THE END OF BEGINNINGS

ELEVEN

    Its name was the Gold Horizon. Like most of the ships in service, it was old. Its hull was an off-color collection of thick, metal patches. The long lines of its stern and the broad, curved front of its bow bore the marks of too many close passes with giant stars, a dangerous dance with a hungry black hole, and now, a fire fight with an enemy never before encountered.

    Valuable gases fissured out of a small, charred crater on top of the Gold Horizon's aft sections. The silvery mist curled upward from the fast, fleeing ship. Radical maneuvers the Horizon's pilot was desperately guiding it through were creating a spiraled, hazy wake that sparkled faintly in the high orbit of the planet below.

    Lataan Del Ium was hardly the best pilot in Lantean space. But, he did his best. And right now, he had no other choice. The entire ship rocked and lurched violently as a blistering stream of deadly plasma and energy glanced off the fuselage. Lataan growled, both in frustration and alarm. There was nothing he could do but try to dodge, evade, and get away. The Gold Horizon was a midsize personnel and cargo transport. A few decades before Lataan was given the helm, the modest vessel, only a span and a half larger than a standard jumper, had been modified into a long-range research and reconnaissance ship. It had no real weapons to speak of, only shields and a whole array of really fancy scanners and recorders.

    Lataan rolled the ship hard to the right and down toward a new orbit. "Maybe we should just open the hatch and start throwing the dishes at them," he shouted over his shoulder.

    The Gold Horizon jumped and lurched violently again. Bulkheads popped loudly, some of them beginning to smoke. "Just fly us out of here," Bayos Cilius said sternly to his pilot when the ear-wrecking noises had settled down. Bayos was the commander of the four-man crew that had been assigned to the mission they were currently trying to complete. They were almost done. They only had to get home. But as the ship shimmied wildly again and the deafening crack of another weapon's strike flooded his ears, Bayos was all too aware of how slim they're odds were getting.

    There was a moan underneath him. It was long, loud, and filled with pain. Bayos looked down at the man lying on the table; at least, what was left of the of the man. His skin was ghostly pale and pulled taught over his thinned muscles. He was barely more than a skeleton. There was a bleeding burn on his chest. Bayos moved his own hand and the device it was gripping back over that spot. Those monsters, he thought. They fed on him. Like the damned bugs. They actually fed on him!

    Bayos breathed deeply and pushed his thoughts aside as best he could. The device hugging his palm came to life. The dying man gasped, his moans quieting down as a comforting warmth blanketed the stinging wound between his ribs. "There you go," Bayos said. "You're going to be alright. We all are. You just have to hang on, okay."

    The frail man did his best to nod his head. His racing breaths were strained and raspy. Bayos knew he wasn't going to be able to heal his friend. The man named Prisca was dying. The people in that city, whatever it was they had become, had killed him. There was no undoing what they had done.

    Another bolt of energy from the pursuing fighters bit into the metal skin of the Gold Horizon. Alarms in the cockpit wailed loudly. "Silva, I need speed! The hyperdrive would be wonderful about now," Lataan shouted over all the other racket.

    In the cramped engine compartment, Silva Tiburtius Gol let go of the trigger on the empty fire extinguisher. He rolled his eyes at the words that crackled through nearby speakers as he tossed the spent canister over his shoulder. "Sure," he said flippantly. "Just let me snap my fingers and grant your wish! Oh, wait..."