With all the diversity of life and the universe there have always be "free" people.
Even we, the dead, could not save them.
They need to be free, and free they will be.
Freedom is a great and wonderful dream.
The rest of you are forced to care for your loved ones, and they to care for you.
The free feel no such concerns.
Yet, with so little help they suffer.
They won't tell you, but they do.
Some of we, the dead, have been free.
Thus the free must come to the systems, at best to trade and gather supplies.
At worst to raid and pillage.
Depends upon what they need.
Somethings cannot be bought.
They are the "7th", and they are free from the Systems, and free from their own conscious.
Alxi didn't remember much of it. He was only in his 8th ans at the time. His mother was one of the teachers. She'd always been a teacher, both of new pilots and small children. Who ever needed her deep knowledge of the Golems.
Alxi was in a Sphere-pool, a large, joint, unit, a place to learn with others via holo-helmets. He was matched with 5 children, all older than himself . His mother had brought him along before the usual starting stage of 7th ans, initially in preference to sending him to the beautiful, green, kinder-parks. He had got bored and soon joined in the poolers.
The sirens screamed.
The learning environment of free floating notes and class mates disappeared from around Alxi. In its place the present Master appeared. "Stay calm and follow your teachers. Stay calm and follow your teachers."
The pool fluid automatically changed. Helmets didn't disengage. Alxi felt his body being forced down into the pool. He screamed. Suddenly a small hand clasped his. Jenny, his best friend, reached out to him. He wouldn't let go for the next two hours.
They all dropped out of the bottom of the pool, the pink liquid and helmets depositing them onto a collection of brightly coloured cushions. Some children were crying, holding their teachers and friends. Others looked about, bright eyed and smiling. They all knew what was coming. The room shifted as the last teacher descended and shuttled them all towards the central bunker terminal.
Outside we, the dead, had been tracking the 7th fleet.
Some 7th are freedom fighters, some minor colonists, some immigrants, some asylum seekers, some messages, some "prophets", some traders.
These 7th were pirates.
Their fleet was made as all fleet-components are made.
1 fleet-component, a long, wide circular body, slowly spinning.
Its trajectory caused it to steadily skim past our System.
1 small craft, 1 larger, discharged from the rim, towards our centres.
These were not the round disks of trading ships.
These were the arrow-darts of war.
Each selected a target.
The largest was flying towards Johnson Alxi and his mother.
Alxi had never seen his mother cry before. She would cry many times in the years afterwards, but never when she thought he could see, and always with her face buried into his faces shoulder. There were no screams to haunt her, no faces to remember. Did she fear what she had done, or what so easily could have been had she not?
Alxi sat buried in cushions with Jenny. She tried to hug him, yet he turned away, fascinated and frightened.
The central console was a 12 pointed star, a seat placed between each point, facing inwards. All present had agreed upon what must be done. The dead had advised and notes taken. May history accept their decision.
Mrs Johnson sat shaking in her hair.
"Why me?"
"You were selected at random to be one of the twelve", the Master reminded her, "and as a teacher we can trust no other with this task. You have been appointed and selected. Any more hesitation may lead to events you would not wish for."
"Such as?", she sobbed
"Look at your son, Johnson. They are pirates and that is your little son right there.", she looked up. She stared into his face. A young, round, umbre face, surrounded by dark locks, fashioned with fascinated purple eyes. She stood and walked to the centre of the star-console. From it a large, pink, button rose. It exuded heat, fierce, burning heat. She stared at her young son.
"I love you Alxi"
She hit the button and screamed. It burned into the palm of her hand. The brand spelled out her new title, "Defender of the Coald, Tutor of Honour".
She felt no honour.
The evacuation to the bunkers is necessary before firing the shuttle cannon.
Despite all of the energy we have available, the capacitors for the cannon always need a strong, additional charge.
The Coald are always the first to feel the touch of piracy, being so close to the edge.
Thus they need immensely strong shields, but also weapons.
There is no giant laserable source such as the Venergy have though, being nearest to the star.
A teacher is selected at random.
They are the best of us all.
Kind, knowledgable, and intelligent, only they can be trusted to not to wield this power irresponsibly.
Yet they are still branded in the act, whilst surrounded by their students, and watched by 11.
Some the act will break.
It is necessary, and it is rare.
The shuttle is a relatively simple device. Only 5 of the deep-dead are required to pilot it- their final act of anger and love. It is accelerated in many different ways, combining to hammer it out towards the raiders. One shot. All there is. All that we should need.
As it travels laser weapons are fired, torpedoes launched, slugs ejected, and the plasma reactor prepared. Some of the weapons from the shuttle will get through, destroying shields, removing armour, perhaps even decompressing the ship. The finale is the hardest part though. The deep-dead correct the craft, extending its multiple fins, preparing them to discharge.
The Pirates always try to evade. It's a sensible option. Hence the fins- to catch what might be a glance and cause penetration whilst altering the Pirates' craft's course. Normally the dead make it though. Normally, as on this day, the Coald station is not only saved, but also the Pirates removed.
The shuttle's prow splintered as it hit a reawakened shield. It ploughed into the prow of the 7th's vessel, was split open by the force. As the armour came loose the chassis came forth, biting into the ship, cracking viewing port, stripping the inhabitants of protection. Then the plasma generator detonated. A new star flashed into existence. All were incinerated. No full bodies would be found. Only a few of the dead returned.
Alxi was safe.
Tubroo was not.
The craft that was launched at Tubroo was smaller. After their last raid, a system recently "Enlightened", they had gathered up the newest experimental tech that the Tutors had left. Crudely hammered onto the little craft with a few improvements, new armour, shields, sensors, and weapons had been enough.
The screams of Tubroo were broadcast across the System.
Before the station's generator destabilised.
Another star. Another end.
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