On the last day of Earth, a thousand weary, road beaten souls scramble together somewhere in the Florida panhandle. Many had come miles to search for the most valuable of resources in a world that was all but forsaken, hope of an escape. John Harrison shuffles in time with the masses, rereading a scrap of newspaper. “Government Secrets Threaten Innocent Lives” the article headline protests. John smirks, he wrote that article about the then hugely debated fleet of secret ships commissioned by the Bureau of Intelligence. Ironically, it was the inconspicuous nature of these ships that allowed them to remain undetected, indeed, that gave John and many others the chance they needed to get off the planet. John looks up at the cliffs to the East at the military men he once despised as they direct the masses up the hill to the ships. The first gasps and whispers start rippling back to John.
“They’re real”
“I can’t believe it”
“We’re saved!”
The last coming from a woman who promptly faints onto a couple men traveling with her and creating a domino effect that stalls the progress for a few moments. When John reaches the crest of the hill, he is able to draw his own conclusions. The ships are mostly small, short-range passenger transports, with a few cargo ships and some middle-class military protection units. The queen of the fleet, however, is magnificent to behold. A four-star deep space bruiser with a 12-amp pulse cannon and four 360-degree plasma rays, if anything was going to get them out of here alive, it was the Nautilus.