From the very first glance, Alvar realized that the stranger, who had introduced himself as Misha, was not a professional pilot.
"The best way to shake an opponent is to move in a straight line," Jensen said reproachfully.
"That's what I'm doing."
"You're weaving like a drunken sailor on the shore!" the Runner condemned the manner of piloting the flying ship. It wasn't hard to notice by the way the horizon "wobbled" continuously. After all, a mountain range doesn't just wander left and right, does it?
"I'm trying to confuse our pursuers!" Misha said, pointing to three rapidly approaching red dots. "The signal from the beacon in your back gives a certain spread over the area and..."
The "pilot" went silent as several energy charges raced across their course. Then another burst passed along the starboard side—and only a sharp bank of the ship allowed them to survive the Wraith Dart's attack.
To his surprise, Alvar did not experience the G-forces typical of such a maneuver. Even in the most modern fighter on his planet, such a move would not have gone without consequences for the body.
That was precisely why only well-trained and physically strong military personnel were recruited as pilots.
"Relinquish the controls!" Jensen demanded. "I have pilot training!"
"On this type of ship?" Misha smirked. "I doubt it."
"My people had our own fighters! I don't think they're any more complex than your machine!"
Mikhail gave him a strange look. Then, without any warning, a large device with a display in a white casing slid out of a triangular box on the inner lining of the pilot's cabin, next to Alvar.
"What is this?"
"Take it in your hands and tell me what you see," the guy at the controls replied in a commanding tone.
The Darts tried to shoot them again.
Alvar took the device and noticed that Misha was flying with his eyes closed. Only for a few seconds, but such tricks could cost them both their lives. The Runner had already begun to doubt whether it had been more dangerous on the ground than it was here.
However, as soon as he turned his attention to the device in his hands, three short beeps sounded from the panel. And the pursuers' red dots vanished.
"What was that?"
"I shot them down. They started firing too close to us. Obviously at random, since we're under a cloak, but still..."
"How? I didn't see any guns on your ship."
"Weapons come in many types," Misha replied evasively. "So, what's on the screen?"
"Nothing, the device isn't working."
"That's exactly the problem. The technologies I use only work in the hands of a certain type of person. Unfortunately, you aren't one of them. So, I stay at the controls."
"Why make a weapon that others can't use?" the Runner wondered.
"Precisely so that no one else *can* use it. It's logical, after all!"
Perhaps.
"Ancestors preserve us," Alvar grumbled, watching as more and more red dots appeared on the screen. "The Wraith won't rest until they shoot us down."
"Seems like it."
"You saved me, kid, but continuing this is just foolish," Alvar said. "Try to slow down near the foothills—I'll jump out and lead them away from your ship. I'm used to it..."
"No offense, pal, but now they want both of us," Misha said. "The weapon I used was surely identified. And the Wraith definitely won't approve of the use of technologies that can threaten them."
Jensen didn't even argue.
After all, his own world had been destroyed to its foundations by the Wraith for that very reason. They had learned much of what the Ancestors knew. They built the first reactors, taught their fighters to reach near space, and developed more lethal small arms...
Yet none of that saved them when a Wraith Hive ship arrived at the planet to take revenge for the destroyed Darts. Sent through the gate by the enemies of all mankind, they were shot down. And their pilots, giving no information about their commanders, were executed.
The Wraith turned Jensen's home planet into ruins in just a day. No matter how effective their weapons were, Alvar's countrymen did not hold out in that battle. And his people, having survived orbital bombardment, were subjected to a ruthless cull, leaving no one alive.
Of more than a hundred thousand people, none remained except for a few soldiers who were turned into Runners. Whether anyone was still alive after so much time besides him, the man did not know.
"Then I suggest..."
"Wait," Misha interrupted, pointing to the screen. "Do you see that too?"
Alvar glanced at the computer projection and then whistled in surprise:
"The Darts have stopped their pursuit. Did they get scared of your weapon?"
"I doubt the Wraith can be scared by a single jumper," Misha doubted. "But it is what it is—they've abandoned us. Which means there's a chance to break away."
"They block the gate during an attack," the Runner informed him. "With my transmitter, the Wraith will track us anywhere on this planet."
"I'm of the same opinion," the guy agreed. "However, I have an idea how to make them lose our trail."
"Attack the Hive?"
"Not this time. We'll deal with your transmitter, and then we'll think about 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 have a desire to clear out of here as fast as possible. However, a suicidal attack won't go unpunished. Whether we die or they shoot down my jumper, the Wraith will get something that I personally have no intention of giving them. While there are options—we'll fight."
"Only if you can take out the beacon," Alvar said, not hiding his skepticism. He doubted that this guy, even if he operated an excellent weapon and ship, could do what the best minds on the planets he knew couldn't.
"At the very least, I'll try to do it," the guy admitted. "But I'll need wiring with a metal core, something to cut the skin..."
Without a word, Alvar took a coil of thin wire-string used in military sapper work from a patch pocket. He also demonstrated his knife.
"Will this do?"
"I hope so," Mikhail said, looking at the offered items. "Now we need to find a suitable landing spot."
"There," Jensen saw a small snow-covered platform about a hundred meters above the ground. The mountain turned into a small plateau at this point, 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 gathered humans and are heading to positions," the first officer reported. "Arrival in a few minutes..."
The massive eight-kilometer Hive, whose age traced back to the dawn of Wraith civilization, shuddered from a powerful explosion.
"What is happening?" the Hive commander asked, turning to his subordinate.
"Reports of a detonation at the Dart offloading site," the latter reported. "The explosion was powerful; some systems were damaged, including the hangar control."
"What about the livestock?"
"Half of the gathered animals perished," the first officer reported. "We lost five Darts and their pilots."
This meant the explosion was very powerful. There was no way to bring such a device on board. Thanks to his mental abilities, the commander would easily have detected an outsider Wraith on board his ship. Consequently, such a thing could only be arranged from inside the hangar itself.
A pilot couldn't have done it, but humans...
"Sabotage," the Hive commander growled.
"But who is behind it?"
"The one who will soon arrive!" the commander pointed a clawed finger at the marks of approaching ships.
"Deploy all Darts to defensive positions!"
"As you command, commander," the first officer reported.
"The ships have exited hyperspace," the second officer reported. "The Hive has opened fire."
In the next moment, the commander felt a chain of explosions ripple through his Hive. Unusually strong for ordinary hits on a regenerative biotic hull.
One Hive ship firing on another. Nothing new, just a typical Monday in the Pegasus galaxy.
"Port-side batteries and hangars hit," the first officer reported. "Multiple internal explosions. We have lost the sensor cluster in that part of the ship; we are losing air."
"Seal the bulkheads."
"Already done, commander," the second officer reported.
"Enemy cruisers are flanking us to the port side and moving to the rear," the first officer warned.
The commander saw that the arriving Hive remained in direct sight. Apart from the salvo that had already occurred, no new strikes followed from either the Hive or the escorting cruisers.
"They have launched Darts," the first officer reported. "They are maintaining a defensive formation."
Which was highly illogical, given the advantage in firepower and the number of ships.
"Shall we hail them, commander?" the second officer asked.
"They are already hailing us," the former snapped. "On screen!"
Hive commander.
Even the blurry image on the organic film of the communication screen could not prevent him from seeing the triumphant expression on the Queen's face. And how quickly it was replaced by a grimace of contempt.
However, he recognized her just as she recognized him.
Now everything fell into place.
"Scavenger!" she spoke the nickname by which he was known among other Wraith. "Indeed, who else could fall so low as to attack my feeding grounds while my Hive sleeps?"
The Hive commander, whose name was Styx, bared his needle-sharp teeth.
"Cunning Blade," he demonstrated his recognition of the opponent in the same tone as she had. "Who else could have forced the livestock to bring a bomb on board my Hive during a cull?"
The Queen of the second Hive. In the lore, she had no name (she was killed before it was spoken), but I gave it to her, calling her Cunning Blade. And yes, Wraith Queens in the lore really do have simple names. But more on that later.
One had to stay on guard with this Hive Queen.
Like the few Wraith whose bases were Hives like his that had been left without a Queen, and thus without the ability to refresh their gene pool, they sometimes used Runners to keep their fighters in shape. While most Wraith slept, those like Styx sought to stay in the competitive struggle by regularly maintaining their combat readiness.
They existed mostly thanks to such raids on others' territories while other Hives slept. The fact that there were Wraith Worshippers on this miserable little planet who had informed the second Hive of the attack came as news to him.
Wraith Worshippers were humans who, in their utter stupidity, decided they could be useful to a Hive. They came to the Wraith themselves, offering worship and reverence in exchange for the special boons they could be granted. Most Wraith did not perceive humans as anything other than animals that reproduced haphazardly during their hibernation only so the Wraith would have someone to feed on. But there were Hives, like the one led by Cunning Blade, that allowed worshippers to travel on their ships, performing various errands among humans. They found new or forgotten old feeding grounds and scouted everything about planets that might pose a threat to the Wraith. At one time, they were useful—perhaps the first or second thousand years after the destruction of the Lanteans. At a time when their heritage was still in the hands of animals. At a time when a raid on a planet could result in massive losses among the Wraith.
But now, most humans throughout the galaxy were no more than a submissive herd that could only be frightened and beg for mercy. Styx personally saw nothing useful in their use.
Unlike a number of other Hives. For the most part, such Hives were run by Queens who amused themselves by playing with tamed animals, viewing them as no more than livestock. Once the worshippers ceased to be useful, they were consumed. But even then, they accepted their fate with delight and admiration. Only this brought almost no pleasure during feeding—through years of serving and receiving boons and gifts from the Wraith, worshippers turned into tainted livestock, stinking just like the Wraith themselves.
And feeding on Wraith... That was personally beneath Styx's own dignity. But others did it. Because of this, significant changes were observed among the population. And the gene pool did not always change for the better.
Styx once had a Queen—the Queen of the Great Union, which fought the Lanteans and defeated them. However, an unfortunate 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 the Wraith: if before, weaklings died at the hands of the stronger, now a large number of weaklings united to destroy strong rivals.
Only recently had there been a relative lull. And even that was only because most Wraith were in hibernation.
However, for some reason, Cunning Blade's Hive, as well as the Wraith on board her cruisers, were not asleep. There was undoubtedly someone on the planet who had informed them of the attack. And the same person had voluntarily allowed himself to be gathered, bringing a powerful explosive device on board to cause substantial damage to his ship.
Styx seemed to understand why this was done.
Though he couldn't ask about it now, he could pass a mental command to his first officer. The latter, not involved in the conversation, carried out all the necessary operations and gave a wordless response.
Now it became clear why the enemy Hive's strike had fallen directly on the port side. This bomb was no simple explosive device. It left a faint but discernible trail of radiation, thanks to which Cunning Blade had been able to detect...
"You and your Wraith have taken what does not belong to you," she said. "This planet is my feeding ground!"
"I arrived here following a Runner," Styx said.
"And you gathered the population of the entire planet because they were in your way?" the Queen hissed, baring her teeth demonstratively. "I should destroy your ship and allow my fighters to feed on yours."
Styx felt disgust.
He belonged to the first generation of Wraith; Cunning Blade belonged to one of the subsequent ones. The Wraith lineage is as murky as it is convoluted. However, there was something that distinguished younger Wraith from older ones.
Those who fought the Lanteans understood perfectly well what it meant to feed on their own kind. A hideous abomination. The human herd, these animals, exist precisely to satisfy the feeding needs of the Wraith. The first generation of Wraith, as well as the second, would never have allowed themselves such a thing. But today's Wraith are not what they once were. And the old and experienced are practically gone.
Currently, today's Wraith used the threat of feeding on their own kind as a severe insult, emphasizing the fact that the opposing side is so weak it is only fit for food.
"But I will have mercy on you, Scavenger," she said haughtily. "You will give me half of all your Darts, as well as the humans you have gathered. After that, you will clear out of my grounds forever. Otherwise," her voice, like her facial expression, became threatening, "I will destroy you."
"You will not do that," Styx said confidently, having checked the latest data on the tactical situation. Now everything was falling into place.
"And why is that?" Cunning Blade asked, without showing a hint of surprise. "I have more ships and guns."
"You surpass me in number of ships and firepower, yes," Styx agreed. "But at the same time, you have deployed no more than half of your Darts. You did not continue to bombard my ship until it was completely destroyed. I see only one reason for this—there is only a minimal crew on board your Hive and your cruisers. All your other Wraith are in stasis. Mine, however, are not. Therefore, you will allow me to leave here, taking my Wraith with me. And you will not receive a single human, not a single Dart—I am taking them as compensation for the damage to my Hive caused by your followers. But mark this—should you open fire on my ship, I will do everything to ensure that you and your Hive ship are destroyed. And your Wraith will become prey for other Hives, left without a Queen. Personally, it suits me to turn an entire Hive into scavengers. Scavengers whose Queen was destroyed by another scavenger."
It was the Lanteans who, by pointing out the characteristics of the first Wraith, had done him the greatest service. They had taught him and the other first Wraith to use their weakness as a strength. True, the Lanteans were wrong, thinking of them as weak. And that overconfidence cost them their lives.
However, he did not intend to die today.
It was a dangerous bluff.
Cunning Blade had received her name in full accordance with how she conducted her affairs. She could easily feign her own weakness to draw Styx into a deadly trap.
But there was something much stronger than Cunning Blade's desire to destroy the intruder.
His Hive was one of the oldest and therefore surpassed the others in size. A heavy price had to be paid for this, primarily in suboptimal energy consumption. And so he had to attack the grounds of other Wraith very often to feed his crew. Even considering that the crew was not at full strength, he had to barely make ends meet. There aren't enough humans to even stock them for the future on the ships.
And attacking grounds with a large number of humans is extremely dangerous, as strong Hives would undoubtedly take revenge for them. For this reason, he attacked small human settlements.
The Wraith don't go into hibernation just for fun—they rid themselves of the need to feed regularly. And at the same time, they allow the human herd to restore its numbers. Only when the number of humans is sufficient do the Wraith wake up. This is monitored by a few Wraith who occasionally visit the planets to keep the situation under control.
Using an entire fleet for such purposes is unusually wasteful. Had Cunning Blade had all the Wraith on all her ships awakened, it would have forced her to deplete several planets with a low population. In fact, it would have meant exterminating the grounds, as he had done on this planet.
No Queen would go for such a thing unless the livestock on the grounds posed a threat to her.
The local animals posed no threat as such. Starting a war over such negligible 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 in either case.
Truthfully, the second was even less preferable. For him.
Cunning Blade could decide to attack him to capture the old Hive. It is a valuable and high-status trophy. True, it requires more significant maintenance. But a large Hive led by a Queen can handle that. To some extent. By killing the commander, she could capture his Wraith and subordinate them to herself, further strengthening her Hive.
But at the same time, if he was right, then due to a lack of awakened Wraith, she wouldn't be able to board Styx's ship. At least not immediately. But he would have the time and opportunity to reach her ship and drop his fighters onto the Hive. Though many would perish, he would kill her. Whether other commanders leading the cruisers stayed with him or not would no longer matter. He would become stronger in any case, even if he lost his old ship.
By letting him go without compensation, she would, of course, become an object of attack for her ambitious commanders. But it would cost Cunning Blade nothing to kill them and appoint new ones in their place. And repeat this procedure until her loyal commanders stood at the head of the cruisers. However, such a decision has its negative consequences.
Perhaps Cunning Blade was sophisticated in her designs against Wraith of her own generation, but she was better off not messing with Styx.
The Queen, baring her teeth, showed him contempt.
"Get out of here, Scavenger," she said in a commanding tone. "Today, I grant you your life. But all the Wraith in the galaxy will know of your disrespectful attitude toward the ancient laws."
In effect, she was announcing that she would do everything in her power to ensure that other Wraith would declare a hunt on him upon awakening.
Nothing new.
Such promises can be stockpiled; nothing new.
"The cruisers and Darts are leaving their positions," the first officer reported. "Shall we begin the return of our fighters?"
"Yes," Styx commanded. "Move beyond the range of their guns. After that, jump into hyperspace."
"As you wish, commander."
"Is the Runner caught?" Styx inquired of the second officer.
"No," the latter replied. "He managed to escape our trap. We lost ten hunting teams. This Runner is costing us too much."
"The complete uselessness of our Wraith will cost us more when the time comes to fight for our interests against other Wraith," Styx snapped. "This Runner is fine sport for our soldiers and junior commanders."
"The Queen will likely take him for herself," the second officer suggested.
"She won't have time," the Hive commander disagreed, watching as sixty percent of the Darts had already returned on board. "I have studied him well. He took advantage of the opportunity. As soon as our fighters took the landing party, he headed for the gate."
"No, commander," the first officer interjected. "Our scanners are picking up his transmitter on the planet. Но the exact location is unknown."
"That doesn't matter anymore," Styx said. "Cunning Blade isn't interested in 'Runners.' She won't interrogate him or seek to make him her worshipper. If she starts a hunt for him, all the better—let him kill as many of her soldiers and commanders as possible. He alone is worth a good squad. Unlike his killed 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, upon returning from the planet, reported that some of the fighters were shot down by something like Lantean self-guided projectiles," the second officer explained. "Furthermore, the transmitter was moving too fast, evidently on a ship. Но the scanners detected nothing."
"When were these data obtained?"
"Before the arrival of the second Hive."
Styx growled gutterally.
"And you've been silent all this time?" Styx approached his subordinate. "Nothing in this galaxy could have developed since the last hibernation to a level even remotely similar to Lantean. That was their cloaked short-range ship!"
"That's impossible," the second officer said. "We defeated the Lanteans ten thousand years ago."
"You specifically defeated no one," Styx clarified. "We did it. And we assumed they managed to hide somewhere. If so, then we are in danger—who knows how much they have developed now."
"We should inform the other Hives," the second officer livened up readily.
"No," Styx barked. "We will handle everything ourselves. First officer!"
"Shall I send a reconnaissance group to the planet to take the readings of the last fifty dialed numbers?" the latter clarified.
"Exactly. Wherever the Runner and the Lantean went, we will follow. We will find them," Styx bared his teeth carnivorously, "and we will have a feast."
Styx had no intention of mentioning that his Hive would become practically invincible and his army enormous once he gained access to Lantean technology again.