Admiral Fulmori’s fleet dropped out of slip space directly on top of Tagarin’s convoy of surviving warships and refugee vessels. The fleeing convoy had been traveling between jump points, making their way through an uninhabited system that presented many hazards for subspace travel. The warble of alarms briefly wailed as a few of those ships targeted his fleet in the ensuing terrified bedlam of surprise.

“Tagarin for you admiral” Com’s crisp report snapped Fulmori from his musings.

“On screen” He stood as Tagarin flashed into view. “Admiral Tagarin, I see you made it out in one piece.”

“Admiral Fulmori, I could use an explanation on how you move like the enemy, and how you seem to be able to move faster than any vessels in the known unity.” The Lycan Officer gruffed, clearly not amused at how demonstrably outclassed his fleet was by these newcomers.

“Admiral. I’m sure recent events will change this soon enough, but I’m currently bound by an oath of secrecy to those two answers. I can, however, offer you aid. I have the ability to send refugees deep down spin and far out of the reach of the conflict zone. With your permission, I would like to transfer the surviving civilians to my ships for the remainder of the voyage.” Fulmori offered a placing gesture, “I do not doubt your abilities, but I am but one small expeditionary fleet with no pull in this sector. Your name, rank, and ships would be better suited to defending the Unity. Allow me the honor of freeing you and your resources to do so.”

“I don’t like it, Admiral. But I cannot argue your logic. I accept your offer, but have one request in return.” Tagarin eyes Fulmori carefully. The Delmar officer nodded after a hair’s breadth of a moment. “I’ve seen the reports and the footage of the humans you fight alongside; I have seen you and your fleet in close combat. I am requesting aid from the Confederation and humanity. I am aware that I am not the Unity proper...” the Wolfman paused, eyes hooded against something only he could see, “the truth is…. I have not heard from any leadership from the capital since the beginning of this conflict.” Fulmori’s eyes narrowed as he realized just how disorganized the Unity was at this moment, but Tagarin continued, “I have not heard from the grand admiral in over a month. I fear him lost as well, yet cannot get any information. My self and my fellow admirals are patching holes where we can, but we are desperate. Please pass my request to your superiors.” The Lycan officer bowed his head briefly.

“I will admiral, I will be sending you a datalink code that I will share with my government. I cannot promise anything, but I trust we will try. Void go with you, admiral.” Fulmori gave a formal gesture of respect.

Tagarin returned it with one of his own, “and you, admiral. Tagarin out”

The connection closed as the Unity fleet began to break off, burning hard to reverse their course. Fulmori raised an eyebrow at the frantic chatter bleeding over audibly from the coms station, “Contact the civilians, tell them we will be consolidating them for evacuation. Let’s get to work.”

—————————————————-

Camorra slipped into the Family Library to find her father sitting in his favorite chair, carefully turning the page on a strange looking book. “Pappa?”

Kraystus looked up from “The Cambridge History of Warfare”. It was a truly enlightening, if equally terrifying, work of literature. He had purchased it from earth when Humanity first established trade routes with the Home-world; and he had been unprepared for the revelations of what humanity was capable of, even to themselves. This had elicited an amused laugh when Patrick had found him reading it late one night, “Remind me to let you borrow ‘We were soldiers, once and young’. It was written by the man that lived it, not the one that studied it.” The young human male had chuckled. The offered copy of that book sat next to the title he was finishing, awaiting its turn to reveal its secrets.

Kraystus gave his youngest a gentle smile, “ ‘Little one’ It is late, what’s going on?” He beckoned her over, and she curled up in his lap like she did when she was young.

“Cory needed to talk to Patrick, I didn’t want to go to sleep yet.” She admitted after a long moment of thought, “Pappa, what do you think of him?”

Kraystus smiled down at his youngest, “An interesting question ‘little one’. He eats a lot, and I caught him snoozing on the roof of the gazebo, let’s see... what else is there... I...” He smirked down at his daughter as she smacked him lightly on the chest, “I think he is good to you. Gods know he is protective enough of you...”

“Huh? He can’t be that bad.” Camorra sat more upright to look at her father for a moment, thinking. “You went looking for me the morning after we arrived.” She realized.

“Indeed, I went to ask Patrick if he had seen you. I guess he hadn’t closed that old door just right. It was cracked enough that I thought you might have gone to see him. Patrick heard me… that hand cannon of his is even bigger when it is pointed at you…” Kraystus chuckled at Camorra’s shocked look, but he continued, “Do not be mad at him ‘little one’; I do not fault him. Both of you had just come back from such carnage, he was protecting you. We had a good conversation after that.”

“You told him about my sleepwalking.” Camorra settled back down in her father’s lap. “He told me…” she mused, playing with the tips of her hair.

“What else did he tell you?” Kraystus asked gently, but carefully.

“That it gave us a ‘license to be roomates’… and that I wasn’t allowed to try to sleep on the floor anymore.” Kraystus watched his daughter blush at her remembrance.

“Cammorra,” Kraystus used his daughters full name for the first time in the conversation, “Humans are a warrior species. Everything I have read since their arrival points to this. Patrick may be an engineer, but he is also a blooded warrior. He will not be able to resist this conflict’s call.” He reached down and gently stroked her on the head, “He a reason not to.”

“What could make him want to go back into that horrible place…” Camorra whimpered, clearly remembering the attack on Celest, at least in part.

“You, my dear. To protect you. That was the other part of the conversation that morning. He has requested a courtship, once you were ready… in here” Camorra’s head snapped up in shock, and He tapped lightly on the forehead, “It is why I have not made an attempt to get you to sleep in your own room again.”

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“Pappa!” She scolded in shock, straightening up to face him, “Patrick has no understanding of our ways… He can’t be…” she paused as her father silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“My dear youngest daughter, I have been studying humanity since they arrived. They are an enigma of volatile emotion and capacity for violence wrapped in varying degrees of control. They are quick the sword, quick to mate, slow to love as we do… Patrick has been an absolute gentleman by Delmar standards, but if you were human, you would likely be carrying his child already.” He watched the emotions wash over his daughter as she blushed deeply, “It is another reason I approve. He cares deeply enough for you to forgo his human instincts to protect and comfort you, our way.”

Camorra considered her father’s words as the memory of the last few months flowed over her. She had become inseparable from Patrick, even to the point of being possessive of him with her flirty airheaded friends. That had been a secretly amusing event. Patrick had smirked and said that she should introduce him to her friends, and they had gone out for drinks. Patrick had been polite to all of them, then completely ignored them as he pulled Camorra onto the dance floor for one of the Human songs that had taken Delmar by storm. He had pulled her close as they glided around the dance floor, making it clear that he was interested in only her. She giggled as she watched her friends visibly deflate as he crushed their hopes of nabbing a human for themselves. Her fathers’ words to her had placed everything in a completely different light. He had not been playing a part, He had been claiming her in his own way in front of her planet-side friends. The revelation slammed into her like a canopy top gust in their gazebo.

The digital chime noting the front door opening and closing again rang in the library, and Camorra looked up at the speaker. Patrick was the only one out at this hour, and he had just come back. Ancient instinct rippled through her being as Camorra looked up at her father, only to see him smiling down at her.

Kraystus’ gentle voice was accompanied by a wrapping embrace. “Go to him, with my blessing. I’ll see to the formal paperwork in the morning.” He released her, picking up his discarded book to resume reading once more as his daughter slipped out of the library. Moments later, Aria slipped in through the same door and wiggled until she was settled into her favorite spot on the couch.

She had a mug of what Patrick had dubbed “Hot Chocolate” in her hands as she tucked her feet up beneath her. “Yes?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yes.” Kraystus stated with a smile, never turning his gaze from the pages of his book.

“About time.” She said firmly, standing before approaching her husband, swinging her hips slightly as she walked. Kraystus felt her coming and looked up just in time for her to pounce on him, straddling him in his chair before kissing him fiercely.

Kraystus let out a chuckle as she released his lips, getting his revenge. Aria Gasped as he let his practiced fingers free upon her body. Aria’s fingers finally reached the remote for the library lights, and they dimmed to a more intimate level as she pulled at her husband’s tunic.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Clint set down the data pad and reached for his mug. Fulmori’s report had been a read indeed, but He had finally gotten the majority of the details regarding his own fleet’s losses... Fletcher was gone with all hands. Her captain was Delmar, an effervescent man with a quick wit and quicker instincts in the void. He had been one of the few capital ship captains in orbit during the Void’s Revenge incursion and had fought his Delmar light cruiser into a ruined hulk before The first human task force had shown up in system. His willingness to commit to the hard fight had inspired both the Humans and the Delmar under his command, and this was the reason for the lack of escape pod launches when she received her mortal wounds. The Composite sensor data had shown that every one of Fletchers surviving guns had continued firing until the moment of her destruction. Her 700-soul crew had been almost a 50 percent split, and they had set a withering standard of commitment to stand against the opening salvo’s of this new war. Both Kidd and O’bannon had taken minor damage, with Kidd being the only other recipient of a suicidal pilot. Clint suspected the suicidal change of tactic was due to the devastating effect the electronic warfare suites of the destroyers had unleashed. The recordings of the battle had shown that once the three had engaged in close support of the fighters and bombers, that individual ships had largely ceased to be targeted. The enemy, unable to paint individual targets through interference, had been forced to fire on the convoy as a whole... Sadly, for too many civilian ships, It had still proven deadly.

Wisconsin was the most seriously damaged of Clint’s surviving ships. She had lost 190 out of her 7500 souls to the holes she had taken with another 150 wounded. She had chosen to forgo her personal shields to lend her strength to the already overtaxed shield wall and had paid a grim price. Almost a quarter of her total firepower was inoperative, and She would need Delmar’s shipyards to right her structural damage before she could be re-armored. In all likelihood Iowa would have suffered the same fate had Wisconsin focused on her own protection.

Iowa’s armor had not been penetrated, but it had been a near thing. There were already replacement shield generators waiting for her at Hade’s station, as well as shipwrights to replace her damaged armor. She had lost 15 of her number in a coolant conduit explosion before she could vent the pressure. 25 more souls suffered in her burn unit, but would make a full recovery under the studious eyes of doctors with the full weight of modern medicine behind them.

Galveston’s Wounds were not in hull breaches, nor in generators damaged; but they were no less severe. Only a third of her complement of bombers had returned. Half of her fighter wing was counted among the lost as well. The hanger’s emptiness was an aching reminder of the brutal reality of small vessel combat in the Black. There was the hope that one or two might limp back using their emergency slip drives, a fleeting prayer at best.

The door chimed, snapping Clint from his musings, “Enter!”

Captain Harrison stepped through the sliding door holding a pair of crystal sniffers and a bottle of something expensive looking, “it's 2am ship time... I’m your relief, don’t make me assault an Admiral to get you to take a break” he was only half joking as he rather pointedly set a sniffer down next to Clint and began to pour.

“Bill, I don’t think I could court-martial you even if I wanted to… Thanks.” Clint groaned, taking a long pull from the sniffer before settling back in his seat. The smooth fire of a truly exquisite vintage burned down as his muscles began to uncoil for the first time in days. “This is going to be a long war….”

“It is, but it will not be won or lost tonight.” Clint raised an eyebrow at his flag captain’s uncharacteristic sageness.

“Don’t tell me the great Wild Bill Harrison has gone and gotten old on me.” Clint smirked as Harrison gave him a mildly murderous glare.

“I can still turn you inside out on the mat, boy.” Harrison growl was ruined by the wide grin on his face. “It had to happen sometime.” He conceded after a moment, before smirking mischievously, “You can’t talk, both of the biggest pains in my ass ended up outranking me and becoming fathers. Who’s gone and gotten old.”

“You could have a Flag berth with a word, you know that.” Clint was slowly spinning his class watching the ripples in the amber liquid intently.

“Ha! I’m good. Galveston is where I belong. I always told you she would be my last command, and I meant it. I’m not cut out to command fleets, never have been.” Harrison’s tone was good-natured but haunted by memories of a war that had scarred both of them in different ways. “I always figured I would die with my boots on, makes no difference which side of the galaxy I’m in. Men like us don’t get to have it any other way.”

Clint said nothing back. He did not agree with Harrison on this, but the Man had seen to much, lived through too much to be dissuaded. Instead, he downed his drink, “When we get home, you are taking a vacation. I hear Mac has some nice herds of “Delmar Elk” he has been watching. It will do you some good.”

Harrison visibly perked up at the mention of a hunt, “Delmar Elk huh? Those big bastards that even the flying bat/snake/shark thing won't touch if it's healthy?”

“Yup” Clint smirked, both knew the hook was set, “You bring that ancient monstrosity of yours?”

“The Sharps? What do you think” Harrison smirked.

“Fuckin’ Cowboys.” Clint chuckled as they both poured another glass.

______________________________________________________________________________

Warren looked up from the screen on his wall and the data pad on his lap. it was three am local time and they were no closer to understand why the day's experiment failed so spectacularly. The conference call had ended over six hours ago, and Jezz was currently curled up against his side with her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Her light snoring was a quiet reminder that he really should have gone to bed ages ago. His gaze fell to the data pad in his hand. The data was all starting to blur together. They had duplicated the power ratios perfectly, accounting for mass increase due to their test vessels greater size. There was a moment when they believed that the generator’s overheating condition was linked to the outcome, but there simply wasn’t enough evidence to support the theory one way or the other. Warren reached for his mug of now cold stale coffee just to have a dainty hand reach for his forearm.

“Bed, come... War, it’s time to…” Jezz’s garbled half asleep murmur ceased as she froze, staring intently at his data pad. Warren raised an eyebrow as she slowly reached for it, “Mass. No Higgs generator.” Her mind ground its gears as she fought to focus through her sleep-drunk state. “The freighter.” she got out finally clearing her head, “War, the Freighter has no Higgs generators...”

“Wait, what? How could we have missed… oh shit...” Warren flicked through the data until he found the specs on the freighter. “Jesus, Jezz. That’s it… I need to send an email to the...” he was stopped a second time by a peck on his cheek.

“Tomorrow, Its late. They won’t see it for hours anyway.” Jezz she murmured before standing. “Come sleep.” Came a tired purr She got up, taking his hand and leading them to their bedroom.