The torpedoes launched by Arc 3 and Arc 4 dive into the swarm of missiles. Each detonating over a kilometer in diameter, antimatter explosions swallowed chunks of the massive swarm like giant holes in the 100 km-wide sheets of missiles racing towards Grimoire. ARC 3 bore down on more of the remaining missiles. It's quad cannons firing, and it's short-range lasers targeting from missile to missile, damaging or overwhelming their targeting sensors with as much heat as it could through the meager medium of space. ARC 3 launched missiles to counter the Enigma swarm. Periodically, ARC 3 belched jerry-rigged missile clusters from torpedo tubes and cargo bay, only for the missile clusters to break apart and burn extra fuel to orient and build speed towards enigma intercepts, but with drastically smaller intercept envelopes. ARC 3’s single-handed action and quick thinking of her crew served to bolster the reputation of the ARCs as defenders over hunter killers

  ***

  “Middle swarm down by 60%, 76%.” Sara continued, calling out the quickly declining number of missiles to the distance and time until reaching Grimoire. It would only take a handful of missiles to destroy them, and just one could cripple vital systems. Even as it became more and more certain to her what the outcome would be. “Captain debris will impact even if…all missiles destroyed!” Sara exclaimed. The CIC erupted into cheers, drowning out her next words. Selena looked over the operations watchstander's shoulder just as Captain Abrams received the same text message from Sara. “Some missile debris will still strike the hull,” it read as Sara smiled and jumped up and down with the CIC.

  “That tail is uncanny.” Selena chuckled. Across the room, Captain Abrams called out orders, marshalling the crew back to their tasks without robbing the moment of the much-needed moral boost.

  “Helm, give me a roll to starboard 27°, let's give a steep enough angle so most of the debris bounces off or just gives us a scratch.”

  “Aye, roll starboard 27°.” The Meric called. Madly typing away at the secondary console that had been jury-rigged to run navigation adjustments. Meric double-checked his work and entered the course adjustment. Start to finish, it only took him a few seconds, and Captain Abrams nodded approvingly at how consistently the bridge functions had persevered in the CIC over the last 12 hours with little decline in their proficiency.

  Grimoire angled itself, rolling to its side so that the high velocity junk successfully minimized damage. No hull breach or punctures were detected. To be safe, Selena ordered damage control to check for any damage in those sections covered by the impacted hull.

  The CIC door opened. Jacket Klem stuck his head in from his post, which he had self-assigned to himself after the failed gunman hijacking. “Captain Abrams, the valkyrie’s ship left both squads of remnant Marines, including the two chirp and a Thraug. Is there anything they can be doing to help? Or at least keep busy.” Klem asked.

  “Are they still loitering by my two medbays?” Captain Abrams asked, not looking up from the console he was using. Klem cracked a smile in the way chirps did.

  “Yes,” Klem said. Finding humor in the captain referring to the Remnant Marines as loitering, even if everyone could tell Captain Abrams meant what he said, without mirth.

  “Tell them to move to–”

  “Captain!” Sara called out, her urgency breaking the Jacket, and the captain's conversation like a rubber band snapping. “I keep looking at this debris field, and something about it doesn't seem,” she paused, looking for the right words. “Something seems off about it. I don't recognize the signatures, but it could be nothing.”

  “Spit it out, say what you mean, Michalson.” The captain replied.

  “I don't know what else to say, Captain. There were residual readings of something, maybe gas, I thought initially, but none of it matches anything I've seen before or anything on file. I rolled the sensor feedback a little, and whatever it was changed course with the missiles. It disappeared after the debris passed over us.” Sara said, trying to describe the anomalous readings. So far, she's been able to rule out malfunctioning sensor equipment like she initially thought when she saw them.

  Captain Abrams pulled up the rewind portion Sara sent over to his console. Jacket Klem peered over his shoulder. Captain Abrams shook his head at a loss, but Jacket Klem stood ramrod straight, his beak chattering softly in a way that sometimes indicated anxiety like a human might grind their teeth or breathe heavily.

  “Klem?” Captain Abrams asked, caught off guard enough to forget to use the chirp's title.

  “Captain, send your Marines to that section of the ship where the debris was. Just… just to be sure. It's nothing, I hope.” Klem's neon blue jacket folded and stretched to pull an earpiece from its pocket and place it in Klem's ear. “Something about it makes me nervous. At the very least, I'd like to send the remnant Marines there. Would you let them roam in that area of your ship?” Klem asked.

  “You're going to have to give me more than a feeling. What about those sensor readings have you worried about?” Captain Abrams asked.

  Jacket Klem nodded, uncharacteristically unsure of himself and at a loss for words. In his mind, something about the sensor readings, past reports, and experiences with dealings with enigma groups clawed at the back of his head like an idea trying to burst out and run away. Klems dread began to infect the celebratory mood of the bridge even before he could find words to voice his fears.

  ***

  Damage control team 2 scoured the rooms and bulkheads directly lined against the inside of Grimoire’s hull. Only a few minor pin-prick-sized holes have been found and patched. They were getting ready to move on to the next portion of their assignment when a metallic click noise echoed down the hall. Then another one that the crew didn't recognize anything specific. It could be a sign of something damaged, not working right, or getting stuck. Naturally, two of the three maintenance workers disappeared around the corner to investigate. Just before the third survivor frantically tried to alert the bridge. Missile debris wasn't the only thing that had struck Grimoire.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ***

  Selena's eyes widened as she enlarged the alert, swiping the video feed to a wall screen nearer to the Captain. “Maintenance team two ran into something. I don't know, what the hell is that?” Selena immediately regretted putting it where the entire CIC could see. Surprisingly, Jacket Klem had the strongest reaction. It wasn't shock, confusion, or even fear. He covered his ear mic and firmly called over his radio. Selena glanced at her operations console, not seeing any indication of communications going through Grimoire’s. She realized there could only be one group he could be calling. The only group that didn't run all their communications through her ship.

  “I'm being jammed, I need broadcast in the clear. Now!” Jacket Klem yelled. The recognition in the captain's eye was the same as that of those present for Nick “Canine” Jeriks briefing. A monster was tearing through their home.

  “Do it.” The captain said, pulling the intercom off the wall himself to hand to Jacket Klem, who took a deep breath and clicked the button. Selerna set it to transmit throughout the ship, out to space, and to everything there in.

  All across the ship, from Corporal Heart, the Remnant squads aft and forward loitering in the halls, to even the Valkyrie’s drop ship on approach to Grimoire. Like a foghorn cutting across a heavy storm, the warning was relayed from ARC to ARC, receiver to receiver. In moments, the entire Remnant force centered around Grimore heard the same words.

  “Hell’s bells, hell’s bells, hell’s bells. Repeat hell's bells. Last seen ventral aft HFS Grimoire. Repeat hell's bells, hell’s bells!”

  In the chaos of Grimoires, its crew's attention turned inward, and the battle outside still raged. The black and grey behemoth trained its big, unruly guns on the Remnant forces biding their time, taking shots at targets of opportunity. Its engines flared brighter, burning towards an intercept course on Grimoire. If the metal and wire puppets failed, the Black Dreadnought could destroy the little HDF ship once it was within the large gun’s “canvas reach”. Where it's targeting chances of hitting a ship changed from low single-digit percentages to nearly guaranteed hit accuracy. If the enigma crew ordered Grimore’s destruction once within canvas reach, the Dreadnought's guns would be the brush, and Grimoire its paint to smear across the easel of space.

  Approximately 900,000 km until CANVAS REACH.

  Lieutenant Berg jogged cautiously down the hall, using his own body as a barrier for the overeager new bloods behind him. Gunfire ahead and the screaming of a dying HDF Marine quickened his pace from a carful jog to a cautious run, taking his time at the bend in the halfway to peek before continuing. Three Marines with red accents to their under suits and trademark HDF light armor were firing down another corner, a fourth Marine dragging a wounded damage control member. A clear red line from the civilian's mangled leg was being painted on the deck as he was dragged to a waiting stretcher. The dimly lit hallway and strobing effect of staccato gunfire, mixed with the slowly accumulating smoke from the spent gunpowder, was nothing new to Luetenet Berg. It would be for many of the other Marines there, Remnant and HDF alike.

  The hand signals were not lost on the shocked Remnants. They complied with the unspoken order. Two of his Marines clustered up with the three HDF Marines, one of them taking the opportunity to peel away from the cirenr to assist with ferrying the wounded civilian. As all four men fired around the corner, one of the Remnats took a grenade off his chest and threw it down the hall. A loud bang and a muted flash signaled for the other four Remnant Marines to dash across the intersection, taking up a similar posture as Lieutenant Berg’s side. Down the hall, a mercenary clad in bulkier black armor with a stylized helmet that resembled some sort of monster fell under the barrage of the four Remnants on the far side of the hall.

  Lieutenant Berg had seen that kind of armoire before, a unified calling card for mercenaries to scare their victims and feign supernatural intervention if survivors lived to tell about them. Too bad for these mercenaries, but úlfhéenar, like himself and Lieutenant Hear,t hunted monsters for sport, and these little imps were small fry compared to the monster they were hunting.

  Approximately 870,000 km until CANVAS REACH.

  Sara was leaning more propped up on her console, her eyes nearly rolled back in her head as she focused on the dozen or more tasks she was undertaking. Someone from the 3rd watch was trying to move Sara into a chair as directed by XO Selena.

  Another message popped up on one of the main displays, and priority messages pinged with communications Sara deemed important.

  “Why is she texting so much!” Meric yelled.

  “Because her mouth can't keep up with all the things she might need to say. Operations, try and find those Mercenaries that slipped past Gunnery Sergeant Qurtez’s Marines.”

  “Ma’am, we keep losing camera and internal sensor feed!” someone from the regular CIC crew added, making it clear how difficult, if not impossible, it would be for anyone to locate the missing intruders.

  In bold text, the words “Spike hacks! I can get them disabled with time, but it would be faster if we pulled them out manually.”

  “Captain?” Jacket Klem began, but was hushed by an abrupt swipe of Captain Abrams open palm.

  “Sending the locations now, keep apprised, Gunney.” The captain looked up to meet Selenas eyes, “Get a medical team and watch her, the last thing I need is another medical emergency because she fries her brain. Speaking, Dr. Micalson, focus on getting my ship back under my control. There's nothing we can do about that dreadnought right now, and we can keep track of its range, so stop updating the main display with its distances.

  All mentions of the drednoughst distances were replaced with large “ Yes, sir” text that faded as well.

  Selena had already ordered a medical team to the CIC for the same concern, and the captain. Was that her predicting his orders again, or a happy coincidence? Who cared.

  “Captain?” Jacket Klem tried again, less urgent and more questioning.

  “Yes, Jacket?” Captain Abrams replied.

  “Persnmising to take Kulu Gara Kuru out of his holding cell, and have him help me repel boarders.” Jacket Klem asked. Oddly, he didn't need to ask, as a Jacket, it was a courtesy to ask permission, not a requirement.

  “I only ask that you keep him on a short leash and away from my crew.” Captain Abrams said, already dismissing the discussion as he turned back to the holo tank.

  Seleena had noticed a few messages that must have been meant for a smaller group or particular station appear on the big screen. On a normal day, Sara was a great multitasker, but tended to get ahead of herself and make more mistakes when she used her tail. Everyone on that ship knew how underhanded and sleazily the disgraced Jacket had acted, and especially the bad blood between Sara, Dr. Glenn, and the Jacket Kulu Gara Kuru.

  So amidst the tension of life and death, the large text says. “Yeah Fuck that guy!” disappeared within seconds. A strangled chuckle rippled across the CIC, building into a short wave of laughter. Selena’s lips tightened into a pucker as she held in her own hysteria, terrified at the sight of the Captain looking up at her.

  A slight curl of his lip as he said. “Indeed, fuck that guy.”

  Seleran laughed, the crew laughed, the tension eased, and then they all went back to their tasks, still very much aware of how much their lives hung in the balance.

  Approximately 648,000 km until CANVAS REACH.