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“Dar Bille’s judgment is correct,” said Nil Spaar. “The meaning of this is that more ships are coming. We will move toward these probes at once.”

“But darama, please consider—if this proves another false showing, as there was at Preza yesterday—” the proctor said in protest.

“Then they will not pass close enough for us to engage them from this orbit,” said Dar Bille.

“Their purpose could be to draw us away, and leave the spawnworld unprotected.”

“There are ships enough for both duties,” said Nil Spaar, cutting short the argument. “But the flagship of the Protectorate need fear no enemy. We will move to intercept.”

Dar Bille spun away. “Signal our companion vessels that we are breaking orbit. Helmsman! Set course for the anomalies, and make quarter speed when the way is clear.”

With a slow grace, the bow of the great Star Destroyer swung out and upward, bringing the triangle of enemy probes to the center of the main viewpane. As Nil Spaar settled into his command lounge, he settled his gaze on that triangle and thought heartening thoughts about revenge for his lost children.

It was night in Giat Nor—a night like most nights on N’zoth, of quiet air and clear skies under the splendor of the All.

But a sentry had called Ton Raalk to the courtyard of the city proctor’s hall and quarters with a report of a curiosity: three bright flashes in the sky over N’zoth’s northern latitudes.

“One after another they were, like one word following another,” said the sentry. “And bright—brighter than any of the All. I only saw the third of them directly, but it left me half blind for minutes after.”

There were others of Ton Raalk’s family and staff in the courtyard as well, having glimpsed the sky or the ground lit up though a window or door. The proctor was well aware of them as he answered loudly, “I see nothing here, and no reason for concern. Most likely it was part of our glorious fleet, going hunting for the vermin.”

The sentry would not relent. In his post, he had seen many ships jumping in and out of N’zoth’s skies, and that light was only a flicker by comparison. “Could it be that there is fighting here, etaias? Perhaps for safety the families should be moved—”

Then someone cried out, pointing skyward. Ton Raalk turned at the sound, then craned his neck upward. He stared wonderingly with the others as a small area of the sky, barely larger than his hand at arm’s length, began to roil and dance with light.

As warship after warship appeared within the triangle marked out by the alien probes, Nil Spaar edged forward in his chair with eager glee in his eyes. “Yes, come, come,” he urged. “What a glorious victory you will give us. What a splendid sky, full of targets for our guns. There will be honor for every Yevetha today, and vengeance for every lost child.”

But at that moment, both fleets were well out of the range of each other’s weapons. There was time for the game masters on both sides to array their pieces for battle, jockeying for advantage in the clash to come. The slow grace of the ballet belied its murderous purpose.

Dar Bille ordered the interdictor Splendor of Yevetha forward into the lead spot, to protect the flagship from any sneak attacks from hyperspace. Tho Voota held the flagship and its companions at a crawl while the balance of the home fleet rose from orbit to catch and join them.

Meanwhile, the count of the approaching armada continued to climb, topping two hundred before the entry flashes finally ceased. Then the formation began to spread, breaking into squadron-sized units spaced in a one-deep array that brought every ship into view. Their slow, almost stately approach declared an arrogant confidence.

“Darama, there is a signal from the vermin,” announced the proctor of communication.

“I will hear them, for my amusement,” said Nil Spaar, rising from his couch. “Let all hear, Proctor—these words will confess our enemy’s weakness and impotence. They will boast and threaten and then conceal their cowardice as mercy.”

“This is General Etahn A’baht, commander of the New Republic