The refugee fleet drifted along the jagged edge of Astralis space like a deep wound that just would not close up. Hundreds of ships were huddled together in a loose formation.
These were mostly civilian vessels and patched-up junkers held in place by imperial stabilizers that kept them from drifting into the void.
You could see cargo haulers that had been turned into makeshift hospitals and fancy pleasure liners that were stripped of their luxury to make room for the displaced. Even mining barges had been converted into temporary homes with their cold metal holds partitioned off with scrap fabric, alloy sheets, and pure desperation.
From a long distance away, the fleet looked organized and peaceful. But if you got up close, you could see the absolute chaos that was only being held together by total exhaustion.
