First Contact

William McCoy hated tea. Of all the things he had begged for onboard
this ship, a decent pot of coffee didnt seem like an unreasonable request.
But he had to suck it up as Juno swung around the navigational marker at
Titan, Saturns famed moon that held the largest space-traffic control station
in the solar system. At least it didnt taste as bad as the powdered nutrient
juice.
Commander, we are closing in on the last known location of Genesis Station.
We will be within visual range soon came the voice of Crewman First Class
Ballard, the young Boston blonde of the crew.
Any ships in the area?
None at this time she began, tapping the holographic console at the radar
station. The Titan Traffic Control Center reports all non-United Interstellar
Fleet ships have been directed to give us a sixty-thousand kilometer space to
work.
Good. Hopefully this time will be less eventful than last he mumbled.
It should be. There arent any private cargo ships or runabouts in this sector
this time. Came the sly response.
I swear that I didnt know that the Admiral would be out joyriding in a war
game sector! he growled as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
Aye, and ya wound up paying a few thousand credits in damages came the
thick Scottish accent of his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Armstrong.
Not my fault that that training torpedo made her spill tea all over the
Colonial Federations ambassador. Who the hell pays twenty thousand credits
for a dress?! he shot back.
Say what you want, it was damned funny she replied as they turned to the
ships monitors.
Aside from diplomacy and stain removal crises, the UIF had seen increases in
spats between individual privatized human colonies. Many of these colonials
resided in stations across the solar system. Colonies typically orbited UIF
inhabited or colonized planets. The UIF had struck a deal over a hundred
years ago to recognize the Federation as an ally, and as a cooperative
partner in expansion across space. For the most part, the agreement meant
peace and stability for the majority of occupied space.
But recently, piracy and inter-corporate warfare became a serious issue. With
the major space mining companies attacking or sabotaging one anothers
outposts and ships, corporate competition had gone to a whole new level.
The Federation and the UIF had agreed to work on policing space against
these private wars, and from that agreement, Juno was born. She had been
commissioned as a fast attack and reconnaissance ship. Her sleek, shark-like
body slipped through space effortlessly, a grey and blue ghost stalking the
emptiness of space. In a fight, she could match vessels up to and including

the UIFs newest battleships, despite being nearly a quarter the size. She had
been around only ten years, but had already made quite a name for herself.
The UIF had dispatched the Utah and Juno to try and conduct rescue
operations, with their two sister cruisers. In the seventy hours since they had
begun their search of the debris, no survivors had made it past the first ten
minutes of any given rescue. The only ones to make it this long had survived
in damaged life pods, severed science labs, and the emergency control
center, which was its own self-contained life pod. Unfortunately, it had a
massive radiation leak from the nearby power reactor. For all their efforts,
only six survivors had been found, with 5 too seriously wounded to survive
transport, and the final one dying during initial emergency treatment. No one
had any clue as to how the station had been destroyed, the only clues being
a faint set of radio and radar signatures from the Titan interplanetary
surveillance networks control center and the few sections of the stations
that hadnt been totally obliterated, which showed signs of unusual structural
stress not normally associated with weapon or debris damage.
The strangest part of the stations demise wasnt its suddenness or the
manner in which it was destroyed. Command was more concerned about the
fact that the dozen or so mining ships in the area had reported nothing in the
area. Even the monitor ship Galileo, with its powerful array of radar and
sensors, had seen nothing. The only indicator of anything out of the ordinary
came from the onboard navigational system of a small probe sent out by the
Titan Mining Corporations asteroid mining ship M.S Renegade. The probe
had noted that its course, which had it cleaning debris from the mining of a
comet passing the station by trailing the hurling snowball, was corrected to
account for an impassable obstacle. According to the sensors and the
fleets science and engineering back on Earth, the phenomenon was
inconsistent with any known object. It was simply a blank stretch of space,
which vanished after the station had been obliterated.
McCoy had his attention yanked from him by the sounds of a crewman.
Utah reports no survivors from 34th deck biology and radiology labs. Field
engineer reports all vital lab systems overloaded. Twelve bodies total.
McCoy turned to see Ensign Mendez, a young officer who had earned a field
commission during a rescue mission two years ago, when a freighter near
Jupiter met a similar, but less sever fate. Sword and Omaha will be here in
two hours. Both are coming out of shock from Merida V at the Titan station
shock gate.
Radar station, what is our status? McCoy asked as he took his seat behind
the helm. The bridge of the Juno was not unlike older warships of Earth, with
the various command and control stations arranged around the captains
central command chair. At his hands, McCoy had access to all ships systems
and monitors related to weapons, engineering, and communications. While
he had a great deal of data at his disposal, the actual command functions of

his station were limited. Captains of starships still relied on a crew, and
McCoys was a mix of highly qualified rookies from the academy, and grizzled
old space salts, who had served on everything from interplanetary cargo
ships to the Zeus-class battleships, four times the size of the Juno.
Four vessels in the area, Captain. Sword is orbiting outside the debris field.
Hospital ship Sanctuary standing by near Titan Station. Omaha and Utah are
proceeding on course to rendezvous with Sword. Estimated time to arrival is
three-zero minutes. It was Radar Operator First-Class Davenport, the
Kentuckian space cowboy of the ship. His thick accent would not
immediately make one think radar expert, but that would be the mistake of
the listener in this case. Davenport oversaw the powerful multi-spectrum
sensor array (MSSA), which included thermal, radar, acoustic, and
electromagnetic sensory arrays that allowed the Juno to have eyes, and ears,
on any object larger than a grain of sand in the vacuum of space. In this
operation, Davenport would have his hands full sifting through Debris
interference, assisting in traffic control, and ensuring no surprises befell
the Juno as she continued on her mission.
Helm, move us to six kilometers outside the debris field. Fire control,
prepare all rail cannons to fire. SABOT and Plas-Slug projectiles only. Dont
need a damned explosion on top of all this mess, McCoy thought as the ship
dipped below the main debris field.
Watching the ships monitor, he could see the status indicators for the rail
gun systems go from STANDBY to READY, the faint sound of the
electromagnetic weapons charging coming from four decks above. Fire
when ready he relayed as the Juno opened fire on the debris, cutting the
wrecked hull sections of the station in half as they attempted to open a path
for shuttle crews to safely navigate further inside. Before McCoy could give
the order to launch the salvage crews, Davenport came over the radio.
Sir, unknown contact coming out of shock twenty kilometers off the port
stern.
Go to alert status bravo McCoy called as the ships weapons all went to
ready status, the crews taking their battle and damage control stations.
Helm, come to heading 2-9-0, bring us to bear on the contact.
The Juno turned to face her new guest, first seeing the brilliant light of a deshock. The de-shocking process expelled massive amounts of energy as a
ship began to emerge, creating intense, yet harmless, heat and light.
What they saw next would terrify every man and woman on the ship: A ship
the size of Earths moon came forward, its jagged appearance looking like a
twisted wreck of an old warship, with warped hull extensions and massive
engines. Before McCoy could speak, what appeared to be a small sun
appeared at the ships bow. Sir! Massive spike in energy from the contact.
Its a weapon! Davenport shouted over the com before the energy ball burst
from the enemy ship, sailing past the Juno at near-light speeds. McCoy felt
the ship rock as the helmsman dropped the ship below the projectile. McCoy

ordered the ship to move in closer, while relaying orders to the weapons
stations to prepare the Thor-class EMP missiles to fire. As he watched the
missiles let loose from their housings under the bridge, he heard Davenport
once again. His voice was that of a man looking into the gates of hell S-sir
Sword, Omaha, and Utah have.disintegrated! he gasped as the ship fired
a second burst, again missing the Juno completely. McCoy felt his body
empty of all physical substance as shock set in. In that moment, he had no
body, no voice. He was watching, unable to act, as the enormous ship let
loose two massive energy beams toward them, slicing the main engine group
from the Juno. When he snapped back to reality, he was on the deck, blood
pouring from his forehead. Medical teams were rushing around the bridge,
trying to contain the chaos. The helmsman, Ensign Jacob Learach, lay across
the console, a shard of the panels touchscreen rammed through his eye and
his jaw nearly removed from the skull by the force of ramming into the
console. Death had come knocking, and no one had been ready for it.
The Juno was adrift, and now she only had her maneuvering thrusters to save
her from being pulled to the planet by its gravity well. Lieutenant
Commander Michelle Armstrong immediately grabbed McCoy and moved him
into the command chair as she slapped him on the face to get him awake.
Oi, wake up lad! Weve got a beastie to fry she shouted in that thick, fiery
Scottish tone of hers. She was the closest thing McCoy had seen to a
warrior in his life. The woman had a knack for battle, and wouldnt take
insult or injury to her ship lying down. He felt he words escape him as jagged
roars, his eyes frantically scanning the cracked status panel of his command
screen.
The initial jolt from the blast had driven them into a boat-sized chunk of
communications gear from the debris field, which had gashed the starboard
hull on the deck just below the bridge. He had no idea how many casualties
there were. With that being the railgun power control station, responsible for
regulating the electrical drain of the guns firing, he guessed they were now
all dead or dying. The damage control system showed the room had gone
through an emergency breach seal, meaning that there was a good chance
of people being spaced. As he lifted his eyes, he rushed to the helm,
watching Learachs body being removed from the bridge as he wiped the
blood away from the console. Armstrong, take the helm! he barked as he
rushed to the weapons console. Armstrong sat next to him, inputting the
manual control override system. A set of joysticks and rudder pedals
emerged, allowing the ship to be piloted as if it were a small fighter craft,
rather than a massive interstellar warship. McCoy had already brought the
central rail gun and Thor EMP missiles online.
The Juno slowly shifted to the right of the enemy vessel as it began to
approach the debris field. The Juno let loose with all available weapons, the
SABOT and Anti-Shipping Plasma Slugs, or ASPS, slammed into the ship as
the Thor missiles detonated around the massive energy weapon. Armstrong

gritted her teeth as she shunted the ship into a high-roll, exposing the
underside of the Juno to the debris field, allowing the ship to take the best
advantage of its weaponry positioning. McCoy tried again, unleashing
another rail gun salvo, but to no avail. Whatever this thing was, it could
absorb hits that would split a small moon in half. Not even the Thor EMPs had
any effect as it charged another blast.
Sir! yelled Davenport over the crackling communication system That
bastard is targeting Titan Station!
The blast unleashed by the ship ripped past the Juno as the fear gripped the
crew again. In mere seconds, Juno lost the advanced tactical control signal
from Titian, as well as the radar transponder link that let them track Juno.
Damage report! McCoy yelled to the communications station as he spun in
his chair. The crewman was stunned, and when he looked into McCoys eyes,
he saw the eyes of a man staring into the depths of hell. There was no
human emotion save for a horrific emptiness, a lack of hope.
Sir, Mars control reports Titan has vanished he choked. The entire moon
was wiped out
McCoy had never run from a fight. In that moment, he was taken back. He
was at the academy again, back in Rio. He was in full dress uniform, with his
hair shaved down to stubble and his teeth gritted into that rough country boy
smile he charmed his way through cross-cultural diplomacy class. He had just
finished a drink with some faceless blonde when he felt a fist connect with
his jaw. As he wheeled around, he saw the drunken form of his class
commander, Captain Lucas Suarez, an old, grizzled man whose career went
to die in class rooms and dorms of a South American institute meant to
replace relics like him in the stars. That seven-foot-one behemoth was no
pushover in a fight, but McCoy laid into him with a savage roar, beating him
to a bloodied mess. If it hadnt been for the disdain felt towards Suarez, the
academy probably would have booted McCoy on the spot. McCoy didnt run,
and he never had.
Armstrong, heading two-one-four, elevation nine-zero. Armstrong and the
crew turned to him. Sir, that would take us she began as McCoy cut her off.
Now! he roared as Armstrong turned the Juno towards the shock gate
outside the debris field. The gate had previously been deactivated upon the
destruction of the station. Now, McCoy was rushing to establish a link to the
gate. Every fleet captain or commander of a ship was given a code and
authorization key that would allow them to activate shock gates in case of
severe damage to the ship for evacuation purposes. As the Juno closed in on
the gate, a second burst struck the port side thrusters, sending the ship into
a spin, causing the bow of the ships to slice through the thin ring of the
shock gate, severing any hope of return to Earth.

McCoy and the bridge crew were engulfed in damage control and casualty
reports, unable to focus on the behemoth of a ship any longer. Below the
bridge, Davenport was tending to a crewman who had been impaled through
the thigh with a piece of steam piping. The world, as the crew knew it, was
coming to an end.
In seconds, it was over. No sign of gate shock, no trail or remains. It had
simply slipped into nothingness, and left its prey wounded and alone.
Glancing at the ships monitors, McCoy no longer saw the signature of the
enemy ship. There was nothing there now, just the scattered debris of the
station and his own ship. He felt like a soldier on some long ago battlefield,
staring at his own severed arm. Sixty of his crew were dead, and there no
telling how many were wounded. Over forty thousand lay dead on Titan.
Another 480 dead or more on the three sister ships they had lost.
Armstrongs son was aboard the Sword as a gunnery chief. For the first time
since he was a child, McCoy hung his head and did as so many others aboard
were: he sank into the emptiness of despair, fear, and disbelief.
Resurrection
Good morning, Exodus Station, I am Aleska Melakova with DayStar News. It
has been four years since the disaster at Genesis Station, where UIF
command has confirmed a total reactor failure and several systems
overloads led to the stations utter destruction. Two million lives were lost in
the tragic accident that unfolded, and several families of the Genesis victims
have dedicated a memorial to the fallen at the UIF Academy in Sydney,
Australia, along with a memorial to the victims of the Titan Station disaster,
in which a similar incident left a massive crater where the once thriving UIF
outpost had been. Also lost on that day were the UIF cruisers Utah, Sword,
and Omaha, totaling over 500 lives lost. The Juno, the lone surviving vessel,
was officially scrapped in 2231, damaged by what UIF officials have declared
Extremely high-stress collisions resulting from a secondary explosion of
the stations damaged core. Commander William McCoy, the commanding
officer of the Juno, and Lieutenant Commander Michelle Armstrong, were
hailed as heroes for their command under the extreme circumstances of the
Juno incident. Both UIF officers were present today at the unveiling of the
new UIF Warrior class battle cruisers. UIF officials have stated that the
cruisers, which have four times the firepower of the Normandy class at only
half the size of the Repulse class battleships. Captain McCoy and
Commander Armstrong, have been selected to lead the first ship in the
class, the Valkyrie, as she deploys to the Alpha Centuari system to begin
anti-piracy missions and provide the newly formed 8th Special Tasks Fleet
with its new flagship.
In related news, Nexus Corp, the primary mining corporation operating in the
Alpha Centauri system, released a statement today welcoming its

partnership with the UIF. Four Nexus ships have been lost in the last three
months, resulting in billions in losses for the company. Rouge piracy groups
are chiefly suspected in the attacks, but no evidence has been levied against
the any specific faction. CEO Nelson Forsythe stated that ongoing
peacekeeping efforts would be vital to the advancement of mankinds role in
intergalactic expansion.
She really doesnt know how to smile, does she? Armstrong half grumbled,
half belched through her scotch. McCoy sighed in agreement as he watched
the newscast. Real reporters had been replaced with virtual newscasters. No
need for teleprompters, no wardrobe malfunctions, no unexpected events.
Just plain news. I remember seeing some old footage from the 21st century.
Not much smiling there. Why start now? he asked through his Neptunian
Ale. She nodded as she slid her glass down to the bartender, ordering her
tenth round. In all the years they had served together, McCoy had never
known alcohol to change Armstrong in the slightest. On the eve before their
first deployment since the Juno, it was kicking her Scottish arse. You cant
expect me to believe that command nonsense about what we saw she shot
in slurred lines. It just isnt right. Some.thing.damnit she growled,
remembering their order of silence on the matter. It hadnt been the first
time they had discussed it, but in public was different than behind closed
doors at the UIF 8th STG headquarters at Garuda Station. I know, Michelle,
and we will just nod our heads and go sulking off to whatever corner of the
galaxy they toss us to.
McCoy picked up the tab for their night of bottled therapy, or as she called it,
the bitchin at the bar session. Michelles wife wouldnt forgive him if she
saw that kind of tab. The money they had spent would easily pay off a few
months worth of rent for their home on Orion. McCoy, on the other hand,
had never married, and his life was aboard whatever ship he had been
assigned. The years after Juno had left him stir-crazy. These bar trips were all he

really had to remember the Juno by until Armstrong had been picked for his XO
again. It was the least he could do. They arrived at the temporary family suite at the
Exodus Naval Yard, where the crew were spending their last nights with their
families. Alexandria, the curvy-yet-toned goddess of a Norwegian, shook her head in
expectation of her wife bursting from the taxi shuttle. She wasnt disappointed as
Michelle flung herself into her wifes arms, which McCoy could never get over.
Armstrong was 62, with a black pixie cut, weighing maybe 190, and could have
picked him up under one arm if she got the gumption. Yet here she was, getting
carried in by her 5 foot nothing wife, who wasnt someone you wanted to piss off
either. It was those unexpected fits of temper that landed her Armstrongs
affection, and the two were married by McCoy at the Academy. Lemme guess, Will:
make sure her ass is ready to go bright and early? Will chuckled and gave her a
thumbs up. Alexandria would be serving as an intelligence analyst on their sister
ship, the Viking, which would be on training runs near Mercury, testing a new heat
shielding system. Both would be leaving dock together, so McCoy knew he didnt
need to worry about his XO: her marital commanding officer would get the job done.

McCoy tipped the driver for the fare and walked the length of the hotel-like housing
complex down to the docking elevators. He passed several younger crewman, each
wearing their new BC-1X ball caps. The crew had been picked by Armstrong and
McCoy personally, and several dozen favors had been called in. For their efforts,
they had gotten Davenport, now a senior chief, as well as several of the gunnery
and medical personnel from the Juno. 82 of her 210 man complement would be
veterans under McCoy, and the rest would have a minimum of two years aboard a
ship.
The elevator let him out at the ships main airlock. As he crossed the quarter deck,
he saluted the young security officer on duty and presented himself for retinal scan.
Slipping into the ship, he removed his dress uniform, the same naval white coat
they used in 2010, but with a much lighter material. Slung over his shoulder, he
could feel the medals and pins of his uniform, which looked more like a flag for all
the decorations. Every one of them for his heroism at Genesis, all of it a sham. For
four years, he carried that burden. For four years, he had sent letters back and forth
with crewmens families, all begging to know the truth, and all getting the same UIF
bullshit story. Even his bed was no sanctuary from the weight of those years. All that
gave him escape was the sedative he had been given by UIF medical to assist with
the insomnia that had reared its head since he got the assignment to Valkyrie. The
sedative would allow REM sleep without allowing the complex process of dreaming
to occur. Not that he had anything but nightmares anyway.
Damn it, Kaiden, I knew you were bluffing Malcom grunted as he watched his
navigator take his weeks pay right off the table in the form of poker chips and a
watch off of ODonnells wrist. Poker was about all there was to do on the Nexus
Endeavor. It would be at least four more weeks until they arrived at the Mars facility
to deliver the latest shipment of Platinum from Oridian 2, a backwater planet so
harsh in gravitational forces that only robotic mining was possible. Yet each haul
was a damned fine pay day, so it wasnt too terrible. Turning to glance over the
ships monitor, he saw that they had passed the halfway point to the Alpha Centauri
shock gate. Nothing interesting usually happened way out here. It was too far for
smaller pirate vessels, and too expensive for anyone other than the dozens of
piracy groups in the system, who avoided this sector like the plague for some
reason. Grissom, I will be up in a sec he called over the intercom. His trek to the
bridge wouldnt be long. A Nexus mining ship was only a few hundred feet long, with
the ship primarily towing its cargo in magnetically connected containers that
attached to the bottom of the ships hull. From one perspective, the ships looked
like beetles, leading them to be called cargo cockroaches.
How goes, Jake? Malcom asked as he flopped into the pilots seat. His co-pilot,
Jake Morrison, shifted the holographic radar interface from the primary cockpit
screen to the side, rolling his eyes. Boring as ever he sighed as Malcom took
control of the ship. Oh dont be such a--- the words choked him as he wondered
what the hell he was seeing. Shit. he heard Jake utter as a massive ship
overtook them, a mangled and twisted beast the size of a planet-killer asteroid.
Compared to the mystery ship, their own was little more than a minnow beside a
whale. Panicked, Malcom yanked the throttle and flight systems to the right, rolling
the ship away from the beast. It didnt seem to notice them as Jake began to punch
in the SOS code into the ships communications systems. Before he could input half
the code, the entire ship lost power. Jake, get the power back on! Malcom roared

as they began frantically trying to raise the backup systems. Malcom glanced up in
time to see a brilliant light burst from the aft section of the vessel, which sliced
through the aft cargo container, sending the ship spiraling. A second burst ripped
through the cockpit, vaporizing the two brothers. In less than five seconds, there
was nothing left. No debris this time, no trace of the sinners.
Exodus control, Battle Cruiser Valkyrie requesting permission to detach from dock
delta four, departure straight out on heading zero-zero-four mark zero-one-zero.
Cleared to shock gate Delta zero-four Davenport called out from the bridge comms
station. McCoy watched through the main view screen as the Valkyrie passed
through the docking rings of the naval yard, the Amazon right beside her heading
out at minimal power. Valkyrie, Exodus control, departure approved. Happy
hunting came the reply as a smirk came over the face of the severely hung over,
yet chipper as usual Armstrong. Captain, all systems green, ready for transit to AC
gate on heading zero-zero-four she called out as the ship passed the final docking
ring. Several smaller patrol vessels fell into formation behind the two cruisers in
ceremonial escort. The Valkyrie had a sleek, shark-like body with her command
center as the dorsal fin. The FTL drive engines extended from her midsection like a
set of wings, while her weapons turrets lined the hull of the ship. Speeding up to just
over thirty thousand kilometers per hour, she headed for the nearby Alpha Centauri
gate. The excited rookies on the bridge were discussing the first planets they would
see or the first action that would come their way. It was good to see them in good
spirits. This would be a long, dull mission if UIF hadnt botched their intel. Not a bet
McCoy would have taken, but there was a glimmer of hope.
McCoy watched the formation of escorts break off, pulling various aerobatic
maneuvers as they wished the Valkyrie and Amazon safe passage via the shortrange communications relays. The fleet traffic control center at the shock ring entry
corridor had given them the green light to enter. The Valkyrie swung in a 90 degree
slide, aligning the bow with the pathway. The path into the shock ring looked like an
old world airport runway, with large luminescence satellites on either sides of the
ring to guide ships into the proper shock point. A ship hitting the shock gate too far
off center would be thrown at an angle into null space. While a ship could make an
emergency deshock, the process was heavily taxing on the ships structure and
shielding. On smaller vessels with lower power outputs or smaller shields, the angle
would have them hitting the barrier between null space and normal space, creating
a sheering effect that could rip a ship apart. McCoy had been on his fair share of
rescue and recovery missions, and had seen the extensive damage done by
improper shock entry.
As Valkyrie passed the final beacon, the shock rings burst to life, the ships
navigational system began to compute the proper path to the Alpha Centauri
system. Behind her, the Amazon was holding for the gate. In seconds, the Valkyries
FTL drive came online, switching from its thrusters as it entered the gate. The
Valkyrie was accelerated into the corridor at twenty times the speed of light. It
would be just 18 days and some odd hours to make it to their destination. All
systems clear, captain sighed Ensign Torres. The young Ensign was the only fleet
officer from his family and had been overjoyed to get the helmsman position for the
trip out of Exodus. McCoy patted the five-nine kid on the back and turned to leave

the bridge. Armstrong, you have the con. I have a meeting to attend McCoy said
as he stepped into the ships lift.
Captain, you look well Fleet Admiral Garret chimed as he watched the holographic
projection of the Valkyries captain appear before him in the command and control
centers briefing room. Garret was the only one at the table for thirty. Outside the
door, fourteen of the most heavily armed fleet security officers stood watch. The
entire command center had been emptied for this moment. Admiral, it is good to
see you. What can I do for you? McCoy asked as he took a sip of the coffee he had
received from the mess deck. Star sludge was the nickname for the harsh brew that
tasted like ash and tar with a hint of creamer. Captain, the Valkyrie is officially on
indefinite special assignment. You have been given class four authority. You will
proceed to the mining station Kilimanjaro and investigate the station. The only
communications authorized are between Valkyrie and me or catastrophic distress
signals on fleet channels only. McCoy nearly choked on the coffee, and not just
because it was worse than licking an ashtray. Admiral, that would mean I either talk
to you only or yell for help if we get our asses handed to us. Care to explain?
Captain, I regret to inform you that we know very little, which is why your group is
being sent. The Kilimanjaro is an orbital tractor mining vessel operated by Nexus.
You can imagine the concern this has caused. McCoy tried to massage the
oncoming headache away as he looked at the holographic image through the gaps
in his fingers. Admiral, if Nexus has a communication or systems failure, dont you
feel it is inappropriate to send us out here? The Nathan Hale class search and
rescue ships would have been less conspicuous and a hell of a lot more Garret
cut him off before he could finish. Captain, the station disappeared from all
imaging, communications, and sensor nets for twelve hours four days ago.
Yesterday, they lost a cargo shuttle in the same sector. No one saw the attack, and
radar shows nothing. McCoy paused at this. Admiralare you saying that this is
oh hell Captain, it is the exact same thing as when Genesis was attacked and the
rescue teams wiped out. Juno survived. Data was covered up. People were pushed
to silence. It is time we told you the truth: one hundred of these attacks have
occurred in just the last year. Almost every one of them on ships on remote routes
usually patrolled by pirating groups. We sent you and your crew because you are
the only ones who survived this event. Proceed to Kilimanjaro and investigate.
Dismissed. The link cut out, leaving McCoy shaking his head in exasperation. If that
thing was back, and still attacking ships and stations, when would it make its way to
Earth?
Nelson Forsythe was a man that could make the skin of the dead crawl. As he
stepped onto the pier at the Omaha marina, he felt the warm air of the Chesapeake
kicking his greying ponytail into the air. Windy for a boat ride he grumbled.
Business had been slow enough for the last week, at least where actual financial
issues were concerned.