System Supervillain, Chapter 119

Chapter 119 – Honor

Cleaning out a single ship, room by room, to ensure that there were no survivors was a fucking pain. No two ways about it, it just plain sucked. There was no quick and easy way to do it, unless you were destroying the ships you wanted to keep. Thankfully, we had Web Mistress on our side, which meant that we could take breaks to rest and recover, inside her digital dimension, if we needed to.

And some of us did need it. Titania in her mechagirl form no longer needed to sleep or eat, and my costume had been designed with lengthy solo jobs where I couldn’t count on support, so it enhanced me to the point where I only needed about eight hours of sleep and one meal per week. Not that I ever pushed things that hard, if I had the choice, but the option was there, and I made sure Web Mistress had the same mods in her costume. Not everyone had that kind of support, though, including Lady Victory, Pyra, and Serafina. All three ladies were powerful in their own right, but they couldn’t go for a week on end without food and rest. And FX didn’t even that level of protection, not that the illusionist typically needed such things.

Of course, whether you absolutely needed sleep or not, it was good to get some rest, now and then, to keep mental fatigue from setting in. The body might be ready and able to go, but the mind could only take so much stress before needing a break. And combat was stressful, even when it was as one-sided as my fights with the Gel-nak so far had been. I still had to be wary of their weapons, since a lucky hit would probably ruin my whole day, if I survived. The girls, who didn’t have the same kind of type advantage as I did, would have it much worse.

So, the next couple days was basically a continuing cycle of me on one ship, the girls on another, kill our way through an eight-hour day, hop into Web Mistress’s digital lair for eight hours of sleep and a meal with the overclocked speed so that only an hour passed outside, and then we did it again. Each destroyer took roughly two hours to ‘process’, with most of that being fairly tedious work, like ensuring there were no lizards in the maintenance spaces, trying to hide. The cruisers typically took three to four hours, and the battleship was a full eight-hour slog on its own. Eventually, the only ship left was the carrier.

If the battleship was an eight-hour ordeal, one would have expected that the carrier would take at least as long, but probably longer, right? Well, not quite. The only Gel-nak still alive on the carrier after my initial assault were some Worker Caste that managed to get to compartments that had survival suits in them, and some Warrior Caste that had managed to get replacement batteries for their suits. Batteries that weren’t getting recharged, since turning off the chargers for the guys with guns was part of the Uprising Controls. Didn’t want warriors in the affected areas to be able to resist indefinitely, after all. Eventually, the power on their suits died, and the Warriors followed soon after.

Out of a crew of five thousand and change, only seventy Gel-nak remained on the carrier. Every one of them was a Worker Caste. Most were either pilots, or part of the flight crews, taking shelter in the fighters and shuttles, hoping for rescue, or at least oblivion.

As I stalked the corridors of the carrier, moving to the main engineering space, and the largest concentration of living Gel-nak outside the hanger bay, a thought came to me. “Web Mistress, what about the fighters that launched before we took over the carrier? I assume they haven’t tried docking back here?”

“No, I would have warned you if that were the case. Most were destroyed by friendly fire, after the fleet decided that the carrier needed to die instead of remaining in our hands. The rest, about twenty in total, landed in Moscow, and are currently at the growing Gel-nak base, there.”

“That’s good. What about the others? Have they finished clearing up their ships?”

“Yes, the only remaining Gel-nak in orbit are the seventy aboard the carrier. Twenty in the Engine Control Nest, and the other fifty sheltering in fighters and shuttles in the Small Craft Nest.”

And there was that ‘nest’ business again. Computer Control Nest, Command Nest, Engine Control Nest, and now Small Craft Nest? Definitely seeing a theme, there. “I assume that they use ‘Nest’ for any important center of activity on their ships?”

“Indeed. Probably an evolutionary holdover from their early development. According to the information I can access without triggering alerts, either on the ships or in the System databases, the Gel-nak evolved from reptilian ambush predators, like alligators and crocodiles, and had nests to keep their eggs safe and incubate them until hatching. Even now, they typically have clutches of up to five eggs at once.”

I paused outside the door to the Engine Control Nest. “How many are we looking at in there, Web Mistress?”

“Twenty life signs. However, they’re not moving much.”

“Fatigue? Or something more?”

“Early symptoms of starvation, I believe. Definitely dehydration. It appears that their survival suits are intended more for quick jaunts into vacuum, rather than living in the suit for days on end. There’s no air, so they can’t open their helmets to eat, and whatever water supplies are on their suit have definitely run their course by now. They’re barely conscious, and definitely not in fighting condition.”

“Are the ones in the hangar bay like this, as well?”

“Doubtful. The fighters and shuttles the pilots and flight crews took shelter in are pressurized, so they should be fine. Doubtless getting cabin fever, or whatever the lizard equivalent is, but they’ll at least be in decent health.”

“Something to look forward to, then. By the way, does my new destroyer have room for shuttles? Or do they land those things on planets?”

“From the schematics, the destroyers are capable of landing on a planet, but it isn’t exactly something recommended. There is a shuttle bay with two shuttles. One for transport, and one is an ‘assault shuttle’.”

I chuckled softly at that. “Please tell me we aren’t going to have to deal with idiots blathering on about how it isn’t technically an assault shuttle, like those dumbasses who try to argue about guns, despite the term assault rifle having a clear definition, and gun magazines literally calling them that on the front cover.”

“Funny, but no, we’re not going to have to point anyone to the alien vehicle version of The Complete Book of Assault Rifles. The designation literally translates to ‘assault shuttle’. Basically, the transport shuttle has light armor, decent shields, and a tractor beam to help it tow things. The assault shuttle has armor, weapons, and a docking clamp that will let it attach to an airlock or cut through a hull. Don’t take it into a dogfight, but if you’re trying to deliver troops to a potentially hostile ship…”

“Got it. While we’re on the subject, you have any ideas for remodel work on the destroyer?”

“We’re doing this now, instead of clearing out engineering?”

“I mean, they’re already half-dead. Might as well decide a few things, before anyone can get up here and try to make counter-claims.”

“Fine. I think we can keep most of it. Obviously, we’re ripping out the Uprising Controls, and stepping up the firewalls. Probably need to recode the OS from the ground up, just to eliminate any hidden problems in the code as things translate from Gel-nak to English. And I want to upgrade some of the weapons, and add a teleporter. Probably get a teleport blocker, too, to keep people from dropping in unannounced.”

“Sounds good,” I said, and took a breath. “All right, open the door.”

The door slid open soundlessly in the vacuum. Stepping through the doorway with my blade in hand, I saw the remaining worker caste Gel-nak slumped in different positions around the room. It was, in a word, spotless. Perfectly clean, in that way that no engine room should ever be. There’s clean, and then there’s ‘wipe a white glove on the engine block and it comes back spotless’ clean.

I’d never been military, but there were always ex-military who joined the ranks of villains, and I’d spoken to more than a few of them. One thing all of the mechanic or engineering types agreed on was that an engineering space that looked ready for parade inspections wasn’t ready for war. The Computer Control Nest and the Command Nest hadn’t even been this pristine when I visited them!

One of the worker caste noticed me, and communicated to the others. One, who had a slightly more ornate suit, stepped forward, and the others falling into ranks behind them, at the Gel-nak version of attention. The leader’s radio transmitted in very formal Gel-nak, but my translator managed to make sense of it.

“We acknowledge your victory. We, the Workers of this ship, died the moment you arrived on board, for honor would not let us live after such a failure. Let the Gods and the Emperor know that while our Leaders failed and our Warriors died, the Engineworkers of the Harbinger of Death to the Unworthy, leave their post in full repair, with no fault or stain save that which our killer is about to make.”

Ah, that was it. The engineers knew that they were dead already. Either I killed them, or their own people would kill them in order for them to ‘atone’ for the failure to keep me from decapitating their command structure. Or, more likely, to silence them and keep discussion of the Uprising Controls, and how easily subverted they were, from spreading. Either way, they were dead lizards walking, and they knew it. The parade-ready engine room, then, was essentially them doing the only funeral rite they could, without committing suicide together.

I did not dislike this kind of attitude. I didn’t hold to such things, myself, and thought it foolish, since I was more of the ‘claw for every last advantage and chance’ kind of person than the ‘die with honor’ type. However, I could respect the strength of character and resolve it took for something like this. Knowing you were dead, and deciding to go out with style? Yeah, I could respect that in an enemy.

“Web Mistress,” I muttered into the subvocal microphone in my cowl, “record from them getting into formation, and everything that comes after, and broadcast it, like our last transmission, a few days ago.”

“Making another statement to the troops on the ground? Got it.”

I took a breath, saluted them with my blade, and then broadcast into the same frequency they were using, letting the translator turn my words into Gel-nak. “I hear you, Engineworkers of the Gel-nak Empire, and I salute your courage. Where your Leaders cried out and panicked, and your Warriors fought against each other for supplies before they died, you remained steadfast. The rest of this fleet has lost their honor, but you retain yours. Therefore, I give you the only gift I can, a quick end, with as little pain as possible as you go to meet your gods.”

With that said, I stepped up to the leader, who did not flinch or try to defend himself. He never moved, even as I thrust the katana forward, piercing his chest. His eyes closed as the damage knocked him out, which was a mercy since the hole in his suit meant that he would suffocate shortly. I lowered him to the ground, giving him some dignity in death.

One by one, I went through the ranks of the Engineworkers, and stabbed them. Each stood tall as they could, and each went slack as my blade pierced them, and I lowered them to the ground. Soon, I was alone in the engine room, with twenty dead worker caste at my feet. Once more, I saluted them with my blade, as I flicked their green blood off of it, and looked at the closest camera, filming the scene.

“Let it be known that this Rhuk, this demon of ice and snow, offers this mercy to those who accept the inevitable, and meet it with grace. To those who scurry and fight, however, I promise only pain as you cry out in dishonor, until you are no better than beasts. Choose your fate well, before it is chosen for you.”