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blue, and yellow, and the Hroom Empire a massive swath of red on the right and above. The size of the respective regions was deceptive, as many of those Hroom systems had collapsed into sugar addiction and civil war. He pressed a few buttons, and the colors changed to reflect this. This information would be familiar to most of them, except for a sickly orange underneath and to the rear. It stabbed through the red, already close to bisecting the entire Hroom Empire.
    Tolvern spotted it first. “What is that?”
    “Apex. They’ve launched a massive assault on the empire.”
    “When did this happen?” Rutherford asked.
    “When did it happen, or when did I hear of it? The news came yesterday. General Mose Dryz sent me a subspace message asking for help. Seemed to have begun four months ago. More or less at the same time that we were fighting the death fleet.”
    This quieted the room. They couldn’t help but notice the length of that salient into Hroom territory. That was a dozen systems, right there, in only four months. All gobbled up by the predatory alien race.
    “And the Hroom have the audacity to demand our help?” Rutherford said. “York Town is a smoldering, radioactive ruin thanks to them. What nerve to ask our assistance at this moment.”
    “That was not the general’s doing,” Nyb Pim said. “That was a cult dedicated to the god of death.”
    “Still Hroom,” Caites said. “There isn’t one person in Albion space who would lift a finger to save them right now.”
    “I don’t know about that,” Tolvern said, “but we can’t help them, even if we wanted to. Dreadnought is readying a jump. Malthorne is coming at us. Are we forgetting that? The Hroom are on their own, whether we want it or not.”
    “But if we help them—” Nyb Pim began.
    “Are you daft?” Capp said. “We can’t even help ourselves. What’re we going to do for the general?”
    “You’re all missing a critical detail,” Drake said.
    He pushed a button on the console, and the map flipped upside down. They were now looking at it from below. Take away the familiar perspective, and you could see that orange gash through Hroom space for what it was.
    “My God,” Rutherford said.
    Drake nodded. “That’s right. It’s no attempt to divide the empire. That attack is meant to get at the humans.”
    They knew precious little about the bird-like Apex. There were apparently two related, genetically engineered species in the alien civilization. They had energy weapons that could penetrate standard tyrillium armor. They exterminated their enemies, rather than conquered them. Literally ate them, when they could.
    The intelligence was sketchy, but it seemed that Apex wars were a struggle for dominance. Humans had only faced them in battle once. Drake, Rutherford, and the pirate ships had defeated a small Apex force with a bit of trickery. Now, it seemed, the aliens wanted to get at the human systems and see who was the true apex predator of the sector. To Apex, the Hroom were just the carcass over which the two predators would be struggling. Like a wolf pack and a grizzly fighting over a dead moose.
    “I figure we have four or five months before they reach human space,” Drake continued. “They’ll tear through these outer systems. The New Dutch are scattered, and the Ladino disorganized. The pirates and mercenaries will run—they won’t stand and fight. Maybe another month after that before Apex reaches the Albion worlds.”
    “What options does that leave us?” Rutherford said. “Surrender to Lord Malthorne, or keep fighting him and face extermination as a race? It’s a devil’s choice.”
    “About Hot Barsa—” Nyb Pim began.
    “That plan is dead,” Caites said grimly. “I think we can all agree on that much.”
    Rutherford, Tolvern, and Capp nodded. Among the humans, only Brockett looked uncertain, and that was because he seemed to have pinned his hopes on his sugar antidote. Drake thought it time to inject new