"Well, at least we didn't blow up. That's a good sign!"
Asenath disengages from the HUD long enough to throw a thumbs up to Mayhem.
Anything for you, handsome.
She slides her hand back into the wire glove and rotates her cradle a quarter turn to her left. When it clicks into place, the tiny lights along the edges of her fingers shift from steady green to white. She raises her hands before her face in a gesture of prayer, then rotates her palms against one another in large, then smaller and smaller arcs, calibrating the size of the rift being calculated by the Drift Engine. Abruptly she stops and pulls her hands apart and the white lights begin to flicker. She moves them down, hovering palms forward before her chest.
Okay, you degenerates, I got the rift as close as I can; there appears to be minimal space dust to tear out of the here and take into the there with us. Hope you took your ginger pills and updated your wills. Here we go!
Her voice drops and takes on a different timber.
Dancing white, silent flight, let us slip the doors of sight, let us dance among the light...
With the last syllable, she pushes forward with her empty hands and the very air seems to tremble and spark as the ship enters the Drift.
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Absalom Station portal authority attendant Simon Le Bon steps back from his position at the gate of Docking 42 as the Drift-bound Kevolari Venture ship exits, intent upon sighting the Drift entry for his record-keeping. The helmeted Simon, a descendant of half-elven ancestry centuries removed, has never had any notion of the improbable nature of his own name - he just doesn't take stock with such trivia. Bureaucratic and efficient, the Le Bons pride themselves on ruthlessly accurate accounting. Bordering on obsession, Simon at times seems hungry like the wolf in his pursuits. He inclines his head and glances across space and into the Drift.
From an external view, it looks just like any other spaceship launching from a docking port at Absalom Station. It could be any vessel launching from any docking bay across the history of the universe - and yet, when the Eoxian-black portal tears itself open in space in front of the ship, the comparison falters and fails.
Much has been written about the process of entering the Drift, but no words do the visual aspects of the entry justice. The outline of the sleek Kevolari Venture ship distorts visibly, elongating towards the Drift portal impossibly in a similar fashion to the way that bricks float in mid-air. The tint of the ship shifts into the ultraviolet range, turning largely invisible yet still outlined by a network of static signals as AbadarCorp Vessel MRM3500 is stripped of the electromagnetic anchors pinning it to this plane of existence.
And then a pop, and all is restored to as it once was, minus a ship now hurtling through the interstellar expanse known only as the Drift.
Simon makes a note in his ledger and then returns to his station and his ordinary world.
Barb's personal comm unit pings just as the ship is pulling out of the station, and she looks down to check it. She gives a small nod to the device, then slips it back into its holster on her arm.
Asenath opens the portal into the rift and directs the ship in, closing the rift behind them as soon as they are clear. Almost the instant the rift seals and the systems indicate that the nine day voyage has officially begun, Barb stands from her seat and addresses the crew in a much more cheerful voice.
"Okay, looks like we're finally on our way! We're going to be working together for quite a while, so I'd love to get to know all of you a little better. First things first, though, so let's go ahead and iron out who will handle what duties in case we run into trouble during interplanetary travel. Alright? I'll start.
"I'm Barb, and I plan to be your captain! Who's next?"
JD lets out a long exhale when the ship leaves Absalom Station, and allows himself to relax in his seat. He takes a few moments to enjoy the subtle vibrations and noise of a ship in flight, while watching the readouts in front of him.
Much better. Only thing I need now is another good night's sleep to sweat out the last of that Akitonian Ale
He listens to the Captain's intro.
"Where I am sitting is my specialty. I've spent my whole life working ships out here, and can handle most jobs on board. But keeping the lights on and the engines hot is what I prefer. I gotta admit though, I thought signing on with a big corp would be alot more organised than firing a bunch of strangers onto a ship to figure it out themselves. I hope they were organised enough to stock the ship with decent coffee at least. Or any at all.
"I've got to problem with you being captain, Mal. Somebody has to do it, I'm just glad it isn't me."
Mayhem waves a greeting to the rest of the crew.
"If you don't know already, you can call me Mayhem. I'm not good at much on a ship, about the only thing I know how to do,"
Aside from being devilishly handsome and entertaining.
"is fire one of our weapons."
He walks over to where Jarix is sitting. Leaning over him he starts fiddling with the controls.
"I was right, there is a pea shooter forward. But that turret should be fun!"
He stands straight and rubs his hands together.
Jarix looks up at Mayhem. "You want it? You can have it." He gets up so Mayhem can take the gunner's station. "I can fill in at most any post, it doesn't matter to me. Also, I took an inventory. The food selection is very basic, probably to 'appeal' to the greatest number of beings. And our holds are basically empty. There's just one crate of rations and water. Unless we have another stop before hand, we have next to nothing for that colony. Maybe you'll have some more information in your messages, captain." He hands his datapad over to Barb for her to look at. "Next I'll go over the entertainment suite, but I don't expect to find anything special."
"You may be entertaining us with that guitar, Jarix."
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These self-contained “Ready-to-Eat” pouches contain a day’s worth of nourishing entrees and side dishes, plus a portable snack or dessert. Each R2E also includes disposable utensils, a single-use flameless ration heater, and an accessory pack containing breath freshener, a disposable cup, a napkin, seasonings, and drink powder. Each R2E has a shelf life of one century, and the pouch is made of a durable, easy-seal material.
There were a few large vats of water as well - on second thought, you're fairly sure that you were outfitted with enough food and water for seven people for at least a month. You might grow to hate the types of food within the R2Es, however.
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Your journey through the Drift is part-harrowing terror, part-wonder-filled awe. Matter and time stream by the ship in countless semi-stationary ribbons of numerous pastel hues. An inkling of impossibly-fast movement assails your too-primitive senses on a constant basis. Staring too long at one viewpoint of the Drift causes all matter to fade and disappear; only when you focus indirectly are you able to perceive any notion of motion.
Time slips through the hourglass at a rate inconceivable to you. It seems that you have just finished opening and eating from one packet of R2Es when you're hungry again for another meal. You're sleeping all the time; you're never tired. Your mind feels stagnant and never before have you felt so alive. You have just explored the recreation activities for the first time, just learned more about your bunkmate than you cared to know, just grown bored with the so-called recreation activities on hand on board the ship, when an automated message sounds out from the ship's PA.
"Location coordinates in range; disengaging Drift engine in five, four, three, two, one...."
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A sinus headache forms behind JD's eyes.
"argh, you'd think a guy would get used to that"
He discards the unappetizing open package labeled "cabbage rolls" and stares again in disgust at the "Hot & Brown" brand "drink powder". He makes his way to his station on the bridge.
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Mayhem goes a bit stir crazy over the voyage. Idle hands are the devil's playground, and he plays all manner of sophomoric pranks on various crew members. Strangely enough, the captain seems to have earned an exemption and is only affected as collateral damage.
As the ship exits the Drift, Mayhem's form shifts for a moment. Over the course of a minute he slowly pulls himself back into his familiar form.
"That was interesting!"
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Jarix spends his time trying to figure out how to spend his time. He claims one hold as his studio and plays his guitar in there. He takes Aseneth up on her offer to teach him how to cook. He takes part in some of Mayhem's pranks. Just anything to use up his time.
"Alright, well we seem to have our engineer, and the two of you should each be able to operate one of the ship's weapon systems. Asenath, you seem to already be familiar with the ship's controls, so I suppose that makes you her pilot. And Verne, you and I spoke a while ago about you manning the science officer's position.
"Mr. Soloroh? What talents will you be bringing to our merry little crew?"
Barb spends the majority of her time getting to know her crewmates--what motivates them, where they came from, how they might stand up in a fight. If she is going to be these people's captain, she needs to know how to lead them.
The rest of the time, she either stays on the bridge going over the mission objectives or chatting with Asenath while she navigates the ship through the Drift. The experience is familiar to the lashunta, but it's impossible to feel completely comfortable with it just the same.
When the ship finally comes out of the Drift, Barb rocks forward in her captain's chair slightly, and her hand raises up to brush back her hair. "Hoo! Head rush!"
Collecting herself again, Barb addresses her crew over the PA system. "Alright everyone, we're here apparently. Nat, can you give me a rundown of our approach? And JD, double check that all systems are in good condition after coming out of Drift travel. Everybody else, let's start suiting up!"
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Jarix will look for a weapons or gear locker.
Not knowing what they're going into, Jarix feels rather under dressed and under prepared. Under his breath as he gets ready, Jarix recites an old vesk warrior's prayer. "Lo there do I see my father; Lo there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers; Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo, they do call me, they bid me take my place among them, in Damoritosh's cadre, where the brave may live forever."
JD checks the readouts again, having taken the last 9 days to get comfortable with the ship and it's systems.
He fires the captain an thumbs up anyway.
In the Drift, Verne mostly keeps to himself, but for conversing with his captain or other curious crewmates who stop by his solitary abode. He reads what the temple of Yaraesa was able to download to his tablet, then re-reads through their manifestos and textbooks and scriptures. Other times he rests in his bunk, meditating or praying.
Verne blinks and raises his eyes from the science station readout.
"It's always...difficult to adjust to this experience," he muses aloud while his crewmates recover in their own way.
Everybody else, let's start suiting up!
Before Verne obliges, he attempts to run a quick scan of the planet's surface for any lifeforms or other unusual readouts.
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The crew and ship emerge from the Drift into your targeted quadrant of space. Springing into action as visual senses become useful once more, a few of the crew members appear a bit sluggish off the mark thanks to the rough transition.
As the destination planet appears on the starship’s main view screen, alarms suddenly blare. A slender form emerges from the distant void, slithering from out of the planet’s shadow. It moves directly toward the starship, as if drawn to it.
JD seeing the ship engage them checks to make sure the sheilds are at full power, and diverts excess power to the science equipment to scan the new target.
"Captain," Verne turns to Miss Barb, "I'm detecting a Besmaran whelp in near space." He swipes the screen to transfer the image to the viewscreen.
"Conducting further scans," he continues. "Let's see what we're up against."
Verne Scans:
He pulls up information concerning the creature's basic information and defenses.
"You've got to be kidding me," Barb exclaims as the creature's image appears on her readout. "Alright, well I guess we were gonna run into trouble sometime. Nat, be a dear and keep us out of that thing's teeth if you could."
"It's...a living thing." Verne says.
A living organism able to survive the vacuum of space...remarkable. Perhaps I can study it, if we survive this encounter.
He returns to the readout on his display. "It appears to be able to move a speed greater than our current capabilities, and it somewhat adept at maneuvering."
Verne gazes at the display, watches the creature writhe silently in the inky darkness.
Are you angry, strange one? Curious? Afraid of us?
Asenath sighs. "No worries, Captain ... although I could use a new set of sharkskin luggage if that wiggler wants to snack on us." She tips her seat back until the cradle engages and calls up her holo display, slipping her hands into the controls.
"Nooooo tasty tasty little strix here, young man," she muses. "Or.. starships, or whatever the hell you eat."
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Mayhem swings the turret gun around and fires a missile at the creature as it aggressively moves towards the ship.
The missile travels a short distance and implodes against the Besmaran as it reaches out with its claws to rake at the side of the ship.
With a violent judder and the rending of metal, the claws of the Besmaran bite into the port side of the ship. Thankfully, the damage does not seem to be sufficient to affect the operations of any of the ship's systems.
Barb clutches at the arms of her captain's seat and turns her engineer, "JD! Get our shields back up, like, now! Divert from our weapons systems if you need to. Seems like we might not be able to get it fully in our front arc with how quick it is!"
After dramatically bouncing from left to right from the banger dropped on the ship, JD checks the readouts on his screen.
"Port shields down, minor damage to hull. Systems are still fully operational! Aye Captain, Diverting power to sheilds!" he announces.
"It appears to be hungry," Verne observes. "for the same sort of energy powering our own systems."
Not that it matters. All that matters now is that it's a threat.
"I'll see if I can take the edge off its' bite," the android continues.
Target system:
Verne taps through his controls to hone in on the creature's weapons.
Mayhem looks a little green (literally) as he operates the firing controls.
He turns around and grins at Verne.
"Well, it can chew on that missile's energy!"
Then he looks like he might throw up, and claps a hand over his mouth and turns back to the firing controls.
“Maybe we stock up on scopolamine patches at the next pharmacy we can find, offers Asenath over shoulder. As she speaks, her wired hands flash in the air, the right tracing into a delicate spiral and the left furiously translating it into inputted commands tapped into her holo-HUD. The ship itself responds with a tight, curving slice through space, keeping the whelp on her proximity view the whole time. The targeting indicator flashes green as the whelp seems to slide into the forward arc, and the strixian lets out a satisfied grunt.
“All yours, boys!”
"Beautiful work! Now, light em up, boys!"
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Nat moves the ship in a relatively tight circle to open space between the vessel on the Besmaran. Despite the move, the proximity alerts continue to sound out as the ship arrives at its new position. A quick scan of the readouts reveals Nat's sinking realisation: the Besmaran has latched onto the ship and traveled with it.
The Besmaran slams its nose against the side of the ship, failing to penetrate the armour plating.
Asenath gasps as the HUD corrects itself and the whelp winks out of her forward arc. With the sound of a muffled WHANG through the hull, the astral beast flickers back into the port arc.
"Dammit," she swears. "Never had one do this in a sim before, but they did warn us there were different subspecies. Once Mayhem gets his shot off, if you guys can get me some nitro I'll see if we can't give this pup a ride he won't enjoy. Get your spacesick bags ready!"
As she chatters, she furiously engages various holoscreens to recalibrate her piloting systems to close contact ship combat granularity. Should have done this in the first place. Get your head out of the nest; you're thinking like a cadet....
Wanting to feel useful, Jarix modifies his targeting computer to function in conjunction with the science station. He keeps scanning the creature to give up to date reports on its condition.
Scan
"Hahhahhah!"
Mayhem looks up from the targeting computer to take in the rest of the bridge crew.
"Verne, put that up on the main viewer so we can all watch the fireworks!"
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Jarix closes his targeting module as his forward arc laser becomes moot for a second consecutive firing cycle. Mayhem, sweaty and grey, vindicatively punches in a series of targeting coordinates that let fly a single missile into the mass of the Besmaran. The missile explodes with a satisfying burst on the visual display.
JD diverts power to the engines.
"Let's loose this thing"