“Now place your hand upon the crystalline structure beside your data slate, to verify bloodline security,” the Core Fragment instructed.
“Is this strictly necessary?” Jean Luc asked, refusing to place his hand on the Fragment.
“It is if you wish to gain the control you seek,” the Core Fragment said placidly.
“You do realize that without these codes this ship will very likely be destroyed—and you along with it?” the Caprian Commodore demanded.
“The ‘We’ that is ‘Us’ has calculated that this is a low probability outcome,” the Core Fragment said.
“Just give me the codes,” Jean Luc growled.
“No further negotiation algorithms will be engaged on this subject. Comply or leave,” stated the Fragment.
“You would rather die?!” Jean Luc snarled in frustration.
“End of line,” stated the Fragment, and the line on the plasma screen consolidated into a tiny ball in the center of the screen before winking out.
“I can always transfer to the Vineyard and leave you to be destroyed by the Bugs,” Jean Luc shouted.
When there was no response, he shouted in frustration and slammed his hand down on the top of the Core Fragment next to the data slate.
The line on the screen winked back into existence as the crystalline structure beneath the Pirate King’s hand started to vibrate.
Reflexively, he tried to jerk his hand free but nothing happened; he was once again stuck fast.
“You’ve got your cursed blood samples,” he snapped, feeling the dozens of rapid-fire pinpricks on his hand that signaled such had occurred. “Now: let—me—go!”
“The dual ‘We’ that is ‘Us’ has granted your request,” the fragment continued, ignoring his demands, “you will find a wavelength and a frequency on your personal data slate. Broadcast the vibration pattern downloaded onto your console; depending on the strength of your transmitter, you may be able to confuse the Bug Queen. Prolonged and continued broadcast will eventually place the Queen and her Swarm Armada into hibernation…barring the introduction of outside stimuli.”
“What do you mean by ‘outside stimuli’?” Jean Luc snapped.
“Are there any other requests before we proceed?” inquired the Fragment.
“What are you blathering about?” Jean Luc glared, bracing himself and applying all the power of his genetically-engineered frame toward pulling his hand to freedom, “proceed with what?” Then his eyes narrowed, “Wait, I have lots of questions—”
What felt like a million volts of electricity blasted through his body until all that was left was a painfully uncomfortable, buzzing sensation which absolutely overwhelmed his senses.
Unable to speak, to think, or to even scream, the Caprian Prince turned Pirate Lord watched as helpless as an unthinking animal as his life flashed before his eyes, not once, but dozens…and then hundreds…and then thousands of times. The experience was worse than undergoing the ‘tender ministrations’ of the Interrogators on Beta Gamma VII—an experience which Jean Luc had hoped to never revisit.
The buzzing cut out abruptly and Jean Luc collapsed to the floor. “Whaaa?” he slurred; his mind was numb and his head felt incredibly thick. He was barely able to string together a pair of thoughts.
“Long-term damage to your neural net is estimated at less than 10%,” the Core Fragment informed him matter-of-factly.
“The Hades you Say,” Jean Luc staggered to his feet, “what did you do to me!?”
“Vital information has been obtained and an upgrade has been installed, among other necessary precautions,” reported the Core Fragment.
“Blast you,” Jean Luc screamed.
“Percentage chance of meaningful conversation and continued informational relay has reached unacceptable levels; this conversation is terminated,” reported the Core Fragment.
“I’ll destroy you,” he said, pulling out his blaster pistol and pointing it at the Fragment. His hand wavered as he struggled to pull the trigger, but found he was completely unable to do so. In a frustrated fury, he threw the blaster at the Fragment, “Do you hear me?! You’ve messed with my mind—I’ll destroy you for that. I’ll ion-wipe your core and reduce you to rubble, your component parts will be crushed and the remains will be scattered along my new beach—”
“End of Line,” stated the Core Fragment, the line on the screen consolidating prior to winking out.
Continuing to rage at the machine, Jean Luc snatched up the data slate and began to stagger out of the room. He stopped before he had left the chamber and turned to kick the crystalline structure of the Core Fragment until his foot hurt. His anger partially vented, he once again staggered out of the room.
He had been given what he had asked for, but as usual with this newly matured Fragment, he had come away with more than expected.
“Never again,” he swore to himself. At least not until the next time, he thought bitterly, if there is a next time.
By the time he had returned to his ready room on the bridge, his senses had returned enough to wipe away the drool which had run down his cheek. Snatching up his old vibro-sword, he stormed onto the bridge.
“Here,” he snarled, tossing the slate to his Flag Lieutenant, “scan the contents of the file on this slate and begin transmission.”
“Where are we transmitting this to?” the spineless weasel that was his Flag Lieutenant asked timorously.
“Grow a spine, Tremblay, or I’ll rip out the miserable excuse for one you’ve got in your back and throw it on the barbeque,” the Pirate Lord roared. “Follow those instructions to the letter and transmit them to the Bugs—it’s time we crushed our enemies. The Bugs go first, and then the last of these Confederation idiots as soon as they arrive—including my pipsqueak nephew and his insane, blushing bride! By the time we’re done here today the last of the old order will have been swept away, leaving the galaxy finally free to get on with the business it should have been busy with the entire time: self-improvement.”
“T-Transmitting now, Commodore,” Senior Lieutenant Tremblay said in a quivering voice.
On the main screen, the Bug Mother-ship plowed forward like an unstoppable juggernaut, and Jean Luc felt his stomach tighten. But then, the massive behemoth started to convulse and its batteries, silent until this point, started spewing out randomly into the black of space.
“Communications,” Jean Luc said with satisfaction, “relay to Captain Heppner: we’re going in.”
Chapter 61: Rumble in the Jungle
“The Invictus Rising is still refusing our hails, Admiral,” the com-tech reported.
I could have screamed with frustration; this was no way to run a three-legged race, let alone a three-way battle! If we were trying to run, then Akantha and I would have tripped over our shoe laces and fallen splat on our faces by now. That why I guess it was fortunate that we weren’t in a three-legged race, and with that irrelevant point firmly in mind I tried to suppress my growing frustration with the woman over on the silent Strike Cruiser.
“I do believe something was mentioned about my wife changing the name of the Imperial Cruiser,” I grumbled, “perhaps try addressing the ship as the ‘Furious Phoenix’—and make sure to call her Hold Mistress, not just lady,” I added, trying to figure out anything else I could say that would get her on the line.
While the com-tech was trying to raise Akantha’s Cruiser yet again, and I was sitting there and fuming, the Captain of the Armor Prince came up behind me and cleared his throat.
“Perhaps the Admiral would care to try a personal message, instead of going through intermediaries,” Laurent offered in a low voice.
“First off, we need to try and maintain some kind of com-discipline, and declaring to the world on a potentially broken encryption line that we’ve had absolutely no chance to coordinate this attack and that our second most powerful ship is acting outside of my direct control isn’t exactly the message we need to be sending at this particular moment,” I said sti
ffly. I turned to glare at the Captain, “Which completely fails to address the fact,” I added, “that on a personal level, I don’t want the next time I see the woman I love to be completely ruined! I mean seriously, would you want the first time you see your wife,, after a particularly long absence to be over the holo-screen while she’s busy telling you she’s got no interest in listening to you, but she’ll try to catch up to you after the battle is over?”
“I see your point,” Laurent said after a moment, “however, I still think the direct approach might be best. This is clearly getting us nowhere.”
“Or even worse,” I continued relentlessly, “while she’s demanding to know why you were lurking outside the boundary of her star system while her home planet was being occupied? That would be even worse because at that point she not only would probably ignore anything I tried to get her to do, she’d work at doing the complete opposite! No,” I declared, my mind made up, “the best thing to do is exactly what we’re doing.”
Laurent sighed. “The Lady Akantha has her own way,” he agreed before turning away, “however, this battle is too important to worry about pride.”
“It’s not my pride that I’m worried about,” I hissed in a low voice, “I’d crawl through the mud if I thought it would save lives, but I’m worried that anything I do will only make this worse!”
Chapter 62: Going In
“He is hiding something,” Akantha declared in a furious voice, “either that, or he is already dead!”
“I beg pardon, Lady,” Gants said with alarm.
“Granted,” Akantha said absently, “either way, he is now most certainly a dead man.”
Gants blinked, “I meant, ‘what do you mean,’ Ma’am?” he hazarded again.
“Are we on course for the lead Battleship,” she demanded.
“Course locked in and engines firing, my Lady,” Gants reported unequivocally.
“Good,” Akantha scowled, “I will hurt them for this, and wish to go on hurting them for as long as we have the ability!”
“Yes, Lady,” Gants said turning back to check his console.
“My Protector,” Akantha explained after a moment, and then waited until Gants had turned back towards her, “he likes to avoid trouble or withdraw from a situation until he has identified a weakness, or made some kind of plan of attack.”
“Okay…” Gants said, his brow wrinkling.
“Which means that he believes he deserves punishment for something he did,” Akantha said as she continued to explain. Then her voice darkened, “Or failed to do, which is why he has avoided speaking to me directly.”
“Are you sure?” Gants asked, starting to sound desperate.
“Since his intuition is generally accurate in these matters, he must be punished,” she proclaimed, turning to Gants. “Continue to ignore his hails,” she ordered, “and ram home the attack!”
Chapter 63: Under His Mercy
“Full power to the turbo-lasers and straight down that Mother-ship’s throat,” Jean Luc ordered.
“Standing by with your transmission packet,” reported Communications.
“Shields are at 50% and holding,” stated the Officer at the Shield Console.
“Reallocate as much shield power as possible to the starboard side,” Jean Luc ordered, “we’re going to make a close pass at the Mother-ship.”
“Give us the word, Commodore,” the Tactical Officer said with a hungry look in his eye.
“Course locked in; we’re ready to go just as soon as you give the order, Sir,” said the Helmsman.
“Shield power rerouted, Sir,” reported the Shields.
“Good job, men,” Jean Luc said, benevolently bestowing his praise.
“A word, Sir?” asked the Tactical Officer.
“Yes?” Jean Luc said with a frown.
“What about the two small squadrons of Confederal Ships?” the Officer asked respectfully. “We’ve got a Cruiser and a Battleship, both on fast approach.”
“Ignore them,” Jean Luc said with a smile, “they won’t get here before we can tear into the Mother-ship, and of the threats arrayed against us, the Bugs are by far the worst.”
“If you’re sure, Commodore,” the Tactical Officer said doubtfully.
Jean Luc gave the other man a hard look. “The day I can’t take down a Cruiser and a piece of junk Battleship is the day I hang up my hat,” he said flatly, “or my name isn’t Jean Luc Montagne, ‘terror of the spaceways’.”
The other man nodded his head deeply enough it almost qualified as a bow before turning back to his station, and Jean Luc was pleased with the way the rest of the bridge seemed to be on a knife’s edge after their back and forth.
“Comm., Helm, prepare your stations,” Jean Luc snapped, drawing out the suspense until the tension on the bridge began to reach nearly lethal levels. “Engage!”
Chapter 64: A Message in a Bottle? Could it be?
The pair of pirate-controlled battleships stopped trying to stay away from the center of the Bug Armada, instead lighting their engines and burning forward. Seconds later, the Mother-ship seemed to twist and while she had been silent up until that moment, every beam weapon on the massive ship suddenly fired. Random attacks seemed to strafe around the super Bug ship, hitting nothing except a Bug Scout which wandered into the seemingly random line of fire and was all but vaporized for doing so.
“What’s happening, Mr. Eastwood?” I asked, my mouth falling open.
“Unsure,” the Tactical Officer replied and then added, “Sir.”
I suppressed a surge of annoyance. What’s the point of having a Tactical/First Officer if he/she/it can’t tell us what’s going on, I thought angrily. I then took a moment to admit to myself that, yes, I was an equal opportunity hater. It didn’t matter your age, race (human/gene-enhanced/uplifted-or/potential alien DNA), gender (or lack thereof), political affiliation, or sexual orientation—if you couldn’t get the job done then I was going to ask ‘what good are you,’ and very much mean it.
“That’s not good enough, Tactical,” I barked, “if I wanted equivocations on my Bridge I would never have allowed Science Officer Jones to leave this ship!”
First Officer Eastwood looked over at me quizzically, and I realized he’d never had the ‘pleasure’ of actually meeting our belated, former Science Officer Jones.
“Answers, man!” I demanded hotly, not like this latest tactical development one bit.
Fortunately, several long seconds had passed and even I could see that the Bug Mother-ship had suddenly decided to start wandering around by way of randomly lighting its engines and firing off in every direction like the worst display we’d ever seen from a Bug Scout ship.
“The Bug Mother-ship seems to be acting more like a Scout class ship in this particular instance than it does the larger Harvester class,” Eastwood reported.
For my part, I glowered at the man while he had the temerity to turn away from me and focus back on his post. Saved by the bell, Mr. Eastwood, I thought with a sneer, anyone and their myopic sister could see that, at this point. Realizing the sneer had actually crossed my face, I quickly forced a mocking smile instead.
“A fine assessment,” I said, whipping my face of any betraying expression as the other man turned back around.
“My job, Admiral,” Officer Eastwood replied with a nod.
I suppressed another surge of frustration and decided to focus my angst and ire back on targets that actually deserved it. As I and the rest of the bridge watched with increasing tension, the Lucky Clover, followed by the Vineyard, began their attack run.
Surrounded by Scouts and the few remaining Harvesters that hadn’t pursued those members of his pirate fleet which weren’t already running for the hyper limit, the Battleships bore in on the Mother-ship with what was clearly a renewed sense of purpose.
Two Scouts were destroyed by the Battleships, and a Medium Harvester was struck by the port broadsides of both vessels before going dead in space. Seconds later the
Bug Harvester regained power, but was unable to turn fast enough to renew pursuit of the Dreadnaught class vessels before the Clover and Vineyard got well outside of its range.
Then, having passed those few remaining picket ships, the Battleships were within striking distance of the Bug Mother-ship.
“I’m reading heavy discharges from the port broadside of the Lucky Clover,” reported Eastwood, emphasizing his point by slamming his microphone down to our gunnery section on the surface of his console with a bang, “and now the Vineyard also.”
“Their shields seem to be holding,” the Warrant at Sensors snapped, shooting a quasi-triumphant look over at Tactical.
Eastwood glanced over at Sensors and shook his head before giving the Warrant Officer a look that promised a talking to after this battle.
“Magnify the battle between the pirates and the Mother-ship,” I ordered, leaning forward in my chair tensely. I tried to project the image of the semi-professional Admiral I was supposed to be, but inside I was rejoicing—this was exactly how battles should be fought! Two sides, both of them my enemies, slugging it out with each other while I waited on the wings like a vulture, ready to swoop down and steal the prize from the ‘victor’s’ bloody, weakened fingers!
Actually seeing one, and then both, of the Battleships side by side with the Bug Mother-ship was jaw dropping. I mean, I had realized intellectually that the almost two thousand meter long Bug ship was big—not just big, huge, really—but I guess that seeing really is believing. The pair of six hundred meter long Battleships, even at a significant distance from each other, were still absolutely dwarfed by the gargantuan Mother-ship.
I had to suppress a gulp, since in that moment I felt much less sanguine about our chances of victory.
Light stabbed out from the Clover, then the Vineyard, as back and forth the highly concentrated, focused broadsides of the Battleships were responded to by the clearly random fire of the Mother-ship. Shields flared brightly as a fraction of the total arsenal on the giant Bug ship targeted the two Battleships, while the concentrated barrages from the port side of each battleship tore deep holes and large gashes which streamed atmosphere and Bug bodies as the Battleships tore past at speed.
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