Commander Val nodded, her stern features hardening into what resembled a stone facade. “Captain, I respect your decision. Prudence would dictate that we move forward with the utmost care and caution. This may not hinder the traitor, but we can’t be too cautious.” She turned to look at Ava, “Lieutenant, I’d like you to go over the crew profiles with me after the meeting.”

Ava nodded, “Right, Sir. We should try to rank officers and crew by likelihood of having perpetrated the sabotage.”

Val smiled, her mouth a thin line, “Once we establish communication with Command, we’ll see about cross referencing our gathered information with their intelligence. Maybe we can pin down this rat quickly.”

Winterborn turned to Val, “On that note, our first priority should still be establishing communication with Earth—where are we on that front?”

Val sighed and stood, “Well, traditional communication methods are out for obvious reasons. Ordinarily, a message could be carried in a matter of days, or weeks. A communication from here would take a century. What we’re working on right now should cut that time down to hours. By attaching a jump-drive to a probe, we could send a message directly to Earth without the problems faced by more traditional methods.”

Captain Winterborn reached out and picked up her cup of tea, taking a long, slow drink, “That sounds like it will work. Get the designs finished and get a working model online. Of course, if we could trust our own navigation systems, we could just as easily make the jump ourselves…still, there’s no way we can do something like that until our system is purged of all foreign commands. How are we doing on that front, Lieutenant Springborn?”

Ava flicked her eye to the side and called up her ocular implant, sending a file to all present. “As you can see, the Security A.I. is about 45% done with the diagnostic. We expect to have the scan completed within the day. The actual cleaning of our system could take longer depending upon both the depth of their skill, and the depth of their infiltration.”

A soft chime rang at the door. Winterborn frowned at it, “Enter!” she called out.

The door slid open to reveal Ren’brus, with Bre’brus and Val’brus at his heels. They bowed their heads reverently, “Prime, would you permit this loathsome creature to interrupt?”

Winterborn’s frown deepened, “Yes, of course Ren’brus.”

“Excellence, we have received word of a possible attempt on your life from a faction of loyalists to the old Prime. We don’t know exactly when they will strike, but our sources claim that the attack is imminent.”

An urgent alert sounded over the ship’s intercom, warning icons flashed in the corner of each of their eyes.

The officers leapt to their feet, Winterborn sent a message across all intercoms and implants, “Battle stations!”

Each of the officers ran towards the center of the ship, passing hurried-looking crewman and officers. Finally, they made their way to the central command. The room was more like a bunker than one might expect compared to the traditional depiction of a star-ship bridge; it was essentially a box designed from the most durable material Humanity had been able to throw together. Effectively, it served as a bomb shelter. Absent too were screens and consoles; in their place were bio-pods designed to support life and maintain a livable environment through the harshest conditions. Actual control of the ship and orders could be delivered over neural communication networks.

The Quin'tel were extremely displeased at the idea that they'd have to wait in their quarters.

Winterborn stepped into her bio-pod, slipping into a molded form designed just for her. As the hatch closed, a 360-degree view of the ship lit up as if being projected from within in her head. She could feel the presence of her officers brushing against the edges of her mind. She ordered the ship to break orbit of Tre'brus, turning to face the incoming combatant. What she saw staggered her...

A very familiar ship loomed in the distance, a ship which looked very much like the one they were currently occupying.

The Icarus was flying on a direct intercept course, and they were gaining speed.

The ship was a standard Daedalus Class research vessel, if a few years outdated. The design was practical and efficient—two long cylinders joined together in the center, with a sphere at either end. The vessel had no windows, and a massive array of sensor dishes and deflectors. The rear sphere of the craft was dominated by a massive thruster, firing a pulse of energy out into the vacuum of space. They had definitely cranked up their acceleration to maximum in order to get here.

All this and more flashed through Winterborn’s awareness, a flicker of thought amongst an ocean of consciousness. Together, Winterborn and her officers performed evasive maneuvers—firing the rear thruster of the Athena at full power, pushing the antimatter drives to their maximum thrust. The enemy had far more time to accelerate, but the tactical A.I. on board the Athena estimated that they would be able to avoid impact, and with 1.2 seconds to spare.

The ship lurched forward abruptly, the inertial dampers absorbing the worst of the acceleration—though most of the crew were secured in battle positions.

Winterborn watched through the view screen, her heart stilled as the Icarus barely missed the Athena and cursed when she noticed missiles being fired from the rear launch bays. Two Ares Class II torpedoes burst from the ship, igniting their fuel in a rapid burn. She felt Fallborn react, firing a combination of flares and flak. Their countermeasures succeeded in destroying the first missile, but the second managed to navigate through the debris and flares.

Ava acted quickly, firing a missile of their own, with commands to intercept the incoming torpedo. Meanwhile, the Icarus was rapidly turning to face the Athena, its Vernier thrusters firing at full power to curve back around.

Winterborn ordered three missiles to be fired—two directly into the projected flight path of the rogue ship, and one targeted at their estimated escape path, should they somehow evade the first two missiles. The Icarus fired two volleys of flak at the incoming missiles. One exploded as the missile smashed into the column of shredded metal. The other avoided the flak, dodging around the explosion of the lead missile. The torpedo successfully impacted the shields of the Icarus, a bright dome of light flashed, crackled, and fell. Their shields were down.

Winterborn directed the third missile to disable the power generation systems of the Icarus. If the ship's power was disabled, they may be able to recapture the vessel and find out who was responsible for the assault.

The Captain watched as the missile landed home. An immensely bright explosion—which would have blinded her if not for the visuals being transmitted directly into her brain—erupted from the old ship. Metal blew out in a sphere of debris, propelled by the venting gas from the explosion.

A cheer broke out over the link, crew members laughing and even crying in exultation. Winterborn settled the cacophony of voices and emotions with a grim reminder, "Hold your celebrations; the Icarus may be disabled, but she's still hurtling towards Tre'brus. We have to secure the vessel and slow it down."

Just as she gave the order to come abreast of the derelict ship, she saw what looked like thousands of small ball bearings collide across the bow of the Icarus. Hundreds of substantial explosions rocked the ship, shattering it into a fast moving spray of wreckage.

Winterborn cursed as the A.I. identified the source of the attack—the Quin'tel ship which had delivered Ren'brus and the others.

The mood in the link instantly turned sour, Winterborn's anger chilling the triumphant mood to a standstill.

In a cold fury, she disconnected from the link and exited the bio-chamber. She stalked out of the room and marched towards the Quin'tel chambers. She found the door locked, and nobody answering her request to enter. She cursed again, and placed her hand on the pad, opening the door with her override.

She found the Quin'tel, their bodies lay twisted on the floor; thick green blood seeping from a dozen wounds across their bodies.

Winterborn's fury quashed, she rushed to the side of Ren'brus. As she knelt, she sent a message to Med-bay, calling for an emergency medical team to be dispatched to the room.

Ren'brus coughed weakly, reaching out his fifth arm.

Winterborn grabbed the scaled claw, pleading, "Who did this to you? Who did this?" Her voice was heavy with forced calm.

The Quin'tel opened his claw, and out dropped a piece of fabric.

A strip of Terran Military uniform.