That was wholly unacceptable.

Unfortunately, her ability to influence the physical world was limited. She could advise, should she decide to make her presence known to more people. She could coerce, but in the end it would come to the same thing.

Death.

Gaia seethed. Her breath was the howling wind, her anger buried deep in the Earth like the force of Quake waiting to be released. But for all that, she was impotent and she detested the sensation.

The entity turned her focus back to the city of New York, where her chosen champion was now resting. She had a plan. No, calling it a plan would be overly generous, she supposed. She had a concept, an idea, a hint of what was to come perhaps.

If all went well, Eric Weston would be her savior.

“I’ve got five more coming in from the east, but I see the Guard coming up Eighth!” Lyssa called out from the southeast corner of the building.

When she got no answer, she turned around and saw that Weston hadn’t moved from where he was crouched on the northeast corner.

“Hey, you listening?”

Weston shifted, glancing back. “I hear you, Lieutenant.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, walking over.

“Pinging everything on my ship, seeing what answers.”

“So? Is anything answering?”

Eric looked over the list of equipment his armor was reporting. “Oh yeah.”

“Well great. Let’s go get it.”

“Slight problem with that,” Eric said. “Some of it is back in the habitation module, right over there.”

She followed his hand to see at least a dozen of the damned things crawling over the module he was pointing at.

“Where the hell did they come from?” She breathed, appalled by the very look of the things.

“I’d guess they would willingly crawl out of hell for a chance to eat my ship,” he said sourly, cradling his Priminae assault weapon in the crook of his arm. “We’re not getting through those, and by the time the Guard gets here it’ll be too late.”

“You’re going to let them eat your ship?”

“That’s not my ship anymore,” Eric said stonily, “but no. They don’t get to chow down on the Odyssey, not while I breathe. Control, Weston.”

“Go for Control.”

Lyssa hissed, surprised that she could hear the conversation. Normally you didn’t put that sort of thing over a PA.

“New targets for Strykers,” he said. “Tell them to come heavy. Targets are grouped in close. Will laze.”

“Roger, Weston. Strykers inbound.”

Eric sent the laze command to the micro drones flitting about the park and rose fully to his knees. He looked down at the crumpled and battered cylinder that had been his home for almost three years.

The sound of the Mach Fighters breaking the sound barrier echoed in the distance as a pair of the high-speed craft flashed by overhead. Weston watched the bombs tumble from the rails of the fighters, straightening out in midair before slamming into the habitat module and everything around it.