mad·ness
n.
The quality or condition of being insane. See synonyms at insanity.
Great folly: It was sheer madness to attempt to rebel against the Hegemony.
Fury; rage.
Enthusiasm; excitement
Organic Cognitive Malfunction; A.I. Definition of Insanity
HMS Excalibur - Yeji-Sola System
Galadriel settled uneasily into her bunk, pulling the worn curtain across to give her some sense of privacy. She was the only one sleeping in her section; she'd worked through much of the night reviewing diagnostic data and running checks on the Propylon system waiting for Colonel Mayfair's recon team and Shale's assault team to return. The fact that they had Prince Edward aboard, for however long that was, made all the difference. He had Elias's memories, meaning that he knew the ship's systems inside out, and in a few hours he'd already identified a number of problems with the Propylon arrangements. It was reassuring to have him back on board; at least if Rikard had tampered with anything, he would know about it.
She shifted and rolled over, bunching up her pillow, yawning tiredly as she closed her eyes.
* * *
Rikard marched back through his transport, glad that his Praetorian had been efficient in disposing of the trash. He would almost miss Tilly's presence. Almost.
He returned to his main chamber, reaching out and triggering switches with his mind as he ascended to the platform. Connecting through to the Amsus FTL network, he turned.
"Lift the FTL embargo on the Excalibur," he commanded.
* * *
Sephradon glared across her command centre to the holographic image that had appeared there. Annoyed that Rikard again sought to interrupt her campaign against the Empire for his own aims.
"We are in the midst of tactical operations," she replied, seething, it seemed that every few hours he wanted her to lift the embargo, "If the Empire were to notice the communications blackout were lifted, they might be able to..."
"Do as I command." Rikard's image raised a warning finger at her, reminding her of her place, and his utter dominance.
"Very well, Enarbrem," Sephradon gestured to an Amsus fleet officer, deactivating the powerful jamming devices that were flooding the Imperial FTL network with white noise rendering the system useless beyond the Sentinel jump nexus.
"Thank you," Rikard replied as his image faded, replaced again by the stars.
Sephradon folded her arms as her eyes narrowed; Rikard was up to something again. And she knew that to risk the attack on the Empire it would have to be important, probably vital to his long-term goals. Goals he had seen fit not to share with her.
"Trace and display the High Commander's signal transmission." S," she commanded her elegant lips pursing as she mused inwardly about what could be so important to the betrayer.
"Mistress?" The Fleet Marshal turned in surprise.
"Access and display," Sephradon snapped testily, annoyed that he'd dared question her, "Our success may well depend on this."
"Of course, Mistress," the Fleet Marshal replied, uncertain as to whether impeding on the High Commander's transmissions was permissible. There were no specific orders against it, nor any kind of procedures, but then, why should there be? It really mattered little; the Amsus would never even consider such a course of action.
The Fleet Marshal obeyed Sephradon. When there was an absence of procedural precedent it was always wise to defer to a senior authority.
* * *
FTL NETWORK ACTIVITY DETECTED...
PROCESSING TRANSMISSION SOURCE... 100% COMPLETE
CORRELATION WITH KNOWN DISTRIBUTION OF IMPERIAL ASSETS... NEGATIVE, PRIMARY SOURCE NON-IMPERIAL.
PROCESSING RECIPIENT DESITINATION... 100% COMPLETE
AUXILLARY FTL COMMUNICATIONS NODE. HMS Excalibur. YEJI-SOLA SYSTEM.
DECIPHERING TRANSMISSION FEED... 100% COMPLETE
Lex Talionis stretched himself into the FTL network, exploring the transmission feed, following it back to its source: an Orion transport in a forgotten edge of the Orion Directorate. He even detected the Amsus flagship monitoring the transmission.
"Interesting," the holographic image in the CIC said, thoughtfully swinging the baton up to his chin.
* * *
"The problem is, we're not finding any indication he was onboard," Marine Captain Hansen reported, filling in for Colonel Mayfair while he was off the ship.
"If he was here, he appears to be gone now." Commander Durnham thoughtfully fidgeted with his glasses. "Excalibur observed no indication of another... entity... onboard. And while her internal monitoring systems are... at times inconclusive, she registered nothing out of the ordinary at the times in question."
"Plus we've been sitting here for hours checking every system by hand..." Hansen pressed.
"A few hours more or less won't make much of a difference," Commander Durnham assessed, "The Amsus task force isn't due to arrive in Taïrian space for another fourteen hours. And there are still two days before the main armada enters the Sentinel System."
"Are we sure the lieutenant saw what she saw?" Hansen asked, looking perplexed, "I'm with the Skipper on this one, if Rikard was here, we can't run the risk of jumping till we are sure."
"Without Doctor Kyr, we have no way of ascertaining if Lieutenant Galadriel is suffering for Organic Cognitive Malfunction..." Commander Durnham remarked.
"Can we not use that term?" Darien looked up from where he had been standing quietly listening to the pair of officers debate the issue, "I believe her. If she tells me she saw him, then she saw him." He drew quiet looking at the digital clock on the displays over the CIC table. "Let's give it another twelve hours; if we find nothing, then we go."
His officers dispersed and Darien glanced over to where Edward sat, still, watching him.
"We're not jumping until every system has been checked again," Darien said, sitting down at the head of the CIC table. He stared over the display of the Excalibur that was projecting data as Commander Durnham ran a diagnostic check on her computerized systems.
"Sure, that's easy for you to say," Edward replied tiredly, blowing out a sigh, "You're not the one who has to go crawling through the maze of ducts and tunnels on ship. Have you seen what the Amsus did to my jump drives?" he murmured a frustrated little grumble as he pressed his chin into his crossed arms, poking the holographic image with a finger. "I don't sense Rikard on this ship."
"I believe Galadriel," Darien said, lowering his voice so that the rest of the bridge crew, toiling over the ships systems, didn't overhear him. Commander Durnham had returned to direct the technical teams, Hansen standing at his shoulder, the Marine Captain adding his own expertise to the task of ensuring there was no sabotage done to the ship's systems.
"I know," Edward replied, glancing up, "It's just she's the only one who's seen him... she could be wrong, that's all."
"With Rikard, there's no such thing as too careful," Darien said evenly.
"There is," Edward said, a note of warning in his voice, "Especially when he's trying to keep you busy..."
"You sound like you know from experience. Another memory?" Darien asked, resting his elbows on the table and picking up his shattered glasses, shaking his head at them again. It would be a long time before he'd be able to get a new pair.
"I..." Edward shrugged, "I had..." He looked away a moment, looking at the plotting board, seeing all the absent markings. Excalibur could no longer maintain its BARCAP of fighters, and while there were plane crews working around the clock to get fighters up and running, the Excalibur seemed somehow naked without them, unprotected by her Knights and Paladins.
"I tried to stop Rikard," he said with a sigh, knowing it was going to be bad as he turned back to Darien.
"You faced Rikard alone?" Darien's eyes darkened, "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Non-corporeal, near omni-powerful being here," Edward gestured to himself, "Hello!"
"So is Rikard," Darien snapped, leaning back and folding his arms, "And he's had three hundred years of experience with it, maybe more..." He knew he was raising his voice, and he lowered it again as a couple of crew members on the bridge were turning to see what the yelling was about. "...You could have been hurt."
"You're just pissy 'cause you can't be all over-protective," Edward flashed him a grin, "I nearly had Rikard until he had you shot..."
"I'm 'pissy' because what you did was reckless and stupid," Darien replied with a snarl, "Rikard nearly took this ship apart by himself. He's got plans within plans, he gets inside your head and..." Darien blew out a steadying sigh, "...you were being stupid."
"Yes Granddad," Edward replied with a light smile, "You know, you're more like him every day..."
"Quit trying to change the subject," Darien snapped, "Look... I... just..." He shook his head and stalked off, one hand thrust into his pocket, the other rubbing his brow tiredly, needing to just walk away and calm down.
He walked through the shattered doors to his stateroom, crossing the deck and taking his chair, turning it to look out over the endless night. He kept his back to the door as he stared out over the darkness, alone in the silent and darkened room, the colours of the shifting corona of the Yeji-Sola star playing across the walls, lighting them with a play of colours that danced and flickered in the shadows.
He was coming to hate that star. He felt frustrated and stuck. He was the one to stay behind, while his crew took the danger. He wasn't used to the feeling that he wasn't in control. Was Edward right? Was he such a control freak that he couldn't let go, even for a moment, and trust the people around him??
'You're truly alone.' The COB's words bit him in his mind.
The imminent invasion of the Empire, Taïr under siege, Rikard loose doing god alone knew what, a crazed AI with planet-killing super weapons loose in the galaxy out to exact its twisted vengeance... and now Edward was running off and doing something fundamentally stupid...
"Your grandson," Darien murmured, looking up at the picture of VonGrippen on its shelf, "Is a stubborn, reckless... arrogant... spirited..." his words softened, "annoying... short... frustrating..."
"A. VonGrippen." The golden letters on the cover of the Excalibur's logbook stood crisp and clear.
"Like you," Darien replied, "I get that." Darien pulled the logbook across the desk to him, "Always trying to be the one to save the day... taking it on alone, you must have driven your wife nuts," he said, flipping idly through the pages.
"Every man has his regrets," came the reply in the book, "I always had a crusade to fight, a cause to win. I often forgot that there were those left behind waiting for me to come home. Katherine has given up writing in her letters asking me to be safe; she has come to learn that I do what has to be done, often at the expense of my own safety wants, desires and safety. She has come to understand that my duty takes precedence over my well being."
"That was because you were a selfish bastard," Darien remarked dryly, "Didn't it matter to you that...?" he turned the worn pages, stopping a little further in.
"I sit here now, staring out at the stars. I have a glass of wine and my thoughts. For a time I can ignore a universe that screams for my personal attention. For the moment I have no responsibilities except to myself." The words in VonGrippen's arching script flowed across the page. From the angle, Darien could almost imagine the man sitting in his chair, the book on his lap, his uniform undone, penning the words. "Edward is sleeping somewhere in the next room. Safe for the moment from the horrors of war, but I don't know how long that will last.How long can I hope to keep the boy safe? Or for that fact, how long can I keep any of the children alive who follow me in this damned mission?"
"You do what you have to do to keep them safe," Darien murmured, leaning back into the chair bracing the book on his lap, "What else can you do?"
"It is far too easy for me to dwell on all that was lost, on the young Sub-Lieutenant who gripped the rail as we committed the body of his best friend to space, a picture of vengeance against the bloody Gorean who are ravaging the Apilon Rift. And I wonder if that is all I am fated to be, an avenging angel, summoned for from hell by my god to deal the retribution of innocence lost. While back at home Kardiac is preparing his jihad against any that don't follow the bishops religious teachings. I wonder, at times, if I follow them. The Emperor was my friend, I married his sister, and I know he wouldn't have wanted this... this thing that has grown out of his absence. At times I miss his wisdom."
Darien leaned forward, reading the words, frowning at them. "There was more than just your suffering..."
"I sip my wine and remember the peace I had once, back with my Katherine on Geldan VII. We shared such hopes and dreams. But war inevitably shatters all peace, personal as well as political. I had set out to do my duty, only to return to her consumed by it. The Apilon Rift... it seems that my fate has become inexorably entwined with the fate of that insignificant sector, and as a pair we dance a deadly circle that sees me once again staring at space wondering whatever happened to my dreams."
Darien's hand strayed up to the Knight's Cross at his throat, testament to his victory, a testament to the bloodshed of his past. And as he sat there he felt the blood that stained his hands, that stained everything he touched, everything he loved.
* * *
"You're pretending to sleep," Rikard purred softly at her.
Galadriel's blood ran cold. An eye opened to look towards the curtains, still tightly drawn. Swallowing, she reached out a hand to draw them back, knowing what she would see there.
Rikard stood in his shirtsleeves, tie undone, leaning back against the far row of bunks. Menacing in his normalcy, and the danger masked behind it he smiled at her appreciatively. His eyes leered he looked down over her half-clad form as she sat up.
She reached out and grabbed for her shirt, pulling it over her as she glared at him. "What do you want?" she snapped, sitting upright.
He looked away from here, drawing distant, a troubled look in his eyes, "I've done some horrible things..." he said, his voice hitching.
"I'm not a psychiatrist," she snapped, getting up and drawing her gun from her weapons belt.
"I killed a woman today," he said thoughtfully, "She was a spy, so really, in my own right I was justified in killing her. She was... insignificant."
"I don't care," Galadriel thumbed back the hammer of the automatic knowing that it was useless against Rikard, but... it made her feel better to have something, anything, between her and the sociopathic dictator.
"I wasn't always a killer," Rikard continued as he, mused aloud, "I used to be quite mild-mannered." He paused, breaking into a charming smile as his demeanour changed, a light note entering his voice. "I'm lying of course, I actually killed my first man at five years old. My UN 'handlers' considered it to be important that I was educated early in the brutality of war, and I proved an apt pupil"
Galadriel adjusted her grip on the pistol. "Get out!" she demanded, looking towards the door. "Help!" she called, turning back and slumping as she realized that Rikard was gone.
The pair of marines poked their heads around the door to her row of bunks, looking surprised to see her in just her shirt and underwear, gun in hand, shaking her head.
* * *
Lauren coughed and slipped into the command chair of the Gunship. Shale hadn't moved from his place before the observation windows, his paws tightly gripped behind his back as his hulking form remained rigid. He seemed to be searching the darkness for something.
Used to his moods, Lauren chose to ignore him, sniffling against the cold as she rubbed her nose and punched jump co-ordinates into the Polian navigation computer, regretting the fact that she'd been in such a hurry to make Darien's rendezvous that she'd been unable to make a stop at a dispensary. She pushed that thought out of her head and tried to focus on the computer image before her, stroking the touch pad on the arm of the chair, guiding it through the complicated calculations. Her head felt as though it were packed full of cotton balls.
Shale's paw pulled her hand away from the controls.
She jumped as she looked up in shock; she hadn't even noticed him move away from the window. Groggily she sniffed back her runny nose and stared back. "What?" she demanded, her voice sounding like death reheated... the irony wasn't lost on the construct.
Shale released her hand, tilting his head towards the jump computer, the flickering error messages flashing their. Warnings flickered in bright light stating that the jump co-ordinates were dangerously incorrect. And her anger at his interruption melted away; she had nearly plotted a jump into a star... She would have killed them all, all for what? A stupid cold?
"Oh my god!" she breathed, looking back in shock at her oldest friend.
Shale picked her up gently, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her back towards her cabin. She didn't resist, simply closed her eyes to the headache and let him relieve her, sinking into oblivion the moment her head touched the pillow.
Shale stared down at her for a long moment, extending one of his claws to push her hair back from her eyes. He worried about her, like he for did for each of his crewmates in that quiet and unassuming manner of his. The war was taking its toll on each of them, wearing them all down.
Masconi was waiting as he walked out of Lauren's cabin. "I heard the alarm," she jerked her thumb towards the bridge, "Is she going to be okay, or should we send her back to the Ex where they might be able to treat her?"
Shale turned his head back towards the cabin door, fishing through his pockets to draw out half a cigar. Pinching it between two of his claws, he lit it with an oversized lighter, puffing thoughtfully before shaking his head.
Masconi set her jaw and shrugged. "You're the skipper," she said reluctantly, following the large Taïrian back to the bridge, "Firlotte thinks he might have found an automated repair system, but we're not going to rearm this ship in time for..." She pointed to the supply ship's image on the sensor displays.
Shale grunted his agreement, taking the command chair, surprisingly comfortable for a being of his size. He drew a long, relaxed puff on his cigar as he touched the controls, entering the correct jump data.
Hyperspace was a volatile realm, violent eddies and storms that would tear the average ship apart if it didn't build up the correct amount of charge to allow itself to be expelled. The trick was figuring out how long to stay there before dropping out... being spat out was more apt. It didn't matter the speed going in, the ship could be standing still, the velocity upon exit was usually somewhere close to eighty percent light speed, along an exit vector that could be as much as a five hundred miles off of where a person anticipated exit. It was the reason that Imperial ships always jumped into the outer system to avoid collisions, and gave birth to the rule, the shorter the jump, the more control you had over where you came out.
Far stepping, from what Shale could figure out, was slightly different. It was as if the Polians had built their vessels for the purpose of riding hyperspace waves, like a fish riding currents. The gravitic drives would reposition them in a hyperspace current, change their angle, adapt to put them precisely on target, but still the expulsion velocity was fast and deadly if not controlled correctly.
The Propylons... Shale didn't have the first hand clue about; it was like comparing hot air balloons to the Hindenburg then throwing a F-175 star fighter into the mix. They all flew, yet the principals were so different that they made little sense... Shale had always been fond of balloons, a nice sensible way to travel, especially to a being who preferred to live underground.
He reviewed his plan. The Gunship would appear in the system, initiate a distress call, Mrs. Drake on the communications system to answer an Amsus challenge in Polian. The resulting boarding action would be short. Trained Marines and Fida'i assassins would cut the Amsus technicians and fleet officers to pieces and secure the supply vessel. a demolitions crew rigging the nuclear bomb they had brought with them from the Excalibur's arsenal while they lay in wait for the arrival of the Command and Control Frigates.
Shale licked his long tongue down one of his incisors, glancing at Masconi. Nodding that they were ready, he engaged the Far-step drive.
* * *
The modified Imperial probe screamed out of hyperspace. Lex Talionis reached out with his eyes and ears, searching the very limits of the Arcanis system. The probe jettisoned its first pair of fighter jump pods, the expended tubes spinning away in the probe's wake as it angled itself, feeding detailed information into its tactical sensors.
There were the impressive sentry stations, guardians of Arcanis,. Massive automated weapons platforms that would bring enough firepower to bear on anything attempting to penetrate their defensive screen. Each sporting heavy Zero-Point Bore cannons that could sunder even the Imperial Pocket Battleship before it could attain a firing solution on the dying world.
Beyond them Arcanis smouldered, caked in the ash of its dead moon. The once mighty bastion of the Polian Alliance lay in ruins. The probe identified the trace life upon its surface as it began a tight beam transmission back to the command ship. The main Lex Talionis program analysed the absence of the Polian race, already reviewing where they might have escaped too after their world was ravaged.
It didn't matter where they ran to, he would find them. The Probe however had one solitary and overriding directive.
THY WILL BE DONE!
With a visual line of sight series of calculations and the probe extended its second set of jump pods and engaged them, leaping halfway across the system in a single bound. With a precision of line-of-sight jumping that was beyond all but the most complicated of computers, the probe shot under the guns of one of the stations, the automated tracking systems spinning the station's guns around as they tried to open fire on the modified probe, hurling fiery bolts of liquid light into its path.
Coldly, Lex calculated his next jump. The third set of jump pods slid out of their housing, slamming the probe onwards again. As the weapons fire from the station sliced through empty space, the station's AI computer attempting to anticipate where the probe would emerge from hyperspace.
Lex, a true A.I. held a decided advantage over the limited Polian variant. He possessed an intuitive nature that he was willing to employ to his advantage. The probe arced about on a new vector, tracking the smaller Polian alliance vessels, the remainder of the Arcanis defence force rushing to intercept him.
It was another conclusive indication that the Polians had abandoned their homeworld. And again the Probe knew this fact was irrelevant. An example of Imperial power had to be made.
He engaged his final set of jump pods, the probe leaping into high orbit. Explosive bolts jettisoned armour plates from the now-useless chassis. The separation process cast the now redundant array of expended jump pods away from the heart of the probe, the heavy fibrous heat shield built up around the Type-Nine warhead as it burned its course through the atmosphere, a deadly shooting star that, were anyone alive on Arcanis, would have been the herald of the imminent destruction.
The weapon slammed into the mantle of the massive world, piercing its crust as it sank deeply into the rock. The weapon detonated, the Zero-point bomb tearing a hole in the fabric of space between a realm of pure energy and the planet. The resulting titanic explosion rent Arcanis asunder.
The dying world, mercifully, received its death stroke.
* * *
Mrs. Drake repeated the command into the communication system, struggling to get her mouth around the difficult Polian words, hoping to god that they didn't pick up on the faint Italian accent that anyone born on Tempus had.
The Amsus supply vessel sat squarely before them, a squat and ugly ship, bulk cargo containers strapped to a long and slender access tunnel that extended from the bridge module back towards the engine sections. A larger docking ring rotated around this, docking ports open and lit up; the Amsus were preparing for their refuelling operation. Signal markers and buoys blinked in the night sky ready to direct the delicate ballet.
They hadn't been prepared for the Polian Gunship to leap down on top of them.
Mrs. Drake repeated her request for docking procedures, knowing that the bewildered Amsus fleet officer in command of the ship was frantically searching through his procedural manual for instructions on what to do in this eventuality.
"Gunship Five," the Amsus officer replied, using the Amsus designation for the vessel, "We cannot offer you assistance at this time, hold your position and..."
Mrs. Drake swore something particularly vile in Polian, which to Masconi sounded an awful lot like someone taking a dump. Surprised that Mrs. Drake even knew a swear word, the Wing Commander nodded her head in approval.
Mrs. Drake continued, her hand on the headset of the communication system, off on a tear, gesturing with a lot of clenched fists to help her accent her words. She punctuated the final word with a sharp slap to the back of her hand, the only way she could possibly think of to recreate the Polian word for 'do it now before I skillet your children and serve them in butter'.
There was a pause; no doubt the Amsus were trying to figure out the translation. The Amsus Officer returned to the channel. "The articles of our alliance are specific, however, we are currently about to engage in a military refuelling operation..."
Mrs. Drake blew a raspberry, smacking her lips a few times as she slowly and deliberately repeated her orders.
"With respect," the Amsus Officer replied coldly, "We shall observe our alliance treaty and permit you to dock..."
It was then that pandemonium broke out on the bridge of the Gunship.
Every alarm erupted at once, screens flashing to life showing data at rapid speeds. Warning alerts and communications screens flew to life, a flood of gibberish screaming over the nets.
Shale stared about him in shock, as a startled Mrs. Drake spun looking over the screens. Masconi had instinctually drawn her Kill'a'ma'jig and held it ready for anything.
The screens all changed to a floating blue orb surrounded by a ring of stars. These rotated individually as the alarms cut out, and an eerie quiet settled over the bridge.
"What the hell was that?" Masconi breathed, her eyes still peeled.
Seconds later a blast rocked the Gunship.
The Amsus supply vessel's engines sprang to life as it turned from them, beginning to accelerate, spooked, no doubt, by the Polian alarms. It was Masconi's turn to swear. Taking two steps forward, she looked at the supply ship slipping by them. There went their best chance of getting the hedgehogs.
Mrs. Drake shook her head as she pulled off the headset and looked back at Shale. "It was some kind of distress call," she said, shaking her head and looking at the blue orbs around her, "But we weren't the ones transmitting it. I didn't catch enough of the message to figure out what it was about, some kind of massive emergency was declared in Polian space..."
"Then why the hell did the supply ship shoot at us?" Masconi gestured out of the window at the retreating vessel.
"Because you swore in English while I still had an open channel with them," Mrs. Drake sighed in frustration feeling her throat, raw after all the yelling in Polian.
Shale seemed unperturbed; he tapped the drive controls of the Gunship and set it on a pursuit course, sure to keep it out of weapons range. The Taïrian stroked his muzzle fur as his eyebrows twitched.
* * *
Darien folded his arms, rubbing his temple as he reviewed the report, looking up at Captain Hansen. "The strike team was supposed to hit the primary fuel depot on Ibheab Seven." He set the papers down and leaned forward across the desk. "What went wrong?"
"Lieutenant Mitchell panicked, my Lord," Hansen replied uncertainly, he looked worse for wear himself, his BDU's still torn from his own scrape on a recent raid, "Once he and his Dragoons arrived on Ibheab they were supposed to make contact with a Fifth Column resistance member who was to guide them to the depot, however, due to Inquisition activity on the world..."
"They were unable to make contact, so they blew up a warehouse full of refrigeration units instead?" Darien raised an eyebrow, "While I'm sure General Riley appreciates the fact that the Amsus ships will no longer have cold martinis while they hunt him down, we need to hit that fuel depot again, and this time get it right."
Darien stood from his chair slowly, resting a hand on the cold surface of his desk. With the Propylons online, he could, at least, be marginally effective in the war effort, using the Marines under his command and the Fida'i to hit Amsus military assets in an attempt to sabotage the support structure behind the mighty war machine. Unfortunately, while the Marines were well trained, they weren't Commandos. And the strain of trying to get them to adapt was taking its toll on the more inexperienced Marine officers.
Darien nodded uneasily, "Brief the Marine officers again," he lifted the report, "have them review this to see where they went wrong. I am going to try contacting Imperial Command to see if we can get any of the Kardiac Commandos over here, a couple of experienced vets might help turn the marines into Dragoons faster.
Dragoon had been Mayfair's idea, rapidly mobile assault forces. After the old military unit that rode like cavalry, yet fought like infantry. It seemed like the ideal moniker for the Propylon Special Forces.
"Any word from Colonel Mayfair's team?" Darien asked hopeful for any piece of good news.
"Nothing as yet, Highlord," Hansen shook his head. "Lieutenant Ryerson is maintaining an open evac window should they call for us."
The Fida'i slipped out of the shadows, a woman that had been with him on Ordessus, Simi if he remembered her name.
"The attack on the battlecruiser was a success, Aga-Kahn," she reported without any further explanation. She turned to leave.
Darien nodded, leaning down to cross another objective off of his list. The Amsus Battlecruiser BC-095 had been stationed on picket duty around Uikr, a plump and rich agricultural target world that made a tempting target. Darien had been co-ordinating his strikes in an effort to trick the Inquisitors, now very aware of his Dragoons, into believing that world would be his next target.
Hit and fade, and misdirection. It kept them from anticipating where his actual targets were, a number of space stations that provided the communications backbone to the Amsus Hegemony.
He blew out a tired sigh and rubbed his cheek, walking out to the CIC and looking over the charts spread across them, the green light from the glass plotting boards casting the area in shadows.
Commander Durnham stood at the far end of the table, absently wiping his glasses on the end of his uniform tie.
"'Okay Commander," Darien said in amusement, his curiosity finally winning out, "What is with that?"
"What?" Kit asked, looking up.
"That...that obsessive-compulsive polishing of glasses that aren't real?" Darien gestured with a pair of dividers. "Every five minutes like clockwork."
Commander Durnham stopped his polishing. "When this image was encoded, I wasn't expecting Excalibur to... umm... resurrect me in this fashion, and so I didn't bother to clean my glasses. Unfortunately, this was the only image, and she recreated me in perfect detail from it... right down to the smudge." He showed Darien the glasses.
"You should get Matty to fix that while he's here," Darien said, looking about, wondering where the errant engineer had gotten to.
"I..." the Commander began, stopping as he turned.
A communications officer sprinted across the desk. "Skipper," the young midshipman panted, producing a hastily decoded message, "We just received that through the FTL net..."
Darien blinked lifting the data reader to skim over the message, the device dropping to the CIC table as he closed his eyes.
Arcanis had been destroyed.