A Shadow on the Tundra

[Blodo]

June 25, 817 AS

- "This is Freeport 11 to all available ships in the area: we are being -"
The transmission was suddenly cut by a large impact, making it seem as if the source was desintegrated in an instant. It took a whole second for the transciever to come back online and the transmission to renew.
- "This is Freeport 11 calling all... any ships in the system! We are under heavy alien bombardment, and need help ASAP! Respond, damn you!"

The space around Freeport 11 was bustling with hulks of disabled vessels. The station guns were red hot with weapons fire, trying desperately to cause any damage to the massive semi-transparent blue ship lingering just barely inside the range of fire. As the blue ship unleashed another volley on the main decks of the Freeport, another ship began to emerge from behind it. A smaller, metallic shape, almost as if completely unpresent in the ongoing struggle. Ignored by all around, the small ship cut through the asteroid belt towards the station, its unusual protrusions clearer as it came closer, close enough for the station defenders to start making out the details. Few of the gunners realised in time what was happening, before the massive ship finally brought its centremost gun to bear and the whitest beam of light began emerging from the massive barrel.

It was as if a terrifying silence muted out the sounds of the ongoing battle for a full moment, as the result of the impact of the gigantic beam caught up with the station. A white flash embedded the area, blinding all in its wake. As the gunfire stopped, the station defenders realised the freeport was still intact, but not entirely. Its storage tanks had been obliterated, and its bottom half has been cut off from the frame. The Zoner freeport was completely crippled, and ready to give way to the immense Nomad bombardment unleashed upon it.

Until, suddenly... the alien ships held their fire. As unexplainingly as ever, both ships turned around with an audible shriek, brushing off the gunfire from the last few guns remaining on the station. Slowly but surely making their way past the wrecks of the ships that were destroyed on their approach, and the burning hulks of the defense turrets that were meant to keep them at bay, the two alien ships engaged their cruise engines and disappeared towards the Omicron Delta sun formation. As the smaller ship turned its right side towards the station for the first time, all its inhabitants could see the details on it. All of them could recognise its shape. As the onlookers watched in silence, a buckled segment of the hull now hanging off of a large, tinted tentacle was illuminated by the gleaming sunlight, presenting a rusty Liberty star with a naval insignia next to it: Liberty Naval Ship Tundra - Curator Pro Libertas.


June 27, 817 AS

The Freeport promenade was a mess. Everything was damaged, wires were hanging from the ceiling, men were running around with devices and equipment. Most of the rooms on this side of the station were sealed shut, previously punctured and depressurised by the previous day's attack. Despite all of the commotion, a tall, older man in a clean, black suit and an oldfashioned coat walked slowly through the corridor with a small cup of tea in his hand. He stopped for a moment to get a good look at his surroundings, then sat down on a nearby metal crate, putting his down on the table next to it. He produced a spoon, and stirred the tea before taking a sip, then took a small communicator out of his coatpocket, pressed a few buttons then spoke into it with a distinct, deep Bretonian accent.
- "I've made it to Freeport 11. It's quite a jolly mess down here, it is."
A voice emerged back at him from the communicator, clearly of Hispanian origin, but speaking in perfect English.
- "I'm on Toledo right now. Nobody knows much about yesterday, the Nomads pulled another ace out of their collective sleeves and managed to block out the signals from all the satellites in Delta somehow."
The Bretonian man rubbed his chin.
- "Even the Order ones?"
- "Even those, yes. It's quite a feat, the engineers say."
- "Well, old boy. This doesn't look good. Not good at all."
- "Any theories, professor?"
- "They are trying to get our attention, that's for sure. But I'm not so much concerned about this Nomad attack as about the thing they brought with them. That was a Liberty cruiser, Ezekius."
- "Yeah, but.. the Nomads have a history of taking over entire crews of whole ships. What's the big deal?"
- "They don't do it like this, oh no..."
The professor pulled out a pair of small reading glasses and put them on, then pulled out a piece of paper from a different pocket, and had a careful look at it. On it was the face of a man, hardly visible on the seasoned photo which has likely changed hands quite a lot not too long ago.
- "Now, lad, we can leave the rest to the Black Squadron. Your first task instead is to go to Liberty, then brief yourself with the data I attached. If my sources are correct, there is somebody there who can help us put the pieces of this little mystery together..."
The communicator let out a silent beep signifying that the transmission was ended. The man, still sitting on top of the crate, took the last sip of his tea, before standing up and walking away with haste, leaving the cup on the table behind him.