Captain Matthias Onall sat quietly in his ship, staring out at the stars. Actually, he mused to himself, that wasn’t exactly the right terminology. He was floating in a pod of hydrostatic fluid, which, because of the neutral buoyancy, allowed him to float more or less in the middle of the pod. This device, stationed deep in the bowels of the ship, was armored against intrusion or failure. Should the pod fail, Captain Onall would be very dead, very fast. Connected as he was to the myriad of wires and hoses that kept him alive inside the pod, and wired him directly to his ship, he could control the vessel and perform the deftest maneuvers with an almost uncanny ease. It also allowed him to bypass the traditional limitation of performance because of the need of a ship. So he was, more correctly, staring out into the voids of space with his ship’s “eyes”, sampling the amount of light and radiation to get a fuller picture then his pathetic biological equivalents could ever view things.

What he observed around him was just one of the thousands, perhaps millions of reasons he had become a pilot in the first place. A few light minutes to his aft was a refractal nebula, it’s dense collection of dust and gasses acting as prisms and bending the light so that it gave off an almost supernatural, pale blue. The ghostly light that it cast forth shone out and gave a ghastly image of the three ships before him, casting sinister shadows across the hulls and weapons systems. He swore he saw a fighter behind every engine cowling, an explosive in ever recess of a turret or launcher. His paranoia drew him to call the main portion of his battle cluster to a halt and send two stealth frigates forward to scout the vessels out. He idly cast his sensors about, and was troubled to find that they showed an odd echo signature, as if there was something there trying very hard to be invisible…

“Or else just something not there trying to be seen because you’ve lost it, ya daft fool...” he muttered to himself.

“Sir?”

“It was nothing, forwards. What is the report?”

“Sir. We have three war-equipped vessels of varying class and armament. The smallest one is a Deimos class heavy assault cruiser, and mounts various hybrid turrets and lasers. The middle child of these ones is a Megathron mounting similar armaments and it looks like a few mods besides. The last is a dread, looks like a Phoenix, mounting some very heavy weps sir. Can’t tell what the load out is, but it looks like the citadel launchers are unloaded right now, can’t tell the status of the other systems from this far. They look dead in space from initial readings.”

“All units! We advance, but if they twitch, we’re gone from here. These are not light frigates we’re looking at, they’re battleships. So keep an eye out and watch your backs.”

The 12-ship battle cluster advanced slowly, engines keeping to micro pulses to allow for precise flight co-ordination. The force was not an assault group by any stretch of the imagination. The mainstay of the forces Onall had with him were destroyers and frigates, with the only exception to this being Onall’s own battle cruiser. Outfitted as they were, they would not be much to a stand up fight, focusing more on avoiding punches and stinging then setting themselves up for the all out slugging matches that the capitol vessels were so terribly fond of. One of the more severe setbacks to this speed, however, was that they couldn’t carry much in the way of support drones or expendables, sacrificing every extra pound to stay as fast as they could.

The antithesis of his philosophy now sat before him, in the form of three heavy warships. The largest among them was a brutal monstrosity of a ship, a Dreadnaught in all its lethal glory. The ship was incredibly large, out massing Onall’s ship by at least a factor of six, and sporting weapons easily the size of some of his frigates. The battleship and assault ship sat, dwarfed by the monolith’s shadow. The two smaller ships were in a loose orbit around the much larger vessel, barely missing crushing them as it spun slowly about its central axis. While finding derelict vessels was not unheard of, it was impossible, at least as far as Onall knew, to disable such a vessel as these. And no one was going to mindlessly abandon such a fine vessel. Which mean that it was most likely a tr-

“Sir! Reactor spikes on the vessels, weapons charging!” “Sir! All jump engines are disabled; we entered a sort of minefield that shuts them down. We can’t leave!”

“All units: give them hell lads, and try to make it out in one piece if you can. Fleet com out.”

Damn! He cursed to himself, watching as his frigates and few destroyers moved to engage the other ships, while he armed his cruisers weapons as best he could. But even as he did, he watched the assault ship run straight at his pilots, blazing away with its blasters as it did. The Battleship moved to engage at a slower pace, opening up with it’s many rail guns and missiles. The massive phoenix also turned now, using the centrifugal force it had built up with its rotation … and to his horror, he realized it was facing him.

Its vast bulk shuddered; it had begun firing its massive artillery array. The quad of artillery pieces sequenced through, punching shells three and a half meters in diameter through the void. The shells streaked across space and impacted the prow of his cruiser squarely, sending it into a flat spin. Though it was built tough, this was not what it had been built to take. He watched on his sensor readouts as slowly the shells chiseled into his shields and weakened them severely. While he was assessing his situation, he flared his thrusters and countered the spinning of his vessel. He also watched as the much larger ship launched its drone fighters, adding a new kind of hell to the fray as they danced around and used their maneuverability and lasers to eat away at ships. In the temporary lull that came from the cannons entering their reload cycle, he fired away with his laser batteries, but watched as the heavy ships held against his onslaught. He fired again as soon as the weapons cycled and charged forward, hoping to maybe distract this thing long enough to save a few of his pilots ships.

Onall watched in horror as the massive citadel launchers at last came to life, firing a salvo of torpedoes what remained of his battle cluster. The brutal missiles had earned the title “anti-everything rockets” upon their creation. The titanic warheads were designed as anti-emplacement weapons, on the very same class as those of the large space stations. One of the large missiles barely missed impacting him, instead slamming into a pair of frigates that had been attempting to limp away, obliterating both in the a flash of light and energy, as the massive surge of concussive energy twisted and bent the alloy metal hulls like tin in the fingers of a giant. A pair of the missiles did find him though, and tore apart his shields and shredded into his armor. While he remained functional, his prospects weren’t looking hopeful in the least. The dreadnought broke off its attack, instead using the siege array to target the remaining ships that were attempting to flee. Instead, he now had the battleship’s attention, and it was no less deadly. It’s rail guns launched a salvo of warheads into his ship, tearing through more and more armor and systems, eating through them like so much paper. Then once it had closed the range it opened up at near point blank range, the plasma charge erupting in the core of his vessel and creating an incredibly beautiful, although very lethal, sight. As the ship died around him, he watched as the assault ship and the dreadnought’s fighters tore apart the last of his sips, leaving them shattered husks in the eerie light. Then at last his reactor caught and the emergency systems on his ship went into action. Pumping a nano toxin into him, it killed him instantly, while a scanner took an image of his mind at the same time.

Onall sat up light-years from where the battle had taken place, groggily coming to in the clone tank. He looked around to see his comrades coming out of the same state as well, looking about as impressed as he was. Much as he appreciated the immortality these tanks created, he was not impressed with the situation. His ship was gone, and so were most of his resources. But to worry about that later; for now, rest. He slumped back and slipped into unconsciousness once more.

“Well, that was fun.” Muttered Harper sarcastically “Let’s find something more interesting to do, hm?”

Around him stood the ancient stone walls of a coliseum. The vast structure had obviously once been a great wonder, capable of holding a small city inside its circular walls. But now the march of time had eroded at the once beautiful structure, and the walls had begun to collapse under their own weight. The many fissures in the rock, along with the manner in which all but a small portion of the wall had collapsed, created a thoughtful, quiet atmosphere. One could almost have sworn this great structure had probably stood sentinel as men tried to reach for the stars, time and time again.

Captain Harper sat calmly on a throne like seat, royal blue robes swirling about his figure as he toyed with his ancient weapon, a three-pronged trident. He smiled at the thought. In actuality, he wasn’t really “sitting”, per-se. This was in fact a holographic interface, allowing him and his two confederates to communicate. This was, to the best of his knowledge, a one of a kind system. The real Harper was floating in a neutral buoyancy gel inside the control pod of his vessel, a Megathron class battleship named the Wartide. Its hull displaced a total of fifty thousand cubic meters, making it a fairly large attack ship. In its armament were fourteen 420mm gauss rifles, and twin heavy missile packs. The gauss rifles it mounted were his pride and joy, allowing him to pump plasma charges into ships accurately at ranges well outside the normal weapons range of the competition. His missiles were more of a backup for hitting stations. The FAF missile strike systems installed in his ship made it easy to paint a target and then go back to sending a hail of plasma slugs into his enemies. He also mounted a heavy electronic warfare system, allowing him to deploy stasis mines, which cut enemies off from using their warp drives and escaping. Fierce and fast, precisely like the man at it’s controls, it was capable of crippling enemy vessels within moments of engagement.

“Oh, but that was so much fun! Don’t you just love beating up on the patrols they send to try and take us down?” shot back Captain Carter, pilot of the Deimos class Heavy Assault Ship Shryke. The ship itself, while being only a fifth the total displacement of the Wartide, was every bit as much of a fighting ship. Its three blaster turrets aided its shotgun style combat. A murderous close range weapon, blasters fire a magnetically contained ball of subatomic particles, spitting the plasma inside the containment field directly onto targets for the most destructive power. Augmenting this heavy close range combat ability were a pair of 250mm gauss rifles and the ships impressive tops speeds. Her avatar presented itself as an angelic figure, her wings folded and pressed to her back. Her scarlet robes shimmered in the light, the light catching and reflecting off the edge of her sword as well in the simulated starlight. Her golden hair, cropped to shoulder length, drifted in front of her eyes as she turned, pacing along the edge of the amphitheatre. “Where the hell is he?” she spoke not truly to Harper, even though he did know the answer. The last pilot of the trio was off checking systems and making sure that no one snuck up on them whilst they were unawares.

Suddenly a mass of shadow swirled about Carter, tossing her hair as if it were shaken by some unseen wind. The mass of shadow swirled briefly about the amphitheatre, then settled and congealed into a humanoid form, with glowering red eyes. There was no real shape or figure to define him by; just a patch of blackness with the pair of crimson slits staring out at them. This was the man known only as “Xenon”. While the other two new that that was most likely not his true name, they weren’t inclined to argue with him or his Phoenix class dreadnought, the Titan’s Shadow. Easily overshadowing the other two vessels with its one million cubic meter displacement, it mounted the heaviest weapons amongst them between the recessed artillery array in the bow of the slightly prismatic shaped hull, and the three ship-sized Citadel Torpedo launchers gave it a very terrifying punch against most any targets. Combined with the capacity to carry a small fleet of heavy attack drones, the sheer power of the ship made it a decisive factor in any fight. Between that and the small anti fighter defences they all possessed, the ship did not possess much in the way of vulnerability. Despite the obvious advantage he held over them, it apparently had never occurred to the man to lord that over them and take leadership from Harper of the mercenary unit they had formed. Coming from all factions in the known universe, the Triremes, as they were known in the local sector, had never fought over such petty things as their brethren had. Unified in their purpose and friendship, the last had taken a very long time and several operations together to develop; they now sold their ships to the highest bidders.

“Give me a picture, if you’d be so kind.” Harper instructed Xenon, “I’m curious as to what you were up to with our little friends a moment ago.”

“As you wish,” came the reply.

Harper shook his head in amusement. Because of the way his avatar presented itself, the voice that accompanied the image was always highly distorted, sounding as if it had been through an echo chamber and then been directed into the conference. Before them an image sprung into being, showing their trio of ships linked to the dread via and intricate system of bucky cables and computer relays. This allowed for the Shadow to resupply them and aid in the repairs that they may need. Twisting and darting between the ships, the small fleet of drones they maintained flew about their tasks, returning the stasis mines to the holds on the Wartide, replacing plating along the starboard flank of the Shryke and placing sensor markers in the space around them to ensure that no one dropped into space without them knowing it. Suddenly, off the port bow, a scout class frigate dropped out of warp. It immediately tried to reverse course, and accelerated towards an exit vector, only to be caught and smashed to pieces by the precise fire stitched along its hull by the dreads heavy cannons. Then the image disappeared.

“Should I recall the drones and prepare to jump out of system?” inquired Xenon, ever paranoid.

“No, not just yet,” said Harper “We’re in no rush and the local law enforcement doesn’t have the muscle to be too much trouble. For now, we wait.”

He smiled. Sometimes the locals made it all to easy.