A spark in the night sky, a flicker in the endless void. That was all that was, and would ever be. For the Freedoms Delight, such a statement had never been more true. Built among the space forges above Tyr, it’s once illuminated hull was now erupting like a star. 

      The ship was once a work of art, crafted with tarnished gold and layered in bronze over its iron hull. Built into the bulk of its superstructure, a pleasure palace sat along its spine. It’s cathedral spires were lavishly decorated with carved nude statues with triumphant wings. Each were blaring golden horns into the cosmos. The palace was inlaid with silver bolts, and diamonds decorated the window. It was a gaudy construction; one born of extreme perversion, and obscene wealth. 

      Its name was etched upon the side armor in large silver letters. Those letters were now melting from a tidal wave of liquid fire. Its once proud infrastructure was twisting under super-heated duress as it’s palace was caving in on itself. 

      Twelve broadside cannons unleashed their wrath upon the noble vessel, tearing it apart with cruel mastery. The Daughter of Silesia shook with each bloody barrage. The recoil of each cannon sent shockwaves through the dreadnaught’s bulk. Each shell fired was the size of a small structure, and the payload from each could level entire cities if fired from orbit. The Daughter of Silesia’s shadow cast a haunting visage over the destruction it had wrought. 

      Freedoms Delight died in a single moment. Its shields were offline, and its hull was not built to withstand such punishment. As the broadside cannons pummeled into the golden inlays, the superheated plasma melted through the hull layers like a knife through butter. The super-heated pressure turned all the moisture inside the ship into steam, causing every square inch of oxygen to ignite. The vessel popped from the inside out. Its reactor instantly boiled, so that the outward flame held an inner glow, the heart of the ship burning brighter amidst the ruin. The only piece of the ship spared was its gravity drive, and engineer, who were salvaged beforehand.

      Esta watched with only mild fascination. It wasn’t the first ship she killed. It was, however, the first that she had been paid to destroy. The owner of Freedom’s Delight had offered Esta a fortune to cover his tracks. He wanted to both feign his death, and start a new life. A new life required a new identity, and an entirely new body.

      The client was suspended in the air, his arms bound overhead. Sweat coated his skin, and soaked his dark hair. His once warm complexion had grown stark pale. His transformation was reaching a critical stage, one that couldn’t be reversed. 

      He wasn’t a slave, but instead a willing participant. Disowned by some royal family somewhere in the colonies, the man desperately sought salvation. Esta couldn’t care less about whatever schism had plagued his house. She did, however, enjoy apply her craft as a fleshwright for his bitter salvation.

      He offered her a huge some of his families riches, enough to buy a world, for her skill. He needed to be re-made, so that no-one would recognize him for who he once was. The length of such a transformation needed to be drastic.

      Like a sculptor Esta chiseled his bones, and etched his tendons into a leaner, more hourglass, shape. His face was made softer, his hips widened by two inches. His chromosomes were mutated using a procedural technique she likened to term as ‘vexing’. From that point forward, new cells would multiply using the new chromosome pattern. YY pairings would slowly overcome the older cell pairings over a period of days. His genetic material was already used to grow new sexual organs, and they sat in their vats waiting for implantation.

      The pain would’ve been excruciating, had it not been for the cocktails being fed throughout the procedure. His veins were bulging with each erratic heartbeat as drugs pumped through his system. At this rate, his transformation would be complete within a few more days.

      Esta marveled over her handiwork; for the money he paid, she let him choose key characteristics of his new body. She critiqued a few things, as any artist would, but honored the arrangement. It was tempting to add him to her collection; she had to stifle her inner demon, half his payment wouldn’t process until after he was safely on a new colony.  

      Esta chose a simple template, from her many designs, for his new body. She resisted the urge to convert him into a salacious bimbo, able to draw the eyes of every man in the vicinity. He needed to avoid attention, not to draw all of it. 

      His new, or her new, body would be pleasing to look at, but not overtly eye catching. A plain heart shaped face, with a medium endowment, would suffice. Freckles over her cheeks, curly brown hair, and almond eyes would also be added. The rejuvenate treatments would de-age his genome, and add at least another decade to her life. She would become a thirty-something year old woman, with a fertile, and ripe womb. 

      Esta left the patient suspended in mid-air, just as his pectoral muscles started to grow softer. The ship had grown eerily quiet, now that the broadside cannons had ceased. Lingering gases from the Freedoms Delight faded from few, becoming nothing more than sparse wreckage and twinkling shards. 

      The inside of the Daughter of Silesia was always changing. New rooms, and new hallways, seemed to generate on their own. Meanwhile, established chambers seemed to generate new features, or added amenities. Entirely new sections of the ship seemed to spawn out of no-where, as if comprehending the crews growing needs. Over time, an oily substance seemed to coat the walls, forming some kind of residual dew. Some of the ships lamp’s were lit by actual flame that somehow never seemed to wane. 

      Esta had long given up trying to understand the nature of her vessel. Shadow Class Dreadnaught’s were known for their deceptive, and often bizarre, qualities. It was rumored that their designers were half-mad, after spending far too much time in the void. Some even believed the first Shadow Class ships were built by the Nephilim, only for their designs to be lost with them. Personally, Esta believed the Shadow Class was built using alien technology. Whoever built the ships abandoned them, or were abandoned by them, shortly after their innovation were fully conceived. 

      What was known was that there were precious few Shadow Class Dreadnaught’s in known existence, and those few wandered the stars as apex predators. It was believed that several had no crews, mindlessly sailing the gulf between suns in some nameless search. To her knowledge, only one other was actively captained, and it was far more powerful than even the Daughter of Silesia. The Son of Thrace danced around the Daughter of Silesia trail, like a disgruntled sibling searching for weaknesses. 

      No sooner had Esta returned to the bridge was she met with several new reports. The bridge crew wore dainty white aprons over their sultry bodies, and more than one of them adorned suction gear to siphon milk from their laden breasts. They were all perfect creatures, shaped by her own hands to delightful proportions. They were also the most loyal amongst her vast collection of human cattle. 

      Long range scanners had pinged the Son of Thrace lingering in a nearby star cluster. It wasn’t in pursuit of them, for now, but clearly it was following in their wake. 

      “When are you going to grow a pair of balls, and end this charade?” Esta asked the console with frustration. Too long had she been waiting for the eventual showdown. Even if the Son of Thrace was a superior vessel in terms of sheer size, any dual among Shadow Class Dreadnaught’s spelled disaster.

      “My lady,” one of her adjutants stammered for her attention. The woman was short with small breasts, ample hips, and a sweet face. Esta had no desire to alter this one’s physical characteristics, instead she found the woman rather adorable. The adjutant was in her mid twenties, with ginger locks and sparkling green eyes. In truth, Esta found beauty in most women, and hoped to find a suitable partner to pass on this one’s genes. 

      “Speak Carmen,” Esta addressed her adjutant swiftly.

      The woman curtsied before giving her report. “We have finally received a message from Melie. It appears the colony ship is on its way to Sinmore.”

      “Sinmore?” Esta frowned. Sinmore was one of a dozen colonies that were embroiled in war among the uncharted regions. It was not a suitable place for another cycle of colonists, if anything it needed a long reprieve from humanity. Esta looked over the star charts, taking the measure of things, before coming to a decision. 

      Her breasts ached, all six of them, for relief. It was a struggle not to show her discomfort among the bridge staff. Instead, Esta accepted Carmen’s report and sent her away, watching the woman strut back to her station with a smirk. She then passed on a series of orders before another adjutant approached for her attention. 

      “What is it?” Esta asked the second woman, this one had only recently been promoted to the bridge crew. Her golden hair, and sharp blue eyes, were easily noticeable. Her fair skin cried out to be touched, and her narrow face made Esta see her as some form of diva. Soon, Esta would offer this one further enhancements, but only those suitable to such a delightful body. 

      “My lady,” the confidence in this one was much stronger. “The engineer from Freedom’s Delight wishes to speak with you. He was adamant about meeting you as soon as possible.”

      All engineer’s were like aliens to Esta, she found them unsettling to spend much time with at all. It was an extreme rarity that the Daughter of Silesia did not have to have one maintaining its own gravity drive. Having a new engineer aboard, guarding its own small engine within the cargo hold, sent a chill down her spine.

      “Victoria,” Esta addressed the thing standing before her. “Tell him to remain patient, or I’ll reconsider our previous agreement.”

      “At once my lady,” Victory curtsied before rushing back to her own station without pause. 

      Finally alone, Esta settled on her command throne overlooking the bridge. Her crimson gown laid delicately over her tender skin. The bulkheads for the forward windows were lifted, allowing her to see outward as small remnants of the Freedom’s Delight still drifted over the ship’s hull. 

      Only the sounds of machine chatter could be heard in the confines of the bridge chamber as Esta watched the clutter of a dead ship lingering into the endless void. Her eyes darted back and forth in thought. Part of her wanted to turn the ship around, and end the silent hunt that had been going on for far too long. Another part of her, however, knew better. In truth, she needed more time, and a better opportunity. 

      In the meantime, Sinmore wasn’t the worst idea. There were no orbital defenses that she was aware of, and plenty of inhabitants to apprehend. An entirely new chamber had somehow been discovered in the lower sections of the ship, making new room for a new slave pen. It was as if the Daughter of Silesia was hungry for new occupants, and welcomed Esta’s personal desires. 

      Anticipation taking hold, Esta ordered the ship to chart a new coarse. One that would bring them to distant colony of Sinmore. They would try to lose the Son of Thrace by taking an alternative route, and in the meantime, she ordered for preparations to be made. As for the noble in her charge, Esta quietly ensured a series of brainwashing programs would begin during his procedures. She changed her mind about living up to her end of the bargain. By the time she would be finished, he would become another toy for her to play with.