The Cobra's dropspace drive thundered below decks, hurling them towards the stricken dead zone around Myrr. She'd spoken to the engineering decks, instructing them to do whatever they could to max out the drive and increase their speed, but there was no avoiding the long wait.

It was a twelve hour transit to Myrr Idol, which left Wraia with a lot of time to think. She rotated her command crew out to ensure her senior officers would be fresh on arrival, and had the gunnery crews perform a full systems check of every weapon on the ship, just in case. She remained on the bridge for another full rotation with the secondary crew until she accepted relief from Lieutenant Gallagher.

And with four hours left until they reached Myrr, she finally tried to get some sleep.

It took another hour before she managed to drift off. Doubts crept into Wraia's thoughts, the sneering words of bitter rivals at the naval academy snapping at the edges of her mind. High Commissioner Clay's daughter, playing soldier for the cameras and getting given command of a top-of-the-line ship because daddy said so.

It wasn't true. She knew it wasn't true. She'd grafted harder than anybody else in her class of recruits and earned this command, but those jibes still haunted her. What if she failed? What would become of her then? Of her father's career? Would he spend his twilight years defending his disgraced daughter?

Wraia squeezed her eyes shut and drove those thoughts away, filling her mind with tactical manoeuvres, command regulations and ship specifications instead. Slowly she calmed herself; focused. They had a job to do, and they were a long, long way from the Commissioner's Council, Sol press and the Naval Academy.

She eventually drifted off into a blank, dreamless sleep. A few hours later, the groaning shudder of the Cobra's hull contractions woke her, a tell-tale sign of switchover from the dropspace drive to their in-system atomic engines.

Covering her mouth as she yawned, Wraia swung herself out of her bunk in the command cabin, pressing her bare feet against the deck plates where they were massaged by the engine vibrations. She reached out, palming the light control on the bedside unit.

Soft ceiling disc lights glowed into life. Her commander's state room was lit up; a spacious chamber of greys, whites and blacks, with her bunk tucked into one wall, her desk at the other, and a few drawers and shelves of personal affects scattered in between.

Standing, she strode over to the internal comm speaker built into the wall just beside the heavy cabin door, and pressed the transmit button.

"Commander Clay to bridge," Wraia called. "Report?"

"Gallagher here," the XO answered a couple of seconds later. "Drive transition complete. We're inside the Myrr Idol heliopause. Sublight engines engaged and we are on course in system towards the colony."

She placed a hand on her hip, leaning against the wall as she spoke. "And what have we got?"

"It's just like the commodore said – there's some kind of interference in the system that's playing merry hell with our instrumentation. The tactical AI's having trouble even confirming where the planets are supposed to be, so Ensign Scarreth's manually plotted a course from the astrographic maps instead. The interference is blocking long range SLC comms too."

Wraia felt her nerves tightening. Even though all of this had been expected from her mission brief, it was still uncomfortable knowing that the ship was virtually flying blind.

"What about sublight comm frequencies?"

"As far as we can tell our standard comms can pierce the interference – locally at least."

"Have you been able to contact the Manticore?"

"Negative, ma'am. We sent out hails to them and the Myrr Idol colony across standard frequencies when we arrived, but with the way the sensors are, I'm not sure we'd even know if they were here."

"Any indication of hostile activity?"

"Negative, ma'am."

"Very well." Wraia nodded to herself, ruffling her currently free flowing waterfall of hair with one hand. "Steady as she goes, lieutenant, and keep me appraised. I'll be on the bridge in ten. Clay out."

She pressed another button and closed the comm, one foot tapping uneasily against the deck plates. An expected situation, she supposed, but not being able to contact the Manticore even within the system was troubling. Coordination between the relief force would be a nightmare if they couldn't get their ship-to-ship comms up and running.

One problem at a time. First, get to Myrr Idol; see what they were dealing with.

Wraia, plunged herself into the adjoining shower cubicle for a grand total of perhaps forty-five seconds, then switched the setting, letting the ship's airflow blast her dry. Then she slid into a fresh set of regulation underwear, and took five minutes to make herself an espresso in the cabin's kitchenette.

Rank did have a few privileges.

She sipped, letting the concentrated caffeine blow away the cobwebs of sleep and picked out a fresh uniform from the slender cabin wardrobe. Her mind raced with dozens reasons for the interference, possible solutions, and plans of action as she started to dress.

But Wraia had barely pulled her trousers on when the comm erupted again with the voice of Ensign Briar.

"Bridge to Commander Clay. Repeat, bridge to Commander Clay, please respond."

Grabbing her jacket and cap off their hooks, Wraia bolted over to the speak and thumbed the transmit button.

"This us Clay," she said, frantically tugging on her jacket and fumbling with the buttons. "I'm still in my quarters. What's going on?"

Lieutenant Gallagher's voice sounded through the intercom, and the nervous tone in his voice made her instantly on alert.

"Ma'am? Need you on the bridge now. The AI registers an extensive asteroid field. And ... oh my God!"

***

Wraia stormed onto the bridge, jaw tight and fists clenched by her sides. Lieutenant Gallagher leapt out of her chair and stood to attention.

"Commander on deck!" he barked.

"As you were." She strode past him and stood to face the view screen, clasping her hands tightly behind her back. "Report?" she snapped as he scurried back to the weapon's control console.

"Asteroid field dead ahead," Hooper cut in.

"One that isn't supposed to be there, ma'am," Ensign Scarreth interjected, glancing back over her shoulder. She could see faint perspiration on the tanned skin of the woman's face. Wraia pursed her lips.

"What do you mean it isn't supposed to be there?"

"It wasn't on the navigational charts," Gallagher said quietly. He moved up beside her. "But that's not why I called you to the bridge."

She looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Don't keep me in suspense, lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am." His broad shoulders tightened and he nodded to Ensign Hooper. "We were running a sweep of the edge of the field to check its composition, but we found... well, you'd best see for yourself." Gallagher gestured to the main screen and swallowed hard.

Wraia snapped her attention to the screen. The Cobra's forward cameras provided a zoomed in view of the asteroids, a great sea of smashed rocks ranging from some the size of buildings, to the largest that were veritable floating continents.

But right in the centre of the view screen at extreme magnification was something that didn't belong. Something man-made.

She froze. Just for that instant, her brain didn't want to accept what she was looking at. Then the long hours of training reasserted themselves and she cleared her throat.

"Ahead one quarter, Mr. Ratcliffe – give me a slow pass," Wraia said softly, catching Gallagher's eye and inclining her head to the weapons console. "Have you confirmed identification of that vessel?"

"No communications, ma'am," Gallagher replied grimly as he moved over to his station. "But the registration markings on the bow are intact." He swallowed hard. "I checked them myself. It's the Manticore, ma'am."

Wraia tried to suppress the icy shudder of fear that went right up her spine, but she couldn't. She twitched and clamped her hands together tightly behind her back, standing at attention, as though the Sol Navy regulations could armour her against the reality of what they'd discovered here. On the view screen the other ship loomed larger and larger, and they swung in a gentle arc, almost coming right alongside it.

Larger than the Cobra, the SNV Manticore was a Herculi-Class dromon, a hulking, sword-shaped brute of a vessel, but right now it bore little resemblance to the powerful warship Wraia had been expecting to find.

Drifting on the fringe of the asteroid field, the Manticore's hull was a ruin of gaping wounds, as though some giant animal had clawed the thick plates of armour apart. Wraia's eyes widened in amazement as they drew closer, unable to quite believe what she was seeing.

"Dear God," she breathed, looking over at Hooper. "Life signs?"

She shook her head bleakly. "I'm sorry, ma'am. AI's not picking up anything – no heat readings at all. It looks like her main reactors are dead. No sign of active life support."

Wraia made herself breathe, once, twice, and slowly lowered herself down into the command chair, pressing a button to open the ship's internal comm.

"This is Commander Clay," she said, her eyes not leaving the wreck of the Manticore. "Chief Petty Office Whitlock to the bridge. I repeat, Chief Petty Officer Whitlock, report to the bridge." Then she closed the channel and leaned back, trying to process what she was looking at.

"What in the hell happened to her?" Scarreth breathed.

"That's what we're going to find out." Wraia nodded to the comms officer. "Mr. Briar – red alert. All hands battle stations. Ms. Hooper, get the tactical AI working to clear through some of this interference – see if you can at least get me some short range sensors."

"Aye, ma'am!"

A flurry of comms activity filled the bridge as the Cobra's barriers rumbled into life, and the gunnery teams below decks fired up their lethal machines. Their tactical AI hunted in the dark, trying to wrest some kind of sense from the blizzard of electrified static that surrounded them like a storm cloud.

A couple of minutes later, the bridge doors slid open, heralding the arrival of Chief Petty Officer Whitlock. A brawny middle-aged woman, she lorded over the Cobra's engineering section with an iron fist. Her brown hair was cut into a crisp military crop, her body encased in a set of fitted dark blue overalls emblazoned with the Sol Navy logo over the right breast.

She gave a breezy salute, clicking her heels at attention. "Reporting as ordered, ma'am." Then her eyes caught the wreckage on the view screen and she turned away from Wraia, wide-eyed. "Bloody hell," Whitlock exclaimed. "Is that... ma'am, is that one of ours?"

"Yes," Wraia replied. "It's the SNV Manticore, who we were supposed to be rendezvousing with in this system."

"What happened to them?"

"I was hoping you might have some thoughts on that." Wraia inclined her head to the wreck. "Initial assessment?"

Whitlock gave her an incredulous look, but once she realised Wraia wasn't joking, she cleared her throat and edged forward to take a closer look at the screen. Then she gave a helpless shrug.

"Main power's gone, and it looks like something gutted her from the bow gunnery decks, right through to engineering." The engineer shook her head slowly as the carcass of the ship drifted by. "Don't know any weapon that could cause that kind of damage without rupturing the dropspace drive or the main reactors. It's a miracle she's still in one piece."

"A miracle indeed," Wraia murmured. She licked dry lips and breathed deep through her nose, looking to Ensign Hooper. "No indication of any other ships in the area?"

"No, ma'am."

"And the Merlin?"

"Assuming they made best speed without a stop, they should be arriving in-system in three hours."

"So for now, we're on our own. Are you picking up any anomalous readings, any energy signatures that don't belong?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, the AI's still trying to punch through the interference. It could take hours – it could take days before we can mine anything concrete."

"What about this asteroid belt? Do we have any idea how or why this wasn't on our charts?"

Hooper shifted her footing awkwardly. "I... no, ma'am."

Insufficient data is not sufficient, she thought, eyeing the Ensign coldly.

"Very well, then we don't have much choice." Wraia told them, fixing her gaze on the Manticore again. "We're going to have to board her."

"Ma'am?" Lieutenant Ratcliffe looked around at her askance. "Are you sure-,"

"Our sensors are useless, lieutenant. If we can't tell what happened from out here, then we just might be able to pull something from the Manticore's logs – assuming they're still in one piece." She turned to Whitlock. "Feel like a field trip?"

The chief engineer nodded. "Absolutely, ma'am."

"Good. Get a pair of damage control specialists and meet me in the launch bay."

She saluted as Wraia's attention shifted again, orders flowing out of her as her training took hold. She'd never expected to see something like this, but there were search and rescue protocols that had to be applied. She clung tightly to those regulations.

"Mr. Briar, contact security and have them ready a boarding team for immediate deployment. Ms. Hooper?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You're coming, too."

Hooper's face paled, but she stepped away from the tactical console and moved to stand behind Wraia.

"Lieutenant Gallagher, the bridge is yours," Wraia told the XO. "Any sign of trouble, the ship is your first priority. Keep the crew on full alert, and contact us when the Merlin arrives."

"Yes, ma'am," Gallagher replied, snapping to attention with a salute. "Good luck."