The general sighed proudly, watching as rows of hoversleds carrying crates, huge silver kegs and other miscellaneous containers all in various states of rusting. A tall, lean man dressed in all black with a large, silver energy gun strapped to his side approached the general and was greeted stiffly. Behind him came three hoversleds, each with three man-sized tubes of eerily, blue-glowing liquid. The liquid was opaque, not yielding the secret of what else it happened to contain.

"Did you have any trouble attaining the, ah... retirees?" the general asked delicately, casting slightly over dramatic glances left and right, and standing on tip-toe to peer at the sleds, silently whirring behind the tall man. All three sleds had four armed guards standing near them, one in front and back, and one on each side. "No, sir." the man responded simply, his cold blue eyes staring straight ahead and over the general's head. "Very good, we'll soon be shut of them. This old bird is getting one final voyage into the sun." He rocked back and forth on his feet, hands behind his back and smiling pleasantly.

The now ancient projectile weapons discovered in an old warehouse, along with several hundred thousand containers of the now outlawed hard spirits and fermented drinks were being sent into space and an eventual fiery descent into the sun, ridding them neatly of their presence. The nine cryotubes were also accompanying the cargo into the ship and were locked down tightly in the Cryoroom on board. The varying species of alien handled the tubes as though they were some kind of particularly venomous snake, never standing too near or looking directly at them. Once they had been gingerly loaded and sealed up, the lieutenant made a mark on his tablet and turned to call to the general, "Sir! The Singularity's Scream is loaded and ready for departure, sir!"

Red lights flashed throughout the docking area, along with a cool, female voice saying,

All personel clear departing ship. All personel, clear departing ship. Count down to launch... 2 minutes.

Men in grey and black suits scurried like ants off of the deck, leaving only the battered warbird sitting as the computer counted down. The general and his associate retired to the viewing deck to see the old ship off into space, taking with it the heavy weight of guilt that had driven them to their present states of quiet madness and stone-cold silence.

"Fuck..." Izwara cursed mentally as she watched the ship's autopilot kick on and engage the lift thrusters. Moving quickly as her bright pink carapace did nothing to conceal her on the grey and black landscape of the medical station, she ran for the port side of the ship, spread her wings and buzzed up to the crew entrance. A twist of the wheel with her scythes and she was inside, the door locked behind her. "Now that that's done, I must get to the controls before we get too near the sun."

Departure deck clear, count down to launch 5 seconds...4...3...2...

The whole ship jarred as the forward engines engaged and moved them slowly through the force field into open space. "Damnit! Where is the bridge? Curse these older ships, their layouts are so random." It took what felt like hours, giving the hyperdrive engines time to prime and start up, propelling the aging transport ever closer to the fireball of the sun. At last, the door clearly marked "Bridge, Authorized Personal Only" appeared at the end of the hall. Hurrying fast as her four legs could carry her, Izwara pulled open the door and launched herself at the captain's chair, punching in her own security code. The cursor flashed on the screen;

"Please work, please work..." she prayed over and over, watching the dots flicker across the screen as the old computer worked.

"I have to get there!" Izwara suddenly remembered that none of the warriors knew of what happened to them, how they ended up in the cryotanks in the first place. It was three decks down, could she make it? Izwara hurried off to greet them as they woke.