Boom.
A frigate just beyond the transpara-steel windows erupted into a spout of flame, which all to quickly collapsed in on itself as the crushing void of space robbed the fire of its needed oxygen. Three seconds later, fragments of the shattered vessel showered against the bow of the station, a rattle of plinks felt more than heard as the bits of metal and plastic struck and then glanced away into space.
“You must know, you cannot escape,” a man said, his words meant to threaten, but sounding thin and scared in the wide room. “If your people don’t let off, we’re all dead.”
“Escape?” The Duchess stared at the man, her head cocked ever so slightly to one side. She knew his type, all bluster and bravado while the guns are far from home, but bring an ounce of violence onto his stoop, and suddenly he has engagements elsewhere. A coward.
“When did your people force mine to peace?” she said, the final word dripping with disdain.
“We didn’t force anything,” the man snapped back. “We won, you lost. War over. That’s the way of things.”
“The way of things?” she said quietly, half to herself. She looked around the room, a cavernous thing, utterly useless, and doubly so given the harsh limitations of space stations. The entire complex had been built for no other purpose than to sign a treaty, and regularly meet the old enemy, ‘Keep up relations.’ The thought brought a dry chuckle to the back of her throat. Her nation had been defeated, and then they’d been the ones forced to build this monstrous waste. And after all that, the gloating victors thought she’d be glad to see them again.
“We fought an honorable war, your people and mine,” the Duchess said softly, “but when you won, you forgot those old ways. Forgot what it is to nod with respect to a vanquished foe.”
“This is not the thirty-second century. People died and there was a price to be—”
The man’s words were cut short as the Duchess crossed over to him, impossibly fast, and thrust him against the wall. In a flash she had a dagger against his throat, its edge glistening red as it caught the light of the explosions outside.
“A price to be paid?” she said, her eyes fierce. “My people have paid it and paid it again. A hundred times over we have sacrificed to slake your greed. We are done. This is the first thrust,” she continued, slowly sliding the point of her blade into the man’s neck, “and it will end when the long arm of our spear is at your world’s throat.”
The outer picket ships had been cleared away, and the dying man could see a wide swath of Imperial battleships slowly, ponderously nearing the station. Following his gaze, the Duchess flicked her eyes onto the approaching armada of death.
“There is no escape for either of us,” she said coldly. “The phalanx is here.”