//------------------------------// // Spirit's Worth // Story: [Forlorn Ascension]|[Rites of Dominion] // by Desrium //------------------------------// After turning the deathless husks into dust to be scattered on the solar wind, the convoy turned its focus towards repairing damages throughout the formations. Ships were moored together with special manipulating beams and whole crews walked along the hulls of them, tools equipped and put to work. Phineas looked at their progress from within the cockpit of his shuttle as it idled through space around them. He wondered how they would handle having to fight the undead. He wondered how ready they were to gun down what were possibly former friends and family. To his own inquiries, he had one grim answer: ”A proper leader would ask them.” But he wasn’t one to lead. He was told of the error of his ways by the old Federation council at the very beginning of the end, and since then he learned that their judgment was accurate. He leaned back in his seat, thinking about that era of time where he actually dreamed of being a leader. When he looked back on it he wondered what naïve foolishness possessed him to pursue such a goal. No glory and rank was worth knowing that every precious soul lost was his responsibility, as he learned over his journey through the fields of death. There was a distinct line between fighting for the greater good with those of mutual stances and taking up the role of general, after all. It was far easier to accept losses as brave souls making the ultimate sacrifice than to ponder what flawed decision on his part led to their demise. Phineas sat there in his shuttle, stewing over his inability to step into a position of leadership while facing the paradoxical fact that he needed them all to follow him into battle. Now more than ever at that, since he had extended the blade of war past the celestial raiders to those they served. The Star Terrors were the ultimate power the galaxy has ever known. How was he ever going to free it from their reign? How could he stop destroyers of worlds? How could he hope to fight against things that perceive eons as one would regard a minute or a second, at that? Phineas hung his head. At that moment, what he wanted to know the most was why the hell these thoughts didn’t occur to him when he was sitting there, staring at that damned machine. What brash stupidity, what senseless passion possessed him to do such a thing? But he groaned and held his head with his hooves. He knew full well why he did what he did. “Tsubar… you’ve done a lot of things I don’t understand,” the stallion said to himself. “Using these Hex-cores… you must’ve known something was wrong when you decided to stick them in your ships…” He thought back to The Fall. All of those ships and those battle mechs engaging the horror-craft in tandem, their power commanding reverence and their ferocity stunning. Phineas knew the power the accursed blend of sorcery and technology had for he had seen it at work. He had also seen how the pilots of those vessels reacted to it. Whether or not they were drunk off of their own strength or if they were enslaved by the corrupting essence of Polymerization tech, he could not tell. He only knew that the performance of those fighting machines was one to behold, and quite possibly why Tsubar ran the risk of meddling with the dark magic. But what a price to pay for ambition! “I’ll never know your reasoning; that much is clear. But at least I can go on thinking that you had the galaxy’s best interest at heart, Tsubar. I think that’s all you ever wanted for everyone, by any cost if need be.” Phineas recalled one of his last discussions with the Shu’badi mechanic back on the ill-fated Desolus. "I think that's one huge-ass conjecture, but go on mister preacher-pony.” Phineas chuckled dryly. He’d miss that about the Seapony, but as long as he had something to miss then at least he’d still have some bond with his friend, right? He understood full well why he challenged the Star Terrors. They couldn’t get away with their crimes, and they certainly couldn’t get away with disrespecting one of the galaxy’s greatest heroes like they did. His greatest concern was making good on his promises of justice and retribution. But in the end, that’s what it always came down to: him making good on his promises. “I’ll find a way. No force of heaven or hell can control me, and no force of heaven and hell can stop me!” *** On the bridge of one of the designated transport ships, Alikir stood before a galactic star map. The hologram hovered over emitters that were mounted on a slowly spinning circular metal plate inside a cubic piece of machinery, the cone of light that shone from the devices rotating around the image at a somewhat steep angle. The ranger had his hands tucked behind him as he looked upon the display, the visor of his helmet retracted. The light swirled around in his golden eyes. A hiss of air behind him signaled the opening of one of the doors to the bridge and his eyes rolled over to one side. From the corner of his vision he saw the small shape of Elysia approaching. He looked forward again when she was seconds away from stopping at his side. She said nothing when she was standing next to him, simply mirroring the taller ranger’s pose and looking up at the hologram. Her visor split apart and disappeared into her helmet. The light of the projection reflected off of her wide dark eyes, which looked like they lacked sclera and were just completely inky in color. The two rangers stood in silence at the back of the large elliptical room, surrounded by operators sitting in front of wall mounted units and terminals. They chatted amongst themselves idly, awaiting their orders. A short distance ahead of the nav-station was the captain’s helm, the large seat occupied by a Ghanax in bulky blue armor. Its shoulder guards, for instance, were massive and decorated with small engravings of opened beaks, a hallmark of a warrior for the previous age of war. Attached to them was a purple cape that had a hood of the same color. The hood was draped over the captain’s helmet-fastened head. The Ghanax supported its chin on the knuckles of a thick metal gauntlet, which in turn was held up by the elbow on the helm’s armrest, like a bored noble. Its eyes, two narrow glowing lines behind the screen of its visor stared out through the main view port into space. “Thrilling work?” the female ranger whispered after a short while, leaning towards Alikir slightly. “Not in the least,” Alikir replied, “I’ve been searching for signs of any allied fleet activity for ages now.” “I’m going to assume it’s not going well,” said Elysia. “The problem is: no one’s broadcasting. And for good reason, too, if they did then they would become bait for our… uh… death impaired friends.” Elysia shuffled uncomfortably in place. Alikir cocked a scaly brow at this. “You didn’t know?” he asked her. “I mean, before we found them in the scrap-“ The small ranger shook her head. “I knew since the first day,” she said. “I was part of a ground force dispatched to run damage control when things were going bad at Thymal. We went through rubble looking for survivors and we found ourselves getting into firefights with the enemy…” She trailed off and sighed. Alikir nodded, understanding. “How many of your squad did you lose?” he asked. Her gaze fell to the floor. “All of them.” The taller ranger grunted. “I think we of the red and white are cursed. Everyone we’ve come to know… come to depend on…” “All the more reason to fight, hmm?” Elysia replied. “The Federation pony has quite a way of drumming up support, doesn’t he?” Alikir responded, noting Elysia’s reference. “He speaks the words of hope, which is why I went out of my way to hold him to them that night.” The small ranger folded her arms. “Someone who can speak with such conviction and inspire those with nothing to live for to fight again should not speak their words lightly,” Elysia stated. “But the Federation pony has done great things… so I’m willing to believe in him. I’m willing to… hope… even though everything that has happened to me and everyone around me is reason enough to abandon all hope…”