Salvage a Better Life

Ponipolous’ contribution to the cause had been all it could give. Shortly after the new engine room had started construction, small points of damage in the fabricator made themselves known, and it took Wiggly and her mechan around the clock efforts to keep the fabricator functioning. Even then, it was a near run thing. When at last the new reactor module was complete and being pulled on tethers towards the Akira, lingering damage from the battle finally caught up to it. Cascading power surges slagged the computers for the fabricator which led to a control failure that saw the machinery seize up for the final time. Yet the module was intact.

Wiggly had a long moment of euphoric bliss when the module slid perfectly into place on the fresh cuts to the Akira with a margin so tight any uneven tug could cause snags.

None of which would have been made possible without her mechans, as they handled all the dangerous work. More than one ended up getting electrocuted or damaged as Wiggly knew more about taking ships apart, not putting them back together. But progress was steady, and at last the time of triumph came. The crew all stood in the brand new engine room. The air had been freshly cycled in, and the new ship smell was almost dreamy to the ponies. The scent was a bit too much like ozone for the cathrex.

Wiggly sent her mechans to work straight away, manning the various stations needed while she personally took control over the chief engineer’s station. Over a few minutes of work, the others shared enthusiastic whispers as the heart of the Akira came to life.

“This is looking gorgeous,” Wiggly practically cheered. “We’ve got weapons, engines, everything. Main power is holding steady.”

Live Wire cheered and roped Winter into an enthusiastic hug and kiss. “Yes!! We’re back in business!”

Winter remained dignified and partially reserved, but was more than happy to let Wire sweep her off her hooves. Being used to life on densely crewed warships, to hear the Akira take its first full breath was more of a cause of immense relief than excited joy. “It was a unified effort. Well done everyone.”

Mote was dancing on her toes as her eyes could see the various systems that had been dormant for half a decade come back. It harkened back to when she was rejoined with her body. “Joyous. I can’t wait to finally get away from here!”

As for the good doctor, he was already daydreaming about walking down the fabled streets and avenues of pony cities that were flanked by restaurants, diners, bars, fast food, food carts, and more. “Couldn’t agree more. So when do we leave?”

With an excited squee, Wiggly turned to her shipmates. “Right after we squash any bugs. Since I’ve already had my minions work on the rest of the boat, all I need to do now is to stress test the power grid to weed out any damage I may have missed. That…” She hummed and rested a wing on her chin as she glanced about the engine room. “Could take the rest of the weekend. If we did it by my book.”

Worried the excitable engineer might do something reckless, Winter laid a congratulatory wing on Wiggly’s back. “A sound plan. Wouldn’t want a rush job to come back and bite us in the middle of hyperspace.”

Catching her meaning, Sprocket sluggishly nodded. “Yeah. Right.” Pulling away to clap her hooves, five of the mechans left the engine room to take station elsewhere on the ship. “No time like the present. We still have hours before our victory dinner. We can get started right away.”

With its bridge crew in place and the heavily pressed crew of eight mechans spread throughout the ship, the Akira purred as it fully came back to life.

Wiggly sat in her captain’s chair, and still couldn’t get over just how much control she had via her tail connection. With her overlapping role as captain and chief engineer, her vision was clogged with screens. A plethora of warnings still hampered the ship due to simply not having enough hands or hooves, but she did what she could remotely. All of it was heavily taxing to keep track of, and now she was looking at more to deal with once underway.

It might be a good idea to stop by the shipyard to get some volunteers. Or maybe the navy will give us some blips since we’re going to bring the mass nullifier.

“Let’s get engines, shields, and weapons up first,” she announced while frustration hounded her as she pushed screens aside to focus on the most power hungry ones first.

“Aye captain.” Winter eased on the controls. “Bringing us to one tenth forward thrust.” A gentle push was all they felt as the Akira started to move.

Mote was next, having taken logistical control over the weapons. “Main batteries are online. Ammunition microforges are green across the board.”

Bringing up the weapons’ console, Wiggly saw the full complement of arms. Twinned energy phase lances on the wings. Two double-barreled heavy mauler cannons between the bow and amidship. A single rack for a Sideswiper missile? Wiggly had to double check the specs. By Luna’s stars… This thing is designed to swing around point defense and disable the target’s engines. If I’m reading this right, one hit could even fry maneuvering thrusters. The more she read, the more she realized just how outclassed the Initiative would have been if the cathrex had never fallen. Autoforges can replace the missile every five minutes for a total of ten times before the material stock runs out. Still needs four crew members to do it though. With her mechan budget so tight, Wiggly wondered if she should even test it at all.

Mentally moving on, the Akira had four point defense lasers placed on the wings with a last one nested on top of the engine housing. Scowling at some of the readouts, Wiggly directed one of her mechan to address the issue. “I don’t like the numbers from the number two phase cannon. Putting it on standby for now. Everything else is good for a test fire.”

“Roger that.” Winter turned her head back to everyone else. “Oh, just as a warning, don’t ever fire a shot within three clicks of a mine. It will challenge us, and our IFF transponder doesn’t have a stand down command.”

A round of acknowledgments rang out with Live Wire keeping his gaze upon the cathrex. “Speaking of which, I’m not exactly an expert, but how does this ship handle so much firepower? The magazine for the maulers is only good for ten seconds right?”

“Explanation. That is what the autoforges are for; to make fresh ammunition on demand.” Mote went quiet after Morales loudly cleared his throat. A quite peculiar sound coming from someone submerged in a tank.

“To put it simply, the Akira was originally a purpose-made ambush vessel. It wasn’t designed for sustained engagements, but pounce and retreat tactics. If forced into fleet action, other ships provide openings which the Akira exploits before retreating behind heavier vessels. It gives time for the autoforges to run and the capacitors to recharge, then goes back in for more. Turns out, all a ship like this needed was a modest refit to function as an exploration vessel.”

“I was wondering why you seemed so excited to find boxes of-” A soft but urgent beeping came from Live Wire’s console, ending his thought. It was a noise that immediately put the cathrex on edge. “Hang on. I’m getting a-”

Suddenly, the lights went out, replaced by red emergency lighting. The hum of the engines vanished, and it was deathly quiet for a heavy moment. Thrusters kicked on to arrest thier movement, breaking everyone from their suprise.

“What happened?” Wiggly asked the two cathrex. Only to find them both in stunned terror. “What is it?”

Looking over his console, Live Wire saw it was still online. “We’ve been switched over to passive sensors.” Paranoia made him glare at the cathrex. “We barely detected a ship exiting hyperspace via the gas giant’s ingress area, and we instantly lost main power?”

Feverishly shaking her head, Mote unbuckled herself from the chair. “Clarification. No. We switched to silent running.”

That disturbed Winter most of all. “You have the ship rigged to enter a lower power state the instant we detect something?”

“You two are in great danger…” Morales was intently focused on his personal screens, hoping against hope nothing would happen. “Winter Gale, Live Wire, you need to run to medical. Now!”

The sheer force and the sudden urgency in his voice stilled the initial reaction the two cyborgs had. It was subtle at first, barely enough to stay his tongue, but there was a sudden pain around Live Wire’s artificial eye, to his spine, and through to his connection wires. “Arg.” He held his eye, as the pain began to swell and spread, only to briefly forget his aches as Winter cried out in sheer agony.

The pilot felt like every nerve was smoldering in a flash, and was quickly ramping up to an inferno. In a panic from the sudden overbearing heat, she kicked out of her seat. “Aaahh, what’s going-” Her words were cut off by more cries of inarticulate pain, even as Mote got up and helped drag her out of the bridge. A wordless scream left the mare’s mouth as she passed out from pain shock.

The fluid started draining from Morales’ tank, and he gestured Sprocket’s attention to her brother. “Get him to sick bay immediately!”

Through it all, Wiggly left utterly bewildered, and didn’t register Morales’ command. Feeling none of the pain her brethren were suffering, she got out of the captain’s chair to hold him up. “Wire, speak to me! What is it? What’s happening!?”

Hissing in growing agony, Live Wire held a hoof over his false eye, and could only shout obscenities in increasing volume.

Not knowing what to do, she looked to Morales who had opened his pod early, spilling fluid all over the deck as he climbed out. “Captain, get him to medical right now! Do it!”

“R-right, yeah!” Morales aided her in moving Live Wire onto her back before he bolted at a full sprint to medical. The hows and whys fled her mind as she too joined the race. Doors left open by Mote’s passing and Morales’ tail guided the way as the ship’s layout fled her mind. “Stay with me, Wire!” Her terror grew as he didn’t reply, and only started convulsing into a seizure. She spread her wings in a desperate attempt to keep him on her back.

She nearly stumbled twice on the mad dash to medical, and nearly slammed into the door frame of it when she tried to enter. Wiggly’s breath came in ragged gasps, and her tears threatened to blind her. Mote was hastily dropping Winter Gale onto a bed, while Morales skidded to a stop in front of it.

“Computer, activate arcana stasis!” A pale blue field encapsulated the bed, stilling Winter’s pain-wracked form. He turned towards’ Wiggly’s hoofsteps. “Put him down on the other bed, hurry!” Both aliens helped Wiggly do so before Morales repeated the command to the second bed.

As the field encased her brother, Wiggly looked to Morales. “What’s going on?! Was it an attack?! A virus?!” Further questions were cut off by Morales holding out a silencing finger before he immediately refocused on the readouts the beds were giving him.

“An attack, in a manner of speaking.” After a few seconds, he scowled deeply, but was able to breathe again. “Magic stasis is quick, but can’t fully stop the process. They’ve got two hours at best.” With the immediate urgency passed, Mote became distant and reserved, fearing the questions and condemnations to come.

Wiggly however, propped herself up on Wire’s bed, and was horrified to see some of the hairs and skin around his eye were burnt. No, the flesh was necrotic. “What. Happened?” For the longest moment, neither cathrex wished to say a word. Mote held herself and shied away, while Morales leaned heavily against his arms on the bed, he too couldn’t bring himself to look at the pony. Terror washed away, and was replaced by surging anger. Wiggly grabbed Morales’ belt and dragged him down to meet her gaze. “You knew what to do; what is this!?”

Morales’ lips trembled, heart-felt pain warred within him. “They can be saved, but I need your consent.”

Gritting her teeth at her question being ignored, Wiggly shook him. Her burning need for answers had to give way. “You’re a doctor aren’t you?! Why would you need consent?”

Mote retreated a step, her head bowed in old shame. Morales fared little better, and it took Wiggly shaking him again for the doctor to find his voice. “Their implants. They’re being harmed through the implants, and if I don’t remove them, they’ll die.”

“Harmed? You need to remo-” Wiggly let go so she could float up and look first at her brother. He can live without the gear, but Winter? She turned to the sailor, and horrid fear returned. “But Winter’s too heavily cyberized, she’ll die if you remove her chrome!”

“I’ve…” Shame forced Morales to clamp his mouth shut again, but he had grown to care about these equine companions. His shame was not enough to still his tongue for long. “Thanks to your modifications, we still have a pod tuned to pony physiology. I can save Winter. Even regrow her original organs, should she survive surgery.”

“Well-” Wiggly sputtered trying to get her bearings. “Then yes! You have my consent.” She thrust a dangerous hoof at him. “But when you get done with the scalpel, I need answers. All of them!”

“And so you shall.” Morales climbed back up to his hooves and tried to control his breathing to steady himself. “Mote, I will need you to serve as my nurse. We’ll begin with Winter, she’s in the most danger.” The mare’s bed started reshaping itself while surgical tools were delivered via a medical drone from the ceiling. “Wiggly, I can’t stop you from watching, but I advise that you watch the passive sensors, and warn us if anything approaches the ship.”

“There’s something out there? But - but…” Wiggly stared at her injured brother, her gut twisting in knots. She desperately wanted to stay at Wire’s side, yet if there was something out there causing this… “Fine. Fine, but you let me know the instant you’re done.”

Late in the day, Thaddeus and Felin stepped off the gangplank into the moon base’s docking area. Behind him, his crew eagerly waited for him to clear the way so they could enjoy some much desired shore leave.

The pair had expected a minor agent of the Commodore to greet them, so it came as a surprise when it turned out that the man himself along with a twenty strong escort awaited them. Thaddeus initially feared some paranoia induced execution were it not for the fact that he had not been sniped off the gangplank.

The Commodore was smoking the last drag of a cigar, and looked incredibly impatient. So Thaddeus hastened his steps, prompting his drake companion to do the same. When they reached the end of the gangway both of them bowed low with arms out. “Commodore, I half expected a firing squad when it took traffic control so long to grant us clearance. Did some-”

Thaddeus was cut off by the looming centauri talking over him. “That can wait until we are in private, admiral, he said while casting his used cigar to the ground. “Come with me.” His curt tone spoke of simmering terror, yet not directed at anyone present.

The personal guard detail split to allow access to a waiting luxury transit car. There was a more militaristic troop transport behind it.

“Of course,” Thaddeus said with what he hoped was stately poise.

He glanced at Felin, and she could see in his eyes he expected to die. At least I will die at his side.

The Commodore took the lead and claimed his place in the rear-facing passenger seat of the car while his most trusted soldier claimed the seat adjacent to him. That left Thaddeus and Fein to sit in the forward facing rear seats.

Within was a level of luxury Thaddeus barely had time to even buy let alone enjoy before the war. Real leather that contoured to his form, finely crafted decorations, and a centrally located holo projector were tinged by barely remembered nostalgia.

Yet he did not have much inclination to enjoy it though. The room was tense, and the Commodore looked as if he was as nervous as a politician knowing he was about to be executed after a failed election.

As the doors shut and the car took to the air, Gladius’ holographic face appeared in the center. As it did, the Commodore finally spoke. “Thaddeus, we have a problem.”

Risking a glance at Felin who showed only ignorance, Thaddeus cleared his throat. “Did your other admiral create undo issues?”

Growling, the Commodore scowled with a malicious glint in his eye. “Oh yes. They struck me in a manner I didn’t think possible. Gladius of the Code, along with most of my cyber riders are dead.”

“Dead?!” Thaddeus knew the bird mostly by reputation outside of the one call he received weeks prior. “How? I thought his protection was second only to your own.”

“It was.” The Commodore’s nails carved into the leather arm rests. “But two among the riders were close to the coward. Something that was only brought to my attention after the slaughter.”

Any other day, Felin wouldn’t have even given lip service to some condolences. She despised the Commodore for degenerating the defeated Ruby Navy into pirates. Yet now, was the perfect opportunity to get in close. “That is a great loss. How did it happen?”

“Besides treason? Curiosity.” The obtuse admission unnerved the Commodore’s guests. “Gladius found something. Something dangerous that the traitor in his team exploited.” The Commodore took out a new cigar and puffed three times before speaking again. “Shortly before the assassination, he sent me a warning that an unknown vessel had arrived in system.”

Gladius waited this long to inform the Commodore about that ship? That was a dangerous thought. Thaddeus internally debated on how to respond. However, his thought were being clouded the heavy sniff and smoke usage, and it was getting under Thaddeus’ skin. Calamity or not, the recovering alcoholic was getting irritated close to beyond his control. “I’ve been told about that overgunned frigate. Do you think he was targeted to hide it from you?”

A bitter huff escaped the Commodore as smoke filled the cabin. “That thing? No, the frigate is unrelated.” The Commodore suddenly leaned forward and puffed his cigar. “Unless it is completely related! Did Gladius stumble onto something more than I’m seeing?!”

“There’s a second ship?” Felin dared to ask.

The Commodore’s wild eyes shot up to his guests. They were trying to hide it, but he could smell the fear on them. Fear of him. Good. “Indeed. Perhaps you can shed light on an angle I’m missing. Before we get into that. You should know that Gladius was not killed by means of arms or spell. Someone like him deserved to die in battle within the net. But no, something new was used. From what I surmised, the weapon were the internal sensors of his tower.” Utter confusion marred his guests’ faces. “That’s right. He was killed by sensors.” The Commodore waved a hand to the window and out towards a building. Nestled upon its spite was a forest of sensor masts.

“An attack that can be carried out by a ship’s sensors?” Felin was left horrified by the prospect. “How? Who made this?!”

“How, I am not yet sure.” Paranoia was driving the Commodore into a manic state. He gazed out of the window and onto the central spire the car was headed to. “But Gladius sent me a report on the lethal signal before his death an hour later. I know for a fact someone unleashed it in retaliation for me killing the coward of a captain.” He took a long, vengeful drag on his cigar. “I will have retribution, but you two will be dealing with the original source of this sensor weapon.” With a mental command, the Commodore had the centrally mounted projector create a hologram. A region of familiar space appeared. It was Ponipolous, and zoomed in to reveal the strange ship Thaddeus had been theorizing over.

“I read the report Gladius made about your thoughts on this thing. As you predicted, the blue and white vessel entered local Ponipolous space, and began picking at the trash.” The feed showed small figures leaving the ship and returning with all manner of supplies. “He never had time to cut out the useless parts.” The Commodore sped up the feed considerably. Later in the week, more figures joined the effort. Thaddeus wanted the video to stop so he could inspect the crew, but he was already unbalanced because of the news and heavy smoke. Not to mention interrupting the Commodore right now could prove lethal.

Suddenly, the camera jerked about, and the feed slowed to a crawl. A large mechanical claw seized the probe. “Here,” the smoking centauri stated bitterly. “This thing created the sensor signal.”

Eight hours of exhausting, hasty surgery later, the only sounds left in medical were the two cathrex’s labored breathing, sniffles from Mote, and a sweeper drone was presently cleaning various fluids and waste around the beds. Mote was emotionally exhausted, and leaned against a desk. Morales was numb below the elbows, and his hands were stiff from the exertion. He sat heavily in a chair with one eye fixated on the readouts. They’re alive, if only just.

After Mote reported to Sprocket of the surgery’s completion, Wiggly raced into medical to check on her family. She stopped at the door, her eyes locked on the table where all of the implants had been placed. For a long, terrified moment, it looked as if was actually Winter herself, but splayed open like a hunter prepared a carcass.

Morales was strung out already, and did not want to deal with the mare’s expected terror. “Miss Winter Gale is alive,” he announced loudly enough to snap Sprocket’s attention away from the body. “I realize it may not look like it, but that body is no longer hers.” He gestured Spocket’s gaze over to the open regeneration pod. “I suspected you would want proof before I sealed it into the wall.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Wiggly was hesitant to take him up on that offer. “Wh-what about my brother?”

That was one bit of news Morales felt a bit better on sharing. “Much better shape.” He gestured to the surgical table, which now had raised sides, so the stallion was not immediately visible from the door. “His implants were less sophisticated, so it was easier to remove them.” After handling Winter’s implants, his were insultingly crude. “His surgery was much less taxing on the body.”

Even with his assurances, Wiggly was sluggish in approaching Live Wire’s bed. The stallion was anesthetized, so she was able to take some comfort in his peaceful expression. His empty eye socket was covered over with gauze, and he had new skin melding along his neck. He was otherwise in good shape. Even so, his condition dragged back painful memories of Trireme’s sundering. Wiggly dearly wished to hold him, but she held enough of her wits to avoid potentially contaminating the stasis field. Her eyes eventually drifted over to Winter’s open pod, but after seeing the carcass on the table, Wiggly dearly wished to avoid laying eyes on what was left of the mare. Yet she owed it to the sailor.

With a trembling lip, Sprocket approached the pod, and was horrified to see the thestral had been reduced to little more than a brain and spinal cord. Wiggly took a few involuntary steps back. “You can restore them both right? Like you changed me.”

Giving a fatigued nod, Morales looked upon his patients once more. “As soon as I can catch my breath, I’ll finish the transformation caskets’ preparation. It’ll just be a simple regeneration cycle to return them to their genetic baseline.”

Taking a step towards him, Wiggly became suddenly tense, her voice warbling with tension. “I want answers. That thing out there, that ship. Is that what really attacked them?”

“It is,” was all Morales could bring himself to say. His exhaustion taxed him already, but shame burned in his heart. It was not the ache of a personal failing, but that of his people that tore into him like a rabid dog.

“How?” Sprocket cast her accusatory gaze upon both aliens, waiting for who could break first. “Why are the rest of us not affected?”

“As for how…” Morales tried to pull himself up, only to lean tiredly against the backrest of his chair. He was utterly spent, and even through the shame, there was some measure of catharsis in confession. “Because the three of us do not have implants. You and I are of flesh and nerve, while Mote is purely machine and spark. Your brethren are a marriage of both, and that made them vulnerable to our greatest foe.”

“Who?” Wiggly briefly glanced in the general direction of the bridge, and her brother’s station in particular. “How could they hit us so fast?!”

“Where to begin?” Morales grimly asked himself. “The ship you saw. Has the Waylan moved?”

“Waylan?” It took Wiggly a moment or two to connect the dots. Using a mechan, she had one of them bring up a sensor readout at its station. “No. It grabbed something out there, but it hasn’t done anything else. Without active sensors, I can’t see what it took nor what it’s doing.”

“If it hasn’t moved then we have time.” Morales gave Sprocket a pained smile, as if the words to come would be of great relief. “Waylan, that is the name for those who finished what our rebellious kin could not. This bitter tale is something I wanted to confide with your high queen, but… fate has forced my hand.”

Growing incensed at the perceived lie, Wiggly’s voice grew heated. “You told me there wasn’t a second alien species out there that attacked you.”

“That was the truth.” Morales’ throat was parched, so he filled a partially dirty glass from the nearby sink, and drank greedily from it. Wiping his chin, he brooded over what to say. “As our great civil war had dragged on, the taboo of breaking weapons treaties was… reevaluated. It started with the megacorperations of the time retooling their great foundries and General Artificial Intelligences to churn out vast fleets of machine piloted fleets. Prior to that, only governments could wield a military.”

He turned his sullen gaze towards Mote who dearly wished to keep from speaking. There was an unfamiliar affection she had towards Wiggly, and the gyroid dearly wished to preserve it. And yet as much as she was loath to admit it. Honesty, that pesky core value of pony society reared its head. Mote had watched ponies from afar long enough to know that silence or any further lies of omission now would damage their relationship beyond repair. “Illumination. GAIs were those who were grim mirrors of PIs like myself. Grand intellect on a planetary scale with no emotion, no drive, no spark, only blind obedience to their directives and orders from long dead naval fleet masters.”

Mote shivered at the history being laid bare, and she started to nervously hold the end of her tail like she did as a child. “This - added threat pushed both sides to further desperation. Dyna-Waylan, one of the larger megacorperations, devised a degradative carrier signal for their drone ships’ sensors. It targets a cyborg’s connection with their - chrome - as you put it. The signal rots the nerve connections, and causes the implants to overheat and burn you from within. It doesn’t take much chrome for death to be certain. When word of this broke out, the fools commanded the other GAIs to adopt the signal as well. We gave the name to all drone fleets, as all of them will kill us on sight now.”

“Okay. But why does the rot signal affects ponies?” Sprocket tried to remain calm, yet firm. But seeing her brother and potential sister-in-law in such horrid states kept her on a knife’s edge. “I - I can see it harming you guys, but why us? We’re an entirely different species. Let alone our tech being different.”

A difficult expression crossed Morales, taking the reins from Mote before she broke down in tears. “You can thank convergent evolution, I’m afraid. We modified whole populations, planets worth of people to every form imaginable.” He waved at his equine face. “Yet with all of that, we found there is comparatively narrow band of neurons and compounds that both mesh well together and are non-reactive enough to safely remaining inside the body. As luck would have it, it was something we share.” He paused while turning to look upon the pile of implants he had extracted from the two ponies. “The signal doesn't bother with your machine code, as it attacks the conjoined cells and interfacing components directly. From there, the rot spreads.”

“Statement. There is some hope for you though. That Waylan out there is only a threat within close sensor range, yet that still out paces any normal ship-based weapon.” Mote squeezed her tail, hoping she was correct. “Your machine code is quite different from our own. It took me almost four years just to be able to translate your holoshows into something watchable. My translation barely allows your kin the ability to dive into the Akira’s systems. Military grade cyber security should keep you safe from the Waylan’s most explicit danger: hijacking your own sensors as it did to our forefathers. If the Waylan could do that, the whole system would be dead in a matter of days.”

The news was horrifying, even with Mote’s assurances. Sprocket briefly tried to steady her breathing, yet found little success. “Is there no way to protect cyborgs?”

“Once they are swept by the signal? No.” His simple answer was met with cold fear. “Nothing we ever devised, save for placing them in stasis.” Shaking his head, Morales feebly waved a hand at her. “Even that is not enough, it only buys time once the rot begins. Blocking it from accessing your systems doesn’t stop it from physically arriving within sensor range.”

Mote felt the need to step up to get a word in. “Supplemental. I’m sure there is a way, but the vast majority of our great minds of the day were slaughtered within weeks. The survivors opted to forbid cyberization. By doing so, finding a cure or protection became a moot point.”

Close to hyperventilating, Wiggly clutched her head trying to figure out what to do or say. Her gaze fixated on her brother. The sight of him whipped her up into anxious fury. “We can’t let that thing call in reinforcements. Can the Akira take that thing out?”

The cathrex shared a vainly hopeful look before Mote spoke up in a threadbare voice. “Statement. With her original crew, yes, even in her current state. Given its size, I believe the Maylan outside is just a heavy scout. But with only the three of us and the eight mechan? I don’t know. Query. Could we not seek additional crew?” Mote kept holding her tail in an attempt to remain calm. “You mentioned your xenotype already doesn't use cyberization. We could gather them for aid.”

“I doubt it,” Morales swiftly warned. “If we move, the Waylan will see us. I don’t know how it would react to an
Initiative ship, but it will certainly react to the Akira. If we fight it, we’ll have to do it ourselves.”

“You and I both know what would happen,” Wiggly declared with a shiver. “Attack, play nice, or just observation. It wouldn’t matter, the moment those sensors see a pony ship, the crew’s dead. That thing has to die, now!”

That was the last hammer blow. Centuries of trauma bore down on the two cathrex. Morales hid it better, but he had come to love the vibrancy of the Initiative he had seen in their holo shows, and the barest taste of their cuisine. “I have to agree. Even if it would take decades for the Waylan to decipher Initiative code, that’s no reason to just gift it time. Let me initiate the regeneration cycle for your fellows, and then we can act.”

Well outside of the minefield, the subordinate AI controlling the scout ship had a firm grip on the spy probe it had found. It’s mind overclocked trying to break into the controls. It’s feelers and sensors washed over the probe, scanning the components in an attempt to deceiver a way to speak to the probe’s network.

“Problems with interchange. Many factors obstruct request. Hardware inelegant. Language primitive, obtuse. Integration of thaumaturgic components unnatural. No known matching parameters with existing Combine technology. Stage one adaptation insufficient. Uploading assessment to Central Matrix.”

An alert directed its attention to the ruined station close by. It was an engine plume. Focusing its sensors on this new target, the AI halted its hacking attempts. “Target identified as Nakiha-pattern frigate. Threat assessment: unacceptable. Retreat warranted.”

That very directive paused when the Nakiha turned to retreat. The odd behavior for the more powerful vessel caused the scout to scrutinize the Akira further. “Life forms detected… four. Two in suspension. Archives dictate crew compliment of thirty. Calculating… Assessing power assignments… three main armaments lack power… two PDs inoperative. Readvise threat assessment… acceptable.”

Lighting its own engines, and fully abandoning its hacking efforts, the Maylan scout rocketed towards the Akira.