Hell became reality.
The Enemy tore into the Stream.
so slow
a swirl of events
so this is how it will end for me
a reflex
fading
Patra felt the Enemy rip into the Stream, heard infinite voices screaming, commanding, weeping. She sensed the bliss of impending bloodshed.
Helpless, she cried out in horror as the Enemy killed Shiva in a fit of ecstasy.
Helpless.
Simon.
Time became fluid.
Shiva fired.
So this is how it will end for me, Simon thought.
He braced himself for the end and
—BLACK BLACK BLACK IMPOSSIBLE BLACK SO SO MANY—
suddenly the Enemy strike force was upon them, emerging from the past, killing, thrashing, diving.
The deadly arc of light intended for Simon emanating from Shiva was cut off as an Enemy flew directly between them. The Enemy shattered, and Simon reflexively shifted as the debris tore through the Stream. A great black and silver shard severed the tether that held Simon within the Stream, and he shifted into an unknown When with a violence that threatened to tear him apart. Shiva spun around, confused, as the Enemy fleet bore down upon him.
Completely caught off guard, Shiva was dazed.
This isn’t supposed to happen. The Purpose must be prevented.
He bore the brunt of the attack. He paid for it.
As the Enemy emerged from the past they flew at full speed directly at the unsuspecting Judas. The collision was spectacular as the colossal mass of an Enemy vessel slammed with incomprehensible force into the main cockpit hub of Shiva, shattering the center of the vessel, severing the weapons nacelles, leaving them to spiral off in opposite directions.
Shiva was silenced forever.
The Enemy vessel, destroyed by the collision with Shiva, was carried by the momentum of the impact into the path of several other Black, which tried to avoid the fiery debris but were ensnarled in it.
The rest of the armada deftly avoided a pileup in the wreckage and swept ominously onward through the ancient pasts.
Upward through time. Upward to Command.
Oh god. Oh dear god.
With no bioneural flux to focus the Shadow, severed from his pattern tether, Simon faded from the Stream with force enough to overload his mechanicals. Locked up from the reflex of the emergency Shadow break, Simon drifted dazed in an unknown When, an unknown time in an unknown space with unknown stars coldly dotting the stark night sky.
They had been so close…Was this the correct When? Simon could only hope. With the last of his energy, he activated his homing beacon. If Malachi were near, he would detect Simon’s call. And then—
No.
So dark…
Must warn them.
So very dark…
Michael!…
He fell into the void. Darkness became him.
Arik Mandela felt the vessel shudder, heard the emergency sirens roar to life, knew something was tragically wrong even before his pattern was completely downloaded. The hypoderm arm of the stasis chamber pumped his newly-formed body full of stasis-release chemicals and adrenaline. The chamber covers slid open and he found himself thrust into a frigid world of noise and confusion. All around him in the massive room other men and women also looked around, dazed. He had to assess the situation.
A ripple of timesweep washed through his image, for a moment obscuring Mandela in a haze of static. That can’t be good.
“Shiva? This is Mandela. What’s going on?”
…
“Shiva, report.”
silence.
“Bloody hell.”
He calmly arose from the recess of the chamber, grabbed a handhold as his momentum struggled to pull him into the core of the spherical room. He could sense the vessel move beneath him in a seemingly random pattern. He had to assume that Shiva had been neutralized. Something terrible had happened.
He shifted his mind and close-combat phase armor materialized around him. “Suit up, people. Let’s handle this by the books.”
Mandela used his suit’s grav shifters to swim to the door of the stasis chamber. He spun to face his troops.
“Alpha squad. We have to get to the hub to assess the situation. Shiva’s com lines are down, so he doesn’t answer. It appears we’ve lost nav. Now this could just be a simple malfunction, but we can’t take any chances. We’ll secure the hub first and go from there.”
He reached out with his mind and the chamber door activated.
The corridor was dark, with only the emergency lights online. The group swept outwards, using the grav shifters to help them traverse the blackened terrain of the gunship nacelle. Within a few minutes they were at the pivot point door to the hub.
Mandela palmed the opening mechanism. Nothing. He attempted to trigger the mechanism with his thoughts. Still nothing.
An automated emergency computer voice intoned: NO ENTRY. FORCE LOCK IN PLACE. ACCESS DENIED.
Force lock? But a force lock would only be activated if…Mandela maneuvered to a sensor pad on the wall. With minimal power, the readout was dim, but he could still activate the internal video system. There. Beyond the force lock—
There was nothing.
Mandela gasped. The monitor showed a swirl of stars—No, not stars. Shards. Of Shiva.
There was nothing beyond the force lock because Shiva had been split in half. Some horrendous force had shattered the cockpit hub, and the nacelles floated freely in the Stream. He could see the other nacelle pivoting slowly away. What the hell had happened?
He could see—
no. Black.
The Enemy vessel enveloped the other nacelle, to take it apart, no doubt. To take the pattern cache. To harvest souls.
He saw other Enemy gliding among the wreckage, but where was Golgotha Simon? Had he also been destroyed?
Or had he—
Mandela thrust the thought from his mind.
A sudden flicker and an Enemy vessel was upon them.
Icy cold fingers—
“Shield yourselves! Block them out!” Mandela screamed as the mind-essence struggled to engulf them. He shifted his mind up, locked out the hell of the Black.
An arc of light blinded them as the Enemy warriors began to cut their way into the nacelle with a phase shifter.
