Kirr slammed through the rough barricade that stood in the doorway, sending splinters of light plastic and shreds of cloth sprinkling across the deck. A muffled scream came from inside, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior he saw an Arrigh crouched in the corner with its hand tightly pressed over a child’s mouth.

Keeping his gun trained on the pair, he gestured sharply for the rest of his team to sweep the home. The state of the place didn’t leave him optimistic about their take, but this was his block to raid and he was going to be thorough about it. He wouldn’t be the one explaining to the warfather why his team had the lowest haul of the crew.

He heard a loud clatter to his left as Sark and Trisr smashed some makeshift cabinets. Kirr sighed and rounded on them with a snarl. “Careful, idiots!”, he hissed. “Are you soldiers on raid or simple brigands? You want to smash all the goods? Huh?” He bared his teeth at their muttered apologies and turned back to the dwelling’s residents, only to find that they had disappeared in his momentary distraction.

“Blackened breath,” he cursed. “You two will drive me to an early grave. Trisr, keep searching. Sark, with me.” Kirr advanced with his weapon ready, pushing past the gently swaying curtain that screened the only other exit from the room. It would be unfortunate if this family decided to be heroes over the loss of their meagre possessions - raids always ran smoother when the cattle didn’t get lofty ideas about retribution. If these two did, well - he’d just have to show them the price of resistance.

The second room was empty as well, rough furniture shoved aside to reveal a poorly cut hole into a third dark space beyond. For all their appearances of poverty, they had a large home. He motioned for Sark to follow and ducked through the low hole, finding himself in a long corridor that stretched away into darkness on either side. Humming machinery and burbling pipes ran along the length of the space, dotted with dark gaps where side corridors branched off into inky blackness.

“Kirr, let’s head back,” Sark urged, glancing around nervously. “They’re running, let’s just finish the block.”

“An idiot and a coward,” Kirr snarled disdainfully. “Use your shriveled brain, Sark. Why would these cattle go to the trouble of cutting a hole in the bulkhead?”

Sark thought for a moment. Kirr swore he could hear the click and clank of rusted machinery. “To escape?” Sark said hopefully.

Kirr smacked him on the nose with the back of his hand. “Idiot!” he growled. “To hide their valuables. A place like this is perfect for stashing good loot. Help me look around.” He began moving slowly down the corridor, weapon held high to shine its mounted light into the dark nooks created by the pipes and conduits.

Behind him he heard a sharp hiss of breath from Sark. He shook his head, another growl of frustration slipping from between his teeth. “The pipes are hot, you blackened idiot,” he snarled. “Watch yourself.” He took a few more steps, then paused as a tickle of uneasiness pulsed through him. He raised his gun and turned behind him.

Sark wasn’t there. He felt fear rush through his scales, tingling them with an electric thrill. “Sark!” he hissed loudly. “Where are you? Trisr!” Only the soft noises of the pipes answered. Kirr clicked his communicator a few times, but only static found him in the confines of the dark hallway. He cursed again under his breath and began to carefully move back to the breach in the corridor. Something was very wrong. He had to go back, find the rest of the group-

He felt a sudden pang of cold in his neck, sharp and painful. He tried to pivot and engage his attacker, but nothing happened - the icy chill seemed to spread through his throat, below which he could feel nothing. He slumped down to the ground, a thin arm darting from behind him to snatch his tumbling weapon before it could clatter to the deck.

Kirr’s mind was a fog of pain and confusion, blackness nibbling at the corners of his vision. He couldn’t think straight, which vaguely irritated him. If he could just clear his thoughts, he was sure he’d know why all of this was Sark’s fault.

Anja wiped the dark Ysleli blood from her knife and sheathed it, straightening back up as the corpse of the raider fell to the side. A wound at the base of its skull spread a small dark pool that dripped through the perforations in the utility deck grating. Ahead of her, Jesri walked back out of the breach in the corridor. “All clear?”, Anja asked.

Jesri nodded. “Just one more in there,” she reported, “he wasn’t any trouble. The actual owners are long gone. We should keep going towards the docks, we have to assume someone will notice these guys are missing.” She gave Anja a pointed look. “Would have been nice to avoid them entirely.”

Anja shrugged. “The one in back had sharp eyes, he spotted Rhuar. If he had been busy talking like the idiot in front, they might be all right.”

Rhuar’s ears drooped sheepishly, and Jesri ruffled the fur on his head. “No helping it now,” she shrugged. “Let’s move.” She stooped to pick up a long, grey breaching rifle from where she had stashed it, slinging it over her shoulder. The armory had been a bust, mostly, save for one long gun and a few other items of questionable utility.

The three of them resumed their march down the long utility tunnel. Mats of moss and slick algae splayed across the corridor at intervals where moisture escaped the labyrinth of piping, forcing them to mind their footing over the slimy green carpet. The dim corridor seemed to stretch into infinity, amber light fading into darkness in the extremity of their vision.

Once they had walked a few more minutes, Jesri pulled out a comm and raised it to her lips. “David, you there?”, she whispered. “Any word from Kick?”

There was a pause, then a crackle of static. “No response yet,” came David’s voice, indistinct through the shielding metal of the tunnel. “I don’t have any eyes in the dock, but I don’t read any intense activity from the intact scanners in the area.”

“Shit,” she muttered. “How about the Grand Design?”

“I got in touch with Eta-One earlier via tightbeam,” he replied. Jesri thought she detected a hint of disdain in his voice. “He forwarded over the Ysleli language pack that you compiled at Ysl, I’ll have it loaded in a few minutes.”

Jesri nodded before remembering it was a radio link. “That’ll be helpful, thanks,” she said. “He ready to move in?”

There was another short pause. “We talked it over,” David replied. “He’s ready to go, but we decided to hold him in reserve just out of the system. He can be in-system in twenty seconds if we need him.”

“Acknowledged, keep us posted,” Jesri replied, anxiety evident in her voice. She stowed the comm and shook her head. “Dammit, Kick. Pick up the fucking comm.”

Anja clapped her on the shoulder and flashed her teeth in a grin. “Why are you worried?” she teased Jesri. “He fought off the whole Ysleli fleet before. A few raiding parties in the dock will be easy by comparison.”

Jesri sighed. “I suppose,” she said. “I just can’t help but worry about the guy. He doesn’t have the temperment for combat.”

Beside her, Rhuar chuckled softly. “The captain might surprise you,” he said slyly. “But in this case I don’t think it’ll matter. He’s locked up in the ship, behind the perimeter guns and military-grade hull plate. He could sleep through this and be fine.”

Jesri had to laugh at that mental image. “Ah, you’re probably right,” she admitted. “Still, I feel better if I could talk to him.”

“He probably hasn’t even noticed anything is going on,” Rhuar quipped. “The first thing he’ll ask is what took us so long to get back.”

“It seems you’ve miscalculated for the last time,” Qktk sneered, his mandibles clattering menacingly. “Now your defeat is inevitable.” He reached out one glossy black arm to tap the Go board in front of him, causing a stone to materialize.

He leaned back and chuckled, regarding the game board for a few seconds before he waved his arm and cleared it. What was that, his third game against himself? His fourth? How long had the others been gone? He looked around the deserted stateroom, feeling a bit silly at indulging in theatrics.

A low tone sounded once, a resonant and mournful note that set parts of his carapace vibrating sympathetically. He winced and clapped arms over the offending segments. The note faded and he relaxed, swiveling his head in curiosity. He couldn’t hear any other odd noises.

Was that an alarm? He looked around again, confused. No information display followed the tone, and there were no display panels in the stateroom that were showing critical data. For all its futuristic glory, the Cormorant was substantially less user-friendly than the Grand Design. Perhaps it was an older model of ship?

His train of thought was cut short by a sharper, louder noise, pitching up in the distinctive trill of an alarm. Faintly, he could hear the humming whine of a capacitor discharge. “Oh, damn,” he muttered, hauling himself up from the chair. “Better go see what that was.”

Tarl regarded the boiling smear of gore that had been a soldier only seconds before. “Hm,” he noted. “So that noise was a warning after all.” He turned to another soldier beside him, who jumped at the chance to look away from the smoldering mess. “See that nobody else approaches the ship,” Tarl instructed. “No closer than we are now, not until we have more information.”

He turned his face back towards the ship in time to see a gun turret fold seamlessly back into the hull. Tarl had to wonder at the sheer overengineered majesty of human design. Automated sentry guns were nothing new, of course, but the Ysleli variant typically weren’t scaled to vaporize a small vehicle. It seemed that the humans built big as a primary consideration, leaving discretion to the whim of the operator.

It was a philosophy he could appreciate. He strode away from the ship and found his communications officer, Reln, who snapped a salute has he approached.

“No messages from the ship,” Reln reported crisply. “It appears to be vacant.”

Tarl gestured his acknowledgment. “Keep watching,” he said. “Let me know if anything else emerges.”

“There is something…”, Reln said hesitantly. Tarl snapped him an impatient look and flicked his claws in irritation.

“Apologies. We’ve had three raiding teams miss check-in within the same segment. Here, here and here,” he said, tapping his stubby claws on a crudely drawn map of the station’s layout. “They aren’t so late that I would otherwise mention it, but with the human ship here…”

Tarl tapped his claws on the table. Three teams missing their reports was not unheard of, but it was decidedly unusual. He stared at the scrawled map of the station, tracing lines between the three points mentally. “Evasion,” he rumbled softly.

“I don’t follow,” Reln admitted.

“Look here,” he said, succumbing to the temptation of talking strategy. It wasn’t dignified to chat with the men, but he wasn’t the warfather anymore. Why retain the limitations without the benefits? He traced a claw delicately between the first two points. “These two form a line heading directly for this dock. After the second encounter, they change course. They know two points provides a trajectory, and we may try to intercept them here.” He tapped a point farther down the station corridor.

“They naturally shift to the third corridor, as they wish to avoid creating a string of missing teams pointing to their destination. Of course, they run into another group first, here,” he continued, indicating the third disappeared team. “I presume they intended to take this series of corridors down to the same eventual destination at the dock.”

The communications officer nodded sharply. “Shall I send a team to intercept further along the branch?” he asked, wilting when Tarl turned to regard him disappointedly.

“No,” Tarl sighed, regretting his indulgence already. “Remember the words of Warfather Rurlir. ‘The commander who pursues a dullard inevitably finds himself.’ If you saw the interception point so easily, why could they not do the same?” He shot a reproachful look at Reln, who hung his head. “Always assume your enemies are smarter. The normal tactic,” he continued, “would be to swing even further wide of your intended goal and intercept another team, to create a false trail leading out from your objective.” He poised his claw over another corridor and left it hovering in the air.

“However,” he mused, “there is the matter of the ship. These may be humans and their allies. That they’re attacking our teams is strange, but if it is them…” He tapped his claw on the map. “They will be confident, and rightfully so. They will not feel the need to waste time with a ruse.” He moved his claw tip back to the original corridor and tapped a point closer to the dock. “Send a team here. Make sure they’re briefed on the humans we know of and clear on their instructions. They will be moving fast, trying to reach the docks before we realize where they’re going.”

Reln shot to his feet. “Right away. Shall I also send a team to the far corridor?”

Tarl looked at him curiously. “What for?”, he asked.

Feeling wrongfooted again, Reln was suddenly reluctant to speak. “In case they aren’t humans,” he mumbled.

To his surprise, Tarl’s teeth flashed in amusement. “Ah, Reln,” he said, his voice dropping from joviality into deadly seriousness as he leaned close. “If they aren’t humans, I don’t care. Send the team.”

“Yes, Warfa-”, he said, biting back his words. “Yes. Right away.” He grabbed his headset and began issuing orders as Tarl stalked off.

Sparks flew as Ysleli fire caromed off the doorframe, forcing Jesri to duck her head back into the storefront. “Fuck!”, she spat. “They’ve locked down the hallway, they’re in the opposite stall.” More shots rang from the opposite storefront, zinging across the deserted market hall.

Behind her, Anja peeked over a low counter to fire a short burst from her sidearm. She was rewarded with a wet gurgle from the far stall and a short respite in the oncoming fire. “It looks that way,” she said mildly. “I think we may need to explore alternate routes.”

Jesri slid out into the doorway and snapped off a few shots before an answering volley forced her back again. “Anja, this is the alternate route,” she retorted. “They’re on to the maintenance corridors, and it’s too easy for them to trap us there. We have to break out of this location and head to the central market.”

“Fine,” Anja sighed, reaching into the folds of her cloak. She lobbed a small object casually over the counter and through the door of the opposing market stall. “I was trying to save that for later. Cover me!”

She vaulted the counter before Jesri could shout a protest. Jesri popped up and fired short bursts over her sister’s head as she ran low towards the doorway. Across the hall, a panicked yell was drowned out by the distinctive clap and crackle of a stun grenade. As soon as the last fuzz of static died away, Anja ducked through the doorway and began firing with her pistol.

As Anja vanished into the store Jesri slumped down against the wall, balancing her rifle across her knees. She closed her eyes for a brief second, listening to the clap of Anja’s pistol and short bursts of Ysleli fire. When she opened them again, Rhuar was staring at her curiously.

“You’re not going to help?”, he asked. From across the hall a panicked stream of unintelligible Ysleli shouting cut off sharply at the sound of more pistol fire.

“Nah,” said Jesri, resting her eyes. She leaned her head back against the cool metal, feeling the slight resonant vibration with every gunshot. Rhuar looked at her again, then settled down beside her.

“You, ah, sure she’s gonna be okay?”, he asked.

Jesri remained silent, trying to make the most of her brief moment of relaxation. She listened as a single Ysleli weapon clicked on an empty cylinder, its owner futilely pulling the trigger again and again. There was a wet crunch, then a gasp, then nothing. Rhuar shifted uncomfortably beside her. Footsteps sounded, then paused briefly. A low, thin wail echoed through the hall before ending abruptly with a final pistol shot. For a few seconds, silence returned to the market.

Jesri opened her eyes and slapped her hands against her calves, giving Rhuar a cheery smile. “Right, I think that’s it. Ready to go?” He stared at her warily.

Anja popped her head through the door, her hair somewhat mussed. Specks of dark blood dotted the hem of her cloak. “I only had one of those, so we had better clear out,” she said. “Unless you picked one up?”

Jesri shook her head and levered herself upright, slinging her rifle onto her back again. “No such luck,” she replied. They set off down the hallway at a brisk pace, Rhuar bringing up the rear with a bemused expression.

“Those guys seemed different from the last group,” he observed.

“Not looters,” Jesri agreed, tossing him a look over her shoulder. “Someone’s trying to catch us. It’s a good thing we got the drop on them, we took out at least a third of the group in that first volley.”

Rhuar gave her a flat look. “I thought you said doubling back would avoid search parties.”

This time it was Anja who answered, grinning at her sister’s annoyed look. “It just means someone smarter than the average raider is leading them,” she said. “We should be careful once we reach the market.”

“Do we have to worry about Qktk, if that’s the case?”, Rhuar asked. “If he’s alone-”

“I wouldn’t,” Jesri replied. “Remember, he’s on the ship. As long as he stays on the ship, they can’t touch him.”

“Someone’s leaving the ship!”

Tarl looked over at the human warship to see a thin ramp extending from the hull. He peered intently at the narrow doorway that seemed to emerge from smooth, unblemished metal, its opening obscured momentarily by a rush of steam. As it cleared, Tarl saw-

Legs. Far too many legs, joined to a nightmarish segmented torso and a similarly unfortunate overabundance of small grasping arms. A large, bulbous head perched atop the rest, its top quarter covered with midnight-black glossy eyes. Tarl’s throat constricted, his fists tightening in anticipation.

There was a moment of silence as they watched the unsettling arthropod descend to the deck, then one of his soldiers pointed a quavering finger. “Blackened skies, it’s the Demon!”, he cried. “The Demon Shipmaster!”

Other voices rose from the tumult. “The Nightmare of Ysl!”, one bellowed, gripping his weapon. “Ready arms!”

“HOLD!”, Tarl thundered, raising a clenched fist. “The first man who so much as-”

Before he could finish his dire pronouncement the soldier who had yelled sprang forward in a fit of battle fever, spraying the oncoming figure with a full magazine from his weapon. Qktk paused, looking at him expressionlessly. A few shots pinged off of a bubble of force surrounding him, causing it to ripple with white fire before subsiding to transparency once more.

The soldier stared dumbfounded for a fraction of a second before a bolt from the ship’s automated cannon caught him full in the chest, spreading the contents of his torso across eight square meters of decking. There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by the rustling of Tarl’s soldiers gently, slowly lowering their rifles.

Qktk walked the rest of the way towards their group unmolested, pausing some distance away to incline his head in greeting. “Warfather,” he rattled.

“Shipmaster,” Tarl responded, returning the greeting and leaving the correction for another moment. He studied Qktk with interest. His counterpart was every bit as terrifying as he remembered from the few minutes of negotiations they’d shared before, although he hadn’t anticipated the infamous Nightmare of Ysl being quite so short. The little alien barely rose to his waist, staring upwards at Tarl with its sea of black eyes.

Tarl cleared his throat. “I must apologize for the rudeness of my men,” he said formally.

Qktk waved an arm dismissively. “I wasn’t harmed. The ship protects her crew,” he said, fixing a few glinting eyes on Tarl’s. “The Cormorant won’t let anything happen to me.”

Tarl returned the stare, acknowledging the implicit warning with a bob of his head.

“So,” Qktk clattered, his arms rubbing together with an unsettling fluidity. “What brings you and your men to Elpis?”

Tarl barked a quick laugh at the casual question. “The inevitabilities of logistics,” he replied. “Food, fuel, air.” He narrowed his eyes and stared down at Qktk, his talons flexing involuntarily with anticipation. All of the long hours searching for strength and information after the fall of Ysl had led to this moment.

“And you?”, he hissed. “What of your real ship? I will be frank, I have been searching for you and your crew for some time.”

“Oh?”, replied Qktk, going very still. “With what purpose?”

Tarl curled his fingers into a fist. “Revenge, of course,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Your enemies are now mine. I must know everything about the ship that devastated my home.”

Qktk regarded him silently for a moment, then took a small tablet from his belt. “Warfather, I have an interesting acquaintance you should meet.”

Tarl squeezed his fists again, feeling his talons slice through the skin of his palm. He didn’t even think of correcting Qktk’s use of his title. The sad ashes of his home could say what they like, in this moment he was a warfather once more.

Jesri’s breath roared hot in her ears as she ran flat out through the market hall. Ysleli bullets sparked and pinged off the metal deck around her, missing her by scant centimeters as she serpentined towards the exit hall to the docks.

“Rhuar, the door!”, she yelled. He had easily outpaced her and was far ahead towards the ship, but he slowed and cocked an ear. “Close the fucking door!”, she shouted.

He yipped an acknowledgment and raced ahead to the dock entryway, paws skidding on the smooth metal. She spun and sprayed a burst of fire behind her, sending the Ysleli diving behind the ruined market stalls for cover. Plastic blistered and smoked where her shots hit, sending acrid smoke curling up to the ceiling. A punctured container spewed brine and fermenting vegetables across the floor, contributing to the unsavory aroma.

She grinned and turned to run once more as Anja flew past firing her pistol blindly over her shoulder. The two sisters raced down the hall to where Rhuar was frantically rewiring the door panel to the docks, his exoskeletal arms a blur of flashing metal. Angry yells and a renewed fusillade signaled that the Ysleli had recovered their momentum, and Jesri felt her vision narrowing as she strained to reach the doorway.

Less than a second after they crossed the threshold, Rhuar yanked a board from the depths of the access panel to send the door crashing down with a floor-rattling impact. Jesri and Anja spun around, weapons ready, but the muffled din of bullets and shouting soldiers was barely audible behind the half-meter thick metal blast door.

“Ha!”, Jesri grinned. “Great work, Rhuar.”

He looked back towards her and blanched, his grin dying on his lips. Seeing the look on his face, both sisters spun to face the docks, weapons raised-

And saw almost two hundred Ysleli soldiers staring at them in shock. One made to lift his rifle, nearly earning a shot to the face from Jesri’s own gun, but his squadmates grabbed his wrist with a harsh whisper. He lowered his weapon, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the Cormorant.

“Captain Jesri Tam!”, a voice rang out, deep and commanding. Feeling a chill in her stomach, Jesri turned her gaze towards the speaker. Wearing a shining metal patch over one eye, Tarl sat on a crate next to Qktk amid a gaggle of lost-looking Ysleli officers studying the three new arrivals. A tablet propped on another crate showed David’s amused face. Qktk sagged in relief at the sight of them, his limbs twitching oddly.

“So it was you fighting my men,” Tarl said with grim satisfaction. “I thought as much. I apologize for any misunderstanding, the enlisted soldiers may have gotten overzealous despite my instructions regarding your crew. If you tell me which of my teams initiated hostilities I will see them disciplined for it.”

Jesri stared at him for a moment. “No, ah,” she said, suddenly feeling like she could use a drink of water. “The misunderstanding was partially our fault. Think nothing of it.” She ignored Rhuar’s incredulous look from beside her.

“Excellent,” Tarl said, standing up and walking over to them. He leaned in close to the group, his remaining eye twinkling with excitement. “I have to know though, as one warrior to another - how were they? Did they die well?”

“Their situational awareness was poor,” Anja said flatly. Jesri winced.

Tarl gave her an appraising look. “You weren’t at our last discussion,” he said, a statement rather than a question. “Who are you?”

“Major Anja Tam,” she said, staring back without blinking. “You must be Tarl.”

The two locked gazes for a moment. Jesri kept her hand steady on her rifle as she watched.

“Hah, interesting,” Tarl chuckled, stepping back with a respectful nod. “We must speak later. An honor to meet you, Anja Tam.” Jesri let out a puff of breath and slouched against a crate. Tarl stalked back over to the crate where David waited with an uninterpretable smile on his face.

“Now, David,” he said, tripping a bit over the unfamiliar consonants. His mouth stretched wide, showing his needle-sharp teeth. “Tell me more about our enemy.”