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2557, Lavender plane of the greater Mobius strip, Coordinates unknown:
A ship blew in on the wild Galaxial winds of Chaos, twisting and tipping as its course changed. It was a hybrid type suitable for no more than ten aboard - the body was Zirconium fibre with a classic cross arrow shape, but it had sails like wings that swooped and fluttered as it swept.
This space-dust storm it took advantage of rolled like a wave over the cooler, atmosphere-less ribbon below that trailed from the anti-matter spiral they coasted past. As the mass surged it reached a critical height and began to break, rolling rocks and tech junk in its middle, and the Chaotix' Nebuliner soared out of the wave before it tipped back down and plummeted into it, its sails folding in to protect them from the impact, before it bobbed near the top again. As it spun within the torrent of dust, the four sails (one on each wing of the cross) took turns to raise briefly as they tried to slow the rotation while they were up and at the top of flow, tucking in again quickly when they approached the dust again. Finally, it bobbed back to the too in a controlled manner, and choose to float on two adjacent wings in × not a + orientation.
On board, Vector brushed his heavy jacket. He'd not put the lid back on his flask before they'd picked up this wind-wave.
"Captain to Wing Controls. Anyone fancy making me a cup of tea?"
"Wing Lead to Captain: Keep steering like that and I'll personally piss in your tea."
"Understood, the way you brew I won't notice. Can you send me a boy to make it instead?"
"Fine, I can spare one."
He took his finger off the talk-back button and took his other hand off the controls to stretch his arms out, then kicked back.
"And you said it couldn't be done," He yawned.
"No," Espio grumbled from the navigation desk; "I said it shouldn't be done."
He twisted the outside dials of the many magnetised co-ordinators - nicknamed the clocks by those who'd never even seen an analogue clocks except in symbols retained by the keyboard - so their Cosmic Norths were all North again, and the projection of the galaxy around them started to make a bit more sense.
"But it has saved us about two and a half minutes. Now it'll only take another four days."
"Eh, you'll be glad of those two minutes when we touchdock again."
Espio turned the dial to search the skies ahead and started scribble by hand the next course of their journey. They couldn't afford computers when putting their raggedy rescue ship together, so they worked with the old reliable machines that didn't think, meaning the thinking had to come from the crew. Perhaps this was why they were always lost, but the galaxy they cruised was fast-moving and ever changing - you would get where you were going eventually if you didn't mind a scenic route.
The door clacked open and Ray tumbled in, the artificial gravity pulling him suddenly down, but with expert service he kept the tray level.
"Been on the wing wheels too long kiddo?" Vector called.
"I'm alright! Just forgot,"
Espio clipped down his pen and helped Ray up, stealing a biscuit from Vector's plate as he did so. Ray stared from side to side at the tray in disbelief as he brought it to Vector.
"I- where did the Caramel one go?" He mumbled, lifting the plate once he'd put it down.
"Uh-oh! Don't you know what happens to people stealing biscuits from the Captain on this ship?" Vector chuckled, swapping the spilled flask with the fresh one.
"I didn't touch it, I swear! It must have floated off in the Wing wheel, I think?"
"Oh sure, floated off into your mouth?"
"It can't have! I'm sure I would remember eating a biscuit…"
"Well, good job you didn't eat one, because the punishment for that would be a serious… trip to the biscuit tin to get yourself another one. You're probably hungry."
"I am sure I can make it til dinner time." Ray gulped, eyes resting on the marmalade cream remaining on the plate.
"Nope, captains orders. On the way back to Mighty restock your tray and bring him a Ginger Snap with a coffee, plus one of those honeycomb ones for Charmy, and whatever it is you like. They definitely deserve it after that masterful show of wingmanship, and we've saved golden minutes with all your hard work."
"Thank you, Sir, I really didn't mean to…"
"Don't call me that again or you'll be on snack duty all day." Vector laughed, one hand inching towards ruffling Ray's tuft of hair but he thought better of it, and patted him on the back as he turned to leave.
"You ought not tease him like that." Espio said through crunching caramel; "I don't think their previous Commander would have seen the funny side."
"Eh, it can't have been that bad. Mighty would have socked them if they tried."
"Perhaps. He's adjusted quickly I suppose." Espio murmured, then returned to his own radio to instruct the wings.
Ray stepped into the low gravity of the Wing wheel with ease: While the ship's central hull was like a bullet that stayed mostly righted, this attached belt around the middle and back spun like windmill when the sails were blown perpendicular. It didn't have a reinforced skeleton either, so the air was thinner. Mobians could withstand both, but it did get them lightheaded and knobbly kneed after a time: Mighty and Ray had been running similar sails for years together now, so the armadillo kicked off the side of the barrel to take his treats with no trouble. Ray drifted over to the bee to deliver his.
Charmy was much newer to this, but had the makings of a masterful wingman. The ship was rigged by them so he'd seen how it all came together, and had fantastic strength of wing that allowed him to hold static in the air even as their chamber spun around them. He was not, however, quite used to zero gravity, and bumped his helmet on the ceiling as he fluttered over to Ray.
"Did you tell Vector to do that again?!" He squeaked.
"No, I didn't want to speak out of turn."
"Don't feel bad for bossing Vector around: somebody ought to tell Vector what to do, but maybe it's not you, Charmy." Mighty snickered, hanging onto one of the handles to veer the wings slightly per the degrees Espio lazily read over the intercom.
"He's a very nice Captain…" Ray started thoughtfully; "But how does he know we're going to do what he tells us to if he lets you tell him what to do too?"
"It's a different way he runs things: more like decision by committee. He's the captain because if we need a snap judgement he calls it, but that's more of a convenience thing. For your day ins and day outs we all get a say."
"He doesn't listen to a thing I say!" Charmy chattered, and he swooped over to the counter-handle to Ray's to slow their spin.
"Well if you say something worth saying then someone might listen." Mighty yawned as he spoke, and tugged two cords to loop the sails into a 5 o'clock and 7 o'clock position.
"Thank you Wheel, that's perfect; next we maintain for 78 minutes. Might as well knot them." Espio's staticky voice came over the radio, and Mighty tapped the green button to send an affirmation light, as they all hitched the thick ropes in peaceful silence
"That's not true Charmy!" Ray said suddenly: "You asked if we could do a loop-di-loop and that's what we did out in the whisper canyon!"
"Nuh-uh! No we didn't! It was a barrel roll!"
"I think it was a loop, there was definite air time."
"Kids, please, you're both wrong: he just jerked the handles too fast, we went over on the side then rolled back the same side."
"Are you sure, Mighty? Mean no disrespect but it felt like we went-"
Ray kicked off from the wall and sailed backwards around the core ring so both Charmy and Espio could see his loop. Charmy quickly tied off his last rope and kicked off too.
"No no no one of these:" he spun in the air, beating one wing so he twizzled like a firework and crunched into the wall.
"Watch it, Charmy, don't catch a lever." Mighty sighed, pulling out an old world novel and a reading pane to hold ahead of it to magnify the tiny words.
Economising on paper, he imagined, wasn't so important when people lived on land with trees. Even still, books weren't that expensive, but he loved to collect them wherever he found them, although all of his were replicas - all known genuine articles has perished long ago, and now most people preferred the press-play mediums instead of ones you had to look through. Still, in years from now, he imagined settling down on a small scrap of a fragment of crust, in a little room, trading book replicas. Perhaps Ray would still be there - unless he grafted onto Vector's growing operations, it looked like he would have this preteen until he was decidedly post-teen: he was not an independent boy, always looking for approval from someone above him. It made him an excellent underling, but a natural sucker, and Mighty couldn't stand to see him get pushed around like that any more. He had thought maybe Ray had better people to stay with on the Arctic crust cluster where they stopped, but then they met back up with Vector and heard he was looking to upgrade his tiny little pod team to a faster and bigger model. At least Ray had one more friend here than he'd had on the Royal fleet.
Mighty watched the two of them somersault for a moment, then returned to his book about the old world, absorbed into rolling oceans and blood-soaked continents, thanking the stars he didn't live then - even if they did have all the trees.
Vector watched space roll ahead of him with his feet on the desk, and charted a course for his future: now he had a ship, and a crew (you couldn't call yourself, one guy and one kid a crew. But 5 whole people? That qualified, even though two were kids.), it was time to take the galaxy by storm. He'd already made a modest name for themselves with that little scuffle with a lost Crust satellite that they'd found and towed with their little pedal-o dinghy, but with a few more great stunts they'd be on a notoriety spiral where everywhere they went there was enough legend to get them into higher places. Bigger boat. Maybe bigger crew, though he didn't like managing a lot of people, but enough to run a real rescue runner. Heading around the galaxy like the heroes they were, making good and getting good in return. Leaving no stone unturned and a path of friends in their starry wake. Then finally, when they were epics of their age renowned across the known sky, they might be able to afford a goddamn house with 2 rooms and a view.
In the expanse of space, space to land was a premium. Vector loved life on a ship, but a scrap of rock that you could really build foundation in was almost impossible unless you had family that owned one. Vector? His family owned a dreadful reputation and a mean snarl if you crossed them. So, roots in the dirt had never seemed possible to him, and he saw straight through the Navy promises and the Private Firm contracts: Nobody working for the military or any one of the big name manufacturers owned so much as the dirt on their boots. No, you had to exempt yourself from the fleets if you wanted to reach for the stars.
Puncturing a hole in his dream cloud, Espio growled at his machinery desk. Vector would not admit it, but Espio definitely had the hardest job: it was maths both quick and complex, information to gather from 36 dials, 4 spectroscope and the constantly printing pressure needle. Just looking at it made his head hurt, but being outwardly nice to Espio hurt his sarky soul more:
"What, can't tell the time off a few old clocks?"
Espio grunted. From what Vector could see, one diagonal set of dials had gone wonky. He started to twizzle one back into place, and had his hand smacked.
"Geez, you could learn from Ray: a little respect-"
"I'm concentrating. Something's off, and I don't know what yet. Don't twist my data."
Vector retreated, hands in the air, instead viewing the projector model his dials were producing:
The sky they were entering, according to this model, was bottomless; not in the usual space way, more like Data Missing. He scratched his chin, then headed back to his control panel, pulled down the magnifier lens, and searched.
"Are you seeing… a nothing?"
"Yes. Something is dragging the timekeepers out of balance and it's creating a large gap in the projection."
"Where's it from?"
"Straight ahead? About… -18° to…"
"-77?"
"About that, yes."
"Your model isn't wrong."
"Isn't? What's there that we can't see?"
"It looks like a tear… wow…" Vector breathed, and Espio left his station for a moment to peer through the magnifier too, observing the curling and fraying edge of something that waved in the winds that rushed them towards it. Colour seemed to sparkle from the blackness every so often as space-bursts tangled in the rough seam creating funny sparks and light tricks.
"Isn't that just… something…" Vector breathed. Espio was no longer at his side.
"Clocks to Wheel: Wheel, untie. We need to turn around, quickly: await instructions."
"Wheel to Clocks: We'll be ready in thirty seconds."
"Thank you Wheel," Espio said quickly, before he unlatched talk-back: "Vector, pick a direction."
"Eh, 31 positive I suppose. I want to see it out the window."
"Clocks to Wings: Prepare for 31 positive, await corrective coursing."
"You don't think that's a good idea."
"I want them ready in case it isn't."
"Wings awaiting 31 pos."
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Wings: 31."
The ship turned quickly, the internal cabin Vector and Espio stood in was steadier, but their drinks still sloshed and Espio's delicate desk went into disarray: Vector couldn't even glance at the swinging needles without feeling sick, but Espio read them perfectly.
"Winds are against us, 40% pressure. Target 38 and you'll reach 31."
"38, we're there."
"You aren't, this is 34."
"Well it should be, hold on."
The sound from the wing wheel patched off, and Espio gripped his emergency handles for comfort.
"They'll be fine, Charmy's probably got a knot on the wrong handle." Vector hummed, watching the rip come closer.
The pressure needle started bouncing enthusiastically, and an incessant clicker started: this was their simplest device, it measured the amplitude of sonic waves around them, clicking faster the more pressure exerted on it. It couldn't tell them if it was a low rumble or a high squeaking, but usually the Wing Team told them that, and sure enough.
"That is an unholy racket guys, can you do anything about it?"
"Clocks to Wing: We will adjust further afield. Have you corrected the discrepancy?"
"Espio it's just us on the line. No, we haven't - one of the sails is damaged. We'll have to over-correct for now."
"Alright, go another 30 positive from here."
Vector pulled the controller to help them, hoping they were prepared for the tumble. From his view, it looked like a strong wind was blowing things ahead of them towards the tear, but not everything - only things with a certain… glow?
As the ship jerked unhealthily, another rarely used piece of apparatus joined the clock needles pinging, the needle scratching, the sonic pressure gate and the tapping of Espio's foot: the long distance radio receiver crackled with something illegible.
"Well there's a funny one, I thought we were the only ones still using the old style."
"Sh! That's a voice!" Espio barked, jamming his ear to the desk.
"We should now be at 30 pos, what are we actually at?" Mighty called, but Espio was now at the Radio turning tuner.
"ejdfortndhjsevecnkk—--sjsinnosejk——-—-kkkjjhggessoess—-—"
"That's coming from the rift side." Vector said quietly, pulling his periscope down to view what they were meant to be fleeing. Espio turned the tuner with the tiniest movements, until the tinniest and most horrible sounds made a semblance of words:
"Re—eat: -pace C— ne Ar— n Criticuh Dissdruss!
Un-druh-Fort-ie- Inn-o-seh
Ess-Oh-Ess"
"What the hell could that be…" Espio hissed as he strained, and the message repeated.
"They sound scared. We should turn back." Vector said solemnly, and he jerked the wheel before Espio grabbed it.
"Are you crazy? We can't get near that thing! The Wheel's not even insulated, they'd be crushed!"
"It's a distress call. It could be us one day."
"Yes, today, if you get any nearer that - Vector I mean it!"
Espio did not shout, so when he did his voice crackled like a fire swallowing a log. They stared at each-other for a second that lasted minutes, as a friendship and team built on years stretched under the pull.
"There's kids on board, Vector. Be a hero to them."
"Fine. You're right. I'll send the call out to others, if we can just maintain position for a minute, a bigger ship will come."
Espio didn't wait for him to finish his sentence; he was at the Clocks and barking instructions to release anchors temporary anchors, which shot out like harpoons from the four points of their cross ship. Two found nothing and retracted, but two latched on something at least for a moment.
"If we're stopping, I'm going out to fix the sail."
"Is it that bad?"
"We're going to have to go against these winds - if it's already torn it'll be streamers when we try."
"If you're sure. Be careful."
Mighty strapped in to his harness, and grabbed an air board for balance, and tried to ignore that damn noise.
"Are you sure you can do it on your own?"
"Ray, I've done this in an asteroid storm, I'm sure I can do it in the wind."
"Cool! I wanna be in an asteroid storm!" Charmy shouted, wiggling his legs with excitement as he swung on a rung. Mighty gave him a hard look, but read him better than he let on: this wasn't overconfidence, Charmy was coursing with adrenaline.
"In a ship this big you better hope you don't. I think you'd better stay, Ray. Charmy might spin us all around for fun."
"Aw, c'mon I won't do that!"
"Prove it, then! Get to your station while I'm out fixing this!"
Charmy's eyes got wide, and he flapped his wings to the talk-back console.
"Espio this is Charmy. I'm awaiting orders while Mighty's on his board. Got the ropes all on my carabiner ready to go."
He clipped them as he said it, but Mighty supposed it was something.
"Ray, grab two sets of ear defenders: I actually could use a spare pair of hands."
As they hopped out on the boards with a sail held between them, for moment they wondered if they'd forgotten the defenders: the sound was beyond a launch roar, and vibrating at frequencies from heartshakingly low to teethsplitting heights. Mighty saw Ray squeeze them to his head with his shoulders, but he saluted with one hand. They boarded against the winds to the sheltered wing on the side, and found the tear was 2 metres long already.
Mighty was absolutely sure that was not like that this morning, there hadn't been a nick when he went out to check after breakfast. But they couldn't examine, they didn't have time: They clipped the new one in place over the old one, before they removed the ripped inch-thick sail and folded it between them.
There was this horrible wailing timbre to the ambient noise, like an explosion was constantly mid erupting. And out here, as he peered over the body of the ship, Mighty saw it: a tear in the sky.
From it, orange and yellow glowed like a house fire at night, and that wailing. It sucked in the surroundings that the light fell on, like a search light absorbing. It was just how Mighty imagined sunbeams; like an eye that turned itself to your face go bathe it in warmth.
Until it turned slowly towards them, and he stopped believing that space could be good as he saw the debris next to them vacuumed to it: like 4 tonne rocks were petals in the breeze. Their little ship didn't stand a chance.
In moments of crisis, Captains make the call. If the Captain can't call, the first mate steps in. If the whole cockpit and crew can't see the crisis, though? Mighty decided for them that they had to get out of here now, and that he and Ray didn't have time.
He grabbed Ray by the neck, and the ship by the handle, and hurled it with a dying sun's strength.
Vector fell out of his chair as the ship rocketed sideways and away; his broadcast emergency ended abruptly as they rolled off course, instruments deseating themselves and dangling uselessly. He clawed his way to the window in time to see that golden glowing light where they had just been, and something had disappeared.
Espio was on the floor too, then he wasn't a moment later.
"Wings, come in: what's happened?"
Silence.
"Wings, come in?"
The radio wailed its distress signal again, out of frequency and unintelligible.
Espio held his handles for dear life, his mouth agape.
"Wings?"
"Charmy here… awaiting orders…"
"Charmy, what happened?"
"Something hit us, the wheel's dented I can't get all the way round…"
Espio scanned his clocks frantically and estimated in his head.
"Yes, we've moved quite a way. Where's Mighty? He might know-"
"He wasn't back yet!" Charmy's voice squeaked.
The cock pit was silent. Espio's hands started to disappear on the receiver as his face went white. Vector never bothered to peel himself from the window, not since he saw that glowy something-
Vanish
Into the tear.
"Espio?"
"I'm here."
"Espio, what do I do now?"
"You… you and Ray, you have to-"
"He's with Mighty!"
They caught the start of Charmy sobbing before he must have released the talk-back button. Vector silently, finally, faced Espio - his eyes were crazy and streaming, but he climbed over his desk to his controls.
"There is a Royal Liner ahead."
"They're outside, Vector-"
"We ask for help. We fix our ship. We get our boys."
"Vector they were outside-"
"We can't find them if we're dead and we can't go on like this."
"What have we done-"
"Talk to Charmy. He's on his own in there and it's loud and it's dark and he doesn't know… he doesn't know yet."
"Charmy, are you there?"
After a moment, the green light came on.
"Okay, Charmy, which sails can you move?"
"All except one."
"That's… that's great. That's really good. Which of the rungs are blocked?"
Over an agonising thirty minutes, the Chaotix Nebuliner, dented and emptied, wiggled towards the loathsome Red flags of the royal fleet with a tiny white flag and a flashing light pleading with the mighty enemy.
Mighty held Ray so close he felt his shoulder click out of place, his own back towards the eye, and they went.
It was as though they'd been fired in clay and frozen, the force so immense nothing even had time to move to react to it. Their ear defenders did nothing. Their heavy jackets were no shield against a cold that burned like fire straight through their flesh. They closed their eyes and the light still blasted through to their skulls.
When the pulling force stopped, it was as sickening as it starting. They tumbled forward, suddenly looser and unsteady, and Ray finally gasped as Mighty's fingers released his throat. As soon as he realised he had let go he grabbed him again, this time around the middle, and they both held the ripped sheet in one hand, toes curled in their boards.
Ray gasped, choked, and gulped more air.
"I'm sorry," Mighty panted, but Ray shook his head.
"O… kay…" He stammered through wheezing.
Mighty felt with his hands over Ray's ears, his head, neck, shoulder, spine, tail, legs: all were there somehow. He pulled back and checked him over visually; shivering and battered, but one whole squirrel.
Ray looked him over too, in alarm;
"Mighty… your face; you're bruised!" He puffed.
"If nothing else is out of place, we are the luckiest pieces of scrap in the galaxy… wherever the hell in the galaxy we are…"
They glanced around at the spacey nothing, marvelling at the light on one side of their faces, before they turned to see something terrifying:
A planet loomed over them, lit only 3/4s from where they floated, like a blue marble that was swirled with white over green and gold imperfections. It was practically all there was in the sky; far from them a star glowed, but it was nothing to this world.
"I've never seen… a whole one…"
"Nobody has, Ray. There hasn't been one in our Solar system for…"
Mighty cast around the planet, trying to disprove what he was seeing: as a grey ball with strange protrusions, something inherently man made, hovered in the corner of its orbit, just hidden in the shadow made by this sun.
"200 years."