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Outside the universe, there is nothing.
This nothing is called hyperspace.
A tiny bubble of existence hangs in the nothing. This bubble is called a JumpShip.
The bubble has neither motion nor stillness, nor even orientation, since the nothing has no distance or direction. It hangs there forever, or for less than an instant, because in the nothing there is also no time. Time, distance, and direction have meaning only inside the bubble, and the bubble maintains the existence of these things only by an absolute separation of what is within from what is without.
The bubble is its own universe.
And only, to the occupants of the bubble, for less than an instant.
Outside the universe, there is nothing.
—
Precentor Jericho Konrad stands, or at least floats in as dignified a position as he can, at the bridge of his ship. His ship. Crewmen buzz with activity across the bridge, and even though they have only just left the mind-bending unreality of hyperspace, the men and women of Blake’s Sight are already spitting information at him as fast as he is issuing commands.
“Initiating thermal and electronic scans of local–”
“–engineering shows all systems green–”
“–thium fusion battery ready for second ju–”
But Konrad requires order.
“Quiet!” he roars.
Instantly, there is silence. Every person on the bridge stands, or sits, at rigid attention, and turn toward the white-robed figure standing imposingly in the center.
“Mr. Davison, what is our current position?”
“Captain, we are currently at the nadir jump point of the system LC-98375, grid 128-659-034. We are approximately twenty-two light-years from the last known position of the Gabriel.”
“Excellent. Mr Chou, how soon can we make our second jump?”
“Anytime you wish to, sir. Now, if you wish.”
“It is the Blessed Blake’s will, and it is mine. Make it so, Mr. Chou.”
“Blake’s will be done, Captain.”
And reality shatters around them.
—
Outside the universe, there is nothing.
This nothing is called hyperspace.
A tiny bubble of existence hangs in the nothing. This bubble is called a JumpShip.
The bubble has neither motion nor stillness, nor even orientation, since the nothing has no distance or direction. It hangs there forever, or for less than an instant, because in the nothing there is also no time. Time, distance, and direction have meaning only inside the bubble, and the bubble maintains the existence of these things only by an absolute separation of what is within from what is without.
The bubble is its own universe.
And only, to the occupants of the bubble, for less than an instant.
Outside the universe, there is nothing.
—
Precentor Konrad is a believer. He believes so deeply in the wisdom of Blake, in the Word of Blake, that he will die to defend those beliefs. He will kill to defend those beliefs, as well. He believes, as many of his colleagues do, that much of humanity is unworthy of Blake’s Word, and should be cleansed from the Inner Sphere by his followers. He maintains these beliefs only by an absolute separation of what is within from what is without.
And yet, what lies before him has broken through that barrier.
All around his ship, for as far as the eye can see, are the great battleships of the past. Of an era long gone, a golden age centuries long dead, buried under petty hatreds and nuclear holocausts. The titanic WarShips of the old Star League, decommissioned and mothballed in a place hidden for hundreds of years.
The ship is silent. The crew and its captain are awestruck by the sheer power that every one of these dead ships exudes.
And finally, the midshipman breaks the silence.
“Blake’s blood...what...what is this place?”
Nobody says anything.
Precentor Konrad slowly lets his gaze drift from ship to ship, then stops.
“Mr. Gunnison, increase resolution on the main screen, focusing on the ship closest to us, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.”
His initial sighting is confirmed. Driven like a spear through a massive, grey WarShip is the Gabriel. Chunks of her hull float about this amalgamation, like skin shed from a huge snake.
Again, the midshipman: “Blessed Blake...she must have jumped right...right into it.”
And again, silence.
Finally, Precentor Konrad speaks.
“This place is...a graveyard. And yet, like the Star League now resurrected from the dead, these titans of old shall be reborn into the service of Blessed Blake and the followers of his Word. This place is...our salvation. And the salvation of the entire Inner Sphere. The salvation of all humanity.”
A moment of silence, and then the midshipman pipes up. “Sir, we seem to be the first ones to have discovered it. It is fitting, then, that we be the ones who christen it with a name.”
Konrad stares out at this graveyard, where he has found salvation. His stare turns to the Gabriel, an angelic arrow thrust through a great grey behemoth. What is without has come within, and it inspires him. And a name comes to him.
“This place...it is...”
He breathes the words slowly outward. The words are forever, or they are less than an instant. They are words now and forever exalted in the eyes of the Blessed Blake, and the followers of his Word.
“It is...the Ruin of Gabriel.”
_________________
"I have vanquished you, lizard slavers. And now, behold the pelvic gyrations of my victory boogie."
- Space Ghost
Last edited by Flagg on Sat Jun 19, 2004 1:14 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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