Desperate Measures.

“Fuck!”

A clatter and a a crash as the clutter across the captain’s desk goes flying.

A breath a pause and another curse, as the rest of the crew looks on at their captain’s anger, all equal parts sombre from the news - they will be as angry as she is soon enough, but the sorrow wins out.

They had all, after all, met and befriended Fenrir - and the sudden visits by the angry and grieving Paradox brought the worst news possible, something none of them had thought within capability.

But by the void, what does one say to sanctioned genocide?

‘It was for the good of the many’ like fuck it was, what great and terrible enemy couldn’t be beaten by some other way? Was flee not an option? Was banding together not better?

Suns and stars, what could possibly have led to this?

But Ripley knows already where she stands, she knew hours ago when Fenrir had come and told them - she and her crew had known and bless them but not one had disagreed, even soft spoken Eden had looked at her with some terrible tranquil fury in his kind eyes and simply nodded.

There hadn’t needed to be words among them, they’d told Fenrir they’d stand with them, what little they could do, they’d do for them.

There were some things that just couldn’t be excused, no matter the reason.

God had they even tried to get anyone out beforehand? Anyone? It didn’t seem so from how it had been described, they hadn’t even told the population

Didn’t they deserve to have a say in their own execution? Apparently not - and if soolyin was to be believed neither had their own king thought that.

What kind of ruler didn’t even consult his own people? 

Ripley heaved a breath and glared down at her captains table, the cracked navigation screen broken by her own fury - it still worked, but the spider webbed cracks bled out across the screen like a mortal wound.

The room was silent, the crew gathered awaiting their next orders.

Ripley stared at the cracks, stared at where her fist had landed

Dark space…

She thought again about that, about what little they could do…

sometimes, times called for last desperate measures

Ripley straightened up and turned to her second “get the ship up and running” 

Thire’s brows rose in question,

“Set a course for the Tartarus Sector

We’re going to find the black fleet”