Hello! I wrote a story for you to read. c: I wrote it on Google Docs here if you don't like how this forum handles paragraphing. "Who are you?!" The voice translator module crackled. "You have entered Apex subspace territory. Identify yourself or be destroyed" It'd said. The pilot sat quietly by the communicator, microphone in hand. What does he tell them? The truth? How could he, when he can barely admit it to himself? It had been a eight year long trip, but thanks to cryogenics, the pilot felt like it had been hours. The memories were still fresh in his mind, and their voices still echoed through his subconscious. Nobody remembers for sure when it started. Perhaps it was an experiment gone wrong, or an act of terrorism, or maybe it was just badly programmed nanomachines. The virus spread fairly quietly, between the networks of space stations littering the galaxy, and it wasn’t until Iris Delta IV closed off their borders that people realised the problem on their hands. The first time he heard of it, the pilot was in a convoy of ships transporting food to the poverty-stricken planet Glork III. The ‘Grey Virus’, the news radio said. “What a dumb name,” critiqued the pilot, sipping from his space-coffee. He wasn’t worried; he was fairly confident in his health, not realising that it wasn’t a biological virus at all. After the delivery, the pilot turned his ship around to return to Marvis VI for his payment. As his ship jumped into hyperspace, the radio caught his attention. “Glork III is the latest planet known to have been contaminated by the virus,” the radio said, “All travel to and from this planet, and any other contaminated planets, is hereby banned under galactic law.” The pilot sat in the cockpit of his ship, the information slowly sinking in. Had he accidently delivered contaminated food to a starving planet? Or was it perhaps someone else in the convoy? The pilot’s internal line of questioning was severed, however, when the radio spoke aloud it’s next words: Varcus Station. The pilot bolted upright. “I repeat,” echoed the radio, “All travellers heading to Varcus Station are ordered to avoid the station with extreme prejudice.” The pilot stared at the space-radio. Varcus station. That’s where he departed from beforehand - and where he was intending to stop next. Pulling the space-brake, the pilot halted his ship. “What now?” he thought. He was expecting a large paycheck for the last delivery, but it looks like that’s not happening any time soon. The radio spoke up once again. “The Galactic Assembly has declared this case a class five emergency. Travellers are encouraged to check their destination for health warnings immediately before every trip.” The next months would be the most stressful ones ever for the pilot, and indeed, for most other citizens of the galaxy. Ferrying refugees left and right, paranoidly checking the hyperweb for live Virus reports. It seemed like it was the end of the galaxy. About seven months later, the pilot found himself nervously sitting in his ship, docked at one of the stations furthest from the virus. As he surfed the hyperweb, he found it bursting with voices from quarantined planets, all crying out in vain for one last rescue. In the recent months, all space travel had been banned except for specifically licensed vessels carrying refugees. The Galactic Assembly had decided all was lost, and were gathering refugees in their billions at the outermost space stations of the galaxy. They intended to brave the void and escape to nearby galaxies. However, there were too many quarantine breaches, and the virus continued to spread to all known inhabited planets - and most stations, too. Suddenly, an alarm. The pilot jumped to his feet, his heart nearly leaping from his chest. No, not an alarm - an alert. Someone was contacting him. The pilot picked up the communicator. “H-hello?” he stammered. It was the authorities. There was one more planet yet to be contaminated by the virus - Chiron VII - but not for long. As one of the owners of such a large ship, it fell to him to help collect and transfer refugees from far away planets to the evacuation points. The pilot was too nervous to decline the mission. How could he? The authorities would likely have seized his ship if he declined. He put his communicator down and sat in the pilot’s chair. One last rescue. Then they would leave the galaxy. Simple enough ...He hoped. The ship was barely into hyperspace when the pilot received the message - there was no time left. Chiron VII had been quarantined. The evacuation of the galaxy had begun, as ships departed into the void towards their new home. The pilot panicked. He pulled the space-brake as hard as he could, and realigned his ship back to the station, hoping for the best. As he arrived, the pilot was greeted with a broadcast from the station - there was no space on the station for any more refugees, but they were still piling up outside the station. The pilot alerted the authorities that he was ready to take as many refugees as possible - but it seems his fears had come true. One of the refugee ships arriving at the station had been infected. The pilot sweated profusely as the authorities explained the situation to him. There was no time left. He had an important decision to make. “Prepare for boarding!” the miniknog officer shouted at the soldiers. “Teleporters online. Secure the ship and disperse any hostiles.” the officer turned to the technician and nodded. The technician took up the radio and began counting. “Teleporting in… Six. Five. Four! Three! Two!” A bright blue light filled the room as the soldiers teleported in. It was unusual for a ship to not have a teleporter - but not unheard of. The apex soldiers split into two groups and assumed formation against opposite walls, wary of any dangers. The ship was silent but for the humming of the machinery that powered it. The two groups of soldiers proceeded through the ship, using each and every corner as an opportunity to ambush any hostiles, but always finding their efforts unnecessary. It felt like a ghost ship. It was the second team that first heard it. They rushed into the cockpit of the huge, empty ship. On the floor by the communicator sat the pilot, whimpering alone in some unknown language. The soldiers lowered their weapons upon seeing the distressed pilot. The leader of their group approached the pilot, seemingly the only person on the ship, and asked him a question. “Who are you?”
