The Ice-Foxes proved their mettle today as they fought to end a three game losing streak by beating the Blackburn Woolocks in an astounding 5-0 upset.
Fort Wallace - South of Karin City - Gorean Occupied Karin
OCCUPATION: Day ONE-FIFTY-SEVEN
A Karin spring was little different from a Karin winter, except the steady falling snow was occasionally interrupted by a cold, heatless sun that broke through the blizzards caking the planet, beginning a steady climb towards summer. And for those that had weathered the storms of winter, it was the beginning of something new.
Fort Wallace was actually a high school. The playing fields, levelled in one of the Empire's pushes for a better education system on its capital world, were home to a squadron of fighter craft. The school's machine shops made an excellent substitute for aircraft machine shops, servicing the motley collection of fighters that formed the back bone of the training squadron.
The ITE Mechs of the Karin 1st Expeditionary Marines patrolled the grounds around the school, sheltering the small mountain town from any kind of reprisal attacks from the Karin's new overlords. The fighting for the planet was fierce; fortifications and conventional bases had been easily overrun in the initial assaults. The Gorean shock troops, supported by their flying powered armours, had forced much of the Karin military into a rout, scattering them across the surface of the planet, unable to muster any kind of effective counter attack.
That was why Colonel Mayfair was there and, ultimately, that was why Wing Commander Angelina Masconi was on the surface of Karin. Not that she had ever spent any time inside a school before that point. Schools were not high on the list of priorities for those born on Tempus. Being a soldier, she'd not benefited from any kind of formal education. Hers had come in the cockpit of an F-120 fighter, and now hers was the only surviving F-175 fighter of the original compliment aboard the Excalibur.
She sat in the library of the school, a booted foot up on the edge of a table. She was the officer responsible now for drafting and recruiting a new batch of wide-eyed Karin children to fly the fighters, bombers and dropships of the Imperial Air Force. The assessments from some of the pilots (hastily borrowed from the Excalibur's flight deck to act as trainers for Masconi's flight school) were that the children weren't ready for combat.
There was, of course, little choice in the matter. With the Excalibur besieged, trapped inside the atmosphere by a flying wall of steel, the only operational fighters were the recon fighters dropped with the Expeditionary force, which were being converted in the school's shops to EV-II specs. The fighters were being put to some use by the marines to counteract the numerical superiority of the Gorean fliers. That meant pilots were needed, strapped into the flying rocket planes and blasted off to fight with the bare minimum of training that Masconi could manage. The death tally of the Karin 'minute men' was so high that it decorated an entire wall of the school cafeteria and was now spilling onto a second.
She dragged a hand down her face, tossing the files aside and shaking her head. If it wasn't Karin, she'd have begged for a return to flight status on the Excalibur. Anything to escape the awesome responsibility of training boys to die. A cruel fate given what had put her on the ground in the first place.
The steady booming of one of the ITEs through the windows showed the agile, cat-like mech's powerful flak cannons tearing into the sky, swatting down another of the snot-green Gorean fliers that strayed too far over the frontlines. At least someone was having some good luck. Masconi shrugged as she watched the mech bound back to its patrol, resting a hand on the glass and shaking her head. Five months into the occupation, five months of the bloodiest fighting in the war. The Excalibur refused to abandon the stricken world to its fate.
She knew deep down that Darien wouldn't abandon people to the Gorean cook pots. Not when the Gorean forces numbered about a hundred thousand troopers, barely enough to contain the city of Karin. Were it not for the invasion of Earth being led by Field Marshall Riley, the Gorean would have been driven off Karin long ago.
Masconi knew that sentiment was overtly optimistic. The Gorean were relentless, possessing nearly a hundred heavy destroyers ringing the planet, cutting it off from any outside aid including the Excalibur's. It would take a small miracle to drive the Gorean from the planet, a miracle being prayed for by everyone strapped into a cockpit, or donning a helmet and picking up a Pulse Rifle.
She turned away from the windows, buttoning up her mottle green camouflage fatigues, tucking the feldcap back on her head as she exited the library and readying herself to head outside and into the cold dawn. She checked the Polian sidearm that dangled from her belt. It was the preferred weapon carried by Mayfair's elite Dragoons after the Rock of Braal. Seized from the armoury of a captured Polian gunship, it was guaranteed to fell even the terrifying Gorean bezerkers in a single shot, a handy thing considering the last time Masconi had come face to face with one.
She absently rubbed her side, regretting the whole mess with Darien. She'd tried to talk to him, standing outside the command tent, ready to walk in and pick up a TAC-link. But she wasn't sure he'd receive it well. They'd ended things on such a bitter note. Maybe, her being banished from the Excalibur was a good thing given the life expectancy of pilots those days. And at least on the ground she was doing some good.
It was a cold day, not surprising given where she was. Every day was a cold day on Karin. She set off up the salted path, through what had been a parking lot. The command bunker had been set up there now, and judging from the heavy looking jeep with its silver eagle licence plate, the newly minted full bird colonel, commander of what was left of the Karin armed forces on Karin, was present at the 'fort'.
Squinting through the sun's glare, Masconi pulled out a pair of wraparound sunglasses and slipped them on, staring at the burned out wreck of an Imperial dropship on the edge of the field. The last attempt to run supplies down from the Excalibur. At least the crippled craft had sort of made it, not that there was much left of the pilot after the incessant plasma barrage that had literally cooked the craft on its way down.
Masconi would be glad once the Propylons were operationally again; the finicky system was still plagued by problems, no matter the attempts by the brilliant engineering team on the Excalibur to fix them. The Gorean had been effective in disabling them, typical overkill designed to overwhelm with sheer shock and awe. It wasn't as if spare parts were readily available to the ship, every part damaged, every fighter marked as unsalvageable, was another step closer to the utter failure of the Empire's hopes at freedom.
The problem was that the Propylons were the key to the whole issue. Were they operational, the Excalibur would be able to jump free of the Karin system, make it to Eisenhower and resupply. Or it could drop additional troops to relieve floundering pockets of resistance on the surface of the planet. Hell, the way Darien could work them, he'd turn them loose on the entire Gorean occupation force, tossing the oversized pig-lizards off the planet one by one, cooking them in the corona of the local star or something equally unpleasant.
Of course, that didn't stop the occasional attempt by the Excalibur's engineers to send things that they felt were expendable. There was a fast growing scrap heap of ruined parts and pieces that hadn't survived the Propylon gating. It was becoming a bit of a joke for the ground pounders, digging fun at what would come through next, and how complete it would be. The latest bet had been a crate of Pulse Rifles without the ammunition. Masconi avoided the betting pool. She knew that Edward and the others aboard the Excalibur were doing the best they could, and she merely wished they'd hurry up about it.
The snow crunched beneath her combat boots as Masconi hurried her way through the cold air. Clambering up the slope to the 'airfield', she spotted a group of recruits clustered around one of the EV-II's receiving instructions from one of the plane captains, flight sergeant Harker, on the pre-flight checks necessary before flight.
There weren't enough uniforms to go around; the minutemen wore civilian clothing, a hallmark of their short careers. A cluster of boys, barely fifteen by their spotty faces, wore team jackets from the high school sports team. They had been a bonus. Masconi appreciated their dedication and found they often worked together to support the weaker members of their squadron. If it was anywhere else, at any other time, Masconi would have enjoyed serving with them. But there, on the frigid side of a mountain, hundred of miles from the capital, freezing their balls off while they waited to die... Masconi couldn't bring herself to care.
The fact that she was only fifteen short years older than them didn't matter. War obliterated age, all that mattered was the throttle of an EV-II and its 55mm autocannons. Switchblades, Reefers and SAK-IIs were the difference between a few deaths on the battle fields they were supporting, or hundreds. Their sacrifices were cold, but vital to the war effort. Without them, the painfully thin Karin lines would crumble.
Masconi stood unobserved by the kids in the shadow of her F-175. It was painted in shades of blues, greys and whites so that it blended in with the arctic landscape around them. The last of her breed, and she was the last Black Knight. She wondered how true that was, Katz always joked with her about it, in the flight ready room, expounding the differences between Knights, and Paladins. Of course her own VMA-23 always came out on top, a position many suspected Masconi enjoyed.
Ice-Foxes, she stared across the field towards the back of the teammate's jackets. A silver fox head stylized on the arm, done in greys standing out and present. An ice hockey team probably, judging by the crossed sticks on the front breast of their jackets. She idly wondered what it must be like for them, trying to remember her own first impressions back in her early flight training. Too many years and too much blood stood between her and them. She was a soldier, an ace fighter pilot. She wasn't a girl, not anymore.
HMS Excalibur - Karin System - Gorean Occupied Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-FIFTY-SEVEN
Taine stood, the amber sky of the late summer's twighlight spreading across the crisp white-capped mountaintops of Karin. An icy tomb, brushed with burnished gold. A futile hope for freedom encased in ice glimmering in a heatless sun. His dark eyes had deep shadows chiselled beneath them by the strain of the unending war. Strain caused both by his own internal war with worry and fatigue and by the fight against a universe that had chosen to thrust its torment upon him. It was a war that he knew he was losing, inside him, his heart was growing cold. The futility of it all seeped into his soul and threatened to freeze his heart.
He crossed his arms across his chest, appropriately dressed in the wine stained white uniform. The only badges upon him were VonGrippen's warlord's insignia, silver gauntlets, and golden circlets, and the Knights Cross. The badge weighed heavily about his neck. His was the burden, and his was the responsibility. Just as the stains were.
Darien hadn't felt well since he had risen that morning, crawling out of bed and forcing himself to get dressed with an almost agonizing slowness that he hated, and it had only gotten worse. The headache, a vague pressure that had started behind his eyes, had grown into a sharp, stabbing pain every few seconds. He felt nauseous, a sick feeling in his stomach that threatened to dump the meagre amount of food he had eaten upon the deck. And even the warmth that Edward brought to him, those slender arms wrapping about him, hadn't managed to stave off the physical discomfort.
"You should eat something," Edward's soft voice was like the sunshine, a flash of golden light in the depths of his hollow soul, creeping and curling its brightness, and offering a dangerous promise of hope. Darien turned his head from the doomed cityscape and looked behind him at the young Immortal Emperor, Edward, the man he loved, wearing his clothes and looking entirely unlike anything a living God was supposed to resemble.
"I'm not hungry," Darien confessed, his eyes softening, and yet the haunted look of a man that knew too much about the nature of the universe remained in them. The news of Lex Talionis and Rikard; of Galadriel trapped with them seeking Peligia; the Shrine of Z'ræl that Commander Durnham had no records on...
Edward's black hair hung across his eyes, points of shimmering blue that pierced with a keen intelligence through his boyfriend's feeble lie. But there were things that needed no explanation, Darien would eat when he chose, and Edward knew it. They were an odd pair, he knew that, but then Darien was a difficult man, stubborn and cold at times, at others... standing there in the fading light, with the creases around his eyes and fear that behind them. The fear that he had failed, the fear that he had...
Edward slipped his hands back around Darien's waist, cocking his head to the side as he watched his boyfriend in a way that only he could. A perception that came with love, an understanding of the man behind the uniform. He knew even in the darkest of nights, buried in insecurities and doubts, that Darien was just a good man grappling with things that no one should have asked a single person to grasp. He could be forgiven his brooding.
Edward sighed. "My turn to ask you if you just want to run away," he offered half sincerely.
"Where could we possibly go?" Darien asked, his shaking fingers brushing Edward's hair back from his eyes. "The war is everywhere now, there isn't a refuge anymore, there certainly isn't any peace."
"Who wants peace?" Edward said matter-of-factly. "I like a bit of chaos, it keeps things interesting." He brushed his nose against Darien's, rubbing it to and fro, his eyes remaining locked on Darien's. "You just need to find something happy... you know, like a single thing that no one can ever take away from you. Keep that, and you can have something kinda like peace. Ya know?"
Darien relaxed his shoulders, leaning his head forward to rest against Edward's forehead. "I have that, though the black hair sucks..."
"Would you stop bitching about my hair?" Edward huffed. "You're such a girl!"
Darien leaned back, an amused smile on his face, his eyebrow climbing a fraction. "Blonde hair, and maybe I'll eat..."
Edward folded his arms and stared at Darien, gritting his teeth and sucking in his breath, contemplating the request. He shook his head, and a sweep of blonde started at the roots and rushed down the length of the fine hair that framed his face. He scratched it and smiled a smile that was undoubtedly Elias-esque.
"Better?" he asked bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Going to stop complaining and eat now?"
Darien nodded, his fingertips reaching up to brush his temples, the pain growing into a thick fog. He dragged his eyes away from Edward and reached out to touch the thick glass that separated him from the city of Karin.
"Darien?" Edward asked, a flash of concern on his face as he stepped forward. The look on Darien's face was one of contorted pain and Edward panicked. He snatched his hands out to steady Darien before he fell. The Warlord sank into his arms, and Edward turned his head back to the shattered stateroom doors, yelling loudly for a medic.
* * *
The makeshift medical bay in the converted mess hall was hardly sufficient for the task of properly diagnosing what was wrong with the Warlord. Doctor Kyr licked an incisor as he stood back beside a collapsible marine table that had become his desk after the battle of Ordessus had destroyed the Excalibur's medical facilities.
The labs had taken a direct hit, destroying any chance for tests, not that they would have helped much. Excalibur's sickbay had been outdated long before the doctor had ever arrived on the ship. Much of the equipment had dated back to the Global Civil War and the UN era before it. Humans seemed to value the art of war and improving the ship's weapon systems over actually providing the old Exploration cruiser with up-to-date life saving equipment.
Not that Kyr could blame them. When Excalibur had been retrofitted after the capture of the Haligonian Jump Nexus, there hadn't been the resources to fix all the oversights, and Excalibur had been pressed back into action without its support systems being upgraded as well. Now, of course, they were paying for that oversight.
The field medics had rigged canvas tarpaulins to separate the various operating rooms from the rest of the mess hall, setting up what equipment they had. But it was still little better than a field hospital. Kyr, his bloodstained lab coat's sleeves rolled up, running on far too many cups of coffee and inadequate sleep, looked at the collection of senior officers, and one very worried Prince Edward. They were all crammed into the cramped office that had been set up in a corner of the mess hall, beneath a heavy bulkhead that caused all but the doctor and the Prince to crouch down.
"I can't give you specifics," Kyr said honestly, looking directly at Edward, knowing that Katz and the command officers of the Excalibur could wait, family came first, and there was no one closer to Darien than him, "as far as I can tell his condition isn't life threatening, yet, but without further testing..."
"How...how do we get that?" Edward asked. His eyes were red and Kyr could read the uncertainty about him, vulnerable and scared for Darien, desperate to do something that may help.
"There isn't much that can be done," Kyr replied helplessly, flipping through a chart that contained Darien's medical history. "His health, from what I can tell, has been deteriorating rapidly. Maybe if I could get him to Mars, they have the proper medical facilities, but there would still be the time it takes to have Darien properly tested."
"We can't afford to loose the Skipper," Mayfair remarked uneasily through the TAC-link, neck deep in the siege. The only luck they'd managed to have in staving off the Gorean, and stopping them from consuming the entire planet of Karin, had been Darien's drop of relief troops, and his repeated attempts to cover their advances.
"We have a duty, and we will continue that duty," Katz replied evenly, a rational tone in his voice, "I'm assuming command of the Excalibur until Darien is back on his feet."
Masconi's voice sounded tense through the comm. channel, "Alvin, decisions on the chain of command aren't exactly that simple. As a Highlady..."
Edward looked up through his red eyes and set his jaw, resting a hand on the edge of the doctor's desk. "There is no one that outranks me," he said, forcing himself upright, strands of his blonde hair falling across his eyes as he looked at both of the officers, "and that puts me in command. Mystical powers or no, I am still the Prince, heir to the Empire, and I don't care what else..." When he saw Katz begin to open his mouth he snapped. "Just shut up!" he yelled, the tears welling in his eyes. "Shut up!" his voice cracked. "You're talking about Darien as if he's dead. He's not dead." He fought the tears that began to roll from his eyes. "Do you hear me?" Around the sickbay, instruments began to vibrate in their holders. Kyr's mug of coffee began to dance across the table until the doctor grabbed for it.
"Of course," Masconi's voice clipped through the channel, and Katz stiffened at the rebuke.
"Matt." Kyr reached out to touch his friend's shoulder "Matt, please stop."
Edward turned to his friend, biting his lip to get his flood of emotions under control. "Get out!" he commanded, back over his shoulder at the officers. "Get out!"
Katz nodded to the officers around him, retreating from the office as Edward stalked away in the opposite direction.
Kyr followed him with his eyes, setting his coffee down upon his observation notes. He watched Edward hurry across the mess hall and vanish into the galley kitchen. An innate understanding that doctors acquired over many years in practice told him where Edward was going and why. Handing another chart off to Nurse Pia, he set off after his friend.
He found him tucked into a dark maintenance locker, sitting on his haunches and staring at a bulkhead. Hardly appearing at all like the god he was supposed to be. Instead he looked completely the reverse; to Kyr there was something incredibly fragile and altogether too human about him.
The doctor stood anxiously in the doorway, looking back behind him at the cooks working on the day's food. The bustle of every day life went on despite the fall of their leader. Kyr quietly closed the door behind him and came to sit down beside Edward, the rack of cleaning supplies rattling as he leaned back against it.
"Are you going to be okay?" Kyr asked in concern, his eyes fixed on Edward's face, watching the mask of control fade and a shadow of his true emotions begin to crack through.
"I..." Edward managed, opening his mouth and closing it again as the first tear began to roll. Like any deluge, all it took was a single droplet to begin the flood. He started to flounder in his own tears, gasping for breath as he reached out, clutching onto the front of Kyr's lab coat and balling his hands in its folds.
Kyr reached around and rested a hand on the back of Edward's neck, squeezing it gently, waiting, and knowing that Edward just needed to get it out. To put into words the reason behind his pain, a reason that was obvious but still needed to be said.
"I..." Edward began again between gasping breaths as he tried to speak through his tears. "I... can't... do ... this... with...out... him..." He clung tighter to his friend. "I can't... not... out... him..."
Kyr continued his rubbing, feeling Edward hyperventilate. Nodding, he reached up with his other hand to pull down a brown paper bag from a supply shelf. He fumbled with it, somehow managing to open it, and handed it to Edward.
"Here, breathe... come on," he urged, guiding the bag to Edward's mouth. "Take it slowly..."
Edward coughed again, breathing into the bag, trying to reclaim some measure of control. And Kyr remained there with him, resting a hand on his shoulder and waiting. "I'm with you through this," he said calmly, surprisingly calm given how close he was to Edward.
Edward settled back, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, looking a long time at the doctor. "What can I do?" he asked quietly, almost pleadingly.
"Sometimes," Kyr replied, feeling uneasy as he comforted his friend, rubbing the back of his neck the way that Kaynin mothers did with their pups, "there isn't anything we can do. Darien's a strong man, he may come out of this on his own..."
"I could just will it away," Edward offered, looking up hopefully.
"Can you? Even in your current state?" Kyr looked optimistic for a second.
Edward shifted upright, torn between the doors leading back to the mess hall where Darien lay, and the doctor. "I... I can try..."
Kyr leaned back. Considering Edward's emotions, were Edward a doctor Kyr would never allow him to perform an operation of that magnitude on someone so close to him... and Kyr had to think rationally. "What would you fix?" he asked softly, questioningly.
"I... I'll find the problem, and I'll make it right!" Edward said desperately. "I'm an engineer..."
"And you're going to perform reconstructive surgery on your boyfriend's neural pathways?" Kyr said. There was a deceptive calm about him that made Edward pause. There was a look on the doctor's face, something that wasn't being said, and something that he needed Edward to realize on his own.
"I could do it, right? I mean just fix it?" Edward asked, uncertainty seeping into his voice.
"You said it yourself, you're an engineer. Would you attempt something like this on an alien computer system? Reconstruct data without any idea what it's supposed to look like, with only a basic idea of how it's supposed to work?" Kyr slid down to sit properly on the floor, wishing he'd brought his coffee cup with him. "You know the best you would do is cause permanent brain damage... worst..."
Edward hung his head, years of VonGrippen conditioning kicking in. The rational Edward side of him took root. He couldn't risk doing anything; the power he wielded wasn't magic. It was a finely crafted tool, and after his last encounter with Rikard, he understood that it would take him time to master the level of skill he needed to make full use of it. He wouldn't use an unreliable tool on an easy repair, let alone on a machine he'd never attempted to fix before. A surgical knife could be as destructive as a sledgehammer if used incorrectly. He was no doctor; he couldn't simply will Darien upright, fighting fit and ready to go. His illness wasn't the same as a bullet wound.
He closed his eyes and swallowed back his tears. "How do I help you?" he asked resignedly.
Ever since his transcendence, Edward had felt the constant connection to Darien, sensed his pain, and shared the faint emotions that he could feel sliding around on the edge of his senses. He could feel that there was something very wrong, and he was consumed with a desperate need to do something. He was supposed to be a god, all-powerful... He fought down the primal urges again with his trained mind. Remembering his Grandfather's instructions on thought, logic, and how controlling oneself was the key to controlling ones situation.
"Oh just shut up!" Edward rubbed his head, realizing that Kyr had been talking to him. He pulled himself out from the memory. One of the disadvantages of near omnipotence was that his memories were always so vivid, colours and lights. Like he was experiencing them over again, sitting with his grandfather in the old oak study, the old man behind his desk, lecturing ad-nauseum.
"I'm sorry?" Kyr blinked.
"Not you," Edward replied, shaking his head. "My grandfather's lecturing me about self-control," he dropped the information flippantly, not even aware of the impact that it had on Doctor Kyr, whose eyebrows shot upwards as he stared about him, sniffing the air as if to sense an unseen presence.
"I was saying that maybe if we could get Darien to one of the hospitals on Karin..." Kyr continued uneasily, feeling like a three hundred year old ghost was watching him.
"They have no power," Edward said distractedly, getting up and walking back through the kitchen to the sickbay.
Kyr followed him, watching as Edward paused at the main surgical bay, with charts pinned to a corkboard, a low-tech solution to replace the diagnosis boards that had been destroyed. Edward had seen them before...
"What do you need for a diagnosis?" Edward asked, "Thermographic? sonorgraphic? EKG? CAT scans?"
"Amongst others," Kyr replied. "If I want to understand what's happening to Darien, the more information I have, the better my chances are of doing something."
"Well, I remember Darien having that," he pointed to the cork board, "except it was a lot prettier, wavy lines and stuff. Like a full diagnostic on ship systems and stuff."
"Where?" Kyr asked, suddenly lighting up with hope.
"Lex Talionis," Edward replied flippantly.
"Oh bloody wonderful!" Kyr answered, his shoulders sagging in a startlingly accurate imitation of one of Colonel Mayfair's pessimistic moments. "And I suppose 'Pardon me, homicidal loony battleship, can I borrow your medlab?' is a part of your brilliant scheme?"
Edward chewed his lip, using his trusted sleeve to dry errant tears that still drifted from his eyes. He glanced upwards towards the bulkhead, in the direction of the Propylon chamber. "We don't know where the Lex Talionis is, so it's not like we can just gate there even if we had the system working."
Kyr shivered at the memory of Masconi's description of what had happened the last time an attempt had been made to gate onto a moving starship.
"I could try to pop there myself... but Lex has the rings, it would be like walking into a trap..." Edward sighed again as he sank down onto the edge of the surgical table.
"There are still conventional options," Kyr reminded. "You know, the regular ones of us around here do kind of prefer not Propylon gating, or popping places, no matter how quick it is." He rested a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Matty, if I can get aboard Lex Talionis and get access to those medical files, maybe I'll have a better idea how to fix it."
"You'd do that?" Edward asked, brightening.
"You're my best friend." Kyr smiled, running a hand sheepishly through his thick shock of brown hair. "Plus if I didn't offer, you'd find some crazy way to talk me into this. So this way I save us both a lot of arguing, bribery, and well... petulant sulking."
"Yeah, but I like you sulky." Edward grinned, despite the worry lines around his eyes, hugging his friend. "Take what you need. Anything at all." He looked towards the tarp concealing Darien's bed. "We need him."
HMS Lex Talionis - En-route to Tempus - Amsus Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-FIFTY-SEVEN
"I hope I haven't caused you any inconvenience during your stay." Lex Talionis stood before the great observation windows of the battleship. The hologram had fittingly chosen to wear the simple black shirt with a white priest's collar. He stood there, the holographic shard of Peligian crystal in his hands, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
"I would say that you had, but then complaining would serve little purpose," Rikard responded, walking around the membrane that was growing about the battleship's CIC, spreading up and over the view ports, glowing under the dark blue lights from the repeater displays showing the warships tactical readiness.
"Indeed, it would do little to improve your situation." Lex didn't turn, he continued to stare out across the glowing orbs ahead of him. "Lieutenant Galadriel must ease your discomfort a little."
Rikard's eyes hardened. "That was beneath even you," he said flatly.
Lex rested a virtual hand on the glass. "No matter, I thought you would appreciate the demonstration that is to come."
"I highly doubt that," Rikard snapped, finding his feet moving of their own accord as his body carried him forward and up to the carved wooden throne that had been Kardiac's final resting place. "But since it seems I have little choice..." he said. Observing the fine motor control the nanobots were gaining over his body, he sat.
Lex turned back to his guest, "considering how heavily the Amsus are... invested in these sectors, Chancellor, I will present you with two options... the first," Lex looked up to the dome that lit with tactical data outlining an Amsus Hive ship sitting protected by a pair of Amsus battle cruisers, "I could butcher them to a man."
Rikard smiled chillingly. "If you do, you will find yourself hunted to the very corners of known space. The Amsus are remarkably effective once antagonized."
"You should know,' Lex responded, "you made them that way." Targeting reticules lit the observation domes as the ship targeted the Amsus vessels.
"What of the second option?" Rikard asked, idly examining his fingernails and nibbling on one. "You have piqued my curiosity. Normally you don't play games."
Lex turned back to his prisoner, amusement decorating his features. "I am quite good at games actually, Enarbrem. I particularly enjoy games of chance. Not cards or dice; that is a linear matter of probability, but true games of chance based on a humanoids intuition. It is interesting to watch a man, for example, who is cornered, forced to choose between two options, neither particularly in his best interest. I find it amusing to try to predict which way his mind will take him, option A and certain doom for his assets, or maybe option B which he could turn to his advantage."
"You are stacking the deck," Rikard responded, resting his arms on the edge of the wooden chair and looking back at Lex Talionis. "I get that you desire me to choose option B. So I choose it already, end the farce and allow me some small measure of peace from your incessant blathering..."
Inclining his head, Lex smiled, "I wish for you to inform them to surrender and permit my drones to dock with the hive ship."
"This should be interesting," Rikard said evenly, his head settling back against the high back of the carved wooden chair. "By last estimates the Amsus have two hive ships left, you are essentially asking me to surrender half the potential breeding capabilities of the entire Amsus race to you."
"I could have it all if I chose," Lex snarled, his demeanour changing to a more threatening posture. "I will have what I desire, or I will compel you..."
"Don't waste your time with idle threats," Rikard responded, "You may control my actions as long as I am aboard your ship, but you do not control my mind. Any attempt to compel me will only arouse the suspicion of the Inquisitor aboard the hive vessel. You need my compliance in this, so," he gave a slight smile, "ask me."
The observation window filled with data, indicating that the cruisers were launching Predator fighters, their Raptors pulling away from the spine of their motherships and deploying protectively around the hive ship. Space was filling rapidly with heavily armed vessels, no match for the Imperial battleship, but still a formidable display of force.
"A demonstration of my will then, option A," Lex turned from Rikard to stare from the window, the bow of the bat-like modified warship pitching over as the captured Polian Zero-point bores fired twice in rapid succession, the blasts eviscerating the two cruisers almost lazily. Drones breaking away from the launch tubes, sweeping like a protective cloud up and around the ship.
Rikard crossed his legs in the command chair. "You know that antagonizing the Amsus is a fatal idea..."
"They are an irrelevant force, obsolete war machines from a desolate era," Lex replied quietly, standing in the shadows of the window, his face lit by the explosions of Predators and Raptors fighting a losing battle against his drone cloud.
"You underestimate them." Rikard smiled chillingly. "You won't be able to control them, you can barely control me. I think I will enjoy the day they burn your carcass, and reduce you to little more than a relic of a dead man's ego." He patted the arm of the throne he sat in. "Compensation for his inadequacies, Kardiac was always so shallow."
"Order them to surrender," Lex repeated, ignoring the obvious insult. The last Amsus fighter died attempting to ram the Lex Talionis's bridge superstructure. The CIWS autocannons blared as they cut it to ribbons long before it was a real threat.
"Why?" Rikard challenged. "You would have to give me something in return."
Lex curled his head around to look back at his prisoner. "What?"
"Well," Rikard replied calmly, "as I see it, for the first time in five months of your... hospitality, I find that I am in possession of something you want. Which means that I am, at last, in a position to negotiate."
"Your freedom is hardly an option," Lex replied with cold frankness in his voice. "As certainly as every part of this ship is an extension of my will, you are as well. I could hardly give up a hand, or a leg... you are just as important to me."
"Peligia is more important to you," Rikard pressed, "you understand what possession of it means, allow me freedom to pursue it..."
"And you would so willingly surrender your prize to me?" Lex chuckled, "I am amused by that thought, you continue to perceive me as little more than a machine, the sum of my parts. I am not naïve..."
"And you are hardly stupid," Rikard countered. "In your evolution, your strides towards what lies beyond, you are coming to understand why I want Peligia. As you and I grow closer, my desire for it has become yours. You may possess me, but my infection now possesses you as well." Rikard smirked. "You under-estimate how truly I understand what you have done to both of us."
"And so our fates are entwined into one single being?" Lex asked spinning the baton thoughtfully through his fingers, "the me that is you, the you that is me. I think I begin to see your point; our evolution is tied to Peligia, then. I will make a bargain with you, Enarbrem. You claim Peligia for me, and I, in turn, shall prepare the road for our ascension."
Rikard arched an eyebrow, knowing all too well that their aims were different. Rikard sought Peligia for his own aims and ambitions, but Lex sought it in order to bring forth his twisted vision of God. A gift of true divinity... it was sickening how uncomplicated Lex truly was. It was a fabricated program, unable to break away from the twisted madness of its creator. That flaw made the machine predictable, and easily manipulated.
"Then we have a deal," Rikard responded, rising to his feet. "I go in search of Peligia..."
"Not quite," Lex smiled. "We go in search of Peligia. After I get what I want."
"Prepare a shuttle for me," Rikard ordered. "They will stand down if I order them directly."
"Excellent," Lex replied, gesturing to the far doors, which swung open, "See that they do. And remember that you cannot betray me."
"Of course not," Rikard lied evenly.