Bill Racskigam was on the bridge not ten seconds when he saw the railgun flash in one of the viewscreens. "What the hell..." he said as he saw the projectile narrowly miss the NRS Triumph. He was about to order for all weapons to fix on the ship that had fired when he saw the weapon pivot to open space. "Whew." he said, realising it was just a malfunction. Then came the BOOM followed by a shudder through the hull. Bill was frustrated by all the problems he was facing, but he was used to this. he calmly picked up the communicator and programmed it to Engineering. 'What the HELL was that?" His head engineer reported that a laser power cell had gone critical and melted down catasrophically. "So how many lasers do we have down?" The engineer sounded edgy, "Well, sir...all of them until we can rout backup power and some of the engine excess." Racskigam sighed frustratedly. "Do it as fast as possible." He slumped into his command chair and ordered everything not vital to the operation of the ship shut down, then reported the situation to the Commodore.

"Hopefully until we make port again Mister Griggins" said Fletcher, still sounding grumpy. Indeed the NRS Courageous was supposed to head for the naval shipyard orbiting Um'Eici Prime, at the 7th fleet headquarters in the Sigma Draconis system after this patrol for an overhaul. Not that she was getting an update but just replacing the parts and systems that could no longer function with the standard repair work (of chewed bubblegum and ductape) that her engineers could make.

"Captain Webb Please report to the bridge for an urgent message from Commodore Ackerley" lieutenant Commander Benson's voice echoed down the corridors, sounding unusually stressed.

Fletcher grunted in disappointment, he would have to abandon his stakeout of the Widowmaker Squadron's quarters and any chance of crewing out of Flak. Hell, he'd be willing to bet a week's pay on the fact that his quarry was hiding somewhere down the corridor, peeping to check if the commanding officer of this aged battlecruiser was still waiting outside his private kingdom. Pounding one fist against the wall, he turned and walked regally back towards the bridge.

The next two hours was spend in his quarters, receiving a through chewing out from Commodore Ackerley, mostly in confusion about why he was being yelled at for firing upon the squadron flagship. Then Chief Petty Officer Griggins words came to mind "I got that fore rail gun ta work". There must have been a malfunction of the firing controls or the wrong wires touched during the repairs or simple human error or something that caused the railgun to fire across the top of NRS Triumph. Then came the damning orders. He was to remain on his bridge and give a report on the condition of his vessel ever five minutes for both Forenoon watch and Afternoon watch.

A dull, five hours and forty-five minutes later, nothing had gone wrong yet. That was until the sailor manning the scanner terminal stared down at a brand new blip on his screen. A blip that appeared out of nowhere, a blip three hundred and ten meters long, a blip that was the size of a small patrol vessel that appeared from the vast and empty expanse of space, no where near a jumppoint.

"Ah Skipper, I think the scanner is malfunctioning"

"Why?"

"I've got something that can't be possible."

"What?"

"A ship just appeared on the outer edge of the system"

"What do you..."

"Sire"

That time the voice as coming from the comm officer

"I've got something here"

"Send it through"

Suddenly the bridge of the NRS Courageous was filled with the most horrid and inhuman screeching and chattering, like the mandibles of a thousand insects all rubbing together at once. Almost everyone clapped their hands over their ears. Two sailors fell to the deck, screaming in pain. Fletcher's face scrunched up, as he stumbled over to the comm and slammed his elbow down on the controls.

Racskigam saw the blip too, and the NRS Courageous going around wildly. Must just be a malfuntion somewhere. he thought. Then his eyes went back to the blip. Arm all weapons that can be armed and have them ready to fire in five minutes max.

The head engineer came onto the bridge."Sir! The lasers are up and running, but we aren't sure how long they'll hold in battle.

"Racskigam was surprised by the quickness of the repair job. "Good." he thought for a moment."Keep all engineering staff ready to respond to anything. Dismissed."

The old engineer departed. "Bridge. All ready for battle, send the signal. Man battle stations, red alert."

"Man, all I gotta say is: between Jessica Hurst and Alaya Noori, Jessica is way the fuck hotter."

"What the hell are you talking about? Have you seen Noori's ass, man? Absofuckinglutely hotter."

Julian wanted to kill himself. The argument between the two sailors had been going on since the afternoon watch had begun forty-five minutes ago, and showed no sign of stopping. Julian stared at his watch, willing it to go faster, but the hands remained sullenly uncooperative. More than three hours left of the afternoon watch -- Julian wished he had remembered to bring a book.

He'd had the forenoon watch off, and had spent the four hours in his quarters with a movie playing on his televisor and going over forms the old man had wanted done yesterday. The entire time he'd had one eye on the cabin door, waiting to see if Karen would reappear. She didn't, and so Julian was left with those four listless hours imagining where she might be. His imagination was cruel, sometimes.

The four hours had vanished, and now here he was, listening to the two sailos go on and on about which actress was hotter like some nightmarish sound loop. Julian yawned, then his wandering mind drifted back to conjecturing about where Karen might be, or who she might be with. God damn it.

"Sir."

Even an argument with her would be better than just sitting here, Julian thought.

"Sir. Lieutenant Karpov, sir."

The voice of the warrant officer at the sensors console jolted Julian back into the moment. He rose from his chair and walked over to where the other man was sitting. "What is it... Houston?"

"It's Hodges, sir," the WO corrected, then moved on before Julian even had a chance to feel embarrassed for supplying the wrong name. "Something on our long range scanners, sir. It's probably a glitch, but I thought you ought to have a look at it."

Julian stared at the spot on the luminescent screen where the man was pointing. 'It' consisted of a dot near the far edge of the screen, three short lines of numbers displayed alongside. Julian realized, after a few moments of continued scrutiny, that he had not the faintest idea what he was looking at.

"Can you make out what it is, Hodges?" he asked, straightening.

"No idea, sir," the WO replied, "It's pretty small; maybe our size. It could be a ship, but I don't know how it could have just popped up there without us picking it up. Like I said, it's -- Dammit!"

This last was directed at the sensor screen, which had suddenly gone blank.

"What just happened?" Julian asked, surprised.

"It's just an old piece of shit, sir," the WO explained, slamming his fist against the side of the console. "There's something loose inside. If I-" the screen shuddered on. "Ah, there we go. And look." Where once the mysterious shape had been, now there was nothing. "Must have been a glitch, sir. Stupid, lousy - No, hang on..."

A new blip winked onto the screen, filling the nothingness once more. "What do you think, sir?"

Julian stared at the mystery object, thinking. It was his duty as officer of the watch to sound General Quarters if needed. But if it was a glitch... "Keep watching it, Hodges. If anything else pops up, let me know." He'd wait and see if the Commodore called General Quarters first before taking any action on his own.

"Sir?"

He turned. It was one of the two sailors. "What do you think, sir? Jessica Hurst or Alaya Noori?"

Silent and unblinking, the unknown object remained on the sensor display.

Flak was headed back to quarters, his belly full of food and his mind full of mischief when he heard the claxon call of the ship's alarm system that could mean only one thing: all hands to battle stations. No time for a lift, he raced down the hall to the utility stairway leading down to the hanger level. He took the stairs two at a time, cursing himself for overeating that morning and overdrinking the night before, and burst into the ready room and started getting his good flight gear on - the stuff that wasn't filled with hooch and bodily fluids on a regular basis. Five minutes later, and really more machine than man, with his ballistic-fiber helmet with it's HUD visor that could tell him everything from his speed to the fighter's engine temperature, automated-breathing system that would be plugged into the ship's eight-hour oxygen reserves, backup one-hour tank and insulated, fluorescent orange flight suit, in case he had to eject and spend a few cold, cold, tense minutes drifting in space and waiting for pickup. The rest of the squadron had started to gather around him, but he was the first one suited up, and didn't wait for them to get finished. He had a flight of his boys out there, goddamnit, and he wasn't going to leave them alone to face it.

The techs had pulled out his fighter and had run a portable stepladder up against it for him to get in. It was a big wedge-shaped flat grey ship, Widowmaker 1 stenciled neatly in white paint on fusilage, and an empty space where little symbols would have spelled out his kills - if he had any. He went up the stairs, got hooked in, felt the familiar seat behind him, stiff and uncomfortable but a real lifesaver as it came to trauma, and started shaking. He'd never been to the big dance - never fired his lasers in anger, even. And now he didn't know if he had what it took, if he could do the job, or if he'd just curl up in his jumpseat and die screaming his fear into space. Well, only one way to find out. He hit the thrusters, brought the fighter up, and glided it out the hanger forcefield and into space.

"Widowmaker Squadron, this is Widowmaker 1, form up on me as you leave the ship," he said into his helmet's mic. "7, where are you?"

The alarm went off and Jack was still sat in the doctor's office having a read up. "Well doc thats my cue." He said standing up and stretching his arms.
"remember to come after the fihgt or- whatever and get your medicine." The doctor said sitting into his chair. "Thanks doc..." Jack said walking casually out of the room. But when the door was closed it was a different story, he sprinted to his room and grabbed his handgun. then he ran to the elevator and went down to engine room. Jack slammed against the console and opened a comm. "Commander, if they open fire and hit the engines we are dead! we haven't had time to update the entire force field systems, its completely unprotected! you need to make sure they don't hit and give me some time! just give me some time! I don't care how you do it! but if that engine blows we can say bye bye to everything on this ship, this isn't the ones you've been working with! it's a Teserone Carmac 133, it runs off radiation!
if that thing is hit once, we'll mutate and then the ship will blow and nothing will be left!" He grabbed a seat and got to work.

"I need sombody else down here! an expierenced engineer! anybody who can use a console!" He shouted to the comm working as fast as he could. "Damnit! i'm gonna have to work it manually!" He grabbed his cap and some glasses and grabbed his spanner. He got to work, tightening bolts and fixing shock pads. He was having apanic attack, nothing had ever happened like this before and nothing ever told him what to do in it!

Klaxons sound all over the NRS Courageous and still the awful noise was being pipped through the comm system into the bridge. The captain's elbow had found the emergency alarm not the kill switch for the communication array. Almost everyone on the bridge felt like icepicks were being driving into their ears. Warrant Officer Wei Chia went limp in his station, collapsing to the floor and almost smashing face first into the helm controls. Gritting his teeth Fletcher made another jab at the console, smashing several buttons as the cloth of his uniform slide over the smooth surface of the comm terminal and the horrid screeching stopped.

A collective sigh rose from the conscious members of the bridge crew, as most of them slumped against the wall (or railings or each other). The captain himself placed his back against the wall and sat down on the floor, rubbing his temples. Wordlessly, Lieutenant Commander Benson walked over to the limp body of the helmsman and dragged him back to the door, before taking over his station (until a replacement showed up).

"Captain" came a weak voice, from the comm officer, "I'm getting a transmission from the Triumph but the foreign signal is mixing into the waveband."

"Send it though" said Fletcher, with a slight wave of his hand, as he braced himself for another auditory rape.

"Yes Skipper"

"This is.....(screeching).....all ships form up around the.......and Courageous.....If you......there is......ship.....fire only if......I want to know....hell is........damn this noise...."

"What does he want us to do Skipper?" asked Benson, scratching his head and digging a finger into his left ear.

"Not sure" said Fletcher, getting up and slipping into the command chair, "But keep us level with Triumph. If anything, we mimic her."

"Aye Skipper"

Captain Racskigam was holding his ears in an attemt to block out the noise. He let go just long enough to shut it off. Then a broken transmission came from the Commodore, he didn't hear all of it but it was enough.

"Form up around the Courageous." He said. His bridge crew was shaken, but not out. They smoothly went into formation around their flagship.

Racskigam sent a report to all ships that he was in position, hoping his transmission would clarify the Commodore's.

Jack smashed his right hand into the controls. "Bollocks! Captain, the engine is so fucked! we need to reroute power we dont need to keep this hulk of shit protected! I can't fucking get it working! Sir I'm sorry! I could not do anything, there is absoloutley nothing I can change! sir we'll ahve to reroute lights and all backup power for them to this, we have to go in dark or get shot at take alot of damage and if the engine goes up then boom. Give me the word if you do, if not then just say no and I'll keep us in best shape I can sir.." he kept the link on and sat down rubbing his face. Sweating incredibly badly, they were either going to lose some crew or get fucked up.

The comm man had his headphones off and was rubbing his ears. It had sounded to Julian as if someone had been sawing metal right beside his head. The Commodore's message had, however, been clear enough.

At the flick of a switch klaxons began shrieking throughout the ship. Julian grabbed the mouthpiece to the ship's intercom and in his best authoritative voice said, "General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations, I repeat, all hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill."

He felt a shiver run down his spine. Who'd have ever thought he'd say those words, a small voice at the back of his head asked excitedly. The rest of his mind was occupied with fear, however. He hadn't joined the Navy to do any fighting. It had been a career choice, nothing else; a way his family connections had given him to pay back his college loans and then maybe make a little more on the side. He was no warrior.

The bridge began filling up as men from the other watch arrived to take their places. Instead of the usual grumbling the cramped space was filled with an excited buzz. Questions flew left, right, and center, but the bridge suddenly hushed as the old man stepped through the hatch.

Lieutenant Commander Arleigh Hamrick was an old man, at least to still be an LCDR. Old enough, certainly to have served with Julian's uncle on the Aegean back in the day. Julian had seen little of the LCDR; Hamrick kept to himself mostly. His age and posting here suggested a failing on his part somewhere during his career, but exactly what no one on board knew. Certainly he didn't look a failure now; rather his calm and quiet confidence as he walked from the bridge hatch seemed to assert an authority on the men who watched him go by. "What our status, Mr. Karpov?" he asked, reaching Julian's side.

A quick glance at the station status lights showed all green. "Ship ready and cleared for action, sir," he said, saluting as smartly as he could. "Here's the sit summary," he added, seizing the paper copy as it printed out.

Hamrick read the summary carefully, then nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Karpov," he said, "You are dismissed to your battle station." As Julian stepped through the hatchway he heard the LCDR order, "Tell the engines to move all ahead full. Put us in blocking position for the Triumph. Mr. Vasquez-"

Julian's battle station was in the switch room, a compartment amidships housing the ship's central electronic nervous system. He had no specific duties to perform there, but it was close to the engine room and to keelside damage control, and in the event of an emergency the switch room could serve as an auxiliary control station. And what was the X.O., he reflected, if not an auxiliary commander?

"Julian!"

It was Karen, coming up a gangway just behind him. Her face was pale as she gripped his hands. "What's going on? I heard you say on the speakers that this isn't a drill. Is there going to be a battle?"

Moving past a flash of momentary pleasure at seeing her staring at him without anger, he said in a low voice. "Listen, you remember the drills, right? Remember where the escape pods are?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Get yourself down to C deck and get in No. 16 pod," he went on, "Strap yourself in and stay there. When this is over I'll come get you, okay?"

Karen looked as if she might argue, but nodded again; she recognized the urgency in his voice. "All right, I'll go do that," she said, then threw her arms around his neck and locked eyes with him. "If you get hurt, I'll kill you with my shoe and throw you out the airlock, got me?"

A kiss, and she was gone. Julian stared down the grinning electrician's mates, then stared at the gangway. What might After-Battle sex be like?

The ship was getting closer and the tesion was getting higher on the bridge of the NRS Naitali. "Bring all bombers into a screen around us until ordered to attack." was the first thing to break the silence for the past five minutes. The crew acknowledged. The ship was starting to become visible in the distance. "Lock all weapons onto the ship, ready to fire on command." Another silent response. He brought up the command frequency and asked Commodore Ackerley of they had 'weapons free' yet, and if he had asked for the strange ship to halt and be recognized yet.

David's flight was boring and uneventful. Oldman had nearly fallen asleep if it hadn't been for Shaw looking over and seeing the nodding off pilot. The flight suit was stuffy and hot. The cool air pipped in through the ship's life support helped. It mostly just let you know how uncomfortable you were though. In contrast to the other pilot's David was enjoying himself. He hadn't flown enough for the task to have become mundane. He continually kept himself busy checking in with the Courageous.

Widowmaker 7 is a F212C Alpha Wolf. The C classification stood for command. The ship was equipped with extra radio's, an expanded transponder reciever, and LADAR system to keep the flight leader informed. He had his eyes down on the LADAR display when the alien ship busted space. David saw the new blip on the screen but he didn't notice till he heard over the comms, "HOLY SHIT!"
Looking up he saw Gary pulling back on his stick trying to manevuer away from the alien starship.

Liuetenant Harrison came over the radio, "What the fuck is that thing and where'd it come from?"

David kept his distance from the new ship. "Flight on me now!" Shaw's academy training started to pick up after the intial shock of holy fuck this was unexpected. He still remained tense as The four other pilots came up on his wings. Oldman and Harrison off his right side, and Natalie Jacobs and Micheal Custan off his left. He slowly started to bring them around to the rear of the ship. He looked down to see a radio light flashing. He began turning the dial to tune in. "Fuck." He said into the microphone as he found the freq filled with the chatter. He switched it off and brought up the Courageous' comm line. In the shock he totally forgot to give them a report.

"Courageous, Widowmaker 7." Shaw was lost. He didn't know what to do. "Request orders." Shaw had brought his flight in behind the engines of the alien ship. He knew this was most likely the best place to get a jump on any bombers or fighters. They pulled trail behind it staying two kilometers back and just below eyesight of the top of the ship. "Weapons hot, everyone. I want to be ready for anything."

As Flak broadcast along the squadron freq it was music to Shaw's ears. Thank god I'm not in charge, went through Shaw's mind. "One this is Seven. We're formed up and pulling trail behind the bogey. No word from command."

Dexter was just about to shovel a large spoonful of grits into his mouth when the Klaxtons began to scream and whine calling everyone to their stations. Squinting evily in the general direction of the bridge and muttering a series of unmentionable curses Dexter stood and dumped his tray, relieving the cafeteria of a handful of doughnuts as he walked out. Munching contently as he slowly made his way through the various corridors of the vessel Dexter planned in his head what he would eat when he returned. The sirens and call to battle did not bother the grizzled old veteran, in fact he had almost forgot they were going off he was so busy planning his meal. Besides it was probably a false alarm, or some ditz accidentally hit the alarm button. None the less Dexter having made it to the row of rail guns under his command began giving out orders to the gunning crews making sure the weapons were prepared. Soon he sent a report up to the bridge, "Rail guns, ready and waiting Captain."

Racskigam, usually calm and cool in situation like this, was nervous and sweaty. He pressed the button for communication with the Commodroe's ship and spoke into the mike, "Commodore, this is Captain Racskigam of the NRS Naitali. Request permission for weapons free."

He released the button so Ackerley could respond, and while he waited he decided he should check up on the status of his main batteries. He pressed the button to Engineering, "Ensign Stoor, " he spoke to the the head of Engineering, "status report on our weapons." There was momentary static, then Stoor responded, "Sir, everything is in as best shape as possible. Repairs have gone smoothly and weapons should hold up in battle." Racskigam took a moment to thank whatever entity there was that he was blessed with such a good engineering crew, then responded, "Good, very good Stoor. Keep up the good work."