The endless field of stars quivered as the gigantic ship crossed the deepness of the eternal night. Sharp blackness was in sight all directions from the majestic towers and lit platforms which arched between the wings and the mast of the grand cruiser of the Dominion. All the antennas were retracted into the hull, the wings were leaning backwards and the engines roared with the power of a dying sun. The flagship was escorted by two vessels which were dwarfed by the gigantic ornamented cruiser. Everything was tight and aerodynamic, only one person remained on the top floor, outside the comfort and the shielding of the ship: a man tethered to the side rails, standing in the wind shadow of the second forward tower. His decorated clothing was of an officer, but it was still nothing to protect against the cold. The gasmask he wore was supported by the tank hanging from his belt and with one hand he held onto the steel wire that loosely connected his chest harness to the ship frame. At this height and speed, air was scarce and the winds were so cold it was below freezing, yet he managed to stand still and recite his prayers as he gazed at the stars. He was the captain of the ship, Gera Dilgan.
The Marie Claire was one of the largest battlecruisers of the Akkadian Dominion: her majestic form spread out in the sky like a perfectly symmetric tree of steel and claws drifted through the darkness. She lit up in bright lime green upon approaching the Midnight Rift. The torn sky was the brightest spot in front of them, a globe spiraling with clouds illuminated by borrowed sunlight from the emerald heavens like spears of god rays teasing the black planet that has never seen daylight. Because Nergal is tidally locked to his parent star. It means one side bathes in deadly heat and the other side is in eternal nighttime that is cold but habitable. It is a two-hour-ride with a strider to fly from Midnight, the largest city of the Dominion, to the rift which binds the two worlds together. As the vessels plowed through a veil of vapor closer to the shiny orb that mirrored the world on the other side it slowed down with a shattering roar.
Captain Dilgan kept staring at the rift that had grown beyond his field of view, he felt like standing on stage and was about to dive into a pool of green ocean. In his eyes anyone could have seen the sadness; he was not in awe from the scene but grasped by sorrow as if he missed the moment when he and his ship was engulfed by the other side. The Marie Claire and her escort ships came almost to a halt above the blazing red forests and spread their wings. The ships emerged from the rift which looked like a black sun from this side.
A few minutes later the captain entered the bridge without his gasmask, his clothes still garnished from frost marks. Two rows of technicians turned to him to salute from their consoles and levers. The Navigator was standing in a central place, right under the desk where the captain should stand. Dilgan signaled them to ease but they haven't turned back to their work right away.
The captain did what he did a thousand times: he put his book, the ship log, on top of the desk, opened it and checked the monitors before writing down the entry to Aschere. It was one of the old style manual tasks they performed, one of the practices which won a war for the Dominion against the high-tech Valdria. They still believe that the best weapon against cyber warfare is to throw away the computers. He looked up with old eyes and asked as he kept on scribbling "Who gave the order to slow down?"
The navigator stood up straight and looked at the captain. He was Abe Utultar, half the captain's age but a fellow member of the crew who stood together with him over the past decade in battles, explorations and lost rescue missions.
"I did, sir. We are on time, sir. And we wanted to extend our last trip."
The captain put his pen down and left the book open in front of him. Reluctant to answer right away he took a few more seconds to look around.
"It is hardly your last trip, son. Proposition rejected."
"No, but..." he tried but the captain interrupted him.
"Pull in the sails and fire up the engines. The capital awaits us and we are not to keep them waiting."
"Yes sir." Came the heavy answer and the navigator gave some technical orders and started turning the wheel in front of him. His golden hair was pulled together into one ponytail, like most of the nobility wore it and it was perfectly complimenting his decorated uniform.
"I saw the cake in the canteen," the Captain talked in a constant tone, his strong voice always made everyone listen. "And even though I appreciate it, we are not going to do any unnecessary formality. We salute and we go on."
"We just wanted to say 'thank you', sir" answered the navigator still working on the consoles in front of him.
"That is nice of you, but we are not doing this. No speeches, no ceremony." The captain now looked up and honestly looked annoyed. It was a signal they all have learned not to ignore so silence immediately settled on the bridge.
After a few minutes of sharing numbers between the command posts Abe repeated the order to System Specialist, Viktor.
"We need more power on the engines."
"Output is maximum" looked Viktor at him then back at his screen and tried to adjust some things. "Core is intact, ion sail green. Should I call engineering?"
The navigator nodded and then waited for an answer. The captain was present, but his mind was outside in the distance. A prefect view of the Sanctum lakes mirroring the clear sky. Their jade edges played perfect contrast to the blood-red forests and fields round them: this was the harmony of Aschere as he always knew it. And he loved to admire it from above. He took a deep breath and turned to the navigator who called him for the second time.
"What?" he asked.
"He said we have a Syndrone infection."
