A planet-sized fruit opened its eyes above the fleet. Every ship is waiting for your order.
A homepage that plays like the main menu of a console game. Pick a menu and a cinematic film carries you through the flagship to the next room.
Three phases, one fleet. Read the plan, then report to the bridge.
Every jump, signal and order is kept here. Pick a slot to load it.
At 04:12 ship time the outer ring picked up a pulse: forty-two beats a minute, steady, coming from the red giant.
We thought it was an echo of our own engines, so we cut every engine. The pulse kept going.
Recorded by the night watch. Nobody slept after that.
Forty-eight ships answered the call. They came in formation and held at twelve thousand kilometres.
The briefing room ran the plan nine times. Approach, contact, return. Nine times, the same answer: we go in together.
Supply holds are full. Morale is better than the coffee.
The commander came aboard without ceremony and went straight to the window.
“It is not attacking,” the commander said. “It is listening. So we will speak carefully.”
All channels now route through the bridge. If you have something to say, say it there.
Projects, bookings, partnerships. Send one message and the bridge will answer.