Xingyun Cluster, Da Ling Liu System, Baikonur Orbit, PFS Jaxim Vadimos, Vice Admiral Elgos Lilix, 1515, April 6th 2157:

"T-minus 15 minutes to contact, beginning deceleration burn." The voice of the pilot echoes across the bridge, followed quickly by the feeling of acceleration towards the ship's for. In a warship like the Vadimos, we're not supposed to feel the acceleration, inertial compensators removing it before we can even comprehend its presence. However, one of the torpedoes from the alien attack hit the same spot as an old wound from the previous battle, allowing it to punch deeper and damage one of the compensators. While emergency repairs fixed it up enough to ensure the crew doesn't black out from the G-force, bleedthrough is still a problem.

"Status of enemy force?" I ask for what seems like the hundredth time, my deep worry, which I hide from my voice, keeping the question at the forefront of my mind.

"No significant changes, sir." The sensor officer proclaims. "No change in position from the ships and no hanger activity since those shuttles came in. Fighters have detected no mines or enemy obstructions in our path."

'Good.' My worry shrinks a little. 'The last thing we need is for another strike to get through, even if it does little, the moral damage would be problematic.' The losses from the earlier battle have had a deep effect on the morale of the task force's crews; many are guards personnel, not Hierarchy crews, though many used to be. The guard doesn't get hit hard often, losing a single ship is a major thing for a guard unit, the Cyclops Delta Guard just lost over half a dozen, not to mention the damage done to the ships. Luckily, no one died from the Fighter attack, but it spooked many. Fighters aren't supposed to do damage like that, they are irritants, meant for point defense and hitting civilian ships, not scaring cruisers. While most of the crews had read the report from the last battle, there is a difference between knowing something usually useless is a threat and being forced outside your ship's hull to patch up the damage.

"Movement!" The sensor officer shouts.

"Report!" I shout in return.

"Orbital change by the hostile ships, lowering elevation and acceleration detected, they're moving behind the planet." Showing the truth in their words, the bridge's main display shifted, showing the enemy's changed vector and an estimate on when contact would be lost.

'Buying time, but for what?' Hiding behind a planet is a common tactic, the object preventing fire from hitting effectively while also blocking sensors from a main force, forcing the opponent to either follow or wait you out. The latter grinds everything to a halt, trying everything up in small skirmishes among the faster ships and the occasional extreme range fire using orbits to loop fire around the planet, which has an extremely slim chance of doing anything. The former option, however, is almost worse. If they have outriding ships or probes keeping an eye on us, they can just force us into a constant chase around the planet, their low altitude allowing them to orbit the planet swiftly if they want to. We'd have to either lower to a similar orbit or break up the fleet to catch them however they move. 'Even split in half, the fleet would have an edge, but not much of one, especially if they have any more tricks up their sleeves- if they have sleeves, all the prisoners from the last battle were wearing hardsuits.' Usually, a situation like this would leave matching their altitude the best option, but not in this case. 'Those torpedoes disrupted our mass effect emitters when they hit, in space that is already bad, but that deep in a gravity well.' I suppress a shudder, images of my ships, falling from the sky, filing my mind. 'Not an option.' Neither is just shooting at them from high orbit. You would think that shooting down at a ship in a gravity well would be easy, but the existence of an atmosphere causes problems. Not only does it drain some energy by simply existing, any major disturbances can disrupt the trajectory of the shots, like the displacement brought about by another shot, even a broadside one.

I ponder the question for some time, drawing up a plan. 'Going that low is a double edged sword, they can take out our fire, but they can't dodge effectively with all that air, and they can't keep their barriers at full strength while staying in the air, too much power drain.' "1st Guards Destroyer Flotilla, RCL-021 and RCL-101 are to deploy to the other side of the planet, keep ten thousand kilometers from targets. When in position, initiate long range fire with spinal and broadside armaments. Continue at a sustainable pace until the situation changes or ordered otherwise. Remaining force, close to five thousand kilometers from the planet's surface." 'They won't be able to last forever, but at that distance a run at the secondary force would take long enough for us to sweep in from the other side of the planet, trapping them with fire from two angles.'

My thoughts turn to the planet displayed, more specifically, the location where the enemy shuttles had flown from. "Send a marine detachment to that location." I say, typing the position into my display as I do.

I smile as my subordinates, my crews, obey their orders, moving in perfect sync to bring about my vision. Now all there is to do is wait.

Xingyun Cluster, Da Ling Liu System, Baikonur Orbit, PFS Jaxim Vadimos, Hanger Bay, Lieutenant Aldractin Verthrax, 1520, April 6th 2157:

"You ready for a good hunt, sir." I hear her voice as I head towards the shuttle, Staff Sergeant Vadimor, Fiansa, my old friend and right hand woman.

I chuckle at her words. "Don't know about that Fia, you saw what they did to the navy boys, they may put up a real fight."

Fiansa scoffs, not real heat in the sound. "Like those pirates in Lyceon put up a fight?"

"Not a fair comparison, we were just cleaning up the 22nd's leftovers, most of those idiots didn't know which way to point their rifles, let alone shoot it straight."

I see Fiansa grin. "Didn't stop them from taking over the brig, did it?"

Now I'm the one to scoff. "That was more luck than skill and you know it. Pretty sure that Legion officer wanted to string the idiot up by his own entrails when she figured out that the entire mess was caused by a tech flipping the wrong switch during routine repairs."

Fiansa's grin becomes almost vicious. "At least we got some good target practice out of it, and some good recordings."

'She will never let me live that down, will she?' Being downed by half a dozen pirates dogpiling on me wasn't the best experience, especially when no one would let me forget about it for more than a few days. 'At least they decided to bury the breakout before the press learned about it. I have no doubt someone would send that recording out if we were not sworn to silence.'

We finally reach the shuttle, an older craft that has served the Hierarchy for years, and enter, ready to face whatever will greet us on the surface.

Xingyun, Da Ling Liu System, Baikonur, SSV Hamburg, Pilot Common Area, Ensign Jacqueline Snord, 1600, April 6th, 2157:

"Welcome to the chicken coop. Where the Hamburg keeps all its crazies, wackjobs, and adrenaline junkies." My guide, a Lieutenant Walker, says. Jeers quickly follow the statement from the half dozen people currently in the common room.

I and a dozen other pilots from the Baikonur outpost follow the Lieutenant into the room, finding it to be a large circle filled with couches, chairs and tables. 'Smaller than I expected.' The addition of another dozen people into the room fills it to the brink, not quite enough to be cramped, but definitely impractical.

The walls are filled with doors, seven of them. One heads out to the rest of the ship, while two more go to bathrooms. The remaining four empty into the sleeping accommodations meant for the squadron's 24 pilots, and us, for now. One of the doors is open, showing the two rows of four sleeper pods lining the corridor, I grimace. While most of the others are fine with the pods, I've always found them a bit uncomfortable, a remnant of my life planetside on Venus that my years in the Alliance haven't yet broken me of. I always preferred the actual beds available at Outposts, and the personal rooms. 'At least we're officers." While officer accommodations on the ship are slim, for the crew it is downright spartan, being forced to share a pod with three others while having a third the locker space. 'Food is good though.'

I walk over to one of the tables, occupied by a trio of people playing poker, worn, aging chips and cards strewn across the table. "Mind if I join?" I ask.

"Sure." Says one of the players, a man seeming to be in his early twenties, looking towards his compatriots for agreement.

One shrugs "eh, why not." he says, the third giving a slight nod of agreement.

I sit down in an empty chair, opposite the first pilot. "Name's Jacqueline, call me Jacky."

"Brian." Says the first man. "Brian Jones."

The others quickly introduce themselves as "Thomas Calvert." and "Melissa Stewert".

"Com Skripts?" I ask, referencing the digital tokens given out by the Alliance for use in commissary found on bases and larger ships. They nod. "Deal me in." I say, opening my omni tool to get it set up.

Thomas passes me a pair of cards from the deck along with the others, a quick look reveals them to be a pair of nines. "So, you were part of the strike." Brian's words bring my mind towards him instead of the cards.

"Yea, most of that run was about as boring as a patrol, but god damn it was exhilarating to punch those bastards in nuts." Thomas places down three cards, a nine, seven, and ace. He raises, which we all match. "Though I'm pretty sure you guys punched their teeth in better. How many frigates did they lose, five?"

"Nine." Brian is grinning ear to ear, though it diminishes when another nine is revealed. I raise, to which Melissa folds while the others match.

One of the pilots from the outpost passes by, handing me a drink, a can of beer that definitely shouldn't be on the ship. "You know where they'll place us." I ask Brian.

"We're too deep in the gravity well to drift with minimal thrust, so the Trident's aren't going out, antimatter is already low as it is. I think you and the other Bident folks are going to have an eventful time soon."

I frown, not helped by the massive grin that strikes Brian's face when a 6 is revealed. He raises, me and Thomas match. "Don't look too happy, we're all cross trained for both, so you might get drag out there in my bird." I give him a faux serious look. "If you break her, you'll have something greater to fear than the enemy."

"Two pairs." Thomas says, revealing his king and seven.

Brian's grin becomes vicious. "Straight." He unveils his 10 and 8.

My own grin returns with a vengeance. "Straight." Thomas and Brian begin jeering, but don't object when I swiftly move the pot towards me.

"35th Squadron personnel, 35th Squadron personnel, report to the ready room. 35th Squadron-"

I sigh. "Well, it looks like duty calls. See you guys later." I stand up, swiftly moving with my squadron mates towards the door, preparing for another few hours in my bird.

Xingyun, Da Ling Liu System, Baikonur Orbit, Escape Pod, Commander Altrixa Vernerask, 1720, April 6th, 2157:

I slowly bite down on the ration bar in my hand, trying to suppress my scowl so my crew doesn't see it. 'What's left of it anyways.' My ship, my Swift Wing was gone, destroyed by these damn primitives in their spirit forsaken fighters, fighter! Now a third of my crew's escape pods are missing, either destroyed in the final moments of the 'Wing or their transponders damaged. Unfortunately, my own pod is among the latter group, able to receive, but our ability to send transmissions destroyed. It isn't the death sentence many over dramatised shows like to say it is, but it is a problem. There are only so many things producing heat in space, and Hierarchy search and rescue procedures require that all in the immediate area of a battle are searched for survivors. We will be found, it will just take time.

By the time I'm finished with the ration bar, it seems the time has run out. One of my crew, the one manning the pod's sole station, calls me over. "Getting close movement from our sensors, a few hundred kilometers out, can't tell much, but I think it's one of our shuttles out there."

A smile comes to me as I hear those words. "Activate the RCS, some activity will get their attention." True enough, soon after the pod's limited reaction control system started burning some of its precious fuel, the shuttle starts moving towards us.

The shuttle sends us transmissions, but we can't respond. Luckily, there are plans in place for that. We burn the thrusters in a specific pattern, one of the dozen that exist to indicate our current complication. Soon after, we start the rather significant challenge of trying to connect the pod and shuttle without being able to communicate.

After a few minutes of trying, a lock was finally achieved, and we left the pod, heading back towards the fleet.

Xingyun, Interstellar Void, MSV Lucky Strike, Captains Quarters, Richard O'Connell, 2000, April 6th:

There are people in dark, pitch black water. Some are human, others I can't describe, but some part of me say their people, just of another type. They desperately cling to the surface, all their efforts devoted to staying on top of the waveless, landless expanse. Hands and feet and hooves and claws battling the black liquid, though it is obviously for nought.

The water begins to dip, turning swiftly into a whirlpool that begins to suck the people up. They try to struggle, they always do, but soon they sink beneath the water. Their mouths open, I can't hear their screams but I know them, I can feel them like they came from my own mind, hundreds, thousands, millions, perhaps more.

Soon, there is silence, but not. The world has no words but a cacophony is felt beneath, a legion of voices turned to one, but still a legion.

Something comes from the water, hands of feet and heads and every part of every body turned into one. I recall a myth my mother once told me, of the hundred handed ones who supposedly fought the gods of one pantheon or another, when looking at what is before me it seems too small to note, it is irrelevant.

Part of me wants to scream, wants to see an incomparable horror, too many bodies, too many pieces put together into a broken twisted whole, a lesser one would not truly understand. The rest of me is in awe, in awe of the perfection before me, the unity of endless people into one, one being, one understanding, one god, perfection in its truest form.

It reaches out to me, hands beget hands beget hands, all reaching out to me. They come to me, and I reach out my hand-

I wake up in a cold sweat 'what the hell was that?!' A dream, already fast disappearing from my memory.

I remove myself from the sleeping station, a relic of the time before artificial gravity, kept due to practicality and my own preference. Quickly, I leave my quarters, barely remembering to put clothes on. I walk, more wander, through the corridors of my ship, unsure of where I am going. Soon, I make it to the main cargo hold. In it are some of the choice items from our find, those I wouldn't trust the Alliance to transport.

I shove a prothean material scanner out of my way, a treasure that would have been the find of a lifetime only a week before treated like a piece of scrap.

I reach my objective, the obelisk, rock still covering much of it, the result of a more conservative extraction to avoid damage. It is soothing, being so close to it, like hearing the nursery rhymes my mother would tell me back on Ceres.

I lie down next to it, my back touching the cold material. I close my eyes, and hope for better sleep now that I am close to it.

Sorry about the delay with posting, I had a bit of writer's block and a time crunch last week. As an apology gift, I'm posting some stuff I've had on the backburner for a while: a new Story Ideas and some warbooks I put together for a few sci fi universes.