Part Two: Thaw
The battle group entered the asteroid belt at 0240 hours. There were five blast boats with supply ships, and a squadron of claw craft. One which Sorn was flying. After maneuvering through thick pockets of the floating rock they came to a clearing and set up the skirmish line. The claw craft were ordered to go ahead on a stealth vector.
Sorn eased his claw craft behind an asteroid as the rest of the squadron coasted in around him. He mouthed the names of the pilots as each fighter came into position. It had taken six months to learn their names, he noted with smile. Six months it had been since he joined the Hand Empire on Niraun. In those months he saw dozens of worlds, learned new languages and most of all mastered the claw craft.
"Report in." The C.O. said, his voice sounding computer like over the fuzzy connection. Reports streamed through with no rush as the squadron accounted for themselves, 'We have them on long range scanners. Beginning bombardment… now."
The blast boats opened up with staggered concussion torpedo fire in the general direction of the enemy. The torpedoes detonated in the distance with a faint flash. Under cover of the torpedoes the squadron slowly moved forward.
"Red 4, proceed carefully and gain a visual confirmation." The C.O. commanded Sorn.
Sorn repeatedly tapped the overdrive button and pulled away from the line of fighters. Even after six months of flying the fighter, its slight, but strong acceleration continued to surprise him. It was a great departure from the classic Chiss fighter. The claw craft was maneuverable and fast, while the Chiss fighter was large and laden with armor and firepower.
He drifted from rock to rock, between flights of torpedoes. Intermittent explosions bathed his claw craft in pure white light. His overdrive energized and went silent again and again to maintain the stealth factor. Finally, he glimpsed the colors of Vagaari design. These Vagaari were the remnants of the fleet that assaulted the Redoubt. In an attempt to escape they were running the blockade under the cover of this asteroid field. The Hand Empire would NOT let them get away. Nearly a hundred Chiss had died in that attack, but the consequences were even more far reaching. The retreating Vagaari took with them the coordinates of the station as well as a navigational route into the heart of the Ascendancy. While, the attack was repulsed the Vagaari survivors had to be terminated at any cost.
He did a quick overview of the convoy; two freighters, five transports, a light cruiser, and nine fighters. Everything was accounted for. They held a tight formation as they flew through the hail of explosions. Clustered together they had no idea that fighters were stalking them. Sorn smiled. They were ripe for the attack. He sent a signal to the squadron.
Soon enough eleven silent claw craft emerged from the rock field and took up hidden positions a thousand meters from the convoy. The time is right. Sorn thought as he pulled out a data card and plugged it in. It was his combat soundtrack; a combination of Chiss propoganda screamed by a crazed inciter at high decibel levels and a Chiss opera ballad from the time period of the species' conquests. He closed his eyes as he felt the sound wash over him.
"The Vagaari are a despicable barbaric race whose aggression of which we can only be cognicient of by knowing their FUNDAMENTAL FLAWS in social faculties which is displaced upon weaker species in the form of war. BY WAR they make up for a LAZINESS to attain social plasticity to improve themselves as a whole. BY KILLING they make up for an inbred SELF-LOATHING. WAR and PREEMPTION and MURDER to them is, but a means to reinvigorate an economy DEFUNCT by INTERNAL, BIOLOGICAL, and SOCIAL DEFECTS." The inciter yelled above a rising octave of ferocious opera that told of ancient heroes.
"ATTACK NOW!" The C.O. yelled. The opera sang gloriously. The torpedoes exploded brilliantly. The inciter shouted with national pride. Engines blazed. The hail of fire descending upon the convoy illuminated dead space. The squadron was a striking sword of fire. Nothing could be more glorious.
"CHISS ARE SUPERIOR BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO BE." Sorn's lasers ripped through a stalled Vagaari fighter.
"WE STAND AT THE VANGUARD OF THE COLD TOMB OF SPACE." A freighter reeled as claw craft made a brutal firing run across the length of its hull.
"PREEMPTION IS MURDER." Explosions mixed their fires as the enemy was cut down. The Vagaari were known for tight formations and in tight formations they were butchered like cattle.
"THE ASCENDANCY FOREVER."
Claw craft sent updated targeting information to the blast boats and the torpedoes tightened their firing pattern. The light cruiser banked away too late and was smashed by a wave of the missiles. In two minutes it was all over. The firing stopped. The victorious fighters coasted to a halt. The debris spread out clinking against their shields. Sorn couldn't help grinning. There was static in the opera and he realized too late it was the C.O. yelling over the cacophony. He hastily turned the noise off.
"I SAID, did any of them escape, Red 4." The C.O. said with frustration.
"Uhh, no sir. However, they did get a transmission out. I am performing a triangulation trace."
Sorn punched a few equations into an equation. With some mental math work and a determination of Vagaaric dialect he had the message in a matter of minutes. One word blinked on his screen. Doomsday. Sorn narrowed his eyes and his skin shifted.
"All fighters, get back to the blast boats, NOW! We have encountered an unidentified Vagaari warship… gravimetric anomalies… weapons useless…" The C.O.'s transmission became garbled and mixed with that of desperate combat.
Sorn was nearly paralyzed. He barely heard the squad leader's order to hit the overdrive. He hardly noticed his fingers actually do it. Anxious thoughts raced through his head. Vagaari…biotechnology… Unidentified? His fingers driven by fear and adrenaline punched the comm. The blast boats weren't responding. Sweat welled in his glove and nausea surged within him. Something was definitely wrong.
With six hundred meters to go they immediately came under fire. This was not normal blaster fire. They were orange and red projectiles of liquid fire. A claw craft was overwhelmed and burst into flames. The squadron leader shouted with primal fear the order to dive and evade. Sorn wound around a projectile and came up firing blindly.
There was the ship. It seemed Vagaari, but it was something far beyond. The hull was black corral with pulpy flesh like seams running across it like cracks. The ship pulsed as if a vile liquid ran through it; as if it had a… a beating heart. Even in the chaos Sorn's artistic side was enameled by the level of detail hideous as it was. They were erratic wrinkles, scars, grasping claws, teeth and even blinking eyes scattered across the hull.
He suddenly remembered at this inappropriate time his argument with Talx. He had never realized his inquisition would bring him here. Nothing in this galaxy could be so horrific. Through the throes of dying warriors Sorn saw the destruction of his race. THIS was the horror beyond the Chiss understanding. THIS was what warranted preemption. THIS was what the subject of Thrawn's dissent. THIS was the abomination.
Sorn fought on, but he felt dead inside. Images of Csilla in flames at the hands of this thing filled his mind. His shields were snatched by the singularity that distorted the light silhouetting the ship. The abomination even corrupted light. He fired uselessly at it as tears began to flow.
Fighter after fighter succumbed to the fire and finally the retreat order was given. They fled from the ship, but he could see clouds of fighters pouring out like spores. The fire followed their retreat and pilots screamed as they were burned alive. And, then there were two; Sorn and the squadron commander fleeing at top speed, but the enemy fighters were still gaining on them. Sorn hung his head in defeat when he saw a derelict supply ship shining with every intent of providence. It had to carry at least half a load of concussion missiles.
"I have an idea. Prepare for an over drive on my mark." Sorn said excitedly.
The squadron commander didn't have a chance to reply as a spider like creature attached to his ship. Where'd that come from. Sorn thought. He watched in terror as the creature dug bladed arms into the fighter. There was a rush of air and the cockpit windows turned blood. Sorn's comm was filled with the cries of a tortuous death. Gritting his teeth and blinking back tears he continued his plan with a new tenacity.
He turned off directional thrusters and turned all the way around while keeping the same vector. He was basically flying backwards now. The fighters swarmed like angry bees firing en masse at him. The hits rocked the ship and he struggled to line the sights up with the supply ship. There would only be one chance. With trembling hands and a jostling ship fighter beneath him he eased the joystick into position and squeezed the trigger. A four blasts flew out and hit the supply ship.
Nothing happened. He sucked in his breath. Then everything went white as the explosion issued. His ship was slammed by the shockwave and tumbled back. Struggling with the controls he finally brought the fighter back to homeostasis. Now with everything silent he dared to look back with hope of victory and the liquid fire hit. Multiple alarms went off and the fighter began tumbling through space once more. The fire ate through the side and splashed upon his suit. He fumbled for the hyperspace jump controls as, but his shaking hands kept fumbling. With widened fearful eyes he watched the fire continue to eat away. He gave way to panic and his fumbling hand turned into a fist slamming the controls with primitive fear. The fire touched skin…
Sorn sat unmoving on metal chair. His eyes were dead looking straight ahead without blinking. His scalded hand was tucked away in his disheveled and stained uniform. It was a drab colored room with no features except for the Chiss in the chair. The only sound was the ventilator making its periodic noise. Sounds of static filled the room as an intercomm was activated.
"What is your name and rank?" Said a woman's voice coming from the intercomm. There was no reaction from the Chiss until finally his chapped lips parted and a strained voice came out.
"Sorn… ensign…" He replied dejectedly.
"What happened to your squad?"
"I do not remember."
"What happened to your squad?"
"…I do not remember…" Cracks of emotion began to show on Sorn's face.
"What happened?"
"I said, I do… NOT… REMEMBER." The anger rose in his chest.
"What…"
"I SAID I DON'T REMEMBER. I SAID I DON'T REMEMBER. I SAID I DON'T REMEMBER. WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING? I DON'T REM…" Sorn savagely grabbed the chair and slammed it into the wall.
Talx watched from an observational window. His posture was stiff with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his lips were pressed into a taunt line. A women wearing medical jumpsuit stood beside him.
"As you can see, repeated questioning drives him to these violent outbursts. Usually he is in a state of near comatose. We believe that it is a severe form of posttraumatic stress," the woman's explained. She stopped abruptly though she looked like she had more to say, "However, he did suffer from alien contamination so then the problem could be biological… in which case he may be irreversibly damaged." Her eyes turned to the floor, "I have heard he was your most favored student."
"Have you tried visual stimulation with artistic patterns and shapes? That has been shown to rehabilitate Chiss." Talx replied quickly ignoring her last comment.
"He shows even more rage at art. His exact words were 'I do not want to see. I might see too far… over the rim.'" Talx took some time to absorb the statement. He hastily changed the subject.
"So, you think a familiar voice will give him some stability?"
"That's what we're hoping. There's a lot of pressure from command to have him tell us what he knows and interrogation of my patients is certainly not why I signed up." Her voice took on an edge of anger.
"It is alright. You made the right choice. Now, I want to talk to him alone."
Sorn cowered in a corner watching the mangled metal mess of the chair. He was afraid of his own rage, afraid of the universe, most of all afraid of the abomination. After his ordeal the universe had turned into a cold dark place full of monsters and boogey men. He didn't even look up as the doors opened and Talx walked into the room. Talx came up behind and assumed a military stance. Sorn didn't acknowledge. The professor finally made a deliberate clearing of the throat. Sorn turned around with squinted eyes and gave a feeble salute.
"What's wrong, ensign Sorn? You were right. You wanted the thing that would make Doctrine Defense obsolete. You wanted the thing that is worth killing. Why so sad? You got what you wanted." Talx asked harshly. Sorn's eyebrows bunched and a glint of anger showed in his eye.
"You knew about it. THRAWN knew it. I did… NOT WANT THIS." Sorn said bitterly.
"And, now YOU know it. So, what are you going to do with this knowledge? Are you going to cower in fear all your life? Are you forget your quest for knowledge and return to traditional Chiss ideals? Is it too much?"
"I watched my squad be SLAUGHTERED. It was not a death like any other combat. We were prey and the enemy was the predator. The enemy was an animal. It stabbed us with its own claws. It spit at us with its own mouth. It wanted to eat us like cattle. Do not lecture me about my ignorance. I deserve my ignorance." Terrifying replays of the battle began to unfold in his mind. He paused for a moment and then broke down. His body was wracked by heaving sobs and he began rocking, "How… how can we defeat such a thing? We will never understand it. We can never plug it into a computer. We… just… can't. Every day I see that thing devouring our homeland. Everyday I see doomsday. How… how?" Sorn couldn't go on anymore.
Talx turned his eyes away to give the ensign dignity. He rest a hand on the shaking shoulder.
"Your right. The Ascendancy alone cannot defeat this enemy. That is why you are here. That is why you left your homeland." Sorn paused at Talx's words, "Everyone meets their destiny and it is always terrifying, but it is the HEROES who face their destiny."
"What is my destiny?" Talx smiled.
"You are so much like Thrawn." He said affectionately.
Talx handed him a data pad, saluted and left. Sorn's fingers trembled as he accessed the data. The loading bar reached it full point and his fate was revealed. His fingers stopped their tremors. He was not afraid any more. Instead of the universe seeming like a vast and cold place, it became smaller; more personal.
The data was an anthropomorphic trace of the Vagaari migrations. At one point at the rim of the galaxy there was another vector coinciding with the nomadic race. The vector flying straight as the crow flies came from outside the galaxy. Somewhere, that crow cawed with delight.