Act Two
Fei'nur had made sure that even the single squad of Marines on the Heermann was properly equipped; in fact, she had insisted on giving the Security personnel the same equipment as well. That meant Goodenough had two squad support weapons at his disposal when laying out his position in the corridors.
There was nothing like the savagery of tight, confined quarters fighting, but the Government troops attacking them, the 'purple bellies' according to the slang of the out-worlders, were anything but motivated. Their caution suggested they had run into more than they had expected, and it made Goodenough's throat go dry. He figured that would be the attitude of what was left of them after whatever Abebech had done; but they would have made sure Abebech wouldn't be coming back.
Well, she did it for us. Not going to waste it now, are we, Johnny? Pistol pressed into hand, smoothed up against one of the great ribs of the ship, the squad weapon near his position fired and fired again, scouring the old, cracked adhesive from the structure of the ship. Charge bursts tore through ancient, corroded bulkheads, too, and the lights failed. But mostly, they kept the heads of the Government troops down.
They were in contact at two places, rapidly becoming four and then five as the Government troops drilled their way through bulkheads into rooms to try and flank the main positions of the Heermann's crew. They retaliated by an aggressive use of stun and plasma grenades to drive them out of cover, the explosions automatically flipping lenses to full polarisation and sending thunderous booms worthy of a Ship of the Line's broadside howling down the corridors.
Abdulmajid came up to him. "Sir, can we make a push toward the Commander, God Willing. We have completely stopped them. I have my reserve squads."
"We don't know how many there are," Goodenough answered. The conversation was abruptly interrupted by some of the Government troops lunging, trying to take advantage of the figures visible in the corridor with the approach of Lt. Mehmet's squads. But they fired on automatic from the hip, two squads worth, and filled the corridor. Two of the purple-bellies toppled as Goodenough leaned out and joined in with his pistol, though he certainly didn't hit them himself.
"Doesn't matter," Abdul shrugged. "She's over there. Come, Commander, what is Heermann without the Abyssinian? There's none finer."
"You're right," Goodenough muttered and shook his head. "But we might get ourselves all killed."
"We must at least try, the rest is up to the Will of God!"
"...You're right. Dear Lord. All right." Goodenough looked at the slight Turkish man, who was shaking with emotional intensity. Abdulmajid was such a private person it was sometimes impossible to figure him out, more alien than an alien at times frankly, but now his emotional commitment to the crew of the Heermann was as clear as Goodenough's own.
"Squads, form for attack!" Abdul held his hand up.
Goodenough stepped out a minute later. "Forward by covering and fire!" Advancing behind hurled grenades, the lead squad pressed down the corridor first.
Mehmet's reserves followed. The purple-bellies seemed astonished at their attack. There was a fitful sputtering of their defensive efforts, before they retired. "Come on, forwards!"
Retreat in this kind of situation was the most deadly act of all. As the Government soldiers tried to fall back, the weapons of the Heermann's crew spoke without pity. Bringing their squad support weapon forward passed the bodies of a dozen of their foes, they turned left to follow the route that Abebech had gone, the squad weapon covering their right as the manoeuvre also served to flank the Government troops to the enemy's right flank.
They must have carried on a hundred meters of corridor, the entire right of the enemy attack collapsing, when they saw it. The piles of bodies, dozens, maybe thirty, sprawled across a corridor and one access room. It brought Goodenough up short.
There was no sign of Commander Imra, but… Abdulmajid tore at his hair in frustration.
"God have mercy," Goodenough muttered. "We know she did this, but if she isn't here, and they were here…"
"Not yet, Commander! Don't even say it!" The tactical officer's eyes lit with a wild fury. "Come on, Heermann! We will continue to attack!" A mass of reinforcements coming up the corridor for the Government defenders stopped short to see their enemies this far forward. Abdulmajid threw his hand up. "Fix-bayonets!"
Oh Christ, he's not stopping for anything. Goodenough raised his own pistol. "Covering fire! Fix-bayonets! We'll give them cold steel!"
The crew of the Heermann had expressions on their face of a mixture of rage-they were terrified for Abebech-and confusion, horror, even. Two men from the mid-19th century were about to order them to execute a bayonet charge in the decks of an old abandoned wreck of a warship against an enemy of unknown strength.
But they now brought one of the squad weapons forward and had set it up, the crew throwing themselves to the ground and checking the charge as the magnetic clamps engaged on the tripod, then firing a clear burst into the purple-bellies who were still taking cover. The sight of four of their enemies toppling under the heavy and accurate fire gave the Heermann's crew some confidence.
Abdul grabbed his utility whistle from his belt, normally intended for getting people to stop doing something unsafe in high noise environments. He glanced sharply to Goodenough.
"Squads forward!" Goodenough dashed forward himself, firing his pistol wildly, but aiming low.
Abdul blew his whistle as loud as he could. At least three squads, twenty-four armed, participated in the charge.
What they faced was a most peculiar cultural artefact of the Verse. Cold Steel had a particular reputation in the Inner Planets; it was why the Operatives still carried and practiced with normal, traditional swords. When they saw that compact mass surging down the corridor with the support weapon pinning them in place until the last minute, the purple bellies got intimidated.
They never really came to a clash. Instead, the Government troops began to stumble and fall back. Again, the position yielded and retreated. Goodenough and Mehmet surged ahead until they came to the next cross corridor. "Bring the squad gun up!" Goodenough roared. "And bring the rest of our troops forward, we're getting too strung out! By God, we might just take this ship!"
As the fighter attack came on against the Huáscar, her wing struggled to attrite it. Again, and again, the attacks Lar'shan had directed were focused on providing fires against the bombers. They made slashing attack after slashing attack with their greater thrust, rather than mixing themselves into the mass of the immense numbers of Warhammers. More than fifty bombers had been reduced to six.
Artesia snapped another sharp de-accelerating roll to descend into the bombers. Behind them an entire squadron of Mongeese provided cover. They were Winchester on torpedoes as well as missiles now, but they had their guns and Lar'shan led the way.
"Donkey, take your shots!" Lar'shan blazed across the field to the left, canting the nose of his fighter off-angle to engage a squadron of Warhammers, adding more cover. A blossom of an explosion noted yet another kill.
Artesia watched her sight turn green as tone lock sounded in the cockpit, sliding into place behind the bombers. She triggered her forward cannon and one of them was torn apart, not exploding but chunks flying off until the crew ejected. Her stick shook and shields shook the fighter, warnings sounding.
"Donkey, you're taking debris!" Her wingman warned.
"No time to worry!" She answered. The Foxbats cut thrust and spun about on their manoeuvring thrusters to engage, not having rear-facing guns. This slowed down their time to range, another form of virtual attrition. Captain Noa, would you trust me with a Gundam now? Artesia wondered. Her sight went over to green again and a second bomber went to pieces.
Now they were firing at her again. She dropped below their formation by kicking her tail up with the manoeuvring thrusters and firing the main jets, wingman following her through her paces. Lar'shan had already cut back from the left, which meant that he caught them as they were rotating to face an enemy no longer there.
Lar'shan's guns chattered and a third bomber disappeared. Artesia, looking up through her bubble cockpit, realised the other three were gone as well. Other squadrons had claimed them. The entire left flank of the bomber formation was gone.
The right flank, having powered its way through the dispersal-pattern firing of the Huáscar, was continuing to close, preparing to use their point-blank EMP depth charges to take out her shields, better yet to disable her. It was the only chance the Government fleet had.
"All squadrons, come about. Right group is our's now!" Lar'shan led a shimmering spearpoint of drive-tails, Artesia grabbing the throttles to throw them forward, main engines burning bright as the Mongeese raced across the battlefield. As they went in, the Huáscar ceased to fire on the fighters and shifted fire to the Government fleet again, directing torpedo salvoes at range against the remaining cruisers, the bright lights of the solar torpedoes racing across the battlefield around her.
"Camel, this is Donkey," Artesia spoke into her microphone. "What's the plan here?"
"We'll regroup around the Huáscar and take them head-on. There's not much time left."
"Head on, Sir?"
"We've got the range for our guns and the targeting systems. If each remaining fighter selects one target and destroys it, we've finished their attack. And the bombers are beginning their runs now, we need to support them."
"All right, so we're going straight into it, Sir."
"There won't be any other way to get the job done." He switched to broad beam comms. "All squadrons, prepare to engage head to head, your targets are the bombers, again, get the bombers first."
She keyed on the open channel herself. "When you get past them, use your jets to come about, you'll get one more chance!"
"You heard the Leftenant," Lar'shan chuckled. "On my mark… Mark."
The wing tore ahead, accelerating past the Huáscar again, the gleaming gray ship left behind as their thrusters burned to full power. Artesia activated her targeting sensors, showing the great host of two hundred fighters and bombers still coming in against their home.
"All squadrons, watch your formations, parcel out to meet them, one to one."
The long range sensors on the Mongeese resolved their targets as they rushed in against them. Even with the jamming from the great wreck on the supralight frequencies, they had resolution in their sublight sensors much superiour to that of their enemies. The targeting recticule went green. Her left gloved hand, ensconced in spacesuit, snapped down to the throttles. One second, two seconds…
She pulled the trigger, and a rapid set of particle pulses lanced forward. As they did, she slammed the levers into full recursion. The baffles snapped across the engine thrusters, diverting thrust ahead full as she called for max reverse thrust.
Slowing rapidly, the inertial dampers were overcome and she felt, for a split second, close to twenty G's pushing her forward. Her flight suit was designed to compensate and the harnesses kept her fixed rigidly into her acceleration couch. Her fire continued locked right on target, a target which was flashing and exploding before her eyes. She snapped the left throttle back into positive thrust, the baffles dropped, she canted hard to the left and with a tap on her stick sent the manoeuvring thrusters throwing her broadside under the exploding bomber.
Then she snapped both throttles to neutral, preventing herself from spinning out of control. In front of her, and now tracking behind as her nose continued to follow her stick even as the fighter raced ahead with its remaining conserved velocity, she had another bomber in her sights. Again she pressed the trigger down as she got tone lock. As the bomber came apart, she flung her nose back around to face the enemy fleet and slammed the throttles forward.
"All fighters, form up. We're covering our own bombers now. Those Warhammers won't be able to catch up with us in time!" Shooting clear of the enemy formation, Artesia couldn't help but see that they only had fifty-four of seventy-two fighters still in action. They had destroyed the bomber attack on the Huáscar, and with her advantages in range, that might be decisive; but it had come at a grim cost.
Already well familiar with that from the One Year War, she glinted in her cockpit, settled herself in place as the gravity pushed her back. Burning fast and hard, the fighters moved to defend their own. The bombers were commencing their runs. There was no time for worry, and less for regret. She was only eighteen, and she had been an ace in the Federation service, let alone now.
"The fighters are starting to retreat, Captain," Elia said from Ops. "The attack has disintegrated. I'm charting a course for the helm around the wreckage so that any cripples don't try to ambush us with EMP charges. Our bomber attack is now developing."
"Understood, very well done to the Wing. I want to get the Colonel onto that wreck as quickly as possible, still."
"They still have a large number of gunboat-type vessels hanging back in formation," Fera'xero noted. "They could intercept any assault landing."
"Wait for the outcome of the bomber attack, then? We're still dealing serious damage to their capital ships," Daria asked. It felt rather murderous; they were receiving no answering fire at all at this range. But the wing was carrying home the attack, and it was for the preservation of their lives that she felt comfortable continuing to hammer the enemy cruisers.
"I dislike waiting this long, our attacker crew needs assistance. The very moment it is clear, understood?"
"Understood," Violeta said sharply. "Course is laid in."
Elia pursed her lips as another cruiser tumbled out of formation dead. She'd seen the Serenity go in.
River had piloted the Serenity into position against one of the docking collars that had an active light. It had taken some time to secure themselves, but now they were in, armed, and ready to go.
"All right, the plan is to find the Heermann's crew and pull them out. We can accommodate all of them for long enough to get back to the Huáscar. Zoe, you're still not fully better, so you stay behind and guard the ship with Inara."
"You sure, Sir?" She had shown up in the bay with her short carbine. "I think you need every hand you can get."
"You've got …"
"A newborn? Yes, I do, Sir. The Alliance doesn't care about that, Sir."
Mal opened his mouth and closed it again. "All right. Kaylee, you're staying behind with the ship."
"With pleasure, Cap'm!" It wasn't like she much liked leaving Serenity, let alone for a prospective fight.
"We're all really just there to cover her, ain't we, Captain?" Jayne gestured to River.
"Yes," River answered, still dressed in the black uniform she had been given, and now sporting one of the Huáscar's charge rifles. With that, she walked through the airlock.
"And to keep Simon safe so he can help anyone who's wounded," Mal hollared, and started off after her.
There was something sinister about the enormous logo that greeted them as they stepped onto the dead hulk. It was etched like a memory, a tombstone, of a long ago trauma. Mal looked at it for a long time. "Those look like Operatives' swords," he remarked to the image of the crossed blades surmounting the laurels of victory.
"Was this one of the interstellar cryo-ships?" Zoe asked.
"Whatever it is, it's as old as hell," Jayne muttered, stalking ahead to keep up with River.
"No, it's more than that," Simon explained. "With that jamming field, it has to be capable of FTL. So it's not something that came with us from Earth-that-Was."
"Then what was it?"
River turned around for a moment at the front of their little column. "One of the last survivors of a destroyed people," she answered. "There's suffering in every bulkhead."
The other members of Serenity's crew exchanged an uncomfortable glance. That was the kind of tone that River usually used when she was serious-and right.
The Huáscar's three squadrons of Kestrel bombers sectioned themselves in ten flights of four. Each targeted a separate ship. The lead of Bomber Two, Captain (courtesy Major) Vanessa Carter, brought her tubes green. They replaced the multi-function ground attack rotary with a set of two angled-downward launch tubes. Each one held ten solar torpedoes packed in nose to tail, being electrically fired; something like an old MetalStorm weapon, the chain firing of the torpedoes produced a massive salvo against a single target-or two, but no more.
Morale had been dubious as they forged ahead despite the lack of escort, taking long-range fire from the cruisers, with the Government gunboats rapidly closing on them with a pincer movement. That changed, and for the better. "All craft, this is Bomber Two Lead. The Wing's coming back in. Hold steady against those gunboats. All craft stand by your missiles."
"Missiles standing by."
"Target them and fire on lock," she clarified a moment later, activating her own auto-track targeting pod and selecting missile control.
"Hey Boss," her GIB, Michael Ginty, piped up. "We're taking missile tracking sweeps now. They're trying to lock on."
"All birds, missile engagement. Dump decoys and activating jamming pods! Get your anti-fighter salvoes off first!" Her pod sounded tone lock and with anti-fighter missiles selected, she depressed the trigger, salvoing eight of them off the rails toward the incoming gunboats. With nuclear-scale warheads they were far more powerful than anything they'd faced from the enemy so far.
"Bomber Two, break left and reacquire targets on the forward part of the enemy fleet!" She banked as the decoys flew on ahead, and then brought thrust up to full power. The squadrons to the right went right as their decoys stayed on ahead as well. The trick from that was that while it split them up into two groups, it would look to the sensors on the incoming gunboats like there was still one formation that had just launched decoys to each side, a typical decoy deployment pattern.
The gunboats fired their missiles and began evasives against the incoming fire. Chief Ginty punched the control that began to vent plasma from the warp drives, useless at the moment anyway, to create an anti-laser tracking screen. The bombers swept under the missile fire, tracking with the decoys. Those that turned against them failed in final homing.
Their own missiles had considerably more luck. Their seeker heads were simply designed against a much greater level of opposition than the Government Navy was used to dealing with. Several of the gunboats nailed by multiple impacts exploded.
That created the perfect chaos for Lar'shan to lead the fighter wing in. Selecting their targets they dove with guns onto the gunboats in a series of blistering passes more like strafing heavy targets than fighting fighter to fighter duels-some of the gunboats were huge, several thousand tonnes.
As the fighters took over handling the gunboats for them, the bombers finalised their approaches to their re-selected targets. "We've got tone lock, boss!"
"Pickle the load!" The Kestrel surged and bucked as the launchers heaved ten rounds each in the space of a second. It was like ten Huáscars had fired full torpedo broadsides simultaneously.
The enemy ships actually had excellent anti-missile defences, and the torpedoes fired from bombers never reached the same speed as from the rapid acceleration tubes of a starship. Enough torpedoes still got through to slosh the enemy capships about, destroying one, two, three of them outright. Others were tumbling out of control with misaligned engines from shock damage or thruster banks not responding to bridge commands.
The bombers pulled away, leaving the burning gunboats in their wake that the fighters continued to attack. They were the last threat to the Huáscar, and they were falling fast.
In the midst of the enemy fleet stood only one Trebuchet and five corvettes, now. The Huáscar approached by a circuitous route, recovering her bombers as they approached.
"The remaining gunboats are fully engaged by the wing, Captain," Elia's voice bubbled with energy. "We've got a clear lane for landing the original landing force. They don't have enough firepower left to stop us." Another furious group of forward torpedo salvoes and PPC shots punctuated the disparity, driving deep into the hull of one of the corvettes.
"Land the landing force, then, and keep us close to cover the attack! Give that squadron fire to dissuade them from interference."
"Land the landing force!" Elia relayed to Fei'nur. They each knew what was meant for them.
"Coming about to port," Violeta affirmed, putting the Huáscar between the landing vectors and the badly attrited enemy. Now, Daria began to give fires to starboard.
Zhen'var watched the display warily - this had already been a more difficult battle than she had hoped, and the situation was fluidly, concernedly uncertain.
"Captain," Fera'xero's voice betrayed his concern as his vocoder flashed. "We are picking up indications despite the interference, on long-range scans, of thrust byproducts. About fourteen hours out if it's a squadron of local technology vessels, which I believe it is."
"Then time is short. I want to know whose vessels those are, soon enough to make hard decisions, Science."
"Understood, Captain. If we can detail two runabouts to triangulate, I can have the answer in about ten minutes."
"Granted. The wing has been hard pressed, but additional escorts would, I think, not be out of place if it is possible.
"It'll have to be bombers, Captain. We have no fighters back aboard yet except casualties," Elia interjected.
"If they can turned about with missiles, to salvo and run if there are hostile fighters, let it be done, otherwise get the runabouts on the way with all possible speed."
"PriFly, arm those first two wings of bombers with missiles if you can," Elia directed.
"Confirm, Ops. Slinging missiles on the bombers," Stasia answered. She shook her head and looked around at her people. "One more nutty thing to do. Get on it, guys." There were far too few fighters in the air than she cared to think about, now.
Ca'elia had pushed her way deep into the heart of the ancient ship. At times it seemed like extensive repair work had been going on. Other times, she broke into sectors where there was nothing, just the dust of aeons. Finally, she approached the keel, where a cluster of heavy transfer lifts ran the length of the ship inside of the massively armoured structure, accessible through hatch-secured doglegs.
There was no gravity here, and she had kicked her way down into the transfer tubes. It was just in time to encounter a group of twenty or more purple bellies mustering to come out with heavy squad support weaponry. Something was up, and clearly, the area Abebech had identified as the bridge was occupied.
Situation desperate, but not serious! Analysis: Attack! Ca'elia's thoughts seemed to slow. Her hand shot out to grab a railing and change her vector as the young Dilgar's rifle snapped up. "Chew on this, you pus-filled boils!" A fusillade of shots cracked out, the sheer insanity of her decision still suppressed by the adrenaline surging into her veins.
The purple-bellies, struggling with their guns under the zero-gravity conditions, stared at her in shock as she sprayed fire across them. The shots were near enough to be aimed that several of them tumbled away, wounded or slain. The squad weapons followed, let go in the chaos, as several of the troopers struggled to gain one of the hatches and use it as both cover and a position to brace themselves to fire back from.
A leg kicked out to keep the Lieutenant moving forward, twisting to keep a line of fire on the Government troops. The small part of her brain that was still rational was screaming at her about doing such a thing, but her eyes were cold and pitiless as shots spat from her rifle. As the distance closed, Ca'elia tried to gauge the point at which going for her pistol and omniblade would be called for.
Her enemies didn't know what to make of the precipitously conducted attack. Four of them clustered around one of the hatches finally brought their rifles into action. Rifles. Slugthrowers. Of course; she was tearing through them because they couldn't fire at all in the circumstances, the recoil was just too great, without some kind of bracing. A few of the shots pang'd off metal near her and violently ricocheted down the tube.
With a sharp flip, her legs kicked out, catching one of the handholds on a wall opposite and sending her at right angles to her previous vector, diving for cover in another of the access hatched that branched off the access tube.
The Dilgar's fire raked into one of the purple-bellies who had managed to open fire. He spun off, bubbles of blood floating away from charred flesh. The other three shifted fire and again engaged with her, as another small group tried to push and kick their way to the hatch.
They had almost made it when fire came from above, and a moment later the three men at the hatch when spinning down into the centre of the tube. Following them was Mal, bracing himself on the hatch grab-irons as he opened fire on the group pushing toward them.
River followed, her Alliance rifle almost comically oversized in her hands, but she didn't use it. Instead, several of the purple-bellies went limp as she stared at them. Jayne followed, and finally Zoe, covering Simon. With the considerable increase in firepower the fight was over in a minute.
Mal couldn't help a grin. "Well, looks like you needed a bit of help, Lieutenant…"
"I don't think she did, actually," River called up from where she was idly tumbling in the midst of the tube, her victims now asleep.
"Ca'elia, sirs and madams. The bridge of this derelict is ahead, Captain Imra sent me forward to open a path to it. Your assistance, furthermore, is gratefully acknowledged and appreciated." Green eyes shone as she looked further ahead. "I should push on, the enemy's designs are best frustrated by aggressive action."
"We were supposed to help them evacuate and then get the hell out, Captain," Jayne reminded Mal. "What's in it for us?"
Hanging onto the grab-iron, Mal regarded the sharp looking, well-spoken Dilgar. He was going to answer when he saw that River had already started off. "River!" Simon exclaimed.
"...She needs us…" River answered, floating down the immensity of the keel-tube, leaving Mal to stare at Ca'elia. Then he shrugged. "Jayne, if you end up in Hell, it's mighty fine advice to keep going."
"So I have heard." With that, the Dilgar woman kicked off once more, moving quickly to build speed forward.
"Get her into the stasis tube," the female Operative was ordering, the CIC complex of the great old warship alive with communications as they tried to coordinate both the battle outside of the ship, that they were losing, and the battle inside the ship, that they were starting to do better with.
"Into the stasis tube?" The Alliance doctor looked up from his wounded. "Ma'am, this woman has been stabbed through the heart. It's pointless. Why'd you even have her brought back?"
"Doctor, she's not dead," Kalista answered. "And if she wakes up, we are quite likely to all die."
"The hell… What do you mean by …" His words were cut off in mid-breath as gloved hands flexed and shattered the cuffs restraining them. The hog-tied and trussed form of Abebech Imra was no longer unconscious, ropes cracking and snapping under the raw strength displayed. One of those hands snapped up in a blur of motion, then, and grabbed the Doctor and yanked him down, turning him at once into a human shield with a terrifying iron grip.
"Too late! Guards, everything at her!" Kalista felt a chill cross her heart. It had been so close before, and… She rallied her defences to a sudden power descending across them.
At least six purple-bellies spun with their rifles to respond to her order. She felt the crushing assault on her mind, hideous shapes in splashes of red and blood, strange beasts of Hell with their skin turned inside out and organs on the outside, monsters with cthonous limbs scrying, screaming, ripping at her mental defences. The open-shut of the Doctor's death from friendly fire completed the effect.
Kalista's own defences were the rudimentary ones of a telepath trained by mundanes, in a mundane school to create the perfect assassin. With River's disappearance some effort had been put into creating a mental defence for the new generation of Operative, but a matter of mundanes teaching telepaths was insufficient. This woman was as strong as an ox, as skilled as a scalpel. The defences that Kalista put in her way melted under an assault that was as psychologically draining as it was effective.
She collapsed under the assault, and it was her gun that spoke first, firing at her own men. Her aim, her training, her discipline, and her speed were all precise, and as she fired, Abebech leveraged herself up, with the remaining chains snapping. She pointed her hand at once group of advance purple-bellies and in a blur of blue and black shimmering energy wreathing half of her body, entrapped them into a singularity. There were screams at that.
Kalista's troops were falling left and right. More powerful bursts of energy were directed from Abebech's body as her sweat glimmered red. Abebech, in complete control, fired a gun in her off-hand as complement to the biotic attacks, one elbow jabbed into the limp warm body held against her, and forced Kalista to use her own gun against her own troops as they screamed in confusion and, yes, outright fear. Your assessment was correct since I have more than one heart, though the outcome would have been worse if I did not. However, it neglected the fact that I was never unconscious at all, Kalista, the voice that owned her, that possessed her, that had puppeted her body spoke with deliberate calmness.
The second one was installed to make sure that people like you were kept safe from people like me, she continued cryptically. Men screamed at her resurrection, as wrists and ankles bloody, she snatched one of the unneeded rifles and opened fire. Kalista was made to turn in time with her.
Groups lunged for her, but they were more than inadequate on the attack. Several purple-bellies at once would find their motor-neurons misfiring, others die as their brains instructed their hearts to stop. Seizures dropped more. Abebech was pitiless, finishing even those that fell to make sure that none rose again. Her snarling mental monsters stood like guard dogs over Kalista's shackled consciousness.
Kalista could see in her own eyes, even as they were controlled by another, what Abebech's looked like, her glasses removed, finally opened.
They were red. Solid crimson-red, no white, no other colour, except for the utterly huge black pupil. Abebech shoved the Doctor's fallen corpse aside-she had been holding it pressed close to her as a shield the whole while-and fired another sharp burst. The last of the purple-bellies in the room fell. Just like that, the entire thing was undone.
A ruse!? You let yourself be stabbed through the heart for a ruse!?
You are a descendant of the blood of the Terran Reich, put in you by hideous violation of the remains of those who struggled, fought and died. That's why you're going to survive. Of course it was a ruse. You haven't the power to take me, but I couldn't help my crew to win without showing them things I could not let them see. She gestured toward the inner bridge, and inexorably Kalista found herself forced to walk in measured steps.
Perhaps if you'd been trained from birth by the Psi-Corps or another experienced organisation, that would have been different. But you have been a Goddess to the Mundanes in this system - you didn't know what you were missing.
What. The. Hell. Are. You? She cried in desperate wonder, defiant anger, as Abebech slammed the circular hatch shut and dogged it.
An Esper. Just like you are.
Like Hell. You're something more.
I am an Esper. I've never let the rest define me. She made steady, measured steps, almost reverent, to the command chair, and sat into it, the old cushions breaking up from the age as weight was put into them, but they would do well enough for now.
"Code de Zugangs Alpha Sigma Nought Zeta Epsilon Tau, Beginnen l'Authentifizierung neuronschnittstelle."
"Authentifizierungssequenzaet commencat," the computer spoke, and Kalista gasped.
They had not made the computer speak in the decades of the project. One of the reasons for her creation had been that the scientists of the Alliance had concluded the ship functioned on telepathic interfaces. She had been brought here months before to test it, and failed.
Abebech spun the chair around to face her. As she did, a metallic probe extended out from it into her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Kalista steeled herself to lunge.
Forget it. I'm still in full control. Come here. The command was inexorable, overwhelming. Kalista began to walk to the command chair.
I just needed someone to get me to one of the neural interfaces, Abebech explained with a kind of smirking bemusement evident through her mind Kalista's, as the panels on the bridge lit up around her. Across the ship, bulkhead doors began to close again, snapping into place and trapping scientists and troops alike into their positions, as information flowed through computers, still functional after three thousand years.
And then she reached out, and dragged Kalista against herself. Now, child, forget me. Remember them.
"Captain," Elia jerked on the bridge of the Huáscar. "There's a power surge on the derelict."
"What?" Surprise suffused Zhen'var's voice, she couldn't help it. Power, from that wreck, that could be… very… problematic.
"Captain, it's going live across the boards," Fera'xero affirmed. "Subsystems power transmission across at least eighty percent of the intact hull is going active. I'm detecting reactor power signatures… This is like nothing we've seen before, Captain. It's generating a hyperspace band signature. The reactor is."
"Record everything, stand-by to retreat if necessary!" We are in far over our heads…
"They're hailing us," Bor'erj at comms craned his neck to the Captain. "Wait, no, it's Commander Imra…" he just activated the bridge circuit anyway.
"Commander Union of Allied Planets squadron, you are Instructed and Commanded to surrender. Boarding forces from the ASV Huáscar have full control of this vessel's electronics and will commence fire with the main batteries at our discretion." Abebech's voice was colder than usual, so much of pressed vacuum.
Captain Zhen'var froze, barely keeping naked shock from crossing her face. They had done what!? Captured the derelict and… somehow gotten the weapons to work?
Elia was grinning about as wide as her mouth allowed. "Captain, the surviving ships of the enemy squadron are signalling their surrender."
"... Redirect our Marines to take the ships and get them under control, then…" Shaking her head, Zhen'var marveled. I am going to have to put Imra up for promotion again.
