P Hillard - The Knower of Truths

Brekt needn’t have bothered bracketing his target. The return fire had been unexpected, like a punch directed at a bully, rage lashing out in an angry burst. The beams hit Greddog’s flagship with the energy of an entire fleet’s barrage, annihilating it totally. There was no glorious death for the pirate lord, no brave stand or daring raid. Instead, he was swatted away almost trivially, incinerated instantly.

The thrall saw the details scrolling across its vison. It was its eyesight, its ocular nerves replaced by a direct computer feed. It watched the beams wipe Greddog’s ship from space, leaving nothing but a smattering of still burning debris.

“Greddog’s ship has been destroyed, lord Paranax,” the thrall said.

Paranax let out a gravelly, scratchy laugh. “A fitting end. Very well, that saves us one task at least. What kind of vessel is this?”

“Unidentified, lord. It appears to have some kind of unknown defences.”

“Yes, it would seem so. Clearly, its weapons are formidable. Order the pirates to screen our advance.”

“Our advance?” the thrall said.

“Yes. This ship is crewed by a so-called messiah, correct? Let’s see how much of a saviour they are. Advance on the planet and fire at will. Turn its surface to glass.”

Kestok was panicking. He wasn’t a natural panicker before the arena, but the brutal combat had wiped any last traces of it. That’s what he thought at least, but his stomach churning as he ran across the engineering bay was proving that wasn’t quite true. Tucked under his arm was a device Kestok was hoping was a fire extinguisher. He stopped, stumbling for a moment, before pointing the nozzle attached towards the fire that was spilling out from the open hatch. A thick foam squirted forth, smothering the flames.

“We’ve got another one,” Skorra said. She was sat before a panel, watching out for the blinking icons that signalled a failing power relay. She had strict instructions not to start pressing buttons. There was already enough fires forming around the ship. The strange energy shield was holding back the assault, absorbing the forces striking it, but the excess power was starting to blow out relays with worryingly flammable effects.

“Where?” Kestok said, firing the extinguisher once more for good measure.

“Second deck, forward section. Relay number seven.”

“Clive? Is one of the uh, other Clives, handling that?” Kestok stepped over to behind Skorra, taking his own look at the screen, extinguisher tucked under his arm. “That’s too far for us.”

“On it.” There was no physical representation of the voice this time, simply filling the air from every direction at once. There was a low-level buzzing as thousands of tiny speakers worked in tandem. “It is proving a little… tricky. Running the bots is hard enough at the best of times.”

Kestok moved to check the panel beside Skorra. On the screen was a series of bars, the power supply to sections of the ship. “This… shield wasn’t built to take punishment like this. The power-release, the weapon function, it’s helping. Can we, I don’t know, up the fire rate? Bleed more energy?”

“It is operating at what I believe is the maximum rate of fire.” Clive’s voice was still disembodied. “Truthfully, I’m, not sure. These functions were hidden from me until they activated, which is in itself, rather concerning. Even the targeting controls are slaved to the bridge consoles, totally separate from myself.”

Kestok rubbed his chin. “Huh. Were your ancestors concerned about AI at all, Skorra?”

The furred girl shrugged. “Not a clue. I didn’t even know people could be machines until I met you lot.”

“No, I suppose not. We just better hope this shield doesn’t take too much of an extra beating.”

The pirate fleet, or at least part of it, was fleeing. Seeing their ironfisted overlord killed had either broken their morale or raised it, depending on exactly how much they hated Greddog. The rest was doing as the imposing dreadnought had ordered, moving to place themselves between it and the Sword. They were struggling, falling behind as the stone hewed vessel fired its enormous engines, blasting towards Cortica.

The defensive satellites saw the oncoming ships, and began firing, lances of searing energy screaming across space. They were assisted by a large station, like the one orbiting Earth but an older design. It was in poor condition. Cortica’s position deep inside Council space meant the funds to repair and upgrade it were constantly being rerouted to a thousand more important projects, lost in the bureaucratic maze that plagued everything within the Council’s territory.

The dreadnought jinked as it advanced, blasting powerful thrusters in an attempt to evade. It wasn’t entirely successful, a handful of shots landing against its stony surface, blasting chunks free, thralls spiralling into the void, no great loss as far as the Substrate was concerned. The return fire exacted a terrible toll. The defences around Cortica were travelling on predictable orbits, easy pickings for the weapons on the dreadnought. Shots fired out from every gun, tearing satellites from the sky. There was a build-up of light from the large crystal mounted to the top of the ship, before moments later a huge wave of energy poured out of it, a purple beam laced with black. The main gun’s shot tore through the station, eradicating a full quarter of its mass.

Explosions strobed across the station’s hull, secondary blasts igniting fuel and ammunition. The force knocked the station from its orbit, the huge metal object doomed to eventually collide with the planet below in a blast that would annihilate cities.

Pleased with its work, the dreadnought turned its cannon on the planet, striking with impunity as its secondary weapons continued to reave the defences and take shots at the cloud of smaller ships that surrounded the planet, shooting down passenger liners and cargo transports. A cloud of death surrounded the dreadnought as it lashed out at everything around it.

Michael watched as the dreadnought unleashed its wrath at the planet below. He winced each time it fired, instinctively knowing that thousands, maybe millions, died with each shot. It was a massacre, a display of nothing but sheer malice.

“Knower,” Mellok said, his voice faint and trailing.

“I see it, Mellok,” Michael said. He was gripping the arms on his chair so hard that his hands were hurting. “Aileena, bring us between that ship and the planet.”

“Not a problem.” Normally Aileena would have shouted at him, chastising him for presuming to give her an order. Not now. Now she understood what Michael wanted, inputting the commands.

“Brekt, cut us a path through these pirates.” Michael was different, his voice commanding. He was channelling something from inside himself, a mixture of rage and shame. Those people on that planet were dying because these ships had come for him, dying because of some misguided insistence that he was a saviour. Michael decided that he would for once, step into that role. To accept it. They were going to save everyone they could or die trying.

“Lord Paranax, the enemy vessel is… accelerating. They are closing towards us. Velocity projections are placing them directly before us,” the thrall said, watching the data feed scrolling across its mind. “The pirate line is failing. Most of our supporting fleet has fallen back.”

“Cowards,” Paranax said. He had hardly paid much attention to the battle so far, instead, returning to his throne at the top of the command chamber. He held a chunk of stone in one hand and was moving it over his arms. The stone fragment was collapsing into dust, its mass being added to that of Paranax. “At least this, knower, has some gall to him. It is a shame that he died when his ship was destroyed.”