From the very first glance, Alvar understood that the stranger who introduced himself as Misha was not a professional pilot.
"The best way to shake off the enemy is to fly straight," Jensen said reproachfully.
"That's what I'm doing."
"You're zigzagging like a drunk sailor on shore!" the Runner condemned the manner of controlling the flying ship. It wasn't hard to notice this from the continuously "swaying" views of the horizon. After all, it wasn't a mountain range wandering left and right, was it?
"I'm trying to confuse our pursuers!" Misha said, pointing to three rapidly approaching red dots. "The signal from your beacon in your back gives a certain spread over the area and..."
The "pilot" fell silent when several energy charges raced across their course. Then another burst passed to the right along the hull—and only a sharp throw of the ship to the side allowed them to survive the attack of the Wraith "Dart."
To his surprise, Alvar did not experience the typical overloads for such a maneuver. Even in the most modern fighter on his planet, something like this did not go without consequences for the body.
That's why they recruited only trained and physically strong military personnel as pilots.
"Give me the controls!" Jensen demanded. "I have pilot training!"
"On this type of ship?" Misha smirked. "I doubt it."
"My people had their own fighters! I don't think they're more complicated than your machine!"
Mikhail looked at him strangely. After which, without any warnings, a large device with a display in a white case emerged from the triangular box on the inner lining of the pilot's cabin, next to Alvar.
"What is this?"
"Take it in your hands and tell me what you see," the guy at the controls replied in a commanding tone.
The "Darts" tried to shoot them down again.
Alvar took the device in his hands and noticed that Misha was flying with his eyes closed. Just a couple of seconds, but such tricks could cost both their lives. The Runner had already begun to doubt that it had been more dangerous on the ground than here.
However, as soon as he got distracted by the device in his hands, three short sound signals sounded from the panel's side. And the red dots of the pursuers disappeared.
"What was that?"
"I shot them down. They started shooting too close to us. Obviously at random, since we're under camouflage, but..."
"How? I didn't notice any guns on your ship."
"Weapons come in different kinds," Misha replied evasively. "So what does the screen show?"
"Empty, the device isn't working."
"That's the problem. The technologies I'm using work in the hands of only a certain type of people. Unfortunately, you're not one of them. So I stay at the controls."
"Why make a weapon that others can't use?" the Runner wondered.
"Precisely so that no one else can use it. That's logical, after all!"
Maybe.
"Ancestors preserve us," Alvar muttered, looking at the appearance of more and more red dots on the screen. "The Wraith won't calm down until they shoot us down."
"Looks like it."
"You saved me, kid, but continuing this is just stupid," Alvar said. "Try to slow down near the foothills—I'll jump out and lead them away from your ship. I'm used to it..."
"No offense, kid, but now they need both of us," Misha said. "That weapon I used was surely identified. And the Wraith definitely won't approve of using technologies that could threaten them."
Jensen didn't even argue.
After all, his own world had been destroyed by the Wraith to the ground for exactly that reason. They had learned much of what the Ancestors knew. They built the first reactors, taught their fighters to enter near space, developed more lethal small arms...
But nothing of that saved them when a Wraith hive ship arrived at the planet to take revenge for the destroyed "Darts." Sent by the enemies of all humanity through the gate, they were shot down. And their pilots, without giving any information about their commanders, were executed.
The Wraith turned Jensen's home planet into ruins in just one day. No matter how effective their weapons were, Alvar's countrymen did not hold out in that battle. And his people, who survived the orbital bombardment, were subjected to merciless culling, leaving no one alive.
Of more than a hundred thousand population, no one remained except a few soldiers who were turned into Runners. Whether anyone else was alive after so much time besides him, the man did not know.
"I suggest then..."
"Wait," Misha interrupted him, pointing to the screen. "You see that too?"
Alvar glanced at the computer projection, after which he whistled in surprise:
"The "Darts" have stopped pursuing us. Scared of your weapon?"
"I doubt the Wraith can be scared by one "Puddle Jumper," Misha doubted. "But what is, is—they've abandoned us. Means there's a chance to shake them off."
"They block the gate during an attack," the Runner enlightened. "With my transmitter, the Wraith will track us anywhere on this planet."
"And I think the same," the guy agreed. "However, I have an idea how to make them lose our trail."
"Attack the hive?"
"Not this time. We'll deal with your transmitter, and then think how to get off the planet."
"We need to engage in battle, break through to the Ancestors' Ring and..."
"...and die," Misha finished his thought. "Listen, friend. I also want to get out of here as soon as possible. However, a suicidal attack won't go unpunished. Whether we die or they shoot down my "Puddle Jumper," in any case the Wraith will get what I personally don't intend to give them. While there are options—we'll fight."
"If only you can remove the beacon," Alvar said, not hiding his skepticism. He doubted that this guy, even managing excellent weapons and a ship, could do what the best minds on the planets known to him could not.
"At least I'll try," the guy admitted. "But I'll need wiring with a metal core, something to cut the skin with..."
Without extra words, Alvar pulled out a coil of thin wire-string used in military engineering from his outer pocket. And also demonstrated his knife.
"Will that do?"
"I hope so," Mikhail said, looking at what was offered. "And now we need to find a suitable place to land."
"There," Jensen saw a small snow-covered area about a hundred meters from the ground surface. The mountain here transitioned into a small plateau, so even an inexperienced pilot should manage. "I hope you land better than you pilot."
"I hope so too," the "pilot" admitted.
*
"The "Darts" have unloaded the collected people and are heading to positions," the first officer reported. "Arrival in a few minutes..."
The massive eight-kilometer hive, whose age dated back to the dawn of Wraith civilization, shuddered from a powerful explosion.
"What's happening?" the hive commander asked, turning to his subordinate.
"They report detonation on the human unloading platform by the "Darts," he reported. "The explosion was powerful, some systems were damaged, including hangar control."
"What about the livestock?"
"Half of the collected animals died," the first officer reported. "We lost five "Darts" and their pilots."
And that means the explosion was very powerful. It was impossible to bring such a device on board. Thanks to mental abilities, the commander would easily detect a foreign Wraith on his ship. Therefore, something like this could only be arranged from inside the hangar itself.
A pilot couldn't do that, but humans...
"Sabotage," the hive commander growled.
"But who's behind it?"
"The one who will arrive soon!" the commander pointed a clawed finger at the marks of approaching ships.
"Deploy all "Darts" to defensive positions!"
"As you command, commander," the first officer reported.
"The ships have exited hyperspace," the second officer reported. "The hive has opened fire."
In the next moment, the commander felt a chain of explosions pass through his hive. Excessively strong for ordinary hits on a regenerating bio-organic hull.
One hive ship bombards another. Nothing new, a regular Monday in the Pegasus galaxy.
"Batteries and hangars on the left side are hit," the first officer reported. "Multiple internal explosions. We've lost the sensor cluster in that part of the ship, losing air."
"Seal the bulkheads."
"Already done, commander," the second officer reported.
"The enemy cruisers are bypassing us on the left and coming to the rear," the first officer warned.
The commander saw that the arriving hive continued to be in direct line of sight. Besides the already occurred salvo, no new strikes followed from either the hive or the escort cruisers.
"They've launched "Darts," the first officer reported. "They're maintaining a defensive formation."
Which was extremely illogical, having superiority in firepower and number of ships.
"Call them, commander?" the second officer inquired.
"They're already calling us," he cut off. "On screen!"
Hive commander.
Even the blurry image on the organic film of the communication screen couldn't prevent him from seeing the triumphant expression on the queen's face. And how quickly it changed to a grimace of contempt.
However, he recognized her just as she recognized him.
Now everything fell into place.
***
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