The mechanics of  FTL communications meant any given link was driven by a pair of devices, their hearts split from the same pair of entangled exotic particles. While it offered lag-free communication even over 40,000 light years or more there were only so many individual links between the communications hubs in orbit and the hubs "back home" and all of the private links had been commandeered by order of Civil Defense, streaming ungodly amounts of data out of the core systems and into vast repositories. The Fleet had their own private network, but "official business" was just that. The only data that ran two way now was the news feeds. In contrast, the station had ten links planetside for as many people the thing could theoretically hold, much less who lived there now, though those numbers were getting closer by the day the more refugees showed up.<br/><br/>"Comm lines have been jammed for days. I think we spoke a month ago, we grew up together and were at the academy at the same time when I was in my final year, there wasn't exactly a lot of common ground otherwise." He stared at the news feed. "But at the same time I'd hate to think what she's going through. I know the news feeds aren't telling us everything, how can they?" The rumors were flying faster than light. "I heard a couple of engineers the other day talking about a neutral system that just," he snapped his fingers, "blinked out of existence in a blast that makes a supernova look like a bottle rocket. I mean, any idiot can toss a toolbox out an airlock of a ship going .7C and crater a city given enough time, but an entire star system?" He shivered. "I'd want to run as far as the gate system goes," he said. "I hope she has the brains to run, Red Rock is probably at the top of several targeting lists and--"<br/><br/>His sentence was cut off by all the news feeds blanking out within seconds of each other, switching to emergency broadcasts. Within moments five talking heads from as many core worlds were warning everyone within the range of their voice to take cover. The sixth stayed dark. Variations on the phrase. "Cyrrannus System Lost," with one of the feeds showing a hazy image from a camera orbiting a planet somewhere. The view showed a blue-green terrestrial world not unlike the one they orbited in near-full sun. Its atmosphere flashed and seas boiled seconds before it cracked like an egg in a flash of light that came over the limb of the sphere, obliterating the camera itself. "Anyone within the boundaries of the Cyrranus system should execute emergency escape procedures now."  The voices continued, the hardened professional newscasters abandoning professionalism one at a time and breaking down in tears or hysterics.<br/><br/>His heart stopped. They'd all seen it. One of the founding worlds of the Federation was just. Just... gone.<br/><br/>"I..." he couldn't think, but whatever was happening, it was too late. Lockdown klaxons throughout the station blared. Not Action Stations, Lockdown. The station rumbled as a dozen docking bays detonated escape charges, the Fleet ships pulling away from the station as fast as they could without their engines ripping the station apart. Action Stations would at least give them time to recall crews, but the never-used emergency escape procedure called for every Fleet ship to jump home under its own power, flight safety regulations be damned. The station rocked a dozen times more as twelve shockwaves hit them and the hull breech alarm wailed. He caught a look at the docking status and local traffic screens, dedicated displays near one wall. Twelve docking slips where frigates and carriers were docked now glowed red and their corresponding transponder signatures were no longer on the map at all.<br/><br/>All he could do was look at her and hold on for dear life as the world started to come apart. The klaxons silenced themselves and the only sound left was the hush of the air system. Who'd been left behind? How many had been killed in airlock breaches? It didn't matter now.