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+--- Thread: Tales From the Sector (/showthread.php?tid=194174)
Tales From the Sector - Toaster - 08-11-2022
Tales From the Sector
Stories are great. Stories are fun. I enjoy reading them a lot, especially the good ones. Luckily, DiscoveryGC has a thriving story-writing community, made up of wonderfully creative storytellers. We have long stories, short stories, collaborative stories. And many, many of them. But, to tell you the truth, I also find that a little daunting. Entering the Stories and Biographies subforum and seeing (at time of writing) 635 pages of written works, many with pages upon pages of posts, can be a little overwhelming. Where to start? How to know which ones are good, which ones might capture my interest and my imagination?
So, I had an idea. Not everyone can read or write long, in-depth stories - be it for lack of skill, time, what have you. But what just about anyone can do, is write a little snippet. A little creative what's-it that allows them to share their imagination with others and is easy to digest. No long-form epics. No multi-dozen-post efforts between half a dozen writers. Just short, sweet, single posts.
About what?
Anything. Within Discovery, of course. A short excerpt from a character's daily life? An academic entry about a stellar body? A report on a historical or, perhaps, future event? Sure, whatever you can come up with.
Now why, you might be asking yourself, would we need this? A few reasons, really. As stated above, many community members may not have the time to read or write longer stories. They might believe they lack the skill to capture an audience's interest.
Not just that, but there is just so much to explore. Ironically, the in-game world has been mapped and charted scores of times over, while its actual content - the systems, planets, cities, peoples, and factions - remain unfortunately uncharacterized. Dozens of worlds, none of which have any detail to them. Scores of groups that are little more than tags and repsheets. There is incredible potential for world-building in Discovery and so far, most of it has remained untapped.
And so, here we are. A compendium, an anthology of short stories from across the Sirius Sector. Open for anyone to contribute, for anyone to expand and explore. A place for you to submit single posts, all collected in one place for you to read and enjoy at your leisure, share with friends, and (perhaps a little deviously) use to advertise DiscoveryGC on the internet. But you didn't get that idea from me.
So, I had an idea. Not everyone can read or write long, in-depth stories - be it for lack of skill, time, what have you. But what just about anyone can do, is write a little snippet. A little creative what's-it that allows them to share their imagination with others and is easy to digest. No long-form epics. No multi-dozen-post efforts between half a dozen writers. Just short, sweet, single posts.
About what?
Anything. Within Discovery, of course. A short excerpt from a character's daily life? An academic entry about a stellar body? A report on a historical or, perhaps, future event? Sure, whatever you can come up with.
Now why, you might be asking yourself, would we need this? A few reasons, really. As stated above, many community members may not have the time to read or write longer stories. They might believe they lack the skill to capture an audience's interest.
Not just that, but there is just so much to explore. Ironically, the in-game world has been mapped and charted scores of times over, while its actual content - the systems, planets, cities, peoples, and factions - remain unfortunately uncharacterized. Dozens of worlds, none of which have any detail to them. Scores of groups that are little more than tags and repsheets. There is incredible potential for world-building in Discovery and so far, most of it has remained untapped.
And so, here we are. A compendium, an anthology of short stories from across the Sirius Sector. Open for anyone to contribute, for anyone to expand and explore. A place for you to submit single posts, all collected in one place for you to read and enjoy at your leisure, share with friends, and (perhaps a little deviously) use to advertise DiscoveryGC on the internet. But you didn't get that idea from me.
RE: Tales From the Sector - Toaster - 08-11-2022
Sofia
840 A.S.
Somewhere in Sirius
Somewhere in Sirius
The ship’s frame shook and screeched as it plummeted uncontrollably towards the planet’s surface, a meteor gouging a trail of flame and smoke through the atmosphere. Olivia frantically pulled on the unresponsive controls, gritting her teeth as she tried to will the dying ship into remaining airborne. To no avail. The vessel struck the ground, plowing into it nose first, tearing a dark streak across the surface, before coming to a shuddering, creaking halt.
Coughing, the mercenary came to, wincing at the pain that coursed through her body. Carefully, she glanced about the cockpit, a barely recognizable mess of busted screens, jumbled conduits and cables, and bent titanium beams – one of which now ran across her thighs.
Decades of mercenary work had taken a toll on Olivia’s body, a toll that threatened to now prove fatal. She grimaced as she struggled against the crossbeam crushing her legs. It would not budge. She was pinned. Behind her, flames roared, and her ship’s hull groaned as the growing heat began to deform it. Smoke poured into the cockpit, making her eyes sting, and forcing tears down her bruised and bloodied face.
Desperately, straining her sore arms, Olivia reached up for the emergency ejection lever. With the cockpit in ruins, ejection might well tear her body apart, but, unable to move, remaining stuck within would mean certain death. Her struggling hands found the handle and grasped it tightly. The mercenary took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, and pulled. The canopy exploded outwards with a deafening blast, its mangled frame launched a dozen yards from the ship. Olivia’s seat jolted as the rocket boosters sputtered, misfiring. She cried out in pain as her legs were yanked out from under the pinning crossbeam, tearing bloody gashes across her thighs. But she was free.
Shakily, Olivia clambered out of the cockpit’s remains. Frigid air struck her like an enormous fist as she found herself squinting at a white, snow-covered landscape, marred only by the field of blackened debris that surrounded the wreckage of her ship. Clouds of smoke billowed from its twisted remains, reaching like long, dark fingers into a clear blue sky.
Olivia stumbled forward, her feet sinking into the icy snow, leaving a red trail in her wake. Her vision was blurry, her head pounded, and lances of pain shot through her battered body. She knew she could lose consciousness any moment, that only the stinging cold was keeping her from slipping away. She glanced around, searching. All around, there was nothing but a vast expanse of snow and ice. Behind her, the roaring flames grew louder, her ship’s wreck shuddering as fuel cells and ammunition stores detonated within.
A shadow passed over the stumbling mercenary. She glanced upwards to the sky to see a winged craft circle over her like an enormous carrion bird. It descended, spiraling slowly and gracefully towards the surface. As it came closer, Olivia could discern its shape, its make and model. A Cretan ship. She watched as the vessel set down fifty paces away from her, its landing gear burrowing into the snow.
A figure climbed from the ship’s cockpit. Olivia squinted, but the darkness that had begun creeping into the corners of her vision made it difficult to see. The figure approached, came to a halt only a few yards away. The mercenary blinked, trying to clear the tears and smoke from her eyes, trying to will the encroaching darkness away.
The figure – a woman – looked familiar. The deeply tanned skin. The raven, slicked back hair. Recognition struck Olivia like a physical blow.
“Sofia,” she muttered, coughing, noting the taste of blood. “You look just like your father.”
The woman – Sofia – remained silent, fixing the mercenary with a cold, contemptuous glare. Olivia coughed again, splattering the snow at her feet with crimson droplets.
“You killed my father,” Sofia spoke, her tone accusing. “You took him from me.”
“Yeah,” Olivia whispered. “I did.”
Sofia took a step towards her, drawing a pistol from its holster on her hip, raising it squarely at the mercenary’s head. Olivia gazed past the gun’s barrel, into the young woman’s hateful eyes.
“He loved me,” Sofia said, her voice straining at the words.
“I know.”
“And you took him from me.”
“I did.” Olivia swallowed, the taste of iron on her tongue nauseating. She could feel her body growing cold as the frigid air, snow, and blood loss took their toll. “And I’d do it again.”
Sofia’s face convulsed into a loathing scowl. They stared at each other silently, the only sound the roar of flames engulfing the twisted corpse of Olivia’s ship. Finally, the mercenary’s legs gave out, and she fell to her knees, the snow crunching beneath her. A fitful cough stained it with more streaks of blood as she convulsed.
Wiping a hand over her red-stained lips, she muttered, “I’m sorry for the life you must have lived.” She lifted her head again, finding Sofia’s eyes. “I can’t imagine what these past years have been like for you.” She bared her teeth in a crimson smile, fighting back the pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “But your father was a monster. I did the sector a favor.”
Through teary eyes, she saw Sofia recoil, lowering her pistol. She watched as grief washed over the young woman’s face, turning her hard features soft, making her look more like the little girl Olivia remembered.
“I know,” Sofia whispered. “I learned what kind of man my father had been.” She glanced away, her chin quivering as she fought back tears. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and returned her gaze to Olivia, kneeling before her, surrounded by blood-stained snow. “But he was my father. And he loved me.” She raised her pistol again.
Olivia held her gaze.
“Do it then,” she sighed, “if you think it will change anything.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. The pistol quivered in her hand. Darkness crept again into Olivia’s vision, and she felt herself grow tired, her thoughts becoming foggy. Her arms slumped to her side, her fingers going numb. She could not feel her legs anymore.
“Did it?” She heard Sofia whisper.
“Hm?”
“Did it change anything?”
The words tumbled through the mercenary’s mind. She shook her head, doing so a great effort.
“No.”
Their lids suddenly impossibly heavy, Olivia closed her eyes. Over the roaring flames, she heard the soft crunch of boots on snow receding into the distance. A soft smile spread over her numb face as she pitched forward, and consciousness slipped away.
Coughing, the mercenary came to, wincing at the pain that coursed through her body. Carefully, she glanced about the cockpit, a barely recognizable mess of busted screens, jumbled conduits and cables, and bent titanium beams – one of which now ran across her thighs.
Decades of mercenary work had taken a toll on Olivia’s body, a toll that threatened to now prove fatal. She grimaced as she struggled against the crossbeam crushing her legs. It would not budge. She was pinned. Behind her, flames roared, and her ship’s hull groaned as the growing heat began to deform it. Smoke poured into the cockpit, making her eyes sting, and forcing tears down her bruised and bloodied face.
Desperately, straining her sore arms, Olivia reached up for the emergency ejection lever. With the cockpit in ruins, ejection might well tear her body apart, but, unable to move, remaining stuck within would mean certain death. Her struggling hands found the handle and grasped it tightly. The mercenary took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, and pulled. The canopy exploded outwards with a deafening blast, its mangled frame launched a dozen yards from the ship. Olivia’s seat jolted as the rocket boosters sputtered, misfiring. She cried out in pain as her legs were yanked out from under the pinning crossbeam, tearing bloody gashes across her thighs. But she was free.
Shakily, Olivia clambered out of the cockpit’s remains. Frigid air struck her like an enormous fist as she found herself squinting at a white, snow-covered landscape, marred only by the field of blackened debris that surrounded the wreckage of her ship. Clouds of smoke billowed from its twisted remains, reaching like long, dark fingers into a clear blue sky.
Olivia stumbled forward, her feet sinking into the icy snow, leaving a red trail in her wake. Her vision was blurry, her head pounded, and lances of pain shot through her battered body. She knew she could lose consciousness any moment, that only the stinging cold was keeping her from slipping away. She glanced around, searching. All around, there was nothing but a vast expanse of snow and ice. Behind her, the roaring flames grew louder, her ship’s wreck shuddering as fuel cells and ammunition stores detonated within.
A shadow passed over the stumbling mercenary. She glanced upwards to the sky to see a winged craft circle over her like an enormous carrion bird. It descended, spiraling slowly and gracefully towards the surface. As it came closer, Olivia could discern its shape, its make and model. A Cretan ship. She watched as the vessel set down fifty paces away from her, its landing gear burrowing into the snow.
A figure climbed from the ship’s cockpit. Olivia squinted, but the darkness that had begun creeping into the corners of her vision made it difficult to see. The figure approached, came to a halt only a few yards away. The mercenary blinked, trying to clear the tears and smoke from her eyes, trying to will the encroaching darkness away.
The figure – a woman – looked familiar. The deeply tanned skin. The raven, slicked back hair. Recognition struck Olivia like a physical blow.
“Sofia,” she muttered, coughing, noting the taste of blood. “You look just like your father.”
The woman – Sofia – remained silent, fixing the mercenary with a cold, contemptuous glare. Olivia coughed again, splattering the snow at her feet with crimson droplets.
“You killed my father,” Sofia spoke, her tone accusing. “You took him from me.”
“Yeah,” Olivia whispered. “I did.”
Sofia took a step towards her, drawing a pistol from its holster on her hip, raising it squarely at the mercenary’s head. Olivia gazed past the gun’s barrel, into the young woman’s hateful eyes.
“He loved me,” Sofia said, her voice straining at the words.
“I know.”
“And you took him from me.”
“I did.” Olivia swallowed, the taste of iron on her tongue nauseating. She could feel her body growing cold as the frigid air, snow, and blood loss took their toll. “And I’d do it again.”
Sofia’s face convulsed into a loathing scowl. They stared at each other silently, the only sound the roar of flames engulfing the twisted corpse of Olivia’s ship. Finally, the mercenary’s legs gave out, and she fell to her knees, the snow crunching beneath her. A fitful cough stained it with more streaks of blood as she convulsed.
Wiping a hand over her red-stained lips, she muttered, “I’m sorry for the life you must have lived.” She lifted her head again, finding Sofia’s eyes. “I can’t imagine what these past years have been like for you.” She bared her teeth in a crimson smile, fighting back the pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “But your father was a monster. I did the sector a favor.”
Through teary eyes, she saw Sofia recoil, lowering her pistol. She watched as grief washed over the young woman’s face, turning her hard features soft, making her look more like the little girl Olivia remembered.
“I know,” Sofia whispered. “I learned what kind of man my father had been.” She glanced away, her chin quivering as she fought back tears. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and returned her gaze to Olivia, kneeling before her, surrounded by blood-stained snow. “But he was my father. And he loved me.” She raised her pistol again.
Olivia held her gaze.
“Do it then,” she sighed, “if you think it will change anything.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. The pistol quivered in her hand. Darkness crept again into Olivia’s vision, and she felt herself grow tired, her thoughts becoming foggy. Her arms slumped to her side, her fingers going numb. She could not feel her legs anymore.
“Did it?” She heard Sofia whisper.
“Hm?”
“Did it change anything?”
The words tumbled through the mercenary’s mind. She shook her head, doing so a great effort.
“No.”
Their lids suddenly impossibly heavy, Olivia closed her eyes. Over the roaring flames, she heard the soft crunch of boots on snow receding into the distance. A soft smile spread over her numb face as she pitched forward, and consciousness slipped away.
RE: Tales From the Sector - Reeves - 08-11-2022
In a not so distant future...
Flags in the Ice
It was morning. Or so the clocks would agree, daylight on this world more of a sullen affair than a bright revelation. The soft humming of an air filtration system came from the walls, and there was an empty space under the covers besides the man who just stirred back to life. There were three voices in the kitchen, and the muffled sounds of cutlery and the stove being put to work. Even if the outside seemed bleak and the world beyond it far more daunting, it could hardly stop life from finding a way.
Greeted warmly, by these people who were called family. It seemed that not so long ago connections of this extent were hard to forge, but here it was in the now. Bonds that could not be easily severed. Wife, children, neighbors, and friends. This household had a routine, something that kept the days feeling less mundane than they otherwise might be. And while they may not have been all that much to do on a world like Atka, at least it was Home.
When affection had been conveyed as the people trickled out to start their days, the only thing left for company was the permafrost and distant angular shapes of buildings protruding from the infinite white. Transportation was a communal affair, it had to be, everything had to be. Societies on planets like this could hardly hope to survive if they refused to coalesce and accept the utility of a greater whole. Founded from violence, the towns which sprung up after the war were only just beginning to really set roots and define themselves. The little intricacies which made places feel full and lived in were charming to observe. How children found places which evoked fascination, how young couples gazed upon twilight sunrises whilst in warm embrace, and how the elderly watched the sky be swallowed by progress.
But everything has its price, this world no exception from all the others, these lives no greater or less significant than the other masses of breathing bodies across Sirius. Planetary Defense was necessarily spartan in its commitment, large and well armed, but dour and sprawled across an entire world that was still in its infancy. The diasporas of those that had known nothing but hard times and hopelessness were now their charge. It was a herculean responsibility, it always had been. Ever since the weight of being Commander had been levied on his shoulders all those years ago, things had never really changed. Sometimes the scales would shift, but the weight and magnitudes were always familiar. The challenges a welcome reprieve from the uneasy peace that kept the borders as frigid as the ground trampled beneath his boots.
The walk always helped him think. To be out here with almost nothing and nobody in sight, only that imminent arrival of a shuttle at the landing pad served to break this dour focus. To think that thousands of people had to die so that thousands more could live on a world like this, one that was never truly wanted for any reason other than to serve as a blank canvas. It was now the masterpiece of an artist whose hands had only ever been bound rather than encouraged, and it showed. The strokes were frantic, erratic, and the atmosphere one of desperate survival on a frontier that had no adoration or hatred for its inhabitants. The harshness had never gone away, even with time, the people simply learned to cope and matched their environment.
With a few minutes left to spare before the shuttle would arrive, Damien took note of the fact that all the usual commuters were present. With one exception, a new face - a young boy. Soon, they had taken note of each other while the crowd shuffled to accommodate itself in the limited space that the landing pad offered its passengers, and it seemed like the boy recognized him in particular.
“They used to call you Cobra, didn’t they?” His query, while perfectly innocent and born out of nothing other than curiosity mixed with admiration, was like being shot by a gun loaded with a time capsule. “Yes.” Damien muttered, the image of a bloodied white banner bearing the mark of a Kingsnake flashing in his mind as he answered. “They did.” A distant howling of the wind punctuated familiar faces, now nothing but a tableau of events consigned to his memory alone.
Greeted warmly, by these people who were called family. It seemed that not so long ago connections of this extent were hard to forge, but here it was in the now. Bonds that could not be easily severed. Wife, children, neighbors, and friends. This household had a routine, something that kept the days feeling less mundane than they otherwise might be. And while they may not have been all that much to do on a world like Atka, at least it was Home.
When affection had been conveyed as the people trickled out to start their days, the only thing left for company was the permafrost and distant angular shapes of buildings protruding from the infinite white. Transportation was a communal affair, it had to be, everything had to be. Societies on planets like this could hardly hope to survive if they refused to coalesce and accept the utility of a greater whole. Founded from violence, the towns which sprung up after the war were only just beginning to really set roots and define themselves. The little intricacies which made places feel full and lived in were charming to observe. How children found places which evoked fascination, how young couples gazed upon twilight sunrises whilst in warm embrace, and how the elderly watched the sky be swallowed by progress.
But everything has its price, this world no exception from all the others, these lives no greater or less significant than the other masses of breathing bodies across Sirius. Planetary Defense was necessarily spartan in its commitment, large and well armed, but dour and sprawled across an entire world that was still in its infancy. The diasporas of those that had known nothing but hard times and hopelessness were now their charge. It was a herculean responsibility, it always had been. Ever since the weight of being Commander had been levied on his shoulders all those years ago, things had never really changed. Sometimes the scales would shift, but the weight and magnitudes were always familiar. The challenges a welcome reprieve from the uneasy peace that kept the borders as frigid as the ground trampled beneath his boots.
The walk always helped him think. To be out here with almost nothing and nobody in sight, only that imminent arrival of a shuttle at the landing pad served to break this dour focus. To think that thousands of people had to die so that thousands more could live on a world like this, one that was never truly wanted for any reason other than to serve as a blank canvas. It was now the masterpiece of an artist whose hands had only ever been bound rather than encouraged, and it showed. The strokes were frantic, erratic, and the atmosphere one of desperate survival on a frontier that had no adoration or hatred for its inhabitants. The harshness had never gone away, even with time, the people simply learned to cope and matched their environment.
With a few minutes left to spare before the shuttle would arrive, Damien took note of the fact that all the usual commuters were present. With one exception, a new face - a young boy. Soon, they had taken note of each other while the crowd shuffled to accommodate itself in the limited space that the landing pad offered its passengers, and it seemed like the boy recognized him in particular.
“They used to call you Cobra, didn’t they?” His query, while perfectly innocent and born out of nothing other than curiosity mixed with admiration, was like being shot by a gun loaded with a time capsule. “Yes.” Damien muttered, the image of a bloodied white banner bearing the mark of a Kingsnake flashing in his mind as he answered. “They did.” A distant howling of the wind punctuated familiar faces, now nothing but a tableau of events consigned to his memory alone.
RE: Tales From the Sector - Toaster - 09-28-2022
The Inevitable End
845 A.S.
Deep within Nomad space, a coalition of human forces have launched a final assault on the aliens' stronghold, in hopes of ending once and for all the war that has waged since the Nomads' resurgence ten years prior. As, however, the fleets of man suffer terrible losses and the assault begins to falter, one ship charges forth from the brawl towards the alien hive in a desperate yet determined attempt to change the tide of battle and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
Deep within Nomad space, a coalition of human forces have launched a final assault on the aliens' stronghold, in hopes of ending once and for all the war that has waged since the Nomads' resurgence ten years prior. As, however, the fleets of man suffer terrible losses and the assault begins to falter, one ship charges forth from the brawl towards the alien hive in a desperate yet determined attempt to change the tide of battle and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
“All hands, abandon ship,” Hawkins barked as the Nomad city came into view before them. The bridge fell silent at her words, the men and women turning at their posts to face the director. “Abandon ship,” she repeated, keeping her eyes on the alien structure looming ahead. “Now.”
Slowly, officers rose from their stations, at first shuffling about, as if uncertain of what to do. Then a young lieutenant snapped to attention, saluting before Hawkins. The rest of the bridge’s crew followed suit. Hawkins gave the assembled men and women a curt nod in return. For a moment, they all stood frozen in place, two dozen officers honoring their leader one last time. Then they hurried past her, off the bridge and towards the ship’s escape pods.
The Inevitable End thundered on towards what was to be its final destination.
Hawkins glanced to her side and found the ship’s captain still remaining beside her, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his eyes forward on the rapidly approaching alien hive.
“I gave you an order, captain,” Hawkins spoke plainly.
“Aye, ma’am. You did,” the captain replied evenly. He turned to face her, head held high, a determined glimmer in his eyes. “Hang me for insubordination, but a captain goes down with his ship.”
Hawkins thought on it for only a moment before nodding slowly.
“Very well.”
The ship shuddered as escape pods jettisoned from its hull, careening away from its doomed course. Ahead, Dur-Shurrikun drew ever closer, looming like a massive shadow in the surrounding clouds.
“We should brace, ma’am,” the captain suggested. Hawkins stepped forward, grasping the handholds on a terminal. The captain clutched at the backrest of his command chair.
The Nomad city grew larger and larger as the Inevitable End rocketed onwards on its collision course, past the glowing shapes of Nomad warforms and the burning hulks of ruined human ships.
Hawkins’ grip on the handholds grew tighter, her knuckles white with anticipation. She took a deep breath.
The ship shook violently as it plowed into the hive, its axehead prow burrowing itself into the city’s superstructure. Metal screeched and bent from the impact. Then the Inevitable End was still, a full quarter of it buried within the alien structure.
Hawkins found herself sprawled on the deck, her face bloodied and her right shoulder dislocated. Through blurry tears she saw the captain beside her, having already regained his feet, clutching at his chest. Slowly, painfully, the director lifted herself from off the floor, pulling herself up by the terminal before her.
“Status?” She muttered, the iron taste of blood in her mouth.
The captain’s breath came in ragged gasps as he hunched over a display.
“We made it,” he wheezed, then coughed up a clot of blood, smearing the screen.
“Good,” Hawkins said as she straightened, glancing out through the viewports around them. Space beyond was alight with fire and blasts of energy as the human fleets desperately battled on against the alien forces. Each second, she knew, scores gave their lives in order to grant the Inevitable End this chance.
Hawkins looked at the captain, who in turn gazed at her.
“Override the reactor safeties,” she commanded. “Disable the cooling cells. Vent excess coolant.”
For only an instant, the captain hesitated at the orders. Then he nodded and turned his attention again to the blood-smeared terminal before him.
Hawkins looked out once more through the bridge’s windows. The Nomad city engulfed the ship’s bow, sparks of alien energy arcing across the rent hull. The ship shuddered again and the director spun around to see scores of alien vessels approach. Bolts of energy shot out towards the Inevitable End, battering her as she lay grounded within the hive. Explosions tore through the decks below as the hull was breached and atmosphere ignited.
“Done,” the captain coughed. “Reactor safeties overridden, cooling disabled. Venting coolant.” He turned to face the director once more as she turned to him. “We have about three minutes before it goes critical,” he explained.
“Very well,” Hawkins replied. “You may leave now. There is nothing more for you to do.” She nodded towards the corridor leading from the bridge.
The captain simply shook his head, a resigned smile on his face.
“Like I said, ma’am. I’m abandoning neither you nor my ship.”
Hawkins regarded him a moment longer, then turned away again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The Inevitable End shook violently as the alien bombardment continued, yet she held out. A minute passed, the two last humans aboard the vessel gazing out across the battle playing out around them. Two minutes passed. The captain coughed up more blood. Dozens of displays lit up red with warnings and errors.
The captain sighed. “The reactor is about to go critical.” He straightened his back, wincing at the pain in his chest. Turning one last time towards Hawkins, he raised one hand to his brow in a final salute. “It has been an honor, ma’am.”
Hawkins faced him and gave a single, slow nod.
“The honor was all mine, captain.”
For an instant, a new star appeared within the depths of the alien nebula, rivaling in brightness Iota’s own. A nuclear fireball, expanding to envelop the Nomad city in the blink of an eye, then winking out of existence again just as quickly. Where seconds earlier there had been the Inevitable End, now only an expanding cloud of dully glowing particles remained. The alien hive drifted, its stable orbit broken by the detonation’s incredible force, a gaping wound in its body bleeding alien energy.
Slowly, officers rose from their stations, at first shuffling about, as if uncertain of what to do. Then a young lieutenant snapped to attention, saluting before Hawkins. The rest of the bridge’s crew followed suit. Hawkins gave the assembled men and women a curt nod in return. For a moment, they all stood frozen in place, two dozen officers honoring their leader one last time. Then they hurried past her, off the bridge and towards the ship’s escape pods.
The Inevitable End thundered on towards what was to be its final destination.
Hawkins glanced to her side and found the ship’s captain still remaining beside her, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his eyes forward on the rapidly approaching alien hive.
“I gave you an order, captain,” Hawkins spoke plainly.
“Aye, ma’am. You did,” the captain replied evenly. He turned to face her, head held high, a determined glimmer in his eyes. “Hang me for insubordination, but a captain goes down with his ship.”
Hawkins thought on it for only a moment before nodding slowly.
“Very well.”
The ship shuddered as escape pods jettisoned from its hull, careening away from its doomed course. Ahead, Dur-Shurrikun drew ever closer, looming like a massive shadow in the surrounding clouds.
“We should brace, ma’am,” the captain suggested. Hawkins stepped forward, grasping the handholds on a terminal. The captain clutched at the backrest of his command chair.
The Nomad city grew larger and larger as the Inevitable End rocketed onwards on its collision course, past the glowing shapes of Nomad warforms and the burning hulks of ruined human ships.
Hawkins’ grip on the handholds grew tighter, her knuckles white with anticipation. She took a deep breath.
The ship shook violently as it plowed into the hive, its axehead prow burrowing itself into the city’s superstructure. Metal screeched and bent from the impact. Then the Inevitable End was still, a full quarter of it buried within the alien structure.
Hawkins found herself sprawled on the deck, her face bloodied and her right shoulder dislocated. Through blurry tears she saw the captain beside her, having already regained his feet, clutching at his chest. Slowly, painfully, the director lifted herself from off the floor, pulling herself up by the terminal before her.
“Status?” She muttered, the iron taste of blood in her mouth.
The captain’s breath came in ragged gasps as he hunched over a display.
“We made it,” he wheezed, then coughed up a clot of blood, smearing the screen.
“Good,” Hawkins said as she straightened, glancing out through the viewports around them. Space beyond was alight with fire and blasts of energy as the human fleets desperately battled on against the alien forces. Each second, she knew, scores gave their lives in order to grant the Inevitable End this chance.
Hawkins looked at the captain, who in turn gazed at her.
“Override the reactor safeties,” she commanded. “Disable the cooling cells. Vent excess coolant.”
For only an instant, the captain hesitated at the orders. Then he nodded and turned his attention again to the blood-smeared terminal before him.
Hawkins looked out once more through the bridge’s windows. The Nomad city engulfed the ship’s bow, sparks of alien energy arcing across the rent hull. The ship shuddered again and the director spun around to see scores of alien vessels approach. Bolts of energy shot out towards the Inevitable End, battering her as she lay grounded within the hive. Explosions tore through the decks below as the hull was breached and atmosphere ignited.
“Done,” the captain coughed. “Reactor safeties overridden, cooling disabled. Venting coolant.” He turned to face the director once more as she turned to him. “We have about three minutes before it goes critical,” he explained.
“Very well,” Hawkins replied. “You may leave now. There is nothing more for you to do.” She nodded towards the corridor leading from the bridge.
The captain simply shook his head, a resigned smile on his face.
“Like I said, ma’am. I’m abandoning neither you nor my ship.”
Hawkins regarded him a moment longer, then turned away again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The Inevitable End shook violently as the alien bombardment continued, yet she held out. A minute passed, the two last humans aboard the vessel gazing out across the battle playing out around them. Two minutes passed. The captain coughed up more blood. Dozens of displays lit up red with warnings and errors.
The captain sighed. “The reactor is about to go critical.” He straightened his back, wincing at the pain in his chest. Turning one last time towards Hawkins, he raised one hand to his brow in a final salute. “It has been an honor, ma’am.”
Hawkins faced him and gave a single, slow nod.
“The honor was all mine, captain.”
For an instant, a new star appeared within the depths of the alien nebula, rivaling in brightness Iota’s own. A nuclear fireball, expanding to envelop the Nomad city in the blink of an eye, then winking out of existence again just as quickly. Where seconds earlier there had been the Inevitable End, now only an expanding cloud of dully glowing particles remained. The alien hive drifted, its stable orbit broken by the detonation’s incredible force, a gaping wound in its body bleeding alien energy.