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"Everything, everything in war is barbaric. But the worst barbarity of war is that it forces men collectively to commit acts against which individually they would revolt with their whole being."
~Ellen Key
INITIALIZING
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SYSTEM CHECK:
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COMPLETE
S/N: 24-1D.2f–AA1.44
MODEL ID: AA1
DESIGNATOR: HUNTRESS 44
STATUS: POWERING UP
OPERATION DATE: 2311-07-29
READY
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PILOT: HARTFORD, J. H. (SSG)
STATUS:
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STATUS:
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“Pilot, please confirm status."
Justine bit her lip hard as she clenched her fists tightly, ignoring the AI's soothing feminine voice. Her gut knotted into a tight ball, and she squeezed harder. She could taste copper, but didn't care.
“Pilot, please confirm status."
"No," she whispered in a voice that was more whimper and pulled her knees to her chest in the tight cockpit. "Please..."
“Pilot, please confirm status."
The trembles would follow. They always did. It would start in her hands—it didn't matter how much she clenched them—before spreading everywhere else, then the nausea—
Two sharp raps on the open durasteel hatch shocked Justine out of her panic.
"You good, Staff?" Crew Chief Jansen called out from the other side of the hatch. "Four-Four says that you haven't logged in."
"I'm good, Chief." Justine said, swallowing the tremors in her voice. "Just saying a quick prayer."
Jansen's bushy brows knit below the visor of his cap as he looked down at her, then nodded before closing the hatch. "Say one for me while you're at it. Good hunting, Staff."
Justine stared up at the hatch for a moment longer, then pulled her helmet on and logged into the system.
LOGIN SUCCESSFUL
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PILOT: HARTFORD, J. H. (SSG)
STATUS: ONBOARD
PREFS LOADING: DIANA
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"Welcome, Pilot." The voice said, still calming and feminine. Still stiff. "Calibrating UI."
Justine leaned back into her seat, forcing her breathing into a steady, slow rhythm. "Take your time, Huntress."
"Calibrating." Huntress sounded less robotic now. But, only just.
"Calibration completed. Good morning, Staff Sergeant Justine Helena Hartford. Accessing preferences." Justine winced, still too robotic.
"Preferences loaded. We're ready to roll, Justine." The voice said again, affecting the tone and pitch of a 25-year old woman. "The rest of the Crew are nearly operational, although Three-Oh is reporting that Henderson is currently vomiting. He does not appear to be ailing from a visible sickness. Would you like to pull him from duty?"
Of course she did. But Justine knew Henderson was just working through his interface anxiety. Just like she was.
"No. Give him a moment and have his AI adjust for light interface at first."
"Copy," Huntress replied, adding a bit of sweet tea to her digital drawl. "Three-Oh will ease him in."
"...and dial down the sweetness. That's not what she sounds like."
"No. But you do. I have been re-calibrating your preferences to sound more like you. Most pilots find this approach comforting."
"She's supposed to sound like her, not me. That's what makes her comforting."
"Understood. Done," Huntress replied in a lower, huskier tone. "Is this better?"
Justine frowned. "Yes."
"Good. Would you like me to play your song? I know that it helps your interface anxiety."
Justine's helmet visor illuminated, filling her vision with an augmented view of the world around Huntress and her sisters. The displays and screens were a courtesy while she was still disconnected, supposedly to allow her to pilot Huntress if the interface failed.
"Not right now, Huntress. Thank you. I'm fine."
"Your baseline—"
"I'm fine, Huntress."
Everyone knew that didn't matter; if the interface failed, you were already dead.
Justine reached for the comms, preferring the feeling of a switch under her finger to a virtual nothing for as long as she could.
"Coursers, Huntress 44. Check in."
Static, then...
"Hound 21, ready." Tiago said, sounding like he just woke up from a nap.
"Brutus 04," Crichton announced in her small voice. "Ready."
"Arrow 30," Henderson added groggily. "Ready enough."
"Bad ass," Justine said, forcing the energy that she didn't have. "Huntress, give us the updated tactical."
Justine's vision fell away into a virtual view of Thren in its perihelion from Montara. A ring of eight green circles surrounded the moon.
"The situation with the inbound UC Fleet has been constantly evolving," Huntress began. "At present, thirty vessels are pressing coreward into the system and are expected to break off into smaller strike forces to assault the outer planets, including Montara and its moons, before pressing on to Akila."
"Do we know how many are going to break off for Thren?" Crichton asked.
"It is uncertain, Brutus 04, but Command estimates no less than three vessels, including a ground assault force."
"Which is where we come in, Coursers," Justine added.
"Precisely," Huntress continued. "Our flotilla is mostly comprised of civilian vessels, bolstered by the Ford. However, Command expects ground assault to be likely with only a single Rifleman-class cruiser in defensive positioning."
"Thankfully, we only have Liberty Station to defend from the ground," Justine said, then let the gravity settle. "Which means that anything coming planetside will be gunning for us."
Just eight pilots against whatever the UC was sending to kill them.
And almost a thousand men, women and children that have called Liberty Station home for the last fifty years.
"Command expects the first of the UC vessels to arrive in Thren orbit by—" Huntress's pause made hair stand up on the back of Justine's neck. "Correction: three UC Longswords have emerged from jump at the edge of Thren's gravity well. Command has issued battle station orders for all units: maintain operations under a 10 meter hard ceiling. Courser and Harrier units to deploy immediately."
Several curses cracked over the comms before fading entirely.
"You heard her, Coursers." Justine growled. "We have work to do. Interface and report in link."
Justine grit her teeth and pushed back into her seat, gripping the sides of the firm cushion as the interface socket emerged from the headrest and into the data port at the base of her skull, drawing a moan of discomfort from her until all sensation faded and all that was left was Huntress 44.
"Brutus 04, online." A deep booming growl reported, followed by another whispering rattle. "Arrow 30, online."
"Hound 21, online," said a song-like lilt.
Then Huntress added her own regal tone to the quartet. "Huntress 44, online. You know what to do. If it's in the air..."
"Kill it." The group intoned in unison.
"If it's on the ground."
"Kill it again."
"Bad ass."
Klaxons and flashing amber lights illuminated the launch bay as atmosphere was siphoned from the area and unsuited ground crew retreated to safety, then the sound faded away in absolute vacuum and the lights turned solid red as the doors slid open. The Coursers strode forward as a unit from the Northern Gate, the light of Cheyenne gleaming across the Mechs’ brown and gold paint as they moved onto Thren’s rocky regolith.
Huntress moved to the front of the squad and came to a grinding halt, feeling a million points of the shifting dust under her feet and scanned the airless skies.
Above, three streaks of flame promised death to everyone in the small settlement behind the quartet of Mechs.
Let them come.
Red triangles formed around the incoming ships.
Hostiles inbound.
ETA 130 seconds.
Huntress swept her targeting reticle across the UC invaders, then flagged them for the others.
Missile lock acquired. Half rack. Left only. Staggered burst: 1 sec interval. Brutus: Target 1. Hound: Target 2. Arrow: Target 3. Confirm.
The reply arrived almost instantaneously.
Confirm: ALL
Huntress would have licked her lips if she could.
Hold. Fire in ten.
A countdown filled the lower right section of her vision, then, a burst of six missiles shot skyward, followed by another, and another. She watched as the stream of death spread to intercept the ships, catching the first unaware and sending the ship into a lateral spin that threw it into the path of the second wave of missiles.
The Longsword vanished in a ball of expanding plasma, while the remaining ships abandoned their controlled descent for safer airspace.
Splash one.
A voice, warm and tactile, filled her head, calm and edge-less. "Coursers, Harrier Actual. Clean kill. Save some for us."
Huntress wanted to smile. Justine wanted to cry.
"Harrier Actual, Courser Actual. Get your rigs out on the dust and you can play too."
"Solid copy, Courser Actual," the woman laughed, "Lowest score buys the beer. Harrier Actual, out."
Four green circles appeared in Huntress's tactical map, positioned on the opposite side of the Station as the Harriers left the Southern Gate. She focused on them for a split second, marking them by their designation, then returned her attention to the Longswords.
Friendlies on the board.
Marking FoF Idents.
Hostiles on approach.
The ships had split, filling in opposite directions to circle back to their original approach, but at a steeper angle.
An attack vector.
Strafing run likely. Disperse and seek cover. Divert away from the Station.
Without a word, the Coursers broke formation, moving unnaturally fast for the Mechs' size, toward the natural rock formations and craters that littered the dusty surface.
Huntress moved behind a fan-shaped outcropping and dropped to a durasteel knee, sweeping the reticle over the fast-moving ships. Their angles of attack and potential firing solutions snapping into place in virtual yellow lines that led directly to the Station.
Aggressors inbound. Moving to strike Liberty Station. Divert. PRIORITY.
"Coursers, MOVE! Bring those frakkers down!" Justine shouted into the comms. "Harriers, Courser Actual, you'd better be dust-side because we can't let anything that gets by us have a second run!"
Justine slipped back into Huntress as the reply rang in her head.
"Solid copy, Courser Actual. Dust-side and weapons hot. Make sure you miss so we have something to kill."
Huntress never misses. She pivoted on her knee and brought her shoulder-mounted railgun, as well as the autocannons on each long arm to bear.
Hound 21, Arrow 30: Missiles, empty left rack, Target 1. Follow: A/C, full auto. Maintain RoF.
Brutus 04 with Huntress 44, Rail gun, max penetration, Target 2. Acquire lock: Bridge. Shoot to Kill. Follow: A/C, full auto.
Confirm.
CONFIRM: ALL
If it's in the air, kill it.
The first Longsword dipped its bow slightly, bringing the yellow line directly into the Northern Gate. The living habitats would be next.
EXECUTE.
Two streams of missiles streaked out from the rocks on both sides of Huntress and Brutus and into darkness, a split second later, four nearly-solid lines of tracer fire erupted from Hound and Arrow's autocannons.
The Longsword fired its autocannons, stitching lines into the regolith and sending plumes of dust into the vacuum, then veered to the right as the Courser's tracers slammed into its hull.
Then the missiles struck.
Justine watched as the ship slammed into Thren's surface two kilometers away. Huntress watched the remaining Longsword fire its own missiles, determining their firing solution.
Hound 21, Arrow 30: EVASIVE. Deploy countermeasures.
Hound 21 slid away from the outcropping to Huntress's left, propelled sideways on his thrusters, deploying chaff and flares in a wild spray as the missiles turned the outcropping into glass.
Hound 21: Still in the fight.
Huntress shivered involuntarily before a cool rush of calm flooded Justine. She almost felt the propranolol injector slip from her bicep.
To the right, Arrow 30 filled the sky with flares and chaff, launching up and back.
ARROW 30, REMAIN UNDER HARD CEILING.
Arrow 30 rocketed upward, reacting to the command too late to alter his trajectory.
ARROW 30 DESCEND IMMEDIATELY.
Arrow rose directly into the chaff, defeating his own countermeasures and putting him directly in the path of the first missile. The remaining missiles locked onto the resulting explosion, finishing the job.
Justine tried to shut out Henderson's scream that ended just as soon as it began.
"Courser Actual, Harrier Actual. We've got incoming on the south side. Counting three UC troop carriers. Groundpounders inbound. Repeat: Groundpounders inbound. Stop playing with your food!"
Three new red triangles appeared on Huntress's tactical overlay.
Arrow 30, Status: Offline.
"Staff?" Crichton's voice pulled Justine from the fog.
"Kill it." Justine's voice cracked.
"Kill. It." She said again, letting the calming drug chill her voice, then slipped back into the interface.
KILL IT.
Huntress turned toward the approaching ship, leveling the targeting reticle on it.
Brutus 04, charge R/G: full.
Confirmed.
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: R/G deployed. Charging to full.
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Ready.
Ahead, dust particles floated up from the regolith, drawn toward the barrel of Brutus' extended railgun by the invisible hands of the magnetic charge.
Huntress increased magnification until she could see the Longsword's bridge crew.
Execute.
Brutus staggered back a step as the 5 kilogram tungsten spike sped away from the rail gun. Huntress watched the nearly invisible projectile rip through the bridge at Mach 7, folding the ship into itself. She felt a strange ripple of satisfaction as the ruined ship dove into the surface and buried itself into the rock and dust.
Splash two.
Brutus 04. If it's on the ground, kill it again.
Extreme Prejudice.
The survivors would soon be joining the Bridge crew.
Hound 21, move to assist Harrier.
Hound 21 > Huntress 44. Permission to break hard ceiling.
Huntress scanned the wrecked Longsword as Brutus rocketed forward on her thrusters, skimming the surface, then swept the skies.
Airborne threats undetected.
Hound 21, hard ceiling raised to 30 meters.
Proceed.
"Courser Actual, Harrier Actual. Boots on ground! Boots on ground! Counting two squads. Must be keeping the third for later. If you're coming, get your rigs in gear!"
Huntress turned and rocketed up and around Liberty Station after Hound.
"Harrier Actual, Coursers en route. Leave some for us, we've got some stress to alleviate."
Three larger red triangles appeared on the Tactical, all in line parallel to the Station, with twenty-six smaller triangles flooding the terrain.
"Double time, Courser Actual. We're seeing—FRAK!" The comms crackled, then went silent for a heartbeat. "Anti-armor! Be advised, those goddamned Feds have anti-armor. Where's my interface when I need it?"
"Get jacked, Harrier Actual," Justine urged.
"Can't, Courser Actual. The link's busted. Chief was gonna replace it. Now we're here."
Huntress flared her thrusters to full.
"Fall back to the Station, Harrier Actual. I'll—"
A sigh through the crackle. "No can do, J. We're all that stands between them and our families."
Private link established. Secure.
"Copy. Stay alive, Bobbie."
"That's the plan. Diana would've been proud of you. Now, come and help me get rid of our guests."
Link terminated.
Coursers, on task:
Hound 21: Assess situation. Suppressing fire at will to assist Harrier elements. Disable/Destroy anti-armor.
If it's on the ground, kill it again.
Brutus 04: Status Query.
Brutus 04 engaged. Small arms fire encountered. Minimal effect.
Terminating hostiles. Maximum prejudice. Regroup to follow.
"Push them back or bury them, Harriers!"
Hound slid around the corner of the station to land heavily onto the Thrennan dust, letting his bent knees absorb the shock, as a hail of small arms fire pelted his armored hide. Hound rose from the slight crouch to his full height, then unleashed hell from his arm-mounted autocannons as Huntress slid to a stop behind, adding her own fury to the silent cacophony.
UC Marines in green and black ran, fired and died beneath them as the Harriers rejoined the fight.
Huntress felt the sting of bullets and particle weapons impacting her armor, but moved undeterred until her vision flashed with red bars bracketing its outermost field, then locked on a single figure hefting a large device into their shoulder, the familiar yellow line running directly into the center of Huntress's cockpit.
Anti-armor warhead detected.
Evade.
Huntress swept her autocannon across the Marine as a rocket streaked out from the weapon and through the eruption of dust and red mist. Huntress twisted as she sidestepped, allowing the rocket to hurtle past and slam into a rock formation behind her.
Another warning and a streak, but Harrier 3 wasn't quick enough. The blast blew the smoking remains of a pilot's seat out through the back of the brown and gold Mech before it collapsed on itself. A green circle winked off of the tactical. The Marine died as Hound and Harrier 2 converged autocannon fire on them.
Ten red triangles remained and most of the Marines had begun to fall back toward the troop carriers, all now adding their own deadlier weapons to the fight.
Minor combatants in retreat.
Threat assessment: Troop transports: high-priority.
Left: Target 1
Center: Target 2
Right: Target 3
Courser/Hound 21, Target 3, missile barrage, quarter rack, right. Follow: A/C, Burst. Disable or Destroy.
Harriers assault target 1.
Courser/Huntress 44 to assault Target 2.
Confirm.
CONFIRM: ALL
"Courser Actual, on it," Bobbie's voice crackled. "But I don't like the fact that the third carrier's just sitting there."
Hound unleashed his barrage, then fired several bursts that tore through the transport and the Marines that had ran for it, reducing the ship to a perforated Durasteel box.
Justine tried to ignore the unsuited bodies that were sucked through the hull and into the vacuum. She didn't see the rockets that blew Hound apart.
Huntress did, turning to vaporize the Marines that launched them,
Hound 21, Status: Offline.
The first transport flared its launch thrusters, its pilot desperate to gain altitude before the Harriers could reach it.
It exploded and crashed back to the dust.
Harrier 2: Target 2: Movement.
Huntress magnified her vision, watching as the landing bay opened. A long, sickly red appendage reached out to the dusty surface, then another before the immense abomination pulled itself free and looked up at the stars.
Threat detected: Xenoweapon
Huntress 44 > Command
Active Xenoweapon
Terrormorph confirmed.
Advise lockdown protocol.
Threat imminent.
"Harriers, Courser Actual. Fallback and RTB immediately." Justine said, letting the Propranolol pull her back from the edge. "Chief, move your team to South Gate and get Harrier 1 a working Interface."
"It's going to take an act of God to make that happen, Staff," Jansen's strained voice crackled.
Justine watched the monstrosity stretch lazily in the distance, oblivious to her presence.
"Make it happen, Chief."
Brutus 04, sit rep.
Huntress stalked toward the monstrosity in the shadow of the transport, cycling through her weapons inventory.
Railgun: 20/20 (100%)
Autocannon (R): 313/500 (62%)
Autocannon (L): 381/500 (76%)
Missiles (R): 16/16 (100%)
Missiles (L): 16/16 (100%)
"Get the Harriers back here. We'll be ready."
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: Threats eliminated, returning to formation.
"I can't do that, J," Bobbie's voice broke into the comms. "Not with that thing out here with you."
"That's an order, Harrier Actual."
"We joined at the same time, don't pull that rank bullshit on me," Bobbie retorted, not hiding the edge in her voice.
"I joined a week before you. Please Bobbie. You're not interfaced. That thing will mind frak you before anyone could do anything about it. Get back to the Station and hold the line there. If it gets past me, you need to be the one to keep them safe."
Brutus 04, double time. ETA?
Silence.
"Justine."
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: Confirmed. On the bounce. ETA 200 seconds.
"Go, Bobbie. Second time's the charm, right?"
"Diana's death wasn't your fault."
Justine opened her eyes and looked at the screen. Bobbie's helmeted face filled the image, twisted in an anguish that Justine knew all too well.
"Maybe. But I'm not going to let anyone else die today. Go, Bobbie. The boys need you."
"Fine. But if that thing kills you, I'm going to kill it, then come out here and kick your ass for dying on me."
"I'll hold you to it."
Bobbie flashed her a weak smile, then disconnected as Justine pulled herself back into the interface.
Huntress watched as the Harriers turned and rocketed back toward the Southern Gate, then returned her attention to the magnified view of the transport's cockpit.
The pilot and another crew member had been watching the Terrormorph, likely waiting for it to move away so that they could escape.
They were bickering as a second Terrormorph reached out to the dust from the landing bay.
A single, low-power railgun bolt blew out the cockpit, followed by two more bolts, fired at half-power, that tore through the landing bay and the second creature.
The larger Terrormorph turned to face Huntress. Finger-like appendages around its head spread apart as it opened its mouth in a soundless roar.
Another smaller clawed limb emerged from the tears in the transport's hull, then another.
Huntress painted the wreckage and the Terrormorph with her reticle, then loosed twelve missiles at the ship and four at the monster.
Huntress would not take her chances.
Huntress pressed on as the missiles streaked ahead, striking the transport and reducing it to glowing slag, but the Terrormorph moved with astonishing speed, scrambling sideways like a crab as the missiles impacted the dust in rocky billows.
Huntress scanned the dust clouds until a shape emerged, lunging toward her.
Huntress targeted the Terrormorph, sending four tungsten bolts into the suddenly empty space where the creature had been, then trailed its sideways scramble with autocannon fire.
Justine's vision flashed, not in the interface, not physically, then the screaming started. Flames. Blood. Hers. Henderson's. Tiago's. Pain. The settlers'. Death. Diana.
A husky whisper broke through the screams. "Stay with me, Justine."
Huntress jolted as Justine found herself again. The Terrormorph cocked its head at her from a short distance, poised in preparation to pounce and close the distance. She knew what this was; Militia Command had issued training about the UC's pets and their psychic attacks.
And how to counter them.
Huntress feigned a stumbling backward step, then another to the side, bringing her arms up as if to balance her frame.
It was enough.
The Terrormorph surged forward and into Huntress's targeting reticle as the world blinked in and out of Justine's existence.
"I've got you, Justine," Huntress whispered again. "I'm right here with you. Trust me."
Time slowed as the psychic attack threatened to drag Justine back into horrors, but she slipped deeper into Huntress, watching the railgun bolt slice toward the monster so slowly that she felt like she could reach out and touch it.
The beast compressed itself and sprang sideways quickly, even in Justine's slowed perception, severing a grotesque, spider-like hind leg and sending the creature into a tumble.
Huntress wasted no time and brought both autocannons to bear.
Each shot rang out as deep drum beats through Huntress's frame, slowly becoming an unending roll of thunder as Justine emerged from the depths of the interface.
Warning: Autocannon failure imminent (L): Overheating
Warning: Autocannon failure imminent (R): Overheating
The Terrormorph jerked violently as an endless torrent of 30x173mm hate tore into it.
"Just die!" Justine roared as the autocannons fell silent.
Warning: Autocannon failure (L): Inoperable
Warning: Autocannon failure (R): Inoperable
Railgun: 18/20 (90%): Operable
Justine looked at the bleeding monster, noticing the eight meter furrows that Huntress dug into the regolith under constant recoil.
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: ETA 90 seconds.
Huntress charged her railgun to full, lifting dust from the surface in a slow swirl.
Justine glared down at the twitching beast, even as it struggled to its feet.
"If it's on the ground," she whispered, centering the reticle on the monster. "Kill it—"
Justine crashed, headfirst, into her console as the Terrormorph smashed itself against Huntress. She reeled from the impact, slipping into the interface to escape the pain — just as the Terrormorph’s jaws snapped shut around Huntress’s forearm, severing her hand at the wrist. Unfiltered data feedback sent a white-hot surge that threw her back into her own body, screaming.
She reached for her right hand, gripping it tightly as her senses told her that it was missing. She flexed her fingers, telling her brain that her hand was still there, even if she couldn't feel it, then moaned in agony as she pushed back into her seat and gripped its bolsters tightly with both hands.
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: ETA 60 seconds.
Justine braced herself, then slipped back into Huntress as the monster dragged itself off of her and toward the Station.
Weapons Check:
Warning: Autocannon failure (L): Inoperable
Warning: Autocannon failure (R): Inoperable
Warning: Railgun Failure: Inoperable
Warning: Missile Failure: Targeting suite Inoperable
"No one else dies today."
Justine grit her teeth, pulling Huntress back to her feet to glare down at the bloodied monster.
"Just us."
Deactivate fusion core safety protocols.
Command override/Pilot: Hartford, J.H.
Reactor output: 150%
WARNING: Output beyond limit.
WARNING: Meltdown imminent.
Re-engage safety protocols.
Containment loss in 60 seconds
Huntress tackled the Terrormorph, wrapping her arms tightly around its twisted, mangled abdomen.
She could hear it now. Every shriek and roar resounding through Huntress. Visions of blood, hers and others, crashed into her mind, but she refused to let go. Even as it crawled deeper into her head to pluck the worst of her memories.
Diana.
Huntress wrestled with the monster's flailing limbs and gnashing jaw as it probed deeper into her nightmares.
"You want what's in my head?" Justine screamed. "You can have it."
A flash, then a blaring klaxon. Not... now. No, not just when. Where... Niira...
Containment loss in 50 seconds.
Justine watched helpless as another missile slammed into the side of the shelter. Fire engulfed the upper levels. People were jumping, desperate to escape the flames.
"Holdout Base, Sparrow 72," Justine spoke into the comms, forcing the tremor in her voice aside. "90 seconds out. Evac shuttles to follow once we've laid down surface-to-air defenses. We can't let anything get through to you or the shuttles."
"Sparrow 72," the operator's voice cracked. "Hurry, Justine. We can't hold out much longer."
"I'm coming, big sister. Just a little longer..."
Containment loss in 40 seconds.
"I'm scared."
"You're the bravest person I know Diana. I'm coming for you.
"Justine, I—"
No...
Four missiles collided into the shelter, collapsing the structure into itself.
Containment loss in 30 seconds.
Another flash. Flames and shrapnel. Blood. Screams.
Diana laid on her back, bleeding and screaming Justine's name.
No... That isn't how it happened...
Diana died instantly.
I know what you're doing.
Containment loss in 20 seconds.
Justine opened her eyes and poured herself into Huntress.
"You can't break something that's already broken."
Huntress tightened her grip on the Terrormorph, squeezing tight and cutting into its flesh.
"Now it's my turn to drag you to hell."
Brutus 04 > Huntress 44: Eyes on Target. Release it. Now.
Huntress let go.
Containment loss in 10 seconds.
The Terrormorph spun on Huntress, then disappeared in a spray of red vapor and gore.
"Splash three," Crichton called out over the comms.
Re-engage fusion core safety protocols.
Reactor output: 10%
Initiate emergency cooldown.
Warning: All systems on reduced power mode.
"You okay, Staff?" Crichton asked, her voice small as ever.
"God bless you, Crichton." Justine gasped, finally breathing for the first time.
"Looks like we've got new orders coming in."
Command > Coursers: RTB
FCS Wayne calling all-clear in Thren orbit, pushing coreward to support Akila defense.
Regroup with Harriers for manifest with FCS Wayne.
Justine released the data cable and unstrapped from her seat, struggling to find her voice.
"Yeah," Justine croaked. "Looks like we do. Go on and head back. Huntress and I ain't going anywhere for a little bit. May as well get some me time."
"Copy, Staff," Crichton turned Brutus back toward Liberty Station, then paused. "You did everything you could. That's all we've ever asked. That's why we've always followed you, Justine. And always will. Be kind to yourself."
Justine watched Brutus disappear, then slid into the cramped space between the seat and her console, letting her helmet drop to the deck.
"Huntress, I'd like my song now please."
Huntress didn't respond, but the husky voice filled the cockpit anyway.
"Hey, lil sis. I know you're nineteen now and not the same scared little girl you used to be, especially in that big fancy robot thing you're driving now.
But, you're probably a million miles from home right now and you're scared. I would be too.
Whenever you're scared, Justine, just listen to this and I'll be there with you, okay?
Like I've always been."
Justine wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand, still completely unable to feel her own fingers. Diana's voice filled the cramped space, now a low and husky tone that felt like a warm blanket.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird..."
Justine let out a slow, ragged breath and pulled her knees close and hugged them tightly.
"And if that mocking bird won't sing,
Mama's going to buy you
a diamond ring..."
She let the tears fall until...