Flat White Storms

On a clear night they can be seen racing through the heavens. Amidst the myriad of galactic lights they materialize like clockwork - suddenly appearing above one horizon, streaking across the sky, vanishing into another. They’re not shooting stars. They're man-made satellites rushing headlong through the ionospheric highway.

Amongst the obscure specs is one prominent structure whose profile can be distinguished with the naked eye – a shimmering cylinder with a dim lunar glow. Her name is Lothal. She’s the first space-borne shipyard. For three decades this graceful hulk has been skirting Earth’s atmosphere, diligently servicing the low orbit satellites all around her.

Her path is effortless and gracious yet her outward tranquillity hides a disturbing presence. The very walls flicker with trouble. Within her rolling skin every being of flesh and blood is but a glance away from joining the cold, eternal night.

The crew of the shuttle Thjasse-Volund has no idea of the maelstrom they’re heading for when forced to dock at that shipyard for repairs. They have no idea what unspeakable conflict is raging through the data streams; what instruments of torture are quietly stalking the walls. The ill-fated crew is about to become unwitting participants in a bizarrely veiled battle.

Yet their arrival is more than mere happenstance. It’s the final move.