Octavia and Dietrian have not been getting along well for a long time.
This trip was a surprise for both of them. She felt that she had lost patience with such a creature, and he found the smell of biochemicals and organic liquids involved in the reproduction process of mammals to be unpleasant.
The end result is that both of them are unhappy.
Their relationship goes downhill from first impression.
When Octavia returned to her residence to make final preparations before the flight, the Mechanic Bishop was visibly relieved.
After everything was packed, she strapped herself into an uncomfortable seat on the belly of Dietrian's chunky insect ship, which also served as her "bedroom" - like a real room, except for one
screen, barely enough room to stretch her legs.
“Has anyone ever sat here and tested this device?”
Octavia asked anxiously, but no one answered her.
A servitor walked over silently and inserted a slender nerve spike into her temple. This thing was made both dignified and elegant.
"Ouch, be careful."
"As commanded."
Cyborg murmured, staring. That was all the answer she got, and she wasn't surprised.
"You still have to push it until it clicks,"
She told a lobotomized slave.
"Unless it comes out of my other bleeding ear."
"Fate."
"Throne, get out of here."
It said "obey" for the third time, and it did.
Then she heard it bump into something in the corridor outside, the ship shaking as it finally loaded up its weapons.
Octavia's room has no portholes, but she can observe the situation through an external image feed.
Images of the Echo of the Damned's main hangar deck flashed on the screen one after another as the Thunderhawk loaded its entire payload and the pod was hoisted into position.
Octavia looked at it with emotionless eyes, not knowing what she was expecting.
Is this home?
Will she miss this?
If she manages to escape, where will she go?
"oh--"
Suddenly, she looked at the screen and let out an excited and joyful exclamation in a low voice.
"unbelievable."
She paused the scrolling and entered a code that tilted an image detector on the ship's hull.
The loader trolley and the crew were ferrying back and forth, and a figure appeared.
Septimus, with a battered leather bag slung over his shoulder, spoke to Dietrian beside the main fence. His long hair covered his facial scars and he wore a delicate
body armor.
A machete was thrust into his right calf, and two pistols hung low on his hips.
She didn't know what he was talking about, and there was no sound from the external viewfinder, but she watched him pat Dietrian on the shoulder.
The slimy chrome corpse didn't seem to appreciate the move.
Afterwards, Septimus climbed up the ladder and disappeared from Octavia's sight. She could only see Dietrian on the screen returning to command his loader servitors to bring a steady stream of machines onto the ship.
As soon as she turned her head, she heard a knock on the door.
"Tell me you've got your bandana on."
She heard him calling through the metal door.
Octavia smiled and held out her hand to check, just in case.
"You are safe."
The door opened, and as soon as Septimus closed it he threw away his equipment and gave Octavia a deep kiss.
"I was fired, just like you."
Octavia touched the other person's face with a smile and said with a smile:
"Then who will bring the Darkness (First Talon's Thunderhawk) to the surface now?"
"No one, the Dark has been loaded onto this ship. Talos bequeathed it to Valiel. It is filled with apothecary's equipment and relics from the Hall of Reflections. It will be returned to the Legion in the Eye.
If only we could get that far."
Octavia's smile disappeared, like the sun disappearing behind the horizon.
"We're not going that far, you know that, don't you?"
Septimus shrugged, clearly optimistic.
"Taros said that I can take you and him."
As he spoke, his right hand gently touched Octavia's bulging belly.
"Go somewhere where there's not so much blood."
Octavia was stunned.
After a long time, she sighed quietly:
"That fool..."
Although it was deliberately restricted, something quickly spread throughout the battleship. The Cursed Echo is a city in space, and such a range means that there are all kinds of people inside.
On the highest crew deck, where things are least likely to go wrong, officers and rank-and-file crew members know what their roles are, and they perform their duties with the same professionalism as the crew of an Imperial Navy warship.
But on the lower decks, if the news spreads, it will have serious consequences.
Talos tries to avoid this happening as much as possible.
Thousands of men fed the ship with their blood and sweat, toiling in the chambers of the reactor and on the platforms of the weapons batteries, but they had no broader understanding of the situation, other than the fact that a war
The battle is about to begin.
Talos came to the main hangar deck alone. The surviving soldiers of the 10th Company had already boarded their pods, and their Thunderhawks were also loaded with combat equipment and were ready to be transported to the ground.
The attendants stood there silently waiting for the next order.
The prophet walked through the quiet landing field and came to where Dietrian was walking down the gangway of his ship.
"Everything is ready."
Dietrian was not surprised by Talos's appearance.
Talos nodded and stared at the bishop wearing goggles.
"Dietrian, swear to me that you will do what I say. Those three coffins are priceless. Macarion will stand with us, but the other three coffins must reach the Legion. They cannot be with
Let's die here together."
"Everything is ready."
Dietrian repeated his previous words.
"Gene seeds are also very important. The stored gene seeds must reach the eyes, at all costs, swear to me."
"Everything is ready."
Dietrian rarely cares about other people's oaths. In his view, the so-called oaths are to replace calculated possibilities with hope. In short, they are flawed parameters.
"Swear to me, Dietrian."
Under Talos's gaze, the Technical Bishop made a low stabbing sound.
"If it makes you any happier, and to conclude this vocal exchange, I vow to stick to the plan and monitor the efforts of others to the best of my ability."
"Thanks."
But suddenly Dietrian didn't intend to end the conversation soon.
"Taros, it is estimated that after you leave, we will stay in the planet's orbit for a few hours before we can determine whether there is an alien spacecraft chasing us. The unreliability of the auspicious omen is one factor, and drift interference is another factor.
Being able to interfere is another factor, logically——"
"Yes, I know, there are many factors."
Talos immediately interrupted the other party.
"Everything is up to you now. You can hide as long as you want, and run away if you can."
Dietrian turned around and hesitated.
"Soul Hunter, I was wondering if I should wish you good luck?"
Dietrian glanced sideways at Talos' skull mask.
"You must understand that I feel disgusted by the thought of fate. It defies any statistical logic, Talos."
The prophet said nothing, but stretched out his hand.
Dietrian's camera freezes on Talos's goggles at that moment, his facial structure gently rotating, revealing the fact that his eyes are refocused.
"It's really interesting. It's being processed."
After a while, he grabbed Talos's palm.
Talos held the bishop's hand and returned the Eighth Legion's traditional warrior salute.
"See you again, respected bishop."
Dietrian searched for an appropriate response. He was an outsider, but those ancient formal terms were traditionally spoken by the soldiers of the Eighth Legion on the eve of a fatal battle.
"In the shadow of midnight, may you die but live, son of the Eighth Legion."
After saying that, Dietrian immediately turned around and walked up the escalator to his spaceship.
Before Talos left, he saw Setitimus standing on the top of the slope, and the slave was raising his gloved hand to say goodbye.
The prophet sneered at this gesture. Mortals are always forced by emotions to do meaningless things.
After staring for a few seconds, he nodded, greeted his former slave, and left the hangar without a word.