AboardASWUnbroken

477,000 kilometersfrom Azul(Isabella V), Isabella System

05/04/70, 06:14:00

“N-no,s-she'd n-never....” Kiri Johansdottir whispered raggedly,feverishly in her tortured sleep, as she fought the covers, thrashedabout to the limit of the tubes inserted in her arms, the woman whohad once been a candidate in Colorado's last Presidential election abrutalized, shattered husk trapped in a living nightmare of hisenemy's design.

Thefive other women, ranging in age from sixteen to thirty, werethrashing about in their beds, trapped in that same bloody nightmare.

Nowonder Jesse Dawntreader drank.

Hecould only wonder how his twin sister managed to stay sober.

“Sokay,luv,” whispered Surgeon Major Shannen Dawntreader, her own voicequavering, as she stroked Kiri's blond hair, calming her for themoment.

Hervoice weary, and as ragged as her patient's, when she said,”Jenwasn't with them.”

“Northeir child,” Jesse whispered. “How's Marina—“

“Notwell, Jess,” Shannen replied, not turning to look at her brother.“She's been fretting and hoping ever since we lost contact with theembassy fifteen years ago, she was up all night last night, eversince we got the orders to come here, working just so she wouldn'thave to think about what'd we find...then, when after we spotted thewreckage of the IMorgon, aftershe went aboard with you guys, saw what those miserable Marziebastardsdid....”

Shetrailed off, her whole body shaking, Shannen balling her fists tilthey were bloodless.

“She'snever seen the crap we have, Jess,” she whispered. “I mean, shewas just a kid, when Lexie was killed re-taking Clarion, but, still,she's never....”

Shesighed, trailing off a second time, as she finally rose from Kiri'sbed, walking past Jesse toward the coffeepot at the opposite end ofthe med deck's abbreviated intensive-care unit, her hands stillshaking, even as she tried pouring herself a cup.

“Vog!”she hissed, spilling coffee on her left hand, almost dropping thebeaker she was holding, missing the coffee maker the first time shetried putting the pot back in it.

“Onlya burn,” she commented to herself, succeeding this time in puttingthe coffepot back in the right place, taking one of the sandwichesfrom the plate one of the ship's service bots had laid down on thesideboard next to the coffeemaker, nibbling at it, putting both itand her beaker down, as she asked:

“Shouldn'tyou be by the airlocks, just in case?”

“Crewdeck's my next stop,” Jesse replied, mentally reviewing thedeployment of the ship's six reaction-rifle sections and combots foronly the thousandth and first time since Unbrokenhadre-entered normspace.

“Just,”he then said,”wanted to check on Kritzteena and the others.”

” Seehow you were getting on,” he concluded.

“I'llbe fine,” his twin sister lied.

“She'llget us through this,” she added, talking about Stevie,”and theywon't even come close to boarding us.”

Shethen turned round, looking her brother dead in his eyes.

“Ifthey do board us,” she added, her voice acquiring thehardness of nano-reactive carbon steel, her hands going to herholstered RP35 rail pistol and starfire blade,”we both know what todo, don't we?!”

“Now,bug off,” she said more cheerfully. “I've patients to tend to.”

AboardASWUnbroken

921,000 kilometersfrom Azul(Isabella V), Isabella System

05/04/70, 06:16:28

Throughthe armored glass of the launch control room window, Alicia couldhear the clank!clank!clankingof 30-millimeter ammo belts being loaded into her dropship’smagazines by the three members of the ship’s launch deck team, asan army of robotic technicians(or teks) reloaded the torp launcher’smagazine, and the automatic refuelling system pumped remass into thewing tanks of the arrowhead-shaped DragonflyIV,before being retracting its feed lines into recesses along thebulkheads.

Moreteks hovered over the electromagnetic launch rails set perpindicularto the ship’s long axis and the bay doors along its bottom(thusparallel with the rest of the deck), checking for signs of heaterosion, any foreign objects which might have gotten into the launchsystem, any sign of combat damage, the twenty-four year old masterchief pilot officer of the Anacreonian Watch knitting her fingerstoghether, steepling the two pointing fingers to her lips, shiftingher weight between one foot and the other, as she kept her eyes onher ship.

“Girl,you banged up my ship pretty good,” Beck remarked via Link, herholo putting a hand on her left hip, as she floated in front ofAlicia’s right eye, shaking her head and tossing blond curlsrandomly about.

“Idon’t think there’s a spot on her,” she added, still shakingher head,”which you haven’t dented.”

“Hey,”Alicia remarked,”that Marzie drop jockey put the dents in, not me.”

“And,you were just cruising along, minding your own business,”Beck rejoinded, grinning.

“Somethinglike that,” Alicia said, with a feigned show of innocence whichmade Beck chuckle throatily in response.

“Youminding your own business?!” she remarked, shaking her head andsmiling widely. “That’s like a scrumbug turning down raw meat.”

“Lies,I tell ya,” Alicia said, trying not to laugh at her own pretense ofwounded innocence,”all lies.”

“HonestIfshnit,” she added, biting down on her bottom lip, as the laughshe’d been trying to suppress came in spite of her efforts.

“Surrreee,”Beck’s whisper tickled Alicia’s right ear, as, via Link, she sawher hug her warmly from behind.

“C’mere,you,” Beck then said, holding her even more tightly, as she kissedthe base of her, blowing on the moist spot on her skin to sendgoosebumps all through her.

Aliciatwisted herself around, taking Beck in her arms, nibbling her rightearlobe a bit, before softly kissing her lips.

Andjust holding onto her, keeping her close for whatever time she had,before she had go back out there again.

AboardFSSOkinawa

15.33AU fromAzul(Isabella V), Isabella System

05/04/70, 08:19:24

A man who had oncebeen a squadron major of the Ancreonian Watch relaxed in his rightfulplace at the head of the Okinawa’s flag bridge and lookeddown upon those hard at work at their stations on the SandCreek-class battleship’s main bridge.

In spite of hisexile, Park had come a long way from command of a meresquadron of long-range fightercraft condemned to patrol aninsignificant ember of a star.

He’d made thoserabid gynts calling themselves Masters pay for the errorof having ever even thought of holding him back fromwhat he and his race were meant to be.

Not overtly, mind,as it had been his expirience that racism seldom operated in thesunlight, its practioners, like insects, preferring the shadows andthe darkness from which to work their bigotry, hatred, and elitistdogma into the flesh and blood of their truly God-damned Confederacy,poisoning its citizens with lies of procreators ever evencoming close to being the equals of His Chosen Few.

“And, the Chosen Few,“ he found himselfwhispering the seventh verse of the twenty-third chapter of the Tomeof the Sovereigns,“entered forcibly into the houses of theprocreators, where breeders wove tapestries in the service of theirfornication.“

“And,“ heheard his chief of staff whisper just as reverently,“Theydid wreak the terrible vengance of the True God upon the breeders andthe fornicators, doing violence and things unto them which would beunseemly to do unto those who were Chosen.“

“But,“ Park concluded, as the memory ofthe day of his ascension burned brightly in his mind,“the slaveonly understands discipline and bondage, the brute only brutality,and the procreator is both slave and brute, requiring constantcorrection from the rods and the staves of their ordained Lords andanointed Masters, lest she be permitted to seduce even a singlemember of His Chosen Few away from Their Progenitor and Their Lordand turn him into thewilling slave of willing slaves.“

"Everything is inreadiness, Vice Admiral,” udun-Khonyatthen said, as he stood at his commander’s right side. "We willinitiate the crash jump in precisely four hours, thirty-threeminutes, on the intercept vector plotted by the Okinawa’scaptain and executive officer; fighter and lerf squadrons arestanding by to launch the instant we re-enter normal space.”

Parknodded his head, thinking of the silly gynt commanding that Nakdestroyer, how she had so foolishly thought he could ever befriendoneof its diseased, subsentientkind, how hehad, without compunction, used it and its foolish sentimentality tohisadvantage, right up to the moment he had struck, right up to himtaking its red-headed piece of gyntfrom it, and using itfor what even it knew it could only everbe useful for,beforeithadhad the unmitigated galltostrike him down, even as the other one came to its so-called rescue.

Hisfists were bloodless, as they hung at his sides.

"Thecrew understand,” he said through clenched teeth,”that the shipis only to be crippled,thatit is notto be permitted to destroy itself.”

"Theyunderstand, Vice Admiral,” the udunmailhuoftheKhonyatbloodline calmly replied.

"Theyalso understand,” the scrum, still so damnably calm, added,”thatnoneof the cahrokaboard are to be given the opportunity to destroy themselves.”

"That,”he said, without needing to,”their deaths are to be at oursufferance.”

"Atmysufferance,”Park replied tautly, staring straight ahead.