Homeworld Conflict

by Lily Lain


Ship

“This is group six. So far we’re clear­... wait! There’s something approaching. Looks like our Corvette.”
 
The cameras pointed at the new ship. Its white chassis resembled that of a Light Corvette, but with additional armour integrated into its hull and a strange hemispherical shape added at its bottom. Patrol group six, consisting of four scouts, was enough to surround the newcomer.
 
“This is group six, identify yourself.”

No response.

“Identify yourself or we’ll open fire.”
 
Still no response.
 
“I repeat, identify yourself!”
 
The hemisphere at the bottom of the ship started glowing.
 
“Group six, retreat. It’s an order! Full thrust and retreat!” The voice of Fleet Command resonated in the pilots’ earphones.
 
The four ships obediently turned toward the capital, but didn’t manage to shoot off into space fast enough. The hemisphere beneath the Corvette glowed brighter and brighter in seconds. One-by-one, pure light shot at the Fleet’s ships, knocking each aside, tearing the formation apart, and piercing holes in one of them.
 
“Group six, we’re under fire, retreating!”
 
One of the ships received another hit and went down, hull blazing, into the rural edge of the Capital Island below.
 
“One ship down, I repeat, one ship down!”
 
“No survivors,” were the quiet words of Fleet Command.
 
“They’re targeting another ship!”
 
The Corvette was hot in pursuit across the landscape, drawing further and further into the city. Another series of pure light missiles pierced the sky to shatter a Fighter’s hull and send it tumbling toward the ground.
 
“Another ship down!”
 
“Also no survivors. Self-destruction systems intact. Setting these systems on.”
 
This time the missiles came from the ground, from some mages of the resistance force still remaining on the main island. Two struck true.
 
“Ship down! It’s just me left!”
 
“Carry on. Groups one and two are on the way.”
 
While the Corvette chased after the small Recon Fighter, two wings of Cloaked Fighters flanked it at either side. With their cloaks on and weapons trained on the intruder, their communications cracked in.
 
“Group one ready. Eyes on the target. Awaiting the command to strike it down.”
 
“Cripple their engines, don’t destroy or damage the target too heavily. Gravity Well Generator is on its way.”
 
“Power to the engines, then. May they bleed.” With those words, the communication with the Fighters was cut off.
 
“The Invisibles” was what the Spectre class Cloaked Fighter pilots called themselves. “The lunatics” or “the occultists” were more popularly used terms. Nonetheless, they were often known to chase down surrendering ships and take unnecessary risks to make sure the enemy didn’t return home. They performed admirably when it came down to destroying the Griffin water transporters filled with insurgents.
 
The cloaks of the Fighters fell down for a moment to prevent overworking the cloak generators, and multiple shots flew straight at the enemy Corvette, smashing against a light-blue force field around it.
 
Fleet Command didn’t attempt to make a contact. The Gravity Well Generator was on its way, its engines at moderate speed to not overheat the reactors. It was fully remotely-controlled, as the device was one-use. It created a stasis field in a short range, that’d block the movement of all smaller ships. Afterward its generators burnt out and the expensive piece of technology exploded, dissolving into nothingness. Two doubly manned Salvage Corvettes followed in its wake to gather whatever was left of the enemy ship for study.
 
The feed from the cameras showed the enemy ship’s shield fading out with a flash. None of the Spectres were damaged as of yet, but the pure light soared back and forth as its targets faded in and out of the visible world.
 
The next volley from the Fighters was pointed straight at the weapon of the Corvette, and while some shots bounced off the hull to either side, most struck true, and a bright explosion lit the skies, throwing the Corvette and the Fighters aside. As the cameras on the Salvage Corvettes indicated, however, all ships survived, and seemed to be intact.
 
“Salvage team, keep out of the Gravity Well’s range. Wait until they disorient and capture the ship, then move in.”
 
“Understood.”
 
The “wings” of the Generator, pointed straight before, now opened as if the ship wanted to flap them and fly away. It served another purpose, however, cooling the generators and preventing the Well from exploding too soon.
 
The enemy Corvette could do nothing but spin helplessly around, immobilised, its weapons useless. It had, of course, tried to fly away, but its damaged drive and hull didn’t allow for fast movement. At least not fast enough. It could only await the judgement of the Spectres vulturing beyond the rim of Gravity Well’s reach.
 
“I’m overpowering the Gravity Well. Salvage team stand by. Enter the ship, incapacitate the crew. Do not kill them if possible.”
 
The Corvette was spinning wildly and being yanked back and forth.
 
“Salvage Corvettes, prepare. Switching off in three, two, one. Gravity Well off.”
 
Two Salvage Corvettes flew up to the ship and quickly caught it in their directed force field. The soldiers onboard prepared their short-range tasers and unsecured their blasters.
 
“We’re linking with the ship in five seconds. Five, four, three...”
 
The guns were pointed at the doors of the airlock.
 
“... two, one. Ships linked. Doors are opening! Move in!”
 
There was no time to think, only react. Four Griffins within the main room. Two with bows, one with a crossbow, one with a magician’s staff. Fire. Spells, arrows and bolts at the Kushan, laser discharge at the Griffins. Neon red of the lasers. Ear-piercing scream. Dark red of the blood. Miss. Bright and orange of the fire. Whistle of the arrows. Neon red of the laser. Miss. Miss. Hit. Ear-piercing scream. Bloody red floor, blood-caked bodies. Six. Four Griffins, two Kushan.
 
The Griffin side was killed nearly instantly, having little to no protection whatsoever, especially against the advanced weaponry. None survived to be interrogated.
 


“Well, I suppose that adds point to the historian’s speculations,” admitted a mathematician in the Fleet Intelligence’s chambers.
 
“It does add a fine point to your speculations, colleague,” said the sociologist in a shocked, slightly absent voice.
 
“I’m not glad about that!” blurted the Historian. “In fact, I’m quite horrified. How come they’ve built this ship?”
 
“Our technicians have managed to reach some conclusions so far.” Everyone’s gaze turned directly at the lead technical physicist. “Essentially, its most interesting system is the one converting Griffin psychic energy straight into the physical one, something that can be measured and used. With certain amplifications and some of the energy derived from the environment, (the leylines, as the Griffins call it) a ship can be steered by thought. And not only steered. Powered, too!”
 
An engineer interrupted, “Well, it isn’t the only thing we’ve witnessed down there, and a thought-steered starship is hardly an innovation—”
 
“Why thank you for asking questions I was about to answer, sir. What we’re dealing with here, is a self-powered starship. Furthermore, it’s a spellcasting one, which provides the ultimate fusion of psychic and material, of divine and profane...”
 
The engineer looked at the physicist in a quite disregarding manner.
 
“You needn’t open your mouth, sir, I’m quite aware that I’m getting off topic. Perhaps I shall allow mister psychologist here to finish for me,” the physicist nodded for the nearby seated psychologist to speak.
 
The expert in question smiled and voiced his concerns, “You see, gentlemen, we’ve the perfect ship at our disposal. With the help of our Griffin brethren, we could even build this ship. There is, however, but one problem in the equation. You see, there is no way for us to steer it.
 
“Our psychic skills are essentially dead after millennia of stagnation in that field, and it’d take centuries, if not another millennia of deliberate work to create something capable of even resembling the Griffin powers.
 
“Practically every Griffin can become a wizard if he expresses some interest and talent. Equines and Dragons have their skills too. We, however, traded it for technology and mathematics. It’ll be decided in this war whether ours was a fair trade. Sir strategist, are we able to use these ships in combat if we man them by loyalist Griffins?”
 
The strategist in question chuckled. “These exact ships have little to no use, and even if we devise a more powerful ship, who would put a Griffin in charge of it?”
 
There was a chuckle here and there, but everyone knew the question was rhetorical.
 
“A question arises then,” said the physicist. “Who built the ship?”
 
“Who built the ship?” Fleet Command asked.
 
Current hypotheses are:
– The Ambassador Corvette was scanned while it was left on Griffin territory.
– The Ambassador Corvette was scanned while it was landed on the Equine territory.
– The Ambassador Corvette was scanned while it was landed on the Dragon territory.
 
It could have been constructed by either of these nations alone, by their united effort, or by any alliance between them.
 
All hypotheses’ probability is unknown as we are unsure of the enemy magic’s potential to conduit research. Considering, however, they lack development in many sciences we’ve pioneered, it is highly unlikely that such ship be constructed without outside influence.
 
“What influence? That of our remaining ancestors?”
 
It is a possibility. No evidence, however, has been found on why no other advanced developments have been found on the planet.
 
“Could they have been concealed from our sight?”
 
It is not a falsifiable statement.
 
“Fleet Intelligence, it is quite a falsifiable statement! Strengthen the scanners and sweep over the planet at least thrice before voicing this conclusion again. The safety of the whole Fleet is at stake!”
 
Understood. Reassigning groups one to seven into Cloaked Fighter wings. Preparing group one, two, three...