I’ve heard tell that science instructors at the Fleet Academies teach students that the most important thing, the core fundamental need that humans have when terraforming new planets, is water.
Those two hydrogen and one oxygen atoms are used to sustain us wherever we go; no water, no humanity.
They’re wrong.
This isn’t a revelation, nor is the fact that what they spout is mostly cyberpuppy-shit, but I am somewhat surprised that it’s running through my thought processes now, like one of those old steam trains from the VidArchives.
I’d laugh at how tangential my thought processes are, but I’m too busy wrestling with the controls of my freighter as it’s buffeted by the subspace disturbances generated from the… well, armada is the only word, that is appearing in ActuaSpace around me.
I’m trying to get out of their way before one of those dumb Navy jocks rematerialises on top of me and fuses us together. It won’t cause them much damage, but for me, and the colonists on Gliese 180-C, it will be fatal.
I don’t think they’ve even noticed me, although no doubt the military neuranetworks piloting the ships will have. Even now, my viewscreen is flashing up red warnings left, right, and centre, and sirens are screaming for my attention. This old class-Lambda rustbucket isn’t used to being thrown around like a toddler’s toy.
“Come on baby,” I mutter to her under my breath, as another Dreadnought appears less than a hundred klicks off my port side, and I skitter away. She doesn’t answer, I disabled all the AI functionality that wasn’t related to life support, critical function reporting, and navigation years ago. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t. It’s a lonely enough life anyway, running parts for air purification and recycler systems out to the ass end of the galaxy without having to feel like I’ll die alone.
The adrenaline’s running hot, I’ve been ducking and weaving for what feels like an eternity but, glancing at the chronometer, I see it’s been less than five minutes. Weird how we still use Earth time, even though most of us have never been there.
Another panel’s started flashing, but I’ve not got time to give any attention to it. Comms from this fleet are the least of my worries at the moment. I’ll talk nice to them after I’ve finished, y’know, not dying.
I’m not even sure which faction’s fleet it is, but I already know how it’s going to go. Demands for paperwork, boarding, inspections… this time for some unusual reason, I decided to go above board, so if I survive they won’t find anything amiss. Lucky me, huh?
I must not have disabled everything I thought, as a voice speaks to me.
Warning, lasergrid defence systems activated.
Shit, man, they’re lighting me up now?
I glance at the screen.
Oh. My. God.
Of the, what, fifty so far warships, twenty-five have launched missiles at me. They’re hyperspace-enabled hunter-killers. I don’t stand a fu…
