A Message from a Citizen in the Thargoid Warzone
02 Dec 2022Diocletian Valerius
The following entry is a transcript I promised to publish on the Pilot's Federation logbook network, authored by Meghan McAuliffe, a citizen and resident of Wakata Station. Wakata is currently under evacuation protocol after the start of the Second Thargoid War---------------------
Hello. My name is Meghan McAuliffe, and I have lived at Wakata Station in HIP 23716 for five years. My husband and I barely eek out a living here; I am a bartender, and he is a cargo transport pilot. We are on the front lines of the Thargoid invasion. We never thought it could happen here.
This is my story.
~~
About three weeks ago the rumors started. As a bartender in the Pilot's Bar & Lounge, I hear things. I hear the stories from afar. Stories from tens of thousands of light years away, a place that us ordinary folk can only dream of visiting. Three weeks ago is when the other stories started. The fantastical stories of beautiful nebulae, the stories of traders escaping from pirates, the stories of fabled green and purple planets...those stories stopped. The new stories were of impending horror and death. Stories about green unidentified Thargoid objects approaching human space; our safe space.
The folk we get here are mainly just private pilots. The best of the best. Of the hundreds of billions of humans living in the galaxy, only a very small handful of people are skilled and lucky enough to own and pilot their own ship. They are a hardened bunch. They have seen many, many things and they keep our society running. They are, in fact, The Elite.
I get to talk to all the different types of pilots as they come sit at my bar. You have your diplomatic pilots. They're generally quiet and tight lipped. They don't drink much, but they do eat a lot of food. Occasionally I will see a diplomatic ship pulling in, from my view of the mailslot out of the bar windows. That means break out the extra good gin. Then you have the haulers, like my husband Douglas. They are often gone for long periods of time, and when they return they are weary. They like an extra hot meal, perhaps a sip or two of alcohol. Generally they tip ok too, they know the rough life. There's always a pirate on their tail and that makes me a nervous wreck, but my Doug always seems to come home safely, thank god.
There are also the mercenaries and the bounty hunters. The mercs hide in the corner shadows, backs to the window, always watching the bounty hunters and throwing shade their way. The bounty hunters conversely lurk in the opposite corner by the terminals, usually returning dirty looks towards the mercs. Occasionally they check the terminals for bounty contracts...or try to spy on who is doing what on the terminal opposite them. You never know who has a bounty on their head, and it is best to be on your toes. But both of those groups drink and tip well, so as long as there's no laser blasters firing from under tables, we're cool. And I must admit, they generally behave in my bar.
To see these hardened pilots all transfixed on the HoloVision screens as a group.....to watch the color drain from their faces as the first unidentified object was projected to hit near our system was the first sign of dread. No more stories about pretty planets, no more stories about fantastical plants on far-off worlds. No more stories about "how I pulled that one pirate lord right out of his supercruise." Now there were stories about relocating fleets; arming their ships. The shipyard manager says sales of Kraits and Chieftains, the favored anti-Thargoid combat vessel from what I hear, have quadrupled almost overnight. He can barely keep up his stock, never to mind the outfitting of modules.
But life went on, and three weeks ago seems so far away now. It was odd, almost as if nobody else noticed. People were just milling about, trying to live life like nothing was going to happen. Maybe the green thing would just...pass by? Maybe it was a friendly emissary? It was hard to tell and people just wanted to ignore it. Nothing ever happens to us, it always happens to the other person, right?
That all changed, three days ago. My husband, little boy, and myself were all startled out from a deep slumber to a general alarm. The first green comet had arrived, and with it, Thargoid forces of an unimaginable scale. We had our answer. It would not pass us by. It was not an emissary. It was not friendly, and they do not want to talk.
Doug is a smart guy; we already had emergency bags packed. Then he got the call from his employer. "I have to go out, the station needs supplies. They won't take no for an answer, but they are paying very, very well. It might be our ticket," Doug stated with confidence. With a smile, hug, and kiss he told me he would try to pull some strings and get us out of here on one of the evac ships. He told me he'd be back after his 12 hour shift. I went up to the bar and watched his giant Lakon T9 take off. With a rumble, it trundled out of the mailslot, ready to be filled with life-saving supplies so he could return.
But my husband didn't return. The hour approached when he should have been back, but his ship didn't come in. Then another hour, and another. No Doug. The ships coming in were...well, they were in conditions of which I have never seen. One after the other they came, spewing sparks. Missing entire panels of their outer hull. One came in with a malfunctioning chaff launcher and filled the entire station with hot metal bits for a few minutes. Some ships had this weird green goo all over them, trailing smoke and leaving parts behind as they desperately try to square up a landing. Some ships didn't even have cockpit glass in place any longer. Occasionally one wouldn't make it to the pad and would just...explode. Right there, in front of the bar window for everyone to see. Boom. It was a sobering thing to see. There were no more fantastical tour ships leaving. Every hour there were less and less ships arriving because of the Thargoid blockade of our system, and the ships that did arrive were doing so in ever increasing amounts of disrepair.
Where was my Doug? Please, please be safe, Doug. I do not want to receive that HoloCall. Not that one, no.
I made my way back to the bar for work. He was probably just running late due to very extended docking times. I needed to keep my mind off of things, and pilots still need to eat and drink. Their well being was of utmost importance, especially now. I took my little boy with me, there was a big room in the back he could play in, and also be sheltered from SpaceFoxNews' horrible stories coming in from the front lines which were right outside my front door. The Thargoids had blockaded my system well. The air about the station wasn't quite panic, but it was also more than tense. The evacuation had started, and large groups of people were gathering. Sounds of nervous chit chat filled the air. The occasional wailing child, or even worse, wailing adult who just found out their loved one was not returning. The air was filled with tension, sadness, anger, and despair. Most people were sitting with their backs to the windows and viewscreens so they didn't have to view the horrors arriving.
Later that day, my boy and I received our vouchers to evacuate. The factions of the stations have banded together and were shuffling us out the door in groups of 20-80 people. The problem was, you had to wait until you were called up before you could leave. Supposedly this was done lottery-style, but we all know how it works. Those of us with money or materials get to leave. Those of us who don't, well we get to stay. Feelings of horror and dread filled me, but I had to put on a brave face for my boy, my patrons, and honestly, for myself. We didn't have much money, I knew we weren't going anywhere any time soon.
When I looked up from my comms pad at the bar that night, I saw a pilot I befriended a while back approaching. Dio was his name, and if you are reading this, it is he who has promised to get my story out there. Dio was always nice to me and my little boy. Sometimes he'd bring him a little potted plant from some far off place, or a little toy ship. My boy loves ships and wants to be one of The Elite some day. My boy knew Dio was "the guy on the HoloAds that owned "Bon Chonker & Co," and he would sing the little jingle to Dio occasionally. "When it needs to get there, no questions asked, call up Bon Chonker and Company. Just dial 1-Yembo-Yembo-BON-CHONK to make arrangements, today!"
My kiddo knows all of the makes and models, what they do, all the ins and outs of the systems. He would often pester Dio for a tour of whatever he was running that day. Some of the time Dio would oblige and even let him sit in the pilot's seat to make pew pew space gun noises...with the thrusters very much out of reach, I might add. Suddenly the play sounds of the pew pew space guns seemed much, much less innocent.
I told Dio my story of Doug. How he had left, how his employer promised him how it was safe. How he'd come home. How it was all a lie. It wasn't safe, and he did not come home. I told him how desperately I needed to know what happened and how we had wanted to leave this place. Dio ordered his drink and food, and told me he'd be back in a few minutes, he had to go check something on his ship. I'm sure my story was only one of thousands of the same story that day, but it is difficult to remember that when it is also your story.
When he returned, he called me over. "Meghan, I poked a few people in the know, and I can tell you Doug is ok. The ship he was piloting was destroyed by Thargoids when attempting to run the blockade back in to this system. However, he was able to escape in a pod and was picked up, according to a manifest sheet I was able to lay eyes upon. He is listed as injured but not life-threatened, but as of this time I don't know which port they took him to." With a reassuring nod, he smiled. "It's not Doug's fault. He's a contract pilot and they do not train haulage folks what to do when encountering a Thargoid," Dio informed me.
After finishing his meal, Dio slid a holocard to me. "I pulled a few other strings, Meghan. You've always been such a kind one, treating everyone in your bar fairly and good. I am one of the pilots who has been running evacuations, and as direct owner of the ship, I have great pull as to which contracts I run. Tomorrow, have your little boy watch the mail slot for me. Tell him it's a big, metallic-blue Corvette. It's the only one out there like that and he will know what to look for. Its name is "Chonky Rescue Services," and when he sees it I want you to bring this card over to InterAstra. They will take you to a special elevator which leads directly to the pilot's hangar. Bring only essentials, but leave some bags in your apartment, I will see that they are brought to you after. I promise you, I will make it and be there to pick you up. And I promise to deliver you and everyone else safely.
Despite his promises, and despite my strong desire to hope...it was difficult. Many, many pilots were making promises, but the Thargoids kept them from ever coming back.
~~~
So the next morning we waited. The bar would be permanently closing soon, and probably the entire station would be too. It was evident as I walked around, all the signs were there. Storefronts were closing. Vacation bags lining the halls in front of people's apartment doors. Trash was everywhere. The frantic energy had arrived, people wanted out, and they wanted out now. There was screaming, there were arguments, there were even reports of violence with little repercussion from security forces. Money changed hands in dark corners, an exchange for supposed safe passage out of this horror. I found out that last night alone, 25 ships made it to the station but exploded before they hit the pad. Most of them were evac and supply ships; but the combat ships were also coming in quite heavily damaged. Moreso than the first day. Dio had assured me he had experience with Thargoids and running blockades, both alien and human. I had hope.
Ship after ship started coming in that morning. First, a few Kraits, according to my boy. To me, they look like triangular-ish pancakes. In the first half hour I saw two that didn't make it, but thankfully the pilots could eject. I tried to keep my ears from tuning in to all the hubub, but it was difficult. The stories were horrific...passenger ships being mercilessly ripped out of space and strafed in half in literal seconds by Thargoid weaponry. Supply ships being thrown out of control, disabled, and picked apart by mobs of Thargoid scouts. Talk filled the air of the fire, the smoke, the alarms wailing, and people screaming as they were encapsulated in their escape pods and shot out into space. I heard stories about what the Thargoid ships looked like, the horrifying crackling sound they would make as they would enter normal space right next to ships trying to make a run for it, and the haunting moans they made to communicate. At least, the sounds that ship's computers produced based upon what they thought sounds in space would sound like. All of that before they'd shut the ship down with EMP pulses, throwing it and its occupants around like a helpless rag doll with no mercy, and subjecting ships to horrifying caustic attacks that ate the hull away from around you. Like a giant jungle cat playing with a mouse. That's all we are to them, mice.
I clutched that card Dio gave me, hidden in my pocket, as tight as I possibly could. It was me and my boy's ticket away from this nightmare. My ticket back to Doug. We'd worry about jobs and income later. I hugged my little boy as we watched. I cannot communicate to you all the feeling of desperation in the air. The beaten looks of the pilots who made it back and wanted nothing other than entire bottles of Centauri Gin to drown the horrible things they just saw out of their memory.
There were at least a dozen evac ships I saw leave in the last half hour which never returned. It was supposed to only be a 10 minute trip to the evacuation ship behind the front lines. I guess they could have made it and just decided it was too dangerous to return. That's what I had to convince myself. I had to ignore the possibility that they tried to leave or come back but were instead reduced to nothing but flotsam, degraded signal sources, and occupied escape pods.
"MOM! MOM!" my thoughts were interrupted by my excited little one. Thank goodness he was too young to fully understand the gravity of the situation. I'm sure he could tell something wasn't right, but at least he was easily distractible by his task at hand, which he had now fulfilled. There it was, poking its giant nose through the mail slot atmospheric energy curtain. A titanic, shiny, metallic blue ship. The energy curtain hummed and wavered as it made its way in, flying low over the bar with a tremendous rumble. So, this was a Corvette, a warship of the highest caliber. A warship converted for a peaceful operation, the evacuation of 200 people at a time. This was Dio's ship, one of many.
We quickly made our way to the Astra taxi service desk, and I presented the card to the bedraggled attendant. He looked at it, then looked at me and my boy with a bit of hesitation. I'm sure he recognized the name on the card, Bon Chonker & Co was no small outfit. With a seeming reluctance, he punched a few keys on his terminal, raised an eyebrow, and nodded to me. "Apologies Ms Meghan, I was unaware you were a personal friend of Mr. Valerius. Please follow me, quickly and quietly."
After some back hallways and an elevator trip us Citizens were usually forbidden from taking, we were led to the ship hangar. There it was. I had never been this close to a ship so huge, it was actually larger than some entire planetary settlements. "MOM! This is the largest combat ship there is! Do you think I can sit up front? Where are we going?"
Before I could answer, we saw Dio. He knelt down and gave my boy a bobblehead of a Corvette to play with. "Ya cant ride up front this time my man, but I did get you a passenger cabin with an external HoloView screen." Dio looked around as if someone was watching, even though we were clearly the only ones there. "Psst...here's a holopad that will display the same exact readouts I see in the cockpit. I need you to be my copilot, ok?"
"Ok!!"
"Ok little dude, here's what I need. You know the heat readout, right? Yeah, I know you do. When you see it read 20%, I need you to hit this button here, ok? It will launch a heatsink and make us nice and cold. You'll hear it from your cabin too...a whoooossshhhHHHHHHH DINK! and after the coolant purge you'll hear the ship's computer say "heatsink deployed." It's super important, so I can count on you, right? And don't worry if we shake around a bit, it's nothing I haven't done a thousand times before, I promise. I've traveled 359,000 lightyears, I'll keep you safe." Dio then handed me a mailer envelope and instructed me to not let it out of my sight, and to not open it until after we were safely in a room on the rescue ship in Tarach Tor.
My boy nodded with eagerness. Dio winked at me; I doubted the pad actually accepted input but it was such a very thoughtful way to occupy the mind of a curious but easily frightened child. It sort of also told me what I feared to hear. Dio expected to need to use a heatsink. He expected to encounter a Thargoid. I knew this much from hearing the pilots talk, and from the outfitters constantly running out of heatsink modules to sell.
I was petrified.
---
We got to be the first ones to board, and Dio sat us in the middle of the ship, powered up the HoloPad for my boy, and bid us farewell. He looked me straight in the eye, nodded, and said, "I'll get you and everyone else to the rescue ship, I promise. Your bags from your apartment will follow shortly." My boy played with the bobble eagerly, making it dance and sproing left and right. Once everyone was seated, Dio's voice came on to the in cabin speaker, informing us to "stay buckled and seated no matter what."
With a jolt, the ship was lifted up to the hard deck level of the station, and all of the HoloWindows came to life. I'd never viewed the station from a pad like this but once, when we arrived five years ago. Astra taxis were too expensive for my family to take, and Doug's boss didn't allow passengers, so we never got to leave this place.
Now I wasn't sure if I'd ever see it again.
My boy's HoloPad sputtered on, and it was indeed a mirrored view of the cockpit instruments. Honestly, I did find it rather fascinating. It is no wonder that these people are The Elite, there is so much information to read and process every second. My boy excitedly tried to tell me what everything was...heat levels, boost buttons, engine power distribution. "And look at this, mom! This radar thing with the brackets! That's the station we are in! He has it selected probably to request clearance to leave. Oh and this is cool, the shield thing blinks because we don't have any shields."
Wait, what? We don't have any shields? Must be for a reason, I told myself. I hope. Shields kind of sound useful to the uniformed when they hear the words "combat."
And as if on cue, there was a loud KACHUNK, followed by a dull, deep roar of the thruster engines coming online. This was it. It was time.
"MOM! Landing gear retracted! We're hovering above the pad!' I looked out the HoloVWindow. I didn't want to; I did not want to see what was happening outside. I wanted to deny the danger we were in and the horror we might see on the other side of that atmospheric curtain. But such is human morbid curiosity, I could not resist. I know why Dio gave my boy the pad and bobble...so he wouldn't look outside. I, as an adult, was not so lucky.
The very low rumble that vibrated the ship grew in intensity as the thrusters gradually lifted one of the largest private-pilot ships available off the pad with grace. I could see other ships waiting to exit, we were third or fourth in line. Just then I saw why, as a green "Chieftain" (I think) came screaming in to the station under seemingly very little directional control. I made sure my boy didn't see out the window when the flaming wreck spiraled by. Once out of sight there was the sound of a huge concussion. An explosion of sorts, which mildly rumbled and shook our ship. Someone gasped "oh my god." I don't think that pilot made it. As we waited in line to leave, I looked across our cabin of eighty people. The people looked afraid, defeated. Crying silently. Holding hands as if this was their ferry to the other side of the River Styx.
My boy was sure to point out the thruster slider with the accompanying roar. It was a sound you could feel in the middle of your chest. A thunk, a thud. The seat would shake a little every time Dio bumped the throttle. I personally have no idea how one person can pilot a ship that is seemingly the size of an entire small city. Now I know why The Elite get paid so handsomely. And also why they always age fast and live stressed.
We lurched forward towards the mailslot. Little man watched the little icon that was "us" on his holopad, excited as to how it reflected which directional control Dio wanted the ship to answer. A little left, a little right, just a little higher. Hovering and lined up with the mail slot. Some little bar in the lower right apparently meant we had "shifted all power to the engines" according to what I was told. After a few moments, there it was, it happened. The engine slider went full forward, we were pinned back to our seats, and with a great shaking roar we pierced the atmospheric curtain and were outside of the station.
"Mom look! Dio is SPEEDING! We must be in a hurry or he knows someone, they usually fine you for that. Holy moly we are going 383 that is FAST for a big ship!"
But I wasn't looking at the holopad. I was looking out the HoloWindow. I was looking at things I wish I hadn't. Laser beams in the far distance. Explosions in the far distance. Green clouds in the far distance.
Death in the far distance.
The ship shook with every engine boost as Dio selected our first system to jump to, hidden behind a nearby planet. "MOM! MOM! THIS IS COOL LOOK!" I was presented with a jump initialization sequence, accompanied by the dull drone of a frame shift drive charging. According to my technical guru, we had to 'low wake' jump in order to get around the planet so we could 'high wake' jump to another system. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this unnatural black cloud of something appear next to the ship in tandem with a high pitched electrical cracking sound. I'd seen the reports, I knew what this was, I knew what was trying to drop in on us. A Thargoid. But before I could see anything else, there was a crack, and we were in 'low wake space.'
Dio pointed the ship for best made good time to initialize the longer high-wake jump out of this horror. I could watch it all on my son's holopad. Just before the target became visible from behind the planet, it happened.
A horrifying crack sound. The outside starfield changed, they became smeared. Streaks of blue as our ship started to drift out of it's intended hyperspace direction of travel. The cabin shook us like rag dolls, and I got a glimpse of the HoloPad during the chaos. My son didn't know what he was seeing, nor did I. Giant red bars and some circle that said 'escape vector' which didn't sound good at all. With a start, we were all thrown forward in our chairs as the ship suddenly slowed.
The shaking intensified violently, people started to scream. The lights flickered and struggled to stay on. Papers went flying across the cabin. People's bare minimum of belongings, flying through the air, caused grievous injury to some. With a snap, we suddenly found ourselves back in regular space, and my heart stopped when I looked out the window. That was a Thargoid. That was the smallest Thargoid, and there were four of them. The smallest Thargoid, the "scout," had pulled this giant ship many times its size back in to regular space in an instant. Then I saw the red flashes from the Thargoid, and heard the impacts against the hull.
BANG BANG BANG THUNK BANGBANGBANGBANG THUNK
Dio quickly regained control of the ship and got her pointed in the correct direction as I felt the nausea set in. He hit the boost, and everyone who was just thrown forward was now violently pinned back in to their seat. The heat thing readout on the HoloPad dropped to zero, with a "heatsink deployed" message, just as Dio had said might happen.
BANGBANGBANGBANG THUNK as the Thargoid Scouts' weaponry attempted to rip through the hull ....boost again. And again. Then I heard the sweet sound. BrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRR of the frameshift drive charging. We were going to make it, we left the scouts behind. With another snap, we were back in to jumping to our next system. Sweet, sweet relief.
Sweet relief. Until the stars turned green. It was much more violent this time, we were hurtling through this witch space sideways, updsidedown, backwards. My son's bobble had no idea which way to bobble and chaotically bounced around so hard I thought the spring on it might snap. Just when I thought it was over, this new nightmare started. None of the 200 people on this ship knew what was happening other than the pilot. The screaming was louder, this time. The children were crying out for their moms amongst the chaos. Babies wailed. Some people said prayers in languages I did not understand fully. My boy held strong though, thinking perhaps..well I don't know what he was thinking. Maybe he just took Dio at his word. We would be safe. No matter what, we would be saf....CRACK we were back in regular space, again. There was a quick boost as we tumbled in all directions, the SSSHHHHHHHHH TINK sound of a heatsink again. But this time was different. The lights went out, bathing the entire cabin in darkness. The HoloWindows somehow came back up quickly, although their signals were jumbled. Everything else went out, including the engines. The ship itself was silent, but the occupants were not. Screams that will haunt me until the day I die, screams I will never be able to forget as three giant Thargoids appeared near us.These things are huge. They are huge flowers of death and destruction. In space, everyone can hear you scream. The old saying is wrong.
As we helplessly drifted and tumbled through space in our now mostly shut-down ship, I heard that noise; the one I had heard rumors of back at the bar. The haunting moan of the aliens. A roar, like a mix of a whale, lion, and grieving mother pierced the cabin. The sounds of all species I heard this day will never leave me. They will always be in my memory and taunt my nightmares. There will never be relief from those sounds.
THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK as something hit the hull, shaking us. Much more violent this time. I realized we weren't tumbling any longer, and the lights blinked back in to life. Almost instantly there was another boost as we righted direction. The electrical burning stink of an overheated frame shift drive permeated the cabin as we made true our proper direction. I saw "Flight Assist OFF" displayed on my son's holopad, which he was still glued to, somehow, despite what was happening. The chaos was unbearable, confusing, disorenting. My heart was beating so hard I honestly though I might have a heart attack.
Then I heard it. BrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR of the frame shift drive. The Thargoid impacts to the ship stopped. Their red icons and swirly white whatevers-they-are on the radar were behind us, and seemingly not gaining.
The whine of the drive grew louder. And louder. Filling my chest with the low bass roar.
SNAP. We were in the inbetween space again. On our way to another system. In a few seconds, I saw a sun appear outside the Holowindow, and the cabin fell eerily silent. Only the low drone of the frame shift drive filled the air. I looked around, and although my boy looked scared, I could tell he knew. Dio had kept his word, we were safe. People were in shock, and they did not know what to do. The thousand yard stare is a look you do not forget you saw on someone.
"Ladies and gentleman, we are now out of the sphere of influence of the Thargoids. We will be at the rescue ship in five minutes. Please remain calm and seated until we land and are below deck." blared from the loudspeakers, slightly crackling and off tune due to whatever damage the ship may have taken
Dio kept his word as I saw the green and white rescue ship come in to view after that last jump. It was such a sweet sight. I know the struggle was just starting for us, however. We had no home. Little money. We had nowhere to go, we were refugees. I didn't have my husband, and nobody knew where he was, but at least he was ok. I didn't know what we were going to do or how we would live, but that was last on my mind. We had made it.
We docked successfully, and we even got to see Dio when we left. He had no fear on his face, no thousand yard stare, as if what just happened was an every day thing for him. I asked, and apparently it was an every day thing. Every single run. Every single time a pilot tried to get in or out, sometimes both, they had to deal with this. But they kept doing it. They kept running, in order to help their fellow man. Some of them didn't care about the cash. Some of them did. Regardless of their motivations, they still did it. And they repeated the cycle all day long.
Post Word
After we were given gracious accommodations. I remembered the mailer Dio gave me with the clear instructions to only open it when we were safe. So I opened it up, and there was a handwritten note, and a Credchip.
Dear Meghan and Doug. Thank you for so many late nights, good food, and good company. It isn't easy always being away, out in the black. It isn't easy fighting for humanity's survival. But good, important duties are often difficult. The good people of the world like you folks shouldn't have to deal with trivial worries. Please find enclosed a Credchip. Tell Doug there's enough on there for him to buy his own Anaconda and outfit it rather well, with plenty left over for the family to get on with life for a bit. No more lumbering Type 9s. When he's better, if he wants a job, his son knows the jingle...call me up at 1-Yembo-Yembo-BON-CHONK, I have a place set aside for a good hard working trucker. A trucker that can operate in a safe place, wherever he wants. I promise to come visit you folks soon when you find your relocation home, and would greatly appreciate one of your mixed gins after a long day. For now, however, I have thousands of more people to help. Take care, stay safe, and I will see you all again some day. -Dio
Nervously, I placed the Credchip in the console to check the balance. With trepidation I pushed the button, and almost fainted.
Seven hundred and fifty thous...no. Seven hundred and fifty million credits for a new start. I almost died.
Sadly, however, money cannot erase the horrors I experienced that day. Money cannot erase the experience from the memory of the other 198 people on that ship, nor the hundreds of thousands of other people waiting to leave. Some will not make it. Some will. I very much hope to hear Dio's voice on the other end of the phone when Doug calls. I hope Dio makes it.
But most of all, money cannot erase the looped nightmare that pilots are facing every day. Multiple times a day. For nothing other than to help us. While we all squabble amongst ourselves as Empire, Alliance, and Federation...these pilots ignore it all and face the music for us. Perhaps it is time, time to set aside these differences, if only for a while, and support our pilots.
They truly are, The Elite.