'Firefly meets Battlestar Galactica'.
A merchant's daughter is captured and sold into slavery.
A genetically modified survivor of an alien attack scours the galaxy for her taken brother before he is 'disassembled'.
An alien scientist u...
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Jamestown was burning.
They came at night, drifting past the artillery cannons on the wall. For silence, they cut their engines and lights, gliding on the hum of gravity stabilizers. The town's only warning came from one of the guards who got lucky, lighting the sky with cannon fire. Shells punched through one of their hulls, but failed to bring it down. It didn't matter. There were so many others, too many others.
The noise drew the people outside, easy targets when the ships opened fire. Concussive blasts blew craters in the ground, bodies flew everywhere, and screams rent the air. Only one race used ammunition like this, designed to incapacitate rather than destroy. The Nisseri had come, more ships than ever before, stealthy, organized. This wasn't a normal raid.
A concussive bomb slammed into one of the fuel tanks, blowing a fire ball hundreds of feet in the air, flammable fluid splattering nearby buildings, and setting them ablaze. People scattered, some to arm the ground cannons, others to put out the fires, most trying to hide.
Daphne Glouschester surveyed the chaos. The bombs interrupted their evening meal. Her brother Miles stood beside her, silent and wide eyed. Someone slammed into her, knocking her down without stopping. Miles helped her to her feet, his grip tight. He started yanking her back inside. Daphne dug her heels into the ground.
"What are you doing, we have to help!" Instead of answering her, Miles swept her up in his arms, carrying her inside to the hidden door in their floor. "No, you aren't putting me down there." Daphne writhed, shoving her hands at his chest, but Miles was strong. He held her flailing with one arm, yanking back the throw rug, kicking the bolt loose, he lifted the iron plate and forced her into the hide away. She expected him to follow, except he didn't. Their eyes met.
"I can fight," Daphne started. Miles put a calloused hand to her cheek.
"I know you can, no one's a better shot. But you know what they do to people like us. You're the only family I've left." He stood, his head brushing the low ceiling of their family home. "I won't be long, I need to check on the Mallorys then I'll join you." The look in his eyes revealed the promise for the lie it was. Miles would check on the Mallorys. The family had been too good to them not to, but he would not be joining her any time soon. He would seek out a ground cannon, or join the fire team. Miles was fiercely proud of their home, and he would defend it.
She let him shut the flap, flinching as he slid the bolt into place. Did he really think that would keep her down here? His footsteps receded, Daphne counted under her breath. Satisfied she crouched in the corner, digging for the awl she buried for this purpose. Just as she finished unearthing her escape tool, something changed overhead. An ear splitting whistle filled the air. The screams were rent with panic. The explosion was soundless, but the blast wave went into the very ground, lifting her off her feet before slamming her into the dirt wall.
Her eyes rolled up, lungs struggling to work as the air pressed on her, pressing, pressing, before finally letting up. Daphne sank to her knees, fighting to stay conscious. Her head spun so bad she clutched the ground to stay upright. Slowly the feeling subsided enough for her to use the wall to stand. It was then she noticed the silence.
