Lucid Truth - 5. Subtle Cloak

REPRIEVE

"Then comes a respite, an apparent strategic opportunity, but it is a subtle cloak for the danger to follow."

-o-0-O-0-o-

It happened sooner than expected.

One minute, he was conferring with the two present members of the fleet admiralty, the theatre of combat thousands of kilometres distant. The next, a rogue tendril had branched from one of the two primary attack vectors; up and out, then around, rapidly circling west and back down in a direct stab towards Alpha 3.

Majesty, the fleet headquarters.

Santiago was snapping commands, her attention immediately diverted from the strategic guidance she was offering Konstantin, back to the purely tactical. They had precious little reaction time; the redeployment of the enemy force being undertaken with stupendous rapidity. The station's minimal fighter complement scrambled into a defensive containment format, ready to blunt the attack.

With a light roll and yaw to starboard, the Phalanx's full portside array of flak weaponry was given a clean angle to the incoming, and immediately began to fire. The fortress ship was the most massive human combat vessel, the tonnage exceeding the largest ships of the line, and one of only two constructed. Relatively cumbersome, her manoeuvrability was less than the standard battlecruiser models, and her overall profile comparably shorter and wider, befitting the notion of an armoured citadel.

However, what it lacked in elegance and agility, it made up for in pure functionality and staying power.

The first direct glimpse Konstantin had of an alien ship was preceded by impact tremours, as enemy fire began to strike the hull. Then his attention went from the tac-scan to the port-bow view, and he was witness to a startling sight.

Dozens of swerving dots were breaking position and rearranging themselves in a rushing guided hail that plunged inward. Brightened puffs of flak lit them, the human Peregrines peeling the fringes back into spiralling dogfights in a diversionary catch-and-kill, while some aggressors splintered as rail-fire speared through them with precision shots. Then they were already right there, the ship's frame trembling as the barrage intensified. The formation of Disciples split to careen above, below, on all sides, like a scattering shoal of fish, the initial pass done. Lagging behind the others, a final single scout-destroyer was caught looping past the bow by one of the forward mounts. It exploded not fifty metres distant, separating into a cloud of biosteel fragments in clear view of the bridge's forward window.

Konstantin stared, the mess of broken pieces glinting momentarily in the light of Earth's sun as it dispersed, the material evidence of a truly alien foe seeming magnified, intrusive.

No longer a cold abstraction, but close, active, present.

Real.

"Mounts 12, 19, and 22 are damaged." Paxford was drawing a schematic across the XO's console, and distributing fresh orders to the bridge crew. "Assign teams to assist RSR."

"Second wave approaching," The tactical officer called across, catching Santiago's ear. "Splitting between Majesty and us. Wide angle."

"Jiang can't spare anything." The Russian gestured to the tactical map, where the Third and Fourth were concentrated, locked in combat further to the east over Asia. "All elements are needed where they are. Even the peripheral groupings cannot disengage."

"We'll survive." The captain nodded. "Tactical, set a broad spread. Make them dodge. Hold fire on the rails below full green."

"Aye sir."

With a hand wave, Konstantin shifted the view to their sector. The next set of Disciples had already broken past the outnumbered defending Peregrines, and as the Phalanx was turning to allow the port and ventral guns a better angle, the first scout-destroyers were zipping along Majesty's superstructure. The little ships turned on their axes as they skimmed, coasting horizontally, ejecting a long trail of projectiles into the station’s hull, never breaking forward momentum. Each completed their run, then with frictionless agility their bows flicked back to the original trajectory, the propulsion re-engaging, strafing done, and they were wheeling out to evade and loop through the human defences again.

Fast, agile, and very focused.

Yet Alpha 3's own defenses were substantial, and for each Disciple that finished its pass, another was caught by flak or lesser-bore kinetics. The sheer immensity of the station's mass made it difficult to damage, and despite the projectile saturation, no critical functions were impaired. The scout-destroyers didn't have the penetrating power to make an immediate difference, and certainly not with the current numbers. Konstantin could see that there would be reparative work needed, but it was middling at worst, and superficial at best.

Majesty's commander had not communicated any distress. The assault was being managed, and everything was under control -- or at least as well as it could be; the myriad of turrets and mounts running at full capacity, the automated systems and human staff performing their duties with admirable efficiency. Neither had the Phalanx itself suffered any serious impairment, and as Santiago continued to coordinate with the shield protocol and manage the incoming waves, the thought came to Konstantin that this incursion seemed underwhelming.

The xenomorphs should have understood they would need a lot more than a few dozen screen ships to break heavy armour and fortifications. They had been almost supernaturally prescient so far, and this was something that, at this stage, he was expecting them to have accounted for.

It was almost like ... a distraction.

But from what?

Where?

Ignoring the back and forth of the bridge officers around him, Konstantin concentrated on the overall picture.

Two defending fleets, engaged in open warfare with the bulk of the alien forces, from central Asia to the Pacific.

The reserve, spread globally and at lower altitude, to catch any breakthrough invaders as the shielding protocol required.

Innumerable fixed orbital emplacements -- also scattered globally -- mostly weaponry and tac-scan relays. Though there were many thousands of these, the outer layers adjacent to the initial attack vector were destroyed along with those surrounding the site of the First Fleet’s annihilation.

Lastly, the five major fleet installations, enormous branching space stations that housed shipyards, training facilities, logistical operations, orbital research, and administration.

Alpha 3, nicknamed Majesty, the fleet headquarters, over Italy; their current location.

Beta 2, over the Deccan plateau, southern India.

Beta 4, the secondary headquarters, over Jiangsu province, China.

Delta 1, over Los Angeles, California.

Gamma 1, above the southern Atlantic, between Namibia and Brazil.

The only things that made sense as targets were the stations themselves, with everything else being either of lesser importance or illogical for an ambush. Even considering that, two of the five were largely irrelevant in a strategic sense; Beta 2 and Gamma 1 were specialised for shipbuilding, refueling, and supply. The other three made up the axis of military space coordination; a triumvirate that linked North America, Europe, and Asia. Considering Beta 4 was in the middle of the combat zone and surrounded by fleet assets and Majesty itself was the diversion, that left only Delta 1.

Not only was it the American lynchpin for the space command, but also the home of-

Chyort!

In the same moment that Konstantin realised what was about to happen, the thought was cut off by an urgent strategic analytics prediction appearing in the executive feed. He didn't see more than the title of it, his fears already confirmed.

URGENT: Probability Assessment -- Delta 1 Imminent Engagement.

Without missing a breath, he opened a priority voice channel to the station command, and began to speak.

"Enemy ships incoming! Activate all defences and prepare yourselves!"

He had barely finished the sentence when the hammer fell.

Two score kilometres above Delta 1, several dozen fresh enemies jumped in. Already moving at high speed from the moment of their arrival and on clear battle footing, the tac-scan revealed there were exactly sixty of them, and they were all the larger Emissary cruisers.

Like a storm of obsidian hail, the marauding force descended, swerving and ducking through the worst of the answering counterfire. On the magnified video feed, the Russian felt his stomach drop as they performed their own version of the Disciples' strafing runs. Skimming along the surface, they were nearly as quick as their smaller and more numerous counterparts, and though some leading Emissaries were destroyed on the approach, the opening damage was severe. The calibre and force of their attacks was significantly greater than the Disciple, and the concentrated offensive immediately showed how much worse it was.

The central bulk of the station was heavily impacted, and torn into further by each successive salvo. Their projectiles ripped jagged paths through ablative metal, punctured buffer fields, smashed trails through gravitic stabilisers and electronic pathing, and pulverised even the bodies of the station crew. Overwhelmed and with insufficient response time, the command deck explosively decompressed, the personnel flung from the interior. Some were plucked out, unharmed but choking, some were sliced open and missing extremities, and some were simply bisected or decapitated corpses, their blood and flesh and bone spreading through the immediate vacuum in a profusion of globules, giblets, and slivers.

They circled around, a flow of destruction that branched midway on the returning pass. In a mirroring of the defenders at Majesty, the Phalanx's sister ship had remained on guard at the American station and not joined the fray over Asia, to the west. The Emissaries engaged her with the same fervour, curving about the Aegis, their launchers peppering the larger ship with an endless series of piercing biosteel quills. Running red hot, the human vessel's entire array of weaponry -- two score mounts -- spat an answering stream of superheated metal and energised particles in whirling glimmering arcs. First one, then four were downed, then six more alien cruisers were dispatched, mercilessly punched through and into pieces. Before the twelfth kill was claimed, the other two dozen circling Emissaries did the rest.

The port engine's integrity failed, the distribution manifold rupturing. There was a momentary flash of bright light as it burst from the housing, and then a half second later, the reactor detonated. The Aegis exploded, the fortress ship separating into pieces, the largest section of dorsal hull launching up to smash into two more limping, crippled Emissaries, taking them down in a final gasp as they attempted to flee.

Less than ten seconds after that, the coolant system on Delta 1 was compromised. In a medley of blasts that cascaded from the engineering section through what was left of the functioning core systems, the station's interior was burned out, transformed into a husk. Littered with dead and dying humans, with a crown of shredded metal and charred inorganic debris, the extended arms and bays of the superstructure broke away. Depowered remnants became segmented and unable to maintain shape; warped and torn by the deforming stresses of explosive concussion and material trauma. What was left began to part, amputated from the station's centre like limbs from a cadaver, the impetus of that central fatal momentum setting them in a scattering orbital drift.

"Sir, the Aegis is gone, all hands," Paxford informed him. "Delta 1 is down, the command protocols are discontinued."

Down.

"Commander." Jiang's voice was like whiplash, her notice given somehow, despite all else taking her attention. "Pacific latency is quadrupled. Beta routing alone will not handle fleet dataflow." She stared at him through the holo-vid. "Delta's loss makes response time untenable. We cannot protect North America like this."

In one single precise strike, the global communication axis had been heavily impaired, and now?

Now, an entire quadrant of the human defence was rendered vulnerable.

All the enemy had to do was divert just a part of their assault there and with the reduced reaction time and neutered redeployment, it would almost certainly reach the surface.

Outnumbered, outplayed, short on time, short on options.

"Sir," Santiago spoke. "Perhaps you should consider bringing in the reserves. If we are without-"

"No." Konstantin cut her off and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, the other hand heavy on the command console. "We will fix it. There is- ... there has to be enough active coverage. There's got to be excess civilian capacity that we can tap into, or requisition for-"

"Sir," the captain interrupted him back in return. "I'm sorry, but this is it. There's nothing else! The civilian network can't handle military demands and they're already overloaded by ground fighting. We need the ... " Santiago trailed off, not finishing the sentence, but before the Russian could say a word to question her unfinished sentence, the XO spoke for her instead.

"Commander Andropov," the lieutenant's voice was soft, and he flicked the image in front of him across to the command console's view, so it was right in front of Konstantin's eyes.

Above the eastern Pacific Ocean, a flurry of thousands of vessels burst into existence. The vanguard had barely normalised and it was already accelerating, powering westward to aid Lugor's battered defence over China.

The Second Fleet.

Maxim Kerensky's face blinked into the communications window, and he began to speak immediately.

"We have eradicated the alien forces at Mars. Fifty-four thousand enemy casualties and zero losses."

All eradicated with no losses?

Even as Konstantin heard the words, those two simple sentences evoking a beautiful revitalisation of his spirit -- there was hope, victory was possible -- a secondary window showed the Emissaries fleeing from the wreckage of Delta 1 and the Aegis. The reinforcements had appeared right above them, and the xenomorph cruisers were rapidly targeted and caught over the Californian coast, speared by the freshly-arrived Second Fleet backline.

"Son of a- ... you! Get yourself over here!" Lugor's voice was both strained and relieved, and the Sudanese admiral grimaced and shook his head. "I'm stretched thin."

"Apologies for my tardy return," Kerensky boomed, "but I had to grab some experimental tech before the jump. A score of specially retrofit ships that we will give a live fire test, right here and now."

"Maxim, they are invested in the Asian salient." Konstantin drew a virtual indicator on the overlay, illustrating a spreading pincer assault vector that began from the Second's eastern approach and intersected the alien push above the human defences, from the sides. "Hit them higher, force them to either commit to a potential cutoff, or pull back completely. Jiang?"

"Concur." She nodded, her brevity a symptom of the constant switching focus, eyes flicking as she continued to monitor her own fleet's decisions. "Need the respite. Bengal is contained, but- ... this isn't sustainable."

"Aye, acknowledged," the Russian admiral agreed, and there was a glint of dark humour in his voice and his eyes. "Strategy is accepted and being applied. Bisection of their lines it is; there's nothing quite as satisfying as cutting an alien in half."

From there, Konstanin turned his attention back to the strategic view of the space conflict. The incoming Second Fleet was moving rapidly into the hot zone, and though it was all at high speed, the impeccable discipline of Kerensky's forces was evident in how smoothly the preliminary lines branched into their attack formations. The spearhead split into a trident, with a central point and two wings curving around. It was only moments before the counterstrike was to impact, that the mass of enemy ships seemed to respond to what was approaching. There was a clear and notable slowing of the main assault; a pausing hesitation in the enemy's consensus about how to react to the incoming human assault, before Kerensky's next innovation was sprung upon them.

A smaller battle grouping had detached from the fleet's centre and was rising vertically, further above the Second's already elevated position, giving a line of sight unobstructed by the rest of the human vessels. Curious at this unscripted addition, Konstantin selected the cluster of icons, zooming in so he could examine the grouping's composition. It was made up of a handful of destroyers and fighters spread in screen defence, an equal number of escorting mid-size cruisers as ranged complement, and lastly, a core twenty-five vessels of unfamiliar design; a heavily modified variant of the light cruiser chassis.

"What are they?"

Each new ship was dominated by an enormous turret mount along the dorsal side, with room for little else. Lacking any defences but for peripheral flak weaponry, the only serious armour was around the enlarged spherical power generators near the stern. Thick circular dual barrels ran almost the length of the ship itself, putting in mind not the image of a warship, but a gun with engines attached, like a spaceborne howitzer.

"They're modified artillery pieces." Santiago's answer was fascinated. "The standard design is made for distance suppression, but this is much different from anything I've seen. No ship-mounted weapon is that large, and ... I have no idea what kind of projectile it uses."

As the Second Fleet's line struck the flank, in nearly the same moment, the artillery began to fire.

Above where Lugor's fleet was engaging the salient's push to the surface, the shots flew in a broad spread covering the centre of the alien swarm. The barrels were not synchronised, with the right firing just after the left. Although the reason for this was not immediately apparent, it quickly became so. Not quite the speed of rail fire, the projectiles were still quick enough that they couldn't be evaded easily; glowing superheated balls of metal that didn't seem much different from their standard counterparts.

Until they hit their targets.

They exploded like shells, in a burst of radiating energy and shrapnel. Though not on the scale of high-yield ordnance, the size of these bursts took Konstantin, and the other viewers, very much off guard; larger and more violent than anticipated, but that wasn't the entire surprise. At the apex of the blast's destructive force, where the dispersing explosion's effectiveness would normally begin to sharply decline, another stage was triggered from the pared-down centre of the projectile.

The outer layer of the payload was already spent, but there was an inner core device that remained for the next phase. At the precise climactic microsecond, an implosion of intense localised gravity emitted from it, halting the blast and drawing it directly back inward at extreme speed, along with anything else caught in the radius. Then, lastly, that was again reversed by an explosion of anti-gravity, detonating the core in a secondary smaller burst and spitting the combined mess of energy and matter back outward for a second and final time.

Every pair of shots was timed in a one-two punch so that the first would be finished without catching the second, which would arrive right next to it just afterward, drawing in new enemy ships, or finishing already damaged ones. The efficacy didn't seem that significant at first glance, but the longer Konstantin watched, his attention now entirely on this fresh spectacle, the more pronounced it seemed to be.

It wasn't only that each shot did area damage that seemed to be adept at shredding and mangling whatever was too close, but also that there was a lingering impact on the nearby enemy ships.

Tac-analysis was clear: the xenomorphs nearest to the artillery fire were suffering from decreased reaction time, like they were being inflicted with their own version of data latency.

"Gravitic depth charges?" Jiang commented first, as intrigued as the rest of the command staff witnessing the counterattack, despite having so much to deal with herself. "It's sensory disruption for them. Is there anything else you've been keeping from us?"

"This was just a little something in my back pocket." Kerensky shrugged. "Unrefined, volatile, not ready for mass implementation. Pity we didn't have time to fully develop countermeasures like this."

Before anyone could say another word, something remarkable occurred.

Simultaneously, the entire throng of alien ships turned about, and en masse, reversed course, shooting upward and out, away from the engagement zone.

"They're ... retreating," Konstantin murmured.

In seconds, the main salient over China collapsed, with the second prong nearer the Bengali gulf also pulling back, following the primary to coalesce into a single massive mob that rose quickly and with purpose. It flowed conspicuously out of and away from the new artillery fire and the lateral push of Kerensky's fleet, recognising the danger in continuing the current strategy. Hundreds of Disciples were caught as they followed the rest, the stragglers free kills for Earth's defenders.

"Pursue?" Lugor questioned, wiping a hand across his brow, damp from sweat, the pressure finally relenting. "We've got the momentum."

"No," Kerensky responded. "They still have numbers. Defence only. If we chase, they may easily turn it on us."

"He's right. Don't follow," the commander echoed him with a nod. "Everyone keep your eyes on them. Get back into your positions for whatever they try next. Emergency rescue and repairs to whomever we can help." He took a deep breath and stared at the cloud of enemy ships that was now slowing beyond the bulk of planetary defences. "But again, I will repeat: keep watching them. Do not blink, and do not flinch."

"Aye," Jiang agreed. "Stay wary and dig in. Let's make use of this to shore up."

Past the smashed debris of the broken perimeter cordon, the enemy had come to a stop. Beyond the effective range of the planetary defences, the vast multitude had halted and turned idle.

Motionless.

One minute, invading.

The next, a dormant assemblage of some pernicious foreign hive-mind.

Even as those about him became absorbed with the business of hurriedly bolstering and salvaging all the military assets they could, Konstantin stood at the command console. He was fixated on the immense spread of alien ships, now inert and still, but poised like a spectre of death that could reanimate at any moment.

Their first attempt at claiming the Earth had been blunted.

But ... everything Konstantin had witnessed so far was premeditated. To some degree it was predicted by the aliens, accounted for, planned around. As chaotic as it might have seemed to the casual viewer, he could perceive a very subtle deliberation to the string of tactical eventualities. To him, it was a series of specific choices, and they somehow understood the outcomes of what they were doing before the results occurred.

He couldn't shake that feeling -- and he did NOT like it.

The feeling that they intended this to happen in the way it did.

That everything so far was a path being followed, but of their choosing, with their ending in mind.

This meant that even their failures were engineered to lead to some other later outcome that was a greater success, and that this moment was a prelude to something else.

Whatever that 'something else' was, it would be unquestionably worse.

So, the question remained.

What was next?

-o-0-O-0-o-

The journey from Kherson Oblast to the Brotherhood liaison in Chișinău was relatively short, and a little under four hours after departure, Iskandar arrived in the Moldovan capital. Despite the global war taking place, the part of eastern Europe he was crossing was relatively unaffected. Even the port city of Odesa was quiet, with the loyalist feds keeping the peace and no sign of unrest as he made the transit through. Though, the news he heard from elsewhere was clear about how widespread the conflict was and how messy most of the planet had become.

The final CorpSec counter-int brief he was able to secure before he had to disconnect from the shadow network for his own safety painted the situation in very broad strokes.

It was clear that the calm of his current location was the exception, not the rule.

Close to eighty percent of federally designated 'high strategic value' areas were contested. These were all the locations of geographic, political, or economic significance, and typically were densely populated; the concentrated labour, materials, and infrastructure forming the backbone of Earth's society and the crux of federal power. Whomever solidified control of the lion's share of those areas -- vital urban divisions, security hubs, administration centres -- would be the side that could leverage victory.

Apparently, four fifths of them were being fought over, but ... not here.

It took a while for Iskandar to backtrack through the Brotherhood data he could access with Amal's security credentials, which were basic, and actually pinpoint a place to meet with his handlers. His new identity was only a technician, not a role with any level of comprehensive access. Opportunities to infilitrate what was arguably the most evasive realist organisation -- apart from the notoriously secretive LEF terrorists -- were very rare.

The Brotherhood was clever with their security, and generally quick to identify and excise any potential moles.

His chance was a big one, due in no small part to luck and fantastic timing.

The only friends Amal seemed to have within the organisation were the same personnel killed during the Kherson incident, so chances of exposure from colleagues was low and, not least of all: he was a close physical match to the man he was impersonating.

It was an excellent opportunity to accomplish something for CorpSec.

Exceptional results would net a bonus, and if he could find any intelligence that helped MFM win the ground war, secure what they needed?

He didn't care about the ideologies, nor the back-and-forth fighting over territory and resources.

But money and the political goodwill that would come from helping the victor? The giant paycheck and bountiful gratitude would give his beautiful little girl a better start in life, one that he never had.

That was enough.

"Wasn't expecting you back so soon." The handler pulled out one of the empty chairs opposite the café table at which Iskandar was waiting. He was in mid-sip of his coffee as the newcomer sat, and to his surprise there was a second person with him. Unexpectedly, it prompted a brief flash of worry, but that quickly faded. Why were there two? One was the standard, but ... it was too early for them to have a clue. No, they couldn't know, certainly not yet.

There would be another reason.

"We got really unlucky." Iskandar focused on modulating his voice as Amal would have. More hesitant than his own, more soft-spoken, less assured. "I mean, not just with CorpSec, but also, um ... the invasion."

The second man took a seat next to the first. Despite being dressed in extra layers for the colder winter temperatures, including a woollen cap, his darker skin was distinct, and an uncommon sight in Moldova.

Could it be ... ?

"Did- ... did I do something wrong?" He faked the concern, glancing between the two of them, a false tremour of apprehension in his tone. "I didn't know there would be-"

"Relax. You're fine," the second man answered, and then immediately introduced himself. "Sorry if my presence is a surprise, but the invasion is why I tagged along with Cristian here. Don't normally attend individual briefings. I'm Lindani; we spoke earlier. You know what my role is, so no intro required."

It was who Iskandar suspected.

Lindani Mthembu, acting commander of the Brotherhood's European operations, and recently escaped CorpSec captive.

"It's not protocol, but he insisted." The handler, Cristian, had a Romanian accent, though his English was fluent. "You're in a unique position."

Correct, Iskandar thought, but not only for the reasons you imagine.

"You might be the first person to witness them and live to talk about it. Well, on the surface." Lindani motioned to the sky, that same all-encompassing gesture that simply indicated the parallel war occurring in Earth's orbit. "Not sure how it's going for the fleet, but we're not knee deep in alien paratroopers, so they must be stalling the attack at least. Media reports are unreliable and all over the place because there's a million things happening at once. Information schizophrenia, if ever I've seen it. Apart from the stories about half a city being levelled in China."

"What did you see?" Cristian asked. "We've read over your debrief, but we'd like to hear it directly."

"There's not much to say." Iskandar's imitation of body language and verbal inflections continued, his roleplay maintained, but he was accurate in his recollection of events beyond whatever wasn't liable to incriminate him. Adding unnecessary false details would only provide chances to be caught in a lie and it wasn't like the Brotherhood could do much with his witness testimony. "The fleet bombardment hit right during a firefight with the CorpSec agents. I hadn't seen much of the crashed ship before it happened."

Technically true. Iskandar didn't get a clear line of sight on the alien ship at all because he had arrived as the military began firing on it. However, he had quickly investigated after Amal's death and the pulverised pieces of its hull were enough to extrapolate an idea of its general composition and size.

"It wasn't too large, maybe a bit bigger than a fleet fighter, and made of a kind of blue-grey metal," he continued, "I only survived because I was further away than the others. Everybody else was in the fire zone. And afterward-"

He paused, his recollection of that thing still fresh in his mind.

It was hours ago now, but he could feel the discomfort of the experience as if it were seconds gone. Something about it haunted him and his remembrance was wholly unaffected and real.

Brotherhood or not, he didn't want to obfuscate any knowledge about an entity that was so fundamentally foreign and hostile. On this topic, humans deserved an honest, human response.

No amount of corporate allegiance could erase that sentiment.

"Take your time," Cristian told him.

"It- ... it's in the report," he said. "My description, that is, but ... it's hard to communicate how intimidating that alien creature was. It may have shared a basic shape with us, but it was so different, and terrifying in a way that is hard to describe through words. I'm not really sure how I got away, because it moved very fast, though ... I managed to shoot it enough times in the head before it got too close to me. The corpse sorta fell apart, as if it was made of dust. So, uh, they are susceptible to ballistic weapons."

Again, technically true. He simply hadn't used the Brotherhood basic-issue pistol that 'Amal' possessed, but a CorpSec sniper drone instead.

But of course, they didn't need to know that.

"Seems the experience left an impression on you." Lindani's eyes narrowed, his stare lingering as if to evaluate somehow, but then he nodded. "Understandable, these bastards are trying to genocide us, or whatever the hell it is they want."

"Are you satisfied, sir?" Cristian directed the question to Lindani. "I can reassign him to a new team and tech ops in another theatre. God knows we need them right now."

"Perhaps. I had ... something else in mind, but the psych eval suggests his next duty be less stressful. So, it's maybe for the best that we-"

"No, I'd like to help." Iskandar's interruption was an appeal modelled around the good samaritan willing to do everything he could for the cause. Clearly, Mthembu had another affair on the backburner; something that Iskandar's instincts told him would certainly be far more informative and valuable than a basic technical support appointment at some strategically irrelevant Brotherhood outpost. "I know I don't have much field experience, but after what I've seen in Ukraine? I can handle it." He nodded eagerly. "I can step up, I swear."

Lindani's raised eyebrow was followed by a glance to Cristian, who merely shrugged in noncommital response, as if handing the decision straight back.

"You're sure?" he asked. "Because this won't be easy to back out of if you can't deal."

"I'm ready."

"Hmm." The consideration was heavy, the decision teetering on some balance of variables that Iskandar didn't know, but then Lindani looked over to the other man. "Cristian, you can head back now. I'm going to need to talk one-on-one with Mr Khaled here."

"Okay." The handler abruptly stood, and without further question, pushed his chair in and gave a brief nod. "See you at the shop."

Then he was off, walking briskly away down the street.

Once again, there was a momentary spark of fear that Mthembu was onto him, that there was some kind of trap being laid and that the handler's release was a ploy to get him alone, but Iskandar reined in his paranoia.

It was normal for double agents to assume the worst.

He had been through this before, and the trick was not to let those fears overcome rationale.

No, cold logic told him the simple truth: the Brotherhood assumed he was Amal Khaled, and they had no reason yet to think otherwise.

The dismissal of Lindani's companion was merely because he wanted to speak privately.

In fact, it was a good sign: whatever this was about, if it was important enough to merit confidence, then it was probably very important.

"So," Lindani began, pausing as he searched for the opening words. "I was looking for a low-level operative of ours for a special task. No-one of any status or reputation, because this needs to stay low-key. It's as 'off the books' as I can make it. The fewer people know about it, the better."

"If you want the perfect nobody," Iskandar agreed, "I'm your guy."

If only he knew.

"I hope so. Your job in Ukraine gave you insight that might prove useful, and you seem like a good fit. Your record is short, but you're competent and have proved trustworthy." The African rubbed his hands together and let out a huff of foggy breath in the cool air. "This task requires secrecy, so those qualities matter."

Yes, trustworthy.

It was a testament to Amal's character that his employers had such faith in him, even if it was unknowingly posthumous and no longer applicable.

"Just prior to the invasion, the military rescued a survivor from Lucere during a classified reconnaissance operation."

What?!

Despite his professional level of acting ability, Iskandar struggled not to show his surprise.

This was more than he was expecting.

Lucere?

"A man I know, a friend, was ordered by Andropov himself to protect and hide the rescuee somewhere away from the orbital facilities, on the surface. Why they matter, I don't know, but this individual is apparently extraordinary, and the responsibility very secretive. Literally only a half dozen people outside of the supreme commander himself are aware at all."

Orders from the very top, and done this quietly?

Iskandar could scarcely believe what he had walked into, but it was surely big.

"Communicating with that friend might be problematic for someone in my position given the way everything is right now, which is why I need a liaison on the ground. I want you to go to Greece and meet up with him. If he needs advice or support, you will be the conduit for that." Lindani pulled a mini holo-pad from his sleeve and slid it across the table. "Directions to establish contact in Macedonia. They'll take you the rest of the way once you arrive."

With a hint of faked apprehension, but an internal excitement that was palpable, he reached out and took the holo-pad.

This was infinitely better than trying to worm his way into the Moldovan headquarters.

"Please understand that this isn't just about fighting the corporatists or Society." Lindani's voice was soft, but firm. "It's about us winning, as people. As humans. It's gotta be about that first. Always. Whatever else happens, remember that."

"Don't worry," Iskandar Shahin lied, smooth and clear-eyed, "you can count on me."

-o-0-O-0-o-

The very moment I felt the gravitational medium distorting, I knew what was incoming.

Somehow, some part of me understood what was about to arrive in the second before it appeared.

I tore it apart, but ... it's not dead.

Reconstituted, reformed, but not the same as before.

From a glance, I could see the differences.

The central body was largely unchanged, apart from the exoskeletal ribs being thicker and more fully encompassing the front of it, leaving a smaller gap and reduced access to the inner mass. Where the divergence was clear were the monstrous limbs attached to its spinal section, the same it had attempted to use to physically crush us. There were now twelve of them instead of eight, and they were both longer and thicker, splayed outward like a curving spiked crown. On top of that, there were an additional dozen rearward tentacles, obscured at first glimpse, but visible trailing some way behind it. Extending far further, roughly twice the length of the winglike arms, they were consistently fluid, a propulsion improvement that enhanced the creature's already formidable speed and agility.

The Herald's design was upgraded; tougher, faster, deadlier.

No more carrier role, no more arbiters, no more subtlety.

It was a sole predator and it had specialised itself to kill us.

There was only one thought in my head.

It can't be allowed to touch what's happening on the surface.

Breaking from Elia's embrace, I strode to the nearest unoccupied control podium. With a couple of quick swipes, the knowledge entirely instinctual as I'd never used it beyond watching Yugan, I found what I was looking for.

"Ayize, you're safer down there. Go help Rashid and the others." I waved to him. "We'll be back after it's dead. Bye!"

"You want me to- ... oh, not again, for f-"

That was all he got out before he vanished in a blink of teleportation static.

At the same time, Mira and Elia were moving together, their own response as intuitive as mine. They took the two unused control podia, an imitation of where Yugan and I already were.

One for each of us.

"It won't bother them, not while we're alive. There's four of us in one place. It won't let us run." I looked at Yugan. "Right?"

"Yes. It will chase -- it must end our threat -- but I do not foresee a method to kill it. Not as Mira did before, from the inside."

Then we'll find one, or make one.

In the forward view, the monstrous creature turned, identifying our vessel once more, and began to accelerate in our direction.

The voice of the thing boomed through the ether as it came, as familiar and unwelcome and disturbing as it was deep and resonant.

New fates are old threads rewoven.

There is one future only.

In two seconds it was in front of us, the enormous arms carving about in a marauding pattern, a glow of strange energy visible between the caging ribs as a new attack was prepared, but-

-next to me, Mira plunged his hand onto the console's physical surface and, opposite him, Elia was doing the same; a simultaneous reaction born from their twinship and guardian instincts.

An aqumi powered bubble projected from the ship, superior to whatever the onboard defences could provide, and the giant impaling pincers stopped cold, unable to dent it.

Now I had backup.

I'm going to kill you again! I yelled at it. This time PERMANENTLY!

Nothing can conquer me.

I am inescapable.

"Let's see about that." With another rapid swipe and flick to the galactic map, I selected a destination. "How far and fast can this thing go?"

Here comes round two.

In a final tap of a holographic symbol, our ship vanished from the desert world and we were gone, jumping thousands of light years across the Milky Way.