Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I strained my ears, trying to make sense of the frantic voices echoing from the bridge. The officers’ words came in bursts, punctuated by static and the blaring of alarms.
“…massive jump signature! They’re everywhere!”
“How did they get so close? Our long-range sensors should have…”
“It doesn’t matter now! We need backup!”
My heart raced as I pieced together the fragments of information. A Magisterian fleet had somehow appeared in the system, much closer to Vion Prime than ever before. The impossible had happened—they had breached our defenses.
“This is the Conqueror of Bresla to any Imperial ships in range,” Captain Voss’s voice rang out, tight with barely contained panic. “We are facing a full Magisterian assault. Requesting immediate assistance!”
There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the persistent wail of the alarms. Then a cacophony of responses flooded in, each more desperate than the last.
“…shields failing! We can’t hold them off!”
“…engines are down! We’re sitting ducks out here!”
“…evac pods launching! May the Emperor have mercy on our souls!”
I felt a chill run down my spine as the grim reality of our situation sank in. The defenders of Vion Prime, once a formidable force, had been whittled down to a shadow of their former strength. Now it seemed the Magisterians had come to deliver the final blow.
“How many ships?” Lieutenant Jorg’s voice cut through the chaos, still commanding even in the face of disaster.
“At least thirty capital ships, sir,” came the shaky reply. “And… and that’s not counting the support vessels and fighters.”
A string of curses filled the air, one of them in a language I barely recognized—Lieutenant Bavo’s native Gorian, which he was actually forbidden to speak aboard a starfleet ship, by imperial decree. The fear in the officers’ voices was palpable, a stark contrast to their usual arrogant demeanor.
“It’s the end,” someone said, the words carrying clearly to where I lay securely bound to the bench. “They’ve come to finish us off.”
“This is it,” Captain Voss agreed, his voice heavy with resignation. “The final battle for Vion Prime.”
CHAPTER 2
Tessara
I closed my eyes, trying to process the enormity of what I was hearing. The war that had defined my entire life was coming to its brutal conclusion, and I was trapped here, unable to do anything but listen as the last remnants of the once-mighty Vionian Empire crumbled around me.
The ship rocked violently—so violently that if not for my restraints the movement would have thrown me from the bench. The air in the comfort room started to fill with the acrid smell of burning circuitry, and I pictured the sparks that must have flown from the control panels.
“Shields at thirty percent!” Bavo shouted. “We can’t take much more of this!”
“Keep firing!” Jorg roared. “If we’re going down, we’re taking some of those Magisterian bastards with us!”
The ship lurched again, and I heard the sickening crunch of metal tearing. Alarms blared even louder, their urgent wails piercing through the cacophony of battle. I strained against my restraints, panic rising in my chest as I realized the full horror of my situation. Bound and helpless, I was completely at the mercy of whatever fate befell the Conqueror of Bresla.
“Status report!” Captain Voss bellowed, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
“We’ve lost aft shields!” Lieutenant Bavo shouted back. “Hull breaches on decks three and four. We’re venting atmosphere!”
“Seal off those sections,” Jorg ordered, his tone grim. “What about our weapons?”
There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the crackle of electrical fires and the distant boom of explosions. Then Bavo’s voice, tight with desperation: “Main cannons are offline. We’ve got maybe two torpedo tubes still functioning, but that’s it.”
I heard Captain Voss let out a string of curses that would have made even the roughest dockworker blush. “So this is how it ends,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “Outgunned and outmaneuvered by Magisterian dogs.”
“Sir,” Jorg interjected, a note of steel in his voice. “If we’re going down, let’s make it count. The Prince Hend is within range. We could—”
“A suicide run?” Bavo interrupted, his voice a mix of fear and awe.
My breath caught in my throat. Surely they wouldn’t… But as I listened to the grim determination in their voices, I realized that was exactly what they intended.
“It’s our only option,” Voss agreed, his tone resolute. “If we can take out their flagship, it might give the rest of our fleet a fighting chance.”
“For the glory of the empire,” Jorg said solemnly.
“For Vion Prime,” Bavo added.
There was a moment of heavy silence, and I pictured the three officers clasping hands, sharing a final look of camaraderie before their desperate gambit. Not once did they mention me, their helpless concubine left bound and forgotten in the comfort room. To them, I was nothing more than a convenient outlet for their base urges, not even worth a passing thought in their final moments.