20. Office Politics
Nanoha was sitting up in bed, scheduling the next day's training with the aid of a datapad and stylus, when the door exploded inwards, obscuring the entrance to her and Fate's apartment in a billowing cloud of smoke. She was already rolling to one side, scrabbling for Raising Heart's pendant on the bedside table, when two small, round objects bounced and rolled into the room.
The pair of photon flash grenades detonated simultaneously, blinding and deafening her, and she curled into a foetal ball, panicky animal instinct overcoming training for one precious moment. As she recovered, blinking her eyes dazedly, she saw a black-clad figure striding through the door, extending two long blades across the backs of its hands with a menacing snikt.
"You not move," it commanded in a harsh, tinny voice clearly unused to human speech, firing a stream of jagged, evil-looking crystals from its helmet-gun for emphasis.
The tiny pendant had fallen to the floor less than a metre away, but it might as well have been light-years. Nanoha slowly raised her hands above her head, knowing she wouldn't have time to charge an attack... and realised that the bathroom shower had stopped.
"Plasma Smasher," Fate's voice said quietly, and a massive beam of pale yellow light slammed into the Hellhound, demolishing the dividing wall in the process.
Her partner was already in her Barrier Jacket, hair still wet from the shower. She strode out of the wreckage of the bathroom, Bardiche's head still levelled at the enemy's unmoving form.
"Think insurance will cover that?" Nanoha asked lightly. Leaping out of bed and grabbing Fate in a flying hug, she decided, would not be the most tactically viable decision in a combat situation.
"They decided to berth combat mages here. They knew the risks." Fate scooped up the pendant and threw it over to her partner. "Wonder why we weren't warned about this? Security should have picked him up on the way in."
"Comms are down, maybe?"
"Seems that way."
Nanoha stood up, triggered her own Barrier Jacket, and slapped a full clip of cartridges into Raising Heart.
"Right," she said. "Let's get to work."
Fred and Gunther were unhurriedly wandering back to their respective rooms when they heard the sounds of battle ahead. They exchanged a wordless glance and picked up the pace, hurrying towards the commotion, though Fred would have personally preferred heading away.
As they turned the corner, they saw the cause. Signum was locked in combat with two Hellhounds, dancing out of the way of their attacks and countering with lightning-quick ripostes of her own. Though she was covered with cuts and bruises, her enemies had fared worse. A third cyborg lay at her feet, very obviously dead, whilst a fourth was attached to the ceiling some distance away by a gleaming, blade-tipped arrow almost as long as he was tall.
As they watched, she brought her sword down in a diagonal slash, ethereal flames rippling along its length, and neatly bisected one of the remaining two. No sooner had she done so, though, than she had to duck a blow from the final Hellhound's forearm-blade, her movements slowed by the sheer number of minor injuries she had attained. The warrior-cyborg had been expecting that, though – indeed, relying on it. A reddish-purple magical blast lanced out from its other hand, striking the Wolkenritter at point-blank range and hurling her backwards.
Fred heard footsteps beside him, and saw that Gunther had broken into a run, popping his Jacket with a flash of emerald light. You old idiot... He tried to follow, to catch up, but soon fell behind, cursing his lack of exercise.
Boss, you're pushing retirement age, you're using a standard-issue Armed Device that I know you can't hit the broad side of a barn with, and you're going up against something that just defeated a centuries-old sentient killing machine. Just what are you planning to do here?
A moment later, he found out.
Gunther didn't bother opening fire – he simply charged in and hit the Hellhound over the head with his staff, crumpling the scorpion-tail gun on its helmet with the sheer force of the blow and stunning it for a few vital seconds. He followed up with a few heavy swings to the midriff, driving it further and further back, and for one glorious moment, Fred thought he was going to win.
Then the Hellhound lashed out with one of its blades, passing through the quartermaster's wards as if they didn't exist, slicing his weapon in half, and gouging a shallow cut across his chest. He staggered backwards, almost falling over, and the cyborg was on him in an instant, unleashing a flurry of blows that he barely managed to avoid. Blood spattered the floor as more impossibly fast slices found their way through, and Fred tried to take aim, but the two combatants were simply too close together for him to be sure he'd hit the right one.
"Schlangenform," said Laevantien's metallic voice from near the floor.
Fred glanced down and saw the sword lengthen and spread out into a long, bladed whip. Signum flicked her wrist, and it coiled around the Hellhound's legs, causing the creature to stumble. She tugged, hard, and the stumble turned into an awkward, tangled fall.
Gunther wasted no time taking advantage of the situation, holding the broken halves of his staff like daggers and plunging them into his foe's back again and again. Once he was sure that it was dead, he straightened up, offering a bloodstained hand to Signum. She took it gratefully.
"Quartermaster."
"Ma'am."
Fred, meanwhile, was staring at the deceased Hellhound, which still had the two abbreviated staves buried somewhere in the region of its kidneys. Gunther, he recalled, was not terribly good at using magic without a functioning Device.
"We need to get you two to an infirmary," he decided. "Is ours still open?"
"Indeed," Signum replied. "Shamal and Zafira have it secured for now. Sergeant-major, you will need to alert the non-combatants – we have lost communications. We should be able to proceed on our own."
Fred saluted. "Aye-aye, ma'am. May I ask what's happening?"
"Chaos has arrived. Move, sergeant-major. We have little time."
Another salute, and he hurried away. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Gunther and Signum hobbling off towards the infirmary, both attempting to keep the other upright. Fred couldn't see his old friend's face, but knew it was wearing an enormous, foolish grin. Lucky for some, eh?
He ducked into the nearest alcove he could find, reactivating his own Intelligent Device. His wrist-watch took on a golden sheen, the casing expanding and reshaping itself into a simple, elegant console.
Sol, this is Fred. You there?
No response. He muttered a spell, boosting the signal, and a series of deep blue charging rings appeared around his wrist. That done, he attempted to contact Deep Space Surveillance again. This time, he got through.
Fred, good to hear from you! Dr. Kamri exclaimed, sounding even more flustered than usual. Two of them attacked us. We suffered casualties – lots of casualties – but we managed to take them down. I didn't know Touran used a Modern Belkan style, though. The things she did with that wrench... I'd prefer not to think about them. What are you calling about?
It's the communications blackout, Sol. I think you can help. Remember that project you told me about? That collaboration with Comms to boost the range of their network? Do you still have the hardened line to their office?
That we do, Fred. I'll patch you through – do you want a three-way link?
Would certainly help. Thanks, Sol. I owe you one.
Enough to replace the cookies?
Not on your life.
A third voice entered the conversation. This is Sergeant Picanto of the central office's Communications Department. Kaiser's blood, but it's good to hear a friendly voice. They killed everyone over here. Everyone. I hid, but... I don't know if they're coming back.
Stay frosty, Picanto, Fred replied, trying to sound calm and authoritative, and privately wished he'd obtained a smaller percentage of his combat experience from old action movies. I think I've got an idea on how to turn the tables on them. Did you figure out how they're jamming us?
It's not an anti-magic field, that's for sure. Way too specific. It's only hurting the telepathic network, and it's especially targeting military channels. That's probably why we can talk in the first place.
A tailored curse? Kamri surmised.
Most likely, but it's more than that. It's learning, adapting. We're losing channels all the time. It's like they let a living creature loose inside the station's systems, a predator. I saw the ritual when they summoned it – hell, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it. They took a few alive in the initial attack, used them as sacrifices. The screaming... sweet hellfire, the screaming. There's blood all over the consoles, forming this network of runes. I try to clean it away, but it keeps coming back. It keeps coming back!
He was losing his grip again, Fred realised. Picanto, listen to me. How do we stop it? How do we kill this thing?
The comms officer's voice steadied, though it was still faint and uncertain. Well... it's a spell. It's like nothing I've ever seen before, but it's a spell nonetheless. Dispelling it should work, but I don't know where you're going to find a mage powerful enough.
Fred grinned. Perfect. That's where you come in, Sol.
Me?
Yep. It's that collaborative project again. Most of your gear works as a sort of magical radar, sending out powerful signals that get bounced back in a way that tells you what's out there, right?
You were paying attention when I told you about that? Kamri sounded utterly stunned.
Not just a pretty face, Sol. Anyways, from what I know about the project, you were trying to diversify the signals sent, turning your sensor arrays into a crude but powerful Magical Interface System. How'm I doing so far?
Pretty good. It would have worked, too, if we'd had the funding. Still have the plans somewhere, but I don't see what this has to do with... ohhh, right. We'll still need someone skilled in dispel magic, though. The system magnifies, it doesn't create. A familiar, maybe?
Way ahead of you, Sol. One of Colonel Yagami's bodyguards is an Ancient Belkan Guardian Beast – pretty much the same thing. Better, I know where he is. Getting him to your office might be a bit trickier, though – I'll see what I can do. You two hold the fort in the meantime, got it?
Got it, Kamri said.
Just be quick, Picanto advised. No telling which system it'll go after next. Things could get real ugly, real fast – and that's coming from the guy who just saw his supervisor's guts dangling from the ceiling.
Fred cut the link, stepping out into the hallway once more. So this is what command feels like? They can keep it.
A gurgling roar sounded from behind him and he spun around, seeing a decaying, vaguely female form charging at him with yellowing claws extended. He acted purely on instinct, raising his Intelligent Device and taking careful aim.
"Chronal Shift!"
A cone of fine blue mist billowed out from the Device's front, clinging to the daemon's body. Its charge was slowed to the point where it appeared to be moving through treacle. A tortoise could have outpaced it, let alone a slightly overweight quartermaster sergeant.
Fred ran for the catering section, horribly aware that the spell could disperse at any moment. It was crowded when he got there – they'd been cleaning up after the evening meal when the attack started. Now most of the staff were huddled behind counters and overturned tables, pointing an impressive array of weaponry at the entrance.
He clambered over the salad counter with an agility born of adrenaline and terror, feeling his overworked limbs complain vociferously as he did so.
"Daemon-freak on her way, boys and girls," he gasped. "Show me you remember Captain Takamachi's training."
This was met with an enthusiastic cheer, and Devices of all shapes, sizes and classifications were brandished in anticipation. The daemon entered shortly after, still shaking off the lingering after-effects of Fred's spell, and promptly vanished in a barrage of multicoloured explosions.
He grinned. "Nice work, people, nice work. Anyone up for a little escort mission? Think it's time we show the combat mages exactly what we support staff can do."
The Hellhound crept through the sleeping quarters, his bionics ensuring silence and his enhanced senses scanning the area around him for potential victims.
The powers of the Warp were not well-suited for uniformity, and soon after their conception the clones had amassed a collection of quirks and oddities that could generously be called 'personalities'. Personality implied hierarchy, and ever since they had been herded onto the transports, this particular Hellhound had been on the bottom of the pile. As a result, he had little incentive to assist his pack-mates in charging to their doom when he could just as easily slope off and find someone (or several someones if he was lucky) to play with until the shooting stopped.
He had been especially interested in some of the things he had seen on the indoctrination tapes provided by Mislaato. He would have to give that a go if he got the opportunity.
He heard voices from further along the corridor and advanced towards them, listening intently.
"A double-bed. Perfect. Just perfect. I specifically asked for twins, and do they listen? Do they hell."
"Aww, c'mon, Tea, there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's just get to sleep."
"Oh no no no. You, missy, are sleeping on the floor."
"But Tea..."
"But me no buts, Subaru. I know you, and I know that you would take the opportunity for a quick bit of groping faster than I could say 'harassment'. Seriously, I could have reported you five times over by now. Be grateful with what you've got."
There was a brief silence.
"Oh, you are so not using the puppy-dog-eyes. We formally agreed that those are dirty fighting, remember? Completely unfair. Well, forget it. It's the floor for you, and that's final."
Another pause.
"OK, maybe the settee."
Yet another pause.
"All right, all right, you can use the bed too for just this one night. The slightest hint of wandering hands, though, and you're out on your ear, and let the record show that I was coerced into this against my will."
As the Hellhound came closer, he saw that the door was open. Too easy. He strolled through it, still as silent as ever, and saw two girls in their late teens standing by the bed, dressed in rather utilitarian-looking pyjamas. Both were definitely attractive, though he still felt that having them naked, screaming, and covered in blood would be a significant improvement.
The scene was frozen like that for a few seconds, none of the three moving, and then his forearm-blades went snikt and everything exploded into motion.
He charged forward, spraying the walls around them with shots from his splinter pistol, and they moved as one, grabbing a pair of small, innocuous-looking objects from their respective bags and swinging them up to take aim at him. He suddenly found himself gazing at the business ends of an armoured gauntlet and an enormous pistol, and felt a ghastly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Revolver Cannon."
"Crossfire Shoot."
He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Corporal Teana Lanster snapped a pair of handcuffs onto the comatose Hellhound, firing another low-powered blast into his head to ensure he wasn't playing possum. Meanwhile, her squad-mate, Corporal Subaru Nakajima, was watching with interest.
"Where did you get those, Tea?" she asked.
"Standard-issue for the Capital Defence Forces' Investigative Branch," Teana explained. "Not all of us are good at binds, you know."
"Those don't look very standard-issue, though. What's the label say? 'Berlinetta's Marital Aids and...'"
"We've got armed infiltrators in the central office and you want to discuss my personal life? Priorities, Subaru."
"Right, sorry. But what do handcuffs have to do with-"
"Subaru!"
"Coming, coming... No need to get so cranky, Tea."
Teana pressed her fingers to her temples until the urge to murder her best friend went away, and stepped out to confront the invaders.
Erio Mondial was sprawled in an agreeably oversized armchair, flicking through the yellowed pages of an Ancient Belkan combat manual. He wasn't sure quite what he could gain from the archaic language and faded illustrations, but Captain Signum had said it might prove useful when she lent it to him, so he'd resolved to read through it to the end. If there was one person who knew about those sorts of things, it was the Wolkenritter's Knight of the Sword, after all. Even Fate said she'd learned a few things from her.
He heard the bathroom door open, and the First Expeditionary Force's resident summoner, Caro La Rushe, walked out. He very pointedly didn't turn around as she got dressed – though he had the funny feeling that she wouldn't mind all that much, that wasn't really the point. Things had changed in the past few years – once, Caro had just been there, a good friend and someone useful to have at your back during Bureau business, but nothing special. Now, though, she was... well, he wasn't sure what, exactly, but he was always uncomfortably aware of her presence.
He felt something small and hard butt against his leg, and looked down to see the third resident of their room, Caro's pet dragon Friedrich, sitting up and begging, his horned head tilted appealingly to one side. There was a collar around his neck, etched with runes of restraint for much the same reason that the central office's dampening field existed. Though Fried was well-trained, a creature who could switch from the size of a small dog to the size of a bus was something that nobody wanted to take any chances with aboard a relatively cramped space station.
Another gentle headbutt, and he sighed, reaching down into his pocket and retrieving a dog-treat he'd bought earlier that day from a Mid-Childan pet store. He tossed it over to the little dragon, who caught it in midair, swallowing it in a single gulp, and fluttered over to land in Erio's lap, chirping delightedly. He absent-mindedly stroked his head, trying to ignore the various fabric-related sounds coming from behind him. Do dragons have these sorts of problems, boy? No, didn't think so.
Eventually said noises ceased, and Caro leaned over his shoulder (fortunately fully-dressed by now). "Hi, Erio. Anything on summoner tactics in that?"
Her damp hair brushed his face, and he attempted to keep his voice from turning into a high-pitched squeak. "N-no, sorry. I did ask Captain Signum about that, though, and she gave me another book all about it. It's over there, on the pile."
She favoured him with a bright, sunny smile that made his internal organs turn a somersault, before running over to the indicated stack of young-teenager miscellanea. "Thanks – you're the best!"
Erio was still attempting to restore his mental equilibrium when the door to their quarters shot off its hinges, propelled though the room by a carmine magical blast. A small, metallic sphere followed it, and his combat instincts kicked into action.
"Sonic Move!"
He leapt forward with eye-blurring speed, activating his Barrier Jacket as he did so, and caught the grenade, throwing it back the way it had come. No sooner had it left his hand, though, than it exploded, hurling him backwards and overloading all relevant senses.
When he came to, it was in a pile of rubble. He sat up groggily, probing himself for injuries, and was relieved to note that his Jacket had taken most of the damage. Three tall, black-clad figures had entered the room, moving with a speed that almost equalled his own. Friedrich lay in the middle of the floor, his head severed from his neck. The cluster of scorch-marks on the attackers' bodysuits and around the ruined entrance bore mute testament to his final stand. Caro was sobbing in the corner, the psychic backlash of her pet's death searing her mind.
Detecting movement, one of the Hellhounds began to turn towards him, but not nearly fast enough. Filled with a quiet, cold rage quite alien to his usual personality, Erio pointed Strada's tip at the creature's chest, activating the spear's jets and letting it drag his battered body behind it. The impact pinned his foe to the wall, but the young mage wasn't done. He drew back a fist, surrounding it with a sphere of crackling yellow lightning.
"Shiden Issen," he snarled, and punched the Hellhound in the face, allowing the force of the explosion to push him back, unsheathing his weapon from its body in the process and leaving the creature to slump to the ground, immobile.
He spun round, leaping over a low slice from the second assailant and slamming Strada's oversized head into its helmet, activating the lateral jets to give the impact just a little more force. It staggered backwards, dazed, and he took the opportunity to look around.
Where did the third one go?
A fist smashed into the back of his skull and he saw stars, dropping his spear and almost falling over. The third Hellhound wrapped an arm around him, immobilising him and lifting him off the ground. He felt the edge of an impossibly sharp blade against his neck, and smelled the stink of blood, presumably Fried's.
The second Hellhound had done the same with Caro, he saw. He attempted a brave smile, which she returned through her tears. We can get out of this, I know it. Fate and the others will rescue us. You'll see.
"W-what are you going to do with us?" he asked his captor aloud, feeling the blade nick his throat.
It gave a rasping, mechanical chuckle. "Make you useful."
Author's Notes: Oh, it is on.
I suspect that the Hellhounds would present the TSAB's close-quarters specialists with some serious problems, even ones as deadly as Signum. Let me put it this way. You're up against something that's at least as fast and strong as you are, and quite possibly more so. None of the defences you rely on so much would work against them, and they've got twice as many weapons as you have. Three times as many, in fact, if you factor in the helmet-gun... and you'd better, unless getting a face full of poisoned, crystalline needles appeals. Not only that, but their augmetics mean that they're inordinately difficult to put down permanently. Not nice. Not nice at all.
Finally, for those who haven't watched the series... no, Erio and Caro aren't related by blood. Just thought I'd make that absolutely clear - the modern TSAB is permissive, but not that permissive.
See you next week!
