With an unceremonious “clunk, clunk,” the ship’s NAV deploys the Starship Bright Star’s HyperBrake way short of the Titan Rendezvous on Orbit Event Sixty-Nine. On the last orbital turn, the onboard A.I. locked a Well that may potentially induce the Fold.
Which, I hope, will facilitate Gravity Fast Travel (G.F.T) to the Omega Quadrant.
Where I‘ll find Maureen.
“Confirm the jump triangulation coordinates,” I T.L. the NAV (in 5D(!) no less!). “Don’t botch the passthru fix like last time.”
“Affirmative,” comes the NAV. “I didn’t ‘botch’ said passthru fix. I was right on the money.”
“L.O.L,” I T.L. the NAV.
Our target?
The “Bellerophon,” that long-ago lost Explorer Starcraft that, for better or worse (mostly worse, I.M.H.O.) was under the command of “Doctor” John Robinson.
That’s why I’m here.
The same John Robinson whose last transmission after whatever catastrophe crippled the “Bellerophon” was, and I quote:
“Mains offline. No power. Make sure the rescue party brings Twinkies and NOT Ding Dongs.”
Or so I was told by BriefCOMM before they locked me is this hyper-runner starcraft and embarked me I.V.O. Saturn, the “GateWay to the Universe!,” or so the commercial says.
I’m actually down in the ship’s Pit with the hydrospanner trying to figure out why the NAV couldn’t do a clean hyperbrake.
“Got that passthru fix?” I T.L. the NAV. I make the last of the adjustments to the hyperbrake. “Cuz we are now good-to-go.”
“We’re solving the dynamic partitioning of an array of four-dimensional hypercubes,” the NAV responds. “It’s a difficult problem.”
“Uh, huh.”
“From your voice patterns,” the NAV T.L.s, “I detect that you are not Thought-Linking me.”
“Yep,” I say. “Lock out Section fourteen and energize thirteen.”
The bio-hum built down below where I’m situated resurrects and comes back to the living.
“Power up,” I T.L. the NAV. “Let’s do this thing!”
I return to the flight deck and recline in the COMM chair, which autostraps me. I usually have the strap control set on “11” so I’m locked in tight.
“Fold Engine online,” the NAV T.L.s. “Green across the board.”
A vision of Maureen drifts in front of me as I stare out in the Void of stars. A vision from the last time I saw her in the Floating Hilton in the atmosphere of Venus where we’d spent the crazy weekend before her departure on what we thought was a routine expedition.
“Proceed,” I T.L. the NAV.
The electric hum from the Fold Engine grows to a crescendo and, just as the Universe dissolves and my starcraft passes into fold-time and Owen Space, one last thought crosses my mind.
Maureen liked Ding Dongs.
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