Chapter One

Deployed in corridor of Sector Five, 1296 VX-10 form an arc. Command; naming itself; "School Yard", accepted my advisory that to form circle about the corridor would result in self slaughter.

 

I receive transmission; "Tiger One, this is School Yard, pour the wine."

 

"Copy School Yard, Tiger One pouring wine."

 

I order; "Tiger One to Point leaders, table is set."

                     "Copy Tiger One this is Nimble."
                     "Copy Tiger One, Ladybug reads."
                     "Copy Tiger One, Shaolin, over."
                     "Copy Tiger One, D-Man is here."
                     "Copy Tiger One, Tin Hat on."
                     "Reading you Tiger One, Viper copies."

 

The voices of point leaders betray anxiety as they verified position with those under their Command. The mission irrational. Contradiction treason, silence imperative.

 

Point leaders report:

                         "Tiger One, this is Tin Hat, we're clean."
                         "Tiger One, Shaolin is go."
                         "Viper copies, Tiger One.
                         "Tiger One, Ladybug ready."
                         "Tiger One Nimble go."
                         "Tiger One, D-Man burning."

 

"School Yard, this is Tiger One, wine poured."

 

"Tiger One, School Yard requests live eye verification."

 

"School Yard, Tiger One copy."

 

I move from the centre of the phalanx towards Sector 1. Although not ordered, I require count off, stipulating that in retreat odd numbers veer 'north', even numbers 'south' using particular stars as the 'compass' to avert collisions.

 

Terrans had demarked the Sectors using Earth as Sector 1, surrounded by other Sectors. The 'mapping' is flawed as sectors are not so arranged nor parallel.

 

Humans occupy planets in Sector 1, 3, 4, 6 and 11, Zershaz  in Sector 10, Kintwin, 11, Keytash 7, Verash in 14 and the planet of my birth, Zechia, is in Sector 2.

 

Sector 5 has no significance.

 

"School yard, Tiger One reports, live eye completed."

 

"Tiger One, this is School Yard, You got go."

 

I opened communications with the Squadron.

 

"This is Tiger One. Count; three, two, one, fire."

 

Before us is a corridor where vessels have disappeared. Our mission was to fire our streamers in expectation of encountering an object.

 

I fired  two seconds, dove sharply. retreated at full burn, course set to a position in the 1st Sector.

 

I was not unprepared for the magnitude of the explosion.

 

'Classroom' had been stationed less than 100 million kilometers from the corridor.

 

My VX handled flawlessly despite a number of displays ceasing to record. I assumed the magnitude of the explosion had damaged them as I began braking maneuvers. Below light I began to transmit.

 

"School Yard, come in, this is Tiger One."

 

Silence. Expected.

 

I altered frequency while VX materialised as they dropped from light speed. There was gabble on the line; remarks of the aviators, emotional; anger, surprise, annoyance, perhaps fear or exultation.
Changing frequency to low grade security I contacted the Base.

 

"This is Tiger One, request confirmation."

 

I waited 3.4 minutes.

 

"Tiger One, this is Everglades."

 

"Everglades this is Tiger One, School Yard is silent."

 

"That's a copy, Tiger One, report to Clock Tower when you've finished Service."

 

"Copy Everglades."

 

Clock Tower was the largest Terran space station. For security purposes it was listed as a Terran Space Fleet Class Seven Cruiser named City of New York. It was there I had trained the pilots who flew this mission.

 

I ordered the Squadron to Clock Tower, remained in the fall back position, able to view the remnants of the explosion, searching for possible surviving craft without success.  I was the ultimate arrivant at the City of New York. After desuiting I reported to Command.

 

"That was some pop." Admiral Olaffson stated.

 

I discovered no impetus to reply.

 

"There's going to be years of analysis---." Decided Admiral Barrington.

 

I could not but stare upon him.

 

"Don't you find it phenomenal?" He asks.

 

"No. Sir."

 

"How many aviators you lost?" Interposed Admiral Cerasceu from the Joint Chiefs.

 

"Thirty One, Sir."

 

"Though the data's not official, all ships within an AU of the explosion were reduced to atomic particles, within a billion kilometers, crushed. We lost four Class Tens, Six Class Eights, Eight C Class Battlestars; roughly fourteen thousand eight hundred and fifty seven."

 

I expected those numbers.

 

"The computers aboard the VX are being downloaded, is there anything you noticed you would to add?" Admiral Heflen of Space Intelligence asked.

 

"No Sir."

 

"Debriefing at 3200."

 

I salute, exit, join an Observation bubble. The darkness, the silence, the transparency composing impression of suspension in the void.

 

Chapter Two

SENSELESS

 

eDAPKTCHOY

 

When discovered an area of disturbed space where ships disappeared, cordon wise. Investigation of the anomaly unnecessary. Avoidance was my ignored recommendation.

 

At 31:56 I rose from the deck, retraced steps to the briefing room to waste breath in verbal echos of computer printouts.

 

Though preferring to stand at the rear, I was directed to the fore. I took the uncomfortable seat. Gabble ceased as the Admirals began the ritual.

 

Olaffson was tall and broad for a human. He mentioned there had been 'losses' without particularising, claiming the mission a victory.

The stupider cheered with the mercenary. I would utter no sound but was asked if the battalion had performed well.  I do not know if they performed well. This was no engagement where such could be calibrated. However, answer expected.

 

"The majority obeyed orders."

 

"And the minority?" Olaffson probed.

 

"Died."

 

Aviators, embolden by the mission, adrenaline levels still high, posed questions as to the utility of the action, the purpose. Olaffson, annoyed, again distinguished me;

 

"I see you allow your pilots liberties, Commander eDapktchoy."

 

I perceived he intended to provoke me. He would fail.

 

"My intercourse is limited to the operation of the VX flyer, Sir. I do not exchange opinions. Sir."

 

The disaster, not proving fatal enough, we were to dock with the TSF Harbinger to be deployed at another point in the corridor.

 

"Begging the Admiral's pardon, but what say we don't get sucked into a black hole?" Tried Lieutenant Biko.

 

"The Commander's training." Olaffson replied. "Dismissed."

 

I entered the sani, utilised it, drank copious amounts of water, emerged to a menagerie of complaints by the Leaders as I strode to suiting, then hanger. I made no word trades, despite their insistence.  I checked my flyer, ascertaining the damaged chips replaced, gained the cockpit.

 

"This is Tiger One, velocity one cee after the bar. Engage."

 

Point leaders sent off their Deputies, ensued. I took the rear, then the fore.

 

"Tiger One, this is Ladybug, are we going to die?"

 

"Lady Bug, this is Tiger One, disengage communication."

 

For the past 82 years the specific corridor of the 5th Sector 'swallowed' craft of diverse configuration. Disappearance of the TSF Qintellum 12 years 8 months previous granted its name to the assumed sentient life causing such events.

 

To duplicate velocity to 'see' the entity was the purpose of the VX. If the aviator was caught in the wake, being dragged trillions of kilometers, beyond the known galaxy was possible.

 

"They're sending us to die!" Came the voice of a Deputy.

 

"We'll die in the sky." Chanted D-Man.

 

In 2491 I had been caught in the tow of Qintellum. To escape, I implemented various manuveres which I transmitted to Control as able.  This why, having arrived 502 years in the Past I was rescued. I was not the impetus; the craft, the information I held, was the focus of the rescue.

 

The coordinates of the Harbinger were inexact; it was at 7.1.2/9.4.1/3.2.2. It cost an twenty minutes to locate it, log aboard, gain room assignments, seize repose ere returning to the night.

 

I remained in my chamber until assembly for the mission. I assumed the Squad engaged in futile debate and other human activities. 

 

Once suited and in space I opened communications.

 

"This is Tiger One. If caught in the wake of Qintellum, immediate full burn deviation fifteen degrees. Report to the Harbinger on completion."

 

"Tiger One, this is Shaolin, copy instructions to ride the wake but execute veer 15 degrees from Qintellum object."

 

"Copy Shaolin, affirmative."

 

I heard Mock Yee explaining the strategy with a great number of words. Perhaps humans desire a great number of words.

 

Chapter Three

MEMORY

 

eDAPKTCHOY

 

In 2491, caught in the wake of Qintellum, I transmitted coords and tactics, entered course to Earth. The velocity of the VX-9 increased beyond the instrument's measure and by acceleration I was flung from the wake to tumble through the void.

 

I stablised the craft, decreased velocity, reaching sub light concurrent with perception of Earth. I brought the craft into atmosphere.

 

Although postulated it would disintergrate upon entrance I performed particular

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.09.2021
ISBN: 978-3-7487-9474-5

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