CHAPTER THREE:
PERPETUOUS RESOLVE
"Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn."
—William Butler Yeats, 'Into the Twilight'
Flesh tore and parted, bones snapped and blood gushed forth as the bone blades slashed into the information broker's ribcage.
Caterina snarled as she jerked her forearm from the fatally wounded Nightsider, catching her victim with a backhanded blow that split open his skull and propelled him and the chair to which he was bound to the floor. Too loyal for his own good, was this one. Loyalty that had been well-bought indeed.
Severus and Ulixes exchanged glances at her anger, pausing briefly in their search of the broker's den. Shrugging, the elder Nietzschean returned to his perusal of a stack of flexis, and Ulixes slid another datachip into his 'port, closing his eyes as he absorbed the information within.
Nerrentar had gathered a considerable wealth of knowledge about their Pride's military standing and activities—so comprehensive that Ulixes had found information pertaining to operations of which even this team had not been privy to. Of course, he had no intention of informing the others of the extent of this development—to do so would be to interfere with the plans he had formulated in the past hour.
He sighed contentedly as his thoughts turned once more to the operation's leader. Caterina Bianca was an agent of considerable skill and repute, and he had to admit to finding the silver-haired firebrand most alluring, and certainly an extremely capable operative. If a little prone to outbursts.
A boot heel slapped the furry carcass, breaking bones, and he smiled privately at the sound. Outbursts such as that one. But that truly was part of her charm. It was only too bad she was sterile. Even so, despite his instincts and adherence to the conventions of his species, he was extremely tempted by the idea of entering into a courtship with her.
His thoughts drifted back to the cause of her recent anger, remembering how her eyes had shone as she threatened, seduced and tormented the broker. Nerrentar had kept no record, or at least no record that they had yet found, of the identity of his client. Of who desired so ample an archive of data about the Orcas. Of who had paid him so very handsomely.
Hence the search.
He felt a stab of curiosity as the chip's data flowed past him—a tourist brochure of all things! A pamphlet detailing the nightlife of the Dihedra system.
Ulixes Praetorias of the Orca Pride never did see the shot that ended his life. The shot that so very narrowly avoided damaging the data chip in his neck. Nor would he ever know just how important that chip really was.
Caterina howled in frustration and anger as Severus and Ulixes fell in swift succession, tearing out her falcate hanger as she leapt to the gantry way that ran about the cavernous room's upper level. The barbed steel slashed at the shooter's throat, and her bone blades, still dripping with the Nightsider's blood, stood erect and begging to her that they be sheathed in this impudent upstart's flesh.
The shooter—a kludge, she realised as she drank in his scent—flipped himself smoothly backwards over the rail. Her free hand tore her pistol from its holster, and she blazed away even as he landed into a neat roll, dodging and dancing his way through her shots.
"Bastard." He reached cover—a large, bulky computer bank. "KLUDGE!" she screamed as she vaulted the rail. "Surrender now and I'll be merciful when I kill you."
She paused as she detected a metallic sound, eyes widening as she realised exactly what it was.
This was impossible.
Hurling himself up and over the computer bank, the human was a blur. Even shrouded as he was in his long pale brown coat, he moved impossibly fast, and she was unable to smell any cybernetic enhancements in his body.
The staff snapped her head back, another blow caught her in the abdomen and she crumpled in on herself. Wheezing and snarling, she slashed out with her blade and the figure dodged to one side, flipping the staff so as to reverse its end.
She looked up, meeting the harsh glare of light that spat from the force lance's muzzle with a glower of her own.
Gaheris Rhade sagged against the weapons locker wall with a sigh of relief whilst the salvage captain sealed the door, emptying a pistol into a group of Magog that struggled to get past the fortified barrier.
Andromeda's captain opened the case at the end of the chamber, helping herself to a new force lance and tossed one to him. He grinned wearily even as he snapped it out of the air; despite his blood loss, injuries and fatigue, his reflexes were as razor sharp as ever.
"When we're done here, we head for Command," she bluntly stated. "Someone's flying my ship, and I want to get control again."
"Would you mind if I borrowed one of those?" the privateer—Forbes, he reminded himself—asked, glaring at the four ammunition clips that lay in his hand. "I left most of the ammo on my ship—we were expecting to have a discussion and then get stuck in with repair work, not a full-blown firefight."
Beka looked pensive as she glanced at him. "How do I know I can trust you with a force lance?"
He looked grim as he snapped a clip into a pistol. "Right now, ensuring the safety of my crew and ship are my top priorities, and working with you seems the best way to do that. Besides," he grinned at her as the other clip clicked home, "you need me just as much as I you. The Admiral here has barely two pints of blood in his body, if that—no offence mate, but you need a medic. One of my crew happens to be an expert in that field, so—" he winked, "looks like you're stuck with me."
Gaheris nodded weakly. Though he was loath to admit it, he was weak.
A nod from the platinum-haired captain. A third force lance was drawn.
"Come on, come on…" Harper muttered to himself, scrabbling his way through a sea of datastreams. "Memory core, memory core. Who's got the memory core. Ha! Rommie, you're gonna owe me one for this," he grinned. Grabbing hold of another datastream, he examined it, then turned to another one.
"Second time's the charm," he thought, opening the strand—and Andromeda's intercom.
"Captain? Captain Valentine, can you hear me?"
"Lieutenant? Where are you?"
"I hacked into Andromeda's main memory. She seems to have reverted to a pre-combat personality backup, and I, uh, I found a record of what happened after she made that backup but it's locked away under an Argosy Level Seven Encryption? Thing is, it looks old, I mean really old—at least three hundred years or more. She's been trying to kick me out with defensive software that belongs in a museum." He shrugged helplessly. "What's the magic word?"
Beka looked at the others. "She won't recognise my codes. If the encryption's really that old, then this mission Andromeda's performing happened years before I was even born."
Gaheris grinned through his pain as he buckled on the breastplate of a suit of Lancer armour. "She'll recognise mine. I was her fifth commanding officer after all. Andromeda, we have a Level Seven emergency. Unlock all classified memory files. Authorisation, Admiral… Authorisation Lieutenant Gaheris Rhade, Argosy Special Operations Service, Division Five. Override code 'Grey-Break-Seven-Nineteen'."
Harper frowned inside the matrix even as the barriers melted before him and he found himself standing in a visual representation of Andromeda's command centre. "Rhade? Captain, what's going on—?"
"I'll explain later Mr. Harper," she interrupted. "Long story. Focus on the memory files for now."
"Okay, well, I'm in." He stared about him in growing fear. "Oh, man. Captain? I think when Andromeda made that backup, she was attempting the same mission she's on now."
"No surprise there," she replied.
He gulped as he passed deeper and deeper into the file. "Yeah? Well, it gets worse."
Magog roamed freely around Command, munching on the bodies of dead High Guard officers. A trio of Lancers lay writhing and screaming in agony as the snarls and squeals of Magog larvae were clearly audible, climaxing as the vile little creatures revelled in their bloody birth.
Feeling sick, Harper forced himself to speak. "She lost, Captain. Andromeda was overrun, and her entire crew massacred."
The city, so artistic in its architecture, merged seamlessly with the landscape. Despite the aging damage from the decades of war suffered, life still thrived there, animals and trees flourishing within its walls and sheltered snugly in the lee of its elegant towers.
A fiery trail burned its way across the dazzling blue skies. Toward its target.
Toward the city.
Light swept out from where the flaming harbinger landed, engulfing the majestic streets and thriving ancient trees.
As she watched in horror from a park bench, the light swept throughout the city, engulfing everything and everyone. Children, human and Nietzschean, Than and Perseid, screamed in terror, huddling desperately with their families and each other as the light touched them.
She screamed too, howling and weeping as the huddled innocents flew apart like leaves as the light fell upon them, her cries echoing with agony as the murderously radiant fingers caressed her as well. As her flesh burned and poured blood-red flames into the air, as her bones cracked and snapped and melted in the intense heat, her muscles and organs exploded into bloody pulp and all that was left of her were her screams—
Sweating and panting, wide-eyed, she sat bolt upright in her bed, sheets tangled all about her from the thrashings of her troubled slumbers. She looked down at her left hand, and carefully placed the weapon it had instinctively grasped on the covers as she slid from the bed.
She quickly glanced about her chambers; all seemed to be in order. Her desk, of course, was an utter mess, awash with flexis and datachips, a computer terminal the only bare bastion to be found. To the untrained eye it looked to have been ransacked.
Crossing to the windows, she shrugged her uniform's jacket over her shoulders, over the thin shirt and slacks that comprised her nightwear. She smiled briefly and snorted quietly in faint amusement as she noted the time displayed by the chronometer; it was most doubtful that anyone save the sentries and those whose work took them into such intolerable hours was about, but it still would not do for one of her standing to be spotted in such…reduced…attire.
She reached through the billowing drapes and flung open the floor-deep windows, arching her neck and closing her eyes in pleasure as the light of the moons flooded her chamber. She revelled in the beauty of their light, allowing the calming effect to wash through her. Her raven-dark tresses glittered in the silver light, her jacket buckles shone proudly and her skin, paled in the light, glowed as brightly as a star to her eyes. Ivory bone blades, polished and nurtured, gleamed and verily radiated their promises to provide defence to the very last.
She gazed out upon the city before her.
The city she had seen murdered in her nightmare.
War came once more to the ramparts of this world. She could almost smell it, even now, so long from its coming.
It would find the men, women and hermaphrodites under her command waiting for it, aye, and ready too. To take victory once again.
But how much longer could they do so? Attacks were constant from the multiple factions, unrelenting and harsh. Casualties were inevitable in every campaign, and it pained her as it did the inhabitants of this world to know that the attacks would never end.
She turned her liquid brown eyes upon the photograph by her bed. If any could restore hope to a people with none, it was him. He would find it.
If anyone could rekindle the fires within her heart and breathe hope and life into her once more, it was him.
She reached over to the bed, and took up her weapon once more. Shining as it did in the moons' light, it looked if anything more deadly, more deceptively beautiful than ever.
They would hold. She would lead until she had only herself to command, and even then she would continue to hold and defend, to fight on to the very last breath she drew. The life of not one innocent would be taken until she and all her soldiers had fallen, and any foe would be hard-pressed in this task.
Thus it was that she vowed this night, in the twilight of her people.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Carl shouted over the sounds of his pistols blazing away.
Beka shrugged beneath her body armour, snapping her force lance about and blasting a pair of Magog. "Be my guest!"
The salvage captain grunted as he neatly planted a booted foot into the face of a yowling Magog, kicking it back a pace before blowing its brains out with a single well-placed shot. "Did your ships used to go army-barmy a lot in the old days?"
"Rarely. There was one missile frigate, the Halo of Glory, he ended up developing shellshock and needed years of therapy. He was never quite the same again."
"So what—oh, bollocks!" Pistols empty, Carl spread his arms wide as another Magog rushed him. He could try to reload a pistol, or—
His chin jerked forward, slamming into the Magog's face and reducing its features to a bloodied pulp. A kneecap met a stomach, and a heavy, empty pistol clubbed the creature to death. Carl glared at the tumbling corpse as he wiped the smeared grey matter from the weapon's heavy muzzle. "As I was saying, what made Andromeda go on the blink?"
"No idea," she admitted. "She was sabotaged during Hephaestus—this could be the result of that, just a delayed response."
"Hm. If we find my crew unharmed by her, she has my sympathies."
"And if not?" Gaheris shot him an inquisitive glance.
"There'll be hell to pay." The hammers slammed home empty on both pistols for the last time, and they vanished into their holsters once again as he drew out the force lance.
Harper emerged from Andromeda's matrix to find a bloodied and battered Pyrrhus Anasazi operating the internal defences with a vigour he had seldom seen outside of High Guard personnel. Magog corpses littered the corridor behind their seats, and the walls were scoured of all insigniae and their paintwork.
What was perhaps most surprising was the music that issued forth from a little device on the Nietzschean's waist—the 1812 Overture. Pyrrhus grinned as his fingers flickered over the fire controls, and favoured the engineer with a wink when he noticed his emergence from cyberspace.
"Have you succeeded?"
Harper shrugged shakily, grimacing as his mind returned in full to the pain of his body. "I've started the reintegration of Andromeda's memories. Shouldn't take too long—quarter hour, half hour tops. I, ah, see you've been busy?"
"This is the most fun I've had in a year!" he laughed. "Just don't tell my employer that—he worries that he and his crew don't keep me sufficiently entertained."
Harper stared at him incredulously, blinked in confusion. "Oh-kaaay…your secret's safe with me."
Pyrrhus paused briefly to mop sweat from his brow, and wiped Magog blood from his thick flak jacket. "A good plan, Mr. Harper. If you should ever find yourself looking for employment, we could make a good team."
The other grinned. "Thanks. But there's no way in hell I'm leaving Andromeda."
He shrugged. "Entirely your loss my friend."
On the Command deck, Trance was tiring.
"All androids are down. Magog are within fifty meters of the command centre. Next destination," Andromeda ordered from the viewer.
"I can't. I can't do this anymore," Trance groaned in exhaustion.
"We may be pushing her too hard. Slip piloting is taxing." Andromeda's hologram was beginning to look concerned.
"We have to keep going," her image on the screen declared. "We may not be able to hold the Magog off much longer."
"If we continue, she might make a mistake and that would be worse than waiting," the hologram mused.
"It's all happening again." Andromeda gasped.
Trance looked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean 'again?'"
Her hologram looked confused.
Trance grew even more worried. "Andromeda?"
"Memories. I…"
"You've done this before, haven't you?" Trance realised. "This…all of this…you've done this before."
Andromeda stared at her contemplatively from the screen. "I remember failure."
Trance jumped as sparks flew from the door. Someone was trying to cut through it.
"Andromeda, don't let me down now of all times," Beka muttered to herself as she gouged and tore at the door seals with her force lance.
Beside her slumped an exhausted Magog. He'd been most surprised, but extremely relieved to see them, having battled there for quite some time alone, and even despite his weariness had been most polite in greeting her and Rhade. He was convinced that a member of the salvage crew was within Command, and that had been good enough for Forbes. The Admiral, the legend himself, leaned heavily against the wall, firing steadily one-handed.
A Magog plummeted from a nearby ladder shaft, only to be pitched to the deck as an extended force lance caught it in the abdomen, the killing shot fired point-blank. With a deft flick of his wrists, Forbes flipped the lance lengthways, firing down the sloping corridor into the charging ranks of Magog, lending his fire to Rhade's.
Trance flexed her tired fingers as they emerged from slipstream. "Andromeda, think. You have to remember. You've done this before. Where did you go? What happened?" She smiled faintly in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. "And once you remember that, all the rest should fit into place."
"I don't. I…" The hologram broke off, shaking her head in confusion.
"We have to finish the run," her screen image decided. "Jump all the way to the final location."
"Where is that?" Trance asked.
"A hundred more slips, at least," Andromeda's hologram admitted.
"But that can take days, even weeks," Trance pointed out.
"Our orders are clear," Andromeda snapped from the screen. "We have to complete the mission."
Behind Trance, the doors opened to admit an unlikely quartet; two High Guard officers, two haulers, stumbling as they entered.
"Slipstream! Now!" Andromeda ordered, anger flashing in her eyes at the breach of her command centre's security.
Trance nodded, and they entered the slipstream.
While Carl gave him covering fire, Rev nimbly opened a control panel, sealing off Command once again.
With a shuddering, Andromeda exited slipstream. The slipstream control support rose back into the ceiling, and Trance leaned heavily against the console before staggering away.
A vast structure filled the viewscreen. Several worlds, cratered and battered, were linked in a latticed framework. A miniature sun glowed a sickly pale yellow from the centre of the structure.
Beka stepped up to the piloting console. "What the hell? Andromeda, report."
Her visage on the screen looked at her, vague recognition hazily dawning. "Who…?"
"Do as she says," her hologram advised.
"Scanning. They're worlds. Fourteen of them joined into some kind of structure."
"You're Beka," her hologram realised. "My captain…"
She nodded. "The structure. Focus on the structure."
"I remember this," Andromeda's screen visage realised. "I've seen it before, but millions of light years away in another galaxy."
Beka nodded. "This is what you were looking for on your last mission."
"It was," she agreed. "Those worlds—they're hollow. And they're full of Magog. Trillions of them." The deck shook once more. "More Magog assault ships have impacted on the hull. Internal defences are still operational. Another wave is already inbound."
Beka leapt into action, grasping the piloting controls. "Carl, take over the fire control station. Andromeda…"
The hauler captain nodded as he vaulted the console. "Missile tubes are off-line, powering AP batteries—"
"…take us out!"
"—am putting down covering fire into those swarmships, activating PDL's—"
"Beka. I'm detecting a massive power build-up in the world structure," Andromeda announced from the screen.
"Evasive manoeuvres. Fire control, lay down a smokescreen if you can."
"Smokescreen, got yer. Mines away on timed detonators, PDL's and AP batteries have fully engaged the swarmships. We can handle what we've got, but no more."
"It's firing," Andromeda announced. "Point singularity weapons!"
"WHAT!" Beka stared at her as she danced Andromeda through the firestorm. "How the hell did Magog get experimental black-ops weaponry?"
"Beka…I'm detecting signs of heavy damage on the structure. Elevated radiation levels, EMP X-rays, gamma rays, oscillated neutrinos…I remember now." She stared at them. "The last time I engaged the structure…Captain Perim ordered a Nova strike."
Gaheris nodded weakly. "That was my team's mission—to locate the Magog worldship and plant an experimental enhanced Nova bomb within, and detonate it. It was hoped that we could destroy it…and we failed. We blew out the sun again…took out two of the planets. The others…" he broke off, collapsed to the deck.
"Trance!" Carl shouted over the weapons' fire. "Work your magic if you please!"
She crossed to the injured Nietzschean, helping him upright as he blinked blearily and nodded his thanks.
The deck shuddered as more swarmships latched onto the hull, and Beka growled under her breath.
"Novas have slowed them down before. Rommie, how long before that thing reaches known space?"
"Approximately two years. But if we can destroy the sun, at least twice that, maybe more."
"The gloves are off."
Charlemagne Bolivar was a man who could not be hurried, nor upset, with any ease whatsoever.
Thus it was that when his aide-de-camp arrived to inform him of the most recent losses in battle against the Drago-Kazov Pride, the Arch-Duke appeared not to have heard him, as he continued his luxurious dinner, the speed of his spoon dipping into his fine caviar unchanged.
It was, he decided, so very tiresome how the Dragans refused to acknowledge their territorial boundaries.
It was with this in mind that he ordered the deployment of another fleet group to the Ynarris Cluster.
"Initiating Nova deployment sequence." Beka smiled grimly. "Let's bring it."
"Acting First Officer Carl Forbes. Nova deployment authorised. Zero Zero Strike Red Zero." A siren sounded.
"Acting Armsmaster Trance Gemini. Nova deployment authorised. Retro Nine Blue Strike Five Nine Five." A second siren, a second green light.
"Fire Control Officer Gaheris Rhade. Arming Nova weapons one through forty. Execution code nine five over seven blue five. ARM." One light was left to be lit.
Rev looked up from his console. "Ready for your final order," he announced.
"Captain Rebecca Valentine, commanding officer. Nova deployment authorisation ten break alpha strike strike strike."
Carl looked up from his station. "They're ready."
Beka grinned as she wove them through another wave of swarmships. "Missile tubes one through ten. Fire." The deck trembled as the warheads leapt from their tubes. "Second salvo. Fire. Third salvo. Fire. Fourth salvo. Fire!"
"All missiles away," Carl confirmed. "Suggest we get the hell out of here?"
"Just a minute," she looked over at him. "We need all the data we can get on that thing. We'll see what the Novas can do, then run like hell."
The viewscreens went completely white, and they all glanced away, fleetingly blinded by the dazzling flash.
When the view cleared once again, the worldship still lay there. More battered than before, its sun destroyed and another three planets lay in shattered ruins.
It still stood, even as Beka flung them into slipstream.
