Chapter Thirty: Support Crews

Supporting a major scale operation like a Class B offensive was a big undertaking.  Not only were there the strike teams (already arguing amongst themselves in the transport) and the strike coordinators (there was a very disturbed group of people in the Prince’s chambers) but healers, drivers, and support troops all had to be mustered and marshalled against the coming foe.

A call went out to Sanctuary, warning them to activate their defenses and move all upper floor faculty and students to the rock tunnels underneath the school.  As well, a second call went out among the faculty for anyone skilled in healing or support to be on call for the inevitable casualties.

The prince sat at the screens with furrowed brows.  He was watching traces on the screen.  The B-type was holding course, but smaller Harvest creatures-type E and lower-were massing along with it.  He didn’t think there was enough people on the ground.   And then he saw one more blip.  Roughly as powerful as Irian, it was fast approaching the path of the creature, and anything with a signature moved out of its way. 

He swore in Gaelic himself, and tossed a display panel to Ouray.  “You’re in charge-this just went from bad to apocalypse.” 

“I’m not sure I understand…”

“No need.  You will shortly.  Guard my work-if necessary, Irian will carry it on for me.  Don’t look at me like that-and if it happens, tell him.”

The look in his eyes said that he was not to be brooked.  Ouray took the screen as the Magi booted up in the background.  The Prince was looking for boxes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The prince was fitting together componentry from those cases, as he chanted a song in a language Ouray had heard Irian and he speak a few times.  It looked really bad.  He jammed a pressurized cartridge into the haft that he was carrying, and then reached for a case marked “Hazard: Experimental.”  He reached inside and withdrew a long, wickedly curved blade.  He tried to fit it a few times, before he looked at it and it fit the configuration he wanted.  A few bolts retained it in its socket, and he thumbed a button on the haft.  Mercury filled the spaces in the blade.

Azra’El, Sticks.  Be good.”

Published in: on January 2, 2010 at 5:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

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