"Lieutenant Commander," Gueller said, fighting to keep his voice level. "While I applaud your initiative in stopping the fighting, I cannot sanction this."

Wraia had expected as much from Gueller, but that didn't make it any less irritating. She breathed in deep through her nose to keep calm. With the Merlin now out of danger the other shipmaster had been quick to try and reassert his authority over the situation. It didn't matter that his vessel was crippled and would be lucky to drag itself back to human space.

Doing her best to remain civil, she looked at his image on the vid-screen in her cabin. "And what would you suggest instead?"

"We have both sustained damage. The object we have been pursuing has clearly left this system, but not gone further into Narvorian space. The immediate threat has passed. Therefore our primary course of action is now to return to Sol-Fleet space where we can make a full report of our findings. And we can inform our superiors that the Narvorians have engaged in illegal settlement of neutral space."

Wraia's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You cannot seriously be suggesting that a treaty violation is more important than tracking down this thing that has destroyed two entire colonies?"

"That is not what I meant," Gueller said quickly. "But if we wish to combat this unknown threat effectively we will require a full task force, and we will need to ensure that we are able to pass through this region without being challenged by Narvorian vessels who have staked an illegal claim."

"Sir-!"

"Ms. Clay, whatever it is, it is gone now. We go back."

Rage boiled in her chest as she stared at his hollow-cheeked face over the viewscreen. She almost ripped the screen out of its housing there and then, her normally professional demeanour just inches from going up in smoke.

"Let me be candid," she snapped. "Only one of us needs to give a full report to Sol-Fleet. You can have them mobilise defence fleets to the outer colonies, while I continue onward with Navigator Fifthhorn. I will not go scurrying back to dry-dock with my tail between my legs."

"Clay, Myrr Idol is destroyed along with the Manticore. There is nothing more we can do out here. Even if you were to track this vessel down, what would you even do? It is clearly too powerful for a single ship to combat."

"We don't know that for certain – we've never even seen the thing." Her expression darkened accusingly. "And what about the people of Myrr Idol? The crew of the Manticore?"

"What?"

"We didn't find any bodies, Commander. Not one. If they weren't killed, then logic dictates they were taken. If they were taken, they are onboard that ship."

"A wild assumption, Ms. Clay. They are most likely dead."

"Most likely? Those people are Sol-Fleet crew, and human colonists! I'm not about to give up on them."

"I am the senior office-"

"Commander Gueller!" Wraia erupted, slamming a hand down flat against the table in front of her. "With all due respect, this is not a request. I have made my decision as the commanding officer of the Cobra. You are not an admiral, a commodore, or even a caption. You have seniority over me by one year of service, during which time your most remarkable action was the arrest of a half dozen pirates.

"You are no more qualified than I am to be in command of this expedition. I graduated top of my class from the Sol-Fleet Naval Academy, Deimos Campus, with a twin-excellence commendation in tactical discipline and ship-to-ship combat. I am not going to crawl back to Sol-Fleet and sit twiddling my thumbs while that thing disappears into the void. If we let it get away from us now, we may never find it. And then who knows when it might strike again? Or where? This time it was a fringe colony, but Myrr Idol is just one hop away from millions – billions – of colonists."

Ice crept into her voice as she fired the final arrow in her quiver. "My father is High Commissioner Garriston Clay, as I'm sure you are well aware. If you press this matter, I assure you he will personally see a full report on your actions. I will spare no detail. My father is a powerful man. Whatever disciplinary actions you think you can enact upon me, I assure you he can do worse."

By the time she finished speaking it looked like all the blood had drained from Gueller's face. He just stared at her in dumbstruck silence, his mouth half-opening, then closing again as he tried to process her tirade.

It was in subordination, she knew that, but it was also the right decision.

"Well, Commander?" she challenged.

Gueller's face twisted with anger. "Good luck, Commander Clay," he spat. "If you return – which I highly doubt – I assure you, I will be waiting."

Then he cut the link.

*

"Match course and speed, Mr Ratcliffe," Wraia ordered, watching the bulk of the Rummus Lone rotate ponderously on the main cameras.

Up close, the Narvorian ship was a daunting thing, its heavily armoured hull still cratered with the signs of battle. That only made it more imposing, absorbing punishment that would have blown a lesser vessel to atoms.

"Aye, ma'am. Matching course and speed," Ratcliffe repeated. The Cobra followed his commands. Engines rumbled and brought them up into a flanking formation with the other ship.

"Sensors," Wraia continued. "Send telemetry direct to the Narvorian bridge. Let them see what we can see."

Hooper complied without a word, and the unease among the rest of the bridge crew was palpable. Somewhere, hundreds of thousands of kilometres behind them, Gueller and the Merlin were limping away from the battle, heading back to the safety of human space.

No-one had questioned her about it, not even Gallagher, but a rift between the human captains simply did not look good. There was nothing she could do about it now, however. They were committed. Repairs were well underway below decks, with gunnery stations being restored to action, damaged hull sections being reinforced with temporary armour rigging, and wrecked sensor arrays being stripped and replaced. The well of spare-parts aboard the Cobra was getting dangerously low now, and she knew they could only sustain two or three more full engagements before the ammo stores ran dry.

It was not a good situation, by any metric, but she'd meant what she said to Gueller. She wasn't about to abandon thousands of people who may still be alive to an unknown fate.

"Clay," the voice of Prallas Fifthhorn trundled over the comm link. "We are ready."

"Acknowledged." Wraia straightened in her command chair and took a deep breath. "Our sensor feed should be coming to you now."

"We have it. We enter low-space now. Follow."

"Acknowledged."

"Here goes nothing," Briar murmured.

"Mind your station, Ensign," Wraia replied quietly.

"Aye, ma'am."

"Ms. Scarreth, Mr. Ratcliffe, follow them in."

A moment later the ship shuddered, and the Cobra's dropspace drives engaged. They followed the Rummus Lone into the black space, their trajectory propelling them away from both human and Narvorian space. They hurtled off towards the edge of the map, towards more unclaimed, uninhabited systems.

It took them six hours to reach the first.

She knew they were on the right track when they encountered the same strange blanket of disruption that had been dogging them since they arrived at Myrr Idol. She wondered how long that distortion would last. For all she knew the effect was permanent, some hideous by-product of their quarry's very existence.

With the Rummus Lone moving with them, they painstakingly swept their way through the system the hard way. The blunt-tech of the Narvorian vessel wasn't having much more success with combing through the distorted curtains, but after following the gravity trail through the system, it seemed nothing and no-one had drawn the ire of the stranger.

Sensor data and comms rattled between the two ships. The five planets listed in the Sol-Fleet database were all where they were supposed to be. The moons, too. No settlements, illegal or otherwise, were present here either.

So they moved on to the next system. Again they found nothing, just a cold-burning red dwarf, a handful of rocky worlds and a close-orbiting hot-Jupiter. But the anomalies in the system's gravity told them they were still on the trail. If nothing else, Wraia thought, at least it was easy to follow. It didn't seem like it could go anywhere without messing up the very space is moved through.

There was nothing to do but press on.

Then seventeen hours and four dropspace bursts later, they finally found something.

The Cobra dropped inside the new system's heliopause a few thousand kilometres distant from the hulking mass of the Rummus Lone. As Ratcliffe and Scarreth worked to bring them back into formation again, Wraia examined the sector map that had sprung up on the main display.

This system was barren in the human archives, its star and planetary bodies logged against reference number V203-1110 and consigned to the dustbin of astronomical history. They were far, far beyond the contested space between human and Narvorian; beyond treaty boundaries and diplomatic niceties.

"Ma'am, something weird on the main sensor array," Hooper reported. "I think I'm reading a debris field."

"You think?"

Hooper winced. "Sensors still not at full functionality, ma'am, but it there appears to be a scattered belt of objects between us and the first planetary bodies."

"Asteroid belt?" Ratcliffe suggested.

Beside him, Scarreth shook her head. "This system's not supposed to have one."

"Insufficient mass, too," Hooper confirmed.

"So, debris? Ship debris?" Gallagher suggested.

"I can't say for certain, sir. We need to get closer."

Wraia nodded. "Ensign Briar – ship-to-ship with the Rummus Lone."

"Aye, ma'am." He paused for a moment, one hand darting over the comms console. Then he nodded. "I have the Chief Navigator standing by."

"Chief Navigator, this is Commander Clay," Wraia said, enunciating her words a little more aggressively than she might have normally. "We have detected a belt of foreign bodies ahead. According to our systems it is not an asteroid belt."

"We see as well," Prallas rumbled back. "Our eyes see metal." She frowned at the phrase. He was speaking in his slightly skewed Sol-Galactic – she wasn't sure why. Maybe just a point of pride.

"Their sensors," Briar prompted. "They're reading metallic debris."

"Alright, Chief Navigator. We're going to take a closer look."

"Understood. We will sweep – patterns being sent now."

"Receiving," Briar confirmed a moment later. "They've sent us a patrol course – shunting to navigation now."

"Copy." Scarreth raised a hand in acknowledgement. "On screen now, ma'am."

Wraia steepled her fingers, looking at the display. Prallas had wasted no time in sketching out a course for both ships, one that would loop them away from each other to sweep the debris field in a long, looping arc, before sweeping back in towards the system's outermost planet – a modest gas giant with a clump of a dozen moons in attendance.

She saw no flaws in the Narvorian commander's proposal, but she knew in the back of her mind that there was a delicate balancing act to be struck here. The crew had followed her this far, but if they started to think she was taking orders from the Narvorians, things could deteriorate in a hurry.

"Key the course, Ensign," Wraia ordered, before reopening the channel to Prallas. "Course received and acknowledged. We will make our sweep and rendezvous in high orbit, fifth planet. Clay out."

That small step of ending the communications first would show she wasn't going to dance entirely to Prallas's tune. They might have had a common enemy at the moment, but the Narvorians were still enemies in any other sphere.

Prallas Fifthhorn didn't press the issue. The only response was the engine flare of the Rummus Lone as it accelerated away from them to starboard. The Cobra set off in the opposite direction, closing in fast on the debris field ahead.

Soon they were close enough for a visual, and the forward cameras came to life. At first it formed a silver-grey band of glitter across the centre of the screen, but the closer they got, the more its true nature became apparent.

It was definitely not an asteroid field.

Wraia's eyes slowly widened as she picked out building-sized chunks of metal drifting in dead orbit. Massive, curving ribs tumbled through the void, occasionally colliding soundlessly with other pieces of debris. She could pick out long hull sections, conical engine drives, wing-like projections.

"Bloody hell," Gallagher breathed.

Wraia couldn't have assessed it much better. She could feel her heart starting to thump in her chest as the enormity of what she was looking at truly hit home. Even in this small section of the field she could see parts ranging from huge, broken sections bigger than a Sol-Fleet battle cruiser, all the way down to individual slabs of plating; a tightly packed junkyard with enough mass to create a whole fleet.

And this field stretched in a band around the entire system. Billions of miles and trillions of tons of wreckage, drifting in an eternal carousel.

"What is this?" Scarreth murmured.

"It's a graveyard, Ensign," Wraia answered softly. "A bloody graveyard."