Hasty flicking through the ship's grimoires
X-Ray sextants tracking ten pulsars
Their world-lines near; golden threads of fate
Twist through space in a vast figure eight
Starboard, four degrees, right ascension
Reorienting coordinates in orthogonal dimensions
Heat seeking, soul searching, target on lock
ready, steady, fire; doge, parry, block
Damage received; damage delivered
Cockpit lights growing dimmer and dimmer
Who could judge the roles of killed and killer
When a fight in space rarely has winners
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