Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

Jennifer hid in the main hanger. She had seen the vessel transition back to realspace, but had also felt the surge of psionic energy. She was not sure exactly what had happened, but there had been some kind of psychic backlash from whatever had driven Morsalis into unconsciousness; Jennifer had a splitting headache as a result.

But there was something else: she had felt Paul’s mind direct itself at the installation after whatever had happened. She had done what she could to mask herself from him, but did not know if it had been enough. But she did know one thing.

He was coming.

She did not know if it was her presence, Morsalis’ blackout, the successful test, or some other factor, but he was inbound. Moreover, Jennifer was not ready for a face-to-face encounter with him yet.

Therefore, she would need a distraction to facilitate her escape. Running for the cooling prototype vessel, her face split in a grin as she came up with a doozy.

“I need an update on her condition NOW.” Stragdoc snarled at the communications array on the shuttle. Tilial Dalth suppressed a shiver of terror at the force of the Emperor’s rage. It filled the small ship like a cloud of chlorine gas, all but suffocating her.

Upon hearing that the Empress had taken ill somehow, she had volunteered instantly to fly him to the surface personally. In addition, she regretted it. She would never felt this kind of effect in his presence before, and it terrified her.

“Heart rate, brain activity all show as normal, sir. Whatever happened, she’s recovering.” A tinny voice nervously responded from the speaker. Dalth felt the cloud of anger subside somewhat.

“Good. Good. That’s good. We will be on the surface shortly. Ensure I have a clear path to my wife. Anyone in my way shall regret it.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, sir.” Dalth murmured, trying to further calm the raging storm.

“Just fly, Tilial. ETA to Site A?” He ground out.

“Less than three minutes, sir.”

Dalth felt a hand on her shoulder. “Admiral, forgive me. You are not responsible for Calixta’s current condition, it is wrong for me to treat you as if you were.” The Emperor’s voice was much more measured, calm.

She looked over at him. “I understand, sir. You’re worried.”

More than Dalth realized, in fact. Stragdoc’s mind was racing. Had his tinkering with her mind to increase her power done this? But how to explain that weird echo he’d detected within the psionic surge he’d felt? How was that even possible? The only explanation that made any sense was if an equally powerful psychic entity was there, and while Karman was indeed powerful, Calixta was stronger, which only meant…

No. Stragdoc’s eyes widened in shock and rage as his mind began connecting dots. Grabbing the communications array, he snarled, “Lock down the base, now! Send a list of new arrivals at the site to me immediately.”

As the text file scrolled onto his screen, Dalth shouted something about an unidentified craft firing at them. Stragdoc tuned her out as he put the pieces together. That hated voice that he now heard broadcasting on all frequencies confirmed what he was already thinking.

“To any Global Alliance members monitoring these frequencies, the Psi-Omegan Empire has a secret base on Earth. Coordinates are…”

Dalth risked looking at her passenger. The look of unadulterated hatred on her master’s face immediately made her wish she had not. “S-sir? Do I return fire?”

“Give. Me. The. Helm. NOW.” Stragdoc bit out. Taking control of the vessel, he twisted the ship to turn the tables on their pursuer. Sighting the prototype, Stragdoc mentally seized control of the shuttle’s weapons, opening fire; then tried to telekinetically grab the prototype, but felt the other vessel’s occupant mentally swat his grasping mind away.

“Sir? Your wife?” Dalth whispered. “They’ll be coming for all our people…”

Eyes wild, the Emperor turned to face her, and then nodded. Composing himself. “Land this thing, signal the evacuation. I want all our shuttles getting those people out of there.”

Most of them. He mentally corrected. At least one would die here. Well, at least one of his own people.