November 5th, 2552

1830 hours

Stalwart-Class Light Frigate, UNSC Houston

Earth, Upper Thermosphere

“This is Captain Lance R. Adams of the UNSC Houston. Lambda Platoon, you better get your asses up here now! The Covenant is closing in fast and our support is heavily engaged!” The Captain shouted into the microphone again, trying to get his voice heard over the chaos that consumed the bridge. A low siren droned throughout the ship and several crew members leaned over their consoles, furiously typing at their keyboards. An aura of orange lights illuminated the bridge, a hum of low but urgent talk drowned out by the shrieking of the siren.

“Captain, Royal’s communications were disabled four minutes ago. However our radar shows they are making their way back home.” Communications Officer Halsey looked up from his console to the captain, a forlorn look in his eyes. For the situation at hand, and considering this was the best of circumstances, Adams looked in confusion at Halsey's face. The words the officer spoke conflicted with the expression he gave, as if he knew something the captain didn't.

“Lieutenant, reestablish communications with them ASAP!” The captain barked, Halsey's moment of fear subsided as he twisted back in his chair around the terminal that sat on his desk.

“We’re trying! The channel’s shot and we can hear them, but they can’t hear us.” Another officer shouted out from above the noise of the bridge.

“We’re also having difficulty communicating with the rest of the fleet!” Halsey suddenly spoke blankly, his words never registering with the ears of anyone.

“God Dammit! Where the fucking hell did they come from!?” Weapons Officer Franklin cried out, diverting everyone’s attention to either the radar or the windows, some hastily diverting their eyes back and forth. A task force of Covenant Cruisers appeared of the bow, ominously looming in front of them. The giant spacecraft outweighed the light frigate it not only size, but weapons and defenses. The ships were an ominous sign of certain death for the Houston. Two of the enormous vessels split off to port and went to close the gap between the Houston and the Earth. The other three diverted to the right except for a lone warship that stood in the path of the frigate, blocking off its means of escape.

“Fuck! They’re coming in for a broadside sweep!” The officer cried out again, returning to his console, “They’re coming in fast! ETA six minutes!”

“Fire up the MAC Cannon! Take aim at the nearest bastard and open fire!” Adams ordered, sending Franklin furiously typing at his console.

“Sir! We don’t have to go suicidal at this! Royal is closing in and we still have our slipspace drive intact!” Navigations Officer Higgs shouted over the others, not looking up from his console for an instant.

“What good will that do? We’re gambling on our reserve power already!” Another officer argued, but was swiftly taken down by another barrage of vocals from Higgs.

“God Dammit you idiot! We haven’t touched our reserves yet, and we’re running low on ammunition as it is! If we bug out of here, we might be able to tap into our reserves to get us back! And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be awkwardly floating in deep space with a small chance of survival then being confronted with certain death!” He motioned his hands in exaggeration at the looming Covenant forces that slowly grew near. A brief pulse of light emitted from the middle of the five ships, and a searing shot of plasma shot through space, progressively getting bigger and bigger as it got closer and closer. The Houston shook as the barrage of plasma impacted right off the front bow. The frigate responded with another shake as its MAC Cannon returned fire, the high-velocity round piercing through space and embedding itself in the enemy warship. The craft buckled, numerous explosions could be seen through the ship as a chain reaction of explosions rocked it out of alignment. An enormous explosion sent a large chunk of the cruiser breaking off the rest of the ship, falling to the Earth bellow in an enormous ball of fire. The rest of the ship soon followed, joining the chunk of itself as the two bodies entered the planet's atmosphere.

“Gotcha fucker!” The Weapons Officer cheered in self-satisfaction.

“Dammit, we lost the shields! Our hull is exposed!” Someone yelled out over the muse, returning the bridge to its previous state of disorder. “Get a maintenance team down there now!”

“Royal is on their way! ETA two minutes!”

“Sir, the Covenant is almost broadside! ETA two minutes and closing!”

“God damn this is going to be close,” Adams thought out loud to no one in particular. The commotion that had consumed the bridge died down as all eyes diverted to the captain. Pieces of paper slowly floated down to the floor, caught in the ship's artificial gravity. The only sound came from the low hum of the siren, and the flashing orange lights left pulsating shadows around the bridge. Captain Adams walked up and stood lament at the windows, watching as the Covenant warships were positioning themselves for a textbook hammer-and-anvil deathblow.

“Captain, the UNSC Sympathy has been lost. Our flank is completely exposed.” Officer Halsey deadpanned, adding a searing pain on top of the nervous concoction of events that stung everyone in the room. “Royal is approaching too,” he added, looking up to the Captain and awaiting orders.

“The Covenant will be able to open fire in sixty seconds.” Someone else spoke out, bringing time into the equation. Captain Adams turned around to address the crew that stood before him. He had served them proudly for seven years. A single tear started to form in the pit of his eye, but his stern and emotionless face still showed authority. He had to give a command, and he wasn’t going to like it. No one ever like it. When one thinks of UNSC craft, they think of prestigious ones such the Aegis Gate or the the Pillar of Autumn. The Houston wasn't particularly known for anything, after all it was just a support vessel. The crew was seasoned and just as capable as any other unit in the UNSC fleet, but the one time they're charged with important mission everything goes to hell.

“Prepare for a slipspace jump. We are getting the hell out of here and I don’t care where. After we get the necessary repairs done, we are turning around and going in for a swift counterattack on whatever alien bastards still linger within Earth’s orbit. Wait until I give the order for the jump though; we are leaving at the last possible second and giving Royal all the time we can until they can get into the jump stream. It is impeccable that we secure the package they fought so hard to secure, do you understand?” He finished with a salute to the entire bridge. Most of the crew was too in shock to respond, but the few that weren’t saluted back. Blanks stares were the only replies given.

“Thirty seconds.” A voice spoke out from the crowd. Adams returned to the window, watching the enemy ships get closer and closer.

“That is an order,” Captain Adams added, and with that the room erupted into a frenzy. Some returned to their consoles and others scrambled around the room, flicking switches and shouting commands. The low hum of the siren became a wailing screech, and the pulsating orange lights went into a not-so-reassuring shade of dark red. The captain turned at last and returned to his seat, placing his mouth near the intercom.

“Attention all crew members, this is your Captain speaking,” he announced, “We are preparing for an emergency slipspace jump in less than twenty seconds. I highly recommend you find something to hold on to, things are going to get bumpy. God be with us.”

“Turbines are charged, awaiting the order.” The Navigation Officer looked up to the Captain, not a single indication of fear in his face. Soldiers weren't supposed to show fear, but these men weren't soldiers. They were sailors. They were husbands. Sons. Daughters.

“Royal is closing. Ten. Nine. Eight…” Halsey spoke, a hint of worry in his voice that made the tension in the room so thick it wouldn't be a far cry to say it could literally be cut with a knife.

“The Covenant is closing. Seven. Six. Five…” Franklin said. Everyone knew this was going to be close.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

\x\x\x\x\

From the bridge of the Covenant Frigate, the Brute captain smiled to himself in satisfaction. This would be an easy kill; the remaining four ships were almost broadside to the human frigate, and when they fire from both sides there would be no place for the enemy to escape. Afterwards they would soon land to reinforce the invasion of Earth. Perhaps glass one of the many cities. Maybe New York? There’s numerous inhabitants there, and it would be a fine trophy to wipe it off the face of the planet. That would have to wait though, since the fight was in another hemisphere. He barked to his subordinates as their warship came alongside the UNSC craft. He admired their technology, even though it was primitive and about to be destroyed. The Humans’ weaponry was almost specifically kinetic while the Covenant’s was but pure energy. In a comparison, the Humans would be victorious if they could pierce the energy shields. But the electrical discharge of a plasma cannon would cripple any living creature long enough for a fatal blow to follow suit. They just needed to be fast. And nothing is faster than pure energy.

The plasma cannons were fully charged, ready to blast the human craft into the next quadrant. He gave the order to fire, and the ship’s three torpedo launchers opened fire. It would take less than ten seconds before they would make contact with the hull of the enemy ship. The rest of his task force also opened fire, and the brilliant bolts of plasma shot their way through the vacuum of space.

But they never hit their intended target.

The UNSC Houston became wrapped in the familiar void of subspace. The white bubble encapsulated the ship before it disappeared in a slipspace jump. The whole thing was over in seconds, but the plasma torpedoes still missed. It was a major disappointment to the captain, the thought of a kill escaping so easily would be a burden on his shoulders. Perhaps it would have been better to open fire from the front when they first appeared on the battlefield. The enemy was already damaged, but they could have lost more ships if they charged head first. One Covenant vessel lost was enough, and they didn’t need any more.

Then everyone’s worst fears were realized. A screeching echo of sirens ran throughout the ship, and the unnerving violet warning lights hummed through the bridge. They were under fire. But from where? Everyone frantically ran from console to console trying to get a sense of exactly what was going on. The captain sat in his seat, chuckling to himself. His nervously laugh became more prominent, diverting the curious attention of some. Off to their right, one of the task force’s ships engulfed itself in flames, buckled, and broke in two. The other one tried an avoidance maneuver but it too met a similar fate, plasma traces lingered from where the death blow struck. He looked down to his console, and noticed the two ships had stopped broadcasting their signals. The vessel behind theirs soon blipped off the radar too. The captain casually brought his attention to one of the windows, and saw as a plasma torpedo embedded itself into his ship’s hull, watching as the friendly craft that fired it plummet to the planet below in a flaming wreck. Standard procedure was that the cruiser stayed its course, being the only survivor of the task force. Friendly fire sure is a bitch. However the Brute Captain ordered the ship to stop its course and provide aid to the destroyed ally that drifted behind it. The warning light that shook the ship stopped but for an instant before picking back up again. They were under fire again! But there were no hostile ships in the quadrant, so where could the enemy be coming from? It could have just been a false alarm, but the sirens still blared.

Something caught the captain’s eye, and he looked out through the windows to where the enemy craft once stood. Something was coming at them. A chunk of debris, most likely. But the ship’s energy shields still stood, and so would any piece of Covenant hardware. It had been engineered so that the shields that applied to any given piece of metal would stay there, and it was far too early for the energy to dissipate. He hoped it wasn’t an asteroid. Even a small one would be enough to cripple the ship. He ordered his frigate hard to the right, turning into the oncoming projectile. The object was slow, but it didn’t need to be as long as it hit.

The captain’s eyes widened as the object drew near. It was something he’d never seen before. He’d heard of them, but this would be his first and last sight of one. His soldiers were right, facing one of these on the battlefield would be a death wish, but how it got into space was beyond imagination.

The hardest part of an M808B Scorpion is the barrel; it needed to be in order to withstand the immense heat when it fired a projectile. But in this case, the barrel was the projectile, and a damn fine one at that. It was easily able to pierce the weakened shield of the Covenant vessel and punch through, obliterating the bridge. The sheer size of the tank was enough to send half of the chunk of metal off into space.

Another thing about a Scorpion is that its hull is hard to penetrate. It has to be in order to protect the delicate 90mm High-Explosive Armor Piercing (HEAP) shells contained inside. But a weakness to the Scorpion lies within those very shells. The tank has a high rate of fire, being able to shoot a round off every four seconds because of the easily accessible loader. The loading chamber of the tank is therefore prone to jamming with such a high rate of fire with enormously sized shells. It’s also prone to misfires. The shell casing had to be crafted in such a way that they could easily be fired, but not by accidents when handling. The Scorpion’s turret also had to be crafted in such a way that it was compact; so compact that the firing pin is the size of a hammerhead. A well placed enemy shot to the tank could easily knock it out of place and cause a misfire. A sudden impact could do the same.

This explains that when upon impact, the preloaded shell that was in the chamber of the barrel misfired. This is why crew members must clear the chamber before they could even leave the tank. However Lambda 01 forgot to do so in their rush, and the chambered round went off upon impact with the Covenant ship.

However that doesn’t explain the perfect freak chance of alignment. The chances of the shell making its way through the captain’s chair that sat right up an air vent, through several hundred meters of uninterrupted travel in the ducts, into the reactor room, and straight into one of the ship’s two antimatter reactors. Even though antimatter reactions are the only thing capable of making a slipspace jump possible, one would think they’d be better armored to keep the volatile substance inside safe. They usually are though, since several energy shields envelop the reactors, each layering of shielding capable of surviving a nuclear explosion point-blank.

However the shields were offline at the moment. Something about an overloaded circuit from a plasma torpedo making contact with the ship’s hull shields. This meant the thick casing that protected the one kilogram of antimatter contained inside was highly vulnerable to the HEAP shell that pierced it, causing the biggest no-no in physics: You do not cross antimatter with matter; which causes nothing but pure energy. Or in layman’s terms one enormous explosion. A single ounce of the stuff is capable or recreating the bomb that dropped on Nagasaki near the end of World War II, but five times bigger. And the reactor had one Kilogram of antimatter. And so did the one next to it. This meant two Kilograms, or 4.4 pounds, or 70.4 ounces of antimatter exploding in the most violent, freak, yet intelligently-designed explosion imaginable.

Quick history lesson in atomics: The first atomic bomb dropped; the one over Hiroshima, weighed in at a little over thirteen kilotons which resulted in the death of 90,000 people. The hydrogen bomb dropped over Bikini Atoll weighed in at fifteen megatons and the place has been irradiated since. The largest nuclear bomb dropped on Earth soil, the Tsar Bomba, weighed in at a staggering fifty megatons. The shockwave shattered windows well over six hundred miles away. The mushroom cloud alone was higher than eight times the height of Mt. Everest. To create the parachute that lowered its descent, the entire Soviet textile industry was disrupted. And even though the plane that carried it got a twenty minute head start after dropping it, it was still knocked out of the sky. One kilogram of antimatter is equal to roughly forty-two megatons, or four fifths of that of the Tsar Bomba.

And there are two kilograms of the stuff inside the dinky Covenant vessel; which is just over a kilometer in length. You imagine standing at the base of Krakatoa and having the enormous volcano erupt in your face. What was left of the task force and it was simply wiped off the face of the universe.

\x\x\x\x\

“First thing’s first. Where in God’s name are we?” Captain Adams spoke, staggering out of his seat as he tried to get a hand on the situation. The sirens the had been echoing a moment before stopped, adding to the unnerving setting the red lights made; still flashing and cast shadows around the bridge. Aside from those lights, the only other source of illumination came the various modules around the room. There was not any other source of light, possibly throughout the entire ship even.

“We are three parsecs away from Earth; somewhere in an uncharted part of the Milky Way.” The Navigations Officer said once more. The desperate maneuver got them out of hell, but right now they were AWOL. If they didn’t get back to the fight soon, there would be swift action from high command against them. The officer knew it. The captain knew it. Everyone knew it. Everyone thought they knew it. Everyone thought about it. Everyone thought about the punishment. Everyone thought if there would be punishment. Everyone thought. The bridge was silent once more.

“Status report?” Captain Adams asked, not to anyone in particular. "Any sort of information would be greatly appreciated," he mused. After an awkward silence the sound of a printer could be heard going off, buzzing as ink scratched itself onto paper. A crewmember ran across the bridge to the printer and gathered the single piece of parchment, staring at it intently. The center of attention drew itself upon him, and he read aloud;

“Status report: November 5th, 2552. 1838 hours. Life Support Systems: Online. Weapons Systems: Offline. Radar and Communications, outside and internal: Offline. Navigation Systems: Offline. Mk1 Shield Generator: Offline. Slipspace Drive: Offline. Engines: Offline. Main Reactor: Overheated and in emergency shutdown. Hull: Compromised at the bow. Backup Generators running at 40%, and we have only a few hours left of reserve fuel before they run dry. All available energy has been automatically diverted to maintain life support and other crucial services. All doors, vents, and hangars have been automatically shut and locked due to the hull breach at the bow."

"Sounds like God just told the UNSC Houston to go fuck itself," another crew member deadpanned, killing whatever positive morale that might have still lingered.

A solider appeared, but didn’t have anything to report. Rather, he was there to be there, in the presence of authority. He had jammed his sniper rifle into the door frame to wedge it to open, bending the barrel. Himself along with his squad scrambled into the room, dispersing among the crowd. After the brief struggle, one of the privates walked up and asked the one single question that ran through everyone’s minds.

“Where is Royal? Did they make it?” The stony silence shook everyone. Nobody seemed to know. The Communications Officer who sat uncomfortably in his chair looked back down to his console and typed furiously at his keyboard. He stopped and stared blankly at the screen, deciphering whatever message it contained before clearing his throat, and standing.

“Yes and no,” Halsey uttered, already under the anticipating glares of the entire bridge, which was filling with more and more crew members by the minute.

“They made it into the subspace bubble, but not to the ship," he added.

“Elaborate, Lieutenant. Please.” The captain nervously said, almost not wanting to say the words.

“They made it to the subspace bubble, but not to the ship,” Halsey repeated. “When we jumped into slipspace they were just on the inside of the event horizon and not within close proximity to the Houston. Henceforth, they were kicked out of the slipspace stream before we were. They could be anywhere between us and the Earth.” The room dropped to something even quieter then dead silence. Each man could only hear their own breathing, and those who held their breath could only hear the slight thump of their heartbeats, and those whose hearts skipped a beat could hear the cold sweat run down their faces. All eyes cautiously passed between the captain and Halsey. The red sirens stopped and the only form of illumination came from the computer screens scattered throughout the bridge. After a brief period of time, the fluorescent ceiling lights flickered to life and with them a newfound, although vague, hope.

“Main reactors are back online,” One man said, lost deep in the crowd of people who now flooded into the room. Repair teams, soldiers, pilots, janitors; everyone. Anyone who could have fit in the bridge was there, like a flock of birds returning to a single nest in search of their mother.

“I’ll be damned they’re working at only a sliver of their full capacity, but they work.” The man added.

“Don’t strain them!” A woman shouted from somewhere else. “Let them cool to safer levels! Only when the reserves run dry do we turn them back on.”

“Any reports on casualties? We need to get the medical bay online!”

“All onboard communications are scrambled. We’re in the dark.”

“Radar is still dead. I don’t know what the hell is around us.”

“One of the hangar doors is jammed opened! Get a crew out there to assess the damage to our hull!”

“I think there's a fire on deck three!”

“Is the Covenant around here? Where’s the nearest friendly star system?”

“ENOUGH!!” The captain’s voice bellowed, ending the shouting matches that were more annoying than the blaring sirens that were still ringing in his ears. He looked around to the crowd that continued to grow larger still. People squeezed through whatever gaps there were, occupying every square foot of floor space.

“Do your God damned jobs. Get this ship back into a stable condition, and we'll se where we go from there. Dismissed.”

“Loud and Clear!” One of the soldiers yelled in salute, before running out the door with the rest of his squad. The room erupted into a wild frenzy again as people stampeded out of the bridge, leaving only the original crew. More modules and screens came to life one by one, and even the air conditioning eventually kicked in.

“We’re going to need to conserve as much energy as possible. Whatever isn’t necessary I don’t want it used. Johnston, how are onboard sensors?”

The private sat back down at his console and typed in a quick command. “Life Support is stabilized. Communications are still shot, but I got a repair team working on that. For the most part, everything else is working at half capacity.”

“Um, Captain Adams? Permission to speak?” Halsey regained his composure and stood back up.

“Permission granted. What is it?”

“We recorded everything from Lambda Platoon up to the slipspace jump. I got the cockpit recordings on audio file right here, ready to play.” Halsey said bluntly. The clattering of keyboards stopped and the bridge was quiet once more. Adams swallowed hard. Whatever was recorded could be the last trace of Lambda.

“Maybe it’ll tell us where they are?” Someone asked with false hope. Those who knew the answer to that did everything they could not to shake their heads, denying the fact that Royal was likely lost in space.

“Play it.” Adams ordered, and Halsey sat back down.

\x\x\x\x\

>>Communications Recordings. November 5th 2552. Six minutes and fifteen seconds in length.

>>Lambda Platoon, callsign “Royal”.

>>Units: Lambda 01. Lambda 02. Lambda 03. Lambda 04.

>>Initializing. Standby.

>>Loading.

>>Loading.

>>Playing.

*static*

Lambda 02: This is Lambda 02, callsign Carbon reporting in. UNSC Houston, do you copy? Out copy.

Lambda 02: Repeat, UNSC Houston? Do you copy? Out copy.

Lambda 04: Carbon, do you not see what's going on up there? I wouldn’t be surprised if they lost their communications in that shitstorm.

Lambda 02: Regardless, full speed ahead. It’s impeccable we get the package onboard. Shamrock, how’s the package?

Lambda 01: It’s doing fine, thank you for asking. Calling in for a head count. Shamrock here reporting two KIA and three wounded, one critical.

Lambda 02: This is Carbon. We’re all here. One of ours is now deaf, but we’re still here. We left behind our Warthog though.

Lambda 03: This is Heart, reporting two KIA. Zero wounded. All supplies are accounted for. How about you Spade?

Lambda 04: Zero KIA but we got two wounded. They aren’t serious though. They'll live.

*static*

Lambda 03: Fuck! Phantoms on our six!

Lambda 02: Dammit, they don’t know when to give up! Shamrock, get ahead of us. Heart, escort him out of here. Spade you’re with me, protect Shamrock at all costs.

Lambda 04: Well, our lives would be a nice thing to keep.

Lambda 01: We’re under fire!

Lambda 02: Contact! Contact! Counting two bogeys closing fast, return fire!

Lambda 03: We’re entering the stratosphere. Come on Shamrock, I’ll get you home.

Lambda 01: Fuck! We've been hit!

Lambda 03: Nothing serious, it’s just a graze. Why don’t you guys cover our asses?

Lambda 02: Tango down. Bye-bye you dumb bastard.

Lambda 01: *static*

Lambda 04: We still got one following us. Return fire!

Lambda 02: Dammit that was a close!

Lambda 03: Come on Shamrock. Just play follow the leader.

Lambda 01: *static*

Lambda 03: How are you guys holding up back there?

Lambda 04: We’ve seen better days. Shamrock, what condition are you in?

Lambda 04: Repeat, Shamrock how is your condition, over.

Lambda 03: They aren’t talking. I think their communications are shot.

Lambda 04: That and they’re trailing smoke.

Lambda 02: Tango down, that’s two for two. Let’s bug out of here.

*static*

Lambda 03: Entering the upper mesosphere. Shamrock, can you hear us?

Lambda 04: Rock your bird Heart. See if they respond. We’re catching up.

Lambda 03: Yeah, they rocked theirs back. That pelican has seen better days.

Lambda 02: So has ours.

Lambda 04: So has the Houston. Look!

Lambda 02: Holy fuck. Where the blinding hell did those Covies come from?

Lambda 04: They’re not going to survive that. I mean, five of them? That’s just a little unfair.

Lambda 02: Scratch that. Four.

Lambda 03: Ha! Look at that baby burn!

Lambda 02: UNSC Houston, this is Lambda 02, callsign Carbon reporting in, do you copy? Out copy.

Lambda 04: Give up Carbon. They’re too deep in shit to talk back.

Lambda 03: I’ll say. The Covenant is going hammer-and-anvil on them. I say we bug out to the Sympathy.

Lambda 02: Can we even do that? We're assigned to the Houston.

Lambda 04: I’m in. Drastic times call for drastic measures. We need Shamrock alive.

Lambda 02: Fine. UNSC Sympathy, this is Lambda *static*

Lambda 04: *static*

Lambda 03: FUCKING DAMMIT!!

Lambda 02: We just lost the Sympathy.

Lambda 04: No way we’re returning to Earth either. The LZ is too hot and we’re running low on fuel.

Lambda 03: Yeah, we are too. Thrusters are giving it their all though.

Lambda 02: Yeah, ours too.

*static*

Lambda 03: Damn it all.

*static*

Lambda 03: We’re in the troposphere.

Lambda 04: Looks like the Houston’s preparing for a jump.

Lambda 02: Hopefully we’ll make it before then. ETA thirty seconds.

Lambda 03: Put on your diapers boys, this is going to be close.

Lambda 04: Already used mine. Got an extra?

Lambda 02: *laughter*

*static*

Lambda 04: How’s Shamrock holding up?

Lambda 03: They’re doing fine.

Lambda 02: Fuck no they’re not. They’re falling behind!

Lambda 03: Shamrock! Kick your tail into high gear!

Lambda 04: They’ve lost an engine.

Lambda 03: Dammit! Shamrock! Put your ass in overdrive now!

Lambda 02: Fuck that Scorpion is weighing them down!

Lambda 03: Jettison that tank Shamrock! Do you read me!?

Lambda 02: Shamrock, jettison your tank! You aren’t going to make it!

Lambda 03: Fuck it I’ll shoot that thing off them!

Lambda 02: Heart! Get your ass in gear and keep moving. Shamrock will make it.

Lambda 04: No they won't. None of us will.

Lambda 02: Covies have opened fire on the Houston!

Lambda 04: So this is how it ends. I imagined more girls and guns.

Lambda 02: That’s all you think about, isn’t it?

Lambda 03: Wait a minute! We’re within range to be inside slipspace bubble! We made it!

Lambda 02: Shamrock hasn’t!

Lambda 03: God dammit Shamrock speed the fuck up! You’ll be caught outside the slipspace bubble!

Lambda 02: This is going to be close.

Lambda 04: The Houston’s making the jump! We haven’t made it to the ship yet!

Lambda 02: Doesn’t matter!

Lambda 03: GOD FUCKING DAMMIT SHAMROCK!!

Lambda 02: BRACE!!

*static*

>>Transmission ended.

>>End playback.

>>Replay audio file: Y/N

\x\x\x\x\

The bridge was in the dark once more. The ceiling lights that graced their presence flickered out of existence. The orange warning lights returned to their job of casting shadows across the room. Captain Adams walked up to Halsey's terminal and scrutinized the screen, before it too went black. So did everyone else's. So did the orange warning lights, snuffed out oft their brief reintroduction.

"God Dammit." Johnston spoke to himself. He turned to address the uncomfortably shifting crew, "Permission to speak, Captain?"

"No time for formalities Private. What is it?"

"Our reserve fuel is gone. We must have an undetected leak somewhere. Our reserve energy supplies are gone, and Life Support has the only working generator on the ship. No telling when that will run out."

"Weren't the main reactors back online? Albeit they're at like 2% power, don't they still work?" A woman spoke out to the Private.

"Yes... I do believe so. But they are still critical. No telling when they'll be safe to operate. Captain, what do we do?" Everyone turned back to Adams who stood next to Halsey, his mind racing. Training had never taught him how to deal with this sort of situation. Not even the manuals described what to do.

There's an old saying: Experience isn't something you get until right after you needed it. And boy, did Adams need it.

Several minutes passed by, not a peep being said as the crew patiently waited for their commanding officer to come to. Captain Adams still stood, hunched over Halsey's console, staring into the black computer screen. He took a deep sigh, and absentmindedly hurled a coffee cup across the room, the ceramic mug shattering against a far wall. It was Halsey's coffee cup, but he didn't say anything. He could always get another. He knew that. After much more hesitation, Adams made another heavy sigh, and looked out the front window at the empty cosmos. Not a spec of any sort of heavenly body could be seen. Slowly but surely, a faint glimmer of a star flickered into existence, followed closely behind by another, and soon the universe came to life. They were still alive. They didn't know where they were, but they were alive.

"I want all available repair teams on those reactors." Adams spoke at last, much to the relief of everyone. "Get them stable as soon as possible, and then turn them on. We're going to fix this tin can with duct tape and rope until we can get into some sort of reliable condition. I want every room that can be converted to treat wounded to do so. Anyone with any sort of medical experience is now a nurse, regardless of rank or assignment. Quarantine all compromised portions of the ship until further notice."

"But sir," Franklin stood, nervous to speak, "Our communications are dead. How are we..."

"We're doing this Old-School, Franklin. Get the message across, all of you. Run through the ship and spread it around, make sure everyone hears it and return back to me. That is an order."

"Aye-aye, sir!" The room of twenty-two officers saluted, and burst out of the bridge through the freed door.

"Except you, Halsey. I need someone who knows what their doing up here."

"Aye, sir."

\x\x\x\x\

"Lieutenant, about Royal... how do you think they are?"

"I think they have it worse then we do."

"Pray they do not."

"Halsey? How far from Earth are we?"

"We were in subspace for a few minutes. Rough estimate is a few parsecs, why?"

"Couldn't we have pulled out sooner?"

"Sir, once the switch is pulled there's no turning back. You know that."

"Where's the nearest friendly star system?"

"Err... give me a second. I know we have a map somewhere. Here it is."

"Well?"

"Um, that would be Sol. Right where we came from."

"Where do you think Royal ended up?"

"Honestly? I haven't got the slightest clue. They're somewhere between us and Earth though."

"We need to recover the package."

"I know."

"I have an estimate of where the might be."

"Where?"

"About halfway between us and Earth, but the search field covers several trillion sqare miles."

"But it'd take months to even search a fraction of that."

"Once the slipspace drives are back online, we're searching for Royal."

"Their distress signals should be able to last years."

"We'll find them. We'll bring them home."