The splintering of glass reverberated around the cockpit. The Toralii energy pulse I had somewhat unsuccessfully tried to dodge blew right through my ship’s armour like it was paper. The inside of the canopy turned crimson, blood splattering against my Heads-Up Display as the decompression alarm wailed. Air hissed out the breach in my canopy, sucking the blood splatter towards it and out into the void, a bloody flower blooming right before my eyes. The wound didn’t hurt, but I knew it was bad. I hadn’t seen this much blood since the accident. It’s the year 2037. My name’s NAME_1, callsign Magnet. I’m a pilot in the Australian Air/Space Force. Right at this very moment I’m strapped into the pilot’s seat of a SSF-01 Wasp with a hole in it . “Magnet’s hit, Magnet’s hit.” The voice of my wingman, NAME_2, came through on my radio. I turned my head to orientate myself with my mothership, the Sydney , and with a faint squeal of static NAME_2’s voice inexplicably cut out. I was alone, floating in the darkness, my spaceship venting atmosphere and my blood pouring out all over space. My radar, one of the few functional systems I had left, showed three red dots break off from the main furball and swing towards my ship. The Toralii were coming to finish me off. Dying was going to really mess up my day. ***** My fellow pilots call me Magnet, short for Chick Magnet , good old-fashioned military humour at its finest. I’m a pilot in the Australian Air/Space Force, working with Task Force Resolution.We’d been given the task of assaulting a mining colony. It was thought there might be human prisoners there. The Tehran had gone missing and there was a good chance the Toralii were using its crew as slave labour. It was thought that the colony would be unprepared and lightly defended. The moment the Sydney appeared in the Lagrange point near the Toralii mining colony we attacked, capitalising on the element of surprise. Our Wasps shot out from the Sydney ’s launch tubes, banking and turning down towards the colony. They had an active patrol up and we flew straight towards them, hungry sharks who scented blood. I got an early lock, letting off two missiles the moment I had good tone. We always ripple fired. They called them miss- iles, not hit- iles, and we wanted to make sure we hit our target. Both missiles went straight in, striking the centre of the Toralii bird in quick succession, causing the ship to burst into a bright pinprick of light against the backdrop of space. A pretty good showing for my first day out. Space was clea