“Be quiet.”

  A voice from somewhere in the dark room urged Miran into silence. Looking around, she was unable to see anything. From the lack of draft, she could feel that the room they had been pulled into was small.

  “Lawson, is that you?” Miran asked, recognizing the voice.

  “Keep your voices down!” Lawson stressed, reaching out to grab her forearm. His clammy hands felt oddly soothing.

  Bootsteps pounded as they galloped by the closed door, fading as they moved down the hall and away from them.

  “They’re gone,” Soren said, “whatever they were.”

  “Where are we, Lawson? How did you find us?” Miran asked.

  “I heard your screams; knew it was you in an instant,” Lawson said.

  “You’re in a shielded supply closet,” Another voice said from somewhere near Soren.

  “Who else is with us?” Soren asked.

  “Rissa. Rissa Nessanui, Matriarch Lathe’s personal assistant,” said Rissa. “Have you seen her, the Matriarch, I mean?”

  “Not since we left the auditorium, I’m afraid,” said Miran.

  “What happened out there, and why are there so few of you?” Asked Lawson. “Shouldn’t Wellei and Dominado be with you?”

  “They’ve been in touch. Though, they are somewhere out in the city,” Miran said.

  “We lost Bullman,” Soren said, his body slumping against an outer wall of the supply closet in the dark.

  “We lost so many,” Miran said, thinking of the hole in the stadium.

  Miran’s eyes began to adjust, and she began to make out the outlines of the other two. Lawson was pacing, moving from one end of the closet to the other. Rissa sat, her head in hand on a stack of overturned mop buckets.

  “We lost three others also, two sergeants and our engineer on loan,” Miran said, their last images flashing before her in the black of the room.

  “We were up in the estate levels celebrating the success of the Parade preparations,” Rissa said, “Matriarch Lathe had set up a private dinner for us both in thanks, when–”

  “When the explosions started happening!” Lawson said. “We hid the second we heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, though I imagine now that was you.”

  “Indeed,” Miran agreed, “Lawson, I have something to tell you.”

  Miran didn’t know if now was the best time to break the news about Lawson’s brother’s demise bringing intel back from Vosaris, though she didn’t know if any better chance would be coming for either of them. When she told him of his brother Borlin’s mission and his heroic sacrifice, Lawson’s pacing ceased.

  “I see,” Lawson said, frankly. Sitting beside Rissa on another stack, his typical babbling was replaced with sullen silence.

  “What does that matter now?” Rissa said, “Who the hell was shooting at you?”

  Miran sat next to Lawson, taking his hand as the man began to sob. If it had been lighter in the room, Rissa might have been able to see the look she flashed at her.

  A picture of the black silhouetted armoured men flashed in her mind. She wished she could offer them some explanation, some comfort in how to move forward. Miran was just as in the dark as the rest of them.

  “Sitting here isn’t doing us any good. Shall we?” Soren asked, jiggling the doorknob.

  “Stop!” Lawson hissed. “You have no idea if they’re still out there somewhere.

  “You’ve a point,” Soren said, backing off.

  Miran wrapped an arm around Lawson. She didn’t know what she could do to help explain things nor what she could do to assist in the world outside, cut off as she was. At least she could provide Lawson with some warmth.

  Far past the point where her frustration had boiled over into rage, rage into fury, and fury into a state of numbness, Miran felt stuck.

  A bulletin opened on her terminal as Matriarch Lathe’s icon flashed.

  “Miran? Is that you?” Matriarch Lathe asked between gasps.

  “Brenna, Brenna, I am here!” Miran responded.

  “And where is here?” asked Brenna, her face turning to let out a muffled yell offscreen.

  Miran was so pleased to hear from the woman that, for several seconds, she forgot to answer.

  “Estate level, down the corridor in a broom cupboard,” she said.

  “I know the one,” Brenna said, with warmth on her face despite her apparent exhaustion. Brenna took a few shots with her sidearm before speaking again; “We’ve begun an offensive, as motley as it may be. Gerard and I have begun pushing the suits back out of the auditorium level.”

  “That’s great. Brenna, we lost the sergeants, we lost Jameth– Kalin–” said Miran, sullen.

  “We’ve lost a lot of good people,” Brenna said brutally. “Now get your mind right, or we’ll lose even more.”

  Miran knew she was right, knew she had to focus. She stood, leaving Lawson in the black on the ground as her rage returned.

  “What’s more is we’ve nearly restored some manner of communications planet-wide. You should be able to reach your flock following this call.”

  Each of the others in the dark closet took out their terminals, checking for news as their screen lit up the walls. She could see Soren’s face as he frantically opened a bulletin. Miran would have hoped that being a good captain, Soren would immediately hail his ship, but she knew him better. The smile that lit his face told her all she needed to know.

  “And Miran?” Brenna said.

  “Yes, Matriarch?”

  “Sit tight. We’re coming to get you,” Brenna said, closing the bulletin.

  Miran didn’t waste any time, opening a priority bulletin to The Dream. Her second in command and captain of The Dream of Earth, Captain Loreto Danesh, answered; his face was haggard and sullen.

  “Loreto, do you read?” Miran asked. “Did you get my message?”

  “Loud and up close, my matriarch,” Captain Danesh responded, “Your wishes have been enacted. We’ve dispatched a support flotilla containing all sensitive ships and habitation modules under the Hammerfist, who has just arrived in-system. Captain Ronald Felder of the Hammerfist has assumed command of the flock in your absence, taking charge of coordinating the evacuation.”

  A massive breach of protocol were she still onboard The Dream, now the Hammerfist captain being the second most senior officer in the flock next to herself duty-bound him to take charge in her absence.

  “We’ve also dispatched evac shuttles to your location – several in fact – though all have been shot down. I’ve ordered them to cease sending any more into the vicinity of the Spire. Matriarch... I’m afraid you’ll need to secure your own transport off-world.” Miran could see the man’s discomfort as he said that. Refusing help to a matriarch was unheard of. Though, Miran thought, so was an attack on not one but two Herd worlds.

  “That’s okay, Loreto. You made the right call. I would never fault you for saving lives,” Miran affirmed, “What is going on up there? Do you have a read on the surface activity?”

  “That’s where it gets a bit more strange, Matriarch,” Loreto said, pausing in uncertainty.

  “Captain, be blunt,” she urged.

  “It’s a blackout down there. City lights have been cut, and enemy boarding craft keep impacting the Spire. Aside from the first waves of panic that struck the populace following the Parade and the subsequent attack, infrared shows the citizens in the streets have taken into mobs. They are moving toward the city centre, even from far out in the rural districts.”

  Miran thought that was strange, though maybe Matriarch Lathe had organised some sort of planet-wide ground offensive.

  “The boarding craft, can you see where they’re coming from?” asked Miran, who now had Soren, Lawson and Rissa hanging over her shoulders.

  “That’s just it, Matriarch. It looks like the boarding craft are coming from small rifts opening within the atmosphere over the southern ocean. We can see them plain as day, popping into existence before sailing straight for the city.”

  “Opening rifts in-atmosphere, for such small crafts, how is that possible?” asked Miran as she looked up to meet Soren’s equally confused expression. As far as she knew, riftspace was only accessible via stationary planet-sized natural rifts in some systems or by the riftspace drive, which was required to be mounted to the craft it was transporting almost like a projector and tied into an equally massive power source.

  “Despite how ridiculous it seems, this isn’t even the strangest part,” Danesh said, flashing an image of the stadium – or what remained of it – on her terminal. “I’m assuming you’re familiar with what’s befallen Ternor Stadium?”

  Miran nodded.

  “The whole section of the stadium didn’t simply evaporate. A small rift wake was detected there moments before the attack as well. Our engineers tell me that it’s almost as if something small, maybe not too dissimilar from one of those boarding craft were sent through seconds before the section of stadium vanished like a grapple of some sort that pulled the section into riftspace and out of existence; the people in the stands with it.”

  The whole story was so outlandish that had Miran not witnessed the aftermath, she would have had trouble believing it.

  “Matriarch, what have you seen from your place on the ground? Do we know what is in the boarding craft?”

  “Soldiers in some sort of battle armour and advanced weaponry. They killed many of us, and any shots on them were simply ineffective. From what I could see, they’re six to a pod. I’m afraid we are outmatched down here and overwhelmed. How many boarding craft have you seen make landfall?” said Miran.

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  “Just shy of fifty,” Danesh said, not pleased with Miran’s words.

  “That makes it nearly three hundred enemy troops.”

  “Gods…” Danesh spat.

  “Loreto, Can you get me Captain Felder?” Miran asked.

  “I can indeed, Matriarch,” Danesh said, snapping out of his gloom and waving to one of the bridge officers, “patching you over now.”

  “Thank you, Loreto, and stay vigilant,” Miran said.

  “We’ll pray for your safe return,” Loreto said, signing off.

  “This is Captain Ronald Felder of the Hammerfist,” as a boorish older man flashed on-screen, “Good to see you’re in one piece, Matriarch.”

  “Fantastic you’ve made it here to experience this mess with us, Ronald,” Miran said.

  “Our repairs were finished early in Valen, so I’d figured we might catch the tail end of the festivities. Surprise doesn’t seem to cut it explaining our arrival in Bordeaux,” said Felder.

  “Assuredly, we’re just as surprised down here,” she said, “but onto the business at hand, can you see anything from your vantage point?”

  “We only just arrived in-system a few hours ago and are still a few light-days distant, so resolution on the planet is sparse at best. All I know is what Captain Danesh was able to share with me. Is there something specific I should be looking for?” Felder asked.

  “Turn your sensors outward into the Oort cloud, to the fringes of the system. Tell me, what do you see?” asked Miran.

  “Nothing but the black of night, I–” Felder began to say before cutting himself off. A watchstander from behind him was waving him over, flashing an image in front of the man. It wasn’t until he studied the scans before him that his eyes grew wide.

  “You’ll want to see this,” he said, casting the image over to her. A grouping of barely visible shapes was shown on her terminal, blacking out the stars behind them. Trajectories traced the image alluding to the shapes being not comets or asteroids, but a quickly moving and tightly formed fleet of stealth ships bearing down on the planet.

  “Our scans count nineteen craft headed straight for you,” Captain Felder said.

  Miran’s rage boiled over again. Time and time again, she had been outfoxed by this enemy, these suits as Brenna called them. She felt as if she had been made the butt of some sick cosmic joke, stuck in a limbo of constantly bearing witness to her kin dying around her. Hopelessness crept back in for a moment before she pushed it away.

  And above all, trust yourself, Miran; her father’s words needled at her, urging her to persevere.

  “Ronald, tell me you have some other telemetry on the nineteen ships. Something else we can go on?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he admitted, “they seem to resemble stealth craft. Black hulled no detectable emissions of any kind and no riftwake. It’s almost as if they’d been there all along.”

  “Or at least since before the flock got here,” she said.

  “You’re saying this was premeditated – that this was some sort of surgical strike?” Captain Felder asked.

  “It would explain why we are having our asses spiked back at us.”

  “Well then, we need a plan,” Captain Felder admitted.

  A plan, she thought, how can we have a plan when they have us spread so thin?

  “Matriarch, if I may? From Captain Danesh’s reports, they outnumber us on the ground five-to-one in military personnel. But in orbit, we have the advantage. With the support ships breaking off to meet up with me, that leaves a sizable amount of attack craft squarely under Danesh’s command. This would give us an attack flotilla of sixty warships, easily capable of warding off this threat.”

  He was right, their ships did far outnumber their aggressors, but Captain Felder was failing to consider the state of under-repair that many of the vessels were left in. However, the enemy wouldn’t know that either.

  “Thank you, Captain. Your main charge is to protect the support ships at all costs. You are to stand sentinel over our people, be sure that you safeguard them and exit the system as soon as possible,” Miran said.

  “I will do my utmost. You have my word,” Captain Felder said. “What will you do?”

  “It’s time I got back on the saddle and rejoined my flock. I will fight until the very last of us is safe, for herd and federation!” Miran said, flashing the captain a tight salute.

  “For the Herd! For the Federation!” The bridge around the Captain erupted behind him.

  “For you, Matriarch,” Captain Felder said as the connection closed.

  Miran made for the door of the supply closet with a redefined determination. She knew she had to get out and rejoin the world outside. Just as she reached for the handle, shots fired from outside in the corridor, hailing against the other side of the door. Miran stepped back in alarm.

  “They found us!” Lawson screeched.

  “Remain calm; the closet walls are shielded. This room was once used to store the last matriarch’s private servers, an amenity Matriarch Lathe had seen little use for,” Rissa assured them. “This room should be impregnable.”

  “Then how did they trace us in here?” asked Lawson.

  “Must be the riftspace connections opened by our terminals. These suits have shown a mastery of rift-based technology, so It’s a small stretch to assume they could detect it in here,” said Miran.

  The clamouring of bullets on metal continued outside as if the black suits had an infinite supply of both patience and ammunition. Miran figured that despite the shielding on the inner walls, they would inevitably break through with enough time. The gunfire continued for nearly ten minutes before the sound shifted from the pangs of metal to the dull thud of rounds hitting the inner concrete slabs. Any minute now, they would break through, and that would be the end of her struggle.

  Suddenly, the gunfire ceased. Outside the thinning concrete, Miran could hear a struggle along with familiar the shouts of General Gerard. A round of boots hammered down the hallway chasing the few black suits away as the door unlocked itself.

  Stepping through the opening and bringing the light back into the world, Matriarch Lathe stood smiling.

  “Found you,” she said, sweat dripping from her brow.

  “Soren, Lawson, time to move,” said Miran as she stepped out into the lit corridor.

  “Good to see you, dear,” Brenna said to Rissa as she stepped out behind Lawson, “I trust your quick thinking was responsible for securing the matriarch in here?”

  Rissa nodded, “self-preservation often brings with it the convenience of saving others.”

  “Well, you have my thanks,” Miran said, “You and Lawson both.”

  Lawson, who was still shaken by the news of his brother, stood there, an empty shell. She thought she would have to comfort him when this was all over, if she ever had the chance.

  “What news from the light?” Miran asked.

  “Antoine and I have begun our offensive. I’ve just received word that Ministers DeBow and Meembege and Representatives Tranton and Lotts have made it safely off-world on one of my shuttles. Minister Claren insisted on staying behind to gather intel on the attack on the city. He took a squad of infiltrators and pushed his way to the top of the Spire. Elevator was damaged in the initial wave of boarding craft. What news do you have for me, what of your flock?”

  “We have worse news, I’m afraid,” Miran said, explaining the strange nature of the boarding craft and their manipulation of rift technology along with the appearance of the black ships.

  “Shit. Just when you think we’re turning things around..” Matriarch Lathe said. “I’m glad your people are going to make it away safe.”

  “But what about your citizens?” Miran asked. “My flock reports them amassing and moving in the streets. What plans do you have for them?”

  Brenna looked back, Miran puzzled before calling over Gerard from his sentry at the end of the corridor. His troops had long since chased off the soldiers, leaving only a small contingent behind.

  “I have been unable to get word from anyone outside The Spire. Antoine, perhaps you can explain Miran’s report of the citizens forming mobs in the city. Do we have any such contingencies that might explain this?”

  “None, my matriarch. I’m just as alarmed by this as you are. As you know, the standing plan in case of attack is for the citizens to go underground or flee to the outer districts. I see no reason why they would be moving toward The Spire.” Gerard said, confirming the other matriarch’s suspicions.

  “What does that mean?” Miran asked her.

  “Damned if I know,” Brenna admitted, “Come now. We need to get you back into orbit; I have a shuttle waiting.”

  Miran, Soren, Rissa, Lawson, and Matriarch Lathe, along with her handful of troops led by General Gerard, moved several levels up to the Matriarch’s estate shuttle bay. Entering the room, Miran noticed three shuttle berths, one holding a destroyed wreck embedded with a black boarding craft. One of the other two berths was empty and showing signs of a hasty shuttle departure only minutes ago, fuel hoses strewn about and leaking. The last berth contained a running shuttle and a pilot already on board itching to leave.

  “Here we are,” Matriarch Lathe said, “Your chariot, my dear.” Soren and Lawson hurried aboard.

  Miran stopped, uneasy.

  “Rissa, go with them,” Matriarch Lathe said to Rissa, who hurried onboard behind Lawson.

  “You’re not coming with us?” she asked.

  “As long as my people fight, I too will fight,” she affirmed. “Besides, my place is here, not on some ship in the black of space.” Miran thought she should argue, but she could see a stubborn insistence in the woman’s warm eyes.

  “If you can, get a hold of Chief Ogunye, the commander of my security forces. I imagine if there’s a fight to be had, he’ll be in the thick of it.”

  “I will do just that,” Matriarch Lathe said.

  “You take care of yourself,” Miran said. “I expect another round of wine when this is through.”

  “Count on it, dear,” she said, pushing Miran by the shoulders onto the shuttle’s ramp. The other matriarch’s group took off back into the stairwell as the shuttle doors closed.

  The shuttle pilot urged them all to sit as the engines whirred and roared, pushing it out of the bay and into the sky above the city. Miran strapped into the co-pilot’s chair, with Soren in the seat behind her. The fourth seat in the shuttle’s forward section remained empty, reserved for a missing Bullman.

  Several stories down, smoke columns drew upward, giving a hint to the fires that tore through the shops and storefronts of Citadella. Their flight path took them away from Ternor Stadium, Miran counting herself grateful to not have to see that carnage up close.

  “Where are the people?” Soren said, looking down at the streets.

  “The mobs have vanished,” Rissa said from the aft section of the shuttle, echoing the confusion of the group.

  Miran checked her terminal, patching into an orbital feed from The Dream. Switching to infrared, she could see the tail end of a mob inching its way into the base of the Spire.

  “Looks like they’re taking refuge in the Spire,” Miran assumed.

  “Good, at least some people made it,” Soren said, a bitterness to his tone.

  Soren was rapidly tapping on his terminal, sending message after message. There was still hope in him. Miran could feel it through the back of her headrest, despite the loss of his closest friend. Miran couldn’t imagine what it would feel like losing Soren in such a way.

  “Where are we headed?” the pilot of the shuttle asked.

  “Shortest path out of the valley is north to the desert,” Miran instructed, “top priority is getting back to the fleet.”

  “North it is,” the pilot agreed.

  “And keep us low. Let’s make ourselves a harder target for whatever was shooting our shuttles down,” said Miran.

  “Aye,” the pilot confirmed.

  “Miran?” Soren said, breaking her focus. The adrenaline flowing through her almost caused her to miss his lack of formality. She paused for a second as lucid thoughts took hold, and she realised she never had a chance, before all this mess, to ask Soren how his date went.

  “How was your dinner, Soren?” she asked.

  “My date?” Soren asked, “It – she – was lovely.”

  Soren relaxed a little, the rubber of his seat audibly stretching as he leaned back. He continued, “We shared lamb, walked the lakeshore, and finished up talking as I walked her back home. It was short, surely. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Aside from the invasion,” Lawson bitterly interrupted. Miran held up her hand, forcing him into silence.

  “Her name is Blane,” said Soren, ignoring Lawson.

  “I can see you’re charmed,” said Miran. “I’m happy for you.”

  “That’s the thing, Matriarch. I’ve kept in touch. Blane managed to escape the initial attack. She’s headed for an airfield in the Mercao district, west of here.”

  Miran knew where this was going, but she had a duty to her flock, to her people. She couldn’t just reroute her shuttle in the hopes of saving one civilian.

  “Soren, I know you want to rescue her, but–”

  “Miran, I understand your duty, as I do mine,” Soren interrupted, unbuckling from his seat. “I’ve already called a shuttle down from my ship. It will be alongside us in a few moments.”

  “Soren, think this through. Your duty is to make it back to your flock, to command your ship.” Miran said.

  “You don’t know if she will make it to the airfield,” Lawson interjected.

  “I have to hope. I’ve already lost so much; I can’t lose anything more,” said Soren moving to the shuttle’s side door. He opened it, letting a rush of air in. Miran unbuckled to follow him, grasping his forearm as she reached him.

  “I am going,” he said. “I will find Dominado and Wellei while I’m down there. I will bring them all back with me.”

  “Soren. Don’t,” she urged.

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he rested a hand on hers and smiled, breaking her grip on him. She could see the usual Soren push through the fog around them for the first time since the bodies were discovered back onboard The Dream.

  Another shuttle pulled up alongside theirs, sporting the Winterspell insignia.

  “Godspeed, Captain Djucovik,” she said.

  He turned and lept across the small gap between the open shuttle doors before his shuttle peeled away, turning west. She closed the doors and returned to her seat with a sigh.

  “There goes another one,” said Lawson. “Another victim of duty.”

  “Be quiet, Ha,” said Miran.

  Miran watched the blip of Soren’s shuttle as it raced away from hers. She traced the pulsing line of their trajectory with her finger, uneasy. A kilometre out, the blip chirped once sharply, then blinked out.

  Miran lifted herself in her seat, dropping her terminal to the shuttle floor. Over the pilot’s shoulder, far out on the shrinking horizon, Miran could make out a sudden trail of black smoke as it arced toward the ground.

  “He’s gone then,” said Rissa, matter-of-fact.

  Miran’s fury roiled inside her. The last straw had been reached with the loss of all those closest to her. She knew that her old world was gone, and something far more sinister now stood in its place. Gone were the now trivial concerns of Parade preparations and a few missing persons.

  With the losses of Bullman, Soren and assuming Wellei, Dominado, and even Olajide, the task force was dead. In its place now stood death, hate, and war.

  An alarm chime was sounding on the shuttle’s HUD, cloned from her terminal’s feed. The sound marked the death of all that she cared for, a crier that heralded a turning tide.

  “Shut that off,” Miran said as animosity overtook her.