We learn some Interesting Things about the mirror universe, and prior contact...

More plot development, and no smut. But maybe... maybe there's hints of things to come? Yes, I think it is safe to say there is :P Anyway, this is a pretty short chapter, but we find out a bit more about the Mirror Universe, and Ciara gets some more screen time. And I give Leon some attention, because sheps deserve that. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird
S6E3, “The Witch"
Stardate 67440

Their ready room was dominated by the hologram General Beltran had called forth, and stared at proudly. Her pride, it transpired, was the accuracy of the data, which had been scrupulously exfiltrated from Union sources.

The communications relay looked something like three snowflakes, intersecting at right angles. It was responsible for official broadcasts across the sector, and for routing traffic along the Grid. Taking it offline would be tactically advantageous. “And with your help," Beltran finished, “we can finally do it."

This was Leon Bader's opportunity to step in. “The central core of the relay is the Nara trading station. The Union apparently guarantees its neutrality—"

“A lie," Beltran interjected. “They lie. Most of the traders are either Union spies already, or they're willing to become spies for less money than it would take to kill them."

“Right. But that does make it our logical entry point. The comms relay is protected by a regenerative deflector shield. It can channel some fraction of the energy it absorbs and redirect it—either as a weapon, or simply reflecting it to someplace safer. Our particle beams won't be able to overwhelm it."

“What's our next option, then? We could sneak inside with the Tempest, right?" Jack Ford asked; the scout ship had, so far, remained undetectable to Union sensors.

Dave Bradley wanted to keep it that way. “I think the cloaking device is still an ace we can keep up our sleeve. As Ensign Bader says, we need to get aboard the trading station, anyway. What happens after that?"

“Dr. Schatz and Mr. Cooper have created a sort of… computer virus. Once we gain access to the internal network, we'll get the information we need to plan our attack on the Agamemnon. After that, we upload the virus. The next time the deflector shield's capacitors discharge, it will take down the emitters completely."

“So we'll need to be shooting at them," Bradley concluded. “To do enough damage. Meanwhile, I imagine they'll be shooting back at us?"

Bader went through the full litany of the station's defensive armaments: phase cannons, high-power railguns, drones, and guided missile batteries that could put more than enough fire on them to oversaturate the cruiser's point-defense grid.

“We can help," Jack promised. Counter-missile operations were a scout ship speciality, and he looked forward to seeing what kind of drones the Union fielded now, rather than learning during what he imagined to be an inevitable rescue mission to retrieve their captain. “But it does seem like we ought to act fast."

“It does. And once it's down, ensign?"

“General Beltran has helped to identify a number of weak points we could target. The reactor would be vulnerable to a direct torpedo barrage—one good hit would destroy the entire station."

“And everyone on it."

“Precisely," Beltran said, having apparently misunderstood the tone of Dave's voice.

Leon, though, had not; he'd already anticipated the objection. “Each arm of the relay is protected by its own energy regulator. Disabling those, and then targeting this central node before they have a chance to shut the reactor down safely will render the transceivers completely irreparable."

“They'll figure it out as soon as you start shooting," General Beltran warned. “You'll only have twenty or thirty seconds to disable all six regulators."

“Actually, once we've disabled the first two, the lack of redundancy will buy us another couple of minutes, at least to get the rest." Leon thought they might have even more time: the station's commander would, after all, be facing a hard choice between down the reactor and keeping the defensive armament operational.

Beltran wasn't satisfied. “Fine. Twenty seconds to hit two."

Commander Bradley clicked his tongue, looking at the diagram Leon was working from. “They're not exactly big targets."

“I know." But the shepherd had already mapped out most of the firing angles: “It's doable, though. And it would leave the station's life support intact, sir."

Bradley shared the leopardess's concerns about the narrow time windows, but he trusted that Leon—thorough as he was—knew what he was talking about. “That's our plan, then. General Beltran, you wanted the relay taken out, and we're doing that. Just like we agreed."

She grumbled darkly. “Yes. If you're not going to destroy it, we should salvage it. Our ships will join the main attack."

“I thought you said it would be best to keep our partnership quiet as long as we can?"

Dave hoped that their own Felicia Beltran would not learn the sort of glare her counterpart so easily deployed. “The secret's going to get out pretty quickly if you leave witnesses, isn't it? So we might as well get something out of it. If you think you can carry out strikes of that precision, I'll agree to join your attack."

“I do. Captain Ford?"

The coyote shrugged, shaking his head affably. “Bader knows how the hoss handles, commander. We'll give you all the cover you need. Might want to check in with Munro, too. I know she's been looking at one of the Link's fighters; some Uxzu thing."

“Right. Leon, go ahead and start your more detailed planning. Uh, before you leave"—Beltran had gotten up from her seat. “Ayenni wanted to say something."

General Beltran stared at the Yara. “Your ship's telepathic spy?"

“Our doctor."

Ayenni smiled reassuringly. “I wouldn't read your mind unless you asked me to, ma'am. But—"

“It can wait." The leopardess cut her off with an imperious wave of her paw. “I need to tell our forces to start getting ready. You can pry into my skull when the mission is over."

With Beltran gone, Dave dismissed the others as well; Ayenni hung back, knowing that he'd ask her to do so even before he said it aloud. She did, after all, read some minds as a matter of course. “What were you going to say? When you asked me earlier, it sounded like it was important."

“It is. We're running out of time."

“What do you mean?"

“Staying in this universe is causing damage to our bodies. It seems to be made worse by contact with matter from this realm—breathing the air, maybe. Sabel and you have almost no detectable anomalies. Captain Ford, a little more. Commander Munro, more than that. At low levels, it's easy to repair… I think you and Sabel began healing once you were back aboard. But May…"

Dave's ears flattened. “How long?"

“Before symptoms start occurring? Weeks. But at that point, I think it might be irreversible. I think it goes the other way, too. The biofilters picked up some of the local microbes. Unicellular life in our atmosphere dies an order of magnitude faster than it should."

“We should start limiting contact, then."

“I don't know. I don't think it matters. We either get back fast enough that we won't notice, or we do not and it won't matter. The way things are, with our ship intact, we can probably survive for months—maybe longer. We need to rescue the captain quickly, though."

“Can you develop an antidote?" Even as he asked the question, he realized—before Ayenni had to point it out to him—that they had no way to administer it to Maddy. “Scratch that. Do you even know what's causing it?"

“No. It could be velionic radiation exposure. It could just be something off about this universe—like if you drank heavy water instead of normal H2O. I'll keep researching it, but…"

He held out his paw, and the alien took it. Their consciouses met, blending together at the fringes, and he sighed at the intimacy of the contact. “Do your best," he said. I love you.

Ayenni adopted a Terran smile. I love you, too. “I will, sir."

***

Two Link operatives met them, one of them a burly Uxzu and the other a well-muscled tiger. Their ID badges described them as cargo loaders; either of them looked like they could've moved a shipping container by hand. Both, catching sight of the newcomers, went wide-eyed in shock.

“Colonel! We… we had no idea," the Uxzu stammered.

Barry and Leon realized they were both looking at the Border Collie. Torres stepped forward to spare them. “Don't be an idiot," the Abyssinian hissed. “And keep your voices down. We need access to a computer terminal."

“Uh. Yes, yes, right." The Uxzu finally managed to recover, leading them away from the docking area to an alcove adjoining the control tower. She kept stealing glances at Barry, who splayed his ears at the attention. “Sorry, sir. I won't tell anyone. Just…"

The tiger was, apparently, just as awed. “Who would've thought? General Beltran must really be making an impression. Don't worry—we won't ask for autographs, or nothing. My brother served with you, though—in Task Force Vengeance. Do you know if…"

“Let them do their work, first," his partner said. “Alright. We've forged access codes for the cruiser Defiant. They're assigned to Captain Hatfield's flotilla, so… it shouldn't raise too many alarms. But try to be quick about it."

Torres worked quickly at the computer console. Barry followed the commands as best he could, although the feline seemed to be as adept as their own Mitch Alexander was, navigating the system using shortcuts he could barely even guess at. “You're in," she said.

“Thanks." The Union's operating system was nothing at all like the ones used by the Star Patrol; he thought he even recognized some Wanesh influence in the layout. Either way, he'd practiced, with help from Torres and Sabel Thorsen—the spitz had direct experience with their networks, after all. It wasn't too hard to find what he was looking for.

While the pair worked, Leon hung back. The Uxzu introduced herself as Xethil, of the Neviin Pride, and followed with a lengthier exposition of the clan's history. “Not that anyone here cares about prides, anymore." She stole a glance at the computer terminal. “Have you worked with him long?"

“Dr.—Colonel—Schatz? Yes. A while."

“Were you there when he executed Melysh Mekar?"

“No," the shepherd admitted. “I was not. I was… detached."

“That was a glorious battle," the Uxzu sighed. “They should sing of it."

Her companion cleared his throat. “They're the bad guys, you know, Xethil."

“It was still glorious," she protested. “And apparently we don't know as much about Colonel Schatz as we thought. And you… you have the honor of fighting alongside him. Perhaps I will, too. Do you think, Ivan?"

The tiger nodded. “I guess we have to hope so. I mean… I guess we're about to, right? We got word that you're planning an attack on the station. The security forces here will be riled up, for sure. Will Colonel Schatz lead the assault personally?"

Leon chose his words carefully: “Likely not. He will be expected to plan the naval attack, I imagine. But that will be up to General Beltran."

That plainly satisfied Ivan and Xethil. The Uxzu smiled, her teeth showing in a way that his experience with the Dominion had rendered Leon mostly immune to. “Ah, of course. She'll know how to get this job done."

While the data transfer finished, Barry—with Torres's help—pulled up the service records of his own counterpart. 'Colonel' had come as a bit of a surprise; the cat, too, was curious. “Bit infamous, huh?" she muttered. “Didn't realize you were such a big deal."

“Apparently." And too ambitious for his own good: the record ended with a classified note that Colonel Schatz was presumed lost, in a suspicious shuttle accident. The Union had evidently covered that part up, but—reading between the lines—Barry intuited that Schatz's equally ambitious second-in-command was the culprit.

It was a strange universe, and one he had no love for. The sooner they could get back to their own realm, the better. Torres nudged his side, her voice held low. “You should act the part. You think you can do that? There'll be rumors, you know. Our two contacts will talk to their friends, and they'll talk to their friends, and…"

“Act like a war criminal?"

“Think of the propaganda coup for the Link if you defect—that's what our friends believe already, isn't it?"

“I guess." He wasn't completely convinced. The download seemed to have completed successfully. When he checked it on his tablet, and turned towards Leon and the two Resistance fighters, Torres caught his eye again. The collie set his jaw, straightened up, and strode over. “Ensign. This will suffice for you to do your job?"

Ensign Bader furrowed his brow at Barry's tone. Technically, their science officer outranked him; in practice, even Bader rarely called the other dog 'sir.' He took the computer and focused on the schematics: eminently detailed, and everything he'd hoped for. That made the next bit easier. “Yes, colonel. I have what I need, sir."

“Good. I don't intend to make the same mistake we did with the Kavor."

Xethil gasped. “Mistake? You're being modest, sir."

“I'm allowing him to save face."

Xethil turned her gaze on Leon, and understanding seemed to dawn for the Uxzu. “Ah. Yes, well…"

“If we're done here," Torres interrupted. “We made good time. We should close the connection and wrap up."

Leon felt the Uxzu's glare boring into him. He tried to ignore it. “How long do we have in the block?"

“Another… three minutes or so, I guess?" Torres had explained to them that secure connections were assigned in ten-minute blocks, with a unique authentication code for each one. When that was up, they'd have to reconnect, and the credentials they had were only good for one such try.

“Colonel—if I might? A word," Leon suggested, pointing back towards the console. Barry followed along, and quirked his ears to the shepherd's whisper. “How different are the planets? Is their Terra like our Terra?"

“Yes. I think so. I mean, not random events—a solar flare here, a rainstorm there, but…"

“Can you get their astrometric database?"

Barry checked the system, and tried to piece a solution together from how Torres had navigated through it. “Perhaps. Why?"

“They'll know things we don't. Right? They'll have seen—"

“The Pictor," Schatz realized, speaking louder than he'd meant. “Right. I'll do what I can. I don't know what's going to be classified, exactly. We should be able to find… here! Cartographic information. I think we can—the computer!—give me the computer back."

Leon saw that Ivan and Xethil were watching them curiously. Let them draw their own conclusions. He gave Barry the tablet and the Border Collie began transferring as much as he could on what the Union knew of Pictor territory.

“Time's almost up," Torres reminded them. “What are you two doing? Maps?"

“It's… complicated," Leon said. The Abyssinian, after all, didn't need to know about the Terran Confederation's conflicts. “But yes. We can use it to enhance our own database, I hope. Depending on how much we can get…"

The console switched off. Barry shook his head. “Three sectors. I don't know what data's in the stream, but we can take a look at it back on the cruiser. I guess now it's time to upload the virus. Ready, Torres?"

“Born ready. Let's take these bastards down."

***

Hatfield had deployed a small, hovering chair, which supported the doe as she leaned back to rest her booted feet on May's cot. “So, have you been getting along with Jonathan?"

“We've been talking," the Akita said. “I don't know that I'd call it 'getting along.'"

“Personally, I think he's a bit of an idiot. Predators are too cocky, if you ask me. He says you haven't told him anything useful. But, again… maybe he just doesn't know. What did he tell you? Did he tell you that I wasn't going to attack Zereyev?"

“Couldn't you ask him?" May jolted. The coyote had turned down the intensity of her compliance bracelet—what would once have been searing pain was now a mild discomfort, and a high-pitched whine in her ear that cued her in to act the part. “He's your crew," she managed, through gritted teeth.

“But he might've forgotten. He said he told you about the other crossovers, though. The survivors who told us about your pathetic Terran Confederation. All your supposed 'values.' Not much good it did them."

“You didn't kill them, though."

“No. Our universe did. It's not for the weak. It's why you should be wanting to run along home. But no. No, you're going to keep being difficult, aren't you? You must want to know about the survivors, though. Maybe someone you've heard of, some lost sailor…"

“I doubt it. I only know the captain of the Rewa-Tahi, and that was years and years ago."

Hatfield, briefly, seemed interested. “So you've named the sector after a lost warship, too? I don't believe yours ended up here, or vice-versa. Lena Howard, though? Chang She? Julian Cissonius, Nevin Gouw… famous explorers who went missing?"

None of them sounded familiar in the slightest. “No."

“No, I thought not. Just people who disappeared without a trace, and were forgotten. Like you. Right?" The doe asked the question with a smirk that Maddy badly wanted to slap off her muzzle. “Now, I suppose… oh, what now?" She tapped her communicator. “Hatfield speaking."

“The Nara Communications Junction is under attack, ma'am," a voice answered. “Our flotilla is the closest in range. Admiral Timea wants to speak with you."

“How far out are we?"

“Two hours, at best speed."

“Set a course. Order the flotilla to pursue. Combat readiness reports in half an hour. Patch Timea through to my commlink."

May saw the admiral's fuzzy hologram: from the shape of her ears, Timea seemed to be some kind of bear. She definitely had a bear's surly growl. “Who told the Link they could hit Nara, Theresa?"

“They're fools," Hatfield replied—although despite the bluster, Maddy couldn't help noticing that the doe had straightened up before taking the call, and the sneer was gone. “Probably just harassing a few freighters that happened to be passing by."

“No. They're attacking the station. And they have help: some kind of cruiser-sized vessel, with powerful beam weapons. That's all we heard before we lost the signal."

“Nothing can get through the station's shields. Nothing on a cruiser-sized ship, anyway. We're making flank speed to clean up whatever's left of the attacking force."

Timea growled deeply. “Consider the way it looks when the Link decides to hit the biggest transmitter in my sector, and you let it happen. Think of how it looks to me, Theresa. If that station is damaged, I'm holding you personally responsible."

“Be my guest. You won't have to."

“See that I don't." The hologram disappeared, and immediately May felt her bracelet activate. It took her nearly half a second to realize how far Hatfield had turned it up, and to double over in appropriate pain.

Fortunately the other captain was distracted. “Damn it. What is your crew up to, Madison May? What are they planning?" She left without waiting for an answer, with the bracelet still on and the Akita sprawled gasping on the floor.

May waited, and turned the question over in her own head.

What are they planning?

***

“Forward shields are at 80%. That was a warning shot," Leon added, for Elissa Parnell's benefit. Eli's paws were tight on the ship's controls; she glanced over her shoulder to acknowledge him with a curt growl. “They're extremely accurate with those. And we're going to be in missile range, soon."

The helmsman already understood the need for evasive maneuvers. She tried to pick them through torrents of fire from the phase cannons while giving the shepherd regular opportunities to hammer the massive station with their own weapons.

“Why are their deflectors still up?" Dave wanted to know. “Are we not doing enough damage?"

“They're, like, five hundred times bigger than we are." If anything, Mitch thought she was understating the degree to which they were outclassed. “It's going to take time, sir."

“How much time?"

Before she could answer, Leon was ready with even more bad news. “Our allies aren't faring any better, sir. Two ships have already been disabled."

“Divert power from the rear deflectors to the particle beams. Helm, keep 'em off our ass, would you?" Dave shook his head at the mess they were making of the tactical display. The Link had committed thirty-odd ships, most of them too lightly armed to draw the station's attention and none of them as inviting a target as the Dark Horse was proving to be. “Have the resistance concentrate fire on grid 2-2 mark 7. Ensign Bader, can you get a firing solution? Attack pattern alfa. Hit them with everything we've got as soon as the other ships can coordinate an assault."

“On it, sir."

Mitch confirmed that the Link was moving into position a few seconds later, and Eli Parnell grimaced at the options it gave her. “Framing in fifteen, five on primary. Be ready to switch the deflectors to rear priority as soon as we break, tactical."

“Right," Leon acknowledged. He had to hope it would be enough.

So did Eli. “Ready. Switch interlock."

“Tactical interlock set." Leon salvoed every one of their forward torpedo tubes, aligned the ship's course, and fired the particle beams for as long as he dared before passing control back to the helm. As Eli hauled the cruiser out of the firing line, Leon put everything he could into the rear deflector.

A barrage of phase cannon fire hit them a heartbeat later. They were not the only victims, this time. “Lost another ship," Spaceman Alexander called out from the CCI station. “But I'm detecting power fluctuations from the station. And—there! Their shields have collapsed!"

“Then we're in business. Leon, you know what to do. Helm, put us into position to execute. We're going to need missile coverage."

***

“They're gonna need missile coverage," Ford radioed his two wingmen, as soon as the Dark Horse began maneuvering to fire on the station's energy regulators. “Let's do our jobs, shall we?"

Commander Kamyshev answered with an eager growl. Munro sounded a bit less sure of herself. With the Tempest being kept in reserve, she'd volunteered to take something called a Kahil, an Uxzu-built heavy fighter. The vixen had looked almost comically small in the cockpit; her copilot was an Uxzu named Talvik Xelesh—diminutive for one of his kind, and twice Ciara's weight.

She felt absurd flying it. Still, the ship was better-armed than the Type 7 scouts Ford and Kamyshev had, and Munro was a test pilot by profession. Despite her muted reply, the snap-roll she executed was crisp and precise. “Ready, Charger 1."

“Stick to the brief and stay in your zone. Don't worry about the ones that get through. Keep up the pressure and trust the point-defense grid to handle the rest." Kamyshev didn't need the reminder, but Ford figured the advice would be helpful for Ciara.

Because, half a minute later, his threat alarm went crazy. She heard it, briefly, in the background over the radio. The report in the vixen's own craft was more muted. That was to be expected, she supposed—they weren't the intended target. “Jammers."

Talvik adjusted something on his control panel. “They are operational. I'm tracking eight hundred inbound missiles. Nine hundred."

Both of the Type 7s were packing a standard missile-defense loadout: extra kinetic penetrators for the internal railguns, and a pair of ion cannons under their wings that would do nothing against a crewed ship but made short work of any missile they hit.

Standoff interception was a classic assignment for the scout ships, and the scenario was ideal: a single source, a single target, and two highly skilled pilots. There was only one catch, and Talvik grunted his frustration. “There's too many of them."

If Ford and Kamyshev were able to take out a missile every second between them, hundreds more would still make it to the Dark Horse. The countermeasures on Munro's fighter were supposed to confuse the guidance sensors, making it easier for either the Type 7s or the cruiser's point-defense armament to do their job.

He'd said to trust the point-defense grid. She couldn't. “Charger 1, this is 4. I'm spread too thin. They're burning through the active jammers."

“Yeah." Ciara thought the coyote's voice sounded flat; tense. In his Type 7, Ford was trying to split his attention between his individual targets and the bigger picture—occupied was more like it. “Okay, 4. Ignore everything outside eight thousand. Charger 2, we're on our own."

“Roger that."

Jack figured it would probably be fine. Everything seemed to be heavy, anti-ship missiles. He'd wanted Munro's jammers to cover the two scouts' interdiction areas to buy them a bit of extra time if anybody felt like shooting at them. So far, they hadn't. So far, the capital ships seemed to be the only target of consequence.

The Dark Horse had now disabled three of the station's energy regulators. Now would've been the time to start shutting down the main reactor safely; Ford expected the volume of fire to start dwindling at any moment. But it didn't. The Union was keeping up the pressure admirably, and it was beginning to take its toll on the coyote.

“Charger. You have inbound hostiles. Six ships, bearing—"

“Trident attackers," Talvik added, speaking over Mitch Alexander's report. “They must've launched from the station. I guess we weren't able to shut all the bays down."

“Great." Ciara looked at the trajectories on the tactical plot. The enemy fighters were outside her assigned area, and she was not supposed to get any closer. Considering what they were up against, this fact had seemed slightly heartening when they were being briefed. “I think we could cut them off."

“Probably," Talvik agreed. “We are not meant to."

Munro wasn't a combat pilot; nearly all of her experience was in testing prototypes. Only after coming aboard the Dark Horse had that begun to change. Only after coming aboard the Dark Horse, too, had she learned what someone like Jack Ford would do. “Charger 4. We have a clear path to intercept those bandits. I'm requesting permission to engage."

Ford recognized the exigent circumstances, if not the vixen's internal conflict. “Go for it, Munro. Good hunting."

She brought the fighter around and pushed the throttle to its limit. “Do what you can to reconfigure our jammers, Talvik. And tell me everything you know about those ships."

“Multirole attack vessels, with four heavy pulse cannons and two turrets for fighter protection. The turrets track quickly. The Link tries to face them at a distance, with the advantage of numbers, so they can't focus their attention."

“Well, we can't do that. How maneuverable are they?"

“They can change orientation quickly, to help align their guns. Maximum acceleration is limited, though. We do have that advantage. Our armor is also better, although it won't matter too much if they start hitting us with their main cannons."

“Got it." Over the radio, the Dark Horse reported another energy regulator had been destroyed. Just have to hold out a little more, Ciara told herself. Distract the Tridents so Ford and Kamyshev can keep the Dark Horse safe, and then they'll be able to bail us out.

“I told my family I was given an assignment outside the line of battle," Talvik mused. “My death will come as a surprise to them."

“Uh. Maybe let's not—"

“Oh, a pleasant one. One Kahil heavy fighter against a squadron of Tridents! Our sacrifice will make for a magnificent story." He was, she saw on looking over at him, grinning widely. “You'll do your best to make it magnificent, won't you?"

“I expect help editing. Afterwards," she growled. Her ship was now two hundred kilometers away from the Tridents, and the flight had definitely noticed her approach. They'd adjusted their own course to match, racing towards a head-on collision. Munro backed off the throttle a little, to figure out their intentions.

“I have the two lead ships targeted for you, if you want."

“Thanks." It was at this point that another advantage occurred to her, which was that they had no idea who she was. The Union would be expecting an Uxzu at the controls, doubtless entirely willing to pursue a magnificent sacrifice. The vixen had other ideas. She watched the distance dwindling, faster and faster. By fifty kilometers, she figured, rounds from the other fighters would hit before she had a chance to evade. Seventy… sixty...

At the last possible moment she nosed over and firewalled the throttle. Time slowed as she watched the energy pulses arc past; by that point she was already hauling the controls back, holding in the trigger—her fighter cleared the expanding debris field of her two victims by a few hundred meters, racing its leading edge to the sound of a giddy howl from Talvik.

“Tell me what's going on," she barked. Now they were in a knife fight—even if the Kahil had more powerful engines, they wouldn't be able to dodge or outrun the cannons of the four remaining Tridents.

“They've split into two groups of two ships each. One left, one straight above us. The jammers are stalling their defensive turrets, though, I think."

Good. Good. The station was 'below' them, which put it in the line of fire if the second element tried to engage. She went for the first element instead, already seeing what Talvik had meant by the enemy ships' agility. The Kahil was practically sluggish in comparison. And, just as she dragged one of them into her sights, an alarm and curt shout from Talvik warned her that the other two Tridents were engaging.

This time the plasma missed by a much less comfortable margin. And at four against one, the Union could afford to press their advantage only when the attacking ship was properly covered. Ciara could feel the pressure of one settling onto her tail even before Talvik said so. “Watch it."

She swiveled her head—catching sight of the other three and trying to think like a test pilot. Evaluating the maneuverability of each combatant, and the limits of their systems. What they'd be able to counter. What they'd want from her…

“What are you doing? You're slowing down."

“I'm bringing it in closer, Talvik."

“You're what?"

“Kill the jammers. Now."

Ciara pulled the nose up and held in the retrofire switch, opening the energized plates that redirected her engine's power straight forward. In the confusion of having her cleanly exposed to her targeting scanners, disrupting their computers' firing solutions, nobody took advantage of the opportunity when the first Trident overshot her.

Besides which, they were maneuvering at the limits of their thrusters, and she was not. The vixen got a good half-dozen hits on her adversary. Half the wing broke off in a shower of sparks, and differential thrust spun the other into a uselessly whirring blur. “Jammers—again—please," she ordered, suddenly appreciating how tense Jack had sounded earlier.

“Yes. Done! They're closing again."

The energy signature of the communications relay faded, and Munro saw that the Dark Horse had finished the job. Unfortunately, that only strengthened the resolve of the remaining Tridents to finish theirs. They did not intend to give her an opportunity to repeat her earlier trick.

It was all she could do to stay out of their sights long enough to force one to break off—and immediately another was in its place. Ciara was in the middle of a tightening triple helix, the margins becoming closer by the second. “Evasive maneuvers!"

Before she could react, the ship went dark; it recovered a fraction of a second later, and Ciara could already tell something had gone wrong. The Kahil slewed drunkenly. “Talk to me!"

“Hit to the stern thruster block. Control systems are failing."

“Backups."

There. She had control again, mostly, although they were noticeably slower, and only the notion that she had already been disabled seemed to have kept the other Tridents from finishing the job. “The backups are designed only to allow a safe egress. You have a short amount of time before they fail, too."

“How long?"

“About ninety of your Terran seconds."

Ciara wrenched them out of the path of another salvo. “When you say 'safe egress.' You mean something, uh—"

“Magnificent, yes!" Talvik growled gleefully. “Shall I set the self-destruct?"

“Not yet," she growled back, preparing to dodge the next attack. Before she had to, though, the Trident broke off. And then, a second later, its wingman exploded. Ciara saw the markers for two new vessels, in close range. 'Unidentified,' by the icon, but friendly.

Which made sense—Type 7s wouldn't have been in the recognition database. The remaining Tridents looked to be fleeing, although she had no idea where. Commander Kamyshev was hot on their heels; Jack Ford's scout circled around to get a good look at her. “We havin' fun yet, commander?"

“I don't know that I'd call it… call it…" the lights had gone off again, and this time they stayed off. It was eerily silent in the cockpit. “I see."

“Don't worry," Talvik assured her.

“About?"

“He'll understand. Even if we have to be rescued afterwards, you can still call it fun."

“That isn't…" The vixen sighed; the adrenaline was just barely starting to taper, and she saw the exhaustion it would leave in its wake. “That isn't what I meant. We're still alive, is what I meant."

A heavy paw thumped on her shoulder. “No, no. That's still fun, too. You'll learn."

***

Acting captain's log, stardate 67443.6

For the moment, we've parted ways with the Link, leaving them to continue appropriating whatever they can from the damaged Nara relay. Dr. Beltran was able to secure a promise from the general that there would be no reprisals against any of the Union personnel still aboard the station. We have to hope they'll keep their word.

Lieutenant Commander Munro's damaged starfighter was recovered by one of the Link's carriers; we've agreed that she will serve as our temporary liaison until we can all regroup. For now, we've earned a breather, and an opportunity to digest the information we gained in the raid. A very short breather, at that—next comes the even more challenging part…

“According to General Beltran, the raid's success exceeded all projections. They've acquired nearly four hundred metric tons of munitions and supplies."

“Should buy us some goodwill," Bradley agreed. “And what about our mission?"

Ensign Bader brought up a diagram of the Agamemnon, nearly as complete and thorough as the diagnostics they had for their own cruiser. “We have what we need, sir. Based on the data I've collected on their shield generators, we'll be able to boost the effectiveness of our particle beams by a factor of ten or more."

“For how long? They'll adapt."

The shepherd nodded. “Definitely. And they'll adapt even faster when they realize we're not just getting lucky, but we should still be able to disable their main reactor in a way that leaves the ship intact. I recommend prioritizing their hyperdrive first. Once we've done that, we can take our time."

Dave still saw it as something of a last resort; they had to find a way to extract Captain May first, after all. Bader had given him options, though, and he was grateful to their tactical officer for doing so. “What about their reinforcements? They must have more than just that battleship."

“According to the tactical data, Hatfield is the commander of the 133rd Flotilla. Another cruiser, three destroyers, and a half-dozen corvettes… but they tend to be spread out, from what I can tell, hunting down rogue elements of the Link wherever they can find them. I think it should take them twenty or thirty minutes before the closest ship can respond."

Dr. Beltran—still not used to hearing her name preceded with 'General'—raised her paw. “I am not, despite appearances, a military strategist. Still, it seems to me that we should assume they will be increasing their patrols in this sector. The information we have on their deployments will already be out of date."

“Yup." Eyes turned towards Jack Ford. “We'll have stirred up the hornest's nest, Dave. Commander Munro told me her contact with the resistance said they're all gonna be on high alert."

“And that creates a different problem for us, captain," Beltran continued, using the opportunity she'd been given. “For now, we are useful to the Link. But if the net effect of our intervention is to have called down the ire of the Union armada, that calculus will change. They may become more concerned with their own survival."

“And become less cooperative when we need them," the retriever guessed.

Dr. Beltran, who liked her crewmates, nonetheless doubted their ability to survive in the new universe. “Indeed. Or they might look at us differently, in the context of the Dark Horse representing a ship so much more powerful than anything else in their arsenal."

Finally, Dave and the others understood. “Who are our contacts with them? Captain Ford, you said Munro is working with a specific individual? She's cautious, at least; won't take risks. Who's, uh, Torres partnered with?"

“Our own version of Mitch Alexander," Ayenni answered. “And Spaceman Wallace."

“TJ?" Dave locked eyes with Ayenni, and their ship's doctor gave a subtle nod at the question Bradley was too polite to ask publicly about what the two had gotten up to together. The otter, unlike Ciara Munro, would take risks. Or he had a good sense of intuition, but Dave felt a little paranoia would be warranted. “Doctor, I might have to ask a favor of you…"

“You would like me to read her mind?"

“Nothing too invasive. In… broad strokes, that's all."

Some degree of telepathic insight could not be helped—it came to her as naturally as reading someone's facial expressions, or watching the way Dave's ears perked. “In that sense, I already have. She seems very similar to the one I know already."

“Really?"

“It's actually, uh. It's not that surprising," Barry Schatz interjected. “At least, I mean. It's not to me. Sir."

“Explain."

“Well, it's not exactly the case that everyone is their opposite over here, if you've noticed. I think, um, it's almost more accurate to say that they're a more raw version of ourselves, without our moral compasses. General Beltran shares your analytical ability and intuition," he went on, turning to the leopardess. “But without your belief in the rule of law. From what we know, Captain Hatfield is the same, um… precise, controlling captain that she is in our universe, but applied to the quest for power that seems to be the guiding principle here."

“Where are you going with this?" Dave asked.

Dr. Schatz was not an expert in psychology—decidedly not an expert in the psychology of doppelgängers. He had been trying to think of what might have led his own counterpart in the direction Colonel Schatz seemed to have gone. “Well, maybe if you're more laid-back and easy-going, it's harder to find much… evil… in you."

Mitch would not have taken too much offense at Dave's conclusion that, of the Abyssinian's positive traits, 'ambition' scored fairly low. “That makes sense, I guess. We should still keep an eye on her, though. Captain Ford, I'd recommend you instruct Munro to do the same with her contacts."

“Right."

Only one order of business remained. “Ensign Bader, you said you had something else to report. You asked Lieutenant Vasquez to join us for that."

The shepherd was still going through the data he'd collected aboard the communications relay; he would need help to process it. “When we had access to the Union's archives, I also asked Dr. Schatz to download as much of their astrometric data as he could. They have much better maps of the area controlled by the Pictor Empire on our side of the… whatever the divide is. The Pictor do exist here, as a minor power—the Union claims most of their territory, and there's an ongoing resistance movement. So they have fairly good tactical intel."

“How much data did you wind up getting?"

He cleared his throat. “A little under three zettabytes. It seems to contain present and historical data for about three hundred systems. I was hoping that if we could compare that historical data to planets we know about, we could figure out how different things are here."

“And?"

“They're not. They seem to be very similar. Which makes this interesting… seismic readings suggest the Pictor homeworld is geologically unstable. Eruptions that could severely damage the habitability of the planet are expected over the next few years."

Lieutenant Vasquez beckoned with his paw for Leon to share the maps with him. They represented the clearest images he'd ever seen of the planet—no Confederation starship had ever gotten within hundreds of light-years. “Interesting."

Barry Schatz rose, rounding the table so that he could look at the images himself. “It's not the first time, either." He was too distracted to ask permission before zooming in on the hologram, selecting new bits of data with precise, short swipes of his fingers. “You'd have to model it to be sure, but it must be a cycle—tens or hundreds of years, but… these formations look exactly like the Towers of Lothex, on Varentia. That's a—I think it's a six hundred year primary cycle, with a seventy-year secondary cycle. When they overlap, it's all but catastrophic."

“We never suspected," Vasquez admitted. “I wonder if that's why they've evolved to hibernate the way they do. I'd like to look at this in more detail, Commander Bradley, but if this is true for us, it explains a lot. The militant caste is pushing for action now because they fear we'll take advantage of their weakness."

“So if we could demonstrate that we have no intention of doing so…"

“I wouldn't go that far," the wolf cautioned, frowning. “With the naval advantage they've built up, they'll want to make use of their armada before we can counter it. But it does explain why they started in the first place."

Dr. Beltran found that she, too, was curious about looking over the data; despite her initial misgivings, Vasquez was beginning to grow on her. “I suggest an additional hypothesis be investigated. To return to an earlier topic: it is also easy to imagine the Union identified this vulnerability and exploited it. They might be aware of others."

***

Ciara Munro's personal log, stardate 67444.2

Somehow we made it back. Talvik is still thrilled, and still keeps reminding me that it's fine we weren't killed in the fighting, because we can try again next time. This wasn't really my objection.

I wonder, though… there's a Ciara Munro here, too, I bet. Right? What's she like? I wonder if she's a pilot. General Beltran is nothing like our ship's diplomat. Would I recognize… me… if I saw her?

“You see? It's good." The Uxzu mechanic thumped Ciara's fighter in a way the vixen would never have dared touch the Tempest. “Back to normal. This has seen worse."

When she'd landed on the rebel flagship, towed by one of the other strike craft, a third of the port wing was gone, and a hole had been punched straight through the rear fuselage—including a decent part of reactor shielding. “You can barely tell anything was damaged…"

“It happens a lot." The Uxzu shrugged, slamming his toolkit closed. “Talvik spoke enthusiastically about your performance. This is a minor price to pay for having such a storied experience."

The vixen still wasn't inclined to think of it as having been terribly fun. Exhilarating, maybe, in a purely literal sense. “I'll take your word for it. I don't normally have those sort of… experiences."

“A surprise, given your illustrious comrades." The mechanic ran his paw over the leading edge of the fighter's wing. “Is it true that you know Colonel Schatz?"

“Yes, I suppose so. Not well." She'd been told that the Border Collie's counterpart was, evidently, a somewhat notorious figure, and intuited that the nature of such notoriety would have endeared him to the Uxzu. “We travel in different circles."

“Perhaps you'll get the chance to fight with him again!"

“Maybe."

He eyed her curiously. “But that's not where your heart is. You want to get home, I heard. I don't know where 'home' is for you. You must want to see your family?"

“No. I don't really have one. They're farmers."

“Your mate, then?"

“Not one of those, either. Not anymore. She left… a while ago. Being a test pilot was stressful on our marriage."

This was not, plainly, the answer or the explanation the Uxzu had anticipated. “Then what is it that would be more compelling to you than battle?"

In its own way, this was almost reassuring: in spite of all the other strangeness in this new universe, his line of questioning spoke to someone who could've fit in well with the Uxzu Dominion she knew. In her first encounter with them, one of the big warriors had put her jaws around the vixen's head, just to see if it would fit.

Recalling that, Ciara couldn't help but smile. Briefly, she didn't have to think about the battle, or about what version of herself she might have to learn about. And the arrival of a messenger from elsewhere in the resistance base forestalled any other discussion: Beltran wanted to see her.

The leopardess was in a meeting with her senior commanders, looking at a map of the Nara system. Munro couldn't tell exactly what was going on—an attack of some kind. “I thought all the Link ships had managed to escape."

“They did," one of the other officers said. “Our raiding parties have been gone for most of a full day. These are freighters. The Agamemnon arrived an hour ago. Shortly afterwards, they began firing."

“We should be expecting retaliation." General Beltran clasped her paws behind her back, looking at the tactical display with a cold, keen eye. “This is not it. Are they baiting you, Commander Munro?"

“I'm not sure, ma'am. I don't think the Dark Horse can receive those distress calls. If they're not transmitting on Star Patrol frequencies, or the ones you've given us…"

“They're not." The leopardess scowled. “They're not our ships. It's only an accident that we still have a scout in the area. So what is that bitch doing?"

The alien captain standing with them flicked his wings out nervously. “A show of force. They'll come after us next."

“No. Shooting up a neutral convoy doesn't make a show of force, does it? Doesn't make very good collective punishment, either, if you don't tell anyone about it. She's not broadcasting it on the sector net." The general turned away from the map, her eyes narrowing in thought. “A scapegoat."

“What's that?"

Felicia whirled abruptly, prompting the captain to twitch his wings again and step back from the console. She was focused, though, searching for a clue in the data they'd received. “Yes. She wants someone to blame for the attack on the relay station. Our raid gives her cover for that."

“'Blame'?" Ciara asked. “People are going to start asking questions, then, is what you're saying."

“Yes. Yes, they are. And Hatfield is going to become even more rash. We'll need to be more aggressive. There's no time now for half-measures."

***

“It's just me." Ford closed the door behind him, set the tray of food down, and took a seat on the edge of May's bunk. “And you're probably lucky. Hatfield's… let's go with 'livid.' I haven't seen her like this in years, honestly."

“She was blamed for the attack on whatever station that was?"

“Not yet. Not officially." May stared at the coyote until he kept going. “She went after a convoy we found in the area. Resistance warships, officially, according to her… she destroyed three of them."

“The Link was the one who attacked the station?"

Jonathan crossed his arms. “Eat."

“Answers," May replied, but prodded the pasta with her fork until she was satisfied it wouldn't fight back.

“We both know your ship led the attack. Hatfield knows it, too. She's still trying to keep things quiet… doesn't want word getting out about the Dark Horse. It would spark a gold rush with all the other ambitious captains."

“What do you think about that?"

He stared at the Akita. “About what?"

“All of it? Keeping me a secret. Attacking the convoy. A gold rush…"

“Hatfield is an effective captain, most of the time. She can be… hyperfocused, though, and if we have to pay for the destroyed cargo, the crew will ask what became of their bonus. To say nothing of…"

“Of what?" May tried to nudge further explanation; she had a fairly good idea.

“Three ships. Only two of them managed an evacuation first, and I didn't see that many lifeboats. I told her… I told her the convoy wasn't involved, and we shouldn't try to go after them, but when she sees red like that…"

“Here's a… oh, fine. I'll take a bite first." The buckwheat noodles were more chewy than they had any right to be, but she eventually got it down. “An honest question, Commander Ford: is she right about the gold rush? How valuable is the Dark Horse?"

“I've been trying to figure that out myself, to be honest. Some of the pieces… not all of the pieces have added up."

He'd already said far more than he really should've. “I thought it was obvious. Wasn't it? A new era of peace and prosperity, if you could only figure out our hyperdrives? That's what I was told."

“Obviously, it's not quite that nice, no. I've done some more researching. I wanted to talk to you about it. By any chance, do you know a Julian Cissonius? Jules, maybe?"

“No." The name sounded familiar, and in recent memory. “Wait. Captain Hatfield mentioned that name. One of the people from my universe, I think, wasn't he?"

“Yes. The last encounter, as a matter of fact. That's where it gets a bit complicated. The research center at Ankiyana is highly restricted territory. Even the information about it is very classified. But I was able to pull a few strings… subtly…"

The way he trailed off led Maddy to the answer before he prompted her for it. “Cissonius is still alive."

“He's the lead researcher, as a matter of fact. He took over a few months after he arrived. Now…" the coyote leaned forward, dropping his voice to hushed, conspiratorial tones. “Some things are even more classified than I can get access to. Just asking about them might get me executed. The records before Dr. Cissonius took over are sealed. I have no idea what exactly the center was researching. But all the evidence points to him looking for a way back home. Back to your universe."

“For decades? I'm amazed at his perseverance." Even as the Akita said it, she suspected she would've been just as dedicated—so would the rest of her crew. That wasn't the amazing part. “I'm amazed the Union has let him keep trying."

“They're getting something out of it."

“Not just the promise of a faster hyperdrive, right? Hatfield said it's easier to get from our universe to yours. If they could figure out how to do it the other way… could that be it? What're they trying?"

“I don't know. And it seems to be impossible, so far. We haven't been able to figure it out, obviously. But Cissonius might be able to help you. You might be able to help each other. If you were able to get to Ankiyana."

“How far away is it?"

“It wouldn't have to be far away at all. We have…" His ears twitched, as though he was trying to decide what to disclose. “We have a special shuttle aboard. It has a unique type of point-to-point FTL engine. A blinkdrive. We don't make them… we don't even know who did; we found them at an abandoned station a few centuries ago…"

It sounded like Hano technology, or the alternate dimension's equivalent. “I have my guesses. You're saying we could pay a visit to the research center?"

“If you sounded like you were going to cooperate. I can plant the seed in Hatfield's head. She won't want to deploy the shuttle, so it'll take some convincing, but if she can be persuaded, and if it sounds like it might get you talking…"

“And I get a ticket home out of this. What do you get?"

The coyote sat back, and his ears lowered. “Stability. Hatfield's obsession is going to cause problems for us. The faster you're out of our hair, the better. I wouldn't get much of the plunder from capturing your ship, anyway. If Theresa feels trapped, there's no telling what else she might do. I can't keep covering up for her."

***

“You've done remarkable work, Ensign Bader. Sergeant-Major Carvajal was apparently quite effusive." Not that it surprised Commander Bradley; the shepherd had been in his element, after all.

“Thank you, sir."

“I need you to pull it off again. General Beltran will help provide resources for an attack on the Agamemnon. We can get soldiers for a boarding party, or additional ships to help cover us. What would it take?"

The shepherd thought over the schematics, or as much of them as he'd committed to memory. “For a rescue mission with their guaranteed support?"

“Yes."

“Well, we could use the marines. I already have an idea or two for taking down the battleship's defenses. Boarding actions are going to be difficult, sir. Especially since Sabel's experience tells me they've got to have Boarding Contingency Units of their own. After the fighting at the station, I think we should have a healthy respect for the Union's fighting ability."

“And Beltran's group?"

“Fortunately, them as well, sir. Honestly, we've been so…"

This was the point where Leon was supposed to ask for permission to speak freely, although both dogs knew what the shepherd's point was going to be. The Star Patrol had not had to do any serious fighting since the end of their last war with the Pictor. Even their antipiracy operations were lackadaisical.

And rather than covering that well-trod ground again, Dave just nodded. “I know. I was talking about this with Captain Ford, and we agree that if it comes down to boarding operations, you and Mr. Thorsen are going to be key to our success. We both have faith in you coming up with a solid plan."

“I appreciate that, sir. We won't let you down."

“I'd like you to take point in coordinating tactical operations with the Link. The ship's resources will also be at your disposal, if you need anything from engineering or the auxiliary group. Do you think you will?"

Leon hadn't drawn up the fine details of any particular plan, to that point; he couldn't answer with any certainty. “We probably won't need the scout ships, I guess. But I'll let you know as soon as I can."

“Do so. Time is everything, Mr. Bader."

“Of course. Captain May has already been in their… custody for too long."

“More than that. Ayenni has presented me with some troubling news. Exposure to something in this universe—we don't know what yet—is destructive to us at the cellular level. The damage is self-repairing if we're aboard this ship, and its atmosphere—but she thinks that's only true to a point."

“And the captain's been aboard a hostile vessel. Eating their food, breathing their air… how long does it take? What about Commander Munro? Or Dr. Schatz and I?"

“Mild exposure is apparently relatively safe. But I don't trust that to be the case forever, and you shouldn't either. We'll have the doctor do a complete scan of Munro when she comes back aboard. But…"

Bradley had nothing to say about what that might mean for Madison. Leon understood the implication. “Time is everything," the shepherd echoed. “I have the beginnings of a plan already. If we were able to land two boarding parties, one by the flight bay and one just ahead of the engine room, we could cut off any reinforcements long enough to break May out. I think."

“You think?"

“I'm not certain where she'd being held. Sabel had a few ideas. Schematics of the Agamemnon have narrowed it down further. I'll have something for you in a few hours, sir."

“Good. Now… do you think you'd be able to take command of the operation once it's underway?"

“Yes. I do, if you want. If you don't think I'm needed here, I can take part in the boarding action."

It was the answer that Dave had expected. The shepherd was, after all, dedicated Star Patrol. He had spent the morning reviewing Bader's service record, which had led him inevitably to the Dark Horse specifically because he was too zealous for the Terran side of the frontier.

“Sir?" Leon prompted. Bradley had gone quiet.

The retriever took the box from his breast pocket; clicked it open for Leon's inspection. “I think it's important that the Link understand your seniority, and the responsibility we're putting on you. General Beltran was right; it's a bit strange we took this long. Lieutenant Bader?"

Since Ciara Munro's promotion, the rank insignia had been looking for a good home. Leon kept his ears perked and his tail steady. “Thank you, commander. I appreciate the opportunity."

“Consider it provisional until May gets back. Maybe if you do a good enough job…"

“Yes, sir."

Dave grinned. “I was kidding. Captain May will approve, I have no doubt. Now, let's get to work."