Chapter 3: High Noon on Walston

Meanwhile, the comm crackled to life, and every pair of eyes on the Calbrandr's bridge snapped to the screen. Slowly, the shadowed figure of Salvor Dreks emerged, his presence more oppressive than the static-filled silence preceding him. His voice cut through the tension, smooth yet sharp, like a blade drawn in the dark.

"Excellent news," he purred, the faintest hint of menace curling at the edge of his words. His gaze locked onto the Sword World captain, cold and unrelenting. "Remember," he continued, leaning forward as if to reach through the screen itself, "I want my ship intact. No disintegration."

The final word came like a dagger, each syllable deliberately placed, echoing with a quiet promise of consequences should his command be ignored. The room seemed to hold its breath as Dreks' image lingered, a chilling reminder of the power he wielded—and the dread he inspired.

On the Beowulf, chaos reigned as the crew fought to wrench their ship back from the brink. Sparks flew from overloaded consoles, and the acrid tang of burning circuits thickened the air. Frantic voices called out statuses and failures, but one command echoed above all else: Get the jump drive online. It was their only shot at escaping the relentless barrage of the Calibrandr's triple pulse lasers and missile turrets that had chewed up their hull.

A sudden, high-pitched whine filled the bridge, rising like a prayer answered. The J-Drive was back online. For a fleeting moment, the crew erupted in cheers, relief breaking through their terror. But the celebration was short-lived.

"Life support’s still down!" someone shouted, their voice cracking with desperation. The room fell deathly silent as the grim truth settled over them. Without life support, they'd suffocate mid-jump.

Sweat dripped from every brow as power levels flickered on the main display. Not enough for both systems. A grim choice loomed over them like the Calibrandr itself.

"Not out of the water yet," the captain growled, wiping the sweat from his brow as he floated in zero-g in the engine room. "And we’re damn close to drowning."

The sensor operator is scrambling to find a new frequency for his lock when he picks up the Wayward Wind's missile heat signature. "Missile inbound! Gunners, take it out!"

The Calibrandr's pilot pulls up on the throttle to give themselves some room to evade the incoming missiles in case the gunners can't take it out.

The Gunners on the Calibrandr conduct Point Defense, furiously shooting at the incoming missile from the Wayward Wind. One of the turrets manages to snipe the missile just a few kilometers before it collides, and their bridge lets out a hearty cheer.

After a long pause, the captain of the Beowulf responds.

"Wayward Wind, this is the Beowulf. Appreciate the dramatic entrance. We’d roll out the red carpet, but it’s currently on fire. Life support’s hanging by a thread, and we’re holding the hull together with a hope and a prayer. Appreciate the time you've bought us - we just got the J-Drive online. Thanks for the assist. We'll keep you posted. Beowulf out."

The missile turret gunner on the Calibrandr, loaded up another salvo into the missile racks. Missile were expensive to replace, and he prided himself on accuracy. Yet, hIs first volley had inexplicably failed. "Sensors, need that lock on them!"