Escape to Camberia Virgo
The battle itself ended in the blink of an eye. The whole ship felt like it had heated up, steaming hot. In just a few seconds of brief exchange, four enemy vessels were vaporized instantly. The sheer power of the 1GW pulsed lasers was terrifying. Watching those massive ships melt away on the cameras was downright horrifying.
"Enemy vessels four silenced. Combat terminated, Admiral."
White replied in her usual flat tone, as if nothing had happened.
The sight of those ships melting under the 1GW lasers was still burned into my mind, impossible to shake. Of course, I didn't have the luxury to zone out like this. Those small-scale forces were almost certainly a scout or patrol unit. If whatever main fleet was out there noticed contact lost, they'd send a much larger force here without a doubt. Which meant we had to run now.
"White, can we exit the system?"
I asked her with a serious expression.
Being in the Proxima Centauri system meant interstellar travel to exoplanets was commonplace here. So FTL drive was probably standard tech.
"Gravity rupture engines online. What course shall we take?"
White asked without missing a beat.
She was asking where to go, but I had no good answer. Why? Because my head was blank on navigation data. All I could do was tell her to handle it. But since she'd traced our route earlier, heading to any specific system carried huge risks. So my order was simple.
"Implement Cole Protocol."
I said to White with a playful smirk.
It was one of the UNSC's key tactics from the Halo series—designed to hide Earth's location from the Covenant, who out-teched humanity but aimed to exterminate us. In short: "Triple-check all nav data is wiped before engaging." "When bugging out, avoid Earth or population centers—retreat to random coordinates." And "If capture is imminent, self-destruct." Since my earlier "Cortana" quip had landed, maybe this one would too.
White listened quietly, hovering still for a moment. No face, but it felt like she was glaring at me with utter disdain.
"Initiating self-destruct sequence."
She replied in a firm, matter-of-fact tone.
"No! That's not it."
I shut her down instantly. Not blow ourselves up!
"Then I'll purge all ship data, including myself."
White shot back playfully, like she'd been waiting. She was enjoying this now.
"I meant random coordinates. Sorry. Really."
I surrendered. No more jokes. Just do what I ask. A mere blue orb, yet I could swear I saw a smug expression on it. AI had come so far—it felt familiar, not creepy. Probably from messing with GPT and Gemini back home.
"Generating random coordinates. Brace for impact."
White finished her brief explanation.
I buckled the safety harness on my chair. The ship accelerated in a flash. The screen showed speed climbing slowly from 48 knots to 144 knots. That was 6 AU per day—roughly 35% lightspeed by simple math.
Soon the ship shuddered violently, like hitting a meteor. I tensed, eyes on the hologram. The incoming data had switched to "UNCONFIRMED."
"Inert space entry successful. Engaging leap drive."
White said in her deadpan, routine voice.
As her words ended, the shaking stopped. The speed display shifted from knots to "c"—starting at 0c, then exponential climb, blasting past 1c toward 100c.
"Where are we headed?"
I asked White.
She displayed coordinates on the screen in front of me.
96.1, -35.3, 135.6
Camberia Virgo
If memory served, that was Lambda Virginis in the Virgo constellation—"Camberia." Hard to imagine exoplanets there, but confirming one 187 light-years from Sol was like finding a needle in a haystack. At least with a metal detector, you had a shot; this was picking a specific grain of sand from a beach. Of course, in this FTL future, it was doable.
"How fast is this 'c' speed here?"
I asked White, no point pretending to know. After her quick battle calcs earlier, this was basic.
"Measured as light-years per hour. Per doctrine, this ship's max solo is around 100c. In fleet ops, average 30-40c. Solo, we could cross the galaxy in 42 days."
White said casually, like she'd predicted the question. She hovered quietly before me.
"Admiral. I'll brief the current situation. Given your cognitive disorientation, I believe full disclosure is warranted—permission?"
She asked earnestly, dead serious.
I hadn't expected her to take initiative. No reason to refuse.
"I was about to beg you. What's the deal here?"
I replied, equally serious.
White unfolded a galactic map on my hologram. Vast swaths labeled "UNFG"—United Nations Federal Government. They controlled most of the galaxy. But even within their territory, unfamiliar names dotted small pockets—tiny compared to UNFG. Were we an advanced civilization?
One small zone read "Autonomous Government Territories."
"History lesson later, Admiral. Currently, UNFG faces massive invasion from an hostile extragalactic force 20 years ago. Early on, they seemed like dust, so UNDF dubbed them 'Dust.'"
White expanded the map, showing red dots advancing from galactic edge along arrows.
"Stellar Year 542—the last confirmed intel. Over three years old now."
She switched to current map. UNFG territory was nearly gone, remnants clustered near "Autonomous Governments." The rest was red—labeled "Dust" in crimson.
"What... the hell..."
I muttered, voice shaking.
"By 523, ~4 quadrillion souls confirmed. Now, unestimable—not from abundance, but destruction. Planets razed, admin infrastructure obliterated, Sol system and central UNFG gone—population uncountable."
White stated coldly, laced with regret.
My brain couldn't process. How to even grasp this? Cosmic horror for real?
"In this mess... what can we do?"
I asked White, trembling.
Twenty years—not short for humans, enough for a kid to grow up. But galactically? A blink. Most of the galaxy wiped in seconds. No way a civ building this ship folded without max resistance. They'd thrown everything—every resource—for 20 years, and crumbled. One incomplete ship like us? Doomed.
"Admiral. Sol may be ash, UNFG collapsed—but the galaxy is vast. Survivor planetary govs remain, defense forces unbowed."
White persuaded firmly.
As she finished, the ship lurched—FTL exit vibes. Data flooded back. Jump over.
But post-jump, what now? Run more? Radar lit up yellow everywhere—friendly, unlike battle's red.
What the—?
"This is Camberia sector defense force, do you copy? Repeat: Camberia garrison sector defense. Copy?"
Static-heavy transmission, faint voice laced with hesitation.
Random-jump system hailing us—hit me with mixed feelings.
"UNSS Covenant. Loud and clear, Camberia."
White snagged the weak signal, replied crisp.
Faint cheers crackled back—like they'd been waiting.
"We're stationed at Artrix Station, mining outpost in the asteroid belt. Will guide you in. Follow traffic control."
Voice quavered, but brimming with relief.
"Confirmed. Complying with traffic control."
White replied smoothly, drifting toward me smugly.
"To your earlier question—cliché, but my calcs confirm: We give hope to survivors. Like sister ships UNSS Everest and UNSS Mariana out there somewhere."
She said gravely, clearly for my ears.