OFF//WORLD: It's Easy to Save the Universe When You're in a Pocket Dimension

Prologue - Edge of Forever

Vast cords of billowing light dogged the Albatross through the empty sea between stars. Here, she was the star; a beacon flickering in darkness. Of course, the flickering was mostly from new fires on decks 3 and 4. The Albatross diverted water flow from the sewage system to put them out. Dirty work, and a last ditch effort.

The ever-shifting strands of asteria cloaked her in neon brilliance, too-made her feel almost regal, like the Empress of Nothing in a country where nothing was everything. The cold had its own kind of warmth, a seal around her beating heart.

She was waxing poetic again.

"I asked about the distance not the drive time," the captain shouted. Sparks erupted overhead.

The Albatross flinched and stuttered.

"Hold together, lass," her father whispered.

She held. For him she would, always.

"Danju!" The captain was furious.

"I heard ya!" said Father. His fingers danced along the nav console. "Eighty-seven AU, give or take."

"That's too far, isn't it?"

"To coast? Aye. We'll have to push her past the gold line."

The Albatross felt a little pang of something sour as one of the glittering cords of light intersected with her starboard nacelle. She flinched again, throwing the crew to the deck.

"Hold her together, Chief," said the captain. Her fury seemed more like regret now, though the Albatross was never sure if she understood those distinctions. Was it resignation? Spending this time with humans had been helpful, but she still had a lot to learn.

"With my bare hands if I have to," Father said heroically.

The Albatross deployed a happy sigh. He was the best. Something tickled her. Oh yes.

"Starboard nacelle is reporting heavy damage," she chirped.

"Well isn't that awesome?" the captain asked. The Albatross knew better than to answer. "Can it be repaired, Chief?"

"Not from inside," said Father. "And not while we're chasing this wake."

"Fine. So tell me, how does knowing that help us?" asked the captain, her face a mask. The Albatross switched to infrared. Oh. It was fury.

"It does not," the Albatross replied sheepishly. She gauged her timbre as close to pacification as it would go without flipping into what Father called snotty sarcasm mode. All she wanted was to be helpful.

The captain did not respond. Which was either better or worse than the Albatross expected. Their unpredictability was as confusing as it was endearing. She realized she would miss them very much when they died, but without that starboard engine even their most desperate plans were unattainable. The Albatross shrugged, and her decks groaned and grumbled.

"I could take the CERA," offered the Albatross.

"I'd never ask ya to do that, angel," said Father.

"And yet, if I do not, we will have no alternative but to coast for hundreds of years before we arrive at a safe harbor."

"She has a point," the captain said.

This unexpected agreement set the Albatross's engine to sputtering.

"And if we're going to do something, sooner is better than late," the captain added.

"The remote isn't ready!" Father stood awkwardly, as if unsure of where to go or what to do. He sat back down after a moment. "She'll have to inhabit it."