Camberia Virgo: Artrix Station (4)
Artrix Station was abuzz in every conceivable way. There was a faint hope of escaping the station alive, but it mingled with a vague despair over where the ship would take them next. In the Camberia region, it was already an open secret that they were losing. Defeatist notions like "How could a single Everest-class battleship turn the tide of war?" had taken hold. Of course, a ship that could at least flee seemed far better than a stationary space habitat doomed to die in place.
The survivors at Artrix Station were all deep-space veterans who knew station and ship repairs inside and out—they could pass for crew in a pinch. Ship survival hinged on airtight integrity, where every minute and second could mean life or death. For these overcapacity survivors doing whatever it took to stay alive, it was child's play. They all crowded into viewports offering sight of the stars, waiting in an atmosphere thick with hope and despair for the comm-linked ship to draw near. They couldn't spot it 300,000 km out with the naked eye, but they'd know when it approached.
Unlike the mood around them, some 300 UN Marines under Sergeant Major John Rhino had assembled, erecting defensive and blocking lines near the docking bays for any contingency. Their combat suits were ragged, but their rifles gleamed spotless, as if freshly issued—that spoke to meticulous maintenance. UN rifles differed from the laser batteries standard on ships; they hurled bullets for raw physical impact. Supply-wise, laser weapons akin to shipboard guns were far more efficient than ballistics. But lasers had a stopping power problem. Unlike bullets, even direct hits offered meager incapacitation.
At 1-2kW design, 0.5 to 1 second on target eliminated it. Add light armor, and time doubled—plenty for a counterattack. Crank to 5kW, and battery limits capped sustained fire at 30 seconds, a minute max with aggressive coolant. Thus, the UN's mainstay was the electrothermal-chemical rifle. Sure, the brutal recoil and scorching waste heat caused fatigue. But standard-issue reinforced suits absorbed the kick, and swapping magazines with heatsinks handled the rest. Above all, they worked flawlessly even after an EMP fried electronics—that sealed their adoption. Pull the trigger on a functioning gun, and bullets flew.
Major Walter Smith watched the Marines fortify the line with anxious eyes. It might smack of overkill, but if this was a disguised enemy vessel, that line was Artrix's last stand.
"Major. Radar's picking up the friendly ship now. ...What the hell is this...?"
The makeshift radar outpost tracked the approach in real time. But the operator couldn't hide disappointment at the blip's size—it registered tiny, like the asteroids they mined for fun. Radar ping meant it wasn't just space rock. Yet IR sensors screamed a 1km-class ship inbound. Major Walter allowed himself a flicker of hope. A kilometer was standard UN Navy destroyer size—bigger than escorts, built for aggressive ops with solid acceleration and evasion.
"Destroyer class comes with basic stealth standard. This is no big deal...."
Walter glanced at the data, feigning nonchalance. He'd cut his teeth in the Navy before a promotion snag bumped him to sector defense forces—air wing. Nothing unusual here. Absent a preemptive or ambush strike, no ship snuck in hiding its IR signature.
The vessel eased speed, closing on Artrix. Eight minutes later, something unnaturally huge edged into Walter's view. At that velocity, it'd blow past without stopping.
"Observer, distance to friendly ship?"
Walter barked at the radar tech like an order.
"Seven thousand."
The observer read the display verbatim. Walter's face hardened as he peered out the window. A 1km destroyer shouldn't resolve until 500km. He couldn't mask his confusion at the visual-data mismatch.
He yanked out his dog-eared Navy manual, flipping to the Chikushirub-class battleship section. These behemoths topped 5km, the first with twin bow-mounted 1GW pulsed lasers in twin turrets—Federation's latest mass-produced design to weather Dust fleet barrages head-on and hit back. But the approaching ship didn't match. It looked several times larger.
"Bigger than this?"
Unreasoning dread crept into Walter. Ominous thoughts swirled: he'd invited apocalypse. Common sense said the Dust-battered Federation lacked capacity for anything beyond Chikushirub-class.
The ship swelled. Radar insisted thousands of kilometers off, but the black monster defied perspective. Terrifying: it decelerated for docking.
Even Sergeant Major John tensed behind cover, checking his rifle. As a combined landing pad and docking station, they couldn't ignore that silhouette.
The dread infected every survivor—like watching a station vaporize under Dust fire. The ship loomed, blatantly several times Earth's moon, crawling closer. Legs buckled; people slumped in place. No panicked flight. Just the same impotence as other stations scoured by Dust. They sat, awaiting the end.
Every soul at Artrix shared the thought: What's the point of fighting? A subtle terror gripped them. Silence blanketed the station.
The ship now dominated viewports. Close enough for the bow name: UNSS Covenant. Laser-etched pristine, flawless.
Obvious colossus in plain sight, yet radar chirped "small asteroid." IR boasted "1km destroyer exhaust." Faulty gear—or brain refusing the impossible scale.
"This is UNSS Covenant. Artrix Station visually confirmed naked-eye. Thirty minutes to halt."
A flat AI voice echoed from the numb observation post. Walter stared blankly, mute. Obvious, really. Who wouldn't freeze before that titan?
He clung to sanity by a thread. Lose it now, and no one left to hold things together. He snatched the radio.
"This is Artrix. You're welcome to approach, Covenant."
Walter replied with brazen calm. Cold sweat soaked him underneath.