The Terracorp Chronicles

Through the Star-gate

“Admiral Bozoni calling Captain Napa. Admiral Bozoni calling Captain Napa.”

“This is Captain Napa of the IMM Rescue Cutter Big Apple.”

“Captain, are you prepared for entry into hyper-space?”

“Roger, Admiral.”

“Admiral Bozoni calling Captain Garlicbreath. Admiral Bozoni calling Captain Garlicbreath.”

“This is Captain Garlicbreath of the IMM Battleship Gilroy.”

“Captain, are you prepared for entry into hyper-space?”

“Roger, Admiral.”

“Captain Napa, you will lead the convoy into the star-gate. The Cosmic Partner will follow. Captain Garlicbreath, you will position yourself as rear guard. IMMHQ has informed me that Compol Destroyers have been dispatched from the Gigabus Space Port and are headed for Star-gate Outpost 4, so be on the lookout. Remember that the 100,000 kilometer spacing is essential to minimize hyper- feedback at the star-gate. You may proceed, Captain Napa.”


“Mr. Miskochief, all ion drives ahead one quarter,” Captain Napa spoke to his first mate on the bridge of the Big Apple.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” was the response.

The massive rescue cutter began to lumber toward the center of a large imaginary rectangle in space defined by four portable hyper-space transponders. The transponders sat stationary relative to one another, generating a reality-flux field that acted as a scalpel on the fabric of the space-time continuum. Background stars were noticeably absent within the area defined by the transponders, known as a star-gate.

“We have reached entry velocity, Captain,” announced First Mate Miskochief. “Activating on-ship hyper-navigation system.”

“Prepare for entry into hyper-space,” Captain Napa announced over the ship’s intercom. “60 seconds to star-gate entry.”

“Hyper-NAV system diagnostics completed. Loading CTS (Cosmic Tracking Software).” Miskochief pressed several buttons on the console before him. “Destination coordinates received from the Cosmic Partner. Coordinates laid in. Beginning 30 second coundown on my mark. Mark!”

“What?” replied Mark Hulk, Big Apple navigator, turning toward Miskochief.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” replied the first mate.

“Oh.”

“25 – 24 – 23 – 22…”

“Close fore blast shields!” commanded Captain Napa.

“19 – 18 – 17…” continued Miskochief, as the reactive gravity of the star-gate grabbed the Big Apple, jolting it sharply. “10 – 9 – 8…” Miskochief broke off the countdown because the acceleration was pressing him into his seat, making it unable for him to move a muscle.

The Big Apple raced ever faster toward the transponders rectangle and disappeared.


Mr. Robotto transmitted through his built-in radio to the Blutomo, “I have found a large cave approximately 12 kilometers north-northeast from your position, Captain Retson. My olfactory detectors indicate that this was the lair of the tyrannosauri that attacked us. I will now begin to transmit the homing signal.

“Stay there, Robotto. We’re on our way!”


“You can’t do this to me, Wheat!” snarled Grodin Pudge as a crew of field engineers lowered nim through a large drain hole in the floor of the first level of the Gigacorp complex. “I’ll die down here.”

“Not if you agree to our demands,” replied Buck Wheat. “Now you’ll know what it’s like to lay cable under a raised floor.”

“What is it you want?”

“100% raises and tax-free company cruisers and titles like ‘Consulting Technical Scientist’ or ‘Super Duper Whiz Bang,'” explained Buck Wheat, brandishing a portable molecular reducer in Pudge’s face.

“The first two I’ll agree to, but not the title changes,” dickered Pudge.

“Lower him down!” replied Wheat. “You’re next, Stoppo.”