Chapter Ten. It may seem like this is taking a long time(It has), but it's going to speed up from here. I revised my current plan for the rest of the story and I'm going to have to extend what's left into two chapters.
The next chapter(Chapter 11)should come pretty quickly, expect to see it in a few weeks. Mostly I have been busy doing other things, I'm sad to admit, This post was delayed incredibly because of Bungie Software releasing Halo 3, which I have been beating the crap out of for the last couple of weeks.
I have decided on a final plan for the last few chapters, and this is set in stone. two more chapters, the second being an Epilogue of sort, and another post containing some information, cut-scenes, coming attractions, etc. I was originally going to make this the last chapter, but in the end I realized I had way too much to squeeze it all into one, so I split it up, I did a word count and I found that altogether it would have had about 11,000 words, (the length of some short stories). And since it is already mostly written, It's going to come a lot faster that other posts.
I know I have probably caused a few people to blow a bulb or two with confusing technobabble, so in the I'm going to list the terms that are used here that I came up with(Take Quarkium for example.(What the frack is quarkium? Even I'm not sure!)) I'll include a few cut-scenes i never included, and why I didn't. And, as a special, I'll include a special scene for just the hell of it.
And enough of me blabbering, it's time for reviews:
Spazzcat-The-Neji-Glomper: Nice name, though I haven't the foggiest idea what it means. What's a 'neji glomper"? but about the question, the Monolith has (or rather,had) a "Master AI" commanding it. It guided itself to the Rukbat system following a series of preset commands entered years before. I wrote that a few chapters back I think. I hope that answers your question.
Mr. Tim; Zeonia; JudyL: I am going to finis the story, hopefully before Christmas. I haven't given up on it.
RSegovia: I got on one day to check my Inbox and there's a gazillion notices from FFNet from reviews. I don't know where to begin.
You are wondering how long after the last novel this takes place. I decided that it takes place about a year(or thereabouts) after the events in The Skies of Pern, which was the most recent 9th Pass novel.
I'm not trying to be mysterious, everything has a reason.
Disappearing Figures? (scratches head) where'd that come from?
The dragons can communicate with the fighter pilots more easily than most others because they have a certain level of telepathy already. It has to do with their being genetically enhanced during their Flight training. I won't explain it all now, but I'm saving the more in depth stuff about the pilots for the sequel.
Thread consumes carbon. So it's pretty bad if you happen to fly into a drift of it while inside a ship with an semi-organic hull. made of it. Try to imagine dunking your hand into a vat of sulfuric acid, something similar.
I read your story a while back over a bottle of rum. I wouldn't mind seeing it continue. It needs updates, and Rum. Any good pirate story has to have Rum, and eye patches. Especially eye patches.
Favrite of Chaos: Pern will beat back the Hun, so to speak. It will probably all go down in the next chappy.
cathrl: "For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven." Someone famous said that I think. It applies also about the paragraph in question. There was a reason I phrased it such, a reason I probably won't reveal until the sequel.
That was the reviews. and now for some "Random Humor":
On the Kikital, during Lunch
Falsner: "There must be some kind of way out of here,"
Capris: "Said the joker to the thief,"
Valero: "There's too much confusion here,"
Texas: "I can't get no relief-"
Skye: You Idiots! stop singing Bob Dylan or they'll think this is a Pern-Battlestar Crossover!
Parker: "Sir, I think they already do."
And that was "Random Humor". Now to the Story!
NOTE: I do not own the Dragonriders Series. Anne McCaffrey does. My OCs are my own.
IMPACT
Ignorance was bliss.
If the humans knew what was about to happen to them, they certainly wouldn't be 'blissful'.
Only half of the planet's population would be aware of the instant they died. The other half lost in their dreams, deep asleep. All that would be left of the planet five minutes later would be a rapidly forming asteroid belt. The way it should be.
The remaining two hive minds now sat at the exact spot where their brother had died. Where a handful of cowardly humans with their primitive ways had so wrongfully slew their brother.
They will all pay. Dearly. With their blood. And then their lives.
And as if some intentional way of rubbing in their grief where it hurt the most, they returned.
There were over two hundred of them, of all varying sizes, in various formations, all headed in their direction.
They came closer, closer. The humans came on their pathetic beasts of burden to lay waste to the Minds, or so they thought. But not today on this hallowed day, everything was going to die.
And they came.
They attacked point blank; psychic blows rattled and vibrated the powerful shielding that encased the battlecruiser, a myriad of weak fools lashing out against the giant. Although it would finally explain their brother's downfall: Wingtips lacked the kind of heavy psychic shielding that so thoroughly protected them now.
But the minds had had enough. The humans were but insects to them. And the Minds struck back.
The Creatures were the psychic assailants; their screams as they died and slipped into nonexistence rippled across the psychic spectrum, music of exceeding pleasure to the receptors of the Minds as their weapons made short work of the creatures and the humans that were, curiously enough, bonded to them. A telepathic link? But it did not matter the least, they were all going to die anyway-
And they came. The despoilers that had been deemed the true source of sources of their sorrow.
The humans on the ragtag fleet that had lured the Hive Minds to this nightmare place. The ones who had deceived the Minds into thinking this world was far more. The humans that had truly been the ones who were to be hated.
But only six came.
They collided with the psychic swarm and the holy burning plasma that was the form of the Minds' vengeance. The six 'fighter pilots' as they were called upon their own, underestimated their environment; the nightmare they had waltzed willingly into. Here was prey that was now worthy of the Minds' attention. Prey that was worthy of their kill.
The hunt was on.
"Falsner, this isn't going to be a recon mission, is it?"
The reassuring words of Capris came through Lt. Falsner's .comm. headset like a specter of his own conscience. Falsner had already come to the conclusion even before their last transmission with the Sargasso that the Crosseyes were seeing red. And, considering that they were over a planet whose populace had somehow managed to strike a blow to the Crosseyes, and said planet had absolutely no defensive capacities whatsoever, The Crosseyes were now considering the entire planet a high priority target. Whoever that was planetside were now in grave danger.
Falsner had also come to a conclusion about the bizarre auroral lights Raccoon noticed in her continuous sensor sweeps of the planet. They seemed to be lighting up the atmosphere all over the dark side of the planet. Pt. Thurst had noticed that the upper atmosphere was highly charged with heavy amounts of di-ionic radiation, a by-product of a quarkium-based superweapon, like the Crosseye Battlecruiser's Forward Cannon.
And if the Crosseyes had fired that terrifying weapon already, more than likely before the Fleet had even arrived, then they were running out of time.
And Falsner had decided on a change of plan.
"To hell with recon," Falsner said over the Comm. There are people down there, and I'm not going to let them be quarkium cannon fodder."
"I agree for a change," Chuk-Chuk said. "To Hell with our orders."
"As do I Falsner. I got your back," It was Texas.
"Alright, now that that's settled, prep for reentry along the indicated flight course. Let's see how close we can get to ground zero. Raccoon, full sensor sweeps with your sensor node, everyone else, weapons free as soon as we're in the atmosphere. Lock down the fusion drives and prep the atmospheric engines."
Falsner heard an almost unanimous 'aye-aye'.
So this is it, he thought. Their first confrontation with a Crosseye Capital Ship. If they had made improvements to their cap ships like they did to their fighters, then this was going to be a harsh and brutal fight. And some of them may not even come back. The pilots that made up the 4022nd had long since accepted the fact that they were more than likely going to die in space. Whatever family or loved ones they had also accepted this. Since the HIP took him under their wing, this was the life that Falsner knew, and accepted. And lived for.
Reentry had been uneventful; the only hang-up was when Falsner had to make pitch adjustments to compensate for the damage his Stiletto had taken during the previous engagement. For a moment, Falsner thought he would not be able to survive reentry without burning up, but some quick calculations from on Capris' behalf had saved him from a fiery end to his career.
Other than narrowly surviving a near-death experience, Falsner was unshaken. He'd survived worse. He was trained to. But, considering everything he'd experienced in his four-year service in the C.T.S., what he was about to experience would likely push his experience to its utmost limits.
Six Stilettos against a single Crosseye Battlecruiser. There weren't worse odds than that. Even in the Simulators they had never survived with more that half their squadron intact. And considering that the new cloaks the bladefighters sported, as well as plasma warheads that could punch through shields like nothing, the battlecruiser will have undoubtedly have gotten stronger as well. It had held its own against the Monolith, a ship far stronger and more powerful that a battlecarrier like the Sargasso. None of them may survive the coming battle.
"Raccoon, what's the status of the active sweep?"
"Nothing one hundred klicks out," Came Raccoon's voice through the Comm headset. "We will hit the shoreline of the landmass on the northern side of the planet, at least the direction the standard magcomp is pointing, in less than five minutes."
"Boost the output to five hundred klicks, The Crosseyes have improved themselves in the last thousand years, I don't want to get caught with my pants down. What about passive scans of the planet?"
"Atmosphere consists of oxygen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, methane, the usual old Terran norm," Valero started. "Nice place to retire one day, if we live that long. And Sir, the readout on the atmospheric ratios of oxygen to methane suggests, well-"
"Well what?"
"It suggests, well, agricultural activity High methane-CO2 to oxygen ratios. At least that's the textbook term."
"I guess you were right all along," Texas came through the Comm then. "It pays to fly with you man, just discovery after discovery, first one to tangle with the Crosseyes, then you discover some Lost Colony. And when the build a statue of you they'll know that I was there backing you up man-"
"Save the chat for later, we got Crosseye contact!" Valero came back on Falsner's Comm. "I repeat, positive contact on a Crosseye Battlecruiser four-fifty klicks out, ETA two minutes… What the hell-"
Raccoon cut off suddenly. "Valero, come in, what is it?"
"Falsner, I'm detecting almost two hundred other bogeys of varying size and altitude approaching the Battlecruiser, along vector oh-three-five-"
"What in the Hell? Are you sure?" Falsner half-shouted into his headset, only barely believing it. Raccoon, patch me in to your Sensor system for a moment."
"Y-Yessir," he replied.
Falsner tapped several buttons on his main view screen display and saw what Raccoon saw on his. Dozens of small and medium-sized blips each with its own 'UNKNOWN" tag approaching one very large blip that had a "CE-BC" as its tag. "Crosseye Battlecruiser" of course. And Falsner could see the groupings of the blips indicated various formations; He could make out the common Arrowhead formation in several; of the apparent subgroups and even what appeared to be a Phalanx. And the Lieutenant drew a quick conclusion:
These were the local defense forces. And they were responding to the Crosseye offensive.
"Falsner, could it be those locals you mentioned, possibly the same ones that might've taken out that Wingtip?" Chuk-Chuk then came on the Comm channel, the first time he had spoken since reentry.
"Maybe, but more than likely we'll know in thirty seconds," Lt. Falsner said quickly into his Comm headset. "Weapons loose, I repeat, weapons loose," Falsner switched back to his normal layout and then made several quick calculations on his view screen readout. "Adjust your headings to the parameters I'm sending. Prepare to initiate the blind dive tactic on my wing."
"The blind dive?" Capris came on, the hint of surprise in her voice. "Against a battlecruiser?"
"It's not the battlecruiser shooting I'm worried about, it's whatever that's not shooting back."
The "Blind Man's Dive" was a general aerial ambush technique that had existed in one form or another since perhaps Man strapped a pair of guns to an airplane and had to fight another gun-strapped airplane, It was an effective tactic to use even against the strongest opponent, and yet was so inherently simple that a rookie pilot could pick it up in a day: Simply put your back to the Sun and/or some other very bright light source and the enemy in front of you, and charge them. Usually guns blazing. Hopefully, your target wouldn't know you were there until your shells were ripping him to shreds.
Even with radar picking you up, the target would hesitate. If the light source also produced heat, all the better because a heatseeker might ignore you, and autocannons were useless if you couldn't see your target to shoot clearly at.
And at the current moment, it seemed an effective tactic. Considering the unknown bogeys' current behavior, they weren't expecting immediate contact. They even appeared to be taking their time approaching the Battlecruiser. If it were the same ones that attacked and destroyed the Wingtip Bomber, were they overconfident after a success?
No, somehow that wasn't it, he thought. Then another possibility occurred to him. Was it possible that the locals didn't have the technology to even know that fellow Terrans had arrived above their world? That they did not even have the capacity to detect the ships that were in orbit? Or even the squadron if fighters closing on them at mach-plus speeds?
It seemed a satisfactory explanation, the one explanation that would explain a lot. How there was no standard planetside hail or any hail at all when the Firecross popped into orbit above the planet. Or the apparent lack of any other satellites or ships in orbit aside from that derelict colonizer. Or any other indications of high technology for that matter. Like electric grid-lit coastlines on the nightside of the planet, big clue there.
But Falsner didn't have time to think anymore about it, because even his passive sensors detected the huge energy discharges originating from the Battlecruiser.
And then Falsner's head exploded in agony, so severe that he nearly blacked out, so severe that his eyes squeezed tight involuntarily and his teeth were gritted shut.
He heard, voices, screaming in pain. Dozens of distinct, separate voices all in agony, all burning with searing pain, all screaming all at once. Falsner suddenly heard other voices, these familiar, all yelling at him-
The Lieutenant suddenly came to, momentarily disoriented, his head feeling like it was splitting in two in pain. And then he saw the scene through the forward cockpit canopy and he was filled with a bizarre mix of dumbfoundedness, shock, and disbelief. On top of the migraine he just received.
What appeared to be dozens upon dozens of none other than some form or kind of winged avians were swarming around the enormous battlecruiser; several suddenly fell from the sky and plunged into the waters below the aerial battle, no doubt ripped apart by the plasma bursts that were lighting up the airspace around the battlecruiser. And they were way too close and approaching way too fast-
"Oh shit! Break off, break off godsdammit!" Falsner screamed as the squadron plunged headlong into the chaotic, clearly uneven battle. What the hell was this? Falsner expected fighter craft of some kind, not frigging birdmen. Falsner clearly saw a man strapped to the back of one of the bird-avians as he sped by like a bullet, doing his best to dodge both plasma volleys being lobbed by the battlecruiser and flocks of the bird-creatures or whatever the hell they were swarming around, also apparently trying to dodge the volleys of incinerating plasma.
Falsner swung wide and clear of the Battlecruiser's port side, its main deck weapons flashing like high intensity strobes, strobes that could vaporize a starfighter and pilot in a microsecond all the while dodging a myriad rainbow sea of color that was the locals' answer to the Crosseye offensive. He was jarred almost into unconsciousness as he executed a triple-g twist to dodge a large bronze-colored avian with mount to boot that literally appeared out of thin air in his flight path, with a microsecond to respond. He managed to swerve, but he thought that his port wing had still managed to clip one of the avian's.
And suddenly in mere seconds, they seemed to be clear of it, all six of the Stilettos. And then Falsner saw over the corner of the canopy that two of his friends were trailing smoke: Raccoon and Chuk-Chuk. Raccoon's port wing had been shredded by a plasma burst; Chuk-Chuk's starboard engine had sucked in debris from something and shelled itself, trailing sickly grayish-black smoke that said bad. And they were both out of the fight. Raccoon's own craft shuddered and vibrated heavily, it seemed ready to disintegrate at any moment.
"Well," Raccoon began, "It looks like I'm gonna have to sit this one out guys."
"Crap, this isn't good, my engines are shot, literally," Chuk-Chuk said only half jokingly.
No chance of them surviving the exit back into space. Raccoon's Stiletto would burn up as it left the atmosphere. The heat would melt his craft from the inside out. And with just two of his three engines, Chuk-Chuk would never build up enough momentum to reach escape velocity. By the looks of it he was barely flying for now.
"Rac, Chuk, alter course and head for the large landmass along vector triple-oh. Start broadcasting an SOS on all Comm. channels, and find somewhere flat and bail out," Falsner said into his Comm mike, struggling to hide the nervous apprehension he was feeling. "Stay out of sight until we can send a rescue party. If we can. There's no way of telling if these 'people', or whoever they are, are friendly or not."
"I understand," Raccoon said. "Over and out then sir."
"Ugh, I hate this, over and out." Chuk-Chuk also said.
"Umm, sir, we've got a new problem," Raccoon came back on the Comm.
"What now?" Falsner said.
"The battlecruiser we just did a flyby over, it's moving, and it's started to chase us, operable weapons range in thirty seconds, and about the other bogeys, there only looks like a few dozen of them or so are left-"
"Crap, the two of you get out of here. Amata, Valero, Texas, form up on my wing," Falsner barked.
Falsner, what're we gonna do?" Texas spoke.
Lieutenant Falsner's head pounded, between the migraine and the situation and the clear possibility he was losing his mind, he struggled to think. He wished he could rub his temple, but the faceplate on his helmet prevented it. And in the chaos, he saw order.
Falsner spoke calmly into his Comm mike. "The only way to teach a junkyard dog that's chasing you a lesson is to turn around and give it a swift kick in the chops. Full one-eighty, let's finish the Godsdamned Crosseyes off here and now once and for all."
"Deamn, Falsner, that's deep," Texas said.
Amidst the tumult in Falsner's head, he thought that there couldn't be a worse situation. They weren't just fighting a Crosseye Battlecruiser anymore. They were fighting a pissed off Crosseye Battlecruiser. A Battlecruiser that had wiped out nearly two hundred of those avian creatures like nothing. A Battlecruiser that, as Falsner's Stiletto swung around in a one-eighty arc, Falsner could clearly see in the distance.
It was headed dead in their direction, like a crimson six-pointed star on a blue backdrop of the sky. And it was rapidly growing.
And the lieutenant saw something that made his already chilled blood run even colder: The Battlecruiser's pointed bow was slowly opening up outwards, as a flower' petals did at dawn, its interior glowing brightly.
It was preparing to fire its Quarkium Energy Cannon.
Oh Shit.
"Texas, Valero, break off, rake its starboard side as it passes by, Capris, you're with me, we'll give it Hell on its port side, If we can get to its engines, whoever's still alive can fire your torpedoes up its ass. it's now or never by the looks of it." The Lieutenant rattled off orders automatically, almost instinctively.
"Aye-aye," they responded. No fear, no hesitation at all. They all knew the odds were well against them.
They all knew this would likely be their final battle.
Lessa and her gold dragon Ramoth would have died. Had it not been for the fact that they had been flying so high, and the intervention of a certain white dragon and Lord Holder, they would have died when almost all of Ista Weyr was slaughtered in an instant.
There had been no instant, intense pain from Ramoth like last time, It was so quick and overwhelming that the Gold dragon and her rider simply blacked out from the onslaught of pain.
Blackness.
Like between. It was all that Lessa felt for an indeterminable amount of time when a familiar voice broke through the inky darkness.
Lessa.
Wake up.
Why? She thought. She liked it here, she wanted to stay.
Why? WHY? Because you are needed! You must wake up!
She snapped to, still in her riding straps on Ramoth's back, still over ocean. Still alive.
What had changed was that she had company. A white dragon was flying alongside Ramoth.
Ruth, the White Dragon. Along with his rider Jaxom, The Lord of Ruatha Hold.
A few more seconds, and you would have been killed when you hit the water. You are fortunate I have become as strong as I am now Weyrwoman, Ruth's voice sounded clearly in her mind. Jaxom says that the Vessel is further south from here. He has a mental image from the place where it is now, and he so we will go between and see for ourselves what it is doing here.
Where did he get the coordinates?
From G'dened; Jaxom wanted me to contact him immediately when he heard that the Vessels were no longer in orbit. His dragon sent me the image, before he and his rider were both lost between, killed by the Second Vessel.
Both vessels were missing, or rather only one was. The other had apparently just slaughtered almost all of Ista Weyr. Her mate and the Weyrleader of Benden Weyr, F'lar, was down for the count, his dragon injured. The Masterharper of Pern, Sebell, was in a coma. Most of the Island of Ista in ruins after a terrible tragedy. And the very real possibility that Pern was facing destruction. And now G'dened, The Weyrleader of Ista, was dead. On top of everything else it seemed incredulous, almost small in comparison. But they all had to put their mourning of the dead on hold.
And where are the Vessels now?
According to what Jaxom said, some ways from where they were, but not far. And Lessa, there are others there too, smaller vessels as well.
The smaller vessels. Lessa remembered back on the Yoko, how on the radar displays, the tiny vessels had fought. How their movements had mimicked those of the dragons. And of how they had fought the smaller Vessels from the Second Vessel. If these Vessels chasing the Second Vessel were the same ones…
Okay then Ruth, inform your rider that we are going to find them. Hopefully, we may still be able to stop these—things, or people, or whatever they are.
The immediate response from Ruth was surprising, a mental chuckle. And how, my dear Weyrwoman, do you plan on stopping the Vessels with just two dragons and two humans? I was strong enough to stop you and my mother from certain death, but I cannot do what dozens of others from Ista have already tried. Ruth's mental voice buzzed with a mock surprise and a level of intelligence Lessa would have never expected from the White Dragon, not any dragon for that matter. His eyes spun a rapidly whirling shade of yellow reflecting his surprise. And Ramoth, her own dragon, had barely said a word at all since this whole thing started. But Lessa did not have time to think on this. She and all of Pern had so very little time left.
I do have a plan, Ruth, Lessa replied. As for whether or not it will work, it's up to other people we have yet to meet.
A'rak, dazed as he may be, was simply stunned by the amount of destruction his dragon Lageth had caused in such a brief amount of time.
A'rak leaned heavily against one of the craft, his right leg badly lacerated when an explosive of some kind detonated near Lageth as he rampaged through the cavern, destroying practically everything in sight in a blind rage, believing for a moment that the ones that they had followed into the Vessel as being the ones that had killed Lageth's brothers and sisters. The rampage caused many of the craft to burst into flames, which were, less than a minute later, doused by of all things, rain.
But even the artificial water that so easily swept aside the flames could do nothing for the acrid, awful stench that now filled the chamber the dragonrider stood in, surrounded by the charred carcasses of the craft that had led him and his dragon here.
And A'rak had heard the death cries as clearly as Lageth had, countless dragons dying so quickly that they knew not what had even killed them, a death so horrific it seemed unimaginable. Who, or what for that matter, could kill so many dragons and dragonriders all at once? The pain had ripped into A'rak's dragon like a lance to his heart, a pain only relieved by the blessing of sleep.
And now Lageth could barely move at all. The stress from the prolonged spacewalk, combined with the further stress of the sadness he felt and the rampage through the cavernous chamber on the Vessel had reduced the proud dragon to a shadow of its former self. His hide was a pallid shade of gray, and he lay curled up next to a wall of the cavern, lost wearily in sleep.
A'rak knew that it would take several hours at the very least before his dragon would be in any condition to take flight, or even go between.
But what worried A'rak most was that the Vessel was moving. Or at least it felt like it was moving. Some time after the flames had died, he had felt a vibration, a hum almost through the floor, then a sudden jolt. And ever since he had felt tha0t steady vibration.
So he had nothing to do in the meantime, other than to ponder all that he had seen, and wonder if a Harper somewhere would write a ballad of his actions this day.
And he also, for the time being, had the opportunity to study the strange, miniature vessels in detail, up close. Or at least what was left of them.
As he walked through the wreckage, He had noticed that many only appeared to have only a single seat. As if to support only a single person, while several seemed larger, as if able to house more that one, like the old shuttle that had been found buried at Landing. He walked up to one of the large craft, of the other two that were like it, it was the least damaged.
To A'rak, it lay on its side, one of its wings missing. Considering its design, had it not been missing a wing it probably would not have been able to do that. And on closer inspection as he walked around it, he noticed a faint glow coming from within, through what appeared to be a window of some kind-
And then A'rak saw movement from within, as if someone had passed in front of the view port. Was someone in it still?
And A'rak recalled, right after he heard the cries of pain through his link with his dragon, that as he looked through Lageth's eyes, he had seen a single person jump headlong into the very craft he stood in front of.
A'rak tapped on the view-port, its surface cold to the touch. "Hello? Is anyone in there?" he said loudly as he leaned into the window, trying to make out any movement at all.
He was so focused peering into the murky interior, trying to discern movement in the darkness that he never noticed the movement behind him until a hard cold object was pressed roughly at the base of his neck.
"I could have killed you when you started walking over here, could have put a round right through the view-port even," the voice behind him said. "But you don't look like the type to deserve that."
And that's a wrap. The last chapter coming soon!