Deep Space contact

Helen's eyes opened with a start the black of her pupils shrinking under the harsh strip lights and
focusing on her surroundings. She was still cold from the deep slumber, her exposed flesh was dimpled and on seeing the white flickering steam of her breath just made her shiver involuntarily.

Her brain was as numbed as her joints and it took her a few moments to remember where she was and why she was in a pod billions of miles away from her friends and family in the deep dark abyss of space.


"Cecile" her voice croaked from a long dry throat. "Cecile, can you state location please."


A few moments passed as she blinked the sleep from her eyes and yawned. Why did she feel so numb? This wasn't her first stasis journey, she was used to these short hops from the Sol system to the colonies Rowlatt and Spee station, in fact they were almost routine, so routine she had saved about five years of her life.


A flashing green cursor on the glass face plate of the long cylindrical pod that she had called home for the last who knows how long, caught her attention. It hurriedly typed a line of text.


Good Morning Lieutenant Fallon - Your vitals are showing normal and the ship is ready for you.


"Where are we Cecile? What happened to your audio?"

Again the blinking cursor flashed.

Our current position is 0.059 by 0.874 by 1. My audio circuits have degraded over time and require maintenance.


Helen laid there for a moment trying to wrap her brain around the information she had just received.

"Wait Cecile, are you sure of those coordinates?"

The blinking Cursor, taunting her, appeared again.


Affirmative.


"Cecile, how much time has passed since the crew entered sleep?"

The answer was almost instantaneous.


Four hundred years, four months and eight days.


Helen's eyes widened with shock and horror. This had meant to be a short hop of a couple of weeks yet if her estimates were right they were now sat on the edge of the galactic plain. What could have gone so wrong with Cecile and the sleeper systems to allow such a huge deviation.

Then it hit her, deviation was not the word for it. Her family, her dog, her fiancé, whom she was due to marry in six months were all long dead and buried, so were their grand children and their grand children. As far as she knew they were so far removed from any form of civilisation and Human space that the likelihood of being found was phenomenally small.

Her heart began to pound against her rib cage in panic and her breathing was becoming more and more frantic. She had to get our of this metal tomb, she had to be free, she had to see for herself. Cecile had said that there was a problem with her vocal processors, maybe her cognitive systems were offline and in need of retuning. Maybe all of this was just a computer glitch and they were five days off course.


"Cecile, open the hatch. Open it quickly please." Her panic began to overspill into her voice and she started to press her hands against the glass and push. She had to get out immediately.

Thankfully there was the reassuring snap of the locks and the hiss of heavily processed incoming air that greeted her nostrils causing them to curl away. She didn't care she just had to get out. She pushed the lid up hard and swung her legs out onto the metallic floor.

As she gulped down the air she looked around the emergency lit empty room. The only sign of life was the flashing green cursor on the blank computer screen on the far wall, strangely none of the other pods were opening or even lit. She hopped down onto the hard metallic floor and crossed with urgency to the nearest stasis pod.


The glass on the front was covered with a thick layer of dust obscuring the occupant's features. She gulped in apprehension as fear began to gnaw in the pit of her stomach as she noticed the power light was blank and not its' customary constant red.


It has to be empty. she thought to herself. Please... let it be empty.


She flicked off the latches and tried to lift the lid but it refused to move. Looking round she saw an emergency fire axe in a glass case on the wall opposite, she quickly removed it and jammed the shaft into the gap and pushed down with all her strength. A loud his of escaping dust and air greeted her as the decaying seals tore apart and opened. She coughed and forced down a retch as the full cloud of noxious smell hit her, her fears that this pod wasn't empty were becoming realised. As the dust cleared she saw it, the white skull amidst the grey dust of what remained of what had formerly been a crew member and friend. This had been Engineers mate Harry Honisch.


She fell backwards onto the floor and stared up at the opened casket in shock. Honisch was a good friend to her and the rest of the crew. He'd been a middle aged family man with six kids on the German colony on Mimas which he missed every time he went away. Not that it mattered, they would all be long dead now. It didn't seem fair, how could he be dead?

After what seemed like an eternity she climbed to her feet and crossed to the Computer screen.


"What happened Cecille?"


There has been a power shortage. I had to save those who were the most vital to the mission and sacrifice the few.


The bluntness made her wince, why was she more vital than Harry?

"Who else is still alive?" She found herself asking but dreading the answer.


The following personnel are alive;

Lt. Cmdr P. Burgess (First Officer)
Lt H. Fallon (Navigator)
Lt R. Kommanova (Engineer)


She read the short list three times. Three people out of a crew of fifteen. Suddenly she realised there was a name missing that she had hoped would have still been there.

"Cecille what is the status of Lieutenant Jo Upcraft?"


Deceased.
A one word answer that cut through her straight to her core. "When?"


Two years and four months ago.


So close yet... She crossed slowly and deliberately towards the pod that she knew had held her friend. She held her hand out above the covered glass and let it hover not wanting to scrape away the dust and confirm what she knew was true.


Finally she lowered her hand and wiped away the grey mass and there she was. The air tight nature of the stasis chamber meant that decomposition was slowed right down and the young girl with curly brown hair laid there with her eyes shut and hands resting on her chest as if sleeping.


"Is there no way to resuscitate her?" Helen's voice was a croaky whisper. "There has to be something we can do. Cecille? Answer me!"


With a whispered curse she turned back to the monitor on the far side of the room and stared at the read out from the ship's computer.


Lt Upcraft is deceased I'm afraid. There is nothing that can be done to revive her. When the systems began to fail her heart rate was slowed down and stopped whilst she slept. Too much time has passed and her vital organs have already began to degrade and her brain has been dead for too long.

I am sorry Helen. As a cartographer she was considered to be highly valuable to the mission but as the power systems continued to degrade she was considered to be expendable in comparison to the others.


The facts were irrefutable but that didn't make it any easier. She stared down at her friend, her eyes welling up and her throat choking up. It felt like only an hour ago that they were saying good bye to each other not four centuries. Why did she get picked to go and not her?


I awoke Lt. Kommanova several times over the last Century. He has been working steadily to try and economise power and re-route many of the dying systems. The priorities were for engine control and the stasis pods.


She nodded slowly, they were not decisions she wanted to make. How can you weigh one human life against another? How could Jo have been allowed to go but not her just because she was the navigation officer and Jo the Cartographer? The slimmest of margins had sealed Jo's fate and poor Hohnisch.


"Where are the others?"


Kommanova is in engineering and Burgess is on the observation deck looking over the logs. He requires you there as soon as possible to discuss the situation.

She nodded slowly turning her mind forcibly away from Jo's death, there was nothing more that could be done, however much it hurt. She had to find out what had gone wrong and how they ended up here in the middle of nowhere, or rather the edge of nowhere.


She stepped out of the door and into the dimly lit corridor hearing her boots clank on the metal plated flooring. It was a strange noise, one that she hadn't heard that often. Usually the hallways were bustling with people or background noise and all the other things that she took for granted now in this empty ship drifting through space everything was bombarding her senses. She could hear the engines pulsing and even the electronic buzzing from the power conduits passing their information.

She cautiously continued down towards the observation deck scolding her self that there was no reason to be scared or cautious, this was her ship with her friends aboard. What was the worse that could happen? She reached the door and paused, a noise behind her, something she wouldn't have heard if the ship was its normal busy self but it was unmistakable. Boots on metal. No one had been alive in the Stasis bay, no one could have come from there. Part of her brain willed it to be Jo still alive but she instantly dismissed it, it had to be something else. Her gut reacted telling her it was something bad, she could feel it in her soul that something malevolent was at the other end of the corridor, not evil per say but deeply, deeply wrong. With a gulp of air in her dry throat she gently tilted her head to the right and there it was. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure wrapped in a black cloak with a hood that cast the face into shadow, all that was visible was a pair of black eyes that glinted under the emergency lighting and a cruel smile that twitched as it regarded her.


She placed her hand on her side arm and span round to face the intruder but as quickly as she turned the figure dissolved into thin air as if wiped away and she found herself staring down the empty corridor at a maze of piping and conduits in the exposed wall cavity. There was nothing there, and it was unlikely there had been anything there.


"You've been in stasis too long Helen, your mind is getting distracted." she tutted to herself as she activated the door stud that opened to the observation deck. "Too long."

Defiance: redraft of Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Zosen IV was a hive of activity. The colony on this far flung, temperate world had been founded five years previously and had rapidly increased in size. Settlers from all over the Empire had been drawn to the rich mineral deposits and the endless employment in the defence factories. The Admiralty required a constant stream of warships, star fighters, and a defence force garrison. The population had grown from the first few thousand settlers who had emerged from the seeding ships to forty million in just five years.

Unlike so many other worlds forcibly settled by Parliament, Zosen IV had a rich wealth of minerals and a good temperate climate and no surprises. The memory of Partolli II was still fresh in the mind of every Galactic Scout and colonist. The planet scans showed a similar template as Alpha prime and rich in minerals with fertile soil. Four nights into the colonies existence all nine thousand settlers were killed, as was the battalion of soldiers sent to investigate. It was a month before the next military vessel passed by and landed more troops. Lieutenant Herrick, the sole survivor reported to his Captain that nocturnal Ogre like creatures rose from the caves and culled everyone.

Luckily for the millions on Zosen nothing like that existed here.

By eighteen years old Stacey Nash had already seen much of the Galaxy. Her father had been assigned as a navigator on a civilian Survey ship and had taken his family with him. Stacey had seen the birth of a star, looked into the eternal darkness of a black hole and the deep purple haze of a Quagor Nebula. Life on the "Aurora" had been educational and an experience that had moulded her view of the galaxy, it was bigger than her and in comparison she was a tiny atom in a much larger animal. She knew others who thought they were a vital organ or even the very centre of the Galaxy but she let them labour under their false beliefs, it would one day catch up with them one lonely night. She still thought about the days out in deep space wandering and exploring, she would let her mind return there to stop it thinking about the boring nature of her job and there here and now…

Now though... Now she was stuck here. Her mother had died four years previously and her father had deteriorated and almost penniless took the emperor's golden credit and became a miner on Zosen. After the accident that had left his left side paralysed she had taken a job as a pit worker too. Two years of scratching a living from rock and taking care of her two younger brothers had left her with a wistful melancholy but with a chipper sense of humour. She had learnt to swing a pick and operate heavy machinery quickly and to defend herself from the advances of the other miners even quicker. More than one man had reported to the infirmary with a broken jaw or arm and the whisper "Leave Stacey Nash" ran quickly through them. She loved the respect she had earned but it came at a price, people were often too scared of her and she was often treated as a pariah by most. Her only real friends were Eddie and George, two other pit workers from the same watch. George was like a surrogate father who constantly looked out for her where as Eddie was a young lad, a newbie. She' saved him from a fight two years previous and since then they'd become inseparable. Eddie reminded her of her brothers and his wide eyed youth, albeit that he was only two years younger than her, was like a reminder of the innocence she had lost the moment she had walked into the mines and picked up that axe for the first time.

It had been another gruelling day in the mines. The government had upped the quota of ore required, they were obviously gearing up for something and the supervisors were taking it out on the workers with louder threats, shouts and abuse than usual. More carts had to be filled, more rock chipped and with less workers as the military reservists were called up for active duty.  She was even starting to feel grudging jealousy for them, a way off planet or at best out of the mines and into a barracks with regular food and pay. She had thought about volunteering but who would take care of her family? She was also below regulation height and she had heard women got a tough time in the infantry which was a shame because she had been trained to shoot by her father and she had always been a dead shot.

Stacey and Eddie were walking down the escalator to the habitation sector, stretching their aching arm muscles and trying to acclimatise to the bright summer day light. The sound of martial music carried across the crisp cool morning air. Stacey strained her eyes in the direction it came from. From their lofty vantage point she could see the columns of figures marching along the main street that ran through the centre of town before cutting past the pits and on to the space ports and the squadrons of transport ships that had been arriving for the past fortnight. Green helmets bobbed like a sea whilst silver plates and bayonets glinted and sparkled in the sun. The sounds of crumping boots on concrete and the shrill shouted orders of officers and NCOs carried through the still air/

"Looks like a parade." Eddie said incredulously

"Well Yeah..." Her dry sense of humour often relied on Eddie's stupid comments and was rarely left wanting.

"Do you want to take a closer look?"

She didn't even have to answer, this was excitement and standing in the darkness all day carving out chunks of rock was an occupation that needed any form of excitement, anything new to talk about in the canteen or if you saw a colleague for a few fleeting moments before you felt the lash of a supervisor’s tongue for shirking duties.

The hurried down the hill and into the shanty town of grotty prefabs, lean-to's and unsanitary tenements that lived under the grandiose name of worker’s habitation sector. Jumping a burst sewer main and its stinking discharge they picked their way through the slime towards the merchant sector and the aortic road that was the "Main Street."

Stacey had become accustomed to this place. She hated it and yearned to leave but the sights, sounds and smells had long been engrained in her mind and she had acclimatised even secretly loved it. She knew every alleyway, back route and side street in Mineville. The official cartographers and military planners probably called it something else but for those who lived here it would always be named after it’s defining feature.

Eddie still curled his nose in disgust at the effluent that flowed down the street in the open drain and tried to avoid stepping in slime. His attitude would change but Stacey hoped that would take a long time, when others had lost their standards and embraced their lot they had lost a part of themselves as she feared she had.

They crossed the rusting bridge over the brown slimy river that was clogging with slag and sewage and into the "Merchant sector" and walked down the dark ally into the cheering crowd.

Through the mass of citizens Stacey could make out the soldiers of the fourth Zosen light infantry, their pulse rifles held to the port, the regimental band playing with a jaunty number that kept everyone in step behind the red regimental standard. Behind the column of men came the APCs and light tanks. Their engines roared a throaty cough as they rolled down the black tarmac streets.

It was an impressive sight especially for the civilians who rarely saw such a spectacle, or any spectacle come to that. She couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride at the flower of Zosen’s youth marching off to war to protect them from alien aggression. They’d all read the news and releases about how the N’kell ate human young and were a terror of all civilisation pillaging their way across the Galaxy and now they were coming this way. Animals in body armour with large claws and a savage disorganised and poorly equipped scourge that would ravage the planet and leave it burning before continuing on. These boys would stop them in their tracks and turn them around at the first battle. Tell this barbarian horde to try somewhere else.

"Fools" a familiar voice filled her ears. George stepped out of one of the shadowy doorways and up to her and Eddie.

“Come on George they’re the shield of the Empire.” Eddie scoffed

“They’re dead men walking.” His voice was as cold and crisp as the morning air. “I’ve fought the N’kell boy, they are ruthless and efficient killers bent on one thing- the annihilation of the enemy. When their Admiralty has finished wiping these boys out they will come for us here.”

“Do you really think so George?” Stacey half smiled as she tried to make light of the dark prediction. “I’ve heard the N’kell are a mindless rabble. Surely our disciplined lads will make short work of them?”

“Definitely” Eddie pointed at the proud looking infantry column “They’ll deal with them easily. Look at all their kit, the discipline.”

George shook his head, his eyes fixed on the troops. “Their high command has known this day was coming and have prepared for any incursion by us. Then once our shield is cut off they’ll stab deep into our heart.”

Stacey’s blood ran cold. What if George was right?

“I’ve seen N’kell troopers, twice the size of you boy, seen ‘em cut a man in two with one swing of their blades. I watched a whole battalion wiped out by a squad of their frontline assault troopers like they weren’t there. They’ll fight and they’ll win and then they’ll come here.”

“But…”  Eddie tried to break into George’s flow but was waved silent by the elder man.

       “Discipline and weaponary is all well and good on the battlefield but the trick is to get off your warships first. Their warships are impressive, even more so than ours and they know that we’re coming, you think these boys will stand and fight on the field of battle? I say they won’t even get to disembark.” George took one last look at the parade before turning away towards the Worker’s habitation area. “You mark my words… Death will come to us all if they cross the border.”

Prisoner

I opened the other phial and poured it into the glass beaker and began to mix the two viscous golden liquids together with the glass rod viciously with a repetitive clink clink of glass on glass. 

"How long will this take?" the filtered voice of my captor echoed breathlessly in my ear. I could see their helmeted visage reflected on a dozen different bottles on my work bench.

"I am going as fast as I can, you cannot rush this delicate reaction" I said slowly not ceasing my work for a heartbeat.

"I took you because you were supposedly the best and most efficient." Again, the slow metallic voice bereft of emotion.

I remembered that night, being awoken from my bunk by an armoured glove gripping my night shirt and throwing me to the flagstone floor. The pale green armoured figure casually aiming a shock rifle steadily at me whilst I bundled some clothes into a bag.

Being shoved at rifle point out into the corridor, past the dead security guard hunched over a blackened blaster wound and out into the cold night towards the customised insectile vessel hidden out in the woods. The memory of seeing my roommate's lifeless grey eyes staring across at me, her mouth open in a silent sigh as the blood ran from deep slash in those dainty wrists into a dark pool. Sigardson was her name, she'd only been at the facility a few days but was enthusiastic about her work in Quantum theory and the crystalline drives that powered our great warships. She had been innocent, I was innocent!

"You took me because I was easy to catch." I said testily, ceasing stirring and looking up into those lifeless black eye plates. "Now do you want this to work or not?"

I felt the steel blade gently pushing against my chest almost immediately, I'm not sure when or from where it was drawn but the promise was definite.
"Pretty ballsy Professor, now finish the job or you'll end up like your pal Sigardson."

My mouth worked quicker than my brain and I heard myself saying "Why? Can you mix this accurately?"

The blade shifted from a gentle threat to clear and present danger as it now broke the skin of my abdomen enough to make me recoil and for blood to begin staining my pale grey jumpsuit.

"Back to work." Metallically filtered or not, you could hear the menace in the voice. I obeyed immediately.

As I stirred and added the sodium chlorite as well as the hydrogen monoxide.

"How did you know Sigardson?" I muttered.

"I didn't know her. We spoke before she died. She was not who I wanted and a possible lose end."

"So you killed her?" I tried not to let my attention falter from the reaction in front of me.

"I was merciful." the voice was blunt.

"Merciful? You slit her wrist and left her to bleed to death." I choked a little.

"Professor, what do you think is going on here? My employer needs this compound and as quickly as possible, they're up against something far more evil than me. I did her a favour, if the others had got their hands on her, and they would have, then... She'd have died but not well."

My stomach churned. What was I a part of? Maybe the mercenary was right and Sigardson did go the right way, but what will happen to me when I am no longer useful. I took the first step in that direction.

"I've finished," I muttered. "hand me that bottle would you?"

The blade vanished from my side and I heard the click of the shock rifle as it was laid against the laboritory wall, I glanced sideways at it and at the slim armoured figure at the next work station looking for the stoppered conicle glass I'd indicated. I quickly began running the math on my chances.

"Don't even think about it." There was a firmness in the mercanry's voice that like a boot on a spider, crushed any thoughts I had. "Unless you have my DNA you can't pull the trigger."

I sighed and took the flask when it was held out for me by the same gloved fist that had pulled me out of bed that night.

"Are we done here?"

I gently poured the compound into the flask and placed the orange stopper into it. "Yes all done." I held it out for the merc to take, if I was to die here they could carry their own damn formula.

"You carry it, I may need to blast us out of here professor." My captor moved deftly but surely towards the door and peered out into the metallic corridor beyond. "Looks clear. Keep behind me and if rounds start flying stay low. You're no good to me dead. Although if the Syndicate's goodn get their hands on you you'll wish I had cut your wrists too."

I looked over the table briefly to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything - an old habbit of mine that held no relevance to this new life I found myself living. Then my eyes fell on something on the floor next to the table and my heart lept! There was an universal key card, it looked rather battered but looked to be in working order. I examined it from a distance and my heart stopped when I saw the familiar chipped corner of my cell key. It must have fallen out of the mercanry's utility pouches. I quickly scooped it up and followed the armoured figure to the doorway clinging to the phial because my life genuinely depended on it surviving the journey back to the ship. After that... Well that depended on the Merc.

What is in a name?

he stepped over the smoking body of the fallen hero. The fool had dared enter his sanctum and interrupt his machinations. He had paid the price for his impudence, his corpse would serve well in a gibbet as a warning to any future adventurers who were fool enough to think they could match their wit with him.

"Garq!" The necromancer bellowed "Where are you hiding you witless worm?"

The grey skinned halfling stepped out of the shadows scratching his trunk through the rough spun sack that served as a tunic held up by a length of rope.

"Give me one good reason as to why I don't turn you inside out and dangle you over the moat as a treat for the fish?"

The snivelling wretch recoiled raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry master, but please, if you kill poor Garq who will remove charred corpse from your chamber?"

Stroking his wispy silver beard and slowly immersing himself in his plan the Necromancer turned back to the rotting body from the crypt manacled to a work bench before him.

"Be gone worm, have his armour and weaponry taken to the armoury."

"Yes Master."

Necromancy was not an exact science and required a lot of care and attention to detail. Deftly moving the crystals back to their original positions and lighting the human tallow candle he began to chant an ancient incantation that he had found in the long forgotten library of the buried city of Ke'toth under the mountains. There amongst the shadows and twisted denizens that existed in the dark dampness he had practised his art on the peons and diggers he had hired to help him find the ity. After two weeks only he and a few of his creations stepped back into the sunlight out of a team of thirty.

He smiled as he remembered the irony of watching the life drain out of them to be replaced with a new light, one that felt no pain or pleasure and served only him.

He waved his hands over his newest subject and repeated the incantation trying not to become too elated as the pale blue cloud formed over his head and then funnelled with amazing force through the mouth  as the wizard reached a crescendo.

All was still and silent as he waited what seemed an eternity before slowly pale blue light filled the long dead eyes and muscles strained to escape the metallic bonds accompanied by a dry wail of frustration.

The Necromancer laughed, heady with his victory. Soon he would have an army of unstoppable dead and all would fear the name of the lichlord Barry the Necromancer king!

Into the dark...

Ok, please be gentle. Its the first thing I've written in a Loooonnnngggg time and it is still very much work in progress.

As Princess Irulan said in Dune; A beginning is a very fragile thing and I'm hoping this isn't too bad a start... do let me know.

Chapter One

The door swung open quietly, so quietly that Lieutenant Jane Briarwood didn’t even hear it. The Endeavourhad been in space for over four months on a deep survey mission and Jane had been staring at readouts for most of it. As a junior archaeologist she’d had the honour of being assigned to this vessel mainly because she believed no one else had wanted to go and had more clout than her.

“Ah, Lieutenant Briarwood.” The voice of her nominal superiorCommander Devonshire derailed her train of thought with its usual annoyingdrone. “Are you busy?”

“Is there anything I can say that will convince you that I am?” she thought.

“Good.” He didn’t even give her a chance to  reply. “The equipment needs to be checked onagain. Make sure it is all fully functional.”

Jane rolled her eyes and closed them shut in frustration.Every other day Devonshire came in and would send her to check again. She used to argue but it was a fruitless exercise and it was a drain on the shipsatmosphere recycler. For four months they had travelled, for four months they had seen nothing but the cold black starry vacuum of space. Four months of deepscans, and long range probe reports and dehydrated food. The equipment hadn’tleft the packing crate let alone the stasis chambers. Captain Kinnock kept assuring the survey staff in fortnightly meetings that they were on course and that they should find a planet soon but she’d ceased to believe that after the first month.

She’d spent most of her days running simulations and reading, hoping beyond hope that something interesting was coming up around the corner but again, she’d given up on that too. It had become a waiting game. How long until the Captain would admit the inevitable and turn the ship around or how long until they actually found something?

She had left the confines of her meagre office on quite a fewoccasions, other than to go and check the blasted equipment. On constant laps around the ship in the early hours for exercise or a post shift drink in the mess where she actually got to socialise with real human beings. At first some of the men had hit on her but after a few clumsy approaches, some of her wittiest put downs and the intervention of Mr Miles, the ship’s Second Officer she was safe to sit and chat with the others. Although the fleet had a good mix of men and women some how this ship had ended up with a majority male crew and had she been inclined she could have any number of suitors especially now as the fourth long month dragged on but she preferred to keep her own company.

She had been so immersed in her renewed reminiscing that shehadn’t even noticed that she was already half way to the Access control room.She liked the guys down there. Like her they spent hours locked up in a roomwatching cameras and computer screens. They were all joyfully eccentric and they were used her regular visits, in fact they seemed to look forward to it. Acouple of them had an obvious crush on her to, they would fight to get to the front door every time for a glimmer of conversation and a hint of a smile.Truth be told, she found them all very funny.

As she approached and swiped her access card she could hear the clamour within and the muffled argument.

“You spoke to her last time, it’s my turn.”
“Get out of my way old man.”

She wondered who would win.

“Hi Jane, what can I do you for?” Jack had won this time.The young man with freckles and reddish tint to his blonde hair was the usualone to win but only because Boris was older and his reaction speed was just slow enough that the younger man could beat him.

She favoured him with a broad grin. “Same as always, key card 106 and an escort to hold 8”

“Comin’ right up.” He grinned broadly and disappeared intothe office again.

She started to wander down the corridor towards the stasisholds, it felt like she’d been here everyday. She had counted the tiles on the floor waiting for her escort one day and now knew how many steps it took to get to bay 8, to pass the time she counted steps until her escort arrived.

“Seven, eight, nine,ten…”

“Another service check?” Jack came down the corridor, the soft jangling of keys in his hand and an overly joyful tone of voice for what was one of the most mundane jobs on the ship.

“Yes, Commander Devonshire is very particular about his equipment.” She nodded trying not to let the her boredom spoil his good humour.

“He knows that sitting in the stasis nothing will happen to it and only you and I have keys to it so no one else can get to it right?”

The look she gave him wold have withered flowers at threeyards and required no further conversation. Jack looked sheepishly at her and then hurried past to slip the keys in the lock and turned them. She took a step forward and withdrew her battered key card and went to swipe it in the oh sofamiliar lock.

“Lieutenant Briarwood, can you report to the forwardobservation post.”

“What now?” she thought with a touch of annoyance but with an awful lot of relief at not having to check that blasted equipment again. She slung an apologetic glance at Jack and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you later Jane.” Was the last thing she heard before disappearing into the lift back to the habitat and admin section of the ship.

Endeavour wasn’t the largest ship she had ever served on, eighteen decks, two hundred metres long with another hundred for the engine module and a crew of about seventy-five, all of whom she had met at one point on this tirelessly long voyage. Most were involved in the day to day running of the ship, its engineering team, small security detail, bridge crew and victualing staff topped up with mission specialists like herself. Though it was a tight knit group of people it was also a little claustrophobic at times but it suited her better than the large battle ships like Phaeton or Kraken both of whom were almost two kilometres with crew compliments in their thousands where she would disappear into the sea of faces and was known to no one outside of her section and even then mostly all she got from her colleagues was a half nod in passing in the corridor.

She had been glad to escape Kraken and happy with her assignment to the station at DremerdiusVII where she had her own office and space and could sit and write papers,maybe go out on a dig twice a year to the Dremerdius IV and its flowing blue rivers and hazy meadows that swam through the Methane atmosphere. Still all good things had to come to an end and the passing of Endeavour and the lack of willing archaelogists saw her get plucked from the comforts of home and thrust into this boredom. Still, it acted as a catalyst for her to think about her life and evaluate whether she truly wanted to carry on down this course, something she had spent a lot of time thinking about on this voyage. Dremerdius had been a mistake, a holding pattern but it had become comfortable and the norm for four years of her life and now that shereally thought about it she realised that she wasn’t happy there or here.Especially here.

Book 2- Chapter 1. When Jonathon met Charlotte

Jonathon and Portia walked along the main street of Belgarum. The sun was setting and cast an orange tint across the houses. Portia shivered as a cold breeze whipped up and ruffled her platinum blonde hair. Jonathon put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed this." She said "Your company I mean."

"I've missed you to. It's been too long."

They lapsed into silence again as they wandered the streets. It had been four years since they had last seen each other back on Rowlatt, they had both been on leave and bumped into each other and spent the next week soley in each others company. Portia had seen him change from a burnt out grief stricken young man into the care free youth he had been when he had left the planet for the academy, his metamorphosis had been amazing to behold. 

"How is home?" He asked presently.

She smiled "Not sure, haven't been back to that dust ball in four years but I imagine it’s still the same."

"Remember that guy who hangs around the star port?"

"Doug!" They said in unison.

"Oh my God yeah!" She giggled. "Remember the Doug trap?"

"Remember it? I'm still paying off the damage it caused."

They laughed as they pictured their youth on Rowlatt, the serene picture book version of their lives where the bad memories were white washed over and hurt was forgotten.

"What happened to those two teenagers Portia?" he asked sounding suddenly serious.

"We grew up I guess." She sounded distant, probably thinking of those days in the countryside.

"But why?"

"Well if I remember you wanted to go and fly your precious salamanders... I- I wanted to just get away from that place."

He nodded in agreement. "Now I remember."

Silence lapsed over them again as they walked with no direction.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked.

"Some days." He was quick; he didn't even think it over. "But then I would never have flown, would never have met Doolan and would probably be working the family lot scratching out Potatoes. Strange but I spent all those days wishing I was elsewhere, fighting bad guys and flying and now I'd give anything to be that young and innocent back there, and I know I’ll never get back to that until I'm retired and too old to enjoy the pleasures of youth."

She squeezed his arm gently. "I know it’s been five years but... Do you still miss her?"

Jonathon looked down at the cobbled street and lost himself into thought. He had not thought about Claire in a while and he reprimanded himself for his failing.

"Often." He said finally. "We were close. I wish that I had realised sooner that I loved her, I wish that she had told me sooner and I wish she was here now."

"Those are quite a few regrets. You shouldn't live in the past."

Jonathon said nothing. He thought of the young woman he had lain to rest on Zosen IV all those years ago, her eyes always sparkling with mischief and that irresponsible grin. He missed her so much. She had always been there and he had thought, even presumed that she always would and the cold vacuum of existance without her stung him deeply.

"She would want you to move on." Portia continued.

"I know." Pentlow, Snellgrove and Stacey had told him that over the last five years but he couldn't think of a reason why. She had been his friend, his confident and perhaps his soul mate.

"Is there anyone else on the horizon?"

"No" he stopped and looked around the cold grey prefabs. "Where are we??"

She laughed that crazy boundless less laugh she had laughed when they were young.

"Only we could get lost in a town mapped out as a grid."

They turned around and headed back down the hill, pausing briefly to look out across the panoramic view of the city.

"Any way, what about you?" He tried to change the subject.

"No nor me. Although I wonder what my new first officer will be like. Maybe he will be the one." She half smiled. "I don't know Jonathon; I've not decided what I want yet."

The city lay below them in a quiet haze, street lamps began to come on as well as a few lights in the houses. He could just make out the town clock saying seven O'clock.

"Guess it’s time we got back to the Mordred and I can collect my new C-O"

Portia threw her head back and laughed. "Oh yeah Jonathon you will love her!"

He furrowed his brow and raised an eyebrow in concern "I don't like the way you said that. What is she like?"

"Charlotte is... well... She is an excellent officer. She knows the regs, is calm under pressure and exemplary in her field but..."

Portia paused that laugh still rang in his ear and made him worry. "But?"

She squeezed closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. "She's one of a kind." She whispered. "You get to meet her in half an hour."

The entry ramp to the shuttle slowly descended towards the docking bay floor, a stream of coolant spraying along its length. Through the swirling white steam Charlotte could see her Captain chatting to another officer. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she glared at Portia. Her opinion of her Captain had never been particularly high, she constantly flaunted the rules and let her crew get away with murder at times and When Charlotte tried to enforce the rules she was made to look like a bitch. Portia had always been really polite and friendly with her but deep down there was a mutual understanding that they didn't like each other. In fact Charlotte felt the Captain's motivation to put in a word for her at the Promotion hearing was so she could move her on. Charlotte would prove wrong, she knew she deserved this promotion and could handle the responsibility. She had put up with enough crap from her superiors and subordinates for too long. Now was her time to shine.

Portia and the other officer were finally within six feet of her; she threw a quick salute and clicked her heels.

"Good to finally have you back sir."

Portia winced at the thinly veiled rebuke.

"Shall I have some quarters prepared for your friend?" Charlotte continued unabated.

The other officer, a commander wearing the yellow rank badges of a fighter pilot and a collection of commendations on his left breast crowned by the Galactic cross at his throat on a torn ribbon looked shocked.

"That won't be necessary." Portia raised her hands defensively.

"Understood." Charlotte nodded again, another velvet covered sledgehammer struck home. "Nothing to report by the way."

"I'm sorry commander." The red haired pilot broke in. "That is no way to speak to a senior officer."

Portia squeezed his arm. "Jonathon it's ok. Don't..."

He held up a hand in defiance. "NO Portia... It's unacceptable."

"Well commander." Charlotte spat back acidically. "Seeing as you don't out rank me and this isn't your vessel." She gave him one of her cutting glares that was usually enough to silence the most rowdy of crew men or belligerent of officers.

"As acting Captain of the Agravane I do out rank you Commander." He puffed his chest out and tried to look more important than he was.

Charlotte looked shocked. Agravane? That was her ship. This jumped up space jockey couldn't possibly be the new Captain. Then realisation struck. It was worse than that he was her new first officer. A thin smile etched its way across her face.

"What's your name and position?" Jonathon continued.

Portia's eyes rolled and she squeezed his arm gently. "Jonathon..."

"Commander Charlotte Bell, First officer of the Mordred and Captain of the Agravane."

Icy cold horror washed over Jonathon. What had he done? "Oh shi-"

Claire Doolan's grave stood alone on the water meadows outside Dracon, long grass tugged at the shaft of the wooden cross and brambles were questing towards it through the undergrowth.It had been undisturbed since the fateful day it was placed there, standing like a beacon among the peace and serenity to remind passers by of the war and the sacrifice of a young officer who had given her life to save this planet and the human race from a genocidal onslaught. Through a sheer miracle her silver cross still remained hanging from the marker, sparkling in the sun and dancing in the wind.

A single red rose lay before it dying a slow death as a mark of sentimentality; laid by someone who loved her and had made the pilgrimage on her birthday, next to it lay a wooden Nautilus model, hand carved and painted by another who loved her although he had not been to her in a long time - for Jonathon the pain was far to deep.

The wind caught the small silver cross and it danced once again back and forth in its waltz with nature. High above the field the clouds turned black rapidly slowly whipping up into a swirling black mailstrom in the heavens, great forks of lightening arched across the formations and speared towards the ground ripping the ground assunder and tearing trees in twain.

Rain began to fall from the skies in long hard lines that hissed and burned on contact with the ground and caused the brambles to whither and die along with the once vivacious green grass. As the poison began to take affect all life on Zosen IV reached out before choking on burning trachia or suffering hidious chemical abrassions. Even the fish in the rivers that flowed past Claire's grave floated to the surface, their gills and eyes bleeding from the acidity in the water.

Within fifteen minutes all life had died and only Claire's grave remained now on the barren wasteland that had once been a lush green meadow even her silver cross had fallen, it's chain eaten through and its light died in the darkness of the passing storm that had killed the planet.

Keister watched Zosen IV die, something he had dreamed about for five years. This planet had been a dark stain on an otherwise immaculate career, he had been called to the prescence of the Gefuht for the first time and instead of a glorious promotion he was given a three hour dressing down followed by a demotion to Commodore. It had taken five years to claw his way bcak up to admiral, calling in old favours he had hoped to save for something really important.

Now though- Now he had his revenge on this pointless world - this planet that had blighted him. The black clouds swirled around the epicenter of the explosion slowly spreading out across the planet like a voracious tumour. He knew that under the black shrowd the Szac gas was killing all biological life and leaving a scarred burnt husk behind.

Within twenty minutes the swirling black clouds had taken over the whole atmosphere turning the planet almost invisible against the darkness of space.

Four small vessels roared past his flagship and dived for the surface, their glowing orange exhausts illuminating a yellow plasma trail in their wake.

"Remora." He spat. "Why am I not surprised?"

The Remora were the most hated species in the galaxy, no one knew where they had come from or where they went just that their tiny vessels always seemed to be around large battle fleets and often swooped in to pillage from the dead and dying. The admiralty had issued an order not to fire upon them though, an order he felt was an afront to the honour of the Navy but orders were orders.

He allowed himself a quick smile. They would be surprised when they landed on Zosen IV and found their lungs melting and their eyes bleeding. That would soon teach them.

He turned from the observation point and pointed to the helmsman.

"Ensign! Plot a course for Staaken."

"Yes Admrial."

Keister turned again to watch the orange light fade into the swirling black abyss that now covered Zosen IV, like candles in the night.

Jonathon sat opposite Charlotte in the shuttle's passenger bay on what felt like the longest shuttle flight in his life. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he replayed their first encounter in his mind's eye. How could he have been so stupid?

She was sat leaning away from him facing the loading ramp and staring intently at some paperwork, her eyes like icy pools devoid of light and warmth.

He cleared his throat nervously as he shifted again.

She didn't move.

"So sir..." he tried to break the tension. "How long have you served under Captain Wright?"

There was a long pause and Jonathon thought she would ignore him thenn her voice cut through the silence, her gaze didn't shift from the page.

"Two years." Her voice was was clipped and sharp.

He felt foolishly encouraged. "How did you find it?"

She sniffed distractedly and continued to read. "It was alright." She eventually muttered in the the same curt tone.

He looked at his boots and the foolish bravado that had powered him as a youth tried one last stab. "How does it feel to have your own command?"

She slammed the pad into her lap as a cold stab of rage filled her, those cold eyes came to settle on his and he felt himself whither away from it and stare back down at his feet like a naughty school boy.

"Is this inane interrogation going to go on much longer?"

He mumbled a brief "No sir..."

"Then Kindly do shut up." She scooped up the pad and with a frustrated sigh resumed her reading, obviously still fuming to herself.

Silence descended and Jonathon stared uncomfortably at the floor unconsciously flicking Doolan's Galactic Cross, his mind wandered to Claire. Her memory was fading but still close to his heart, he could remember actions, pranks they had pulled or her saving his life but the sound of her voice had faded save for that scream, her final scream as he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Guilt dug at him as he remembered rushing to her in the field hospital after he had come to, the night vigils by her cot - he never let go of her hand even as she flat lined he squeezed it tight.

A tear welled up in his eye as his heart sank. He missed her.

A scalpel sharp voice cut into his thoughts. "I said... Have there been any orders as to where our next mission is?"

Jonathon looked up to see that icy glare studying him as one would sturdy a biological specimen.

"Not yet sir. Just to rendez-vous with Mordred." He said slowly and quietly still thinking about Claire, her hair blowing in the wind, her smile and those sparkling blue eyes that enchanted him.

"When was your last medical?" Charlotte's voice seemed to be echoing from another room.

"Two months." He said mechanically, still staring at the floor and tugging on the medal at his neck. TWO MONTHS. He thought. IT'LL BE THE ANNIVERSARY OF ZOSEN IV AND CLAIRE'S DEATH.

"Right...Well I want you to undergo another hearing test." She muttered "I can't..."

He cut her off in midd acidic flow. "I need a week's leave in two months time...I have some personal business to attend to." His voice was still hushed and distant.

Charlotte appeared to think for a while and nodded gently. "Fine."

Jonathon nodded and looked down at the cross at his throat. He wished she was still here with him.

Charlotte turned back to her paperwork and resumed her reading.

Fantasy teaser.

Just something I had been mulling over...

The scorched earth and timbers still smoldered in the cold morning mists. All that had remained of the Mott and Bailey castle were the beams of the great hall standing skeletally on the central hillock and a few posts of the palisade walls.

He had spent the whole previous day searching for survivors and signs of flight but had found none. There were many charred bodies throughout the ruins but he could not tell which ones had been his wife or daughter, the fire had burned too hot.

He knelt in silence before the mass grave that he alone had dug and filled through the night, treating each body as sacredly as the first. They had been his friends, his loyal servants and his family, now all taken from him by an unknown hand.He leaned on the hilt of "Justice" and felt the blade biting into the ground beneath.

The breeze caught his deep blue cape and gently lifted beneath it but failed to raise it far and filled his eyes with burning smoke that made them stream.

His thoughts turned back to the Vixtant, sat on her throne four days ride from her. He wondered if Ariana knew of what had happened or if she was behind it in some way. He shied away from those thoughts. This was not done by her hand or order, he could not believe it. He would not believe it.
No this was done by someone else, someone far more devious and underhand. It could only be by the hand of Beausted her left hand. For years he had been jealous of his standing with the Vixtant and they had often clashed over policy and often Council meetings had become quite heated especially of late.
He had hated leaving Lady Tabatha out here in his family seat whilst he was away at court serving Ariana. He thought of his feelings for Ariana, the way his heart pounded for her and his mind was fogged by even the merest thought of her. He had managed to keep it buried deep in his breast for years and denied it even to himself. Some how he knew his wife must have sensed it still, if not the love he had for another then definitely the hatred he had for himself and the guilt that gnawed at his soul. Tabatha was a good woman, and he loved her and honoured her as he did his daughter and it was now, as he stared at their final resting place that he felt the pain that he feared he never would. They had been his world and he thought of all the things he would never experience with them from his daughter's wedding, to grandchildren, growing old with Tabatha and even small things like his wife's smile. Anger rose inside of him, at himself for leaving them and loving his Vixtant, at Ariana for having allowing dishonourable men like Beausted to serve her and above all at Beausted.

He pulled himself to his feet and slid "Justice" back into it's scabbard and filled with a burning hatred and wrath spoke.
"I swear my Love that I will avenge you, I will bring down all that is wrong with this kingdom and then I shall return to you here forever."
He looked up at the gathering storm clouds that rolled over the Downs towards the forest clearing and thought of the storm that he would bring to Beausted's house.

Sir Mitchard Renily of Mereden would remind them all what a knight of the realm truly stood for.

Taster of Everlasting (book 2)

The sun slowly rose above the horizon, its' bright light playing up shadows and silhouettes across the desert and touching all in its' path with its' path with a pinkish taint.
Jonathon sat atop a dune overlooking the HAB staring out across the shifting sands, his jacket loosely held about his shoulders, the new born light was dancing on the silver rank insignia.
His mind meandered and he wondered about the last time he had seen a sunrise, he scolded himself for being in Space for too long. He ran his fingers absently across the Galactic cross at his throat, the cold metal sending a shiver down his spine and he pulled his jacket close around himself and tightening his grip on his copy of Werther with his left hand.
Claire would have thought this was truly beautiful. Her lose still hung heavy in his heart as if it were yesterday, though the searing white hot pain had lessened to a dull pounding ache that hung on him. The Galactic cross was all he had left of her now, in fact apart from her parent's house and the grave at Zosen there was little in the galaxy to show she had existed at all.
He could still see her now in his mind's eye with her mischievous smile, the light dancing in her eyes, so full of life. He clenched his fist around the medal feeling the metal dig into his palm.
Charlotte was stood behind him. He had sensed her approach, even on the sand he had heard her, now he could see her out of the corner of his eye, the sun highlighting her features and the warm morning breeze tousling her mousy blond hair. He didn't want to acknowledge her yet, she had a way of disrupting his pool of calm like a storm front that brings deadly undercurrents and whips up the surface water into a swirling maelstrom- But why?

"I was worried." her voice broke through the silence, soft but firm and he wondered if she genuinely had been worried or if it was just observing polite convention. "Have you checked the trap?"
"Not yet." his voice sounded alien to him, dry and croaking. "I was just watching the sun rise and thinking."
"About Claire."
He felt her name sluice through him to the bone. He had spoken to people about Claire's death before but something about Charlotte asking him seemed like a fresh wound. He wondered how she did that.
"You were close." It really wasn't a question but he nodded in response anyway. He really didn't want to have this conversation with her. Claire was his memory, his pain and he kept it close in his heart.
"She was an amazing person. It is indeed rare for me to connect with someone so easily but... she was open and friendly despite my barriers. I wish I had had the chance to know her better." She said wistfully.
Jonathon  just stared forward, his mind wandering back to that cursed air raid, the explosion, the death.
"JONATHON!!!" he heard that scream every day in his mind first thing - yanking him from his restful slumber.
"I don't want to talk about it." he muttered as he closed his eyes.

Defiance Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jonathon jumped down from his Nautilus with a loud metallic crunch that made his head hurt. He wasn’t sure how he had survived the last battle or what had happened but he was still alive and so was Grant. He adopted his usual grin and walked towards Claire’s fighter. He watched as she took off her helmet and shook out her blonde hair, the light dancing across it as she moved. A warm feeling washed over him, he was glad she was here with him; he didn’t know where he would be without her. He watched her dismount and slide off the wing delicately landing on the deck.

“Doolz.” he waved at her.

She caught his eye and he could see the rage in her them as she stormed over.

“What the frick do you think you are playing at? You almost got us both killed!”
He took a step back under the onslaught. “But we’re both still alive.”
“No thanks to you!”

He could see the anger and disappointment in her eyes raging and swirling like a storm. “Claire I’m-”
She shook her head “I don’t want to hear it!”
“But...”
“You’re a good pilot but… But you’re going to get us both killed.” her tone changed briefly. “What you did was reckless and irresponsible, we’re not students anymore, we could die out here.”
“I’m sorry” he said meekly. “It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not if Pentlow hadn’t intervened I’d...”

She was interrupted by a familiar smug tone. “Be scattered over a wide area.”

“Pentlow.” Jonathon muttered as the other approached, the reassured swagger and arrogant grin all grated on him. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but Pentlow?

Claire turned and forced a smile. “Thanks again Matt.”
“Sure thing.” he nodded at her. “Where was your wingman? Seems odd she had no cover eh Eldon?”

“I was on my way.” Jonathon said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah keep telling yourself that champ.” Pentlow clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But let’s face it if it wasn’t for me your little girlfriend would be toast.”

Jonathon turned to face him. “Hey! She is not my girlfriend!”

Claire looked down and muttered. “Leave it Jonathon.”
“Yeah.” Matt smiled. “Listen to your girlfriend Eldon. Claire I’ll see you at seven?”

Claire shot Matt a look “Maybe.”

“I look forward to it.” He turned to face Jonathon. “Maybe I’ll take her from you too.”

Jonathon turned to square up to him, Pentlow’s smug attitude had pushed him too far, and it was time for someone to take him down a peg.

A light hand gently touched his shoulder. “Jonathon...” Her voice filled his ears. “Leave it.”

He took a step back and turned to look into those soft blue eyes. She was right of course; brawling on duty was a serious charge.

“We’ll see.” Jonathon looked up into his rival’s eyes before following Claire’s lead in walking from the hanger. She walked with her head down, shoulders slumped forward, something was on her mind.

“Probably the whole dogfight thing.” He thought

Suddenly she turned on him. “Why can’t you just leave it?”

“He infuriates me, I wasn’t going to let him talk to us like that.”
“Damn it Jonathon this isn’t the school yard and we are not twelve.”
“But...”
“Just...” She looked exasperated at him before taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Look don’t worry. Go get some sleep yeah?” Her smile returned and she gently touched his shoulder.

“Ok.” He smiled back at her. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Have to report to the GCap for the restructuring of the group.

“Enjoy that.” He laughed. He had no idea how she could put up with those sorts of meetings.

“I’ll try.”

Stacey kicked the door to the tenement open and was greeted with a shrill female scream as she dived to the side for cover. Eddie looked over at her from the opposite wall, a smoke grenade in his right hand; he was mentally counting down, concentration etched onto his face.

“Everybody on the floor!” Stacey called into the house as Eddie rolled the small grenade in. Moments later the reassuring fizzing of smoke through the filters echoed out.

“Give it a second or two.” Stacey muttered to herself. “Eddie, go to night vision.”
They both pulled down their visors and suddenly everything went a grainy green and black. She turned to the other two troopers. “Jackson, Cooke. You’re up to. Cooke take the habitation rooms, Jackson the kitchens, Eddie and I will take upstairs.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. With one fluid flourish she was through the door into the tenements reception room, furniture was overturned and broken, blood was sprayed up the far wall and she could see feet sticking out from under the table.
She swung around levelling her shotgun at the stair case and then over to face the back passages. “No sign of anything.” She sighed with relief.

She heard the cautious approach of boots and in her periphery she saw the others approaching.
“Right you guys know what to do?”

“Yes Corp.” Came the measured response.
“Get to it. Eddie it’s your turn to go first.”

Eddie quickly wiped the expression of panic from his face. “Sure Stace.”

They moved towards the staircase to the right, Stacey crouched by the table and checked the feet protruding from under the table. She felt her stomach clench as she saw the remains of the former occupant, her throat had been cut but only after she had been disembowelled.

“Is she?” Cooke asked.

“Yeah.” Stacey nodded. “She’s dead. Let’s find this guy.”

Jackson moved into the kitchen, his shotgun swinging nervously from side to side in the cramped conditions. The small rectangular room could not hold more than three people at any one time. The work surface was littered with the detritus of daily life, open food boxes, dirty plates and general clutter. It reminded him of his home on the other side of the city, his wife singing as she chopped fresh herbs from his garden, the children laughing and playing underfoot. He sighed with regret. Why did the N’kell have to come and spoil his perfect life? He reached the end of the work surface and came to the semi glazed back door next to a large cupboard. He glanced out into the small garden. He could see what looked like foot prints across the small patch of grass and dark hand prints on the fence.

“Jackson to Nash.” He pressed in his comm. gently and whispered. “Looks like he’s flown the nest, no sign in the kitchen.”
“Secure the back entry and wait by the front door for extraction.”

“Yes sir.” He deactivated his comm. And took a final look around.

The Cupboard door burst open and a large dark shape charged him, pure brute force and momentum knocked the trooper off balance and against the far wall, his shotgun clattering uselessly to the floor. Jackson felt a pair of large hands tighten around his throat, he tried to struggle but the iron grip crushed his larynx, he spluttered and gasped as he stared into the hate filled eyes of his attacker. A metallic silver object glinted in the moonlight catching Jackson’s eye, it looked like a bayonet blade.
With a loud wet thud the blade passed into him and into the wooden panel behind. Jackson felt searing pain as the blade punctured his body, he could feel his life’s blood draining away but he could do nothing more than groan with his last breath.

Cooke stood looking out of the front door at the night’s street. This was the fourth home on this street they had checked so far tonight. The intruder had done his work here and gone, they were wasting time. He inhaled another lung full of smoke from his cigarette and looked up at the stars. It was a beautiful night; he would rather be outside or up on the hills on one of his late night strolls than here. This was a waste of time.
Movement caught his eye, when he turned around though the lounge was empty.
“Jackson?” he asked.

There was no reply and still no one there. He brought his shotgun up and moved slowly towards the kitchen door.

“Jackson?”

Still nothing. Something wasn’t right, he moved quicker.

As he passed behind an arm chair a dark figure darted out and Cooke felt a cold metal blade slide across his throat and a spray of blood shot across the room. He tried to call out but could only gasp as consciousness flowed out of him.

Stacey kicked open the second bedroom door and ducked to the side. Eddie dived through and took cover behind a chest of drawers. There had been nothing in the master bedroom, only signs of a struggle.

“It was strange,” Stacey noted, “this tenement could and was furnished for a family of four but so far only one body. Where were the others?”
She moved to the door and dropped to her knee and covered Eddie.

“Clear.” Eddie’s voice rang out loud and clear from the darkened room. Stacey sighed, they had wasted time and their target had got away. He was probably out butchering another innocent family.

She could see Eddie’s grainy green visage get up and move into the room. What was he looking at?

“Ed!” She rasped. “Come on.”
He came out visibly shaken, his hands shaking as he tried to grip his shotgun.
“Well I’ve located the children... What’s left.” His voice was tear choked.

Stacey jumped to her feet and pushed him aside. He tried to catch her as she pushed past protesting “Stace No.”

The room was quiet and tidy. A wooden dolls house lay under the window next to an open chest of toys. The twin beds to her left were nearly undisturbed, save for the two figures tucked up as if they were asleep. She swallowed hard and walked closer to them, a growing dread filled her, she knew they were dead and didn’t want to see the horror on their faces, nor the blood that would be soaking the bed linen.

“Stace!” Ed called after her. “I can’t reach Jackson or Cooke on the comm.”
With a sigh of relief she turned back. She hadn’t seen the children. She looked at her friend as he stood in the door way, his finger holding his ear piece in.

“That’s odd...” She was cut short. An arm reached into the room and grabbed Eddie by the throat and ripped him out onto the landing, she heard a muffled shout and the sound of breaking wood then silence.

“Ed?” She called out “Ed!”
No reply.

She brought her shotgun up and took a slow step towards the door, sweat broke out across her forehead and her throat dried out. How could they have been so wrong? They had done everything so carefully, followed all their training.

Like an explosion the shadow burst through the door, a dark wraith full of speed. She managed to fire her shotgun twice through reflex but neither blast seemed to slow him. It hit her like a train and she fell to the floor as the arm hit her across the chest knocking the wind from her. Her brain swam with shock as countless possibilities whirled through her mind. The sight of the silver blade quickly snapped her back to the reality of the situation. She reached out with her right hand and caught the blade arm, she felt the strength in him as he pressed down, it was all she could do to slow the blade and fight the urge to bring her left arm to hold him. She grabbed frantically at her flak jacket for her knife; her hand grabbed at the Velcro pockets and came down on something hard, it was the butt of a pistol. Relief flooded through her as she gripped it and pulled it free of the Velcro with a satisfying tearing sound. The blade was descending closer and closer to her chest, she had to act quickly, and she twisted the barrel around to point into the assailant’s chest.

“Game over.”

Before she could pull the trigger the N’kell shifted and knocked the gun clattering across the floor. She thought quickly and caught him off balance with a sharp knee to the chest forcing him to rollaway to her right. She lunged forward for the gun that lay a mere three feet away. She felt powerful hands grab her shoulders and lift her from the floor. She looked into the eyes of the creature that had killed her friends and these innocents and saw only hatred burning, even through the grainy green night vision. For the first time she felt fear. The right fist took her by surprise as it struck her across the face; the force of it knocked her to the ground. She lay clutching her left cheek, tears welling up in her eyes. The drive in this man was unstoppable; she feared he would not rest until they were all dead.
“Now... I have finished toying with you.” The creature could speak English but in a very broken accent.

He raised his blade and took slow deliberate steps towards her.
“This is it.” Stacey thought. “What’s that?”

Something lay under her back digging into her spine, she fumbled quickly under her and to her relief she pulled out the gun, she saw surprise wash over the face of her foe and his pace quicken but it was too late. She pulled the trigger.
The flare discharged into the man’s chest in a ball of white hot light. She cursed as the light burnt her retinas through the night vision, she closed her eyes and batted at the visor but all she could see was a white glare. She heard him screamed a scream that chilled Stacey’s blood as he began to flail around the room as she crawled away, feeling out towards the door way. She opened her eyes and could make out the outlines of the door frame but her eyes still hurt.
The landing was covered with broken wood splinters from the ruptured banisters, something had been hurled through with quite some force, and then she saw him. Eddie lay sprawled on the stairs below on a bed of banister and splinters staring up at the ceiling.

“Ed!” she called through her own pain.

“Stace?” the voice was weak. “Are you ok?”

She smiled and pulled herself to her feet. How had he survived that fall? She had always thought he was lucky. She stumbled towards him, slipping on the wood and stairs as she gingerly felt her way forward trying desperately not to pitch herself down the stairs.
“You alright?”

He looked at her with that infectious youthful smile of his. “Not bad. I’ve had better.... think my leg is broken though.”

She reached his side and sat down next to his head cradling her head and her burning eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered.

“What for? We did nothing wrong. He was just stronger than us.”

She shook her head in denial. “Tell that to Cooke and Jackson.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Stace... even Sergeant Wild would have suffered similar losses....”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand and tapped her comm. Unit. “Echo seven to command, need first aid team to search 4 Over.”

There was a garbled response that she hoped was an affirmative. She caught the smell of burning cloth and what she assumed was flesh. The flare must have set fire to the rest of the room. She glanced up at the room to see if the fire was spreading.

Her eyes widened in terror.

The shape, a burning man, his uniform and flesh blackening and flaking off as the flare emanated from his chest, moved forward clutching Stacey’s shotgun.

“Holly Frick!!!” She screamed.

Eddie looked up at the burning spectre, his eyes widening with fear. “How is he not dead?”

Stacey moved quickly. Sliding down the stairs she swung Eddie over her shoulder and moved for the door. He was surprisingly light. - Or was it the adrenaline? Stacey wasn’t sure.
He screamed out in pain as his broken leg flapped ineffectively against her back.

“Hold on mate. I’ll get you out of here.”
She heard the shotgun fire and something tore into the flesh of her back, Eddie whimpered in her ear.

The door, their salvation grew ever closer. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the N’kell walking slowly, even more laboured down the stairs, he had discarded the shotgun in favour of his knife, and she could see her gun, smoking with singed flesh on the stock, lying on the landing. What was driving this man?
Suddenly she was outside in the cold night air but she was still moving.
“Corp!” Her rank caught her attention. Two troopers clattered towards her.

“Sir are you ok? Jeeze Ed your arse is full of buck-shot.” Exclaimed the first one. “You got caught running away at last?”

“Shut up Watson.” Eddie muttered disdainfully.

“Holly frick.” The second trooper tapped Watson on the shoulder and he span around.
The N’kell had reached the door, his movements even more laboured, his breathing slowing as he gripped the door frame for support.
“Shoot him!”

The night air filled with cordite rich smoke and gun shots.

Caroline sat in the officer’s men watching people float past and observing them in their own worlds. There were a mixed crowd in tonight. A group of engineers sat in the corner discussing their theories about crystalline drives and efficiency- Very dull. One officer sat reading some ancient philosophy, his ale hardly touched. He was the inverse of a pilot at the bar who was toasting a full shot glass at the bar with his ninth whisky- obviously lost a friend today.

Her eyes fell on another couple at the bar. She recognised the woman; it was Doolan, the woman from the other day that Bevan had been chewing out. She sat opposite another pilot, a tall dark haired man who was talking incessantly to the bored looking Doolan. It was funny, she had heard a rumour that she was seeing a red haired pilot; apparently she had swapped assignments to serve with him, which is what she had been disciplined for. Caroline didn’t usually put stock in rumours, usually hate or jealous spiked lies spread with venom or boredom but every now and then there was a grain of truth but she quite liked this story though. It appealed to the romantic in her soul that existed under her armour. She wondered who the other man was, they looked like they could be on a date but by the way she kept glancing at her watch and staring into her drink not a very successful one. Caroline wondered about the to her man, maybe the rumour was false, it was all idle speculation, she didn’t care about Doolan or anyone in this room really after all they didn’t care about her.

“Your drink Miss Bell.”

She glanced up at the man in front of her. Andrew held out a cocktail glass for her, it held a sparkling orange drink with an umbrella stuck into a lemon slice; he held a pint of ale in the other hand.

“What is it?” She asked as she took it into her hand.

“It’s a... well I’ve not named it yet.” He looked away embarrassed. “It’s a peach schnapps mixed with orange, mango and lime, shaken and poured over ice with a slice.”
“Interesting.” She smiled as she took the glass from him; her nose caught the gentle citrus flavours and the aroma of peach schnapps. She took a gentle sip, dubious of the concoction. Her taste buds tingled as the chilled liquid ran across her tongue. Logic told her that this drink shouldn’t work but it did.

“So... Rough day?” He took his seat opposite her.

She rolled her eyes as she remembered that idiot Harkins moving her.

“Something like that.” She muttered bitterly as she stared down at her drink. She brought her gaze up to look on him and a smile broke out across her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s not talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She beamed. “The days of our youth are the days of our glory. If one day is horrendous it’s probably best to skirt over it and think of tomorrow.” She didn’t believe that tomorrow would be much better, in fact the more she thought of her future the more she saw gloom.

He smiled at her, those ivory white teeth flashed under the white light. “If you say so.”

Claire looked at her watch for the seventh time; she thought for a moment that she had seen the hand moving backwards. She sighed and took another mouthful of her drink.
“So what’s up?” Matt, who had finally stopped talking about various simulations and flights piped up again.

“I’m just tired.” She muttered.

“Ah-huh” he nodded. “But really? Come on Claire I know you well enough to know.”
“You don’t know me at all.” She countered angrily as the frustration and boredom gnawed at her.

“No I guess not.” He looked down at his beverage. “I want to though... I know we’ve had our differences in the past but... well we’re on the same team now.”
“Matt! Is that an apology?” She looked up at him wondering if he was as bad as she had thought.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” That tone edged back, oozing out of his words like a noxious pollutant. “Let’s just say we’ll wipe the slate clean? You forget the pork chops in the exhaust incident and I’ll forget the rigged ejection seat.”

She beamed remembering the look on his face. On finals day, sat in his salamander, prepped for launch in front of all the top brass, Pentlow had flipped the ignition and was fired out by the ejection system. Jonathon had bribed the band to play “The world turned upside down.” as Pentlow drifted back towards the earth on a parachute. It was a prank that would live on in infamy.

“It was a good prank.” She smiled nostalgically.

“Yes well.” He looked away crossly, obviously still stung by the memory.

“What about Jonathon?” She asked “Will the slate get washed off there?”

“That depends on him.” Matt said bitterly.
“I’ll talk to him.” She smiled. “It may take some time but I can convince him.”

Matt took another mouthful of ale and levelled another accusing glance at her.
“What is the deal between you two? Are you together or are you friends with benefits?”

Claire’s hackles raised on the back of her neck. This wasn’t the first time she had been asked about her relationship with Jonathon but it was the first time that it had been phrased so bluntly and raised her anger. Normally she was able to shrug it off with one of her sweet disarming smiles that made everyone think it was a rumour but the bluntness of Matt’s accusation made her feel as if she was under a direct attack as if a relationship with Jonathon was tantamount to treason.

“We are just good friends.” She said through gritted teeth.

“You love him don’t you?” She felt as if his very gaze was forcing information out of her and she wilted away from him but her anger still burnt within her.

“We are just good friends.” She repeated.

“That may be but you still love him.”

She brought her head up sharply, pooling her reserves of strength and unleashing her anger. “We are just good friends and in the spirit of the amnesty I’m telling you to drop it.”

Matt nodded, he would concede this point.  “Alright, but one last question on the subject.”

“If it will shut you up.” She snapped.

“Why did you transfer here?”
“I wanted to fly with the best.” Came the well rehearsed answer. Matt didn’t believe her but he knew the truth, he’d seen the way she had looked at Jonathon even if he hadn’t.

Andrew laughed and put his pint glass down onto the table.
“The just fell over and we couldn’t stop laughing!” Caroline finished, her face was etched with tears as she reminisced.

“How did you get away with it?”

“I think he was too embarrassed.” She beamed staring into her drink, her mind sifting back the years to a better and happier time far from here.

She had really enjoyed herself, for the first time since she had arrived on the ship. Her heart pounded on the inside of her chest as she looked into those hazel eyes.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight. Thanks for taking my mind off things.”
He looked up at her. Those hazel eyes meeting hers across the table and a smile broke out on his lips. “You are more than welcome Miss Bell, what are friends for?”

She felt like a school girl as she stifled a giggle and tried to mask her excitement. How could he see straight through her, past her defences? Why did she let him through?

“I’m –Erm going to freshen up.” She rose from her chair a little too quickly and a look of concern briefly crossed his visage. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to escape.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She said as reassuringly as possible.

She floated across the mess and into the women’s restroom and stood by the mirrors looking at her reflection.
A young woman with flushed cheeks and a youthful grin looked back at her. Who was this stranger? Caroline couldn’t remember her, she had seen likenesses, not quite as happy but similar recently. Although she did vaguely remember her from photographs she had in her quarters and at her parent’s house but now she was all but a stranger.

“How’s your date?” A cubicle behind her opened and the pilot Doolan stepped towards the sinks.

“It is not a date!” Caroline snapped. How dare this woman presume to interfere with her life?

“Whatever.” Doolan shrugged before turning the tap on. “Is it a good evening?”

Was it? Caroline began t beam again as she straightened her hair and checked her eye makeup.
“Good thank you. How is your date?”

Doolan scoffed “He wishes!”
“Whatever.” Caroline shot back. “Thought you were seeing someone else.”
Doolan’s head shot up. “Where did you hear that?”

Caroline shrugged indifferently. “Grape vine says you ignored orders and came here to be with some guy you are in love with.”

Doolan’s eyes flicked nervously from her reflection to Caroline’s. “That’s not... What I mean is...”
Caroline turned to face her and waved a hand dismissively. “Look, I don’t particularly care, I’m just guessing that the guy you want is not the guy you are with. If you do love someone else you should be with him surely?”

She wheeled on her heels and strode from the restroom.
“Lieutenant Bell!” Doolan’s voice made her pause at the door. How had she remembered her name?

“When you are having a night like the one you are having... The trick is to keep breathing.”
Caroline turned to face her, saw a deep sadness in her eyes before she returned to washing her hands. Caroline sensed moment they had shared, Doolan had briefly opened her soul to a complete stranger, something Caroline hadn’t seen in a long time.
“See you around Doolan.” She nodded

It was early morning. The sun shone brightly over the city, its warmth still just a fraction of what I would become, gently touched his skin in the coolness left over from the night. The light reflected on windows and the metallic fixtures on roofs creating hundreds of false suns that tried to blind him as he surveyed the city.
“Such unimaginable calm and tranquillity.” He thought “Citizens a slumber, unaware of the carnage I must bring. The chaos that precedes a new order. I hope one day I can be forgiven this trespass.”
“What are your orders sir?”

The Obst had asked that question every hour on the hour since the first red light had touched the horizon. His eagerness and fervour, although commendable, were beginning to grate on Teuber. Had he been this eager and impatient in his youth? He couldn’t remember – It seemed so long ago?

“Distance?”

“Half a kilometre east. Numbers eighty-five. Four heavy repeaters with one thousand rounds each, seven snipers, two medics, three grenade launchers and an engineering team.” The obst reeled off their tactical strength without prompting. He was eager. Teuber smiled to himself. They would be out numbered and out gunned for an undetermined amount of time. This was the kind of combat an infantry officer dreaded. How many of his men would be lost? How would he survive?  As a guards officer though he yearned to prove himself as more than able to guard the Gefuht’s bathroom and he knew his men were willing to do the same, willing to die for pride and honour, for the regiment, for the Gefuht and for the Empire.

He pulled his officer’s cap from his head and placed it in his kit bag at his feet.
“We move in five minutes. Tell the men to make one last weapons check. No wasting ammunition. We take no civilian prisoners or wounded, we have not the means to care for them.”
“Yes sir.”

“That doesn’t mean we kill them. They maybe unworthy but that is for God to deal with. It is not our plan to carry out his judgement.”
The young subaltern nodded slowly. “Understood sir.”

Teuber turned his attention to his steel helmet in his hands, pulling it over his head and fastening the strap. He knew it would offer little protection but it was better than his cap. He felt the weight and the tightness of the webbing. He knew soon he would not even notice it.

He ran through the standard routine checks of ammunition and gear. His water bottle was nearly full; he had enough ammunition for ten hundred shots.  It would be enough for taking the star port but how long until they were relieved?

What mattered now was the star port; he would worry about later, later. The high command had promised relief within forty four hours but he had heard those promises before only to be told that the righteous could always hold out longer.

“We’ll see.” He thought as he holstered his pistol.

He could hear the muttered voices of his men in their basement hiding place. There was a wave of patriotic oaths and muttered prayers for protection and victory. Teuber wondered how many of his enemy would be doing the same? Whose god would will out? He knew most of his men would claim to know victory was theirs.
“The righteous always triumph over the heathen.” Or “God wills it!”
Teuber had often wondered how these men knew the will of the almighty so intently.

He glanced at his Chronometer. Two minutes to go. He took one last look at the cityscape and turned to walk down the steps to the cellar.

The Sentries on the west perimeter fell quietly and quickly. Teuber’s men moved stealthily and quickly to secure the west command bunker, taking care to disable the security cameras without appearing. Moments later the combat engineers disabled the power generator to the main complex plunging the whole port into chaos.

Commander Baker was fretting. He was a natural worrier but this time there was a just reason. He had transports on final descent and no computer navigation programs to bring them in, his west perimeter bunker was not answering calls and neither the mechanics sent to repair the generator.
“Do you think it’s a N’kell attack?” He asked wringing his hands as he paced.

Lieutenant Kramer, his adjutant was used to this continued self doubt and worry; it was one reason why his predecessor had been promoted over Baker. “I wouldn’t have thought so sir. Most of the landings took place on the other side of the city and command reckons they are contained in small pockets of resistance. They aren’t a threat.”
Baker nodded but continued pacing. “Still- Should I put in a call to GHQ?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the commander!” Kramer wondered.

“I mean just to be sure.” Baker continued after a moment’s pause.

Kramer shook his head. “Give it another five minutes sir, what is the worse that could happen?”

“You’re right... Of course.” He smiled as he tried to convince himself. “Probably nothing...”

The door to the command centre annexe burst open and two well placed silenced blasts caught the defenders unawares. The two guards slumped forward in their seats.

The four N’kell troopers stepped into the room and fanned out, expertly covering the doors. Their orders were simple. Whilst the power to the cameras and other security systems were disabled by the combat engineers they would move to the central command point and neutralise the command staff and take control of the internal communications.
The Obst checked their positions on his data up link. He turned to the other three men and pointed at the left door and they all formed around it silently, they all knew what to do –it was what they were trained for. The Obst gave it a solid kick and the wooden portal exploded inwards to reveal the main command point.

NCO’s were working behind consuls so intently that at first they did not notice the door explodes inwards, a few glanced up and panic suddenly took over. One of the human commanders squealed and hid under his desk; the second shouted a couple of orders and drew his laser pistol.

The four death commando’s began to fire their silenced pistols with well placed single shots putting the desk bound NCO’s down quickly before they could mount any serious resistance. Within moments the dead littered the command desks. The last to fall was Kramer, his valiant defence and accurate shooting had claimed the life of one of the commandos but yet no one had witnessed it and he went to his death unrewarded for his efforts.

The Obst turned with a satisfied smile to the two remaining soldiers.

“All too easy.”

Teuber received the commando's message of success with a sigh of relief. He was taking an awful risk but he did what he had to. His men had taken the western bunker, the power generators and the central complex all within twenty minutes.

He had dispatched teams to subdue the hangers and any if the transports that had landed on the turf fields. He was watching one of the teams now through his field glasses from the relative safety of the western bunker's observation tower.

The five man group waited for the engines of the space borne leviathan to begin their irreversible cooling cycle before moving up to the lowering cargo ramp.

"Sir." his adjutant tapped him on his shoulder disturbing him from the unfolding drama.

"What is it Cera?" he snapped irritably. Cera was fresh from the military academy on Bauer, he was one of the Gefuht's loyal goose steppers with no military pedigree, his eyes were still closed to the reality of war.

"The Radio..."

"What about it?" Teuber snapped, interrupting the younger officer.

Cera blinked quickly and recomposed himself. "Sir. We have established communications with Admiral Keister." He held out the receiver to his irritated commander.

"Teuber?" The voice demanded across the stars. "Report!"

Cera wondered if the higher your rank the more grumpy and irritable you became; he fought unsuccessfully against the grin that was spreading across his lips.

Commander Baker crawled from under his desk and took in his surroundings. They were all dead, slumped over where they had worked. Kramer lay crumpled over a chair at the far end of the computer bank. Fear still coursed through Baker's arms veins as he began to shake uncontrollably again.

"What am I going to do now?" his eyes began to well up as fear dissolved to panic, a panic that blocked his senses. He didn't hear the jack boots that crunched across the glinting sea of broken glass that covered the floor. He didn't know the N'kell was there until the boots came to a halt in front of his face.

He looked up at the alien. The N'kell's uniform was immaculate with buttons that shone like miniature suns across his chest and laced with silver braid on his epaulettes and collar patches. "This is someone of importance." Baker thought.

Then he saw the barrel of a light repeater pointed at his face and suddenly a wave of calm washed over him as if the inevitable had arrived with this jackbooted invader. Baker stood up and straightened his jacket before brushing shards of glass from his uniform and snapping to attention.

"My name is Commander Baker 1622832335." He said calmly as he stared into the enemy's cold dispassionate eyes. "I am willing to cooperate in any way I can and here by surrender this field and myself to you without condition."

The alien smiled and levelled his gun.

Lieutenant Chris Cawdor jumped down into the entrance of the east bunker and took cover. How had the field been overrun by the N'kell so quickly?

The large metal door opened with a cold scraping noise as it grated across the wet concrete and two soldiers rushed out, their faces grim.

"Sir!" We have lost communications with complex." The first soldier spat out quickly.

"What are our orders?" The second garbled.

Cawdor looked out across the field. In the distance he could see another group of N'kell were storming a transport that had hit the turf, the repeater bolts shining in the morning light.

"Send three runners to GHQ tell them we've lost the star port."

"YEs sir." The first soldier saluted and ran back into the bunker.

"Graves... We need to sabotage these facilities so they are useless to the N'kell. We need to mine the fuel refinery to the north." Cawdor pointed across the field to a large industrial complex half a mile away from them, its great fuel tanks and miles of piping made it look imposing but Cawdor knew that a few well placed explosives would bring the whole thing crashing down.

“Then... We should try and do something about the complex. Maybe bring down the power grid permanently.” He squinted as he looked at the silver tower at the heart of the star port, uncertainty slowly taking over his thoughts, this sort of scenario was not in his training, he was a mere lieutenant not a Commander or General.  “We’ll wait for orders on that.” He said finally.

“Yes sir.”

Cawdor took turned his gaze to the field again settling on the now burning transport on its pad, helplessness filled him as he thought of the unsuspecting crew as they had walked quietly into this ambush and even their deaths, like lambs to the slaughter, blissfully unaware there was a problem and here he was stood watching their funeral pyre burn, filling the air with belching black smoke. What could he do?

“Get a sniper up here.” He snapped “Try and pick off their teams as they assault.” Cawdor took one last look across the field and turned towards the entrance of the bunker shaking his head with despair.

The N’kell had taken them by surprise, people were dying and there was nothing they could do