The Blind Gods
Copyright© 2025 by Wau
Chapter 103: The wave
A silent alarm blinks on the bridge of the Alké, now powered down. Andreï nods his head, closes his eyes. He does not want to know. Not far away, Xeno ships cleave through the assault of the Ozy. Has Salman not heard his surrender message?
His left hand is held by that of Pallas. She has collapsed at the foot of the command seat like a baroque pietà, her face lowered and hidden in her hair, and she only holds his hand, the sole contact with Andreï, perhaps the first since forever.
Andreï is torn between the selfish temptation to do nothing, bathed in the intoxication of irresponsibility, and that of carrying Pallas, collapsed, into a pod, if any remain. His apathy is, in the layers of his mind, strangely strategic. If the vision of his own death has always been the correct one, then any distance he maintains between now and the moment he will stand before the Aleph is time gained ... even if he does not know why that time would be gained.
And because one must love and take care of those one loves, he rises with difficulty and takes Pallas in his arms. She is collapsed and seems to sleep with her eyes half-closed.
The monitor blinks more furiously, and he ignores it. He lifts Pallas, crosses the bridge with her thin and light body in his arms.
The monitor passes under his gaze. It indicates overload. It is a radar-detection monitor, and Andreï did not know one could overload such a sensor with targets. Well, yes, there is a limit: that of one trillion ships...
With one hand, he adjusts the monitor and whispers to the AI to bypass the overload notification.
The screen indeed displays a maximum number of points. Ships, since they have just come out of Drift, all at once, like a stellar wall. The screen displays one trillion, but there are more, certainly. How many more? Who are these ships? After all, what force, human or Xeno, possesses quadrillions of vessels? Pallas nods her head. What a strange time to sleep.
As if he were with a child, he sits down before the monitor where Petra used to serve, Pallas on his lap, nestling her head in his neck. He tries to capture an image of the ships, but they are small ... two meters or three each. Dark points on a black background.
However, he captures an open transmission from the HS. Gulmira appears on the screen:
- “To the Fleet that has just appeared at the Drift point, identify yourselves.”
No response. Andreï appreciates knowing that Gulmira is just as in the dark as he is. He does not want to hope either: too painful. And yet, if they are not Xeno ships, what are they?
The AIs have reconstructed the images from the interferometer, and the ships appear. They are those horrible creatures, the ... Chimera Sapiens? ... the Frankenstein of the Aleph. They have come to deliver the coup de grâce. Andreï, silent, rocking Pallas, contemplates the human stellar force. Yes, there are the Zero and wave-creatures, but who can fight against the planet-ship that can destroy everything and the invincible multitude of horrors? Truly, the commerce of war so familiar to humanity will allow it to raze and subjugate all life in the universe. What a dismal irony to belong to the camp of the victors.
Will they swarm onto the Alké and consume it? Should he rush toward the pod?
Gulmira has also identified the creatures and attempts contact again:
- “Chimera Fleet, we have the situation under control. Please establish contact so that we may designate the appropriate targets.”
No response. The wall of millions, of billions of billions of creatures that keeps pouring in becomes a tunnel of creatures taking shape in space. They are so numerous that this tunnel creates a gravitational field that diverts drifting wrecks like a tornado.
- “Chimera Fleet,” insists Gulmira, “please make contact on a secure line and indicate your attack plan, or I will alert Lodovico command.”
This time there is a response.
The image that appears is that of a medieval crest bearing a turtle. A turtle who has its hand extended toward its interlocutor and raises its middle finger, and even Andreï shakes his head to properly register what he is seeing. The turtle exclaims:
- “Get your fat ass out of my flight path, ugly-face, I’ve got a fucking shitty ship as big as a planet to blast!”
- “STATE YOUR IDENTITY,” Gulmira screams with such authority that even Andreï feels like saying his name.