Ally or Alien: A Sci-Fi Novel by Mars Dorian
Authors: Mars Dorian
Tags: Science-Fiction, Space Opera, Military, Sci-Fi, Genetic engineering, Alien, first contact, Galactic Empire, Space Fleet, galactic
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seven months of bad weather.
Aiden LaCroix, the tanned anchor wearing a tech tunic on the far left screen, pursed its lips and pointed at the screen as the two astronauts boarded the craft. S/he acknowledged her co-host and sighed.
"You know what's wrong with this holoscreen?"
JoJo nodded.
"Yes, of course, the privileged cis human gets to be the leader again, while his POC comrade gets sidelined to his left. That's a terribly stereotypical setup that doesn't belong in the 21st century."
Aiden sighed but shook her head.
She looked directly at the camdrone.
"Unfortunately, JoJo, it's more problematic than that. You see, there are two representatives of the XY chromosome self-identifying as human, and apparently no one in the Commonwealth cares about this blatant inequality."
JoJo gave herself a facepalm.
"Of course. How could I miss that?"
"Sending two cis humans and no transhuman representative is a crime against transhumanity. What's the point of assessing the so-called 'threat level' of a migrant life form if we haven't eliminated the biggest threat of our civilization—society's utter bias against non-cis humans?"
JoJo nodded.
"This is worse than the Separatist War. Haven't we learned a damn thing?"
Aiden LaCroix finished up the segment with her low-pitched voice.
"No matter who wins in the mission, transhumanity will lose in any case. Please send a message to the NASA Space Center in Houston and tell them what you think of their space team's imbalance. If we shout at the same time, we'll make a difference."
JoJo nodded with new-found energy. She raised her right hand and formed a fist.
"Remember to always punch up, never down."
"This is Aiden LaCroix and JoJo Ming from the Minority Report, the voice of the downtrodden, live from Los Angeles in the SoCal Collective. Stay linked to our newsfeed and receive the latest problematic issues from operation 'Alien Assessment'. For those in danger, PTSD-warnings will be displayed in subliminal voice-overs and soothing fade-ins. Pre-PTSD warnings can be personally requested as premium users."
The two put up their arms and jazz-handed the audience goodbye.
Taurus sighed and switched off the newsfeed.
Enough was enough.
Now the only thing he could do was to cross his fingers and have the boys do their job. The AC's, hell, humanity's survival, now rested in their hands...
18
International Astroport, 1839 hours, CST time.
Bellrock and Dr. Rao stood inside the bridge and gazed at the main section of the hangar bay. The ugly baby that would take them to Mars awaited them. Like most civilian ships in the AC space fleet, the Pilgrim Type-II was equipped with atomic engines, modeled after nuclear-submarines from the ancient WWII. The legendary Nuclear Propulsion System, NPS, was perfected in Israel, and basically consisted of a nuclear reactor that not only powered the thrusters, but also the generators for the electronics and the air circulation system.
Basically a hi-tech sub in space.
Bellrock watched the 45 meter vessel in the bay, as the Astroport crew finished the last checkups with the help of their exoframes. The civilian ship wasn't pretty—a grayish, aerodynamic dagger with a parabolic mirror acting as a light shield to protect the crew from solar radiation, four round propellant tanks, tight-ass living quarters inside, with two twin Savior II nuclear engines attached to the rear hull.
And unfortunately zero point zero weapon systems.
As Bellrock glanced through the wall-window of the bridge, he released a sigh and made sure his nearby partner heard it.
"I think it's a big mistake going to Mars without any defense measures whatsoever. I get the panic over torpedoes and rockets, but we could have at least used some kind of kinetic impactor turrets."
The doctor shook his head and flicked 'captain' Bellrock a dismissive glance.
"The Newtype would detect the turrets the second we neared their sector, which would render our agreement useless
Aiden LaCroix, the tanned anchor wearing a tech tunic on the far left screen, pursed its lips and pointed at the screen as the two astronauts boarded the craft. S/he acknowledged her co-host and sighed.
"You know what's wrong with this holoscreen?"
JoJo nodded.
"Yes, of course, the privileged cis human gets to be the leader again, while his POC comrade gets sidelined to his left. That's a terribly stereotypical setup that doesn't belong in the 21st century."
Aiden sighed but shook her head.
She looked directly at the camdrone.
"Unfortunately, JoJo, it's more problematic than that. You see, there are two representatives of the XY chromosome self-identifying as human, and apparently no one in the Commonwealth cares about this blatant inequality."
JoJo gave herself a facepalm.
"Of course. How could I miss that?"
"Sending two cis humans and no transhuman representative is a crime against transhumanity. What's the point of assessing the so-called 'threat level' of a migrant life form if we haven't eliminated the biggest threat of our civilization—society's utter bias against non-cis humans?"
JoJo nodded.
"This is worse than the Separatist War. Haven't we learned a damn thing?"
Aiden LaCroix finished up the segment with her low-pitched voice.
"No matter who wins in the mission, transhumanity will lose in any case. Please send a message to the NASA Space Center in Houston and tell them what you think of their space team's imbalance. If we shout at the same time, we'll make a difference."
JoJo nodded with new-found energy. She raised her right hand and formed a fist.
"Remember to always punch up, never down."
"This is Aiden LaCroix and JoJo Ming from the Minority Report, the voice of the downtrodden, live from Los Angeles in the SoCal Collective. Stay linked to our newsfeed and receive the latest problematic issues from operation 'Alien Assessment'. For those in danger, PTSD-warnings will be displayed in subliminal voice-overs and soothing fade-ins. Pre-PTSD warnings can be personally requested as premium users."
The two put up their arms and jazz-handed the audience goodbye.
Taurus sighed and switched off the newsfeed.
Enough was enough.
Now the only thing he could do was to cross his fingers and have the boys do their job. The AC's, hell, humanity's survival, now rested in their hands...
18
International Astroport, 1839 hours, CST time.
Bellrock and Dr. Rao stood inside the bridge and gazed at the main section of the hangar bay. The ugly baby that would take them to Mars awaited them. Like most civilian ships in the AC space fleet, the Pilgrim Type-II was equipped with atomic engines, modeled after nuclear-submarines from the ancient WWII. The legendary Nuclear Propulsion System, NPS, was perfected in Israel, and basically consisted of a nuclear reactor that not only powered the thrusters, but also the generators for the electronics and the air circulation system.
Basically a hi-tech sub in space.
Bellrock watched the 45 meter vessel in the bay, as the Astroport crew finished the last checkups with the help of their exoframes. The civilian ship wasn't pretty—a grayish, aerodynamic dagger with a parabolic mirror acting as a light shield to protect the crew from solar radiation, four round propellant tanks, tight-ass living quarters inside, with two twin Savior II nuclear engines attached to the rear hull.
And unfortunately zero point zero weapon systems.
As Bellrock glanced through the wall-window of the bridge, he released a sigh and made sure his nearby partner heard it.
"I think it's a big mistake going to Mars without any defense measures whatsoever. I get the panic over torpedoes and rockets, but we could have at least used some kind of kinetic impactor turrets."
The doctor shook his head and flicked 'captain' Bellrock a dismissive glance.
"The Newtype would detect the turrets the second we neared their sector, which would render our agreement useless
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