A new space adventure idea I’m toying with. Time will tell if I fully develop this. If it sounds interesting, let me know! If you hate it, keep it to yourself lol.
The solar flare alarm jolted Bertie Satchel out of a perfectly pleasant dream.
“Oh, come ON,” he moaned. “I swear I just closed my stinking eyes-“
The sight of Slurf Dixon snoring took the wind out of his complaining sails. It’s no fun to complain to yourself, after all.
A wry smile played on the corner of his lips. “Snore on fleabag” he muttered good-naturedly.
Bertie left the sleeping quarters, climbed up a ladder, and trudged into the storage space.
He rubbed his eyes groggily as he walked down the corridor that led to the front hatch and the bridge.
The fitful blaze of a massive solar flare pulsed in the distance, just visible through the radiation and heat-shielded canopy of the bridge. It writhed like a fiery serpent, surging and shrinking irregularly.
The sight woke Bertie up in a hurry. He jabbed a hand upward, mashing down a large red button. When he heard a responding crackle, he called out,
“Jek! Jak! Slurf! We’ve got a massive solar surge. I need everyone up, receivers primed and ready, and engines humming NOW. Respond, over!”
The intercom crackled again. Bertie heard a growling moan.
“You don’t have to like it, Dixon, just get your tail to the aft hatch now!”
“Grrr.. fine,” Slurf muttered.
Bertie smashed the red button again. “Jek! Jak! Respond and get to your stations or you’ll be taking a trip with the space trash soon. Respond!”
“Keep your pants on, boss!” A tinny voice replied. “Engine’s priming now we’ll be good shortly.”
“Okay, Jek, please hurry, I don’t know how long this flare’s going to last. Jak, are the solar cells ready for recharge?”
“That’s a downright silly question, captain. I’ve never been more insulted.”
Bertie rolled his eyes, grabbed the wheel, and slowly pulled the ship away from the direct heat of the flare.
As the stern of the Blue Archer slipped past the flare, it suddenly cranked open and a silver orb flew out of the opening, bearing directly for the flare.
The silver orb (call sign Vox Fire) dove directly into the flare, disappearing entirely for a few moments.
Slurf’s voice came over the intercom. “Vox is in the flow, Bert, she’ll reach maximum charge in ten minutes.”
Bertie fiddled in his pocket a moment and produced a match. He lit a cigar, blew out a plume of bluish smoke, and said “Roger that, Dixon, but stop calling me Bert.”
“Sure thing, Bert.”
Bertie ignored this, blew an elaborate smoke ring, and thumbed the red intercom button twice.
“Jak, Vox is near full charge. She’ll be heading your way soon. Respectfully, are the fuel cells prepped and ready?”
“Yes, your lordship.” An icy voice responded. “Fluff your pillow for you next, shall I?”
“That’s an awful lot of attitude from a midget mechanic.” Bertie quipped “I’d say come up here and say that but you’re afraid of heights .”
“Ohoho! Afraid of heights” Jek’s chortle cut into the conversation. “He grazed ya there, Jak! Ohoho heee heee heee!”
“Cram it, Jek!”
The brothers started to scuffle, rolling away from the microphone.
“Charge is complete, Bertie boy.” Slurf broke in, sounding slightly more awake but just as grumpy.
“Thanks, Dixon, receiving cells should be primed and ready.”
The Vox shot back out of the flare, its entire surface glowing like it contained a miniature sun.
It flew straight as an arrow, then dipped down, corrected, and flew into the open hatch at the back of the Blue Archer at top speed. Slurf brought it to a firm stop and flipped a series of switches on the control panel in front of him.
Six mechanical arms shot out of Vox Fire, three on each side. The arms clicked into openings designed for them on six massive square-shaped fuel cells. Vox grew progressively dimmer and dimmer as waves of luminous solar energy flowed through each of the arms, filling the cells until they glowed like midday.
The crew (the ones that weren’t fighting anyway) breathed a sigh of relief. Jek and Jak finally stopped fighting and composed themselves, although muttered insults could be heard by anyone sitting close to them.
Now that the job was done, drowsiness crept over Bertie and the rest of the crew. One by one they all wandered back to their bunks.
Bertie went last of all, but not before adjusting their course and setting the autopilot.
With this done, he stretched and trundled off to bed.He was too sleepy to feel his arm hit the ship’s wheel, tilting it slightly to the left of their original course.
The autopilot was an antique and more than a little bit temperamental; It failed to fully engage until after Bertie hit the wheel, cementing the incorrect course as the crew fell asleep.
The Blue Archer drifted into unfamiliar space.
I really like this! How exciting.