Diaries of Terra: Pneuma

Focal Point

Pneuma Aerial.

July 5th, 2176 - The holographic display flickered, casting an eerie blue light across the sterile white of the cockpit. Terra, bathed in the golden glow of its sun, seemed impossibly distant. A pang of longing shot through me. Home. It was a word loaded with meaning these days, a weight that pressed down on my shoulders with every passing moment.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years since the Terran Union, a fragile alliance cobbled together after the Great War, had been forged. Two hundred years of uneasy peace, punctuated by skirmishes with rogue space pirates and the ever-present threat of the Manifold Republic, a sprawling network of alien races with their sights set on Earth's resources.
And today, on this supposed day of celebration, the anniversary of that very peace, it all seemed to crumble.

The Terran Union, in a misguided attempt at centralization, had stripped the outer colonies of their defensive forces, leaving them vulnerable. Now, with whispers of a rebellion brewing, the news of an unidentified aerial militia near Little America sent a jolt of fear through me.

Little America. A jewel in the Terran crown, a verdant paradise purchased from the Manifold Republic decades ago. It was a symbol of hope, a testament to our ability to coexist with other species. But now, it was a target.

"General," the crisp voice of my aide, Ilana, cut through the tension. "We've received a confirmation on the unidentified militia. It appears to be a splinter faction from the Inimicus Colonies."

My stomach clenched. Inimicus. A collection of rogue colonies on the fringes of Terran space, notorious for their warmongering ways. They'd never reconciled with the loss of Little America, their claims of ancestral rights fueling a simmering resentment for generations.

"Have they made any demands?"

"Affirmative, General. They're demanding immediate surrender of Little America or face annihilation."
A cold anger coursed through me. Intimidation tactics. Typical Inimicus. We won't surrender. Not an inch.

"Prepare a response, Ilana. We will not bend to their threats."

A tense silence descended upon the cockpit as Ilana relayed my message. The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. Then, a new alert blared on the console.

"General! We're picking up a massive influx of enemy ships. They've tripled their forces."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Outnumbered three to one. The odds were stacked against us, but surrender was not an option. We had to hold Little America. It was a strategic choke point, vital for trade routes and a critical staging ground for our defenses.

"Ilana," I barked, my voice tight with urgency. "Activate emergency protocols. Send a distress call to all available Terran forces. We need reinforcements, and we need them fast."

The battle unfolded with a terrifying swiftness. Laser beams crisscrossed the inky blackness of space, painting the sky with streaks of emerald green and fiery red. Our ships, outnumbered and caught off guard, fought valiantly, but the sheer number of enemy vessels began to overwhelm them.

From the cockpit, I watched with a sickening feeling of helplessness. My mind raced, frantically formulating strategies. We needed a miracle.
Just as despair threatened to consume me, a flicker of hope emerged on the comms channel.

"General Pneuma! This is Colonel Vargas from the Nova Terra Outpost. We received your distress call and are mobilizing reinforcements. ETA ten minutes."

Relief washed over me, a fleeting wave in the ocean of chaos. Ten minutes. It felt like an eternity, but it was a lifeline.

"Hold the line, Colonel!" I roared into the comms. "We need to buy some time!"

With renewed determination, I directed our remaining forces, utilizing every trick and tactic in my arsenal. We focused on crippling their larger vessels, hoping to disrupt their formations. It was a desperate gamble, but it seemed to have some effect. The enemy advance faltered, their coordinated assault giving way to a chaotic mess.

But just as a glimmer of hope flickered anew, a new alert flashed on the console. A massive energy signature was detected, emanating from one of the larger Inimicus ships.
"General," Ilana's voice trembled with fear. "They're charging the Reverend Ray."

My breath hitched. The Inimicus were notorious for their barbaric tactics, and their reverend ray was a thing of legend - a planet-killer capable of leveling entire cities. Panic welled up within me, but I forced it down. There had to be something we could do.
"Target their weapon systems, Ilana! Focus all fire on that ship!"

A collection of laser rays erupted from-