Alien Space Bats - An Alternate History trope dealing with the divergence of a timeline. If the point of divergence is an extraordinary or supernatural phenomenon, Alien Space Bats are responsible.

Also known as 'A Wizard Did It,' when dealing with fantastical tales.

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No Gingers were harmed whilst writing this piece. However some might have been offended. Sorry about that.

Seven Shades of Shit

The unveiling of the HMS Queen Liz, the second of her name and the largest vessel ever built for use by the Royal Navy by a metric fucktonne, was a joyous occasion.

Millions of well-wishers, including the extended families of those due to serve onboard the craft, had gathered on the gantry, the dockside and even the fields beyond on what was, in truth, a rather balmy summer's evening, of which Mars was lucky enough to boast occurred with no small degree of regularity.

The Red Planet, more of an affectionate pet name than anything else as the fourth rock from the Sun was covered in lush rainforest and high, fertile plains, and had been since colonisation took place some 150 years prior in 1867, was the richest of the Inner Planets and amongst the very richest in Sol, thanks in no small part to its shipyards.

Attired in her ceremonial battle armour with the Duke of Invergordon, her husband and Lord High Admiral of the Empire at her side, the Queen of the British Empire stood fast as the HMS Queen Liz' Core Drive whirred into life and the vessel pulled slowly away from the dock.

She quickly picked up the pace and within the merest of moments she broke atmosphere and set about a trio of lightning-fast orbits, as was the custom for any newly-commissioned craft.

"That should take care of the uprising on Greater Dennisen, Pip," the Queen said with a smile upon her aged face as the HMS Queen Liz completed her third and final fly-by before heading towards Proxima to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

"I bloody well hope so," the Duke replied with a mischievous grin. "Bloody foreigners. Bloody ungrateful shit-eaters, the lot of them!"

There was a pop, both audible and tangible, as the HMS Queen Liz' Core Drive engaged fully, thus propelling the vessel towards Proxima at a speed several times the speed of light, the force of which sent the Duke of Invergordon's bowler hat flying from his head and it landed upon the concrete at his feet.

He stooped, as one might expect, to retrieve it, as a bullet that was otherwise destined to shatter his solar plexus passed several inches above his head and embedded itself harmlessly five feet into the side of one of the docks' many warehouses.

"Did you see that, Liz?" he asked as with the retrieved bowler in hand, he extended to his full height. "Bloody bastard tried to kill me!"

"There's only one person I can think of who would have the outright audacity to make an attempt on your life, Pip," said the Queen, thoughtfully. "It's about time you and I got our hands dirty and beat seven shades of shit out of our ungrateful and psychotic former daughter-in-law... And after we paid for her life-reconstruction surgery post-Paris, too!"

Disability Benefits

Royalty or not, there was only one way for a Ginger to earn the respect of his or her peers and that was lifelong military service.

Unlike her sister who flunked out of Military Academy and was therefore only able to find work in speciality porn, Princess Permelia had done rather well for herself despite her obvious disability and her recent promotion to Leftenant aboard the HMS Queen Liz, the enormous destroyer named for her grandmother, was testament to that.

"All hands, brace!" Permelia yelled, seconds before the HMS Queen Liz' core wound down, resulting in a somewhat sudden stop a mere foot away from the dock at Proxima Base.

It would not always be like that, and Permelia knew it all too well. It generally took several sudden stops for a vessel's inertial dampeners to align properly but as the HMS Queen Liz had been what some might call 'rushed,' those alignments were going to have to take place in the field.

"Make contact with the Proxima Fleet, Leftenant," said the Captain, a man blessed enough not to suffer a disability such as that of Permelia's. "We leave for Greater Dennisen within the hour."

"Aye, Sir!"

Greater Dennisen was and still, in point of fact, is, the largest planet colonised. At 68 light years from Earth and with an enormity 29 times that of Jupiter, there was no reason to suspect a planet larger would ever be discovered, least of all a rocky Superearth, as Greater Dennisen was.

Beginning in 1979, complete and total colonisation was complete by Christmas 1983, which isn't too bad a turnaround if you really think about it.

Renowned for the vast mountain ranges of its Southern Hemisphere, some of which reached the dizzying heights of one hundred thousand feet plus, it was Greater Dennisen's industrial sectors for which the world was most revered.

Therein was the issue, of course, for the planet's several billion residents quickly realised they didn't need Earth and they most certainly didn't need the Empire. In fact if anything, it was probably the other way around.

"The Proxima Fleet is ready to launch on your command, Sir," said Permelia, smiling proudly for the fact that even though she was a Ginger, she had done a half decent job and had not messed up. "We should reach Greater Dennisen in a little under two days."

"Well done, Leftenant," the Captain replied, kindly. "Now be a good little Ginger and help yourself to a treat from the galley."

He watched as Permelia saluted as smartly as a Ginger could before she turned and made her way off the bridge via the mandatory Ginger Door, and smiled. In truth he was quite jealous and wished he had his own door through which to walk.

The Captain knew many men and women in his position would not tolerate being in such close proximity to a Ginger. Had Permelia been serving on the HMS Camden Lock or the HMS Derwent, for example, he knew full well she would've been placed in the Custodial Department. But he had a soft spot for Gingers, and secretly suspected they weren't quite as bad as everyone thought.

A Rather Disturbing Cut Away Scene...

The Duke of Invergordon stood over the bludgeoned body of his former daughter-in-law. Blood dripped from the croquet mallet he held aloft, his booted right foot half-hidden by the hole that was once the Princess of Gibraltar's ribcage.

"Booyah!" he yelled in a very un-Duke fashion.

"Well done, Pip!" the Queen of the British Empire cried, jumping up and down on the spot as she clapped her hands together in delight.

"I think that deserves a finger up the bottom tonight, Liz," said the Duke, winking as if he were a naughty schoolboy rather than the near-centurion he actually was.

"Only one, Pip?" the Queen replied, smirking. "I was thinking two, and the marigolds might make an appearance..."

A Game the Whole Family Can Play

News of the Princess of Gibraltar's death moved quickly. So quickly did it move, in fact, that those aboard the HMS Queen Liz were aware of it before the enormous vessel arrived at Greater Dennisen and considering how fast the ship was actually traveling, that ain't a mean feat in the slightest!

The details surrounding her death were a little dodgy though, at least that's what Permelia thought. She knew her grandfather - obviously, because she was his granddaughter - and she knew, or at least she used to know, her aunt or cousin or niece or whatever-the-fuck the Princess of Gibraltar was.

That was the issue, of course, when cousins fucked cousins...

"So does this mean the rebellion is over, Captain?" Permelia asked. It turned out to be a question that brought raucous laughter from everyone who was on the bridge of the HMS Queen Liz at the time, and everyone who they phoned to tell them about it, too.

"Oh dear, sweet Ginger," the Captain replied when he was finally able to catch his breath. "The rebellion will never be over for whilstever even one man stands against the British Empire, that one man can influence millions. I like you, little Ginger, and I don't think that being a Ginger is quite the disability it once was but please for the love of the Empire, go and make some coffee for the grown-ups whilst we discuss how best to blow the fuck out of that bigass lump of rock."

And so Permelia made her way to the galley, ready to embark upon her mission to make and carry an enormous tray of coffee mugs filled to the brim. But as she was walking, taking great care to put one foot in front of the other foot a tiny, minuscule thought entered her ginger-covered noggin.

I can't stand by and let them blow the fuck out of that bigass lump of rock.

She had no idea from where that thought came but before she could question further, another thought arrived.

If I dye my hair I'll no longer be a Ginger...

And so it was that an hour and a half later, Permelia stood in front of the mirror admiring her jet-black hair as she repeatedly balled and deballed her fists.

"You don't look like a Permelia any more," she said, quietly, as she lit a cigarette. It was her first ever cigarette but contrary to everything she had ever been told, she did not cough up a lung. In fact she rather enjoyed the sensation of thick, sickly smoke as it curled its way down her trachea.

"No, you don't look like a Permelia," she repeated. "You look fuckin' hardcore."

I'm Hardcore Fuckin' Honey, Bitches

She strode confidently onto the bridge with a cigarette protruding from between her lips, brandishing a semi-automatic in each hand.

"All right, boys and girls!" she yelled. "What we're gonna' do is turn this fleet around, nice an' easy like, an' leave Greater Dennisen in our rear-view."

"Well excuse me," said the Captain, quite taken aback. "But who the actual fuck do you think you are?"

"You don't even wanna' know, Cap'n," she replied, smirking. "Point 'o fact I'm not even sure I know... It's as if no longer being a Ginger has given me clarity, a new lease on life."

"Enough!" the Captain yelled, turning to one of the many officers who, like the rest, was watching events proceed with his mouth agape. "Arrest this imposter immediately."

"Arrest yer fuckin' self," she said, putting a bullet through the man's carotid artery. "Now listen Cap'n, an' listen close... I don' give a fuck. I'll rip y'all to shit and then go get myself off with my Deep Space Nine so either y'all make your way to the brig, nice an' easy like, or I'll be wadin' through blood to my bunk."

"Wh... Who are you?" the Captain asked, though he did so whilst getting to his feet and gesturing that everyone else on the bridge ought to do the same, lest they be riddled with more holes than an industrial colander.

She pondered the question for a moment, scratching the side of her head with the barrel of one of the semi-automatics, and it was then that a smile spread across her face.

"I'll tell y'all who I am." She paused, though there is every chance that was more for effect than for any other reason. "I'm Hardcore Fuckin' Honey, bitches. Now go on. Git."

That'll Do, Pig. That'll Do...

With a cigarette between the fingers of one hand and a bottle of beer gripped by the neck in the other, Honey smiled as she stared up at the Rebel fleet. The HMS Queen Liz was her flagship, obviously, but such was the industriousness of the people of Greater Dennisen that all other vessels in the fleet dwarfed her.

"Reckon that'll do nicely," she said, satisfied. "I'm a'comin' for yer, grandmama... You's n' yer Empire's gonna' burn..."