Static screams in Artemis Shand's ears, a white-hot roar overriding the alarms of her Broadsword bomber, Valkyrie-3. Red tracers stitch across the blackness, too many, too fast. Her hands, usually steady, grip the flight stick, knuckles white. A blur of green and gold flashes past her canopy – a Kilrathi Dralthi, its guns spitting fire. "Break left, Viper-Two!" Artemis shouts, her voice a raw rasp over the comms, the terror a cold knot in her gut she shoves deep down. She banks hard, the heavy bomber groaning under the G-forces, pushing her back into the worn seat padding. On her HUD, the Olympus, a leviathan of human engineering, burns. Orange fire blossoms from its port side, then starboard. Kilrathi Jalthi heavy fighters, like armored predators, tear at its hull with focused, brutal efficiency. "Target acquired!" her bombardier, Sergeant Wex, yells from the aft station, his voice strained. Artemis lines up the shot, her targeting reticle locking onto a Jalthi peeling away from the carrier. She hits the trigger. Two ‘Stiletto’ torpedoes launch, leaving trails of superheated gas. The Jalthi flares, tries to evade, but the torpedoes are faster, smarter. A silent blossom of light marks its end, a fleeting victory in a dying sky. "Good hit, Sarge!" Artemis forces a grin, her teeth gritted. But more swarms. The Kilrathi strategy is clear: overwhelm, disable, destroy. The Olympus is their prize. Another explosion rocks the carrier, closer this time, and a segment of its dorsal plating peels away like a burnt leaf. She sees the gaping wound, the dark, cavernous space beneath, exposed to the vacuum. "How many are on us, Viper-Leader?" a voice crackles, Viper-Four, panicked. "Too many! Stay tight!" Artemis snaps back, her eyes scanning the tactical display. Her squadron, Viper-Wing, is a handful of Broadswords, designed for capital ship assault, not dogfighting against nimble Dralthi. Yet they hold the line, a desperate screen of metal and laser fire between the Kilrathi and the bleeding Olympus. A Dralthi sweeps in low, its claws extended in a predatory arc. Artemis jerks the stick, her bomber rolling violently. Green bolts rake across Valkyrie-3's shields, the energy drain warning blaring. "Evasive! Evasive!" Wex screams, his words punctuated by the clanging of impacts. She sees a flash of red on her wingman's sensor ghost – Viper-Three is hit hard. "Viper-Three, report status!" she demands, fear coiling again, cold and sharp. Silence. Then an explosion, small but final, blooming where Viper-Three's icon used to be. Artemis clenches her jaw. Another one gone. The numbers dwindle, the odds grow steeper. The Olympus shudders, a deep, resonant tremor that even her distant bomber feels. A massive rupture tears through its primary reactor housing, a blinding flash of white light. It expands, consuming the carrier's midsection. The comms go dead, a sudden, horrifying silence replacing the din of battle. Artemis watches, mesmerized and horrified, as the Olympus, once a beacon of humanity's might, unravels. Bulkheads explode outwards, shrapnel sprays into the void. The immense vessel folds in on itself, a dying star collapsing. A wave of pure, unadulterated shock washes over her, pushing aside the fear, the anger, the focus of battle. The Olympus is gone. Completely. In less than a minute, it’s nothing but an expanding cloud of debris and silent graves. Her eyes sting. Her breath hitches. "All Viper-Wing elements, fall back! Fall back to the Argonaut!" she yells, the command automatic, a lifeline in the sudden void. Her voice trembles, just a little. The weight of what she just witnessed, what she just lost, presses down on her. The Kilrathi, their primary target destroyed, turn their attention to the smaller, fleeing human craft. Scarlet skies, indeed. The burning remnants of the Olympus paint the blackness in a final, fiery testament. She pulls hard on the stick, Valkyrie-3 veering away from the debris field, toward the distant, desperate hope of the Argonaut. The terror, momentarily forgotten, returns with a vengeance. It sinks its claws into her, cold and heavy. --- The low hum of the Argonaut's engines barely cuts through the tension on the bridge. Ensign Kael’s console glows with sensor data, a frantic dance of green and red markers. He hunches over the tactical display, his brow furrowed, fingers flying across the holographic interface. "Kilrathi heavy fighters are disengaging from the Olympus's sector," he reports, his voice tight, but steady. Commander Tavis, standing at the central command chair, nods slowly, his gaze fixed on the main viewscreen. "Damage assessment on the Olympus, Ensign?" Tavis asks, his tone devoid of hope. Kael’s fingers pause, hovering. A fresh data packet flashes, stark and final. His eyes widen just a fraction. He swallows hard. "Sir… the Olympus is gone," Kael states, the words feeling like ash in his mouth. The bridge falls silent. The bridge crew, a mix of grim-faced veterans and pale, young specialists, exchange glances. A collective intake of breath ripples through the command deck. Commander Tavis closes his eyes for a brief, painful second, his shoulders slumping. "Confirmed," he says, his voice flat. The official confirmation hangs heavy in the air, a death knell. The loss of a carrier, the flagship of the Cerberus defense, is a devastating blow. "Kilrathi are sweeping the sector, sir. Picking off stragglers," Kael reports, his gaze dropping to his screen, avoiding the eyes of his fellow crew. The data doesn't lie. They’re hunting down survivors. "Any human life signs from the Olympus's last position?" Tavis asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer. Kael shakes his head slowly. "Negative, sir. Nothing but debris signature and radiation fallout." Another data stream flickers onto Kael's display. He reads the text, then looks up, his expression a mixture of shock and reluctant understanding. "Sir, a priority comm from Fleet Command. Urgent." Tavis gives a curt nod. "On speakers, Ensign." Kael taps a command. A thin, reedy voice, distorted by battle static, fills the bridge. "…Olympus lost. Command protocol activated. Commander Artemis Shand, Viper-Leader, now assumes temporary command of all remaining fighter assets in Cerberus Sector. Report to Argonaut bridge immediately for briefing." The message repeats, an echo of the void. Kael’s gaze drifts to the main viewscreen, showing the distant, expanding cloud of what used to be the Olympus. He processes the name. Shand. Commander Shand. There’s a murmur on the bridge, a low hum of grim acceptance. Everyone knows the name. Everyone knows what it means. Kael sees the shift in the crew’s posture, a slight stiffening. Their faces tighten. They just lost their flagship. Now they have a new, unexpected leader. "Acknowledged, Fleet Command," Tavis responds, his voice regaining a measure of its usual steel. He turns to the navigation officer. "Prepare for immediate fighter retrieval and emergency jump coordinates. We're not staying here to die." Kael watches the tactical map. He imagines Commander Shand, out there in the chaos, the weight of the Olympus’s destruction, and her new command, settling over her. He feels a cold dread twist in his stomach. The fight is far from over. --- Artemis steps onto the Argonaut's bridge, her flight suit still smelling faintly of ozone and smoke. The air here, though stale, feels impossibly clean after the choking terror of her cockpit. Her helmet is tucked under one arm, her blonde hair, usually meticulously pulled back, now escapes in damp tendrils around her face. She forces a smile, a bright, unwavering mask she’s worn through countless engagements, even as a tremor runs through her hands, barely perceptible. Her eyes, still stinging, scan the faces of the bridge crew, most of whom she doesn't know. They watch her with a mix of curiosity and weary resignation. Commander Tavis meets her gaze, his expression solemn. "Commander Shand. Welcome aboard, under these… difficult circumstances." His voice is calm, but the lines around his eyes betray the recent trauma. Artemis nods, her smile still in place, a little tighter now. "Commander Tavis," she replies, her voice coming out steadier than she expected. "Status report, please. And then, I need to know what assets we have left." She walks to the central holographic star map, the vibrant blue and red projections of the Cerberus system swirling before her. Her fingers twitch at her sides. This is it. This is real. "We've lost thirty percent of our fighter screen, Commander," Tavis reports, his voice grim. "Mostly Gladius light fighters, caught in the initial ambush. Two squadrons of Broadswords, including yours, were already deployed. Most have returned, but we have five confirmed losses from Viper Wing and four from Cobra Wing." Artemis feels a fresh pang of grief, sharp and cold. Viper-Three, gone. Viper-Four, too. She clenches her jaw, digging her nails into her palms. The loss is immense, but she cannot show it now. Not here. Not in front of these people. "Kilrathi forces are still in the system, though their main assault seems to be withdrawing after the Olympus's destruction," Ensign Kael adds, his voice clear and precise. He gestures to the map, where a cluster of red markers, though thinning, still holds position. Artemis studies the holographic display, her forced smile still fixed. Her eyes trace the Kilrathi formations, their cold, efficient dispersal. They hit hard, achieved their objective, and now they consolidate. Standard Kilrathi doctrine. "Very well," Artemis says, her voice firm, the command presence she inherited from her father, a ghost she fights to emulate, asserting itself. "Commander Tavis, I'll need a full breakdown of our remaining ordnance and fuel. Ensign Kael, plot an immediate evasive jump course, far from any predicted Kilrathi intercepts. We need to regroup." She turns to the tactical officer, Lieutenant Jian Li, whose stoic face gives nothing away. "Lieutenant Li, I want a complete sweep of the debris field. Any signs of life, any black boxes, anything. And monitor for any residual Kilrathi activity. They’re not usually this clean." Her hands, hidden from view, tremble. The weight of command, the sudden, crushing responsibility for every soul on this ship, presses down on her. Her father, the legendary Commander Shand, would have handled this with unflappable calm. She tries to channel him, but inside, a raw, primal fear still churns. She feels the tremor in her voice, barely audible, as she issues further orders. They must not see her fear. Not now. Not ever. She is Artemis Shand, Commander of the Argonaut's fighter wing, and she will not fail. --- Lieutenant Jian Li, a woman of quiet competence, taps a command on her tactical console. The holographic display shifts, zooming in on the vast, expanding cloud of debris that was once the Olympus. Artemis watches over Li’s shoulder, her breath held. "Debris field analysis complete, Commander," Li states, her voice low and even. "No discernible life signs. Black box recovery unlikely, given the nature of the breach. Too fragmented." Artemis nods, her jaw tight. It was expected, but still, the finality of it hits her anew. So many lost. So quickly. Her gaze drifts to the empty space where the carrier once shone, a ghost on the tactical map. "What about Kilrathi activity?" Artemis asks, trying to keep her voice steady. "Are their forces fully disengaged?" She cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. Too easy. The Kilrathi are brutal, yes, but rarely inefficient. They had their target, but something lingers. Li’s fingers fly across her console. "Sensors show their main battle groups are indeed moving towards the jump point, Commander. Standard withdrawal vector. But…" Her voice trails off, a rare hesitation. Artemis leans closer. "But what, Lieutenant?" The air on the bridge feels suddenly colder, sharper. The crew, already on edge, tense, sensing something amiss in Li’s usually unshakeable demeanor. "We're picking up a faint energy signature, Commander," Li reports, her eyes narrowed at her display. "Very low power, highly localized. Near the precise coordinates of the Olympus's primary reactor breach." Artemis frowns. "A Kilrathi probe? A trap?" The Kilrathi were known for their cunning, their willingness to sacrifice a few scouts to lure in larger prey. Li shakes her head slowly. "Negative. The signature is unusual. Not matching any known Kilrathi energy profile. It’s… deeper. More resonant. And it’s not dissipating with the debris. It’s holding." Artemis stares at the holographic map. A tiny, almost imperceptible blip of light, a flicker of emerald green, pulses in the void where the Olympus had died. Her blood runs cold. A shiver, not of fear, but of an ancient, primal dread, creeps up her spine. "Can you get a spectral analysis, Lieutenant?" Artemis demands, her voice barely a whisper. This isn't a Kilrathi trap. This is something else. Something utterly alien. She can feel it. Li works quickly. The data streams across her screen, then aggregates into a crude waveform on the main display. It’s unlike anything Artemis has ever seen. Not weapon discharge. Not communications. It’s a rhythmic pulse. Low. Deep. A vibration in the fabric of space itself. A beat. The Argonaut shudders then, a faint, rhythmic thrum vibrating through the deck plates, a sound too deep, too primal to be any human engine, originating from the now-empty space where the Olympus vanished.

Scarlet Skies, Silent Graves