Something flickered in the air above Webster’s head causing him to look up. What he saw were several dark shapes which moved lazily. They were reminiscent of a kind of bloated manta ray.

  “And, what are these?”

  “The Da’al as we first encountered them. Aggressive, combative, belligerent. Needless to say, they haven’t changed much.”

  “Really? I’ve come up against quite a few of them now but none of them look remotely like this.”

  “Forgive me, commander, but I think you may be confusing them with the Kurran. It’s a common enough error. The Kurran are the Da’al’s henchmen, if you will. The Da’al settled them quite recently. Just over half a million years ago. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

  The Pilot brought up an image of two termite’s standing on their back legs, both clutching energy weapons. He was immediately reminded of the creature he’d left standing in an icy wasteland, its claw foot resting on a landmine.

  “You’re telling me that after all this time I haven’t even seen a Da’al yet?”

  The Pilot gave a thin smile. “That would seem to be the case. If you’d come across one, you’d know about it. They have what can only be described as an extremely distinctive aroma. It works to attract possible mates while at the same time chemically inhibiting the younger males - effectively neutering them. The dominant males have an extremely strong urge to reproduce.”

  He brought up an image of a bloated figure. Its face was broad with a slash of a mouth and eyes which drooped alarmingly. The body ended in a long, thin, whip-like tail.

  “You don’t paint a particularly flattering picture of them and yet they somehow managed to defeat you.”

  “We under-estimated them, that’s true. Initially, we viewed them only as simple aggressors who we could exploit as a way of controlling other species. The only reason that they hadn’t become more dominant on their home planet was because they were largely aquatic. So we decided to change all that. But when we started experimenting on them, we were surprised to find that they possess a very unique gift.”

  Webster looked at the image with distaste. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “All the same, we discovered that the same system they used to navigate the oceans could be utilised, with a few upgrades, to encompass space flight. It didn’t happen overnight but gradually we began to entrust them with the running of our interstellar fleets. They are truly extraordinary in that regard. We took care to put counter measures in place to stop them taking over complete control but eventually the Da’al found ways of subverting those systems.”

  “And that’s when they turned on you?”

  The Pilot made to correct Webster but then stopped short, his face splitting into an awkward smile.

  “You’re quite right. The whole thing has a grim predictability about it. Did I mention that they can be quite aggressive?”

  “I believe you called them aggressive and belligerent.”

  “Both biologically and socially they have evolved to dominate other species. The whole concept of surrender is foreign to them. There is no reasoning with them once they’re set on something.”

  “So how did you manage to control them for so long? Get them to do your bidding.”

  “We had some level of success early on using versions of their own hormones against them. But, over time, this became a less effective means of controlling them. There were several warning signs although, unfortunately, we chose not to heed them. The benefits granted to us by their navigational skills were just too tempting. They helped us achieve FTL travel far sooner than we would have on our own. But by closing our eyes to the threats posed by the Da’al, we simply accelerated our own downfall.”

  The quiet of the bridge was disrupted by the keening sound of an alarm.

  Webster looked at the Pilot who appeared unconcerned by this turn of events.

  “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He stepped down onto the main deck and crossed over to the master console. All the while, the screens flashed with data, though in a language Webster couldn’t begin to understand.

  Then, from nowhere, another figure appeared and went across to help him.

  Webster thought at first that this was The Librarian but quickly realised his mistake.

  This was another sub-mind to be sure. He was dressed differently, in a blue smock over a green turtleneck sweater. His hair was longer as well, pulled back in an untidy ponytail.

  From where Webster stood, it was difficult to hear what was being said so he moved closer.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” The Pilot’s voice had an edge to it now.

  “I’m sure you haven’t but that doesn’t alter things. Either we go ahead with this or we don’t.”

  “This isn’t why we’re here. We didn’t agree to any of this.”

  “No, but that’s never stopped us in the past,” the man in the turtleneck was saying.

  “And, in the meantime, events are getting away from us. If we don’t act soon it may already be too late.”

  The figure in the turtle-neck sweater looked Webster up and down.

  “Is this the one you’ve been talking about?”

  “It is. But can we just focus on one thing at a time?”

  The newcomer gave Webster an intense look before turning back to select a file.

  For the first time he had a clear sense that he might be in danger. He wasn’t sure what had triggered it exactly but it was all tied up in the fact that this third, as yet unidentified, sub-mind was virtually indistinguishable from the other two. Although that wasn’t completely true, either. He quite admired the Pilot for his openness while finding the Librarian to be something of a sanctimonious robot. Both responses were purely emotional of course but, with nothing else to go on, he regarded this as good a gauge as any.

  And what had he meant by that last comment?

  “Is this the one you’ve been talking about?”

  He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  All they could do was sit and watch as their missiles homed in on their target. Moving around wasn’t an option anymore as they were all confined to their crash couches.

  Bearing in mind that his physical movements were limited to being able to suck on his water pipe and select various HUD icons using his eyes, Faulkner had deferred to Whaites on the issue of which missiles to launch. And it hadn’t been a straightforward task, either, as he was constrained in his choices by the vast distances they would have to operate over. And while it did limit the payloads of the various missiles he’d employed, Whaites guaranteed him that the missiles would still be viable when they eventually reached their target.

  Whaites had opted to lead with the more powerful missiles first. His hope being that they’d pack a sufficient punch to blow a hole right through the Da’al ship’s aft defences. This would be followed up by thirty stealth missiles, all of which would be targeting different areas. Each one was fitted with cameras in the hope that they would be able to identify significant weaknesses within the ship’s hull.

  On paper it appeared to be an excellent plan showcasing just the right combination of stopping power and stealth technology. But none of that helped dispel Faulkner’s various misgivings. For, as far as he was concerned, they were just chancing their arm with this first attack. There was no brilliant ploy here with which they hoped to take-out their enemy. Instead, they were relying on a theory which Davitz, the chief engineer aboard Mantis, had posited but which he hadn’t lived long enough to see put into practice.

  And the rest was all down to guesswork. Because the only thing which had been proven to have any effect on the Da’al shields so far was the EMP linked to a nuclear explosion. And, with no nukes currently available, they were just going to have to adopt a policy of wait and see .

  “What’s the state of play with those missiles?” Faulkner asked.

  “So far,” Whaites replied. “They’re all green. It’s looking good.”

  “Distance to target?”

  “One point six million miles.”

  “How long before we have a possible strike?”

  “Sixteen minutes, sir.”

  Schwartz’s face popped into the top corner of his HUD and she gave him a rather forced smile. ‘Forced’ in terms of the effort it took just to move your head under these conditions. The acceleration couches were excellent for protecting the human frame from the vagaries of sub-light travel but they really limited what the crew could effectively do.

  Certainly, on a personal level, Faulkner was struggling to stay fully alert. Initially, the doctors had wanted to put him out completely but he had refused. He needed to be conscious just in case Whaites’ plan didn’t work out the way they wanted it to.

  The officers and crew who were still awake were sealed inside their own hugely ungainly compression suits. These suits would allow them to continue working safely, even in the event of a hull breech. As well as monitoring and supporting their basic bodily functions, the suits worked to squeeze the various body parts, ensuring that an adequate flow of blood was maintained throughout their circulatory systems. They were extremely uncomfortable to wear and downright painful at times.

  Age-wise, this was pushing Faulkner to his absolute limits.

  He was certain the doctors knew it too, but they had been prepared to take their lead from Schwartz. If she was willing to sign off on Faulkner’s health in the short-term, then that was good enough for them.

  He wondered what she made of all this. His win-at-all-costs attitude towards the enemy. Schwartz was one of the new breed of officers who had grown up without fully grasping some of the sacrifices Faulkner and others of his generation had been forced to make. Did she think that he was over-stating his case as far as the threat posed by the Loki was concerned? Did she resent him for endangering their lives in this way?

  There was no way of knowing. He just hoped that he still commanded some small level of respect from her. Because, in spite of everything that had happened, they were still in the game. There was still a chance that they could pull this off.

  All they needed now was a little luck.

  “The first of our missiles is coming into range, sir.”

  He could see Whaites’ face on the top right of his visor. Despite his gaunt features, the man still managed to look excited. This would be his first foray into actual combat, and he was clearly relishing the experience.

  The picture switched to show them the view from one of their lead missiles. It was surprisingly detailed, giving the impression that they were heading for an alien city lit up at night. The view was surprisingly tranquil, giving no indication of the destruction which was about to be unleashed.

  “Two hundred and ninety seconds to target.”

  Faulkner could sense the tension in the room.

  If those Da’al shields were active, they would find out about it in the next few seconds.

  “Whoa! What was that?” someone said over the tac-link.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Whaites said.

  “We seem to be picking up enemy fire.”

  “We’re two missiles down.”

  “I’m not sure what’s happening, sir. But, at such close range, they have to be deploying lasers.”

  “Since when did the Da’al have point defence capabilities?” Schwartz asked.

  Faulkner wasn’t listening. He was too fixated on what he was seeing. He could just make out the flash of multiple impacts. They seemed to be coming from everywhere.

  “We’re taking multiple hits, sir. They’ve locked on and hitting us with everything they’ve got.”

  When his screen suddenly went blank, Faulkner brought up the tactical display front and centre, only to see that their first wave of missiles appeared to have been wiped out.

  Then he started seeing gaps in the second wave of missiles. They were being picked off, one by one. And yet, still he refused to panic. They had over forty missiles heading for the target. The enemy couldn’t get them all. They were bound to score a significant hit at some point and then they’d take it from there.

  With the question of the shielding having been removed, it would simply be a matter of studying the data. They’d dealt with lasers before, the threat they posed wouldn’t be insurmountable. They’d learn from their mistakes and try again.

  Except their window of opportunity was closing fast.

  “Sir, we have four vectors incoming.”

  Whaites said, “Incoming?”

  There was a moment of incomprehension and then the sound of a massive explosion ripped through the whole ship. Faulkner’s head was jerked to one side and, if it hadn’t been for the head restraints built into his suit, the outcome would have been far worse.

  He was aware of various unsecured items flying across the bridge area. A small hand extinguisher struck the top of one of the acceleration couches with such force that it spiralled off into the air, landing somewhere behind him.

  A series of bangs and crashes echoed throughout the whole ship and for a moment, Faulkner thought that the game was up. That they’d suffered a catastrophic hull breech which would leave them having to limp home for repairs. But then the damage reports started flashing up all around him and he realised that it wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought.

  “I take it they hit us?” he said far too calmly.

  “That’s a positive, sir. Three compartments are currently off-line, suspected damage to the forward engine array and it looks as though most of our forward sensors and our long-range comms are down too.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  “What about casualties?”

  “Nothing as yet, sir, but I’ll keep you informed.”

  With everyone either locked down or incapacitated, he prayed that casualties would be light.

  “Mister Whaites? What’s happening?”

  “We’re down to seven live missiles but they’re still looking good.”

  Faulkner checked the countdown clock and then had to sit and watch as, one by one, five of the remaining missiles disappeared from the display.

  That meant that out of forty missiles, only two had been successful.

  “Did we do any damage?”

  Whaites came on looking anxious. “I’d love to say that we did, sir, but with our long-range scans down, it’s difficult to say.”

  Ten minutes later, Faulkner convened a virtual meeting with Whaites, Schwartz and Khan.

  “Okay, so what went wrong?”

  “Shall we start with their incoming missile,” Schwartz said.

  “That was one hell of a shot,” Whaites said. “Considering all the vectors, to hit us like that was quite something.”

  Schwartz said, “Two other missiles were dealt with by our point defence weapons and one missed completely.”

  “And we had no warning?”

  Whaites pulled a face. “It looks like they didn’t actually ‘launch’ these things which is why they didn’t have the normal launch signatures. They just released them, leaving momentum to do the rest. And it’s not like we’re making it difficult for them to see us. They know we’re after them so, in that regard, we’re an easy target.”

  “Still, no excuse. We’ve got three confirmed casualties, one of whom has life changing injuries. I don’t want a repeat of this. Do whatever you have to but make sure this doesn’t happen again. Is that understood?”

  They all nodded their assent.

  “Now what about our missiles? What happened there?”

  All eyes were on Whaites.

  “Thirty-eight missiles launched and only two of them managed to get through. We’ve completed a visual analysis because that’s all we can do but damage appears to be minimal.” Whaites licked his lips before continuing. “Sir, if you’d like me to stand down as Head of Tactical…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is the first time we’ve tried something like this and we’re going to have to learn from it. You think you’re the first guy this has happened to? Then think again. We’re in a fight here, son. We have to accept that the enemy are going to get in a good couple of licks. That’s how this goes. We just have to make sure our heads don’t go down when that happens. No. We re-group and come out fighting. Now, what have you got for me?”

  Whaites was thrown by that. He hadn’t been expecting to be still in the conversation at this point.

  “As I said, sir, they managed to take down thirty-six of our missiles”.

  “Yes. Yes. I get all that. But what happened to them exactly?”

  “I think it’s best if I show you,” the various faces disappeared to be replaced with a single shot of the rear of the Loki.

  “Okay, so what is this we’re looking at?”

  “Yeah,” Schwartz said. “I’m expecting to be seeing lots of laser batteries, only I’m not.”

  “That’s because there aren’t any. At least not in the sense that we would expect. See these two rings, here and here?”

  Faulkner couldn’t make out what was going on but then Whaites over-wrote them with an orange marker.

  “There you are,” he said. “Two concentric circles, one inside the other.”

  Faulkner squinted at the screen. “You’re saying, that’s where their lasers are based?”

  “That’s right. Hundreds of lasers, arranged in a circular lay-out, all firing independently.”

  “Hundreds?” Schwartz asked.

  “But they’re mounted inside the ship,” Khan said. “Which is crazy. So, what does that mean for the question of heat dispersal?”

  Confederation ships had their lasers mounted externally for this very reason. They relied on the deep cold of space to help dissipate the build-up of heat. To stop them over-heating.

  “Actually, this is fascinating,” Khan continued. “They must have some massive heat sink back there to help them deal with all this, otherwise it’d never work.”