Personal Journal Serene Falk:
Captain HMMS Broadside
- Mission parameter – Hunting Ghosts
- Classification Secret – Captains eyes only
As the duty officer Caram Sheck began to run through my requested update, the chirp of the near space detector cut through the first brief moment of peace that we had known in thirty hours. Only this time the chirp wasn’t announcing the mass of our friendly battleship but something far smaller. Moments later the sensors flagged the contact as something similar in design to a mark IV torpedo, the only difference being was that it kept disappearing and re- appearing on our sensors. In different but progressively closer co-ordinates to the Broadside. Bonnie and Clyde were working at full capacity in their millisecond world of behavioral analysis and tactical response, only they weren’t coming up with any answers. Then just as I was about to take manual control, the ship lurched port-side as the engines came up in response to whatever solution our Nav Ai’s had just initiated.
Next as per protocol the auto cannons came on line, with their massive firepower they could easily take out a small cruiser and this alien tech should be simple enough. Only the guns were silent as the torpedo had the perfect defense. One moment it was there and the next it was gone, phased out of our time and space and without a target lock the guns would not fire. Next in the Broadsides arsenal of defense mech the Ai’s launched the hollo-drones that projected multiple images of the physical and electronic signature of the Broadside in differing locations to our own. Only the torpedo didn’t even twitch, it just kept on coming the dashed line on the sensor screens now intersecting our own signature. Finally, with our defenses effectively breached and the repulsers still down after the last singularity, many things happened at once.
On que the impact alarm blasted throughout the ship and with nothing more to be done. I calmly watched and committed to memory the strained faces of my bridge crew cast in the red glow of the ships alert status, strapping themselves in and whispering whatever prayer found their lips. For some, I knew it might be the last memory.
In concert the Broadside was also preparing herself. Air tight fields and bulkheads were auto sealing and slamming into place whilst other systems were dampening the reactors and routing non-essential power to the battery deck in case we lost the cores. Even the bio farms were going into hibernation in preparation for a hull breach.
Then silence, the frozen moment of time imploding and exploding all around and the realisation that hell had just broken loose aboard the Broadside and her eight hundred and thirty-four crew.
[ Additional foot note – Baby Isaiah Jones was born this morning. Mother and child are doing well, and it looks like I am a God Mother again]