“Do what you can to stop them, Robert,” Onvelor said, brainstorming for ideas on how to be rid of the hackers. “Once I’m finished up here, I’ll do what I can do eliminate the rest of the intruders.”

The main concern with the hackers was that if they accessed the ships security control, they could not only deactivate the rayshields, but shut-down security protocols in general; leaving The Future Spirit’s interior clear for the U.E.S. to spread-out and take control—minus Onvelor, of course, who would pose quite a difficultly to them.

“Understood, sir. I will deter them for ALAP.” ALAP was the way Robert said ‘as long as possible’. “And I am ready to seal the hatches you mentioned.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Onvelor replied, putting the front of the RPG launcher through the Gatling gun’s defense shield.

He put his left eye to the scope, and guided the front of the Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher to point directly down the enemy docking tube.

His trigger finger curled around the launchers release trigger. He squeezed, sending pressure into the weapons fire mechanism.

The hand-sized RPG soared from the launcher—straight into the docking tube.

Now, this wasn’t just any RPG. This explosive projectile had a micro detonation-timer onboard, one that could be primed while still within the given launcher, or manipulated wirelessly while in flight.

The current projectile-in-question had been primed to detonate five seconds after it was expelled from the launcher, giving it just approximately enough time to make it three-quarters of the way through the U.E.S. docking tube.

It did just that.

Approximately three-quarters of the way down the tube, the micro detonation-timer reached zero, setting off the shrapnel-packed explosive payload in the grenade housing.

“Mark!” Onvelor yelled at his wrist com. “Seal the doors! Seal the doors!”

The RPG blast shattered several feet of the docking tube, shrapnel and explosive slicing it into two disproportionate pieces. The Future Spirit buckled as the connection between it and the enemy ship ceased to exist.

The fierce vacuum-pull of airless space rushed upon the shattered docking tube, sucking life-support-generated oxygen out into the dark oblivion.

Onvelor flung himself at the right wall, grabbing onto the closest traction-supporting surface.

The equipment he had brought began lifting into the quickly-thinning air, the force of the pull threatening to take the entirety of the expensive arsenal into space.

The bodies of the fallen U.E.S. soldiers were already gone, never to have a proper burial ceremony.

‘What the heck are you doing, Robert?!’ Onvelor thought, death-grip the only thing keeping him alive. ‘Shut the doors already!’

His thoughts were momentarily answered by the pneumatic hiss of heavy blast doors sealing the area exposed to the space vacuum from the rest of the passageway.

He dropped to the floor as the passageway’s normal gravity returned, gasping to regain his breath.

Onvelor’s wrist com spat static for a few seconds, and then Robert’s Droid voice came through.

“Sir! Are you well?”

He was fine, save for being out of breath and slightly shaken. Though what he told Robert came out much different than an update on how he was fairing.

“What the heck happened?!” Onvelor nearly shouted into the wrist communicator.

“The systems automatically rebooted to deter the hackers, as is security protocol onboard The Future Spirit when foreign technology attempts access into the computer mainframe. I was unable to close the doors for several seconds until the computers came back online.”

‘Horrible timing,’ Onvelor thought as he got up from the floor, steadying his legs under him.

He briefly surveyed the passageway; finding every piece of weaponry and the automated carrier unit to have disappeared—all except one of the rifles, which had apparently been cut in half by the closest blast door, as its front half was lying partly-mangled on the floor nearby.

Judging by this observation, and the weapons Onvelor still had on him, he remained with only a single assault rifle, a dozen extra ammunition clips, a few grenades, and two commando pistols, out of his original stock.

“What’s the status on our intruding friends?” Onvelor asked, starting down the passageway in the opposite direction of the dead-end.

“Sir, the U.E.S. forces are certainly not our ‘friends’. Your terminology is flawed concerning—”

“Shut your droid trap and give me an update on our enemies.” Onvelor hissed.

Robert complied. “They have breached another door and will soon have access to a passageway intersection. I approximate the boarding crew is twenty strong, excluding the technicians.”

“How long until they reach the bridge, assuming it’s their target?”

“A good half-hour, sir, if they keep up at their current pace.”

“Fine. Open up a few of the doors on the portside so I can go wait to greet them.”

“By ‘greet’ you mean to emphasize that you are going to incapacitate them permanently when you meet, correct?”

“When did you get to be so technical? Yes, I’m going to stop them.”

“’Stop them’ is a kind way of saying ‘kill them’, yes?”

“Just open the doors, Robert.” Onvelor sighed, rounding a corner. “And quit it with the technicalities of my wording, this is no time to lose our heads.”

“I apologize, sir. Emotions should be irrelevant to me, but my advanced Evolve programming can succeed in galvanizing me on occasion. Opening the doors.”

…

‘Ready when you are, U.E.S.’ Onvelor thought as he stood at the ready in the passageway intersection to the right of the blast door which would be sliced through by U.E.S. units at any moment. He double-checked his one remaining assault rifle and secured a grenade in its built-in launcher.

Silence hung in the intersection for several moments. Then sparks erupted from the door and it collapsed off its frame onto the passageway floor.

Two U.E.S. soldiers stepped through, weapons drawn. They never had a chance.

Onvelor efficiently dropped them with four rounds from the rifle, turned, and fired the grenade into the corridor they had come from. It skimmed the heads of several soldiers who were behind the first two and flew into the passageway. Two seconds later, it detonated.

Onvelor dove to the side and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed the second-lead U.E.S. units propelled by the blast into a far wall.

Flames already licked from the intruder’s passageway and the moaning of survivors drafted to Onvelor’s attentive ears. He put two rounds each into the men who had flown into the far wall and proceeded to inspect the intruder corridor.

The corridor was obviously damaged from the grenade blast; smoldering metal, flames, electric sparks from broken wiring, and a number of charred bodies lay about. Once again, the scent of burnt blood came to Onvelor. The remaining survivors were either injured, disoriented, or both.

As Onvelor was scrutinizing the passageway, a laser bolt suddenly skimmed the side of his head—so close it singed an eyebrow and proceeded to burn a notch out of his left ear. He put a hand up to his ear at the pain, but stifled any audible indication he was hit. He looked down the corridor and saw a U.E.S. soldier struggling against a wall into a standing position, pistol gripped tight in his free hand. The man was burned and areas of his armor were scorched black by flame.

The soldier coughed onto the floor, composed himself, and said, “That… was a warning shot. Put down your weapons or the next one…. Will do more than take a piece of your ear off.” The man had his pistol trained on Onvelor, and there was very little doubt he would hesitate to pull the trigger if necessary.

Onvelor was confused why this man would even bother to give him a warning shot. The soldier could have easily killed him right then—one laser bolt to the forehead and he was gone.

‘Peculiar,’ Onvelor mused. ‘Perhaps this man has the heart of compassion for even a murder… Like myself.’ He decided to comply with the merciful soldier’s wishes, for the moment.

He dropped his rifle, unholstered his pistols and let them clatter to the floor next to the rifle, and removed the bandolier strap.

The soldier waved his pistol. “Hands where I can see them.”

Onvelor raised his hands up above his head and assumed a stoic position. “Can I ask you a question, soldier?”

“What kind of question?”

“Why would a soldier of the U.E.S. practice mercy on a criminal?”

The man paused. “… Maybe because I have orders to take you alive.”

“After all the men I’ve killed?”

“What difference does it make to you, murderer? You’re alive, aren’t you?”

‘Sometimes I don’t know if I really am anymore.’ Onvelor thought.

When Onvelor didn’t say anything, the soldier continued. “Look,” he said, briefly glancing at the floor and sighing. “Just because I’m U.E.S. doesn’t mean I think like they do. I hear you have strong beliefs against them, I get it. But I’m my own man, and in my book, mercy is sometimes an honorable trait. You’re a murder, yes, but even murderers can be redeemed.”

“What is this? You’re holding a gun and preaching to me now? This is truly impossible. I don’t care what you’ve got to say. And you can tell your boss, Wotes, that he won’t have to worry about me for much longer; one more deed and I’m damned for all it matters.”

“Reinforcements will arrive in moments. You’re coming aboard the Jurisdiction. No more people will be damned today.”

“If you’re so sure about that, than tell your people to pull out and take your fleet back to friendly space. Because if you persist on taking me to your ‘Jurisdiction’, a lot more people are gonna get damned, no matter what you say about it.”

“And how would that be?”

‘Pacifist time is over, I suppose.’ Onvelor thought, and dove into the unsuspecting soldier, slamming him up against a wall and relinquishing him of his weapon.

“I kinda like you, soldier, but I apologize if I’m reluctant to lay my plan out for you.” He whacked the U.E.S. unit hard over the head and let him crumple to the floor. “However, I will let you live—for now.”

Onvelor retrieved his gear and jogged back into the intersection, pressing himself up against a wall next to the opening for the intruder’s corridor. He could hear shouts and the sound of boots running against metal. The next round of U.E.S. troopers were coming in.

“Robert, I have a plan, but you’ll be the one to carry it out while I take care of the intruders.” He semi-whispered into his wrist com. “It is imperative over all else that you succeed. I give you this one final order—carry it out.”

“Sir?”

“Listen, Robert. Circumstances have changed.” Onvelor explained. As he spoke, the U.E.S. became closer. “Using the self-repair system you should be able to reconfigure the remaining main engines with hyperdrive. It would be a one-time use and you would lose The Future Spirit’s engines as I predict they will completely burn themselves out. But it should work.”

“Sir, even if I could reconfigure the engines in time, which I am in the process of, we are still connected to an enemy vessel. And unless you were to… sacrifice yourself… I calculate it is improbable we will disconnect from the enemy ship in time and thus achieve clearance for a jump.”

The voices of U.E.S. soldiers were very close now.

“The game has changed since I placed the first piece. And now, at this unexpected turn, I will place my last.” Onvelor checked the clips on his pistols and primed a grenade in the assault rifles launcher. “Initiate contingency plan S.B.-3/5, override code password: Eighth Hope.” Onvelor cocked his rifle, and prepared himself. “Don’t fail me, Robert. Get those pods to safety, no matter the cost…. My life no longer matters, so this is my final deed…”

Onvelor turned around the corner with a commando’s speed and released a fierce strafe of bullets on the enemy.

“…Don’t let it be in vain.”

Another U.E.S. unit appeared within the scope, charging down the docking tube from the far side as speedily as his legs could take him.

His legs couldn’t take him fast enough.

The sniper rifle discharged, instantly sending a moderately large projectile into the soldiers’ heart. He collapsed, his main organ incapacitated by the lead shell.

‘That’s three,’ Onvelor thought, as the sniper rifle auto-reloaded itself. ‘What are they teaching these idiots? You aren’t gonna get past a sniper in a docking tube by running headlong at him; all you’re gonna do is get yourself killed.’

After fighting off the initial boarding force, Onvelor had assumed the role of sniper (while remaining at the position of the Gatling gun) and was eliminating enemy units before they could barely reach the midway point in their docking tube.

His precision was immaculate, owing to the lengthy hours his father (a renowned gunmen and expert marksman) had trained, tested, and taught him the way of the ranged weapon. No one in all the systems had shot better than his father.

Had.

The sniper rifle discharged again, felling Onvelor’s fourth sniper-kill.

At this rate, he wouldn’t need Robert to activate inner security and put the ship in lockdown; the enemy couldn’t even put up a good fight, much less set foot in The Future Spirit—the farthest these U.E.S. troops were going was their own docking tube.

“Sir,” Robert said through Onvelor’s wrist com. “One of the other cruisers has moved into position on the port side, and their docking tube is about to attach to the port docking hatch.”

“Shoot.” Onvelor mumbled under his breath. So much for being optimistic. “Another complication.” Then, in a louder voice, he commanded, “Lockdown the ship in that area and put security defenses in affect as well—but only on the port side.”

“Will do, sir.” Robert replied, then ceased the link.

Onvelor, barely paying any mind to it (as he was attempting to decipher the question of how he was going to defend The Future Spirit when enemies were trying to board and take it over from both docking hatches), shot the fifth attempter of the rush-through-the-docking-tube-headlong-at-the-sniper tactic, making his sniper-kill count one death higher.

His hopes of success in getting the Journey-class starvessel out of this was slowly decreasing.

U.E.S. Cruisers showing up, destroying his hyperdrive capability and almost entirely rendering the ship immobile, surrounding him, and finally, sending boarding crews—soon to be through both docking hatches.

One problem after another; and not a single one of them had been resolved. Yet.

Perhaps it was time to commence more… Drastic methods.

And by drastic methods, Onvelor was considering the use of a hand-sized explosive projectile, and the sheer unbreakable pull of the vacuum of space.

…

After felling one final trooper who had decided to test his luck against the man’s impeccable marksmanship, Onvelor rose from his place on the floor, sniper still set in position to drop anyone stupid enough to continue what their comrades had started.

Truth to be told, it was to his advantage that these soldiers were half-wits when it came to boarding techniques and sniper-evasion, but he still pitied the obvious lack of training in this department the U.E.S. troops possessed. You’d think their superiors would teach them better. Apparently not.

It could in part be due to the haste at which soldiers were being trained, designated, and thrown into service of relatively late, having very little time to absorb it all and going out riddled with all the information of combat training. The United Earth Sector Leaders were heartless, political and monetary-gain based megalomaniacs who looked out for nothing more than their own sorry hinds. This could be another reason for The Empire’s lack of full-training for their military units.

All the Leaders wanted was to get basic-trained troopers out there, and if they succeeded in their missions and assignments—regardless of the death count—the luxury-engulfed men-in-charge were perfectly happy.

It sickened Onvelor, and he would do almost anything to bring the Leaders crashing to their graves. Maybe then The U.E.S. Empire could become something more than a conquer-all-and-forsake-honor- based people. The Leaders had so much negative influence.

Now, not everyone in The Empire was evil, nor wrong. Some were just caught up in it all, supposed to think the same as the majority because they lived or worked (or both) in the same communities as those who believed in what the Leaders, and The U.E.S. Empire itself, were doing day-to-day. Some believed as Onvelor did; that the Leaders needed to be put out of commission—permanently. And once they were gone, the hope was that things would change for the better.

Of course, the ultimate end of the corrupt heads of The U.E.S. was just wishful thinking; no hostile threat to them was getting anywhere within several klicks of their ‘precious’ capital bunker. Yes, they lived in a desolate, highly-fortified bunker on some who-knows-where U.E.S. controlled planet. Cowards.

They knew some anti-Empire people wanted their decapitated heads tacked on a wall. Smart, one would suppose, that they fled to a more safe and secure location. But also cowardice.

A typical quality amongst megalomaniacs—cowardice. They wanted all the power, all the money; but at no risk to their own life and limb.

Another thing that disgusted Onvelor, cowardice.

If you wanted something bad enough, you would stand and fight for it. Not these Leaders. They wanted it all, but they wouldn’t even get off their sorry hinds to do anything about it.

Politics had gotten them to their positions, and now they could just sit back and have others do all the work. Though The Empire disclaimed the obvious fact that this was coming on the boundaries of dictatorship, it wasn’t obscured in even the most minimum of senses that its Leaders were becoming dictators.

It could be easily seen how Onvelor would oppose such a government (if calling it a government was even palpable). Pretty much the entirety of what they did appalled him, and went against every moral standard he possessed.

Undoubtedly, this still didn’t justify all of his own actions—not in the least from his perspective.

Onvelor Jou Dematin had more to answer for than he could possibly ever remedy.

Now he grabbed up the RPG launcher, and after momentarily checking it, came back to the Gatling gun position.

What he was about to attempt was insane in any right-minded human beings book; but following the ‘drastic’ mindset of the present situation, a little insane may just do the trick.

“Robert, on my mark, seal starboard docking hatch passageway blast doors one through three,” Onvelor spoke into his wrist com.

“I await your order, sir,” Came the Droids voice through the com. “Might I inform you of something before you proceed, though?”

‘Better be quick,’ Onvelor thought, believing he didn’t have a great deal of time until more U.E.S. units began assaulting again.

“Give it to me quick,” He said, subsequently arming the RPG launcher. A projectile locked into place within the launcher, and the ‘Armed’ symbol appeared on the tiny built-in screen.

“Defense has held on the port side, and only two blast doors were breached by the enemy, mostly due to the rayshields, as they’ve played a large role in the keeping their slicers at bay. Unfortunately, they secured the hatch entry-point, and have brought techies onboard.” Robert paused a moment, as if waiting for something. His silence didn’t last long. “Sir, our systems are being hacked.”

Onvelor cursed under his breath.

‘Perfect,’ He thought. ‘Just perfect.’

A fusillade of penetrator torpedoes had impacted The Future Spirit.

“The Future Spirit’s primary engine has been destroyed, taking two secondary-engines with it, and the main starboard engine took moderate damage in the process!” Robert called, still over the computer console, having somehow remained standing through the massive shock that had coursed through the ship. “We have lost the ability to make the hyperdrive jump with the damage sustained, and the rear shields are compromised.”

‘Not good.’ Onvelor thought, rising from the floor with a grunt.

“Was the powercore affected by the blast?”

“Negative.” Robert answered. “The powercore is emitting no unusual energy readings, and was unaffected by the barrage of torpedoes.  The failsafe shield became active upon the first volley of laserfire, and absorbed the area of the blast that would have decimated the core.”

“And the Stasis Field generator?”

“Also unaffected.”

‘Well, that’s an up.’ Onvelor thought. ‘Though the problem still remains that without hyperdrive capability, we’re a sitting target for that fleet.’

“The enemy ships are now almost upon us, sir,” Robert informed. “It appears as though the command ship intends to board us through the portside docking hatch, judging by their present course.”

“Well, then I believe I will go down there to greet them,” Onvelor said casually, and began strolling towards the elevator lift. “Activate inner defense and security systems, seal all doors, and lockdown the ship, on my mark.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

Onvelor strode into the passageway which had the docking hatch at the end of it, stopping a large handful of yards from the actual hatch. The hatch marked a dead end, having no other passageways connected to its location but the one Onvelor presently stood in; the perfect place to fend off a boarding crew.

The automated carrier unit behind him stopped as he did, and subsequently, Onvelor turned back to it, and began looking over the arsenal of weapons he had picked up from The Future Spirit’s onboard armory before coming to this passageway.

Four commando-issue assault rifles, thirty grenades (designed especially to produce maximum shrapnel), a high-grade fan-spray-enabled flamethrower, one heavy-issue sniper rifle (which is ‘heavy-issue’ because of the large, heavy rounds it uses), high-quality RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) launcher, two rapid-fire commando pistols, a single (which was more than enough) highest current available grade in quality, firepower, and efficiency tripod Gatling gun (which featured a built-in shield producer, which generated a protective shield that defended the Gatling guns user from enemy fire from the front), and also a large amount of extra ammunition (clips, etc.) for each weapon; this was the arsenal he brought to fight off the evidently-to-come boarding crew.

‘If this doesn’t cut it against a boarding force, nothing on this ship will,’ Onvelor thought, beginning to pull out weapons and gear to prepare to setup the equipment he had brought.

…

Within minutes, Onvelor had his defense point setup complete.

The Gatling gun occupied the middle of the passageway, and would serve as Onvelor’s main weapon until its ammo became exhausted. (It was also prime choice to place it in the middle, as its built-in shield generator would provide good cover, even when the weapon could no longer fire.) Two of the assault rifles stood against the right wall, while one remained in the automated carrier unit, and the other Onvelor had swung over his back. The flamethrower was set against the left wall, a little bit back from the position of the Gatling gun. (Onvelor supposed the flamethrower to be a purely backup weapon, and would only use it ‘if so necessary’.) The sniper rifle was laid against the carrier unit, and in a position that would allow Onvelor to quickly grab it up and put it to work when it was needed. All the grenades (minus six, which were attached to the bandolier Onvelor had over his shoulder) still rested in the carrier unit. The RPG launcher was on the ground next to the right wall, and also a little bit back like the flamethrower. Both commando pistols sat at Onvelor’s hips in holsters.

Extra ammunition clips occupied Onvelor’s bandolier with the grenades, and a few more clips also on his belt. (The clips on the bandolier were for the rifle, the ones on the belt for the pistols.)

The rest of the extra ammunition had stayed in the automated carrier unit, or was placed around the defense point in strategic positions.

“Robert,” Onvelor spoke into his wrist communicator. “How much longer until they dock onto the ship?”

“Moments, sir.” Robert answered through the com. “Their docking tube is moving into position to attach now.”

Onvelor quickly set himself behind the Gatling gun, positioned its business-end directly at the docking hatch, activated its onboard shield, and steeled himself for the coming firefight.

The sound of the enemy docking tube locking onto The Future Spirit resounded through the passageway, silence following. That silence was speedily eliminated by four trails of flying sparks creating a large circle on the hatch door, and then, marking the beginning of the firefight, that cut part of the door crashed onto the passageway floor, a U.E.S. soldier stepping through it.

That man would never see another sunrise.

Immediately as the soldiers foot touched the passageway floor, four projectile Gatling rounds dug into his body, felling him instantly.

“Projectile weapons?!” One of the soldiers behind the one who had been killed exclaimed.

The Kkkkkkgkkk of the Gatling gun continued as Onvelor poured projectile rounds with the tripod-mounted weapon into the hole the U.E.S. units had made and the still-intact area of the door, felling many more of The Empire’s soldiers and tearing the docking hatch door to a smoking mess of bullet holes.

Following those moments of fierce slaughter, Onvelor ceased fire, and his current weapon-of-choice’s rotating barrels slowed to a stop, thin trails of smoke rising from their hot ends.

Dead corpses lay about; some crumpled on the floor of the passageway, others lying within the docking tube; all of them with lead shells buried into various areas of their lifeless bodies.

The scent of freshly spilled and burnt blood began intoxicating the area, letting it be known that a multitude of men had met their bullet-inflicted end.

The first boarding team had been successfully repelled.

Onvelor knew this kind of scene more than he appreciated—he took no pleasure in killing others; he only did it when he had to, or when the people he had the choice to kill or leave-be were jeopardizing his own well-being or the well-being of something—or someone—he intended to protect.

The large spacecraft before The Future Spirit bore the ominous symbol of The United Earth Sector Fleet (U.E.S.F.) on their hulls, a sight Onvelor cursed as he realized who had discovered the Journey-class starvessel.

Robert had rushed over to one of the many computers in the M.C.B. moments after The U.E.S.F. ships had come out of hyperspace, and now said, “Sir, we are being summoned by the lead command ship.”

Onvelor wasn’t in the mood to chat with members of an empire he detested, though a short conversation with the commander of the fleet could buy some valuable time.

“Raise our heavy shields, prepare all weapons to fire, and set our engines on standby for hyperspace jump into the nearest Asatran system.” Onvelor ordered, turning back towards Robert as he said these things.

The Asatranian’s were another dominate empire that controlled many of the systems The United Earth Sector forces did not. The U.E.S. and the Asatran empires were well-known for the dislike of the other, considered as rivals in the conquest for greatest control.

In this instance, Onvelor knew he could use their differences to his benefit. But first he would have to buy Robert enough time to prepare The Future Spirit for the jump.

“Shall I patch the U.E.S.F. transmission through as well?” Robert asked, just about to begin the tasks Onvelor had instructed.

“Yes. Patch it through.”

Robert turned back to the computer, and after a mere few seconds, the U.E.S.F. transmission was patched through to The Future Spirit’s Command Bridge.

A large hologram flickered into existence before Onvelor, a U.E.S.F. Fleet Commander appearing on it from the shoulders-up.

He looked to be in his late forties to early fifties, with greying hair, a minuscule beard, and lightly-tanned skin. His eyes, a green shade, locked onto Onvelor as the communication link came fully online.

The man spoke before Onvelor had hardly any chance to do so himself.

“I am U.E.S.F. Fleet Commander Grassion Wotes, commander of the secondary U.E.S.F. Outer Fleet.” Commander Wotes announced. “You are hereby ordered to surrender yourself and your vessel by the authority of The U.E.S. Empire. Resistance will not be dealt with in a kindly manner. Prepare to be boarded.”

It looked as though Wotes had said what he needed to, and was about to cut the transmission.

Onvelor, keen on keeping the transmission alive to buy time for Robert, spoke up before the Fleet Commander could break the communication link.

“Under what charges are you exercising this authority?” Onvelor questioned, keeping himself stony, his voice even, and the rock-solid emotion on his face indifferent. He knew the answer, but following his current mindset, it was purely a stall tactic.

Grassion Wotes returned his glare to Onvelor, and returned, with some slightly perceptible annoyance, “Under the charges of level-7 theft of U.E.S. Empire Scientific Research property; the Voluntary manslaughter of multiple U.E.S. Security Units and personnel; illegally hacking into a U.E.S. computer mainframe; allegedly harboring enemies of the U.E.S.; breaking and entering a U.E.S. facility, and several other less-notable crimes. You are also a dangerous extremist, and must be put in your place to prevent more ill-looked-upon incidents.”

“I see,” Onvelor said, betraying nothing concerning the fact he already knew the entirety of his crimes against The U.E.S. Empire. “You know who I am then?”

“Onvelor Jou Dematin; extremist, proficient scientist in many fields, eccentric adventurer, and infamous terrorist against The U.E.S. Empire.” Wotes replied.

Onvelor chuckled to himself on the inside. The Fleet Commander had done a fine job of describing him in the basics of his persona, and it amused him.

“This is what your empire believes me to be?” Onvelor returned, keeping himself serious in outward appearance and action. “An eccentric extremist?”

“Moreso you are an infamous terrorist; one The Empire has no further patience with.” Wotes countered, his demeanor now obviously portraying his annoyance towards Onvelor and the conversation. “And abiding to that lack of further patience, we will board your ship and you will become a prisoner of The U.E.S. I recommend you concede. The Empire is unforgiving; especially to you.”

With that, the Fleet Commander cut the transmission; the hologram before Onvelor disappearing into the nearby projector units, and leaving Onvelor himself to look out upon the U.E.S.F. Warships which were quickly closing in on The Future Spirit.

Onvelor looked back towards Robert, who was standing over a computer console, and asked, “Is everything I instructed you to do complete?”

“Yes, sir.” The L.aE.A.I. Droid responded. “Heavy shields are operational, weapons active and ready to fire, and we are set to make the hyperspace jump into the nearest Asatran system.”

“Excellent. Make the—“

The Future Spirit suddenly jostled violently, nearly knocking Onvelor off his feet.

“Sir! Our engines have been hit by a volley enemy fire!” Robert exclaimed, intent upon the computer console before him. “Some of the impact blast breached the shields, though very minimum, and the engines took only slight damage.”

“Can we still make the jump?” Onvelor asked with urgency.

Robert pressed a few things on the console in front of him, and after a moment replied, “Yes, we are still capable of—“

Another violent rumble shook the vessel, this one much stronger than the last.

It sent Onvelor to the floor with its ferocity, and as he collided with the hard metal which his feet had rested on moments ago, he knew the cause of the terrible rumble the ship had sustained.

Onvelor inspected the smooth, perfectly crafted, black-polished pods situated neatly against the wall to his right. Each stood to approximately six feet in height, two feet in width, and one-and-a-half feet thick.

He walked slowly along the line of pods, studying them in the darkened room by the dim light that gleamed off each ones black surface.

The quiet sound of his shoes lifting and falling back onto the floor (which was made out of a black, smooth material) was the only audible sound that rang through the almost entirely pitch-black room as he made his way along the wall of pods.

To be exact, eight pods lined the wall adjacent to Onvelor; each holding a precious treasure.

His step soon fell at the last pod in the row; one he treasured most.

He looked into the front of its perfect surface, though his sight could not penetrate through the black-polished shell.

He longed to see what was within; but knew that if opened, the precious treasure held inside would not be preserved. And it was his greatest wish, that the contents of these pods be preserved.

For a time was coming where they would remain the only hope.

Onvelor, after staring into the impenetrable black pods surface for a few moments longer, walked back the way he had come, and with a heavy heart, exited the dark room.

He entered the empty passageway outside the room, and promptly following, the thick, multi-layered door sealed behind him, locking shut with a resounding metallic click.

His step now rung through the weakly-lit passageway, which walls, ceiling, and floor were comprised of dull-grey colored materials, and barely lit by fixtures embedded in the walls and ceiling.

He led his step towards the nearby elevator lift, which he was quickly coming upon.

Coming upon the lift, he pressed one of the line-shaped buttons on the panel next to the lift door, and awaited the transportation unit.

It arrived moments later, and the door slid open, allowing access into the cylinder-shaped elevator lift, which styled the same, dull-grey materials as the empty passageway and was equally dim-lit.

Onvelor, after boarding the lift, pressed the button on the inside of it that would bring him to the Main Command Bridge (M.C.B.)

The lift door slid shut with a brief hiss, and then began its journey to the M.C.B.

Seconds prior, the lift halted to a stop, and its door slid out of sight to give way into the M.C.B.

Onvelor stepped into the Command Bridge, which was empty and unoccupied, minus the unique-looking droid that stood awaiting him.

“Onvelor, sir.” The droid greeted in its computerized voice.

The droid, standing at about six feet tall, was comprised basically of two legs, two arms, body, and a human-like head that had a screen embedded into the front, which generated its pixel-built face of two square eyes and a mouth. Due to its basic appearance, it was sub-classified in the humanoid class of droid.

Its exoskeleton was a collection of white plates and panels, designed and crafted specially to accommodate to its shape and the shapes of its various parts and components. Some of its parts under the panels and plates could be seen, (those parts and components were black) and this was mostly because the collection of parts that made up the exoskeleton were designed to offer the droid a fair amount of mobility.

It was an L.aE.A.I. (Learn and Evolve Artificial Intelligence) Droid, which Onvelor had conveniently nicknamed ‘Robert’ as an alternative to calling the droid by its proper name, L.aE.A.I. 26-MAS. The droid preferred to be called by ‘Robert’ anyway.

“Robert,” Onvelor acknowledged, walking to the front of the M.C.B. with the droid a step behind him. “I trust you put The Future Spirit in the state I instructed?”

The Future Spirit was the Journey-class starship they were aboard, positioned in deep space to prevent detection.

It was a good vessel—approximately the size of an average blockade-class battle frigate—designed for extensive space travel and self-sustained preservation of itself, and more importantly, its cargo. The spacecraft could last several thousands of years without need of manual repair, refueling, or navigation.

Simply speaking, with its self-repairing system, self-regenerating (theoretically infinite) power source, and Robert as its navigator, the ship could last alone in the abyss of deep space theoretically into many of the next millennia.

Everything onboard was automated, and soon its entirety would be controlled by Robert, who would soon become the worthy ship’s new captain.

“Yes, everything is as you instructed.” Robert replied, following Onvelor’s question. “The Future Spirit is currently using the least possible power to run its systems properly, and the Stasis Field generator is prepped and 84.05 percent charged; it will be ready for activation in approximately 2.1 hours.”

The Stasis Field generator was an advanced component of the Journey-class starship, and a vitally important part concerning the vessels purpose.

It also took a considerable amount of time to be in a position to activate; thus why Onvelor had ensured it was being made ready long before the appointed time it would need to become active.

“Good.” Onvelor said, stopping before the M.C.B.’s forward viewport, which gave him the ability to see out into the lifeless space outside the ship. “Once the Stasis Field generator is ready, I will leave this ship in your hands. I trust you are able?”

“Of course, sir.” Robert replied, confidence within its droid voice. “I shall protect this ship and ensure that it is in entirely working order to my highest feasible capability.”

“And you understand the time to return to Altritious?” Onvelor further questioned.

“1:00 PM, August 1, the year 7319; approximately 4000 years from this day.” Was Robert’s answer.

“Excellent. Make certain you do not stray from that appointed date to return.”

“I will make most certain, sir; but what shall be my course of action if attacked or discovered?”

“You have little to fear in that aspect,” Onvelor answered, having confidence that where this ship was soon going would extinguish all possibly of it being discovered, until the set date when it would return to Altritious. “And if such an unlikely case were to happen, the ship’s database holds all the information you would require to counter or take a course of action not previously in the plan, that yet would still keep your mission intact. As well, I have a data chip that I will give to you, in which carries the instructions for the failsafe plan in case the ship is—”

Onvelor stopped short as three large ships exited hyperspace in front of The Future Spirit.