Bon dia a tots!
Sóc una emigrant catalana al Regne Unit. Concretament fa 2 anys que visc a Londres. Al llarg de la meva vida també he viscut a Alemanya i Irlanda.
AMA!

le medjay Odion s’apprête à livrer son ultime combat. Malgré l‘infection qui le ronge, il se lance sans peur pour arrêter l‘ennemi du royaume.
Bonne lecture.
Les rêves d‘Odion se composent de souvenir liés à son enfance, des amalgames quelques fois sans queue ni tête. Néanmoins l’un d’eux lui semble étrange. Une anomalie parmi sa mémoire car tout ce qu’il a vécu depuis ses treize ans, c’est à dire peu après son entrée au Kep, est accessible. Du premier coup de sabre lui ayant transpercé le bras jusqu’à la purge d’une base de la secte d’Apep dans l’oasis de Khargeh, tout lui revient. Cependant les souvenirs lié avant cet âge lui sont obscurs voire inconnu. Alors que le medjay dort afin de constituer autant de force que possible avant son dernier combat, ce rêve étrange défile dans son esprit.
Une chaude journée d’été dans le Fayoum lui apparait, un jour paisible avec sa famille. Difficile de se souvenir qui était présent même de voir les visages de chaque personnes au bord de l’oasis familiale. Odion, a peine âgé de huit ou neuf ans, contemple son reflet dans un petit étang à la recherche de grenouille ou d’insecte pour sa collection. Les recherches sont infructueuses jusqu’au moment où ce qu’il prenait pour une limace se révèle être la queue d’un cobra. Le reptile noir jaillit des roseaux à proximité puis le mord violemment à l’avant-bras. La douleur irradiante paralyse le garçon, son bras est engourdit et les battements de son coeur s’accélère. Odion tente de crier, d’appeler de l’aide mais aucun son ne sort de sa bouche ou alors ce corps d’enfant est bien trop faible pour émettre ce simple mot. Ses forces s’amenuisent et dans la panique il se rue en direction de la demeure visible au-dessus de la végétation luxuriante. La course dure une éternité et le bâtiment semble s’éloigner. Le venin progresse dans son corps, il le sent, la douleur l’empêche de courir avant de s’effondrer dans la boue au milieu des insectes. Quelqu’un émerge des roseaux en face, un homme grand dont il ne voit que les pieds nus.
— Grand-frère, halète Odion, aide-moi.
Marek s’approche lentement et une fois à portée de sa tête il l’écrase comme un vulgaire cafard.
Odion se réveille en sursaut, seul dans la salle de soins. La lumière a été efficace mais pas assez pour le guérir de son mal. La main sur le visage, Odion reprend ses esprits, la sueur dégouline dans ses mains. « C’est la première fois depuis... je ne sais pas, en tout cas jamais je n’avais fait de cauchemar. Celui-là était déconcertant, était-ce un souvenir? Un rêve corrompu par ma condition? Ou alors une prémonition? Grand-frère Marek que me veux-tu? ».
— Medjay tu es réveillé, accourt Hetpet en lui prenant le pouls. Tu sembles en meilleur forme.
— Il est tard, dit Odion en observant le ciel crépusculaire depuis l’ouverture du toit. Ai-je reçut un message ou un ordre?
Hetpet détourne le regard et hésite à parler, elle déclare après avoir fait mine de l’ausculter:
— Le Vizir Rahotep m’a envoyé un message en effet. Pharaon t’ordonne de te rendre au nome du Sycomore supérieur. Une intense activité dans la zone condamnée a été signalé par le dieu Khonsou.
— C’est le romain j’en suis certain. Il avait dit qu’il y aurait une autre rencontre. Si Pharaon m’ordonne de m’y rendre alors soit.
Le medjay se relève presque comme si de rien n’était, pourtant il ressent une étrange sensation. Son corps lui parait différent mais assez puissant pour un combat, il compte bien mettre ce temps à profit. En sortant de la salle il fait ses adieux à la prêtresse, un seul mot qu’il prononce avant de partir pour son dernier combat.
Le nome du Sycomore supérieur, situé presque à l’opposé de Bast, est une région réputée pour son arbre le sycomore ou figuier des Pharaons. Le bois est utilisé pour les sarcophages, les meubles Égyptiens et avec la bonne technique il est possible de s’en servir comme allume-feu. Les Égyptiens fortunés importent ces arbres pour les placer dans leurs jardins et ainsi profiter de l’ombre lors de chaude journée d’été mais cela a surtout un but ostentatoire. Odion, voguant sur le bras du Nil, ressent les effets bénéfiques des médicaments de la prêtresse. Son état est stable malgré la démangeaison qui le ronge sur le flanc gauche.
Au moment où le medjay pose pied sur le port, seul et dans le silence, le soleil se couche dans son dos. Durant une minute il observe l’astre disparaitre tandis que les étoiles apparaissent. La dernière fois qu’il le contemple et tout comme Horus, le medjay s’apprête à combattre les ténèbres cependant il ne renaîtra pas le lendemain. Pour la première fois Odion revêt une armure, les pièces sont noirs et épaisses, et tout un arsenal est attaché à sa ceinture. Le medjay ressemble à s’y méprendre à un protecteur royal. Comme prévu le nome est sous couvre-feu sans que la population ni même le nomarque ne soit officiellement au courant des raisons de ces dispositions. Evidemment tout le monde sait que la bête sévit en ce moment dans la région. Tous les Sittiu du royaume craignent pour leurs sécurités notamment après les multiples disparitions inquiétantes.
Sans perdre de temps le medjay sprint en direction du Nord vers la zone dite condamnée. Le nome est d’aspect difforme, à cause de la montagne, un étroit couloir relie la petite partie Nord à celle du Sud bien plus vaste. Les Sittiu, et citoyens de la région, appellent le Nord les Racines et le Sud les Branches. Cependant depuis plus de deux cents ans les racines ont été abandonné au grand dam du prince Menkaourê III. Ce dernier, ne pouvant plus exploiter la zone, s’est vu contraint, par le Pharaon précédant, de se retirer et laisser le Nord dépérir. Odion court dans le large sillon de l’ancien bras du Nil, la terre sèche est comblée en partie par du sable autrefois domicile de l’eau sacrée du fleuve. Ses pieds s’empêtrent dans des trous, les secousses de son corps meurtri commencent l’affaiblir, la douleur resurgit mais pas assez pour le mettre à genou. Son périple l’amène à la frontière, cerné par les mains de Oupouaout jadis sculpté par les Sittiu. Des mains posées sur leur tranche à la couleur grise dont l’utilité était de contrôler le débit du bras du fleuve même si cela restait une décoration capricieuse. Aujourd’hui la sculpture fait office de barrière. Odion progresse lorsque soudain son instinct lui fit dégainer son arme, des silhouettes au sommet des ravins escarpés de pierre noir, assombri par la nuit, disparaissent avant qu’un cri de bête féroce ne brise le calme de la soirée. « Si rien n’a changé depuis le temps alors des bêtes du pôle Nord vivent et rôdent dans les parages, je me dois d’être prudent et éviter toute blessure inutile. Si mes prévisions sont exactes alors Mors aura utilisé sa mixture sur ces bêtes. Par Sekhmet, mon khépesh est... tant pis je continu ».
La zone condamné du nome n’augure rien de bon, Odion perçoit la lueur du feu, des flammes gigantesques éparpillées dans le creux de la région. Le medjay est accueilli par des sycomores carbonisés et dont chacun est affublé d’un cadavre Égyptien ou Sittiu comme à l’accoutumé, pendu par les pieds, le corps restreint et la tête calcinée. « Ce soir je t’emporte avec moi ce sale cafard, je le jure sur tous les dieux existant que mon dernier souffle s’accompagnera du tien ». Lors de sa progression un son particulier le fit stopper, figé au milieu des sycomores obstruant la lumière lunaire, le medjay le ressent, il est suivi. Son regard porte vers sa gauche sur le tronc du figuier, de longues antennes apparaissent avant qu’une multitude d’insecte surgissent de l’arbre et du sol. Des scarabées aussi gros qu’une main fondent sur le medjay. Le bruit de leur carapace écrasant la végétation est similaire à une armée prête à s’abattre sur l’ennemi, les deux lunes font luire les carapaces violacées. Odion récupère une petite sphère de sa ceinture, l’écrase dans sa main avant de la jeter sur l’ennemi. Un flash se libère suivit d’une explosion incendiaire, l’arbre s’embrase de la même manière que l’armée d’insecte. Odion s’était protégé avec sa cape néanmoins la fatigue réapparait, il extirpe une seringue de son armure et injecte le produit. « A ce rythme je n’atteindrai pas le lieu de rencontre et si il m’attend trop longtemps il l’attaquera sans moi ». Le medjay se relève et poursuit sa course au milieu des carcasses d’arbres et d’insectes mutés en abomination dont certaines sont incapables de bouger. L’écho de ses pas résonnent à travers la zone montagneuse, Odion à l’impression d’être seul, piégé dans une autre dimension avec le néant en ligne d’arrivé. Toutefois il les entend, le groupe de Mors scander des phrases en latin près de la montagne. La fumée de leur hérésie s’échappe de la cime des sycomores, plusieurs chiens de garde se jettent sur lui, à cela le medjay réplique par une série de coup de son immense khépesh. Les bêtes transformées le mordent, lui arrachent la chair mais il tient bon et finit par découper en morceaux chaque ennemi. « Mon sabre est devenu trop lourd ou alors ma faiblesse s’accroit. Mon corps n’arrive presque pas à cicatriser les plaies, pense-t-il en observant la lente résorption. Par Sekhmet, je n’ai plus le droit à l’erreur ». Les mains couvertes de sang tachent sa cape aussi dans un piteux états, des lambeaux du tissu robuste pendouillent. Le medjay la retire et se crée des bandages. Son corps lacéré est désormais couvert de bandelettes sanguinolentes tandis que la douleur réapparait progressivement, une brûlure stimulante le poussant à courir rejoindre la montagne au pas de course.
A mesure qu’il s’approche du centre des Racines, les mots scandés en latin sont plus audible, la lueur des brasiers laissent apparaitre des ombres sur les murs escarpés ou la cime des arbres comme si des géants et des bêtes féroces se livraient à un festin. Odion, essoufflé par l’effort, se cache derrière les carcasses de tronc de sycomore ensablé dans une dune. Il patiente allongé au sommet d’une falaise tout en observant la zone. Les membres de cette congrégation sont regroupés dans une sorte d’amphithéâtre naturel. Le sable a remplacé la terre meuble d’antan et les rares sycomores encore debout sont desséchés. Le reste n’est que tronc dévoré par les termites ou d’autres insectes qui aujourd’hui on dû subir les conséquences de la mixture du Romain. Les habitants de cette réunion sont à la fois Égyptiens et Sittiu mais ces derniers sont majoritaire. Des hommes et des femmes à l’allure morne, le dos vouté et les bras pendouillant, sont orientés vers une structure obscur difficile à distinguer. La terre et le sable ont été fraichement retournés et tassé pour former un large cercle presque parfait. Un nuage de vapeur se distingue lorsque la lune illumine la place. « Alors j’avais raison pour l’odeur, un mélange d’opiacé a été brûlé, les doses sont parfaite si bien que j’en ressens presque les effets à cette distance ». Le medjay utilise un morceau de cape restante pour se confectionner un masque lorsque soudain sa cible apparait. Mors, toujours amputé de son bras, titube jusqu’à la structure sombre, tous les corps sont orientés dans sa direction. « Le cafard est enfin sorti de sa tanière et le ciel est dégagé, les lunes n’auront plus d’obstacle durant un bon moment, pense Odion en observant le ciel ». Le Romain débute la cérémonie en brandissant une torche. Quelques personnes s’approchent de lui prêtent à ingurgiter un liquide, sans doute la mixture, qu’il a préparé dans une vasque aux bords brisés et abandonnée.
Alors que Mors engage son rituel le medjay se faufile parmi la foule, les témoins ne réagissent pas, tel des poupées de cire fragile ils chutent lorsque Odion use de sa force. Ses pas le rapprochent de sa cible qu’il voit tout aussi morne, la fumée trouble sa vue mais aucun obstacle ne le décide à rebrousser chemin.
— Ah le medjay est enfin parmi nous, dit une voix dans son dos.
Un sabre le transperce, la pointe de la lame jaillit de son ventre, le sang s’écoule tandis que deux autres personnes l’empalent à leur tour. L’homme prétendument Mors n’est en réalité qu’un Sittiu amputé dont la pâleur démontre sa lente agonie. Odion se surprend à gémir de douleur, aucun organe vitale n’est encore touché, de sa ceinture il extirpe trois seringues qu’il s’enfonce aussitôt. Les lacérations cicatrisent beaucoup plus vite. Ses bourreaux retirent leur lame afin de le pourfendre à nouveau mais le medjay les assomme à l’aide de ses poings puis sort de son fourreau l’immense sabre dont la lame éblouit toutes personnes alentours.
— Attaquez-le! hurle Mors.
Odion jette en l’air un explosif non létal, la lumière bleuté aveugle tous les combattants.
— Ô Khonsou, je m’en remets à toi. Offre moi ton aide divine et terrasse les ennemis du royaume.
A cette prière, un immense faucon apparait. Un oiseau mécanique argenté hurlant à en faire perdre la raison. Sa tête de faucon est affublé d’un croissant de lune orienté vers le haut et dont les extrémités sont reliés en formant un cercle. Le dieu de la lune, niché sur le relief grâce à ses serres pulvérisant la roche, déploie ses ailes puis hurle une seconde fois tandis que son disque lunaire émet une lumière blanche presque aveuglante.
— Prépare-toi à périr le romain. Le dieu Khonsou n’aura aucune pitié.
Odion lui assène un coup de khépesh aussitôt paré par Mors malgré le bras manquant. Son visage exprime la stupeur lorsqu’il observe le sol sableux. La végétation pousse, des mauvaises herbes lui chatouillent les jambes, les vieux sycomores périssent et s’assèchent à l’oeil nu. Les végétaux poussent puis fanent partout où la lumière de Khonsou se propage.
— Là est le pouvoir interdit du dieu Khonsou, informe le medjay. Tout ce qui n’est pas, nait, tout ce qui est, grandit et tout ce qui vit, meurt. Si tu ne me crois regarde ton bras.
L’amputation de Mors se contamine par la gangrène, son teint blafard démontre la terreur que suscite cette nouvelle.
— Nous allons tous mourrir des maladies sommeillant en nous, déclare le medjay, quoi que tu aie voulu faire c’est terminé. Le monstre que tu prétends posséder va te tuer.
— Mors ne perdra pas pour si peu, sourit le Romain.
Une nuée de vautour contaminée s’envole depuis le pôle Nord, les volatiles agressent le dieu lunaire privant l’arène de sa lumière mortelle. Les soldats de Mors agressent à nouveau le medjay tandis que le Romain s’enfuit en direction de la structure sombre. Le medjay est submergé, il peine à utiliser son arme lourde. Néanmoins un sentiment grandit en lui. « Je dois les assommer, inutile de les tuer pour le moment, de simple coup devrait les neutraliser. De plus je rentre dans son jeu en répandant le sang ». Odion se fait submerger par la foule tandis que Mors rejoint le lieu du rituel, il récupère une torche et la jette contre la structure. Cette dernière s’embrase dans un feu immense, l’effigie est faite de paille et de bois imbibé d’huile. La chaleur s’intensifie continuellement pendant que le dieu Khonsou affronte la nuée de vautours tentant désespérément de l’empêcher d’utiliser son pouvoir. La colonne de feu atteint une trentaine de mètres, des cris s’en échappent, des hommes et des femmes brûlent à l’intérieur malheureusement pour eux Odion n’est pas capable de progresser. Les animaux sauvages s’invitent au combat par vague. La chair du guerrier est dépecée, arrachée pourtant il ne se décide pas à abandonner.
— Allez medjay! hurle Mors tout en agitant sa torche, laisse le monstre en toi se déchainer sur cette troupe!
La rage bouillonne en lui néanmoins les visages de ces pauvres gens le réfrène. « les Égyptiens font partie de la population aucune forme de trahison n’émane d’eux, les Sittiu sont la propriété du royaume et donc de Pharaon, je me dois de les garder en bon état. Je lui ferai payer la moindre de ces offenses sur nos terres ». Alors que les cris d’agonies se poursuivent dans l’effigie de paille, un bruit sec survient. Les fondations en bois de la structure éclatent et se laisse tomber écrasant sur toute la hauteur la vingtaine de personne qui le contenaient. Le fracas fit taire la mêlée général, la poussière et la fumée se surélève pendant que quelques flammes survivent çà et là. Odion ressent tout à coup le sang des victimes de l’effigie couler entre ses orteils, soudain l’homme Égyptien à ses côtés périt puis un autre et encore un autre. Tous succombent de la même manière qu’au pôle Sud. Seules dix Sittiu restent conscient, les pieds trempés dans le sang, à leurs tours ils se tranchent la gorge toujours affublés de ce regard vide et sans espoir. Les corps jonchent le sol ensanglanté comme si la terre fut blessée. « Misère, serait-ce les effets de Khonsou? Non ils seraient morts bien plus tôt, le romain a dû leur administrer la mixture avec une dose moins létale. Par Amon, la fièvre commence impacter mon jugement ». Le regard baissé sur le sol il peut contempler le reflet des deux lunes dans ce lac de sang, les satellites naturels violacés semblent à portés de main. Soudain un phénomène unique se produit, une troisième lune apparait, un cercle noir illuminé d’un anneau rouge brillant. Odion lève les yeux mais seules deux astres sont visibles, la troisième est pourtant présente dans le reflet. « Quelle est cette chose! Est-ce une étoile? Non elle est beaucoup trop grosse et sa forme reste inhabituel. Est-ce là sa fameuse porte? Sa taille semble augmenter ». Khonsou a disparu, le dieu de la lune part précipitamment en hurlant à l’agonie. Le medjay est isolé de toute aide pour régler ce problème quant à Mors, ce dernier jubile en fixant le reflet de sang.
— Il avait raison, il est là! Il viendra ce n’est qu’une question de temps. Dieu Mors il est temps de venir. Le sourire qu’il arbore se dissipe soudainement, le Romain semble entendre ou communiquer avec quelqu’un. Odion l’observe, incapable de bouger tant la douleur lui ronge le corps et son énergie.
— Je ne comprends pas Dieu Mors, venez, il est temps! J’ai ouvert la porte; le romain marque une pause avant d’hurler, j’ai fait tout ce que vous vouliez! J’ai ouvert votre porte!
Odion agrippe son khépesh tout en se tenant le flanc gauche. « Par Sekhmet, mon sabre est trop lourd, jamais je n’aurai pensé être un incapable de le brandir, un seul coup suffira de toute manière. Le seul monstre ici c’est lui ».
— Très bien je vois, reprit Mors d’un ton presque serein, alors ce ne sont pas les bons. Medjay tu as de la chance Mors ne viendra pas, cette porte est incomplète ou plutôt les ingrédients ne furent pas les bons. J’ai échoué mais je peux encore vivre sur ces terres, le Dieu Mors me l’a autorisé pour me récompenser, déclare Mors en dégainant son glaive.
— Sale dégénéré, halète Odion, tu ne fouleras plus une once de notre sol avant le le lever du soleil, j’en fais le serment.
Les forces restantes au medjay sont suffisantes pour effectuer des moulinets avec son arme. A l’aide du poids de son corps il propulse son arme comme un filet de pêche puis se sert de lui comme pivot. Son adversaire esquive cette lame ressemblant à un hachoir géant, lors des coups horizontaux il se baisse mais impossible de contre-attaquer. Lors des coups verticaux et en biais le Romain s’éloigne ou se contorsionne. Le sang au sol effectue de hautes vagues, les buissons autour de l’arène perdent leurs feuilles, la terre se retourne à chaque fois que la lame s’enfonce et le son de son sabre lorsqu’il fend l’air ressemble au cri d’un animal enragé. Odion est tel un lion, impossible de le stopper. « Je ressens le contrecoup dès que je balance mon arme, les os de mes bras se brisent, mon bassin se disloque et le sang ne cesse de couler hors de mes plaies. La douleur est insupportable. Encore un peu, encore quelques coups et je le toucherai, hors de question que je laisse ce monstre souiller la terre de notre Pharaon ».
La bataille se poursuit de la même manière durant une minute semblant durer une heure pour les combattants. Mors fatigue, sans son autre bras impossible de gagner en vitesse, la pointe du khépesh l’a touché à plusieurs reprises et une entaille au niveau du bras et du torse lui fait perdre l’équilibre. Odion suinte le sang tout le long du corps, le bras gauche dévoile une fracture ouverte, les dents serrées et le visage crispé de rage qu’il dévoile le font ressemblant à une bête sanguinaire. Un monstre qui terrifie le Romain. Ce dernier trébuche tandis que le medjay brandit son khépesh afin d’asséner une attaque verticale mais Mors lance une pierre dans l’oeil droit de son adversaire, l’attaque est déviée, le sabre s’enfonce dans le sol impossible pour le medjay de la retirer malgré ses tentatives désespérées. Mors plante son glaive dans l’estomac d’Odion puis tente de lui transpercer le cou à l’aide de sa dague. Le medjay esquive l’attaque mortel en prenant la dague de plein fouet dans la joue, la lame lui transperce la bouche de part en part, il serre la mâchoire et bloque l’arme du Romain. Néanmoins Mors ne s’avoue pas vaincu et inflige une série de coup de poing au visage. « La douleur est insupportable, mon corps à atteint ses limites ». Le colosse d’Égypte s’écroule sur le dos mais reste conscient, il retire la dague et tente d’attaquer mais Mors le désarme d’un coup de pied. Le medjay recule péniblement jusqu’à cogner un rocher. Impossible de bouger.
— Il en aura fallu du temps mais tu es enfin à ma merci, s’essouffle Mors. Regarde-toi medjay, ton khépesh t’a détruit les bras, je vois même les os. Ne fais pas cette tête, tu m’auras beaucoup effrayé durant ce séjour. Aucun guerrier ne m’a donné autant de fil à retordre alors soit tranquille pour ton royaume parce que les Prætorium de l’empire ne t’arrivent pas à la cheville.
Il retire son glaive de l’estomac du medjay puis le lève péniblement, la gangrène se propage jusqu’à son épaule. La lame de son épée suinte encore la mixture.
— Si je n’avais pas apporté le sang du fléau tu m’aurais tué depuis très longtemps.
— Le fléau? Ton dieu? dit péniblement le medjay.
— Oui c’est bien cela mais inutile de te tracasser plus longtemps, Mors brandit son épée en direction du
coeur du medjay, tu rejoindras les enfers sous peu.
Un projectile lumineux filant à une vitesse ahurissante transperce le bras du romain, son membre est éjecté à plusieurs mètres. Mors hurle à genoux, il est devenu manchot. « Par tous les dieux, je n’arrive plus à bouger. Un seul coup, c’est tout ce que je veux faire avant mon dernier souffle ». Son regard se porte sur le projectile fiché un peu plus loin, une flèche solaire, aussi imposante qu’une lance de soldat. Son éclat doré n’a pas encore disparu. « Un seul homme est capable de tirer une flèche de cette taille: grand-frère est là! ». Des pas de géant résonnent depuis le sommet du relief montagneux, des bruits secs semblables à un mastodonte en pleine ruée.
— Qui a fait ça! hurle Mors suant à grosse goutte tandis qu’une flaque de sang le submerge. Medjay qui...
Son souffle se coupe lorsqu’il aperçoit derrière le medjay, au sommet de la pente, la silhouette d’un grand homme dévaler le flanc. Les pierres et roches chutent du sommet tel des météores s’abattant sur l’arène.
— C’est impossible! le Romain se retourne et contemple la flèche avec effroi. C’est impossible! Une flèche aussi grosse n’a pas pu être tiré d’aussi loin et avec tant de précision!
« Le medjay Marek en est capable et si mes oreilles ne me jouent pas des tours il a décoché la flèche à plus d’un kilomètre. Dans moins de trente secondes il sera là. Ton heure est arrivé le Romain ». Mors se met à rire, manchot et sanguinolent, la raison lui échappe en voyant la silhouette de Marek se rapprocher. Dans un dernier baroud d’honneur il rampe jusqu’au khépesh du medjay.
— Non! Reviens ici misérable! suffoque Odion.
Arrivé près de l’imposant sabre fiché dans le sol, Mors sourit puis se laisse tomber, son cou caresse le tranchant de la lame. Sa gorge s’ouvre laissant échapper les derniers litres de sang de son corps meurtri.
Le silence reprend son droit dans cette vallée maudite par la chair et le sang. Odion suffoque, impossible de bouger le moindre doigt, seul ses yeux ont encore la force de se mouvoir dans ses orbites. Des pas retentissent derrière lui, la silhouette du medjay Marek apparait, le visage renfrogné. Vêtu uniquement de son pagne en acier blanc et de sa masse gigantesque dans son dos, le medjay porte encore son immense arc en défense d’éléphant dans sa main droite.
— Alors tu es encore vivant petit-frère, dit-il d’un air méprisant. Inutile de me répondre je vois très bien que tu n’en as pas la force. Par Amon, ce dégénéré à mis lui même fin à ses jours, dans son état j’aurai pu l’interroger une bonne semaine avant de le découper en morceaux.
Il s’avance plus près du Romain et récupère le khépesh après avoir enfilé son arc autour de lui. Voir son sabre entre les mains de son frère chagrine Odion mais cela est mieux que de le voir sous la possession d’un Romain. Toutefois il relâche sa main sur la poignée du khépesh.
— Ton sabre brûle encore petit-frère, meurs vite pour que je puisse le rapporter au Cartouche. Non en fait je vais abréger tes souffrances cela sera plus humain.
Marek récupère sa grande flèche planté dans le sol mais avant de l’enfoncer dans les côtes il perçoit un mot provenant de la bouche du medjay.
— Soleil.
— Très bien, soupir Marek en replaçant la flèche dans son carquois.
L’horizon commence à jaunir entre les reliefs plus à l’Est du nome, Marek récupérait des échantillons de la scène tout en minant la zone avec des charges solaires de forte puissance. Il rejoint son frère toujours vivant et respirant avec difficulté.
— J’aurai pu intervenir plus tôt, dit Marek en nettoyant le sang de ses mains, mais ma mission était de te surveiller. De noter chaque élément de ton enquête. Notre grand Pharaon s’est servi de toi comme chair à canon. La menace était inconnue et notre souverain ne souhaitait pas perdre des éléments importants durant cette bataille. Regarde-toi, tu es pathétique, le plus mauvais medjay que notre ordre ait connu.
Le sourire moqueur qu’arbore soudainement Odion révulse son frère, il reprend:
— Néanmoins Pharaon m’a chargé de te dire qu’il est fier de ton travail, tu auras servi dignement le
royaume jusqu’à ton dernier souffle. Pour ma part je ne suis pas d’accord tu as été pathétique, une anomalie dans notre fonction sacré de protecteur du royaume.
Le soleil éblouit les lieux tandis que le dieu Horus survole à nouveau le ciel, Marek, qui contemplait l’astre solaire, entend le dernier souffle s’échapper du corps de son frère. « Cet objectif est enfin achevé, pense Marek en récupérant le khépesh. Il ne me reste plus qu’à faire mon ultime rapport à Pharaon avant de m’attaquer à l’héritage de ce dégénéré ». La zone prend feu dès le départ de Marek, un immense brasier où tout être-vivant et trace quelconque périt. Le romain disparait dans les flammes, le royaume est débarrassé d’un monstre.

"About time!" Lu t'Cca thundered at her. "Split find hiding spot!
Najia backpedaled, giving the irate Split prisoner plenty of room to get past without coming into arms' length of her. At least he seemed to get that this was a prison break, and he made no move for her or her firearm, darting well clear of her, and out from the cell block.
Axiom's voice cut the sudden quiet that was otherwise punctuated only by her racing heart. "While you two were chatting, I've found a way to temporarily disable security in the hangar. That's where we'll hitch our ride. Head for the second level; the Ministry seems to have installed more switches. They'll require some adjustment, but I know you love a good puzzle." Najia snorted. She did, in fact, love a good puzzle, but breaking out of a prison was not the time to indulge in that. Usually. Unless one looked at the prison as the puzzle. She shook her head, huffing, and drew her pistol again. There was no marked pathway this time, but she made better time; it was reckless, but she jogged, since the place was seemingly totally unguarded. And, if it wasn't, chances were that Lucca would run into the guards first, and she'd hear the struggle ahead. She passed the lift, glancing towards it, and hurrying past in the other direction she hadn't been yet, coming to a door. Slowing, she closed enough with it that it opened automatically.
Najia let out a huff; Lu t'Cca was on the other side, but so was Axiom. She stepped forward, and looked from Axiom, who nodded to her, to Lucca, who snarled. "Creature reveal Split hiding spot! Creature nothing better to do?" This is a hiding spot? Najia shook her head; the two of them were literally standing in the middle of an intersection, in front of an airlock with two branches off on either side. She huffed, looking at Lu t'Cca. "Hey, Mellerd said -"
"Split not talk about friend-foes!" Lucca ranted. "Kriss went against family! Betrayal followed petty betrayal! Way of Windfall, yes. Way of some Split, maybe, but not how real warriors do revenge!" He made a guttural sound of anguish, shaking his head vehemently. Kris? He was on a first-name basis with her? The fact that Ace had spoken so frankly of xenosexual encounters popped into her head, the constant talk of betrayal, pettiness, personal matters, and suddenly it was obvious; somehow, this was personal. Personal; and none of her damn business. She held her hand up placatingly, holstering her other pistol, trusting to Axiom's physical presence to keep peace between her and Lucca. "Fine. I'll leave you to it," she said. "Split thought so," Lu t'Cca spat, looking back to Axiom. She looked to Axiom as well. "Switches, Wildcard. Get to it."
Najia nodded, and darted down the left-hand branch of the intersection, fuming all the while. It ran into a dead-end, and she uttered "ah fuck," turning and sprinting in the other direction, slaloming between Maestro and Lucca. At the end, she dead-ended there, and exasperated raised her voice, "the hell?!" Back in the middle, she examined the airlock carefully; she could see that it connected to nothing, which is why she discounted it previously. Carefully she moved into the airlock, her hand on her pistol just in case Lucca tried to kill her by cycling it, but he and Axiom seemed to be in the process of discussing old times.
Exasperated, Najia stepped back out of the airlock. "Axiom, where are these buttons you're talking about? How are we supposed to get out of here?" "Er..." Axiom blinked, tri-ocularly, at her, and looked around. He looked at his datapad. "They should be... Through..." He let out a discontent rumble. "Oh my. That is not obvious on a computer systems diagram schematic." "They're on the other side of the frigging airlock," Najia said. "You're probably already aware that humans can't survive in vacuum, let alone maneuver in it, right?" She snorted, her sarcasm at least getting a sheepish shuffle on his long legs out of Axiom. "Can we get out the way we came back in? Even if it means abandoning the Raven?"
"No," Axiom said gravely. "The tampering I did to activate the cell block doors will be caught by someone sooner or later - probably later than sooner, but sooner if we try to leave the cell block." "Split has been implanted with a tracking device," Lucca growled. "It will raise quite the ruckus when Split leave the cell block!" "If we're leaving by... Unconventional mechanisms, that will be no trouble," Axiom noted. "But if we enter the lift, it will lock down and security will be summoned immediately."
"Outstanding," Najia huffed. "Let me double-check something, see if I can think of something." She turned and left the way she had come from. She bypassed the lift; she had no intention of simply bailing on them. But now, she had two options. Neither was good, but one was significantly less good, so she hoped the other option worked. She opened a channel to Boso Ta. "Boso Ta, I hope to hell you've been listening in." "I have, Assistant!" Boso Ta's voice came through loud and clear. "You are in quite the conundrum. I hope you see a manner in which I may be able to extricate you, for I do not." "You and the Professor have been upgrading teleporters with the ability to upgrade themselves. To do so, you've been transporting equipment, right?" "Hai!" Professor Nakagawa's voice cut in. Clearly he was on the line. "This capability is within our grasp. What is your proposal, Takio-San?" "Can you teleport my EV suit to me?"
There was silence for a long few moments which felt like an eternity. "Potentially," Boso Ta broke the silence. "Have it placed in one of our lifts." "I'll get right on that," Marta cut in on the line. Najia smiled to hear her voice. "Any other requirements?" "If this will work, we will need very precise measurements," Professor Nakagawa said. "The teleporter is more your project than mine, Boso Ta. My thought is that it will require at least three triangulating vessels, and a beacon, and a substantial amount of open space." "Will an empty cell block do for that," Najia asked, hustling down the corridor. "It should yes... Yes! That will work." Rei Stringer cut in on the call, and Najia blinked as she saw Rei's comm-code. "I can arrange the fly-by," she said. It had been awhile since Najia had heard from the friend she had left in charge of the Eighteen Billion Terran-tech construction supplies factory, and generally, in charge of Eighteen Billion affairs. "There's a patrol of Katana in the area already, it won't look suspicious if they do a swing-by of Wormwood Scrubs."
Najia set her datapad down on the floor in the middle of the cell block. "I put my datapad down on the floor. Is that beacon enough," she asked. "Hai, Takio-San," the aged professor's voice informed her. "But I would endeavor to be in another room when the teleport takes place. This is... Highly experimental." "Vacating the room," Najia said, sprinting out into the hallway and down it. "Tell me when it's gonna happen."
"In... About twenty seconds," Boso Ta informed her. "You might want to cover your ears, assistant." Najia didn't even bother to complain about being called 'Assistant' again, she simply crouched and closed her eyes, covering her ears and tried to become one with the railing. She counted to thirty, then opened her eyes. "Did anything happen?" "Your EV suit and EMU aren't in the lift anymore," Marta said to her. "Better go check."
Najia did, and she laughed heartily. Her hardshell carapace EV suit and EMU were sitting on the floor of the cell block. "A perfect teleport! I didn't even hear anything." "Fantastic," Boso Ta said. "You had best hurry, Assistant."
One fast donning later, Najia opened the door to where Axiom and Lucca were still standing around, chatting like old gossips. They both started when they saw her, and she held her hand up. "Easy, guys, it's me." She was hauling her EMU with her. "Split wonders where creature was hiding that," Lu t'Cca said, pointing at her. "Ancient secrets," Najia flippantly answered, as she hefted her EMU into the airlock, and sat in it, strapping in. "Right, let's do this." Reaching up, Najia slapped the airlock cycle button. The door behind her hissed shut; air was evacuated. Her suit indicated a total drop of external pressure, and the airlock's A-grav let go, letting her float free, and so she pushed off the floor.
"Excellent!" Axiom crowed at her, over the comm. "Level 2 is right through there. That exhaust fan may impede your movements, but it won't make our mission impossible. See those alcoves? There's where I'd hide if I were you, whenever the fan is blowing at full speed."
Exhaust fan? I'm in vacuum! Najia carefully maneuvered out. She was in vacuum and microgravity; but she was also inside a large, cylindrical space. Below her was something like a massive fuse-box with a big holographic turret outline, and she jetted down to examine it, but could see no obvious way to tamper with it without most likely setting off major alarms, so she looked back up - just as a synthesized alert klaxxon sounded.
I hate this place, Naija thought, as she saw a fan at the top of the cylinder spin up. At a guess she thought, perhaps it was something like an exhaust, which struck as horrifically wasteful in space, but she could only grit her teeth, watching it spin. At the bottom of the cylindrical space, she only felt the slightest of buffeting; it might have been substantially stronger closer to the top. I am very confused, very frustrated, and I just want to get the hell out of here, she thought. She was seriously considering revisiting her first plan, which had been to simply teleport herself, Axiom and Lucca to Ace's ship.
But now, though, she was pissed, and she wanted to poke something spiteful in Mellerd's eye herself. So she jetted to the top of the cylinder, looking around. As she did, Axiom popped up in her comms. "These airlocks are shut, so you'll need to find a way to bypass their locks." She responded with only a quick "roger," looking around. One airlock, contrary to Axiom's words, was hanging open, but the lights next to it were red. She tried it anyway; but for once, Axiom was spot-on. The airlock door might have been open, but its functions were locked out, the panel totally nonresponsive. She returned below, and looked around; there was an open airlock opposite Axiom and Lucca, so she tried it, and it worked for her automatically.
"Well, let's see what's down this way," Najia muttered to herself, slipping out of her EMU and leaving it in the lock. She unholstered the pistol that was now clamped to her hardshell-clad thigh, and started to look around again.
To her surprise, she found only another cell block - it was a dead end! She was about to hiss in frustration, when she heard someone call to her. "You there! You! Hey! You are not supposed to be here!" Najia turned to face the Teladi voice, her pistol half-raised, when she saw that the figure in question was imprisoned. She lowered her aim to the floor, and appraoched the bars. Standing within was a Teladi, who looked rather forelorn. Najia's shoulders slumped. Well, this is awkward, she thought. When the Teladi seemed to realize she wasn't a guard, she started to ask, "Oh please, please, please! You cannot leave me here! I am friends with Urgu... Ugusa... I can help you make profitsss! I promise."
Najia sighed at the pathetic display, but she understood the Teladi's desire for freedom; though, on the balance, she also had no idea what this Teladi had done to become imprisoned. Knowing Kriss Mellerd, it was a total crap-shoot; she might be a real scum-bag, or she might be being shaken down. Axiom cut in on her. "I sympathize with the little lizard, really I do, but we cannot compromise this mission in the name of charity."
Najia huffed out a sigh, and looked around. Frustratedly, she slapped the door panel on the imprisoned Teladi's cell, and to her surprise - and the prisoner's surprise - it opened. The prisoner looked around, confusedly, and Najia was glad that her mirrored helmet hid her gaze. "That's the best I can do," she said, resignedly. "You'll have to effect your own escape from here, if you can. Good luck." Turning, she huffed back into the airlock, slapping the button to cycle it as the Teladi prisoner looked around in tentative confusion, taking a few steps out of her cell.
Najia pulled her EMU's straps back on. "Well, that was a fucking bust," she snarled. "I'm about to start lasering shit," she muttered, floating back into the massive vacuum cylinder, and back up towards the locked airlocks. She found a third floor of airlocks, but they only offered some shelter from the fans starting up. After waiting that, frustratedly she flew back out again, and started looking around. "Axiom, there aren't any switches here!" "My diagrams say there are switches, Wildcard. Look more carefully - and swiftly."
Najia let out a guttural growl of frustration, and switched to her cutting laser. Giving in to a pique of frustration, she hit her Mk.2 thrusters, blowing past level 1 to the sub-level, coming up level with the big fuse-box. "Right, let's see what this does," she said with a snarl, and targeted her suit's cutting laser on the big set of what looked like fuses.
She blazed a neat line down the middle of them, and, gratifyingly, the 'Turrets' hologram switched to a big red repair icon... She looked around for a moment. Nothing happened. Najia smirked. "On the one hand, this place is frustrating, confusing, and I kind of want to blow it up out of spite by now. But on the other hand, the gross criminal negligence on display is really working in my favor. Fuck it. Lasers for everything," she said, snarling and going back up the shaft. There were a bunch of unmarked panels, and, giving in to the frustration she felt earlier - which she had barely restrained herself from allowing herself to hold Lu t'Cca at gunpoint - she started lasering the panels like a schoolgirl hooligan on a vandalism spree.
"Your new laser is low-powered, but if you keep it aimed at the lock, it will break eventually," Axiom said. Najia blinked. New laser? This is my laser and I've had it for a while, and... Oh, piss on this! She laughed, however, as she saw that one of the panels had indeed fractured.
One deeply-cathatic vandalism spree later, every panel had been opened, and had revealed that inside the two panels nearest the top-level airlocks were two further, smaller panels, with similar mechanisms. With the fan starting up again, Najia took shelter in one of the alcoves at the top, just under an airlock, and, deciding to use her time productively, she lasered the opposite airlock's control panel. After holding her laser on the box for awhile, it was a glowing ruin, and Axiom commed her. "Partial access to level two established," he informed her.
Najia nodded. She didn't even bother to sarcastically snark at him, though the phrase no shit, Sherlock ran through her mind. Rather, she charitably assumed he was reporting to her something he was learning electronically, and turned around. This is gonna be bright, she thought, as she trained her laser at close range on the near access box, and closed her eyes. She held in the firing stud, and held it - counting in her head to seven, when Axiom's comm made her let up off the laser. "And just like that, we have free reign over level two! They can't stop you now!"
Najia grinned, and opened her eyes to behold a molten, glowing hole drilled into the electronics she had blasted. "Right. Let's get this show on the highway."
On the level above her, in the half just above, she slipped in, and found herself facing a door to another cell block, just through the airlock. She went in and looked; no prisoners. Walking out, she huffed, and decided to walk the half-circuit around the big cylinder again. To her surprise, she found a console, just attached haphazardly to a railing. Really? Najia examined it, and snorted; it looked shoddy, ad-hoc. She tapped the console's screen, and it simply changed color. Axiom piped up. "Magnificent! That'll give you access to half of the switches! There must be another console nearby that will let you remove the second cover."
"Got it. Moving on," Najia said. Back to the airlock she went, after checking the other half of the crescent hallway she was in; without any luck, she just floated across to the other airlock on her EMU. Predictably, she found that, on the opposite railing in the other half of the level, was another console haphazardly attached to a railing, and she rapped it quite firmly with her knuckles. It flashed. "How's that, Axiom?" "Both covers confirmed open," Axiom informed her. "Let's flip some switches. Get back into your spacesuit."
"Never got out of it. Who has time to undress four times? Anyway, switches, yaaay switches," she snarked, as she cycled the airlock again, strapping her EMU back on. "Whoever designed this place is both a madman and criminally negligent."
Once the airlock cycled through again, Najia saw that the two panels she had manipulated had caused five boxes that she had previously taken as unimportant junction boxes to slide their panels open. She groaned to herself when she saw that there were five more lock-like switches within. "Great, time for more vandalism, yay." She lasered the first of the boxes' interiors, the one that was lit, and held it for a long few moments.
"Something's not right," Axiom said, comming her. She had a sinking feeling. "The switches are also setting the state of their neighbors," he declared. Sure enough, she had blasted the leftmost switch, and the second had lit up. Worryingly, the leftmost switch did not look damaged in the slightest. "You'll have to find a combination which turns them all off," Axiom said, as Najia groaned. "I don't think a game of whack-a-mole will get you there," Axiom continued. "Though... Actually, it might!"
Najia groaned, and briefly considered calling for a five-hundred-some member boarding party attack from two capital ships instead. "What tail-hole thought this was a good idea," she bitched. "Who dreamed this up? Why install it like this? Don't anybody answer that, those questions were rhetorical," she snarked, as she set about the process of shooting the junction boxes like they were a juvenile 'turn them all off' game.
About eighty seconds and the false start of thinking she could shoot an inactive switch to switch it on and switch its neighbors states (it transpired that she could only make an active switch toggle neighbors' states), all five boxes were dark, and Najia snarled, bristling with outrage that this was evidently considered part of a high security system and not a child's game.
"You got it, Wildcard!" Axiom commed her. "Access to Level 3 established. And it turned off the darned fan! Off to the hangar, then." Up one level, Najia cycled herself into the airlock, and groaned. She was getting mightily tired of this, and she rolled her shoulders. "I am going to need a massage and to soak for an hour in the shower," she griped to no-one in particular. She hefted her EMU half-over her left shoulder, unholstering her pistol, just in case. The EMU was very heavy, but her EV suit had a fairly substantial low-profile power assist mechanism. Not enough to turn her into a super-soldier by any means, but enough to let her heft a 150kg load like a bulky and cumbersome backpack. She was tempted to leave it behind... But it was a good thing she didn't. The corridor she found was only a straight shot to - and she groaned - another airlock. As she approached it, Axiom unhelpfully congratulated her. "Excellent," he said. "Yo're approaching the internal hangar now. Our getaway ship is right over there." Cycling through, she passed into the deep well of an internal ship hangar - and groaned.
Najia was looking at a Magpie. That was the big, innovative, unique ship?
"If we want to make it out of here, you'll have to destroy the clamps on the hangar doors," Axiom informed her. Najia groaned, sighed, and rolled her shoulders. "Right. I can do that. All this for a..." She seethed, and looked back at the ship.
No, it wasn't a Magpie, but it sure as hell looked like one. It was clearly a derivative design, but it had not the Magpie's massive cargo pods; rather, it had smaller pods, and a lot more gubbins - antennae, dishes, and the like. Fan-dabbie-dozie she thought balefully to herself as she set about finding and destroying the lockdown clamps. As she did so, she also saw a couple more panels that had a turret hologram over them, and, thinking, why the hell not, fried them, too. Moments later, the lockdown clamps fell, too, and she saw a red light glare through one of the hangar windows.
Axiom piped up, "Holy triangle, that's the station alarm! Lucca and I are going to make a run for the ship!" She blinked, looking up - two EVA-suited figures, with full EMUs, cycled through the airlock she had come through.
What, she thought. Where... I... What... Where...? In a moment of dumbfounded confusion, she stared openly, unmoving, before both of them dipped between the ship's large thrusters, and headed for its belly, while Axiom said, "approaching the dock. Be with you in a moment!" Fearing being left behind, Najia abandoned the question of where they had gotten EV suits, let alone EMUs, in favor of making haste to join them.
As Najia negotiated into the airlock, Axiom and Lucca reported that they had boarded, and Axiom was working on powering up the ship's systems, and Axiom was transferring the ship's ownership - and hence, control - to her. They were trying to talk over one another, making it confusing, but, as she got into the ship and shed her MMU, running for the seat, Axiom noted, "This prototype ship does not appear to have an emergency eject system. I assume it was supposed to be added later." "Great," she snarled. "This is going tits-up and I'm in a little ship with no ejection system." "Split been moving into position," Maestro informed her, in a bit of good news. "Alarm must have mobilized more Ministry forces than Split anticipated."
"Thrice blasted!" Axiom roared from the back. "Mellerd deployed a capital ship to head off the Arcadian Endeavour!" Najia groaned, checking her map. A Pheonix-class vessel named Rolling Rock was engaging the Arcadian Endeavor.
As Najia got the Raven's struts up and pushed it forward, she got a comm from the Rolling Rock itself. She snarled as she saw Kriss Mellerd in her comm pane. "Thank you for leading the old man, and his crew of clowns, right to my doorstep. Crossing them off the Ministry's list will do wonders for my career advancement."
Najia gawped at her, in shock at the sheer gall on display, as Mellerd laughed. "You just stumbled into this whole affair, so I will offer you a one-time chance to get out of this. All you have to do is dock at my ship and hand over the pirates youy are currently harboring. You won't be able to keep the ship, but -"
Najia cut her off, snarling in anger. "You just love the sound of your own voice, bitch. Even if I was inclined to take an 'out,' though, nobody can trust you. For anything." Najia switched the comms to her ships, as she powered the Raven up to full. It seemed to be armed with two cannons; she test-fired them by holding in the trigger. They didn't fire immediately, but when she let go, they let fly. "Woah. These must be those Teladi charger things," she muttered. "Whatever. Ladies? This bitch cannot be trusted to keep her word. End her rightly!"
The Rolling Rock was already exchanging fire with Arcadian Endeavor, while Ace nipped at her heels, firing off shots from that launcher and the frontal cannon. Shiv and Kunai - the name chosen for the Paramerion - lifted from the Jackdaw and Arcadian Endeavour respectively, while Jackdaw and the Snapping Tortoise broke from formation with it to engage.
"L beam turrets... Problematic," Najia muttered to herself. "Let me see what I can do about that," she added, as she set the Raven prototype in motion. She could only hope, at least, that Kriss was at least rethinking her decision, now that the odds had tilted decidedly against her.
She dove into action against Rolling Rock, testing out the Muon Chargers, as the ships with her split and attacked. The destroyer was big, and problematic, but it seemed rather... Awkward to control, in fact. Ponderous, its turrets, even the lasers, seemed slow to respond. She nipped around it, firing a few times, as her four ships slipped past it. A plasma bolt struck her shields, and she yelped, diving to evade. "That's it," she heard Rei - not over the open comms, but in her earbud. "I am not letting you get your ass killed like this. I'm dispatching help," she said, and Najia winced.
Great. So this is how the war with the Ministry starts? And yet, oddly... There was no sign of Ministry reinforcements. Najia fled from the immediate vicinity to recharge her shields, coming in close to the Arcadian Endeavour, and watched as the Eighteen Billion Katana squads roared in. She winced as she saw that Okayama and her defense fleet had also been dispatched - a Destroyer squadron was going to bear down on Rolling Rock... Eventually. And yet, the Ministry was doing nothing.
It hit her suddenly; Kriss was rogue. Was doing this on her own. She snarled and grinned. The Ministry might be mad, when this shook out, but they'd have a hard time proving her involvement. Especially if she could play it as her ships responding to a distress call because a rogue vessel with an unaffiliated transponder had attacked a ship. It was flimsy... But it was enough. "Bear down on her, ladies. Tear that thing apart." Najia crowed, as she pulled the Raven in to touch down on the Arcadian Endeavour's landing pad. She looked back. "Axiom, they're gonna need you in the engine room. Lucca, you're not gonna wanna be on this ship!" The back ramp was dropping as she settled down; neither waited for her to have landed fully, they dropped from the ship and sprinted past, to the lift.
"So, you've decided to go down with the sinking ship? One less loose end for me to tie up later!" Mellerd crowed at her, and Najia smirked; of course she knew she couldn't trust Mellerd. "You're worse than a pirate, Kriss. Nobody can trust you," Najia said. "Prepare to kiss your ass goodbye."
Maestro was rattling on in her ear, but Najia could barely hear him over the combat calls. She hoped he was smart enough not to fire upon the T.E. vessels responding - it would be awkward later, and they were joining the fight on his side, after all. He was saying something about escape, and turrets. Najia snorted. "Actually, we're just going to blow this thing up," Najia declared. "We can't leave someone like Kriss Mellerd at our backs."
Things seemed to be doing well at first; the Rolling Rock was handling clumsily, awkwardly, as if she was critically undermanned. That gave Najia an odd hope that she might actually succeed at boarding her; the responding vessels were quickly tearing down her turrets and shields.
Then, everything went dramatically pear-shaped. Najia yelped as lasers tickled the the Raven's shields down and she got them back up again; again and again this happened, each time the hull started to fracture more and more. She made attack runs, damaged a surface element, and then things got worse. Where were those lasers coming from?
"Missile. Incoming missile." She slapped the countermeasures button, only to see the screen flash ammo empty. "Fuck!" A missile slammed into her, followed by a fly-by from a starfighter. She didn't catch it, but she took a pot-shot at it as it went past. Things were going from bad, to worse, when she heard someone howl, "Jackdaw's taking heavy fire! Jackdaw's... Oh fuck!"
Najia felt a moment of total disassociation. Numbly, her hand drifted over the stick, trying to maneuver the clunky ship like a starfighter, whilst fighting through mental fog.
Marta.
"We've got them!" Rei stringer called out, over her line. "I've got the crew of Jackdaw at the depot, but now we're under attack by a Ministry warship!" Najia gasped, shoving her stick forward, hard. Her ship was flying apart around her, and she snarled. "Someone get these motherfuckers!" "We're coming in," she heard - both the first, and last, person she wanted to hear. "Fenrir, engaging!" "Okayama, engaging." "Kagawa, engaging!" "Ark Royal, moving to engage!"
Najia laughed, incredulously. That was four fleets. Four fleets that most definitely were not supposed to be engaging to support the Arcadian Endeavour. One of them the Teladi wasn't even supposed to know about - Alarms blared. The Raven had taken a nasty hit, and a Ministry Kea was lining up on her six. She tried to pull away - she wasn't going to be fast enough - the ship jerked - the world went white.
Najia crashed forward to the deck, yelping, arms up to guard her head. She looked up; a Marine was standing next to her, offering her hand to Najia. "Better get to the skipper, ma'am," the Marina said. "We're Koshirae." Najia laughed, taking the proffered hand and climbing to her feet, hustling down to the bridge's main deck. Selaia Kevlin was standing in the middle like the Maestro, calmingly barking out orders with command presence. She looked up at Najia, briefly, smirking at her. "Does the owner have the conn?"
Najia shook her head, laughing. "Fight the ship, captain. I've got to coordinate this clusterfuck." Selaia laughed at her and nodded, barking out, "bring us up ninety, show her our broadside. Turret gunners, you are cleared to engage."
She hustled down to the fleet coordination console; the crewwoman at it hopping away for her. "This is Takio," she said, hopping on the controls. "Ladies, clear my skies of red. I don't know what the hell has gotten into the Ministry, attacking our stations like this, but if it's hostile out there, we kill it."
Rolling Rock was not having a good day, and it was getting exponentially worse. Her engines had been disabled, and Najia heard Maestro call out over the pirate channel, "Her engines are disabled. Now is the time to get away! But, where is Wildcard?" Najia winced. How was she going to explain that? Did she even want to? "This is Snapping Tortoise," Raleen, the captain of her pirate Baku called out. "We are picking up the crew of Jackdaw and Raven. Let these big bruisers fight, we'll get back to you."
"No!" Kriss Mellerd called out, yelping. "I don't wanna die!" Rolling Rock was coming apart under the growing tide of fire it was enduring, and more ships were still arriving. Najia snarled. Part of her wanted to bid Kriss a bon voyage to the afterlife, but she looked up to Selaia. "If anyone gets out of that ship, I want them. And we don't tell the Ministry."
"Roger that," Selaia said, and barked out orders to the helm to move closer to Rolling Rock. Najia looked back - a Ministry Razorbill was thoroughly engaged, and another had just blown up, attacking the construction depot.
She gritted her teeth, snorting hard. There was going to be hell to pay for this later. Righteous indigation - no, fury - was going to be the order of the day. Her ships had responded to a distress call from a Windfall trader, by an unidentified vessel. It was attacking relentlessly, wasn't on-record as being anything official. Then Ministry vessels, apparently heeding the aggressor's pleas, had jumped in, attacking Takio Enterprises assets, and the inevitable happen.
That was the tack she was going to have to take, and she clenched her fist. Outside, Rolling Rock came apart in a dazzling blossom of red that polarized the bridge windows for a long several moments. When they cleared, the ship was a debris field. Part of her hoped that Mellerd was dead; part of her hoped she wasn't. There was going to be a butcher's bill for today, and she tried - probably vainly - to make peace with that.
"Get us close enough to the Ministry Wharf to make contact," Najia said, looking to Selaia. "I've some barking to do." Selaia smirked at her. "After this? They should know damn well your bark isn't nearly as bad as your bite. They should be happy to get barked at. You should put on a respectable jacket at least." Najia let out a huff of exasperation, hurrying to do just that.
Najia needed to work to summon the righteous indignation she required for the bluff, but she reminded herself of the fate of Ace's mother to do so; the Ministry were assholes, even if they were also the lawful authority; and they had attacked her. She had clear and convincing evidence that Mellerd was up to no damn good. Not that she waas going to reveal it to anyone.
Hence, she found herself with eyes coldly blazing over the comms to the Ministry Police Kea craft which had departed from the wharf to intercept Koshirae. "Enough is enough," she snarled over the holo, standing in the conference room. "My ships responded to an attack upon a free trader from a destroyer that was not transmitting appropriate Ministry codes - not that the Ministry should be allowed to attack random traders, either."
"Your ships fired upon Ministry vessels," the captain of the Kea shot back, clearly outraged - but also, like the pilot who had followed her through the rift - terrified at being massively outnumbered and outgunned.
"Let me be clear, on the record, so there is no ambiguity," Najia said, leaning forward, placing her fist on the table. The effect was to lean closer to the hologram - and on the little attack ship's screen, her face would loom larger. "My ships responded to a distress call from a ship being attacked by an unknown vessel not transmitting appropriate ID. The Ministry, for whatever reasons, chose to respond to the event by siding with the aggressor and attacking my ships. Takio Enterprises warships responded by destroying the Ministry vessels." Her heart was thumping in her chest, but she narrowed her eyes. "If this is the gratitude of the Ministry of Finance, for all that Takio Enterprises has done here in Eighteen Billion, in Grand Exchange and at large, for the Ministry and the company, up to and including constructing facilities and securing neutral diplomats to mediate the dispute between the Company and the Ministry... Well, you might want to check with your superiors before you write a check they have to make good on. To be absolutely clear, this is a threat; you are the highest-ranking Ministry combat officer in Eighteen Billion. It is your decision whether this conflict continues or ceases, here and now. Ah - ah! Shut your fucking muzzle and listen to me carefully," she snapped, as the pilot opened her muzzle to retort.
"If you say anything but words to the effect of 'this was a horrible misunderstanding and we should deescalate the situation' - if you, personally, choose to escalate the situation, the first step I will take will be ordering all of my shipyards to stop producing vessels for the Ministry. The second step will be that I shall cripple the Ministry's ability to replace vessels by destroying the Ministry Shipyard and Wharf here in Eighteen Billion. I shall then proceed onward to prosecute this destructive and pointless war - a war chosen by you, pilot, here and now - by destroying each and every Ministry of Trade station I can find, until someone with some competent authority asks me to please stop doing that. You can see the weight of tonnage I have here, you know the Ministry does not have the tonnage to stop me. The choice is in your claws, pilot; war, or peace. War, or peace. Escalate, or deescalate. Your call."
The Kea pilot visibly shrank backwards in her command chair, obviously struggling to attempt to retain composure and command respect in the face of an overt and direct threat to bring fire and flame directly to the Ministry of Finance. Finally she steeled herself, straightening up in her chair. "This has obviously been a dreadful misunderstanding, miss Takio. The Ministry is undoubtedly going to demand reparations for our lost warships, but such matters are the purview of the financiers, not myself. If you will cease giving offense, we too shall cease attacks upon your vessels."
"Thank you," Najia said, leaning back. She fought not to visibly slump and sigh in relief, or to show how badly her heart was racing. "As for the reparations, they can take that up with the diplomat I have on payroll. Out." She cut the channel, and collapsed back into the chair behind her.
A moment later, the comm lit up again, and she flicked it on. It was a huge conference call, with the commanders of her fleets, the captain of Koshirae, Marta on the Snapping Tortoise with a small bandage on her forehead; Rei Stringer on the 18B construction depot, Tsukiko Peterson back at the headquarters, Professors Nakagawa and Okoye - whom Najia realized with a pang of guilt she hadn't yet formally re-introduced herself to -, Boso Ta,, and Ace. Najia let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Please for the love of god tell me we didn't lose anybody," she said, first off.
"Nobody from Jackdaw, Marta confirmed. "I took a headcount. We got lucky. "That seems to be a recurring theme," added Captain - probably should be Commodore - Xiaowen Kapoor - one of Najia's older friends, and currently the commander of T.E.S. Fenrir. "It helps that we responded with overwhelming firepower. My fleet is reporting no fatalties; thirteen casualties, mostly caused by haste in the heat of battle."
That proved to be the recurring theme; all of her responders reported sustaining injuries, mostly 'workplace accidents' incurred whilst in the heat of battle, but though some were serious, none were life-threatening.
"Najia Takio," Professor Yoriko Okoye - an aged-but-not-venerable, steel-haired professor-turned diplomat said, with the same tone of voice that she had used when reproaching Najia in class. "You are now, as ever you were, charmed, lucky, and reckless. You choose to act with passion first and foremost. This is a fine mess that I'm going to have to clean up, you understand. Can I expect this sort of thing to deal with in the future?"
Najia took in a breath, glancing around at her fellows. Barring a few, they were all young - Tsukiko was the third-oldest and Najia knew she was closer to thirty-five than forty - barely. Most of them looked grave, but not mutinious. She sighed, and smiled, wryly. "While I don't plan to go to war with the Ministry, there may be future... Rough spots to smooth over, yes. If you'd like to resign and go home -" "Not yet," the aged professor said, sharply. "But for dealing with this, I am going to require a pay rise!"
A chorus of chuckles surrounded her, and Najia sighed, face-palming and smiling. "That's fair, professor. We're going to have a fine time untangling this. Ace, how are the Curs?"
Ace looked into her eyes, then looked away for a moment, then back to her. "Secure in Windfall, awaiting your hopefully-safe return." She trilled, and Najia nodded. "Next stop, then."

They’re mentioned in TWF1 as the people who made the Little Bon’s Neighbourhood but they’re never heard or seen of again in the rest of the series. Do they actually have something to do with the story and will pop up again in TWF4? Or was it just made for a one time thing in the series and it doesn’t really matter?

J'ai pas relu l'article donc je suis pas sur que ce soit le bon mais il existe des sites pour savoir quand seront les jours fériés et poser ses congés en fonction.
https://www.nouvellespublications.com/jours-feries-comment-bien-poser-ses-conges-en-2023-118388.html

Daquelas histórias curtas e que resumem uma vida.
Ao segundo encontro com a minha futura namorada e atual esposa quando todos nos tentamos armar em bons e mostrar o nosso melhor lado consegui demonstrar logo quem eu era...
No segundo encontro fomos ao cinema para as últimas sessões e quando saímos já haviam poucos carros no estacionamento no entanto assim que saímos comecei a olhar em volta e ao que ela perguntou se não íamos para o carro e eu dizendo que sim continuei a olhar em volta até que ela me voltou a perguntar a mesma coisa ao que tive de confirmar as suas suspeitas, não sabia onde tinha deixado o carro nem me lembrava por onde tinha entrando no centro comercial, depois de procurar um bom bocado lá o encontrámos e seguimos viagem.
Para o terceiro encontro voltamos a ir ao cinema, mas desta vez não querendo fazer figuras novamente decidi tirar uma foto ao local do estacionamento mostrando-lhe orgulhosamente que aquilo não voltaria a acontecer.
No final do filme fomos para o carro confirmando pela foto qual o seu lugar e chegamos logo ao carro, dito isto ela perguntou-me, então não abres o carro, e eu respondo que sim mas continuo a mexer nos bolsos todos em que aí ela pergunta, perdeste a chave do carro não foi?
Lá voltei ao cinema e depois de correr vários bancos lá encontrei a chave.
Ao fim de 3 encontros a minha rica esposa já estaria precavida para tudo.
Obrigado e bom dia e antes que me esqueça, markl és um estúpido..... Só para que não digas que não há um pouco de ódio
😉😁

Les meilleurs moins bons - news today
Ça s’endure diront les partisans les plus fidèles, enflammés et ardents. Mal ( read more visit site => "best2daynews . com")

SPORTS

Oula un post sur les IA sur antitaf. Pas très décroissant, à priori. Et pourtant Arendt l'avait prédit et il s'agissait pas dans sa tête de foutre la planète en l'air, bien au contraire.
On voit une levée de bouclier de champions libéraux de la Silicon Valley et néo-conservateurs aux penchants fascistes comme Meloni en Italie, concernant les intelligences artificielles susceptibles de remplacer massivement les salariés du tertiaire.
Quand les machines outils ont remplacé les salariés de l'industrie ou de l'agriculture on ne les a pas autant entendus soit dit en passant.
Pourquoi donc ces machines les inquiètent tant sous cette forme, là où les IA des applications des réseaux sociaux qui nous profilent en permanence, avec une finesse tjs plus précise, conçues pour capter notre attention, ne semblent pas leur poser le moindre problème ? (elles sont moins visibles, on en parle très peu).
Peut être parce que les premières pourraient signer un début d'émancipation du monde du travail capitaliste peut être ? Là où les secondes l'entérinent, au contraire, en poussant massivement à la consommation ?
Un nouveau front de lutte politico-technologique s'ouvre sous nos yeux.
Mon sentiment est que cela révèle quelque chose de très profond : les dirigeants les plus zélés du système néo libéral qui domine actuellement, sont aussi d'immenses sadiques.
Ils sont prêts à tout pour empêcher la population de gagner sur le temps de travail, ils aiment voir leur prochains se tuer à des tâches stupides par pur sadisme. Accepter que des machines remplacent des postes sans intérêts, ça veut dire admettre qu'on nous inflige des tâches stupides.
Ça égratigne lourdement le mythe du travail comme principal horizon porteur de sens dans la vie d'une personne.
Ça pousse aussi à une remise en question du temps alloué au travail dans la vie des individus. Or plus les gens sont astreints, mieux on les contrôle. Sujet d'une brûlante actualité puisque notre gvt nous propose précisément actuellement d'allonger ce temps de nos vies passer au travail à rebours total de la technologie qui est potentiellement en train de nous en libérer.
Il est aussi un point important : l'élite, la haute bourgeoisie fonctionne sur la promesse faite à la petite bourgeoisie/classe moyenne que celle ci peut accéder aux rangs supérieurs seulement si elle travail bien selon ses conditions.
Si les machines remplacent la classe moyenne du secteur tertiaire, elles provoqueront une crise de cette même classe moyenne et de fait les classes supérieurs risque de perdre leur ventre mou, bouclier indispensable pour eux entre eux et les contingences du monde. Les classes ouvrières, intellectuelles, populaires et marginales, dangereuses, séditieuses et désireuses de les destituer, se retrouveraient d'un coup plus audibles par les classes moyennes et seraient en mesure de recruter massivement en leur sein pour remettre en question l'ordre établis.
Bref, des IA qui nous volent notre temps en captant notre attention c'est un immense OUI.
Des IA qui nous donnent du temps en nous libérant de tâches dont elles peuvent s'occuper, c'est un total NON.
Hanna Arendt, entre autre, à écrit dans les années 60/70 sur un idéal sociétal dans lequel la principal préoccupation de l'humain serait de produire de l'art et de l'artisanat puisque les machines nous remplaceront tous à terme. Cette réflexion ne date pas d'hier simplement aujourd'hui nous y voilà, nous sommes au pied du mur.
Alors va t'on rester avec le travail comme ces otages atteints du syndrome de Stockholm ou saurons nous choisir entre le bon grain et l'ivraie, ce qu'on veut en garder et ce qu'on donne aux machines, au risque de gagner du temps pour nous (dont on ne saura pas quoi faire au début, oh l'angoisse).