At first glance, Alvar realized the stranger who'd introduced himself as Misha was not a professional pilot.
"The best way to lose a pursuer is to fly in a straight line," Jensen said reproachfully.
"That's what I'm doing."
"You're weaving like a drunken sailor on shore leave!" the Runner condemned the flying ship's handling style. It wasn't hard to notice from the continuously "swaying" views of the horizon. After all, it wasn't a mountain range wandering left and right, was it?
"I'm trying to confuse our pursuers!" Misha said, pointing at three rapidly approaching red dots. "Your beacon signal in your back creates a certain area spread and..."
The "pilot" fell silent when several energy bolts flashed across their course. Then another burst passed along the starboard side — and only a sharp sideways bank of the ship allowed them to survive the Wraith Darts' attack.
To his surprise, Alvar didn't experience the typical G-forces from such a maneuver. Even in the most modern fighter on his planet, something like that wouldn't have happened without consequences for the body.
That's exactly why they only recruited trained, physically strong soldiers as pilots.
"Let me take the helm!" Jensen demanded. "I have pilot training!"
"On this type of ship?" Misha chuckled. "I doubt it."
"My people had their own fighters! I don't think they're more complicated than your machine!"
Mikhail looked at him strangely. Then, without any warning, a large device with a display in a white casing slid out from a triangular compartment on the inner paneling of the cockpit, right next to Alvar.
"What's that?"
"Take it in your hands and tell me what you see," the guy at the helm replied in a commanding tone.
The Darts tried to shoot them again.
Alvar took the device in his hands and noticed that Misha was flying with his eyes closed. Just a couple of seconds, but stunts like that could cost them both their lives. The Runner was starting to doubt that the ground had been more dangerous than this.
But the moment he focused on the device in his hands, three short beeps sounded from the panel. And the red dots of their pursuers disappeared.
"What was that?"
"I shot them down. They started shooting too close to us. Obviously at random, since we're under cloaking, but..."
"How? I didn't notice any guns on your ship."
"Weapons come in different types," Misha replied evasively. "So what's on the screen?"
"Nothing — the device isn't working."
"That's the problem. The technologies I use only work in the hands of a certain type of person. Unfortunately, you're not one of them. So I'm staying at the helm."
"Why make weapons that others can't use?" the Runner wondered.
"Precisely so no one else can use them. It's logical, after all!"
Maybe.
"Ancestors preserve us," Alvar grumbled, watching more and more red dots appear on the screen. "The Wraiths won't stop until they shoot us down."
"Seems that way."
"You saved me, kid, but continuing to do so is just stupid," Alvar said. "Try to slow down near the foothills — I'll jump and lead them away from your ship. I'm used to it..."
"No offense, kid, but now they want both of us," Misha said. "They definitely identified the weapon I used. And the Wraiths definitely won't approve of technologies that could threaten them."
Jensen didn't even argue.
After all, his own world had been destroyed down to its foundations by the Wraiths for that very reason. They had learned much of what the Ancestors knew. Built the first reactors, taught their fighters to reach near space, developed more lethal small arms...
But none of it saved them when a Wraith Hive arrived at the planet to avenge the destroyed Darts. Sent through the gate by the enemies of all humanity, they were shot down. And their pilots, having given no information about their commanders, were executed.
The Wraiths had turned Jensen's homeworld into ruins in just a day. No matter how effective their weapons were, Alvar's countrymen didn't stand in that battle. And his people, those who survived the orbital bombardment, were subjected to a ruthless harvest, leaving no one alive.
Out of a population of over a hundred thousand, no one remained except a few soldiers who became fugitives. Whether anyone was still alive after all this time besides him, the man didn't know.
"I suggest we..."
"Wait," Misha interrupted him, pointing at the screen. "Do you see that too?"
Alvar looked at the computer projection, then whistled in surprise:
"The Darts have stopped pursuing us. Scared of your weapon?"
"I doubt the Wraiths can be scared by one jumper," Misha doubted. "But what's there is there — they abandoned us. That means there's a chance to lose them."
"They block the gate during an attack," the Runner enlightened him. "With my transmitter, the Wraiths can track us anywhere on this planet."
"I think so too," the guy agreed. "However, I have an idea for how to make them lose our trail."
"Attack the Hive?"
"Not this time. We'll deal with your transmitter first, then figure out how to get off the planet."
"We need to engage in battle, break through to the Ancestors' Ring and..."
."..and die," Misha finished his thought. "Listen, friend. I also want to get out of here as fast as possible. But a suicidal attack won't be for nothing. Whether we die or they disable my jumper, the Wraiths will get something I personally don't intend to give them. As long as there are options, we'll fight."
"If only you can remove the beacon," Alvar said, not hiding his skepticism. Somehow he doubted that this guy, even with his excellent weapons and ship, could do what the best minds on the planets he knew couldn't.
"At the very least, I'll try," the guy admitted. "But I'll need wiring with a metal core, something to cut the skin..."
Without a word, Alvar pulled a coil of thin wire-string used in military engineering from a patch pocket. He also showed his knife.
"Will this work?"
"I hope so," Mikhail said, looking at what was offered. "Now we need to find a suitable place to land."
"There," Jensen spotted a small snow-covered ledge about a hundred meters above the ground. The mountain transitioned into a small plateau there, so even an inexperienced pilot should manage. "I hope you land better than you fly."
"I hope so too," the "pilot" admitted.
* * *
"The Darts have unloaded the collected people and are moving into position," the first officer reported. "Arrival in a few minutes..."
The enormous, eight-kilometer-long Hive, whose age dated back to the dawn of Wraith civilization, shuddered from a massive explosion.
"What's happening?" the Hive commander asked, turning to his subordinate.
"Report of a detonation on the Darts' personnel unloading platform," he reported. "The explosion was powerful — some systems were damaged, including hangar control."
"What about the livestock?"
"Half of the collected animals died," the first officer said. "We lost five Darts and their pilots."
So the explosion had been very powerful. There was no way to smuggle such a device on board. Thanks to his mental abilities, the commander could easily detect a foreign Wraith on board his ship. Therefore, something like this could only have been arranged from inside the hangar itself.
A pilot couldn't have done it, but the humans...
"Sabotage," the Hive commander growled.
"But who's behind it?"
"The one who will arrive shortly!" the commander pointed a clawed finger at the markers of approaching ships.
"Bring all Darts to defensive positions!"
"Understood, Commander," the first officer reported.
"Enemy ships have exited hyperspace," the second officer reported. "The Hive has opened fire."
The next moment, the commander felt a chain of explosions ripple through his Hive — too powerful for ordinary hits on a regenerating bionic hull.
One Hive ship was bombarding another. Nothing new — just an ordinary Monday in the Pegasus galaxy.
"Batteries and hangars on the port side are hit," the first officer reported. "Multiple internal explosions. We've lost the sensor cluster in that part of the ship. We're losing atmosphere."
"Seal the bulkheads."
"Already done, Commander," the second officer reported.
"Enemy cruisers are moving around our left flank and coming up behind us," the first officer warned.
The commander saw that the arriving Hive was still within direct line of sight. Aside from the volley that had already happened, no new attacks came from either the Hive or its escort cruisers.
"They've launched Darts," the first officer reported. "They're maintaining a defensive formation."
Which was extremely illogical given their advantage in firepower and ship numbers.
"Shall we hail them, Commander?" the second officer inquired.
"They're hailing us," he cut him off. "Put it on screen!"
Hive Commander.
Even the blurry image on the organic membrane of the comm screen couldn't stop him from seeing the triumphant expression on the Queen's face. And how quickly it changed to a grimace of contempt.
Though he recognized her just as she recognized him.
Now everything fell into place.
"Scavenger!" she said, using the nickname by which he was known among other Wraiths. "Really, who else would stoop so low as to attack my feeding grounds while my Hive sleeps?"
The Hive commander, whose name was Styx, bared his teeth like needles.
"Cunning Blade," he demonstrated his recognition of the foe in the same tone she had used. "Who else could have made the livestock carry a bomb aboard my Hive during a harvest?"
The Queen of the second Hive. In the lore, she had no name (she was killed before it could be spoken), but I gave her one, calling her Cunning Blade. And yes, Wraith Queens in the lore really do have unimaginative names. But more on that later.
This Hive Queen needed to be handled with caution.
Just as the few Wraiths — mostly Hives like his own that had lost their Queen, and therefore the ability to refresh their gene pool — sometimes used fugitives to keep their soldiers in shape. While most Wraiths slept, Wraiths like Styx strove to stay competitive by regularly maintaining their combat readiness.
They survived mostly through raids like this on other territories while the other Hives slept. The fact that there were Wraith worshippers on this miserable planet who had informed the second Hive about the attack was news to him.
Wraith worshippers were humans who, in their unfathomable stupidity, decided they could be useful to some Hive. They came to the Wraiths themselves, offering worship and reverence in exchange for the special boons they could be gifted. Most Wraiths regarded humans as nothing more than animals that bred chaotically during their hibernation period solely so the Wraiths would have something to feed on. But there were Hives like the one led by Cunning Blade. They allowed worshippers to travel on their ships, carrying out various errands among humans. Finding new or forgotten old feeding grounds, learning everything about planets that could pose a threat to the Wraiths. Once, they had been useful — for the first, perhaps the second, thousand years after the Lanteans' destruction. At a time when their legacy was still in the hands of animals. At a time when a raid on a planet could result in massive Wraith losses.
But now, most humans in the galaxy were nothing more than a docile herd that could only be afraid and beg for mercy. Personally, Styx saw nothing useful in using them.
Unlike a number of other Hives. For the most part, these were run by Queens who amused themselves by playing with tamed animals, regarding them as nothing more than livestock. As soon as worshippers stopped being useful, they were consumed. But even then, they accepted their fate with delight and admiration. However, that brought almost no pleasure during feeding — after years of service and receiving boons and gifts from the Wraiths, the worshippers turned into spoiled livestock that stank just as much as the Wraiths themselves.
And feeding on Wraiths... Personally, that was beneath Styx's dignity. But others did it. Which caused significant changes in the population. And the gene pool didn't always change for the better.
Once, Styx had a Queen — the Queen of the Great Union that had fought the Lanteans and defeated them. But a bad tactical decision left him without her. For a time, he could hold power in his hands, and then he was betrayed. Quite a standard event among Wraiths: if before the weak died at the hands of the stronger, now large numbers of the weak banded together to destroy strong rivals.
Only recently had there been relative calm. And even then only because most of the Wraiths were in hibernation.
But for some reason, Cunning Blade's Hive, like the Wraiths aboard her cruisers, weren't sleeping. On the planet there was undoubtedly someone who had told them about the attack. And the same person had voluntarily let himself be gathered, bringing a powerful explosive device on board to inflict significant damage on his ship.
Styx thought he understood why that had been done.
Even though he couldn't ask about it now, he could send a mental command to his first officer. The latter, not involved in the conversation, performed all necessary operations and silently gave the answer.
Now it became clear why the enemy Hive's strike had landed directly on the port side. That bomb was not a simple explosive device. It left a faint but detectable radiation trail, thanks to which Cunning Blade had been able to locate...
"You and your Wraiths have taken what doesn't belong to you," she said. "This planet is my territory!"
"I came here following a fugitive," Styx said.
"And you gathered the whole planet's population because they were in your way?" the Queen hissed, demonstratively baring her teeth. "I should destroy your ship and let my warriors feed on yours."
Styx felt revulsion.
He belonged to the first generation of Wraiths. Cunning Blade belonged to one of the later ones. The lineage of the Wraiths was as murky as it was tangled. However, there was something that distinguished younger Wraiths from older ones.
Those who had fought the Lanteans knew perfectly well what it meant to feed on one's own kind. Disgusting filth. The human herd, those animals, existed precisely to satisfy the Wraiths' need for feeding. The first generation of Wraiths, and the second as well, would never have allowed themselves to do that. But the present-day Wraiths were not what they used to be. And the old, experienced ones were almost gone.
At present, the current Wraiths used the threat of feeding on one's own kind as a grave insult, emphasizing the fact that the opposing side was so weak that it was only good for food.
"But I will have mercy on you, Scavenger," she said haughtily. "You will give me half of your Darts, as well as the humans you have gathered. Then you will leave my territory forever. Otherwise," her voice and expression became threatening, "I will destroy you."
"You won't do that," Styx said confidently, checking the latest tactical data. Now everything fell into place.
"Why not?" Cunning Blade asked, not showing a hint of surprise. "I have more ships and weapons."
"You outnumber me in ships and firepower, yes," Styx agreed. "But at the same time, you've deployed no more than half of your Darts. You didn't continue bombarding my ship until total destruction. I see only one reason for this: aboard your Hive and your cruisers, there is only a minimal crew. All your other Wraiths are in stasis. Mine are not. Therefore, you will let me leave here with my Wraiths. And you will not get a single human or a single Dart — I am taking them as compensation for the damage to my Hive caused by your followers. But keep this in mind: if you open fire on my ship, I will do everything to ensure that you and your Hive ship are destroyed. And then your Wraiths will become prey for other Hives, left without a Queen. Personally, I'm perfectly fine with turning an entire Hive into scavengers. Especially scavengers whose Queen was destroyed by another scavenger."
It was the Lanteans, pointing out the peculiarities of the first Wraiths, who had done him the greatest service. They taught him and the other first Wraiths to use their weakness as strength. Though the Lanteans had been mistaken, thinking of them as weak. And that arrogance had cost them their lives.
But he wasn't going to die today.
This was a dangerous bluff.
Cunning Blade had earned her name in full accordance with how she conducted her affairs. She could easily feign weakness to lure Styx into a deadly trap.
But there was something that was far stronger than Cunning Blade's desire to destroy the intruder.
His Hive was one of the oldest, and therefore surpassed the others in size. For this, he paid an exorbitant price, primarily in suboptimal energy consumption. And so he had to attack other Wraiths' territories very often to feed his crew. Even considering that the crew wasn't at full strength, he barely scraped by. There weren't enough humans to even stockpile them on the ship.
And attacking territories with large human populations was extremely dangerous, because the strong Hives would surely retaliate. For this reason, he attacked small human settlements.
The Wraiths didn't go into hibernation for no reason — it freed them from the need to feed regularly. And at the same time, it allowed the human herd to replenish its numbers. Only when the human population was sufficient did the Wraiths wake up. This was monitored by a few Wraiths who occasionally visited planets to keep the situation under control.
Using an entire fleet for such purposes was extraordinarily wasteful. If Cunning Blade had all her Wraiths on all ships awakened, it would force her to strip several planets with low population. Effectively, that would mean exterminating the feeding grounds, just as he had done on this planet.
No Queen would do that if the livestock in the territories posed no threat to her.
The local animals posed no threat as such. Starting a war over such insignificant losses for her Hive was impractical. But if she allowed this to happen, it would mean a loss of authority among her commanders.
Whether she opened fire or let him go, the situation suited Styx either way.
Honestly, the second option was even less preferable. For him.
Cunning Blade might decide to attack him to capture the old Hive. It was a valuable and prestigious trophy. Though it required significant maintenance. But a large Hive led by a Queen could handle that. To some extent. By killing the commander, she could take his Wraiths and subjugate them, further strengthening her Hive.
But at the same time, if he was right, due to the lack of awakened Wraiths, she wouldn't be able to board Styx's ship. At least not immediately. But he would have time and opportunity to reach her ship and land his warriors on the Hive. Many would die, but he would kill her. Whether the other commanders leading the cruisers stayed with him or not would no longer matter. He would become stronger either way, even if he lost his old ship.
If she let him go without compensation, she would, of course, become a target for attacks from her ambitious commanders. But it was nothing for Cunning Blade to kill them and appoint new ones in their place. And repeat this procedure until loyal commanders stood at the heads of the cruisers. However, such a decision had its negative consequences.
Perhaps Cunning Blade was sophisticated in her schemes against Wraiths of her own generation, but it was better for her not to tangle with Styx.
The Queen bared her teeth, showing him contempt.
"Get out of here, Scavenger," she said in a commanding tone. "Today, I grant you your life. But all the Wraiths in the galaxy will learn of your disrespectful attitude toward the ancient laws."
In effect, she was declaring that she would do everything in her power to have the other Wraiths, upon awakening, declare a hunt for him.
Nothing new.
Such promises could be stockpiled — nothing original.
"The cruisers and Darts are leaving their positions," the first officer reported. "Should we begin recalling our fighters?"
"Yes," Styx ordered. "Move beyond the range of their weapons. Then jump to hyperspace."
"As you wish, Commander."
"Was the fugitive captured?" Styx asked the second officer.
"No," he replied. "He managed to escape our trap. We lost ten hunting teams. That fugitive is costing us too much."
"It will cost us even more if our Wraiths are completely useless when it's time to fight for our interests against other Wraiths," Styx cut him off. "That fugitive is excellent sport for our soldiers and junior commanders."
"The Queen will probably take him for herself," the second officer suggested.
"She won't make it in time," the Hive commander countered, watching as sixty percent of the Darts had already returned aboard. "I've studied him well. He took the opportunity. As soon as our fighters picked up the landing party, he headed for the gate."
"No, Commander," the first officer interjected. "Our scanners pick up his transmitter on the planet. But the exact location is unknown."
"That's no longer important," Styx said. "Cunning Blade has no interest in fugitives. She won't interrogate him or try to make him her worshipper. If she starts hunting him, even better — let him kill as many of her soldiers and commanders as possible. He alone is worth a good squad. Unlike his dead kin."
"There are at least two of them now," the second officer reported.
"What did you say?" Styx turned to his subordinate.
"The Dart pilots returning from the planet reported that some of the fighters were shot down by something resembling Lantean homing projectiles," the second officer explained. "Furthermore, the transmitter was moving too fast — apparently aboard a ship. But the scanners detected nothing."
"When was this data received?"
"Before the arrival of the second Hive."
Styx growled low in his throat.
"And you remained silent all this time?" Styx approached his subordinate. "Nothing in this galaxy could have developed since the last hibernation to a level even remotely resembling the Lanteans'. That was their cloaked short-range ship!"
"That's impossible," the second officer said. "We defeated the Lanteans ten thousand years ago."
"You personally defeated no one," Styx clarified. "We did. And we assumed they might have hidden somewhere. If so, we're in danger — who knows how much they've developed by now."
"We should inform the other Hives," the second officer perked up eagerly.
"No," Styx snarled. "We'll handle this ourselves. First officer!"
"Shall I send a reconnaissance group to the planet to retrieve the records of the last fifty dialed addresses?" he clarified.
"Exactly. Wherever the fugitive and the Lantean go, we will follow. We'll find them," Styx bared his teeth predatorily, "and hold a feast."
About the fact that regaining access to Lantean technology would make his Hive virtually invincible and his army enormous, Styx kept to himself.