Blueshifted butterflies with deadly wings, the ramships keep coming.
Nobody knows who they are, or what they want, but after the first one impacted and took out Ganymede, we aren't taking any chances.
The Doppler distorted skies surround my singleship as we engage in the slow motion dance of death. At relativistic speeds, an eyeblink manuver takes hours to watch back home.
It's been four weeks up here. One hundred seventy years on Earth.
A chime rings out, and I plot an intercept course, rushing to defend the home I have already lost.
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© J. Glenn Peterson. Do not distribute.
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