This is a fan translation of Counterstrike (Ответный удар) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the second book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Chapter 10

Ro'on's orbit and the surface of Ro'on

The water continued to flow. The black pits of the scorched pools were overflowing, and the sea, bursting into the domes, was rocking the burned light plastic debris on the waves, smashing at the walls, swirling the long lashes of seaweed. But Corcoran did not notice the chaos and ruin surrounding him. His thought, carried by someone's powerful external will, was now flying through the emptiness, as effortlessly as in a Dream, piercing Ro'on's atmosphere and the warm violet skies, which were replaced by the cold and the darkness. This illusion that appeared to him while he was awake was so clear, so real! He remembered that he was standing on the platform under the twin domes, feeling the ribbed handle of the emitter with his palm, hearing Klaus's whisper, "Follow me… follow me, Paul…" and even had a good guess as to whose psychic force was pushing him, helping him rise above the planet and head for the ship. There, to the lightning flashes of the annihilators, the clouds of scorching gas, and the crimson splatters of metal rising in molten fountains, eclipsing the stars. There, where his people were dying.

"Red Alert," Selina Praagh said, bending over the sphere of the intercom. "Everyone to their battle stations. Seriy and Santini to the fighters, Yamaguchi and Dupressis to the auxiliary bridge. Hernandez, engage the force shield. Pelevich, where are your men?.."

"Already in the turrets," the gunner replied. "I'm at the annihilator controls."

"Fire on my command." Selina's voice was even, as if the frigate wasn't about to be attacked by two dozen Faata ships, but was merely observing a pair of harmless rocks passing by.

In accordance with regulations, there were three people on the bridge: Tumanov, the first navigator, Bai Ling, the pilot, and Praagh, sitting in her usual seat at the radar screen. Its round eye was covered by a scattering of black dots; they were approaching like a swarm of bees, and each of these angular bees was brandishing a poisonous sting.

"There's too many of them," Tumanov growled and looked at Bai Ling, as if needing his support. "We need to leave, XO. Best of all…" the navigator's fingers danced over the ANS buttons, "yes, best of all would be to rise above the ecliptic and set course towards seventeen degrees respective to the galactic pole. We'd get far enough away from the planet in a day and dive into Limbo. If they don't catch us before that."

"The Captain and Siebel are on Ro'on," Selina Praagh reminded him in the same even voice. "We won't leave without them."

"Then we'll have to risk it." Tumanov waved a hand over the console, sending the calculated route into ANS memory. He looked at Bai Ling once again, but the pilot's face seemed dispassionate. Bai Ling was a little over thirty, and he did not remember the Invasion itself, but he never forgot the ruins of Hong Kong.

"First pilot to Lieutenant Commander Praagh," the intercom voiced. "We're in the machines. Ready to go."

"Yamaguchi, launch the Peregrines on my mark."

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

"Three, two, one… mark!"

The frigate shuddered.

"We're in space," Yegor Seriy reported. Let's twist their balls off. Pardon the expression, Lieutenant Commander."

"Attack their flanks," Praagh ordered. "Pelevich, ready the guns. They haven't scattered yet. Target the central group. All turrets… fire!"

Flames shot out, rushing towards the swarm of bees. Pelevich discharged the annihilator, but the thin blue beam was lost in the darkness, barely noticeable among the orange plasma streams. There was a silent explosion, a phoenix with four wings was born out of the darkness and scattered into a handful of sparks. Total destruction, Praagh noted; this meant that the annihilator had hit something. The plasma streams from the Commodore Litvin's four turrets had also caught several modules, but she was unable to gauge the amount of damage: Bai Ling, taking the ship out of the zone of fire, sharply took her up, and stars flowed on the screen.

The next moment, the video sensors reacted, and the image changed again. A violet glow was shimmering under the frigate, the dense swarm fell apart, turning into a starfish with multiple tentacles, and two of them were convulsing and dancing, either trying to grab clumps of darkness, or evading the scarlet flashes. The Peregrines were fighting there, keeping the frigate from being surrounded, and each of them was dealing with two-three modules.

"The defenses are holding," Hernandez's voice came from the intercom.

"Got one," Seriy reported.

"The Peregrines are fine." That was Yamaguchi, who maintained contact with the fighters.

Praagh waved a hand above the console, and, following the silent order, Bai Ling turned the ship around. The Litvin's turreted weapons could cover any object within their hemisphere, but the annihilator, their primary firepower, lacked such mobility. It was aimed by pushers and, partly, by maneuvering the ship.

"Ready," Pelevich reported.

"Fire!"

A new firebird fluttered out of the darkness and burned in a crimson flame. The caliber of the frigate's annihilator was smaller than on a cruiser, but it was sufficient to deal with the modules' shields. If only there weren't so many of them…

"Forward, Bai Ling," Praagh said. "Don't let them surround us!"

The ship slipped nimbly between two of the starfish's tentacles. Her guns were spitting out plasma, and scatterings of dazzling spots flared and melted away on the force screens protecting the enemy modules. The gunners, gripped by the fabric of the cocoons, connecting them to the frigate's computer, appeared motionless; their eyes were sliding along the targeting indicator grid, the light, barely noticeable movement of their feet was turning the barrels and the turrets, their fingers were touching the sensor keys. All four gunners were young but were already considered to be masters; Bob Wentworth and Sam Bigelow had come from the Europe, Vladimir Pashin was from the First Fleet, Cro Light Water was from the Second. For a moment, Selina imagined them hanging in their cramped turrets, hunched over, picking out targets and hitting them, hitting them… Hitting them, not knowing if they would be alive after the volley; the shields were lowered at that moment, and the turrets, like the contour drive with its acceleration shaft, were the most vulnerable areas of the ship.

The frigate was turning around to attack, the stars and the bright flashes of fire streams across the screens in a never-ending river. Blood pulsed in Selina Praagh's temples.

"Dupressis, their losses. Make it snappy, Camille!"

In single-ship engagements, when there was no need to maintain contact with other ships, the junior lieutenant monitored the enemy and the effectiveness of the gunners.

"Yes, ma'am! Reporting, ma'am: three modules destroyed, three appear to be disabled."

"Appear to be?"

"Can't say with certainty, ma'am. Three stopped firing, and sixteen small modules continue to fight."

"Small," Tumanov grumbled, peering into the maelstrom of glyphs above the ANS panel. "Of course, they're small! If they were the big ones, we'd already be smashed into fine powder from Ro'on to T'har!"

The frigate turned around. The Faata modules, just as fast and maneuverable, were rushing towards her, and death was hiding in the dark maws of their annihilators. Selina Praagh's heart skipped a beat. Did they have a chance to win this battle?.. Was there a possibility of rescuing the Captain and Siebel?.. She wasn't thinking about that now. She only knew that she wouldn't leave them.

Klaus, Klaus…

"Fire! All turrets, fire!"

The frigate shuddered. The acrid smell of burned plastic filled the air.

There was a crack, and Corcoran jerked awake. A section of the dome vanished, and the sky was visible through the gap, the clouds were floating through the violet expanse, and dark angular modules were making a smooth arc: first, second, third… The water raging under the platform had risen by another meter, and the lift shaft was flooded.

"They've found us," Siebel said. "They already know that both beasties have been destroyed. We need to get out of here, Paul."

Corcoran seemed not to hear him; squinting, he continued to stare at the Faata ships moving towards them, like shadows flitting through the clouds.

"She should've listened to Tumanov," he said. "Not engage in a fight, leave and escape into Limbo. She can still do that, if she…"

"If she what?"

"If she sacrifices the Peregrines. Bo and Yegor can hold off the enemy."

"Would you have given such an order?"

"Of course. If only we could send them a psychic transmission."

"That's impossible, Paul. The human brain is unreceptive to telepathic communication."

Siebel looked confused and crestfallen. Corcoran had never seen him like that; it seemed that the Metamorph Exile had indeed become a human and was now collecting stones of sadness in the valleys of helplessness and despair. His face trembled, like a reflection in rippling water; his features were melting, his skin and hair changing colors, and only the beak-shaped lips of an elderly Faata remained unchanged.

"Selina," he whispered, "Selina…"

He seemed to be answering her call for help.

"Let's get back to our module," Corcoran spoke. "There's a radio there. We can try to contact them."

Lightning flashed in the sky. The blinding brilliance forced him to close his eyes, but, when he looked again, he saw the brown walls of the canyon with the spots of moss, the outline of the module among the rocks, and the containers next to it. A robot towered over them, and the sensor hemispheres above its massive shoulders were slowly rotating, scanning the area. A laser slit opened, a dim light flashed and disappeared; the robot recognized its masters.

"Send it up, Klaus. One of them is already there, let them both watch the skies. I'm going to the transmitter."

Diving into the cabin, he activated voice communication. The cylinder of light started rotating, the callsign glyphs flowed, and Corcoran, as if picked up by their movement, once again soared above Ro'on, over the rocky plateau, cut up by gorges, over the dark strip of the canyon, which was guarded by the pair of robots. Sensing Siebel's presence and support, he was flying through the emptiness, to where his ship was fighting.

The frigate shuddered. The acrid smell of burned plastic filled the air, a web of tiny cracks covered the ceiling of the bridge, something fell down from up there, the deck shook, and the cocoon covering Selina Praagh's head extended the headrest plate. The orange flaming arrows coming out of the third and fourth turrets faded. Tumanov started coughing, inhaled hoarsely, and moved his chair closer to the navigation console, covering it from the falling debris. The blue beam of the Litvin's annihilator pierced the darkness, bloomed into a hellish flower, and Bai Ling immediately sent the ship down. Down, up, to the side… The frigate tossed like a wounded whale among the flying deadly harpoons.

"The shield! What's going on with the shield?" Praagh shouted.

"Restored to eighty-three percent," Hernandez reported and added calmly. "Something's burning. The repair system has been activated."

The diagnostic unit spoke in a cold computer voice, "Damage to portside. Air regeneration is disrupted. There are punctures in the acceleration shaft, sectors seventeen and eighteen. Turret three is destroyed, Lieutenant Wentworth is dead. Turret four is disabled. There are cracks in the hull, the swivel mechanism is jammed. The amount of damage and Lieutenant Cro's condition are being clarified."

"Wentworth…" Tumanov muttered. "May he rest in peace… Wentworth and Cro Light Water…"

Robert Wentworth, the gunner in the third turret, had been vaporized, but Cro, the gunner in the fourth, could still be alive. His face, a bronze Navajo visage, flashed by Selina, when she bent over the intercom.

"Linder, take the robots and get Cro out. Take him to med-bay."

"I sent Linder to the regenerator," Hernandez called out. "We'll all suffocate without air."

"Got it. Let Dupressis go. Do you hear me, Camille?"

"Yes, ma'am. On my way."

"XO to the navigator, engineer, first pilot, gunner. Can we fight?"

"The ANS hasn't been damaged," Tumanov reported. Blood was running down his temple, probably hit by a piece of debris.

"The defense field is at a hundred percent," Hernandez's voice replied. "Linder and the repair bots are fixing the life support system. Two more brigades are in the acceleration shaft and at turret three, welding the cracks. Gravity drives were not hit."

"We're okay." The vocoder carried Seriy's raspy, whistling breath. "We're okay, Lieutenant Commander!" He swore in Russian, which Selina barely understood, and added. "Our armor is strong and our tanks are fast!"

The burning smell was cleared away on the bridge; it looked like Linder had managed to restore normal circulation.

"The annihilator, turrets one and two are ready for battle," Pelevich said. "Should we launch missiles, ma'am? We can't punch through their screens with them, but we can buy time for a maneuver… maybe one of them will put himself in front of the annihilator…"

"Launch, Kirill. Dupressis, how's the fourth turret?"

"The hatch is jammed. The bots are cutting it open…"

The missile salvo shook the deck of the frigate, more debris fell from the ceiling. Missiles, like swarms, were very ancient but effective weapons, as long as the target was not protected by force screens. The field deflected them, the warheads detonated, and, for a minute, the Commodore Litvin was enveloped in flames, as if finding itself inside a star. That appeared to stun or frighten the enemy pilots; taking advantage of their confusion, Pelevich blasted one more machine, and Bai Ling took the ship out of the zone of fire. A fast-moving shadow darted in the depth of the viewscreen: a Peregrine chasing an angular craft. Bo or Yegor… A bright crimson flash blinded Selina for a moment, then the dark scar of the Void crossed the screen, the stars shook, and an outline of a battle module surfaced like a ghost from another universe. It sneaked up to port side, to the ruined turrets and the dead gunners… The maw of its weapon turned, looking into Selina Praagh's face. The last thing I will ever see, she thought. The black Void, a black maw, and the blue beam of an annihilator…

The emitter in Cro's turret spat out a stream of fire. Clenching her fists, Praagh watched, as the plasma jet punched through the force shield, and hit the hull of the alien ship. The Commodore Litvin dashed down and to the side, but the terrible explosion still reached her, tossed her up, like a piece of driftwood on a tsunami wave, causing Selina's teeth and bones to ache and her eyes to grow dark.

"He's alive, and he just saved us," Selina heard and realized that Tumanov was talking about Cro.

"Too close," Bai Ling answered. "Right next to the hull. The shield…"

The thought echoed in Praagh consciousness with a chain reaction: explosion too close… powerful explosion… right at the edge of the force field… the shield might not have held… The bulkheads lowered behind her, whirring, and the diagnostic unit reported.

"The force screen and the hull have been penetrated. The auxiliary bridge is depressurized. Second navigator Yamaguchi is dead. Multiple damages to the air circulation and regeneration subsystem."

Praagh bit her lip, not noticing the trickles of blood flowing down her chin. Oki Yamaguchi… Oki's spirit had departed to the Lord of Emptiness… She forced herself to forget about that and shouted out other names.

"Hernandez! Linder! How long can we keep breathing?"

The engineer's chuckle came in reply.

"I can guarantee three hours. If we live long enough."

After a steep turn, the ship crashed into the swarm of Faata modules. The Peregrines were covering her port side.

"We'll live as long as we can fire," gunner Pelevich said. "I'm ready, Lieutenant Commander."

"Fire!"

Lances of blue lightning furrowed the screen, the surviving turrets responded with scarlet splashes of their own. Both of them, Praagh noted; this meant that Pashin and Bigelow were still alive. The gun on the fourth turret was silent.

"Dupressis! Did you cut through the hatch?"

"Yes, ma'am. Cro…" The communications officer fell silent.

"Report on his condition, Junior Lieutenant!"

"He's still alive. I think, he is… I'm transporting him to the med-bay. His rib cage… crushed… loss of blood and severe burns… and his arm, ma'am… right arm… it's gone."

"Do you know how to use the resuscitator?"

"The sarcophagus? Yes, ma'am. But he needs immediate surgery… I don't think I can do it without Linder…"

"Linder's busy. If you can't do it, Light Water will die," Praagh said dryly.

One of the Peregrines covering the frigate suddenly flared an orange glow. It disappeared a second later, the fighter was maneuvering and continued to fire, but it appeared to be flying on automatic. Bo or Yegor?.. Whose heart had just stopped beating?.. Who had flown off into the Great Emptiness?.. Overcoming a panic attack, she bent over the intercom to make a query and heard a voice.

"Calling the Commodore Litvin. This is the Captain. Praagh, Tumanov, Hernandez, Pelevich, answer! This is the Captain. Captain calling the senior officer."

Praise the Lord of Emptiness, Selina Praagh thought, they're alive. Still alive. Still…

"Captain," she called out, "Captain, Klaus…"

But, instead of a reply, there was the thunderclap of a distant explosion, then another, and Selina's heart sank. Where had these sounds come from? From her dying ship? From the deck, the cargo hold, a turret? Or had the radio wave carried them from the planet, where her commander and Klaus were located? Dear faithful Klaus, who had never said anything…

The explosion was so loud that Corcoran's ears started to ring. He froze, then, pulling himself away from the radio, ran outside. A flaming mushroom burst in the sky above the gorge, casting an ominous crimson hue, dark clumps of debris and broken machines were spinning near it, like singed birds. Slightly above that, a hundred meters from the rocky plateau, three angular vehicles were climbing into the zenith, pursued by the nearly invisible in the bright sunlight laser beams. A moment later, and they reached the modules, turning them into piles of burning wreckage. The sound of new explosions reverberated in the canyon as a dull lingering echo.

The robots, Corcoran realized, the robots with the laser weapons and Faata machines, probably non-combat ones. They lacked force screens and were flying low and slowly; maybe they were trying to locate the intruders, or that could have been a patrol flying over the northern territories. An ideal target for the robots! Like a flock of domestic ducks for a marksman! But the ducks could be followed by hawks.

"Klaus!" He looked around, looking for a familiar figure among the rocks. "Klaus, I have contacted the ship. Where are you, Klaus?"

His only reply was an echo, bouncing off the canyon's walls. He felt his soul, his mind, his heart, either of them, or everything that made up Paul Corcoran, suddenly split into two; one half was pulling him back, to the receiver, while the other knew that he would not return to the module until he found Siebel.

Where could he have gone? Corcoran thought about that, watching the debris of the four machines fall from the sky. Headed up along with the robot? Decided to take a walk in the gorge? Teleported into another canyon or another part of the continent? To the other hemisphere? Why?

There was only one way to find out. Looking back at the module, where he could hear Selina's voice, Corcoran entered into a mental trance, sending out short, powerful pulses. Not words, for words were determined by language, and he was not using any language used on Earth, he was simply calling.

"Where are you, Klaus? Are you all right? Answer! Klaus! Klaus!"

The reply came immediately, from above, where the combat robots and the multi-armed observation spider were standing guard.

"Quiet, Paul! And forgive me, I was careless, I should've guessed! Be quiet, quiet! They're close! They're tracing us by our mental emissions. There are other Keepers besides Dyte… there are, but they think I'm alone… You can leave, after I–"

There was another explosion above, and the contact was lost. Corcoran threw his head back; a battle module, surrounded by a shifting haze of force fields, was hovering in the sky, raking the upper edges of the cliff. The robots were replying, but, this time, the enemy was different, not a duck, but a beaked and clawed hawk: the lasers could not penetrate its defenses, and the few small missiles exploding on the force screen did no damage. Vortexes of flame and smoke spun over the gorge, the blue beam of the annihilator flashed several times, a hail of stones fell down, and crimson streams of lava started to come down the side. Corcoran realized that there could only be one outcome of that fight.

Two columns of flame darted into the sky, cutting through the cloud of smoke. He tried to contact the robots through his communication bracelet, but it was hopeless: it didn't look like they had survived. This did not upset Corcoran much, as his thoughts were filled with something immeasurably more important: where was Siebel and was he okay? He wasn't thinking about how close his own death was, even though he knew that, if the annihilator's beam passed along the gorge, nothing would remain of Paul Corcoran.

The dust and the smoke, clouding over the canyon, were covering the sky, but he managed to make out the angular hull of the module. The machine was hovering motionless, ready to come down or drown the gorge in lava flow, but that did not scare Corcoran. Klaus! Where are you, Klaus? Should I risk a mental search? No, he asked to be quiet…

The module shuddered and started to rise, becoming smaller with each passing second. The rectangular shape turned into a line, then into a dot, and disappeared, swallowed up by the smoke cloud. Did it fly away? That was not clear; the pilot, merely an adjunct to the machine, did not make such decisions. Then it must have been called off? Why?

He did not have time to finish that thought; the air surged, pushing Corcoran slightly, and Siebel's body appeared on the ground between two containers. He was lying in an uncomfortable position, his right arm twisting under him, and his eyes were open, head bloody, shoulder and chest burned so much that he could see ribs through the charred flesh. Horrified, Corcoran stepped towards him, got down to his knees, bent over, looking into Klaus's familiar face, his features warped by pain. He no longer looked like a Faata; his wrinkles and grey hair were back, but now he looked about ten years older. Or twenty, Corcoran thought. Then again, the age of someone who got burned by infernal fire hardly mattered.

"Klaus! Can you hear me, Klaus?"

"Yes." He caught Corcoran's eye and suddenly chuckled. "Do I look bad, Paul? Don't worry. I'm not human after all, but a creature of a different nature. A human would already be dead… from the shock, from the damage to the skull, from the broken neck, from a piece of a rib piercing the heart… And, of course, from the burns."

"Is that a diagnosis?" Corcoran asked. He recovered, forcing out the feelings of horror and inevitable loss. Siebel was right, of course, all these wounds were not fatal to a shapeshifter.

"The diagnosis will be different," his friend spoke. "But first, tell me, have they left? Up there, I tried to give a performance… everything was realistic, authentic: a battle, the enemy's burned corpse, the remains of the robots, the death agony… Did they leave?"

"Yes, but I think there was a different reason."

"It doesn't matter. You can fly away, and I'll go to a safe haven, to eternal rest…"

"Will you leave to return?"

"I don't know yet. Whatever happens, Paul, whatever happens."

"There's no need for that," Corcoran spoke, hoping to get him to change his decision. "Selina is alive, and so is our ship. They're fighting, Klaus. I heard her voice… she was calling for you."

"I heard her too, heard her every call. I can't send my thoughts to her… But you, Paul, can tell her: Klaus died with her name on his lips. Tell her that, don't forget. Your women are so gentle, so sensitive…"

"You old sly fox!" Corcoran exclaimed, watching the horrible burns disappear from Siebel's shoulder. "A clever old crook!"

"Maybe so. And now go. Go, Paul, and let me die in peace and quiet. Death is a private matter. I don't need any witnesses."

As if saying goodbye, Corcoran rubbed his hand and stood. Glancing at the sky, still covered by smoke, he headed towards the module with firm steps. An unending maelstrom of glyphs was floating over the radio, and Selina Praagh's voice kept repeating, "Captain, Klaus! Captain, I have received your call. There is important information. Captain, reply!"

The communication was suddenly cut short. Bai Ling was maneuvering, trying to avoid the strikes of blue lightning, the frigate's weapons were hitting the enemy, the Peregrines were sliding near the damaged turrets, the engineers were working on the regenerator somewhere in the depths of the ship, and Selina Praagh seemed to have fallen out of this cycle for a moment: she was sitting, staring at the radio, and hearing the unintelligible chorus of muttering stars. No messages after the explosions, only the rustling of interference. The explosions had taken place there, on Ro'on, the computer had not reported any new damage, and their maimed frigate continued to stay afloat. She could still fight and could hear her captain's call.. But the Captain was silent.

Tumanov turned to Selina. A bloody path stretched from the temple to the ear on his broad face.

"Command, XO! We're in battle!"

She jerked her head, hitting it on the plate of the headrest.

"Did you hear, Nikolay? The Captain! It was the Captain!"

"I heard. I, Sancho, Kirill, Bai Ling… We all heard! And we'll answer him when he calls."

"Something blew up there."

"Not much of a surprise," the intercom spoke in Pelevich's voice.

The Litvin and its two loyal Peregrines were on the attack, and Praagh forgot about the silent radio. There were fewer dots on the radar now, but many still remained: thirteen. They were crawling all over the screen to squeeze the frigate from all sides; a simple but the most effective tactic given their numerical superiority. The defense field was holding at maximum, the annihilator and the drive were intact, and yet, with only half her gunners and weapons, the ship was losing the battle. There was also something wrong with one of the Peregrines. Yamaguchi had been tracking the UF, and, wondering why he was silent, Selina remembered that Oki Yamaguchi was dead.

"Seriy, Santini! What's going on?"

"Bo's dead, and I'm controlling both machines," the first pilot answered. It's difficult to maneuver, but I can shoot. Still have plenty of ammo! Tons! Enough for all the Binucks!"

He added something incomprehensible and strong in Russian that went past Selina's consciousness. She was already submerging into another space, the world of speeds, distances, coordinates, and hers and enemy's firepower. Where, when, who, but only so that her own ass didn't get kicked… This game theory problem, which accounted for tolerances, errors, and the enemy's unpredictable behavior, was flawed, meaning it had a whole range of decisions with various uncertainty. The person and the computer had to choose one, and that choice was confirmed by a word.

"Fire!"

The volley went into empty space. The marks on the radar were crawling towards the edge of the screen, the Faata battle modules continued to scatter, like ants from a burning anthill. The meaning behind their maneuvers was unclear: they were moving away from the Commodore Litvin to the distance of twenty-thirty kilometers and did not appear to want to attack or defend. Moreover, they were not shooting! They were moving towards Ro'on in a wide cone, as if trying to avoid a pursuit; the Litvin could have caught one of the machines, but not the entire dispersed group.

"What's happening?" Tumanov muttered. "Some sort of ploy?"

"I think they're leaving," Selina Praagh said, frowning in puzzlement. "Returning to the planet."

The navigator wiped the blood from his temple.

"Let's not rush. Could be a tactical move of some sort… Pelevich, what do you think?"

"I think they're making a break for it," the gunner replied. "But we'd better wait. We have plenty to do."

"We do," Selina agreed. "Hernandez, relieve Linder; have him go to the med-bay, Cro needs help. Seriy get back aboard. Camille, is Cro in the resuscitator?"

"Yes, ma'am. He–"

"Linder will relieve you. Go to the hold. You'll receive Bo Santini. Maybe he's still alive… Prepare a second sarcophagus." She thought for a moment and added, "Pelevich, I'm not canceling the Red Alert. All gunners are to stay at their posts."

The receiving hatches opened, the Peregrines vanished in their dark mouths one after the other. The hull of Santini's fighter was melted, and Praagh thought that the pilot, or his corpse, would have to be cut out with a laser. Her heart was full of grief. Santini, Wentworth, Yamaguchi, Light Water… They'd lost a quarter of the crew or more: they still hadn't heard from the Captain or Siebel.

She barely had a time to think about that, when light flashed above the receiver, and glyphs started spinning in it. The transmission was only through voice and symbols; communication officer Borsetti's voice was barely audible, but the glyphs were duplicating the information. Praagh, Tumanov, and Bai Ling watched in fascination at the dance of the dark characters, perceiving them with a habitual ease and barely paying attention to Borsetti. When the transmission had ended, and the computer had restored the audio sequence, Praagh spoke.

"All crew: cancel the Red Alert. We have a transmission from the Europe. Activating playback."

They listened to the transmission one more time. Now the officer's voice was clear and distinct. Tumanov unzipped his cocoon and pushed away from the ANS panel, Bai Ling was sitting hunched over with his head down: the tension of the battle had not yet left him.

"Report. Linder, Dupressis, Pelevich, Hernandez. I'm listening."

"Cro is clinically dead," Linder said. "He's in the regenerator, the bleeding has been stopped. I'm working, but the odds are one in nine. I'm afraid we're going to lose him."

"I cut open the upper dome of the Peregrin." There was desperation in Dupressi's voice. "Santini's dead, ma'am. The first pilot said it was due to high temperature. We'll move the body… what's left of it… into a burial container."

"Two of my gunners and the remaining weapons are fine. As am I," Pelevich informed her.

"We have about three-four hours of air left, then we'll have to shut off the life support system. Can't repair it during operation," Hernandez said. "The work will probably take at least a day. Either we get into vacuum suits, or–"

"Let's head for Ro'on and set down on the ground," Selina Praagh ordered. "What's the state of the auxiliary bridge, Sancho?"

"I've sent robots. The compartment is pressurized."

"Pelevich, you and your people are on burial detail. Deliver Yamaguchi's body, put it into a container. Prepare another one for Wentworth… as tradition dictates…"

"Understood, Lieutenant Commander," the gunner answered. "On my way."

"Nikolay, set course for Ro'on. I'll try to contact the Captain again. Now they won't dare harm him, if he's alive."

"If he's alive…" Tumanov echoed, but Selina, having bent over the transmitter, did not hear him.

"Captain, Klaus! Captain, I received your call. We have important information. Captain, reply!"

Glyphs were rotating in the pillar of light, Selina Praagh's and other voices: of the navigator, the pilot, the engineer, and the gunner, were coming through. Corcoran was listening to them, leaning on the soft wall of the cabin, looking at the gorge and the sky through the open hatch, where the smoky veil had not yet dissipated. The voices were music to his ears. That was the symphony of the ship, the sounds making it alive, as familiar and dear to him as the rustling of the leaves in the garden or the ringing of the bells flowing over the Dnieper. Praagh, Bai Ling, Tumanov, Pelevich, Hernandez… They had survived. Who else?

"This is the Captain," he spoke quietly. "Praagh, I'm on the line."

A long-long sigh of relief. Then, "Captain! I heard explosions…"

"Don't pay them any mind. Anything from the flotilla?"

"Yes, sir, from the Commodore. The shipyard at Obscurus has been captured, the resistance has stopped. The Commodore contacted the Pillars of Order, the modules attacking us were called off. We fought them and–"

"I know. Report our losses, Lieutenant Commander."

"Captain! Those explosions–"

"I repeat, Praagh: report our losses."

"Bob Wentworth," she said after a short pause. "Direct hit to turret three, not even ashes were left… Oki Yamaguchi. Died on the auxiliary bridge. Bo Santini. Burned in his fighter. Light Water. Still alive, in the resuscitation unit. The rest… You'll see them soon, Captain. We're coming to you."

Wentworth, Yamaguchi, Cro, Santini… Corcoran's throat went dry. Swallowing convulsively, he asked, "The ship's condition?"

"The port turrets have been blasted. The cracks in the hull and the acceleration shaft have been welded. The life support system is damaged, there is a problem with air circulation. But we haven't lost speed. The planetary drives and the force shields are fine. We can land. We're tracking your signal. What does the area look like there, sir?"

"A plateau in the north of the large landmass. There are cracks, gorges, and I'm in one of them. There is melted rock and the remains of our robots at the top. You'll find it quickly."

"Those explosions?" Selina Praagh asked for the third time.

"Yes. We were also attacked. And we also have losses." Corcoran clenched his fists. It was better to tell her now, he decided and spoke, "Siebel is dead."

Silence. Then Tumanov's voice came through, "You can cry if you want, Selina. We're looking away."

"He didn't die instantly," Corcoran said. "He asked to tell you that nothing is lost, and everything will return to you. Everything! Do you understand, Selina? Faith, hope, love… He was a very wise man, one of those who can foresee what's coming."

Consoling was not an easy task, Corcoran thought. Doubly so, if his own Vera, Nadezhda, and Lyubov were well, alive, and always with him… Not easy, but he had to do it. Such was the captain's duty: to talk to those whose loved ones would not return.

Wentworth, Yamaguchi, Santini… Possibly, Light Water…

"Lieutenant Commander! Can you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. I… I remember my responsibilities."

A brave tin soldier, Corcoran thought. Aloud, he said, "Clarify the information received from the Europe."

"The Asia is on her way to T'har, the Africa and the America are preparing to jump to Aezat's system," Praagh said in a quiet dead voice. "The Antarctica stayed at the shipyard, while the Europe and the Australia are heading for Ro'on. They're escorting a large ship with a quasi-mind. In accordance with the agreement they had reached, it will take the Faata from the New Worlds and some of the t'ho, then head to the other side of the Void. They will send ships for the remaining t'ho. There are twenty-two million of them on the three planets."

"Instructions for us?"

"To prepare the frigate for flight to the Solar System. The route is the same, through Gondwana and Baal. We will take the Commodore's report to fleet HQ and the Parliament. They also sent us a list of their dead. All from the crews of the Asia, the Africa, and the Antarctica. They were the ones who assaulted the shipyard."

"May the Lord of Emptiness be merciful to them," Corcoran spoke. "I'm waiting for you. Over and out."

Leaving the module, he stepped out into the gorge, studded with stones and the debris from the broken ships. The orange sun had passed its zenith, and was now hovering over the southwestern edge of the cliff, the wind had dispersed the dust and the smoke, and the violet sky seemed bright and clear, not clouded by explosions or singed by fire. Clouds were slowly moving up there, lit up by the sun and, therefore, slightly pink, like a flock of giant flamingos. The moss on the sides of the gorge had been burned off completely, and now their grey and brown background was diversified only by the solidified lava flows, which gleamed like polished mirrors. If one ignored the clouds, everything was motionless; Corcoran did not see any flying machines, or birds, or any other animals, snakes or lizards.

"T'taia orr n'uk'uma sirend'agi patta…" he spoke phrase, familiar from childhood, like a spell. "A sirend came out to the sun and is basking in the warmth of the stones… It would be nice to take a look at one, Auntie Yo, since I've finally made it to your home planet. Almost. You lived on T'har, after all…" Corcoran thought for a moment, then added, "No, you lived on Earth, where you learned to smile. You only existed on T'har."

Taking several steps, he sat down on a stone near Siebel. That one looked like a real corpse, stiff, bloody, but the burns on the chest and the shoulder no longer looked as terrible; his friend the Metamorph had obviously corrected some things out of a sense of aesthetics. Sighing, Corcoran buried his face in his knees, concentrated, and fell into a mental trance. But he was unable to perform the probe: either because he subconsciously did not want to get used to Faata thoughts, or for another, more important reason. Perhaps, he was nearing the age of maturity, and his gift, having grown stronger in the New Worlds, could allow something had never done before, never known, and never even dreamed. Something like that vision aboard the Silmarri ship.

There was darkness in front of him, hiding the future, and Corcoran pushed it apart with his will, like a stage curtain. Vague images slowly flowed before him: he saw Vera with a crown of grey, platinum-hued hair and his grown daughters, saw Nadya on some low, circular island that was swaying in the ocean ripple, saw a satellite, which was, without a doubt, a military base, circling Ro'on, saw himself on the bridge of a cruiser, as enormous as an orbital complex, surrounded by a whole squadron of frigates and transports. He also saw alien ships, Faata starships, moving across the Void, wave after wave, and there were four such invasions [Corcoran is foreseeing a large-scale conflict between humankind and the Faata, the four so-called Void Wars that would last for over a century.], for neither empire wished to yield, subdue its stubbornness, hate, and pride: not the humans, not their enemies, who were also humanoid. He saw the human race establish itself: in battles and planetary conquests, in victories and defeats, in the search for allies, in struggles with enemies, in contacts with those who were neither friend nor foe, whose goals and minds seemed incomprehensible.

The visions finished flowing and disappeared, the darkness drew its threshold once again, and Corcoran opened his eyes. Siebel was lying next to him, as insensate as a marble statue. Who will I tell my Dreams to now?.. a thought came. He rose and muttered, "Remember, you promised to come back. Not only to Selina, but to me too."

Then he threw his head back and examined the skies. They were no longer empty; a silver spark was glittering in the zenith. His frigate was coming in to land.