Thoss World
Vs’Kssh Citadel

They moved with nervous urgency, stopping at the intersections of the narrow streets, advancing in the shadows, through the cold puddles that formed on the cobblestone pavement. All four Thrynn wore black hooded cloaks, each gripping the handle of an ornate, dark crimson trunk. Their winding path led them through the endless maze of passages and arches, past the darkened windows and bolted doors. Abruptly, with a trained unison, they stopped at a small square near the edge of the bazaar. Rain cascaded off the awnings and the high roofs, drenching the dark figures. The leader peered into the gloom, reaching out not with his poor eyesight, but stretching his senses for hints of heat and life. He lifted his head just slightly, straining. Then, satisfied, he relented. At a crouching stride, they bounded across the square, through a dark arch and into the humid night of a world called Thoss.

Deep Space
The Empire (3478 Anno Domini)
USS Nona Vista

The tattered vessel groaned as it executed the command: “Hard to starboard, ensign, get us into the layer!” ordered Lieutenant Commander Sarah Mervikkur, Nona Vista’s captain. “We haven’t got much time—-Bullanger—-give me B channel to group, full transmission boost.” An ensign keyed the command into the communications relay and signaled the captain. “Group, this is Mervikkur. Follow my lead along the layer. Stand by to execute a wide arc ambush.” Muttering under her breath she added, “fried calamari, understand?” Lt. Cmdr. Mervikkur didn’t pull any punches and she could think deadly fast. That’s why the Nona Vista battle group still existed. The acknowledgements rolled in over the net.

“Captain, Illara Vona isn’t checking in,” reported Ensign Bullanger. The battle group had just turned into the magnetic layer of a nebula. Skimming along the outer edge of the dust cloud, plowing through an ocean of interference, the pursuing Gazurtoid would be hard pressed to find them. They might even walk into an ambush. “We lost her in the layer, Captain—-interference is edging up to eighty-five points.” Mervikkur slammed her fists on her armrests.

“Damn it! We can’t afford this—nav, last position!” She didn’t wait for and answer, knowing Illara Vona had probably missed the signal to rally for ambush and shot out of the nebula. The Gazurtoid would be on the scene in bare moments, catching the stray frigate naked and alone. “Belay that! Come about to two-five-five mark zero, cut engine three and reroute power to the port laser battery!” Nona Vista pulled out of the nebula, followed immediately by her two companions.

“Inbound,” said Ensign Negev, tension edging into her voice, “signals for five, maybe—-no, they’re fielding six Whiskey class.” The Gazurtoid got off the first volleys. The tactical display lit up for an instant as Illara Vona broke into three distinct chunks of glowing titanium. The weapons officer didn’t wait for the order to loose a spread of counterfire. The Leslie Teller and the Newfoundland followed suite, firing their cannons at the Gazurtoid vessels. It wasn’t enough. It almost never was anymore. It was one more punching match and the Gazurtoid horde bore down with the full weight of their fire.

“Jesus,” whispered Mervikkur. Her battle group was disintegrating and her own vessel was rocking under heavy fire impact. Settling into her command chair she hoped they’d bought a few minutes for somebody somewhere. They were expensive minutes. “Nav! Get us back into—-” She grabbed her seat as the vessel jerked mercilessly under fire. “Get us back into the layer! We’ll lose them in the interference,” she ordered. It was no use. The radiating wreck of the Nona Vista tore a dark streak over the face of the Nebula Mare Nostrum.

All along the perimeter, things were falling apart.

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Next: "Classified"

What?! Seven hits? All I get is seven hits? Why you little--! Three ads, six months and endless revisions, and all my preface gets is seven hits?! You must be kidding me! Howdy, Sports Fans!--Biggs Hilsfar is back, plying the spaceways with the crew of the ISS Belfast Windfall. You can't count on Biggs making any money, but you can count on Hilsfar2 at the Nebula Lounge. Stick Around.

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