The world outside the command center had dissolved into a symphony of controlled violence. The rhythmic, percussive *thump-thump-thump* of our heavy emplacements was a brutal heartbeat against the chaotic staccato of incoming fire. Kaelen was out there, a ghost in the swirling sand and cordite, orchestrating death with the detached precision of a master conductor.
And I was here. Not in the med bay, not patching up the results of his war, but at its very heart.
The tactical holo-map glowed in the center of the room, a shimmering blue projection of our fortress and the swarming red icons of the Korvid Alliance forces. My place was not at the map, but at a hardened communications terminal in the corner, its screen a cascade of angry red error messages.
“They’re through the first firewall,
