[Crossover Fanfiction, Complete] The Past Awakens

[Tamri]

This is the problem I encountered when I started working on my setting based on the Outsider. My simulations showed that in reality, as technology advances, it doesn't make much sense to build starships larger than a certain size - the infamous square-cube law against. Even from a purely rational point of view: the useful surface area on which weapons, sensors, protection and engines can be placed - with a linear increase in size increases to the second power, while internal volume increases to the third power. But at a certain stage, the available useful volume begins to significantly exceed the required one. To a certain extent, you can occupy it by duplicating systems, housing an air group, filling it with missile launchers, transporting supplies or troops, but this column is also finite, since the cost of construction and the resource costs for construction and maintenance grow exponentially.

As a result, it turned out that even for ships for which internal volume is more important than surface area, such as military transports or carriers, there is a limit after which they simply turn out to be too ineffective for their price. And for ships for which weapons are primary, this limit comes mu-uch earlier...

This threshold can only be overcome by the invention of weapons that do not actually require line of sight to fire, i.e. capable of firing from inside the ship. Like Weber's hypermissiles in the Fifth Empire series.

[Cthulhu]

Remember, any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic. I've thought about that issue as well, before realizing that at the Soia's tech level, the very idea of static, specialized, place-dependent subsystems might no longer apply. Whatever force is moving the dreadstar, can also be used to affect enemy ships. Combat might stretch into other dimensions, including time. Or, since the Soia understood psionics on a completely different level, perhaps warfare was a literal clash of minds, like in the "Pale Horse" fanfic.

Of course, a dreadstar is also the perfect platform to mount a gigantic superlaser. And if you go with "indirect" weapons, how about the transform cannons from "Perry Rhodan", which jump/teleport ordnance into enemy ships.

Besides, the dreadstars weren't only warships, they housed the entire Soian civilization, as well as production facilities and everything else.

[Urist]

Remember, any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic. I've thought about that issue as well, before realizing that at the Soia's tech level, the very idea of static, specialized, place-dependent subsystems might no longer apply. Whatever force is moving the dreadstar, can also be used to affect enemy ships. Combat might stretch into other dimensions, including time. Or, since the Soia understood psionics on a completely different level, perhaps warfare was a literal clash of minds, like in the "Pale Horse" fanfic.

Of course, a dreadstar is also the perfect platform to mount a gigantic superlaser. And if you go with "indirect" weapons, how about the transform cannons from "Perry Rhodan", which jump/teleport ordnance into enemy ships.

Besides, the dreadstars weren't only warships, they housed the entire Soian civilization, as well as production facilities and everything else.

On the one hand, science fiction (especially towards the softer side) love their do-everything machines. "In the future, you'll have a single machine that does *everything*! It cooks, it cleans, it solves quadratic equations while walking the family dog!" The current favorite is nanomachinery, sometimes with a biological component.

The thing is, that's not really the way that technology has gone and does not seem to be consistent with known physics and principles of engineering. There are very few cases where one "generalist" machine is more efficient than a "purpose-built" one for use cases that have a consistent demand profile such as weapons, propulsion systems, etc.

(Also, for clarification using Arioch's own Tech Level definitions: it sounds like you're talking something well into TL16+; in my fanfiction here the Soia were just starting on TL14, compared to the UNSC's late TL13)

That said, when a senior Soia got involved (e.g. Tempest herself) things tended to get into 'Clash of Minds' territory pretty quick. It's one of the reasons why they wanted to get humanity under control quickly, because even Soia mind-powers struggled against human lotai. I've got more ideas on that, but they'll wait for the sequel that I've got half-planned.

...it doesn't make much sense to build starships larger than a certain size...

That's very true for building efficient warships or civilian vessels, yes. But since Outsider canon notes that the Soia seemed to live an entirely space-based life (ditto the Loroi), the dreadstars *aren't* just warships or civilian vessels. They're something of a combination warship-transport-city-factory-farm-palace-castle-advertisement. They've got heavy armaments (although quite light for their size and mass), large hangars and logistical systems, habitation sections sized for tens of millions of permanent inhabitants, industrial sectors to support that population, and enough sheer bulk to intimidate any planet in whose orbit they park.

Essentially, they *aren't* really warships; only a fraction of their mass and volume is likely dedicated to military capabilities. They're mostly mobile capital-cities whose primary purpose is to make the point to all nearby civilizations that "We can afford to build these massive prestige projects; *don't* make us angry enough to devote this industrial power to building actual *warships*."

And yes, Weber's Fifth Imperium setting is one of my major inspirations for what sort of power the Soia had/were. And much like the later books in that series, here the Legion loroi (all ~50+ million of them) barely constitute a skeleton crew for their two dreadstars; a lot of the systems of both ships have been locked down and disabled for lack of trained crew. Of course, they're very careful not to let the Union loroi know that...

[Cthulhu]

But according to Arioch, the Soia were tech level 16 from the get-go, or rather, when they arrived to replace the existing Dreiman empire which were tech level 15.

[Urist]

Huh. That might have been in some post I haven't been around long enough to find - do you know where that was posted? I've always been under the impression that they were ~TL14.

[Cthulhu]

Huh. That might have been in some post I haven't been around long enough to find - do you know where that was posted? I've always been under the impression that they were ~TL14.

Okay, I misremembered a bit. According to Arioch, the previous Dreiman civilization was at least TL13, probably 14, since they did build a superstructure (Agumo). Therefore, the Soia, who easily displaced them without much of a fight, should be far above, probably in TL15-16 range.

Anyway, I've posted that question, so we should get the clarifying "Word of God" soon enough.

[Urist]

Thanks for pointing me to that discussion on Dreiman Tech Level! And for the sake of discussion (since talking about science-fiction concepts is fun!) I'd point out that for one civilization to near-effortlessly obliterate another in warfare doesn't necessarily require a 1+ TL difference. Especially since it's noted that the Soia came from outside the Local Bubble; who knows what sort of industrial base they had to throw at the Dreiman.

For example, consider a (recent) IRL war between two TL7 civilizations: Iraq versus the United States. Both countries had everything on the TL7 list, but both Gulf Wars ended with an extremely rapid obliteration of the Iraqi military at minimal cost to the American society as a whole. (The Occupation afterwards was a different story, but from the sound of things the Soia didn't really try to *occupy* the Dreiman settlements...) Apply that to the Soia-Dreiman conflict with a (purely hypothetical) large Soia industrial base outside of the striking range of Dreiman vessels (especially true given the limitations of FTL in the Outsider setting), and even if they had rough technological parity there could easily have been a conflict so one-sided as to barely count as a 'war.'

[Cthulhu]

Thanks for pointing me to that discussion on Dreiman Tech Level! And for the sake of discussion (since talking about science-fiction concepts is fun!) I'd point out that for one civilization to near-effortlessly obliterate another in warfare doesn't necessarily require a 1+ TL difference. Especially since it's noted that the Soia came from outside the Local Bubble; who knows what sort of industrial base they had to throw at the Dreiman.

According to Arioch, the Soia lived in their dreadstars, and didn't have any planetside settlements, only some client race "preserves". Whether they had any planetside industrial base is unknown, but it isn't mentioned in the legends, and no such facilities were ever found. In fact, none of the true Soia high-tech actually remained, most of the stuff is "glass pearls & axes" for their client races. The few exceptions which are a bit more advanced, like the amplifiers, were probably whatever the survivors crash-landed with.

I've also got a "word of god:"

Tech level can only be determined concretely from artifacts that were left behind, but it's not entirely clear that the Dreiman or Soia themselves actually lived in the structures they created, so the artifacts may not represent the full technological capability of either group. The Dreiman megastructures and terraforming techniques suggest at least TL13. The Soia-era artifacts and settlements themselves were created for use by subject races and most are not remarkably ultra-tech, around TL10-11, but some have characteristics of being designed and produced by a much higher technology, perhaps TL14+. But thus far no one has discovered a direct Soia artifact, such as the mythical dread-stars.

As you can see, the Soia were at least TL14, but likely even higher, although the exact level is probably classified for plot purposes.

For example, consider a (recent) IRL war between two TL7 civilizations: Iraq versus the United States. Both countries had everything on the TL7 list, but both Gulf Wars ended with an extremely rapid obliteration of the Iraqi military at minimal cost to the American society as a whole. (The Occupation afterwards was a different story, but from the sound of things the Soia didn't really try to *occupy* the Dreiman settlements...) Apply that to the Soia-Dreiman conflict with a (purely hypothetical) large Soia industrial base outside of the striking range of Dreiman vessels (especially true given the limitations of FTL in the Outsider setting), and even if they had rough technological parity there could easily have been a conflict so one-sided as to barely count as a 'war.'

Bad example. The "tech levels" are specialized concepts, designed as an abstraction layer for an RPG. Applying them to RL situations where you can clearly see the tech levels in all their minuscule details turns the abstraction into a hurdle instead.

And let's be honest, the lower-tech, dysfunctional, compromised and demoralized Iraqi military wasn't even good enough to serve as a comparison.

[Urist]

For a society at or above ~TL10, there's little reason to put heavy industry on (habitable) planets. The main planetary advantages of proximity to a large labor pool and raw materials are unlikely to outweigh the benefits of low/micro-gravity and simpler construction costs.

If the TL concept is broad enough to be inapplicable to real life history, then it's broad enough to be of little use in estimating the comparative 'levels' of different fictional societies where little is known to the reader about them. My point stands that one cannot reasonably assume that "Society A conquered Society B with little apparent difficulty (from the perspective of centuries or millennia later), therefore Society A was of a higher TL rating than Society B."

And I picked the Iraq Wars because I figured that they're recent enough for many forum-readers to remember them; if you disagree with that particular example, military history is full of a great many others where the outcome was similar.

[Cthulhu]

For a society at or above ~TL10, there's little reason to put heavy industry on (habitable) planets. The main planetary advantages of proximity to a large labor pool and raw materials are unlikely to outweigh the benefits of low/micro-gravity and simpler construction costs.

For such a civilization, like the main combatants of this comic, the answer is *both*. Extensive industry planetside, which is connected by orbital lifts to the microgravity orbital facilities where the ships are assembled.

If you want everything in orbit, then you have to minimize the labor pool requirements through advanced automatization. Even then, most of the light industry would remain planet-side.

Now, if you're at the level of the Soia, where a dreadstar was an entire city, then they may have possessed facilities which could "eat" asteroids and "crap" out anything you'd want.

If the TL concept is broad enough to be inapplicable to real life history, then it's broad enough to be of little use in estimating the comparative 'levels' of different fictional societies where little is known to the reader about them. My point stands that one cannot reasonably assume that "Society A conquered Society B with little apparent difficulty (from the perspective of centuries or millennia later), therefore Society A was of a higher TL rating than Society B."

My counterpoint is that the tech levels are meant as abstraction layers, guidelines or conceptualized foundations, upon which the DM or the author would build their settings. If the author says so, then it was enough. The Dreiman had a higher tech level than the Delrias, so they didn't have much trouble defeating them. The same most likely applied to the Soia as well.

Imagine if the Loroi were a tech level higher, roughly on pair with the Historians? The bugs would be done for.

[Urist]

The gas giant spun on through the empty void, as it had done for billions of years. Its moons orbited as they always had… and who could say if they noticed the absence of a certain artificial ring structure that had traveled among them for far less than a million years. An eyeblink of time, by comparison.

“Any update from Anlace?” Colonel Jardin’s voice sounded from the rear of the cockpit.

“Pinged us a few minutes ago.” Alex answered. “They’re still nailing down the wake echoes. Didn’t say how soon they’ll have something definite, but they have confirmed the earlier trajectory estimate that it ran off into Hierarchy space.”

Talon nodded along. She had mostly followed Alex’s explanation for how the human ships could track the slipspace route which the Soia’s Ring had taken out of the system. At least, she got the general idea; Beryl had no doubt understood the underlying ideas better.

That said, it was interesting to finally learn something negative about the strange drive system used by the aliens and their ancient loroi allies. Imagine being able to track a vessel so long after it had left the system!

Although perhaps that was only the case for a ‘vessel’ as gigantic as the Ring.

A brief ‘ping’ emanated from Alex’s station. “Ah, there we go. Anlace’s opening a channel.” He tapped a single command, and a box sprang into view on the display in front of him. It was written in Human, but Alex summarized it aloud. “They’ve got the track. Looks arrow-straight; I guess something that big pretty much generates its own threads. Anyways, the next system it intersects is, uh, one-hundred-sixty light-years distant, off to galactic rimward and a bit spinward. On the anti-spinward fringe of the old Empire, catalogue code USC-6307165.”

Talon brought up the navigation system on her own console and carefully tapped out the code which Alex had spoken. After realizing just how much the aliens loved using nonsense-words to designate things — and what was wrong with real words? There was no such thing as a ‘usc’! — Talon had asked Beryl to help her memorize both their alien letters and peculiarly-separate numeric symbols.

A skill which became now let her navigate the bizarre architecture of the prowler’s computer system. “This is perhaps the correct star?”

Alex leaned over the center console. “Yeah, that’s it.”

<I earlier finished transcribing the Union’s map of local space onto the human computer network.> Beryl sent, leaning past Talon to enter a brief command. The nonsensical alien star labels were suddenly joined by nice, familiar Union identifiers.

Looking at the highlighted star now labeled, both loroi froze for a solon. Then Talon let out a snort. “It seems that this system is known to the Union. And I think maybe it is most appropriate for the Ring to go there.”

“Oh?” asked Alex. A rustling of the strange cloth-like material the humans wore under their armor indicated that the Colonel had also leaned in closer to listen.

“It is the ‘Ukko’ system.” Talon spoke. “Where the war against the Shells began, when they fired on our ships there.”

It made a sort of sense, really. The war started in Ukko, and it now seemed that soon enough it would end in Ukko.

“Huh. A two-for-one deal, then.” said Alex. “You put the final nail in the Hierarchy, and we take out the last reminder of the Soia Empire, all in one move.”

<Nail?> asked Spiral.

<A human saying, I assume.> replied Beryl.

It didn’t seem to make much sense to Talon, but then again they were aliens. “And perhaps maybe we even capture the Ring instead!”

And what a prize that would be. Even so many nanapi later, the sight of that white-blue beam of energy that had leapt up from the Ring to smash apart Strike Group 51 was still burned into Talon’s mind. What could weapons like that do in loroi hands? After teams of gallen had had their chance to crawl over its workings and reverse-engineer the device?

“That would be optimal, yes.” came the low voice of Colonel Jardin behind her. “But I would not be too hopeful.” His arm rose above her, pointing at the map. “If that system is as close as it looks to the front-line, we can expect a strong enemy presence around the Ring already. We can get a team aboard with scuttling charges, but I wouldn’t predict that we could hold the Ring against an enemy with orbital control.”

“It is not then possible for you to ‘turn off’ the Ring when you land?” Talon asked. “If it is no longer holding Slipspace most closed, even Dreadstars could arrive and defend against the Hierarchy attack response.”

The Colonel chuckled lowly. “Even dreadstars aren’t invincible, especially when they’ve got no real screening force and are as under-crewed as the two Legions are. They’d have to have a very good reason for them to jump straight into a fight like we’re likely to find in this ‘Ukko’ system. I can probably talk them into being on standby ‘above’ the system waiting in slipspace as an emergency reserve, but only if we need cover for our withdrawal after destroying the Ring.” He let out a sigh. “And we do have to destroy it. My team can override a small system like a single STO battery, but the main computer systems are certain to be locked behind Council-level access codes. Only a living Soia of that rank could have just ‘turned it off.’”

And so, just like last time she’d ‘visited’ the ancient Soia structure, Talon would be sneaking in right under the chins of the Shells. At least she would be making the approach in an advanced ancient alien ‘prowler’ rather than a crippled, out-of-control shuttle.

<It still seems a pity that we cannot wait until a Union fleet could attack the system with enough force to capture the Ring rather than destroy it.> Talon mused.

Sanzai slightly muted by distance, parat Tempo explained from the crew compartment <It was judged too risky for a fleet to penetrate that deeply into Hierarchy lines. Even concentrating the forces needed would take several nanapi, and would require allocating the entire remainder of the reserve flotillas.>

Talon grimaced. The reserves had already been largely depleted in order to blunt — and eventually, force back — the Shells’ Lotai Offensive. It would do the Union no good if they grabbed hold of the ancient weapons aboard the Ring, only for the Shells in the meantime to strike deep into the heart of Loroi space.

But just because it made sense didn’t mean she had to like it.

<Look on the good side, Plunger!> Spiral joined in, <we get to deliver the Shells on the Ring a big, explosive present for a second time!>

<And using a most interesting weapon.> Beryl added eagerly. <We will see a human Nova bomb in action!>

That did promise to be an exciting observation. Although… <I do wish that they had told us about it earlier, though.> Talon grumbled.

Beryl raised one eyebrow. <Would knowing that there was a planet-killing superbomb sitting in the main weapons bay no more than eight paces below you all this time have made you feel more comfortable, earlier?>

<Well, yes.> Talon blinked. <Of course.>

After a moment, Beryl broke out into laughter. <Tenoin.>

“Hmm?” Alex glanced aside at Beryl, before turning his eyes on Talon with a grin. “What did you say?”

“How are you certain that it was me? Not instead Spiral?” Despite her protestations, Talon couldn’t keep her own smile from breaking out.

“Because I know you.” His grin shifted into a warm smile.

Talon’s heart skipped a beat. No wonder that the Union kept males far away from the warriors at the front — that smile was distracting.

But pleasantly so.

A low cough from the rear of the cockpit reminded her that they had company. “Did the transmission from Anlace include further orders? A route plan, perhaps?” Colonel Jardin interrupted.

“Yes, uh, of course.” Alex whirled back to his controls and brought up a map of the local system. “We’re closing the formation now, ready to depart once all craft are within sync-jump range.”

The icons indicating the four human craft crawled across the screen. Talon was still adjusting to just how slow the ancient warships were. The humans may have advanced weapons and nigh-unlimited strategic mobility, but the in-system speed of their vessels left much to be desired. Had their gallen just… ‘forgot’ to develop engines to match their fantastically-destructive weapons?

Then again, she well remembered the heavy armor plating that she had seen personally on that crashed human transport ship in this very system, what felt like so long ago. The armor had been incredibly thick — over six paces; she had measured it when they left!

Perhaps the ancient human ship-designers had simply had other priorities besides speed.

“We’ll be in-formation and aligned in two minutes.” Alex announced.

“Good. Pipe any further messages from Commander Yao to my cabin.” A few footsteps, and then the door hissed shut behind the human warrior.

“He does not wish to observe the jump?” Beryl asked.

It did seem strange. Usual practice in the Union was for a vessel’s captain to be present on the bridge for each faster-than-light jump. After all, there was always the chance of something going wrong, and the captain was the one who the Union had entrusted with the warship and his crew.

“Synchronized slipspace jumps are… uncomfortable for the flight crew, anyone directly observing it.” Alex explained. “Where the entry portals overlap, they...” he held up one hand and wiggled it. “… I’m not sure how to say it in Trade. But it hurts to look at.” Before any of the loroi in the compartment could say anything, he continued “Doesn’t seem to mess with loroi, though. You’re lucky.”

Or Soia-engineered, more likely. Perhaps it was similar to how lesser— to how alien species who were not also Soia-Liron experienced sickness during hyper-jumps.

Although… “Will you be feeling well during this jump, Alex?” Spiral asked, before Talon could do the same. It was strange to hear the Maiad speak in such a serious tone. “I and Talon can most certain do piloting for you if the jumping is unpleasant for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I… uh, got used to it. All pilots do, or we find another specialization.”

The two diral-sisters exchanged a glance, before turning back to their stations. Well, if Alex was certain… at least it spoke well of his determination that he chose to sit through it.

The vessels had now drawn close enough that Talon could track them visually through the prowler’s windows. One prowler nestled among three ‘frigates’ each as large as a Union cruiser or battleship.

She eyed the flagship of their small squadron, the odd vessel out. As a fighter pilot, Talon had spent more time looking at ships from the outside than most other warriors, and so the ‘small’ frigate stood out from its two brothers. With the flowing lines of his hull, Anlace seemed to be born of an entirely different design philosophy than the Savannah or Mortal Reverie that crowded in at his side.

Maybe once they were underway, she’d ask Alex about it.

Once all four warships were in position — close enough that Talon could count the weapons-turrets dotting Savannah’s flank — Alex keyed the intercom and announced “Prepare for synchronized slipspace jump. Sixty seconds to entry. That’s fifty-five solon.”

It was considerate of him to translate the timing, but the human ‘second’ was close enough to a proper solon that they seemed interchangeable enough to Talon.

Hopefully the bridge crew of Anlace were as mindful of their Union passengers. Teidar Mallas Deepline was no Stillstorm, yes, but one look at her as they were being shuttled over to the human vessel from Seren’s citadel had made Talon happy that the grim teidar was not on the same ship as she was. Definitely not the sort of person one would want to irritate.

Then again, what other type of warrior would have earned such a high rank within the Azerein’s own Guard?

Perhaps thinking along similar lines, Spiral mused <You know, it would have been simpler if we could have just dropped this nova bomb onto the Ring. No having to sneak it down inside before exploding it.>

Talon sent a sub-verbal pulse of agreement. Although there were some positives, such as—

<But it means we get to have one last look at the Soia architecture!> exclaimed Beryl.

As predicted.

The listel continued <The route to the optimal detonation point will take us deep into the interior of the Ring, through maintenance tunnels. Just imagine what we will see there, away from the decorative nature scenes installed on the surface!>

<More of that sanzai-blocking gray metal?> deadpanned Spiral.

<Well, yes.> Beryl admitted. <Almost certainly. But maybe also some of the machinery that has successfully maintained an artificial ecosystem for three-hundred-thousand years!>

<And the whole slipspace-blocking-field too.> added Talon. <Which is why we’re going there, after all.>

But once that field was down, just imagine the looks on the Shells’ faces when two dreadstars dropped in on them! Well, technically their ugly faces didn’t actually 'show' anything, but still. The peculiar light-dampening nature of slipspace had meant that even in their docking earlier Talon hadn’t actually seen the ancient moon-ships in their entirety, but the sight of massive hull-plates stretching out past the limit of vision out to each side had been impressive enough even so.

She was definitely looking forwards to whenever she got to see one in realspace.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Huh. That’s unexpected.” Alex said, staring at the display. Did Ever Plummet Sound floated deep in the Ukko system, observing the Ring below them in its new home.

And with its new addition.

“You can say that again.” his uncle agreed. “How that got there, I’ll never know.”

“Tugged along in the slipstream wake, maybe? Could’ve been picked up just as the Ring was leaving the system.”

“Then where’s the impact crater? No, that’s been set down there, deliberately.”

Talon interjected into the rushed human conversation “But what is it?” The display highlighted the gigantic chunk of metal — clearly a starship fragment of some sort, to her eye — that now sat atop two mountaintops on the Ring surface below.

Looming over the underground central control facility, where their team had planned to put the bomb.

Because of course.

But anyways, while the display labeled the object in nice Trade lettering, the actual words and numbers meant little to Talon. She was a tenoin, not a listel!

<It is part of a Soia construct.> sent Beryl, even before the cockpit door hissed open to admit the white-haired warrior. <If I am not mistaken, it is even yet another part of—>

“Grand Unity.” Colonel Jardin ground out, unknowingly completing Beryl’s thought. “Or a chunk of her, at any rate. The Soia dreadstar that we boarded, back just after we first met.”

The Soia Council’s own flagship. The humans were right — how had that gotten here? Another part of that ship had been 'sitting' in Slipspace near the earlier system, could ships travelling through slipspace 'pick up' other objects waiting there? For that matter, was this the same part of the ancient dreadstar that Stillstorm's boarding team had fought aboard?

She could see exposed decks and shorn-off metal plating, all blackened and twisted. Clearly it had not been separated neatly from the rest of the dreadstar, yet this chunk of that ancient dread vessel had managed to reenter realspace without any evident signs of a violent impact onto the Ring?

It was unnerving.

“Well, it’s definitely canned our plan.” Alex noted. “It’s swarming with Bugs, and they’ve got hundreds of ships holding station just above it. They wouldn’t even have to spot us on sensors if we try and move in close there; we’d just physically bump into them at that sort of crowding.”

“Plan Q it is, then.” his uncle sighed. “Take us out-system and back to slipspace. The Commander’ll want to hear this.”

“Yup. Looks like the gun crew might get to get their hands dirty, after all.”

Talon asked “Four warships against several entire Shell divisions? That seems to be high odds.” A bit much even for Strike Group 51, really. Even with the advantage of surprise.

“With how packed-together they are? We sneak in a Shiva or two, then the three frigates jump in right on top of them and raise Hell with their broadside armament. Like letting a family of foxes into a hen-house… after you’ve set off a grenade in it first.”

The door hissed open and Colonel Jardin stepped out of the cockpit, pausing to throw over his shoulder with a chuckle “Calm your jets there, young Cole. We’ve got all the time we need, and they don’t know we’re here. I think the Commander will have a somewhat more… conservative plan.”

As the cockpit hatch closed behind him, Alex let out a brief chuckle of his own. “Has he met the Commander?”

As the Plummet stealthily drifted away from the Ring, Talon turned to Alex. “What is a ‘cole’?”

“Human vice-admiral. Preston J. Cole. Best naval leader the UNSC ever saw, and the only person to ever put the fear of God into the Soia before their civil war.”

“He is perhaps a human Tempest?” Spiral ventured.

“Heh. Yeah, that’s actually pretty accurate from everything I’ve heard about him. Anyways, he’s known for liberal use of nuclear munitions and surprise attacks against the Soia. He’s used nuclear warheads for everything: booby traps, maneuvering aids, atmospheric demolition, covering a slipspace—” Alex cut himself off. “Well, I guess that last one turned out to just be a rumor, or else he’d still be around.”

“That seems to be a very interesting story!” Beryl exclaimed. “These are not standard—”

“Uh, hold on, sorry. We’re coming up on our jump point to regroup with the rest of the squadron.” Alex leaned forwards, hands playing across the controls.

The Plummet neatly cut his way back into slipspace, emerging within communications range of Anlace and the other two waiting frigates.

“Reports packaged & sent. Now we wait.” Alex reclined back in his chair, turning to Beryl. “Anyways, Cole was known for being a very out-of-the-box thinker. Pity he disappeared — well, died — before the Soia Civil War; now that you’ve mentioned it, I bet he’d have gotten along great with Tempest. If she could forgive him for Psi Serpentis, at any rate.”

“Psi Serpentis?” Talon carefully pronounced the alien words.

“Battle where he disappeared. See, he’d led a counterattack into the Outer Colonies starting six years after the war began. Had already cornered the moonships Accuser and Stalker, destroying both with all hands and subships in two separate battles. Really put egg on the Soia’s faces, losing two entire dreadstars like that. So Tempest—”

His console chirped at him, and he tapped a single command back. “Comms request from Yao for Uncle, I’ve put her through. Anyways, Tempest got direct orders straight from the Council to pull every available ship in the theater and hunt down Cole. She always said it was a stupid order: Cole’s fleet was getting further and further away from the UNSC’s front-line with every system she took, so he was going to get attrited down eventually even without pulling her own ships from the ongoing offensive.”

Talon grimaced, exchanging a knowing look with the other loroi in the cockpit. The risks of an admiral getting cut off in enemy territory were well-known to everyone in the Union, after Sunfall’s disastrous demise.

“But the Council had sent one of their own along with two brand-new dreadstars as reinforcements; Tempest wasn’t on the Council herself at that time and so the idiot had enough authority to override her.” He glanced aside for a moment, frowning. “Was the ‘Minister for Public Morale’ or something like that, if I remember right. Anyways, Tempest manages to get most of her experienced ships and crews left behind to continue the offensive without her, and takes the fresh-from-training reinforcements as well as a few of her own ships and moves to cut off Cole from withdrawing to UNSC space. All while this Council bureaucrat breathed down her neck.”

“Well, she found him.” Alex smirked. “Harried Battlegroup Everest, eventually forced him into an engagement in the Psi Serpentis system. Uninhabited, couple rocky planets… and one heavy gas giant. Lot of compressed helium, just ready to pop into a brown dwarf by itself in a few million years.”

An odd detail to mention.

“They skirmish back and forth for a few days, leaving dead ships strewn across half the system.” Alex paused, chuckling. “Even get a surprise attack by a few Innie squadrons out of nowhere.” at Talon’s questioning look, he hastily added “Story for another day.

“Anyways, Cole is surrounded, outgunned, and bound to lose. So he runs out Everest herself ahead of the formation, broadcasting his identity and service history on open channels to anyone and everyone. Really beats the drum of ‘Me mighty warrior, me defeat many dreadstars, who here strong enough to fight me ship-to-ship?’ hard.”

Alex flicked a quick smile at Talon. “Now, uh, I don’t know how that would work against your modern loroi, but for the bunch of rookie warriors the Council had sent out fresh from training? Just about the entire subship complement of all but one of the four dreadstars under Tempest’s command — over three-hundred warships — immediately light off their engines and beeline for Everest.”

“That seems most unfair.” Talon spoke. Not to mention stupid. If they wanted to ‘best’ an accomplished alien admiral, then drowning him in numbers wasn’t going to prove anything. And the smart thing when an alien commander makes such an obvious taunt is to ignore him until you figure out his plan.

She did not doubt that some loroi would have been foolish enough to fall for it. But twenty-five years of constant warfare had… ‘removed’ such officers from the Union.

Along with far too many of their wiser comrades.

“It was unfair — in Cole’s favor. He dives Everest into the gas giant, and they follow. Just as they enter the gas, he sets off every remaining nuke that he carried. Gas giant ignites into a new brown dwarf, three hundred Empire subships get cooked, and Preston Cole goes down in history.”

That was… a crazy story. Not the sort of battle that would ever be seen in the war against the Shells — the Enemy weren’t stupid enough to fall for a trick like that, and no Union commander was insane enough to try.

Although maybe if someone gave Stillstorm enough warheads...

Alex chuckled, briefly. “Legend says that he made a last-minute slipspace jump out just before the blast got to Everest, but I guess that turned out to just be legend.”

Talon frowned. “If his craft had survived, would he not have immediately rejoined his fleet?”

“Uh, maybe not.” Alex waggled one hand. “There were… ‘other’ stories. Stuff that Uncle told me, that weren’t supposed to go beyond ONI ears.” He waved the hand dismissively. “Anyways, Tempest ends up with most of her fleet screen just gone. She could have continued and pressed the attack directly with her dreadstars, but even the Council weenie wasn’t crazy enough to try that without enough subships to keep the UNSC’s heavy-hitters at arm’s length.

“Of course, Soia being Soia, Tempest is the one who ends up getting most of the blame for the whole fiasco. Only got saved because ONI’s retaliation strikes on the Empire proper starting up around that time and the Council got desperate enough to not make an example of her. She got pulled home to chase shadows for a few years, and you’ve heard how things went from there already.”

Talon could only shake her head. “It is a strange indeed story.”

“So it is. But storytime’s over.” came the brusque voice of the Colonel behind her. She hadn’t heard the door open — was a spoken-aloud tale really that interesting, to distract her so? “We’re headed back in within the hour. Palmer’s briefing the troops, and Tempo’s seeing to her own ground-pounders.”

“What’s the plan? We go in to clear out the Bugs?”

“We’re ignoring the Bugs. I’ve dug through the map of the Ring that Tempest sent, just before she left.” If his voice caught at the reminder of his life-mate’s death, Talon didn’t notice. “There’s another access tunnel that leads to the point where we’d need to set the NOVA. A slight detour, but it means we don’t have to fly any closer than fifty klicks of the enemy’s ships.”

<Parat?> Talon asked. Best to check if the mizol had orders for her and Spiral just yet.

<You two tenoin will work alongside Pilot Jardin aboard the prowler for the first part of the plan.> responded Tempo.

“Fifty klicks? Long way to walk.” Talon felt a slight headache developing as she tried to follow both Tempo’s sanzai and the humans’ spoken conversation simultaneously. “This a multi-day mission now?”

<If all goes to plan, the three of you will remain on the prowler while the ground team carries out the mission, preparing to depart rapidly once we return.>

“Negative. That’s why the Plummet won’t be going back in alone. One of Anlace’s Seagulls is loading the heavy strike team, Union special forces and Spartans both. They’ll drop out of slipspace alongside us, and we shield them from enemy sensors on the run in.”

<Affirmative, parat.> Talon had been looking forwards to destroying a Shell ship or two herself from the helm of the Plummet, but it sounds like that plan had been resigned. Being a glorified transport pilot wasn’t as much fun, but if it won the war…

“What can a non-stealthy Seagull do that we can’t?”

“Fit inside the Ring’s secondary maintenance tunnels, for one thing. There’s one that will take us from the new landing site all the way to underneath the detonation point.”

<Good.> Some of Tempo’s good mood leaked into her sanzai, an uncharacteristically open move from the mizol. <Three-hundred solon after we take off, the bomb detonates and the Ring is destroyed.>

<And the war is over!> supplied Spiral, her own eagerness not even slightly shielded.

“Flying a Seagull underground? I don’t envy the pilot.”

“Yao swears that her stick-jockey’s up to the task. Can’t say I like putting the Furies on someone else’s crate, but it can’t be helped.”

Alex switched to English. “[Well, we all hitched a ride with Talon from the fire-control station over to where the Plummet was stashed, when we all first met. That was fine.]”

“[Perhaps it was, for you up in the cockpit. Crammed down below, surrounded by unfamiliar, wary loroi? It was not an enjoyable journey.]”

Talon was pretty sure she recognized her own name in English, there. She’d asked Alex about that some time ago, although they’d both decided to keep using their spoken names in their respective languages — ‘[Talon]’ sounded as strange to her ears as ‘Enzin’ seemed to be for Alex. Which was a pity; ‘Guardian of the Garden’ was a good name for a warrior, both tough-sounding and exotic!

Still, they were talking about her? “I think maybe your UNSC can produce more than one good pilot.” She gestured to Alex, smirking.

Both humans looked at her silently for a heartbeat or two, and then Alex chuckled. “What she said. You’ll be fine.”

His uncle snorted. “Here’s hoping. Anyways, the new landing point is on an island off in the middle of a large sea. Well-isolated, and no Bug ships sitting overhead. Apparently it’s a maintenance hub or something. There’s a small hangar off to one side where you’ll hide the Plummet, while the rest of us enter the security station to open the tunnel access.”

“Any resistance expected on the ground?”

“Doubt it. But just to be safe,” the Colonel turned to Spiral, “have the EWAR systems blanketing the island as we come in. No communications out or in.”

<Affirmative.> Spiral sent. A beat later, and she repeated aloud with only a tinge of embarrassment “Affirmative.” It looked like the young narrat would get to put Alex’s training on the prowler’s systems to the test, even if her practice flights in the pilot’s seat would go unused. Fortunately, the electronic warfare systems were almost-entirely automated.

It was an… 'interesting' experience to be cross-trained in so many aspects of operating a craft like this, but both tenoin had found the lessons quite enjoyable. And not just because of their teacher.

“Estimated time for the ground team’s mission is seven hours.”

“Seven hours?” Alex asked. “Long flight time, for fifty kilometers. The Plummet could cross that in three minutes, without even generating a detectable wake.”

“In a straight line, perhaps. But these are maintenance tunnels; they meander all over.” Colonel Jardin shook his head. “And we’ll be out of communications range as soon as the Seagull enters the tunnel, but if we’re not back by eight hours...” the older human’s voice was grim. “leave without us and get well clear of the Ring.”

Alex and Talon exchanged a worried glance, but the human pilot replied in a firm voice “Understood. Hope it doesn’t come to that, though.”

“You and me both. I’d like to live to see a future free of Soia interference, now that that’s an option.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Perhaps a few hundred solon after the Colonel had left the cockpit, the radio squawked. “[Bravo Five-oh-two to Did Ever Plummet Sound, we’re taking station below you. Separation three-four meters.]”

“[Plummet copies.]” Alex responded. After a brief chuckle he added “[Is that you, Bullseye?]”

“[The one-and-only! How’re you doing over there, Fireball?]”

“[Never better. Sounds like you drew the short straw for today’s flying, huh?]”

“[I volunteered, thank you very much. Two-hundred klicks each way, top-speed through narrow corridors, less than ten meters space off each wing? This calls for the best pilot.]”

“[Never change, Bullseye. Never change.]” Alex leaned back in his seat, a warm smile spreading across his face. After glancing over at Talon’s questioning look, he tapped a button on his console. “The Seagull’s pilot is Bullseye, a friend of mine from flight school.” The smile faded. “We’re the only two left, he and I.”

Talon nodded in understanding. “You are like diral-brothers.” A strange term — what would a male diral trial be, anyways? ‘Competitive Poetry-Writing’? — but it seemed to fit the aliens.

“Yeah, something like that.” He looked past Talon. “Like you and Spiral, I guess. But without the face-tattoo.”

Spiral asked “Are human pilot-diral using any mark to show their together-ness?”

“Actually, uh, we did all get the same tattoo. It wasn’t my idea, though; blame Fireball.” Alex responded, a faint blush for some reason rising on his cheeks.

Understanding hit Talon. “Oh! I think maybe that is what that mark meant!” She clamped down on her explanatory side-channels just a beat before Spiral’s surge of curiosity hit her. <It is for you to discover for yourself!> Talon sent, wry humor filling her sub-channels.

<Oooh – no fair! Where is the tattoo?> the younger tenoin asked.

<You will find out for yourself soon enough, I think. Unless perhaps that was all bluster, earlier aboard Seren citadel?> It was not often that Talon got to be the one teasing Spiral, so she was going to get as much out of it as she could.

<Certainly not bluster!> Spiral sent back, before grumbling <Shredded small prowler, no room for privacy...>

<Then it seems your discovery will have to wait until after the Ring is destroyed and we dock with a larger vessel.>

“That, uh, yeah. Like I said, not my idea. But it was right after graduation, we were all a bit drunk, and none of us thought we’d be alive in five years anyways. So here we are.” He tapped the same button once more. “[Bullseye, we are go for slipspace exit, sixty seconds. All passengers secured? It’s going to be a bit bumpy, popping out in a Seagull.]”

“[Everyone’s strapped down back there. Cargo straps for the big ones: don’t want the Spartans pinballing around. Anyways, coming up on four-five seconds… mark.]”

“[Copy. We’re spinning up the drive now, should emerge within two light-seconds of the Ring. Comms stay silent after exit and until we both get down close to the deck; we’ll run cover for you as you make for the island. Happy hunting, Bullseye.]”

“[Same, Fireball. No sudden maneuvers, okay?]”

“[Who, me? I’d never! Out.]” Alex closed the channel, laughing.

The spoken words meant nothing to Talon, but she could recognize the happy familiarity in Alex’s voice. It was always fascinating to be reminded that while the humans were aliens, they were so loroi-like at the same time.

<And not just in body shape.> Spiral sent.

<Indeed so.> Talon agreed, before turning her attention back to her station. Alex would be doing all of the flying, and unless something went very wrong Talon’s position as the weapons-control officer of the prowler wouldn’t be needed at all.

“All systems report green; twenty solon ‘till jump.”

From what Talon had heard earlier, even for the humans it was an unusual and difficult procedure to take one of their small Seagull craft out of slipspace even though it did not have its own drive. But by staying very close to the Plummet, like an adventurous child clinging to the back of a sprinting miros, it could be done. Either way, she was not going to distract Alex while he concentrated on his task.

“Ten… five… and go.”

The Did Ever Plummet Sound slipped neatly back into realspace, the black void visible through the cockpit windows suddenly aglow with stars.

“[Drift one-five centimeters. Adjusting.]”

While Alex muttered to himself, Talon took a moment to drink in the sight both through the windows and the sensor display repeated on her console. She had been more distracted in their first flight through the system only a cycle earlier, but now had a few solon to really think about where she was.

This was it — the Ukko system. Where the war began. Her creche instructor hadn’t known exactly where in the system that fateful patrol had been when they were fired on by the Shells, but Talon still swallowed against the dryness of her throat as she glanced over the many enemy icons dotting the sensor readout. Had the loroi looking at a similar fleet in this very system some twenty-five years ago understood the significance of that violent moment?

No matter. Talon was here to correct the events of that long-ago battle. The Shells had begun the war in this system... and Talon would help end it in the same place.

“No change in Shell formations or patrolling patterns since our last being here.” Spiral spoke.

“Copy. Looks like we’re on-track.” Alex gently engaged the engines, and the Plummet drifted forwards towards the massive Ring looming ahead. Well, ‘looming’ only in the sensor readouts; it was far too distant to see by eye. “Estimate two-thousand solon until we begin our braking maneuver; we’ll drift until then.”

“Affirmative.”

The two craft dove inwards, the shadowy bulk of the prowler shielding the smaller dropship. It was fortunate indeed that the Shells near the Ring were so concentrated; that made it simple to position the prowler between them and the Seagull. That said, as Talon’s tenoin instructor had reminded her so many times, when dalid seems to be smiling on you is when one should really search for an incoming threat.

“Why are they grouping so over that Soia wreck on the Ring surface?” Talon asked, after a long time of silence.

“Hmm? Well, it’s a fragment of a moonship. Even if the Bugs don’t know what it is exactly, they can probably see that it’s built from a lot of the same materials as the Ring’s support structure. I’d actually be more worried if they weren’t curious about it.”

“That is true, yet those are each warships clustered over it. I think maybe that ‘curiosity’ would bring more non-combat vessels, yes?” Even the Shells must have their own equivalent of gallen technical experts too valuable to risk on the front lines; the war would have been over long ago if they hadn’t.

“Good point.” He shrugged. “I guess they remember what happened to them the last time they tried poking around something funny they found on the Ring.” A sharp grin spread across his face, like a hungry predator spotting its next meal. “After all, they found us. Looks like they’re taking no chances about what they think they might find aboard the fragment, this time.”

“Perhaps. If there are surviving warriors of the Soia Empire on that dreadstar piece, what would they do when they met the Shells, do you think?”

“Easy. The same thing the Empire always do when they meet someone who doesn’t kowtow to them immediately: open fire.”

She thought she understood what Alex meant, even with some of his native language sprinkled into the spoken Trade. And the thought of Shells fighting against the Soia was amusing; two enemies of the loroi wasting their energy against one another.

Silence descended over the cockpit once more. Eventually, just as the Ring began to be visible to the eye, Alex spoke “Deceleration burn in twenty solon. That’ll bring us down to safe speed for when we hit atmosphere.”

“Affirmative.” Talon flexed her fingers. It was frustrating not to have any task to perform, instead sitting and watching Alex do all the work. She had never thought that she’d miss flying her old Arrow light interceptor — the terrifying feel of flying a screen-less tiny craft through the thick of a battle, torpedoes and plasma-fire flashing past with every heartbeat — but at least she always had something to do there.

The two craft eased into the Ring’s atmosphere. Rather than the slow increase in air resistance during descent over a planet, the artificial containment of the Ring showed itself as a sudden spike in drag. The prowler bucked slightly underfoot, and the roar of displaced air rushing past filled the cockpit.

“Five-oh-two’s still holding station, good.” Alex muttered. “That was the hard part. Spiral, anything unusual on EWAR?”

“Negative.” the narrat replied. “It is saying that all is normal.”

“Even better. Seagull’s breaking off from us in five… and there they go.”

From underneath the pointed nose of the prowler visible from the cockpit, the gray-green shape of the alien dropship emerged, accelerating towards the island growing ever-larger below.

“And… holding us steady, two klicks up and orbiting the island.”

“Good.” came the Colonel’s voice from behind them as he leaned into the cockpit. “Anything from Five-oh-two?”

“Nope, so that’s good news. We’ve got eyes on them, flaring to hover just outside that security station. Soia sure do build big, I must say. Looks like the ground team is hopping out, and—shit!”

“Weapons-fire!” reported Spiral. Redundantly, as the bright flashes of energy bolts could be seen by eye even at this distance.

“[Plummet, Bravo five-oh-two! The Bugs’ve got ground forces in the station, taking fire!]” A deep hammering noise could be heard over the other human pilot’s radio transmission. “[I’m feeding them the seventy-mike-mike, hope the front of that facility isn’t important. There’s a damn lot of them, th—]”

The transmission cut off abruptly, at the same time as a burst of alarm from Spiral preceded her announcing “The dropship is hit! It is falling to the ground!”

“Fuck, they took a bolt right on the cockpit dome.” Alex ground out. “Shields should have caught it, but maybe it blinded Bullseye or something. They’ve set down on the sand, hard but not a crash.”

“Bring us down, quick.” the Colonel ordered, as he leaned over Alex to tap the radio button. “[Ground team, Fury Actual. Status on Echo Five-oh-two and enemy presence?]”

Talon counted heartbeats while waiting for the response. Three… four… five…

“[Fury Actual, ground team is okay. Little banged up, but the Bugs got it worse.]” A human woman’s voice, impressively calm despite the unexpected fight. Or perhaps it was an ‘ambush’?

A trickle ran down Talon’s spine. Did the Shells somehow know they were coming?

“[Glad to hear it, Cortana. And Bullseye?]”

“[Marines are popping the cockpit seal as we speak. It looks like a high-powered shot pierced the shield and splashed the glass. Possible penetration. And— oh, Hell. Bullseye and co-pilot are alive and stable, but they took spalling damage to the face and upper body. We’ve got two blind pilots down here.]”

“[Understood. Pop the hangar door for us, we’re coming in.]” the Colonel cut the radio, and clapped one hand onto Alex’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re getting kicked back to Seagull pilot. Open-cockpit, too.”

“I’ll wear a scarf.” Alex said, running one hand through his hair even as the Plummet slowed his descent into a hover perhaps sixteen mannal above the shoreline. The artificial Soia structures — well, more obviously artificial than the natural-looking engineered Ring scenery — disappeared out of sight as the prowler nosed forward towards what looked like an empty cliff face.

But Talon had seen its like before. Apparently the Soia liked their hangars hidden. Sure enough, the rock face ahead of them began to slide up and out of the way, and smooth overhead lighting clicked on to show an empty hangar, just large enough for the craft. Perfectly identical to the last Soia hangar she’d seen; a corner of Talon’s mind half-expected to see a Union Hydra dropship sitting in the corner, still waiting for her return.

Yet no, that was in a different identical hangar hidden behind a cliff face on an island in the middle of a beautiful, calm sea. The Soia certainly had a ‘type’ when it came to architectural preferences.

“What has happened?” she asked, once the ship had touched down and Alex should not need all of his attention on flying. Boots clanged loudly against metal from behind them as the ground team immediately left the prowler and ran for the rendezvous point.

“Seagull took fire from the Bugs. Shot hit the cockpit glass, spalling blinded the pilot and copilot. That leaves one qualified Seagull pilot left around here, and you’re looking at him.” His fingers danced across the controls, and the prowler hummed around them as systems powered-down. “Which complicates things a bit.” He looked up at her, even as his hands continued to work by what could only be muscle-memory. “Are you up for learning to copilot a Seagull? Bit of on-the-job training?”

Talon pulled her shoulders back. “There is no machine a tenoin pilot cannot fly!” Now that her caste’s honor had been satisfied, she did have questions. “But it seems like this long flight will be most difficult compared even to normal flying, yes?”

“I’ll handle that. Copilot’s mostly just there for emergencies and to operate the weapons systems. Big gun and a heavy laser on the chin; some missiles under the wings too but we shouldn’t need them underground. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

He stood from his seat and turned to Spiral. “Will you be okay watching the fort here? A few troops from the ground team will be staying behind as a perimeter guard, but if things go very wrong you might need to fly the Plummet out of here in a hurry.”

“I—” Spiral’s voice cut off, and she looked past Alex to meet Talon’s eyes. <That would only happen if you are not coming back.>

<It is possible.> Talon acknowledged. <But we will set off the bomb, no matter what. The Ring will be destroyed, and the Shells will lose.> She cracked a thin smile. <And at least someone from the diral will be there to see it. Promise me.>

“Yes.” Spiral said, speaking to both as she turned her gaze on Alex. “I will do this. But I hope that I will not have to.”

“You and me both.” Alex reached out one hand and grasped Spiral’s shoulder. Then, after a moment of visible hesitation, he pulled the narrat into a hug. Quietly enough that Talon could only barely hear him, he murmured “I’ll bring Talon back, don’t you worry… Seed-Head.”

Spiral froze briefly, eye flitting back to Talon. Then she grinned and put her arms around him, hugging the alien back. “You will, Fireball.”

Well, if there was anybody that the two tenoin would allow to use her and Spiral’s diral-names, it would be Alex.

<May good fortune find you both.> Spiral sent, uncommonly serious. She indicated the offline cockpit display, which had only a bima ago listed the four Union kinetic missiles sitting ready in the Plummet’s weapons bays. Wry amusement shot through her sanzai, laced with fierce determination. <If you do not return, I will burn a Shell ship as your remembrance candle!>

It was a touching promise… and a reminder that playful Maiad or not, Spiral was always a tenoin.

Talon paused in the doorway, Alex already halfway to the rear ramp. <If we do not return, I think it will be because we have lit the whole Ring to our own memory!>

But Talon was smiling as the door closed behind her.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

While jogging over to the almost-crashed Seagull along with the rest of the Plummet’s part of the ground team, they passed a few human marines going the other way, supporting the injured flight crew of the dropship. Synthetic-cloth medical pads covered their eyes, and Talon recognized the viscous ‘biofoam’ where some of it had dripped out from underneath.

Alex paused, just long enough to pat the other pilot on the back. “[No worries, Bullseye, your bird’s in good hands.]”

“[Just have her back by midnight and no funny business, yeah?]”

“[With her honor intact, naturally!]” The two pilots shared a laugh, even as they parted ways.

Hopefully not for the last time.

Once closer to the Seagull, Talon eyed the Shell corpses that were piled around the entrance to the major facility which towered overhead. More than thirty-two workers and twelve hardtroops, in various states of violent disassembly.

As they deserved.

Curiously, one of the hardtroops was missing an entire cybernetic arm, and was slumped against the wall below a large blackened scorch-mark. She allowed her curiosity to leak into her sanzai. What happened here?

<One of the Shells decided to play hero.> came a burst of sanzai, from the teidar sezon standing watch over the field of corpses from off to one side. Her arms were crossed over her armored chest, the black stripe of the Imperial Guard on each pauldron. <It overcharged what must have been a heavy blaster to begin with, and scored a hit on the human dropship. Turns out they aren’t invincible, after all.>

Talon looked again at the hardtroop. It slumped into itself, as if half-melted. She recognized the effect of the energy weapons that the humans used; evidently they had not appreciated their craft being shot down.

Before she could send another question, Talon sent <The interior of the facility is secure?>

<Mallas Deepline is clearing it, along with the Legion warriors.> the sezon paused. <And the human ones.>

Talon lost track of the conversation, as she followed Alex towards the Seagull. The cockpit of the bulky craft was at the extreme front, with the transparent covering raised to show two seats side-by-side. It was arranged much like the prowler’s cockpit, only much smaller.

“Going to get a bit drafty, with that hole in the glass.” Alex said, as he walked around the craft and inspected the thruster nozzles. “Looks like no other damage, at least.” He pressed one finger to the side of his helmet, and Talon heard his voice now stronger from her own radio receiver. “[Who’s crew chief on this bird?]”

“[Yo.]” the answering voice came from the rear of the craft rather than over the radio. A figure waited there, in the shadow of the rear fuselage.

Talon took a step back in shock. She’d heard the story relayed from the prowler’s lead teidar, but—

A loroi male stood there — in armor, like a warrior! — waving one hand at Alex.

“Wise!” Alex exclaimed, spinning on his heel and jogging over. “You old pirate!” the two pulled each other into a hug, armor clattering.

An awkward hug, given the height difference, but clearly a gesture of some familiarity.

“[Bah, you know I’m as happy using my original name, not just the Trade translation.]” the loroi male said as they stepped apart and walked up the ramp. After a moment, Talon pushed herself to go after them. She knew that Alex was a male and yet a warrior, yes, but he was an alien! This was a loroi male! What was he doing in the middle of a firefight; he could have been hurt!

“[Doesn’t feel right anymore. You know, I did get around to reading those old books you loaned me. That really where the name came from?]”

“[I’m a ‘hobbit,’ aren’t I? And I’m even here right now on a quest to destroy a ‘Ring.’]” The male shook his head, green hair bobbing where it coiled down below his non-sealed helmet. He reached up with one hand, tugging at a curl. “[Could’ve been worse. Whichever jarhead coined ‘hobbit’ first did me a favor; I think I’d have ended up being called an ‘Oompa Loompa’ otherwise.]”

“[...What?]” Alex asked, turning sideways to fit through the narrow corridor leading from the passenger bay to the cockpit. “[Now you’re just making these names up.]”

Wise sighed. “[Another book, another time. Look, it’s your people’s history, why do I have to be the one pushing it on you?]”

“[I’ve got my hands full these days, no time to dig into ancient history. And some parts of it, I’m fine with people forgetting. Although now I do understand why Anders was laughing when she gave you that ring.]”

“[She still giggles about it, every time I bring it up.]” the loroi male waited outside the cockpit, turning around to look up at Talon. “[Hey, does your ‘handful’ here speak English?]”

“[No, Trade only. She’s ‘Tenoin Arrir Nesin,’ caste-rank-name.]”

Recognizing her name, Talon drew her shoulders back even as this strange creature looked her up and down. Eventually, the male held out his right hand to her. “I’m Maintainer Wise, crew chief. Welcome aboard my bird, Tenoin Arrir Talon.”

Recognizing the human gesture — as bizarre as it was, coming from a ‘fellow’ loroi — Talon shook his hand after a moment of hesitation. She was used enough to the Legion loroi that she was unsurprised when no sanzai came from the male, even when their gloved hands were in such close contact. Some of his surface thoughts came through, but only as blurred concepts like with most aliens — well, non-human aliens.

Loroi without sanzai — it was still most strange.

“Hey, how’d you end up chief on this bird, anyways?” Alex’s voice came from the cockpit, as Talon squeezed through the narrow passageway after him. That was certainly… one of the many questions that she wished to ask. “I thought they had you running a whole hangar up there these days.”

“Airburn insisted. If she was sending Legion-sisters on this hail-Mary of a mission, she wanted the best Seagull maintainer she knew to ride along. Turns out that’s me. Helped that Anlace’s original crew chief was some junior kid, barely a decade working on ‘gulls. He got booted, so here I am.”

Even the male’s spoken Trade had the same peculiar accent that Alex and the other humans had. Different from that of the Legion loroi. Where had he come from? She took her seat at the left-side console, watching Alex as he worked rapidly through toggles and console readouts.

“Seems like overkill to me.” the human commented distractedly. “Although I’m happy to have you in the back on a mission like this.”

“Hey, this bird’s a quarter-million years old; of course they’d want an experienced hand watching over her on her first flight in that long.”

“Quarter-million years in perfect stasis. She’s fine.”

“And that attitude is why I am the crew chief and you are just the pilot!” even without sanzai, it was not difficult to pick up on the amusement shining out from the male’s mind.

“That so, Master Sergeant?”

“Exactly, Ensign Second-Class. She’s my bird, I'm just letting you borrow her.”

Alex was grinning ear-to-ear, eventually glancing up to meet Talon’s bewildered look. He blinked, frowning briefly, and then said “Right, it’s uh, probably a bit odd for you. Wise here was raised by the UEG before the Soia Civil War. He’s the shortest, bluest human around. Got pulled out of the wreckage of a moonship as a bawling little baby, picked up by ONI as a, uh, ‘sociology experiment.’ God only knows what they were planning to do with him, but it came in handy once Tempest and a bunch more loroi were suddenly on our side. Made it easy to get biologically-compatible logistics scaled up. He ended up arguing his way into the UNSC; turns out he’s a deft hand at anything mechanical.” Alex half-turned to call back with a smirk, “Helps that he’s small enough to fit just about anywhere!”

“[Hey, Ellen says I’m ‘fun-sized’!]”

“And you two know each other?” Talon asked, as the engines behind them came online with a whine. By their obvious familiarity, it must be so.

“Yeah.” Alex reached over and flipped a switch on the center console. The cockpit canopy began to close over them… for what good that would do, with a melted-through hole large enough for Talon to put two fingers through. “He worked with Tempest and the Furies a lot, even got formally adopted into clan Starwind. If Tempest hadn’t hated to see him anywhere near combat, he’d probably have been on Plummet’s permanent crew. Yet here he is now.”

“Hey, what the Old Lady doesn’t know won’t kill h—” came the maintainer’s voice. “Ah, hell. Sorry for bringing that up, kid.”

Alex pursed his lips, and sighed. “No worries, she died doing what she loved: putting her boot up the Soia’s backsides. She’s the reason uncle and the rest of us are here today. You too, actually. Would still be stuck in slipspace if Talon and friends hadn’t stumbled across us.”

With his preparations done, Alex keyed the radio. “Ground team, Fireball. Bravo Five-oh-two is ready for flight.” With that done, he leaned over the center console and began walking Talon through the controls. Fortunately, they were most similar to those of the prowler, at least in terms of the sensors and flight systems.

But the happy difference lay in the armament. “This bird’s pretty old, so the chin laser is paired with a kinetic autocannon. Seventy-millimeter, chews through both targets and ammo very quickly. Trigger is here, and aiming’s slaved to your… right, helmet’s not interoperable. Here, I’ll set it to stick control; trigger’s the same either way. Targeting sight’s fed into the main display, and the ballistic computer is on automatic. Doubt we’ll need it for any fight we might get into underground, though; at close range you can just eyeball it.”

It had tugged at the corner of her mind earlier, but now she was certain of it. Alex seemed to be speaking more fluidly and definitely more confidently than normal, now that he was flying into combat. She had not recently heard any of the strange ‘uh’ word that marked where a human had to pause and let their mind catch up with their mouth. He appeared to be more comfortable approaching a fight than he had been peacefully flying around back in Union space.

Talon nodded. A veteran warrior.

Loud clanging from behind them heralded the return of the ground team. Colonel Jardin radioed in “The tunnel entrance is open and we’re all aboard. Let’s get moving.”

“Lifting off, aye.” Alex said, as the Seagull rose gently into the air, nosing away from the island for a moment before swinging around in a wide arc. He glanced off to one side through the window, before chuckling briefly. To Talon, he said “You know, this island is a regular loroi vacation destination now. Surf, sand, and dead Shells.”

She snorted, but her attention was more fixed on the structure that the dropship was carefully lowering towards. “You are certain that there is enough room for this craft?”

“Yup. Not much, but enough. Good thing Anlace carried a Seagull rather than something even older, like a Pelican or so. Those birds were big. Don’t think I’d want to try and take one of those through here.”

They descended past ground level, faint lights on the outside walls utterly failing to properly illuminate the shaft. Aiming the turret straight down, Talon couldn’t see a bottom even with full magnification. “It seems the most strange to fly an air vehicle down this way.”

“Look on the bright side — the last thing the Shells will expect is an airborne attack from underground.”

Talon nodded at that, even as the doorway overhead slid shut once more, deepening the shadows into which the alien craft descended.

[Tamri]

Oh yes, memories. The beginning of the last normal mission, after which the ass began. The ass that made me abandon the game as a child and finish it normally almost ten years later... Seriously, the first meeting with the Flood was damn hard.

[Urist]

Hehe, yeah. *Everybody* hates The Library. The least-interesting part of the game in my opinion; not surprising since it lacks both the Covenant Grunts and UNSC Marines (the two groups that provide like 90% of the voice dialogue and especially the comic relief for the story).

[Cthulhu]

No idea how well it follows the game, but it was a great, dynamic battle scene on its own.

Just to clarify, "Fireball" is Alex' call sign, and the one who got shot down was "Bullseye", right? I think you switched them a couple of times by mistake.

[Urist]

Just to clarify, "Fireball" is Alex' call sign, and the one who got shot down was "Bullseye", right? I think you switched them a couple of times by mistake.

Good catch - I'd accidentally swapped the two callsigns twice. Thanks for spotting that!

And while previously in this story the most recent scene that was inspired by one from Halo canon was Stillstorm's group's breaching of the STO battery control center (Chapter Four), the last few paragraphs of this chapter are modeled on a cutscene from Halo 1. (Available on YT here: UNSC dropship entering Ring tunnels)

[Urist]

The guard waited on the platform. It was a dull duty, far below the surface, but it was his duty. Each served the Hierarchy in their own way, and this was to be his.

Yet his sensor-stalks shifted slightly with unease, clacking against the armor atop his head. There were too many guards posted out here, far on the perimeter around the crashed ship-fragment believed to date from the hated Soia. He had contacted the other hardtroops to arrange patrol patterns, and counted them. Precious few were on duty protecting the teams inside the ancient fragment.

The thought bothered him. He and his brothers had been made to protect the weaker members of the Hierarchy. It was why he had been given the form he had. The armor which was his carapace, the cameras which were his eyes, the heavy kinetic cannon that was his right arm.

But how was he supposed to carry out his duty if too few of his brothers were present to protect the vulnerable excavation teams? He had reviewed the footage of the aliens discovered elsewhere on this Ring, passed along by the surviving Hal-tik who had been carried along on the ancient Soia structure when it inexplicably traveled such a great distance to this system.

If more of the dangerous creatures revealed themselves aboard this new remnant of the reviled Soia, many of the workers may be cut down before his own brothers could move to suppress the attackers! The thought weighed heavily on his mind, and on that of many of his brothers.

But a treasonous corner of his mind hoped that such combat would emerge. His ship had been on bivouac duty since he was created, and he had not so much as seen a single one of the hated alien threats to the Hierarchy. Not even one of their ships. Oh, to finally sight one of those wretched enemies, to fulfill his purpose and protect his brothers as he was built to do!

A sensor ping interrupted his thoughts, and the hardtroop paused in his patrol. His head turned back and forth, sensor stalks splaying wide in an attempt to triangulate the sound. This far down inside the Soia structure, there were frequent unexplained noises; one of the worker-forms had explained that it was likely maintenance systems running periodically.

But this was different. Rushing air, warbling slightly in pitch. Coming from—

He stepped towards the edge of the platform, towards the great yawning vertical tunnel beyond.

And froze, as a flying vehicle lifted into sight.

His targeting subroutines flashed immediately through their identification checks.

[Vehicle] was not of the Hierarchy. [Vehicle] was not of a Hierarchy subordinate assembly. [Vehicle] was not of the Great Enemy. [Vehicle] did not match any known standard pattern of assembly.

[Vehicle] was unknown.

No visual identification-marks. His primary camera zeroed in on what appeared to be a piloting-center. The light overhead reflected off of what was apparently a form of glass, rendering it opaque.

He cycled through his secondary cameras, switching through optical frequencies until one finally pierced the glare and let him see through.

[ENEMY DETECTED!]

Fast as thought, he snapped off a message to his brothers patrolling nearby even as he brought his cannon online, raising it towards the now-identified craft. If it carried one of the Great Enemy, then it was an Enemy craft!

His communications subroutines barely had time to process that their message did not receive a confirmation signal before a storm of 70mm shells tore him apart.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“And pop goes the weasel. Good shooting, Talon.”

She nodded — it had been very satisfying to see the hardtroop fly apart like that. The other two on the platform followed only solon later.

“EWAR jammed the alert that the Bug sent out.” added Wise from his post in the corridor behind them. “Looks like you were just a little bit slow on the draw there, Annie Oakley.”

“What is a—?” Talon began.

“Tell you later. At least you have an excuse not to know.”

Shaking his head, Alex keyed the mic as the Seagull spun around to back the craft over the platform. “This is the closest access point to the detonation location. Setting her down, now.” The dropship eased down onto its landing legs, and Alex ran one finger along the controls.

“Understood, Fireball. We’ll take it from here.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Fireblade was among the last to exit from the dropship, helping the other loroi of the ground team to move the alien bomb out after them. On its heavy-lift platform the device floated along easily enough, but its sheer mass made it unwieldy to handle without telekinetic assistance.

Mallas Deepline nodded to the human Colonel. “We are ready to proceed.” If her being placed under the command of an alien bothered the Imperial Guard officer, it didn’t come across in her voice. Or her mind-signature.

As expected, from one of that disciplined cadre.

“Understood.” replied the human leader, before nodding to two of his own warriors. The pair loomed over their fellow aliens, easily head-and-shoulders taller than anyone else in the party. “Master Chief, Senior Chief. You two take point. No noise, no prisoners. We’ll move up the bomb behind you, all the way to the target zone.”

The two warriors nodded silently, before turning and walking quickly towards the door leading away from this vast chamber. For being such tall aliens and wearing such bulky armor, they were surprisingly quiet.

And they had been silent during the entire flight over, too. A pleasant change from the rest of their species, who were much too prone to verbal chatter for Fireblade’s preference.

That said, she didn’t appreciate having to walk behind alien warriors. Not when there were Shells to kill. Admittedly, with the sanzai-blocking metal that the Soia had built this entire structure from, the teidar would be limited to line-of-sight only, but that would still be enough for them to clear the path of any patrolling Shells. What could these aliens do that her caste-sisters could not?

Right before her eyes, the two bulky-armored aliens vanished from sight. If she strained her vision, she could pick out a slight disturbance in the air, an oily sort of distortion that continued its motion towards the door.

...So they could do one thing that a teidar could not.

She wanted armor like that.

The rest of the group followed behind the invisible warriors. Tempo sent an impression of the arm-cannon — what was left of it — that had been wielded by the first destroyed hardtroop. <This one was armed with a physical-projectile weapon instead of a blaster cannon. These hardtroops are planetary-garrison forces, not shipborne troops.>

Mallas Deepline acknowledged. <Which indicates that either the Shells have already begun to move dedicated forces onto the Ring in large numbers rather than rely on marines from nearby ships, or a Hierarchy troop-transport force happened to be passing through the system when the Ring transited here.>

Either way, it heralded more difficulty for their mission.

Padding silently through ancient corridors past large open chambers and narrow corridors, Fireblade could not entirely suppress the feeling of awe at her surroundings. She had, like all other teidar cadets, visited the ancient ruins on neighboring Mezan. Had marveled at the ancient structures, felt the surge of pride as her instructor described how the Loroi had the right — had the duty! — to retake their ancestor’s place astride the galaxy.

But those had been ruins. This… ‘space station’ was still operational. The machinery hummed softly as the group passed it by, still serving some unknown purpose even after hundreds of thousands of years.

She could not tell if the complete silence of the other warriors — both loroi and alien — was evidence that they too felt the same awe, or simply a mark of their veteran status.

Although evidently, the two invisible special-forces warriors were at least not too distracted. The seven dead hardtroops that the group passed were evidence enough of that: empty husks lying in a pile on the floor, each with a single hand-width hole in their thorax leaking cerebral-suspension fluid.

<Pallan Fireblade,> sent Mallas Deepline as she eyed one of the fallen enemies in passing, <have you instructed the humans on where to strike hardtroops with such precision?>

<Negative, Teidar Mallas.> she replied. <They seem to have discovered such on their own.>

And it was an impressive display of accuracy. Fireblade herself preferred to use more… 'visceral' attacks against the hated Enemy, but that was in large part because of her imprecise control over her powers. Every teidar, herself included, had trained on how to dispatch any enemy most rapidly. Telekinetic usage might not exhaust the user, but when fighting against a Shell hardtroop and its cybernetically-enhanced reaction speeds, every fraction of a solon counted.

Fireblade added with grudging admiration <They have placed their shots perfectly into each hardtroop’s brain-core.> Which gave the enemy a quicker death than they deserved, but at least prevented them from raising an alarm. That said, the fact that the humans had known where to strike implied that their armor suits must have some form of sensor suite beyond what most warriors carried.

<Not 'shots.'> Mallas Deepline commented cryptically, her side-channels muted. <Look more closely.>

With a frown, Fireblade examined the next hardtroop as she stepped over its slumped body. One hole bored deep into its body, just like the others.

But at the same time unlike the hardtroops which she had seen engaged by human small-arms fire so many nanapi ago aboard this very Ring. Those energy bolts had melted their way into the target; here a hole had been…

<Punched.> Deepline sent.

Fireblade blinked, looking up at the Mallas’s back as the senior teidar continued down the corridor. <It… yes.> She knelt, holding one hand next to the gaping hole in the hardtroop half again as wide as her own balled fist. No energy burns, no marks other than the bent-inwards armored exoskeleton.

She stood, glancing around her as the rest of the team stepped past. What were those special-armored human warriors?

Colonel Jardin stepped up next to her, making room for his team of Helljumpers to escort the bomb past the two of them. He caught her eye, and dropped his gaze briefly to the dead hardtroop at her feet. “Spartans being efficient as always.”

One of his people muttered in passing “[Spartans showing off; what else is new?]”

That gave a name — apparently — to these strange warriors. ‘Spartans.’ Perhaps an alien attempt to approach the power of a trained teidar? Or rather, one of the Soia’s Guards.

<That is my assumption.> Tempo sent, waiting at the bend in the corridor, eyes on Fireblade. <And if they are warriors specially-trained to fight Guards, it was perhaps wise of the Colonel to send them ahead of our formation. They are likely to be… uncomfortable around teidar or other loroi wearing amplifiers.>

Fireblade shrugged, as she quickened her pace to catch up with the rest of the Union loroi in the middle of the group’s rough formation. <They seemed to have any such discomfort under control during the flight over. It is not our problem.>

<Not for now, no.> Tempo replied.

The group passed through another door… and into a howling snowstorm. A bridge of smooth, exposed Soia-metal stretched out ahead, disappearing into flurries of flakes blowing almost horizontally.

“[Great, the Soia built a ‘Michigan’ section on their damn Ring.” grumbled one of the Helljumpers. “[I might as well have never left home.]”

Thankful for the warmth of her undersuit, Fireblade followed the other Teidar out onto the bridge. Even now with her senses unconstrained by being inside an underground structure of Soia metal, the sheer lack of any signatures other than her fellow loroi around her was… eerie. Even the humans were still undetectable; apparently each of them had one of those lotai-implants. But why did they have them activated? The Shells didn’t—

Mallas Deepline froze mid-step, dropping to one knee and staring up at the white-dashed sky overhead. Her right arm shot out to the side, flashing through a series of gestures. It took a moment for Fireblade to recognize Teidar command-gestures — she hadn’t seen them used since her academy days on Deinar!

{Hostile mind-presence. Cease sanzai. Contact-transmission only.}

Fireblade’s pulse jumped even as she clamped down on her subconscious sanzai. Such a command was only given when there was a hostile sanzai-user nearby. But who!?

Tempo also froze, helmet staring towards Deepline’s signals. It didn’t exactly surprise Fireblade that the mizol knew the command-gestures. Beryl took another step, unaware until Tempo’s hand snatched at the listel’s shoulder and pulled her to a halt.

Fireblade could not detect any hint of the flurry of contact-sanzai that must have raced between the two of them… good.

Deepline glanced back over her shoulder, waving Tempo forward to her. In turn, Tempo gestured for Fireblade to follow.

Both of them rested one hand on the Mallas’s back between armor plates, the close contact — even with the underlayer — allowing for nigh-undetectable sanzai. <Mizol Parat, I have detected a distant mind-signature… overhead. It is distant, but strong.> Deepline pointed off into the sky.

Fireblade focuses her senses in that direction. For several solon, nothing. Then—

She blinked. That was indeed a strong mind, to be so visible at such a range. She could only sense it very faintly; Deepline must be very well-trained to have noticed such a signature.

<It is not loroi.> noted Deepline.

<Troubling.> sent Tempo.

“What is it?” Colonel Jardin loomed over the three loroi, one hand resting on the alien carbine slung across his chest. Behind him, the rest of the human warriors could be seen kneeling at the side of the bridge, weapons up and scanning the impenetrable snow-haze. They might not understand Deepline’s hand-gestures, but experienced warriors would recognize something unexpected.

“You might know as well as us.” Tempo responded. “Mallas Deepline has detected a mind-signature. Powerful, loroi-like but not loroi.”

He turned to look in the direction that the lead teidar had pointed to, but presumably could not see any better through the driving snow than the loroi could.

Fireblade felt Deepline concentrate, a solon before the Mallas punched a flat disk of air forward, momentarily thinning the hazy snow in a tunnel leading up into the sky.

For no more than a beat or two, all on the bridge who looked up could see the colossal wreckage of that Soia ship where it lay draped across the Ring, stretching overhead in an arc and disappearing over the mountainous horizon.

“[Damn. Looks like Tempest missed one.]” the Colonel whispered, voice barely audible over the wind. Louder, he continued in a slow drawl “It can only be one thing: a living Soia.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The group redoubled their speed, moving as quickly as the cargo platform that carried the bomb could go. Human and loroi alike threw periodic uneasy glances overhead, moving from shadow to shadow as they followed the Colonel’s path to their destination while trying to keep out-of-sight from what they now knew lurked overhead.

But it still didn’t answer the question of how a Soia could still be alive. The Colonel had seemed so certain that Tempest had killed them all — at the cost of her own life — and yet it appeared that there was little else that this could be.

The gigantic chunk of crashed dreadstar was the most likely culprit. Perhaps one of the Soia who had confronted Tempest aboard it had managed to escape her wrath and survive whatever final catastrophe had shattered the vessel?

It made the presence of so many Shell vessels nearby all the more unnerving. The Enemy were dangerous enough on their own; what could they learn if they had captured an actual Soia?

Fireblade jogged alongside the bomb carrier, taking comfort from its lethal bulk. No matter what the Shells were up to, it would all become moot in only a few thousand solon.

...although that still didn’t explain just where the Shells actually were. After the few dozen hardtroops patrolling the structure where the ground team had left the human dropship, no more of the Enemy had been sighted. Just empty canyons and howling wind.

Most strange.

“There’s our target.” Colonel Jardin announced as a final door slid open to reveal a massive, pyramidal structure.

“Subtle.” Beryl commented, dry humor in her voice.

The human leader snorted. “The Soia weren’t known for their humility. And they loved their architecture.”

Or rather, they still did. At least for now.

It was somehow even more unsettling for there to be no enemies to fight as the group ascended the pyramid, level-by-level. Nearly twenty warriors, weapons at hand, constantly scanning the perimeter yet finding nothing.

Halfway up, Mallas Deepline paused for a moment. She craned her neck back, helmet visor staring now almost straight-up. <The 'Soia' mind-signature just disappeared. Can any of you detect it?>

A beat later, and the other Union loroi in the party chorused their negative responses. Fireblade focused as best she could on the driving snow above, but indeed could not sense even a hint of the alien presence that she had earlier seen.

"Colonel, the Soia is no longer detectable." Tempo relayed. "What could this mean?"

"Nothing good, we can assume." The party rounded a corner in the zig-zagging ramp which led to the top of the pyramidal structure. "If we're incredibly lucky, the Shells just killed her in a fight. Otherwise, she's hiding her signature... which implies she thinks there's other of you sanzai-users around."

They redoubled their pace, teidar taking turns to telekinetically shove the heavy bomb faster up the slope.

The doors at the top of the building — if ‘door’ was enough of a descriptor for the massive slabs of Soia metal, easily large enough to fly a large shuttle or small pinnace through — slid aside. A long corridor, just as oversized, stretched beyond. And behind those distant doors…

“This is it. The Ring’s Command Center.” Colonel Jardin explained.

Few paid much attention to him; instead, all eyes drank in the chamber large enough to house a frigate, holographic projections of the Ring and nearby planets looming overhead.

The humans and the Legion loroi recovered first, pressing onwards towards the center. Perhaps they had seen functioning — no, intact! — Soia machinery before. But the Union warriors took a few solon longer to follow their allies.

“It is amazing...” breathed Beryl, turning this way and that, drinking in the sight. “To know that this was built so long ago, before any of the Sister Worlds were even settled! It is a truly majestic sight.”

“And we’re going to blow it all up.” deadpanned one of the three Legion loroi. The first words that Fireblade had heard from the otherwise-silent trio during the entire mission.

Fireblade caught the slight twitch of her close friend at those words, and rested one hand on Beryl’s shoulder. In tight, short-range sanzai, she sent <It has to be done.>

<I know. But I do not like it. Such an ancient relic, such knowledge, gone forever.>

<We still have the two Legion dreadstars.>

Beryl’s muted signature glowed dully with humor, despite the situation. <That is perhaps something of a consolation.> She turned her helmet, smiling thinly at Fireblade.

With one last squeeze of her hand, the teidar stood back as Colonel Jardin joined the group of Union loroi. “My people have the bomb in position.” Indeed, a few paces behind him the human warriors could be seen arranging the bomb so that it rested on the lip of the platform, poised to plummet into the unknown depths below. “That’s now our backup plan.”

“Then what is your new primary goal?” asked Tempo.

“If one Soia survived, others might have as well. And as long as any of them draw breath, we’re not safe. Not the Legions, not the UNSC… not the Union. I’ve got my people working on a new plan.”

A flash of movement caught Fireblade’s eye, as one of the human special-warriors emerged from invisibility standing next to the mostly-holographic console at the end of the platform. The Helljumpers nearby flinched away: apparently such invisibility was as unnerving to them as it was to the loroi. The alien reached up to the back of their neck and then extended the same hand to the console.

“What do you request from us?” Tempo said, right arm on one hip and left foot extended. Fireblade knew that stance, and the unease which must be flowing through the mizol’s mind for her to slip into it unconsciously as she often did under such circumstances.

A blade-duelist’s stance, reflexively trained from Tempo’s own days at the mizol academy as she had told to Fireblade many years ago. It had… not been surprising to learn that mizol were trained to win the sort of duels — both formal and informal — which their caste’s actions tended to generate.

“For now? Stay here, guard the bomb. If all goes well, we will return.”

‘Return?’ Fireblade furrowed her brow, even as a holographic image of a large human female grew into view above the ancient console.

“[Oh, how I’ve missed Soia systems! There’s nothing like them.]”

Colonel Jardin turned around to face the human… artificial intelligence? But why would such a machine choose to adopt a human guise? “[Focus, Cortana. Can you reach into the—]”

Fireblade couldn’t follow their language, but it certainly sounded like the AI interrupted even the senior human warrior.

“[Comms network? Already have. Fireball’s on his way, flying treetop between the canyons. He says they won’t see him, and I believe him.]” The human image glanced aside, cocking its hip and raising one hand to trace along invisible lines. Such mannerisms, from a machine? “[And what do we have here? Looks like the Soia forgot to firewall off their sensor networks from the comms.]”

“[Keep a low profile; we must not be detected.]”

The AI waved its hand dismissively. “[Relax, their brainless systems couldn’t catch me back when my code-base was 100% UNSC. Legion upgrades and decades later, do you really think they have a chance now? Give me a second to access… yes, there’s Bravo Five-oh-two. Took me almost three seconds to spot them, so the Bugs would need an hour. We’ll be fine. And...]” the AI glanced aside, before its eyes widened in a clear simulacrum of shock. “[Oh. Oh no. Colonel, get your people hidden, now!]”

“[What is it?]” The Colonel’s voice had jumped in volume, and all of the human warriors visibly gripped their weapons tighter and scanned around the room.

“[Alien dropship just took off from that moonship fragment and it’s making a beeline for this location! Anyone want to take a bet just who is onboard, knowing our luck?]”

Jardin whirled, half-shouting to Tempo and Deepline “Back to the entrance corridor, at a run! There’s a maintenance side-passage just past the inner door that turns off to the side; keep at least an arm’s-length of Soia metal between you and the main corridor at all times! We’ve got a Soia incoming in-person, in just under—” he gestured to the projection behind him.

“Three-hundred solon!” finished the AI. “[Chief, yank me. I’ve covered my tracks in this system.]”

The large human warrior pulled something from the console, presumably an AI chip. Meanwhile, Jardin barked orders to the rest of his warriors “[Anders, you and the Senior Chief get that bomb over the side and down the chasm. Hold it steady when you’re out-of-sight from up here, and drop it at my signal... or your discretion, if we are overrun.]”

The other invisible human warrior appeared next to the bomb, and worked with one of the Helljumpers to lift the bulky device off of its cart. Then, as if it were the most normal thing to do, they both stepped off of the side of the platform and plunged out of sight.

Fireblade took a step to the side, leaning over the edge of the platform. Two human warriors fell away into the distance, intermittently-flaring thruster plumes revealing their plan to do something other than plummet down forever. A controlled descent, then, if still a rapid one.

Crazy people, these aliens.

Her kind of crazy.

Sprinting to catch up with the rest of the loroi, Fireblade caught up with them just barely ahead of the humans. The group as a whole crowded into the narrow maintenance-tunnel that the Colonel had indicated would be there, and ducked around where it bent at a right-angle some ten mannal away from the main outer corridor.

“How much time remains?” Mallas Deepline asked, the situation evidently having escalated enough for the teidar to speak aloud directly rather than relay her questions through Tempo.

“One-hundred solon.” came the AI’s voice, but projected from the armored bulk of the ‘Master Chief.’ Unless the hulking warrior was only a mechanical body for the AI? “Assuming that that shuttle lands just outside at the top of the pyramid.”

“But it is a Hierarchy shuttle?” asked Jardin. “Not Soia?”

“Yes. We’re that lucky, at least. Whatever the Bugs found aboard that wreck, it might just be limited to a single Soia.”

“[Here’s hoping.]” Jardin said.

All went silent then, as the faintest of tremors could be felt underfoot.

“Right on time.” the human AI muttered, before raising his voice to a hissed command. “Follow radio silence, no sound or emissions. Chief, we engage on your signal.”

The Chief’s hands flashed through a series of rapid alien hand-gestures, a solon before the warrior vanished from sight once more. Colonel Jardin carefully took his place, kneeling just on this side of the corner. With no door sealing off the maintenance tunnel, all could hear the clack-clack-clack of Shell footsteps, growing ever louder.

It had… been some time since she last had to sit still and listen to the hated Enemy, rather than destroy them as soon as she could pinpoint their location. Fireblade’s hands twitched, and she balled them into fists to stop the reflexive action. To have the Shells so close at hand and yet have to wait…!

What was strange, though, was that they only heard the Enemy’s footsteps. None of their harsh, grating speech; perhaps it was a force consisting solely of hardtroops? Nor could Fireblade sense any trace of the 'Soia's earlier mind-signature.

That was bad news: it implied that the enemy expected opposition here. Had the ground team been detected, somehow? If the enemy had already realized that their patrolling sentries underground were not reporting in, would they have assumed that the control center was the target?

Fireblade grimaced. Of course they would; the Shells were evil, not stupid.

But the Colonel had warned that a ‘live Soia’ may be coming; where was she?

Then suddenly, a voice spoke aloud— and Fireblade’s stomach fell.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Tempo frowned, reflexively leaning forwards as if that would make the words make sense. In Spoken Trade — accented, but recognizable — a commanding voice which she would have sworn was loroi intoned “—uite the surprise, but a… pleasant one. Perhaps we were destined to meet again, here at the end.”

The voice made her skin crawl — just that little bit deeper than a normal loroi’s, and it… ‘echoed’ for lack of a better word. As if—

Her eyes shot wide open. As if the words were received by her mind via sanzai, even through what had to be several mannal of Soia metal in the walls!

Tempo double-checked that her own mind-signature was as suppressed as she could make it. That had never been one of her particular specialties among the mizol, but it was a skill which she had practiced. Thankfully. And if this Soia — for who else, what else could the voice be? — was strong enough to be received even through such disruption, then Tempo did not want to run any risk of detection.

A tap on her shoulder, and she turned.

Fireblade’s piercing gaze tore into her own, the teidar’s eyes wide-open. If Tempo hadn’t known the veteran warrior better, she could have said that Fireblade looked… ‘scared.’

The teidar quickly — but silently! — removed the armored covering of the tip of one finger from her left-hand gauntlet, gesturing for Tempo to do the same. A technique used by those loroi who had had to fight against others of their own kind, to communicate via sanzai through direct touch and thus absolutely undetectably.

<The voice!> Fireblade all but shouted, her sanzai strong enough that Tempo’s head rocked backwards slightly out of instinct. <I recognize it!>

<What.> Tempo’s mind responded on instinct before her thoughts could catch up.

<It is the Lenni of Leinnazalat! I would know it anywhere!> Fireblade’s anguished sending was accompanied by memories… of what she had seen, what she had felt on Seren.

Tempo’s blood froze. Of all the stories to come out of the Siege, Fall, and Liberation of Seren, one of the few still remembered — besides Fireblade the ‘Semago’ herself — was the ‘Spy of Fire-city.’ A mysterious loroi who had been reported — or at least her voice; none had set eyes on her and lived to tell the tale — by several of the survivors of the Shells’ abominable testing facilities.

A loroi who had seemed to work alongside the Enemy.

Most all had assumed that it was a loroi who had shamefully chosen to work for the Shells to spare her cowardly life — the more extreme stories claimed that she may have done so even long before the fall of Seren — and that name stuck. None had ever seen her face, and many in the Union had wanted to dismiss such an utterly-unbelievable story, but seven surviving witnesses from three different facilities, each of whose memories matched those of the others, had forced the Union to accept that one of their people had indeed betrayed them to the worst Enemy which the loroi had yet faced. An unknown loroi whose appearance at one of those monstrous facilities had always preceded the more… vile experiments inflicted upon the prisoners there.

And now one of those survivors was staring Tempo in the face, her skin visibly paling by the solon. It was… unsettling to see the normally tough-as-armor teidar so obviously shaken.

<Then you will have vengeance for Seren.> Tempo sent, even as her mind whirled at the implications. If the Spy of Fire-city had not been a loroi, but a Soia… how had she come to be there, so many years before the discovery of this Ring? Had the Shells found the Ring and the crashed human transport so long ago, perhaps even before the beginning of the war? Then why was their lotai offensive so delayed, if they had had access to pilfered human and Soia artifacts for all this time?

None of it made any sense.

<I… yes.> Fireblade’s mind stammered.

Without breaking skin contact, Tempo wrapped her hand around Fireblade’s, pulling it into a tight grip. With all the certainty that she felt — and perhaps a bit more — she sent <You can. You will.> She squeezed her friend’s hand, and after a solon felt a response. Soft at first, but then came the strength — of both body and mind — that she knew to be at Fireblade’s core.

Tempo let go and moved past Fireblade, rolling her feet with each step and taking great care to make no sound whatsoever as she approached the Colonel. It had been some years since she had last put that particular aspect of her mizol training — and experience — to work, but it all came back to her now.

Setting one hand gently against the human leader’s helmet, she set her own helmet against her hand and slowly established silent contact. “Colonel Jardin, Pallan Fireblade and I believe that this Soia is ‘known’ to the Union. As an enemy.” The alien twitched under her hand, unsurprisingly. His eyes widened briefly, before a calculating look took over. “We will explain, once we understand how this has come to be. But I must ask that Fireblade and I move to see this Soia with our own eyes, immediately.”

“I… see. We’ll try to leave enough of her in one piece for you to look at after the shooting’s done. But for now, follow me.”

The three of them slowly made their way out of the corridor as stealthily as possible, half-crouched and with rank tabs dark, pausing every few solon to listen. Shell footsteps echoed off of the ancient walls, but much less loudly than they had earlier. The Enemy had passed them by and entered the inner room.

And all this time, the voice had continued.

“—magine my dismay, once these idiotic new servants finally crawled their way off of their homeworld and reported to me what they found in their searching through the stars. A galaxy lost and adrift without the Empire, chaos everywhere as a hundred unguided species sought to make their own blind way through the cosmos, bereft of guidance.”

Tempo held her breath, ears straining to pick up a response. Who was the Soia speaking to? And why?

Only silence. And then the clacking speech of the Hierarchy. A hardtroop, by the pitch of it. Tempo’s Ikkukhak wasn’t the greatest, but she could follow enough of the report.

“{Room} is empty. Perimeter is established outside {Room}.”

Was the Soia… talking to the Shells? It didn’t seem to fit quite right.

“And then your traitor daughters appeared. Fallen back to near-barbarity, of course, given all this time without their betters. You will meet them soon enough, once they are brought to heel. Perhaps another decade, no more. It is a challenge to remove the enhancements which you so unwisely granted them, but I have found ways around that.”

Tempo's blood froze in her veins. It... no. It couldn't be.

The trio reached the side of the grand doorway leading into the inner chamber, Jardin and Tempo exposing their helmets as little as possible to see around the corner.

Nearest to them, six hardtroops stood carrying a large metal box. The side facing Tempo was perhaps two mannal wide by one tall, and by the number of hardtroops holding it it must be twice that long. Another Umiak, a ‘normal’ one, stood dwarfed by the hardtroops as it tapped away on a holographic keyboard projecting from the side of the box.

And beyond them, a silhouette stood at the end of the projecting platform, backlit by the holographic gas giant.

A loroi-shaped silhouette… although standing half again as tall as the hardtroops waiting obediently in her shadow.

It struck Tempo that she was the first mizol to put eyes on the Spy of Fire-city. A figure that her entire caste had wanted to get their hands on, once they had decided that she was more than a mere figment of traumatized minds.

And she was a Soia.

Without turning, the Soia continued “And now they have delivered this Installation into my hands by their own actions! You see how they continue their self-destructive blind scrabbling? They truly do not know any better. But they will learn. I will add them to the grand symphony of a new Empire — My Empire — and this Ring shall be my Instrument.”

...Was she talking to herself? The Shells weren’t moving or otherwise reacting to her speech — although reading their body language was difficult even for a trained mizol — and there seemed to be nobody else present in the room. Facing towards the control console as she was, perhaps the Soia was addressing her speech to some entity contacted through that machine? A distant contact… or a Soia AI present in the system? Could the human AI have missed something like that?

There were far too many unknown variables to be certain of anything. And Tempo did not like any of the scenarios that she could imagine to explain the content of the Soia’s monologue.

The Soia’s head twitched, and both Tempo and the Colonel immediately ducked out of sight before she could turn around.

Tempo suppressed a flinch as she now came face-to-face with Mallas Deepline, crouched next to Fireblade. Behind the two teidar, the rest of the mixed Union-Legion-UNSC warrior band waited, all eyes on their leaders. They were quieter than she'd expected. Good.

Tempo grimaced. The humans evidently planned to attack the Soia directly, on a ‘signal’ from that invisible warrior of theirs somewhere else in the vast chamber. But this position was not suited for any sort of firefight: there was room for maybe three warriors to fire around the corner of the doorway, from a position with at least some cover.

But there was no other source of protection within many mannal of that position. How were they supposed to take out the six hardtroops nearest them, the eight others patrolling further away on the platform, and a Soia of all things!?

Tempo took a breath, inhaling the filtered air of her helmet. They would do this as Warriors of the Union. It was her duty, and she had faced harder fights before. And won each one.

She just didn’t want to think of how many caste-sisters hadn’t survived those fights.

Colonel Jardin was gesturing again, first rapidly to his own warriors, and then pointing at Mallas Deepline to get her attention. He pointed at her, then down at the ground. Himself, then two of his warriors, then the far side of the doorway.

Ah. Well, if the aliens were brave — or insane — enough to attempt to cross that open ground when the firefight began, then they were welcome to it.

He continued, tapping one finger against his chest, then the weapon slung across his chest. Then pointed the same finger at the wall towards the enemy, before spreading that hand into a flat palm held above his head, raising.

The alien repeated this strange sequence once more before Tempo understood. The humans would focus on engaging the Soia, leaving the hardtroops to the loroi.

And so they waited for whatever ‘signal’ the invisible human soldier would give to start the ambush. Solon trickled past, each one longer than the last.

Over the group radio channel, a single ‘click’ sounded, deafeningly loud in the absolute silence.

Bioplas undersuit material creaked slightly, as eight loroi helmets snapped to look at Colonel Jardin. Was that the—?

The human held up one hand, five fingers splayed wide. Then retracted one: four.

Three.

Deepline nodded, flashing her own signal to her caste-sisters. ‘Attack imminent.’

Two.

One.

[Urist]

[Chapter split in two due to character-count limits]

The human leader was the first around the corner, energy weapon blazing even as it rose from its sling position to the alien’s shoulder.

Tempo was right behind him, laspistol lined up on the nearest hardtroop even before she rounded the corner.

Just as she did so, the Soia disappeared in a blinding flash of light, the afterimage of a bright-red energy beam as it lanced out from a point against the far wall burned into Tempo’s retina.

Part of her mind rejoiced at the easy victory… but the twenty-five-year war veteran part of her mind overrode it. Few things were ever so easy in combat.

Her target hardtroop shattered under multiple maximum-power laser impacts, but the pistol in her hand beeped shrilly as it was forced into a cooling cycle. A downside of carrying the smaller weapon instead of the blaster carbines preferred by soroin and many teidar. The pistol would cool fast, but it still needed more than three solon to be ready again.

An eternity, in a gunfight.

But as calculated, the box carried by the hardtroops began to fall once deprived of one of its carriers.

Just as the near corner impacted the floor with a resounding clang, Deepline stepped up next to Tempo. The teidar flared her powers and the box slammed to the side, bowling over two more hardtroops.

Boots rang against plating behind Tempo as the human warriors sprinting past her, hurling blood-blue bolts of energy into anything that moved.

Yet even the sudden assault was not fast enough to down all of the hardtroops before the Enemy could get their bearings. Seven of their number had fallen — one to Tempo, two more pinned by the box, another trio telekinetically hurled off of the platform to fall to their deaths, and one last crumpled into a black-bleeding ball of twisted plating in what could only be Fireblade’s work — but that was only half of the hardtroops in the room.

Quick as lightning, the surviving Hierarchy troops swiveled their torsos towards the loroi, lined up the mismatched array of weapons built into them, and opened fire.

A railgun round slammed into the doorframe an arm’s length to Tempo’s right, fragments whistling past her.

A blaster bolt soared overhead, close enough to spike the temperature in her helmet unpleasantly high.

And at her left, a sanzai cry of pain was quickly suppressed as one of the teidar ducked back into cover, clutching the explosively-truncated ruin of her left forearm.

Tempo glanced aside. Good — it was not Fireblade. Grimacing at the selfish thought, Tempo crouched aside to clear the firing line for those with working weapons.

One of the Legion warriors leaned over her, Dustfall Biriren Coldstream yanking the wounded teidar past her and shoving the Union loroi towards the human doranzer. “Healer, see to her.” The grim-eyed biriren’s own weapon roared back at the enemy, shadows dancing even against the brightly-lit walls of the Soia building.

The three human warriors, now halfway to the other side of the doorway, were the next to feel the Hierarchy’s bite. A railgun round slammed low into one of them in an eye-searing flash of light, taking the alien’s feet out from under him and knocking his helmet visor-first into the floor.

But the human still fought on, armor dented but unbroken as he rose to one knee and put two energy bolts into the hardtroop that had fired on him.

Those personal-scale energy shields of theirs would be very useful right now, Tempo thought with a twinge of jealousy. They made the hectic fight almost sa—

A green pulse of energy detonated against the same warrior’s chestplate in a blinding explosion, and when Tempo blinked vision back into her eyes the human was ten paces backwards. Lying limp on his back, armor smoking.

Amidst the shattered hardtroops and scorch-marks burned into the floor plating, the Soia stood. Her robes swirled around her, smoking but otherwise unmarked by the human energy impact from earlier.

In her raised right hand she held a pistol of unknown design, barrel glowing dully. Without looking at the mixed human and loroi warriors, she spat “Enough of this farce. Your daughters come for you? Then let them piece you back together in what time they have left.”

The Soia placed one booted foot against the upturned box in front of her, and pushed.

The container which had been clearly heavy enough — or perhaps just bulky? — to be barely carried by six hardtroops rolled and skittered across the floor… before disappearing over the side and plummeting out of sight.

Over the group radio channel, Colonel Jardin barked “[Senior chief, Anders! Catch that pod, leave the bomb!]” He sprinted past Tempo, weapon shouldered and trained on the Soia. Aloud, he growled “Surrender, Minister. This ends here.”

For over a solon, there was silence. The Soia — the ‘Minister’? — did not bother to look over her shoulder as the remaining hardtroops behind her fell to a final volley of loroi fire.

All weapons in the room now trained on one figure. One who stood tall surrounded by death, a sneer on her sharp-lined face as she stared down at the human leader.

Then “It does. But not for me.” Swirls of golden light rose around her feet. Even as the rising motes began to shield her from view, her arm with the pistol snapped aside and fired.

But not at Jardin — a glowing bolt instead obliterated the control console at her side.

The humans fired on her immediately, cyan bolts slamming home into the Soia.

And the shots which obliterated hardtroops with ease simply disappeared into the flashing shield that surrounded the ancient being.

Loroi blaster-fire performed no better.

And—

<I cannot impact her telekinetically!> sent Mallas Deepline, naked shock leaking through the veteran teidar’s sanzai. <It is as if she is not physically present!>

A bright flash of light, and the Soia disappeared.

Tempo frowned. The Soia had evidently been actually present — as the downed ODST could verify — but… ‘immune’ to telekinesis? Tempo would have said that it was impossible, but evidently not so for the Soia.

“That was a short-range teleport! No more than a kilometer.” Colonel Jardin barked, pointing to his second-in-command. “Palmer, their dropship’s outside. Take it out!” As the surviving human warriors of their group sprinted for the outside doorway, he turned back and ran to the side of the platform. “[Anders, status on the pod?]”

Another human replied “[Secure, sir. Little banged up, but it’s still functioning.]”

“[Thank God.]” His shoulders slumped, and the human whirled to face Tempo. “The Soia’s running. If she gets a message to those Bug ships overhead, we’re in a world of trouble. Even if she doesn’t, they’re bound to figure out something’s gone wrong soon enough. Get your people outside, we’re evacuating as soon as we can.”

His words were superfluous — the rest of the loroi besides Tempo had ran for the exit as soon as the Soia had disappeared, with the telekinetically-enhanced speed that only experienced teidar could muster.

But Tempo paused, eyes dropping to the floor plates… and to where that mysterious Soia box had disappeared. “What was in that container? Weapons? Data?”

“Not what. Who. It is a Soia medical-support pod.”

And the human had evidently been very concerned for its safety, and the Soia had been talking as if to…

Tempo’s eyes widened. No, it couldn’t be—

“Go!” the alien ordered, as two human warriors ascended slowly from the abyss behind him, suit-thrusters flaring brightly as they struggled to lift the battered Soia ‘pod.’ “Fireball’s on his way, we leave as soon as he gets here. Soia or no Soia.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Fireblade was only a few mannal behind the other teidar as they bolted out into the snowy landscape beyond the outer door. An accomplishment of which she was rather proud, given that the caste-sisters selected for the Azerein’s Guard could each match her for sheer telekinetic strength — well, almost — and greatly exceeded her own precision of control over their powers.

And hurling one’s own body forwards while sprinting, without falling even as one’s feet bounded across the floor, was… ‘challenging.’

But for all that, their only reward was to see the glaring thrusters of a Shell transport as it ascended into the sky. Already distant enough that it was impossible to accurately judge distance.

Not that that stopped the teidar from trying. Ten eyes stared skywards, each loroi straining to lay her powers accurately on target.

The dropship bobbed slightly, one engine briefly sputtering as some wisp of telekinetic force pulled at it. But the craft kept on, disappearing out of sight.

“Colonel Jardin. The enemy dropship has escaped.” To her credit, Mallas Deepline’s voice betrayed little of the sheer frustration that glowed around her mind-signature.

“[Damn.]” the human replied. Then, “Cortana, ETA on those Bug ships getting into weapons range?”

“The files the Union provided showed those vessels as armed primarily with plasma weapons. They will have to enter the atmosphere and close within several kilometers to have any effect with those… but their missile systems are another matter. And—” the machine gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m locked out of the wireless access points, and the console’s been slagged. Without that, I don’t have eyes on what those ships are doing right now. Best guess? If she started screaming bloody murder as soon as she got out to her ship, we have five minutes before they get a missile down here.”

“That doesn’t give us much time...” the human mused, before raising his voice. “Mallas Deepline, Biriren Coldstream, get your people and my Helljumpers back to the Seagull, as fast as you can manage. The Spartans and I will follow. If we’re not there in four minutes... leave without us.”

Fireblade frowned. The human leader and their two most-elite warriors were tarrying behind? Perhaps they needed the time to rig their bomb. She looked behind her, seeing the aliens kneeling by the side of that box the hardtroops had been carrying earlier.

The non-teidar warriors only now arrived at the entrance, understandably slowed by carrying their non-mobile wounded from the fight. The one human warrior who had gone down was slung across the shoulders of two of his comrades, their doranzer hurrying alongside and applying biofoam even as they moved. The wounded one’s blackened and torn armor heaved with each labored breath.

By the crimson alien blood that spattered the inside of the warrior’s visor with each wet cough, Fireblade wouldn’t put his chances as too high. But then again, these aliens were full of surprises.

The group hurried down the ramps that they had ascended not too long ago, and Tempo ran up alongside Fireblade. The mizol’s mind was shielded, her thoughts unusually obscured from her friend.

At Fireblade’s wordless pulse of curiosity, Tempo merely shook her head. <A… thought of mine. A baseless hope, nothing more. I do not wish to give substance to it, lest it turn out to be in vain.>

It had been years since Tempo had been so closed to Fireblade, and she fought down the rising bubble of hurt at her friend’s reticence. <As you wish. But—>

Her sanzai was interrupted as a loud crack echoed throughout the valley, slamming down from overhead. The party continued moving, but necks craned skywards to see a glowing streak race across the sky towards the dimming glow of the Shell dropship’s engines.

A missile — but from whom?

Then another craft flew into view, climbing rapidly in the missile’s wake.

With the Colonel out of radio contact thanks to interference from the Soia metal of the control center structure, it was the human’s second-in-command who barked “[Plummet, Fury-two. State your purpose here. Why have you left the concealed hangar?]”

Fireblade could not follow the words, but their clipped tone belied the emotion behind them.

A male voice answered “[The sensors we put out for perimeter watch saw that Bug dropship beeline for you. We figured you’d been made, and headed over. Low and slow, so we weren’t spotted. Turns out that elf pilot can handle the ship pretty good with one eye. Looks like you’ve got the Bugs running without us, so we can depart as soon as Fireball shows up.]”

“[Plummet, that dropship is a priority target. There is a Soia Minister aboard. You are cleared to engage with all ordnance. Bring it down.]”

“[Copy that, Fury-two. We’ve got our EWAR cranked; they’re not getting an SOS out. Three of those elf missiles left on the racks, engaging now.]”

The light of the Shell dropship flared, Fireblade squinting to make it out even with her helmet’s optical magnification. Thruster plumes vented to the side, as the Enemy craft hurled itself aside a fraction of a solon before the incoming missile would have obliterated it.

The missile continued on for a half-beat before its guidance system registered the miss, its maneuvering jets going limp as the dejected projectile soared off on a now-ballistic trajectory.

“[Damn, that fucker can turn.]” the voice from the prowler said. “[One more, then we’re closing for guns.]”

A new missile streaked away from the prowler, as the two dueling craft rapidly approached each other.

This time, the dropship could not entirely evade.

“[Glancing hit, glancing hit!]” the strain in the human’s voice came through the radio, as the Plummet banked hard to follow the dropship. “[They’re still maneuvering, but one engine’s flared out!]”

The two craft raced towards the ground, — ‘plummeted,’ even — twisting around each other as the Shell pilot fought desperately to keep the dropship away from Plummet’s nose.

“[Almost have them, almost hav— bloody fucking Hell!]” A bright-green energy blast soared past the prowler, close enough that from Fireblade’s perspective it almost seemed to go through the alien spaceship. “[That damn lunatic’s firing out the back hatch!]”

The Plummet broke off just in time to avoid a second bolt, atmospheric contrails spinning off the wing-tips as the prowler turned sharply.

“[We’re going around for another missile pass, I think. The elf’s Trade is worse than mine!]” Heavy breathing interspersed the human’s words, as the tenoin narrat hurled the hundred-mannal spaceship into another sharp turn as if it were the forty-mannal interceptor she had flown before. “[Bloody lunatic flies as crazy as the kid ever did, I’ll give her that!]”

The ground team reached the bottom of the pyramidal approach to the control center, and paused. Their only real transport off of the Ring was currently toril-fighting a Shell dropship right above them, so running down to the waiting Seagull craft was superfluous.

Two of the human warriors kept going, their commander’s words following them “[Mirez, Lovik, get word to Fireball. If we do not follow within two minutes, they are to pull back to the agreed meeting point and evacuate the Ring to rendezvous in orbit.]”

Overhead, the two dueling craft closed again. A third missile streaked towards the already-damaged Shell dropship.

“[Missile away!]” a quick breath. “[We’ve got four atmospheric craft closing on us from spinward, just popped up out of the ground clutter. Look like interceptors, small ones.]”

The human warriors raised their weapons, scanning the horizon over the towering rocky walls.

Then “[Mira! There!]” one of them called, a split-solon before he fired at the four dots rising skywards in the distance.

The distance was great enough that Fireblade could follow the energy bolts as discrete points rather than an instantaneous beam. They raced skywards, fading into invisibility.

Some sort of exotic projectile weapon rather than the pure-energy of a blaster?

The rest of the humans joined in, a fusillade clawing at the sky in front of the Shell combat drones. An impressive display of firepower. But at this range?

Fireblade would have said that the Shell craft ‘ignored’ the scattered incoming fire, if they hadn’t been robotic drones. If the Shells considered their own flesh-and-blood soldiers to be completely expendable, they probably didn’t even bother programming the unmanned craft to dodge at all.

Instead they fired their own volley, railgun projectiles screaming towards the Plummet.

The prowler rolled onto its side, twisting out of the way.

Almost.

Perhaps the Shell drones had calculated their volley to preclude any evasion, or perhaps the tenoin pilot was not exactly familiar with the craft that she was flying.

Either way, one of the rounds blasted a chunk out of the prowler’s wing.

“[Plummet, you’ve got a hole in your left w—]”

“[I know! I know!]” the human copilot yelped. “[Didn’t hit anything essential, but it’s getting a bit touch-and-go up here!]”

Indeed, even as the ground team watched helplessly, the five Shell craft broke formation, dancing around the much-larger prowler like a pack of predators hunting a wild miros.

A red laser-blast seared out from the forward dorsal hump of the prowler, and one of the combat drones disappeared in a brief fireball. But even as smoking wreckage trailed its way down to the ground, the three survivors immediately dove to keep below the defense-turret’s sweep.

“[Really wish we hadn’t removed the bloody wing-guns!]” blurted the copilot. The Plummet rolled and twisted wildly, but could not throw the drones off of her tail.

Presumably out of desperation, the tenoin threw her ship into a vertical dive straight down, the sheer mass of her lumbering ship allowing her to open up the distance.

The defense-gun scored another kill… but the Plummet was rapidly running out of altitude.

And all the while, the Shell dropship was ascending into the distance, comfortably putting distance between the escaping Soia and her only pursuer.

Then both surviving drones suddenly exploded, a bright-red pulsed laser tearing them apart within a single beat. A moment later, and the loud crack of the shots reverberated throughout the canyon.

Screaming over the distant rocky landscape, a single Seagull rose to join the battle. “Plummet, Fireball. Bravo Five-oh-two has your back.” Compared to the much-larger starship, even the bulky gunship seemed nimble as it climbed for altitude. “Let’s go hunt a Soia.”

For the first time, a loroi voice — a very tired one — was heard over the radio. “Your timing is most good, Alex! That fighting was becoming not fun.” Plummet pulled out of her dive just above the ridgeline, the shock of her passage blasting small rocks into the air in her wake.

A fourth missile leapt out of the prowler’s weapons bay, motor igniting as it lanced skywards.

Solon later, two more followed it from under the Seagull’s wings. The human-made projectiles rocketed after their Union counterpart, catching up rapidly.

Ahead of them — and so far away that Fireblade struggled to see clearly — the Shell dropship once more threw itself aside in a desperate bid to survive.

The first missile screamed past its target, maneuvering thrusters failing to bring it into detonation range.

A last-minute blast of green energy-fire obliterated one of the two human projectiles.

But the last one slammed into the belly of the dropship, a fireball large enough for Fireblade to see clearly erupting from its far side.

The satisfied roar of sanzai which raced around the Union ground team was matched by exhilarated whoops from the human warriors. Their Legion counterparts stood silently, heads tracking the descending wreckage of the Shell craft.

The two human warriors who had left the group perhaps half a bima before returned, cheering loudly even as they panted from their sprint.

Fireblade frowned at the sight. If the human transport craft had been meant to wait at its landing point below, and the Soia metal of the Ring blocked communications, how had the pilot known to arrive above the ground just now instead of the planned rendezvous underground? It seemed to have been perfectly timed, but still a mystery.

“[Fireball, Fury-two. You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’re evacuating as soon as you can get down to dirt-level and take us aboard.]”

“[Understood, Fury-two.]” Alexander Jardin replied. After a pause, he added “[Uh, status on Fury Actual?]”

“[Alive, and finishing up last-minute preparations inside the control center.]” The human second-in-command said, leading the group back the way they came and towards the base of the pyramid in the valley’s center.

The Seagull descended to meet them there, while overhead the Plummet orbited slowly, thin smoke still trailing from the hole in its wing. “[Get aboard and away right quick, the damage up here’s really done a number on the directional camouflage. It’s all I can bloody do to keep the whole system from crashing!]” By the sound of it, the prowler’s copilot was not enjoying the damage to their craft.

And behind them the burning wreck of the Shell dropship trailed smoke as it fell, seeming to slow as it descended.

Fireblade frowned. No, not ‘slow.’

‘Turn.’

Her eyes widened as she realized the course that the craft was on. Perhaps the Shell pilot sought one last revenge before its death, or the team’s streak of good fortune had just finally ran out.

<Dropship crashing straight towards us! Everyone seek cover!> she sent strongly, shoving Beryl aside towards the V-shaped depression of an iced-over stream that ran through the artificial valley. It was the closest thing that they could reach in the few solon they had.

Fireblade remembered only a fraction of a beat later that only a minority of the ground team could receive sanzai.

Well, this was not a time to cling too closely to teidar tradition. “Dropship crashing on us! Take cover now!” It had been some time since she had last spoken aloud — an off-the-record duel with a fractious junior teidar who had been causing trouble with the other personnel of Tempest… and who had been quickly transferred out to another formation, bald, bruises and all — but only a foolish warrior would have allowed that to dull her ability to speak when needed.

To their credit, neither the aliens nor the Legion loroi hesitated. They hurled themselves to the ground only a solon after their Union counterparts.

A few beats of silence… and then the world exploded.

Fireblade timed her telekinetic shield as best she could, an outwards shell of force that blunted the worst of the blast wave. The narrow culvert in which she and Beryl lay did the rest, and only a smattering of shrapnel clattered off of their armor.

Still, the heat was enough that the thin strip of exposed skin at the back of her neck stung even under the protection of her hair. Perhaps Tempo had had a point whenever the mizol argued against the… ‘impracticality’ of the custom-designed helmet.

Then again, no. Fireblade’s career had mostly been shipborne duty, impressing the seriousness of their duty to the new warriors assigned to Tempest. In that, her hair was part of her reputation; the Semago of Seren had to be seen to be intimidating for that story to work for her.

And besides, the flowing crimson mane never failed to bring a proud smile to her face each morning, so—

Fireblade blinked, and shook herself. Dirt slid off of her armor as she rose to a crouch, surveying around her with blurred eyes.

A concussion, then. Fortunately mild, as she felt no dizziness and her vision was clearing quickly enough. But a bit of confused thinking was a small price to pay for surviving such a deadly crash.

It seemed that Tempo was thinking along the same lines. <Any injuries to report?>

<None, it seems.> Mallas Deepline sent with an air of surprise. <The two Legion loroi are under this rock with my caste-sisters and I, and they are unharmed as well.>

Beryl repeated Tempo’s question in English over the radio. After a flurry of replies in that alien tongue, the tozet sent <It is indeed most fortunate! Two of the humans received minor fragmentation punctures where they protected their already-wounded comrade, but they are the only ones harmed!>

The ground team clambered to their feet, carefully approaching the still-hot wreckage of the Shell dropship. It seemed to have broken apart on impact — or perhaps just before — as the front half was all that remained, at the end of a smoking furrow blasted out of the soil. Tiny fragments of the engine section still pattered down around them, small trails of ash raining down in their wake.

“[Looks like the Bugs came down hard. Any sign of ejections just before the crash?]”

“[None. They rode it all the way in. Crazy bastards.]”

“[Motion sensor got anything on the So—]”

A metal plate flew away from the ruined dropship, and a bloodied blue hand clasped hard against the metal. The Soia pulled herself upright, bloodshot eyes glaring around the group with white-hot fury radiating out of them.

Ten weapon muzzles stared back at her, laspistol in a listel's hand as steady as the carbine-length weapon held by the ODST beside her.

For several solon, nobody said a thing.

Then the Soia doubled over, coughing hard. Blue blood flecked the ground at her feet.

It was… strange to think that this was the same Spy of Fire-city whose voice had haunted Fireblade’s nightmares for so many years even after Seren was liberated.

The vile creature that had worked alongside the Shells, at least present for — and, Fireblade was now quite certain, leading — horrific experiments on the loroi both young and old who had had the misfortune to find themselves in one of the Hierarchy’s prison compounds.

And here she was: beaten, defeated and surrounded.

Tempo took a step forwards, echoing Colonel Jardin’s words from earlier. “Soia ‘Minister,’ you are outgunned and clearly injured. Surrender now, and we may provide med—”

The Soia tilted her head back to stare at Tempo, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth even as it curled into a sneer. Another hacking cough — no, not a cough.

Laughter.

“'Outgunned,' you say? Child, you clutch at authority far beyond what you may lay claim to. Do you simple creatures never learn to look up?”

The group froze, and then instinctively glanced upwards.

Clouds parted before the great shapes descending through them. Warships.

Hierarchy warships.

“[Oh bugger me!]” yelped the Plummet’s copilot, the craft backlit against splotchy Shell hulls as it dove away from the far-larger warships. “[They’re right on top of us! Sensors must have taken a—!]”

Fireblade had never before seen an in-atmosphere plasma focus shot.

She didn’t enjoy it.

An eye-searing cone of yellow-green energy lanced out to engulf the prowler. She blinked away the afterimage just in time to see the smoldering craft fall out of sight beyond the rock walls, crumpled wings streaming flame.

Behind her, thrusters flared loudly as the Seagull ducked sideways into the questionable protection of a rocky cave.

“Now, I believe you spoke of ‘surrender’?” the Soia mocked, drawing in a shuddering breath. “It is only right that I offer you the same opportunity. Surrender now, and I shall have my servants show clemency towards you. Comport yourselves wisely, and there may yet be places for you atop the occupation forces sent to the former Union.”

Fireblade’s pulse raced, and now it was hate rather than a mere concussion that blurred her vision. Surrender to such a creature, one who not only worked with the Shells but commanded them?

“Yes, even you humans. There is no reason to further continue our peoples' petty feud. Unless you plan to escape, rebuild your species from Fifteen beings?” She glanced aside, where an oily black smoke plume rose above where the Plummet had crashed out of sight. “Thirteen, now. Your people will serve me, or you will be extinct.”

Fireblade reached for her powers, to crush the Soia’s skull like a sibreg fruit. They would all die under Shell bombardment a moment later… but it would be worth it.

Nothing.

She frowned… or tried to frown. Her muscles refused to obey.

Fireblade’s eyes shot left and right, trapped in a head that refused to move.

The other members of the group likewise did not move at all. Could not move.

This was… Fireblade had not even felt any intrusion into her mind!

The Soia sagged to one side, leaning against the distorted metal frame. She slowly sank to a crouch, still tall enough that she was looking levelly across at the warriors frozen in front of her. “There. Take all the time you need to consider my offer. It has been some time since I was forced to strain myself so, but it will suffice for long enough.” She rested her head back against the hard metal, eyes drifting closed.

Overhead, the Shell warships held station perhaps a thousand mannal up. Hangar doors fell open, light spilling out into the gathering darkness of the Ring’s ‘evening.’ Shadows flickered as rounded shapes poured forth from those hangars.

More dropships.

Silhouetted against the lights dotting the larger warships, the small craft descended towards the canyon. And there was nothing that the ground team could do to stop them.

Fireblade stared off at the snow-draped nature scene before her. Beautiful, despite the scorch marks, smoke, and still-burning fires of the combat that had raged through the canyon.

It seemed that this mission would be her last, then… but it would be worth it to see this vile Soia cleansed from the galaxy.

She just hoped that the NOVA bomb in the control room would detonate soon.

The Soia in question snapped her eyes open, gaze locking onto Fireblade. “Bomb!?”

Blinding white light engulfed the group.

[Urist]

Author's NoteShow

Sorry, I couldn’t not end the last chapter on such a perfect cliffhanger. So I’ll just double-upload this chapter immediately afterwards, so people don’t go to bed thinking I TPK’d everyone. So here, enjoy a double-post (technically a triple-post, I guess)

Bathos-bombShow

Also, if you want to ruin the drama of the previous scene, read the Soia’s last line like Clouseau in Revenge of the Pink Panther. “A BEUMB!?”

Fireblade snapped her eyes shut, flinching away from the painful brightness of the explosion above her. Even now, she could see the image seared into her retinas: a Hierarchy Type-HH Heavy Destroyer, energy streaming outwards from each hole in its bulging hull plating.

When she looked up again, the vessel was gone.

Not shattered, not crashing to ground.

Gone.

Even the weather itself seemed astonished: a column of cloud- and snow-free air hundreds of mannal across now reached all the way up to the top of the Ring’s atmosphere, clearing the view straight up to space.

Just as the now-destroyed Shell warship had previously backlit and dwarfed their dropships, the two remaining Hierarchy warships at higher altitudes had now in turn been reduced to small outlines… against the two Dreadstars that now floated serenely above the Ring.

No sooner had Fireblade processed the image than both Shell craft evaporated, blazing-bright energy beams lancing down from the nearer Dreadstar and casually erasing them from the cosmos.

Fireblade’s jaw opened slightly, at the sight that had not appeared in realspace for three-hundred-thousand years.

And realized.

She could move!

Her head snapped back down, finding the Soia who seemed no less shocked than she. Now standing, eyes bulging as she stared up and saw her doom approach.

She wasn’t looking in the right direction.

With a resounding clang, the ancient being’s head slammed back against the metal of the Shell dropship. The Soia slumped bonelessly to the ground.

Fireblade frowned down at her. She had expected more of a wet ‘splat,’ not a ‘clang.’

<Excellent work, pallan.> sent Mallas Deepline, kneeling next to the Soia’s body. Running one hand over the ancient’s skull. <She is unconscious, but alive. What the Union may learn from such a prisoner…!>

Alive!? Fireblade took a step forwards. She would end this by physical force, then!

A hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned, Tempo’s knowing eyes burning into her. <It is better this way. She will be subject to far more than a quick death like that… as she has earned.>

That— Fireblade took a deep breath, and let it out. Nodded to her friend. As was usually the case, Tempo was right.

Behind them, a distracted mumble of sanzai. <...no shock wave?> Beryl still stared skywards, eyes on the empty space where the Shell warships had been. <But they exploded in atmosphere!>

<With us being this close?> Mallas Deepline asked, standing up from her inspection of the fallen Soia. <I don’t know what sort of weapons those Tonsillat have... but they’ve spared our lives, however they did it. I’m not going to look at this gift-miros’s hooves too closely.>

<And how did they come to be here at all?> Beryl asked, of nobody in particular. <The bomb did not detonate and destroy the Ring command center, as we would also not be here to worry if that had been the case. But then—?>

Two figures approached, boots crunching through the snow.

No, three figures.

Colonel Jardin and the larger of the human special warriors lurched towards them, carrying between them someone much larger than they, someone—

The figure whose arms draped across their shoulders raised her head. The singed remnants of green hair framed an angular, blue face. A faded white tattoo graced her right cheek, and dried blood cracked on her torn lips as she smiled.

There was only one person she could be.

“Well, isn’t this my lucky day?” Tempest grinned, revealing blue-stained teeth.

Tempo stepped closer to this new arrival, her mind-signature admirably calm under the circumstances. “Tempest. That was you in the medical pod.”

“Got it in one.” Her eyes flashed towards the comatose Soia slumped against the shuttle. “That fool Security never could resist a chance to gloat. The last two hours of that almost made me wish that I’d stood a bit closer to Grand Unity’s core when it exploded.”

“I… see.” Tempo said. Fireblade didn’t. The mizol continued, gesturing to herself, “We are warriors of the Loroi Union; I am—“

“I know who you are.” Tempest hooked a thumb at Colonel Jardin. Well, more like jabbed him with the digit. “Pulled it out of his mind. Glad to see the transmitter lace still works.”

Transmitter?

Tempest continued, “Now... what to do with Sleeping Beauty, here?”

Fireblade glanced down at the other… Soia. That was a sentence she never expected to use. There had been several of those, these last few nanapi.

Either way, the Soia was sleeping, yes, but ‘beauty’? Fireblade was no male — and thankful for it! — but even her inexpert judgment was still quite certain that the bruised, bloody, and all-around beaten Soia was not anyone’s definition of ‘beauty’ right now.

Of course, neither was Tempest.

“We have sufficient forces to keep her detained while we remove her back to Union space.” Tempo said. She nodded to Colonel Jardin. “Perhaps with the expertise of Colonel Jardin’s healer, we aim to keep her unconscious until she can be moved to a secure Union facility.”

Fireblade nodded, but with more than a bit of hesitation. It was already very difficult to contain a telekinetic warrior, and one with the mental-warfare power that had allowed the Soia to freeze an entire teidar combat team — the Azerein’s own Imperial Guard, no less! — would be a challenge that even the Union’s cleverest mizol may find daunting.

Yet surely that which could be gained from interrogating the Soia would be worth the trouble? The risks?

“Nice plan. Few problems, though. For one, she’s not unconscious.”

What?

Fireblade whirled just in time to see the drooping face of the slumped Soia pull into a smirk, eyes still closed. “You were always an observant one, Conq—”

“That name is dead, Security." Tempest hissed. "Buried and gone.”

“As you say, then. ‘Tempest.’”

“It died the moment your agents slammed that stun-needle into my spine.”

“A foolish mistake on my part — they had such reliable guns, after all.” The Soia ‘Security’ bared a thin sliver of her teeth.

“Wouldn’t have worked out for you, either way. You know my warriors would never have taken orders from you.”

“Enough of them did, in the end.”

“Enough for you to still lose? For the Empire to still fall? You really showed me.”

Bafflement raced back and forth between the Union loroi, as they stood and watched two ancient, near-mythical beings converse so bluntly about such momentous events that took place before history truly began.

Tempest snorted. A dollop of blood splatted into the snow. “Oh, and now you tried the ‘fake unconscious’ trick? And expected that to work?”

“As it would have done, but for your presence.”

“Doubt it. If you hadn’t stuffed me into that doc-box and brought me down to gloat, they’d have just set off the bomb I saw on my way down. They lose, sure, but you do too.”

“And so the Empire would die with me. Is that truly what you—”

Tempest spat even more blood onto the snow. “Look around. The Empire died long ago. You think your new toys, those bug things, were ever going to match the glories of the old Empire? You marched them off their homeworld what, two-thousand years ago? And still they live like primitives, scattered on the surface of a hundred worlds, no real infrastructure to speak of. Building tiny ships that even the freshest Soia still healing from her implant surgeries would sneer at?”

A Soia had been leading the Shells ever since they had crawled off of their homeworld?

Security responded “Primitive, perhaps... but they are loyal. Like my own children, who stayed true even as you crawled away to betray your people. They earned the name ‘loroi.’ Do you think that your traitor daughters here will not turn on you too, in the end? They will take after their foremother, and betray you as you betrayed us.”

Tempo spoke forcefully, before Tempest could respond. “We are Loroi of the Sister Worlds of the Union. It is only recently that we have discovered our ‘past’ under the Soia Empire,” she gestured to Jardin “and we have confirmed our specific ancestry thanks to the aid of Colonel Jardin. We are not blood descendants of Tempest or any other rebel loroi. Our ancestors stayed 'loyal' to the Soia Empire… a mistake which we entirely repudiate.”

The mizol turned from one Soia to the other. “The Union stands tall on its own two feet, an example that all peoples in the galaxy can look up to. But we are not Soia, we are not the Empire. We owe no fealty to any Soia.”

Tempest’s eyes flared, and she flicked her gaze from one loroi to another. Eventually, she looked up at Jardin, who blinked slowly at her with a nod.

Security’s eyes shot open. “Then… even my own daughters have turned on me. I had such hopes that they would prove wiser, in the end.” She seemed to deflate, sagging into her own skin. Her eyes wandered from Tempo to Fireblade, lingering on the teidar. “Defective, just as much as yours. Did you know this, when you plotted and carried out your subterfuge even as I explained to you what was to come? Had you sabotaged the Ring’s interdiction system even before your lackeys sprung their ambush?”

“Have you forgotten who I am? ‘Subterfuge’?” Tempest shifted in the grip of the two humans. “Those are your tactics, not mine. I don’t lie to people; I kill them. And that makes me the better woman.”

“Then prove it.” The fallen Soia dragged one hand to her chest, broken fingers leaving tracks of blood along the black-and-red robes. “Destroy my heart, that has already broken to see the Empire — the work of countless millennia — cast down all in the name of short-sighted ambition.”

Tempest looked to Tempo, and jerked her head towards the other Soia. After a wince, she deadpanned “Shoot her in the head. She could probably live without her heart.”

The mizol looked past her, to Jardin. None of the group made to shoulder their weapon. “Colonel, does your healer have a method to render a Soia actually uncons—”

“Cowards and fools.” the condemned Soia sneered, raising her chin and glaring defiantly around the group. “Simple-minded warriors to the very end. Do you truly believe that such as you could hold a—”

Her head exploded.

Colonel Jardin’s helmeted gaze lingered on the dripping blue spray flash-dried onto the Shell plating, and then dropped to the steaming pistol held in Tempest’s hand.

A hand that shook, even as it returned the pistol to the empty holster at Jardin’s hip. “[What happened to ‘a primitive weapon for primitive people’?]”

“[Recoil is more satisfying than telekinesis.]” Tempest sagged lower, her arms losing their grip on the two humans’ shoulders. Both aliens stepped closer, supporting her as they laid the sole remaining Soia in the universe on her back.

She did not appear to be in good shape.

Wires and tubes criss-crossed her body, ducking under the skin on one end and plugging into a bulky machine carried by the human doranzer on the other end. Snow crunched aside as the nearly four-mannal-tall being closed her eyes with a sigh.

Shorn of all but a faint memory of her hair, clad in only a torn bodysuit, this Tempest was a far cry from the proud figure that had stood defiantly on Tempest’s bridge anteroom for so many years. Fireblade had known that the mural was anachronistic, depicting its central figure in the formed-leather garment of an iron-age Deinarid warlord, but—

“Heh.” Tempest cracked one eye open, looking straight at Fireblade. “I Don’t think I’ve worn that much leather ever, not even when—”

Colonel Jardin rapped his knuckles against Tempest’s sternum. “You need to rest. You’ve lost most of your blood, scans show fourteen kilos of shrapnel embedded all over your back, and your pulse is irregular and getting worse. Soia physiology or no, you—”

“[I am not Soia.]” Tempest mumbled. “[I am Loroi… and I have less than sixty seconds of energy reserves left. Medical coma it is, then; wake me when you need me.]”

“[Love you too.]” the human murmured, kneeling next to her head and assisting the ODST doranzer with… whatever that specialist was doing. It went beyond what limited field-medicine techniques that teidar were trained in.

As if a silent signal had been sent, the whole group let out a breath.

Tempo stood staring down at the slain Soia, her mind-signature conflicted. As the rest of the team numbly set about securing the perimeter — more to set their mind on a reassuringly-routine task than out of any fear that a Shell counterattack might come through the teeth of overhead Dreadstar fire support — Fireblade stepped up and rested one hand on her friend’s shoulder.

The teidar sent <It was only ever going to end this way. She said it herself — the Union may not have ever been able to contain her. Would you have risked your caste-sisters in an attempt to pry more knowledge out of her mind?>

<I would not.> Tempo confirmed. <But… any mizol would have risked herself. To truly see inside the mind of an actual Soia.>

<We do have another.> Fireblade sent, indicating where Tempest slumbered. A faint dusting of snow could be seen accumulating on her slowly-respiring chest, intermittently brushed off by Colonel Jardin.

<I am most certain that we will not be allowed to pry into her mind.> Tempo sent with a flicker of amusement.

And indeed, while the Union forces spread out around the canyon, checking for potential Shell remnants or attack routes, the human and Legion warriors remained close to Tempest. Guarding their fallen… what? Leader? Comrade?

Friend?

Tempo continued <Although perhaps we will not need to. She seems… ‘open’ enough.>

<Very different indeed from the other one.> Fireblade agreed. With one last squeeze of Tempo’s shoulder, the teidar went to check on Beryl.

The listel sat on a fallen log, eyes staring unblinking — unseeing — off into the distance.

Wood creaked as Fireblade set herself down beside the smaller loroi. <Thinking?>

Beryl blinked, her head twitching before she glanced up at Fireblade as if only now noticing the teidar’s presence. <Organizing. There has—> her thoughts skipped a beat, then re-organized <It has been a very busy day. So much has happened, and I am the only listel to have observed it.>

Pride mingled with anxiety in her sanzai. <I need to organize all the sights, the sounds, the—> her gaze darted aside, past Fireblade. In the direction of where the headless body of the executed Soia sat cooling in the breeze, a dwindling ribbon of steam rising from the stump of her neck. Fireblade had known to close her helmet’s air vents early, even standing upwind of that. <—the smells.>

<It is a battlefield.> Fireblade sent.

<I know. But… they are not so messy as this, from a starship’s bridge. From Tempest’s—> Beryl turned her head once more, lingering on the comatose form of the sole surviving Soia.

The sole surviving Loroi, as she herself had emphasized.

No further words were needed; Fireblade sat quietly and let her sanzai aura support the exhausted listel.

And it was a… strange day indeed when Fireblade found herself the one seeing to the emotional state of her sisters-in-arms. But then again, perhaps she was buoyed up by sheer catharsis – the Spy of Fire-city lay dead at her feet, and at least in part by her hand. The anguished dead of Seren had been avenged, at least in part. All that remained was the Hierarchy itself, a now-headless beast.

One that needed to be put down.

She craned her neck back, basking in the sight of two Dreadstars floating gently overhead. Glowing in the reflected sunlight.

No, the Hierarchy would not last long now.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Talon vaulted out of the Seagull's cockpit even before the engines had finished spooling down. Suction pulled her towards the air intakes, but she fought past them and sprinted for the wrecked Plummet.

The prowler sat smoking at the end of a deep furrow blasted into the dirt. It had come down in one piece — well, mostly — but much of the outer hull was scorched and disfigured. Lying almost on its side, the right wing extended into the air halfway to vertical.

And for those inside?

<Spiral! Can you receive me?>

Talon hammered at the cover plate for the ramp controls. The metal lip cracked open slowly, likely under emergency power only. She dug in her fingertips to rip it the rest of the way. Heat singed her fingers even through the thermal insulation of her gloves, but she didn’t so much as flinch.

She didn’t wait for the ramp to fully open before dashing through the gap. It ground to a halt half-open behind her anyways, the motors unable to force the ramp any further into the dirt below the craft. <Spiral!>

<Everything is...> came the confused sanzai of her diral-sister. A general sense of dizziness accompanied the sanzai. <...swirly.>

A head injury, then. But she was alive.

Orange-red emergency lighting lit up the interior of the craft, all sorts of unknown hatches slammed open by the crash. Talon stepped carefully over the random debris cluttering the floor — well, mostly the wall, given the angle at which the Plummet rested.

<Where are you? In the cockpit?>

The dim illumination from her suit’s auxiliary lights was suddenly augmented by a much brighter beam, coming from behind. “Any word?” Alex asked, holding a large flashlight in one hand and using the other to keep his balance as he followed her, one foot on the floor and the other on the wall. “They’re not answering the cockpit radio.”

“Spiral has sent that she is alive. And—”

<I think I am in the cockpit? Yes?> Spiral asked nobody in particular. Her sanzai still came through blurry, unfocused. <No, wait, the lights are wrong… oh, it is the crew resting compartment.>

“—and she is in the crew quarters.” Talon finished.

The two of them made their way forward, clambering half-crouched through the narrow hallway.

“[I’ll take it from here.]” Alex climbed past Talon as they made it to the crew quarters. He ducked through the doorway, boots scraping against the floor tiles as he half-slid, half-stepped down the sloping deck to the two figures at the ‘bottom’ on the other side of the compartment.

One lying on her back atop a pile of seat-cushions and blankets, the other crouched at her side.

Only once Talon entered the room did she see the next three. Two human warriors laid in the beds at the side of the room: the injured original Seagull pilot and copilot. Standing next to them, one of the Furies held on to the side of the frame to stop from sliding down as she spoke quietly to the blinded warriors.

“[Oh, good.]” The human at the lowest point of the room looked up and over his shoulder at Alex’s clattering approach. He waved one hand at the box open by his side, a blood-blue cross centered on the white-painted front. “[Haven’t cracked open one of these kits since I first trained on them, and that was years ago.]”

Alex glanced over Spiral, not even looking up as Talon skidded to a halt next to him. “[Looks like you’ve done a good job, though. What were the injuries?]”

While the aliens spoke among one another, Talon rested one arm on Spiral’s leg. <Are you injured?> There was nothing obvious, but the junior tenoin had clearly been knocked out-of-sorts by something.

<Head hurts. Dizzy.>

“[We came down bloody hard, pancaked in nose-high. Threw us against the seat restraints. Mine worked fine, but I think they hadn’t been recalibrated for her weight in the pilot’s seat. They snapped her back right sharpish, looked like God’s own case of whiplash.]”

<You did crash an entire starship after getting shot down by a whole fleet of Shells.> Talon sent.

Spiral barked a single laugh, one hand slowly rising to rub gingerly at the back of her neck. <Neck hurts, too.>

Alex pulled one of the handheld tools out of the kit, holding it over Spiral’s head and neck. “Nothing’s broken. You’ve got a few strained muscles and a minor concussion, that’s all. Just rest for a while, and get up when you feel like you can.”

In his own language, he added to his fellow humans “[Looks like she’ll be fine. Good job getting her flat and level.]”

“[That was the first thing I checked. Wasn’t sure what all those readings were supposed to look like, though.]”

The injured human pilot called over from his reclining position. “[And we figured you were the expert here in elf biology, Fireball. Just had a 'practical exam' a few weeks ago, so I heard!]”

“[Yeah.]” Alex laughed, taking Spiral’s hand from where it rested at her side and giving it a squeeze. “[Yeah I did. And thanks for keeping Spiral here in one piece — I’m pretty sure she wants to, uh, give me her own 'private exam' too.]”

Bullseye called again from his bed. “[Hey, corporal. Uh, Fury copilot — what’s your name again?]”

The human who had treated Spiral looked back over his shoulder “[Andrews.]”

“[Right. Andrews, is Fireball blushing real hot right now?]" The wounded warrior ran one hand lightly over the bandages covering his eyes. "[I can’t, y’know, see.]”

Alex ducked his head lower towards Spiral, but not before the human next to him got a look at his face.

“[Nah, he’s got it under — never-mind, there he goes!]” The alien laughed.

<What was the joke?> Spiral asked.

<I don’t know; they are speaking their own language.> Talon replied.

The rest of the humans joined in, and after a moment Alex even followed them.

“[Looks like our little elf whisperer is all grown up!]” the human at Alex’s side chuckled, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

“[If you’re all done playing comedy hour in here,]” came Wise’s voice from the open door at the ‘top’ of the crew quarters, “[Lovik and I could use a hand getting things stowed away again. The Legions have the situation in hand void-side; they’re sending down a heavy lifter to haul the Plummet aboard for repairs.]” The male loroi snorted. “[And then I’ve got my work cut out for me getting her serviceable again.]”

“Spiral,” Alex asked, “will you be okay here, with Talon watching over you? I have to go help put the ship back together.” He grinned, and squeezed the narrat’s shoulder. “And paint a new kill-marker inside the baffle covers.”

“I will be most fine, I think.” Spiral replied. “But it was you and Plunger who scored the real hit.”

“Maybe, but I’m not putting the galaxy’s last ever Soia kill-marker on Bullseye's bird.” Alex grinned as he pointed one thumb over his shoulder towards the injured humans. “Doubly so when it was Talon who pulled the trigger.”

“It was certain a Soia that we were fighting?” Spiral asked. “In the Shell dropship?”

“That’s what Cortana said when she opened the door for Talon and I to race for the surface, and smart AIs are rarely wrong.” Alex shrugged. “Don’t know if she went down in the crash or not, though. Ground team’s been real closed-mouth on the reports since, and we raced over here before checking in on them. No fatalities reported, at least, which is rare when fighting Soia.”

“That is a field which you know more than I, fighting against Soia.” Talon acknowledged, as Alex stood up from Spiral’s side. “Although I think maybe even Soia are not used to fighting five teidar!”

“You may be right, there.” Alex carefully climbed his way back up the inclined deck-plating. “Doubt she would have been used to being on the receiving side of a telekinetic attack.”

He disappeared out of sight, leaving Talon alone with Spiral.

Well, there were the four aliens in the room, but they carried on their own private conversation in English.

<Are you truly okay, Spiral?> asked Talon, now that the two of them had relative privacy.

Her diral-sister slumped in her makeshift bed. <Yes, mostly.> Her clamped-down sanzai relaxed, allowing some of the intermittent, needling pains she felt to bleed through. Talon winced in sympathy. <Neck hurts, but Alex said nothing is dangerously injured there. And it is feeling better by the bima.>

Yet Spiral’s mind-signature was still gloomy. <But?>

<...but I got shot down.> the narrat moped.

Talon shot a disbelieving look at the other tenoin. <While flying an alien ship that you had first practiced flying at all a few days before? Heavily outnumbered in combat? And it still took a point-blank plasma burst to actually force you down? And you still kept the ship mostly intact, with all crew aboard surviving the landing?>

But Talon could tell that it was truly something else that bothered Spiral.

<It’s still Alex’s ship, and I got it damaged.>

Talon couldn’t help but laugh. With how their diral had graduated immediately into the thick of the War and those assigned to Strike Group 51 in particular had seen heavy combat ever since, it was rare for Talon to actually take a mental step back and remember that they were all only thirteen years old.

Grown warriors, yes — especially by the compressed wartime standards — but still young. And while Talon’s promotion to flight leader had taught her to recognize — and try to overcome, where needed — that immaturity… Spiral had remained ‘Spiral.’ The eternally-joking, playful, friendly seed-head that the diral had come to love.

But also the worried young warrior, fretting over having embarrassed herself in front of not just a male, but one who was simultaneously a friend and fellow warrior who had trusted her with his ship.

Talon leaned in, resting one hand on Spiral’s shoulder just as their human had done. <I do not need to see into his mind to know that Alex also knows each of those things I mentioned. He is a veteran of even more combat than we, and certainly knows that things never go perfectly in war.> She let her confidence in this judgment radiate throughout her sanzai. In a private sending — even with no other loroi nearby — she added <I am also certain that he was more worried about you than about the Plummet.>

And it was a heartwarming little vignette, straight from the sort of stories that were swapped around by the older children at a creche. The rescued male fussing over the wounds suffered by the dashing warrior who had swept in to free him from whatever villain or dangerous beast had him in its clutches.

<Really?> Spiral asked.

<Really.> Talon confirmed. <He did not even check the cockpit or look anywhere in this ship. He went straight to the crew-quarters… and you.> Of course, he might have been told by the other humans aboard the Plummet that they had already performed those checks on the crashed craft, but there was no reason to spell that out for Spiral. After all, they could just as easily have told him that Spiral was okay.

Which left just one more thing. Talon’s smile widened as she sent <Now, rest well and heal quickly. I think Alex will soon want to show you exactly how much he worried over you. Privately.> By Spiral’s mirroring grin — and widening eyes — the narrat had evidently received the ‘details’ filling Talon’s side-channels.

That was the final part of those creche-stories, the one that most intrigued the older girls and most exasperated the instructors who overheard them. The rescued male would, of course, reward his rescuer… in a manner befitting his sex. And given just how little was actually known about males by girls just entering their diral years, only one manner came to mind at that age.

And none-too-accurately; thinking back, many of those rather lurid stories which she remembered being told featured acts that Talon — now speaking from some experience — knew were… not actually likely to be pleasurable for either side. Or anatomically possible in some cases.

Shaking her head bemusedly, Talon leaned back and rested on her ankles. It had been a… long day, and it was good to be able to relax from the constant combat and stress. And—

“Talon?” Alex’s voice sounded over the shared radio channel. His voice was… strange. Almost ‘forced,’ as if he was struggling to get the words out. “The ground team’s just outside. They’ve brought, uh… you’ll want to see this.”

The two tenoin shared a confused glance.

<If there had been a problem, he would have told us.> Talon mused.

<But if it is strange enough for him to not say just what is happening...> Spiral replied distractedly, clearly thinking quickly. After a moment, the narrat reached up with one hand and tapped at a control near the base of her armor’s neckpiece. Engaging her suit’s flight mode.

It adjusted slightly, the magnetic clamps at the rear crown of her helmet locking onto the arching handle which looped behind her head. Through the visor, Talon could see the shock-absorbing pads inflate, cradling Spiral’s head between them.

<Now I can move without pain!> the narrat boasted. <If nothing is truly broken, then I do not need a proper brace; it is enough just to minimize movement.>

<Clever.> Talon sent, offering a hand to help Spiral stand up.

Instead the narrat stood under her own power, sanzai signaling that she wanted to make sure that she actually was well enough to handle herself. Smart of her, in addition to thinking of using the specialized tenoin spacesuit’s flight-mode as a form of impromptu neck-brace.

That said, watching Spiral clamber her way up the inclined decking without being able to move her head was… ‘entertaining.’ Talon waited out in the corridor, as Spiral eventually managed to haul herself up out of the room more by touch than by sight, looking around out of the extreme corners of her eyes.

<Okay, now I see why that is a toggle mode and not permanent for the helmet. This is harder than it looks!>

The two tenoin ended up meeting the ground team just as the latter were ascending the partly-open boarding ramp. The Legion loroi came first, with the Imperial Guard teidar and Tempest’s own mizol and red-haired teidar following behind. Then came the humans of Colonel Jardin’s team, some wounded. The Colonel himself was in the back with the two hulking alien warriors, helping to carry—

Talon blinked in surprise, exchanging a confused burst of sanzai with Spiral. To the approaching party, she sent <Is that—>

<A Soia, yes.> Tempo responded. The parat’s mind-signature was tired, but triumphant. <You may even recognize her.>

And Talon did. But that meant—

<Meet Tempest.> Fireblade sent. <She is alive, but is in need of medical treatment aboard one of the Dreadstars. Therefore, we will all ride aboard the prowler as it is carried there.>

At this point, few things could truly be said to 'astonish' her anymore. Talon shook her head in bemusement, eyeing the wounded among the ground team. An unmoving ODST, a one-armed teidar, and Tempest — in the flesh! — was herself utterly unmoving. <Broken ship, broken warriors, broken Soia.>

<But none dead.> Tempo sent, sanzai full of relief. <It is better than we anticipated, when we departed on this mission.>

Alex rushed past, moving straight to his uncle’s side. The two aliens talked rapidly, Alex pointing several times to Tempest.

A thought hit Talon, and her heart skipped a beat out of raw dread. <Wait, is she the Soia who we—?>

<Negative.> answered Tempo. <That one was called ‘Security,’ it seems. She is dead. And… Tempest does not appear to like being called a ‘Soia,’ not anymore.>

<And if she’s the last of the Soia, then it seems fair that she decides what she is to be called.> the ground team’s listel said, from her position standing behind the Colonel.

<’Security.’> Talon mused. <That is a strange name.>

<Colonel Jardin explained how the Soia were given names, while we were making our way over here.> Beryl sent, as the group found seats around the cargo bay. Tempest herself was carefully laid on her back, Colonel Jardin kneeling at her side. <A Soia’s name changed whenever they were assigned to a new command, although that apparently happened rarely. And for ones like Tempest, advanced to the Soia’s ruling Council? Whatever name the individual held before their ascension to the Soia Council, it was forgotten; struck from all records. They were always to be referred to by their new name, taken from their new duty.>

<’Security.’> Talon repeated, now understanding. She indicated the comatose Soia at her feet. <So this one was the ‘Councilor for Tempest’?> It kind-of fit for a war leader, but still seemed… off slightly.

The listel paused a moment before answering, and even then sent hesitantly <From what the other Soia — Security — said, it seems that Tempest was the ‘Councilor for Conquest’ before they betrayed her. But… she does not seem to like that name now, not at all.>

<’Tempest’ it is, then.> Talon replied, forcing more levity into her sanzai than she really felt. It was all so… strange. Galaxy-changing events, ones that would shape the very future of the entire Union, were not the sort of things that she had expected to see in her lifetime. Not even one year ago, when she was assigned to Strike Group 51. An elite formation, she knew, but…

She shook her head, glancing between the still face of Tempest and the worried expressions on the two Jardins.

But it was an elite formation which — in no small part thanks to the efforts of one Tenoin Arrir Talon — had nonetheless done the impossible. Repeatedly. Had found the humans on this ancient Ring, had forged an alliance — and maybe more — with the strange aliens, and had now struck a hard blow against the Hierarchy, one that could only signal the impending end of the War.

Talon let her satisfaction flow into her sanzai. Answering echoes came from each of the Union loroi around her, from the hard-hearted Teidar Mallas who sat rigidly in her seat to the fascinated Listel who leaned over Colonel Jardin’s shoulder, taking in every bit of the scene that she could.

This was it, then: the true final death of the Soia Empire.

But perhaps the birth of the Loroi Empire.

[Urist]

And with that, this fanfiction-crossover has reached its conclusion. I hope everyone enjoyed; I certainly had a lot of fun writing it!

[raistlin34]

This was it, then: the true final death of the Soia Empire.

But perhaps the birth of the Loroi Empire.

Races in the galaxy: "We are free!"

Loroi: "Oh, I wouldn't say free. More like under new management."