Stillstorm swept her gaze across the empty bridge, even as Tempest shuddered once more underfoot at yet another weapon impact. It had been worth it, she repeated to herself. It must be worth it.
Maybe if she repeated it enough, she'd actually believe it.
{The next-to-last-wave of shuttles has left, Lashret.} sent the only other person left on the bridge. The pain in Tenoin Seinen Forest's mind was palpable, as they prepared to evacuate the stricken vessel. {They will return in three hundred solon, for the last of us.}
One final glance at the flickering tactical display glimpsed the squadron clustered around Tempest as he drifted along, the Ring looming ever-larger ahead. Stillstorm clenched her jaw so tightly that her teach creaked. It had been worth it.
It must have been worth it.
She turned and followed the Seinen out of the bridge. {Have all copies of the data gathered been distributed?}
{Yes, Lashret. All squadrons of the Strike Group have it, and two of our Listel Tozet have been sent to other vessels.}
Good. That meant that come what may, the Shells would struggle to prevent at least someone getting this information back to the Tinza Sector fleet following in 51's wake.
Her squadron's losses would be avenged.
She could still see in her mind's eye how the Strike Group had blitzed its way deep in-system, scattering Enemy transports ahead of them like nimai fleeing a hunter's pursuit. Had burned hard for the Ring, sensors eager to gather what data they could about this unprecedented Soia find. Had expected stiff resistance from the enemy battle squadrons that also closed on the Ring, yes, but had known that they could fight their way past.
Had not expected the Ring itself to fire on them.
The energy weapon — some exotic form of particle beam, the deathly-pale sensor officer had announced — had leapt up from the Ring's surface, fired at a range of three light-solon. Had bisected the destroyer Swift River in a heartbeat. Even as the squadron hurriedly began evasive maneuvers, it fired again. Burning the cruiser Thunderflash to a melted wreck.
And then it was Tempest's turn.
The larger warship had not been destroyed outright, but he had been reduced to a crippled wreck that would never fight again. Even if Tempest could somehow have been returned to a shipyard, he was far too damaged to be worth repairing.
But the Shell forces now closing on Strike Group 51 weren't going to give them even that slim chance.
The two senior officers passed the Teidar guarding the bridge entrance, and the red-haired loroi fell into step behind them. With one last — almost apologetic — glance at the mural of Tempest's namesake, Stillstorm left her stricken command behind for the last time. Her eyes burned, but no tears came.
If there was any consolation to be found, here, it was that the enemy weapon had not fired again after Tempest's destruction. Perhaps whatever the Shells had done to get the ancient Soia weapon — for what else could something of such power be? — operational again after eons of disuse had failed.
But to Stillstorm, it felt personal.
As if the hated Shells had been satisfied by once more cutting a ship apart underneath her very feet. Had intended from the start to strike at her personally. And to make it worse, they hadn't hit Stillstorm herself, not directly.
She was unharmed… at least physically.
Instead she had felt the mind-signatures of hundreds of her crew, the sisters-in-arms that had fought under her command for so many battles, blink out in a heartbeat. Never to be heard again. Yet she herself, safe deep in the bridge, remained untouched.
The procession stalked aft towards the hangar. Stillstorm's mood soured with every dried blue smear against the bulkheads, every bloody reminder of how the wounded had overfilled the medbays. How hard-eyed doranzer had rushed between patients, sorting those who could live from those who were beyond helping.
Those latter ones had been left aboard, placed in the reactor compartments and warhead storage compartments. They would join Tempest in his final attack: a fitting, fiery sendoff for warriors who had so well earned it.
And the ship they rode in on, too.
The last evacuation craft entered the hangar just as Stillstorm and her group passed the observation windows. Her own Highland shuttle, pressed into service to evacuate the survivors. And a one-eyed pilot at the controls.
Stillstorm shook her head. Things had gone so wrong so quickly, but at least Strikeforce-51 would get their close look at the Ring, whatever it was. Would burn hard to leave the system, to get word back to the heavy fleet which would avenge their losses. It was worth it. It had to be worth it.
And Tempest still had a last part to play in that.
The ship's reactors had been scrammed to prevent a premature explosion, his engines cooling for the final time. But his reaction thrusters still worked, and his navigation computer was up to the task. The mighty ship, cut, burned and crippled, slowly lined up a collision course with the Ring.
A very specific spot on the Ring.
After all, the bright energy lance that had crippled Tempest had also given away its exact position, on the strangely-habitable inside surface of the Soia structure. Even if the Shells got their weapon back online in the little time they had left, they would be forced to waste shots on the closing vessel lest their find be destroyed by the impact. Which would let the rest of Strikeforce-51 race through the inside of the Ring, sensors eating away at whatever secrets may be seen from such point-blank proximity.
The shuttle airlock hissed shut behind her, and Stillstorm left her junior officers behind and entered the cockpit. She didn't even need to send anything to the Tenoin who sat at the navigation console for the girl to yield her seat.
It had been many years since the last time that a much-younger Arrir Stillstorm had manned such a post, but her fingers danced across the console with as much speed as ever. And it was her own voice that ordered levelly "Pilot, depart."
It was oh-so-much easier to keep the pain out of her spoken voice than with sanzai.
The shuttle nosed out of the hangar, its pilot still following procedure even though there was no reason anymore not to scorch the hangar with the blazing-hot engine exhaust. No final indignity for the ship that had carried them through so many battles.
Even if in just under eighty solon, none of it would matter anymore to Tempest.
An alarm blared from the console.
The pilot warned loudly {Energy weapon impact on the front of the ship! It's pushing him back after us!} Her hand grasped at the throttle, dumping power to the engines.
Engines that could not react quite instantly to such a command.
The shuttle impacted 'back' against the hull of Tempest with bone-jarring force. A pained mental yelp came from the rear compartment, as the crewwoman whose seat Stillstorm had taken was hurled from her seat before she could buckle in. More alarms flared across the screen as the shuttle reported damage.
And then the engines kicked in.
Or rather, the single remaining engine.
The shuttle leapt away, whirling on its axis as the off-center thrust spun it like a log caught in a whirlpool. The inertial dampeners did what they could, but enough force bled through to slam the passengers aside against their creaking seat restraints.
The pilot struggled to force her hand against the acceleration, fingers crawling along her console before finally snagging on the throttle. Yanking it back to neutral.
"—hland Seven, what is your status? Can you maneuver?" asked the voice over the radio, from the frigate that had stood by to receive the shuttle flight. "This is Argent Spear, our hangar is cleared and ready for an emergency landing!"
But one glance at the damage reports in front of her was enough for Stillstorm. Couple that with the trajectory of the drifting shuttle, one that they could no longer change. There would not be enough time for the frigate to chase down the tumbling shuttle and retrieve it.
Which left her only one option. Only one command that she could give.
"Break off, Argent Spear." ordered Stillstorm. "Main thrusters are offline, we cannot maneuver. We are riding this fish down into the deeps. Inform Mazeit Moonglow that command of Strikeforce-51 is now her responsibility." She took a deep breath, not for her own sake but rather for those others on the shuttle with her. Yet her duty was clear. "Attempt no recovery. Continue the mission."
There was no way that any vessel from Strikeforce-51 could slow enough to recover any survivors from the Ring's surface, not without being overwhelmed by the Shells closing on their position.
If there even were going to be any survivors, of course.
That was now Stillstorm's sole remaining duty. It was a strangely... 'freeing' sensation, as if a literal weight of command had been lifted from her weary shoulders.
Stillstorm sent to the pilot {Can you maneuver this craft in atmosphere?}
{Affirmative, Lashret.} the pilot sent back confidently, catching on to her train of thought immediately. The shallow angle of Tempest's approach to the Ring could let the shuttle follow the drifting hulk in, shielding it from the burn of 're-entry.'
Stillstorm's hands danced over the console, redirecting power and adjusting the inertial dampeners.
And overriding safety limiters.
{Do it.} she sent.
With less than eight solon until impact, the shuttle's remaining engine once more blazed brightly. With the thrust-directors canted as far off to one side as they could manage, the shuttle merely yawed rather than spun, leaping away from Tempest's hull even as the first flickers of red flames began their dance around the perimeter of the crashing ship.
Everything happened between eyeblinks.
Debris slammed against the shuttle, rattling all aboard.
Tempest rocked under a last-solon energy blast, veering aside just a hair's breadth.
Pain-panicked sendings from the injured girl in the back were quieted by the steely assurances of a veteran Teidar.
The pilot flared her engine and overloaded the maneuvering thrusters, nudging the shuttle's nose up just as the terrain rushed up from below.
For the tiniest fraction of a moment, torn tree branches could be seen streaking past the cockpit windows, and then—
Impact.
Blackness.