Somewhere on the Bogon Galaxy's fringes …

He had been summoned.

The gunship's metal ramp opened with the groaning and hissing of pistons, just as cold, artificial light flooded the tight compartment. The craft's trembling lingered for a few more seconds, before growing fainter as the pilots cut off power to its thrusters.

Raising an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden glare, Pack Leader Zertis stepped forward and out of the ship, taloned feet echoing loudly on the metal boarding ramp with each stride. He sniffed the air and hissed in discomfort.

No matter how many times he visited it, Zertis noted, the void-ship always smelled the same, its automated systems recycling air each day and then spitting it back out to be breathed again and again. He was glad he spent most of his time on the solid ground.

The Kartisian took a few steps away before coming to a halt. He was a large, reptilian-like creature around 5-feet tall. Grey and brown scales covered his body and the slim, swaying tail behind. Zertis had once had feathers on it, but he made sure of cutting them off when joining the Restorationists and their rightful cause. They made him stick up too much during operations.

His amber-coloured eyes, four in total with a pair for each side of the head, swivelled around as he studied his surroundings. They finally settled on the only figure waiting for him and Zertis strode purposedly towards it.

The hangar bay was a flurry of activities, and the Pack Leader had to step carefully to avoid maintenance crews and hurrying pilots. At least fifteen starfighters waited in the hangar, surrounded by ammo-trolleys and supply vehicles as they were being refuelled and rearmed.

As he saw him approaching, Mekior's features split into a wide grin. He wore the robes of the Devotees, bright green with black strips around its cuffs. His cowl was down, and cobalt-coloured feathers extended from the back of his scaly head.

"Welcome back home, Brother," Mekior said, extending a claw in greeting. "I do hope your journey was safe." His voice had a musical cadence to it. Zertis shook the claw without hesitation.

"Her embrace shields and guides us amongst the stars," Zertis answered monotone. It was an centuries-old greeting formula, learned by heart since childhood and a constant reminder of their commitment to the True Faith and Her.

"And Her Voice drowns out all the others in darkness," Mekior replied dutifully. He grinned. "Happy to see that you still remember something from the Collegia."

He shrugged but did not bother to hide his own amused grin. "What can I say? I guess harsh discipline still has its uses."

"That it does, that it does."

"I've been summoned," Zertis said, and his friend nodded.

"Oh, I know. My deacon has informed us of that, and I've been designed to escort you to Her Voice." As he spoke, he waved an arm behind and, with a flick of his hand, the set of armoured doors slid open with a soft whirring.

Zertis frowned at first, before noticing the soft glow emanating from the Kartisian's scaly arm. "An implant?" he asked. Mekior simply shrugged.

"It has its uses. Now, after you."

Zertis obliged and the two walked down the void-ship's dull-grey corridors side by side, the doors sliding closed behind them. Occasionally they would come across some hurrying crewmembers moving the opposite direction. A few would even dip slightly their heads in respect when passing, but most ignored the two and were thus ignored in return.

They only stopped once, as to give way to a squad of Shieldbearers as they thundered past them, their bulky power armours and whirring servos causing the whole metal corridor to shake with their steps.

"Seems like preparations are well underway," Zertis noted as the lift's doors closed. They began their ascent to the upper levels.

"Quite so. Gears in motion and all that. I'm sure you've noticed the disturbances from some weeks ago, have you not?"

He sniffed, bristling as he did so. "I've lost two armoured vehicles, sucked away by those damn rifts. Quite difficult not to notice, if you ask me. Do we know at least what caused it?"

"I'm afraid not. Things have been rather hectic around here. How was the campaign by the way?"

Zertis shrugged. He still wore his combat armour of hardened alloy, together with additional pieces in the form of pauldrons, vambraces and kneepads. Where armour ended, trauma plates filled the gaps. Each piece of his suit was a tangible testimony of countless battles and hardships, all carved on it in the form of cuts, dents, or blaster-burns.

"Manageable," he said simply.

Mekior shot him a sidelong glance. "You don't seem pleased."

"Why should I be? The enemy keeps on denying us battle again and again, aside from the initial contact of course." His jaw went taunt. "For each warrior I lose in battle, three more are slain or maimed in ambushes."

"Typical of cowards," Mekior mused, shaking his head. "Still, our forces' quality remains unmatched and our faith unwavering. I have full confidence that victory will be ours"

"Quality and faith mean nothing if my Pack brethren get picked off by a teenager with a pulse rifle, sitting on a hill-top one mile away," Zertis grumbled. "The fact that we don't even know why we're doing it doesn't help either. We've hit five different targets in the last two months, but we didn't even try to take the planets for us. If our great leader has indeed a strategy, the least he could do would be to share it with us."

"It is not our place to question; rather, we should follow his example as if the Brood Mother herself was commanding us."

He shook his head, then let out a bitter chuckle. "Ironic. Some amongst my brethren are whispering Her Voice is following the example of his predecessor by losing his mind."

Mekior snapped his head at him, then cocked it to one side, giving him a quizzical look. "Is that doubt I heard in your words, Brother?"

"Not doubt. Just weariness, Mekior." He sighed. Mekior was his friend, although severely lacking any sense of humour. "It's been a long year for everyone."

Mekior opened his mouth for a moment, only to then think better of it and remain silent.

There was a loud beep and a violent shudder. The doors swung open. As he exited the lift though, Zertis noticed that his friend was staying behind.

"I'm afraid this is as far as I can go, my friend," he explained with a patient grin. "He wishes to see only you, and I'm forbidden from going further. But don't worry; once I'm back in my chantry, I'll recite a prayer for your safety."

Zertis didn't have the time to ask if that was meant to be a joke or an actual promise. The doors closed and the lift departed, leaving him alone.

Without much other choice, Pack Leader Zertis turned away and set off down the corridor. The only illumination came in the form of a series of recesses placed at regular intervals in the walls. The light coming out was a pale and sickly yellow, casting long shadows of him as he passed.

At the end of the corridor, Zertis found himself standing before his private chamber. In truth, he was a little surprised. This was supposed to be the most guarded section of the ship, but he had seen not a single sentry since exiting the lift. Then again, perhaps there were other kinds of surveillance, invisible to the untrained eye.

There were no doors at the entrance, having been replaced by a set of thick, multi-coloured and finely-ornated drapery. They swung lazily back and forth, rippling and glinting in the light. He pushed the curtains out of his way, and darkness greeted him as he stepped inside.

It lasted but for a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the soft glare of burning candles. A pungent smell of burning incense and aromatic wood wafted up to his nostrils, causing him to flinch. Much to his surprise, he felt the cold steel under his feet gave away to a soft carpet.

The chamber was large but cluttered. Piles of books and ancient tomes filled shelves upon shelves on the walls, but many more were scattered on the carpet, some laying open. An ebony desk stood out at the far end of the room and behind it was a large liquid-crystal display, its black surface reflecting Zertis's own image.

There was something else that caught his attention though. Standing on wooden supports some distance away were a series of weapon cases. Zertis stepped closer to it, out of curiosity mostly, and as the light of nearby candles revealed more and more details, an astounded breath escaped him.

The arsenal displayed there was extensive: blasters and laser rifles of all types and lengths; portable autocannons, their ubiquitous box-shaped magazines sticking out; grenade and rocket launchers; a collection of sleek-looking plasma rifles with ornated stocks. And many more exotic weapons Zertis couldn't recognize.

One above them all drew Zertis's eyes to it. Perhaps it was the peculiar shape, or maybe the fact that it stood precisely at the centre of the vast collection, separated by the rest. Some sort of double-ended wrench, the metal shaft decorated with engraved symbols Zertis couldn't understand. Both ends glinted in the soft light, revealing sharpened edges. A curious weapon, he decided, but a weapon none the less. He briefly wondered how it had gotten there.

"I'm glad you like it."

The voice came from behind. It was deep and rich, with only a hint of his native accent. Zertis's heart exploded in his chest, and he barely managed to contain a surprised gasp as he whirled around to face Him.

"I may have taken many trophies from the battlefield, but that is the one I hold as the dearest to me. It's a testament of great battles and even greater triumphs."

The Kartisian before him was tall, well beyond nine feet at full height, a mass of well-toned muscle and sinew. He was wearing a light sparring outfit, thus revealing most of his upper body. Pearl-white scales covered him head to tail, but their surface was marred, darkened even in some places.

Zertis recognized what they were; battle scars, dozens of them criss-crossing his body, many more clustered on his arms and legs. A particular nasty one run all across his belly obliquely, from one side to the other. The scales there had failed to heal properly, and pink skin peeked out from underneath.

Zertis tried not to stare at it and kept his eyes trained forward. He knew an evisceration strike when he saw one.

"Y-Your Grace," the Pack Leader bowed respectfully, just as he struggled to keep his voice from faltering. Never before he had been allowed to enter this place, nor to stand before Kalani, Her Voice. "This humble servant has answered your summoning."

"So it would seem," Kalani mused aloud, his four amber-coloured eyes never leaving him. His weapon of choice, a bardiche, rested on one shoulder, the energy blade flickering and crackling. He moved barely a finger on the shaft; there was a soft click and the blade dissipated.

"You are unsettled." It was not a question. Zertis felt his throat parched dry for a moment and swallowed.

"My apologies, Your Grace. I … I'm merely overwhelmed by the honour bestowed upon me."

Kalani raised an eyebrow. "Honour? Because I've summoned you here?" He shook his head and chuckled, revealing glinting, razor-sharp teeth. "If you're shook by so little, I fear you'll have a stroke in but a moment, Pack Leader."

Zertis didn't know if that was supposed to be taken as an encouragement, so he wisely decided to remain silent. Without another word, Kalani strode past him, placing back his weapon back on a designated rack.

"How was the campaign on Planet Khopesh?" he asked casually.

Zertis opened his mouth, then hesitated. Better to approach the subject with caution. "Our forces have been victorious, and all our objectives achieved. Our casualties have been acceptable during the withdrawal, but we evacuated as per your instructions."

Said instructions had been borderline non-sensical in the last few months, but he left that unsaid.

"Good. Very good." There was little satisfaction in his voice though, something that did not escape Zertis's notice. The white scales on his swaying tail glinted under the candles' light as Kalani strode toward the ebony desk and settled down in his chair.

"You've have done an excellent work so far, and you have both mine and Her gratitude. However, I fear there won't be time for celebrations, at least for now. Please, Pack Leader, take a look at this."

As if on cue, the large screen behind flared to life, a cold, blue glow engulfing the chamber. It flickered for a moment as it finished powering up, then a video feed began playing. Its quality wasn't anything stellar and the audio was simply absent. In all likelihood a cheap security camera, Zertis noted to himself, but he could still identify many details.

A city, a vast metropolis of shining metal and glass, and towering structures. Smoke billowed in the air, energy blasts flying wildly and leaving trails of heated vapour behind.

Zertis frowned. "I fear I do not recognize the place, Your Grace."

"I would have been surprised if you did. You may call it Corson V, as the locals do. Now, pay attention."

The image flickered and the scenery changed once more.

A battle raged on a large rooftop and its surrounding passageways high above the ground. Zertis recognized easily the orange glint of glass pods belonging to warbots. Long, multiple-jointed metallic legs carried the warbots forwards as they flashed ruby-red lasers at their enemy.

Said enemy was a motley collection of robotic pirates and some unknown mercenary outfit. Zertis initially mistook them for Kartisians due to their physical appearance, but he wasn't familiar with their weapons, nor the symbols and outfits they carried into battle.

Watching it was physically painful, and the Pack Leader had to clench his jaw shut so not to sneer before Her Voice. They had the numerical advantage over the bots and yet they were failing utterly to use it! Since he'd started watching it, Zertis spotted four different occasions for a flanking manoeuvre, but those amateurs seemed content to just trade shot with the bots from the safety of their covers. A platoon of recruits fresh from boot-camp would have performed better.

There was a blur somewhere in the back and vicious plasma bolts ripped through the warbot's ranks. They whirled around to face the new threat, only for a single rocket's trail to whistle past and detonate against the centre of their formation, the blast blowing the surroundings bots to shred and knocking them off of their feet. None got up.

Zertis grinned. Finally, someone had gotten their act together. And with a good shot too. The smoke cleared out and another figure emerged, a missile launcher on his shoulder. He wasn't terribly tall, he noted to himself, with brown and golden-stripped fur, long ears and a leather cap over his hea- … wait.

No.

Zertis did a mental double take. He blinked, then his eyes widened and finally his jaw hit the floor.

That was not possible. It couldn't be possible. They were a myth, a legend, a fucking bed-tale meant to scare children into obedience. They were not … they were not meant to be that.

They were not meant to be real!

Kalani produced a remote and paused the video feed, but not before zooming in on the long-eared creature as it charged another group of bots with a wrench, miniaturized thrusters in his boots launching him forward.

"And so, the day finally comes, just as the Brood Mother had foretold us," Kalani noted as he licked his lips in anticipation. "After three decades of silence, the Ancient Enemy has unleashed its retaliation. And it does so in force too."

Zertis was about to ask what he meant by that, but with a tap on the remote Kalani had already brought another set of images on the screen. And the Pack Leader realized, much to his horror, that there was a second one of them in the middle of combat.

"Only two of them to bring down an empire," Kalani mused as he eyed the screen. He sounded absolutely delighted. "I'll admit, it has been a long time since I had the opportunity of crossing blades with their Praetorian Guard. I'm glad to see that their ability has not diminished over the years."

Zertis remained silent, eyes never leaving the screen. Thousands of different questions whirled in his mind, wrestling to come forth. Eventually, one did.

"Your Grace … why are you showing me this? What it's the meaning of … of …"

"Confused? You must be. I was too, when our pathfinders brought back news of their return for the first time. I was simply not expecting it, you see, not in my lifetime anyway. But that matters little now; we've been preparing for this moment for a long time." One of his eye ridges twitched upward. "Tell me, Pack Leader; how much familiarity do you have with the sacred texts?"

The question was puzzling, but Zertis answered it nonetheless. "Some. Admittedly, it's been some time since I had the chance to consult them."

Kalani nodded. "Very well. For now, all that you must be aware of is that our petty conflicts within the Bogon Galaxy are about to come to an end. The two you've just witnessed are without a doubt but forward elements, sent ahead by our Ancient Enemy ahead of their main force. Those disturbances, those wild Rifts you've surely noticed, they are clear indications of their imminent return. We must accelerate our plans as we prepare ourselves for the incoming fight."

Her Voice rose from his seat, eyes glinting hungrily. "They'll come for us, Pack Leader, and we must be ready. Just like thirty years ago, our forces shall fall upon theirs as the fist of a wrathful goddess. Their very own technology serves us now, and no dimension is too far from our reach! We will shatter them, break them, we'll send them scurrying back to their hiding places!" Kalani exhaled, deeply, seemingly enjoying the taste behind every word.

"And as it befits any predator worthy of such name, we will pursue them. We'll drown the stars with their blood, salt the earth before their homes. There won't be a withdrawal this time, no delaying action nor war of attrition. Nothing but carnage." He turned towards him, and Zertis could feel the strength, the unshakable conviction behind his gaze as it bore deep into him.

"The Brood Mother has shown us the path forward before, and so She does once more. We merely need the strength to take the first step. And thanks to your actions upon Khopesh as well as many other places, Pack Leader, the first step has already been taken. The gears of destiny are moving as we speak, and those who stand before us and our righteous cause shall find themselves crushed beneath them."

There was a soft beeping. With a frown and a wave of his clawed hand, Kalani activated a holo-monitor on his desk; his finger touched a hovering rune, activating it.

"What is it, Fleetlord?"

"Your Grace, multiple void-ship's signatures have been detected entering our sector, just as you've predicted. I've ordered the fleet to deploy into battle formation. First contact is to be expected in fifteen minutes."

Kalani smiled viciously. "Excellent then. I'll be joining you on the bridge soon, but I leave the upcoming battle in your capable hands. Strike hard and without mercy. Our victory today must be total."

"Understood, Your Grace. Her embrace shields and guides us amongst the stars."

"And Her Voice drowns all others in darkness. Good luck, Fleetlord Telkidas." The monitor was turned off.

Zertis suddenly tensed up in apprehension, forgetting for a moment what he'd just heard.

Traveling on a void-ship was already an unpleasant experience per se; the only reason he would even consider boarding one was for the simple fact that there was no other way for him and his Battle Pack to move around. Still, to do so in midst of an actual battle? Many unpleasant scenarios run through his head. A breach through the bulkheads was not such a rare occurrence in the thick of the fight.

Zertis never got to voice his concerns though; before he realized what was happening, a pair of clawed hands grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him closer. He found himself face to face with Her Voice, his two pairs of amber eyes shining in the room's penumbra and boring deep into his.

"Come with me, Brother. Courier ships are traveling home as we speak, and soon scores of our Brothers and Sisters will join our fight. Still, enough with words. Their time has passed and, from now on, only deeds shall speak for us."

The walls around them shook, and flames flickered and trembled on top of candles. Sirens wailed furiously in the distance, spreading one single message to the rest of the crew. General quarters.

"Come with me, Brother," Kalani repeated. "It's time for us to witness our victory, the first of many in the upcoming conflict."

Clank's optics went slant in his best imitation of a frown. Something was clearly not working.

He had checked again and again the Dimensional Comm Array for any possible error, but he was still coming up empty handed. Admittedly, it wasn't all that surprising. The system was a prototype, jury-rigged together and made to work thanks to empirical observation and some creative reverse engineering of the Dimensionator.

The bot leaned back in his seat, one hand coming up to tap his chin, thoughtfully. Better to let the system run a scan and see if something was wrong on his end. In the meantime, he could focus on something else; for example, finding it a proper name for the Extradimensional Rift-based High-Speed Communicator. The current one didn't exactly roll off the tongue.

Within Aphelion's cockpit, his gaze wandered and, as he glanced down, Clank noticed the different colour on his arm, the bright-yellow standing in stark contrast with the rest of his metallic body. The arm itself was a bit cruder than its left counterpart, cobbled together with what parts were at hand, with little room reserved to refinement. Despite himself, Clank found himself grinning warmly.

He liked this new look. Not just by itself, but because of the fond memories that came with it. Ratchet and Rivet had worked tirelessly, side by side, so to bring him back to optimal conditions.

He frowned for just a moment. On second thought, side by side was stretching the definition quite a bit. Maybe putting two hyper-competitive, machinery-obsessed Lombaxes working on the same problem had not been a very smart idea. Especially if they were working on him.

Still, things had worked out just fine in the end. And Clank had to admit, watching Ratchet collaborate with someone else for a project had certainly been interesting.

The scene replayed itself in his databanks.

Ω

"Rivet, put the plasma cutter down."

"Relax, hotshot. I know what I'm doing."

"No, you really aren't. I'm not letting you use that thing on Clank."

"Oh really?" She narrowed her eyes at him, hands firmly planted on her hips. "Then let's hear it. How do you plan on dealing with the blocking mechanism in his arm socket? That thing it's busted. The best way is to replace his shoulder components entirely."

Ratchet's ears flicked back in annoyance, but he kept his voice controlled. "First of all, we connect him to our computer and see if we can unlock it remotely. If not, we leave him to run a scan on his operative system so he can identify the issue. And even if nothing of that works, no, I'm still not letting use that thing on Clank."

Rivet raised an eyebrow. "That's not going to solve the issue, and you know it. You just don't like any working method that isn't your own, admit it!"

"What? That's beside the point and… uh, and completely untrue! Yeah, that's what it is!" Rachet blurted out. "Besides, we already built the arm your way. Doesn't that count?"

"Yeah, and thank the Zoni we did."

Ratchet frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She gestured to a nearby workbench, where armour plates of all shapes and sizes were piled in a haphazard pile. "Have you seen what kind of materials you work with? That stuff was gonna rust in a couple of months tops."

"No, it wasn't!"

"Sure, sure. Keep saying that, hotshot." She tapped on her chest with a wide grin. "But keep in mind that now, thanks to me, Bolts here can count on a nearly indestructible, amazing new arm. You're welcome by the way."

"Oh right. Yeah, let's speak about that." It was Ratchet turn to smile wickedly at her. "Really a great idea that was, uh? We've spent four days trying to make that thing malleable enough so we could finally work on it. You're lucky that there's an old high-pressure furnace still working here on Veldin."

Rivet's lips twitched slightly. "So what? It worked, didn't it?" she pouted.

Ratchet shook his head, amused. "Oh sure. After we discarded all other common-sense solution and went specifically for that. It just costed me a couple of pneumatic hammers and – oh, by the way, what was all that jazz about different working methods?"

The white-furred Lombax rolled her eyes, then sniffed. "Well, it's not my fault you stick with second-hand tools …" she murmured under her breath.

Ratchet however, heard all of that. His ears shot up, fur bristling. "What did you just say about my working kit?"

"I think you've heard it already, haven't you?" She stuck her tongue out.

"Alright." Ratchet took a deep breath. "You're my friend, so I'm gonna give you the chance to take it back. All of it. Right now."

Rivet's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, until the two lombaxes were basically up each other face, glaring fiercely. There were maybe a couple of feet at most between them.

"Make me," Rivet challenged him with a cocky grin, arms crossed on her chest.

Ω

"Coordinates have been reached," Aphelion reported, "Rerouting power from the warp-drive in three, two, one … now."

The space-void blurred, and Aphelion's chassis rattled as the spacecraft warped back into reality. There was a mighty, blinding flash, as thousands of celestial bodies shifted all into focus at the same time. The warp jump had catapulted them to the edge of a rather small solar system.

By Clank's side, Ratchet stirred awake, blinking. He let out a loud yawn. Without a moment of hesitation, he placed his hands back on the ship's controls.

"Aphelion, deactivate auto-pilot and switch on manual controls. I'll take it from here."

"Of course. Wouldn't have hurt to hear a 'please' though."

Ratchet smiled. "Right. Can I please have the controls back then?" A soft beep came from the control panel. "Thank you, Aphelion."

The Lombax let out a soft sigh, before glancing to his best friend inside the cockpit. "You know, pal, I'm starting to worry about Aphelion here. Did you performed an upgrade on her personality matrix when I wasn't looking?"

Clank shook his head, then chuckled. "I did not. I'm afraid she has simply started to emulate her owner's personality."

It took a few moments for implication to finally click in Ratchet's mind. When it did, he furrowed an eyebrow. "Oh, I get it. Very funny, pal. Very funny. Always snarky, aren't you?"

"Well, not always," Clank pointed out. "I do need to sleep, after all."

"Do robots actually sleep?"

"Technically speaking? No."

Ratchet let out an amused snort, but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the ship's controls as he gunned Aphelion onward. Twenty or so minutes later, Planet Basilisk III came finally into view, a faint shimmer from its vast bodies of water breaking through the cloud cover in its upper atmosphere.

Clank had made extensive research on the place before they had embarked for their journey. Standing on the outer boundaries of the Zarkov Sector, Basilisk III fell under B-4 classification or, in more practical terms, as 'somewhat habitable'. Three, massive super-continents were nearly the entirety of its land surface, for the most part dry Badlands, too far from any source of potable water to sustain life. Viable land was therefore not as plentiful as one might have expected and mostly focused along the coastline.

Still, that didn't not stop the Polaris Galactic Government from attempting to colonize the place.

"Alright, pal. We're gonna enter the atmosphere in a few minutes. Any place good enough for landing zone?"

Clank nodded. "I have uploaded the coordinates of the only planetary colony, Tillos, on Aphelion's system. I suggest we start our search from there. Surely the locals would have noticed anything unusual."

Ratchet nodded, but aside from that he remained silent, his expression unreadable. His hands tightened on Aphelion's controls. In place of his signature outfit, Ratchet was wearing a more combat-oriented suit; armoured plates of tempered Raritanium covered his vital parts, coupled with shoulder and knee pads of the same material. It was a practical outfit, guaranteeing good protection but without compromising his mobility.

In short, Ratchet was fully expecting a fight.

"Ratchet," Clank began, "I don't think I need to point out that this is, in all likelihood, a trap."

"Pretty much."

"Which lead us directly to the rather obvious question of why we're flying directly into it."

Ratchet shrugged. "You heard the message, didn't you? He wants us to meet him there and wants a fight. So, I'm gonna give him one."

Clank had in fact listened to it; he'd even attempted to track the signal down, without much luck. Whoever the author was, he had hidden his track well. Perhaps too well, to Clank's liking.

A soft, orange glow filled the inside of the cockpit as Aphelion entered the upper atmosphere. The spaceship rattled around them. Undaunted, Ratchet flicked the shields on, pushing the controllers before him ever so slightly forward, so to adjust their trajectory. Aphelion began her descent toward the surface.

"I just want to make sure we have a plan once we land," Clank continued. "After all, there must be a reason why he has chosen this place specifically, don't you think?"

"Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter." Ratchet's voice was just barely above a hiss, his lips peeling back to reveal flashing teeth. "We'll have plenty of time to ask him in person. Then I'll make sure he regrets the moment he thought hurting Grim was a smart idea."

Clank was about to add something, but then thought better of it. Still, he shot a worried glance toward his best friend. There was something in Ratchet, something in his tone, in his attitude, that caused a sudden surge of unease in Clank's systems.

He promised himself to keep an eye on him; as a friend, that was the least he could do.

"I may have an answer to that question," Aphelion suddenly spoke up. "Running a quick research through the Polaris Holo-Network, I've found some information you may find interesting. I'm uploading them now. Clank, you should be able to examine them from your console."

Sensor lens narrowing in curiosity, Clank activated the holographic display. As he established a direct connection with Aphelion's system, the exchange of information was nearly instantaneous.

"Why, they are. Thank you, Aphelion."

Ratchet's ears perked up in curiosity. "What is it, pal?"

"Apparently, the local authorities on Basilisk III have issued several requests of assistance to the Polaris Government over the last two years. They cited frequent Blarg intrusion in their territory."

The last part got Ratchet's attention. "Hold on a moment, did you just say Blarg? As in, those Blargs?" Clank nodded in response. "What the heck are they doing so far from Solana?"

"I am afraid I don't possess the answer for that. I fear however that, whatever it is, nothing good can come out of it. We should exercise extra-care from now on."

Ratchet nodded, silently. Beneath them, the vast shimmering ocean came into view; a rolling, deep-blue layer stretching as far as the eye could see. Far away into the distance, the outline of a fast-approaching coastline could almost be glimpsed.

Strapped tightly inside his interceptor's cockpit, Flight Leader Tucker checked his comms a second time. It was getting late by now. There had not been any contact for the entire day and, truth to be told, there wouldn't probably be any.

The colonists had gotten pretty good at disguising the signal of freighters entering the atmosphere; that, and the newly deployed surface-to-air systems, made the prospect of intercepting incoming spacecrafts increasingly difficult.

He glanced at the fuel gauge and frowned; it was but a few measurements away from reserve.

Pulling at the joystick, the Blarg brought the starfighter around, back toward the base and the landing pads waiting for him. He keyed on the comms and was about to give the order to the rest of his squadron to follow him back, when another voice croaked in his headsets.

"Skull Three to Skull Actual. Come in, Skull Actual."

Tucker recognized easily his own callsign. "Skull Actual to Skull Three. Send it."

"I've got an incoming spacecraft entering the atmosphere on the radar. It's in our sector and I'm sending the coordinates now. Please advise."

Glancing to the side on a nearby screen, Tucker saw the lines of information flowing in, together with the newly highlighted signature on his radar system. It was rather small, probably belonging to a small civilian craft, Tucker reasoned. An excellent prey.

Rising a hand to adjust his rebreather, Tucker could not prevent a smile from splitting his mouth. Whoever was the owner, he had just made the biggest -and last- mistake of his life. The Flight Leader keyed his comms.

"Skull Actual to Skull Squadron, form up on me. Incoming spacecraft eleven klicks north-west. Move to intercept. Weapons free."

Acknowledgements echoed in his headsets, and Flight Leader Tucker swung his interceptor around before gunning it forward. Four identical fighters soared just behind as they moved into formation, following their leader. AI-systems loaded fresh shells in the chainguns tucked beneath the fighters' armpits; heat-seeking warheads were armed and activated in their tube launchers, while heavier energy weapons glowed in anticipation for the oncoming fight.

Tucker could feel his own fingers tightening on the fighter's controls, his thumb hovering just above the firing trigger. He glanced again to his radar, as the signal drew closer and closer with each moment, the roar of burning engines coming muffled through the cockpit's glass panes. The Blarg grinned for the second time in a few minutes.

Finally, some real action.

Author's Note: Real life has finally decided to catch up to me, so my programmed schedule is now officially down the toilet. In other news, next chapter we'll have the answer to the question everybody is wondering: can I actually write air combat scenes? The answer might surprise you and the first two guesses don't count.

Until next time...