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Chapter 3: Flight
Drala was brought to consciousness by an unusual sound outside. It was barely dawn, and the sky was still dark, the sun refusing to awake from its long slumber. With the quickness of a panther, he leapt from his bunk and ran out the door, not even stopping to put on some outer garments.
The city, like the sun, was also in a state of inactivity, its rooftops faintly lit by the peaceful essence of the twilight. Not even a morning breeze blew at Drala’s face. The only visible movement was smoke, gently drifting skyward from a few of the chimneys. Otherwise, everything was still, save one thing.
Over the western wall was assembled the entire fleet of the Seekers, already arrayed in a skirmish position. A stream of Stinger craft was still emerging from the dock, rushing to join the already airborne aircraft carriers. A soft, calming hum spread over the city as the ships whirred to life again, slowly moving southwest in their dignified formation.
“I wonder where they’re going…” said Drala quietly, yet aloud. “I never recall the entire fleet being mobilized. Not even back during the salvage runs.”
Silently, he retraced his steps back into watch garrison and readied himself for another day in the city.
“How do we stand?” asked Captain Damad of the Macran as a hologram appeared on the panel.
Paet pointed to a spot slightly southwest of the location of Old Zoah.
“We’ve been monitoring the imperial fleet for the past few hours. They’re moving slowly… but they’ll be here soon, that’s for sure.”
His finger moved upwards towards the direction of New Zoah.
“I plan for us to directly intercept them before they get close enough to the city to cause any real damage.”
Paet looked thoughtful for a moment, and then slammed his hand down on the table decisively.
“Which would bring us here… Approximately 7500 rions (150 miles) southwest of our current position. If we keep this direction, time of interception should be… an hour before dawn.”
“That’s simple enough, Paet. But do you have a strategy in mind for confronting a fleet several times our size?”
This question was posed by Captain Kylar of the battleship Vertus. The Vertus had been constructed as a sister ship of Paet’s own, which he and his crew affectionately called Naus, or simply, “Ship”.
Paet gave a sharp nod.
“Fair question, Captain. But before I answer, allow me to remind you: The Empire was destroyed a mere fifteen years ago by a rampage of bio-creatures. They lost their emperor, their greatest officers, and their entire fleet. This is their desperation attempt. They are poorly organized; their vast ranks are filled with toy soldiers.”
He continued with a deep sigh.
“But, yes, of course, the sheer size of their fleet is still a problem. Even an oaf could win them this battle. Give me a count on the ships.”
“Sir, we have twenty-six battleships, six battlecruisers, and three aircraft carriers, with a wing of maybe twenty Stinger craft each. Not counting the fighters, that’s just a little over thirty ships.”
“And the Empire?”
“They have three formations total… so far they have been moving as separate strike groups, but when they merge…”
“And the numbers, soldier?”
The young man gulped.
“One hundred and sixty remodeled battleships, twenty-five assault frigates, twenty-five heavy cruisers, fifteen turret-mounted cannons, twelve heavy missile cruisers, ten aircraft carriers, perhaps fifty airships each, and those… those look like kamikaze bombers, and these…”
The list went on for another half-minute. The onlookers in the room were gravely silent as he finished.
“A total of two hundred and seventy operational ships, sir.”
From the other captains there was an understandably frustrated sigh. Captain Damad looked as if he was about to say something, but shook his head and turned to Paet instead.
“Any ideas, Paet?”
Paet stared at the holographic images of imperial ships in awestruck silence. Then, he looked up at Damad, who had a truly anxious look on his face.
“Tell me, Captain. We have thirty ships. They have nine times as many. If we opened fire on them headlong, how many casualties could we deal?”
“Assuming that we’re coordinated enough. And assuming that every one of our shots count. I estimate we could get off three volleys- maybe take out eighty or so of the bastards- before anything gets to us.”
The other captains knew full well what “anything” meant.
“And do you think we have any chance of winning this battle, Captain?”
Damad looked intently into Paet’s eyes.
“With all due respect, Captain Paet, it would take a miracle for us to wipe out the entire imperial force with a measly thirty ships.”
He took a breath and continued.
“But I did tell you I would fight until the bitter end. I only have a last request from you, Paet, going into this battle.”
“And that would be?”
Damad smiled.
“Watch my kill count.”
Edge ran as fast as he could. He felt the presence of his enemy as they raced together towards a destination unknown. The golden lights of the astral plane stretched on into infinity, cold and unyielding, but at the same time, warm and soothing. He bound forward into the void.
He felt it. He was close now. Somehow, he must escape. Somehow, he must return to reality.
“What reality?” He thought to himself.
He did not know the answer to that question. But that was beside the point, for he was closer to freedom now than ever before. Edge ran as fast as he could.
“Warning. Target is approaching junction point. Interception failed. Target due for external junction 3C in minus four seconds.”
“Scorpitara units on standby. Target in range. Target is materializing. Fire at will.”
Edge exploded from the astral plane with a force so pure that the entire world trembled at that moment. The air, the first true air that Edge had inhaled in fifteen years, ignited into flame as he emerged into a massive chamber. At first, he did not realize what had happened, for the walls in the room were also golden in their color. But, Edge had little time to do so as the thirty waiting Scorpitara began their assault.
Edge began running again. Unhindered and unchallenged, he vaulted across the floor with inhuman speed. As the Scorpitara fired, Edge felt orbs of energy flying across the room, whizzing past his face, and exploding all around him. Without a weapon, Edge could not hope to fend off his attackers. So he kept running.
He dashed out of the room and down a hallway, the Scorpitara scuttling after him, their claws grasping outwards to take their quarry.
“Oh, shit…” Edge muttered as he neared the end of the hallway.
It was a dead vertical drop, but he had no place better to go.
Edge leapt from the floor, and his pursuers went after him, all of their malice and willpower focused solely on their prey.
Azel saw the figure plunging downwards, and recognized the face, wizened by war, and the eyes, sharp as steel.
She cried out. “LAGI!!!”
Edge felt an awareness enter his mind, something he had not felt for a long time. As he fell, he extended his hand and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he recognized the sound of wings flapping, the sound of the dragon’s warcry, which he had heard so long ago. His hand grasped the dragon’s neck, and he swung himself backwards, catapulting into the air and landing behind Azel on the dragon’s back. The Scorpitara made a last, vain try at the dragon’s tail before plummeting to their deaths.
Azel turned back to face the newly returned rider, her face a mixture of pure joy and astonishment. As Edge put his arms around her and embraced her as if never before, she half-laughed, half-cried:
“I told you that I would wait for you!”
Paet stood on deck, where he could view his entire fleet, and the battle that was soon to be joined. It was an hour before dawn, but the absence of the sun did not obscure the imperial fleet, less than a mile away, slowly lumbering towards them just as death looms towards all humans. The sky, a mile away, was covered in rank after rank of imperial ships, converging towards a comparatively miniature rabble of Seeker ships that stood to defy fate itself.
A voice was heard over the intercom. It was a quiet, composed voice, but terrible and loud nevertheless.
“By the decree of His Majesty the Eighth Emperor of the Sovereign Empire, this fleet has been sent to obliterate the insurgent city of New Zoah. Ye rebels, stand down! You cannot hope to stand against the power of the Empire!”
Alas, if there was a heart that did not waver in this moment, it was that of Paet. He was quick and decisive to reply.
“We have not come here to parley or surrender to you. If you would take the city, then I will see that to it that you must destroy every last one of our ships to do so!”
Silence.
Paet knew that these words, these actions, could not be undone.
He activated the ship intercom.
“Captains, charge all guns. On my mark…”