"Sir, the hyperspace drives are starting to overheat. They are threatening to fail!" shouted the chief navigator onboard the Imperial freighter Anson.
"Bring the vessel out of hyperspace immediatly!" shouted back Commander Glenson, his eyes wide at the potential prospect of being trapped in hyperspace until they smacked into a stellar object.
The starlines stopped elongating past the viewport and returned to their normal pinpricks of light as the bulk freighter emerged from hyperspace, and not a moment too soon either as a crashing sound could be heard from the rear of the vessel.
"Engineering, report status," ordered the Commander as he stood up from the bridge and started pacing around his chair.
"Bridge, Engineering, the motivators have gone out sir, along with the sublight engines. I don't know what caused it, but we aren't going anywhere anytime soon under our own power," reported the chief engineer.
"Lovely, just freaking lovely. Petty officer Galz, commence scanning of local space, I want shields up and weapons online." ordered the Commander.
Power thrummed through the ship as the shields came online, and the weapon turrets located along the length of the ship began to swivel about their mounts, looking for any potential targets.
"Umm, Commander? We have multipule contacts heading in our direction. Most of them are of minimal captial class sized, but there is one vessel at an estimated nine hundred meters in length," reported the sensors officer.
"It gets even better eh? What do we have on our hands exactly?" asked the commander, his eyes squinting as he stared out the forward viewports at distant twinkling points of light. These lights were not stars, as they were glowing larger, meaning they were approaching his command.
"I read one Victory class star destroyer, and perhaps ten smaller vessels, ranging in classification as corellian corvettes to gunships to escort frigates to unknown," said the sensors officer.
"They sure aren't Imperial with that configuration. Okay, send a distress signal to N'Zoth, informing them of our location and request reinforcements and a tug," ordered the commander.
A few short moments later, the communications officer looked up to the commander and informed him that the message had been sent as ordered.
"Now, send a hailing message to the approaching vessels. Tell them we are having engine troubles, and request identification," said the commander.
A few tense moments later, the communications officer glanced up at the commander.
"No answer sir. I sent the message three times, repeating it twice, but got no response after five minutes," said the communications officer, beads of sweat beginning to pop out on his forehead.
"All right. Let's go to general quarters, and have the men man their battlestations. I'll be damned if they steal our load of turbolasers and concussion missiles that were meant for Imperial warships in the Koornacht Cluster. We will wait for them to open fire, but let's concentrate on the smaller warships first, before working our way up to the larger ships. Have the troops standing by to repel boarding action," ordered the commander.
Alarm klaxons rang through out the ship as soldiers rushed for the external docking locks, while crew men ran from their bunks to either weapon, sensor, or other stations. Engineers stood by to repair any damage incured, while medical staff prepared to treat incoming wounded.
At a range of one kilometer, the Victory class ship opened fire, followed soon by her consorts.
"All gunners, engage at will," ordered Commander Glenson.
* * *
Three hours later, in the same area of space where the crippled Anson had reverted, several more Imperial ships appeared out of hyperspace. One Imperial Mark V class star destroyer, the Tarkin, four Pa'al class light cruisers, and one Feram class fleet tug, dropped out of hypersace into the system.
The overall commander of the rescue task force was Line Captain Howe, his flag onboard the Tarkin. Upon reversion starfighters were launched and the vessels prepared their weapons and shields for possible combat, while scanners scoured nearby space for the Anson and her attackers.
After several moments, the scanning officers glanced up from their stations and shook their heads at Captain Howe.
"Sorry sir, no signs of the Anson or of any active vessels. We do see signs of debris wreckage scattered around the system though," reported the sensor officer.
"Bring it up on visual," ordered captain Howe. He slammed his fist onto the armchair, berating himself for being too late to the rescue of the Imperial freighter.
An image came up on screen, showing a gutted CR-90 type corellian corvette, as well as pieces of other starships scattered around the general area. The thermal scans showed that the corvette's reactor was still warm, indicating it had only died a short time ago.
"At least the Anson took some of the bastards with her. All right, deploy shuttle crews to scour through the debris, I want all information to be gathered, including bodies. I want to know where that damned ship came from," ordered Howe.
"And send a message to Imperial Center. Inform Fleet Command of this development," said the captain, as he retired to his quarters to write up a report of what he found at the scene.
