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The Ancient One grimaced at the news her intelligence adjutant brought her, but showed no other reaction. A mild distaste was all she could show; if she gave even a hit of the intense, almost unreasoning fear boiling up inside her it would be tantamount to giving up the Collective. She had to be strong, she was the foundation of the family-if she showed weakness, or stumbled… her children would pay the price.
Ra’pij’okk tilted his head to one side and tapped his chin. "This disturbs you, Great Mother?"
The massive mind queen turned to look out the window, to avoid eye contact. Fortunately, the daylight threw a soft blue cover over the stars. Biting the inside of her mouth, she finally hung her head. "Quite a bit, actually. It was to be expected, being official. I lost my head when Garbog called upon us and bit without thinking."
"Now that we have bitten," Ra’pij’okk offered, "we must bite deep."
"Ah, but how can we?" The High Mind Empress spread her arms and fell backwards onto a pillowed couch. "You know as well as I do my navies are almost depleted. I have expended much of my established resource centers in this galaxy; my shipyards lay intact but I do not have the materials to feed them. My forces along the perimeter of this galaxy, our home, barely hold the enemy. I cannot allow a second front; not yet."
Ra’pij’okk rubbed his chin. She is using the singular--she is taking this quite personally. "There is little we can do, and if I may, little you can do personally… do not let it weigh on your mind so."
Closing her eyes, the Ancient One grasped a pillow and held it rather defensively. "I have to let it weigh on my mind; the security of my children is my responsibility. I just need time and resources, and I have neither."
Clambering up onto the back of the couch, the green Thinker saw the Ancient One’s shoulder muscles constantly ripple with tension under her robes. "Yet you know that, just as you cannot let the Zoners arrive, you also cannot let your worries get the best of you." Beginning to knead with long sinewy fingers, he continued. "Non-constructive stress helps no one."
"Of course," the mind queen sighed and shrugged, "but what else can be expected. I feel trapped-tell me, and tell me truly, what chances do you give our forces?"
"You expected them to be lost in the first place, yes?"
"Yes, but I expected them to accomplish something, to at least secure some space and resources before the Zone felt compelled to react, and even then cause some damage on the way out. What are their chances of accomplishing anything of import now?"
"They are deep in the Concordat… we cannot reinforce or supply them without compromising ourselves. They should have the shipyard soon; with that they can support themselves and get us more time to plan and prepare."
The Ancient One sighed again. "Well, at least I will have time."
Pikbuuv smirked at the strategic display. The shipyards were firmly in control of regular Concordat naval forces, making them Imcedi; and they had deployed in a defensive sphere around the entire system. They may see in every direction, but they are weak in every direction. He jabbed a squadron communications contact with a thick, clawed finger.
"Destroyer Squadron Three reads you, sir."
The Reaver general chuckled. "Excellent. Drop to normal-space at the spinward edge of the enemy formation and engage nearest target. Evasive orders."
"Understood and following, sir."
Turning to his sensors chief, Pikbuuv kneeled down and slapped a heavy blue hand onto the yellow Technician’s shoulder. "Watch the situation carefully. When their fleet compresses to density three against the destroyers, tell the helm. Do not fail me."
"I haven’t yet, sir," chuckled the Technician as she turned her full attention to her console. Standing back up, Pikbuuv thought across the command deck Helm, when indicated by sensors, drop to normal space five thousand kilometers from the rear of the Concordat. Accepting the helmsman’s mental acknowledgement, Pikbuuv grinned, showing sharp yellow teeth. "Weapons, prepare for a close sweep bombardment, first available targets, fire upon acquisition."
The Warrior in charge of weapons turned from his console. "All batteries report full battle-ready, sir, and accept their orders."
"Excellent."
A group of six spear-shaped Reaver destroyers flipped into existence, sending shockwaves of distorting space across the field of stars. Ten million kilometers away lay a single octahedral Thaurian battlecruiser, not yet aware of the Reaver presence. The six spears turned their broadsides to the battlecruiser and began thrusting, spitting standoff missiles from their ports in the gunmetal hull. Simple tubular turrets on their hulls began to slowly track, preparing for the instant the battlecruiser came into range of their heavier naval gravity-distortion cannon.
Aboard the battlecruiser, the Thaurian Si’ aristocratic lord captain idly sipped some wine from a goblet before stifling a yawn. Guard duty against the Garbog rebels when he knew there were no vessels in jump distance… pointless. That was when his sensors operator said something about incoming gravity waves from potential multiple incoming jumps. Looking for a place to settle his goblet, the lord captain requested a fix "on their coordinates or something" and for weapons "to be brought to standby." The lord captain was not one for getting his men worked up when there was no threat, and was thusly quite concerned when his sensor officer screamed "Inbound!" and his tactical officer scrambled to prepare countermeasures.
Missile after missile plowed into the battlecruiser’s hull, antimatter warheads annihilating massive chunks of metal and spewing lethal gamma radiation into the decks newly exposed to vacuum. There were subsidiary flashes as coolant explosively expanded and vaporized. Plasma from newly torn conduits began spewing through the corridors, immediately flaying unlucky slave-sailors with the force of gases heated to stellar temperatures. The fore-port standoff missile launcher magazine ruptured and exploded in a dramatic demonstration of subsidiary carnage.
Inside the well armored bridge nestled in the center of the vessel, each hit sounded only as a mild thud and the ship shook only a little. The thuds became louder and louder until they eventually drowned out the klaxons; the shaking became worse and worse until the goblet jumped out of the lord captain’s hands. Kneeling forward to retrieve the goblet, the lord captain never heard the missile that impacted against the bridge’s armor, tearing it asunder. He never felt his flesh being converted directly to energy and whatever remaining cast into superenergetic space. He may not have shone as a warrior but he was certainly luminescent as his gaseous form melded with that of his ship.
Their target amazingly destroyed by a mere volley of standoff missiles, the destroyers changed course on an oblique path towards the next battlecruiser, missiles streaking out of row after row of broadside ports and turning in luminescent streaks towards their target.
Now on alert, the Thaurian fleet slowly moved to engage the invaders. Rather than encapsulating the squadron, the engaged vessels fell back to meet up with the defenders from the opposite side of the system jumping in sporadically. More octahedral battlecruisers, hexahedral frigates, and tetrahedral destroyers fell to a few mere destroyers commanded with skill and organization, all in the deathless silence of space. Still, the spears found themselves outnumbered, outgunned, and pursued by a score of medium and light capital ships. One spear took a long-ranged fusion spear to the engine section, which caused relays across the ship to overload, detonating magazines and weapon capacitors. The spear bulged in portions from the internal explosions until the chain eventually fed back to the main reactor and the entire ship disappeared in a silent sphere of glowing plasma.
Aboard Slax pij Pithkid, Pikbuuv watched as his crew acted upon their standing orders, a finely tuned machine of mind. Thrilling at the sensation of dropping back into real-space, he lowered his head and eyed the display with a look of desire. Licking his thin lips, he shuddered with the ship as death poured from every aperture, every orifice. There would be blood, and he would drink deeply of it. Every battle, he became one with his vessel, its cannons his claws, its engines his legs, its thick armor his steely carapace.
Most of his bridge crew simply gave him a single glance and worked harder. Motivation through fear, of sorts-albeit totally unintentional-ensured that his crew always did their best.
Slax pij Pithkid and its two sister superbattleships appeared practically in the middle of the Thaurian’s rear, and every battery on them lit up less than two seconds after they returned to reality. The Thaurians, true to form, had underpowered vessels and were concentrating on forward active defenses and batteries, leaving their aft completely unprepared for the assault. The three superbattleships mowed through the formation, the Reaver cruisers jumping in behind them mopping up what little resistance remained. Gravity-distortion cannon overpowered what few fusion plasma cannon returned fire, and cloud after cloud of short-ranged antimatter missiles devastated the unprotected hulls of the Thaurians.
Throughout, Pikbuuv stood, arms spread, eyes closed yet darting underneath their heavy lids, mouth silent, mind whispering orders and taking information directly from his crews. He saw, in his mind’s eye, his talons reaching out and crushing Thaurian cruisers, his teeth gnawing through shield and armor and weapon and crew. He felt the mild sting of incoming fire on his hide, and it only enraged his lust for blood that much more. He did not notice, nor would he have cared if he had, the effect his fantasies had on the officers and spacers whose minds he raped information from and force-fed orders to.
In less than half an hour after the destroyers initiated contact, the Thaurian fleet had been obliterated, reduced to no more than faintly glowing nebulae and floating shards and skeletons of debris slowly spewing coolant and atmosphere. Pikbuuv opened his eyes again and let out a throaty laugh. "Excellent." Heaving a deep, satisfied, sigh, he slowly came down from his emotional climax. "Ship, fleet, report."
His communications officer, another blue-shelled Warrior, handed down the reports after a moment. One cruiser, three destroyers, and one frigate lost. Minor damage to other vessels, but the entire system belonged to the Reaver fleet. All that remained were a few simple boarding actions and then the beachhead had truly been established. "All stations return to ready standby. It’s a job for the old teeth-and-claws now."
Blinking a few times, the sensors officer looked up at Pikbuuv. "Incoming jump energy signature, sir."
Pikbuuv merely licked his lips again. "More Thaurians?"
Ares stepped back into reality, and she stepped in hot. Val immediately updated the strategic display, quickly reading off enemy force strengths. "Three superbattleships, five cruisers, eleven frigates, twelve destroyers. Enemy force center range one hundred million kilometers."
Only a mere fraction of their force strength, thought Fleet Admiral Nibnumber, as I suspected. Still, those superbats are a problem. "Weapons, terablazers target superbattleship contact one, ten second interval. Cruise missiles to destroyers. Helm, get us moving GDD, oblique angle, use planets for cover. Comm, tell fleet: Evasive attack their opposite number. Feel free to disperse into squadron. Hangar, launch all squadrons once we’re within a million." Nibnumber grit his teeth. "Here goes… once again into the breach."
Massive beams of broadband electromagnetic energy spewed from the six huge emitters nestled in the two massive spars sticking out of Ares’ hull, one every ten seconds. From the front of the hangar deck, the doors of silos slid out of the way as giant missiles the size of heavy fighters slid out and powered towards their targets. The gigantic ship, between shots, formed its own gravity well to fall in and accelerated with surprising speed. Behind it, cruisers, frigates, destroyers, and interceptor corvettes fell back into reality and quickly dispersed.
Deep within Ares, Nibnumber leaned on one elbow over his console and watched the strategic board intently. What kind of defensive formation is that? It looks like they just completed a pincers movement of a sort… Never saw us coming.
Pikbuuv’s eyes grew wide as he watched his sister ship glow from strike after strike of Zoner blazer fire. Its screens finally gave up but the strikes continued, burning massive holes into the superbattleship. Turning his eyes while looking over his shoulder, he saw scores of glowing points of light inbound. Screaming a silent "No!" he held out his clawed feet to block the inbound hornets, and in reality, Slax pij Pikthid’s automated point defense systems began spewing distorted packets of space-time to intercept the cruise missiles. Several exploded harmlessly, heating Pikbuuv’s hands, but more and more slammed into his torso and arms, knocking out his wind, flaying sections of his hide.
Weapons--orders, sir? Spite-aft-port weapons bays are down!
Heavy casualties on decks fifty through sixty-seven, sections five through eight. Repair orders, sir?
Aft screens in danger of immanent collapse, sir!
Insystem drives sluggish, sir! Evasive action?
Zone interceptor corvettes, more giant fighters than capital ships, strafed his scattered destroyers and frigates while evading return fire. Zone frigates and destroyers were powering in on various vectors, bearing down on isolated packets of his frigates. Zone cruisers stood off, beaming coherent radiation and scattering missiles into his dispersing cruisers. One Zone superbattleship darting behind planets and asteroid fields, evading his claws, only to emerge with another onslaught.
"Yes, evade, spite you, evade! Weapons, fire at will; repair… um… what you can! Turn me to bear!"
Flailing clawed hand and taloned foot wildly, Pikbuuv’s eyes darted wildly; in every direction there was something firing, something he was missing, something he couldn’t control. Reports flowed to him freely from his crew, instead of grabbing what he needed they were flooding him with howls of grief and cries of despair. Seeing a nearby Zone cruiser being supported by several destroyers, he swatted at it with one hand.
"Dammit, sir, that blip is a superbattle-"
The bridge exploded in light and sound as the screens flickered. Hundreds of white strings connected our general vicinity in the center of the situation sphere with the massive superbattleship’s equally massive icon. Stonozka got up onto one knee, having been standing only a second ago, and yelled. "Evasive! Status! Weapons!"
I now understood why we had these big thickly-padded bucket seats; if we had those short little chairs like in the movies the whiplash itself could kill. After that jolt my entire body shook, but again, no one noticed nor cared. It’s a terrible sensation, being helpless in a fight. I resolved then and there to find myself some sort of combat role so I wouldn’t just play the part of the cowering and squealing third wheel. Well, to be honest, I wasn’t squealing; but it was damned hard not to.
The ship hissed as some shaken electrical cabling sparked about and we did our best to return fire; the strategic board spun and rolled with our jinks but we on board of course felt nothing; and somehow we managed to survive our brush with the Slax pij Pikthid. Nearly was our own slax that time.
As the cruiser careened away, Pikbuuv felt the bites of a thousand insects up and down his legs. Contorting over, he saw a countless number of tiny fighters tearing into his hide. Flailing around a bit more, he groaned. "The Thaurians never use fightercraft, I didn’t deploy mine… They must have come from those escort carrier frigates off in the distance over there, yes, what do you want, just do it now!" He felt himself losing more and more control of his body, he felt everything slipping away as his limbs spasmed and his teeth gnashed to no avail. Throwing around his head in agony, he looked and saw the Zone superbattleship charging in-it was so close now, he could almost read the markings on its hull-its fore glittering with the electromagnetic launch of a thousand torpedoes.
Pikbuuv’s entire left side tore apart in agony, vitals escaping into space. "Run! For the love of the Great Mother, run!"
The superbattleship, the battle itself, all disappeared as Slax pij Pikthid disappeared into hyperspace.
Pikbuuv opened his eyes and moaned slightly just before falling to the metal deck plating.