James walked through the deck, his boots thumbing against the polysteel plating. It was only 0400 hours according to the ship’s clock, though an outsider would hardly notice this fact. Much like the submarines of old, diving deep into the oceans were no sun ever shined, a spaceship ran on 24-hour ‘days’ only because the squishy little humans inside required it to.

The main corridors of the Vanguard’s Hymn are never full, but they are always active. Crewmembers move to and from assignements, meals or the few hours of relaxation they get. Some tense up as James walks by them, but most simply nod their respects and carry on. Fifteen years ago, the sight would’ve irked James to no end. War tends to shred all those little inefficiencies of mind and spirit.

As he waded further and further away from the main corridors, the people around him started looking different. 

Each area of a warship was dominated by one or two specializations. The engine room and reactor were full of engineers and technicians, some of the smartest people in the galaxy. The weapons bays were full of gun and torpedo crews, experienced men and women who could nail a fifty-ton asteroid with a coilgun from a hundred light-seconds away.

This area was different. Sheltered behind an armored door much like the ship’s bridge, and guarded by a pair of marines at all times. The bridge might’ve been the heart of the ship, but this was the heart of the fleet.

Both marines stood at rapt attention as he approached, snapping off precise salutes with the casual competence of veterans.

“At ease.” He said, saluting them back.

The senior of the two, an ebony-black sergeant in her field uniform, pressed a button on the wall to her right, speaking through the intercomm. “Admiral for the bridge.” She said.

The armored door hissed open, revealing the interior of the battlecruiser’s flag bridge.

Consoles of every kind lines the walls. Unlike civilian electronics like high-opacity holographic screens and motion-detection keyboards, which could function out of a hand-sized metal brick, the Akrites military preffered solid hardware. Holographic displays were used only when the situation demanded it, such as 3D navigation and sensor analysis.

One such example sat at the center of the room. A table-sized holographic display, as usual surrounded by a handful of high-ranking officers.

“Admiral on the bridge.” The lone marine on the inside announced, knowing the fact through the handy intercomm.

Every console tech and officer in the flag bridge turns around in sync.

“At ease.” James sid immediately, allowing the crew to return to their tasks.

“Ceremony must never be placed above function. Instead, it must used to reinforce the proper way.” One of his academy instructors had explained to the class, back when he was still studying for his commision.

As he approached the holo-table at the center of the room, the officers surrounding it turned to salute.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” He said, saluting back.

“Good morning, Admiral.” They replied in unison, a little tradition that that had formed through the war.

Each and every single one of the officers he’d known for quite some time, largely thanks to how sluggish personnel transfers and promotions had become during the last few years. The opening stages of the war had crippled the duchy’s ship-building operations, doubling or tripling the time it took to build a new hull. Without a growth in capacity and a moratorium on retirements, the upwards mobility among the ranks of officers had gotten from bad to worse.

“How is our course, Michael?” He asked the lanky blonde commander standing opposite to him. Commander Michael Smith, his operations officer, was a man married to numbers. He was cold and calculating, oft-lacking in the social department but sharp as a razor when it came to tactics and strategy.

“Stable.” The commander replied, highlighting the parabolic arc of the flotilla’s path to the jump point. 

They’d passed by the last major stellar body more than a week ago. The icy planetoid had long been abandonned in favour of the rich inner asteroid belts of the Columbus sysem. Now they were diving straight into deep space, with only an ‘escort fleet’ of Vogdi warships to keep them company from an entire light-hour away. 

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“We’re continuing to deccelerate at six-zero gravities of acceleration from our initial cruising speed, about two-point-five from the rimward jump point. At our speed and decceleration I believe that we will arrive at the jump point in twelve standard hours, barring any mobility-related issues.”

James nodded, satisfied at his ops officer’s report.

The sooner they left the system, the better. Baron Vogdi might’ve promised him and his fleet safe passage to the edge of the system, but he would be a fool to trust the words of a betrayer.

Plus, the sooner they left, the less morale would drop. He hated to see it, but the reality was that many people were…apprehensive about starting a new life five a hundred light years away, especially among the civilian ships of his impromptu colonization fleet. Once they arrived to their destination, these worries ought to lighten, if not dissappear entirely. A one-way trip would take more than two hundred years, meaning that any would-be returnees would return to a society half a millenium in the future compared to the one they left.

Of course, that hardly mattered to his core of loyalists. The best they could hope for if they attempted to stay was a swift death…but the Baron’s colosseums were always in need of fresh blood. The mere thought of his legacy being reduced to slave-warriors and pleasure workers made him  shudder.

Eager to do away with such dark thoughts, James turned to his chief of staff. Commander Harriet Noriega was a born realist, further tempered by the unsavory necessities of a war for one’s survival. Though she’d served him for most of the last three years, he hadn’t seen her let her raven hair down once, instead opting for a neat bun.

“How are our pre-cryo preparations, Harriet?”

The commander cleared her throat.

“They are proceeding smoothly. The Diligent Pioneer, Blacksmith’s Bane and the Hephaestus have locked down most of their heavy equipment, and will be ready for long-term inactivity in four to eight hours. All ships of the merchant marine report they are ready to put the civilians in cryosleep. I’ve just spoken with every captain of the squadron, and I’m please to say all ships ready to enact deep cryosleep protocols.”

“Very good. Have all civilians and non-essential personnel enter cryosleep, and make sure we won’t have any issues making our jump into void space. Keep up the good work.”

+++

Nearly twelve hours later, the time had come. They were only minutes away from entering the ‘jump point’, a perfect —albeit invisible— three-dimensional sphere were the system’s gravitational waves aligned in a way that allowed interstellar travel at FTL speeds. Its area was small enough that ships had to slow down from standard near-c cruise speeds in order not to miss it.

“All patched in and ready for the announcement, admiral. Every ship reports succesful hyperdrive synch with the Vanguard’s Hymn.” The communications tech reported, looking up from his console seat.

“Very well. Inform all ships to prepare for imminent hyperspace jump. All warships are to maintain standard jump defense protocols.”

“Aye aye, admiral.” The lieutenant acknowledged, turning back to his console.

Within no more than thirty seconds, a klaxon siren sounded from speakers throughout the ship.

Almost immediately, every light turned red, bathing the flag bridge in crimson.

‘This is it.’ James thought, looking at the holo-table. One final jump, and after that two hundred years in deep cryo as the last loyalists of his father’s dynasty, his dynasty, sailed to their new home. And from there—

“Vampire, vampire. Missile inbound!” The sensor watch-stander shouted in alarm, just as a red dot entered the holographic display…with more close behind.

“Counting one…five…seventeen…twenty-five, no, fifty-two missiles! Impact in fifteen seconds!”

James cursed, tracing the origin of those missiles. The damned Vogdi had betrayed their word again. He was an idiot to believe them, idiot! They were going to kill them at their weakest, with their shields disabled and weapons unloaded in advance of the FTL jump.

“Comms, patch me through to Captain Jenkins!” He shouted.

Not two seconds later the face of the Vanguard Humn’s commanding officer came into view on the table’s solid-state monitors.

“—officer, fire counter-missiles, empty the tubes!” He shouted at somebody out of the camera’s angle, his face solid stone.

“The tubes were just unloaded, sir! Ten seconds until I’ve got birds ready!” The off-camera sailor shouted, his report steeped in fear.

“Engage with lasers, damn the range!”

“George!” James shouted, grimacing. If the man didn’t listen to him in the next moment, they’d all be stardust.

Jenkins’ eyes turned to the camera for a split-second, enough for James to grab his attention.

“Engage the fleet hyper, now!”

If they stood and fought, with their tubes unloaded and their shields down, those missiles would render them into atoms. Escape was the only option; they had ill-reason to stand and fight against the thrice-damned Vogdi ships. With the fleet hyper capabilities already synched to the Vanguard Hymn’s own…

The captain’s eyes shined in understanding, and he turned away from the screen oncemore. “Nav officer, get us into hyper!”

“Sir, the capacitors are still—”

“Now, damn it!” Jenkins shouted, veins popping out of his forehead.

“Engaging hyperdrive!”

Jame’s teeth felt itchy, his mouth tasting like stardust and the color pink.

The feeling remained only for a moment, and then it went away. The fleet was now cruising through the lower bands of hyperspace. They were safe.

Sobbing softly, a junior officer muttered. “I can’t believe we survived—”

For a moment, the inertial compensators failed. A mere trillionth of a second, during which he felt his stomach bang against his ribs like a wrecking ball. He wanted to scratch every bone in his body. Warm liquid dripped from his nose, the drops falling on his lips tasting like iron.

“Oh, what the fuck…”

They were right in the middle of a battlefield.