| abstract
| - "INCOMING!" Explosions rocked the Gallofree-class transport as its countermeasures barely took out the hails of proton torpedoes directed at it. Imperial Broadside cruisers were surrounding it, furiously firing off volleys of torpedoes. Under usual circumstances, the Gallofree would have been reduced to scrap metal within seconds. Fortunately for its occupants, the transport had been modified accordingly for such a situation—but even the advanced laser countermeasures that made up most of said modifications were being strained to the limit. Aboard the command centre within the Gallofree, Fres Trazon grabbed hold of the nearest control console as the ship was shaken by yet another volley. "Damage report! Damage report!" he screamed, hoping someone would hear him above the blaring of alarms and explosions. "Shields barely holding, sir. Don't think we can--oh, kriffing hell! They took out the aft generators!" "And we are not getting out of here why?" demanded Trazon, his voice reaching fever pitch. "Working on it, working on it!" cried one of the bridge crewmen as he manipulated some controls. Lazily, the transport began pulling away from the Broadsides, the bottom shields taking the next volley of torpedoes. As soon as the maneuver was completed, the engines engaged, sending the transport rapidly forward into a gas cloud, the aft cannons letting off some shots at the Broadsides, which struggled to turn in its direction. "Hyperdrive's still overheated." announced an engineer on the bridge. "We're gonna have to wait about three minutes before we can jump." "Really? In that case, I want as much space between us and that Imperial space station in that three minutes. Where's that Acclamator that kicked our asses?" "Not on sensors, sir. Looks like we're in the clear." Trazon sighed in relief as he walked over to a nearby monitor bank. He glanced at one that displayed the contents of the transport's troop compartments: ranks of the 12th Alliance Specforce Team's finest, strapped into their seats, most looking terrified. Had the operation that the alliance had just commenced here in Sector 3123 gone to plan, they would have stormed an Imperial research facility, overpowered its defences and garnered valuable Imperial intelligence. Unfortunately, the Imperial defences were far more stronger than anticipated, and so the Alliance flotilla had been decimated, with this Gallofree now the only survivor. Trazon worried for a moment as to whether they would bump into any Imperial patrol ships, but then stopped—the Empire had decided to place this facility in the fringes of a nebula, which jammed most types of sensors in the area. Presumably, the Empire thought that this would hide it from prying eyes. Unfortunately for them, it also jammed most types of Imperial sensors as well. Clearly, they hadn't thought that one through. Suddenly, he just realised something. "Not on sensors? That doesn't mean anything. They could be right next to us for all we know..." he glanced out of a nearby viewport. All he could see was the purple haze of the nebula gases. "Two minutes to hyperspace jump time." announced the engineer. Trazon began sweating. All he wanted now was those two minutes to go by quickly.
*
* "All rebel ships are accounted for?" "Yes, sir. Well, almost. One transport has fled into the nebula, but has recieved minor damage. Shall we commence pursuit?" On the bridge of the Acclamator-class cruiser Judgement, Viktor Vonclaus towered over the Imperial lieutenant he was speaking on the catwalk between the data pits. Dressed in a dinner suit, he looked more like an insurance agent than an Imperial commander, but this did not stop him from radiating authority and dominance. The big leather jackboots he was wearing banged loudly against the floor as he walked over to a tactical console. "Dese tings here are ion trails, yes?" he boomed in his deep Atriasian accent to the crewman manning the console. "Yes, sir." "In that case, they hav probably not gone fahr. I want to go after them and..." "...and what?" rumbled a filtered, growling voice. Viktor turned around to see a tall man, dressed in an Imperial high officer's uniform and wearing a mask, step onto the bridge. He sighed. He knew the man only too well. Jarmas Tronarkt, commander of the elite 888th Imperial Legion, a large section of which was currently stored aboard this very cruiser. Sadistic, narcissist, and above all untrustworthy, he and Jarmas had barely gone along in the year or so that they had jointly commanded the Legion together. Both of them had become infamous for their constant jostling over command of the Legion. "Whose command is this?" said Jarmas angrily. "Mine! I have told you a thousand times, Vonclaus, all orders you give out are to have my authorisitation!" "But..." "But nothing! However, I will give my authorisiation for this particular command. Commence pursuit of the rebel cowards! Let them taste Imperial superiority! Annhilate them!" He began chuckling uncontrollably, and Viktor nervously took a step back. "As you wish sir." he sighed. A crewman manipulated some controls, and the cruiser swung around and headed into the nebula, disengaging from the rest of the Imperial ships hanging by the facility. "Give me the estimated time until we catch up with the rebel ship!" barked Jarmas. "Given our superior engines, I would say approximately forty seconds." said a crewman. "Excellent..." rasped Jarmas.
*
* "We'll be going to hyperspace in fifteen seconds, sir!" Trazon breathed in relief. Nothing could happen to them in fifteen seconds. Finally, they were safe. Rebel command would not be happy about the miserable failure of the attack, but at least the 12th Alliance SpecForce team was going to fight another day, and that was consolation. "Ten seconds!" Trazon staggered over to his command chair and sat down as Kal Greesom, his dark-skinned second-in-command, entered the bridge. "Amazing we got out of that alive." he groaned. "I don't think we'll get a second chance at this." "At least we are alive." sighed Trazon. "Five seconds!" A moment passed. "Jumping to hyperspace, sir!" Trazon sat up as the engines whirred into action... ...and died. "What the hell just happened there?" "Sensors say that there's a gravitational anomaly nearby! Also--" The transport flew out into a clear patch of the nebula. Hovering directly in front of it was an Imperial Acclamator cruiser, emblazoned with the imagery of the 888th Imperial Legion, often referred to as the Empire's analogue of the 12th SpecForce team. Trazon swore violently as the transport flew directly over the cruiser, barely grazing the surface. "Damn it!" screamed Greesom. "How?! How did they sneak up on us?!" "Quiet!" roared Trazon. "We got an incoming transmission!" "Rebel scum." a filtered, growly voice came out of the nearby comms console. "Normally, this would be the part where I would demand your surrender before blowing you to pieces. I'm doing to do that, but not the first part. Got that? Goodbye." "I ain't goin' without a fight..." said Trazon through gritted teeth. "Let 'em have it!" The freighter lurched forward into a blue cloud of dust in the patch. The guns of the Acclamator swivelled in that direction, antipicating it to come out the other side. It didn't.
*
* "What do you mean, they've disappered?!" roared Jarmas. "Sir, they no longer register on our sensors. They just..." began a crewman. "Sensors! Do not talk to me about sensors! You know about the effects of nebulae on sensors! They are probably just hiding in that cloud, being cowardly rebel scum, hoping that we will go away! Put a few torpedoes into that cloud and we will show them who is the fool around here!" "As you wish, sir." The Acclamator fired off several proton torpedoes, which streaked across the patch and into the cloud. They did not come out the other side, but no explosion came from within the cloud. "What happened?" demanded Viktor. "I don't know, sir." said the crewman. "The missiles have vanished, but they didn't hit something." "This is strange." breathed Jarmas. "Move closer to the cloud." A crewman complied, and the Acclamator engaged its engines and moved right up to the cloud. It then began to accelerate, heading right into the cloud. "I said move closer to the cloud, not into it." sighed Jarmas as the Acclamator entered it. "Sir...engines are not responding...we're being pulled in!" "WHAT?" demanded Jarmas, as the lights suddenly began to flicker. "Evasive manouevers!" "Too late, sir! Systems are shutting down! We're...we're..." The lights went out and the bridge was plunged into darkness.
*
* Police officer Joseph Sandgren munched on a donut as he sat in the driver's seat of his patrol car, near a road lined with corn fields. It was nearly midnight, he was tired, and he failed to see the point of being on patrol when barely anything happened in his godforsaken bit of the country. The nearest town was several miles away, and the only location of note was a lake and a few farms. All there was to do was to sit on your ass and eat donuts, he thought grumpily. Feeling bored, he turned on the radio. For a moment, rock music blared out of the car speakers. Suddenly, they went silent. "Oh, for crying out...damn car..." he muttered angrily, punching the dashboard. Suddenly, there was a screeching sound, and a massive fireball hurtled overhead, lighting up the night sky. Then there was a violent thud as it impacted somewhere on the horizon, with birds sleeping on nearby trees taking flight in shock. Totally started, Sandgren got out of the car. The thing seemed to have hit somewhere near the lake. Getting back into the car, he turned on his police radio. "Uh, control?" he said. "We have a situation..."
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