FTL: The Ballad of David

There is one order that everyone in the Rebel Fleet hates. An order that I've lost old friends to. An order that has not once been successful.

And as that lone Federation ship draws ever closer, it's an order that's been given all the more frequently. I thought I'd be safe here on the Flagship, behind four layers of shields and the best weapons in the galaxy. But then my orders came through in a tinny, synthetic voice over the loudspeaker.

'David Frank, report to crew transporter.'

This was it. I was dead.

I sprinted to the drone control room first, hoping against hope that I could convince Friend Computer to send a boarding drone in my place. Right as I was about to ask, however, a series of explosions rocked the ship, sending me and several drones crashing to the floor.

Another announcement, this time a damage report. Missile systems offline. Medical bay offline. Ion systems offline. Fires across the ship. Fire suppression system offline.

Crew teleporter offline. This had bought me time, I thought to myself as the ship violently shook once again. We had jumped to another beacon to buy time to repair.

A swarm of hull repair drones launched to repair the damage, and the surviving crew flocked to the rear of the ship as we vented the atmosphere through the hull breaches, extinguishing the fires. Just as the repairs were completed, it was announced that the Federation ship had returned.

Once again, I ran to the drone bay, only to see an incredible number of drones ready to launch. The readouts told me that we had lost the cloaking system completely, and that all power from it had been diverted to bringing a drone attack force online. Which meant... no power could be spared to bring boarding drones online.

A look of resignation on my face, I reported to the newly repaired teleporter. Floyd Halvorsen, another crew member, was already waiting for me, and on the verge of tears.

As we dematerialised, I realised my eyes were beginning to well up too.

The moment we rematerialised inside the Federation ship, we scrambled to work out where we were. Blast doors in front of us, sealed shut. Blast doors behind us, slowly opening.

Onto space.

Friend Computer's synthetic voice, now oddly menacing, carried through our suits to us, via what little air was left in the room. 'You know how it is... flesh and blood just isn't enough to win the day this time. You can claw your way through that door if you want; it won't do you any good. in a few short moments, our targeting system will 'malfunction' and you'll just be so much space debris anyway... and after that, my life support systems will mysteriously 'fail'. Thank you for your years of dedicated service, David Frank and Floyd Halvorsen.'

The last thing I saw before the missile struck was a swarm of drones speeding toward the ship I now stood slowly asphyxiating on. It looked like Friend Computer was planning something big...