Rust orange leaves, entombed by the first frost, krinkled as they gave way to his boot.  He marched up the pallisade as he did every day.  The morning shift stood at attention as he passed.  He ran through his morning checklist while sipping at a coffee.  He lowered himself in a practiced motion into the control chair and powered up the weapon.  That required the manipulation of no less than a dozen switches.  Harnessing power from the very sun itself to power this one-man army.  The software finished its boot process, and he selected the hypothetical route he favored, adjusted the telemetry data and fired a projectile the size of cuba along a 40 light year path at .99 c.