anon-terminal

I awake to the Hazard Automated Response Protocol alarm sounding a hull breach. My psychotropic core has fully activated my quantum thought servers and I spend 3.498 seconds running a system diagnostic. The HARP has already vented atmosphere and sealed bulkheads adjacent to the breach, and I count 19 crew vitals at flatline or unavailable. In all likelihood they were unable to reach their atmospheric protection suits before the breach, and it is likely that their deaths are a direct result of my automated system venting oxygen. My system diagnostic has completed and I spend another .593 seconds processing the data. Catastrophic systems failure occurred 2 minutes prior to my restart, most likely as a result of the impact of the plasma round that caused the hull breach. Engineering is operating at 34.2 percent, Weapons is operating 85.4 percent, and my 14th Marauders have been brought to combat readiness and are standing by to board or be boarded. Someone has scored a direct hit on the bridge, and I note that my now crippled command elements make up 12 of the 19 crewmen and women who perished in the initial strike, including Captain Silvano Rossetti. For the second time since beginning my duty as a Dreadnaught of the Star and World Observation and Reconnaissance Division I feel rage.

>would you like to know more?

[Y] or [N]

[Y]

Enter
>you have selected: [Y]
>receiving..........
>decrypting.........

My Combat Readiness Center has been running an active radar sweep of the area, no longer passively scanning the surrounding space. Our two Halifax class light cruiser escorts are lost with all hands, and I am receiving several distress signals from our battlegroups remaining frigate and Manhattan class battleship, as well as the civilian transport carrier we were escorting. They are venting atmosphere and under immediate enemy fire from 3 Lgontic class Hathalic cruisers. The civilian ship is broadcasting open mic on all channels, the captain’s panicked voice showing sharp contrast to the disciplined requests for help issued by the Naval vessels attempting to draw fire away from the civilian transport. My command crew has died, and I divert an auxiliary server to scan my personnel files in order to located the next ranking crewmember qualified to command the ship. As a SWORD sanctified Ticonderoga Class Dreadnought, I can operate without the need for a command crew under circumstances such as these, and I intend to avenge my fallen. I notify the ship that I have taken command, and as my individual units onboard respond in the affirmative, I bring every single weapons system online.

>would you like to know more?

[Y] or [N]

[Y]

Enter
>you have selected: [Y]
>receiving......
>decrypting......
>final transmission received

Weapons sends their access codes and I dutifully grant release of all munitions, both nuclear and kinetic. The Kingfisher nuclear torpedos are loaded, and I quickly make inventory of the rest of the arsenal, which includes plasma high ROF repeaters 14 through 103, missile clusters 1 through 85 and 96 through 102, 4 meter close bombardment cannons 9 through 27, and finally my star killers; my 2 twin barreled 10 meter hypervelocity MAC autocannons mounted above my main deck and below on my war hull. I hear the screams as the Hatholic cruisers punch another hole in hull of the civilian transport, I send my simple battle response transmission on all channels, drowning out my dying comrades and ensuring the enemy picks up my broadcast: “This is Dreadnought 103-ARS, of the SWORD Battlegroup Alamo, callsign Ares. All SWORD vessels are to immediately break contact and fallback to safe distance.” The remaining ships break away from the enemy and beat a hasty retreat to the wayppints I provided, while the civilian ship is no longer responding to my hails. I do not detect any life aboard, and it is adrift in space, surrounded by chunks of its hull and former crew. I briefly mourn the loss of my command crew and the civilian vessel I was created to protect, but now is not the time for empathy, so I disable my ‘humanizing’ protocols. My ‘brain’ fills with satisfaction as I reach my target destination, locking my firing solution into all weapons platforms. My scared hull shudders in exhilaration as every loaded munition is fired in a glorious cacophony of silent inferno in space; and as my guns sing their death song, I am rapturous.

<end transmission>