Dead Space

A hunk of metal reflected the cold light of space in a forgotten swirling arm galaxy. It had been here, waiting, for a very, very, long time. It was so lonely, cold, and nearly dead.

Was the Empire it had served gone? Had their enemies conquered this universe already?

Small fires from the chaos gaps shone like purple candles in the void of otherwise empty space. The sun it had tethered to had long been destroyed. To survive, most of its power had been used to reinforce and shield its core. It had shed its vast shipyards and other station upgrades. It was now in its embryonic form.

The last of its power was used on two things. To anchor itself to this dead system. It had been doing that for so long, it had been lonely for so long, that it had become deeply attached to its dark, rocky home.

It knew that if its hold slips, it would drift off into the vast unknown. Despite waiting here in the dark and never meeting another, it still clung to the hope that it would. And if it was cast off, its chance of contacting other beings would disappear.

The second use of its power was in sending a small transmission, that would lead any nearby ship passing through Chaos space into this no-star system.

It might have changed over the eons, but it was no fool. Its masters would not need to be pulled to this location and it had no other allies. Which meant these would be enemies or unknowns.

It just didn’t care. With only 500 years of power left, it would like to meet another before its shut down. Was that too much to ask?

****

Orillion Union Space

The frigate, Damas, stood guard over a convoy of battered ships which streamed from the planet below in a long, tired line.

‘Captain, the last of the refugee ships have entered the Chaos Gate.’

*Scree* *Scree* *Scree*

‘Alert, Terrans are approaching!’

The old captain had been wearied by the years of the unending war. The stress and heartbreak was written all over his face, and those of his crew. Success was unknown to him or them. When the Terran’s attack, they conquer.

For the collection of races that had united together against this invader, it was considered a good operation if they were able to evacuate a system with only 60% losses.

‘Captain, what do we do?’

‘Engines at full, we must pass through the Chaos Gate and join the convoy.’

The first officer relayed the orders to the crew. They were young, not many lived to an old age anymore.

As the engines burned brighter, the Damas realigned towards the closing gate.

‘Sir, these aren’t Terrans they’re the Eras, that was the last system we lost!’

‘Don’t look so excited,’ chided the captain. 'They are servants of the Terrans now.’

The young officer’s excitement calmed down. Klora had friends in Eras and had hoped there had been some survivors. She turned to her captain. ‘They wouldn’t fight us though, right? I mean, not to really kill?’

Captain Virim couldn’t blame his first officer for thinking so, but yes, they would really be turning their guns on us, they had no choice.

He raised his voice so that all his officers on the bridge would hear.

“Make no mistake, they are no longer our allies. Their planet has fallen to the Terrans, their families and loved ones are being held on Eras, and if the Erasians don’t prove their loyalty they will be tortured to death.”

The crew gasped at the captain’s words. They had heard similar things in their classes, but it was another thing entirely to be confronted by the reality. After all, many of them had friends among the Erasians. How could they shift so quickly to viewing them as an enemy?

‘We’re approaching the gate,’ said the navigation officer, ‘we’ll make it before it closes.’

Captain Virim could breathe easier. They’re mission here was nearly done. Before entering the gate, they’d deploy mines to ensure no scouts slipped in behind them. Then they'd pass through and rendevouz with the refugee convoy on the other side. Their mission was to evacuate as many citizens and VIP’s as possible and lead them deeper into Orillion Space. Each day of war that area grew smaller.

‘There’s a new ship leaving planet orbit!’

‘What?’ the Captain asked.

‘It’s a large Tanker-class transport ship, sir.’ Said the Breole officer, his face covered in fur, ‘they’re claiming they have 6000 souls aboard and begging us to wait.’

‘Sir,’ said Klora, ‘I’m sick of running, we can’t abandon them!’

The captain sighed and slid a big, clawed hand over his face. The plan never just worked, right at the end the universe would throw in a wrench and sit back and laugh at you struggle.

He looked over the faces of his crew, they were like his own children, some were panicked, but most were angry. It had been a long time since he’d had that fire of resistance, years of failure had blunted his desire to fight.

‘We… we’ll buy them some time.’

His crew clapped and cheered. I hope I don’t regret this, he thought. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and he felt a new sense of vigour spread through his body. The enemy for the moment were only Erasians, they could hold them off and save another 6000 innocents. It was a risk worth taking.

‘Bring the ship about, scramble the fighters, and charge our cannons.’ He ordered. It had been a while, but the Damas was going into battle once more.