HOAX of the GABRA SHI

Chapter 1 ASKEW “OOS can be a lonely place, you know, Rosko, I’m only too glad you chose to come on board. You’ve livened it up around here enormously—hah! You wait till you see Jupiter up close, man, that’s a sight worth suffering the confines of this old Hoppermax for—and now that we’ve got passed the asteroid belt, well, it should be all plain sailing from here on in,” Captain Hillary Jefferson reassured his latest recruit, and he switched to auto astropilot. The dwarf astronaut relaxed into his pilot seat, and with bloodshot eyes put his oversized feet up on top of the dashboard. Letting his eyelids droop for one sly moment, he inadvertently hit the switch that set the small trade-shuttle forty-five degrees off course. Neither of these astronauts had registered the subtle amber light that had begun to flash on the dashboard amid an array of colours that were quietly blinking all around the cockpit—nor had they taken notice when it faded moments later into an inconspicuous dot. The pair had been engrossed in a discussion about the pros and cons in relation to life as it presented itself out here in space at such a great distance from planet Earth. Confounded by a sudden pang of nostalgia that overwhelmed them along with a great deal of regret for having left Earth at such haste, their initial presumption they could remain stoic at all times was challenged with a vague sense of insecurity that spoke for itself. The year had been 2086 when they departed from Earth, and Jefferson, being the seasoned solo astropilot that he was, and regular slipspace traveller to the Jovian moons, had agreed to accommodate a passenger crew comprised of the Paragonian royal family, who had combined their talents, their hopes and ambitions, and had initiated this whole daring and dangerous quest to the Jovian moon Callisto, in order to liberate the slaves who were suffering a fate worse than death, being that they were forced to reside and work on the moon indefinitely. Senior among them was the currently exiled—through no fault of his own—King of Paragonia, Daniel Krystoffe-Xavier, the only surviving son of Prince Baikal Xavier of the Paragon Cross. Next in line to the throne was his son, Prince Rosko Krystoffe, who had brought along his cousin, Derek Schoemakker, and a couple of independent female volunteers for the ride, whose names were Gretchen Tousard and Vanda Shariffe. The family was missing Rosko’s mother, Eva Krystoffe, since she had the terrible misfortune of being abducted by Spirullian lieutenants the previous year, and was believed to have been taken to Callisto and sold into slavery by them. It was for Eva’s sake that her family found themselves waving good-bye to their home planet with tears in their eyes. At length the astronaut crew were all settling in for a tedious slipspace journey across a stretch of OOS—the Outer Orient Spectrum, also known as the Milky Way Galaxy—without knowing exactly what they had gotten themselves into. They were all contemporary ‘greenhorns’ when it came to slipspace travel, except for Captain Hillary Jefferson, of course, who was the proprietor of this independent space trade-shuttle. He had spent a couple of decades in this line of business, although his shuttle was by far the smallest model of Hoppermax on the market. It suited his purpose for delivering specialised, luxury goods, at exorbitant prices, into the hands of wealthy dignitaries living far and wide in the solar system. Goods which fetched him enough of a profit in galaxy drakmaa and hospitality to see him comfortably into an early retirement. Rosko encouraged Captain Jefferson to catch some well needed shuteye, and he volunteered to take the command in the meantime. “You ought to hit the sack with the others, Hill—I’ll watch out for asteroids for a bit, if you trust me,” he said. “I need some time alone to formulate a fool proof strategy—hopefully we can reduce the risks and maximise on the results—we’ll only get one chance at making our mission work. You do understand—I don’t intend to spend too much time on Callisto, Hill, I plan to complete this operation as swiftly as possible,” he reminded him. “I told you not to fret.” “I’ve got plenty of research to complete, if you don’t mind, Hill, I’ll need to use your computer,” Rosko said. “Be my guest—and the controls are all yours, mate, but don’t forget to wake me up in eight astro hours without delay. You won’t need to worry about asteroids out here, but go ahead, have some fun if you must,” succumbed the blurry eyed captain and then he retired to his cell. The passengers had been oblivious to their surroundings for many astro weeks already, submersed in an electrolyte gel, and were to remain sublimely comatose for a long period of time. Jefferson checked on them, and adjusted their astro timers. He set the timer on his personal incubator and then slipped into the warmth of soothing gel and locked himself inside his cocoon with his big toe on the switch. He gradually sunk into a deep and satisfying nature trip, being instantly taken to a virtual paradise, surrounded by half naked women, the tropics on a beautiful, turquoise sea, a beach shaded by coconut palms and he blissfully fell into an enviable, though calculated state of absolute pleasure. Rosko was now in command of the space shuttle and got to work on refreshing his knowledge on ‘how to handle a Hoppermax’, in case he was challenged by any number of possible hazards. Cruising across the solar system, he cautiously monitored the atmospheric gauge, making sure there was enough oxygen flowing through the system. He still failed to notice the immediate error with the auto astropilot. They continued to travel deeper and deeper into OOS, but in the wrong direction, until Rosko eventually suspected that something was askew. He was intrigued by several conflicting pop-up messages on the dashboard screen in holographic form. He focussed on one object in particular with concern. It gave him the most unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach to see the 3DH image tagged as an unidentified flying object. Rosko examined the object in question and established it was a tetrahedron space vessel, which appeared to be disintegrating space junk left floating around the solar system. The sight looked eerily familiar. His gut feeling set alarm bells off in his head as he realised they had drifted into a Spirullian Defence Zone. “Oh frolicking nuts…!” he muttered in acute anguish and tried to get a second reading on the dashboard. He listened to what appeared to be unrelated radio signals. Baffled by the strangely euphonious noise, which sounded more like whales calling from deep under an ocean, he tried to decipher the message. Rosko listened to the haunting music with a sense of déjà vu. “Holy mackerel! I want to get a translation on this,” he muttered, evoking the system’s bionic brain, which came up with an appropriate application. He selected A.I.R., which stood for Animal Interpretations & Recitals, and listening intently, he confirmed his initial conclusion. He knew the words belonged to a certain mantra by the way it affected his emotional state and sense of wellbeing. It was strangely nostalgic, and in a sense allowed him to tap into a sub conscience stream of thought, which brought the past into focus… ‘Don manwo sindo hanon fisubelo vi tusonet gabra shi…’ Rosko tuned in his voice to the whale-like music and was happy to just drift along with it, since there was nothing he could do about the Spirullian advance.