The frigate-enhanced wedge of Argent fighters advanced, clearing space ahead of their Strike Fleet. In the distance, the King Two formation loomed. Both its capital ships were wide awake and active, making their avatars on the tactical display bright and crisp and more than a little unsettling.

Aboard Buccaneer Four, Lieutenant Eileen “Meerkat” Walsh was troubled. Before the launch she had been provided with all the pre-flight astrometry and battlespace analysis, just like all the other pilots. But her instruments weren’t responding as expected, and no matter what adjustments she made, the data she was getting was either defective, illusionary or just plain wrong.

Any Skywatch fighter jock would readily admit the majority of any squadron treated pre-flight astrometry like in-flight magazines on a commercial spaceliner. They might get an occasional flip-through but were rarely studied. Meerkat was the exception. She had a system for making sure she got the essentials before she filed her datapaks.

What that pre-flight telemetry said and what her instruments were reporting were at odds. She cycled the diagnostic sequence for her passive spectrometry sensors once, and then once again. Every time the system reset, it glowed back to life with exactly the same information at a slightly closer range. Because the Kingsblade and the Orca were both running active, there was no way for them to conceal their organics signatures. They couldn’t create reflective interference, and ECM would simply be a waste of power, as any medium-range electromagnetic detection or analysis system would be able to ride each ship’s own range beacons right down to their respective bridges.

That only meant one thing. If their organics signatures were absent, it meant there were no life forms aboard. Buccaneer Four’s sensors were reporting exactly that: No organics. Not a single molecule. If her observations were confirmed, it meant both Task Forces were unmanned. While the knowledge none of their fleet mates were in danger might have been a relief to Argent’s attack wave initially, it was what came next that would chill even the bravest pilot right down to their knees.

Who or what was controlling those ships? How were they controlled? And from where?

“Buck Four to flight leader.”

There was a hesitant pause, as the squadron had been advised to maintain radio silence until King Two’s advance wave broke range.

“Go ahead Buck Four,” came the response. Eileen couldn’t be sure, but Commander March’s voice sounded tight and annoyed. So Meerkat decided to just go with the facts and by the book. The fighter wings maintained their formations, knifing through space at nearly 500 miles a second.

“Sir, my forward sensors are showing no life forms on any ship in formation King Two. I’ve bounced the system twice, and I can only re-confirm my readings. There’s nobody aboard those ships.”

Before Commander March could respond, an impossibly powerful explosion ripped a hole in space only half a light-second forward of the leading Argent squadron. Reactive hatches and blast plates went dark to shield the pilots from the intense brightness. By the time their instruments cleared, three dozen DSS Orca fighters were screaming through writhing hundred-mile-long plasma fires directly into the teeth of the Argent attack wave!