6 Awakening

                  The distress call had been short. A prison ship, carrying some of the most dangerous criminals in the sector, had been on its way to the prison colony on Purgatory. Until the prisoners revolted and took over the ship.

                  Forge team leader, Axel Van Meter, led the scrambled response force to the distress signal, only to watch it flee into the heart of a massive nebula.

                  “Well, captain,” said Lt. Simmons, over the comms, “are we pursuing?”

                  The other two Sabres Gunships would be awaiting his response.

                  “We certainly aren’t about to let a ship full of dangerous lunatics escape,” he said, seeing a new ping appear on his radar. “But there’s something else. Faint. Are you seeing this? A beacon in the middle of the nebula.”

                  “Roger, sir,” said Simmons. “Could they have back up waiting for them? Some kind of secret refuge?”

                  “Only one way to find out,” said Van Meter. “Squadron, on me.”

                  Captain Van Meter banked his ship and cut into the edge of the nebula, watching the stars disappear in the wisps and swirls of the thick dust and gas clouds.

                  “Stay sharp,” he said. “Watch your instrument panels.”

                  The squad kept a tight “V” formation, cutting thrusters back to drift through the murk. The beacon drew closer.

                  None of them expected to bear witness to what they saw next.

                  Floating at the core of the nebula, like some bloated spidery egg-sac, part machine, part collected spacerock and debris, part organic biomaterial, pulsing and pumping dark fluids through membranous veins, was an enormous factory ship.

                  The prison transport, what was left of it, hung half “digested”, half in space, as segmented biomechanical arms picked it apart, piece by piece, transferring the components into dark cavities on the factory’s surface.

                  Strange drones darted about, their metallic surfaces spidered with  arteries that pumped luminescent fluids into shielded circuit banks. They hovered over the prison ship’s bridge, cutting away the viewports and extending telescoping arms into the darkened interior.

                  Van Meter’s throat went dry. He watched as the drones extracted people from within, plunging long, needle-like probes into their bodies and attaching vacuum tubes. Other arms clamped limbs and with the precision of surgeons, removed arms and legs with saw blades and industrial scalpels.

                  Parts and pieces, ship and human, were loaded into collection drones and transported back to the monstrosity at the center of the nebula.

                  Two of the salvage drones turned away from the prison ship. Red-eyed sensors sent scan beams washing across his hull. They drifted forward, cables dropping down from their underbellies and laser torches igniting.

                  “No,” whispered Van Meter. “No, no, no!”

                  Before he could relay evac commands to the squadron, a massive EMP pulse washed across them. His ship shuddered. The controls and flight display flickered and then went black. He hammered his fist against the console.

                  The listless ships drifted in space. The only source of life support came from the limited tank he wore with his flight suit.

                  But that wouldn’t matter, because what happened next was quick, brutal, and deadly.