Sirius held his wife Myrna and daughter Siobean close. Another impact shook the ship, and more screams of alarm filled the hold. He bit back his curse against the universe. All he wanted was to see his family safe? Was that too much?
Captain Viscerius of the Santere cruiser Hellspont smugly grinned at the image on the main viewer. The freighter floating adrift, venting atmosphere. The hated Cyrene thought they’d escape? Not on her watch.
“Finish them!”
Pol Laris saw the flash from the assault ship. His comm officer still cried for help over all frequencies. Now, it was too late.
Flashes of laster-light. The missle exploded. “What?1?” cried Viscerius.
A strange ship interposed itself between the Hellspont and her prey. She never saw it’s design before. She shivered, then recalled:
What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead?
My late entry for dVerse Poets’ Prosery, which I share for this week’s OLN #360.
Frank J. Tassone 
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