Hellfire Prologue

PROLOGUE

  Deep Space
  13 June 2017

   A gigantic warship drifted lifelessly through the void. It had been silent and dead for centuries, but now something awoke the ancient vessel's computer. One by one, systems began powering up, starting with a structural integrity check of the hull. The hull had not faired well drifting through interstellar space. Thousands of breaches littered the armored plates. Many compartments were open to vacuum, but none were beyond repair. And none were close to the inner chambers where the crew slept.
   Lights slowly illuminated in main corridors, radiating outward from the central chambers to the engineering decks, environmental control, and the bridge. Once the integrity of these passages was assured, breathable atmosphere flooded the spaces, followed by the heaters powering up. It took almost a day to complete these simple tasks, which, under normal circumstances, would have taken just a few hours. The machinery had lain dormant for so long that the computer wanted to be certain nothing shorted out from proceeding too quickly. That would lead to disaster for the carefully laid-out plan that had begun generations ago.
   Once the conditions reached the low end of the habitable zone, a special chamber came alive with light. There were two hatches in this room. One lead into the network of corridors connecting the other currently revived parts of the ship, and the other opened into a very special chamber that had to remain powered even at the expense of shutting down other suspension chambers, if it came to that.
   Seven capsules slowly revived their humanoid occupants. After a cautious hour, seals cracked with a hiss of escaping gasses and equalizing pressures, and seven transparent lids hummed as the pistols pushed them up. One by one, the seven sleepers awoke, stretched muscles that had been dormant for far too long, dressed, ate their first meal in centuries, and set about the task of bringing their ship back to life.
   Six of them were gathered on the bridge when the seventh arrived, dressed in space-black armor that did not hinter his movements in slightest, standing an imposing six-foot-three inches in height, and looking not the slightest bit fatigued after centuries of sleeping, Lord Malkor swept the dead consoles with glowing red eyes.
   "My Lord," Cilian greeted her commander formally, voice echoing in the silent chamber.
   "What is our status?" Malkor demanded, all business. His voice had the same echoing quality indicative of his race.
   "System restoration is slow, but progressing," Cilian answered. "We should be able to start up the main engines in the next day or so."
   "Do we have a status yet on the fleet?" Malkor asked.
   "Not yet. Sensors are still unreliable," Cilian replied, fearful of her lord's response.
   Malkor merely listened to all the reports, filing them away in his memory for later review. Finally, he asked if they knew what caused the computer to start the revival of the ship's crew.
   Rathon nodded and punched up the recordings stored in the undamaged section of the computer core. "It appears the sensor net spread throughout the galaxy was just as resilient as our scientists predicted. These scans were received over a day ago from a star system on the other side of the galaxy."
   "What planet is that?" Lord Malkor demanded as the image files ran.
   An intense battle was being waged both in space, and on the surface around an ancient stone castle.
   "Planet Eternia," Rathon reported.
   "Eternia," Malkor said to himself. "Eternia." His eyes bulged suddenly and he lost a bit of his stony composure at the sight of six armored warriors. Malkor loudly commanded the computer to pause the playback. "Are those what I think they are?"
   Rathon nodded, "Yes, My Lord. Computer analysis confirms they are the lost suits of power armor. They have been found and revived."
   "So the time has come at last," Lord Malkor mused. "We must step up the revival of all remaining vessels as soon as possible."
   The others knew when meetings with their lord were at an end. Cilian remained at her lord's side while the others set about their tasks.
   "At last, we will rebuild our Alliance, and reveal ourselves to Horde Prime," Cilian stated quietly. "At last, we will have our revenge."
   Lord Malkor grunted in agreement.

  Near the Val-kyrie Border
  15 June 2017

   Two starships chased one another through the endless, starlit void of space. The smaller ship in the lead was the hunted, trying desperately to escape the hunters. It was a compact starship, over-powered and heavily armed for its size. Yet, in spite of its size and maneuverability, the compact ship could not evade its immense pursuer.
   The hunter was a Val-kyrie Battlestar-class warship. A powerful capital ship; the Battlestar had side-mounted landing bays on either side of the main hull to launch and recover one-hundred and fifty Bladewing-class fighters. Twin plasma canons sprouted from the forward sloping ends of the landing bays, two canons were mounted in the canyon-like recesses under the angular bow, and a pair of secondary canons protruded from the bow's sloping sides. Additionally, sixty laser batteries were strewn across the hull for anti-spacecraft fighter suppression along with four torpedo tubes fore and aft.
   Zilth monitored the rear scanners, a worried expression plastered on her beautiful features. "They're getting closer," she warned her companion sitting in the pilot's seat.
   Plasma bolts started sizzling past the fleeing ship. Some came close enough to graze the shields. Blinding flashes from proximity blasts lit the cockpit, and the shockwaves caused the ship to pitch and yaw.
   "Thank you, Zilth," the pilot replied through clenched teeth. "I can see that. The hyperdrive has been overloaded by the hits to the shields. Damned shoddy bypass."
   "I warned you about that months ago," Zilth chided.
   "I didn't expect to be running for my life from a Val-kyrie Battlestar, either," the one-eyed man shot back.
   The ship lurched from several more proximity explosions. The control yoke literally jumped out of the man's hands when a direct hit impacted somewhere in the rear quarter. Several more plasma bolts struck in rapid succession, sending the ship into a tumble and killing the primary power grid. Acrid smoke from several fried power couplings drifted into the cockpit through the open hatch.
   "Now we're in for it," Zilth groused.
   "Stop worrying. I haven't done anything to them lately. We've been leaving one another alone for months."
   "Well, you must have done something they don't like. Woke up alive today, maybe," Zilth replied without humor.
   A tug pulled up in front of the stricken starship, attacked tow lines, and began dragging the ship toward the Val-kyrie warship, which had taken up position in front of both spacecraft. The tug angled in toward the portside landing bay, followed the core controller's directions, and towed the disabled ship in for a less than gentle landing deep in the bay.
   Zilth and her companion left the cockpit once their ship was down. They checked their side arms, and took up station several paces from the starboard airlock. The pair did not have long to wait.
   A detachment of female warriors had been dispatched to the landing bay once the target had been disabled. They waited until the ship was safely down and then advanced on the starboard airlock. A squad moved in on the portside airlock just in case the crew tried to escape that way.
   The detachment leader gave a curt nod and a warrior stepped forward, punched the airlock controls, and stepped back. They waited while the lock equalized the air pressures and cycled open. The female warriors, laser rifles at the ready, charged into the captured ship, quickly securing the immediate area. It didn't take long to find the only two crewmembers on board.
   Zilth looked more than a little nervous. Whatever was going on, she figured her one-eyed companion was in real trouble this time.
   The leader of the Val-kyrie detachment looked the pair over with a penetrating stare. "So we finally caught up to you, bounty hunter."
   "Looks that way. I'm honored that the mighty Val-kyrie would send an entire Battlestar after me. What's the occasion?" the bounty hunter replied conversationally.
   "Retirement," the Val-kyrie leader answered, voice dripping with disdain.
   The bounty hunter shook his head ruefully. "I'm still in the prime of my life. I'm not ready to kick back on some backwater planet and reminisce about the past. Not yet, anyway."
   The smile plastered on the bounty hunter's face gradually disappeared when it became apparent the Val-kyrie warriors were not buying the act. The female commander leveled her laser pistol, took careful aim, and fired. The hunter flinched involuntarily at the discharge, but was amazed at how painless the impact was. That was because he was not the target.
   A stunned Zilth dropped to her knees before toppling face-first to the cold metal deck. The one-eyed hunter's features cycled from shock to disbelief to venomous outrage.
   "What was that for?" he demanded angrily. "She's done nothing to you!"
   "Like I said, bounty hunter, it's your retirement," the female leader answered.
   The man tried to protest, but he never got a word out before the laser pistol fired again. Twice.
   Lieutenant Cirik holstered her weapon and plucked a comlink from her belt. "Cirik to Commander Fontaine."
   On the bridge, Commander Fontaine tapped a control on the left arm of her command chair. "Go ahead," she replied.
   "Objective complete. Ship is cleared for the next phase," Cirik reported.
   "Understood," Commander Fontaine answered, closing the channel at the touch of a button. Over her should, she issued orders to her First Officer. "Send in the repair teams. I want that ship up and running as soon as possible."
   "Aye, Commander," the First Officer replied, and set about calling the teams waiting on standby.
   Commander Fontaine turned to the communications officer. "Send a coded message to Anyssa telling her that we have secured the target and will deliver as soon as possible." As the woman formed the message for transmission, Fontaine leaned back in her chair, crossed one shapely, muscled leg over the other, and reflected on the operation that was about to take place.