The probability of a random event occurring at a specific time was greater than people thought, but less than they expected. Theoretically, it was possible that the explosion was a side effect of the disturbance in the hive structure, but I put the odds of that at a fraction of a percent. The others likely were of the same opinion, for they remained speechless for several seconds.

Just like re-switching, I thought.

For some reason, it took humans a certain amount of time for things to sink in before they could return to their pre-set plans. In this case, there was one goal—to keep the director safe. Everything else, including the artifact, was of second importance.

“Defensive perimeter,” I said, forcing my team to snap back to reality. “Comm check. All posts report!”

“Bravo point here.” The response was instant. The good thing about antiquated comm links was that there was no way to determine one’s rank. As long as the voice had an adequate degree of authority, a soldier’s instinct was to obey.

“Echo point here.”

“Delta point here.”

I waited, but that was all. Only three groups of what should have been over a dozen.

“This is Colonel ‘Rissa,” the colonel said, establishing her own authority. “How’s the director?”

“Fine, ma’am.” At least for the moment. “What are your orders?”

“Continue to the exit point. Teams are probably on the way. When they burn through, it’ll be faster if we’re all there.”

It was a sound strategy, but I knew it wouldn’t work. We didn’t have the firepower to stop a Cassandrian rush. There was no telling if we’d be able to reach any of the bunkers, and even if we did, they would likely win us hours, not days.

“There’s another alternative, ma’am. We can try to hide in the artifact.”

Several soldiers of my team turned to look at me. No doubt they had some partial knowledge of what was going on. In the current situation, it would have been better if they hadn’t. So far, there was no instance of a human surviving artifact entry. At the same time, no one had survived being trapped with Cassandrians either.

“Or maybe near it,” I added. “The Cassies had a lot of opportunities to try something there, yet they avoided it.”

“Too risky,” ‘Rissa said through the comm. “Denied.”

“There are bunkers there as well, ma’am.”

“Denied, Elcy! We gather at the exit point. That is final!”

“Yes’ ma’am.”

I felt disappointed. That was the problem with having Augustus as my first captain—his experience and determination had spoiled me. During my tours with him, nearly all of his decisions were correct, in most cases making the best of the bad situation Fleet Command had thrown us into.

Normal captains weren’t like that. Gibraltar was bad under pressure, and Cass didn’t have situations in which it mattered. Despite her experience, it seemed the colonel wasn’t immune to bad tactical decisions. The worst part was that I had no choice but to obey, just like when I was a ship.

“Move on,” I said loudly, informing both my squad and Director Sim. “Shoot on sight. No warning shots.”

A few brief nods let me know that the grunts understood the order loud and clear. Part two formed a group moving further ahead, while the main group got closer. Cassandrians didn’t waste time with grenades. If they were going to attack, they would do so in force and from close by.

“Constant contact check,” I said in comm. Thankfully, my request wasn’t denied by the colonel.

“No contact,” Bravo’s voice operator said.

“Negative.” Delta followed.

There was no response from Echo. I waited several seconds more, but there was no change.

“Are they boxing us in?” Sim asked. The quiet phase of panic was starting to wear off.

“Echo, do you have contact?” I repeated.

“Echo is assisting me,” the colonel said. “No contact here. What’s your status?”

“Proceeding as expected.” I turned to Sim. “Things are within parameters, sir.”

“No need for concern, right?” The nervous laugh indicated he didn’t believe it either. At this point, there was no reason to lie. Instead, I just kept quiet as we moved on.

Based on the simulations of the area, there were a few choke points that the enemy could use to try and overrun us. The advantage we had was that the choke points could also allow us to defend better, given our superior firepower.

As we neared one of the choke points, I gestured to a few of my team to act as overwatch support. Surprisingly to all, there were no attack attempts. I had us double the pace just in case. No changes occurred. If the enemy was close, they weren’t acting, and that was atypical behavior during a surge. Several minutes later, we came to a dead end. The blast—whatever it was—had sealed off the tunnel three minutes from the elevator point. In theory, the bunkers and the access point remained intact, however, there was no way for us to reach them.

“Colonel, we’ve reached as far as we could go,” I said as I pressed against the rubble. Even through the spacesuit, I could feel the typical texture of Cassandrian-hardened matter. “Taking on defense positions.”

“Understood. We’re seven minutes away,” ‘Rissa replied. “Be ready for us.”

“Roger that, ma’am. You!” I pointed to one of the grunts. “Get a flare a hundred meters out. If anything comes and it’s not one of ours, don’t hesitate.”

“Aye, ma’am.” The grunt prepped his rifle and rushed further down the tunnel. The rest formed a double perimeter circle, as much as space would allow.

Meanwhile, I let Sim rest against the blocked-off wall. Sitting in a puddle of chemicals wasn’t what he had in mind for this mission, but judging by the sounds he was making while breathing, I suspected he appreciated it.

“’Rissa will be here with the rest soon, sir.” I stood next to him, sidearm at the ready. “We’ll form a strategy then.”

“They won’t make it, will they?” the director asked. “The rescue team won’t manage to get here before it’s too late.”

“I don’t have enough data to predict that, sir,” I lied. There was a fourteen percent chance that the reinforcements breached the wall in the next six hours. Even if we were lucky, odds were that the Cassandrians would get us before that.

Gunfire echoed down the corridor. The front row of my makeshift perimeter took aim forward.

“Echo, Delta, I’m hearing gunfire. Is that you?”

“Negative, Command Point,” came the reply from Echo point. I recognized the frequencies of the person’s voice pattern. “Not from here.”

“Not here either,” the Colonel replied. “Must be one of the commless groups. We’ll assist if they’re on the way.”

The ship part of me wished the colonel’s group would be able to help out. The logical part of me hoped that didn’t.

As the seconds went by, the sounds subsided, then stopped altogether. Whatever the group was, it didn’t matter anymore.

“Stand ready.” This was it.

In a few minutes, either the colonel was going to arrive, or we would be charged by whatever Cassandrians there were in the nest. Thankfully, it turned out to be ‘Rissa. Almost seven minutes on the dot since her last comm call, the woman called again, letting us know she had reached the perimeter flare. Shortly after, her group started to appear. There were seventy-eight of them in total. Most were grunts, although a few were scientists like Jespersen. Seven classified containers full of artifact rods had also been brought along—there was no point in making the enemy stronger than they were.

The number of people quickly made the section of the tunnel quite cramped. A rolling division was organized. The crates were roughly placed to provide cover for the inner perimeter. I didn’t like the idea. One stray bullet would be all it took to shatter everyone’s bones, blasting us along the walls of the tunnel. The colonel didn’t seem to care. From her point of view, we had more pressing concerns.

“We can’t reach anyone on external comms,” she said to Sim. “Whatever the Cassies are using to jam, it seems to be working.”

“There’s a chance they’re still receiving us on the surface,” the director said. “In theory, they should be able to retransmit everything we say to anyone in the Fleet. The comm relay planet-side is strong enough to link us to the base, and from there they could convey it on to anyone they wish.” He took a deep breath. “That was before conventional comms were severed.”

“Textbook Cassandrian minefield,” I said. “They jam all transmissions, engage security measures to keep us here until reinforcements arrive.” Or we die out, I added in my mind. “At least we have confirmation that the dome was considered a high-value target.”

“Good to know if I’m considering my epitaph. What are our options?”

“We can try to hold it out,” ‘Rissa said. “The position isn’t that bad. We have enough troops and firepower to last a day or so. That’s enough time for a rescue team to reach us, or at the very least come in contact.”

“Hmm.” Sim didn’t seem convinced. “Princess?”

“The colonel is correct, sir. Provided we don’t get rushed, we could survive for a few days.” I paused for a few seconds. “I cannot comment on the rest. I have seen the Fleet sacrifice people for the sake of strategic advantages.”

“Not with a director involved,” ‘Rissa said.

In general she was correct, but it all depended on the value the Fleet, or Med Core, saw in him. With Sim here, there was a somewhat greater chance they would attempt a rescue operation, although I wouldn’t put it past them to bomb everything from orbit and quarantine the planet. If anything, the dome was our greatest asset. There were too many organizations who wanted it, or at least didn’t want it to fall into enemy hands.

“We can try and go on the offensive,” I suggested. Both Sim and the colonel stared at me. Even Jespersen and a few of the nearby scientists turned my way. “I’m not saying we try to wipe out the enemy. I’m proposing to make use of the dome. In theory, there should be a way to restore our communications from there, or failing that, we can find what is jamming our comms here and destroy it. My chances of survival will be low, but we have a chance of getting in touch with the rest of the Fleet.”

“How much of a chance are we talking about?”

“A fighting chance, sir.” I chose not to elaborate.

“Well, in that case, will you excuse us for a moment, princess?”

The two continued talking, but I could no longer hear their words. It was annoying that even here, trapped and facing a Cassandrian threat, I would still have to go through this. Knowing what the Scuu were capable of, I could understand the need for compartmentalized information, but there was a time and place for everything, and right now it was a time for action, not secrecy.

The conversation lasted six minutes and forty-two seconds. Once it was done, Sim finally allowed me to join back in.

“If you’re given a team,” the director addressed me, “how do you estimate your chances?”

“It largely depends on the mission objectives, sir. If I’m to use the dome to our advantage, I would say close to fifteen percent, provided I could still reach it. If the goal is to find the source of the Cassandrian’s jamming tech—that would be in the single digits.” I suspected this wasn’t what they wanted to hear. “However, in the process, I’m likely to focus the enemy’s attention on myself, granting you more time to be rescued.”

“What if you try both?”

“The difference would be marginal, sir. It would help a lot if I knew something about our attackers.”

“You and I both,” ‘Rissa said. “We have confirmation that it’s Cassandrians. That’s about it.”

“You saw one?” That was new.

“One of my teams got hold of a grunt’s vid feeds, before they were ambushed. I only have their word for it, but the descriptions were close enough.”

Attacked by Cassandrians that had lain dormant for millennia. That information alone was enough to make anyone feel uneasy. If that were true, there was no telling how many time bombs were scattered throughout human space or how many more the Fleet would encounter as they recolonized the Cassandrian buffer zone. And still, there was something that didn’t fit. What would make them encapsulate themselves in the first place? If the planet had any strategic value—and since it had a dome, it was about to—why had they semi-abandoned it? So far, Cassandrians hadn’t done that; they either abandoned a planet completely or occupied it entirely. Millenia ago, something had made them booby trap the planet, and it definitely wasn’t humanity.

It seems you’re one step closer to your proof, Director. If the Cassandrians had come into contact with a superior power millennia ago, there was every chance that power was the third-contact race.

“What team size would you recommend?” Sim asked.

“A group of six,” I replied. “Any more would be counterproductive in the current environment.”

“See to it, ‘Rissa. Anything else?”

“Some additional firepower and a backup comm device. One of the special ones.”

“No food?”

“It will only be a drawback. If we don’t achieve any progress in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll most likely not be needing food.”

The chilling silence that followed made it clear that I had managed to illustrate the urgency of the situation. Six minutes later, I was given command of a squad of five and left to my own devices. Officially, this was explained as a battlefield promotion—I was given a broad range of powers, including the authority to determine my own mission objectives. In practice, all it meant was that I would be responsible for my actions. Even close to death, the bureaucratic apparatus still had a way of shirking responsibility.

“Weapons check.” I prepped my sniper rifle.

The weapon was almost as tall as me, and rather uncomfortable for tunnel use, yet I had insisted on having it. If it came to taking out tech, my chances of success were seven-point-three percent higher when using a long-range sniper rifle, rather than relying on a heavy-duty assault weapon.

A series of clicks filled the immediate vicinity as my squad did their obligatory check.

“Weapon ready,” Sergeant Kinling reported first, followed moments later by the rest. He was my second in command, and according to ‘Rissa’s assessment, “good, though slightly trigger happy.” I would have preferred to have been granted access to his—and everyone else’s—file, but given the comm situation, I had to rely on the twenty-second brief I’d received from the colonel.

“Alright, we’re heading out.” I led on. “The goal is to remain silent. No talking or engaging the enemy unless we have to.” I ran a few simulations. “Or if I’m killed,” I added shortly later. “LeMent, you have the rear.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The private took her spot. She was said to have had high marksman scores, which made her suitable to be our guard. Like everyone else, she was supposedly a war veteran, although it didn’t help that the colonel hadn’t given any additional specifics.

“Weapon’s hot,” I whispered and led on. My first official mission was underway.

It took us a while to squeeze through all the defense perimeters that had been clustered along the corridor. Whoever had structured them in such fashion had some practical knowledge of tunnel combat, leading to further evidence that ‘Rissa’s rank wasn’t for show. Even so, the picture wasn’t pretty. Having close to a hundred people stacked in a tunnel in places five meters wide was a challenge in the best of circumstances. It didn’t help that there were a number of side tunnels along the way as well. Supposedly, those had been sealed and secure, but the Cassandrians had the ability to unblock things that had previously been blocked.

There was no sign of Bravo group at this point. They hadn’t been responding for a while, increasing the odds of them having met a fatal end. The only ray of hope lay in the fact that they hadn’t called for assistance, though if they had, there was nothing I, or the main group, could provide. As Augustus liked to say, at this point, it was every person for themselves.

The tunnel seemed longer this time around. A hundred meters from the first dangerous segment, I raised my hand, letting the team know to be on guard. Following that, I looked through my rifle scope. If it was to be believed, there were no enemies for the next kilometer. That said, visibility wasn't the best.

Groups of two, I gestured as I took point.

The rest followed behind. Nine seconds later, a sound came from one of the side tunnels. Two rifles pointed in the direction, although no one pulled the trigger.

“Halt!” I whispered.

Everyone knelt down in a defense formation. The sound—a faint scurrying—continued for several seconds, then faded away.

“Loose equipment,” I said after analyzing the sound pattern. From what I could determine, it was an automated chemical spray pump left in one of the tunnels further off. Little good that had done to stop the surge, but at least it wasn’t an enemy. “Move on.”

The hesitation was apparent in their body language, even through the space suit. Still, they obeyed. The next minutes passed in intense calm—everyone remained on edge for an ambush that never materialized. It was only when we got into view of the temp bunkers near the dome that people started to relax.

“Careful with the bunkers,” I warned. “Sweep, then secure.”

Three people in my squad rushed forward. I followed them through my sniper scope. When Kinling made the all-clear sign, I let the weapon down. We had reached our first waypoint without casualties.

“Command Point, this is Elcy,” I said through comm while the rest of my squad occupied the temp bunker. “We’ve reached our destination. No contact so far.”

“Good,” the colonel replied. “A few more teams have joined on our end. No sign of Cassies here either. What are the odds of them killing themselves off in the blast?”

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I ran a few simulations nonetheless.

“Highly improbable,” I replied. “One thing is for certain, though. This isn’t a surge.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If it were a surge, we’d be swarmed by now.” I didn’t say “dead” but it was heavily implied.

“There’s a happy thought.”

“Were there any Cassandrian constructs among the rods, ma’am?”

“We can’t be certain, but not among those we checked.”

Not the best answer, but it had to do. In moments like this, uncertainty was a greater threat than confirmation of Cassandrian tech meddling. At least then we’d have a point of origin, or a theory. Now we remained completely in the dark.

“Better hurry things up.” There was a sense of urgency in ‘Rissa’s voice. “It’s only a matter of time before Sim goes into shock.”

“Ma’am?”

“He’s not used to this sort of thing. He spent most of his career in research ships, far from anything resembling real conditions. If you don’t get comms functioning soon, he’ll crack.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“Keep me in the loop.” She closed the comm line.

Keep her in the loop… despite her apparent combat experience, she still sounded like a bureaucrat.

“All clear?” I turned to my squad.

“Absolutely, ma’am,” the sergeant replied. “Not a fungus out of place. Position’s not too bad either. We have to deal with one attack path.”

“Stay in the bunker and be alert. I want two shifts. If anything approaches, shoot on sight. Don’t waste too many bullets.”

“We’ll do our best, ma’am. Where will you be going?”

“I’ll be heading inside.” I glanced at the dome. “And I expect you to be in control when I get out.”

A few of the grunts seemed surprised—maybe because they were new additions to the planet. The sergeant nodded, then gave me a quick salute. I responded with a nod—one of the privileges of rank.

While the rest of my squad took their places in the temp bunker, I took off my sniper rifle and ammo belt.

“You’re not going in armed, ma’am?” LeMent asked.

“No.” I glanced at the dome section. “If I manage to get comms back, there’ll be movement. Be ready.” I tossed the Sargent, the second comm device. “Keep the colonel informed of any changes.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Back when I was in Scuu space, I had seen a man restore severed communication by adjusting two third-contact artifacts against each other. Going through the memory, I could see every miniature action he did in order to achieve this—decades of experience, as he claimed. Unfortunately, such a method wouldn’t work here. However, that wasn’t my intent.

I went to the fractal symbols and pressed the one with the seven triangles to get me inside. Within seconds, the dome swallowed me once more, and yet again, the alignment of the rods had somewhat changed.

“Any contact so far?” I floated through the liquid cobalt to the nearest rod and took it from its place.

There was no answer. That was slightly disturbing. Nevertheless, I went to another rod and took it as well. Finally, I had come to the moment of truth.

From past experience, I knew the consequences of hitting two rods against each other. If this were a shuttle, it would burst to pieces and I would be thrown into space. Here, the dome was going to contain the release of power, hopefully keeping me alive in the process.

The thing I hadn’t told ‘Rissa, or the director, was that this was all part of my plan. Option one never was about finding the correct frequency jamming frequency. Instead, I was going to sever it, along with all other communications. There was a high chance that the advanced comm devices would be rendered useless as well, but that was beside the point. Unlike humans, the Cassandrian battleships acted quite poorly when their lines of communication were disrupted. My hope was that the same would hold true for their ground troop specimens as well.

Here goes. I held my breath and hit the edges of the rods together.

A bubble emerged, quickly growing as energy was released. Within microseconds, I was pushed back towards the center of the dome, as the bubble expanded, filling the cobalt with vacuum. Initially, the pattern was within the range of my simulations, even if the force had been greater than expected. What followed, though, wasn’t.

As the empty bubble engulfed several of the rods, gravity took over, causing them to fall straight down. It almost defied logic how a release of force great enough to create a bubble of void within metal wasn’t able to shift the location of the artifacts by a millimeter, and at the same time, the lack of cobalt made them drop like a stone.

More curious still, that behavior was not shared among all rods. In one instance, the rod not only fell but also disintegrated into dust, as if it had never been an object to begin with.

I tried to say something in the comm, but the blast had taken the breath out of my lungs, making me gasp for air. It would be awhile before I could adequately speak again. That was truly unfortunate, as the dust I was looking at a short distance away wasn’t dust—it was a collection of spore-like substances, and it had already started multiplying.