"Nothing on scans," Mulder commented, flicking various analog switches on the anterior-surface panels of his screen, switching between different frequencies and wavelengths in effort to find the anomalous blip one of the New Republic's monitoring stations had detected. In response to a ghostly image that, for a fraction-of-a-second had appeared as a large cruiser, the New Republic had sent a detachment of old Y-Wing Scouts to investigate. "This is a waste of time. Shouldn't we be more concerned about the situation on Coruscant than a sensor ghost?" Mulder grumbled, briefly adjusting his helmet as he glanced back n' forth from the expanse before him and the empty sensor-screen to his right.
"It's important we monitor for any extrastellar activity. Any number of extremist factions could see this as an opportunity to attack and sow more chaos." His wingman, a Mon-Calamari pilot by the name of Greel, stated. "It's not the fanfare I know you wanted, Mulder, but it-" On each of the small four-wing squadron of Y-wing scouts, their sensor screens began to trill. Each droid stationed on the top-aft section of the scout hulls beeped n' burbled to confirm the readings: There was something out there, 80 kilometers ahead and steadily closing.
Panic settled into Mulder's gut for a moment before his training kicked in, and with a serious expression washing over his hardened features, he began issuing orders like a seasoned veteran expecting a fight. "Alright, Bronze-Wing, take up recon positions, I want at least 12 k's between each of us and a wide sensor-net. Transmit everything back to HQ as we go." His three squadmates responded in kind, peeling away from one another to their assigned positions in space. Ahead, Mulder spotted it. Silhouetted at first by the blaring light of Coruscant's star, a familiar dark shape loomed, growing bigger as they approached.
It was a Star Destroyer.
"Holy Jeddha, are you seeing this, Greel?" Mulder called out, flicking a few more switches on his sensor-screen to try and get a better reading of the massive cruiser he was seeing. "Aye. Star Destroyer! Mark-One... Early Empire, it looks. I can't get any readings on it, however. Cloaking Device, perhaps?" Mulder listened but shook his head, "No, look at it. We're not getting any readings because it's... listing. I don't think it has any power. Maybe running silent? Let's get a closer look--but not too close. Remain in long-range formation and keep the sensor-sweep up, I don't want any surprises." 70 Kilometers... 60... 50... It took less than a handful of minutes to close the distance with the drifting cruiser, and the closer the squadron grew, the more they could see the state of disrepair it was in. Not to mention an odd cloud of debris that seemed to be following it, tugged along by some unseen gravitational force.
"Form up. I have a bad feeling about this." Mulder commanded as the Squadron grew tight information again. Greel couldn't help but comment on what he was seeing over the radio: "This is a ghost-ship. Look at the hull. No visible lighting, scorch marks, massive ruptures, and no visible emissions from the ion-engines. Yet... Sensor-Screens are registering a small gravity well. Abnormally small to be as stable as it is without some source of power!" Mulder ground his teeth together in worried thought. "Could be a trap," he replied as the four-man formation of Y-wings passed over the bow of the ruined Star Destroyer. "Or not. Holy Jeddha, look at that thing. How long has it been drifting out here-" Mulder's voice was cut off as, across all of their comms, a soft humming was heard. It wasn't mechanical, nor interference... it was a gentle sing-song tune thrumming from a feminine tongue, almost like a lullaby.
Instead of confirming the voice with his squadmates, Mulder felt... compelled. Compelled to remain quiet, to listen to the gentle hum of a mother's protective tone, and to sleep. Though he struggled briefly to fight it, the wave of drowsiness that had hit him was not overcome, and within minutes, his head fell and his craft was gently tugged into the gravitational disturbance surrounding the destroyer. Without active guidance, it gently listed to the right, only to collide into the destroyer's hull, rending itself into pieces from the sheer force of the impact.
One by one, the other Y-Wings met a similar fate, and after contact was completely lost, the New Republic monitoring station went on full alert.
On the bridge of the Blacktree, silently she slept. Lost in hibernation, in a deep dream without end, as a ship lost to time continued to drift towards the massive ecumenopolis that once stood as the capital of the First Galactic Empire; towards the shadow of the Darkside that forever scarred the planet on a metaphysical level beyond any one-person's understanding.
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