Disclaimer: I own none of the 'verses this meanders through and make no attempt to claim them. This is a tribute and a tale for entertaining things and people. Please don't sue.
Chapter 8
Perhaps predictably, the Quorum of Twelve's reaction to learning that they had a new ally who was willing to take them in was to begin throwing barbed accusations at her. Laura Roslin was beginning to think that they were a punishment from the Gods for surviving where so many of her colleagues had not.
Roslin was almost growing resigned to it – in the days since they had met their rescuers and had begun talking, the Quorum's meetings with her had become even more bile-filled than the usual. But she, and Adama, were as sure as they could be that the Bradesons' offers were sincere. This latest meeting, with their Commodore speaking to the Quorum directly, had not convinced them.
At least this Joffery Hoss hadn't stormed out on them, leading his officers back to their shuttle at the meeting's close with polite professionalism. The man had a hauntedness to him, as though he had lost something dear to himself, but he seemed genuine in his desire to help.
Unfortunately, the Quorum had either not seen or deliberately ignored that. And now she was trying to deal with them without any backup.
The Gemenese representative on the Quorum was currently ranting about the dangers of associating with foreigners who worshiped strange gods and were, by their own admission, practitioners of the Dark Arts. Zarek and the others let her rant and rave, probably hoping that the fanatic would wear her down enough for them to score some cheap political points. Gods, she hated dealing with these idiots. There were times when she was tempted to let Adama take over the fleet and form some kind of junta, just so she wouldn't have to deal with them. But in the end, that wouldn't work. They had to keep the system that had kept the Colonies together. Falling into a dicatorship or otherwise losing their culture and history would be the same as letting the Cylons kill them: what made them great would be gone.
But knowing that didn't make dealing with them any easier. Gods grant her strength... she'd made it this far, chasing a dream. A dream she'd known was a lie – Bill Adama had lied to them all to give them hope and a reason to keep moving. Every hope that had come since then had been dashed by the Cylons, and every time they clashed they lost a few more people. Soon they would be too weak to resist. She didn't think Commodore Hoss' offer was a perfect, utopian solution, but it was a chance.
A chance she had to convince these fools they needed to take. She wished Baltar would give her some backup in this discussion, but the scientist was engrossed in his notes; ignoring the political wrangle and trying to figure things out. Nor did she have Adama's adamantine will and glare behind her – he had his damaged ship to tend to, and no desire to deal with politics.
And at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him.
Hoss hadn't needed to take a shuttle over to Colonial One to confer with the 'government' of the refugee fleet, but he'd done so anyway, since rubbing the refugee's noses in the tech disparity between them would be bad form. It also gave him the time to hash things out with his new senior staff coming and going. "So," he said, glancing around the passenger compartment of the shuttle, "Impressions of these Colonials?"
Mage-Captain Dolce answered first. "The story they gave us matched most of the high points of the data we managed to recover from the Cylon wrecks. Both side's records put some vicious spin on things, though, the kind that you get from a Five Generation Feud."
Lieutenant Bombrad nodded. "That much hate between two groups, when they say the Cylons won't stop chasing them, they're probably right. But frankly, given what they engineered the Cylons for in the first place..."
"We've had our less moral moments in the republic, too, Lieutenant," reminded Hoss quietly. "And I'm not just talking about Admiral Kallson." He let the silence hang for a moment.
Dolce broke it. "Either way. The politicians seemed to be normal examples of that breed. But I'll admit, I was impressed by Adama and his second. They're tightly wound, but I got the distinct impression they're almost as good as they've said they are."
"They seemed to react badly to the idea of magic," said Bombrad. "I don't think they even knew it exists."
"Well, neither did Gima before we joined the Republic," said the Mage-Captain with laughter in his steel-coloured eyes. "And yet, here I am, a Giman Mage."
"A damn fine one, at that," said Hoss. "Their 'chief scientist' seemed a bit cracked."
Bombrad snorted. "He was probably some ivory tower professor before they lost their homeworlds. First time dealing with the real world, and it's a hell of a world for him." A shrug. "Amazing he's as sane as he is." A pause. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"
"Granted."
"Do you really think Central is going to really going to approve sanctuary for these people? Their tech base isn't that impressive, and fifty thousand-odd people isn't enough to do much of anything with."
Dolce responded, "What's the old saying, 'alloys are stronger?' Different tech bases give a different perspective on things. Gima came up with some improvements to Bradeson power systems because we didn't know what 'everyone knows is impossible' with them. Who knows what these guys might come up with?" A shrug. "They're starfaring, and their tech base is solid. I figure they could contribute something. But everyone knows I'm a dirty Giman, not a homeworlder."
"And as far as them just being fifty thousand people, I can think of a few colonies that could use some more hands." Hoss shrugged. "That's what I suggested – they'll probably want to be together."
"Do you think the Council will go for it?"
Dolce shrugged. "Probably, if only because they want some good press for the Navy these days." Then he froze, and shot a glance at the Commodore, expression suddenly very, very blank.
Hoss let the silence hold for a moment. That hurts. It'll probably always hurt. He closed his eyes for a moment, saw a vision of a distant battleship raining fire on an innocent, doomed city of thirteen million. Exhaling, his eyes opened again. "Yes. The Navy could use some good press. A relatively easy conquest turned into a war that's been running two years without conclusion, and it's coming up on an election year. Good press for us would probably help them. So these people are probably going to get their sanctuary if they want to accept it." A pause. "And I suppose I deserved that shot, Dolce. I'm not in the habit of biting the heads off of officers who disagree with me, especially when I specifically ask for their opinions first."
"Thank you, sir. That attitude is... less common than it was, in the Service these days."
The Raptor sat steady on the ship-lift as it locked into the deck, freshly returned from Colonial One. Chief Tyrol reached the ship first, his deck crew only a step behind, as the hatch hissed open. He and the Admiral traded salutes, and Adama and the XO made their way to the deck. "Welcome home, Sir."
"Thank you, Chief. How are the repairs coming?"
"We've got most of the armor damage repaired, and the heavy battery that the squids clipped is tracking properly again. The two point defense clusters they hit are write-offs, though. We're trying to cobble up replacements from our spares and the machine shops." Not like we have enough raw materials for two cluster's worth.
Adama nodded sagely. "Well, do your best, Chief. Keep me posted." The flag officer headed for the hatch, clearly heading for CnC.
Tyrol glanced to Tigh. The one-eyed XO was stretching, as if working the kinks out of his back. "How'd it go, sir?"
"Well enough, I think. Commodore Hoss' a bit of an odd fellow, but he seems sincere. We've been offered sanctuary. He's got to talk to his superiors, and the President and the Quorum are hashing it out too, but if all goes well, we might have a safe place to go."
Silence filled the hanger at those words. Tyrol broke it quietly. "Safe... from the Cylons?"
Tigh's grin lacked his usual savagery, instead being filled with satisfaction. "Yep. Somewhere they can't follow at all. If this goes through, we'll never have to deal with the frakking Toasters again." He spared a small nod at the Raptor's pilot, as Athena dismounted the ship. "Present company excepted. No offense."
The Skinjob's smile was thin, her voice dry. "None taken." The dark skinned woman shook her head, muttering something darkly under her breath as she stalked towards the locker rooms.
Anders, who'd been helping with tug-and-plug duty in the repairs, joined them. "Safe from the Cylons. Almost sounds like a dream."
"A damn fine dream," said Tigh, looking as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"So say we all," muttered Tyrol.
"So say we all," agreed Anders.
Gourry Gabriev lowered himself carefully from the back of his sweat-soaked horse, handing the reigns to a stableboy who lead the exhausted animal to the nearest watering trough. The swordsman thought about following for a moment, but shook his head. He'd swapped mounts at every courier station along his route and he'd still damn near killed three horses getting back, he'd been in such a hurry. He owed those poor beasts to make his report quickly, after all that.
He made his way quickly into the castle, heading for the workrooms that Lina and Zel had staked out, ignoring the little voice that told him it was time to stake out a couch and rest. At least for the moment.
Zelgadiss met him at the door. "Gourry. What did you find?"
"You were right," said the swordsman, glancing around the workroom. There were new runes chalked onto the walls. "It's not just some raids or a few rampaging monsters. There's a full blown army of Mazoku on the march."
The chimaera swore quietly. "I'd hoped the rumors were inaccurate. That's bad."
"It gets worse. They aren't exactly in a hurry, but I'm pretty sure they're heading this way."
Zelgadiss glanced at the swordsman. "Oh?"
Gourry felt one hand close into a fist involuntarily. He couldn't quite relax it. "Two towns, burned and demolished. I saw what looked like a couple of farms lit up, too. I'd have to double-check a map, but I think Seyruun is the first real city in their path." The fist tightened again, and he punched the nearest wall. "And I couldn't. Do. Anything."
He felt his friend's hand rest on his shoulder. "Getting back with confirmation is the best anyone could do against an army alone. You, me, even Lina, couldn't stand up against an army of Mazoku."
Quietly, "I know. I still hate it." He let out a breath, forced himself to calm. "How is she?"
"I'm doing better," said Lina, emerging from the back of the workroom. "We've got new wards up; they're blunting the surges."
He turned, they both carefully didn't quite look into each-other's eyes. "Good to hear, I guess. Any idea what was causing them?"
"Yes, actually," said Zelgadiss. The chimaera moved to the main worktable, picked up a sheet of parchment. "One of the royal astrologers was observing the heavens with a glass when one of the surges hit. He saw these."
Gourry looked at the sheet. The drawing was rough, but the shape... "Some kind of... ship?"
"Several of them, he claims."
"Sky ships. Like the ones we saw with..." Gourry trailed off, mind blanking on the name of the two female mages who'd helped them slay Mazoku on another world.
Lina gave him a withering look. "Nanoha and Fate." Under her breath, she muttered, "Sometimes I wonder how he remembers his own name..."
"Doesn't look like theirs, though."
"I agree," said Zel. "Pauline had a rather distinct double-prow, and even at great distance, something like that would be visible. That ship didn't do... this sort of thing, either."
Gourry raised an eyebrow. "What are these guys doing?"
"The ships seem to be causing the surges," said Lina bluntly. "They've been seen since, and the timing matches." She paused, then continued. "And I know why they were hitting me so hard. Somehow, whatever those ships are doing when they appear and disappear, they're pulling a lot of magical energy from the Sea of Chaos into this world. It's hitting mages, and users of black magic in particular."
"And because Lina is one of the few who can draw upon the Lord of Nightmares, it's hitting her even harder," said Zelgadiss. "Probably hitting some of the Mazoku, as well, since they tend towards the black magics." He went to a shelf, pulled down a map. Briefly, the three adventurers traced the Mazoku's path of destruction, and the mages agreed with the swordsman: they likely were coming to Seyruun. Quickly, a messenger was sent to deliver the dire news to Prince Philionel.
"Still, why attack Seyruun first? With the city's White Magic Seal, and the Temple of Ceifeed... It's a fortress against their kind." Zel shook his head.
"That might be why," said Lina. "Hit this place first, while their army is strongest, and they've got the best chance of taking it." She sighed. "I wish I knew who was leading that army... we might be able to research something useful before they arrive."
Gourry's reply was a growl. "Our old friend the false priest."
Lina and Zel facefaulted.
"X-xelloss?" asked Lina incredulously.
"That's what they were saying." The blonde swordsman's face screwed up in a scowl. "I managed to get close to one group. They were... busy." He paused, let out a breath. "Xelloss' name came up. There were too many of them for me to try and take them on. Shinzoku, I wish I hadn't given up the Sword."
"Xelloss. Leading an army?" Zel shook his head. "That's crazy. He'd never do something so... overt."
"It has to be some kind of cover.. he's got to have some kind of other plan..." Lina was nodding. "We just have to figure out what it is."
Before it blows up in our faces, went unsaid, but all three heard it.
Xelloss was well familiar with the concept of a stalking horse. He was quite fond of it, under most circumstances. A stalking horse could be incredibly useful, a way to distract a target and provide one's self with entertainment and spell fodder. He'd used Lina Inverse and her companions as stalking horses many a time, and the female mage's reaction to the situation was always priceless and entertaining.
But ye merciless Ma-ō, he purely hated being on the other side of that coin. Be loud. Be obvious. Be a massive distraction and threat. Make them react to you. We know the Enemy Of All That Live is in Seyruun, and Philionel's whelp and her advisers know you. Let it be known that you are leading our army, and they'll second-guess themselves so badly they won't be able to do anything decisive. They'll dance to our tune and we shall crush them. And should Ceifeed or her minions interfere, we'll be right there to play hammer to your anvil.
All in all, it wasn't a terrible plan. Whoever or whatever was interfering with the Sea of Chaos, it was increasing the amount of power they could draw upon for their black magics; they would likely not see a better chance to take the advantage over the Shinzoku and wipe out humanity and the other assorted lives on this world. The Shinzoku were foolish enough to tie themselves to their followers and holy places; the destruction of Seyruun and its temples would be a great blow to Flare Dragon Ceifeed. And if anyone other than him was playing the distraction, he'd probably be all for it.
Though a part of him was somewhat amused at the thought of Lina and company second guessing themselves into madness.
And I can't even tell any of those following me about the real plan – that we're all, essentially, spell fodder – or my doubts. I do so hate it when Zelas gets specific in her instructions to me. Ma-ō, under any other circumstances I'd love this- a fine distraction for my own schemes. I shall have to make due, and be ready to crush any minions of the Shinzoku who dare show themselves.
Else they might crush me.
Naga the Serpent stared at the sky from the inn's balcony, deep in thought.
This fact terrified the inn's proprietor and his wife, who knew her reputation for gregariousness and thought that for her to be so withdrawn could only mean she was in some kind of distress. Having spent their lives building the inn into a fairly serious concern, the presence of a distressed sorceress under their roof was unnerving.
An army of Mazoku marches on Seyruun.
The thought ran through Naga's mind, and she shuddered. Seyruun. Home. A home she'd left; a birthright she'd abandoned years before. A home in peril.
Does that really matter? She thought. Seyruun had faced peril before; had survived it thanks in no small part to the aid of her old sidekick and her companions. But this... it was no single mazoku, no assassin. An army of mazoku... Even with the Temple and the wards, no human city could stand against that. Her father... her sister... old friends... All would likely die if the city was razed, with no stone resting atop another.
Naga walked back into her rented room. Pawing among her bags, she pulled a particular one from the pile. She sat on the bed, looked at the bag, lost in thought once more. When she had left home, she'd packed it; part of her past life. She had not truly thought of it in years. But it was time that she did.
The blouse was tight – she had not quite reached her full growth when it was tailored – but it was close enough. The skirts and cloak still fit, though they were musty from their long stay within the bag. Her customary spiked shoulderguards would not fit with the rest of this- their style alien to that of the finery. Her usual circlet was removed, replaced by one more delicately worked, amazingly still intact and untarnished. Her sword belt seemed a bit plain with the ensemble, but not so much that it would be unacceptable. Taking a deep breath, Naga the Serpent crossed the room and looked into the full-length mirror.
Gracia Ul Naga Seyruun stared back at her. For a long moment she stood there, silent and contemplative, as if weighing the step she meant to take, and then nodded decisively. Her kingdom was in distress. It was time for the adventuress to step down, and let the princess re-emerge.
Combat space patrol missions are at their best when they're dull. Dull means nobody's trying to kill you. Flight Leader Corran Horn, New Republic Starfighter Command, reminded himself of that as his X-Wing kept pace with Ooryl Qrygg's as the two pilots flew cover.
Mon Remonda and her task force – two other Mon Cal cruisers, a Carack cruiser, two Correlian Corvettes and pair of survey ships – were scouring a nameless system where one of the Empire's wonder ambushes had taken place. What they were looking for, Corran didn't know. He wasn't a scientist. He was a cop, a pilot, and a half-trained Jedi. His cop's eye hadn't seen anything remarkable about the system that might make it suited for the sort of ambush the Empire had pulled off – though without knowing how in the name of the Sith they were pulling them off in the first place it was hard to be sure. Neither did his pilot's eye – the system was utterly unremarkable. But to his only partially trained Jedi abilities... something about this place was... off.
He wished he'd taken more time with Skywalker to improve those abilities, but the war had pressed. And quashing a certain idiotic Bothan's ego was important too. He smiled at the memory of Fey'lya's expression when he'd turned Luke down flat to fight Isard. Pity the fuzzy bastard didn't stay quashed. The Empire gets rolling hard again and he plays politics to try and sink our best fighting Admiral. Idiot.
The off feeling he was picking up seemed to be getting stronger. He was getting a little unnerved by it. Stay calm, Horn. Treat it like a stakeout. He let out a deep breath, leaned back into his pilot's couch. Come to think on it, didn't the force sensitive in the Wraiths mention something about this place being uncomfortable, too? Let's play a hunch, if this is so much like a stakeout.
Drawing to mind a handful of the breathing exercises and meditation techniques Skywalker had taught him, he extended his senses. Flying nearby, he felt Ooryl's presence nearby in his fighter. None of the other wing-pairs currently on patrol were within his(admittedly rather limited) range, so he couldn't really compare things... but somehow, for the range, the Gand's energy felt... strange. Like there was something in the way, blocking his view. He tried to focus on that something.
It was like grabbing a handful of smoke. The harder he focused, the less he seemed to be able to feel anything. It was frustrating – he'd not had so much trouble trying to look at something this way since before he'd started consulting with Skywalker. Wait.. what's this?
In his Force senses, something twisted, and space was filled with a vile, gut twisting sense of wrongness, so strong as to be overwhelming.
Perhaps thirty seconds later, he came too, the sound of Whistler's wailing breaking through his fugue – and he saw something that looked like a Mon Cal's worst nightmare bearing down on him; tentacles and fury and a soul-chilling wrongness that hurt to feel. Instincts honed by years of being a fighter pilot got him out of the line of it's charge, and only then did he realize that his radio was going.
"Sorry about that, Ten," he said, interrupting Ooryl. "My head's back in it. Talk to me."
"You worried Ten, Nine. What happened?"
"Some kind of Jedi thing, I think – that thing is messed up." Whistler blatted a warning, and he pulled the snubfighter into a bootlegger turn to avoid some kind of blast.
"Nine... there are dozens of them."
Corran felt a lump of armor-grade durasteel settle into his guts, churning them more than they already are. He checked his scanners. "Ah. I see, Ten. Let's get back to Mon Remonda to help."
Scores of spaceborne monsters besieged the task force.
The majority were small things, the size of snubfighters, but they were tenacious and blasted at their foes with bolts of azure energy. At the heart of the formation were five massive things, each roughly seven-hundred meters long, and trading fire with the Mon Cal cruisers and their escorting ships. The MC-80s were giving as good as they got, holding four of the creatures at bay, but the last one was tearing all hell out of the Carack and laying into the surveyors and the Corellian Corvettes with a will. One of the survey ships was limping away, shields battered down and half her sensors fried.
Two squadrons of B-Wings were making a run against that creature, Ion cannons raining fire and proton torpedoes falling like high-explosive hail. As Corran's flight closed enough to make out more than flashes, he saw the Y-Wing squadron off of Mon Karen add their fury, as a group of A-Wings streaked through, blasters raking fire along one of the thing's flanks. Their speed, normally armor enough, proved insufficient for one of the fleet little machines, engulfed in a bolt of energy cast by the beast.
It looked like most of the X-Wing groups were concentrating on clearing out the little bastards – Corran still couldn't look at them too closely without his head starting to throb and his stomach twist – and the Corellian and the Gand angled their approach vector to give them a good line of fire against a pair of beasts at the group's fringe.
He got on the comm. "Rogue Nine to Rogue Leader – sorry we're late; one of them jumped us out on patrol."
"Leader to Nine, glad you could make it. Since you're late, you're buying the drinks when we're off duty."
Slowly, but with growing momentum, the smaller creatures were destroyed. Continued exposure didn't make taking their... wrongness.. any easier, but Horn gutted it out. As the X-Wings and most of the A-Wings dealt with the small fry, the Cruisers overwhelmed one, then a second of the four gargantuan beasts they faced; able to concentrate their fire more decisively, the remaining two fell in short order as the heavy assaults of the B-Wings and support ships finally brought the last one low. The task force had won.
But the victory had been costly. Mon Karen was damaged, one of the surveyors and a Corellian Corvette had been destroyed outright, and the rest of the support ships had been savaged. The beasts had taken a heavy toll on the fighters as well – there were going to be a lot of empty beds in pilot country tonight.
And for all the flash and fury, they knew nothing about what these mystery foes were or where they'd come from. And all of them knew, that could only be a bad thing.
Sensor watch on Concordia was an important but frequently boring job. Barring a strike force of Strakhas, damn little would be able to close on them without being spotted by the CSP this far from a jump point.
And Strakhas might be a wash with Enterprise and her sensors nearby. Concordia's tech team/boffins had returned from the other craft with tales of incredibly sophisticated sensors and survey equipment, backed by analytical computers that put their own to shame. It had started the rumor mill a-churning, as had the observation of one of the pilots that when Picard first saw Tolwyn, he looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Everyone was trying to figure out what, if any, significance that had. If nothing else, it annoyed the Admiral, and he could be amusing when annoyed.
Well, amusing when observed for a slight remove. Tolwyn's sense of humor had gone right to shit lately. You didn't want to be right there when something set him off.
Still, all in all it was looking to be a reasonably peaceful watc-
Beyond the bridge, light flared like God's own flashbulb, and the proximity alarms began to wail.
Captain's Log, stardate 55635.2. Though the technology with which they work is less sophisticated than our own, Concordia's science team has proved quite useful in our attempts to trace down the source of these troublesome anomalies. They provided a different perspective, and their knowledge of Jump Drive Physics – the Terran Confederation's version of Warp Drive – they shed light on some mysteries that had been confusing us. Our own science team, including the has worked well, both with the Confederates, and with the Science Division team assigned to this mission.
There was a pause in the recording, as Picard tried to find his voice again. In particular, I must praise Seven of Nine, who has proved invaluable in incorporating the various fields of knowledge we are working with in this endeavor. Despite working in an environment hostile to her, she has endured. She should be commended for her efforts.
I am left to ponder our new allies. Concordia seems a mighty ship, one built by a people long embroiled in a war as vicious as any in the Federation's history. Their commander reminds me of Tolian Soran, in more than just his appearance. He seems a driven man, though one who loves his people desperately. I do not entirely trust him, or his people, but this alliance of convenience still has a chance to work. With some fortune, we should be able to solve this situation shortly.
Picard ended his log recording, sat back at his desk. He forced himself to relax, tried to loosen some of the tension in his back muscles. It was no good. He was starting to think that the entire situation was starting to spiral out of all control. He was more diplomatic than Admiral Tolwyn, but they were both willful men, and neither of them liked this situation, not by any stretch. Both believed it to be important, if not essential, to learn what was causing these creatures to appear, and what exactly the anomalies they created were doing.
And it didn't help that Tolwyn's sheer intensity reminded him far, far too much of Dr. Soran. There seemed to be almost a touch of madness in the Admiral, though given that he'd been fighting a war for most of two decades, from what Picard had gathered, that was, perhaps, inevitable. Still-
The Red Alert klaxons began to wail. "Bridge to Captain Picard, we have an unidentified fleet of ships – they just appeared to port."
"Ships, not more creatures?" He stood, quickly crossed his ready room and into the bridge.
"Aye, sir," said the officer of the watch. "Ships." The watch officer surrendered the Captain's chair almost gratefully.
"Open hailing frequencies."
"Channel open, Captain."
"This is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise to unknown fleet. Identify yourselves."
Half a moment later, the starfield on the main viewer was replaced by the image of a young man with cobalt-blue hair. "I am Admiral Chrono Haralowan of the Time-Space Administration Bureau. We are investigating a series of dimensional breaches, and do not intend hostilities."
You bring almost twenty ships and you claim you aren't looking for trouble, thought Picard. "We, also, are investigating dimensional anomalies. Perhaps we might pool our resources."
