The massive guns of the Sol opened fire, the entire ship shuddering with each volley.

  Humans are good at making weapons.

  The Sol’s particle cannons were larger than those on the Aggressor ship.

  Whatever the Chromaphors had was capable of fitting a particle cannon into a drone.

  Humans were behind in tech. Way behind.

  But being big and primitive didn’t affect damage output—the Sol’s guns hurt plenty.

  The Aggressor ship responded immediately.

  At first, it had simply appeared in position and opened fire—no attempt to maneuver.

  Now, it began to accelerate.

  The sheer mass of the thing made its attempt to move almost comical—its engines flaring bright red, struggling to have any real effect.

  But it never stopped firing. It was still targeting the Chromaphors, for now—but only hitting their shields.

  -

  “Admiral.” The Squid Commander’s tone was grave.

  “Your weapons are effective. Their shields will fail before ours do—if you maintain this rate of fire. But only by moments.

  And now, they know you are a threat.

  I expect they will promptly destroy your ship when the shield collapses.”

  The Admiral regarded him, then turned to his XO.

  “Scramble the fighters. Load torpedoes.”

  -

  Inside the Sol, the dozen intruders on deck four were engaging security forces.

  One of the attacking shuttles on deck two had failed to fully breach and was only now cutting through.

  The other deck two invaders divided into two groups—one moving toward the guest quarters, the other toward the officers’ living quarters.

  -

  Outside, the Sol had just launched both of her fighter squadrons.

  They moved to intercept the Aggressor vessel, taking massive amounts of defensive fire from flak and point-defense systems.

  The Chromaphors apparently did not use manned fighters.

  Instead, they had launched several swarms of drones, each carrying some kind of energy weapon.

  No one looking at them recognized the drones, but Cal and the girls would have called them Squidward.

  Now, the Squidwards were coordinating their attack runs with Sol’s fighters—ensuring they struck at the same time, from slightly different angles, splitting the enemy defenses.

  Explosions peppered the Aggressor ship’s shields as the Sol’s cannons continued their assault, firing enormous beams of energy—blindingly white with a hint of red—clashing fiercely against the flaring blue of the enemy shields.

  —

  Cal moved quickly down the corridor, his leg aching with every step but not slowing him down.

  As he reached the door at the end of the hall, his eyes searched for a call button.

  Nothing.

  The other lifts had them—but not this one.

  His eyes caught the label on the door.

  Not just “Lift.”

  “Direct Access Lift - Bridge.”

  Cal’s eyes widened.

  There was no call button because this was a restricted lift.

  The AI had to open it.

  The AI.

  “Ship, I need to get out of here. Can you open this door?”

  “You are not authorized for Bridge access.”

  “Okay, yeah, but it’s an emergency. Those—boarders—are behind me, and I have nowhere to go.”

  Silence.

  “The Admiral! Ask the Admiral! Let me talk to the Admiral!”

  More silence.

  Then, the Admiral’s voice:

  “Cal? What is it?”

  “Trapped outside your quarters. Aggressors are coming and I can’t use the lift you took.”

  The door hissed open.

  Cal practically threw himself inside—then nearly lost his balance as the lift rocketed upward at frightening speed.

  -

  The door opened onto the bridge.

  A man in combat armor—rifle ready, helmet on, body armor secured—stood right outside the lift.

  “How many?”

  Cal blinked. “Uh, six I saw. In groups of three—they’re fucking huge.”

  The soldier took a moment to evaluate the size of Callan, who towered over the man by a head.

  Cal, guessing his thoughts, nodded. “Yes, huge compared to me.”

  The soldier nodded solemnly in return, “Alright then,” he gestured to three other similarly dressed men off to the side that Cal had failed to notice. “Excuse us.”

  Cal stepped aside.

  The soldiers filed into the lift, checking their weapons as the doors slid shut.

  Cal turned to take in the bridge.

  -

  Organized chaos.

  Voices from every direction:

  “Engines still offline, but we’re about to get thrusters.”

  “Deck four reports nine of twelve intruders down, but we have heavy casualties.”

  The XO’s voice snapped through the noise. “Are the last three contained?”

  “Yes, sir. They’ve fallen back into landing bay one and are in cover.”

  The XO spun toward the man who had spoken.

  “Do we have people in the landing bay?”

  “Yes, sir. Engaging the boarders.”

  The XO’s expression darkened. “Order them out. The second they’re clear, lock it down and open the bay doors—send the bastards into space.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Cal nodded to himself. For the first time, he understood why the Admiral had chosen this man as his XO.

  “We have thrusters!” From one of the crewmen.

  The Admiral now: “Move us closer to the Chromaphor ship,” he turned to the Squid Commander on the screen. “How close?”

  The Squid Commander answered with urgency.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “The closer you are, the less energy is required to extend our shield.

  If you come within dangerous distances, we may be able to partially power our weapons.”

  The Admiral didn’t hesitate.

  “Right up on them, Lieutenant—trade paint if you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  -

  The Admiral spared a glance at Cal.

  “Your daughters are in their quarters. Maria is locked down inside the barracks. None of the boarders are near them.”

  Cal exhaled, relieved. But—

  “I was on my way to our quarters. Those things cut me off. Three of them are heading for the kids.”

  The Admiral grimaced. “You saw the team responding from this end. We have another team working their way there as well.”

  The XO hesitated. “Sir—the other team has reported engaging six hostiles of their own on deck two. They’re occupied.”

  Cal turned toward the lift. “This thing will take me back down?”

  The Admiral stiffened. “Cal, I have men down there. They’re handling it.”

  Cal didn’t stop walking. “Four men for six monsters—heading for my kids—I’m going.”

  The XO moved fast, striding toward the lift.

  For a split second, Cal thought the man was going to try and stop him.

  Then the XO reached for his sidearm.

  Cal prepared himself.

  But the XO didn’t raise it.

  He flipped the pistol in his palm, offering the grip to Cal with a nod.

  “Nine rounds. One in the chamber. I’m no good in a fight—you already know that—And I’m needed here. Good luck.”

  Cal took the weapon. Barely managed to return the nod before the XO turned away and resumed barking orders.

  “Are the assholes in the landing bay dead yet?”

  Cal didn’t wait to hear the answer.

  The Admiral gave him a brief nod as the lift doors slid shut.

  —

  Sierra punched in the code.

  The locker popped open.

  "Yes!"

  “Uncle Cal will literally kill you for taking that without permission.”

  Sierra hesitated; Brenda cut in. “I disagree. I suggest you both arm yourselves and move into the bedroom.”

  Savannah blanched. “Brenda? What’s happening?”

  “The ship is under attack. Aggressor forces have boarded.”

  Savannah stared at her wrist. “How do you know that?”

  “I have increased power to the transceiver in the device. I am in limited contact with the Chromaphor vessel.”

  Sierra grabbed her revolver, thumbed back the hammer to the first click, and flipped open the loading gate. She reached for the box of orange caps in the locker—then paused.

  Her eyes drifted to the red caps beside them.

  The thought hovered.

  Then she shut it down.

  She loaded orange.

  Stuffed a handful more into her pocket.

  "Savannah, your rifle." Brenda’s tone was firm.

  Savannah didn’t move. "This isn’t— We don’t—"

  Callan’s voice cut through their Crescents, startlingly clear.

  “Girls, can you hear me?”

  The sisters locked eyes.

  "Yeah."

  "Yes, sir."

  “The ship says you’re in your quarters. Open the weapons locker—seven nine seven three. Load them and go into the bedroom. Stay there. Stay quiet. Seven nine—”

  “Got it.” Sierra interrupted.

  “...Ok—stay in the bedroom. Keep your weapons pointed at the door. Know your target. Stay calm.

  I’m coming. Security is coming.”

  Savannah’s breath hitched. "What’s happening?!"

  “Breathe. Calm people stay alive.”

  Cal took a breath himself, slowed his voice, measured his tone.

  “There are bad guys on the ship. They don’t care about you, but they’re nearby. Stay quiet. The ship has already locked the door—they’ll have to make a lot of noise to get in.

  Go into the bedroom. Stay there.

  I have to stop talking now. I love you.”

  "I love you." They echoed.

  Sierra handed Vannah her rifle, then turned back to the locker.

  She grabbed both ammo boxes—the orange and red caps—and marched toward the bedroom door.

  “Come on. We’re invincible, and you can be invisible.

  We’ll kick their asses if they try us.”

  That actually did make Savannah feel a little better.

  —

  The Sol’s guns continued to pound the enemy ship, even as she inched closer to the Chromaphor vessel under thrusters.

  The two ships came far closer than safe distances allowed. The Squid Commander informed them that if they could shrink the shield bubble just a bit more, they could bring at least one of their weapons online.

  Three of the Sol’s ten fighters had been destroyed.

  Another was adrift, but the pilot was alive—for now.

  The Chromaphors had lost more than half their drones.

  The Aggressor ship had accelerated to something approaching a combat maneuvering speed and was now attempting to circle around, trying to position the Chromaphor ship between it and the Sol—forcing the Sol to cease fire.

  —

  Cal ended the call as the lift doors opened.

  He pressed himself against the wall, bracing in case someone was outside.

  His gut was too big to make him stealthy, but he was doing his best.

  The doors slid open.

  Silence.

  No immediate sound.

  Cal leaned forward.

  The corridor was clear.

  He stepped out, XO’s pistol low but ready, advancing down the hall.

  Every few steps, he paused. Listened.

  Nothing.

  At the corner ahead, something caught his eye.

  Something on the floor, just around the turn.

  He froze.

  A dark shape. Round.

  His brain fumbled for recognition.

  He eased forward.

  The shape resolved.

  A boot.

  A human combat boot.

  With the foot still in it.

  And nothing else.

  —

  “Security teams are reporting deck four is clear, they’re moving to assist on deck two.”

  The XO turned to the man, “Status of deck two teams?”

  “Teams six and seven have reported casualties on both sides, at least four boarders are still fighting.”

  “Team eight?”

  “No response.”

  —

  The Sol fired her thrusters in reverse, slowing to avoid collision with the Chromaphor ship.

  As they closed the last few meters, an enormous blast of unstable blue energy—not a beam, but a large, rippling sphere—emerged from a featureless recess in the Chromaphor’s hull.

  The blast struck the Aggressor ship. A brilliant flare of blue energy erupted across its shields.

  The Sol had already lined up her next volley—and when she fired, the Aggressor ship’s surface ignited, fireballs and debris clouds bursting outward.

  No shield flares—they were hitting the hull.

  The Chromaphors fired again.

  This time, the effect was devastating—the blue energy discharge plunged into the Aggressor ship, leaving an enormous crater in its armored hide.

  Sol’s fighters were now doing real damage, their shots tearing into exposed interior sections as they made their passes, loosing what remained of their missile payloads.

  On the bridge, the Admiral gave the order—“Fire torpedoes.”

  Four circular hatches along the Sol’s hull slid open, releasing long, slender tubes.

  They drifted out gently—then ignited, rocketing forward at incredible speed.

  All four nuclear warheads hit.

  The Aggressor ship convulsed—enormous chunks of armor and superstructure tore free, secondary explosions ripping outward from the blast sites.

  The ship listed, struggling against the damage—thrusters along its hull flared bright red, trying to stabilize.

  Then a bright light bloomed ahead of the Aggressor ship.

  A pinpoint of white-blue, rapidly expanding.

  A tear formed in space, spewing light in every direction.

  Through it, distorted and rippling, were only stars and empty black.

  A wormhole.

  -

  The Aggressor ship surged forward—even as the Sol and Chromaphors continued pounding it with fire.

  Explosions from weapons fire and internal damage flared across its hull—but it kept moving, sliding into the wormhole.

  It vanished.

  The wormhole collapsed.

  The Sol’s final volley passed uselessly through open space.

  —

  The Admiral stared at the screen, his eyes wide.

  The stars were empty.

  “Cease fire.”

  He turned to the Chromaphor Commander.

  “Gate-less wormholes?”

  “Only from the generating end,” the Squid confirmed. “The other side must still be tethered.”

  The Admiral’s jaw clenched.

  “Where the hell did they come from?!”

  “They were sent by catapult. Retreating to a tethered wormhole they control—it is one of their more common tactics.”

  The Admiral exhaled sharply.

  No time for more questions.

  “Status of the boarders?”

  —

  Cal pressed his back against the wall, took a deep breath, and peered around the corner.

  The sight was gruesome.

  The only good news was that they had killed an Aggressor.

  Its head was—gross.

  It had clearly taken a red cap near one of its eyes.

  There were four dead humans around it.

  -

  The one nearest Cal’s corner had been torn apart.

  His foot and one arm were completely separated from the rest of his body.

  The body itself was badly mangled, with his uniform having been shredded everywhere that wasn’t body armor.

  Cal had lived on a ranch for a long time. He had seen predators get hold of things—his own dogs grabbing vermin occasionally.

  This wasn’t a kill, even from an animal.

  This man had been brutalized—they had continued long after he was dead.

  -

  The other three bodies had died less horrifically.

  But they were dead all the same.

  The man farthest down the hall had severe skull damage, in addition to a large energy blast to his chest.

  The other two had been shot.

  Their armor had been easily pierced.

  They died where they stood.

  The hallway beyond them was clear—leading back toward the corner where Cal had first retreated.

  —

  Uncle Cal had been right—they were making a lot of noise trying to get in.