The solar radiation rushes in tidal waves over the hull
The ship slices through gamma energy, trying to maintain integrity
Ragged breaches along the port side are still open
And The Fuel is badly hurt.
Engine holds him closely, she is giving all the comfort she can
Her job is to make sure the ship continues and she can hear Pilot yelling over Communications voice
She is being told to keep pushing the FTL drives.
But her love is losing life fluid all across the lower deck, mucking up her concentration.
His gargantuan frame belies how fragile he really is
Most think Engine keeps the ship going but The Fuel is so important,
Engine needs The Fuel's support to make everything work.
The ship is rocked by another explosion and Engine holds The Fuel even tighter.
Three levels above the lovers on the bridge, two siblings are working frantically
Communications and Scanner are trying to make headway in making sure all the information is flowing
Communications glowing blue eyes and mouth are wide open, sharing with everyone aboard
Outside is the province of Scanner and he searches for anything he can, his eyes glowing with the same blue
Data flows in as he holds his sister's hand to keep everyone in the loop
Their identical uniforms contrasts their sizes but their focus as always remains the same-
Keep the lines flowing with data. Always.
Weapons sits and watches the siblings do their work relentlessly
She is thinking of any way to be of assistance at this time.
Her quick reactions has helped to keep them alive to this point;
Weapons instantly fired off lasers and sonic cannons when Scanner raised the alarm.
If she hadn't the damage could have been worse.
The quick actions of her, Scanner and the muscular, gray eyed Shields saved them.
But it would all be for naught if they didn't make it out alive.
She glances over and knows instantly that Pilot has the same thought.
They had always been good at reading each other, even before they were a crew,
Back in the day when they all had names.
Antje remembers and knows Broddika does as well as she pilots the ship as best she can.
Weapons returns her attention to Scanner's words;
Waiting to strike out if the enemy ship reappears at a moments notice.
Pilot keeps trying to hail Engine as she keeps asking Navigation if he has a course of avoidance set.
She knows that he must be getting frustrated with her constant questioning.
Navigation is good at his job but she can hear the lack of escape routes in his voice.
Pilot can imagine him in his tech nest, his right eye glowing a brilliant yellow,
His face scrunched up in his salt and pepper bearded face, long locks tied atop his head.
If there is a way out, the old man will find it.
He is the ultimate pathfinder.
Pilot just doesn't know if there is a path to be found this time.
She has fear they won't make it out of this one alive but she can't let the crew know that.
You have to maintain a level headed focus and show little emotion.
That was the Prime Rule as a Pilot.
She had to be their brown, curvy space goddess leading this crew, her family, to salvation.
Pilot calls down to Life Support over Communications whispered tones.
Life Support is struggling to hold herself together.
With Engine concerned over The Fuel and keeping up evasion speeds, she is losing her power.
She is trying to work magic in the virtual plane of the ship,
Her armor gauntlets blur through the ether as she works through the subroutines.
She needs to shunt off corridors to maintain ship integrity and cut off any unnecessary systems.
Breathing conditions are deteriorating throughout the ship and decisions need to be made.
Life Support is always working but never moreso than at this moment.
She is alone in her world, always.
The Pilot has everyone on the bridge and Navigation visits them from his creche when courses are set,
Engine and The Fuel are forever in love. The siblings are linked eternally.
She is the one that is always alone inside the ship.
Some days she feels like she is the ship and there is some truth to the matter.
No, Life Support thinks.
I must focus and save everyone; these thoughts are a distraction from my life's mission.
Her hands blur and emergency decisions are made as she relays what the ship has to lose to Pilot.
No, what she has to lose.
Identity is meaningless, Life Support thinks.
Only the mission exists. Survive.
The Last Imperial Gestalt Ship continues it's journey.
Its crew fighting for survival, hounded by an ancient enemy in the slipstream.
They are united in their mission.
As long as they live, so does the empire and the civilization it created.
Their future is unknown but they face it,
United.
No comments:
Post a Comment