38. Encounters in Space

Reality tore itself apart in front of the fleeing Bureau ships as a twisted leviathan nosed its way into realspace. The Conqueror's dark-lances fired again and again, sending beams of solid night slicing into its enemies. On the bridge, Rong-Arya leaned back and let her command throne interface with the biomechanical ports at the base of her neck.

"Stand by to launch torpedoes. Full spread, centre of their formation."

"Full spread, aye," Lieutenant Commander Torres, the tactical officer, acknowledged. "Loading in coordinates... ready."

"Fire."

Her consciousness detached from her body, letting her sight pan out across the battlefield. It was impossible to see the engagement in its entirety without rendering the combatants near-invisibly small, but by focusing on particular areas, she could build up a good idea of what was happening. Sensor readouts were useful, certainly, but being able to see with one's own eyes in real-time was better... and combining the two was better still. She focused on the pursuing frigates, watching as the data on their shield strength, weapon status, and power usage appeared around them, before returning her gaze to her own cruiser as the torpedoes launched.

For a Zeruel-class warship, a 'full spread' meant a total of twenty-four fifty-metre-long missiles, each loaded with a two-stage antimatter warhead. Rong-Arya tracked them as they sped towards their destination, their manoeuvring thrusters flaring as they altered their course to accommodate the Bureau ships' movements. As they approached, the mages' automated defences began to fire on them, sending one torpedo after another to spiral away, their warheads detonating uselessly as the containment fields shut down.

It wasn't enough, though.

The remaining torpedoes' nose-cones opened like petals on a flower, nozzles emerging from their depths to spray the space ahead with clouds of colourless gas. They decelerated, the thrust from the nozzles impeding their flight as the gas spread outwards... and then they released their antimatter reserves.

Reliable antimatter production, along with the towering Evangelions and the inexhaustible S2 engines, was one of Chaos's greatest gains from the encounters with the strange beings called 'Angels' prior to Third Impact. As a weapon, though, it had certain disadvantages – in particular, the fact that it needed to react with a considerable amount of matter to achieve the maximum effect, making it rather less useful in space combat unless one was guaranteed a direct hit on the enemy. The solution was an adaption of the fuel-air bomb concept, seeding the target area with gas in order to allow the blast created by the direct matter-annihilation process to become a fleet-demolishing fireball. It didn't even need to be particularly reactive gas, but Chaos's engineers had never been ones to do things by halves... which was why Rong-Arya spent the next few seconds blinking away the glowing afterimages that danced in front of her eyes as the light from seventeen huge explosions slowly died away.

"Sensors, how many of them did we get?"

"One moment, ma'am, just having a look... wait, all ten of the remaining ships are still intact! Their shields absorbed the blasts!"

"Damnation – they must have figured out our plan of attack. Good to know this Admiral Harlaown has some of his reputation for a reason, at least. Have the escorts advance and hem them in – they've wasted too much time with that rearguard. Three ships should not be presenting them with that many- hold on, what're they doing?"

The Bureau fleet scattered, ships pairing off to attack individual Chaos vessels. Cornered and outmanoeuvred, they had no choice but to fight. Magical bolts and kinetic weapons tore into the Conqueror's void shields as the two frigates engaging it projected a dizzying array of illusions, making them seem to be attacking from a dozen directions at once.

"Tactical, why aren't those two dead yet?" the admiral demanded.

"It's those accelerator spells they're using, ma'am," Torres explained. "Our turrets simply can't traverse fast enough to keep up with them – warp-infused lasers may be about as accurate as weapons can get, but only if they're pointed the right way. As for the disintegrators... well, you get the picture."

"That I do, Tactical. Monza, have the Argus try to nullify their magic. You can ease up on the direct attacks, if that helps – the others can handle that."

Aye, ma'am. The corrupted mage didn't throw in any cheery non-sequiturs this time, for which she was profoundly grateful.

The latest generation of Chaos warships were designed to be as self-sufficient as possible, capable of fighting for months at a time without maintenance or resupply. For this reason, they were almost exclusively equipped with energy weapons like lasers and plasma cannons, in order to exploit the ability of S2 engines to generate a fixed amount of energy for an indefinite amount of time. These weapons, as usual with Chaos technology, had borrowed a few tricks from another civilisation – specifically, the so-called 'dark eldar' of Commoragh, progenitors of the Old God Slaanesh, whose weapons systems were augmented with the power of the Warp to boost their effectiveness to physics-defying levels. It had worked like a charm, both on the Stiletto's maiden voyages and in the recent border skirmishes, but Rong-Arya couldn't help but wish for a few hundred more homing missiles instead at the moment. Direct-fire weaponry had its limitations.

She started to return her attention to the battle, attempting to plan the best formation to set up a proper crossfire, when Commander Smirnov of the Skulltaker cut in, his mechanically-augmented voice harsh with panic.

"Admiral, we've got boarders! They're in Engineering, shooting up everything in sight – no idea how they got in. We're trying to move our Marine squads up to drive them back, but I don't think they'll get there in- ohgodsno!"

The admiral watched in horror as strings of explosions rippled across the assault frigate's hull, followed by the chain-lightning effect of a warp-drive going critical. The Skulltaker imploded, its twisted fragments falling away into a colossal tear in realspace, and she knew there had been no survivors.

The comm-channels were flooded with the sounds of panic, everyone trying to make themselves heard at once. They couldn't accept it, she knew. They simply couldn't wrap their heads around the notion that such a titan could fall so swiftly and easily. They had never been trapped on a silent, drifting ship, watching helplessly as relentless enemies slowly peeled away its armour with wave after wave of nuclear fire.

"All remaining units, move into combat range of each other and initiate Fire Pattern Sigma," she said quietly, her calm voice slicing through the tumult of the bridge. "Argus, divert all power from anti-ship weaponry to magic neutralisation, and leave behind only enough for shields and point-defences. All other vessels, keep them covered whilst watching your own backsides. A long-range teleport, going straight through an assault frigate's void shields... that was the Bureau's technosorcery, wasn't it, Monza?"

Oh, yes. Don't they have the most wonderful toys? Still, can't have them hurting the admiral's lovely warships. That wouldn't be right. Not right at all. They've been bad, and bad children get their toys taken away from them, yes. We can silence their voices, freeze their machinery, just as you have seen it. The admiral is wise, yes. Most wise. Such lovely hair, too. Even if it is prehensile.

"... Glad to hear it. Everyone else, keep the ECM active. Not sure how well it'll work against magic, but if we're lucky, we can gum up their targeting software enough to keep them from doing it again." She held Cassandra close, whispering soothing platitudes into her mind as the little girl sobbed in fear.

"Aye, ma'am," Ichiro-Faust replied with his usual stoicism. "Message coming in from the Virulence – sending it through."

"Morning, Admiral," Captain Macmillan's voice drawled in the bubbling, disease-wracked tones of a follower of Reigle. "They just tried the stunt that took down the Skulltaker on us. Long story short, we've got a nice little collection of combat mages for you, wrapped up all sweet and docile now they've stopped trying to scream. Bit past their sell-by date, though – don't think those 'Barrier Jackets' they use work too well as hazmat suits. Wait – we're starting to get necrosis. Think it'd be best to lower the dose. Sorry, ma'am – gotta go."

Rong-Arya grinned, her fangs glinting in the dim light. "No need to hurry on my account, captain. Film them, and loop the recording on all channels – it should discourage them from doing it again before the Argus shuts them down. When we stand to capture a fleet, the lives of a few boarders are irrelevant... and besides, I think a little payback for the loss of our sister-ship is necessary."

The unhealthiness of Macmillan's answering chuckle had absolutely nothing to do with his physical condition. "You got it, ma'am. Always wanted to try my hand as a movie director."

The admiral made a note to secure a copy for Cassandra's personal viewing – her daughter always liked to see Reigle's followers at play, and the recording would likely prove highly educational. In the meantime, though, she had other concerns. The Conqueror was taking damage from behind, and the void shields didn't seem to be helping one bit.

"Sensors, where's that attack coming from?" she demanded.

"One of the two frigates attacking us slipped through our shields, ma'am," the tech-priest explained, his artificial limbs jabbing desperately at his console. "They're right by our stern, unloading everything they've got into the engines. I don't... I don't think they can hold out much longer!"

"What about the close-range batteries? Shouldn't they have cleared them away by now?"

"The engine block's in the way," Torres interjected. "We've got this great big blind spot hanging off our rear end, and they're right in the middle of it. Just... see for yourself, ma'am."

Rong-Arya did so, and saw that her tactical officer was right. They did actually have some turrets covering the area immediately behind the engines, but they were intended to stave off fighters, not a warship, and those that weren't mangled, drifting wreckage already might as well have been shooting peas at a wall for all the effect they were having. The frigate's return fire, on the other hand, was considerably more effective – even with the armoured shutters that slid into place whenever they weren't firing the engines, several thrusters were already beyond repair, and it was only a matter of time before a shot ended up in the main reactor. A ship scarcely a hundredth of their size had them at its mercy, and there was nothing they could do about it, unless...

Her eyes widened, hellfire pouring out of the sockets as the idea took root. They weren't entirely devoid of weapons after all – in fact, they had over half a dozen enormous plasma lances pointed straight at the Bureau frigate.

"Prepare for acceleration," she ordered. "Engineering, all-ahead flank. Fire everything."

The red-robed priest looked up, his ocular implants buzzing as they tried to focus on his commanding officer. "But admiral, the engines won't-"

"I am aware of that, Brother Choi. All hands, brace for impact."

Choi cringed, avoiding her burning eyes. "Bracing for impact, ma'am. Engines firing in three, two, one..."

The Conqueror lurched forward, a tremor shuddering down its four-kilometre length as inertial compensators failed left and right. The crew in the unprotected sectors were hurled into bulkheads and instrument panels, bones breaking and organs rupturing as the phenomenal G-forces slowly crushed them. The abused thrusters simply disintegrated, sending a wall of white-hot plasma and spinning debris slamming into the enemy frigate. It never stood a chance.

"Engineering, how much manoeuvring capability do we have left?" she asked once the shaking had stopped, and the whine of the bridge's dedicated compensators had died down.

It took the tech-priest a while to answer. "Retros are working fine, and we've still got most of the manoeuvring thrusters along the hull. Main engines are completely gone, though – we can decelerate, but not accelerate. No reactor damage, though. We managed to cut the lines before the blowback hit."

"Excellent. Helm, get us pointed back at the main engagement, and put us into a roll once the compensators are all working again. We're a sitting duck at the moment, and the shields should work better if the enemy's fire is evenly-distributed across them."

"... Aye, ma'am."

"Is there a problem, lieutenant?" she asked coolly.

"No, ma'am. No problem. I'll get right on it."

"Good. Do so."

He was waiting for her to ask after the crew they'd lost, to demonstrate the fierce protectiveness for their own that was Chaos's hallmark. They all were. She wouldn't do it, though – not until they no longer had heavily-armed mages crawling all over them. Sentiment could wait. The Cylons had taught her the value of sacrifice, and she would have to thank them for it someday. Antimatter bombardment would likely be involved.

The Argus was doing its work well – the Bureau ships were slower and less agile, and their spells were becoming increasingly feeble. As she watched, the Conqueror's disintegrator batteries finally bracketed their second attacker, hundreds of warp-infused plasma bolts tearing it to ribbons. Meanwhile, the Virulence's daemon-swarms enveloped a light cruiser, its point-defences simply running out of ammo as thousands of soundlessly shrieking abominations descended on it like flies on rotten meat.

"Have you figured out which one's Harlaown's flagship yet?" she asked.

"Sorry, ma'am," Ichiro-Faust replied. "Still haven't got through their comm-encryption yet. If it were me, though, I'd place money on the heavy cruiser engaging the Temptress. From what we know, this Admiral Harlaown's a decent tactician and strategist, but nothing special magic-wise. That cruiser hasn't done anything particularly spectacular so far, and it's close enough to the centre of their formation – insofar as they have one – for a lot of their biggest ships to give it covering fire. Perfect place for the brains of the operation."

Rong-Arya smiled at him, causing him to shuffle uncomfortably. "Good call, commander. Can we move any of our other assets to engage that thing? Odds are that Harlaown knows he's the weak link. Some extra pressure, and he might start making mistakes."

"Think I can help with that, admiral," Commander Endymion of the Temptress commented from the bridge's speakers. "My lovely little choristers finally got someone to sing back to them – several someones, in fact. The TSAB heavy frigate Bright Star is at your disposal, all clean and shiny."

"Good work, Endymion. Macmillan, how're your pets doing with that cruiser?"

"It's battered, but functional," the disease-worshipper replied. "They're ready and waiting for your orders, ma'am. Time to give them a taste of their own medicine?"

"Exactly my thoughts. Have the captured vessels engage the target designated HC-2. Anything that gets in their way is fair game, but not the priority."

"Aye, ma'am," the two shipmasters chorused.

Though the Conqueror had begun its roll, the stars cartwheeling past the bridge's viewports in a dizzying whirl, steadying the projected vision granted by the command throne was the work of an instant. The admiral zoomed in on the sleek form of the Bright Star as it moved to attack its erstwhile comrades, imagining the crew's stiff, jerky movements as they were guided like puppets by the Temptress's siren song. To use the enemy's strength against them was a basic tenet of Chaos's doctrine, and direct mental manipulation was perhaps the purest expression of that. Were they completely lulled, calm and happy in their betrayal, or were they still trying to resist, some small part of their addled psyches wailing in terror inside their heads as their ensorcelled bodies refused to obey them? She hoped for the latter – it seemed an appropriate fate for those who sought to impose their will on the gods.

The two captured ships opened fire, their target's shields sparking and flaring under the impact... and died in an instant. There was a flash of light, a suggestion of movement, and a pair of explosions – that was all. Rong-Arya was left stunned, blinking in surprise for a moment before she played back the recording of the past few seconds. The Bureau fleet's other heavy cruiser had teleported between them, two thin whips of blue light shooting out of its sides to slice them in half before it jumped away again. They hadn't even had a chance to register its presence, let alone summon shields of their own. So somebody wants to play bodyguard? This might be trickier than I anticipated.

The Temptress's rate-of-fire decreased and it heeled to one side as the backlash from the death of its puppets hit, disrupting its connection to the Warp. The Bureau fleet was swift to take advantage. As the two heavy cruisers provided covering fire, weaving madly between the huge Chaos vessels, the remaining ships broke away to take up formation just outside the combat zone, three of them extending and overlapping their shields to protect the fourth. What are they- oh, no.

"Admiral, the ship marked as LC-3 is charging its main cannon!" the sensors officer yelled, only confirming her suspicions.

The devastating time/space distortion cannons the Bureau called 'Arc-en-ciels' were far and away their most powerful weapons, and had presented an overwhelming advantage in their first engagements against Chaos. Once their primary weakness had been discovered, though – namely, their unfortunate habit of exploding when their charge cycle was disrupted – they had rapidly fallen out of favour... until now. Apparently, the mages had figured out a work-around.

"All units, focus your fire on that central ship!" she commanded, trying to keep her voice level. "Monza, I want that shield down now!"

But ma'am, the psykers! They're full with the Warp, inflated like balloons! Any more, and they'll pop, and the colours will leak into the void! His facial tubes quivered agitatedly even as a hysterical giggle entered his voice at the mental image, grating on Rong-Arya's last remaining nerve.

She growled, a low, animal sound that set the bridge crew's hair (and feathers) standing on end. "See that cannon, Monza? It's pointed at the Conqueror. I don't give a flying crap how many clones' brains get fried – if that thing fires, we all die. Now cut the bullshit, get on the horn to the Argus, and have them drop that shield."

The renegade mage straightened, and sketched a hasty salute – he might have been insane, but he wasn't stupid. Of course, admiral. My apologies.

The next two minutes seemed more like hours, as the weakened shield gradually crumbled away under the Chaos ships' fire whilst LC-3's energy readings spiked higher and higher. Ominous red icons appeared around the Argus as its clone-psykers died in their dozens, their bodies rupturing and minds collapsing as the Warp overtook them. Cassandra was quiet and still where she sat, sensing the tension in the adults around her even without knowing what it was about. Finally, the wards collapsed, the readings falling as the light cruiser's captain elected to cancel the charging sequence rather than risk wiping out his own fleet. It worked, but did not save him or his ship from the incoming hail of energised doom.

"Fine, crisis averted," the admiral commented lightly as the remaining ships of the bombardment formation scattered once more. "Any other nasty surprises they've decided to throw at us?"

Well, I've got good news and bad news there, Lieutenant Monza said, his dreamily irrepressible cheerfulness already restored. Good news, we've finally hacked their comms. Bad news, they've hacked ours. Oh, and now the Argus has lost half its psykers, marker HC-1 broke through the magic-disruption field and teleported inside their shields. Just, you know, FYI.

"Why the hell didn't you mention that last bit first?" Rong-Arya roared.

Well, symmetry, of course. It would have ruined the otherwise-perfect good news/bad news balance in a manner quite unacceptable. Have you not read Lady Mislaato's treatise on the aesthetics of warfare, admiral? It's very-

She slammed down her mental barriers, blocking off the lieutenant's babble whilst barely resisting the urge to perform an immediate field execution. Not for the first time, she wished that she'd been a little more insistent in skimming psykers from Bloodhaven. Next time we resupply, I'm getting a new sorcery officer.

Even so, she soon saw that Monza's tardiness had not changed anything – the Argus had been doomed from the moment HC-1, the bodyguard-ship, had appeared next to it. The heavy cruiser was not using its whips this time – instead, an endless rain of sword-shaped, azure bolts was pouring into the Arael-class's framework, intricate runes shattering and impossible structures unravelling as its otherworldly aura bucked and thrashed like a wounded beast. Finally, it simply disintegrated with a final, psychic howl, leaving behind a rapidly spreading cloud of wreckage that seemed to occupy several more dimensions than the usual three.

The support frigate's death rippled across the Warp, the storm it had created already disappearing. In a matter of seconds, the tide of battle had changed, as the Bureau ships regained not only their powers, but a chance of escape.

Atop her command-throne, Rong-Arya swore.

The Argus's destroyer had not stuck around to survey its handiwork, instead reappearing between the Virulence and two of its surviving comrades to shield them from the plague-ship's broadside. The mages were peeling away from their ambushers, having made the perfectly sensible decision to flee with their tails between their legs before any more of them got killed/captured/horribly violated/all three in no particular order.

The daemonhost, of course, intended to have none of that. "Helm, cancel our spin. They're not shooting at us enough for it to matter, and I want to have some manoeuvring capacity back. Monza, do we have any psychic assets remaining?"

Already on it, admiral, the mage replied, all puppy-like enthusiasm at being useful again. I'm setting up an interlinked network using the sorcerers on our three remaining ships – it won't nearly match up to what the Argus was capable of, but should slow them down a little. I even made sure they know your opinion on psyker casualties, so you can rest assured that they're willing to get their cerebella nice and sizzly if the situation demands.

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary, but I appreciate the effort," she said drily, trying to ignore the way he puffed himself up at her words. "Since you mentioned they're listening in, we'll use that as the replacement for our comm-channels. First thing, send a message to the Temptress. They're tasked with intercepting the retreating ships – particularly and especially HC-2, now Harlaown's bodyguard is distracted – and holding them up until we and the Virulence can get there. Commander Endymion has my full permission to fulfil this goal by any means he deems appropriate. Next..."

"One moment, ma'am," Ichiro-Faust interrupted diffidently. "The intelligence department just finished parsing the enemy fleet's decoded transmissions, and it seems my guess was off the mark. Admiral Harlaown is in fact commanding HC-1."

She blinked at him. "You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not. Sorry, ma'am. I've linked the transcripts to your throne, in case you want to check."

The text scrolled past her eyes, but she wasn't looking at it. Instead, she watched the duel between HC-1 and the Virulence – in particular, the peculiar way the former was using its shields. Rather than absorbing the assault frigate's attacks as per normal, it was redirecting them, ensuring that they passed by harmlessly with only the slightest exertion from the mage responsible. She revisited the recordings of its brief engagements with the Argus and Bright Star, noting the energy readings that Sensors had picked up as it launched its attacks. Relatively speaking, they had not actually been very powerful, instead calculated to strike at their targets' weakest points with an almost terrifying degree of precision.

The intelligence they had received was accurate – Admiral Chrono Harlaown clearly did not possess much magical power. Where they had gone wrong was in assuming that he considered this a handicap.

Hold on... haven't I seen this before?

Rong-Arya knew this type of person. A prodigy capable of taking on ridiculous odds by themselves, too young and cocky to know the taste of defeat. They would go to any length to protect those they deemed their comrades simply because they believed they could, because they couldn't conceive an enemy that could actually overcome them. In short, it was exactly how she had been before her encounter with the Cylons... and that meant that for all they were at a tactical disadvantage, for all that the enemy was slipping through their fingers, she knew how to beat them.

"Monza, belay that last order," she said, a slow smile creeping across her face. "The Temptress will continue to harass the retreating enemies, but its primary objective is now to cut them off from HC-1. Destruction or capture of other vessels is welcome, but unnecessary. Meanwhile, we and the Virulence will disable Harlaown's flagship – engines first, then weapons systems. A concerted effort from that network of yours will likely help with that."

Processed and sent, ma'am. Been a while since I last saw good old Chrono – should be nice to chat with him again.

"You'll get your chance, lieutenant. Tactical, have all available weapon systems ready to fire on my mark. Let's end this."

"You got it, ma'am," Torres replied with unholy relish.


Author's Notes: Finally – someone even worse at dealing with failure than Teana Lanster. Guess they were bound to turn up sooner or later.

Also, it seems that Mid-Childan mages really don't make for the greatest evil minions. You'd have thought they'd have figured that out after picking up dear, psychotic old Precia...