The Alpha and the Omega: Act III | Chapter 7
11 Sep 2018User1355
ACT III - HEROINECHAPTER 7
The attack came as the New Cambrian sun disappeared behind the horizon, bathing Sola’s fleet in a deep shadow. Yet such omens didn’t concern her, for the Void itself was her ally. The fleet of the Morganas were dwarfed by those of its enemies, accumulated during the course of half a century of increasingly tyrannical rule.
It was the end of an era; Quirium supplies had vanished all over the Bubble, and governments, businesses, and individuals were forced to revert to older technology. The Galactic Cooperative itself ceased to exist. The fabled drive had been a wonder; now, it was a museum piece. Sola was certain that she was bearing the judgement of the gods, holding nothing but contempt for humanity, forever banishing the unworthy mortals from their realm.
The leaders of both sides gave stirring pre-battle speeches, yet Sola- ever the orator- was by far the superior speaker. Her words were broadcast on the general channel, and her image one that none who survived the day’s slaughter would ever forget. She was animated in her movements as though she were young again, yet in her words was the wisdom and strength of the Crone itself. Fear and doubt spread through the invading fleet as they beheld their adversary- here was Sola Morgana herself, the slavewife who rose to the Matriarchy, in all her terrible glory.
Thrusters flared en masse as the two sides charged into the other. Numbers favored the invaders, of course- yet the hearts of those bearing down on the Crone’s Chosen were heavy. Vessels native to the Pegasi sector were ever in need of maintenance and parts; the ships of the Clan Morgana were excellent. Their crews, even better. Thousands upon thousands of tiny fighters swarmed from the planetary surface, preventing the greater bulk of the invaders from engaging the smaller fleet with withering massed fire, shredding the hulls of the larger ships in a manner not like piranhas of Old Earth.
With the battle screams of warrior-poets the sons and daughters of New Cambria tore into the ranks of the invaders, punishing them for the sin of their trespassing. Sola herself partook in the fighting, shouting orders from her flagship even as she poured fire into the intruders. At the sides and separated by great distances were Cadfael and Auron, the Wheels on their shoulders and ships, their own fleets clawing at the adversary like a cornered beast. The alliance of lesser clans threatened to break almost immediately, but the threats and curses of those leading the coalition proved the tenuous glue needed to prevent shameful retreat.
The skies above New Cambria burned with fire and death. Here the fate of millions would be decided. For a time, it looked as though the Void itself did indeed favor the defenders; for hours they inflicted ruinous losses upon their foes, their superior ships and skill making them reapers among blighted fields.
Yet the invaders were relentless, and wave upon wave broke upon the ranks of the Morganas. Little by little the battle turned against them, the smaller fighters swatted from space and the larger ships vulnerable to concentrated fire. Not a single Morgana ship fled the field of battle, their captains and crews having sworn sacred oaths among themselves to bathe in the enemy’s blood even at the bitter end. When systems failed or ammunition ran dry, the ships themselves became weapons, ramming with all speed through the hulls of their victims, departing for the aftervoid with cries of victory upon their lips.
For all their Void-favored savagery, the ranks of the Morgana fleet shortened and thinned. In the very darkest hour only Sola and her personal wing remained. Cadfael and Auron’s fleets were destroyed, their battered ships fallen back to her side. A pause settled over the survivors, a final reflection before the final slaughter commenced. Sola’s flagship was blackened with scorch marks, with ugly rents in the hull where cannon and missile fire had slammed home. Jagged ship wreckage and blasted-apart remains of their crews floated for many kilometers; it would take years just to clear New Cambria of orbital debris.
Final words were exchanged; Sola Morgana remained defiant to the end. The survivors of both sides prepared themselves. The Matriarch and her ilk aimed to send as many souls to the aftervoid as they could, writing the final pages of their story in the blood of their enemies. The order to advance was given; clansmen on both sides closed their eyes in hopes of favor from gods and ancestors alike, for they were sure to meet them soon.
In the inky blackness of space the lighting and distortion of an incoming warp signature was seen. It was joined by another, and another, and another- until dozens of ships jumped between the ragged survivors, forming a defensive perimeter around the Matriarch and her survivors. All gaped in wonder as the lost armada, unseen in the skies of New Cambria for decades, at last returned. Every crewmate and ship bore the Wheel of their clan.
Arcturus Morgana’s exile was at an end.
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