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Rear Admiral Wilson was certain that he was dead.

“Those damned Rebels...” He whispered. “Coming out of black space... how the hell did they...”

A hundred red warning signals screamed for attention as a gout of flame flared against his back. Wilson gasped in pain as he groped for his pocket extinguisher. His fingers finding purchase, he brandished the device and jammed the red button: A spray of chemicals sprinkled on the inferno, throwing a cloud of smoke into his face. Wilson covered his eyes and coughed.

The fire backed down like a primal beast into its cave. Tongues of orange lashed out, burning Wilson’s arms, but he grit his teeth and ignored the blistering pain, the smell of his charring skin. After a focused, determined spraying effort, the blaze guttered out and died.

“Engineering, report reactor containment status!” He yelled.

He was greeted with static.

“Engineering! Respond!”

Wilson slammed his fist into the sensor panel until the glass cracked and broke. No dice; not even a flicker of life.

His shields were down.

His crew was unresponsive.

His FTL drive was offline.

His ship was burning.

“Damnit...” Wilson murmured. He set his hand against the console, willing his cruiser to stay in one piece. Another salvo of lasers slammed into the hull; his dying ship violently shivered as the high-energy bolts slammed into his hull, melting away chunks of armor plating. Wilson was thrown from his seat.

The Rear Admiral clambered back to his feet, a bead of blood trickling into his eyes. He eyed the green blip on his Local-Range Scanner map, a sliver of hope glimmering in his eye.

“Hold it together, girl...” He pleaded. “We’re almost there.”

Tap, tap!

The metallic clicks of fingernails flicking metal echoed through the cavernous hangar bay.

Tap! Tap, tap-tap!

“Hellooo-oh?”

The last syllable reverberated against the sheet metal walls.

“Oh... Oh... Oh...?”

A screen finally flickered on, the green glow illuminating the young man’s face.

[Commencing boot protocols...] it read.

The human stepped back and wiped his hands on his light blue uniform, glancing at his cheap wristwatch.

“Took ya long enough, Ollo. Hurry it up. We’ve got something important.”

[Ensign Jess, Federation ID: 0112341. Bioscan...complete. Identity confirmed.] The tinny, monotone voice spoke in response.

A flicker of irritation crossed Ensign Jess’ face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not some rebel impostor. Seriously, we got shit to do.”

Despite his facade of annoyance, Jess always been impressed by Ollo. The higher-ups had brought Ollo to his station, Federation Repair Station Kepler-19, around five Standard Galactic Years ago. Ollo was an Engi, a race of sentient half-biological, half-robotic engineers. And Ollo was probably the only reason Jess was still sane.

The Engi raised one of its arms, the nanobot colonies attached to its wrist shape-shifting to replicate a human hand. [Query: is task vital/urgent?]

Jess sighed in relief. “Yeah. I’ve got two contacts at extreme range on our Local-Range Scanner. One of them is a Mark 1 Rebel Interceptor. The other... is a Federation distress signal.”

Ollo stood from its charging station. It stood one and a half meters high and resembled a stout man dressed in a bulky grey hazmat suit. Unlike a hazmat suit, however, the Engi’s “skin” consisted of a flexible plasteel weave. Small patches of exposed grey flesh blended in impeccably with the ferrous polymer. In the center of its chestpiece was its Engi designation, stenciled in proud, block letters: 0110.

Jess nicknamed the Engi “Ollo.” The Engi accepted the alias. The name stuck.

The only way to see Ollo’s emotions was through the Engi’s viewscreen, which was mounted on the front of its dome-shaped “head.” At the moment, it displayed a soothing shade of blue.

[Designate orders.] Ollo said obediently.

“Right...” Jess murmured, running a hand through his hair. Rebels weren’t unheard of in this area, but they usually simply passed by. Occasionally, a ship would remain near the jump beacon, waiting for their FTL reactor to spin up.

This was the first time a rebel ship was inbound on an attack vector. Jess felt an unusual mixture of fear and excitement suffuse his thoughts. His mind flashed back to the holovids they showed back home, in the Winter system. Dramatic, heroic music playing as federation ships, shining silver and dashing orange, blasted the pathetic, feeble rebel ships into burning wrecks and smoldering smithereens.

And yet, those “pathetic, feeble rebel ships” had managed to destroy the 1st and 7th Federation United fleets. They had subjugated innumerable loyalist star systems, besieged the Engi homeworlds, and driven the slugs into the nebulae. Their automated drones were ubiquitous, terrorizing shipping and swarming isolated Federation ships.

The Federation was losing the war. Everyone knew it, but no one said it.

Jess blinked and shook his head. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

“Ollo, we should probably set the station to combat alert and pull out the weapons from storage... uh, do we have weapons?”

Ollo stood still for a half-second.

[Federation Repair Station Kepler-19 equipped with class two shields. Weaponry limited to two Mk. I defense lasers.]

“Defense lasers?” Jess asked, furrowing his brow. He regretted not paying attention at Gunnery school.

Ollo’s “face” displayed a bright green. [Mk. I defense lasers fire a single bolt of superheated plasma. The single-shot nature of the weapon makes it of minimal utility/efficiency in conventional ship-to-ship combat.]

Jess tapped his chin. “So, basically, they’re crap?”

The Engi paused for another half-second before answering Jess’ inquiry.

[True.]

Jess shrugged. “We’ll make do with what we’ve got I guess. Can you get station computer to mount them?”

[Processing request... Error 00F2x0055. Cargo retrieval options unavailable when under fire.]

Jess tilted his head. “But we’re not under fi--”

The steel plates under his feet fluttered, and the lights above switched to a deep red. Jess could hear two distant thumps.

[Analyzing...] Ollo quipped. [Life Support systems offline. Fire reported in Section 4.]

“Uh... power up the shields!” Jess ordered. “I’ll try to contact the Federation ship!”

Ollo’s screen turned blue as it wordlessly complied, quietly gliding out of the room and towards the shield control station.

Jess stepped towards the drone control panel and tapped in a long string of alphanumeric characters. The station was short on drone templates, but he needed a System Repair automaton in Life Support ASAP. They’d be gasping on the floor without the Life Support machines constantly synthesizing oxygen. The air was already starting to become stuffy.

With a high-pitched beep, the printers whirred to life, retrieving a drone template block from storage and using the parts to construct a brand new SysRep bot. The robot rolled off the fabrication platform on its single wheel and swiftly made its way towards the life support.

Jess knew the robot would not fail. Its chemical fire-suppressant system and the Fastfix multitool welded to its arm made short work of any repair tasks it came across.

In a way, Jess was jealous of its efficiency.

He heard a muted impact, like an antique baseball bat smacking into a pillow.

[Shield at 3% capacity. Commencing recharge protocols.] Ollo emotionlessly chimed into his earpiece.

“Great. Do that.” Jess replied as he rounded the corner and slid into the commander’s seat.

He booted up the communications dish and attempted to establish contact with the Federation cruiser. He passed his sensors over the ship; it bore no tags, neither name nor designation. The onboard computer didn’t even recognize the model of the cruiser. Strange.

Was she on some sort of covert op?

“Unidentified Federation Ship, This is Ensign Jess, receiving you from Federation Repair Station Kepler-19. Do you read me?”

No response. Jess checked the connection: the other side was receiving.

“Unidentified Federation Ship, please respond!”

Jess heard static. Good. At least something was coming through.

Jess peered closely at his forward viewscreen. Something seemed... off. He spread his fingers, increasing the zoom from one to two hundred thousand times magnification.

Jess didn’t recognize the ship’s silhouette, but the onboard computer estimated a Heavy Cruiser or Light Battleship tonnage. Its power signature was undefined. Its profile resembled the bastard love-child of a Kestrel Class light cruiser and an Osprey Class heavy cruiser. The Osprey’s signature Mark-V Engines were clearly visible, seamlessly merged into the fuselage. The Kestrel’s trademark underslung cargo bay jutted from the belly. The Vindicator Artillery Beam, standard issue for all Osprey Heavy Cruisers, had been removed from the mount on the cruiser’s nose.

The ship edged downwards, its Engines weakly sputtering. Jess could just barely spot the plumes of oxygen venting into space. Its shields weren’t activated.

[Shields at full charge.] Ollo announced, shattering Jess’ thoughts.

“Are we in danger?” Jess asked.

[Hostile threat rating: 1 out of 10. Rebel ship lacks sufficient firepower to penetrate Station shields.] Ollo quickly replied.

Jess breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Awesome. Thanks, Ollo. We should probably stand ready to repair that federation cruiser. It looks like it could use our help.”

[Acknowledged. Opening hangar bay doors.]

Jess watched the wounded Federation ship streaked towards the station. It entered the shield envelope, punching a small gap through the shield. Light blue film rushed to cover the small hole the ship made when it penetrated the shields. Meanwhile, the Rebel Fighter circled the station like a hungry shark, firing its lasers in a couple of exploratory salvos. When its pilot realized the futility of his weapons against the station’s shields, the Rebel withdrew.

Jess reached for the recovery arm controls. The magnetic graspers extended from an underside orifice, firmly latching onto the Federation Ship’s hardpoints. Meter by meter, the arm reeled the ship in.

The sight of the ship made Jess frown. A mere thirty Standard Galactic Days ago, Federation Blockade Runners would pass by his station almost daily. This was the first ship he had seen in weeks.

Sometimes, they’d even offer to take the recovery arm and attach it to their own ship. “It’d make a nice Scrap Recovery Arm,” they’d say. They would usually offer to exchange the valuable robotic arm for a few tons of salvaged circuit boards and armor plating. Jess politely refused their offers.

Still, the rumors surrounding the Federation Blockade Runners (FBRs, or Fabers) bordered on the preposterous. He had heard whispers of the impossible: Fabers destroying hundreds of rebel ships, laying siege to teeming Mantis hives, or even thwarting Rebel ground takeovers. He had even seen a Faber captain with a Mantis crewman. A Mantis crewman.

Ollo almost short-circuited upon seeing the killer bug. Jess kept his hand on his blaster the whole time the Mantis was onboard.

Yet, impossibly, the Mantis actually obeyed the Faber captain’s orders.

Every Faber captain was a hero in his own right, because to the best of Jess’ knowledge, their missions were often suicidal in difficulty. Fabers never survived for long.

Jess watched as the ship gently edged into the repair bay.
“Could it be...?”

FTL (c) Subset Games

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Rear Admiral Wilson was certain that he was dead.

“Those damned Rebels...” He whispered. “Coming out of black space... how the hell did they...”

A hundred red warning signals screamed for attention as a gout of flame flared against his back. Wilson gasped in pain as he groped for his pocket extinguisher. His fingers finding purchase, he brandished the device and jammed the red button: A spray of chemicals sprinkled on the inferno, throwing a cloud of smoke into his face. Wilson covered his eyes and coughed.

The fire backed down like a primal beast into its cave. Tongues of orange lashed out, burning Wilson’s arms, but he grit his teeth and ignored the blistering pain, the smell of his charring skin. After a focused, determined spraying effort, the blaze guttered out and died.

“Engineering, report reactor containment status!” He yelled.

He was greeted with static.

“Engineering! Respond!”

Wilson slammed his fist into the sensor panel until the glass cracked and broke. No dice; not even a flicker of life.

His shields were down.

His crew was unresponsive.

His FTL drive was offline.

His ship was burning.

“Damnit...” Wilson murmured. He set his hand against the console, willing his cruiser to stay in one piece. Another salvo of lasers slammed into the hull; his dying ship violently shivered as the high-energy bolts slammed into his hull, melting away chunks of armor plating. Wilson was thrown from his seat.

The Rear Admiral clambered back to his feet, a bead of blood trickling into his eyes. He eyed the green blip on his Local-Range Scanner map, a sliver of hope glimmering in his eye.

“Hold it together, girl...” He pleaded. “We’re almost there.”

Tap, tap!

The metallic clicks of fingernails flicking metal echoed through the cavernous hangar bay.

Tap! Tap, tap-tap!

“Hellooo-oh?”

The last syllable reverberated against the sheet metal walls.

“Oh... Oh... Oh...?”

A screen finally flickered on, the green glow illuminating the young man’s face.

[Commencing boot protocols...] it read.

The human stepped back and wiped his hands on his light blue uniform, glancing at his cheap wristwatch.

“Took ya long enough, Ollo. Hurry it up. We’ve got something important.”

[Ensign Jess, Federation ID: 0112341. Bioscan...complete. Identity confirmed.] The tinny, monotone voice spoke in response.

A flicker of irritation crossed Ensign Jess’ face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not some rebel impostor. Seriously, we got shit to do.”

Despite his facade of annoyance, Jess always been impressed by Ollo. The higher-ups had brought Ollo to his station, Federation Repair Station Kepler-19, around five Standard Galactic Years ago. Ollo was an Engi, a race of sentient half-biological, half-robotic engineers. And Ollo was probably the only reason Jess was still sane.

The Engi raised one of its arms, the nanobot colonies attached to its wrist shape-shifting to replicate a human hand. [Query: is task vital/urgent?]

Jess sighed in relief. “Yeah. I’ve got two contacts at extreme range on our Local-Range Scanner. One of them is a Mark 1 Rebel Interceptor. The other... is a Federation distress signal.”

Ollo stood from its charging station. It stood one and a half meters high and resembled a stout man dressed in a bulky grey hazmat suit. Unlike a hazmat suit, however, the Engi’s “skin” consisted of a flexible plasteel weave. Small patches of exposed grey flesh blended in impeccably with the ferrous polymer. In the center of its chestpiece was its Engi designation, stenciled in proud, block letters: 0110.

Jess nicknamed the Engi “Ollo.” The Engi accepted the alias. The name stuck.

The only way to see Ollo’s emotions was through the Engi’s viewscreen, which was mounted on the front of its dome-shaped “head.” At the moment, it displayed a soothing shade of blue.

[Designate orders.] Ollo said obediently.

“Right...” Jess murmured, running a hand through his hair. Rebels weren’t unheard of in this area, but they usually simply passed by. Occasionally, a ship would remain near the jump beacon, waiting for their FTL reactor to spin up.

This was the first time a rebel ship was inbound on an attack vector. Jess felt an unusual mixture of fear and excitement suffuse his thoughts. His mind flashed back to the holovids they showed back home, in the Winter system. Dramatic, heroic music playing as federation ships, shining silver and dashing orange, blasted the pathetic, feeble rebel ships into burning wrecks and smoldering smithereens.

And yet, those “pathetic, feeble rebel ships” had managed to destroy the 1st and 7th Federation United fleets. They had subjugated innumerable loyalist star systems, besieged the Engi homeworlds, and driven the slugs into the nebulae. Their automated drones were ubiquitous, terrorizing shipping and swarming isolated Federation ships.

The Federation was losing the war. Everyone knew it, but no one said it.

Jess blinked and shook his head. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

“Ollo, we should probably set the station to combat alert and pull out the weapons from storage... uh, do we have weapons?”

Ollo stood still for a half-second.

[Federation Repair Station Kepler-19 equipped with class two shields. Weaponry limited to two Mk. I defense lasers.]

“Defense lasers?” Jess asked, furrowing his brow. He regretted not paying attention at Gunnery school.

Ollo’s “face” displayed a bright green. [Mk. I defense lasers fire a single bolt of superheated plasma. The single-shot nature of the weapon makes it of minimal utility/efficiency in conventional ship-to-ship combat.]

Jess tapped his chin. “So, basically, they’re crap?”

The Engi paused for another half-second before answering Jess’ inquiry.

[True.]

Jess shrugged. “We’ll make do with what we’ve got I guess. Can you get station computer to mount them?”

[Processing request... Error 00F2x0055. Cargo retrieval options unavailable when under fire.]

Jess tilted his head. “But we’re not under fi--”

The steel plates under his feet fluttered, and the lights above switched to a deep red. Jess could hear two distant thumps.

[Analyzing...] Ollo quipped. [Life Support systems offline. Fire reported in Section 4.]

“Uh... power up the shields!” Jess ordered. “I’ll try to contact the Federation ship!”

Ollo’s screen turned blue as it wordlessly complied, quietly gliding out of the room and towards the shield control station.

Jess stepped towards the drone control panel and tapped in a long string of alphanumeric characters. The station was short on drone templates, but he needed a System Repair automaton in Life Support ASAP. They’d be gasping on the floor without the Life Support machines constantly synthesizing oxygen. The air was already starting to become stuffy.

With a high-pitched beep, the printers whirred to life, retrieving a drone template block from storage and using the parts to construct a brand new SysRep bot. The robot rolled off the fabrication platform on its single wheel and swiftly made its way towards the life support.

Jess knew the robot would not fail. Its chemical fire-suppressant system and the Fastfix multitool welded to its arm made short work of any repair tasks it came across.

In a way, Jess was jealous of its efficiency.

He heard a muted impact, like an antique baseball bat smacking into a pillow.

[Shield at 3% capacity. Commencing recharge protocols.] Ollo emotionlessly chimed into his earpiece.

“Great. Do that.” Jess replied as he rounded the corner and slid into the commander’s seat.

He booted up the communications dish and attempted to establish contact with the Federation cruiser. He passed his sensors over the ship; it bore no tags, neither name nor designation. The onboard computer didn’t even recognize the model of the cruiser. Strange.

Was she on some sort of covert op?

“Unidentified Federation Ship, This is Ensign Jess, receiving you from Federation Repair Station Kepler-19. Do you read me?”

No response. Jess checked the connection: the other side was receiving.

“Unidentified Federation Ship, please respond!”

Jess heard static. Good. At least something was coming through.

Jess peered closely at his forward viewscreen. Something seemed... off. He spread his fingers, increasing the zoom from one to two hundred thousand times magnification.

Jess didn’t recognize the ship’s silhouette, but the onboard computer estimated a Heavy Cruiser or Light Battleship tonnage. Its power signature was undefined. Its profile resembled the bastard love-child of a Kestrel Class light cruiser and an Osprey Class heavy cruiser. The Osprey’s signature Mark-V Engines were clearly visible, seamlessly merged into the fuselage. The Kestrel’s trademark underslung cargo bay jutted from the belly. The Vindicator Artillery Beam, standard issue for all Osprey Heavy Cruisers, had been removed from the mount on the cruiser’s nose.

The ship edged downwards, its Engines weakly sputtering. Jess could just barely spot the plumes of oxygen venting into space. Its shields weren’t activated.

[Shields at full charge.] Ollo announced, shattering Jess’ thoughts.

“Are we in danger?” Jess asked.

[Hostile threat rating: 1 out of 10. Rebel ship lacks sufficient firepower to penetrate Station shields.] Ollo quickly replied.

Jess breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Awesome. Thanks, Ollo. We should probably stand ready to repair that federation cruiser. It looks like it could use our help.”

[Acknowledged. Opening hangar bay doors.]

Jess watched the wounded Federation ship streaked towards the station. It entered the shield envelope, punching a small gap through the shield. Light blue film rushed to cover the small hole the ship made when it penetrated the shields. Meanwhile, the Rebel Fighter circled the station like a hungry shark, firing its lasers in a couple of exploratory salvos. When its pilot realized the futility of his weapons against the station’s shields, the Rebel withdrew.

Jess reached for the recovery arm controls. The magnetic graspers extended from an underside orifice, firmly latching onto the Federation Ship’s hardpoints. Meter by meter, the arm reeled the ship in.

The sight of the ship made Jess frown. A mere thirty Standard Galactic Days ago, Federation Blockade Runners would pass by his station almost daily. This was the first ship he had seen in weeks.

Sometimes, they’d even offer to take the recovery arm and attach it to their own ship. “It’d make a nice Scrap Recovery Arm,” they’d say. They would usually offer to exchange the valuable robotic arm for a few tons of salvaged circuit boards and armor plating. Jess politely refused their offers.

Still, the rumors surrounding the Federation Blockade Runners (FBRs, or Fabers) bordered on the preposterous. He had heard whispers of the impossible: Fabers destroying hundreds of rebel ships, laying siege to teeming Mantis hives, or even thwarting Rebel ground takeovers. He had even seen a Faber captain with a Mantis crewman. A Mantis crewman.

Ollo almost short-circuited upon seeing the killer bug. Jess kept his hand on his blaster the whole time the Mantis was onboard.

Yet, impossibly, the Mantis actually obeyed the Faber captain’s orders.

Every Faber captain was a hero in his own right, because to the best of Jess’ knowledge, their missions were often suicidal in difficulty. Fabers never survived for long.

Jess watched as the ship gently edged into the repair bay.
“Could it be...?”

FTL (c) Subset Games