"… But the kingdom that sought comforts, whose men sat with idle hands,
grew soft and weak and when the Fear came, there were no soldiers left to defend it.
Its men fled like cowards and its castles crumbled until naught remained, but dust.
Verily I say to you, a dire warning. Sit not with idle hands, but pick up the rifle and the sword!
For only those whose blood is iron, may stand with the Eternal Regiment
and keep the Dark at bay in the Forever War…"
- Kalidani religious text
~~~~
"Multiple hull breaches! We're venting atmosphere in sections fifteen through to thirty-two!" shouted the chief engineer as the CIC shook with the reverberations of another explosion. A panel fell from overhead, spilling sparking wires and several light strips went dark. "Seal the bulkheads!" commanded captain Ishida, gripping the edges of her crash seat. Kainan gritted his teeth, thirty-two was one of the infirmary blocks, housing approximately two hundred injured crewmembers and medical personnel. Klaxons once more blared the shrill tone of incoming fire before anyone even had time to breathe.
"Evasive action!" ordered the captain. Again, the Agamemnon shuddered as another plasma bolt raked across its angled armor plating. "And get the shields back online!"
The massive flagship shook with a low rumble as its axials returned fire, sending a pair of tungsten rods eight meters in diameter racing across the cold and silent void towards enemies far beyond the naked eye. They wouldn't hit their targets, not at this distance, but they would disrupt the enemy formation. "Enemy forces are disengaging!" announced the tactical officer as the yellow dots representing enemy fleets on the holographic projection of the battlespace, broke formation and turned around, sprinting away at whatever passed for full burn for Dra'var'th vessels, since their species, just like the Alvari, did not use conventional propulsion methods that human science could comprehend. Repair and medical crews sprang into action as lighting aboard the vessel flickered back from the dark crimson of combat condition, to a neutral white, signaling the end of hostilities. Casualty lists updated, increasing the already horrific number permanently seared upon the warlord's soul.
It was just the latest in a series of near-identical skirmishes that had been going on for the better part of two weeks, ever since the allied forces captured a planet designated as Odex Secundus. Most Dra'var'th defense fleets encountered so far, had tried to either overwhelm the Pact armada through technological superiority, or at least inflict as many casualties as possible in a valiant, but ultimately futile, last stand. Not this fleet, though. This one had disengaged swiftly after the initial encounter and had been carrying out a fighting retreat. Evidently, its admiral was smarter than his peers, using his ships' superior speed to carry out hit-and-run attacks against the Terran-led forces and although this strategy would not inflict a defeat against the sheer weight of numbers the allied armada had fielded, the constant harassment was slowly wearing down morale and cohesion, disrupting sleep shifts and resupply operations. Sooner or later, though, the Pact forces would reach their destination and this Dra'var'th admiral would have nowhere left to run. And unlike the Pact armada, his fleet could not sustain a war of attrition.
The warlord sighed and unstrapped himself from the crash seat, leaving command of the flagship in the hands of its officers as departed the combat information center for his personal quarters, a thousand thoughts racing through his head as he stepped into the elevator. The encirclement of the Dra'var'th core worlds was nearly complete, their civilization almost cut in half by the Pact's unexpected, lightning-fast offensive. The war was far from over, however, as the allied forces still had to make contact with the Phoenix House and secure the cooperation of whichever lords were still loyal to the Alvari princess, before making their way to Elysia, the Council headquarters near the heart of the galaxy. The usurper was not going to be standing idly by in the meanwhile and Kainan was well aware that time was a luxury they were swiftly running out of.
"This is worth its weight in precious metals," chimed a voice like silver bells in a gentle breeze as the doors slid open and he stepped into his small cabin. The princess was sitting there at his desk, elegant fingers gently holding his copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War. She was right, of course, for it was among the few books to have been printed in Colonial, only a few decades before Earth's last printing press shut down and digital media fully replaced physical paper even in the high end collector market. That, along with Clausewitz's masterwork, were the only luxuries he'd afforded his private quarters aboard the Agamemnon.
Valyra was clad in the simple undersuit of the set of specially-made white set of Terran ballistic armor she'd worn during the last few combat operations she had partaken in, currently stripped down to her waist, leaving her lithe frame half-bare aside for the tight-fitting top of her two-piece sparring outfit. Even dressed like that, she still retained her ethereal, predatory grace. She rose from her seat and set the book down next to where her shardblade rested, padding over to him and reaching up to work the clasps that fastened the crimson sash and symbols of his office to his coat, prying them loose and discarding them upon the desk. "You look exhausted," Valyra murmured as she tugged open the collar of his shirt.
It couldn't be helped, the constant cat and mouse game was running everyone ragged, though that wasn't all that was weighing down upon his conscience. Outwardly, he remained the same stoic warlord the Pact depended on to lead them, but the princess knew the raw and gaping wounds inflicted on his soul, she'd seen him unravel after Beta Draconis and knew the war had claimed a part of him that he might never recover. Even so, she remained at his side, even knowing what he did, she still looked at him like he was something more than a monster. To everyone else, he was what was required. An unyielding leader, a sacrificial tyrant who could carry a galaxy's hopes and hatred on his shoulders, an intimidating figure who pushed back against the whims of fate itself and held the sky from falling through sheer force of will alone, regardless of how many pieces of his soul it cost him.
"And you look half prepared for battle," Kainan responded with a tired rasp, a faint echo of smile tugging at his features as his hands rose to rest around her waist. Even now, his first thoughts were of her, the lone, bright star that cast a beacon against the darkness threatening to consume him. She looked up at him and a tender smile touched her lips, though Kainan could see the tightness around her iridescent eyes and could sense her growing frustration at being unable to contribute anything to the ongoing series of skirmishes against the retreating Dra'var'th admiral. He pulled her closer and she leaned into his embrace.
"Stay with me tonight," she whispered softly as she rested her head against his shoulder. Only one more FTL jump separated them from their next objective. Two more days of Riftspace travel and the first phase of their campaign would be over, yet uncertainty hung over their future more than it ever had until that point.
The warlord nodded slowly. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and breathed in deeply as if to sear the scent of her perfume into his memory. She looked up and for a brief and precious moment, the universe held its breath as their eyes met. Her skin lit up with those mesmerizing bioluminescent patterns as their bond flared, bright and powerful like a newborn star in an angry sea of darkness. He kissed her and in that moment, the galaxy, the war, the politics, all faded into the background, a thousand thoughts and worries silenced by the blazing fire of their shared passion.
~~~~
"The Lunarae Thal system is unique," Valyra recounted to the motley assembly of Pact admirals and various officials. Her midnight-black hair was bound into a formal Alvari style reserved for the ruling dynasty and she once again wore the replica regalia that had been provided for her by the Terrans, silver chains woven into her hair, delicate charms hanging at the end of each of her hundred-or-so waist-long braids. She was clad in a white, severe coat tailored in the style of Terran military fatigues, the leggings of her undersuit tucked into the knee-high, segmented boots of her suit of Terran armor. Her shardblade hung at her side, fastened to her belt by the magnetic sheath, or whatever eldritch means Alvari weapons used for holstering. It was a striking combination of fierce elegance and practicality, the very image of a warrior princess dancing on the edge between the two worlds she existed in.
She tapped a command into her wristcomp and the holographic projection flared to life at the center of the conference room, a miniature solar system hovering above the stark, circular table. "The closest translation of the term we use for it, is treaty system," she explained as two stellar objects were highlighted within the projection. This had been the site of the last battle of the Dawn War, hundreds of thousands of years ago, though no traces persisted into the current era. "There are two terraformed worlds, both colonized. The outermost one is the moon you humans refer to as Purgatory, a cold and arid tundra world belonging to the Dragon House." The projection shifted to focus on one of the moons of the system's gas giant, surrounded by what looked like orbital installations, though the scans Pact courier ships had secretly performed over the years, only provided low resolution data.
"The other is the second innermost planet, Valion, the seat of High Lord Aeryndor Selyr Thalyen of the Alvari Dominion," continued the princess as the projection shifted to display a beautiful ocean world dotted by islands that were covered with purple vegetation. Once again, the scans were too low-resolution to display any specific details about the orbital installations, or the layout of the world's cities. "This is the only system in the galaxy that is shared between two Great Houses and as can be expected, it is heavily militarized," Valyra said, gesturing to the asteroid belt separating the inner planets from the outer system. "Your scans did not pick up on this, but both sides maintain a huge number of cloaked listening posts and inert electronic warfare satellites along the line of separation. There are also two separate infonet relays, along with multiple starbases around what you would call the Lagrange points, as well as the system's outer planets. In total, both Houses usually maintain around ten thousand ships each, within this system."
Voices murmured throughout the conference room while appendages worked furiously as the various officials took notes. Kainan's stormcloud eyes studied the projection, his mind occupied with the same concerns as them. Up until that point, the Pact had relied upon a combination of numerical superiority, the element of surprise and sheer ferocity to overwhelm their enemies, but their usual tactics would not work in Lunarae Thal. Though their spearhead armada still outnumbered the Dra'var'th forces in this system by five to one, that was the minimum ratio required for a Pact force to overcome a Dragon House fleet. Despite their numerical advantage, they were just about evenly matched and that was without taking into account the Alvari forces.
"This High Lord Thalyen…" the warlord muttered. "Where do his loyalties lie?" he asked. It was the question upon which the outcome of the coming battle hinged. If the Thalyen dynasty sided with Vaeloryn, the Pact armada wouldn't stand a chance.
"He is a member of the traditionalist faction," Valyra replied. From what she had told him of Alvari politics, Kainan had learned that the traditionalists were the group most opposed to her brother's plans to unite the Phoenix and Dragon Houses into a singular empire. Their hatred of the Dra'var'th ran deeper than their greed and lust for power, though that did not necessarily make them allies of the Terran cause. They were also the faction most likely to oppose the Pact's ambitions to install the Terran Empire at the High Table, not to mention what their reaction would be, should they learn of his relationship with the princess.
"More importantly, he has a personal reason to despise my brother," Valyra continued, sensing his unspoken questions. "Vaeloryn was betrothed to his daughter, Irianelle, only to publicly spurn her a couple of decades ago."
That was good. They could use this to their advantage. "This is going to be a difficult balancing act to manage," said Kainan, his taloned fingers drumming a rhythm upon the conference table as he pondered all the factors that had to go just right for things to work out in their favor. The Pact would have to make a show of force and display just enough brazen defiance to demonstrate their value as allies, while simultaneously avoiding pushing things too far. It was a very thin edge to dance upon, one that would be constantly shifting. "How do we contact him? The Dra'var'th will be jamming communications and we need to convince him you are still alive."
"Leave that to me," said another voice, that of Matriarch Shyiuna, currently lounging in her chair with a bored expression on her features, though her eyes remained sharp. "My stealth cruiser can bypass Dra'var'th sensors if necessary and even if they detect us, they have no valid pretext to stop a diplomatic visit from another one of the Great Houses."
The warlord offered her a sharp nod. The rest of the galaxy would still be unaware of House Kitsune's alliance with the Pact, something both he and the Matriarch had gone to great lengths to keep secret, even so far into the campaign. That left the show of force, then. "Fieldmarshal, we'll need to take out the outermost defenses as swiftly as possible. Unfortunately, that retreating admiral will have warned Purgatory of our impending arrival, so they will be ready for us."
Fieldmarshal Bayne stood up and tapped something on his datapad and the projection lit up with a tactical overlay as a plan began to form. "We still need to work the details, but I have an idea," the bearish fieldmarshal responded. And as he outlined his thoughts, the room went dead silent.
~~~~
The cold vacuum of space heaved and twisted as if some eldritch god from myth and legend raked a claw through the very fabric of reality. Such was the violence inflicted upon the universe by a fleet of nearly forty-five thousand warships tearing open a portal as they translated themselves from four-dimensional Riftspace back into three-dimensional existence. And yet, none of the occupants of the grand armada had any time to contemplate the philosophy and poetry of FTL travel, for they had not come here for a leisurely visit. They had come for conquest.
The capital ships wasted no time. All across the fleet, vertical launch ports opened, unleashing a first wave of cruise missiles long before either them, or the enemy closed to engagement distance. The missiles, each loaded with a nuclear warhead, took off along a hundred different vectors, engines shutting down as soon as they accelerated to cruising speed. They would run dark for most of the way to their targets, conserving fuel and minimizing the chance of detection until such points where it was necessary to make mid-flight course corrections.
The tachyon lances were next. Four of the Ozymandias-class warships, already positioned at precise points in the formation before the armada even made the jump, powered on their horrifying weapons as they made the final targeting adjustments. Vacuum lit up with brilliant white beams of energy and FTL particles, gravitational waves reverberating across millions of kilometers as they stripped the shields of the outermost Dra'var'th starbase from a distance far greater than the typical effective range of Pact weaponry. Dodging a faster-than-light beam wasn't really feasible, so the only limitation of these weapons was the resolution of their targeting sensors.
The silence shattered as the void was filled with comms chatter from a million sources. "FleetCom, we are moving into position," announced a squadron of capital ships from the twenty-ninth Fleet Section. "Commencing burn, accelerating to combat velocity," came the voice of a Nyxian admiral. Another screen lit up with reports as the fifteenth Void Swarm was already launching strike craft, flanked by multiple squadrons of Orkyn corvettes providing heavy fire support and point defense coverage, while Myiori electronic warfare cruisers were already flooding the battlespace with junk data meant to scramble, or at least hinder enemy sensors. Kainan watched it all unfold from his crash seat upon the command dais of his flagship's CIC.
The enemy forces responded as predicted, but they did so with remarkable promptness. Again, space twisted and heaved and then, some ten thousand Dra'var'th warships were on top of them. "Capital phalanx!" commanded the Fieldmarshal. The fleet responded immediately, synchronizing targeting computers and unleashing a barrage of destruction, welcoming the enemies' arrival with a wall of tungsten. Across the void, ships died. Some lit up like miniature supernovae, their reactors going critical in a final act of fury. Others simply went cold and silent, their hulls shattered by a hundred impacts, venting atmosphere and bleeding plasma as they spun uncontrollably through the vacuum. And then, the Dra'var'th fleet returned fire.
"Incoming plasma bolts!" called out the tactical officer. The Agamemnon shook with the force of the impact, shields redlining as they struggled to absorb the impact. "Heat sinks at full capacity! Venting emergency coolant!" reported the chief engineer as the flagship cycled coolant fluid through the overheating shield generators, then vented the resulting superheated gas out into the void to bleed off excess heat. A few consoles exploded and the holographic projection at the center of the CIC flickered for a moment as the battlecarrier shook with the force of another wave of impacts. Sparks rained down from somewhere overhead and medical crews rushed forward to assist injured officers. "Shields at seven percent!" someone announced as alarms blared throughout the ship.
"Lock mains and secondaries, fire at will!" ordered captain Ishida, who had taken to wearing a katana along with her uniform, like her legendary samurai ancestors. It was currently strapped securely to a holster in the side of her crash seat. The Agamemnon gave as good as it got, heavy and light turrets swiveling to track Dra'var'th vessels while the axials unleashed their wrath upon an enemy dreadnought whose shields had already been stripped by a tachyon lance. The enemy supercapital simply ceased to exist as the immense projectiles tore through its hull from bow to stern, shattering it like a ceramic vase. The black void lit up with a thousand miniature stars as nuclear missiles streaked across the distance between the two fleets and detonated throughout the Dra'var'th formation, blinding sensors and overloading shields.
Pact casualties were horrific. Warships died by the hundreds in the first few minutes of the battle, melted by plasma bolts or crushed by singularity missiles. Others simply drifted aimlessly, their crews annihilated by the starbase's death ray before it, too, died to a withering barrage of nuclear detonations. The Pact was not looking to capture this particular station, they just needed it out of the way. Kainan dug his taloned fingers into the armrests of his seat, gritting his teeth as the casualty reports rolled in. This was always the most difficult part of a battle. Nevertheless, he knew all too well that there was no better option than this. He had to trust in the Fieldmarshal's plan.
"Pull back the left flank and begin disengaging!" roared Fieldmarshal Bayne as the enemy fleet crossed the predetermined waypoint. "Prepare to execute phase two!"
Moving as one, with that extraordinary coordination that had become their signature, the Pact fleets feigned a retreat. Formations broke in established intervals, capital ships pulling back as if wavering. The Gilgamesh, one of the Agamemnon's sister-ships, held the line for a second more, then jumped to Riftspace on a seemingly random vector. And then, it was as if a dam had been broken. The Dra'var'th ships, sensing victory, surged forward. Pact vessels pulled back, then began to follow the Terran supercapital into FTL. An interdiction field activated among the Dragon House vessels as the enemy sought to block the Pact's escape… and fell right into the first trap.
Deployed in Riftspace ahead of time by Terran phase ships, waited a large number of highly modified mines, equipped with phase shifting arrays and hidden from the sensors of the enemy fleet. The moment that interdiction field activated, however, those mines were ejected out of Riftspace by the gravitational interference and right into the middle of the Dra'var'th contingent. The enemy sensors barely had the time to detect them before they detonated, illuminating the void with a thousand nuclear blasts.
These were not the regular fusion warheads used in ship-to-ship engagement by the Terrans and their allies. They were world killers, gigaton-yield bombs designed for orbital bombardment, intended to glass a colony and burn away its atmosphere, too large to be loaded into anti-ship munitions, but more than suitable as stationary mines. The devastation was absolute. In an instant, thousands of Dra'var'th vessels ceased to be, vaporized in a nuclear apocalypse even their shields could not contain. The survivors broke, their morale shattered as their imminent victory turned into a crushing defeat. It was their turn to break formation and flee to Riftspace, withdrawing to the other starbases in the system even as the nearest one died to a combined barrage of railgun and laser fire from the resurgent Pact armada. The battle was far from over, however.
"Execute phase three!" the Fieldmarshal signaled, his order relayed throughout the armada with military precision. No time was wasted. Hospital ships moved into position to recover survivors, while the rest of the fleet retrieved its strike craft complements, realigned and jumped to Riftspace, emerging in the orbit of the gas giant to which the Dra'var'th colony belonged, only to be met by a trap the enemy had laid out for them, in turn.
~~~~
Four hundred million kilometers away, Valyra paced around the spacious cabin she'd been assigned aboard the Fyrrathi stealth cruiser. It had been furnished in traditional Alvari royal style, with furnishings that looked grown rather than built, fashioned from delicately spun woods and crystals. The walls were covered in shimmering gossamer drapes and bioluminescent vines that glowed with a soft blue color which provided the chamber's illumination. The center of the room was dominated by an impossible water fixture, with droplets that fell upwards into a pool on the ceiling. Of course, all of it was a sophisticated hardlight projection, just a trick of holograms and tactile photons, but the technology here was only a few tens of thousands of years less advanced than what the Alvari could achieve. And despite the opulence on display, the princess found herself missing the honest simplicity of her quarters aboard the Agamemnon. Sure, Terran hardlight projections couldn't replicate gossamer weave and the impossible furnishings of her homeworld, but at least the simple metal bunk and cotton sheets were real.
She'd changed out of the practical Terran outfit she'd worn during the briefing and into one of the formal gowns provided to her by Kainan's staff, tailored in Alvari fashion, although made from Terran silks. It was a different kind of armor, for navigating the courtly politics of the Phoenix House was no less dangerous than a battlefield. The weapons were different, twisted words that could shift allegiances on a moment's notice, poisons and assassins that could cut her life short in a thousand ways if she displayed any hint of weakness. She'd kept her Eryndai, fastened securely to her hip, a reminder that she was not to be taken lightly and at her door, a pair of Terran Psi Corps operatives stood watch, ready to deal with any sign of treachery.
Shyiuna had provided her a more advanced comlink than what the Terrans possessed, this one disguised as an ornate earring, as was popular among House Kitsune aristocracy. It sounded with a delicate chime which only she could hear, the message transmitted directly into her mind. "Your highness," the Matriarch's voice announced in her usual honeyed tone. "We are about to enter ceremonial hailing range. We require your presence on the bridge."
The princess took a deep breath to compose herself. At her side, the whip-crack of a feline tail announced Kat's arrival, whom the warlord had left with her, the whisper cat living up to her species' name, as silent as a shadow despite her enormous size. And just like that, the regal mask was back on, her posture a perfect manifestation of imperiousness. She strode from the cabin, the Psi Corps agents falling at her side, servers and crewmembers instinctively bowing and getting out of her way. Valyra paid them no heed, ignoring them as one might a speck of dust as she made her way to the vessel's command center.
The bridge of the Star Wind was as different from its Terran equivalent as night was to day. The humans preferred a triangular layout, with a command dais at the rear, allowing a commander to survey his officers as they carried out their duties, with no considerations given to aesthetics or luxuries. The Fyrrathi stealth cruiser's, by comparison, was more akin to a throne room than a military command center. The floor beneath her feet was wood, real wood, not a hardlight projection, hand-carved and polished to perfection. The chamber was circular and domed, illuminated by ornate light fixtures that floated in mid-air, the bulkheads covered by embroidered draperies that swayed gently in an unseen wind, simulating open air weather. The stations, such as they were, looked more like lounges than actual warship consoles, with upholstered seating.
The Fyrrathi Matriarch lounged upon a divan that was floating at the center of the bridge, suspended on antigrav fields beneath a false holographic sky displaying the stars above her homeworld. She was sipping expensive ambrosia from a hardlight glass, her nine vulpine tails swishing lazily as she regarded her officers with an expression of perpetual boredom, though her ears kept swiveling to catch every sound. She welcomed Valyra with a smile, a mental command bidding her divan to lower itself to the floor. She was short compared to the princess, no taller than an Alvari teenager, though Valyra wouldn't let Shyiuna's appearance lull her into carelessness. She knew how formidable the vixen was.
"I know you want to hear how the fleet is faring, though you would never ask," Shyiuna chimed, the mischievous smirk on her features suggesting she suspected the relationship between her and Kainan went further than a mere political alliance.
Valyra had to suppress a frown, for although the Fyrrathi Matriarch was as close to a friend as she could be, there were certain matters she could never trust her with and this was one of them. Thus, she played the game as she was supposed to, feigning indifference as her heart hammered against her ribs, her thoughts heavy with worry for the human warlord engaged in a difficult struggle half a solar system away, too far for her to sense him through their bond. "I'm certain the fleet is fine," the princess answered, her voice steady, her expression revealing nothing of what she felt. At her side, the great whisper cat huffed out a sigh, golden eyes regarding the princess with an uncanny level of empathy and intelligence for a mere beast.
The Matriarch arched an elegant eyebrow, but said nothing more. Instead, she gave a silent, mental command to her ship and Valyra's lithe frame ignited up with swirling patterns of light as biometric scanners took their electronic measurements. The princess tapped a command into her wristcomp, she'd kept the Terran-made device despite Shyiuna's offers of a more advanced interface than what the humans had been able to provide. The biometric scans were joined by the secret royal codes that had been one of the first things she'd memorized as a child, codes that would be recognized by every High Lord in the Dominion. A hologram materialized in front of her, almost life-like in appearance, as a channel opened.
High Lord Aeryndor Selyr Thalyen was, perhaps, a century older than she was, though he'd yet to reach the midpoint of his lifespan and still retained the agelessness Alvari were known for. He was slightly taller than her, though not as tall as the Kalidani warlord and certainly not as broad in the shoulders. A mane of auburn hair framed features that were handsome in that aristocratic way, though his green eyes were as keen as a falcon's. A sequence of expressions flickered briefly across his visage before he clamped them down and regained his composure. Shock, hope, triumph and more than a hint of fear. He spoke in a smooth voice that betrayed none of those emotions, though his words were telling. "Your grace… When I read the reports, I couldn't believe my eyes," he said. "Surely, I thought, this must be some kind of ruse, yet here you stand, alive and well despite your brother's propaganda. And you arrive at the head of an armada."
Valyra tilted her chin up slightly at the mention of her wayward sibling, a dismissive, haughty look settling upon her features. That the High Lord immediately addressed her as grace, rather than highness, was a good sign, though she wouldn't let her guard down. "Vaeloryn has always been short-sighted and sloppy in his planning," she responded. "Be it in the execution of his ambitions, or his choice of allies." A reminder of her brother's fascination and fondness with the ancient, hated rivals of her species, ought to stoke the Alvari High Lord's fury and nudge him further towards the decisions she wanted him to make.
"That is… putting it mildly, your grace," the High Lord replied, his brows furrowing just slightly though his tone remained perfectly aristocratic. "He wishes to merge the Phoenix and the Dragon Houses into a singular, galactic empire with which to topple the High Table. And that is far from the worst of the ideas his Dra'var'th harlot planted in his head, though such matters would be best discussed in person."
Valyra scoffed, rolling her aquamarine eyes just slightly. "Oh, I am well aware of most of it, High Lord Thalyen. The harlot in question is currently in the custody of my allies, languishing within a prison cell aboard the human flagship," she said.
The High Lord's eyes widened in surprise, exactly the reaction she wanted to elicit. "Truly?" he responded, pausing for a moment as he considered the implications. "I find myself impressed beyond even your formidable reputation led me to expect, your grace. I must admit, when you departed the Dominion to secure the support of these Lesser Species, I doubted their potential usefulness. But they have proven themselves remarkably… resourceful," said Aeryndor, pausing as his gaze momentarily shifted to something Valyra could not see through the holographic projection, though she surmised it was a terminal displaying sensor readings from the ongoing battle in the outer system. "Though the Dra'var'th have laid a nasty trap for them and they are currently suffering enormous casualties."
Valyra suppressed a shudder at the revelation, cold dread running down her spine as her thoughts drifted to Kainan. She couldn't show any of it, though, not to the High Lord, or to the Fyrrathi Matriarch. And so, she reigned it in, forcing herself to maintain her composure despite the tension she felt in her shoulders. "And that is where you come in, High Lord Thalyen," she countered. "Unless my memory is playing tricks on me, you have ten thousand ships in this system, do you not? They could tip the balance if you committed them to the battle."
It was a difficult proposition, even for a traditionalist lord whose hatred of the Dra'var'th ran deep. The Dragon and Phoenix Houses had not engaged in open warfare with each other since the Dawn War, relying upon more indirect means of sabotage and interference. On the other hand, if the information she and the Terrans had extracted from Dra'milla was correct, the argument could be made that the Dra'var'th themselves had already violated the armistice, not to mention the even more dangerous ambitions of her brother. Valyra could see the very same debate play out within the High Lord's mind, written upon his features as clearly as day. She waited for just the right moment, then delivered the coup-de-grace. "What you are seeing right now on your sensors, is merely the culmination of our campaign and the spearhead of the forces I have brought with me. Pledge your ships to me and we will have the Dra'var'th core worlds strangled in our noose before this day is over."
~~~~
"Brace for impact!" captain Ishida shouted amidst the organized cacophony of klaxons. Kainan barely had time to react as the battlecarrier shuddered violently, even its powerful inertial dampeners unable to fully absorb the force rippling through its colossal frame. Lights and holograms flickered, some stayed dark as panels and wires fell from overhead. A shrill alarm blared its chilling tune. "Direct hit! Left axial inoperable! Multiple hull breaches in hangar bay two and sections five through ten! I'm reading multiple fires and we've lost power to secondary targeting arrays!" the chief engineer reported, right before the great warship shook with secondary explosions. "Reactor four going critical! Ejecting core!"
The void around the flagship lit up with a massive explosion as the damaged reactor core, jettisoned out into space, finally detonated. The Agamemnon groaned as it listed to port, venting atmosphere and plasma from a hundred wounds. "Switch to RCS and compensate! Halt that drift right now!" the captain ordered, reacting not a second too late, as another volley of plasma bolts barely missed the flagship's hull. Had it continued listing, it would have been struck mid-section, a lethal wound that would have obliterated the great warship before anyone even had time to reach the escape pods.
The warlord had known his forces were in a dire situation the moment his fleet emerged from Riftspace. The enemy admiral, presumably the same one that had been harrying the allied armada since Odex Secundus, had refused to take the bait when the Pact forces jumped right on top of Purgatory after the rest of the Dra'var'th fleets in the system were annihilated by the Fieldmarshal's trick. The formidable Fieldmarshal's plan had meant to finish off the stragglers by drawing them into a battle above the Dra'var'th colony's orbit, using the threat of an imminent planetary invasion to compel the enemy into a pitched battle over control of the lunar colony's skies. It was a brilliant plan, one meant to seize and hold the initiative and allow the Terran-led armada to lean into its strengths and dictate the terms of the engagement.
Instead, the Dra'var'th admiral flipped the script by laying down a trap of his own for the Pact forces, one that negated their overwhelming numerical advantage and the sheer ferocity they typically relied upon. He pulled his fleet back and down into the turbulent blue atmosphere of the gas giant, having his ships dart out of the cloud cover to unleash withering barrages, then diving back in before the Pact vessels could return fire in any effective way, the sensor interference making it very difficult for the allied vessels to calculate targeting solutions, while the more advanced Dra'var'th ships had no such limitations.
The result was catastrophic for the Pact forces. They were losing ships by the hundreds every minute, while being unable to inflict any meaningful damage upon the enemy fleet. Some fleets had lost as much as ninety percent of their combat effectiveness and the loss of life was horrendous. Had the circumstances been different, the warlord might have found himself admiring the Dra'var'th admiral's resilience and the sheer brilliance of his leadership. Kainan gritted his teeth as his eyes scanned the rapidly growing casualty lists, knowing that each second that passed without a solution presenting itself, pushed him closer and closer towards a drastic measure he had not wished to consider, but which became more and more necessary as the battle continued to unfold. "Any word from the princess?" he demanded of the comms officer, as truly, the last hope for an alternative rested solely with Valyra's swift conscription of the Alvari fleets.
"None, sir," responded the exhausted woman and Kainan had to fight the urge to smash his fist against the command console of his crash seat. Despite the dogged enemy resistance, the Pact still controlled Purgatory's orbit, the Dra'var'th admiral evidently banking on an elastic defense, hoping he could recapture it once Kainan's armada was sufficiently weakened for a killing blow. There was was still one option left available to force the enemy out of hiding and into the kind of engagement the allied forces preferred, though the cost… The cost would be monstrous and would likely ignite a fire that would see the entire galaxy consumed by war. Leading to untold trillions dying. But so would be the cost of doing nothing, for every second of indecision cost tens of thousands of lives as ships burned across the void. His men. His ships, the ones he was charged with the responsibility of keeping from destruction. If his fleet died here, there was every chance the entire campaign would fail. Humanity would go extinct, as would much of the Pact. A trillion souls would die as punishment for the audacity of rising against the established hierarchy. Sometimes, one had to sacrifice the many in order to preserve the few.
The warlord let out a heavy, ragged sigh, a sound no one heard, drowned out by the cacophony of battle. Forgive me, Valyra, he thought as he unstrapped himself from his crash seat, ignoring the alarmed looks his officers were giving him. Around him, the Agamemnon shook and shuddered violently as the battle unfolded, yet a strange calm settled in his mind as he approached the holographic projection at the center of the command dais. He tapped a command into his wristcomp, highlighting the moon. "Fieldmarshal, cancel the invasion orders. Have the transports pull back entirely," he commanded, his voice betraying nothing of the horror he felt in that moment. The CIC shook with another impact. He steadied himself, his posture remaining as grim as his determination.
No one said a thing. Some of the officers looked horrified and sick. Even the bloodthirsty Fieldmarshal looked grim. They all knew what he was about to do. "Open up communications," he instructed. "All channels, unencrypted." He wanted the entire system to hear his words, wanted that Dra'var'th admiral driven to desperation.
The holographic projection would transmit his grim expression to every personal receiver, household, ship and station. His eyes burned with a cold and mournful wrath that sent chills running down the spines of even those who followed him. "People of Purgatory. I am Kainan, warlord of the Terran Empire. And I am here today because your leaders once burned the homeworld of my species," he addressed the soon-to-be victims of his war.
"For too long, your species has plagued this galaxy like a swarm of locusts," the warlord spoke grimly, each word a condemnation. "Enslaving and pillaging everything in your path, subjecting countless innocents to horrors for which no civilized language has invented words to describe." He stared straight into the aperture of the holographic projector, his stormcloud silver eyes boring into the soul of every being watching the transmission. "For countless millennia, you have turned dreams into nightmares. You have robbed entire species of their hopes and innocence. You have built an entire society around the elevation of the most despicable of evils," he growled, pausing for effect, letting the tension build, letting the Dra'var'th themselves feel the cold chills of fear creeping into their very bones.
He tilted his chin up, just slightly, like a titan passing judgment on a bug. "Through your wickedness, you have transformed your kind's very existence into a crime. And for that, I hereby sentence you… to xenocide."
And when he spoke, the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. "Change of objectives. Total rendition. Glass the colony." And just like that, a living world's fate was sealed and nine billion people were sentenced to death. The order was relayed. The fleets began to reposition, vertical launch tubes opening as heavy, planet-killing ordnance was primed and loaded. Population centers were targeted and marked for annihilation. The Dra'var'th vessels, their crews facing the loss of their families down on the moon, began to emerge from the protective embrace of the gas giant's atmosphere, a desperate, suicidal bid to intercept the Pact warships beyond the lunar colony's terminus. The entire universe seemed to hold its breath.
Aboard the flagship's combat information center, the oppressive silence was shattered by a sudden, new alarm. "Sir, we're picking up multiple contacts translating from Riftspace, bearing two-two-five by seventeen!" called out the tactical officer. Right on cue, the tactical display updated with new icons on the holographic projection, marked unknown as the sensors worked to identify them. Kainan clenched his fist. "We're being hailed! Its the Alvari!" the comms specialist suddenly announced. "On screen!" Kainan responded.
Valyra's holographic form appeared onto the main viewscreen of the Agamemnon's command center, standing on the bridge of an Alvari dreadnought whose IFF transponders identified it as the Veil of the Azure Heart. "My apologies for the delay," she announced, her tone composed and regal, though Kainan could see the subtle hints of warmth in her expression, there just for a fleeting second as their eyes met. "My ships will assist with the operation, please synchronize your targeting computers with ours."
Kainan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a wave of relief so profound washing over him, that his knees threatened to give out as the Alvari heiress arrived just in time to save what little was left of his humanity. Perhaps the galaxy still had room for hope, after all. "Cancel the orbital bombardment!" he commanded. "Do as the princess says, then reposition and engage the enemy!"
The warlord stepped back and sat down heavily into his crash seat, letting the Fieldmarshal and the other officers take over the rest of the operation. He could sense the relief in everyone's auras, relief that they wouldn't have to murder an entire planet, at least not this day. The Dra'var'th vessels, now caught in a pincer between the Pact and the Alvari warships, began to turn, seeking to flee back to the safety of the gas giant's clouds. They would not save them this time. Alvari particle lances and Pact railgun projectiles began to pick them off one by one. The gas giant's azure atmosphere lit up with explosions and the flickering flames of burning wrecks as dying hulks of metal tumbled helplessly into the world's crushing depths.
The Dra'var'th flagship made one last valiant effort to escape. Its jagged hull scattered the clouds as it raced for open space, for a safe distance to translate itself into Riftspace, its weapons firing desperately in an attempt to hold back its pursuers just long enough to survive. In the end, the effort was a futile one as dozens, then hundreds of interdiction fields activated throughout both Alvari and Pact fleets, ensnaring the jagged black dreadnought like nets catching a fish. A tachyon lance ripped away its shields, secondary explosions igniting across its hull as the shield generators overloaded and for a moment, the universe seemed to fall silent. And then, a nuclear missile struck its aft section and a fifth of the great warship ceased to exist, the eldritch metals of its hull reduced to molten slag by the unstoppable fury of atomic fire. The dreadnought began to list heavily, lights flickering and dying across its entire length. An Alvari particle lance swept across its plating, carving great chunks out of the enormous warship like lasers milling a block of metal inside a factory machine. A million kilometers away, the Terran battlecarrier Vlad Țepeș adjusted its position, reorienting itself until it had a target lock. And then, its axials finally ended the Dra'var'th dreadnought's suffering.
The comms officer announced the reception of an offer of unconditional surrender from the lunar colony's authorities, Purgatory's governor evidently cowered by the near destruction of his world. Cheers erupted across the command center of the Agamemnon. Cheers flooded every channel as elation spread throughout the fleet. The battle was over, ending in a decisive victory for the Pact, a light at the end of a very dark and bleak tunnel that many wondered if they'd ever see the end of. Many didn't, their lifeless bodies scattered across the thousands of dead and dying ships still drifting aimlessly around the moon. Kainan silently whispered a prayer of gratitude that the endless legion of ghosts haunting his nightmares, had not increased by nine billion souls this day.
~~~~
The Terran dropships slammed into Valion's atmosphere, painting thin red lines of plasma across the world's twilight sky as they descended from the void above, flanked by squadrons of Alvari squadrons, elegant and avian in form, their gleaming crystalline hulls contrasting heavily with the utilitarian drab gray of the human transports. They flew low over the crystal spires of the impossible city beneath them, their crude fusion engines shrieking like mechanical beasts as they neared their destination, startling crowds of Alvari onlookers, many of whom had never seen a Lesser Species' vessels up close. The weathered hulls of the Terran dropships, scorched and soot-stained by reentry heating, must have stirred something primal and forgotten, buried deep beneath eons of sheltered civilization, for Kainan could sense the heady mixture of equal parts excitement and primordial fear radiating from below.
Such a sight was unprecedented, for no Lesser Species had set foot on the soil of an Alvari planet in nearly a million years. Such a thing was forbidden, by law and custom, yet both of those were superseded by the gravity of the strange times they lived in, for the crown princess' miraculous return exposed her brother's lies and heralded a coming civil war. And even Valyra's most staunchly traditionalist supporters had to grudgingly concede to the humans and their allies some measure of honor and recognition, for they had not only saved the life of their rightful ruler and given them a legitimate way out of a merger with their most hated enemy, but had also demonstrated a degree of ferocity and valor that even the haughty Alvari had to respect. By now, the entire planet had seen the news broadcasts of the battles in the outer system, had seen the relentlessness with which these Terrans faced a foe whose technology vastly outclassed them and the ingenuity with which they met that challenge. They'd also seen what the Pact's tachyon lances, weapons even the supremely wise Alvari scholars had dismissed as impossible, could do to a planetary shield.
If the city, with its organic lines that blended nature and artificial construction, seemed impossible, the High Lord's palace made it look like a child's drawing by comparison. Great towers of spun glass hovered gracefully into the sky above, their architecture impossibly delicate, elegant and intimidating at the same time. Holographic water fixtures flowed into the artificial clouds beneath them, so lifelike as to appear indistinguishable from the real thing and floating gardens danced lazily around the central structure, connected by hardlight bridges that adjusted themselves around the servants treading them, while floating platforms carrying nobles and their entourages flitted gracefully between the islands in the sky. Further out, smaller estates for guests and lesser nobles orbited the central structure like planets around a sun, surrounded by holographic skies depicting a thousand impossible sights, both real and imagined. It was, Kainan thought, a scene from an artist's fever dream, or perhaps the work of a creative, yet born divinity, who sought to fashion something beautiful, with no regards for such pesky things as physics. The Terran warlord and his entourage did not gawk, though. No human would ever humiliate himself in such a manner, regardless off what awe they felt towards the sight presented to them.
The dropships circled once around the palace, then descended onto their assigned platforms with perfect, military precision, so well coordinated was their formation that they seemed tethered together by an invisible, inflexible thread as the Terrans competed against the haughty, impossible grace of the Alvari culture on display around them with a demonstration of the supreme discipline the human species was becoming known for. Doors slid open and servants scurried away, unsure whether or not to bow as the warlord and his procession marched into the throne room, their metal boots clicking against the iridescent crystal floors beneath them. The chamber was massive and roofless, great woven pillars of that same crystalline material seeming to grow out of the floor, spiraling upwards until they met at the very peak, forming a delicate artistic feature, while a great invisible shield kept the elements at bay. Alien plants and fragrant flowers hovered all around, their petals glowing with a blue bioluminescence which Kainan could sense as psionic in nature, patterns flaring across their surface in reaction to those around them. The temperature was just right to be comfortable for every individual present in the chamber, somehow adjusting itself to please everyone simultaneously, despite differences in individual preferences and the warlord could not even begin to guess by what means was this seemingly impossible feat accomplished.
"This is an abomination!" a shrill voice rose above the murmur of courtly gossip surrounding them, the voice of Seralyon Vael Solyn, the local High Lord's seneschal, though that wasn't exactly an accurate translation of the right Alvari term, for the sniveling minor noble's attributions went beyond the mere management of palace staff and extended to such matters as diplomacy between individual bloodlines and some responsibilities related to security as well. He was also, according to the file Valyra had provided, a supporter of her brother, the usurper Vaeloryn. Kainan couldn't begin to guess what manner of traditions or legal obligations prevented the High Lord from having him dismissed, though he supposed there was some wisdom to keeping one's enemy close.
"No Lesser Species brute has ever set foot upon an Alvari world!" Seralyon protested, moving to block the Terran delegation's path. "Since when do we allow our traditions to be violated by the presence of inferior beings in our halls!" he shouted, reaching for the Eryndai strapped to his hip.
Kainan raised his hand and flicked his wrist, a small, dismissive gesture, as if to brush a speck of dust away. The telekinetic blast that followed, sent the seneschal tumbling across the floor, his blade clattering beyond his reach as a startled gasp echoed across the throne room. The Terran procession did not slow down to acknowledge the humiliated noble any more than one would an annoying gnat. They stopped only when they reached the great dais of the High Lord's throne, though Aeryndor currently stood to the right and slightly behind the liquid silver seat, which was currently occupied by Valyra. The Fyrrathi Matriarch occupied the left side, a bemused smile on her lips, as if delighted by the way in which the Terran warlord had dealt with the seneschal, who now hovered in the back of the assembled crowd, fuming silently. Kainan did not bow, which caused another wave of startled gasps to ripple across the grand chamber. Heralds stepped forward, exchanging their lieges' introductions in the formal manner of a lordly court.
The princess had changed out of the Terran silks and into a formal Alvari gown that seemed to defy gravity, the lower portion of the skirt parted into ribbons which seemed to float as if they were submerged in water, the iridescent fabric changing color to reflect her mood. It currently oscillated between a summer sky and the warm light of a dawning sun. She looked radiant and ethereal, her breathtaking beauty highlighted by the glittering, delicate jewelry adorning her wrists and the delicate contour of her throat, her hair cascading down her back, left bare by the gown's construction. A faint smile touched her lips and she rose gracefully from her throne, taking a few measured steps closer and stopping just short of the social taboos required by her station. Kainan's heart ached to reach out and hold her, even though he knew he couldn't.
When she addressed him, she did so in Colonial, as even though he understood the High Alvari language, she knew that secret was better left concealed. "Friends of the Crystal Throne," Valyra spoke in that lilting, sing-song accent unique to her species. "I welcome you into the ancient halls of the Phoenix House," she said, her tone formal, her expression a perfect, regal mask, her aura as composed as his, though their bond spoke a different, secret language only they could hear. "Come," she said, gesturing towards a floating platform that seemed to materialize out of the floor. "We have much to discuss and time grows short."
He joined her on that platform, accompanied by Yelena and the bearish Fieldmarshal, while Shyiuna and the Alvari High Lord completed their entourage as the platform carried them up and out towards a floating garden, where the other Pact officials on the fleet, would join them via hologram. Up above the world, the great fleets repositioned themselves, crews of engineers carrying out necessary repairs while reinforcements arrived into the system through the corridor the spearhead armada had carved. For, in spite of the serenity of the Alvari colony, the war continued and out across the galaxy, ships burned and worlds fell as the Terran banner spread throughout the stars like a tidal wave of violence. And somewhere else, beyond their reach, the usurper and his allies were also making moves, racing to enact their own, nefarious plans before the Pact could stop them.