Reach

REACH FOR THE STARS. FIRST PART.

Just the first part of something new I'm trying. Based on an idea that I got from an episode of star trek I watched years ago. Note, I don't actually watch Star Trek, and haven't even seen the end of the episode in question . . . which means that writing this will be interesting, to say the least. I'm not sure whether this will work or not, I also do not have an awful lot of time to devote to writing at present. What I'm actually saying is that I'd like to know whether people reading this would like to see it continued, or whether or not I should be devoting my time to bigger and better things . . . like studying Horace/Truth about Goggles/General Taito weirdness. Advice wanted!! Please respond. Thank-you

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Two kids, lying on their backs in a field.

Above them the sky stretched, seemingly full of endless stars. You'd have been hard pressed to find a night clearer than this one . . .

"There," the smaller boy said, in tones as precise as if he was giving a lecture. "Scorpio."

His companion also pointed. "Mars."

"The Southern Cross."

"That horse thingy. You know, with the wings."

"Pegasus."

"Yeah." The taller kid leaned back with an air of satisfaction. "You know, Izzy . . . I'm going to fly amongst those stars one day."

"As a freighter?"

"Nah—I'm going to be a mission pilot."

"But—that's not possible!" The red headed boy sat up. "No human has ever managed to pass the tests!"

"Then I guess I'm going to have to be the first."

"Is that so?" The red head plonked himself suddenly on the other's stomach. "Well, in that case, you're going to have to beat me to it—"

"You're on!" The two of them rolled over, fighting.

Above them, the stars watched.

--oOo--

"Your attention should be on your task, Motomiya."

The acid comment cut through my daydream like a knife. And just when I was getting to the good bit too. I was piloting a scout ship past the Zeban scythes and out into open space, and had just executed a perfect barrel roll to take out the command ship. Damm!

I turned my attention back to the console. It's our week for night bridge duty, not that I mind. The bridge is very cool when its just us, and I can wander round and look at things without the crew watching me and snickering about the mech getting above himself.

Thrust Ishida to spoil it. But then, Yamato Ishida spoils everything.

Allow me to elaborate.

All my life I wanted to be a pilot right? So you'd think getting assigned as mech to a Mission centre cruiser (and a fair sized cruiser at that) would be pretty cool, right? So did I . . . until I got assigned to be Yamato Ishida's mech.

Man, Ishida is such a pain. Honestly, the guy never lets up. It's Motomiya this, Motomiya that, and all the time I can tell he's wishing he didn't have to put up with a dunce like me. I bet he thinks the only reason I got assigned this duty is because of my parts—

Yes, parts. I'm a human/cyborg mix. When I was younger, about eleven or so, the carrier I was living in got caught in a meteor shower, and I was one of the injured. And I mean, really injured. If it hadn't been for the robotic implants, I wouldn't be here now. As it was, I'm lucky that the crew that rescued the ship were sympathetic enough to want to fix me up at all. Most wouldn't have bothered—I'm space-born, after all.

Motomiya Daisuke, scum of the earth. Yep, that's me.

Ishida's earth born, of course. As if he could be other wise. He even looks noble, tall, elegantly shaped, with immaculately styled hair and dress. He always, no matter what, looks perfect. I mean that. We had an emergency evacuation run at three in the morning once, and he looked perfectly groomed. I almost slept through the entire thing. But yes, it's easy to see that Yamato—call him that and you die—has it made. He has hoards of admirers too, whom he doesn't give the time of day to. I don't see the attraction myself. Sure, I thought it was cool and all, getting assigned to be the mech of a famous pilot, one surely destined for great things in Mission Command. But he's a total grouch. The only person he ever looks glad to see is Takeru.

Takeru's his brother. You wouldn't believe it, he's like the total opposite of Ishida—see, I can't even think the name. He's open and friendly, and every time you see him you just get this huge silly grin all over your face—or maybe that's just me. He stopped and talked to me once. I suppose he was just waiting for his brother, but I've never forgotten it. He asked me about my work and he laughed at my stupid jokes. Not even the glare Ishida gave me when he finally showed up could make me feel bad about that . . . Takeru's on this ship now.

He's in the Mission fleet like his Dad and brother. (Did I mention General Ishida? He's scary, nope, terrifying) A new recruit. I've seen him around the place in his uniform and he looks to be settling in fine. Not that I ever actually speak to him. Crew aren't supposed to bother with mechs beside their own. I would love to be Takeru's mech. Of course it'll be another year or even more until he can become a pilot, and I'm sure Ishida will have fired me by then for being too stupid, but I can dream . . .

I blink as the console blips quietly at me. There's a faint pulse being picked up on the radar. I pull back the cover and hook myself up to the connection through my robotic hand . . . a radio message. It's faint, but it's too regular to be anything else. I look up to where Ishida is leaning against the wall, staring moodily out at the stars beyond. "Sir?"

"What is it?" Irritation creeps into his voice. Well sorry for existing.

"I've detected a faint radio message. Would you like me to relay it for you?"

He shrugs, not moving. "Might as well."

I concentrate a moment, sending the command to the computer. I'm much faster than any actual human would be—I can just talk to the computer through my parts. "There."

"—repeat, mayday," A clear voice says suddenly. "Our engines are out and our main generator failing. Tai is injured—please relay this message to mission base. Mayday, I repeat—"

I turn it down as the message repeats itself, a little breathless. A distress call, wow—we've never had one of those before. "What are we gonna do?"

Ishida scowls at me. "Always use the proper form of address when you speak to me."

"Sorry." I have to fight not to stick my tongue out at him. Knowing him, he has eyes in the back of his head—"Sir."

"What makes you think we'll do anything? Space is full of old messages, beacons and wrecks that haven't been turned off."

"But this isn't a part of space travelled very often," I point out. "Maybe they haven't been picked up. We should at least check—" I see his expression and hastily add, "sir."

I think he still wants to yell at me. Luckily, I'm saved.

"Oh, Yamato? Still on duty?"

"I am on watch," Yamato bows, letting the use of his first name go unremarked. The only thing that's keeping him from giving Sora one of his infamous death glares right now is that fact that she's the Captain of this cruiser—and his fiancée.

"Your dedication to your work is admirable." Sora joins him by the window, not even glancing at me. She's very pretty, but doesn't suffer idiots kindly. I know from experience. Still, I envy Miyako—that's Sora's mech. She gets to do some pretty cool things. "You know," she purrs, her voice going all gentle. "Why don't you let me offer you a cup of something to get you through your watch? My quarters are not far from here . . .The mech can handle the bridge . . ."

"Thanks Sora," Yamato says. "But I'm afraid we're rather busy here. Motomiya just picked up a distress call."

What?

Sora gives me an annoyed look then turns back to Yamato. "And you're going to investigate? How thorough."

"The distress call did mention Mission control. It could be one of our teams," Yamato says. "I was about to get Motomiya to locate the source when you entered."

"Well don't let me disturb you," Sora says. "I shall have the tractor beam readied and hanger 11 cleared."

I bend over the console trying to look busy as Sora passes me on her way out. Keep a straight face, keep a straight face—if I smile, Yamato will kill me.

"The source is a small shuttle, at point DQ788 on the screen," I report, once my voice is under control.

"Great. I'll take the tractor beam, you keep me posted of its location."

For all his arrogance, Ishida really is good at his job. We have the shuttle loaded into hanger 11 with no trouble at all. Ishida turn the bridge over to the automatic monitoring system, and steps aside from the window. "Coming Motomiya?"

"Of course!" Like I would miss this. "Sir!" Not even the fact that he looks like he would really like to kill me can spoil my good mood now.

--oOo--

"There you go, boys. Your first scout ship."

"What do you mean, first?" Izzy glared at the Agumon. "Are you implying that we are careless with space craft?"

The alien coughed. It sounded like **cough**'Admiral's new speeder'**cough** and Izzy glared at him. Before the short human could do anything a shout from his companion caught his attention. "Izzy, get over here!"

He obeyed, scrambling onto the viewing platform besides Tai. "What? Oh, my—"

"And it's really ours," Tai whispered. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yeah—"

"Heads up!" The Agumon tossed them the entrance card. "You might want to get it outfitted right away. News in the officer's quarter is that you're getting your orders tomorrow."

"Thanks!" Tai yelled back. The two humans, now alone, spent a few minutes just grinning at each other.

"Our own scout ship. We've finally made it."

"This is going to be awesome."

"You said it."

"So, shall we go inside?"

"In a moment. I haven't finished drooling over the outside yet."

"Well hurry up. I'm dying to see what sort of navigational range she has."

"She?" Tai paused, opening the door. "Who says our ships a 'she'?"

"It's traditional," Izzy protested. "Besides, we are not going to name it after your soccer team—"

"But they're a good soccer team!"

"I don't care! We're naming it something we both like."

"You do know that means we'll never find a name for it."

"Shut up," Izzy gave the taller boy a shove sending him tumbling through the open door. After a moments consideration, he jumped him.

--oOo--

I sigh as I pull on my suit, wondering again how I ended up with Motomiya Daisuke for a mech. He was the most annoying person I knew—aside, of course, from his charming sister. If it wasn't for the fact that assignation to pilots was supposed to be random, I'd have suspected Sora of meddling. But that's just foolishness. My lovely fiancée wouldn't do a thing like that, would she?

Of course, and I sighed again, I didn't act much like a fiancé. I wondered again why I'd been so eager to escape her invitation before. The suggestion in her voice was obvious—and I was supposed to love her. Hell, we were getting married in a couple of months. So instead I was pulling on a contamination suit in preparation to investigating a beaten up wreck with the person at the top of my 'would like to seriously main' list.

It didn't made sense.

Or rather, it made too much sense.

I squashed that thought quickly. Sora was a great girl, and the wedding wasn't for months. Plenty of time to fall in love with her . . .

"Dude! This wreck is really wrecked!" Daisuke's voice floods my radio set.

I wince adjusting the volume. "Excuse me?"

"I mean sir, this wreck is really wrecked. Sheesh."

Despite his lack of elegance, I have to agree with him. The outside of the ship is a twisted, mess—warped and messy. "This looks like lazer fire," I say, fingering a burnt patch on the ship's hull. "They were lucky to get away at all."

Daisuke overrides the ship's security system, which he informs me, is on its last legs anyway, and we make our way into the ship.

The bridge is tiny, and like the outside a mass of twisted metal and frayed wires. "Looks like their shield got penetrated. I wouldn't have liked to have been the pilot," I say, looking at the pilot's seat—scorched and blackened.

"Contamination scan complete, no signs of viruses harmful to human life found," Daisuke informs me, pulling off the hood of his suit.

I do the same. "See if you can call up the travel log. I'll take a look around, see if we can find any crew."

I leave the mech in the bridge, and wander down the tiny corridor. The two rooms I look in to are personnel rooms, a bedroom, and some sort of study. I move over to the table which is spread with star charts.

"Ishida, sir?" Daisuke voice comes over the ship's radio. "I've got the main computer up and running. I think I've found the log, I'll play it for you."

A few seconds later, after a tinny static burst, the voice I recognise from the mayday message, announces, "This is the navigator speaking. This is shuttle AE-1007, destination the Aerian belt, crewmembers: 2. Mission—"

"Dude, what are you doing? That's classified information."

"It's also standard flight procedure. What if something goes wrong?"

"If something goes wrong, Iz, we'll probably end up in Zeban hands. Do you really want them to know what we're up to?"

"No," the first voice concedes.

"Then, don't tell 'em! Hey, anyone who's listening—who we are and what we're doing is none of your business so get out of here, okay?"

"You can't put that on our ships' log—"

"Watch me."

"I can't believe you put that on our ship's log—"

"Yeah, you'd think you'd be used to me by now—"

There was another brief burst of static. I shook my head, returning to the corridor. The exchange brief as it had been brought a smile to my face—also a wistful feeling. Whoever the navigator and pilot were they were obviously close friends—the tone of their voices said as much. I'd never managed to have a friend . . .

After a few minutes the log continued. This time the tone was considerably more serious.

"It's the 109th day of the Earth year. We've been hit pretty badly by Zeban lazers. Tai managed to get us out of firing range but he's pretty badly injured. He won't be able to pilot the ship—heck, I'm not even sure if the ship can be piloted. I've put out a distress call on Mission frequencies, and I'm about to see what I can do about repairs. Tai's resting—there's not much I can do about his injury, so I've put him into deep sleep. I'll be joining him shortly. The deep sleep canisters are in the infirmary at the back of the ship. Neither of us have allergies, unless you believe that Tai when he says he's allergic to dressing smartly. If you revive us, I can assure you that Mission control will not let the action go unrewarded. I think that's all."

I follow the directions to the infirmary. The deep sleep canisters were there. I leaned over the first, noting that the life support systems were still up—a faint pulse indicated that the occupant was still alive.

Brushing away the dust on the top of the cannister, I got my first actual look at him. Olive skin, a peaceful expression on his sleeping face, off set strangely by jagged, untidy hair. A stained bandage around his upper arm indicated that this must be the pilot.

I start at another burst of static. "God, Taichi . . . I hope you never have to hear this."

The navigator again. He sounds panicked. "I know I said I'd never leave you, and I promised I wouldn't do anything noble or stupid—you made me promise—but the main generator's failing. I can't keep it going. The emergency one that powers the sleep pods is still going, but it won't last indefinitely. I think it got damaged in the fight—"

The navigator's shaky breath echoes harshly in the quiet room. "What I'm trying to say is that I've instructed the ship's computer that if the power source falls to the point where it is unable to sustain us both it is to trigger the emergency reflex that will send my sleep pod into space. Now, before you get too upset, remember the pods are self contained, and have their own power source that can last up to fifty years. I may even make planet fall, before someone finds you and come back to find you-—or, if you get rescued first, you can find me. The pod has a signal you can track—so you can find me, and yell at me all you like then, okay?" A sigh then . . . "See you, Taichi."

I'm immobile a minute, leaning against the life support pod stunned. To think we've stumbled onto our own mini-tragedy. The other sleep pod is across the room. There are no lights showing. I step across quickly.

The pod is empty.

There's a clatter of metal outside the door, then Daisuke bursts into the room. "Dude! The Navigator—is he—"

"He's gone," I answer.

"Dude," Daisuke joins me, at the empty pod. We're silent awhile, both meditating on the brave actions of the navigator we don't even know. At this moment, I don't even feel irritated at Daisuke.

"Come on," I say, prodding him eventually. "We need to get this pod to the ship's doctor."

He nods, and we detach the pod, lifting it on the servo Daisuke has summoned.

I let Daisuke maneuver the pod out of the ship, standing a moment in the silent infirmary. I can't quite explain why this should effect me so deeply. Maybe because I know that no-one would ever make such a sacrifice for me . . . except Takeru, maybe.

"Dude—I mean, Sir, you coming?"

"Yes, I'm coming." With one last look at the absent sleep pod, I leave the infirmary.