The descent toward Mare Tranquillitatis turned into a firestorm twelve miles above the lunar highlands.
The Vanguard Scalpel screamed through the empty pocket. Then, decelerating from sky-high speed, the ancient rim of Crater Manilius suddenly flared with blinding, emerald-green light. Pre-Cataclysm Federation defense batteries—heavy sky-high-defense star-fire cannons installed a century ago to protect lunar mining facilities—had been fully subverted by the alien hive.
Thick ropes of violet bio-mycelium were wrapped around the self-running turrets, overriding their targeting computers and slaving their firing circuits directly to the Brood-Mother’s psychic network.
“Hostile lock!” Toby screamed, his voice spiking into high panic. “Battery Gamma is online! Fourteen clear star-fire lances incoming! Flight path is dead-on! We can’t out-maneuver them with reaction thrusters!”
Arthur didn’t blink. His eyes remained locked on the tactical screen, his Monocle Taxonomy Loupe processing the incoming projectile vectors in fractions of a split second:
“Don’t fire RCS thrusters, Toby,” Arthur ordered, his voice an anchor of total balance in the screaming cockpit. “RCS jets will impart angular driving force that will flip the ship. Echo! Wake up!”
From his canister, Echo opened one eye. The mud-axolotl was still digesting his feast of void-ticks. But the urgent shaking of Arthur’s neural command snapped him into full alertness.
