Entry 006 - Standby

Several hours in, the guidance system map of the family ranch was steadily filling in. It looked somewhat like an Ank tree; comically heavy trunk with short branching limbs. At least Ketra thought it did. Another square on the grid lit blue, and she glanced at the ship’s chronometer. Close enough. She cut upward thrust almost completely, giddily enjoying the rush as the ship plummeted toward the pasture below.

She touched down moments later, mass compensators again blazing as they fought to convert inertial momentum into waste photons. In her class of twenty, Ketra was one of only two foxes that fried the compensators on the light practice ships during basic training. She was nearly crushed into the cockpit floor as gravity made itself supremely obvious. But she didn’t crash. Now she punished each new ship, despite stern lectures from Andrayne, and milder advice from her Father.

“Darklights Ketra – again?” Andrayne had barked during a recent service overhaul. “Stop pushing so close to the limit!”

“But how do I practice without knowing where the limits are?

Dane Toul glanced around the strut of the heavy transport he was working on.
“A good pilot knows where her limits are. A great pilot always maintain a small distance from those limits.” He motioned towards a set of dials. “Leave room for the unexpected.”

Ketra’s ears wobbled at the memory. Her Father’s reputation for exceptional calm had no bearing when he wanted to make a point. Many Foxes withered under his stare alone. She opened her day bag and retrieved a wrap: delicate herbs, hot roasted waterclaw and savory sauce, all contained in a translucent edible wrapper. Delicious.

Several Ceprae had wandered close to her ship, large heads watching with polite curiosity as the Fox enjoyed her food. While both males and females could be aggressive in the right conditions, Ketra was House Toul. Livestock were integral to their lives, and young Foxes began learning almost as soon as they could walk. The few that had gathered continued to watch quietly, rope-like tails whisking as they chewed mouthfuls of prairie grass.

Ketra ran her tongue around her muzzle, searching for any traces of sauce that may have landed in the wrong place. She smoothed her face with a hand, and then wiped fingers on her flight suit. The exterior speakers on her ship chirped, pulse tones quickly replaced with the flat enunciation of a synthetic voice.

“Alert. Territorial proximity breach, broadcast ID failure. Houses Standby.”

Ketra’s ears twitched, neurotransmitters throwing her into high alert. All systems within Dawn Fox territory, with the exception of some very new outposts had an orbital sensor array. These systems were largely automated, and monitored ship traffic in and out of territorial boundaries, logged broadcast transit data and recorded anomalies. No single ship, almost regardless of size would trigger a Houses Standby alert, which was broadcast planetwide. Every transmitter would receive and announce the message, and this was only in the event of a serious emergency. Some terraforming projects, especially those on high-frequency seismic planets were accustomed to alerts like these, warning of ash storms, tectonic motion, etc. But on Vultayna, the Dawn Fox capital world? It was tested regularly, but a real alert hadn’t been issued since ...

“Alert. Territorial proximity breach, broadcast ID failure. Houses Standby.”

Glancing up, Ketra caught the bright sparkle from one of Vultayna’s orbital compressor gates, glinting in he solar light. Gate construction varied from species to species, and each race had their own particular flavor. These massive often ring-shaped structures orbited a host planet like a moon, providing ships direct interstellar transit access.

“Why don’t Foxes have compressor drives installed into our biggest ships?” a younger Ketra had asked loudly during lecture

“Because,” said the instructor, one ear cocked in feminine amusement, “gathering the resources required would challenge even the most advanced races. Compressor Gates serve many thousands of traveling ships – to confine it to just one is unheard of.”

“But it’s possible?” Ketra had pressed.

”Most anything is possible, and most of that, unlikely.”

A truly massive shape decompressed in the sky, eclipsing the light from Vultayna’s star, shadows suddenly jagged and strange.  The lecture hall memory replayed in slow motion as Ketra took in the ship’s bulk, as smaller vessels decompressed around it, like tiny lakebirds around a fishing platform. There were a series of concussive booms as several of these ships began descending into the upper atmosphere.

“Alert. Territorial proximity breach, broadcast ID failure. Houses Engage.” Ketra forced herself to move, slamming the cargo hatch closed and keying the ignition cycle. With the core warm it wouldn’t take long, but everything seemed to be happening at a glacial pace. The descending carriers began launching hundreds of tiny craft, smaller even than her ship. They were moving fast.

“Alert. Territorial Incursion, defense action ii--“ the voice decayed into digital fragments as a relay went down. The explosion in orbit looked like a tiny firework, reflecting in the canopy as it sealed closed. Ceprae were scattering in all directions as Ketra’s ship leapt skyward, a rippling boom chasing as shockwaves formed and collapsed on her bow.

All Foxes took a basic air combat course as part of their education. But dogfighting was something Dawn Foxes seldom engaged in. An alert tone blared, warning that her ship was being targeted and Ketra yanked her craft sideways as several unidentified fighters shot past, arcing beneath her as they came around for another try. The cockpit was lit from below as the mass compensators struggled to keep up with her aggressive flying. Ketra flicked the security covers away from weapons control and spun on her axis, the whip crack of the ship’s one laser sounding repeatedly as she found her target.

It was unaffected, the metallic wedge dodging lazily to avoid continuing fire. She dove into a small loop as the weapon lock screeched again, breaking towards the west and engaging again. After several direct hits it finally wobbled and broke away, apparently trying to run. Ketra yelled and accelerated toward it, landing several more hits and severing a large section of hull.  The enemy ship smoked and spun crazily, spiraling downward. Ketra whooped in victory, and then yelled in horror as the ship hit the pasture, engulfing animals and anything around it in a blinding blue-white fireball. Ketra dove her ship lower, and sped over the herd of Cepare she had counted just a few minutes before, senses registering dozens of still bodies. Several enemy craft were also making low passes, staccato howl of weapon fire audible over the wind, ship’s alarms and sounds of panicking animals. Most weren’t firing at her.

“Toul craft ID Seven Xero Seven Delta, get out of the air!”

“Grid Control this is Seven Xero Seven Delta” Ketra shouted, “they are firing on the herds!”

“Land now, LAND NOW! Weapons appear to be heavy projectile -- repeat, energy scattering systems ineffective LAND N--”

“Grid Control ?!” Ketra yelled, corkscrewing between several low hills, heat from the mass compensators making her wince as the system blazed behind her. There was a row of deep red safety cores near her feet, designed to keep pilot and ship safe. She had torn the cover away and pulled them all. Screens flashed multiple overload warnings as the machine flew well-beyond it’s agricultural spec. There was another buzzsaw howl and auxillary lift cut out, and there was a strange oscillating whistle. Ketra glanced up to see several perfect holes in her canopy, and realized her leg was bleeding, flight suit obliterated at the knee. There were several holes in the floor where the projectiles had punched through.

“Grid control wide, control wide -- Seven Xero Seven Delta overload --” she grabbed triggers and shattered another of the angular craft. “Beacon active, beacon active,” she barked and rolled away. More ships were appearing, and her little flyer had a lot more holes. Drives 1,3 and 4 were dark, and the mass compensator frames were vibrating and glowing nearly white hot. Everything smelled burned. Ketra banked, leveled, fired a last volley at an oncoming group and pulled a lever on the floor.

Her ship detonated, fragmenting outward as her armored seat lit with the purple corona of a fabric drive, eject system slowing momentum as she hurtled toward the pastures below.

... continues Sundays @ 8pm (GMT -8)