Vagrancy

[Kazinsal]

There was no questioning it. Seasons Base was falling apart.

Even the slightest of observations revealed that the station, once proudly high in the orbit of the planet its inhabitants had nicknamed New Westminster, was beginning to degrade. The orbital adjustment RCS was spotty at best, and just this month they expelled twice as much propellant as they had the last month, and twice again as the month before. And yet the station's orbit still shifted.

The situation aboard was no better. The agridomes, without maintenance from the companies that originally constructed them, were running at low efficiency. And while the Octavarium engineering corps was clever, and had built plenty of makeshift hydroponics bays in their time to sustain the fleet, a station sized terrarium was a different matter. Severe rationing was imminent, even with the fleet's own hydroponics bays being run on double time to help feed the populace.

It was only a few years ago that the corridors were brightly lit, the reflections on the walls and in the eyes of the station's denizens serving as literal beacons of hope. "We're free," it said. "We're free and a nation." Those days when colonization of the planet seemed so close, and that the garden world of New Westminster was soon to be the capital of Natio Octavarium. Where millions would live, nestled away between Bretonia and Liberty, safe from the Gallic incursion into Sirius. Safe from stigma of shameful lives lived and deeds done in eras past. Safe from the fear of having to return to lives of banditry and interdiction.

But now the lights were fading in the hearts and halls alike. Though the Natio had been given amnesty, no amount of amnesty could make up for the isolation. Resources in the system were scarce, and what little astroecological balance there was, stellar phenomena over the few short years rendered it dead. The once closely neighbouring systems known to Sirius as Kansas and Humboldt were becoming one. The ice belt that was an extension of the Barrier grew ever closer to the planet. Habitability was sure to be lost.

In the months leading up to the ice belt's approach, the station became a spine for the fleet of ships that amassed under the Octavarium banner to adhere themselves to. While no one wanted to make the call, it was plainly obvious that the colonies were unsustainable, and that the evacuation order would need to be given.

And so it was.

Seasons, or what remained of it, was dismantled. Usable components and materials were packed into cargo containers and attached to any ship that could fit them securely. People were packed into the safest ships that they could fit into. The last few warships became mobile habitats, albeit well-armed ones.

Over the years, the flagship of the fleet, the VCS Metropolis, had taken significant damage time and time again. Every time it was near the brink, it was brought back and rebuilt. First with the Lane Hackers. Then with the Hellfire Legion. And the third time, with the Zoners. But traumatic injuries that one recovers from still add up, and one day, the sum of their lingering effects can break through and deliver one final, devastating blow.

In the course of the evacuation, the Metropolis broke her back.

Working parts were scavenged and distributed throughout the fleet. The Black Cloud II took on most of her cargo and inhabitants. And, under order of her commanding officer, the rest of her wreck was sent off to burn up in the system's sun.

With no flagship, no income, no resources, and no allies, they were vagrant again.