The Ship Is A Seed. It Pushes Itself Out Into The Dark On A Needlepoint Of Light, A Shaft Of Lightning

The ship is a seed. It pushes itself out into the dark on a needlepoint of light, a shaft of lightning between so many stars. So many stars, and many, many more worlds. Dead worlds. The seed cannot grow in their rotten soils, cannot nourish its precious cargo under toxic skies. Making a world livable takes far too long and leaves the caretakers vulnerable, easily picked off from predator or circumstance.

So the seed rushes on through the night.

A long time ago, it’s destination was chosen. A blue and white world hugging a warm, yellow star. Vibrant. Beautiful. It is alien, no doubt— the gravity is heavy, the air a bit thin. A singular, lonesome, lifeless moon dutifully orbits this faraway place. But: it is alive. And that’s all that matters. Changes can be made to something already growing, already in bloom.

So the seed continues. It’s crew hibernates in cavernous interior, a sea of bodies and armor and purpose, sleeping dreamless sleep in an ocean of iron, glass. A crew of warriors and builders, planners and tacticians. Soldiers sprinkled with farmers, engineers. Deeper in the belly of the ship lie faint, pearlescent potentialities that will foster politicians and artists, zealots and masters. When all is ready, when everything is secure, they will emerge under bright, new yellow sunlight.

The machines are awake. From sprawling giants to minuscule scuttlers, they maintain the mission. Moving. Thinking. Changing. This seed has been rebuilt nearly a dozen times in its travel, streamlined and perfected, remodeled to better suit one parameter or another across impossible distance. A journey of many centuries requires such deftness, and so in their cold, beautiful way, the machines do what they must. Even now, as they draw near to a lonesome star, they prepare. Behemoth foundries sift out potential-nothings from the void, weaved and embroidered down to the atoms, into weapons and vehicles. Fortifications kilometers in size are built and grown, assembled in prefabricated pieces for ease of deployment. Silent, shining armies of star-iron await in cavernously dark hangars; ready to set foot on a new world.

The ship is a seed. A gamble. They will never see their homeworld again, never hear of its people. When the soldiers within awake and disembark, they will be alone with only themselves and their task for comfort, for direction. The mission must succeed. It must. The ship is a seed, and it sails through the dark.

Each day, among a backdrop of endless darkness and shimmering cold starlight drops, a point of light grows brighter and brighter..

- extraordinarily powerful handheld weaponry that is equivalent to orbital bombardment, stellar annihilation, etc. portable shielding allows both point-control and force projection against enemy forces. Mounted weaponry on exoskeletal support structures (anti-vehicle/WMDs), ultra heavy gravitational melee weapons that pinpoint, focus, and concuss/cut/shatter targets (warhammer/sword/etc). Nanotechnology resupply lines which actively harvest and manifest ammunition, fuel, etc, all from within enemy lines. Interconnected networked AI and augmented senses for extreme adaptability, walking battle wagon (see single soldier doctrine).

- Single soldier doctrine dictates hyper-lethal apex combatants that can operate as one man campaigns deep in enemy territory with little to no need for resupply, support, etc. Fireteams, special operations, and shock troops are devastating to entire solar systems, and standing armies (while not deployed for millennia) are essentially mythical in both invincibility and complete force dominion.

- rank as we know it does not exist. Experience is valued above all else. Completed missions and campaigns ensure continued modification, mutation, augmentation.

Her eyes shine like predatory gaze, caught in the unflinching light. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Blood down her lips. Fresh, with the heat of life still so present it makes the winter air steam in small and frail ribbons. Frailer than the pumping, slowing heartbeat in the chest of her prey. Red-black splashed down her face, throat, breasts. Smeared elegantly.

Flexing fingers curled. Taloned. Dexterous in intimacy, fatal in killing: one united art from. She will not be conquered, or tamed. No mastery here in the wild, in the frightful dark under uncaring stars.

The eyes stare back. Cunning moons set in dark skin. Alien. Infinite.

The woman is afraid.

Her breath is erratic and heavy, glowing eyes wide with terror like frightened moons. Blue-black hair, wild and long, whips back and forth, this way, that way, as she struggles.

The snare holds her in a contorted vice. I can just barely see dark, fresh blood against her pale skin in the moonlight. Grievous wounds for anyone ordinary.

She is anything but ordinary.

Each footstep I take is cautious. Hands spread and raised, eyes lowered, trying to maintain even breath even as my heartbeat thunders.

Slowly.

She struggles, harder, clawing at unforgiving metal and damp earth.

I have to help.

My hands pull at chains, toothy hooks. Twine sharp as a blade cuts at the skin of my hands. Metallic teeth glinting in darkness.

Pull.

Push.

Twist.

Break.

The snare gives in with a crack, collapsing into a deflated heap, and my eyes barely register impossible motion as the captive leaps past me faster than any mortal human could imagine. I’m alone in the dark under endless stars and canvas black night, warm blood on my fingers, mystery in my mind deep as the sea.

I turn, stand—

From the darkness peer eyes bright as pale moons.

A hand reaches out, gentle and ferocious at once, inviting in friendship just as much as challenge.

I take it.

- jet pack/thrusters

- personal modular fusion reactor

- electromagnetic shield projector

- directed energy wrist mount

- exoskeletal enhancement systems

- psionic magnification array

- cleaver/sidearm

- gravitational grenades

- stealth systems (invisibility/warp)

- regenerative second skin

Teeth at my throat, fingers in my hair. A voice chill as the winter we’re in, every breath and gasp and pleasurable sound we make turning the air steaming.

Hissed encouragement, the pulse and roar of blood, fingertips hot as flames.

Words and sentences vaporized, coherent thoughts obliterated, my mind sparking, dying, lost in each ravenous entanglement.

The snow is everywhere, frigid, beautiful. Bare trees claw up at the endlessly dark night, and the stars watch us with envy, feeling each motion, each buildup of pressure, each erupting release.

The sky turns. The Moon soars.

Teeth at my throat, fingers in my hair.

It never ends.