Project BIFROST - Pre-Brannigan

[The Syndicate Leagues]

"Spool the drive."
Beat one beat two beat left foot right foot both feet exhale widen stance watch the wind flood the sails.
"Spooling."

Vulkan felt the delay thrum through the deckplates as the steel vibrated into life. Vibrations were rare in spacecraft - inertial compensation had reduced the impact of the most minor of movements. Yet this was not the ship buffeting itself around under its own agency or the newtonian impact of another. This was the ship becoming uncertain of itself. If it should exist or not. Uncertain on its footing, on where it stood in time.


A glottle pause. Eight seconds within the hull. Eight minutes in realspace. The drive was charged. What bonesaws of this great star monster remained within its flesh would be wriggling through its many tubes and corridors towards the relative insulation of the bow – putting a half kilometre of steel and machinery between themselves and the pressure of the drive. On the bridge, Vulkan’s gloved hand lifted the anti-tamper hatch from the drive control console, scrolling his fingers over the two great levers that would drive the ship out of existence and tear it back in through the far side. Human biology hadn’t evolved sensors for the eldrich.


A great groan passed over the ship as the structure flexed - the expansive cassions under the hull swelling to take the pressure of the new drive. The ship had been built to take forces end-to-end and now it was suffering leverage from bow to stern, as if wedged into a gigantic cosmic press.

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"Though the past is scarred and the future untold"
" Be the boot heavy, the vacuum cold."
"I of the Liga,  do not fold"
"For suits or saints or beggar's gold.
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