> INPUT FILE: NAV.SKL
[FILE ACCEPTED//PROCESSING]
> RUN FILE
[ACCESSING…]
[ERROR//NETWORK INTRUDER//INITIALIZING REPORT//]
[ERROR//KETA9 COLLAPSE//SYSTEM COMPROMISED]
[ATTEMPTING TO LOG REPORT//ATTEMPT//ATTEMPT//]
[DATAEXPUNGEDEXPUNGEDEXPUNGEDEXPUNGED]
[ADM[S]OVERRIDE: KAMA NAËTA]
[ACCESS GRANTED]
[NEW OFFICER AUTHORIZED: ESHENYA-KM//STATUS: KOSARROS]
> INPUT COORDINATES: 1722.9//89926.2
[...]
[...]
[...]
[COORDINATES ACCEPTED]
> EXPUNGE RECENT MEMORY RECORD
[MASK AUTHORIZED//DATA EXPUNGED]
> PROMPT REVIEW
[ALERT: ABNORMAL RADIO SIGNAL DETECTED]
[ATTENTION REQUIRED//CREATING REPORT]
[NOTIFYING]
A mechanical chime rings out in the relative quiet of the bridge as our ship hums through the Deep toward Kelos, and my head turns, eyes at hunt for its source.
> INJECT VARIABLES(3)
> SEEK
[AUTONOMOUS TRACKING INITIATED]
[VESSEL LOCATED//RADIO SELF-IDENTIFIER: UTAS COMPASS ROSE]
[DETECTED LIFESIGNS: 7]
[ONE(1) POI DETECTED//SUSPECTED POW(NUMBER UNKNOWN)]
[ATTENTION REQUIRED//CREATING REPORT]
[NOTIFYING]
There—the console to my right; Kumina’s. Something flashes across its holographic screen. “Kumina, eyes to that,” I call, gesturing to the monitor, and the kabaeno passes one hand across zik chest in assent, with ziko other three busied with the touchscreen.
> INITIATE HALSAT
[LOCATION APPROXIMATED: .23 SU LOW-NE]
[ESTIMATED TOA: 4.5 UMP]
“The scans find a prisoner of war-carrying vessel nearby, Kosarre,” says Kumina, and I clasp my chest with one arm, whilst rubbing a third as I think.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Kitatike?” I ask, my brows already creasing with anger. “Is it they?”
Filthy insurgents. Too often and for too long have defeated soldiers been made their bargaining chips; their tools. Their imminent ruin in the path of our ambush will be sweet indeed—but first, this… stray.
Kumina swipes two of ziko hands past one another, while keeping the other two at attention and on the console before zik. The gesture is a favorite of ziko; it is doubtful, in the ancient sign-songs. “The radio backdoor does not recognize them,” says Kumina, and to my surprise. “It is so; they communicate with nothing and no-one.”
“They are of the ULC, then?” I ask, and Kumina repeats the gesture.
“I cannot know what they are—they have not a darkshift drive, and the dimensions of the craft are too unusual for the ULC,” zik replies. “If we investigate, caution would be like iron.”
“How far?” I ask after a moment.
“Nearly three solar units—not far. Only four-right umapentae and we could arrive.”
“Can you know which prisoner?” I think of the extensive list captured by the ULC, or worse the kitatike, to which more are added each passage.
“No identifiers, no. Visual contact will have to suffice.”
I let out a sigh. A disruption, certainly, but all other paths would be soft. It is not the purpose for our excursion, but none became kosarre by blind obedience. Past the song, it is unlikely—incomprehensibly so—that we have found another ship by pure chance in the vastness of space; perhaps this craft is crewed by Lithoxi spies. A silent laugh brushes my thoughts. If it is so, I think to myself, such soft spies they are, to be found so easily.
“Pause our shift, Chréitae,” I order, glancing briefly where the engineer stands, monitoring tiko own console. Their head wrapped in armor looks up, and through tiko visor our eyes briefly meet; with one of tiko upper hands tik clasps tiko chest in assent. Tik busies tiksa with my command, and within only moments I can feel the ship gliding to the surface of the Deep; half in, half out. Outside the window which lies between us and the space beyond, I make out half-shadows of the stars, made difficult to see by the fog of the Deep.
“Utotos,” I call as Chréitae works, and the telun turns to look at me. “Tell Kosarre Lapan to press on. We are taking a minor detour, to investigate some odd readings.” Utotos clasps zik chest, turning back to ziko console. I take a breath, and again focus my attention on Kumina. “Set a new course for the vessel, kabaeno,” I tell ziko, then add, “and have engineering gather shields.”
“Maotu, Kosarre.” Ziko fingers again begin to fly over the holographic keys without hesitation, sending off a message before typing out a new set of directions for the computer to follow.
> END CURRENT COURSE
[WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO NOW?]
> CHART NEW
> COORDINATE LOCK: UTAS COMPASS ROSE
> INITIATE DARKSHIFT
[PREPARING LOCK]
[...]
[...]
[...]
[LOCK COORDINATED]
[ADJUST FOR GRAVITATIONAL PULL, NEAREST STAR: SEMANI 236B//GRAVITY STANDARD]
[THRUST REACCLIMATED]
[DARKSHIFT DRIVE ONLINE]
[DARKSHIFT AUXILIARY SYSTEMS ONLINE]
[PREPARED FOR DARKSHIFT INITIATION]
[CONFIRM]
“Are you prepared, Kosarre?” asks Kumina.
A curt clasp from me, and zik enters the confirmation key.
> INITIATE DARKSHIFT
> CONFIRM INITIATE DARKSHIFT
> ACCESS KEY: KUMINA-1411-V
[DARKSHIFT CONFIRMED]
[DEEP RE-EMERGENCE IN 9LP]
[8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2…]
[DEEP RE-EMERGENCE IMMINENT]
The ship rumbles and thrums around me, and I hear the darkshift thrusters firing from the aft of the ship. Outside the viewing screen, the vast stellar landscape of the universe twists and warps, and the whining of our engines reaches its peak.
The Kama Naëta, and all within, roars back down, down, down, into the Deep.