V is for Vendetta
Log of the Antimatter, 28/4/4336
Ship on course to Fulgaris. All engines, software, comms equipment and artillery functioning as normal. Defibrillators running low on power. Supplies of food adequate for two weeks' travelling. Supplies of disinfectants and anaesthetics dwindling. Morale increasingly low among crew members. Three non-crew on board, all injured.
Incapacitated Personnel:
First Officer Tau. Severe injuries in the abdominal area; examinations revealed some damage to the digestive tract. Photosynthesising capacity may be affected. Confined to Medical Bay for at least a week, taking painkillers and glucose supplements. Condition stable.
Artillery Chief Zeta. Third-degree burns on torso, arms, legs and tail; cell samples have been taken and replacement skin is being prepared for surgery in three days' time. Examination of the wounds suggests that the attacker was a Dark-type. Officer is comatose. Treatment consists of anti-coagulating agents and anaesthetics. Quartermaster and Communications Officer have volunteered to attempt to effect an artificial return to consciousness. Condition serious, but stable.
Security Chief Lambda. Large amount of flesh removed from left side; officer is being placed on a course of growth-stimulating minerals, as tissue replacement is inadvisable. Also taking painkillers. Condition stable, release permissible in six days.
Captain. Three broken ribs, minor damage to heart. Left eye torn from socket. Disinfectant gel being applied twice a day; missing one of these treatments may lead to losing the possibility of creating and implanting a replacement. Confined to Medical Bay for at least ten days; taking painkillers. Condition serious, but stable.
Two of the non-crew have suffered broken bones, and the other's condition is still extremely serious. If she revives, her psychic abilities may be impaired, and pain will persist for some months. All other personnel healthy.
Suggest setting course to nearby hospital planet for more specialist treatment once refuelling is complete.
Chief Medic Sigma
Sigma, blinking away the last traces of sleep, entered the ward. Mu and Xi looked up and gave her tired nods in greeting, sprawled, exhausted, over their chairs. Beside them, Zeta remained still and silent. One of her subordinates, a Leavanny, hurried over to her, showing her a group of charts and numbers arranged across the digi-tablet he clutched. "Chief, all patients remain stable. The Security Chief's blood oxygen levels have increased by-″
"Spare it. Give me the basics."
"Everyone is on track for recovery. Except…erm…" He stared down at his leaf-clad arms. "We appear to have run out of painkillers."
The Shaymin froze, turned, and glared at him. "Are you a complete imbecile?"
"No, ma'am, I just thought you might know-″
"Show some damned initiative! We currently have a total of three Chansey, one Blissey, and two Togetic on board. All of the above naturally generate morphine on a day-to-day basis, thus solving our problem! It would take around half an hour to synthesise and purify." One of her vines struck him a glancing blow on the side of his head. "Thirty minutes. How many crew members could have gone critical in that time? This isn't an exam; you are responsible for lives. Now get the hell out of my ward and do something useful."
The Leavanny's mouth opened and closed several times before he sprinted out, leaving the bay quiet. Lambda sat up and grinned. "Thanks."
"No trouble at all."
"Sigma?" Mu rose, and floated across to her. "It's been a week. You promised…"
She sighed, and the flowers on her temples withered slightly. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that operation is? He has a 40% chance of dying, and even if he survives we have no guarantee that it will end the coma. You might think you're skilled, and that it could never go wrong, because you're supposed to be some kind of legendary, but it doesn't work like that. I've lost patients; do you want to lose him?"
The Quartermaster met her eyes with a defiant, amber-eyed stare. "My brother would not want to live like this."
"If you want to take responsibility for this, then fine, but if this goes to the Justices-"
"It won't."
Sigma turned away. "Give him until 1600, then we perform the procedure."
"Thank you." Both dipped their heads, and Xi left his chair. Hovering over his captain as Sigma held her vines beneath the frozen blast of the sterilisation tap, he muttered "How are you feeling?"
"I've been better." Alpha smiled weakly, and readjusted himself beneath the covers. "Hopefully, I should be up and running soon, unless Sigma starts being a fascist again. Any developments I should know of?"
"The Oblivion called earlier and requested that you join a conference call this afternoon, should you feel up to it. They didn't say what you'd be discussing, but I think, given the circumstances-"
"They don't need to." He nodded. "I can do it, but the small green problem over there insists I stay here for the next week or so."
"That's the thing. It's scheduled to begin at 1600, when … she'll be operating."
"On Zeta?"
"Yes."
"Fuck. Xi, you're involved in this, I can't make you come and manage the transmission for my sake."
"You don't have to make me do anything, Captain. This is a decision taken entirely of my own free will. Mu can manage alone for a few minutes. I can move you to a private booth, set the channel up, then come and pick you up afterwards."
"Rationality might be your speciality, but could you take it if-″
"Sir, the welfare of the ship as a whole takes priority. This isn't a case of my attempting to be noble and self-sacrificing; it's simply the only possibility."
The Captain's one remaining eye looked up into Xi's twin closed lids. "You really think this is the best course of action?"
"Yes."
"Well, three years' loyal service has to count for something. I trust your judgement. Can you return here at 1530?"
A relieved smile spread across his face. "Of course."
The Quartermaster carefully tied a surgical mask over her mouth. "Xi will be here soon. He just has a few duties to take care of," she told Sigma, voice muffled. "You know what he's like at delegating responsibility." A translucent violet aura flared briefly around her tentacles, drawing them back and looping them into a knot.
The Shaymin gave her a cursory glance. "Save your energy. You'll need that soon enough. This procedure tends to leave the involved Psychic-types exhausted, and if you faint halfway through, we're stuffed. I'm only here to supervise. You're effectively on your own."
Several decks above them, Alpha and Xi ducked into an empty room filled with smoothly-humming computer terminals and a couple of large screens. The Communications Officer carried a laptop, whilst his Captain's left eye was covered by a plain black patch. Alpha seated himself in front of a deactivated hologram generator.
"All right," Xi panted, notes of panic clear in his tone, "the A/4 code accepts a message from a ship registered as friendly, C/2 sets up the conference call, and X ends the session. D/5 initiates data transfer-″
Alpha waved him away. "I can cope. Go!"
The Uxie sped from the room, the doors silently sliding closed behind him. Turning away, the Mudkip typed in a series of passwords, then breathed a sigh of relief as the generator whirred into life and projected a blank screen into the air. He stretched, and settled back to wait. How many of us will be left?
The first to arrive was a grim-looking Tyranitar, who nodded at him in greeting. "Hi."
"You all right?"
"Fine. Alakazam's been out of the picture for weeks and Charizard had stuff to take care of. What happened to your eye?"
"Some psycho tore it out."
"Shit."
"Mmm-hmm."
They sat in silence for several more minutes, until a red logo blinked into life beside their images and became the frowning face of Gallade, blades crossed and resting on the table before him. One was healthy, if a little scratched, the other covered in bandages. They talked briefly, then fell quiet again when Lopunny appeared, exchanging tired, thin-lipped smiles. Steadily, other pictures flashed up across the screen until only the bottom right-hand corner remained empty, filling it with haggard, battle-scarred captains, most still splinted and bandaged, all trying to plaster their usual cocky smiles across their faces, but failing to hide the grimaces of agony that spasmed through the disguise.
Last to arrive was Arkhaios, the Empoleon that had ruled the Oblivion with an iron fist for the past five years. Coolly, he scanned the assembled Pokémon and nodded. "Well, we all seem to be here. To business."
Lopunny started, then frantically checked each portrait. "No, that can't be right, we're still missing-″ She cut herself off mid-speech as realisation spread through her. "Oh, Arceus…"
"It was my fault," the Blaziken second from left growled.
"Stop blaming yourself," Gallade insisted, weariness in his voice.
"Shut up, Lade, OK?"
"What happened?" Lopunny begged.
Blaziken straightened, indignant, ready to hurl abuse at the trembling Rabbit Pokémon, then slumped. He covered his face. "Venus was sick," his muffled voice told her. "She was checking through the job bulletin and the flashing brought on an epileptic fit. I knew she'd take ages to recover, and Constrictor were impatient, so I told them… to go ahead. They didn't stand a chance. Fuck, you know what they were like, even Oblivion got taken out. Constrictor were barely scraping Gold Rank. What was I supposed to do?" He raised his head, anger and guilt shining in the blue irises.
"Isn't there any…"
"No. Their communicators had been registering no pulse for twenty-four hours. Crew scrammed after that; they knew the regulations."
"Sacred Meloetta."
Arkhaios coughed pointedly. "I concede that what happened to Constrictor was a tragedy. We are all aware of that. Equally, we have all been personally injured by whatever was responsible for the ambush. Should we not be focusing on revenge before we spend our time mourning the dead?"
Lopunny turned on him "How dare you?"
"He's right, Lop." Hearing Alpha speak up for the first time since the conference began, his fellow captains turned, surprised, and stared at the small blue Pokémon. "Besides, destroying the ambushers will be revenge for Constrictor, too."
"Are we all in agreement?" the Empoleon asked, glancing around. No-one replied, but they simply stared back, daring anyone to try and dissuade them.
"Very well." He sat back, regarding his allies through the golden crown-mask that covered most of his face. "Obviously, we must hunt them down. What we do when we find them, whoever they are, is a matter for later, but they will suffer for what they did to us. However, first we must locate them."
Stahl.34, a Metagross hailing from Ferrite who captained the Über, raised a metallic eyebrow. "Simple enough," he informed them gruffly. "A return to the planet and a few scans in conjunction with a request for information broadcast across all channels should yield results fast."
"How long before all of us can be ready? That is, if no-one wishes to abstain?" The last sentence, clearly directed at Lopunny, was ignored. She shot him a dark look. "A few days, maximum?"
"Hmmm… satisfactory. We return to 28C* two weeks from now. Expect no babysitting; be there or find them yourselves. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some preparations to make." He tapped the keyboard, and his small section of screen went blank.
Exhausted, Beedrill peered through the vine-strangled trees, and turned, exasperated, to see her son slithering along the ground at an achingly slow pace. "Hurry up! We're almost home."
"I'm tired," the Weedle panted, and sped up slightly. "Can we rest now?"
"Not far to go," she promised, scooping him into her forelimbs. "Daddy is waiting."
Inside the grass-thatched hut, it was dark, filled with cooking smoke and the scent of dried berries. On a thin mattress, a bony silhouette shivered, piled with blankets, and, seeing them enter, let out a hacking cough. "Welcome, grach, home, my dear."
She dropped Weedle to the floor and frantically fanned the dying fire. "How long have you been like this? You should have hired a messenger-″
"Never mind. Did you…?"
Closing her eyes, she nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I did it."
"Good, good." The Pokémon retched a couple of times, with nothing left in his stomach to vomit, the anxious stares of wife and child following him as he grew closer and closer to death.
"I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!"
The shout reverberated through the sanitised hallways of the Antimatter, causing the crew passing through them to roll their eyes and silently sympathise with the target of the Chief Medic's rage. If there had ever been a better candidate for anger-management lessons, they had yet to find them. Still, minor issues like that didn't stop her being an astoundingly good doctor-most injuries could be healed with thirty minutes of stitching and ranting at the patient. Besides, the Captain and Sigma had had their fair share of arguments before; he would survive.
Probably.
"You," (her vines snapped out from her back to point at the determined-looking Alpha) "sneak out of the ward to go and hold a conference with your fellow lunatics, make it back for a disinfectant application with just moments to spare, cut all your physiotherapy sessions short to go and check on the running of the ship, overstrain yourself around twice per day, and all of this resulting from the aftermath of just the one crisis. Not even the most moronic intern imaginable would pronounce you fully healed. And now you want to go back and inflict more pain on yourself. Remind me, how, precisely, did you ever become a captain?"
"It's not as if we're going to go back and immediately be plunged into a battle. Before we do anything we actually have to find our opponents, which, you'll be pleased to hear, could take months. I imagine that would give me plenty of time for recovery?"
"Even if you came out fine, what about the rest of your crew? What about Lambda? What about Zeta?" She hurled the last word with venom. Alpha flinched, but refused to look away.
"They can survive. They've come back alive from every mission so far, which is a fairly impressive record considering what we tend to get ourselves into. How many other Pokémon could have done that? Faced down mafiosos? Destroyed entire fleets? Sneaked on board the HGSS Scar, sabotaged it in half an hour then got out with hardly a scratch? Kyogre above, Sigma. How pessimistic can you be?"
She glowered at him. "I think you meant 'considering what I tend to get us into'."
"Sigma." He closed his eyes and sighed. "You're a superb medic, incredibly intelligent, despite all evidence to the contrary, one of the best in your profession, and if you ran your own ship it would be one of the most successful in the gigasector. However, you clearly don't. I have the final decision. If you're opposed to this mission, too bad."
"What happened?" she snarled. "What the hell came along and turned you into a selfish motherfucker who can't see that there are lives at stake?"
He kept his stare trained deliberately on a patch of wall immediately behind her. "Surely you still have some patients to attend to, Chief Medic?"
Furious, Sigma spun and stalked towards the nearest elevator. "I'm sure I can cope, as long as you don't send any more my way."
On board the Oblivion, harried technicians scattered as Arkhaios, dark scowl clouding his face, prowled towards the R & D Department. One fell, and dropped a sheaf of papers to the floor; his captain observed him with contempt, and walked over the disordered data.
He halted briefly for the retina scan, then brushed his second-in-command aside and stepped into the central laboratory. A handful of lab-coated scientists snapped to attention at the hiss of the door mechanism and saluted hurriedly- all except one, a red-and-white dragon whose face-markings resembled a mask, starched jacket drawn awkwardly over her arched back, who remained fixated on the test-tubes she studied, whispering a prayer and staring into the gritty, blackened contents. One of her assistants winced, whilst the others kept their expressions carefully impassive.
"Miss Cortesia." She jumped. One of the vials she clutched awkwardly in a stubby hand slipped through her fingers and landed in a mess of glass and dark-coloured powder on the workbench. Arkhaios raised an eyebrow. "Your general lack of co-ordination aside, how is the analysis progressing?"
Cortesia snatched up a dustpan, cheeks a deeper shade of scarlet than usual, and frantically began swiping at the remnants of the destroyed sample. "Fine…sir."
"Really?"
Nervously, she nodded.
The edge of a sharpened fin slammed into her neck, sending her flying across the room in a drunken pirouette. A second blow pinned her to the wall, centimetres away from her captain's angry stare. Hot breath filled her nostrils.
"I believe our definitions of "fine" may be somewhat different, Miss Cortesia. Do we currently know who we are looking for?"
An involuntary whimper escaped her, and she shook her head, quivering violently.
"Precisely. Now, some might be inclined to regard this as a matter of little importance, but I'm afraid to say I disagree." The hooked golden spikes on his forearm gleamed increasingly close to her throat. "In fact, I might go so far as to say that a lack of results may mean a loss of a job. Do I make myself absolutely, unequivocally clear?"
Somehow, her frozen body managed to squeeze out a miniscule nod.
"Good, good." The shining claws stroked along her jaw, then drew back and buried themselves into the wall. "I imagine the independent life no longer suits you so well- and such a disappointment to your brother. Results by this evening, if you would be so good." With that, he released her, and strode away, as Laboratory One erupted into a frenzy of activity, Cortesia's panicked instructions sounding clearly over all the rest.
The War Room, located on the fifth deck, had long been one of Arkhaios' favourites. Panelled in elegant (and illegal) mahogany, walls decorated with fading antique charts, and with sumptuous chairs that were infinitely more comfortable than the barbaric steel kind scattered over the rest of the ship, he had always regarded it as the last stronghold against the forces of bad taste, and could not imagine a better place to relax when tired of the incompetence of crewmen or enemies' pathetic attempts on his life. His eyes narrowed at the last thought, and he sipped his second glass of wine.
A polite knock sounded at the door. "Second Officer reporting, sir."
Arkhaios suppressed his annoyance. "Come in."
Nox, a tall, red-maned Zoroark from the Oneiros system, entered the room and snapped to attention, bringing a waft of disinfectant in with him. Arkhaios had the sudden intuition that he would be needing the rest of the bottle that evening. "At ease."
The biped gave him a grateful look and collapsed into an empty chair. "Would you like my report now, sir?"
"No," his captain decided, studying the swirling liquid. "The Chief Researcher has yet to deliver her conclusions. She has…" (he removed a silver fob watch from the table where it lay) "fifteen minutes."
"Let me through!" Cortesia demanded, staring at the group of heavily-built Fighting-types that blocked her path. She thrust her laminated ID badge towards them. "Immediately!"
The largest, a Machamp, shook his head. "Captain won't like being disturbed."
"I have important information on the identity of our attackers!"
He backed away. "We can work something out, right?"
Cortesia barrelled past him, the sonic boom echoing down the corridors and just concealing her final "Screw you".
Elated, she burst into the War Room, waving a thick wad of printouts. "Sir! I worked out what we were doing wrong! We kept checking the samples for traces of legal fuel- like ours- but we didn't think that the criminals could be using banned sources! We found a load of carbon isotopes, some uranium residue… everything. If we check the archives, we could find them within the hour!"
"Do you have anything on when the engine could be from?"
"Probably the very early 4300s, judging by the traces we found," she replied, exhilarated, eyes shining. "They haven't updated since, so if they're a team, they probably founded then."
Cortesia was little prepared for what would happen in the following few minutes.
The Captain choked mid-swallow. Deliberately, with a slow, careful movement, he replaced his glass on the table. He then reached for his communicator and pressed the central button. "Noesis? Cross-reference teams founded in the 00s with ships using illegal power sources."
Impatient, Nox and Cortesia waited for the reply.
A note of panic came into the Empoleon's voice. "You're completely sure? No others?"
Noesis' answer was inaudible, but the two officers could guess its content. Arkhaios paled to a dull greyish colour, then swayed and toppled towards the ground. Both clutched at him, demanding to know what had happened. "Sir? Sir? Are you all right, sir?"
"Them," Arkhaios gasped, pulling himself upright.
Nox gripped his shoulder, shaking his captain violently. "Who?"
"The Front," he snarled, then fled from the chamber.
SORRY ABOUT THE EXTREMELY LATE UPDATE. I have been very busy for the past three weeks, meaning I couldn't do much in the way of writing… and then I leave you with a cliffhanger. My evil knows no bounds. With luck, it shouldn't happen again for a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks for reading.
Until next time.-Arcanus