Welcome back to the Union's hottest late night show this side of New Alexandria! I'm your host Amanda Skylift and I'm glad to see you all here tonight! In recent news, High Marshal Cornelius was able to secure the Shok'to'a trade route through Algan Republic space. I mean, glory to the Union and all but I think the only shok'to'a-ll (shock to all) of us was the fact that he could pull it off with a haircut straight out of Grease. You guys remember Grease?
Several audience members raise their hands.
Yeah! There we go! Man, you know call me old-fashioned but the 20th century? That was the stuff! A time mark by both near-unmatched political turmoil and the use of exploding dinosaur bones for transportation.
There was a mild laugh from the audience.
Anyhoo, tonight we have quite the show for you folks! We have the sta-
The holoscreen dissipated into thin air amid flickers and distortions emanating from the emitter. Brantley Johnson slowly rose from his graphene-infused microfiber-coated self-cleaning couch. All of this technology was getting to him. nothing he touched wasn't covered in a nano-compound. Nothing he breathed was ever fresh or unfiltered. The last time he ate non-synthetic food was two years ago when he was promoted to Fleet Admiral and took a brief holiday to the recently-terraformed Sol II: Mars. Once he was done reminiscing, his attention was drawn to what was outside his window. Thousands of tiny lights and iridescent signs adorned the horizon. The nebula visible from the northern hemisphere of Mantac VI is truly something to marvel at. Indigoes and purples performing an intertwining ballet that would take billions of years. only slightly below the stars were several-kilometer-high star-scrapers that housed thousands of people in a single block. The dichotomy between the high population density and the splendorous view was one of the defining traits of Corvax. The former, however, was responsible for less-than-satisfactory living conditions. These included the occasional power outages that Brant experienced every time he tried to watch Spectrum Spectator. Regardless, he was up now. Might as well enjoy a night on the town/city/megalopolis/ecumenopolis.
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Johnson proceeded down the hallway towards the elevator. Once inside, he noticed that the walls were scuffed up considerably more than they were the day before. granted, the self-healing alloy was doing a good job at making sure that it was near unnoticeable, but you don't become a Fleet Commander for being unobservant. He thought nothing of it for the moment, however. He exited the mega complex and drank in the incessant humming of bustling maglev cars. "Where should I go tonight, ol' buddy?" Brant queried as the simple-minded AI flickered to life on his wrist-worn exonet terminal.
"Based on your previous activity today, I would suggest visiting The Crow. Their traditional atmosphere may appeal to you." his wrist broadcasted to his earpiece.
"Well, at least it's nice to know I have at least one personal stalker." Brant retorted as he began following the walking path that appeared on his eye contact. "You know what? Screw the power outages. Sightseeing is good enough for me." Brant exclaimed, in his head, of course, as he looked upward toward the mixed-use residential/spaceport buildings thorugh his living room window.
Amongst the towering metallic behemoths were countless airships and starships. linear streams of civilian vehicles patterned the sky in a multi-planar grid. At a more eye-level height, holographic screens littered the sides of buildings advertising and broadcasting various news outlets and the latest technology, including the newest models of exonet-interfaceable wearable tech. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man with a rather distressed look on his face. He couldn't help but overhear his exclamations. "Wai- whoa-whoa-whoa," he turned to a passerby near him and continued, causing them to stop and listen out of courtesy, "You're telling me they just came out with another Terminal?!" Brantley allowed himself to giggle for a little bit before regaining composure. Regardless of the view, the smoggy air was definitely taking away from the whole "pizzazz." With a clearing of his throat, Brant activated his lung air filter implants by tapping his chest thrice. He began his trip through the sidewalks, marked by holographic barriers that ran along the ground and shoulders of the street. People flanked the former officer on right, an almost constant flow. There seemed to be all sorts of people in this town. Brant couldn't help but internally cringe when he saw a man walk by with a VR visor on and his purple hair animated by the nano-gel he had obviously put in which gave it an obnoxiously glossy look. Not to mention how it was practically greeting the public with how much it was waving.
"Good evening, sir. Might I interest you in some-"
"Ah!" Brant shot back immediately after the holographic salesman materialized from the building wall beside him, noticing how people had stopped around him, "I mean, ahem, shut it, tin can!" he finished with an awkward attempt of a suave look on his face. Although, as a GTU Fleet Admiral, he had great control and an authoritative stature in the helm of a starship, he was another story in public without his crew. But that was for another time; this holographic Billy Mays was still here.
"I apologize for the intrusion, sir." It sarcastically responded. Since when did AI's have attitudes? "Suppose the best I can do is hope it isn't Vex and carry on." Brant half-joked. He had noticed a decline in his drive recently after he was put on temporary military leave. I mean, why else would a goddamn Fleet Admiral be living in such a dirty, overpopulated, and power-outage-prone area? He couldn't complain, however, considering he was caught smuggling small amounts of nano-gel from the USS Archer infirmary to the prison on Ceres on his way back from Sol II with his whole crew. Alcohol is a hell of a drug, huh? the 78-year-old man was a kind-hearted individual but sometimes he went a little overboard when it came to seeing others injured. In this case, let's just say prison fights could get rather nasty.
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a large group of people gathering below one of the aforementioned public holoscreens broadcasting news. This one seemed to be displaying the Union News Network. There was a woman standing with her hands cupped around her nose and mouth. She bore a petrified expression as an image appeared next to her displaying what Brant recognized to be the tyrum homeworld with an ominous object orbiting it. Whatever it was, it had to be at least the size of the North American Commissariat in diameter. Its accents of red defined the rod located within its rotating ring. The footage showed the object increasing in brightness until the unspeakable occurred; the object fired what appeared to be a laser directly tangent to the planet's surface. From the point of impact, a red wave could be seen spreading in all directions, leaving in its path nothing but molten metal and minerals.
In a matter of seconds, what was the safe haven for the race that nearly wiped out humanity without retribution became nothing more than a series of continent-sized chunks of rock. The crowd was shocked. Some cheered, some gasped, but most remained silent. Brant was one of the many who stood speechless as they gazed at the death of an entire alien race. There was nothing he or anybody else could do as they let the implications of this historic moment set in.
Humanity had developed the galaxy's first planet-destroying weapon. They had achieved one of their largest goals: revenge. But there was one question the great civilization had failed to ask itself: at what cost?