Hegira: Eternal Delta

by Guardian_Gryphon

Chapter 62

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn grunted as he pushed the SeaHawk into an eleven-G turn to the left. He hated to admit it to himself, but the Lancet pilots were making excellent use of their superior numbers.

Alone, neither craft had any hope of surviving for more than a few paltry seconds. The Gryphons could outmaneuver them, and the heavier armor on the SeaHawk could withstand more hits.

In tandem, however, the Lancets could make it exceptionally difficult to achieve even a split second of target lock. They dodged, weaved, feinted, and generally did their best to prevent Fyrenn and Neyla from ever having a spare moment from evasive maneuvers. It was becoming progressively more difficult to paint a strong sight-picture.

The entire affair was made even more complicated by the fact that the Gryphons lacked missiles, but the Lancets were operating under no such limitation.

Fyrenn snorted, and rolled reflexively to the right as he realized that his turn had afforded the second Lancet a brief window of viable fire. As sky and sea repeatedly exchanged places, he realized that the enemy pilots would soon make their final push.

They would be forced to take more definitive action in a matter of moments, largely as a result of their critical fuel state.

Fyrenn inhaled deeply, and flexed his left claw in preparation for a split second transition to afterburners.

"Get ready to dump the second chaff rope."

Neyla barely had time to grunt her acknowledgement, before the cockpit filled with the distinctive and alarming missile-lock warning tone.

The red Gryphon slammed the afterburners home, and dipped the nose slightly, shouting as he leveled out.

"Wait until the last possible second!"

The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow, and jerked her head around to visually track the two Lancets, as both pulled into a chase position.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

Fyrenn smirked, and inclined his head as he swung the SeaHawk to an easterly track.

"Play dead."

He held the throttle firmly in the afterburn position, but made no other attempt at evasive maneuvers. The SeaHawk quickly went supersonic once again, leaving the Lancets behind in a cloud of contrails, mixed with a hail of raindrops.

Suddenly, the missile lock tone changed to a series of more insistent, timed repeating chirps. The enemy had fired. As the warheads closed, the chirps began to slowly, but steadily increase in cadence.

Neyla turned once again to visually identify the threat.

"Six inbound warheads!"

Fyrenn snorted, and raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the sky ahead of him as he spoke.

"So one of them fired off his entire loadout. Rookie mistake. That leaves one with nothing but his peashooter, and the other with just two light AAMRAMs."

The Gryphoness whipped her head around to the opposite shoulder, and grunted.

"True. But we have to survive long enough to make use of that. And if you call this evasive flying, then you're not as good at this as I thought."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and the Gryphoness shrugged, chuckling grimly as she filled the silence once more.

"What? You critiqued my driving, so this is only fair."

Fyrenn snorted, and deflected the banter with a curt tone.

"Range, and rate of closure?"

The Gryphoness inhaled slowly, and pierced the far-off missiles with her gaze. She allowed a few seconds to pass, then made a swift elementary calculation in her head, before responding.

"Five kilometers out, closing at ninety meters per second. We have just over twenty seconds to impact."

Fyrenn released the throttle and allowed it to fall back out of the afterburn notch. Neyla's eyes widened, and her tone acquired a sharp critical edge.

"Are you trying to hasten our deaths?!"

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and began running his own basic mathematical calculations. Through the driving rain, fog, and mist, the glimmering sheen of the Barrier began to materialize in the middle distance.

"No, I'm just making sure the timing is right. They fired a standard stagger-pattern, so the chaff will only catch, at best, half the warheads. We have to con the other three into leaving us alone."

He inclined his head, and inhaled deeply as he continued.

"A good con game, like a good joke, is all about the timing... And if I mis-time this, you'll have all of eternity to yell at me about my hot-dogging."

Fifteen of the twenty two seconds passed in relative silence. Neyla kept her eyes riveted to the missiles, while Fyrenn engaged in a staring contest with the barrier as it grew to fill the entire front half of the canopy.

What few sensing instruments had been left aboard the SeaHawk lost all functionality as the Agincourt's ECM field combined with the Barrier's naturally disruptive properties. The missiles continued onwards without faltering, having long since switched from LADAR targeting to heat seeking mode.

As the SeaHawk came perilously close to the barrier, Fyrenn yanked the stick back, and
poured on the afterburner once more, forcing the jet into a sudden vertical climb.

The missiles began to close in for the kill as the fighter reached the apex of its arc. Fyrenn pressed the stick forward, and slightly to the right, gently depressing the right rudder pedal to bring the craft into a banking right-turn-dive.

The belly of the SeaHawk came within meters of the Barrier as the plane streaked downwards at nearly the speed of sound. St. Elmo's fire, and small arcs of lightning whizzed back and forth in the gap between the aircraft's belly, and the charged membrane.

Neyla tensed as the first of the warheads came within mere feet of the SeaHawk's tail.

"FLARES OUT!"

The Gryphoness slammed her right index talon down hard on the chaff trigger. The SeaHawk vibrated sharply as the first three missiles detonated on the chaff rope, sending several pieces of shrapnel into the tail of the jet, and puncturing the left inboard fuel tank.

In the same millisecond, Fyrenn began a left roll, combined with a hard right-rudder strafing maneuver.

The SeaHawk pulled slightly away from the Barrier, then rolled abruptly back towards it, bringing the glimmering wall to within centimeters of the cockpit canopy.

In spite of the fact that both Gryphons could pass through unharmed, Fyrenn knew that any direct contact between the jet and the energy wall would cause an immense explosion, which they had no chance whatsoever of surviving.

Fyrenn held the left roll until the craft was on the verge of impact, then slammed the stick as far right, and back as he could, again ramming his back right paw into the corresponding rudder pedal. He pressed the throttle into the afterburn position one final time, and let off a brief prayer.

The single half-second of time felt like an eternity of stillness. A living photograph. The rain, and lightning to the right, the Barrier to the left, and an expanding fireball to the rear, punctuated by the contrails of the remaining missiles.

Fyrenn watched, at first with a roiling sense of tension, which shortly gave way to immense relief. As the remaining three missiles vanished into an enormous fireball of their own, time snapped back into focus.

Silence reigned for upwards of three seconds as the red Gryphon rolled the SeaHawk over gently, and began climbing into the upper layers of the storm.

At last, Fyrenn broke the silence, grinning as he spoke.

"Dump the left fuel tank and seal the transfer port. We're leaking."

Neyla shook her head slowly as she bent to handle the appropriate switches. Her tone was mostly impassive, but Fyrenn thought he detected a strong hint of relief buried deep in the timbre.

"How did you know the other three would hit the Barrier, instead of coming around the other side of the chaff?"

Fyrenn's smirk widened, and the smile leaked into his words in spite of his best efforts to remain modest.

"I started a left roll as the chaff went up. The missiles lost our heat signature about a twentieth of a second later, as the magnesium strips flared. The onboard targeting software is stripped down, because it's small ordinance. So it just makes a basic prediction about our last known speed, heading, and maneuvering state, then tries to jockey for a better kill-trajectory."

The red Gryphon glanced into his rearview mirror with a twinkle in his eye as he continued.

"Everything on those missiles is about mid-range lock and kill algorithms. So it has no idea that the Barrier is there, in the middle of all that electronic noise. It thinks we rolled left into an evasive port corkscrew, when in reality we held a centerline course. So it banks left to cut us off, and Kaboom. Thirty six million in cold hard appropriations cash goes bye bye..."

Neyla nodded slowly, mirroring Fyrenn's smirk in both expression, and tone, as she finished the thought for him.

"And both Lancet pilots see the explosion residuals on their scopes, assume we went up in flames, and turn around to go home for fuel. And we hunt them at our leisure."

Fyrenn chuckled, and raised an eyebrow as he levelled off.

"So... Would you like to go hunting with me?"

Neyla's eyes narrowed, and her smile changed subtly, morphing into a chilling predatory grimace.

"I thought you would never ask."

"Will you be able to make it to a minimum safe distance on that wing?"

Kephic gestured briefly with his RAC towards the general direction of the ocean. His tone implied that the question was borderline rhetorical. Kephic had known Varan to cope with far more dangerous injuries in the past.

Varan knew that the question was more an expression of normative familial concern than anything else.

The golden Gryphon nodded curtly, and raised his own weapon, sighting carefully down the iron sights as raindrops cascaded down the side of his beak. He spoke calmly, almost nonchalantly, as he established a precise lead on his target.

"You needn't be concerned. Skye may not be medically trained, but she is more than capable of tying an excellent knot. The bleeding has ceased. The pain is irrelevant."

Varan calmly squeezed the trigger, and held it to the backstop for nearly four seconds. He carefully tracked his target as the Augment staggered under the relentless stream of rounds. Kephic nodded, and chuckled grimly. He gestured with one claw towards the right of the catwalk, and raised an eyebrow.

The Golden Gryphon nodded, and set off at a measured lope. Kephic spread his wings, and rose swiftly through the tangle of steel truss-work towards the upper portions of the superstructure.

As Varan made his way down the catwalk, he kept one eye fixed on the platoon of Augments. The troopers made astonishing progress, vaulting up ladder wells and free-climbing nimbly up external pylons with ease.

Varan carefully timed his maneuvers, in order to ensure that the enemy soldiers would just barely catch sight of his tail tuft as he rounded a support beam.

Predictably, the sight drew the platoon down the length of the catwalk. The impacts of the troopers boots on the metal plating produced a surprisingly small amount of noise. Kephic guessed that it had as much to do with their high agility, as their relatively light weight.

The soldiers fanned out to take both sides of the support beam simultaneously, rifles raised in anticipation. Upon seeing that the remainder of the catwalk was inexplicably empty, the Augments pulled together into a defensive cluster, and began carefully sweeping their surroundings.

Droplets of rain poured down the sleek silvery visors of their helmets as the men and women tried, with a quiet sense of desperation, to reacquire their target.

Varan kept perfectly still. The golden Gryphon even opted to hold his breath and slow his heartbeat. He knew from prior experience with Fyrenn that the Augments' omnidirectional ocular implants were sensitive to even the most minute motions at close range.

From his position several stories up, and forty meters away, Kephic selected his first target, and lined up a shot. He allowed the tense moment to drag on for several more seconds as he planned his second and third shots, and then a suitable egress route.

At last, he placed his right index talon on the trigger, and squeezed firmly. His first round shattered one of the Augment's faceplates, revealing the desiccated skin beneath. The leathery gray tissue was dappled with a softly glowing orange hexagonal pattern, a product of the technology that allowed the soldier to match Gryphic speeds and reflexes.

Kephic's second and third shots failed to connect; The Augments were already aware of his position, and on the move. The distance from the speckled Gryphon to his targets afforded them ample time to remove themselves from the paths of the oncoming rounds.

Kephic secured his RAC, tucked his wings, and released his hold on the nearest truss beam. He allowed himself to fall like a missile at the end of its flight trajectory, using only his tailfan to make minute course adjustments in order to thread the tangle of support beams.

Just as the Augments halted, and prepared to open fire, Varan once again revealed himself. The golden Gryphon released his claws, dropping from his upside down hiding place beneath the catwalk.

Varan flared his wings to briefly slow his descent, wincing in pain as he fired a series of devastating shots into the weaker rear plating of the Augments' armor. Before the troopers had time to re-task, Varan had snapped his wings closed, and rocketed down to a safer, concealed position beside a low-slung maintenance platform.

A moment later, Kephic circled around from the other side of the load bearing strut, and landed silently beside his brother. The pair wordlessly checked their ammunition count, then spent a moment observing the movements of the Augments, far above.

After a brief discussion, the group split into two smaller fireteams, and began to fan out in opposite directions.

Kephic nodded, slung his rifle across his back, and unsheathed his sword. As he spoke, he offered Varan two of his spare ammunition clips.

"I'll take the group headed for the center and double them back."

Varan returned the nod, and accepted the clips as he finished his brother's thought.

"I will bring the second group to the opposite side of the platform. We can then rejoin the others at the central structure."

Kephic grinned, and spread his wings.

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much."

The golden Gryphon narrowed his eyes, and flattened his ears.

"Remain cautious."

"We're cut off!"

The officer blanched, and held his sidearm close to his chest. A series of loud, ominous thuds issued forth from both ends of the corridor. The sounds seemed artificially elevated in volume, thanks to the recent lull in the ship-to-ship barrage.

Stan's eyes narrowed, and he snapped out his reply as if her were delivering drill instructions. The Ensign winced reflexively under the pure and surprising force of the words.

"No, really?! Ya *think* Einstein?!"

As he continued to speak, Carradan cast about furtively.

"Please share more of your fantastic tactical insights with the class!"

The Pegasus' eyes settled firmly on a segment of wall paneling. Stan shoved the Ensigns, along with their living cargo, towards the bulkhead, gesturing furiously with one hoof.

"You! Ensign Obvious; Get the bolts off!"

As the man dutifully set to work, hastened by a visible sense of desperation, the female Ensign raised an eyebrow.

"That's..."

Stan nodded, snorting and casting furtive glances in both directions as the distant footsteps began to draw closer.

"I know what it is kid. My best friend is a military nut. Babbles about this stuff incessantly. And much as I've tried not to, I've learned a few things by listenin' to him. Occasionally."

As the panel finally fell away from its stanchions, Stan jerked his head in the direction the group had come from.

"Take up firing positions."

As Stan carefully worked his way through the panel, guessing more often than not, the ship rattled under a renewed barrage of heavy missile fire. The lights flickered for a moment, then died entirely for most of the corridor's length. Backup capacitors failed to kick in, underscoring the serious nature of the damage the Battleship had suffered.

Ironically, the Pegasus found himself grateful for the darkness. It presented a small, but sorely-needed tactical advantage.

Carradan finished his work as swiftly as he could, using his teeth to jerk a wire strip loose, and kite it across the corridor at ankle level. He tied the frayed end off on the nearest grounded surface, then glanced back at the maintenance panel.

A small bank of lights switched from green, to yellow. Stan nodded, then back-pedaled furiously until he reached the Ensigns' position. Both officers had flattened themselves against opposite walls of the corridor, concealing their profiles behind support struts.

Stan glanced back and forth furtively, then settled on collapsing into a limp position beside the Lieutenant, splayed out in the center of the deck plating.

A moment later, the flicker of underslung rifle-attached flashlights darted across the Pegasus' vision cone, reflecting back and forth across the deck plating as the soldiers swept the corridor carefully.

Stan did his best to judge the enemies' positions by the sound of their boots as the soldiers cautiously, but steadily approached. Carradan held his breath, afraid that the lead trooper would realize he was walking into a trap, if he noticed even the tiniest hair out of place. Stan silently willed the darkness to conceal any leftover tell-tale signs of the ruse.

Every second seemed to stretch on into its own microscopic eternity, each punctuated by the distinct sound of boots against metal decking. Carradan found himself completely absorbed in tracking the passing moments, and his best guess as to the nearest soldier's position.

The soft, almost imperceptible sound of fabric running up against wire brought the torture to an end. Carradan began to tense the instant the noise reached his ears. The first soldier brought his index finger down to the trigger of his rifle, but his attempt to fire was suddenly interrupted.

The tension of the man's ankles, against the wire pulled the frayed end loose from its tie off point. The system ceased to be grounded, tripping the junction's internal fuse box a fraction of a second later.

Under normal circumstances, no other tertiary effects would have ensued. Carradan had, however, opened all of the manual pneumatic relief valves on the lines passing through the junction.

Without the presence of an active electrical current to hold the primary safety cutoffs in place, the system collapsed into an unsafe configuration. High pressure steam burst from the relief valves in an expanding, scalding cloud of opaque particles.

The force of the initial disbursement was so great that the first soldier was forcibly embedded into the opposite wall of the corridor. Stan reached a vertical position just in time to see the impact.

The Pegasus also got his first look at the remainder of the squad. The three remaining troopers were dazed, but still very much alive. Though they could not see as a result of the steam, they realized their error swiftly enough, and began firing indiscriminately down the passage.

Stan ducked into a reflexive high-speed bullrush, flaring his wings for extra power. He steeled himself against the momentary pain of the steam, which was followed almost immediately by the jarring impact of hooves against armor plating.

The second soldier went down instantly, the light fading from his eyes as his head hit the decking at a fatal rate of speed. Stan pressed himself flat against the man's corpse to avoid rising into the line of fire.

The distraction of his arrival allowed the two Ensigns the time they needed to roll out of cover, and lay down a withering hail of pistol rounds. The final troopers dropped like stones, their armor circumvented by the sheer volume of incoming slugs at close range.

Stan rose, and stood over the bloody remains of his stratagem, breathing heavily to regain control of his racing adrenaline-fueled emotions. As the nearest functioning pneumatic junction cut off the supply of steam at last, the two Ensigns materialized from the dissipating cloud of fog.

Carradan swept his gaze across the four corpses, and stiffened as he noted the items clamped to their utility hardpoints.
Semtex blocks, detonator caps, and spare wire.

The Pegasus turned to exchange words with the two officers, but froze as he gained a clear line of sight to the opposite end of the corridor. The paralysis broke almost immediately, as a new wave of fear-fueled fight-or-flight chemicals swept through the Carradan's body.

"MOVE!"

Wisely, the two officers did not even waste time turning their heads. They simply bent to scoop the injured lieutenant into a fireman's carry, and transitioned into the fastest lope they could muster.

Stan, much to his chagrin, got another solid look at their canine pursuer as he turned to sprint towards the nearer end of the hallway. Based on his experience, Carradan guessed that the Troll was likely an Alpha, or Beta; One of the strongest members of his pack.

His hulking gray form seemed to fill the corridor as the creature pounded across the decking on all fours.

The external battle began to escalate once more, as both ships' crews pulled them back off the ropes, and forced them into overloaded operating conditions. The thunder of guns mixed with the thunder of paws to generate brain-jarring omnipresent roar.

Stan and his three charges barely managed to stumble backwards over the next nearest hatchway, and bring the door to a closed and sealed position. Once again the Diamond Dog slammed into the structure, popping several rivets from their sockets instantly.

The Pegasus paused to inhale, then jerked his head to the left as he issued new instructions.

"Take Lieutenant sleeping beauty there to medical, then rally anyone with free hands and do a sweep, or whatever it is you navy-types call it."

Stan levelled a hoof at the officers, and narrowed his eyes as the Troll rammed into the door once again.

"Those men were carrying explosives. I ain't ready to believe that's coincidence, and I certainly wouldn't bet on them being the only boarders. So if I were you, I'd start with places where a bomb might have a chance at crippling the ship."

As the officers nodded, and began dragging their injured superior in the general direction of the sickbay, the female Ensign turned to fire off a final enquiry.

"What do *you* plan to do?"

Stan sighed, and inclined his head.

"Somethin' I'm truly gonna regret in the morning. I'm gonna buy you lunks a head start."

The SeaHawk rocked gently as it passed through a small updraft. A wisp of moisture broke on the nose of the jet, and the entire cloud fell away to reveal a clear patch of air below and beyond.

The opening was roofed by thunderheads, but visibility extended all the way to the waves below. In the far distance, both the North Carolina and the Agincourt were visible. Both ships were spewing missiles and railgun slugs indiscriminately.

Fyrenn winced as he focused on the side of the Battleship, and took in the extent of the vessel's wounds. Smoke poured from a dozen breaches in both craft.

Neyla grit her beak sharply, and glowered down through the canopy at the disturbing sight.

"We need to make an end of this. Swiftly."

The red Gryphon nodded, jerked his head along the line of the jet's trajectory, and pushed the stick forward gently. The SeaHawk dipped into a shallow, graceful dive, affording Neyla a perfect view of their quarry.

The two Lancets were several hundred feet below, and nearly a mile ahead. Neither of the enemy pilots seemed to be aware of the Gryphons' presence, which was unsurprising. The area was still blanketed in both Agincourt's ECM field, and the latent effects of the dazzle canisters.

Fyrenn exhaled, and allowed himself the tiniest hint of a grin as he murmured.

"I'll line them up, and you put the screws to them."

Neyla fixed her gaze on the lead fighter, and tightened her grip on the control stick. She held her fire as the Lancets began to grow at a dizzying rate. Fyrenn held his course, trusting that the Gryphoness' instincts were well tuned.

Only when the distance between the jets could be measured in tens of meters did Neyla finally unleash the devastating power of the SeaHawk's railguns.

The Gryphoness selected the first of the two fighters, pouring thousands of rounds directly into the space just fore of the Lancet's engine housing. The shots tore through the aircraft's center of mass, puncturing the fuel tank in the process and touching off secondary explosions, which immediately spread to the engine.

The heavy caliber of the SeaHawk's rounds tore through the Lancet's relatively light plating as if it were particle board in a wood chipper. In less than half a second, the craft was reduced to three larger flaming chunks, and several hundred thousand giblets of high velocity shrapnel.

Neyla's reason for firing on the lead craft became immediately apparent, as the second Lancet was forced to break hard to the right in order to avoid impacting the remains of his wingman.

In spite of the pilot's best efforts, however, several mid sized pieces of the first Lancet slammed into his vertical stabilizer, severely impeding rudder control, and causing the jet to briefly depart controlled flight entirely.

The SeaHawk streaked over the carnage with several meters to spare, rumbling slightly in the wake of the compression wave from the first Lancet's demise. Fyrenn pressed firmly on both the control column, and the rudder pedals, placing the fighter into a sharp left banking turn.

As the craft completed a seventeen-G one hundred eighty degree maneuver, Neyla caught sight of the remaining Lancet. The enemy fighter had managed to regain a stable flight profile, but the aircraft was clearly crippled in terms of its maneuvering capacity.

In spite of the damage, the enemy pilot realized the danger of his situation, and made an admirable effort to evade his pursuer. Fyrenn was impressed by the man's ingenuity; Realizing he was at a loss for useful rudder control, he compensated surprisingly well by rolling and using his elevons to induce sharp turns and dips.

The evasive tactics were pointless, however. Alone, even at peak operating condition, a single Lancet was incapable of producing any maneuver that would allow a Human pilot to stay ahead of a Gryphon pilot.

Fyrenn pushed into a tight series of rolls, exiting in an inverted position, facing the oncoming Lancet's flight path. The situation was, in a peculiar way, reminiscent of a medieval joust.

The red Gryphon smirked as, for the briefest of moments, the enemy pilot was close enough to see his face. Though the contact only lasted half a second, Fyrenn saw the unmistakable signs of dawning comprehension on the man's face, as he realized why the SeaHawk had been able to maneuver in ways that would have long since killed a Human pilot.

Though technically he had no middle digit, given that each claw had only four talons, Fyrenn nonetheless extended the third talon of his left claw, and held it up against the canopy glass as Neyla depressed her fire-trigger once more.

The enemy pilot had one quarter of a second to see, and comprehend the gesture, before the two fighters passed over each other in a vicious blaze of gunfire. Most of the Lancet's shots went wide as Fyrenn pushed the SeaHawk into a partial barrel roll. Neyla's fire remained effective throughout.

Fyrenn didn't need to look at his rearview mirror to know that the Lancet had vanished in a lethal fireball. But he glanced nonetheless, his grin returning in full force.

"Well congratulations. You just splashed two enemy craft, guns only, fighting from a disadvantaged position. If you were Earthgov Air Corps, you would have just earned a shiny, shiny medal."

As the red Gryphon levelled the fighter out, and brought it into a gentler turn, he locked eyes with Neyla through his rearview mirror.

"There is an old aviation term for job well done; Bravo Zulu."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and chuckled, shaking her head slowly.

"Where does that originate, precisely?"

Fyrenn shrugged, and his smile widened.

"Truthfully...? Heck if I know."

He paused, then joined Neyla in a brief chuckle, before placing the SeaHawk into another gentle dive. The Agincourt came into view over the nose, barely visible through the rain, and the smoke of battle.

"But hey, why settle for just two minnows, when we could bag a shark for our troubles. I need a new head for my wall. And I have a very specific head in mind."

"CLEAR!"

Lantry rose slowly from his kneeling position, keeping his rifle trained on the last of the corpses he had dispatched. Skye poked her pistol around the corner first, then cautiously followed suit with her head, and the remainder of her body.

"You're a pretty handy shot for---"

Lantry glanced over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow knowingly.

"For an old man?"

The Unicorn inclined her head and snorted as she made her way fully onto the central catwalk.

"I was *going* to say you're pretty handy, for someone who's out of practice. But hey, if you want it straight gramps..."

Before Lantry could reciprocate, Skye let out a low prolonged whistle. The General turned to follow her sight line, and exhaled sharply.

"That's what we're here for?"

Skye nodded, and darted forward, murmuring to herself as she went.

"This is what it looks like to play with fire on a cosmic scale..."

An immense tangle of power and data cabling spiraled away from the HLF's aftermarket additions to the platform, coiling together into a central trunkline that ended in a series of mobile DaTab workstations.

The bevy of screens was arrayed in a vague semicircle, stacked hurriedly on foldable armatures, and empty metal crates. Mercifully, pieces of suspended intermittent roof panels kept the rain off the electronics, though some drizzle had blown laterally into the space on gusts of especially severe wind.

Skye set her pistol down on the nearest empty surface, and began rapidly scanning the display panels, doing her best to ignore the dead technician at her hooves.

She shook her head slowly, and glanced over her shoulder to see Lantry fiddling with his combat satchel. Her tone conveyed a sense of urgency strong enough to palpably charge the air itself.

"They finished their last round of calibrations four minutes ago. They've already begun the charging sequence, and if these are correct? We have about four and a half minutes."

Lantry yanked a series of small beamrider beacons from the depths of the bag, and began jogging around the perimeter of the room, securing each with a clear line of sight to the horizon.

As he latched the second beacon to the side of a strut, he cast a glance in Skye's direction, raising his voice to make his question heard over the wind.

"That's not nearly enough time to finish here, and get out in one piece. Can you shut it off?"

Skye paused, then tapped at several of the screens experimentally with one hoof. She glanced up and shook her head dolefully.

"They didn't build the system with an 'off switch' in mind."

The General paused, and wrinkled his brow, resuming his task as he voiced his thoughts once more.

"You can't just, I dunno... Unplug it?"

The Unicorn shook her head more vehemently, and her eyes widened. Her tone made it clear that her words were deadly serious, with no room for liberal interpretation.

"Absolutely *not.* Not unless you want to prematurely end the world. If we cut off the supply of mainline power, then the devices will instantly go off half-charged. And that will *definitely* cause what we in the scientific community like to refer to as 'bad juju.' "

Skye paused, inclined her head, and continued haltingly.

"That being said... I might be able to buy us the time we need to finish, and get out of here with our skins intact. I can force the system to hold for a few more minutes once it reaches full charge by queuing a short-cycle round of calibrations and diagnostics."

Lantry nodded curtly as he moved to the fourth device.

"So we proceed with the original plan. Blow the whole thing to bits. Central coil and all. How much extra breathing room can you finagle?"

The Unicorn tapped out a series of command once again, then spoke in a steady, assured tone, without making eye contact.

"Six minutes. Plus the four we still have, that gives us ten total."

Lantry snorted, and bent down to secure the final beacon.

"I've done more, with less, in the past. Ten minutes is an eternity in military terms."

Several quiet moments passed as Skye worked feverishly at the console, and Lantry rechecked each beacon to ensure it was functioning properly. At last, the Unicorn began nodding slowly, as a series of prompts appeared at the top of the central panel.

"I think... Nope... I'm sure. I've entered the checks into the queue. When the drivers hit full charge, they'll pause for exactly six minutes to calibrate. And when those six minutes are up..."

"The world ends?"

Skye stiffened, and her head jerked upwards reflexively as the new, coarse, unfamiliar voice echoed across the platform. The Unicorn blanched and tensed at the sight that greeted her.

Lantry stood nearly fifteen yards away, locked firmly in a chokehold by a man of similar age, dressed in beige light body-plating. A red clenched fist was proudly emblazoned on the right shoulder pad, leaving no question whatsoever as to the man's allegiance.

He held a vicious looking tactical knife at Lantry's throat with one hand, and a small laser pistol in the other. The latter item was trained directly at Skye's forehead, the former was already drawing a thin sliver of blood, leaving the General no room to maneuver.

The newcomer tightened his grip on the pistol, and locked eyes with the Unicorn as he continued speaking in a low, forceful tone.

"*Your* world will certainly come to an end, if that's what you mean. If you're referring to the inane delusion that this process presents a risk to Earth? Then you'd best keep your disgusting little muzzle shut. I'm not so easily suckered by the pretty little lies your kind compulsively spouts."

The man gestured carefully with the pistol, and glowered.

"I am Mr. Utah, and you? Are dead. This fellow here, however, is a Human, and therefore has basic rights that animals like you don't deserve. His fate is not necessarily sealed... So if you'd like to grant him his life, and extend yours by a few minutes, you can reverse your commands, then step away from that panel, and start taking down those beacons."

A long pause ensued, during which Skye pierced Mr. Utah with a furious, defiant glare. The man stared back with a seemingly bottomless reservoir of vitriol and hopeless bitterness that turned his eyes into twin pits of pure darkness.

Mr. Utah broke the silence first, maintaining a calm, yet imminently threatening tone.

"Once, we had something much like your kind on this world. They served as pack animals, and they knew their rightful place as servants of man. Learn your place..."

Slowly, deliberately, he cycled the safety on the pistol, all the while tightening his hold on Lantry's throat.

"...Or I will break you, and then you will watch him die."

Comments

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Well, that's not looking very promising... I guess the HLF boys missed a few quantum mechanics lectures in school.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

5340776
They weren't the 'let's get a degree and actually learn stuff before we start lighting fuses' types.

The HLF are more of the 'Hold my synthbeer, and watch this!' type.