Sigil of the Wolf - 22. Chapter 22

HMS Excalibur - marooned Dead Space

The flashlight flicked to and fro across the bridge, dancing from nervous face to nervous face. The crewmembers were looking about at each other in the gloom trying to take stock of what had happened.

"Is everyone all right?" Sub-Lieutenant Galadriel called out, glad to hear each of the bridge crew checking in. She lowered the flashlight and ducked her head to look out of the large observation windows at the darkness. Dead space, just as she feared.

She took a deep breath and turned back. She was the senior bridge officer on ship, which put her in charge, at least until they could track down Wing Commander Masconi. "Can we get the emergency lights working?" She asked, using the flashlight to climb up to the upper bridge tier, smiling as one of the crew managed to flip the switch on the battery-powered flood lamps and lit the bridge in cold, sterile light.

It was eerie. The ship was still; ordinarily the bridge was a dark place lit by consoles, a constant chatter of radio noise and alert signals. To see it so stark and quiet was disquieting. She steadied herself. Priorities came first, and then she could admit to being scared.

"I need runners to get down to Engineering," she said, taking charge, turning as she set the flashlight down, "We need the computers up and running first." She pointed to a young girl who worked on the communications tier. "You."

The girl nodded, and jogged up and back to where the emergency stairs would take her to where she needed to go. Galadriel sent another runner to go rouse Wing Commander Masconi, and a final one to find the Excalibur's COB.

She set about co-ordinating damage control teams, hand on the back of Darien's chair resting on the greatcoat as she issued orders. Trying to draw some strength from its presence. It said he would be back...

She wasn't expecting the first runner to return with Doctor Kyr. They were busy setting up a small emergency generator to get power to some of the bridge systems while they tried to figure out where they were and what had happened. Galadriel looked at the doctor in surprise.

"Masconi," Kyr shook his head, his dark bangs swaying from side to side, "After all the stimulants I had to sedate her so she'd get some sleep... she's going nowhere for at least eight hours." He rested on the darkened conn console. "Who's in command?"

"Me, I think," Galadriel said, swallowing and pulling her hair up and back from her face, tying it off in a pony tail so it wouldn't get in her way.

"Ark Royal just went live!" Jonas, one of Nazzien's gunner's mates said, pointing out of the window, "looks like they got power restored down there."

Galadriel crossed and looked down. Ark Royal and Invincible had their own power grids, and with the shutdown of the Excalibur's main reactor it would be a relatively easy task for the crews down on those ships to switch back to their own generators. A few moments later, the Invincible's running lights went on. At least they wouldn't be totally defenceless, though relying on the two support carriers was a short-term fix at best. Much of the Excalibur remained dark.

The COB marched out onto the bridge behind her, offering a crisp salute, clearly recognizing her authority from the start. "Sir," he nodded and extended her a Marine TAC-link and headset, "I have techs working to restore power. So far, operations are being routed through the Invincible's CIC, I have Sub Lieutenant Ryerson for you."

She accepted the headset and pulled it on. "Ryerson, Bridge, what's our situation?"

"Seems we jumped, ma'am," Ryerson replied. Though they were the same rank, Galadriel was the next in the chain of command and the ship was hers. "From what our boards say, we jumped without the CAP or the Alert fighters, they were outside the jump envelope."

Galadriel did some quick mental arithmetic - that was half of their remaining operational fighters. She hated to do it, but they had no choice. "We need a fighter screen out there Lieutenant, rouse who you can and get them up, it's going to take us some time to sort this mess out..."

"Yes ma'am," Ryerson replied, and Galadriel clicked off the radio, looking about her.

"Right," she said, summoning up her full professionalism, "let's get this ship back online and go get the Highlord."

Kyr sat down in the command chair, keeping out of her way. There wasn't much he could do except sit tight, and she smiled gratefully for him knowing when to stay out of the way.

* * *

"Ship went bye byes!" Roared Falcon-Five, laughing hysterically, "Oh we are so screwed..."

Taine unclipped his helmet and pulled it off, glad that the Predator had a pressurized cockpit. He needed to get out of the bulky helmet, he was shaking noticeably, and he closed his eyes, taking a few long breaths, now was not the time... He opened his eyes after a few minutes, shaking off the dizziness as he tucked the helmet behind him and looked out of the canopy across at Lauren's F-150.

"Falcon-Two, Button One," he ordered, switching them over to a private channel. Leaning back, he looked at the collection of about twelve fighters that hovered together waiting for the Excalibur to return.

"I'm here Darien," Lauren replied, and across the darkness he could see her wave her hand.

"What just happened, did you see?" he asked, staring across at her.

"No idea, it looked like a jump... if that was the case, that was her reserve jump."

Darien rubbed his temple. "That makes three," he replied, "It's going to be at least twelve hours before she can jump back."

"Colonel Mayfair could come looking for us," Lauren said, "If we miss the rendezvous."

"He has orders not to leave the transports undefended," Darien said, tapping the Predator's onboard computer and checking its status. It was starting to get a little cold in the small fighter. "They're about twelve hours from their own jumps, he'll give us until then before he comes searching."

"Can we last that long?" Lauren asked.

Darien looked at the data scrolling across his fighter's master display, and he looked up. "If the fighters conserve their fuel, they should be all right."

Their fighters were powered by small fusion reactors, a complex process that yielded a virtually unlimited range in an atmosphere. However, the fighters could only go as far in a vacuum as their reaction mass supply allowed. Run out of RM in space, and they would drift in a dark void never to be heard from again.

"You're not telling me something," Lauren said as he paused again, "How's the fuel on the Pred?"

"Fuel's not my problem," Darien replied grimly, beginning to shiver. There hadn't been time to adjust the fighter's life support, set to the typical norm for a cold-blooded Amsus warrior. Whilst he was dressed warmly, an extended stay in a Predator was not something any of them had anticipated.

Lauren's fighter glided closer to him, and he could clearly see her face as she looked across at him, worry etched on her features. "Life support?" she asked, remembering the Haligonian mission.

Darien nodded. "Not a word to the men," he replied, looking at the cluster of fighters around them, "Best to keep their morale as high as we can."

* * *

The dark, while not really affecting him, was proving troublesome for the human beings that were stumbling around lost in it. Every so often Xanatos would have to stop when some clumsy technician stepped on his tail or one of his tertiary appendages. The Gorean had to resist the urge, on several occasions, to simply swat them with his claw.

He'd been reassured by a couple of humans that everything was under control, which was their way of saying that it wasn't. Humans had this annoying habit of trying to patronize a large scaled and serpentine creature that could swallow them whole. A habit that, were Xanatos like most of his kind, would result in a light mid-afternoon snack.

He had to keep reminding himself that eating humans was bad.

He stretched as he slid into one of the Excalibur's main bays that connected the lower decks to the upper superstructures. Xanatos wondered at how oddly the ship was designed, a mish-mash of technology that made no sense to the ordered mind of a Gorean. Engines at the rear, guns at the front, that was the way it was supposed to be. Not jumbled up in an archaic death trap the humans called their flagship. No wonder the Amsus were kicking their asses.

He stopped, catching Denver's scent coming from the direction of the mess hall, and Xanatos groaned. As much fun as the Director had been aboard the Shifting Sands, he was becoming quite a bore aboard the Excalibur, and being stuck in close quarters for the past two and a half days Xanatos was growing to dislike the spoiled-meat smell that always followed the man around. He personally liked his food fresh, and while the scent was probably too faint for the humans with their undeveloped noses and tiny tongues, Xanatos was blessed with the kind of olfactory senses aeons of evolution had bred into his species.

Denver strode along the hall towards him, a light bounce in the human's step as he neatly avoided obstacles that would have tripped up most humans.

This confused Xanatos a moment. Humans had notoriously poor eyesight compared the average Gorean. He had the bruises on his precious tail to prove that. He turned his head to regard Denver a moment, his head cocking to the side, a clawed hand resting on a railing, blocking Denver's path.

"You can see in the dark..." Xanatos observed.

"I ate lots of carrots," Denver replied cheerfully, hopping up and over the railing of the stairs to avoid the Gorean's tail in an impressive display of agility. He stopped and looked back up at the bulky Gorean. "Mind how you go," he called out as he continued on his way, the scent of spoiled meat wafting by a few seconds later.

That also annoyed Xanatos, how the scent never seemed to cling to the human, and for the life of him, Xanatos couldn't explain the oddities. Maybe some humans were just put together better than some others. It would certainly explain Pax...

He shrugged and kept on.

* * *

"Ninety-nine Falcons, check-in," The Highlord ordered.

"Two." Lauren responded.

"Three." Nazzien joined in.

"Four." Squadron Leader Katz replied tiredly.

"Seven," Came Flight Officer Turango, a Kardiac pilot and the commander of the Alert fighters.

They continued through all the fighters, Darien fighting back the chill to stay focused. His boys were exhausted, but they needed to stick with him just a little while longer. He reflected on other tough situations he'd been through; all things considered it wasn't that bad, he tried to keep an optimistic outlook, despite the fact that he knew they were in serious danger.

"Okay Falcons, let's run through the checks," the Highlord rubbed his face, his breath was beginning to frost, looking up and out of the canopy at the fighters about him, "Fuel and ammo, you know the drill."

"Two Okay."

"Three Okay."

"Four is Winchester Fifty-Five mike-mike. Fuel Bingo five point one." Katz replied, indicating that he was out of rounds for his 55mm rail cannon. That left him with the six Switchblade anti-fighter missiles and the Reefer anti-starship missile slung to his centreline, the precious missiles they had all been trying to conserve.

The remainder of the other fighters weren't in any better condition. As long as they sat there they would be fine, but if an Amsus ship stumbled upon them, or decided to send in another wave of fighters, they wouldn't stand much of a chance.

Darien closed his eyes, resting his head against his hand, yawning in spite of himself. He was tired, but he wasn't that tired. He sat bolt upright with a start. Hypothermia... he swore.

"Falcon-Lead from Four, you okay over there Skipper?" Katz asked, and Darien realized that he'd just sworn over an open channel.

"Fine, Four," he responded, reaching out to tap the environmental monitor. It had to be sitting at just above the freezing mark, and hypothermia was suddenly a very real danger. He looked about him again and pulled his warm leather jacket tighter about him. He should have taken one of the F-150s, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. There hadn't been time for him to learn the controls.

Katz's 175 pitched and rolled, the fighter using precious RM to flip up and position itself right over Darien's Predator. Katz was an expert pilot, and he knew his fighter well. A tap of the positioning thrusters had him sitting about a meter away from Darien's cockpit looking up (down, from Darien's perspective) at him.

He held up three fingers and tapped his helmet.

Darien flipped the toggle for Button Three. "What is it, Four?"

"None of the bullshit, sir," Katz said firmly, "I'm too fucking tired. I flew that thing, I know you're not okay."

Darien looked up at the brazen young fighter ace, reading the worry in the young man's eyes. He shifted in his seat and smiled. "Sometimes, lying to your men is better than telling them the full truth," he said quietly.

"Why? We need to do something..." Katz said angrily.

"Do what?" Darien said, "You're out of fuel, there's nothing even remotely close to a habitable planet in this system, and to reach the barren rocks that are here would take more RM than you have. You need to sit tight, conserve your fuel, and wait for rescue."

"And let you freeze to death? You can't just give up..." Katz's voice pitched into desperation, "Skipper, there has to be something we can do."

"Do your duty," Darien responded, returning his gaze to his instrument panel. Pausing, he leaned forward to examine the small keypad that had been added as an afterthought: a jump computer.

He remembered the malfunctioning jump drive Elias had built into the fighter's missile bay, a custom array that had never worked properly, jamming and overloading the fighter's systems each time it was engaged.

He reached into his jacket, cursing as he tugged his glove off with his teeth, pulling out his glasses and trying to slip them on with shaking hands, leaning in again to get a better look.

"Falcon-Four from Falcon-One, you still with me?" he called out, looking up at the frustrated pilot.

"Yeah Skipper, here." Katz replied, "What's up?"

"I have an idea, but I need your help," Darien said, poking at the limited computer, running a diagnostic on his systems, "I need you to drop down and look me over."

"Lead from Falcon-Four, roger." Katz's F-175 rolled his fighter around the Predator, sliding it neatly up and under the heavy vacu-formed armoured wings.

Darien waited until he was in position, reaching into a side panel. If everything was in the same position as it would be on a Raptor, that meant that the main fuse panel for the fighter was located there... and knowing Elias...

He smiled at the jerry-rigged splicing that would route power to the jump pods. He rubbed his hands and tugged the correct fuse free, listening in case he'd knocked out his life support system.

He remembered from the tactical reports after the battle of Haligonian Station that when Katz had tried to activate the jump pods, they had jammed, and the resulting power diversion had crippled his fighter. Darien wasn't going to let that happen again, and with the jump pods disconnected from the main power system he should be able to extend the jump pod without shorting out his fighter.

"Okay Four, eyes open..." Darien said as he flicked the switch activating the jump pod, sending the cylindrical device rotating out of the fuselage. As expected, he got the warning alert that the drive had jammed.

"Lead from Four," Katz called back, "The pod appears to be stuck, I think it's the outer edge of the casing jamming on the bay doors, over."

"Roger Four," Darien replied, stroking his chin and tossing the switch into the retract position, feeling the servo-motors retracting the device and the bay doors closing. He smiled tightly as he flipped the switch again, toggling it off and on.

"Lead from Four, the pod appears to be malfunctioning..." Katz sounded nervous.

"Nope, that's me." Darien replied, trying the same procedure again.

"Sir, you'll get it stuck..." Katz warned.

Darien leaned a little trying to stare down under his fighter. "Sounds like all it needs is a sharp kick." He shook his head reluctantly; he was stuck in his fighter, and the cold environment in the cockpit had forced him to forgo the standard pressurized flight suit in favour of the arctic BDUs and his jacket. Otherwise, he'd attempt a...

His fighter slammed him in his seat, and the missile bay malfunction flared and went green as the jump pod slid out and into position.

"What the hell?" he shook his head and repositioned his glasses knocked askew by the jolt.

"Gave you a kick, Lead." Katz replied, his fighter sweeping up again, the nose of his F-175 bore a new dent just by the right reaction thrusters.

Darien nodded his head and switched back to the main channel, reconnecting the fuse that fed power to the jump drives. They were sitting, blessedly at a full charge, which meant that all he had to do was feed it co-ordinates.

"Ninety-nine Falcons," he said, addressing all his fighters, "We have a functioning jump drive." He keyed the destination for R-403 and gritted his teeth looking about him, watching as Katz's fighter pulled away from the jump radius, "I'm going to fetch the cavalry, sit tight, help is on the way!"

* * *

"I'm sorry sir." The Marine Sergeant posted to guard the bridge access stair held his hand on his pulse rifle as he stepped forward to block Rikard's path. "The bridge is off limits to all but authorized personnel..."

That annoyed the former Chancellor; he stood a moment, slipping off the finely tailored suit jacket, a Trogdor original hand stitched by blind nuns in the remote hills of Jemegu IX. He tossed it onto one of the many crates lining the Excalibur's corridors, looking at the sentry as he began to roll up his sleeves.

"I believe you'll find you cannot stop me," Rikard said, allowing the pretentious accent he adopted for Denver to fall away, his words crisp and clear.

The Marine frowned at the arrogant man before him, standing in the dim light from one of the emergency lanterns. Damn civilians, he raised the pulse rifle, the TAC-light on it shining directly at Rikard, lighting him clearly. The audible ring of a safety catch being released filled the corridor. "I'm sorry sir, I insist."

Rikard's smile climbed a fraction of an inch. "You're from Karin, so I can forgive you for being a little slow," he finished, rolling his sleeves and gesturing with his finger. The wall of force slamming into the marine drove him backwards against a bulkhead, his rifle flying from his grip as it was torn sailing into the Chancellor's waiting hand.

The Marine stood swaying precariously, the dent in the bulkhead where he had struck it telling of the force at which he had been hurled, bones broken and grinding painfully as he slid to the floor. His eyes went wide as the Praetorian materialized from the shadows extending its sharp barbs to rend the hapless marine sergeant apart.

Rikard callously stepped over the body. "Stand guard here," he said, looking back down the corridor behind him to where a couple of other marines were sprinting to investigate the noise, "Allow no one to reach the bridge."

The creature vanished, a silent and invisible killer moving out to wait for prey.

Rikard looked up the long flight of stairs and began to climb them, slowly and methodically. He had no need to rush; the sound of screams coming from the depths of the darkened ship ensured that he wouldn't be disturbed.

The bridge was much as the Chancellor remembered it had been as he ambled out onto the Excalibur's Command Centre. The industrious crewmen had managed to restore partial power to the various consoles. He had to give them points for ingenuity; the young woman in command was lithe and beautiful in an exotic way, the copper colour of her skin fresh with a healthy glow. She was intelligent as well, turning as if she knew something was out of place and looking right at him.

"Mister Denver, you can't be on the..." she began.

Rikard chuckled and held up a finger, cutting her off. "Now, I am growing tired of hearing those words," he smiled "You can't," he mocked, "You can't..."

The Sub-Lieutenant gestured to the pair of Marine guards flanking the doors, both drawing their side arms. "I'm afraid I am going to have to insist," she said firmly.

Rikard struck out, driving one hand down to his side as he clenched his fist and twisted. The Guard on that side contorted in pain as he crumpled, his pistol slipping from nerveless fingers as it clattered to the deck.

The former Chancellor sidestepped the second, who in surprise raised his pistol to shoot, the Chancellor sweeping the gun up and wide as he rolled down the arm, his vicelike grip catching the man by the throat, lifting him up bodily as he tossed him down the connecting corridor to crash against a bulkhead.

Rikard turned back on the surprised bridge crew, as his lip curled into a sneer.

"I am Enarbrem Sul'Rikard," he said angrily as the Excalibur's crew drew back in fear from him walking into their midst, "There is nothing I cannot do!"

The exotic beauty met his gaze, her eyes hardening, but she refused to show fear. "Thank you for the grammar lesson, Chancellor," she said, her voice even, forced meeting his gaze defiantly. He could feel the terror deep inside her, she knew who he was. Obviously Lauren had informed her crewmates.

"The Peligian Diary, where is it?" He demanded.

The shot rang clear across the bridge, the bullet smashing through bone and flesh and cutting through to explode into one of the consoles. A clean shot, right through the centre of Rikard's torso, and the Chancellor reached down to touch the blood seeping through the wound. He lifted his fingers to look at it as he turned to look behind him.

Doctor Kyr stood shaking, holding one of the Marine guard pistols, a boy with a gun, shaking as he fired a second shot, and a third. Taking fearful steps backwards, he emptied the magazine into the being who turned his attention from the woman and now focused directly on him.

"Bad puppy," Rikard said as the wounds began to close, his hand snaking out to knock the useless pistol aside. Kyr continued to back up, stumbling over his feet as he fell. The Chancellor bent down to grasp the front of the doctor's lab coat, pulling him back to his feet. "Where is the Peligian Diary?" He repeated, lifting the doctor effortlessly and staring straight into his eyes.

Kyr's eyes flicked, and Rikard turned his head, looking at the doors to the Highlord's stateroom.

"I see," Rikard replied, motioning again with his hands as the doors wrenched free of their frame, crumpling as if an invisible pair of hands had torn them down, sending them clanging to the deck.

* * *

Sub-Lieutenant Galadriel crossed the deck, watching the Chancellor pull the doors from their mounting, grabbing Firlotte by the shoulder. "I need power to this console..." she ordered, slapping an environmental system.

The technician tipped his hat back on his head as he leaned over a console, punching commands into the board. The main zero-point reactor was still in its start up cycle, another thirty minutes or so before it was anywhere close to being able to power the ship.

The power running the bridge systems was supplied from an emergency generator, and Firlotte dashed over to it, pulling a cable free, plunging several consoles back into darkness, as he wrestled to connect it to another socket.

"Switch four," he called up to her, as Galadriel nodded and punched the right switch.

* * *

Rikard tried to take another step, as his feet remained firmly planted to the deck. He looked down and up at the ship around him.

"I have increased the gravity in this room," the beautiful Sub-Lieutenant remarked from the doorway, raising an Imperial pulse rifle and taking aim.

"This will not hold me," Rikard turned his head, still holding the Kaynin doctor, "and that," he nodded to the weapon, "will not kill me."

"No?" she said, switching her aim to the large arched stern windows of the stateroom, "But I'd like to test what hard vacuum will do to you. Pulse rifle one-oh-one, this weapon has a cyclic rate of fire of 900 RPM's, care to bet on your odds of stopping them all?"

Rikard frowned. "You'll kill everyone on the bridge," he replied, knowing that if he struck out at her now, there was no guaranteeing she wouldn't get a shot off.

"Yep," she said, gripping the weapon and raising an eyebrow, still looking squarely down the barrel, "I guess I'd better give up and let you take what you want." She made no move to do so.

Rikard considered her a moment, looking past her out of the great stern windows at the Amsus vessels leaping into the system. A small battle group and an array of Polian-enhanced Predators. He looked back towards the young woman.

"I think you had best consider closely your next choice in actions," he said evenly, "My compatriots will not appreciate having to take this vessel by force." He gave her a long, hard stare, "I suggest you lower your weapon and surrender this vessel, before they destroy your pitiful fighter escort and storm this ship."

* * *

Firlotte watched as she cast her assault rifle aside, the young technician moving towards the starboard access that would take him down to the main computer core. It was one of the most heavily shielded areas of the ship, reinforced armour plates guarding the precious computer.

If he could get in there and the reactors completed their power cycle... He didn't wait for orders, he simply ran for it.

* * *

Galadriel came out onto the bridge, looking out at the numerous Amsus vessels filling the sky around them. "Stand down," She ordered.

The former Chancellor emerged behind her, the Peligian diary tucked under his arm, the Kaynin doctor still gripped in his other. He tossed Kyr aside, sending the young man staggering as he stepped down to the command chair, where VonGrippen's greatcoat was draped over the shoulders of the chair.

He rested a hand on it and smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant."