Excerpt: Amethyst: The Outer-Rim

Book 2: Distress Call.
Alliance Command - Alpha Centauri III: November 1, 2108

"Come in, Gamma 7. Say again: what is your status," Ensign Frank Thrason tapped his ear-piece.
The command room was all but silent, as the monitors flickered with static. Command personnel stared blankly at it.
The door opened, snapping the gathered throng into action, and the cacophony of voices resumed as Rear-Admiral Maury Guillman hung over the Comms-man.
"What's your report, Ensign,"
"We received an Emerg-hello from Gamma-Theta-Seven, fifteen minutes ago, Rear-Admiral, and the message has been badly jammed. I've been trying to reach them on all channels, but their orbit takes them on the far side of Gamma-Seven's Sun," the ensign shrugged, "the lag is terrible at best,"
Guillman paced behind his comms-man, and wondered aloud, "What was the nature of their emergency?"
"An E.T, sir!" Thrason said. This stopped the Rear-Admiral in his tracks, and he added, "a hostile E.T to boot,"
Comms crackled, and the monitor flashed with ugly black-and-white lines, the hint of a visual of a woman: Aimee Carson.
Pulling a headset to his ear, Rear-Admiral Guillman pushed a send key, "Aimee, it's Maury Guillman, can you read me?"
There was a long delay, Ensign Thrason had forgotten to count the seconds. The woman on the monitor nodded, wiping her brow, "Yes, Maury, we read you. It's good to hear your voice. Everything is destroyed, Maury. Our colony is all but rubble. We've..." the channel blinked, and the video went black for 3 seconds before her face returned; there was fear in her eyes, "... in the caves below the colony. We're using our last remaining satellite to bounce our signal..." another blink, "... ships are large, Maury, bigger than anything we've ever seen. My people are calling it, a flying Apocalypse," there was an explosion - dust, smoke and rubble fell over top of Aimee Carson.
"Are you alright, Aimee?" the Rear-Admiral asked staring worriedly at the smoke and fog filled screen. Screams of horror and pain were ajumble over the crackling and failing channel.
"We are sending..."
"... yes, I’m fine for now, I ..."
".. a ship..." the two spoke in unison over the lag of the transmission. The Rear-Admiral stopped first.
Another 3 second of lag.
"Oh ok.. You don't know how happy I am to ...." another explosion rocked the picture and the channel went dark.
"Aimee?" Rear-Admiral Guillman shouted into this mouthpiece. "Aimee do you hear me; are you there?!"
Ensign Thrason got a prodding finger jabbed into his shoulder, "Get them back!" came his order.
"Yes, sir, Rear-Admiral. I'll do what I can!" Thrason promised, "Gamma Seven, this is Alliance Actual, please respond," he repeated his hail after the token ten-second wait.
Nothing.
"Gamma Theta 7, this is Alliance Actual..."
The Rear-Admiral cut him off.. "Fuck it Ensign; get me Admiral Grey and Captain Locke. I want to know the status of Amethyst's refit. Tell them to meet me in my office right-away!"
"I'm on it sir, right away!"
The ensigns fingers worked his keyboard, and he pushed a red send key, "Admiral Harmond Grey and Captain Trianna Locke; report to Command Proper; Code Red - Repeat Code Red."