The Childrens Rebellion

Aim for the stars and the sky

Phil was awake when he got the call from the Vice-Admiral. He scrambled out of bed, turning on the lights and stifling a yawn as he patched the connection through. "Admiral," he said in acknowledgment.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Captain," Toast told him, looking more tired than ever, heavy bags under his eyes.

"It is of no problem," he assured the Vice-Admiral. "How did your test flight go? I heard you got your crew back together on the Mira. Congrats."

"And just as one of your first missions went poorly, so did mine," Toast told him, running a hand through his unruly cropped black hair. Phil felt his feathers ruffle as he prepared for the worst—why would Toast call him at half-past eleven if it had nothing to do with him? "We received a distress call from the U.S.S Midway."

Phil felt all time flow to a halt, and something in his chest seized. Tommy—that was Tommy's ship. "Is he—" he started.

"Forty-seven casualties," Toast told him, and that, in no way, made him feel better. "It is...complicated. The Arachnids attacked in neutral space, to a transport ship, no less." He rubbed his eyes. "Had we not gotten there in time—the ship would have detonated. It would have ignited anyway, if not for an Elytrian girl who was, fortunately, studying engineering at the time, and replaced the downed engineering unit. She uh—she didn't make it, though."

Phil's heart went out to that of one of his people, a silent prayer for her to fly among their ancestors in a happier place. "Can I..." he said. "Is Tommy...?"

"Recovering from radiation poisoning in the medbay," Toast told him, fucking finally, and Phil breathed out a sigh of relief. "Fortunately, in this modern world, we can fix that in a jiffy—and luckily, he was only exposed for about seven minutes. I'll send you the coordinates now." Phil nodded, slamming his hand on the emergency button that would awaken his crew. "Oh—and Ensign Drista and Ensign Lani's bans are lifted. Lieutenant Tubbo may reclaim his former position."

Phil nodded again hurriedly and ran out of his room. Techno was already on the bridge, the half-Piglin already looking awake and refreshed.

"What's goin' on?" he asked as Wilbur stumbled onto the bridge, followed closely by Dream and Tubbo.

"The U.S.S Midway was attacked," he told them, and Tubbo looked up so sharply that that had to have hurt his neck. "Dream, the coordinates are at your station." To his credit, the blonde-haired Human didn't blink—though he did blanch—and sat down, setting in the controls right away. "Highest warp you got."

"Yes, Captain."

"Is Tommy okay?" Tubbo demanded.

Phil closed his eyes. "He's alive," he said, and there were five exhales of relief from his bridge crew. "Tubbo, you're reinstated. Orders from the Vice-Admiral. Dream, punch it."

"Yes, Captain."

Twenty-eight minutes later, they appeared in the middle of dark space. Phil rose to his feet as he saw the small slew of transports leading from the fiery wreckage of the U.S.S Midway, his breath catching. The Mira hovered nearby, taking in the small transports and sending them out again. Probably looking—or receiving—survivors.

"Ironic," Techno murmured. "That name."

"Shush," Wilbur hissed. "Now is no time for irony." Techno fell silent, for once. "Phil, should I obtain contact to beam aboard?"

"Yes, yes," he said, as he hid his shaking hands behind his back, looking at the small explosions that bestowed the transport ship. The Mira loomed in the background, tiny shuttles going back and forth from the carnage. In the distance, he saw the wreckage of the Arachnid ship—blown to bits. There would be no rescue for them.