Bright actinic energy blossomed in space, immediately followed by an even larger pulse of electromagnetic energy and gravitational distortions as a ship appeared at the edge of the system. Resembling a smooth stone pulled from the bottom of some stygian sea, the ship was oblong, colored in putrid browns and fungal greens of no discernable pattern. The Ssi-Nan sped forward at maximum acceleration as a hatch along its spine opened and the long-range communications array emerged. As the ship cleared the distortion area generated by its space fold, the array came to life and began transmitting.
* * *
Summoned by an urgent message from the staff within, Vice Commander Si'Lasa stepped into the Deep Waters' communications center. Si'Lasa, at two point five meters, was large, even for a Xan-Sskarn, but was a perfectly representative specimen of his race in every other respect: amphibianlike, with an iridescent skin of browns and reds, standing on heavily muscled legs ending in webbed feet, with a long, powerful tail extending behind him, its tip twitching. His long and lean torso heaved as he breathed heavily. His long arms remained at his sides as he stalked to the center of the room, the razor-sharp talons at the end of his hands clacking together in rhythm with his steps. A long, sibilant hiss preceded Si'Lasa's angry demand as his powerful neck muscles swung his head toward the issuer of the message.
"What reason do you have for interrupting my planning session and summoning me here?"
"Vice Commander, I offer my most abject and humblest apologies for the summons, but a Ssi-Nan that just translated in-system will speak to none other than yourself or the high commander, and I thought not to bother the high commander," the communications tech replied in a servile manner, careful not to look directly at the face of the irate Xan-Sskarn in front of him.
"You did wise not to disturb the high commander, but should this Ssi-Nan not have a lashana good reason for disturbing me, you will both pay. Him for this nonsense, and you for not insisting that he transmit his information to you as protocol demands."
The communications tech looked down at his instruments. Si'Lasa, smelling his fear pheromones, smiled, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
"Yes, Vice Commander."
"Very well. Put this Ssi-Nan on line, and I will speak with him. Now."
The tech moved his shaking hands across his controls, and an image appeared in a crystalline display mounted on the bulkhead directly in front of Si'Lasa. A Xan-Sskarn in a mottled gray-and-black uniform displaying the rank tabs of a junior officer coalesced into view.
"Vice Commander, I am Tesh Na'Leash. I beg your forgiveness for this breach of protocol, but you must have this information at once," the Ssi-Nan commander began without preamble.
"I shall be the judge of what I must and must not have, Tesh; you would do well to remember that. Now, tell me, where have you returned from, bearing such important information?" Si'Lasa's mocking tone was not missed by either the tesh or the communications tech. Their worried expressions broadened the smile on his face.
"Vice Commander, I have just returned from my surveillance of the hhhumannss's"—he dragged out the word in a complicated hiss—"advance fleet."
"Tesh, you may have just ended your life with that admission, as you are not due to finish that mission for many more tides. You are aware of the penalty for disobedience, are you not?"
"Yes, Vice Commander, I am, and I will submit to that punishment with a glad heart, for I deem this information worth more than my life or my honor, as it will ensure our victory over the Dry-Skins."
Si'Lasa pondered this last statement from the tesh. For a junior officer to disobey or disregard orders was very rare. For one to openly admit to it, and just as openly accept the punishment dictated by this action, was practically unheard of. His anger forgotten and his curiosity aroused, Si'Lasa stared directly at his subordinate on the display.
"Very well, tesh. Tell me of this information, and we shall see if it is indeed worth your life."
* * *
The hatch in the front corner of the command deck irised open. The guards flanking the command throne turned toward the sound. Two pairs of death-black eyes tracked the entrance of the newcomer onto the command deck.
Looking up from a display built into the arm of the command throne, the high commander could see the hazy outline of the newcomer through the translucent display located atop the forward station. Recognizing the visitor, the high commander was glad not only of the location of the hatchway but of the displays as well. This, of course, is why they were where they were.
The displays, constructed of a translucent crystalline material standing one meter above each of the stations, served a dual purpose. The first and most obvious purpose allowed the operators to monitor the flowing and constantly updating information, vital to both the functioning and controlling of the ship, projected within it. The second wasn't so obvious. Their synthetic crystalline matrix was highly impact-resistant as well as being capable of both dissipating and reflecting high-power, focused-energy bursts—such as those produced by an assassin's micro-laser.
The high commander closed his display and leaned back into the command throne, thoughtful. Xan-Sskarn battle doctrine dictated that Le-Kisnan, or carrier class vessels, were targeted first and eliminated, then the next smaller class of vessel, then the next, and so on. It appeared that human doctrine was similar, as Le-Kisnan were also being targeted and destroyed before lesser vessels. Whether by original design or adaptation did not matter, as with each Le-Kisnan or other senior-class vessel lost, the loss of those of the higher blood lines increased. Xan-Sskarn ships could only be commanded by those of noble blood, and the closer to the True Blood, as the nobility called it, an officer was, the larger, more powerful class of ship one could command. However, the expansion that the Swarm had experienced, along with the losses it had suffered since the war's onset, had subsequently generated the need for more commanders and officers, and lessened the need for such elaborate security measures. In most cases, with those new positions now available to those of lesser bloodlines, assassination had not been needed to advance in rank and status quickly anymore—a development the Swarm Masters were relieved to see. Though assassination, common during times of peace, was frowned upon but not outlawed during war, the disruptions caused by inexperienced officers could lead to disastrous results in battle. However, some Xan-Sskarn were not willing to wait for these opportunities to present themselves, choosing instead to create their own.
The newcomer rounded the console in front of the hatch and approached the command dais in an open and yet guarded manner. The two pairs of eyes ever left their target, and while they judged the newcomer as unarmed and having no duplicitous intentions, they did not relax their vigilance—not with whom the newcomer was and certainly not with whom their master was.
Vice Commander Si'Lasa stopped a meter from the command dais and, with the rasp of tail and scratch of hind claws, knelt on one knee.
The high commander looked down at his second-in-command. As hatchlings, all Xan-Sskarns were screened to determine genetic purity and then marked accordingly. The number of stripes corresponded to the number of relations removed from the True Blood. Si'Lasa was from a family but two relations away from the True Blood, as denoted by the twin tattoos sweeping from his muzzle and trailing down his neck. Xanle-Kisnan, formerly the sole dominion of one-stripes such as himself, were now being commanded by those with two. His vice commander was a friend, very capable, and very, very ambitious. Si'Lasa had risen through the ranks quickly during the war and would do well with a command of his own. With assassination being an acceptable tool of advancement, assuming one could get away with it, he would have to keep his guard up around Si'Lasa now, which brought the high commander a faint feeling of regret.
"By your leave, High Commander," Si'Lasa intoned in a deep, guttural voice.
"You may rise, Vice Commander," he said, finishing the ritual.
As the vice commander rose to his full two and a half meters and looked directly into his friend and commander's eyes, the high commander could see and smell the conflicting emotions emanating from him. He could sense the vice commander's fear—not fear for himself, but for his commander, and for the Battle Swarm should something happen to him. Underlying this fear, far fainter, as if hidden, the high commander sensed something far more powerful: pleasure and pride. The high commander could see his subordinate's joy at the prospect of his possible ascension to the command throne and feel his pleasure at causing worry and uncertainty in the Xan-Sskarn who sat on that throne now, even though it would mean betraying and murdering his friend and mentor.
"What do you wish to see me about, Vice Commander?"
"I have"—he paused, searching for the right words—"odd news, High Commander."
"What kind of 'odd' news? Do we have new orders? Have we been recalled? Is the strike delayed yet again?" The worry left him as he turned his full attention to the possibilities that this news might bring.
"No, nothing like that, High Commander. In fact, it is not from the Swarm Masters. This news comes from our Ssi-Nan stalking the Dry-Skins."
"What?" the high commander roared. "What do you mean it is from our Ssi-Nan? They are not due back for"—he opened his display—"another twenty tides."
"I am aware of our timetable, High Commander, and informed the tesh commanding the Ssi-Nan that he violated his duties, but nevertheless the Ssi-Nan is back and has transmitted data to us that you will want to see."
"That ship was to stalk the Dry-Skins," the high commander hissed, "and gather all information possible about their ships and how they are deployed. What information could be so vital that this tesh would risk detection to bring it back? We will not be able to get another Ssi-Nan into that system undetected before we attack, and if the Dry-Skins send more ships into that system and we do not know how they are deployed, we will not be assured of our victory."
"I understand your anger, High Commander. However, when the tesh transmitted what he had seen and recorded, I congratulated him on his quick thinking and decisive action. He is a tesh who bears watching."
"Very well, Vice Commander Si'Lasa," the high commander said, getting himself under control again. "What is this news?"
"The Ssi-Nan detected a signal hidden in the lower spectrum of the Dry-Skins' navigational sensor sweeps of the system. This hidden signal contained information about the deployment of all of the Dry-Skins' assets. Not just the current deployment information, but all future deployment plans for the next thirty tides." Si'Lasa extended a data chip to his commander and waited as he took it and placed it into the reader built into his command throne.
"The next thirty tides?" The high commander began to read the scrolling information on his display. "Is this right?"
"I believe so. Their way of keeping time is strange, but not overly complicated. The Ssi-Nan confirmed that the current information was correct before translating out of the system."
"Yes," he said, beginning to understand, "I can see why this tesh thought to return to us immediately with this information. You are correct; he is to be commended for his action."
"So, do you believe that this information is reliable? If so, why would the Dry-Skins send this information to us? How could it possibly serve them?" the vice commander asked. Even after two cycles of battle, the Dry-Skins still confused him.
"I do not think that the Dry-Skins sent this message, but only one of them. Possibly even a small group working against their leaders," mused the high commander quietly as he continued to read the displayed information.
"But why?" Si'Lasa asked, exasperated. "How could the destruction of their fleet serve them? They would be killed along with the rest of their fleet. I do not think that this message can be trusted. It has to be a trap—"
The high commander's head came up quickly at his subordinate's questioning.
"If this is meant to be a trap, it would be the poorest way to set one up. They would not know if and when we planned to act upon this information, so they would have to be at combat stations constantly for the next thirty tides. These Dry-Skins are weak and would not be able to maintain that level of readiness for that length of time. No, Vice Commander, this is no trap," the high commander stated decisively. "I'm certain."
"Yes, High Commander." Si'Lasa came to attention. He still had doubts, but the decision was not his to make, nor was it his place to question, and as his nostrils picked up the shift in his commander's pheromones to anger at having his judgment questioned, Si'Lasa knew this conversation was over. "In twenty tides, we shall destroy the Dry-Skins completely."
"No. Send a message to the Swarm Masters," came the high commander's soft reply, his lips pulling back to expose rows of razor-sharp teeth. "This Battle Swarm will attack within the next two tides."