Chapter 16!

Hello, amazing people! 

These next couple chapters are super important... welcome to the first of two!

(I hope my update schedule isn't too annoying. "Update Schedule"... yeah. Sorry!)

Here goes nothin'!

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The entire armory was blanketed in a deep red. A vast cylindrical cavity now dominated the entire rear quarter of the Axion- the railgun slug which had gone through was clearly visible in the reactor casing, a hole several feet in diameter which had gone straight through the reactor's heart.

Hence the auto-eject kicking in.  

Jarik lay flat against a bulkhead, watching a weapon rack recede into the floor. The electricity cannon he held in his hands hummed dangerously, emitting a soft blue glow. 

It was a weapon he had never used before. An anti-armor cannon, designed centuries ago to crack the hulls of tanks. Why Filion had one- well, it didn't matter to Jarik. These troopers were well equipped- he didn't trust pulse rifles to guarantee a kill. 

Besides, he thought wryly, who didn't want to shoot huge bolts of electricity. 

"On your knees!"

In less than a second Jarik had dropped to a crouch, heaving the over-sized weapon in position over his right shoulder and flicking off the safety. Sparks exploded out of the muzzle, lancing off in hundreds of directions and ionizing the air around them, yet remaining unnaturally silent.

"Hands on your head!" 

They- whoever they was- weren't addressing him. But they were close. Just around the corner, it seemed.

It was almost certainly someone part of Filion's crew. And almost certainly about to be executed. 

For a moment, Jarik hesitated. He had no reason to help these people. He shouldn't even be on this ship, or anywhere near here, for that matter.

But, as he tried to explain the conflicting emotions inside, he was a detective, was he not?

That wasn't his job, he retorted to himself angrily, but by that point he had already decided.

"Fuck." 

The electricity cannon powered up to full and Jarik sidestepped into the corridor, weapon slung down like an old fashioned minigun, crackling as tendrils of energy burned marks into the wall paneling. 

It was the pilot. Her face was a blank mask as a soldier behind her pressed an incendiary pistol into the back of her neck, filling the corridor with the smell of burnt flesh. 

The cannon surged with energy and a huge bolt of electricity jolted forwards, narrowly missing the pilot's face and disintegrating the man behind her. To her credit, the pilot didn't seem fazed at all by the fact that Jarik had nearly killed her- she rolled to the left, grabbing the late soldier's incendiary pistol and firing it as she stood, punching a hole through the faceplate of one of the remaining soldiers while the second was annihilated by another blast from the electricity cannon. 

Before Jarik could react, the pilot had the pistol aimed squarely at his forehead. 

"If I don't see your hands," she breathed, "I'm melting your stupid face."

Jarik's arms shot up. The electricity cannon slammed into the floor, still sparking with excess power. 

"Hey-"

"Shut up. Where's your squad?"

"Sq-squad?" Jarik's eyes flickered to the single non-vaporized corpse behind the pilot. "I... I'm not one of those guys," he replied, nodding towards the fallen soldier.

"Then who the fuck are you?"

"Roland... Roland Jarik. The detective... shit," he cursed as he recognized the problem. "You haven't seen me before." 

"No."

"The captain- I was, uh... assigned to this ship a little while back. Listen, I saved your life, didn't I?" 

"You almost killed me." 

"I- uh, yeah. I guess I did. But I was aiming for the guy behind you, and I hit him, right?"

 The pilot hesitated, the muzzle of her weapon dipping slightly. She seemed to be scrutinizing every inch of Jarik before she finally sighed and nodded. "Fine. I won't kill you. But you do not leave my sight, understand?"

"I need to get to the bridge. The emergency transponder is- should be there."

The pilot cracked a grin, the first hint of emotion Jarik had yet seen. "Good. We're going to the same place."

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"Well." The El'saas businessman straightened his blazer and inconspicuously glanced at the data readout. "I'm impressed."

June watched the test vehicle haphazardly tumble through space. Soon it would be so far out it would pass into the Prythian Assembly. They would pulverize it instantly- the separatists would anyways, and they controlled the entire Caroki border.

The test cubes weren't prohibitively expensive, but they were infuriatingly frustrating to work with. A thousand hours of construction and another thousand to tear it back down just to make sure everything was in the right place- June grimaced at the mere thought of it. "Computer, test recall."

"Test recall initiated." 

The holoscreen disappeared.

The spaceframe of a particular destroyer replaced it, still hovering in station keeping by S15. 

June knew Carson's departure would be complicated. If he left S15 alive, he would almost certainly go straight to the Naval Board with the knowledge he had gained. That could not be allowed to happen- June would not be responsible for a multiversal war. 

If June killed the El'saas on S15, the Rockefeller would imminently pulverize the station and everyone on it. The information wouldn't leave the Cluster, but June would also be dead. 

It was a question of whether or not her death was relevant. 

"Will you be leaving shortly?" she politely asked.

"In a few minutes, yes. The Tempest is still refueling." 

The test cube was burning in sublight back to S15. It would take centuries to complete the journey- June would need to contact the Rockefeller and request a pickup. 

"Although," Carson said, "I don't think you intend to let me leave."

For a second, June stood in stunned silence. 

"I wouldn't let me leave either."

"W-what?" 

"Actually, I would probably just shoot me right now."

June shook her head in abject confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your friend," Carson replied condescendingly. "And his gun."

June glanced at Mark, leaning against the doorjamb of the far storage closet. "It's just a security pistol."

"Please. Don't assume I'm an idiot just because I'm a businessman."

Silence.

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to understand my reasoning," June said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Of course you wouldn't."

June's mind was spinning. Why was this asshole so cryptic? 

Carson sighed and turned around, raising his arms. "The way I see it, you have several choices. Don't kill me, I come back with the Navy and vaporize you. You kill me, my guard detail will vaporize you, and if they don't, the Rockefeller will."

"I'm willing to take the hit."

"No, you're not. Because there's a better option." 

Before June could even open her mouth, Carson had keyed a device on his arm. 

June's own security pistol snapped up, all pretense of secrecy gone, emitting a deep hum with plastic dripping from the cheap weapon as it held a charge far beyond what it was designed for.

"I am fully prepared to blow your head off," June said through gritted teeth.

"Listen to me for at least a minute," Carson replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that really too much to ask?"

"What did you do?" Mark demanded from the storage closet.

"I deactivated my transponder." 

June's muzzle dropped slightly. "You... why?" she asked suspiciously. 

"Contrary to what may be your belief," Carson began slowly, "I also do not want superimposed space to fall into the hands of the Navy."

"Why should I have any reason to believe you?"

"You shouldn't."

That, more than anything, ironically, lowered June's guard.

"We shouldn't."

"No. But I'm asking you to give me a chance. We are both working towards a common goal, are we not?" 

June glanced at Mark, who caught her gaze and shrugged slightly. There was plenty of reason not to trust the El'saas businessman, but, unfortunately, she was running out of options. 

"In fifteen seconds, my transponder will reactivate and ping my guards." 

"What's wrong with activating it now?"

Carson sighed in exasperation. "I'm trying to help you. Ten seconds." 

"Why do you want to help us?"

"For crying out loud, woman," the El'saas breathed. "I'm not a dick, that's why. Five seconds."

June gritted her teeth. She wasn't running out of options anymore.

She was out of options.

"Fine," she spat. 

"Thank you." 

"So," Mark started cautiously, taking a tentative step out of the rear storage closet as the El'saas plunged the point of a pencil into his transponder, "what's our first move?"

Carson flashed the young man a thin smile, ripping off his destroyed transponder and throwing it to the ground. "I haven't thought that far yet." 

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The Mori'as was a huge ship. It dwarfed the Alexandra by several kilometers, bristling with railgun towers and point-defense flak cannons- a true ship-of-the-line. 

It was ironic then, as Buren well knew, that the Alexandra could turn it to ash at this range. Any range, really. Even though she was under the classification of battlecruiser, the Alexandra had no equal in Paragon or Carok save for full-sized puddlejumpers. 

"Update from the Damalt Starship Registrar?"

"Negative, captain." Thomas replied, scanning for incoming hails.

"Anything on the Confidiance, Allan?" 

"Nothing- I can't even get a serial code. It's a miracle she's even flying, ma'am. 66 percent of her hull is gone." 

The frigate had certainly seen better days. Huge swaths of hull plating had been melted away. In several instances she had nearly been carved clean in half, glued together through a combination of atmospheric shielding and magnetic locking bars. A single turreted railgun hung down from her dorsal hull, missing three of four rails- the only artifact even resembling a weapon. Her reactor hadn't been ejected- presumably due to a computer failure- but manually shut down. 

Comparatively, the Mori'as had sustained minor damage. An enormous hole was torn into her starboard flank, the result of what appeared to be a magazine detonation- other than that, she had only superficial damage. 

That didn't mean she was in fighting condition. A magazine detonation could spell disaster for a starship, as Buren well knew. 

"I have an ID, captain," Allan glanced up from his station. "On the Mori'as. The Aquianis, of the Prythian Federal Navy. Serial 331-22-1."

"Loyalist?" Buren asked, her eyes fixed on the ship-of-the-line.

"I don't know- though if I may speak freely, ma'am."

"Always."

"If they were separatists, they would've attacked us already."

There was truth to that. Unfortunately, Buren couldn't give them the benefit of the doubt. 

"True," she agreed, "but remain at battlestations."

"Understood, captain." 

"I-incoming hail!" Thomas suddenly reported. "From the Mori'as, ma'am."

"Put it through." Buren ordered, standing and stepping forwards. 

"Audio only... patched, captain."

"This is Captain Jessica Buren of the UPRN Alexandra. Please identify yourselves."

Nothing. 

"There's a lot of internal interference, captain. It's-"

"Captain Aaron Dark of the Aquianis." 

His voice was so distorted you could hardly tell it was a human. 

"PFN 331-22-1." 

The Prythian Federal Navy. Surely separatists would distance themselves as much as they could from the remnants of the Assembly?

"We are glad to see some allies in Damalt, Captain Buren."

Buren silently released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. 

"If I may be blunt," Buren slowly asked, "what happened to your ship?"

Captain Dark chuckled slightly, his voice still oscillating wildly between pitches. "Damalt has been under siege for three months, Captain. My ship and the Partinian Aras are two of seven still standing."

Buren buried her shock. "Three months? How was High Command not aware?"

"Not a Republic AMP within a hundred lightyears, ma'am." 

"But that would mean-" 

"Yes. The separatists are winning. You might be too late."

It was too late a week ago. That didn't change anything.

Buren spared a movement to glance around. All of her officers were silently monitoring their stations. She didn't need to ask- she already knew none of them would object.

"We'll do whatever we can." she replied firmly. 

"We're grateful, Captain." 

"Multiple contacts, starboard bow!" Megan reported. "Tracking nine Expeditor-class heavy cruisers and four Narsi-class assault frigates bearing 123.443.01 on an attack trajectory, weapons hot!"

"All shields bow. Helm, keep us out of CQB." Buren quickly keyed her intercom. "Bridge to gunnery."

"Bridge to gunnery, copy." 

"Permission to fire at will. Pick your targets." 

"Understood, captain."

"Well, Captain Dark," Buren said, standing and stepping forwards. "It appears we have visitors."

"Indeed." The distortion was slowly dissipating- the Alexandra's algorithms were finally kicking in.

A thud reverberated throughout the bridge and a speck of light lanced off the Alexandra's bow.

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"Watchtower 19C is clear."

"This is the dullest existence-"

"Watchtower 20A/2 is clear."

"Who the fuck would take this-"

"Watchtower 5/A is clear."

"Shut up!" 

"Watchtower K/02 is clear."

Preston Mitchell switched off his headset and threw it to the floor. "Stupid fuckin' computer... I already read the report!" he shouted angrily, as if the computer could understand him. 

To his relief, the computer stopped. 

"Those are expensive, Preston."

Preston glanced derisively at his coworker. "Yeah? Well Johnson can kiss my ass."

"Johnson can fire you if he wants to." 

"Who gives a shit?" Preston replied, reclining in his chair with a bottle of coffee. "My old job was better than this crap. Honestly, Davis, would you stay here if you didn't have to?"

Davis neglected to answer. 

Preston dropped his coffee bottle. "Don't tell me you enjoy this shit." 

"Well, it's kinda therapeutic." 

"Therapeutic?" Preston asked incredulously. "What about listening to a monotone computer for eight hours is therapeutic?" 

"That's just your job."

"Well all you do is stare at pictures!" 

"Look, it was your choice for signing up," Davis responded, reaching the end of his already thin patience. "Don't bitch about it to me." 

Preston glared at his coworker. "Fine. I'm refilling my coffee."

"Make sure you don't talk anyone to death."

"Fuck you!" Preston shouted as he slipped through the exit.

Davis glanced at his own coffee bottle. It was getting close to half full.

Preston was right, to a degree. Work in the Republic Bureau of Naval Intelligence was dull compared to- well, compared to anything else, Davis mused. 

At the very least the Chair of the Carok Intelligence Board could put some more effort into their facilities. The datapack room Davis was assigned to was claustrophobic, to say the least, especially when shared with a character of Preston's nature. 

Davis sighed deeply and examined the new redline on his holoscreen. 

Ever since the relays for the Caroki Watchtower network went down, the Bureau had to sift through mounds of background data that would have typically been isolated and destroyed before it even entered Paragon. Although only a few dozen Watchtowers still maintained contact they collectively produced millions of redlines- most of which couldn't be analyzed by their basic algorithms. All their computers really did was flag suspicious artifacts in a Watchtower's camera and, in place of the relays and their specialized equipment, pass it on to a human inspector who would then feed it into more advanced processors. Formally, they were Red Tagged Artifacts- employees colloquially referred to them as redlines.  

Most redlines were false flags. The Bureau had never truly upgraded their antiquated processing systems. 

However, as Davis inspected the redline, it was clear that this one was different. Misflags were common, but rarely did the algorithms flag nothing.

Not quite nothing. There was a planet clearly visible in the top right corner with a small moon orbiting it.  

The photo flashed to a higher resolution. 

"Computer, what planet is this?" 

"Symbos III." The computer immediately replied. "Ninth planet in the Marsios system. Located in the Caroki Star Union, District 19B, 12-"

"What is the name of the moon?" Davis questioned, cutting the computer off.

"Symbos III does not have a registered moon."

"Wh... what?" 

"Symbos III does not have a registered moon." the computer repeated.

Davis furrowed his eyebrows. That didn't make any sense. A charting error, maybe?

"There's a moon orbiting the planet."

"The object is not natural."

A human-made moon? There was only one thing that -

Davis suddenly felt sick. 

There was only one thing that would satisfy that definition. 

"Computer, analyze the object orbiting Symbos III."

"Cross-section indicates a Nebulous-type puddlejumper. Serial number- 1.22/551A.v Aurora Flare."

Davis felt his stomach drop through the floor. There was no way. None. He refused to believe it. 

"Magnify the object." 

"Magnified." 

She was unmistakable. The puddlejumper looked like it had been gutted. Huge swaths of the hull had been melted away- yet she still utterly dwarfed the almost unnoticeable space station she was berthed to. 

"Holy shit..." Davis breathed. 

And he left the room at a sprint.