When a person thought of the Hegemony, very specific things came to mind.

Worlds like Albion, Vickers or Jamestown with billions of citizens, the beating hearts of the superpower’s industrial might. Enormous super-dreadnoughts, the likes of which hadn’t been built since the Collapse. Space elevators, molecular printers and megastations, the charges of the Albion Hegemony until such a time as contact was reestablished with the Domain of Man.

That particular drive, to preserve and to protect until the Domain returned, was the singular constant that had preserved the Hegemony in its darkest hour. Because everyone knew that once the Emergency Council called it quits, the largest stabilizing force of the sector would disintegrate overnight.

It was this very drive that allowed the Hegemony to grasp victory from the jaws of defeat two times in a row.

At least, that’s what most people thought.

—

“Commodore, arriving.” Speakers reported automatically as Barker entered the flag bridge of the HNS 3033.

He walked up to the plot table, surveying the busy chamber. Officers and ratings occupied nearly every console, working on their tasks in silence only interrupted by intermittent reports and orders exchanged between superior and subordinate.

Barker looked at the plot table, centered around his squadron. To their aft, the world of Nakka buzzed with activity. As the home of 6th Fleet for the last half-century, the planet’s population and infrastructure was heavily dependent on and subsidized by the navy.

Some would say way beyond what was normal for any anchorage, but COMSEC would be quick to deal with them.

“Are we on track?” Keegan asked.

“We are, Commodore.” His tactical officer reported. “Twelve hours until we arrive at the jump point, and a few picoseconds more to get to HX-933.”

The young commodore grunted in acknowledgment, his intense gaze bolted to the plot. It was hardly his first time going hunting, but it was the deepest he’d ever gone into the Darkness.

Thankfully, the admiralty had chosen to reinforce his squadron with an additional cruiser and two heavy frigates, alongside additional logistics ships. All in all, he now had one heavy cruiser, one cruiser, four heavy frigates and three logistics ships. Nine ships, several hundred kilotons of steel and thousands of souls, all binded to him and his orders upon the pain of death.

“Excellent. Let’s hope we return promptly; I’d hate to miss the Union Day celebrations.”

—

During the height of the Domain, most of the Persean Sector had been explored and much of it colonized. The legendary Gates allowed the centralized government to provide logistical support and keep a close eye on even the furthest colonies of the frontier.

And where no gates had been established as of yet, the Domain ensured anchorages and secure ports were established. Some were deep colonies, which ran their own small system-defense navies and maintained enormous logistics hubs which supplied their local subsector. Others were run by the Domain Navy itself, as massive military bases and commisary shops that supported the vanguard of explorers seeking the next paradise world scientific goldmine that would enshrine them as part of a growing sector’s aristocracy.

After the Collapse, the pricetag of maintaining these forward bases was far to great for the nation-states trying to pick up the pieces in the core worlds. At first, migration was slow. Historical records show that many hoped the core worlds would find a solution in time and continue the massive subsidies that had kept the rate of expansion fast and steady.

Then the first Persean War came about, and the core worlds turned their focus inwards. The massive logistical infrastructure was all but abandonned, enormous space stations denuded of their valuables in a mad dash to evacuate from the crumbling frontier. So fast, chaotic and oft-violent was the evacuation, that records were regulary lost.

After all, who had time for record keeping when the core worlds had to deal with millions of refugees, dwindling resources, social unrest and the new and horrifying prospect of fighting for their very survival?

Whatever the massive orbital at HX-933 had been, it had been abandonned by humans long ago.

Thermal imaging put its temperature close to ambient. The side facing the blue supergiant of a star at the system’s center was incredibly hot, while the rest was close to absolute zero. To the average treasure hunter, this was a carcass that had been picked clean and left to collect space dust.

Keegan was no treasure hunter, and neither were his officers.

“Sir, we’ve found the anomaly.” His tactical officer reported, manipulating the plot to zoom into the enormous orbital.

Near the orbital’s twilight zone, a thin, roughly circular band of space where the temperature was somewhat normal —fluctuating between minus one-fifty and plus two hundred C— the squadron’s sensors had spotted several areas where the station itself was emitting heat.

“Just as the HEGINT report said.” Keegan nodded approvingly, turning to his tactical officer. “Prepare a saturation bombardment fireplan. We’ll slag their infrastructure, and flush out their ships. They’ve got nowhere to hide.”

“Aye sir.”

…

Hours had passed since the missiles had been launched. Their trajectory and drive shielding, combined with the derelict station’s lack of maneuvering, allowed them to remain hidden for their initial burn, before they shut off their engines and cruised on a ballistic course.

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Had it been any other foe, like pirates or Republicans, they would’ve launched ships and missiles the moment the task force arrived in-system. Yet Keegan’s task force did not approach the station directly, and instead headed for another jump point while lazily scanning the system for enemies; tricking the tins into thinking they were hidden.

Only when the missiles lit up their drives for the final sprint did the station react.

What was previously a barren surface exploded into action. Kinetic and laser batteries went into action, counter-missiles leaving their cells by the dozens. Concealed hatches opened and covers exploded off their hinges, revealing radars dishes and gravidar arrays that screamed death unto the void.

“Quite a weak cell.” His XO said, stroking his beard. “All the better, really, but the spooks really overestimated the damn cogs in their report.”

“Ship launches.” The tactical officer reported, as console operators in the background called out new targets and signatures. “They’re angry now.” She chuckled.

All along the twilight zone, dozens of concealed hangar doors opened. Out shot strange, mismatched ships straight out of a shipright’s deepest fever dreams. There was no point attempting to identify classes; the foe had none. Yet it was prudent to analyze the hulls, to see where they might’ve originated from.

The answer to Keegan’s unsaid question soon revealed itself; the clanker ships had no knack for stealth, unlike their hidden bases and shipyards.

“Civvy hulls, looks like Concordiat-origin.” The astrogation officer hummed, rubbing her smooth chin. “We’ll probably never know; damn corporate types never release those casualties to the public.”

“Still, can’t blame them for bad designs.” Keegan said, pulling up the profile of the closest match to what appeared to be the swarm’s ‘flagship’.

The Lion-class cruisers were true worhorses, emphasizing the Concordiat’s love for railguns and laser batteries over costly missile batteries. They were also featured prominently in the ‘Gray List’, a collection of all ship classes that could have, by sale or theft, ended up in pirate or terrorist hands. No surprise there; the Concordiat was infamous for selling to anyone and everyone so long as they paid up and didn’t fuck with the relevant Megacorp’s merchant marine.

“We shouldn’t let them get too close.” His XO noted. “Those ships might’ve been sent halfway to the salvage yards, but they still have a lot of their armament…and the clankers aren’t ones to shy away from adding extra on top. The missiles we ought to be able to deal with, but if those railguns are loaded with self-propelled rounds we’re in for a load of pain.”

“Agreed.” Keegan nodded. “Have the squadron turn perpendicular to their intercept course, and launch missiles. Two salvos, commander.”

They would have to watch that distance. Those ships might’ve been derelict, but their inertial compensators didn’t need to account for squishy meatbags. They were quick to accelerate and heavily armed. Glass cannons, running on precise calculations and inhumanely fast response times.

“Aye sir, we’ll serve these bugs a hot—”

“Radar return, bearing one-eight-zero!” A console operator shouted, leaning into his screen. “I’ve got ten bandits burning hard for intercept…acceleration is at three hundred Gs!”

“What are these things?!” Keegan asked, completly shocked by their acceleration. Even the fastest known clanker ships didn’t reach two-fifty, and they got slower and slower as they put on more mass.

“Textbook ambush…” The tactical officer muttered. “The HEGINT scout ship must’ve rang the alarm bell by accident, they were waiting in the asteroid belt.”

“How didn’t we spot them?” The commodore demanded, turning to the astrogation officer. The woman was rapidly turning white, looking through the raw sensor data with uncanny speed.

“It doesn’t make sense! N-Nobody had this kind of stealth.” She stuttered “These are ships, not drones! Gravidar puts their mass above thirty kilotons.”

Only concoriat Reaper drones were as stealthy, but those devils weighed less than a thousand tons and half of that was heatsinks!

“Doesn’t matter.” Keegan raised his voice, imagining his panick and fear being locked away in a vault deep inside his mind, to be opened at the latter date. The mental exercise didn’t help much, but every bit counted when lives depended on him. “We will fight. And we’ll send all these scrapbackets tumbling back into the void.”

…

“Scratch four.” The tactical officer muttered, looking at the KIA signature of the last ships among the derelict flotilla. “All derelicts accounted for, sir.”

Keegan smiled, a small part of the weight on his shoulders evaporating. “Good work, let’s—”

The chamber vibrated violently, distant groans sounding from beyond. They’d been hit.

“Damage report!” He demanded.

The comms officer’s reply took but seconds, yet they felt like ours. “Damage Control reports several hits along the port side. Shields are down, it went right through the armor belt.” He reported, his lips trembling. Then his expression froze entirely. “Sir…1098 is gone! Susp-Sus…” The man took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Suspected reactor meltdown, it’s dust.”

Keegan’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the outrageous report. How was that even possible? The heavy frigate hadn’t been hit once in the entire engagement!

“What hit it?” He asked, hoping for a good answer.

“Our sensors caught it…for a moment. Nanosecond, really.” A morbid chuckle escaped the astrogation officer’s lips, her eyes cold. “It was going very fast. Near-c velocities, sir.”

“What in the void…” Keegan muttered. “Are we sure it wasn’t a laser? Some kind of sensor glitch?”

“That’s simply not possible, sir.” The tactical officer cut in. “At this range, you would need insane levels of power. There’s no technology that allows for beam collimation at these distances, not well enough to crack through an escort’s defenses in a nanosecond. We’d have seen it….oh, bugger it all.” The man gestured to the plot.

Keegan turned to look, seeing the signatures of more missiles shooting out of the mystery ships’ launchers. This was their eighth salvo; they had to be running out of things to shoot at them…right?

“Launch countermissiles.”

“Sir…this is our last volley.” The tactical officer said, looking at him with resignation. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Within seconds, countermissiles shot out from the surviving ships’ rail-launchers. Just over half of a full volley, the last remaining birds in the entire squadron. Or what was left of it, really.

One heavy cruiser, two frigates and two logistics ships. The rest had succumbed to focused missile and near-c weapon fire, the squadron outnumbered and outgunned againt a foe nearly three times their numbers. His own flagship, a Peacekeeper-class heavy cruiser, had lost its shields and much of its armor, along with point defenses and missile cells. The rest didn’t look one bit better.

He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what the admiralty hid from him and all those outside the deep-strike squadrons. After all, how could an enemy be so strong if his ships were but salvaged and captured human hulls, derelicts from exploration and colony fleets that had ventured too far.

Yes, he concluded, this must be what had the admiralty really worried about. Because if the rank-and-file realized what kind of horrors they were being thrown against, they would desert by the thousands.

“Splash fifteen bandits.” His tactical officer muttered, snapping Keegan out of the vicious cycle.

Seven missiles had made it through the anti-missile net. Laser batteries all over the battered squadron had opened up the moment friendly fire had left the equation, but the missiles just weren’t going down. As he watched they dodged and weaved.

Three went down by the time the kinetic batteries opened up.

Massive gatling cannons went to work, the hull rumbling as literal tons of ammunition left their barrels.

Yet as Keegan watched, these defenses proved to be…insufficient.

“Shit, they’re going to—”

The HNS 3033 went out with a bang, a thermal lance cleaving right through depleted shields and cracked armor to strike at its reactor.