Science fiction is for real, space opera is for fun.

Meanwhile here I am- Earthborn woman, a mere barbaric maula, geting deeper into Imperial Space with each passing light second. I should be trembling with fear, I suppouse.
No. Let the Emperor tremble. Laylah is here!

Science fiction is no more written for scientists that ghost stories are written for ghosts.

From the chapter titled "R3curs1on" (Typographical irregularities are for effect and require context.)

“Godnet removes the uncertainty. I miss the Bro o o o... Is there an official response from NEXSA at this stage?” “We’re assessing our options. I can’t tell you specifics at this...” “bots but I know they turned eeeeeeeeee turned eeeee turned tur ur ur ur ur” “...important thing is to ensure the safety of the Hotel occupants and escort them home.” “Sanija, what possibility is there of their protection, or indeed our own, when such advanced vehicles make their return trip? I mean, the threat’s...” “eeeevillll Mommy says my kids kids my kids are on it every day because we know your rights we know your rights and we made them disappear. We miss love love the Brobots better because we made them made them made them made them them them disa disa dis dis dis... A totally encryption constitution raaaaaaainbow cat now diiiiignity nooooiiise.

So why do it?,’ he challenged. ‘Why return to biological when a quantum existence can empower you to overcome general relativity and become interstellar, intergalactic, intersupercluster, inter-whateverthef*ckyoulike?’
‘Because once you’ve seen one Laniakea you’ve seen them all? I don’t know. Any number of reasons! Lament? They prefer squishy? The sex is better?

Well what would you have us do, Jason? Swan into a hardware store without any cash and say “give us your best rack or we’ll set the adorable button-nosed robots on you for bunny-boiler death by cuddling?" Jared Thomas in Red Gods Sing