Chapter Two

USS Adamant

Lar’ragos took another sip of Caldwell’s potent brew. He was far drunker than he’d allowed himself to get in quite some time, decades at least. “So, he tells me he’s the imperial governor, that I’ve overstepped my authority, and that I’m wearing my medals in the wrong order on my dress uniform!”

Caldwell snorted once before releasing a deep belly laugh. Her arms went to her sides quickly until she regained control of her voice. While wiping at her eyes, she shot her former comrade-in-arms a toothy grin. "I can't imagine the look on his face."

“Then try and imagine the look on his face when I shoved him over the balustrade, that smug son-of-a-bitch!” Lar’ragos mimed the shove, forgetting he had a half-full glass of Aldeberran Whisky in his hand which sloshed out onto the cabin’s carpet. “And we were only five-hundred stories up! It took me a good minute to find a pair of binoculars, and I still had time to focus in on him before he met concrete!”

She widened her smile. "Tell me you watched him hit the ground, sir. That's always the best part," Caldwell said nothing about the spilt drink, as she had slammed her glass down on the desk hard enough to spill hers. "Remember that wannabe-assassin from Arcturus that was chasing our units on Rigel?"

“The guy you gelded with that Orion pig-sticker of yours? Oh, yeah... I remember him. Mostly his high-pitched screaming after you tossed his ass out of the flyer.” Lar’ragos’ legs gave out and he stumbled backwards, falling against the front of the couch and sliding onto the floor on his butt. “Damn, you’d have enjoyed the Hekosian army, Marcia. Your team would get assigned a mission, given six months to carry it out, and that was it. As long as you got it done, there were no after-action reports, no hand-wringing.”

Caldwell reached for her glass and drained it nearly dry. She gasped loudly, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her uniform and said, "Starfleet's not so bad, once you figure out how to delegate the paperwork. I actually delegated mine to a shavetail who managed to make it out of hell week with his ass in one piece. I turned over my unit to him when he made light commander. You know, before Otex and Grazer told me to take this assignment."

Lar’ragos chuckled as he clumsily poured himself another glass of the murky green liquid. “That’s what you get for listening to one of those damned Marine officers. Join Vanguard and see the ass end of the universe.” He took another draught of the bracing spirit, which made his eyes water. “Me... I’m the fucking stand-in. Sandhurst stabbed me in the back and left me behind to clean up his mess.” He shook his head dejectedly. “You have any goddamn idea how long it’s been since I had to care? I swore I’d never leave myself open to that again... and here I am, in command of a fucking starship!”

She grunted and grabbed the bottle for herself. However, her pouring only filled the glass to just below the midway point as they had finished it. Caldwell looked inside to see if there was anymore, but dejectedly tossed it against the bulkhead with enough force to shatter it on impact. Her toss appeared effortless. "Fuck that, sir. Fuck being a ship driver, too. The best days were when we would ride fire and take lives like it was nothing. I-"

The door chime interrupted her thought, to which she angrily snarled. "What?!"

A timid voice on the other side replied, "Security, sir. Just checking to make sure everything is okay."

"I'm fine," she tried her best not to slur her words. "You may carry on."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Satisfied that they were alone once more, Caldwell continued, "This mission is the only reason I said yes. With the Romulans practically bed-buddies with the Federation, and everyone else worrying about their own backyard... there was nothing to do anymore. I wanted this one." She reached into the open case and pulled out another green bottle. "I needed this."

He nodded with exaggerated gusto. “I miss killing Jem’Hadar. Dear Gods but they were the perfect enemy. Bred for war. Better even than killing Klingons.” He sighed. “Now I’ve got a boat load of kids out here deep in the black, and I have to keep them alive. Oh,” he laughed darkly, “and I have to do it while following their goddamn rules!” He drained the rest of his glass and then stared at the empty vessel angrily.

Lar’ragos reached into his uniform jacket to produce a metal flask. He fumbled with the cap, finally unscrewing it and carefully pouring an amber liquid into his glass before offering the flask to Caldwell. “Saurian brandy. The lizards’ only worthwhile contribution to the metaculture of the Federation.”

Her whiskey-filled glass emptied immediately upon the sight of the new hooch. She pushed it toward Lar'ragos lightly, and it slid all the way to him. "Speaking of lizards... Grelk is here. He has Yorktown. I would love another shot at that Gorn bastard sometime."

Lar’ragos filled her glass, and then slid it back to her with exaggerated care before raising his own in an inebriated toast. “That is one tough fucking lizard. Credit where credit is due. Cold-blooded, egg-hatched, ensign-eating endotherm!”

Caldwell smirked. "I didn't know he was that strong when he held me down after that little side-trip to Yault for that stupid ass farming dispute? His ship was the one that gave us a ride back to base, and we got a little sauced up in their lounge. Fucker nearly broke my arm."

“He’s three meters tall and from a one-point-eight g planet! Of course he’s fucking strong!” Lar’ragos chortled.

She grabbed the brandy and sipped it . "This is the good stuff, here." She knocked back another quaff before staring into the amber briefly. "I... is it..." Caldwell hesitated, losing her confidence from just a moment before. Suddenly, she regained and spoke clearly, "I heard about Indemnity. The general brought us up to speed when we thought we were going to be your backup."

He closed his eyes briefly. “Can’t believe we really pulled that off. I thought Leone was running the show, and then to find out she stepped back and let Sandhurst step up to the plate. Never knew he had it in him to be that damned cold...” his voice faltered and he fixed his eyes on the liquid swirling in his glass. “I wanted Galmesh. I wanted him so bad that I let myself get complacent. Lost two-thirds of my Team to that ridge-headed bastard.”

"Damn, I wish they'd let us reinforce you for that one." She silently cursed thinking about how close they'd come to convincing the general to let them launch. Until Admiral Coburn issued his orders to send the fleet, instead. "We hung the stars for your crew at the base, sir. And sir...?"

He met her gaze with glistening eyes. “Yeah?”

"The general ordered us to hang one for her. Because she was with your team when it happened." Caldwell continued, "She'd chewed up enough of the same dirt with yours, mine, three others while she was doing her bit for Intel. He said it was only fair."

Lar’ragos had to look away, unable to trust himself not to lose his composure. “Thank you, Marcia. She died like a Nightstalker.”

Caldwell raised her glass in respect, and then drained it unceremoniously. "She was one of the good spooks, sir. I was happy to have her with me." Her cheeks colored suddenly. "With us, I mean."

Lar’ragos wiped at his his eyes, chuckling. “Don’t worry. Few of us proved able to resist her charms. I certainly didn’t try.”

She looked away. "She... uh, she... it was different, I think. Convenience." Caldwell coughed and sniffled. "It was pretty obvious she had it bad for someone else, but she couldn't deny who she was. I talked to her kid brother about it a little bit."

“She was a complicated woman,” Lar’ragos confirmed.

* * *

Sarpedion V
Cardassian Union
Alpha Quadrant

The Miranda-class starship Ascension came hard about, her sublight engines kicking the vessel up to full impulse in a matter of seconds. On the bridge’s main viewer, an ankh-shaped Cardassian cruiser followed suit, falling into a tight tactical formation with Ascension.

The two ships pulled out of their geosynchronous orbits around Sarpedion V, one of the most heavily defended planets in Cardassian territory. Home to the Twelfth Order, the Sarpedion system’s defenses boasted fields of interlocking fire from orbital weapons emplacements and manned battle-stations. A well guarded shipyard and multiple squadrons of heavy fighters and corsairs also girded the ramparts of this formidable military base.

Lieutenant Commander Judith Rigsby stepped onto the bridge in response to the red alert, still dressed in her workout sweats as she frantically toweled her long brown hair, trying valiantly to dry it. “This better not be one of Legate Vora’s damn readiness drills,” she said in a voice muffled by the towel.

“Negative, sir,” her XO called from where he stood looking over the science officer’s shoulder at their sensor returns. “Gedok Nor just sounded a priority scramble of all available ships to coordinates five-point-zero-seven AU out from defense perimeter Thet.”

Rigsby stopped toweling, leaving her hair looking like the afterimage of a warp-core breach. “And what’s at those coordinates that’s got our Cardassian friends so alarmed?”

“Their gravimetric sensor grid just detected some kind of subspace anomaly. Very localized, and very unusual for this area.”

Now the trill of a sensor alert sounded, prompting Science and Ops to lean over their displays in unison.

Science was faster on the draw. “Detecting a subspace fissure at those same coordinates, Captain.”

The towel brushed the deckplates as Rigsby’s hand fell to her side, eyes riveted to the viewer. “What kind of fissure?” she asked carefully as she slid into the vacant command chair.

“Uncertain, sir,” replied the science officer. “We’re seeing a moderate elevation in chronometric energy and Q-particle emissions, but thus far nothing in the visual spectrum.”

The specialist at Ops called out, her voice tinged with surprise. “Sir, both Grela and Sordiku are launching escape pods. Both ships are being evacuated.”

Rigby sat back in her chair, dropping her towel into her lap. “Let’s see.”

The viewer angle shifted aft, where ranks of life pods could be seen thrusting away from the two Galor-class warships that were now trailing Ascension.

The Tactical officer touched a hand to his comms earpiece. “Gul Dreilis is signaling that both ships are evacuating in preparation for a warp jump directly into the phenomena. They’re alerting us to move to a safe distance.”

Rigsby’s eyes widened even further. “Helm, give them the necessary space to complete their maneuver, and plot a course to collect their crews afterwards if our assistance is needed.”

“It’s a good bet they think this is the Amon,” the XO offered as he stepped over to the captain’s chair.

After sparing a glance at her first officer, Rigsby nodded numbly in response. “It’s an even better bet they’re right. The Cardassians have tasted annihilation too many times in the last decade to take any chances.”

With a crew of just over fifty souls, Ascension was hardly in the same league as her Cardassian escorts, but the little ship still had teeth. “Arm weapons, raise shields, and alert medical and damage control personnel to report to duty stations,” Rigsby ordered.

"Eruption,” called out the specialist at Ops. “Same location as the subspace fissure, now bleeding energy into the visible spectrum.”

“On screen,” Rigsby commanded.

It appeared as though something had torn asunder the very fabric of the universe, exposing a brilliant white light that penetrated through the rupture from whatever lay on the other side.

“That can’t be good,” someone remarked.

The Science officer’s voice had taken on a hard edge as she noted, “This phenomenon is very similar to the one identified by the Klingons. Computer estimates a ninety-four-point-four percent probability this is an Amon transit portal.”

Two orangish streaks appeared instantly, bracketing the anomaly. They joined with the flaring light of the eruption so quickly that it took Rigsby a second to realize those had been the Cardassian warships jumping to warp.

An explosion blossomed near the event horizon of the portal, the destructive wave partially obscured by the glare of the phenomenon.

Rigsby chose to add whatever they could to the effort. “Target those coordinates and open fire, all weapons.”

The Cardassian defense grid responded in kind, and suddenly that area of space was awash in weapons fire.

The white flare of the portal darkened as something extruded through it, an elongated black shape whose leading edge was awash in flame.

“Target confirmed as Amon warship,” Tactical advised. “Detecting probable Amon habitat structures slaved to a Whalesong probe.”

“Reinforce harmonic shielding to all critical systems,” the XO barked, calling into play Starfleet’s best guess for a defense against the alien probe’s incapacitating subspace transmissions.

The dark cylinder measured some seventy kilometers in length. It’s elegant symmetry was disturbed by hundreds of tumescent protrusions affixed to its neutronium shell; the habitats, docking bays, and weapons emplacements of the Amon were strewn across the probe’s surface like a parasitic infestation.

The foremost portion of the titanic craft was obviously damaged, with great gouges plunging deep into the neutronium shell to expose a soft blue light emanating from within. The radiant, vaguely organic looking spherical antenna that was lowered from the belly of the beast when it broadcast its overwhelming signal was nowhere to be seen.

Voluminous weapons fire converged on the enormous craft, with nearly one-hundred photon torpedoes impacting the probe in the first volley. Most struck the neutronium surface harmlessly, their destructive energies ineffective against the incredible density of the hull material. A handful, though, dove through the wounds created by the faster-than-warp impact of the Cardassian warships as the probe had transitioned from transwarp velocities.

Still other torpedoes hit the Amon structures studding the surface, blasting apart environment domes, weapons batteries, and launch gantries. The lighting within the Amon structures seemed to flicker randomly, and there were no shields in evidence.

“Target those hull breaches,” Rigsby called to the tactical officer. “Ready a tri-cobalt warhead and fire it into whichever breach is the largest.” A tri-cobalt device would create a self-sustaining wave of matter-to-energy conversion in any unshielded target, a process that typically progressed until the target suffered catastrophic structural failure.

“Direct phasers against the Amon structures,” she continued.

Another wave of torpedoes approached, this one numbering in excess of one-hundred fifty.

Fourteen more Cardassian ships of various classes and two dozen fighters were now inbound to join the fight.

As Ascension sent the tri-cobalt device plunging into the great probe’s innards, the XO looked to Rigsby with an expression of astonishment. “I can’t believe we’ve actually hurt them,” he said in a low tone.

Her grim smile hinted at grudging admiration. “Leave it to the Cardassians,” Rigsby noted. “Let’s not squander this opportunity.”

The Amon weapons which had remained silent until now, suddenly came to life with a vengeance. Beams, bolts, and a plethora of missiles flashed outward from the surface of the probe.

Scores of inbound Cardassian torpedoes were annihilated, and a powerful stream of collimated energy punched into Ascension’s ventral shields.

Bridge consoles sparked and flickered as a massive jolt raced through the ship’s spaceframe. The deck tilted alarmingly as inertial dampers were pushed beyond their tolerance. “How bad?” Rigsby called out, knowing there was damage without having to ask.

“Ventral grid at seventeen percent,” Tactical advised. “Hull deformation on the underside of the saucer, and engineering is having to reroute the feeds to the primary starboard power coupling.”

Rigsby grimaced. It wasn’t good, but it could have been much worse. “Helm, invert us. Engineering, auxiliary power to shields, reinforce our dorsal grid.”

Ascension was now racing down the starboard side of the probe, her phasers and torpedoes reaching out to lash various Amon structures, some shielded while others were inexplicably unprotected.

A third fusillade of photons from the Cardassian defense grid slammed home. This time, many of them had been targeted on the vulnerable cavities carved into the prow of the gargantuan cylinder. Amon return fire began to slacken as more of the predators’ guns were silenced by the blistering attack.

Three Amon missiles stuck Ascension in concert. While the first two were rebuffed by the shields, the third pierced the invisible energy curtain to strike the aft-dorsal section of the ship. The weapon tore into the superstructure and detonated inside the port shuttle bay. The hull buckled and rent as gouts of flame and atmosphere blossomed into the void.

The explosion obliterated main engineering, and only the ship’s faltering containment fields kept the core intact for scant few seconds as Ascension lost attitude control and tumbled towards the surface of the probe.

Rigsby clutched the armrests of her chair as the bridge spun around her. She dared release a hand just long enough to slap clumsily at her combadge. “This is the captain, evacuate the ship! All hands to esc--”

Ascension dove into the flank of the Whalesong probe, her detonating warp core scoring a five kilometer path of destruction directly through an Amon settlement. The clutch of industrial pods housed three bio-essence collection satellites that remained slaved to their launch gantries, unlaunched for want of power.

The great cylinder began a slow course change, coming about to flee the unrelenting onslaught from the Cardassian ships and weapons platforms. In the bowels of the juggernaut, great engines which drew their power from dimensional planes of pure energy struggled to repair themselves in the face of the unexpected damage suffered by the probe’s internal systems. Nothing had breached the neutronium shell of the device in over a million years, and those ferocious antagonists had long since turned to dust.

The mighty warship made good its escape moments later, vanishing through the convulsing aperture torn through the warp and weft of space/time.

In its wake the probe had shed a trail of debris, a mix of neutronium slag, technology, bodies, and other flotsam that represented the Alpha Quadrant’s first measurable success in the face of Amon aggression.

* * *

USS Europa

Ashok guided the structural support into place, directing the robotic anti-grav drones as they carefully released the duranium beam.

Lar’ragos watched the work as the engineering team painstakingly rebuilt the interior volume of the saucer where Sickbay had been. He monitored their progress via a visual scan he’d called up on the Master Systems Display board in main engineering,

He turned to examine Shanthi working at an auxiliary console, sorting through millions of lines of programming code with the assistance of several intuitive algorithms. “Any luck?” he asked, breaking the young officer’s concentration.

To his credit, Shanthi merely paused his analysis, and turned to address the captain. “I’m starting to make some headway, sir, but it’s slow going.”

Lar’ragos cocked his head. “Would a dedicated programming team be of assistance?”

Shanthi’s eyes widened a fraction, his gaze growing expectant. “Yes, sir. Tremendously. However, when I inquired with the station I was informed no experts were available.”

A thin smile alighted on Lar’ragos’ lips. “Admiral T’Cirya has granted us priority resource allocation for our refit. I’ve arranged for two programming specialists to report aboard in half an hour.”

“Thank you, sir. The extra hands will be helpful, but given the size of the task, it’ll only shave a fe--”

“They’re Bynars, Lieutenant,” Lar’ragos added.

“Oh,” Shanthi said, falling silent. A dawning expression of surprise blossomed. “Ohhh...” His subsequent smile was radiant.

“Bridge to captain,” his combadge called.

“Go ahead,” he answered reflexively.

“Commander Wu is scheduled to come aboard in five minutes, sir. Transporter room two.”

“On my way,” Lar’ragos responded, patting Shanthi on the shoulder with one hand as he deactivated his communicator with the other. “Make good use of them, Lieutenant. I’ve decided to keep the transwarp drive, provided we can get it to work. We’ll need every advantage we can get if we’re going looking for the Amon.”

* * *

Lar’ragos was standing by when Iris Wu materialized atop the transporter pad.

The blue-white beam dissolved as the petite Asian woman stepped down from the transport pad. She carried a large duffel over her left shoulder and wore the uniform vest rather than the full jacket. With a small isolinear optical chip clenched in her right hand, she came to an attentive stance and proclaimed, "Wu, Lieutenant Commander Iris Aileen Ming-Yue, reporting for duty, sir. May I have permission to come aboard?"

“Permission granted, Commander,” Lar’ragos responded, stepping forward to offer a firm handshake as Wu descended from the dais. “Welcome aboard Europa.”

She transferred the small chip to her left hand to accept the handshake with her right. Lar'ragos practically towered over her small stature, so that she needed to angle her neck up to meet his gaze. As a result, the black hair that tended to cascade around her face draped back to her shoulders. "Thank you, Captain."

Lar’ragos led her into the corridor, deftly side-stepping a repair team scuttling past with a bank of neural gel-packs atop an a-grav carrier. The El Aurian put on his best apologetic smile. “Sorry about the mess, we’re still picking up the pieces.”

Wu's eyes scanned the corridor in all directions before she followed him. Every noise given brief but silent investigation with a quick glance, every movement was accounted for. "Understandable, sir," she replied flatly, once she caught up to him. "I've taken the liberty of attending a quick technical briefing of our current status by Captain Lo before coming aboard, and I've absorbed the specifications and diagrams of the Luna-class once I learned of my transfer. I will use the next few days to gain some practical knowledge of the ship while I have this rare opportunity to do so."

Lar’ragos mused silently that Wu lived up to her icy but highly competent reputation. “Excellent, Commander. Unless I can assist you with anything further, we’ll have a senior staff meeting at oh-seven-thirty tomorrow, followed by the funeral service. The rest of my day tomorrow will be spent in strategic meetings with my replacement as StratOps. I have every confidence you’ll keep on top of our repair schedule.”

Wu nodded once. "Rest assured, sir, that we will meet or exceed expectations. With your permission, I would like to be excused from the memorial."

Lar’ragos quirked an eyebrow at the unusual request. "Unless you’ve something more pressing, I feel it’s important for the crew to see the new XO standing alongside the captain during the service. I’ll gladly let you skip the reception tomorrow night in the rec lounge.”

She pressed her lips together in a very slight expression before returning to her standard look. Lar'ragos had to observe closely to see if her mouth moved as she spoke, as it looked close to a ventriloquism act as she replied softly, "Very well, I will attend at your insistence, sir."

“Thank you, Commander.” Lar’ragos paused, allowing her wait there for just a second longer. “I’ll leave you to get settled in.” With that he pivoted smartly on one heel and departed.

* * *

USS Europa

The crew stood at parade rest, assembled in formation facing the dais situated just inside the main shuttle bay doors. They were arranged in alternating red, blue, and gold departmental colors, an unspoken testament to the reality that despite whatever division they served, their destinies were inextricably intertwined.

Between the dais and the crew lay thirty-seven torpedo tubes, each one draped with the powder blue flag of the United Federation of Planets. Most of these caskets contained the body of a fallen crewmember, while others were merely symbolic, representing a person who’d been completely vaporized or was otherwise unrecoverable.

Lar’ragos stepped up to the podium, setting his padd down atop the lectern and reaching out to ring the ship’s bell which hung next to him.

Wu called out, “Attention to orders,” with flawless precision and the crew snapped smartly to attention in unison. She waited for the order to relax to come forth from Lar'ragos, and then activated her padd to transmit data.

Lar’ragos began with the traditional refrain, “We are gathered here today to pay respects to our honored dead.” He paused to collect his thoughts, and then continued in his own words. “Eight of our number fell in the confrontation with the Romulans, and twenty-nine others were killed in the battle with Masada. Like you, I grieve for friends and comrades among the dead. I mourn the lost potential, the end of friendships and familial bonds. A piece of us shall remain with them always, and they in turn will reside within us. Their sacrifice will propel us forward, reinforcing our determination to see this task through to completion.

“Despite the burden of these losses, we must acknowledge that they will not be the last among us to fall. I wish I could offer you more comforting words, but the reality is that Starfleet is all that stands between the Alpha Quadrant and the horde of refugees bearing down upon our respective civilizations. We cannot rely on our traditional allies to rescue us, as we have seen with our own eyes how divided the Romulans are in their purpose, and the Klingons have yet to even arrive.

“Every life given here in the Delta Quadrant may equate to millions, or even billions in the Alpha Quadrant who will remain healthy and whole as a result of our individual sacrifices. We few who have chosen to stand shoulder to shoulder on this line knew the risks that came with this uniform. We have been tested time and again in our training and over the course of our careers. Here is where we will face our ultimate trial, the challenge of confronting this gravest of threats while keeping our morality and our ideals intact.”

Lar’ragos looked out onto the ranks of officers and enlisted personnel, his eyes scanning across their faces, many known to him while others were unfamiliar, replacements filling the positions of those they were there to honor.

“Issara Taiee was affectionately known as ‘doc’, and she was a healer in every sense of the word. Her skills as a surgeon saved my life, and perhaps more importantly, her caring nature and her generous spirit helped to save my soul. Issara possessed a wisdom far greater than her years would suggest, and given the horrors she endured and the risks she ran to treat our wounded during the Dominion War, she could have elected to work at nearly any planetary installation in the Federation.

“Instead she chose to remain aboard an outdated, outgunned escort ship that saw far more action than it should. Then she decided to join Vanguard, knowing full well the dangers involved. Her humanitarian actions aboard In’Drahn Station, working with minimal support and few resources, earned her the Bronze Cadeceus. Doc Taiee’s last action in defense of her crewmates, that of sealing Sickbay off from the rest of the ship, has warranted the submission of her name for consideration for a posthumous Medal of Valor.”

As he spoke, Lar’ragos’ eyes grew glassy with emotion, something he’d once believed far behind him, lost to the mists of time. The man who’d hardened his heart in order to perform the unspeakable, the man who’d so recently studied the intricacies of Vulcan Kolinahr in an attempt to hold his demons at bay, now felt the surge of genuine grief coursing through him.

“Olivia Juneau was a pain in my side from the moment we met. She was opinionated, stubborn, and had a mischievous streak that rubbed me raw. And yet, in the time I knew her, this shy, awkward woman blossomed into something more. She grew into a formidable presence that shepherded this crew through a hopeless battle against the seemingly unstoppable Romulans bent on our destruction.

“Juneau became more than the sum of her parts, and in so doing, she achieved a greatness none of us knew existed within her, not even herself. That will be Olivia’s enduring lesson to us all, that when called upon, there is enormous potential within each of us. We await only that spark, that confluence of circumstances to ignite our true selves.”

Lar’ragos continued, referencing his padd to draw from painstakingly researched histories to speak with surprising detail about the other fallen crew. Wu had collated these stories and anecdotes the night before during a marathon research session that would have made a Starfleet Intelligence analyst envious. Her findings complemented Pava’s inherent emotive gifts, and the result was a touching memorial that seemed to help salve the crew's psychic wounds while girding them for the challenges yet to come.

Following his words, Lar’ragos moved to join the others, falling into formation at the front of the gathering. The dais and podium dematerialized before a forcefield flickered into existence which separated the ranks from the great bay doors. Those doors opened to reveal the aft end of their drydock gantry and the stars beyond. The engines on the individual torpedoes flared, lifting them slowly off their pedestals and sending them in a staggered formation out and away from the ship. Once clear of Galaxy Station’s traffic, the flotilla of torpedoes turned gracefully and set a final course for the system’s central star.

“We commit these dead to the depths of space,” Lar’ragos announced with finality.

* * *