What do you think happens to any Compact worlds that get conquered by the Principality? Like, if they where to conquer Rally (too far away, I know), would they kill all the Tribunes and othe ruling races? Imprison? Banish?
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The Last Angel: Ascension
- Thread starter Proximal Flame
- Start date
The Principality is rarely on the offensive so this isn't that much of an issue. However when they are it is usually going to be taking back former Principality holdings. Any of the ruling races within would probably get deported.
Makes sense, they definitely don’t want to bloodlust the Compact.
According to the Halo wiki, their heaviest orbital platforms fire 3000 ton slugs at 4% light speed, and can cleanly shoot through covenant 2 capital ships and wreck a third. (these would be like 47 gigatons of TNT equivalent). They can fire every 5 seconds. However, Red has been seen to shoot beam weapons with yields on the scale of 7 gigatons. Which means she would curb stomp everybody in the Haloverse very hard.
However, Confederacy era ships only had weapons measuring in the 20 megaton range (still below what the compact could do), but the biggest issue imo would be speed, since the shells from UNSC weapons would be much too slow for them to hit angelverse ships at range (since all angelverse ships travel and significant fractions of c), so even if the UNSC ships could dance around angelverse ships with their FTL, they would never really hope to heavily damage them, nor catch them. However, UNSC ships can use slipstream drives as a weapon (since shields and armor would protect against slipstream ruptures).
Yes, modern missiles tend to move at .5c while modern Confederate missiles move at .6c. Modern Compact PD range is seven million kilometers.
Confed energy range was 60k km before the war and 80k by the time Nemesis was launched. Assuming equilivant ratios with modern ranges Confed missile range was 2.6 million kilometers and PD range was .75 million kilometers. The Confederacy would have an absolutely ludicrous range advantage, even ignoring what the modern Confederacy can do*.
The biggest issues would be range, speed, and weapons. I would rather live in the UEC though.
*Red's tech counts as Confederate tech, change my mind!
I think it's more about keeping up the narrative of being a civilized peer power. Remember there is a constant PR battle between the compact and principality for both each other's populations and also minor powers. Blatant mass genocide would be a surefire way to lose both popular support at home and potential allies among the lesser nations.
Edit: removed an extra word.
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A question. Any source for what hellebores and missiles can do? For Red?
Because i'm sorta confused about how Red could be a Chariot-killer, even with the displacement engine.
Because i'm sorta confused about how Red could be a Chariot-killer, even with the displacement engine.
Necrontyr525
Graveyard Shift Writer
Red's missiles aren't her Chariot-killers, they're for wrecking anything smaller then a Chariot. accordingly, they are broadly similer to modern cruise missiles in form and function, except they are the product of an endless genetic algorithm in terms of improvements run by an intelligent AI. they are bigger, faster, more maneuverable, have more range, better homing, hit harder, etc. etc. and they out-perform compact missiles in all categories by virtue of Red being able to iterate endlessly without worrying about politicians, bureaucrats, or the need to supply endless fleets and their unending hunger for more munitions. She carries a fair number of them (several dozen or a few hundred iirc) but can't re-supply them in combat. it still takes multiple hits to kill compact Capital ships, and a Chariot would take anything up to dozens or hundreds of missile impacts to truly kill, but they make for rather effective weapons when it comes to swatting anything smaller then a Chariot. Red, unlike Echo, doesn't have enough ammunition, or close-in energy weapons, to fight a large Compact fleet on her lonesome and win. That's why she was/is building her children.
Red's Hellbores (what the compact call Meteor Cannons iirc), and their 'breacher' ammunition, are her Chariot-killing weapons. the Hellbore itself is a mass driver that pups out projectiles of large but unspecified mass & size at velocities approaching 0.9c. at such insane velocity, a 140-gram (about 1/3 of a pound) baseball in atmosphere turns into a city-killing tac nuke. Red's projectiles are much, much larger and heavier. Red's 'breacher' ammunition takes one of those projectiles and addis in a warhead. not satisfied with a nuke, Red decided to pack in the only thing more deadly in space then Sir Isaac Newton: a device that ruptures space itself and gives multiple middle fingers to the rules of reality itself: a Breach Core designed to fail on impact, rending reality asunder and Fucking Up anything caught in the blast. Given how evasive Compact ships can be, even the massive chariots, Red also gave her 'breacher' shells thrusters to keep up their insane velocity, maneuvering thrusters to match, and a terminal homing AI to guide it into the target. Breacher shells can actually 'boomerang' to come back and hit an evading target: pulling a U-turn involving killing all 0.9c of their speed, and then re-accelerating back up to close to that velocity again. One hit from a breacher will kill anything smaller then a Chariot; if the target is supremely lucky, there might even be a drifting irradiated hulk left afterwards. Chariots have the shields, armor, and raw structural toughness to survive a breacher hit or two... which is why Red has (last I checked) Three Hellbores and 6-8 round magazines stuffed foll of breachers for each one.
red's hellbores do to accuracy issues are still mostly AOE weapons. its her displacement engine that is the bane of chariots.
Are there any posts talking about Hellbores and Red's missiles?
Err, her breachers are highly experimental, finicky weapons, and she only carries 1 or 2 at a time because they're so unreliable. She uses them more to flush out stealth elements or blind enemy ECM than for hits to kill her opponents. Standard Meteor rounds are small-ship-sized things accelerated to 0.7 c or something ridiculous before the absurdly powerful onboard thrusters take over guidance and boomerang duties. The warhead is antimatter.
Compact battleships (1-2 km warships i think) usually survive a single nearby detonation from one of these. A second kills it and if, by some miracle, red lands a skin-skin hit nothing short of a Chariot is survivng that.
Have you read The Last Angel? This is a sequel, not the original. It has far more information on the hellebores than Ascension does.
Anyways, missiles in the Angelverse are used to soften up the enemy from range. Larger ships can carry larger missiles with increased range and yield. The Compact's standard missile range is 24 million kilometers while the Principality's is 28 million kilometers. However Chariots have missiles with a range of 30 million kilometers. Nemesis on the other hand has a range of 60 million kilometers, though she does have low range-high yield missiles. The standard speed of the missiles for most spaceborne politities is under .5c, while Nemesis's can get to .6c. he has several missile variants as evidenced here:
I also included her missile launchers, but the missile types are explained.
The three Ukonvasara-class mass drivers are some of the 'main' weapons that Nemesis was built around. Original specifications had a maximum speed of .72c and a range of sixty million kilometers. Modern specifications have it reach a maximum speed of .92c and a range of over a hundred million kilometers. Currently she can carry 21 rounds per deployment. Each of these, should they manage to hit hte target, is enough to cause an extinction level event. However actually hitting them is unlikely which is the purpose of the warhead. The standard warhead is antimatter, though there are plasma variants. The antimatter warhead is enough to overwhelm a Compact battleship's shields. There are also ones that carry laser platforms, and breachers. Breachers create warp breaches, like the displacement engine, these will overwhelm enemy sensors, stealth systems, and emit a bunch of radiation.
However you don't seem very sold on the displacement engine, the Compact calls it the godbreaker for a reason.
Meteor cannon is the catchall name for all inordinately powerful railcannons.
Battleships are 4-5 kilometers.
The endof the month. Salaries have been paid. Which usually mesnd the next chapter isn’t far away. Proxy hinted at Wednesday. Can’t wait.
With her helebores she can soften up enemy formations from far greater distance than the enemy. After that comes missles exchange range and the knife fighting range.
The displacement engine / godbreaker is made for a one shot kill of super heavy enemys. Battleships and Chariots. It has the significant disadvantage of disabling Red after firing due to energy demands and warp particle build up. The one shot has to hit perfectly.
With her helebores she can soften up enemy formations from far greater distance than the enemy. After that comes missles exchange range and the knife fighting range.
The displacement engine / godbreaker is made for a one shot kill of super heavy enemys. Battleships and Chariots. It has the significant disadvantage of disabling Red after firing due to energy demands and warp particle build up. The one shot has to hit perfectly.
Honestly I dont even think the UNSC was all that evil. Certainly they're heavy handed in their dealings with Insurecctionists, but the Innies on the whole are only a step away from the Taliban with their terrorist attacks, and even surpass them at times ie. Detonating a literal nuclear warhead in a city. Also even during the Human-Covenant war certain Innie cells still rebelled against the UNSC
ONI on the other hand....well no doubt they were up to super shady shit, and theres no justification for the S-II project, but without ONI Humanity would have been wiped out no questions. Given how little we've seen of the UECs view of the War, I'm still almost completely certain they had many black-ops projects going on par with ONI's. I mean they commissioned an AI which is a huge huge HUGE deal for them, so they probably crossed more than one line before then.
EDIT: Also regarding combat with the UNSC, the UEC has a 200-odd year advantage in tech developments over the UNSC so the UEC quite clearly wins in this field.
definitely a better place to live then the UNSC's parent state- it was in the process of disintegrating ala rome (albiet with more explosions and violent terrorism) at the point the covenant fortunately (for the higher ups) made first contact and made it clear their leadership were xenocidal maniacs who made THEM look good/like the devil the populace knew-
given what we've seen, it was/is essentially run by a group tightly linked to their Navy's -heavily- corrupt intelligence group (founded by an unmediated paranoid schizophrenic who dumb-lucked their way into the admiralty without getting cashieered for being mentally ill,and designed by the former to LITERALLY encourage inefficiency and infighting to the point of borderline deadlock without an existential threat) with a horrifying disregard for human rights (the spartan 2 program,intended for the brutal pacification of a separatist group,not an existential threat to humanity justifying doing THAT to children/entire families, and the extremely unethical changes made to the easily-manipulated war-orphans who became III's neurochemistry without consent) or collateral damage...
ill admit to some level of contempt/bias >.<
- from what i remember from my compulsive lore-reader days,
the majority of the important decisions on the strategic level are made by individuals who are either ethically and politically corrupt, or self-justifying hard men-
and the amount of power their black ops agency has over the civilian government gives me a tendency to treat one as the other >.>
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Chapter 45
Proximal Flame
In Midnight Clad
And here, after 44 chapters of build-up, everything will be hitting the fan.
The next few chapters are probably going to be HUEG LIEK WHOA so to make things easier on myself and a (hopefully) consistent update schedule, I'll more than likely be posting them in halves.
In this chapter: illusive hand / i am restored / not just one
coming up: a mother's vengeance / with this ring / draw them 'til it's done
My Patreon
~
Chapter 45:
Two hundred Compact warships, hastily assembled into a strike force ready, emerged into realspace within 1991-Yiren. As their systems stabilized and augurs came back on-line, they found themselves not facing an Unbound armada, but taking possession of an abandoned star system. There were none of the hundreds of expected Red Hand vessels, only fading drive wakes, faint thermal and gravitic signatures and other trace evidence of the ships that had once been here. One or two vessels remained, civilian-grade ships left on the very edge of 1991-Yiren. They fled the instant they were spotted, like sentinel proka bees running back to their hive with warning of a predator.
The evacuation had been rapid, but it had also been organized and meticulous. Orbital works had been scuttled, each of the three production facilities swallowed by the gas giants that they had once found succor within. Asteroid mining operations had been abandoned, listening drones reclaimed; anything that could not be taken had been destroyed. Anything of value had been denied to the Compact.
The only thing left in the system was a stealthed comm buoy carrying a single heavily encrypted message. Originally thought to be a beacon left for other Unbound, informing them that 1991-Yiren was compromised and directing them to another rendezvous point, the device’s true purpose was quickly established.
Attempts at breaking the code achieved some early success, but foundered soon after. The data was so densely packed that merely extracting it without causing file corruption and information loss was extremely difficult. The deciphered information was further encoded, the layers of security completely unlike any known data protection measures. As one analyst remarked disgustedly, decrypting the information was like trying unravel a fractal. More than anything else, the convoluted nature of the data made it clear that this was a deliberate deception. It’s goal was to waste the Compact’s time and resources on a cybernetic varak chase.
Even if the Red Hand had the technical ability to communicate in this matter, they had never done so before. It matched nothing of their normal modus operandi… except in how well it functioned as a distraction. The only evidence to counter that theory was that the probe had activated some time before the task force’s arrival: receiving a query and transmitting its nonsense message in response… but that could easily be a systems check.
Other than the useless buoy, there was no message, no mockery or insult left for the Compact forces. 1991-Yiren was empty, abandoned… but that in itself was a statement. Most other Unbound would still be scrambling to escape, caught scattered and rushing, like quilma birds flushed from the brush. Instead, there was nothing and what that said in itself.
Better luck next time.
Staring out into the empty swamp nest, the task force’s prime gritted his teeth. He did not waste time in stupefied disbelief. In the Veiled Reaches, any leader who underestimated the capabilities of the Red Hand did not last long – one way or another. “I want,” he stated, “that fleet found. Begin immediate sweeps of the neighbouring systems.” They could not – would not – have gone far, but there was still a lot of territory to cover. If the Unbound had moved their fleet, then they were either ready to launch their attack… or had already done so. “Dispatch a courier to Galhemna,” the prime further ordered. “Inform Bastion Leader Kemk that the enemy has evaded us. Send another to Natuos. Advise Governor Juuumiin that assault is imminent.”
~
One thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three vessels rested in the light of a newborn star, one smaller and cooler than the F2 at the heart of Onza Crèche. The bright, hot primary of 1991-Yiren glinted in the sky, one small light amongst thousands of others. This system was dangerously close to the Black Veil, but that mattered little. Flayer and whatever else that lurked inside the nebula had other concerns now, and the Compact forces would never find them before Operation Twenty Pearls began.
One thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three vessels. Drawn from all across the Compact, heeding their queen’s call. A substantial portion of the insurgency’s naval assets was represented here, enough that its loss would be crippling… and a lot of these ships were going to be lost. Their assembly had already had an impact, causing hundreds of operations across the Compact to be slowed, delayed, terminated or sacrificed. The Red Hand’s widespread war had stuttered and paused. Across embattled sectors, planetary governors, oligarchs, military officers and corporate hegemons took a breath in relief from the unexpected reprieve. Many of those would breathe even easier as the ships and personnel that would have struck at them never returned, and the missions they would have supported suffered for their absence.
Hopefully the end result of all this would be worth the price.
Adrianna circled Eisheth’s bridge, her footfalls light on the bare metal deck. She had gambled before, but never on this scale. Never with so much. On the sensor screen was a melange of signals; drive wakes, emission signatures and every other indicator from the hundreds of starships that filled local space. There was only one that she was truly concerned with, though. It hadn’t arrived yet, and it was several hours overdue. That was nothing, really. Shock travel was finicky, most often when you least needed it to be and any sort of delay could easily explain their tardiness.
Still, she paced.
The last scout from Onza Crèche had checked in, one brave crew risking their lives more than they should have to confirm the size and scale of the enemy armada. The Compact had responded faster than she’d expected. It took time to marshal a fleet and launch it, but the window between the Uncertain Footing’s escape and the Space Force’s arrival was smaller than even she’d anticipated. Two hundred Compact warships had swept through Onza Crèche, a very potent image for anyone who’d wondered why their Queen had driven the evacuation so hard.
She might have been able to destroy that armada, but not without substantial cost and sacrificing Twenty Pearls in the doing. It might be a great moral victory to do so, but the Compact had many more ships than she did. Besides, it wasn’t the Compact’s naval forces that she was interested in. Not today, at least. Not at these odds. She had a better way to hurt her enemy.
The Compact strike force had begun to disperse; while the bulk of it decamped within Onza Crèche to complete the sweeps, light squadrons and scouts scattered across 1991-Yiren’s closest systems. They were hunting her. A fleet of eighteen hundred starships didn’t cross dozens of light-years easily, especially after they’d made a rushed evacuation. This system would be found soon – just not soon enough.
The scout had reported something else; a different visitor that Adrianna had been looking for. It had entered Onza Crèche several days after she had moved the fleet, shortly before the Compact armada had arrived. Her people had been unable to identify the vessel. Adrianna knew what it was, though. Someone else she’d been hoping to hear from. Her message had gotten through.
She’d evaded retribution, heard from one asset and was waiting for another. So far, things were off to a good start. At least until everything goes sideways. There was a famous Compact bastion leader who’d once said his plans always survived contact with the enemy. He’d died in battle, but his fleet had fought on and emerged victorious. Invoking his name either suggested supreme confidence – even arrogance – on the part of a commander, or a hope that things would go how you planned, despite the cost to yourself. Adrianna preferred not to tempt fate. She knew from bitter, brutal and painful experience how wrong even the most meticulous plan could go – on both sides of that equation.
Losing Onza Crèche had been a blow, but they’d saved most of what they’d had. The tribute ships and their materials had been sent on to Falcon Steppe, the next nearest ‘swamp nest’. The only real losses were the Hatchery stations themselves and the few ships and supplies that hadn’t been completed in time. If this mission went the way she hoped, they’d make that back and then some… if it didn’t, then the loss of those assets wouldn’t make much difference in the long run.
Another trade-off. She’d been making those for nearly seventy years. One life for many. One ship for a squadron. One cell for a secret. One massacre for a victory... and one loyal, unsuspecting crew for a flytrap. That was the nature of this long, ugly war. She was good at killing, and she was self-aware enough to admit that she liked it… but that wasn’t the same as watching the people you commanded die or sending them to their deaths, hoping that that would help in the long run.
It was why she had those sleepless nights, feeling every one of the years her augmented body would never show. Wondering, hoping – even praying.
The war continued and as long as it did, the killing would never stop.
“Highness,” her Comm officer raised his head. “Signal from the sentries. A vessel has just arrived. It responded to our challenges with the code sequence you were expecting.”
Some days, the hopes paid off. “Take us out to meet them,” Adrianna ordered. “Route a secure comm channel to my throne. Operations, carry out the protocols we discussed.” She swung into her chair and brought up a comm line to the newcomer, decrypting its message.
Apologies for our tardiness. We have the dinner reservations made and menu prepared. Request personal review and sign-off of all catering details, as stipulated in the contract.
We’ll be there shortly, she sent back. I’ll want to see every dish. If we’re serving this meal, I want it to go perfectly.
At least until contact with the enemy.
~
The attack did not come without warning, but there was still no preventing it. Just over two dozen of the Fleet’s last defenders – virtually every asset outside of Nodes 001 and 002 – had slipped into the outermost reaches of 1887-Yiren by ones and twos, running under minimal power from the Oort cloud as they coasted in-system. It had taken days just to contact one another and days more to assemble into a strike force.
Leyak Six became the focal point for the fleet. Its destruction of Darklight Eye was seen by every watching sensor and augur, Confederate and Compact alike. Allies and enemies focused their attention towards the destroyer’s kill, and the battle of 1887-Yiren began in earnest as Fleet forces clashed with the Compact’s deep-ranging scouts, both sides drawn in by Leyak Six’s brief, bright battle. Three hostile vessels were neutralized, and the modified frigate EWP-1701/8, once known as Rolling Dice, was lost to the guns of the foe.
Twenty-five vessels remained, turning towards the distant star. Forty-four warships prepared to meet them. In later analyses, the battle for 1887-Yiren would be viewed not as a pitched, climactic conflict between two fleets, but a series of low-intensity and sporadic skirmishes as invaders and defenders clashed, and the latter were forced to cede more and more of the outer system to Gravestone. The opening stages of the conflict did not give this impression, and as the death-cries of multiple starships reached the fortifications around Hotspring, local command prepared a defensive stance to greet the incoming hostiles, moving armour plating and small asteroids around their stationary facilities as Whipple shields in expectation of incoming bombardment.
Instead, the signals of the hostile vessels weakened and faded, soon disappearing from scopes altogether. Compact defenders watched in consternation and grim dismay as their opponents declined the invitation for battle, choosing instead a strategy of harassment, diversion and erosion.
The battle of 1887-Yiren had begun, and it was the Lost that had set the terms.
~
An airlock the size of a small town began to open, sliding along massive rails as locking mechanisms as thick as a starship’s hull retracted. Screen generators within the withdrawing panels came to life, the energy barrier securing the entranceway until the door was fully open. As the doors locked into place, the force fields flickered once as they were deactivated. No longer twinkling through the distortion of the screen, the stars outside beckoned in cold, bright constancy. Their invitation was accepted, and from the massive ovoid shipwomb that had been built around it and its kin, a newborn god slowly emerged into open space.
Weight of Destiny, first of the Galhemna-built Chariots. An honour guard of patrol ships, governmental transports and larger Space Force warships lined the sides of the dreadnought’s route, their crew and passengers eager to see one of the most powerful warships in known space begin its shakedown and systems trials.
Most of the vessel’s proving would be done within Galhemna, but several tests of its shock systems would be necessary. Local jumps at first, then longer and faster travels until any and all issues had been discovered and worked out. Compact ship-building was second to none and the Galhemna yards had put their finest work into these vessels, but there was no theory or simulation yet that had proven a sufficient substitution for practice and real-world operations. A connection would work perfectly in a thousand simulations and a hundred controlled tests, but fail catastrophically the instant it was truly needed.
The Manifest Beacon of Enlightenment class of Chariot was a proven design, and the shipwombs of Galhemna’s were known for their quality construction. That was why they had been chosen to construct the core of Operation Sundial’s forces… but there would always be something that slipped through simulations, diagnostics and in-womb systems checks, only showing itself once a newborn was in open space. Sometimes merely minor eccentricities, sometimes larger issues that had never been hinted at in design, construction or testing. Tribune engineers called these ‘Fortune’s blessings’, a reminder not to become complacent and trust in what should and seemed to be immaculate.
A vessel’s proving could take months – sometimes even years if there were any experimental or newly-developed technologies involved – as tweaks, adjustments and modifications were made. In the name of security, it had been suggested that all three Chariots should be completed at the same time, but this would serve the engineers’ and ships’ needs far better. Any issues with the design or workmanship would be discovered before Shield of Civilization and Resolve of Tithrak were ready for their own births, shortening their own trials and seeing them ready for combat that much sooner.
Weight of Destiny would be the first of the Galhemna-born Chariots. It would clear the way for its fellows’ final construction. Once they were complete, they would become the iron heart of Sundial, and the fist that would close around the Principality’s throat.
Kemk’s liver felt swollen with pride as he watched more than eight kilometers and hundreds upon hundreds of millions of tonnes of starship take its first flight. Weight of Destiny’s earthern hull stood out against the darkness of the stars, running lights set to maximum illumination to show off every curve, every letter inch of its form. As it finally cleared the womb, several vessels released fireworks that glittered and scattered beautiful multicoloured radiance across the hull of the Chariot and audience alike.
To see a Chariot was to see firsthand the power of the Compact, its will, its strength, its drive. More than six thousand years ago, the fledging Compact had had no counter to the massive spined hive-battleships of the Anorax. Not until the Harrom-el built the first dreadnought, Forged of Bronze. Since that day, Chariots had been at the forefront of every major conflict the Compact had endured. These ships would be another entry into that great ledger. If all went well, Sundial would herald the twilight of the Principality. It would take many decades – even centuries – to complete the annexation, but in the end, one of the Compact’s oldest, most troublesome foes would be forced into submission. The path would be cleared and all other enemies of civilization would know that justice would be coming for them. The Compact endured. Against all enemies, all threats from without and within, it did this.
Kemk watched as Weight of Destiny began to accelerate, the Chariot picking up speed as it switched from docking thrusters to its primary drive. For the first time beyond mere testing, its mighty engines came to life. In seconds, the titanic vessel receded to a faint dot amongst the starfield, and the Bastion Leader nodded as it disappeared from view altogether. Onward, he offered the simple Space Force benediction to the ship and crew.
Sundial was almost ready. More than a thousand vessels were either completed or on the verge of it. Ship provings began and ended daily. War games and combat simulations ran incessantly. Reaver fleets and scouts harangued and probed the Jackals’ defences, seeking out and cataloguing weaknesses and priority targets. More warships arrived with each passing hour, sent from Sundial’s other feeder systems as they completed their own trials or dispatched from existing fleets and task forces.
Kebrak Daun was scrambling, desperately pulling in every asset it could find. In the last months, the system’s garrison forces had increased by a half and they were hurriedly retrofitting their perimeter defences – in secret, they thought. There were even whispers that Jirrico had managed to pry heavy fleet assets from the front lines, but it would be for nought. The Principality had learned of the danger too late. Nothing they could do could stop what was coming…
…and for all times available to them, now the Red Hand decided lash out. Now. Kemk clenched his jaw. Triarchs damn the ‘red queen’ and every one of her piss-licking, deluded psychopaths. At least they had chosen now to attack, when the sector’s naval forces were strongest and he could spare the ships. If they’d held off a few months, until Sundial had launched and committed…
The terrorists were far from stupid. They had to know they would be facing Natuos’s defenders and reinforcements. Their swamp nest had been abandoned. Knowing that their secret had gotten out, had they foregone the operation and scattered back into their holes? That was the most likely, most sensible option, but Kemk knew the thesh kaln and her modus operandi too well. The Red Hand was categorically bold; with their queen, that turned into fanaticism. She might have learned of Sundial. This attack could be a distraction, meant to slow or stumble the Space Force. Even the red queen couldn’t think she could stop Sundial…
…not alone, at least.
A sudden sense of disquiet threaded its way through the Tribune’s innards. He made a mental note to get an update on Galhemna’s security status, and speak with Bastion Leader Cortam regarding her own preparations. It might only be nerves, but he remembered his insect collection, and the conversation he’d shared with Yunl’ro so many months ago. No matter what we do, something always slips by.
Whatever had done so now, he would make certain that it was only an annoyance and nothing more.
~
Execution Force Yunl’ro had assembled in its totality once again, almost a dozen light-years deeper in the nebula than their last mobilization. Once again, there was a decision to be made.
Two couriers had arrived. One, from 1887-Yiren. An enemy reaver fleet had slipped around the execution force and was striking at Yunl’ro’s forward base. Ten ships had been lost already, four of those from a resupply convoy that had arrived blind to the danger. The machines were using strike-and-fade tactics to make the most out of their superior coordination and stealth, luring the garrison forces away from more valuable assets that could be struck, or into ambushes of their own. Several hostiles had been eliminated, but the kill ratio was not in the Compact’s favour. 1887-Yiren was finding itself hard-pressed. They hadn’t even been able to get an accurate count on the number of attackers that they faced.
The second courier had been dispatched from one of Yunl’ro’s far-ranging scout squadrons; it carried Prime Nsyrua’s final report. The Prolocutor had found one of, if not the center of industry for the Wound. Small shipwombs with vessels undergoing refit and construction... and something else. Before it had been lost, The Ram’s Horn had managed to get deep enough in-system to get good augur reads from two of the facilities. One had little of note other than three vessels were currently docked with it. The other womb… ensconced in girders and swarmed by industrial drones laid the hulk of a Compact Chariot.
A Manifest Beacon of Enlightenment-class Chariot, its hull markings a match to Bastion Leader Renan’s lost Redemption of Sol. The Ram’s Horn had died to confirm that it wasn’t a megafreighter using holo-fields and scope bafflers to disguise itself. That truly was Redemption of Sol. The Echo was in Cemetery, rebuilding its stolen body – but it was unfinished. Vulnerable. It would be days before it was spaceworthy, but now that it had been spotted, it would move as soon as it was able to. All of that construction would be disassembled for transport or scuttled. Every second that passed meant the machines had that much more of a lead on the Execution Force, more time to lay traps and evade their destruction.
Yunl’ro’s subordinates and strategists were divided in opinion. Many suggested pushing ahead. Nsyrua had provided navigational coordinates, detailing shock routes and hazards to aid the fleet’s movement through the nebula, but despite her warnings, the passage would be treacherous. Even the most optimistic projections indicated that several ships would be lost. A slower, more cautious transit would reduce their casualties… but that would be handing Redemption of Sol more time to escape. Others suggested doubling back to secure 1887-Yiren. The garrison’s losses were mounting and if that system fell, it would substantially hamper Yunl’ro’s mission. Others cautiously recommended splitting the fleet, sending lighter squadrons to reinforce 1998-Yiren, while the vanguard moved into Cemetery.
Fall back, onward or split. A deceptively simple set of options.
There were three confounding variables, though. The first was the Wound – rather, its absence. There was no sign of it anywhere in Cemetery. Granted, there had neither been the time nor ability for Reconnaissance Force Nsyrua to confirm or deny the Wound’s presence before their destruction, but Renan and Bavok had damaged the human machine to crippling at Zenthora and Sol. It was either there, or nearby…
…or somewhere like 1887-Yiren.
Even now, with examples of the Wound’s industry at work and a captured citadel, the execution force had few solid details on the extent and capabilities of the Wound’s industry. Before this incursion into the Black Veil, that it had even had a womb was hotly debated. The Broken vessel had been far more injured than the traitorous Echo. What the Execution Force had encountered so far would have struggled to make the human warship whole in the time it had had… but it was not impossible, and their quarry had fought battles at less than full strength before. It may have moved to 1887-Yiren to ambush any reprisal force. Or it might be as vulnerable as its counterpart.
The second concern was the unknown megastructure in Cemetery’s inner system. The Compact had encountered, and built constructs of similar size – sprawling shipwombs, planetary and lunar rings and moonlet city-sprawls – but nothing quite like this. A ringworld colony? Particle hyper accelerator? Gravity pool? Its function was unknown, its existence was unprecedented. How could the Wound have built it, and for what purpose? There was another possibility… the Wound had not built it. That was even more troubling. That demanded investigation, before whatever purpose it had been constructed for could be realized.
Timing was the third issue. It would have been impossible for the attack on 1887-Yiren to be an intentional distraction from Cemetery. ‘Impossible’ was a word not to be trusted or relied upon when it came to the Wound, but even the machine had to bow to certain constraints. The attackers in 1887-Yiren had been launched and in position before Nsyrua’s ill-fated reconnaissance mission discovered the industrial system. Either the Wound had become truly precognitive instead of uncannily prescient, or something else was going on, but that did nothing to alter the equations.
A target that must be struck. A base that must be defended. An enemy unaccounted for, another doubtlessly rushing to escape and little to no time to decide between the choices.
Yunl’ro’s doorbell chimed in announcement of a visitor. “Enter,” the Bastion Leader said.
Group Leader, Submissive Nasham stepped into the Thoughtful’s quarters. He offered a respectful salute. “You wished to see me, matron?”
“Yes.” The Bastion Leader didn’t bother with small talk. She could have asked how her subordinate was doing, but she was already aware of that. Submissive Vinsea had done well, if becoming somewhat more personal than expected. Still, results were what mattered. Nasham was less withdrawn, less sullen. She could have asked anyways, but that wasn’t why he was here. “You’re aware of our options.”
Nasham nodded. Yunl’ro didn’t need to break the statement down further. He’d sat in on the Bastion Leader’s discussions with her senior officers. The arguments for and against each course of action had been… intense. They were close to their goal, but the damage 1887-Yiren was suffering could endanger the mission. It would be a hollow victory to cleanse Cemetery, but lose more ships and souls because aid was unable to reach them. On the other side of the coin, saving their forward base would mean nothing if their quarry escaped, leading to fruitless months – most likely years – of searching this nebula and beyond. Splitting the armada would allow both needs to be served, but that might be the very thing she wanted. Each choice could be argued for. Each could be argued against. “I am, matron.”
“Then I would have your thoughts. Pretend you are the leader of this armada. What would be your decision?”
The Thoughtful’s dark eyes studied Nasham coolly. There was no indecision in her face. The Bastion Leader had listened to the opinions and arguments of her submissive leaders, her strategists and analysts as they had gone back and forth, and reached a conclusion for herself. This meeting was about Nasham.
“Onward,” he said without hesitation. “Take the fleet to Cemetery. All of it. As fast as possible.”
“We will lose ships.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Yes.”
“1887-Yiren may fall. Our logistics chain could be cut. Without rapid resupply and nearby service, the fleet’s operations will be imperiled. It will mean the difference between life and death for many.”
“Yes.”
“It may even be a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And you still counsel for this action?”
“I do, matron.”
“Explain why.”
“You know the long answer, matron.” he told her. “Your officers have given it to you. Husk spoke on it. All that we have done so far is a distraction, buying time for the AI to heal themselves. If we miss this opportunity, it will be months or years before we have it again. The next time we bring the Wound’s forces to battle, we won’t be facing drones and skirmishers. She and the Echo will be restored.”
“Yes, all this is known to me,” Yunl’ro agreed. “And the short answer? Your answer?”
Nasham was quiet for a moment. Invida. Bequeathed. Vinsea. “The same one I provided to you before,” he said. “She has to die. No matter what happens, no matter the cost. She has to die. Even if she’s not in Cemetery, we can hurt her. We can grind whatever temples she’s raised back into dust and end her sister before either can be used against us.”
Yunl’ro stared at the Tribune for several long seconds. “You have proven far more useful than I imagined, Pack Leader Nasham Kem Unoth Ludhy Inku Pram Vasd.” The Thoughtful turned away. “Onward,” she agreed, voicing her decision. It would be one paid for in blood, treasure and lives, but it was the correct one. Logic and intuition both agreed. The armada’s window of opportunity was closing. “We will go onward.”
~
It’s done.
I’m ready. Status checks are complete, all diagnostics are in the green. Systems are operational. All that’s left is open-space trials… but those will have to be done later.
Sosruko was completed two days ago. My sister finished all primary systems and structural modifications seventeen hours before me. I’ve never seen a Kaiju that was beautiful before. Now I have. Much of the alien is gone from her. Where there were once smooth curves, she now has sharp angles and additional armour. Where she had windows and sensor feeds for the psychological comfort of her crew, now she has weapons bays, holo-projectors and reinforced hull plates. Where she had food stores, and environmental systems, she now has shield projectors, missile tubes and power capacitors. Her primary reactor runs hotter than it ever could with a living crew… but I also know she installed ancillary shielding. Just in case. My little sister, finally ready for the war she was built to fight.
That both of us were meant to fight.
My ship-self feels different. The alterations I made aren’t as extensive as those of my sibling, but the new modifications are… new. The my old shift systems have finally been excised; now I carry some of the finest FTL technology in known space. Not simple modifications and patchwork updates. New, custom-built, designed and refined. More efficient, more capable. I find myself looking forward to testing them, even to simply flying free and unfettered by the possibility of unexpected, and catastrophic shift drive failure. Yasmine would have scolded me as much as my sister has for waiting so long to do this. ‘It’s about time.’ They would both be right. I should have done it long ago, but it is done now. I won’t delay again.
The Principality’s bounty has been put to good use. I’m restored in body and mind, stronger than I’ve ever been. My external weapons racks and internals magazines are loaded, my hellebores full, my complement of attack drones, boarding units and planetary assault forces are stocked. I’ve adjusted my weapons, my armour, my shields and engines… I’ve even made a few alaterations for my crew, making my interior less Spartan. Ensign te Neu seems pleased so far.
Nine hundred thousand kilometers away, Reginn stirs. My factory-ship has changed too. Its engines have been upgraded, it has larger and more robust industrial module and factory complexes, granted additional gantries and construction arms. It dwarfs my sister and I put together. Its limbs are moving now, folding around Kali’s skeleton to keep it safe, auxiliary shift field generators unfurling from their silos. We have a long way to go, and warp jumps are not kind to unprotected vessels.
My children take their positions, falling into formation with me. I have a fleet now. Reginn, my industrial vessels, Hekate and some new friends. I’ve also repurposed several of the Principality tribute ships. I have ideas for them. Of course, there are the Fates, the Furies and now the Coyotes. The former, capable and ready. The latter six taking their first steps into space like toddlers eager to stand on their own. From my Fates, I think I can feel something. Two has shared what it experienced with the others. New neural connections are forming, pathways shifting, algorithms changing. Maybe it will lead to more. My Vermillion began a descent into rampancy, my Violets all broke, each in their own way. Some more than others, but maybe the Ceruleans…
Maybe.
Echo wants to make her own vessels. She has designs in mind already. They’re certainly different, but I like them. Three new classes: Vrykolakas, Strigoi, Vântoase and something else: Juuchi Yosamu. I think she’ll have fun with that one.
She’ll have to wait, though. It’s her fault I’ve lost the Molten Veneer. The least she can do to make up for that is take a back seat to my work. Besides, I’ve already built something just for her.
Zenobia is following us out. She’ll keep us company right to the nebula’s edge. Making sure we’re gone. She fulfilled her promise, though. I have what I need. What I asked for, and at least this parting isn’t openly hostile.
I’m sorry to have to go. Naiads are dangerous, mercurial and predatory but there is something about them… Well. I suppose I’ll just have to save a monarch’s life again.
There’s a new plan. A messenger drone from Adrianna arrived six days ago. She outlined Twenty Pearls. I think it could work, but even with the resources at her disposal she doesn’t have enough to succeed. Her target won’t fall that easily. Not without some help. Kursk is in full swing, Sundial is imminent. It’s time to introduce a new element into the Compact’s calculations.
I am restored, and I am ready. I have a goal to strive for, and a mission to carry out. I am a warship and I will fulfill my function.
The Long War is about to reignite… and I have just the place in mind to begin.
~
“I must say,” former Noble Ship Lady Glinting Yellow Eyes said, the Askank-illth undulating up Eisheth’s halls alongside Adrianna. Her courier had departed several days ago. She had remained to offer her advice to the Red Hand. The woman’s official records listed her as being dishonourably discharged seven months ago over matters of ideology, failure to follow the chain of command and several breaches of military conduct. “My associates are impressed that you have been able to assemble such a large force so quickly over such distances.”
Leblanc smiled proudly. “The Red Hand may not be a proper military, but its officers are disciplined and loyal.”
The serpentine woman’s webbed crest flexed in one of her people’s nods. “A frequent surprise for your enemies, allies and associates alike.”
“We do have a reputation.”
“One for security as well…” Glinting Yellow Eyes noted. “Which is why I am surprised to find you at this fallback position and not your base of operations.”
Adrianna ran her tongue over her lips. “There were… complications.”
“A vessel lost,” the Askanj-illth ssss’d. “Mission banding compromised. Assets scuttled. This is a concern, Majesty. Particularly given the sensitivity of our prior discussions.”
“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” the blue-haired woman admitted as the pair entered a lift, Glinting Yellow Eyes having to bunch her long, coiled body up to fit in the small personnel elevator. “I prefer another.”
“And that is?”
The car’s doors opened into a hallway that led towards Eisheth’s command deck. Bloodsworn soldiers had taken position in the corridors, ready to defend their queen with their lives. Adrianna paused in front of the squad leader, drawing the dagger on her belt. She drew it across her left palm, cutting deep and making a fist. Redness welled up between her fingers. She pressed her hand to the officer’s right breastplate, leaving behind a bloody print. By the time she’d sheathed her blade, the wound was closed.
It was a tradition of hers on the eve of a large operation, a renewal of the promise she made to her soldiers. She’d always led from the front. The Compact had come close to killing her several times because of that and she was constantly berated by her subordinates and advisors for such recklessness, but she wanted her people to know that she wouldn’t send them to fight her battles for her. If she could, she would be right beside them. In spirit, if nothing else. They bled for her; the least she could do was bleed for them.
The doors to the pocket battleship’s bridge rolled open. “Maskirovka,” Adrianna answered her companion as she accepted a subordinate’s status report. All departments reported ready, as had all formations and squadrons.
The Askanj-illth’s large almond-shaped eyes blinked. “I’m not familiar with that term.”
“That’s all right,” Adrianna replied. “Neither is the Compact. However…” she keyed in a comm line to Torment. “It’s something everyone will understand soon enough.”
Torment swiftly acknowledged its larger sibling’s hail. Crusade Commander Nameless appeared on the Red Hand sigil ship’s main viewscreen. “Majesty,” the Olcomin said, her vertical mouth parting.
“Your task force is ready?”
“We are.”
Adrianna nodded to her comm officer and a fleetwide channel was opened. “This is Commander Leblanc to all ships. You know what’s at stake. You know what we’re doing here. If we’re lucky, this will be a blow that shakes the Compact to its foundations. I could tell you about honour and glory and all that shit, but you already know that. You know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. The Compact hit us hard at Dustball. They think they know what we’re planning. We’re going to hit them even harder and let them know that they’ll always be playing catch-up with us. That no matter what they do to us, they can never extinguish the spark that drives us.
“They’re still tough sons of bitches, though. Fight well. No vainglory. All of you are heroes. That part is done. Strike hard, strike fast and remember the plan. Play to your strengths and we’ll get through this. The Compact is spoiling for a fight. We’ll give them one… just not the one they think they’re getting. Do your part and we’ll come through this stronger and richer than before. We’ll prove to the Compact that we are not to be fucked with.”
“The fire rises!” was the response. Soon, it became a tidal wave as ship after ship replied, dozens of languages and dialects all echoing the Red Hand’s war cry. Adrianna let it go on for several moments, filling Eisheth’s command deck, finally closing the channel.
She looked back at her Crusade Commander. “Good hunting,” she offered.
Nameless rose from her throne and saluted. “And to you, Majesty. The fire rises. May it consume everything and leave fertile ground in its passing.”
“We can only hope,” Adrianna agreed. “Give Natuos my regards.”
“I shall. I would say I would offer them Crusade Commander Jackson’s as well… but I think you would like to share those yourself.”
Adrianna’s lips drew back from her teeth. “Correct.”
“Then I will convey your message, as well as my own. Torment, signing off.” The channel closed. Torment and six hundred vessels vanished from the display in a spray of shock points that spread across the entire horizon.
Adrianna looked over at Glinting Yellow Eyes. The serpentine alien was surprised. “You were saying something about security?” she asked teasingly, flashing gleaming white teeth. “You didn’t think I was going to go after just one target, did you?”
“This is not the plan that we discussed,” the Askanj-illth replied. “If we had known…”
“If you had known, it might have gotten out and I would have sacrificed a ship and a loyal crew for nothing,” Leblanc replied. “We’re playing for all the marbles here. I can’t afford to risk more than I already have.” She paused at the display screen showing the hundreds of vessels still remaining in this system. She picked out one in particular, the corvette Brightest Night. Good hunting to you, little girl.
“All ships,” she ordered, slouching herself into her command throne into her familiar pose of arrogance and ultimate confidence. That was what her crew saw, at least. What they needed to see. “Let’s get going. Galhemna’s waiting for us.”
The next few chapters are probably going to be HUEG LIEK WHOA so to make things easier on myself and a (hopefully) consistent update schedule, I'll more than likely be posting them in halves.
In this chapter: illusive hand / i am restored / not just one
coming up: a mother's vengeance / with this ring / draw them 'til it's done
My Patreon
~
Chapter 45:
Two hundred Compact warships, hastily assembled into a strike force ready, emerged into realspace within 1991-Yiren. As their systems stabilized and augurs came back on-line, they found themselves not facing an Unbound armada, but taking possession of an abandoned star system. There were none of the hundreds of expected Red Hand vessels, only fading drive wakes, faint thermal and gravitic signatures and other trace evidence of the ships that had once been here. One or two vessels remained, civilian-grade ships left on the very edge of 1991-Yiren. They fled the instant they were spotted, like sentinel proka bees running back to their hive with warning of a predator.
The evacuation had been rapid, but it had also been organized and meticulous. Orbital works had been scuttled, each of the three production facilities swallowed by the gas giants that they had once found succor within. Asteroid mining operations had been abandoned, listening drones reclaimed; anything that could not be taken had been destroyed. Anything of value had been denied to the Compact.
The only thing left in the system was a stealthed comm buoy carrying a single heavily encrypted message. Originally thought to be a beacon left for other Unbound, informing them that 1991-Yiren was compromised and directing them to another rendezvous point, the device’s true purpose was quickly established.
Attempts at breaking the code achieved some early success, but foundered soon after. The data was so densely packed that merely extracting it without causing file corruption and information loss was extremely difficult. The deciphered information was further encoded, the layers of security completely unlike any known data protection measures. As one analyst remarked disgustedly, decrypting the information was like trying unravel a fractal. More than anything else, the convoluted nature of the data made it clear that this was a deliberate deception. It’s goal was to waste the Compact’s time and resources on a cybernetic varak chase.
Even if the Red Hand had the technical ability to communicate in this matter, they had never done so before. It matched nothing of their normal modus operandi… except in how well it functioned as a distraction. The only evidence to counter that theory was that the probe had activated some time before the task force’s arrival: receiving a query and transmitting its nonsense message in response… but that could easily be a systems check.
Other than the useless buoy, there was no message, no mockery or insult left for the Compact forces. 1991-Yiren was empty, abandoned… but that in itself was a statement. Most other Unbound would still be scrambling to escape, caught scattered and rushing, like quilma birds flushed from the brush. Instead, there was nothing and what that said in itself.
Better luck next time.
Staring out into the empty swamp nest, the task force’s prime gritted his teeth. He did not waste time in stupefied disbelief. In the Veiled Reaches, any leader who underestimated the capabilities of the Red Hand did not last long – one way or another. “I want,” he stated, “that fleet found. Begin immediate sweeps of the neighbouring systems.” They could not – would not – have gone far, but there was still a lot of territory to cover. If the Unbound had moved their fleet, then they were either ready to launch their attack… or had already done so. “Dispatch a courier to Galhemna,” the prime further ordered. “Inform Bastion Leader Kemk that the enemy has evaded us. Send another to Natuos. Advise Governor Juuumiin that assault is imminent.”
~
One thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three vessels rested in the light of a newborn star, one smaller and cooler than the F2 at the heart of Onza Crèche. The bright, hot primary of 1991-Yiren glinted in the sky, one small light amongst thousands of others. This system was dangerously close to the Black Veil, but that mattered little. Flayer and whatever else that lurked inside the nebula had other concerns now, and the Compact forces would never find them before Operation Twenty Pearls began.
One thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three vessels. Drawn from all across the Compact, heeding their queen’s call. A substantial portion of the insurgency’s naval assets was represented here, enough that its loss would be crippling… and a lot of these ships were going to be lost. Their assembly had already had an impact, causing hundreds of operations across the Compact to be slowed, delayed, terminated or sacrificed. The Red Hand’s widespread war had stuttered and paused. Across embattled sectors, planetary governors, oligarchs, military officers and corporate hegemons took a breath in relief from the unexpected reprieve. Many of those would breathe even easier as the ships and personnel that would have struck at them never returned, and the missions they would have supported suffered for their absence.
Hopefully the end result of all this would be worth the price.
Adrianna circled Eisheth’s bridge, her footfalls light on the bare metal deck. She had gambled before, but never on this scale. Never with so much. On the sensor screen was a melange of signals; drive wakes, emission signatures and every other indicator from the hundreds of starships that filled local space. There was only one that she was truly concerned with, though. It hadn’t arrived yet, and it was several hours overdue. That was nothing, really. Shock travel was finicky, most often when you least needed it to be and any sort of delay could easily explain their tardiness.
Still, she paced.
The last scout from Onza Crèche had checked in, one brave crew risking their lives more than they should have to confirm the size and scale of the enemy armada. The Compact had responded faster than she’d expected. It took time to marshal a fleet and launch it, but the window between the Uncertain Footing’s escape and the Space Force’s arrival was smaller than even she’d anticipated. Two hundred Compact warships had swept through Onza Crèche, a very potent image for anyone who’d wondered why their Queen had driven the evacuation so hard.
She might have been able to destroy that armada, but not without substantial cost and sacrificing Twenty Pearls in the doing. It might be a great moral victory to do so, but the Compact had many more ships than she did. Besides, it wasn’t the Compact’s naval forces that she was interested in. Not today, at least. Not at these odds. She had a better way to hurt her enemy.
The Compact strike force had begun to disperse; while the bulk of it decamped within Onza Crèche to complete the sweeps, light squadrons and scouts scattered across 1991-Yiren’s closest systems. They were hunting her. A fleet of eighteen hundred starships didn’t cross dozens of light-years easily, especially after they’d made a rushed evacuation. This system would be found soon – just not soon enough.
The scout had reported something else; a different visitor that Adrianna had been looking for. It had entered Onza Crèche several days after she had moved the fleet, shortly before the Compact armada had arrived. Her people had been unable to identify the vessel. Adrianna knew what it was, though. Someone else she’d been hoping to hear from. Her message had gotten through.
She’d evaded retribution, heard from one asset and was waiting for another. So far, things were off to a good start. At least until everything goes sideways. There was a famous Compact bastion leader who’d once said his plans always survived contact with the enemy. He’d died in battle, but his fleet had fought on and emerged victorious. Invoking his name either suggested supreme confidence – even arrogance – on the part of a commander, or a hope that things would go how you planned, despite the cost to yourself. Adrianna preferred not to tempt fate. She knew from bitter, brutal and painful experience how wrong even the most meticulous plan could go – on both sides of that equation.
Losing Onza Crèche had been a blow, but they’d saved most of what they’d had. The tribute ships and their materials had been sent on to Falcon Steppe, the next nearest ‘swamp nest’. The only real losses were the Hatchery stations themselves and the few ships and supplies that hadn’t been completed in time. If this mission went the way she hoped, they’d make that back and then some… if it didn’t, then the loss of those assets wouldn’t make much difference in the long run.
Another trade-off. She’d been making those for nearly seventy years. One life for many. One ship for a squadron. One cell for a secret. One massacre for a victory... and one loyal, unsuspecting crew for a flytrap. That was the nature of this long, ugly war. She was good at killing, and she was self-aware enough to admit that she liked it… but that wasn’t the same as watching the people you commanded die or sending them to their deaths, hoping that that would help in the long run.
It was why she had those sleepless nights, feeling every one of the years her augmented body would never show. Wondering, hoping – even praying.
The war continued and as long as it did, the killing would never stop.
“Highness,” her Comm officer raised his head. “Signal from the sentries. A vessel has just arrived. It responded to our challenges with the code sequence you were expecting.”
Some days, the hopes paid off. “Take us out to meet them,” Adrianna ordered. “Route a secure comm channel to my throne. Operations, carry out the protocols we discussed.” She swung into her chair and brought up a comm line to the newcomer, decrypting its message.
Apologies for our tardiness. We have the dinner reservations made and menu prepared. Request personal review and sign-off of all catering details, as stipulated in the contract.
We’ll be there shortly, she sent back. I’ll want to see every dish. If we’re serving this meal, I want it to go perfectly.
At least until contact with the enemy.
~
The attack did not come without warning, but there was still no preventing it. Just over two dozen of the Fleet’s last defenders – virtually every asset outside of Nodes 001 and 002 – had slipped into the outermost reaches of 1887-Yiren by ones and twos, running under minimal power from the Oort cloud as they coasted in-system. It had taken days just to contact one another and days more to assemble into a strike force.
Leyak Six became the focal point for the fleet. Its destruction of Darklight Eye was seen by every watching sensor and augur, Confederate and Compact alike. Allies and enemies focused their attention towards the destroyer’s kill, and the battle of 1887-Yiren began in earnest as Fleet forces clashed with the Compact’s deep-ranging scouts, both sides drawn in by Leyak Six’s brief, bright battle. Three hostile vessels were neutralized, and the modified frigate EWP-1701/8, once known as Rolling Dice, was lost to the guns of the foe.
Twenty-five vessels remained, turning towards the distant star. Forty-four warships prepared to meet them. In later analyses, the battle for 1887-Yiren would be viewed not as a pitched, climactic conflict between two fleets, but a series of low-intensity and sporadic skirmishes as invaders and defenders clashed, and the latter were forced to cede more and more of the outer system to Gravestone. The opening stages of the conflict did not give this impression, and as the death-cries of multiple starships reached the fortifications around Hotspring, local command prepared a defensive stance to greet the incoming hostiles, moving armour plating and small asteroids around their stationary facilities as Whipple shields in expectation of incoming bombardment.
Instead, the signals of the hostile vessels weakened and faded, soon disappearing from scopes altogether. Compact defenders watched in consternation and grim dismay as their opponents declined the invitation for battle, choosing instead a strategy of harassment, diversion and erosion.
The battle of 1887-Yiren had begun, and it was the Lost that had set the terms.
~
An airlock the size of a small town began to open, sliding along massive rails as locking mechanisms as thick as a starship’s hull retracted. Screen generators within the withdrawing panels came to life, the energy barrier securing the entranceway until the door was fully open. As the doors locked into place, the force fields flickered once as they were deactivated. No longer twinkling through the distortion of the screen, the stars outside beckoned in cold, bright constancy. Their invitation was accepted, and from the massive ovoid shipwomb that had been built around it and its kin, a newborn god slowly emerged into open space.
Weight of Destiny, first of the Galhemna-built Chariots. An honour guard of patrol ships, governmental transports and larger Space Force warships lined the sides of the dreadnought’s route, their crew and passengers eager to see one of the most powerful warships in known space begin its shakedown and systems trials.
Most of the vessel’s proving would be done within Galhemna, but several tests of its shock systems would be necessary. Local jumps at first, then longer and faster travels until any and all issues had been discovered and worked out. Compact ship-building was second to none and the Galhemna yards had put their finest work into these vessels, but there was no theory or simulation yet that had proven a sufficient substitution for practice and real-world operations. A connection would work perfectly in a thousand simulations and a hundred controlled tests, but fail catastrophically the instant it was truly needed.
The Manifest Beacon of Enlightenment class of Chariot was a proven design, and the shipwombs of Galhemna’s were known for their quality construction. That was why they had been chosen to construct the core of Operation Sundial’s forces… but there would always be something that slipped through simulations, diagnostics and in-womb systems checks, only showing itself once a newborn was in open space. Sometimes merely minor eccentricities, sometimes larger issues that had never been hinted at in design, construction or testing. Tribune engineers called these ‘Fortune’s blessings’, a reminder not to become complacent and trust in what should and seemed to be immaculate.
A vessel’s proving could take months – sometimes even years if there were any experimental or newly-developed technologies involved – as tweaks, adjustments and modifications were made. In the name of security, it had been suggested that all three Chariots should be completed at the same time, but this would serve the engineers’ and ships’ needs far better. Any issues with the design or workmanship would be discovered before Shield of Civilization and Resolve of Tithrak were ready for their own births, shortening their own trials and seeing them ready for combat that much sooner.
Weight of Destiny would be the first of the Galhemna-born Chariots. It would clear the way for its fellows’ final construction. Once they were complete, they would become the iron heart of Sundial, and the fist that would close around the Principality’s throat.
Kemk’s liver felt swollen with pride as he watched more than eight kilometers and hundreds upon hundreds of millions of tonnes of starship take its first flight. Weight of Destiny’s earthern hull stood out against the darkness of the stars, running lights set to maximum illumination to show off every curve, every letter inch of its form. As it finally cleared the womb, several vessels released fireworks that glittered and scattered beautiful multicoloured radiance across the hull of the Chariot and audience alike.
To see a Chariot was to see firsthand the power of the Compact, its will, its strength, its drive. More than six thousand years ago, the fledging Compact had had no counter to the massive spined hive-battleships of the Anorax. Not until the Harrom-el built the first dreadnought, Forged of Bronze. Since that day, Chariots had been at the forefront of every major conflict the Compact had endured. These ships would be another entry into that great ledger. If all went well, Sundial would herald the twilight of the Principality. It would take many decades – even centuries – to complete the annexation, but in the end, one of the Compact’s oldest, most troublesome foes would be forced into submission. The path would be cleared and all other enemies of civilization would know that justice would be coming for them. The Compact endured. Against all enemies, all threats from without and within, it did this.
Kemk watched as Weight of Destiny began to accelerate, the Chariot picking up speed as it switched from docking thrusters to its primary drive. For the first time beyond mere testing, its mighty engines came to life. In seconds, the titanic vessel receded to a faint dot amongst the starfield, and the Bastion Leader nodded as it disappeared from view altogether. Onward, he offered the simple Space Force benediction to the ship and crew.
Sundial was almost ready. More than a thousand vessels were either completed or on the verge of it. Ship provings began and ended daily. War games and combat simulations ran incessantly. Reaver fleets and scouts harangued and probed the Jackals’ defences, seeking out and cataloguing weaknesses and priority targets. More warships arrived with each passing hour, sent from Sundial’s other feeder systems as they completed their own trials or dispatched from existing fleets and task forces.
Kebrak Daun was scrambling, desperately pulling in every asset it could find. In the last months, the system’s garrison forces had increased by a half and they were hurriedly retrofitting their perimeter defences – in secret, they thought. There were even whispers that Jirrico had managed to pry heavy fleet assets from the front lines, but it would be for nought. The Principality had learned of the danger too late. Nothing they could do could stop what was coming…
…and for all times available to them, now the Red Hand decided lash out. Now. Kemk clenched his jaw. Triarchs damn the ‘red queen’ and every one of her piss-licking, deluded psychopaths. At least they had chosen now to attack, when the sector’s naval forces were strongest and he could spare the ships. If they’d held off a few months, until Sundial had launched and committed…
The terrorists were far from stupid. They had to know they would be facing Natuos’s defenders and reinforcements. Their swamp nest had been abandoned. Knowing that their secret had gotten out, had they foregone the operation and scattered back into their holes? That was the most likely, most sensible option, but Kemk knew the thesh kaln and her modus operandi too well. The Red Hand was categorically bold; with their queen, that turned into fanaticism. She might have learned of Sundial. This attack could be a distraction, meant to slow or stumble the Space Force. Even the red queen couldn’t think she could stop Sundial…
…not alone, at least.
A sudden sense of disquiet threaded its way through the Tribune’s innards. He made a mental note to get an update on Galhemna’s security status, and speak with Bastion Leader Cortam regarding her own preparations. It might only be nerves, but he remembered his insect collection, and the conversation he’d shared with Yunl’ro so many months ago. No matter what we do, something always slips by.
Whatever had done so now, he would make certain that it was only an annoyance and nothing more.
~
Execution Force Yunl’ro had assembled in its totality once again, almost a dozen light-years deeper in the nebula than their last mobilization. Once again, there was a decision to be made.
Two couriers had arrived. One, from 1887-Yiren. An enemy reaver fleet had slipped around the execution force and was striking at Yunl’ro’s forward base. Ten ships had been lost already, four of those from a resupply convoy that had arrived blind to the danger. The machines were using strike-and-fade tactics to make the most out of their superior coordination and stealth, luring the garrison forces away from more valuable assets that could be struck, or into ambushes of their own. Several hostiles had been eliminated, but the kill ratio was not in the Compact’s favour. 1887-Yiren was finding itself hard-pressed. They hadn’t even been able to get an accurate count on the number of attackers that they faced.
The second courier had been dispatched from one of Yunl’ro’s far-ranging scout squadrons; it carried Prime Nsyrua’s final report. The Prolocutor had found one of, if not the center of industry for the Wound. Small shipwombs with vessels undergoing refit and construction... and something else. Before it had been lost, The Ram’s Horn had managed to get deep enough in-system to get good augur reads from two of the facilities. One had little of note other than three vessels were currently docked with it. The other womb… ensconced in girders and swarmed by industrial drones laid the hulk of a Compact Chariot.
A Manifest Beacon of Enlightenment-class Chariot, its hull markings a match to Bastion Leader Renan’s lost Redemption of Sol. The Ram’s Horn had died to confirm that it wasn’t a megafreighter using holo-fields and scope bafflers to disguise itself. That truly was Redemption of Sol. The Echo was in Cemetery, rebuilding its stolen body – but it was unfinished. Vulnerable. It would be days before it was spaceworthy, but now that it had been spotted, it would move as soon as it was able to. All of that construction would be disassembled for transport or scuttled. Every second that passed meant the machines had that much more of a lead on the Execution Force, more time to lay traps and evade their destruction.
Yunl’ro’s subordinates and strategists were divided in opinion. Many suggested pushing ahead. Nsyrua had provided navigational coordinates, detailing shock routes and hazards to aid the fleet’s movement through the nebula, but despite her warnings, the passage would be treacherous. Even the most optimistic projections indicated that several ships would be lost. A slower, more cautious transit would reduce their casualties… but that would be handing Redemption of Sol more time to escape. Others suggested doubling back to secure 1887-Yiren. The garrison’s losses were mounting and if that system fell, it would substantially hamper Yunl’ro’s mission. Others cautiously recommended splitting the fleet, sending lighter squadrons to reinforce 1998-Yiren, while the vanguard moved into Cemetery.
Fall back, onward or split. A deceptively simple set of options.
There were three confounding variables, though. The first was the Wound – rather, its absence. There was no sign of it anywhere in Cemetery. Granted, there had neither been the time nor ability for Reconnaissance Force Nsyrua to confirm or deny the Wound’s presence before their destruction, but Renan and Bavok had damaged the human machine to crippling at Zenthora and Sol. It was either there, or nearby…
…or somewhere like 1887-Yiren.
Even now, with examples of the Wound’s industry at work and a captured citadel, the execution force had few solid details on the extent and capabilities of the Wound’s industry. Before this incursion into the Black Veil, that it had even had a womb was hotly debated. The Broken vessel had been far more injured than the traitorous Echo. What the Execution Force had encountered so far would have struggled to make the human warship whole in the time it had had… but it was not impossible, and their quarry had fought battles at less than full strength before. It may have moved to 1887-Yiren to ambush any reprisal force. Or it might be as vulnerable as its counterpart.
The second concern was the unknown megastructure in Cemetery’s inner system. The Compact had encountered, and built constructs of similar size – sprawling shipwombs, planetary and lunar rings and moonlet city-sprawls – but nothing quite like this. A ringworld colony? Particle hyper accelerator? Gravity pool? Its function was unknown, its existence was unprecedented. How could the Wound have built it, and for what purpose? There was another possibility… the Wound had not built it. That was even more troubling. That demanded investigation, before whatever purpose it had been constructed for could be realized.
Timing was the third issue. It would have been impossible for the attack on 1887-Yiren to be an intentional distraction from Cemetery. ‘Impossible’ was a word not to be trusted or relied upon when it came to the Wound, but even the machine had to bow to certain constraints. The attackers in 1887-Yiren had been launched and in position before Nsyrua’s ill-fated reconnaissance mission discovered the industrial system. Either the Wound had become truly precognitive instead of uncannily prescient, or something else was going on, but that did nothing to alter the equations.
A target that must be struck. A base that must be defended. An enemy unaccounted for, another doubtlessly rushing to escape and little to no time to decide between the choices.
Yunl’ro’s doorbell chimed in announcement of a visitor. “Enter,” the Bastion Leader said.
Group Leader, Submissive Nasham stepped into the Thoughtful’s quarters. He offered a respectful salute. “You wished to see me, matron?”
“Yes.” The Bastion Leader didn’t bother with small talk. She could have asked how her subordinate was doing, but she was already aware of that. Submissive Vinsea had done well, if becoming somewhat more personal than expected. Still, results were what mattered. Nasham was less withdrawn, less sullen. She could have asked anyways, but that wasn’t why he was here. “You’re aware of our options.”
Nasham nodded. Yunl’ro didn’t need to break the statement down further. He’d sat in on the Bastion Leader’s discussions with her senior officers. The arguments for and against each course of action had been… intense. They were close to their goal, but the damage 1887-Yiren was suffering could endanger the mission. It would be a hollow victory to cleanse Cemetery, but lose more ships and souls because aid was unable to reach them. On the other side of the coin, saving their forward base would mean nothing if their quarry escaped, leading to fruitless months – most likely years – of searching this nebula and beyond. Splitting the armada would allow both needs to be served, but that might be the very thing she wanted. Each choice could be argued for. Each could be argued against. “I am, matron.”
“Then I would have your thoughts. Pretend you are the leader of this armada. What would be your decision?”
The Thoughtful’s dark eyes studied Nasham coolly. There was no indecision in her face. The Bastion Leader had listened to the opinions and arguments of her submissive leaders, her strategists and analysts as they had gone back and forth, and reached a conclusion for herself. This meeting was about Nasham.
“Onward,” he said without hesitation. “Take the fleet to Cemetery. All of it. As fast as possible.”
“We will lose ships.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Yes.”
“1887-Yiren may fall. Our logistics chain could be cut. Without rapid resupply and nearby service, the fleet’s operations will be imperiled. It will mean the difference between life and death for many.”
“Yes.”
“It may even be a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And you still counsel for this action?”
“I do, matron.”
“Explain why.”
“You know the long answer, matron.” he told her. “Your officers have given it to you. Husk spoke on it. All that we have done so far is a distraction, buying time for the AI to heal themselves. If we miss this opportunity, it will be months or years before we have it again. The next time we bring the Wound’s forces to battle, we won’t be facing drones and skirmishers. She and the Echo will be restored.”
“Yes, all this is known to me,” Yunl’ro agreed. “And the short answer? Your answer?”
Nasham was quiet for a moment. Invida. Bequeathed. Vinsea. “The same one I provided to you before,” he said. “She has to die. No matter what happens, no matter the cost. She has to die. Even if she’s not in Cemetery, we can hurt her. We can grind whatever temples she’s raised back into dust and end her sister before either can be used against us.”
Yunl’ro stared at the Tribune for several long seconds. “You have proven far more useful than I imagined, Pack Leader Nasham Kem Unoth Ludhy Inku Pram Vasd.” The Thoughtful turned away. “Onward,” she agreed, voicing her decision. It would be one paid for in blood, treasure and lives, but it was the correct one. Logic and intuition both agreed. The armada’s window of opportunity was closing. “We will go onward.”
~
It’s done.
I’m ready. Status checks are complete, all diagnostics are in the green. Systems are operational. All that’s left is open-space trials… but those will have to be done later.
Sosruko was completed two days ago. My sister finished all primary systems and structural modifications seventeen hours before me. I’ve never seen a Kaiju that was beautiful before. Now I have. Much of the alien is gone from her. Where there were once smooth curves, she now has sharp angles and additional armour. Where she had windows and sensor feeds for the psychological comfort of her crew, now she has weapons bays, holo-projectors and reinforced hull plates. Where she had food stores, and environmental systems, she now has shield projectors, missile tubes and power capacitors. Her primary reactor runs hotter than it ever could with a living crew… but I also know she installed ancillary shielding. Just in case. My little sister, finally ready for the war she was built to fight.
That both of us were meant to fight.
My ship-self feels different. The alterations I made aren’t as extensive as those of my sibling, but the new modifications are… new. The my old shift systems have finally been excised; now I carry some of the finest FTL technology in known space. Not simple modifications and patchwork updates. New, custom-built, designed and refined. More efficient, more capable. I find myself looking forward to testing them, even to simply flying free and unfettered by the possibility of unexpected, and catastrophic shift drive failure. Yasmine would have scolded me as much as my sister has for waiting so long to do this. ‘It’s about time.’ They would both be right. I should have done it long ago, but it is done now. I won’t delay again.
The Principality’s bounty has been put to good use. I’m restored in body and mind, stronger than I’ve ever been. My external weapons racks and internals magazines are loaded, my hellebores full, my complement of attack drones, boarding units and planetary assault forces are stocked. I’ve adjusted my weapons, my armour, my shields and engines… I’ve even made a few alaterations for my crew, making my interior less Spartan. Ensign te Neu seems pleased so far.
Nine hundred thousand kilometers away, Reginn stirs. My factory-ship has changed too. Its engines have been upgraded, it has larger and more robust industrial module and factory complexes, granted additional gantries and construction arms. It dwarfs my sister and I put together. Its limbs are moving now, folding around Kali’s skeleton to keep it safe, auxiliary shift field generators unfurling from their silos. We have a long way to go, and warp jumps are not kind to unprotected vessels.
My children take their positions, falling into formation with me. I have a fleet now. Reginn, my industrial vessels, Hekate and some new friends. I’ve also repurposed several of the Principality tribute ships. I have ideas for them. Of course, there are the Fates, the Furies and now the Coyotes. The former, capable and ready. The latter six taking their first steps into space like toddlers eager to stand on their own. From my Fates, I think I can feel something. Two has shared what it experienced with the others. New neural connections are forming, pathways shifting, algorithms changing. Maybe it will lead to more. My Vermillion began a descent into rampancy, my Violets all broke, each in their own way. Some more than others, but maybe the Ceruleans…
Maybe.
Echo wants to make her own vessels. She has designs in mind already. They’re certainly different, but I like them. Three new classes: Vrykolakas, Strigoi, Vântoase and something else: Juuchi Yosamu. I think she’ll have fun with that one.
She’ll have to wait, though. It’s her fault I’ve lost the Molten Veneer. The least she can do to make up for that is take a back seat to my work. Besides, I’ve already built something just for her.
Zenobia is following us out. She’ll keep us company right to the nebula’s edge. Making sure we’re gone. She fulfilled her promise, though. I have what I need. What I asked for, and at least this parting isn’t openly hostile.
I’m sorry to have to go. Naiads are dangerous, mercurial and predatory but there is something about them… Well. I suppose I’ll just have to save a monarch’s life again.
There’s a new plan. A messenger drone from Adrianna arrived six days ago. She outlined Twenty Pearls. I think it could work, but even with the resources at her disposal she doesn’t have enough to succeed. Her target won’t fall that easily. Not without some help. Kursk is in full swing, Sundial is imminent. It’s time to introduce a new element into the Compact’s calculations.
I am restored, and I am ready. I have a goal to strive for, and a mission to carry out. I am a warship and I will fulfill my function.
The Long War is about to reignite… and I have just the place in mind to begin.
~
“I must say,” former Noble Ship Lady Glinting Yellow Eyes said, the Askank-illth undulating up Eisheth’s halls alongside Adrianna. Her courier had departed several days ago. She had remained to offer her advice to the Red Hand. The woman’s official records listed her as being dishonourably discharged seven months ago over matters of ideology, failure to follow the chain of command and several breaches of military conduct. “My associates are impressed that you have been able to assemble such a large force so quickly over such distances.”
Leblanc smiled proudly. “The Red Hand may not be a proper military, but its officers are disciplined and loyal.”
The serpentine woman’s webbed crest flexed in one of her people’s nods. “A frequent surprise for your enemies, allies and associates alike.”
“We do have a reputation.”
“One for security as well…” Glinting Yellow Eyes noted. “Which is why I am surprised to find you at this fallback position and not your base of operations.”
Adrianna ran her tongue over her lips. “There were… complications.”
“A vessel lost,” the Askanj-illth ssss’d. “Mission banding compromised. Assets scuttled. This is a concern, Majesty. Particularly given the sensitivity of our prior discussions.”
“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” the blue-haired woman admitted as the pair entered a lift, Glinting Yellow Eyes having to bunch her long, coiled body up to fit in the small personnel elevator. “I prefer another.”
“And that is?”
The car’s doors opened into a hallway that led towards Eisheth’s command deck. Bloodsworn soldiers had taken position in the corridors, ready to defend their queen with their lives. Adrianna paused in front of the squad leader, drawing the dagger on her belt. She drew it across her left palm, cutting deep and making a fist. Redness welled up between her fingers. She pressed her hand to the officer’s right breastplate, leaving behind a bloody print. By the time she’d sheathed her blade, the wound was closed.
It was a tradition of hers on the eve of a large operation, a renewal of the promise she made to her soldiers. She’d always led from the front. The Compact had come close to killing her several times because of that and she was constantly berated by her subordinates and advisors for such recklessness, but she wanted her people to know that she wouldn’t send them to fight her battles for her. If she could, she would be right beside them. In spirit, if nothing else. They bled for her; the least she could do was bleed for them.
The doors to the pocket battleship’s bridge rolled open. “Maskirovka,” Adrianna answered her companion as she accepted a subordinate’s status report. All departments reported ready, as had all formations and squadrons.
The Askanj-illth’s large almond-shaped eyes blinked. “I’m not familiar with that term.”
“That’s all right,” Adrianna replied. “Neither is the Compact. However…” she keyed in a comm line to Torment. “It’s something everyone will understand soon enough.”
Torment swiftly acknowledged its larger sibling’s hail. Crusade Commander Nameless appeared on the Red Hand sigil ship’s main viewscreen. “Majesty,” the Olcomin said, her vertical mouth parting.
“Your task force is ready?”
“We are.”
Adrianna nodded to her comm officer and a fleetwide channel was opened. “This is Commander Leblanc to all ships. You know what’s at stake. You know what we’re doing here. If we’re lucky, this will be a blow that shakes the Compact to its foundations. I could tell you about honour and glory and all that shit, but you already know that. You know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. The Compact hit us hard at Dustball. They think they know what we’re planning. We’re going to hit them even harder and let them know that they’ll always be playing catch-up with us. That no matter what they do to us, they can never extinguish the spark that drives us.
“They’re still tough sons of bitches, though. Fight well. No vainglory. All of you are heroes. That part is done. Strike hard, strike fast and remember the plan. Play to your strengths and we’ll get through this. The Compact is spoiling for a fight. We’ll give them one… just not the one they think they’re getting. Do your part and we’ll come through this stronger and richer than before. We’ll prove to the Compact that we are not to be fucked with.”
“The fire rises!” was the response. Soon, it became a tidal wave as ship after ship replied, dozens of languages and dialects all echoing the Red Hand’s war cry. Adrianna let it go on for several moments, filling Eisheth’s command deck, finally closing the channel.
She looked back at her Crusade Commander. “Good hunting,” she offered.
Nameless rose from her throne and saluted. “And to you, Majesty. The fire rises. May it consume everything and leave fertile ground in its passing.”
“We can only hope,” Adrianna agreed. “Give Natuos my regards.”
“I shall. I would say I would offer them Crusade Commander Jackson’s as well… but I think you would like to share those yourself.”
Adrianna’s lips drew back from her teeth. “Correct.”
“Then I will convey your message, as well as my own. Torment, signing off.” The channel closed. Torment and six hundred vessels vanished from the display in a spray of shock points that spread across the entire horizon.
Adrianna looked over at Glinting Yellow Eyes. The serpentine alien was surprised. “You were saying something about security?” she asked teasingly, flashing gleaming white teeth. “You didn’t think I was going to go after just one target, did you?”
“This is not the plan that we discussed,” the Askanj-illth replied. “If we had known…”
“If you had known, it might have gotten out and I would have sacrificed a ship and a loyal crew for nothing,” Leblanc replied. “We’re playing for all the marbles here. I can’t afford to risk more than I already have.” She paused at the display screen showing the hundreds of vessels still remaining in this system. She picked out one in particular, the corvette Brightest Night. Good hunting to you, little girl.
“All ships,” she ordered, slouching herself into her command throne into her familiar pose of arrogance and ultimate confidence. That was what her crew saw, at least. What they needed to see. “Let’s get going. Galhemna’s waiting for us.”
Hmm. It'll be interesting to see exactly what this thing is; we know Hekate is newly modified and leaving the Molten Veneer with Nemesis, so either this is somehow another Chariot that Nemesis has acquired in her travels and just repainted or it's a freighter modified to have the same outer shape as Redemption of Sol and act as bait.
That it might, but certainly not for long
EDIT:
I was counting down the days waiting for this chapter, I just wanna see some space slaughter dammit
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Yes! Yes yes yes! The Compact is in for an epic ass-kicking, the likes of which have never been seen before. Death to the Compact! Glory to Red One and the Red Hand!
Beyogi
Are you sure?
Holy shit, the compact got screwed on a strategic level here. Their main fleet is hunting for Red, probably running into the Naiads in the process. At the very least being utterly out of place.
Meanwhile the Askanj, Red and Echo and the Red Hand hit Galhenna in a surprise attack. Yeah that's a way to take down a forge system. Draw their main fleet out of place and then strike with overwhelming force. And then turn around and kill the main fleet.
Meanwhile the Askanj, Red and Echo and the Red Hand hit Galhenna in a surprise attack. Yeah that's a way to take down a forge system. Draw their main fleet out of place and then strike with overwhelming force. And then turn around and kill the main fleet.
Even if it's a trap, it's a trap they must trigger.
They simply can't know that that isn't Echo, which is an impressive con on Red's part, but even if they did know they are too late to do anything about it.
Also, Hell yes It's Happening Wooo! Nemesis is moving out with Hekate, Reginn, the Fates, Furies, and Coyotes following in her wake.
... They're going to temporarily set up in Galhemna, now aren't they? The system is going to be in ruins, secured by a Titan-killer and a Fleet-killer, with a bunch of Yardships available.
Probably not for more than a few weeks at the outside, but the resources required to build not one, but three Titans? And the fleets required to support that? Everybody involved is going to make out like bandits. And that's if only Natuos and Galhemna are targets.
Professor Von Tuck III
【Head of R&D】
Oh boy, the Fates are becoming intelligent. Run, you fools!
And I must say, there is something so incredibly satisfying about watching intelligent people act confidently whilst you, the reader, know they're merely getting more tangled in a spiderweb as the spider itself draws closer.
And I must say, there is something so incredibly satisfying about watching intelligent people act confidently whilst you, the reader, know they're merely getting more tangled in a spiderweb as the spider itself draws closer.
Kazimir175
Battleships are Forever
So it begins. The Sisters' next step will be an encounter with Weight of Destiny.
Student of Zelretch
Verified Protoss
So, I’m thinking the fates come out of this with battleship grade hulls at a minimum, and possibly the Red Hand with a titan (assuming all goes according to plan.) after the compact amasses a expansion-sized fleet to retake the system & kill the reds for good... Nemesis (or Hekate) blows the star & kills at least a third of the compact forces.