117: The Daughters of Ceto – Eight
Making their way down the main corridor of the Pelekys, shoulder to shoulder, Chancellor Bathory and the Queen's Red Left Hand looked more like they were out for an evening stroll, rather than on the verge of a mission against an Enlightened force that could very well cost them their lives.
"So. Gunner duty." Bathory opened, "Not my first choice, but it'll have to do."
"The ship needs to be defended," the Hand pointed out, "We can't all go out to play."
Heaving out a dramatic sigh, Bathory said, "I suppose not. Still, next time it'll be us going out, and the others can sit back and take potshots."
"However will you make it through this engagement." The Hand drawled, rolling her eyes fondly.
Bathory pulled up short at that, eyes darkening as a slow smile crept across her face. When the Hand noticed that Bathory had fallen out of step with her, she turned around, shooting the other woman a questioning look.
"What if we made things a little more interesting? A wager, perhaps?" Bathory asked in response, her voice pitching down an octave.
Crossing her arms with a challenging smirk, the Hand asked, "What did you have in mind?"
Closing the distance between them with two slow, deliberate steps, close enough to feel the heat rolling off the other woman, Bathory said, "How about we see which of us can take down the most enemy craft? With the both of us trapped on the guns, why not make a competition out of it?"
The Hand exhaled a laugh through her nose. "You're in that dire a need for stimulation?"
"Not normally," Bathory said, her eyes darting briefly to the Hand's lips, "You're very good at keeping me... stimulated. But we're not exactly going to have an opportunity for that for the next however long, so I'll have to get my entertainment somewhere else."
Smirking up at the taller woman, leaning in close enough that her crossed arms pressed against Bathory's chest, the Hand asked, "And I take it you also have a prize in mind for this wager?"
"Naturally," Bathory hummed, pressing in even closer, "Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want."
"And how is that any different from any other night we've spent together?" The Hand drawled, uncrossing her arms so she could slip them around Bathory's waist, pulling the two of them flush together.
Draping her own arms across the Hand's shoulders, Bathory all but spoke the words into the other woman's mouth, "And what makes you think you'll come out on top?"
"Don't I always?" Was all the Hand managed to get out before Bathory shut her up with a kiss.
It was a languid, unhurried thing, completely at odds with the direness of the situation they were about to walk into, the both of them reluctant when they pulled away.
Taking a steadying breath, forehead pressed against the woman below her, Bathory whispered, "I love you."
The Hand's voice was impossibly fond as she lifted a hand to cup Bathory's jaw before saying, "I love you too."
The kiss she pulled her into by the back of her neck was shorter, deeper, leaving the both of them dark eyed and breathless when the Hand pulled away, saying, "But I'll have to show you how much after we survive this battle."
Bathory grinned down at her, tongue briefly darting out to chase the taste of her - the Hand's eyes tracked the movement, and she visibly had to stop herself from diving right back in - before she countered with, "We'll see whose back gets thrown to the mat first in this fight."
The bridge of the Pelekys was awash with the pastel, iridescent light of subspace when Bathory and the Hand finally stepped inside the room, separating as they went to the gunner stations on opposite sides of General Grim, piloting the ship as always.
"Your timing is impeccable," Queen Kaizoku drawled from her perch on her throne, one leg crossed over the other and her fingers steepled, "We were just hailed by our allies."
"Bringing them up now." Came the Program's voice a moment later, before the undulating view of subspace was replaced by the stone-wrought interior of the Gorgon.
Arrayed like a pantheon, the crew of said ship was seated before them, Stheno lifting her hand in greeting before saying, "Good. The rest of the fleet is almost here. We'll begin shortly thereafter."
"Many of them will fall," Madame Augury said, clutching the back of Kaizoku's throne as she swayed slightly, struck by another of her visions, "But so too will our target."
Her voice tight, Pemphredo said, "That will have to comfort them in whatever afterlife they're bound for."
On the other side of Kaizoku's throne, the Knight of the Tomb stood with her arms cross, her look more statuary than the crew of the Gorgon as she asked, "Is your crew prepared, should you meet the same fate?"
"In this line of work?" Ladon shot back with a insolent laugh, "We always are. What about you lot?"
"Death is not yet in the cards for us," Augury said with absolute certainty, "Nor for you. There is still much both our crews have yet to accomplish."
"Then let us accomplish it," Stheno said with a nod, "Our battle awaits."
With that, the line went dead, the brightness of subspace filling the bridge of the Pelekys once more.
"Bring up combat mode." Kaizoku ordered, and with the tap of a few keys, Grim activated the screens of the bridge.
The dome of its interior changed to show their surroundings, revealing that the Pelekys was flanked on either side by a fleet of ships stretching out into subspace, the Gorgon to their right.
As the gunner controls swung out before her, Bathory let out a single, quiet laugh before saying, "They're not going to like this."
"As well they shouldn't," Kaizoku said as she stood, motioning to Augury and the Knight, "This is hardly in our foe's best interest, after all."
Hanging in space like an industrial complex that had been plucked off the surface of some world was a massive, blocky station. All sharp lines and brutal angles, the entire structure was painted an incongruously bright green, the whole thing unmistakably Thalatte.
The Mercatus, the most infamous of the Stratocracy's slave processing stations. In the four centuries it had been in operation, millions of aliens had been brought through these facilities, rendered functionally immortal via zoastasis, implanted with the psychic understanding of all languages, had any appendages that the Thalatte deemed superfluous hidden or docked, were forcefully sterilized to prevent any pregnancies from interfering with their efficacy, put on a regiment of hormone balancers to mitigate the mood swings of those aliens with a fertility cycle, before having a bomb-rigged face plate bolted to their skulls. After that came a brutal boot camp to bring these new troops up to snuff, before they were deployed out to the dozens of active war zones across the borders of Thalatte space.
Unlike most Thalatte deep space stations, the Mercatus seemed oddly deserted, only a few repair ships scattered across its hull, rather than the fleet of defence vessels that normally clouded a Thalatte outpost. Floating in empty space, no star, planet, or even an asteroid in sight beyond the distant spray of a galactic arm, the Mercatus was well and truly alone.
Until the first subspace tear opened above it.
Ships came pouring out of it, a mismatched, mercenary fleet that began firing the moment each ship had a clear shot.
Lights and alarms went off all across the Mercatus, its crew no doubt scrambling at this sudden attack, when another subspace tear opened up from beneath the station. Another wave of attacking ships, followed by two more flanking the station soon after, the weapons fire of more than a hundred ships tearing into the shields of that hated place.
Like inverted reflections of one another, the Pelekys and the Gorgon soared out of a tear, side by side, their weapons firing even before they'd cleared the threshold of subspace. Other ships fell in alongside them, swooping in close to the station, and dozens of mechs were dematted from their collective cargo holds, three of the Storlayacas units among them.
Flanked by the lavender and cherry blossom Lianshae, and the pure white Enaruli, the cobalt and gold Zaanlaa levelled its drawn gun and opened fire on the Mercatus' shields, the other mechs alongside it blasting away at the same point. This much sustained fire was more than that section of the shields could manage, and with a flicker one of the emitters on the hull sputtered just long enough for this group of mechs to slip under its defences. Like foxes in a henhouse, they spread out to destroy the shield emitters and defence turrets that dotted the station.
In the airspace above the Mercatus, the attacking ships has broken up into different flights, some harassing the shields while yet more mechs brought these defences down from the inside, while other ships, heavier ships, were holding back, clearly waiting for some sort of signal.
The Mercatus managed to rally its own forces, then, scores of ships rocketing out to meet the attackers, while SH-3N mechs swarmed out over the hull of the station. There were more than a few Odazaen in their ranks.
Almost as if it were scenting blood in the water, Zaanlaa locked eyes with these inferior Hyttan mechs, and with Lianshae and Enaruli hot on its heels, it broke away to meet these foes head on.
The three Storlayacas units traded their beam rifles for their energy sabres, and they clashed with the swords of the Odazaen a moment later.
Lianshae fought with the brutality of a pit fighter, muscling through foes, letting a weak blow score a hit across its shoulder so that it could get in close enough to ram its sabre straight through its opponent's cockpit.
Enaruli was more defensive, catching blows on its shield while parrying others, wearing its opponent down to the point that its pilot slipped up, unable to stop the thrust of the energy sabre bringing their life to an abrupt end.
Zaanlaa, however, could not be touched. With all the grace of a dancer, it wove through the blows trying to rain down upon it, almost carelessly batting away an Odazaen's sword arm with its off hand, plunging its sabre into its enemy's cockpit and then pulling it out with a reverse grip, sliding smoothly beneath the guard of another Odazaen before its sabre struck home once more.
With the Odazaen occupied, the other mechs had an easier time taking on the SH-3N, removing more shield emitters where they could.
It wasn't long before enough of them fell to bring down the station's entire shield array, and the moment it was gone, the swifter ships in this fleet broke off to begin targeting the defence turrets that were scattered across the Mercatus' hull, the Pelekys and Gorgon among their ranks.
The Thalatte fleet, more orderly and organized, was holding its own against this varied flotilla, but even to the untrained observer it was clear that they were flagging. The attacking force, however, even with the steady losses they were sustaining, seemed to become more galvanized as the fight went on.
Especially once the heavy cruisers began to move in.
Their path kept clear by the smaller ships in the fleet, the heavy cruisers descended on Mercatus station with all the brutal inevitability of an avalanche. Their weapons fire was more than enough to keep smaller ships at bay, but for the station itself, they had something else in store. Dematted out at regular intervals were specialized, hull piercing bombs. All across the surface of the Mercatus they flew, the bombs floating listlessly for a moment before their thrusters kicked in, slamming into the station's hull plating and clamping on, drills activating to pull them inside. Mercatus station would be destroyed this day, and it would be torn apart from the inside out.
Their ends unavoidable at this point, the Thalatte redoubled their attacks, intent on making this victory for their enemy as pyrrhic as possible.
The space around the Mercatus was littered with explosions by the time the heavy cruisers finished delivering their payload, the smaller ships swooping in after them to bring aboard the mechs winding up their battles across the hull of the fatally wounded station. Tearing away to a distance safe enough to escape into subspace, every ship in that attacking fleet had their sensors trained on the Mercatus.
And as the bombs finally detonated, ripping the station asunder, one could almost hear the voices of all those who had suffered in those dreaded halls crying out in joy that the Mercatus would never subject the same to anyone, ever again.
Queen Kaizoku strode back onto the bridge of the Pelekys with all the swagger of a conquering hero, the iridescence of subspace from the main view screen gilding her as she sprawled in her throne.
Coming in behind her a few moments later were Augury and the Knight. The seer had her hands clasped behind her back, and though her helmet was featureless, her posture was nothing but smug satisfaction as she came to stand at Kaizoku's right hand.
Stepping up to the left of the throne, the Knight had her arms crossed before her once more, her strange, pale eyes intent as she stared down wordlessly at Kaizoku, her expression unreadable.
Swinging her seat around to face the throne, now that the controls of the gunner station had pulled away, Bathory was flushed with victory as she said, "The Thalatte certainly know how to make a ship that explodes beautifully."
"They do indeed," Kaizoku said with a triumphant laugh, "Perhaps this will make them think twice before they send anyone after us again."
Turning from her own station, the Hand shrugged as she said, "With our luck, it'll just make them eager to send more."
"It will be a useless endeavour," Augury stated, "They are nothing to us."
"We're being hailed," the Program interrupted, "The Gorgon."
Sitting up straighter in her throne, Kaizoku called out, "Patch them through."
Once again, the semicircle of the gathered crew of the Gorgon greeted them, Stheno nodding once before saying, "You and yours certainly lived up to the reputation that preceded you. We never would have been able to take those Odazaen as prizes if it wasn't for your efforts."
"Better in the hands of our allies than our enemies." Kaizoku said, "I'm sure they'll find their way into the possession of those most deserving of them."
Enyo and Pemphredo gave each other a look, their helmets a mirror of one another, while Euryale shook with a silent laugh.
"They most certainly will. You've won yourselves more than a few alliances this day, Pelekys," Stheno said, nodding once more, "Know that if you need the aid of the Gorgon, you shall have it."
"And likewise," Kaizoku replied with a nod of her own, "The Pelekys is at your beck and call."
With one last look shared between the two crews, the line closed, and Kaizoku stood from her throne.
"The Thalatte will doubtlessly be coming the area to seek out those who have deprived them of the Mercatus, so we would do well to be as far from this place as possible before they arrive to conduct their search." She said to Grim, who raised a hand to indicate that she'd received the order loud and clear, and then typed something up on her console before settling her hands back on the yoke.
Kaizoku turned and left the bridge after that, the Knight watching her for a beat before following after.
"I will attempt to divine what I can of the destination we should aim for next," Augury announced to the room, "If I do not respond immediately, it will be because I am in the throes of some vision."
And with that, she too left the room.
Turning her chair to face the other gunner station, Bathory leaned back in her seat and said, "I believe there is a matter yet to settle between the two of us."
Catching her eye as she turned her own seat, the Hand asked aloud, "Program, how many enemy ships did I destroy in this conflict?"
Its avatar popping up on the main view screen, the Program announced, "I confirmed nine ships destroyed due to your efforts."
Smirking over at Bathory, the Hand motioned for the other woman to ask for her own kill count.
"And how many did I get?" Bathory asked without looking away from the Hand.
"You destroyed a total of… eleven."
The Hand could not hide her shock at that, Bathory's gaze turning heavy lidded and triumphant, her thoughts no doubt drifting to how she would celebrate this victory, when the Program added unexpectedly, "And the General took down thirteen."
Grim stiffened in her seat, as if she could feel the two sets of eyes that had suddenly snapped to the back of her skull, and she barked out, "I'm not involved in whatever it is going on between the two of you. Please leave."
The Hand's breath of a laugh was almost lost beneath the sharper one that was shocked out of Bathory, and as she pushed herself out of her seat she said, "Of course. Call us if we're required."
"You won't be." Grim cut in almost before the Hand could finish speaking, knocking another laugh out of Bathory, and so the two left her to her duties on the bridge.
Back walking shoulder to shoulder down the hall, the Hand tilted a sly look up at Bathory as she said, "I have to commend your efforts. Eleven out of just over a hundred ships is impressive."
"I was highly motivated." Bathory said, voice pitched low and her eyes never once lifting from the Hand's mouth.
"Oh?" The Hand challenged, stepping closer into Bathory's space as they neared the end of the hall.
Bathory tilted enough to press fully up against the Hand, leaning forward to tap the access panel outside her door as she said, "Yeah, I picked up a little something that I'm eager to try out on you."
Her grin turning sultry, the Hand allowed herself to be bullied into Bathory's room.