Paygan Xeing winced as yet another Troika warship exploded. The Terran-created Yīqún finally recognized the Troika/Oivu coalition’s salvos were far more destructive than the rest of the fleet, and were now focusing their attention on them. While he did not mourn the deaths of their former overlords, he did regret losing their ships. Consequently, he’d ordered the rest of the Grand Alliance to shift their attacks to the drone’s flanks to take advantage of their tactics. After all, if they were determined to give him such an alluring target, he would be a fool to ignore it.

The reappearance of the Precursor superweapon was a mixed blessing as well. Thus far, its targets had all been Yīqún, but he was all too aware of his current location. This was Terran space, enemy territory, and he was very far from home. Granted, it was most likely the ambassador or someone from his party who was directing the ancient weapon, which technically made them allies, but he was far too canny a warrior to forget, even for an instant, just how quickly allegiances could be betrayed.

“Status of the Terran fleet!” he demanded, as his focus remained on the greater threat.

“The bulk of their ships have withdrawn from the field, Paygan,” his Second responded. “Peacemaker remains, but it is fighting for its life.”

“Perhaps some good will come from this after all,” the Ixian commander snorted. Pity that the accursed ship had not been attacked sooner, he mused. Perhaps then all of this could have been avoided.

Another vessel disappeared in a ball of plasma, an Oivu craft this time. Most of the merchant race’s ships were located to the armada’s rear, a relatively safer position, but then in this fight, no place was truly safe. As much as it galled him to admit it, the Terrans had planned well for this battle. The combined might of the entire galaxy was arrayed against them, and yet the Grand Alliance fleet had been brought to a standstill. The Precursor technology the other races had long feared gave them an incredible advantage, though the humans had discovered to their dismay the danger of those ancient toys, and just how easily they could be turned against them.

Some things should remain buried in the past.

“Paygan!” his Second suddenly shouted, pulling him from his reverie. “The Yīqún!”

The Ixian commander could only stare in disbelief as he watched the drones halt their attacks, disengaging as they began to withdraw from the field en masse. He rose from his chair, gawking alongside his crew as the Yīqún retreated, before turning to his Second. “What is their heading?” he asked, though in his heart he was certain he already knew the answer.

His Second merely confirmed it. “Their course will take them… directly toward the Demon planet,” he said softly.

The Paygan all but collapsed back into his chair. They had come to this region of space to defeat the Terrans, but now it seemed their own creations would do the deed for them.

“... Rúna…” he whispered.

Samara’s eyes fluttered open, the Protean taking a deep breath as she stirred. After taking a moment to assess her surroundings, she struggled to sit up before focusing on the platform’s other occupant.

“What happened?” she asked, her words slurred and halting.

Rúna just shook her head. “Well… you died,” she said flatly. “Thought about just letting you die, but then I realized the ambassador wouldn’t much care for that. So I made a deal.”

“A deal?” she said in confusion. “Guardian, what the hell is she talking about?” There was a pause as she cocked her head. “Guardian? Guardian! God damn it, answer me!”

You heard the lady, Rúna sighed, as control of her body was gently taken from her.

“I must inform you that your connection to the Repository has been severed, Samara,” Guardian explained, her eyes going wide as the ancient Cognate’s voice emanated from the Valkyrie’s lips, a voice she knew all too well. “Your physical body was deteriorating rapidly, and we hoped that doing so would prevent your demise. Unfortunately, it failed to halt the chromosomal degradation.”

“Guardian?” she whispered, the revelation rocking her back on her heels.

“Yes, Samara,” he agreed, gracing her with a sad smile. “When Rúna recognized the severity of your condition, she chose to link with the Repository in order to preserve your life.”

Samara stared at her in disbelief before her eyes suddenly narrowed. “I see. Thank you, Rúna, for saving my life,” she said in clipped tones. “Your efforts are appreciated. Now give it back.”

“I regret that is not possible, Samara,” Guardian informed her. “Acting as our host permanently damaged you, and while we have been able to effect repairs, thanks to Rúna’s efforts, linking with the Repository once more would be a death sentence.” He/She shrugged helplessly. “You have known for some time now that our partnership would eventually come to an end. That day has arrived.”

“You can’t do this!” she snarled, staggering to her feet, her fists clenched with rage. “I have done everything for you! I put myself through hell to get you home. I kept my part of the bargain, so you’ll damn well keep yours.” She advanced on the Valkyrie with murder in her eyes. “Give. It. Back.”

“I am sorry, Samara,” Guardian said gently, “but I cannot.”

With a roar, she leapt at Rúna, her digits extended like claws as she attacked, intent on tearing the Valkyrie into tiny pieces.

She never got the chance. Rúna moved like a blur, grasping her by the throat and hoisting her aloft. Samara’s hands immediately went to her neck as she struggled to free herself from her grasp, but to no avail. The Valkyrie’s body language and demeanor had changed in an instant, and with a sinking feeling, she realized who she now faced.

“... Cherdor Hosk,” she said with a strangled voice, as the fight slowly drained out of her.

“Yes, Samara,” the Precursor warrior Cognate agreed. “It is time to end this foolishness.”

Bowing her head, she managed a brief nod. A small tear appeared at the corner of her eye as the Cognate set her down and released her, watching her carefully in case her actions were merely a ruse. Samara massaged her throat before wiping away the tear. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, suddenly unable to face either of them.

Give me back control, Rúna demanded. A moment later, she shuddered with relief. “Terra, I hate that,” she said in disgust.

She couldn’t help it. Samara burst out laughing, though there was a hysterical edge to her mirth. It wouldn’t take much to send her shrieking over the edge.

Rúna took a deep breath. “Samara, I…” she began.

“... leave me alone,” she hissed, hugging herself even tighter.

Athena worked diligently, adapting the Precursor technology scattered throughout the New Terran system. A hundred thousand satellites came to life around the K4 star at its heart, repositioning themselves as they focused on a single point in space. Other platforms awakened as well, as the AI worked her magic. Finally, she turned to face the ambassador once more.

“Command Authority Authorization is required before I can make the attempt,” she informed him. “Even if I am successful, the alterations I have made so that I may carry out your orders will damage several key systems. It may leave this system vulnerable to enemy attacks until I am able to effect repairs. I therefore cannot proceed without your official sanction.”

It took Genvass a moment to grasp what she was asking him. That doing this might leave them vulnerable was definitely a concern, but if they didn’t make the attempt, there would be nothing left to defend. Taking a deep breath, he gave her the nod. “You have my authorization to proceed,” he told her, mentally crossing his fingers.

The AI bowed her head. “Command Authorization recognized,” she recited, as if she were quoting some ancient text. Most likely, she was. Reaching out, she tapped at a glowing holographic icon, suspended in midair. “Transmitting the Arbeh’Negef recall signal… now,” she stated.

At first, the broadcast seemed to have no effect. The Yīqún persisted in their assault unabated, but as he continued observing the holographic display, something began to change. The initial manifestations were subtle, difficult to discern, but as Genvass watched, the drones seemed to falter, slowing in their attacks, as if they were being distracted. A handful began drifting away from their targets, proceeding almost lazily toward New Terra, but then more drones began joining their brethren, as the handful grew to dozens, and as the seconds ticked by hundreds more disengaged from the fight, as they too altered course and merged with the growing flood of machines.

“It’s working,” the ambassador said with excitement. “It’s working!”

“The Arbeh’Negef are responding sluggishly,” Athena replied, tempering his enthusiasm. “For your ploy to be effective, the Arbeh’Negef, in their entirety, must be physically present at the targeted satellite. Given the likelihood of our efforts overloading the array, a second attempt will not be possible should the first one fail.”

“What can we do to encourage them?” he asked her. “Can we boost the signal?”

“I can try,” she agreed, altering their stratagem with a wave of her hand, as the flood now became a tsunami. The Yīqún began abandoning their tactical positions altogether, streaming instead toward their new objective. The Grand Alliance, as well as the Terran fleet, made no effort to pursue, focusing their efforts instead on rescuing their crews from the legion of damaged craft scattered throughout the combat zone. From his vantage point, he could see them preparing themselves for the drones’ eventual, inevitable, return.

I pray we can end this, Genvass thought desperately to himself, as he turned his attention instead to the targeted satellite. The mass of drones surrounding it was expanding, yet something seemed amiss about their formation. Many of the Yīqún located now appeared to dither, vacillating between remaining with the other drones or returning instead to the battle. They wavered, uncertain, even confused, but as he continued to observe their disoriented state, he began to see signs of their growing resolve.

Whatever siren’s song had drawn them to this place was beginning to weaken, and if they did not act soon, their chance to end this fight would be gone forever.

“We can’t wait any longer!” the ambassador shouted frantically. “Fire the array!”

With the Yīqún’s sudden exodus from the battlefield, the Grand Alliance had been given a brief reprieve, one the Paygan had no intentions of squandering. Their engineers were already hard at work repairing what damage they could, while the fleet itself struggled to reorganize its forces, consolidating those ships still able to fight while protecting the cripples. He did not know what had prompted the drones’ sudden withdrawal, though he suspected they had chosen this moment to turn on their creators instead.

One almost had to pity the Terrans, the Ixian commander mused, his thoughts filled with regret. Losing their homeworld to the Yīqún, the vast majority of their race snuffed out before reinforcements could arrive, forced to wander the cosmos for centuries as outcasts on aging and decrepit ships, before finally laying claim to the planet of their ancestors, only to watch in horror as their race died from its own hubris. It was a saga of tragedy and woe, a cautionary tale that would be told again and again all across the galaxy.

It would be easier to bear witness to their destruction, the Paygan thought sadly, had I not once called them my friends.

“Sir!” his Second called out to him, “the monitor!”

Tearing himself from his melancholy reflections, he looked up at the screen, only to stare in confusion at the sight. “What are they doing?” he wondered aloud.

“The drones appear to be massing at a single location,” his Second reported. “I do not know the cause… but you and I have both witnessed this behavior once before.”

The pair gawked at one another as he realized what his subordinate was implying. “That is impossible,” the Paygan said with conviction. “The ancient being that once resided here has long since departed our realm. This cannot be her doing.”

“I would agree,” his Second said with great deference, “and yet…” He gestured helplessly to the display once more.

The Paygan struggled to make sense of what he was viewing, but no explanation came to mind. He turned to his Second to order a full analysis of this strange behavior, when their viewscreen suddenly blazed with brilliant white light, brighter than any sun. Those facing the monitor were forced to turn away and shield their eyes, even as the screen itself overloaded and shattered into fragments, sending acrid smoke throughout the bridge.

“... yuutsah’zhoz…” he whispered in astonishment, before facing his Second once more. “Find me another viewscreen,” he ordered. “I must know what happened!”

His subordinate bent to his task, hurriedly communicating with others in the fleet, before finally shaking his head. “The other vessels are reporting similar damage all across the fleet. The engineers state that given the widespread nature of the power surge, it will be several hours before they can effect repairs.”

“Then send someone out the airlock with a recorder!” he snarled. “We cannot simply sit here blind!”

“At once, Paygan!” his Second replied, furiously issuing orders while he sat and fumed. Without the ability to observe their surroundings, they were defenseless and unable to navigate, easy prey for the Yīqún. The minutes slowly ticked by until a crewman finally entered the bridge, still clad in his suit, carrying a handheld recording device. He all but leapt from his chair and approached the crewman, ignoring the courtesies the hapless individual was attempting to render him while he tore the device from his grasp. In the space of a heartbeat, he was frantically reviewing the recorded data.

Minutes later, he lowered it in bewilderment, before wordlessly handing the device to his Second. The subordinate quickly scanned the footage before he too stared in disbelief.

“The Yīqún,” he said in wonder, “... they’re gone!”

Aboard Peacemaker, Admiral Van Aalst was busy overseeing repairs of his own. He didn’t know how Athena had managed to duplicate Caretaker’s miraculous defeat of the Yīqún, though based on reports concerning Saracen, he had his suspicions. If so, then he owed the ambassador a debt of gratitude. He would gladly shake his hand and thank him for his efforts… right before he had him shot.

Until then, he had a battle to finish. The solar array’s energy burst had wiped the drones from existence and overloaded several systems, but with the ship’s incredible self-repair capabilities, they would soon have her back in fighting trim.

The same, however, could not be said for their opponents.

“Status of the Grand Alliance fleet,” he demanded.

“No change,” his XO reported. “They’re just sitting there, dead in the water. The blast must have crippled them.”

The admiral’s smile was positively sharklike.

“Excellent,” he chuckled. “As soon as repairs are complete… get ready for a turkey shoot.”