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Chapter 2

DWD Stillecho, in orbit over the planet Korrus

Captain Tharsis De'Kar strode confidently across the deck of his new ship. The ship itself, the Stillecho, was old but everything about it seemed fresh and new to Tharsis. This was his first command, and he could barely resist the temptation to fondle the golden braid looped around his left shoulder. He'd been on half a dozen warships in his career, but the knowledge that this ship was his and his alone made it seem completely new. He was like a child, marveling at every control console and video screen, every oak furnishing and instrument. And with every wonder of modern technology he re-discovered came the thought: This is mine! I command it!

It would be wrong to call it greed or lust. Few men in the Diktat acquired power with those ideas in mind. It was simply too hard to mask them. The privileged few who possessed matrices couldn't wear them forever, and a person's surface thoughts were open for reading by any Knight or Cleric that happened to come along. The ones who lusted after power usually met their fates quickly. The Source of All was quick to punish those who abused his power.

No, Tharsis De'Kar was a good man. His delight at his new power was simply innocent joy and pride. But, he reminded himself as he stood on his bridge, those were addictive emotions. He would have to watch himself, lest he try to find new ways to bring them about. No man could say Tharsis lacked discipline.

"Captain," the ship's communications officer said, "The Korrian Archbishop has granted us the Source's Blessing. All passengers are accounted for, and we have clearance to leave Korrian space."

Tharsis smiled, genuinely pleased. It was custom to give a blessing to a departing vessel and he had heard those words a hundred times, but now they were spoken to him! "Give our thanks to Archbishop Kerine. He need only call and we will answer." Kerine was another old friend of Tharsis. "Helmsman, break orbit. Bring us another hundred miles out, and await permission for jump."

It wasn't the most scientific terminology, but Tharsis wanted a casual relationship with his crew. He knew the worst thing he could do would be to turn into a micromanaging ogre. As the ship gently lurched beneath him, pulling 'up' and away from the planet, he heard the soft swish of a door opening at the back of the bridge.

"Sir," the visitor began. Tharsis turned to see a tall man with a black beard, dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Source's navy. The silver braid at his shoulder revealed his purpose. "Commander Alkat Te'Tharl reporting."

"Excellent!" Tharsis replied with a smile, greeting his political officer with a brisk handshake.
"I'm Tharsis. Helmsman! You may jump as soon as Korrus grants permission! Alkat, please accompany me to my office. We have lots of things to discuss."

The political officer was almost stunned by the captain's friendliness. Most people would watch their crewmen like a hawk. But Tharsis new well the values of friendship. The more intimate he was with his crew, the better they would perform. It seemed like a simple idea, but too few men had grasped it.

Tharsis led Alkat through a side door into his personal office. The Commander's attention was immediately captured by a mural of a starship in orbit that took up the entire wall. As he stood, studying the details, Tharsis circled around his oak desk and produced a flask of hard liquor. He quickly filled a pair of shot glasses and slid one across to Alkat. For a moment the Commander shot him a questioning look, before finding a seat and taking the offered drink.

"To the Stillecho," Tharsis toasted.

"To the Stillecho," Alkat corrected, "And the Source of All." They both nodded and drank, before the Commander asked, "Do you always drink?"

"No, no..." Tharsis admitted, "Only when breaking the ice."

The Chaplain just smiled and nodded.

"So Alkat, where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really, sir. My family moved around constantly."

"Were they military?"

"No. Missionaries."

Tharsis nodded and poured him another glass. The warning chime of an impending hyperspace jump caught his ear, but he ignored it. You could barely feel it when the ship left realspace. "Any children?"

"No, sir."

"A wife?"

"No, sir."

"Stop saying 'sir,' Alkat. I don't like it."

The Commander wore a look of confusion. "That's unusual," he commented, forcing himself not to tack on the honorific.

"I have served under four captains," Tharsis explained, "And only one of them truly earned my respect. Commodore Te'Raxis was an easygoing man. He was the kind of man who was everyone's best friend. He treated everyone as equals, not excepting the lowest Portsman."

The Captain stopped in mid-sentence and closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the distant engines glow. There was a gentle lurch beneath their feet, and the hum vanished, replaced only by a sound like the rustle of grass on a windy day. They were in the distance-distorting realm of hyperspace now. In a matter of moments they would stop at the most distant planet of the solar system, before changing course and proceeding on their shakedown cruise.

"And what happened to him?"

"Te'Raxis? He died an Admiral at eighty-one."

"Peacefully?"

"As the man said, he was contented with all he had seen. He died at ease in his own bed, his children and grandchildren at his side."

"Do you have any children?" Alkat asked.

Tharsis pulled open his drawer, regretting that he had not yet truly unpacked. He produced a framed photograph and handed it across. "Two daughters. That one is Ciara."

Alkat's eyebrows raised. She was quite young, with a small mouth, tiny nose, and sparkling blue eyes. Her golden hair was cut just above shoulder-length, and her bangs were brushed off to her right. He took a moment to admire her sharply cut lips and nose, and stare deep into her bottomless sapphire gaze. "She's beautiful. How old?"

"Nineteen, but don't get any ideas. She's a Rapier."

The Commander returned a concerned look. "A Rapier? You mean a Knight?"

"Indeed. She graduated from the DPC last month."

"You must be proud."

"You've only heard half the story. This is my other daughter, Miali. She's fifteen, second year in the academy."

Alkat was stunned. "Both?"

Tharsis just grinned and nodded, beaming with pride. "Incredible, isn't it?"

The Commander glanced at Miali's photo. She was a brunette, and looked as though she would be just as pretty as her sister. He returned it, but stopped and examined Ciara for another moment. "Could you please clarify some things for me? I've always heard about the Knights, you know, in stories and movies, but it's difficult to separate fact from myth. You say she's a Rapier. What does that mean, precisely."

"Hmm... I'll start at the beginning. Knights are recruited around the age of thirteen. Boys later, girls sooner, of course. Ciara herself entered the DPC at thirteen."

"DPC?"

"Diktat Personnel Center. I know it sounds like an employment office, but it's actually a six-year academy for Knights. Anyway, Ciara is a Rapier. She's a Knight who specializes in speed and stealth. Most women are. All of the classes are named after weapons. Claymores are offense-oriented men, Shields are defensive, Pikes are long-ranged, and so on. There are seven or eight classes total, but those four are the most common. They get teamed up with a partner who complements their abilities... Ciara was just assigned to a veteran Claymore."

"What's he like?"

"She says he's a replicant. Good at his job, apparently. He's on his fifth year of duty."

"Replicant?"

"A minotaur."

Alkat's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you worried about... her... ah..."

Tharsis forced the cap on his flask shut after downing his second shot. "I try not to think about it."

His comrade backed off, switching to a subject that would arouse less parental concern. "What kind of equipment do they use?"

"The Knights always wear a KCS - Knight Combat Suit. It's skin-tight and made of a rubbery black substance. They say there are microscopic diamond fibers woven into it. The only thing that can cut the stuff is a Psionic Sword."

"The swords that channel psychic energy?"

"Right. They're also the only thing that can break through their personal force-fields." He could tell that thought intrigued the commander, so he elaborated. "You know how a person has a feeling of 'personal space?' Well... and this is how Ciara describes it, at least... that idea of personal space is very important for a Knight. Know how you feel uncomfortable when something intrudes? Knights can actually focus their power to stop things from entering that space."

"Really? Is that the same principle when they move with super speed?"

"Same thing. The Knights call it KSA - Kinetic Self-Acceleration. It lets them move so fast they can dodge bullets and defy gravity."

"And all thanks to that little stone on their heads?"

"That's right. Obsidian matrices."

"I've heard they're hard to get a hold of."

"Only the professionals use them. Come to think of it, you would have to be pretty hardcore to even get the training. Only Diktat agents are issued them, and only the Knights really have the training to really work them to their limits."

Again the siren sounded, indicating they were about to drop out of hyperspace. Tharsis and Alkat both waited silently as the rustling sound faded and the steady pulsing hum of the engines returned. There was something satisfying about that sound... as though there was a kind of unconscious fear that the ship would never drop back into realspace. The return to one's home dimension put the subconscious at ease.

"So," Alkat asked, returning to the conversation at hand, "You know all the stories say they can stop bullets with their powers. How much truth is there to that?"

"They can stop them quite easily, but it takes focus and uses energy. They prefer to dodge them altogether, or at least shift themselves so that the bullets glance off at an angle."

"Interesting... What-"

The gentle chime that signaled a message from the bridge interrupted the Commander. Tharsis tapped one of the buttons on his desk and ordered the ensign to proceed.

"Captain, we are not receiving any buoy signals."

Tharsis' heavy brow sank with concern. He quickly rose and marched back out onto the bridge, setting his gaze on the forward monitor. A small green sphere hung in space before them, it's sun distant but still quite visible. Off to the right, a pale white moon slowly made its daily trek across the equator.

"What planet?" Alkat asked.

"Septik," Tharsis replied, contempt evident in his voice, "A prison planet. It's far from the sun, but the atmosphere is like pea soup. The gasses trap the little heat that hits it, making the surface warm enough to support life."

"Human life?"

"Hardly. The air is poison and the lakes are nothing but organic slime. It's all toxic. The Korrians modify convicts to survive on the surface, and leave them there. There should be small station in orbit, some defense turrets, and an HRB."

"No station sir," the sensor operator called from the right, "And no buoy."

"Turrets?"

"I detect twelve satellites on this side, sir. IFF proceeding now."

"Debris?"

"Searching," the sailor replied and quickly began seeking out the largest pieces of debris, trying to separate the remains of a space station from the rest of the interstellar garbage in orbit.

"Could we just be on the wrong side of the planet?" Alkat asked.

"No, sir," the helmsman answered, "Calendars indicate the station and buoy should both be visible at this time."

"Then there must be a mistake. The turrets would have destroyed any approaching ships that didn't signal friendly on the IFF."

"Could the moon be in the way?" Alkat asked again.

"Possibly, sir."

"Fire all engines," Tharsis ordered, "Five-second burn." The ship would drift lazily past the moon, but without enough momentum to make evasive action difficult. The Stillecho carried quite a bit of inertia in space.

For a long time the crew watched silently as the moon slowly passed them by. They crept around the dark side, passing beneath the black crescent of shadow where the sun rarely intruded. As they made their way past the moon the shadow crescent slowly grew, until only the absence of sunlight told them the moon was even there.

"This is a nice place to hide, " Alkat thought out loud.

"But you'd have to get past the station and turrets first," Tharsis replied.

"Could they have cracked the IFF code?"

"Not possible. It's ten characters, including letters, numbers, and Tar-Thullian Script. No one but the Source himself knows that alphabet in its entirety."

"So do you suspect a traitor?"

"Possibly," Tharsis said, although it sounded more like an admission. Although he was not among the Source's most pious worshippers, he found the idea of a traitor among the clergy difficult to grasp. The idea that the clergy was perfect was the product of decades of propaganda, he knew, but it still made him uneasy.

"Contact!" the sensor operator shouted.

"Interrogation?"

"IFF confirmed. It registers friendly, but the name and number are listed as being classified." The man's eyes suddenly grew wide. "Second contact! Torpedo! 20,000 meters."

Tharsis kept his eyes locked on the view screen, whose camera rotated slightly to the left and highlighted the distant vessel. "What are its dimensions?"

For a moment the entire bridge was quiet.

"Sir, there's a torpedo inbound."

"Ignore it! We're too far off. It's the second torpedo we need to worry about. Now, I asked for the dimensions!"

"Estimated, seventy-five meters by forty by twenty."

"They're half our size."

"That's alright," Tharsis said, apparently unconcerned.

"Torpedo at ten-k meters and closing. Third contact! Torpedo two! 20-K meters!"

"Countermeasures," Tharsis demanded. An instant later a series of distant explosions rattled down the length of the ship, flares and shields firing on after another. "Bring us to port twenty degrees, three second burn, prepare for rise and allow for drift."

After another second the ship's engines flared to life for exactly three seconds. The Stillecho was turned towards its opponent and heading straight towards it, drifting only slightly off to the side. The trajectory would scrape the edge of the moon's thin atmosphere but not become trapped in it. The speed they picked up would slingshot them across the horizon, and hopefully they would defeat this enemy in the meantime.

A series of flashing sparks marked the destruction of their countermeasures one by one. It was probably a depleted uranium dart, Tharsis knew. The intercepting sheets of ceramic plate would break it into dozens of smaller pieces, but that was acceptable. The starboard drift would carry them well enough out of the way, leaving on a single torpedo for them to deal with.

"What's he doing?" Alkat asked.

"Enemy ship closing, 17-K meters. Torpedo two at 10-K meters. Torpedo one intercepted. Looks like it'll miss us."

Tharsis nodded sagely. He was fairly certain it would have missed anyway, unless it had enough fuel left to match their change in direction. "Prepare for rise," he repeated, "And fire off a torpedo."

"Tube one, launch," the weapons officer confirmed. A rumbling, scraping sound made it's way over their heads an instant before the sharp silver dagger flashed across their screen, instantly becoming a distant pinpoint, like a single star shining against the silhouette of the dark moon.

"Torpedo two at 8-k meters."

"Countermeasures!" Tharsis shouted, "Rise!"

The distant gunshots of departing flares and shields echoed throughout the ship a moment before the engines twisted down and fired. It was like standing in an ascending elevator, feeling a sharp tug of gravity as the floor rose beneath your feet. Alkat had to adjust his footing, but Tharsis stood his ground without the slight sign of discomfort. He was an old hand at this, and it showed.

"Hopefully it will pass under us. Two more torpedoes!"

"Tubes two and three launch," the crewman echoed. Two more torpedoes raced overhead and off into the inky darkness.

"Distances?"

"Torpedo at four-k meters and closing. Enemy vessel at twelve-k and closing."

Tharsis' face remained grim. Even though his speed would make it harder to reverse his direction, one had to remember that everything in space was relative. Slowing down could have just as much impact on a moving target as going into reverse would have on a static one.

"Torpedo at three-k meters, shield one failed to intercept."

"Prepare point defense."

"Railguns ready."

"Torpedo two at two-k meters. Shield two received a glancing hit. It looks as though it will pass beneath us."

Tharsis didn't respond, but kept his gaze locked on the enemy. The distant shape, cast it a faint green glow by the reflected light of the planet below, was growing larger.

"Our torpedo will intercept in five... four... he's adjusting... three... We've missed."

"It's alright. Keep me updated on his distance and keep two torpedoes ready."

"Second and third torpedoes closing. They'll intercept at four thousand meters."

"Four thousand?" Alkat and Tharsis replied in unison.

"Correction... three thousand."

"That's not possible!"

"It's correcting again... torpedoes two and three, both missed."

"Impossible!" Tharsis shouted again, leaning forward and seizing the nearest crewman's shoulder in a painful vise grip. "Launch two more! Train the railguns on him!"

"One-k meters!"

"Give us another rising burn!" Alkat demanded.

"Five hundred meters!"

"What?" Tharsis bellowed, spit flying from his twisted, enraged lips.

In the depths of space, the small ship twisted itself slightly and sailed like a bullet beneath the Stillecho's massive form. A beam of white energy raked across the warship's belly, splitting the vessel from stern to aft. In the front, shrapnel accompanied human remains and material as the escaping air forced the contents of the entire cargo bay out the narrow cut. A hot jet of orange plasma quickly followed, the massive engines having been breached as well.

Mortally wounded, the Stillecho began to fall off-course into the dark desert above. More pieces of the ship began to peel away, it's armor melted by bursts of plasma as the engines tried to fire again and again. The first few escape pods broke free an instant before the encroaching ship made a second pass, slicing the Source's warship into two pieces. The rear hung there in space for a moment, burning, before it finally exploded in a fireball that illuminated the dark side of the moon for the first time in centuries. The second half spun as it fell, heating in the moon's thin atmosphere. Its impact added a half-mile crater to the surface. Not that anyone could see it... the resulting cloud of dust and ash would not settle for a full year.