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A single star hangs in the vast void of space, two enormous gaseous planets and five rocky worlds slowly spinning and orbiting in the same paths they have taken for billions of years, pockmarked with craters from countless asteroids and meteor impacts. This system is no stranger to visitors, wandering comets and meteors drawn in as the star's gravity ensnares them and makes them a part of its collection, or accelerates them enough to throw them clear, never to be seen again. But despite its long history, the eons in which this nameless star has turned, this system has never seen life.
Until today.
Two hundred million kilometers from the small star, hundreds of ships hang in orbit above one of the terrestrial planets. From enormous personnel carriers to small scout craft, the K'da/Shontine fleet maneuvers in unison, one flock splitting into twelve, ringed around a single unremarkable point in space, sleek warships taking up defensive positions at the fringes of the fleet.
At the helm of Far Wanderer, pilot-scout Chanath secures her grip on the scout ship's controls and slips the small craft into its assigned position in the first leap group, a formation of warships composed of the swiftest scouts and one third of the fleet's most battle-worn warships, flying escort to several claws' score of colony ships. Most precious to the Shontin, of course, is her beloved home Tearsinger, its massive bulk filling much of the view from the lateral viewport, holding in its belly the lives of thousands. A strange knot of concern and hope struggle in Chanath's own belly as she looks out upon the ship where she has spent much of her life, a place she once thought might be her home until her eventual end, carrying future generations on an eternal search for fields to call their own. Yet in a matter of minutes, that fate may no longer be so certain.
The weight of these thoughts becomes real, if small, as her symbiont extends his forepaws from her exposed belly, grasping Far Wanderer's weapon controls, set below those of the pilot. If they are fortunate, Faris' skills of war will not be needed today. But after many generations, the Shontine and K'da have learned that it is always far better to prepare for hardship than to assume there will be none. And if they should fail, if the Valahgua should find them before the fleet can evacuate, or if unknown enemies wait in ambush on the other side...
Faris has always shown a tendency to know what his host is thinking, even when she does not speak her concerns out loud. "Courage, dear Chanath. What we do now will be sung for generations, and our cubs will not need fear those that pursue us," the K'da says, his voice strong and full of confidence. He has seen the other side many times, walked its paths and returned. There is none more qualified to speak such words of reassurance as he. She cannot doubt him, especially not now. It is too late to change course, and foolish to be frightened by mere possibilities, not when certain danger lies tailward. The only path to walk leads forward.
"May that be true, symby," she murmurs, raising her chin and taking his words into herself, fertile soil in which to grow the seeds of her own confidence. The harvest will come, for herself and for their peoples.
All of them.
The communications panel breathes, the familiar voice of Councilor Kedar reaching out to the entire fleet, millions of ears turning in unison to hear of what may be the most historic event of their lives. "Leap Group One, this is Manal's Dream. All ships report ready. Synchronization complete. On our heads rest the lives of our peoples; may we find our salvation this day. Begin the Great Leap in five seconds... four... three..."
Far Wanderer's engines sing as Chanath engages its drive, the integrated PINpoint reaching out invisibly to coordinates beyond the reach of the Valahgua, and bending the very fabric of space and time to its will.
"Two..."
All around them, dozens upon dozens of ships glow engine-bright, the blue glow washing out the viewport until Chanath can see little else.
"One."
Shontin fingers pull back a lever, and Far Wanderer disappears in a flash, one of many ships carrying hopeful souls into the unknown.
Until today.
Two hundred million kilometers from the small star, hundreds of ships hang in orbit above one of the terrestrial planets. From enormous personnel carriers to small scout craft, the K'da/Shontine fleet maneuvers in unison, one flock splitting into twelve, ringed around a single unremarkable point in space, sleek warships taking up defensive positions at the fringes of the fleet.
At the helm of Far Wanderer, pilot-scout Chanath secures her grip on the scout ship's controls and slips the small craft into its assigned position in the first leap group, a formation of warships composed of the swiftest scouts and one third of the fleet's most battle-worn warships, flying escort to several claws' score of colony ships. Most precious to the Shontin, of course, is her beloved home Tearsinger, its massive bulk filling much of the view from the lateral viewport, holding in its belly the lives of thousands. A strange knot of concern and hope struggle in Chanath's own belly as she looks out upon the ship where she has spent much of her life, a place she once thought might be her home until her eventual end, carrying future generations on an eternal search for fields to call their own. Yet in a matter of minutes, that fate may no longer be so certain.
The weight of these thoughts becomes real, if small, as her symbiont extends his forepaws from her exposed belly, grasping Far Wanderer's weapon controls, set below those of the pilot. If they are fortunate, Faris' skills of war will not be needed today. But after many generations, the Shontine and K'da have learned that it is always far better to prepare for hardship than to assume there will be none. And if they should fail, if the Valahgua should find them before the fleet can evacuate, or if unknown enemies wait in ambush on the other side...
Faris has always shown a tendency to know what his host is thinking, even when she does not speak her concerns out loud. "Courage, dear Chanath. What we do now will be sung for generations, and our cubs will not need fear those that pursue us," the K'da says, his voice strong and full of confidence. He has seen the other side many times, walked its paths and returned. There is none more qualified to speak such words of reassurance as he. She cannot doubt him, especially not now. It is too late to change course, and foolish to be frightened by mere possibilities, not when certain danger lies tailward. The only path to walk leads forward.
"May that be true, symby," she murmurs, raising her chin and taking his words into herself, fertile soil in which to grow the seeds of her own confidence. The harvest will come, for herself and for their peoples.
All of them.
The communications panel breathes, the familiar voice of Councilor Kedar reaching out to the entire fleet, millions of ears turning in unison to hear of what may be the most historic event of their lives. "Leap Group One, this is Manal's Dream. All ships report ready. Synchronization complete. On our heads rest the lives of our peoples; may we find our salvation this day. Begin the Great Leap in five seconds... four... three..."
Far Wanderer's engines sing as Chanath engages its drive, the integrated PINpoint reaching out invisibly to coordinates beyond the reach of the Valahgua, and bending the very fabric of space and time to its will.
"Two..."
All around them, dozens upon dozens of ships glow engine-bright, the blue glow washing out the viewport until Chanath can see little else.
"One."
Shontin fingers pull back a lever, and Far Wanderer disappears in a flash, one of many ships carrying hopeful souls into the unknown.
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