Witches
17 Mar 2018Namita Pear
The moments I think are my most favorite, now, are when you're just on the cusp of reaching the nebula. It towers over you, reminds you that the splotch in space you aimed at however-many jumps ago in fact dwarfs you. It is larger than anything you will ever step foot in, no planet can compare; only galaxies and nebulae themselves compete for something that draws your appreciation and imagination so much. As I write this, I sit on the cusp of the Orion nebula, its hue reminding me of a heart tissue as it dominates my sphere of vision. I can follow it all the way to where it encroaches on the galactic horizon itself, which even at this meager extra distance from the bubble already shines brighter and with a dazzling array of stars. Looking back, I can even see the Witch Head and the Coal Sack gazing towards me, hallmarks of my minor accomplishments... and already beckoning for me to go back and visit them.
I wrote the above sitting just outside Barnard's Loop, about to jump through it and continue on to the Horsehead Nebula. It was only minutes after saving the blurb that I huddled with Wade over the berth station. We were late to find out, compared to the apparent rest of the galaxy, that large portions of space around the Orion nebula and her neighbors have been mysteriously locked from navigational systems. It was disappointing to not visit the Horsehead nebula but we found a suitable system to drop in and simply observe the flat side of Horsehead. The bigger problem was trying to route to California; considering the failures in our navigational system, it seemed as though the entire region between California and Horsehead was 'quarantined' except for a route through the middle.
Essentially retracing our steps out of the local region, our routing software coincidentally sent us to the Witch Head Science Center, a very lonely asteroid base in an otherwise uninhabited system. The massive rock swirls around the rings of a creamy and storm-plagued gas giant, the people there identifying themselves as either xeno-researchers or a far more subjugated faction of folk who wish to, I assume, mine the system for all its worth. Just docking in the place gave me chills; it was the first asteroid dock I'd ever been in. Detritus floated around the 'hangar' of its insides and the dockpad was a mess... still, it was welcome, as I was able to stock up and repair minor heat damage. Despite the eeriness of such a desolate yet populated system, however, WHSC gave me much needed entertainment: up for download and subscription was a publication I had yet to hear of, The Sagittarius Eye. In conjunction with my records of Lave and Sidewinder radio, the quality writing, in-depth reporting and stellar topics kept me sane on my obtuse journey to California, a factor which became increasingly necessary as the journey continued.
Staring at the wispy orange arms of the California nebula, I was again infatuated with the scale and beauty of the sight. But I feel it more important to talk of the journey to and from that destination than the actual time spent there.
Ever since crossing the Witch's Head, I became more aware of the constant jumps I was making in between star systems. I specifically recall turning my head and hearing it: screams. Wails, desolate and far away, straight ahead of YIAH yet passing the cockpit at the same time. Wade and I had long ago dismissed the spooky noises we heard as solar energy waked over our Asp during refueling, but these noises are something we cannot dismiss. Reading other accounts makes me think it's just an explorer's ailment, looking for things that probably aren't there during our time in witch-space. I simply don't know, and it might be that indecision that frightens me more than the raw sounds I hear.
Another note I'll have to write down concerns the amount of wrecks I've come across. No less than three have been found by us, in pure chance, during the jumps on our route. All exploration vessels, and large ones at that, the only thing not charred to a crisp being some barely-intact datalogs. Some of these have been sold to the WHSC, the rest given to Gorbachev on our return.
It was investigating what we thought was another of these wrecks when the 'highlight' of our little expedition happened. During the return from California, we had come across two debris fields and I was letting Wade get practice on the controls as I kicked my feet up, enjoying the audio play during a rest of my eyes.
Suddenly, I hear a loud, "Shit!" from beneath me. It came after I barely registered Wade aborting a jump to the next system, investigating what he thought were more degraded emissions. I nearly fell to the berth station of the Explorer cockpit as I flew to alert, hands on the stick and throttle as I tried to understand, but the reading was starkly clear. "NON-HUMAN SIGNAL SOURCE."
As he went through the motions to expedite a jump out of the system, I stared at the galactic chart in confusion. We were dozens if not hundreds of lightyears from the Pleiades! It would still take us at least twenty jumps just to get to the 'front lines', Socho. The Thargoids had a hell of a lot more territory than I thought... I don't think of myself as a coward, but I'm simply not good in a fight. My bounties were won in ambush and fights that were rarely fair. That YIAH was completely unarmed, save for countermeasures, meant that if an alien wanted me dead there'd be very little stopping them.
There's no exciting shootout to cap off this fright; instead, we abandoned our scanning duties, not even 'honking' with the Discovery scanner, simply trying to jump to Sol as quickly as possible in a deep sweat. We knew they could rip us right out of witch-space, ending our journey in fear rather than the awe we had spent it in. We were cowards, but smart ones.
I'm collating and sending this all, safe and sound, in Gorbachev right now. I'm of course planning the next leg of our sightseeing tour (funded by the LUDICROUS amount of credits I was able to get from my cartography) but the trip as a whole is a learning experience for Wade and I. The Thargoids are a bigger threat than I thought, for one, and it may be necessary to at least insulate myself from the fight if I decide to run away from it like I have been.
In general, I'm simply much greener than I thought. Impotent. Space is lonely, but the feeling that I can't even help the systems that I return to hurts.
