The Vanquishers total at 783 presently employed in the Alliance Starmada. We each have a ship, but there are so many of us that the starships themselves vary. There are two main classes, the Dominator and the Harvester. The Dominator is the more battle-oriented of the two, and that made sense given my background as a Wavepilot. The Harvester was stealthy, for seek and retrieve types of missions instead of seek and destroy types of missions.
The v90 Dominator is shaped like the head of a trident. Mine was a golden yellow color, almost like it was made of gold itself, with intricate patterns running across it, cast in a blue metal. As soon as I saw it against the backdrop of the red, white, and black N7 landing bay walls, I was in love with it.
I named it The Pharaoh.
Together we will rule the galaxy, I thought to myself, envisioning myself piloting it straight back to Earth to face the heart of the Solar Union Starmada, with a glorious escort of fighter ships around me.
"Together we will rule the galaxy?" someone passing by said, laughing far too loudly considering my reverie. "Someone has delusions of grandeur." I heard their footsteps slowly drift away, and eventually the laughter. "You could be tried for treason, you know," they hollered back at me.
I ignored them, transfixed on my new baby, and continued my way to the ship's entry ramp.
I didn't know what they expected me to do with all the space in the captain's quarters. I put my squishy baseball on the corner of the white desk, put away my clothes, plugged in the coffee machine, and placed Stuart the Plant next to the baseball. It took me 25 seconds to get settled in.
The ship was quiet. I knew I'd get bored on a ship this size. All I heard now was the occasional metal clink of the hull, almost like an echo, as if the ship were trying to talk to itself through a dripping faucet.
I had a cockpit with five stations for crew and crew quarters that could comfortably fit seven. We could cram up to twenty people in a pinch. It said so on the placard by the door. The ship also had a communications room, a war room / briefing room, a gym, a kitchen, a medical bay, two full bathrooms, a scientician workshop, and a common area with couches and games.
Why would I ever leave this ship? I asked myself, overcome with wonder. As happy as I was, I still felt like an imposter. Wavepilot to Vanquisher. Did that really just happen? Seriously, how could this be my ship?
"Whatever we've done, Stuart," I said to my spiky plant, "it was enough to deserve this. Let's keep telling ourselves that. We deserve this. We earned this." I held my hand out, and Stuart responded automatically, giving me a high five. That's one of the reasons I kept Stuart around. It was like my own little therapy plant.
I spent the next hour jogging around the ship. Yes, I had an exercise room, but I wasn't exercising. I was screaming and laughing and joyously proclaiming to the ship that it was mine.
"This is mine!" I yelled, touching my hand to the wall next to the docking bay. Then I ran down the hall and into the medical lab.
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"This is mine! This is mine! This is mine!" I touched all the equipment I could and made a note to disinfect it later. Then I ran off again to the other side of the ship where the scientician workshop was.
"This is mine! This is mine!" I giggled uncontrollably.
I grabbed a hammer. "This is mine!"
I held it up like Thor and struck a powerful pose in the doorway. "This is mine!!!!" I screamed. And then I tossed the hammer behind me and ran off to the kitchen to touch more stuff.
@bitchfrog found me with my hand in the cookie jar and one cookie hanging out of my mouth. I turned to look at them, my wild blue eyes causing them to noticeably panic. Concern for themselves or concern for me? I didn't know or care which.
"Thss iss mmine," I mumbled at them and held up the other cookie.
@bitchfrog collected themselves, stood straight and tall, a good four inches taller than me, and addressed me formally from her messenger.
bitchfrog: "Lieutenant @bitchfrog, reporting for duty."
I didn't care for formality. Sure, when we all needed to communicate with each other, it would be fine, but I preferred a good (dis)honest conversation, out loud, in my own voice. So, I addressed them in a manner consistent with my behavior.
"Doo youu wampt uh coookie?" I offered them the cookie in my hand, while I continued munching the one in my mouth.
"Do I have to?" @bitchfrog replied, using their voice.
I cheered and raised the cookie higher. Yes! I was thrilled that they didn't "formal" me back and actually spoke to me. @bitchfrog's voice was even-tempered and had a mild pitch that would sound soothing if I was damaged and they were attending to my injuries. I wondered if @bitchfrog had genetically modified their voice to suit their profession.
"No," I said, swallowing the last bits. "But they are very good."
They looked me up and down, and I could see they were wondering if I was actually the Vanquisher running the ship.
"You're in the right place. I'm @kittyboy. Pronouns he, him, kitty." I looked around, more as a gesture to explain my behavior. "Just familiarizing myself with the ship," I said, smirking. "And you, you must be … human!!!"
My yelp startled the human, and they jumped in place. @bitchfrog's light brown bob of hair bounced, and their eyes widened.
How hadn't I noticed before? They were giving only organic vibes. My sensors couldn't pick up on any active robotics within them. Metal, yes, but no functioning qbots, nodes, or mindspark that I could pick up. That could only mean human.
"Yes," @bitchfrog finally said. I could tell they were a little irritated. With me. And for good reason.
I slapped myself. I needed to do better. No micro-aggressions towards the human.
They put their arms down and out to the side, with their palms extended, as if to say, "Here I am. This is me."
"I am human," @bitchfrog said.
I stared at them awkwardly. They had green eyes. They were human. They were tall. They were a medic. I was an idiot.
But why did the Alliance Starmada put a human on my crew? Or, rather, why did they allow me to have a human on my crew? I was most definitely going to get the human killed, and not the pleasant reanimation kind of dead. They'd be for real dead. I die all the time. It's just second nature to me.
I stared at them and futurecasted about our adventures on The Pharaoh. The analytics told me @bitchfrog would make it about nine days before I'd get us all killed. I gulped.
"I apologize," I said as earnestly as I could muster. "I wasn't expecting a human on my crew."
They were less irritated. But still irritated. I waited for the obvious question.
"Well, as it says in my profile, I am @bitchfrog, pronouns she, her, hers, human. Didn't you read my dossier?" She didn't exactly fold her arms at me in defiance or stomp her foot, but those green eyes were … judgmental.
"No, I didn't," I said casually. "I liked your name. I know, making a super strong case for myself. But I swear I'm not an asshole, I'll try not to get you killed, and I'm loyal to my friends. But you have to call me out on orders that could get you killed, okay? I was a Wavepilot. Dying is, like, what I do for a living."
@bitchfrog took that in patiently. I waited for her to say something, but she was still considering.
"Do you still want to be here?" I asked. "You don't have to be."
She responded by snatching the cookie from my hand and downing it in one glorious bite, cookie crumbs falling from her mouth as she walked past me, barely sparing me a glance, and marched off toward the common room.
"Okay then," I said, the smile trickling into my tone as I called after her. "Welcome to The Pharaoh!"