"STATUS!"
"Main power down sir, we've lost half of the secondary systems and the primary sensor truck has been severed." The young feline looks up at her captain, "Damage control estimate two minutes to recover sensors and main power."
The captain looks away from the dead main screen, "Are any of our escorts still alive?" It's a question he already knows the answer to.
Her ears fold back, "No sir ... "
"How long till we can jump?" They have already failed in their mission; the outpost has been taken; now he just wants to get some of his people out.
After the frantic activity of moments before the bridge is almost silent, controls dead, the life of the ship in the hands of her damage control crews.
"The capacitors were mostly charged, about 30 seconds after they get power back."
The captain looks back at the dead screen, it's easier then looking at the faces of his crew, "All we need to do then is hold for 3 minutes ... they'll try to board, get the marines to defense stations." His hand drifts down to rest on his side-arm, with the Xurian fondness for boarding and face to face kills, weapons are mandatory in a combat situation. In the end, if nothing else, death was preferable to being a Xurian prisoner.
A gulp, "Yes sir ... " she turns back to her console, ordering troops to what everyone knows will be a hopeless defense, but the attempt has to be made.
"Status."
[ Primary systems at standby, stealth holding at 95% estimated effectiveness. Starboard impeller at 55% effectiveness, grav-sail not available, estimated repair time, 10 hours. Starboard launchers online. Starboard pulser at 85% effectiveness, all modes available, estimated repair time 4 hours.]
The ship tumbles outwards, missiles long-gone, a vicious scar ripping across the bulky shape of an impeller nacelle. Her shape is almost impossible to see, except where the scar has ripped though the outer layers of hull, the ghost-surface wraps the craft in a hologram of its background, hiding from the enemy.
For now she is out of the link, even the secondary displays are off as she recovers from the shock of feeling the ship get hit. Even with the filters, nothing can completely buffer the shock of being in a mind-machine link when the ship is that badly hurt. "Too long, what happened to the others?"
The computer's 'voice' is a soft unemotional purr into her neural-link, [ The CSA Sark has lost power, Xurian attack craft are closing and preparing to launch boarding craft. All other craft have been destroyed. ]
It didn't even shock her anymore, part of her mind wonders at that, "None of the wing survived? Nobody else cloaked?"
[ No transponders detected, no fold-com response to a scan, no sign of ghost-cloak activity. ]
Then she is the last. She had hoped for a chance to recover, repair some damage, find a mother-ship and reload, at least get her stability back while the others held the line for a moment or two. But it was not to be. "Reset all systems for overload conditions, can we use the sails?"
[ At full overload grav-sail will be possible, estimated time to total impeller destruction 4 minutes at that level. Damage will require total unit replacement. Estimate 20% chance of field collapse. Warning: Safety fields offline. ]
"Set all systems to maximum overload consistent with at least 4 minutes of operation, unlock all governors, confirm eject status."
[ Resetting systems, governors unlocked, eject system manually disabled, destruct set to trigger on craft disablement, life support set to terminate you if craft penetration is attempted. ]
At least they won't take her alive, there is just one other component to overload, "Initiate full neural boosting." People had wanted these systems removed from the combat craft, until Dreamstar.
[ Warning: Permanent neural damage will occur after 10 seconds, total neural collapse will occur at 10 minutes. Confirm? ]
A flicker of amusement, the computer doesn't even blink when she told it to destroy itself, but if she wants it to destroy her ... "Confirm."
[ Neural boosting conformed. Initiate? ]
At least she doesn't have a family to worry about, 25 and nothing but a few casual boyfriends, not much of a life to leave but it's hers, and hers to give up if she wants. "Initiate neural boost, initiate system overload."
[ Sequence started ... ]
Pain, is what she feels first, like somebody is pouring molten lead into her skull, suddenly it's so bright. She can see everything locked in a single moment, a dust mote in the air of the command pod seems to hover before her muzzle ... talking is too slow, a though leaps from her to the computer.
[ Initiate gestalt. ]
This she is used to, the expanding of the senses, like her mind is being inflated, but slower then before. This time she can see the systems engaging one by one, integrity fields, main fusion cores, acceleration compensators, communications, sensors, weapons, targeting, shields, the slowly building fire of the drive, like coming home again, she is the ship and it is her.
She floats in space, a ghost in the night, passive sensors reaching out to feel space. In the back of her mind the computer, no longer a separate helper, more like part of her subconscious, analyzes readings, filtering what she sees from raw data into comprehendible images.
The Sark floats there, rents torn in its armor, turrets dead and silent, though flickers of power show that damage control is still at work, all they need is time. Two sharks, sensing blood, slowly close in, boarding shuttles preparing to launch. Thoughts flicker through her mind, tactics, ideas, but she's already chosen her approach. For the short time she has left there is only one thing to do.
A flare of energy, power cores ramping to full power, shields shimmer to life, layering their barriers of warped gravity around the fragile hull. Slowly the massive impeller nacelles slide open, plasma leaking into the waiting ripple of distorted gravity between, collecting and building up, delivering its stored energy directly to the fields.
A burst of light in the night, the glow of light trapped in defense shields outshone as two spikes of star-fire punch out into space, then unfold. Ribs of light and fire support the delicate looking webs of energy and gravity that form the sails, the ship spreading its wings into the night.
All thought of stealth is gone, the energy surging off drives and shields showing it like a beacon, the hull shifting its color to a brilliant white, the golden silhouette of Dreamstar on each side. Not the official sign to show anymore, but a show of defiance to the enemy, they may have destroyed the place, but the sprit goes on.
The sharks scent new pray, their toy can always wait, but this ... they can smell her wounds, and the scream of her transponder, the sign of something they mean to smash for all time. The sharks move in, and she eagerly leaps ahead to meet them, her final stand against the night.
"Main power is up sir, we have sensors ... "
He spins to face the screen, the bridge again the hive of activity it should be, systems coming online all around, "Where are they? Why haven't they attacked yet? Get this screen going."
Feline ears perk up for a moment, then fold back, "Sir, it's one of the Reannan strike-ships, it's ... "
"It's what?" The screen flickers to life, throwing into sharp life a scene of desperation, a flee against two elephants, weapons drawing a tracery of light between them, the sparks of warheads exploding though space, "What is that?"
"It's one of the strike-ships, it's trying to take both of them on, I'm reading heavy damage sir, I don't know what's keeping it going."
"The same thing that keeps us going, bring the drives up, lock onto the nearest ship and prepare to fire."
An almost graceful dance, a ballet between the fire of point defense and the shock-waves of warheads, wings of energy shifting and twisting as the ship dives past its attackers. Twin fangs of plasma lash out at its target, close enough that even the ruptors can reach, waving their vortexes of gravitic destruction past the hull and deep into the ship, ripping though machinery and crew with equal voraciousness.
"Sir, it's too late ... "
Eventually it stays somewhere for a moment too long, and a blast rips though shielding and into the armor, a damage sail overloads, and collapses, the plasma inside exploding outwards, tearing the side of the ship apart. System after system fails, a mind, part computer, part rapidly decaying organic brain, come to a decision, the only one they can make.
He closes his eyes as a brief spark of fusion fire marks the end of the dance, gathering himself for the only possible order, "Prepare to jump."
"The lead craft has lost main power and shields, we have lock."
"And we have a crew to get out alive ... jump."
The shark abandons its partner and leaps ahead, racing to get at the suddenly active prey, but it's too late. Space ripples and distorts, then rips open, a pathway to safety that the Sark leaps out along, jumping up into hyperspace and away from the dangers of reality, the gate closing behind it.
This time the sharks go home hungry.
