[h2]Virginia Sokolova, Eden Prime[/h2]
This was not the first time that Ginny had slept in a barn, though it had been a long time since she had last done so. Becoming an agri-tech again had a nostalgic charm to it for the Texarkanan. The morning light streaked through the wooden walls across her face, its gentle caress rousing her awake. Rising to her feet, she'd brush straw off her coveralls, the golden chaff falling from olive drab while she stretches out her neck and arms. It was more comfortable than nights she spent under open sky, in caves or dilapidated ruins, but significantly less than her apartment in the nearby city. 

Before her was the reason she was out here: the crop-skimmer needed maintenance, and the poor thing had been neglected for at least a decade. Components had rusted shut, and it had nearly fallen out of the sky last time it had taken off. Ginny had spent the last two days cleaning and replacing components, and she was close to finishing her work. Something like this could keep the entire town’s fields covered, and was worth almost as much as a spaceplane with its specialized high-efficiency airframe and solar arrays.

The owner, a human named Sarak, was a kindly man, but one who was nearing the end of his career, and had grown stubborn. She opened the barn door and looked over to the white-painted house, the smell of breakfast was reaching her already, tempting her over. What she saw immediately left her uneasy. The door was open, and one of its hinges were caved in with splintered wood. 

Someone had broken in.

The ranger would go back into the barn, taking her belt off a hook and throwing it on, drawing the blaster pistol from the leather holster. The trill of the heavy revolver loaded with individual chamber-capacitors. It was a small comfort to her: as her father had once said, if she was going to shoot someone, it had better be only once. She wasn’t aware of any local trouble Sarak had, let alone something that could escalate to something like this. 

By the time she reached the doorway, she could hear a chittering sound reminiscent of a ratchet wrench but much louder. The walls had holes and gouges in the side: this wasn't a home invader, this was an animal of some sort. Giant insects were not native to this region as far as she knew. 

The smell of burnt bacon put Ginny into even further unease. She brushed her red-brown hair to keep her vision clear, and raised her revolver from a low ready to a trained eye-level. When she peaked her head around the corner into the kitchen, those steady hands faltered for a moment.

Sarak was on the ground in the kitchen, still wearing his white morning robe with little bee designs on it. That robe was tinged pink, doing its best to suck up the pool of blood he was in, a giant gash through his midsection leaving him almost torn in half. The thing that had rent him so loomed over him, its scythe-like mandibles digging into his flesh.

Virginia had seen Metacer drones in museums, both in holo-exhibits and in dead artifacts. They were a rare occurrence, but individual specimens were terrifying. A formicidae the size of a small horse, the poor farmer had never stood a chance. She was in danger, that creature could kill her just as easily as it had killed her host. Its antennae flicked about, and when it froze, she didn’t hesitate.

The sharp whine of a capacitor discharge heralded the head of the drone exploding into a shower of green gore, some of it sizzling onto the stovetop, some sizzling from the sudden vaporization. A good chunk of the wall behind it was blown away, scorched, and catching light. Ginny started running to the side door, stopping for a moment to look down at Sarak’s body with some regret. She couldn’t bury him, the other drones were likely already aware, the controller could be nearby, but she wasn’t about to try and hunt it down alone.

Indeed, looking out from the higher ground, she could see more in the fields and adjacent homesteads. Her heart sank and her breathing quickened as a panic began to rise, but training took over, and she ran back towards the barn. She took up her duffel and threw it into the cargo trunk of the skimmer. 

Part of her was cursing herself, she could try to save another, but she had no idea who was even still alive. This was a remote corner of the planet, and there was still a chance that a warning could get out before they overrun this place. She got into the pilot’s seat, tapping the console on the dash and grabbing hold of the throttle, the thrusters roaring to life as the skimmer inches forward on a ground effect bubble. 

Making itself free of its enclosure, the craft would rise into the sky a few hundred feet, and Ginny could see dozens of the Metacer scouring the fields for food. Taking a shallow breath and raising her nav, she would begin heading towards the nearest city.

[hr]
That had been three months ago. Ginny had only wished that the government had listened, that anyone had listened before those damnable bugs had swarmed the first cities and military actions failed. She wished that she had spent more time among these people, that they could trust her expertise, but they didn’t. She was still in the same fatigues, and had that same duffel on her back.

There was only one ship left in the station, she hadn’t managed to make it onto any other, and she wasn’t about to wait for her Society pick up to find her on this station, if she could even survive long enough. No, she had already left her beacon on the station, a repeating message of what had happened. The last that any of her people would know is that she was trying to find an escape, and that the people here had indeed descended from true Terrans. 

The bar had been her last bastion of solace in a world that was rapidly collapsing. Things had an eerie stability on the station. Doom would not come for some time, but hope was running low. 3822-01 was her last ticket out of here, and the best shot was her mark at this bar. Walking to the seat next to her, she’d wave the tender down and get her own glass of straight vodka, not bothering to burden the bartender at the end of Eden. “So, any plans to survive the apocalypse?” she’d ask idly of the pilot.