Hunger.

Capable of turning the sweetest of individuals into a vitriolic, hate-filled mess, hunger had the power to destroy friendships. Okay, maybe that last part was an exaggeration, for most anyway, but for Prida, it was a very real possibility. She’d not eaten in, well, she was so hungry she couldn’t even remember when she had last eaten. And she wasn’t alone in that. Rubbing her hands together with glee, Prida was practically hopping from foot to foot whilst looking over the data screen embedded in the bar that dominated the mess hall. All she had to do was wait for Onsas to take his turn and choose what he wanted from the menu. Or maybe she didn’t? He was a brute of a man; he ate massive amounts of food, but there was always stuff left over she could pick from like a vulture on a carcass.

When the Xelliat was done, the Bajassian didn’t even wait for her cue. She pushed in front of the Orion stood with them, gave an apologetic smile, and quickly reeled off her own order: eggs, bacon, fried bread, hash browns, sausage, baked beans and mushrooms. Henry had called it a ‘Full English’, and while she didn’t know what exactly that meant, she knew that it tasted amazing, and nothing less than amazing would satisfy her stomach right now. All washed down with a mug of her favourite Klingon coffee.

“You’re never going to eat all of that,” Vash scoffed, shaking her head whilst placing her own order of Plomeek soup and an iced water. It was a peculiar choice for breakfast, certainly not a staple of the culinary menu, but it was something she enjoyed, and she’d always been told that meals should be enjoyed, not planned to the nth degree and limited to certain times of the day. If she wanted broth now and her favourite flaked cereal at supper, that was what she would do.

“Wanna bet?” Prida grinned, lifting her Raktajino cup to her lips and blowing on the milky beverage.

Vashara Zail didn’t have much in common with the Chief Engineer, but the enjoyment of food was something they certainly agreed on. So, too, did Onsas. The unusual trio of specialists were not a group that would be traditionally classed as friends, but they had united over their shared love of food, and their morning breakfasts were almost a ritual now. They would get together, order whatever took their fancy, and sit at the same exact table under the window along the aft bulkhead of the lounge, a table that had been placed in a perpetual state of reservation for the three. Like, who would possibly be brave enough (or stupid enough) to take a seat that the brutish science officer wanted? Sure, he wore the blue of science and had an unparalleled curiosity of the galaxy, but sure as shit, he had a temper when he needed to. Get in the way of his breakfast burrito, or his Earl Grey tea, or even his Risan souffle muffins, and there would be a problem.

Whilst they waited for their server to bring the food to their table, the three officers and their beverages made their way to the table. Usually, Vash would pull out her seat first and slide into the comfortable chair, accompanied by the Xelliat who would sit beside her, face on with the window. Prida would sit with her back to the vast ocean of space, far more interested in watching the arrival of their respective meals. But today, there was something different. As they approached the table, something out beyond the window caught the strategist’s eye. It wasn’t anything big or remarkable, it wasn’t even noticed by the others, but her keen eye spotted it.

“What’s wrong?” Prida asked, sipping her beverage and watching the Orion, who approached the window curiously.

“I thought I saw… there!”

Prida’s gaze fell on the same spot that Vash pointed to, and sure enough, she saw it too. It was a flash of light, something akin to that of a warp flash, but both knew that was impossible. Ship’s didn’t jump into the system at warp, and certainly not in the proximity of spacelanes and drydocks. The area was far too cluttered for such a dangerous manoeuvre. It lingered, too, far longer than a warp flash would, and it was different in colour; orange, rather than white.

A third flash, much closer, drew the Xelliat to the window, as others joined them, in hushed conversation and speculation but by then, the Orion’s gaze had shifted. Gone was the narrowed, piercing gaze trained on the darkness beyond. Instead, raised brows, dilated pupils and wide eyes showed the raw flash of instinct that only a strategist with experience like hers could betray. She lifted a hand, shaky and off target, reaching for her commbadge, but before she could press it, a fourth flash brought a collective gasp. And in that split second that it took her brain to process what they could see, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The flash, they realised, was no longer a flash. It was a raging inferno, terrifying in its beauty and devastation alike. Dockyard Gamma-Four, an aging shipyard by modern standards, had been unoccupied when Columbia slipped into her berth, and as its massive duranium hull contorted and fractured, it was probably for the best. The fireball that engulfed the station produced the blinding flash that left them with no uncertainty.

Something was very, very wrong.

It was Commander D’orr that spotted them first thanks to the superior vision of his species; swathes of small craft, hulls of brown and purple, emerging from the fires of destruction and angled, not towards the vastness of space, but directly at Columbia’s berth. The sight of the advancing threat sent officers and civilians alike scrambling safety.

After what felt like an age of delay and inaction, the mess facility was suddenly bathed in a crimson glow, the usual bright lighting dimmed in places and replaced elsewhere by the strobe lights of red alert. Piercing screams threatened to drown out the alert klaxon that sounded overhead as panic began to set in. Vash bolted for the door to the lounge’s starboard side, almost knocked from her feet as the first impacts to the dockyard caused a chain reaction of instability along her docking latches and umbilical supports.

“Prida! Get to engineering. Onsas with me,” the strategist and acting XO barked, holding onto the bar briefly for support. Looking over her shoulder, Prida was already gone, headed for the port door and herding crewmates like sheep from a wolf.

As Onsas reached the XO and supported her back to a frame of stability, the Orion gave him a look of grave concern. Both were thinking exactly the same thing as they stumbled through another apparently distant impact. Who were their assailants, and why the hell were they attacking in the first place?

“I don’t care what it takes,” Henry barked from the CONN, looking over his shoulder towards the Bolian at tactical, “tell Engineering I want engines online yesterday. We need to get out of here or we’re done for!”

“Don’t you think they know that?!” Linn scolded the Commander at flight, glaring frustratedly at the pilot several feet away. “How about you worry about where we’re going to go when we do get out of here?”

“Perhaps you should both contain your frustrations and focus on the task at hand,” Vulcan Commander T’Kir chided from Ops in his usual acerbic manner. 

Vashara and her colleague in blue emerged from the turbo lift in time to catch the end of the exchange between three of the ship’s most senior officers. In the absence of their commander, she needed to step in and calm the situation. The best way she knew how was to focus them on the situation at hand. “I want a status report from all departments,” she ordered, crossing the bridge towards the CONN.

“Engineering reports an issue with the engine startup process. Commander Prida and her team are addressing the issue but there is currently no ETC,” the ageing, pointy-eared Ops Chief responded, leading by example as he always did. “Power transfer systems and distribution at maximum. All other systems are ready.”

Vash slipped into the command chair and began tapping on the arm’s controls. Other departments responded to the roll call as swiftly as they could, until Linn was the last to respond.

“Offensive and defensive systems at the ready. They’re just useless while we’re within the station’s shield bubble,” Linn advised. He knew that if anyone would understand his frustration at being unable to do anything, it would be her.

“Where’s Noli?” Vash queried, looking toward the Vulcan who had been in command prior to her arrival in the command centre.

“She has not returned. Ops informed us she will be returned as soon as they can get her here.”

“And do we know anything about our attackers?”

“There’s nothing in any database that gives us any indication as to who they are,” Linn told her anxiously. Another impact on the docking station’s powerful defensive grid rocked the ship far more violently this time. As the tremors subsided, it became clear that the dockyard would soon succumb to the assault, and Columbia with it if they couldn’t get underway and fast.

“I might be able to shed some light,” Onsas declared over the noise. “We’re receiving a transmission.”

“On speakers,” Vash instructed, raising a hand to silence the bridge so they could try and get some answers. Nothing could have prepared them for what came next.

“Inhabitants of the Andor system, hear us.”

The voice was deep, sinister, and foreboding.

“The Vaadwaur Supremacy speaks with one voice, and that voice echoes through your starsystem today. Your fleets are scattered across the stars, your allies lost in distant frontiers. You are isolated, alone. Your defences under assault, fracturing at our will.” Officers around the command centre listened in disbelief as the supremely confident voice told of their impending doom.

“This isolation is not fate. It is by design… our design. You are isolated because we mean you to be so. Your Imperial Guard will not save you, your Starfleet pride will not shield you. When we are finished, your bodies will be as frigid as the world you seek to protect. Your skies will burn beneath the fire of our will. Resist, and you die forgotten…

…surrender, and you will live as part of something greater. Obey the voice of the Vaadwaur Supremacy… or be silenced by it. Now, and always.”

“Who are these guys?” Henry turned in his chair, glancing towards the woman in command. And for the first time ever, she couldn’t give them any.

“Onsas,” the Commander’s voice had dipped, much calmer than before. “Dig into the LCARS database and get me everything you can on these Vaadwaur.”

“He may not have time,” Linn chimed in, jutting his head towards the viewscreen and drawing her gaze.

There, the image changed to reflect the devastation that drew closer. Six vessels, roughly the size of an Intrepid flanked something far larger, far more menacing. A beast that dwarfed their Galaxy-class home in length, and caused the Commander to slowly rise to her feet.

Whoever they were, they were closing in, headed directly for Columbia and her dockyard. Even under the protection of the maintenance facilities shield grid, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Reaching for the panel on the arm of her chair, the Commander called out to Engineering. “Prida, we need to get out of here, and now…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know! We’re going as fast as we can….” the Chief retorted, clearly unaware of their impending doom.

“Prida…” Beads of sweat formed on the XO’s brow as she reiterated her words far clearer than before. “Get us out of here now…

…or we all fucking die.”