Dark Matter looked at him and then tried to look past him to the bridge behind him.
He raised his voice. “This is Rear Admiral Dark Matter, your Battleship force commander. Due to the pressure of combat and the mental strain of command, Commodore Creed has lost his will to fight and is even now retreating in the face of the enemy against orders. I call upon every loyal son of Praxis to do what’s right and replace the Commodore before—” said Dark Matter.
“I’m in command of this Battleship and there’s nothing a machine sympathizer like you or Montagne can do about it! Every loyal son and daughter of Praxis is behind me today when I tell you to get stoked!” snarled Commodore Creed before he cut the channel.
For a long moment, Dark Matter stared at the screen.
“Well that could have gone a lot better,” he grunted as the Praxis Battleships, which had started to slow down and hesitate during the conversation, now sped up and continued to pull further and further out of position as they attempted to maneuver free of the battle lines. Thinking hard, he raised his voice to try and suppress the very real unease his people might be feeling about fighting alongside droids, “I’m a droid puppet? Pfah! Those blasted cowards are more worried about saving their own skins than they are willing to standing to fight side by side with us. They don’t care how many of us die. Two thousand casualties and he has orders for them to pull out? What kind of idiot does Creed take me for? No government in their right mind would stop a war because they lost the equivalent to one heavy Cruiser when they’ve got multiple Battleships available to them!”
He could see the message start to sink in, but was still worried about Creed’s morale damaging accusations. This wasn’t a principled withdrawal on the Commodore’s part—this was mutiny, plain and simple, and in the middle of combat no less. If he lived to survive this battle, he would see that man hanged.
“Sir!” cried the Comm. Officer moments later. “I’ve got a multi-directional transmission from the Praxis Battleships. It’s Commodore Creed, Sir! It appears he’s trying to contact Reclamation Fleet command. Sir…I think he’s trying to surrender?”
“We’ll that tears it, Sir,” snapped Dark Matter’s Flag Captain.
“I was wrong! They’re not cowards—they’re out and out traitors!” Dark Matter snarled.
Chapter Ninety-two: Imperial Command II
“What’s the status on those boarders, Major?” Janeski demanded, stepping up behind his Marine liaison on the bridge. “I want them off my ship.”
The Major stiffened. “Other than a few isolated pockets that have been contained, the enemy boarders have been forced back onto the hull by the jacks, Admiral,” the Major replied steadily.
“I hope so, for you General’s sake, Major,” Janeski threatened.
“Admiral, I think you’re going to want to hear this,” said the Communications Officer.
“Not now, Coms,” said Janeski.
“But, Sir…three of the enemy Battleships are attempting to cut a deal. They want to surrender in return for assurances of their safety and that of their planet, Admiral,” said the Communications Officer.
Janeski turned and then paused, cocking his head, “Interesting…”
“What do you want me to tell them, Sir?” asked the other Officer.
Janeski lifted a finger. “Tell them that if they drop their shields, scram their generators, and prepare to receive a boarding party of Marine Jacks after the battle is over both they and their world will remain unharmed,” he said.
The Comm. Officer nodded, turned, and began to speak rapidly. After a little back-and-forth, he turned and nodded.
“They’ve agreed,” he said simply.
“Now all that remains is to see if they follow through,” said the Supreme Admiral said.
“Do you really think they’re going to do it?” asked Goddard.
“Reporting to the Admiral,” said Commander Stenson, “three enemy Battleships have just lowered their shields.”
Goddard sucked in a breath, “Well…”
“Confusion to the enemy, Captain,” said the Imperial Admiral.
“It’s amazing to me how easily these provincials turn on one another once the going gets tough,” sighed Goddard, “no matter how badly things got on the Gorgon Front, you never saw even a fraction of this kind of behavior.”
“These sort of men are used to only going into fights they know they can win—if they’re used to any kind of fighting at all,” Janeski sneered. “As such, their first concern is not to worry over victory or defeat but rather to obsess over just how much the upcoming victory will cost them. They are quite risk averse. Pop them in the nose a few times and they’ll go running home as fast as their little legs will carry them. To put it bluntly: they are simply unused, unwilling, and unable to shoulder the kind of casualties that the Imperial Fleet routinely absorbs in order to defend humanity from the various threats beyond our borders. And that, Captain, is why we will always win and they will always lose. It’s not a matter of technological superiority, but rather willpower and the ability to keep fighting after being hit.”
“The Empire of Man is the future, Sir,” said Goddard vigilantly, “I admit I had my doubts before seeing just how craven these locals can be. I shudder to think what would happen if they were in charge of protecting humanity instead of the Empire.”
Janeski just nodded.
Chapter Ninety-three: Dark Matter
The Praxis ships continued to withdraw before suddenly dropping their shields, cutting their engines and beginning to shut down their fusion generators. Moments later, word came back from Comm. that they had intercepted a transmission which confirmed that the Praxis contingent had formally surrendered to the enemy.
While Dark Matter and his team were still scrambling to plug the hole in their lines, yet another sector 25 Battleship broke formation.
“Curse it,” Dark Matter swore wondering just how many more ships they were going to lose. A few more and he would have to sound the retreat or he might just as well cut his own throat and save the enemy the effort. “Find out which ship that is and get me its captain,” he ordered as his flagship shook around him. Distantly, he heard that the shields were coming back up and only half the Damage Control team had been vaporized on the hull trying to get back inside, but he had to stay focused on the bigger picture. And right now, a Battleship was more important the shields on his flagship.
“It’s the Pinocchio out of Old Sardinia,” reported Tactical as the other Battleship swung around to follow the Praxis contingent, apparently unconcerned about the Imperial Battleships that immediately moved to take advantage of the situation.
“Where’s their captain—get him on the line?” demanded Dark Matter.
“Captain Gotti, Sir,” said the Comm. Officer right before passing the link over to the Rear Admiral.
“Just what are you doing, Captain? I need you back on the wall, pronto,” said Dark Matter. “I don’t want you to believe the lies spewn about liberally by the Praxis contingent—“
“Old Sardinia knows how to deal with traitors and rats in the organization, Rear Admiral,” grimaced the Captain before turning his crew, “Open fire on that miserable vessel.” He returned his focus to Dark Matter, “Don’t worry: we’ll take care of this.”
“What’s going on?” demanded Dark Matter.
“Sir!” interrupted his Tactical Officer. “The Pinocchio has just opened fire on the Praxis ships! They’re targeting Commodore Creed’s flagship, Admiral.”
“Yes!” Dark Matter said slapping the arm of his chair. “Let’s see if he abandons ship like the coward he is or if Creed actually has the stones to keep his ship stood down and rely on his new friends to protect him from New Sardinia,” he gloated openly.
“Are you sure it’s wise to be fighting among ourselves while simultaneously facing the Imperials?” asked his Flag Captain.
“As far as the Amalgamated Battleship force is concerned, this battle was lost before Pra
xis tried to pull out, Captain,” Dark Matter sighed wearily. “They only hastened our demise. We’re going to have to decide quickly if we pull back or close to grips with the enemy and try to board. But either way we’re going to get savaged. It’s all going to be up to Montagne soon.”
“Update, sir: the Praxis Battleships have just powered back up their generators and shield systems…and the Imperials are now firing on them again,” Sensors said excitedly.
“Bahaha!” chortled Dark Matter, throwing protocol and professionalism out the airlock for a rare moment of schadenfreude.
“Your orders, Sir?” asked the Flag Captain, obviously wanting to know if they were going to move in close and sacrifice their ships to take as many of the enemy with them as they could, or if they were going to try to preserve what they could and retreat to the dubious safety of the Wolf-9 fortifications now that the Starbase was heavily damaged and one more hit could destroy it.
Chapter Ninety-four: Chaos on the move!
Akantha grunted as she took a hit on her right pauldron. Irritated that she hadn’t been able to lay hands on one of the newer suits that would have simply shrugged off hit, she increased the speed of her grav-board.
“My Lady, slow down—I can’t keep up!” yelled Persus over their private com-channel.
Seeing an approaching sensor array and gritting her teeth, she decreased her speed as she swooped around it, flying nape of the hull along the massive Imperial Command Carrier.
Up ahead she saw the bright flashes of blaster and plasma fire. “Finally,” she muttered, and once again increased her speed. In front of her she saw a wave of battlesuits sweeping forward while a knot of defenders tried to hold them off.
“How can I guard your person if you insist on staying so far out in front?” complained Persus.
“You will adapt,” Akantha said dismissively. Recognizing the silhouettes of the battlesuits in front as belonging to the enemy, she didn’t have time for any more of his worrying—it was time to attack! “Prepare yourself, old friend. We now take the battle to the enemy!” she said fiercely.
“Old!” he grumped.
She drew her Dark Sword of Power and prepared to lay waste to the enemy. Her only complaint was that she didn’t have one of the new Devastator battlesuits. Of course, she probably wouldn’t have fit on the grav-board if she was wearing a devastator and the indignity of being dragged behind Persus of all people like a large sack on a string so…
There were upsides and downsides to everything.
Aiming her grav-board straight at one of the enemy warriors, she turned the board upside down, released the last clamp holding her to the board, and jumped toward the hull.
Like a screaming eagle she slammed into an enemy warrior full force, and then bounced them both of back off into space while up ahead her nearly out of control grav-board took a battlesuit in the back like a missile and exploded. The spray of blood that resulted indicated the enemy suit had lost seal and exposed its occupant to hard vacuum.
“Akantha!” shouted Persus, trying to bring his grav-board over to rescue her only to take fire from the enemy as they turned and, ignoring the fire, caused his board to lose power after taking multiple hits.
“Get out of here!” Akantha ordered him, flailing around as she tried to activate her emergency maneuvering jets so she could gain footing on the hull and not spin off into the Carrier’s shields.
“I’ve got you,” Persus said, shielding her with his body as he jumped clear of his board and grabbed hold of her.
Finally her jet controls came up and she shot back down to the hull. Activating the grav-boots, she hit the hull and bounced—the boots didn’t do a thing.
“What’s wrong with these boots?” she demanded angrily.
“Activate the sticky pad function!” ordered Persus.
“What? Why?” she asked grabbing him around the middle and launching them over to a hull protrusion for cover.
“The gravity boots don’t grab onto the hull because it’s made of crystal—this is what the technicians said,” he offered.
“Now they tell me!” she snapped, angry that no one had warned her.
“All the warriors received the information during the orientation,” explained Persus.
“Jason!” Akantha growled, but seeing a trio of enemy battlesuits carefully walking over everything came back into focus. She was here because she wanted to be, and it was time to call upon the blood of her foremothers and crush these Imperials like the dogs they were! “Prepare to attack,” she said, activating her sticky pad function.
“The new walking function only works for a short time,” Persus started to say, but Akantha rushed forward to attack.
It was a bit difficult going with the new walking function, and she almost lost her grip on the hull twice. But thankfully she didn’t, she was able to get close to the enemy—close, but not close enough, as she started taking plasma fire to the face shield.
“Die!” she cried, launching herself toward them, temporarily breaking contact with the hull in order to close the distance quickly.
Crashing into the enemy, her sword glanced off a head—if one could call it a head with everything from the crown down to the shoulders being a flattened, cone-shaped structure. Regardless, she had no leverage and the further flailing saw her once again lose her footing on the hull.
“Come and get a piece of this!” she shouted, activating her jets to bring her back down.
“I’m coming,” roared Persus, who must have finally figured out how to work his own jets as he hit her like a rocket around the midsection and kept going.
“Turn back,” she ordered, “they are getting away!”
Persus grunted.
“Do not ignore me!” she shouted, starting to become vexed as blaster and plasma fire started shooting all around them.
Then her suit pinged, indicating they’d found an allied suit and her com-link activated.
“More Imperials! These ones are trying to jump in!!” cried a panicked voice. “Second platoon: take aim and fire!”
“But sir, they show up as green on my HUD—that means they should be friendlies,” said another voice.
“Fire!” cried the first.
Moments later, the blaster fire coming her way increased and she started to take a number of glancing hits.
“Don’t shoot, you fools!” Akantha shouted. “I am on your side.”
“Hold fire! Hold your fire!” shouted another voice, this one sounding older than the others.
Raked by plasma rounds from the Imperial Marines, Persus finally crashed into the middle of circle of strange-looking battlesuits. They were not Imperial in design but just as clearly they were not Caprian—if anything they looked even older than the old Caprian suits!
“That was some sorry, stupid stunt you just pulled,” yelled the voice that told everyone to hold their fire. “You could have gotten more than just yourself killed!”
“Who is in command here?” she demanded.
“That would be me,” said the Voice, “Captain Jergeson Tyr, Border Alliance Army, Space Commando Detachment.”
“Not any more, Captain—I’m taking over,” she ordered.
“Just who do you think you are?” he demanded.
“Adonia Akantha Zosime,” she said stiffly and then looked over at Persus—then she panicked when she saw air was coming out of his suit non-stop from several small rents in his armor.
“Look, I don’t know who you are but even if you are the Admiral’s Wife that doesn’t give you that authority to—” Captain Tyr began.
“We have to get off the hull,” Akantha said furiously, worried for her guardian. She pulled out an emergency patch and slapped it on the nearest area that was venting air, and then she patched a second leak, “Where’s the nearest entrance?”
“We’ve got a hatch but no explosives. Our boarding tubes were lost when our lander was shot down and our computer-tech has been trying to break in but no dice,” said the Ca
ptain. “That said, I’m sorry but—”
“I’m a Hold Mistress of Tracto. I give Generals orders for breakfast, Captain,” Akantha said coldly, “so show me to the entrance or get out of the way. By the order of my Protector, Jason Montagne, I’m taking command of this company as my new temporary bodyguard unit. If I die then you can explain to him why you failed to do your duty, disobeyed a direct order, and let his Sword Bearer charge into the ship with just one injured guard at her back.”
“Blast it,” swore the Captain.
“I’m okay, Mistress,” Persus said, sounding weak and short of breath.
“You must have air to breathe and your reserves are down to 8%. We have to get you into the ship and take the battle to the enemy!” she declared.
Stomping over to the hatch, she almost lost her grip on the hull again. She still wasn’t used to the new style of walking on the hull in zero-gravity, and her boots’ grip actually seemed to be weakening.
“Like I said,” the Captain pointed to the hatch and the computer-tech who was trying to coax it open with virtual wizardry, “right now we’re surrounded and it’s impossible to—”
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