Static
By Spooky. Published 2012, written in 2008/9.
Static, the electromagnetic radiation that permeates to every corner of the universe. That gentle hiss that probably hasn't been heard on purpose for over 800 years. Of course it's still there but the myriad of adaptive layers, filters and signal processors mean that our space is truly silent. Now, after a few hours of work I can hear that irregular and chaotic chorus of rasps and clicks that make up the echo of our universe's tumultuous beginnings. I'm straining another furrow into my already wrinkled brow as I concentrate intensely at the concerto of randomisation. The cacophony is streaming in from invisible points behind dull brushed durillium, sweeping away the uncomfortable silence.
I start sifting and filtering at the wall of white noise, desperately searching for a systematised sequence, any regularly repeating event. Not that I should trust myself to listen for any length of time. I know that my mind will start to play tricks on me. Little whispers carrying the merest hint of words that would come creeping out of the aural chaos. Pareidolia, the innate ability of the mind to extract seemingly meaningful patterns from randomness... and quite possibly the single biggest indicator that you might have been out here a little too long.
"Out here..."
Not that I know where here is. In micro-gravity there's no up or down, in deep space there's no point of reference and, even more disturbingly, according to the navicom there's no local chart. I can't even see any stars. It's just the black staring back in at me with reflected eyes on the plexiglass. The eyes are mine, but it's not me looking back. Sure, the face is familiar but there's a chilling emptiness to the expression. The Nietzschean abyss in effect.
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I checked over the manifest one last time all the while eyeing the quartermaster suspiciously. It was more than a little unusual to see an Oresrian, it was extremely odd to see one on it's own, and it was unbelievable to find one on Xexedi of all places. Still, I imagine even if the entire native amphibian population ganged up, it would still have difficulty getting this 8 foot tall behemoth onto a plate.
"20 Tons of computers"
"Affirmative" it clicked.
"9 Tons of machinery"
"Affirmative." Watching it's mandibles flicking back and forth between each syllable became almost hypnotic.
"1 Ton of Alien Items" "Affirmative".
I nodded slowly, forcibly tearing my stare away from the giant insectoid maw. I handed it back the data slate with my freshly pressed biometric. The armoured claw that took it extended a forth retractable digit and completed the transaction with it's own print.
"I name kryztzzlytik"
I smiled sheepishly.
"Die well, flesh sack"
It turned away sharply and headed back to the stores, two automated lifter units following behind.
"You too" I shouted as I rotated on my right heel. It wouldn't be entirely accurate to say I was sprinting towards the slightly ragged silhouette of the Mjolnir but it was certainly a spirited walk. Oresrians are almost identical to the Thargoids. Although how anyone has been in the company of one of those Thargoid bastards long enough to make comparisons is beyond me. Anyway, I hate bugs, whatever species.
The run to Laenin was simple enough. Haul a few tons of rotavators and vapirators, deliver a shipment of personal data slates for Coommunist Party bureaucratic use, and finally dump some culturally important relics at "The Glorious Museum of the State And Monument To The Democratic Victory Of The People". Then, of course, there would be a few nights of cultural immersion and relaxation in the 'workers paradise' before it was back to the grind. You can say what you like about some of these backwater dictatorships but no access to technology, no food and no personal freedoms certainly gives birth to a breathtaking array of intoxicating liquids and a truly staggering line in executive massage.
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The alarm rudely interrupted a fantastic dream. There I was, slumped in a booth in Ahruman's in the north quarter of Hard Harbour, Riedquat. I swear that's the best strip joint in Galaxy One by an agricultural light year. They say that once you've gone rodent you never go back and there's more than a little truth to that. It's the tails, bushy and prehensile... Suddenly my eyes were wide open and my hand was flailing around to find the shut-the-hell-up button. The newly found silence was immediately ruined. the torus drive shuddered sending shock waves through the ship as the gravitic field failed and Mjolnir slide back into normal space with all the poise and grace of an arthritic bloodwhale.
Immediately the hull was creaking under the immense shearing forces, gravity reaching out from the star with giant tentacles and tugging at ship like the monsters of ancient seafaring myth. Just a few moments more and the scoops would kick in. I'm not a miserly old fugger by any stretch but I don't see the point in paying good credits for something that's freely available. "Look after the cents and the credits look after themselves." as my old mum used to say.
As the quirium tanks approached full I rolled the old crate 90° and nosed up into the big black.
Again the cantankerous bugger shuddered as I smashed the throttles fully open and set a course for the local station. Everything was going so swimmingly... I don't even remember seeing the first ship.
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Lasers were slamming into the rear shields faster than the energy units could recharge them. I twisted and turned trying to get an angle on at least one of the kraits but they were like pack dogs. As soon as I get one in the reticles the others would poke and prod at me from all directions. Mjolnir wasn't a factory fit Mk III by any measure, but it wasn't designed for this kind of abuse.
I managed to lock my only hard head onto one of the bastards and let her fly. Immediately a chorus of ECM spikes registered but they were all too far away to be effective. The unlucky krait broke off and tried to make a run for it, but it was too little, too late and the missile caught it's target. I barely caught of glimpse of the fireball and shock wave as I was already twisting back to try and face my attackers in an attempt to balance out the battering the shields were taking. It was only a matter of time before they ground me down so it was time for a trademark ingenious escape plan. I set the drive system to the closest industrial democracy I could find. Lerelace. Then all I have to do was give myself a little breathing room with the injectors a]]nd everything would be golden.
It turns out the the [[python class cruiser had been hanging back, letting it's escorts soften me up. The military laser sliced through the remnant of the rear shield and all hell broke loose.
"Fuel Scoops Damaged" "Docking Computers Damaged" "Shield Boosters Damaged" "ECM System Damaged"
Plasma was venting out from a hole the size of the Zaonce Great Fissure that had been inconveniently carved into the rear of the ship. Energy banks 3 and 4 were shot, half the manoeuvering thrusters were dead and the life support system was playing the suffocation waltz. Luckily the comms system was still functional. Well I say lucky...
"Greetings comrade. I trust we have your attention?"
"What the hell is the meaning of this, I am on official Party business!" I screamed back. Well it wasn't technically a lie. The data slates were for the Party after all.
"Indeed comrade, that's why we are here. You will hand over the Star of Laenin or become a martyr to the glorious struggle for freedom"
"What? I don't know what the hell you are on about. I don't have any Star. All I have is some praking farm machinery, a few magic space rocks and a hull load of data slates for the Ministry of Bureaucracy"
"Don't play innocent, capitalist scum. You are transporting the Star of Laenin to the insurgence high command. We will destroy you and ourselves, if necessary, to prevent the Star falling into the hands of those... rebels. Kirik, arm the cascade weapon"
Now, there's a some damn good reasons why I don't play poker. I'm a terrible bluffer and even worse at reading people. I had no idea if they actually had a Q-Bomb or not. However I have had dealings with Party Operatives before. Zealous is an understatement and I was in no doubt that he would take me, himself and anyone else in the local area out in a flash of cascading awesome if it meant he achieved the Great Director's aims.
"Whoa! Whoa! Okay, lets calm down here. Tell me what this Star looks and I'll toddle off and see if I've got one".
"You try my patience. Hand it over, you have 30 seconds"
My hands work feverishly scanning each of the ships in turn. Cloud Analysers all round, massive energy readings from the Python and more military equipment than you could shake a gnarled voodoo log at. The odds were that if I ran, they'd kill me. If I gave them whatever this damned Star thing was they'd kill me. If I tried to make a short and somewhat ineffectual fight of it they'd kill me. Failing all that, an abundance of vacuum would probably be killing me in a little under an hour anyway according to the life support system. Then it hit me...
"Oh Yes! I'm so bloody clever".
The ship was already tumbling out of control towards the star. All I needed the grumpy old heap to do was give me one more quick thrust at the right time.
"Okay, You've got me. I'll jettison all of my cargo. Once you have your Star you don't need me."
"I'm sorry comrade, but it doesn't work that way". "I though you might say that, so..."
I pointed the ship at center of the solar mass and hit the injectors. Zero to .450 in the blink of an eye and then I hit the jettison button.
"if you want it, you'll have to go and get it!"
There was a screaming howl as the engines finally gave up the ghost. An explosion rocked the ship as they complained for the final time.
"Witchspace Injectors Damaged"
But it was enough, the old heap had given me enough shove and now inertia was carrying the cargo canisters towards the star at almost half light. There was no way they would be able to intercept it before it hit the corona.
I thumbed the comms system, "That's check, Comrade."
Now for stage two of my cunning plan. I engaged the witchdrive, I would have 15 seconds before the jump to disable the navicom, bypass the quirium inhibitors and avoid getting killed. All things being equal this would force a miss jump and hopefully I would still have enough fuel to make another jump to civilisation and safety. Ships can be repaired but my ass is fragile, and I like to think unique, so well worth saving.
"Witchspace to Lerelace in 15 seconds"
The kraits were scrambling after the cargo and I couldn't see any tell-tale purple trails therefore I could only assume they wouldn't make it. A wry smile crept across my face as my fingers worked at wet-wiring the navicom bypass.
"14, 13, 12..."
The python was slowly turning, bringing itself to bare on the remains of my ship. Luckily I was still tumbling towards the star, buying me a few more precious seconds. Laser fire streaked past the view screen. As I had hoped their big guns were having trouble hitting such an erratic target at this distance.
"11, 10, 9, 8"
"Missile lock detected"
The navicom was disengaged. Jump parameter warnings were flashing all over the HUD. I manually entered the sixteen co-ordinates from memory, well 7 of them anyway the rest were probably close enough.
"You fool, you will pay for your treachery." "7, 6, 5"
I could see the missile spiraling towards me in the rear viewer. It was going to be close. Maybe a second or two either way.
"4, 3, 2"
The missile hit home and it hit hard. The ship buckled with the impact and started flipping violently from the imparted force.
"Witchspace Engines Damaged" "Hyperspace to Lerelace in 0 seconds"
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The plan worked perfectly I suppose. I managed a transit to witchspace and with the navicom futzed I must have caused one hell of a misjump.
Unfortunately the Python's shot was mortal. I managed to restore life support but other than that the old crate is precisely that...a crate. So, here I am and that's my story. Well, they say everyone has at least one in them, right?
Hello? Is anyone out there? Hello?
<static>
So, did I tell you about the time I lost my cherry to a fat bird? <static>
