Lost in the Beyond (// invite only)

[Cheetah]

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Date: 02.05.823 A.S.
Location: Unknown system beyond Edge Nebula

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Onboard of "Admiral Kuznetsov" heavy strikecraft carrier, local time 19:28 (SMT +3)

Andrey Gumilev was staying on the bridge of Pravda's flagship, leaning against a wall, and smoking. An untypical sight, considering that he was not of a smoking type, but that allowed to relieve the stress and nervousness for a bit. He looked onto atmosphere stats on the captain's main display, only to see that oxygen level has dropped to 18.54%, while CO2 level had reached 1% and kept slowly climbing. Scrap. Their oxygen supplies already ran out, and the only thing that was keeping the crew alive in this screwed-up journey "just a little away" from bonds of known sector was the now-heavily damaged Nephilim colony ship brought in the voyage against all rational thoughts about economy and expense optimization. It was just that 'butt presentiment' when you pull off something weird and then it literally saves your life — and hundreds of your comrades thrown in a squeezer of the situation. Yet still it was not enough, as they were drifting in the middle of nothing for almost three months, trying to reach the borders of Sirius Sector.

Gumilev glanced on the scorched window, and then on the void behind it. The space, unusual compared to vivid colors of many tightly-packed stars and nebulae of Sirius Sector, stared back, it's fascinating blackness emphasized by rare white dots of distant stellar bodies. What a beautiful sight it could be under other circumstances, thought the leader of Pravda, if we weren't stranded in the middle of nothing with half of fleet's main engines in various degrees of malfunctioning and jumpdrive's energy input and containment lines broken apart by that Libertonian weakling gone mad. He knew that he should not accept David Lapman, that gilded youngster from Manhattan seeking for adventures, into his little organization — or at least take him in this voyage. But, well, there were some reasons: Pravda was lacking certain support in Houses (no wonder it was, when every second man asks "are you from Coalition?" only to receive the same truthful answer: "No, we are Zoners and have no relations to SCRA, nowadays or in distant past, except the times of the old Earth when we ran away from forming Coalition"), and David's father offered some help for it's cause... along with threatening with troubles if Gumilev would refuse. Y'know, these moneybags can be convincing. Yet Andrey wondered, what Mr. Donald Lapman expected from this, some glory to his family (in addition to millions of credits) from having his son fighting against Nomads? Or he really believed that a more fair society and state system could be built, finally reducing hostilities between workers and capitalists, human rights seekers and those in power, maybe even turning relations between Triumvirate and Houses from "shoot on sight" or "throw insults, then shoot" to some... diplomacy. Both sides had their points and their truth. Or a side of whole Truth, if you'd ask me.

Whatever it was, that weak kiddo just out of some prestigious academy had his mind broken in the first few days. Maybe due to Nomads who circled around the fleet, like sharks waiting for prey, maybe he was just broken under the psychical pressure that implies by living, I mean, surviving in the Omicrons and the Deep Space Beyond. At first, he gnawed away the wiring in navigational computers, then had got to the jumpdrive and broke down with hammer the capacitors and superconductor lines which pump power to the core during charge-up. Gumilev would love to interrogate him — and say him a few "sweet" words about all this — but shortly after wreaking havoc, David had lost his mind completely. He was also one of the first people who died in this maelstrom of mishaps, being killed by armor fragment which hit him in head when Nomads finally attacked. Lucky bastard. The postmortem examination also found out the fact that he was recently off some Cardamine-containing crap popular in the crowd of rich youth of Liberty. So, now their chances of survival had depended on one thing...

A communicator suddenly buzzed. Gumilev pushed the "Connect" button, with finger still slightly dirty from grease and oil from handling the robotic hardware. Unlike many other battleship captains, Andrey Gumilev was also working on repairs like a simple mechanic when necessary, for which he was honored by the crew as "the first among the equal", thus dissolving the glass wall between "noble commanders" and "commoner workers".
When static finally cleared, chief engineer Eugene Willard was on the screen. A tired smile had appeared on his face.

— Andrey Lvovich! We finally got the hyperdrive back online. It's power circuits are barely working, but this hunk-o-junk may still give us one jump. If it won't fall apart during hyperspace travel, we may even exit hyperspace without being roasted.
— If so, then we don't need more than one jump. Just make sure that the last shot of Varyag will not lead to shell exploding in barrel.
— Aye. We are running final checks. Everything shall be ready in fifteen minutes.
— Understood. I will try to plot the best jump coordinates. For once, the galactic drift might do us a favor. Gumilev out.

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Main bridge of "Admiral Kuznetsov" heavy strikecraft carrier, local time 19:45 (SMT +3)

The little fleet finally emerged from jump. Most ships were looking as if sandblasted, but at least they weren't falling apart. Green vastness of Edge Nebula had greeted the flagship. Most of the crew still able to stand on the feet was crowding the combat information centre.

— Not the best what we could hope for, but at least we are only in two days of flight from Omicron Lost... if we had all ships engines' operational. For now, the only ship capable of such voyage is the Snowstorm.

— Prepare him for the flight. I will personally lead him and try to make it to the Livadia, then bring back some engine components, food, oxy and water.

— Flying in a lone Fearless through space plagued by Nomads? A job for a madman, pardon my French.

— You're right. But if we weren't madmans we would be still drifting in the middle of void, without risking to jump and slowly dying. I believe that the Snowstorm is nimble enough to break through. Lock-and-load the bird.

— Will be done, commander. And... good luck. You will need it.

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