It is a quiet day in the tower. Asher sits in the dim light of the cosmos, watching the radar and directing ships. Nothing unexpected is happening, the only visitors being resting merchants and local traders.
Then the ship arrives. It’s a silver swordship that blasts into the system from the direction of the colonies. It makes no announcement of its arrival; it does not respond to requests for identity. These are, of course, suspicious actions. Under the watch of the Dominion, the innocent do not hide.
Besides, there are reports of a hijacking in the colonies. It doesn’t make sense for a hijacked ship to tarry next to a station like this, but Asher has seen stranger things. ne must be reckless to hijack a Dominion ship.
Very reckless, and very dangerous.
Just before Asher signals his supervisor (a man everyone calls Powell), another ship blasts in. This one identifies itself as the Twilight Swan; a Dominion ship, on official business. Asher directs it to land in the mostly-empty lot. He thinks little of it. He simply returns to his work, keeping an eye on the silver ship. The interruption has made him forget to call Powell.
About half an hour later, a visitor arrives. It is a man, wearing an out-of-date suit. He brings with him the air of false superiority. Powell is not far behind, here to introduce the intruder.
His name is Carter. He works for the Dominion. He’s here to investigate a hijacking.
“Have you seen any suspicious ships in this system?” he asks Asher. Powell looks mildly helpless.
“The-there’s a swordship from connection 0-5-0 that hasn’t responded to any hails.” Carter’s face spoils like milk.
“And you didn’t tell your supervisor?” he sneers. Asher glances to an apologetic Powell.
“I… must have forgotten,” Asher responds. This limp rebuttal does little to assuage Carter’s mood.
“Hail them. Tell them it’s me,” he commands. Asher does as instructed. To his shock, the ship responds.
“Hello, Carter,” a gruff voice sounds across the void of space. A smile begins to flash across Carter’s face.
“Hello, Silver,” Carter replies. “How is everyone?” A short laugh can be heard in the background; the ship must have its mic on open.
“Done with your shit.”
“Well, I’m tired of you as well. Can I talk to Caroline, please?” There is a moment of silence, as shuffling can be heard. Powell decides he has better things to do and leaves the room. Carter doesn’t even glance his way.
“Hello, Carter,” someone says. A woman, from the sound. Carter leans into the mike and speaks quietly.
“Caroline, you haven’t been answering your pager. What’s going on in there? Why haven’t you scuttled the ship?” Asher is starting to become uncomfortable. There is something going on far above his head.
Caroline sighs into the mic. For a while there is silence, Carter’s mood sliding from elation to confusion. He glances at Asher as if to question if the connection has dropped.
Finally, Caroline replies. “Carter, do you ever think about the future? About what lies in store for us, as humans?” This definitely confuses Carter, who shakes his head and bumps the mic.
“No? The stars have our futures assured, right?” He pauses. “Caroline, I will take care of you. You don’t have to worry about whatever they’re-”
“You don’t take care of me. You never had.” She pauses, just like Carter. “Carter, I resign, effective immediately.”
“What? You-you can’t-”
“If you send anyone after me, I will kill them. If you send anyone after us, they will receive two shells in the back. We are doing things that you can’t even comprehend, Carter. Go home.”
There is a fumbling noise as the mic is handed back to Silver. “That is all, Tower. Let us know if you have any further notices.”
Then the connection is cut.
Asher simply looks at Carter, sitting in the hot seat, his face frozen in disbelief. He turns to Asher, looks at him, and stalks off. “Keep on the comms,” he calls behind him. Dutifully, Asher does.
He waits and he watches. There is no change to the situation for a couple minutes; the ship simply keeps its position relative to the station.
But then the hijacked ship begins to move. Slowly, steadily, it taxies until it is between the station and the local star. Then it stops and begins a broadcast.
“Local group, this is captain Arnold Silver of the Reaper’s Due. Please be advised: we will soon be conducting a short-range blast starting from our position and proceeding for 14.5 microparsecs at stellar heading -1, 0, 0. Thank you, and have a good day.”
Asher knows what those coordinates mean. He’s been a tower controller for years, he can estimate headings and distances. But he still puts them into the computer, still double-checks his findings. He was correct. He is not happy.
Asher hails the Reaper’s Due using an emergency band. The captain responds.
“Hello, Tower.” Asher takes a deep breath.
“Hello, Reaper’s Due. By my calculations, your blast will take you directly through the local star,” Asher states as formally as he could. He is confused. Was this what Carter couldn’t comprehend? Ramming a ship into a star? What would that even accomplish?
Asher is so preoccupied with his thoughts that he doesn’t notice how long he’s been silent. He is interrupted by the captain.
“Tower, that is correct. We are planning to intersect the star.”
“But… why?” There is silence for some time.
“You’ll see.” The connection cuts.
In disbelief, Asher walks up to a window and looks outside. He can’t even see the ship against the glare of the star, its holy light almost too much to look at. Over the comms, the Reaper’s Due is broadcasting a countdown, narrated by the captain.
10, 9, 8,
Carter rushes in, door banging. “What are they doing?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
7, 6, 5,
Asher doesn’t answer. He just turns back to the window; something’s tickling in the back of his mind.
4, 3, 2,
Carter laughs, almost manic. “Those maniacs, they’re just gonna kill themselves!”
1.
Nothing happens at first. But then the light begins to wobble, fade. It gushes like a fruit, the glow shooting across the dark of space. It spasms, flickers, writhes like a bleeding dog. Soon, it is no more.
The tower is lit only by the glow of its components and the greasy light of the lamp. Out there, where there was a star, there is an unlit corpse. Asher looks to Carter; his face is distorted, unreadable in the shadows.
The comms flicker on one last time. It is Captain Silver.
“Local group, please be advised:”
He pauses. The world is still. The world is dark as a funeral.
“Caeda Stellas.”
Ernest's Site 