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Shores of Silver Seas; Collected Short Stories: 2000-2006
The Prometheus Project
Chapter 1 Page 37
Shores of Silver Seas; Collected Short Stories: 2000-2006
The Prometheus Project
Chapter 1 Page 37
The display faded from the deathbed scene to a dark volume of interstellar space. It's focus shifted to one side of the room, and he obliged the shift by stepping back to get a better view of what he was meant to see.
Now he watched a miniature version of the Brigantine float across the room, traveling as it was in sub-warp space while repairing a glitch in its warp engines. Wincing, he knew what was coming, and wished he could look away, though he could not. Seconds later, the gargantuan vessel's guts exploded in a massive fireball that dwarfed and seemed to consume the entire ship. So bright and destructive was the eruption, that it appeared as if a sun had burned briefly within Brigantine's bowels, where one of her secondary fusion drives had gone sub-nova.
Afterward, the ship drifted along, glowing and burning and exploding in a thousand different places from stem to stern. People, he knew, were busy dying in vast numbers within and without its voluminous confines. At once, eighty five percent of the Brigantine's manifest had perished. In the days that followed, countless more would suffocate or succumb to their wounds.
A handful, himself included, would survive long enough to salvage the ship's vital systems and put everything back together with bailing wire and straight pins. But the event didn't explain its aftermath. Why? Why make the attempt, at all?
"Remember it, friend, remember it well. Remember the days that followed. Remember the horror and terror and exhaustion. Remember the day you burned. Remember all these years I have spent in this bed, rotting in my own juices, your own juices. Remember it all. Remember it well. Do not forget.
Now he watched a miniature version of the Brigantine float across the room, traveling as it was in sub-warp space while repairing a glitch in its warp engines. Wincing, he knew what was coming, and wished he could look away, though he could not. Seconds later, the gargantuan vessel's guts exploded in a massive fireball that dwarfed and seemed to consume the entire ship. So bright and destructive was the eruption, that it appeared as if a sun had burned briefly within Brigantine's bowels, where one of her secondary fusion drives had gone sub-nova.
Afterward, the ship drifted along, glowing and burning and exploding in a thousand different places from stem to stern. People, he knew, were busy dying in vast numbers within and without its voluminous confines. At once, eighty five percent of the Brigantine's manifest had perished. In the days that followed, countless more would suffocate or succumb to their wounds.
A handful, himself included, would survive long enough to salvage the ship's vital systems and put everything back together with bailing wire and straight pins. But the event didn't explain its aftermath. Why? Why make the attempt, at all?
"Remember it, friend, remember it well. Remember the days that followed. Remember the horror and terror and exhaustion. Remember the day you burned. Remember all these years I have spent in this bed, rotting in my own juices, your own juices. Remember it all. Remember it well. Do not forget.
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