A lost cruiser

[Goliath]

The ship stood motionless into space. Flames were roaring on the lower decks. The reactor seemed dead, and the emergency generators were already a quarter empty. On the outside two battle-worn 90-ARKM-N45 "Wraith" fighters outfitted with Stealthblades were patrolling the badly damaged Helgoland, taking out incoming asteroids that would collide with the ship's hull, as well as any incoming lesser Nomads. To their very luck, the ship was isolated to outer regions of Omicron Delta instead of the location sent out by the computer, namely Omicron Kappa.

Within the ship, however, chaos took the best of the lost rheinlanders. The cruiser was not understaffed, as plenty of men died to the last blow struck by the corsairs in the barracks, which has spread all the way to the engine, damaging it to the point where it would nearly go out forever. About 150 men survived. With such a low count, serious damage would not be handled properly by any means, which has really shown in the time required to put out the fire: About two to three hours after the battle. Up in the control room, the real stress has begun as comms were a no-go, and movement would be impossible without damaging the engine any further.

"Sir. We've managed to get the four turrets on-line. Orders?" said Ben with a concerned tone, the man in charge with artillery. The long silence stood still for a few minutes, leaving only the alarms to sound without stop, and the lights to turn the whole room red intermittently.

"Keep them ready, but don't fire them at any given time unless it is an emergency. We do not know how long it will be until anyone would find us, not even to mention that it is unknown to us who resides in this system other than Zoners, The Core, and these Nomads. Order could lurk as well around these parts." says the commander, with a rashed voice, biting on his nails as he stares at the empty space through the armed glass, muttering to himself:"Or risk firing unstable weaponry." while looking through one of the cameras which shows one of the Rheinland Cruiser turrets barely hanging on its hardpoint, still connected, and somehow still returning positive data. He looks over to the emergency button mounted next to his arm, sweating profusely, then presses with all his might.

Just below the control room, a tiny hatch opens, ejecting out an aged drone which definitely has not seen action in some time. Its purpose was simple. Send out an emergency signal on a radius of aproximately 35 kilometers should the need arise. Now the only thing the Helgoland could do is wait and keep itself from exploding.

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