Copyright © 2008 Andy Heizeler
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
"Everyone, hold on," screamed Arc through the intercom of the Tachyon Valkyrie.
The main thrusters fired, sending vibrations echoing through the deck plates as the ship raced through the interstellar void. The gravitational stabilizers groaned in complaint as they worked to absorb the intense acceleration.
In the pilot's seat, Dean watched the numbers with growing concern. Too many readings pushed past the safety limits for his liking.
Captain Sedona stood next to him, her grip tight on a cross bar.
"Cloey, how are we doing?" she asked.
"Bells two and three are maxed out, boss, they're going to need aromatherapy after this," sulked Cloey from the engine room.
Dean envisioned Cloey sending positive vibes to the intermix chamber and shook his head.
Seated on the old, broken-down couch in the mess lounge, Arc's eyes focused intently on his handheld telepad. With his left thumb alone, he had the power to change roll, pitch, and yaw. His right thumb rested on the thrust button, controlling the awesome power of the Valkyrie's sub light engines.
"Ok, Dean, now!" yelled Arc.