The silent displays showed the paths of the torpedoes widen farther as they approached their targets, the similar charges inherent in the weapons repelling them away from each other lazily until the enemy vessels entered into their sphere of influence.

In that indefinable moment, the displays changed dramatically as the arcing trails of the torpedoes twisted and turned into an untraceable corkscrew that colored the entire screen. Sixty-five light-seconds from the Odyssey, the Drasin vessels were treated to an awesome light show as a dozen brilliant globes descended upon them, literally from the heavens. For many of them, this light show was the last thing they ever marveled at.

The first torpedo struck a tightly packed formation of Drasin fighters, annihilating one in the first blast and destroying the rest with secondary explosions. The next eight torpedoes had much the same effect, wreaking havoc on the Drasin fighter wing. The last four, however, breached the fighters’ barrier and struck heavily into the Drasin mother ship. Four blazing plumes of fire rose from the stricken vessel as the effects of the torpedoes vaporized its hull.

On the Odyssey’s bridge, they had to wait an additional sixty-two seconds for the results of their efforts, but it was well worth it.

Captain Weston took a deep breath, nodding to the tactical controls and the man who had handled them. “My compliments, Mr. Waters. Time to recharge?”

“Tubes are recharging now, Captain, but it’s going to take a while. Firing a dozen of those things has drained the reserve capacitors. We’ll need to recharge them from the reactor, and it will take hours at our current power demands.”

Weston nodded slightly and turned to Roberts for a report. “Damage?”

“The first enemy ship is turning from its intercept course. They’re limping off.” Even through his rigid demeanor, Weston could hear the satisfaction in Roberts’s voice.

Weston wasn’t quite so satisfied, though. Four direct hits from pulse torpedoes shouldn’t have left much alive to limp off.

Tough bastards, Weston thought but didn’t let it color his voice as he addressed the commander. “Let them go. Continue tracking the other two.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Odyssey, with its flying wing of escorts, continued to roar toward the next intercept point. It wasn’t until they passed the debris caused by their long-range fire that they realized the situation had again changed. The farthest Drasin vessel had turned back to the planet, the energy from its charging weapons lighting up their sensors like a beacon in the black.

This time, in the control room for the systems defense forces, no one cursed.

The shock was complete in the large command room in Mons Systema, and it was possible to hear the proverbial pin strike the floor.

“Identify that ship!” Adm. Rael Tanner snapped, breaking the shocked silence and jerking everyone back to work.

“There’s still no transponder ID!” someone yelled. “It’s a Spirit, sir…”

Several people shivered involuntarily at that, though logically they knew it was foolishness. Spirits and Spirit ships were nothing but folklore, tales told at night to chill the blood and enflame the senses. The idea of it was ludicrous, but then, so was the idea of an unknown ship coming from the black to save them from the Drasin.