Sniper-space
The Gwalior spread its silvery wings wide, sailing through space on the current of a solar wind. Its antennae were typically stretched out, listening for danger, but now they drooped and its legs hung limp as it slept, enjoying the warmth of the approaching star. It was dreaming of the asteroid belt that encircled the star, a pleasant bunch of potato-shaped rocks crusted with tasty minerals and a light dusting of ice. The Gwalior would regret this nap. It didn't have a happy ending.
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Sniper-space. Even the word gave Bimi the chills. Instead of sniper-space, he preferred the proper term hyperspace for that strange dimension in which ships could outrace even light, covering distances of hundreds of light years in days. He tried to avoid the galactic shortcut whenever possible, favoring old-fashioned tricks like strategic use of the gravity wells of dying stars or choosing vacation spots at perigee with Xenon. But a trip to Earth was no quick jaunt, and every day spent en route was one less day to spend if he ever got that vacation to Sybesa-11. Thus his days were spent biting his fingernails as he threaded a course through the narrow bands of space, moving with such speed that only one shot from a sniper would destroy his ship. Such looters squatted on the popular routes, eager to swoop in after a lucky hit and collect the precious metals left in the shrapnel. In a galaxy of seemingly infinite size (for who could ever dream of crossing it–certainly not in sniper-space, and not even by the best space-time ship could it be crossed) there were countless races capable of space travel, so many that the Xenonites, with all their careful spying, could scarcely keep track of a small portion of them. Each culture's ships were made of different combinations of precious metals and cargo, common on their home world, but worth a fortune elsewhere. The wealthiest snipers were effective not because they knew who to target or when, but where to sell whatever they found when they picked up the pieces. With some tricky maneuvering and a good aim, any scumbag of low character could become a sniper, and with time and practice, a rich one at that. Because of the snipers, the intergalactic shortcut was only used by certain people: those who were brave and/or stupid, those who were in dire emergencies, and those so wealthy that their ships carried enough armor that they might collide with a planet on the way and come out fine. Well, a gassy planet at least.
Bimi's personal ship had no such armor. His gaze moved quickly back and forth between the window and the radar screen, wary of approaching ships. The stars whizzed by his window, and he counted down the hours and days until he would reach Earth. No matter how many times he made the trip, he had the same strange sensation. He felt like he was on his way home, soon to be reunited with his friends and family, back from a long trip and done with spying for the Xenonites. It seemed like he would gather everyone up and tell crazy stories about his adventures every night before going to bed under a sky that didn't have a different number of moons each night and who knew how many rings. He wondered when it would change; when he would feel like he was leaving home, bound for a distant planet populated by humans who would probably kill him if he tried to convince them he'd arrived from outer space. On Earth, his newly acquired love for space travel, for technology, even for knowledge was worthless. They say you can't have both worlds. I am now a Ciri; there is no going back. I just hope I survive another trip.
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So far, the journey had been uneventful. His ship, Lucy, was rattling a bit, and the engine sounded like a squeaky hamster wheel. But otherwise all was well. He glanced at the console map. He was about halfway to Earth. His Class Ka x-craft had only three shields, a good number, though far fewer than he'd prefer. The last time he’d been to Earth, he’d been in a much better, Class Ji Xenonite issued x-craft. That one had twenty-three shields, he recalled. But even after many trips through sniper-space, there had been no incidents, so maybe he was over-imagining things. As for the preferable Class Ji x-craft, it was stranded on Earth. He thought it ironic that its operators made it through sniper-space with no trouble, only to crash when their journey was 99.999 and who knew how many more nines percent complete. They would have followed standard procedure. Their shields would have been lifted as soon as they dropped into the Solar System, allowing their braking engines to fire. They were supposed to have checked the reading of Earth. They’d done so… it came out at five, I think? Not a terrible number, but certainly not normal. They’d been ordered to focus on a region in western Africa, to investigate reports of a strange tribe. Rumors had been collected from even far away regions of an African nation whose technology was so advanced that others were afraid to enter the land. This was a red flag to the Xenonites, and the two Ciri were sent to try and locate the nation, and snoop around to see if something fishy was going on. An alien invasion, an unprecedented technological advance, even an early warning sign of the Sphere's influences... the Xenonites always fear the worst when the technology readings start to rise, accompanying rumors collected by com-link notwithstanding.
Their readings complete, the Ciri tried to land in the jungle, and that's when the problem began. According to my briefing, the novice spies found themselves flying directly toward a giant cliff. Apparently, Ivan was unable to get control of the x-craft, and could not override the course programmed into the ship. Even now, they don’t know where the program came from, or if Ivan is making the whole thing up. In any case, the ship crashed, and the spies fled. They managed to interview a native, and all indications are that a tech-savvy kingdom of warriors in the middle of the African jungle is a complete myth. The native was released, and the Ciri await my rescue.
The ship shuddered violently, throwing Bimi forward from his position next to the window. He grabbed at a wall as he flew past, and missed. Tucking into a roll, he hit the floor in a ball and collided with the main console. His arm hurt like mad where he’d hit the steel ground. Bimi shook it off and pulled himself up. The ship had slowed considerably, but the rear engines were roaring at full blast as they tried to bring the ship back up to cruising speed. The ship shook as it began to accelerate. Bimi stared at the radar. Nothing. There were no ships near his vector. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a fleet of pirates camped along the route taking shots at him as he passed. He didn’t know what to do.
Drop out of sniper-space and look around? No, because they’d just go after me, still taking shots. He could try changing direction. If he changed course quickly, he might lose them before the next shot. Bimi was tense as he inspected the console map. Strange. I’m nowhere near any star. The looters typically hung out near the major trade routes, close to planets where they could cash in their bounty and stock up on supplies. According to the Manual, the odds of finding a pirate out here were extremely low. But while the odds of encountering a pirate at any particular point are low, the odds of encountering one pirate during the course of an entire journey… It seemed to him that all he could do was let the ship stay on course and hope his shields held out to deflect the blow. In a few minutes, the lurking pirates would be left far behind.
The lights suddenly went dim in the ship. Bimi studied his console, searching for answers. Great. A small red light informed him that one of his four power modules, the one on the front wing, had been damaged. The ship switched into conservation mode, drawing less energy while it awaited Bimi’s commands. He hurried into the cockpit of the x-craft to check if he could see the damage from the front window. After opening a narrow door and entering the front quarter of the ship, he was stunned at what he saw: his front window was intact–but covered in yellow goo.
