Entry 005 - Survey

Ketra was on the flight deck as dozens of Toul foxes disembarked, heading in multiple directions within the large orbital station, shipyard crew in their mechanized gear bustling around performing post-dock inspection checks. She spotted Seven, taller than nearly everyone around him.
He noticed her gaze and made the smallest of bows, turning quickly to stride away towards the section marked “Outward Gates.” It formed the core of the station, impossible to miss.

Seven located the berth where the Bright Dancing Beam was currently loading; datacard scanned, cargo tagged, and introductions made. There was a Lacroix fox on the crew, and Seven spent several minutes politely deflecting eager conversation on how he “really should have won” and “how females were given too much advantage with the current scoring rules” and so on. Realizing his welcome had perhaps worn thin, the fox pulled his helmet off, worked the kinks from his ears, and held it out.
   “Would you sign it for me?” The shorter fox produced an industrial marker from somewhere and grinned, ears folding sideways in silly appreciation.
Seven stared at the helmet, then after several moments took it and the marker, signing “SEVEN” in curly script across the left side.
The deckhand beamed, slamming his prize back down over his ears and marched off to continue preflight. Seven stared after him, a detached annoyance shouting nonsense in the back of his mind.
Several hours later, that same helmeted deckhand called from just inside the ship, indicating they were nearly ready to launch. Seven glanced up, and noticed a ship hanging a little ways out, lights glinting against dark hull, as if queued for docking. But there was no queue.
A cargo tug flew past, and when Seven looked again, the dark ship was gone. He shook his head, scanning the massive transparent wall that showed part of the gate aperture controls, and faced outward into deep space. There was nothing there. “Caught a reflection there friend?” The deckhand asked cheerfully as Seven came up the ramp.
“Did you see--?”
”Absolutely,” said the fox, not even looking where Seven had gestured. “Happens to me all the time. You get this weird superimposed image of another ship on the far side of the central docks, and disappears as soon as the angle changes!” He gave Seven a knowing smile.
Seven glanced back towards the spot where the ship had been, unsatisfying and empty. But he followed the deckhand’s lead to the crew cabins, which turned out to be rather nice. Keying up the differential images of the Kest crop samples, he resumed searching for any difference that could provide a clue.

Back down on the Vultayne’s surface, Ketra glared out into the rain as the heavy main doors slid open, cool air and mist swirling in and momentarily frosting the canopy of her ship. Idling in low power, the ultrasonic transducers kicked over, atomizing the unwelcome water with a soft fizz. She usually enjoyed summer’s flag and the quickly changing weather. It was the end of bright season ... and today was a counting day. The rain always interfered with ship sensors, never mind what the manufacture claimed.
Bolted to the adjacent wall were dozens of tall metal cabinets, with drawer upon drawer upon drawer of tools, parts, and small equipment, just about everything needed to repair and maintain the machines, transports, and three ships her family kept. Covering several thousand hectares, her family’s ranch was one of the larger in House Toul, and renowned for the herds of domesticated Ceprae that roamed the pastureland. And Ketra needed an accurate headcount.
One of the cabinet doors was slightly ajar, and Ketra hip-checked it closed as she passed.
“Really?” she said, voice reverberating in the large space. “Andrayne gets after any fox who desecrates his holy space.” She grinned in spite of herself. Andrayne was ten cycles older, and took his responsibility as chief mechanic extremely seriously. Day bag stored securely, she locked the compartment for quick cargo and keyed the access panel to begin startup. Climbing into the cockpit, she hummed along with the slow rhythmic snick of the photocaps as they dumped energy into the core drive. Ketra glanced at her reflection and made a face, ears folding in consternation. She’d had her mane trimmed just days before, and it still would not cooperate, sticking out in weird places. At least it was mid-week. No trips to the city planned.
Multiple rows of status lights went from red, to amber, to blue, and then she noticed the storage cabinet she had closed earlier. The door was slightly open.
There were no sounds except the familiar hum and ripple of a ship engine. Ketra stared at the cabinet for a moment, then at her instruments. Even in pre-flight, the proximity sensors would indicate if someone else was nearby. The twins had been starting impromptu games of hidden-tail: one fox would hide, waited to be missed and then attempt to startle those who came searching.
Ketra’s tail whisked irritably behind her seat. It was too early for this.
Her steps were drowned out by the spooling drive as she slid off the ladder and crossed the space to the cabinet. In one fluid motion she jerked it open, the door bouncing off the adjacent panel with a metallic thwack. Photocells, heavy fiber cabling, bottles of lens-safe solvent, and a small welding unit, partially disassembled. Ordinary.
Ketra made a noise partway between sigh and a cough, mentally scolding herself. Nothing was wrong. But something felt off. Like the feeling when nighttime eyes glow between faraway trees. Maybe the door bounced open? She pushed the door closed, latch engaging with a polite snap.
“Hanger craft to grid 44 airborne, requesting proximity clear.” Ketra keyed her transponder as the canopy glass lowered and pressurized. Technically her craft was spaceflight capable – in reality, it required heavy auxiliary power systems and an expensive core upgrade to even achieve low orbit. Naturally she had begged her parents for these perks almost as soon as she was allowed in the cockpit.
“When you’ve earned enough to purchase your own ship,” her father said, tail twitching in mild amusement.
”But --“
“And reach twenty-four cycles! What’s young fox going to do with her own ship?”
Ketra didn’t know, though she made sure to keep an up-to-date list of reasons. Just in case he changed his mind.
The final diagnostic cleared blue, and Ketra slammed both control arms forward, both thrust pedals mashed to the floor. The effect launched the ship upward at a sharp angle, like a ball kicked by a terrestrial giant. Mass compensators blazing, Ketra leveled off just a few hundred feet up and began a slow arc west as she plotted the first sensor-active pass at low speed, guidance enabled to increase sensor resolution. The job was quite boring. But it was hers, and she’d do her best.

... continues Fridays @ 7pm (GMT -7)