"Early this cycle, the monestary-station Lindisfarne two of the neighboring Alba system fell to what appear to be a group of nomadic space Vikings. The station of several thousand peaceful Catholic monks and supplicants was badly damaged, with nearly all of it's inhabitants being killed or taken hostage. No demands were made by the offenders, and they struck the nearly defenseless community without warning. It's only defenses, a 'bubble' shield and a small contingent of Orbital Police, were quickly decimated by overwhelming force. According to what recordings could be reclaimed from the station, the raiders used an assortment of starcraft and weaponry..."
Floating by her left ear, a freezeframe containing the blurred but clearly visible outline of a large, glowing white ship, teardropped in shape, the various bays and observation decks clearly visible past what appeared to be tacked on weapon arrays and other structures. At least one was actually a much smaller ship that appeared to have crashed into it.
"Authorities believe this to be their flagship, though it's maker's are still unknown."
More pictures, each craft cruder, though not necessarily less functional or lethal looking than the first, flashed through the small space. Continuing after a brief pause, the woman continued.
"As some of you can see, several of these ships are recognizable as Planetary and System Defense ships that have recently gone missing in several nearby star systems. We can only assume that the attack on Lindisfarne was not the first, or the last."
**********
Clicking the gigantic vidscreen off, Drake Bahnakson turned to the unusually quiet Feasting Hall. Before him was a gigantic area in the belly of Baldir's Chariot, the enormous teardrop-shaped ship that had just been shown. It's insides had been massively redecorated; the scientific and archaelogical... things had been sold or given away where the Prometheans could get rid of them easily enough, and the already large Secondary Hold had been expanded by removing the bulkhead between it and the Tertiary Hold.
Now, the Feasting Hall was a paradise for everyone in the Fleet who could sneak, buy or barter their way in. Thousands of men and women sat or stood, guzzling beer and scarfing food from row upon row of long metal tables that reached from one end of the hall to the other. Many of the more recently battered warriors lay in the laps of those softer patrons, allowing themselves to be fawned upon and tended to by smiling damsels in revealing clothes. Grudgingly, of course. Tending or tended, drinking or eating, every person in that hold wore a weapon at their belt, holstered under their arms, or sheather across their backs.
Everything from Damascene broadswords to Arcilite pulse rifles could be found, and their bearers moved and spoke like they weren't even there. Even as they snatched at some goblet or tasty morsel, the jubilant crowds made no more movements to check their weapons than a lesser person would make sure of their hands or feet.
Now, everyone was sitting up and taking notice, silent and watchful, staring at the giant on the stage. Drake Bahnakson was big enough to wrestle trolls for fun, more than seven feet tall and muscled like the Thunder God himself, with several long blonde braids hanging from his head in the style most in that hall favored. When Lord Drake spoke, people listened, whether out of fear, or respect. Now, he did so, brushing casually at the light shrapnel wounds on his face.
"Apparently we gave our friends down there a show. They're all rather impressed by our ships and weapons, our ways and warriors." Several people laughed, and more joined them. Grinning with them, Bahnakson continued over them, and his audience settled down. "We've split the spoils from those Monotheist's treasure trove. We got a few new weapons from their boyscouts, but most importantly, we got most of their stations. We're towing it now, and even as I'm speaking to you all, my brothers and sisters, we're growing stronger from it." Switching the screen behind him back on, a split view of five different external cameras showed people in EVA suits and vehicles patching the hull, smoothly and expertly sealing and bulding onto their hull. Other ships drifted past the views, dragging their own cargoes and clouds of thralls swarming over their hulls.
"Good work, warriors. You've done us all proud. Rememer, though. This was only the beginning. Now that we're out of the Sea, there's a whole galaxy, ripe for plunder and trade." The screen flicked off once more, and Lord Drake Bahnakson, Master of Longships, stepped down from his vantage point to join his suddenly cheering, bellowing community. Warriors thronged forward to compare scars, offer tankards in toast, and boast of their recent achievements. As they did, other's leaped forward onto the stage, for now it was open once again, and the bouts, readings, songs and dance could begin once more.
Many requests came from the crowd, revelers yelling for Tyr or Korpiklaani to be played. Several men took position with drums and guitar, keyboard and bass, striking up a growling and fierce melody, with many mournful notes thrown into the mix. In another corner, men and women were dancing wildly to a drinking song about little men who knew how to party. In the expanse of the Feasting Hall, it was each to their own, and plenty for all.
