Requested : One Mark V ECM unit,1000 km. of Fullerene cable, one low-yield nuclear warhead. Purpose : Surprise party for foreign dignitary.
Argosy Special Operations Requisition Form [CY 9512]
I am afraid, despite all our best efforts, the Makrite fever spread to all of Rogina's major cities.
If the medical supplies do not get here quickly, I'm afraid all I can offer is prayer.
I hope to see you all soon. Rev Bem out.
Let me guess. That would be the bad news, right?
Makrite fever has a 95% mortality rate.
Which translates into 31 million dead on Rogina.
Yeah, that qualifies.
And all we have to do to stop it is escort an unarmed convoy of Wayist relief ships through Acheron.
Well, you know what an expressway that place is. We go there, we cut our transit time in half.
Like it or not, passing through Acheron is our only chance of getting to Rogina before that epidemic runs its course.
What's not to like? It's not like Acheron is chock-full of old High Guard missile batteries
operated by psychopathic Drago-Kasov Nietzscheans oh, wait! It is!
uh, going through Acheron, casualties on Rogina. I vote for ninety-five percent casualties on Rogina. Who's with me?
We should be fine, so long as we stick to schedule and Dylan and Tyr neutralize the Nietzschean command center.
Sounds good, in theory. But I want to be ready, just in case.
Are we?
I'm on it. I'm on it.
Too slow.
Let's review the concept of this operation.
You were supposed to find me a prisoner, not thin the Drago-Kasov gene pool.
They were headed straight for you.
Where I would have shocked them unconscious with my force lance.
But now - now, neither of them will provide us with the radio codes we need.
We'll find other targets. You trust me. I've done this sort of thing before.
Well, then you are the luckiest bastard I've ever met.
You're still alive in spite of leaving bodies behind you like a trail of breadcrumbs.
- Luck hasn't a thing to do with it. - Tyr, you screwed up!
All right, then. You're the expert, you tell me.
How do we get inside of that?
He is the last guardian of a falling civilization,
A hero from another time,
faced with the universe and chaos.
Dylan Hunt recrutes an unlikely crew
and sets out to re-unite the galaxies.
On the starship Andromeda, hope lives again
UNA SALUS VICTUS
There's at least a full platoon out there on patrol. Maybe more.
Here's a thought.
Let's capture one of them, get his security codes. That way, we'll know for sure how many people we're up against.
Oh, yeah, that's right. We - we tried that.
Nietzscheans maintain long periods of radio silence. I don't need a security code to tell you that. But you're right.
This *might* have been easier had we been able to follow your plan.
- Damn. That was almost an apology. - It was nothing of the kind.
However, I deciphered their codes for you.
I knew there was a reason I hadn't fired you.
So did I.
That's one slip down. Three more to go before we hit Acheron.
Ah, boss? We've only got 22 relief ships reporting in.
That's one short.
The Satya Graha Crew: 63 volunteers. Cargo: 12000 metric tons of medical supplies.
Come on. We're punchin' a clock, here.
The Satya Graha's navigational interface wasn't up to spec. It wouldn't surprise me if she were halfway to Tarn Vedra.
Great. So they took the wrong exit and we don't have time to wait for them.
Well, what's the call, boss? Do we stay or do we go?
Both. We need those supplies and three of our best epidemiologists are on that ship. So, here's the deal.
You push on while I take the Maru and go looking for her. And Harper, you have the comm.
I can't see them, but sensors insist there's a squad down there.
Then we've got two options. One, a frontal assault.
And two?
Sprout wings, make ourselves invisible with a pocketful of pixie dust, and fly inside.
I don't know about the pixie dust part, but flying - that's not bad.
It was a joke.
I'll go first. You cover me, then follow while I cover you.
My captain, that's solid rock.
Yeah, I know. Una Salus Victus.
Una...The one hope of the doomed?
The unit motto of the Argosy Special Operations Service.
"The one hope of the doomed is not to hope for safety." We'll see you on the other side.
Pixie dust.
That was fun, huh?
Well I gotta admit, making Rommie obey my every whim
and laying waste to the Drago-Kasov sounds really great, but... All by myself?
You'll do fine. All you have to do is hold the fort until I find the Satya Graha. We'll catch up at the next slip-point.
Now, remember: No wild parties while I'm gone and, uh, have the lights out by ten.
I'm assuming you know a way inside?
Voila. It's a map of the mountain and the fortress, right down to the last chamber and the last cavern,
courtesy of the Argosy Corps of Engineers. Welcome to High Guard Station Acheron.
What USED to be High Guard Station Acheron.
If it's any consolation, the Nietzschean alliance lost fifty ships and three mobile infantry divisions taking this rock from the Commonwealth.
Luckily, it doesn't look like they expected the High Guard to come back.
Not an irrational assumption, considering my people destroyed them utterly.
Are you bragging or complaining?
Observing.
This is the medical relief ship, Satya Graha, requesting immediate assistance.
Satya Graha, this is the Eureka Maru. I'm on my way. Now stop broadcasting on an open channel. This is Nietzschean country.
Maru out. Hold tight little lamb. Watch for wolves.
Damn! Nietzscheans.
Combat systems activated.
Momma always told me there'd be days like this.
It looks like our best way in is just around...
Ok, that's a problem.
Automated defense systems.
Large-bore gauss guns with hyperspectral sensors and fullerene plating.
The ECM generators in the weave of our field uniforms should mask us at range.
But if we get too close, they'll detect us.
Yeah. One way or another, we'll have to neutralize them.
Find another route? They may have missed a tunnel or two.
Security Squad Two, report position and status. Over.
Security Squad Two, be advised. We are implementing a Kessel-Krieg Alert status. Command and Control Center out.
- They know we're here. - We should fall back
formulate a contingency plan.
Here's my contingency plan.
We're going in. Any questions?
Not now.
That was effective.
Oh, we got 'em right where we want 'em.
The Eureka Maru, proudly saving your ass since AFC 291.
Satya Graha, make best possible speed to the nearest slipstream transfer point. I'll draw them off.
Enemy fighters threatening relief ship.
Jerks. Trying to blow up a relief ship carrying nothing but monks and medical supplies. That is not very nice.
Enemy fighter eliminated.
And they're off. Now, as for you losers...
Ok, backup plan.
No more Mr. Nice-Guy. Come on!
Now that was effective.
I assume there are several more of those between here and the command center?
Many more.
Letting me run to slipstream, are you? Yeah, you'd like that.
Let me lead you right back to Andromeda and the convoy. I don't think so. Let's see.
Let's open a nice slip portal. Not a huge one, mind you, just big enough to blind your sensors
while I turn around and kick your bone-bladed behinds.
That's two down, one to go.
But you are a little smarty, aren't you. Didn't fall for any of Auntie Beka's trips.
Ok, that hurt, but thanks for giving me the excuse.
Warning: Main power plant and life support systems are off-line.
Relax. It's just for a little while. Just long enough to lure them in and deploy proximity-fuse anti-ship fragmentation mines.
Set fuses for five hundred kilometers.
Warning: Specified proximity exceeds safety margins.
Override safety protocols, authorization code: "Shut up and do what I tell you!"
Authorization accepted. - Sheesh.
Hey!
All right, Mr. Harper, let's see if you're any good.
Harper's pretty good.
- Are we through here? - Quite through.
Missile control is...this way.
Try another sweep with the active sensors.
I've been running them continuously. Still nothing.
Well then check the long-range sensor drones. She's gotta be here somewhere.
I'm sorry, Harper. If the Maru were in this system, I'd have seen it by now. And the longer we wait...
Yeah, I know. Bad things will happen.
But if Beka's in trouble, and I leave her behind...?
I've known Beka for nearly five years, ok? She's the only one I know still nuts enough to put up with me on a daily basis.
If those Nietzschean bastards got her, I don't know what I'd do.
We don't know that anything's happened to her.
Yeah, and if we push on, we may never find out.
Harper, you don't have to justify your decisions to me. If you say wait, we wait.
Ninety-five percent casualties.
Thirty-one million dead.
All right, fine. Uh, broadcast to the convoy we're getting under way. Best speed to the next transit point.
Aye.
That was easy.
- Trap. - Really?
- Yeah. - Their mistake.
Estimated time for engine repair: 4 hours.
Not good. Not with that fighter out there. What about weapons?
Estimated time for fire control repair: 4 hours.
Great. Run, shoot, run, shoot, run, shoot...who am I kidding? Run.
Here. Don't hold on to that too long.
Well. We might let God sort them out, but someone told me he was dead.
Heh...that Nietzsche. What a comedian.
Attention on deck!
Pathetic!
Sir, the targets assaulted through our ambush and executed a strategic withdrawal. But the situation is contained.
Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we? Comm unit.
Captain Hunt, this is Fleet Marshal Cuchulain Nez Pierce.
I see you noticed yourself walking into my ambush. Congratulations.
Still, I've been setting up this little surprise party for months, and being as you're all out of places to run to,
I'd suggest you surrender yourself now and save everyone a lot of grief.
But I like giving people grief.
Incoming transmission.
Incoming? Patch it through.
Well played, Captain Valentine. Strange. For some reason, I thought you'd look different.
- Maybe less like you? - Except for the obvious.
Squadron Leader Pavarti Quechua of the Drago-Kasov.
You're the Nietzschean fighter jock. This is new.
I called to see if you might need a hand.
Those proximity mines were a nice touch, but looks like they banged you up pretty bad.
And you're offering to help me? Out of the goodness of your heart?
Please, hear me out first.
I don't mean to be rude, but you're in a cargo ship, I'm in a Garuda-class fighter. You don't stand a chance against me in combat.
So, surrender. My pride has no quarrel with you. I promise you'll be released as soon as this mess gets sorted out.
And I have your word on that, as a Nietzschean.
Point taken. But I have no reason to lie to you.
Except that your ship looks every bit as damaged as mine. I have a counter-proposal. You surrender to me.
Not likely. I was hoping we could resolve this before things got nasty.
Things got "nasty" when you tried to blow an unarmed ship out of the sky.
Well, then I guess we'll see who's the better mechanic.
Good luck to you. Honestly.
Honestly.
I agree, we need to complete our task.
However, I am a bit concerned about how you plan to get us off of Acheron once we're done.
Yeah. Me too.
Excuse me, Dylan - may I call you Dylan?
This guy's really starting to bug me.
Ah, let me guess. You don't want to respond so we can't track your signal. I respect that.
So, I'll just assume the answer is yes. Dylan, I've got no problem with you.
All I need is Tyr Anasazi. Hand him over to me, and I'll let you go.
I might even be willing to sit down and talk about your new Commonwealth.
But if you protect him, I'll kill you. I'll destroy the Andromeda and I'll turn that relief convoy into a live fire exercise.
Then I'll let the plague on Rogina run its course. Thirty-one million lives for one, Captain. It's a pretty good deal, I think.
I'm sure your first instinct is to say "No." You think the Kodiak is your friend, but don't forget, he's a Nietzschean.
If you still believe he's on your side, ask him what happened at Enga's Redoubt.
Cuchulain out.
Still no sign of Beka and only one more slip-jump to Acheron.
What if they got her, Rommie?
Focus on the mission, Harper. If we're lucky, we can be in and out before the Dragons can respond.
Yeah, well I don't feel very lucky. In fact, I feel like a big ol' can of "unluck" that's just about to open up on someone.
Harper, our mission is to escort this convoy to Rogina, not settle scores with the Drago-Kasov.
Settle scores?
Listen to me, Rommie.
The Drago-Kasov practically owned Earth when I was growing up. Them and other Nietzscheans just like 'em.
And when you and Dylan were having your little 300 year nap, they were running around doing one of two things:
making people's lives miserable, or making them nonexistent. Now, if we get to Acheron and no one's there, Great!
But Beka is not here right now, and Beka's never late.
For all we know, she could be dead because of them.
So, if you don't mind, I am gonna keep my scorecard handy, just in case.
We assault through the garrison on the north side.
They're strongest there, but that may be to our advantage.
If we can maintain the element of surprise, we'll...
I've got a better idea.
You're going to tell me what you stole from the Drago-Kasov and it's gonna be the truth
because, if you lie to me, I'll blow your head off.
Once we were inside the mausoleum, everything broke our way. Security fell for our diversionary tactics and...
Ok, I get it. It was a great plan.
Get to the part where you turn my ship into a huge blinking target.
Drago Museveni's remains are the one thing that any Nietzschean would die for.
The one thing we value above our own lives,
MINE to protect, the sacred trust of the Kodiak.
And what better place to keep them safe than on board the Andromeda.
You stole the corpse of Drago Museveni.
My people believe that one day the genetically reincarnated progenitor will rise and claim leadership over all Nietzscheans.
His body is the only means by which his identity can be verified.
When the progenitor appears,
I alone will be able to offer him legitimacy and unite the prides.
If - if the progenitor appears. It has been three thousand years and you people are still waiting for him.
In the meantime, Tyr, you've brought the wrath of the Drago-Kasov down on my ship.
The situation can work to your advantage.
What better shield than the body of Drago Museveni? No Nietzschean would dare attack you for fear of harming it.
Ah, well go tell that to the Dragons. You're one hell of a pitchman, Tyr, but you didn't do any of this to benefit me.
I never said I did. I said that my actions *do* benefit you. There's a difference.
Would it kill you to give me a straight answer?
You'd like a straight answer?
Very well, then, sir. You give me one.
Explain why you've made it your mission to restore the Commonwealth.
A trillion hungry Magog preparing to destroy what's left of civilization. I think that about covers it.
Ah, yes, well that's a lovely excuse, sir. I've used it myself.
But you've asked for the truth, and it is this.
You emerged from three hundred years in the void to discover paradise in ashes. Your home: gone. Your family: dead.
And in the face of this insanity, you made the only reasonable choice: to reshape the universe according to your will.
Now, you tell me, Captain Hunt, is that a lie?
If it is, then you should make good on your promise and kill me for it.
No?
Good.
We both know you were never going to shoot me.
It's amazing. It's been over a year, and you don't know me at all.
Ok, Beka, are we leaking coolants? Sniffers say yes, pressure gauges say no. Which is it, already?
- Still there, Captain Valentine? - What do you want?
Repair work is boring. We're the only two living beings in this system.
So you want to chit-chat before you try to kill me? As long as I live, I will never understand Nietzscheans.
Oh, come now. If there's any human out there who could understand the Nietzschean mindset, it's you.
Just look at you and your Captain Hunt on your doomed mission to restore the Systems' Commonwealth.
- You support it? - No, it's absolute lunacy.
But still, testing your will against that of a hostile universe in such a grandiose fashion?
I admire that.
Where'd you go?
Uh, so what about you? What's your story, Squadron Leader Quechua?
I thought all Nietzschean females were supposed to be homebodies.
Only those who can breed.
Oh. I thought Nietzscheans killed their children who were de......fective. Who...had problems.
The Drago-Kasov don't kill their children, even the defective ones.
They let us become combat pilots so we can prove the worthiness of our genes.
By succeeding on the battlefield, I can raise the status of my brothers, my sisters, and my entire extended family.
Lucky you.
I don't think I was cut out for the family life, anyway.
Staying at home with two co-wives and a dozen rug rats while some wannabe alpha postures and preens.
- Shoot me now. - Can't. Fire control's off-line.
Stage One repairs completed.
You're not so bad as far as kludges go. I have to admit, I like you. I really do.
Enough not to kill me?
Well, no. But I promise to feel bad about it afterwards.
Then why don't I do you a favor by not giving you the chance. See you around.
Come on.
Damn it!
Emergency bypass failed. Critical reactor failure in 10 seconds.
9. 8. 7.
6. 5. 4.
3. 2.
Emergency shutdown successful. Venting reaction Mag bottle.
So much for running.
I can see that from here. Are you all right?
I'm fine. But if you don't mind, I'm gonna be a little busy from now on.
- Same here. I've a lot of work to do. - Yeah.
Getting ready to blow me out of the sky.
We've transited into the Acheron system.
Let's hope Dylan and Tyr are as cool as I think they are. Any sign of...
Wait. I'm detecting a Nietzschean task force. Four light minutes away and closing.
Ten capitol ships, forty fighters? Oh, great. Can I get fries with that?
An ambush. They knew we were coming.
The plague on Rogina. The Drago-Kasov must've released it to draw us to Acheron.
And now that leaves us staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
A very big freaking gun. All right. Rommie, how about those, uh, deep space missile batteries?
It's impossible to be certain, but they appear to be operational.
Right. Right. I'm getting sick of these Drago-Jerkoffs. They want war, let's give 'em war.
- Trance, report to Command. - On my way.
- Harper. - Rommie, you heard me.
Let's put their lights out. Battle stations.
And my mother likes to claim dissent from Bodicea Kokuyu, but everyone knows what a huge liar she is.
She'd have you believe she sprang fully formed from the head of Drago himself.
You Nietzscheans sure do love your genealogy.
And what about you? You must have some great stories to tell about your family.
Not really.
I read your intelligence file.
A dead drug-runner for a father, con artist brother: it's a fascinating catalog of criminality and dysfunction.
- It wasn't that bad. - No,
because you took a rotten hand and you managed to survive.
Admirable. Whereas with me, no matter how much glory I achieve,
the most I can hope for is not to disgrace my family any more than I did by being born.
Warning. Incoming virus detected.
You know, I'd have an easier time bonding with you if you would stop trying to hide computer viruses on your carrier waves.
Virus deleted.
The point was to disable you so I won't have to open fire. Please, Beka, don't make me kill you.
Then how's this as an idea?
You fix your ship, I fix my ship, we go our separate ways and you declare me missing and presumed dead.
And as soon as you turn up alive, that's another black mark against my entire family and our breeding status.
- I can't do that to them. - And I can't surrender to you.
Then I guess we both know what happens next.
Communication terminated.
Fleet Marshal Nez Pierce, this is Captain Dylan Hunt. Respond. Over.
Dylan? Go ahead.
I have that package you requested. You want him? You can have him.
Harper, we can't keep trading punches with them all day.
So maneuver or something. Uh, dam the torpedoes, full speed ahead.
Slipstream events...all over the place. The convoy is transiting into Acheron.
The Dragon task force has enveloped us. We're cut off from the convoy.
Nietzschean fighters are closing in.
Rommie?
As I see it, Harper, you have three options.
One, you can run with the convoy to the next slipstream point and lose at least ten of our ships.
Two, you can charge the Dragons' position, which will likely kill us and most of the attacking ships,
but could draw fire long enough for the entire convoy to get away.
Or three, do nothing but cover the convoy, die, and probably lose some of the relief ships anyway.
But there are no sure bets, and the choice is yours.
My task force has just engaged the Andromeda Ascendant in the outer solar system.
From all reports, she's not acquitting herself very well.
Andromeda's a big ship. She can take care of herself.
Ever seen a pack of wolves take down a grisly bear, Captain?
Oh, sure, the bear can dish it out at first,
but the wolves attack and attack and attack.
- Sooner or later, the bear loses. - My money's still on the bear.
Call off your dogs and we'll settle this.
You've mistaken me for someone in a weak bargaining position, Captain. Give me the Kodiak first.
- Don't trust him. - Quiet, Tyr! You chose this.
I can't let my crew suffer the consequences of your mistakes.
If I were you, Captain Hunt,
I'd pray that that ship of yours never comes to harm.
Because it's the only thing in the universe that can protect you from me.
Hunt? Dylan!
A trick.
Caught with my pants down by a kludge.
Magnificent. Mobilize the hunters. Tell them I want Anasazi and I don't care how many pieces he's in as long as one of them can talk.
And as for the kludge, he's target-practice.
This isn't working. The fighters are blocking for those cruisers and I can't continue to soak up this kind of damage.
What happened to Miss "I Fought Ten Thousand Nietzscheans and Lived to Tell About It"?
That was different! I had a trained crew, a full weapons load, I had no battle damage, and...!
Don't say it! I know, "Dylan was here." Well, he isn't now.
Harper, the convoy.
Rommie, keep firing. We have to take out those cruisers.
No. We have to protect those relief ships. Use defensive missiles to cover their transit.
And get killed? No freakin' way! We can't protect squat if we're dead, Rommie!
We're dead either way. This is bigger than us, Harper!
I am not losing to those self-appointed superior life form FREAKS!
Then listen to Rommie.
The Drago-Kasov only win if they can stop the convoy. If we can protect that convoy, then the Drago-Kasov lose.
Even if they destroy us, you'll have beaten them - YOU, Harper, a pure, unmodified human.
Kludge.
Well kludge this.
All right.
Switch to defensive missiles. Cover that convoy. Whatever it takes.
You look...taken aback.
You were supposed to be outside, drawing them away from this position.
You were supposed to send a coded pulse. You didn't. I assumed you were dead and doubled back.
They're jamming our comms.
So this is all just a misunderstanding?
Exactly.
I'll buy that. Shall we blow this place up and leave?
First things first.
Nietzschean space-based missile batteries are powering up. They'll be ready to fire any second.
How are we doing, Rommie?
Defensive systems are compromised and slipstream is off-line.
We're not going to make it.
The convoy?
It's through.
Whoo Hoo! All right, that means we still won, you über bastards!
All right, on my mark, attack pattern "Last Act of Freakin' Defiance".
Harper, wait.
Holy crap! Did we do that? How did we do that?
Not us. The missile batteries are targeting the Nietzscheans.
Dylan.
Done.
Warning. Life support controls are off-line.
If this doesn't work, I won't be needing any more oxygen.
It's time.
Yeah. I figured.
I've enjoyed talking to you, Beka. I won't insult you by asking for your surrender.
If you want, I can relay any last messages you have for your friends or family.
Is there anything that you'd like to say to them?
Yes.
I'm sorry.
Kludge! Kodiak!
I think he means us.
Hey. Here's how we're going to play this. Everybody walks away and no one gets hurt.
I admire your optimism, Captain, but here's a more likely scenario for you.
We kill you, my task force neutralizes the Andromeda,
and the Drago-Kasov take back our stolen property.
Huh. I thought you might say that.
That was, uh, one of your orbital defense batteries pounding this position with a one-kilo missile at point-nine C.
That's 20 megatons right on top of our heads.
See, I figure this mountain can take five, maybe six, solid shots before the battery turns it into a gravel pit.
You'll kill us all, yourself included. You're bluffing.
Uh, yeah.
That's two.
And that would be three.
Huh. You're insane.
And you're beaten, Fleet Marshal.
Cease fire and I'll call of the attack on your ship.
I think it should be you first.
That's, uh, four. I'm kinda curious what five's gonna feel like. How 'bout you, huh?
Fine! You win.
Task force,
stand down and withdraw to rally point Omega.
Understand, Captain. This victory isn't free.
Until now, all I cared about were Tyr and what he stole from us.
Now I care very much about you.
Well, you see, that's what the universe needs more of, people caring for each other.
Have a nice trip out.
Glad to see you, boss. I was worried about you.
Yeah. So was I.
You want to talk about it?
Not really.
- You want me to leave? - No. No. Stay.
Trance reports no major incidents at the treatment centers, yet.
The operation is young.
Captain Hunt.
Your ship is no longer accepting my access codes to storage area fifteen.
Imagine that.
Rommie, a moment please.
You accused me of attempting to reshape the universe according to my will.
Fine. Consider this part of the reshaping process.
An interesting euphemism for theft.
The progenitor's remains are my property.
Wrong! Everything on this ship belongs to me. Period.
I DON'T BELONG TO YOU!
You've always been welcome to leave, Tyr.
But the remains stay here, under my protection.
As long as my property is safe, I'm content to leave it where it is for now.
But you hear me. Someday I'll want to retrieve it.
And when "someday" comes around, I might even let you.
It all depends.
On?
The shape of the universe.
I am not pleased, Captain.
Didn't expect you to be.
Something else on your mind?
You called down fire on your own position, an act of unmitigated insanity.
Now, your adversary knows just how far you are willing and able to go.
As a result, you've rendered yourself vulnerable.
Una Salus Victus, Tyr. It's not about being invulnerable.
It's about being ready for anything.
synchro : jrzac
acknowledgment: SUBEDIT / YOJIMBO [BST]... / X-TEAM
VO + sub FR ...Pour NOTRE et VOTRE plaisir ! à consommer sans modération