(2) Aftermath

'We've picked up a pilot from the invading force, on roid-212 sir' announced the voice coming over the internal comm-sys of the salvage vessel.

Endrin pondered the next move for a moment or two, 'Take him to a holding cell lieutenant, I’ll get to him later' he replied as walked through the corridor toward the command station.

He paused a second as he passed the window, he could see the floating debris from the battle, hundreds of tonnes of metal and thousands of corpses were drifting through the abyss. From this vantage almost the entire planet could be seen, with its few remaining asteroids in orbit, surrounded by fallout from the fight.

'This is going to be a major cleanup job' he murmured.

'Captain on the bridge' announced the young officer at the helm as Endrin entered the room.

'Report please Mr. Driani.'

His second in command rose from his seat and spoke in his usual gruff and ordered tone 'sir, we've lost 32 thousand smaller vessels, 500 or so frigates and jettisoned sections of the new Dreads have been spotted drifting nearby. The enemy lost a similar number of vessels before leaving, and took 74% of our roids with them. All salvage crews are ready to depart.'

'How long is it gonna take us to finish the job?' requested Endrin.

'Well sir, if we can avoid too many collisions we can have all the material ready for use by the next tick.'

Endrin smiled slightly, his first officer always was efficient, then reached for a grooved panel on the wall to flick on the ship wide comms 'We have suffered great losses today, but with this crew I’m sure we'll have a perfect cleanup. Very well, get to work boys.' He ordered to the entire station. He flicked the switch to off, gave a swift nod to his officers, and departed to head for the cells on the lower decks.

Tarkath awoke gently, his entire world was still dark, but as he concentrated on what was around him he could make out the basics of where he was. He felt cold and battered, like he had just fought 12 rounds with a Retallion Gorilla.

He was lying on a solid bench in small dark room. The air around him was not pleasant and if he had been able to move he probably would have wrenched as the smell and taste of oil and dirt hit his senses.

'Where am I?' he whispered to himself, not like he expected an answer, but at least he knew he was able to speak.

'Jekrell' he shouted out and waited a moment, then shouted again, this time with more urgency, before dropping his head back down on a hard surface. His vision seemed to clear a little more, and he realised he was not on the surface, and he was not in his ship. He could feel the distant drumming of a large engine through the surface he was lying on.

'Where am I?' he said a little louder, still not expecting a response, but this time he got one, it wasn't a response he wanted to hear, and the voice was certainly not one of his friends,

'You don't need to worry about where you are, you should be more worried about what my men will do to you if I'm not satisfied with what you tell me.', Tarkath shuddered a little and once again drifted away to unconsciousness.