It was a quiet job, working Outpost Sensor Station 15.

Not that the station itself was a lonely, quiet place, though: it was sizable, roughly the mass of a light frigate, and staffed round the clock by a crew of at least 140, it was bustling ( in most of its sections ) with activity throughout most of each of its day/night cycles.

After all, OSS 15 was more than just what it looked like: a orange, floating cylinder with a forest of sensor towers rising out of its ' top ': it had role to play, as it was also a waystation for the outbound/ inbound space traffic that ran through Vardonna. Ships on approach to the planet would contacted ( or be contacted by ) the station, identifying themselves, and clarifying thier intent and cargo, while those outbound would stop at one of station's several docking conduits to top off thier fuel reserves, and take on a few extra supplies, before continuing on thier way.

In many ways, they were a train depot, or a busy container port, albiet one set in space.

As it was, they carried out very important work in the field of spacefaring, these well equipped and manned stations. It wasn't very exciting or thrilling work, not at all, but that didn't matter much to those who called OSS 15 home and a workplace: They provided an importart service to the Frontier spacefarers, the support network they needed to mantain their trade and livelehoods. The locals of the Froniter were nothing if those who didn't and couldn't look after themselves, and their own.

All the more cause for them to form a formal alliance against the IMC, before that cherished freedom and liberty was taken from them.

Techncian 3rd Class Roben Tavish was one example of that sentiment.

" Did you hear ? ", he asked, turning to the tech standing a few yards away, along the length of one of the docking arms' acsess tunnels. They were waiting on a somewhat battered looking bulk ' Brick ' freighter, the 'Discount Hauler ' , to finish its methodically slow- but steady- approach to the station. Once it reached them, it would be their job to link the arms' supply conduits to the freighter's hull, refilling its fuel reserves, and helping it to discharge its garbage.

The other tech, a bearded Polish- decended man named Tavolic Kopalski, shurgged slighting, glancing over at Roben.

" About what ? ", he replied, with a strong eastern european accent. " Always so vague, Roben, tsh. "

It was a blase response, and the annoyed Roben was reminded that not everyone was as up to date on current events as he was. He'd promised himself, from as soon as when these troubles with the IMC had begun, to always be aware of what was going on past the borders of Vardonna. It wasn't that he was some sort of rebellios leader, per se, but if the settled worlds were going to be able to form any kind of defense against the IMC, they'd need to stay connected. And aware.

Well, you had to begin somewhere.

" Can't believe you haven't heard ! ". Roben huffed, and shook his head. " It happened just 1 standard day ago ! Over Troy, at one of its OSS'. "

" Mm ". Tavolic supplied, by way of an answer. He was like that most days.

Undettered, Roben persisted with his recounting of the past events

" They detected approaching jump signatures, holding a pattern that wasn't what a convoy would use. Everyone on the station- 09, I think it was- got suspicious, and rightly so, becasue that's when the ships themselves appeared- and they weren't freighters, or haulers.

They were IMC ! "

Roben was building to it, as he usually did when discussing anything to do with colonial news, and especially if it revolved around the IMC. Tavolic was familar with this, and knew better than to say anything right now.

Not that he didn't agree with them, but it was more of a background subject, as he saw it. The IMC was a threat, yes, but not to here. Not to Vardonna

Not yet, though, as Roben was getting to.

" Educated guess: Something bad happened to the folks of OSS 09. "

" Thanks for slicing it so short ", Roben clenched a fist, but he had to admit; that was true. " Yes, those IMC ships ordered- yes, ordered, not even asked or requested- OSS 09 to hand over all their stocked supplies right then and there. OSS 09 demanded to know on whose authority they were doing this on, and they're response, was to send a boarding team ! Half a dozen of OSS 09's personnel were gunned down, just for not letting themselves be shoved out of the way. "

Roben's tone was bitter now, even more so than when he'd began.

" Like the Boston Massacre, which most of us- shamefully, I say- don't know about. Point is: They were cut down ".

He shook his head again, the sheer appalling nature of it all still a bit much to process. What did the IMC think it was doing with such actions ? The colonies were better linked than they thought; word would and was spreading among them about everything the IMC was doing. This, this newest crime commited by them, would be another spark on top of an already voltile tinderbox.

Tavolic had to understand that. There was no way even he could deny it, someone who'd kept away from current events as he was.

" Hold there a moment. You say, they just forced their way in ? ", Tavolic wasn't as laidback as he'd been before.

The Pole certainly sounded, Roben could swear, disbeleliving with his query. A good sign.

" 4 minutes to contact. ", the PA system proclaimed. " Standby, arm team "

Right. The call to get to work. Still-

" Yes ", Roben pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against. Tavolic crumpled the drink can he'd had, which was down to its last dregs, tossing into a nearby bin.

" Hey, Roben. Is it true ? How are you sure ? "

They'd set off a a quick pace down the corridor, heading for the consoles that controlled the arm's linkages. Tavolic's previously offhand attitude now replaced by one of of low key, but palpable, surprise and shock.

Like a Frontier patriot should be.

" Footage was streamed from the station's security's cameras. The IMC wanted them offline beforehand, but they weren't. They got it all on record, and they brodcast it. On backwater channels; the IMC got better SigInt than we do, its one of the best and only ways to get around it ".

They reached the consoles, and took post. On the displays, they saw the freighter was just entering the final approach envelope, a minute or so away from docking. It was time for them to earn their keep.

" Jeez, they just did that ?!, Tavolic muttered. " You have to show me that footage. This is all getting out of hand. "

He hit the intercom button on the console, to adress the main control room, several decks above.

" Michelle, its Kopalski. Got a question, off the record, not work related. "

He glanced over at Roben, who nodded.

Go on. Ask them. You should know

" Hmmm. That's a bit vague, Mr Kopalski, and also not really an ideal time. Still, it can't hurt, long as you're quick. What exactly is it ? ", replied the bridge controller, with a female voice with an Australian accent.

Michelle McCamme. She was always fun to speak with, even during work, and even more fun to spend free hours with afterwards. Occasionally, she was even found jogging through the long corridors that ran around the staion's circumfurence.

At the moment, though, there wasn't room for that. Unfortunetly.

" Its- ", Tavolic hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

" Hate to rush you, Tav, but Discount Hauler's 30 seconds out. Going to have to sign off real soon. "

Roben helpfully formed the gesture for ' hurry it up '. Tavolic glared at him, but knew he was right.

" Alright, yes. What I was asking was: Do you know anything about the attack on OSS 09 ? At Troy, I think that's where it is. "

There was silence on the other end of the line, palpably tense and surprised.

" Oh. Oh no, you heard about Troy ? ". Michelle's usually cheerfull tone now had a bitterly upset note to it. Not overly so, but it was there.

She was on that side, who valued freedom. If Tavolic, the one who'd been content to just take these days as they came, kept asking like this, he'd be one of them.

Perhaps, he already was, and wasn't fully aware.

" Roben told me. You know I don't pay attention to the news. Just more IMC bullying, but this ? That's a step up. I want to know if you know. "

" Yes. ", came the reply, soft, and disturbed now. " I'll send you a clip of it to your DataPad. You need to see it. More all over the Frontier are as well. Things like this keep happening, and there'll be a powder keg ".

" Oi, Michelle. Stay alert. Contact is immenent. Chat later ", called someone else on the bridge, having overheard.

Agh.

" Right, right. "

" Aw. Got to run, boys, but check your DP for what I sent. You have to see for yourself. "

The comms clicked off. Tavolic bit his lower lip, and stared at the now silent comms icon on the console.

Roben didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

" Arm team, they're here. Begin the sequence ".

Work, as always, came calling, and they dutifully attended to it. Yet, both were distracted.

One of them had known, and hadn't been able to shake it off his mind. The other had just found out, and while he wasn't fully commited to the overall' cause ' ( if it could be called that ) of the Frontier settlers, he was coming around rather quickly, especially with said new events.

Citizen soliders, they were all becoming. The techs of the arm teams worked away, tapping their consoles, as they had over so many work shifts. That was all routine, and normal. But, more and more these days, and especially perhaps now, it seemed to both of them that the soverignty of the Frontier wasn' as untouched as they thought it was.

If it was to stay that way, perhaps- no, for certain- something would have to be done, by those who lived there.

Bridge of Discount Hauler

" Another succesful run, eh, Daisy ? "

Captain Greg MacHalvers, a freckled Scotsman, casually issued that proclamation, leaning back into his cushioned ( but not too much, this wasn't a cruise liner ) commander's chair, tapping some fingers on its well worn, but unpatched arms.

The latter part was quite important, as the ' Hauler ' had been around the block more than a few times. An ' Oxen ' class freighter, she'd been one of the first of the new bulk- grade freighters put into action less than 40 years ago. That may not have been a long while in the grand scheme of things as far as how long the Frontier was concered, but for a freighter class, it was.

However, all that didn't show on this ship.

Hauler was about half that age, and had been well cared for by her Scot of a captain- always maintained, serviced, and upkept at regular intervals. He wasn't keen to have her fall into disrepair.

And he was even less so to have that happen to her bridge. He did, after all, spend most of a daily shift here.

Daisy, his competent second, and also wife, was one to let him know he was doing right by the ship.

" If by ' sucsessful ', she stated standing off to his right , half jokingly, with a Manchester accent, " You mean ' arrived with our tanks down to 15%, then yes. That's true. "

" Agh, always a stickler ", Greg chided, though he knew she was just teasing. Daisy always knew how to balance work and play. It was really quite impressive, and one of the things he liked best.

She was amazing, as just one of those ways.

" Well- "

Greg waved out the bridge windows- cleared of their FTL metal sheilds- toward the metal canyon of the station's docking berth, with its arms on either side, feeding into them what they needed.

" That's rising to 100 as we speak. Fit to ride the stars once again. "

" As soon as we finish our little drop off. You'll want to sightsee, and I'd be hopeless to stop you. "

Aha, she was right again. That happened rather often.

Daisy came a bit closer, to kiss the side of his face.

" But yes, I admit- that was a good run. "

Greg smiled. It was good to be king.

" Mmm hmm. You'd better bel-

' Bweep. Bweep. Bweep ! '

The abrupt, shrill chime of the FTL arrival alarm slayed the moment with ruthless lethality.

" What is this ?! "

Now, Greg was a little miffed. Just a little, He wasn't one who liked having an unwanted alert ruin a moment like this.

And, evidently, was Daisy. If that alarm wasn't something that had be on always-

" Wonderful sync ", she huffed. " What sort just barges into our lane like this !? Jumps are calculated, after all. "

Reluctantly, she moved over to her console, mounted over her own chair, adjescent to his. Grumbling, Greg checked his own, as the staion contacted them.

" Discount Hauler, this is OSS 15 ! Are you receiving ?! "

" Woah there ! "

The OSS controller sounded, well, apprehensive ? Shocked ?

What ?

" OSS 15, Captain MacHalvers here. What's all the fuss, mate ? "

He wasn't just being casual; aside from the sudden arrival of that other ship, what was there to be nervous about ?

What ?

" Hauler, check your external views ! That new ship-"

" Gregam ! "

Daisy only ever called him that, when she was truly angry, or sad, or joyfull.

Or, as she sounded right now, shocked. Proundly shocked.

Greg lept up.

" Daisy ?! "

Turning, he found she'd left her chair, and had opened one of the external armor plates for the bridge windows, giving them a view of the void outside. She was looking out through it.

That shock was all over her face, and when Greg followed her gaze, he saw why.

Outside, having just emerged from FTL-

Was a gleaming white IMC heavy cruiser.