50: Watcher

Aithris lead his half of the team up a set of stairs and towards what he presumed to be the control centre for Atlantis. Natalia was at his back, with Captain Stanton and Lieutenant Guiterrez following several paces behind. Overall, the four of them seemed a rather small force to take such an important part of the city, but the team as a whole had not been big to begin with. The fact that they had made it this far spoke volumes as to the skills they had, either that or the sheer amount of luck they had on their side.

The stairs came upon a wide corridor. They were fired upon almost as soon as they stepped within. Aithris sighted the enemy troopers further down the hall, guarding a set of double doors. He brought up his rifle and set one in his sights, keeping his head even with the bullets pounding into the wall near him. The guard, about twenty metres downrange, hit the floor with a bloody hole shot through his skull. As the relentless hail of fire continued to land near him, Aithris dived onto the floor, allowing his forward momentum to send him sliding some distance before he hit the base of a narrow column in the centre of the corridor.

Natalia and Stanton moved together, hammering the enemy positions, bullets tearing into the makeshift barricade that had been put before the doors and the troopers guarding it. Sparks flew and slivers of metal were chipped away under the hail of bullets, before Guiterrez pulled out a fragmentation grenade and pulled the pin. With Natalia and Stanton diverting into cover, Guiterrez was able to send the grenade sailing down the corridor in a low arc that put it at the base of the barricade. That barricade was comprised of little more than metal supply boxes, and as such it provided minimal protection against the detonation of the grenade, which sounded off with a deafening thump inside the corridor. Smoke and dust erupted outwards, with one of the guards being thrown forward in a ragged heap that smeared blood as he hit the floor, rolled a few times and then came to a rest several metres from where he had started.

Aithris peered around the column he had stopped behind, sighting through the haze left by the grenade the doors opening and the surviving two guards backing off. He rose to his feet and hurried down the corridor, calling for the others to follow and push the advantage. No use letting the enemy regroup, not when the team was so outnumbered. He did not even look back to see if the team was following, and so he barrelled on ahead through the doors and stumbled into a narrow lane that ran behind a partition wall. The lane here ran at a slight curve to either side, opening into a much larger space that Aithris quickly realised was the base level of stargate operations.

There was no stargate in here, which did not come as a surprise. Having a Pegasus galaxy stargate here, so close to Earth, would have caused problems for the one in the SGC. That, in turn, would have drawn attention to this place, and attention was the last thing the people in here wanted. Not that it mattered now, as they were getting the very kind of attention that they had hoped to avoid.

The lower level of stargate operations was taken up with the odd stack of containers and little else. Above, on the walkway before the control room and the nearby officers, there were positioned a good half dozen, perhaps more, of the black-outfitted security officers whom served as the city-ship's current protection. They opened fire at Aithris as he threw himself behind a bench and a set of containers, rounds pinging and clunking loudly upon the surrounding surfaces.

Guiterrez and Stanton came following in after him, heading around the other way, putting them below the walkway such that the sharp angle did not allow the troopers up there an easy view of them. Both men did not hesitate to open fire, blasting a pair of the troopers before the others became aware of the pair's location. A trooper appeared further down the walkway, emerging from the glass-fronted office there. Guiterrez hit him with a cluster of rifle rounds that tore through his torso, shattered the glass behind him and sent him falling backwards into the furnished office.

"Sweep left, sweep left!" Stanton called, and he and Guiterrez darted underneath the walkway, headed for the stairwell.

Aithris rose up from cover, rifle blazing, his sturdy grip keeping the otherwise unwieldy SCAR-H from kicking too hard. He swept his aim across the walkway, sending another of the security troopers to the floor, shattering the row of windows behind him that formed the front of the control room. Another of the troopers was caught in the fire, half-spinning as bullets caught him in the chest before he tumbled over the railing and fell into a heap upon the lower floor.

Natalia appeared on the right flank, having circled around the operations centre. Starting up a set of steps, she swivelled and blasted a guard who came running onto the walkway, causing him to fall. She turned to Aithris, offering the Nomad a smirk, and with that signal Aithris crossed the floor and moved for her. The two of them hurried up the set of steps at this side, coming upon the walkway by the office. Guiterrez and Stanton were in the control centre, and the pair of them gunned down one guard up there before quickly sweeping the room for any further signs of trouble. None were apparent, and stargate operations suddenly fell quiet.

"Got a little carried away there, Aith?" Natalia asked the Nomad. He was about to reply, but his attention was diverted to one corner of the operations centre, seemingly drawn there by a feeling that had started to take hold within him. There was a door, past the control centre and tucked away into a corner. It was seemingly innocuous, just another way into the operations centre. At least, it appeared that way at a glance.

"What is it?" Natalia noticed the way in which the Nomad's attention had been drawn, and she followed his gaze, unsure of what to make of his reaction. Aithris started along the walkway, passing through the control centre in which Guiterrez and Stanton were poking around. They checked the computers here, all of which were set in 'standby' mode, before Stanton fiddled with the Ancient-built stargate controls which, with no stargate in the city, served no real purpose.

Aithris had studied layouts of the city on the way here; the conference room should have had the same open glass frontage as the office and control room. Instead, it had been closed up, boarded over by metal shutters. And now he headed for its entrance, unable to fathom why he felt so drawn to it. Something was inside there, he was sure of it. He could not explain how he knew this, nor could he be sure of what it was awaited him inside; just that there was something in there, something important even.

He started for the door, ignoring Natalia's concerned questions. She followed after him, weapon at the ready. Both Stanton and Guiterrez watched him go by, with Natalia giving them a light shrug as she walked past them. Aithris stopped at the door, sighting the control pad at its left. With a swipe of the hand, the door slid open, revealing a short corridor beyond that ran to the left. Natalia was curious now, keeping close behind Aithris.

"We'll secure this area," Stanton said from behind them. Aithris barely acknowledged the statement, and instead pressed onwards into the short, grey corridor. It went to another door, and again he paused at it, trying to determine just what it was he could feel here. It was a feeling that was a mix of dread and something else, almost recognition. As if in a trance, his hand found the controls, and slowly the door slid open, revealing the darkened room behind it. It was the conference room, albeit altered from the way he remembered seeing it on the layouts. Some adjustments had been made, most prominently to the lighting, which was subdued and blue-tinted, emanating from a select few fittings set upon the walls around them.

He readied his rifle then, ensuring that the magazine inside was full and the weapon was cocked and ready to fire. His violet-hued eyes glowed dimly in the gloom, and through it all he sighted a conference table set with seven seats. Only one, specifically the one in the centre, was occupied. The ageing, bald-headed human man seated upon it appeared unfazed, calmly puffing on a cigarette as his weary grey eyes regarded the surprise visitor. Aithris' eyesight was a little sharper in the dark than that of a human, and so he could see the Old Man's weathered, wrinkled features well enough. The Old Man looked to be the oldest human Aithris had ever seen, and his face had all the texture and appearance of a prune, suggesting a gauntness under the expensive suit the Old Man wore that might have been more commonly seen on those terminally ill. The cigarette smoke tinged the air with the stench of burning tobacco. Aithris' more sensitive nostrils scrunched up slightly when he caught a whiff of it, and he found himself stopping a few metres from the table all while surveying the darkened room carefully.

Natalia stopped a few paces behind him. She appeared a little confused, unsure of what to make of the elderly man seated before them, nor of the fact that he seemed quite content to sit and smoke in the dark. To suggest that the whole situation was 'creepy' was an understatement. This place and its lone occupant made her skin crawl, and the unease within her only began to mount.

"What the hell is this?" She asked aloud, weapon raised. However, she saw no reason to shoot the Old Man. He was simply sitting there, eyeing them both with a calm exterior that indicated he was not at all concerned by their presence. With one hand holding a cigarette and the other resting on the table, there was no reason to assume he had a weapon hidden in reach, at least not while both hands were visible.

"The Staff Sergeant and the Nomad," the Old Man declared, his voice raspy and gravelly, like sandpaper being rubbed hard upon timber. "You two make an interesting pair. My associates have taken an interest in you, Aithris. Sooner or later, they will send for you. The question is, how will you respond?"

"You serve them, don't you?" Aithris narrowed his eyes, a strong sensation of disgust roiling through him. Like Torrant, the Nomad Overseer who had sold out to the ancient enemy, Aithris felt nothing but revulsion at the thought of someone, human or Nomad or otherwise, willingly working for such an evil. And yet, one look at this man told him that he had been working for that darkness for a very long time. It was as if the very man's soul had been corrupted. Aithris' more finely tuned senses may very well have picked up on that corruption, as crazy as it sounded, even to him. He had been trained to root out and fight evil in all its forms, and now here he was faced with someone so firmly steeped within it that he felt as if he had found his true purpose. They were here, he realised. In some form, the ancient demons of the void were here, in this very city. Perhaps even within this very room.

"Who the hell are you?" Natalia demanded. She stepped forwards, weapon raised.

"A long story, and unfortunately we simply haven't got the time." The Old Man tapped out the burning end of his cigarette into the small glass ashtray upon the tabletop before him. "I should commend you, however. You managed to get here, for one, despite the odds being stacked against you. However, you are all too late. The orders have gone out. Soon, my associates will make themselves known, and this time there will be no united front to stop them."

"Why help them?" Aithris needed to know.

"Why?" The Old Man gave a light, casual shrug. "I seek to impose order upon a chaotic world, Aithris. I am simply the latest in a long line working towards that goal. My associates simply offered the best means to attain that goal. A single world, a single nation, one people with ordered lives who know their places and their roles. No delusions as to God or to whatever other deities are in fashion these days."

"A world run by you and your friends, backed by evil," Aithris stated, gritting his teeth. "A world without joy or freedom of thought. A world ruled through tyranny, where privacy is non-existent, and dissent is quelled harshly. You speak of a totalitarian nightmare with the Devil at the helm."

"Devil?" The Old Man did manage a subtle smirk then. "Interesting of you to use that term, Aithris. Besides, what is 'evil' but a matter of perception?"

"I swore to stop people like you," Aithris declared.

"Then stop me, Aithris. Others are around who will gladly take my place. It will take more than an act of violence to put an end to what has been set in motion."

"Hold on." Natalia looked a little confused, and she glanced at Aithris. "What are you saying? That he's the guy all the conspiracy theorists like to talk about?"

"The power behind the scenes," Aithris said, keeping his gaze fixed upon the Old Man. "One of several, I suspect."

"You can't stop us, Aithris."

"I can try." Aithris set the Old Man's head firmly within his sights, his finger hovering over the trigger.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement to the Old Man's left. Something large, hidden in the dark, flashed into view with a slight shimmer and distortion of the air. Aithris only saw it because of his sharper eyesight, whereas Natalia had no idea it was coming. As such, she could not avoid its lunge as Aithris did, and the creature struck her in the side with enough force to send her flying several feet. She slammed into a nearby wall, hitting it hard, before she hit the floor and remained there, her rifle having clattered to a rest a short distance from her. In a matter of seconds, Aithris had dived to one side and Natalia had been flung, all while the large black creature appeared in the gloom between them.

"Natalia!" Aithris shouted, upon seeing her take the blow. The creature was wide and stood upon six sturdy, insect-like legs. A broad head rimmed with glowing orange eyes leered down at him, baring no visible mouth. Four arms, each ending with a set of clawed fingers, came down upon him in slashing movements that Aithris put up his gun to defend himself from. All while the Old Man remained seated in place, watching the affair with a calm amusement whilst he lit a fresh cigarette.

Looking into the monster's eyes, Aithris suddenly became aware of a voice. It was not a voice that came from the creature, but rather it sounded in his mind, and with it came a flash of images that were both as dark and as ugly as the creature standing over him. Its armoured carapace took his return blows easily, and Aithris struggled under its might as one of its claws slashed into his thigh, drawing blood. He shouted in pain, scrambling out from under its shadow, his rifle being wrenched from his grasp and thrown aside.

He saw a flash of something, of fire and darkened monoliths on a barren desert plain. He heard a voice, a whisper in his mind, and he only caught part of what it said as he tried to crawl away from the vicious creature:

"…should have been eradicated when we had the chance!" It was a voice spoken with such hatred that it shook him to the core, for he had never felt such a level of sheer contempt from anyone or anything before.

Two of the creature's hands grabbed his legs, dragging him back towards it. Aithris spun around, pulling his knife from its sheath at his waist. He plunged it upwards, trying to find a chink in its armoured hide, but the blade simply glanced off of the chitinous shell. A clawed hand slashed across his chest, prompting another cry of pain from him, blood spilling across his torn uniform.

Suddenly, the door slid open and two rifles thundered in the dark, their muzzle flashes lighting up the space in staccato flares of illumination. The creature stumbled, bullets striking its shell, the force of the multiple impacts causing it to cease its assault upon the Nomad. It turned to face the new arrivals, specifically Stanton and Guiterrez, taking a constant stream of fire as it did so. Stanton grimaced, seemingly frustrated at the lack of results the bullets were giving him.

Aithris, seizing his chance, hurriedly crawled away from the creature, using the nearby table to lift himself back upon his feet. Pain flared up his injured thigh, but he simply clenched his jaw and took the brunt of it.

The creature let out a shriek, albeit one that reverberated within Aithris' mind and caused him to almost fall over again. Even Stanton and Guiterrez seemed to hear it, judging from the pained expressions they gave. Thick, dark blue fluid had spilled out of a hole torn through the creature's hide. Another hole was torn, and then another as the rifle rounds finally found some penetration.

Stanton paused in his shooting, before he rapidly reloaded, as did Guiterrez. The creature made a lunge for them, but suddenly Natalia was up and shooting, hitting it from the flank with a hail of rifle fire that further tore into it, drawing more of its blood and something else: an orange light seemed to escape the holes shot into its shell, a light that flared within its eyes, increasing in intensity as the group watched on. Suddenly, the creature seemingly imploded, the armoured shell folding in on itself, pieces falling away to reveal a hollow inside. More of the light spilled forth, and it became so bright as to force the humans watching to turn away or shield their eyes.

In his peripheral vision, Aithris sighted something else: a column of orange light exploded outwards and shot up and into the ceiling, before passing right on through it. The desiccated husk of the creature crumpled into dozens of pieces upon the floor, some of which fell apart into dust. The light had vanished and the room, having been illuminated by the brilliance of the ethereal light, suddenly returned to its former gloom.

The silence that followed was both anxious and confused. Aithris looked to Natalia, who appeared as bemused as Stanton and Guiterrez was. She looked to him in turn, before seeing his injuries and lowering her gun. She ran over to him, and it was here that she wrapped her arms around him and brought him into a surprisingly tender embrace. Aithris was caught off-guard by this, but he nonetheless held an arm tight around her, breathing in her scent, with its slight mix of sweat and soap, before he turned to the Old Man. And Natalia, as if suddenly becoming aware of the inappropriate show of affection at such an unusual time, released him from the embrace and swivelled about to search for the Old Man.

The Old Man was no longer in his chair. He was sprawled on the floor behind it, a bloody hole shot through his chest, having been little more than the victim of a stray bullet. Aithris moved to his side, kneeling by the Old Man, who was still breathing. They were slow, ragged breaths, each one underlaid by the tell-tale sound of fluid being caught in the lungs. Blood, more specifically. Nonetheless, the Old Man's eyes were still wide open and alive. They settled upon Aithris, who peered on down at him with an impassive face.

"You can't kill all of us," the Old Man said, his voice weaker than before, raspier even.

"Your associate, just what was he?" Aithris had not seen a creature like that before. The smile the Old Man gave suggested right away that he would not be getting a solid answer. The Old Man went to raise a hand, but Aithris pressed his arm down to the floor with one of his own. The Old Man gave his best innocent face in return.

"Please, just one more smoke," he croaked. "They're in my front pocket."

Aithris frowned. Natalia and the others were standing over him at the other side now, watching on with varying levels of distaste. Stanton's expression was a hard one, betraying little else other than the contempt he had for this man and the evil he represented.

Aithris reached into the Old Man's front suit jacket pocket and retrieved a partially squashed and slightly bloodied carton of cigarettes. There were a few inside, and so Aithris pulled out one and put it to the Old Man's mouth. He took it eagerly between his teeth, before motioning to a trousers pocket as to where to find the lighter. Aithris plucked it out and lit the end of the cigarette, allowing the dying man a long drag upon it before he pulled the burning cigarette from his mouth.

"Answer me," Aithris said, his voice low and controlled, tinged with the slightest hint of anger. "What are their plans? What was that creature?"

The Old Man smiled. Aithris saw then that he was fading, and he quickly threw aside the cigarette and other items. With his hands free, he pulled the Old Man up by the collar, glaring into his weary grey eyes, shaking him with considerable force.

"Tell me, tell me right now!" Aithris barked, his anger finally breaking through. The Old Man continued smiling, letting out a short laugh that morphed into a series of bloody coughs. Some of the bloody spittle flew out and landed upon Aithris' sleeves and chest.

"No united front…" The Old Man muttered. "The fleet, the ships, all gone."

"What are you talking about?"

"The call was made." The Old Man's eyes wandered. He was well on his way through death's door, and with that his mind was starting to crumble. "The fleet, gone."

"What fleet?"

It was Stanton who spoke up then, his brow furrowing.

"Maybe he means Earth's fleet of cruisers?" The Captain suggested. "Most of them are gathered at Anchorpoint." He glanced at the watch he wore at his left wrist. "They'd all be there for the ceremony, which should be happening right now." There was a pause. Aithris and Stanton exchanged glances, realisation hitting the Nomad like lightning.


Now was the time for the dinner to be served and the more prolonged mingling to begin. Cameron had been intending on excusing himself from the pleasantries, not at all keen on interacting with the politicians that now infested Anchorpoint station. However, as the small crowd of representatives moved their way for the catering tables and the many foods laid out upon them, one of those representatives approached Cameron with an intrigued look to his eye. He was a broad, ageing man with a thick white beard and shaved head. Like most of the other representatives, he was dressed in a business suit of some variety, his one being a gunmetal grey in colour. He held out a hand in greeting, and Cameron shook it tentatively, unsure of just who he was dealing with here. The man introduced himself as Calvin McIntyre, a minister from Ireland (and he had the accent to match). Apparently, he had been quite impressed by Cameron's speech, as he himself had been thinking something similar, or so he said.

Cameron nodded and gave curt answers, eyeing the exit every so often as the ageing politician prattled on. Banachek was nearby, having an animated conversation with a Japanese dignitary. Others were simply standing by the reinforced windows at the nearby wall, behind the catering tables. They were looking down upon the dazzling sight of Earth from up high, yet close enough for the blue and white to take up much of the window itself. Either that, or they watched the pair of cruisers docked on the station's arm that ran by the left-hand side of the window. For some, it would be their first time seeing such technological marvels. For most, it would be their first time off of Earth altogether. With the use of energy shields and inertial dampeners, the flight up from Earth and to the station would have felt barely any different to taking a passenger jet from Los Angeles to San Francisco. It also would have taken about the same short time to get up here. Indeed, they had come a long way in a short time, hence the questions Cameron had posited in his speech: had they truly earned what they had now?

Woolsey appeared then, joined by a man in a Lieutenant's uniform, specifically one of Anchorpoint's own. Cruz, Cameron's usual go-to when it came to organizing this place. Cruz looked unusually worried, as did Woolsey.

"General, the Lieutenant here has informed me that we have a potential problem." Woolsey spoke quietly, as to keep the dignitaries milling about the hall around them from hearing. "Banachek has also been informed. He's on his way to the control centre now."

Cameron looked up and sighted Banachek walking briskly out of the hall. He did appear hurried, so it had to have been urgent. He excused himself from McIntyre's company, before he followed Cruz and Woolsey out of the hall and down a corridor outside. The control centre for Anchorpoint station was a few decks above, easily reached by an elevator at the end of the hall. The elevator doors opened right onto the control room, which was currently occupied by about a dozen officers, situated about various terminals and displays with a much larger one taking up the wall ahead. Overall, the control centre was not laid out much differently to that of a bridge on one of the cruisers parked outside. Information poured in from across the station and into the appropriate terminals here, giving an intricate overview of the station's operations. There were no windows up here, for this time around the designers had heeded the general concerns of creating 'structural weaknesses' with such things. This was the command and control centre, it had to be well-protected and so, instead of windows, it was layered behind reinforced steel alloys comprised of the likes of trinium, not to mention the energy shields that protected the station as a whole.

Banachek had beaten the trio to the command centre. He stood by one seated technician, looking to their display with narrowed eyes. His face was stark with its concern, and he turned to Cameron as he walked in.

"General, we may have a problem." Banachek delivered the news almost matter-of-factly. Cameron was about to remark that he had already been told this much, but when he noticed how grave Banachek appeared, he figured it best to put aside any wry remarks.

"What kind of problem?" Cameron paused a few paces off to the workstation's left, following Banachek's gaze to the display and the readings that had appeared across it. He recognized the flow of information coming from sensor buoys at the far range of the station's sensors. Those buoys were there to provide advanced intel before any unwelcome visitors got too close to Earth. A few of them had detected something out-of-the-ordinary, and upon seeing this information Cameron felt a sinking feeling in his gut. It was a similar kind of feeling he got before something bad happened, and right now he was getting little else than 'bad vibes'.

"A hyperspace window," Banachek explained. He tapped a button on the terminal, transferring its feed to the main screen ahead of them. A blue computerised map of this particular sector of the solar system appeared, with the station and the many ships docked to it indicated by green markers. Something large and in red was at the far edge of their sensor range, and the readings suggested a hyperspace window had opened and closed within moments. Something had arrived, but nothing else was present on the sensors.

"It opened and closed about seven minutes ago," Banachek continued. "No vessels have been detected coming from its position."

"There must be something there," Cameron said, even if the sensors indicated there was nothing. "Hyperspace windows don't just happen by accident. Even I know that, and I'm no physicist."

"Is there any chance this could be an anomaly?" Woolsey interjected, taking a step towards the pair. Banachek shook his head, certain in his answer.

"No, no way. And this close to Earth? It would be one hell of a coincidence if it was little more than an 'anomaly'." Banachek scratched at his chin, becoming lost in thought. Cameron leaned a little closer to the technician at the terminal, recalling some of the more varied functions this station had to offer.

"Cycle through the sensor settings," he ordered. "Check for anything, from heightened gas emissions to fluctuations in light. Something's out there, it has to be." He could practically feel it, and his gut did not often lie. Trusting one's instincts was practically a necessity when working in the stargate program. Here and now, his instincts were making things very clear to him.

The sensors went through a rapid cycle, settings changing automatically on a predetermined program. After a few seconds, something did flash upon the scanners, albeit very briefly. It was there long enough for Cameron to see the general shape of it, not to mention the overall size. According to the scale on the scanner readout itself, this vaguely cylindrical-shaped 'thing' had to be nearly two kilometres in length and a good few hundred metres wide. It was gone off the scanners very suddenly, and Cameron leaned forwards and spoke quickly to the technician.

"Get us back to those settings," he said, and the technician nodded, tapping in the appropriate commands to cycle back the scanners. This thing, this vessel, had been detected according to the unusual way its surface seemed to be absorbing light. It created little more than a shadow across the scanner readout, but it was enough of a shadow to be able to determine a few things about it. For one, it was on a steady approach towards Anchorpoint station. Secondly, it was large, more so than the station itself or any of the ships currently docked to it. The readings on the scanners were inconsistent, given the way they were tuned in order to detect something of this craft. No identifying markers became clear, and the computers could not determine just what it was they were detecting. All they had was a general shape, and from that an idea of where it was headed. Of course, one did not have to be a genius to figure out where it was going.

"Sound the red alert," Cameron ordered. However, before anyone could actually hit the switch for it, Banachek stepped in.

"No, no, wait. Red alert is a bit rash, don't you think?" He directed his gaze to Cameron, who returned it with a frown. "We have guests on board."

"And they're going to have to leave. Simple as that." There was no time to waste. With an unidentified spacecraft of immense size on its way to them, the last thing they needed was to argue over their course of action. "I'm in command here, Director. You're as much a guest as the politicians downstairs."

"This station was built under my watch…"

"And now it's under mine. You put me in charge, so let me do my damn job." Cameron walked by him then, heading for the commanding officer's terminal towards the centre of the room. There, he was able to enact the red alert himself with some inputs into the small computer by the side of the commander's chair. Immediately, red lights began flashing all throughout the station. An automated voice declared that they were in a state of emergency, and that all non-essential personnel were to go to their assigned evacuation points. Cameron knew that he had likely started a panic downstairs with all the dignitaries, not that he cared. The sooner they were off of the station, the better.

"You think we're under attack?" Woolsey asked. He was still loitering a few paces behind them, as was Lieutenant Cruz. Cameron turned to him and gave a quick shrug.

"No idea. But better we be prepared for that eventuality." He watched as Banachek rushed back to the elevator, no doubt intent on heading down to the hall to reassure their esteemed guests. Cameron turned to the technician seated by him, watching the scanner screen and the shadow upon it.

"How long until it's in weapons range?" He asked.

"Three minutes, sir."

"Can we get a visual?"

The technician did a quick check at his terminal and nodded.

"There's a satellite in visual range. I'll get us a connection." Tapping in various commands, the feed on the main view-screen went from the scanners to a real-time feed from a distant satellite somewhere. The image it displayed was little more than a hazy rectangle of black, with the odd pinpoint of light scattered across it, brought on by distant stars. There was, towards the centre of the image, a shape that made itself known against the black of the void behind it. The only reason it was visible was from the fact that its overall colour was a few shades lighter than the darkness around it, and for the time being it was still a great distance away.

"Zoom us in," Cameron ordered. The image focussed upon the distant shape, zooming in such that the resolution became a little blurrier. However, the computers were quick to correct these imperfections, and the 'shape' became much clearer. The surface of it practically shimmered, toned an unnatural black that seemed to shift as Cameron watched. It was hard to tell if that was merely a result of the quality of the feed or something to do with the light of the stars that was cast upon its chitinous hull. Several concentric rings were suspended around the black ship's length, and they visibly pulsed with a violet-coloured energy as Cameron watched. The ship seemed to be powering up as it neared, and right away Cameron felt that familiar sinking feeling in his gut, that realisation that things were about to get much, much worse.

"I want every gun we have ready to fire as soon as that thing's in range," Cameron said, and he glanced at the weapons officer seated off to his right. "And I want every cruiser we have crewed and ready to leave."

"The crews are spread out all over the station." It was Woolsey who said this, and he stepped forwards, worry on his features. "A lot of them came over for the ceremony."

"It'll take a lot longer than two minutes to get the crews back on board and the ships ready to go. Some are still undergoing maintenance." Cruz was the one to deliver this news, knowing full well what it meant. They all knew what it meant. Just about every ship in Earth's burgeoning fleet was here, at Anchorpoint station. They were either staffed with skeleton crews or undergoing repairs. Rail guns were not loaded, energy beams were not charged and shields were not active. Earth's main line of defence against alien incursion was at its most vulnerable, and an unknown vessel was on an approach. That could not have been a coincidence.

"Send out the word I want those ships undocked and ready to fight. Maybe some will get lucky." He doubted luck would be on their side this time around. Nonetheless, they would find out soon enough. The vast alien ship on its way towards them was certainly not here as a courtesy.