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  “And what of Star Force?”

  “They have done nothing with the Oso’lon and J’gar that have not chosen to join them. Nor the worlds that aligned with the Zak’de’ron but did not actually serve them. They are still free, and as such subject to our wrath and conquest.”

  “Conquest?”

  “We cannot do what is necessary alone. And with the Zak’de’ron leaving, we do not have to remain rebels on the run. We can fight a proper war, if those who have been suppressed wish to join in the fight…if we show them how. If we don’t, predations may occur from lesser threats. The power vacuum will be massive if the J’gar and Oso’lon do not step in, and you know they will not in most areas. Star Force is blind to this conflict, and rightly so with the Hadarak on the other side of the line they arduously maintain.”

  “I wish they would intervene, but you are right,” Rajamal said. “This is our fight. They survived and avenged their own Deathmark, and saved both the Ter’nat and the majority of the Zen’zat when we had nowhere to turn. It is up to us to finish this fight, and we will need allies. I did not think this day would ever come. And now it is thrust upon me so casually.”

  “You did anticipate this day, or you would not have held onto the Zak’de’ron ships we salvaged.”

  “I did not expect it to happen,” the Elder Zen’zat clarified. “But now we can finally seek the help we need in reverse engineering it.”

  “From Star Force?”

  “No. We will ask the Chitaeren. They are the most innovative race I have ever encountered, and they have already assisted us with small pieces of it.”

  “I was not aware of that.”

  “There is much you are not aware of. Things that I have kept to myself and to those directly involved should any of you ever be captured. I and I alone know all the secrets we hold.”

  “As it should be. Were the Chitaeren part of the weapons packages?”

  “They were. And we must assume control of their protection before others have chance to prey on them. With the Zak’de’ron gone, old rivalries will resume, and they have been slaves nearly all of their history. We shall preserve their freedom in exchange for their assistance.”

  “As I said, you have been preparing for this day…expected or not.”

  “Only in my dreams, Theodral.”

  “They’re not dreams any more, commander,” the Zen’zat said, placing a fist over his chest as a gesture of respect as he walked backward a few steps and departed the primitive dwelling made of dried mud mixed with stone.

  Rajamal looked at the cube again, not wanting to fully believe it and then have this moment ripped from him. He could not take that if it happened, and his mind was on guard to protect against it with a barrier of skepticism, but if Theodral had confirmed this, he had no reason to doubt it.

  The Zak’de’ron were leaving. All of them. And soon.

  Rajamal clasped the cube in his palm, unwilling to set it down, and walked outside the modest bunker he had been living out of for many years and into the dim sunlight. The view beyond was the same…canyons and scorch marks where the surface of this planet had been torn apart in an asteroid rain some millennia ago. And before that it had barely been inhabitable due to the lack of almost all water.

  It was dry, desolate desert that lacked sand. Instead it was horrible terrain to travel over by foot, mostly rock with some dirt and cliff sides too sheer to scale. Nobody wanted to live here, which was why Rajamal did along with a cell of the rebel Zen’zat.

  He walked outside and stopped two steps short of a drop-off that went down more than 100 meters, ignoring the common hazard as he looked up into the sky and the ring of more or less stable asteroids that circled the planet pole to pole. They formed a line that crossed overhead twice a day every day as the planet rotated beneath them with the promise of more deadly strikes in the future for anyone foolish enough to try and permanently inhabit the planet.

  Inside those rings were a large number of Zen’zat ships, whether they be of their own construction or claimed from enemies and rebuilt. More were of the latter category than the former, and even in a desolate system like this they always had to hide. Even their habitats were built into the sides of the cliffs so to be out of sight from above, and made of local materials that could easily be abandoned when needed…as well as demolished with light explosives.

  Rajamal had lived the life of a renegade for thousands of years now, so many that his past service to the V’kit’no’sat seemed like a dream…and his part in the war against Star Force when it was in its infancy even vaguer still. They had come so far since then, defying the V’kit’no’sat and the Zen’zat with a combination of will and luck that Rajamal could still not fathom. They’d pardoned him and the Zen’zat for their role in the war against them, letting go of that vengeance, but the Elder Zen’zat knew why.

  They were not so stupid to leave an enemy at their backs, but they were wise enough to know when a former enemy was no longer a current one. The Zak’de’ron would never change, nor would the Oso’lon and J’gar that had refused to join Star Force. And a part of Rajamal was glad for it, because he did not want to forget what had happened. There needed to be an accounting, and while Star Force had a calmer way of enacting it, what was required in this war was blood. Those responsible for the Deathmark and those that carried it out had to be killed.

  Anything less would be apathy for all the victims they casually murdered, and Rajamal would not forget them. Much time had passed since the majority of their deaths, but the Deathmark was still in effect on an unofficial basis. Any Zen’zat that tried to live freely disappeared. Rajamal had found several of the mercenary teams sent to destroy them, and from their interrogation he knew they had been hired to do what the Zak’de’ron and others could not without drawing Star Force’s wrath.

  The war against the Zen’zat had never ended. Most just forgot that it existed with the Hadarak and everything else going on preempting their danger sense. What did it matter if a few million died here and there. That was standard attrition in the galaxy from a macro point of view. But when one had time to look and see what was occurring, it was unacceptable.

  There were too many people in this galaxy to protect, and Rajamal did not fault Star Force at all. They were doing far better than he could have in their place, and they had saved the Zen’zat within their protective bubble. Rajamal could join them and be safe as well, but to do that would mean turning a back on those still outside it as well as all those whose deaths had not yet been avenged.

  Star Force didn’t have time for vengeance when the galaxy was burning under the Hadarak assault. But Rajamal did. And he was not going to let this go until those responsible paid for their treachery in blood.

  The Zak’de’ron were too powerful to beat in anything other than small battles, and there had been a few of those that resulted in trashed and nearly worthless captured ships from an operational standpoint. But it was Zak’de’ron technology that had led to the development of better weapons for the rebels than their predecessors had…though far inferior to what Star Force fielded and refused to share.

  Rajamal had those victories as small payment against the Zak’de’ron, but soon that race would be beyond his touch…and their leaving was more relief to him than regret.

  That was when he realized his ongoing fatigue. Not in a physical sense, but an emotional one. He was fighting a never-ending war…and had just been given a glimmer of hope for an actual, victorious ending.

  Theodral was right about one thing. He could let the Zak’de’ron go…on the condition that they never come back. The Zen’zat had been at fault during the first war against them when the V’kit’no’sat decided to backstab their founders and all but annihilated them. That was before Rajamal was born, but the fact of that taint allowed his mind to give a bit of clemency to the Zak’de’ron on the condition they never return. And with that small epiphany he was able to let his vengeance against them be satisfied with their banishment from
what was once their dominion.

  But the other two…the Oso’lon and J’gar…had no such clemency. They deserved the fate that was going to come to them, and Star Force had ironically already drawn from them the isolated good within their ranks. All that remained, or nearly all, would be the rotten filth that had destroyed their own loyal Zen’zat in order to appease the Zak’de’ron after most had fled them to join Mak’to’ran’s ranks.

  Those that had stayed did so because of their loyalty was greater than their wisdom…and their payment for that had been summary execution. The thought of that now still burned within Rajamal, who had once been equally loyal to the Rit’ko’sor…only to turn against them when they rebelled against the V’kit’no’sat because it was his duty to do so. Part of him still regretted that decision, and he had a private admiration for the Zen’zat who stayed with their assigned race regardless of circumstances.

  And that is why their betrayal was extra scathing for him.

  But now he had an opportunity to avenge them and wipe the galaxy clean of their betrayers. Not easily. Not even partially guaranteed. But a chance. A real chance, yet one that only a legendary feat could accomplish.

  Rajamal’s legend had grown over the millennia of his life, and while his lack of service now appeared to make him a warrior without a war trying to relive his glory days, the truth was quite the opposite. His skills and strength were now greater than ever before, while it was his spirit that had suffered. This new revelation had changed that in a moment, and now the greatest challenge in his life was now before him…and he had the story of Mak’to’ran to learn from, for he was going to need to do much the same as that legendary rebel Era’tran did to build up a coalition capable of destroying the Primearch and the Didact…and if he managed to obtain even a portion of Zak’de’ron technology that he could implement in the field, that would be the game changer.

  But right now the biggest thing he needed was a battle. A big battle to show the non-Star Force galaxy that the rebels were here and were not going away…as well as the fact that the Zak’de’ron would not intervene to stop them.

  And for that he already had the necessary forces. All that was required was selecting a target…and hoping that Theodral’s information wasn’t flawed in some unfathomable way. He didn’t believe it was, but the rebel cells had been hiding for a reason, and if he called most of them together for a massive invasion that would last months if not years, then the Zak’de’ron would have the opportunity to move in and crush them.

  But if they no longer had their servant races, and were truly on their way out of the galaxy, why would they care what happened to the Oso’lon and J’gar?

  7

  July 22, 154959

  System 9923011 (Hadarak-Occupied Territory)

  Contested Jumppoint, Low Stellar Orbit

  Mak’to’ran stumbled as he left the De’shor’nak, barely able to stand after 18 hours of combat. His participation wasn’t needed every moment of it, but he had refused to leave and transfer control to one of the backup Era’tran standing by so long as he had the strength to continue, and fortunately the battle was won before that was necessary.

  His personal Essence was low…very low. He’d expended much of it, and even the infusion of reserve amounts into his body was not taking like it normally would. He had to convert the new Essence to match his personal parameters, and that ability in him was near to burnt out after manipulating the NIM throughout the battle.

  He hadn’t seen much of the latter combat, focusing through the fatigue on only his part in it, but what remained of the Hadarak had finally broken apart into small groups and were scattered around the system trying to draw the V’kit’no’sat forces apart from their primary weapon…but his people were too smart to fall for that bait. Right now they were in sole command of the jumpline to the PanNari location, and no more Hadarak were moving through it at present.

  Mak’to’ran didn’t know the status of his ships. Many had to be damaged if not destroyed, but the bulk of his fleet was intact…he knew that much…but the rest was beyond him now as all he could manage to do was barely walk away from his duty post as the doors parted for him and one of his relief finally took his place on standby, for there currently was no ongoing combat.

  The Elder Era’tran moved slowly, but did not require anyone’s assistance as he made his way through the ship to his personal quarters and onto a plush disc several meters thick, falling sideways with his tail and feet hanging off it, but he didn’t care. He needed rest in a way he could not fully articulate, and as soon as he hit the padded bedding he went motionless as his mind finally disconnected from his body. He reviewed what he knew of his performance and that of the fleet, with the biggest item in his limited consciousness was the time.

  They would be jumping out to the PanNari soon rather than staying here and blockading only one of many avenues of reinforcements. And the jump to the neighboring system would take 1.6 days.

  Mak’to’ran had that long to recover, for as massively epic as this battle had been…the greatest to date in his long life…he expected far more ahead. The Hadarak were insanely committed to this system, and as Mak’to’ran drifted off into quiet rest he wondered what could be so important to them to warrant this level of response…

  The Era’tran woke on his own accord. No alarm or summons brought him out of his sleep, but rather his bladder. Apparently he had rested enough for it to assert dominance over his need for further recovery, and Mak’to’ran blinked his exposed left eye open thrice as his other lay smashed into the bedding.

  He hadn’t moved a muscle since arriving, and a quick mental link to the telepathic node in his quarters confirmed the time and the ship’s position.

  They were nearing the end of their jump, with an ETA of just under 3 hours.

  Mak’to’ran moved…finding it extremely painful without possessing any injuries. He peeled himself out of the cavity within the pads, having to use his tail for leverage to get his hips up, then his giant head came last. He stumbled momentarily, but not from fatigue. Rather the stiffness from such a long, unnatural sleep. Normally he would adjust position every hour or so, and not doing so now had aching consequences.

  His Essence was still low, but he wasn’t feeling burnt like before. He walked over to a nearby pedestal that served as a table and telekinetically flew a jeweled bracelet to his right wrist, whereupon contact he infused himself with stored Essence and found it assimilated with ease, gradually restoring his natural levels to full after a few minutes of acclimation.

  As that occurred he went to the anterior compartment and relieved himself in the shield river that ran through a narrow chamber up to his knees. His excess biomatter dropped into the river and stuck there, being pulled along to the far side as the staticy river cleaned any skin exposed to it.

  The Zen’zat used seats to relieve themselves, but the biology of the V’kit’no’sat was considerably different, and as such they were built to release material from their normal standing position, as were most quadrupeds and angled bipeds. Why the tiny Zen’zat were not had always puzzled him, for few races in the galaxy had such a limitation.

  Nevertheless, each race had their own accommodations onboard the DinoThunder, and once Mak’to’ran finished relieving himself he raised the level of the translucent energy field up to his neck, keeping it out of his eyes or it would dry and chaff them. When needed he would close them and dip his neck down into the flow, and only a few times were necessary to remove the light amount of grime he had on him.

  Once fully cleaned he left his chambers and went for a short, painful run to loosen himself up before eating and then heading up to the command deck to witness their arrival in the system. He would not be able to operate the primary weapon again this soon without a deleterious effect, so this time he was going to be able to direct the fighting…assuming the PanNari were still alive to be assisted. If not, his fleet would have to leave if facing the kind of enemy numbers he feared were ahead.


  “My respect, Hakja,” Junobu said as Mak’to’ran walked onto the command deck and exchanged places with his senior commander. “I did not think you had that kind of strength in you. You did not relinquish the De’shor’nak once during combat?”

  “I was not going to until my strength failed me, and I was close to it by the end. What did we lose?”

  “No ships were lost, but 21% of our remote craft were destroyed or too damaged to remain in combat. Their salvage was recovered before we jumped, and the recyclers are working to reprocess as much as we can with haste.”

  “Essence levels?”

  “82% remain. That battle was the fiercest I have ever witnessed, in person or on record.”

  “I did not see as much as I would have liked, but I concur. What lies ahead will be worse, I fear.”

  “The Hadarak have never hit a single Grand Border system with this might. Have they been holding back?”

  “That thought occurred to me during the battle, but I did not have time to analyze.”

  “I have been going over the records since we left. Never have we seen this density before.”

  “The Grand Border is widespread,” Mak’to’ran commented. “Perhaps they seek to weaken it to destruction more than a single penetration?”

  “If the objective is to get through it, that is not the most prudent course.”

  “Then what is their objective?”

  “A question I do not have the answer for. If I were in their position and intent on destroying all opposition, I would penetrate the border and eliminate the supply lines feeding it. Facing us at our strongest with our reinforcements untouched is the most inefficient method of combat I can imagine.”