The Confederacy of Intergalactic Trade frigates, piloted by Bio-Integrated Logistical Lifeforms, spread out into their standard attack formation. It was a five pointed constellation of death that The United People’s Organization had been calling ‘A Fistful of Dollars’.

“Dollar BILL’s are setting up in standard attack formation,” the sensory control officer announced, “and we’ve detected multiple weapon discharges.”

“Can we predict the trajectories yet?” The Captain inquired over his shoulder as he watched the head pilot’s flight path updates. It was a randomly calculated zigzag which would push the ship to its limits and squeeze every single byte of the Flight-Assist Computer System.

“Negative, sir. We’re still outside of sensor range for the projectiles and energy signatures. We’re damned lucky to even see the launches.”

“Launch all the drones, random flight patterns, evasive maneuvers. Fire off all jamming devices and countermeasures. Let’s pray a human crew really is better than a machine one.”