And I know exactly what to do with them.

  Chapter 37

  There’s a span of five minutes when I think the impending banshee attack might not be so bad. When in the back of my mind I have this growing belief that we can win this particular fight and claim a victory against the aliens that killed my wife and two of my kids. Yari and me are streaking toward the station unimpeded while the banshees are closing from two sides, but they’re still nearly six minutes behind.

  And the station is coming alive with activity. Ships are beginning to unmoor from the docks and move away, dozens of them spreading from Naraka like seeds from a flower. I don’t know how much Amelia offered them to stay, but it’s enough that it looks like most of the craft have chosen to remain and fight, and that’s before Amelia’s own ships come out from the core. Including those, there have to be nearly two hundred starcraft to form a defensive ring around the station.

  In the span of a few seconds, it all falls apart.

  One moment, my tactical computer is telling me we’ve got a good lead on the enemy. The next, it’s reading a sudden, massive increase in the velocity of the banshee attack groups. Within three seconds, the time differential shrinks nearly a minute. After six, I can visually observe the enemy advancing on the station, their velocity impossibly high.

  Even if their ships can move like that, how can the banshee bodies survive that kind of sudden acceleration? As near as Rozik and me could tell, they’re built like humans, just bigger. In fact, if it weren’t for the exoskeletal armor, they would never have been able to stand up on Warrick, nevermind fight. Sure, our bigger ships have inertial negators that help manage things, but they can’t get rid of the effects altogether. Not even close. And that kind of sudden acceleration would without a doubt kill a human—full stop.

  I can see what’s happening, which means the traders, mercenaries, smugglers and deserters can see it too. I don’t know if Amelia told them the attacking force was composed of aliens from outside the Sphere. I doubt it. They’re figuring it out now, and they’re rightfully afraid.

  The mass of ships outside the station begins to collapse as the captains of the vessels decide Amelia’s offer isn’t worth the risk. The organized expansion becomes pure chaos as they begin making desperate, uncoordinated maneuvers to get away from the station so they can jump away.

  The banshee fighters approach way ahead of the larger ships behind them, and they peel off into four distinct squadrons, each of them clearly targeting one of the escaping ships.

  I’m still too damn far away, left to observing the fight from a distance. My jaw is clenched, my knuckles white on the Yellowjacket’s stick as I watch the first banshee squadron catch up to their first victim. It’s an older freighter, dirty and slightly rusted, with outdated systems and little defensive capability. I expect the banshee fighters to strafe its rear and take out its engines, but they don’t. Instead, they swing in close on both the port and starboard sides, using their wings like knives, cutting into the vessel’s sides and putting multiple long gashes into its hull. Whatever shields the freighter has don’t even activate, the older AI unsure of how to respond to the maneuver or the size and shape of the craft.

  The attack is devastating.

  The stricken freighter begins leaking oxygen, debris and people. It seems at least one captain thought to make some profit by taking passengers, and now they’re paying for that decision with their lives.

  “Commander, I’m scared,” Yari says.

  “Me too,” I reply. “But we can’t let fear stop us from doing what we need to do. Okay? We need to put it away for now.”

  “Roger.” Her voice is small but firm and resolved.

  Of course, I can’t do anything from here except watch. The other squadrons begin enacting similar maneuvers on the other fleeing ships, cutting open three more in the span of thirty seconds. The ships that chose to stand their ground remain motionless outside the station, neither running nor fighting. Now that they’ve seen the damage the enemy can inflict, they’re terrified to do anything at all.

  “They need something to give them some confidence,” I say out loud. Some kind of proof that the fight isn’t over before it starts. I glance over at Yari. “Hold on. It’s going to get a little crazy out here.”

  She nods and presses herself back in her seat. I update my vectors slightly, finding a squadron of banshee fighters approaching another fleeing ship from the rear. At this distance hitting one of them with plasma will be pure luck, but hopefully showing the captains some courage will spur them into action.

  I squeeze the trigger and watch the plasma bolts shoot away, small toroids of energy crossing the void. The fates are with me for the moment, because nearly ten seconds later the bolt hits one of the banshee ships nearly dead center. It’s propulsion seems to die, the impact pushing it into a spin and shoving it out into the black, left to rotate all the way to the Disturbance.

  “You did it!” Yari shouts excitedly.

  “I guess I did,” I reply.

  One down. Fifty-nine to go?

  My actions have two immediate side-effects. One, the rest of the dead banshee’s squadron mates suddenly break off their attack on the freighter, turning in my direction. Two, the ships around the station react to my kill exactly the way I had hoped.

  They begin to fight back.

  Plasma cannons start firing, suddenly lighting up the space around Naraka with multiple toroids. A round of scattershot goes off, ripping through an entire group of banshee fighters with one blast. Missiles launch, their streaks visible before they make contact with their target and blow it away.

  The rout becomes a battle.

  I’m finally at the edge of it. The only problem is I’ve got four banshee fighters headed my way and the Yellowjacket doesn’t have anywhere near the responsiveness of a Skirmisher. It doesn’t leave me in the best position, but I’m motivated to make it through this alive. If I can get through the initial attack I have a good chance of reaching the station. Geramin’s corvette is still out there, floating on the safe side of the station away from the fight. Those electro-lances scared me earlier. Now they look downright tantalizing. It’s too bad I can’t get access to the ship without the Arrowhead.

  But I’ve got more important things to worry about. Like where the hell is Amelia’s fleet? They should have been coming out from the bottom of the station by now, joining the conscripted ships in the defense. I saw them on the cameras. She has a whole battlegroup worth of firepower plus an entire squadron of Commune starfighters. Why aren’t they here?

  “Commander!” Amelia snaps through the comm, her voice tight and exasperated. “They’re here!” I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean what I think it means, because it’s pretty obvious the enemy is here.

  “Amelia, where are your ships? We—”

  “They’re on the station, damn it!”

  She cuts me off before I can finish. “What?”

  “The banshees are on the station! They cut us off from the inner docks.”

  I feel like I’m suddenly frozen in my seat. How can the banshees be on the station? Their ships haven’t gotten close to the station, nevermind come into direct contact with it, allowing them to breach and board. Even if they had, the banshees are five meters tall. They’re too big to get into the confines of the station’s passageways. They might be able to hang out in the commissary, but that won’t do them much good.

  “Amelia, what kind of game are you—?” I start to ask but leave off when my Yellowjacket starts whining in alarm. I jerk the stick hard and roll the craft over and down, pulling heavy g-forces to avoid incoming fire. Maybe I should be honored I’m the first ship they’re actively shooting at.

  Yari squeals beside me. Not in pain or fear, but excitement. The kid’s got nerves of steel. I throw the Yellowjacket into another hard turn and roll, corkscrewing on a new plane as the banshee squadron separates into four directions, making their own adjustments to get an angle on me.

  “Amelia, what’s happening?” I ask, voice tight in the comm. “Amelia?”

  “Odin, I know it’s crazy,” she says. “I wouldn’t believe it if they weren’t killing my soldiers. The bastards literally materialized out of thin air.”

  “Materialized? What do you mean? Did you see them?”

  “The cameras. We got them back online. They’re all over the station, appearing in groups of three. You said they’re giants, but these aren’t. They’re the same size as you and me.”

  I yank the Yellowjacket into a hard climb, then flip and dive down again. The force shakes the ship to its bones and threatens to black me out, but it also keeps one of the banshees from colliding with us. I hit the throttle and shoot away, trying to stay on a track toward the station. Looking out, I can see the larger alien ships aren’t getting any closer. They’re forming into a line nearly a thousand kilometers distant. The master ship is even further back, still a glint against the sun.

  My thoughts return to how the banshees could materialize out of thin air. Do they have transporters of some kind? That kind of tech has been a dream of scientists and science-fiction fans for a long time. Have the banshees managed to make it a reality?

  And how the hell did they shrink themselves down to human size?

  Another banshee ship shoots up behind us, and I roll hard, barely avoiding the edge of its wing as it tries to clip me. A second one comes in right behind it, and I dive away before cutting forward thrust and triggering the retros, pulling up and rotating around. The forces are crazy, enough to make me dizzy during the maneuver. Yari’s head lolls to the side as she passes out from the motion.

  The maneuver brings me in behind the banshee fighter and I open fire, pouring plasma into its ass. It detonates unexpectedly, a powerful explosion that rips a second fighter to pieces and threatens to shred the Yellowjacket too. Shields catch some of the debris and the craft’s thick, purpose-built hull catches the rest while I rocket away...in the wrong direction.

  “Amelia, status!”

  “I don’t know,” she replies, out of breath and on the verge of tears. “We’re engaging the enemy, but it’s utter chaos. For every few we take out, a few more appear. We’re dying here, Odin.”

  “Where’s Rozik?”

  “I lost track of him, and he’s not responding to his comm.”

  Damn it. I have to imagine he’s in the corridors of the core, hunting banshees.

  “Damn it!” Amelia says, echoing my own agitation out loud. “They’ve reached the control room. I don’t know how long the blast doors will keep them out.”

  I flip the Yellowjacket back in the other direction, pushing the thrust to maximum and getting squeezed back in my seat. I’m dizzy and lightheaded, fighting to stay lucid enough to fly. There are two banshee fighters left, closing fast from both flanks.

  I’m ten seconds out from the edge of the remaining defensive line. There are still nearly forty ships defending the station. They’re throwing everything they have at the banshee fighters swarming around them like angry bees, but the enemy is picking the defenders apart one-by-one. They just don’t have the offensive or defensive capabilities to handle the alien ships.

  A few of the captains seem to realize it because their ships suddenly begin to accelerate and change direction, suggesting they’re ready to run from the fight despite what happened to the others. The banshee fighters stay with them, evading their defenses and swooping in.

  I’ve still got two tangoes of my own to deal with. They’re on a direct intercept course, and I know instinctively they aim to squeeze me between them and slice me in half. I can try to get under or over them, but their maneuverability is going to make that difficult. The only chance I have requires pinpoint precision and timing, and I’m not sure I can pull it off without a mesh and a partner.

  I have to try.

  I stay in a straight line, my eyes on the tactical projection as the alien fighters close in. My hand is steady on the stick, my nerves still, my emotions in check. I’m breathing steady. Focused. Ready.

  Time seems to slow down, each second expanding as if there are ten. I expect the banshees to come at me from the sides, but they alter course at the last second, coming above and below. I know why. I should have expected it. Now I can’t get over or under them. I can’t slow down, and I’m already at max thrust. Since the Yellowjacket can’t shimmy sideways, it means I’m stuck. They’re going to collide with me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  Well, there’s one thing. I’ve still got one trick left up my sleeve.

  The Yellowjacket is designed for boarding, and it can be tough to account for the velocities and relative free motion in play out here. To help mitigate that, it has a tractor beam generator on board, powerful enough to help it catch and cling to a target once it gets close enough. Then it’s just a matter of the heavier, more resistant object reeling in the lighter, less resistant one. I’m not sure which of us will win the tug of war, but I don’t care. I just need a little extra stickiness.

  As a result, I cut the thrust and fire the retros, rotating ninety degrees just as the banshees arrive. I flip on the tractor beam, catching the alien fighter as it eases toward me. Combining its movement with my tractor beam effectively increases its velocity in my direction at the same time I’m continuing to decrease mine. I only leave the beam active for a split second, just long enough to slingshot the fighter past me and into the flight path of its wingmate. They collide with enough force to spin wildly away from each other as I jam the forward thrust and shoot through the sudden gap.

  “Amelia, status!” I say again.

  I’m approaching the underside of the station, less than a dozen seconds out from the hangar on Deck One-sixty. I slide to port and then roll as a banshee fighter zips past, its attack missing the Yellowjacket and hitting the shields of the module beside me.

  “Amelia?” I say her name three more times as I cut through the connecting corridors toward the core cylinder, suddenly confronted by an unexpected moment of stillness. None of the banshee fighters have crossed into this section of space. There’s no gunfire. No debris. It’s a mixed blessing.

  Above us, Amelia’s entire fleet remains fixed to their docks, the ships as silent and still as everything else.

  “Is it over?” Yari asks, waking from her loss of consciousness to see the calm inside the storm.

  “I hope not, or we’ve lost,” I reply, continuing to vector toward the lower hangar. The doors are already open, the shields holding the atmosphere in and allowing entry. “Amelia, come in. Amelia?”

  She still doesn’t answer. The last thing she said was that the banshees were outside the control room. There’s a very real chance she’s dead. She isn’t my favorite person, but it would still be a shame.

  I slow the Yellowjacket for the approach, taking a high angle toward the hangar. The shields are obscuring my view, making it impossible to see what might be waiting for us inside. Then it drops for the second it takes me to pass through—it’s too late now to turn back—revealing the open interior.

  The Arrowhead rests near the center of the hangar, a few transports further back. The mess from earlier is gone, the bodies cleaned up, the wounded taken to medical for treatment. Who knows what’s happened to them since.

  None of that means the hangar’s unoccupied.

  A dozen banshee soldiers are in the space, taking cover wherever they can find it. Like Amelia said, they’re smaller than any of the aliens I encountered on Warrick. Human-sized. Their guns are shrunk down too, but that doesn’t give me any reason to think they’re any less effective.

  And all of them are pointed directly at me.

  Chapter 38

  I’m not sure whether to be relieved or afraid that the banshees didn’t blast me, Yari and the Yellowjacket to space dust as soon as we flew into the hangar. The lack of aggressiveness tells me they don’t want to simply destroy us, which leaves me to wonder what it is they actually do want. The banshees on Warrick didn’t show any mercy, and I don’t understand why this group would either. At the same time, it’s clear these banshees aren’t those banshees, both in stature and demeanor. There’s a lot more complexity to the alien’s composition than I had guessed.

  “What do we do now?” Yari asks.

  “Land the ship and see if they’ll talk,” I reply. “Unless you have another idea?”

  “Me?” She shakes her head. “I’m just a kid.”

  “You’re going with that defense?”

  “Yup.”

  One of the banshees moves out of cover as I lower the Yellowjacket to the deck. It crosses the open space until it’s well in the clear, its weapon pointed at the floor.

  Strange, and getting stranger.

  I put the ship down right next to the Arrowhead, the exit hatch facing the ship in preparation for a quick exodus from one to the other. I’m not sure how we’ll make it if the aliens start shooting, but I’ll be damned if I’ll go down without trying. I can’t see what’s happening in the space beyond the station anymore, but I’m sure the fight isn’t over.

  And if it is, we didn’t win.

  “Stay here,” I say. “If I make a gesture like this.” I act like I’m stretching my back. “Open the hatch and run to the ship next to us. Here.” I take off my comm badge and hand it to her. “Tap this to the panel; it should open the ramp to get in.”

  “I don’t know how to fly it.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Roger, Commander.”

  I power down the Yellowjacket, check my reach to the guns hidden beneath my suit jacket, and leave the cockpit, moving to the hatch. I tap the control to open it and climb out, hopping to the deck with my hands raised. The closest banshee is only four meters away, face hidden by his exoskeleton. He turns in my direction, but he doesn’t move.