COMMONWEALTH CRUISER ‘Snow’ WARD ROOM
/ / SO8.iv_o-sply · Somari Eight / /
Admiral Fisker surveyed the fine china as his steward set the table before him.
It reminded him of a stuffy state dinner. The kind that would require him to put on a show for politicians and foreign dignitaries. His staff had selected the finest wines from their stock–including a bottle of Crüniac placed in front of him. Thankfully, there would be no diplomatic theater this evening, at least not on his part. His most senior staff — save Shadow — would dine in luxury, and they would praise him for it.
“Do Cartolangious eat their own kind?” Fisker asked his steward, surprising the stocky little Eukary.
Pinching his face, the man shrugged. “If you’re asking about the Captain,” he said, trying to quickly deduce his Admiral’s question. “I think they’re different sub-species of Cartolangious, so he might not mind.”
Fisker scratched at the hair that was growing on his jawline. “Yes, I think you’re right.” He mused for a moment, “I recall learning about them eating each other in their tribal wars.” Fisker tisked and snapped his fingers. “Either way, I don’t want him invited.”
“Aye, sir.”
Fisker scratched at the hair again. “Once you finish with the table, come give me a shave,” he grinned. “This is a celebration after all, I shall look my finest.”
Moving to the steward’s cupboard, Fisker opened the refrigerator. Sixteen fat, juicy slabs of meat lay covered in plastic wrap on the shelf. The marbled meat had thick bands of fat that would char nicely.
The hydroponics bay had pulled several dozen of the high-oxygen-producing vegetables to be cooked and served with the meat. Rather than mixing with calorie-dense rice or fibre bars, they were prepping a real meal.
Even the bread baking in the oven was a treat. Fisker’s marines had raided the supply station and found bread mixes and preserved Burbite eggs.
This was going to be a feast to remember..
Fisker knew it was probably a bit premature, as the rebel commodore was still hiding somewhere in the rings on his flagship … was he still a commodore after Fisker had destroyed the rest of his flotilla?
No.
Now he was just a pirate rebel captain, alone. Waiting for his death at the hands of justice. Fisker had learned from the rebels they captured on the station that he was a Declanian named Volm.
It wasn’t surprising that a Declanian was losing once again.
It was a tale as old as time, but Fisker took it to heart. The Belliundrian and Declanian were both uplifted species, genetically modified by a pair of Rhyno scientists locked in a god-like feud over who could create the better species.
Belliund the Eldar won the competition, and the Belliundrian race–Fisker’s race–became the dominant residents of the old Confederation. The Declanians would always be inferior to a Belliundrian.
The refrigerator beeped; he’d been holding the door open too long. Fisker quickly shut the door. He didn’t want to risk spoiling the feast.
TWO WORLDS REPUBLIC SHIP ‘Hound’ BRIDGE
/ / SO8_v-korb · Somari Eight / /
“Reactors three and four at eight-eight-decimal-three power, Commodore,” Kritzberg called across the bridge. “Active lidar is — GREAT MAKER!” The panic in his voice drew every gaze on the bridge.
Quicker than their brains could process the alert, the Hound’s logic computer activated the point-defense cannon and active plate shielding.
The whomph-whomph of blazer fire echoed throughout the deck as the explosive energy of each impact of the rounds was absorbed by the powered plates of the hull.
“Shield generators are still charging, spin is at thirty-two thousand RPMs, sir,” a light-skinned Belliundrian called out as he checked the counter-measures panel.
“Who is it?” Volm barked finally, after taking in the cacophony. He kept his voice level and calm, but with a strict air of authority.
“It’s one of the 88s that followed us into the rings,” Green replied, moving from the sensor plot to the command board. “Let’s hope Firestorm stays dark.”
“How’d they get on top of us?” Volm asked, furious with himself for not considering they might be tracked even powered down.
“Best guess is they saw us go dark and followed us?”
Volm shook his head, “We had shadow buoys when we went dark, and we watched the path visually.”
Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.
“Fire back at her, if you please, Mister Green,” Volm said, watching the weapons techs across the bridge prepping for the order.
“Missus Chadbrook, return reciprocal fire along the 88’s axis, bring all PDIC online.”
“Aye, sir, recip-fire, niner-oh-zed-zed, confirmed.”
The assistant officer clicked on his control board, nodding to Sub-Lieutenant Chadbrook. “Ma’am, Sirs, point-defense-interdiction is spun-up and on independent tracking.” He double-checked his screen. “The 88’s not launching any missiles, switching PDIC to active lock.”
“Range is closing, Commodore.”
“Let them close,” Volm ordered. “Miss Chadbrook, I need every one of those blazer rounds to count.”
“Whites of their eyes, Miss Chadbrook,” Green echoed, as he moved around the control table. “Helm, keep us at six-decimal-five-five gee’s and hold course.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Aye, Lieutenant.”
Volm felt the shudder of combat, the cold ice that radiated down the spine. He’d never been this close to another ship trying to kill him.
“They’re rolling!” Green shouted.
Volm grit his teeth and grabbed at the horribly textured grab bar. The roll would bring the gravity sink of their opponent around the ship like a battering ram.
Volm hadn’t expected that. “Hold on!” He shouted, “There’s nothing we can do!”
TWO WORLDS REPUBLIC SHIP ‘Hound’ DAMAGE CONTROL CENTRAL
/ / SO8_v-korb · Somari Eight / /
Commander Jea's jaw dropped as she watched the oncoming adversary begin to roll. It was a classic batting maneuver. She had seen it many times while serving on the cruiser Tableau. It was a tactic the Rew loved: close distance and snap their gravity field.
Without waiting for orders, Jea tapped her headset. “Dox, open all grav capacitors, prep for overload.” She turned to her engineer's mate, “Wilson, set a parabolic wave on the gravity emitter; the Commodore will be rolling us.”
Jea felt the power spike in the deck plating. The gravity increased, and her breath shortened.
They weren’t matching the roll.
Behind Jea, a capacitor blew, and a brownish-yellow, warm, viscous fluid shotgunned against her back and across her control board. Scattered fragments of her crew splattered onto the panel in front of her, leaving a silhouette where her back had absorbed the rest..
Turning to face the horror, three wrecked and mangled bodies lay behind her with their torsos agape. She let out an intense growl, cursing the gods. “Why didn’t he roll?” Jea asked as she thumbed her mic back to life. “DCC to CIC, you need to interpose our gravity well.”
The CIC was only a hundred yards ahead of the Damage Control Center. Jea snapped her fingers at a nearby crewman as the gravity continued to pull at her lungs. The crewman was suffering the same gravitic strain, as he coughed blood onto the floor. Jea knew that meant a bone had punched his lungs. “Get to CIC, interpose…” Jea felt the blackness of unconsciousness closing around her vision.
The crewman nodded and tried to pull himself towards the hatch.
KRA-KOOM! A violent blast shook the Hound.
The plating beneath her vibrated as the shockwave of damage passed through the ship. “We– need– to–” Jea felt her chest erupt in pain as a bone somewhere deep inside her snapped, and then everything went dark.
COMMONWEALTH DESTROYER ‘Antler’ BRIDGE
/ / SO8.i_v-korb · Somari Eight / /
“Roll us back, return gee-locks, prepare another blazer broadside,” Captain Arsnetti laid a finger on the control board, pointing at the damaged airlock on her prey. “-then send a marine platoon and bring the survivors out.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Arsnetti’s trap had worked perfectly. Approaching in the shadow and prepping fire while her opponent slowly came back to power had worked perfectly. She needed prisoners this time. She hadn’t meant to blow up the Firestorm, but it had been so severely damaged…
Destroying the Firestorm and capturing the Hound would all but assure her a place on Fisker’s senior staff… even as a Declanian.
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Stellar Empire is a new sci-fi IP that we’ve been developing, and Andrew previously Kickstarted a card game in this universe, Stellar Empire: Skirmish!
Header concept art of Admiral Fisker created by Robert R. Fike
Man, I'm really starting to hate Fisker. Dude is a real sicko.