free, just like how the rest of him should be.

In addition, when touching the flesh of another a natural pheromone produced by the Merlurian created a subtle, yet noticeably warm and tingling sensation on the skin of the other individual. The sensualness did have an advantage as Merlurians were considered the best lovers in the Republic. Something about savoring and delighting in every sensation had its appeal.

His blue eyes wandered to Ensign Tia Tamiki as she worked at her station. She hailed from the Skalorr system, where all three inhabitable planets of that star system produced long legged, strong runners. Distinguished by having legs slightly too long for their torsos. These people were fast. They could sprint like no other and run for miles across the great open plains on their planets. Another side effect was that when they ran their brain beta waves intensified giving them equally strong levels of concentration.

Most researchers agreed this was a byproduct of the brain precisely controlling their leg and core muscles to run like Velunin buffalo. This also gave them the ability to be able to use their arms and hands independently from the rest of their body, which was very useful for aiming weapons while on the run. Needless to say, they often made fabulous infantry for those who wanted to join.

Captain Rahmore's ship was part of the 5th​ fleet. He had an escort of two defense frigates that were part of the 2nd​ fleet. They were parked on the edge of the Soul Jacker's reach for nearly two days.

Tamiki had a brilliant mind and was putting it to use as she worked on solving the purple energy waves emitting from the orb destroyer out there. Tamiki and the others in her team theorized that if they could modulate the defense frigates disruptor fields they could repel the effects of the purple energy field.

Being a Skalorrian her workstation included an elliptical treadmill that allowed her to engage her leg muscles, which enhanced her brain functions. The elliptical was somewhat annoying as it took up extra space and made that constant whirring noise but Rahmore didn't care as he watched those long muscled legs pumping that machine causing her hips to sway back and forth like that.

Abruptly she jumped off her elliptical and she said something very enthusiastically raising her arms punching the air. Her green eyes wide with excitement and a few strands of her black hair escaped the bun that held the rest of it in place. She had an exotically unique look to her with her heritage harking back to being a mix of Japanese and Scandinavian bloodlines.

"Please repeat your statement," Rahmore said, sounding nearly bored. He totally missed what she said as he was too busy being distracted by the visuals, but wasn't about to let anyone know that.

Tamiki lowered her arms and stood straighter. "Sir, we have found the correct modulation to create a safe zone."

Captain Rahmore paused, giving her the once over. It was good for her to sound strictly professional in front of the others. "Show me on the main projector, Ensign."

"Yes, Sir," she responded, spun around, stepped over to the nearest console and bent over to punch in commands. Rahmore wondered if she bent over like that on purpose.

The 3-D projector popped up showing the profile of a defense frigate. She manipulated the image so he could see the disruptor emitter pushing back the energy distortion wave from the purple orb.

Not being an energy wave expert himself, much of what she did was beyond him, but the result was very clear. The defense frigate still stood outside the influence of the purple energy, but its disruptor field had projected into the field pushing it back creating a small safe cone.

"This is real time," Tamiki said. "We are literally doing this right now, Sir."

Rahmore arched his right hairless eyebrow, "Interesting. Have that other frigate move into the field to make sure it works. Stand by to recover it if there are any problems."

His comm officer relayed the message to the frigate commander and it slowly moved forward. The slowness of the process railed against Rahmore. They were under strict orders not to use cyberjacking, and considering what happened to all those ships arrayed before him he did not intend to defy that order. Still, doing it the old-fashioned way was slow and felt extremely cumbersome.

"Bring up the frigate on the view screen as well," he ordered. The defense arrays were pointed forward on the defense frigate so it could not protect itself so the other frigate moved into the protective field completely and stopped. All eyes were on the image waiting for the ship to flicker and go dark. It held fast.

"Open a channel,"

"Opened, Sir," responded the comm officer.

"Captain Grenner, what is your status report?"

"All systems are nominal," the captain reported, his voice coming in clear and crisp. "All indications show that the modulations are working and there is no effect from the energy distortion anomaly."

"Open a channel to both captains."

"Sir, channel is open."

"We need you two to test this out. Keep each other in the field array and slowly go deeper into the distortion field. Go in nice, slow and careful. Keep within grappler recovery distance, and I repeat, go slow." With the need to keep their noses pointed at each keep each other in their protective fields the ships would have to use lateral thrusters and travel sideways. The captains acknowledged the orders and moved out.

Chapter 14

Captain Rahmore went over the final checklists and readouts. The defense frigate experiment proved a success. They flew around for over five hours without straining their systems. They even went to the purple glowing ball and back. Careful to disengage their zero momentum safety thrusters and to set their trajectory that if they did lose power they would safely float past both fleets where they could be rescued.

Fortunately, their disruptor arrays were up to the task to keep them safe. Now both frigates nestled themselves up to the Insight. While they could keep themselves safe, the area of protection was very limited and both had to snuggle right up to the science vessel to make sure that everyone was also enclosed in the safety zone. Rahmore debated leaving his ship behind, just taking a defense frigate, but the sensory arrays and equipment on his ship was too good to give up and they could gain valuable information to help decipher what happened and turn off that purple ball.

He had a defense frigate on either flank of him with them pointed at his ship. Looking at the 3-D projectors, the ships were so close together they practically looked like a single vessel. Less than twenty meters separated himself from the two other frigates. Their flight plan would be a simple straight line to the ship that was the source of this bizarre radiation Then one careful adjustment, and they would dock with it. He would prefer the pilots be cyberjacked in considering how precise they would have to fly, but he couldn't risk that either. Slow and easy were the orders of the day.

"All is ready, sir," said the helmsman, "course is laid, personnel transfer, and safety precautions complete." He didn't look up from his console.

Rahmore took a deep measured breath and slowly let it out. There was a reason he took the path of science, one of which was that he was not supposed to be putting his life on the line like this. His eyes swept over the visual monitors, all the ships hanging in space as dark hulks. Zero life signs registering on their systems from the moment they arrived.

"Open comm to the frigates and have them remain open," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," he responded as he opened the preset military channels.

"Captains, are you ready?"

Captains Grenner and Chard responded with an "Aye" from their respective frigates. All three of them shared the same rank, but considering the situation Rahmore was given field command.

"Initiate thrusters on my mark, accelerate to one thousand kilometers per hour, and hold speed together. We need to ensure we are neck and neck when entering the energy field."

He received a chorus of "roger that."

"Three, two, one, mark," Captain Rahmore counted down and felt the ship lurch forward as the thrusters engaged. He watched the 3-D hologram projector as the ships slowly began to accelerate. The starboard frigate moved ahead a touch too fast but corrected itself quickly. "Pretty damn good for flying raw," Captain Rahmore muttered loud enough for the helmsman to hear. Positive reinforcement was a good thing in his book.

At this speed, it would take over four hours to reach their destination, but he was in no hurry. There was no one to rescue out there and he didn't want to put him or his crew in any more danger than he had to.

The 3-D projector showed the safety cones the defense frigates created with their disruptor arrays. Those ships were long and sleek as most ECR military craft were designed. Smaller fronts to give a low profile to enemy gunners when facing each other, and over two hundred and twenty meters in length. His science vessel looked the awkward kid next to the two athletes. More of a flying saucer type front with thrusters coming out the back with all sorts of sensor arrays sticking out of it. The ship designers still tried to make it look streamlined, but it was chubby and gangly compared to the flanking ships.

They left behind a sensor buoy and a shuttle to monitor and report back to command if something went wrong

He watched intently as they approached the edge of the energy signature of the radiation field. His breath caught as they slipped into its influence. He glanced around the ship, not a flicker, not a vibration. He let out his
breath, and realized his bridge crew did the same, a collective sigh of relief.

Rahmore sat in his chair watching the proceedings. Time ticked, seconds passed into minutes. Nothing happened for the first half hour, not a single anomaly or noteworthy blip. The silence, tension, and boredom started to chaff at him.

"Maintain course, keep an eye on energy readings. Inform me of any anomalies regardless of how slight," he ordered. "I am going to the forward observation deck. Ensign Tamiki, meet me there in fifteen minutes.

Sanzzer, you have the bridge until I return."

He stood up out of his command chair as everyone acknowledged his orders. He walked out of the bridge, his pace slow, keeping one last eye on the view screens as he left.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 15

The observation deck was on the top forward section of the ship. Two large metal plates slid open to reveal the night sky. Even though the Insight was not a front-line military vessel, it still had armor plating to protect the view ports from being too exposed. Rahmore wasn't sure what he expected to see up there, but sometimes getting away from the people and technology and seeing something with one's naked eyes gave a fresh perspective.

Ah, naked. Rahmore almost regretted his order to have everyone put on his or her military environmental suits as an extra precaution in case of complete power failure. The added safety only slightly offset his discomfort of having to wear another layer of clothing. He found himself tugging at the rigid collar. His helmet rested on the table near the high-powered telescope that took up the center of the room, his gloves on his helmet. Having his hands and face unencumbered made such a difference. He looked over his right hand taking in its supple smooth sensitive skin, a shade of rich toffee. Why he would want to cover up such a lovely and useful thing before he had to was beyond him.

They were coming up to the rear ships of their 5th Fleet and would be passing by the Valiant soon. The colossal war fortress rested in front of them, like a slumbering beast waiting to be woken. He didn't bother with the large telescope mounted behind him as he would be close enough to get a good view of the ship soon enough. He looked up to his left where the space cannon slept. Huge protruding barrel still aimed at its foe. He couldn't fathom how many years would be needed to train all the crew they had just lost. That would be for someone else to worry about, for now he needed to find out what happened and relay every morsel of information so that it wouldn't happen again.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Tamiki asked. She was behind him, still standing in the doorway with a hint of a coy smile. Precisely on time like usual.

"Yes, come in," he said. "At ease, you can speak freely."

"Thank you, sir," she said as she strode in on her powerful long legs, eating up the distance between them quickly. She came up beside him and stood facing the same direction. They were the same height, but his torso was a good four inches longer than hers was.

They stood in silence, taking in the graveyard in front of them. Some small debris bounced off the hull, likely parts of a destroyed ship. Rahmore wanted her up there in part because her specialization was energy in all its forms. It was her team was who figured out how to modulate the defense frigates disruptor fields to counter whatever it was that caused all this. He looked to his right and watched the top turret on the defense frigate traverse slowly. Likely, the gunner was looking at the ships as they passed by getting an eye full.

"Riddle me this," he started, breaking the silence. "How is that," he pointed at the purple shining star that everyone knew was the purple orb, "still emitting its death rays when the ship attached to it is dead like the rest." The defense frigates confirmed the long-range scans on their first run to it. The big purple sphere in its tuning forks spun and shot out purple light with the occasional bolt of lightning, but the rest of the ship had no power readings or life signs. It was a tomb.

They were coming up to the Valiant now. Its black engines and rear hanger bay clearly visible. There was a second fighter launch hanger facing forward under the ship that looked like the maw of a shark from its profile that would remain out of sight.

"I don't know for sure," Tamiki finally admitted. "We have been going over the collected information and our best guess is that when the Hammer struck it there was a supercharging effect."

"A supercharging effect?" His left hairless eyebrow rose in question. "Why didn't it just blow it the hell up like it was supposed to?"

"The video recordings show that the beam went through nine defense frigate disruptor arrays before hitting it. We do not know how much they altered the beam's energy signature or how much power it took from it. If we can get those defense frigates' data recordings, we can figure it out. One problem is that two frigates were turned into burned out wrecks in the process. Yet, if we can get the data recordings from Ezra's Hammer, then we can figure out the baseline recording of that Tribes' purple thing we can probably piece it all together."

"That's a lot of ifs," Rahmore said. His stance softening as his lips pressed together tightly. "What are your chances to be able to figure it all out?"

"With time, I know we can," she said, straightening her back. They watched the Valiant as they approached the monster ship, their course would take them right over it.

"Would you be able to duplicate what happened?" He asked, the question surprising himself. "I mean theoretically."

Tamiki's eyes blinked, she wished she could run, or move. It was so much easier to think when moving. "Sir?"

"If we can get a working theoretical model of what happened we can devise countermeasures."

"Again, with time and more data we should be able to do that." She said as more debris bounced off their ship. They sailed past the broken hull of a frigate that was slowly cartwheeling backwards, considering the design of the hull it probably belonged to the 5th. "We do have all the equipment necessary on board."

They had reached the Valiant and had begun to fly over it. Soon they will be in the space between the two fleets. The last of the Republic ships will be behind them with only the Tribes' Fleet in front, all pointing their weapons in their general direction.

"I know those ships are all down," he said, his voice soft. "But, I still do not like flying right into their field of fire." Compared to the ECR ships, whose design had a certain streamlined sleekness to them with newest designs having a predatory aquatic life, the Tribes' ships had a wider variety of ship designs as each tribe had its own preference. The lead ships had the bulkier look belonging to he Bruin Tribe. Granted there was no need to worry about aerodynamics in space, but the blunt faced Tribes' ships didn't look right to him.

"I know," Tamiki agreed, "but those ships have been cold for days." Rahmore glanced sideways, catching her in his peripheral vision. She had the look of an animal ready to bolt. He grinned to himself. Like him, she never had been at ease with the deadly side of the military life. Both of them had a similar love for exploration and the opportunity to be on the cutting of new discoveries. To be the first to discover and unravel a new mystery, now that was living!

"I hope you remember your infantry training from the academy," he said. His hand going to the butt of the sidearm strapped to his right hip. It has been a long time since he wore it, "and that you have been keeping your weapon clean."

She tried not to roll her eyes. "As if we need to use any of it. Everyone, and everything, is dead." It was her turn to give a smirk. "Getting paranoid?"

"Standard military protocol, Tamiki. Standard military protocol." He said, turning to her.

She looked back at him, that smile came back. "And you are so good at standard military protocol, aren't you?" He caught the glint in her eyes.

His smirk matched hers, "I'm good at many things. That just isn't one of them."



Chapter 16

The trip to the Soul Jacker was delightfully peaceful. As they came up next to it, the crews of the three Republic ships could see that the Hammer strike left it burnt with melted and charred components across its hull. Even with the burn marks the name, Raven, could be seen on the side of the ship. Rahmore was disappointed when he saw it. He was hoping for it to be named something more epic or sinister.

The awkward group of Republic ships reoriented their formation with Insight nestled up to the destroyer connecting itself to the other ships airlock system. The defense frigates had moved themselves to the top and bottom of his ship. Their disruptor field projectors were pushed to ninety-seven percent output and angled to get as much of the enemy destroyer in their fields to allow the boarding parties to travel safely. The purple ball moored to the front continued to spin and bathed them all in it's light.

Rahmore and the boarding party stood in the airlock environmental suits sealed tight. He already had his sidearm out. Even in the days of faster than light travel, space stations, and interplanetary terraforming across the cosmos, the explosive charge to propel metal slugs was still used in hand weapons. Trying to get energy weapons to such a small platform remained impractical. While the delivery system was based on an ancient idea, technology made them faster, smarter and more versatile. Today they had standard slugs of armor piercing rounds. Effective enough against any crew and light armor they may be wearing, but wouldn't do anything to the outer hull.

He had added a modular under barrel light to his handgun. In front of him the twelve soldiers prepared to open the airlock, they were just waiting for his signal. Each of the three ships had four soldiers who acted more like security. Not exactly front line shock troopers, but it was the best he had. Besides, as Tamiki said, there would only be dead people floating around in there.

Rahmore looked at the data pad on his left wrist, the defense frigate systems were nearly maxed out, but currently stable. Knowing that the ships should be okay for the time being he could attempt to board the Raven and try to turn off its orb.

He took one last deep breath to calm his nerves. "Break it open," he commanded.

The front soldier hit the touch pad and the airlock interfaced with the Raven, gave it a power jump and slid open. There was a whoosh of air as the two chambers equalized air pressure. On the other side of the door was the enemy ship. Its darkness pierced by the lights attached to the top of their helmets and underneath their weapons.

"Move out," ordered the sergeant and the first squad moved forward. Once they left the deck of the Insight they floated up as the Raven had no artificial gravity generators functioning to keep their feet on the ground. The four-man lead squad floated forward carried by their momentum. They came to an intersection and engaged their magnetic boots securing themselves to the metal deck. Two soldiers trained their assault rifles down the left corridor, and the other team trained their weapons down the right.

"Clear on left,"

"Clear on right," came the calls.

"Okay, move out. First team with me to the bridge, second team with Sanzzer to the engine room. Sergeant, keep one squad by the entrance."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said. "You heard the captain, let's move out people."

"Captain, atmosphere is toxic, no oxygen or heat to sustain life," Tamiki said, tapping her portable scanner behind him."

"Looks like the poor bastards all suffocated on carbon dioxide," said the sergeant.

"Noted, let's roll people." The soldiers moved forward taking the lead positions. Their high intensity lights cutting through the darkness. Captain Rahmore moved with them and holstered his pistol when no one was looking as he started to feel a bit silly for having it out.

He moved into zero gravity becoming weightless and turned to the left. The four soldiers in front of him led the way. Tamiki was with him as well as three other crewmembers.

They took the corridors that they believed would lead to the bridge, up and to the middle of the ship taking the paths that kept them as close to the hull as possible to keep within the safety fields created by the defense frigates. With no elevators operational, they had to scrounge around to find emergency access hatches and stairs to move up decks going from darkness into darkness. Their lights danced along the corridors with their movements lighting their path.

"We got one," announced the lead soldier. Rahmore slid up behind him to see what he was looking at. He had his weapon braced up to his shoulder sighted on the targets. Floating in the corridor some thirty meters in front of him were two Tribes' crewmembers. They hung in the stale air, limbs splayed out. One was slowly rotating clockwise.

"No heat signatures coming from them," said Tamiki, her data pad scanner in front of her.

"Let's go check them out," Rahmore said as he moved forward. As he approached them, he noticed the frozen fluid droplets in the air. He didn't realize they were urine until he was moving through them. He instantly added another reason to be grateful for the environmental suit he was wearing. It would need a good cleaning after this, but kept him safe from the touch and smell of bodily waste. He should have anticipated the problem as he knew that when they had died anyone with a full bladder would have it void.

He came up to the first crewmember. A male with thin shoulders, his olive drab military issue pants were iced solid with piss. Spinning him Rahmore gave him the once over. His face and lips were bluish. Judging by his facial structure and coloring he was from the Rept Tribe of the United Free Tribes. The Repts prided themselves as masters of ambush and quick strikes.

"Scans show he has been dead for five days now." Tamiki said behind, "He froze to death before he ran out of air."

"So whatever happened to them they didn't die instantly." Rahmore commented, thinking aloud. "They were knocked unconscious, and slowly died as the life support systems failed."

"That is what it looks like," Tamiki confirmed. Her eyes spent most of their time glued to her scanners display only glancing away for the briefest of moments to orient herself to her surroundings.

"Let's get going, nothing here for us," Rahmore said as he pushed off the dead tribesman. He gave the other crewmember a quick once over. This one was a female, her skin also a bluish tinge. She too looked like she was from the Rept Tribe. He pushed off her, sending her down the corridor as he kept going.

They eventually made their way into the bridge, one of his crew members had to bring out the cutting torch to get through the door. Once through, they came upon the dead bridge crew. All of them strapped into their chairs wearing their helmets with their cyberjack cords floating beside them. The ECR soldiers moved in first and gave the bridge a once over before giving the all clear.

Rahmore was next to float into the bridge. He had never been on an enemy ship before, let alone the command bridge. He would bet if he weren't a medical specialist he would have been more interested in the layout and design of it. It seemed practical enough. They did not have a 3-D projector as the newest ECR ships did. Rather all the chairs were facing forward and with numerous large view screens on the walls.

He went over to the chair situated to the back that overlooked the rest of the bridge. "You must be the commander," he said quietly to the dead woman sitting there. He looked at the rank insignia on her lapels and cuffs. "You're a warlock?" he whispered, his eyes opening wide with shock. "That isn't right," he said to himself as a small chill went up his spine.

The ECR military did not have an exact match for the Tribesman warlock rank designation. Warlocks were something like a spiritual leader, medical professional, and an advisor rolled up into one. This is the first time on record where one was found commanding a warship. He pulled back on her eyelids, revealing the glassy stare of the dead. She too was a member of the Repts. He could see the micro scales creating a glossy sheen on her skin, her eyes were slits, and her features were sharp and pointed giving her a hint of a resemblance to a lizard. The whole crew was likely from the same tribe, nasty business. Then again, which group among the Tribes wasn't?

On her lapel was stenciled the word, Ravenous. He looked over his shoulder around the bridge and found it stenciled above the door and above the main view screen. Turning back to her, he said, "So your ship is called theRavenous. That is more ominous sounding then just the Raven." The other letters must have been burned off by the Hammer's strike.

"Captain Rahmore, this is Lieutenant Sanzzer," her voice came over his helmets comm system. "We have breached their engine room. No sign of life."

"Good job, lieutenant," said Rahmore. "Let's see if we can power up this bad boy so we can shut down that orb."

He turned back to the woman sitting in the command chair. He looked at her glassy dark eyes as they stared into emptiness. He reached behind her right ear, found the cyberjack port and pulled out the connecting wire. He had seen them before, but never a fresh one like this. Inspecting the port, it looked like the other ones he had seen. Different from what the ECR used. The Tribes' cyberjacking technology had similarities, but they went about it in different ways. He could feel the excitement building up in him, here is a real chance to diagnose the Tribes' cyberjack technology on a fleet full of intact ships.

"I am going to unlock all your secrets," he whispered to her as he smiled. He felt the excitement in him build at the treasure of information, it almost made him feel giddy.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 17

It took them longer than he would have thought to get the ship running. After forty minutes, the defense frigates disruptor coils started to run hot and needed to cool down. They had maybe another hour and they would have to leave with the frigates. Rahmore didn't like the idea of having to retreat, but they could not safely be on board the Ravenouswith that purple ball still doing its thing. They would all leave, fly away to the safe zone, cool down, and then return.

The worst part was that he couldn't do much himself and found himself idle and keeping out of the way of the others. He was a cyberjack specialist and knew little about ship engineering. The crew was all dead, no mystery there, and with no power available he could not do anything with their cyberjack system.

Not being able to be of immediate help with restoring the ship, he busied himself with the soldiers to take the bodies out of the bridge. With no gravity to impede them, they created a chain where they passed the bodies down corridors where another person would catch them and redirect to the next. In short order, they cleared the bridge and had the bodies neatly tucked away in the nearby officer quarters.

With that done he spent some time exploring the ship. He found the warlock's quarters, all manner of spiritual and religious paraphernalia floating in her office. The one piece that caught his interest was a scale model of the ship they were in, the Ravenous. It was as long as his arm and looked exquisitely built right down to every detail. The purple ball was even suspended magnetically between the two forks.

Rahmore slowly floated his way over to it and carefully gripped it around its body. Even through his bulky gloves he could feel the rigid metal construction. He brought it close to his face scrutinizing the details. It looked like it was built piece-by-piece like the full-scale ship he was in.

"Impressive," he said turning it over in his hands. He noticed the purple ball spin in its moorings as he moved the ship. It sparkled as it reflected the light cast from his helmet. Not being able to resist he reached out and gently placed a finger on the ball stopping its movement. He gave it a nudge feeling the magnetic resistance keeping it in place. Then with a flick he made the ball rapidly spin in place. Light danced and reflected off it as it held Rahmore's attention.

"Captain, we are ready to activate the furnace generator system," Lieutenant Sanzzer said over the helmet comm system. Her sudden declaration startled him causing him to jump and let go of the ship as if he was a burglar trying to snatch jewelry. He was thankful there was no gravity as he would have hated to drop and damage it.

Well, it's about bloody time, Rahmore thought. He keyed his comm to Tamiki "Are we ready up here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," came her response after a short pause.

"Sanzzer," said Rahmore, as he keyed the comm system on his helmet back to an open channel for all onboard to hear. "If you would be so kind to turn on the lights." He reached out and carefully grabbed the miniature Ravenous. He looked for a safe place to secure it.

"Activating in, three, two, one. Engaged," she said, her voice coming clear in Rahmore's head speaker. He looked at the ceiling lights first, when they didn't respond he looked out the door into the corridor. Nothing.

"Sanzzer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you do anything? I see no sign of power."

"System is beginning its start-up sequence," the Lieutenant responded. Captain Rahmore looked at the data pad attached to the wrist of his suit. Less than fifteen minutes until they had to leave with the frigates.

"How soon before we get usable power?"

"Unknown, I am not familiar with this engine design," said Sanzzer, her words coming out slowly. It sounded like she was concentrating on something.

"We need power to the bridge so we can turn off the orb," Rahmore said, trying to keep his voice as even keel as he could. "First priority over lights, life support, or anything else." He checked his suit read outs, another thirty minutes of oxygen. By the time they needed to be refilled, he would either have life support or be on board the Insight.

"Working on it, captain."

Rahmore wanted to tell her to work faster, but he knew saying that wouldn't help. He settled the model ship on the warlock's bed. "She sure likes the color green," he commented on the décor of her private chamber.

With that taken care of he turned and with grab-then-push movements propelled himself to the corridor and quickly made his way back to the bridge. He could feel the sweat bead on his brow, the occasional rivulet sliding down his hairless head. No way to wipe himself off in the environmental suit, he just had to live with it. He floated his way onto the bridge. Interface monitors flickered showing signs of life. He was worried that with the purple ball still emitting its energy that the ship would not turn on at all, but it looked like whatever that orb was still doing did not affect the Tribe ship's restart sequence.

It was a reasonable theory that the original intention of the weapon was to disable only Republic ships and that the Tribes' vessels would be safe from their own weapon under normal circumstances.

"How long before we have usable power?" he asked.

"Computer systems should be online in a few minutes," reported Ensign Rohn. She was one of his helmsmen from the Insight and was from the Banural system. Her eyes were wider set than normal giving her exceptional peripheral vision, which helped with her duties of scanning consoles. Her vision was not very good over distance, but that mattered little for those who lived and worked on starships.

"How long for life support?"

"Estimated fifteen minutes," she said.

"Make sure we scrub the air for all contaminates. I don't want this place to reek of death." He made his way to the command chair and turned around to watch his crew at work.

He watched minutes tick away. "Status report."

"The furnace generator is running at thirty percent. No damage detected." Sanzzer reported from engineering.

"Computer systems are online," said Ensign Rohn. She was working at the forward interface station. "Life support is starting to recycle the air. It should be breathable in ten minutes." After a moment, she added, "It will be purified in about thirty minutes. Artificial gravity can be turned on now as well."

Rahmore arched his eyebrows. It had been awhile since he stood on his own feet. "Engage gravity, dial it in slowly," he said over the open channel to give all the onboard crew fair warning.

Rohn slowly engaged the gravity generators, and the crew was standing on their feet. A wave of vertigo washed over them as their bodies acclimatized to gravity's affect.

"Tamiki?" Rahmore asked as he settled himself into the command chair.

"I have visuals on the orb."

"Can you bring them up on the main view screen?"

She answered him by bringing the screen to life. The image of the front of the ship materialized with the purple orb center of the screen. It was still spinning its erratic spin, still pulsing a kaleidoscope of purple shades, still radiating its energy waves.

"Can you shut it down?"

"I believe so. I am at the master control board."

Rahmore's eyes flicked towards her, she was standing in front of a control board to his right. She had moved the chair out the way and was running on the spot, yet her hands were steady and did not bounce with each step.

His eyes went back to the view screen. "Power it down, Ensign." He did not see what she did, but the ball started to slow down and lose its shine. All eyes on the bridge could not escape the spectacle of watching it wind down and finally come to a halt. With no power coursing into or out of the ball, it looked like a huge deep purple amethyst. It almost looked majestic, if it wasn't for the taint of knowledge that it killed hundreds of thousands a few days ago.

Captain Rylan Rahmore sat in the enemy's command chair staring at the dooms day weapon. "This is what killed everyone?" The question of how didn't pass his lips. That would be for another day.

"Look!" shouted Rohn.

Rahmore saw her point to the screen. At first, he only saw the silent motionless purple gem, then he looked past it. In the distance running lights on the ECR ships began to wink on. One after the other, power systems of the ships came back to life.



Chapter 18

"The Insight will stay here with its crew. I will go over with one of the defense frigates to Victor's Valiant, the other will go to Ezra's Hammer," Rahmore instructed. His orders were to make those ships a priority to retrieve. He wanted to get to the Valiant as it had the best sensory equipment of all the Republic ships out there.

"Sanzzer, you have command of this ship," he keyed his comm, as she was still down in engineering. "Get those jump drives humming. Tamiki, you and your team keep working on figuring out that weapon."

He got a chorus of affirmatives. He could hear Ensign Rohn relaying his orders to the other ships as he started walking back to the warlock's quarters. The frigates could wait for a few minutes, as he wanted to grab one souvenir for himself before he left the ship. He turned before exiting the bridge, "also, relay orders to keep it raw. No one is to cyberjack until further notice. We do not want any mishaps."

"Yes, sir," Rohn said over her shoulder, then turned back to her comm system to pass the information to the others.



Sergeant Mikal Orva shook the cobwebs out his head, he stifled a yawn and went to rub the sleep out his eyes. When metallic hands scraped against the armored faceplate of his powered assault armor he realized he was not sleeping in his own bed.

Rather, he was lying on his stomach still in his ripper suit. He rolled himself over and found that he was looking at the ceiling of a Fastcat light corvette.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down the crew bay of the corvette. His entire squad was splayed all over the floor laying in various positions.

"What the hell happened?" he asked aloud. No one answered him. The ship seemed intact, but he sensed they were not moving. A very bad thing in space combat. Picking himself up from the ground he wondered why he felt so weary. Shaking his head in cyberspace caused his armor to mimic the movement.

He felt a sense of alarm that he was unconscious while cyberjacked. That was very dangerous, but he couldn'tremember what would have caused that to happen.

He walked forward to the flight crew cockpit. Opening the door, his eyes swept over the three-person crew all sitting in their chairs, as they should be. An alarm bell went off in his head and he switched to thermal scanning and saw all three were dead. Not just dead, but cold dead. His weapons instinctively came out as he shifted to a combat stance in the doorway searching for a hidden enemy.

His eyes went to the view ports on the cockpit, he could see the Tribes' Fleet in front of him where they were supposed to be, but they weren't doing anything. No shooting, no movement, nothing.

An eerie feeling washed over him. If he had a spine in cyberspace, a chill would have run up it. His eyes swept over the scene in front of him again. There was a definite wrongness about it that he could not place.

He turned back to the crew bay, switched his thermals back on and looked at his squad. They were dead cold as well. That is when it dawned on him.

"Oh shit, am I ghost riding?"

Orva tried to hesitate before looking, but when a mere thought makes information available, it was difficult to avoid. His vitals for his flesh body were absent. He was dead.

"Holy shit, I'm ghost riding!"

He stood there waiting for his essence to depart the armor as it always happened when the pilot realized his body had been killed. For him however, his spirit stayed. It should have left and his armor should have collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Turning back to the flight crew cockpit, he caught the reflection of his armor in the glass. He opened his armor, helmet moving up and back and the chest plate moved forward and then down revealing the man inside. He could see himself through the video relays positioned in the armor's faceplate. His flesh body head lolled to the side. Carefully reaching inside with an armored fist, he grabbed his head and held it upright. Eyes glazed over, skin gaunt, lips peeled back in a ghastly grin. He reached his pincer left hand inside and poked his cheek with a sharp claw tearing the skin. No blood. He had been dead for so long the blood had coagulated and no longer flowed.

In silence, he closed the armor back up hiding the dead passenger of himself from view. He slowly turned and stepped back into the crew bay. Mind stunned, he dropped to his knees as the shock of current revelations took him. Around him, the other members of his ripper squad began to stir, but his mind was reeling so badly he didn't notice them.



Captain Sharran Blike came to. Her attention snapped when she sensed that her Lancer fighter was stationary, a death wish for any pilot. On full alert, she commanded her ship to slam on its thrusters. She needed momentum, and she needed it now!

Her Lancer did not respond. Its engines showed they were offline. If she were in her flesh, her eyes would have bulged with shock and horror. She began running diagnostic checks on why her engines had shut down. Finding no immediate cause, she began the startup sequence then switched her attention to her scanners looking for immediate threats.

It came alive with countless contacts from all the ships in the immediate battle theatre. If she was in her flesh, panic would have had a grip on her throat. This should not be happening, she was helpless. Of all the things she achieved in her life, she should never be helpless.

Her attention flicked to other readouts, all the major systems were ice cold, engines, guns, everything. Her attention flowed back out, the ships around her sat motionless as well. Memory started to flood back into her.

Her mind went to her flesh body; she saw it still fully buttoned up in the flight suit and combat helmet sitting in its pilot chair. No vitals.

She checked again. Zero vital read out.

Blike began to shriek, trapped in the machine. "I AM DEAD! I AM DEAD!" followed by incoherent wailing.



War Admiral Marcus Evandor sat himself upright in the cyberjack construct of his command bridge chair. The shock wave must have caused him to blackout. He looked across the command bridge. The cyberimages of his crew lay slumped over their stations. The 3-D projector was offline.

"Get up!" he mentally shouted at them. "Snap to attention! Now!" His mind raced, he needed to know how long they were out. Seconds lost in a battle could cost him ships he could not afford to lose.

The crew began to stir, not waiting for them he activated the 3-D projector himself. He needed to know what has happening out there immediately. The projector spooled itself up and generated the image of his mobile war fortress. Other ships slowly began to materialize around it. It was agonizingly slow, as if the projector was compiling the data starting from a clean sheet.

Evandor's frustration grew waiting for the computers to bring the battle scene into view. It was taking far too long. More ships kept popping up on the 3-D projector being rendered into artificial existence

"Show me the firing solutions on the ships showing on the projector," he ordered.

"I can't," responded the weapons officer.

"Why not?"

"Because none of our ships are shooting."

"What?" his sense of disbelief washed over him and projected out.

"Sir, readings show that our weapons are offline," he said. "Initiating start up sequences now."

Evandor could feel himself reeling in shock. His mind raced, if that orb blast disabled his weaponry they would be left at a horrible disadvantage. The first of the Tribes' ships started appearing on the 3-D projector. He was relieved to see the distances between the fleets had not changed since he last saw them. It must have meant they only lost seconds when they blacked out.

"Helm, prepare maneuver thrusters," he ordered. If he couldn't shoot, he needed to start moving. He watched the cyberimages of the two crewmembers who controlled ship thrusters working through the systems, but they did not respond.

"Helm, prepare maneuver thrusters," he commanded again, this time projecting more force to his words.

"Sir," this time Evandor could feel the disbelief emanating from them. "The engines are dead cold. We have to reactivate them."

Evandor's cyberimage eyebrows furrowed. This simply was not right. He focused his attention on the Valiantdoing a full system check himself, as he needed to see it with his own mind.

Zooming in he could see his ship was acting as if it was just getting ready to roll out of a shipyard after being shut down for a week. Every system appeared to be rebooting. Engines, hanger bays, lights, computer systems, life support...

Life support had turned off. He ran a few more checks, oxygen levels in his ship were below sustainable levels. He felt his cyberimage sit down in the command chair.

That is when he heard it. At the edge of his consciousness, other voices were calling out. They were growing in number, volume, and emotional charge. He did not have to focus hard on what these voices were saying. Their spirits began to cry out loud growing in volume and intensity to the point that it was all he could hear.

"MY BODY! MY BODY!" shouted one.

"THEY HAVE KILLED US!" shouted another.

"I DIED!"

"WE HAVE BEEN MURDERED!"

As others caught these words, they checked their own vitals and then added their voices to the masses.

"DEATH TOOK ME!"

"I'M TRAPPED IN THE MACHINE!"

"WE CAN'T GET OUT!"

"DEAD! WE ARE ALL DEAD"

"DID ANYBODY SURVIVE?"

The cacophony of death calls became overwhelming. Evandor found himself caught in the tide of human emotion of souls trapped in the machine, their flesh cold and rotting.

In one chorus, of the deepest most ghastly pain, the remaining two hundred, thirty-five thousand souls of the 5th Combined Arms Space Fleet bellowed out to the universe. Their cry was so intense, so other worldly that the fabric of space reverberated with it.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 19

Rahmore was standing by Captain Chard on the bridge of his defense frigate when he heard it, more like when everyone heard and felt it. The ship had just undocked from the Ravenous and started its journey to Victor's Valiantmobile war fortress. That is when something he couldn't quite place happened. The crew found themselves looking around trying to find the source of that same thing that just washed through them all.

"It is like space groaned," commented one of the bridge crew whose name escaped Rahmore.

"That's ridiculous," he said, unable to prevent his eyes from rolling. "Space can't groan." The crewmember went back to his screen looking sheepish.

Still, he found himself resting his fingers on a nearby bulkhead. It had the familiar feel of the fibrous alloy that was used to reinforce Republic ship skeletal frames. Yet, there was a vibration that was on the edge of feeling, something he could almost sense. His eyebrows knit together as he tried to see into the steel. It did feel as if space groaned.

"Look at these energy readings, I have never seen anything like this," said one of the sensor officers. Rahmore turned and walked over to the man, whose name he couldn't remember either. Rahmore still had a hard time believing Captain Chard had so many male crew on his bridge. Didn't he know female crews were so much better?

"What do you have, Ensign?" said Chard, who somehow managed to slide up next to Rahmore so quietly that he jumped. For such a wide short man, he was incredibly light on his feet. He couldn't remember what planet system Chard was from, but made a mental note to look it up later.

"See, right here is this energy wave," said the crewmember pointing at the screen. Rahmore focused on the signature readout. His eyes bulged before he got them under control. He glanced sideways, Chard was leaning forward peering at the screen. He probably didn't notice.

"What is that?" Chard asked. Rahmore was pretty sure he didn't notice.

"Not sure," Rahmore said. "Could I get a recording of that so I can analyze it later?" he asked trying to sound barely interested.

Captain Chard leaned back and turned to Rahmore peering at him with those small beady grey eyes. "I don't see why not," he said, somehow looking like he shrugged with his mouth. "Ensign, send the data to Captain Rahmore's quarters."

"Yes, Sir," he said.

"Thank you, Captain," said Rahmore. "I will take a quick look after my shower that I need before getting back into that environmental suit. Speaking of which, permission to leave to the bridge?" It was a valid excuse to leave the bridge. He needed a shower because those environmental suits tended to get sweatier and grosser the longer one was stuck in one. If he was going to wear one again, he really needed to sluice off. Though while he was the officer in charge of the operation, it was proper protocol to give due respect to the captain of the ship he was aboard.

"Granted," said Chard as he turned to walk back to his command chair his foot falls completely silent.



Rahmore dried off with a standard military issue towel. He usually remembered to bring his own whenever he had to spend time on another ship. These standard military towels were so rough they might as well be sandpaper against his skin.

Gently, he finished dabbing off the rest of the moisture from his body then sat down at the work desk in the spare crew quarters. It felt so good to be naked again.

Bringing up the data recordings, he watched the pulse again. It was a near perfect match of data recordings found in the ships when the pilot's body died and the conscious finished ghost riding. That energy signature always happened. It was never identical when analyzed in fine detail because each person was unique, but the basic pattern was the same.

Only this time the signature was like comparing an asteroid to a supergiant white star. Normally he would have to search for the energy release of an evaporating cyberjacked spirit. This was like a slap in the face. His thoughts went back to that 'space groan.' Was that somehow related? What exactly was that anyway?

"Does that mean all those people trapped in the machine were in stasis until the power went back on and they realized their bodies died?" he said theorizing out loud. He knew Republic computers had an emergency auto-save for data when it sensed imminent power failure, but it isn't as if a computer could properly save the data of what made a human a human.

His eyes went back to the read out. The back end of the signature didn't drop back down to the baseline, as he would expect. Rather, it subsided but didn't disappear as it was supposed to. Almost like the person didn't completely evaporate.

"Captain Rahmore," came Chard's voice over the intercom causing Rahmore to jump again. Did he just manage to sneak up on him over the intercom?

"Yes, Captain?"

"We will be arriving at the Valiant in ten minutes."

"Ah yes, I will meet the boarding party at the airlock," Rahmore said.

"Very good, they will be waiting for you," with that Chard keyed off the intercom. Rahmore let out a rueful sigh. He couldn't believe he had to get back into one of those environmental suits again so soon.



Rahmore stood with the others at the air lock waiting for the frigate to dock with the war fortress. He had donned his environmental suit again, but this time was only wearing his silk red pajamas underneath. He had made it habit to wear something comfortable under his uniform. Not military protocol in any stretch of the imagination, but no one will notice and if he was going to be stuck in an environmental suit again for hours, he should at least be comfortable.

He had his helmet in his hands fiddling with the camera settings. The tiny lens was on top and to the right of the built-in light system. The ship gave a slight shudder as it mated up airlocks. Rahmore looked at the air lock doors with the others. Once the connecting section cycled in the correct air pressure, they would be ready to enter.

"Are you ready?" came Chard's gravelly voice from behind him causing him to jump again. He had even kept his eyes on the only door into the air lock chamber to prevent him from doing that again.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Rahmore asked.

"Doing what?" asked Chard, giving him a blank look.

Rahmore's eyes turned to slits, scrutinizing the man before him. He regretted that he didn't look up his heritage to read up on his phenomenon. All he knew about the man was that he was a head shorter than him, stocky, and colored grey, from hair to eyes to skin. That and he was an ass who had the perverse pleasure of sneaking up on people.

"Never mind," said Rahmore, begrudging the fact that he could never prove anything. "What brings you down here? I thought you would be on the bridge." He made a point to look down his nose at the shorter man.

"I thought I should come down here and tell you in person," said Chard, facial features expressionless, but his eyes glanced to the side. Taking the cue, Rahmore walked with his fellow captain out of earshot of the others. He turned to face him when they were far enough away and asked what this was about by giving him a raised eyebrow.

Chard looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was near. "This ship has already begun its startup sequences," he said flatly as if he was commenting on the color of the floor.

"What?" Rahmore asked, both eyebrows shooting up. "You mean everything?" The automatic running lights that had turned on was to be expected, but the main systems needed someone to turn them on.

"Yes, everything."

"That shouldn't be happening."

"That is why I came to tell you in person. Generators, engines, scanners… everything has begun their start up sequence. Life support has even started scrubbing the air."

"Life sign readings?" Rahmore's eyes narrowed as he looked in the direction of the Valiant.

"We did another thorough scan. Nobody is alive on that ship. At this range, nothing can hide from our scanners," Chard said. Rahmore found himself trying to look through the wall to the ship on the other side as he computed the new information. "And not just this ship, every ship in the 5th fleet is doing the same."

Rahmore turned slowly back to the frigate captain. "Is it possible that the purple shock wave didn't completely shut down the ships not needing a manual start up?"

"We don't know, but I thought it was important that I should tell you."

Rahmore studied the captain in front of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. "Thank you," he said, "I will keep that in mind when we search the ship." He suddenly wished he brought the Insight. Its sensors might have been able to find something the frigate couldn't.





Chapter 20

"Admiral, we are being boarded."

The thoughts washed over Marcus Evandor. He had been lying in cyberspace with the others as a massive pile of human psyches weeping, wailing and mourning their deaths. His mind and emotions felt raw, crushed, and abused.

"Admiral, we are being boarded," came the thought speak again. The words triggered something within him, a sense of duty and a need to protect his crew. He picked his cyberself up, pulling himself out of his malaise. His thoughts were spinning, his mind hurt, and the shock of death still had his inner self in turmoil.

"Say again," he said, trying to focus on the source of the words. He tried to collect himself, to find who he was.

"We are being boarded sir." It was Colonel Reis, the executive officer of the Valiant. His cyberself was hunched over an image of a console.

"On screen," ordered Evandor. The familiar and drilled in sense of duty and protocol bringing him around.

Reis brought the image of a squad coming in through an airlock. The first four carried assault rifles, the four behind only had pistols and did not walk like trained infantry. All of them were wearing environmental combat suits.

"There is a second group, sir," said Reis. He brought up the image of the second squad coming aboard in similar formation.

Evandor grabbed onto a sense of self-identity. He was the admiral of the fleet. He was a protector. He was relentless. He refused to falter regardless of circumstances. He would defend his ship and his people.

"Show me the ships that are boarding us," Evandor said. Reis complied bringing up the 3-D projector showing the Valiant. An ECR defense frigate had connected to it like a tumors. It had dropped off one squad near engineering, and then the other near the bridge. They were going for the nerve centers of his ship.

"They must be rescue parties," this was Threat Analyst Bakerfan speaking up as he dragged himself to his senses.

"Then why do they have weapons drawn?" asked Ensign Llorrel Ellan, the comm officer.

"They don't know what happened," Reis speculated, "they are assuming the worst."

"Scan for any other ships that were not here during the battle," ordered Evandor.

"Yes, sir," this was Wing Commander Nadine. The common threat created a rally point for his crew. Something they could focus on other than their own death.

"Sir, we have another frigate docking with Ezra's Hammer," she said bringing up the image of the space cannon with the two smaller frigates attached to it.

"I have the Insight; it is...docked with the enemy purple orb destroyer!" Her shock was tangible to the others. She showed the enemy warship, the murderer of their bodies connected with Evandor's science vessel.

"A traitorous plot?" questioned Bakerfan, who suddenly flared with rage. "Did they give the secrets of our ships and cyberjacking to the enemy?" His image emanated the rage he felt.

Evandor looked back at the images of the invading boarding parties. The surge of his own blind fury boiled within him mixed with powerful pain borne of death and betrayal. A part of him knew he shouldn't be so angry, that emotions blinded logic. Yet, it felt so good to get swept up in the wild emotional energy that spread between him and his crew.

"Contact my ripper squads. I will need them, this battle is not over."

How dare they board his ship.



Even with the heads up, Rahmore was surprised that the artificial gravity was functioning aboard the Valiant. The ships start up sequence was farther along than he would have thought. The air was not breathable yet, but not too far off.

What really unnerved him and his squad, was the sound of twisting steel. A screeching sound reverberating through the ship like a giant was twisting it in his hands.

"What is making that noise?" asked Ensign Leesa Panndin, the only female of the group, slight of build with pixie hair and impish features under her helmet. She was one of Chards helmsman.

"Easy with the pistol, Ensign," said one of the soldiers. Rahmore spotted his name badge, Narrel. With the warning, Panndin lowered her drawn weapon to the side. "Remember, nothing is alive in here but us."

She gave a nervous laugh. Rahmore couldn't blame her. He could feel the ship vibrating through the soles of his feet. Not the normal vibrations from a ship, these had a higher frequency and did not belong.

"Keep moving people," he said to his crew. He could tell everyone's nerves were on edge. Then it stopped. The sound and the vibrations came to a collective halt. His whole squad stopped sensing it together, their guns waving in high alert scanning for an unseen enemy.

"I said keep moving," prodded Rahmore. "It was just some strain working itself out the ship after we docked." He knew that wasn't true, and he bet the squad knew it as well, but it was a plausible explanation that made everyone feel better.

"Let's get to the bridge," he commanded getting his squad moving again.



"What should we do, Sir?" asked Bakerfan. He was watching the boarding parties get closer to their destinations. He held back the urge to run out there and attack them.

"Let them come," said Evandor, his cyberself was sitting in his command chair, panting from the exhaustion from the raw emotions of knowing his crew were all killed, but denied death. He watched all the view screens at once, like a corned animal waiting to lash out. They needed an enemy to focus, he needed it as well and was glad to find one.

"I need a nanoburst to the Hammer," he commanded, here is the message for Admiral Drest. "Admiral Drest, this is War Admiral Evandor. You have been boarded. I order you to defend your ship and your people. Capture the enemy alive whenever possible including their ships. Confirm acknowledgment. Over." He nodded his head to the comm officer. It was a risk to send a transmission, but a narrow focused nanoburst was necessary to warn Drest and had the best chance of not being noticed by their new enemies. He needed Admiral Drest to be of right mind and not let the space cannon be captured.

"Message sent, sir."

"Resend every three seconds until he acknowledges receipt."

"Yes, Sir," said Ensign Ellan. "What of the Insight?"

Evandor looked at the Insight. It was too far away to do anything about at the moment. All his ships were immobilized until the generators and engines could be fully rebooted including the small star fighters. First things first, do what is in your hands to do.

"Sir, Drest acknowledges receipt." It only took one message for him to respond.

"Excellent. Tell him to set a trap and wait for my signal. We need to coordinate efforts to not tip off the enemy in each other's ship."



Captain Rahmore stepped onto the bridge of Victor's Valiant. The command ship of the ECR 5th CASF and the personal ship of the late War Admiral Marcus Evandor.

The four soldiers went in first to secure the bridge, which wasn't hard considering the crew had been dead for days. Rahmore strolled in, weapon holstered, taking in his surroundings. He had never been on the bridge of a war fortress before.

"Impressive," he said as he ran gloved fingers over the back of the command chair. The crew was all strapped in, their helmets keeping their heads upright and secured to the back of their chairs. The squad that came with him had spread out across the bridge looking over the various stations. The soldiers had slung their weapons over their shoulders; they too were looking over the bridge systems.

Rahmore took in a deep breath. There was something sadly poetic about the scene. The crew peacefully deceased in their chairs during the heat of battle, rescue party far too late to make a difference. They were more like scavengers now.

He stepped around to the front of the command chair and faced the admiral sitting in it. His thin Tomlin face looked calm with his eyes and lips closed. The Tomlins had always been a stoic people. Apparently, they carried that look into death.

Giving a slight shrug he reached back to unplug the admiral's body from the cyberjack port.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said the admiral's body as his eyes fluttered open. His voice sounded unnaturally high pitched, as if he was inhaling when he spoke instead of exhaling.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 21

"Holy Shit!" Rahmore's hand recoiled in fear. His feet involuntarily back peddled him away from the talking corpse. Before he knew what was happening he stepped backwards onto the 3-D projector, lost his footing, and landed on his rear end.

He scrambled for his sidearm that he had holstered.

"I wouldn't do that either if I were you," said the admiral in that inhuman high-pitched voice. He was now standing with his sidearm drawn and leveled at Rahmore's face. "Also, please get off my 3-D projector. It is somewhat delicate."

Rahmore's eyes were glued to the muzzle of the weapon trained on him. He slowly stood up and raised his hands over his head. "War Admiral Evandor?"

"In the flesh, so to speak," said Evandor. He lifted his free hand and watched as he flexed the fingers. Audible creaking came from the joints. Days of dehydrating and rigor mortis had taken their toll. "Interesting," commented the admiral as he rotated his wrist listening to it pop in protest.

Seeing the admiral distracted Rahmore slowly lowered his hand to his sidearm. His eyes darted around the bridge to see what the rest of his team was doing. He froze when he laid eyes on the two rippers, each one blocking the doorways into the bridge with their massive imposing frames. Their weapons drawn, both the rotary guns and breach blades. The one to the left was painted deep red. The pilot had added horns on the helmet and spikes along the body giving it a demonic look. The other ripper was black, but the pilot painted white bones on it giving it the look of a giant skeleton. Spreading out from the rippers stood other crew members of the Valiant, moving awkwardly in their dead bodies. They were armed with assault rifles and handguns, though that hardly mattered with the two rippers standing in support. He glanced to his right and left, the team he came with stood with their hands up with looks of horror and shock on their faces. "Oh shit," he said quietly as he raised his own hands.



"Oh shit!" exclaimed Captain Chard as he stood up. He had been watching the live feed from the camera that was attached to Rahmore's helmet. The stoic captain quickly regained his composure. The entire bridge crew had their eyes fixed on the forward view screen showing the animated corpse of the admiral pointing his gun at the screen.

An alarm sounded off to the right. "Sir, we are being boarded!"

"On screen," ordered the captain. The main screen showed the air lock where Rahmore and his team boarded the Valiant. Standing in the doorway was a ripper; his arms spread wide holding both sides of the sliding door lock system. Chard knew that the ripper had locked its arms in the airlock forcing both doors to stay open. He would have to remove it before he could close them. Other rippers were stepping past him ducking under his arms.

Chard jammed his thumb on the ships intercom. "All hands to arms! Repeat all hands to arms! We are being boarded by rippers." He did the math in his head, he had a crew of ninety-two, and his only security was standing on the bridge of the Valiant. He needed to rally his crew into organized defensive groups if they were to stand any chance against the rippers.

The front view screen showed the rippers spreading out across his ship. They were firing shock blasters at his crew that were fleeing before them. Those hit by the blasts lay unconscious on the ground. They were coming for prisoners.

Chard contemplated giving the order to abandon ship. To flee in the escape capsules, but where would they go? They were in the middle of a suddenly hostile fleet with no safe haven in range of the capsules.

"Helm," he said, "Engage the thrusters." The helmsmen swung his head to Chard, a look of bewilderment on his face.

"I said engage the thrusters. We are going to tear ourselves off that ship and make a run for it."

"Engaging thrusters," he said. The whole ship lurched forward and began to shudder. The helmsman dialed up the power, metal screeched in protest. On the view screen, the ripper holding the air lock open stepped inside as the portal ripped open leaving a gaping hole in the side of the frigate.

The ripper managed to hang on to the frigate, his two-fingered pincer hand clamped to twisted metal as air rushed out past him into the vastness of space.

"Open a channel to Grenner," Chard commanded. He needed to contact the other defense frigate, to warn him or ask for aid depending on his situation.

"Sir, he isn't responding," replied Fenn, the communications officer.

"Prepare an emergency broadcast to Earth Command. They need to know what happened here. Keep broadcasting until you can't," ordered Chard. It looked like his frigate was an island unto itself now. "How many rippers got on board?"

"I counted nine getting on board, including the one hanging on at the airlock." Nine rippers against his crew of about ninety remaining people, this was going to be tough.

"Conroy, prepare the jump drive and get us out of here immediately," Chard commanded the helmsman as he strode over to the bridge's weapons locker. "Fenn, establish communication with as many crew as you can, we need to coordinate ourselves to stop the rippers." He slapped his code into the keypad. The panel slid open revealing neatly lined assault rifles. Chard grabbed the first one in line. "Everyone else here, rally on me. We got rippers to hunt down," he said as he slapped a magazine of armor piercing bullets into his rifle.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 22

"Captain Rahmore," Evandor said, his eyes still inspecting his hand and rubbing his fingertips on his thumb, taking in the new sensation of his dead flesh. It was cold and dry. He could feel pressure, but not touch in the way he was used to. It didn't really feel like his body, it reminded him of when he piloted single seat star fighters. He was aware of being one with the machine, felt its essence in his being, but knew that he was a passenger in a computer. "You are still standing on my 3-D projector."

Rahmore looked down. He was standing squarely in the middle of it with holographic ships floating around him. He backed up getting off the projector putting it between him and the admiral. "You know my name?"

"Of course I know your name. You were missing from the battle," he replied, stating it like a fact that everyone should know. His eyes went from his fingertips to the captain. That treacherous slime who sold out his fleet to the Tribes and had the audacity to have his vessel docked with that Soul Jacker death machine. The Merlurian captain looked like a wild animal finding itself in a cage, pent up energy in his body, eyes darting for an escape route. "You must be surprised to see me, Captain."

Rahmore took another involuntary step back. "That would be a fair statement," he said. Even through his military environmental suit Evandor could see him breathing hard. Breathing. Evandor realized he was breathing, an old habit of life. He switched it off, like turning off the sensors of a star fighter, and his body stopped breathing. He wouldn't need oxygen. His blood was thick goo that couldn't even carry it. He couldn't tell the difference between breathing and not, it all felt the same. He switched it back on so that he could use the air to talk.

"Why are you here, Captain?" asked Evandor as he began walking forward, stepping on the 3-D projector he just chastised Rahmore for standing on. He felt cold, not just his body, but his emotions and thoughts were like ice as if his humanity was gone. "Were you planning to salvage us?"

Rahmore held his ground as he watched the corpse slowly, but confidently make its way to his side of the 3-D projector. "Yes, sir. Orders where to retrieve your ship and the Hammer as our top priorities. We thought you all died." That was in the command package he received straight from Lord Admiral Duzan himself. It wasn't often a mere captain received orders from the supreme commander of the ECR fleets, and when he did, he did not forget.

Evandor tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. There was no moisture in his throat or mouth to make the sound he wanted. Regardless, he had to give the captain credit for standing his ground and flat out admitting the Tribes' plans. Too bad the plan didn't work perfectly and they lost their crew in the Tribes' ships as well. He tried to work moisture in his mouth, but there was none to be had. His tongue felt like a thick piece of dried out beef jerky.

"You are an audacious man, Rahmore," he said. "It is a shame your fleet was wiped out."

"That, sir, would be an understatement," Rahmore said trying to figure out what the admiral was trying to get at. Of course, losing the 5th Fleet was a tragedy, but why did he sound smug about it?

Evandor stopped in front of Rahmore, gun leveled at his midsection. As he walked forward, the other crew of the Valiant advanced with him in a line forcing the intruders to give ground.

He could see the captain's face clearly in his helmet, his olive skin flushed with circulation. Sweat beading. He looked so warm, so moist in his living body.

Evandor felt a sudden jealously that Rahmore had a living body to dwell. An all-consuming desire grew within Evandor to escape his dead body and gain a living body, a beating heart. An idea came to him as the two men stared each other down, Evandor's dry unblinking dark eyes to Rahmore's moist beautiful blue eyes.

"That one," he said pointing with his left hand to one of the invaders without taking his eyes off the man in front of him. "Cyberjack that one in."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 23

The black ripper with the skeletal paint job shot forward and had its pincer hand around the torso of the designated target before anyone could react. The speed of the cyberjacked armor had its prey in its grasp in the brief gap of time it took for the shocking words to sink in. The other Valiant crew members leaned forward into their weapons training them on the intruders daring them to move.

Rahmore stood with his hands still in the air. It happened so fast that he had no response he could formulate. His mind had no reference for this experience to draw upon. He had become a spectator in his own horror story.

The ripper picked up the woman he had just grabbed. Ensign Leesa Panndin's eyes nearly popped out of her head from the stark terror she felt. She grabbed the front pincer holding her body, more to support her own weight than in an attempt to escape. Her legs thrashed as it picked her up.

The ripper turned to the only empty seat on the bridge that happened to belong to War Admiral Evandor, and hesitated.

"Take my chair," said Colonel Reis as his spirit-self entered his dead body and he stood up. The ripper nodded and moved forward. It was standard military protocol that no one, absolutely no one, sat in the admiral's chair other than the admiral. Evandor nodded in approval. Reis was a good man.

The ripper put Ensign Panndin into the colonel's chair none too gently and kept his pincer on her so she couldn't move. Colonel Reis stepped forward and unlatched her helmet from her suit popping it off with a hiss of air. He put his right hand on her face pushing her head back against the headrest. His cold waxy flesh pressed into her hot flushed flesh, she let out a muffled yelp, limbs flailing at her assailants.

Reis lowered the cyberjack helmet on her head with his left hand. Usually the helmet was meant to keep the person's head from flopping around once they were cyberjacked in. Now it served as a restraint to keep her still. Reis didn't realize how incredibly cold he felt until he touched this woman's face. It was exhilaratingly warm, the moisture from her breath on the palm of his hand made him lust for the luscious warmth that she possessed. The machine in cyberjack space was cold, his body was cold, but she was extravagantly warm and vibrant.

He picked up the loose cyberjack cable, reached behind her right ear, and plugged her in. Ensign Panndin closed her eyes. She knew she couldn't escape physically. Instead, she relaxed her breathing and focused herself. She felt the cyberjack port plug in and open itself, beckoning her to come through. She visualized herself in her mind, taking her essence to her frontal lobe, far away from the cyberjack port.

Anyone with the cyberjack port had to go through weeks of training to be able to focus oneself to pass through the port into the machine. It was often difficult for the mind to let go of the body, as it naturally wanted to stay in the flesh. With practice the transition became easier and quicker. The student graduated once they could cyberjack themselves in less than a second.

The training went both ways, while she could instantly enter the machine, she was under no obligation to do so. She had no intention of going into that haunted computer mainframe. Instead, she made a mental image of her bedroom in her mind, warm soft colors, open window overlooking the countryside, a warm breeze coming in. She could stay here forever. She was not about to leave her body and visit those ghouls in the machine.

In her mind's eye, she felt a cold draft in her room. It came from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to where the cyberport would be. The coldness came from that. She shirked back in horror when she saw something coming into her mind from the port. That should not be possible. No one had ever been able to enter someone else's body when they were cyberjacked.

Yet through the cyberport leaked in coldness, blue ethereal tendrils seeped into her mind from the opening. They started spreading out, as if searching for something. Panndin slammed the mental image of a concrete wall between her and the tendrils. All that did was alert them to her location. They darted forward breaking through the barrier as if it was dry mud.

She retreated in her mind, but she was running out of room. The tendrils lashed out, trying to find her. She could see faces in the blue mist and feel more than one presence invading her mind. She had no training for this and did not know what to do.

One blue tendril stabbed out and fastened itself around her ankle. The coldness bit into her like vicious frostbite. Her cyberimage gasped, another tendril shot out grabbing around her shoulder. She let out a mental scream as they latched on to her, tearing into her psyche and pulling her out of her mind.

Rahmore watched Leesa Panndin get strapped to the chair and get cyberjacked in. At first nothing happened, she looked at peace with her eyes closed. Rahmore couldn't help but notice how pretty she was in her calm sereneness.

She twitched, barely noticeable at first, a slight curl of those lovely lips. Then again, this time, more. She began to convulse and thrash in her chair, the ripper standing over her kept her pinned down with its massive armored pincer.

Her eyes flung open and her mouth opened as if she was screaming bloody murder, but no sound came from her. Then her eyes closed, and she looked at peace again, slumping in her chair.

Rahmore watched her body go limp. Even the ripper holding her relaxed his grip then let go of her. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. The ripper stepped back and to the side. Colonel Reis stood back, a lip curling smile on his lips.

Panndin's eyes opened and looked as if she was seeing something far away. "We have broken her and we have all her secrets," said the body of Panndin.

The body of ensign Leesa Panndin reached behind her ear and unplugged herself from the cyberjack port, lifted the helmet out of the way and stood up. She stretched her arms wide and brought her hands forwards flexing her fingers, watching them intently. "This feels exquisite. Life is coursing through my veins."

It felt as if Rahmore's bones melted inside of him. Whoever was in that body, it was not Panndin. She did not move like Panndin, and her manner of speech was different. Body switching had been previously been proven to be scientifically impossible.

"Wing Commander Nadine," Evandor said, not really a question, rather more of a statement.

"War Admiral Evandor," she said snapping to attention and giving him a sharp salute, "at your service." A coy smile crossed her face, a smile that Rahmore had never seen Panndin use, the same with that glint in her eye. "You really need to try this," she said to Evandor.

The admiral turned his attention back to Rahmore. "Looks like it is your turn," he said with a smile that reached his eyes. Rahmore reached for his handgun grabbing the handle, but before he could draw it out of its holster, Evandor darted forward with his left hand grasping his wrist and pushed down keeping the pistol firmly in place.

"Careful, Captain Rahmore. We wouldn't want you to damage any of the goods," he said, their faces were inches apart, that smile never left the admiral's face. The red demon painted ripper had rushed forward wrapping its pincers around Rahmore's chest pinning his arms.

He was moved to the now vacant chair that belonged to the colonel. Reis started to unlatch Rahmore's helmet. "You will not need this anymore," he said as he tossed it to the side. His voice also sounded like he was inhaling when he spoke.

Rahmore felt a slight consolation as he felt the urine leaving his bladder and running down his legs. He won't be leaving as exquisite a body as they would have hoped.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 24

"Lieutenant Sanzzer," said Ensign Rohn who had taken up position of the sensory station on the bridge of the Ravenous. "We have movement out there."

Sanzzer had made her way up from engineering and was on the bridge with the others. "Who?"

"Looks like Chard is pulling his ship away from the Valiant."

Sanzzer pursed her lips and scrunched her nose. "Why is he doing that?" she asked, "Put it on the main screen."

Rohn took over the main screen image showing the defense frigate DF-010047 flying up and away from the Valiant, its thrusters flared bright. "He didn't disengage the airlock mating system," said Rohn, her words betraying her surprise. "He literally tore himself off the Valiant." Ship parts that were once attached to the frigate could be seen spiraling in space.

"Lieutenant, we are getting an emergency broadcast on all ECR channels," came Jenske's voice over the intercom. Jenske was still aboard the bridge of the Insight.

"On screen," Sanzzer said.

"Patching through..." the screen turned to fuzz then showed the face of Chard. His coarse grey hair was wild. He had put on an armored chest plate and had an assault rifle butt to his shoulder.

"This is Captain Chard of the DF-010047 Defense Frigate of the ECR 2nd fleet. We are being boarded by rogue 5thfleet rippers from the Valiant. I repeat, we are being boarded by rogue 5th fleet rippers." There was someone shouting off camera, Chard's eyes looked off screen then snapped back. "I am sending a data file from Captain Rahmore who boarded the Valiant, this is his last transmission." Chard gave the camera a grim look and said in his gravelly voice, "The dead walk."

The transmission cut out. The bridge aboard the Ravenous was silent, a sudden chill in the air crawled up everyone's spine.

"Lieutenant, there is more movement out there," said Rohn, her voice sounded tight.

"On screen," Sanzzer ordered. "Now!"

The screen panned out showing the 5th Fleet. "Multiple signatures, 5th fleet fighter, bomber, and corvette engines are online. Those ships are moving. Most of them are headed this way!"



Captain Sharran Blike throttled up her Lancer star fighter, its engines coming to life propelling her forward. She just received the go-ahead to launch an attack from the admiral. His news that they could take the bodies of the living thrilled her and gave a new purpose.

She could feel the glee washing over her. She would be able to cheat death even longer. Her squadron formed up behind her, they were the closest ECR ships to the primary target. Their mission was to make sure it didn't get away. Ripper squads were not far behind in their Fastcat corvettes.

She did not care so much for the destroyer or the secrets it held, but rather that there were warm bodies on that ship. Warm living bodies. She wanted one, needed one, there would be no stopping her from taking what was rightfully hers.

She primed her quasar guns, her targeting computer highlighting the soft spots on the Insight.



"Squadron of Lancers, coming in hot!" shouted Rohn. She brought up the streaking fighters on the view screen. They looked fast and angry.

Sanzzer swallowed hard, she was a scientist, not a military commander. She was not ready for this. "Engines? Do we have engines?" she called out.

"Not yet, they are still spooling up!" came the voice over the intercom from the crew chief that was in engineering now. Her panicked mind couldn't remember the man's name.

"Abandon ship, everyone get back to the Insight. Jenske prepare the jump drives. We jump the moment we are on board."

"Yes, ma'am," came the curt response, strain could be heard her voice as well.

"Lieutenant," called out Tamiki, "we can't just abandon this ship!"

Sanzzer quickly turned to face her, "We can and we will. Move now!"

Tamiki hesitated, her hand still on the console she was working on. She turned from it and began to run with the others.



"No! Wait!" shouted Rahmore as Reis lowered the cyberjack helmet on his head. "I can help you!"

Reis had the cyberjack cable in his hand, paused, and looked back at the admiral. Evandor did not change expression or say a word. Reis turned back and lined up the cable to the cyberjack port behind Rahmore's right ear.

"I am Doctor Rylan Rahmore, cyberjack specialist trained by Doctor Jacque Corfur himself!"

Reis paused again, looking back at Evandor.

"Once we take you, we will know all your secrets," said the admiral.

"You will know what I know like a data file, you would not have my intellect and intuition." It was a wild stab in the dark, but the only thing that came to mind to save his skin.

Evandor took him in, his eyes unblinking. "Take him to an officer guest quarter. Put him under guard. Bring the next one." By this time, the bridge was crowded with cadavers holding down the struggling humans that still inhabited their own bodies. The sudden threat of getting their bodies stolen gave them cause to fight back.

The red ripper picked up Rahmore taking him out of the seat and carried him away. Evandor had moved back off the 3-D projector and was standing in front of his command chair. He was a solid statue among the throng of growing chaos around him.

"Do this somewhere else," he said, his voice raised. "I want my bridge back." The animated corpses began to usher the resisting humans out of the bridge. One of the soldiers got his arm free, pulled out his sidearm, and fired three shots at the admiral before he was subdued. He struck at their leader in an attempt to bring down the alpha wolf.

The first bullet struck the admiral in his left lung puncturing it, the second went clean through his jugular leaving a nasty exit wound. The third bullet hit the left side of his jaw deflecting off bone and ripped his cheek open to reveal teeth that were cracked and shattered. A normal person would have hit the floor and died in less than a minute with blood pouring out of them.

Evandor stood there, his eyes zeroed in on his assailant. A hiss could be heard as air escaped from his punctured lung. Without turning, he spat out teeth and tooth fragments. Not a single drop of blood came out of him. "Take him next," he said, a slight slur in his speech from his ruined mouth.

He sat down in his chair, plugged himself back in and cyberjacked into the machine.





Chapter 25

Tamiki found herself at the back of the herd running down the stairs to get to the airlock of the Insight so they could escape. She was the tallest woman of the group, and she knew her speed would put the others to shame, but the mass of humanity and narrow passageways prevented her from passing anyone. It drove her borderline crazy not being able to run past the gaggle of slow moving nerds.

"We are under attack," said Jenske over Sanzzers wrist comm. They are attacking the airlock system."

"Can you fend them off?" Sanzzer replied, she sounded winded from the sudden sprinting.

"They are moving too fast for our turrets," came the response. "Should we cyberjack in?"

Tamiki could hear the conversation as Sanzzer was directly in front of her. The Insight only had two turrets on it, close range weapon systems, one on the top of the saucer, the other one on the bottom.

"Cyberjack in, try to shoot them down," Sanzzer responded. It was a safe risk to cyberjack in now. With the purple orb out of commission, there should be no threat.



Blike ran her second pass on her target. She had zeroed in on the airlock system connecting the two ships. If she ruptured the connecting port, she would trap the crew on the Soul Jacker. That would give the incoming rippers a chance to get on board and take them captive. Warm bodies for the taking.

Her Lancer flew straight with the momentum she had while her nose and guns pointed at the airlock as she kept firing into it. The Lancers quasar guns made short work of enemy small craft, but took more effort to register real damage against these larger ships. Her squadron flew in a single line formation taking turns pouring in green quasar death.

She felt a sense of satisfaction as the third ship behind her managed to evaporate away enough of the armor to cause a hull breach at the airlock. That would stop anyone from crossing over.

The forward topside turret came to life with suddenly precise fire. One of her Lancers barely dodged to the side with a burst from its lateral thrusters narrowly escaping destruction. The turret was previously shooting poorly, as if a drunkard was at the controls.

"Evasive action," she mentally called out to her squadron. "They cyberjacked in." The ships of saber squadron engaged thrusters, both lateral and main to deny the gunners good targets.

The science frigate broke free from the airlock mating system. The helmsmen at the controls engaged thrusters to try to get away. She angled the ship to fly forward and over the Soul Jacker trying to use it as cover.

Blike nearly laughed to herself at the foolish attempt. She fired her thrusters and swung around to the rear of the ship where the turrets couldn't target her. She slowed her Lancer down so she wouldn't overtake the slow-moving vessel and then let her guns loose on the starboard engine.

The rest of the squadron soon joined her, like piranhas dining on a wayward cow. Under the relentless firepower, the thin armor gave way causing internal explosions that propelled the ship into an out of control lateral spin.



Tamiki and the rest came to a screeching halt at the blast doors where the airlock was were slammed together denying access to freedom. "Jenske, report!" shouted Sanzzer into her wrist comm.

"The enemy fighters have breached the airlock system. Emergency blast doors engaged," she said, her words coming out tense and fast.

The team that was at engineering had rounded the corner, slowing as they saw the others standing at the blast doors.

"Get out of there!" yelled Sanzzer, "Everyone, back to the bridge!" She spotted the engineering team, "You guys, back to engineering. I need the jump drives! Hurry!"

With that, the herd turned and sprinted back the way they had just came. Tamiki was now in the lead and outpaced the group. She ran swift and fast, her mind racing. She would get to the bridge first and start calculating the jump coordinates. Right now, it did not matter where they went as long as it was not here.

She flew up the stairs, taking four at a time with her powerful strides. She rounded the corner out of the stairway making a beeline down the corridor when suddenly the wall to her left slammed into her sending her flying into the right wall. She bounced off and hit floor hard tumbling to a stop, dazed and confused.



Evandor was back in cyberspace, it felt good to be back in the machine. He didn't like how he felt in his old body, cold and uncaring. It was as if the brain was functioning poorly, he found his mind wandering making it hard to focus on a train of thought. Lack of fluids must have been hampering the nervous system and mental synapses in his former body.

He brought his attention to the 3-D projector as he watched the skirmish between his Sabre squadron and the enemy's science vessel. The larger ship had detached from the destroyer and was attempting to a make a break for it, a logical, but hopeless gesture for the lumbering beast.

He watched the fighter group come up behind the ship and lay fire into its engines to cripple it, causing him to nod in approval. The ships armor failed and the starboard engine exploded causing it to careen wildly.

Then, in what looked like ultra-slow motion, he watched it pitch forward into the Ravenous colliding into it right between the two forks that held the purple orb. The science vessel rolled along the edge of its saucer section hitting the orb causing it to dislodge from its position between the forks. Then, as its jump drives engaged, the Insight reached out into the realm beyond space and escaped the scene.

Evandor grimaced as it got away. He hated having loose ends like that. He issued commands to try to track its jump trails to see if they could find out where it went. The big purple ball rolled forward, slowly spinning as it departed from its support structure floating freely into space. Fortunately, there were no immediate secondary explosions from the collision. The last thing he wanted was his prize possession to be destroyed before he could learn its secrets.

"Damage report on the Soul Jacker," he said. "And I want that purple ball."

"We have defense frigates online, they should be able to stop its momentum with their repulsor arrays," said Bakerfan. Evandor sent his approving thoughts. Repulsor arrays were designed to slow down enemy projectile weapons, no reason why they wouldn't work on the massive slow cannonball.

"Sir, we have a repeating emergency broadcast coming from DF-010047," relayed the comm officer.

"Show me," he replied. He watched Captain Chard's emergency warning. He did not like the comment about the dead walking because they were not dead. He felt offended that Chard would refer to his rippers as rogue elements.

Then again, being a mere captain he would not be privy to the intentions of high command. He was just following orders to the best of his knowledge and abilities. He had to give the man credit as he watched the replay again. Even with his phenomenon's skill set from Andorin, he would be hard pressed to fend off the rippers that managed to board his ship.

"Dispatch more Fastcat ripper squads to the escaping frigate," Evandor ordered. There was no point in making it a sport. He had the resources to guarantee success. "How soon will the ripper teams get to the Soul Jacker?" he asked switching his attention back to the other ship.

"ETA, three minutes, thirty-two seconds," said the comm officer.

Evandor mentally nodded. Not only did he want the ship, but he also wanted the people on board. He needed to try a living body on for size. He could feel the growing urgency to get inside something with a beating heart. He needed the other bodies liberated so he could get back to what it feels like to be alive.

His thoughts went back to the image of Chard, standing with light body armor and an assault rifle ready to defend his ship. Insufficiently armed and under equipped, he was a brave soldier. A good soldier who did what he believed was right.

Evandor sought out the data file of Leesa Panndin. Wing Commander Nadine was right, they had broken her essence, and all that remained was bits and bytes of her memories, thoughts, and belief systems. Every secret laid bare. Yet there was no spark of life behind the information. It was just raw data.

It felt a waste to lose a soldier like that. They were all part of his crew, misguided with false information. They were still under his responsibility ultimately to protect. His thoughts went back to that one soldier who shot his old body trying to kill him. Again, another good soldier doing what he beliebed was the right thing for his cause.

"Reis," he said opening the intercom to his second-in-command. He was still in his old body overseeing the assimilation of the invaders. "Give the captives a chance to join us. We very well may be the next evolution of the human race. It is fair and just that they should have an opportunity to become one of us." The words came out before he thought about them. Now that he heard them he wondered if this tragedy was somehow for the greater good.



Ensign Sara Jenske brushed blonde strands of hair out of her face. She was now the ranking officer of the science frigate Insight that had just materialized light years away escaping the clutches of the dead. She stared at the monitors, barely believing what she saw, empty space, silent and beautiful. Not a single ship on her scopes, no one firing at her, and no one trying to board her ship.

She sat down with a thump in her chair, the tension of the battle had caused her to stand. There was only one other person on the bridge with her. She leaned back into her chair, letting out a big sigh of relief.

Jenske looked over the control panels at the damage report, one functioning engine, damage to sensor and communication arrays, and the jump drive system wasn't responding. At least the fire suppression system was working properly bringing down the blaze at the destroyed engine. They were only a skeleton crew of fifteen as everyone else was caught on the Ravenous or on the Valiant. She looked at the star map and wondered where the jump drives took them, it wasn't at their intended destination.



Captain Rahmore found himself unceremoniously dumped on one of the guest quarters reserved for visiting officers and dignitaries. The red demon ripper closed the door behind. Rahmore could still feel where its pincers held him along his torso. He barely noticed with his mind spinning as it tried to digest what had just happened. Those who should be dead walked and talked, their consciousness should have evaporated away like every other time the body died. Yet it did not happen to these people, they were back, or perhaps they never left the world of the living at all. They did what was considered scientifically impossible.

Not only did they find a way to get back into their dead bodies, they found a way to take the bodies of the living against their will. He would had not have believed it if he did not see it happen right in front of him. His mind went back to Ensign Panndin and wondered what the new host meant by saying they broke her and had her secrets laid bare. He could take an educated guess and the thought caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

Giving his head a shake, he took in his surroundings. The guest quarters were large compared to what he had back on his own ship, but it was still a compact and efficient space-conscious design. He was standing in the entrance of the main room. In front of him were two couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. At the head of the coffee table, was a single comfortable looking plush chair. Past the furniture was the kitchenette, a tall counter separating it from the rest of the room.

Without thinking, he started to unfasten the seals on the front of his environmental suit, his body wanting to shed the uncomfortable garment. He opened the front and shrugged it off his shoulders. He looked down and realized he was wearing his red silk pajamas. What was worse was that his pants were wet from when he lost control of his bladder.

"Well, that isn't exactly dignified looking," he muttered to himself as he realized he would have to face Evandor in what will be a conversation that his life would depend on. Holding the suit half-done up to his waist, he awkwardly trotted towards the back of the quarters. Next to the bathroom, he found the clothes purifier. He looked over his shoulder back to the door. No telling how long he had before they came. Seconds, minutes, hours? Rahmore quickly made a decision and stripped himself naked. He stuffed his red silk pajamas into the purifier that would blast them with heat and sonic waves that will leave them clean, crisp, and warm.

The environmental suit would never fit in the purifier so he stuffed it into the laundry chute meant for towels, sheets, and similar standard issue items that went to the bulk cleaners to be done in mass by the automatic system. They would reject the environmental suit because it would need specialized cleaning, but he did not want to leave it anywhere in the guest quarters as he felt Evandor wouldn't appreciate finding out that there was a urine soaked suit stuffed in one of the closets.

Not giving it a further thought, he jumped in the shower to rinse himself off. He needed to be fast as he was sure being caught showering naked by the commander of the undead would not end well.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 26

Sergeant Mikal Orva was thrilled that he finally received proactive orders. The previous orders were to sit tight and continue to feign death. No movement, no activity, the only ones who could do anything were the pilots of the corvette who could initiate start sequences so they could move once the orders came.

He and his squad could only sit in the bay and look at each other. Orva commanded silence, he doubted anyone outside was listening, but he was sick of hearing the questions and complaints to which he had no answers. So sit they did, each in his own mind. He was rolling through the events of the discovery that they had died and the psychological repercussions that followed. Death, cold and depressing held them in its grip.

The orders that came were like warm food on a winter's night. Orva wondered if he could ever eat food again. He was elated to see that the orders were to board and capture the enemy ship that killed them all. Sweet revenge would taste better than a warm meal any day.

His elation nose-dived into the dirt as he read the rest of the orders. The original Tribes' crew that he thought he would have an opportunity to slaughter was gone. Instead, the crew consisted of Republic scientists, only twenty-five of them and almost all female at that. His mission was to capture them alive.

If Orva were in his body, his living body, he would have had a confused look on his face. How Republic scientists got on the Tribes' ship was beyond him. Why his mission was to go in and capture them alive left him dumbfounded. It made no sense that he was to take down members of the 5th Fleet that had apparently taken over an enemy ship. He reminded himself it was not his place to question why, just do as commanded.

He couldn't believe that for his first mission he had to show restraint. No lethal force, no wanton destruction allowed. His ripper's shoulder slumped forward with the disappointment its host pilot felt.



Chard lowered his breathing and steadied his aim. He was in one of the air ducts of his frigate. Most of crew had been incapacitated, killed, or captured. He was one of the few remaining active fighters. The rippers moved so fast and had overwhelmed the defenders at the bridge and jump drives. A few of them had managed to pull back and melt away. They could not stand up to the firepower and armor of their opponents.

With the bridge and jump drives lost, they had no real means of escape. There were only nine rippers, which meant it was difficult for them to hold ground and hunt his crew at the same time. They kept three each at the bridge and jump drives. The others roamed the ship in a pack. When they caught some of his crew alive, they brought them back to one of their strongholds. Chard had no way to rescue the captured as he could not breach either position.

They had managed to damage three of the rippers to various degrees. Even with armor piercing bullets the assault rifles did not have sufficient power to breach critical armor points at the head or torso. That left him aiming soft spots like knees, hips, and elbows. Slowing them down and hampering their effectiveness.

Now Chard and at most, twenty-two others were scattered across the ship putting up resistance. He had a distinct advantage coming from the planet of Andorin. Originally, the planet was inhabited because of the rich reserves of metal ore on the planet. At the time of discovery, it was a far-reaching planet at the outer edge of human expansion. After a mishap, it had become isolated for generations, yet the inhabitants kept mining and collecting ore. Along the way, the animal life they introduced to the planet adapted to the cave systems and the alien environment faster than the humans did. They evolved into ferocious predators that stalked the humans in the underground cave systems that were used as mines. The inhabitants started losing numbers, with no rescue from off world, the science teams resorted to bioengineering.

The surviving population needed help to adapt if they were going to survive, which led to unsanctioned genetic tampering. Their tampered physiology made them hard to notice in metallic environments resulting in a people who blended with the metals they mined. Their new biorhythms made it difficult to be sensed by the predators giving the humans the advantage in the stalking.

The DNA tampering also resulted in a shorter stature and a grey complexion, skin, hair, and eyes. These grey men and women slipped into obscurity in their natural environment. The eyes and senses of others passed over them, as if the mind was not able to grasp them.

Another trade off was that they needed to stay in environments of rock and metal. The ion exchange of these substances gave their cells structural stability. If caught in a place lacking this exchange, they became weak and physically ill. The last thing a citizen of Andorin would want to do is take a pleasant walk down a forest trail.

Hence, most of them stayed on Andorin, and those who did leave sought other mining operations. Those that entered the military spent their lives on starships or space stations.

Captain Alexander Chard was one of those few. He loved exploring the space ways, as his personality loved the adventure. He wouldn't have been satisfied toiling in the mines as his brethren did. He honed his stalking skills by using them on the guests that came aboard his ship. He avoided doing it to his own crew, which caused undue irritation and eventually resentment, but guests, that was different.

Thus, he found himself in the middle of a hostile fleet, his ship boarded and nearly lost, hiding in an air duct with an assault rifle aiming at the back of the knee of an invading ripper.

He squeezed the trigger. A single round launched itself out of the barrel. Spun by the rifling it flew straight and true. The armor-piercing tip struck in the lightly armored back of the knee of the target ripper. It slipped through the metallic skin causing the shell to tumble. It continued through the dead flesh of the pilot before hitting the thick front armor plate of the knee and bounced back into the knee joint. It found its way into the inner knee gear system before becoming lodged.

The ripper faltered from its suddenly seized knee causing it to lurch forward. The pilot reacted instantly twisting its torso in mid fall training its shock blaster in the direction of the attack. The pilot found no target to shoot, just an empty corridor. He continued his fall, landing on his backside. He quickly recovered coming to one knee and scanned the area again for his assailant. Nothing.

Standing up, left knee ruined, he limped cautiously towards where the attack came from. His front armor showed the signs of multiple hits as well, but that armor was too thick to be penetrated.

The ripper had no idea how his assailant kept getting in the surprise attacks. Though, it didn't matter if that bastard got away from him again because two more ripper squads just landed on the frigate. Soon normal soldiers will board the ship. Once that happened, they would do a search of the ship. Room by room until they found every last stowaway, completing the ship's capture, and bringing it back into the fold.





Chapter 27

Orva boarded the enemy ship with his squad. It was easy, boring, and unfulfilling. No thrill of landing hot under the threat of enemy weapon fire. No contested entry into the ship, nothing. The Fastcat corvette casually pulled up alongside the Ravenous, the rippers jumped out and breached the airlock system closing it behind them.

They had switched out there rotary guns from lethal force to shock blasters. Scientists. Orva shook his head. This would be a cakewalk. Disappointing.

A second team of rippers landed on the other side of the ship, they were going for the jump drives. That would give Orva and his team the bridge as their primary target. With those two nerve points under their control, the ship would be unable to escape.



Tamiki picked herself up from the ground getting up on all fours. She was not sure what caused the ship to rock so violently, but she knew it wasn't a good thing. Physically rattled, she knew she had to find somewhere to hide. She crawled to the nearest door, which looked like an officer's quarters inside. She rounded the corner letting the door close behind her. Sitting, she propped herself up against the wall, pulled out her pistol and trained it at the door.

Captain Chard's warning echoed through her head. "The dead walk." That made no sense, but those 5th Fleet ships where moving and shooting at them. That escaped logic as well. She looked at the sleek weapon in her hand and wondered what good it would do her. If the dead came after her she doubted that mere metal slugs would be of much use. For that matter, what if they were dead rippers or even normal troops that stormed the ship?

She released a sigh and let the weapon fall to her lap. The real question was if she would let herself be captured or go down shooting.



Sergeant Orva practically sighed as he led his squad forward rushing through corridors in power armor assisted strides. They cleared a flight of stairs and came around the corner to the next corridor where they made first contact with the enemy, two females bending over a fallen comrade. They spotted him as he rounded the corner. He aimed his shock blaster and struck the first one as she stood up. The second had time to turn and take a single stride when the next shock blast struck her in the back causing her to scream as she fell forward hitting hard against the wall before slumping unconscious to the floor.

She lay face down on the ground, the fabric on the back of her uniform singed and smoking. Orva slowed down to a walk, weapon leveled. These people were caught completely by surprise, he almost felt guilty striking what amounted to little more than unarmed civilians.

He came up to the first one, the person the other two were attending. She had an officer ranking on her shoulders, laying on her back with swelling around the right side of her face. A small stream of blood came from a cut at her eyebrow. Orva stopped and looked at her, long flowing chestnut brown hair splayed wildly around her face. Eyelids closed, but fluttered with each breath, as did her full plush lips. Her chest rose and fell gently. She was alive, so wonderfully alive. She looked like a primal having no apparent phenomenon markings or colors. Orva felt a hurting in him. A twisting of his soul as he beheld this woman.

"Sergeant," said Corporal Ross, his squad second. "Shouldn't we keep moving to the bridge?"

Orva slowly turned and looked at him. His armor was painted green and grey in a camouflage pattern, but he had affixed fur patches on his arms, shoulders, and back from animals he had hunted down.

"Go ahead without me, take the bridge, and hold it until I arrive," Orva said.

"Yes, Sergeant," he responded without hesitation. "Let's move," he called out behind him waving his arm forward. The squad began moving again focusing on their objective.

Sergeant Orva watched them round the corner and out of sight. He waited, standing, watching the now empty corridor. Satisfied they were gone he looked back down at the incapacitated woman. He carefully went down to one knee beside her, leaning forward he brushed her dark hair from her face with his armored fist. He was remarkably gentle considering it was so easy to underestimate the strength of powered armor.

He moved the hair out of the way so he could see her whole face. She must be a primal, a native of Earth and therefore from one of the privileged families that lived on the birth planet of all humanity. He looked back down the corridor, only the other two unconscious females remained. By the color of the complexion of one, and the eyes and ears of the other, they were from other planets and exhibited phenomenon traits.

Looking back at the Earth native he knelt on both knees, armored gauntlets resting on armored thigh plates. He focused on the cyberjack port and forced himself back into his old body. A cold piece of rotting meat.

It hurt getting back in. It felt raw and chaffed. Once in, he opened the ripper armor, front plate dropping forward, helmet lifting with the shoulders and then moving back. With his torso free, Mikal Orva pushed himself up and stepped out of the Ripper armor. He moved over to the body in front of him, sitting himself on the floor beside her he picked her up and cradled her in his arms.

He carefully stroked her face, her beautiful warm face. His other hand touched his face, cold, waxy, gaunt, and hideous. He felt love course through his emotions. Not love for the woman he held, as two people would love each other in a long relationship, nor for the physical desire that two people could express. Rather, it was the love of pure and beautiful life. A longing of the life that he had at one time. Back when he was a pure unaltered citizen of Earth. His first loss of pureness was when he was badly injured. They rebuilt his body with cybernetics and bionics, man made parts making him whole again. Not whole in the truest sense, but rather as a functioning humanoid.

When he left the cyborg reclamation academy, he met his parents. His mother said the right things, how proud they were that he reclaimed his life and a new purpose. Although those were her words, her eyes betrayed the pain she felt. The Orva's, a privileged family of Earth, had lost their son. He was no longer pure, but something else. The pride in perfection and the family name was gone. His father didn't even speak to him.

Now here he was on the other side of the galaxy, still a cyborg, but no longer alive. A monster in every sense of the word, the shame crushed him. He held the woman, rocking back and forth with her in his arms. He longed to be like her, alive and pure. He could feel his mind breaking down, his psyche unraveling.

His soul wept, his dead body tried to weep. No moisture for tears, his vocal cords dry and taut, let out an unholy song.



Tamiki heard the thundering footsteps in the hallway come to a halt. She gripped her pistol tighter, knuckles turning white, hands trembling. After a pause, those heavy footfalls started up and ran past her door. To her relief they kept running down the hallway until she could no longer hear them. She let out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. That is when the strange sound started.

She could not place it, a high-pitched whine, like broken machinery that shouldn't be running. It railed against her nerves. The sound pulled at her, called to her, yet horrified and repulsed her.

She found herself standing, gripping her weapon, and heading to the door. With a deep breath, she opened it and peered around the corner to the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the corridor was a man, more of a creature, holding Lieutenant Sanzzer in his arms, his head thrown back large unblinking eyes staring out to nothing. Mouth open, quivering lips, throat strained with that sound coming out of it.

His skin was pale and gaunt, stretched across the bones of his face, his brown hair strewn in wild tufts of chaosand a heavy gash that did not bleed on his cheek. Tamiki walked towards him, her long strides closing the distance quickly. She needed to get closer, she couldn't risk shooting him at distance as she did not trust her aim and she needed to get him before he came to his senses and got back into his ripper armor. A part of her mind screamed to run back to the room and hide, but she kept closing the distance.



Orva did not see the person walk down the corridor to him. He did not see her stand beside him. Nor did he see her aiming the pistol to his temple or speak the words that she did.

It was not until she nudged the barrel into his temple, did he notice a presence beside him. He opened his dead eyes, dry eyelids peeled off the dry eyes. He saw her boots first. His eyes followed upwards tracking exceptionally long legs before being able to focus on the weapon pointed at the bridge of his nose.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 28

War Admiral Evandor surveyed the latest battle reports. Defense frigate DF-010047 had been confirmed captured, he hoped Chard was taken alive. His spirited defense had impressed him compared to how quickly the other frigates were overrun. Evandor wanted Chard to join him. He could use more soldiers like that. If Chard accepted, he would be due for a promotion.

Two ripper teams had landed on the Soul Jacker and confirmed control of the bridge and jump drives. It was going nowhere. The large purple ball itself was halted. Two defense frigates had intercepted it and stopped its forward momentum. They were not able to trace the jump trails of the escaping science frigate as they were slightly distorted causing a miss-jump. The ship had likely jumped to an unintended location or it may have been destroyed in the process. Either way, it was beyond his reach.

Evandor wished that he had some of those tractor beams he had seen in science fiction movies. While the concept was wonderfully appealing to any ship commander, the notion that energy beams could capture and tow physical objects like that was ludicrous. An admiral could dream, but reality dictated the use of tow cables and grapplers to be able to collect that prized possession of his.

Satisfied all was under control he turned his attention elsewhere. He had a guest to entertain.



Tamiki stared down at the creature in front of her, the barrel of her handgun nearly touching its temple. She found herself frozen, she was not a real soldier and she had never had to draw her weapon and aim it at another person. Firing at targets on the gun range was completely different from possibly ending a life. She decided she didn't want to kill, but rather take hostage and try to reason with him. They were once, or still part of the 5th fleet. Find a common ground, weren't they all sort-of human still? She knew she had to get close so that she could talk to it. As peaceful as her intentions where, she wanted to negotiate with the gun pointing at him, not the other way around.

The sound it made was heart wrenching. Like a wounded animal wailing in the night. She called out to it. When it didn't respond she nudged the barrel to tap it on its temple, which got its attention. Its eyes slowly focused on her, flashing sudden hate and malice. Its jaw snapped at her like it wanted to bite her. She could not help but to jerk back, she gripped the gun tighter, her finger squeezed the trigger causing the gun to bark as it spat out a bullet that went through the creatures left eye, through its brain and passed out the back of the skull creating a dark red splatter mark on the wall behind it.

The creatures head snapped back and it slumped over and slowly fell to its right side, body limp. Tamiki's green eyes were huge like saucers, her teeth gritted together. Her hope of talking to it came to a sudden end. "Dammit."

She looked over her right shoulder towards the bridge. The others may have heard that shot, or they may come checking on their squad mate when he did not report in. She needed to get out of there now. She needed to run and run fast.

She looked at the three bodies of her crewmates that were unconscious at her feet. She could only realistically carry one at a time and would have to abandon the others if they had any hope of escape.

Making her decision, she holstered her pistol, took the creatures hands off Lieutenant Sanzzer, and hefted her over her shoulders. She was the second in command of the Insight, and she had both piloting and engineering skill sets that would give them the best chance to get off the ship.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 29

Rahmore jumped out of the shower and quickly toweled off. He would have preferred one his own soft towels, but the fabric of these was surprisingly good, not the best quality, but good. He nodded in approval. The buzzer for the clothes purifier chimed. Finished drying himself, he sent the used towel down the laundry shoot and pulled out his red pajamas.

Again, not very dignified, but at least they were warm and clean and had a fresh smell to them. He put on his red silk socks and wiggled his toes in them. He had checked the wardrobe, but it was void of any options. Having a fresh uniform would have been ideal, but he would have to make due with what he had.

Leaving the bathroom behind him, he went into the kitchenette, a novelty as most chow was prepared and consumed in the officer's galley. He ran his hand over the granite countertop. He stroked the neck of the faucet, stainless steel. His fingers brushed along the cabinetry, he couldn't place the type of wood, but it was fine grain dark wood. "Prestige does have its privileges," he quietly said to himself. His eyes darted to the door expecting someone to barge in at the sound of his words.

When no one came in, he turned to the fridge and peered inside curious to see what an admiral would stock in his guest quarters. Inside, front and center were four sealed cartons of orange juice, each a different variety. "Not what I expected," he said to himself. "He likes his OJ."

Giving a shrug, he opened the cabinet next to the fridge and found the drinking glassware. Each looked of quality and had the three telltale red bands near the top. Rahmore thought for a moment on what the proper etiquette would be for this situation. He wasn't the host per say, but he was waiting for the others to arrive. He decided to pour a glass of orange juice for the admiral, setting it on a coaster at the head of the coffee table within arm's reach of the single chair. He took a drink of water for himself, cleaned and returned the glass where he found it.

His eyes swept over the room. The walls had pictures of Republic star craft. Rahmore noted that the first one on the left was the old Dauntless star fighter that Evandor had started his military career. The ships in the other pictures continually became larger as he progressed down the line until the pictures ended with the mega-carrier Mattius's Rampage. The last ship Evandor commanded before being promoted to war admiral and being assigned the mobile war fortress Victor's Valiant. Each ship had the three red bands painted on the hulls, Evandor's personal signature.

Taking note of his surroundings, he sat himself down on the couch and continued to mentally prepare for his upcoming meeting. He had to choose his words carefully.


Corporal Ross looked over the body of Sergeant Mikal Orva. The squad had secured the bridge and was waiting further orders. The sergeant had failed to return or check-in. At first, they had no concern, but as time ticked away with no response, he and two others went to search for him leaving the eight remaining Rippers to hold the bridge.

Ross and the other two went forward at a careful pace not wanting to rush into a possible trap. What he did not expect was to find was Orva out of his power armor dead against the wall. His desert cat painted armor rested in the middle of the corridor. It was obvious that Orva powered it down and stepped out of it on his own. The armor was in perfect condition waiting for a pilot to step back into it.

Why his sergeant would get out of his armor did not make sense. He noted one of the females was missing. Could it be possible that Orva stopped to pillage the spoils of war? That would have been completely out of character for the sergeant to do so in the middle of a mission or at all. Rippers were known for overkill of their targets, to shred bodies and render limbs in wanton bloodlust, but to stop and rape them was ridiculous.

"Hansen, take these two to the bridge and hold them prisoner," Corporal Ross said gesturing to the unconscious bodies on the floor. They did have orders to capture them alive.

"Yes, Corporal," responded the ripper in obnoxious yellow armor with black trim. He turned and scooped up the two women one under each arm and headed back to the bridge to join the others.

Ross did not bother to watch him leave. He stood over Orva, stroking the fur patch he put on his right leg. He did not know what happened, but someone killed his sergeant. Righteous indignation flared up in him. He would avenge his death. He captured two alive. This third one was obviously a hostile and needed to be put down. He remembered her having long brown hair, he reviewed the optic recordings from his armor and examined her image. Facial recognition software took in the details, height weight, and body type. He would find her. She did have nice long hair, he pictured having some of that hair decorate his armor and how good it would look, a memento of revenge. Yes, he decided, he would take a portion of her hair as a souvenir of the hunt. That is after he found her and ripped out her spine.

"Come, let's find Sarge's murderer," he said to the ripper with him as he turned to the nearest door. Not bothering to see if it was locked, he smashed it open with a powerful kick. He had some aggression to work out.

Tamiki set down Sanzzer carefully on a diagnostic bed in the medical bay. She felt better after running hard. Her hands were steady, her head clear. She contemplated running to the communication equipment bay, but that did not seem very useful. Even if she did get a message out there was no help nearby and Chard already covered the basics. All it would do was give away her position.

The medical bay was the best choice. She found it empty save the three bodies from the original crew splayed across the floor. It would be low priority for the rippers as it had minimal tactical importance when it came to commandeering a ship, and it would give her a chance to see if she could get Sanzzer back on her feet.

Tamiki moved to the controls of the diagnostic bed, eyes sweeping over them. She was glad to see the Tribes also used nanobots for surgery. It made sense that they would because their roots of medicine came from Earth. Medical science was not her major focus of study, but she had enough skills to be competent, the surgical nanobots would do most of the hard work. She just had to get the right ones to the right place. Once she figured out the controls, and if Sanzzer was not in too bad of condition, she would be one step closer to escaping.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 30

"Officer on deck," Rahmore shouted as he snapped to attention and saluted smartly. The door had opened and the first man stepping through was one of the soldiers that was a part of his boarding party. He could see two others right behind him. One was Leesa Panndin, and the other was another one of the soldiers. Rahmore had no doubt one of the bodies was hosting the admiral.

"At ease," said the lead man, the body used to belong to Private Narrel, one of the larger soldiers that had accompanied him earlier. He was a tall broad shouldered man, with dark features and the standard short military hair cut. "Do you know who you are talking to?"

"War Admiral Evandor, I presume," said Rahmore taking the at ease stance, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. He nodded towards the man to the left, a fair-haired man with a modest constitution and size, "As well as Colonel Reis." Then nodding to Ensign Leesa Panndin's body, "and we have all have met Commander Nadine."

"Very perceptive of you, Captain," said Evandor, his voice deep and strong in his new body. He gave Rahmore the once over. "Red pajamas?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The environmental suit is rather uncomfortable against my skin," Rahmore explained. "The soft under clothing is a concession to my physiology."

"Ah yes, the sensitive flesh of Merlur," the admiral conceded.

"You're from Merlur?" exclaimed Nadine, her eyes opened a touch wider than normal, her voice raised a pitch higher, and a slight flush came to her cheeks. It was not the first time Rahmore saw such subtle hints from a female when she discovered where he was from and his associated phenomenon. He forced himself not to roll his eyes. This was not the time or place for such games. For that matter, he was not sure what he thought about the whole dead soul in some other woman's body thing.

The admiral had closed the distance between them and was standing behind the chair, his eyes on the single glass of orange juice set on the coffee table. The other two had come up behind the couch opposite, their eyes locked onto Rahmore who in turn kept his eyes on them.

They stood there in silence, waiting. When no word came from the admiral, three sets of eyes looked to him. Marcus's attention was fastened to the glass of orange juice. He eventually felt the other eyes on him. "Please be seated," he said breaking his gaze away from the drink. He was trying to get used the new body, it was young and had wild impulses he was not used to.

The others sat down. Evandor stepped around the chair and sat down at the head of the table. His eyes were now on Rahmore, pointedly avoiding looking at the glass and its contents.

"Do you wish to explain your actions, Captain?"

Rahmore sat with his hands folded in his lap to keep them from fidgeting. He couldn't figure out what the admiral was specifically trying to get at. "Sir?" The admiral kept his gaze on him, not a muscle flinched. A certain expectation radiated from him. Rahmore cleared his throat, "Could you be more specific, Sir?"

"We can start with the specific orders you were given," Evandor said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "You should know that if I sense you are withholding information, we have new ways of finding it, your intellect or intuition notwithstanding."

Rahmore tried not to shudder, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes flicked to the thirst quenching orange juice within arm's reach, before going back to the admiral. "When we discovered both fleets were..." his eyes darted to the other officers, "incapacitated... I was to attempt to discover what happened."

The other three just sat there, attempting to drill into his mind with their eyes. "I was to gather information, and then recover the Ravenous, Valiant, and Hammer bringing them to safety. We could not risk losing those ships."

"The Ravenous, do you not mean the Soul Jacker?"

"The Soul Jacker is the weapon, the Ravenous is the ship," explained Rahmore.

Evandor's jaw muscles clenched tighter. His anger flared. The captains statement solidified their conclusions that Rahmore was indeed part of the treachery against them. It was as he suspected, but it was still hard to hear it from this scoundrel's mouth. Evandor was not used to such raw emotion, it must be the young body he was in.

"That is the name of the Tribes' ship with the purple orb," said Rahmore rather lamely when no one responded.

Marcus's eyes narrowed. Of course, this treacherous being would know the name of the ship that killed them all. It was difficult to keep his face as stoic in this body as it was in his old Tomlin body. These emotions ran so hot.

"Tell me Captain, could you have been at the battle if you really wanted to?" Evandor asked. He had his suspicions.

Rahmore swallowed hard, he gripped his hands tighter together so they would not tremble. He was thankful he was not standing. He closed his eyes, as he could not bear to look at the admiral. "It is true that I did not navigate the most efficient course en route," he confessed. He was not a soldier, never was. His ship would not hold up in a real firefight. He hated to admit it, but he dare not lie.

"So you were conveniently not around when we all died?"

Rahmore's throat tightened, he nodded his head and forced a weak "Yes, Sir." His eyes opened. As far as he could tell the admiral did not move since he last saw him, yet he radiated a contained fury. "The Insight is not a war vessel," he forced, "Nor are the crew soldiers." It was intentional that he joined a non-combat military arm.

Evandor nodded slowly. He had a sense his science vessel could have made it to the battle, but with other priorities on hand, he had let it slide. "Who gave you these orders?" Evandor asked. He wanted to know how high up this went. How deep the corruption and betrayal.

Rahmore felt himself relax. This would be better news, "I received my orders directly from Lord Admiral Duzan."

This time it was Evandor's turn to reel in shock. His eyes closed, his head leaned back as the news slammed into him. His so-called lord admiral had set him up. He felt sick, his emotions rushing wildly. His mind searched for a reason to understand why Duzan would do such a thing. Why he would sacrifice the soldiers of the 5th Fleet? Why would he give them over to the Tribes?

He decided it could only be because Duzan was resentful deep down that Evandor was not a pure blood from Earth. Everyone knew that all top-ranking military commanders were all primals, the only exception being Evandor. He had thought he would be accepted on merit. Apparently, he was wrong. He had seen the underlying contempt and prejudices from the other war admirals when he joined their rank, he was sure of it.

However, this extreme? Did Duzan hate him this badly? Evandor wondered if he had sided with the Tribes, or struck some sort of deal with them, as he could not believe he would completely betray his beloved Earth Core Republic. Evidently, Duzan held no such love for Evandor or the men and women of the 5th Fleet. The betrayal struck him deeply as he had great respect for Duzan and thought of him as a mentor from early on in his career.

Rahmore's brows furrowed as he watched the admiral's reaction. He looked absolutely devastated. If he didn't know any better, it looked as if the man was going to be physically ill. Evandor leaned backwards into his chair, his head falling back, his eyes staring at the white ceiling. Rahmore would have thought the news that Duzan sent him to try to help would have been a positive revelation.

"Tell me, Captain," he said quietly, his words barely audible. "Before I do anything rash, could you explain how it is that you plan to help us like you promised?"

Rahmore felt beads of sweat run down his back. He was not sure what just went wrong, but he knew that his next words would determine his fate. "I tell you the truth," and he had been telling him the full truth, "You know me as Captain Rylan Rahmore, commander and medical officer of the science frigate SRF-014 Insight. What you didn't know is that I am part of Doctor Jacque Corfur's inner sanctum of cyberjack specialists. He calls us his Forerunners. We know secrets of cyberjacking the doctor holds close. I am privy to abilities and powers that only we know."

Rahmore felt like he started well. He had been rehearsing this speech in his head. If it had any effect on Evandor he could not tell, the man just sat there staring at the ceiling.

"I have seen you do what should not be possible. You have single-handedly created a breakthrough in cyberjack technology." Rahmore felt like he was laying it on thick, but flattery often reaped rewards. "I believe together we will change the universe, we can reach new heights of existence."

Rahmore ended his sales pitch, he could feel his own excitement peak as he spoke out loud.He had hoped it translated to his audience the same way. Rahmore ended with a teaser and he expected the admiral to pry into what he meant.

"You are dismissed, Captain," Evandor said, his voice so quiet Rahmore wasn't sure he had even heard him. Not wanting to ask in fear he might change his mind he began to stand up and paused half way. His eyes darted around.

"Where should I go, Sir?" He asked. "You quarantined me to these quarters."

"Stand outside in the corridor until I decide," Evandor said, his voice still quiet.

"Yes, Sir," Rahmore responded, gave an awkward bow and quickly made his way to the door. He could not leave fast enough. Opening the door, he moved himself into the corridor closing the door behind him. The red demon ripper turned to face him. It stood before him like a statue of death, expressionless faceplate bearing on him. Rahmore stood there taking the 'at ease' position. He felt relieved to be standing in front of this seven-foot tall demonic war machine, designed and bred to destroy and kill. It felt tame and gentle compared to the presence of the man he had just left.



Chapter 31

"I can't believe he flat out admitted it," Nadine said once the door closed behind Rahmore.

"I am still having a hard time believing that Duzan would do such a thing," Reis said, he moved to the now vacant couch. "What would his motivation be?"

"Think about it," said Nadine, her gaze fell downwards. "The 5th Fleet is the only one who doesn't have a primal in its command structure. We are the misfits of the ECR fleets, the unloved step child that is, at-best tolerated."

"Duzan may be as proud of being a primal as anyone else," Reis commented, "but to the point of sacrificing all of us to appease his prejudices? Is that not crazy?"

"He could have been pushed by the high council," Nadine offered. "An ethnic cleansing of sorts?"

"I don't know," replied Reis. "It feels like a stretch to me."

Evandor looked down to his two trusted officers. He and Reis had been together through four commands now. Starting with the hybrid destroyer with the Landa Task Force, then on to the carrier group Tangorn, to the mega-carrier Rampage and its fleet and now with the war fortress Valiant and the entire 5th Fleet. Nearly twenty years serving together. Nadine was the wing commander aboard the mega-carrier. She was so efficient at her job, Evandor requested she join him on the Valiant and oversee all combat operations associated to the smaller craft. She jumped at the opportunity and had proven her worth ever since.

"The reason does not matter right now, even if we were not betrayed and all was good with Duzan, do you think we could go back in our current state?" Evandor asked, his voice rising, picking up an edge. Nadine and Reis looked at each other, then back to Evandor. "Do you think we could go back with all of our original bodies dead and with stolen bodies?" He continued answering his own question, "we would never be accepted. Let alone allowed to keep our command. They would lock us up and turn us into science experiments."

"Then where does that leave us?" Nadine asked, seeing no point in arguing the logic.

"Somewhere between life and death, in an existence that we have yet to define," Reis put in. Usually a straightforward man, he did on occasion tend to wax philosophically.

"The way I see it, we have three selves now," Evandor said, leaning forward and raising his right hand holding up one finger. "We have our cyberselves. Safe in the computer, no longer attached to our bodies, which may mean we have lost the grounding of humanity. I know you both have felt it just as I did. I feel different in there now. I think differently, more cold and calculating, like I am becoming more of a machine."

"Second," he said as he raised the next finger. "We have our original bodies. Dead for days, we can still enter them. I know you have been in yours as well Reis. Correct me if it was different for you, but it felt like being back home in a way. However, it felt cold and dry. Like dust in my mouth and my eyes. It was hard to move, and it progressively got harder to think clearly. Maybe I still have to adjust to it better."

"I did feel that way as well," Reis agreed. "Those bodies had been dead for days. They have begun to decompose. I see it getting progressively worse. However, as you said, it was like being home because it was so familiar, yet at the same time, it felt like I was a pilot in a ship. I told my body what to do and it did it. There was no pain, but my senses, like touch and smell, did not work right, but deep down it felt good to be back home." Evandor nodded in agreement for he had felt the same. It was difficult to put into words, but Reis did a good job.

"Then there is our third self." He raised his third finger and waved his hand in the air. "There are these new bodies that we can take over. I know we are all older than these men and women, but I do not recall youth feeling this alive!" his eyes lit up as he spoke.

"I know!" gushed Nadine. "Colors are brighter, sounds are sharper, emotions feel charged, and my skin," she ran her hands up the sides of her legs and along her waist line, "my skin feels electric, touch is near intoxicating! I have never felt anything like this before!" Her hands made their way upward and ended up cupping her breasts before she realized what they were doing. She moved her hands back down to her legs and smoothed the fabric of her pants. A blush coming to her face, both men could not help but notice. "And you," she said turning to the admiral wanting to change the subject, "your body has been working out!" Her eyes danced along his broad muscular shoulders and chest.

"I have always known Tomlin physiology was slight of build and strength," he said getting caught up in the moment, those damn youthful emotions feeding on the flattery. "But I had no idea how strong others felt." He flexed his arms and rolled his shoulders feeling the strength of the muscles. "I want to exert my physical strength; my body is crying out to do so. I want to move furniture or sprint down the halls." Nadine gave him an approving eye as he stood and strutted his stuff, feeling out his muscles.

"Everything is super charged," Reis put in. "I am in the body of an Akuan. Their eyes are incredibly acute. If I narrowly focus on one point I can drop down the thin membrane eye covering that lets me zoom in on it seeing every exquisite detail. He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers open and closed. "I love it."

"All this time, were we taking life for granted?" Nadine asked.

"And, only now, after coming back from the dead do we appreciate it?" Evandor said finishing her thought.

"There is more to it," Reis said. "When I was in my deceased body, I lusted for these live ones. I wanted one so badly, I couldn't control myself." His eyes cast down. "It was so bad that the last few captives tried to surrender and join us, but we couldn't stop. Once some of us took over the first bodies, we couldn't help ourselves getting to the last ones. It was sheer ecstasy."

Evandor leveled his gaze on his executive officer. "We will speak of this later in private," he said. Disobeying a direct order could not be ignored, but he would reprimand him in private. Yet, he felt the same feelings, the same impulse to snap and take life from others, consequences be damned.

Evandor moved his attention from Reis to the glass of orange juice sitting on the table. Condensation had collected on the outside of the glass. Cool beads of water had run down its side. He scooped it up with his large meaty hand and brought it to eye level. He looked into the glass, the vibrancy of the orange color drawing him in. The citrus aroma reached his nose. He inhaled deeply letting the sensation wash over him. His mouth began to water in anticipation. He brought the glass to his lips and drank deeply. The liquid ran over his tongue, engaging taste receptors in an orgy of flavor and tanginess. Evandor's eyes opened wide as the sensation flooded his brain, he could swear that orange fireworks were exploding in his head. He could feel the cool liquid race down his throat and splash into his stomach.

"You need to try this!" he said, his voice deep and throaty. He passed the glass to Reis, who took a mouthful. His eyes bulged in shock and he stared at the drink in wonder. Without saying a word, he passed it to Nadine, who downed the last of it. She physically shuddered from the blast of orange flavor and sensations, "Is there more?" She panted, her breath rushing out.

"Yes, yes there is," Evandor said turning on his heel, he headed to the fridge. "Follow me." He opened the door and pulled out a carton of orange juice for each of them. They opened the spout and with heads thrown back, they guzzled the tangerine elixir.

Finishing first Reis wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "that was amazing." He looked at Marcus, a thought coming to him, "I want to try this in your body."

Evandor looked at him and then looked down at the body that once belonged to Private Narrel. "We are going to need more bodies."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 32

Captain Chard gently laid his assault rifle on the bed beside him. It held no more ammunition and had become a liability. He was in a room on the crew deck. Two beds to a room, a small bathroom, and a work desk looked all neat, crisp, and military.

He looked himself over in the mirror, took a drink of water, and contemplated his next move. Reinforcements had arrived for the intruders. He felt his ship turn. It was likely being directed back to the mobile war fortress. His wristband comm had gone dead, and he saw corpses walking around on his ship. They controlled everything of importance, bridge, communication, jump drives, and the sub-light engines.

Once docked with the Valiant, they would begin sweeps for the last of his unaccounted for crew. His mission to resist getting his ship captured had ended. There was no hope to recover it. He doubted if there ever was.

He checked his handgun, two magazines of fifteen rounds and then he would be dry. With the last of his rifle ammo he got three head shots on the unarmored soldiers. They went down and stayed down. That meant his pistol still had some use and he would keep it. He would have to avoid using it because the sound of it firing would bring the enemy on him like hungry locusts. He would use it on himself if it came down to it.

The images of Leesa Panndin's body being stolen from her came to his mind. He would be damned if he let that happen to him. He would keep resisting. He reached to his right and opened the emergency panel on the sidewall that was in every crew quarters.

Inside were the standard emergency supplies. Two each of oxygen rebreathers, water satchels, thermal blankets, handguns with two clips, and nutrient gel packs to last one person two days. He left the oxygen rebreathers, but took one water satchel, one day's worth of rations, and one more ammo clip. He put the contents into his form fitting utility webbing that was part of his chest armor.

He wanted to travel very light and felt confident that he would have the ability to resupply the basics. His plan was to get off this ship and on to the Valiant. He didn't know the huge war fortress as he knew his own frigate, but its sheer size meant that there was an abundance of places to hide and store supplies. It would be much harder for his opponents to find him there.

Satisfied with his kit loaded out, he prepared to leave his temporary sanctum. His mission had just changed to avoid capture, collect data, and escape to share the data. If he could squeeze in a little sabotage and assassination along the way, all the better.



Colonel Reis looked at his data pad, tapped the touch pad, and looked up to Evandor. "Captain Chard's frigate is under complete control," he said. "It is being brought to the Valiant to dock and undergo repairs."

"Have we captured Chard?"

Reis tapped his wrist data bad, brows knit together. "He is not on the manifest and is assumed at large."

"Casualties?"

A few more key strokes, "Three damaged rippers, three dead crew."

Evandor put down his now empty carton of orange juice. That was more losses than he would have expected. "How did the crew members die?"

"Head shots."

"After all they had been through," put in Nadine, "they get killed by a bullet to the head."

"Delay the orders to dock the frigate to the Valiant," Evandor said. "Send in only rippers, and keep sending them in until we find our wayward captain." He could not afford to have a rat on board the Valiant.

"Yes, sir" said Reis. "What of Rahmore?"

"Take him to fresh guest quarters and post a guard on his room," Evandor said turning to Nadine. "Disable access to the computer systems. We will keep him on ice for now. I want to see what these special abilities are that he speaks of before making a final decision on him."

"Yes, Sir," she said, a distant look in her eyes. "I am curious of his abilities as well."

"Confirmed capture of the Ravenous as well, Sir," Reis said as if he didn't believe what was just said. He just rapidly tapped his data pad. "One casualty reported. We lost a ripper."

That got Evandor's attention, "How did we lose a ripper?"

"Still waiting for full report, but it was Sergeant Orva."

"Send in reinforcements, secure that ship," Evandor said to Reis. He turned to Nadine. "Schedule a cyberjack session with Rahmore in six hours. Let's see what he can do." Then turning back to Reis, "Come with me, we need to make a few preparations for our wayward friend Chard."



Ensign Tamiki focused on her patient. Sanzzer suffered a blow to the head when the whole ship rocked violently earlier. She also had bruising on her left shoulder, hip and knee, but those were a minor concern compared to the swelling in her head.

It took some doing, but with the Tribes' medical equipment she administered the surgical nanobots that repaired the blood vessels to stop the bleeding and other nanobots that flushed out the pooling blood which helped to lower the pressure on her brain. Once Sanzzer's read outs stabilized, she would revive her and they could hatch their plan of escape.

She was so engrossed in tending to her patient that she did not hear the door open behind her. Nor did she notice the intruder silently walk up behind her and watch her tend to the wounded lieutenant. Her observer stood silently letting her do her work. Only when Tamiki finished and stepped back admiring her handiwork did the person make their presence known.

"Tamiki?"

Tamiki jumped to the side and spun around to get distance and face the intruder. Her reflexes of flight were better than her reflexes to fight as she got her body out of danger. Her hands fumbled for her sidearm, clawing at the latch so she could draw the weapon.

"Easy there!" Ensign Rohn said. Her empty hands open in the air. "It's just me."

Tamiki's eyes focused on the smaller woman, blonde hair pulled back in a bun, hands in the air as if she was surrendering.

"Dammit woman," Tamiki said, none too happy. "Did you have to sneak up on me like that?" She stood up, tension leaving her body. She made a point to take off the holster latch of her sidearm. If there was a real threat, she wanted easier access to it.

"I did not want to disturb you while you were doing your thing," Rohn said with a shrug. "How bad is she?"

"She will be fine," Tamiki said giving the medical read outs a quick scan. She did not like looking Rohn in the eye. They were wide set and dark pools that were common for people from her home planet of Banural, but looking into those deep black depths unnerved her. "She should be up in twenty minutes or so. Then we can get out of here."

"You have a plan to escape?" asked Rohn.

Tamiki turned and looked her in the eye. "Let's just say I am open to ideas."



Corporal Ross started to grow weary of kicking down doors. Not that he was getting physically tired. Rather, it was obvious that his prey had enough wits to flee the area. This ship was large enough that it would take him forever to do a room-by-room search. By that time, reinforcements would have arrived and it was likely someone else would find her, or there would be too many witnesses for him to go overboard with her capture leading to an unfortunate accident.

His room clearing was not completely without reward. One room he smashed into he found two science nerds literally hiding under the beds. It was easy to spot them with his thermals. Neither was his primary target though. They surrendered practically whimpering for mercy. He sent them back with Private Brine and that left him alone, which was good, no witnesses.

He had hunted prey across planets and through starships. The key was to think like the prey, to anticipate their moves. Corporal Ross stopped to get himself into the right headspace.

"Okay, if I was a skinny little nerd girl, where would I hide?" he asked himself. He had hunted soldiers, commandoes, officers, and all manner of wild animals. This would be the first time he was after one of these.

He ran the options through his head. There were only so many different hiding places on a ship no matter how big. She was not a soldier, probably not even trained in combat. She would think like a civilian, a smart civilian.

Ross did not know the layout of this ship, which was a problem, but he had an advantage that he could exploit. He hailed Private Hansen who would be on the bridge with the captives. "Private Hansen," he called and waited for the acknowledgment before he proceeded. "Scan this ship for other life forms. We have fugitives at large."

"Aye, Corporal," was the response. Ross waited patiently, tapping an armored foot on the decking. It took just over thirty seconds before he decided to kick in the next two doors while he calmly waited.

"Corporal, we are unable to access this ship's computers with our interface ports."

"Have one of the nerds do it," Ross countered. He thought that would have been the obvious thing to do in the first place.

"Aye, corporal," said the private. Ross hoped he would be able to convince the captives to comply quickly as time was running out. Needing something to do while he waited Ross got back to breaking things. This time he entered a crew quarters and drove his breach blade through the beds in case someone was foolish to hide under these ones. He spotted a body of a Tribes' crew member slumped over his desk long dead. Ross picked him up by the head, took one look at his face, and threw him across the room smashing him into the wall with a wet bone-crunching thud. The body did not bounce off the wall, rather it slid down leaving a streak of stale body fluids in its wake. Not finding anyone else, he turned to leave the room and move on to the next one.

"Corporal Ross, we have them"

"Report."

"They are making their way to the shuttle hanger."

"Guide me to an intercept course," Ross commanded. "When I get there, make sure the cameras are offline."

"Aye, Corporal."



Chapter 33

Evandor, Reis and Nadine departed the guest quarters and went their separate ways. Evandor made his way to his personal quarters. Upon arriving he went to his den, which was adjacent to the front room. He sat down at his desk and brought up the communication logs he had with Duzan leading up the battle.

His head finally began to feel clear from the roller coaster of emotions from waking up dead, discovery of betrayal and the new euphoria of life. Now his intuition was bothering him, the logical recesses of his mind were compiling data, and conclusions were conflicting with beliefs.

While skimming through the logs, he brought up a recording of the battle, before and after the event. His intake of the data made that feeling of wrongness grow inside of him.



Captain Rahmore was escorted to his new officer guest quarters. A different ripper, one that looked to have painted reptilian scales on his armor with wicked white fangs protruding from the jaw of its helmet, was waiting by the quarters designated 1-F. The red demon ripper escorting him passed him off to the green snake ripper and continued down the corridor. The rippers must have had communicated electronically as they spoke no audible words.

The snake ripper stepped in front of Rahmore's path and gestured to the open door. Rahmore stepped inside and the door slid closed behind him. Rahmore spun on the heel of his foot and looked at the door.

"I bet big greenie isn't going anywhere," he said to the closed door. "At least he is on the other side of you." His fingers had already started unbuttoning his red silk pajama top. They acted out of habit.



Evandor leaned back into his chair. He had watched the battle log once already while reading. He reset it and played it again beginning from when the space cannon jumped in. This time he gave it his full attention. His eyes squinting to slits as he scrutinized the shifting of events, from the firing of the cannon, to the loss of power, to the reawakening right up to the capture of Chard's defense frigate. He could not help but cringe at the footage when they awoke from death and screamed in horror when they realized they all had died. The cacophony of cyberpsyches wailing cut into him and he was unable to fight the urge to bellow in mourning letting out a deep wrenching guttural sound. His cried out again leaving him panting. This was so unlike him to be emotionally disheveled. He stopped the recording to collect himself so he could pay attention to the last half.

It played through and ended. He turned it off and rubbed his eyes with the big meaty hands of his borrowed body. He knew how the pieces of the puzzle fit, but he did not like what he saw. He was not one to deny the truth, nor was he one who enjoyed admitting that he had made a grave error in judgment.

He shook off the dazed feeling and stood up. He started to walk to the front door. He needed final confirmation of his new conclusion. He needed to hear it first hand, and the man who would tell him currently resided in guest quarter 1-F.



Completely naked, the way humans should be, Rahmore stretched his arms wide. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back arching it forward and back. It was rather tense and tight. Which was completely understandable due to the insane amount of stress from the last hour, what with the dead rising, stealing of bodies, turning people into data files, and damn near doing all that to him.

He walked over to the coffee table, threw his left foot on it, wiggled his toes, and then stretched out grabbing them with his left hand.

"Oh yeah, that feels good," he said as he felt the stretch in his lower back and buttocks. Standing back up he stretched his arms skyward and rotated his hips to loosen them up.

"Computer," he said into the air, "access data files of system reboot."

"Access denied," said the emotionless genderless voice.

"Command access, Captain Rylan Rahmore of science and research frigate SRF-014." He shouldn't be surprised at the lack of initial access because he was not part of the normal crew contingent.

"Access denied by the authority of Colonel Reis." Nor should he be surprised he had no access because he was technically a prisoner.

"Fine, be that way," he said. He walked over and sat down on the couch, glad that the microfiber finish against his skin was of good quality. He kicked up both feet on the coffee table, leaned his head back, fingers laced behind his hairless head to give it support. "I still have the power of imagination to think this through," he said to the computer, mocking it.

He was facing the front door, but closed his eyes and replayed the events by memory. He knew his position was precarious at best. He needed to analyze the data he had and come up with the next phase of a plan.



Evandor walked the corridors to the officer's guest quarters. He replayed the events in his mind. The more he rolled it around, the more he was sure he needed to adjust his paradigm.

Coming up to officer guest quarters 1-F, the ripper standing guard stopped him. "Step aside soldier," commanded the war admiral.

The reptilian ripper did not step aside. Looking down at him he said, "Access denied to all visitors by Colonel Reis."

"I am War Admiral Evandor, now step aside soldier."

The ripper did not move its position. "With all due respect, I am unable to confirm that," and then after a moment's hesitation it ended the sentence with a, "Sir."

Evandor nodded, the ripper had a good point. "Colonel Reis," he said activating his wrist data pad. "Confirm host body of War Admiral Evandor to ripper six dash twelve," he said reading the numbers emblazoned on its shoulder.

After a short moment, the ripper stepped aside and said, "Confirmation accepted, my apologies for detaining you War Admiral, Sir."

"Do not apologize," Evandor told the ripper. "You performed your duties perfectly."

"Thank you, Sir"

Evandor nodded and made a mental note that with the new sharing of bodies they needed to find a way to identify who was in what body.

The door slid open, and he was greeted by the site of Captain Rahmore lounging naked on the couch in front him. Leaning back, and a little too spread eagle for his personal liking.

The sound of the door caught the captain's attention, he opened his left eye expecting to see the green ripper, but saw the body that he knew was Evandor. Startled he jumped to attention, "Officer on deck," he said formally from the rigid at attention position.

"At ease," said the admiral, "you did not like your pajamas?"

Rahmore glanced down at his naked self. "Force of Merlurian habit to undress when alone," he said as he tried to keep his voice flat and business like. "If you give me a moment I will get dressed."

"No need, captain. Sit down and relax. I have a few questions for you."

Rahmore sat down, hairless eyebrows slightly arching in surprise. In his experience, the higher ranks always got offended and uptight in similar situations. He had to admit that it was awfully open minded and liberal of the admiral to let him be in the buff. Maybe he was not such a bad guy after all.

"Tell me, Captain, after your recovered the ships Duzan ordered you to go after. Where were you supposed to take them?"

"To the Deketer System," he said, unsure why he was being asked. "As you know, they have the best shipyards and medical facilities in the sector. We were hoping they could help."

Evandor nodded, he had already concluded that they were not betrayed. He had jumped to irrational conclusions in the pain and confusion of the moment. He tried to keep believing it because he wanted someone to blame.

Now he knew he was wrong. If Duzan had really joined the Tribes then he would have ordered Rahmore to take the ships into the Tribes' space. Or, if Duzan only wanted to ethnically cleanse the 5th for the sake of the purity of the ECR, then he would have had crew at the ready to take over the ships.

Knowing Duzan as he did, he would never join with the Tribes. Nor would he sacrifice his entire frontier fleet and leave his border defenseless. That would have gone against everything the lord admiral stood for. In their younger days, Duzan hand taken Evandor aside and explained to him that the military was for the people. Their utmost duty was to protect the people, for without people, they had nothing.

On the way to Rahmore's quarters, he ordered Reis to check the projected flight plans of the four ships they had just captured, but he had no doubt that they would confirm Rahmore's story. It meant that the first act of betrayal was done by Evandor. He had turned on the ECR, his home that he had sworn to defend. It changed everything, yet it changed nothing.

Rahmore watched the body of the war admiral. He could see the man was deep in thought, but could not read his expression. "Sir?" asked the captain not knowing what else to do. He saw the admiral's eyes focus on him.

"That will be all for now, Captain," he said. He turned and walked away leaving Rahmore staring at the closed doors wondering what the hell just happened?

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 34

Chard fastened the helmet of his space suit completing the seal. He had originally planned to board the Valiantonce it docked with his frigate via the connecting air lock system. That idea was thrown out when he discovered that they were not going to dock his ship until after they found every crewmember. Likely the war admiral was on to him and didn't want him lurking around on his fortress.

The boarding of three more ripper squads were making quick work of the process. They started at the back end of frigate and worked their way forward. Chard made his way to the forward section of the ship ahead of them. He needed to get off the frigate in a hurry. He decided to get a space suit and literally leap from ship to ship. He couldn't use a standard air lock because once he started its cycle sequence anyone half paying attention on the bridge would be alerted and could pinpoint his location instantly.

Instead, he moved to the forward missile tubes, the only other weapon system on board besides the turrets that were used for shooting enemy small craft and missiles. Since the primary function of the defense frigates was to emit disruptor and repulsor fields to stop incoming enemy energy and projectiles, all the energy resources were taken up by those systems. That left solid bullets for the turrets and anti-ship missiles at the forward bays for offensive power.

Chard was in the starboard missile room, which was usually an automated system for firing the weapons. However, there were manual overrides in case of emergencies, which this situation qualified as. Satisfied his suit was sealed and his handgun firmly secured in the suit's shoulder holster he grabbed the round handle of the bottom missile tube and gave it a half twist. In this position, it mechanically triggered the room he was in to vent its air, which took a long fifteen seconds. Once complete, he twisted the handle the rest of the way allowing him to open it completely. Normally, this is when the crew manning the room would engage in maintenance work or load a missile in the tube, instead Chard loaded himself. It was a tight fit, but he managed. He knew that if someone was manning the weapon station on the bridge that they would be notified, but he felt that was unlikely and it was his best chance to get out undetected.

Once in the missile tube he became weightless as the gravity field generator relays were not applied there. Floating in the tube he slowly moved forward using his fingertips to propel himself. Arriving at the end of the launch tube, he spread his legs apart so his feet would act as brakes as they rubbed against the tube. He grabbed the outside lip of the tube and moved his head out to open space. To his right was the massive bulk of the war fortress as he expected. It was only about two hundred meters away and his ship was lined up to dock with it.

He scanned the surface of the huge ship to find a way in. He was sure that they would detect his entry, but he would have enough time to melt into the enormity of the ship and be lost to them forever. Chard spotted what looked like a maintenance access panel with handholds around it. The hatch was at a slight angle from where he was, maybe a three hundred meter distance. He slid himself out of the missile tube, tucked his knees in, and braced his feet on the hull of his ship. Once he pushed off, he would free float across empty space until he got to the Valiant.

He slowly pushed his legs out and gently launched himself forward. His push off was not perfect and he found himself tumbling in ultra-slow motion across empty space. To make things worse he was going to miss his target by at least twenty meters.

Chard craned his neck to keep an eye on where he was going to land, a flat part of armored hull. He was going to hit no where near the handholds so he had to get his feet to land first so he could engage the magnetic soles of his boots. With nothing to use as leverage, all he could do was wave his limbs around, which did nothing to change his rotation, speed, or direction of travel.

As he slowly approached the halfway point, he determined he would land face first. With nothing to grab on to he was going to gently bounce off the hull and slowly drift into space.

Chard pulled out the pistol from his holster, held it with both hands straight in front of him and waited. As he neared the hull of the ship, he squeezed the trigger. The recoil was not much, but it was enough to send him spinning backwards on his axis bringing his legs towards the hull.

His timing was off and he hit the hull with his knees, which jolted him forward changing his rotation direction again. His left hand went out to cushion himself going into the hull. Unable to get the magnetized soles of his boots onto the hull he bounced off and started to float away from the ship.

Now facing away from the ship he fired his gun into the emptiness of space sending bullets on a flight path into infinity. He fired six more times, the recoil causing him to go back into the hull of the ship. This time he landed on his back and got his left foot on the hull. The magnetics clamped down and secured him to safety.

Chard let out a laugh of a man cheating a slow death with his own ingenuity and sheer good luck. Getting his right foot down the hull he laughed again as he holstered the weapon.

He methodically walked in the clamp-then-release method of magnetized spacewalk. Reaching the access panel, he took a firm grip of the handle and swung himself around ready to start the air cycle sequence.

The hatch slide open before he had a chance to activate it. He was even more shocked when a pincer from a ripper reached through the opening and grabbed him around the waist.

"What the fuck?"

"Took you long enough to get here," said the seven-foot tall ripper. Chard grabbed for his gun but the second ripper he hadn't noticed caught his arm and held onto it.

"Careful, Captain," it said to him over his comm system. "We wouldn't want an accident, would we?"

Looking from one ripper to the other, Chard didn't bother struggling. Instead, he ran through the course of events that led to his capture. "Ah shit," he said as he realized that they flushed him to front of his ship and then gave him what appeared to be a safe point of entry just to land in the clutches of waiting rippers.



Chapter 35

"I am taking the two of you prisoner," stated Corporal Ross.

"Two?" questioned Sanzzer, her brows knit together. "There are three of- " her last words were cut off because Ross bolted forward, his armored pincer fist driving forward releasing the blade used for breaching ship hulls and armored doorways. He drove the blade forward into Sanzzer striking her above her pelvic bone going through the soft tissue of her lower abdomen. Slicing through muscle wall and internal organs before severing her spine where it met her hips.

Following through his punch, he arced his fist up as he stood up straight. His blade pointed straight up with Sanzzer skewered on it, her legs dangled, limp and paralyzed. Her hands grabbed the ripper's shoulders trying to support her weight because the armored pincer forced its way into her stomach preventing her from breathing. Her mind raced trying to find a way to get air, not yet concerned about the blade running through her.

Tamiki and Rohn fell back, eyes bulging out of their heads and jaws nearly hitting the floor. The ripper was watching Sanzzer struggle where he had her pinned. "Two of you because this one shot Sarge in the head. That and she just talked back to me."

The blood drained from Tamiki's face when she realized this ripper believed that Sanzzer killed the other ripper who she found in the corridor and shot. She looked at Rohn who was still staring at Sanzzer struggling.

"I am going back to the bridge, you two follow me," said the ripper as he turned around and started walking away. Rohn turned to Tamiki who was still staring at her, eyes huge, bottom lip quivering. The ripper didn't look at them or bother disarming them as their pistols were still in their holsters for all the good they may have done. Not seeing any alternative the two women fell in step behind him.

As they walked, they had a front row view of Sanzzer struggling for her life. She tried to say something to them, but no words came out of her. Her wound had started to bleed out, her blood running down the rippers forearm and dripped from his elbow all the while he casually walked. Her hands became slick with her own blood, which made them slip off his shoulder causing her to start to flail. Neither Tamiki nor Rohn knew what to do. The thought crossed both their minds of shooting Sanzzer to put her out her misery, but neither wanted to be the next one impaled and hanging on the blade of that ripper. So they did nothing, but walk and watch.

They made their way back and came up to the body of the ripper that Tamiki shot. He still lay there where she had left him. When the ripper came up to him he dumped Sanzzer to the ground. She was barely conscious, but let out a grunt when she landed. She was alive but had weakened and had little struggle left in her. The ripper stopped and stood over her.

"You two keep going and report to the bridge," the ripper told them, his voice sounding impassive through the voice modulator, but had a sinister implication.

Tamiki opened her mouth to ask what he was going to do when Rohn reached out and touched her arm. Tamiki looked over to her, Rohn was staring wide-eyed at her, tears pooling in them threatening to leak down her cheeks. She shook her head advising her not to say anything. Tamiki looked back to the ripper. She noticed patches of fur strapped to his grey and green painted armor. She closed her mouth and walked past him, she could not bring herself to look at Sanzzer. They were not friends per say, but they served together on the same ship for over a year now and had become acquainted. All she knew was that she wanted to walk fast because she did not want to know what the ripper planned to do next.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 36

Captain Rylan Rahmore waited in cyberspace. He rendered his cyberself to be as normal as they would expect. He did not like the idea of cyberjacking in considering what he saw happen to Leesa Panndin and knew what happened to the others. As much as he would have liked to refuse, he knew that he had no choice. He was at the mercy of his captors.

He also knew this was going to be a test. He promised them secrets, to show them the powers of Corfur's Forerunners and he had better deliver, otherwise, failure to do so would likely result with him having the crew of the 5th trying out his body for size. Not that he would mind trying someone else's body, you know, for science.

The arrival of the others, their cyberimages forming in front of him, brought him out his thoughts. He was expecting Evandor and a handful of his command group, what he got was Evandor and nearly thirty others. Possibly every available officer of the Valiant who was not currently tasked to other functions was present for his demonstration. He was truly on stage for all to see.

He saw Evandor, Reis, and the other senior officers from the bridge come out to the front and head towards him. Expectation radiated from them. So he began.

He started by focusing his will and turned the flat, white cyberspace construct into an auditorium lecture hall complete with plush red chairs for everyone to sit in. He formed a front row of chairs for Evandor and his officers. Then with a grand gesture of sweeping both arms out, he thought spoke his greeting. "Welcome all. Please have a seat." A surprised murmur rose from the crowd because he did something they did not know was possible. When people entered cyberjacked space, they came to a preprogramed landscape and interacted with it. He just changed the cyberworld around them and made it look easy. Their surprise was a good sign.

Once they settled themselves in, he started. He was standing on the stage and began to project out his thoughts. He created the word imagery into a visual projection of pictures above him for all to see. Many could communicate with images in cyberspace, but he made his a grand opera flowing with his thoughts.

"As you all know," he began, "Cyberjacking has been with us for over fifty years, originally created by Doctor Jacque Corfur." The images he projected showed the first biomedical operation where Corfur cyberjacked into medical machinery to perform a difficult procedure.

"This technology eventually went from medicine to the military giving us a tactical edge that allowed us to take new worlds and defeat the Plasorah Precinct." The imagery morphed into showing the old ECR Dauntless star fighters slicing through enemy formations with guns blazing. He had specifically chosen the Dauntless star fighters because they were the first ships to be cyberjacked and Evandor was part of that first generation of new warriors.

"It grew from small single pilot ships to every military vessel no matter how big." Images showed frigates, destroyers, and battleships clashing in space while tanks and other armored land vehicles rolled through a desert terrain firing their weapons. "It came to pass that our enemies captured and developed their own cyberjack technology." He showed the image of the fabled Dynasty of Peace agent stealing the technology from a cybernetic lab and hijacking a Republic ship taking it away. The images above his head went from a one-sided battle to a pitched toe-to-toe slugfest with both sides taking heavy losses.

"For the last fifteen years the other star nations have all joined forces against us." A galactic map with Earth in the middle formed. He clearly marked the Earth Core Republic's holding, the Dynasty of Peace on one side of the map, with the United Free Tribes and the Syver Dominion on the other side. Each faction was marked with their own color, Republic blue, Dynasty green, Tribes red, and Dominion purple.

"You have all been told what cyberjacking can do, bringing your very essence into the machine, making reactions and communication near instantaneous. You have seen cyberjacking being used in many walks of life, military, science, medical, and even entertainment. The commercials and training all give the same story of what it can and cannot do."

For dramatic effect, he ended the image projection he had created. He could feel all eyes and everyone's attention zero in on him just as he wanted. He debated on how much he should reveal, and how he should present it. It was time to throw the dice. "I am here to tell you that you have been all lied to."

The emotional flair up was pronounced. A mixture of shock, confusion, and disbelief could be felt in the thought murmurs of the crowd. In cyberspace, uncontrolled emotions and thoughts had a way of manifesting themselves for all to notice. He put up an image of Doctor Corfur, how he looked decades ago as a distinguished older gentleman. "Corfur kept many secrets to himself, and new that the rest of the population would be limited to the belief system he gave them. He told us what he wanted us to hear, to keep us less than what we could be." The image now showed Corfur as a giant standing over a city, its population hard at work, toiling away as he saw fit.

"Wanting to further grow his power and unlock more secrets he created his Forerunners. Handpicked men and women to spread out across the Republic in the hopes of finding breakthroughs in cyberjack technology." The image of Corfur moved forward, arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. To his left and right other people started to appear, both men and woman. Rahmore made sure his face was on one of the men. He also gave them the Forerunner symbol, golden wings spread out with a sword and scepter crossed together at its center. The symbol was over every person's heart and one large one floated above their collective heads.

Rahmore could feel he had his audience's rapt attention. He was giving them esoteric information and they were eating it up. "The lie you have believed is the limits of what you can do in cyberspace. You have been trained and conditioned for years, and in some cases from birth, of what can be done. You are limited by the parameters of a belief system that someone else gave you. As a Forerunner, I can show you these abilities, to free your minds from the shackles that have been placed on them."

He paused again, letting the projected image evaporate into tendrils of smoke before they disappeared. The crowd rustled before him, their minds trying to process what he just revealed to them. Once he felt everyone's focus come back to him, he played his one of his biggest cards.

His focused on his cyberimage. Everyone was limited to having their cyberimage look like their actual person, for that is what is natural and how they were trained. Not Rahmore, his began to grow, majestic golden wings sprouted from his back spreading out behind him. His military uniform turned to flowing white robes, a sword appeared in one hand, a scepter in the other and he crossed them over his chest. His facial features became stronger. His physique became well-defined muscles. He grew to a height of thirty feet with a wingspan equally wide. To add to the visuals, he projected an aura of dominance, fear, and authority over the crowd. Many gasped and shirked back moving away from the new form they had never conceived was ever possible.

"I promised you all," his words boomed, further projecting a sense of power and strength. "With your new powers and my training we can carve out our own place in this universe."

"What are you not showing us?" the thought voice came from Evandor, there was no sense of anger, but the accusation was hard hitting. Rahmore looked down, to his surprise there stood the six-foot tall cyberimage of Evandor. Rahmore could feel the projected dominance of his angelic cyberself was washing over the crew. He knew if could isolate them he could use his skills to subtly dominate them one at a time and draw out their secrets. As a group he would be hard pressed to do it, and it was never his preferred method. The fact that they had their own powers to snatch him out his body further kept him at bay.

"I can feel you are holding something back, tell us now," Evandor demanded. Rahmore knew it would be near impossible to do any trickery with so many present. Also, it annoyed him that Evandor seemed especially resistant to his earlier attempts. He was showing a remarkable strength of will uncommon among the untrained masses, even worse, Evandor was sensing that Rahmore was indeed holding something back.

Rahmore supposed it should not be so surprising that those of high rank would show such resolve. He could not help but be impressed that the comparatively puny admiral was confronting his demi-god self.

Rahmore momentarily toyed with the idea of clashing with Evandor in a test of will power, to see if he could get him to back down. If it was just the two of them or if Evandor had come in with only with a handful of his entourage then he would have stood a good chance of success. His focus swept over the crowd arrayed in front of him, far too many for him to handle all at once. He felt that Corfur probably could have taken them all on, but Rahmore knew he could not, and with that belief he would be a fool to try.

"Come down here and tell me what you are holding back and why you want to join us," Evandor called out again. There was no hiding from him, no evading the subject. Somehow, the admiral was sensing something was amiss. Rahmore brought himself down to normal size and back to his original self. He smiled, his last secret was left to be played out. Bringing them into cyberspace allowed him to confirm what he had speculated earlier.

"Because I believe you have achieved a new type of existence."

"So not to just save your own skin?" Evandor said, a sense of amusement coming with the words as he smiled.

"There is that as well," Rahmore admitted as there was no need to try to hide the fact. "There is more, a key element you do not understand yet."

"You have our attention, do tell," Evandor said, he held out one hand gesturing to the officers behind him.

"Then I will need all of you to gather around me," said Rahmore. He had the auditorium disappear and let it go back to the original plain white landscape. The crew who were at the back of the auditorium floated down to the ground, gently landed, and then began to gather around.

Rahmore had the floor disappear and they were all floating in cyberspace to the backdrop of the universe. Stars, constellations, and the mosaic of space with all its brilliant colors displayed all around them.

Soon they had formed a bubble around him, surrounding him from every angle, the spirits of the dead soldiers pressing in to see what he would do next. Evandor stood in front of him, separated from the crowd.

"I believe you are all different, you have died, and somehow didn't die." He could feel the crowd flash with anger and hurt at his words, no doubt still a sore spot.

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" asked Evandor. "Do you even know what we are now?"

"No, I do not," Rahmore admitted. "But I know that you're different from everyone else and I can prove it."

"Carry on then."

"In the cyberjack system there is one program written into all of our coding. It's very slight, an insignificant overlay on everything that has ever been done. A core attribute," Rahmore said preparing the stage. He focused his will to reveal what the code hid, it wasn't easy, but it was done.

"Tell me what you see, Admiral," Rahmore said. He could sense the admiral looking him over, taking him in.

"There is that," Evandor started, pausing to search for words, "cable coming from you." He pointed at the blue ethereal rope coming from the core of Rahmore's being and went off into the distance out of sight. It sparkled blue and pulsed as if glittering lights flowed through it, first in one direction and then the other. "I have never seen that before."

"Very good, this is what Corfur's code hides from all who do not know how to see it. I have turned the program off so it is visible to you."

"Your point?"

"Before I answer, can you tell me what you do not see?" Rahmore sensed a flash of confusion at his riddle. Then the crew of the 5th began to look around, at first they were focused on him, not finding anything, their focus shifted elsewhere.

"We don't have it, none of us," came the thought from one of the crowd. It was impossible to tell who it was. All of them looked down to their torsos trying to find their own umbilical cord. Many tried looking behind them, like a pack of dogs searching for their lost tails circling around themselves.

"You are the first ones ever to not have it," Rahmore told them.

"What is it?" came the question from multiple sources.

"Here is the thing. The official line is that it is your consciousness that goes from your body to the machine. However, Doctor Corfur is convinced that it is your soul that makes the transfer.

This line is the conduit that connects your soul to your body. It is a metaphysical link that we do not yet fully understand. If you ever wondered how you found your body when leaving cyberspace this it. You instinctively followed this link back.

We also know that if either the body or soul dies, then the link is broken and the other will die. It has been true in all cases until today when you defied all laws of nature as we knew them."

Silence took the group, a sense of bewilderment flowed through them as comprehension was yearning to be grasped. Rahmore could feel the question pressing towards him.

"You see," Rahmore started, "I believe you have unlocked the secret Corfur has been searching for. All of you are sentient souls, no longer bound to a physical body." He waited a moment to let that sink in before closing.

"You are immortal."

 

[Kris Wicker]

The Next Day

Turrin Star System, Location of the Event

Chapter 37

The largest capital ships, namely the mobile war fortress, mega-carriers, battleships, and the new space cannon were all self-sustaining vessels. They housed manufacturing facilities to create incidental items from clothing and kitchen appliances to essentials like medicine and ammunition. The war fortress and mega carrier could build ships such as fighters, bombers and even the light corvette class ships. To support the ability to manufacture items they were also equipment to gather resources and had all the necessary cargo transports, mining equipment, refineries, and so forth. Their hydroponic facilities could produce grains, vegetables, and fruits in large enough quantities to support the ship's crew, as well as enough surpluses for the associated ships in its fleet. The medium sized ships like the destroyer also carried hydroponics and limited manufacturing for small items. The smaller ships like the frigates were dependent on being resupplied from either the capital ships or space docks.

With the extended periods that fleets could be away from friendly spaceports, the large capital ships also contained shopping and social districts. With crews numbering nearly ten thousand on board, along with the crews of the other ships in the fleet, it was deemed essential to support the basic human need of social interaction, rest, and relaxation. This area was often referred to as the city by the ship's crew. It contained restaurants, cafes, coffee shops, stores for all types of goods, nightclubs, pubs, and other such common social establishments. There were also swimming pools, tracks, gymnasiums, fitness rooms, and other entertainment to allow the crews to have physical exertion, both to maintain health and to help mental balance.

Civilian personnel who had careers within the military supported these facilities. They were the shop stewards, maintenance, hydroponics, and manufacturing crews. They had their own less formal civilian ranking system and intertwined with the military ranks. In the city, the intention was to resemble civilian life. As such, military personnel would wear civilian clothes in order to blend in. Rank was known only to people who knew each other, but strict military protocol was not adhered to in their interactions within the city.

Part of the city was the apartment district, where the civilians would live, including those with families. The soldiers without families were stationed in the barracks in the military zone of the ships, but a section of apartments were dedicated for off-duty soldiers to utilize. Crew from the smaller ships would often ferry to the capitol ships to enjoy some down time as well. Overall, the additions of the cities to capital ships created a healthier atmosphere that built a society and unity among the people.

The day after the event Marcus Evandor walked through the city of his ship in his old body. The bullet wounds to his neck and face created a grisly figure of a man as he stiffly walked down the main street. After the initial chaos of coming back to life, it was soon discovered that only the personnel who were cyberjacked survived. Those who were not slowly died off when the life support shutdown. Including nearly every civilian, and the majority of non-combat personnel such as the engineers and flight deck crews. That left a very lopsided cross section of skill bases in the surviving crew, an abundance of combat abilities, a dearth of anything else.

He wished they could have been left behind going into the battle, but they were an integral part of his ship, and they should have been safe. Many civilians hunkered down in the reinforced life support bunkers, but some who have been through numerous engagements stayed in their living quarters or confidently walked the streets. All of them still lay where they fell. When the purple death wave washed over them, they collapsed unconscious, and slowly died. As Evandor walked the streets with Reis the bodies lay strewn giving glimpses of what they were doing when the lights went out.

Some were face down in the streets as they were incapacitated midstride. Others sat in cafes slumped over drinks and food as cold as their flesh. Through the store windows, he could see clerks and customers laying among the goods. One woman still held an orange from the hydroponics facility. The bodies ruined the charm of the city, artificial blue summer sky over their heads. A warm breeze ruffled the sleeves of his light jacket. Evandor was thankful that his sense of smell did not work in the body he was in as the sights were bad enough.

"This is a tragedy on so many levels," Reis said walking beside him. Evandor nodded without looking at him. His voice sounded too high pitched in his decaying body.

"How are you, Kyle?" Marcus asked, this time he turned to look at his old friend. Reis was still in good physical shape. His dead body had the characteristics of his older age, stocky build that was a bit too heavy around the middle, but with thick arms and legs to make up for it. His military cut hair was grey from age and looking freshly trimmed like always. Marcus knew that Reis' wife had chosen to join him on the ship and she was somewhere in the city, suffering the same fate as the rest of its citizens. Thankfully, Reis' children and grandchildren were scattered across the Republic. Reis had grown up on space stations and starships, a child of the stars, as he never had roots on any planet. He exhibited no phenomenon and looked like a primal, but had never set foot on Earth.

"Like I said, a tragedy on many levels," he said again. Evandor let it rest. He knew Reis was a dedicated family man and he would need time to work through his personal loss. They had walked to their favorite cafe, automatic doors sliding open for them. Going to the back, they entered the elevator and went to the top floor of the five-story building, one of the tallest in the city. They arrived at the top floor, which was a quaint open-air restaurant by the simple name of Cosmo's Café. They had visited it many times in life. It was empty save for one table where a young couple had made their final resting place. They had moved their chairs together and where leaning into each other. Burnt out candle stubs and untouched glasses of red wine on the table.

Evandor came up to the railing. He didn't lean against it, but looked over his once bustling city. It had been a full day since they had awoken from the effects of the event. He had set in motion the efforts to take stock of losses, ship conditions, and begin salvage efforts. Salvage was given the top priority and he put nearly all of his available personnel towards that. It was not every day a fleet of crewless ships lay before him. He did not have the people to crew both his and the Tribes' Fleet at the same time, but he would be damned if he left them behind. At least damned more than he already was.

He watched two of his crew move from body to body in the city. One had a scanner in hand to scan the microchip implant everyone within the ECR had imbedded. The other had a data pad confirming the information. Once they finished with the body they put it on its back and placed the arms neatly across the chest so they knew it had already been accounted for, then moved on to the next one.

"You know," Reis said breaking the silence. "I completely agree with your assessment that Duzan didn't betrayed us." Evandor had shared his earlier conclusions with him. They watched the two walking cadavers making their way to the next inert body. "Analyzing the course of events and trying to think through what his intended results could have been, I fail to see the logic of such a betrayal."

"I know," Evandor admitted. "Putting it all together, breaking it down, clearly we were never betrayed by him."

"That means we attacked the ECR. We are the traitors," said Reis.

"I gave the order to attack. It falls on me," countered Evandor.

"We eagerly went along with you," said Reis. "We all made a grave mistake." Reis shook his head. He turned to the taller corpse and kept talking. "Calling it a mistake is not giving enough weight to the magnitude of what we did."

Evandor kept looking ahead, eyes sweeping over lifeless buildings and bodies. "What happened, happened. I do not know how it could have happened any other way. Do you not remember the intense pain, and the stark raving anger consuming us?"

Reis took his eyes off Evandor and looked back across the street. "I remember. How could I not? I am the one who pinned down the first victim so that we could take her body. I was like a man possessed, a single-minded obsession that I couldn't deviate from or resist."

"You were still following my orders."

"Which is still not a excuse for my actions. I still have a moral duty to do what is right."

"We both made horrible mistakes," conceded Evandor.

Reis pressed his lips together. He didn't like the answer and would have to live with his actions. "Then now what do we do, Marcus?"

Evandor drew in a deep breath. "I feel duty calling me," he started, eyes tracking the movement on the streets. The two below had reached the next body and turned it over. "Duty to the oaths I have sworn to the ECR, and duty to those I swore to protect." He swept his hand gesturing to those laid below him.

"Since Duzan didn't betray us, then isn't it right that we go back to the ECR?" Reis asked. "So we can continue to protect the people and face justice for our crimes?"

Evandor did not answer right away. He wished he could feel the wind rustle his short hair. He commanded his body to take a deeper breath, not that it needed oxygen, but he wanted to feel the memory of needing to breathe. "We can't go back because we are the forefront of an invasion. It would be irresponsible to withdraw, we have to press on." Evandor paused, as if he didn't want the next words to come out. "And, as you know we have the problem that if do we go back, they would lock us up and turn us into science experiments."

"We should still turn ourselves over to the authorities. We should face justice for what we did," Reis said, his voice quiet as well.

"I would deserve justice for my actions, but can I let everyone in the entire fleet suffer for my choice as well?" Evandor turned to Reis and looked him in the eye. "Could you go to each crewmember, those that we swore to protect, those who trust us to lead them, and tell them they have to go back for what is essentially a death sentence?"

Reis stood silent, a gust of artificially produced wind rippled his clothes. "Then what? Are you suggesting we turn against the ECR? That is something I cannot abide. I agree we have to think of our crew, but we also have to think of the billions of civilians on the planets we also swore to defend. That is the duty of military, to face the horrors of war so other will not."

"I will not attack the ECR. It is still, and always will be my home. Yet, we cannot stay," replied Evandor.

"Then what? We can't just leave them unprotected?"

"We won't," said Marcus, he was still looking over his city, but his eyes had a distant look as he spoke his thoughts. "They will be safe. The Tribes' fleet is neutralized so now they have no effective way to attack our planets. I would expect the 5th Army to be invading into Tribes' space with support from the 2nd Fleet as we speak."

Reis listened as he watched another civilian body be processed. The two doing the work, moved into a storefront escaping his view. With them gone, there was only stillness. Only Evandor's words hanging in the air.

"We are going to support the assaults into Tribes' space. This will put them on their heels and ensure the safety of our planets." Marcus continued. "We will help the ECR take planets all across the front. The Tribes will be on the defensive, and the ECR will grow in strength. Once the ECR has a strong foothold, we will continue into Tribes space. We will gather resources as we need them and blaze a new path into unknown space. Our actions will protect the ECR, and give or crew a chance for a future."

Reis turned his gaze to the artificial horizon. "You're planning to leave forever? What of the duty to protect our people?"

"Who are our people?" Marcus asked, his voice soft. "I have not set foot on my home planet for over twenty years now. I want them to prosper and do well, but I would never be allowed to enjoy it.

I will take actions to ensure the protection of the ECR, but I cannot forget my duty to the crews of my fleet. The men and women who risk their lives for me, who put their trust in me to do right by them. I can't take them back to the ECR. That is not fair to them. I will protect them and the only way I can is by leaving."

Reis turned back to Evandor. "Not everyone will accept this decision, not everyone will want to go. There is a growing unrest among the crew."

"I know," admitted Evandor. "I will discuss this with the other admirals in the fleet first. I will give everyone a choice, lay out the plan before them and they can decide. Those who wish to go with us, and those who wish to return will be free to do so."

"Very diplomatic of you," Reis said. "Aren't you concerned that you will lose more troops?"

"Of course I am, but if we are to be our own people I want only those who are dedicated. Those who wish to return to the ECR will not be forced to stay with us. This is one time where giving a choice is better than making a command."

"For the record, I don't like this," said Reis.

"Neither do I," replied Evandor "but there isn't a fiber in my being willing to lie down and give up."

Reis and Evandor stood on the rooftop. Letting time slip by as the weight of the moment rested on them. They both knew that they would never be same. Their lives forever put on a different path and the universe will change because of them. They will see to it, one way or the other.

"Summon the other admirals," Evandor said, his voice quiet, but strong. "I will speak with them privately over dinner. Set the time for eighteen hundred hours in two days." That would give him enough time to make the necessary arrangements and gather some more information.

"Understood, sir," Reis said. After a moment he asked, "Can you feel it?"

Evandor slowly turned to his old friend. "You mean the burning desire for living flesh when in this dead body?"

"Yes," Reis said. "It is impossible to deny it. I know I am alive, but I desperately want to be living in a body with a beating heart."

"I feel it as well, but we don't have enough of the living," Evandor said. As grim as it was, he had instituted a system where the crew took turns using live bodies. A rotational schedule was set up, but they only had hundreds of the living to go around.

"We will need more."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 38

Captain Sharran Blike worked on her FF-51 Lancer flex fighter. She was literally head and shoulders into the strike craft through one of the bottom access panels. She typically did not do her own work, but flight deck crews were one of the positions that did not often use the cyberjack system. When the event happened very few of them were in cyberspace and the rest perished with their bodies.

That left the pilots as the only ones who had any skill in maintaining the small craft. Every pilot had learned the fundamentals of the systems and the necessary maintenance schedules and procedures during flight school, but lack of practice made them all rusty. When they first landed on the Valiant and realized they would be doing the work themselves they had to pull out manuals and pour over them to make sure they didn't miss anything. Fortunately, one of the charms of the Lancer was that they were very self-sufficient vehicles and easy to keep running at peak performance. Not like those poor suckers who had to deal with their light corvettes once they returned, at least they had crews of three to six to share the workload. The few remaining flight deck crew, all privates or corporals as not one sergeant survived, helped with the bigger machines.

There was very little real combat and strain put on the ships on that last mission so the Lancer pilots finished their work quickly and then shuffled off in their dead bodies. Sharran was one of the few that stuck around and helped one of the bomber pilots work on his lateral thrusters that did not fire properly. While they were chatting about vector plasma control and the recent experience of blacking out and waking up dead a thought came to her. After finishing the work on the bomber, she spent some time at the flight deck crew chief's office researching data sheets on the frame structure and performance limitations of the Lancer.

Finding what she was looking for she went back to her craft, opened it up, and pulled out the governor package that limited its performance. She hooked it up to the software package at the flight deck mainframe to readjust it. Usually set to limit the performance to 14 g's during combat maneuvers, which is the most a human pilot could sustain with the help of vibration and electromagnetic dampeners. However, she reasoned that now that she no longer needed to worry about keeping her body alive she decided to loosen the parameters. She had no idea what her freshly dead body could handle, and since it was the only body she had, she did not want to destroy it. Then she realized that after she cyberjacked into her Lancer her body could be removed and she could push the limit to what the frame could handle, a whopping 32 g's at combat maneuvers. If this worked, she would become the next terror of the space ways, the thought gave her a rush.

She smiled to herself as she worked at reinstalling the governor. It didn't feel right to have her dry, cracking lips stretched over her dry teeth, but smiling still felt good. The lack of the sensation of touch made the procedure take longer, but she didn't have anywhere else to go. At least the coldness of death was not as annoying as the coldness of being a Tomlin on a ship full of other races who left the heat down. Since Tomlin physiology had a hard time keeping internal body temperature up, she used to have to add a few layers of clothing to keep warm and a pair of gloves so her fingers wouldn't be ice claws. Now that her body was dead, the cold did not physically hurt. It was not right, but at least she didn't have to wear thermal underwear beneath her uniform anymore.

"Captain Blike?" she heard someone ask. She couldn't see whom it was with her head stuffed in the flex fighter, nor could she recognize the voice because now everyone spoke in much higher pitches, which was probably a combination of dry vocal cords and dry ears.

"You found her," she stated without stopping what she was doing.

"Captain Sharran Blike of Sabre Squadron?" the voice asked again. This time she stopped what she was doing. That was a very formal way of being addressed. The governor was half installed, but secured to its spot and would not fall out. She ducked out of the access panel and saw Colonel Reis standing next to her ship tapping the images on his wrist data pad.

"Officer on deck," she said as she snapped to attention.

"At ease," he said, the words coming out before she finished speaking. His eyes barely left the data pad screen on his left wrist, he tapped and swiped the screen with his free hand. "After reviewing your file carefully I have a special assignment for you. It comes directly from War Admiral Evandor." Even with his high-pitched voice, he managed to sound important.

"Sir, I am ready for anything!" she said. A ghastly smile plastered on her face. Not because she intended to be smiling like an idiot, but rather because her dry thin lips had stuck to her gums. She imagined what sort of important mission was in store for her that the war admiral himself was handpicking her. It must be of the utmost importance, high-flying danger where her pilot skills would shine. It was about time that she got something exciting to do.

"Mm, yes, yes," said the Colonel. "According to this you are the best qualified so you will be leading the team."

Sharran's thin eyebrows rose. Leading the team? This was only getting better. She felt a growing sense of pride . While it made sense that she would be picked as she was one of the, if not the top pilot aboard the Valiant, she still could not help but feel validated. Her mind raced with excitement trying to deduce what would be asked of her. Had the admiral already thought of changing the governors on fighter craft and was just waiting for someone else to figure it out? He must have discovered her research and that she came to the same conclusion, thus rewarding her with this assignment.

"I am transmitting mission details now," Reis said as he tapped his data pad. The wristband data pad on Sharran's forearm buzzed with receipt of the message. "You are to meet the admiral at the officer's galley in two hours to go over the menu details," Reis continued. "You are to pick up a live body on your way there. The rest of the details are in the data package. Any questions?"

"Galley? Admiral? Menu? What?" Blike blurted out, her mind not comprehending what just happened. What did any of that have to do with a combat mission?

"Yes, your records show you took secondary culinary courses, and with the unfortunate demise of the galley staff that leaves you to lead the team to prepare the formal banquet for the gathering of the admirals in two days." Then after a slight pause Reis said, "Congratulations, I have complete faith in your abilities to succeed." With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, head down reading his data pad. Sharran stood there watching him leave, jaw hanging wide-open in disbelief.



Chapter 39

Captain Rylan Rahmore stood outside the boardroom adjacent to the main bridge. He was summoned by the war admiral for a meeting. Not surprising and it was better than sitting in his new quarters by himself with nothing to do.

He stood patiently outside the door to the boardroom, his back to the wall waiting his turn. The boardroom was separated by a short hallway, leaving him staring at boring white walls by his lonesome. He settled into a relaxed at ease stance that any military person could stand in for countless hours. In contrast, his mind danced among thoughts of what he was summoned for, questions he may be asked, and answers he would give.

He was not sure how long he was there, it couldn't have been too much time, when the door slid open. He watched Commander Nadine and one other he did not recognize shuffle out in their deceased bodies. She noticed him standing him there and eyed him up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head with what he assumed was an approving look. The crooked half smile on her dead face and what looked like an attempt to wink, confirmed it to him.

Gross, was the only thought that came to him, and he was grateful the word didn't escape his lips. It wasn't the first time he was eyed up by a woman, and Nadine was probably a fairly attractive middle-aged woman in life. Average height, strawberry blonde hair, nice facial structure and decent body. Her career path meant she had spent too much time at an officer's desk and had become somewhat bottom heavy, but nothing that couldn't be easily forgiven. However, in death...the thought was disgusting and ridiculously revolting. He made a mental note to avoid being caught alone with the woman.

He made a point not to look back at her as he stepped towards the boardroom. No need to catch her checking him out. "Sir, you wanted to see me," he said from the 'at attention' position.

War Admiral Evandor looked up from his data screen that came out of the table he was sitting at. The table was a dark wood oval shape large enough to seat eight people, one at either end and three along each side. The use of natural wood signified an extravagance. The chairs were standard looking black mesh with plastic frames. The rest of the room had the standard military-grey clinical look. The wall on his left was one big view screen that currently showed the star system outside. It was merely a view screen as the bridge was deep in the midsection of the ship, safely nestled away from easy strikes.

"At ease, have a seat, Captain," said Evandor. Rahmore looked at his choices of empty seats and decided to pick the one closest to him, which would be at the opposite end of the table from Evandor. Rahmore wondered why the bridge crew chose to use their old dead bodies, first Nadine and the other crew member, and now Evandor. Especially considering the bullet wound he took earlier had ripped the flesh from his left cheek exposing broken teeth and his gum line. His lips were still intact, but the blown out side made his words harder to understand between the high-pitched sound and the added sound of escaping air from the side of his mouth.

As Rahmore sat down Evandor put a purple crystal shard on the table. It was about ten inches long and thin. He slid it across the table towards Rahmore who snatched it up. It was straight with well-defined lines accenting it. One end was blunt, the other came up to a sharp point. He held it up to the light to see fine lines through the semi-transparent crystal.

He touched the end with his finger. Sharp. It could easily be used as a dagger, and he was sitting in a room alone with the admiral of the fleet. The thought crossed his mind that he could attack Evandor. His living Merlurian body should have the strength advantage over the admiral's dead Tomlin body. Rahmore believed he would win in a physical confrontation, but to what end? He could kill the admiral outright, drive this purple dagger into his brain and crush the cyberjack port. That should kill him, but then what? He would have killed the alpha lion of the pride, but how would the pack react? Would it fall apart and dissolve its strength? Could he make a power play to take it over or would a new alpha take his place? It was difficult to determine the result because he did not know the political landscape. However, the chances of his personal survival would be slim. As far as he could tell, the immediate crew was loyal and would not take kindly to an assassin.

His other option was to take Evandor hostage. Use him to get safe passage to a smaller jump drive capable ship and get the hell out of hell. The only problem was that no ship with jump drives could be piloted by a single person. He would need a crew. His thoughts went to the people of his old ship. He was sure they would want to leave with him. He would have to do a hostage trade to get them, secure a ship, and get away. Theoretically possible, but with all the steps involved and the environment he was in, made it seem like an incredible long shot.

A likely demise in either scenario, he had no plans to become a martyr for the Earth Core Republic. Besides, he would lose his chance at grasping immortality. Something he felt utterly compelled to explore. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted it until it got so close.

"Sharp isn't it?" asked Evandor.

Rahmore took his eyes off the crystal and looked up. The admiral had been watching him the whole time. As if he just watched Rahmore's entire thought process rationalizing if he should attack him or not. Rahmore did not like how well the other man predicted his behavior. He glanced around the room checking to make sure it was empty even though he knew it was. The admiral was so confident in how he would react there was no need to bring any protection, at least none that was apparent.

"Is this what I think it is?" Rahmore said answering with a question.

"Yes," came the short reply. With the damage to his mouth, it came out with a slight slur.

Rahmore turned the piece over in his hands. "Did you chip a small piece off? I don't think that was a...prudent decision."

Evandor formed his face into an amused smile. With the taint of death and the smashed face, it took on an element of wickedness. "I would never damage such a rare and precious artifact. Unfortunately, the Insight crashed into the orb."

This was the first Rahmore had heard of the news, he became concerned for both his ship and the orb. "How bad was the damage?" he asked.

"The Insight is gone. It was damaged during the skirmish, but managed to jump away," answered Evandor, his attempt at a smile melted off his face. "The orb received multiple fissures and cracks throughout. Apparently, it was rather brittle."

Rahmore sunk into his chair, "Is it destroyed?" His voice low, as if he just heard about the death of a loved one, yet a part of him was relieved to hear that his ship got away with some of his crew.

"I don't think it can be restored. It was knocked off its moorings and we managed to recover it," the admiral said. He brought up a 3D projection over the table showing it being held in space. Small pieces kept breaking off of it. Two defense frigates held it in place with their repulsor beams and he could see salvage corvettes and rippers flying around collecting the pieces that came loose. There were others in space suits moving along its now irregular surface. "We are trying to get all the pieces to put it back together if possible."

"You can restore it?" Rahmore asked, his voice rising with hope.

"I don't think so," Evandor replied. He pulled out two more fragments and placed them on the desk, both daggers just like the first one. "The orb is crumbling every time we try to move it. It could also be the after effects of getting hit by the space cannon."

Rahmore looked at the pieces in front of Evandor then back to the one in his hand. "The reason I brought you here," Evandor continued, breaking the silence. "Is to find out if you can duplicate what happened."

Rahmore looked up, hairless eyebrows arching. "You want to," he paused looking for the right words. "Make more?"

"Any new civilization needs the ability to reproduce," the admiral stated and gave Rahmore a flat look.

"With the orb broken there is no hope to do that again."

"Can you replicate it on a smaller scale with that?"

Rahmore looked at the piece in his hand. His mind began to run through the possibilities. Theories came to life in his head. He was not sure if he could do it, but he knew what the right answer was. "Yes," he said, "but I will need help."

"What do you need?"

"I can handle the bio and cyber medical parts of it, but I need someone who knows energy wave theory better than I do."

"Do you know of someone?"

A specific person did come to mind for the captain. "Yes, but I don't think she will be inclined to cooperate."

"Find a way to convince her."

"Sir?"

"This is critically important, Captain," said Evandor. "Give her whatever incentives necessary, money, possessions, freedom. Everyone one has buttons you can push."

Rahmore nodded. Thankful the admiral was referring to positive reinforcement methods.

"One other thing, Captain, when you complete this task will you join us?"

He let the question hang in the air. Rahmore knew exactly what he meant, if he would voluntarily choose to separate his body from his soul freeing himself from the bounds of flesh. It was not a small thing to ask. Rahmore did not have to think long or hard, he felt the word, "absolutely" burst out him. Like a bubble he had been trying to hold underwater. It startled him how badly he wanted to become like them, immortal.

Evandor smiled his amused wicked looking smile. "Very good. I also want to be able to extend this invitation to other star nations, including the Tribes. Can you make it work for them?"

"We do have a fleet full of Tribes' bodies and cyberjack systems to experiment with," he replied. "I do not see why not." Then after a moment he asked, "Invite?"

"Yes, an invitation to join us."

Rahmore gave him a sideways look.

"We're deciding if we will offer this to everyone. Right now, I believe we will."

"You think others would take you up on your offer?"

"You did."

Rahmore had nothing to say to that. Thinking about it, he would think that many wouldn't take him up on the offer, but others would flock to him for the opportunity. However, he felt it would be highly unlikely anyone from the other star nations would join them, but he kept that thought to himself. For that matter, it seemed odd that the admiral was going to even offer it to other star nations.

"Speaking of the Tribes," said Evandor filling in the dead space of silence. "Why did they not rise like we did?"

"I can only speculate because our cyberjack and computer systems are different enough that they reacted in different ways to the event," said Rahmore. "I'll be able to figure that out as well."

"Very well, report back to me after you have recruited those you need and we will proceed to the next phase," Evandor said, tapping at the monitor in front of him. "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment I need to keep elsewhere."

"Yes, sir," Rahmore said standing up he turned halfway and paused. Turning back, he asked. "If I may, I have a few ideas about how to maintain your current bodies, and with your permission I could fix your face," he said as he touched his own left check.

Evandor looked at the time, then raised his eyes to the captain said, "You have four minutes."