Chronicles of the Aeons War, page 100
part #3 of The Omniverse Series
Gabrielle unfurled Her coiled cables from Her arms and tossed the Bridge Platform aside as She climbed free of the wreckage. Cables lashed out from Her bundles to cradle the injured. As She did, the sensors built into those cables scanned their bodies to assess what Healing was required.
“Priority Medical Emergency on the Command Deck.” Gabrielle called, “Seven casualties, including Commodore Baxter Vincent and Captain Heihachi Daniel. Still compiling extent of injuries.” The Queen of Hope turned to Benedict, who was clambering from the safety net to the Operations Level over the crew pits, “Voyager: You are hereby given field promotion to Commodore; you have the Bridge and the Conn.”
“There is no Bridge,” Benedict said, climbing awkwardly from the nets to one of the ladder rails, “All surviving Bridge Crew and casualty replacements to the Observation Alcoves; Pit Bosses, reroute Bridge commands to your Bridge Officer’s station login. I have the middle alcove, now the Conn. This is Acting Commodore Benedict Jack, in command of the Ouroboros. On the Queen of Hope’s authority grant me Command Access and log me in, now.”
Gabrielle admired the effortless way Benedict slipped into command of the Ouroboros, sealing his fate with nothing more than fatalistic acceptance. As the ship’s auto-repair systems finished healing the Ouroboros, an engineering crew was dispatched to repair or replace the crippled Bridge Platform, now secured in the netting by automated safety lashes.
They were finally receiving telemetry from CI-3999 that made sense in relation to their reality; the timeline was stabilizing. More and more meta-instances of more and more ships were reporting in, coming back online – not nearly as many that remained silent. Combat instructions were coming from the Senior Instance, CI-3001: The Zohor, undamaged, were closing on all ships’ positions. Immediately each Fleet Instance’s active ships took up defensive positions with simple orders to fire at will on the enemy. CI-4000, with Acting Commodore Benedict in charge of Instance Fleet 4000 ordered all ships to prepare Q-Field jump solutions to Repair-Instance 4000 even as he had tactical plot attack deployment through the oncoming Zohor and towards Decision Engine Four. Having witnessed the Probabilities finally collapse into this State, having directed the Path of Events towards this precise outcome, Gabrielle watched with fascination as it unfolded before Her.
Benedict split his surviving fleet into two V-formation wedges, driving at the oncoming Zohor from two directions. Predictably the Zohor broke to attack, delivering themselves to the slaughter under the guns of the Caliburn Fleet, CI-4000. Beset on all sides from two fleets the Zohor attempted to inflict as much damage as they could before being destroyed; they succeeded only partially. Both fleets had reached their damage limits and withdrew.
All surviving ships arrived back at Bloom’s Point, the only El-Ahur space station authorized for Meta Combat repair, resupply and refresh service. It was also the only place where the Meta Combatant El-Ahur could find Respite. As they were navigated into port by tugs deployed by Bloom’s Point, Benedict was summoned to the Medical Bay.
The wounded were everywhere in the multi-level trauma center. Benedict could sense where in the multi-ringed maze he had to go; he knew that Gabrielle was leading him to Her. And there She was: Coils wrapped as tightly as possible, to make Her appear as Human as possible. She stood beside Heihachi Daniel’s bedside. The ‘Boros’ Second in Command lay inside an envelope, immersed in an amniosynthetic healing gel similar to what Gabrielle had spent so many long years swimming in.
“His chest and abdomen were crushed when the Bridge fell on him,” Gabrielle said without preamble, “I don’t have anything approaching My Mother’s abilities to Heal, but I’ve done what I could for him. He may recover; he’s on a breathing apparatus now, while they attempt to regenerate his internal organs.”
“What about cloning?”
“That’s essentially what regeneration is, except it’s done directly in the body; a form of accelerated healing using the available raw material to build a new version of the damaged organ. Cloning can only be used when it’s not medically urgent; the process is too slow.”
“Will he make it?”
“His chances are…fair,” Gabrielle said, “And from what I can See…Heihachi will most likely survive this.”
Benedict nodded, then looked at the beds to either side of Heihachi’s, then to the beds along the wider, outer circular wall of the ward. One listed among the casualties was not immediately visible. He looked at Gabrielle, knowing She knew the question he wanted to ask. She shook Her head.
“We’re doing all we can for Daniel,” She said, then had him follow Her to an office area.
“What is it?” Benedict asked, already knowing…or at least expecting that he knew…the answer.
“The Commodore managed to remain seated, but when the Bridge railing collapsed…he suffered severe trauma to the head and neck. He died instantly.”
“I…Bax was…” but the astonishment of learning a man he’d known for more years than he’d ever even conceived of living was dead was too much for Benedict to articulate…He’d been serving under Baxter’s orders only minutes earlier. He’d had breakfast with the man that morning…neither of them could have anticipated just how little time left the Commodore had had; they’d been laughing, making grim jokes about the battle ahead. Now Bax was dead? Just like that? It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem real. It didn’t make sense.
“Although Heihachi Daniel is the senior officer,” Gabrielle said, bringing his focus back to Her, “I do not expect him to have recovered from his injuries before we return to the field of combat as CI-3999, despite the weeks of Respite ahead. I am therefore making your promotion to the rank of Commodore permanent. I’ve already ordered the systems and authorizations taken care of aboard the Ouroboros. To be fair to Captain Heihachi I have ordered him to be returned to real time along with the most severely wounded, where the absolute best of the Station’s medical facilities are, by necessity, located. He’ll be granted return to the combat, if he so desires, on the next available Combat Instance relative to him. Meanwhile Commodore, you are the Indestructible Man, from now until the Appointed Time. You’re also now the commander of My Flagship. Knowing what we now know will happen and with the updated long-view telemetry from CI-3001 you and I will weather this storm much better. Let us make use of all of these things, Commodore; let us use this Respite to plan an offensive to destroy Decision Engine Four. It is well past time to end the Zohor.”
Benedict swallowed, “As You say, My Queen.” He stammered. Then after a moment’s silence he asked, “How many ships did we lose in CI-4000? How many people?”
“Far too many of both,” Gabrielle replied, mournfully. “And now it falls on you to see it doesn’t happen again.”
“There’ll be death. Against the Zohor, there’s always death.”
“Just let the worst of it be behind us.” Gabrielle replied; Benedict was struck at how strange it felt for a Goddess to be praying to him.
“Everything in my power.” Benedict replied, “And Yours, Gabrielle. Continue using Your Sight, Your Understanding. Give me what I need to win this war.”
“…three…”
It was Respite; the period between Combat-Instances. The men and women of Combat and Service Instances lived in cloistered sections Bloom’s Point Station for the weeks or months it took to repair, rebuild and retrain the Fleet. It was the reason it sometimes took over a year between each Combat-Instance. And sometimes the Respites made the combat veterans feel utterly miserable, just because they knew what hell awaited them back during the inevitable nightmare of the next Combat Instance.
They always had a service for the Honoured Dead on the first day of Respite. After there was a special ceremony for friends, comrades, fellow combatants to gather and remember the man…the Force of Nature that had been Commodore Baxter Vincent. Benedict, Grandmaster Yeung, several Ship’s Captains, Department Commanders, Pit Bosses and even crewmen gathered in a reserved atrium. Every available refreshment and intoxicant was at hand. They recounted their stories, silently listening and sharing in the free-flowing Memories of the other gathered Minds.
“I remember, many, many years ago…when I first met him after being revived from stasis,” Benedict said, “After he filled me in on the current…most of the rest of our meetings were just about acclimatizing me to this new world, this new reality. Oh…when the time came, he helped push me in the direction of becoming the Grandmaster…I guess I’m well on my way, now. But in all my life, I’ve only ever respected one other person as much as I did Baxter Vincent. Twice in my life now, I’ve done one of the hardest things an Officer can do: inherit command from a late, beloved leader.”
As of Combat Instance 3999 Benedict reigned from the Conning station. He rotated through the Bridge Command crew and Pit Bosses for his Captain; it became obvious by CI-3993 he was waiting for Heihachi to heal so that the Ouroboros’ rightful Captain might be given a chance to return. Because of the relativistic differences between real time and Combat and Repair Instance-time, it was years before Heihachi returned to active service aboard the ‘Boros, despite a healing and rehabilitation time of only a few months. But as of Combat-Instance 3982, he returned.
Benedict remembered when Heihachi had finally woken up, finally been stable enough after the severe injuries he’d suffered, to hear the news. But when he opened his eyes, Daniel had looked at his future Grandmaster by his bedside and known. Benedict presumed it was the rank insignia on his collar that gave it away.
“Did it happen when I was injured?” rasped the first words since the accident from Heihachi’s lips.
“Yeah,” Benedict replied, “The same attack. The Zohor broadsided us. The one-two punch of full systems failure and gravity kick-starting took him down along with Ambika, Marquez, and Wolfe. At the Queen’s command there was an inquiry during the Repair Instance; that type of accident wasn’t even supposed to be possible, because the Bridge’s propulsion systems are independent and shielded. The emergency braces never even fired into the bulkheads. Whatever the Zohor Decision Engine hit us with, it hit hard. It took us to CI-3991 to develop shielding that was effective against it. We kept the Bridge Deck docked and locked until we did.”
“Queen’s Tits,” Heihachi sighed, “I wish I hadn’t missed the Rites.”
“None of our dead have had much by way of proper funerals; not even the Commodore. As the Grandmaster has said, the luxury of mourning the dead will belong to the victors.”
Heihachi chuckled bitterly, “I can’t argue with that.”
“We’re in Repair-Instance 3983 right now; I have the Conn, and you’ve seen my collar insignia and the gold and black cape on my shoulders. You already know the Queen of Hope’s raised me to Commodore, but the Ouroboros’ Captain’s chair is yours when you’re fit to return to service; if you still want it.”
“You’ve read my file…Commodore?”
“Yes. And Bax’s deal with you stands with me. You’re a good officer, and in all the time since I was woken up, Dan, I’ve grown to trust you and I’ve seen how you run your show. The Ouroboros is my ship; in a way, I guess she always was. But as much as the ‘Boros is mine, Dan, I think you belong to the ‘Boros. I know you’ve been through a lot; I knew people and continue to know people who didn’t survive half as much as you. If you choose to return to service when you recover, the Captain’s Chair on my Bridge is yours.”
“As you say, Commodore Benedict.”
“…two…”
“Captain on Deck!” the Deck Officer called. Heihachi ascended the ramp to the Bridge as it docked to admit him. Everyone stood at attention, including Commodore Benedict, until Heihachi took his seat to the right of the Conning Station.
“Welcome back, Captain Heihachi.” Benedict said from the Conn, “Meta-Fleet Combat Instance 3982 is assembled and standing by to depart for the theatre of war. If you would give the orders, Captain.”
Heihachi took his station and logged on. He swivelled to face the Bridge’s new Helmsman, Lieutenant Braneski Andrew.
“Stand by for final sixty second countdown to CI-3982 combat jump on my mark…mark!”
“Comm, Helm: Q-Field Jump in minus sixty seconds. Alert all commands: Combat jump CI-3982 in forty-five seconds on my mark…mark!”
Within fifteen seconds all ships of the Instance reported ready. Sixteen seconds later Heihachi was back again in the only environment that made him feel alive.
The violence was immediate: Zohor missile ships zeroing in, exploding; needle ships cascading raw energy down upon them. Streaking projectiles from mass drivers slammed into their ships and shields; the ships of this Combat Instance were bolstered with decoy drones and autonomous shields – automated ships the Sentinel Alliance had deployed to draw fire away from the El-Ahur “live” fleet. Then the Decision Engine fired. The veteran Combat Instances were ready and bolstered against it, and as the strike ended, the El-Ahur Meta-Fleet split into three groups: the crippled, early Instances – aboard one of which, Commodore Baxter Vincent lay dead, crushed beneath the Bridge Deck – the Combat Instances deployed to defend them and the Combat Instances that moved in for the kill against the now-depleted Decision Engine. The weapon, they had learned long ago, drained the Decision Engine’s power supply and overloaded its generators. Only its “brain” was still functioning. The rest was a crippled husk, waiting to be destroyed.
Heihachi felt the dynamics of the attack – precision timing for firing, course corrections, defensive shield augmentation, repairs and redeployment – like a fire in his veins. He was alive, enthralled; almost euphoric as he called down firing orders, manoeuvres and tactical recalculations with every shouted command. A hundred facts and their repercussions rang in his Mind; he was aware of every word, every command, every detail. The constant luck events that had resulted from the causal breakdown fed even more chaos, even more madness to his addiction. The challenge was that much greater, that much more essential. And when the ‘Boros reached its extended damage limits and finally withdrew, Heihachi Daniel felt spent; nearly post-orgasmic as they came back to Bloom’s Pont.
“Attention all personnel, this is Commodore Benedict Jack. We have attained our damage limit and retreated to Bloom’s Point. Combat Instance 3982 is now over; Repair and Respite Instance 3982 is now beginning.” Benedict pivoted his chair to face Heihachi, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve survived – let us mourn our dead and celebrate our lives – and celebrate the ultimate victory that Grandmaster Yeung Acshah of Combat Instance 0001 has promised us. Operations estimates we have two and a half months minimum repair and refit time – not counting the rest of the ships of our Combat Instance. Let us live now, before we are called upon to face death again.”
“…one…”
Somewhere around CI-3117 they began to see more and more frequent signs of ARS among the oldest of the El-Ahur. This biological death, this…disease…They’d been at war so long against the Zohor the combat had become routine. Violent death as ships were attacked and luck events continued to plague them; the El Ahur knew their duties and how to execute them by rote. They were reflex movements carried out automatically by each crewman aboard every Combat Instance of all ships in the Meta Fleet. Death in combat was sudden, violent, traumatic. But watching a crewmate you’d served with for more centuries than you could count suddenly grow withered, decrepit and die in the span of a few days was devastating, somehow worse than losing comrades, friends, loved ones to battle.
Death was inevitable in combat; it was expected, and there were procedures to be followed when casualties occurred. There had been so much death since the Last Battle began that those procedures had themselves become morbid routine. Death in the Respite was possible from injuries sustained in battle or an on-station accident. But death from illness was all but forgotten and suddenly resurgent; it felt wrong, nightmarish and unnatural.
Time was such a strange thing. They’d long stopped measuring years, and the decades slipped past with the drone of repetition. Crew and officers rotated on and off: to other duties, to other ships or to the Station. Sometimes, injury or simple weariness led some men and women to retire from Combat; on Bloom’s Point, where the Phenex El-Ahur had made a second home centuries before, a wide pool of new recruits was always available. But most veterans of the conflict, those who had survived from CI-5000 on, remained. They persisted, unwilling not to see the conflict to its end. And given the number of Combat Instances needed to fight each of the Decision Engines, given the necessity that these five battles be fought simultaneously, given the repair and recovery time needed after each Combat Instance, these eldest of the El-Ahur had lived for several thousand years. Many of them were as old as the Queen of Light and Sorrow was said to have been when a third of the Umbra’s south face calved away from the summit to form the Valley of Olympus and the Djed Pass; they were as old as the Queen of Hope had been after being taken back in time by the Zohor and rescued at the Battle of the Maelstrom.
