Lucid Truth - 8. Inescapable

Even as we jumped to a new location within the Milky Way, the Herald's most recent words would not fade from my mind.

Like a shadow that persisted no matter how much light there was, the creature's insight and precognition was insidious.

It always saw a way to subvert every plan I made to beat it.

It always knew how, or what, or where; even with my best efforts to throw it off.

It kept adapting, no matter what I did.

There had to be a way to break the sequence.

Mira had taken us to a random place upon our jump, with no direction from me about where to go. He had chosen a red dwarf -- the most common stellar type -- which had three planets; one Mercurian and two Jovian, with a handful of moons orbiting the giants.

I didn't even bother to turn around and check one of the podium displays to see where we were, galactically speaking. This was a temporary waypoint until I knew what was next, so our current location didn't matter. What did matter was that the monster was with us again -- I felt the tremour of it arriving in system, that same uncomfortable warping of the medium -- but, it seemed it was here sooner than previously.

"Is the Herald ... getting faster?" I spoke to the bridge at large, regarding the fresh outline of our enemy. "I'm not sure, but ... I think it's arriving more quickly?"

Yes. It was Elia who replied. Like Mira, she wasn't fond of verbal communication, a clear holdover from her days as a sharpeling, though perhaps unlike him, she had no such aversion to quantum telepathy. Each jump, it is earlier than the last.

"This will become a problem if we continue to evade it, and there is a greater reason than having less time for reaction." Yugan flicked through several screens on the holodisplay. "Serin has identified a focal quantum substream channel that the Herald is using to magnify abilities specifically to deal with us; both predictive and projective. When we jump, it is observing to refine its future reacquisition of our vessel, and also further the disruption capability it previously used."

Disruption capability? He must be talking about when it disabled our engines in the first encounter at Dagen's Grace, and then tried again at Yahet.

"Elia countered the immobilisation thing it did." I stared at the monster's image as it accelerated once more, though Mira was already speeding us away in anticipation, evading toward the nearer of the gas giants. Then, back to Yugan. "Wasn't that enough? Can't we do something to block the Herald's data gathering, or randomise some part of the calculation so it's unable to keep up?"

"The analysis does not allow for this." The Mishith voice was low, almost a growl, and he seemed frustrated, ears lowering in vague irritation. His medial pupils were each a thickened X of dilated focus, the blue light reflected in them as he repeatedly scanned over the information. "It has a greater capacity than ours. Every method we apply, it will predict and accommodate in return. There is a numerical variation factor preventing it from success, but that value is being reduced with every jump."

I opened my mouth to speak, but ... another thought occurred first.

The Herald had spoken of the Master's inevitability and our defeat. It had warned and threatened us, but ... for all the goading and fury it showed, it never tried to dissuade us from running.

In particular, the creature's most recent statement, delivered against the backdrop of the superhot blue star little more than a minute earlier, played again in my head.

Each fleeing step, the gap shrinks.

The Herald wanted us to flee, for the exact reasons Yugan had described.

Ironically, the more we tried to escape, the closer it would get to our capture.

"If this craft were stronger, with a greater ability, we might simply overpower any effort to break our systems," Yugan went on, affirming my thoughts. "But here and now, if the variation factor should reach zero, the Herald's focus will perfectly identify Elia's stability protocol. The protocol's exact mechanism will be perceived and nullified, allowing deployment of the same disruption field."

So, if we make too many jumps, it will have the knowledge and means to stop us.

Our one persistent advantage was being able to leave at any time.

Now, it was clear that advantage had a finite number of uses.

"If." I breathed the word, glancing back to Mira and Elia, though they were both engrossed in the podia in front of them, then back to Yugan. "If those are the stakes, then I'll just have to destroy it before that number gets to nothing."

Like hell I'll let us be caught and killed.

This won't be how it ends.

It can't be.

But, how to do this?

"Then what next?" Yugan’s query was a near perfect mimicry of my thoughts, the nearest lateral and medial eyes watching intently as he spoke. "A planet, then a star. Neither were enough." He gestured to the slowly enlarging image of the Herald as it closed on us, relentless in the hunt. Already, it was uncomfortably near, and I knew we would need to jump again soon. "Despite all that my ancestors built, my own understanding has some way to go before it matches theirs, and yours too. What universal objects exist that have the properties to kill that?"

His question was the question.

What will it actually take to destroy the Herald?

Gathering my wits, I thought hard.

What I've done so far hasn't been for nothing.

Even in failure, there were a couple of important things I had learned from my attempts.

First, any 'bullet' had to be extreme, and the method at the far end of what was possible. Half measures wouldn't be enough, and it was essential I skip over anything intermediate and go directly to maximum strength. A weaker version increased the risk of the Herald surviving and knowing how to counter a repeat.

While future prediction was helping it, just like us, experiencing events first hand was still the best teacher.

Second, and closely related to the first, any attack had to be completed fast. The longer any strategy went on, the more time the Herald had to adapt itself during the attack -- and that meant it was more likely to live.

The damage from Yahet had done something, but hadn't been the answer. Probably, there was no way to apply enough direct force to the Herald's structure through kinetic impacts. It was too nimble to let me throw any quantity of solid matter at it again in the same manner. Likely, there wasn't even a sufficiently large planetary mass I could disassemble and launch with enough speed.

No, it's gotta be ... bigger.

The second attempt with stellar plasma had been working -- maybe -- but the situation in the star's corona would have killed us first. On that count, the idea had been sound, but the execution had not been quick enough.

Also, it wasn't something I could now repeat, because the Herald had taken steps to insulate itself from heat in the millions of Kelvin.

As I understood it, there were two other potential options.

Gravity was one, but it was impractical. Sources of extreme gravity were too localised, and while I had managed to manipulate the Herald's movement, I doubted that dragging it into a giant star or pushing it inside a black hole would be viable. Even if I managed that, I wasn't sure it couldn't just jump out of the danger zone to safety at the last moment.

That left electromagnetism.

The concentrated blue starlight from my most recent attempt was part of that spectrum, but there was more to it than just what humans could see. Given the colour and heat of the star in question, it had certainly been emitting on the ultraviolet wavelength too. Maybe even some amount that was even higher energy.

That's what it has to be -- photons, but more energetic. An intense source of short-wavelength electromagnetic particles. Wouldn't have to worry about things like a slowly rising temperature, because it would happen near instantly. Enough that the Herald will be cooked, completely irradiated, in moments, and unable to counter.

So, a source?

An accessible natural source that has high energy radiation, and a lot of it.

Then, out of nowhere, another memory.

Science class, from not more than two years in my past, though it seemed a lifetime ago. The teacher, Mr Sloan, covering the curriculum's astronomy module, droning on about the basics for his audience of half-interested thirteen year olds. Gas giants, rocky worlds. Hot planets, ice planets. Mass and gravity. Black holes and ... neutron stars.

"Apart from being dense and hot, neutron stars also give off a lot of radiation." His voice echoed like I was sitting in that air-conditioned Seattle classroom in early 2103. "Not just light and radio waves, but X-rays and gamma rays. In fact, scientists refer to them as soft gamma repeaters for the very fact that they can produce powerful bursts of this type of radiation."

That's it.

"Elia." I looked at her, and she paused her own focus, meeting my gaze. I knew she understood why I was addressing her, and her look told me so; neither of us wanted to take her twin's full attention away from evading our enemy.

Her eyes delivered the message without any explicit response: 'tell me what you need and I'll do it.'

"Find the most powerful unstable neutron star you can. One that's very active and regularly spitting out a lot of energy."

A subtle nod from her, and then she was searching for what I asked.

Thanks, Mr Sloan.

It took her no more than a dozen seconds to find a suitable target. The Herald had begun taking its first swipes at us, the system's gas giant sliding past along our port side, when I heard Elia's telepathic whisper.

Jump.

Immediately, the exterior vanished, the backdrop shimmering, the ship trembling for a moment, and then ... we were there.

In the medium distance was a blue-white star, but the brightness was flickering, like a bulb that wasn't properly connected. As with many things in space, without a frame of reference, it was difficult to tell how far away we were.

"Serin." I commanded, leaving the holodisplay examinations to the other three. "Tell me about this object."

"Information: classification is active-accretion pulsar-magnetar neutron star. Diameter is 19.6 kilometres. Temperature is 214,000 Kelvin. Mass is 2.3 solar masses. Absolute magnitude is 16.1. Current distance is 10 million kilometres."

Just ten million?

We were closer than I thought, and it was obvious that this tiny dense star wasn't going to be visibly bright in the same way others were.

"Rotation period is 2.7 seconds," the AI continued. "Axial tilt of 80 degrees. Magnetic flux density is 165 billion tesla. Binary companion supernova remnants have formed a nebula, causing accretion. Magnetic channeling allows periodic gaseous influx to strike polar surfacing. These impacts exacerbate pulsar activity, creating X-ray emission spikes."

"How close can we safely get to it?"

"Avoid continuous exposure to polar emission beams. The magnetic field increases exponentially as distance decreases; at 60,000 kilometres, system resources will be unable to mitigate. At any closer range, field intensity causes atomic deformation and electron cloud distortion, making basic chemical interactions progressively less viable."

Like clockwork, I felt the Herald arrive behind us.

As Yugan had told me, the lag time was decreasing.

Polar emission beams. I stared at the flickering image as Mira brought us in, my question to the AI telling him all he needed to know. If it has a tilt of 80 degrees, then it's rotating on its side, with the magnetic poles nearly perpendicular to the axis. So, those X-rays are spraying out in a narrow band almost along the star's equator. That's the 'pulsar' part, right? That's why it's flickering, because it's spinning like a supercharged lighthouse.

How could I use this?

Focusing my quantum-inspired senses, I felt for myself what the AI had said.

As described, the jets swept by in pulses, a little more than a second apart each. The amount of energy flooding out was truly impressive, but the on-off flashing made me realise that it wouldn't work as a weapon. What did catch my notice was the intangible shape of the magnetic field itself. Sprouting from the northern magnetic pole, I could perceive the lines curving around to the south, in a series of concentric bubbles that widened and lessened in strength as they got further out.

"Warning: distance to star is 100,000 kilometres."

"The Herald is almost on us." Yugan's own caveat followed the AI's. "We will have even less time for this attempt."

Visually much brighter at close quarters, I could also feel the gravitation of the compact mass. We were slowing as we settled in as close as Mira could orbit us, just above the danger threshold. Moving at speed and evading around such a small object was basically impossible, and I knew that the Mishith statement was indisputable; it was about to catch up with us, so I had to act straight away.

Contrary to most other things I had attempted to manipulate using quantum magic, the sheer power of the magnetic flow was very inflexible. The integrity of it felt incredibly taut, like a cosmic violin string that was tightened to a ludicrous degree. Trying to grip it as the star rotated, the mental imagery of it was of a geometric dynamo of oscillating whirling circles that was as strange and beautiful as it was deadly.

For a few moments, it would not change, no matter how much effort I put into the attempt, but then ...

... something?

The field began to bulge as I pulled on it, awkwardly, and the AI immediately interrupted.

"Warning: magnetic flux magnitude increasing. Emergency resources applied."

The shape of the monster was almost upon us, grown again in the ship's view, and in that moment as I hauled the magnetar's emanations outward, it spoke again.

Your attack fortifies me.

I am the future.

An enormous thump impacted the starboard shield, one of the monster's impaling arms stabbing it with enough to nearly pierce through. Around us, the field distended further, as I was -- somehow, despite how ridiculous it seemed -- able to pull it outward even more.

But ... the Herald was adapting.

The overwhelming magnetic force, already beginning to fray at the basic chemistry that held our ship together, was NOT hurting it.

Right as a second tentacle rammed into the port underside of the shield, there was a faint spatial ripple, detectable even against the mess of radiation, gravity, and cosmic energy. Channeling the millions of tesla through itself like a lightning rod, the leviathan grew.

My breath caught as it literally expanded. Limbs thickened even more, the ribs and superstructure morphing subtly and pushing outwards as the damage was somehow turned into augmentation instead.

What?!

I couldn't think.

How? I ... can't use this. This isn't the answer.

Something else.

Anything else!

A third attack struck, again into the starboard side. This time it breached the shield, and with a horrible scraping sensation against my defence, the limb ground inward, the point driving directly toward us.

Need MORE.

I dropped my hold on the magnetic field, the shape of it instantly snapping back to what it should have been, and concentrated on the star itself.

Then, I realised something.

Due to the mass packed into such a small area, the surface was solid.

It had a crust.

Reaching out, I touched it, slivers of aqumi pressing into the gyrating sphere of supercompressed matter from two dozen angles.

"Shay." Yugan's voice was the only sound in the silence of the bridge, his prediction already informing him. "What you are about to do; we will not survive it."

We won't have to.

Another tentacle punched through the dorsal segment, joining the previous attack's success.

With no hesitation, I shoved every single quantum needle I had through the ultra-dense skin of the neutron star into the strange super-compressed atomic soup of its interior.

"Warning: multiple stress fractures detected. Seismological disruption event underway." The AI gave a loud deep chime, a final directive about the incoming danger. "Gamma-ray bursts beginning in ... five."

"Four."

Bursts?

"Three."

"Two."

"One-"

Jump.

...

I was breathing heavily, from stress and fear both, as the unstable magnetar vanished from view, the Herald with it, and we were somewhere else, at another random star somewhere else in the galaxy. The stellar lighthouse of deadly magnetic force and high-energy radiation was gone, replaced again by the relative calm of empty space and another harmless red dwarf star.

"Gamma-ray bursts. Plural." I turned around to face the others, trying to calm my thundering heart. "The Herald was right next to a neutron star at the very moment it let off multiple explosions of the highest energy radiation you can get. It HAS to be destroyed." I looked at Yugan, pleading with my eyes for him to tell me it was true. "Right?"

The serious expression, and lack of immediate confirmation made my heart drop.

"Shay," he began, "the future has not become clearer. I do not think it is gone."

"It's gotta be," I insisted. "There's no way anything could live through that."

"If it were dead, I would-"

He never finished the sentence.

Once more, in a repeat that was now unfortunately familiar to us, I felt the distinct tremble of the universal medium.

The nigh-invulnerable monster arrived in system; alive, unyielding, and one step closer to the end it had promised us.

-o-0-O-0-o-

The planning phase was intensive and necessarily fast tracked. All resources not already engaged in critical repair and resupply were diverted to refinement and material preparation of the plan. Damaged ships were being brought back to combat readiness, simulations repeatedly run to iron out weaknesses, ammunition delivered, taskforce composition and fleet formations tweaked for effect; the lower orbital zone was a rushing mess of military activity.

Though Konstantin's attention was split between standard fleet doctrine and the development of the special operation, there wasn't much to do regarding the latter unless any significant alterations were requested by the admirals involved. Those changes were few but relatively major ones, and he reviewed them as they arrived.

Time ticked by, and the alien swarm had not budged from its regenerating cloud beyond the Earth's defences.

Watching, waiting, perhaps stalling for some kind of advantage beyond regrowing lost numbers, Konstantin was not sure of the reason.

All he knew for certain was that this situation was unsettling, and he could not fully explain why he had that feeling.

Something was simply off.

Finally, summary confirmations came through from the flags of the Second and Fourth. Every detail had been honed as far as was possible, and the two participating admirals had stamped their digital seals of acceptance onto the plan.

Opening it onto the Phalanx's bridge command console, the Russian and Captain Santiago examined the fleet schedule.

Operation Pitfall.

The Third Fleet would remain as the bulwark under Jiang. They were not to break defensive positions unless an unforeseen problem threatened the shield protocol's viability in another location. Thus, they were the primary contingency, purposefully excluded, and were not joining in.

The Second Fleet was split into thirds. Kerensky himself would command the Alpha Group, which was the initial diversionary push. The Bravo Group would follow shortly after Alpha; their split approach was designed to ramp up the threat projection in a manner that delayed a more comprehensive response. Psychological analysis of the xenoforms had suggested a specific staggering advance that would slow primary engagement and maximise human tactical opportunity.

The Charlie Group, under Vice Admiral Rambiphol, was to maintain the Second Fleet's quadrant of the planetary cordon. There was too much risk in leaving fewer ships behind. Rambiphol would hold there, until Kerensky successfully concluded his role in the operation, whereupon Alpha and Bravo would return to position, and the fleet recombine.

Alpha Group was composed primarily of destroyers and gunships, with a smaller complement of fighters and light cruisers; as a whole it was intended for shorter range and fighter defence. Bravo had more medium-calibre cruisers and longer-distance ordnance, and a slightly larger fighter screen; a greater punch mixed with suppression. The lion's share of big line ships and majority of the fighter corps were kept with Charlie. Kerensky had been very particular about which types to include and in what numbers. Each operational phase, like the threat analysis, was tailored to optimise efficiency and the probability of success. He had balanced the need for damage against being agile, and this meant a focus on the middle range and multi-role combat vessels. He did not want to hazard his most valuable ships -- the largest capital vessels and the bulk of the fighters -- in the offence.

Then there was the Fourth Fleet. With the element of surprise, they were free to commit more heavily than the Second. Lugor would be using approximately 85% of his combat-ready forces, and this included all the heavier firepower he could muster. They would be running their systems hot when they went in, with everything ready for action. The turnabout, once it was required, would be quick and easy, and the escape without serious issue.

That was if everything went to plan.

If.

There wasn't another option, though, and Konstantin knew it.

They couldn't do nothing.

With a finger tap, he accepted the schedule, and with a second he ordered its immediate implementation.

In a blink, three communication windows opened above the bridge console and the faces of the fleet admirals appeared.

"Commander Andropov," Kerensky began, "we are synchronising with the Fourth now. It will be done momentarily."

"Maxim, I am prepared. Fleet spin-up has begun." Lugor nodded, waiting a couple of seconds for the schedules to line up before he continued. "We have parity with you now. "

"All yours, Admiral Kerensky." Konstantin's approval was already given, but he felt the need to express it. "Start the clock when you're ready."

He turned his attention to the map, Captain Santiago watching beside him. A portion of the gathered Second Fleet separated smoothly, a ping running through it. The colour of subordinated battle tags in the Alpha Group changed to a lighter blue, the deployment status altering. They began to move, at first low and not quickly, but the ascent began, the vector curving on an angle that would rise.

Toward the alien throng.

"Aye, we are underway."

A timer appeared to the side, the coordination of the mission elements essential to its success.

This was it.

The Alpha Group was rising steadily, and Konstantin's eyes kept moving between them, and the clustered icons of the enemy armada. In the reality of space, the distance was insignificant, but in terms of the here and now, and what they were undertaking, it was a yawning gulf that carried all manner of consequences with it.

Crossing it was like some kind of Rubicon.

Once they attempted this, there was no return.

One way or another.

"No change." Santiago's voice was soft next to him, her eyes with his on the xenoforms. "Their formation hasn't moved."

"Give it longer, captain," Konstantin replied in a similar undertone. "We haven't their attention just yet."

Kerensky's group was nearing a third of the way there, and the moment the mark was reached, the admiral spoke again.

"Bravo deployment activated." The admiral's face and his voice did not show even an ounce of the tension he was under; cool, calm, and perfectly even. "Second phase commencing."

Another ping ran through the remaining Second Fleet ships, and the Bravo Group separated, just as smoothly as the Alpha had, their deployment status altering as well in a mirroring of the previous. It coalesced into the prescribed configuration, following along Kerensky's trajectory. Behind, Charlie began to disperse into prearranged defensive postures, Rambiphol's rank protocol temporarily switching to full reserve command.

"This is where we must watch closely." Konstantin traced the rising line of the two advancing groups, one behind the other. "They will begin to react very soon."

"Everything is green." Lugor was just as cool as Kerensky, though the Russian thought he could detect a slight tinge of nerves in the expression.

"Apex probability is close." Lieutenant Paxford, the Phalanx's XO, indicated the peak likelihood split time, a value displayed right next to the clock's progression through the second phase. It was merely five seconds away.

Almost there ...

At the same moment the Alpha Group hit the midway distance, the Bravo Group, which had been moving faster, caught up, and the two merged seamlessly. Simultaneously, the first Disciples began to move, the response prediction accurate to within a second.

Konstantin's breath caught.

This was good.

"Third phase commencing." The combined Alpha-Bravo groups slowed their ascent, their relative elevation from the planet now close to matching that of the enemy's, and they eased their speed. The bridge of the Phalanx had gone nearly silent, the other officers either purposefully muting their interactions, or simply observing the command holo-screen with somber concern.

Everyone knew this was important.

"Fade effect beginning within five seconds." Kerensky's voice through the comms was one of the few sounds in the quiet of the bridge, and Konstantin could focus on little else. His hands were tightly balled, his teeth gritted as he watched.

Again, the precise moment the analysis dictated the regenerative field would drop, it began to do so.

An excellent sign.

Barely two seconds later, the back row -- Kerensky's long-range gravitic artillery -- was firing in a broad spread at the swarm's edge, the foe having now come inside the maximum range.

Are they actually taking the bait?

More and more Disciples were moving now, from dozens to hundreds within the contact zone. As if coming awake, a ripple of dispelling hibernation was spreading through the horde.

They ... are.

"Fourth phase commencing." It was Lugor who spoke this time. "Jumping on the mark."

Three.

Two.

One.

Mark.

The Fourth Fleet winked away from the marshalling point, reappearing opposite the Second, on the other side of the aliens.

Except closer.

Much much closer.

Within the band of the fading subatomic interference.

Two seconds after normalisation, they began to open fire.

Disoriented, not yet acquiring the new threat from within the dimming gravitational depression, the first volleys of fire, the real attack away from Kerensky's diversion, began to smash through the periphery. Sluggish, confused, most of the awakening enemies were focused on the Second and already breaking for the more distant threat, with Lugor's sudden showing catching them entirely by surprise.

It's ... working.

Konstantin nodded, taking a deep breath. "Give it everything, Lugor."

"All units are engaged." The Sudanese admiral's eyes were darting rapidly as he monitored everything in real-time, his concentration split between a dozen different subgroupings. "Engines hot for flank retreat."

"They are not dividing." Kerensky was wide-eyed, and his nose wrinkled. "The diversion is holding. You aren't yet recognised."

It was playing out to their best projection.

The Second Fleet's taskforce, engaging at range and drawing out the enlivening alien mass, while the Fourth struck from behind, a backstab that was reaping many kills already.

Konstantin could see it, and the analysis gave the numbers plain: they were already well into the single thousands eliminated, and the number was climbing toward double digits.

"Don't overstay." Jiang's first comments were simple. "You have this."

"Second or two more." Lugor grunted, then he gave the order; the umbrella of the Fourth Fleet's deployment changing, the colouring darkening on the map. "Fifth phase. Withdrawing."

Then ...

... the situation changed.

Twin distortions registered as fresh enemy ships jumped in.

The new arrivals weren't many, but it wasn't the number that mattered.

There were no more than a dozen each, a smattering of Disciples and Emissaries.

It was the placing.

They were between Lugor and the defensive positions closer to the Earth.

Not only that, but the central vessel of both groups was the same that had released an enormous explosion, killing Jean-Claude Beaumont and decimating the First Fleet.

Except, now, two of them, far enough apart to cover a large passage of space that Lugor needed to cross in order to retreat, and too far for the longest range weapons to touch.

They were blocking his escape.

The aliens knew.

At once, Konstantin understood, and he wasn't the only one.

This was what they wanted.

"Hold position! Do not retreat!" He snapped the order to Lugor. "Kerensky, you must-"

"We are advancing position!" The Russian admiral had immediately anticipated and adapted. "Attention has to remain on me!"

"Fighters. Send fighters." Jiang spat an interjection. "The explosive damage scales with mass. Fighters can survive."

"Rails are resuming fire." Lugor did not bat an eyelid at the interruption, having told his larger vessels to keep shooting at the swarm. "All fighter wings are to intercept."

On the map, hundreds of dots split away from the Fourth Fleet, diving down in convergent squadrons toward the two interloping forces.

Konstantin had a sinking feeling that this was not all.

They know we are going to do this, so that means ...

"You've got no screen, Lugor." He swallowed heavily. "You're naked right now."

"Focus is still here." Kerensky's Alpha-Bravo group had closed the gap, and a squall of projectiles was shooting in waves from his ships as the medium-range vessels were able to open up. "Hold it long enough for the double-kill."

"No choice!" Lugor growled. "Have to commit!"

Before anybody else could speak, two things happened at the exact same moment.

In a horribly smooth and clockwork-keen motion, the entire swarm turned, dropping all pretense that Kerensky's force was the target, with the prior lethargy vanishing as if it never was.

On the other side of Lugor's position, as close to him as he was to the mess of Disciples, a cloud of popping gravitational bubbles was registering, the indicators of yet more freshly incoming craft.

Only, this time, it was thousands strong.

-o-0-O-0-o-

"How?!" I nearly shouted, my voice echoing across the bridge. "How did it survive? Why isn't anything enough!?"

"Mira." Yugan addressed him directly, and my boy turned his head to look and listen. "There are four jumps left, free of danger, before the variation factor reaches zero. Upon completing the fifth, the Herald will identify our countermeasure, break it, and stall this ship. Then it will destroy us."

Mira's only response was a slight nod of understanding, followed by a glance to his twin.

She was listening too, and she imitated him, an almost perfect mirror of his actions.

They would take care of it.

Run for as long as we could run before we had to use another jump.

"Shay." He turned and began to stride away, and I went with him, my mind working overdrive to think of anything else.

Something I had missed, or forgotten.

Something I hadn't thought of.

Something else, if there was something else to be done.

The truth seemed to be that the Herald was actually unkillable, and that our first attempt had only worked because of a set of unique unrepeatable circumstances.

Wait, though.

Truth?

We were already halfway down the port side of the ship when the thought came to me, and Yugan continued speaking before I could say it.

"The future is narrowing right here and the answer no longer seems to be outside our vessel. Most futures I can see do not allow any serious practical use of the ship's functions, even through very creative means by you and the other two."

"But ... the Truth."

"Yes," he concluded, and we walked through the side door into Sulin's quarters -- my quarters -- toward the desk and chair behind it. "I cannot tell what we might do with it, as the quantum unity and the Herald's presence are too incompatible."

The box was where I left it, sitting on the chair.

Picking it up, I lifted the Truth with my right hand.

Right then, there was a subtle tremour of space-time shifting, and the light buzz of transit as we made the first of our four remaining jumps.

Already?

"That was sooner than expected," Yugan rumbled. "The Herald is getting quicker and closer each time." He reached out and touched the dodecahedron where it was resting between my fingers, a claw sliding along one of the edge ridges. "Do you have any ideas what to do with it?"

"No." I shook my head. "None."

He was about to speak again, when he stopped.

"I think ... they need my strength for defence on the bridge, to buy more time. Urgently." With sudden haste, the Mishith was turning and away at some speed, his voice floating back to me as he departed. "You can find a way!"

The door closed, the octagonal aperture irising shut as he left.

Can I?

I was no longer so sure of anything.

My confidence hadn't paid off so far.

Other situations, I was able to pull a win out of nowhere when we needed it, but this felt more difficult than any of those.

What even IS this?

Sitting on the chair, I stared at it, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was inside. My aqumi vision didn't seem to reveal anything interesting, nor any real information about the bubbles and flowing particle streams on its surface.

Concentrating, I relaxed and tried to extend my own aqumi into the object.

As if I had dropped a snowflake onto an open flame, it fizzled away, dissolving like it never was.

What?

Trying again, I attempted to interface with it this time, to connect or bond with any of the quantum currents running through.

Just like a computer system that I didn't have the password to, it simply ignored me, rejecting all the common tricks that the autonomous intelligence was partial to.

No information, no connection, no hints.

Nothing.

It didn't seem to make any difference that I was carrying Master Sulin's 'spirit', his quantum signature, that should have had an overriding control on all of this type of technology.

The artifact should have obeyed me, should have revealed something ... but ... no.

Whatever I needed to do, this wasn't it.

The ship shuddered lightly, something impacting an aqumi shield, followed by two more thumps in rapid succession.

Then ... again ... the sensation of our ship transiting the galaxy, as we leaped to another point.

That's two.

Frustrated, afraid, I dumped the Truth back into the box, my breath coming out shakily in desperation.

"Fuck!" I swore loudly, scooping up the other item, the Sable Pearl, in angry irritation, rambling to myself. "I know even less about this thing. What the fuck am I supposed to do with an obsidian marble? Dagen said they’re useful, but what's even the point of them?"

Glaring at it, I made to dump it back into the box too, but at the last second, something stood out.

Like the tiniest flicker of quantum glimmer, there was an imperfection on the pearl's surface that caught my eye.

No, actually, that's ... not an imperfection.

Bringing it up close, I zoomed my senses in as much as I could to the blemish.

It was a tiny filament protruding from the surface, too small to be felt by regular touch. The point where it connected, I began to perceive that it continued on, like a gossamer thread, and that the entire surface was actually made from it. In fact, there seemed to be multiple layers, twisted together in some kind of extremely fine but insanely strong weave. It was a quantum lattice, forming the Sable Pearl's skin, and that filament wasn't just a stray thread.

It was a means of release.

Of activation.

If I pulled on it with the right quantum manipulation, the sphere's surface would unravel in almost exactly three seconds.

If that's the grenade pin, then ... what kind of grenade is this?

Utilising my aqumi vision again, I tried to see inside.

I couldn't.

The surface was effectively impenetrable, the lattice too intricately and tightly wound for me to probe through it.

It has to be some type of matter-to-energy explosive, right? Or antimatter perhaps?

Standing, I exited my quarters, and was halfway along the passage back to the bridge when I felt the telltale quivering of yet another jump.

That's three jumps.

Already.

It had been barely a couple of minutes.

We were almost out of time.

The door slid open and I was back onto the bridge; the other three behind their respective podia. On the primary view was the Herald, having already followed us, in less than the time it took me to finish walking the last few metres of a very short trip.

It's finding us in under five seconds.

"Serin," I said, ignoring the rising fear the sight of the thing generated. Instead, I gripped the sphere tightly between forefinger and thumb, and glared intently at the dull black surface. "If I was to tell you to teleport this object I'm holding, the Sable Pearl, next to the Herald at the exact moment I command, can you do that?"

There was a momentary pause before the AI responded.

"Negative. The object designated Sable Pearl cannot be teleported."

Huh?

"What? Why not?" I demanded.

"Information: the object exceeds the teleportation function's buffer, and is therefore unable to be translocated any distance."

"Buffer? Explain more."

"Information: the teleportation function can translocate certain states of matter within a distance of approximately 21,000 kilometres. During the process of phase projection and integral recombination, a mass transfer buffer is utilised. This buffer cannot handle any object that exceeds the buffer's compression capacity."

But ... Elia was flinging around chunks of Yahet that weighed millions of tonnes! This is just a fucking marble-shaped grenade, it doesn't weigh ANYTHING.

...

But ... I know better than anyone that weight and mass aren't the same thing.

"Then tell me." My voice came out in a whisper, my throat constricting. "What IS the mass of the Sable Pearl?"

"The object designated Sable Pearl has a mass of 149.1 undecillion kilogrammes. For your understanding, this multiplier is ten to the thirty-sixth power."

My fingers shook on its smooth cool surface as I realised EXACTLY what I was holding.

This- ... this isn't an explosive.

It was the opposite.

The ultimate opposite.

"Serin." I addressed the AI once more, and louder, so that everyone could hear what I was saying, at the same time walking quickly across to a free podium. "We have two jumps left. First, I want you to take us ... here, when I say." Flipping through the holo-view rapidly until I found the galactic map, I indicated the spot, the others watching with curiosity, not understanding my choice of destination. Then, switching back through various views until I found what I was after, I nodded. "Then this is what will happen, and I want you to do precisely what I tell you."

With that I gave my instructions.

Four sentences.

At the finish, I caught Mira's eye and there was a look there that I knew far too well.

It was the same I'd given him too many times when he was about to do something foolishly dangerous, but absolutely necessary.

Uncertain, concerned, even distressed.

But, this time it was me taking the potentially fatal risk.

Just let me do this.

I gave him my best smile.

It's gotta be me.

Then I turned and walked away, toward the rear of the ship.

-o-0-O-0-o-

Unlike all previous jumps, the fourth took us a long way from any stars. The place I had indicated was further than anything else so far, and there was only one real source of light.

Exactly as intended.

I counted the seconds from our arrival until the Herald followed.

Just four seconds and it materialised practically on top of the ship.

There was no escaping, no running anymore.

It had bested us at every opportunity.

Not this time.

I felt the ship slow, then come to a full halt.

With a gesture, the rear airlock’s outer shell retracted and went transparent, revealing the exterior vacuum.

Beyond a single basic containment barrier there was open space.

There was the Herald, and I was seeing it again directly with my own eyes.

It was bigger, at least a hundred fifty kilometres across now, mutated and expanded through the energy it had repurposed from my attempts to destroy it. Monstrous arms like giant scythes, colossal tentacles for propulsion and impaling, miles of thickened armour that was immune to almost everything. An exterior that had survived kinetic shock of a planetary size, superhot plasma discharge, magnetic flux billions of tesla strong, and somehow, the gamma outpour of a ruptured neutron star.

I had no idea how it had lived through the last one, and at this point it didn't matter.

The Herald was all the things I metaphorically considered it; a leviathan, a kraken, a celestial horror, a starfaring predator driven by the omnicidal lust of its creator.

And now, I was going to kill it.

Fitting the atmospheric mask over my face, I waited a moment for the rim to adhere to my skin.

Then I placed an aqumi shield over my entire body like a liquid skin, deactivated the containment field, and with a burst of decompressing acceleration, shot out the airlock into space.

Drifting forth to the looming shadow of the creature that would not relent.

It, too, had come to a stop, recognising our changed behaviour, and that I had emerged from safety to confront it.

I could feel the focus, the entire malevolent will of the thing honed in on just me.

Your end is here. The limbs and coiling tentacles curved forward, bending about us, prepared at last to complete the task it had tirelessly pursued.

I am eternal.

Imperishable.

Inescapable.

Perpetual.

Eternal.

All the terms it used to describe itself were so time-centric, so obsessed with its own unending continual permanency.

It was a truly fantastic irony that time was the one thing that the Herald would never have after this encounter, and it was also, in a very real sense, what was going to kill it -- in more ways than one.

I don't have anything to say to you, I called out to it. Except that ... four seconds isn't fast enough.

From where it was held between my right thumb and index finger, I flicked the Sable Pearl with my nail, sending it sailing free into the void between me and the Herald. At the same moment, I pulled at the tiny quantum thread, and the lattice began to unravel.

A half-second later, I was teleporting back onto the bridge in a haze of static.

Another half-second more and we were jumping our final jump.

Far away, but not that far away.

Just enough to be sure the job was done.

Two.

Three.

And ... FOUR.

Right on cue, the AI spoke.

"Warning: gravitational singularity formation detected. Classification is supermassive black hole. Mass is 75 million solar masses. No accretion present. Rotation period undefined. Schwarzschild radius is 221.6 million kilometres. Current distance is 443.2 million kilometres."

"It's ... dead?" Yugan spoke, and there was shock in his words. "The future is free from its influence."

"Technically, from our point of view, it's dying. Very very slowly, but," I bit my bottom lip, mouth curving into a vindictive smile, "perpetually. Inescapably. Eternally."

Stuck that way for the next trillion trillion years, until the stars had burned out, galaxies had gone dark, and there was nothing left but emptiness and the shells of dead celestial objects.

Time dilation is a real bitch.

"It'll take at least twenty minutes, probably longer, for us to see the event horizon appear, because gravity can only spread at light speed. Since we're not too close to many stars, there's hardly any light out here to distinguish where the outline will be, so ... won't be much to see." I shrugged. "But if you want to know what that fucking monster saw from its OWN point of view? Serin, show us a simulation of what it would have experienced, and slow it down to make it ... graphic."

The AI played a simple confirmation beep.

An image of the Herald, in its last observed form, appeared over the nearest holographic display. It animated, and within the span of a single second, it simply collapsed inward, stretching grotesquely and crumpling into something smaller than the eye could see.

Squashed into a subatomic speck.

"Information: imagery is slowed by a factor of five hundred thousand, but is otherwise accurate."

That's what it got. Crushed to the size of an atom, so fast it never knew what was happening.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and before I could fully turn to say anything, Elia was pulling me into a tight hug. I could hear her sniffling against my shoulder, the sound jarring for me given how stoic both of them normally were, and I squeezed her closer.

That thing basically tortured her.

Forced her to fight her own family.

I can only imagine what it feels like to see it disposed of.

She never deserved ANY of that.

Finally, I let go of her, and shyly, she was wiping her eyes and standing back from me. I opened my mouth to speak, but something caught my eye.

New light, coming from the forward view.

I had jumped us a little over a hundred forty thousand light years outside the galaxy, not wanting to dump a gigantic black hole into the middle of it. Now, as the bow of the ship angled carefully around, away from the implacable darkness of the intergalactic void and the singularity inhabiting it, here was the absolute opposite.

To the left, the twin blobs of the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds.

In the middle, filling most of the view, were the concentric spirals of the Milky Way; lit from the core to the tips of the graceful arms in a white radiance as pure as spring snow.

The real thing, clearer and more finely detailed, more intricate and perfect than any fabricated image I had seen.

To the right, Mira, having wandered forward of the podia, brow raised, lips ajar, eyes wide with complete innocent wonder, gazing in awe.

My breath was gone.

Sometimes, there aren't any words.

Walking over to him, I touched his left arm, and in an easy natural gesture, he half-turned to me, the same hand sliding round to the small of my back, drawing me into his side, the other coming up to bring my face to his.

His lips met mine, feather soft and tender, his fingers on my cheek, the soft glow of billions of stars brushing our skin as I closed my eyes, melting into his arms and the kiss.