FAREWELL OL' RIC

I’ll hear it again.

And when I hear it, I’ll know. You don’t forget a sound like that. Like a crack of lighting. Not the thunder, but the lightning itself, the way it looks. Not heard it before or since, but I heard it twice that day. I should have mentioned it then, but a lot happened very fast.

‘Course, I only really heard it the second time. Sites are noisy and Rico was blabbering. He made me laugh that guy. When he wasn’t cracking jokes he was dreaming about the lake where he grew up, always going on about how he’d retire with his wife to a cabin on its shore.

“If I had a time machine,” he’d always say, “I’d go back thirty years. I’d go back to my lake.”

We’d take the piss, but I envied him. Steady job, beautiful wife and a dream. Yeah, he had his life worked out.

Our job was in demolition and refurbishment. We were the guys you called to strip out a building if you wanted to start again. You wouldn’t believe the things we’d find hidden in the building work itself. There’d be layers of wallpaper going back decades, each one a different era, preserved like fossils. I’d come across newspapers from hundreds of years ago and occasionally we’d discover animal bones in places you’d never imagine. Ric used to joke about that. He said people used to find live animals inside rocks all the time. They’d be demolishing a building, crack open a rock that hadn’t been touched in years and out would pop a lizard, or toad, or cat or whatever. Of course, I didn’t believe him, which is why it was weird when it happened.

So anyway, we were ripping out this cladding and Ric was reminiscing so he didn’t hear the first ‘crack’ but I didn’t think nothing of it anyway. With all the noise from the work, could have been anything.

I felt bad for the old Saudade building. The department store was abandoned, had been for decades, but I always liked it. No one else agreed; I guess it looked out of place now with all the skyscrapers. Anyhow, it wasn’t coming down, but let’s just say it had an uncertain future.

We were gutting the place, prepping it for resale, and me and Ric were ripping out all the cladding and drywall, on the ground floor. This one panel by the door was giving us hassle, but we finally pulled it off and, well, I wish we hadn’t. If I’d known what was behind that panel, I would have walked away right then.

So, Ric yells, screams almost, and I look up and the wall’s all cobwebs and dust, but in the middle of all that, right there in the middle of the wall were fingers.

The fingers of a human hand, coming out of the wall.

Oh, and in these fingers, just resting in them, was this small white stick, like a pen or magic wand or something. It’s like the hand was reaching out the stone to offer it to us.

‘Course I thought it was a prank or some weird statue at first and I said to Ric that I thought someone had a strange sense of humour, but Ric didn’t believe me. He goes over and touches the damn thing and jumps back, like he’s been electrocuted, yelling, “It’s real! It’s real!”

I didn’t believe it, but I touched them and they felt just like real fingers. Soft and spongey, just like real skin. The only difference from my own hand was that this hand in the wall was stone cold. I calmed Ric down, said it’s just some trick or something. He wasn’t convinced, but I was trying to convince myself. I said I’d go get Jack and that he should wait there.

“Sure,” he snapped back, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t move.”

Our supervisor, Jack, was in her cabin, feet up just like always. She protested I was trying to prank her but I said if she didn’t take a look, I’d get her boss to look instead.

So, I finally get Jack over there, but as we’re getting close, I hear that crack again and I really noticed it this time, like the sound of your ears popping, but everywhere around you.

When we get there, Ric’s gone. He was right there when I left him, but when I get back, he’s nowhere to be seen. I should have gone looking, but at the time I didn’t question it. Why would I? I just thought he’d gone for a smoke. I should have twigged something was wrong though, because that strange white stick, which was in the hand, wasn’t there anymore.

‘Course, I didn’t have much time to question anything, because the moment Jack sees the thing it all kicks off.

“Is there, is there a body in there?” she says and she starts sweating, although maybe that was the walk over. She phones the police, radios for the site medic and then starts barraging me with questions. She’s got the wrong idea though, this building goes back to 1896, sandstone walls, you couldn’t get a body in there and even if you could, it’d just be bones by now. That flips her out and she snaps that it couldn’t be anything else. I tell her they were into weird stuff back then, death masks and that. It’s only there to freak us out.

I’m quickly proved wrong. The medic arrives and is dead calm about the whole thing. She snaps on some gloves and inspects the fingers, then turns around and says they’re real. How a hand got imbedded in stone though, she’s clueless.

The police appear not long after. They think it’s a joke at first, but change their tune when they see that Jack’s face is drained of colour, the medic is deadly serious and I’m not looking as brave as I was pretending to be. They have to assume the worst and they tell Jack to close down the site whilst they call in forensics and a doctor.

Me and Jack are taken to one side and they start asking us questions. I mention that it was Ric who first found it and they ask if I can go get him. So, I step to one side and give Ric a call on my phone. He doesn’t pick up, but he never does the first time. I try again and still no reply, so I drop him a message and go back.

By this point more police have shown up. Now there’s a whole gaggle of gloved scientists with toolkits and everything. They start scraping away at the wall around the fingers, digging slowly and carefully. I leave right around when they start arguing over what technique to use. I only found out later that it was because the body was so deeply embedded in the rock, they couldn’t tell the difference between the body and the stone. They work all night and only reveal the left arm. I’m told they eventually just cut out the whole section of wall out and took it to a lab.

The morning after all this I get a call from Jen, Ric’s wife, saying he hadn’t come home and isn’t answering his phone. I say I hadn’t seen him and explain what happened. I call Ric, still no reply, and Jack’s got no clue either. I get her to check the time sheets and it turns out he never clocked out. Jen searches for him, contacts everyone he knows, but finally she accepts something’s happened and calls the police.

More questions. Jen files a report then we wait a few days but nothing. No word from the police until maybe weeks later when the detective who was at the site, Miller I think his name was, he shows up at my house and says they’ve found a body. I could have been sick. I genuinely thought that he’d just up and left everyone and gone to that lake, but no. That would’ve been better than what actually happened. No, not better, easier.

Miller takes me to identify the body. I meet Jen outside, she’s upset, but trying to hide it. All she’s worried about is that Ric left his car at the site and he’s going to get a ticket. I tell her I’ll handle it.

We are shown in and I’m expecting a morgue, a body on a slab, but it’s more of a laboratory. There’s a body alright, but not like you’ve ever seen.

Maybe you’ve come across those pictures of people killed by a volcano in Italy somewhere. They were all preserved and you can see that they were writhing. You can see that they were screaming. That’s what was in front of me. A horrific grotesque; almost unrecognisably human. Skin made of rough stone, a steel girder growing out of the skull. It must have been fused with the spine all the way through.

I told Miller that there must be some mistake and said: “This is the body from inside the wall, isn’t it?”

“Just tell us if you recognise this person,” he says.

There’s a lot I still don’t understand, maybe I don’t want to. We were there together. Ric found the body, even touched it and now he’s become that body? I couldn’t believe it. But I looked again at that contorted face and despite knowing it was impossible, it was him. Mangled as hell, but it was definitely him. I stare but I don’t see Ric anymore, I see the lake from his childhood, the cabin and the little boat he’d dreamed of. All his dreams, all his thoughts, turned to stone. I cry. Jen’s the one comforting me. She is stronger than I am.

Another room. More questions. I ask how they knew it was him, how they found out. Miller shows me the ring they found on the hand and tells me how they tracked down the jeweller who confirmed it was Ric’s wedding ring. In reply, I tell them everything, back to when we first met six years ago. I tell them how we found the hand and the white stick it held. About the only thing I miss out was the sound; that crack, must’ve slipped my mind.

At some point, Miller’s tone changes. He asks me about Jen, my relationship with her. How much time was I spending with her now? Was I ever jealous of him? They were angling for a motive, but I wouldn’t give them one. Jack was my alibi. I was with her when he disappeared. Doesn’t make sense, but neither does a man preserved in a hundred-year-old building. Miller’s not convinced, says he’s still got questions and I say, “Don’t we all.”

They bring in this scientist. She’s some expert in electron-something and says she’s got a theory about what happened, but needs me to confirm a few things. She was really excited, like it was a new discovery or something. Wanted to run tests on the body. I thought it sick, but I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t have a better idea. She says it was… hold on, I’ll have to remember now… electron tunnelling, yeah, those were the words she used. Million to one, but it was possible. Apparently at any moment the atoms in the floor could line up and we could fall straight through. It’s only luck that we don’t. Ric was just unlucky.

Doctor put the time of death at around the time he disappeared. Killed from being melded into the wall. It sounds implausible, but it was the best theory they had. Well, it was the only theory they had. The scientist points out there’s only one thing that defies explanation and that was my testimony. I had said that Ric and I saw the hand before he disappeared. I hesitate, I want to say that’s what happened, but then I see Miller stood in the corner. He hasn’t believed a single word I’ve said and I start to realise that he needs to start believing or I’m looking at a very uncertain future.

That’s when I threw truth out of the window. There was no hand. There never was. We pulled down the panel and it was just a blank wall. I look away for just one moment and Ric’s gone, only the hand, his fingers are there and that’s when I went to tell Jack. I told Miller I was wrong, I was sorry, I must have got confused in the panic.

“What about the stick? The white stick?” Miller asks.

“I don’t know. I panicked. I thought I saw something, a tool in his hand that fell out- oh, yeah that was it. It was a screwdriver. He was holding a screwdriver. He fell through the wall, electron tunnels or whatever and he must have dropped it,” I said, or something close to it. They ate up the lie. The scientist leans back, big smile on her face. She must’ve been thinking her PhD was in the bag.

You can’t cremate a rock. So, they buried him. The coffin had to be specially made because of the strange shape he was in. It was too heavy to carry, so they hauled him in a truck then got a crane to lift him down. I wouldn’t have bothered, just put him up as a statue, call it modern art. He would have found that funny.

He’d saved more than you’d expect. Enough for Jen to retire on and for me to go with her. We got that cabin by the lake, the one he always wanted. And I sit every night on the back step, with a six-pack of beer, watching the sunset reflected in the water.

Some nights I try and make sense of what happened. I go around and around with a new idea each time. None of them make sense (especially not electron tunnelling) because none of them can explain that damn white stick. To be honest I’m starting to wonder if it happened at all.

The closest I got to an answer is this: Ric always wanted to go back and maybe, just maybe that little white stick let him. Don’t ask me to explain it, that’s just my theory. That stick let him travel back in time, that was the crack noise, he spends some time at the lake, tries to live the life he’d remembered but realises he can’t go back. Perhaps he misses Jen, perhaps he misses the dream of the lake, not the lake itself. He decides to come back to the present, CRACK and he’s back. But he’s misjudged it by just a few feet and reappears in the wall. Dead instantly.

Makes sense doesn’t it?  Except you explain to me where that stick came from.

I don’t know if I’ll ever know what happened, but I do know one thing. I’ll hear it again, just one last time. I’ll be sat right here; I’ll hear that loud ‘crack’ and when I hear it, I’ll know. I won’t say a word, just pass him a beer.

Yeah. I’ll hear it again.

ANAX.

THE RULES OF TETTLE

EXCERPT FROM "THE BIG BOOK OF GAMES AND SPORTS, CHAPTER 6: TETTLE"

BY THADDEUS SOLBRIDGE*

Tettle, “the Game of Kings”, is a popular team sport played alone or with others. It is played with a bat (or racket) and ball, though modern games tend not to use a ball. It has enjoyed popularity throughout the cosmos due to its accessibility, simple rules and ease to master.

Beginning a Game:

Before play, a time limit is agreed upon with all other players and spectators, then, when all tettlers are ready, as decided by the umpire, the game begins. The players then take it in turns to move, beginning with the player who starts first and continuing counter-clockwise around the pitch.

Goal:

The aim is to score as many points (or ‘breeches’) as possible before a round (an ‘over’) is over. Some games can last as long as a full over, whilst others can be won after just one breech is scored. Breeches are scored when a player (or team) reaches the opponent’s wicket before the other player (or team) reaches it. Your opponent is also trying to reach your wicket however the game primarily involves stopping your opponent. Whilst critical injuries are frequent, tettle is strictly a non-contact sport. Players who seem eager to violate this rule may be sin-binned by the umpire, however umpires who seem too eager to enforce this rule may be similarly sin-binned by the players.

Scoring:

Each player, umpire and spectator have their own, individual scores, which are totalled, then divided for the team scores. If for example, three teams are playing those totals are thirded to make the team’s total. Scoring uses a standard base-twelve numbering system from 54 to 9. Players begin with 0 (a nullion) breeches and score 3.33 on their first breech. This is known as a ‘flag’ as once a flag is scored, the umpire waves a flag to signal the beginning (or ending in some cases) of the game. Another breech earns them 6.93 and so on until 54, ‘a jack’, is scored. This returns the player’s score to one flag but now they have the advantage and if they score another jack before the other player then that player’s score is reset to a nullion.

If players reach the same score (known as deuce), neither player can play until the other scores, resetting both to null. A player scoring when at deuce is known as ‘upending’ the other player and is seriously frowned upon in the tettle community.

Umpires:

There are three umpires per game, each allocated to a player as impartial judges. Their role is to settle disputes on behalf of the players and ensure they gain an advantage. Since the only known official rule book was famously lost in a fire, umpires must consult their own memories. Incidentally, rumours persist that the fire did not destroy the only known official rule book, but the only known official forgery of the rule book and the true rules of tettle are still out there, waiting to be rediscovered.

Umpires are not allowed to see the players prior to the game to avoid conspiring with each other, however they may meet if they are blindfolded. Furthermore, although sponsorship is strictly forbidden in tettle, umpires are technically separate from the sport and so are often ‘sponsored’ by fans. All umpire decisions are final.

Rule Variants:

Since the only known rule book has been lost, tettle relies on an unwritten rule book, and thus, there are a number of variations of the rules. Of the dozens of variants, the most popular are ‘tettle league’ and ‘tettle union’, which are identical but for the shape of the bat.

Sometimes disagreements over the rules halt games or escalate into fights between fans, umpires and players, often on the same team. Lengths of disputes vary from a day to a month, with additional games of tettle being played to settle them.

History:

Disputes over the rules of tettle are inseparable from the game itself and go back to well before its inception when tettle was played between neighbouring villages with a severed head instead of a ball. Early advocates of the game, Martin Tettle (after whom the game is not named) and John Tettle (no relation) had to halt play when each had assumed the other would provide the severed head. They argued and fought, only relenting when they resolved to use their own heads and thus tettle was invented. Nowadays, games do not use a ball for this reason.

*Whilst other chapters revolve around traditional, well known sports and games, tettle is not a traditional game. This is, in fact, the earliest known reference to the game of tettle. Additionally, whilst Solbridge espouses the game’s doubtful popularity and speaks with purported knowledge, there is no evidence that Solbridge had any expertise in, or knowledge of, tettle or any other sport for that matter.

ANAX.

THE LAST MARINER IN THE COSMOS

Sometimes a planet-sider would make the mistake of asking how he coped with the emptiness of space, wasn’t it too lonely, too quiet? The star-scorched old Captain would throw his head back and laugh a hearty rumble that those around the table could feel in their stomachs. Once his audience was stunned to silence, he would lean forward, crumple up a smile, strike them with an unwavering stare and begin to talk.

“If you had the eye,” he would say, tapping the brass augmentation in his skull, “then you’d never call it empty.” He’d pause, to be sure the listener was hooked, then reel in.

“Space is a dancing rainbow of violets, teals and maroons, all ebbing and flowing like the waves of a great ocean.” The Captain had never seen the ocean, nor was space much like it, but he knew these were terms they could understand. “When you look at the stars, you see darkness, but I… I see a distant pulsar blinking through a nebula, like a lighthouse through a fog. You feel stillness, but I can feel the maelstrom of a black hole, half a dozen lightyears away, engulfing entire systems in its wake. I can see electromagnetic currents. I can see the undulations of spacetime itself and when I sail those waves, I’m fighting through a storm. Space isn’t empty, no, space is alive.” Then he’d lean back and let them take it in, sure in the certainty that they’d be buying his drinks for the evening.

That’s what he used to do, but it had been a very long time since he’s had a chance to amaze a planet-sider. Exactly how long, he couldn’t be sure; time becomes hard to keep track of when it’s the wind in your sails. It had been a long time, to be sure and yet the thought of the stillness of it all, the land-dwellers’ myth of a peaceful cosmos, had stayed with him. Through all the whirling chaos of space, perhaps there was somewhere just… still…

It had only ever been an idea, but when the feed from his patrons finally fell silent and he had no more jobs to occupy his mind, all he was left with was that idea. Very quickly, that idea became a quest.

He pored over charts and maps, arguing with the ship’s genii. He would stare out into the night, searching for a small speck of calm, but the night was always raging.

There seemed to be a spot, equidistant between two galactic superclusters, where the tides of time drifted into slow eddies and those eddies eventually stopped. The journey itself took what most would call a lifetime and the Captain spent the whole trip watching the universe swirl past. He was no longer enchanted in its majesty but wearied by it. He had sailed these oceans long enough; now it was time to find the shore.

At last, he came to the place where the distant stars are as faint as dust in the air, where the pulse of everything quietened to a low hum. He could still feel the gentle rocking of ambient fields, but the solar breeze had subsided, the only noticeable radiation was from the ship itself. Yes, this would do. This was peace.

The Captain gave his genii a short farewell (the ship’s computer hadn’t much liked the Captain either), then turned off the engines and all non-vital systems. For the first time in duodecades, the Captain’s worn old Skyliner, dubbed ‘The Statera’, fell silent. He swivelled out his mechanical eye from its brace and finally, the world stopped roaring. Now he could lie down, close his eye and begin to sleep.

*          *          *

In a place where there is almost no movement, almost no heat, almost no time, it becomes very hard to tell how long you have been there, much like waking up from a long sleep. This would have made it twice as hard for the poor Captain to know how much time had passed since he found himself waking up from a long sleep in a place with almost no time. Time has a funny way of creeping up on you, or in the Captain’s case, crashing into you.

At first, there was a pressure wave through the air; a thunderclap in a steel box. The almighty crash slapped the Captain awake just in time to be thrown from his hammock and feel the bone-crunching impact of the ceiling. The room quickly steadied and the Captain propelled himself towards the control panel. He slammed a fist down to activate tertiary systems, local gravity slowly restored itself and the panel came alive with warning lights and sirens. The Captain scrambled to put his augmentation back in and the moment he did he could feel that he was now hurtling uncontrollably through the ocean of space.

The Captain stumbled through the Statera, pushing aside mangled beams and burst coolant pipes. The bulkheads had stomped shut meaning his fears of a hull breach had come true. And yet… his senses told him all oxygen levels were stable. Strange. What in hell could have pierced the hull, but not depressurised it? The chances of asteroids were slim, the same with a satellite, a station, another ship, in fact, he was too far away from anything for this to even happen and yet… it had.

The Captain reached for the white door to the cargo hold but before he even touched it, the latch clunked up and the door swung open. The Captain staggered back and expecting the worst, reached for his sidearm. His mechanical eye squinted at the hatch as it produced, first a leg, then an arm and then a whole person. It was another space-farer, in a spotless merchant corps jumpsuit. She was at least half the Captain's, but a few more star passes and she’d have the tan of a true mariner.

Although they were both in the same business, there’s little comradery between stellar sailors and the Captain whipped out his pistol, yelling, “What the hell are you doing here?”

The younger sailor threw her hands up in defence, but her face didn’t betray fear, instead, she began to smile, “It’s you, it’s really you!”

The Captain was taken aback, but he wouldn’t satisfy this whippersnapper with an affirmative. Instead, he gripped his pistol tighter and repeated, “I said, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I can’t believe I finally found you, you sir are very elusive. My name’s Honor,” Honor offered her hand. The Captain remained still.

“Don’t make me waste my breath thrice.”

“Ah, yes, why I’m here. Well, I came out here to find you, but now I think I need your help.”

“Then hindering me was a bad start. Now, get back in your tin can before I kick you into it.”

“That’s just the thing Captain, my Casimir engine’s kaput, that’s why I collided and-”

“Not my problem,” the Captain grumbled, taking a step closer.

“Well, actually it is, you see, my ship’s auto-repair has fused us together, meaning that-” but before Honor could finish her sentence, the Captain had reeled up and kicked her back through the door. He immediately slammed the door shut and locked it tight.

“Stupid lass,” he thought, staring out at the still spinning stars. He’d just have to sort this out himself.

The Captain lumbered through his craft and made it to the bridge. There, a large window showed the open expanse, now cascading in dizzying white streaks, but to the Captain, it was a vomit of colour and noise. The ship’s wheels were spinning out of control and the instruments blinked colours almost as varied as the space outside.

The Captain grabbed the wheel, shouted instructions at his genii, but Statera herself seemed to resist. It took all his might to slow the spinning just a touch, but then she would speed up again and continue spinning in another direction. Finally, the Captain couldn’t resist any longer. The wheel threw the Captain backward and spun violently of its own accord.

The Captain sat grumbling on the floor. He knew exactly what had happened.

“Hey!” the Captain yelled through the reopened cargo door, but there was no reply. He cursed to himself and climbed through.

The Captain passed the seam where the two ships had fused together. The repair robotics on the newer ships were fast, but not smart. They were programmed to plug a hole in a hull at any cost, even if that meant using another ship.

“Too clean,” the old space-farer thought to himself as he stepped onto the bridge, “not a true vessel, yet.”

Then the Captain saw Honor at the helm, trying to reign in the wildly spinning wheels.

“The hell you doing? Stop that!” the Captain cried.

“Captain, I-”

“You’re what? Trying to spin me out more?”

“My genii can’t compute the additional payload,” Honor began to explain.

“Scrap the robot, you’re doing this by hand,” said the Captain tossing her a communicator, “Your ship’s part of mine, that makes me your Captain.”

Honor was unsure about the Captain’s abilities, but now was not the time to argue. Once the Captain was back at his wheels and Honor was at hers, he relayed specific instructions to her, who carried them out dutifully. The manoeuvre was tricky, requiring subtle, tandem variations in the two sets of unaligned thrusters.

“Easy… easy… too much and you’ll rip the seal,” the Captain said, “and pitch right… now!” Suddenly the stars slowed and stopped spinning. Now they were just floating. Honor whooped over the communicator and old sailor couldn’t help but turn a smile.

“Honor, was it?” the Captain ventured over his communicator.

“Yes?”

“Let me take a look at that kaput engine.”

Hoisted upside down over the scorched drive, the Captain could see that ‘kaput’ was putting it lightly.

“And now all the auto-repairs are spent fixing the hull,” Honor explained, “Can you fix it?”

“Not without a new engine.”

“Well, if yours is still working, perhaps you could drop me somewhere habitable on your way to wherever you need to go. I can helm while you rest if you like. I’ve sailed Skyliners like yours before.”

The Captain yanked himself up out of the engine shaft. “My engine won’t carry two ships and besides, I am where I need to go.”

Honor didn’t understand, “but this is dead space.”

“If you knew how hard it was to get here, you wouldn’t ask me to turn back,” the Captain tried to ignore her, hoping she’d change the subject.

“Why would you want to be here?”

The Captain slowly explained, “because this is the only place in the whole godforsaken universe where the people, the planets, even the stars are quiet,” the Captain turned on Honor, the bitterness had returned, “But even in a place that can’t be found, it seems you bastards still find me. Now, leave me alone, I need to sleep.” The Captain paced away, Honor tried to get him to stop, following him all the way back into his ship.

“Wait! Don’t you want to know why I found you?” Honor cried out. The Captain hesitated. He didn’t turn around, but let her talk.

“I was a planet-sider. Small colony off the Laniakea crest. All I ever knew was my rocky, barely-terraformed world and I didn’t care to leave it… until one night, in a spaceport bar where this old mariner starts to tell me about the universe, how it seems still, but it swirls and dances, like colourful waves on a great ocean.”

A glint had appeared in the Captain’s metallic eye, Honor continued, “I stowed away on a cargo hauler and I’ve sailed the waves ever since. I’ve seen those otherworldly colours and they’re more beautiful than I could have imagined... When the work stopped coming, I knew I had to find the man who inspired me to be who I am now… It is Captain Radshaw, isn’t it?”

The Captain still couldn’t face her. He had a lump in his throat.

“I’m just sorry it had to be like this,” Honor said, bowing her head.

The Captain didn’t turn around, but finally found the words, “no you’ve not.”

“Not what?”

“You’ve not seen its true colours. Not yet,” the Captain reached up to his eye and swiveled out the small brass cylinder from its socket. He turned and handed it to his fellow sailor.

Honor was stunned, “You don’t need it?”

“All I need is sleep… You came to thank me-”

“I’m not sure I can give you that anymore.”

“But I can. Thank you, Honor. Sail well.”

At last Captain Radshaw gave Honor the crumpled smile she had travelled lightyears to see and he was gone before she could reply. She tried to follow but he had locked the hatch behind him, trapping her on the other side of the seal.

Captain Radshaw made it to the bridge of Honor’s ship. He had a quick look over the controls and rested his hands on the wheels. He turned them slowly at first and then pulled them hard, pushing the thrusters to full capacity. Honor watched from the porthole of the other ship, the seal was giving way, the air was rushing out, but Radshaw’s ship had not depressurised, Honor was safe. She felt a pang of fear for him but then realised what the Captain was doing. He was letting her go.

At last, the two ships cracked apart and separated. The old mariner closed his eye. He fell still and the universe fell still with him.

ANAX.