My name is Alejandra Sara Lopez, a whisper of a name born into the harsh light of Planet Crete, Omicron Gamma, on July 10, 800 A.S. Since my sixteenth year, I have navigated the black, phantom smuggling artifacts and xeno relics. One cycle, before the Reincarnation fell, I was deep in the poisoned atmosphere of Planet Knossos, Omicron Pi, harvesting relics. Then, my scanners screamed: multiple hostile signatures. Core Fighters.
They offered no hails, only the chilling kiss of their dark, black lasers. My Correo bucked, weaving through the maelstrom. I knew, with the cold certainty of the void, that if I didn't break free, I would be consumed. I unleashed my mines, one catching a fighter, rendering it a useless, burning husk. On my desperate escape, a Firestalker tore into me, its kiss stripping my shields and leaving an engine crippled. Yet, I clawed my way back into the cold embrace of Omicron Pi system space. And there it was: a Core Mako. My blood, usually a cold stream, ignited with vengeance. The ghost of my father's Raba, shattered in the void, burned in my vision.
They hailed me, those arrogant bastards. A proud Corsair, born of Cretan blood, was supposed to surrender life and relics to the Core. My blood pressure spiked, a thrumming rage. First, they took my father. Now this. I primed my guns, a sweet whisper of death on my lips. They warned me, a cold prophecy of my certain end.
Then, the void itself tore open. An unstable jump hole birthed a battleship, the DTR-CNS>Murreano, commanded by an old friend. A man to whom I owed my very breath. How he came to be there was not for thought. As he hailed the Core Mako, his voice cut through the comms - cold, chilling, and laced with a fierce, unwavering determination.
"This is the Captain of the DTR-CNS>Murreano, Sacramento Serrano. Core Battleship of the Mako-class. You engaged one of our protectees, and it seems you murdered another. Therefore, we will bathe in your blood."
The heavens opened. A blue rain of fire from the DTR-CNS>Murreano's armaments tore into the Core Mako, catching them by surprise. But the Murreano was not alone. A wing of Corsair Praetorian bombers screamed through the unstable hole, dropping torpedoes that slammed into the Mako the moment its shields buckled, ripping through its power core and annihilating it in a flash of light.
I made it to the DTR-CNS>Murreano just as the Core fighter swarm materialized on our scanners again. Our capital ship laid down covering fire, a relentless storm of destruction, as we retreated through the jump hole, taking a few of their vessels with us.
On the other side, it felt like an eternity before the capital ship emerged, hailing all vessels with a voice that was both a relief and a chill. "Miss Lopez, good to see you in good shape. All hostile vessels are eliminated. We are very sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man; he hailed DTR Command for support as he saw the Mako inbound."
"Thanks, but I don't want to talk," I replied, the words a raw wound. We docked silently at Planet Crete. Besides my father, not a single Corsair was lost.
Months bled into the void. I was hauling xeno relics again, a cold journey to Puerto de Sol in Omicron Gamma. My current position was Omicron Kappa, still a long way to go. Then, a ghost on my scanner: the DTR-GHOSTSTEEL, a captured and modified Rheinland Valkyrie. I hailed my good friend, Serrano.
"Serrano, my friend, how are you doing?" I asked, a rare warmth in my voice.
"Could be better", he answered, his voice strained. "Exhausted from my artifact smuggling a while ago. How are your weapon systems?"
"Hit by asteroids and not working", I replied.
"Run", he said, the single word a cold dread.
In that same instant, hostile elements flared on my standard scanners: Nomad vessels. Serrano engaged, a lone warrior against the tide. I slammed my engines to full, burning for the Omicron Gamma jump hole. For every Nomad he vaporized, two more emerged from the void.
Finally, I made it. Jumped. Arrived in the cold, comforting embrace of friendly Corsair space. The DTR-CNS>Diablo.Nox and the DTR-CNS>Murreano stood sentinel.
Then, Serrano's DTR-GHOSTSTEEL tore through the jump hole. An incoming transmission from his fighter. His image materialized on my screen, but before he could speak, something purple erupted from the hole - a Nomad torpedo. It struck the battle-torn DTR-GHOSTSTEEL, shields offline, ripping it apart in a fiery, silent explosion.
Everything happened too fast. He was gone before I could even comprehend it. Nomad vessels boiled from the jump hole, but the two capital ships wasted no time, unleashing a rain of fire I had never witnessed. They tore through the Nomads, who seemed surprised, as if they had only calculated me being on the other side of the hole. A searing pain tore through my heart. There was no lifepod from the DTR-GHOSTSTEEL. Nobody. Nothing. Sacramento Serrano, and his beloved ship, simply ceased to exist.
The DTR-CNS>Murreano hailed me. Its second-in-command ordered me escorted to Planet Crete, citing the recent events. We docked in a stunned silence. The second-in-command led me into a sterile chamber. There, I was told of Sacramento Serrano's last will. The man who had saved my life countless times, the legend who had escaped a blacksite prison and ran the most dangerous smuggling routes imaginable, had willed his place in Deterrence as Fleet-Commander to me. His recommendation. My duty: to take command of the DTR-CNS>Murreano and ownership of his entire collection of vessels.
Tears, hot and bitter, streamed down my face. I accepted the grim duty, then stumbled to the bar. I drowned myself in rum, the burn a futile attempt to comprehend how the most untouchable man I knew could vanish in a blink. The void had finally claimed him, and I was left to carry his legacy in this endless, brutal war.
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