Invasion

“We’ve just landed here on what the troops are calling the ‘big Phi’ with the Abraxi Company of the Moroa Guards Legion. It’s an ugly planet, an asteroid planet. A planet hostile to life but a gateway to the rest of the sector.”

“During a routine patrol of the sector’s borders the military became aware of an imminent invasion through the northern border. The frontlines were established on Day 185, fought in silent auctions on the galactic market. Twelve days later security forces were dispatched to battle an unknown opponent.”

“On arrival they found a city barren of life and in earnest the race to victory began. The brave soldiers stood guard as combat engineers set on their task of constructing shield fortresses that would defend the sector from a foreign invasion.”

The scene behind the reporter, however, tells a different story. A story of bored troops, watching over equally bored workers who have clearly done a task like this countless times before. They are doing their best to ignore the overly dramatic press crew, but the reporter and the cameraman catch up to one of them; a young woman in combat uniform.

“Ma’am, great job defending our freedom. You’ll be highly commended for this. What can you tell us about this imminent threat to the safety of Morobe?”

The woman is visibly confused.

“What are you talking about? There is no threat to Morobe. We are working alongside Byblos…”

“Cut! Cut! That’s not part of the script.”

The reporter throws his arms up in frustration.

“I can’t work with these amateurs. Someone call that guy with flair for the dramatics, what’s his name, Cork? Dork?”

The camera pans back to the woman.

“All right, all right. There is nothing to see here. Just a potential development site for a new Shadowport city.”

The crew, however, is not interested in facts and instead turn their attention to one of the construction workers.

“You there, what really happened here? Is the federal government of Morobe losing control?”

“What? Oh, yeah, nah yeah. I was here when we found them Byblosians, building the same things we are, and I told them – my brother in Jou, you can’t build that there! – but they wouldn’t listen, and I just happened to have a chance-cube. Blue it’s us. Red it’s them. It landed on red, so we are going home.”

The reporter gives up.

“I am not paid enough for this job. Go to commercial break.”

An advertisement begins to play as the news is redirected to a message from Byblos Drive Yards.