Prologue

The hum of the engines was the only thing that could be heard aboard ship. They were constantly going; propelling the colony threw space on its way to their new home. According to the ship’s readouts, they had been going for the past thirty-seven months, three weeks and six days since their departure from Earth. Of course, most of that time was spent traveling with the Ion Drive, propelling them slightly faster than light, and allowing them to cross the vast distances of space. Of course, on these deep space flights, occasionally there had to be a time for repair and maintenance…which is why WE got woken up. Flight Officer Pete Newmann thought grimly.

It wasn’t the worst job in the world, taking colonists from one dead-water planet to another. Most of the time was spent in cryo, and there the passage of time was like the passing of a dream; when you woke up, it was years after you had gone in.

He had signed up as a lowly deckhand right out of high school. He had held a couple of mechanic jobs before that, and he had managed to score high enough on the aptitude tests to be considered for the position. The pay was good, and with almost no family, he had no problem in adventuring into the cosmos. Of course, then there is the work.

Pete smiled in anticipation. The work was really why he had joined the Colonial Colony Corps. It was a challenge to work on these deep space assignments. Often, they had all they would require to fix the part right there on ship. If they didn’t, they could break another out of spares and install it. Overhauls were always tricky because they had to do it while the ship was in motion, if out of Stardrive, to ensure timely delivery. That meant many of the systems were energized, and quite a few carried giga-pasquels  of energy through them. Pete had once seen a man get fried working on one, the surge so strong that he had been reduced to carbon. They couldn’t even find any ash to vacuum up and give to his family. If I go, I hope it’s that quick. I’d hate to linger.

A beeping at one of the consoles interrupted his thoughts. Surprised, Pete turned to the offending screen. That was interesting; it seemed that the problem was coming from the sensor section. There wasn’t anything else out here at all. A malfunction, perhaps? Pete wasn’t sure. He was the only one on the bridge at that moment, as the others were working on different sections of the ship and the captain was down in engineering. Curious, Pete wandered over to take a look. Probably just a rock or something. If it was big enough to cause damage to the ship, he’d call the captain and change course slightly to avoid the problem. The autopilot should already have done that without warning us if that was the case though. And then Pete got to the screen.

He stared disbelievingly at the information displayed. That’s impossible!, was his first thought, quickly replaced by a lunge for the comm section.

“Captain! Emergency! Emergency! All hands, Emergency!” He shouted desperately. Behind him the lights flickered to red as an emergency siren whooped through the ship. Around the ship, people stopped in surprise at the call, but hurriedly raced to their posts. Pete hammered at the communication section, trying desperately to raise the strange ship that was rushing at them at .c of lightspeed.

“What the blazes is going on up there!” came a roar that filled the bridge. Pete flinched until he realized the voice was coming over the loudspeakers.

“Captain, we have an unidentified ship closing to our position. No response to hails.” His voice sounded strangely flat and calm.

“Keep hailing them, and change course! I’m on my way.” The phantom voice commanded.

“Aye sir!” Pete called back. He continued pressing the hailing button, trying to at least get the IFF beacon off the boat. His heart sank as he only got silence. With the exception of the sensor readings, the ship out there might as well have been a ghost.

Fresh blips on the screen pulled his attention away from the communications console. He felt his face furrow in a frown. What…?

Understanding flooded through him, and he gasped in horror. Opening the channel, he shouted, “Missiles inbound! Brace for impact!” Message delivered, he quickly strapped himself into the communications chair, lowering the five point harness and securing it in record time.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name… his mind began chanting. In some dark, terrified recess of his brain, he had time to wonder…who were the attackers and why were they attacking?

And then there was no time to think as hammer blows slammed him against his chair with teeth-rattling force.