Picture space. The vast empty void.
Zoom in, towards one particular star in a vast, spiral galaxy. It rests on the edge of a vast nebula, but otherwise has nothing special about it. A few dead chunks of rock, a gas giant, a cold sun.
Zoom in further, onto an insignificant speck. A sleek warship, battered and broken by some accident or battle, the letters TCRS Storm emblazoned along the side.
Zoom in again, through a window, onto the bridge. The lights are on dimly, mostly the flickering of the many control panels. A pool of dried blood lies next to a wall, a dead body stashed away in a corner wearing a uniform.
And curled up, battered, bruised and naked, a girl twitches through some dream or nightmare in the captain's chair.
Sometimes she winces at some imagined pain, sometimes moans at illusory pleasure. Until one particularly strong twitch makes her fall out of the chair, and she wakes up with a muffled yelp of pain and surprise.
It has been nearly a day since Maria broke through onto the bridge of the Storm, nearly a day since the suicide of the insane Colonel Zaphron and the apparent defeat of the alien monster Carnassus. There had been no response to her transmissions, though given the distance to the nearest Confederate outpost, that wasn't a major surprise. Searching through the databanks of the warship had provided no clues as to what had happened to it. Clearly Zaphron had gone mad and started changing the crew into the cyberzombie Altered, but why? Was Carnassus an assistant, a bodyguard, or even the mastermind? What had torn chunks out of the warship and left many systems non-functional? And most importantly, was Carnassus alive? The way the body had vanished, and the threatening promise written in her blood, still freaked her out.
On the plus side, she had got the security systems back online, and with some trial and error, had managed to force the Ghosts to move away from the docking ports and into the lower cargo bays. She'd smiled a little at realising that these monsters that had so terrified her could be pushed around so easily. With any luck, any ship arriving to rescue her wouldn't have to face them.
But even with all her fears and anxieties, fatigue had overtaken, and she had fallen into a fitful sleep, haunted by her experiences.
Until now.
Her heart leaps as she sees a 'message received' indicator on the communications panel. Calling the transmission up, she smiles a little.
TCRS Storm, this is the TCF Wolf, patrol frigate two days out of port. We have received your message and are inbound, ETA 30 standard minutes.
Checking the time index showed that it had arrived... about thirty minutes ago. She looks up hurriedly, to see a sharply pointed silhouette gliding towards the Storm.
Finally it looked to be over.
"TCRS Storm, this is TCF Wolf, come in please. I repeat, TCRS Storm, this is TCF Wolf, come in please."
Zoom in, towards one particular star in a vast, spiral galaxy. It rests on the edge of a vast nebula, but otherwise has nothing special about it. A few dead chunks of rock, a gas giant, a cold sun.
Zoom in further, onto an insignificant speck. A sleek warship, battered and broken by some accident or battle, the letters TCRS Storm emblazoned along the side.
Zoom in again, through a window, onto the bridge. The lights are on dimly, mostly the flickering of the many control panels. A pool of dried blood lies next to a wall, a dead body stashed away in a corner wearing a uniform.
And curled up, battered, bruised and naked, a girl twitches through some dream or nightmare in the captain's chair.
Sometimes she winces at some imagined pain, sometimes moans at illusory pleasure. Until one particularly strong twitch makes her fall out of the chair, and she wakes up with a muffled yelp of pain and surprise.
It has been nearly a day since Maria broke through onto the bridge of the Storm, nearly a day since the suicide of the insane Colonel Zaphron and the apparent defeat of the alien monster Carnassus. There had been no response to her transmissions, though given the distance to the nearest Confederate outpost, that wasn't a major surprise. Searching through the databanks of the warship had provided no clues as to what had happened to it. Clearly Zaphron had gone mad and started changing the crew into the cyberzombie Altered, but why? Was Carnassus an assistant, a bodyguard, or even the mastermind? What had torn chunks out of the warship and left many systems non-functional? And most importantly, was Carnassus alive? The way the body had vanished, and the threatening promise written in her blood, still freaked her out.
On the plus side, she had got the security systems back online, and with some trial and error, had managed to force the Ghosts to move away from the docking ports and into the lower cargo bays. She'd smiled a little at realising that these monsters that had so terrified her could be pushed around so easily. With any luck, any ship arriving to rescue her wouldn't have to face them.
But even with all her fears and anxieties, fatigue had overtaken, and she had fallen into a fitful sleep, haunted by her experiences.
Until now.
Her heart leaps as she sees a 'message received' indicator on the communications panel. Calling the transmission up, she smiles a little.
TCRS Storm, this is the TCF Wolf, patrol frigate two days out of port. We have received your message and are inbound, ETA 30 standard minutes.
Checking the time index showed that it had arrived... about thirty minutes ago. She looks up hurriedly, to see a sharply pointed silhouette gliding towards the Storm.
Finally it looked to be over.
"TCRS Storm, this is TCF Wolf, come in please. I repeat, TCRS Storm, this is TCF Wolf, come in please."