In the silent expanse of the cosmos, where stars were born and died in spectacular flares of light and darkness, the humankind had stretched its reach far beyond the cradle of Earth. The Battleship Victory was humanity’s spearhead into the unknown, a behemoth of steel and resolve, safeguarding civilisation against threats born amidst the starlit sea of the universe.

Captain Elaine Martens, a veteran of cosmic conflicts, stood resolute on the bridge. Her gaze, hardened by the fires of battles past, scanned the crew — an array of humanity, each scar, each wrinkle a testament to tales of strife and triumph in the void. They weren’t just officers; they were survivors, warriors, family.

“The frontier is quiet,” remarked First Officer Langley, his voice an echo in the vastness of their surroundings.

“Quiet isn’t peace, Langley,” Martens replied, her hand resting on the cold metal of the railing. “It’s the breath before the plunge.”