The onrush of fighters overwhelmed the handful of crew members in the vicinity as the airlock cycled open, crashing over them and taking the unwary Aggaaddub by surprise. They’d obviously been expecting the Kaihautu’s return, oblivious to the fact they had hijacked the shuttle until it was too late. They died in seconds, unable to warn their fellow crew in time.

There was no time to celebrate their initial success or rest on their laurels. They instead pressed on, splitting into two groups; Prash and Amar leading the group headed aft, while Spata Zhai took his team forward, making a beeline for the bridge. They’d accessed the shuttle’s computer and downloaded detailed maps of Implacable’s layout… an absolute necessity, given the sheer size of the ship and the multitude of passageways.

Despite having the element of surprise they’d known going in they couldn’t maintain it forever. Nor did it take the enemy long to realize they were under attack; less than ten minutes after their initial assault, warning klaxons began wailing throughout the ship. Both units were still quite a way distant from their objectives, though thankfully they’d taken few casualties thus far.

But when the alarms started to howl, their progress ground to a halt as the Aggaaddub began fighting back. Emergency bulkheads slammed into place, sealing off the attackers from the rest of the ship. They were designed to prevent air loss during emergencies, but they worked equally well against an invasion force. Fabricated to be as robust as the outer hull itself, simply blasting through them was all but impossible. It locked them out of the ship’s network as well, which meant hacking the system in order to override the controls wasn’t an option either. Spata Zhai knew it would be their response once the boarding teams were discovered; it was an obvious counter to their attack. Devoting considerable time and effort towards a solution, a notion born of desperation suggested itself.

Activating his comms, he sent a brief message on an agreed-upon frequency. The exact phrasing was unimportant, all that mattered was its content. Translated, the message could be condensed down to a single word:

“... Now.”

Captain Siyaayah, commanding the modest Baishain corvette force over the planet Taing’zem, waited in troubled silence, questioning his decision once more. He’d gone back and forth on the matter many times now, rehashing the same arguments on both sides of the matter, only to arrive yet again at the same uncomfortable conclusion. His species were relative newcomers to the Terran-led Alliance, uniting under their banner only after most of their immediate neighbors had. In a galaxy gone mad, with the Yīqún staging attacks without warning all across the sector, watching over a refugee camp was soft duty indeed.

At least it had been until the Aggaaddub showed up.

He was already familiar with Terrans prior to their joining the Alliance, as some of their race lived on the Baishain homeworld itself. They did their best to fit in and were adequate enough subordinates as long as they kept to their place. Honestly, he gave them little thought, at least until his current assignment. They had given the Terrans in charge of the camp an impossible task; as he’d watched the ships disgorge their living cargo on the planet below, quickly outstripping their resources, he’d dreaded what would happen to the poor unfortunates ill-fated enough to wind up in this place. It was a tragedy in the making, and absolutely nothing could change that.

They’d proved him wrong, facing each challenge before them with unwavering courage and acumen. It was still touch and go, he shuddered to think just how close to the bone their margin of error was, but no one starved in that camp. Their medical needs were met, and while they’d worked themselves to exhaustion addressing the housing situation, by the time thick clouds heralding the monsoon arrived, everyone within the camp had a roof over their head, rudimentary though it might be. It was… impressive.

With the arrival of the Aggaaddub, suddenly everything was turned on its head. They had requested medical assistance from the camp, which he had dutifully passed on… with one caveat. While he might sympathize with their situation, he would not order the vessels under his command to fight the Troika ship now in high orbit. To even consider such an action was suicide, and he had no intention of ordering the men and women of his tiny squadron to their deaths.

As the weeks and months dragged by, as the Troika placed the planet under interdiction, as reports reached his ears regarding the brutal deaths of innocents at their hands, Siyaayah found himself bristling with impotent rage. Oh, how he longed to hold them accountable, to make them pay for their actions… but at the end of the day, their single vessel still outgunned his squadron ten to one.

Only he wasn’t the only one monitoring the planet below, as it turned out. Others in his command also saw what was happening, and they too were ashamed and disgusted by the Troika’s actions, as well as their own reluctance to take a stand. They all understood, yet it chafed at them.

So when the Ixian Spata Zhai contacted him and explained his plan, he thought he was mad. Stand up against the Troika? Here? While he believed in the Alliance and what it stood for, it was one thing to take a… being completely honest… mostly symbolic stance against a deeply unpopular enemy. It was quite another to order those sworn to him to face the guns of an Aggaaddub battlecruiser, knowing full well just how badly the odds were skewed against them.

He’d forestalled the Ixian, requesting time to confer with his officers. Asking his second in command to join him, he’d then sealed the door, handed her a drink, and after swearing her to secrecy, laid out Spata Zhai’s plan. He’d expected her to react much as he had, with caution and an eye towards survival.

Instead, she’d surprised him. After digesting what he had to say… as well as a second glass of his private reserve… she requested he contact the other captains on a secure network and repeat the offer to them. He’d been tempted to dismiss the whole thing right then and there, but there was something in her eyes as she made her case; a silent, desperate plea he could not ignore.

Considering she was his most trusted officer, and that only a fool ignores the advice of those whose sworn duty it was to offer counsel, he’d relented, and ordered the conference. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he laid out the Spata’s proposal, but as he explained what was being asked of them, and how great a risk they faced if they agreed, it was like watching a plasma conduit give way in slow motion. Each of the captains admitted how much they too had grown to despise the Aggaaddub and what they were doing on the planet below; butchering helpless refugees with the same swaggering arrogance the Troika had always exhibited. Sickened and infuriated, they’d watched in silence as their resentment simmered, but with no way to acceptably express those emotions, it forced them to bury their feelings instead.

The impromptu conference was like lancing a boil, as anger and frustration and vitriol spewed from each of the captains without exception. Much as he did, they too hungered to do something about it, only lacking a means and official sanction. The Ixian’s proposal, and their commander’s tacit endorsement, gave them both.

And just like that, it was decided.

The timing had been tricky. The six corvettes orbited Taing’zem in a complicated dance designed to provide coverage to all sectors of the planet, though in reality there were intermittent gaps. Creating a more thorough shield required additional ships, and given the planet’s backwater status, it was unlikely they would be made available, not when there was a desperate need for them elsewhere. So Captain Siyaayah had done what he could, accepting those gaps as the price of doing business. Now, however… they were key to his strategy.

Implacable decelerated into a parking orbit upon its arrival, selecting a trajectory that emphasized its dominance. With its firepower, it could target any position on the planet’s surface, plus cover the approaches from the outer system. They could alter course quickly, should it prove necessary, and other than an appearance by some rogue Yīqún drone, the very thought of someone actually attacking them was unlikely in the extreme. So the great ship puttered on, making the same loops around the globe it had been all along… an orbit the Baishain had long since calculated down to seven decimal places.

They nudged their ships’ orbits as the countdown began, lulling the Aggaaddub into a false sense of security. Doing so created a rather sizable gap; for approximately twelve minutes, none of the Baishain corvettes would be in sight of the much larger ship. There was a simple reason for that; while the planet hid them from view, each of the vessels were burning hard to adjust course. Their new orbits were radically different from the ones they’d just abandoned, as these trajectories had all six ships converging on Implacable from six different directions. It would only take the crew seconds to realize something was wrong… if they didn’t already have more immediate concerns on board.

In fact, the first hint they were in trouble was when the patrol boats opened fire.

“Goddamn it, set the charge!” Prash snapped, as an Ixian made some final adjustments before ushering the others back. Just a few minutes into the boarding action, and already they were bogged down. They’d lost the momentum when the emergency bulkheads halted their advance, and they were all but impossible to bypass or penetrate. So far, they were performing to spec with depressing efficiency.

Thankfully, Spata Zhai and his Ixians had planned for this possibility. When they had arrived on Taing’zem, they were well provisioned with arms and equipment, much of which was still unused. It hadn’t taken them long to convert their small supply of explosives into breaching charges, though sadly none were powerful enough to blast through the armor-plated barriers blocking their path.

They were, however, just potent enough to punch a man-sized hole through the deck beneath their feet.

The Ixian gave them a nod once they were safely out of the blast radius. “Stand ready,” he warned them.

“Fire in the hole!” Amar shouted, as they detonated the explosives.

The blast roared through the passageway, the concussion wave punching into them like a tidal wave. New alarms began sounding alongside the old ones as they moved forward once more, hastily surveying the damage once the dust had settled. Gauging the newly formed breach with a practiced eye, the warrior nodded in satisfaction. “It will suffice,” he informed them, drawing his sword and stepping into the void, disappearing from sight as he landed on the deck below.

The rest of the Ixians were close on his heels, with the Knights and refugees bringing up the rear. The blue-skinned warriors were dangerously competent shock troops, chewing through anyone foolish enough to stand against them like a buzz saw. Their razor-edged blades were absolutely devastating at close range, but with each new engagement, their casualties mounted. That they had demanded the honor of leading the attack didn’t diminish their losses or make them any easier to accept.

It also left them wondering what would happen once the last Ixian fell.

As the attack force poured into the hole and surged forward, the sound of muffled explosions began echoing throughout the ship. The bulkheads reverberated with each new blast, even as the lights flickered briefly before stabilizing once more.

The two Knights shared a look. “Sounds like the Baishain made it to the party,” Prash grunted, as they smashed their way into the next section.

“Closer! Get closer!” Captain Siyaayah shouted as they made another attack run. Implacable had finally responded, its massive guns taking out two of his patrol boats in a single volley. He’d responded the only way he knew how, by diving onto the battlecruiser and attacking at point-blank range. The immense Aggaaddub vessel was built to crush anyone foolish enough to appear on their radar, however, no one had considered the possibility that someone might intentionally attack them. It was an offensive weapon by design, its defense intended to be the fearsome reputation of the Troika itself, with its guns and beams and missiles acting as backup.

All of which were designed to dissuade an enemy before they got close enough to be a threat.

A Terran would have never built a fighting ship without close-in defenses; the Troika hadn't considered them necessary for over four millennia. It would be years, perhaps even decades, before ship design caught up to the new reality. With the both Alliance and the Yīqún showing no compunctions against bloody melee at knife-fighter range, that design philosophy was proving extremely expensive.

The remaining Baishain boats came around for another pass, skimming the hull as they braved the enemy guns. Laying down a barrage of cannon fire, they were rewarded with a line of explosions trailing behind them, though against the enormous ship they were little more than pinpricks. Destroying the battlecruiser was an impossible task for their corvettes, thankfully, their role was merely to keep the Troika’s attention divided.

Wincing with grief as a third ship disappeared in a ball of plasma, Captain Siyaayah guided the survivors for yet another pass under the enemy guns, fighting to give the boarding parties just a little more time.

Concussion from a nearby explosion threw Blye to the shuttle’s deck, briefly stunning her as an all-too-familiar howl suddenly filled her ears, the high-pitched scream of escaping atmosphere. Every Terran born knew that sound; with their aging and increasingly decrepit fleet blowouts were unfortunately common. The years spent in emergency drills took over, sending her scrambling for safety towards the nearest place that still held pressure… Implacable herself.

Girl, you knew you were going into space, she angrily chided herself. Why didn’t you bring your damn suit?

No time for that now, not with the rapidly thinning air pulling at her and leaving her gasping. If she still had her eyes, she would have tried hunting down the leak and patching it herself but doing it blind was just a surefire way to drown in vacuum. Stumbling through the airlock, she slapped the hatch mechanism, closing it behind her as it sealed the passageway off from the escaping air. Blye leaned against the bulkhead, fighting to catch her breath.

More explosions in proximity forced her to move away from the shuttle and down the corridor, feeling her way as she struggled not to panic. Blind, aboard an enemy ship, alone, my escape route cut off… what else could possibly go wrong? she demanded of a dispassionate universe.

To her complete lack of surprise, the universe failed to respond.