"Humans have a tendency towards triumphalism. I suppose it's understandable really, at least in our case. Thrown into the deep end of space by the powers that be on Earth, it's only taken us two centuries to get where we are now. An entire sector under the control of three mighty nations, each controlling dozens of star systems and the planets within them. We stake our claims around stars and dwell within their light. Of the darkness in-between however, we know nothing. Of the space between stars, between galaxies, we are completely ignorant…"

"…and being the arrogant arses that we are, most of us are fine with that."

Dr. John Ashton, archeologist

StarCraft: Loomings

Chapter 1: Tides of Darkness

Silence.

It was the natural state of the universe, the only given in the dark, unforgiving void of space. Bereft of air, sound could not travel through the shroud of eternity, the emptiness that had been born from the cataclysm of hellfire, the herald of the universe's beginning, the birth of light, matter and time. So would it remain this way, lasting a thousand times a thousand years unto the extinction of mortal flesh.

The universe was not completely empty though; here and there, there would be matter of varying insignificance, ranging from the faint, sputtering suns that were doomed to die to the paltry chunks of solid matter that orbited them. It was on the latter that even lower forms of creation in the universal hierarchy existed, some even reaching sentience; the stage where they realized their insignificance in the greater scheme of things and developed emotion and what they called civilization to deny this, to give their existence a sense of purpose. It was a system repeated on dozens of worlds, all of them featuring creatures that would not live to see the end of eternity and unable to comprehend such a fact.

There was an exception though.

Its consciousness extended for light years, its thoughts echoing throughout space and time. It was the manifestation of destiny, the herald of defiance against the cold, unforgiving universe, able to fight against creation due to its nature being even more void of emotion. It would have been accurate to say that the universe itself was a reflection of its inner being, at least without the paltry light of the stars. Indeed, unlike such balls of plasma, the being was not doomed to die.

It had seen to that long ago.

The manifestation of perfection, the mind of a species that had risen above the constraints of baser existence, the being sought to solidify its place in the universal order, its eventual, inevitable cry of triumph set to drown out even the birth scream of space and time. Such a scream would itself a manifestation, namely that of all those that had stood against the being and its kind, unable to comprehend the folly of doing so, unable to understand that it was a creature of a higher order, a state of existence that they could never achieve.

Yet perfection would come with a determinant. One last trial awaited the being, its consciousness having led it to the western fringes of the galaxy, the edge of a centre of light that would eventually be bereft of all life. It was here, the section of planets known as the Fringe Worlds to its inhabitants, that the being would secure the key to its final, inevitable victory.

It had started off subtlety, sending its minions to infest the most insignificant planets of this miserable section of space, known as the Koprulu Sector to those who dwelt within it. That had been more than a decade however, and no progress had been made. Slightly amusing really, that these base life forms, the final determinant to perfection's victory, had bothered defying the inevitable in the first place. To a creature with the gift of immortality, mere years were nothing. Its patience was infinite. Its life was infinite. Its victory however, was only a matter of time.

Yet the scouts, mere cells of a giant whole, had been found too easily, dealt with too easily. Although it had every right to hold pride in its existence and sneer at the baser forms of life that existed in the galactic order, the being was not above learning and adapting. Even such a creature as itself experienced evolution, albeit of the controlled variety, a control that would soon extend over all of physical creation.

Its wisdom utilized, the being saw what had to be done.

It was time to show these worms the ways of humility.

It was time to show the universe the might of physical creation, to extend from the gulf and feed.

It was time to make its move against the world of Chau Sara.

2302 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)

Explorer-class science vessel Vigilance

Fringes of Sara System

Captain John Gulliman hated his job.

It was a fact that he didn't express often of course, what with the need to maintain authority over those below him and to keep those who signed his pay check sweet. Still, that still didn't change the fact that he was stuck on a ship that should have been decommissioned years ago and was situated on the edge of the galaxy at the very limits of civilization.

Then again, it's to be expected really, he thought to himself, bringing up a holographic map of the system as if to emphasize his point. The Koprulu Sector had never been kind to its inhabitants, ever since their arrival two centuries ago. Hell, it had never been the intended target in the first place. That planet was Gantris VI, situated about a year's worth of warp travel from Old Earth. No-one had expected the supercarriers' navigation systems to shut down, the result being that the carriers arrived in the galaxy's most dingy corner.

Not that the United Powers League cared of course. After all, the entire exodus had been simply part of an effort to rid humanity's homeworld of every drug dealer, rapist, tech pirate and honest-to-God psychopath that the planet had to offer, deciding that putting them to good use on an outlying planet was a better option than carrying out orderly disposal. Two centuries had passed since then and in that period, the descendents of such criminals spreading across the area of space that came to be known as the Koprulu Sector, most of it done by the Terran Confederacy, the government that Gulliman served.

Biggest mistake of my life too, he thought to himself bitterly, taking down the hologram and once again trying to tap into a holo feed from Tarsonis. As usual, the words No Signal popped up.

It wasn't exactly the most constructive use of time, and the captain suspected there was some kind of regulation against this kind of activity, or lack of it, somewhere in Confederate files. Still, there were worse crimes that a man could commit and the armed forces of the Confederacy spent most of their time dealing with them. Criminals themselves mostly, but then again, so were all those of the Koprulu Sector at heart. To get a career in the armed forces, you didn't have to prove that you could shoot someone. Rather, you had to prove that you could shoot the right person. Or, in Gulliman's case, the ability to give the orders for such an action.

Not that I'll ever get the opportunity…

It wasn't the last time that Gulliman regretted his choice to accept the offer to join Epsilon Squadron and if he wasn't currently living the last hour of his life, it wouldn't have been the last. It had come as a surprise to him upon graduating from his officer's training unit that he'd been offered a place in one of the Squadrons-independent units that combined elements of the Marine Corps and Colonial Fleet under a single system. The more famous units, such as the "Blood Hawks" of Alpha Squadron and the "Death Heads" of Omega Squadron were something akin to the stuff of legend, or at least the units of choice whenever the Council felt like injecting some propaganda into the news feeds. Epsilon Squadron however, was a unit that he'd never heard of.

Upon entry, he soon found out why.

Epsilon Squadron was tasked with operating a network of science vessels and similar monitoring stations throughout the borders of the Koprulu Sector, given the job monitoring the Fringe Worlds and other such similar backwater colonies and doing jack shit if anything bad happened, their role simply to send reports to the higher ups. If there was any difference in its duties between its duties and those of Sector Patrol, Gulliman had yet to see it. Eleven years of service and a practically empty career service vitae later, the man had come to the conclusion that there was no difference.

Oh yeah, there's the fact that Sector Patrol gets flashy ships.

Sighing, Gulliman looked around the interior of his office, knowing that the drab walls and flickering lights were identical to those throughout the ship. He knew from experience that the Vigilance was aptly named. Not for its supposed task of keeping watch over the borders of the Terran Confederacy, but because vigilance was something that every crew member needed to possess to ensure that its life support systems didn't fail or something even more dangerous, yet just as likely occurred. Besides, if it had been the case of the latter, it wouldn't have been in the Sara System, housing the twin planets of Chau Sara and Mar Sara, Apart from the fact that the two planets orbited their star in the same orbit, allowing the system a degree of fame for being one of the few to have more than one habitable world, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. Chau Sara, the more developed of the two colonies featured some lush jungles and a population of 400,000, but apart from that, it was no different from its sister planet Mar Sara, consisting of hard baked mud and scrub, with agriculture that required constant irrigation. Set on the edge of Confederate space, it was the last place anyone would expect to find trouble. True, Chau Sara had been experiencing some rebel/terrorist activity in the last few months, but nothing worth worrying about.

The green light flashing above Gulliman suggested otherwise…

Hearing and seeing the light, the captain looked over to the upper right corner of his office, seeing the blinking indicator, informing him that there was a message from the bridge. Sighing, yet secretly glad to have an excuse to do something other than sit around and go down the path of "what if?" Gulliman flicked on the comms.

"Captain Gulliman here."

There was a small stutter on the other end of the line; "Um, sir? This is Ensign O'Donnell. I…I think we have a situation."

Gulliman sighed, remembering O'Donnell that had volunteered for service on the Vigilance about two months ago, under the delusion that it could provide a less dreary life than what the Sara System provided. He couldn't remember which planet the boy had come from, but then again, Mar Sara and Chau Sara were equally dreary. It could have been either.

Not that he cared anyway.

"Ensign, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" asked the captain irritably. "If life support fails, simply lock down the relevant sector and-…"

"It's…it's not that sir."

"Hmm?" Gulliman asked, raising an eyebrow. There was a distinct tone of fear in the ensign's voice. A tone that he couldn't remember any of the crew using before.

A few seconds passed before O'Donnell answered. "Some…something's happening sir. Outside the station. I…I think you better come to the bridge sir."

Gulliman closed his eyes, a combination of weariness and frustration. O'Donnell was probably being jumpy. It wasn't uncommon for science vessels to pick up solar flares or meteor showers, the readout implying that there was a threat, or at least another terran presence. An experienced officer could easily spot the difference, but when one combined inexperience with youth, traits that O'Donnell both possessed, it could lead to a lot of false alarms.

"Sir?"

Like now, for example.

Gulliman sighed. Part of him to stay put, leaving it to the kid to find out what was happening itself. But still, he rarely got to exercise his authority over the crew. Mostly the ship could run by itself. Giving orders would make a change, even if it would only last a few minutes.

"Alright ensign, I'm on my way up," the captain said, leaving his office for the bridge.

The last time he would do so…

2317 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)

Explorer-class science vessel Vigilance

Fringes of Sara System

"Captain on deck!"

Walking onto the ship's bridge, it came as no surprise to Gulliman that not only had been O'Donnell who had heralded his arrival, but only half of the bridge's crew had bothered to actually salute. A decade ago, he would have picked up on this, but like said crewmates, lethargy had set in. Of course, the fact that he no longer bothered to wear a command suit; a scaled down version of CMC-300 powered combat suit used by soldiers, may have also contributed to this. Command suits were often functionally unnecessary, but at least helped convey a sense of authority.

"At ease," Gulliman murmured, giving a half-hearted salute of his own He walked over to O'Donnell."

"Well?" he asked the boy. "What's the occasion?"

"Hard to say sir. You better ask Lash."

Gulliman knew who Lash was. Commander Richard Lash, his second-in-command and one of the few people on the ship that hadn't sunk into apathy, a trait demonstrated by the man's crisp salute upon Gulliman turning to face him.

"I assume that there's a reason for dragging me up here," Gulliman murmured to his XO.

Lash nodded, getting the straight to the point as usual. "Yes sir." He pressed a few buttons on a nearby console, an image of the system popping up on the main view screen, displaying its sun, planets, asteroid field and a…

"Warp space rupture at twenty-three eleven hours, about seven klicks from our position."

Gulliman remained silent, looking for the point of origin. He quickly found it. Right on the system's fringe, near-…

"The inner regions?" asked Gulliman. "But that's outside the Koprulu Sector, towards the galactic centre. What's anyone doing out there?"

It was a valid question. Three governments had formed in the Koprulu Sector since the original landing-the Terran Confederacy, Kel-Morian Combine and Umojan Protectorate. And despite their different systems of government and territory, they all kept to the galactic fringe, the Confederacy being the outermost with its colonization of the Fringe Worlds on the edge of the galaxy. The inner regions of the galaxy were generally left alone however. There were exceptions, but not near the Sara System.

"Hell if I know sir," Lash murmured, answering his superior. "But that's not the real mystery we have here." Before Gulliman could ask about said mystery, Lash typed on the console, bringing up energy readings of the warp space rupture.

Gulliman raised an eyebrow; "This can't be right," he murmured. "The ship's systems must be going out of whack."

Lash laughed hollowly; "Sir, I know that the Vigilance is falling apart, but nothing's wrong with its sensors. Remember when we picked up that solar flare last week?"

Gulliman remained silent, instead concentrating on the abnormally low readings and depiction of the warp/real space interface.

Warp space, from what Gulliman understood, was a fifth dimension (or seventh or something, he was no astrophysicist) consisting purely of energy, not bound by the laws of the physical universe. With numerous currents of energy, it was possible for a ship to hitch a ride on one of these, thus achieving super luminal speed. Engines were still required to keep the ship moving and steady, but with the extra boost and the absence of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, it was possible to travel dozens of light years in just a few standard intervals. To enter warp space however, required a high amount of energy, or, in some recent custom ships, extreme precision. In the case of the first example, capital ship engines had to spend hours charging before attempting to make a jump. The result was, just like in re-entry to the physical universe, was a high residue of energy namely caused by the warp energy tumbling into real space. It wasn't the case this time however, and Gulliman knew it. The readings were low, so low that if warp space didn't have its own distinct energy signature, the ship's sensors could have easily mistaken them as a misdirected transmission from Chau Sara. But that wasn't what truly unnerved him…

The overlay was too perfect.

When it came to warp space entry/exit, every vessel did so individually, appearing or reappearing in its own burst. Human technology was sophisticated enough to allow ships to maintain cohesion and avoid materializing in a sun or crashing into a planet, but no amount of skill or current level of human technology could account for a single gateway with such a low level of residue.

"Could this be a natural phenomenon or something?" Lash asked nervously, reflecting the state of unease that had gripped not only himself and Gulliman, but indeed every crewman on the bridge, any apathy having been shaken off.

"I certainly hope so," Gulliman whispered. "Because if not, we-…"

"Sir!" interrupted a voice. "Warp space overlay discharging numerous bodies."

"What!?" Gulliman exclaimed, spinning around to face Lieutenant Carrington, the source of the exclamation.

"Yes sir! Dozens of bodies, none of them larger than a gunship, are exiting the gateway and are heading in our direction. ETA is roughly seven minutes."

"Any indication as to their origin?"

"None sir," the lieutenant answered. "The bodies appear to be in formation, but there's nothing that hints of any standard classification, or even that they're of human origin.

Numerous words and phrases were going through Gulliman's mind, the only reason that they weren't said out loud was to maintain an image of calm, to give the impression that he had the situation under control. It seemed to work, but he knew that unless he gave an order soon, his authority, indeed, perhaps their very lives, wouldn't last. That such bodies were in formation suggested that there was some organization to their direction, indeed, their very origin and that of the warp space gateway, was a mystery. But who would be out here without following standard communication practice?

The Sons of Korhal are a distinct possibility, thought Gulliman bitterly, remembering how Arcturus Mengsk's band of butchers had been active on Chau Sara the past few months, carrying out everything from raids on Confederate installations to suicide bombings against civilian targets. The destruction of a science vessel, although tactically useless, would probably be a great boon for their propaganda, making it the most spectacular display of their fanaticism since their attack on the Ghost Academy seven years ago. They weren't the only rebel group that the Confederacy faced-the government ruled its worlds with an iron fist and it was frankly no surprise that more than a few of its citizens became frustrated with such administration. Still, it was safe to say that the SOK were the most prolific, most fanatical and, although the government would never admit it, the most dangerous.

But how could they have technology that allowed them to warp in like this? Why were they coming from the galaxy's inner regions when they were theoretically located in the Sara System or towards the interior of the Koprulu Sector? Why-…

"Um, sir?"

Gulliman turned to Lash, a look of concern on the Commander's face. Gulliman cleared his head of his misgivings, realizing that, for the first time in more than a decade, he had a situation on his hands. Acting, not thinking, was what was required.

Gulliman nodded; "Alright." He swiveled around; "Lieutenant Carrington, keep monitoring the bodies. Commander Lash, begin readying an EMP, we may need to buy some time for an escape. Ensign O'Donnell, open a link with Chau Sara." He gazed around at the faces that seemed to have trouble registering his orders. "Now!"

With a flurry of activity, all those on the bridge turned to their appointed tasks, ranging from weapons monitoring to navigation. Gulliman glanced at the view screen as he activated the ship's comm. System, ready to alert all hands to the situation. The warp space gateway remained constant, yet the energy was as low as it had been before.

The astrophysists are going to have a field day if we get through this, he thought to himself.

Gulliman didn't like the key word in that sentence.

2326 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Office of the Colonial Magistrate

57 year old Magistrate Edwin Collins was one of the few individuals in the universe that could simultaneously make someone toe the line while causing said individual to think dear god, how did such a waste of flesh and bone get into such a position of authority?

As such, any analysis of the brown haired, brown eyed man with a bushy moustache that complemented his uniform would have to take various factors into account.

Although it was rarely, if ever stated, Collins was a rather lax individual, having a liking for cigars, vodka and, rumor had it, hab. Still, given that he had the position of authority over a prominent world (well, prominent for the Fringe Worlds at least), the fact remained that he was held a degree of power. If Collins asked you to jump, you immediately asked "how high?" With a love of power, as long as there were no threats to his status, one could count on the magistrate to be his usual lax, arrogant self. Any threat to said status and…well, best not to be in the immediate vicinity.

Still, Collins had earnt his position, which was more than could be said for some figures in the Confederate government. Joining the Colonial Fleet at the age of 23, Collins progressed relatively slowly through the ranks, the brass suspecting, with good reason, that any effort he made was to progress through the ranks until he reached the position of Admiral, where he would believe that he could kick back in relax. In actual fact this was only partly true. it was mostly due to the fact that as fun as blowing stuff up and sending space pirates to the depths of hell was, Collins found telling people to do these things even more enjoyable. His promotion to Captain seven years ago however, had seemed like a glimmer of hope. A few more years, he reasoned, and he'd probably in line for the position of Admiral.

But things changed, the man thought to himself. Everything changed…

The epicenter of change was on the world of Korhal IV, one of the first colonies that the inhabitants of Tarsonis had colonized. A shining world of affluence and civilization, it came as a surprise to some when its citizens demanded independence from their colonial masters. For others, it wasn't a surprise at all. The Confederacy had always ruled its colonies with an iron fist and Korhal had been in its grip the longest. Life may have been comfortable, but sometimes, that wasn't enough. Sometimes, people wanted freedom, even at the cost of luxury.

They seemed to have been on their way to get it too. The Confederacy had set out to make an example of its wayward colony, wanting to show its citizens what the price of rebellion was. As things turned out, it did set an example, but not the one it intended. Korhal turned into a success story of how colonies could overthrow their colonial masters, removing all Confederate influence from their world, despite the assassination of the rebels' leader, Angus Mengsk. After years of protest, both on the battlefield and in the Senate, Korhal had essentially achieved its goal of independence. The fight continued, what with Arcturus Mengsk taking over from his father, but for all intents and purposes, Korhal's fight had been won. Autonomy had seemed imminent.

Of course, the Confederacy had one last card to play…

The trump card was regarded as "the final solution". On a fateful day in 2492, the solution was enacted. In an instant, twenty Behemoth-class battlecruisers had appeared over Korhal's skies. In an instant, their launch bays opened. In an instant in orbit, 1000 Apocalypse-class nuclear warheads had been fired at the planet below, killing 35 million people. It was quite an explosion, and Collins, one of the captains of the battlecruisers, had found it the most enjoyable part of his career. There was something about vaporizing rebels and dissidents that was so…satisfying.

Everything had gone downhill from there though, for both Collins and the Confederacy. With the storm of flak that the populace, the news networks included, were hurling at the Council, it had become clear that being a captain of a battlecruiser that had just dropped 50 nuclear warheads on a planet was not the best position to be in. Still, Collins had held out. It was the government's problem, not his. He'd let them deal with it.

They did so rather spectacularly. The Confederacy, trying to maintain face, had claimed that the rebels were planning to do the same to them and it was a "shame that all the evidence has been incinerated." To put a cherry on top, full scale nuclear weapons were banned on habitable worlds "to ensure that the horrors of nuclear war are never again repeated." Although the sundae was rotten, the media, for the most part, were willing to gloss over it and shove the putrid frosting down their gullets.

Then it happened.

Somehow, through unknown means, the identities of the twenty captains who'd launched the warheads had been leaked to the press, Collins included. With the formation of the Sons of Korhal and their attacks on the Confederacy in retaliation, the nuking of Korhal IV remained the subject of general interest. Those who had actually carried out the bombing were subject to everything from talk shows to assassination. And as of six months ago, only five of the captains remained; ten had been reduced to corpses and another five had committed suicide.

Being a shrewd individual, Collins could see that his military career was effectively over; any chance of promotion had gone down the crap hole and although he hadn't reached the stage where he had contemplated suicide assassination was still a likely prospect. The matter was hardly just going to fade away in the near future either, given that the jackals that worked for Universe News Network and its competitors had seemingly gone off on an antagonistic streak, criticizing the government and the affluent Old Families that ran the Confederacy from points of luxury.

Therefore, Collins had requested a transfer to somewhere quiet, somewhere that the press couldn't bother him. The Confederates, wanting to get the five remaining captains out of the spotlight (and indeed the entire affair), were more than willing, appointing him as magistrate of the Fringe World colony of Chau Sara. Exactly what happened to the previous magistrate was unknown to Collins, nor did he particularly care. That had been three months ago, and in that time, Collins had found himself liking the job…to an extent. The Confederates had conveniently failed to inform him on exactly how little political influence he had in the greater scheme of things and that Chau Sara was currently subject to the attentions of the Sons of Korhal.

Those bastards. I nuke a planet and suddenly you're on a terrorist's hit list…

Collins scowled as he watched the hologram that was playing in his office, displaying some burning building in Los Andares, apparently the subject of a bombing by the SOK. It was hardly surprising really. Mengsk had sworn to bring down the Confederacy at any cost to avenge the nuking of his homeworld and as such, considered anyone and anything a legitimate target, ranging from the Ghost Academy on Tarsonis to the environmental plant on Vyctor 5.

It's so unfair, Collins thought to himself, taking another sip of gin. Out of the dozens of worlds in the Confederacy, why did that anarchist bastard have to choose my planet? Shaking his head and thinking of all sorts of unpleasant things he could unleash on the 'Slikes' of Korhal were he still in command of his old battlecruiser, he turned back to the reporter in the holo-vid, a man from Chau Sara's local network who probably had more teeth than brain cells. He was currently talking to some hick from the Colonial Militia.

"…and in conclusion, we must assume that this nefarious attack was carried out by the Sons of Korhal," the soldier was saying, his grey hair indicating that he was probably a bit too old to wear the CMC-200 armor that he was currently wearing. He turned to face the camera; "I can assure the good people of Chau Sara, especially the families of those who lost their lives in this tragedy, that this heinous crime will not go unpunished. The Colonial Militia will make every effort to ensure that-…"

Collins snorted, not bothering to listen. Two months of SOK attacks, attacks that were so common that they were no longer front page material, and the Colonial Militia had done next to nothing about the situation. Collins was beginning to suspect that there were some sympathizers in the militia, considering that the SOK was never where intelligence made it out to be. True, they weren't that well equipped, being stuck with stingy CMC-200 combat suits instead of the standard issue CMC-300 that most marines and nationalized militia wore, but even so, they should be able to do a better job than their current performance.

Or not, Collins reminded himself. They're just a bunch of Fringe World squibs after all. Sighing, he took a final puff of his cigar and decided that he'd smoked enough for one night and it was time to move onto some hab. Not the best course of action for the ruler of a colony of 400,000, but then again, it wasn't as if the situation could get any worse…

Right?

2334 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara (geo-stationary orbit)

Satellite 5

For a boy who grew up on the most backwater part of the most backwater planet of the most backwater system in known space, 19 year old Daniel Parkes had liked the idea of going into space. Not liking the idea of cultivating the famous Saran pepper slices for the maggots back on Tarsonis, the chance to serve in space in zero-gravity settings had seemed like a dream come true. One month after being posted on the observation station however, seemingly modeled after the telescopes that had been used in the space programs of Old Earth, Daniel had been illuminated to a few key facts:

Fact: Zero-g lost its appeal quickly.

Fact: Zero-g meant constant exercise.

Fact: Zero-g meant it was impossible to sleep, eat or pee.

Fact: A law should be made that gravity accelerators should be installed on every terran ship

Fact: Space was boring.

Fact: The astronauts and cosmonauts of Old Earth hadn't been given enough credit.

Unfortunately, until he'd actually boarded the satellite, Daniel hadn't been aware of any of this; physics was a subject that Chau Sara didn't have enough brains for and most history was part of the Confederacy's state curriculum, concerning how great it was and how its sister planets of Moria and Umoja, who refused to join it in a triumvirate government were primitive and backward. Still, looking out into the void of space, Daniel found himself wishing that he was on one of those planets, regardless of how backwater they were. They would have to be more interesting than Chau Sara. But then again, that wasn't saying much.

The only good news was that he only had to put up with this for two months before being shipped back down the surface; considering that he had done little specialized exercise before being shipped up to space, any longer might result in damage to his skeletal integrity. Plus, there was the added bonus that, given how stingy a planet Chau Sara was, its observation satellites, tasked with monitoring for any interesting activity in Chau Sara's local vicinity, also doubled as communications satellites. As such, he was entitled to free holograms 24/7 and free to listen in on any juicy gossip that came in through the transceiver. Like what was happening now.

Wait, what?

Daniel looked over to the transceiver; sure enough, it was picking up a direct feed. Only difference was, the blue light was flashing, indicating that this transmission was meant for him personally. Sighing, Daniel floated over, ready to take a call from what he guessed was his mum.

"Hello?" he asked, putting on some headphones.

"This is Captain Gulliman of the Vigilance," came a voice at the other end. "Who am I speaking with?"

"Um…" Daniel trailed off. This didn't sound like his mum. Come to think of it, it didn't even sound civilian. Captain was a military rank…

"Hello!?" Daniel gulped. Definitely military.

"Um, yes, this is Daniel Parkes of Satellite-…"

"Fair enough," the captain interrupted. "I need you to relay this transmission to the office of the colonial magistrate, over."

"Er, sure," Daniel said, turning on the recorder that would save the transmission for him to relay to the intended recipient. As he did so, he glanced at the classification of the transmission as well as the point of origin. It was direct, had priority status and coming from a science vessel to the west, located on the fringes of the Sara System and for better or worse, Satellite 5 was the closest relay point. But even so, a direct transmission indicated a sense of urgency. True, pretty much any transmission was direct, being sent through the warp to their intended recipients. But even so, to come under such classification… Trying to suppress the feeling of unease that was growing in his gut, Daniel tried to focus.

"Alright, go ahead, over."

"We've detected an anomalous warp space/real space overlay," the captain said. "Multiple bodies are heading in our direction, their intent unknown. I'm sending warp space readings as we speak."

Daniel glanced at the console for said readings and frowned in disgust. The monitor was barely registering them, almost certainly due to malfunction. True, the Confederacy and all its sub governments were made up of stingy slikes (corruption was pretty much a requisite of service as far as Daniel could tell), but even so, this was a bit much, for readings to barely-

"I assure you that your equipment is not malfunctioning," Gulliman stated, as if reading Daniel's thoughts. "Nor is ours for that matter. What's important is that- HOLY SHIT!!!"

"Um, sir?" the teenager asked.

Daniel didn't receive an answer and given that all he heard on the opposite end of the transceiver was screams, cursing and explosions, this was hardly surprising. Raising a shaking hand, he grasped the transponder; "Vigilance, what is your status, over?"

"Jesus Christ, they're everywhere!"

"What the flick are these things!?"

"Sir, hull breaches on levels three to nine! Warp drives going critical also!"

"Sir, we have-…"

Daniel didn't know what else the ship had considering that the last legible words he heard were cut off by another explosion and a splattering sound. It was a prelude to another volley of incomprehensible curses and screams, first of fear and then of pain, followed by more explosions and then…

Silence.

Trying his best to keep his MRE dinner in, Daniel turned the axis of the satellite to face the Vigilance's supposed co-ordinates. True, long range observation wasn't that accurate hence the need for scoutships, but considering how relatively close the science vessel was, Daniel doubted that he'd have a problem. Hands shaking, he adjusted the image and saw the Vigilance, or what he supposed was the Vigilance. Throwing up, his mind processed the most unpleasant truth that he'd experienced in his life…

The Vigilance, for all intents and purposes, was no longer there.

Only debris and floating bodies were.

A/N

This chapter isn't exactly new at this time of writing, as it, not to mention the story as a whole. Having returned to this fic after completing Operation: Claws, I decided that it would be best to start from scratch, as the former incarnation had a number of issues that I felt could be rectified. In this chapter, such issues included:

-Terminology. I stated originally that Colins was part of the Navy. Odd, considering that the Terran Dominion Navy Medical Corps is the only organization in which such a term has been used. Having corrected it to being the Colonial Fleet, I also made the Vigilance a regular science vessel as opposed to a fanon one of a made up Discovery class, equipping it with laser turrets. I'd rather work with canon ships rather than making them up. After all, there's no shortage of confirmed terran ship classes, at least three confirmed classes of science vessel existing alone. I don't have to make them up for a story to function.

-Tried to make the story less like a history lesson. I cut down on the narrative, inserting more thought into it. A degree of background info is good for a fic, but readers aren't idiots. They don't want huge long essays on what they already know.

Anyway, hopefully the chapter, and the story as a whole will be better off for it. Still, that's just my opinion. I'm open to others...