The news that you are about to be vaporized by an exploding sun has a wonderful way of making you re-evaluate your priorities. One mont, the three most powerful fleets in the sector were locked in a deadly, complicated, and very serious battle. The next, they were all facing the sa, very simple, and very final problem.
Emma, from the bridge of the "Odyssey," was the first to act. She opened a broadcast channel to all three fleets, a ssage sent out into the chaos and the fear. Her voice was not the voice of a panicked commander. It was the calm, clear, and deeply reasonable voice of a grand master in a chess ga that had just been set on fire.
"Attention, all fleets," she began, her voice cutting through the noise of battle. "This is Acting Commander Emma of the Bastion Alliance vessel 'Odyssey.' I have a brief tactical update for you all."
She paused for a beat, letting her calm, professional tone sink in.
"My sensors indicate that the local star is in the process of a forced, premature, and very energetic supernova. A shared threat has been detected. My analysis indicates that the probability of our mutual and very ssy annihilation is… one hundred percent. I would suggest we cease firing at each other, at least until we are no longer about to be turned into radioactive space-dust."
There was a long, tense silence. For a mont, it seed like no one was going to respond. The idea of a truce, in the middle of all this bad blood and cosmic philosophy, was a hard pill to swallow.
Then, the first reply ca. It was a single, clean, and very logical pulse of data from the Syllogist's flagship. It was the giant, pointy space-rock's way of saying:
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