The Chael-thing brought down its great metal fist, shining knuckles aiming right for Skipper. The blades that made up its lower body creaked and snapped from the pressures of movement, but new ones grew to replace them just as quickly.
Skipper went to jump out of the way, but his injuries and the exhaustion of battle had taken their toll, and so his leap didn't quite make the mark. He landed on his side barely a meter away, grimacing from the aggravation of his wounds -- and looked up to see the fist surging towards him at desperate speed.
Welp, he thought, oddly calm. This is it. Never thought I'd get killed by a giant metal monster on top of a spaceship, but these things happen.
He went to close his eyes, an instinctive response to the deathblow --
-- only to open them again, wide, as a red blur zoomed past his vision. A second later, the fingers of the metal fist exploded into a shower of blades, and the Chael-thing retracted the limb in primitive alarm. A rattling groan of anger trickled from the Citizen's throat, it's sightless head following the red blur as it came to a halt.
Ruth planted her Skeletal claws into the deck below her as she landed on all fours like a cat, the metal screeching below her as she ground to a stop. Red Aether crackled furiously around her, and her hair was blazing just as crimson -- as though fire were whirling around her head. She looked up with furious golden eyes, glaring at the Citizen with all the anger her stare could hold.
"We've got unfinished business," she growled at the man who could no longer understand her.
Skipper took the opportunity the momentary distraction provided, picking himself up off the ground as he clutched his wound. "You took your sweet time," he grinned deliriously.
Ruth's eyes flicked towards him, and she smirked. "Our driver's slow as hell," she said -- and behind her, a car rose up into view, bobbing uneasily in the air. Skipper raised an eyebrow as he saw the occupants through the windows -- and through the gap created by the one missing door.
Dragan, Bruno and Serena -- sure, sure, they were to be expected, but the guy in the back seat? The bomberman they'd fought at the niain? That was unexpected. Not to mention the driver.
The man at the front of the car, Atoy Muzazi, had his eyes fixed on the Chael-thing, his brow a crease of severe concern. Skipper couldn't exactly blame him -- this was kind of a lot to take in. Still, what was he doing there? Skipper felt like he'd missed quite the story during his time separated from the others. At least he had something to look forward to, then.
Bruno leapt from the car through the open door, landing on one knee with a thud. He looked up at the Citizen, and Skipper could already see two barely perceptible forcefields hovering over Bruno's hands. He was ready to go.
Dragan went to follow, but Muzazi reached out and grabbed him by the arm, shaking his head. For a moment, it looked as if the Cogitant was going to argue, but then his roaming eyes locked onto Skipper's. Those eyes were those of someone who'd been cornered.
Go, Skipper nodded. Do what you gotta do.
After the briefest hesitation, Dragan nodded back -- and then, without further ado, the car dipped out of sight again, below the deck they were standing on.
"They're going to get to the engine, stop this ship blowing up the city," said Bruno by way of explanation. "But we couldn't just leave you up against this… thing."
Skipper grinned. Even though technically his physical situation hadn't much improved, the boost in morale was making him feel much better. "You're warming my heart here, Mr. del Sed. Ruth, what do ya say we take this guy out and finally get off this rock?"
For a moment, Ruth had that old underlying anxiety written across her face -- fear of failure, maybe, or just fear in general -- but it was quickly replaced by a genuine grin. "Yeah," she said, fangs poking out her mouth. "Let's fuck him up."
The metal fingers Ruth had destroyed returned, hundreds of blades forming the new digits. The giant torso below Chael climbed further on the deck, scraping away the metal below it as it went. Chael roared -- and the sound was like metal being torn apart, high-pitched and grating.
Even with four of them here, Skipper realized, there was no guarantee of victory. This creature would do whatever it took to stop them from escaping.
But that was no problem. After all, it wasn't a fight if you were guaranteed to win.
And Skipper loved a good fight.
----------------------------------------
"It's quiet," said Dragan, walking through the hallway.
Muzazi didn't reply.
They'd landed in one of the Dawnhouse's open transport bays, and encountered nobody. They'd moved through the entrance foyer, and encountered nobody. Now they were moving through the hallways -- and still, still, they'd encountered nobody.
This didn't make sense. There'd been many guests invited to this gala thing, hadn't there? The rich and powerful, gathered in one place? Even if they'd been killed, there should have been bodies. But there was nothing. Not even bloodstains.
They reached a maintenance elevator, the metal door incongruous with the intricate woodwork and furnishings that surrounded it. This had been a mining ship first, after all -- fancied up later to suit the needs of high society. Aesthetic hadn't originally been a concern here.
"We'll need to take it down," said Muzazi suddenly, causing Dragan to almost jump out of his skin. "Engines are always near the bottom on these kinds of vessels."
"Sure thing." His reply was neutral, a simple confirmation that he'd heard the other person. At this point, Dragan didn't want to antagonize Muzazi too much -- it was no longer necessary.
The doors to the elevator slid open and the two of them stepped in, Muzazi very deliberately standing behind Dragan. As they entered, Dragan heard another metallic roar from far away -- Skipper and the others were still fighting that creature, then, while he was stuck with the Special Officer.
"Press the button for the engine room," Muzazi said firmly.
"Okay." Dragan tapped it -- and a second later, the lift shuddered into life, descending steadily.
The two of them stood there silently in the lift, the only sounds being the hum of the elevators descent and the occasional beep of the controls. Dragan resisted the urge to hum a tune -- this was possibly one of the most awkward elevator rides he'd ever experienced. He certainly hoped it didn't take much longer.
"Why did you betray the Supremacy?" Muzazi said quietly from behind him, pulling Dragan back into the moment.
Dragan didn't look back as he spoke. "Sorry?" he said, even though he'd heard Muzazi perfectly well. More time to come up with an acceptable answer that way.
"The Supremacy. Why did you betray it? I find myself unable to understand. Explain yourself."
"Well," said Dragan. "I had to go for the action that would benefit me the most. There's nothing to explain. It was nothing personal, you understand?"
"Liar," Muzazi snapped. "I imagine a great many things you do are out of self-interest, but not that. Your betrayal has not profited you in the least. You've gone from a promising young member of the AdminCorps to a vagrant running from one planet to the next. Your position, your future, your entire life -- you've thrown them away. And for what? Tell me, Dragan Hadrien, what have you gained?"
Dragan opened his mouth, but no words came out. What Muzazi had said… he wasn't wrong. He'd lost everything and gained very little -- the uneven calculus of a split-second choice. Not even a choice, really -- he hadn't realized a decision was before him until he'd already made it.
Why was it Dragan couldn't understand his own actions? It was infuriating. He could glance at someone like Muzazi and get a fairly accurate read on what he was feeling, yet he couldn't understand his own emotions until they'd already betrayed him. It was like looking down to see your own body replaced with a dark blur.
“I’ll show you,” Ruth had said, all that time ago in the Heart Building, when they were going to save Skipper. "That people can be good. That they're not what you think of them."
Dragan shook his head. No. It couldn’t have possibly have been for such an idiotic reason as that.
When Muzazi spoke again, his voice was even quieter -- like he was speaking to himself more than he was speaking to Dragan.
“I just wanted to save you. Why did you betray me?”
Dragan had nothing to say to that. Nothing but the truth: “It was nothing personal,” he repeated, his voice now a vague mutter. He found himself grateful that he wasn’t looking the Special Officer in the eyes.
The elevator went on down.
----------------------------------------
The Chael-thing sent another metal fist lunging forward towards Skipper -- Bruno projected a forcefield to block it, but the barrier quickly shattered. Still, it gave him time to dodge out of the way, letting the fist slam into the deck instead. The force of the blow caused the metal fingers to shatter into the blades that had formed it, but new ones formed almost instantly. The steel hand grasped blindly at the air.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Destroying the hands won't do much," called out Skipper over the roaring wind and creaking metal. "It can make more of 'em all it wants. We gotta take out Chael if we want it to stop!"
Bruno bit his lip, looked up at the flesh crown of the beast. Chael's torso protruded from the neck of the metal monster, swaying from side to side, eyeless head snapping this way and that like a fly. It had a human body, Bruno knew, but the thing he was looking at was a creature of pure instinct.
Going for the human section of the monster was easier said than done, too. Ruth had been trying it for the last few minutes -- blitzing around the Chael-thing at blinding speed, kicking off the deck to lunge towards the torso like a crimson bullet. Every time she made an attempt, though, a shield of blades would rise out of the monster’s main body and block her path. Creatures of instinct excelled at defending themselves -- hesitation was born from thought, after all.
"Ruth can do it," Skipper said, as if answering Bruno's unspoken doubts. "She's good like that, yeah? All you and me have gotta do is keep big ugly here occupied. Easy, right?"
Bruno looked up at the colossal metal giant, at the countless razor-sharp blades that made up its body, at the crackling thunderstorm of grey Aether that raged around it.
Easy wasn't the word that he'd use.
'Hey Bruno,' said Serena, casual as could be. 'Is it just me, or is the ship tilting?'
----------------------------------------
"We have to hurry," said Dragan as he stepped out of the elevator, noticing the slight angle of the floor. "I don't know how much longer we have before we start to dive."
Muzazi didn't say anything -- just climbed out of the lift behind him. Well, that was fine. The Special Officer hadn't proven to be much of a conversationalist anyway.
The engine room was cavernous -- with the engine itself, a colossal cylinder, taking up much of the space. Rows of navigation consoles lined it on each side, blinking with blue lights as they did their work charting the ship's course.
"It should be easy enough to tell the ship not to, uh, not to blow up the city," Dragan said. "I imagine."
Muzazi's elbow nudged him in the arm. "Hadrien." His voice was firm.
"What?" Dragan rubbed his arm, the slightest annoyance entering his tone.
"Look."
Dragan followed Muzazi's gaze, off into the corner of the room, and realized what the Special Officer had noticed. There, nestled between two of the navigation consoles, Noel was sat, rocking back and forth -- hands clasped tightly over her ears, her teeth bared, her eyes so wide it looked as if the eyeballs might just pop out of their sockets. Her mouth was moving slightly, wordlessly -- whatever mutterings she was letting out, they were intended for her and her alone.
"She was at the festival," Muzazi pondered. "She's here as well? Who is she?"
From what Dragan remembered, Noel had actually told Muzazi who she was, but he didn't say that. Not especially helpful.
He looked Noel up and down -- she wasn't carrying any weapons, from what he could see, and no cyan Aether was crackling around her. He supposed she could be using that Aether cloaking thing, but he'd never gotten the sense that she was much of a physical threat on her own. Still, was it safe to approach her?
"She lost an eye and an arm the last time I saw her," Dragan muttered, neglecting to mention that had been because he'd blown them off. He took a cautious step forward.
"Perhaps this is a trick, then," Muzazi said, hand on his sheathed sword. "Or a trap."
"Maybe," Dragan replied -- but there was one way to check for sure.
He let out an Aether ping -- his range with it was still pretty small, so he extended it as much as he could by directing it towards Noel in a straight line. Still, the edges of it made contact with Muzazi, and the Special Officer flinched as his own white Aether sparked in alarm around his body.
Noel's Aether did the same, cyan tendrils appearing for just a moment. Satisfied, Dragan focused his Aether back into himself -- if Noel had been cloaking her Aether, surely there'd have been no response at all. Likely it wasn't a trap, then.
Dragan and Muzazi approached cautiously -- and when they were in front of her, Noel's head suddenly snapped upwards, pupils flicking between the two of them.
"I didn't," she whispered, deliriously breathless. "I-I didn't mean to, it wasn't me, it wasn't…"
"What do you mean?" Muzazi said, looking down at her. Ever careful, his hand still hadn't left his sword.
Noel shook her head, still whimpering. "The navigation, the -- the console, the v-virus, it's too deep in, I-I couldn't do anything, we're dead, we're all dead -- shut up!" That last bit was seemingly delivered not at them, but at one of the navigation consoles, off in the distance.
"A virus," muttered Dragan, rubbing his chin. "I guess that's how the Sponsor of War is getting this ship on the path he wants. That… that might be tricky."
Muzazi looked to him, still keeping one eye on Noel. "How so?"
"Well, I mean," Dragan threw his hands out. "If it was the kind of thing where someone had just input a command into the console, that'd be one thing, but the systems aren't going to be working properly if this virus has fucked them all up. It probably won't even let the navigation, uh, the navigation codes be changed anymore."
Muzazi sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest moment, deep in thought. Then: "Couldn't you simply hack the system?"
Dragan felt his eye twitch. "No," he said slowly, scathing annoyance dripping into his tone despite his best efforts. "I can't hack the system. I wouldn't know how to hack the system, because I'm not a hacker. If anyone was going to hack the system, it would have been her, but the fact that's she's sitting here having a mental fucking breakdown presumably means she couldn't hack the fucking system!"
The Special Officer looked to him, brow creased. "There's no need to grow enraged." It didn't help. "Is there no other way we could stop the ship? Surely there are contingencies for these sorts of situations."
An idea occurred. A bad, potentially suicidal idea -- but, worryingly, no other plans were appearing in Dragan's mind's eye.
He spoke haltingly, unsure -- it was as if his own mouth were reluctant to voice the concept. "We could blow the engine up?"
Muzazi's silence -- and his raised eyebrow -- was all the answer he needed, but unfortunately this wasn't the kind of situation where he could just give up.
"No, no, I mean it," Dragan insisted. "The best way to make sure this ship doesn't fly into the central mineshaft is to make sure this ship doesn't fly -- period. One hundred percent. If we just make the engine stop working -- by blowing it up -- that solves the problem. Easy peasy."
Muzazi wasn't convinced. "Destroying a ship while we are in it does not strike me as, as you say, 'easy peasy'."
"Well, that's because you don't have the resolve for it."
The Special Officer frowned. "I have expansive reserves of resolve -- it's simply that you suggest foolishness. How would we even destroy the engine? It's not as if we brought explosive equipment with us."
Dragan looked around the room, his eyes settling on Muzazi's weapon. "Well, you use thrusters, right? Can't you just drive that sword all the way through the engine and mess it up that way?"
A sudden expression of mortal terror -- incongruous with the suggestion -- twisted Muzazi's face, and he held the sheathed sword tight. "No," he hissed, voice panicked. "No, no, that is out of the question. With something else, yes, perhaps, but I will not risk Luminescence."
Dragan blinked. He understood naming your weapon for clout, but this kind of attachment to an inanimate object just felt weird to him. Wasn't the thing just made of ordinary metal? Surely Muzazi had the money to buy another one if it came down to it.
Noel spoke up from the floor -- her voice crackly, hoarse. "My drones," she whispered, staring down at the ground. "T-They can detonate -- shut up -- they can detonate their power supplies. If you open the engine up, t-they can fly inside and finish the job." She was shaking violently even as she spoke.
A few drones bobbed weakly in the corners of the room, like frightened birds.
"You want to help?" Dragan said, not taking his eyes off the drones. He hadn't quite forgotten the feeling of plasma shots slamming against his skin.
She shot him a chilly glare. "I don't want to die."
Dragan considered it for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Eh, good enough. Muzazi, if you're not willing to drive that sword through the engine, can you at least help me get the thing open?"
Muzazi nodded, having already returned to his previous stoicity. "Of course."
Okay, okay. Things had gone from bad to substantially less bad -- they had a plan, at least, which meant they had clear win conditions. If they could destroy the engine, they'd win -- and if they couldn't, they and everyone else in the city below would lose as much as it was possible for a person to lose.
Dragan moved over to the engine itself, rubbing his hands over the smooth exterior. Before they went cutting chunks out of it, it was probably best to see if there was a switch or something -- some safe way to get the thing open. That would make things significantly easier --
"Summon," commanded a rumbling voice from the entrance. "Penetration Swordfish."
Dragan whirled to turn around, but even as he did he knew that he was far too slow to dodge what was coming. A lance of orange light surged towards him, so fast that he could catch only the barest impression of its shape, aimed right for his skull.
It never hit its mark.
Muzazi appeared in front of him in a flare of white light -- he'd moved at divine speeds -- and smashed the projectile out of the air with a swing of his sword. Fragments of what looked like orange glass floated over the floor for a moment before dissipating into orange Aether -- which zoomed back into its master.
The Fifth Dead stepped into the engine room, quarterstaff held in one hand, eyes looking impassively around the room. He glanced at Dragan, at Noel, and at Muzazi as if they were barely worthy of notice -- like pebbles along the road. Inconvenient if you tripped, but not significant enough to worry about.
"Three," he muttered to himself -- and with that, he pointed his quarterstaff towards Muzazi, the greatest threat. It seemed that was all they were getting in terms of pre-battle banter.
Muzazi's eyes remained fixed on the Fifth Dead, sword clutched in a ready position in his hands. A white aurora of Aether stretched and compressed around him, his body ready to leap into action. As he faced down his opponent, he spoke to Dragan behind him:
"I will keep this enemy delayed, Hadrien. You and the girl do what you must to stop this ship -- as quickly as you can."
"But," Dragan found himself worried despite his best efforts. "You can't -- he's the Fifth Dead, I mean…"
"Yes," Muzazi adjusted his stance slightly. "He's strong."
He took a step forward, approaching the massive man -- and the giant did the same towards Muzazi. Dragan could feel the tension crackling in the air -- the stare down would explode into combat any second now. It was inevitable.
"My name is Atoy Muzazi," the swordsman said, raising his blade over his head. The sword shone incandescent with Aether. "Special Officer of the Supremacy. My sword's name is Luminescence. Prepare yourself, revenant."
The Fifth Dead blinked. "Die."
Barely a second passed before blood struck the ground.