said.
“Can you talk to him?” Henricksen asked her. “ Reason with him. Try to get him to see how abominably stupid this is?”
Marianas and Atacama had already moved off, committing themselves to this ill-advised plan—and it was doubtful Brutus would listen, but Serengeti tried anyway. She sent a dozen different messages, but none of them received a response.
The Bastion had gone dark. Guess he was tired of her objections.
“ Brutus is no longer responding to my hails.”
And Marianas and Atacama were still moving, the gap between the divided Meridian Alliance fleet widening as the two Valkyries advanced on the DSR ships behind them. Too late to stop it now—all Serengeti could do was keep on firing and hope they somehow manage to get themselves out of this mess.
She focused her attention ahead just as Trinidad lost his main gun. “’Bout fucking time!” Sikuuku yelled, and then pivoted sharply as Trinidad fired back, bringing its other guns to bear, focusing them all in on Brutus as the other DSR ships went silent.
That’s odd.
Serengeti panned her cameras around, trying to figure out what was going on. The snaking lines of Trinidad’s plasma cannons threaded their way through space, chewing their way toward Brutus, but for the space of five seconds, none of the ships around him fired. And then it all started back up again, missiles pouring out faster, more furious than before, the DSR ships targeting the Valkyries— Seychelles and Antigone on one side as Sechura took up Marianas’ vacated position behind Serengeti.
Chatter erupted on the comms, messages flying back and forth between the Valkyries, other ships in the fleet querying Brutus, wondering what was going on. But Brutus just kept pounding away, stubbornly maintaining his silence as he lobbed missile after missile at Trinidad , giving back every shot he took.
Ships exploded everywhere, flaring and dying on both sides. Casualty reports rolled in, detailing losses on both sides—crews vented, ships crippled or dead. Damage reports flooded the channels, wounded ships firing away while their crews worked to contain breaches and fires. Serengeti herself had taken damage—holes punched through her triple-thick hull, a fire started in a forward compartment that the suppression units quickly put out—but Seychelles and Antigone took the worst of it. Seychelles was in the lead position on the port side of the fleet, her body half-blocking, half-protecting Antigone behind her. Plasma shots peppered her nose and sides, composite metal plating dented and buckled before finally giving way. Seychelles kept fighting anyway, ignoring the damage to her body as she threw railgun and plasma cannon fire back. In fact, she fired as long as she could, never slowing until her systems started to fail. She ejected her crew at the last moment, launching her emergency pods out into the chaos of battle in a last ditch effort to save their lives.
Desperate maneuver, that. One an AI would only risk if there were no other option.
Seychelles fired up her engines and broke formation, shooting ahead of the Titans and Auroras, putting herself at the front of the spearhead of ships in the main fleet.
Suicide run.
“No, sister,” Serengeti whispered, sending a desperate plea via sub-space message.
“Goodbye, Serengeti, ” she sent back. And then Seychelles surged forward, engines wide open, every last gun trained on Parallax, chewing through the ships protecting him to get at the Aphelion.
The counter wound down, ticking off time, showing five seconds before the Aphelion’s gun was fully charged and ready to fire. Seychelles broke through, hull plating ruined, main gun spewing out long lines of plasma fire aimed at the fork-shaped metal rod sticking out of Parallax’s nose.
“ Parallax firing!” Finlay called.
Seychelles’s shots connected, sheering away Parallax’s gun in the second before it spat its swirling cobalt orb out. Bolts of electric fire arced in
“Can you talk to him?” Henricksen asked her. “ Reason with him. Try to get him to see how abominably stupid this is?”
Marianas and Atacama had already moved off, committing themselves to this ill-advised plan—and it was doubtful Brutus would listen, but Serengeti tried anyway. She sent a dozen different messages, but none of them received a response.
The Bastion had gone dark. Guess he was tired of her objections.
“ Brutus is no longer responding to my hails.”
And Marianas and Atacama were still moving, the gap between the divided Meridian Alliance fleet widening as the two Valkyries advanced on the DSR ships behind them. Too late to stop it now—all Serengeti could do was keep on firing and hope they somehow manage to get themselves out of this mess.
She focused her attention ahead just as Trinidad lost his main gun. “’Bout fucking time!” Sikuuku yelled, and then pivoted sharply as Trinidad fired back, bringing its other guns to bear, focusing them all in on Brutus as the other DSR ships went silent.
That’s odd.
Serengeti panned her cameras around, trying to figure out what was going on. The snaking lines of Trinidad’s plasma cannons threaded their way through space, chewing their way toward Brutus, but for the space of five seconds, none of the ships around him fired. And then it all started back up again, missiles pouring out faster, more furious than before, the DSR ships targeting the Valkyries— Seychelles and Antigone on one side as Sechura took up Marianas’ vacated position behind Serengeti.
Chatter erupted on the comms, messages flying back and forth between the Valkyries, other ships in the fleet querying Brutus, wondering what was going on. But Brutus just kept pounding away, stubbornly maintaining his silence as he lobbed missile after missile at Trinidad , giving back every shot he took.
Ships exploded everywhere, flaring and dying on both sides. Casualty reports rolled in, detailing losses on both sides—crews vented, ships crippled or dead. Damage reports flooded the channels, wounded ships firing away while their crews worked to contain breaches and fires. Serengeti herself had taken damage—holes punched through her triple-thick hull, a fire started in a forward compartment that the suppression units quickly put out—but Seychelles and Antigone took the worst of it. Seychelles was in the lead position on the port side of the fleet, her body half-blocking, half-protecting Antigone behind her. Plasma shots peppered her nose and sides, composite metal plating dented and buckled before finally giving way. Seychelles kept fighting anyway, ignoring the damage to her body as she threw railgun and plasma cannon fire back. In fact, she fired as long as she could, never slowing until her systems started to fail. She ejected her crew at the last moment, launching her emergency pods out into the chaos of battle in a last ditch effort to save their lives.
Desperate maneuver, that. One an AI would only risk if there were no other option.
Seychelles fired up her engines and broke formation, shooting ahead of the Titans and Auroras, putting herself at the front of the spearhead of ships in the main fleet.
Suicide run.
“No, sister,” Serengeti whispered, sending a desperate plea via sub-space message.
“Goodbye, Serengeti, ” she sent back. And then Seychelles surged forward, engines wide open, every last gun trained on Parallax, chewing through the ships protecting him to get at the Aphelion.
The counter wound down, ticking off time, showing five seconds before the Aphelion’s gun was fully charged and ready to fire. Seychelles broke through, hull plating ruined, main gun spewing out long lines of plasma fire aimed at the fork-shaped metal rod sticking out of Parallax’s nose.
“ Parallax firing!” Finlay called.
Seychelles’s shots connected, sheering away Parallax’s gun in the second before it spat its swirling cobalt orb out. Bolts of electric fire arced in
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