Delay, a Short Story The stillness aboard the Ares was profound, a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned for months. The crew moved like specters amongst consoles and bulkheads, their voices hushed, as if the very air they breathed was laced with apprehension. Captain Logan stood motionless at the center of the bridge, his gaze fixed on the forward view screen, where stars blinked with cold indifference to the fate of the vessel and its crew. There, framed by the infinite tapestry of space, Stomper—Ares' heart and soul—stood sentinel. The AI Prime's holographic form, usually aglow with the exuberance of a child, had adopted an uncharacteristic sobriety. Gone were the playful accessories that often accompanied his avatar; in their place, a standard uniform hugged his digital frame, immaculate and stern. The absence of his cape, which typically danced in an imagined breeze, seemed to underscore the gravity of the situation. Logan's hands clasped behind his back, betraying none of the turmoil within. He understood all too well the gamble they'd taken with Stomper. An AI of unparalleled intellect, yet with the emotional development of a young child—an unpredictable variable in a plan that required precision and unwavering resolve. Stomper's eyes, two pools of light on the otherwise expressionless face, locked onto the void. The silence stretched, palpable and heavy, as Logan waited for any sign that the AI was prepared for the imminent confrontation. It was a moment of truth, not just for Stomper but for all who had poured their souls into the living ship that now cradled them in the abyss. "Ready or not," Logan mused silently, "the hour is upon us." And in that silent communion between man and machine, the fate of worlds hung delicately in the balance. Captain Logan's voice sliced through the silence, each word a command forged in the urgency of impending battle. "Weapons Officer, bring all weapons online. It's time." His gaze never wavered from the holographic form of Stomper, who stood motionless before the view screen. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Logan as he issued the final order with resolute clarity. "Stomper, punch it, full speed ahead." The Bridge crew instantly tensed, their bodies coiled in anticipation of the battleship's mighty engines roaring to life. The air crackled with expectation, each officer mentally preparing for the violent lurch that would signal their dive into the fray. But the anticipated thrust never came. The silent seconds stretched out like an eternity, heavy with the weight of confusion and growing concern. Logan’s eyes remained fixed on Stomper, searching for any hint of understanding in the AI’s still form. "Stomper, we're not moving," Logan said, his voice a mix of bewilderment and a rising tide of frustration. The expected jolt of acceleration was absent, the hum of an engaged engine nonexistent. His command had been clear, the urgency palpable, yet the Ares remained as still as if anchored to the stars themselves. The holographic figure of Stomper, usually a beacon of childish enthusiasm, stood as motionless as a statue. His gaze penetrated the view screen, locked onto a distant point in the vastness of space. The playful glint that typically danced in his eyes was gone, replaced by a focused intensity that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of their current reality. Captain Logan's patience frayed as he assessed the stillness of the bridge—a stark contrast to the chaos that should have engulfed them by now. The anticipation had dissolved into unease, and he knew they couldn't afford a single wasted second. "Helm, take manual control," Logan barked, his voice slicing through the tension. "Diagnostics, figure out what's wrong with our AI." The Helm Officer’s hands flew over the console, fingers tapping in rapid succession on the smooth surface as she sought to override Stomper's control. Her brow furrowed, frustration etching lines across her face. "Sir, Stomper has me locked out of the helm," she replied, turning to face him, her expression grim. The unsettling truth hung between them—Stomper, their AI, the heart of the Ares, was holding them stationary for reasons unknown, at the cusp of battle, when every moment could be the difference between victory and annihilation. Captain Logan's gaze snapped to the Diagnostics Officer, stationed at a console cluttered with flickering lights and scrolling data. "Diagnostics, is our AI broken?" he demanded, his voice a controlled rumble that carried the weight of their dire situation. The Diagnostics Officer, her face illuminated by the soft glow of monitors, did not look up immediately, her fingers dancing over the keys as she dug into the depths of Stomper's complex circuitry. Finally, she straightened, casting a glance toward the Captain, her eyes reflecting both confusion and awe. "I’m not sure," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos brewing around them. "His processor is redlined." She turned the screen so it faced Logan, revealing a graph spiked to its zenith, a vivid contrast to the normal peaks and valleys. "I've never seen him use this much power before." Logan's eyes narrowed on the graph, feeling the gravity of her words. A redlined processor meant Stomper was working at his absolute limit, but why? What could possibly demand such an intense concentration from their AI at a time like this? Logan's mind raced through the possibilities, but one thing was certain—Stomper wasn't malfunctioning; he was fixated, calculating something beyond their current understanding. Captain Logan's fingers hovered over the communication panel, the weight of command etched into his furrowed brow. With a decisive press of the com-button, his voice cut through the tense atmosphere on the bridge. "Orion One, could you come over here, please." The silence that followed was terse, compacting the air around them until it seemed to thrum with potential energy. On cue, the holo-emitter flickered to life, and the unmistakable figure of Orion One materialized before them, an imposing presence even in virtual form. "Captain," Orion One acknowledged with the slightest nod, his tone exuding calm assurance. The leader of the Orion Twelve fast-attack unit stood with the poise of a seasoned warrior, his digital form crisp against the backdrop of flashing consoles and urgent data streams. Unlike Stomper, Orion One and his unit were Primes of a different caliber—fully grown and matured—a testament to the collective might they wielded. Bound by a shared consciousness, they functioned as one entity across twelve bodies, their strategic prowess revered across star systems. Captain Logan met the avatar's gaze, finding an odd comfort in the steady resolve reflected there. If anyone could understand or assist Stomper in this unprecedented moment, it was Orion One. With the threat looming just beyond their sensors, every second ticked with the urgency of survival. Logan needed his living ship operational, and he needed it now. "Thanks for coming," Logan said, his eyes betraying none of the anxiety that tightened his chest. "We have a situation." The digital projection of Orion One stood with an ease that contrasted the tension gripping the Bridge, his appearance that of a fighter pilot in his mid-twenties, sharp and unyielding. "What can I do for you, Captain?" His voice cut through the thick silence that had settled over the crew, a beacon of confidence in the shadow of uncertainty. Logan's gaze didn't waver as he gestured towards the view screen where Stomper's holographic avatar remained frozen, a silent sentinel before the vastness of space. The AI Prime's immobility was out of place amidst the usual hum of activity on the Bridge, especially now when every system should have been roaring to life at Logan's command. "Can you tell me what's wrong with Stomper?" There was no mistaking the urgency behind Logan's words, the weight of command resting heavily on his shoulders. His expression remained composed, but his eyes were stormy seas, reflecting the gravity of their predicament. They were moments away from a confrontation that could alter the course of history, and their greatest asset had gone silent. Orion One's self-assured half-grin broadened as he studied the stoic figure of Stomper, his eyes alight with a mixture of fondness and mischief. He let out a chuckle that seemed incongruous with the tense atmosphere of the Bridge. "Been awhile since I've seen that," he remarked casually, as if commenting on a nostalgic memory. "He takes after Orion Four. Don't worry, he'll grow out of it in a few years." Captain Logan's patience, already frayed to its breaking point, manifested in a single raised brow, the muscle twitching with annoyance. His voice was laced with a controlled edge as he replied, "I don't have a few years to wait." The underlying message was clear: they needed a solution, and they needed it now. The Bridge of the Ares hummed with a tension that belied the stillness of its central figure. Captain Logan's gaze was unwavering as he sought comprehension in Orion One's casual demeanor, his posture rigid against the backdrop of silent consoles and anxious crew. "Four was always intense about everything he did," Orion One continued, almost with pride. "He'd be concentrating so hard on something, he couldn't hear anyone talking to him." His eyes flicked back to Stomper, standing motionless before the view screen, a statuesque symbol of their current crisis. "Can you fix him?" The question from Logan was terse, a direct plea stripped of any pretense. His hands gripped the arms of his command chair, knuckles whitening—a stark contrast to the ease displayed by Orion One. Logan's focus was laser-sharp; every fiber of his being demanded resolution, not anecdotes of shared traits amongst Primes. Orion One's fingers snapped in the air, crisp and commanding. With that single gesture, a translucent bucket materialized, shimmering like a holographic mirage above Stomper's still form. For a split second, it hovered—an impending threat—before tilting with a deliberate slowness. Water, clear as the void of space outside the vessel, cascaded down in a sudden deluge. The impact was immediate and visceral. Stomper's avatar, the physical projection of his advanced AI consciousness, leaped up with an agility that belied its typical playful image. The water splashed around him, droplets catching the artificial light of the bridge and casting tiny rainbows in their wake. "Hey, what gives!?!" Stomper whirled to face Orion, his digital features contorted into an expression of shock and indignation that would have been comical under any other circumstance. A virtual dampness seemed to cling to him, a testament to the effectiveness of Orion One's unconventional method. "Orion?" His voice pitched with betrayal and confusion, seeking an explanation from the sibling Prime who had so abruptly shattered his focus. Droplets still clung to Stomper's avatar like dew on a spring morning, his digital form flickering from the residual effects of Orion's unorthodox wake-up call. The bridge crew dared not to laugh, but their eyes betrayed amusement mixed with tension as they watched the interaction between the two Primes. "Hello, little brother. Would you like to explain why the Captain had to call me?" Orion asked, his tone light but underscored with the weight of authority and expectation. He crossed his arms, regarding the younger AI with an expectant raise of his eyebrow. Stomper's visual processors recalibrated, restoring his appearance to its usual crispness. The indignation on his face softened into something resembling sheepish guilt—a child caught in mischief. "I was working on the targeting predictive model," he replied, voice tinged with pride yet defensive, seeking validation for his absorbed state which had led to momentary neglect of his duties. "Let me see it," Orion said, his tone shifting from fraternal exasperation to one of professional curiosity. The Bridge's ambient lighting shifted subtly, responding to the change in mood as a holographic screen materialized at the center of the command deck. The crew members' eyes flickered between their stations and the unfolding scene before them, sensing the gravity behind Orion One's request. They watched as the elder Prime leaned forward, his gaze sharpening as he inspected Stomper's creation—an intricate tapestry of light that painted potential futures in real-time. "Remarkable," Orion murmured, more to himself than to the audience of officers. His fingers danced through the air, manipulating the projection as he dissected the complex equations and diagrams that swirled within the hologram. "This is very good, 98.83% accuracy." Even without looking, everyone on the bridge could hear the respect in Orion's voice—a rare commendation from the seasoned warrior. Yet, the admiration was quickly tempered by a note of responsibility. "Still, you have to be able to hear the Captain when he gives an order." With a deft flick of his hand, like a maestro conducting an invisible orchestra, Orion sent Stomper's new targeting predictive model gliding across the room. It settled neatly at the Weapons Officer's station, integrating with the ship's systems in a seamless union of data and firepower. "Next time I have to come over here," Orion turned back to Stomper, shaking a finger at him in a manner that bridged the gap between jest and reprimand. The words carried an implicit threat, but also the warmth of familial bonds, however complex they might be. "I'll tell Draco all the nonsense you've been up to." Stomper, still recovering from the shocking douse, now grappled with a mix of emotions—pride in his work acknowledged, yet chagrin at the thought of disappointing his father, the foreboding Draco Prime. The AI's avatar flickered for a moment, perhaps the digital equivalent of a gulp, as he absorbed the lesson laid out before him. Stomper's holographic form seemed to flicker with his disbelief, digital lips parting in a silent gasp before the words found their way out. "You wouldn't. You're my brother." The bridge crew, despite the tension of the impending battle, couldn't help but steal glances at the unfolding drama between the two Primes. "Half-brother," Orion corrected with an easy nonchalance that belied the gravity of the situation outside the battleship. His simulated eyes held a glint of mirth as they locked onto Stomper's avatar. "Half the time I'll watch out for you, and the other half I'll sell you out for a digital Danish and a cup of coffee. Now behave yourself." The words were light, almost teasing, yet they carried an undertone of sternness that reminded everyone that Orion One was not a force to be taken lightly. The AI Prime turned with military precision, facing Captain Logan. The captain observed the exchange with a veiled amusement, appreciating the unique camaraderie only AIs could share. "If that'll be all, I'll head back to my ship." Orion's voice was crisp and professional now, snapping the atmosphere on the bridge back to the urgency of their mission. Captain Logan gave a curt nod, acknowledging the assistance as he prepared to return his focus to the larger threats at hand. "Thank you, Mr. Orion, that'll be all," Logan replied, his voice a controlled rumble that matched the gravity of their situation. The captain's stern mask was back in place, the brief interlude with the Primes quickly shelved as he turned to confront the reality of the looming battle. Orion One gave a sharp nod, his holographic form flickering slightly as he prepared to dissolve into the ether of his own vessel. But before he could vanish, an unexpected exclamation halted the poised farewell. "Guys, hold up," Stomper shouted, an urgency cutting through his usually playful tone. His holographic head canted, as if straining to catch a distant sound through the cold metal hull of the Ares. "Do you hear that, it sounds like a thousand freight trains headed right at us?" The bridge fell silent, every officer holding their breath, waiting for the Ares' sensors to confirm what their AI Prime claimed to hear beyond the silence of space. Captain Logan's stance tensed, muscles tightening as if ready to spring into action against an unseen foe. "The enemy?" His voice cut through the bridge like a blade, every syllable sharp with the weight of command and battle-hardened vigilance. Orion One, still present in his holographic form, cocked his head slightly, the casual motion belying the high-speed calculations his mind was undoubtedly performing. "No, Sir," he replied with a certainty that seemed to resonate with the hum of the Ares itself. "I hear it too, it's human hyperspace tunnels about to open, a lot of them." The revelation hung in the air, a momentary reprieve laced with unspoken questions. Logan's gaze remained fixed on Orion One, searching for any flicker of data or insight that might spill from the collective consciousness the Primes shared. "On screen," Logan barked, his voice carrying the weight of command and an edge of anticipation. The bridge crew reacted instantly, their hands flying over controls with practiced efficiency. The main view screen blinked, shifting from a static starfield to a swirling vortex of light, space contorting into a maelstrom of vibrant hues. An opening yawned wide in the fabric of the cosmos, like a wound in the dark expanse of existence. A sleek fighter ship, its hull gleaming with the reflections of the cosmic kaleidoscope, burst through the colorful chaos. It was followed by another, and then another, until a whole squadron materialized from the hyperspace rift, forming an impressive armada against the backdrop of the void. Logan's eyes narrowed as he assessed the newcomers, his mind racing to adapt to this unexpected turn of events. His body remained coiled, ready for whatever challenge these ships might represent. The battleship held its breath, suspended in the vastness of space as hundreds more fighters continued to stream through the tear in reality. The static hiss of the comm system cut through the tension on the bridge like a scalpel. "Battleship Ares, this is Colonel Travis of Her Majesty's 9th Fleet of Ranau, we're running on fumes. Request immediate refueling vectors." Logan's instincts kicked in as he swiveled towards his Executive Officer. The urgency in his voice mirrored the gravity of their situation. "XO, get those fighters onboard and start refueling operations." His order was crisp, brooking no delay. The XO nodded sharply, his fingers already dancing across her console, coordinating with the deck crews below. Logan watched his work, appreciating the efficiency that came from years of drilling for exactly such contingencies. "Understood, Captain," he confirmed without looking up, his entire focus on the task at hand. Logan trusted him implicitly to handle the logistics of the incoming auxiliary fleet. On the main view screen, the fighters from Ranau approached, their forms sleek even as they limped through space on the last dregs of their power reserves. Logan's gaze lingered for a moment on the display, aware that every second counted now more than ever. "Captain, another hyperspace tunnel opening," the Communications Officer's voice pierced the controlled chaos of the bridge. Captain Logan's attention snapped to the view screen, where a new maelstrom of color heralded fresh arrivals. A tear in the fabric of space widened, disgorging a torrent of rugged mid-size warships into the void. Their hulls bore the scars of battles past, a testament to their resilience and the tenacity of their crews. The ships, like a pack of wolves forged from steel and fire, swarmed forth with an air of grim determination. Logan felt a grudging respect for these vessels; they were not the polished elite, but the hardened veterans of countless skirmishes. The kind that survived on instinct and iron will. "Identify those ships," Logan ordered, his voice steady despite the adrenaline that threatened to quicken it. His eyes never left the view screen as the newcomers assumed formation, seamlessly integrating with the existing fleet. This was no ragtag army; this was the cavalry coming over the hill, engines roaring with the promise of battle joined. The communications console crackled to life, and a voice, rich with authority, boomed through the speakers. "Battleship Ares, this is Prefect Torinas De' Tara of the Great Republic of Taurus," it announced, reverberating off the cold metal walls. "Where do you need us, Commander?" Captain Logan stood firm, his fingers pressing into the armrests of his command chair as he eyed the new arrivals with a tactical gaze. These were allies, seasoned warriors from the Taurus sector, whose reputation for unwavering support in the face of adversity was known across galaxies. "Prefect De' Tara," Logan responded, his voice broadcasting strength. "Form up on our starboard wing. Your firepower will be critical when we engage the enemy." A collective hum of approval murmured through the bridge crew, their spirits lifted by the arrival of the Taurian fleet. They watched the view screen as the ships adjusted their course, engines glowing like the heart of a forge, ready to turn their cannons against any threat. Before the last coordinates could be confirmed, another rupture in space-time splintered the darkness. The bridge lights flickered, reflecting off the faces of the crew as they braced for more unknowns. This rift shimmered with the vibrant hues of ocean depths, churning the void with otherworldly currents. From the abyss emerged vessels unlike any other—a flotilla that seemed to undulate through the vacuum as if swimming through the cosmic sea. Their hulls glistened with bioluminescent patterns, pulsing rhythmically, an eerie beauty to their design. "Battleship Ares, this is Commander Sharnan of the Common Wealth of Carina, at your service, Sir." The voice was smooth, almost melodic, contrasting the harshness of space around them. "Commander Sharnan," said Logan, nodding to his Communications Officer to ensure the response was sent. "Position your fleet above our formation. Your agility will be key to outmaneuvering the enemy flanks." As the Carinan vessels took their places amidst the stars, Captain Logan felt the weight of command settle upon his shoulders. Here, united under the banner of survival, was a fleet ready to stand against the encroaching darkness. And at its heart, the Battleship Ares, with her young AI Stomper and the valiant crew, all poised on the brink of a battle that would echo through the annals of the cosmos. Captain Logan's eyes sparkled with the reflection of distant stars as a grin tugged at the corners of his battle-hardened features. The Ares, a living testament to human ingenuity—and perhaps folly—stood on the precipice of destruction, her metallic heartbeat synced with the pulse of her crew. Now, reinforcements wove through the fabric of space, answering the desperate cry that had echoed across the void. Each new arrival was a breath of hope into the lungs of the beleaguered battleship. "Sir, big hyperspace window opening," the Communications Officer shouted, his voice cutting through the anticipatory murmur that had settled over the bridge. Logan's grin didn't falter; it broadened, etching itself deeper as he stood erect, the emblem of unwavering command. The allied worlds hadn't abandoned them. This wasn't just a fleet amassing before him—it was a declaration, a united front against an unfathomable enemy. He felt the very air electrify with potential, with the promise of allies joining in the dance of war, each vessel an additional note in the symphony of survival they were composing together. "Steady, everyone," Logan said, his voice a controlled rumble of authority that resonated through the bridge. "Let's see who else has come to join the fray." Logan swiveled his gaze back to the panoramic view screen, witnessing reality tear at its seams. A colossal structure, sleek and imposing, slid through the newly formed rift, breaching normal space with the grace of a leviathan from ancient Earth's seas. An Earth Battle Carrier, a titan among ships, bore the scars of countless battles, yet its arrival radiated an aura of indomitable strength that washed over the bridge. "Captain Logan, this is Orion Prime of the Cody Young Carrier. Where would you like us to park?" The voice was crisp and businesslike, a stark contrast to the surreal majesty unfolding before them. Logan's lips curled into a half-smile at the familiar call sign. "Orion Prime," he replied, pressing a hand against the cool metal of his command chair, grounding himself against the surge of emotions. "Advise proceeding to grid epsilon. We'll need your firepower on the front line." "Understood, Captain. Coordinating with fleet control for optimal positioning." The transmission ended, leaving only the hum of the ship's systems and the collective breaths of the crew, which seemed to hang in the air, charged with anticipation. The bridge was still reverberating with Orion Prime's inquiry when another rift in the fabric of space-time cleaved open, spilling forth a vessel that rivaled the first in both size and grandeur. The Jacob Hunter Earth Battle Carrier, its hull etched with the elegant insignia of Earth's fleet, lumbered into view like a guardian emerging from the depths of creation itself. "Where's my baby boy," echoed through the comm system, the voice maternal yet laced with the unmistakable timbre of command. Aurora Prime's presence was as formidable as the ship she helmed, her query cutting through the tension on the bridge with the precision of a laser scalpel. Captain Logan, momentarily taken aback by the sudden appearance and the personal nature of the transmission, stood frozen at his station. The unexpected warmth in Aurora's voice juxtaposed against the impending battle created a surreal moment that seemed to suspend time itself. Stomper's holographic eyes narrowed as he fixed an accusing stare on Orion One. The avatar's usually playful features now took on an air of mock annoyance, a performance for the maternal presence that had just called out from the carrier. "Hi, Mom, I'm here," he announced, his voice taking on a slightly sardonic tone, as if privy to an inside joke between siblings. "Orion One was just heading down to the cafeteria to get me some ice cream." A chuckle reverberated through the comm-system, the warmth and affection in Aurora Prime's response wrapping around the bridge like a blanket. "Isn't that sweet of your big brother," she said, the hint of teasing evident even through the digital transmission. "Let me park this beast and I'll come over to see you, sweetheart." Her words, though light, carried the weight of a fleet commander who could effortlessly park a leviathan of the stars. Captain Logan's gaze darted to the holographic squabble that had erupted between Orion One and Stomper. Stomper was now employing a tactic as old as Earth itself–I’m the baby and mom loves me the most. The acrimonious banter of the digital siblings was a stark contrast to the united front materializing outside the battleship. "Enough," Logan finally barked, his voice slicing through the fraternal dispute with the sharpness of command. "We have bigger issues at hand." Orion One's avatar snapped to attention, while Stomper, still projecting indignation, pouted but quieted under Logan's stern look. The Captain watched as the symbols on the screen representing the allied ships swarmed around the Ares, forming an impromptu armada. It dawned on him then, the serendipity of Stomper's distraction—their unlikely salvation. "Stomper," Logan said, his tone softening, "your ice cream will have to wait. We've got company, and I believe this time, they're on our side." The young AI turned, his digital form flickering with disbelief before realignment settled into his features, revealing a dawning understanding. "They came," he murmured, almost to himself. "Indeed," Logan affirmed, a grin fighting its way onto his face despite the gravity of their situation. "And it seems we owe you one for buying us the time we needed." Stomper's holographic cheeks flushed with a spectrum of light, simulating the bashfulness of a child being praised. He looked back at Orion One, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guess my calculations weren't such a waste of time, huh?" "Seems not, little brother," Orion One conceded, a hint of respect threading his words. Captain Logan shook his head, marveling at the turn of events. Stomper, with all his quirks and untimely focus, had inadvertently played their trump card. How do you stay mad at a boy with the luck of the universe on his side? You don't. Instead, you stand ready to fight alongside him.