From the very first glance, Alvar understood that the stranger who had introduced himself as Misha was not a professional pilot.
"The best way to shake off the enemy is to fly straight," Jensen said reproachfully.
"That's what I'm doing."
"You're weaving around like a drunken sailor on shore!" the runner condemned the manner of controlling the flying ship. It wasn't hard to notice this from the continuously "swaying" views of the horizon. After all, it wasn't a mountain range swaying left and right?
"I'm trying to confuse our pursuers!" Misha said, pointing to three rapidly approaching red dots. "The signal from your beacon in your back gives a certain scatter over the area and..."
The "pilot" fell silent when several energy charges streaked across their course. Then another burst passed to the right of the hull—and only a sharp throw of the ship to the side allowed them to survive the attack from the Wraith dart.
To his surprise, Alvar didn't experience the typical overloads for such a maneuver. Even in the most modern fighter on his planet, something like that didn't come without consequences for the body.
That's why they only recruited prepared and physically strong military personnel for pilots.
"Give me the controls!" Jensen demanded. "I have pilot training!"
"On this type of ship?" Misha smirked. "I doubt it."
"My people had our own fighters! I don't think they were more complicated than your machine!"
Mikhail looked at him strangely. After that, without any warning, from the triangular box on the inner lining of the pilot's cabin, next to Alvar, a large device with a display in a white case slid out.
"What is that?"
"Take it in your hands and tell me what you see," the guy at the controls replied in a commanding tone.
The "darts" tried to shoot them down again.
Alvar took the device in his hands and noticed that Misha was flying with his eyes closed. Just a couple of seconds, but such tricks could cost both of them their lives. The runner had already begun to doubt that the ground had been more dangerous than here.
However, as soon as he got distracted by the device in his hands, three short beeps sounded from the panel side. And the red dots of the pursuers disappeared.
"What was that?"
"I shot them down. They started shooting too close to us. Obviously at random, since we're under cloak, but..."
"How? I didn't notice any guns on your ship."
"Weapons come in different kinds," Misha replied evasively. "So, what's on the screen?"
"Empty, the device isn't working."
"That's the problem. The technologies I'm using only work in the hands of a certain type of people. Unfortunately, you're not one of them. So, I'm staying at the controls."
"Why make a weapon that others can't use?" the runner wondered.
"Precisely so that no one else can use it. That's logical, after all!"
Maybe.
"Ancestors preserve us," Alvar muttered, looking at the appearance of more and more new red dots on the screen. "The Wraith won't calm down until they shoot us down."
"Looks like it."
"You saved me, kid, but continuing this further is just stupid," Alvar said. "Try to slow down near the foothills—I'll jump out and lead them far away from your ship. I'm used to it..."
"No offense, kid, but now they need both of us," Misha said. "That weapon I used, they definitely detected it. And the Wraith will definitely not approve of using technologies that could threaten them."
Jensen didn't even argue.
After all, his own world had been destroyed by the Wraith to the ground precisely for that reason. They had learned much of what the Ancestors knew. They built the first reactors, taught their fighters to reach near space, developed more lethal small arms...
But nothing of that saved them when a Wraith hive ship arrived at the planet to take revenge for the destroyed "darts." Sent by the enemies of all humanity through the gate, they were shot down. And their pilots, without giving any information about their commanders, were executed.
The Wraith turned Jensen's home planet into ruins in just one day. No matter how effective their weapons were, Alvar's countrymen didn't hold out in that battle. And his people, who survived the orbital bombardment, were subjected to merciless culling, leaving no one alive.
Out of more than a hundred thousand population, no one remained except a few soldiers who were turned into runners. Whether anyone was alive after so much time besides him, the man didn't know.
"I suggest then..."
"Wait," Misha interrupted him, pointing to the screen. "You see that too?"
Alvar glanced at the computer projection, then whistled in surprise:
"The 'darts' have stopped pursuing us. Scared of your weapon?"
"I doubt the Wraith can be scared by one puddle jumper," Misha doubted. "But what is, is—they've abandoned us. Means there's a chance to shake them off."
"They block the gate during an attack," the runner enlightened. "With my transmitter, the Wraith will track us anywhere on this planet."
"And I think the same," the guy agreed. "However, I have an idea how to make them lose our trail."
"Attack the hive?"
"Not this time. We'll deal with your transmitter, and then think about how to get off the planet."
"We need to engage in battle, break through to the Ancestors' Ring and..."
"...and die," Misha finished his thought. "Listen, friend. I also want to get out of here as soon as possible. But a suicidal attack won't go unpunished. Whether we die or they shoot down my puddle jumper, in any case, the Wraith will get what I personally have no intention of giving them. While there are options—we'll fight."
"If only you can remove the beacon," Alvar said without hiding his skepticism. He doubted that this guy, no matter how well he handled excellent weapons and ships, could do what the best minds on the planets he knew couldn't.
"At least I'll try," the guy admitted. "But I'll need wiring with a metal core, something to cut the skin with..."
Without extra words, Alvar pulled out a coil of thin wire-string used in military engineering from his attached pocket. And also demonstrated his knife.
"Will that do?"
"Hope so," Mikhail said, looking at what was offered. "Now we need to find a suitable place to land."
"There," Jensen spotted a small snow-covered area about a hundred meters from the ground surface. The mountain here transitioned into a small plateau, so even an inexperienced pilot should manage. "I hope you land better than you pilot."
"I hope so too," the "pilot" admitted.
***
"'Darts' have unloaded the culled people and are heading to positions," the first lieutenant reported. "Arrival in a few minutes..."
The massive eight-kilometer hive, whose age dated back to the dawn of Wraith civilization, shuddered from a powerful explosion.
"What's happening?" the hive commander asked, turning to his subordinate.
"Reports of detonation on the people unloading platform by 'darts,'" he reported. "The explosion was powerful, some systems were damaged, including hangar control."
"What about the livestock?"
"Half the culled animals died," the first lieutenant reported. "We lost five 'darts' and their pilots."
And that meant the explosion was very powerful. It was impossible to bring such a device on board. Thanks to mental abilities, the commander would easily detect a foreign Wraith on his ship. Therefore, something like this could only be arranged from inside the hangar itself.
A pilot couldn't do that, but humans...
"Sabotage," the hive commander growled.
"But who's behind it?"
"The one who will arrive soon!" the commander pointed a clawed finger at the marks of approaching ships.
"Deploy all 'darts' to defensive positions!"
"As you command, commander," the first lieutenant reported.
"Ships have exited hyperspace," the second lieutenant reported. "The hive has opened fire."
In the next moment, the commander felt a chain of explosions ripple through his hive. Excessively strong for ordinary hits on a regenerating bionics hull.
One hive ship firing on another. Nothing new, a typical Monday in the Pegasus galaxy.
"Batteries and hangars on the left side are hit," the first lieutenant reported. "Multiple internal explosions. We've lost the sensor cluster in that part of the ship, losing air."
"Seal the bulkheads."
"Already done, commander," the second lieutenant reported.
"Enemy cruisers are bypassing us on the left and moving to our rear," the first lieutenant warned.
The commander saw that the arriving hive continued to be in direct line of sight. Besides the already fired salvo, no new strikes came from either the hive or the escort cruisers.
"They've launched 'darts,'" the first lieutenant reported. "They're maintaining a defensive formation."
Which was extremely illogical, having superiority in firepower and number of ships.
"Call them, commander?" the second lieutenant inquired.
"They're already calling us," he cut off. "On screen!"
Hive commander.
Even the blurry image on the organic film of the communication screen couldn't prevent him from seeing the triumphant expression on the queen's face. And how quickly it changed to a grimace of contempt.
However, he recognized her just as she recognized him.
Now everything fell into place.
***
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