to share findings.
“It’s a map, in two layers,” she finally replied. “One is here, in our galaxy. And one is not.”
Dash looked at Leira. Her eyes shone back at him, wide, through her visor. “What do you mean, not in our galaxy?”
“Messenger,” Tybalt cut in. “We have just detected the arrival of several ships in this system. They are inbound at high acceleration. And now they are firing missiles.”
Dash cursed. “How long until they hit?”
“Fourteen minutes.”
“Well, for once, things have worked out in our favor.” Dash gestured at the opening, where Sentinel had torn away a section of hull. “We don’t have to go all the way back to where we entered—we’ve got a door already made for us.” He turned to Leira. “You first. Right behind you.”
Leira activated her suit’s thrusters and slid by him. “Not sorry to see this place behind us.”
“You and me both,” Dash said. Before them, the stars beckoned, and among them, the enemy.
“Dash, I’ve analyzed the trajectories and behavior of the inbound missiles,” Sentinel said as soon as Dash was settled into the Archetype’s cradle and fully immersed back into the Meld.
“And? They’re, what, only a couple of minutes out now?”
“Correct. However, they seem to pose little threat.”
“They—what? Really?”
“They are powered by simple, solid-booster chemical rockets and contain low-yield fission warheads. Moreover, they appear to have only the most rudimentary tracking capability and a very limited ability to adapt and change their collective behavior.”
While she was speaking, Dash studied the tactical display. Sure enough, there was nothing to indicate these incoming missiles were even close to the capabilities of their mechs.
“Huh. So these are a fire first, ask questions later kind of enemy. Seems inefficient, if not unusually hostile, and none of these birds are a match for us,” Dash said.
“I would suggest they are extreme xenophobes,” Tybalt said. “Or they are at war with another party and believe us to be in league with them.”
“Is there any chance these missiles will get through our point defenses?” Leira asked.
“Effectively none,” Tybalt replied. “There are eleven missiles. One appears to have malfunctioned a few moments ago and is no longer tracking. The point defense systems of the Archetype and Swift would need to be attacked by at least five times that number of missiles of this level of effectiveness before there was statistically any chance—”
The mechs’ point defenses opened up with brief bursts of rapid pulse-cannon fire that obliterated all of the incoming projectiles in a few seconds.
“—of any of them achieving a hit.” Tybalt had just gone on, without pause. “Even then, their warheads—”
“Yeah, that’s okay, Tybalt. I think we get it,” Dash said. The three alien ships, roughly the size of Cygnus Realm frigates but much blockier and inelegant, bored in, apparently undeterred by the failure of their missile attack. “Sentinel, have they responded to any of our comm calls?”
“None.”
Dash sighed and accelerated the Archetype away from the ruined station, taking a diverging course relative to the oncoming ships.
Leira fell immediately into the wing position. “Dash, are we really going to do battle with these guys? It’s going to be like fighting glorified cargo pods.”
“I’d rather not, given their lack of technology. Let’s play a little keep away, at least for now, until we can figure out who these idiots are. Sentinel, get Lomas on the comm for me, please.”
“Will do,” Sentinel said without hesitation.
Dash only had to apply a small fraction of the Archetype’s available drive power to out-accelerate their enemy. The result was one of the strangest confrontations he’d ever faced—slowly powering the Archetype away from a primitive attacker determined to do battle.
“I want to feel sorry for these people,” Leira said. “So much determination, but so few brains, but I’ve had my fill of naked aggression for now.”
“Same, but you’re being nicer.” Dash angled the Archetype away from the opposing ships as they burned furiously through a course change in a bizarre, almost obsessive chase. “We don’t have time—”
“Dash, Lomas here. Your AI, Sentinel, says you need to talk to me?”
“Yeah. Sentinel’s going to transmit some imagery to you. We’re being attacked, if you can call it that, by somebody who seems to really want to die.”
“Ah, right,” Lomas replied. “The Hannsic Net.”
“And who, or what, are they?”
“Grouchy aliens who never take no for an answer. They’re basically pirates and trade jackers. Opportunists.”
“They’re not very bright, that much is obvious,” Leira said. “They must realize by now that we’ve got them totally outclassed.”
“The Hannsic Net isn’t noted for cunning or