Deep space was ordinarily a forbidding destination for spacers. Dark and isolated, with no sign of shelter in the starry void, it offered no comfort, no refuge in case of a system failure. No indications that civilized life had ever passed through those particular coordinates. Of course, Hobbie reflected, that was a positive if you were on the run from an enemy that was apparently intent on destroying said civilized life. “Storm Leader, this is Recon Six,” came a Devaronian voice that sounded diabolical to Hobbie even through the comm distortion. “All wing pairs have finished reporting in.”