moves into position. A closing of the gaps between ships so the Unbroken can pour through the FoldGate en masse. An immeasurable, unstoppable flow.
Auri grips the back of my seat so hard, I hear the internal structure creak.
“Get us closer to the Weapon! A little more, and I can get myself there.”
“You want to spacewalk, Stowaway?” Fin asks. “You’re half the size of the average Syldrathi. None of the suits here—”
“I don’t need a suit.” She meets my eyes. “Zila, just get me close.”
I glance at Scarlett, who nods, and so I obey.
Fin curses, hurrying toward the stern of the shuttle and the airlock, Aurora on his heels. She does not say goodbye.
I bank the shuttle sideways, slip between two massive cruisers and ever closer to the rainbow refractions of the Weapon. From behind me, Scarlett puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
I find that her touch unexpectedly eases the tension within me.
“As soon as we’re through the gate into Terran space,” she says softly, “the TDF will be shooting at us.”
“Yes.”
“We can’t shoot back. We can’t fight against our own people.”
“I will do my best to avoid combat.” The rest of the sentence is unspoken: For as long as possible.
A voice spills over the Unbroken communications network. Deep and musical. A voice we all immediately recognize.
“De’na vosh, tellanai,” the Starslayer says.
“ ‘Know no fear, my children,’ ” Scarlett murmurs.
“De’na siir.”
“ ‘Know no regret.’ ”
“Tur, si mai’lesh de’sai.”
“ ‘Today, we burn away our shame.’ ”
“Turae, si aire’na aire no’suut.”
“ ‘Tonight, we dance the dance of blood.’ ”
With a blinding flash of light, the Unbroken fleet begins dropping through the FoldGate. Dreadnoughts and carriers. Wave upon wave of cruisers and destroyers, fighters and drones. Finally, the Weapon itself disappears before our eyes. I steel myself, engage our thrusters, and a moment later we are through it too, with a ripple of sensation I feel in every pore.
We emerge into the utter chaos of battle, missiles and tracer rounds flying past us, the Unbroken fleet spreading out to engage the Terran defenders. Ships are wheeling and turning, dodging and cartwheeling, exploding silently and flying to pieces around us. Syldrathi instructions are snapped and shouted down the comms, broadcasting through our bridge, too quick for me to follow.
“Holy crap!” Scarlett cries.
The Unbroken fleet breaks apart into wings, spreading out across a broad perimeter, lighting the dark on fire. Despite the news feeds disputing the existence of the Unbroken superweapon, it seems TDF Command is taking the claim seriously; a phalanx of Terran vessels is throwing all it can at the wall of Syldrathi ships, hoping to punch its way through the Unbroken defenses.
“Those are Betraskan,” Scarlett whispers, pointing at our scopes.
It is true—among the snub-nosed hulks of the Terran fleet, we can see the smooth, beetle-shaped forms of Betraskan destroyers and battleships, locked in combat with the Unbroken force. It seems Earth’s allies have kept true to their word, stepping up in defense of Terra. My heart flutters slightly as I realize we are seeing the opening shots of what might become the first true galactic war. I do my best to ignore it, but the biological response to the sight is strong.
Ships explode around us in absolute silence. The cockpit is a cacophony of screaming alarms and warnings from the flight computer, Scarlett shouting unneeded advice, and the thunder of our engines, and among it all I feel so small, so insignificant, that I wonder what I am doing here at all. I fly as best I can, but I know my best will not be enough for much longer, my knuckles white on my controls. I glance up at the stuffed dragon tucked above my seat. Shamrock watches me with beady eyes, supervising in the absence of Cat.
I wish you were here.
Then, as though Cat has given it to me herself, I spot my moment. The carriers protecting the Weapon have unleashed their fighter wings, moving to intercept a storm of inbound TDF cruisers. I stab at my controls, weave beneath the belly of an Unbroken dreadnought bristling with guns. For a brief moment, there is nothing between us and the Weapon. As I swing by for a close pass, spiraling among a burst of inbound railgun fire, a light on my console flickers on—an alarm warns me the rear airlock has opened.
Seven heartbeats later, it closes again.
“Good luck, Auri,” Scarlett murmurs.
A spray of missiles from a TDF vessel cuts across our bow, and I stab instinctively at the controls