One Mark V ECM unit, 1000 km of
Fullerene cable, one low yield nuclear warhead.
Surprise party for foreign dignitary.
Argosy Special Operations
Andromeda Ascendant is in the midst of a swarm of little ships made of
BEM [OC]: I am afraid, despite all our best efforts, the Makrai fever
spread to all of Rodina's major cities. If the medical supplies do not
get here quickly, I'm afraid all I can offer is prayer. I hope to see
you all soon. Rev Bem out.
HARPER: Let me guess. That would be the bad news, right?
BEKA: Makrai fever has a ninety five percent mortality rate.
ROMMIE: Which translates into thirty one million dead on Rodina.
HARPER: Yeah, that qualifies.
ROMMIE: And all we have to do to stop it is escort an unarmed convoy of
Wayist relief ships through Acheron.
BEKA: Well, you know what an expressway that place is. We go there, we
cut our transit time in half. Like it or not, passing through Acheron
is our only chance of getting to Rodina before that epidemic runs its
HARPER: What's not to like? It's not like Acheron is chock full of old
High Guard missile batteries operated by psychopathic
Drago-Kazov Nietzscheans. Oh, wait. It is. Hmm. Going through Acheron?
Casualties on Rodina? I vote for ninety five percent casualties on
Rodina. Who's with me?
ROMMIE: We should be fine, so long as we stick to schedule and Dylan
and Tyr neutralise the Nietzschean command centre.
BEKA: Sounds good, in theory. But I want to be ready, just in case. Are
HARPER: I'm on it. I'm on it.
of hunky men with big guns are hunting something. They turn at the
sound of a whistle, and Tyr's even bigger gun blows them both away with
TYR: Too slow.
HUNT: Let's review the concept of this operation. You were supposed to
find me a prisoner, not thin the
Drago-Kazov gene pool.
TYR: They were headed straight for you.
HUNT: Where I would have shocked them unconscious with my forcelance.
But now? Now, neither of them will provide us with the radio codes we
(Tyr takes the radio Hunt has taken from one of the dead men.)
TYR: We'll find other targets. You trust me. I've done this sort of
HUNT: Well then, you are the luckiest bastard I've ever met. You're
still alive in spite of leaving bodies behind you like a trail of
TYR: Luck hasn't a thing to do with it.
HUNT: Tyr, you screwed up.
TYR: All right, then. You're the expert, you tell me. How do we get
inside of that?
(A citadel build into the side of a sheer cliff. Later, after the
opening titles - )
TYR: There's at least a full platoon out there on patrol. Maybe more.
HUNT: Here's a thought. Let's capture one of them, get his security
codes, that way we'll know for sure how many people we're up against.
Oh yeah, that's right. We've, we tried that.
TYR: Nietzscheans maintain long periods of radio silence. I don't need
a security code to tell you that. But you're right. This might have
been easier had we been able to follow your plan.
HUNT: Damn. That was almost an apology.
TYR: It was nothing of the kind. However, I deciphered their codes for
(Tyr hands back the radio.)
HUNT: I knew there was a reason I hadn't fired you.
TYR: So did I.
That's one slip down. Three more to go before we hit Acheron.
HARPER: Er, boss? We've only got twenty two relief ships reporting in.
BEKA: That's one short.
ANDROMEDA [on viewscreen]: The Satyagraha. Crew, sixty three
volunteers. Cargo, twelve thousand metric tons of medical supplies.
BEKA: Come on. We're punching a clock here.
ROMMIE: The Satyagraha's navigational interface wasn't up to spec. It
wouldn't surprise me if she were halfway to Tarn-Vedra.
BEKA: Great. So they took the wrong exit and we don't have time to wait
HARPER: Well, what's the call, boss? Do we stay or do we go?
BEKA: Both. We need those supplies and three of our best
epidemiologists are on that ship. So, here's the deal. You push on
while I take the Maru and go looking for her. Captain Harper, you have
(Rommie looks worried.)
scans the citadel cliff with his super binoculars.)
HUNT: I can't see them, but sensors insist there's a squad down there.
TYR: Then we've got two options. One, a frontal assault.
HUNT: And two?
TYR: Sprout wings, make ourselves invisible with a pocketful of pixie
dust, and fly inside.
HUNT: I don't know about the pixie dust part, but flying? That's not
TYR: It was a joke.
(Hunt sets up a jet propelled grappling hook and fires it across the
valley towards the citadel.)
HUNT: I'll go first. You cover me, then follow while I cover you.
TYR: My captain, that's solid rock.
HUNT: Yeah, I know. Una Salus Victus.
TYR: Una. The one hope of the doomed?
HUNT: The unit motto of the Argosy Special Operations Service. The one
hope of the doomed is not to hope for safety. I'll see you on the other
(Hunt slides along the wire.)
TYR: Pixie dust.
arrives safely. Tyr follows.)
HUNT: That was fun, huh?
Well, I've got to admit, making Rommie obey my every whim and laying
waste to the
Drago-Kazov sounds really great, but all by myself?
BEKA: You'll do fine. All you have to do is hold the fort until I find
the Satyagraha. We'll catch up at the next slip point. Now, remember.
No wild parties while I'm gone, and er, have lights out by ten.
(The Eureka Maru launches.)
assuming you know a way inside?
(Hunt powers up his wrist computer scan.)
HUNT: Voila. It's a map of the mountain and the fortress, right down to
the last chamber, the last cavern, courtesy of the Argosy Corps of
Engineers. Welcome to High Guard Station Acheron.
TYR: What used to be High Guard Station Acheron. If it's any
consolation, the Nietzschean Alliance lost fifty ships and three mobile
infantry divisions taking this rock from the Commonwealth.
HUNT: Luckily, it doesn't look like they expected the High Guard to
TYR: Not an irrational assumption, considering my people destroyed them
HUNT: Are you bragging or complaining?
[OC]: This is the medical relief ship Satyagraha, requesting immediate
BEKA: Satyagraha, this is Eureka Maru. I'm on my way. Now stop
broadcasting on an open channel. This is Nietzschean country. Maru out.
Hold tight little lamb. Watch for wolves. Uh oh. Damn. Nietzscheans.
(Three dots on the tactical display)
COMPUTER: Combat systems activated.
BEKA: Daddy always told me there'd be days like this.
looks like our best way in is just around
(A handy grille set in concrete jutting from the rock.)
HUNT: Ok, that's a problem. Automated defense systems. Large bore gauss
guns with hyperspectral sensors and fullerene plating. The ECM
generators in the weave of our field uniforms should mask us at range.
TYR: But if we get too close, they'll detect us.
HUNT: Yeah. One way or another, we'll have to neutralise them.
TYR: Or find another route? They may have missed a tunnel or two.
MAN [OC]: Security Squad Two, report position and status. Over.
(Hunt takes the Nietzschean radio from his pocket.)
MAN [on screen]: Security Squad Two, be advised. We are implementing a
Kessel Krieg Alert status. Command and Control Centre out.
HUNT: They know we're here.
TYR: We should fall back. Formulate a contingency plan.
HUNT: Here's my contingency plan.
(Hunt gets out a small grenade and pushes it through the grille. Boom.
Then he fires his forcelance into the resulting hole.)
HUNT: We're going in. Any questions?
TYR: Not now.
Gatling gun robot is rattling off shots down the tunnel as they enter.
They dive for cover.)
TYR: That was effective.
HUNT: Oh, we got them right where we want them.
is hit by weapons fire and veers away.)
BEKA: The Eureka Maru, proudly saving your ass since AFC 291.
Satyagraha, make best possible speed to the nearest slipstream transfer
point. I'll draw them off.
COMPUTER: Enemy fighters threatening relief ship.
BEKA: Jerks. Trying to blow up a relief ship carrying nothing but monks
and medical supplies. That is not very nice.
COMPUTER: Enemy fighter eliminated.
(A slipstream point opens.)
BEKA: And they're off. Now, as for you losers.
Okay, backup plan.
(They put on their cool shades.)
HUNT: No more Mister Nice Guy. Come on!
(They fire everything they have at the robot. It finally falls apart.)
HUNT: Now that was effective.
TYR: I assume there are several more of those between here and the
HUNT: Many more.
Letting me run to slipstream, are you? Yeah, you'd like that. Let me
lead you right back to Andromeda and the convoy. I don't think so.
Let's see. Let's open a nice slip portal. Not a huge one, mind you.
Just big enough to blind your sensors while I turn around and kick your
bone bladed behinds.
BEKA: That's two down, one to go. But you are a little smarty, aren't
you. Didn't fall for any of Auntie Beka's tricks.
(Something goes bang in the Maru.)
BEKA: Okay, that hurt, but thanks for giving me the excuse.
COMPUTER: Warning. Main power plant and life support systems are
BEKA: Relax. It's just for a little while. Just long enough to lure
them in and deploy proximity fuse anti-ship fragmentation mines. Set
fuses for five hundred kilometres.
(Beka drops the mines.)
COMPUTER: Warning. Specified proximity exceeds safety margins.
BEKA: Override safety protocols, authorisation code Shut Up And Do What
I Tell You.
COMPUTER: Authorisation accepted.
(The fighter comes in, takes a few shots and hits the mine. More
weapons fire hits the Maru. She is dead in space.)
(Tyr shoots the three men there.)
HUNT: All right, Mister Harper, let's see if you're any good.
(Hunt puts a data crystal into a control panel. Schematics upload.)
HUNT: Harper's pretty good.
TYR: Are we through here?
HUNT: Quite through. Missile control is this way.
Try another sweep with the active sensors.
ROMMIE: I've been running them continuously. Still nothing.
HARPER: Well then, check the long range sensor drones. She's got to be
ROMMIE: I'm sorry, Harper. If the Maru were in this system, I'd have
seen it by now. And the longer we wait
HARPER: Yeah, I know. Bad things will happen. But if Beka's in trouble,
and I leave her behind? I've known Beka for nearly five years, okay?
She's the only one I know still nuts enough to put up with me on a
daily basis. If those Nietzschean bastards got her, I don't know what
ROMMIE: We don't know that anything's happened to her.
HARPER: Yeah, and if we push on, we may never find out.
ROMMIE: Harper, you don't have to justify your decisions to me. If you
say wait, we wait.
HARPER: Ninety five percent casualties?
ROMMIE: Thirty one million dead.
HARPER: All right, fine. Er, broadcast to the convoy we're getting
under way. Best speed to the next transit point.
uploaded data unlocks the bulkhead door.)
HUNT: That was easy.
(He closes it again.)
TYR: Their mistake.
MAN [OC]: There they are! Fire!
(A whole squad comes running towards Hunt and Tyr, firing. A couple get
close enough for a quick wrestle with Hunt, but eventually they all
Estimated time for engine repair, four hours.
BEKA: Not good. Not with that fighter out there. What about weapons?
COMPUTER: Estimated time for fire control repair, four hours.
BEKA: Great. Run, shoot, run, shoot, run, shoot. Who am I kidding? Run.
primes another grenade.)
HUNT: Here. Don't hold on to that too long.
(Tyr tosses it over his shoulder as they walk on. It explodes in more
TYR: Well. We might let God sort them out, but someone told me he was
HUNT: That Nietzsche. What a comedian.
Attention on deck.
OFFICER: Sir, the targets assaulted through our ambush and executed a
strategic withdrawal. But the situation is contained.
CUCHULAIN: Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we? Comm. unit. Captain
Hunt, this is Fleet Marshal Cuchulain Nez Pierce. I see you noticed
yourself walking into my ambush. Congratulations.
[OC]: Still, I've been setting up this little surprise party for
months, and being as you're all out of places to run to, I suggest you
surrender yourself now and save everyone a lot of grief.
HUNT: But I like giving people grief.
BEKA: Incoming? Patch it through.
(A woman's voice.)
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Well played, Captain Valentine. Strange. For some
reason, I thought you'd look different.
BEKA: Maybe less like you?
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Except for the obvious. Squadron Leader Pavarti
Quechua of the
BEKA: Female Nietzschean fighter jock. This is new.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: I called to see if you might need a hand. Those
proximity mines were a nice touch, but looks like they banged you up
BEKA: And you're offering to help me? Out of the goodness of your
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Please, hear me out first. I don't mean to be
rude, but you're in a cargo ship. I'm in a Garuda class fighter. You
don't stand a chance against me in combat, so, surrender. My Pride has
no quarrel with you. I promise you'll be released as soon as this mess
gets sorted out.
BEKA: And I have your word on that, as a Nietzschean.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Point taken. But I have no reason to lie to you.
BEKA: Except that your ship looks every bit as damaged as mine. I have
a counter proposal. You surrender to me.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Not likely. I was hoping we could resolve this
before things got nasty.
BEKA: Things got nasty when you tried to blow an unarmed ship out of
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Well then, I guess we'll see who's the better
mechanic. Good luck to you. Honestly.
agree. We need to complete our task. However, I must admit I am a bit
concerned about how you plan to get us off of Acheron once we're done.
HUNT: Yeah. Me too.
CUCHULAIN [OC]: Excuse me, Dylan. May I call you Dylan?
HUNT: This guy's really starting to bug me.
CUCHULAIN [on screen]: Ah, let me guess. You don't want to respond so
we can't track your signal. I respect that. So, I'll just assume the
answer is yes. Dylan, I've got no problem with you. All I need is Tyr
Anasazi. Hand him over to me, and I'll let you go. I might even be
willing to sit down and talk about your new Commonwealth. But if you
protect him, I'll kill you. I'll destroy the Andromeda and I'll turn
that relief convoy into a live fire exercise. Then I'll let the plague
on Rodina run its course. Thirty one million lives for one, Captain.
It's a pretty good deal, I think. I'm sure your first instinct is to
say no. You think the Kodiak is your friend, but don't forget. He's a
Nietzschean. If you still believe he's on your side, ask him what
happened at Enga's Redoubt. Cuchulain out.
Still no sign of Beka and only one more slip jump to Acheron. What if
they got her, Rommie?
ROMMIE: Focus on the mission, Harper. If we're lucky, we can be in and
out before the Dragans can respond.
HARPER: Yeah, well, I don't feel very lucky. In fact, I feel like a big
old can of unluck that's just about to open up on someone.
ROMMIE: Harper, our mission is to escort this convoy to Rodina, not
settle scores with the
HARPER: Settle scores? Listen to me, Rommie. The Drago-Kazov
practically owned Earth when I was growing up. Them and other
Nietzscheans just like them. And when you and Dylan were having your
little three hundred year nap, they were running around doing one of
two things. Making people's lives miserable, or making them
nonexistent. Now, if we get to Acheron and no one's there, great! But
Beka is not here right now, and Beka's never late. For all we know, she
could be dead because of them. So, if you don't mind, I am going to
keep my scorecard handy, just in case.
diagrams in the sand.)
TYR: We assault through the garrison on the north side. They're
strongest there, but that may be to our advantage. If we can maintain
the element of surprise, we'll
HUNT: I've got a better idea. You're going to tell me what you stole
from the Drago-Kazov, and it's going to be the truth. Because, if you
lie to me, I'll blow your head off.
(A little later, Tyr is almost done with the story of Music of a
TYR: Once we were inside the mausoleum, everything broke our way.
Security fell for our diversionary tactics
HUNT: Okay, I get it. It was a great plan. Get to the part where you
turn my ship into a huge blinking target.
TYR: Drago-Museveni's remains are the one thing that any Nietzschean
would die for. The one thing we value above our own lives, mine to
protect. The sacred trust of the Kodiak. And what better place to keep
them safe than on board the Andromeda.
HUNT: You stole the corpse of Drago-Museveni.
TYR: My people believe that one day the genetically reincarnated
Progenitor will rise and claim leadership over all Nietzscheans. His
body is the only means by which his identity can be verified. When the
Progenitor appears, I alone will be able to offer him legitimacy and
unite the Prides.
HUNT: If. If the Progenitor appears. It has been three thousand years
and you people are still waiting for him. In the meantime, Tyr, you've
brought the wrath of the Drago-Kazov down on my ship.
TYR: The situation can work to your advantage. What better shield than
the body of Drago-Museveni? No Nietzschean would dare attack you for
fear of harming it.
HUNT: Ah. Well, go tell that to the Dragans. You're one hell of a
pitchman, Tyr, but you didn't do any of this to benefit me.
TYR: I never said I did. I said that my actions do benefit you. There's
(Tyr moves his head as Hunt fires his forcelance at him.)
HUNT: Would it kill you to give me a straight answer?
TYR: You'd like a straight answer? Very well then, sir. You give me
one. Explain why you've made it your mission to restore the
HUNT: A trillion hungry Magog preparing to destroy what's left of
civilisation. I think that about covers it.
TYR: Ah, yes, well, that's a lovely excuse, sir. I've used it myself.
But you've asked for the truth, and it is this. You emerged from three
hundred years in the void to discover paradise in ashes. Your home
gone, your family dead. And in the face of this insanity, you made the
only reasonable choice. To reshape the universe according to your will.
Now, you tell me, Captain Hunt, is that a lie? If it is, then you
should make good on your promise and kill me for it. No? Good. We both
know you were never going to shoot me.
HUNT: It's amazing. It's been over a year, and you don't know me at
(Hunt aims his forcelance at Tyr's chest.)
Okay, Beka, are we leaking coolants? Sniffers say yes, pressure gauges
say no. Which is it already?
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Still there, Captain Valentine?
BEKA: What do you want?
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Repair work is boring. We're the only two living
beings in this system.
BEKA: So you want to chit chat before you try to kill me? As long as I
live, I will never understand Nietzscheans.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Oh, come now. If there's any human out there who
could understand the Nietzschean mindset, it's you. Just look at you
and your Captain Hunt on your doomed mission to restore the Systems
BEKA: You support it?
QUECHUA [on monitor]: No, it's absolute lunacy. But still, testing your
will against that of a hostile universe in such a grandiose fashion? I
(Quechua moves out of monitor range.)
BEKA: Where'd you go? Er, so what about you? What's your story,
Squadron Leader Quechua? I thought all Nietzschean females were
supposed to be homebodies.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Only those who can breed.
BEKA: Oh. I thought Nietzscheans killed their children who were
defective, who had problems.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: The Drago-Kazov don't kill their children, even
the defective ones. They let us become combat pilots so we can prove
the worthiness of our genes. By succeeding on the battlefield, I can
raise the status of my brothers, my sisters, and my entire extended
BEKA: Lucky you.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: I don't think I was cut out for the family life,
anyway. Staying at home with two co0wives and a dozen rug rats while
some wannabe Alpha postures and preens? Shoot me now.
(Systems Diagnostic Check pops up on the screen.)
BEKA: Can't. Fire control's offline.
(Slipstream Engines Nominal.)
COMPUTER: Stage One repairs completed.
(Beka heads back through the ship.)
[OC]: You're not so bad as far as kludges go. I have to admit I like
you. I really do.
BEKA: Enough not to kill me?
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Well, no. But I promise to feel bad about it
BEKA: Then why don't I do you a favour by not giving you the chance.
See you around.
(Beka gets into the pilot's chair.)
BEKA: Come on.
BEKA: Damn it!
COMPUTER: Emergency bypass failed. Critical reactor failure in ten
seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six, five
(Beka runs back to the engine room.)
Four, three, two.
(Lever pulled down.)
COMPUTER: Emergency shutdown successful. Venting reaction by-products.
BEKA: So much for running.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: I could see that from here. Are you all right?
BEKA: I'm fine. But if you don't mind, I'm going to be a little busy
from now on.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Same here. I've a lot of work to do.
BEKA: Getting ready to blow me out of the sky.
[on viewscreen]: We've transited into the Acheron system.
HARPER: Let's hope Dylan and Tyr are as cool as I think they are. Any
ANDROMEDA [on viewscreen]: Wait. I'm detecting a Nietzschean task
force. Four light minutes away and closing.
HARPER: Ten capital ships, forty fighters? Oh, great. Can I get fries
ROMMIE: An ambush. They knew we were coming.
HARPER: The plague on Rodina. The Drago-Kazov must have released it to
draw us to Acheron.
ROMMIE: And now that leaves us staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
HARPER: A very big freaking gun. All right. Rommie, how about those,
er, deep space missile batteries?
ANDROMEDA [on viewscreen]: It's impossible to be certain, but they
appear to be operational.
HARPER: Right, right. I'm getting sick of these Drago-Jerkoffs. They
want war, let's give them war. Trance, report to Command.
TRANCE [OC]: On my way.
HARPER: Rommie, you heard me. Let's put their lights out. Battle
[on monitor]: And my mother likes to claim dissent from Bodicea Kikuyu,
but everyone knows what a huge liar she is. She'd have you believe she
sprang fully formed from the head of Drago himself.
BEKA: You Nietzscheans sure do love your genealogy.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: And what about you? You must have some great
stories to tell about your family.
BEKA: Not really.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: I read your intelligence file. A dead drug runner
for a father, con artist brother? It's a fascinating catalog of
criminality and dysfunction.
BEKA: It wasn't that bad.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: No, because you took a rotten hand and you
managed to survive. Admirable. Whereas with me, no matter how much
glory I achieve, the most I can hope for is not to disgrace my family
any more than I did by being born.
COMPUTER: Warning. Incoming virus detected.
BEKA: You know, I'd have an easier time bonding with you if you would
stop trying to hide computer viruses on your carrier waves.
COMPUTER: Virus deleted.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: The point was to disable you so I won't have to
open fire. Please, Beka, don't make me kill you.
BEKA: Then how's this as an idea? You fix your ship, I fix my ship, we
go our separate ways and you declare me missing and presumed dead.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: And as soon as you turn up alive, that's another
black mark against my entire family and our breeding status. I can't do
that to them.
BEKA: And I can't surrender to you.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: Then I guess we both know what happens next.
COMPUTER: Communication terminated.
Fleet Marshal Nez Pierce, this is Captain Dylan Hunt. Respond. Over.
CUCHULAIN [OC]: Dylan? Go ahead.
HUNT: I have that package you requested. You want him, you can have
flies through the Nietzschean fleet.)
ROMMIE: Harper, we can't keep trading punches with them all day.
HARPER: So manoeuvre or something. Er, damn the torpedoes, full speed
TRANCE: Slipstream events all over the place. The convoy is transiting
ANDROMEDA: The Dragan task force has enveloped us. We're cut off from
TRANCE: Nietzschean fighters are closing in.
ROMMIE: As I see it, Harper, you have three options. One, you can run
with the convoy to the next slipstream point and lose at least ten of
our ships. Two, you can charge the Dragan's position, which will likely
kill us and most of the attacking ships, but could draw fire long
enough for the entire convoy to get away. Or three, do nothing but
cover the convoy, die, and probably lose some of the relief ships
anyway. But there are no sure bets, and the choice is yours.
hands are tied behind his back when Cuchulain and his troops enter.)
CUCHULAIN: My task force has just engaged the Andromeda Ascendant in
the outer solar system. From all reports, she's not acquitting herself
HUNT: Andromeda's a big ship. She can take care of herself.
CUCHULAIN: Ever seen a pack of wolves take down a grisly bear, Captain?
Oh, sure, the bear can dish it out, at first, but the wolves attack and
attack and attack. Sooner or later, the bear loses.
HUNT: My money's still on the bear. Call off your dogs and we'll settle
CUCHULAIN: You've mistaken me for someone in a weak bargaining
position, Captain. Give me the Kodiak first.
TYR: Don't trust him.
HUNT: Quiet, Tyr. You chose this. I can't let my crew suffer the
consequences of your mistakes.
TYR: If I were you, Captain Hunt, I'd pray that that ship of yours
never comes to harm. Because it's the only thing in the universe that
can protect you from me.
(Tyr breaks his bonds and hits Hunt. Then he uses throwing stars to
kill two troopers and take one as a body shield. Tyr grabs a gun,
trades shots with Cuchulain, then runs.)
CUCHULAIN: Hunt? Dylan! A trick. Caught with my pants down by a kludge.
Magnificent. Mobilize the platoon. Tell them I want Anasazi and I don't
care how many pieces he's in as long as one of them can talk. And as
for the kludge, he's target practice.
This isn't working. The fighters are blocking for those cruisers and I
can't continue to soak up this kind of damage.
HARPER: What happened to Miss I Fought Ten Thousand Nietzscheans and
Lived to Tell About It?
ROMMIE: That was different. I had a trained crew, a full weapons load,
I had no battle damage, and
HARPER: Don't say it. I know. Dylan was here. Well, he isn't now.
(An alarm sounds.)
TRANCE: Harper, the convoy.
HARPER: Rommie, keep firing. We have to take out those cruisers.
ROMMIE: No. We have to protect those relief ships. Use defensive
missiles to cover their transit.
HARPER: And get killed? No freaking way. We can't protect squat if
we're dead, Rommie.
ROMMIE: We're dead either way. This is bigger than us, Harper.
HARPER: I am not losing to those self appointed superior lifeform
TRANCE: Then listen to Rommie. The Drago-Kazov only win if they can
stop the convoy. If we can protect that convoy, then the
Drago-Kazov lose. Even if they destroy us, you'll have beaten them.
You, Harper. A pure, unmodified human.
HARPER: Kludge. Well, kludge this. All right. Switch to defensive
missiles. Cover that convoy. Whatever it takes.
bursts in to discover Tyr relaxing, and a trooper lying dead across the
control console. They point their weapons at each other.)
TYR: You look taken aback.
HUNT: You were supposed to be outside, drawing them away from this
TYR: You were supposed to send a coded pulse. You didn't. I assumed you
were dead and doubled back.
HUNT: They're jamming our comms.
TYR: So this is all just a misunderstanding?
TYR: I'll buy that. Shall we blow this place up and leave?
HUNT: First things first.
Nietzschean space based missile batteries are powering up. They'll be
ready to fire any second.
HARPER: How are we doing, Rommie?
ROMMIE: Defensive systems are compromised and slipstream is offline.
We're not going to make it.
HARPER: The convoy?
TRANCE: It's through.
HARPER: Whoo hoo! All right, that means we still won, you über
bastards. All right, on my mark, attack pattern Last Act of Freaking
ROMMIE: Harper, wait.
(A cruiser gently blows apart, then another one.)
HARPER: Holy crap! Did we do that? How did we do that?
ANDROMEDA [on viewscreen]: Not us. The missile batteries are targeting
fighter moves into position ahead of the Maru.)
COMPUTER: Warning. Life support controls are offline.
BEKA: If this doesn't work, I won't be needing any more oxygen.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: It's time.
BEKA: Yeah. I figured.
QUECHUA [on monitor]: I've enjoyed talking to you, Beka. I won't insult
you by asking for your surrender.
(Beka heads for the pilot's chair.)
QUECHUA [on monitor]: If you want, I can relay any last messages you
have for your friends or family. Is there anything that you'd like to
say to them?
(Fire Control On Line)
BEKA: I'm sorry.
(Quechua gets to her controls just as her ship goes KaBOOM.)
HUNT: I think he means us. Hey, here's how we're going to play this.
Everybody walks away and no one gets hurt.
CUCHULAIN: I admire your optimism, Captain, but here's a more likely
scenario for you. We kill you, my task force neutralises the Andromeda,
and the Drago-Kazov take back our stolen property.
HUNT: Huh. I thought you might say that.
(Hunt presses a button on his wrist computer. Beep, whoosh, boom!)
HUNT: That was, er, one of your orbital defense batteries pounding this
position with a one kilo missile at point nine C. That's twenty
megatons right on top of our heads. See, I figure this mountain can
take five, maybe six, solid shots before the battery turns it into a
CUCHULAIN: You'll kill us all, yourself included. You're bluffing.
HUNT: Er, yeah.
(Beep, whoosh, boom.)
HUNT: That's two.
(Beep, whoosh, boom!)
HUNT: And that would be three.
CUCHULAIN: You're insane.
TYR: And you're beaten, Fleet Marshal.
CUCHULAIN: Cease fire and I'll call off the attack on your ship.
HUNT: I think it should be you first.
(Beep, whoosh, boom! Debris falls from the ceiling.)
HUNT: That's four. I'm kind of curious what five's going to feel like.
How about you, huh?
CUCHULAIN: Fine! You win. Task force, stand down and withdraw to rally
point Omega. Understand, Captain. This victory isn't free. Until now,
all I cared about were Tyr and what he stole from us. Now I care very
much about you.
HUNT: Well, you see, that's what the universe needs more of. People
caring for each other. Have a nice trip out.
HARPER: Glad to see you, boss. I was worried about you.
BEKA: Yeah. So was I.
HARPER: You want to talk about it?
BEKA: Not really.
HARPER: You want me to leave?
BEKA: No. No, stay.
Trance reports no major incidents at the treatment centres, yet.
HUNT: The operation is young.
TYR: Captain Hunt. Your ship is no longer accepting my access codes to
storage area fifteen.
ROMMIE: Imagine that.
HUNT: Rommie, a moment please.
HUNT: You accused me of attempting to reshape the universe according to
my will. Fine. Consider this part of the reshaping process.
TYR: An interesting euphemism for theft. The Progenitor's remains are
HUNT: Wrong. Everything on this ship belongs to me. Period.
TYR: I don't belong to you!
HUNT: You've always been welcome to leave, Tyr. But the remains stay
here, under my protection.
TYR: As long as my property is safe, I'm content to leave it where it
is, for now. But you hear me. Someday I'll want to retrieve it.
HUNT: And when someday comes around, I might even let you. It all
HUNT: The shape of the universe.
TYR: I am not pleased, Captain.
HUNT: Didn't expect you to be. Something else on your mind?
TYR: You called down fire on your own position. An act of unmitigated
insanity. Now, your adversary knows just how far you are willing and
able to go. As a result, you've rendered yourself vulnerable.
HUNT: Una Salus Victus, Tyr. It's not about being invulnerable. It's
about being ready for anything.