Well hello everybody, I'm back with the next update here. It looks like the story is finally getting some action, or will in the next chapter after this. Well here's Chapter 5. Enjoy.
ATTACK
The immense form of the T'Hranii battlecruiser glided silently through space, silently towards its ultimate goal.
The world that was the third in the Rukbat system was no longer a mere dot against the background of space but was now a looming sphere, continents and the one lone ocean and countless islands all clearly visible. Also, from its current vector of approach, it was able to visibly confirm the two starships in orbit above the third world.
The ancient colonizer only further confirmed the Minds' suspicions of this being a mere colony. They scanned the data acquired from previous excursions into Human space and found references of vessels similar to it. Such colony ships were from an age in the distant past of Terran history, and were completely unarmed. The Minds would have no trouble dealing with it.
But they were still wary of the huge freighter/battleship that loomed nearer and nearer, its mere presence seemingly, incomprehensibly, instilling a shred of fear into them. The freighter would be able to destroy both themselves and their carefully laid plans with relative ease if it were given the chance.
But with a bit of timing, initiative, and coordination, even such a vessel as this could be destroyed itself with ease. Hopefully, they thought, nothing would go wrong.
At that moment, a pair of large panels on opposite sides of the battlecruiser slid open, exposing bare, unlit shafts into the interior. In unison, four groups of twelve T'Hranii starfighters flew stealthed from the shafts. The fighters quickly separated into their assigned patterns for this phase of the plan.
After the fighters departed, the next step in the Plan occurred. The large wingtips of the alien battlecruiser separated from the wings. They were not wingtips at all but their own full starships of their own accord. The new ships quickly pulled away from the main body and, under their own protective cloaking field and guiding hand from a Hive Mind, approached the surface of the planet below, unseen and unexpected.
They concluded that if they had gotten this far in their grand plan and so far nothing had happened, then they were safe.
They spoke, or rather thought, far too soon.
A malfunction or fluctuation of some kind in a part of the main supply grid that had a questionable reliability, caused a temporary loss of power to the stealth field generators, the precious pieces of hardware that were so much relied upon. Though the loss was compensated for in a mere fraction of a second, the effect was profound.
Even though it would not even be visible to the naked eye, the most sensitive of radars would have detected the T'Hranii ship. Though the old colonizer possessed only basic sensor equipment, a mere second later this was proved.
What was once a docile, seemingly unarmed and unmanned transport was quickly becoming a very powerful warship, bristling with firepower. Its very surface seemed to morph and melt, exposing the dangerous armaments so carefully concealed. It had seen the T'Hranii starship, in an obvious way, and was now taking its own precautions.
How would a human say it? A monkey wrench had been thrown into their plans. Yes, that phrase seemed appropriate.
In a matter of minutes The Hive Minds had calculated dozens of possible scenarios, countless outcomes, and many different new battle plans to compensate for this unexpected development. But regardless at what minor adjustments they made, or changes introduced, only one of plans seemed to offer a better shot then the others at continuing its plan.
So this plan was simply set in motion.
Its former course would have taken it near both ships, across and above their beams. But if the Freighter saw them again it would likely simply fire in that general direction until it scored hits. And the stealth bubble would simply collapse under a few kinetic impacts. The T'Hranii now aimed their ship towards the stern of the freighter to get behind it, where the enormous vessel was vulnerable.
Moments later, when The T'Hranii cruiser was finally in position, where it would be able to do the most damage the most quickly, it dropped its cloak.
The power that had been flowing to the cloak was suddenly diverted and split between the forward shielding and the primary beam weapon. It quickly began to charge to its minimal energy requirement. The freighter would have detected it by now. Then suddenly the Minds detected the sudden buildup of energy in the freighters' aft shields as well as in its huge engines.
The Minds could wait no longer. As the shielding on the freighter reached the maximum level of power and its enormous FTL engines began to spool up, the T'Hranii's own powerful beam cannon fired.
Second Fleet, 1101 hours, 39 A.U.s from Rukbat Prime
In a flurry, the fighter pilots of the 498th and their Marine charges flew out of the gaping maw of the Sargasso's fighter hangar.
The first wave of fighters was the elite Bloodtail Squadron, led by Lieutenant Falsner. They were followed in succession by Luger Squadron, then Image. Eighteen Stilettos quickly tightened from a loose formation around the Escort Destroyer C.T.S. Firecross, Their escort that would take them into the Alpha Sagittarius system and escort the Monolith back to the fleet's present position. Or at least hopefully. He had only heard of Jean Philippe Diet, the ship's Captain only recently at the main briefing. But he had heard that he was a bit eccentric, to a point.
Barely seconds after the first three Fighter wings had launched, a trio of heavy SHRAC Type 2 Assault Ships rocketed from the Hangar, each carrying a cargo of twenty Marines, three platoons altogether. This would be the Landing party that would board the Monolith. Falsner knew from his Academy days that a single round of AA in the right spot on a Shrac would disable it. He hoped that they wouldn't run into trouble, for the Marines' sake.
The final wing, Sphinx Squadron, launched next, flying not Stilettos or Shracs but the few remaining Vanguard bombers aboard the Sargasso, each nearly twice the size of a Stiletto. The Vanguards were also more heavily armored and carried a massive payload of weaponry, but lacked the speed and maneuverability that Falsner preferred. He would rather die gracefully than a slow-moving bull's-eye.
The small craft, their numbers now at twenty-seven, packed tightly around the Firecross, wings and wingtips no more than feet from the hull of the destroyer. The pilots all knew, for the most part, that despite the fact that they'll have traversed half the system, they wouldn't have moved an inch in relation to the destroyer or each other. Falsner had executed a deepspace jump in a fighter cockpit only once before, and didn't particularly cherish the idea of being in shitblack nothing even if only for a few seconds.
A voice crackled over the Comm. It was from the Firecross. "Deepspace jump in t-minus sixty seconds. All craft, prepare for jump."
Deepspace. It was the exact polar opposite of hell. It was anyone's guess on the exact temperature, but the general consensus was that it was in the far negative. Falsner didn't exactly know who developed it or anything about the history of the technology, only that it was first employed during the Farbanti Rebellion. Electromagnetically shielded starships were resistant to the effects of this parallel dimension, but lack that and all input from your five senses is subdued for the duration. He had gone through that hell once, on that covert op two years before. He had not been planning on it again.
Lt. Falsner then called over the private line. "Hey Valero, you done this before?"
"Hell no. you?"
"Yeah, once. Just count to ten when it hits you."
"What hits you?"
"Sir," it was Texas. "They said that if you went through this you counted to eight back at the Academy."
"We're not at the Academy anymore. This shit is real."
Lt. Nassau "Redeye" Valero had grown up in the homeworlds, light years and light years away. He had never asked her about her family, if she even had one. All he knew about her was from a psychological evaluation report, something about her being traumatized in the past. And, as Falsner had often noticed, preferred deep meditation to standard recreational activities.
Pt. Armani Thurst, a.k.a. "Raccoon". The callsign was derived from the enormous black rimmed glasses he first wore back in the Academy days that made him resemble the earth creature. He was normally mild-mannered and not outspoken, but, next to Capris, was one of his most trusted wingmen. And he was one of the best tacticians Falsner had ever met, graduating first of 205 in the Strategic Class. He had originally been nicknamed "Bloodthirst", But another pilot already had that nickname in the NIP, So Raccoon it was.
Pt. Jerome "Texas" Winston was a departure from his other pilots. He had grown up on the vast and wealthy New Texas mining colony. He had a big sister that smoked cigars and had won numerous weightlifting contests, or so he claimed. He would bet on anything, from how far a missile would fly before it exploded to how long could hold it after drinking six bottles of that Vegan Rot Gut the Bloodtails had won days before. Too bad no one else but Falsner himself knew the truth about that.
The voice returned. "Thirty seconds to jump."
Private Varik "Chuk-Chuk" King. He had gotten his callsign from the sound that some of the antique guns in his fathers' supposed collection made. The sound a "shotgun" made when you loaded it or something like that. He was the only one in his group whose family he had met; His parents were both self-made entrepreneurs in the space construction field, and had wanted their only son to follow them in their trades before he had been recruited into the Project. Falsner had learned that sometime after his "recruitment",Varik's parents were conscripted into armed action and had been killed on the frontlines of Farbanti. Varik was still getting over that loss, but he never showed it.
The last, but not least, of his pilots, was Lt. Amata "Aqua" Capris. Along with himself, Colonel Skye, and Lt. Parker from Image Squadron, they were the only four remaining 1st Gens. Almost all of the surviving pilots left in the group were either second or third Gen, and all of them were rookies. Capris possessed a strange aura of mystery all her own, and had used that to her advantage in the past. She was the first and only person that Falsner cared for in a way more than as a mere friend.
"Ten seconds to jump, stand by," The voice again.
Abruptly a radio operator burst in over the general channel, fro the Sargasso. "Attention all designated operation ships, we are detecting anomalous energy readings from the planet. Request hold on the-"
Then it hit them all, a full six seconds ahead of schedule. The murky nothingness of that dimension beneath their own swallowed Falsner, his fellow flyers, and the Firecross all at once. Those aboard the destroyer noticed little as they traversed the distance. The Electromagnetic shields absorbed the effects of the region.
The same could not be said for the pilots and marines outside in their own craft. To them, subspace was a total removal of all sensory input, as if they had just been sucked into hell, a frozen, darkened hell nonetheless as the only thing any of them could feel was an excruciating, mind-numbing cold.
Falsner had decided the last time he had gone through it that if there was a Hell; he'd evict the devil to here to mellow him out.
And as instantly as it had happened, they were out of it, and very near the third planet.
But as Falsner saw the new input his sensors were providing to him, his blood suddenly ran cold. It ran colder as he heard the expletives and shock of his fellow wingmen over the Comm.
"Holy-"
"What the hell is-"
"Oh shit!"
And suddenly Falsner began to wish he had stayed in deepspace.
"Control, Control," he heard over the Comm, from the Firecross. "I think we need fire support from the Leningrad. We've just waltzed into a fricking warzone!"
A'rak, now outside the Yoko, was about to go between with his dragon when the second Vessel appeared, behind the first. He had been startled, and waited what seemed like turns for that to do something. When it did do something, and A'rak had the briefest of glimpses of the brightest flashes of light he had ever seen before his Lageth took them both between, saving them both from being cooked to a crisp.
Those on the bridge of the Yoko were witness to one of the most spectacular fireworks displays they could have ever had the hope to see, right before they were all thrown from their feet as the energy shockwave rolled over the ship. In the Hangar bay of the Yoko, A half-dozen dragons were instantly thrown from where they lay when the deck fell and rolled beneath them, their wings flaring to keep balance, their roars of surprise echoing almost throughout the ship. A great bronze dragon was thrown clear into the air, his right wing slamming into the ceiling bulkhead brutally. The sound of sharp cracks on the moment of the impact could be heard clearly above the roars.
Many thousands in and around Landing and the surrounding regions at the time were suddenly startled as a brilliant flash, so bright it blinded anyone who had seen it at that moment, lit up the evening sky. A great many in the most distant areas thought that another meteor was about to impact Pern like the one just barely a few years before, completely unaware of what was really happening. For minutes, even hours afterward, the supercharged atmosphere glowed with its own electrical light, bright enough to read text by.
The massive release of energy ripped along Pern's atmosphere in a gigantic ring, away from the source. People across both continents witness an incredible show of auroral lights as the gases ionized, shimmering colors of red, green, and blue. To many who had not been far north where this event was normally isolated, they thought that the spirits of dragons had somehow returned.
Millions on Pern, human and dragon alike, could not explain these events, and many simply could not understand or comprehend what was happening to all of them right at that moment.
Masterharper Sebell shakily pulled himself to his feet, dimly aware that something was burning. He couldn't see right, and realized that there was an open gash above his right eye that was bleeding profusely. Sebell looked around at the people around him, most of which were still on the floor, moaning in pain or struggling to get up. How many were on board last? Fifty or sixty? How many healers? He couldn't remember the numbers.
The entire ship had darkened, the EMP effect knocking out every piece of electronic equipment on board the Yokohama. Every deck and chamber aboard had been plunged into darkness, the only sources of light being windows out into space. Several of the consoles on the bridge had been fried by the blast, and issued smoke. Some flickered still, a few tiny fires burning somewhere within them.
It was then that Sebell remembered what had caused this chaos. The primary monitor display was blacked out, so he half-walked, half-dragged himself back to a Bridge window and looked out.
The Second Vessel had fired some kind of weapon of some kind at the First, but the First Vessel had not been destroyed or even damaged. Instead, it was slowly turning around, attempting to focus as much of its own weapon fire as possible at the more nimble Second, which in turn fired back. The flashes of light exchanged between the two ships as they engaged in their deadly macabre dance almost mesmerized the Masterharper.
A small hand clamped down suddenly on his shoulder. He somehow knew it was Weyrwoman Lessa.
"Masterharper, are you okay?" It was all he heard, he was dazed from just everything happening around him.
"I-I'm fine, help the others," He managed to say.
"They're being helped, you need to be also."
Someone had come up to them, and Sebell dimly recognized the person as a Lord Holder, but couldn't attach a name to the face. "What-what happened?" the Holder asked, half in shock.
"I really don't know, all of this, that, that…" he briefly gestured in the direction of the battle raging outside in space before collapsing to a heap on the floor.
"Is he dead?" The Holder asked.
No, he is not." She kneeled down to take a closer look. "But this bleeding will not stop on its own, he needs stitching."
Another person rushed over, seeing the Masterharper on the ground. Lessa recognized it as one of the two journeymen she had questioned earlier. She recalled her name was Ceras.
"Is Sebell okay? Is he-"
"No he isn't dead. I think he just passed out."
Ceras took one look at Sebell's face. "But he'll need treatment on that gash."
"Then help your master, I think I'm needed elsewhere." With that, she left the Bridge.
Lessa found that F'lar wasn't on the bridge when she had recovered herself, and for a moment tried to figure out where he went when her dragon burst into her mind, half screaming.
Lessa, Mnementh is hurt, he is hurt bad, was all she could understand.
Slow down, Ramoth, what happened? Lessa asked her dragon.
When the ship moved, He smashed a wing on a wall.
Is F'lar there?
He is, he is with Mnementh.
Lessa was worried for a moment. She hoped the injury wasn't too severe.
The last thing F'lar had remembered, other than a brilliant flash of light and his head hitting something solid after strangely flying through the air, was waking up to a screaming voice and a severe pain in his right wing. Only he didn't have a right wing, or a left one for that matter, and realized it was from his dragon Mnementh.
He had clambered over bodies, some moaning in pain, others trying to get up themselves, in a blind rush to reach the Bridge exit, and get to the hangar as quickly as possible. He didn't remember reaching the hangar normally; only that he was suddenly there, by his dragon's side, soothing him. He dimly remembered the dragons' innate ability to instantly move things, but he was overwhelmed by the pain of his lifemate to remember anything other than him.
Its, okay, its okay, I'm here, he had said, over and over again, how many times he could never remember. He also didn't remember how Lessa, his weyrmate, had suddenly gotten there, only that she too was there by his side. And then, all at once, he had suddenly blacked out, into the seemingly welcomed relief of unconsciousness.
Lessa saved F'lar from hitting the floor like Sebell did, the dragonrider probably suffering from a concussion also. The Yoko suddenly shuddered again, but not with near as much force as previous. Several riders were there now, trying to find some way to help. Lessa had only been fortunate not to have been seriously injured like many others.
"Listen, take care of the injured, I may be needed elsewhere," Lessa suddenly said, ordering the other riders.
One, a blue rider, glanced at the injured bronze, then at its incapacitated rider, then up to Lessa. "And you Lady, what will you do?"
"I am going to find out what the shards is going on out there."
And with those words, Lessa turned and hurried back to the exit to the Hangar and back up to the bridge.
Hmm, wonder what's gonna go bang or boom in the next chapter, who lives and who dies. stay alerted and you'll find out. Till then, later.