The Advantage of being a
star is that you don't need
a passport.
The Plough - Upper Dicker - England - Amsus Occupied Earth
~~*~~
Riley had come personally for the meeting, sitting in the corner of the ancient public house that, according to the locals hadn't changed in five hundred years. Brass tackle, old logos for beer, and the bad reproduction print hung on whitewashed walls, as the Field Marshal picked at a Shepard's Pie that was far too salty for his liking.
A couple of TER-SEC officers were sitting a few tables away, watching the trid as the Amsus filtered news droned on about trivial facts. A hostile take over of some of Denver Corps holdings, a new Amsus reactor was being tested to great success, and of course the football results.
Scooping up his beer, he kept his ball cap tucked low over his brow, glancing at the Imperial soldiers he'd brought with him. A pair of them standing at the bar drinking beers, wearing long coats to disguise the fact that they were both carrying submachine guns.
A female marine was playing darts in the corner, a pretty summer dress on, the pulse pistol tucked into her garter. And sitting in a school's field a few hundred meters away, the dropship was waiting to evac them should things go wrong.
He felt secure, even with the TER-SEC officers' proximity, and given the bustle of the pub, it wasn't as if they were going to be that observant. That left him free to conduct his meeting with the local cell leaders, who were already overdue.
"I have a message for you," the landlord stated as he appeared at Riley's shoulder.
Riley frowned, looking publican, "I think you've got the wrong person…"
The landlord shook his head, "no sir, he described you right down to the logo on your cap. Says there will be a call for you at the payphone outside."
Riley stood, nodding to one of his men as he made his way outside, his hand straying to the Pulse Pistol in his pocket as he crossed the small parking lot. Hearing the ringing telephone in the ancient styled red phone booth at the side of the road.
"This is… unusual," Riley murmured as he walked around the TER-SEC police cruiser as a couple of his men sitting at picnic tables made to get up.
Riley shook his head as he slipped into the booth, looking at the ringing phone, a moment's trepidation tickling his mind before he reached for it. Putting it to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Riley," the highly educated voice said through the line. "A pleasure at last, you have no idea how difficult it was to route a call through to you. I am afraid your friends will not be coming to your meeting, I re-diverted them so that I would have an opportunity to talk to you."
"Who is this?" Riley asked, peering through the narrow glass window pane at the road where a couple of cars swept by, oblivious to the conversation.
"My name is Bacchus," came the reply. "And I am possibly, one of the best friends you have on this world. You see, His Watchful Eye feels you could benefit from a little wisdom and a guiding hand."
Riley turned, pushing the receiver closer to his ear, "why the hell would that Gorean bastard help us?"
"Now, now Riley," the voice purred placating. "You should know that His Watchful Eye has a keen interest in Earth, and has for a very long time. And considering this, I have information that will benefit your cause, such as the location of your missing officer Luther Malone…"
"How do I know this isn't a trap?" Riley snarled.
"Because," Bacchus said lightly. "If I wanted to trap you, I'd merely alert the local TER-SEC detachment to your location. And then there is the location of your operatives in Hong Kong, who seem to have become a little lost."
"How do you know that?" Riley demanded. Pausing and sighing. "Because his big old crusty eyeball likes a good peep show… I forgot. One of these days he's gonna get pink eye from peeking into other peoples shit…"
Bacchus laughed, "I will assist your people in Hong Kong, Riley."
"Yes," Riley returned.
"Good, then that leaves just one more thing," Bacchus sounded smug. "There is a new faction, the Republic, the Amsus are attempting to negotiate a peace treaty. It is in your best interest to stop that treaty…"
"Yes," Riley said. "We know, one of my cells is already trying to rescue their…"
"Luther Bertram has already made contact with an officer of theirs. You should listen to what she has to say, Field Marshal. It will interest you greatly."
"And what are you after in return for your help?" Riley demanded.
"We want the leader of the Amsus that is transporting your captured officer, a fair exchange. We give you your men and the key to the Republic, in exchange you give us the GN-2 named Lucius."
"You know something?" Riley asked pressing a palm against the wall of the phone booth. "You give me the creeps Bacchus, I don't know why, but you reek of manipulation… and that stinks."
"Admiral Hipper," Bacchus said, ignoring the jab. "He is your best bet, now don't squander the information I have given you, Field Marshal."
"Sure," Riley retorted. "Whatever you say…"
Dacha - Geo-stationary Orbit - Geldan VII - Republican Territory
~~*~~
Admiral Hipper's home was a part of the great orbital habitat project. A tall, thin space station that sat amidst a cluster of similar constructions that sat in geo-stationary orbit above Geldan VII's night side. Opposing rotating sections provided gravity, while sparkling lights lit up the various rooms of the tower that hung in space. A reward to the elite of the Republican neo-communist order, the dacha, was his sanctuary.
A choral piece by Rondellus floated through the air. Verres Militares and to the two men within the station's confines, it was soothing.
Hipper stood uneasily at the window of his library, surrounded by his beloved books, sipping cognac from a glass as he looked across the great divide that separated him from his Command Carrier the Kiov, escorting the Amsus Battlecruiser. A great and twisted bird of prey that had no place so close to the Republican capital world.
"He's one ugly bastard," Radoslav commented sitting in one of the winged chairs back by the fireplace, looking through the art-deco styled windows the Admiral was standing before.
Hipper rumbled his assent as he turned away from the monstrosity. "The Politburo feel that, after the Amsus demonstration of force, that opening diplomatic negotiations is in order."
"Terrified old men, panicking," Radoslav surmised. The younger man resting his head back on the seat, looking worriedly over at his mentor and former Commanding Officer.
"The nature of politicians," Hipper remarked dryly. "The Chairman thinks that by discussing the situation with this Amsus representative will dissuade them from any further attacks."
"Diplomacy at the barrel of a gun," Radoslav replied. "Has the GRU reported anything about that woman you saw?"
"Nothing they choose to share with me," Hipper said calmly, returning his gaze to the window. "But she could be anywhere, and when I relayed that to the Politburo, it only seemed to compound their fears. We lack the clear capacity to act, my friend. Without proper intelligence, we are blindly reacting to what comes…" he sighed again. "How goes the XF project?"
"Progressing," Radoslav replied. "But fleet command seem to feel that they want to select a more… politically viable captain."
Hipper's shoulders fell a little at the news, "I am sorry my young friend, I know how important it was for you to become master of your own ship."
"My time will come," Radoslav replied lightly. Both men knowing that it was a lie, the Commander had been passed over for his own command each time the selection committee had met. The review board choosing men with good party records, close ties or relatives who held prominent positions in a system rife with nepotism. Radoslav was the son of a farmer, from one of the remote colonies on the edge of the frontier. With no political connections to anyone save his loyalty to the old Admiral, Radoslav lacked the necessary pull he needed to earn a command of his own. Given his age, pushing thirty-five, the likelihood that he would ever sit in the Command chair was fast diminishing. For him there was a future behind a desk somewhere, pigeon-holed to make way for more ambitious and desirable officers whose stars were on the rise.
Hipper sipped his cognac again, silent in thought as he watched the bustle of activity around the Amsus Battlecruiser, the shuttles sweeping away as they swept down towards the capital, ferrying the Amsus negotiator to the meeting.
"There's a change coming," Hipper said at length, confessing his thoughts to his young apprentice. "I don't like where this wind is blowing, but I am powerless to stop it. The Amsus attack us, and we merely sit on our hands, inviting them to dine with us at our table. The politburo is sliding towards indolence and we are vulnerable for it." He crossed his arms, "there will come a day, Radoš, when you will have an opportunity to change your lot in life. Every man faces this point, a moment when they must choose between everything they believe to be true, and everything they are told is true."
Radoslav nodded his head, "I understand, sir." He stood up, straightening his tunic. "And with that, sir, I should return to my dropship. I have an early morning and a stubborn zero-point reactor that needs a little coaxing to come online."
Hipper waved him away, turning back to his window, watching Sephradon's shuttles as they entered Geldan's atmosphere, a shiver climbing its way up his spine.
Imperial Fortress - Karin City - Karin System - Imperial Territory
~~*~~
Walker paced his office, looking at the holographic projection of Field Marshal Riley established through an FTL relay.
"They want who?" Walker questioned again as he paused in his long strides, glancing first at Brigadier Mayfair, Chancellor Evans, then at the Field Marshal.
The image was distorted, forced through hyperspace relays to Karin via the Jump Nexus and the newly re-established FTL network. The HMS Herme's Run sitting in the midst of the Gorean fleet in the position where, up until recently, Eisenhower station had resided.
"Some one named Lucius, a GN-2 that was in charge of a small Amsus prison camp," Riley shook his head. "Damned if I can figure out why, I thought …." A wave of static rippled through the projection.
"We have intelligence reports that the Amsus are operating under new leadership," Evans cut in to the conversation. "But as yet our Intelligence services are unable to ascertain who they are beyond their leader Strega. It could be that the Gorean don't fully know yet either."
"I thought His Watchful Eye sees all?" Walker commented dryly.
"While the Gorean Intelligence network is formidable, they aren't omnipotent," Evans confessed. "It could be that they lack intelligence and this is what they do to get it, seize someone and interrogate them."
Walker unzipped his sweatshirt as he sat down on the edge of his desk rubbing a hand over his beard. "How much time do we have?"
"A day or two at the most," Riley responded. "Then the Amsus will have reached their destination and Luther will probably be put to the question himself, and I hate to say it, but the boy knows the location of the Imperial fleet. If he talks, we could have the whole Amsus Armada down upon our heads."
Evans looked pensive, his immaculate suit and red tie stark against the worn appearances of everyone else on Karin. He was the face of politics, the leader of the senate and technically still the head of the Empire. He hadn't achieved that by being afraid to take risks.
"If they're after intelligence," he said, "there are always methods to give it to them."
"Is this comm. line secure?" Walker agreed, pausing suddenly.
Mayfair inclined his head, "we take precautions against 'His Watchful Eye' if that's what you mean."
Evans nodded, "we were conducting experiments with Polian technology under battlefield conditions back when I was in charge of the Black Tower. Tell me Field Marshal, has a Colonel Clem survived?"
Riley consulted someone off screen, returning with a nod, "he's the fleet Psy-ops specialist… why?"
"He should, then," Evans tapped his jaw, "have in his possession a Polian encoder device." He looked at Walker, "it's the device we used to 'recreate' Prince Edward's memories. Colonel Clem should be using it to create sleeper agents on Earth for Riley's insurrection… however we have a unique opportunity here."
"For what?" Walker asked suspiciously.
"That depends on how badly you want to win this war, your grace." Evans smile chilled Walker to the bone, the devil had just extended his hand with an offer.
"I need you to dispatch them aboard a ship to head off that Raptor," Evans ordered. "And I need you to go along with them Field Marshal, only you and the Colonel should know this plan…"
Hong Kong - Amsus Occupied Earth
~~*~~
"Zio?" Alessandro almost yelled. James put his finger up to his lips to make the young man quiet down. He scanned the area once again and slowly advanced toward Alessandro, his knife still in hand. James was dressed in black pants, a black shirt, a grey hoodie over that and a black leather jacket over that. His hair was very short and he had the sprouts of a beard growing on his face.
James stood across the tarmac of the spaceport looking at the T-557 that had been cleared for landing at the Hong Kong space port after James's frantic summons.
Alessandro was wearing a red pilot's jumpsuit of an Orion mercenary group, had flashed his escort credentials upon landing. The TER-SEC officers hadn't even blinked at him, the vessel behind him was too new to be registered on any Amsus watch lists as Imperial. It was just another escort amidst the large amount of Orion shipping that passed directly through Hong Kong from the Chinese industrial base.
"What happened?" Alessandro inquired as he slipped the helmet off.
James's reaction was a blinding blur of motion, his knife was up and under Alessandro's throat, driving him back up the steps and into the cramped aft-section of the gunship. Ramming him back against a bank of supply lockers next to Alessandro's bunk.
James hissed a tight breath through his teeth, indicating Alessandro had only seconds to live if he didn't explain.
Alessandro realized the change in his physical appearance, and he lifted his hand to rest it lightly on James's arm, "it is me Zio, I swear it."
James's eyes narrowed hearing the distinctive voice and looking into the same eyes. But the face was gone, fuller, and the frame more muscular… He released Alessandro and took a step back, away from him. Confusion soon replaced with a smouldering look as he glanced anxiously back at the airfield.
Alessandro rolled his shoulders, "what happened, your message said to hurry."
James produced the TAC-link from his pocket and held it up for Alessandro to see the "Denial of Service" message flashing across it. The Amsus, to stop co-ordinated Fifth Column attacks, had shut down the global INTER-link network.
"They have captured a senior member of the Fifth Column," James said simply. "And I need help to get him back before the Inquisition force him to talk. I cannot reach Riley, so I sent a message to you."
The young Templar frowned, fingering the rod weapon that Fëdor had given him before disappearing on the Cairo relay station. "Where did they take the prisoner?"
James was prepared, he plugged his TAC into the aft-section's primary console, activating the camera log and showing the Amsus Raptor that had taken Luther and Rei after the disastrous raid on the prison camp.
"There are a lot of Raptors on Earth," Alessandro pointed out, wondering exactly how he was supposed to help James track down just one amongst the armada that surrounded Earth.
James looked annoyed, as he extended a finger and jabbed the screen, the Raptor's tail number clearly seen upon it.
Alessandro understood, his years as a communications expert told him exactly what James was asking. Sliding into the seat before the console, he accessed the global flight control system, quickly scanning the screen for the Raptor's code number. If the Raptor was still in transit he would be able to find it. The problem was it had taken him nearly two days to respond to James's message.
"It isn't global," Alessandro remarked. Accessing the sector's flight control, this deep in Amsus held territory there was no need to hide space flights, and given the danger of "dark" ships flying commercial hyperspace lanes, it was against Hegemony law. There was also no reason for the Raptor to hide.
The Comm. Unit trilled and beeped, as a message flashed up on the screen, giving precise co-ordinates for the Raptor flight.
James looked perplexed and Alessandro shook his head, "that was not me." He checked and identified the Raptor flight that was in transit in the Drayden System, two jumps away.
Alessandro stood, buttoning up the gunship as he slipped into the cockpit, firing up the drives and securing launch clearance from the tower. James, sliding into the co-pilot's chair looked questioningly at Alessandro.
"We might be able to catch them," Alessandro replied. "But we're going to have to hitch a few rides, and hope this Gunship can catch a Raptor at sub-light."
The craft gleamed in the morning sun, the glossy metal coating giving its grey hull a shimmer that belied its purpose.
Two large engines nestled in nacelles extending outward from the large arched cockpit's single seat, paralleled by two weapons pods bent back at a horizontal plane that contained the weapons. The prow of the state-of-the-art Imperial ship jutted forward as a silver dagger, making it far longer than it was wide.
The Karin engineers that had designed the T-557 had turned out a flawless piece of work- not a weld or bolt out of place. It arched off of the tarmac, and coiled its way spacewards, eager to catch up to the Amsus frigate before it could reach its destination.
R-867 - en-route to Sector Inquisition Headquarters - Amsus Territory
~~*~~
"Enemy sighted, sir."
From his seat at the gunnery seat of the Raptor's cockpit, Lucius leaned forward to the front viewport of his personal Raptor, trying to discern the hostile craft against the vibrant green-white backdrop of Draydan. The Amsus pilot seated in front of him was too intent on the new arrival to move out of the way, and Lucius never saw the other craft until it flashed by theirs.
He hadn't expected to meet with one of the Fifth Column assassins so soon, before he'd even arrived on the planet. That surprise, combined with the sonic boom of the smaller craft's wake, nearly shook the GN-2 enough to topple him to the deck. Instead, he simply banged the top of his head off the roof- even the raised ceiling wasn't enough.
Beside him in the other seat, his Inquisitor let out a short chuckle, the only real sign of emotion Lucius or his chief pilot had seen from the mystery guest Strega had sent them. Hooded as he was in the inquisitions typical black coat and organic black body armour, a single white eye was all they had managed to see of his face.
Quickly regaining his posture, Lucius reached out and checked the boards in front of him. "It's a T-557 Imperial Gunship."
Whatever race or sex the pilot was, he wasn't bad, Lucius observed from his seat. He had already taken note of the fact that military Raptors were not common sights in Draydan airspace, and immediately thrown all discretionary power into his engines, heading down the gravity well in record time.
Now seeing the small craft recede before his eyes, he touched the pilot again and licked his lips. "Give me primary weapons control."
The pilot knew better than to question the dexterity of the GN-2. The firing controls lowered themselves into his lap, casting an infrared glare over the planetary backdrop while contrasting the enemy's ship in bright green.
Before aiming, Lucius looked over at his guest for a moment and snarled. "I don't suppose you'd want to make yourself useful and operate the missile launcher?"
The Inquisitor did not even speak. He just turned away; content to watch the dogfight through his single white eye, now shaped more like a slender line contouring around what Lucius presumed was the left side of his face, shrouded in darkness.
Adrenalin snapping his hands back to the fire controls, he raked the targeting cross over the T-557's engines, which had already receded enough so as to obscure the figure of the gunship with ion wash. Any pilot could tell you that a straight dive to escape the Raptor's powerful weaponry would be even more suicidal than simply sitting still- no craft that small could take the G-forces of such a descent.
Instead, the Imperial pilot was opting to skim the atmosphere of the planet while descending at a steady rate. That meant he still had time to tag those three engines jutting out from her aft, each one offering a bright target for Lucius's sensitive eyes.
It was his pilot, not Lucius himself who let out a yelp of surprise once the first salvo was unleashed- the enemy gunship zipped left before the shots crossed half the distance between them. The T-557 turned that dodge into a nimble roll, using that spinning motion to lose her own missile weapons at zero thrust.
As the Inquisitor looked on, Lucius managed to vaporize each lethal missile before it came too close, giving his real target time to gain a handful of meters on them. Again the T-557 jinked further left, but this time he was ready; both beams cleaved the air where the small ship was headed, then Lucius flipped over, taking his eyes off the firing screen for only a second, and painted the centre of his reticule for missile fire.
The leftmost engine flickered and died, but the rest did not come off as flawlessly. The rest of Lucius's initial volley, meant to spook the pilot into fleeing back to the right- back into the path of their single-shot missile launcher- was soaked up by the familiar green hue of shields.
The GN-2 suppressed a content snarl. Must've gotten lucky on that first shot. Three missiles left. "Get us closer, you useless maggot. I can barely see her."
What followed that was several more minutes of terrifying dodging back and forth in the stream of the Raptor's auto-cannons, each time either manoeuvres or shields foiling Lucius's shots. At the same time, the trail of smoke, the way the craft now hung to the left was unmistakable. By now, the outline of Draydan's largest continent was clear even to the human pilot's weak eyes. He was going to have one more shot at this, or-
"Sir!" the pilot exclaimed. "We have more incoming bogeys! More Imperial craft!"
Lucius did not need to crane his neck- he could feel the eyes of a score of trigger-happy Imperial pilots upon them, ready to fire. Damn it. Should've guessed they'd investigate this little party. "Give me ten seconds, then take us down at full speed. Wait… never mind."
There. His senses synched perfectly with his fingers, peeling off a volley of laser fire just the pilot had the shock of seeing F-150 fighter craft launching from their mothership, which looked like the kind of angular support carrier seen at countless battles along the Taïrian front. As a result, the T-557's timing was thrown off- he also sensed her pilot's white hot frustration when the centre engine blew apart.
The gunship leaned heavily to the left and began to drop. Lucius relaxed his missile launcher, sat back and smiled toothily, watching the craft twist and burn. She would never regain control with just one auxiliary engine, and even if the Amsus were so inclined, he doubted they could tractor her craft in time. An almost disappointingly easy kill.
Green laser fire flashing past their canopy reminded him that they were not out of danger yet- the eyes of the Empire were upon them. "Get us out of here" he rasped, "but keep a Radar lock on the other craft as long as you can. I want to see it burn with my own eyes."
Returning his attention to the firing screen, he peered closer, trying to keep the rapidly receding flare in sight. Once or twice an Amsus fighter would flash by, but he could still make out that flare against all the green and brown below. No doubt the craft would end up a black scar on a grassy field. Or maybe…
Even the Inquisitor could not completely ignore how wide Lucius's eyes suddenly grew out of shock. He would never be able to make out the flare by simply gazing out the view port as he did now, but Lucius could still see the gunship's engine assembly, and more importantly, which direction it was turned.
"How in the…!" he shouted.
All at once, the flare blurred into nothingness amongst the colours below after the pilot made a particularly tight turn to avoid weapons fire. Thrown backwards into the bulkhead, Lucius hissed in a combination of annoyance with the bulkhead and annoyance with himself for not finishing the female pilot off when he'd had the chance. "Pilot, take us down. We're not going to get clear of that carrier."
Like Lucius just moments ago, the pilot seemed genuinely surprised. "Take us down, sir? But the Imperial's are onto us. They've got a full squadron trained on us already."
Then he remembered who he was talking to and flinched away, expecting death. Instead, his master gave back his toothy smile. "We won't be down there for long- just drop the Inquisitor off. You don't think you can do it, then get off my ship so I can do it myself."
The Amsus pilot did as he was ordered, still digesting just exactly what it was his master was preparing to do. "Alright… sir. I'll open the hatch once we're within sight range of the wreck."
Seeing no reaction from the Inquisitor, Lucius settled back into the cushions, gathering his anger from a bottomless well of natural feral instinct. "They won't. Just get us down there fast, maggot."
Governor's Residence - Geldan VII - Republican Territory
~~*~~
Sephradon stared coldly up at the painting that hung above the fireplace in the study. The beautiful woman that stared so lost and forlornly at the horizon, as if immortalized in eternal sadness. Her red hair, her delicate skin, the artist had done an amazing job of painting the full length portrait.
It stirred an emotion deep down in Sephradon as she stood wearing her white woollen cloak overtop of the beautiful silken dress beset with pearls. Delicate and sophisticated, the image that she needed when dealing with the Republicans. However, her thoughts lingered on the portrait of her sister. Sharing that sadness.
"You were the only one of us to know love," Sephradon said woodenly. "And look where it got you, to a realm of eternal sadness."
She turned her head from the portrait, wondering what was keeping the Chairman that he felt it wise to keep her waiting. Her fingers brushing over the spines of VonGrippen's books, wondering at the man who had once called that place home.
She paused over a photograph in a silver frame, VonGrippen standing looking dramatic wearing the black waistcoat he was famous for, beside him looking frail another of her siblings.
A delicate thumb traced over Ben's features, regret touching her for a moment at the fact that she missed him. Smothered down quickly she locked the emotion away, there he was wearing a uniform and fighting some lost war, his hands just as bloody as hers were, guiding the Immortal Emperor's sword.
"What is it?" Strega asked from the chair.
Sephradon turned, "a memory, nothing more." She extended the photograph to Strega, "my brother and my brother-in-law."
Strega accepted the picture, looking at the two Imperial Officers, "he looks like Duncan," Strega commented, her eyes locked onto VonGrippen.
"He is Duncan's grandfather," Sephradon replied. "Well as much as DNA and constructs are connected to their families."
Strega frowned at the familiarity of the pair, her mind searching for where she had seen the two before. Duncan she knew… but the other boy… "You said he was your brother?" she asked holding the picture out again.
Sephradon tapped the other boy, "Benjamin, a genetic mistake from the first batch of GN-2s… I don't often admit to having a failing, but he was always so pathetic that I couldn't bring myself to kill him. He died much later, I think, the Gorean…"
"I know him," Strega insisted tapping the image. "I've seen him…"
"You can't have," Sephradon said imperiously. "He died over three hundred years ago."
The door opened as the Republican officials entered. The white haired Chairman smiling broadly at his guests. "Forgive my delay, but matters of state… I had hoped to get this non-aggression pact signed quickly…"
"And for me and my ship to leave your space as quickly as possible," Sephradon responded. "I completely understand Mister Chairman. Our presence here can be quite unnerving to your people…" she flashed a warm smile. "There is a condition, that I am sure you will concede to I wish to place an Amsus Battlegroup at the Jump Nexus to insure that Hegemony interests are protected."
The Chairman wet his lips, his eyes darting towards Gershwin, who stared at him with dark eyes.
"All-all right, we will meet your terms."
"Excellent," Sephradon said drawing her cloak tightly about her. "Then let us ensure that an understanding exists between our two governments. One built on mutual…" she smiled looking at Gershwin, "trust."
Dawn was positioned exactly where she needed to be, and the desperate fear in the Chairman's eyes indicated that he knew exactly how close to his heart Sephradon's knife was poised.
"Then our business here is concluded," Sephradon stated, "Come along Strega…"
As she set the picture back on its shelf, Strega stared one final time into Ben's eyes, and remembered the youth in the quad that had been with Duncan on that final night.
"Interesting," she stated, moving to follow her mistress from the room.
Dacha - Geo-stationary Orbit - Geldan VII - Republican Territory
~~*~~
Hipper took the news of the non-aggression pact with a double vodka, watching the Amsus Raptor as it curled away from its mothership still hanging over the Republican world, jump pods sliding out of their mounts and engaging in a burst of light, sweeping the vessel away.
The Amsus had a foot hold on Republican territory, and there was nothing Hipper could do about it.
He downed the glass, throwing it with all of his might into the fireplace, swearing in German as he stalked away. Readying a new defensive plan that would, he hoped, save them all once the Amsus broke their treaty and turned upon the Republic.
Anything else would have been treason.
Draydan - Draydan system - Hegemony Territory
~~*~~
The Raptor had landed a short distance from the crashed T-557, the two Amsus guards already down on the surface of the world waging through the wet rice paddy towards the smouldering vessel that had ploughed into the mud close to an access road.
Above them, the sky was already full of Imperial dropships and fighters spiralling around as a detachment of SAS troops spilled out to establish a perimeter around the Raptor. ITE Mechs joining them from drop pods a few hundred meters distant.
Lucius stood waist deep in water, distastefully surveying the cordon that was forming around his ship.
"We can't hold off that many Imperial troops," the Inquisitor observed from halfway up the ramp. "We have a pair of troopers and the ships pilot besides ourselves."
Lucius swore quietly to himself, pushing back his blonde hair and scrubbing at his Amish style blonde adolescent beard. "What do you suggest we do? Our jump pods are depleted, and we can't survive their attack."
"We should scuttle the ship," the Inquisitor suggested. "Ensuring that you and I aren't captured…"
"Fark that," Lucius said, watching as two figures emerged from the crashed Imperial Gunship, standing a short distance away. "Bring the prisoners, we will make an exchange for our freedom."
Ahead of them an Imperial dropship descended to the muddy rice paddy, its VTOL engines kicking up water in a spray as it curved about. The pintle mounted auto-maser spiralling up to cover the GN-2 and his guards.
A squad of SAS troops dropped into the water and fanned out, moving closer to the Raptor, two of them carrying PKDs centred on the Inquisitor's chest.
"You Lucius?" an officer called out over his pulse rifle.
The young GN-2 inclined his head, "I am."
"Then Field Marshal Riley extends to you the offer of unconditional surrender." The SAS lieutenant tightened his grip on his weapon.
"I guess we have no choice then," Lucius stated, glancing at the Inquisitor and knowing that he'd have no chance of making it to the prisoners cage. The GN-2 shrugged his shoulders and put up his hands.
HMS T'zaht - Krasnïer - Gorean Territory
~~*~~
A strong wave of fatigue settled over Katz as he headed for his cabin, pausing at the sight of the Marine sergeant, sitting in a perfect meditative pose beside the doors to the sickbay, amidst a nest of cushions scavenged from just about everywhere on the ship. The dark blue sweater's hood pulled down over her eyes, as she snored lightly.
So much for meditating.
He chuckled wearily as he entered his bedroom and dumped his gun belt down onto the couch, taking a look at the weird Peligian plant that sat, still blooming on an end table. Galadriel had said it was harmless, and he figured it would brighten up his otherwise unkempt quarters.
He grabbed his pyjamas as he exited his quarters, walking into the overturned galley and turning on the kettle on the counter. He grabbed his clothes and changed quickly in the bathroom down the companionway. He heard a whistle as he walked back, barefoot, and entered the galley to see Kyr carefully spooning cocoa into one mug. Beside it, a teabag string hung out of chipped teacup that looked as if it had been painstakingly super-glued back together.
"One more scoop, Cornelius. I need it." Katz requested.
Already in his tatty pinstriped pyjamas, Kyr silently dumped another spoonful of cocoa before stirring both cups with his spoon and handed the mug to Katz.
"Thanks." Katz said as he wrapped his hands around the mug.
Kyr nodded, heading towards sickbay with his teacup and a book under his arm. Papers were sticking out of the cover of the book and, noticing Katz staring at them with a curious look to his face, he explained, "Rikard gave me some research on the GN program. I'm just about to go over it."
"Oh?" Katz said, his voice pitching up as though he were trying to encourage Kyr to continue. Which, of course, he was.
Kyr paused in his retreat back to his sickbay, choosing to sit down on one of the metal stools as he set his books down. Taking a moment to skim over the notes. His eyes not leaving the page, he took a short sip of his tea before placing it on the table, and then drew his legs under him as he leaned back against the bulkhead, his thick hair falling rebelliously across his forehead, lined in concentration. For a brief moment, Katz thought he wasn't going share what he was reading until he heard him say thoughtfully, "These calculations are way beyond anything I can reason out, whatever Rikard and his doctors did to these people, I can't see it in their genetic sequence."
"Figures," Katz muttered, sipping his too-hot hot chocolate.
"He hid it so deep, I mean it's subtle, like he went beyond the DNA level to manipulate things. Keeping the GN's essentially human, but changing them so radically… if he changed them at all."
Katz looked over his mug. "Doesn't sound like Rikard."
"It would take a genius to do this." Kyr admitted.
Katz nodded, turning his attention back to his drink. "Now that does sound like Rikard."
Kyr placed the book down on the galley counter and picked up his teacup, holding it thoughtfully in both hands. "I know he isn't the most forth coming on anything, but-"
"You need his help, I know," Katz said, smiling as he met Kyr's gaze. "We'll figure out something tomorrow. Did he at least answer your questions about Matt?"
"Quite a few of them. More than I thought he would," the Kaynin admitted, running a finger absentmindedly over the chipped rim. "The problem is, I just don't know what questions I am supposed to be asking. The GN-2 and 3 programs are even more advanced, and I can barely wrap my head around the GN-1 project. I'm way out of my league here."
After a silent moment, Katz said quietly, "Matt will appreciate what you're doing tonight. That you're looking out for him, and Dee naturally. You know, sometimes it seems…" He trailed off.
Kyr gave him a small smile. "I'm not sure I'm going to be much help to them. I mean we're so far away from where ever they are now. Plus the last few days have been pretty tough."
"Yeah, they were," Katz said quietly, draining the last of his cocoa. "You know, Cornelius… Sometimes, I-…" He trailed off, unsure of how to vocalize how he was feeling.
"I know, Alvin." Kyr agreed, smiling softly.
Katz looked down the hall at the silent ship, the strumming of the engines, the whirring of the air conditioners, and the rhythmic purring of the gravity mats. Thinking about all the disparate lives that had been crammed into her metal bulkheads, all relying on him as Captain. "It's just - hard, you know?"
"Yes. That it is." Kyr agreed.
Katz looked up to see Kyr nodding slowly, staring at the pattern on his teacup. In a heavy tone that he had meant to sound light and carefree, he said hurriedly, "Kinda funny, isn't it? How we all ended up here. Just you, me and Galadriel from the Excalibur. Could you imagine this three years ago when we started this shit? A slave, a Tempus refugee and a Kaynin Doctor. Ever wonder the way things could have gone? Who'd be Captain, what'd happen if we didn't have Rikard back on Krasnïer? Or where I'd be right now if you hadn't agreed to come with me to the T'zaht in the first place?"
A sigh came from across the room that sounded sad and weighted with fatigue. "I do, yes."
Silence.
Katz yawned. He knew he should go back to his quarters and climb under the covers and turn out the light, but his silent fears, brought on with the late hour, were too pressing to stop him from quietly muttering, "Sometimes, I wonder if it's all worth it."
"The load does feel heavy at times," Kyr paused. "A lot of times."
"Yes." Katz agreed
"But," his make-shift lover continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted, "I never question whether or not it's worth it."
"Well, of course. With your future plans for-"
Kyr jerked his head up, his eyes suddenly aware. "No," he said quickly, then lowered his gaze back to his teacup. "That's not all of it. Not all of it at all." He took another gulp before placing it on the table, picking up his books to head back towards their quarters, pausing to look at Katz. "Coming to bed?"
They moved back through the ship in silence for a while, the doors to Katz's quarters whisking open and sealing behind them as Kyr climbed into bed, snuggling under the blue sleeping bag Katz had fished out of the ships stores to keep the bed warmer.
Katz tucked his mug onto the night stand and climbed into the other side, taking a pause to set his alarm clock for the next morning, and flicking the light switch.
The room dissolved into darkness.
As Katz turned to tuck himself under his blankets, he was surprised to hear Kyr speak again, his voice heavy and his words measured. "We do good work, Alvin, and perhaps I'm being sentimental, I don't know. But I think the stuff we're doing out here, stopping Lex Talionis and that, are worth every single minute that we put in. And more."
"I know that. But even you have to admit, there are times it seems-"
"Hard. Damn hard," the Kaynin interrupted. Katz jumped a bit; startled at the strong voice that now came at him in the dark. "But I wouldn't stop doing what I do if I began to fail my duty as a doctor, or the Empire collapsed, or even if I was everything went to hell tomorrow!"
Katz took a deep breathing, pausing for thought. Kyr's words were unexpected and they hung in the air for an awkward moment, until a much softer voice said:
"Does it really matter that you're a starship captain and I'm a Doctor? The titles that describe what roles our hard work, our qualities, earned. But you can take all this away and I'd still try to help people who were hurt. Give up my free time to help save others. And that's a far greater reason to keep going, more important than my mother's approval, or even the admiration of the entire Empire. Even more than a slogan on an enrolment poster."
He continued, pausing only briefly for a quick breath. "And I know you'd still be out there everyday, even if you weren't the captain - hell! Even if you hadn't left the slave pits when all this started. You'd have found a way to be involved, pushing people to do better, pulling your weight to help make things right." Kyr's voice trailed off, and Katz could hear the emotion in it as he said, even more gently, "I just want to make a difference. Because… If I don't make it through this war, get married and have pups of my own, then…" his voice kept trailing, as though he thought he words sounded meek.
After a moment, Katz chanced saying, "Then what, Cornelius?"
He heard his roommate take a deep breath. "Then the only good change I would have made is in my time here. And what I do here, what I make of myself and especially, what I can give to others, is all that matters in the end."
Katz sunk back into his pillows, the meaning of Kyr's words hitting him hard and, though his words felt true, he had never been able to vocalize precisely why he continued on when life seemed dim. When there were no more battles to be won, or he was recovering from yet another assault (physical or verbal, they seemed all the same sometimes), or even when he'd wound up commanding the T'zaht instead of flying his beloved F-150/175 fighters.
And Kyr was right. Right. For all the times he wondered why, there were dozens (seemingly hundreds) of memories when he found that small spark deep down inside himself that drove him to take just one more step, or participated in a winning battle, or experienced that rush of excitement that came whenever he took the controls of a flying machine.
His hands shaking, Katz slid his legs under the sheets and found Kyr, curling them around the small frame and wrapping his arms around that small waist. Kyr gwuffed a small sigh of contentment, wriggling back to press more of himself up against Katz. They knew each other well, but Katz couldn't help the intense feeling of pride and accomplishment that surged inside at the thought of how lucky he was to be there. For all the times he had known Kyr and seen all his good as well as his not-so-good traits, he never thought he could take such kind and gentle words and use them in a way that touched him so deeply. And then, perhaps, Katz mused, Kyr needed to hear himself say those words just as much as he needed to hear them.
"Cornelius?" Katz murmured, his lips brushing Kyr's ear through the soft and silky hair.
"Yeah?" Kyr replied.
Katz smiled, and he hoped Kyr could sense his expression as he sunk further into his pillows and said contently, "Thanks."
And as he closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, it occurred to Katz that he was finding there was quite a bit more to his friend than he had known that morning.
Up on deck - HMS T'zaht - Krasnïer - Gorean Territory
~~*~~
Rikard lounged in the lee of the heavy CIWS turret that was mounted behind the bridge superstructure, in his hands sat the port-key that had been found when Kyr had autopsied Lady Tagria's body.
An amazingly complex device capable of so much. And given the right amount of time, he would be able to adapt it, the spread of paper around him already covered in complex calculations that would allow him to do just that. Piecing together a Propylon device wasn't going to be easy given their current limited resources, but given a complete inventory of the T'zaht and its core components, he was already underway solving the problem.
Galadriel poked her head out of the turret's hatch, climbing up and out onto the lattice plating that had been designed to allow a sure footing when the ship was on the ground. She sat down beside him, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small flask of coffee and unscrewing it, looking over the note books Rikard was working on.
"Why aren't you using the computer?" she asked.
"They're too slow," Rikard complained as he quickly scrawled notes across the pages, precisely sketching the support array he would need to support the Propylons. "And the crew don't seem to enjoy my company."
"You expected differently?" Galadriel asked as she sipped her coffee blissfully. "As far as many of them are concerned, you are the equivalent of the anti-Christ."
"Humph," Rikard snorted as he leafed through a technical manual, checking the rating of the T'zaht's reactors. "I'm, currently, the only one out of all of us with a plan to deal with the whole, stranded behind enemy lines issue. You'd think they'd treat me more like a saviour than a devil."
"Do you want that?" Galadriel inquired setting her cup down on the metal decking. "To be liked?"
"More of your pedantic psycho-babble?" Rikard sighed. "I really would rather you stick to what you do best, and stay away from unsupported conjecture. I have no time for it currently."
Galadriel smirked, realizing that she'd managed to get under Rikard's skin. A difficult feat for a man usually so caustic that he never allowed anything to get close enough to do the same to him.
"Do we have what we need to construct the Propylons?" she asked glancing over the papers strewn about.
"I am not sure, if it ain't broke, China probably didn't touch it," Rikard admitted chewing absently on the end of a pencil. "Most of the things we're missing we could find in the average hardware store… just there isn't exactly a local Home Depot close to here. Heck a Quick-e-mart would probably have most of what I need."
"Then we need to reach a trading outpost," Galadriel said simply.
"Considering it would probably end up with us being the next course du jour at the local Gorean equivalent of Denver Burger… I think we should pass."
"Denver Burger," Galadriel sighed blissfully. "I could go for a clown burger right about now…"
Rikard winced, looking over the rims of his glasses as he stared at her, "please tell me you don't actually eat them. You don't know what's in them."
"It can't be that bad," Galadriel murmured.
"Well," Rikard cleared his throat. "When I bought out MacDonald's and turned it into Denver Burger, I had a little problem with what to do with the cloned clowns… then I got inspired…"
Galadriel's eyes snapped open as she sat up a little, "You didn't…"
"I added secret sauce," Rikard protested. "Biggest hit we've ever had, I made a fortune."
Galadriel suppressed the urge to vomit as she sat upright, "I am never eating fast food again."
"I am sure the clown union will appreciate that," Rikard responded returning to his diagrams, whiling away with his pencil as inspiration struck him. "The Peligians didn't have our technology, they worked with crystals… we have an abundance of sand around, we might be able to synthesize something similar using glass."
"We don't have the equipment or the lab to do it," Galadriel reminded.
Rikard tilted his head back to bang it on the reactive armour plating of the turret. "You know you're getting old when getting dressed in the morning is the high point of your day."
"Then we're back to finding a trading post," Galadriel surmised.
"I am afraid so," Rikard agreed finally. "You'd best inform China, I think he's down below rutting around with my masterwork…"
"Doctor Kyr is an adult," Galadriel reminded as she struggled to her feet. "Evolution and all of that…"
"Not this lecture again," Rikard winced. "Remind me to tell you what I did with the last failed project of mine. The Battle Hamsters…"
Galadriel paused in the hatch to stare at Rikard, as if trying to gauge whether he was being serious. "Battle Hamsters?"
"Yes, they were a genetic path-finder project of mine…" Rikard looked up from his notebook. "Terrible mess, they were nearly perfect… except they were only about so big…" he gestured with his thumb and forefinger a few inches high. "Not exactly what the military was looking for in a super-soldier… and since the Cat-project tanked due to a decided lack of fish funding… the Kaynin were born. I often wonder what ever became of the cute little buggers…"
"You really are sick at times," Galadriel snorted as she dropped back down the ladder.
Rikard shrugged as he helped himself to her flask of coffee, returning to his note making.
HMS Shadow Slayer - Draydan system - Hegemony Territory
~~*~~
Lucius was sitting in his cell shackled and separated from the rest of his men, admitting to himself the irony of being the one behind bars for a change. Not that he objected, the alternative was death, and he wasn't quite ready for that.
He looked up at the maintenance technician that was shown into the detention area, pushing a cart and keeping a hat pulled low to cover his face.
The Guard seemed not to notice as he rose from behind his security station waggling his cup and muttering something about a coffee break.
Lucius idly looked up and realized he was alone in the detention area with the janitor.
"Hello Lucius," the Janitor said straightening up and pushing back his hat to reveal remarkably clear and intelligent eyes for a maintenance technician.
"What?" Lucius asked as the Janitor unlatched the barred cell, flipping open a case he'd produced from under his cart.
"Trust me," the Psy-ops colonel said as he set his case down selecting several powerful drugs from inside of it. "You won't remember a thing…"
HMS T'zaht - in-transit- Gorean Territory
~~*~~
Wheeler looked proudly at his temporary quarters, a commandeered supply locker halfway up the bank in engineering, a couple of tarps, and the two seats from the Lex Talionis shuttle, set up in front of a computer display, an improvised controller sitting ready for him.
"What the hell are you doing now?" Hartley demanded walking through the engineering spaces, ducking under the heavy piping that fed power cables to one of the rail cannons.
Wheeler shrugged, "half the crew quarters are unusable, and the rest, well the Marines have claimed them. Since no-one seems to come down here much…" He reached into another locker, pulling out a large poster he'd printed out using the engineering drafting printer, a stylized picture from one of the old Fayd comic books that had been a classic in the old Empire.
Hartley's shoulders sank, "I should yell at you for misusing ships supplies…"
A distinctive trilling from the computer display caused his head to snap around, "where the hell did you find Kaynin Ninja -The Geldan Chronicles?"
Wheeler smirked, "it was in a cargo crate down in the hold, must have been left behind by the old crew… the console too…" Wheeler bent down and scooped up a second controller. "You wanna?"
Hartley grinned, "Oh man, we're so gonna get into trouble when the skipper finds out you made a gaming den…"
HMS T'zaht - in-transit- Gorean Territory
~~*~~ <WEEK LATER>
Even Katz had to grudgingly admit that Rikard's help had been nearly invaluable in getting the T'zaht space-worthy again. The ship was jerry rigged in an utterly insane pattern of cabling that violated virtually every safety procedure in the Imperial training manuals. And routinely Katz had found Hartley working tirelessly to keep the ship from exploding into a dazzling fireball.
He sat in his command chair rubbing his forehead as he searched the system for any sign of life, knowing that with every jump the T'zaht took was another jump closer to total catastrophe as the ship continued to suffer cascading malfunctions from the strain.
Chuck was trying his best with the ships sensor suite, searching for any sign of civilization that would at least aide them in affixing repairs, or get them the parts they needed for Rikard's Propylon drive. But there was little luck so far.
Katz rose, "you have the Conn Chuck, I'll be below. Let me know when we have enough charge to jump."
Chuck nodded, the large headphones on his ears waggling as he bobbed his head, returning to his boards and making diligent notes on a clipboard of everything he picked up, no matter how faint.
Below decks had fared a little better than the damaged sections above, but there were still considerable evidence of the recent skirmishes that had battered the resilient little warship. He pushed his way through hanging cables as he dropped down a companionway and onto the residential deck, where the sickbay lay.
Killborne wasn't in her usual spot, taking her morning run around the lower decks with her men, keeping them in fighting form for when they were needed again.
The large glass double doors swept open on Doctor Kyr sitting on a low stool, his lab coat on, toiling away on genetic information that Rikard had provided him with. Continuing to try to unlock the riddle of Darien's mysterious illness, and the GN re-sequencing.
He tilted his stool around to peer up at Katz standing in the doorway, "any luck with finding an outpost?" he asked.
Katz shook his head. "none, we're preparing for another jump, but it's anyone's guess when we'll find something."
"Making the rounds then, huh?" Kyr asked. "I've got nothing to report. Just the same old mess. You should try Rikard."
Katz found Rikard down in the main cargo bay, working with a soldering gun to rig the Propylon drive. He'd donned a spare set of clothes he'd dug out of the ships stores, looking strange in the unadorned Imperial uniform, black turtleneck underneath the tunic, eyes narrow as he toiled away. Beside him a pair of computers were clicking away as they typed seemingly by themselves, working on a Propylon control program.
"Anything?" Katz asked.
Rikard looked up irritably, "every day you ask me the same question, and everyday you get the same answer. No, not until you find me the parts I need. Go and bother someone else China, I'm busy."
Katz shrugged as he left the cargo bay, approaching the empty set of quarters that Galadriel had converted into her lab as she studied the crystal shard. He tapped on the door with his knuckles, stepping back as it slid open with a sharp hiss.
Galadriel looked tired, leaning back in her chair as she looked up at him in the doorway. Offing a weak smile as she did so.
"I have nothing," she admitted, heaving a sigh. "It emits no radiation, no heat, nothing. It is like it doesn't even register as actually being there, I don't understand enough about Peligian technology to even begin to guess as to its function. Let alone what will happen if we attempt to assemble it."
"We'll get out of this slump," Katz said with a warm smile. "We could play a little baseball down in the cargo bay…"
"That would drive Enabrem crazy," Galadriel chided.
"I know," Katz grinned. "Admit it, even you have to be getting tired of his attitude."
"I find it refreshing," Galadriel stood rubbing her tired eyes as she picked up a white board marker and began to write notations down on a set of charts she'd posted across one wall. "He's not afraid to just say what he thinks. For all his lies, that alone makes him one of the most genuine people I have ever met."
"Well just remember that when we get back to the Empire and he goes on trial for war crimes," Katz folded his arms. "I am sure he'll appreciate having you for a character witness."
Galadriel fell silent as she stood, the marker held limply in her hand.
A realization dawned on Katz, as he took a step forward. "You don't actually think there's a chance that you and he… my god G, he's Enarbrem Farkin sul'Rikard for god's sake!" He shook his head in denial. "Sleep with him, sure… but fall in love with him? That's suicidal…"
"Because you're the expert on love?" Galadriel rounded on him, her tone scathing. "Because you know when and where to draw the line, you have that much control over yourself? I forgot, you're mister Farkin' perfect. You don't fall in love because you've trained yourself not to, you think you are in love, which is why you drift from man to man, latching onto the faintest idea of companionship, and then they die and you just move on… have you ever stopped to look in the mirror before you go criticising other people's choices?"
Katz recoiled from her harsh words like he'd been slapped, folding his arms and drawing cold. "He's going to use you, like he uses everyone else. Your emotions are just another way he can get control…"
"Captain to the bridge," came the customary interruption from the PA system.
Katz shook his head as he walked away, stalking upwards seething.
"What is it Chuck?" Katz demanded as he took his seat on the bridge.
"We've made contact with someone," Chuck reported, smiling triumphantly. "They're called the Muwani, and they seem interested in what we have to trade."
Captured Raptor - Draydan system - Hegemony Territory
~~*~~
Riley stood surveying the prize ship as Luther rubbed his sore wrists whilst Rei sat on a packaging crate wrapped in a warm ships blanket sipping cocoa.
"You owe me," Riley beamed at the young Lieutenant.
Luther smiled lopsidedly, "bill me boss, what the hell are you doing here?"
"This one actually," Riley said, smiling pleasantly over at Lieutenant Rei. "We're going to be taking you back home, miss, if'n you don't mind."
Rei smiled politely, "thank you, but how are you going to run the Amsus blockade?"
"Now see," Riley said tapping his chin as he turned. "In order to do that, I would need a ship with a high level of clearance, something the Amsus wouldn't dare stop… and I was thinking, now where could I get my hands on something like that… and go figure… the answer's right under my nose the entire time." He patted the bulkhead of Lucius's personal ship. "One way ticket home lass, all expenses paid, courtesy of the Amsus Armada."
"Sir," one of the SAS officers stepped up onto the ramp. "We have the other two from the crashed T-577, turns out one of them says he's a Kardiac officer, he has a valid command code. The other is James…"
Riley sighed in disdain, "James…"
James stepped up onto the ramp, inclining his head.
"I suppose your being here isn't a coincidence is it?" Riley inquired.
James considered it and shook his head.
"Divine intervention, Generale Riley, sir." A stranger said wearing a slightly muddied Orion flightsuit.
"Right," Riley murmured. "And I suppose God wants you to come along too?"
"Si, si," the stranger nodded.
"Right," Riley said shaking his head. "Well we need to be going, if we're going."
HMS Shadow Slayer - Draydan system - Hegemony Territory
~~*~~
The Captain of the Shadow Slayer performed her duty without question, surreptitiously overwriting the security feed of the detention area with pre-recorded feed. Watching as the Gorean Destroyer appeared from seemingly nowhere in a burst of hyper-spatial light.
"Hail them," She commanded tucking her peaked cap onto her head and squaring her shoulders. "Send them greetings from the Imperial Empire, and tell them we have their prisoner, with our compliments."
There was no reply, as the Gorean shuttle rocketed across the divide between the two ships quickly collecting their prisoner and returning with him to the massive vessel. It turned on its axis, and jumped away again without so much as a word of thanks.
"Make a note that Gorean vessels are capable of double jumping," the Captain said turning back to her bridge crew. "And set course for the Taïrian front as soon as our Jump pods are charged. Let's see if we can't go and give a little hell back to those Amsus bastards."
There was a cheer from a crew that had spent too much time under the arctic ice and were glad to finally be getting back into the thick of the war.