Flight Lieutenant Geoff Gillam could almost hear the screams on that fateful day on which the Reaver hordes had found the Gestalt Colonies. While some of the Colonials had escaped, many had not. Some had been too weak, too poor, or too slow to escape. Others had thought themselves to been too strong, too wealthy, and too fast to succuumb to those new beings. But the Reavers had proven themselves against those unfortunate wretches. Even as the Vice-Commodore's controversial Krakana's devastated the invading Reaver hordes with ReSat Torpedoes, and even later on, with thermo-nuclear warheads, he knew that the fledging colonies were done for in their current state. There were too many of those bloodthirsty savages, and too few of the enlightened colonials. Hours too late, a vast Confederation armada lead by the Revanche helmed by Admiral Lucerne himself had entered the outskirts of the Gestalt system.
But even they could turn back the pages of time and save those already vanquished.
A combined host of Confederate and Colonial ships conducted their fighting withdraw from the system, fleeing to, and then destroying Sentry Station Waypoint One. With its destruction complete, the Gestalt-Kashan hyperlane had met its end, with it, the threat of the Reavers travelling up it infect Confederate space from the Galactic South.
But that had only partially solved their problems.
Where would the Colonials go now? Back to a Coalition that nominally was their home, or perhaps their source of employment? Or to their cultural allies, the Confederation which had at least done something to protect their colonies? Or perhaps they should all just return to their homes before the colonies, even with their military hardware? But where does one part a multi-ton starfighter at the family home? And does one maintain physically and legally?
Gillam didn't know. He didn't even want to think of it. At least for, his superior officer aboard the MC-170 which now called home hadn't made a decision one way or the other. Despite raids conducted on their lost homes by the Colonial survivors, it was clear that the Reavers would be there to stay for a while. The Coalition was busy dealing with Reavers around their surviving territories to extract vengeance. The Confederation balked at expending any more forces and lives on territory that was not their own, or that of their people.
The Colonials had no place to truly call home.
That is, if they were to remain Colonials.
His comlink crackled over his headset.
“Hey Five, the mother ship is launching another transport to visit the L'Ocean. You got it? Or do you want to perimeter guard still?”
He toggled the comlink, “I've got it.”
He pulled the yoke of his shuttle-sized starfighter back, pulling the craft away from his wingman's trajectory to drift and soar among the fleet of Colonial refugee craft. Some were modern craft newly constructed by the colonies mere months ago, whether they were fighters or transports. Others were near-rusting industrial hulks that had helped built the technological paradise that was the pinnacle of the Colonies' achievements. Yet others were unusually nondescript, hardly worth noting out of the myriad of ships that plied the space lanes, save now for their relic Gestalt Colonies transponders. His own vessel drifted and shot among them to cross onto the opposite edge of the refugee fleet anchored at the hyperlane waypoint, finally arriving a dark object almost invisible save its running lights: a Krakana.
As he approached it, a single CG-10 transport seemed to appear out of nowhere. The blocky vessel slowly turned to orient itself to the gray-silver wedge of the Confederation Star Destroyer L'Ocean anchored among the remains of the old Hyperlane squadron, set some kilometers away from the Gestalt refugee fleet. He pulled his craft into a gentle arc which put him behind and above the friendly transport.
“Who do you think is on it?” questioned his weapon's officer, sitting behind him.
“Hell if I know,” quipped Geoff, “but maybe they can finally pull us out this purgatory. If the Captain and that one civie guy can ever make up their mind. It's not like they can keep people here forever.”
“Oh, that's what you think,” snickered Will, “I bet they can keep on racking up supply bills to the Confederates on their charge cards. It'll all be good.”
“Yeah, I bet...Seriously though, if this lasts any longer...”
“I'll be right with you. Though we should credit toss for it once we escape.”
“Credit toss for what?” asked Geoff innocently.
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean...”