Tevun-Krus #100 - The Ultimate Reading Experience!
100 stories, poems and artworks from the best SciFi writers the orange Multiverse has to offer. We got coffee & cookies. We got cake. We got beer. Don't miss out!
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The bridge extends over the vast abyss of the ship's plasma core. On my way to the central console, like every shift, I stop at the viewpoint on the access way and glance down into the wavering mass of lights and particles, a reminder of the vast power of the infinite story drive that allows us to cross space and time.
A few steps bring me from the viewpoint to the gallery. Whoever added this feature to the bridge, must have had a hang for dramatic setups. The life-sized, animated holographic pictures of my predecessors are placed in a backdrop of starlit space, their features underlined by supernovae and gaseous nebulae. I wonder if they are meant to intimidate me. But then, this can't have been intention. Or, if it was, it can't be aimed at me, right? There were other captains before me—and I won't be the last.
The captaincy of the mothership fell to me after the last holder of the job was swallowed by an eddy in the space-time continuum. Everyone assured me he'd pop out of it soon and good as new. And so he did, although I didn't get the chance to check on the good-as-new part before he disappeared again in the maelstrom of infinity.
Yes, that's right, we crossed the maelstrom, and it nearly ate us alive. Those of us that are alive, at least. Which doesn't apply to everyone, strictly speaking, but we're not picky here on the mothership. Diversity is key. The wilder and weirder the stories told in the creative vaults, the farther their power carries us onward through the multiverse. And the more diverse the storytellers, the greater the chance of wonderful new discoveries.
Anyway. One unspectacular morning shift, I found my unprepared and overwhelmed self standing in the perfect chaos of the vessel called the mothership, armed with a handful of confusing instructions and the feeling I needed to step in and do the right thing. Which I did. Or not. Perhaps.
Days later, I began suspecting I must have fallen for some kind of a trick. But by then, the ship travelled through infinity, steady, flawless, with less fuss than I thought possible. So, what could I do? There's an old saying to never alter the course of your ship if you don't know what the destination is.
I didn't. Alter course, I mean. I also didn't know—and still don't—what the destination is. After all, isn't the journey the destination? Or the reward or something? Whatever.
So, I'll let the mothership run. Everyone aboard seems happy enough. The writers are writing, the readers are reading, and I am drinking too much coffee. And reading in the library. Legend has it that there, the great ape resides. Must admit I've never seen him, but I enjoy the anachronistic anomaly that allows us access to a vast room with a vaulted ceiling made of sandstone blocks and terracotta bricks, the walls lined with oaken bookshelves carrying an infinite number of books of all colours, sizes, languages, and contents.
No one I met aboard so far could tell me how we found access to the library. I suspect it's part of another dimension. Like the forest behind the nursery. Or the lake you'll find if you dare to cross the plasma tunnel on the tightrope one of the crazy circus people left there. And yes, we have a circus, too, although it seems no one found access since the space squid incident a few years back. Anyway, I was talking about the lake. I heard it offers quite good fishing and that a few crew members made it a habit to go skinny dipping under the light of the occasional supernova.
That's not the only entertainment the mothership offers, as everyone in their right mind—our out of it—knows. But I should stop rambling. Probably got infected by these two guys who dropped by for tea yesterday with their friend. Smith and Jones, I think, they called themselves. The girl, Kris, was kind of stressed about a sticky spot on her knee-high boots and an ominous power cube. Fortunately, the mothership's self-sufficient infinite story drive wasn't what she was looking for. In the end, they left without doing major damage. Except to the Battenberg cake the replicator popped out when they arrived. As I prefer Black Forest cake anyway, I don't mind.
Still, the visit made me think. Why are we here? Where do we go? And why isn't there a proper Ooorah cake? Perhaps I should make it my quest to find the recipe for it. After all, I'm just the warden of this amazing thing called the mothership. Assigned for a short period before someone else will take the helm and steer this community into new dimensions, will boldly go where no one has gone before. Wait, that sounds familiar—I'm sure I heard that phrase before. Must have been one of my predecessors who coined it, one of these almost mythical creatures on display in the gallery.
Well, today is not the day to turn philosophical. I'll refill my coffee cup and retreat to the observatory. There, beneath the starry vastness of space, I'll enjoy the rare gift of one hundred stories captured in a single issue of Tevun Krus. Because I've learned one thing during my stint on the captain's chair: take things as they come, enjoy the good stuff, and ignore the rest.
