Written for a Tumblr writing prompt.
Turns out, when a species reaches the stars, their ships resemble the characteristics of that speciesâ origins. Most other species have ultra fast, hard hitting spaceships, and a few are slow behemoths. But everyone is scared of the relentless, unstoppable humans.
Self-styled Commodore Balannar jerked up in his seat. For the third time since heâd settled in the helm, his exhaustion had almost gotten the better of him. Multitudinous eyes stinging, he glanced around the bridge. It was apparent that the same fatigue plagued them. He reserved only the most capable of recruits for his own shipâs crew, and they remained admirably dedicated to their tasks â but the long hours could be seen taking their toll; a trembling appendage here, an uncharacteristic hesitation there.
How many sub-cycles had it been since the pursuit began? Forty? Sixty? Checking the chronometer almost didnât seem worth the effort â he was simply that drained.
Balannar almost regretted the raid now, but reassured himself that it had been a material success. The Terran Navy supply fleet was mostly unprepared when they struck. The defenders were quickly rendered helpless against the darting sprints and strafes of Balannarâs nimble skimmers. His boarders had managed to make off with almost all the cargo of value; fusion cells, antimatter chambers â even a whole wing of mothballed Terran fighters. It had been as successful a raid as any corsair could hope for. They had sailed off into the black singing in victorious celebration, convinced they had bested their quarry entirely.
But the Terran fleet pursued. The three vessels pursuing them were blocky things, brutalist in their architecture. They were tough, but nothing compared to the impregnable fortresses of the Vastian Empire. They were not particularly maneuverable, or quick â and Balannarâs small fleet was the nimblest in the sector. If anything could be said to be to the humansâ favour, it might have been their weaponry â but even most of that seemed to be geared toward great broadside battles at close range. It was certainly not armament suited for a full-burn pursuit of fleeing raiders with no intention of fighting.
In fact, Balannar could recall only one of the Terran weapons being capable of reaching their ships as they first zipped away. It had lashed out impressively through the void, a column of brilliant sapphire light lancing through the ether. Roiling gouts of plasma spewed where it seared the shields, and the reactors responded by glowing white hot, funnelling energy into the protective barriers. The blow had been mighty indeed, and for a moment Balannar even thought that it might burn through entirely â but no follow-up came. The weapon â for all its terrible display â had been exhausted. Until it recharged, the Terrans could not lay a finger on them.
That was whole cycles ago. Balannar cursed silently, chiding himself for his foolishness; his failure to discern the Terransâ strategy sooner. In hindsight, the endless list of âshould-haveâ thoughts scrolled through his failing mind. He should have noted the almost casual pace at which his pursuers gave chase, jump after jump. He should have seen how, at each encounter, they were satisfied simply to deal a single hammer-blow with that great azure beam before letting their prey escape. His struggling mind should have paid more attention to the engineering console, and the tiny indicators that jumped up and down as the shields boiled away and recharged.
As it was, all of these things escaped his notice entirely. It was only after the last jump, when his horrified Lead Engineer slithered up to him, that the state of the game was laid before him. The Lyrian had approached him with images of the reactors. At first glance, nothing in them indicated any major problem. There were the usual signs of electromagnetic shield damage, of course â sparking cables and small fires were featured in the image, each being tended to by repair crews. Nothing that wouldnât be restored within the cycle. But closer inspection revealed the source of the crewmanâs mortification.
The crystal was the source of the reactorâs power. Pale and glittering, it floated in the core of the reactor like an ailing patient in a medical vat. Reaching down its entire length, snaking across the glassy surface, was a single, vicious crack.
Balannar did not need his Lead Engineer to explain that the power crystal had been ripped open by the massive and repeated shield discharges. The knowledge did little good. In this state, it would be a wonder if it survived even one more hit from the strange weapon without splintering entirely, never mind made another jump.
Now, as these thoughts swirled in Balannarâs strain-addled head, radar alerts began to blare through the bridge. On cue, the three Terran cruisers shot into view in the starboard viewport.
âAll hands, to stations,â Balannar ordered. The calm in his voice was practised, concealing the sense of doom overcoming his whole being.
The crew rushed to their terminals. Amid the flurry of activity, Balannar simply stared across the void at his pursuers, awaiting the inevitable. The universe seemed to slow.
The lance of blinding light was upon them almost instantly. Shields boiled in the viewports, crackling furiously in the plumes of plasma. Deep in the bowels of the ship, something shattered. It reverberated through the old vessel, and Balannar knew then that the fight was lost. Screams filled the bridge as the shields buckled. Bodies were flung; great gashes ripped in the hull.
Thrown against the navigation console, the last thing the crumpled and broken Commodore Balannar heard was the low whine of dying engines. Then, finally, the lights failed â and all was darkness.
