Eight Hundred and Tenth Year of the Exodus

Eight Hundred and Tenth Year After the Battle of the Sol System

Far Strider finished her three year long deceleration burn and slid into orbit around TRAPPIST-1, the central computer choosing to orbit outside of TRAPPIST-1h to avoid the congestion of the inner system. That task complete, the central computer sent the wake commands to the command crew’s cryosleep tubes.

Korekage Supesu leaned over the side of his cryosleep tube and vomited up the contents of his stomach. His head throbbed like the dancefloor at a nightclub, and his bladder felt like it was going to explode. Korekage rolled over, then pulled himself out of the crypotube on the far side of his vomit. His blurry eyes found the hospital gown-like garment and the indicator light leading to the public lavatory. Korekage’s feet skidded briefly on the steile floor as he staggered out, heedless of the maintenance bot already cleaning up his puke.

Half an hour, two detox pills, and a filling meal of nutrisoy later, and Korekage felt almost human again. His brain was still worrying away over a few details like the fact that he had been alone in the lavatory, or that he had not seen anyone else up and moving about. Korekage almost tripped over another cleaner bot as he finally noticed that the gudestrip on the wall wasn’t leading him to the section of the Far Strider that his brief had indicated contained his temporary quarters. Korekage stopped and looked back down the passageway to see a steward bot following him, carrying his effects.

“Bot, what is our destination?”

The steward bot’s inflection was the soothing, emotionless toines of its kind. “Your quarters, Admiral Korekage Supesu, so that you can change and join the command crew on the bridge. There are important developments to be discussed.”

Donn MacBrash woke up and promptly wished that he was dead. HIs stomach was a cramped, knotted mess and his eyes felt glued shut. He forced himself to sit upright, bounced his head off the lid of the cryotube he barely remembered getting into, and discovered that his bad dreams had been nothing of the sort.

Donn managed to keep his stomach from upending itself as he half-climbed half-fell to the deck. Scraping the dirt from his eyes, Donn decided to get presentable, and then see if the Far Strider had any alcohol aboard, preferably drinkable and not the medical, denatured crap. He definitely did not want to tell the rest of the command crew, whomever they were and however much they outranked him, about what had happened to earth while he was sober.

Donn’s legs gave out under him. Distantly he could hear the whine of the emergency medical bots coming to his aid.

Abby Bain, head of the Environmental Engineering department and the command crew member responsible for any terraforming efforts, was worshiping the porcelain throne. Wiping the last strands of saliva from her face, she keyed her terminal to begin the process of scanning the planets of the alpha centauri system while she went and cleaned herself up. With any luck the Far Strider’s central computers would have a short list of likely landing places for Abby to focus her initial efforts

She did not plan on attempting a full-planet terraformation the way the Terraformer Project had attempted on Mars. There were simply too many ways that could go wrong and the Far Strider did not have enough fuel to get back to the Sol system if things went that far wrong. Instead she had planned from the outset (and equipped the Far Strider) to deploy habitation domes, solar panels, water synthesizers, and the dozens of other structures needed to have a self-contained colony in an otherwise hostile atmosphere.

It would be akin to the lunar colonies back in the Sol system, although it would require adaptation to account for the atmosphere of whatever world…

Abby’s musings were cut short as the terminal chimed a completion announcement. She paused, one foot in the communal shower (though no one else was awake to share it with yet), and stared in confusion at the terminal. There was only Proxima Centauri b to scan, but a full planetary evaluation should have taken more than just a few moments.

Abby stepped out of the shower and over to the terminal to check her data. She was still standing there five minutes later when the communal shower blared the water shutoff warning, staring at the scans of the seven planets of the TRAPPIST-1 system.

Donn MacBrash woke up in the medical ward and promptly tried to sit up. His legs were not responding, so he put his hands behind himself and levered up to a sitting position. Donn then toppled forwards onto his face, and discovered that the emergency medical droids had amputated his legs at the hip. An explosion of profanity followed this discovery, silenced only when the surgery droids unceremoniously knocked him back out to attach his new cybernetic replacement legs.

Admiral Korekage Supesu started about his new quarters. They were not large by planetary standards, little bigger than the average apartment, but absolutely stupendous by shipboard standards, particularly considering that they were for his personal use alone.

Admiral Supesu shook his head, wondering just what exactly had gone wrong. As he directed the steward bot in the storage of his megar effects, Admiral Supesu had to wonder if it was all some ghastly joke. He had gone into cryosleep two weeks before the Far Strider’s planned departure date, with the rest of the Void Guard command staff scheduled to finish their planning sessions, turn over their commands, and go into cryosleep no later than two days before departure. A check of the Void Guard roster had shown only his twenty five man cutter crew, all with similar rank inflations.

Something had to have happened back in the sol system, but Admiral Supesu had no idea what it could have been to annihilate the Void Guard command structure. There was supposed to have been six cutter crews (of which he was the least senior), and a full general staff headed by an Admiral to command the Far Strider herself until her eventual decommissioning to form the heart of a colony capital.. Now he was the Admiral, and his cutter crew had been promoted all over the place to fill in the staff and command roles.

Donn MacBrash sat in his wheelchair, medical throw blanket tucked around his shiny new legs, and waited in the briefing room. The cybernetic interfaces itched something fierce as they set about interfacing with his nervous system. Donn was still sober, even the anesthetics had been flushed from his system, leaving him clear headed and wishing that he was not.

The medical droids had told him what had happened to his legs: Cyropoisioning. Put into cryosleep too fast, and without the proper preparations, the water in his legs had frozen solid, rupturing all sorts of important things like his bones. Donn had been fortunate that it was only his legs and not his heart, and that the medical bots had been able to save him.

Donn turned his head to stare as a woman walked into the room, her hair still wet from the shower. The utility jumpsuit was not particularly flattering on her body, but the passcard and tools of an engineer of some description marked her as the Head of the environmental engineering team, and the command crew member in charge of the initial planetside efforts to found a colony.

She strode over to him and reached out to shake his hand, “Abby Bain, EE head. And you are?”

“Donn MacBrash, Helmsman. I’m guessing you have questions?”

“Like why we are in the TRAPPIST-1 system instead of the Alpha Centauri system?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind waiting, I’d like to only go through this once, and the Admiral is supposed to be along soon enough. I can’t make enough sense of the sensor readings anyway, too much military jargon in them.”

“MIlitary jargon?”

“Like what?” The young man in the Admiral’s uniform strode through the hatch. He wore it well, for all of the unease on his face. “I am Admiral Supesu. It’s good to meet you Abby Bain and Donn MacBrash. Please pardon me for skimming your records, I needed something familiar to anchor myself.”

Donn nodded, flipping his hand at the large conference table in the middle of the room, “why don’t you two find seats and I can get this over with. Far Strider, can you call up the Code Omega orders? It is as good a place to start as any.”

Abby sprawled in a seat, “Code Omega? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Admiral Supesu folded himself neatly into a seat, plucking at the sleeves of his uniform, “I have. It is a TUCVG code, indicating an attack on the Sol system. Never heard of it outside of drills before.”

Donn wheeled himself to the table, “This one was real enough, issued by your father himself Admiral. Far Strider? Play the recordings if you would.”

“Affirmative Helmsman MacBrash. Playing recorded transmissions.”

The dead Admiral’s voice drifted from concealed speakers, echoing out of the distant past that wasn’t quite so distant for the three people at the table. “This is Admiral Ossian Supesu, commanding TUCVG Cutter Isoroku to all Terran United Countries Merchant Ships (TUCMS) and civilian shipping. First contact has proved hostile and Code Omega has been declared. Make for safe orbits at best possible speed and stand by to defend yourselves. This order is non-discretionary.”

The quiet blip that signaled the end of the transmission recording hailed the change from one recording to another. “Far Strider, this is Isoroku. The hostile contacts out number and out-mass my available forces. Moreover they are concentrated, where as my command is still responding from all over the system. I do not expect to avoid hostile contact, nor to repel the enemy. Accordingly, I hereby order you to make for the exit we discussed earlier at best possible speed. Godspeed, and know that humanity’s hopes go with you.”

Abby Bain and Admiral Supesu were ashen faced with shock, almost unable to speak. Donn wished for something, anything to drink to make the butterflies in his stomach go away.

“I was near the Far Strider when the orders came in, and the ship needed a registered pilot to authorize her departure. TUCMS sent me on-board to hit the needed buttons, given that my fuel barge was already in orbit in compliance with the Code Omega orders...”