In the interval after the Horde’s bug-like starcraft outjump and materialize from Owen Space, we see Tunnel Nine’s blast shield collapse in a shower of blue flame and murky smoke. Below us, the Horde starcraft are appearing in droves on the surface of Hunt’s Planet I.V.O. the Tower.
“That’s it, then,” Martha says.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’d better bring the engines online.”
Martha leaves me at the open hatch high up on our Gate Ship, which is situated on the West Ridge. I stand at the yawning aperture, all the while minding the gap, resplendent in my space-camo standard-issue romper. Out over the deep valley that dominates my view, the Horde pour over every pore of the Tower and Facility; our last outpost, one could say our last hope, to fall under Horde dominion in this faraway sector where the Galactic Ecliptic is nothing but an afterthought.
The Gate Ship is our only way out, and, now hidden in the NAV above me and at the controls, Martha begins cycling up the Primary Jump Core. The shutter of a harmonically-induced vibration runs through the Gate Ship stem to stern, the result of the Jump Core’s pre-fold auto-lock.
I shoulder the Karps G-9 Railgun as I stand at the still-open hatch, the smell of burning sky wafting over the Cordonivan Valley, filling up that verdant valley with the acrid dark smoke from the Horde’s craft.
I think, to wit: ‘And this used to be a nice place, a New Eden; however, all is now lost.’
I set the railgun to proximity blast and, with a slow suddenness, my wayward thoughts turn to the Navajo language, a language with few nouns and lots of verb constructs that are used instead of nouns, viz., instead of saying “a table there,” you’d say “tabling there,” which makes the language, in a sense, metaphorical (I.M.H.O.), and would cause one to question the permanence of anything and even everything, such as are the Horde actually invading Hunt’s Planet?
Or, is it otherwise?
“You old fool,” I mutter.
I shake my head and smile as I know that even in the face of all this, I’m no linguist, just a bad poet whose irony is testing his mettle.
The hot ping from a Horde blaster smacks against the Gate Ship’s hull a meter above my head. Before the hatch seals, I fire off a few rounds for the hell of it, letting the Karp’s A.I. auto-target whatever it wants.
Then, a quiet ‘boom’, and the hatch dematerializes in front of me when Martha, at the NAV, initiates the outjump. As the Gate Ship enters Owen Space, I experience the abrupt awareness of hard static, the electric blue scampering over my hairless body. After a few seconds, the Gate Ship is already parsecs away from Hunt’s World, leaving the Horde far behind.
I give pause for a moment and wonder if my sister still has that Navajo rug.
And if it’s cleaned on a regular basis.
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