Jihad - Part 5

The bridge of the Talocan relic battleship was a mausoleum of ancient technology inexpertly, but reverently, patched over the years by the Scions of Tranquility. Prakevi floated in the middle of that site of techno-archeology, carried by his levitating harness, and stared out at an undulating opening in the very fabric of space and time. The largest fleet of Scion ships that had ever been formed was prepared to jump through and begin the blessed battle to claim the sacred messenger Prakevi had promised them.

The tall, gaunt-featured and bald Scion commander stood next to he crippled Ni-Kunni and, despite himself, felt nervous as he looked out at the squadrons of heavily modified strategic cruiser hulls.

'Prophet, those people ..' he began haltingly, his voice trembling with doubt. 'They violate holy sites.' he swallowed 'They are killing the children of our gods.' he shook his head in disbelief 'How can there be a true holy messenger among them?' he finally uttered the question he had been afraid to ask.

Prakevi turned to look at the man's pale, tattooed face and smiled benignly. 'They are nothing to her. Not even servants.' he cooed 'Once we arrive she will shed them like a butterfly sheds it's chrysalis.'

His bronze features formed a more severe expression as he looked back out at the wormhole. 'Once we arrive in her presence she will strike them down with her fury when her soul recognizes those who are truly devoted.'

'Certainly prophet.' the Scion commander responded with a stiff nod.

'Are you doubting my words?' Prakevi whispered inquisitively.

Quickly the man in the oily black overcoat shook his head. 'No, of course not prophet.'

'Good.' Prakevi nodded slowly 'Very good.'

He thrust his chin at the wormhole before them. 'The blasphemers await behind this passage. Sacred providence has lead us to them.' he stated with clear conviction. 'The divine power is with us, and we will cleanse the capsuleer blight in it's name.'

The commander's eyes gleamed, invigorated by his prophet's words he nodded deferentially. He pulled himself up to his full height then. 'Order the first wave to jump.' he bellowed across the bridge of the ancient warship.

Dozens of flashes expanded like the waves created by a stone thrown into a pond, as the masses of passing ships were flung into the aperture in space-time. The vessels which towed the Talocan battleship began to move forward with the main body to prepare for the jump themselves, when suddenly alarms sounded through the bridge.

'What is this?!' the Scion commander demanded to know from a confused disciple manning a nearby tactical station.

'Your eminence, my prophet.' the pasty-faced heavyset man looked up from his display. 'A whole fleet of ships is warping to our position.'

Prakevi's eyes widened with panic. 'What? Not now! Not when we are so close.' he shook his head defiantly. 'Order the fleet to prepare for battle!' he screeched hoarsely.

The long, pontoon-shaped masses of two Archon carriers cast their vast shadows over the Scion fleet for only a few seconds after their arrival, then they jumped through the wormhole passage together with a wing of Proteus and Legion cruisers in full battle configurations, and a small squadron of blunt-nosed Phobos interdictors.

The passage of such mass, in addition to the large number of Scion ships that had traversed the conduit between the stars before, was too much for the unstable opening to bear.

With a last burst of excited photons, the wormhole collapsed. The expected battle was never joined.

Prakevi's expression of panic turned into one of despair, while a lone wedge-tailed vessel of burnished brass colour decloaked above the assembled Scion ships.

***

Sylera had volunteered for the position of forward recon and dutifully reported the position of the enemy fleet to the Awakened Industries capsuleers. As she had expected the Scion force was larger than anything they could fight sucessfully.

They had a carrier on their side, and the effects of the cataclysmic variable star would boost it's remote repair systems. They had capsuleer pilots which the Scions of Tranquility lacked, but still, their enemy had brought dozens upon dozens of advanced warships, and was linked into one shared mind.

But it was this very fact which would be the Scion's undoing today. Sylera moved her ship into position, close to the enemy, and prepared herself mentally for the harrowing experience, that she had to go through if she wanted to save her fellow capsuleers and everyone else.

When the first wave of the Scion ships which were modified to resemble the Sleeper drones, holy to their operators, jumped through the wormhole, Sylera knew she had to act. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the oxygen-rich capsule fluid, when suddenly alarms screamed in her consciousness..

With surprise and confusion the Amarrian looked on as an unknown attack fleet unexpectedly appeared from warp and jumped through the wormhole, closing it, and stranding her with the main body of the Scion fleet.

Now there was no way back if there ever had been a choice. Sylera willed her ship to shed it's cloaking field and waited for the enemy to lock on to her. She needed to link with the opponent's targeting systems, using the specially amplified tracking disruptors of her Pilgrim cruiser. Once the first ship had acquired a lock on her and began to fire it's weapons, she activated them.

Sylera's body convulsed and her mouth opened in a scream, that was swallowed by the liquid cradle she floated in, as she let all the agony and terror flow out of her memory. The torture which had almost destroyed her mind was carried by the powerful electronic warfare systems of her craft, and insinuated itself right into the mind-link of the Scion fleet until each and every disciple shared the experience she was reliving.

***

On the bridge of the Talocan hulk, the crew was as struck by the devastating feed which overpowered their minds, just like disciples all across the rest of the fleet. They – however – had something in their midst that kept them standing and gave them an outlet for their pain.

Raging with a hatred, that can only be brought about by such intense excruciation they leaped upon their panicked prophet who shouted orders for them to stop.

Soon, his orders became pleas, and his pleas became screams as they bludgeoned and clawed and ripped and tore until nothing but a mutilated carcass remained of the crippled, insane man who had once been the Ni-Kunni scientist Prakevi Suurakhandra.