Captain Richard "Dick" Fletcher of the Federation's Marine Infantry Corps was lounging around in some secluded cargo pod, away from the rigours of paperwork and disciplinary action generated by his company of rowdy, bored marines when the incoming alarms sounded.

  [PERSONNEL TO BATTLE STATIONS. ASSUME CONDITION ALPHA.]

  Came the ship's monotone voice, followed by a blaring alarm everyone aboard knew all too well. The clunking of heavy boots banged against metal floors, every footfall playing a terrifying second fiddle to the ear-splitting alarm.

  [INCOMING: DECK FIVE, STARBOARD. ONE MINUTE TO IMPACT.]

  The ship was a flurry of activity within seconds, but Richard was still half-awake, clambering over himself as he attempt to right his floppy, sleep-deprived body upright. He tripped once, then again, then another time as he tried to put on the armour he'd tossed aside hours ago.

  By the time he stopped feeling like a baby goat whenever he stood upright, a little over half a minute had already passed.

  And the estimations were wrong.

  [INCOMING: BRACE, BRACE, BRACE.]