Stargazers: "Dinah"

Dinah

            The ship’s interior is dark, save for the faint green glow of the Lady’s eyes lighting the way.  The rooms bleed and blend in the darkness, and soon Chastity cannot remember the way they came or predict the way they are going.  She traces her hand along the walls, unable to see the form but feeling the smooth contours and endless steel.  The walls are long and curved, the steel faintly warm to the touch, reminding her more of flesh than metal.  The design is natural, almost organic in her mind.

            Hand on the walls, Chastity stares into the darkness, following the Lady’s eyes, and she speaks aloud, “I worked here, and I didn’t even know that this was here.”

            “There are many secrets here,” the Lady says, approaching another wall which slides apart seamlessly for her.  Chastity follows the Lady into the room.

            “Secrets? What secrets are you talking about?”

            “There are things here.  Shades and Eidolons.  Entire life forms have lived here, from birth to death, from creation to decay.  I can feel them here, following me, flowing into me.  They become me, and I become them.”  The Lady pauses and touches the wall.  It is different from Chastity’s touch.  Tracing her long, slender fingers along the delicate grooves of the wall, the Lady touches the ship like a mother might touch a child.  “Dinah.”

            Chastity squints into the darkness.  “Dinah?”

            “That is the ship.”  There is a warmth in the Lady’s voice, a smile in the darkness.  The Lady speaks of the ship like it is home.  “She is Dinah.”

            “I think we found you here, found you in Dinah,” Chastity says.  “Were you part of her crew?  Did you live here?”

            “No.  I never truly lived anyway, but I did sleep here.”  The words are cold and empty again, devoid of human emotion.  The Lady looks back at Chastity with empty, glowing eyes.  “There are memories I have, they are not my memories, but I am carrying them anyway.”  Then, turning, the Lady moves forward, hand at rest on the wall.  “They have no value to me.”

            Chastity follows, her hand also against the wall.  She staggers after the Lady and braces against the wall, using it for balance and envying the Lady’s seemingly perfect grace.  “That sounds a little sad,” she says.

            “It is not sad,” says the Lady.  “It is function.”  At a touch, another wall opens, and the Lady passes through it with Chastity following close.

 

-Stargazers part 1-

 

            Arthur reaches the facility under the cover a stirring of dust and enters the facility through the bridge, breaking a window with the butt of his rifle and climbing through.  There, he rests in the dusty interior.  His breaths come hard and deep; his lungs burn.  Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have been winded so easily, but then again, ten years ago seemed like a lifetime to him.

            His knee ached in anticipation and in memory.

            After catching his breath, he moves, crouched against the interior walls and with his rifle up.  He keeps his finger off the trigger, pinned flat against the side of the rifle, but with the safety off.  Every death that follows him today will be intentional, he is certain of that.

            Ahead, he hears voices echoing in the darkness, mingling with footsteps.  “They say that a lone soldier took out an entire squad,” says one voice, deep, rumbling.  “And they say that he’s on his way.”

            “A lone soldier? Bullshit,” says the other voice, higher and harsher, a smoker’s voice.

            “No.  Really.  They say he survived an armor crash and came out guns blazing.”

            “Bull. Shit.”

            “Hey, I’m just telling you what the reports are saying,” says the deep voice, carrying down the hall.

            “I know you are.  I’m getting the same goddamn reports, and I’m saying that they’re all bullshit.”

            “Fine.  But if they are, why are they saying it?”

            “Because everyone is afraid to die on the battlefield, but if they have to, they’d rather it be the boogeyman than circumstance or dumb fucking luck.”  The two soldiers pass him by, staring straight ahead.  The one farther from him is talking.

            “But, if we die, it ain’t going to be some lone super soldier making a marathon massacre through the entire fucking army.  It’s going to be overwhelming odds and bigger guns.”

            “Well, isn’t that just inspiring.”

            “Just saying.”

            Arthur watches them make their way down the hall, considers following them, killing them.  He thinks of their ammo, perhaps of their body armor, and he decides against it.  They will die someday anyway, perhaps even in the battle with their sort of attentiveness.  They don’t need him to do it.

            Turning the corner, he goes the other way, making his way toward Chastity’s lab and the Lady’s pod.  He knows if they are anywhere here, that is the best place to look.

 

-Stargazers part 1-

 

            Together, Mercury and Daedalus’ united front form a line.  Siegfried still has armor, still holds the superior numbers, but they are struggling to keep their advantage against superior tactics.  It is also to their advantage that the goal isn’t to defeat the enemy but to endure them.

            Guinevere uses Mercury to cut long, deep wounds into the enemy’s lines. Each time the Federation forces find formation, she quickly scatters them, using her superior speed to make precise, scalpel-like strikes at their core to open them up.

            The strain of it, however, is showing.  Some blows miss wide.  She flies by enemy armors without even making contact.  The psychological effect is mixed.  Some enemy soldiers make note of their lighter losses while others take it as a taunt.

            Guinevere, herself, is gripping tightly to her controls and sweating.  Her head feels heavy while her limbs feel numb.  The longer she pushes herself, the harder she pushes herself, the more difficult the charges become.  An alert goes off as one of her allies is caught in fire and has to make a retreat back to Daedalus.

            “All units, close rank.  Form a protective barrier around Deadalus.  That includes you, Guinevere,” LeGuin says through the com.

            Guinevere groans. “No, I am at my best out here.  Let me work.”

            “You’re showing strain, and God knows the armor is, too.  It’s still a prototype, Lieutenant.  Return.  We can hold here until Arthur secures the targets or support arrives.”

            “We don’t need to.”

            Her radar pings.  Behind them, in the distance, gravity shifts.  Another ship rises from dive space.

            “What did I tell you,” LeGuin says, a smile in his voice.  Then, he chokes.  “No.”

            Sigurd, an enemy carrier, appears behind Daedalus and approaches quickly, not even slowing to reorient.  As soon as it leaves the gravity well its ports open and a flood of armors join the fray.  Enemy fire follows shortly after, and Daedalus turns sharply to meet it.

            “Guinevere!”

            “I’m on it, commander.”  Guinevere fingers the controls, driving Mercury’s output to forty percent.  Her body sinks into the seat as inertia pulls her back.  She feels the blood in her limbs draining, pool into her head as she struggles to keep hold.

            “No, pull it back.  You’ll kill yourself.”

            Mercury meets the enemy armors and parts them like a sea.  A thin line of explosions appear in the new line before the enemy has time to consider it.  They begin scrambling to find this new threat and neutralize it.

            Before they can rally more gravity shifts appear on the radar, two this time.  Guinevere’s heart begins to sink when she gets the IFF signal—friends.  Icarus and Heracles join the battle, locking on and firing into the enemy rear.

            Guinevere simply smiles.

 

-Stargazers part 1-

           

            Tyr launches and meets the enemies head-on.  Announcement of the new, red armor pass through the comms and when Guinevere hears, she knows what to do.  Turning her back on Daedalus and ignores LeGuin’s orders to return, she rockets back into the main battle and seeks out the single clawed armor in the vastness of space.

            She finds him by following the death of her allies and meets him in the center of the fray, clutching an allied armor in his claw.  Heat and energy radiate from its palm and pulse into the frame.  It warps the armor, bending it, bulging it, and eventually parting it like an overcooked potato.

            Tyr release the armor to drift and catches another.  Mercury moves quickly, lashing out with its blade but being deflected by Tyr’s shield.  Tyr wheels around in the air, still holding the Archer armor by the shoulder.  The generators on Tyr’s shoulder whir and energy crackles along its fingers.

            Guinevere screams, pushes her assault.  She becomes a flurry of motion, spinning and swiping wherever she can and missing wildly with most blows.  Finally, rather than aiming for Tyr, she aims for the armor and cuts it off at the shoulder where its shell began to warp.

            The armor drifts away and she pushes passed.  She lunges and Tyr is gone.  Guinevere blinks, her vision drifting in an out.  She feels heavy, her head throbbing and warm.  The frame shakes as gunfire bounces across her back, and she jumps up over it and brings herself back down for an assault.

            Her ears ring as her comms kick on.  “Lt. Guinevere.  I ordered you back to the ship.  You can’t keep doing this.”

            “I cannot follow those orders, sir.”  That is what Guinevere means to say, but she is not so sure those words leave her mouth.  Her lips pulse.  Every vain in her face feels bloated, painful.  Her eyes close, her head lulls, and then she jerks back up.

            “You’ll die, Osceola!”

            “Not. Before. Him!”

 

-Stargazers part 1-

 

            Arthur passes through the facility and the airfield.  The long tube connecting lab to everything else has been blown apart.  Shards of glass lie scattered across the asphalt with former allies and friends rotting among them.  It is enough to sadden him but not enough to slow him.

            Arthur keeps his rifle up and his head down.  He keeps his back straight and his hands ready, looking always down the sights of the rifle but keeping his finger from the trigger.  Before trying to cross the open area to the other side, he peeks around one of the busted panes.

            The airfield greets him.  It is damaged by conflict but enduring.  Standing at its center is a damaged Hunter armor, the one he had shot down earlier, he imagines.  The thrusts were damaged from gunfire while the armor was hurt in the fall, but it still seems to be moving.

            Arthur kneels down behind the glass and curses quietly to himself.  He does not want to fight an armor, not on foot and not alone.  During Centurion training they ran simulations of all sorts, but never a one-on-one battle with an Gigas Armor.  The closest was a group battle, and back then he had Lancelot and Guinevere.

            Now, he is alone on the battlefield, without proper equipment, and without the training required.  He slouches but has no out.  Even can he escape, he can’t leave Chastity and they Lady behind to be captured again.  The war, he fears, is going to come either way, but the collateral may not.

            He checks his gun again, for something to do with his hands.  Then, he reminds himself that a Centurion is meant to be equivalent to one hundred soldiers on the battlefield and hopes that at least one of them can do this.

            He peeks again and finds the armor turned away from him.  Taking a deep breath, he sprints out into the open.  He is halfway there when the armor finds him.  It wheels around, clumsily, its legs jerky, the frame bent.  Then, it opens fire.

            Arthur rolls to a halt and trains his weapon on the armor.  At first, he aims for the chest, hoping to get lucky and puncture a weakened armor point.  Then, he lifts the rifle and pulls.  A short string of bullets jump from the barrel in a jarring flash and the armor’s optics shatter.

            The armor continues firing but misses wide.  Its focus is on where Arthur was but it cannot find where he is.  He runs a wide circle around the armor, approaching its back with a grenade ready, the ring already pulled.  Once within twenty feet, he waits.

            The armor fires for a few more seconds and then purrs to a stop.  Then, the back hatch unlatches.  Arthur readies his rifle, lifting it into view and holds his arm back for the throw.  Once the hatch opens, he chucks the grenade inside and secures his gun with both hands.  He fires until the pilot ducks back into the suit and then ducks down himself.

            The armor’s interior explodes.  The force of the blast ruptures the outsides, tearing thin slits into the body of the armor and tossing its left arm to the side.  Smoke, black and acrid, pours from the interior while the armor sways and then falls, spilling body parts across the pavement.

            Arthur sighs and sits.  His lungs burn.  His limbs are scuffed from his jumps, beaded with shards of glass, but he is, on the whole, alive.  He checks his rifle and clip.  It is nearly spent, with only a handful more bullets left.  Not enough for another fight.

            He rises, takes another deep breath, swallowing it despite the taste and smell of it.  Then, he lifts his rifle and resumes his approach.