R.S.S. Konstantinov -- Over Nokgorka, headed north
The bridge has become a hellish mix of shouting and open-air comm windows and smoke and the smell of cooked meat. There are several sorceresses sprawled across the floor, their blood impossibly vibrant under the stark red emergency lighting; a medic moves between them and the 'kasters who are still at their posts, the walking wounded sitting at the stations that have not yet been blown out and utterly destroyed by magical and electrical failure.
As the ranking sorceress -- and ranking officer -- Maya shouts louder than anyone, organizing 'kasters all across the enormous skyfurnace, juggling seven comm windows at once. The medikasters are working as fast as they can, healing legions of wounded (and it's still not enough); the unlucky souls on isolator duty become the fire of their great ship's anger; a trio of warkasters are pinned down beneath the sensor array and require assistance.
(She steps through the doorway once, wanting to go to the top deck and rip down enemies -- take down those standing between her and Marcus -- in the way that only the best-trained, most experienced warkaster onboard could do; she's called back before she can get three steps beyond, as First Lieutenant Kozlova urgently requires orders for the 31st battery, but in the half-second before she steps through the door, Maya thinks wildly that if Milliways appears, she is going to raze the building to the ground.
Milliways doesn't appear.
She can't leave her command position on the bridge, even to fight; she is needed here.)
Maya checks Kyuzo and Urik when she can; she doesn't worry. Worry is inefficient. There's no time for it. She doesn't think of Marcus, either, besides in the bare second or two when she isn't making snap tactical decisions or barking orders and when she needs motivation to push herself beyond exhaustion. She thinks of his face then, and she keeps on.
It is a slugging match, Konstantinov against Taktarov; the two skyfurnaces slam each other with bombardments even as the battle rages across the Konstantinov decks and levels below, and even as Taktarov soldiers constantly drop onto their feet from the blue siege gates suspended several feet over the Konstantinov's deck.
The Taktarov crew has orders, numbers, and the approval of the state; the Konstantinov has will and faith.
Maya keeps tabs on Engineering.
"You heard me, Torin!" she hollers into the comm over Torin's protest. "Now!" Maya is a woman possessed, hair straggling out of its once-neat braid and her eyes flashing, and even seven decks away, Torin doesn't argue.
As Torin makes the announcement, Maya can hear Urik warning all units that all hell will break loose with the ships following once they're through the gate; roaring for all hands to get below, now; she could glance to the window and watch him sprinting belowdecks with the remnants of a squad, but there is no time.
She whips open a 'furnace-wide channel. "All units! Brace for transfer!" she snaps, and then opens yet another channel.
"Major Antares to all 'kasters, confirm we are at maximum acceleration!" Kozlova flashes her the gate coordinates and Maya doesn't check them; the skyfurnace must go now. She spreads the numbers across the screens; sends them to every sorceress on board with a thought. "Coordinates locked! Transferring mass in ten-- nine--"
The skyfurnace is already shuddering in anticipation, dragging at least four slaved ships -- and the heavy Taktarov -- with her.
"Transferring mass in five -- again, all units brace for transfer -- two, one--"
The gates materialize in the air, white-hot and gaping wide, ready to swallow the Konstantinov and her stragglers whole.
"TRANSF--" and then the gate grabs hold and Maya's head smashes back with the force of it, hands white-knuckled on the armrests and her braid snapping, and the great ship ascends into a tunnel of fire.
As the ranking sorceress -- and ranking officer -- Maya shouts louder than anyone, organizing 'kasters all across the enormous skyfurnace, juggling seven comm windows at once. The medikasters are working as fast as they can, healing legions of wounded (and it's still not enough); the unlucky souls on isolator duty become the fire of their great ship's anger; a trio of warkasters are pinned down beneath the sensor array and require assistance.
(She steps through the doorway once, wanting to go to the top deck and rip down enemies -- take down those standing between her and Marcus -- in the way that only the best-trained, most experienced warkaster onboard could do; she's called back before she can get three steps beyond, as First Lieutenant Kozlova urgently requires orders for the 31st battery, but in the half-second before she steps through the door, Maya thinks wildly that if Milliways appears, she is going to raze the building to the ground.
Milliways doesn't appear.
She can't leave her command position on the bridge, even to fight; she is needed here.)
Maya checks Kyuzo and Urik when she can; she doesn't worry. Worry is inefficient. There's no time for it. She doesn't think of Marcus, either, besides in the bare second or two when she isn't making snap tactical decisions or barking orders and when she needs motivation to push herself beyond exhaustion. She thinks of his face then, and she keeps on.
It is a slugging match, Konstantinov against Taktarov; the two skyfurnaces slam each other with bombardments even as the battle rages across the Konstantinov decks and levels below, and even as Taktarov soldiers constantly drop onto their feet from the blue siege gates suspended several feet over the Konstantinov's deck.
The Taktarov crew has orders, numbers, and the approval of the state; the Konstantinov has will and faith.
Maya keeps tabs on Engineering.
"You heard me, Torin!" she hollers into the comm over Torin's protest. "Now!" Maya is a woman possessed, hair straggling out of its once-neat braid and her eyes flashing, and even seven decks away, Torin doesn't argue.
As Torin makes the announcement, Maya can hear Urik warning all units that all hell will break loose with the ships following once they're through the gate; roaring for all hands to get below, now; she could glance to the window and watch him sprinting belowdecks with the remnants of a squad, but there is no time.
She whips open a 'furnace-wide channel. "All units! Brace for transfer!" she snaps, and then opens yet another channel.
"Major Antares to all 'kasters, confirm we are at maximum acceleration!" Kozlova flashes her the gate coordinates and Maya doesn't check them; the skyfurnace must go now. She spreads the numbers across the screens; sends them to every sorceress on board with a thought. "Coordinates locked! Transferring mass in ten-- nine--"
The skyfurnace is already shuddering in anticipation, dragging at least four slaved ships -- and the heavy Taktarov -- with her.
"Transferring mass in five -- again, all units brace for transfer -- two, one--"
The gates materialize in the air, white-hot and gaping wide, ready to swallow the Konstantinov and her stragglers whole.
"TRANSF--" and then the gate grabs hold and Maya's head smashes back with the force of it, hands white-knuckled on the armrests and her braid snapping, and the great ship ascends into a tunnel of fire.