Sygillis of Metatron

by Ren Garcia

The crew nodded.

  Davage was furious. "Did nobody hear me? I ordered this bridge cleared!"

  They stood there and looked at him.

  "You could have been hurt, you could have been killed, and I expect my orders carried out next time!"

  The crew stood there, many shoeless, one covered in coffee, some, beltless, were holding up their falling pants with their hands. They looked miserable after the rebuke.

  "Sir …" Saari said quietly, shoeless and holding up her pants, "if you are going to order me to abandon my post in the face of the enemy when you are standing at yours, then you will have to court-marital me, sir."

  "Me too, sir," others said.

  Kilos smiled. "Looks like it's a mutiny."

  Davage holstered his MiMs. "Indeed, it appears I'll need to make quick work of this mutiny … in the mess later on over buncked narva as I toast to my crew's courage. Now, let's get posted."

  The crew cheered and returned to their stations.

  * * * * *

  When the ship started tumbling, Syg was naked in bed. She'd been waiting for Dav, tense for his arrival.

  But then, the ship started a pounding series of rolls and lifts, throwing Syg from the bed. Rolling naked to the floor, she Stenned herself into place, the sheets from the bed sparking as they touched it. Through the window she could see the Triumph firing on them and the other escort ships scattering.

  Marilith—she must be behind this. She and those Fanatics of Nalls.

  Always in the wings, always the stalker, Marilith will never leave them alone … never. And she was probably right over there, in the Triumph.

  She lowered her Sten, made her way to the closet, pulled out a black robe, and put it on.

  She was going to finish this. She was going to the Triumph and face Marilith, and she was going to have to kill her.

  Resolute, wearing the black robe, Syg went out into the hallway, stopping to take one last look at her quarters.

  Just in case.

  * * * * *

  The scene outside Seeker was poor at best. The Blue Max was staggering around the sky aimlessly, smoking, every so often after taking a hit from Triumph's guns. The Caroline took a direct Sar-Beam blast to the engineering section and was clawing to stay aloft.

  That's when it happened. The unthinkable happened.

  The Blue Max loosed a two-shot canister barrage at the Caroline, the missiles hitting their mark, blowing a good part of the port wing clean off.

  On fire, in a power dive, the Caroline roared down from the heights and passed through the clouds, spinning slowly from ventral to dorsal.

  Still at the wheel of the Seeker, Davage wanted to Sight it down, but he had other, more pressing worries: the Blue Max was laying a bead on him. Sighting, he saw the ship in turmoil, the Sisters and Marines struggling to re-take key areas of the ship, but the bridge and forward canister bays were under the Fanatics' control.

  Worse, on the bridge, he could see Captain Wythleweir on her knees, a few moments away from being executed by the Fanatics.

  Dav spun the wheel, and plummeting, he slammed into the Blue Max's ventral frontal hull, Slapping her hard. The Blue Max rocked to port and veered.

  Barely avoiding another blast from Triumph, Davage pulled the Seeker skyward in a steep climb. He had to get into low orbit. He needed legs to move, his gas compression engines straining to provide lift and speed. He needed his coils to really move, to really turn.

  Behind him, the Triumph and Blue Max followed.

  "Aft Sensing, what is Blue Max's status?"

  "Sir,Blue Max's forward canister and starboard Battleshot ports are open."

  Dav slid the ship to the Blue Max's left, hoping that the port side of the ship was still in Fleet hands and therefore safe.

  The Blue Max ripple fired four canisters

  "Captain, Aft Sensing! Four canisters on flat approach!"

  So, Dav thought, here it is. He was now facing the canister, the League's "ace" weapon. It could not be out-run, it could not be outmaneuvered, and it had virtually unlimited explosive firepower.

  He could return fire with his own canisters now that his weapon bays were retaken—he could destroy the Blue Max—but the image of Captain Wythleweir on her knees stopped him, gave him pause. He had to give her a chance, give her and the Sisters and the Marines more time!

  Now, to his situation, four canisters on their way. They were coming in flat, all pretty much one after the other.

  The canister was a virtually inescapable weapon, but much of its power depended on the skill of the launcher, as the way the canister was programmed depended largely on the damage it did.

  And Davage guessed these Fanatics weren't overly skilled.

  "Aft canister, pattern Midnight-four. Release!"

  There was a "thud," and two canisters shot out of the back of the Seeker. They went a short way and detonated in a large, enveloping, mushroom shape. The incoming four from the Blue Max flew into this mass of dense, exploding material and were shredded. A good canister launcher would have anticipated something like this and set the missiles to either move around the problem area or pre-explode, sending their warhead into the target anyway.

  Not in this case; the canisters simply disappeared.

  Davage wasn't going to let the Blue Max have another shot. He threw the wheel down, wrenching the ship around in a tight, screaming turn.

  He headed right for the Triumph, and soon, he was tucked in next to it, just past the edge of its shield rim. The Triumph's helm tried to shake him, but Davage was on it like glue, following its moves perfectly. If the Blue Max wanted to shoot at him, they'd hit the Triumph too.

  He Sighted another Sar-Beam and rolled to the other side, but too late. A red, searing lance of energy hit him square in the lower hull, blasting away one of his gas-compression engines. No longer able to keep up with the Triumph, the Seeker began falling back.

  The Blue Max loomed large in the screen, its canister bays open.

  "Captain, the Blue Max is hailing."

  On the screen, a wounded, bleeding Captain Wythleweir appeared. She was bleeding from a gash on her forehead and a nasty wound on her shoulder. She was limply holding her MiMs in her left hand. Behind her was a confusion of Marines, crew, and Sisters.

  "Captain," she said weakly, "the Blue Max stands with you."

  "Captain, you're hurt."

  "I'll live, sir. That Slap you gave us saved my life, I think."

  "Then, if you are ready, let's re-take the Triumph!"

  * * * * *

  Her heart was turning to stone as she made her way to the airlock.

  She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay.

  How had this happened?

  She walked in and closed the door behind her.

  She couldn't bear to say good-bye. If she thought about him for too long, she wouldn't be able to do it.

  The airlock opened and she flew out, on silver wings.

  * * * * *

  He knew the ship better than any, and using all the various crawl spaces, nooks, and crannies, he and his small, blue-haired companion had eluded the invaders to this point. They could skulk about, unseen indefinitely.

  But the invaders were so many, and the ship's complement of technicians, inspectors, Admiralty brass, and other assorted guests were no match for them. They were all dead. Even the Sisters and the Marines, taken by surprise, were dead.

  The Triumph had fallen.

  Lord Probert and Lady Branna were all that was left.

  They could hear the sounds of battle ringing in from the outer hull. They could hear the brand new Sar-Beams uncoiling in their banks and knowing that those weapons were being aimed at their friends and comrades was enough to stop their hearts. They thanked Creation that they weren't mounting any canisters.

  Lady Branna, showing the same courage she had before the Second Battle of Mirendra, wanted to disable the main junction to the SarBeam generators, but it was guarded by those people Cloaked to look like P
rincess Marilith.

  All key areas were being guarded.

  Another Sar-Beam blast. Explosions coming from outside.

  Enough was enough … their friends might be dying out there.

  They were going to the junction panel, and they were going to disable it, and if they died in the process, they died.

  Lord Probert and Lady Branna were always arguing, always threatening each other. He loved to assure her that she would stand trial for war crimes for all the crazy ideas she had—a trial he will happily testify at—and she vowed that he would know what the inside of her dungeon at Castle Fallz looks like for being such a stodgy mope. But beneath the surface, they knew each other's quality.

  Lord Probert: the design and systems man. Brilliant.

  Lady Branna: the consummate innovator. Brilliant.

  Through the panel, they could see ten "Mariliths" milling about, each holding an assortment of brassy, knobby weapons.

  Taking a deep breath, Probert threw the hatch open. They climbed out.

  The Fanatics looked at them, grinning, laughing.

  "Look," they said, "our mice have come out of their hole."

  Probert opened his coat and pulled out his CEROS.

  The Mariliths broke into hysterical laughing.

  These Fanatics had heard of the silly LosCapricos weapons that were once a great tradition in the League. A whiff of the past … an embarrassing ceremonial weapon conceived during a drunken, heady time. It probably didn't even work.

  Probert held the CEROS prominently in front of him, showing it to them, as was the usual custom.

  They began slowly walking toward them, relishing the torment that was to come.

  Probert's arm shot out and the CEROS howled. A Fanatic was disemboweled. The disk in mid-flight changed course and returned to its master's hand, disemboweling two more along the way.

  Stunned, the remaining Fanatics leveled their weapons and prepared to charge.

  Probert threw again, this time sending it off the floor. In a bouncing, cavorting frenzy, it clanged about the hallway in a murderous, cutting cloud.

  The Fanatics fell in pieces.

  Lady Branna stepped through the grim harvest and reached the panel. Deftly, she ruined the junction panel, removing some components, smashing others.

  The Sar-Beams will fire no more.

  Embracing each other, they made for the crawl space again, to hide again.

  A dark, robed figure waited for them.

  * * * * *

  As the Seeker and Blue Max chased the Triumph into the veil of space, the deadly Sar-Beams were an ever-present threat. Finding the Blue Max a much easier target, they concentrated on it, hitting her so many times the hull began to glow and vent high-pressure gas through numerous gashes in the hull.

  Davage, the senior captain, was about to order Captain Wythleweir to beach her ship when fire from Triumph stopped cold. Free to lose, they pummeled it with canisters, being careful not to overly damage the Triumph, lest some of her crew still be alive and held prisoner.

  The new shields installed on the Triumph were good, but several canister shots from Seeker and Blue Max brought them down anyway.

  Loosing a canister, the Seeker holed the port warp drive nacelle, darkening it. The Blue Max loosed another canister and blew it clean off

  Still moving, the Triumph made ready to warp away with only one engine. Before Davage could loose the final, crippling canister, the Triumph was gone in a flash.

  Marilith, as she always had before, had escaped.

  Seeker and Blue Max trawled the area looking for lifeboats.

  Dav sent to Syg, his telepathy getting a bit better.

  As Davage was busy with this and that on the bridge, he failed to notice that Syg didn't answer back. After a few minutes he realized that Syg had not answered.

 

  Nothing.

  Becoming concerned that Syg might have been injured, he Sighted down toward her quarters—they were empty, bedclothes tossed about.

  He stopped a passing Sister.

  "Sister, could you please tell me the current location of Sygillis of Metatron?"

  The Sister paused a moment and then looked at him, smiling.

  "Ki," Davage said, "what did she say?"

  "Dav, she said that Syg's not on board."

  Panic suddenly flooded into his mind. Where was Syg, what had happened to her?

  "Sir," Sasai said at her Fore Sensing position, "we are closing on an unidentified object, four kilometers full a-beam. Type and composition unknown."

  Dav Sighted and felt a wave of relief pass over him. He saw, floating in space, a large silver sphere.

  He gave to helm to Saari. "Helm," he said, "bring us alongside the object and pull it in. Lieutenant, you have the bridge. I'm going to receive the object personally."

  * * * * *

  Davage made his way to the main docking bay. There, using docking cables, the silver sphere was pulled in.

  He walked up to it. "Syg, you gave me quite a start," he said, smiling. "How'd you end up outside the ship?"

  The silver sphere sat there.

  Davage touched the silver—it was warm even though it had been subjected to the cold of space.

  "Come on, Syg, I've got things to do. Out you come."

  The silver surface shimmered and disappeared, dumping Lord Probert and Lady Branna to the floor.

  "Lord Probert, Lady Branna—we feared you lost!"

  They stood up and thanked their maker. Davage noted Probert was holding his CEROS in a shaking hand, and it was bloody.

  "All dead, Dav … they killed them all.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Fine, fine," Lady Branna said, clearly shaken. "We disabled the Sar-Beams … Milos, he killed them with his weapon, and I disabled the …"

  She appeared faint, and Davage held her up.

  "Are the escort ships damaged? Were any destroyed?" Probert asked.

  "The Seeker is fine, and Blue Max is damaged but serviceable. I … do not know about Caroline, and I fear for Captain Stenstrom."

  Probert and Branna looked deflated.

  Davage, still holding the faint Lady Branna, asked, "Milos, where's Sygillis?"

  "She … she was on the Triumph, dressed in a black robe. She got us to an airlock and put us off the ship, encased in silver."

  "Why didn't she come with you?"

  "She appeared to be in a daze. She said she had to finish something. She wouldn't come. She wouldn't come with us," Lady Branna sobbed.

  Davage felt a wave of agony pass over him. Syg, out there, all alone on the Triumph.

  "She … she gave me this to give to you, Dav," Probert said.

  Probert handed Dav a small, folded piece of paper.

  He opened it:

  My Dearest Love …

  I have been selfish. I wanted you all to myself. This conflict with Marilith will never end; I realize that now. I must go and finish this. If we are ever to know any peace, I must finish this.

  Know that I love you with everything that I am, and it will be your memory alone that shall sustain me through the ordeal to come.

  Know that every moment not spent with you is a moment lost forever.

  I shall return as soon as I am able to do so, and then I will never leave your side again.

  There is so much I want to give you …

  S

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, Dav Sighted the slip of paper. He saw, deep in his Sight, that, at one time, the paper had been held tightly to her breast.

  He stood there looking at it for a long, long time.

  13

  THE SAD CAPTAIN

  The Triumph had vanished … gone into the long night of space. Following the battle, Davage escorted the Blue Max to sub-orbital Dry Dock 18 for an immediate inspection, the new ship badly damaged and venting, requiring a sharp counter-flood to fly true. Lady Branna's Sar-Beams were certain
ly much stronger than the standard Xaphan cassagrain.

  Also, Davage was relieved to discover that the Caroline had safely beached in a field near Tartan, Captain Stenstrom managing to pull the ship out of its howling terminal dive. There, beached and smoking, he, with crew, Sisters, and Marines, fought and subdued the Fanatics.