Through haziness images slowly blur into view. A foul taste of long, extended rest makes itself known in my mouth as I click my tongue. My whole body aches as I moan, rising up from a plain bunk built into a wall. The four walls seem to be made of metal of some kind. I touch one by this bunk. It's warm. Like a living warm.

Sat slouched on the bunk I feel empty, hollow in my stomach, recalling images to myself. What is this place? I seem to be in a ship's cabin of some sort. This space is small and evidently designed for one person to rest in. A smooth green glow has changed to that of an ordinary white light above my head and to the sides of each wall; light emanating from beneath the metal. Odd. I've only just noticed the change in light, as if catered for deliberately; woken up gently like a posh hotel. Maybe 'they' are making me feel comfortable.

My survival suit has been returned to me.

A slight, deep throbbing hum noise fills the background, it implies I'm on a ship. Or maybe I'm not. I know that I'm being observed. I have no proof. I feel it, it is a fact.

"Come on, I know there is somebody there, " the hum continues, nothing answers me.

Maybe I should request a specific thing. 'They' do not operate in the same thought lines as ours. A direct question- "where are my United Forces colleagues?"

"How do I get out of here?"

"OPPOSITE WALL FACING BUNK."

An automated voice comes from all around, like I'm in a giant mouth.

"Wha'?" I mumble.

"OPPOSITE WALL FACING BUNK."

"Where?" I paw my hands over the surface of the smooth, warm metal- suddenly it shrinks back from my fingers, decreasing itself to a doorway.

I step into a long corridor, as exact in texture and colour as the cell I have just come from. I am in a ship like I thought. None of 'them' have yet appeared. The voice, maybe a computer, is certainly in control of this ship's structural composition. It seems to be compliant to my requests so far. "Where am I?" I direct the question as I walk along this corridor, not really knowing where I am going.

"WITHIN A VESSEL."

"Does this 'vessel' have a name?" Whatever it is, it's definitely a computer of some kind, judging by the monotone voice; no alteration in pitch, "what are this ship's dimensions? Is there a bridge? A captain? Commanding officer?"

"THIS VESSEL CAN HAVE A BRIDGE IF IT WILL AID YOU IN ADJUSTING TO YOUR NEW SURROUNDINGS. IT WOULD BE ADVISABLE FOR YOU TO START FROM THERE. YOU WILL BE REUNITED WITH YOUR FELLOW BEINGS."

I stop dead in this bland, never-ending corridor. Although mechanical in sound the computer seems to have a slant in its structuring of words, like an English teacher has taught it to speak, giving the machine personal pickings of words; a syntax. Also..why does a computer add info'? All a machine can do is say how to get from A to B, nothing more.

"Do you have a name?" I try something.

"NEGATIVE. IF IT PLEASES YOU TO DO SO, YOU MAY LABEL ME WITH AN ACRONYM OR ANY SUCH LINGUISTIC DEVICE OF YOUR CHOOSING."

"I might just do that. What of my fellow beings? Are they here?"

"YES."

"Are they injured?"

"NO."

"Did they go through the same experiences which I have been through?"

"I HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR EXPERIENCES. YOU WERE BROUGHT UPON THIS VESSEL 12 HRS 38 MINS AND 14 SEC'S AT THE MARK OF THIS LAST WORD."

"So.....do you know who I am?"

"YOU ARE A HUMAN BEING BROUGHT UPON THIS VESSEL."

"Who built you?"

"A RACE BEYOND THE REACH OF ANY HUMAN CAPABILITY. THE UNIVARIANS CREATED MY NEURO-ORGANIC ENGINEERED STRUCTURE AND HAVE BROUGHT INTO BEING THOUSANDS OF OTHER VESSELS. A RACE OF BEINGS WHO NEITHER WISH TO INFLICT THEIR SUPERIORITY ON YOUR KIND OR ANY OTHER PART OF THE UNIVERSE'S LIFE FORMS."

"How did you select what to tell me and what not to tell me? You are a machine..right?"

"INCORRECT. I AM A NEURO-ORGANIC ENGINEERED CONTROL SYSTEM. I AM COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AND BEYOND THE BASIC COMPUTER SYSTEMS WHICH CONTROL YOUR HUMAN VESSELS."

"Yet you think?"

There's no answer.

"Can you direct me to the bridge. Is it far from here?" I come to a halt, I cannot pretend to play along, "will I meet my fellow U.F colleagues there?"

"YOU CAN MEET YOUR FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS THERE IF IT PLEASES YOU. THEY HAVE NOT YET ARISEN. DO YOU WISH THEM TO BE AWOKEN AND SENT TO YOU?"

I am the first to be in contact with this machine. It seems to have placed me first. I'll play along with this.
*
The bridge is like a U.F attack cruiser. It has differences though- it smells new and looks newly created. It only has one command post. No places for any crew to operate ship's engines etc. It should. That would then tell me what I am experiencing is real; 'they' could con me into believing it, yet…I think this is legit'. A sense within me tells that, not just my five other senses. It's large here, like a small theatre. Several walkways around the main central hub where I sit staring upwards. There' s an absence of vid-'screens and control panels in general, I cannot tell what sector this vessel is in or if it is moving or stood still. That same warmth comes from the metal here as in the cell's walls.

"Computer..where are we?" It sounds unprofessional but I am a soldier not a sailor, naval details elude me.

"SECTOR 98075/87."

I have no idea where that is.

"Wha'?"

"3 MILLION LIGHT YEARS PROM PLANET EARTH ON A HEADING FOR THAT COURSE AT TWO IMP POWER RATINGS BY YOUR EARTH VESSEL STANDARDS."

"How much?"

"3 MILLION LIGHT YEARS FROM PLANET EARTH."

"And how long will it take, in Universal Mean Time, to reach Earth at that speed?" I know the answer is going to far extend beyond my life time.

"222 EARTH YEARS DISCOUNTING 12 HRS 47 MINS FROM THIS POINT."

"So let me get this right.....this is the first day of the journey which will finally end when I am dust?"

"DUST?"

"Yes! When my life expires and my bones crumble to dust. Don't you realize that even with good health, human being life expectancy only ranges to just over a hundred years?!"

"I AM AWARE OF HUMAN LONGEVITY. I ALSO HAVE EVERY EXTENSIVE FILES ON HUMAN RACE HISTORY COVERING EVERY ASPECT WHICH YOU MAY WISH TO STUDY IF IT PLEASES YOU."

"Then surely you must know that I will be dead before I reach Earth?!"

"Nobody is going to die here!"

I spin around in the central and only chair.

Reed stands in the port way to this empty bridge. I leap up to greet him but he draws back, reaching for his Sai that no longer sit snug against him as he points the long Japanese knives toward me. He slowly drops into a fighting stance, he continues breaking the silence, "get the fuck back whatever you are! Where am I? I may let you live, if you tell me that much."

"Sgt. Reed? It's me! Pr. Walker!" The disturbed soldier stands rigid, coiling up to strike. I stop where I am, knowing that as soon as I'm in range he will no doubt lash out.

"Did 'they' put you through all that too?" I offer.

Reed lashes out with a front kick. His left knee lifts in front of him and the lower leg snaps out, his ball of foot rapidly approaching my solar plexus, his Sai drawn to the sides of his forearms. At the last moment I whip down my left arm and block his leg, surprised at my own sudden talent of quickness. With my right arm I shoot it out and punch, twisting my forearm in a bog-standard karate strike, I connect with his ribs.

My ex-sarge flies back as I feel an extraordinary amount of strength blast through my muscles and technique.
He hits a wall behind him. It changes and moulds itself around his winded form. His Sai are also locked into the strange organic metal.

"Release him," I command.

Reed falls to the floor, his weapons still embedded in the wall. This computer really does respond to my every utterance.

"Fuck me.....where did you learn to punch like that?" He coughs, regaining his breath staggering up.

"I used to do karate back on Earth. Long before I joined up."

"Yeah..and you are you, aren't you?" Reed stares me in the face, eyes laughing, "that hurt. Those alien bastards would have probably sent me on some acid trip..I guess."

"Did 'they' do all that to you too?"

"Yeah. Changing fucking everything?" He sighs.

I nod.

The sergeant continues, "turning your mates into killer? Turning them against you?"

"All that and more," I answer.

"All that and much more mate," he wonders past me spitting the words out, evidently as cheesed off as I am with the whole thing.

"Have you seen any of the others?"

"'Others'?" He turns back at me from the front of the bridge, puzzled coming over to me aggressively, about to treat me like a bullied boy but refrains at the last moment, rubbing his ribs.

"There are more human beings on this vessel," I wish to tell him everything that has happened to me, I guess that he has been kept more in the dark than me.

"'Human beings'?"

"That's right isn't it computer? There are more of us here?"

He looks at me as if I am going barmy.

"CONFIRMED."

The veteran jumps back and almost falls over the chair, "what the fuck is goin' on here?!"

"It's o.k...It's only the onboard computer."

"Will it answer me?" Reed whispers.

"Sure," I whisper back.

"Computer, where are the others?"

The computer doesn't answer the sergeant. An empty silence fills the air. Reed shrugs his shoulders.

"Computer where are the others?" I ask.

"YOUR FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS ARE CURRENTLY MAKING THEIR WAY TO THE BRIDGE."

"It seems to be only programmed to your voice command."

"No shit," I recall a Slyth being in those experiences by the gallows, "computer, how many more of these people approach?"

"9 HUMAN, 1 SLYTH."

"Identify them."

"CORPORAL BALL I.D.T: 657894/0. CAPTAIN BRICE: 78/QW. LIEUTENANT CHEE I.D.T: 89003I/O. PRIVATE DOBROVOWSKI I.D.T: 445803/0. PRIVATE IRONS I.D.T: 223859/0. PRIVATE LEE I.D.T: 572664/0. PRIVATE WEBSTER I.D.T: 574859/0. SLYTH. R. WHEELER."

"Sub-men!" Reed spits out in disgust.

"So all the other people..you included..that chased me...in all those contrived surroundings, they actually live?" I speak out loud, more for my own pondering rather than Reed's or the computer's benefit.

From the corner of my left eye I see somebody move. From a second port way Ball wonders onto the bridge. From a level above me, I hear two people conversing. Like a well rehearsed play they appear.
*
We stand as a disorganized huddle in the centre of the bridge. All knowing that we are heading to Earth but will never get there, yet calmed down for the moment by Brice whose authoritative command makes us 'stick together' in this basic need for survival. The captain addresses me once more, having told me to ask the computer data that I would never have guessed to ask but through his leadership rank, he guides me- therefore guiding the group.

"Pr. Walker, make inquiries for visual data."

I speak into space, feeling the whole group watching my every move as I repeat Brice's words.

A large vid-screen moulds itself from the front wall of metal. A scene of slow, stationary looking void appears before us. To the left and right of us smaller screens, only about three metres by three metres, displaying data quickly.

The captain moves forward, observing the main screen further, in detail. About a good ten metres in width and five metres in height, constellations are displayed- to a trained eye, they would astound and be worth getting excited over, to me they look like any other void; black, empty, reminding me of the great distance from Earth.

The captain requests, "magnification computer."

"Walker?"

"Could you magnify the main screen computer..please?" I hear a slight bubble of sniggering behind me from the rest of the men.

The image zooms in one notch, determined by the computer.

"Again," the captain orders impatiently.

"Again," I repeat.

The image zooms.

"Get the computer to enlarge three to one thousand," Brice orders.

I repeat his command.

I gaze around at the other men, I don't know why. Reed shakes his head in disapproval, mouthing, "what an arsehole." The others merely glance at each other as baffled as I. Webster sits huddled on the floor, in a curled up, foetal-like, ball. The poor soldier has completely lost it. He doesn't respond to anything. He had to be carried onto the bridge. It's as though 'they' wiped his mind clean.

Captain Brice tuts loudly, "well gentlemen.. " he momentarily looks down his nose at the Slyth, "it appears that we are in fact far, far, far away from home."

"No shit!" Reed pipes up.

"I have never seen this sector before. I consider myself to be well versed in United Forces territory...it defies any logic....." to all our amazement the stout captain, a pillar of typical U.F strength, is stuck.

The Slyth grins. Revealing pointed teeth, rows of them as it starts to laugh slowly with strange lizard like hissing. Something has happened to us. Something has happened to us all. Slyth have no concept of humour, anything that may entail a glimmer of mirth in their race. Yet here is this thing, laughing. What did those aliens do to us? Our minds work okay (so far) yet great chasms have been wrought through us; maybe disorientation. Something has been replaced, like an opposite piece placed in the wrong section of jigsaw.

Ball comes up to me and offers a sensible suggestion. There it is again. No glib, smart-arse, comment. He gives something thought out. "Is there any more speed which can be gained from this vessel?" I know that there must be something we can do here; there is a solution to every problem- maybe a compromise.

"THIS VESSEL IS CAPABLE OF COVERING DISTANCES FAR EXCEEDING ANY CRAFT ENGINEERED BY HUMAN TECHNOLOGY. A SHORTER TIME SPAN THAN FROM PRESENT SITUATION CAN BE ACHIEVED BY SWITCHING FROM STANDARD THRUSTERS TO RELATIVE SPACE TIME COMPRESSION FACILITY."

Lieutenant Chee comes forward from the rest. He stands beside me eyes sparkling with keen interest. For me (and the rest of the group)I haven't got a clue what the computer is talking about.

"What is it? Do you know what it means?" There's a glimmer of hope (though I don't feel it, merely observe it in the others as I ask him).

"If I am not mistaken, it may mean that we will literally be home for tea," Chee jokes.

"Go on," I entice.

"I read about a Skallak experiment once. It was all hush-hush at the time, I was based as a spy in the Delon VI sector. U.F intelligence managed to gather data which indicated the Skallaks had found a way of taking actual physical properties, reprocessing them through a device which could literally compress time and space dimensions- then- transport an object from point A to point B by cutting out the middle man."

"So what happened with this great breakthrough? The Skallaks are a quiet race unless of course it's an opportunity to make us look stupid. Surely they would have shown off their new invention at U.F Quarters; their delegates would have loved to have announced that gem," the Skallaks are not a hostile race but I was intellectually beaten to a pulp by one on leave, he then proceeded to make a move on a girl I had been softening up all night.

"It never worked." Chee continues, "it was alright in theory. Practically the Skallaks killed over twenty test pilots in their experiment. Each meeting a grizzly end in some far flung corner of the cosmos presumably. Or bits of them reappearing years later in the test lab in one almighty bloody mess."

"Ask that computer to give us an option outta here then," Reed whispers to me.

"You bastards. .you bastards...you think it's all a game!" The 'phased out' man shuts up. All of us stare at Webster for a moment.

"Computer. .using this...er.."

"R.S.T.C." Chee urges me onward.

"This R. S.T. C. device, could we return to Earth before we all buy it?" I hope it catches onto colloquialisms.

"NOBODY IS GOING TO DIE HERE. THE VESSEL IS CAPABLE OF BRINGING YOU SAFELY TO ANY DESTINATION YOU DESIRE. I MUST ADVISE GOING BACK TO YOUR HOME PLANET IS IN ERROR."

"You must 'advise'?! You must fucking advise??!" Reed projects his voice, circling about the control centre.

The computer doesn't respond to his anger, naturally. He blares in my face, "get this fucking thing to return us to Earth! Pronto!"

I take a deep breath, maybe I am not in control of this ship. This computer has complete control over every single system within this strange vessel. It could kill us all in no time by cutting off life support systems, what it did to the sergeant alone was cause for alarm. "Computer we must return to Earth, regardless of any concern you may have. It is our...place...where we belong," the other men gaze on at me like some crap sentimental, old science fiction movie.

"SO BE IT. BUT THROUGH TAPPING U.F CENTRAL DATA BASE LINK SYSTEMS IT IS A HIGHLY DANGEROUS SECTOR. THE VESSEL CAN CAPABLY DEAL WITH ANY HOSTILITIES. THE ISSUE PERTAINS TO THE REACTION OF THE MILITARISTIC GOVERNMENT TO THE PRESENCE OF YOU ALL AND THE NATURE OF THE VESSEL.
I HAVE ALREADY SET A COURSE AND AM CURRENTLY SWITCHING TO RELEVANT SPACE TIME COMPRESSION SYSTEM. SECURE YOURSELF IN RELEVANT POSITIONS."

The circular section to which the main bridge is based has suddenly started to grow seats; side to side, at equal spacing. We move nervously to them. Irons sits down, worried, then cries out startled as he finds some electronic field holds him tight snug onto his chair. He rises up slightly and jolts forward as he passes over the obvious parameter to the safety device. Chee sits down. The field on his chair holds him comfortably. The others follow, having allowed the more enthusiastic to be guinea pigs.

Wheeler helps the sick Webster onto one.

Brice mumbles something, waving his hands about as though trying to organize a kids school trip. Reed shakes his head. The captain then walks up to the central chair, facing the main monitor. The Sergeant grabs him.

"What on Earth do you think you are doing sergeant?" The officer splutters indignantly.

"I think that since the kid here has the only contact with that computer, and since that computer is our only means of controlling the ship, and since the ship is our only fucking way out of this shit...it wouldn't do any harm to have him sat there."

It makes sense.

"Don't be a bloody fool!" Brice shakes off Reed.

The veteran grabs the captain's throat with his right hand (thumb and forefinger around his Adam's apple), left hand holding the senior officer's testicles. Applying slight warning pressure, the sergeant whispers something into the captain's ear. The stupid man slowly gets led to a vacant seat and thrust into it by Reed. "Whenever you are ready," he nods at me sitting down himself.

The senior officer glares at me, "allow yourself this one moment of grandiose indulgence Private Walker. I shall make it all clear in our return to Earth."

"Shut up!" Reed interjects.

"If we get to Earth," Irons mumbles.

I sit down. The electro' field hugs me. On the screen in front, deepness looks blackly in at us all, a daunting vacuum. A place where nothing exists within it but void, holding worlds, moons, asteroids, stars, holes of fabric within the continuum going beyond anything that can satisfy explanations from Man. Yet why did those unknowns, the Univarians, who played with our minds, give us this? This ultimate gift? And why am I so suddenly important to have control of this ship? I am nothing, a nobody, Joe Bloggs.

"Computer prepare to activate R.S.T.C."

"CONFIRMED."

Lieutenant Chee to the left of me mutters in amazement. A feeling of unrest and astonishment mixes with the jumbled psyches. Of course...the computer only gives what it is asked for and nothing more. It seems to react and pick up, using human conversational techniques. A learning device. Like a child storing information. Unlike a child's mind it has started from advanced. Everybody's attention is on me. I have forgotten the order.

"Activate."

The view on the screen before us flashes. For a split second I see planet Earth and the moon. Then Mars. Then Jupiter. Then the whole of our solar system, planets flash and disappear before me like someone playing back a film where only one frame of an image has been edited in per second. Other solar systems, quickly blur, even faster- then a stream of images explode into white mixed with black, a greyness cascading into colours. What? What? What? The screen becomes unwatchable as images nearly bursting my optic nerves, I squeeze my eyes tight, blotting out the confusion.

A slow, increasing hum of the ship gathers up. Not like the drone of before, this time incredibly low. All upper tonal sounds completely removed from this noise. It grows louder and louder until almost deafening. Abruptly, within a fraction of when the human ear could be damaged it stops, dead.

Silence. Perfect silence. Nothingness. I hear my nervous system. I hear the blood rushing about my body.

Planet Earth looks beautiful. We orbit our home quietly and smoothly. The electronic fields that held us snug release. None of us stands. I tremble, over taken by the magnitude of power that has just delivered us all, back from beyond uncharted to the ordinary by-ways of where we first set out from; to the war on Holodern IV.

I turn my head to something, which has begun to move on the left wall. A large rectangle, deep sea-like blue moulds itself out of the wall. A metre in width and three metres in length it hangs, jutting out a couple of inches. A dim blueness shimmers under the surface as the computer speaks: "DEFENSE MISSILES LAUNCHED AND APPROACHING FROM MOON BASE 7. 3 SATELLITE DEFENSE SYSTEMS ACTIVATED. GROUND BASE UTAH AND TOKYO
SEA BASE 8-9 PREPARING TO INITIATE SECOND STRIKE. ALL SHIELDS RAISED. DAMAGE FROM
FIRST STRIKE WILL BE INEFFECTIVE. SUGGEST CLOAKING PROCEDURE. EVASIVE ACTION. POSSIBLE RETALIATION TO PRE-EMPTIVE EARTH DEFENSES."

To the right of us one of the smaller screens shows the incoming missiles. Standard F-3 12 warheads. Enough to put several damaging holes in a U.F mother ship taking out half of the shields. A second strike would be enough to cripple the life support centres and cause irreparable damage, even on a mother ship that had its shields up fifty percent. A third strike would finish the job before ground forces or support craft could help.

"Computer open up the communication channels. Send identification code 317/alpha," Captain Brice blurts out the words jumping up from his seat and directing his attention to the blue rectangle on the wall.

The deep blue object remains silent, of course. He spins around at me frustrated. Ball quickly comes up behind the captain; his senior rank quickly diminishing before our eyes. The other men: Lee, Irons, the Slyth, all preparing to grab the upstart; all of us responsive to impending violence like a sixth sense. Wheeler is the only one distracted, staring at the monitor, it shows the impending missiles. "What ever we are going to do..better hurry it up," he calls across from other side of the bridge.

As if on cue Captain Brice lunges at me. I prepare to kick out but the others already restrain him. His face boils red as he struggles against them, shouting threats of court martial, military prison, loss of rank, blah, blah.

"IMPACT 20 SECONDS."

"Shall we evade?" I address Reed.

"We can't sit here to be picked off," he answers quickly.

"Computer, prepare to take evasive action. Cloak."

"COMPUTER!! Belay that order!!" Brice screams, "I demand that you open communication channels! You are all still under the United Forces. Central defense are only acting upon standard procedure for unidentified craft."

"It's now standard procedure for Central Defense to hit first and ask questions later?" Reed makes the good officer shut his piehole for a moment, "we go away for a couple years and our welcome home is to have our arses shot off?"

"18 SECONDS."

"Everybody return to your seats," I must think fast, faster than I have ever done before; I know that we can withstand anything but to be fired on? What's happened to Earth? Why the militaristic defenses?

Wheeler sits at a newly formed chair before the small monitor showing missiles. I attempt to think straight but am put off by the computer's counting down to impact. Brice doesn't help by shouting and bellowing; no one pays any attention. The Slyth finds great amusement in this situation, laughing (annoyingly) at us all.

Five dull thuds explode themselves outside. The vessel itself murmurs slightly with their impact then returns back to its usual drone as if only a mild case of indigestion. Wheeler watches the screen before him, "wow..that's top!" He says as the symbols of the missiles disappear in orange flashes against our blue represented force field.

"Computer open up communication channels, " I request.

From speakers or sound sources way above us our U.F first contact issues down, "unidentified craft you are in a restricted sector. Surrender your vessel under the United Forces Universal Treaty. I repeat, surrender yourselves or we shall treat your presence as an act of war. Unidentified craft-"

The communication ceases as it is interrupted by our computer, "GROUND FORCES ALERTED AND ACTIVATED. MISSILE LAUNCH CENTRES PREPARING TO-"

"Okay computer," I butt in, surprised at the hostility we are receiving," draw back and out from orbit. Activate..er...weapons, prepare them for firing on my command and specifications."

"MY GOD MAN!" The captain does not irritate me- he is a nuisance I wish to shut up.

I get up from my chair, Reed is the one who's been through the mill a few times, it should have been him sat up here- not me. "Do you think we should attempt to communicate?" I ask him.

"What has gone on here though? There's at least two mother ships in the Earth and Mars sectors, "Reed points to where Wheeler sits watching symbols grow in numbers, another monitor beside him showing U.F craft. Drawing my attention to a different vid-screen, data shows the collapse of the United Forces we fought for and the rise of fascism, abbreviated in a potted version. The computer could be lying to us but the sheer quick response illustrates the fact that Earth is under martial law, under The President, whom no grunt supported before everything went to rat shit on Holodern IV. The sergeant has scanned through the data, shaking his head, "this is not the Earth we knew bud'."

"Another mother ship," Wheeler indicates one rising up from the Pacific, a red shape on the screen.

"So do we talk?" I ask again.

"Talk..but something isn't right here," the sergeant is right, the whole feel of the situation is wrong, he makes sense; we're displaced.

"Computer open our communications directly to their central defense system."

"THAT WOULD ENABLE THEIR TRACKING DEVICES TO RELOCATE US."

"Do it."

"COMMUNICATIONS OPEN."

"This is Captain Brice of the.." I fumble around for a name of this vessel, a phrase I have always wanted to say but now in the moment, sadly, feeling nothing for it.

"IT ISN'T! I'M CAPTAIN BRICE!!" The real captain shouts as the others restrain him more to the floor, Irons covers his mouth.

Irons curses, "bollocks! That's torn it."

I motion them to remove the good captain.

"Excuse me..?" A voice comes back, evidently startled at hearing someone out-of-the-blue.

"This is Captain Brice of the Longfox. We come in peace, please stand down," I continue speaking over the commotion of Brice being removed from the bridge, "I repeat, this is Captain Brice of the Longfox. We come in peace, please stand down."

"Captain Brice release your security code clearance."

Wheeler turns to me with an expression of worry.

I signal to the computer to cut communications, aiming a visual cutting of my throat at the blue rectangle. I hear the fuzz from channel cease.

I think deep. Gripping the side of my chair, on the main screen Earth somewhat smaller than when we came out of the R. S. T. C mode.

"Re-open the channel computer."

A voice cuts back in half way through a sentence, "-ease respond. Captain Brice please respond. We will have no alternative but-"

"This is Captain Brice. The code is 317/alpha. I repeat 317/alpha."

Another voice comes across the overhead communications. This time it sounds like someone a lot more senior, in the background fuzz and static scrambled U.F vessels criss-cross trying to pin-point our exact location.

"This is Admiral Edwards. Please identify."

There is a silence for a very brief moment.

"You are an imposter. Your security code is outdated by three years. Surrender your vessel and prepare for our forces to board," the communications snap off abruptly in a loud crack.

Wheeler tuts loudly. I hear the Slyth laughing again as it enters the bridge. The others return after it.

Reed grabs my shoulder, "you can't let those arseholes board. We'll be finished. Killed or if we're lucky hard labor for the rest of our lives in some military clink- that's for just for assaulting a senior officer and providing they don't believe us to be Sub-men imposters."

"And the nuthouse for that poor shite," Wheeler points at Webster.

"UNITED FORCES CLOSING, CLOAKING PROCEDURE INEFFECTIVE AS AURAL COMMUNICATIONS HAVE ALLOWED SCANNERS TO PROVIDE SUFFICIENT SIGNATURE. MISSILE LAUNCH SITES ON EARTH ACTIVATED IN SECOND WAVE FOR CENTRAL DEFENSE. SUGGEST WITHDRAWAL TO PULSAR II. TIME FROM ACCELERATION 8 TO 1.1 OF A SECOND RE-DIRECTED COURSE."

"Okay do it computer."

"MISSILES LAUNCHED FROM UNITED FORCES."

"How can they still track us computer? I thought the cloaking device would take care of that?"

"USING ESTIMATED TRAJECTORY. MISSILES BUILT IN CLUSTER FORMATION TO SPREAD ACROSS ESTIMATED LOCALITY OF VESSEL."

"It's right," Wheeler reads out symbols on monitors, "that's what I would have done."

"Computer any counter measure to these projectiles?"

"ANTI-MATTER DEFENSE PODS LOCKED ONTO INCOMING PROJECTILES. 22 SECONDS BEFORE IMPACT ON VESSEL."

That's what I wanted to hear. A way of hitting back rather than sitting here and being over taken. I issue the order to fire.

From the main screen a line of disturbed space cissures like something dragged underneath a lake, leaving a rippled pattern in clearness. The lines head deep into space, a distant shape of some U.F mother ship (even with magnification). Two bright spots of light rapidly move toward us. The lines of disturbed space left by our defense pods move to meet them.

A blinding flash. The missiles explode for a split second, then implode, vanishing to nothing.

"Fucking top!" Wheeler almost jumps for joy

His glee is squashed as his monitors reveal more missiles launched. U.F vessels are beginning to cut down our escape route, the second wave (which we dispensed with ease) must have been only to distract us. Even though we are moving much faster out of our solar system than they, it appears that the United Forces have the upper hand through strength of numbers and evidently following well-rehearsed defense tactics; we are playing it all on the hoof.

Wheeler attempts to convey the increasing data which is being fed to him, "37's incoming...five, six, standard spread again. Photon 73's coming..er..behind and right and left flanks..enemy vessels closing."

"UNITED FORCES MIG 4 SCRAMBLED. STANDARD UNITED FORCES HAIR PIN MANOEVURE IN PROGRESS. SUGGEST: A) WITHDRAWAL TO PULSAR II, B) USE ANTI MATTER SWEEP PODS; INTERMITTENT FIRE AIMED TO SURROUNDING VESSELS/PROJECTILES OR C) USE VIRAL DATA BASED PODS TO IMMOBILIZE ATTACKING UNITS. FURTHER OPTIONS AVAILABLE IF DESIRED."

This blurt of info' comes at us all, the computer alerts us well in advance, not like in battle- it actually seems to think ahead, to know the data we need at hand immediately. I remember having the enemy so close you could smell their stink. You and them, face to face. No seconds of time to plan such as this. No count down to attack. There is no time to decide in battle. This long distance warfare is much better.

"Incoming! Twenty seconds!" Wheeler's voice routes through our concerns.

The computer remains silent waiting for a decision.

"Do something..for fuck's sake!" Reed bellows at me.

Ball has been quiet on the bridge for sometime. He says nothing as he crosses to a screen opposite Wheeler. As he sits into a seat coming up from floor level, a monitor illuminates particular targets, possibly for manual operation.

"FIFTEEN SECONDS!" The Sub-man shouts.

Visually, the computer has been going through the complexities of viral data based projectiles. I read that it basically knocks out all defense and offence systems within craft by placing 'bugs' in their computers; strangely leaving auto-functions, such as life supports, completely in tact.

"COME ON!!" Reed raises his voice, shaking me.

"Computer engage option C)."

Confused voices reign. Curses fly. Various unknown sounds come from deep in the vessel. The main screen shows various views in camera cutting style: the incoming missiles, craft getting closer; their laser fire showering out. Then…..zip. Zero. Like some giant dustbin lid has been raised and then slammed down, everything stops. A silence spreads itself across the bridge. The vessel still moves in a retreating pattern.

"Where the friggin' hell…?" Ball watches targets symbolized by geometric shapes on his screen become transfixed.

I look closely at the main viewer. Traces of fissured effects criss-cross in all directions. Apart from that, there's no indication of our crippling retaliation.

The others move closer to the main screen.

"Slow panoramic sweep computer."

The main screen alters and sweeps in a general direction to the left. A United Forces mother ship sits like a dead duck. How cliched. Must adjust my expression, words..unnecessary.

"COMMUNICATION FROM MAIN U.F MOTHER SHIP."

Everyone's attention turns to me. I sit down on the captain's chair.

"No. Computer get us out of here. We have already done too much."

Again we are thrown somewhere else that brought us to planet Earth. I close my eyes not observing different phenomenon, only catching occasional blinks. My mind focuses like a great, new machine. To pause, to have the ability to do that alone is a gift in itself; to account and then decide what to do, a newly found skill. The dust bowl of Pulsar II will allow us all I am sure a chance to reflect and decide upon the very different United Forces that now act so hostile toward us. Pulsor II- a time to gather.