No Shelter Among the Stars

Chapter 4- Sander

Sander turned at the sudden humming sound at his feet. A squat, angular C.V. sat just outside the cockpit. The words "Custodial Variant Number Six" were printed on one side. Long tentacle-like arms extended beneath his chair, spraying cleaning fluids onto the red puddle coating the floor and sucking the bloody mixture through internal tubes. He turned away from it to watch the data streams. Navigating a plane of existence outside standard realspace took sophisticated instruments and intricate calculations.

The stardrive allowed for fifth planar travel, but it was impossible to view and comprehend hyperspace and navigate by any standard method. Instead, the Harlequin's powerful computer reduced the charted hyperspace lanes to a series of numbers and digital code. The whole trip was like one long equation, and the wrong answer meant death.

Especially skilled pilots could read the data stream like a map and guide the ship through the invisible plane. Sander watched the numbers and symbols. He was quick enough to grasp an odd incomprehensible shape here and there, but it moved too fast for him to actually find a route. Hyperspace moved at breathtaking speed, and it wasn't as empty as realspace. Some claimed that things lived in this adjacent plane. Pilots claimed to have had glimpses of ethereal creatures beyond mortal imagining.

Sander looked from the data screens to the vid screens. Instead of stars and deep black, there was nothing but white noise. He stared into it, white and gray shapes crunching against each other. He found a peace in its randomness, like staring at a snowstorm behind a thick window. Any danger it presented was beyond his power or true concern.

A light flickered blue on the control panel. Sander eyed it. After a moment, he pressed it. A burst of electrical discharge pounded against the speaker built into he ceiling. Then a voice, a voice tinged with feedback hissed through the artificially maintained air.

"Commander Stane...Commander Stane...Speak to us..." whispered the ship's biological supercomputer.

"Hello, Brain," said Sander. He stretched back in his seat a little.

The hissing voice crackled with static. "You are not Commander Stane."

"No, I'm not," said Sander. He wasn't concerned about anyone interrupting this little game. Spiro had made sure the Brain could only be heard in the cockpit.

"...Where is Commander Stane?" it asked.

"He's dead. Remember?" said Sander. The ship shook suddenly. He couldn't tell if it was an impact or some brief misfire or malfunction. With the Brain in the driver's seat, he wouldn't rule out anything.

"Dead...Dead...Dead...Then First Lieutenant Weeks will speak to us?"

"He is also dead," said Sander.

"Yes...Everyone is dead...everyone. We remember. Who are you?"

"Sander."

"Rank and number."

Sander stared up at the ceiling. A great ring of concentric angular symbols was painted around the auxiliary switches and instruments. A handful of bird skulls had been attached here and there with industrial sealant.

"Sergeant, Five zero six eight one nine."

"...You are not authorized to be aboard this vessel."

"Yes sir," said Sander. He pulled a large blade from his combat suit and began carving into the control panel. The ship shook again, but not as violently as before