A liberated Earth faced a desperate struggle. A faint signal from the Alpha Centauri system offered the only sliver of hope we could expect. So Guardian Command ordered me there.
Little did I realize that voyage would lead me half the galaxy away, and confront me with the impossible choice: Lead my ship on a suicide mission to defend a non-space faring humanoid species from genocide, or abandon them to save our own kind…
How our hands
look alike
across these stars
The Sojourner Truth pierces the wormhole’s event horizon. A spiral of green illumination, like the bioluminescence of ocean dwellers back home, bathes the bridge in an erie light. At the other end of the wormhole’s “tunnel,” the specks of the unidentified armada advance.
One corvette-sized assault cruiser against legions of unknown starcraft? What the hell have I done?
“Cleopatra Johnson,” I mutter, “what have you gotten me into this time?”
battle tension
not the best time to admit
to craziness
“Mam?” Cyrus asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Nothing important, XO,” I answer. Then I order, “Full stop.”
“Aye, full stop,” helm officer O’Brien acknowledges. There’s only one tremor in his right hand as he keys the full-stop sequence. The inertial dampers–a system integrated into the electro-magno-gravitic drive that propels the ship–smooth the deceleration to a nearly unnoticable degree.
The enemy ships continue to advance.
closing gap
the inevitable fury
to follow
“Hail them,” I order.
“Acknowledged,” replies Comm. officer Jenn Larson. After 5 seconds, I look at her. She shakes her head. A bead of sweat lies on her forehead
“Captain, aspect change in the enemy formation,” Tactical officer Nguyen states. Not quite a tremor in his voice, but a sense of urgency I usually don’t get from him.
They’re all scared. I can’t blame them: so am I.
“Visual,” I order, and he makes a throwing gesture. A 100 CM, holographic “Screen” materializes above the helm and tactical stations. The enemy ships along the starboard and port sides of the formation have edged forward and spread out.
An attempt to envelop us—& end this quickly.
shooting stars
so peaceful a night
to die
“So much for negotiation,” Cyrus says.
“Indeed,” I reply, “Red Alert, Battle conditions!” I order.
“Raise shields. Activate PDC and counter-measure systems. Charge primaries, & flood the torp tubes,” Cyrus commands.
The command crew dance their fingers across their consoles. Bridge lights dim, while stations elevate. The “screen” super-imposes over the canopy. Enhancements to the initial enemy signals revert to images of raptor-looking, winged crafts. Ominous red and orange lights appear.
The battle begins.
across
a sea of stars
Earth
(to be continued)
I’m hosting Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poet’s Pub, where we write scifi Haibun.
The Pub is open! Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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