The darkness of space exploded in a cloud of kilometres-long exotic radiation sparks, as the thin line between real space and the no-void was torn. It saw this dreadful dance of deadly lights through its extended senses. It felt every strike on the ship’s hull as it left the monochrome world of the no-void and entered reality. That was one of the benefits of being a Xith pilot. Once, before its nervous system was connected to the vessel it operated, it used to have a name. A shackle to keep it bound to a lesser form. But now, it had assumed the identity of the mighty machine it controlled – Fall of Regret.
The frigate’s hull was its mighty carapace, and the sensor arrays its eyes and ears. Mighty weapon systems replaced its appendages. Yes, it was more powerful than what its organic body could ever become. But it also felt the empty munition stores and depleted reactor cells powering the long-range ion beams. The twin energy cores powering the vessel were slowly growing colder, and it wouldn’t be long before the chain-linked beam-laser thrusters went silent. Traversing the region of space, the humans referred to as the Fringe, had taken its toll. There were too few ports and docks for a vessel such as this to refuel, repair and rest. Dealing with forbidden cargo, bypassing blockades and engaging in raids further reduced the available safe havens it could guide the Fall of Regret to. However, that were the orders given to it, and it would obey.
It might not like the creature currently in command of the mighty vessel, but the human Jack had to be respected. He had, through means the Xith couldn’t fathom, made an arrangement for the use of the facilities of the mining complex, it observed with the scanners. This also allowed the Fall of Regret to fulfil its main task – plunge the Fringe of the United Republic into chaos. Why its Khanate patrons would resort to such backhanded methods was a curious question. If they wanted to, the armadas of Khan Iliana II could conquer the region and claim the vast resources it provided.
Instead, the Fall of Regret was shackled because of the indecisiveness of a child playing at being a Dominator. It understood this better than anyone else. A long time ago, this vessel had waged a glorious war against the enemies of the Stratocracy. As its pilot, and thanks to the few intact data-stores, it understood the pride of being directed by the gentle thoughts of the Dominators’ minds. At the peak of its power, the Fall of Regret could challenge any non-Xith frigate and win with ease. Even if such glories were long gone and the ship and its crew were nothing more than pirates and raiders, it knew the vessel could come on top of anything this human domain could throw in its way. The Shattering might have put an end to the Xith superiority in the galaxy, but it had also destroyed anything resembling a proper galactic power.
“It is just as you said, Scraaha. The human station has failed to detect us.” Nata’Vi smirked, hunched over the console of the command podium.
The pilot recoiled at the mention of its original name. It hated being called that because it implied there had been a time when it had not been surgically grafted into the control systems of the Fall of Regret. Only a select few had the privilege to address it by its name, and the Ul-Battyr thing was not amongst them. And of those who did, only two were still alive aboard the mighty vessel. The second one, the human Jack, was faking sleep on the chair positioned across the pilot’s vitae tank, flanked by two prime-warrior cast guards. But the creature couldn’t fool the pilot’s sensors. The one Scraaha called captain was average for its species in height and weight. However, he had vicious cunning worthy of a Dominator. The man’s raven-black hair mirrored the chitinous growth decorating the backs of his prime-warrior cast guards, and the tattoos covering his pale skin gave him an air of savageness the Xith hadn’t imagined possible from a few scribbles. Unlike others of its kind, the pilot didn’t harbour burning hatred for humans. It simply thought of them as inferior flukes of evolution which had spread like a disease throughout the galaxy.
Although it had to admit begrudgingly, such a statement did not apply to the other one – the first to earn the privilege of calling it by its former name – locked in the bowls of the Fall of Regret. Contrary to what the other crew members might state, Scraaha had yet to find evidence that that thing was human. The very thought of the thing made the spines on the pilot’s back rise, and it curled its six mangled legs beneath its augmented body.
“Even a hatchling could evade such a scrap heap.” The pilot’s artificial voice boomed from the speakers of its vitae tank. A wave of pleasure coursed through its system as it saw Jack look at it with frustration.
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“Every time I try to take a nap, you go and wake me up,” Jack murmured. The commander then added in a more audible tone. “How long before anyone responds to a distress call?”
“Calculating, master Jack….” Nata’Vi wished to earn the favour of the man, but the Xith wouldn’t allow it.
“Sixteen nehra.” It said, remembering too late, that the crew members used the human time tracking standard. “That will be seven Terran weeks. We will be able to dock with the station in three. Subjugation, repairs and re-fuelling will take three more weeks, giving the Fall of Regret a seven-day lead to hide and wait for the next rotation of the no-void entry point around the local star.”
“Very well,” Jack rose from his chair and made his way towards the door. “Issue a raid warning and have the crew gather in the chapel. Send a signal to Gad and her team to begin preparations.”
“As you command….” Scraaha froze, feeling something it had not expected. A deep-space frequency scan bounced on the dagger-like hull of the vessel, triggering a long-forgotten warning protocol in its data-banks.
“Nata’Vi, go to the serfs. Now! They are to awaken Carnage from the stasis machine. This is an imperative command!” The speakers boomed a microsecond after it carried a confirmation analysis.
The few creatures populating the control room stopped their tasks and looked at the pilot’s crippled form floating within its tank. The animosity it felt towards the woman wasn’t hidden, so for Scraaha to actively ask for her was rare.
“Vice-commander, I do not want to question your orders… But is this wise?” The damned Ul-Battyr spoke in protest. “Her last orders are logged within the data-banks, and the serfs have shared that her dreams are more violent than usual.”
“Her psychosis is irrelevant.” Scraaha moved inside the tank of fluid, pressing its body against the transparent surface of its tomb. It was an involuntary movement caused by the instinctual need to hunt and destroy the cyber abomination it had sensed. “We have been detected by an active scan....”
“Still, she will not be happy,” Nata’Vi stood to her full height, towering a head over the Xith warrior casts guarding the tank, the red fleshy frill around her dark-green scaly neck extending as wide as they could. It was a primitive action from a time when the Letra’Ki species used the menacing display to scare off predators on their arid homeworld, before the Ul made them into the first bonded-slaves – the first Ul-Battyr – of their pathetic excuse of an Empire. The cybernetic, covering the left side of her skull, glowed a bright blue, informing Scraaha that there was actual anger in Nata’Vi’s thoughts as she spoke again.
“The last time we awoke her for a minor reason, she killed Kilata’Ul and Bernhard Vincent. We’re still searching for suitable serfs to take their places.”
“Your lives are meaningless. You are Ul-Battyr. You exist only to obey.” The pilot embedded the proper code in its artificial voice to trigger the mood suppressor of the slave’s apparatus, effectively pacifying the annoying Ul-Battyr for the next few hours. It logged a note in its memory to properly reprimand Ulvaka’Ul for allowing his bonded slave the freedom to bear its fangs at it. Yes, the snivelling Ul would pay dearly for this transgression.
“Must I remind you who is in charge, Scraaha?” Jack spoke softly from the door. “Like the slave, you serve the Void Spawned. You serve Carnage. She is the one who gave your crippled form meaning.”
“You can always override my order, Jack.” The pilot tried its best to make the artificial voice convey the anger it felt. “However, you will not. You desire for her to chastise me so you may reaffirm your position amongst the Void Spawned.”
The human stopped at the doorframe, flanked by his Xith bodyguards. The spines at the backs of the pair rose, the warrior casts mistaking the captain’s silent glare as contempt. They were wrong. He was curious.
“Why?”
“There is a cybernetic abomination in control of the mining complex. We must destroy it while it is still crippled.”
“I hope you’re not wrong, Scraaha,” Jack motioned for his guards to move. “It would be a bother to have to train a new pilot.”
“Jack,” It paused for a moment to give its words extra weight, “you will not be her favourite forever.”
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