Agrifex

It isn't how I remembered it. The waiting.  The hard return--the strike of something alive, twitching under a stratosphere at the bare edges of flickering displays and drifting starcharts.  Days of First Contact drills in the ethereal holographic range of Sim-Deck Two.  Three mission briefings, a twinge as my scouting unit is tapped for deployment.  The hiss and rasp of rebreathers in the eternal dawn of Jump Airlock One. I know it isn't right. The drop.  The plunge, ripping at the Helldiver's midsection.  The tearing, it burns.  Throws the shrieking of the stratosphere and the whining of stabilization jets and the ringing of alarms into a