Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

times before, over so many years. It was time again to do what he did best: fight the good fight against impossible odds. So he left captains Price and Vardalos in charge of the fleet, and rode a pinnace down to the Parade of the Endless as just another trooper. Some of the men recognized him, and some didn’t, and it didn’t matter to him either way. He was first out of the pinnace, and led the charge against the waiting thralls. He swung his sword with both hands, killing the enemy with swift and subtle strokes, always pressing forward, forward. He’d never been able to work actual miracles, like Owen and the others, but after all these long years there were few indeed who could match his prowess with a sword. He’d never thought of himself as a hero or a legend or even as a warrior; just a good soldier determined to do his duty, no matter what. His sword slammed in and out of bodies, never pausing for a moment, and it felt like old times again.
    Investigator Frost was right there at his side, where she belonged.
    Captains Price and Vardalos conferred urgently, and then ordered the fleet starcruisers to descend into the lowest possible orbit, actually inside the planet’s upper atmosphere. With the ships’ AIs not working, the crews had to prepare the targeting computers themselves, and then used the ships’ disrupter cannon to scorch whole areas around the city’s boundaries. The huge armies of the possessed disappeared in moments, reduced to glowing dust by the power of the ships’ guns. There would be no reinforcements for the thralls in the city. But there were just so many of them, and more on the way. The ships kept targeting and firing. It was a dangerous procedure for the starcruisers. Pinpoint accuracy required flying low, well inside the atmosphere, and starcruisers weren’t designed or built to do that. It was only a matter of time before they started breaking up. But the ships kept firing anyway, because they were needed.
    The uber-espers struck back, turning their power on the low-flying starcruisers, hexing their tech and attacking their crews. Systems failed and computers crashed on ships throughout the fleet. Firestorms raged out of control through narrow steel corridors, and airlocks opened spontaneously, venting atmosphere and pressure. Some crew went insane just from the uber-esper contact, and attacked each other. Maddened though not possessed, they ran wild, and struggling figures wrestled for control of ships’ departments, fighting each other blindly in every compartment and bay. Ship captains had to release security sleepgas into affected areas to restore control. They set up internal force shields to contain the worst damage, and reluctantly retired to higher orbits, where hopefully the uber-espers couldn’t reach them. They had done all they could. It was up to the ground forces now.
    On one ship, the Herald, the whole crew went crazy. Everyone from the lowest crewman to the captain, Glenn Lyle, ran mad in the starcruiser. Howling and screaming issued from their comm channels, like damned souls in hell, and no one was surprised when the Herald opened fire on the ships around her. Disrupter cannon blasted away at the shields on already weakened ships. A dozen support ships from Mistworld and Virimonde were swept away in moments. The Herald lashed viciously about her in her madness, threatening every other ship in the fleet. And only Captain Alfred Price was able to do anything about it.
    His ship the Havoc had taken the brunt of the Herald ’s attack, and was already crippled. Her shields were failing, her hull was holed in several places, and Price no longer had control over his guns. Most of his crew had gone down to the planet below, and of the skeleton crew left behind, most were dead or running for the escape pods. Price had given the order to abandon ship, but still he sat in his command chair on the deserted, burned-out bridge, surrounded by the smoldering remains of gutted consoles, and the bodies of his fallen officers. He had to keep wiping away blood that trickled down into his eyes from the great wound on the side of his head, and it felt like one of his arms was broken. The Herald had done a hell of a job on his ship. Price laughed sharply, and lurched up out of his command chair. He dropped into the navigator’s seat, called up all the power left in the engines, and aimed his ship right at the Herald . For once his duty was clear, and he felt like a real captain