Snippet #2642026

"We were beset by the dastardly scourge of the stars that pridefully calls itself the Femenazi Federation, or Union or Alliance or whatever." The Captain waved his hand, dismissing the importance of their exact title. "They demanded we subject ourselves to boarding and seizure, I told them to go to Hell, and then a second spacecraft attacked. They collided, and now we're putting as much distance between ourselves and their burning carcasses as possible." The door finally closed and the elevator began its descent. "That's a wonderful suggestion, Araina. Whatever damage they did, let's try to make them supply the repairs as much as possible." He waited impatiently for each floor to be reached and for the elevator to slowly empty. He had to address the passengers to stop general panic (or attempted mutiny) before he could deal with his invaders.

"Unfortunately I predict you'll find similar working conditions aboard the Recidivist Saint." A three-fold insult. Martin crossed the room to the bank of computers and electronics on the right-middle side. There was a plush chair collecting dust the synthetic doubted would comfortably fit their over-sized new recruit. "This is your station," he declared. "So when you're told to get to your 'battle station,' this is what the Captain is talking about." He spoke very slowly, like he expected the concept to be too complicated. "Understand?"