Less than an hour has passed since the formation of the fleetmind, but it has been a very busy hour.The 950 million falling objects Petey and the rest of the fleet must rescure are falling amid a cloud of billions of other objects. Space is awash with the frequencies of active scanning.
While capital ships without advanced fabrication gear work as spotters, Petey, some 300 carriers, and 20-odd factory ships orbiting further out begin manufacturing new terapedoes.
They're not beating their swords into plowshares, exactly. They're beating them into pickup trucks.
A single terapedo can acquire a target, 'port into it, and then 'port that target into safe orbit in just four seconds.To save everyone in the twenty-eight days available, the fleetmind must coordinate the efforts of fifteen-hundred terapedoes.
The fleetmind is smart enough to know that it might not have the full twenty-eight days to work with. Fabbers work 'round the clock.
Good news, admiral. Within three days, all of the prisoners will be in safe orbits.In the final hours, there'll be nearly a hundred thousand terapedoes 'porting prison modules to safety.
I thought we'd depleted our supplies of missiles and fabber matter.
We've been feeding the fabbers scrap. Which reminds me... You didn't have any special emotional attachment to that custom transport of yours, did you?