UNDERCOVER WAS A cold-hearted son of a bitch. It had been eight years since Ius Evander was forced to kill his only genuine friend ever in order to save the sovereign galaxy from destruction and misery. He was never supposed to make a bro out of the ultimate enemy, but against all his might, that’s what he had done, and for the first time in his life, his own victory had cost him. Even though galactic civilization had narrowly escaped the most atrocious turn imaginable, the omnipresent shadow of loss remained, crushing all the light in his soul. There was only one scientifically proven cure for this intangible ailment: vacation.
Specifically, a completely unannounced vacation from the Galactic Countergenocide Agency. One day, he just didn’t show up at HQ. And then another eight years’ worth of days passed. Everybody needed a break sometime, and this was his.
And it totally ruled. Mostly.
He had gone way off-grid, journeying the uninhabited spaces between the most distant stars, looking for peace—his peace. He occasionally found it, or at least something like it, usually in the form of a strange, hostile place whose lethality posed some challenge to his own. But he never held onto it for long, always ending up losing it somewhere in the familiar void of gratifying victory.
He had traversed the unbelievably frigid world of Panplateau during its sunless winter, defeating numerous hammerhead polar titanoboas with his bare hands. He had survived the eternal hurricanes of Boomwilde-95 and overcome the teracephalodons of the freezing hot River Total as he swam the entirety of its incredibly vast length. He had spent some time on Eiserexer, in defiance of the natural fact that anyone entering the planet’s atmosphere always turned out to have been exiting it the whole time. But us wasn’t anyone. He had entered Eiserexer, resided on its immaterial terrain, even briefly lived off the incalculably rich vegetation of its gaseous land, and then left again only the moment he felt like it.
And that was just the first year.
And what had he got out of it? Nothing, really.
Peace was his goal. But was it his destiny? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe his life’s purpose was to be dynamically stuck in an unending loop of precarious yet inevitably one-sided adventure—in his favour, obviously. Sure, the future was yet to come, and it could have had anything in store, but if he was really meant to do this until the odds finally found a way to kill him off, he could at least go about it in unrestrained style until that day arrived, if ever.
His latest extreme feat would be achieved on an exceedingly awesome and terrible lava giant composed entirely of volcanoes blasting with apocalyptic lethality and dark, ash-filled skies whose cataclysmic dry thunderstorms unleashed rampant lightning in seemingly every direction but up.
Uncharted and unknown to all human record, there were no letters, numbers, memories, or celebratory picture cards attached to this planet. This sublimely devastating spherical corner of the universe would remain nameless until he, its sole discoverer, overcame its greatest natural hazards and gained the privilege of giving it the perfect name, whatever that would end up being.
Under the sky-at-war, he surfed the deep flow of lava rapidly running down the planet’s tallest, widest, objectively most violently active volcano, the barrierboard’s energy shield cutting through the lava below. The planet’s atmosphere was damn near unimaginably hot, but still nowhere near too hot for Ius, who sustained nothing beyond the workout sweat dampening his skintight thermal suit.
In the distances around him, thunder cracked like godly choirs of tearing rayguns as great iridescent lightning bolts struck the thick streams of lava spanning for miles around the volcano’s inconceivable circumference.
But later on the ride down, lightning closed in on him with every few strikes, thunder whipping and booming like it was the only sound there ever was.
So, the sky itself was out for his ass, then. ‘Alright,’ he said, eyes to the sky. ‘Let’s go.’
His polarised shield shades protected his vision against the flashes of lightning that struck right at him—or attempted to. He was always several steps ahead, anticipating exactly where each bolt would strike. He calculatedly angled the barrierboard, evading literally every single lightning bolt cast at him in one smooth, continuous manoeuvre. Without skipping a beat, he kept up the good work. Until, finally, the sky pulled its radiant punches, seemingly turning its back on him in embarrassed surrender. He scoffed. ‘Little bitch.’
The sky let out a soul-shaking rumble, and several distant lightning bolts were suddenly interrupted in their paths and retracted as if time were being rewound. They were redirected and, along with numerous more, zapped down around him like a white-hot blinking cage. Some of them came down with such heavy power that they caused some of the running lava to furiously splash at him.
With a daring smile, he promptly leapt from the board and performed a series of acrobatic moves to dodge the thick spatters of lava, which he flawlessly succeeded in. He then landed right back on the board in a perfectly balanced handstand.
It was markedly hotter with his head closer to the lava, but whatever—so his forehead was sweating a little bit more, big deal.
Far less trivial were the many clusters of rocks protruding from the lava dead ahead. He had come too close now, and there was no going around them.
Using every necessary muscle group in his arms, core, and otherwise, he swiftly evaded the rocks, improvisationally swerving as sharply as needed as he navigated their tight, completely random formations.
Even though his manoeuvres had been totally perfect, the formations eventually led him to a tall jagged dead end. All that effort for nothing, it seemed to suggest. You’re screwed this time, fella. Devoid of fear and doubt, Ius chuckled. In his experience, there was always a way out; it was just in this case that there happened to be no way out but up.
He gripped his barrierboard’s tail and popped it down with great force as he lifted the nose up, using the board to launch himself just over the bladelike edges of the jagged rocks. He moved the board beneath his feet in mid-air as he emerged from the rocks unscathed, and he returned to the lava standing up again, surfing on down the gargantuan volcano, his spirit cool and undisturbed.
In fact, he was decently pumped that he had run into that overblown speedbump in that less advantageous upside-down position almost right after narrowly avoiding being struck by numerous lightning bolts and melted by thick blobs and droplets of lava. After all, what was life without a little trouble?
As cool and enthused as he was, his smug expression soon shifted into a suspicious frown. He sensed something. Something … off. Something coming. Something very familiar out to get him, vengefully, maliciously targeting him. He shot his eyes to the sky, specifically focusing on one distinctly dark, flashing patch of cloud.
And with instinctive timing, he launched himself high off the board and into the boiling air. With a lordly shout, he flung his foot through the dense air and kicked the tip of an exceptionally thick lightning bolt, which burst with enormous light and flashed back up to the sky. Yeah—he had certainly made the right choice in going with the coltuminum-toe boots for this excursion.
He effortlessly did numerous backwards somersaults before landing feet first on the fast-moving barrierboard, proceeding, then, to just casually surf on down the rapidly flowing lava without so much as half a worry, as if nothing had even happened, as if danger was just a myth invented by a bunch of wailing cowards.
He was having the time of his life, and he couldn’t possibly have cared whether it was going to be the end of it. In any case, he knew it wouldn’t.
Even when he noticed the unavoidable lavafall ahead, he discerned no cause for mortal dread. He gave his left pec a firm jab, and his ship key’s holographic menu projected out from it, hovering roughly at arm’s length, and he immediately called for his ship to come pick him up, and then he jabbed his pec again to minimise the ship key menu.
Approaching the lavafall, he didn’t swerve or otherwise attempt to postpone what was coming, but instead readily went straight for it with unyielding drive.
As his board was sent over the lavafall, he pounced off it with total force, proceeding to soar through the thick heat. And he continued to soar, and for a moment or two or ten, it seemed like he could literally fly.
But, as he already knew, all he had done was jump really goddamn hard, and it wasn’t long before he plummeted through the vast opaque smoke and dust below.
With his limbs spread out wide, he slowed his fall through the dense charcoal shroud, unable to see anything. So, his ship’s presence appeared very sudden when he, with a resounding thud, landed on its cool roof in a wide-legged push-up position. His correctly anticipated survival inspired a smirk on his face.
He thrust himself up to his feet and turned around. He assumed a proud, assertive stance as the Absolute Best of All Time lifted him up while radiantly illuminating the surrounding shroud with the dynamic party lights and strobes built into the tapered stub wings along its fuselage.
Standing atop the ship as it emerged from the smoke, he rose above the very lavafall that had just marvellously failed to take his life. In the end, the only thing it did succeed in was making him laugh. With his arms in a great, grandiose gesture, he laughed his unbeatable heart out at the planet’s devilish landscape. ‘FUCK YOU!’ he shouted, and he laughed some more, and he then shouted even more loudly, ‘YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! YOU! FUCK YOU, ONE THOUSAND PERCENT!’
And boom. There it was. The perfect name.
He gradually killed his triumphant laughter. ‘Ah, yeah.’ Then, with the proudest smirk possible for a human being, he crossed his arms, and coolly and resolutely, he said that perfect name out loud: ‘One Thousand Percent.’
The filthy sky flashed and thundered even more excessively than just before—potentially more than ever before—and the abundant volcanoes rumbled together in unnaturally simultaneous eruptions, jetting lava into the sky like beacons. The whole planet was basically shitting itself in submissive approval.
Lounging in the ship with the heavy-duty flyer’s seat laid back, his feet resting atop the dash panel, and his short bed hair stirring in its built-in air conditioning, he chugged yet another tumbler full of freshly blended protein shake, emptying it swiftly. Then he let out a resounding burp lasting two straight minutes, after which he dumped the empty tumbler right back into the adjustable cup holder extending from the dash panel and emphatically said, ‘Nice.’
He flicked his shades down over his eyes and loosened up his shoulders. He clasped his hands neatly behind his head as he leaned even further back in the plush leather seat, proceeding to peacefully gaze up at the stars through the viewport.
The distance, the solitude, the absence of all responsibility, and the deep, ambient hum of the Absolute Best of All Time together made for an incomparable slice of paradise. Right now, he had everything he could have possibly wanted. He was truly relaxed; the kind of relaxed that could only be experienced by someone who knew they couldn’t be touched, not even by so much as an interruptive out-of-nowhere call to action from their former, now probably eighty-something, hard-ass boss. With his eyes easily shut, he took a nice, deep breath of pure serenity.
And then, for the first time in eight whole years, the ship’s call tone went off, and loudly. He let out a deep, sighing grunt of disappointment. He didn’t want to open his eyes again, but he had to. He unclasped his hands and leaned the seat forward to the upright position.
The cockpit’s communication system was active, the functions and indicators relevant to which were once again presented on the dash panel’s workstation display. Most annoyingly, the miniature rectangular chat screen folded up from the top of the workstation with a quick whir. CALL INCOMING, read the chat screen’s neon green text. SOURCE: UNKNOWN.
But, of course, he knew exactly what the source was—or who it was.
It should have been impossible for this to happen, as he had long scrapped the ship’s communications system; he had extracted and bundled all its hardware together, most certainly including the chat screen, and blown it all up. But there it all was, despite all logic, existing and working perfectly.
The call had to have been coming from GCA Director Geraldine Prowe. Only she could have pulled this off. He pressed the Decline symbol on the chat screen without hesitation, but the call was accepted, anyway. He scoffed. Typical.
The chat screen showed Director Prowe from her pointy chin up to the top of her layered ashy blonde hair. She was really only happy when it was her birthday, and it was definitely not her birthday. ‘Ius fucking Evander,’ she said very sternly. ‘As always, an astronomical pain in the ass to get a hold of, not to mention locate.’
The connection was slightly delayed, her image stuttering rapidly. The connection indicator along the left side of the chat screen had only about an eighth of one out of six bars filled, which was mainly because Ius was thousands of light years away from the nearest sovereign network node. It was actually amazing that they were talking at all. A little bit too amazing.
‘Prowe,’ he greeted back and dried his lips with his wrist. ‘Looks like the G really upped its hacking game, huh?’
‘That would be Director Prowe or boss or sir to you, Ius, you dick. And yes,’ she said with her chin slightly raised, ‘our cyber forensics subdivision has evolved significantly. Good on you for noticing.’
‘Well, how could I not?’ he muttered with a frown.
She cleared her throat. ‘Okay, fuckstick,’ she said. ‘Here’s the deal. Now, I don’t know what kind of insignificant, bullshit desert planet whose orbit you’re slacking off in, but—’
‘One Thousand Percent.’
She scowled. ‘Excuse me?’
‘One Thousand Percent,’ he repeated. ‘That’s what this planet’s called. Planet One Thousand Percent. Cool, ain’t it? All me. Discovered it, showed it who’s boss, gave it a name. Think I might make it official or somethin’.’
The Director assumed an expression of plain annoyance. ‘Ius, I don’t give a mutated rat’s ass what you do unless it’s actually useful. And speaking of actually useful …’
And here it came.
‘A new operation’s been set in motion. I’ve got some tasks for you.’
He sighed in his total lack of surprise. ‘Of course you do.’
‘This one’s a big one, Ius.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘And you’re the only one who can pull it off in time.’
Of course he was. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘How come, though?’ He already knew the answer, as he had heard it many times before, but right now it was the only consolation he could find in this kind of tiresome interruption. ‘Why me specifically, and no one else anywhere?’
The Director sighed harshly. ‘Well, Ius, the simple truth is—even though you may be the biggest fuckhead in the galaxy—you’re the best of the best of the best of the best …’ She went on repeating this for another whole minute ‘… the best of the best of the best of the best. That’s why.’
He nodded contently. ‘Yeah, alright. Makes sense. So, what’s the dealio?’
‘The man we’ve been searching for is Dr Greger Wolfmeyer. Born on Rattenbach in Bruzelius, Svenjensia. Upper-middle class background. A child prodigy, Wolfmeyer was accepted into the Central University of Madelingard at age eight, where he specialised in chemputer science and electromagnetism. Graduated with honours, later earned himself a doctorate, then a super-doctorate, became a six-dimensional chess champion, retired from six-dimensional chess after sixteen years of dominance, and then finally went on to develop weapons tech for the Svenjensian military.’
‘Hm.’ Ius nodded thoughtfully. ‘And let me guess: his superiors didn’t like him there after a little while.’
‘You might say that. Wolfmeyer’s ideas were considered too risky, and his rebellious attitude and manipulative rhetoric had a way of riling up his peers. So, they transferred him to Svenjensia’s experimental weapons department. Two months later, the entire department was raided by an unknown force. Along with every valuable piece of volatile prototype technologies, the department’s forty trillion-digit fund had been swiped, and more than half the personnel had disappeared, including Wolfmeyer. The rest of them were found riddled with smoking holes. This happened five years ago.’
‘Alright,’ he said, rubbing the corner of his eye. ‘So, Svenjensian intel branch did some investigation, passed what they got to the OIS—’
‘And it’s under full Oversovereign jurisdiction. We lent an investigative hand to the OIS, but we had to do more and more of the heavy lifting as findings pushed the case further into our field. And time’s drawn short, and only the GCA is non-existent enough to piss on galactic law and do what needs to be done before it’s too late. So, here we are, knee-deep in the same old bullshit. And against a man who literally plays six-dimensional chess.’
‘Looks that way,’ he said, hiding his dismay at the sheer responsibility being extended to him. ‘But, hey, six ain’t that high a number. How big a deal can this guy really be?’
‘Big, Ius. Big. And the son of a bitch really knows how to cover his tracks, too. Fortunately, though, our new Class One chiefs have already gathered more than enough intel for you to operate with. We—’
‘Whoa, hey, hold on a tad,’ he said with his palms forward. ‘What was that there? What do you mean, new Class One chiefs?’
‘I mean new Class One chiefs, Ius. Well, new to you, that is. I hired them about a year after you flew off to who-gives-a-shit due to what I’ve long assumed was a bad case of spineless asshole disease. Anyway, you’ll meet them soon enough.’
‘Yeah, sure, whatever you say. So, what happened to the other guys, then, huh? Early retirement?’
She let out an extra sombre sigh. ‘Too early …’ Frowning and downcast, she started rubbing the back of her neck. ‘They … died.’
His heart sank. ‘Shit.’ Considering what they had managed in the past, he thought those guys would never die. ‘Hey, wait, that actually happened? Of all people, they took the big nap?’
She nodded sombrely. ‘They all went on a sanctioned vacation together and flew their recreational ship into an unrecorded death zone.’
‘Goddammit …’
‘Yes. Very much so.’
Those goddamn death zones. He could easily imagine his old elite work pals flying through the liberating emptiness of space, festively enjoying their time off, trading banter and remember-whens, everything being all nice and fine, until it wasn’t, because they were dead.
Sure, the exceptional slew of occupational hazards involved in a career in the GCA would likely have got them got, eventually. But still, it was always a damn shame when good people died, especially when they were the best.
‘So,’ he said, flexing his chin, ‘the Class Ones I knew from back in the day … they got and that’s that, huh?’
With a hard, sombre face, she said, ‘Yes. I’m afraid that’s that.’
He let out a deep sigh through his nose, and there was a brief silence between them. Then he made a carefree shrug. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘So, what else is up?’
‘Yes, right,’ she said, seamlessly back to her usual self as well. ‘Quite a fucking lot. We’ve obtained intel on Greger Wolfmeyer’s plan to wipe out huge portions of the sovereign civilization by the use of a devastating new toxin called Netoxium. You should have his file now. It includes everything we have on Netoxium.’
ALERT: NEW DATA RECEIVED appeared near the top of the workstation display.
‘Netoxium.’ He stroked his jaw, looking out to the stars in thought. ‘Devastatin’, huh?’
‘You bet your ass.’
‘Hm. How devastatin’ are we talkin’, exactly?’
‘According to the latest intel on its test results, Netoxium kills—instantly.’
He shrugged, unimpressed. ‘So does a gun.’
She scoffed impatiently. ‘You don’t understand, Ius. Netoxium is designed to be fucking radioborne. Ever see a gun do that, smartass?’
He thought hard in what little time he had to answer that rhetorical question. ‘Nah.’
‘Well, here it is, motherfucker: a radioborne superviral toxin.’ Multiple overlapping news articles started randomly popping up on the chat screen, their headlines all referring to the same tragedy. ‘Two months ago, on Corruga sixth at o-nine-hundred hours, a packed transit headed for Monzaska was met with an unexpected tragedy when a signal hijacked the transit’s PA system. When the conductor spoke to address a delayed arrival, everyone in the transit dropped dead instantly.’
‘And this was the whole Netoxium thing, or what?’
She nodded. ‘It was a test. And we caught the sneaky little pricks responsible. We administered the truth serum, but they were stronger willed than we thought they would be. They were almost impervious to the tellusthetruthus compound. But only almost. We didn’t get a lot of information, but we got just enough to know that anyone who isn’t already dead is at risk. But then again, not just anyone.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Apparently,’ she said, ‘Wolfmeyer’s plan is to target radio waves specifically transmitting within Godswin and Svenjensia. We asked the captives which solars, and just one of them gave us a very short, but very sufficient answer: all of them.’
‘Huh.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Yeah, that’s a lot.’
‘And we know one other thing, too: Wolfmeyer has created an electromagnetically based antidote capable of equally long-range transmission in case of misfires.’
He shrugged. ‘So, maybe there’s places he doesn’t wanna hit—or not supposed to.’
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt he has a very specific agenda.’
‘Yeah. Sounds pretty bad. Any ideas what that very specific agenda might be?’
‘We have our well-founded suspicions. But I’ll inform you later. When there’s time. For now, just know that if Greger Wolfmeyer succeeds, we’re all fucked. We need to find that little creep and shut his genocidal ass down permanently. But first, we’ll have to start a bit smaller.’ The screen switched to a public image zoomed in on one specific guy with a nice haircut, an emotionless face, and a big scar that ran from his temple to his chin. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is Milton Philippe Marquette. Codename Milestone. He’s Wolfmeyer’s right-hand asshole. You should have his file by now, too.’
ALERT: MORE NEW DATA RECEIVED.
‘Ever heard of him?’ she said.
‘Nope.’
‘Then perhaps you should keep your ear to the deck more often.’
‘Think I prefer to keep it right here in the air while you tell me everything I gotta know exactly when I gotta know it. Just like right now.’ He smirked.
‘Well, in that case, what you’ve got to know right now is that Marquette is an extraordinary pain in the ass. He’s one of the deadliest terror assassins in the sovereign galaxy, with a considerable body count including numerous government officials, and even a few solar leaders.’
He scratched his coarse cheek. ‘And?’
‘And we’ve identified his location. He’s been hiding out at the Rollido.’
‘The Rollido. Hey, that’s that casino habitat floatin’ around in Watsontonio, right? Yeah. Big place. Real fancy, too. Full of slippery crooks, every one of who thinks they’re the smart one. Yeah, alright.’ He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. ‘I don’t mind spending a few minutes there.’
‘He’s been a low-profile guest for months under the alias Aaron Julius. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen.’ The picture of Marquette faded, the screen again showing the Director with her stern expression. ‘You’re gonna go there, and you’re gonna get him and bring him here to headquarters for questioning.’ She tipped her head forward, eyeing him. ‘Brain damage-free. Got it?’
‘Yeah, I got it.’ He glanced to the side with his arms crossed. ‘Don’t want it. But I got it.’
‘Good, then. Best Special Agent Ius Evander? Welcome back to the Galactic Countergenocide Agency. You’re reinstated.’
He should’ve known he couldn’t have avoided this forever. ‘Yeah.’
‘Now, then,’ she said. ‘You have a docking reservation at the Rollido. The docking lot of section A. That’s the one reserved for the rich rich assholes. You should receive your docking permit and security code right about now.’
ALERT: EVEN MORE NEW DATA RECEIVED.
‘Terrific.’
‘All reservations are made under the identity Clarence S. Elias, quadrillionaire,’ she said. ‘And that’s you, so be sure to react to that.’
‘Alright. And what do I, Clarence S. Elias, do to make all those quads?’
‘You’re a CEO.’
‘CEO of what?’
‘We’ve just got you checked in as CEO. The people who run the Rollido are jackasses. If they see “CEO” and a fake network log packed with even the least believable accomplishments, they see VIP immediately, no questions asked.’
‘That so?’
‘You might as well call yourself the quadrillionaire CEO of Literally Nothing.’
‘Uh-huh. I see. Well, hey, that’s convenient enough.’
‘Yes, for us it certainly is. Anyway,’ she resumed, ‘apparently Marquette likes the blackhole tables the most. You can find him sitting at one if he isn’t sleeping, eating, pissing, shitting, or whatever the fuck he does with the spare time he owes to all the people he’s killed. He’ll have hefty security detail. Look around, keep an eye out, and be ready for anything.’
‘Sure.’
Prowe squinted. ‘And by “sure”, I assume you mean “Fuck yeah, boss, I’m on it”?’
With a low chuckle, he shrugged. ‘Sure.’
The Director scoffed through an almost imperceptible lopsided smile. ‘Prick.’ She cleared her throat and purged all the minute signs of amusement from her face. ‘Well—you have everything we have and everything you’re going to need. Now get your asshole over there.’
The connection was just in the sweet, blissful process of cutting when her image returned to full clarity. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ she said. ‘Be suspicious of any and all Rollido personnel. It wouldn’t surprise me if Marquette’s been paying some of them off. Maybe all of them. Oh, and Ius?’
He sighed quietly through his nose. ‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘Happy New Year.’ She cut the connection, and the chat screen went black and folded back down and out of his sight. Fortunately, it stayed that way.
‘Yeah. Totally.’ He rubbed his face in weariness. ‘Happy.’
And so, what he had thought was his vacation had just turned out to be an eight-year beginning to yet another doomsday scenario, as if nothing could really change. There was always another op, always another grandiose lunatic out there giving the sovereign galaxy a fatal itch requiring Ius’ expertise, but the defeat of one somehow always meant the emergence of the next. Evidently, this was unavoidable, and the utterly unlikely call with Director Prowe served as a reminder that even his very life was some big, coordinated operation with no conceivable end.
Looking out through the viewport on the vibrant red and deep flashing grey of planet One Thousand Percent, he was filled with regret over having to depart from one of the few existing places he truly respected. Or maybe it was just because of the abrupt end to the time off he had been enjoying only minutes ago. Either way, the feeling was the same.
His eyes shifted down to the navigator. Reluctantly, he started configuring it. On its basic map over the sovereign galaxy, he selected the constellatory of GODSWIN. He scrolled down its alphabetical list of two hundred and eighty-one solars until he located WATSONTONIO. The navigator zoomed in on the map and displayed an outline of Watsontonio, and he selected the rectangular textbox labelled THE ROLLIDO.
Power distribution display showed all regenerative power levels to be normal and mutually responsive. He checked the innumeronium gauge in the centre of the dash panel. The neon purple arrow was pointed in a random direction on the circular gauge’s black, featureless face. He let out a guttural sigh. ‘Dammit.’ The FTI master unit was still packed with undecayed innumeronium, more than ready to send him on an unimaginable trip to the Rollido umpteen times over. Unless someone had figured it out sometime over the last eight years, it was unknown what the half-life of innumeronium was, but he was disappointed to find out that it wasn’t eight years.
He had the navigator plan out an FTI travel route.
It then occurred to him that, since he had been so very far from civilised space for the past eight years, the Absolute Best of All Time’s space map hadn’t been updated by a network node the entire time. That was the automatic danger of being so far beyond sovereign bounds for so long; it was possible that the long travel route would crash him straight into an unmapped station or some other large celestial object, or maybe even lead him into a death zone.
But whatever. He had the ship bring itself in position.
The navigator assured him of readiness. SHIP IN POSITION; INITIATE AUTOPILOTED FASTER-THAN-IMAGINATION TRAVEL AT WILL.
For him, of course, that meant will never. However, for the people of Godswin and Svenjensia, it was will now. ‘Yeah …’ Resignedly, he initiated FTI travel on the navigator, redirecting converger power to the FTI master unit.
He got into the proper resting position as the converger revved up, oscillating between low purrs and powerful, high-pitched growls. After a couple minutes of all that revving, the ship released the clutch, sending the collected power through to the master unit, and then surged ahead as it started building up to full FTI speed.
He waited with half-open eyes to the ship’s rising hum as it accelerated further. Soon enough, it reached a speed exceeding imagination, the sheer logical impossibility of which knocked him out cold in the same instant.
