Recidivist Paradox

By Mike Freeman

RECIDIVIST PARADOX is a hard hitting space opera/ scifi adventure. It is the THIRD book in the Contact series.

‘The action tumbles forth at a dizzying pace through a wonderful cast of characters.’ A. LYNEX

‘There is heroism and folly, wit and dry humor in this tight and inventive space opera.’ GK

‘Tough and action packed, with a dark and unnerving finish.’ T. ROSS

Two sworn enemies are one...

The Talmas uses Abbott to turn the human civilizations against each other as more ships are consumed by the seemingly unstoppable Diss. The dwindling Alliance team struggle to learn more of the mysterious Plash and its transcendental technologies – desperate to find a way to combat the invulnerable Diss as the unrelenting Talmas hunts them down.

Ultimately, someone must confront Abbott face to face...

Rated [R]. Violence, sex, profanity.

US English. 131,500 words.

About the author. To give his stories a realistic edge, Mike has been bitten by a snake, suffered frost bite, had his wayward yacht sink under him during a force nine gale, held a NATO TOP SECRET security classification and been serially used by a string of beautiful women. He is scared of horses and lives in a sprawling metropolis, where there are none.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Freeman
• Release date: Nov 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311313348

Mike Freeman

Mike Freeman is an NFL Insider for CBSSports.com. Before that, he was an NFL writer, investigative reporter, and columnist for the New York Times; a columnist for the Florida Times-Union; and a sports reporter, features writer, and investigative writer for the Washington Post, Boston Globe, and Dallas Morning News. He lives in New Jersey.

Book preview

Prologue

The final chapter of Remission Praxis. Skip it.

Prologue

Weaver watched in horror as Havoc and Tyburn thrashed in the silver fluid. Behind them, the massive horns of the alien sculpture rocked slowly sideways. Fire poured in through the thinning nanoscreen. Tyburn’s head burst out of the fluid as he convulsed. Havoc looked like he was trying to claw his eyes out through his visor.

We need to help them! Charles said.

We need to go! Whittenhorn said.

Karch lased a Gathering microdrone and it smoked to the ground.

Whittenhorn’s right. Our blades won’t hold.

Weaver felt frantic.

We have to do something!

I could fly them up, Charles said.

Karch glanced at him.

Great idea. Three dead instead of two.

~    ~    ~

Havoc screamed as a torrent of images streamed through his mind.

Abbott.

He kept seeing Abbott.

He was in agony. Excruciating pains stabbed across his mind and body. He felt humiliated, crushed and worthless. He was a failure. Less than a man. He was hyper-vigilant and acutely anxious. He couldn’t dial it down. He couldn’t normalize. It wasn’t right for him to not be able to get things under control. To control a situation – that was who he was.

What had Abbott done to him? He wasn’t the man he thought he was. He was pathetic. It was his own fault that he’d suffered. It was his own fault that he’d failed. He was weak and he’d got what he deserved.

He felt overwhelming rage and the need to inflict pain.

It was all directed at himself.

~    ~    ~

Weaver stared.

None of their group was shouting now. They watched, appalled, as the two men lost their minds. Havoc and Tyburn, the two strongest men she’d ever met, were being destroyed in front of her. They screamed like children. The sound sickened her.

She never wanted to hear it again.

~    ~    ~

Havoc couldn’t escape the needles of glass stabbing his mind.

He ran down an uneven grass slope. On the skyline behind him, his farm was burning. His whole life was blazing away. He tripped and fell forward, rolling into a ditch. He pulled himself upright. Dusk was falling and the homesteads across the whole valley were burning.

Tyurin’s forces were solidifying their grip on the food producing regions of the Karver Republic. Now that Tyurin had access to the more advanced weapons of his new ‘Alliance’, there wasn’t much the Karver forces could do but volunteer for decimation.

The smell on the wind was terrible.

He fell again, landing up to his knees in a pool of water.

Water…

He caught a glimpse of the present, a shard of reality. He grabbed onto it, clinging to it, squeezing it so hard that it buckled under his grasp. He wasn’t going to be dragged down there again.

Havoc was just downstream of him. He reached out and grabbed him.

Havoc? What was he thinking?

He reached out for Tyburn. And for himself.

No. This couldn’t be real.

Tyburn lifted his head toward him, opening his eyes. He watched his hand coming toward himself.

He stared at himself.

He grabbed at his face.

No!

He reeled backward, screaming in denial.

He watched himself, screaming in denial.

It was too much. The monster who had killed his family.

It was him.

The Soul of an Adversary

Curse

Catalyst

Counterstrike

Clash

Condemn

Curse

 1.

Havoc screamed in denial.

The monster who had killed his family.

It was him.

He roared in anger. Not Tyburn. Anyone, anything, but not that. He lashed out, unable to contain his self-hate. Waves of insanity crashed over him. He grasped for reality, thrashing like a drowning man. He clutched fistfuls of nothing.

Fires burned across a valley. He could smell it on the wind. He’d never seen this valley. But he knew it was his home.

Voices shouted at him, from somewhere else.

It was the fluid, he realized. The silver fluid in the aqueduct.

This wasn’t real.

He tried to stand, not sure who he was. The assault on his mind was unrelenting. He could feel his identity being reshaped as memories streamed into him like moist clay into a potter’s wheel. He fought desperately to defend himself, blinking away visions and shunning false remembrances. His efforts were as futile as if he were a child shielding a sandcastle from the sea. The truth was undeniable. These memories were real to him. He was sucked into the depths.

From nowhere, Abbott’s face loomed over him. He crouched in fear, throwing up his hands to protect himself. Abbott taunted him, inviting him toward a place that he couldn’t see but which hurt him infinitely. He tried to follow but he couldn’t go there. He felt weak and worthless. Abbott’s face lit up with delight.

"You are worthless."

The truth of Abbott’s words stunned him. He wanted to curl up and die. Abbott laughed endlessly.

What’s happening to me?

‘What a stupid question, boy.’

Flickers of retrospection struck him with a clarity so sharp they cut his mind…

The seasoned fighters of the resistance stood around him, looking down on him – the foolish boy who talked big. He reached eagerly for the rifle offered to him, desperate to strike back.

He guarded the Alliance prisoners, humiliated at being left behind. The prisoners mocked him. He drifted toward the door that separated him from the men who had murdered his family.

The resistance leader castigated him. The prisoners’ bodies lay strewn about the floor, their eyes agape like dead fish. The resistance leader’s words washed over him, draining away without trace, as he stared into the fire.

The Alliance transporter burned orange, its splintered ribcage visible through the flames. The veterans acknowledged him with grudging respect. It was the first time they’d ever managed to bring down such a vehicle.

The red priest sought him out. ‘The strong survive and the weak perish. Strength is a choice. God only wants the strong.’ He offered his soul for salvation through Saint Alexander and God spoke to him. Your family died for a reason. I have a plan for you. He felt renewed. He was God’s instrument. An instrument of violence.

Violence.

Furious violence.

His suit lasers blew out a micromissile two meters above him. The shockwave smashed his face into the silver fluid.

Havoc stared at himself, reaching for himself.

His electronic warfare package subverted multiple warheads. The corrupted missiles diverted into the base of a giant statue nearby. There was a deafening explosion. Shrapnel smashed into his suit. He grunted as the bull-like horns crashed into his back.

It wasn’t his back. It was Tyburn’s.

We’re dying here.

He didn’t know who spoke the words, but it was true.

Whoever he was, he had to move.

 2.

Weaver stared in horror as Havoc and Tyburn thrashed in the silver fluid beneath her. They convulsed as if they were being electroshocked repeatedly.

The horror of the situation made it seem like the two men had been struggling forever. In reality, they’d been in the aqueduct for less than five seconds. Given the intensity of the Gathering fire, they might not last another five.

Come on, Havoc!

There was a blinding flash from the gardens. Weaver’s visor turned ultra-reflective. She clung to the aqueduct wall as the shockwave smacked her. With an ear splitting crack, the massive platinum statue of an Aulusthran, which dominated the upper tier of the gardens, toppled over.

Havoc pulled himself upright as Tyburn clawed his way forward. Both men reeled as if inebriated. The Aulusthran statue crashed down across the remains of the metallic-red bull, partly shielding them.

Weaver stared, mesmerized by the struggle of the two men. The others leaned out with her. Whittenhorn’s voice was an awed whisper.

What’s happening to them?

Weaver flinched at another series of thunderous cracks from the gardens.

Come on, Havoc! This way!

Whittenhorn shouted over the din.

We have to go. We have to think of the team.

Weaver felt increasingly frantic as she willed the men upward.

Up here! Co––

Weaver ducked in surprise as one of their spider blades climbed gracefully past her on top of the aqueduct. The blade settled onto its improbably slender legs and unleashed a withering fusillade into the smoke.

She winced as Havoc fell backward onto Tyburn.

They look lost, Touvenay said.

They look fucked, Tomas said.

Should we… Karch said.

Weaver turned.

Should we what?

You know?

What?

Leave them? Whittenhorn suggested.

Tomas grunted.

Finish them, she means.

Weaver looked at Karch in shock. Shrapnel screamed over their heads. Karch’s expression was unapologetic.

We have to blow the gorge.

Whittenhorn nodded.

Karch is right. We would be doing them a favor.

Some favor, Charles said.

Brilliant flashes streaked overhead as the blade in the tunnel entrance behind them launched another salvo. Explosions erupted across the upper tier of the gardens. Thousands of tracks swarmed across Weaver’s battlespace. Whittenhorn’s voice was desperate.

This is madness! We have to go!

Weaver’s gut constricted with panic.

They’ll make it.

Karch glanced at her.

Would you want to be left for Abbott?

 3.

Havoc fought to regain his senses.

No. No way.

Powerful psychotropic agents were attacking his mind, mood and cognition. The alien weapon was seeking to destroy his effectiveness as a soldier and render him helpless. This was a psychoactive attack, nothing more. He could deal with this. He’d been trained. Been through the toughest regime you could throw at a human being without killing them or driving them insane. He could get them out of here.

He grabbed Tyburn’s arm and hauled him upright. He lifted Havoc and flung him upstream before striding after him. He slapped the surface of the liquid to gain more purchase.

No, he thought, I’m Havoc.

He shook his head. His own mind couldn’t be trusted. Forget who you are, focus on survival.

Shrapnel pinged his suit continuously as he waded up through the silver fluid. An alert flashed. The reactive armor across the back of his legs blew out.

Duality. It was Tyburn that was hit.

What a nightmare.

Focus. Just get out of this hell.

He dragged himself forward. He wanted to nuke the Gathering. Or rather, Tyburn wanted to nuke the Gathering. It’s not me that wants to nuke the Gathering, Tyburn insisted, it’s you. His voices blended into one.

He fell forward. His head submerged in the silver fluid. Light streamed through his mind. A tornado of sense impressions whirled up to suck him to hell.

No.

He rammed his arms down and his head erupted from the stream. He gazed through multiple realities, trying to get a lock on the world around him. Horrified faces stared down at him. Alliance faces. His enemies.

No, they aren’t.

Yes, they are.

He felt dizzy.

My friends or my enemies?

Two kinetics punctured the left side of his helmet. A close call. Blood trickled to a halt as his body shut down the flow.

He pulled over the side wall of the aqueduct. Charles stepped forward, reaching for his arms. Karch yanked Charles back before the prince could touch him. He toppled forward and fell out of the liquid. The last thing he saw was the floor rising up to meet him.

He was driving forward, slapping his way up the silver fluid. It was Tyburn that had escaped. I’m ahead of me, he told himself. He felt a wave of nausea. He hoped the effect would fade now that Tyburn was out of the liquid. Just hang on. Weaver’s concerned face looked down at him as he lay on his back, while Karch shouted down the aqueduct as he forced his way up.

He vomited.

He jerked forward as the back of his suit took a hit. Salvo after salvo launched over his head to cover him. He wondered how many blades they had left in the gardens. Couldn’t be many.

The ‘ready for retirement’ alert chimed in his suit. Ridiculous.

He looked up at concerned faces as he lay on the floor. He reached for the top of the gorge. Nearly there, we’re nearly there.

It hadn’t stopped, he realized. Tyburn was out and it hadn’t stopped.

He grasped the side of the aqueduct. The others yelled at him to throw himself clear. He dragged himself over the wall and fell out. His head hit the floor and he collapsed sideways.

Both of him prayed it would be over now.

 4.

Weaver stared at Havoc. She was so worried that she couldn’t breathe properly. Get it together, Weaver. She crouched down beside him and shook his suit.

Wake up, Havoc!

No response. She flinched as an explosion boomed on the far side of the narrow gorge. Debris rained down around her as shockwaves reverberated across the chamber. She tried to calm her breathing as Karch pinged a location high in the gardens.

Blade down. I’m going to pull two more out before I blow it.

Weaver glanced at Karch. Bright flashes illuminated Karch’s dark combat suit – she looked like a primeval predator in the swirling smoke.

The sound and proximity of the explosions built like tribal drumming rising to a sacrificial climax. Above Weaver, the spider blade on the aqueduct danced nimbly back and forth as it fired into the haze. The blade had three larger missile launchers slung underneath its main housing, staggered so that the two outer ones protruded forward like mandibles. Weaver twisted away as the three heavy launchers erupted. The noise was unbearable. She pressed herself back into the wall, hoping to dissolve into it. Her resolve started to fray. She twisted her head sideways. Fournier and Touvenay sat huddled to her right.

Are you alright?

Of course not, Touvenay said.

Fournier smiled and gave a thumbs up.

It’s quite exciting, now that I’m conscious.

Weaver blinked at Fournier, incredulous. A Gathering screamer screeched overhead, grating her senses. There was a brilliant flash. She twisted away as kinetics exploded off the wall above her head. Sparks rained down like falling stars. She gasped with relief. Fournier screamed. Weaver whipped her head round to face him. Fournier clutched his left arm, the color draining from his face. She frowned with concern.

Are you alright?

Fournier swallowed, looking disoriented and pale. Touvenay leaned over Fournier, examining his arm.

His suit has self-sealed. It’s only shrapnel. No obvious contamination. He’ll live.

The blade above Weaver scuttled backward up the aqueduct to join the one in the tunnel entrance above. Weaver recoiled as two more of their spider blades stalked backward out of the mayhem. The second blade spewed smoke down its left hand side. Most of the bumps containing its sensor clusters and laser systems were missing.

The two blades in the tunnel entrance fired a devastating salvo then withdrew from sight. The two newly arrived blades swung underneath the aqueduct. Weaver frowned.

What’s hap––

Fire in the hole, Karch said.

There was an ear splitting detonation behind Weaver. The shockwave smacked her helmet into Havoc’s. Havoc’s eyes burst open at the impact, their faces only centimeters apart. Weaver pressed into him as debris rained down around them, her head reeling from the explosion. Her sensors showed the gorge was completely blocked. The Gathering fire sounded muted and the ground tremors felt oddly subdued. Havoc’s eyes roamed wildly.

He’s inside me.

Calm down. Try to––

He’s inside me, Weaver!

Weaver pulled Havoc into her, cradling him in her arms. He clutched at her like a frightened child. He looked unhinged, staring out at nothing she could see. Karch emerged from the smoke and peered down at him.

Will he be alright?

Weaver shook her head. I don’t know. They looked at each other.

Karch straightened, her demeanor all business.

We have to go. We don’t have long.

Charles stepped forward and gestured at the blocked gorge.

You think they’ll come after us?

Karch shrugged.

I don’t plan to be here to find out. Karch pointed at the Scepter lying by Weaver’s side. You want me to take that while you look after Havoc?

Weaver glanced down at the alien artifact.

No, not if you’re covering the rear. I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Fine, but we have to go, girl.

Weaver nodded. Charles turned to Fournier in the thick dust.

Are you alright?

Fournier made a face as he stood.

It’s no fun when they hit you.

No shit, Tomas said, at least you still have arms.

Fournier smiled.

I’ll swap your working brain for my functioning forelimbs.

Tomas frowned.

Fournier pursed his lips.

On second thoughts…

Havoc shifted in Weaver’s arms. She looked down at him. Havoc stared at Tyburn, who lay slumped opposite him. Weaver smiled. She felt so damn happy. It wasn’t natural.

Hey Soldier.

Weaver crashed back against the wall. Karch spun sideways.

Shit, Karch yelled.

Weaver struggled to understand what was happening. Karch rolled upright, her tricannons raised in self-defense.

Havoc extracted his gauntlet from the wall where Tyburn had been slumped. Tyburn wasn’t there. Tyburn swung for the back of Havoc’s helmet. Another section of the wall exploded. Havoc was under Tyburn’s arm and going for Tyburn’s face. The two men were a blur, moving so fast that Weaver could barely keep track. They twisted around each other, every move blending seamlessly into the next. Despite their violent intentions, the movements of the two men were so well choreographed that they could have been dancing. It was almost as if…

Weaver felt ill as she completed the thought.

It was almost as if each man knew exactly what the other was going to do before he did it. The two men careened along the wall toward her, sparks flying, repeatedly body slamming each other.

Oh shit.

She was right in their path. She contracted in slow motion. Her mind raced a trillion times faster than her body could react. She couldn’t get out of the way. They would charge her down like a juggernaut.

For the first time ever, she flared her suit.

 5.

Havoc roared as the blood mist descended.

Tyburn wasn’t welcome in his mind. Tyburn witnessing every feeling that he’d ever had was more than he could bear. His instinct was primeval – he wanted to beat Tyburn to bloody pulp. Even as the destructive impulse swelled inside him, he felt it warp under Tyburn’s influence. Their feelings of aggression surged in a mutually reinforcing feedback loop until Havoc couldn’t contain himself. Teeth bared, he sprang forward.

They collided like two bull elephants. Debris exploded outward as he smashed Tyburn into the wall. They whirled sideways as they grappled ferociously.

He was faster, stronger and better. Tyburn was slippery, frictionless and fast. They both knew exactly what was coming. Move after move was countered before it had even commenced.

Havoc sensed Weaver ducking away from him, lifting her hand to protect herself. He thrust Tyburn away, parting from himself.

Too late.

Weaver’s suit flared. Stars exploded in his mind. He hit the wall.

Nothing.

His subconscious drifted as his conscious swum for the surface.

He came to. Weaver stared down at him, her face full of concern.

Tell me you’re not going to do that again.

A wave of panic rushed up inside him. Nothing had changed.

He’s inside me.

Please tell me you’re not going to do that again.

He felt his heart race away. He was trapped.

He’s me. I’m him.

Weaver cradled his head.

It’s alright.

It’s not alright.

His breathing was fast and shallow as Weaver pulled him close. He felt threatened and humiliated.

It’s not alright, he repeated.

His eyes scanned wildly as he sought out his adversary. Tyburn was lying on his side, curled in a ball. The left side of Tyburn’s helmet had two kinetic punctures.

Havoc felt pure aggression well up inside him. His lips drew back. Weaver interposed herself between him and Tyburn. Her green eyes locked onto his.

Look at me.

Havoc looked at her, then through her. He sought strands of sanity amongst his delirium. He hated himself and not in an abstract way. He wanted to see himself burn. He pressed his eyes shut, desperate for relief.

Abbott’s face loomed over him, terrifying and dominating. He cried out, lifting his hands in front of his face.

Abbott. Everywhere he looked.

Abbott.

 6.

Weaver held Havoc in her arms.

Havoc cried out and raised his hands in front of his face, trying to protect himself. But from what? What was frightening him so much?

Weaver’s attention was distracted by Whittenhorn, who ran across to the left hand ramp. The ramp spiraled up to the tunnel entrance that provided their only means of escape. Whittenhorn called over his shoulder.

I’ll find the way.

Weaver exchanged a look with Karch. Whittenhorn was proposing to reconnoiter along a tunnel that ran in a straight line for five hundred meters. Whittenhorn circled up the elegant corkscrew at a prodigious rate. Karch rolled her eyes.

He’s such a pussy, I want to give him a saucer of milk.

Fournier and Touvenay ambled over. Touvenay wrinkled his nose as he watched Whittenhorn’s ascent.

A masterly retreat is itself a victory.

Fournier rubbed his left arm and Weaver smiled sympathetically.

Are you ok?

I think so, thank you. It was quite a shock.

I bet it was.

Karch thumbed toward the spiral ramps as she nodded at Fournier and Touvenay.

You two follow Whittenhorn.

Fournier frowned at Weaver.

I have a lot of questions for you, Evelyn.

Karch shook her head.

We don’t have time.

Fournier opened his mouth to protest but Karch gave him a look. Fournier closed his mouth and moved toward the ramps with Touvenay. Whittenhorn leaned over the top of the left hand ramp.

The tunnel looks ok. I’ll check ahead.

Whittenhorn vanished into the tunnel as Weaver crouched beside Havoc, preparing to lift him up. Charles knelt opposite her.

I’ll help.

Weaver smiled.

Thanks, Charles.

She stood up, supporting Havoc between her and Charles. She grimaced as she noticed Tyburn curled in a fetal ball, clutching his head. Tyburn was almost lost in the dust billowing around her knees. No one was paying him any attention.

Tomas, can you help Tyburn, please.

Tomas scowled at her.

I’m not––

Karch shoved Tomas toward Tyburn.

Help him.

Tomas whirled to face Karch, snarling.

Don’t push me.

Weaver tensed.

Karch laughed.

You’re adorable. Now fucking help him.

He’s useless, Karch.

Then we’ll know what to do if you have another accident, won’t we, Tomas?

Tomas paused, uncertain.

He saved your life, Tomas, Charles said.

Tomas glared at his half brother as he moved toward Tyburn. Alerts flashed in Weaver’s mind’s eye. There was a low rumble and the blocks of debris in the gorge quivered. Dust sloughed down the rubble and filled the atmo. Karch ran toward the right hand ramp.

I’ll set charges. Get moving.

Tomas reached into the smoke. His gauntlet reappeared holding one of Tyburn’s boots. His expression was sour.

This would be much easier if Tyburn slaved his suit to me.

Wouldn’t everything, Weaver thought.

Would you open your suit access to us? she asked Tomas.

Tomas sneered as he dragged Tyburn across the floor by his ankle.

No fucking way. But I’m not a vegetable.

Weaver followed Tomas, supporting Havoc between her and Charles.

Neither is Tyburn.

Tomas nodded back up at the tunnel.

How far is the transit system?

Less than a klick, Charles said.

"And we hope it’s a transit system," Weaver said.

Tomas looked distinctly unimpressed.

"We hope it is?"

Weaver smiled sweetly at him.

Don’t you hope it is too?

 7.

Havoc reeled, trying to adjust to his new, shared, reality. Tyburn was part of him. He felt his enemy’s emotions. It was a horrific violation. Nothing in his evolutionary makeup had prepared him for sharing his identity. He had no tools to adapt. Psychoactive attack, he told himself, invoking his new litany for the umpteenth time.

What’s the opportunity here? What’s the upside?

His mind raced with strategic and tactical possibilities. Tyburn was trying to solve it. Tyburn’s coping mechanism was to understand and capitalize on the change. Havoc felt it happening.

Abbott’s face leered over him. His knees buckled and his focus blurred. He felt sick with fear. He couldn’t understand it. Abbott was Tyburn’s whole world.

He became aware of Weaver and Charles guiding him up a spiral ramp. Ahead of him, Tomas dragged Tyburn by his boot. He could taste Tyburn’s loathing at this demeaning treatment. Tyburn twisted and smacked Tomas’s hand away. Everyone stopped.

Tyburn unsteadily hauled himself upright. Havoc shrugged off Charles and Weaver as Tyburn turned to face him.

They regarded each other. Two lions, sizing each other up. Karch’s voice cut in.

Keep moving. I’ve set a charge at this end.

Weaver stepped between Havoc and Tyburn.

We have to go.

Havoc frowned at the simultaneous image of the front and back of Weaver’s head. She spoke in an odd stereo.

Do you need help?

He straightened, blinking away the stabbing pain behind his eyes. Weaver reached out to support him but he raised a hand to stop her.

She eyed him skeptically.

He shook his head.

I can walk.

 8.

Arzbad-Framander Zuelth couldn’t believe his eyes.

He stared into a magnificent cavern the size of a mountain. Scattered across the ground were broken pillars, shattered blocks and pulverized rubble. It looked as if a war had been fought inside. Remarkably, however, the devastation was not the most notable feature of the cavern. Not by a long chalk.

Lurking inside the cavern, incontrovertibly captured in perfect detail by the microdrones hovering near the entrance, was a monster of epic proportions. Zuelth’s selection of the word ‘monster’ was most deliberate. It was not the exuberant exaggerations of boyhood, nor an imagined glimpse of something fantastical. It was a bug-eyed, twin tailed, viciously pincered monster.

The monster’s head tilted at a quizzical angle. Its huge chelicerae twitched and the tentacles encircling its mouth writhed slowly. The menacing stingers protruding from its twin tails flicked idly overhead as its huge spherical eyes rotated on their stalks. Zuelth was convinced it was staring right at him.

He took a deep breath. Any doubts that he’d had about the literal existence of the mythical creatures in the Holy Books evaporated. Zuelth prayed that the Redeemer wouldn’t send them inside. More specifically, Zuelth prayed that the Redeemer wouldn’t send him inside. Moreover, he implored the heavens that the monster wouldn’t venture outside. It looked far too inquisitive for its own good.

Zuelth’s view of the monster’s chamber vanished as the Redeemer recalled their microdrones. Zuelth blinked out of the feed and into his no less remarkable surroundings, situated as he was on a tiled semicircle, overlooked by tier upon tier of arched cloisters, and standing beside the charred remains of a gigantic serpent with its head blown off.

The walls and arches surrounding him were twisted and malformed, like candle wax that had been melted into bizarre shapes before setting solid. The shadows of the Gathering soldiers incinerated on the walls were particularly disturbing, distorted in bizarre proportions like mirror images in a demonic carnival.

In stark contrast to the scant attention that the Redeemer had paid to the other wonders of this alien world, the Redeemer seemed intensely interested in this place. Zuelth wondered why, then ceased his whimsical philosophizing as the Redeemer turned to him, looking irritated. Taking the initiative, Zuelth bowed his head.

Did you find that which You seek, oh Lord?

The Alliance has stolen it.

Zuelth inspected his distorted reflection in the scorched tile beneath his feet.

It is valuable, my Lord?

It is one of Our Father’s most holy weapons.

Zuelth glanced up at this startling revelation. The Redeemer turned slowly as He surveyed their surroundings, taking in the extraordinary heat damage to the cloisters. The Redeemer’s expression was almost quizzical. Zuelth couldn’t help but inquire.

Is this the damage of the holy weapon, my Lord?

The Redeemer looked strangely contemplative.

A good question, Zuelth. Only Our Father knows the answer.

Zuelth masked his surprise at this unusually circumspect response. He hurried to keep up as the Redeemer strode through the archway leading to where their Gathering forces were vanquishing the Alliance – or, at least, that was how Zuelth intended to present it to the Redeemer, should he be asked.

What of the Alliance, Zuelth?

Transmissions pinged back and forth between Zuelth and Yuz-bashi Rasoul on the front line. Thank the Prophets, it was good news.

The Alliance is shattered and fleeing before us, oh Thunderous Smiter of the Infidel. They have blocked the way. Shall we continue our pursuit?

The Redeemer stopped abruptly. Zuelth’s heart leaped into his mouth. The Redeemer’s immortal eyes burned.

Stop at nothing.

 9.

Weaver felt increasing relief as she neared the end of the black veined walkway that heralded the exit to the tunnel.

She knew she was imagining things, but that didn’t stop her gaze being drawn repeatedly to the recessed silver stream flowing silently past on her right hand side. Ephemeral phantasms drifted up from its depths, dancing within the mysterious fluid before they melted away.

Come on! Charles shouted.

Weaver wrenched her attention back to the tunnel. Ahead of her, a bridge carried the aqueduct straight over an intersection. Thirty meters below the bridge, another tunnel ran perpendicular to this one. Two ramps corkscrewed down from the exit of this tunnel to meet the tunnel below. Charles waited, visibly agitated, at the top of the left hand ramp. He waved her onward, his voice urgent.

Hurry up! We might not have long!

Weaver hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She didn’t need to be a military expert to understand that, given their proximity to the Gathering, any engagement would be the equivalent of two people dueling with grape shot. She hoped that the Gathering wouldn’t pursue them further. After all, the Gathering didn’t know that she had a Scepter. Karch had set charges back at the entrance to the tunnel as a precaution, but obviously they had to get out of the tunnel before they could blow them.

Havoc and Tyburn followed a worrying distance behind her. She didn’t need to look back to check their progress. She could hear them scraping along the sidewall, using it as a handrail. The urgency of the situation gnawed at her as she willed them to hurry up.

A series of brilliant flashes projected her shadow ahead of her. The surface of the silver stream gleamed lustrously as she twisted round in panic. The flashes originated from the lone blade that Karch had left to cover their rear. The blade reversed down the tunnel toward her, its slender legs darting effortlessly down each side of the stream. The sound of booming detonations reached her.

Havoc and Tyburn stumbled forward. She wondered about going back to help them. But what could she do? Charles shouted from the tunnel exit.

Come on, Weaver!

She turned back and broke into a run. Ahead of her, two of their blades danced excitedly on the bridge, jostling like horses clamoring for the off.

Alerts flashed in her mind’s eye as the Gathering broke through the gorge. The blades on the bridge lit up. She wanted to close her eyes and scream as a missile salvo rocketed past her. The wash of the missiles knocked her into the tunnel wall. She pressed on, shielding her head with her free hand as the tunnel illuminated brilliantly. She ducked forward as another salvo screamed past, desperate to escape the firing line.

Charles reached for her as she made it to the top of the ramp. Thank God. For once, her atheist instincts didn’t chastise her for invoking divine providence.

She looked over the edge. Karch and Whittenhorn stood thirty meters below her, with their necks craning upward. Tomas emerged from the bottom of the ramp beneath her.

Karch waved her arm, beckoning her down.

Keep moving!

Whittenhorn was practically bouncing with agitation.

We need to blow it!

Weaver glanced over her shoulder. The tunnel flickered with harsh bursts of light. Their retreating blade fired continuously as it reversed rapidly. Havoc stumbled nearer, a shadow of his former self. Tyburn was just behind Havoc and he didn’t look any better. Charles took her arm.

Get down the ramp.

Weaver nodded.

A pinprick of light appeared at the far end of the tunnel. It corkscrewed lazily in looping spirals that appeared deceptively slow whilst advancing improbably fast. Their retreating blade shone incandescently, its exoskeleton framed perfectly against the light, before it was obliterated. The shockwave rushed toward them.

Blade down. Heads, Karch said.

Weaver frowned. There was a flicker of wind that built rapidly. Havoc and Tyburn were punched flat.

Oh shit.

Weaver was blown backward, swinging out in Charles’s grasp. She glanced down past her dangling legs. Thirty meters straight to the floor. She noticed her suit’s protruding jetpack and lit it.

They’re through, we need to shut the door, Karch said.

Weaver looked back up the tunnel. Havoc and Tyburn staggered upright.

What about Havoc and Tyburn?

Karch pinged activity around the gorge on their battlespace.

They’re advancing. Fuck it. I have to blow it.

Weaver turned and yelled at Karch.

Wait! They’re less––

Fire in the hole.

There was a blinding flash from the far end of the tunnel. Charles dived off the edge of the ramp and launched into mid-atmo. Weaver jumped after him. She triggered her jetpack as her senses dilated time. On her right, Charles jetted hard into the wall. He reached for her, simultaneously streaming to text as he yelled at her.

Get against the wall!

She got Charles’s cast streamed to text. Verbally, Charles had pronounced the ‘g’ of ‘get’, when Havoc and Tyburn blasted out of the tunnel with their arms windmilling violently.

Charles hauled Weaver into the wall as Havoc and Tyburn shot across the intersection in front of her. She had an instant to realize how badly she’d underestimated the force of the explosion before she was blasted down the tunnel like a leaf in a hurricane. She and Charles screeched across the wall, spinning round each other. It was too fast, utterly chaotic. She hit the ground, hard. She felt dazed and winded as she tried to work out where they were.

Are you alright?

It was Charles, standing over her. She was amazed by Charles being on his feet so quickly. She coughed, feeling beaten up.

Yes. You?

Charles nodded, extending a hand to pull her up. Karch ran over.

That should give us some time.

Weaver remembered Havoc and Tyburn’s involuntary flight.

What about Havoc and Tyburn?

Karch shrugged.

What about them?

Weaver felt shocked.

Well, don’t you think––

Charles interrupted, pointing behind her.

Look.

Weaver turned.

Havoc and Tyburn were standing on the aqueduct. Neither bothered to light their jetpack as they stepped off the bridge, dropping thirty meters to the ground. Weaver winced as they both smacked into the floor. She shook her head, incredulous.

What are they made of?

Charles pointed up the tunnel, past the intersection.

Movement. Three klicks out. We’ve just lost the outer microdrone.

Karch grimaced.

Fuck.

Havoc and Tyburn approached them. Weaver watched with concern as Havoc pressed his hand against his helmet. He was pale and looked as if he might be sick.

They’re flanking. We’re contained. It’s intentional.

Weaver grinned from ear to ear. She couldn’t help it. She felt awash with happiness.

Havoc looked bemused and perhaps slightly wounded.

What are you smiling at?

Weaver shook her head as she beamed at him.

I don’t know. I feel wonderful. I’m glad you’re alive.

Weaver took in the bewildered expressions around her.

Karch frowned at Havoc as she gestured toward Weaver.

Did you do this?

Havoc looked nonplussed. He spread his hands.

Charles pointed at the tunnel exit overhead.

I’m not sure this is the time or the place.

Karch nodded.

Good point. That way.

Weaver turned to look down the dark passageway. It led to a long cavern that they’d optimistically designated as ‘the platform’, in the hope it provided access to an Aulusthran transit system.

Karch waved them down the dead-end corridor.

Hurry up. Move back, right now.

Why? Tomas said.

Karch nodded at the tunnel exit overhead.

So I can blow this end.

 10.

Admiral Rhoden swept along the corridor with Commander Taka at her side and their command staff bustling in tow. The walls sparkled with the view of the binary system outside the United Systems flagship Valiant.

The Diss cloud hung, suspended in place, precisely where it had braked to an abrupt halt fourteen minutes earlier in its pursuit of the People’s Republic Loyalty. Waves rippled across the Diss cloud’s scintillating surface as it continuously transformed itself in a series of labyrinthine patterns. Even stationary, the cloud was menacing. But why had it stopped? Rhoden nodded toward the alien nebula.

Status?

Taka followed her gaze.

"We still don’t know why it stopped, Admiral. The other ships are attempting to communicate with it in the same way that we are. No detectable response as yet. We don’t understand the mechanism by which it dumped its momentum. The cloud appears to be elongating slowly along its path of pursuit of the Loyalty."

It’s being pulled in two directions?

We don’t know, Admiral.

"But the Loyalty might still be at risk?"

Taka looked hesitant.

Possibly. We don’t know.

Rhoden sighed. We don’t know. The answer to almost any question you could ask about this system, the mysterious planet below them, or the alien weapon system that threatened them all.

She swung round the corner toward the command briefing room.

You know General Odessa, don’t you?

Taka nodded, looking relieved to be back on more familiar ground.

I dealt with him at the Cabarrus Prospect, Admiral. Though it was never proven, I believe he suicided two of his ships to hold off the Empire of the Sun. When our superior force arrived, his HSC tanker suffered an ‘accident’ that contaminated the Prospect for fourteen years. He boasted as much on his return to Jinan.

He sounds a contemptible man. And a sore loser.

He’s a ruthless thug – and a master at winning as the underdog. He’ll sacrifice anything to squeeze a victory from defeat.

Is that admiration I hear?

He’s intuitively brilliant.

You’ve met him?

Taka nodded.

When we negotiated the Savernake compact. I found him to be genuinely unpredictable. He also had an uncanny ability to irritate me.

Taka sounded genuinely surprised that someone could upset her stoical demeanor. Rhoden allowed herself a trace of a smile.

He sounds dangerously unstable.

He doesn’t respect compromise, weakness or women.

It was Rhoden’s turn to feel surprised.

Women?

He’s a misogynistic bastard.

Rhoden gave Taka a mildly reprimanding look.

Forgive me, Admiral.

Misogynistic?

And I quote, ’women and war don’t mix’.

Rhoden breezed through the open doorway into the command briefing room.

Oh dear.

Quite.

Rhoden took her seat at the center of the conference table and turned to the communications officer.

Ready?

Ready, Admiral.

Rhoden nodded toward the center of the table.

Call General Odessa.

 11.

Havoc sat back against the wall with his eyes screwed shut. He shivered, struggling to