* * *
Darla studied the gyrating Divulsion while Ilanit attempted to calculate an orbital pattern that would put them into docking position. The Divulsion had the new ‘catch and release’ shuttle bays. No longer did the pilot have to manually navigate through the opened doors and into the bay. A combined suction/claw device on the end of an extendable ram would capture the incoming ship and pull it to safety. Still, as out of control as the Divulsion was, it would be tricky at best to successfully accomplish that maneuver.
Ilanit called into her headset. “I’ve got a docking solution. Now to get in position...”
Instantly there appeared on Darla’s holoscreen - a three dimensional viewer that projected visual images and coordinates - pictures of the area and an overlay of the orbital path that was to be taken. She called back, “I’ve got a visual. Copy…”
Darla heard Ilanit’s voice in her headset. “Copied…visual.”
The trip from the Shikkeron had been relatively easy. The next series of maneuvers were very dangerous and least likely to succeed. Darla looked up to see small chunks of space debris continually bouncing off the Divulsion’s force shield, flashing blue-white lightning as they were deflected away. At the moment, the T-4’s computers were sensing such obstacles and sliding clear of those dangers but, when they locked onto the given coordinates, that would all change.
Darla hailed the Divulsion. “We have a go.”
“Go, confirmed.” A ghostly voice replied. “Shuttle bay doors are opening.”
The women watched. Suddenly a small slit of light appeared at the Divulsion’s mid-hull region, about nine rods back, center ship. The slit grew until it appeared to look like a tiny beacon, hopefully calling out to the night. From over a league away, it didn’t look very reassuring. Darla glanced at her gages. They still had twenty minutes of fuel and all systems were functioning properly. She prepared to lock on course as soon as the next window came.
The mood was tense aboard the Shikkeron. Captain Bedan had placed communication with the Divulsion and the T-4 on the ‘overhead’ – the term, a carry-over from bygone days when visible audio speakers were installed in ships’ ceilings. A quiet thumping whirr of the Shikkeron’s motors and engines were the only other audible sounds to be heard.
The mood was somber. Everyone on board felt as though his or her own soul sat the cockpit of that frail plane poised on the knife-edge of destruction. With ears a tingle and halted breath, each crewmember counted the passing heartbeats, waiting upon the drama unfolding in that black world of wild rocks and angry chaos.
Darla locked in the T-4’s docking orbit at the next window, activating the auto-pilot on the computer’s navigation system. “We’re in the slot.” She radioed to the Divulsion. They confirmed. Now all she had to do was control the thrust and make minor course corrections with her manual override to compensate for outside disturbances. The countdown to destiny had now begun.
Ilanit busied herself with checking and rechecking coordinates, feeding the computers necessary information that would help them stay on course. Darla read the gages and controls while glancing back and forth from the holoscreen to the view outside the ship’s canopy. Rocks and debris flashed past, sometimes only rods away. Darla sighed, resigned to their possible destruction.
The progress was exasperatingly slow. Round and round the T-4 orbited, drawing, ever so slowly, closer to the golden beacon anxiously calling out through the darkness. Darla glanced at the fuel gage. ‘Eight minutes left. That will be enough. It should now take no more than two or three minutes before docking.’
About six furlongs out, disaster struck. The T-4 was rotating to line up for final approach when a cluster of fist-sized asteroids pummeled the ship, tearing away a large portion of the port wing and disabling the nose navigation sensors. Fortunately, none had made a direct hit on the fuselage. With a cry of desperation, Darla gripped the joystick and, while manually working the side thrusters, struggled to keep the fighter on approach.
She had just managed to push the fighter back on course when another barrage of rocks crashed into it, ripping away chunks of the canopy and sending an explosion of metal and glass in every direction. Part of the canopy’s reinforcing bracket was torn loose, smashing into the front of Darla’s helmet, stunning her into unconsciousness.
Only seconds passed before Darla came to, but she had no way to tell how long she was out. Her earlier wound was reopened and bleeding profusely, blinding her completely. She heard panicked voices on the intercom, asking them to report their condition. Trying to reply, she reached for her communication control, only to find that it had been ripped away. There was now no way for her to relay information outside the ship. Worse yet, she could hear air escaping from her suit.
Darla attempted to make contact with Ilanit, calling her name into the helmet’s inboard audio communicator. Nothing… Whether the leftenant was dead or injured, she had no way of telling, but she could feel the fighter slipping off the approach lineup while the thrusters continued to move forward. There was little to be done to salvage the mission. Unless she could regain control of the fighter, in seconds they would crash into the Divulsion’s hull. She tipped her head back and cried out to her mother. No music… No reassuring feeling... Her head sank as she fell into helpless despair.
When a person’s life is uncertain, time can act in strange and peculiar ways. Observers aboard the Divulsion claim to have noticed a smooth entry of the T-4 into the docking station, but Adaya remembers it in a much different way.
Out of the realms of total defeat, victory can at times be grasped. As Darla pondered her own doom, she also considered the demise of the Divulsion. No matter how slim their chance for survival, it would be less if her fighter slammed into it. In her mind, the girl could see a raging inferno of burning thallium oxysulfide melting away the ship’s hull. She grappled to find the controls in order to throw the ship into reverse. Just as her fingers wrapped around the joystick, she recalled Ardon’s statement. ‘You have all the tools needed to accomplish this task. You must find a way to use them.’
Darla hesitated at firing the reverse thrusters. She sank back into the seat, trying to relax. Instantly, the woman felt a pulsing on her right hand. A warm glow raced up her arm from the onyx ring nestled on her index finger. Not only did she feel a soothing sensation, suddenly she could see a skeletal picture of her surroundings. In her mind, she watched a world of shapes and lines - negative pictures so to speak - where bright things were dark and the dark were bright.
With deliberateness, Darla studied the mental images. Very carefully, she began to toggle the joystick while adjusting the retro-rockets. To her surprise, she saw the pictures change in accordance with the movements of the fighter. As she struggled to come back on approach, the woman could sense the life-giving oxygen in her suit rapidly depleting. “Just a few more seconds…” she whispered to herself, feeling hypoxia consume her thoughts. She set her sights on the shuttle bay’s fully extended receiver. As she drifted into darkness, Darla heard her own voice crying out to her. “Come on, sweetheart. One more second… one more sec…”
Darla never heard the cheers, nor did she see the tears of relief. And when they pulled their savior from the crumpled cockpit, thinking her dead, she did not hear the wails of grief and lament. Her world passed on in silence while the Divulsion’s crew hurried to infuse new lifeblood into their crippled vessel. She slept in peace as she was transferred back to the Shikkeron after the two ships exited the asteroid field. She rested from care as the Shikkeron’s officers and crew visited her in the medical bay to offer their heartfelt thanks.
A warrior, later turned poet, anxiously waited on the bridge of the Shikkeron that day. He penned the following words, which, when translated, read:
We watched the world from Salem’s walls,
While war was waged by a single soul.
We watched in helples
s wonderment,
As evening’s child risked all on hope.
The battle tore upon front and flank,
But the warrior’s heart did not shrink back.
Broken and blind, she forced the charge,
And took the gate with fate resigned.
Lift up your voice and raise your glass,
Sing songs of praise to a child divine.
The souls of many she has saved,
Surrendering all for the ones she loves.