Oddly, Romy didn’t really blame the Critamal for trying to invade Earth. It wasn't like the Orbitos owned the planet. Did it mean she wanted the aliens to have it? Comets, no. At the same time, she couldn’t blame them. Killing the Critamal was just a job to be done. Protect Earth: Kill the Critamal.

She supposed she should feel bitter because the poachers annihilated so many of the knots. However, the space soldiers killed just as many of the Critamal kind. Time had proven that neither side would lose from lack of number. While the Orbitos’ four-thousand-strong force was continually replenished from the cultivation tanks, the Critamal bred at astonishing rates.

Again, Romy put the blame for the death, like most other things, on the shoulders of their ancestors. If they hadn’t ruined Earth, it wouldn’t have attracted the Critamal.

“Battle concentrated to our lower right quadrant,” Deimos reported.

“Preparing to fire.” Romy’s fingers strained as she held the tension in the trigger for just the right moment.

A poacher ship came into range; she followed it until the green craft lurched upwards, exposing the underbelly of the ship. She squeezed the trigger and a red laser shot from their battler in response.

The enemy ship exploded into unrecognisable debris as her laser connected with the fuel cylinders on the underbelly of the craft. The fuel cells were Romy’s favourite targets. “Hit,” she cheered.

“You’ll be cleaning up debris and yellow poacher guts tomorrow, Ro. Ever think about that?” Deimos cackled.

Romy pulled a face. Though the exterior of the Critamal was a hard black shell, their insides were gooey and yellow. The worst was their brains—huge bulbous organs that held together far too well after the body was destroyed. The skulls she’d seen in cadet training were as hard as steel, so that came as no surprise. The Critamal had no mouth, ears, or nose; they seemed to communicate telepathically, at least from what the Orbitos’ scientists could glean from study of their remains. The poachers did possess beady yellow eyes, however, which gave Romy the hand sweats.

“Preparing to fire,” she said again.

“Initiating evasive manoeuvres,” Elara responded calmly. Romy released the trigger and clicked on one safety, grabbing the straps of her harness.

Elara’s evasive manoeuvres were killer.

One of the Orbito battlers exploded in front of Romy, victim to the white fire of the Critamal. Sadness weighed her stomach as she farewelled five of their crew who would never see Earth.

The battlefield was overrun with poacher fire. Flashes of white filled the gaps between debris, and the constant ebb and flow of their battlers. Romy twisted and saw their battle lines were broken. More white fire than red. Not a good sign.

What had broken through their lines?

“Lordy lordy, I hate it when she does this!” Deimos squealed as Elara flipped the battler in a sideways spiral.