"Handles like a brick, or an arrow?" Caine asks with a hushed curse. He stands watchful at Stinger's left shoulder. Stinger perches on the captain's chair, his face set hard with grim focus, silvery bronze wings tucked and folded tight against his back. Aleksa watches on Stinger's right while his hands are a a blur of movement, managing the pleasure yacht's every turn and twist amidst the increasing chaos all around them. She glances from Stinger, back over her shoulder to where Nino hovers over the sprawling bulk of the machine. Under all their fingers, the structure has grown as high as her chest, an intricate cage of blue filigree wire encasing the frosted glass of a human sized, egg shaped pod.
"Can they not wait to kill us?" Nino moans under her breath, resolutely locking a shining wire into a dark receiving slot. "Just a few more!" Nino moans, refusing to relinquish her project now that it lay on the brink of completion. With a click, the device is flushed with a bright blue glow, which settles under her surprised watch to a deep, slow pulse. "Now that's progress," she murmurs, turning with elation, but all eyes are riveted on the froward screen, where hundreds of flares like a thousand tiny, dying stars reveal rebel ships engaged in a dizzy dance of death with Aegis forces.
"Certainly nothing like a zero single suit," Stinger replies with a swift, wry grin. A flash, a burst of light against the view screen evokes gasps from them all when the ship rocks beneath the concussive force. A thin, not quite screaming cry continues from the gap between Aknet and the wall, where Vladie's long arms keep their death grip on her trunk like legs.
"Caught between mines and fleetships," Stinger mutters.
"Fleetship?" Vladie face peers from between Aknet's knotty knees, his sickly pale shaded with the barest a hint of curiosity, as if this battle were some video game they could win.
"Smaller than a skimmer, larger than zeros." Vladie mouths 'zeros' without comprehension, his expression falling from confusion and chagrin at his ignorance of any of those vessels.
"Well, being stuck in this luxury tub, I'd take the fleetships," Caine suggests, even as Stinger is already veering their confiscated yacht away from the cloud of active, seeking mines.
"We're just going to leave them?" Aleksa cries out. "My daughter is in there?"
"So is mine," Stinger reminds her, eyes still gauging the fight they enter. "Doubt not they are much safer than we." Another blast against the ship punctuates this truth.
A voice comes over the communication panel, and an arm height image of Captain Tsing floats off to Stinger's left.
"Marshall Stinger Apini, are you still in command of the Abrasax vessel?"
"That I am, Ma'am," Stinger replies, "while it lasts." Another blast rocks the ship. Caine steadies himself by his lycantant reflexes. Aleksa and Nino steady each other like a four armed, wide eyed statue. "We are taking heavy fire. This ship isn't built for full scale battle."
"Can you rendez vous with one of the Aegis cruisers?"
"There are hundreds of rebel ships between us. I'm not sure we would make it." As if on queue, another blast rocks the ship. Stinger's swift fingers shift the controls, and the view of the ship slides wildly along the side of Morkenin's own, the gray haze of war hammers congealing into a near black, following their flight like some dark, baleful eye. Stinger slides between two sources of brilliant beams where two invisible ships fire a continuous barrage. One of the pulsing beams finds their vessel, and it shudders beneath the repetition of hits.
A gong-like ringing begins, echoing all through the cabin.
"Warning," intones a bodiless voice, "inertial dampeners failing," over Vladie's soft whines, Nino's mumbling 'we're all cursed,' and the booming echoes of blasts battering the walls that separate them from the relentless cold of the void. All around the cabin, the floor itself ripples with ridges and divets. Aleksa gasps with fear, but instead of buckling, a dozen thick chairs ooze upward, each ringed with wide shimmering straps.
"Buckle up..." Caine calls out even as he turns from the view screen, but the next blast throws sparks from walls as the ship's hull screams from the stress, throwing everyone save Stinger to the floor. Caine struggles against the forces pushing and pulling as Stinger continues to dive and weave through the fray. "Now," he commands as he lifts Nino by her shoulders. She sighs at the last handful of wires bobbing too freely from the softly glowing device, then lets him guide her step by shaky step and tosses the main strap over her head. He then turns to assist Aleksa. She pulls one arm over the seat, while he grasps the other, and together Aleksa slides into safety. He looks around, but Aknet is already holding Vladie against the confines of a nearby chair while he fumbles with panicky fingers on the straps. The safety chairs were never designed to allow for Aknet's bulk, but the claws of her feet have dug deep into the elegant tiled floor, leaving long ragged cracks, and with her long arms and flicks of her leathery wings, she steadies herself as well enough.
"These were here, all the time?" Aleksa mutters to herself while Caine takes a stalwart position back beside Stinger, bracing himself against the console and the back of the captain's chair, his bronze wings flared and flicking for balance.
Captain Tsing engages Stinger and Caine once more.
"I can't ensure your safety to travel by grav beam under these conditions."
"Of course not," Caine agrees. "We have been granted coordinates to board Her Majesty Morkenin of Heelsinth's ship, but the war hammer field will never part in the midst of live fire."
"Dock in a Heelsinth clipper? With an Abrasax registered craft?" Another model human image flickers next to Captain Tsing's. A man with a pale brown face, nose so long and arched it was as if the rest of his face hung from it, his broad shoulders clothed in the same black on black gear as Captain Tsing. His hair is also tied back in an efficient bun, but he sports two lightning cuts from temple to just behind his ears. A third figure emerges, this of a woman with a face as pale as cream and hair to match, a nose pinched tight and sharp, jutting chin, her deep brown eyes ringed with lines as fine as the severe slit of her tightly lipped mouth, the dark Aegis cloth doing her coloring no favors. Despite their peril, Stinger tries to keep his voice level and logical.
"We have been provided coordinates."
"Preposterous," the bunned man retorts, his thick, curling eyebrows raising with disbelief.
"Maybe, but Captain Tsing, I have to take that chance. Jupiter is on that ship." Caine points to his own view of the bristling white swan, just before he remembers that Jupiter is currently persona non gratta, and his hand and face clench with frustration.
"Jupiter?" The pale woman's eyes narrow. "Jupiter Jones?"
"Never!" Scoffs the imperious man. "Her Majesty Morkenin would never harbor a rebel fugitive!"
"Our mission is to provide neutral territory, not engage in a war. We should withdraw, and instruct their Majesties to do the same."
"If they are guests of the Heelsinth Empress, then they are all under our protection," the man insists, puffing out his chest.
Another blast rocks everyone's head side to side, forward and back. The bodiless voice chimes in with chilling calm.
"Hull integrity is failing. Critical breach imminent." An image of the ship emerges on Stinger's right, a purple red glow like a bruise blossoms near the vessel's belly, then another much nearer their own compartment. "Critical breach imminent," the voice continues to repeat.
"We don't have time for this!" Stinger cries out, just as Valdie begins to screech over him.
"Life pods, where are the freaking life pods!?"
"Enough! We're not giving those ships more target practice," Stinger snaps. "We're out of time, Captain!"
"Whatever you decide, do it fast," Caine says, leaning toward the three floating captains. The pale woman lifts her chin with a hint of defiance, then nods.
"Of course. Aim just ahead of those coordinates," and Captain Tsing speaks rapidly to someone just out of view. "Sending. Stand ready," she commands, her gaze falling on what must be her own little floating image of Stinger.
Quickly as space, yet achingly slowly, The three ships angle their broad noses toward an invisible point behind Morkenin's ship. Their trajectories converge, thick blue beams course forward, and an explosion blossoms as hundreds of war hammers destroy each other in the growing conflagration. A thin path emerges through the cloud of mines, which rapidly begin shift and fill the gaps. Behind them, tiny dots of light fight for existence, zeros and slip fighters alike.
"Go go go!" Caine yells leaning forward, even as Stinger has punched the ship toward that slim opening. Caine digs his right hand into the cushion at the back of Stinger's chair, his left gripping the slick, glassy edge of the control console with white knuckles. Acceleration pushes the rest deep into their seats, faces contorted with force and fear. Under his skilled hands, the ship weaves and doges, but the war hammers are organizing fast. An explosion, and another, rocks the ship, sets it spinning. Even Aknet loses her grip and begins tumbling around the back of the once gleaming chamber with deep, disgruntled growls. The strange, glittering machine teeters, threatening to break free of the jungle of wires connecting it to the ship.
Sparks, followed by thick, coiling smoke, and rising thin screams of terror fill the cabin.
Stinger's eyes are riveted on the gentle glow of the docking bay. Brilliant lights wash across his face from every side, yet his gaze never wavers, even as the ship spins round about him. An eagle plummeting upon its prey, the ship dives for the platform. Rocketing about the bay, it scrapes and skids and smashes until it comes to rest, rocking gently amid a spray of light and blinking shadow.
Captain Tsing strides closer to her own view screen, the crew holding its collective breath while the war hammers close the veil over the evidence of carnage. Images of the other two captains still hover over her console, while the third slot merely flashes an ominous red.
"Stinger?" she asks with only a bare sliver of hope.
"The Empress' sovereign secretary reports fires in the docking bay." The man's tone is measured and calm, but his eyes glitter with suppressed excitement as he rocks slightly on his heels.
"Caine?" Captain Tsing pauses, listening intently. "Can you hear me?"
"Here," comes a too soft groan, crackling across the com. "Damage report?" Stinger's voice asks to his own ship and its occupants.
Jupiter Jones clasps her hands tightly before her at that weak sound, watching the vision high above with abject horror. Kiza grips her arm, equally horrified. From her perch upon Bob's back, Gemma looks on with her implacable stare, while his eyes dart between the scene and Jupiter, his mouth a tiny 'o', earbuds whirring his despair.
"Nino? Vladie? Are you alright? Nino?"
Aleksa waves her shaking fingers to try and sweep away the thick clouds of smoke. She hears the coughing beneath the alarm tones of the ship, but peering around is still unable to asses the safety of her family.
"I think so." Nino's voice quavers. Somewhere ahead of them, Stinger punches something on the console, and the warning bells soften while a sudden breeze moves the clouds of smoke into curls, then wisps as the air clears. Vladie splits a grin upon sight of Aknet, bloodied but erect and moving backs torwards the fore of the cabin. He reaches out to give her a friendly punch on the shoulder, then halts his fist before he might actually connect.
"Mom?" crackles a new voice across the communication channel. "Mom? Nino? Are you OK?"
"Jupiter!" Aleksa calls out joyously, lifting her battered head with a new hope. "We're here! We made it!"
"Don't move!" Jupiter cries. "We're coming!"
Aleksa fumbles at the clasps strapping her to the chair, unable to contain her relief and excitement. "Caine, can you help me with these? I don't know these. Caine?"
She turns, and gasps a strangled 'No!,' then falls horribly silent.
They all turn at that sudden silence.
Caine lies on the floor, running his fingers through the bright blood pooling at his hip, staring at the long, glistening sliver of shrapnel pinioning him to the floor.