Admiral Kichirō Van Aalst stood on the bridge of CCFS Freya as the fleet approached the Precursor planet, then turned to his XO. “Status,” he inquired.

“We’re still getting updates from the clans as the stragglers catch up,” he answered. “The clan leaders have pledged their full support… except the Proteans, of course,” he shrugged. The two men shared a knowing look. After the death of Princeps Jibril, the transhumanist clan was in tatters. Several self-endorsed replacements had stepped forward since, but none had lasted long. For some unexplained reason, they kept winding up dead, or else they disappeared into thin air. As a result, there were several Protean-flagged ships scattered amongst the fleet, but none claiming a leadership role.

The one individual whose name kept popping up as a contender for the throne (and among certain circles, the primary reason the job remained vacant despite repeated attempts to fill it) had renounced any interest in taking the mantle for herself. Given the trail of bodies she’d supposedly planted over her long and bloody career, it was probably for the best. To her credit, however, Samara had not only discovered the Precursor homeworld location but had transmitted the “Exodus” signal across Terran space as well. Given her… unique qualifications, Van Aalst had quietly informed the other clan heads he’d support her claim if she ever changed her mind.

“We’ve located Captain Haddad’s shuttle,” the XO continued. “It’s heading for New Terra as we speak, with dozens of Troika vessels in hot pursuit.” He brought up a plot of the ships in question, their relative course and speed, and then highlighted a specific point on their track. “When the shuttle reaches this position, they’ll be within weapons range of the closest enemy ships. Given the shuttle’s lack of armor or significant weapons, the odds of their survival are… slight.”

The Admiral folded his hands behind his back, his expression now one of determination. “Then it’s up to us to dissuade them,” he said darkly. “Orders to the fleet: they are to advance and engage the enemy at will.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the executive officer replied, as he transmitted the order. “Sir, given the disparity between our fleet and the Troika’s… Admiral, we can buy the crew some time, but that’s all we can do. We can’t defeat them.”

“Let’s hope Holy Mother Terra is saving one more miracle for us,” Van Aalst said quietly, as Freya and the other ships charged into battle.

The Troika’s reaction was immediate.

At first, the sight of the ragged Terran armada coming for them was met by disbelief. That one desperate Terran ship might make the attempt was understandable, but all of them? It was an insane gamble, one they were destined to lose. Oh, they’d get hurt, there were too many enemy vessels coming for them to avoid it, but in the end, it would leave them still standing, while they, in turn, would utterly annihilate the Terran fleet.

Madness.

Their first and only priority was to prevent the shuttle from ever reaching the planet. They’d detail a few squadrons to deal with the Terran fleet, enough to keep them occupied, but the shuttle had to be stopped. Now that the humans knew what the stakes were and had learned of the strange connection between them and the Precursors, allowing them to reach the planet was tantamount to suicide. They immediately issued orders to the Troika vessels. They sent roughly a third of their forces off to deal with the interlopers, while they committed the rest to stopping the shuttle at all costs.

Nothing else mattered.

“Troika vessels are gaining on us,” Slavko announced. “They’ll be within weapons range in fifteen minutes.”

Remi spun in his chair. “Mairead, I need this shuttle to go a lot faster,” he told the Tinker. “Tell me you still have a few tricks up your sleeve.”

“Cap’n, I’ve removed the safety interlocks like you ordered,” the engineer told him, “but to do anything else would be crazy. We’re already pushing the engine’s limits as it is.”

“What do you mean, ‘anything else’?” he demanded, pouncing on the innocuous-sounding phrase. “If there’s something you can do to increase our speed, then fucking do it!”

“Forget it!” she shouted back at him. “The only thing left is to bypass the intermix manifold completely and dump propellant directly into the compression chamber, but all that does is turn the engine into a fucking bomb!”

“Will. We. Go. Faster?” he growled, locking eyes with her.

“If it doesn’t explode first!” she fired back. “I give us a fifty-fifty chance, assuming I would even think about doing something that fucking stupid!”

“Slavko, what are our odds once the Troika are in range?” he asked him, never taking his eyes from Mairead.

The gunner swallowed. “Zero,” he said at last. “Half their fleet is chasing us. We can’t outrun them, and we can’t fight them. Once we’re in their sights… that’s it.”

Remi nodded, agreeing with his assessment. “Fifty percent chance of death, versus a hundred percent. Do the fucking math, Mairead,” he snarled.

“This is insane,” the Tinker whispered. It was obvious, even to him, that the thought terrified her.

If he were still armed, he might have pointed his weapon at her to get her attention, but since he wasn’t, there was only one thing he could think of to convince her, even though it nauseated him to do it.

But then desperate times called for desperate measures.

“... Maggie would do it,” he taunted her, as a wave of self-loathing washed over him.

Mairead’s head rocked back in shock before her eyes narrowed in pure spite. “You son of a bitch,” she snarled, spinning away from him and attacking the engineering console as she went to work, the shuttle vibrating disturbingly while a high-pitched whine made them wince in pain as she butchered the drive.

“Cap’n!” Xuilan shouted. “Velocity has increased by almost forty percent!” she howled.

“Maintain course,” he told her, before shifting his gaze to Slavko. “How do the odds look now?” he demanded.

The gunner updated his plots, staring hard at the screen. “... it’s gonna be close,” he said at last, “a real photo finish.”

“Assuming we don’t explode!” Mairead shouted from her console.

“Assuming that,” Remi grinned fiercely.

The Troika fleet pursuing the shuttle stared in incredulity as the tiny vessel leapt ahead, exceeding its known performance parameters by a substantial margin. How was this possible? Their own engineers were queried regarding the anomaly, and after much debate the answer they presented beggared all belief. Surely no sapient being was mad enough to so thoroughly ravage their propulsion, placing themselves at extreme risk, yet no other solution answered the bizarre riddle before them. Worse, should they still wish to prevent the shuttle from reaching the planet with any amount of certainty, they too would have to perform the same radical surgery on their own ships.

The very thought was insane. Utter lunacy.

And yet, the stakes were far too high to not make the attempt. The Troika were by nature conservative, not given to making such revolutionary alterations to accepted procedure without careful deliberation. But given what they risked losing should they fail, they finally decided that a single vessel would make the necessary modifications. After all, one ship would be more than enough to destroy the fleeing shuttle. One was chosen and underwent the adjustment.

It promptly exploded.

Another vessel was selected, and it too began refitting its engines. The ship’s engineers worked cautiously, not wishing to repeat their predecessor’s failure, before finally pronouncing the procedure to be a success. Their vessel rocketed forward, setting new records of acceleration for almost two full minutes… and then it, too, exploded.

No one volunteered for a third attempt.

How had the Terrans accomplished this? Succeeded where they had failed? Unfortunately for the Troika, having been in a position of power for so long, they lacked the adaptability that humans took for granted. And despite their deep-rooted fear of losing all they knew, it paled compared to the desperation felt by every child of Earth still breathing.

As an ancient Terran philosopher once said, “When you’ve got nothing… you’ve got nothing to lose.”

So.

If stopping the shuttle physically was no longer guaranteed, there were still other methods of persuasion at their disposal. They sent orders out to the fleet.

Destroy the Terran armada at all costs. Leave no survivors.

Faced with the destruction of their entire race, perhaps the shuttle’s crew could be prevailed upon to turn back.

Freya opened fire at the nearest Troika vessel, unleashing a swarm of missiles as the railguns came online, sending a stream of tungsten-jacketed projectiles into the enemy’s path. The other Terran vessels did likewise, attacking with almost reckless abandon as they threw everything they had straight into the teeth of the hated galactic overlords. The Troika responded in kind, firing their own weapons batteries at the human ships, as human ships started dying under the relentless pounding.

But the Terran armada stood their ground, keeping up the barrage as they fought to buy more time for Remi and his crew.

Occasionally a Troika vessel would stagger, succumbing to the human weapons, but the bulk of their fleet remained intact. The Terran ships were old, worn out, often rescued from the breakers and purchased for the price of scrap metal, and it showed. But what they lacked in arms and armament, they made up for in tactical skill and audacity, hurling themselves at the enemy and employing gambits that must have seemed utterly mad in comparison. Some of the more daring crews even got close enough to attempt boarding actions, a strategy that took the Troika completely by surprise.

Physically assault an enemy ship, protected only with a laughably thin suit, instead of remaining safe within an armored hull? Only a Terran could have imagined something so outrageous. They were ready to dismiss the entire concept out of hand as sheer insanity, were it not for a single inescapable fact. Against those unprepared for such an incursion… it worked.

But the drawback to their valiant efforts was the grim butcher’s bill the Terrans were being forced to pay in order to maintain their momentum. Ship after ship died in massive explosions, while others staggered off bleeding atmosphere and plasma as the Tinkers fought desperately to save them. The Troika pressed their advantage, firing on the battered ships without pity or mercy. Hundreds died. Thousands more were torn to pieces by shrapnel, choked in vacuum, or burned alive by ionized energy streams, yet no one turned back, for the Terrans had made a vow when they responded to the long-awaited Exodus signal.

They would win here, or they would die here… and the sheer ferocity with which they fought gave the Troika pause. Of course, the humans did not yet realize this battle was little more than a sideshow in the grand scheme, so now it was time to drive the point home.

The oscillations triggered by Mairead’s handiwork had gotten steadily worse, shaking the alien shuttle so badly they’d set off numerous systems failures, but the sound was even more horrific. What began as a shrill cry had now become a piercing shriek, blasting their eardrums and making Remi wish yet again for their suits. A spreading puddle of vomit lay at Slavko’s feet, evidence of his lingering concussion, while Xiulan struggled to staunch the flow of blood dripping from her nose. Their engineer was now cursing nonstop as she fought to keep the tiny craft from blowing up, letting off a colorful string of profanity that had to be heard to be fully appreciated. Their captain had his fists pressed hard against his temples, desperately trying to ignore the migraine pounding through his skull, while every flash of light stabbed directly into his brain.

“Status!” he shouted over the din.

“Still on course!” Xiulan yelled in return.

“Engines?” he prompted the Tinker.

“Are we fucking dead yet?” she screamed back at him. “Then leave me the fuck alone, unless you want to join your worthless, god-forsaken, dickless ancestors!” She turn back to the consoles and swore, “... son of a bitch!”, her hands flying across the board as she struggled desperately to stabilize the drive system.

Deciding to give Mairead some obviously much-needed space… after all, if the engines did fail, they might have a whole split-second’s worth of warning before they exploded… he turned instead to Slavko.

“And our pursuers?” he asked the gunner.

“Still on our six,” he reported. “We’ve widened the gap a little, but it’s still anybody’s race.”

Under the circumstances, it was the best he could reasonably hope for. New Terra grew steadily larger on their screen when the pilot’s head suddenly jerked up. “Cap’n, we’re receiving a transmission!” she said in shock, her eyes wide. “It’s from the Troika flagship.”

“On screen,” he ordered. Whatever tricks the Troika still had up their sleeve, they were too late, and he relished the opportunity to tell them to their face.

As Xiulan relayed the signal, Remi recognized the three figures up on the main viewer. The Troika rulers stared back at him, obviously displeased by this turn of events, as the insectoid Eleexx spoke.

“Captain Haddad, turn back immediately,” the alien commanded him.

“Go fuck yourself,” Remi sneered, enjoying the moment. “We’re going to beat you to New Terra, and then you assholes will be sorry you were ever born.”

One of the rodent-like Chell stepped forward, speaking for the Tu’udh’hizh’ak master. “I do not believe you realize the full gravity of the situation,” they stated. “Observe.”

The viewer switched images, the crew gasping as they saw for the first time the battle being fought to give them this chance. The Terran fleet was being hammered, smashed to a bloody pulp as the enemy tore them to shreds. Already they were reeling, struggling to regroup, only it was all too clear they were in trouble. That they’d held out this long had to count as a miracle, but it looked like their luck had finally run out.

“Alter course and abandon this folly,” the reptilian Aggaaddub snarled, “or else watch your race die.”

It was no bluff. They could absolutely make good on their threat, in fact, they were well on their way to achieving it already. One final battle and humanity would become as extinct as every other Terran species. Slavko and Xiulan both turned to face him… Mairead having her hands rather full at the moment… as they fearfully awaited his response.

“... Go to hell,” he said at last.

“Fool,” the Aggaaddub hissed, “we will destroy your fleet, and you cannot stop us.”

Remi slowly rose to his feet. “Maybe we can’t save them,” he admitted, “but with what the Precursors left behind, we can damn sure avenge them. End transmission.” The screen went blank as he faced his pilot.

“Scan the system,” he ordered. “Maybe we don’t have to land on the planet itself to trigger whatever’s guarding this world. Is there a moon, an orbital station… anything closer to us that’s still online?”

“Scanning,” she responded, searching the surrounding space for any signs of what the Precursors might have left behind. “I think I’ve got something,” she said at last, “looks like a platform of some kind, between the planet and the star. I’m reading active power signatures,” she said, looking up. “Should shave some time off our ETA.”

“Make for the platform,” he told her.

“How do you know it even has what we need?” Slavko demanded.

Their captain just stared at the blue-green planet, the one they had sought for so very long.

“... I don’t.”