Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction ❯ Battlestar Evangelion ❯ Seraphim ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
Fleeing from Angel tyranny, the last surviving Battlestar, Pacifica, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest for the distant planet Malkhut, and salvation from the genocidal Angels.
Running from Angel attacks for seventeen years, a boy, born and bred only aboard the Great ships of the fleet, is burdened with the task of defending humanities last, great hope from the Angels' latest, most devastating weapon.
Battlestar Galactica and Neon Genesis Evangelion are copyrighted works.
(NGE-Gainax-Hideaki Anno. BSG-Universal-Ronald.D Moore  & Glen A. Larson ).
Other stuff might be mentioned that's copyrighted.
I don't own anything.
It's just a bit of fun anyway.
I've never posted at Mediaminer before, but that looks like the way ye do things around here. Hopefully it won't bonk the formatting up on me.
I…………………… 8230;………………………… ……………………I
And so, on the shores of the Red sea of Malkhut, the first two humans were born.
From there, the tree of human life took root and branched throughout the stars, becoming the Ten Tribes.
-Origin Ch 21: Vs 13
I…………………… 8230;………………………… ……………………I
The year is 4217: Colonial Century
“Where is everybody?” The brown haired boy known as Shinji Ikari asked.
His small voice was lost in the vastness of the arrivals deck of Cloud Nine. It made little difference; there was nobody there to answer him anyway. The last time he'd been there, it had been a physical struggle to get through the crowds. He could barely hear his teacher yelling beside him, such was the commotion.
Now though, he could hear the distant rattle of the ship's ventilation hanging from the glass ceiling above him. He peered through the glass at the blackness of space beyond, and a metallic grey section of the ships superstructure, lit up like some great Saturnalia tree.
Nothing seemed to be wrong with the ship, no alarms or anything.
A yellow backlit sign served only to deepen the mystery.
ALL DEPARTURES CANCELLED DUE TO SITUATION BEYOND OUR CONTROL
ALL ARRIVALS DIVERTED DUE TO SITUATION BEYOND OUR CONTROL
We apologise for any inconvenience caused.
“What's going on around here?”
He could remember the Pilot of his shuttle mentioning something about a state of emergency being called before they'd docked, maybe that had something to do with it.
“Now here this,” a woman's voice announced over the ships tannoy. “Now here this. As of 20:13 Fleet Standard Time a state of emergency has been declared by fleet command. All hands are advised to report to emergency stations.”
“I guess I should find a shelter then.”
`But then, what about that woman?'
She was supposed to be picking him up somewhere near here.
He fumbled in his white shirt pocket for a piece of paper, and a photograph of the woman he was supposed to meet. Found it. Her smiling face was framed by long, purple hair.
He'd long since come to the conclusion though, that the picture hadn't been meant for him. She was wearing nothing but an unzipped green leather flight jacket and a pink thong, with a small arrow pointing to her chest. `Attention here' a handwritten caption read.
Definitely must've been a mistake or something.
It couldn't have been meant for him.
Looking up from the not exactly unattractive picture he thought he saw some strange girl, standing opposite him, beneath the staircase to the upper level. For a moment, he thought she'd had blue hair.
Maybe she knew what was going on?
“Hey! he called out to her, “Hey there!”
He was interrupted by a dull rolling thunder reverberation through the deck plates, shaking and rattling the glass panels above him.
`What was that?' he questioned mentally.
Instantly apprehensive, he swallowed a lump building in his throat as some strange orange flash lit the hall around him. A lightning streak shot overhead, slamming into the superstructure far above him, a burning red fireball billowing out into the black void, silver confetti twinkling like burning stars. The structure of the ship groaned and shrieked as if it was a wounded animal.
Pieces began to patter and rattle against the glass ceiling above him. Instinctively, he braced himself, burying his head in his arms, expecting the glass to come crashing down on him. Of course, that's forgetting the small fact that the moment anything failed, all the air in the compartment would blow out into the vacuum of outer space.
From the lifetime of classroom drills, he knew then he'd only have fifteen seconds to do anything about it, before he lost consciousness. Even then, that's only if he didn't hold his breath.
Finding a shelter area suddenly seemed like a very good idea. But what about that girl he'd seen just beforehand? He quickly scanned the terminal, searching for any sign of her.
`Probably just found a shelter,' He thought.
“Now hear this,” The same voice as before cut in. “Now here this. All hands in glazed areas must evacuate immediately to shelter sections. Decompression danger.”
Far be it for him to argue with that. A klaxon alarm and a flashing red arrow hanging above him led the way.
“Hey!” a nearby voice barked.
“Hey kid! Over here!”
Someone in a green flight suit, standing in an open airlock was calling for him.
“Hey! Move it before the section blows.”
Shinji blinked, looking at the olive suited person, then at the picture in his hand. Their voice muffled somewhat by the pressure helmet, he couldn't even tell if they were a man or woman. He peered through the transparent faceplate, trying to find some feature that he could match between this person beckoning him, and the printed image in his hand.
It could be.
For an instant he thought he could hear a gentle hissing whistle, like a leaking seal nearby, and what might have been the crackling of tinfoil, crunched in some ones hand.
Looking up, great shining cracks were branching across the glass above him, silver stars of metal still pattering against it, spraying from the orange glowing wound in the ships structure above.
In an instant the teenage boy knew what was going to happen. He knew that whoever this person was, going with them was infinitely better than getting blown out into open space.
He took off running towards the pilot, his footfalls clattering on the loose deckplates beneath his feet
“Hurry up!” the Pilot called. “It's going to go any second.”
He saw the suited person look up, immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass and the roar of a great gale blowing past him. His ears popped painfully as his footsteps faded, muffled as if through thick cotton. Every instinct screamed at him to hold his breath, his lungs about to burst as some great hand reached down his throat and ripped the air away out of him.
Perfect vacuum silence closed in as he ran forward, saliva on his tongue bubbling and vaporising in his mouth, his entire body tingling from the cold void that had enveloped him. His vision swam as he staggered forward, his oxygen starved mind finally realising that perhaps it might be the end. His legs already buckling beneath him he was dimly aware of something scoop him up and pull him away.
A sudden rush of air and he gasped for breath, his head throbbing, his chest on fire. Awareness filtered back and he felt himself lying on his back, on cold metal.
“Are you alright?” A distant voice asked, his ears ringing painfully.
Shinji could only groan and mumble as he pushed himself upright
“Don't sit up too quickly,” The voice held him steady.
A woman's voice.
“Mother,” The boy slurred, blinking as he tried to focus on the figure standing over him.
A woman, the pilot who'd been calling him. She was standing, her back towards an airlock door, smiling at him. The woman from he picture? he wondered. Shinji searched for the small photograph, checking in his pockets for the missing paper square.
He'd been still holding it when the deck depressurised, he realised. It was drifting somewhere out in space by now.
And the girl!
He jumped to his feet, swaying on jelly legs for a moment.
“Hey!” the woman grabbed him, keeping him from falling back on the deck.
“There was someone on the deck, a girl!” He tried to push past her. “We have to rescue her.”
“What?” stunned, the woman loosened her grip, Shinji darting to the sealed airlock door, pressing himself against the quartz glass porthole as he peered through, scanning what little of the evacuated deck he could see for any sign of her. His breath misted the cooling glass as he was gently pulled back by a warm hand on his shoulder.
“I didn't see anyone else there but you,” the woman said, giving a quick look.
“But I saw here, right before the glass blew.” Shinji explained. He was so sure he'd seen her, just standing under a staircase, staring at him, the image almost burned onto his memory. Blue hair, red eyes and a pale, ghost like complexion.
“If she was there,” The pilot placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and warm. “I'm sure she made it to a shelter in time. I didn't see anyone else on the deck, so she must have.”
Shinji swallowed his words.
If she had been out there, she'd be dead by now anyway.
“You're Shinji Ikari right?” The woman questioned, in an incongruously cheery tone of voice.
“Um…yes ma'am,” he nodded meekly.
“Thank the Gods,” The pilot leant back against the bulkhead, exhaling a welcome sigh of relief. The nagging fear that perhaps the object of her search was now either hidden in some shelter in the bowels of the ship, or floating around somewhere between the ship and the Antares maelstrom, dissolved with the knowledge that he was standing beside her.
And why was he looking at her? She wasn't exactly wearing anything inappropriate now was she?
`Oh right.' The penny finally dropped.
“Flight Captain Misato Katsuragi, of the Battlestar Pacifica,” she introduced herself with a slight bow.
Shinji looked at the smiling Captain, then at his feet. Of course he knew the name, every citizen in the fleet did, but the connection his mind had to that name twisted his stomach into a sickening knot.
“My father's ship.”
“You have the ID card and papers he sent you?” she enquired, gentling ushering him towards the opposite end of the chamber.
“Um, yes Miss Katsuragi,” he answered politely.
“Please, call me Misato.” she corrected, with a dismissive wave. “You make me feel so old calling me `Miss'”
“Sorry…em….” he shuffled in his pockets, reaching deep into his black trousers, trying to find the missing paper. Had it blown out into space as well? Was it drifting past the ticket control desk?
It was a quick relief to feel his hands close on the crumpled paper.
“Here it is!”
Torn into pieces and having been hastily taped together, the stationary was impassively printed:
Commander Gendou Ikari.
Come. Your presence is required aboard this ship immediately.
A single plastic ID card gave his full name, attached to a recent school photograph and an ID number.
“Good,” she spoke as she pushed open the airlock door. “Security Section 2 hates it when people forget their I.D.”
“We're not going to a shelter?”
“I've got orders to bring you to Pacifica, besides; it's the safest place to be right now anyway.”
Shinji wondered to himself if perhaps he didn't want to go with her, not too his father's ship.
“Well, let's get going then.”
“Yes ma'am,” he answered compliantly. It wasn't as if he had a choice.
Shinji was quaking noticeably as the hatchway buzzed shut behind him, sealing him into the beetle shaped shuttlecraft. Lit by low level green lighting, he could barely pick out the details within the small, cramped passenger compartment. There was seating for maybe six people, on two benches and some battered crates with leaking power cells stowed beneath cargo netting.
“Take the Co-pilot's seat,” Misato instructed as the machine slowly returned to life around him.
The teenager could hear the whine of the engine's turbopumps, revving up to speed, the low hum of the air recyclers surrounding him. Strapping himself tightly into the right seat, the instruments in front of him lit up, telling him information he couldn't hope to comprehend.
The Captain didn't seem to be having too much trouble figuring the different dials out, but of course, she must have been training for years to get that sort of skill
Somehow, as the Scarab shuttle jolted back from the docking port, Shinji knew that staying in the airlock would've been the better choice. He would've been safe there until someone came to rescue him. Nothing good could come from this, from his father.
“Oh, you should read this by the way.” The smiling captain dropped a grey printed dossier onto his lap. “It'll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Y'know, that's getting a little annoying,” Misato scowled playfully at him. “Can't you say anything else?”
The words he wanted to say he knew would just cause more problems, yet there they were, slowly snaking their way up his throat, ready to force their way through his mouth. Either that or he was about to get violently sick.
Better that than offend or annoy the Captain, right?
But still, they came.
“Yes ma'am,” he blurted out.
The purple haired beauty's eyes glinted as she glared at him. A mischievous, disturbing glare that made Shinji shrink down into his ejection seat. He wanted so desperately to hide from the grinning Captain, knowing that she was planning something...unpleasant.
“Sorry,” he offered meekly.
But still, the grin remained as her hand slowly closed around the plastic throttles.
“Control, Scarab two-one four. Request departure clearance from port Argo-Three-Ten.”
Shinji knew she was planning something. But he didn't know what. He wished in that instant that he was a telepath, that he could read her mind, so that at least he'd have some sort of warning when she did it.
“Scarab two-one-four Control. Clearance granted.” the response came back. “Docking collar depressurised, all systems…..”
Shinji yelped, surprised by the sudden pressing force on his chest as he was violently ripped back, the Scarabs reverse thrusters flaring a bright blue through the cockpit windows. Accelerating backwards, inertia crushed Shinji painfully against the central strap of his five point harness. Turbines roaring around him, his mind barely had time to acknowledge the wounded Cloud Nine before his stomach was thrown through his mouth as the craft looped dizzyingly over. His head swam as he came face to place with only a black star field, and the acid taste of vomit tingling in his mouth.
Misato was still smiling at him.
Shinji could only groan, not wanting any more acrobatics from the Captain. He really should've stayed on the Cloud, found a nice shelter to wait out the attack in, maybe gone home to his guardian on the Rising Sun and lived a perfectly happy life.
Peering out into the blackness, he thought he could see the other ships in the fleet, bright points of light, thousands of kilometres away. He knew they were heading for one of them, but he couldn't tell which one was his destination.
And what had damaged Cloud Nine?
He couldn't see anything that could've done it. A meteorite perhaps, a rogue comet? The Rising Sun had been hit before, but not out in deep space. He thought he could see a few dim flashes surrounding one or two of the points. Something was glowing a brilliant white, like a nearby star, but moving.
That definitely wasn't part of the fleet he knew.
“What's going on?” the boy asked.
“Well…” she paused. “It's just…em…you'll be told on board the Pacifica.”
Something about her answer just unnerved Shinji. Something really was very wrong. Maybe the answer was in the folder she'd given him. On it was printed:
WELCOME TO NERV-01 FLEET OPERATIONS
I…………………… 8230;………………………… ……………………I
The `bridge' of Pacifica was in fact, something of a misnomer. It wasn't that it wasn't the Command centre of the ship, it was more the fact that, rather than being perched high on the hull like most civilian vessels, it was buried deep within the structure, an armoured citadel protected from all but the most determined of attacks. A viewscreen on the forward bulkhead gave real time holographic views of the space around them, overlaid with a myriad of navigation data and targeting information. The air was hot and heavy, the labouring crew sweating at their stations. The distant rumble of the ships weapons warred with the hum of the ventilation and cooling for the banks of computers behind the grey painted bulkheads.
The ships helmsman and navigator sat back from the glowing display, skilfully guiding the great starship through the void, their faces lit only by the backing lights of their CRT monitors. Behind them were myriad of other systems, from communications, to flight control, to tactical station, each overseen by it's own dedicated technician. Other video displays lined the walls, showing external feeds, status of the ship's squadrons, and a view of what had once been four cargo bays.
Overseeing them all, from a raised platform was the stern form of the ship's Commander, Gendou Ikari, an old man, greying slightly but still intimidating. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of ancient sunglasses. The man rested himself gently against his steepled hands, his arms supported by the ships Master Systems Display table. From the Commanders chair he cold call up the information on nearly any part of his ship.
Beneath his laced, white-gloved hands, the Commander was smiling with a strange satisfaction.
“Enemy defence systems below twenty percent Sir,” The tactical officer, Lieutenant Aoba responded, “But the ship's hull remains intact. Estimate integrity still at eighty five percent.”
“Good,” the Commander smirked slightly, they were all but crippled. “And their fighter cover?”
“Then, perhaps we may not need him after all,” Kozuo Fuyutski, the ships executive officer spoke quietly into his former student.
“Perhaps,” the younger of the two men acknowledged. “But after seventeen years, the Angel's are still attacking, and then, we have this….”
A few quick taps on the keyboard, and the display changed from an overview of the ship, to a live image of the new target. Grainy and somewhat distorted, it showed what looked to be a glowing white ball, in the shadow if the crippled Base-Star.
On the display beside the glowing object was a simple text box.
FIELD PATTERN BLUE: CONFIRMED.
And then a brilliant, retina burning flash from the target, and the feed cut to static.
“Hmm,” the elder of the two smiled. “This might just get interesting.”
“It will.” Ikari nodded. “Lieutenant Ibuki, what is the ETA of Starbuck's shuttle?”
“No transmission from Starbuck, ” the young brunette reported. “Cloud Nine reports shuttlecraft departure ten minutes ago,” she checked the screen over her head. “DRADIS shows one shuttlecraft on an intercept trajectory, transponder signal confirms it…Scarab two one four. ETA, approximately ten more minutes sir. ”
“Base Star defences reported neutralised,” Aoba reported. “Squadrons moving to engage secondary target.”
“No!” The commander cut him off with an unnerving abruptness. “Recall all fighter squadrons.”
“Are you planning something?” Fuyutski questioned discretely.
Gendou only responded with a gentle, devious upturn of his lips. Years of command experience were telling him one, extremely satisfying thing. With the `secondary target' sheltering itself beneath the crippled Base Star, there was no reason a sufficiently large explosion couldn't take both targets out at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone had always been one of the old man's greatest pleasures.
“Prepare two nuclear missiles and target the Base Star,” he ordered calmly. “Fire when the last of our fighters is aboard.”
With those words, the fate of the aptly named three pointed Base Star was sealed, and with any luck, the object it had been protecting. Soon, they would be nothing but twinkling silver metal, indistinguishable from the background of space.
The dark haired Lieutenant, Makoto Hyuga, watched as the indicators for each of the squadrons lit up a safe green in turn, each launched craft returning to it's base. The dart like Viper fighters landing in turn, snagging cables on the hanger deck with their tailhooks.
“All squadrons aboard,” he reported.
Anticipation, that's what it was. That sound on everyone's voice. The ships nuclear arsenal was rarely used, only when absolutely necessary, and even then, only sparingly. Two missiles against a single Base Star was something worth seeing.
Two nuclear detonations and an exploding Base Star would throw out an electromagnetic pulse that would destroy any unshielded electronic system, circuits and semiconductors smoking and frying as kiloamp currents arced across delicate transistors.
A distant thump announced to the entire ships company that the missiles had been launched. Lights dimmed and monitors were secured, power to critical systems minimised, protection of battle systems being paramount in combat. Not that it would be necessary of course; the base star was as good as space dust.
“Brace, Brace, Brace,” the warning sounded as the silver cylinders streaked towards their target, closing on inevitability on top of orange trails of smoke and fire.
In a millisecond the star shaped ship was vaporized, it's existence blotted out by the momentary birth of two new stars deep inside it. Fractions of a second later every video display went static, before cutting blank, overhead lights flickering dangerously as buffer circuits struggled to compensate for the induced charges and surging currents.
“Yes!” Aoba punched the air, a sudden cheer running across the bridge, the crew sure that both targets were now travelling at relativistic speeds in several directions at once.
Both the Commanders just stared at the static screen. They knew better.
The screen shimmered and flashed, surveyors and scanners coming back online. In a microsecond the image became clear and sharp. It took only a moment more for a stunned silence to crush the spirits of those who'd expected a quick victory.
`It' was still there.
Scorched and burned, spattered with shrapnel from the destroyed ship it may have been, but otherwise, it seemed almost unaffected by the multi-megaton blast that had enveloped it.
Shigeru Aoba had to force the words out. What was on that screen went against everything his training and experience had told him. Nothing could possibly have survived that. What the hell was that thing?
“Then it is confirmed,” Fuyutski said.
“It is. We may yet need to use it.”
There was, after all, a first time for everything.