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Dead Stop

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1d6 (5) Hours Later...

The sautering iron in Remi's hand fidgeted as he gently finished fixing the circuit board. A few additional prongs later, and it was fixed. He fed it back into the television with a few moments of screwdriving, and the screen flickered on to the cheers of assembled off-duty crewmen.

On-screen, videos of the American desert colony of Ellis filled the screens. Apparently a new subterranian city, Almurry Bay, was undergoing its formal grand opening. Considering their distance down the French Arm, it'd happened months ago.

Still - news was news, even if it was a backlog. Remi watched with interest - his own English struggling to keep up with the fast-paced reporting style of the Core Systems. Across the mess deck of the Morrison, crewmen chatted and jiggered amid velcro chairs and space dinners. At a pleasant .2G, Remi felt alive after more than a full day in null-grav.

The Frenchman took his seat in near the foot of the table, away from most of the Americans. They regarded him silently, happy to have their television fixed, but conflicted over their call to the Mirabeau. Remi doffed his snoopy, running a hand through dark hair, and stared with that kind of hollowness you found on a battlefield. Even as he enjoyed fixing and tinkering from his time as a boy, it didn't have the same lustre. Not anymore.

A few feet away, men laughed, while he remembered the bodies, the faces. The corpses.

[Telekinesis 10+: 13 - Standard Manipulation]

As his thoughts rattled through his mind, a shudder went through the table, rattling plates and loose materials, knocking others loose from their velcro on the tabletop. The crew glanced around amid shouts, until Remi snapped away from his reverie. One by one, they focused on him.

The shuddering stopped as Remi took a deep breath realizing what he'd done. He'd... shaken it all. At once. He looked to the Americans, who slowly turned their heads in silence before returning to their conversations, hushed and quiet now.

He sat in silence for awhile until one astronaut took a saet, floor scraping as he moved a chair off its latches and seated it back into the velcro decking. "Howdy," the man said, wearing the stripes of an American Space Force Master Sergeant. His fellow crewmen shared confused glances at their Sergeant's choice of seating - next to the freak that'd fucked with their heads and plates alike.

"Hello," Remi said. They sat in momentary silence.

The man nodded, "Pretty weird what happened on your ship, huh?" he finally said after a moment's peace.

"I would say so, Sergeant-Chef. I miss my friends - we'd been together for years." Remi whispered, eyes wistful.

The American idly chewed on a stick - looking like a Tirania Chemweed not unlike Colonel Jessup's Stimstick. The stuff was invigorating, sold all across the Core, and even grew at a profit on Earth despite quarantine regulations prohibiting such growth. It gave him the appearance of a skinny cow on the farmfield, chewing the cud.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "Name's Dawes. Rupert Dawes. Hear you're an Electrics boy."

"Yes," Remi said, dark eyes looking over the American and his floppy cap. The latter grabbed out his chewstick, and pointed it at the television.

"Fine work," Dawes said, "If shit gets rough, I don't care what the Cap says. All this talk about Aliens and weird table shiftin' got the crew spooked, especially after what some of 'em saw on your boat. You gotta good head, kid - I'm hauling your ass to engines if stuff goes down. Fixin' an entire MHD without the quals in the dark? Most folks wouldn't even know where to start. I saw your handywork - half-done before the lights went out."

Remi nodded, receding slightly into his jacket at the memory. He was far more concerned with all the bodies Dawes no-doubt saw on his descent. The American seemed no worse for wear - perhaps a regular member of inspection and boarding crews. "Do you really think Aurore is so dangerous? How many ships did the Spatiale lose?" Remi finally asked.

Dawes frowned, stopping the chew of his chemweed. "At least four - an Anconit, a Fantasque, and a pair of Bonaparte fighters. Another Anconit took on a third Bonny in her cargo and fled system. Barely made the Krauts at Hochbaden."

Anconits and Fantasques were lighter ships - but losing two and a pair of fighters was bad business. Rare were major fleet battles to begin with - and not since the Central Asian War had open war come to the stars at all. Remi had lost his mother aboard a small exploratory cruiser then - her ship sunk by Manchurian Raiders.

Remi frowned. "It will be bad, then."

"We're fast," Dawes said, "A lot faster than any of those ships, with a shitload of SIMs. Nobody's taking down the Morrison while I'm runnin' the plant. Right boys?!"

A loud shout went up from his fellow crewmen. Remi chuckled as Dawes passed his coffee-bag over. "Drink up, Kid. We're almost there-"

As he spoke, a sudden alarm went through the ship, and the lights above turned red in a staggering flicker from the mess toward the access hatches. Over the intercom, voices blared with a metallic twang: "General Quarters! General Quarters! All shifts man your combat stations! Say again, General Quarters! General Quarters! All shifts man your combat stations! Rig for Red across the ship! Rig for Red across the ship! Spindown, Spindown, Spindown."

Remi felt his heart lurch as he remembered the dark of the Mirabeau. With a free hand, he set his chair straps as spindown alarms crashed through the intercom. Crewmen grabbed their food and equipment and started sealing it down to the velcro as deceleration bracketed the Morrison's Spin Habs, floating them all into Zero-G.

Remi unstrapped and bounded, grabbing hold of a ceiling handle as his crewmates rushed to their quarters. Dressed in his old workman's gear, Remi still had most of his tools and ancillary web gear. Enough to be of use. In a nearby locker, Dawes was already handing out PSuits, and threw a skintight Civvy one at Remi. "Suit up, kid!"

Out of a few rooms in the hallway stepped the blue-suited SEALs, one or two shooting Remi looks of disdain behind their unpolarized masks. Dawes floated up next to the Frenchman, nodding. "Good luck, Kid - we'll need some of yours to make it through this shitstorm. Take this-" the American said, handing off a small portacomp chip, "-it'll patch you into Engineering's comms. If shit goes down and we start losing electrics, fuck the rules - you're an engineer. Got me?"

Remi blinked as Dawes shot off toward the access hatch - disappearing with dozens of half-ready crewmen down the hatches. He quietly doffed his webs and belt, jacket too, and threw on the taut skinsuit. The pressure helmet sealed around his head, snoopy on inside, and he wired them all together before plugging into the life support pack in the small of his back and sealing the assembly.

In that handful of heartbeats, he was alone - the only man in the entire spinner capsule. His breath fogged the mask as the pressure fan started whirring.

He plugged in the chip to his portacomp, now sleeved in the PSuit's wrist pocket and listened through his snoopy cap. Jessup's voice echoed: "All hands - we're entering Aurore space. We've got multiple grav contacts - big bastards. At this time, consider alien contact probable. We're going to buzz in at speed and probably engage. Remember your training, do your job, and we'll get through this. SEALs - head to the landers and get suited up, I may have one of your teams make the drop - check imaging in briefing. We'll need to get combat tracks so drones need to launch ASAP. Hop to it, Morrison! Jessup out!"

For Remi, the battle was a far away thing.


The Battle of Second Bootis - "The Shot That Saved Aurore"

When the U.S.S. Calvin Morrison arrived at Eta Bootis, Colonel Alvin Jessup feared the worst. In the span of a few hours, the entire Ukranian Squadron and several French Frigates had been torn to utter shreds, and the MSIF was covering up the loss of a Suffren-class Cruiser to enemy fire. The First Battle of Eta Bootis had been a disaster.

The Suffrens were the ultimate warships - though the Bismarck and Richelieu-class Ships were the true 'Ships of the Line', it was the Suffren-class Cruiser that trawled most of known space, while behemoths sat in drydock around Earth. Capable of independent operations and battalion-strength force deployments, the Suffrens were the hallmarks of French military operations and hegemony on the French Arm.

If the French lost a Suffren, with their massive missile loads and huge armor complement, the Calvin Morrison didn't stand a chance.

As the Morrison closed on the French Colony, though, they found themselves lucky: only three enemy ships were on gravity scanners, distorting space as their stutterwarps idled around Aurore. A tidally locked world of fire and ice, the Franco-Ukranian world was frozen in orbit of the Brown Dwarf Tithonius, a massive flaming gas giant that provided the heat that kept parts of Aurore habitable.

On one side, the Hotback, Aurore faced Tithonius. On the other, the Ice Cap, Aurore was too far for heat to reach. While day and night came in the form of Eta Bootis A's glowing form, that sun didn't provide much in terms of heat. On your average day, due to Tithonius Aurore's surface could be subject to a sudden and brutal shift in tides from North to South, resulting in massive daily tsunamis that had claimed the lives of the first Auroran surveyors.

They said that Aurore was out to kill you, from the Creeps - walking unyielding carpets that spat acid and were content to smother you and dissolve every scrap of skin you had - to the very soil, which was Dextro-based. Nothing edible grew on Aurore - you had to import Earth-soil and kill all the Auroran flora in the process. Even the grass was out for your legs, a strange mossy substance that had a mind of its own.

Still, millions of humans called it home - be it in the colony of Tanstaafl (There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch - Once a Corporate haven, now wholly independent), the French colony of Aurore (for which Aurore was named) and the Ukranian Colony of Novy Kiev, one of the few colonies that nation had.

That all had been before these aliens, whoever they were, had dropped a fistful of hell on the already inhospitable rock. Radiological sensors showed huge plumes of fallout near cities and military installations. Imaging showed ruined spaceports and power receivers from kinetic deadfall weapons. Of the handful of millions that once called Aurore home, Colonel Jessup suspected there were far less now.

In addition to three massive 300 Megawatt stutterwarp signatures, those of the enemy ships, the Morrison's sensor crews detected a dozen small spacecraft entering the atmosphere - some fast, like dead falling aeroshells, and others controlled by thrusters. Landers. The Aliens weren't just nuking the place - they were invading. Human beings were facing an unknown alien threat - lightly armed, barely equipped, and likely outmatched. Jessup knew a quick recce wasn't in order here: he had a chance to fight these three alien warships, clear orbit, and give those colonists some support by fire.

The Tactical Action Center of the Morrison was cramped as all hell. Consoles ringed a central holographic display, next to which Colonel Jessup was velcroed. With a hiss, Jessup removed his helmet, letting it float. He took out a stimstick, tossing his old one away in the null-grav, and bit into another one with a small hiss. He adjusted his headset, and sealed his helmet back on.

The Colonel's voice piped into every helmet speaker and communications cap aboard the Morrison: "All hands - we're entering Aurore space. We've got multiple grav contacts - big bastards. At this time, consider alien contact probable. These alien bastards have nuked Aurore, killed Frenchies and Ukes, and they won't stop here. Our aim is to save whoever's left, and make these alien fucks pay. Remember your training, do your job, and we'll get through this. SEALs - head to the landers and get suited up, I may have one of your teams make the drop - check imaging in the briefing bay. We'll need to get combat tracks so drones need to launch ASAP. Hop to it, Morrison! Jessup out!"

With a flick of his chest radio, Jessup switched off the shipwide 1/MC, and onto the 2/TAC channel. His helmet visor flashed as data displayed along the bottom in a crawlbar. In the middle of TAC the holographic display whirred to life and started plotting contacts. At one end was Tithonius - the big red ball that kept Aurore warm. In the middle was Aurore, the hellworld that the French and Ukranians called home. To the other end was the Morrison - closing in on three huge red blips. The Aliens, honest-to-god evil aliens. It was something out of science fiction.

"Designate ships - Master One through Master Three," The Sensor Chief ordered. In moments, One, Two, and Three appeared over his targets - and Jessup appraised them.

"Very good - once we've got drones out, I want them to lurch past us while we hold distance. Targeting locks are paramount. Once we have lock, we'll drop four fish and probe their PD arrays and try to get a hit," Jessup said. In a modern space environment, you needed every second to prepare - so Space Force commanders often pre-ordered crewmen.

The holoboard slowly moved as the enemy ships closed, the lead one firing six small missiles that flitted forwards toward the Morrison. They were fast, but not fast enough. Though hard to tell due to similar wattages and profiles, Drones could be detected without a proper sensor scan by their 360 degree sensor pattern. Missiles typically only had a 60-degree arc from the nose both vertical and horizontal.

"Comm Officer - signals? Anything?" Jessup asked.

A helmet turned to him, her voice squawking through the radio: "I have... something, sir, but it's not Human."

"Pipe it," Jessup said.

The woman pressed a few buttons. "Kloorka! Zakran kappa! Lkita zan kloorka! KAPPA! KAPPA!" Jessup frowned as he chewed the stimstick behind his faceplate. The alien voice was gutteral, flanging, almost like a chitter. They had no intel on what they looked like, or what they wanted - but Jessup had trained for this more than once. 'Hostile First Contact' was a joke at the Spaceforce Academy at L4, something every damned first-year asked about.

'Shut up, kid-' the upperclassmen would say, '-it's about as likely as getting play on your first shoreside holiday.' There were remarkably few books on the subject - every alien species Humanity had encountered before were either indifferent or friendly. These aliens? Not so much. Every other species was at least resonable, had made efforts to converse and make peaceful contact. Sure, the Pentapods may have vivisected a guy - but they thought that was a 'polite trade' when they'd sent two of their people. They'd made amends, such as they were.

None had started out openly hostile - and the idea that this new alien force charged through and defeated the best ships of the French? That scared people - scared the President of the United States so much he ordered an entire platoon of SEALs and one of only three top-tier Kennedy missile cruisers off of shakedown.

Jessup wasn't usually one to question orders. 'Recon Aurore. Assess the Alien Threat. Prosecute with full authority. Nuclear authorization.' Those had been the terse commands broadcast to Jessup mid-maneuvers in Jovian orbit. To take his ship off of pre-commissioning and drop it straight into the battle? That was either confidence, or desperation.

The Morrison had barely managed to take on a full missile load, and it'd been two weeks to reach the frontier - weeks where the other commanders had sat on their laurels in Hochbaden, French Amiral Charlons arguing with Ukranian Vice Admiral Borodin and the German Captain Einheldt.

Jessup had spent barely fifteen minutes getting a sitrep on vidcom with his counterparts before he cut the line. He wasn't about to sit around while the Europeans let their own people die. Now, he was face-first with the implacable enemy, moments from hell - distracted only by that strange feeling he'd felt before they picked up that Frenchman.

It wasn't completely gone. Almost like... something was clearing his head, actually.

[Remi: Psi+Clairvoyance 10+ to gain BATTLE INFLUENCE: 11+2/13 Success - See Chapter Notes]

Jessup focused back on the tacmap, watching as the six enemy missiles closed. His own drones entered a weaving pattern, closing on the slower alien warships. Sensor data started streaming in over tight beams of focused light. One-by-one, every enemy warship was scanned in by the HD-50s - providing locks rather easily in the end. "Excellent work, Sensors - we've got targeting solutions. I want our missiles out and closing. Let's twist around and keep abreast of those enemy missiles - I don't want to chance a detection."

"Aye, sir-" The Weapons Officer said. He removed a key from his neck, pressing it into a console, and turned it. He looked to a fellow officer as that man did the same, allowing them both to open a clear glass case. Each man put a hand over the red button. "Arming 1. 3, 2, 1-" Both men pressed. They repeated three times on the TAC circuit. "Weapons armed, Colonel, ready to deploy the missiles."

"Deploy," Jessup ordered, listening to loud thwumps through the hull as pressurized tubes shot four Hyde Dynamics Semi-Independent Missile-14s into the dark of space. Operators started rattling off information as their four tightbeam communicators established link, piloting the nuclear weapons through the dark of space. They were the first nuclear war shots ever fired by the United States in space.

Jessup didn't ignore that. It'd been America and Old Russia that had caused the Twilight, atomic armageddon that brought society back centuries. Part of the Colonel knew this was different - but the thought of armageddon poked an inner fear that'd been stoked by years of schooling and history lessons.

When it was time, those missiles would detonate - spewing dozens of different high-power laser beams over the enemy target's stutter pattern. With luck, they'd score hits - and hits from a nuclear-pumped laser were often quite fatal to a starship.

The crews' hearts beat in silence, radio off, as Jessup heard his own breath against the visor of his helmet. Despite the danger, despite the holographic display, it was all so quiet on the stellar battlefield. All he had was his helmet fan for company.

The Colonel checked his watch. It'd only been eleven minutes. Eleven goddamned minutes.

War was too fast.

The SIM-14s closed and reached less than a light second's distance. Colonel Jessup nodded to weapons, who readied to fire.

Then the alarm blared through the TAC comm, coming from the automated reporting system: "Contact Lost, Missile #1. Contact-Contact Lost, Missile #2 and #3- Contact Lost, Missile #4."

Jessup's missiles disappeared, sliced down my enemy point defense lasers. The stimstick in the colonel's mouth dropped to his neck seal, falling from his lips. "Well, shit-" he said, realizing his hand was on the mic as he said that. "Weapons, keep dodging those enemy missiles. Spool six, we're gonna charge it."

'Charge It' meant something very different in the U.S. Space Force than it might on Earth. The goal was to take a large cluster of missiles, the max a Kennedy could handle with her communicators, and charge the ship in as a spearhead.

It was a theoretical tactic - a dangerous one. If successful, the Morrison would punch through the enemy fleet toward Aurore and Tithonius, while her missiles cut down the enemy fleet in a hailfire of nuclear-powered lasers.

Of course, that meant the ship needed to both make it through the enemy formation without being destroyed. The Kennedy relied on extreme speed and an elongated cone of probability - the stutter interval wherein the ship could 'possibly' be based on how fast it was teleporting. Due to inconsistencies in the ship's unique jumping pattern, only careful analysis allowed a proper hit on a jumping ship.

Thankfully, the twin drones of the Morrison had done the work for them - the Aliens had no drones, so they'd hopefully have time on the charge to avoid enemy fire, and hit them before they detected the missiles.

One by one, six missiles were dumped from the Calvin Morrison's four bays, forming a loose hexagon around the Morrison. With a gentle twist and a blurring flicker, the Morrison dove back into the fray. Jessup watched as they blew past the enemy missiles, which lazily turned to chase the Morrison.

The triple daggers of the alien fleet charged forward, blindly, as Morrison's laser turrets shifted. Light seconds and temporal minutes ticked by as Morrison closed to spitting distance - less than a light-second from the aliens. "Turret One! On target!" "Two! On target!" "Three, locked!" "Four, on target!" "Five, on target!" "Six, target acquired!"

Jessup narrowed his eyes. "Fire!"

Blazing lances of fire cut forth from the Kennedy's hull guns, slashing through the dark of space. Four hit - striking the lead enemy craft and searing against hard armor. "Report!" Jessup said.

"Hits, sir- but no apparent change in function. Enemies are turning to pursue."

"Detonate!" Jessup shouted.

Behind the Morrison on the map, all six missiles detonated. A massive flare of white washed out an entire section of the battle map - showing how the nukes disrupted sensors behind the action. Lances of nuclear-powered X-Ray lasers struck out.

Most missed.

One didn't. Missile #1, targeting the enemy ship Master #1, ripped into the enemy ship with gusto. The enemy rear took the brunt of the damage, but raking fire damaged their sensor towers, their engine compartments, and depressurized much of the enemy vessel Key among that damage was the enemy stutterwarp - their FTL engine - which cut  to a brutal halt. The enemy flagship was dead in space, and a ship not at stutterwarp was defenseless - a sitting duck. Even a civilian ship with a popgun could kill a warship coasting at normal velocities and vectors. 

The Aliens seemed to know this - abandoning the fight and sprinting into the nuclear cloud, leaving their missiles and the floundering Master-1 behind that foggy cover. Jessup watched the enemy ships retreat with a twitch in his eye, barely registering an order to recall the Morrison's twin drones. He'd just faced down three battleships, disabled one, and made the other two alien bastards run scared.

'These cowards defeated the French and Ukes?' He thought. Jessup blinked, watching the map flash green, as the Deck Officer turned. unlatching from his station. "Rig for normal?" the Officer asked over a private comm with the Colonel.

"Rig for normal," Jessup ordered, flicking over his radio to the 1/Main Channel. "All hands, all hands - single enemy ship dead in space, two fled. We just won Aurore back. Rig for normal, battlestations complete. SEAL Team, meet in the briefing room in five. Jessup out!"

'I just won a goddamned space battle!'


Rolls For Second Bootis - Way too long for the chapter and notes, so therefore at the end. Feel free to skip these - they aren't 100% accurate to the battle as Jessup describes. In the future I don't think I'll be attempting large battles as part of an actual narrative element since this took forever to both play out and write.

- [Initiative Rolls: Calvin Morrison 10, Beta-1 7, Beta-2 8, Beta-3 6]
- [Range Bands: All Ships start at 16 - Very Long]

- [All ships are at Very Long range, lock impossible]

- [Morrison moves to Range Band 12]
- [Morrison deploys 2x HD-10 Scout Drones (Cardigan & Blazer)]
- [All Kaefers move 5 to close range to RB7]
- [HD-10s close to RB4]
- [Morrison finishes RB7 apart from Kafers, HD-10s RB4 apart from Kafers]

- [No combatants have lock. Skipped.]

- [All Detection DMs too high. Skipped.]

- [Morrison passes to await Kafer action]
- [Kafers move 5 to close to RB2]
- [Master-1 deploys 2 Whiskey missiles]
- [Morrison deploys 4 SIM-14 missiles]
- [Morrison maneuvers RB5 to increase range to 7]
- [HD-10s now RB2 from Kafers, remain stationary]
- [SIM-14 missiles maneuver to RB0 with Kafers]
- [Whiskey missiles maneuver to RB0 with Morrison.]

- [No combatants have lock. Skipped.]

- [Morrison: Detecting Whiskey-class Missiles 15+: 4+8/12 FAIL]
- [Beta-1: Detecting SIM-14 Missiles 15+: 6+11/17 LOCK, Detecting Cardigan 17+: 11+6/17 LOCK, Detecting Blazer 17+: 6+6/12 FAIL]
- [Beta-2: Detecting Blazer 17+: 7+6/13 FAIL]
- [Beta-3: Detecting Blazer 17+: 9+6/15 FAIL]
- [Blazer: Detecting Master-1 13+: 7+8/15 LOCK, Master-2 13+: 8+8/16 LOCK, Master-3 16+: 6+8/14 LOCK]
- [Kafer Whiskey: Detecting Morrison 21+: 4+6/10 FAIL]
- [OUTCOME: Kafer Betas all locked for fire. American SIM-14s locked for fire. Cardigan locked for fire. Blazer, Kafer Whiskey Missiles, and Morrison remain unlocked.]

- [Morrison: Maneuvers 9 away from Kafer missiles]
- [Kafer Beta Cruisers move 5 toward Morrison]
- [Kafer Whiskey Missiles move 7 toward Morrison]
- [Blazer and Cardigan Drones move 8 past the Betas]
- [SIM-14 Missiles move 5 to keep RB0 with the Betas]
- [OUTCOME: Relative to the Betas, Morrison is at RB11, the Whiskeys are at RB9, the HD-10s are at RB3.]

- [Master-1 fires at SIM-14 #1: 6+1/7 FAIL, Master-1 fires at SIM-14 #2: 7+1/8 HIT, SIM-14 #3: 5+1/6 FAIL, SIM-14 #4: 4+1/5 FAIL]
- [SIM-14 #2 Destroyed, 1, 3, and 4 remain.]
- [Master-2 fires at SIM-14 #1: 10+1/11 HIT, SIM-14 #3: 9+1/10 HIT, SIM-14 #4: 12+1/13 HIT]
- [All SIM-14s Destroyed]

- [Morrison: Detecting Whiskeys 17+: 8+6/14 FAIL]

- [Morrison moves 7 away from the Kafers. Morrison launches 4 SIM-14 missiles which remain with Morrison.]
- [Master-2 and Master-3 both launch 2 Whiskey missiles. Whiskeys 1 & 2 from Master-1 are now called Group A (2 Missiles), this new group is now Group B (4 Missiles). Kafers move 5 toward Morrison.]
- [HD-10s move 8 away from the Kafers.]
- [Whiskey Group A moves 7 toward Morrison.]
- [Whiskey Group B moves 7 toward Morrison.]
- [OUTCOME: Relative to the Betas, Morrison is at RB13, Group A is at RB11, HD-10s are at RB6, Group B is at RB2.]

- No Combat

- [Morrison: Detecting Group A Missiles 17+: 8+4/12 FAIL]

- [Morrison launches 2 SIM-14 Missiles for a total of 6. Morrison moves 9 to dogleg Group A, finishing at RB 4.]
- [Kafers move 4 towards Morrison to make RB0]
- [HD-10s move 8 away from combat, exit the battlespace]
- [Whiskey Group A moves 1 to enter the melee at RB0]
- [Whiskey Group B moves 7 to reach RB 0]
- [SIM-14 Group moves 7 to reach RB 1]
- [OUTCOME: All assets in play have closed to RB0 except the American SIM-14s, which are at RB1, and the HD-10 drones 'Blazer' & 'Cardigan' which have exited to the system shelf and are now out of play.]

- [Morrison takes Master-1, 6 Guns EA-122 Laser 1d6, Gunner DM +2, 8+, Shot 1: 8, 6 Damage/Shot 2: 8, 4 Damage/Shot 3: 7, Miss/Shot 4: 6, Miss/Shot 5: 12, 2 Damage/Shot 6: 12, 5 Damage - Damage unable to breach Armor (Rating 10).]
- [Kafer ships unable to fire]
- [SIM-14s firing on Master-1, Master-2, Master-3, 2 each. #1: 8, 6x14=84 Damage/#2: 9, 1x8=8 Damage /#3: 6 MISS/#4: 7 MISS/#5: 7 MISS/#6: 8, 5x8=40 Damage]
- [SIM-14 #1 inflicts 84 Damage on Master-1, -10 Armor for 74 Damage. Two Triple Hits plus 10 Single Hits, 5 Double Hits. Triple #1: Stutterwarp, Disabled, Triple #2: Sensors, Destroyed, Doubles: #1 Hullx2, #2: Hull x2, #3: Hullx2, #4: Hullx2, #5: Turret, Laser Turret #1 Disabled. Single Hits: Hull, Hull, Hull, Armor, Hull, Armor, Hull, Hull, Hull, Fuel (Leak 1d6/hr) - TOTAL FOR MASTER 1: 15 Hull Hits, Armor reduced by 2, Stutterwarp Disabled, Sensors Destroyed. DEAD IN SPACE, OUT OF PLAY.]
- [SIM-14 #2 unable to penetrate armor.]
- [SIM-14 #6 inflicts 40 Damage on Master-3, -10 for 30 Damage. Triple Hit, Single Hit. Triple: Turret, Laser #1 Destroyed. Single: Hull. -1 Hull, Single Laser offline on Master-3.]
- [OUTCOME: Master-1 is sensor-disabled and out of play from a severe single missile hit. Master-3 has taken minor damage from a single missile hit.]

- [Morrison to detect all Whiskeys 15+: 7+8/15 DETECTED]
- [Whiskeys to detect Morrison 21+: 9+6/15 FAIL]
- [Master-2 to detect Morrison 21+: 6+6/12 FAIL]
- [Master-3 to detect Morrison 21+: 6+6/12 FAIL]

- [Morrison waits.]
- [Master-2 and Master-3 move 5 away from Morrison, away from Aurore and past the Giant Emitter (SIM-14 Explosions), breaking target lock]
- [Whiskey Missiles lose communication with Master-2/Master-3, and two missiles go offline from lack of comms with Master-1]
- [Morrison moves 9 toward Aurore.]
- [Giant Emitter to last 2d6 (12) rounds.]

- [Kafer Beta Cruiser 'Master-1' disabled by missile fire, left without Stutterwarp or primary Sensors in a decaying orbit around Tithonius.]
- [Kafer Beta Cruisers 'Master-2'/'Master-3' exit the system under cover of the nuclear emitters of the SIM-14 missiles.]
- [Six Whiskey-type Missiles lose contact with their controllers and shut down, now war salvage.]