Zoelle moved in beside him. “Here, let me do it.” She took the modulator from him, her fingers dancing across it as she laced the rest of the wires to it in less than thirty seconds.

  “I think you should have done this yourself,” he said.

  “I’ve had a lot more practice. I used to knit your father sweaters. Did you know that?”

  Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. “No, I didn’t.” He hadn’t gotten to take any of them off of Earth with him.

  She finished the wiring, reaching into the panel and slipping the modulator into place.

  “What do we do with this?” Gabriel asked, holding up the gel-filled capsule.

  “Hope that we don’t need it,” she replied.

  “Juliet, darlin’, give me some good news,” Theodore said over the comm. “We’re twenty seconds from firing range, and the bastards are sending fighters at us.”

  “Tell Tea’va to get the ship angled and fire the plasma cannon at them,” she said, her voice angry. “What is he doing up there?”

  Theodore’s laughter filled the room. “Tea’va, what in the hell are you doing over there? Mr. Mokri, did you get me my damn fire control?”

  “Yes, General,” Gabriel heard Reza said. “Take my tablet. Charge status is here; fire button is here.”

  “Like a damn video game,” Theodore replied. “Nice work, Mr. Mokri.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’re almost done,” Zoelle said. “I’m about to power it up. Remember, we can’t control the cascade. It’s going to cycle for now, and the Dahms on those ships are going to figure out what’s happening pretty quickly. We need to hit them back as hard and fast as we can.”

  “I hear you, darlin’,” Theodore said. “Nothing to do now but pray.”

  “Amen,” Zoelle said, her hands a blur on the terminal.

  A moment later, Gabriel could feel the charge of the energy as it began running through the conduit once more. The modulator began to whine softly, and two of the connectors on top sparked and smoked.

  “I don’t think it’s working,” he said, his stomach sinking.

  “Come on,” Zoelle said, her hands still working the terminal. “It can’t handle the power. We need to reduce it. The surface area is going to be smaller than we planned.”

  “How small?” Gabriel asked.

  “It will be just large enough to stop the main plasma cannon if it catches it square in the center.”

  “With rolling coverage? No pilot in the universe can keep the shields centered like that. What if we keep the power levels up?”

  “It will destroy the modulator.”

  “How quickly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Gabriel said. “Do it.”

  “Okay. God be with us and have mercy on our souls. Theodore, the shields should be active, but they can’t handle the strain for long. Remember, hard and fast.”

  “Affirmative. Tea’va, bring us in.”

  24

  Theodore didn’t like the Dread’s command dais, even though it wasn’t much different than the raised platform on the Magellan. The seat was uncomfortable, designed for a taller, leaner shape, and certainly not adjustable for an old man with no legs. More than that, it was obvious when sitting on it that it was designed to make the rest of the bridge crew feel submissive and small, and he hated that. Each and every soul on the bridge was invaluable to him, even if they were limited in their helpfulness during their first taste of combat aboard the alien vessel.

  They had held themselves well in the last two battles. At least this time they had a weapon to fire back at the enemy.

  A weapon that could actually hurt them.

  And now, Mr. Mokri had pulled a rabbit out of his hat one more time, and along with Juliet and Gabriel had given them some semblance of shields. He knew it was true because, despite the original blackness of the lek’shah armor, it had given way to an even deeper, darker black that he identified immediately as darkspace. It curled and rolled around the hull of the bow like a typhoon, as though they had somehow released a storm on top of the ship. He had been expecting it to be more evenly distributed and as such easier to adjust to, but they would take what they could get.

  “Keep us heading in the right direction, Mr. Tea’va,” Theodore said. “Full ahead.”

  “Yes, Dahm St. Martin,” Tea’va replied.

  The two Dread fortresses had come from nowhere, retreating from slipspace and making a direct line toward them, firing on them without any attempts to communicate. Theodore found that strange, considering they were supposed to be friendly and there was no way they could have heard about their takeover of the ship already. It meant that the incoming ships probably thought they were shooting at one of their own, and they were doing it intentionally and without any quarter.

  It was a chilling thought.

  “Hard to port, Tea’va,” Theodore said as he watched the position of the fortresses ahead of them.

  They were doing exactly as Juliet had said, trying to split apart and get to both sides of the ship. It was a standard but effective maneuver, especially considering their shield situation. They couldn’t cover both at once, which meant they needed to take one out, and fast.

  He held his finger over Reza’s tablet, where a big red ‘FIRE” button rested on the screen. There was a wire snaking from the tablet to one of the forward terminals, giving him interpolated access to the Ishur’s main cannon. He didn’t have a targeting computer to help him line the shot, which meant he had to do it by eye across the vastness of space.

  No pressure.

  He clenched his teeth as the two Dread fortresses fired their plasma cannons simultaneously. Tea’va rolled the Ishur slightly as the bolts approached, and Theodore couldn’t help but pump his fist when he saw the first go beneath the ship, and the other hit the swirling maelstrom of darkspace. The ship shuddered from the impact, but the strike didn’t leave any lasting damage.

  “My turn,” Theodore said, tapping the button.

  The front of the fortress began to glow with bright blue energy which arced away a moment later, spewing toward the target on their port side. Theodore refused to blink as he watched it approach the ship, and as the ship tried to evade the strike. It managed to shift slightly, turning broadside and moving the impact further toward the rear. It still took the hit, leaving him satisfied as layers of lek’shah were burned away, and debris began to vent from the side of the vessel.

  “That’s one for the good guys,” he said.

  “Dahm St. Martin,” Tea’va said. “The starboard target will be aligning their secondary batteries. We don’t have coverage to stop them.”

  “Can we take the hit?”

  “For a few minutes, Dahm.”

  Damn. They needed to be faster. He looked at the charge on the plasma cannon. Fifty percent.

  “Juliet, you with me, darlin’?” he said, opening a channel.

  “I’m here, Theodore. What do you need?”

  “More power to the main plasma,” he said. “Recharge time is slower than a gator in a mudhole.”

  “I will see what I can do.”

  Theodore shifted his attention to the starboard fortress. It was bathed in light as its secondary batteries began firing at them, dozens of positions belching plasma across a thousand kilometers, too close for comfort in space. Tea’va started to shift the bow toward them, to catch the attack with the shields.

  “Stay on the port target, Mr. Tea’va,” Theodore said.

  “Dahm, I do not think-”

  “I think, you steer,” Theodore snapped. “Stay on the port target.”

  “Yes, Dahm St. Martin.”

  The ship shuddered slightly as the plasma attack began battering into it.

  “Do we have damage reports showing anywhere?” Theodore asked.

  “It isn’t integrated yet, sir,” Reza replied.

  “Damn it. Get me a clone or something up here, someone that can read the alien symbols. Juliet?”

  “I will contact Shielle. One moment.”

  The charge on the plasma cannon completed.

  “Mr. Tea’va, give me four degrees port.”

  “Yes, Dahm.”

  The ship began to turn, the bow coming out slightly ahead of the enemy ship. Theodore slapped the fire button again and then watched as the bolt slammed into the front of the enemy ship. More debris exploded from the impact point, and it began to turn away from them.

  “Was it just me, or did our cannon recharge faster than theirs?” Theodore asked.

  “I rerouted the power from the batteries we can’t use,” Zoelle said. “Theodore, you must hurry, the modulator will not hold out much longer.”

  “Dahm St. Martin, the starboard target is turning to fire its main cannon.”

  Theodore stared at the fortress to their port side, trying to determine if it was out of the fight. It had turned its nose away from them and was still leaking debris. At the same time, secondary batteries were lighting up and beginning to fire out of sync.

  “It is damaged,” Tea’va said as if reading his mind. “If the Dahm of the ship is courageous, he will continue the fight until he is destroyed, but he is less of a concern. We should engage the other target, Dahm St. Martin.”

  “Agreed. Do it, Mr. Tea’va.”

  Theodore didn’t know what the Dread did, but the ship began to shiver and moan, the forward velocity terminating abruptly as it shifted on its axis, the bow rotating toward the second domo’shah. It was already alight in the blue glow of the plasma cannon, and Theodore couldn’t stop himself from flinching as it fired at relatively close range.

  The Ishur shuddered again as it began to reverse, turning again, Tea’va working to move the shields to deflect the attack. It was as impressive a piece of flying as Theodore had ever seen, and he howled as the bolt smacked against it.

  “Yes,” he shouted, looking down at the status of their own cannon. It was almost ready.

  He quickly checked on the first target, which was staying back further and firing the weaker secondary batteries at them. The bolts were striking the hull and digging into the lek’shah, but not nearly with enough focus to cause immediate critical damage.

  A new figure arrived on deck, running across the bridge. Shielle, the clone of Juliet. He noticed that she glanced at Tea’va as she passed him by, and then took a position behind one of the terminals.

  “Damage report,” Theodore said.

  “Hull breach on three decks, all sealed, Dahm St. Martin,” she replied. “Damage is minimal.”

  “That’s what I want to hear. Mr. Tea’va, get us lined up. Six degrees starboard, bring the bow up eight degrees.”

  “Yes, Dahm St. Martin.”

  The fortress began to turn again, maneuvering well considering the size. The enemy ship was turning as well, having realized the Ishur’s shields were superior. It was trying to broadside them again, to stay out of their main cannon range and pepper them with secondary fire until they gave in.

  “Dahm St. Martin, we have a breach on forty-six,” Shielle said. “Emergency seals are closing.”

  The port side fortress was having some success with their own small arms.

  “We need to end this now,” Theodore said. “Give me some lead, Mr. Tea’va.”

  “Yes, Dahm.”

  The Ishur’s bow kept turning, making it ahead of the starboard enemy.

  “All ahead, Mr. Tea’va,” Theodore said.

  He didn’t feel the acceleration, but he could see it in the rate at which the enemy fortress grew in front of them. They were bearing down on the ship, racing toward it, the shields on the bow absorbing most of its firepower. Their main plasma was charged, and they were getting so close he couldn’t miss.

  He pressed down on the trigger, and watched the blue bolt streak away from the Ishur, slamming into the side of the fortress, digging into the hull and through, vanishing on the inside.

  “A good hit,” Tea’va said. “That will reach the engines.”

  “Get us away from it,” Theodore said.

  “Yes, Dahm,” Tea’va replied.

  They accelerated, vectoring beneath the fortress as gouts of flame began to escape from it. The first fortress didn’t follow, unwilling to risk getting caught in the second’s death throes, and understanding that they had lost this fight.

  Theodore kept an eye on the ships as they continued accelerating away from them. The first continued to vent fire for a couple of minutes before finally falling still and silent, the glow of the interior lights through the hull transparencies fading away and leaving it nearly invisible in the darkness of space. The other fortress retreated, heading in the opposite direction from the Ishur.

  “Ha!” Theodore cried, pushing himself up on his hands. “Take that, you damn couillon bastards.”

  He smiled as the other crew members cheered along with him.

  In front of him, Tea’va shifted in his seat, looking over at Shielle. She looked back at him, nodding slightly.

  Then they both smiled.

  25

  Tea’va entered his quarters, his chest pulsing, his muscles pumping with adrenaline. It had been a good fight, and unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He had participated in a number of gi’shah competitions over the years and had done well enough to still be alive. This? This was something completely different. A record for his History that deserved to be kept. When was the last time a domo’shah had engaged another? It could only have been during the civil wars, over ten thousand years earlier.

  He was honored to be the pilot who had maneuvered the Ishur, keeping the humans’ incredible shield technology positioned to absorb the attacks of the opposing fortresses and lining up the main plasma cannon to fire direct, decisive hits. Not the Heil’bek. Him. He had proven his superiority to Theodore St. Martin, and to all of the others who saw how he had managed the massive starship. He had proven his superiority to himself.

  His face twisted as he smiled once more. His plans were coming together well, much better than he could have hoped for at the moment when he decided to use the rebels to help him achieve his ends. Not only would he have his ship back, but he would have new defenses that none of the other domo’shah could match. Defenses that would allow him to bombard the capital from space and force the Domo’dahm to rise to meet him or face destruction on the ground. He would have the opportunity to force Rorn’el’s hand, and in the end, destroy him and seize control of the bek’hai.

  It was hard for him to be patient, but he knew he had no choice. The clones wouldn’t be mature for another six days, and there was no way he could retake the Ishur without them.

  Or without Shielle.

  In the hours following the humans’ capture of the Ishur, he had thought he would need to kill the un’hai, expecting that like Zoelle she would find some kind of regressed awareness of Juliet St. Martin buried within her subconscious. Not only had that not been true, but she was as sneaky and conniving as Zoelle. She had been the one working with Gr’el to alter the mothers, to shift the balance of power on the ship and assist the late pur’dahm in gaining control. She had been the one to come to him, to confide in him how much she hated the humans, and to find out where his loyalties truly were. It was a risky decision on her part. If he had been a subject of their new masters, he would have been wise to turn her in or kill her where she stood.

  He had done neither. Instead, he chose to take a risk of his own and confide in her. He hated the humans as well and had only allowed himself to be submissive to them in order to gain their trust. It was a difficult thing to do, to bow and scrape before them. To call Theodore “Dahm St. Martin,” and agree with his every command when he wanted only to stab him with a lek’sai and rest his corpse at the foot of the command dais.

  It was almost made worse by the fact that he respected the human and his son. They were both skilled warriors, intelligent and brave. The Heil’bek was almost reverent of him, identifying his superiority and commending him for it. The Domo’dahm had never recognized what an achievement Tea’va was, or how skilled he was. Why did it take a human to recognize the evolution that he represented, and the step forward he could be for the good of the bek’hai?

  Why did he have to fight to make them see he was better? The Domo’dahm should have raised him to the top of the cells on his evolution alone.

  He moved to his terminal in the back of the room, leaning over it and activating it. Should he have confided in her? It was a question he had asked himself over and over again. Trusting in others had been his downfall in the first place. At the same time, he couldn’t do everything alone. He was a single bek’hai. He needed allies. Or at least, one ally. Especially one like Shielle. She had access to the cloning facilities, and neither Zoelle or the humans suspected her of being anything more than a standard clone. She was able to operate beneath their notice, while he was sure every member of the human crew was keeping a close eye on him.

  He opened his History. How would he explain this to any that came after? How would he describe his allegiance to the humans?

  “Today, the army of Tea’va dur Orin’ek encountered the forces of the incompetent Rorn’el -”

  He paused, deleting the entry. That wouldn’t do. He backed away from the terminal to give it more thought. Was he a fool for trusting Shielle? What else could he have done? He had considered killing Theodore St. Martin and his son and ordering the current clone soldiers to attack the humans. He had gone as far as to strategically organize them around the human crews to give them the best chance to overwhelm them. The problem was that there weren’t enough remaining. One soldier for each human and they had all been disarmed. The element of surprise would help, but a victory wasn’t guaranteed. If he were going to take chances anyway, he preferred to move his risk to a single point of failure. If Shielle did turn on him, he would have the opportunity to deny any accusations she made and start again. The Heil’bek would believe him. The Heil’bek trusted him. More than that, the Heil’bek actually liked him.