From the very first glance, Alvar realized that the stranger, who introduced himself as Misha, was not a professional pilot.
"The best way to break away from the enemy is to move in a straight line," Jensen said reproachfully.
"I am."
"You're weaving like a drunken sailor on shore!" the fugitive condemned the flying ship's handling. It wasn't hard to notice this from the constantly "swaying" views of the horizon. After all, it's not a mountain range that sways left and right?
"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..."
"Pilot" fell silent as several energy charges streaked across their course. Then another burst passed along the starboard side—and only a sharp lurch of the ship to the side allowed them to survive the "arrow" attack of the wraiths.
To his surprise, Alvar did not experience the typical overloads for such a maneuver. Even in the most modern fighter on his planet, such things did not happen without consequences for the body.
That's why only trained and physically strong soldiers were recruited as pilots.
"Give me the controls!" Jensen demanded. "I have pilot training!"
"On this type of ship?" Misha chuckled. "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. Then, without any warning, a large device with a display in a white casing rolled out of a triangular box on the inner lining of the cockpit, next to Alvar.
"What is that?"
"Take it in your hands and tell me what you see," the guy at the controls replied in a commanding tone.
The "arrows" tried to shoot them down again.
Alvar took the device and noticed that Misha was flying with his eyes closed. Only a couple of seconds, but such tricks could cost them both their lives. The fugitive was already beginning to doubt that it was more dangerous on the ground than here.
However, as soon as he got distracted by the device in his hands, three short beeps sounded from the panel. And the red dots of the pursuers disappeared.
"What was that?"
"I shot them down. They started shooting too close to us. Obviously, they were shooting blindly, because we're under cloaking, but..."
"How? I didn't notice any cannons on your ship."
"Weapons come in different kinds," Misha replied evasively. "So what's on the screen?"
"Empty, the device isn't working."
"That's the problem. The technologies I use only work in the hands of a certain type of person. Unfortunately, you are not among them. So I'm staying at the controls."
"Why make weapons that others can't use?" the fugitive wondered.
"Precisely so that no one else can use them. It's logical, after all!"
Perhaps.
"May the ancestors protect us," Alvar grumbled, looking at the appearance of more and more red dots on the screen. "The wraiths won't rest until they shoot us down."
"It seems so."
"You saved me, kid, but it's just stupid to keep doing it," 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. "The weapon I used has surely been identified. And the wraiths definitely won't approve of the use of technologies that could threaten them."
Jensen didn't even argue.
After all, his own world had been destroyed by the wraiths to its foundations for precisely that reason. They had learned much of what the Ancestors knew. They built the first reactors, taught their fighters to go into near space, developed more deadly firearms...
But none of this saved them when the wraith hive ship arrived at the planet to avenge the destroyed "arrows." Sent by the enemies of all mankind through the gates, they were shot down. And their pilots, without giving any information about their commanders, were executed.
The wraiths turned Jensen's home planet into ruins in just one day. No matter how effective their weapons were, Alvar's countrymen could not withstand that battle. And his people, who survived the orbital bombardment, were subjected to a merciless roundup, leaving no one alive.
Of the more than one hundred thousand population, no one remained except a few soldiers who were turned into fugitives. Whether anyone survived after so much time besides him, the man did not know.
"I suggest then..."
"Wait," Misha interrupted him, pointing to the screen. "Do you see that too?"
Alvar glanced at the computer projection, then whistled in surprise.
"The 'arrows' have stopped pursuing us. Scared of your weapon?"
"I doubt wraiths can be scared by a single 'jumper'," Misha doubted. "But there it is—they abandoned us. So there's a chance to get away."
"They block the gates during an attack," the fugitive enlightened him. "With my transmitter, the wraiths will track us anywhere on this planet."
"And I think so too," the guy agreed. "However, I have an idea how to make them lose our trail."
"Are we attacking the hive?"
"Not this time. We'll deal with your transmitter, and then we'll think about how to get off the planet."
"We need to engage in battle, break through to the Ring of the Ancestors 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 will not be in vain. Whether we die or they shoot down my 'jumper,' in any case, the wraiths will get what I personally am not going to give them. As long as there are options, we will fight."
"Unless you can get the beacon out," Alvar said, not hiding his skepticism. He doubted that this guy, even though he controlled excellent weapons and a ship, could do what the best minds on the planets he knew couldn't.
"At least I'll try to do it," the guy admitted. "But I'll need wiring with a metal core, something to cut skin with..."
Without further ado, Alvar took a coil of thin wire-string from his patch pocket, used in military sapper work. He also demonstrated his knife.
"Will it 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 above the ground. The mountain turned into a small plateau here, so even an inexperienced pilot should manage. "I hope you land better than you pilot."
"I hope so too," the "pilot" admitted.
***
"The 'arrows' have unloaded the collected people and are heading for their positions," the first assistant reported. "Arrival in a few minutes..."
The enormous eight-kilometer hive, whose age dated back to the dawn of the wraith civilization, shuddered from a powerful explosion.
"What's happening?" the hive commander asked, turning to his subordinate.
"They report a detonation at the unloading site of people by the 'arrows'," 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 assistant reported. "We lost five 'arrows' and their pilots."
This meant the explosion was very powerful. It was impossible to smuggle such a device on board. Thanks to his mental abilities, the commander would easily have detected a foreign wraith on board his ship. Therefore, such a thing could only have been arranged from inside the hangar itself.
The pilot couldn't have done it, but the people...
"Sabotage," the hive commander roared.
"But who is behind it?"
"The one who will arrive soon!" the commander pointed with a clawed finger at the markings of approaching ships.
"Bring all the 'arrows' to defensive positions!"
"Yes, commander," the first assistant reported.
"The ships have exited hyperspace," the second assistant reported. "The hive has opened fire."
The next moment, the commander felt a chain of explosions pass through his hive. Excessively strong for ordinary hits on a regenerable bionic hull.
One hive ship is shelling another. Nothing new, just a regular Monday in the Pegasus galaxy.
"Batteries and hangars on the port side have been hit," the first assistant reported. "Multiple internal explosions. We've lost the sensor cluster in this part of the ship, we're losing air."
"Seal the bulkheads."
"Already done, commander," the second assistant reported.
"The enemy cruisers are flanking us to the left and entering our rear," the first assistant warned.
The commander saw that the arriving hive continued to be in direct line of sight. Apart from the salvo that had already occurred, there were no new strikes from either the hive or its escort cruisers.
"They've launched 'arrows'," the first assistant reported. "They're maintaining a defensive formation."
Which is extremely illogical, given the advantage in firepower and number of ships.
"Shall we call them, commander?" the second assistant inquired.
"We're already being called," the latter cut him off. "On screen!"
The hive commander.
Even the unclear image on the organic film of the communication screen could not prevent him from seeing the triumphant expression on the queen's face. And how quickly it turned into a grimace of contempt.
However, he recognized her just as she recognized him.
Now everything fell into place.
"Scavenger!" she uttered the nickname by which he was known among other wraiths. "Indeed, who else could stoop so low as to attack my hunting grounds while my hive sleeps?"
The hive commander, whose name was Styx, grinned, revealing teeth as sharp as needles.
"Cunning Blade," he demonstrated his recognition of the opponent in the same tone as she. "Who else could have made the livestock carry a bomb aboard my hive during the roundup?"
The queen of the second hive. In lore, she had no name (she was killed before it was spoken), but I gave it to her, calling her Cunning Blade. And yes, wraith queens in lore have really unpretentious names. But more on that later.
With this hive queen, one must be vigilant.
Similarly, the few wraiths, essentially similar hives to his, who were left without a queen, and therefore without the ability to renew their gene pool, sometimes used fugitives to keep their fighters in shape. While most wraiths slept, those like Styx sought to maintain their competitive edge through regular maintenance of their combat readiness.
They existed mostly thanks to raids on the hunting grounds of others while other hives slept. The fact that there were wraith fans on this pathetic planet who informed the second hive of the attack was news to him.
Wraith fans are people who, in their incredible stupidity, decided they could be useful to some hive. They themselves came to the wraiths, offering worship and reverence in exchange for the special benefits they could be bestowed with. Most wraiths did not perceive humans as anything more than animals that reproduced randomly during their hibernation so that the wraiths would have something to feed on. But there were hives, like the one led by Cunning Blade. They allowed fans to travel on their ships, carrying out various assignments among humans. They found new or forgotten old hunting grounds, learned everything about planets that could pose a threat to the wraiths. They were once useful—for the first, perhaps second thousand years after the destruction of the Lantians. At a time when their legacy was still in the hands of animals. At a time when an attack on a planet could result in huge losses among the wraiths.
But now, most humans in the entire galaxy are no more than a docile herd that can only be frightened and beg for mercy. Styx personally saw no use in using them.
Unlike some other hives. Mostly, these were run by queens who entertained themselves by playing with tamed animals, considering them no more than livestock. As soon as the fans stopped being useful, they were eaten. But even then, they accepted their fate with delight and admiration. Yet, this brought almost no pleasure when feeding—over the years of service and receiving benefits and gifts from the wraiths, the fans turned into spoiled livestock, reeking just like the wraiths themselves.
And feeding on wraiths... Personally, that was beneath Styx's dignity. But others went for it. Because of this, there were significant changes in the population. And the gene pool did not always change for the better.
Once, Styx had a queen—the queen of the Great Union, which fought the Lantians and defeated them. However, due to an unfortunate tactical decision, he was left without her. For a while, he could hold power in his hands, and then he was betrayed. It was a perfectly standard event among wraiths: if earlier the weak died at the hands of the stronger, now a large number of weak united to destroy the strong rivals.
Only recently has there been a relative lull. And even then, only because most wraiths were in hibernation.
However, for some reason, Cunning Blade's hive, like the wraiths on board her cruisers, were not sleeping. There was undoubtedly someone on the planet who informed them of the attack. And he voluntarily allowed himself to be collected, bringing a powerful explosive device aboard to cause significant damage to his ship.
Styx seemed to understand why this was done.
Although he could not ask about it now, he could send a mental command to his first assistant. He, not involved in the conversation, carried out all the necessary operations and also gave a silent answer.
Now it became clear why the enemy hive's strike hit the port side directly. This bomb was not a simple explosive device. It left a weak but discernible trace of radiation, thanks to which Cunning Blade was able to detect it.
"You and your wraiths have taken what does not belong to you," she said. "This planet is my hunting ground!"
"I came here following a fugitive," Styx said.
"And you collected the entire planet's population because they were in your way?" the queen wheezed, baring her teeth demonstratively. "I should destroy your ship and let my fighters feed on yours."
Styx felt disgust.
He belonged to the first generation of wraiths, Cunning Blade to one of the subsequent ones. The genealogy of wraiths is as murky as it is convoluted. However, there was something that distinguished younger wraiths from older ones.
Those who fought the Lantians knew perfectly well what it was like to feed on their own kind. A disgusting abomination. The human herd, these animals, exist precisely to satisfy the wraiths' feeding needs. The first generation of wraiths, as well as the second, would never have allowed themselves such a thing. But the current wraiths are no longer what they used to be. And there are almost no old and experienced ones left.
Currently, the current wraiths use the threat of feeding on their own kind as a grave insult, emphasizing the fact that the opposing side is so weak that it is only fit for food.
"But I will take pity on you, scavenger," she said arrogantly. "You will give me half of all your 'arrows,' as well as the people you have collected. After which you will leave my hunting grounds forever. Otherwise," her voice, like her expression, became threatening, "I will destroy you."
"You won't do that," Styx said confidently, checking the latest tactical situation data. Now everything fell into place.
"Why not?" Cunning Blade asked, showing no surprise. "I have more ships and weapons."
"You surpass me in the number of ships and firepower, yes," Styx agreed. "But you have deployed no more than half of your 'arrows.' You did not continue to bombard my ship until complete destruction. I see only one reason for this—your hive and your cruisers have only a minimal crew on board. All your other wraiths are in stasis. But mine are not. Therefore, you will let me leave here, taking my wraiths with me. And you will not get a single person, not a single 'arrow'—I am taking them as compensation for the damage to my hive by your followers. But keep in mind—if you open fire on my ship, I will do everything to ensure that you and your hive ship are destroyed. And your wraiths will become prey for other hives, left without a queen. Personally, I am content to make an entire hive scavengers. Moreover, scavengers whose queen was destroyed by another scavenger."
It was the Lantians, pointing out the peculiarities of the first wraiths, who did him the greatest service. They taught him and other first wraiths to use their weakness as strength. True, the Lantians were mistaken in thinking of them as weak. And this overconfidence cost them their lives.
However, he was not going to die today.
This was a dangerous bluff.
Cunning Blade earned her name in full accordance with how she conducted her business. She could easily feign weakness to lure Styx into a deadly trap.
But there was something that was much stronger than Cunning Blade's desire to destroy the intruder.
His hive was one of the oldest, and therefore surpassed others in size. For this, one had to pay an exorbitant price, primarily suboptimal energy consumption. And therefore, he had to attack the hunting grounds of other wraiths very often—to feed his crew. Even considering that it was not full, he barely made ends meet. There were not enough people to even stock them up on the ships.
And attacking hunting grounds with a large number of people was extremely dangerous, as strong hives would undoubtedly take revenge for them. For this reason, he attacked small human settlements.
Wraiths do not fall into hibernation for no reason—they relieve themselves of the need to feed regularly. And at the same time, they give the human herd the opportunity to restore its numbers. Only when the number of people is sufficient do the wraiths wake up. A few wraiths are responsible for this, who occasionally visit planets to keep the situation under control.
Using an entire fleet for such purposes is unusually wasteful. If Cunning Blade had all the wraiths on all ships awakened, it would force her to devastate several planets with a low population. In fact, this would mean exterminating the hunting grounds, as he did on this planet.
No queen would do that if the livestock in the hunting grounds did not pose a threat to her.
The local animals posed no threat as such. Starting a war over such insignificant losses for her hive was impractical. But if she allowed this to happen, it would mean a loss of her authority among her commanders.
Whether she opened fire or let him go—the situation suited Styx in either case.
Frankly, the latter was even less preferable. For him.
Cunning Blade might decide to attack him to capture the old hive. It was a valuable and prestigious trophy. True, it required significant maintenance. But a large hive led by a queen could handle it. To some extent. By killing the commander, she could capture his wraiths, subordinate them to herself, further strengthening her hive.
But at the same time, if he was right, due to the lack of awakened wraiths, she would not be able to board Styx's ship. At least not immediately. But he would have time and opportunity to reach her ship and land his fighters on the hive. Even if many died, he would kill her. Whether other commanders leading cruisers would remain with him or not, it would no longer matter. He would become stronger anyway, even if he lost his old ship.
By letting him go without compensation, she would, of course, become the target of attacks from her ambitious commanders. But Cunning Blade could easily kill them and appoint new ones in their place. And repeat this procedure until her loyal commanders were in charge of the cruisers. However, such a decision had its negative consequences.
Cunning Blade might be sophisticated in her designs against wraiths of her own generation, but she was better off not messing with Styx.
The queen, baring her teeth, showed him contempt.
"Get out of here, scavenger," she said in a commanding tone. "Today I grant you your life. But all the wraiths in the galaxy will learn of your disrespectful attitude towards the ancient laws."
In fact, she was announcing that she would do everything in her power to ensure that other wraiths would hunt him down when they awoke.
Not news.
Such promises could be stored, nothing new.
"The cruisers and 'arrows' are leaving their positions," the first assistant reported. "Shall we start recalling our fighters?"
"Yes," Styx ordered. "Move beyond the range of their weapons. Then jump into hyperspace."
"As you wish, commander."
"Is the fugitive caught?" Styx asked the second assistant.
"No," the latter replied. "He managed to escape our trap. We lost ten hunting teams. This fugitive is costing us too much."
"It will cost more to have our wraiths be completely useless when it's time to fight for our interests against other wraiths," Styx cut him off. "This fugitive is excellent entertainment for our soldiers and junior commanders."
"Probably the queen will take him for herself," the second assistant suggested.
"She won't have time," the hive commander objected, watching as sixty percent of the "arrows" had already returned on board. "I've studied him well. He took advantage of the opportunity. As soon as our fighters picked up the landing party, he headed for the gates."
"No, commander," the first assistant interjected. "Our scanners are picking up his transmitter on the planet. But its exact location is unknown."
"That doesn't matter anymore," Styx said. "Cunning Blade is not interested in 'fugitives.' She won't interrogate him or try to make him her fan. If she starts hunting him, all the better—let him kill as many of her soldiers and commanders as possible. He alone is worth a good squad. Not like his dead kin."
"Now there are at least two of them," the second assistant reported.
"What did you say?" Styx turned to his subordinate.
"The pilots of the 'arrows,' upon returning from the planet, reported that some of the fighters were shot down by something like Lantians' homing missiles," the second assistant explained. "Besides, the transmitter moved too fast, obviously on the ship. But the scanners detected nothing."
"When was this data received?"
"Before the arrival of the second hive."
Styx growled gutturally.
"And you kept silent all this time?" Styx approached his subordinate. "Nothing in this galaxy could have developed from the last hibernation to a level even remotely resembling the Lantians. It was their disguised short-range ship!"
"That's impossible," the second assistant said. "We defeated the Lantians ten thousand years ago."
"Specifically, you didn't defeat anyone," Styx clarified. "We did. And we assumed they managed to hide somewhere. If so, we are in danger – who knows how much they have developed now."
"We should inform the other hives," the second assistant said eagerly, coming to life.
"No," Styx roared. "We'll sort it out ourselves. First assistant!"
"Should I send a reconnaissance group to the planet to get readings of the last fifty numbers dialed?" he clarified.
"Exactly. Wherever the fugitive and the Lantian go, we will follow. We will find them," Styx grinned predatorily, "and have a feast."
Styx had no intention of revealing that by regaining access to Lantian technologies, his hive would become virtually invincible, and his army – enormous.