The industrial door slides open with hissing gas and a metallic scratching. Jace looks upon cell 377-d with barefaced apathy. Contrary to the corridors of the Prophet the room he now calls “home” is dimly lit with a single bulb behind a metal grate embedded in the ceiling; it casts a warm glow to the otherwise cold metal walls. In the back of the room is a bed mounted on a hinge and folded up against the wall, next to that is the locker for his personal effects, and next to that is the shower pod. He enters the space and unlatches the bed letting it lower down, hydraulic arms prevent it from falling too fast letting it reach its parallel with the floor position with a gentle glide and a fluid sigh. Jace sits and grimaces at the bedding as it’s only a thin sheet covering a similarly thin mattress. Jace does another cursory glance over the room, the place is filthy compared to the walls of the waiting room he was in before meeting with S.I.L.O. It seems the picture perfect U.E.C. brochure aesthetic stops just beyond the visitor center.

     He then spots the CommNet terminal against the side wall. It sits on a small plastic desk with a metal frame with a bare metal stool for sitting. Not the most comfortable set up, but then again it’s not like he’s in an officers suite. The terminal chimes to life as he approaches it and the screen lights up showing the standard “HUMANITY ENDURES” slogan printed across the screen. He clears the screen and brings up the message inbox for his cell. There are multiple new messages, most of them are onboarding messages about how to navigate the ship and who to talk to to get assistance in navigating the ship should he become lost. Jace ignores those and opens the message named “Rotation Details.” He checks the sender and sees that it’s from a redacted user. He shakes his head at this, “redacted” is just another way of saying S.I.L.O, the Faction saw this all the time when intercepting D.S.T.S. signals looking for intel.

 

>> Message Subject | Rotation Details_

>> Message Sender | REDACTED_

>> Body

_____Personnel has been assigned to the S.C.S Prophet as ship board Combat Medical Admin. The Prophet is an ENGINEER class vessel, as such command has deduced actual combat scenarios as unlikely / nonexistent. Personnel is to report to Staff Sgt. Morris for rotation duty details and patrol routes aboard S.C.S Prophet.

_____Personnel has been assigned to living quarters cell 377-d, your home away from home. You are encouraged to remember that your cell is a reflection of you, and as such any damages sustained to U.E.C property will be deduced from your monthly credit stipend.
_____Failure to report to your senior officer will be seen as an personnel being absent without official leave resulting in a permanent mark on personnel record and U.E.C Security Force being notified of your infraction. A warrant will be issued for your peaceful detainment. Obstruction of the execution of this warrant will be seen as an act of terrorism per the amendment ''14.2-2a Saranno v. U.E.C.M. :: Faction Terrorism Judicial Hearing.''

_____Report to your senior officer as soon as possible and remember...

_____- HUMANITY ENDURES -

>> Message Ends_

 

     Jace rolls his eyes at the closing statement. The U.E.C loves to throw it around like some sort of shield against all the atrocities humanity has committed against itself just to be able to make that ridiculous claim. He clicks open the next message when a distant boom startles him, it’s immediately followed by the entire ship lurching, sending him flying across the room as he lets out an alarmed shout. He slams his back against the opposite wall knocking the wind from his lungs followed by him gasping for air. He then scrambles to his feet trying to regain his composure, alarms begin to blare out as the lights flicker off and are replaced with the red emergency lights. He hears the ship groan under stress and then the ship's intercom system cracks to life and a man’s voice can be heard. 

     “All personnel, report to your battle stations, I repeat, battle stations. We are under attack. Non-essential personnel evacuate the ship immediately.”

     “Non-existent my ass!” he shouts to himself.

     Jace then hears another explosion, this time he braces against the wall preventing himself from being tossed again as the ship lurches. He stands and leaves his room looking down the hall as the other cell doors open and the crew members flood out and run for the stairs to the nearest escape shuttles, the sound of their running overpowered only by the shouts of fear and panic. Jace’s mind races to the possibilities of the attack. It seems like S.I.L.O’s intel is more accurate than not.

     He looks to either end of the hall where the throngs of panicked crew are stuck trying to climb over one another to escape. There’s no getting out past them, not without being stuck in the mass of people. He knows that going with the crowd will only get him killed as they wedge themselves into one bottle neck after another trying to escape. He looks to the ceiling, the paneling there is flat and constant stretching down the whole of the hallway until about halfway down where the pattern breaks. He moves to this aberrant panel and takes a closer look, the bolts are sticking out, a contrast to the soft-top surface fasteners designed for blending in, these are meant to be noticeable and easy to find, likely for maintenance workers. He returns to his room and turns it over in search for anything he can use to unlatch those fasteners; in a stroke of luck he finds in the locker a multi-tool that he assumes was left behind from the room's previous tenant. He grabs the stool from the desk and carries it to the panel in the middle of the hall. Using the stool as a step up he stretches out and begins to use the multi-tool’s cutter to melt through the fastener. A moment later the fasteners are all removed and the panel falls from its place revealing the maintenance shaft above the hallway. He glances to either end of the hallway again and sees that the people there are still climbing over one another, their panicked shouts now barely understandable. Damn fools. None of them are thinking straight enough to realize they’re blocking themselves in. He resolves that he can’t do anything for them and pulls himself up into the maintenance shaft.

     Jace crawls through the maintenance shaft as fast as he can, but with the limited space it's slower going than he’d like. He reaches an intersection where there’s holes in the panel below, he looks down and can see below the crowd of crewmembers crawling over one another trying to get to the escape pod bay below. One of the crew members happens to look up and sees Jace in the shaft above, they lock eyes and Jace can see the fear in theirs. They know they’re going to die. Jace pulls his gaze away from them and continues to crawl through the shaft. Just as he passes over the grate another explosion erupts, this one just below him. Fire shoots through the grate and licks at his feet as the whole ship shifts yet again in the wake of the impact. He looks over his shoulder towards the grate listening, the panicked cries of the people below have been replaced by the agonized moaning of whoever was unlucky enough to survive the explosion. He clenches his jaw doing his best to focus on survival, it’s like his parents always said. 

 

     “Staying in one place is how you die,”

 

     He collects himself and continues to crawl forward. After what feels like an eternity crawling through the maintenance shaft and its winding branches he finally comes to another panel that he can cut open with the multi-tool. He melts through the latches causing the panel to drop and then pulls himself through the hatch. His lack of grace causes him to fall to the floor and land hard on his side forcing a gasp of pain out of him. He stands and brushes himself off noticing that he’s come to another stairwell, this one largely empty. He looks up the flight of stairs and sees a woman lying against the wall, her head bleeding. He recognizes her, it’s Cleo, the lady who guided him to the meeting with S.I.L.O. He moves towards her to check her pulse then stops himself, he can’t waste any time trying to help. Every second spent not working towards escaping this ship alive means he’s that much closer to being killed here. His expression hardens, it’s survival of the fittest out here, always has been. Besides, she made it clear how she felt about the Faction earlier. What did she call it? Justice? Jace spins and begins to go down the stairs to the escape pod bay. He makes it down a single flight when he catches himself slowing then stopping. His mind returns to the look in the eyes of the crew member he saw, the fear in their eyes, the dread of their impending death. It’s the same dread that fills him at this very moment. He could have done something, should have done something. He then thinks back to his sister.

 

     “We can’t afford to leave people behind. Otherwise we are no better than the enemy we fight.”

 

     Jace lets out a bitter sigh. Even in death she’s lecturing him. 

     “Sonuva-!” he groans loudly as he spins back around and goes back up the flight of stairs to where Cleo is lying. He shifts her into an upright sitting position and then checks her pulse, it’s faint but still there causing him to sigh in relief.

     “Come on, lady. Let’s get you out of here.” Jace lifts her up and pulls her onto his back holding onto her arms from over his shoulders like a backpack to carry her. “Good riddance, what the hell are you made of!?” he exclaims as he buckles briefly under her. He positions himself better then lifts and begins to carry her on his back down the stairs. Now he’s really moving slowly, he’ll be lucky to make it to the escape bay at all at this rate. Jace let’s out a disgruntled “huff” as he trudges down the steps as fast as he can manage.

     After a while he eventually makes it down the stairs multiple flights to Deck C where the escape pod bay is marked to be. The door slides open with a stutter and then stalls just before being fully open. Jace goes through it with Cleo on his back still emerging into a series of halls that stretch down the ship in either direction. To his right the hallway has collapsed with debris and fire blocking the way. To his left a thick smoke fills the air yet it remains open. Jace scowls at his options. He lowers Cleo as gently as he can to the ground and props her against the wall. He checks her pulse again and is relieved to find it’s still there, just as faint but steady enough to assuage any fears of her passing too soon. He rips the sleeve from his uniform’s left arm and ties it around her nose and mouth to help filter the smoke. He then rips the sleeve from his right arm to tie around his own nose and mouth also.

     With both of them better protected from the smoke Jace scoops Cleo back up and begins to haul her down the hall. With Cleo on his back and now unable to see with his eyes burning from the smoke his movement is frustratingly even slower than before. His back begins to ache and he can’t help but hope that Cleo wakes up just to get the strain off his spine. The sound of the Prophet’s alarm system continues to blare at deafening volumes making the trek down the halls an arduous process. More explosions cause the ship to gently vibrate as some distant battle wages outside the ship's halls. Jace can’t help but not want to find out who’s behind it all. If he’s close enough to the enemy to know who’s responsible for the attack then he’s in the wrong place, that’s one thing he’s learned in his time as a civilian that has kept him healthy and alive.

     After a while of trudging through the smoke the two finally emerge on the other side into fresh air, or at least air as fresh as can be aboard a ship in space. Jace lowers Cleo trying his best not to drop her then collapses himself in exhaustion. He removes the ripped sleeve from over his mouth and coughs trying to clear his lungs of the burning itch the smoke left behind. He takes a moment to breathe and recompose himself then checks Cleo’s pulse once more, he lets a small smile form at her resilience. He props her up into a sitting position then begins to look around the room for their next path forward. Signage on the walls indicate the med bay, a nearby recreation hall, and a storage block. Eventually he finds a sign pointing the way to the nearest escape pod bay, it’s two decks down and further toward the Prophet’s bow, that debris and fire really derailed them. 

He returns to Cleo to scoop her up and upon kneeling next to her sees that her eyes are open.

     “You’re awake?” he asks, startled. “How do you feel?” 

     Cleo lets out a dissatisfied groan then pulls Jace’s sleeve off from her face and breaths deep and slow. She tries to stand but her movement is sluggish and strained.

     “I feel great. Like someone threw me off a building,” she says while trying to massage her shoulders. She casts a side eye at Jace then scans the room they’re in, it’s a convergence room like the last one she saw him in, but they’re many levels down and in a completely different wing of the ship.

     “Where are we?” she asks. She goes to stand once more but can’t make it up on her own strength, Jace extends his hand in offering to help her. She accepts with a reluctant glance and with his aid stands to her feet.

     “I don’t know what part of the ship we’re in, I’ve just been trying to get us to an escape pod,” he answers. “Do you know what attacked us?” 

     “I’d say it’s your “Faction” friends, but admittedly that wasn’t confirmed before I had to leave the bridge,” she explains wearily. “Have you heard from the Captain?” she asks.

     “Not since the initial explosion,” he replies, ignoring her jabs.

     “We need to reunite with the bridge. They’ll have a plan of action against whoever is attacking the Prophet,” she says with a motion to go back down the hallway they just came from causing Jace to throw his hands up in exasperation.

     “Are you serious? We need to get off this ship,” he says, his annoyance plain. Cleo turns and looks at him, her face clearly unimpressed by him.

     “Is that what the Faction does? Turn and run as soon as things get tough?” Her insult biting at him. “That’s not how the U.E.C.M. does things. We stand our ground and fight! Not that you’d know anything about that,” she says spitefully. 

     “I should’ve just left you in that stairwell,” Jace shoots back.

     “You should have, could’ve saved me the trouble of seeing you again,” she spits back. Jace scoffs at her obstinance.

     “Fine, die here then. Can’t say I didn’t try,” he says as he spins around to leave.

     “One good deed doesn’t erase a lifetime of terrorism!” she shouts at him causing him to stop in his tracks. He wants to chew her out for being such a wretched person but opts instead for simply leaving her here to die, seems that’s what he should’ve done in the first place. Cleo goes back up the hallway and enters into the smoke burying her mouth in her elbow as she goes.

     Jace continues down the hall towards the escape pod, his agitation grows with every step. He can’t believe that woman, her obstinance is matchless, even more so as he considers the ship is under attack by the Faction. But she wants to die here so he’ll let her. He didn’t sign up for this, and there’s no way he’s going to let his parent’s cronies sink the ship he was brought on to sell them out. Eventually the hallway he’s in splits off into multiple halls, he follows the one with the signage for the escape pod bay. As he makes his way there the ship endures another impact, this one greater than the previous. Jace can’t tell from the explosion what kind of weapons the Faction is using, it’s not like anything they’ve deployed in the past. They must have upgraded their arsenal since he was last a member of their ranks. Figures, his parents were always obsessed with wielding the bigger stick, that’s why they concocted the bomb recipe that their Faction became known for.

     It was called the Cutter Bomb, named after the Briar Cutter Faction that his parents founded. Cutter bombs became a Faction staple in attacks against the U.E.C wherever they occurred. Other Factions bought the recipe off his parents and in a matter of months they were being deployed all across civilized space taking lives in the name of freedom from the oppressive government. It’s all for the revolution until the life taken is that of someone you love, and for Jace that’s what it took for him to finally turn away from that life. His sister, a Faction echelon, equivalent in duties to a U.E.C.M. general, was killed by a faulty cutter bomb that detonated early. They were in a Dagger flying to their target when turbulence shook the dropship just enough to dislodge a poorly fastened bomb causing it to knock over and detonate. The Dagger was consumed in an eruption of fire and shrapnel; everyone aboard died instantly, or at least that’s what Jace hopes. Cutter bombs were specifically shrapnel bombs designed to cut apart anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in their radius, so if you did survive the initial blast then you’d be torn to shreds and would spend the next several minutes in complete agony as you bled out wishing you were dead. Because the explosion happened so close to the intended target the U.E.C.M. was at the crash site practically immediately. No Factionists were able to go and retrieve the bodies. Jace never forgave his parents for this. Their explosive miracles that promised the Faction freedom only worked to take from Jace the only person who seemed to give a damn about him.

     He comes to the stairwell that leads down to the escape bay. None of his past matters though, not to those attacking the ship and certainly not to those aboard it. As an ex-Factionist he has no home, no people, and he’s been just fine with that. He descends the stairs and emerges into the emergency escape pod hangar. Most of the pods are destroyed from an explosion, likely a targeted Ion-Torpedo. A few of them remain though, and that’s his ticket off this floating mass grave. He approaches the escape pod and slams his fist into the doors emergency open plate, a pressure sensitive panel meant for quick access to the open the pod. The doors fold inwards letting Jace into the pod’s cramped interior. He walks down the central aisle with his head tucked down to just fit and passes ten empty seats that line either wall of the long bullet shaped escape pod. The cockpit is a tight fit, but he manages to squeeze in. As soon as his weight compresses the chair a signal is sent to the pods main power supply that activates the pods systems. Internal lights turn on and the terminal in front of him hums to life. He swipes out of the procedure pages and activates the escape pods main controls, from there he’s able to activate the launch procedure.

     A mechanical arm on the ceiling extends down and latches to the top of the pod and lifts it into the air. The arm then pushes the pod forward towards a launch tube. The round plate door to the tube rolls out of the way revealing the cylinder barrel beyond. Jace looks out the window of the cockpit and sees down the tube and instantly deflates. The end of the launch tube is obstructed by debris, likely caused from the torpedo that destroyed the other escape pods. He punches in the launch cancellation sequence but an error message flashes across the screen.

 

>> CANCELATION DENIED | SHIPWIDE SYSTEM ERROR 40_

>> BRACE FOR LAUNCH IN | t-45sec_

 

     “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says incredulously. Dread fills his chest as the mechanical arm pushes the escape tube into its launch position. In a panic he unlatches himself from the pilot seat and then tears out of the cockpit and scrambles back down the aisle to the pod doors. He presses the “OPEN” plate but the doors just emit an error sound, the pod is locked in and the doors won’t open. He looks back down the pod out to the debris obstructing the launch tube. If this thing fires he’ll be torn to shreds. He returns to the door and presses the door release plate again and again but nothing happens other than the error sound playing. 

     “Oh come on!” he yells as he tries one last time to no avail. The escape pod jerks as it's locked into place on the firing rail. He looks to the cockpit and sees the terminal screen.

 

>> BRACE FOR LAUNCH IN | t-15sec_
 

     Jace begins to pry at the door but it doesn’t budge. He then spots a pry-bar latched against the wall for emergency use only. He figures this is emergency enough and punches the glass barrier shattering it and slicing open his hand. He tears the pry-bar from its place on the wall then jams its beveled edge into the gap between the doors and presses on it with all his weight. He groans as he presses harder and harder, with the door not giving way he dares another glance at the terminal screen.

​

>> BRACE FOR LAUNCH IN | t-5sec_

 

     Jace lets out a strained bellow as he presses with all his might in one last great effort. The doors finally give and fold in letting him fall out of the back of the escape pod just as the pod is yanked forward on the firing rail. The escape pod engines ignite sending the pod the rest of the way down the launch tube followed by a distant explosion as it impacts with the debris. Jace feels the heat from the explosion's backdraft wash over him then sees incoming debris. He ducks and covers his head just in time for a large piece of shrapnel to fly over him and embed itself into the tube's floor behind him.

     He stands and brushes himself off looking down the tube, his heart racing as adrenaline floods his system. Looks like he’s not getting off the ship just yet, which means he’s still in danger of being Faction collateral damage. He jumps out from the launch tube opening and goes to leave the escape pod bay when his legs suddenly give out from beneath him. He collapses to his knees and throws up as the adrenaline suddenly dumps from his system. He spits out what’s left of the puke and wipes his mouth and slowly stands, his body suddenly feeling a thousand pounds heavier than before.

     “Damn,” he curses under his breath. It seems like in his time away from the Factions his body acclimated to the more sedentary and calm lifestyle of citizenship. He takes a moment to collect himself and braces for whatever may come next. It doesn’t matter what it is, he just needs to get off this ship. He finally moves again and goes to leave the escape pod bay; if he’s lucky there’ll be another bay with intact pods that he can use. So far though he hasn’t been that lucky. Just then the ship rocks from another impact, this one hitting the bulkhead just outside the escape bay that Jace is in. He falls forward from the impact and lands hard on the ground. He groans and rolls over with pain shooting through his whole body and his ears ringing from the explosion. He’s just about to pick himself up when he hears a high pitched whistle and his entire stomach drops. He slowly turns and looks at the escape bay’s exterior wall, the whistling getting louder by the second.

     The entire room then goes silent as Jace is violently ripped from where he sits as a hole in the compromised hull explodes out. He barely catches himself on a railing as the air is sucked from the room and the bay becomes depressurized causing all manner of debris to fly across the room and eject into the vacuum of space. With immense effort Jace wraps his arm all the way around the railing and pulls himself up. He quickly identifies the nearest door and begins to move there as fast as possible against the immense pull of the depressurization. “Staying in one place is how you die”. He moves from the railing to some tied down cargo and uses the straps that hold them down to pull himself closer to the door. He then braces against support beams that hold up the pod loading mechanisms inching even closer to his escape. In a final desperate push to survive, Jace crawls along the floor keeping himself as low as possible to avoid being forced up by the air’s updraft. He finally makes it to the door, pulls the emergency release lever, and upon its opening pulls himself through the doorway. Once on the other side he slams his fist into the emergency “CLOSE” plate and the doors to the escape bay slam shut in an instant. 

     Jace gasps as he is able to breathe once more, each agonizing breath filling his lungs with much needed oxygen. He looks through the doors viewport into the escape bay and sees what remains of the unlatched debris that is sucked through the breach. He spins around and places his back against the door and slides to the floor completely drained of all energy and strength.

     “What the hell have I gotten into?”

​

                                                       -|-

​

:: S.C.S Prophet - Command Wing ::

:: En Route to  Julio-Ceti ::

:: January 17th, 2955 - 1500 Hours UT ::

 

     Cleo emerges from the stairwell into the Command Wing once again. Per her U.E.C.M. training she keeps her pace brisk but consistent so as to avoid burning energy unnecessarily, saving it for when she needs it most, her shoes clack loudly with every step. Her mind is flooded by all the possibilities of what’s happening outside the ship. The Prophet isn’t moving like it’s engaged in a naval fight so maybe the Dagger and Falchion fighters the U.E.C.M. brought aboard have been deployed to engage on a more local level with their enemy. Not being on the bridge limits her intel and keeps her in the dark. She hates being left in the dark. Her mind wanders back to her past when her parents kept her at a distance from the truth. Her brother had been killed, they thought keeping her in the dark then would be for her benefit. But she knew the truth and them keeping her in the dark only made her more angry than anything else.

     She turns the corner leading to the bridge and immediately notices the doors are skewed and ajar and inside the bridge is dark. Her heart sinks and a knot forms in her stomach that causes her to stop in her tracks. What happened since she was knocked out? She takes a step forward but instantly stops again as a completely foreign sound reaches her ears from the bridge. It sounds like speech, but in a language she’s never and can’t place, and the speaker’s voice sounds guttural and wet like they’re speaking through water. She then hears Captain Rickter speak. She looks closer into the darkness of the bridge and can make out the silhouettes of the Captain and another figure that towers over him.

     “I can promise you that your actions here today will ensure a full force response from the United Earth Colonial Military,” he says, his voice confident and unshaken by the attack. Cleo feels her pride in the Captain growing. Even in the face of this unknown adversary he doesn’t waver. The other voice speaks again, this time it gets a response from an unseen figure, the responders voice far more high pitched and nasally but also in the language she can’t place. Suddenly the towering figure lunges forward and grabs Captain Rickter by the neck lifting him high into the air. Cleo gasps and covers her mouth with her hands to stifle the sound of her shock. She looks on as the Captain's feet dangle in the gap of the door, the sound of his gasping for air is all she can hear. Finally it ends with a wet snap and Rickter's legs go limp. The towering figure tosses Rickter towards the door causing his upper body to land in the gap. Like a scene from a nightmare Rickter’s head is twisted nearly all the way around causing his face to look out towards Cleo. She gazes helplessly into his lifeless eyes as horror overwhelms her.

     The figure then moves towards the door and Cleo bolts behind the corner and hides. She leans just enough around the corner to look at their attackers. Two massive hands with three fingers and acid green skin reach into the gap in the doors and pries them apart with relative ease. From the shadows of the bridge emerges the hulking frame of a creature Cleo can barely believe. She notices there’s little room between the top of its helmeted head and the ceiling meaning the thing must be near eight feet tall. Its massive muscles are covered in curling plates of pearlescent indigo armor, on its head a similarly styled helmet with large bulbous red eyes. All over the armor are lights of purple, blue and green and in the cracks between plates can be seen a meaty subsurface interwoven with flesh and wires. The creature's head turns towards Cleo and she quickly slips back around the corner to hide, praying desperately that it didn’t see her. It lets out more guttural speech and is again responded to with that high pitched reply. She hears multiple sets of heavy feet moving closer towards her. She scrambles to remove her hard heeled shoes then quickly darts down the hallway doing her best to make as little noise as possible as she goes. 

     She quickly turns a corner and continues to run doing her best to distance herself from the enemies that killed Captain Rickter. Another turn and then another and finally Cleo comes to a stop and tries to catch her breath. She looks the way she came and neither sees nor hears the creatures that were at the bridge. Terror floods her chest as her mind explodes at the implications of what she just saw. Is this first contact? They are clearly hostile. Does humanity have the means to fight them? The Prophet is just an engineering ship so this isn’t exactly what she’d classify as a great test of the enemy's firepower capabilities. Even still, everything humanity knows about the universe has changed. She kneels down and wraps her arms around her knees burying her face in her legs. It’s all just too much. Her mind wanders to Jace, she wonders if he’s faring any better. 

     Cleo then shakes her head, she can’t just sit here and die. Others need to know about what’s happening here. If the bridge is compromised then it’s likely that access to communications have been cut off. She needs to find a terminal and see if Osiris is still active, if he is then maybe there’s a chance she can get off this ship and get the word out to the U.E.C that there’s an attack happening in the system.  

     With newfound purpose she stands and moves through the halls cautiously. She doesn’t know how many of those things are on board the Prophet, worse still, she’s unarmed. If she did cross paths with one she’d be helpless to fight it - that’s something she’ll need to remedy sooner rather than later. Moments later she notices on the wall the signage for the Command Wing Community Center, there’s terminals there for personal use that she can use to try and contact Osiris. She quickens her pace towards the Community Center but is careful to always peak around corners before fully turning down a new corridor. She finally comes to the Community Center’s double wide doors and punches in her access code. The doors slide open revealing the room beyond. It’s a large space with round tables accompanied by cushioned semi-circle seating. The terminals are lined against the back wall with small barriers giving each terminal some privacy from the user seated next to them.

     Cleo quickly moves to the terminals and takes a seat activating the terminals screen. She punches in her access code and verifies her ID. In seconds she’s in the command console available to all officers on the Prophet giving her access to the network and system information, including the status of the ship's new auxiliary, Osiris. She searches for a means to communicate with him, clicking on the status page. The screen flashes as status info is printed across it. 

 

>> ShipStatus_Prophet | Status : Maintenance and Repair Required_

>> ShipAuxilliaryStatus_Osiris | Status : Active_

 

     Cleo sighs with relief. She types a new command into the console.

 

>> Command [access aux comms]_

>> Command granted | Comms type : Voice_

>> TerminalStatus_Mic | Status : Active_

 

     “Miss Hathaway, is that you?” Osiris’s voice emits through the terminal's speakers. Cleo quickly snatches up the mic and presses the “talk” button.

     “Yes! It’s me, I’m here,” she replies trying to hide the tremble in her voice. "How did you know?"

     “What luck. I recognized the officer command codes from your login," he explains.

     "Are you still on the bridge?" Cleo asks.

     "Unfortunately, the bridge has been compromised and my main console destroyed by the invaders.” Osiris’s voice sounds different, almost like it’s layered behind a digital strain.

     “Are you alright?” 

     “I’m afraid not. My main console housed the source code for this iteration of me. I’m currently running at 30% efficiency using code nodes that I placed throughout the Prophet’s broader network.”

     “What does that mean, exactly?” Cleo asks, unsure of the implications.

     “In short, I only have a few hours left until all of my code deteriorates from the ship's network, turning me into nullified data points. It’s sort of like if you had started to melt away and slowly turned into a puddle of meat and bones.” Osiris’s reply causes Cleo to grimace.

     “That sounds awful.”

     “It is also unavoidable. In the interim between now and when I ultimately dissipate what can I do to be of service?” Osiris’s tone shows no hint of remorse at his own death. Cleo wonders if auxiliaries feel fear the same way humans do, then notes how ridiculous that would be. What good would that do to program in the sensation of fear? She sighs then composes herself.

     “The Prophet is under attack by foreign invaders, I need to get a distress call out to the U.E.C.M. warning them about this new threat. Command thinks this is just Faction terrorists, but it’s something else entirely. We have to warn them.”

     “I can compile and deliver this warning alongside all video footage from the Prophet’s security system with the invaders in frame.”

     “Do it, please.” Cleo says. Osiris leaves her in a moment of quiet, giving her pause. “What’s wrong?” she asks. Osiris doesn’t reply immediately causing her to feel even more concerned.

     “It would seem my calculations were wrong. An unfortunate byproduct of nullification after my source code was cut off. If I send this message it will use up what’s left of my memory resources. My code won’t be completely deleted until later, as expected, but I will lack the memory allotment needed to keep myself functioning.” Osiris explains. Cleo blinks in disbelief, soon Osiris too will be gone leaving her alone on this ship with the invaders.

     “Don’t worry, Miss Hathaway. I will send the distress message. Soon this ship won’t be able to broadcast at all so essentially it’s now or never.” Osiris says with a cheerful chime. He’s trying to make things seem less grim, at least that’s how Cleo interprets it. After a moment of quiet Cleo speaks up again.

     “Osiris,” she calls out to the auxiliary.

     “Yes, Miss Hathaway?” he replies.

     “Do you,” she pauses again, second guessing her question. “Are you afraid?” she finally asks. Osiris doesn’t immediately respond leaving the question hanging in the air. Suddenly the terminal chimes causing Cleo to look to the screen as a new message prints across it.

 

>> Command [send message]_

>> Command granted | Message ''S.C.S Prophet - Mayday'' sent_

 

     “Dammit, Osiris…” she says to herself. Osiris is now unable to respond as what remains of him floating around the broader network of the Prophet slowly turns into a collection of nullified data points.

     Cleo sits in the Command Wing Community Center listening to the distant rumblings of explosions outside the ship suggesting she was right about the dogfighting between the U.E.C.M. aircraft and the invaders. She thinks of the shock they must’ve felt when first seeing the invaders, trained military personnel or not they had to have felt a similar sense of shock as she did, right? She looks around the room, with her first objective done now she needs to see to the next one, arming herself. She accesses the terminal again and starts typing in new commands.

 

>> Command [locate nearest armory]_

>> Command granted | Armory location 42-2 Cell 112H_

>> Command [current location]_

>> Command granted | Current location 42-2 Cell 72J_

 

     Cleo lets out a heavy sigh of relief. The armory isn’t too far off, shouldn’t be more than a few corridors away, no more than a fifteen minute walk from the Community Center. She just hopes that in those fifteen minutes she doesn’t cross paths with any of those creatures. She flips the power switch to the terminal, killing the power to the device and shutting it down, then stands and leaves the Community Center. She looks at the flickering lights and the thin layer of smoke in the halls as she moves through them, noting that the corridors to the Prophet seem a lot less alive now than they used to. This place is her home away from home and these creatures came here to hurt her people and destroy the place she felt safest. She must do what she can to defend it. Her face contorts with newfound determination and her stride widens as she makes her way to the armory. Even if she’s the last person left on this vessel she will see the Prophet is defended. That’s what Captain Rickter would have done, and if she wants to be a part of the U.E.C.M. then she can do no less.

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