Livadia, Dry-dock C, Assembly Observation Room
With most of Phoenix’s Nephilim warships deployed to the front, Livadia had fallen into an unusual calm. An eerie stillness hung in the drydock, its cavernous spaces now echoing with only the sounds of auxiliary work. Most operations had shifted to the smaller docks, reserved for less warlike production. The once vibrant heart of Zoner shipbuilding now felt like a temple at dusk—reverent, quiet, waiting.
Donagan stood hunched over a terminal, trying to find a place for Flintlocke’s request in an already overburdened schedule. As the war dragged on, some of the Nephilim would inevitably come crashing back in pieces. The timing of this request couldn’t have been worse. Still, the Livadians were determined to honor it. Phoenix, after all, didn’t claim Livadia exclusively for themselves. Fortunately, Kadesh had recently been outfitted with a wide array of modular drydocks and could absorb the overflow in case of emergency.
He paused to gaze at a projection of the Persephone. The progenitor of all Zoner capital ship technology. A vessel of immense power and enigmatic origin, still not fully understood. From its core had come the Jinkusu, and as more secrets were unlocked, the Nephilim followed. These titans were never mass-produced, each was singular in purpose, unique in design, painstakingly constructed, and highly specialized.
Donagan hovered a hand over the display, switching the projection to a schematic of the Nephilim’s core structure. As he keyed in Flintlocke’s preliminary specifications, the hologram flickered, internal systems shifting and reconfiguring as the design algorithms finalized their assumptions. When it settled, the cost estimate blinked into view—millions of credits, as expected. But cost wasn’t the only concern; gathering the required materials would be the true challenge. Donagan could only hope Flintlocke had connections and a capable trade fleet; because Phoenix’s own supply lines were already stretched to the breaking point.
After several recalculations and system checks, Donagan felt he finally had a solid grasp of the task at hand. He opened a comms channel to Flintlocke.
“Greetin’s once more, Mr. Flintlocke.
I’ve spoken wi’ the Livadians—they’ve agreed tae lay down a new colony ship for ye, alongside us. I’ll be waitin’ for ye at Livadia. Come prepared; there’s plenty we’ll need tae discuss.
Safe travels through Kappa, and may the stars guide yer way.”
The channel hummed quietly as the message was transmitted. Donagan stood, tucked his datapad under one arm, and lit his well-worn pipe. All that planning had made him thirsty.
He set off toward the bar, smoke trailing behind him like a lazy comet tail.
Some distance away from the mammoth Zoner shipyard, space distorted and out from the distortion appeared a Zoner Fearless-class cruiser. Small nodes appeared out from the hull following it's successful jump, releasing the heat generated from the many onboard systems which needed cooled in absolute zero. These nodes slowly retracted back into the hull shortly there after as if they were never there.
This Fearless-class ship was different from the others of it's ilk. The weapons of war, which normally interrupted the smooth lines of the ship, were missing. In their place were large sensor arrays which was where the power for the weapons systems had been redirected. Hull distinctly darker than it's other Fearless cousins and the ship projected a sense of wonder and awe. This was the Darkhorse the first of it's kind: the Curiosity-class Cruiser.
The ship angled it's forward trajectory towards the nebula that shielded the Zoner installation from the rest of the chaotic nature of Omicron Kappa. As it's cruise engines flared to life and propelled the ship through the black, it's captain looked out the forward viewport in anticipation.
"All ahead full, sir. Enroute to Livadia." remarked a man sitting at a forward console. Just as all the others on the bridge, he wore interesting powered armor with various sensors and gadgets appended to it.
"Copy that. All ahead full. Enroute to Livadia. You're relieved, crewman. Report to mooring control and prepare the others for systems shutdown in preparation for mooring." Dante, the captain of the ship, replied.
The man rose from his seat, nodded briefly, and departed the bridge. Dante took his place as the ship entered the radioactive nebula which shielded the shipyards. As they broke through into the interior of said nebula, Livadia emerged from the darkness. He never got tired of seeing the station and quietly ruminated to himself that he easily could have been a member of Phoenix instead of SLRC had things only been a little different.
"Livadia Shipyards, this is Pathfinder-1, captain of the Darkhorse, we are here to see Mr. Donagan for our scheduled meeting. Standing by for clearance and docking assignment."
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
Livadia, The bar
As he gazed into the swirling nebula through the reinforced glass, a thin plume of smoke curling from his pipe, Daniel’s datapad buzzed in his pocket. A quick glance showed a request from the dockmaster: permission for Darkhorse and her captain to berth. Break’s over, he mused, letting the nebular clouds spin on without him.
A single tap granted docking clearance; a few more opened a comm channel to the inbound vessel.
“Access granted, Captain Flintlocke. I’ll be waitin’ in the bar—bet that Kappa radiation’s left ye fair parched!”
Finding an alcove that faced the entrance, he settled in, pipe in hand, and ran through the mental checklist of schematics piling up in the design office. They’d be poring over those soon enough—best savour what little respite remained.
The Darkhorse came to rest in one of the mooring ports of Livadia. Dante had been here not that long ago on a retrofit for the Darkhorse and he was here once more for another request of the Phoenix Zoners. It differed dramatically from his initial request for a Nephilim be built for their uses. He only hoped that the enigmatic Donagan wouldn't be annoyed at the abrupt change of plans.
Initially, they had requested a Nephilim be built for their uses but with Pathfinders having been essentially brought under the umbrella of the Starfliers after SLRC had begun cutting programs due to budgetary limitations. However, the Starfliers did not possess the required skillsets to properly maintain a Nephilim and despite Dante being a Zoner working for a Freelancer organization, other Zoners wouldn't see it that way...Zoner tech had to be protected from outside uses. The Darkhorse could barely be considered a Zoner ship with all it's modifications at this point which is the only reason it was under the Starfliers flag.
What he was going to ask for now could piss off the Zoner mechanic, but he was going to ask anyway. No need to waste a trip to Kappa after all...and as long as he was willing to do the work, Dante was willing to pay from the Pathfinders coffers.
Before the hatch opened to the Livadia bay, he did a check of his powered suit as always did before venturing in to public. After he verified everything was in it's proper place, the hatch opened up and he made his way towards the bar.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
Livadia, The bar
Donagan watched the vessel ease into its berth. Something felt off ever since its last refit at Livadia. A second glance at the transponder confirmed the niggling worry: the ship no longer flew Zoner colours—it now bore the banner of the Starfliers.
Daniel sighed. That group had already tired to finagle one Zoner cruiser, and this one was handed to them on a silver platter. Some of the Livadian engineers would be fuming, though at least this hull had been stripped of every critical bit of Zoner tech.
His pipe ember faded to ash just as Dante strode up the gangway. Before the newcomer could speak, Donagan fixed him with a hard stare.
“Greetin’s, Mr Starflier. Seems ye switch yer colours as often as ye change yer breeks—SLRC, Pathfinder, an’ now this. I’ll be blunt, so we dinnae waste time.”
He jabbed a finger toward one of the dry‑docks, tapping the tabletop with each measured word.
“Ye ken fine we’ll never build a Nephilim for anyone but Zoners. If ever an exception were made, it’d need compensatin’ wi’ somethin’ truly phenomenal—an’ so far the Starfliers have offered little more than trinkets, nae equal trade.”
Dante held his hands up in mock surrender to the Zoner mechanic.
"We had no intentions of doing such a thing, Mr. Donagan." he said putting his hands back down. "In fact, our new employers aren't even allowed to work on the Darkhorse, only former SLRC and Pathfinders personnel. It was apart of our employment contract before we even signed on. Zoner tech remains Zoner tech, Donagan. No exceptions."
He sighed, a bit dejected.
"Believe you me, if I'd had it my way I would still be a solo run operation...but things are expensive and SLRC didn't leave us very well funded before we split off from their operations. In order to stay in the running, we were forced to make a difficult decision. With the Darkhorse running on fumes, we accepted an offer with the Starfliers to continue our operations. Though we fly their flag, we are still Zoners at our core and Mr. Albert McKenzie has informed us that we operate independently from the other Starfliers personnel. So true, we operate under their umbrella, we still possess a measured amount of latitude and independence from the others."
He looked out the nearby window to the Darkhorse which sat moored inside the nebula.
"Why I didn't cancel our appointment is simple. I have another request for your teams. This is a bit...more difficult than just removing TacLink systems and sealing the former hardpoints."
He pulled out a datapad and handed it to the engineer.
"I hope you're ready for this. We're prepared to help with it as necessary...provided your teams are willing to let us help."
The datapad showed a schematic of the Darkhorse with a considerable modification to accomodate a docking bay in the former area where a majority of the weapons systems once existed. Clearly, the Pathfinder was aiming to modify the Zoner Q-ship to allow for a docking module to be installed.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
Livadia, The bar
Donagan let out a weary sigh—so much preparation, all for naught. Ah well, he mused, the groundwork might come in handy down the line. Scanning the fresh schematics, he noted the latest exotic request: a docking bay on a cruiser. With most of its weapon systems already stripped, the modification looked feasible.
He thumbed his datapad, conjuring a holo of the Fearless’s original frame—a compact transport at heart—before turning to his visitor.
“That’s it, then? Just a docking bay? Och, we’ve handled ships this size wi’ carrier capacity afore. The Bristol Bulwark is a marvel o’ engineerin’.”
He tapped the projection, highlighting structural nodes.
“Borrowin’ a bit o’ Bristol ingenuity, we can likely craft an elegant fix tae yer problem.”
Another day, another challenge—he could already hear the Livadian yard-hands grumbling, and the thought made him smile.
“It’ll push our own ship-buildin’ forward, nae doubt. But tell me—what’s yer schedule an’ budget tae make it happen?”
Dante smiled under his helmet but the mirth overflowed into his voice.
"Money isn't an issue. We've been given a fairly substantial budget from the Starfliers for projects related to the Darkhorse. T'would seem Albert has similar dreams for the cruiser. Our teams are standing by to help as well, we have quite a few onboard who are engineers themselves.
"That brings me to my next point. A bit off topic, but we have some Pathfinders who didn't agree with to the merge with the Starfliers and are looking to offboard here at Livadia. Could be a few of them may join your ranks in the coming days or weeks if you'll have them. Zoners all through and through. A few are looking to return to SLRC but I know that some are interested in what you all do here at Livadia."
Dante looked outside at the Darkhorse once again.
"Schedule wise, you can take your time. We have the Zenith and Infinitum, a Corvo and Conference respectively, coming to pick us up and keep our noses to the grindstone, as it were." He chuckled at his own joke. "Take your time on it. Let us know if you want to get Bristol involved too. We planned on reaching out to them for the actual construction of the module so if they were brought onboard, it'd make some sense."
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
“They’re run off their feet wi’ our Bulwark orders already, but if ye’d like a second opinion, feel free tae ring ’em up. I’ll set aside a room where yer engineers an’ ours can hash out the cruiser refit. If there’s naught else ye need, I’ll be on my way an’ crackin’ on wi’ the work.”
He slipped the datapad back into one of his innumerable pockets and rose to his feet.
“As for the Pathfinder folk handin’ in their resignations—well, we’re aye in need o’ more hands. They’re welcome tae join us if they fancy it. My door’s always open… unless ye catch me off stargazin’.”
A few days passed, during which time the crew of the Darkhorse once again merged under the flag of SLRC. No doubt Donagan would be equal parts relieved to be working with a proper Zoner faction, and exasperated that Flintlocke was once again under a new banner. No doubt he'd get given shit by the wayward engineer.
Work on the Darkhorse moved slowly. While on paper it was a simple matter of reconfiguring the open spaces created by the absence of the weapons systems, it was another story altogether considering the requirements to maintain the structural integrity of the cruiser when moving various components around.
Dante disembarked from the airlock of the Zenith on his return trip to the station while the Infinitum-II idled nearby.
"Guessing he'll be at the bar. I'll check there first. Hopefully he's in a good enough mood for a status update."
He moved with purpose in the direction of the bar, crossing his fingers that the engineer was in a good mood.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
![[Image: Cj034If.png]](https://i.imgur.com/Cj034If.png)
