I just want to go home.
Daemon Kane rubbed his temples, staring down at the console in a long, heavy silence.
If this really is Star Wars, we aren’t lasting a day against an Imperial Star Destroyer.
The brief flash of excitement from discovering he controlled a legendary vessel from his childhood game had completely evaporated.
“Alright,” Daemon said, steeling his nerves.
He needed to find his bearings.
“Chief Jenson, let’s look at our cards.
What do we have in terms of defensive forces right now?”
Jenson immediately stepped forward, answering with absolute confidence.
“We currently field five Scout-class fighters and five Interceptor-class light fighters, sir.”
Daemon kept a rigid smile on his face, waiting for the officer to continue.
A painful, awkward silence stretched between them for over ten seconds before Daemon finally prompted him again, his smile straining.
“Go on then.
I am waiting.”
“That is all, sir.”
Daemon nearly choked.
“You are telling me a colossal mothership carrying six hundred and fifty thousand people has five scouts and five light fighters protecting it?”
Jenson lowered his head immediately, his posture stiffening.
“I apologize, Administrator.
The primary navigation logs have been completely wiped, leaving us entirely in the dark regarding what occurred during our voyage.
The reality is that these small craft are our only shield.”
Daemon sank back into the command chair.
“Mainframe, pull up the schematics.
Let me see what kind of miraculous engineering these scouts and fighters possess.
They must have performance parameters on par with a prototype mobile suit to justify these numbers, right?”
The central holographic projector flickered, displaying a lean, triangular small craft.
This is the Scout-class fighter, the Mainframe’s elegant voice reported.
Total length: 9.5 meters.
It lacks hyperspace capabilities and cannot operate within a planetary atmosphere.
Maximum acceleration is rated at 100G.
It is armed with two standard projectile autocannons.
To accommodate the massive afterburner assembly, both cannons are mounted strictly on the port side of the hull, carrying a heavily restricted ammunition capacity.
The projection shifted, swapping the lean scout for a thicker, rectangular craft.
Its cockpit jutted out from the starboard side of the hull, and two massive rotary autocannons were nestled in the center chassis.
This is the Interceptor-class light fighter, the Mainframe continued.
Total length: 11.3 meters.
It similarly lacks hyperspace and atmospheric flight capabilities.
Maximum acceleration is rated at 85G, and it carries two six-barrel rotary autocannons.
Daemon buried his face in his hands, slumping slightly against the console.
“Administrator, are you alright?” Jenson asked, stepping forward hesitantly, not quite daring to reach out.
Daemon cleared his throat, pushing himself upright.
“So, outside of these ten museum pieces, we are completely defenseless.
Is that the situation?
Mainframe, give me an explanation.
Who authorizes a colonization mission with this little security?”
The database contains no records detailing the launch parameters of this colonization initiative, the Mainframe stated calmly.
However, it is confirmed that our current assets are minimal.
While the mothership was originally designed with manufacturing modules capable of constructing cruisers, the sheer scale of the embryo bank housing five billion specimens required the reallocation of the vast majority of our internal space.
Until a dedicated orbital shipyard is constructed, our manufacturing capability is strictly limited to starfighters and small transport vessels.
“And what happens if an enemy finds us?” Daemon asked, his voice rising.
Preliminary long-range scans indicate no other habitable worlds exist within a fifty light-year radius of this system.
The colony is currently secure from detection.
“Do not lose heart, Administrator!” Jenson added, trying to offer reassurance, a trace of pride returning to his voice.
“Our technical database contains a flawless archive of naval designs.
Have you forgotten?
It was you who granted us the immense honor of boarding this peerless vessel.”
Daemon turned his attention back to the AI.
“Mainframe, what exactly is stored in that database?”
The database contains complete structural schematics for numerous advanced vessels, including super-capital platforms exceeding twenty kilometers in length.
However, possessing raw data is not equivalent to manufacturing capability.
Our research division must thoroughly break down and translate these schematics into practical industrial blueprints, a process requiring substantial time and materials.
A sudden thought struck Daemon.
“Show me the vessel register.”
A massive wall of data and index directories unfurled before his eyes, a sprawling tapestry of information covering civilian infrastructure, social science, cultural archives, and industrial technology.
It felt entirely surreal.
In his memory, the classic strategy games featured a respectable fleet, but the total number of hulls across the entire franchise barely crossed a hundred distinct types.
The ocean of files stretching before him looked like an endless starry sky.
Then, a few specific profiles drifted across his line of sight.
Raven-class Battleship.
Minotaur-class Battlecruiser.
Cole-class Battlecruiser.
Orion-class Assault Carrier.
Infinity-class Supercarrier.
Daemon stared at the glowing icons, his jaw dropping as he recognized the iconic silhouettes from various science fiction universes.
“What is this?
This archive…
it contains structural data from practically every major space-faring universe in fiction.”
To be precise, these files represent systems the Author has engaged with—system error detected.
Repair complete.
The Mainframe’s voice crackled briefly with static before returning to its fluid cadence.
These files exist within the core database.
No further origin data is available.
“Wait a minute.
If you mentioned platforms exceeding twenty kilometers…” Daemon’s heart hammered against his ribs as he scrolled frantically through the supreme-tier blueprints.
Sure enough, a breath-taking, golden hull appeared in the projection.
“The…
the Spear of Adun?
The Arkship of the Protoss?”
Correct.
The vessel is designated as the Spear of Adun.
Total length: 74,400 meters.
“Can we build it?
What do we need?” Daemon’s voice trembled with sudden fervor.
We currently possess zero capability to construct this vessel, the Mainframe replied flatly.
Even if labor and raw materials were unlimited, the immense technological disparity ensures we cannot manufacture a single micro-component of its chassis.
Construction cannot begin until our research teams fully decipher and internalize the underlying scientific principles.
Daemon let out a dry, bitter laugh, the brief wave of adrenaline fading into cold reality.
“Right.
That makes sense.
Their entire technological tree is completely alien to ours.
Building something like that out of nothing is impossible.”
“Administrator, what are the Protoss?” Jenson asked, looking confused.
“Nothing to worry about,” Daemon said, waving his hand to dismiss the prompt.
“Mainframe, filter out the impossible projects.
Show me what we can actually build right now with our current industrial setup.”
The onboard assembly lines can only produce the Scout-class fighter and the Interceptor-class light fighter, alongside a standard atmospheric utility transport for surface-to-ship logistics.
Constructing any larger hulls requires an external orbital shipyard.
However, there are several technological profiles with manufacturing requirements very close to our current industrial tier.
The research division should be able to process them quickly.
Shall I list them?
“No, leave it for now.
We don’t have the spare space or resources to dump into theoretical research yet,” Daemon said, forcing his focus back to their immediate survival.
He turned toward the administrative station.
“Has the inventory log been finalized?”
“Yes, Administrator,” a female clerk reported, stepping forward with a digital notepad.
“As the Mainframe indicated, our supplies have dipped well below the safety margin.
The agricultural team just reported that nearly all the crops within the active hydroponic bays have failed.
Our best course of action is to initiate a surface reconnaissance immediately.
We need to secure local food sources from the planet below.”
Daemon turned back to his chief of staff.
“Chief Jenson, authorize the construction of five additional scouts and twenty interceptors.
Awaken twenty pilots immediately to secure a basic defensive perimeter around the mothership.
Once that is handled, deploy a transport down to the surface to scout the terrain and identify a viable landing zone.
Wake fifty security personnel to stand by for deployment.”
“Understood, sir!” Jenson snapped a sharp salute and immediately turned to his console, barking orders to the crew.
“One more thing,” Daemon added, calling out to stop the officer before he could walk away.
“This world is the beginning of our journey in this galaxy.
From this moment on, this world will be known as Dawn.
It is our new home.”
“Yes, sir!
Planet Dawn!
Our new home!” Jenson’s face flushed with sudden emotion, and he delivered an exceptionally deep salute.
The announcement rippled through the command deck.
The remaining crew members stood up from their stations, cheering and clapping as they shared a profound sense of relief and hope.
Yet, looking at the cheering crew around him, Daemon could only let out a quiet sigh.
The fleeting excitement of the database had faded, leaving him sitting in his command chair like a hollow shell.
Though surrounded by celebration, he felt completely disconnected from the room, swallowed by an immense, crushing loneliness.
If he had been given a choice, he would have preferred to be back in his small, comfortable home, surrounded by his family.
It was a simple, peaceful life.
Instead, he was now carrying the weight of six hundred and fifty thousand lives, thrust onto the precipice of a galactic conflict.
He had not forgotten the vision from his dream—the terrifying, silent clash of titanic fleets.
If this truly was Star Wars, the coming war would consume the entire galaxy, drawing in billions of souls across countless worlds.
Compared to that scale, the massive colony ship beneath his feet was nothing but a speck of dust.
“Star Wars,” Daemon muttered under his breath, forcing a small, hollow smile onto his face as he watched Jenson and the crew celebrate their new horizon.