Contact

‘Contact in 30 seconds’, the navigation AI, high dimensional mathematics flickering across the console screen.

The view-screen showed the blue/purple streaks on grey that was traveling through fold-space. They were nothing real, just exotic radiation artefacts creating feedback to the sensor arrays, giving fold-space it’s signature eerie, unnerving presence. It’s effect on audio was no better, and the view-screen could be shut off, just as audio was now, but Anders wanted his crew on edge, ready.

’15 seconds, pilot ready’, the countdown decreasing on the console along with the dense coordinates array as they dropped towards real space.

‘Pilot ready, delta V accounted, course ready’, cool, professional, ready. Good. The familiar call backs, if a little strained lent the bridge some reassurance, and purpose.

The blue purple flares where drawing in on themselves, contracting as they blurred passed the view-screen. The bridge began to vibrate, the super-structure of the ship creaking as if under pressure, though no true pressure existed in any real sense, or at least any sense a human could truly understand.

‘Weapons free, hold fire’, the first words Anders had said since he reached the bridge and it set the tone. Not that any of the bridge officers were under any illusions, no one knew what they were going to find on the other side.

‘Capacitors to charge, munitions ready. On your order’, Cass was the sharp end of the Shannon and when on deck her easy going attitude was null and void.

Even under hard deceleration, the artefacts never resolved into anything, but were always so close, as if the secrets they hid were just on the tip of your tongue. Then like a silk sheet being drawn off the viewsreen the inky blackness of real-space rushed in, darkening the bridge for a moment as the internal lights readjusted. The vibrations fell away and the Shannon’s super structure seems to almost yawn and stretch as the fold finally collapsed into just 4 dimensions.

‘Exit is safe, compressors are nominal, spooling up for entry when ready, pilot has control’, navigation’s task complete for now. Unsafe exits happened, there were no guarantees given the complexities of fold-space. The usual result was very clean, in it’s way, as a ship became a blast of ultra hard radiation, or something weirder. Anders couldn’t tell which would be worse.

‘Pilot has control, engines at half’. Anders grip tightened on the arms of his chair, eyes locked on the view-screen. Now things got hard.

The view-screen was empty but for the few lonely stars visible from this distant sector. The Shannon hung in the void as if holding it’s breath. ‘Sensors?’, Anders couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. There was something here. The signal was too clear for there not to be. Fold techs didn’t make mistakes when it came to high dimensional gravity wells this big. Command had been worried, and the Shannon had been the closest fold capable ship. Orders had been given and there was no way around them.

‘No return local, long range is nil, move to active?’, Cass wasted no words. On a small scout ship seconds in real-space could make all the difference.

‘Hold, radio?’, sweat beaded on his forehead.

‘Background only’.

‘Go active’, Anders stood, facing the view-screen as if it was the enemy.

‘Sweeping now’. The moment stretched out in front of the crew, a shadow at dusk reaching for infinity. ‘No return on any bands’, a frown crossing Cass’s face. Anders hands made fists at his sides.

‘Navigation, status?’.

‘Entry is go. On your order’. Something wasn’t right here and Anders knew it. His intuition, built on of years of experience in the service. If he wanted to know more, he’d have to do something very dangerous.

‘Ping fold-space’. The AI didn’t need to be told twice, using the fold compressors it twisted space, sending out a high dimensional ripple, almost like an expanding gravity distortion. And exactly like a massive sign, instantly telling anyone within a few light years someone with graded hardware was exactly here. Another infinity. ‘Report’, Anders barked, irritated that he had to ask. The navigation screen flickered momentarily, as if uncertain, ‘No return, no noise, not even high-D artefacts’.

Something was very wrong. ‘Take us out, now’. The fold compressors powered up, filling the ship with an almost subliminal whine as they prepared to fold the small scout ship into high dimensional space. The familiar callbacks returned, but now there was no comfort in the words, they seemed somehow cold now.

‘Engines on cooldown, attitude locked, navigation has control’, the pilot releasing control.

‘Navigation has control, fold compressors are at nominal’.

‘Weapons locked down and safe’. Anders sat in his chair, leaning to one side, chin in his hand, eyes still locked on the screen, demanding answers.

‘Fold in 5’, the countdown appeared in the corner of the view-screen. The countdown reached zero. ‘Entry failed’.