Starting a few musings of a novella. Let me know if you would like to see more on here - i wont be offended if your honest.
The Prodigal
Leaning over her Father’s body, a small tear fell from her check and landed on his nose. Blank eyes stared up at her, motionless, faded. Tenderly she placed her hand on his and squeezed, hoping beyond reason that he would respond with a caress, however she could already feel his skin was different, as if the elasticity of life had all but disappeared in the last few fleeting moments.
Suddenly, Scarlett was very aware of the silence that surrounded her, save for her own shallow breaths, there was no electrical humming, not a noise from bird nor beast, even the air fell silent. For the first time in her fifteen years, Scarlett felt truly alone. Grief hit her like a physical force in her stomach, making her stagger backwards on her feet so she had to reach out to prevent her from falling. The solemn stillness was palpable, He was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon; almost as waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.
Slowly she raised her had to her Father’s face, hesitantly she moved her fingers over his eyelids and brought them down over the lifeless pools that once had sparkled with joy. She told herself that was truly gone.
That evening, as the second star slid behind the horizon, Scarlett returned to her father’s corpse.
“Oh Daddy, why did you go” she said mournfully
Moving his body would be hopeless, even the frail state of his final years was too much for her slight frame, either way, that would not be dignified.
The two domestics followed her into the room, the lights on their chest consoles blinked enthusiastically in the most inappropriate manner.
“Wrap his body in the sheets from the cupboard” she told the automatons
“Then take his body and bury him behind the yard. Make sure his body is a meter deep”
After the crying she had done in the afternoon, her face felt raw, and she felt distant from the impassive mechanical process unfolding in front of her. The two droids started to apply the wrappings to the cadaver.
“Wait!”
His rigored fingers had gripped the medallion so tightly in his palm she hadn’t noticed he had held it for what must have been his last day. What was so important that he would clutch in his dying hours? Tenderly, she firmly prised his fingers away from the small, stylised gold phoenix in his grasp. She recognised the emblem, understood what it meant, and was confused.
What was Dad doing with an Elite medal, was it his or did he steal it. Did he kill for it? Why did he not say anything, and why did he hold it so tightly in his last moments?
Whether it was a desire for solace, or simply an attempt to shield his daughter from the horrors and trappings of a nefarious existence Daniel had settled on the remote world, trappings of a rogue’s life now gathering dust among the agricultural possessions of a land worker. He never spoke to her about his past, and as isolated as the young woman found herself, it was clear to her that her Father past was one of professional violence, however she was never able to get him to divulge, every time the conversation lead in that direction, he appeared distant, making his excuses and falling quiet despite her probing. Now she wondered if there was another reason for their self-enforced isolationism.
Her head spun with un-requited questions of her family and her future. Should she stay, alone save for the droids and the cattle, continue her life of solitude, yet she yearned to leave this place, there was nothing for her here now, she should leave or die; maybe not this year, but with the next farmstead hundreds of kilometres away, complete isolation would be a sentence with only one outcome.
That night, as she lay in her bed, wind rattled the frame, rain hammered down on the prefabricated plexi glass panels like a small percussion orchestra, broken only by the crashes of the gate driven against the gateposts by the strong gusts from the east. Relentless precipitation mirrored the unyielding pounding in her head. Pulling the sheets tighter around her body she resolved.
The next day, as the first sun rose above the prairie she sipped on the black coffee. The kipper analogs from the freezer they were saving now simmered gently on the stove.
There was little to gather in the house, some provisions that would not perish, a few clothes and a few personal affects she could not bear to leave behind.
“Martha, gather my clothes from the chest and bring them to the hanger” she said to the domestic droid, who was silently loitering behind her, a robotic silver-service waiter, attending on her modest breakfast.
“When you are done, find Matty, then I want to release the cattle from the pens and report back to me by Dad’s old ship”
Matty was the second droid, currently tending to the power grid behind the barn.
After breakfast, she washed and changed into her softest jeans, gym t-shirt and warm poncho. Slinging her duster around her waist she pulled her beanie over her long brown hair and collected the old rifle from above the fireplace. Opening the door to her father’s room, she approached the dresser, a small brass key was tucked in the ancient crystal-glass bowl on the top. Knowing what the key was for, she took it to Daniel’s old chest by the window. Never having the confidence to open this before, and with the revelations of the last night, she trembled with anticipation as she approached the old wooden chest.
The lock was stiff, but with persuasion, the heavy lid creaked open, a musty smell immediately attacked her nostrils, making her cough. A few sheets of paper spilled out on the floor, a glace showed her that they were servicing records for his ship, deeds for the farmstead, and various old bills.
Her Fathers old flight suit lay on top of the jumble below, Earth made, very fine, but far too large for her diminutive frame, she moved it to the side and continued to explore.
The weapon caught her eye, it was not something she expected her father to have, she’d never seen it before nor knew of it’s existence, reached down she pulled the handgun from the chest. It was not a standard weapon, and certainly a far cry from the old rifle that Dad had used to deal with the coyote analogues that plagued the farm. This was the sidearm of a bounty hunter, or a military man, accurate, expensive and deadly. She wondered about its legality. The dull durilium Ingram repeater was heavy in her hand, its leather holster and belt worn and cracked from years of neglect and its power indicator blank.
Rummaging through the crate she found the charging holster and spare power cells, along with a video sight and maintenance kit, all of it wrapped in brown paper and cloth. Putting the weapon aside, her curiosity persisted as she looked deeper.
Underneath a pile of Old dress clothes, she saw a tablet, it looked like an old ships Journal, opening its cover, she could see that it had no charge, taking it to the dresser, she placed it on the charging plate, and a dull glow started to emanate from the panel.
The log tablet booted, presenting the standard flash screens, then the text changed
Enter Key.
It was encrypted. Maybe all the answers to all the questions she had lay coded in the small machine in front of her, yet even in death her father had hidden this from her
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The asteroid crashed through the habitation ring as if it were made of sand. Ploughing through the root of the support spoke and continuing to smash into the central core, where it breached the O’Neil cylinder before deflecting off into the void.
Atmosphere, debris and bodies were sucked out as explosive decompression added to the maelstrom. Few emergency failsafe systems tried to close of the breaches in vain, but the damage was too great, the exposure to space too catastrophic.
Some of the inhabitants had time to realise what was happening, some screamed, some embraced their loved ones, however they all faced the same fate.
A girder crashed against the hull of the ship and floated away, explosions rocked the concourse and ships tumbled from there pads as the docking clamps failed. Abioye wrestled with the controls, throwing power to the engines in a despeate attempt to dust off the pad before the whole docking port collapsed, the old Python screamed objections to his handling.
“Strap in now!” He shouted to the rest of the crew, who had been performing various tasks when the ship aligted to the pad not moments before.
The Venus Rose twisted violently to port, its winglets missing the scaffold next to the tower by a matter of centimetres. Abioye grabbed at the yoke, swinging the nose towards the collapsing letterbox and hit the boost button, he couldn’t help but close his eyes.
The Rose almost made it through, but for the last moment, the roof of the tunnel broke away in an explosive failure, and the substructure struck the Python’s rear quarter, pitching the ship and spinning it ship clockwise with the impact. The shields immediately failed and a Christmas tree of warning lights suddenly sprang into existence on the control display.
The pilot hands danced across the controls, sealing every hatchway and access panel he could. Thumbing for the boost again, he made as much speed as he could away from the dying Ocellus.
Suddenly conscious he was breathing for the first time since the habitat started to implode around him, Abioye looked round for his crew. Diana was staring at him silently as she clung to the command chair, Taavi hadn’t been so lucky; he lay silent in the corner of the bridge, head tilted backward at an impossible angle to his chest.
For a few moments the two stricken crew members gazed silently at each other in shock, Diana released her grip and rolled into the seat, checking the scanner among the debris she could make out at least seven ships transponders, most of them would have been outside when the impact occurred.
Maybe forty survivors from a station holding ten thousand souls.
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Scarlett's father’s Fer De Lance was an older ship, its angular frame covered in rotting tarpaulin casting the back of the hanger in shadow. stifling back her emotions, she moved towards the behemoth, the chill in her hands and feet having little to do with the temperature.
The hull bore a name plate, which blazoned the moniker “VX-731 The Dawn of September” in a black, no-nonsense sans-serif typeface, finished with a deep black Zorgan Petterson Group roundel. Under the covers, Scarlett could just make out the dark grey fuselage with blood red hull, dissected with white stripes that ran longitudinally along the ship, in a fashion that was common place along with gaudy oversized shoulder pads a few years ago.
Scarlett had once asked her father why he had called his ship “The Dawn of September”, and he told her it was the last time he was truly happy, Scarlett’s mother had died when she was a baby in an docking accident when the tube between a medical frigate and their ship was torn apart by space debris on the morning of September the 1st.
Harking back to when different manufacturing techniques were common, the Fer De Lance was a bit of an oddity compared to most of the ships in service today. Space fight was more expensive back when the FDL was created, partly because of the Nano technology, used to build large parts hulls in single pieces, which were fused at an atomic scale, whilst strong this made repairs prohibitive, so provision was made for massive shield generators to protect the tub.
Cheaper techniques, better replacement parts and more space docks meaning less exposure to the stresses of atmospheric entry meant that modern hulls were flimsier, but lighter and cheaper. Again, the massive fighter compensated with a huge power plant, which was thirsty, and often lacked the out-and-out range of contemporary ships.
Fer De lance vessels were often characterised as difficult to fly, modern ships were well balanced, offering manoeuvrability across their performance envelope, while the oversized thrusters nestled into the body of fathers ship would provide a huge G-turn delta-V, the ship had to be set to the right thrust levels, a technique FDL drivers used to call ‘riding the blue’, if they got it right, the massive hulk would turn on itself, whilst getting it wrong would often mean pilots left themselves dead in the water.
Cautiously, the young woman underneath the craft, between the two huge blended nacelles which housed the prime movers and passing below the exo-vehicle garage, around to the main boarding airlock. The entrance panel was located on the starboard ventral landing leg, she hinged up the protective flap, to see the locking mechanism, devoid of power. The biometrics would not work without electricity, not that it mattered as they would be encoded to her father, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small access token, and placed it flat on the reader.
To her relief, the mechanism beeped and a dull green light appeared on the console. A few seconds passed before she heard muffled mechanical clunking behind the armour that sounded like a drunk behind a sturdy door, before finally, the entry ramp started to descend on its rams.
As the ramp moved to the end of its travel, gravel crunched under the weight of the door, apprehensively, Scarlett strode up the ramp and into the open airlock, smelling the stale odour of years of neglect. The Entry panel flashed several warnings, the most prominent was LOW BATTERY, she would have to provide at least some charge the ship to start the generators, first job for the droids.
Below the airlock key panel, the ships insignia was engraved on a plaque that stated in stated in worn lettering
Fer De Lance Reconnaissance Xperimental
Serial RX-033
Zorgon Peterson, Olympus Shipyards, Mars 3175.
Inspected by Maximillian Liebenberg, Chief Engineer
Stepping through into the access corridor, the deck plates were a smokey gloss black, designed to work with magnetic soles in low gravity, they reflected the light from the celling gantry like moonlight on a pond. The walls were a crisp white, made from a regular patch work of soft padded panels; clearly to absorb the nocks and falls that can happen when craft manoeuvre around their access unexpectedly.
Being an older vessel, a lot had been changed over its years. Original fixtures and fittings had been replaced several times over the lifespan of the craft, systems and subsystems had been upgraded, changed and kept current, the carbon nano-farmed hull was probably the only original component, and probably all that most Fer De Lance ships had in common.
The corridor lead to a gravity well which ran up through the centre of the ship. At the top of the well was the bridge and the operational strong room, which once upon a time also housed the ships sidearm arsenal. Sitting behind and below the was the engineering deck, which towered over the cargo bay, garage and ships systems. At the prow, the living quarters consisted of two ships cabins with a lounge-come-observation room who’s transparent celling sat in front of the bridge. A small galley and mess room, medical facility and a few stores, lockers and a forward airlock were also crammed in to maximise the space available.
Walking through ship, she entered the main cabin. A small shower and cubical took up the forward eves to port and starboard respectively. A recessed bed sat in the centre of the room, and which was walled with lockers and a small couch.
Scarlett instructed the droids to move her clothes and bedding into the commanders cabin, they would need to clean it thoroughly before she would be comfortable here, several arachnid analogues had made their home in this room, their silk like webbing collecting dust until they resembled sparkling sheets of grime, sagging under the weight of their quarry of detritus.
From the port window, the girl could see Matty the droid connecting up a power conduit from the farm’s grid to the charge port, soon the systems would be back to full charge and she could run a systems check; now was a good time to get to the bridge.
The command deck was large enough to be classified as bridge over a cockpit. Scarlett could remember two occasions when she had sat on the bridge before, once when she was but a child, playing on the floor, and once when she was about 8, she was ill and they had flown to nearby Tinsola where she spent several weeks in a warm bed, with fussy machines and even fussier nurses tending to her fever.
The master helm chair sat slightly forward of another console on the left, she could manage without operating the secondary position, which covered tactical displays, navigation and ships engineering. As she sat in the well-worn Silastoplaston command chair, she sank so far backwards her feet were a clear foot-length from the lateral control pedals. This simply would not do, fiddling with the chairs controls. She managed to move the pedal box closer, but at its limits, she sighed when she realised at full stretch that it was almost possible to touch the treadles with the tips of her toes.
Returning with her platform boots from the house, that gave her a significant height boost, she tried to sit in the chair again, this time she could lay her feet on the rudder and apply what she felt must be full movement, whilst not sure how appropriate blue, Cuban heeled fashion shoes that came up almost to her knee could be while piloting a vessel, she had little choice.
Scarlett looked down, trying to familiarise herself with the controls. The console wrapped around her, to the left, the throttle dominated controls for engines and navigation, while to the right, the flight stick rose from the weapons console and sat neatly in her hand. Several displays, both flat panel and holo-projected rose from the centre console, showing information such as attitude, ships status and power distribution.
Despite the high tech and high level of finish, most of the console was taken up by old fashioned mechanical switches, other than what looked like a small gesture control screen by her right hand everything looked like it was linked to a physical button, toggle switch or lever, almost as if the thirty second century had past the bridge by.
She flipped the power circuits, and blue mood lighting bathed banks of switches, each control used a tell-tales or indicator, such that the bridge became a gaudy Christmas tree of primary colours. Moving her finger over the left hand console, she read off labels; Gear, Scoop, Atmospherics. That one was red, she thought the mustiness to the ship was down to the fact it had been sitting for so long, but attempting to toggle the control, the message ‘Atmospheric plant disabled’ flashed up on the HUD’s messaging panel, she was going to have to work out how to get that running or hold her breath for a long time.
“Ships Atmospheric Repressor has been set to long term store and must be re-primed from the engineering bay.”
She jumped at the voice.
“who was that”
“I am the ships computer young lady, and you should not be on the bridge.”
“What”
“Where is Commander Fisher?”
“Who, oh you mean Dad?”, she swallowed “He’s dead. I am in command now”
“Oh”, The computer sounded almost sorrowful
“Do I have access to all ships systems”
“Mistress Scarlett is bequeathed system administrator privileges”
“Full control?”
“Affirmative Commander Fisher”
She didn’t like being called commander Fisher, and certainly not a day after her fathers demise, resolving to work on that later she asked the ethereal voice of the ships AI
“Can I get a status report please, what do we need to get the ship flight worthy and dust off?”
“Power systems are at 5% charge, atmospherics and life support are in off-line storage modes, prime mover needs re-priming, water tanks are empty, lubrication header tanks 1, 4 and 5 have expired and will need to be refreshed…
The computer continued to read off maintenance tasks for several minutes, while Scarlett contemplated her biggest problem, she had no pilots licence, when she lifted off, how would she dock?
The engineering deck was on the mezzanine behind and above the cargo module. A catwalk made from a latticed metallic material ran down the entire length of the level, transversely from front to back. With a view between the lattice going all the way down to the deck below, Scarlett swallowed before putting her weight on the fifty year old walk way. On each side of the walkway were control cabinets, the subsystems they controlled buried in various places throughout the ship. The large dedicated control units could be manipulated from the bridge, however all the overrides, breakers and manual controls could be set directly on the units.
Cautiously walking between the racks, she read each of the panels as she went; Prime movers, Starboard Power Unit, Discovery Scanner. The next one made her stop, pause and re-read, she scarcely believed what she saw.
The inscription read Class 7A thrusters, commissioned by Alex Shcherbakov – Chief Engineer, Leesti. Skunkworks. Shcherbakov, her mind spun, the legendary engineer from the old systems, long dead now was one of the most famous shipwrights ever to have lived, and some how it looks like he and his team managed to cram a vastly oversize, over-classed thruster system for a craft three times as big into the Fer De Lances modest frame. She never knew, whilst it was odd her father would own such a specialist craft to find that it had been crafted by the hands of Shcherbakov was overwhelming.
In a flash, she recalled a memory, her father talking to mechanic, only a babe in his arms but she did remember the man said you have “150 Tonnes, all engines and teeth.”
Pushing past the thruster control panel, she found what she was looking for, the life support systems were cold and lifeless. The panel read ‘Owndirt reprocessing’. Whilst familiar with need to reprocess air, water and waste on any starship, the jocular appellation made her wince. There were three breakers and a master override switch, all of which were clamped firmly in OFF-SAFE, with a little apprehension, she pushed each one back to RUNNING. Immediately the cabinet started to whirr, and the feeling of air moving over her face was apparent.
Next on her list was the little Scarab that had seen better days; used as a tractor and burdened with a plough to tend the fields, it sat in the corner of the barn. It didn’t take much to manoeuvre the
little vehicle under the bay doors and cycle the boarding procedure, bright orange clamps extended from the walls of the module and held the buggy firmly in place.
Scarlett and the two droids worked on through the evening to get the ship ready, that night she slept on board. Martha had cleaned the cabin, disinfecting all the surfaces, and even managing to clean the discoloration from the leatherette material that had been made into spider homes. Laying on her back, gazing at the stars through the porthole a retractable held her in place, a standard fitting although she did not expect to experience zero g while firmly stationary. Not being able to truly sleep she contemplated the star-dreamer control by her bedside, before managing to settle into an uneasy, slumber.
Waking the next day, she walked out of the airlock and back to the farm. The animals were roaming the field, free from their wire confines. The Chickens had stayed pretty much where they were, and had laid enough to provide her with a last, fresh hearty breakfast.
Last night had given her time to come up with a plan, she would take her fathers old ID, and deal with the docking authority from the key console, without knowing that her father was dead the authorities could not take her ship from her and she could make a decision what to do with her life while holding as many cards as she could.
The Dawn had an appalling jump range, so she decided to find a decent centre of population fairly close by. Riedquat seemed to fit the bill, she wouldn’t get the attention that she would at the major population centres like Lave, yet it was hardly a backwater system, advanced enough for her to plan her future.
Taking one final look around her childhood home, she headed out the door, as she turned to lock the gate, she hesitated, shrugged, and left it open. By one means or another, she wasn’t coming back.
The droids had already finished their tasks, and had settled in the operations room, where they plugged themselves into the Dawn’s power grid, which was now being charged from the on board generators. As Scarlett walked up the entry ramp she heard scurrying from behind, looking round she saw the farm’s cat cautiously following her on-board
“Danté, go, go-oh shue”
But the cat just sat back on its hunches and stared at her quizzically. Taking two steps towards the errant animal, it bolted between her legs and into the ship. Cursing, Scarlett walked up the rest of the ramp and closed the airlock. She had a crew mate.
“A animal, on board, in zero gravity it will be all claws and spit” The AI blustered as Scarlett buckled herself in
Scarlett looked over at Danté, who was grooming himself in front of the the main view screen.
Feeling a pang of sympathy for the feline she retorted, “He be OK, if it becomes a problem, we will work something out”
“I will be getting fur out of the air conditioning for months”
“OK, now is not the time, your objections are noted.” Sterner now.
“Seal all airlocks and external doors. Start Pre-flight checks and spin prime movers one and two up to 25% of maximum”
“Affirmative, engines spooling”
Impressed by her authoritative sounding commands, in truth Scarlett knew little about space flight, and had heard something similar on one of the holo-g entertainment packages shipped in with the provisions.
“Taxi out of the hanger and complete pre-flight procedures” – straight out of an entertainment flec. She could feel the massive weight of the craft move forward. Sunlight streamed through the forward armour-glass and spread out over the bridge, she glanced down at the controls, and dimmed the view screen so that the farm came into sharp focus. Another switch and the HUD sprang to life, annotations and augmentations splashed over the canopy, highlighting astral bodies as well as the taxi path. One final switch and the washed out scenery suddenly became contrasted and clear with image enhancement controls making decisions on how best to highlight external data.
She rested her hand on the throttles and the other on the flight stick, and slow moving the control forward she felt rather than heard the hum of the prime mover increased in pitch, vibrations from the console resonated through her limbs, a sense of foreboding rose in her throat, manifesting as a dry taste, as if she hadn’t hydrated in days.
Watching the dials climb, she paused and checked the power distribution controls, everything looked normal, listening for any change in tone or frequency she waited for another moment, keeping her nerves in check.
Scarlett could feel the Dawn becoming lighter, she could feel the tiniest movements where the wind caught the lifting body. Looking down at the attitude throttles, she gave one last difficult swallow and pushed forward.
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The Prodigal
Leaning over her Father’s body, a small tear fell from her check and landed on his nose. Blank eyes stared up at her, motionless, faded. Tenderly she placed her hand on his and squeezed, hoping beyond reason that he would respond with a caress, however she could already feel his skin was different, as if the elasticity of life had all but disappeared in the last few fleeting moments.
Suddenly, Scarlett was very aware of the silence that surrounded her, save for her own shallow breaths, there was no electrical humming, not a noise from bird nor beast, even the air fell silent. For the first time in her fifteen years, Scarlett felt truly alone. Grief hit her like a physical force in her stomach, making her stagger backwards on her feet so she had to reach out to prevent her from falling. The solemn stillness was palpable, He was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon; almost as waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.
Slowly she raised her had to her Father’s face, hesitantly she moved her fingers over his eyelids and brought them down over the lifeless pools that once had sparkled with joy. She told herself that was truly gone.
That evening, as the second star slid behind the horizon, Scarlett returned to her father’s corpse.
“Oh Daddy, why did you go” she said mournfully
Moving his body would be hopeless, even the frail state of his final years was too much for her slight frame, either way, that would not be dignified.
The two domestics followed her into the room, the lights on their chest consoles blinked enthusiastically in the most inappropriate manner.
“Wrap his body in the sheets from the cupboard” she told the automatons
“Then take his body and bury him behind the yard. Make sure his body is a meter deep”
After the crying she had done in the afternoon, her face felt raw, and she felt distant from the impassive mechanical process unfolding in front of her. The two droids started to apply the wrappings to the cadaver.
“Wait!”
His rigored fingers had gripped the medallion so tightly in his palm she hadn’t noticed he had held it for what must have been his last day. What was so important that he would clutch in his dying hours? Tenderly, she firmly prised his fingers away from the small, stylised gold phoenix in his grasp. She recognised the emblem, understood what it meant, and was confused.
What was Dad doing with an Elite medal, was it his or did he steal it. Did he kill for it? Why did he not say anything, and why did he hold it so tightly in his last moments?
Whether it was a desire for solace, or simply an attempt to shield his daughter from the horrors and trappings of a nefarious existence Daniel had settled on the remote world, trappings of a rogue’s life now gathering dust among the agricultural possessions of a land worker. He never spoke to her about his past, and as isolated as the young woman found herself, it was clear to her that her Father past was one of professional violence, however she was never able to get him to divulge, every time the conversation lead in that direction, he appeared distant, making his excuses and falling quiet despite her probing. Now she wondered if there was another reason for their self-enforced isolationism.
Her head spun with un-requited questions of her family and her future. Should she stay, alone save for the droids and the cattle, continue her life of solitude, yet she yearned to leave this place, there was nothing for her here now, she should leave or die; maybe not this year, but with the next farmstead hundreds of kilometres away, complete isolation would be a sentence with only one outcome.
That night, as she lay in her bed, wind rattled the frame, rain hammered down on the prefabricated plexi glass panels like a small percussion orchestra, broken only by the crashes of the gate driven against the gateposts by the strong gusts from the east. Relentless precipitation mirrored the unyielding pounding in her head. Pulling the sheets tighter around her body she resolved.
The next day, as the first sun rose above the prairie she sipped on the black coffee. The kipper analogs from the freezer they were saving now simmered gently on the stove.
There was little to gather in the house, some provisions that would not perish, a few clothes and a few personal affects she could not bear to leave behind.
“Martha, gather my clothes from the chest and bring them to the hanger” she said to the domestic droid, who was silently loitering behind her, a robotic silver-service waiter, attending on her modest breakfast.
“When you are done, find Matty, then I want to release the cattle from the pens and report back to me by Dad’s old ship”
Matty was the second droid, currently tending to the power grid behind the barn.
After breakfast, she washed and changed into her softest jeans, gym t-shirt and warm poncho. Slinging her duster around her waist she pulled her beanie over her long brown hair and collected the old rifle from above the fireplace. Opening the door to her father’s room, she approached the dresser, a small brass key was tucked in the ancient crystal-glass bowl on the top. Knowing what the key was for, she took it to Daniel’s old chest by the window. Never having the confidence to open this before, and with the revelations of the last night, she trembled with anticipation as she approached the old wooden chest.
The lock was stiff, but with persuasion, the heavy lid creaked open, a musty smell immediately attacked her nostrils, making her cough. A few sheets of paper spilled out on the floor, a glace showed her that they were servicing records for his ship, deeds for the farmstead, and various old bills.
Her Fathers old flight suit lay on top of the jumble below, Earth made, very fine, but far too large for her diminutive frame, she moved it to the side and continued to explore.
The weapon caught her eye, it was not something she expected her father to have, she’d never seen it before nor knew of it’s existence, reached down she pulled the handgun from the chest. It was not a standard weapon, and certainly a far cry from the old rifle that Dad had used to deal with the coyote analogues that plagued the farm. This was the sidearm of a bounty hunter, or a military man, accurate, expensive and deadly. She wondered about its legality. The dull durilium Ingram repeater was heavy in her hand, its leather holster and belt worn and cracked from years of neglect and its power indicator blank.
Rummaging through the crate she found the charging holster and spare power cells, along with a video sight and maintenance kit, all of it wrapped in brown paper and cloth. Putting the weapon aside, her curiosity persisted as she looked deeper.
Underneath a pile of Old dress clothes, she saw a tablet, it looked like an old ships Journal, opening its cover, she could see that it had no charge, taking it to the dresser, she placed it on the charging plate, and a dull glow started to emanate from the panel.
The log tablet booted, presenting the standard flash screens, then the text changed
Enter Key.
It was encrypted. Maybe all the answers to all the questions she had lay coded in the small machine in front of her, yet even in death her father had hidden this from her
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The asteroid crashed through the habitation ring as if it were made of sand. Ploughing through the root of the support spoke and continuing to smash into the central core, where it breached the O’Neil cylinder before deflecting off into the void.
Atmosphere, debris and bodies were sucked out as explosive decompression added to the maelstrom. Few emergency failsafe systems tried to close of the breaches in vain, but the damage was too great, the exposure to space too catastrophic.
Some of the inhabitants had time to realise what was happening, some screamed, some embraced their loved ones, however they all faced the same fate.
A girder crashed against the hull of the ship and floated away, explosions rocked the concourse and ships tumbled from there pads as the docking clamps failed. Abioye wrestled with the controls, throwing power to the engines in a despeate attempt to dust off the pad before the whole docking port collapsed, the old Python screamed objections to his handling.
“Strap in now!” He shouted to the rest of the crew, who had been performing various tasks when the ship aligted to the pad not moments before.
The Venus Rose twisted violently to port, its winglets missing the scaffold next to the tower by a matter of centimetres. Abioye grabbed at the yoke, swinging the nose towards the collapsing letterbox and hit the boost button, he couldn’t help but close his eyes.
The Rose almost made it through, but for the last moment, the roof of the tunnel broke away in an explosive failure, and the substructure struck the Python’s rear quarter, pitching the ship and spinning it ship clockwise with the impact. The shields immediately failed and a Christmas tree of warning lights suddenly sprang into existence on the control display.
The pilot hands danced across the controls, sealing every hatchway and access panel he could. Thumbing for the boost again, he made as much speed as he could away from the dying Ocellus.
Suddenly conscious he was breathing for the first time since the habitat started to implode around him, Abioye looked round for his crew. Diana was staring at him silently as she clung to the command chair, Taavi hadn’t been so lucky; he lay silent in the corner of the bridge, head tilted backward at an impossible angle to his chest.
For a few moments the two stricken crew members gazed silently at each other in shock, Diana released her grip and rolled into the seat, checking the scanner among the debris she could make out at least seven ships transponders, most of them would have been outside when the impact occurred.
Maybe forty survivors from a station holding ten thousand souls.
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Scarlett's father’s Fer De Lance was an older ship, its angular frame covered in rotting tarpaulin casting the back of the hanger in shadow. stifling back her emotions, she moved towards the behemoth, the chill in her hands and feet having little to do with the temperature.
The hull bore a name plate, which blazoned the moniker “VX-731 The Dawn of September” in a black, no-nonsense sans-serif typeface, finished with a deep black Zorgan Petterson Group roundel. Under the covers, Scarlett could just make out the dark grey fuselage with blood red hull, dissected with white stripes that ran longitudinally along the ship, in a fashion that was common place along with gaudy oversized shoulder pads a few years ago.
Scarlett had once asked her father why he had called his ship “The Dawn of September”, and he told her it was the last time he was truly happy, Scarlett’s mother had died when she was a baby in an docking accident when the tube between a medical frigate and their ship was torn apart by space debris on the morning of September the 1st.
Harking back to when different manufacturing techniques were common, the Fer De Lance was a bit of an oddity compared to most of the ships in service today. Space fight was more expensive back when the FDL was created, partly because of the Nano technology, used to build large parts hulls in single pieces, which were fused at an atomic scale, whilst strong this made repairs prohibitive, so provision was made for massive shield generators to protect the tub.
Cheaper techniques, better replacement parts and more space docks meaning less exposure to the stresses of atmospheric entry meant that modern hulls were flimsier, but lighter and cheaper. Again, the massive fighter compensated with a huge power plant, which was thirsty, and often lacked the out-and-out range of contemporary ships.
Fer De lance vessels were often characterised as difficult to fly, modern ships were well balanced, offering manoeuvrability across their performance envelope, while the oversized thrusters nestled into the body of fathers ship would provide a huge G-turn delta-V, the ship had to be set to the right thrust levels, a technique FDL drivers used to call ‘riding the blue’, if they got it right, the massive hulk would turn on itself, whilst getting it wrong would often mean pilots left themselves dead in the water.
Cautiously, the young woman underneath the craft, between the two huge blended nacelles which housed the prime movers and passing below the exo-vehicle garage, around to the main boarding airlock. The entrance panel was located on the starboard ventral landing leg, she hinged up the protective flap, to see the locking mechanism, devoid of power. The biometrics would not work without electricity, not that it mattered as they would be encoded to her father, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small access token, and placed it flat on the reader.
To her relief, the mechanism beeped and a dull green light appeared on the console. A few seconds passed before she heard muffled mechanical clunking behind the armour that sounded like a drunk behind a sturdy door, before finally, the entry ramp started to descend on its rams.
As the ramp moved to the end of its travel, gravel crunched under the weight of the door, apprehensively, Scarlett strode up the ramp and into the open airlock, smelling the stale odour of years of neglect. The Entry panel flashed several warnings, the most prominent was LOW BATTERY, she would have to provide at least some charge the ship to start the generators, first job for the droids.
Below the airlock key panel, the ships insignia was engraved on a plaque that stated in stated in worn lettering
Fer De Lance Reconnaissance Xperimental
Serial RX-033
Zorgon Peterson, Olympus Shipyards, Mars 3175.
Inspected by Maximillian Liebenberg, Chief Engineer
Stepping through into the access corridor, the deck plates were a smokey gloss black, designed to work with magnetic soles in low gravity, they reflected the light from the celling gantry like moonlight on a pond. The walls were a crisp white, made from a regular patch work of soft padded panels; clearly to absorb the nocks and falls that can happen when craft manoeuvre around their access unexpectedly.
Being an older vessel, a lot had been changed over its years. Original fixtures and fittings had been replaced several times over the lifespan of the craft, systems and subsystems had been upgraded, changed and kept current, the carbon nano-farmed hull was probably the only original component, and probably all that most Fer De Lance ships had in common.
The corridor lead to a gravity well which ran up through the centre of the ship. At the top of the well was the bridge and the operational strong room, which once upon a time also housed the ships sidearm arsenal. Sitting behind and below the was the engineering deck, which towered over the cargo bay, garage and ships systems. At the prow, the living quarters consisted of two ships cabins with a lounge-come-observation room who’s transparent celling sat in front of the bridge. A small galley and mess room, medical facility and a few stores, lockers and a forward airlock were also crammed in to maximise the space available.
Walking through ship, she entered the main cabin. A small shower and cubical took up the forward eves to port and starboard respectively. A recessed bed sat in the centre of the room, and which was walled with lockers and a small couch.
Scarlett instructed the droids to move her clothes and bedding into the commanders cabin, they would need to clean it thoroughly before she would be comfortable here, several arachnid analogues had made their home in this room, their silk like webbing collecting dust until they resembled sparkling sheets of grime, sagging under the weight of their quarry of detritus.
From the port window, the girl could see Matty the droid connecting up a power conduit from the farm’s grid to the charge port, soon the systems would be back to full charge and she could run a systems check; now was a good time to get to the bridge.
The command deck was large enough to be classified as bridge over a cockpit. Scarlett could remember two occasions when she had sat on the bridge before, once when she was but a child, playing on the floor, and once when she was about 8, she was ill and they had flown to nearby Tinsola where she spent several weeks in a warm bed, with fussy machines and even fussier nurses tending to her fever.
The master helm chair sat slightly forward of another console on the left, she could manage without operating the secondary position, which covered tactical displays, navigation and ships engineering. As she sat in the well-worn Silastoplaston command chair, she sank so far backwards her feet were a clear foot-length from the lateral control pedals. This simply would not do, fiddling with the chairs controls. She managed to move the pedal box closer, but at its limits, she sighed when she realised at full stretch that it was almost possible to touch the treadles with the tips of her toes.
Returning with her platform boots from the house, that gave her a significant height boost, she tried to sit in the chair again, this time she could lay her feet on the rudder and apply what she felt must be full movement, whilst not sure how appropriate blue, Cuban heeled fashion shoes that came up almost to her knee could be while piloting a vessel, she had little choice.
Scarlett looked down, trying to familiarise herself with the controls. The console wrapped around her, to the left, the throttle dominated controls for engines and navigation, while to the right, the flight stick rose from the weapons console and sat neatly in her hand. Several displays, both flat panel and holo-projected rose from the centre console, showing information such as attitude, ships status and power distribution.
Despite the high tech and high level of finish, most of the console was taken up by old fashioned mechanical switches, other than what looked like a small gesture control screen by her right hand everything looked like it was linked to a physical button, toggle switch or lever, almost as if the thirty second century had past the bridge by.
She flipped the power circuits, and blue mood lighting bathed banks of switches, each control used a tell-tales or indicator, such that the bridge became a gaudy Christmas tree of primary colours. Moving her finger over the left hand console, she read off labels; Gear, Scoop, Atmospherics. That one was red, she thought the mustiness to the ship was down to the fact it had been sitting for so long, but attempting to toggle the control, the message ‘Atmospheric plant disabled’ flashed up on the HUD’s messaging panel, she was going to have to work out how to get that running or hold her breath for a long time.
“Ships Atmospheric Repressor has been set to long term store and must be re-primed from the engineering bay.”
She jumped at the voice.
“who was that”
“I am the ships computer young lady, and you should not be on the bridge.”
“What”
“Where is Commander Fisher?”
“Who, oh you mean Dad?”, she swallowed “He’s dead. I am in command now”
“Oh”, The computer sounded almost sorrowful
“Do I have access to all ships systems”
“Mistress Scarlett is bequeathed system administrator privileges”
“Full control?”
“Affirmative Commander Fisher”
She didn’t like being called commander Fisher, and certainly not a day after her fathers demise, resolving to work on that later she asked the ethereal voice of the ships AI
“Can I get a status report please, what do we need to get the ship flight worthy and dust off?”
“Power systems are at 5% charge, atmospherics and life support are in off-line storage modes, prime mover needs re-priming, water tanks are empty, lubrication header tanks 1, 4 and 5 have expired and will need to be refreshed…
The computer continued to read off maintenance tasks for several minutes, while Scarlett contemplated her biggest problem, she had no pilots licence, when she lifted off, how would she dock?
The engineering deck was on the mezzanine behind and above the cargo module. A catwalk made from a latticed metallic material ran down the entire length of the level, transversely from front to back. With a view between the lattice going all the way down to the deck below, Scarlett swallowed before putting her weight on the fifty year old walk way. On each side of the walkway were control cabinets, the subsystems they controlled buried in various places throughout the ship. The large dedicated control units could be manipulated from the bridge, however all the overrides, breakers and manual controls could be set directly on the units.
Cautiously walking between the racks, she read each of the panels as she went; Prime movers, Starboard Power Unit, Discovery Scanner. The next one made her stop, pause and re-read, she scarcely believed what she saw.
The inscription read Class 7A thrusters, commissioned by Alex Shcherbakov – Chief Engineer, Leesti. Skunkworks. Shcherbakov, her mind spun, the legendary engineer from the old systems, long dead now was one of the most famous shipwrights ever to have lived, and some how it looks like he and his team managed to cram a vastly oversize, over-classed thruster system for a craft three times as big into the Fer De Lances modest frame. She never knew, whilst it was odd her father would own such a specialist craft to find that it had been crafted by the hands of Shcherbakov was overwhelming.
In a flash, she recalled a memory, her father talking to mechanic, only a babe in his arms but she did remember the man said you have “150 Tonnes, all engines and teeth.”
Pushing past the thruster control panel, she found what she was looking for, the life support systems were cold and lifeless. The panel read ‘Owndirt reprocessing’. Whilst familiar with need to reprocess air, water and waste on any starship, the jocular appellation made her wince. There were three breakers and a master override switch, all of which were clamped firmly in OFF-SAFE, with a little apprehension, she pushed each one back to RUNNING. Immediately the cabinet started to whirr, and the feeling of air moving over her face was apparent.
Next on her list was the little Scarab that had seen better days; used as a tractor and burdened with a plough to tend the fields, it sat in the corner of the barn. It didn’t take much to manoeuvre the
little vehicle under the bay doors and cycle the boarding procedure, bright orange clamps extended from the walls of the module and held the buggy firmly in place.
Scarlett and the two droids worked on through the evening to get the ship ready, that night she slept on board. Martha had cleaned the cabin, disinfecting all the surfaces, and even managing to clean the discoloration from the leatherette material that had been made into spider homes. Laying on her back, gazing at the stars through the porthole a retractable held her in place, a standard fitting although she did not expect to experience zero g while firmly stationary. Not being able to truly sleep she contemplated the star-dreamer control by her bedside, before managing to settle into an uneasy, slumber.
Waking the next day, she walked out of the airlock and back to the farm. The animals were roaming the field, free from their wire confines. The Chickens had stayed pretty much where they were, and had laid enough to provide her with a last, fresh hearty breakfast.
Last night had given her time to come up with a plan, she would take her fathers old ID, and deal with the docking authority from the key console, without knowing that her father was dead the authorities could not take her ship from her and she could make a decision what to do with her life while holding as many cards as she could.
The Dawn had an appalling jump range, so she decided to find a decent centre of population fairly close by. Riedquat seemed to fit the bill, she wouldn’t get the attention that she would at the major population centres like Lave, yet it was hardly a backwater system, advanced enough for her to plan her future.
Taking one final look around her childhood home, she headed out the door, as she turned to lock the gate, she hesitated, shrugged, and left it open. By one means or another, she wasn’t coming back.
The droids had already finished their tasks, and had settled in the operations room, where they plugged themselves into the Dawn’s power grid, which was now being charged from the on board generators. As Scarlett walked up the entry ramp she heard scurrying from behind, looking round she saw the farm’s cat cautiously following her on-board
“Danté, go, go-oh shue”
But the cat just sat back on its hunches and stared at her quizzically. Taking two steps towards the errant animal, it bolted between her legs and into the ship. Cursing, Scarlett walked up the rest of the ramp and closed the airlock. She had a crew mate.
“A animal, on board, in zero gravity it will be all claws and spit” The AI blustered as Scarlett buckled herself in
Scarlett looked over at Danté, who was grooming himself in front of the the main view screen.
Feeling a pang of sympathy for the feline she retorted, “He be OK, if it becomes a problem, we will work something out”
“I will be getting fur out of the air conditioning for months”
“OK, now is not the time, your objections are noted.” Sterner now.
“Seal all airlocks and external doors. Start Pre-flight checks and spin prime movers one and two up to 25% of maximum”
“Affirmative, engines spooling”
Impressed by her authoritative sounding commands, in truth Scarlett knew little about space flight, and had heard something similar on one of the holo-g entertainment packages shipped in with the provisions.
“Taxi out of the hanger and complete pre-flight procedures” – straight out of an entertainment flec. She could feel the massive weight of the craft move forward. Sunlight streamed through the forward armour-glass and spread out over the bridge, she glanced down at the controls, and dimmed the view screen so that the farm came into sharp focus. Another switch and the HUD sprang to life, annotations and augmentations splashed over the canopy, highlighting astral bodies as well as the taxi path. One final switch and the washed out scenery suddenly became contrasted and clear with image enhancement controls making decisions on how best to highlight external data.
She rested her hand on the throttles and the other on the flight stick, and slow moving the control forward she felt rather than heard the hum of the prime mover increased in pitch, vibrations from the console resonated through her limbs, a sense of foreboding rose in her throat, manifesting as a dry taste, as if she hadn’t hydrated in days.
Watching the dials climb, she paused and checked the power distribution controls, everything looked normal, listening for any change in tone or frequency she waited for another moment, keeping her nerves in check.
Scarlett could feel the Dawn becoming lighter, she could feel the tiniest movements where the wind caught the lifting body. Looking down at the attitude throttles, she gave one last difficult swallow and pushed forward.
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