Children of the Nova - Chapter 1, draft 2.
Placeholder illustrations by the incredible @auburneapricots <3
Apologies for any formatting issues, tumblr formatting is weird. Hope you enjoy!
The hot glow of the welding torch hissed and sputtered as its fuel ran out, leaving a blob of molten aluminum dangling precariously close to Tûn’s face, wobbling like thick jello in the stream of cold oxygen blasting from her torch. She blinked, and then cursed under her breath, reaching out to grope for the fuel lines hooked into her cybernetic arm. Did I really run down the full canister? Twisting off the oxygen and acetylene valves, she popped the hoses out of her arm and stowed the inbuilt torch as she slid out from under the ship she had been servicing. She grunted at the stiffness in her joints and clicked on her magnetic boots, anchoring herself to the shop’s floor against the garage’s zero gravity environment. She “leaned” back against the ship’s heavily rusted hull, stretching as she glanced at the shop’s clock hanging on the wall. Two hours already? Nova, I didn’t even notice.
Reaching back, she banged three times on the ship’s hull.
“Hey Dad, I’m gonna take a break. Want anything?”
“Coffee!” Marcus barked back, slightly muffled reply echoing from somewhere inside the rustbucket. I don’t know why I expected anything else. A smile tugged at Tûn’s mouth as she shoved herself away from the ship, magnetic boots clomping on the metal floor as she picked her way through the cluttered shop. She grabbed the empty acetylene canister on her way, lifting it easily in the null-g before pushing it gently into the station’s recycling plant mounted near the exit. She watched for a moment as the heavy metal shredding wheels chewed up the large aluminum bottle, the briefest impulse to shove her own metal arm into the grinding jaws flitting through her mind. She shivered and rubbed at her bicep, fingering the place just above her elbow where cauterized flesh met warm steel. It still ached even years after the laser cutter accident, her scorched nerves sometimes sending a stabbing pain shooting up her arm before quickly fading.
A sharp buzzing interrupted her musing, and she quickly ducked as a manipulator arm whizzed overhead, carrying a fresh tank of acetylene over to the ship. Right, coffee. Turning off her boots she gently launched herself down the small station’s spine, catching a grab rail at the rotating hub and swinging herself down into one of the wheel’s access spokes. Gravity slowly began to exert itself as she climbed “down” into the station’s spinning habitation ring, the swirling cerulean clouds of the gas giant they orbited drifting serenely beyond the thick amulina-silicate windows. Tûn leaned against the glass as the coffee machine burbled quietly to itself, watching the dim light of Proxima Centauri dip below the planet’s horizon.
Tûn drifted gently into the workshop with two bags of hot coffee pinched in her metal hand, the other tapping at her terminal as she touched down on the deck. She glanced up to find her father standing close by, peering at a wall screen and chewing his lip; something he did when he was working through a puzzle in his head. Tûn passed him his coffee and leaned in for a look, sucking on her bag of bean juice.
“Problem?”
Marcus sighed and took a long draw of coffee, the shiny bag crinkling under the suction.
“Maintinence bill came in a few minutes ago, something about it tickles me. Looks standard enough, but summat’s still putting me off.”
“Well, what’s wrong with it?” Tûn asked, glancing up at his work-worn face. His only response was to raise a bushy eyebrow, and Tûn gave a dramatic sigh. Of course he wouldn’t help her solve the problem. “Really, Dad? This, of all things?”
Marcus shrugged, a grin peeking through his bushy, grease-smeared beard. “They’re still a few days out, we’ve got time. Work the problem.” Work the bloody problem.
Tûn could have sworn those were his favorite words with how often he said them. Growing up, the phrase had become her mantra. Every question, every small frustration, was hers to puzzle out. Marcus would offer guidance, fill in missing knowledge, but the problem was hers to solve. It had made her smart, sure. Resilient, absolutely. She still resented the hell out of him for it every time he said it.
Sighing, she stepped in front of the screen and studied the bill before her. It was laid out in plain text, a short string of identifiers followed by the requested maintenance.
IGTC-Q.NET 3821:db8:7:42
LIFC “Utwyg”
CLS: “Guntis” Long Distance Hauler
CRG: Liquid Indium-Dilithium Fuel 4.769619e+8 Litre
CPT: Vokarn - Tredax Shipping Authority
MNT: Routine Maintenance
CMP: Standard Rate- Payment Upon Completion
“Yeah, looks standard enough. Jipping us with that standard rate bull though, ship that size would take us ages to go over. Did they send video confirmation?” Tûn glanced up at Marcus, and he shook his head.
“Still too far out for clear vid.”
“Hmm.” Tûn sucked in her cheek and gently bit down on the skin, tapping her coffee against her jaw as she thought. “Why… Hold on. Why would a long-distance hauler be asking a pitstop like us for routine maintenance? Don’t they usually travel nonstop, and get work done at either leg of the journey?”
Marcus nodded, taking a sip of coffee. He motioned her to keep going.
“Right. So they’re coming for us specifically. I doubt it’s your gleaming hospitality that’s drawn them in.” That got a chuckle out of Marcus. “Do we have them on long-range scopes by any chance? No, silly question, they're still days out. Let me check the registration number.”
The sound of rapid typing filled the quiet workshop as Tûn queried their local Q.Net node for information. It took a while; their station’s ancient quantum array struggling to squeeze the data through its narrow bandwidth. After a few minutes, Tûn had the Utwyg’s itinerary.
“Okay, registration checks out. We’re close enough to their route that it could warrant a stop in an emergency, but this looks nothing like one. So I figure we’ve got two scenarios: A massive industrial hauler loaded down with zillions of credits’ worth of fuel wants to sit twiddling her thumbs at our tiny grease pit for a couple months, or someone wants to visit us and they don’t want us to know, so they’ve snatched the registration code off a random hauler that was passing by and came up with some bullshit excuse. Which do you think is more likely?” Marcus was all smiles as she looked up at him again, and she felt a flush of pride as he clapped her on the shoulder.
“I guess we’d better prepare the good captain’s welcome!”
~=///=~
A rapid, rhythmic tapping filled the air, Raster’s thumb and middle finger snapping back and forth on their tablet’s edge. The shake of their wrist was accompanied in time by the steady click click click of their heel bouncing on the faux-wood floor, their gaze boring a hole into their tablet’s screen.
A swipe of their biomechanical fingers sent the page of code scrolling up the tablet’s screen at high speed. Another swipe sent it racing back down. Up, down. Up, down. Run the code again. Same error message they’d been wrestling with for the past hour and a half.
“Muckin’ piece of scrap!”
Tossing their tablet onto their cot with a huff, they stood and paced around the small room, the servos in their artificial body softly whirring and clicking as they paced. Grabbing a stylus from their desk bench they spun it skillfully in their fingers, closing their eyes as they tried to focus.
“Overflow the buffer maybe… kick a ddos? Nah, clankers’d clock a breach quick-like. Maybe…” Their train of thought was broken by an unexpected ring from their tablet, and they scowled as they snatched it off the cot and answered the call.
“Bugging me while I'm balls-deep in work, Slick! Somebody better be bleeding out. Mucking datamass got some proper tangled architecture… gotta bypass the firewall, chek? Needs some primo soft- uh?” Their pacing stilled as they listened to the line, their grip tightening on the stylus in their fingers. “Right… Right. Chek. Be there in two.” The stylus snapped with an echoing crack as Raster hung up the call, their digital eyes staring blankly at the far wall.
The ancient transit car bumped and rattled as Raster made their way deeper into the Ring, jostling them against the crowded passengers. They kept their head down, mumbling apologies while readjusting their stance against the changing gravity.
“Your attention please. The next two stops are exposed to hard vacuum. If you are leaving us here, please ready yourselves in the nearest vestibule and ensure all seals are tight. The vestibules will be decompressing in approximately three minutes. Thank you for traveling with us.”
Ducking past another passenger, Raster slipped into the vestibule ahead of the pack and secured a corner to lean in. They didn’t need to bother with putting on any sort of vacuum suit, and smirked back at the odd looks it drew as the air was slowly pulled out of the tiny compartment. Warning signs dressed in obnoxiously loud yellow assaulted their vision as they stepped off the transport, swinging to the left to avoid the meagre crowds. They leaned back against a sign loudly proclaiming that ‘SAFETY LINES MUST BE WORN AT ALL TIMES’, watching as the transit car pulled away and revealed the gently spinning starscape beyond.
The sight would have been breathtaking, if there was any air to breathe. The underside of the orbital city seemed to hang above them, dangling gently above the endless abyss of stars. Far, far below, the elegant sweeping megastructures of Terminal 9 reached beyond the artificial planet’s atmosphere, great pillars and sweeping arches unfolding into spindly fingers of metal filigree waving in the solar wind.
Ignoring the warnings of the sign, Raster swung under the catwalk railing and clamped their magnetic boots to the underside of the walkway, feeling a rush of pseudo-adrenaline as the city’s spin-gravity pulled their filament hair down and away. They lingered there for maybe just a little bit too long, a brief fantasy of deactivating the magnets and letting the station’s spin fling them into space drifting through their mind. They shook their head and began to clomp along the catwalk’s underside, picking their way carefully along a marked path of industrial pipes, decommissioned lift arms, and forgotten accessways.
The entrance to the hacker’s den was utterly unassuming; a worn industrial bulkhead with a worn-out access panel dangling precariously from two nearly sheared bolts. It was all a front, of course, and Raster swung the dummy panel out on hidden hinges to reveal a hidden radio receiver.
01001110 01100101 01111000 01110101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01101001 01100111 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100010 01100001 01101100 01101100 01110011
A quick burst of binary, and the door unlatched, sliding smoothly open. Raster hesitated for a moment, a pit in their stomach as they pictured what they would find. They genuinely considered turning back, sprinting back up the maze of pipes and locking themselves in some hole to hide in. But there was no escaping this. Slowly, hesitantly, they stepped through.
~=///=~
The small station was dead quiet as the foreign ship smoothly pulled alongside the docking boom. It wasn’t a fuel tanker at all; Tûn had been right. The craft was a sleek missile frigate, decked out in radar-reflecting black paneling and no identification visible anywhere on the hull. The mere silhouette of it sent shivers down her spine. The station’s lights were dark and its reactor shut off. Marcus had sent out a transmission hours ago, feigning a coolant leak, but the strange ship hadn’t strayed from its course.
The two of them were huddled in the rust-covered ship’s cramped engineering bay, tucked out of sight and staring at the tablet clutched in Marcus’ shaking hand. Tûn pretended not to notice, instead focusing intently on the camera feeds.
The stealth ship aligned itself with the station’s docking port with the kind of precision only a computer could manage, perfectly mating the two couplers without even a flutter of self correction. Metallic clunks and bangs echoed through the silent station as the mechanisms engaged, sealing the two craft together. Tûn bit her lip, staring intently at the internal feed, waiting for something, anything to happen. There were a few rhythmic thumps, almost as though someone was knocking, and then… nothing. And more nothing. Tûn glanced up at her father, his face a mask of concentration as he bit down on the inside of his cheek.
After almost five minutes of waiting, Tûn lost patience.
“What in the hells are they doing?!” She exploded, causing her father to jump and almost drop his tablet. He glared at her, readjusting the screen.
“Nothing good, you can be sure of that. Be quiet.” Tûn huffed and tucked herself back against the pipe she was leaning on, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she stared sullenly at the camera feed.
Nearly an hour later, something finally changed. Another series of heavy metallics thunks reverberated through the station, and a spot of glowing heat appeared in the corner of the bulkhead. Marcus swore, startling Tûn awake from where she had drifted off.
“Nova-damned punks are cutting through my airlock!”
The point of heat steadily grew, drifting from glowing orange to an angry red to a blinding white. Bubbles of slag detached from the bulkhead, floating deeper into the airlock as they were pushed by the cutting beam. The two of them watched with wide eyes as the invaders slowly cut a wide circle into the reinforced door, gently pulling the glowing plug of steel free and spraying some quick-cooling foam on the red-hot edges of the breach. Marcus leaned forward as the breaching machine was pulled back, and swore even louder as the first of the invaders drifted through the hole. Tûn only got a glimpse of sleek black void armor before marcus cut the feed, shoving the tablet into his pocket and hauling himself out of the engineering bay.
“What?! What was it? Who were they? Where are you going?!” Tûn scrambled after him as he launched himself towards the small ship’s open hatch, and gasped in surprise as he pressed a slim pistol into her hands.
“Tûn, listen to me very-”
“What? What’s going on?!”
“Listen! Do exactly as I-”
“I don’t understand! Who were they?!”
“Listen to me. Do exactly as I say. Stay in the ship, lock the hatch behind me, power on the reactor, and then call me on the ship’s dash as soon as she’s awake. Understand?”
“I… yes, but where are you-”
“Do you understand, Tûn?”
Tûn looked up at her father, trembling slightly as she studied his face. She had never seen him like this before, so intense and determined, but she knew what it meant; he was afraid. She swallowed and gave a shaky nod, reaching out to grip the hatch’s handle. “I understand. Just… just promise me you’ll come back, okay?”
Marcus’s face softened slightly, and he gave her a sad smile that sent a chill down the back of her neck. “I promise.”
He was lying.
The ancient ship’s reactor was a mess; Tûn practically had to rebuild half of it, trying very very hard not to listen to the sounds of shouting and automatic gunfire. She recognized the sharp metallic rattle of her father’s automatic security turrets, and the answering roar of the invaders’ rifles. She hadn’t heard any other gunshots or any hint of her father’s voice, and she prayed to every higher power she could think of that that meant he was okay. Finally the reactor thrummed to life, and she launched herself towards the small cockpit, sliding into the pilot’s couch as she called Marcus’s tablet. He answered on the second ring, his face sweaty and smeared with grease, his expression set in grim determination. Her heart soared as she saw him, but his hoarse voice crackled out of the ship’s speakers before she could say anything.
“Tûn, can you hear me? Is the ship operational?”
“Yes! And yes! Are you-”
“Computer: Override code M - Twenty-One - Alpha. Scenario 3. Execute.”
“Wh-what? What are you… gh-!”
Tûn lurched forward against the restraints as the ancient ship responded to her father’s command, blasting its engine exhaust into the cramped workshop as it thrusted backwards out into space, the superheated plasma slagging half of Marcus’s expensive equipment.
“DAD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
His eyes crinkled in response, a heavy weight seeming to leave his chest as she was blasted away from the station. Her eyes widened as she saw the exterior of her home, the metal frame swarming with black metallic spider drones and black-suited humans. Tûn groaned as she was pressed back into the couch, the ship flipping around and burning at full thrust away from the infested station. She could just barely make out her father's words over the roar of the engines.
“Stay safe, stay hidden. Forget about me, don’t let them find you. I’ll find you again. I promise. I love you.”
“D…ad…” She choked out past the elephant sitting on her chest, the ship’s acceleration pressing her back into the couch, her vision tunneling as she began to black out. There was a flash of orange and a burst of static from her father’s feed, and then the world went dark.
~=///=~
“JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK!”
“Pick it up, Lip, you’re embarrassing me! She is killing you!”
“You got this Jackie, get his ass!!”
“YOU’RE EMBARASSING YOUR SON! YOU’RE EMBARRASSING YOUR MUDDAH!”
Jeers and grunts of effort filled the tiny bar as two hulking figures faced off over the counter, muscles straining and sweat beading as they fought to gain control over the other. Tony “Lip” let out a roar of frustration as his opponent pushed his arm dangerously close to the sticky bartop, a grin of fierce determination etched over her face. Planting his feet, Lip shoved their clasped hands back up, the match hovering at the midpoint before being slowly, slowly pushed towards Lip’s win.
“YOU’RE EMBARASSING YOUR MUDDAH’S MUDDAH! FINISH IT ALREADY!”
“Don’t let him do it, Jack! Pull it back! You can do it!”
Jackie puffed her cheeks, huffing sharp, quick breaths as she braced herself against the onslaught. Slowly, painfully, she worked their arms back up to center, Lip roaring and cursing the entire time. His bicep suddenly gave way, and Jackie slammed his hand down onto the counter with a roar of triumph. The bar erupted in cheers, hands raining down on her back while Lip’s friend cursed his entire bloodline thrice over. He grinned and stuck out his other hand, raising his voice to be heard over the clamour.
"That's the worst hiding I've received in years. You’s alright, dollie!”
Jackie scoffed and shook his hand, already rubbing her shoulder and grimacing in anticipation of tomorrow’s soreness.
“You’re alright yourself, Lip! For a pig, anyway!” She retorted, earning a hearty guffaw from her former opponent. Collecting her winnings, she held up the wad of cred slips so the crowd could see. “Drinks’re on me!” She shouted, earning an even bigger cheer from the audience.
Hours passed in a blur. One bar after the other, smashed to bits and then abruptly ejected. Some were warm and cheery, others were hard and sullen, some she didn’t even get a boot in the door before being turned around and marched out by the bouncers. Jackie staggered down the street, humming drunkenly to herself, a half-empty bottle of pseudo-scotch swinging from her fingers. Pausing at a crossing she leaned against a light post, gazing blearily up through the grimy glass canopy that trapped the Ring’s air. A frantic dance of lights had drawn her eye, and she grinned stupidly to herself as she watched the sudden aurora wash and spin above her.
“‘Ey, Mendoza! Heard you won big tonight, eh?” Jackie groaned and tore her eyes away from the lights, forcing her eyes to focus on the approaching figures. “They said you beat Lip and took him to task! C’man, show us what you got!”
“Sammy!” Jackie said, straightening up and plastering what she hoped was a confident grin over her face, willing herself to sober up. “What an un… fuckin- what an ugly-ass surprise! Your face is looking better since last I saw you with your head shoved in the rubbish chute.” Sammy snarled, reaching behind him. The two thugs flanking his ugly mug also produced weapons, white-knucled grips on pieces of steel pipe.
“Gonna teach you a fuckin’ lesson for that, cunt.” Sammy growled, voice slightly muffled by his poorly-healed nose. All pretence of friendly conversation was gone as he pulled a six-inch shiv from his belt, taking up a scrappy street-brawler’s stance. Jackie sighed and rolled up her sleeves, cybernetic wiring glittering in the artificial light.
“Now I just gotta say, you’re not allowed to get mad at me when I break your nose again, alright?” Jackie said with a grin, her words still slightly slurred by the alcohol swimming in her veins. Sammy scoffed and pointed the knife at her, his stance loosening.
“As if youse even gonna get to touch me, bitch. We’ve got you three to one, and you’s drunk as shi-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Jackie stepped forward, one powerful lunge closing the distance as she ducked past his knife hand, trapping his wrist under her arm as she drove her other fist straight into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him in a single hit. As he gasped for breath she spun and twisted the knife out of his hand, all traces of drunkenness purged from her body as she dropped into a sweeping kick, taking one thug’s legs out from under him and jabbing the other in the balls with the hilt of the shiv. She grunted as the first thug swung his pipe into her reinforced spine, the metal shattering in his hand as she rolled away.
Springing to her feet she sized up her opponents; two groaning on the deck, and the third advancing on her with a jagged broken pipe in his hands. He stabbed forward, aiming for her throat, but her hand met his wrist as she yanked him forward, pulling his face into her flying elbow. There was a satisfying crunch as his nose collapsed, and he yelled in pain as Jackie swung his body into the light post. He dropped like a sack of potatoes as she released his arm, and she stood panting above the three groaning figures. Walking over to Sammy she crouched down, meeting his watering eyes before punching him directly in his face, eliciting a yelp of pain and a trickle of blood.
“Cheers for that, Sam,” she said, standing up and dusting herself off. She sighed as she noticed something missing, rolling her neck to tease out some satisfying cracks. “Damnit, you lot killed my buzz. You owe me a couple kegs, Sammy!” She was about to walk away when a blinding light made her stagger back, the Nexus security drone’s electromagnets humming softly as it approached down the street.
“Anticitizen activity detected. Charges: public assault and battery, three counts. How do you plead?”
“Fucking really, you’re charging me? Where the hell were you three minutes ago, you floating bucket of scrap?” Jackie blinked hard, trying to clear the spots from her eyes as she wracked her brain for a way to get out of this.
“Charges: Public assault and battery, three counts; Verbal assault of a peace officer, one count. How do you plead?”
“Not fucking guilty, scraphead.” Jackie spat out, edging towards the nearby alleyway. As the drone dismissed her plea and started to rattle off her sentence, she tensed her legs and swung for the floating drone. She almost didn’t see the taser prongs lancing out from the drone’s rifle before they connected with her skin, dumping a thousand volts of electricity into her body and leaving her convulsing on the sidewalk.
“Verdict: Guilty. Charges: Public assault and battery, three counts; assaulting a peace officer, two counts. Mandatory sentencing: three years no bail. Thank you for your cooperation.”
~=///=~
“Fucking HELLS!”
A loud metallic bang echoed through the small, dead ship as Tûn pulled herself out of a maintenance crawlway and kicked the hatch closed, hurling her wrench against the bulkhead with a roar of frustration. Panting heavily she kicked off the wall and headed for the bridge, wishing she could theatrically stomp her feet in the zero gravity. Reaching the cockpit she let herself drift until her forehead bumped into the canopy, the cool reinforced glass soothing against her pounding head.
She had woken up in deep space, the ship’s reactor dead and beyond any local signals. Now she was metaphorically and literally beating her head against the problem, anguish and desperation warring in her head. She stared forlornly into the gently twinkling starscape, her face illuminated by the soft glow of her terminal.
“Work the problem.”
She sighed as she heard her father’s voice echo in her head. Work the problem, indeed. What fucking problem? The dead ship I’m stranded in? Or the fact the last time I saw you, the world was exploding as I left you for dead?
The spiteful thoughts felt bitter on her tongue, and she bonked her head on the canopy again to rid herself of them. Focus on what you can fix, she thought to herself. He’s either captured or dead - probably dead - , and whining won’t fix that. You can get revenge maybe, if you find out who did it but that won’t happen unless you get off your ass and fix the damn ship. Work the fucking problem.
Grumbling to herself, Tûn pushed off the window, carefully making her way back to the engine room. She retrieved her wrench from where it was loitering near the fusebox and stowed it safely back in her belt, before delving into the crawl space once more.
The problem finally revealed itself as a blown fuse in the regulator circuit. She quickly swapped out the chip and the ship hummed back to life, the computer waking up as she drifted back into the cockpit. Tapping the screen, she queried a status report.
LIFC: “Prince”
CLS: Courier-class Zulu Lambda Charlie
SYSTEMS DIAGNOSTICS
Sublight Drive: Amber Light
Dancer Drive: Green Light
Life Support: Green Light
Reactor Systems: Amber Light
Docking Systems: Red Light
Tûn bit her lip, trying to banish thoughts of her father as she studied the diagnostics readout. She sighed, and spoke out loud to the ship’s cockpit.
“Compu- uhh. Prince, override autopilot. Give me manual control.”
“Request denied.”
Cursing, Tûn kicked the pilot’s couch, which only served to hurt her toe and send her spinning through the air. She grabbed a handle and halted her spin, sighing as she wracked her brain for a way to get past Marcus’s plan.
“Prince, override, uhh… Override M… what was it. Twenty-two - Alpha?”
“Error, invalid override.”
“Fucking… damnit. Hey, what’s our destination?”
“Destination set to N-Sys 3, Terminal 9, Ring City.”
Tûn blinked at the console in disbelief, trying to parse what the ship had just told her. Marcus was sending her to a Nexus-controlled system?! And not just any Nexus system, but a nova-damned Terminal?!
“What?! No no no, override! Cancel! Change destination!”
“Error. Error. Error. Destination has been hard-coded into Scenario 3. Please take a seat and prepare for riftfoil leap.”
Tûn let her mouth fall open, stunned for the second time in as many minutes.
“This hunk of jump has a riftfoil?! How in the hells did I not know? Why didn’t Marcus tell me?”
“Unknown query. Please take a seat and prepare for riftfoil leap.”
“Alright alright, I get it.”
Singing her legs over the crash couch’s arms, Tûn buckled herself in and pulled up an external camera feed, angling it down so she could see the rift drive in action.
Deep within the Prince’s engine, systems shifted and recoupled, the sublight engines cutting off as new drive systems engaged. From the belly of the craft extended two razor-sharp pylons, shaped closely to that of hydrofoils of ancient earth watercraft. The leading edge buzzed with energy, light shining from the cutting plane, focusing the pint into a molecule-fine blade. From where Tûn watched, it looked almost as if they “dipped” into the fabric of space itself, slicing open a rent in spacetime, letting the brilliant chromatic wash of Rift energy spill into realspace. The energy spilled over the carefully-formed foil, flowing over its form and launching the ship forward as it rode the compressed higher dimensional space. Tûn whooped as the ship leapt forward, the excess energy trickling up the riftfoil and feeding into intricate systems in the Prince’s belly. A bubble of barely-visible light formed around the craft, stars warping and shifting in her vision, their light shifting to red as the ship shot to super-luminal speeds.
